#*SHAME BELL RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND*

[rosachae]

safe | karina x reader

⁍ song: hold on, we're going home - drake ⁍ genre: idol!karina x idol!reader. angsty, suggestive. ⁍ w.c: 14.3k ⁍ warnings: curt language, a little bit nsfw(?), more so just suggestive. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is the 6th member of le sserafim, and an incredibly skilled dancer. when she's set to perform a special stage with karina, she finds herself growing closer to the girl in ways she'd have never imagined. the problem is, sometimes things don't work out the way you want them to.

current day

there were plenty of pretty people in the world, each carrying their own charm, but none of them compared to yu jimin. there was something about the way she carried herself that made everything else fade into the background. it wasn’t just her face, though that alone could turn heads with little effort. it was the way her expression shifted when she listened, the way her eyes held a quiet confidence that made you want to look longer. her beauty didn’t scream for attention. it settled into the room like it belonged there, like it had always been there. from the moment you saw her, you felt it, this quiet certainty that no one else would ever measure up. not because she tried to be more than anyone, but because she simply was. every small gesture, every glance, every word seemed to land with a weight that lingered longer than it should have. you didn’t even try to convince yourself otherwise. no one could rival her. not for you.

if you’d have asked your childhood self where you’d be in your twenties, you never in a million years would have expected this.

your knee bounced up and down, restless against the pleated fabric of the le sserafim dorm couch. across from you, chaewon watched in silence, her stare steady and unreadable. it wasn’t disappointment. it wasn’t frustration. it wasn’t pity either. whatever it was sat heavy between the two of you, stretching out the quiet until it felt suffocating. she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, unmoving behind the coffee table, her lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back words she didn’t want to say yet. her voice cut through the stillness, sharp and persistent.

"when did it all start?"

the question echoed inside your head like a bell that refused to stop ringing. you knew exactly what she meant, but the weight sitting in your chest made it impossible to speak the truth. shame curled in your stomach, anchoring you to the couch.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about." you lied, eyes darting anywhere but at her. the words came out dry and sharp, like something sour you had no choice but to swallow.

chaewon shook her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips before she finally stepped around the coffee table and lowered herself onto the couch beside you. with the distance gone, you had no choice but to meet her eyes. her face was drawn tight with concern, but beneath it was something softer, something like confusion that she couldn’t quite mask. she didn’t let up.

"y/n, don’t play stupid with me now. why are you so reluctant to talk to me?" her voice dropped, softer this time, almost unsure. "when have i ever made you feel like you can’t?" 

the vulnerability in her voice was all it took for everything to finally crack open. the frustration that had been building inside you surged forward, breaking free as sobs shook through your body. you lurched forward and felt her arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you into the safety of her shoulder. you cried harder than you had in years, not since you were fourteen and your parents sat you down to tell you your beloved pet was gone. but this sadness was different. it felt like grief that hollowed you out, like something inside you had splintered and left you struggling to hold the pieces together. part of you was thankful the dorm was empty, the other members busy preparing for the upcoming ‘different’ comeback. you weren’t sure you could handle their quiet concern or the weight of their sympathetic stares.

"i’m sorry, chae," you mumbled through your sobs, your arms tightening around her waist as if afraid to let go.

"hey, no, no, why are you apologizing to me?" chaewon’s brows pulled together in concern, her voice soft and steady as she instinctively began to rock you back and forth. her hand found the small of your back, drawing slow, soothing circles, trying to ease the tremors still rolling through your body.

"i made a mistake," you choked out, barely louder than a whisper. the words clung to your throat like they didn’t want to leave, heavy and sharp, weighed down by the shame you could no longer suppress.

chaewon’s arms tightened around you, anchoring you to her warmth. she didn’t say anything right away, giving you space to breathe, to find your footing. when she finally spoke, her voice was even softer than before. 

“talk to me," she coaxed, patient and careful, like she was afraid to push too hard but needed you to know she was right there, ready to catch whatever you couldn’t hold on to anymore.

you took a deep breath, letting it rattle through your lungs as you tried to gather the courage. the words sat heavy in your chest, but there was no turning back now. finally, you spoke.

“it started when we met.”

__

past

the energy backstage hummed like a slow building current, thick with hairspray, heat, and the collective nerves of idols pacing polished floors in their stage outfits. someone from the sound crew was yelling into a walkie, his voice half swallowed by the bass leaking from the main stage monitors. across the corridor, makeup artists huddled near mirrors, adjusting stray strands and patting down foreheads, while stylists crouched on the floor, arms filled with lint rollers and spare in-ears. you were standing with the rest of le sserafim near the waiting area, makeup carved sharp to match the mood of the performance and a dark brown trench coat tight around your frame to combat the arena's cold conditioned air. you were set to go on after txt and just before illit, the kind of lineup that kept your stomach in knots no matter how many stages you’d done.

no matter how many times you’d been here before, performing in front of fans at music bank, the nerves never seemed to completely fray. 

you’d rehearsed ‘hot’ until your joints felt fused with muscle memory, the choreography living in your spine even when the music wasn’t playing. still, the thought of the audience made your breath catch in the back of your throat. fans, seniors, label staff, cameras broadcasting to god knows how many countries. it was so numbingly daunting. especially considering it was your first performance back from a hiatus.

chaewon was beside you, quietly mouthing the chorus under her breath, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket like she was trying to keep every last ounce of warmth close. kazuha stood a little apart from the group, leaning against the wall with one heel pressed to the baseboard, head tilted like she was listening to something no one else could hear. yunjin adjusted her belt with a short sigh, chewing at the inside of her cheek. eunchae held her water bottle like a lifeline, wide-eyed as she stared at the screen above the hallway showing the live feed from inside the venue.

you stayed still. part of you wanted to stretch again, or check your reflection in one of the handheld mirrors scattered across the benches, but your body didn’t move. the adrenaline had started to creep in already, making your pulse feel a beat too fast under your skin.

chaewon leaned in just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours as she glanced down the hallway.

“you okay?” she asked under her breath, voice low enough to disappear under the buzz of staff calls and monitor feedback. she didn’t look at you directly when she said it, but you could feel her watching anyway.

you nodded once, too fast to be convincing. “yeah. just cold.”

she huffed a soft laugh, barely audible. “you always say that when you're about to freak out.”

you cracked a smile, or tried to. your face didn’t quite cooperate.

“how’s your leg?” she added, quieter now.

you shifted your weight subtly, the movement instinctive. it didn’t hurt, not exactly. not anymore. not in the way it did when you first fell wrong during rehearsal, when the whole room had gone sideways with pain and panic, or in the weeks after when even watching the others practice felt like swallowing glass. but you still felt it, like a ghost in the muscle.

“it’s fine,” you said. “tight. but fine.”

chaewon finally looked at you then, head tilting the slightest bit. “don’t push it.”

you nodded again, this time slower. “i won’t.”

the injury had pulled you off the last cycle of promotions, and even though everyone was supportive, there was a quiet pressure in your chest that hadn't gone away. something about being away too long, about having to prove you still belonged here. you’d come back in time for end-of-year rehearsals, cleared for stage just weeks ago, and every performance since had felt like walking on a wire.

chaewon’s hand brushed yours for a second, nothing more than a touch, and then she stepped back into place as the call came through the earpieces.

“le sserafim, standby.”

you felt your body move before your brain could catch up, following the rest of the group toward the stage entrance. only, before you could step too far, you’re stopped at the feeling of a lean body knocking into you. your shoulder jerked slightly from the contact, slightly dazed. it wasn’t hard. more of a fleeting bump, the kind that happened constantly backstage with too many bodies moving through tight hallways. still, something about it snapped you out of your thoughts like cold water poured down the back of your neck.

“sorry,” came a voice, low and smooth, so casual it almost didn’t register.

you turned, expecting a rushed bow from a staff member or maybe one of the rookie groups shuffling into their next camera queue. instead, your gaze landed on her.

not framed by a screen. not softened by filters or distant from across a press conference room. she was right there, close enough that you could make out every detail. her presence hit you before your brain even had time to register it properly.  

karina. there was something absurd about seeing her in person. she wasn’t supposed to look like that up close. flawless skin, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, that slight smirk playing on her lips like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had. you’d seen her before, who hadn’t? her pretty face was almost everywhere you looked. but this was different.

her outfit clung to her like it was built around her frame. the black crop top, bold with white lettering, sat sharp above her waist. her camouflage jacket hung from her shoulders in a way that looked effortless but deliberate, like it was meant to fall just so. she wore a belt low on her hips, her entire look edged in something that felt like danger wrapped in gloss. gold hoops caught the light as she turned slightly, and the chain around her neck only made the entire picture feel more untouchable. her makeup was heavy but immaculate. smoky eyes that gave her an almost feline sharpness, lips painted in a soft gradient that contrasted the fierceness of everything else. her hair was loose and wild in the best way, falling in soft waves that framed her face with a kind of studied mess. and her face—god, her face. she looked like a portrait. so symmetrical it almost hurt to look at her for too long. so composed it made you forget how to stand.

her eyes flicked toward you, cool and unreadable, and in that moment it felt like the world around you fell silent. the chaos of backstage, the pounding of your own pulse, even the call in your earpiece faded into nothing. 

you didn’t mean to stare, but the moment stretched longer than it should have. your gaze locked onto her as if your body had forgotten how to look away.

“it’s– karina– i’m– you’re—” you stuttered, the words tangling before they even left your mouth, your brain scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

you weren’t the type to get rattled. years in the industry had taught you how to keep your expression measured, how to stay centered even under the weight of bright lights and louder voices. you’d stood beside artists who had ruled charts before you’d even auditioned, and still managed to hold your ground. but there was something different about this– about her. she didn’t feel like just another idol.

karina tilted her head, just slightly, like she was watching a familiar reaction play out for the hundredth time. the look on her face wasn’t smug, but it was clear she knew exactly what effect her presence had.

she took a small step back, almost unnoticeable, and let the light from the stage hallway catch the side of her face. it brought out the shimmer along her temple, the warm gleam of her earrings, the perfect stillness of someone who didn’t need to say much to own the space around her. her smile curved, a subtle upward tilt that said she wasn’t surprised by your reaction in the slightest.

“i know who you are, too,” she said, voice low but steady, with none of the awkwardness you were currently drowning in. “you’re the one coming back from hiatus, right?”

you blinked, caught between confusion and disbelief. “wha–?”

“you’re hard to forget,” she said, her tone steady, neither flirtatious nor performative. there was no pause for effect, no expectation in her eyes. it was just something she believed, something she thought you should know. “it’s good to see you again.”

she didn’t linger, didn’t wait to see how you’d react. her voice had already landed, leaving you to stand in the echo of it.

her manager approached from the side, moving with the kind of quiet urgency that only came from years of shepherding someone through back hallways and call times. they said something under their breath, too low to make out, and karina nodded in response, already shifting forward. the moment ended as easily as it had begun, her silhouette gliding back into the tide of backstage traffic, the space where she’d stood still warm in your memory.

you hadn’t even noticed you’d stopped breathing until your lungs drew in sharp, like surfacing after too long underwater.

“hey,” chaewon said softly, reappearing at your side, her hand wrapping around your wrist with a gentleness that steadied you. “you good?”

you nodded, slower this time, like your body had finally caught up to itself.

“yeah,” you swallowed. “i’m good.”

the voice in your in-ear sounded again, a warning you were running out of time. chaewon practically dragged you up the stairs leading to the main stage. the bass from the opening bars was already humming through the soles of your boots, the kind of low thrum you felt more than heard.

you took a breath and stepped forward, coat shifting around your frame as you moved into position. but even as the adrenaline surged, even as you slipped back into the choreography that had been burned into your bones, one thing refused to quiet.

the place where her shoulder brushed yours still tingled beneath your coat, like her presence had branded itself into your skin.

no matter how sharp your lines were on stage, no matter how many cameras found your face, the imprint of her gaze clung to the back of your mind like it had nowhere else to be.

__

the practice room was quiet except for the low hum of the heater in the corner, a steady, almost soothing sound against the silence. you sat cross-legged on the floor, your hands resting loosely on your knees, absentmindedly stretching your fingers and wrists while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely. two full days had passed since the performance, but karina’s presence refused to fade. it kept replaying in your mind, like a song stuck on repeat, subtle but impossible to ignore.

her face slipped into your thoughts at odd moments. when you were tying your shoes, when you caught your reflection in the mirror, even during quiet moments when nothing was demanding your attention. it wasn’t just the fact that she was famous, or how every detail of her appearance was sharp and flawless under those unforgiving stage lights. it was something deeper than that. you could still hear the tone of her voice, calm and steady, without any hint of performance or pretense. the way she spoke to you was simple and straightforward, but it carried a weight that suggested she meant every word. her certainty had caught you off guard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind. it was strange how something so small could linger like this, how the memory of her had settled quietly inside you, pulling at your thoughts in a way you hadn’t expected.

you found yourself replaying the moment she brushed past you backstage, how her shoulder had lightly touched yours for just a second, but it left a strange warmth that lingered longer than it should have. even now, you could almost feel it, like a quiet spark beneath your skin.

chaewon settled against the mirror, her back resting lightly on the cool glass as she glanced your way from the corner of her eye. there was a quiet patience in her gaze, like she was giving you space but still keeping track of you. across the room, yunjin was half sprawled on the floor like she’d been poured there. she looped a hair tie around her fingers with the slow boredom of someone who was pretending she wasn’t waiting for a cue to speak. the silence hung for another beat before she cracked it open.

"so," yunjin said, twirling the elastic. "are we just gonna sit here breathing at each other like a lofi-girl youtube live stream?"

"don’t encourage her," chaewon replied under her breath, a habitual comment whenever the younger girl would stir the pot. 

"i’m just saying," yunjin went on, ignoring the warning like she always did, "if i wanted to watch two people avoid talking, i’d go back to my last situationship."

you didn’t say anything. you weren’t even sure what mood you were in. just the dull ache of overstimulation and not knowing what to do with yourself. practice had ended, no one was filming, and you were just left with too much of your own brain.

“you’ve been kind of quiet lately,” chaewon said softly, ignoring yunjin’s comments with a subtle eye roll as she turned her full attention your way, curiosity embedded in her soft gaze. “everything okay?”

you forced a small smile, trying to sound casual. “yeah, just tired i guess. being back on stage, it’s a lot.”

yunjin nodded. “we get it. it’s a lot for all of us sometimes.”

chaewon gave you a look that said she wasn’t convinced. “you’re not telling us everything.”

you hesitated, the weight of keeping your thoughts to yourself pressing down. “it’s nothing. just nerves. i’m still getting used to stuff again.”

chaewon’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but she didn’t press. instead, she leaned her head back against the mirror, watching you like she was waiting for the right moment to push a little further. yunjin stayed quiet for once, her usual teasing energy simmering down as the room settled into a softer, quieter kind of tension. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt fragile.

you shifted your weight, letting your fingers fidget against the fabric of your sweatpants. the truth sat heavy in your chest, but you weren’t sure how to shape it into words that didn’t sound ridiculous. how could you explain that it wasn’t the comeback, or the pressure, or even the exhaustion that had you tangled up like this. it was one moment, one person, one look that kept resurfacing no matter how many times you tried to push it aside.

“you know,” yunjin finally said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to ease the edge of the silence, “it’s okay to admit when something’s got you in your head. we’ve all been there.”

"or someone," chaewon added softly, like she was testing the waters, her eyes still fixed on you, steady and patient.

your stomach twisted, the words clawing at your throat. you stared down at your hands, thumbs pressing into each other in a nervous rhythm. the name hovered at the edge of your tongue, ready to tumble out before you could stop it. you hated how easily she occupied your mind, how quickly her name wanted to surface.

only, before you could say anything, the sharp click of the practice room door opening cut through the moment. you all turned as your manager stepped inside, his head poking through the doorway, eyes scanning the room before landing squarely on you.

"y/n. company meeting."

"now?" your voice came out confused, your brows pulling together. no one had mentioned any meeting to you.

"yes. let’s get moving," he said with a quick nod, already stepping back into the hallway, expecting you to follow.

you rose to your feet automatically, your body moving before your brain had the chance to catch up. behind you, you could feel chaewon and yunjin exchanging glances, their confused stares following you as you trailed after your manager and disappeared down the corridor.

every time you opened your mouth to ask your manager what the meeting was for, something held you back. maybe it was the way he walked ahead without looking back, or the tension in his shoulders that made you think twice. the words sat heavy on your tongue, but never quite made it out. you told yourself you’d ask at the elevator, then in the hallway, then right before the door. but each time the moment slipped past.

by the time you finally worked up the courage to speak, you were already standing outside the meeting room. the door loomed in front of you, quiet and familiar. you had been in that room more times than you could count, but something about it felt different now. the lights inside were already on, shadows shifting through the frosted glass, and your heart began to thud with a dull, uneasy rhythm. inside were the other managers, already seated and waiting. at the forefront of them was a familiar face, sumin. his eyes met yours the moment you stepped through the door, a small smile tugging at his lips.

his face was weathered in a way that spoke of long nights and too many years in the industry. though still young by most standards, he was clearly older than your own manager, who barely looked past his twenties. sumin had to be in his mid-thirties, if not a little older. there was something steady about him, something that made the room feel more serious the moment he looked your way.

he was already seated when you walked in, scrolling through something on his tablet, a half drunk coffee sweating on the table beside him. you barely had time to sit before he spoke.

“we’ve been reached out to,” he said, tapping once on the screen without looking up. “sm wants you to participate in a special stage.”

your brows lifted slightly, but you didn’t say anything right away. special stages came up all the time, especially with award season approaching. sometimes it was a group number, sometimes backup for a bigger act. but rarely did the spotlight land on you, and definitely not like this.

you settled in slowly, your voice cautious. “okay... what kind of stage?”

he tapped the screen once more before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. his expression was calm, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, something that made your stomach tighten just a little.

“they want a duet with karina from aespa.”

you blinked. the name settles over you like a quiet shift in atmosphere, not loud or dramatic, but enough to stop your thoughts in their tracks for just a moment. karina. the same girl who had been circling your mind without pause for the past two days, refusing to leave no matter how many times you tried to shake her off. you could still see her face clearly in your memory, almost annoyingly so. delicate features sharpened by confidence, eyes that held your gaze a little too long, and lips that moved with a softness that made everything she said feel like it was meant only for you.

“me and karina?” you asked, trying to keep your tone even. “just us?”

he nodded once. “just the two of you. high profile. one performance only.”

you sat back in your chair, the weight of it starting to settle. it wasn’t just any special stage. it was the kind people talked about before and after. clips that trended. gifs that never stopped circulating. and now, for some reason, they wanted you in it. 

“the team said you match well, in contrast and intensity. they want a dance stage, so there won’t be any singing. something dark and gritty.” he paused, then added, “they asked for you, specifically.”

you stared at the floor for a second. your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror wall. tired, slightly hollowed out from the week’s rehearsals. not someone who seemed particularly suited for a ‘concept-heavy duet.’

but still, you said “okay.” 

he didn’t look surprised. just gave a short nod and went back to his tablet.

you weren’t sure what you’d just agreed to. not really. but her name echoed in the back of your mind like a half-formed thought you couldn’t shake.

__

current day

“it started then? y/n, it’s been months.” chaewon’s voice was soft but edged with disbelief, like she was trying to process the weight of what you were finally admitting.

you exhaled, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. “yeah. time flew by, i guess.”

she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. “when did everything get complicated?”

you paused, searching for the words, feeling your chest tighten with the memory. “after a few practices together. i don’t know exactly when. it wasn’t one moment. things just... shifted.”

chaewon arched a brow, her arms folding across her chest as she leaned in a little closer. “things don’t just shift without a reason. run me through it. from the beginning.”

you nodded, your throat dry as the scenes unfolded in your mind. “it was awkward at first. not in a bad way, just... careful. we were both professional. polite. she was warm, but reserved, like she was holding back a version of herself until she figured me out. and i was trying not to read into anything.”

chaewon’s gaze softened, but she stayed silent, letting you keep going.

“the first few rehearsals were strictly business. we went through the choreography, fixed timing, adjusted spacing. every move was so precise, so close. i kept thinking about how close we had to get for some of those lifts, how her hands felt steady on my waist, how her breath would catch for just a second after a hard set.”

you swallowed, the words catching a little as you spoke them out loud. “and then little things started happening. small stuff. she'd linger after practice to chat. offer to go over a part one more time even when we didn’t need to. she’d compliment me, not in a forced way, but like she genuinely meant it. and every time, it got a little harder to stay neutral.”

chaewon hummed under her breath, her expression unreadable now.

“sometimes i’d catch her looking at me when we weren’t even dancing. like she was studying me. like she was waiting for me to say something first. and i kept pretending not to notice because i didn’t want to ruin whatever... whatever was building.”

you trailed off for a moment, the weight of it thick in the air.

“and eventually it wasn’t just practice anymore. we started texting. we’d stay late to talk. sometimes she’d show up early just to see me before anyone else got there. i tried to convince myself it was just friendship, but every time she smiled at me like that, i felt it. like my chest would tighten and i’d forget how to breathe for a second.”

chaewon let out a quiet sigh. “so you let yourself fall.”

you looked at her, the vulnerability raw in your voice. “i didn’t even realize i was falling until it was too late.”

__

past

anticipation buzzed through hybe the moment word spread that you would be performing with karina. the excitement was immediate. you, arguably the strongest dancer in le sserafim, maybe even one of the most skilled female dancers in the entire company, set to share the stage with the industry’s untouchable ace. karina wasn’t just popular. she was the kind of idol other idols admired, the one who turned heads without trying, who carried a presence that seemed almost unfair. her reputation spoke for itself. an idol’s idol.

“that’s so exciting!” eunchae practically bounced up and down when you got back to the dorm after sumin informed you of the stage. she clasped her hands together and grinned widely.

and it was exciting. even through the nerves crackling under your skin like static, you couldn’t deny the rush of it. the thought of seeing karina’s pretty face again, of spending real time together, stirred something light and breathless in your chest. maybe you’d become friends. maybe you’d exchange numbers, share advice, trade stories only idols understood. maybe, if you were lucky, this wouldn’t be the last time you worked together.

if only you’d known at the time that you’d be getting more than you bargained for. 

the practice room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and sweat, the kind of lived-in scent that clung to wood floors and mirrored walls no matter how many times they scrubbed it down. it was your first time ever stepping foot into the sm building. the room was practically filled to the brim already with choreographers as you pushed the door open slowly, half expecting to be alone.

karina was already there, too. 

she stood near the center, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she watched her own reflection, quietly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. her cropped hoodie clung just above the waistband of her track pants, rising slightly every time she moved. her hair was down, the strands falling past her shoulders in a way that looked entirely accidental but probably wasn’t. a familiar choreographer stood on her side, regailing information off a clipboard held firmly in her hands. but through it all, the noise and chatter, karina’s eyes glanced up at you through the mirror when you entered. 

maybe you imagined it in your daze, starstruck by her sharp eyes and pretty lips, but you could’ve sworn her eyes lit up when they landed on you. it felt almost cinematic. like a slow motion scene in real time where your breath knocked clean from your lungs. only, before you could sit in the moment a second longer, the choreographer followed karina’s gaze and turned to face you. you recognised her. 

“oh, y/n!” lee yejin bowed ninety degrees, clipboard tugging under her armpit. 

you bowed back, relief coursing through you. truth be told, in a space as unfamiliar as this sm building, you were happy to see a familiar face. yejin was one of the choreographers to work with you on ‘hot’, a kind and creative woman you got along with through the entire comeback process. something told you this was your managers doing. 

the corners of your lips quirked up into a small smile. “yejin.”

“it’s so good to see you again! i’m so excited to work with you both. so, we have a vision here, and i think it’s going to be absolutely groundbreaking. if there’s anything you-“ 

yejin’s voice fell on deaf ears. you nodded along with her words, blips of them registering when you needed to give half measured ‘yes’ or ‘no’s’. but your attention kept drifting off to the girl behind her. 

you watch her stretch in silence. her movements were clean, intentional, grounded. there was a stillness to her that made you feel like any sudden motion might shatter something delicate. if only you noticed that she was sparing you glances, too. that you were both stealing glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. 

yejin clapped her hands once, snapping your attention back. “okay! before we get started, let’s officially introduce you two.”

you blinked, suddenly aware of how fast your pulse was thudding in your ears. as if you didn’t already know who was standing in front of you.

“y/n, this is karina. karina, this is y/n,” yejin said with a bright smile, like the formality wasn’t a little ridiculous.

karina turned fully to face you now, her expression softening into something warmer. “it’s really nice to meet you properly,” she said, voice even, steady, but with a gentle edge of sincerity that landed heavier than it should have.

you dipped into a short bow, your hands clasped politely in front of you. “nice to meet you, too. i’ve… heard a lot about you.”

“same,” she replied, and there was the faintest hint of something playful behind her eyes. “looking forward to working together.”

her gaze lingered a second longer than it needed to, holding you there. you tried not to read into it, but your skin prickled anyway.

“alright!” yejin said, cutting the tension before it could swell. “let’s walk through the choreography. we’ve got a rough draft set, but i want to see how you both move together before we finalize spacing and transitions.”

the word together hung in your head as you followed yejin to the center of the room. karina moved alongside you, close but not too close, and for a brief second, your shoulders nearly brushed.

you couldn’t help but wonder if she noticed the space narrowing, too.

they pressed play. take me to mars poured into the room, the bass low and deliberate, crawling across the floor like something alive. your bodies moved in sync, mirrored but not matching, each beat pulling you closer. the choreography was sharp but sensual, built on tension. every step narrowed the space between you, like an invisible thread pulling tighter with each count.

yejin and the other choreographers moved fluidly around you, watching with practiced eyes. you could feel their gazes tracking your frames, adjusting angles in real time, but none of it seemed to reach you fully. your focus stayed locked on the girl across from you.

karina danced with a kind of contained energy, every movement precise but loose, like she was barely holding back a stronger current beneath the surface. her gaze flicked up every few counts, meeting yours in quick flashes before dropping back into the steps. it made your stomach flip every time. the first contact came fast. on the turn of the next eight count, your arms swept into an intertwined movement, palms grazing as your bodies shifted past each other. the warmth of her skin against yours was brief, but enough to spike your pulse. her fingertips brushed yours like she was reading you, testing the weight of the space between you.

your breath hitched, but you didn’t miss a beat. if she felt it too, she didn’t show it. her face stayed composed, but her eyes flicked to yours again, just for a second. a glance that didn’t need words.

when the moment came, the one where your hand hovered near her waist, where your face came just shy of touching, you felt it. the falter. it was barely anything. a pause no longer than a breath, but enough to notice. her fingers hesitated before landing on your collarbone, a little too soft, a little too late.

after a few run-throughs, yejin clapped once. “that’s good for today. we’ll refine the arm transitions next time. don’t overthink it. the more you do it, the more natural it’ll feel.” they scribbled something onto the clipboard, glanced between the two of you, and added, “great work, both of you.”

then the choreographers, lead by yejin left, pulling the studio door shut behind them with a soft click.

the silence that followed was almost jarring. no music. no directions. just the sound of your own breathing, fast and uneven, as the adrenaline started to fade. karina was still standing at center, arms back at her sides now, her expression unreadable.

you let the quiet stretch a little longer, both of you standing there in the center of the studio, caught in something that didn’t quite have a name yet. after a moment you took a slow step toward her, pulling the words from the space between you like they’d been hanging there the whole time.

“so,” you finally say, your voice soft but steady, “what do you think about all this? the choreography, the concept... everything?”

karina lets out a slow breath, her eyes flicking down briefly before returning to you. “it’s different,” she admits. “i wasn’t sure at first. it feels raw, kind of vulnerable. but i like that. it’s honest.”

“did i make you uncomfortable?”

her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected the question to be so direct. she opened her mouth, then closed it again. finally, she let out a breath, not quite a sigh.

“no,” she said, shaking her head. “not really.”

you tilted yours, not buying it. “but something was off. i could feel it.”

she looked down for a second, her fingers brushing against the hem of her hoodie. “it’s just…” she paused, her voice quiet. “i didn’t expect to be doing a choreo like this with a girl.”

you nodded slowly, letting the honesty settle between you. “yeah. me neither.”

karina glanced up again, meeting your gaze for the first time since the song ended. her voice stayed soft. “i thought it would feel different.”

“and did it?” you asked.

she hesitated. “yeah. but not in a bad way. just… surprising.”

karina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her arms folding loosely across her chest. she looked over at you, her expression curious but careful, as if she was testing the waters, trying to figure out how much to say and how much to hold back.

you swallow, feeling the weight of her gaze as it lingers on you, steady and unreadable. the air between you shifts, growing dense with something unspoken, something just beneath the surface. it hums quietly, tension curling around the edges of the moment like smoke. after a pause that stretches longer than it should, karina finally speaks, her voice low, almost hesitant.

"do you want to run through it again? just us this time."

you nod, maybe too quickly, grateful for the excuse to move, to shake off the stillness pressing against your skin. the room suddenly feels different. quieter. more private. the kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound too loud in your own ears. without the others, without the eyes and voices and pressure, the space closes in. not suffocating, but intimate. familiar in a way that makes you uneasy and excited at once.

karina steps to the side and taps the speaker. the low, deliberate pulse of the bass rolls out across the floor like a slow wave. you both move into position, muscle memory taking over. the choreography returns easily, but now it carries a different weight. a sharper edge. it’s not just movement anymore. it’s something else.

there’s no one to count the beats. no one to correct your lines. just your body and hers, responding to rhythm and instinct. to each other. every movement is charged. every glance feels like a question. every brush of her fingers sends heat crawling beneath your skin. the air vibrates with it. something electric, something fragile.

your eyes lock again, mid turn, and you realize there’s a conversation unfolding between you with no need for words. it lives in every shift, every breath, every mirrored motion. your bodies speak in silences, in touches that last just a second too long, in the way she watches you like she’s waiting for something. at first, it was just about the routine. the shape of the steps. the mechanics. but now, something else threads through it. you move when she moves, catch her rhythm without needing to think. you dip when she dips. you spin when she spins. her fingers graze your waist, trail along your jaw, and even though she doesn’t say a word, it’s all there. unspoken but loud.

"you learn fast," she murmurs, her gaze flicking toward the mirror, not quite meeting yours.

"so do you," you reply, but your voice is softer now. like you’re both trying not to break whatever this is. whatever it might become.

the moment passed, but something in it stayed with you, clinging to your skin like static. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it pulsed quietly beneath the surface, impossible to ignore. later that night, as your manager drove you back to the dorm, the city lights blurring past the window, your thoughts refused to settle. they circled around one thing. or rather, one person. karina.

you kept replaying it all in your head. the way her body moved, precise and fluid, like every beat was something she was born to feel. the way she looked at you during that final run, eyes locked, unreadable and intense. it had made your chest tighten, your breath catch, like your body had picked up on something your mind couldn’t yet name.

you told yourself it was the routine. the high of dancing well. the natural chemistry that comes with hours of practice. but even as you stared out the window, pretending to listen to whatever song your manager had playing, you knew that explanation wasn’t enough. it wasn’t just the steps. it wasn’t just muscle memory or partnership.

something about her had shifted something in you. and now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shift it back.

before you knew it, several sessions had come and gone. each one bled into the next until time stopped feeling separate from movement. you grew attuned to her, how her body flowed with the rhythm, how she anticipated changes in tempo before they even landed. instinctively, you adjusted your own movements to match, to compliment her lines with your own. and she did the same. without words, you learned each other’s timing, each other’s weight and pace, until it all clicked into something seamless. but it wasn’t just your bodies falling into sync. somewhere in between the stretches, the water breaks, and the long hours under dim studio lights, you started learning the smaller things too. how she liked her coffee, the songs she played when no one else was around, the way her laugh softened when she was tired. she asked questions that lingered in your mind long after practice ended, listened closely when you answered.

you learned that she hated the cold but always carried a hoodie in her bag, just in case. that she cracked her knuckles when she was thinking too hard, and that she danced even when there was no music playing. she told you about the time she sprained her ankle during a middle school performance and still finished the routine with tears in her eyes and a smile plastered on her face. in return, you told her things you didn’t usually say out loud. how you got stage fright right before every show, how you used to practice in your bedroom with the door locked and the lights off.

you fell into rhythm, not just with the music but with her. the choreography smoothed out, every transition clean, every beat hit with intention. there were still details to polish, still corrections and notes, but you could feel it coming together. the routine lived in your limbs now, familiar and natural, like muscle memory laced with electricity. not quite stage-ready, but close. so close you could taste it.

today was the fifth session. the bass echoed low through the studio floor, reverberating up your spine as the track looped for the third time. you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back as you caught your breath. sweat clung to your skin, strands of hair sticking to your neck. you were tired. just yesterday you were singing and dancing across the stage at mcountdown performing ‘hot’, running between shoots and interviews, and just narrowly making it on time for a company dinner. today, you wanted nothing more than to collapse on the cold floor.  

across from you, karina stood with her hands on her hips, chest rising and falling in sync with the beat still playing from the speakers. her expression was unreadable.

“again?” you asked, grabbing your water bottle off the ledge beneath the mirror.

“mm,” she nodded, wiping the side of her neck with a towel. “you were a little early on that last transition.”

you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “i think that was you.”

karina’s mouth twitched, something dangerously close to a smile ghosting over her lips. but she didn’t argue. instead, she walked toward the speaker to restart the track, her silhouette backlit by the soft overhead light. the air in the studio was warm and thick with the scent of sweat, fabric softener, and whatever expensive perfume she always wore that clung to the inside of your lungs.

you moved back into position, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“from the chorus?” she asked.

“yeah.”

the music swelled, and you both dropped into motion. each step, each beat, choreographed to bring you closer. your movements mirrored one another, bodies shifting with practiced ease. but the closer you got, the harder it was to ignore the electricity simmering just beneath the surface. it had been building all week. maybe longer. the brush of her arm when she passed too close. the way her gaze lingered too long when you weren’t looking. the deliberate softness in her voice when she said your name.

karina stepped into you for the partner moment, hands on your hips, her body sliding just barely against yours. her touch was firm, professional. but her breath hitched. just for a second, and her hands stayed there too long. you held her gaze in the mirror.

“your count’s off,” she said, but her voice was lower now, less sure.

“no, it’s not.”

only silence followed when the music ended, fading into static and stillness. you didn’t move and neither did she. your reflection looked back at you.  two figures standing too close, eyes locked, tension drawn taut between you like a wire about to snap.

karina stepped back a half inch, but it was pointless. the charge in the air didn’t go anywhere.

“why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, voice calmly measured.

she blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. her pretty features twisted up into a small confused frown. “like what?”

“like you’re trying not to.”

her expression cracked, just slightly. she sighed, shaking her head dismissively. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

karina didn’t answer. her eyes were on your mouth now, flicking back and forth between your collarbone and eyes like she was searching for an out to the conversation. lowe and behold, she found one. 

“we should go again,” she said finally, retreating behind something safe and professional as she hit play on the record for the nth time that session.

only when the music started, she didn’t move right away. she stepped behind you instead. slowly, deliberately. her hands found your waist like muscle memory. 

“fix your posture,” she said, but her voice was hoarse now.

your stomach tightened. 

she stood close, so close you could feel the rise and fall of her breath brushing softly against your neck, just beneath your ear. the air between you was thin, heavy. her chest, warm and steady, pressed lightly into your back, and your body tensed without meaning to. the contrast was jarring. her hands were cold, fingertips like little jolts of static as they slid down your sides, slow and deliberate.

goosebumps bloomed in her wake, a shiver chasing the trail she left behind. she didn’t rush. her fingers paused at your waist, then tightened, just enough for you to feel her there, claiming that space. her breath hitched. maybe yours did too.

the room felt suddenly smaller, the silence stretched and loaded with everything neither of you was saying. the weight of her touch, the heat of her body, the sharp sting of her cold hands. it all sank into your skin like a question waiting to be answered.

you watched her through the mirror, the way she studied you with that same quiet intensity she always wore. eyes dark, lips drawn into a firm line, her expression unreadable. she didn’t blink much. just let her gaze roam over you, slow and deliberate, like she was cataloguing every inch. 

you weren’t naive. you knew she didn’t need to touch you like this. she didn’t need to correct your stance, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. she especially didn’t need to do it with both hands. not this slowly. she knew it, too. that knowledge hung between you like a thread, neither of you acknowledging it but both of you feeling the weight of it in every careful motion, every inch of space that no longer existed.

she touched you carefully, as if the wrong move would have you crumbling in her grip. her touch was cautious, curious. 

karina wasn’t sure what it was about you that made her so confused. every carefully crafted belief she had was tested the very minute you stumbled into her life. every religious idea embedded into her mind, every self deprecative whisper that told her she was wrong for finding beauty in another woman. with your waist between her hands, your body reacting, your stomach clenching taut and your head tilting slightly so her breath hit your neck— she decided then and there that you were like a drug. 

she tried to tell herself to step away, she really did. she tried to push her attraction to you into the deepest depths of her mind, forced herself to think about the allure she found in tall men like jaewook with coy smiles and handsome features. each and every time, she failed. the intoxication smell of your perfume permeated her senses. the intoxicating way your breath hitched when her right hand drifted up from your hip, nails lightly grazing your back beneath your shirt, lived in her mind like a memory she would never be able to shake. everything about you, she craved. no amount of gospel would ever equal the way she knew she’d commit to you like you were holy. 

whatever guilt she felt in that fleeting moment immediately evaporated when her body reacted on instinct. karina gently turned you around so you were facing her, closed in between her arms. the second you were face to face, she suddenly pushed you against the mirror she ogled you down through only seconds before. a quiet gasp slipped past your lips when your back met the cold surface, but it was her eyes that undid you. 

“this is wrong,” karina whispered, her voice low and wrecked, almost like she was pleading with herself more than with you. her hands still rested at your waist, but there was a tremble in them now, like she was on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she should fall into.

your eyes searched hers, the reflection of the two of you in the mirror blurring behind her. you didn’t look away. “does it feel wrong?” you asked, barely above a breath. your tone wasn’t challenging. it  was gentle, honest, like you were offering her a lifeline instead of an excuse.

she blinked, slow, as if the question hit something deep in her. her jaw clenched, the war playing out across her face in full view. “i don’t know what i’m doing,” she admitted, and it cracked something open in you.

“then stop thinking,” you said, voice soft but certain, and that was all it took.

karina surged forward, her mouth crashing into yours with a desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. it wasn’t tentative. it wasn’t careful. her kiss was messy, searing, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs and left no room for second thoughts. her hands slid up your sides, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt, clutching like she needed to ground herself in your skin.

you kissed her back just as hungrily, your hands finding her jaw, her hair, anything you could hold on to. there was heat everywhere. between you, around you, pulsing through every inch of your bodies as they pressed together. your back arched slightly against the mirror, the cold glass a sharp contrast to the fever in your blood.

karina groaned softly into your mouth, her fingers digging in just a little deeper, her lips parting like she wanted to drink you in, like she didn’t know how to stop now that she’d started.

whatever guilt she thought she’d feel was drowned beneath the tide of want, swept away by the way you kissed her like you’d been waiting for this moment just as long. her mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses that left your skin burning.

“tell me to stop,” she whispered against your throat, breath hot and shaky.

you didn’t. you tilted your head back and pulled her closer. her fingers curled against your waist, possessive, desperate, like she thought you might disappear.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” she breathed, the words so quiet you barely caught them, but the weight of them slammed into you like a wave.

her voice was raw, frayed at the edges, like the feeling had clawed its way out of her chest. she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and blown wide with something far past want. it was too much, too fast, and not nearly enough.

“i think about you all the time,” she continued, barely pausing for air. “when i shouldn’t. when i’m alone. when i’m with other people. and i hate it. i hate that i want you like this.”

you stared at her, stunned by the intensity pouring out of her like it couldn’t be stopped, like she’d cracked open and spilled everything she was too scared to say until now.

“but i do,” she whispered. “god, i do. and right now, i don’t think i can pretend i don’t.”

she trailed kisses down your throat again, each one slower than the last, lips parting just enough to taste. her hands traveled with her mouth. up your sides, around your ribs. not quite touching, but close enough to make your breath catch.

“you drive me crazy,” she murmured, lips barely grazing your collarbone. “i’ve tried so hard not to want this.”

“then don’t try,” you whispered back, voice trembling.

that was all the encouragement she needed. she tugged your shirt over your head in one fluid motion, eyes devouring you like she couldn’t believe you were real. her touch followed, fingertips dragging down your torso, lingering in reverent, slow passes like she wasn’t in a hurry. like she wanted this to last.

you reached for her, fingers sliding beneath her hoodie, needing to feel her just as bare, just as close. her skin was warm, soft under your touch, muscles tense as if holding back. she helped you pull her top off, and suddenly you were chest to chest, skin to skin, heat rolling off her in waves.

her mouth was back on yours in an instant, hands framing your face now, like you were something delicate, something sacred. she kissed you like prayer, like apology, like surrender.

nothing had ever felt more like heaven than it did coming apart in karina’s arms. 

__

current day

at some point, the others came home. you heard them before you saw them. shoes kicked off by the door, the rustle of jackets, the low hum of familiar voices echoing down the hall. normally, you would have greeted them, maybe even joined in on the quiet chaos of winding down after a long day. but tonight, you stayed curled on the couch, chaewon’s arm around your shoulders, your body still trembling in the aftermath of everything that had come undone.

they paused in the entryway. you could feel the weight of their curiosity before they even stepped into the room. yunjin was the first to cross the threshold, all teasing grin and raised brows. until she saw your face. the moment she caught sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes, the expression melted off her like ice in warm water. all that was left was quiet concern. her mouth opened, like she was about to ask something, but sakura shot her a warning look sharp enough to cut glass.

whatever question was on yunjin’s tongue died instantly.

the rest of the girls lingered for only a moment. kazuha gave you a gentle nod, eunchae hovered like she wanted to come closer but didn’t know if she should, and then, one by one, they dispersed down the hallway without a word. no one asked. no one pried. not yet.

the silence they left behind felt heavier than the noise.

chaewon didn’t speak right away. her arm was still around you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, grounding you. the silence stretched for a few moments more, just long enough to make you wonder if she was waiting for you to say something first. but then, quietly, she broke it.

“do they know?” her voice was soft, but steady.

you shook your head. “no. just you.”

chaewon nodded slowly, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face with a kind of gentle care that made your throat tighten.

“do you… want them to?” she asked.

you hesitated, staring at the space where the others had just been. your voice came out small. “i don’t know.”

chaewon’s brows pulled together. not judgmental, just thoughtful. “you don’t have to tell them. not if you’re not ready. but you can’t keep letting this eat you alive.”

“i thought i could handle it,” you whispered, blinking hard. “i thought keeping it quiet was the right thing.”

“maybe it was. at first,” she said gently. “but things change.”

you nodded, eyes burning again. “i didn’t think it would get this far.”

chaewon leaned back a little so she could see you better, her expression quiet but fierce in its protectiveness. “y/n… are you in love with her?”

the question knocked the breath from your lungs. you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. but she saw the way your jaw clenched, the way your eyes dropped, the way silence folded in around you again.

chaewon let the silence settle again, but only for a breath. she looked at you closely, the kind of look that felt like it could see past your skin, straight into the mess you were trying to hide. her voice was quiet when she asked, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the question.

“when did things start to go south?”

your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. your fingers curled tightly into the hem of your sleeve, knuckles pale. you weren’t sure which moment to name. when the first lie slipped from your mouth? when she started pulling away? when you realized her idea of safety didn’t include you?

“i think…” you started, swallowing hard, “i think it was always heading this way. but i didn’t want to see it.”

chaewon’s gaze didn’t waver. “tell me.”

you took a deep breath.

__

past

you knew what you were getting into. you truly did. in moments of silence, your mind subconsciously drifts back and forth between all of the stolen moments and the late nights where you felt like you were the center of her world. but of course, you remember her warning. a warning laced in sweetness and compassion, but one that you should’ve known would keep her from ever truly being yours; wholly and completely.  

you swallow when you remember a particular time in one of the many hotel rooms of daegu. she’d just snuck in with her face mask pulled up over her mouth, but still you were rocked by her beauty. you don’t think you could ever truly get used to the absurdity of how gorgeous she was. 

the minute you let karina in and shut the door firm behind her, she practically raced to take you into her arms. discarding her face mask haphazardly, she pulled you in close and towards the bed. she wanted so badly to be close to you that it physically hurt her. she pushed her face into your neck as she held you tight, her breath warm against your neck, her nose cold from the trekk she’d made through the cold hotel elevators. but you didn’t mind. not when she held you like you were the one and only thing she needed. 

her fingers traced idle patterns over the fabric of your sleeve, but you could feel the tension underneath her soft touch. she had been quieter than usual all night, and even now, curled into you like she never wanted to move again, her mind felt far away.

“you okay?” you asked softly.

her hand stilled for a moment. “mm-hm.”

you waited. you knew her well enough to know that when she got quiet like this, it wasn’t nothing. she was trying to find the words, but the words scared her.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered, brushing your hand gently through her hair.

another beat of silence. her breath hitched slightly. “it’s not you,” she said finally, her voice barely audible. “you know that, right? it’s never been you.”

“i know,” you whispered, but your chest tightened anyway.

she shifted, sitting up just enough to meet your gaze. her eyes were glassy, wide, full of something heavy she’d been carrying for too long. “it’s just… this isn’t like other places,” she said softly. “it’s korea. you know how it is here. you know what happens.”

you swallowed, nodding. “yeah.”

“it’s not just the fans,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly now, words starting to rush like she was afraid she might lose the courage to say them if she didn’t spill them all at once. “it’s the companies. the sponsors. the media. even my own family. it’s not just about me being happy. it’s about all the people who depend on me. all the people watching. waiting for me to slip. and if this ever got out—” she broke off, biting her lip. “we’ve seen what happens to people here. to idols who don’t fit what they’re supposed to be.”

you reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “i know. i’ve seen it too.”

“they ruin you.” her voice cracked. “the headlines. the rumors. the fake stories. the comments. people get blacklisted, abandoned by their own companies. brands drop them overnight. fans turn on them like they never loved them to begin with. even if it’s not true, even if it’s just speculation, it’s enough to destroy someone’s career. to destroy their life.”

her fingers tightened around yours. “sometimes i think about what they would say. about you. about me. what they would write. how fast it would all unravel.”

you stayed quiet, letting her speak, not wanting to interrupt the dam finally breaking.

“i’ve worked so hard for this,” she whispered. “i’ve built everything on being perfect. being who they want me to be. i know it’s stupid, but i’m scared. i’m scared of losing it all. of losing you, even. if it all fell apart, i don’t know how i would survive it.”

your heart ached. “you wouldn’t lose me,” you said softly. “not ever.”

you meant it. with every fiber of your being, you spoke your words and committed to them like gospel. you knew as well as she did that keeping your situation private was the best for your careers. still, when your mind then drifted between all of the instances it felt like more, the tug in your chest sweltered into a sharp ache. 

another hotel room in busan. the room was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only came late at night, when the world outside slowed down just enough for you to breathe. thin streaks of city lights slipped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting faint reflections on the walls. everything felt distant. the traffic below, the cameras, the eyes always watching. here, inside this small bubble, it was just you and her.

the door opened with a gentle click, barely louder than a breath. she slipped inside, her movements careful, deliberate, as if even the air might be listening. the moment her eyes met yours across the dimly lit room, her shoulders relaxed, her entire frame softening as though she had been waiting all day for this exact moment.

you sat on the bed, legs folded beneath you, watching her with a small, involuntary smile pulling at your lips. “hey,” you whispered.

“hi,” she breathed, her voice a quiet exhale as she crossed the room to you. her bag slid from her shoulder, forgotten on the floor as she climbed onto the bed beside you, immediately curling into your side like muscle memory. her head rested against your chest, one arm slung across your waist, her fingers lightly brushing your ribs. the weight of her pressed into you in a way that felt grounding, like you were anchoring her.

your hand found her hair, fingers slipping through the soft strands, tracing lazy paths over her scalp. you felt the tension leaving her body piece by piece with every stroke. she let out a long, quiet sigh, like she had been holding her breath all day and could finally let it go.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in silence, not because there was nothing to say but because neither of you needed words to fill the space. outside these walls, everything was complicated. endless obligations, careful glances, coded answers. but here, where no one could see, it was easy. you could be soft with each other. you could be real.

“i missed you,” she whispered eventually, her voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

your chest ached, the words both sweet and heavy. “i missed you too.”

her fingers traced idle patterns on your side, drawing invisible shapes as her breath slowed. “sometimes i wish i could just stay here,” she said quietly. “never leave. never have to pretend again.”

you kissed the top of her head gently, feeling the familiar sting behind your ribs, the one that always came when you thought too hard about all the ways you had to stay invisible. “me too.”

her voice grew softer, more fragile. “it’s scary, you know. how badly i want this. how badly i want you.”

you held her closer, your hand smoothing down her back in long, soothing strokes. “i know,” you whispered. “i know.”

she exhaled again, and for a few precious seconds, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. just her breath, warm against your collarbone. just your fingers in her hair. just the steady thrum of both your hearts, tangled up in something that felt impossibly tender, impossibly dangerous, and impossibly good.

you remembered the stolen moments at award shows and group stages, the ones where she would find you between the noise. 

the music still throbbed faintly through the walls, distant now, like a heartbeat fading into the background. backstage was a maze of shadows and hurried footsteps, voices calling out instructions as crew members darted back and forth. but for a brief moment, tucked away behind a heavy curtain, there was a pocket of quiet that belonged only to the two of you.

karina slipped through the gap, moving quickly, her eyes darting once over her shoulder before they landed on you. the moment they did, the tension in her shoulders softened, replaced by that familiar look that always made your stomach flutter. like you were gravity, and she was helpless against it.

“there you are,” she whispered, already closing the distance.

her hand reached for yours, fingers slipping between yours with practiced ease. the warmth of her palm sent a tiny spark up your arm. you smiled as she tugged you gently back into the narrow space behind one of the stage drapes where no one could see.

her skin still glowed under the remnants of stage lights, faint glitter clinging to her collarbone and neck, her lips still painted perfectly from earlier. you watched her for a moment, taking in every detail, the adrenaline still humming softly beneath her skin.

“you looked…” you started, but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

her lips curved into a knowing smile. “i know.” she leaned in, voice dropping slightly, playful. “but i want to hear you say it.”

you exhaled a quiet laugh, your free hand sliding up to rest lightly on her waist. “you looked incredible.”

she hummed softly, her body swaying closer to yours, her eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “it’s the outfit, isn’t it?” her voice was teasing, but her gaze dipped to your lips for the briefest second before returning to your eyes. “the way you were looking at me during the performance was very… distracting.”

“was i that obvious?” you whispered.

“completely.” her smile deepened, her fingers tightening around yours. “i could feel your eyes on me the whole time. i liked it.”

the air between you grew warmer, heavier, not uncomfortable but charged in a way that made your breath catch slightly. the press of her body was subtle but deliberate, her fingers brushing lightly over the inside of your wrist, tracing gentle circles like she couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

“you’re really playing with fire,” you murmured, voice low, the smallest edge of teasing creeping into your tone.

“maybe i like playing with fire,” she whispered back, her voice silk-soft but charged. her face was close now, close enough that you could see the faint shimmer on her lips, smell the faint trace of her perfume, feel the ghost of her breath against your mouth. “it’s only dangerous if someone catches us.”

“they’re everywhere,” you breathed, but neither of you made any move to pull apart.

“i know.” she smiled, biting her lip. “but you’re standing so close. you’re making it very hard to behave.”

your hand slid up her waist, fingers splaying gently across the small of her back, drawing her closer until there was barely a sliver of air between your bodies. her breathing quickened just slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, pupils dark and wide.

“then don’t,” you whispered.

for a moment, it felt like the entire world shrank to the space between your mouths. but just before your lips could meet, voices rose from the other side of the curtain, snapping you both back into the reality waiting just beyond this sliver of stolen time.

she laughed quietly, soft and breathless, forehead falling against yours. “one of these days, i’m going to get us into so much trouble.”

you smiled, savoring the warmth of her so close. “i’ll take my chances.”

she squeezed your hand one last time, reluctant but already starting to pull away, her smile still lingering like the echo of a kiss that almost happened. “later,” she promised softly.

and then she was gone again, slipping back into the noise and lights, leaving behind only the memory of her breath on your skin and the electric hum still sparking through your veins.

of course, your mind drifted to those moments. moments where she touched you like you were some kind of delicate scripture she so badly wanted to commit to memory. 

her room was quiet, wrapped in the soft glow of a single lamp that pushed back the darkness just enough. the light was warm and low, curling into the corners and leaving gentle shadows in its wake. shoes were scattered by the door, left where they had fallen. her makeup was gone, wiped away to reveal bare skin that caught the dim light and made her look almost unreal. she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs drawn up slightly, wrapped in loose sweatpants and a simple camisole. she looked tired. but she was beautiful in a way that made your chest tighten. beautiful in a way that felt too fragile to name. it made your breath hitch.

you closed the door behind you, the quiet click echoing like a secret between you. neither of you spoke.

she moved first. she stood slowly, her movements smooth but deliberate. she crossed the small space between you with a quiet kind of confidence, stopping just close enough that you could feel the heat of her skin. her eyes lifted to meet yours, wide and searching. there was something raw in them. something she had been holding back.

“does this mean something to you?” her voice was quiet. steady, but careful, like she was afraid of what the answer might be.

you looked at her. you felt the weight of her question settle heavy in your chest. “does it to you?”

her hands rested on your arms, then climbed to your face, then tangled in your hair as her body pressed against yours. the kiss deepened, pulled, turned rough. she backed you into the wall, her breath hot against your neck. you didn’t know how it turned into the bed, or when your shirt came off, only that when her fingers traced the skin above your waistband, you let her.

it was fast and breathless and intense, like everything unspoken between you poured out through touch.

you swallowed, a feeling of bile rising to the back of your throat. some part of you felt almost guilty. you knew the conditions. hell, you may as well have wrote half of them. still, somewhere along the way, the hotel rooms lost their meanings. the pit stops between shows made you feel like more of an afterthought. 

you just didn’t expect it to come to a collapse just three days before the special stage during a shared interview. 

the studio was too warm, the kind of warmth that made the skin feel tight and the breath shallow, like the air itself was trying to press you down. above, the lights buzzed softly, casting a false glow over everything, as though the moment could be softened by something as simple as studio lighting. between takes, the silence had stretched unnaturally long, not heavy enough to feel like tension to anyone else, but sharp enough that every second vibrated beneath your skin. you hadn’t seen her since that night. not in a way that mattered. not in a way that left you pretending you didn’t still carry her fingerprints on your body.

she entered just before filming began, her arrival quiet but impossible to miss. her hair had been cut, dark waves now framing her face perfectly, falling just below her shoulders in soft, deliberate layers. the light makeup made her features look delicate, almost impossibly so under the brightness of the cameras, and the dark blazer draped over her cropped top hugged her frame with an effortlessness that made your stomach twist. she looked beautiful. too beautiful. like nothing had ever happened, like the late nights and the trembling hands and the whispered confessions had been nothing more than some fever dream you had failed to wake from.

the host’s voice, bright and unrelenting, filled the air almost immediately, eager to direct the scene, to keep things light and marketable. they asked the usual questions, the rehearsed ones, the ones meant to make the viewers at home smile and feel as though they were seeing something candid and sweet. promotions were mentioned, schedules were discussed, jokes about long working hours and friendly banter exchanged. and through all of it, you sat beside her, close enough for your knees to brush, the contact igniting a strange ache inside you, an ache that made you resent your own body for still wanting to be near hers.

the conversation shifted, as you both knew it eventually would, to the dynamic between you. the chemistry. the playful teasing your fans adored. the host grinned widely, their excitement almost palpable as they leaned into the question. "so," they said with a sparkle in their eye, "what’s it like working together? there’s clearly some amazing chemistry here."

karina answered with the ease of someone who had perfected this performance long ago. her smile was flawless, the kind that looked natural to anyone who hadn’t seen the version of her that came apart beneath you. "we clicked quickly," she said, her voice light, her tone effortless, "very professional."

the word professional struck you with a force you hadn’t braced for. as though the stolen glances and secret rendezvous in the quiet hours had been some kind of contract fulfillment. as though the nights where she had whispered your name like a prayer, where you had held her as she cried because she was so afraid of what this all meant, had simply been part of the job. like the trembling in her hands when she first kissed you hadn’t meant anything at all.

and then came the question that you had felt looming in the air, inevitable and cruel in its timing. the host grinned again, voice lilting with playful curiosity. "last question," they said with a theatrical pause, "ideal types?"

karina didn’t hesitate. not even for a moment. her answer was as smooth as it was devastating. "i like someone dependable," she said with a soft laugh that made your skin crawl, "funny, strong. like… a guy who’s confident. someone who knows what he wants."

for a moment, it was like your heart forgot how to beat altogether. you had never expected her to speak your name into this space. you knew better than to think she would take that risk. you hadn’t wanted her to confess you, not here, not like this. but the ease with which she had erased you, the casual way she made you invisible, carved into you with a quiet brutality you hadn’t prepared for.

the host leaned forward, emboldened by her answer. "oh, very specific," they teased. "tall? handsome? does he work in the industry?"

karina’s gaze drifted somewhere distant, not meeting anyone’s eyes as she added, "maybe. someone who can handle the spotlight. someone my parents would approve of. someone stable. safe."

the word safe echoed through your mind, splintering into every corner of your memory. safe. was it safe when she had pulled you into her arms after long days, when her voice broke as she told you she didn’t know how to want you and still fear you at the same time? was it safe when she had whispered that no one had ever made her feel like you did, that she had never wanted anything like she wanted you? was it safe when her body had trembled beneath your hands, when her lips had found yours in the darkness where no one could see? nothing about what you had shared had been safe. it had been terrifying and thrilling and raw, but never safe.

the host chuckled, still completely unaware of the quiet devastation unfolding between you both. "ah, you have high standards! love that."

the noise around you blurred, the studio shrinking into a narrow tunnel of light and heat. your heartbeat pulsed painfully in your ears, the air growing thinner with each breath you tried to take. but she kept smiling, as though her words hadn’t just gutted you in front of the entire world. she smiled because that was what she was trained to do. the perfect answer. the perfect idol. the perfect fiction. the one who could never claim you. not here. not now. and maybe not ever.

the host, still entirely too cheerful, finally turned to you. "and y/n? what about you?"

you smiled. it was slow, deliberate, and held together by sheer will, even though your entire chest felt like it might collapse inward. you could feel her answer hovering in the space between you, still thick in the air, suffocating and heavy. your voice came out steady, but every word scraped against something raw inside you. "i think i like someone who’s not afraid."

the host blinked, leaning forward slightly, as though sensing the shift but unable to comprehend it.

"someone who isn’t scared to claim me," you continued, your voice quieter now but impossible to mistake. "publicly. fully. not just when it’s easy."

the silence that followed was not soft. it was jagged and brutal, cutting through every false smile in the room. you didn’t need to look at her to feel her shift beside you, but you turned anyway. you met her eyes, wide and full of something that looked like panic, or maybe shame, or maybe the sharp realization of what she had just done. she opened her mouth slightly, as though words might come, but nothing did.

the host gave a small, nervous laugh, desperately trying to break the tension that now choked the air. "oh—mysterious! sounds like there’s a story there!"

but you weren’t listening. not to the host. not to anyone. you stared ahead, your gaze fixed somewhere distant beyond the cameras and the lights, beyond the stage where you had been reduced to a secret that no one would ever be allowed to know. your words hovered, irreversible and final, hanging like an open wound between you both. unapologetic. and for the first time, you felt your heart begin to fracture in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to mend. she was afraid. she had always been afraid. and maybe, no matter how much you had given her, no matter how much you had held her trembling hands in the dark, she always would be.

that wasn’t something you could carry for her anymore.

you felt your heart rip in two.

__

current day

when you finally finish regaling chaewon with the story, you see it in her face. not right away. she stays quiet at first, her expression still, eyes fixed on some invisible point just past you. the room feels too quiet, like even the air is holding its breath. but then her brows pull in slightly, her mouth presses into a thin line, and her fingers curl tighter where they rest against the fabric of the couch. it’s not anger exactly. it’s something quieter. deeper.

frustration. secondhand hurt. the kind that doesn’t explode, but settles heavy in her chest, in her shoulders, in the way she blinks like she’s trying to process too many things at once. her silence isn’t cold. it’s protective.

“you didn’t deserve that,” she says finally, her voice low and steady, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “any of it.”

you don’t answer right away. there’s a lump in your throat, thick and unmoving. you’re not sure what response would even be fair. you’re not blameless. you knew what you were getting into. still, hearing it out loud, from someone who’s always been a step outside the storm, makes it feel real in a way you weren’t ready for.

“i told myself it was worth it,” you murmur, eyes locked on your hands. “that it didn’t matter if it hurt, as long as it meant something.”

chaewon shakes her head slowly, a breath leaving her like it’s been sitting there too long. “but it did matter. it does. you can’t keep setting yourself on fire just to keep something warm that won’t stay.”

your throat tightens. “i know.”

she shifts beside you, reaching out to gently touch your wrist. her hand is warm. grounding. “you love her,” she says, and it isn’t a question. it’s just the truth, spoken softly enough not to break you.

you nod, eyes burning.

“but love isn’t supposed to feel like this all the time.”

you don’t say anything, because you know she’s right. because deep down, you’ve known it for a while.

chaewon squeezes your wrist, just once. “whatever happens next, you don’t have to go through it alone. even if she’s not there... i am.”

your chest tightens and you nod, afraid that saying anything will split you open. chaewon doesn’t speak. she just stays beside you, quiet and solid, like she’s holding the space steady so you don’t have to. still, your mind drifts.

you think of karina. the way she held you like you were hers, kissed you like it meant something, then acted like none of it ever happened. how she made you feel seen, then vanished into silence. how she smiled through that interview and said she liked confident men, like you weren’t sitting right there.

to make matters worse, you still had to see her again. the special stage was in three days. you ignored your managers calls when you hauled yourself home and into chaewon’s arms, her comfort the only tether you had keeping yourself to reality. truthfully, you didn’t think you could face her again.

still, chaewon held you.

[acotarxreader]

Honey

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Azriel frequents the hotel in Hewn City that you manage with his many lovers, a source of your constant teasing until Azriel can't replace the way he feels about you with anyone else.

Warnings: Silly, fluff, banter, back and forth hehe, a lil slut shaming moment

A/N: Hello friends, it was recently my birthday and now I am travelling in celebration but not before put out this is silly little cute fic, originally titled Heartbreak Hotel but I think Honey just fitted so much more, you'll of course see why. I'm working on a second party of Mirror but still haven't decided if it's ready or not yet ✨

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Your legs laid one over the other beneath the large oak desk, one-foot tip tapping, the sound of the large grandfather clock’s beating heart filling the lobby. Your head rested on your hands between the shadows cast by large stacks of unchecked paperwork. The ring of the well-rung bell forced you upright in your chair once again as a cloaked figure entered the hotel accompanied by a bubbly, bright female who seemingly couldn’t believe she had been chosen. You scoffed at the two of them, the male approaching you familiarly while the female absentmindedly twirled her hair by the stairs.

“One room please” he spoke quietly through his hood, a scarf obscuring his lower face. 

“No problem, here are your keys, one for you and one for Honey over there”

“My name isn’t Honey?” the female tilted her head, her doe eyes sparkling at you before she found her attention taken by the bowl of centuries-old sweets on the coffee table of the lobby. 

“Oh Honey, not like it matters” You smirked quietly to yourself for only him to hear. You offered the two keys between your fingers, his scarred hands taking them softly before he turned on his heels.

“Have fun Honey”

“Why does she keep calling me Honey?” the female asked him as he practically swept her up the stairs ahead of him, not bothering to answer her. You returned to your resting position, eyes landing on the booming clock to begin your timer. 

Sometime later Azriel came quickly down the stairs, solo, you grinning from behind your desk at the sight of a slightly dishevelled warrior. 

“Must have been chatty, two hours and…seven minutes, new record” You chuckled, your palm flat waiting to receive the key.

“You’re very judgemental, it’s bad for your skin” he teased.

“Keeps my heart young though” He smiled through the scarf covering the bottom half of his face, the corners of his eyes lifting to match yours. 

“I come here for discretion, perhaps I have overstayed that courtesy”

“Whatever, you know you love me” You batted your eyelashes in faux obsession that was very rapidly becoming less and less faux.

“I tolerate you, honey” You scoffed at his reply, taking the key, his hazel eyes examining you closely. It had been close to a year since Azriel had begun to show up occasionally with his Hewn City conquests. The hotel you managed was on the very outskirts of Hewn City, at the very limits of the mountain, too far and too cold for most to trek to. 

“Whatever” you stood, slogging your bag across your back as the sound of another Fae shuffling in the background got louder. You slid over the desk with the agile grace that comes with years of practice, landing at Azriel’s feet  

“And where are you off to?”

“Home” You strode past him, the female taking over your shift sank into your chair without so much as a goodbye. You strolled into the dark streets of the enclave in the mountain, conscious of the shadows that followed you.

“Unbefitting of a lady to travel in these streets alone”

“Unbefitting of a gentleman to comment” You shot back at him, a few steps trailing you from behind. 

“If you’re going to murder me, at least walk beside me until you decide the right time, the hovering is creepy honey” He quickly closed the distance he held from behind you, meeting your side with a curiosity he couldn’t quash. 

“How I do love our time together…ehh” You stopped still at his words, turning to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Really? It’s been like a year and you don’t know my name”

“I hadn’t realised such a thing would bother you, honey” The corner of his eyes turned up, his deep smirk masked behind his handkerchief. 

“You bother me” You lied, striding once more through the icy winter streets, the mountain's deep core working overtime to shield from the arctic temperatures on the other side of the shell. 

“At least I know you think about me, honey”

“Yeah, I think of how your money is gonna free me from here” You half laughed, feeling Azriel stop alongside you again.

“You want to leave here?” He quizzed, your gaze turning back to see his slumping shoulders, wings tightly folded in to be kept from the cold and potential threats. 

“Why would I stay? For the company?” You scoff before continuing your stride, passers-by watching you with eagerness, waiting for a moment to pounce and thinking otherwise when noticing Azriel. 

“There are plans to improve the City” He jogged once again to walk parallel to you. 

“Are they levelling it?” You smirked, gaining an equal expression from the Shadowsinger. 

“What do you suggest, honey, other than a large bang?”

“Not my job, that’s the job of the pompous assholes that live upstairs” You shrugged, unaware of your company, Azriels grin deepening. 

“Perhaps” his hands rested behind his back, striding along in levelheaded confidence you matched with your casual self-assured nature. 

“This is me” You swung your bag to your stomach, digging through its contents for your keys, Azriel inspecting your home. The towering building matched its surrounding counterparts, paint peeling, stones splitting as the structure stretched into the thick boulder it was cut into. An elderly female watched the both of you from her living room window of the ground floor apartment, eyes scanning for any information she could gather on Azriel, he felt oddly bare at the sight. 

“Ignore her, she’s as old as the dust that falls from the stalactites-” You laughed, noticing Azriels slight discomfort “-she’s probably just judging me for bringing a male near my home”

“Ah so your judgemental state is a taught behaviour” You shoved him playfully from the pavement step.

“Is yours?” You laughed, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, unsure as to why you couldn’t walk away yet.

“A consequence of my pompous surroundings” You tilted your head in question to his joking reply. 

“Walk with me some more?” He offered his elbow for you to take, your hands finding your hips.

“What are you doing?”

“What?” He laughed, scarf slipping slightly.

“You come to the hotel with a steady string of females, pay and leave. I’m not going to join the string of females who wonder where their knight with the dazzling eyes is gone the next morning”

“Aw you think my eyes are dazzling?” You shoved his obscured goofy face fully from the step, Azriel unable to keep himself from laughing. 

“I think that it's a wonder no one has strangled you with that scarf yet” You began walking without full consciousness of the decision, Azriel happily following suit. 

“It helps me to remain mysterious”

“Helps you look stupid” You chuckled, arms folding into your chest to fight off the cold. Azriel slipped from his jacket without your full awareness. You leapt slightly at the feeling of it shrouding your shoulders, the intoxicating scent of night-chilled mist and cedar brushing against your senses. You fought away the strange feeling crossing your chest, settling on the warmth of the wool being the cause and nothing else. 

“Are these the moves you put on all your females?”

“Oh, if I was using the moves, you’d know all about it, honey”

“YN”

“You’d know all about it, YN, honey” You rolled your eyes continuing on your course with no final destination. You both walked around in a new sense of comfortable silence peppered with small snippets of one another's lives until you returned once again to the stoop outside your home. 

“I should probably head in, I have work again in a few hours” The night getting away from the two of you. 

“Of course” Azriel smiled softly beneath the scarf, it showing in his eyes until they landed on the elderly female in the window, still surveying her kingdom of this long-forgotten street. 

“Until next time Smokey”

“Smokey?” You just nodded to the shadows that had appeared around his legs, his dear friends who he normally kept away from him during his escapades had sensed their master's warmth and comfort around you and believed it was time to come back to him, that he was home. 

“Ah yes…until next time Honey” You just smiled softly at him before turning and heading up the steps, Azriel still fixated on you.

“Oh your jacket” You span around to return down the steps with the heaven-sent fabric.

“Oh no, I must have forgotten it, I guess I’ll have to come back for it” He laughed, stopping you in your tracks as he gave a small wave and began his walk back to his family in the Court of Nightmares. You shook your head side to side and found yourself laughing, eyes landing on your elderly neighbour who remained watching. 

“Mind your business Mags!” You called towards her knowing look before slipping inside. 

—-------------------------------

Over the next number of weeks, Azriel made his usual pilgrimage to the hotel, but unlike normal, he was now accompanied by no one else. He arrived at the beginning of your shift to keep you company and found himself walking you home after each clock-out. He resigned himself to keep his identity obscured, for fear it would send you running in fear or disgust. You spoke freely of your ideas to change the City for the better and your plans for the future, the other side of the mountain. Azriel found himself more forthcoming with the details of his life, identifiable clues excluded still however. Your walks around Hewn City were quickly becoming both of your favourite times in the week, missing one another when you were gone, denying it when you were together.

“And then I locked him out of the cabin naked” Your laugh at Azirel’s story practically filled the streets of the city. 

“I’ve only heard brutal stories about the Illyrian mountains but I swear you make it sound like an enjoyable time”

“I have brutal stories too” He joked, your smile faltering. 

“Tell me those” Azriel looked towards your soft expression, it glowing in the faelights of the usual route home you took together. 

“My brothers and I, were torn apart from one another during the Blood Rite, forced to find our way to one another, we did unspeakable things to reach the summit, I’m afraid I’ve done a lot of unspeakable things in my life” his gaze fixated on the cobblestone in front of him as he walked, fighting away memories of a time he tirelessly tried to disown from his mind. You looked at his furrowed face before instinctively finding your hand in his, lacing your fingers through his deepest insecurity, his mind screaming at him to let go but his heart wanting nothing of the sort. 

“What you do in survival shouldn’t decide who you are in the sun”

“I like that” He found a subtle smile grow beneath the scarf again, his hand squeezing yours to test if the contact was all a lie. 

“Unless you’ve like killed a puppy or something then you can burn in that same sun” You laughed, Azriel’s hazel eyes rolling in their socket. 

“And tell me who are you in the sun, Honey?”

“I don’t know, mountain, remember?” You gestured up to the solid ceiling miles and miles above you, Azriel shaking his head in apology, an idea crossing his mind, stopping you both on your stroll. 

“Cover your eyes” You scoffed but found yourself obeying him, your hand leaving his left a chill in him he wished to smother again. He took a deep breath before snaking a hand around your waist and pulling you tight to his side, an electric pulse shooting down the two of you at the closer contact. Azriel looked to his shadowy friends, a now frequent attendee of your time together unable to pull against the magnetic force you applied to them. He swirled the two of you in shadow, pulling you through the space he created until you were taken from where you stood to land with him gently on the top of the mountain, in the Moonstone Palace. The whole motion was so painfully gentle, you felt as though you hadn’t moved from the spot you left. Azriel stood in front of you, pulling your hands delicately from your face, the wash of light hitting you causing you to squint. 

“Open Honey” His serene tone filled you with the same warmth the rising sun provided. Your mouth hung agape as you looked through the glass of the gigantic windows on the top of the Night Court, the sun beginning to stretch its limbs over the gloriously harsh landscape. You rattled a nervous laugh out, looking quickly from Azriel back to the astonishing view. You found your feet taking a step back, the sudden vastness of the space in front of you almost suffocating in its airiness. 

“You’re as beautiful in the sun as you are in the shadow” Azriel spoke with a level of apprehension he hadn’t felt around you before, afraid he’d overwhelmed you into a state of trepidation.

“I-I-I” You couldn’t manage the words, the sprawling scene stealing syllables as they formed. 

“Who’s that?” Both you and Azriel shook in alarm at the voice, Azriel thinking his family were in Velaris. Feyre stood at the end of the very long dining room looking between the both of you. 

“Azriel?” Your head flew in his direction at the first mention of his name you had heard, he balled his fists at his side, cringing his face upward before releasing the tension again. Azriel pulled the scarf that had become like his very own flesh from his face. You took another step back from him, his face rivalling the staggering beauty of the other side of the glass. 

“Hello?” Feyre tried again with a laugh, your head darting back to her as she closed in, you sank immediately to the ground in a deep bow.

“YN, it's okay” Azriel whispered down to you, you unsure if you would faint on your way back to your full height or not. 

“Ah YN, the lovely lady who keeps our equally lovely Az away from us” She reached your shadow, a hand outstretched to help you stand again. You shot upright in front of her, unable to find any words. 

“I thought you were at home Feyre?” 

“And I thought I was High Lady and could go wherever I want Az?-” She laughed in reply, your eyes boring into the ground in practised submission “-Don’t worry YN, we’re not all pompous assholes like your dear Az” your head shooting back to hers, a playful smile decorating her delicate features. 

“My-Your-I-I”

“Feyre, if you could give us a moment” She only nodded to the Spymaster before making her exit as quietly as she had made her entrance. 

“Are you okay, Honey?” Azriel spoke with the candour of someone trying to talk a baby deer into not running away from a hunter. His uncharacteristically shaky hand reached for you before he guided you to sit in a grand dining room chair, your brain fogging slightly from the altitude. Azriel crouched afore you, his hand not leaving yours as it landed in your lap, your eyes searching the hazel eyes you were learning to call home.

“I-I can’t bel- I don’t understa- We were grossly undercharging you at the hotel” You managed, Azriel’s laughing singing in your ears, his thumb tracing circles around the back of your hand.

“We can rectify that I’m sure”

“Are these- Are these-”

“The mountains above Hewn City? Yes, this is a small sliver of the world I want to show you” He beamed up, your utter shock dripping away as the return of the comfort he gave you flooded back, his shadows swaddling your ankles.

“I was going to say are these the moves but yeah sure let's go with that” You found your panicked laughter changing to match the lightness washing through your chest, Azriel chuckling. 

“You’re the first female I’ve brought home…probably obvious by Feyre’s reaction”

“Fe-Feyre, the High Lady of Night Court, you call Feyre, like she’s anyone”

“You should hear what I call the Lord of the Night Court” His joking tone pushed away the draining colour in your face, the flush of unadulterated happiness returning. 

“What is happening right now?” Your laughter was almost hysterical, Azriel stood again, pulling you up to his chest. 

“I can bring you back below if you’d like-” You walked back towards the window again, captivated by the scenes “-Or, or I could show you more of my world? You’ve been so kind in showing me yours” 

“I have work” You found yourself saying before turning back to see his confused face and then bursting into laughter.

“What the fuck I have work” You couldn’t stop laughing, Azriel joining the sound as his hands caught your forearms. 

“Well, I did leave my jacket at your place, I have every reason to continue forgetting to collect it” You chuckled against his chest, his arms tracing their way across your back, his chin resting on your head. 

“I’m gonna be another one of you Honies aren’t I?” You looked up through your lashes, a laugh continuing to leave you

“You’re the only one I want to call Honey” His thumb traced circles on your cheeks as he leaned down to kiss you in sweetness, night-chilled mist and cedar swirling into the undeniable taste of honey.

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Whatcha think?

[clumsydolly]

Can you do Obey me x deuce spade!reader + bonus is obey me meeting reader's mom?

Obey me x Deuce Spade!Reader

The 4 elder brothers!

Warnings!⚠️: mentions of gang violence

Thank you for the ask! Please send more I'm loving these! The others will be coming up in the next 2 posts since this is sooooooo long!

Lucifer

The first time Lucifer met Y/n, he assumed someone had mixed up the exchange student files again. Surely this wasn’t the actual candidate Diavolo had approved. Not the one currently bowing so hard they nearly headbutted a House of Lamentation pillar. Not the one tripping over their own shoelaces trying to salute him.

“Permission to be a model student, sir!!”

“…You may… stand normally.”

Y/n tried. And then promptly knocked over a very expensive vase.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something about fate testing him on purpose.

Mammon immediately declared Y/n his new favorite chaos buddy. Levi fled. Satan watched like a scientist witnessing a lab rat chew through uranium. But Lucifer? Lucifer didn’t toss them out, despite every possible warning bell ringing in his brain. He just… sighed.

Because at least Y/n was polite.

Which made their explosive entrance into the Devildom the most baffling kind of paradox: they were courteous, earnest, rule-abiding until the moment someone insulted their cooking, questioned their work ethic, or heaven forbid said anything remotely shady about their mother.

Then it was punches first, diplomacy later.

“You have a... unique interpretation of decorum,” Lucifer said after dragging Y/n away from a bar brawl they’d instigated because a demon sneered at their hair.

Y/n, eyes wide with shame and adrenaline, bowed again. “Sorry, sir! I’m working on managing my temper. It’s just he said I looked like a rotting goblin fungus!”

Lucifer paused. “You don’t.”

“…Thank you?”

Somewhere between the formal salutes and the unintentional arson (long story, demon microwave), Lucifer began to tolerate Y/n. Then admire them. Then perhaps against his better judgment enjoy their presence.

They tried so hard. So embarrassingly, unreasonably hard. Studying obscure demon laws at 2 AM. Volunteering for dangerous assignments because “it’s character-building.” Refusing to swear even when possessed by a low-level poltergeist. All of it reeked of someone desperately trying to prove they belonged.

Lucifer saw the cracks in the performance before anyone else did. The way Y/n would downplay praise. How they’d snap upright when criticized, like bracing for a storm. How every failure, even minor ones, clearly haunted them for days.

“Perfection is not a requirement,” Lucifer told them once, after they spent seven hours trying to rewrite a single Devildom history essay.

“But what if it’s the only thing I’ve got going for me...the only thing I want right now?” Y/n mumbled, eyes low.

Lucifer looked at them for a long moment, then said quietly, “You have far more than that. But if you insist on proving it through unnecessary self-punishment, I will deduct house points.”

That earned a choked laugh the kind that startled both of them.

From then on, things shifted. Lucifer still lectured. Y/n still caused chaos. But there was something else beneath the surface a kind of understanding. Trust, maybe. Or something softer. Something that settled into their silences like an unspoken agreement.

Y/n stopped bowing so much. Lucifer stopped sighing quite so dramatically.

And once, when a visiting noble mocked Y/n’s background at a diplomatic dinner, Lucifer simply raised a brow and said, “You’ll want to choose your words more wisely in my presence.” The air went cold. The noble shut up. And Y/n didn’t say a word, but their ears turned red.

The next day, they broke a chandelier trying to install magical LED lights. Lucifer screamed into a cushion.

Balance.

_____

Bonus

It was supposed to be a routine visitor’s day.

And then she arrived.

Five-foot-four. A trench coat. The energy of a retired boxer and a school principal rolled into one. Y/n’s mom stepped into the Devildom like she owned it.

Lucifer was ready for demons. His younger brothers. Monsters. Celestial horrors. Maybe even his father.

He was not ready for this woman.

“Lucifer, right?” she said with a firm handshake that nearly crushed bone. “Thanks for keeping my kid from dying. Mostly.”

“I… try,” Lucifer said.

“You’re doing great,” she said. “I brought muffins.”

The demons descended like a swarm of hungry puppies. Beel cried. Mammon tried to flirt and got handed a wallet budgeting spreadsheet. Satan was given a bookmark labeled “For Calming Down.” Asmodeus received unsolicited skincare advice. Levi tried to sneak away and got roped into a lecture about posture.

Lucifer stood there, utterly blindsided, while Y/n nervously hovered nearby.

“She, uh… can be a bit intense,” Y/n muttered.

Lucifer straightened his coat. “She is… formidable.”

“Yeah. She once grounded me for sneezing too suspiciously.”

Y/n’s mom leaned over to whisper in Lucifer’s ear.

“You’re the one my kid respects, huh?”

“…It appears so.”

“Well, don’t break their heart. Or their spirit. Or their GPA.”

Lucifer nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

And that was how the mightiest demon in the Devildom found himself cleaning the House of Lamentation top to bottom before her departure because you don’t disappoint Y/n’s mom.

Even Diavolo looked nervous.

Lucifer decided, privately, that he’d rather face an angelic rebellion again than be scolded by that woman.

Mammon

Mammon knew you were gonna be a handful from day one.

You marched into the House of Lamentation wearing your school uniform like a knight’s armor, chest puffed out, eyes determined, and immediately tripped over a carpet and knocked over a priceless antique lamp. Then you stood up, saluted, and shouted, “I’ll repay the damages with honor and integrity, sir!!”

Lucifer nearly popped a blood vessel. Mammon fell in love on the spot. (Not that he’d say that out loud.)

“You’re weird,” he said. “But like… the good kind.”

“Thanks! I practiced.”

“...Huh?”

It was over from there.

You and Mammon were chaos incarnate. Not because you meant to be (well, not always) but because your combined energy was what scientists would call “statistically improbable and legally concerning.”

Mammon loved your “good student” act. Loved how you saluted teachers, color-coded your schedule, and got genuinely emotional about doing your best. He also loved how it all unraveled the second someone insulted your shoes, looked at you funny, or made a crack about your background.

“Y/n! We’re supposed to be undercover! Why did ya punch that guy?!”

“He said my tie was crooked.”

“IT WAS CROOKED!”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Mammon!”

You made everything dramatic. Mammon lived for it.

But what really did it for him what really made you his favorite human (don’t tell the others) was the fact that you genuinely cared.

Like, really cared.

You tried to do the right thing, even when it blew up in your face. You apologized when you messed up (usually loudly, with several bows). You panicked over minor failures like you'd failed your ancestors. And you looked at Mammon, Mammon, the one everyone underestimated like he was capable of doing something right.

No one ever did that.

“Hey, Mammon? You were really cool in that mission today.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You distracted the guards like a total pro. I bet I could never pull that off!”

His cheeks turned red. “W-Well of course ya couldn’t! I’m the Great Mammon, after all!”

And sure, he said it cocky. But that grin stuck around the rest of the day.

You backed him up in every dumb scheme, and he covered for you every time your “upholding justice” turned into “accidentally lighting a demon's hair on fire with pure intent.”

You once both got stuck in a magic vending machine because Mammon told you it “probably had hidden treasure,” and you responded with, “Then it’s my duty to protect it!” Three hours later, Satan pulled you out with a crowbar and a threat.

The two of you had a rhythm. You’d panic, he’d lie. You’d overthink, he’d distract you with snacks. You’d yell “FOR HONOR” and Mammon would scream “FOR MONEY” right next to you as you both charged into deeply inadvisable situations.

Lucifer aged ten years.

But behind the comedy, Mammon saw the cracks.

How hard you were on yourself. How you tried to hide it by being extra loud, extra formal, extra everything. How when you messed up (even just a little), you’d get real quiet and say stuff like:

“I bet you think I’m just a screw-up.”

And Mammon the certified King of Regret would shake your shoulders and go, “Hey. Stop that. You’re awesome, okay? So what if you messed up? That just means we get to fix it together, duh.”

You’d blink. Then salute.

“Yes sir, Partner in Crime, sir!”

He liked the way you said “we.” Like you meant it.

_____

Bonus

Mammon didn’t know fear. Not really. Not even when Lucifer threatened to hang him upside down by his ankles.

But the second he met her?

Y/n’s Mom?

He squealed.

She showed up in a trench coat and a sharp bob haircut, holding a thermos labeled “Mom Fuel” and wearing the expression of someone who’d personally fought a god and won.

“Oh, you’re Mammon, right?” she said, voice chipper. “The one my kid won’t shut up about?”

Mammon beamed. “Heh… yeah, that’s me, the Great Mam—”

“Good. I brought photos.”

She proceeded to show the entire demon population of RAD baby pictures of you covered in glitter, crying next to a broken tricycle, and winning a third-place ribbon for an egg-and-spoon race. Levi printed one and put it in his locker.

Mammon tried to escape but tripped on a chair leg.

Y/n groaned and whispered, “She does this to assert dominance. Don’t resist.”

Satan, who had feared no mortal, bowed respectfully. “Ma’am. You terrify me, congratulations, not even Lucifer can do that.”

Lucifer handed her tea. Diavolo cleared his entire schedule to meet her. Barbatos took notes. Asmodeus asked for parenting advice.

And Mammon?

He hid behind a curtain.

Until she found him, looked him in the eye, and said, “Thanks for looking after my kid.”

Mammon turned redder than a cursed strawberry.

“I mean, yeah, of course, they’re my—uh—my best human! I always—uh—yeah. No problem. Ma’am.”

She smiled. “You ever hurt them?”

Mammon gulped. “Not… on purpose?”

“Good.” She patted his cheek. “Because I will find you.”

He believed her.

And he knew, in that moment, that if anyone hurt you — Mammon included — they’d have to answer to both your mom and him.

Which meant they wouldn’t survive the week.

Leviathan

Levi was fully prepared to ignore you.

You were loud. You were earnest. You saluted Lucifer like a JRPG side character. You declared your goal in life was to become “a model RAD honor student who brings pride to their family name” on your first day in homeroom. You even wore a shiny tie clip with a little lightning bolt on it, because, quote: “It’s motivational. Like, zap! Good grades!”

Levi immediately typed “NPC energy” into his D.D.D. notes app and avoided eye contact for the first two weeks.

But then. Then. You sat next to him during demon history class, leaned over in the middle of a pop quiz, and whispered:

“I totally bombed this. You got any anime recs to cry over my failure with?”

And Levi… froze.

Because what kind of normie fails a test and then asks for anime to mourn with?

And worse, worse, what kind of normie already watched all the ones he recommended and wanted to debate the lore??

You two spent an entire lunch arguing about whether the twist in Witch Princess x Hell Blade Academy was a metaphor for generational trauma or just bad writing. You had a spreadsheet. Levi had footnotes. It was… incredible.

From that day on, he stopped avoiding you. He started anticipating you.

Because you weren’t just some cheerful honor-student wannabe you were a disaster in a tie who went full anime shonen protagonist every time you failed a quiz. You didn’t study because you were “already a failure” you studied because you wanted to make your mom proud. You didn’t eat instant noodles because you were lazy you did it because “that’s what the heroes eat when they’re struggling!”

“You’re a walking redemption arc,” Levi muttered one day, as you poured energy drink into a mug shaped like your head.

“Thanks,” you said, completely sincere. “But I’m still in the filler episodes. Just wait until my next season. Character development arc incoming.”

Levi had never met anyone who treated real life like an anime and meant it.

He tried not to get too attached. Really. But then you called him “Master of the Game Caves,” gave his streaming setup a respectful bow, and offered him a limited-edition co-op controller you’d won in a quiz raffle.

“For our destined battles,” you said dramatically.

Levi short-circuited and had to lie face-down on his beanbag for fifteen minutes.

You two became inseparable in the dumbest way possible.

You cheered for him during tournaments like he was saving the Devildom. You forced him to drink water and stretch during long raids. You lent him your study notes meticulously color-coded with stickers that said things like “YOU’RE SMART!” and “YOUR MOM LOVES YOU!” (He didn’t cry. You cried.)

And when you were spiraling when you failed a test and whispered, “I can’t even get my grades up. I’m letting her down again,” Levi didn’t give you a pep talk.

He handed you a game controller.

“This one’s hard. You’re gonna die in the first five minutes,” he said. “But if you beat it, I’ll believe in your future. And so will you.”

You blinked. Then nodded. “Okay. But we’re taking turns. Co-op style.”

So you died in the first two minutes. Screamed. Respawned. Tried again. Yelled louder.

Levi didn’t say it, but he was proud. Of your determination. Of your glitter tie. Of how hard you were trying not to give up on yourself.

You were his favorite protagonist. Just… not one from any show. You were your own series.

_____

Bonus

One day, in the middle of a peaceful afternoon gaming session, a chime rang out from Levi’s portal mirror.

“Delivery for one Y/n!” came a voice. “Special message from: MOM.”

You screamed. Levi nearly fell out of his chair. A magical hologram popped up… and there she was. Your mom. Power stance. Smiling like she’d just beaten up Satan (the biblical one and the one in The House of House of Lamentation).

“Hi sweetie!” she chirped. “Just checking in! Don’t forget to drink water, and remember: bad grades don’t make you a bad person. Also, I will fight any demon who makes you cry. Including the Avatar of Envy!”

Levi screeched. Hid under his desk.

“Ma’am I-I didn’t—! I swear I only encourage healthy coping mechanisms and gaming-as-bonding—!”

She gave him a wink. “Relax, I like you. You’re the one who got my kid into that murder mermaid show, right?”

He blinked. “You watched—?”

“I binged it twice. That betrayal arc? Devastating. Anyway—carry on! I love you! BYE!”

Pop. The magic hologram vanished.

You and Levi sat in stunned silence. Then you looked at him, pale and wide-eyed.

“She’s always like this.”

Levi stared into the middle distance. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes. But… it had good subtitles.”

You snorted. “She likes you, you know.”

“She threatened me with love.”

“And you deserved it.”

Levi turned pink. “I… guess I kinda did.”

He didn’t admit it. But the next time you rage-quit a study session, he whispered, “Honor student arc unlocked,” and handed you a juice box.

Because if anyone was gonna power-up into greatness with friendship and drama, it was gonna be you.

Satan

Satan’s first impression of you was… confusion.

You showed up to the Devildom with the kind of energy usually reserved for teen detective novels and delinquent-turned-valedictorian anime arcs. You introduced yourself in homeroom by accidentally knocking over your desk, then immediately saluted and said, “It’s okay! I’m turning over a new leaf!”

He assumed you were a lost cause.

Then you turned around, fixed your chair, and muttered under your breath: “I’m gonna be an honor student. I swear. For Mom.”

Satan blinked. Now that... was interesting.

You had rage. You had guilt. You had potential. And worst of all, you had no idea how to direct any of it.

Satan watched you bomb your first paper because you forgot the citation format, then beg Lucifer for extra credit like your life depended on it. He watched you march into the library with fire in your eyes and twelve color-coded highlighters. He watched you punch a vending machine because it ate your study snacks and yell, “This is just like failing calculus!!” at full volume.

He was obsessed!

Not that he’d admit it.

At first, he tried to help you the normal way lending you a study guide, asking simple questions, sending notes with little corrections. But your brain was like a cat in a laser pointer factory. You got flustered easily, tried way too hard, and had exactly two settings: Determined Anime Hero or Absolutely Panicking.

“You don’t have to act like this is a battle to the death,” Satan said one afternoon, watching you stare down a pile of demon law textbooks like it had personally insulted your ancestors.

You tightened your tie. “Every quiz is a step toward redemption. A test is never just a test. It’s a challenge… for my mom’s respect.”

Satan almost dropped his cup of tea.

Because here’s the thing: he got it. The anger. The drive. The feeling that if you could just fix this one thing this one part of yourself maybe everything else would finally feel okay.

He saw the cracks under your shiny honor student dream. The way you clenched your jaw every time someone called you “surprisingly competent.” The way you nearly cried after finally getting a B+ on your magic theory quiz and then laughed it off like it was nothing.

“You’ve got something to prove,” he said one night, catching you scribbling flashcards in the library at 2 a.m. “To yourself. To your mom. To everyone who ever looked at you like you’d never get it right.”

You stared at him.

Then nodded, slow. “Yeah. But… mostly to her.”

You didn’t say who. You didn’t have to.

After that, Satan became your unofficial mentor. He pretended it was because he “hated inefficiency” and “couldn’t stand bad study habits,” but you both knew better. He liked helping you. He liked watching you improve. He liked seeing someone want to change and actually fight for it.

He made you read three books a week and quizzed you on them out loud. You nearly died of embarrassment the first time you had to summarize Dante’s Seven Rings of Infernal Logic in front of Lucifer. But you did it. And Satan beamed like a proud tutor from the shadows.

The two of you developed a language of chaos.

When you were spiraling, he’d toss you a book and say “page 74.” You’d know it meant “breathe, refocus, you’re fine.” When he was fuming after an argument with Lucifer, you’d sneak him a cookie with “FIGHT THE SYSTEM” written in frosting.

He called you a gremlin. You called him “Professor Kitty Ears.”

You got kicked out of the library once for screaming “IT’S NOT JUST A POP QUIZ, IT’S MY FUTURE.”

Satan bought you a planner that day and wrote in the front: You are more than your worst day.

You cried. He pretended not to notice.

And the best part? He never mocked your goal.

He took your desire to be an honor student as seriously as you did. He didn’t laugh when you practiced your speeches. He corrected your posture when you bowed to professors. He even helped you rehearse your “model student monologue” for the academic awards and only made fun of you a little.

“You realize your dramatic flair borders on theatrical delusion, right?”

You grinned. “Thanks! I’m working on adding background music next.”

One day, when you finally got an A on a test you’d bombed before, you sprinted into the kitchen, waving it over your head.

Satan looked up from his tea. “You did it?”

“I did it,” you said, out of breath. “I did it, and I didn’t light anything on fire this time.”

He smiled. “That’s progress.”

You weren’t perfect. You weren’t even close. But you were trying. Fighting. Changing.

And Satan, the Avatar of Wrath, respected that more than anything.

So when you asked him if demons could write letters to human moms, just to say hey, your kid’s kind of amazing, he didn’t hesitate.

He handed you a pen.

And watched you write.

_____

Bonus

Y/n had warned Satan about their mom. Stern. Proud. "Carries a slipper and the wrath of generations before her." He thought they were exaggerating. Until he saw her.

She didn’t even flinch when Satan offered his name and title. In fact, she just raised an eyebrow.

"Demon or not, if you lead my child into another mess, I’ll have your tail on my mantle."

Satan blinked. A long silence passed.

Then he smiled.

"I see where Y/n gets their spine. It’s an honor."

Surprisingly, they got along great after that. He brought her old books. She grilled him on his intentions like a commander. She didn’t fear him. And he? He found that strangely comforting.

"So, you’re the one making my child believe they're not stupid. Good. Keep doing it."

"Yes, ma’am."

And that was the moment Satan officially feared one human on Earth.

Thank you for reading! As said the others will be out soon! As always Reblogs are encouraged and loved!

[lilacmingi]

LIVING WITH 8 VAMPIRES | PART 3

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: ATEEZ x fem reader (they’re not dating, but they flirt with her)

Word count: 7,913

Note: Alright. We’re all caught up now. This is the most recent part which was published earlier this week on my Wattpad. From here on out, any time I post a new part for this series on Wattpad it will be cross-posted here :)

You sat at work, bored out of your mind, fingers tapping on the nearest surface as you stared off into space. Your phone began to ring, catching your attention—it was a FaceTime call from Seonghwa.

Upon seeing his name pop up, you were confused. You accepted the call, watching the screen until the top part of Seonghwa's head showed up. All you could see was the top of his raven-colored hair and his eyebrows.

"Seonghwa, how did you—" You began to ask.

"Mingi taught me how to Face... Time." He explained.

You immediately begin to panic because of all people Seonghwa was the one FaceTimeing you.

"What's wrong?" You asked, knowing immediately that there had to be an issue back at home.

"My sanity is slowly leaving me." He answered.

"What? What's going on?"

"The boys have turned to savagery."

"Oh no."

You then hear a scream, and because Seonghwa is only showing the top of his head, you see Hongjoong in the background running past shouting, "Give it to me!"

He then pummels Wooyoung, tackling him to the ground, a loud thud resonating on the other end of the line.

"I have lost Hongjoong to the others." Seonghwa stated abruptly.

"Oh jeez." You muttered. "What happened?"

"I wish I could tell you."

"Listen. I have a lunch break in 10 minutes. Let everyone know I'm expecting a group FaceTime."

"Very well."

Seonghwa then attempted to hang up, his strong brows pulled together in concentration as he tapped the screen a few times before finally hanging up. You let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

•

When on your break, you went somewhere you could be alone because you knew the call you were about to make would be a messy one.

You FaceTimed Seonghwa, praying that he knew how to respond to a video chat call. It took a while before you got an answer. Yeosang's face popped up on the screen, his lips pressed together and brows scrunched in worry.

"Yeosang?"

"Seonghwa is a little... busy right now." Yeosang informed you as he propped the phone up somewhere, stepping back and taking a seat on the couch with the others.

Wooyoung's hair was an absolute mess. It was sticking up everywhere and looked as if it had been grabbed a few times, presumably by Hongjoong. The vampire kept his eyes focused on his hands that were clasped together on his lap. Hongjoong looked similar, his gaze stayed focused on the floor as his face showed immense guilt and shame. Mingi seemed shifty, his eyes looking everywhere but the phone. Jongho had his head resting against the back of the couch as he stared at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh. San's shirt appeared to be ripped and hanging off his shoulder, and Yunho had a rash on his cheek and upper neck.

You took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you stared at the seven boys on the couch. Yeosang looked rather worried as he stared into the camera, his leg bouncing nervously.

"Why am I so far away? You could've propped me up on the coffee table." You told the boys.

No one said a word and that made alarm bells go off in your head.

"Guys." You spoke, warningly.

"About that." Hongjoong stood up, slowly picking up the phone and showing you the broken coffee table.

You could see Seonghwa in the background pacing back and forth in a distressed manner.

You then heard a faint, "Oh no, our table. It's broken."

You didn't have to see the group on the screen to know it was Wooyoung.

"Shut up!" Hongjoong snapped.

You let out a long sigh, trying to keep your cool.

"I would like to enjoy the rest of my lunch break, because unlike you guys, I need food to survive. I expect a full explanation of this when I get home."

"Yes, Y/n." You heard some, if not all of the boys mutter collectively.

"Now, clean this mess up and let me talk to Seonghwa."

The phone gets handed back to the eldest. You assure him that you'll be home in a couple hours.

"Just please try not to kill them before I get back." You tell him.

"I shall try." He responded, his tone unnervingly even.

•

You stood in front of the eight vampires with crossed arms, eyeing each of them.

"Alright. Who's gonna tell me what happened?"

"We decided to play mafia." Yunho answered.

"That doesn't explain why the table is broken."

"Mingi was so upset about losing, that he broke the table." Yeosang spoke up.

"Hongjoong won, but amidst Mingi being so upset and breaking the table, Wooyoung took the prize back and tried to run away with it." Yunho added.

"A prize?" You asked.

"Yeah. To make things interesting, we decided to play for a prize." Yunho explained.

"What was the prize?" You asked, knowing you'd most likely regret it.

"A photo." Answered Wooyoung.

"What kind of photo?"

Wooyoung slowly pulled out a Polaroid photo of you sleeping. You quickly snatched it up.

"This is going with the rest of your contraband." You snapped.

The boys knew right away where that photo would be going. Inside your room, you had a drawer in your nightstand that had silver handles, so none of the boys could get inside.

"How come she always gets to touch that drawer and we can't?" Yunho asked when you left the room.

"The handles are made of silver, you idiot." Jongho muttered.

"I am so ashamed of myself." Hongjoong dropped his head in humiliation, wallowing in his own self-pity.

•

You made your way down the hall after putting some laundry away, pausing when you saw Yeosang standing in his room, staring at something. Out of curiosity, you poked your head into the room, checking out the situation. Yeosang stood, his eyes focused on a large painting of himself hanging on his bedroom wall. He wore an extravagant Victorian-style suit with a ruffled shirt and tailcoat; you know, typical vampire attire.

"What are you doing?" You asked aloud.

Yeosang glanced over his shoulder at you before answering.

"I want to update this portrait. It's outdated."

"You look exactly the same."

"No. My hair is different." He pointed, pulling at the long strands of hair in the back.

You chortled, shaking your head.

Gazing up at the portrait, you noticed a pinkish splotch next to his eye, tilting your head slightly in curiosity. You never noticed him with that mark before.

"I didn't know you had a birthmark." You commented.

"Ah." Yeosang reached up to touch the spot next to his eye where you assumed the birthmark was. "I started covering it up."

"Why?"

"I didn't like it."

"Well, I like it."

He gave you a timid smile. "You do?"

"Yes. You should stop covering it up. Based on this painting, I think it makes you unique."

"Do you know any painters?" Yeosang asked, trying not to show how flustered he was.

"No, sorry. I don't think portrait painters are very common these days."

Yeosang hummed to himself.

"I do have an alternative idea. You have a cell phone, why don't you just take a selfie? Or even better, we can have a mini photoshoot. What do you think?"

"I quite like that idea." He smiled.

After that, you both got to work, making a small set for the photoshoot. You took sheets and tacked them up for a background, then moved a fancy winged-back chair in front of it. Yeosang grabbed a few of his favorite trinkets and placed them on a table that he positioned beside the chair. Once everything was all set up, you instructed him to choose a nice outfit for the shoot. You offered to leave the room while he changed, but he said it wasn't necessary. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was in a completely different outfit, this one was a bit more modern than the previous one in the painting.

"Vampire speed." You muttered mostly to yourself.

The setup you'd thrown together looked incredible. You had found some red fabrics to drape along the white sheet background that really made the props stand out. It almost looked like a professional set. Before getting seated, Yeosang grabbed a handkerchief from his dresser and wiped away the makeup that concealed his birthmark, turning to you for an opinion.

"How do I look?" He asked.

"You look great." You smiled. "Now it's time for the fun part. We'll use my phone to take the photos and I'll send them to you if you want."

The vampire took a seat in the chair, figuring out a good position.

"Wait!" You exclaimed. "That pose is great. Stay like that."

Yeosang was situated slightly sideways in the seat, his right hand resting on the arm of the chair, the left resting in his lap. You made sure he was centered in the photo before snapping it.

"That one was good. Try another pose."

Yeosang positioned himself differently, trying out different poses as you took pictures.

"Wow. You look so handsome." You praised.

Yeosang seemed to get all flustered at your praises, muttering a small, "Thank you." as he moved around into another pose.

You then began shouting positive words of assurance like a real photographer.

"Perfect! That's it, that's it. Beautiful! Just like that!"

Yeosang really seemed to enjoy it because he kept chuckling and getting giggly.

Once you wrapped up the photoshoot, you made some adjustments to the photos before showing them to Yeosang, who was eager to get a look at them.

"I think there's a company that will make these pictures really big and put them in a nice frame." You told him as you scrolled through the photos.

"Really?" Yeosang asked, intrigued by this new information.

You nodded. "All we have to do is send whichever photo we like to them and pay a small fee."

"Let's do it!" He urged, excitedly.

"You said you wanted it to look like a painting, right?"

He nodded.

"I did a little something." You told him, swiping to one of the photos you edited to look like a painting.

He gasped. "Y/n, you're incredible! You created a painting from a photograph within seconds!"

"Actually, I just opened the photo in an editing app and put a filter on it that made it look like a painting." You explained.

"Ah. A filter. That's so cool." He grinned.

After Yeosang marveled over the magic of editing, you got to work placing an order for him. He was so excited, and unfortunately didn't quite understand shipping; he kept asking every thirty minutes or so if the picture would be here.

"Yeosang, it'll take a few weeks. Maybe even a month. They have to process the picture, print it, frame it, then send it."

"Ah. That's alright. I can wait."

•

You went outside to check the mail like you normally did, spotting a huge box on the doorstep. After getting the mail, you dragged the box inside. Yeosang just so happened to be standing in the living room when you stepped back inside the house. As soon as he saw the box he appeared at your side, his eyes glimmering with excitement.

"Is that what I think it is?" He asked.

"It is. Should we unbox it?"

"Yes!" He clapped, excitedly.

You removed the giant frame from the box, setting it upright so he could look at it.

"How does it look?"

Yeosang gasped. "It's magnificent."

"It is?"

"Yes! I have to hang it up right away." He took the giant photo from you with ease and hurried up the stairs.

You followed him to his room where he flew up to remove the old photo, setting it aside. He picked up the new one and ascended up to hang it on the wall in place of the former painting. Slowly, he lowered to the ground, stepping back to admire the new piece.

"I love it." He smiled, brightly, his tiny fangs on display. "Thank you, Y/n."

•

You looked down at the brand new table sitting in the living room, a proud smile on your face.

Seonghwa was devastated that his prized mahogany table had been destroyed, so you took it upon yourself to buy him a new one. It wasn't from the 1800s, but it looked pretty similar to the original. You scoured the Internet for the exact table, but deep down you knew you wouldn't find it. The piece of furniture was practically ancient, there was no replacing it. At the very least, you found a table that was similar.

"Seonghwa?" You called his name, heading up the stairs.

"Yes?"

You heard his voice behind you, causing you to spin around. He stood at the foot of the stairs, patiently waiting to see what you needed him for.

"Ah." You smiled softly. "I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Yes. Follow me." You walked past him leading him to the common room area, gesturing to the table with a grin.

"What is this?" He asked, running his fingers along the table's surface.

"I know how much that table meant to you, so I replaced it... sort of."

"You are not the one who broke it."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Well, we needed a replacement. The living room looked empty without a coffee table. Also, like I said earlier I know how much you loved that table. Sorry this one isn't the same. The original was irreplaceable, but I did the best I could."

Seonghwa's lack of response was beginning to worry you, so you glanced over at him only to find that he was smiling.

"Thank you, Y/n. This means a great deal to me."

•

You stood outside the front doors of the mansion, feeling a bit on edge.

"My roommates are a little... strange. So if they say or do anything weird, just ignore them." You told your new friend, Chan, wanting him to know what he was possibly getting into.

Last time you brought friends over, San got jealous and ended up having an allergic reaction to the garlic bread you made.

"They can't be weirder than my roommates." Chan chuckled lightheartedly.

"They are." You responded. "I can almost guarantee it."

You pushed open the front door and all eight of your roommates were gathered in the living room, which wasn't unusual. They often spent time in the large gathering room doing their own thing, unless San or Wooyoung was off causing mischief.

"Y/n!" Yeosang piped up, a smile on his face, his eyes shimmering with joy.

That smile quickly dropped from his features when he saw Chan.

The rest of the boys turned towards you, their eyes immediately locked on your new friend. You paused for a moment, glancing back and forth between your roommates and the man beside you, noticing the very obvious tension in the room.

This happens every time I bring a guy friend over. You sighed internally.

"Who is this?" Asked Hongjoong, his sharp gaze pointed at the man standing awkwardly beside you.

"This is my new friend, Chan."

"Where did you meet... Chan?" He inquired, his voice dripping with annoyance when he uttered the name.

You'd never heard Hongjoong speak that way before, which made you wonder what was actually going on. He was one of the few respectful vampires in the house and was always so polite, but now he was the complete opposite.

"I met him last week when I went on a walk at the beach."

"I knew I should've accompanied you that day." You heard Hongjoong mutter under his breath.

Shuffling awkwardly, you announced that you and your new friend would go hang out elsewhere in the house, but Yeosang stopped you.

"Stay in here." He told you sternly.

Yeosang was yet another person you'd never really seen get angry or agitated. This was your first time hearing him speak so firmly.

"I suppose we can stay in here." You responded. "Come on, Chan. Make yourself at home."

"I wouldn't get too comfortable." Mingi commented in a low voice.

"Mingi." You scolded him quietly, surprised by his remark.

Chan seemed to pay no mind and took a seat beside Jongho. As you go to sit in the empty spot to the left of Chan, Wooyoung scooted over, sandwiching your new friend between him and the youngest vampire, leaving no room for you.

"Sit here." Yunho gestured to an empty spot beside him on the opposite end of the couch.

Suppressing a sigh, you head over, taking a seat between the arm of the sofa and Yunho.

"So," You started, glancing around the room. "what did you guys do while I was gone?"

"Nothing." Jongho answered without looking your way.

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife and it was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

"Um." You cleared your throat. "I'm gonna go get something to drink. Chan, would you like anything?"

"I'm fine. Thank you, though."

You stood up and excused yourself from the room, needing to get away for a moment. The tightness in the space was so palpable it made you feel suffocated.

After you stepped out of the living room, the boys' eyes still lingered on Chan, not moving from him at all.

"So, this is a nice place." Chan smiled softly, wanting to ease the tension in the air.

"Don't make small talk with us." Snapped Yeosang.

"Jeez. I'm just trying to be polite. And you guys say I'm the dog."

"You are." Seonghwa remarked. "We are dignified and classy gentleman. You are a mutt."

"A mutt?" Chan turned to Seonghwa. "Real clever."

Chan knew they were just trying to get a rise out of him. They wanted to see him lose it and he wouldn't allow that to happen.

"You're not going to provoke me."

"We'll see about that." Hongjoong said.

"What's a human doing living with eight vampires anyway?" Chan asked, eyeing the group.

"She's our roommate." Yunho responded.

"And we take very good care of her." Mingi added firmly in a matter-of-fact manner.

Meanwhile, you had stepped outside on the back patio to get some fresh air for just a couple minutes. You only used getting a drink as an excuse to take a few moments to gather yourself. You'd seen the guys jealous before, but this was a new kind of jealousy, one that was almost possessive—territorial, even.

Once you felt a little less suffocated, you went back inside, hoping Chan was alright being left with your eight roommates. As soon as you stepped foot in the living room you were met with utter mayhem.

Seonghwa had his arms and half his body stretched over his new table, protecting it while chaos ensued around him.

"If any of you barbarians break my table I shall stake you myself with the remnants!" He hissed.

You stared in disbelief as you watched seven vampires battle with Chan, who you noticed looked a bit different. Amidst the mayhem and disorder you managed to spot bright yellow eyes and claws.

That's when it dawned on you.

You totally brought a werewolf into a house of vampires.

You unknowingly stood and watched it all go down with your mouth hanging open in disbelief, unable to process much of what you were witnessing. You had only left for three minutes maximum, how did this happen?

Yunho lunged forward, tackling Chan to the floor, both of them hissing and growling at each other, tumbling along the wooden boards. They barreled towards Seonghwa who lifted the table off the ground just as the two hit the floor. You didn't miss the way San and Wooyoung were off to the side cheering on Yunho.

Not a second later, Mingi came running into the room with rubber gloves on and a pair of tongs, holding a piece of your silver jewelry with it.

"Everyone stand back! I'm gonna French fry this sucker." He shouted.

"Look who you're calling a sucker, sucker!" Chan snapped, still trying to fight off Yunho.

"Oh yeah, real mature." San scoffed.

"Rip his throat out, Yunho!" Wooyoung shouted from beside his counterpart.

You'd had enough, you couldn't take it anymore. This behavior was absolutely barbaric and uncivilized.

"Enough!" You bellowed, causing the room to fall silent.

"Y/n!" Yeosang gasped, his eyes wide as he not-so-discreetly placed an old sword back onto its spot on the wall.

Jongho, who had picked up a lamp, was quick to drop it, the object clattering to the floor.

"Don't worry, Y/n. I'll protect you from this beast." Hongjoong stepped in front of you with one arm protectively held out.

"No." You shoved his arm away. "What's going on?"

"Y/n, I can explain." Chan pushed Yunho off him, getting to his feet. "I know this looks bad and you're probably really scared, but-"

"You're a werewolf. I can see that."

"Well, yes, but you're living with-"

"Vampires." You finished.

He paused, visibly surprised by your knowledge on that fact.

"You... you know?"

"Of course I know. They spilled the beans before I even moved in."

"And you're okay with it?"

"I am. What I'm not okay with is how uncivilized they are when it comes to guests." You eyed all of them sharply.

"Did they brainwash you? Did they bite you?" Chan stepped over, pulling your shirt collar down slightly to examine your neck for any bite marks, this causing all eight vampires to hiss at him.

You gently took his hand, pulling it away.

"No. They're all very respectful—for the most part." You eyed San and Wooyoung after saying that last part. "And they're all good at controlling their thirst."

"That's right." Yunho piped up.

"Butt out."

"Sorry." He murmured, lowering his head like a puppy that had just been scolded.

You sighed, turning to Chan once again.

"Are you alright? You didn't get hurt or anything, did you?"

He gave you a small chuckle. "I'm fine. A little banged up, but nothing that won't heal in a few minutes."

"Good." You nodded. "Sorry to cut the visit short, but I think it's best that you head home."

"I agree."

As you led Chan outside you glared at the boys, giving them the I've got my eye on you gesture before stepping out the door.

"I'm sorry I brought you into this." You apologized to Chan, who you noticed had returned to normal, no longer sporting yellow eyes, pointed ears, or sharp teeth.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." He gave you a warm smile, dimples making an appearance on his cheeks.

"Had I known what you were, I wouldn't have brought you to my place. We would have gone somewhere else."

"Again, it's fine. You didn't know." He smiled, softly.

He got attacked by your vampire housemates and he's still being so understanding.

"I'm still sorry you had to experience that."

"Maybe next time I could take you to my place and you can meet my roommates." He offered. "They're a handful, but I think you'd like them."

"Yeah, like that'll ever happen." A muffled voice said from inside the house.

Glancing over, you saw Wooyoung with his face smushed against the window, the others standing behind him. Once you spotted them, they all scrambled away from the window. Suppressing a sigh, you turned back to Chan.

"I live with those doofuses, I'm sure I can handle a few werewolves."

"If you say so." He laughed softly.

After apologizing again, you bid Chan goodbye, agreeing to stay in touch and maybe schedule a day to meet his friends.

You made your way back inside to address the troublemakers, eyeing them as you paced around the room.

"What was all that about?" You questioned.

"He was going to take you away from us." Yunho pouted.

You sighed, walking over to the sullen-looking vampire, pulling him into a hug.

"He was not." You told him. "We're just friends."

"Are you sure?" He asked, his voice muffled as his face was buried in your shoulder.

"Yes I'm sure."

"You can only be friends with one supernatural species." San frowned.

"Says who?" You challenged.

"Me."

"Well, I say you guys need to start trusting me more and stop being so territorial. I thought that was more of a werewolf thing anyway."

"As much as I hate being compared to those mutts, vampires are territorial too." Jongho stated. "If someone means a lot to us, we don't really like other people hanging around them."

Ignoring the heat in your cheeks, you pressed your lips together, choosing to look past the comment.

"I'd still prefer it if you guys would let me have other friends."

The eight vampires exchanged glances and though Jongho tried to put on a stern face, you could tell he was about to cave. Even Hongjoong, who was poking his tongue against his cheek in an agitated manner looked as if he were about to break.

"Please." You added.

And that's all it took to make them crumble. Hongjoong's form deflated and Jongho rolled his eyes begrudgingly as all eight of them grumbled collectively in agreement.

•

Seonghwa's brows were pulled together in frustration while his fingers tapped the screen of his iPhone. He hated the retched thing, but at the same time he was curious to know how it worked, but only a little. You had mentioned once about all the things you could do on the device besides texting. As he scrolled, he came across a video that grabbed his attention. He got to his feet right away and headed directly for your room making sure to knock first before he entered. He may have been in a hurry, but he didn't forget his manners.

"I have an inquiry."

"Okay."

"What is this?" He held his phone out to you.

On the screen was an ad for Disney+. It was flashing different clips from some of the movies offered on the platform.

"That's a streaming service like Netflix and Hulu."

Before he could tilt his head in confusion or ask what any of those things were, you continued.

"You can watch movies and shows on it."

"I desire to have it."

"You're in luck because I have a subscription." You smiled. "You'll need to download the app first."

"App." He murmured, trying to recall what that was.

"Here." You took his phone from him and opened up the App Store, letting him watch you from over your shoulder.

He didn't think he would ever download any of these "apps" but he would at least like to know how to do it just in case he changed his mind.

Once the app was downloaded you put in your  login information, allowing him access to your account.

"There." You handed the device back to him. "You can watch whatever you want."

"What is the one with the spaceships?"

"Hm?"

"I saw spaceships on the video for this application."

"Oh. That was probably Star Wars."

"Star Wars." He repeated. "I want to see that."

"Scroll through the movies."

He hesitantly placed his index finger on the screen, sliding it along the surface so he could browse through the list.

"There it is." You pointed. "Those are all the movies right there. There's also a few spin off shows which are like side stories, but you don't have to watch them. Not unless you want to."

"Ah." He nodded. "Which film do I start with?"

"They're all in order, so you start right here." You pointed on the screen. "And end here."

"There are nine?"

"Yep. But hey, you're a vampire. You don't really need sleep so you could binge watch all of them if you wanted."

"Binge watch?"

"It means to watch a series in one sitting wether that be a TV series or a movie series."

He nodded, making a mental note to jot that down in his notebook later.

"I will be going now. Thank you."

"Alright." You chuckled. "Have fun."

•

"Alright everyone." You announced giddily as you descended the stairs. "Who's ready for Medieval Times?"

You wanted to have a group outing with the guys and had been looking forward to the trip for a while, so much so that you decided to dress the part, decked out in renaissance wear with a corset and everything.

"I wonder what that corset looks like without the dress." Wooyoung whispered to San.

He received a swift elbow to the gut from Hongjoong, causing the younger vampire to double over and groan.

"Do not speak that way about a lady."

"Sorry." He wheezed out, clutching his stomach.

"Wow." Mingi gaped. "You look so pretty."

"You think so?" You asked, glancing down at your dress, smoothing out the fabric.

All eight boys nodded eagerly in agreement.

When you first pitched the idea of going to Medieval Times and watching a jousting match, everyone was on board, except for Seonghwa who made some comment about it being unrealistic. Of course, he ended up agreeing to tag along, albeit reluctantly.

"Come on." You beckoned, jingling the car keys.

As soon as you stepped foot in the establishment, after letting the guys take a few moments to marvel at the realistic castle exterior of the building, you made a stop at the gift shop so they could look around.

"Wow." Mingi gaped at a light-up sword, his eyes sparkling.

"What's that?" Yunho asked, looking over his friend's shoulder.

"A magic sword."

"I want one." Yunho reached forward and took one off the shelf.

Unbeknownst to the duo, Seonghwa was standing off to the side, his eyes widening.

"A saber of light." He whispered in awe.

In seconds, he was standing by Yunho and Mingi, his gaze stuck on the plastic light-up sword.

"Do you have any idea what you possess?"

"Yeah. A magic sword." Mingi stated.

"No. That is a saber of light."

"What?" Yunho snorted. "No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"It is not."

"It is."

"Is not."

"That is a saber."

"It's a sword."

"Saber."

"Sword."

"Saber."

"Sword."

Meanwhile, you stood by Yeosang as he pulled a velvet cape off one of the display racks, examining it.

"I like this." He commented.

"Do you want it?"

He nodded.

"Well, if you're getting a king's cape, you need a crown too." You reached over and pulled a plastic gold crown off a stack, placing it delicately on Yeosang's head.

He gave you his signature small, closed mouth smile.

While you were preoccupied with Yeosang, Yunho and Seonghwa continued their arguing.

"Have you watched Star Wars?" The eldest inquired.

"No, but I know what a lightsaber is and this is not it."

"Yes it is."

"It is not."

Mingi, who had been watching the two go back and forth, walked over to you with the plastic toy that had caused so much commotion.

"Can I get this?" He asked.

"Of course."

Once out of the gift shop, Mingi and Yunho had the light-up swords they wanted so badly and of course Yeosang had on his royal ensemble, wearing it proudly. He looked very princely and seemingly more dignified than usual, fully embodying the princely persona you see him as. You couldn't seem to look away from him, mesmerized by his beauty.

"Are you sure you weren't a prince back in the 1800s?" You joked.

"Yes." He chuckled, his small laugh sounding so melodic. "I was just a simple townsperson."

"Y/n, please come and settle this quarrel." Hongjoong requested, rubbing his temples. "I've had enough of all the back and forth."

Trailing behind Hongjoong was Seonghwa and Yunho, both of them arguing about weather or not the light-up sword was a "saber of light" or not. It seemed as if the two of them had dragged Hongjoong into it.

"What's going on?" You asked the two.

"Yunho is infuriating. That weapon he wields is a saber of light."

"It's not." You told him. "That's just a light-up sword. Lightsabers don't have little plastic skulls on the hilt." You mentioned.

Seonghwa looked visibly disappointed.

"I told you." Yunho remarked.

Your footsteps came to a sudden halt as you realized there were only seven boys with you.

"Guys, wait." You glanced around. "Where's Yeosang?"

Before you could go into panic mode, he appeared, walking back over to the group.

"Where have you been?"

"I got offered a job."

Your mouth dropped open.

"I declined."

After purchasing tickets, you and your group proceeded to the entrance of the jousting hall, a couple employees standing by the opening with paper crowns.

"They're giving out crowns." Yunho nudged Mingi.

"Those are pathetic excuses for crowns." Seonghwa pointed out.

"Stop being a buzzkill, Seonghwa." Wooyoung muttered.

"A what?"

"C'mon guys." You gestured, entering the arena and going to find your seats.

Mingi wore his paper crown proudly, holding his light-up sword with a grin so large you thought his face might split in two. Yunho had accompanied him in wearing the paper headpiece, pretending to be a knight as he jabbed at the air.

"Human things are so fun." Mingi commented. "Back when I was human they didn't have cool swords like these."

You ended up sitting in between Hongjoong and unfortunately Wooyoung. It seemed as if the group had split themselves up and you were directly in between the calm group and the chaotic one. Yeosang, Seonghwa, Jongho, and Hongjoong to your left, Wooyoung, San, Mingi, and Yunho on your right.

You were in for a wild evening.

A staff member came by and informed you all that your knight would be the blue one and that booing the opposing team was highly encouraged, which seemed to excite San and Wooyoung greatly.

"The people in the different colored areas on either side of you are your allies." The staff member stated.

Seonghwa's face scrunched up. "What do you mean allies? It is every man for himself."

The employee chuckled, thinking the comment was made as a joke. "Enjoy the show, guys. By the way, I love that you all dressed up."

Hongjoong and Seonghwa shared a confused glance, but before the latter could speak up, you thanked the staff member and he walked off.

The show began shortly and it wasn't long before one of the staffs came walking by to serve you each some tomato soup that had been referred to as dragon's blood. Seonghwa looked at the server in disgust as the man poured the soup into the small bowl provided.

"Surely you do not expect me to consume this."

As if that wasn't bad enough, a slice of garlic bread, aka a dragon scale, was served with the soup which caused a lot of discomfort for the group. Seonghwa had visibly taken offense and started to accuse the server of trying to kill him while San discreetly pushed his plate away.

"I'm not doing that again." He shivered.

"Um. Would you like my garlic bread?" Hongjoong asked you, holding his plate out.

"Sure."

There was no way you were turning down extra garlic bread and since all eight of them couldn't consume garlic without breaking out in hives, you got eight extra pieces of the delicious bread.

The actors dressed as knights sat upon their horses, prancing around the arena and putting on a show while you ate. At some point, the queen came out, waving to the crowd while riding around. After the introduction ceremony, a man stepped out into the middle of the arena with a falcon on his arm. Everyone in the stands was advised to stay in their seats by the announcer. The falcon took to the air and flew around the arena, narrowly missing the tops of everyone's heads.

"Wow." You gaped in awe. "So pretty."

"I can catch it for you." Jongho responded without missing a beat.

The show proceeded and you were each served the main course, which Mingi and Yunho devoured, even if it didn't taste the same as it would have if they were still human. Mingi and Yunho were two of the four vampires that would indulge in a meal every once in a while, but they liked to have a glass of blood with it.

"How was it?" You asked the two, leaning forward so you could speak to them across San and Wooyoung who were seated to the right of you.

"Delicious, even if it doesn't provide any benefits to me." Mingi smiled. "Though I wish I had some blood. That would've made it taste better."

"You do." Wooyoung picked up his small cup of tomato soup, wiggling it in front of Mingi. "Dragon's blood."

The slightly older vampire laughed in response to Wooyoung's light humor.

"Well, if you really wanted blood, there is another option." San not-so-discreetly gestured towards you with his head.

Your jaw dropped and your hand immediately landed on his upper arm, delivering a stinging smack to it. Hongjoong, who had overheard San's comment stood up from his chair, ready to pounce on the younger vampire for being so disrespectful.

"Woah. Woah. Woah." You got to your feet and placed a hand on Hongjoong's shoulder, slowly lowering him back down to his seat before things could escalate.

"If we weren't in public I would rip your head clean off your body." He seethed.

"He's made that threat a hundred times. He's never done it." San whispered to you.

"Hm." You hummed. "I hope he follows through this time."

San's mouth fell open in shock.

Two knights stepped out onto the dirt flooring of the arena to battle, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Oh, this is where it gets good." Wooyoung nudged San.

They drew their swords and began swinging, blades clashing as they battled relentlessly. Impressed by their acting skills, you watched in awe while cheering on the blue knight.

Throughout the entire battle, Seonghwa was complaining about the reenactment not being accurate which you couldn't help but laugh at.

"Seonghwa, it's just for fun."

"They could at least make it realistic." He remarked.

"You weren't even alive during medieval times. How would you know if it's accurate?"

"You act as if I have never witness a sword fight."

"Have you?"

"Yes. Swords were still used in the 1800s."

At some point, you leaned over to check the right side of the group and make sure they were behaving. San, while continuing to watch the arena, tugged open the collar of his lace up shirt to expose more of his chest in hopes that you would notice—you pretended not to. There was no way you were giving him attention after that comment he made earlier.

Finally, after a few more brief performances and skits, the jousting began.

It wasn't long before Seonghwa began complaining again while Hongjoong and Jongho were in deep conversation. Even though you were all seated in the blue section and were told to cheer for your section and the colors on either side of you, they were speculating who would actually win, even if it was knights on the opposing side. Hongjoong even brought a pair of opera glasses, using them to observe the jousting match below, occasionally passing them to Jongho to point out different things about the knights.

"His form is off." Hongjoong commented.

"You're right. He's not gonna get a good hit with posture like that." Jongho shook his head in disapproval.

"Give me those." Seonghwa held his hand out.

He held the small binoculars up, gazing through them. "This is horrendous."

You turned to check on the other side of the group to find Wooyoung and San losing their minds, both chanting your section's designated color while pumping their fists in the air.

"Blue, blue, blue, blue!" They chorused.

"Destroy him!" Wooyoung shouted.

"Rip him apart!" San added.

Yunho looked like he wanted to join in, eventually yelling out, "Skewer him!"

On your way out, Mingi lightly grabbed the sleeve of your dress, tugging on it to get your attention.

"I want to be knighted. Can I?" He asked excitedly.

It wasn't often that the boys got to leave the house, so you agreed to let Mingi get knighted.

You watched in amusement as he stood behind a couple kids in line, the six foot tall vampire towering over them, his eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.

He came back to the group with a bright smile on his face, talking about how he was officially a knight.

"Alright, Mingi. Are you ready to go now?" You asked.

"That's Sir Mingi." He corrected, puffing out his chest while holding his flashing light-up sword proudly.

"Oh, I see." You chortled. "Sir Mingi."

"That was the worst thing I have ever witnessed." Seonghwa commented as the nine of you left the building. "In today's words, it sucked."

"Woah! Look at you talking like a normal person." You chuckled.

"It was the only word adequate enough to describe the atrocities of which I just witnessed."

•

(The following scenes occurred before the boys got cell phones and were able to see themselves)

Since Hongjoong had become so interested in new mirrors that were made without silver, he wanted to buy one for the mansion. On an overcast evening, the both of you set off to a nearby household store.

"This way." You gestured, leading him to the back wall of the store where all the mirrors were displayed.

His eyes widened when he saw his full reflection for the first time in decades. His first thought was that he looked incredibly well-dressed in his black waistcoat and ruffled blouse, momentarily smoothing the fabric.

"You okay?" You asked.

He nodded, slowly approaching one of the mirrors, a large one with a black, metal frame that had a detailed design cut out of the material.

"This one."

"You don't want to look around some more?"

He shook his head. "This one is perfect."

As soon as you got home, Hongjoong started trying to figure out where to put the mirror, carrying it around the sitting area and holding it against different places on the wall. The new object caught the attention of some of the others who had been passing through.

Yeosang was one who stopped to watch, Mingi following after.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Mingi asked quietly to Yeosang.

The latter nodded, his large eyes staring widely at Hongjoong, who's reflection he could see clearly in the mirror.

"Here." Hongjoong finally announced.

You got to work right away, helping him to secure the mirror to the wall. Once in place, the both of you stepped back to admire the new piece decorating the living room. Hongjoong turned to Yeosang and Mingi, excitedly beckoning them over.

"Come look."

Mingi was downright terrified, his eyes staring warily at the mirror, brows furrowed and lips set into a pouty frown. Even Yeosang seemed hesitant. Despite that, he stepped up first, moving over to the mirror, jumping slightly when he saw his own reflection.

"What is this?" He inquired, stepping forward to tap the glass.

"Mirrors aren't made with silver anymore." Hongjoong told him.

"So we can see ourselves now?" Yeosang asked softly, staring at his reflection in awe.

"You can." You nodded.

"Mingi, come here." Yeosang beckoned.

In the most apprehensive manner, the vampire stepped forward, leaning forward just enough for the top of his head to appear in the mirror.

He gasped, jumping back.

"There's no need to be afraid, Mingi." You assured him with a light chuckle. "You can't be scared of your own reflection."

He seemed to toughen up after that, stepping directly in front of the mirror. His eyes were blown wide in disbelief. He hadn't seen himself in so long he had forgotten what he looked like. His look of surprise was quickly replaced with a prideful grin.

"I don't remember being so handsome." He smoothed his hair back.

Hongjoong and Yeosang were quick to shove him away from the mirror, rolling their eyes at his arrogance.

•

You passed through the living room, moving towards the stairs only to come to a stop when you saw San standing in front of the mirror. It had only been there for a few days and everyone seemed completely enamored with it at first, but San was the one who seemed to have the biggest attachment to it.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't stop looking at myself." He responded.

"How narcissistic of you." You remarked.

"Y/n, I don't think you understand. I haven't seen myself in centuries. This is weird."

"I'm sure you look exactly the same."

"I do."

"Then why do you keep standing in front of that thing?"

"Because I haven't been able to see my reflection in so long, I'm not used to it. Plus, I look really good. Don't you agree?"

You decided not to answer, exiting the room without turning back, not even when San called out to you, begging for a response.

"Come on!" He whined. "Just say yes!"

•

You cut away the tape excitedly, opening up the package you had been waiting for. Since giving Seonghwa your Disney+ password, he had become obsessed with Star Wars and wouldn't stop talking about it and trying to explain the plot to the guys.

Since he loved it so much, you thought it would be fun to surprise him with a little gift. He had shown a lot of interest in Darth Vader and mentioned how he was his favorite character, so you went online and bought him Darth Vader's lightsaber. You weren't sure if it was something he would enjoy or not, but considering any Star Wars fan would love a lightsaber, you figured it'd be a nice gift.

"Seonghwa!" You called for the oldest vampire.

He appeared before you in seconds, something you had gotten used to.

"I have a surprise for you." You beamed.

"What is the occasion?"

"Just because." You shrugged. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

He did as told, his palms facing upright while waiting patiently for your surprise.

Ever so carefully, you placed the lightsaber into his hands, telling him to open his eyes.

His brows were furrowed at first, however, it didn't take long for him to realize what he held.

"A saber." He murmured.

"It's Darth Vader's lightsaber." You pointed out.

"I know."

You were about to ask him if he liked it, but he turned around and started walking away.

Curious as to where he was heading, you moved behind him, following him to the living room. He reached for the sword that hung on the wall in the living room, removing it from its perch and replacing it with the lightsaber.

"There."

"So, you like it?" You asked.

"Very much so."

•

Jongho stepped into the large sitting room, finding Seonghwa removing one of the many swords that decorated the walls. Taking a glance around the room, he noticed all of the swords displayed had been replaced with what he could only assume were lightsabers. Seonghwa hadn't shut up about the things since binging the Star Wars movies.

"What are you doing?" Jongho asked.

Seonghwa placed the last lightsaber into its holder before stepping away to admire his work.

"We are now a modern household."

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Masterlist ᝰ

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

[decayedgloria]

Madame Neuvillette: Part One

Decadent Collision

Suggestive themes ahead, no outright nsfw just yet.

3.6k words, not very proofread.

December 17th, XX74

"And are you sure you have everything you need, my love?" Tender, gloved hands smoothed over your winter coat as cargo loaders walked around you, hauling your belongings into one of the train carts. Workers and passengers hustled around you and your husband, the sounds of train horns and shouts from announcing conductors relegated to nothing but background noise amidst the both of you.

The man in front of you, tall and handsome, looked at you with such tender eyes- a loving gaze that filled you with such warmth that not even the winter storm around you could get through your skin. Though the fur coat helped as well, you supposed.

You smiled up at your husband, taking his hands into yours and brushing your fingers against his knuckles. "No need to worry, I'm all set. Besides, it'd be quite a waste for you to go back to the manor when you went out of your way to see me off."

"I just wanted to make sure, mon ange." Neuvillette took your hand and raised it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss over your leather-clad fingers, "I do not wish my wife any discomfort on this trip." His tone, while stoic in the way it always was, was much softer with you. Rarely did you hear him raise his tone at you, no matter what may be on his mind.

Monsieur Neuvillette was perhaps the greatest husband in all of Fontaine. Well-respected he was, as the country's Chief Justice, and he possessed wealth comparable to that of the Imperial Family. Popular among both the common folk and high society, it was no surprise that he was quite the catch in spite of his older age. But that meant nothing to you, since the man you fell in love with was not the one that the public saw, but rather it was the man that stood before you; fixing your coat and never managing to take his lovestruck gaze off your face.

Many whispered among themselves that the wife the Iudex had taken was much too young for him, and how much of a shame it was that such a young woman was tied down by a man nearly twelve years her senior. But those were just whispers, were they not? Whispers that meant nothing when your lips connected with his own soft ones, feeling yourself smile in content when his gentle hands found their way to your waist.

The ringing of a bell and the raucous shouting of the conductor caused you to pull away, looking over to the source of the noise, "Train en route to the Court of Fontaine set to leave in fifteen minutes! All passengers aboard!"

"My, it seems time does pass by faster when with you dear." Giving him one last peck on his cheek, you start to gather your thick skirts in your hand, preparing to walk towards the train door. "I'll be off then. Tell Sigewinne that I'll be back before she knows it, and that I love her very much." At the mention of your daughter, Neuvillette's expression broke out into a grin.

"Why of course. Though, she may ask for something in return for inconveniencing her." With a chuckle he followed your hurried steps, hands lingering after her presence as his eyes scanned your surroundings before giving you a final smile. Albeit, a somewhat sad one.

"I shall miss you terribly, mon ange. Send Ajax my regards." Cheekily, you blew him a kiss, relishing in the pink hue that spread across his sharp features. Entering the train, you sit yourself on one of the comfortable seats, settling yourself before waving at your husband through the frosted window.

Before long, the rest of the passengers began to fill the train compartment, taking their seats and settling amongst themselves as they begin to put away their belongings. In a matter of moments, the final whistle of the train permeated the air as the vehicle finally moved, the silhouette of your husband slowly getting smaller and smaller, though his smile certainly didn't.

The reason for your trip to the capital were simple enough. Your brother, the pleasure-loving baron Ajax had gotten himself into trouble with his wife; an affair between him and their children's governess was unveiled and, well, you really can't blame the baroness for nearly trying to kill him. However, in a panic the poor man had sent you a letter urgently telling you to come to their lavish home in the capital city to mitigate their lover's quarrel, and a part of you thinks it's likely because if it weren't for the children he'd be dead by now.

So here you were, on the earliest train to the Court of Fontaine, a place that you had vague memory of. Once you married Neuvillette, he found it fitting to settle and start a family away from the scandal and glamour of the capital, moving your household to the Marcotte region of Fontaine. In a way, you were glad; Sigewinne has never failed to mention how much she preferred your current life as opposed to the "paranoia-inducing" society of the capital. You thought yourself sharing the same opinion as well, loving the peaceful atmosphere of the rural city.

You were promptly snapped out of your thoughts when someone's voice reaches your ears. Snapping your head towards the direction of the voice, you were greeted by a tall woman dressed in winter clothing, barely a smile on her slim face, "Is it any trouble if I sit here?" Her gloved hand gestured to the empty seat in front of you.

"Oh, not at all! Feel free to take it; it gets quite lonely riding a train by lonesome." You tell her with your signature charming grin. The lady was no doubt of Fontainian high society, her expensive winter coat and luxurious silk garments practically screamed the fact. Her long black tresses were tucked neatly into her fashionable hat, and her purple eyes seemed distant as she gazed at the moving scenery in the window.

It was also the way she carried herself, you noticed- an air of dignity and elegance present in her manner. Hands folded neatly in her lap, a mutual silence was brought upon the both of you, idling as the time passed. The trip to the capital was set to be three hours long if no issues arose, and as the minutes ticked by you could feel yourself getting antsy from sitting in the same place for far too long.

Your fingers dug through the pockets of your coat before fishing out a silver locket, chained to the ornate belt you had donned. Opening it, you smiled softly at the images within; a portrait of your darling daughter Sigewinne on one side, taken on her fourteenth birthday just months before. On the other, a photo of the three of you from a few years ago, smiling serenely at the camera.

You're filled with warmth as you see your little family. While not as big as your brother's, it was no doubt all that you would need. They were both very precious to you, and you couldn't imagine living in a world without the both of them.

"So what brings you to the Court of Fontaine?" The woman in front of you asks, likely in an effort to stifle the silence. You glanced at her, a little surprised, but shared the same sentiment nonetheless.

"My brother is in need of my assistance. Something along the lines of making sure his wife doesn't kill him." You jest, earning a chuckle from her. "And you?"

"Visiting a cousin of mine. He has just arrived back home after being stationed in Chenyu Vale." With a small smile, her stare lingers at you for quite a while, observing you as a doctor would a cadaver. "My name is Clorinde, Marchioness de Champion." She extended her gloved hand for you to take, which you did in earnest.

"Pleasure to meet you, Marchioness."

"I don't think I have ever seen you around high society before. You're a pretty little thing, it's surprising." At the compliment you blushed, shyly grinning before thanking her. It didn't surprise you; in fact, you were expecting it almost. Living in Marcotte meant that you were never in the spotlight, at parties or balls, so it made sense for someone as prominent in high society as the marchioness to be a stranger to your existence.

"Ah, I don't really have the time to do so. My husband and I live quite far from any social circles in the capital." She cocked her brow at you as if to say 'Husband?' In response, you take the locket previously in your hands and showed her the portraits within. "Here is my husband and my daughter, Sigewinne. Though I'm sure you're already fairly acquainted with my husband. He's quite popular amongst high society, I heard."

"Hm, I see…" Her words carry an undertone of understanding, realizing just exactly who your husband was. She gave you a polite smile. "Apologies. I did not realize that you were Madame Neuvillette."

You shook your head, closing the locket and placing it back into your coat. "The apology is on me, marchioness. It was my mistake to forget to introduce myself to you." Both of you shared a hushed laughter, trying not to disturb other passengers as they rode. You both shared a conversation for a few minutes, mostly small talk to pass the time by as the train moved closer and closer to the capital city.

"I must say, I did not expect Monsieur Neuvillette's wife to be as young as you are." Marchioness Clorinde remarked, sipping on the tea provided by the train's staff. She was not one for idle gossip, you've come to realize, but she was gaining an interest in you and your life.

"I get that a lot. Some say that i've wasted my youth marrying a man his age but, in the end, youth isn't really something permanent is it?" You let out a small huff, remembering the words of those who opposed the idea of your husband courting you years ago. "I prefer having the stability of a loving husband, not an adulterating one. I don't quite care if he's twelve years my senior."

Marchioness Clorinde chuckled, "That sentiment I agree with. Though, you would be surprised how many ladies in Fontainian society would beg to differ. It's quite confounding." The laugh you both shared was enough to distract you from your lingering thoughts. On one hand, yes, you were content with the life you lived now. Peaceful and serene, not a problem in sight.

However, you'd be lying if you said there wasn't a part of you gnawing at the chance to love as other ladies did. Your youth was cut short when you promised yourself to Neuvillette at the ripe age of twenty-one, and Sigewinne was born not long after that. Though you loved them very much, there was always a buried envied for your former friends, who still lived the lavish and exciting lives of noble heiresses until their late twenties. On many occasions, you'd wondered how happy you would be if you said no, and married a bachelor your age years ago…

You shook your head. Such silly thoughts were unbecoming of you- you were married to the sweetest man in Fontaine, a diamond in the rough among other noble men, whose debauchery and aggravation resulted in the humiliation of their wives. No, you were fortunate that a man as gentle as Neuvillette had come into your life as your husband.

Before you knew it, the train had slowed it's pace into the Court of Fontaine, finally arriving at the station. Talking with the marchioness definitely helped pass the time, heavens knew how bored you would feel had she not initiated the conversation. As passengers flowed out of the compartment and into the station, you could hardly contain your elation as you look through the frosted windows for a familiar mop of orange hair.

"Marchioness, excuse me- I'll come right back for my belongings." You hastily nodded an apology to the raven-haired woman before excitedly swinging around the corner to exit the train. As you rounded the corner, you felt a another person passing you by, and for a moment you turned your head back towards the figure, meeting the piercing gray eyes of a tall man dressed in a garde's winter uniform. Your eyes linger on each other for just a second, before resuming your path.

You land on the floor of the station much less gracefully than you had intended, trying to avoid bumping into the crowd of passengers near the door as your eyes finally caught sight of your brother. "Ajax!" He whirled around, his lean figure pausing before his freckled face broke out in a contagious grin.

"Pcholka!" Your brother yelled right back, arms wide open for you to practically launch yourself at him. He held you tightly, lifting you off the ground as you both squealed in excitement. It had been so long since the both of you had gotten together, a number of years you were sure. And yet he was still the same, boyish baron you knew as a child.

Inside the train compartment, Marchioness Clorinde sat still, taking note of the way her cousin watched the two siblings through the window. "Charming, isn't she Wriothesley?" She gave him a wry grin, yet he said nothing as he gaze still continued to linger on the woman adorned with fur.

Though he remained silent, Clorinde could see his thoughts very clearly. His jaw tightened, and his eyes never left the window. She shook her head, amusing at the fact that he truly was acting like a soldier who hadn't seen a woman in months. Was the Madame Neuvillette really that striking?

Outside, Ajax broke your embrace to pick up your luggage, two hefty suitcases which he had easily held in both of his hands. In spite of you insisting that he let his coachmen do it, he shook his head vehemently and gave you a boyish smile.

"I still remember when you told me I wasn't strong enough. So, here is me proving that you're wrong." You rolled your eyes, unable to contain your own smile.

"Wait here- I'll be right back." Turning around, you made your way the train once more to collect the remainder of your belongings. In your haste to enter the train, you nearly bumped into one of the train workers- a man covered in black soot, only his tired green eyes seeming to bear down on your soul.

Something heavy began twisting itself in your stomach. Your eyes wanted to tear themselves away from the man's grisly appearance and yet, you couldn't. It confused you, why was it so hard for you to move away? A few seconds passed and all you could do was stare and stare at each other. You gasped, turning your head away from such an unfamiliar sight, before clearing your throat and muttering an apology as you both finally stepped away from each other.

Inside the train, you beamed at the marchioness, who was chatting with the handsome gentleman you had passed by earlier. Upon noticing your presence, the two turned their gazes towards you- though his was exceptionally… piercing. The feeling of discomfort you had before was now replaced with one you can't quite put your finger on, but it felt almost pleasant.

"My brother is here already, so I do apologize for cutting our time short marchioness. I enjoyed your company very much." Despite your pleasant demeanor, you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand slightly from the man's unwavering gaze. He was silent and indifferent the whole time, watching you both with indeterminate motives behind his eyes.

"I quite enjoyed our chat as well." The marchioness stood up and made her way to towards you, leaning in to kiss you on both cheeks as customary for high society women. "My cousin here has also come to pick me up personally. This is Wriothesley, though you may know him more as the Duke of Meropide."

The Duke of Meropide. You've heard tales of him in the battle front- a fierce soldier commandeering a battalion in Chenyu Vale. A man praised for his prowess both in the battlefield and in the beds of Fontaine's women. Though, you'd wager that the last bit was merely a rumor; one that you could believe as the man's lips twitched into an attractive smirk.

"Pleasure, Madame."

You held out your hand for him to take, expecting him to simply kiss your knuckles and be done with it. Instead, he lowered himself down to your gloved fingers, lips opening ever so slightly to kiss your knuckles, striking grey eyes still holding an intense gaze for you, and only you.

Time seemed slower then. Suddenly, you were all too aware of the growing franticness of your heartbeat, and how much warmer it was in underneath your coat. You stare back, too, in bated breath as the duke lets his touch linger for far too long that you should have let it. Had it not been for the glove that adorned your slender hand, you were sure that his lips would have ignited something across your body.

And perhaps, it did.

Before you could shake yourself out of your thoughts, the train car shook violently, almost throwing you off your feet as screams suddenly echoed outside. In a flash Wriothesley had let go of your hand and dashed out of the train to check the commotion. His touch still ghosts over your hand, and there was a disappointing little tug on your heart as you shrink back into yourself in shame. A married woman should not be thinking about a man she just met so wantonly.

After you meet back with Ajax, your eyes fall onto the crowd of officers surrounding the side of the train, barely catching a glimpse of a fallen figure before it was obscured by a black cloth by none other than Wriothesley. According to your brother, the same worker you has encountered earlier had jumped onto the train tracks as it was repaired, presumably slicing him in half.

You shuddered. An unfamiliar chill ran up your spine, reeling from the fact that the same man who you had bumped into was now dead just a few feet away. You tried to take your mind off of it, but it still irked you- it was as if the very notion of his death held your soul captive, in spite of being a stranger. In hopes of distracting yourself, you turned to the Marchioness and your brother, who were immersed in each other's conversation. Behind them, the duke followed closely behind his cousin.

"…it is rather unfortunate. He left behind a large family, god knows what may become of them." Clorinde remarked, purple eyes holding what seemed like pity. Ajax merely nodded along, also sharing her concerns.

"Shouldn't they be compensated for such? It would only be fitting." In an effort to make it seem like you were listening the whole time, you made a suggestion, hoping that they wouldn't notice the way your face had become much paler in the last few minutes.

Wriothesley suddenly paused, turning towards Clorinde, "Wait here, cousin." He said before making his way back down to the crowd, taking out his wallet and a few notes of mora. You couldn't hear the conversation between him and the conductor, but you assumed from the way he spoke to him with tenacity when he gave the notes to the conductor gave you a few ideas.

"You're the one to thank for that." Beside you, the marchioness gave you a small smile, which you returned shyly. Ajax sang his praises of the duke, calling him a good man for doing a deed that most certainly would have been forgotten.

Barely an hour after arriving at the Court of Fontaine and you were already met with such an eventful day. From meeting the two cousins to the grisly death of the worker moments before, you were beginning to miss the tranquility of Marcotte as the seconds ticked by. Your mind weighed heavily on what had transpired, yet all thoughts seemed to go back to one person.

The Duke himself.

He consumed your thoughts like a plague. Maybe it was the fact that he was both roguishly handsome and a gentleman, or maybe it was his eyes- the ones that seemed to pierce you with how sharp they were, almost like a canine's. He enraptured you, maybe bewitched you, you were certain. And yet, you had no opposition to it. But you should, for your husband would most certainly chastise you for thinking so.

The confusion of your thoughts must have bled onto your face, as you feel Ajax's hand squeeze your own after you had sat beside him in his carriage. An action that he had always done to provide you comfort, ever since you were children. You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning your head against his shoulder as the carriage began its journey to his household.

You prayed that it would be your first and last time to see that duke. For your sake and your husband's, because you didn't know what might become of you if his presence haunted you in more places than just your head.

[yolowritter]

A few other lucky accidents in MLB I have noticed:

Nora is a kickboxer, wears those weird armbands, and insists to be called by her ring name. To a martial arts buff, that means she practices Muay Thai and got really serious about the culture, that includes those armbands (called pra jiad) and immense importance for the ring name (in Thailand a Nak Muay will often change their legal name to match, and will ALWAYS include their training camp in their name). It also explains why a bulldozer like her has a trickster name: the ring name is given by fans, and whoever gave it must have decided she looked like a deadly spider but didn't know Anansi is a trickster.

Marinette's grandmother is named Gina Misurati. Because in neither Italy nor France one changes their name to match their spouse (mrs. HUSBAND NAME is a courtesy title), and her bike, a Moto Guzzi V7 Sport (it's identical), has written Misurati on it (it was obviously a reference to Maserati, but they stopped making motorbikes in 1960, and none of their bikes looked like Gina's anyway).

Diplomats have horrible working hours that get worse with higher rank, and diplomat kids are often "weird" and forced to grow up too fast. By happenstance, Lila's first mother is barely home, and Lila shows surprising maturity at the oddest moments (like when she flat-out told Marinette that a boy wasn't worth fighting over and offered to help her with Adrien in exchange of friendship).

Paris didn't have their own city police until 2021. Roger is from the NATIONAL police, meaning he shouldn't answer to the mayor... But he does, so SOMETHING must have happened to cause this transfer of authority.

Felix' outfit is identical to Eton's uniform minus the ridiculous hat and overcoat. I suppose it fits his social standing.

Sabine can use her spatula as a weapon. That spatula is nearly identical to a Monk's Spade, a weapon used in Shaolinquan.

Speaking of martial arts, in Chameleon Lila uses actual MMA techniques to overpower Ladybug, and Felix' claim of using Karate points to Wado Ryu thanks to those dodging moves of his.

And the big missed chance: Savate. Not only it's France's national martial art, Paris is where it was improved in the street fights of the Belle Epoque... But nobody in the show practices it. The old non-sport style includes the ancestor of Parkour, cane fighting (now mostly practiced separatedly as La Canne), garrote (the contribution of Paris' gangs), throws (already present in Paris, where Greco-Roman Wrestling was born and practiced before being rebranded), and elbow and knee strikes. It would be perfect for out heroes, both of them... Yet they don't practice it.

Yeah, it's honestly such a shame that these awesome details/references are just either never used or a one-and-done deal just to make a cool easter egg. And sure, Gina's bike for example could be just that, a cool little character detail. Maybe while the bikes did stop getting made in the 60s, she got herself an old one and re-vamped it as the years went by. Adds flavor to her character. Admittedly I don't know enough to talk about the model, but I trust your skills when it comes to identifying the make. Also, I was always sure that changing your last name to a spouse's (like mrs Dupain-Cheng) is optional, like a courtesy as you said. I don't know enough French people to tell if it's a rare occurance or otherwise, but still a nice tidbit of info I'll file away.

Nora is honestly another prime example of wasting some awesome character building because they can't bother to do the research behind the design. Sure, she looks cool and somebody might have said "give her wrappings on the arms, that's awesome" and the designers went with it, but we clearly see that she is a Martial Arts buff even in the way she talks to Alya and co. Why they never bothered to lean in on that even as a background detail, I'll never know. I know it's unreasonable to expect any group of writers to focus on every single character beat, and that Nora doesn't appear enough to really warrant the focus, but it still would be cool to see even through like, one or two lines from Alya. A reference to the Anansi metaphor you mentioned or a word from Nora about the cultural inspiration. It would have been cool.

Continuing down the martial arts road, I did notice Lila's MMA moves in Chameleon, but it seemed more like a case of the writers/animators deciding on cool moves than them paying proper attention and using the correct style of fighting. Sure, they might have and in that case kudos to whoever greenlight that decision, but it always felt a little accidental to me, just for the sake of the action scene itself, you know? At least with Felix we get a proper explanation, and it does honestly build up his character with a cool detail. Not sure if Karate was the best fit for the reasoning here, but any explanation is a step in the right direction at least.

About Savate...it honestly would be an awesome inclusion. Sure, the heroes fight with their superpowers and weapons most of the time, but some the close-quarters moments like the rooftop scene in "Ladybug" was the perfect chance for Adrien to bust out a good throw at Hawkmoth. Speaking of, one might make the argument of Gabriel using La Canne moves, (and I honestly haven't seen enough to dispute that), but to me it looks like he handles his weapon more like a sword? Sure, fits in nicely with Adrien's fencing allowing him to fight back in a 1 vs 1, but we already have quite a few characters who swordfight this way. Tomoe and Kagami do, as does Adrien like I mentioned. It would have been much more visually interesting to give Gabriel a separate style of bladework, especially since his weapon is in the name. In general, I'd love to see a good knee-cracking kick from Ladybug, so I totally agree with you.

I do love Felix's outfit though. It's a cool reference to those who get it, but also stands on it's own as a cornerstone of his design and adds more to his character and personality. Especially with the entire fandom (me, I'm the fandom) writing about him habitually keeping wrinkles off his suit at all times and staying perfect. I refuse to believe Colt Fathom did not do a number on this kid. But yeah it's also just a cool outfit to put him in, and I appreciate that!

In terms of Roger and the police...I'm going to be frank with you, the show handles that aspect horribly. Sure, you could assume that they answer to Andre because he's the immediate authority figure and also a corrupt politician, but that's first of all not even remotely possibly without serious internal corruption of National Police, and second of all completely unreasonable! The police force's reaction to Akuma attacks used to be a big thing in Season 1. In Origins, they tried fighting Stoneheart on their own. And in Copycat, they try to apprehend "Chat Noir" for stealing the Mona Lisa. There's the seeds of an interesting dynamic between the heroes in masks and the boys in blue! But in Rogercop, they're being made into utter fools! Andre is very obviously under duress when he tells them to apprehend Ladybug and Chat Noir, and they just...start listening to the villain like mindless drones? In Maledictator I can excuse it, his whole powerset revolves around making new "laws" that those he blasts have to follow. Makes sense that Roger and co. would be the first responders and get beamed in 5 minutes flat. But in any case where an authority figure is forcibly giving orders, there is a protocol! A procedure to follow! A plan to be made! But...nothing! The show does absolutely nothing, and then beyond this point the vanish apart from another 2 or 3 times where police officers show up in the background somewhere, or as Akuma goons because we need grunts for an action scene. As much as I love "show don't tell", in this case I'd be happy with tell! A comment from a news report about how police have been instructed to stay out of the Akumas' way and help civilians evacuate is so easy to add, and it would change nothing except making Roger and his team actually usefull! As it stands, the entire concept of a police force exists only the few times Astruc needs it to. And don't even get me started on Chloe's coup of the Captial City of France!! I'm convinced this universe has no goverments, no presidents and no first responders for any situation, I swear...

About Lila's mother, yes! Finally somebody says it! Lila's mother is obviously overworked, she clearly does love her daughter but is physically unable to make time for her! This could be such a cool dynamic to see with Lila's home life, and like you said it perfectly explains why sometimes amidst her psychopathic tendencies there's a moment of unexpected maturity from her. Exploring this even gradually, even with us literally being drip-fed information, would have made Lila a much better character! There are so many layers here that remain unexplored, and I can smell the good content like a bloodhound! Sure is a shame that Thomas never bothered to include any of it... I swear, every fault this show has goes like this:

Cool Idea + Good Introduction + (Botched Everything-Else * No Follow-Up) = Miraculous Ladybug

Can't believe the writers made me do math for this show...or that when S6 releases we'll be able to make the "Six seasons and a movie" joke from Community. At least that's a silver lining...

P.S: I love Sabine's spatula. An elegant weapon, from a more civilized age...

[mysmashplaythroughs]

Game & Watch Gallery 4 Playthrough.

Fighter: Mr Game & Watch.

Game: Game & Watch Gallery 4, Wii U Virtual Console (Nintendo GBA). First Released on October 28th 2002.

Fighter Bio.

A true enigma, Mr Game & Watch is both everyone and no one within his world. His roles have varied so much as to put even Mario to shame with such examples being a juggler, flag bearer, exterminator, fireman, judge, sewer worker, workman, lion tamer, parachuter, deep sea diver and many more. Mr Game & Watch however has at the same time had none of these roles because as an entity he does not exist. The Game & Watch games were often self-contained LCD consoles that had a single game which ran on technology similar to calculators (I believe). In the games there is a pale beige colourless background which often has some coloured decorations that remain on the screen at all times such as trees or waves from the ocean, there are then multiple pre-drawn LCD segments usually in black that when playing will in turn light up in order to simulate movement, so for example a character will have faded out pictures of them walking along a road and when pressing right the next picture to the right of the one currently prominent would light up and the one next to it will fade out making it seem like the character has moved. A good example of this is the screenshot in this post which shows multiple pictures of characters falling out of a burning building along with the Firemen carrying a trampoline, you can see how specific ones are lit up whilst the others are not as visible. The Watch part of Game & Watch comes from many of them having a digital clock also which can have an alarm set which often involves a character of some kind (such as a cat) appearing and ringing a bell for the time the alarm is set to.

The characters in many of these games did not have names and were simply random civilians or professionals such as Firemen or deep sea divers. Mr Game & Watch as a character first appeared in Super Smash Bros Melee where he represented these numerous nameless characters. What’s interesting is alongside this with the amount of Game & Watch games produced including ones based on already existing properties, Mr Game & Watch has technically taken on the identity of other characters including Mario himself. Since his first appearance in Super Smash Bros Melee, Mr Game & Watch has made a few appearances in other games, although considering anything ‘canon’ to his story is not really possible. Honestly this probably is the best thing for Mr Game & Watch as it makes him feel like this being from a whole other dimension compared to everyone else in Smash Bros.

Friends: Since he is not really a character there aren’t any real relationships Mr Game & Watch has. Any of his in-game interactions are with others who are essentially other versions of himself. The only arguable exception is possibly Mario as in Game & Watch Gallery 4 he shares a small appearance alongside Mario where they host the Gift Mode.

Enemies/Rivals: Unlike with friends, there is a candidate for Mr Game & Watch’s ‘enemy’ which is most likely the Octopus that seems to be the most prominent other Game & Watch character having a whole minigame dedicated to it in Nintendo Land. In the original game the Divers (aka Mr Game & Watch) have to grab as much sunken treasure as they can before going back to the surface and avoiding the Octopus, if the Octopus grabs them then they are taken away and when the whole crew are gone it’s game over.

Crossovers with other Smash characters: As I stated earlier Mr Game & Watch is unique when it comes to this topic as he has actually been other characters in the Smash series, specifically in the game Mario Bros he takes on the roles of Mario and Luigi. He also takes on Mario’s role in Donkey Kong which is a crossover therefore with Donkey Kong based on the original arcade game. Other games feature Mario but his design is more like Mario in those cases so I don’t feel it counts as much. As stated earlier Mario appears alongside Mr Game & Watch in Game & Watch Gallery 4 on GBA, he does not appear in such a role in the previous Game & Watch Gallery games however since the concept of him as a character himself only began with Super Smash Bros Melee in 2001 and Game & Watch Gallery 3 came out in 1999. Mr Game & Watch did make a couple of other appearances, most of them I don’t feel it’s worth noting as they were more small cameos such as in Warioware Micro Games and as part of a Minigame icon in Super Mario Odyssey, however probably the most notable is that he appears in Donkey Kong Country Returns in the background of Foggy Fumes, a level where everything is in silhouette due to the fog and he appears as a cameo in the background hammering at a pipe. The only other debatable cameo is in Wario Land 4 where there is a character who runs the shops in the games that definitely is inspired by Mr Game & Watch, however that character is actually someone else so even if Mr Game & Watch is not really a character in the first place I wouldn’t count that as a direct appearance by him.

Why this game?

The reason I decided on Game & Watch Gallery 4 specifically is that it was the easiest way to play multiple Game & Watch games, get screenshots of them and it looked the closest to the original being on GBA as opposed to the other games on Game Boy which were a lot more downgraded. The vast majority of the games I needed are covered in this game which is why I felt it was the best one to represent the character of Mr Game & Watch.

My past with this game.

I have a bit more of an interesting history with this game than I expected when looking into it and remembering various things in the past. I suppose the best place to start is with the whole world of LCD games as a whole. Tiger LCD games were probably the first examples of these things I remember since I grew up in the 90s and these things were everywhere as some cheap 'stocking filler' type things. Remembering any specific games is something I can’t do which I think probably demonstrates even back then these were hardly things that brought much enjoyment beyond a couple of minutes at most. Probably the LCD game I remember most was one my neighbour had when I used to go there playing with her kids when I was really young, I remember she had this one that had multiple games in one and I think the one I remember most was a simplistic driving game where you had to avoid the cars that would appear in front of you and see how long you could keep going before you crash. I think the next big LCD game I remember (and I’m not sure if this really was an LCD game but it definitely looked like it) were during the Tamagotchi craze when I was young. I don’t remember if I ever had an actual Tamagotchi since I think it was used here as the name for anything like them rather than the specific brand, but I do remember winning one on holiday at an arcade, it was one of the very few times I actually managed to collect enough tickets to get a prize. This one stuck out to me particularly as I thought it looked like Yoshi on the box although that wasn't the case in-game. All these years later I discovered it is called Ganbare Ryuta Kun, anyway it was the main one I remember and even if it was a ripoff of Tamagotchi I can’t help having some nostalgia for it.

When it came to Game & Watch itself, I believe the first one I ever got was part of a line called Nintendo Mini Classics and was Mario’s Cement Factory. If I remember right, it was back when my parents decided to follow what my Aunt did and get a small caravan to stay at this caravan park (that despite how it sounds was really like a nice holiday place than some rundown parking lot or something) rather than go away on holiday each year. We did it for a short while before ultimately deciding we weren’t as into it as my Aunt’s family was but I still remember a fair few things there, such as playing through probably the worst game I’ve ever played (The Fellowship of the Ring on GBA) there as well as how my Cousins found a copy of Rayman on GBA underneath their Caravan one year. Anyway, I do vaguely remember playing this game a bit when I was bored but I think eventually the novelty ran out for me with it. The game was still to me an interesting thing I’d never heard of before so I was glad I got it though even if it wasn't that exciting to play. Sometime later I remember when I was really into Donkey Kong 96 on the Game Boy being interested in if there were any other games with Mario facing the original Donkey Kong and Donkey Kong Jr and reading in the games magazine I had about Game & Watch Gallery (possibly 3 but it might have been 2). I was interested in it because DK Jr actually appeared, however I remember when I finally had a chance to buy it in the store the GBA was coming out and I decided I wanted that more, which in hindsight I think was probably the best choice. When the Gamecube came out I first saw Mr Game & Watch and I don’t know honestly what I thought of him beyond he was meant to replicate arcade games or something. I do remember the music from his stage did pique my curiosity with how mysterious it was but I think it took me a fair bit of time to realise his relation to that Mario’s Cement Factory game I had. It didn’t help that the physical Game & Watch in Smash Bros (where the stage takes place) didn’t look anything like the Nintendo Mini Classics version I had, which was more like a tiny version of a Game Boy.

I did vaguely remember hearing of Game & Watch Gallery 4 in magazines but I think I’d lost interest at this point beyond finding it neat. The Spriters Resource did pique my curiosity a bit with how many of the games had unusual characters like Luigi boxing a Wiggler, however it was only when I decided to do my Smash playthrough I actually got the game and only in that case because I learnt the game had the Modern versions (where the games star various Mario characters) and Classic versions which recreate the original Game & Watch, which was far easier than tracking down the actual individual consoles.

My Smash Playthrough.

I believe looking back at posts I’ve made so far this is the second game that doesn’t really have a clear ‘ending’ after Dr. Mario that I’ve played so far. This was what I believed in any case when playing the game so therefore I decided to have a specific goal to work towards which is what I’ve done with ‘endless’ games on my list such as getting some specific item or unlocking something specific. In this case the game I aimed to unlock was Octopus since it made sense as a ‘final boss’ of sorts. Octopus required 50 points to unlock, in the game points are represented by stars you get for each game which you are awarded for every 200 you get in the score in a game. Honestly, this was fairly irritating with some games giving points away fairly easily but having a limit on 5 stars I believe, this means you have to try and build up the points on other games that can be a lot slower and more difficult, not to mention getting a game over means you’ll have to start from a score of 0 again. It was due to this in order to maintain my sanity I went with unlocking Octopus rather than getting the 220 points required to unlock everything in the game. I have learnt also that credits are unlocked with 170 points and cast credits with 220 so technically there is an ‘ending’ to this game.

 Of the games available my favourites were probably Donkey Kong Jr which is a recreation of the original arcade game, I definitely preferred the Modern version of this as it was fun seeing DK Jr dealing with Mario enemies such as Goombas and Bullet Bills. Chef I remember could be somewhat addicting in both versions with you having to keep catching food items in a frying pan and throwing them in the air trying to avoid any of them landing on the floor. Fire is a fairly classic Game & Watch title although I feel like I’ll probably go over that more when it comes to the Game & Watch stage down the line. I also found Rain Shower surprisingly fun mostly because I always liked how old arcade games took such mundane activities and made a game out of them. In this case in the classic version you have clothes on a clothesline with raindrops falling down and you have to pull the clothes along the line to avoid the drops of rain. Since it was the one I wanted to unlock as my last, Octopus is a pretty fun game and fitting for a ‘final boss’, this game involves you taking treasure from below an Octopus and having to avoid its tentacles. I enjoyed both the Modern and Classic versions of this game and I felt the Modern version was easier and if I was willing to put the time in would likely have let me get a lot of points. The final game I want to mention is probably my favourite being Boxing, granted this isn’t due to the original Game & Watch version which was fairly bland but the Modern version which involves Luigi boxing against a Wiggler (which is funny to see with boxing gloves), Big Boo who seems to use a smaller Boo as its glove and finally Waluigi. It’s funny to me seeing Luigi of all characters being chosen for this game.

Specific aspects about the game relating to Mr Game & Watch in Smash.

What makes Mr Game & Watch particularly difficult is that every single one of his moves references a specific game. Due to this I decided for a specific game to represent him I had to choose one which covers his main moves, in this case Game & Watch Gallery 4. The games represented in G&WG4 that are also in his moveset in Smash are Manhole, Fire Attack (Which has a bit of history to it as earlier versions had the attackers as Native Americans with a feather on their head which was initially in Super Smash Bros Ultimate but removed before release and in Game & Watch Gallery 4 the feather is also removed so this version matches Smash better than the original versions), Octopus (both for the Final Smash with the Octopus itself and the Up Smash which has Mr Game & Watch doing a headbutt with a diving helmet from the game), Parachute and Fire (interestingly originally this move referenced just Parachute with Mr Game & Watch using a parachute as an attack, but in later games his up special had him get trampolined up by Firemen which references Fire before using the parachute when falling from it), Mario’s Cement Factory (although the object he uses in this looks more similar to one from Mario Bros than Mario’s Cement Factory), Donkey Kong Jr, Alarm (he uses a bell which matches with the Alarms on each game which have a character ring a bell when the timer goes off), Chef, Tropical Fish, and finally Mario’s Bombs Away (a bizarre game that has a lot more colour than other Game & Watch games, has Mario very clearly defined but also is a game that seems to be set during the Vietnam War with Mario as a soldier, meaning yes, Mario is a Vietnam veteran.)

This is definitely not every single game Mr Game & Watch references and through writing this post I’ve realised that I should probably look into some of the other games as Game & Watch as a whole is a bit of a blind spot on my list that I haven’t represented as well as I could have. I think for some of Mr Game & Watch’s alternate costumes I might look into finding the other games represented in his moveset to add to my list now.

Credits.

For information on this game including dates of releases I must give credit to the Super Mario Wiki and the Nintendo Wiki for additional information.

Screenshots were taken by me using Miiverse.

[thewritingsandwich]

The Chiming Lady - Part 5

A Lockwood & Co. Fan Fiction

Other Parts: 1 2 3 4

Summary: The agents of Lockwood & Co. are invited to the Halloween-Party of a former client.

A/N: I originally wrote this for @ savelockwoodnco on instagram's filler episode theme. But I'm a month too late... anyways this takes place after 'The Empty Grave' but there are no major spoilers for it. Originally I wrote it in german, but I translated it for the internet with the help of DeepL.

Tag List: @ahead-fullofdreams

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, brief mentions of su***de and mu**er

The ascent of the tower was a steep spiral staircase, the steps of which were completely uneven. The bells started ringing again, but at a tolerable volume. In addition, I heard someone sobbing. This someone was running up the stairs, as it sounded to me as if they were running past me over and over again.

We reached the room directly under the bell. We would only get to the top floor of the tower, where the bell hung, by climbing another creaky wooden staircase. But for now we stayed here. Thick wooden beams ran along the ceiling and the pale moonlight shone through the thin slits in the floor above us.

George lit the room with a small petroleum lamp. A few spiders had taken up residence here - an unfavourable sign in this day and age.

"Before we go outside," Lockwood pointed to the wooden staircase, "Lucy, please listen and see if you can hear anything other than the bells."

The bells were becoming a constant background noise by now. I tried anyway. I closed my eyes and listened into the darkness.

First a heartbeat. A heart pounding wildly against the chest where it lay. I was overcome with fear. The panicked heartbeat was joined by matching rapid breathing and muffled sobs.

"Oh God, what have I done?" It was the same voice I heard from the lake. The nanny who killed Mr Pearson's brother. She paced wildly up and down the room before stopping abruptly. After a moment of silence - her sobs stopped, but her heartbeat remained wild - I heard a pen scratching across a piece of paper. Judging by the scratching, it was a felt-tip pen. She walked across the room again and lifted a plank. Then I no longer heard anything.

Before I even gave the others a chance to ask me about what I had heard, I went to the corner where the nanny had gone. I searched for loose floorboards and quickly found what I was looking for. There was a little note hidden in the floor.

But just as I was about to grab the note, the ghost of the nanny materialised in front of me and I fell back. She looked really awful. She was still wearing her uniform and her arms and legs were sticking out in unnatural directions. The white accents of her uniform were covered in blood.

Immediately Holly and Lockwood were at my side, fending her off with their rapiers as I tried to get to my feet. But with the loud ringing of the bells, the numbing pain in my ears returned.

Nevertheless, I crawled across the floor away from the ghost. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Holly and Lockwood give the ghost a cut that made it disappear and the bells disappeared with it. I stayed on the floor for a moment before George appeared above me and offered me his hand. I refused and stood up on my own. My goal remained the same - the note.

This time the ghost didn't appear and I was able to read the note, which the others only noticed when it was in my hand. But it wasn't just a note. It was the nanny's suicide note that she had signed with Felicity Williams. But it was more than that. It was also a confession. She had killed the boy. Thrown him in the lake without realising he couldn't swim. She was ashamed of what she had done and harboured such deep remorse that she could find no other way out than death itself. The Pearson family had made her life hell, she wrote, and yet she had written down what she had done. But how much was the confession worth if the note would never have been discovered without us? The remorse and shame were strong enough to make her take her own life, but not to actually admit what she had done.

I explained to the others what I had found and they listened intently.

"If her confession can be found here, I can guess how she took her own life," George finally replied. The tower was high enough for that. "But is this the source?"

"There's one way to find out," Lockwood replied, opening a lighter in his hand. Immediately, I extended my arm in his direction to stop him.

"No." He stopped and tilted his head slightly to the side. "She didn't write that confession for us to burn." His expression darkened.

"Luce... This is not the time to be communicating with ghosts." But he didn't sense what I was feeling. Her remorse and her shame. Her despair that drove her to do this in the first place. Her story needed to be told, but I needed proof.

"Give me the silver net. I'll put the letter in there and we can assess whether it's actually the source." His shoulders relaxed and he put the lighter back in while he dug out the net. It was far too big for the small piece of paper. Reluctantly, I finally handed him the parcel so that he could put it in his rucksack.

We looked around tensely. The bell didn't ring and the ghost didn't turn up either. But could it really be that simple?

The answer came quickly when George turned to the door, but even after shaking it, it remained locked. It didn't even have a keyhole.

"Question answered. The note is not the source," he said. It made me angry that he only saw the letter as a simple piece of paper; this ghost as just one of many orders. But where this anger came from, I didn't know.

"Holly and George, you search more floorboards to see if they're loose and if there's anything hidden under them. Luce, you and I will go to the bell."

* * *

The creaking sound accompanied us as we climbed the old staircase with drawn rapiers. The room we entered was spacious and square, with round-arched openings on each side. Above us swung an imposing bell, so low that I could pass under it effortlessly, while Lockwood had to duck slightly.

I approached one of the openings and took a look outside. The bottom edge of the opening started at the level of my stomach. My first thought was that it was quite easy to climb onto the ledge and make the long descent in a short time. I shuddered at the thought, which was not my own. Nevertheless, the fear of heights remained.

"Everything looks so beautiful from up here," Lockwood said as he stepped up beside me, and he was right. The tower was high enough to overlook the forest and see the beginning of London, which was just a sea of lights.

But we weren't here to enjoy the view. I turned back into the room and for a split second I thought Lockwood was looking at me instead of the beautiful view.

"Okay, you know what to do," he finally replied. I didn't like the look on his face. He looked pained. I nodded and listened into the darkness.

First there was thunder. Behind my closed eyes, I saw flashes of light that I wasn't sure were really there. Pouring rain could be heard and between the thunderstorms I heard a person sobbing. She put her sturdy shoes on the edge of the opening and looked down.

Her fear gripped me and I couldn't move. It was as if I was her. Like I had to make this difficult decision. I don't want to. It can't end like this.

Another person climbed the bell tower. I heard the creaky stairs and just as Felicity was about to step back down from the ledge, the stranger stepped behind her.

"No, what are you doing? It was an accident. I've changed my mind. Please," she shouted and I joined in. The stranger pushed her and Felicity screamed as she fell. I was snapped out of my trance by her impact. I felt miserable. But more importantly, it wasn't suicide. She had changed her mind. Maybe it wasn't her who had hidden the letter, but her murderer.

But before I could share my discovery with Lockwood, Felicity's ghost appeared behind him. Fortunately, he noticed it by himself and we fended it off with our rapiers. We couldn't do this all night though - we had to find her source.

We, or at least I, needed a quiet place to think about where the source might be. It had to be up here. Or could it be down there? Had her body just been left there? No, the distance was too great, I thought.

"We need to find the source, Lockwood," I said as we swung our rapiers through the air.

"Any ideas?"

"No, I just know it wasn't suicide. She was pushed."

Felicity pushed us further and further back. When I tried to take one of the many steps backwards, I stepped into the void and tumbled down the stairs. But I picked myself up again.

In the meantime, George and Holly had pulled some wooden planks off the floor, but they hadn't found anything yet. 'Where are you Felicity?' I asked myself.

My gaze flitted around the room. Has that rusty metal ladder always been in this corner?

Lockwood came down the stairs. The colour in his face was also running through his sweat.

"We need a plan. Where could the source be?" He was out of breath and his otherwise perfect hairstyle was completely dishevelled. He had lost the headband with the horns somewhere. I kind of liked him a little more that way. I quickly told the others about my vision after they said that the door was still locked and there was nothing under the floorboards.

"Wait... The source must be up here somewhere. Otherwise the ghost wouldn't put so much emphasis on the tower. We've already taken everything apart down here. Where else could you hide a body?" George explained, looking at us expectantly. My eyes lingered on the ladder once more, but it was George who put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Whoever killed the nanny could also have hidden the letter. This letter would have exposed the Pearsons as inhumane employers who were indirectly responsible for the death of their own child and four other employees because of the way they treated their employees. Killing the nanny and dismissing it as suicide was perfect. At the same time, the Pearsons made the death of their son look like an accident. However, hardly a dying word is said about the nanny, as if she had simply resigned and disappeared. No death certificate, nothing. So I'm assuming that her killer hid her death. The suicide was just another cover in case she was found. And where in this huge tower could you hide a body?" George pointed his finger upwards. "I'm sure there's plenty of room in the beams of the bell." A mischievous grin spread across his face.

"George Karim, you're a genius," Lockwood replied at the same time as I asked: "How do you know all this?"

"Thanks, I know and do you really think Lockwood is the only one who came prepared for this? I found my costume quickly and spent most of my shopping trip in the archives. I took a closer look at the house and the Pearsons," he grinned proudly.

[1001albumslist]

Album 41

Album: #1 Record by Big Star

Have I listened before? no

Familiarity with the artist: this album sounds very vaguely familiar but the band name itself didn't ring a bell (EDIT: okay i know "In the Street" from That 70s Show)

Background Knowledge:

 debut studio album by the American rock band Big Star, released on April 24th, 1972

critics praised the album's vocal harmonies and songcraft but it suffered from poor distribution and sold fewer than 10,000 copies upon its initial release. However,��#1 Record gained wider attention in the late 1970s in the UK when EMI reissued it with Radio City as a double LP package due to increasing demand.

It is now widely-regarded as a seminal work in pop rock and power pop.

Interesting Info:

Primary songwriters Alex Chilton and Chris Bell saw the Beatles in their hometown of Memphis, Tennessee in 1966 and subsequently decided to model their songwriting partnership off Lennon/McCartney. Most of the songs on the record were credited to "Bell/Chilton".

Listened on: Apple Music

Listening Notes:

kind of hilarious that they called this album “#1 Record” and then the sales flopped badly lmao

kinda sounds like George Harrison mid 70s rock

i like the guitar riffs

needs more cowbell lol 

“Thirteen”?????? um????? a shame that the melody and guitar parts are so nice cause i cannot support these lyrics….i guess it’s okay if you say he’s writing from the perspective of a teenager but even still. jesus christ the 70s were wild 

these guitar solos are nice

starting to drag on this second half….they could have split up some of these ballads imo

i am a sucker for jangly guitars and sun imagery tho lol

Favorite Tracks: "The Ballad of El Goodo", "In the Street", "Watch the Sunrise"

Final Review: i think one of the reviews on the website said it best in that there’s all the elements of a good album here but it just doesn’t ever fully come together. the guitars are the best part, and the sound is very obviously influenced by George Harrison’s style of playing, along with a bit of the Byrds twelve-string acoustic. the vocal harmonies are very Beatles-y as well. but the lyrics are very middle of the road imo and the second half of the album kind of falls apart entirely for me. it’s fine overall, and there’s a few really nice songs and melodies/riffs in there (weird predatory lyrics notwithstanding) but i’m a bit confused by people calling it a 5 star album. it’s 70s pop rock and it obviously had an influence on people like Tom Petty and later artists but at the end of the day other bands do the same kind of thing much better.

[mayhemproduces]

With the bell frantically ringing in the background, Wes Barkley is released, dropped in a pile of his own drool, while Abigail gives Team Filthy a nod. Scarlett Bordeaux appears from the back with a briefcase in hand, and passes it to Tom Lawlor. The briefcase is filled to the brim with cash, and a wide smirk passes over Lawlor’s face at the confirmation that every penny they agreed upon is there, and Tom shakes the hands of Syn and Malakai Black, the right and left hands of the Devil, but Abigail hasn’t moved her eyes from Joshua Bishop. Blood is oozing down his face, covering his chest, and Bishop is trying to break free. The blood loss has taken a great toll on his strength, and he can’t break the handcuffs yet, but he tries his damndest as Abigail approaches him, the MPW World Championship in hand, dangling the title in front of his face.

“You think you can take this from me? Huh? You think you have what it takes to beat me?” Abigail grabs him by the jaw, forcing Bishop to look into her eyes - and Bishop spits in her face. Blade rushes into the ring, but she’s quickly met by Malakai and Riley, while Syn is on Bishop, no orders having to be given. Abigail wipes the saliva off her face, mixing with the collective blood of damn near everybody in this match, her face twitching as she struggles to maintain the rage. “Finish her.” Abigail barks out the order, and together, Riley and Malakai hit Dante’s Inferno, and kick Blade out of the ring, leaving Bishop alone with Abigail, Syn, Malakai, Sardonyx, and Riley. There’s nobody to save him now, and The Fallen are picking apart the carcass of the Intense Icon.

This is what happens when you step to The Devil. This is what happens when you step to The Fallen. And Abigail wants to leave a permanent scar so Bishop never forgets. But as we’ve seen time and time again, that’s only going to piss Bishop off even more.

Syn has taken his turn beating down Bishop, and Malakai pushes him aside to take over, punching Bishop in the mouth, before he pulls out another set of handcuffs, and links the other arm to the ropes, forcing him to stand up with his arms spread in a crucifix-like stance. Bishop tries to stay on his feet, but the blood loss, and the physical toll this match has taken on him, forces Bishop to a knee. Donned with pink hair and a torso covered by his own blood, he’s at the mercy of the Fallen as Syn lines him up, and nails him with a BIG kick to the jaw. Riley lines him up next, and nails him with a Superkick. Malakai comes in right behind her, nailing him with a roundhouse, the sound of leather slapping against the side of Bishop’s head downright nasty. They take turns kicking him, before the three come together, nailing three in-stereo kicks, and Bishop goes limp. As if this wasn’t enough already, Abigail has a steel chair in hand, her eyes stay locked with Bishop’s as she raises the chair, passing it to Sardonyx, and tells her to bash it over Bishop’s head. She doesn’t care about beating Bishop at Thunder in Paradise anymore, she doesn’t want him anywhere near Panama.

But Sardonyx looks conflicted. We just witnessed maybe one of the most brutal matches in MPW history, and Abigail still isn't satisfied. They won the match. They covered the mat, the arena, with their enemies blood. That should be enough, right?

As the moment drags on, Abigail turns around and gets in Sardonyx's face, asking her, "Do I need to repeat myself?" Sardonyx doesn't look up. "What's wrong with you?" Abigail shoves Sardonyx by the side of the head, pushing her to the ropes, "What's wrong with you? Do you think this is a game?" Another shove. "Answer me."

"I just think -" Sardonyx looks up, shame written all over her face, but she has to stand up for this, if just this once, "We're taking this a little too far. We already won, we made our point. It's over. We should just head to the back, heal the wounded, and prepare for next week." Sardonyx seems a little more confident as she speaks, but the tension grows thicker, "We're better than this. You're better than this -"

Abigail laughs, twisted and fake, glaring into Sardonyx's soul as she spits back, "You think you know what's best now, huh? Is that it? You think it is a game that anybody can play? Is that what it is? You think this is a god damn game." Sardonyx's eyes widen, shaking her head, when Abigail shoves her again, "This is everything. This is my whole life, do you understand? This is getting done. So you're either gonna hit him," pointing back at Bishop, "or someone else is getting hit. Do you understand?" Sardonyx solemnly nods. "That's what I thought. Now do what I tell you to do, bitch." Oof. "And pull the fucking trigger." Sardonyx nods, raising the chair, and Abigail smirks as she turns back to Bishop, ready to spew more trash -

SARDONYX HITS ABIGAIL WTH THE CHAIR!!

WHAT THE HELL?!?!

Time stands still as the sound of impact echoes throughout the Showboat. The fans jump to their feet as Abigail falls down, nearly falling into the ropes. Syn half Spears, half tackles Sardonyx. The first one to move, attacking Sardonyx for hitting his beloved. Riley pushes Syn to the side, Syn quickly tending to Abigail, as Riley takes over beating down Sardonyx, before planting her with Riley's Destino. Even still, the beatdown continues, as Riley is far, far from finished with Sardonyx. Syn has helped Abigail to her feet, and the crowd isn't sure whether to be pissed at this beatdown, or over the moon at Abigail losing one of her most powerful soldiers.

And then there's Malakai.

Abigail takes over the beatdown, yelling at Sardonyx that she gave her the world on a silver platter, but her loyalty was too much to ask in return. This is the repayment she gets, a knife in the back in her most vulnerable time. And it's only when she stops yelling that she notices Malakai hasn't moved. Still covered in his own blood, riddled with pain and exhaustion, Malakai looks conflicted, tired. Abigail is his everything, in a sense, but Sardonyx has been a close friend for fifteen years. He's the reason she's in the Fallen, in MPW, in wrestling as a whole. He may devote his entire existence to Abigail, but when is enough enough? When will the sacrifices stop? Does he have to throw away a long term friendship for this?

"What're you doing?" Abigail sounds choked up as she looks down at Malakai, who can't even look her in the eyes. His gaze stays glued on Sardonyx's beat body, as Abigail yells down at him, "She is nothing to you now. She betrayed all of us. She betrayed you. We are your family, not her. I am your family." He doesn't budge. "Malakai."

Malakai rolls under the bottom rope, and makes his way towards the locker room. Abigail bites her lip, watching her go, before she whips around and starts beating the hell out of Sardonyx. "You're going to pay for this." Abigail hisses, trying to choke Sardonyx out. It's only when Syn intervenes, cradling Abigail's head in his hands, whispering something in her ear, that Abigail relents. He guides her out of the ring, Abigail, Syn, and Riley leaving a bloody scene with multiple broken bodies strewn all over the arena, including one of their own.

[malygcs]

       Squints @ my dash

[loveinhawkins]

Steve doesn’t notice the answering machine for several weeks.

His time is split between the hospital and donating food and clothes; and when he’s not doing that, he’s helping put up missing posters for people’s loved ones.

It’s only when both Max and Eddie are discharged that he has a moment to even catch his breath—when, half-dozing on his feet, waiting for a microwave ready meal to heat up, he notices the blinking red light in the hallway.

He feels like he’s still in a dream when he presses ‘play’, hears his mother’s voice. There’s people talking in the background, the echoing, constant chatter of a hotel lobby. She’s laughing at something someone must have said before the answering machine kicked in.

She sounds… happy.

“Steve? Steve?” The rustle of the receiver getting briefly pressed to her blouse, a muffled, “Just a minute, hon, he might still pick up.” Then, clearer: “No, you must be out. All right, Steve, it was just to let you know that we’ll be home a little sooner than we—yes, I’m telling him, what do you think I’m doing?”

Steve’s thoroughly grateful that he’s listening to a message, and no response is required—can only stand there, jaw slack, at just how light his mother’s voice is.

“A couple of work things fell through,” she continues with a breeziness that probably means several major ‘things’ went disastrously wrong, work related or otherwise. But it doesn’t sound like she cares all that much; if anything, she sounds excited.

“So I thought we could—well, I don’t know how late we’ll be, but if you’re not too hungry, we could just order some pizza, lazy dinner? Plain cheese for you, right?” The distant ring of a bell on a counter. “Steve, darling, I know we haven’t been—” She cuts herself off with a sigh that’s gone too quickly for Steve to parse.

He hasn’t ordered a plain cheese pizza since he was 12 years old. But she’s trying, he thinks. She’s trying.

“Oh, we’re just checking out. What? No, I thought you had that bag. Oh, well, just—sorry, Steve, see you tonight. Love y—”

The message ends.

In a daze, Steve replays it once, twice—it’s on the third re-listen that he hears the mechanical voice intone what date the message was left.

See you tonight.

He inhales sharply just as the microwave beeps, and then he’s out the door, leaving the food to congeal.

-

He knows the route they would have taken. Plays it backwards in his head as he drives. Can see them in his mind’s eye taking the exit that leads into Hawkins—his mom berating his dad for not using his turn signal.

He finds the road. Stops. Gets out and presses his hand to the tarmac. He can feel it under his palm, like a scar.

The gates spread, at the end.

There’s no proof, nothing he can point to and say there, that’s what happened to them. Not a trace.

But he knows.

He knows.

-

“Okay, what’s up?” Eddie asks him three days later.

It’s almost funny, how little things have changed. Steve keeps waiting for a knock at the door, a just kidding! There’s no harried phone calls from their work, so they must have taken extended leave or—he doesn’t know.

He’s never going to know.

“Nothing,” Steve shrugs. “Just thinking if the kids want popcorn now or later.”

Eddie’s suspicion melts away with a snort; it’s too easy. “Stupid question—the answer is always now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Second cupboard on your left, Munson, knock yourself out.”

“What am I, the maid?” But Eddie’s already reaching for the popcorn, opening the microwave door with a clunk, and then there’s an abrupt silence.

Steve realises why a second too late. “Shit, I—sorry, lemme just—”

He picks up the plastic tray full of mouldy pasta and throws it in the trash—feels a prickle of shame as he does so.

It’s stupid that this is the thing that makes his breathing catch. So fucking—senseless.

“Steve,” Eddie says haltingly, like he somehow knows this isn’t just about being absent-minded.

“Don’t,” Steve says.

He knows that’s practically a signed confession already. But Eddie nods and even cleans the damn microwave without a word of complaint. Because the popcorn still needs to be done, and the kids are waiting, and they’re pretending, Steve thinks.

They’re all just pretending.

-

He loses himself in washing up, makes the water run hot and doesn’t wear gloves, lets his skin scald. They’d all ordered pizza, and Steve had hidden every slice he’d taken, torn them all up and stuffed them into a napkin.

He stops when he comes to a large plate with a floral trim.

Would she have picked this one? he wonders. The pizza would’ve looked pretty, served up on that.

And then, as quickly as that thought came, another takes its place. How dare she? How dare she think that a fucking lazy dinner would fix everything? Did she think he’d just forgive her, forgive them both, just like that?

But she never got the chance. He’ll never get the chance to—

A sharp, stabbing pain. Steve turns off the faucet automatically, sees that the plate has smashed in the sink. A shard of china in his palm.

Eddie’s voice echoes in the hallway. “Um, I called Wheeler? Uh, Nancy. She—she took them all home.”

“Cool,” Steve says, voice tight.

He knows that Eddie has entered the kitchen when he hears a shocked hiss. “Dude, what the fuck? You’re bleeding, wait there, just—”

It’s not a deep cut, Steve thinks numbly. He doesn’t know why Eddie is worried. But he lets him fuss, lets him gently pry the remnants of the plate away, lets him wrap a bandage tightly.

“Hey,” Eddie says. His voice is soft. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it, ‘kay?”

Steve can’t look at him. Clenches his jaw.

“We will, you hear me, Harrington? I promise.”

Steve shakes his head. “Can’t fix—” he gets out before his throat closes up, and when he glances back, Eddie’s eyes are wide and fearful.

“What?” he says sharply, and he looks almost nauseous, like he suspects he’s about to be told that the monsters are back, that they have never even left. “What the fuck do you mean? You’ve got to tell me, man, just—”

Steve makes an anguished noise that feels like it comes from somewhere in his chest, and Eddie freezes. He considers Steve for a long moment.

“Okay,” he says, a wary placation. “Can you… um. Can you show me instead?”

Steve blinks. He flexes his hand, uncaring of the cut, and jerks his head to the hallway.

Eddie stares. Frowns. Then leaves.

He figures it out, of course he does. Steve just stands there, hears the click of the answering machine. He closes his eyes.

This is all that’s left; these are his scraps. A sigh he’ll never understand. An aborted, “I love you.” It had never come easily to her, but it had left her freely then.

Why?

A hand on his shoulder. Steve opens his eyes.

Eddie looks stricken. “Steve,” he whispers, then stops like he doesn’t have the words.

Steve can’t blame him. Neither does he.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know,” Eddie says. “Steve, I didn’t—”

“They were coming home,” Steve says stupidly, feels a bit like he’s twelve years old. “They were—Eddie. They were gonna come home.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, and it leaves him all in one breath. “Oh, Steve. C’mere.”

Steve falls against him, muffles something that’s half a cry, half a scream against his shoulder—and mourns the loss of a conversation he will never have.

[the-kr8tor]

Hehehhehehe yess yessss yesssss!!! *Wringing my little evil hands together*

He low-key couldn't feel his arm for a good 30 mins lol

Oooohh Hobie and R resort and spa! But only for pirates who don't suck!

YESSSS!!!

That's it, that's the ending you predicted it 😂

We'll never know~

I think so? During that era at least. LMAOOOOO 😂 that turned dark real quick

🤣 too true! "You mean our ship? Tf you mean your uncle's ship?"

Remember kids, if it's too easy, something's a comin'

Jess was right 😞

"maybe 'no more sacrifices' will be our okay?"

R is related to Frederick! So technically her grandad but since they're way way far from the family tree i have no idea lol

HAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHA WALK OF SHAME! That's exactly what i was going for while writing that bit 😂 out of frame there's a worker ringing a bell behind r and chanting "shame! Shame! Shame!"

Lmaooo queue Hobie pretending to be a noble then ending up marrying R. Couples that bond together through fraud 😍😍😍 stay together ❤️ that would be funny tho like the crew would be in it too 😂 they're trying to convince the aunt with a cardboard cutout of a mansion in the background while gwen and the others dress up as his relatives and staff 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

BEAT HER WITH HER POWDERED WIG 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 GOODNESS THAT WOULD BE THE DAY

Yeess!!! That's the line i was telling you about that go hard!

R is suffering sitting still for a painting while Hobie is playing sherlock holmes in the background 😂

YEEESS MURDER AS A TREAT FOR R!!!!

Eugene could do a number of things but he didn't!! That asshole!!

Stopppp you're making me blush

Yeeess!! Nellie's fortune says a lot!

Between the Devil...

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW suggestive, TW blood, CW panic attack, TW death, CW violence.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 14 >>> CHAPTER 15

You wake up to home.

Hobie's arm is slung on top of you, hand holding your own even in his sleep. His leg lays over your own protectively like he's shielding you from unforeseen dangers that lurk in the drafty barn. His hot breath fans your nape, lips brushing along the skin like stone skipping on a lake. You sigh, squeezing his hand, head lying comfortably on his other arm.

You're careful when you shift your weight so that his arm won't fall asleep, but judging by the sun's rays entering the small window behind you— you're sure his arm is already numb.

For a split second from waking up, there's a small part of you that thought you'd wake up alone. You're glad that part of you is wrong.

As if his senses are attuned to yours, he wakes up with a sigh before you felt his smile on your nape. His piercing is warm as he leaves featherlight kisses on your skin.

“Good dream?” You say through the fog of affection.

“I didn't dream,” you twist in his arms to look at him. Those grey eyes you love do much are properly rested, pupils blown out, content and peaceful. “Don't worry, that's a good thing. I haven't slept this well since— a long time. The closest I got was on our island.” He smiles, hand cradling the side of your head, thumb nonchalantly placed on your bottom lashes, careful not to accidentally poke you. You trust him not to.

“You're welcome by the way.” You joke, resisting the urge to kiss the goofy smile on his lips.

“Yes, thank you for eating my face off last night.”

“Please, you loved it. And it's not like you went hungry last night either.” Your skin is still warm from where he touched you. Your lips still remember how he tasted and how he moved with you in tandem.

Humming, he pecks your forehead. “I think I'm gettin' hungry again.” With a laugh, he rubs your bare legs with his frozen foot.

“Your feet are cold.” Instead of moving away, you scoot closer, which was already impossible since you're already laying next to him chest to chest. You can feel his chest rise and fall against the thin cloth of your slip. Nosing his neck, he fixes your fallen collar to hide your shoulder away from the cold. “Hmm, your hands are warm though.” You coo, fingers subtly inside his shirt, fingertips dancing around his hip.

“Can't say the same thing for your hands.”

“You have cold feet but warm hands and I have cold hands but warm feet. We're perfect for eachother.”

Hobie chuckles, you can feel the deep rumble in his chest. “Put ‘em all together and we'd both have normal temperatures.”

Giggling, he buries his nose atop your head, letting himself drown in you. With the comfortable silence, the various animals below the hayloft huff and chew, the hay under your bodies are scratchy and pointy so Hobie lifts you up slightly so he takes the brunt of the pointed hay, so you don't get itchy from the dry material. Your chin rests just below his clavicle, hands caged around his head, lips curled into a smile.

His heart almost stops when the golden rays kisses your face, the light from the window hits your form perfectly, blanketing you in its glow. Eyes shining, linen slip leaving almost nothing to the imagination, dust flying around you like fireflies— he thinks he has died in his sleep and is now in front of heaven's gates. Standing and gawking at the marvelous sight.

“You alright?” You ask like you didn't take his breath away.

“Are you real?”

You snort, “of course I am.”

“Then I'm alright.” Hobie's knuckles knead at your lower back, warming you from the cold. Hand gripping your waist, you feel right at home.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you and Hobie take a minute to bask in the silence and the slowness of the morning; just like on your little island where you learned to appreciate and truly know each other, you both just lay there and stare tenderly like the other would disappear from view.

“I've been meaning to—” You both say at the same time.

Chortling, you gesture for him to go first, “Captain first.”

“Ladies first.” He smirks, patting your back.

“You and I both know I'm not a lady, you're not much of a gentleman either.”

“I know, a lady doesn't snog like that.”

“Fine, I won't kiss you like that anymore.” You joke, acting like you're about to sit up, he brings you back down tutting with a knowing smile. Your cheeks hurt from all the smiling but he quickly remedies that by stealing a kiss right under your nose.

Giggling, nose bumping, you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Giving him what he needed, Hobie grips your waist tighter as if someone would rip you away from him. With a deep groan, he lifts your face up to breathe. He finds that he loses his breath frequently when you're near him.

Staring at your kiss bitten lips, he flips you back to the makeshift bed, leg hooked around yours. You let out a surprised sound from the back of your throat to which he silences with a peck. Fingers twirling at the little baby hairs on his nape, he unwillingly lets out a laugh against your lips.

Breaking the kiss, you look at him playfully and he knows exactly what you're about to say.

“You're ticklish!” You exclaim, eyes flicking down to the swinging pearl necklace, it hangs above you and you resist the urge to pull it down so you could kiss him again.

“Just on my neck—” you're already wiggling your fingers, “—dont.” He warns you with a stern glare, but it doesn't last as he hides his face on the crook of your neck. Surrendering, melting into.

“Alright, I won't exploit that knowledge. For now at least.” Hugging him, it's your turn to massage his back. His dress shirt is wrinkled under your touch, you guess the random lord from last night had a very rude awakening when he woke up in his knickers.

“You really do love me.” Hobie mumbles into your skin with wonderment. He doesn't recognize your scent with all the perfumes they doused you in, but it's there, it's faint, yet it's still you underneath it all. Still the scuttlebutt he fished out of the sea.

“I think I proved that last night. Do you want me to say it again?” You're prepared to say it a hundred times a day for him, knowing that those three words won't lose any meaning; and with every utterance of it would set it in stone and in his heart.

He hums, content, the rumble echoing throughout your body.

“I love you.” You embrace his head and in turn, he buries his face into the crook of your arm. “Love you,” peppering the side of his face with warm kisses, you smile through it all. “Satisfied, cap’n?”

“Very.” He sniffs, trying to hide his lopsided smile and stuttered breathing. “What was it you were about to ask?” With a sigh, he lets off of you, now laying side by side, hip to hip. He slithers his arm under you to hold you against his chest while his other hand plays with your intertwined fingers. “Were you about to ask why I attacked Miguel first? I figured your injury made you forget.”

“No,” you stare at your dancing hands in the sunlight. He can feel your new calluses that match his own. “I don't wonder about that anymore.”

“You don't want to know about it?” Hobie cranes his neck to look at your content face. “You, who wants to know about everything?”

“It doesn't matter anymore, it got us here, right?” He nods, the creases in between his eyebrows flattens, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Does it put us in danger?” He shakes his head. “Will it hurt me?” Shaking his head again, you continue. “Then it doesn't matter. I just know that the tension got you both riled up, and it was enough for you two to lunge at each other.”

“It was pride, love.” Hobie swallows thickly. “But you're right if you don't want to know then I won't tell you.”

“Thank you,” You squeeze his hand, fingers slotting perfectly on his own. “I was about to ask how you are. How are you faring in all of this? Everyone keeps asking how I am but no one has asked how you are. You keep dodging it every time I ask. ”

“Does it matter?”

“It does,” you say breathlessly with a sigh. “How are you? Truly?”

“Tired, I think I just want to stay here with you in this musty barn.” You blink, waiting for the rest. “But I'm alright, keep holding on to me like this and I'll be better.”

You smile, sitting up by your elbow to look down at him, to see him fully. “It'll be over soon,” hand on his chest, you feel his heartbeat. “I promise, then we can do whatever we want. Go wherever we want.”

“Do whatever we want?” He teases with a playful smile.

“Yes,” you lean down to rub your nose against his own. It makes him shiver, hands holding you tight on your waist. “I kind of want to stay at a lighthouse for a bit after we figure it out.”

“A lighthouse?”

“Mm-hmm, easier to defend while we plan out things. Plus,” you brush your lips over his own teasingly. “It can only house two people.”

Hobie's breath hitches in his throat. “What are we waitin’ for then? Let's go find the wanker and stay at our tower.”

You giggle whilst he kicks the thick blanket off you. “Or maybe a new ship.” He pauses, neck slowly moving to look at you with a face that says ‘go on.’ “With better defenses, a hundred cannons and a huge fucking sail that can take us anywhere.”

“You gonna build us a boat then? Made out of bricks and steel like your lighthouse?”

You scoff, “that'll be the day. My uncle has a ship docked in the capital, if something happens—”

“Nothin', nothin' will happen.” He pulls you in closer, heartbeats synching, fingers digging in your arm. Yet, he's careful to not leave a mark or make you feel the dull press.

“If, if something does happen, we'll meet there. She's called ‘The Osprey.’ You have my permission to take it, captain.”

“Why are you talkin’ like this?” Concern wracks his body. “Do you know somethin’ I don't?”

“No, it's just that…it's been too good, too plain sailing—” you've been too happy recently. “That I think something will happen, something that would make our plan fail.”

“What do you mean? You got hurt, that's not good, love.”

“I'll live. I meant that you and the crew got out without a hitch. You found me without getting caught and no one has even tried to actively kill me. And Miguel...he told me it might be the king who did all of it. Who commanded Mathias to do it because he wanted to marry my mother. That's what I'm worried about.”

“Do you trust his word?”

“I just think there's something else he missed. That he might be wrong.”

“Do you trust Miguel?”

“A part of me does, I don't know.”

“Who do you think it was then?”

You exhale sharply. “I think there's another cog we don't know about. Miguel told me the king is a buffoon, an idiot. And from what I've seen— do you think an idiot is capable of orchestrating it?”

“Idiocracy could be dangerous too. I'll dig around the estate.” Before you could protest, he gazes tenderly at your nervous eyes. “I'll be careful, I'll dress like the staff, if I get noticed they won't talk.”

You nod, trusting him.

Sitting up to cradle your head in his calloused hands, he smiles to reassure you, attuned to your own worry. “That won't happen. If somethin' does happen, I won't let it.”

“You don't know that, Hobie.” Your chest feels heavy, hands suddenly tensing up. “We failed the last time and the time before that. If it happens again— leave me.”

“No, do you think I crossed the bloody sea, rowed a million times to this city and fought with my crew— my family, just to leave you behind?” His voice is determined. “'m not leaving you.” Taking your tensed hand, he places it on his chest, letting his steady heartbeat calm you, even though he's terrified too.

“No more sacrifices.” Hobie breathes out, hands trembling.

A tear escapes your eye. Nodding your head, you compose yourself, sniffing, letting the thumping of his heart wash over you. You're scared, rightfully so, knowing that you might be against the crown itself. A powerful being, whose word is law.

You finally have your reason not to flee and he finally has his reason not to carve like the knife that he is.

And you're both holding it in your hands.

“You're good to me, Hobie Brown. Too good.” With your confession, grey pools whirl into guit, he has something to confess too.

“Your mother's letter,” his words make your heart stutter. “She wrote not to trust anyone. I intended to hold that burden for you but it's not my decision, so please, don't trust anyone, Y/N.”

“I trust you.”

“And I, you. I love you, whatever happens, know that I do.” His grey eyes swirl with anxiety, hands trembling for fear of death. Not for him but for you, the thought of you lying dead in his arms burns him inside out. And he's more than willing to spread the fire, to burn everything around him if it happens. “I promise I won't let it happen.” He whispers, head placed on your chest, praying that if fate cuts your thread, that they'll cut his too. “We'll have our lighthouse and our ship one day. I promise.”

In that rickety barn, you whisper promises of life to each other.

—

Sneaking out was easier when you had the darkness on your side. Now that the sun has risen and the residents of Hazelside now flock the land, you skitter around to get back inside the estate.

With a quick peck on your lips that has your knees weak, (that shouldn't even be called a simple peck) he reluctantly lets you go. It's not like you wanted to leave him either when he looks properly kissed by you. With his dress shirt completely opened, chest exposed to the golden rays. Elbow propped up, he lounges on the hay with a grin, a picture of someone who's absolutely satisfied, who knows why your skin is on fire and why your hands shake as you come down the hayloft’s ladder.

You shake your head, waving the image away from your brain, tucking it under the folds like a secret. You have to focus, hands holding the blanket over your shivering body, (not to mention how exposed you feel in the almost sheer nightgown) you hide behind a tree when a worker passes by.

Then something in you clicks, you technically own the place so why should you be ashamed? Granted, you did slip away in the night to spend it with Hobie, but they don't know that. So why sneak when you can confidently walk back inside like you own the place. You do own it, your family owns it, so you straighten up your back with confidence, blanket draped around you like an expensive cloak, you strut back inside the little crevice you came out of.

There's goosebumps rising on your arms when you feel their eyes on you. They stop from harvesting the trees, gawking at the new (disheveled) barefooted duchess trudging the field. Scratching their heads, they shrug and just like you thought, they let you on your way without a word.

Speed walking back to the old wooden door, you tamp down a laugh from how ridiculous you must've looked like.

As you close the door, darkness greets you once again. And you already miss him.

Following the walls with your touch, you stop when you hear muffled voices from the other path that you didn't take last night. Straining your ears, you hear arguing. With your curiosity, you follow the sound.

The path leads to a deadend. Light filters through on your left, touching the wall— it's rough and wooden on your palm. It's a bookshelf, you surmise. Peeking through the cracks, you see Victoria and Frederick arguing. And his wife seems to be winning.

Your uncle has his head in his hands, sitting down on a plush armchair whilst his wife screams at him with urgent words.

“—word is law!” She yells, voice shaking.

“I know.” Frederick says in a defeated tone. “Fucking fuck!” He stands up abruptly, pacing back and forth. “Did my father tell you about it?”

“Me?” Victoria scoffs, “he's your father! Not mine!”

“How could he—” Frederick sounds like there's cotton in his mouth, sentence in full disbelief. “He was close to them…how could he—fuck! And here I thought— I thought he didn't have anything to do with it. I've always had a feeling but…” he wipes his oily face with his hands roughly. “The three of them, christ, that poor girl.” Your heart plunges in your stomach.

“It's either us or her.” Victoria shakes her husband. “What would happen to our children if we refuse? What of John and Collette?”

“I don't want to—” Frederick stutters when his wife holds his face softly.

“But we have to.” She nods and he follows.

The door to their chambers fly open suddenly, and out comes a smiling John, completely oblivious to what transpired.

“The artist’s here!” He pauses mid step when he sees his parents' faces. “Collette’s on her way to wake her up— are you both alright?”

“We're fine, Jojo.” Frederick pats his son's shoulder, “let's greet him.”

As they leave the room, with the door clicking softly, you feel for your dagger. The familiar shape of it is missing on your thigh, you rush towards your room with a heavy heart. Your weak leg hinders you from running full speed but you persevere before they could get to you first.

Wincing, entering your room through the secret passage, you fling the tapestry away. Collette greets you with a blinding smile and a lilac dress on top of your bed.

“Oh there you are! I see you found the passages. Where'd you go off to?”

“I think I need to go.” You rapidly take your sparse belongings.

“Wait—what?” She takes your hand away from your shoes. “Why? You just got here!” Her face contorts into worry and sadness.

“I—” you heave from the exertion. “I'm sorry, Collette.” She's innocent from all of this, you thought as you grip her hand. You hear numerous footsteps outside the halls. It's too late to run. In a split second, you make a decision. “Can you do me a favour?” She nods tentatively. “Go to Miguel and tell him—” there's knocking on your doors. “Tell him I need him. Tell him my mother needs him.”

Collette shakes her head with confusion, her curls bouncing on her head as she moves. “Your mother?”

“Just tell him that, please? When you can…just please.”

He's your only hope, he has the power to take you away because he promised. Even if you and Hobie fight your way out of Hazelside, it won't be enough. Heart in your stomach, you fear for his life, not your own. You decide to act, to play the part until Collette brings Miguel back. So you play the perfect duchess like they've always wanted. For Hobie.

His words echo in your mind— ‘no more sacrifices’ and you apologize to him silently.

“I'll—” she understands the urgency in your tone and from your worried eyes. “— I'll tell him myself. You can trust me, cousin.”

“Thank you.” You embrace her, with an almost silent whisper, you tell her about him. Another promise broken at your feet. “There's a man staying in the barn, tell him to leave. Please.” She doesn't have enough time to reciprocate the hug as the door creaks open.

“Oh good, you're awake.” You don't miss how her voice wavers, so do her children. There's an army of handmaidens behind her, “we need to get you ready for your portrait.”

—

You sit stiffly on the velvet chair. The plush seat is in deep purple to match the soft lilac of your dress. The gown is tight on your body, bodice covered in gold stars and golden threads. Corset tight like a cage around your ribs. Sleeves fully puffed, ruffles looking like the waves of the salty sea. The skirt engulfs you, heeled shoes uncomfortable on your feet, making your weak leg shake under the mass of your skirt.

It all suffocates you as the artist forbids you to even move a muscle. Jaw clenched tightly, hand almost breaking the stem of the rose that they forced you to hold. The jewelry on your ears and neck is heavy, cold rubies making you shiver. With the finest garment and expensive yet heavy jewelry, you miss the weight of the dagger on your thigh. You couldn't get the chance to hide it under your skirt when all eyes were on you. Numerous handmaidens come and go from your room as their hands frantically get you ready for the portrait.

Just like the uneasiness in you, Collette stands shakily near her brother, eyes never leaving your stiff form, nervous and worried. And just like the dagger, she couldn't escape the dozens of eyes on her, she couldn't find the right time to escape and warn Hobie and Miguel. You trust that she will tell them, you have to.

Your mother's voice whispers in your mind, ‘Don't trust anyone’ you feel like you're drowning again.

You can hear Collette's deep sigh from across the violet room. The scratchy sound of the painter’s brush against the canvas irks you, makes your ears twitch from annoyance.

Your so called aunt and uncle sit on the couch like nothing happened, like they're not planning for your demise. A tower of sweets sits at the table, colourful cookies decorating their plates, fragrant teas in their opulent cups.

“Collette, darling.” Frederick calls, “you should play something on the pianoforte. I bet Sir Remus here would appreciate the soothing sound.”

“I prefer the quiet, Monsieur.” The artist says in a rigid tone. He dips his brush into a dollop of purple paint, smearing it on his pallet. You follow his movements like he's about to pounce at you and stab you with his brush. “If you don't mind— my lady, please refrain from moving.” He stares at you sternly, pointing his long finger at you accusingly.

“I wasn't moving.” You say through gritted teeth. He doesn't reply, returning to his canvas.

“Can I please be excused?” Collette asks timidly. Her tone raises an eyebrow on her brother's face.

“No, you may not.” Victoria scoffs out, you wonder if she knows.

The stem on the rose digs at your palms.

“But—” Collette turns to her father.

“Listen to your mother.” Frederick doesn't even look at her.

“It'll be your turn soon enough, Collette. Learn from your cousin, be patient and it'll all be fruitful.” Your aunt stares at you above her cup.

“What will be fruitful?” You ask, tone commanding, eyes alight.

“The portrait. You already look wonderful from here.” You can feel the lie in her throat.

“Bullshit.” Your voice echoes around the silent room.

Everyone pauses, frozen on the spot, eyes trained to your furious face. The painter scoffs with an amused smile.

“Excuse me?” Victoria clutches her pearls. “We do not use that foul language here, especially in front of a guest.”

“I'm terribly sorry. Please tell me what this portrait is for, aunt.” You fake a smile, clearing your throat.

She subtly shakes her head, offended. “It's simply for…” flicking her eyes towards her husband, he nods his head. You can see the guilt in them. “...your engagement.” Collette gasps whilst James blinks in shock.

The rose in your hand snaps in half.

“What?” You ask, breath stuck in your throat.

With a click of Remus’ fingers, a staff rushes in, exchanging the snapped rose for a new one.

“The Viscount called for you last night. He expressed his love for you with a proposal to which we…gratefully accepted.”

She stomps her pointed heel on your heart with every word.

“Who?” You ask tearfully, and the painter clicks his tongue, commanding you to not move.

“Viscount Eugene Thompson.”

“I just met him!” You scream, hands gripping the sides of your seat. “You have no right!”

“Madame!” Remus yells back. Instructing the staff to sit you back down. With their gloved hands, they grip your shoulder with a remorseful face, forcefully sitting you back down.

The walls of the purple room seem to get smaller.

Collette shakes her head subtly. James sees this and he immediately gets that something has gone wrong and it's not just the surprise engagement. His ocean eyes tell you to ‘play along.’

Exhaling, letting a tear escape, you act like the duchess you were supposed to be like if not for the past.

“You should've asked me, dear aunt, I would've gotten to know him more.”

“That’s what marriage is for, dear niece. You marry and then you know them after. That's how it's supposed to be for us who are highborn.”

“It's for the best.” For the first time your uncle looks up from his drink to gaze at you. His fingers tremble as he talks. “You get to be a viscountess and we get to stay here at Hazelside. No one loses.”

I lose, you furiously thought. You now know why they want to marry you off to a stranger. It's for them to keep their titles and house while you rot in somebody else's. Someone who might treat you less, someone who could hurt you. Someone who isn't Hobie.

With a cruel laugh, you cackle in your seat. “I get it now.” Your uncle's face contorts into shame while your aunt clenches her teacup hard with an angry sneer.

Collette turns away from you, hiding behind her brother. She knows and so does John who stares out the window, but will they still choose to help you? Or will they choose their titles over your freedom?

“You should be grateful.” Victoria says above the sudden silence. “With how…used you are, you're lucky that a viscount even wants you.” She says with a scoff. “If you weren't as used then you could've been married off years ago to a duke, an earl or even the prince himself.”

“...Used?” You ask rhetorically, making her say it again, making her face you fully with her cruel words.

“You've been to a pirate ship, I have no idea what your role was but I do know that it's impossible that you weren't soiled in that ship.”

You are scorched by the sun.

You almost pounced on her but a staff member suddenly appeared next to you. Her eyes are warm, jade eyes telling you to hold fast, hands telling you to stay down. She takes your bleeding palms, the sting you just now noticed from the spiked stem of the rose. Carefully bandaging your hands, she wordlessly nods at you.

Lips slightly parted, you have an urge to ask who she is and why she's helping you calm down. But you don't let yourself falter, taking this stranger's advice. With a nod and a familiar knot on your hands, she walks away from you, head down in respect or because it's what she's used to.

You take matters in your own bleeding hands.

“Why don't I meet him again? The viscount, so I could get to know him before I marry him.” You lie through your teeth. If you can't talk down your own family or get Miguel for help, then you'd take your chances with the viscount. Maybe he'll think twice about the engagement once you tell him you don't want it, or him. “For tea, perhaps?”

Victoria turns to her children who cower under her glare. “John, why don't you take Collette and send a messenger for the viscount? I'm sure he'd appreciate it if the invitation was sent by your hand, the future duke of Hazelside.”

“But—” John starts but Collette stops him by grabbing his arm.

“Will do, mother.” As the twins leave, Collette gives you a look, green eyes determined. With a nod, you know she's on your side.

“And Collette, darling, straight to your chambers right after.” As if your aunt knows, she forbades them from going out. With a nod to a broad footman, he follows the twins out of the room.

You indistinctly mouth Miguel's name, hoping Collette gets the message before she disappears from view. You wish that they can at least sneak in a letter to Miguel.

If she can't get to Hobie in time, you'll have to do it yourself. For now, you need Miguel back to Hazelside first and foremost. He might not like Hobie but he seems to care for you and your well being, he'll get you and Hobie out, you just know it. He has the title, the power to help you. And the stature that strikes fear into your aunt and uncle. You just hope that Hobie's in the barn, you'd run to him the moment you get the chance.

With your bandaged hands, you grip the arms of your chair. The velvet is slashed under your nails, fluff spilling out.

Victoria stands up, crossing the threshold towards you. “After your meeting with the viscount, there's no escaping this, no matter how you act. I know you're not one of us but you have to try. Marriage is the best option for the both of us. For the family.” She holds onto the back of your chair as you continue to stare at Remus.

“You’re not my family,” you look up at her with your burning eyes. “Whatever you're planning, you'll regret it soon enough. You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

She exhales through her powdered nose. “Hollow threats, dear niece.”

“It won't be, I promise you that.” You abruptly grab her wrist, nails purposely digging in. “If you're part of the reason why they're dead—” she tries to take her hand back but you're stronger. “I'll bury you under my grandmother's apple trees. Then you'll truly be family.”

Unknowingly, you embrace the same fire he has.

Frederick comes to Victoria's side, quickly making you unhand his wife by roughly unclasping your fingers around her.

Your nails scrape and leave a mark on her soft skin, to which you grin at. She has the look of a woman who's terrified for her life. Her husband shares the same look, but with regret in his eyes.

They leave the room, arms embracing each other, murmuring hurried whispers in their traitorous ears.

“Keep that look.” Remus cuts the thick silence. “I like it better.” He smiles, continuing to paint your likeness.

You wait and bide your time, waiting for your so-called aunt and uncle to fully disappear from the halls outside. You count to thirty.

Five.

You listen for their retreating footfalls.

Twelve.

The sound of the brush against the paper is the only thing that you can hear while you ignore your quickening heartbeat.

Nineteen.

Anger rages in you, Hobie finds something in the duke’s office.

Twenty-five.

You thank the artist for his time, using an excuse of not feeling well. His protests fall on deaf ears as you close the door behind you.

Thirty.

You run to him.

—

You try not to make it obvious as you sprint, only slowing down when someone sees you. After you're away from their view, you continue to run towards the barn like a moth to a flame. The ache in your leg is fiery. A harsh throb in your bones, the pain reverberating through your body.

It makes you wince and groan, slightly limping, you finally make it to your chambers. Quickly throwing off the blasted shoes, you immediately kneel down next to your bed in search of your dagger that you've kept hidden under the mattress.

Feeling the cool steel, you grab it, with no time to lose, you hold it in your hand as you head towards the familiar tapestry. Heart pounding like war drums, blood rushing in your ears, sweat dripping off your brows, you feel the fury in your lungs. It buries inside you, shoveling, tunneling, until it reaches your heart. You fight a sob when your knees almost buckle from under you.

Holding on to the walls, you go further inside the hidden path, in search of his warmth. His name echoes in your head, ‘Hobie, Hobie, Hobie’ it says, and you grip tightly around his name like it's your life line, your guiding light as you finally make it to the rotten wooden door.

The sun hangs low in the sky, the cold grass hitting your bare feet makes you gasp but it's not enough to stop you. It'll take more than that to stop you in your tracks, to stop you from reaching him.

The residents of Hazelside are far and few during this time of day. The ones who are left spare you a curious glance but they let you be whilst you run and run, until you reach him, until you reach your reason to live. You'll run forever if you have to.

Ankles burning, palm throbbing from the steel in your hand, you push the barn door open without a thought.

The smell of manure and hay hits your nose, the familiar scratch of a gun being unholstered rings in your ears.

Your heart finally finds reprieve when you see him bathed in the orange rays. Hobie points his gun away, holsters it once he lays his eyes on you. His pulse quickened further the second he spots the deep worry in your eyes. And how you heave like your lungs are about to give out.

Hobie leaves Bernard‘s side, letting the saddle fall on the horse’s back with a soft thump. Fast strides get himself in front of you at a quick pace. Grasping your face, tear stained cheeks tells him of what he feared, what you feared.

“What happened?”

“T-they're going to marry me off.” You weakly say. Holding his arm, you burst at the seams. The fire in you still burns, but you've had enough of its heat.

Now that you stand in front of him, the firelight in you dims, adrenaline fading, letting you be your true self.

You can't lose him.

“I'm sorry,” your hold on him gets tighter with every plea. You can't say it, say that you've given up even though you were forced to. But to you it's all the same. Failure means death, failure means they've died without justice. But failure also means you get to live, to continue to live with him. You're torn between the family you know and love, and the family you never got the chance to love.

And he understands completely.

You now see the cost of revenge laying at your feet, and it's him— Hobie's head rolling on the floor right next to Gwen's, Miles', Pavitr’s, James' and Yuri's. He has seen the same look in your eyes before in the mirror, the reflection cracked and broken. He can't let it happen to you, won't let the hunger burn you until you can't recognize yourself anymore.

And he can't lose you.

“That's alright,” Hobie embraces you, arms shielding you from everyone. Your face hidden in his leather vest, the familiar material helps ease you from the adrenaline rush. “Let's go then, fuck ‘em.” He says against your head. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

“Thank you,” you look up at him with tearful and restless eyes. “Thank you. Let's go look for the others.”

“I found something, but you're right, we need to go. Let me saddle him then we can—”

The doors burst open with a loud bang. The sheer force unhinges the doors from the frame. The sound scares the animals inside, their terrified cries rising above your own.

Hobie hides you behind him as a dozen or so guards filter through the doorway, their heavy boots thumping louder than the horse’s frantic stomping. They all raise their bayonets at Hobie while he stands with his own gun raised.

The men in uniforms yell at Hobie to let the gun go, to let you go like he's holding you hostage. But it's all muffled noise to you both, everything happens in slow motion. Dust floats in the air like it hangs suspended. You no longer hear the cries of the barn animals as you're more focused on Hobie, and he's focused on your safety.

He's calm amidst the numerous guns aimed at his head. He's in his natural state, but your hand around his arm makes him aware, aware that the bullets would pass through him and into you if they shoot.

For the first time, his hand shakes around his gun.

Outnumbered, he clasps your hand behind him, squeezing once. You already know what he's about to do.

“Hobie, please.” You whisper as you look over his shoulder. “No more sacrifices.”

Your words wake him. The fishbone is stuck in his throat once again. Choking him, strangling him as realization hits him.

It's the end.

“I can't,” you see tears in the corner of his eyes. “I can't let them have you.” There's desperation and grief in his voice. He can't lose you.

“I’m so sorry.” Kissing his clothed shoulder, you whisper a goodbye. “I'm so fucking sorry.” You don't want to lose him, but fate has other plans.

“Unhand her!” Frederick appears like he actually cares for your wellbeing. “Fucking scoundrel! I knew you were up to something, dear niece. Glad I got my footman to follow you. I thought you were just gonna run away on a horse but I did not expect to see the red hydra under my own roof.”

Without a second thought, you stand in front of Hobie. Protecting him with your own body. “Let him go, uncle, and I'll marry Eugene.”

“You know I can't do that.” He points his finger at Hobie. “He has a bounty on his head, you see.” He beckons you over. “Come, Y/N, we're gonna need the money for your upcoming wedding.” When you don't obey, his eyes flashes with remorse that's quickly replaced by the need for survival.

“Let him go!” You scream like a knife twists in your gut. Hobie tries to hide you behind him but you fight him. “Please,” your voice falters with desperation. “Please, uncle. Let him go and I'll marry Eugene, I won't fight it anymore. Just let him go.” You're ashamed, but it's needed for him to live.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but you don't hold the cards here.” Your heart falls in your stomach, it dissolves in acid. The duke cranes his neck to the officer near him. “Seize them, don't harm a hair on her but take the red hydra to the capital.”

“No!” You try to swipe with your dagger but it's fruitless as the uniformed men yank you away from Hobie. The steel clunks loudly on the ground as Hobie tries to hold onto you, the sleeves of your dress rips away as the men take you away.

His gun falls as one of the taller men punches him in the gut. Hobie spills crimson from his lips but he continues to fight the men. He kicks, scratches and bites. Getting a few hits in, he yells for you, calls your name with desperation.

Almost all of them hold Hobie down, but even with their numbers they still can't keep him still. Using all his strength, he fights back with sheer will alone. His elbow meets a face, nose crunching. His knee smacks someone on the groin, knees buckling. He draws blood with his nails, his mouth snapping at anyone who gets close. Someone made the mistake of getting too close, now the captor's ear is in his bloodied mouth.

Reaching for you as two men try to drag you away, your heels dig in as you try to reach for him too. Fingertips brushing along yours, eyes glued to your terrified face, he decides that his final words to you shouldn't be filled with agony, but with something that should help you survive, something to keep you alive once he can't be your reason anymore.

Because he's a knife born to cut and bleed, not to love. Or to be loved.

“It's not him!” Hobie screams as they continue to drag you away. “It's her! It's—!” A bag is put on his head, shutting him up with the rope tied around his neck. The men laugh menacingly as they cinch the rope tighter.

Hobie tries to resist, clawing at his captors, guttural screams let out from the same lips who called your name softly in his sleep.

“No!” You continue to thrash, nails digging into the arms of your captors. “Hobie!” Your voice cracks as you hear him start to choke.

“Oi!” The duke yells towards the guards. “Bring him to the king first! He needs to stand before him before you bloody execute him! What will he say if you bring the most wanted pirate in the country dead in front of the whole court, hm? You know how much he likes the theater of a trial!”

Air rushes in your lungs as they untie the rope. He coughs, spit darkening the bag. You yell for him again before a bag is placed on your head. Darkness invades your senses, and you're afraid of the unknown, afraid of what they're doing to him as they tow you away on the moist ground. Throat clumping up, hyperventilating, you try to desperately breathe. The guard's hold on you tightens and in turn, your throat tightens, shutting off your air. Heaving, ears ringing, your own breath fans on your face while you hastily try to take breaths in. Black dots dance around your vision until you fall unconscious.

This is the end.

—

You've been staring at the same spot for hours, blank stare, red eyes. Legs tucked, arms enveloping around it, your mind runs like an unhitched horse. Hobie's face is seared into your brain. You can see his wild eyes with every blink of your own. His screams echo in your ears like a death rattle, it might as well be if his fate is to be decided by the crown who hates every fiber of his being.

The soft bed doesn't provide comfort, the blankets don't shield you away from the stern stare of the guards guarding every single opening in your chambers. A behemoth of a man stands in front of the unicorn tapestry, his cutlass on his hip shines in the moonlight as well as your own dagger.

The once comforting eyes of the sea snake around the hilt now mocks you. You did this, you did this. You've killed him, your hubris killed him. You might as well follow him towards the end.

There's no more tears in your eyes left to be shed. Every muscle in your body aches from your wracking sobs. Your nails leave crescent shapes in your palms, tiny dots of crimson drips on the expensive silk bed sheet.

Yet, you want your mother.

The one who truly knows you, the one who saved you all those years ago. There's a part of you that wishes she didn't, that she left you alone in the arms of your doomed birth mother. But there's a bigger part of you who seeks Jessica's comfort. You seek her warmth from her embrace, like you once sought out your family. Family who turned their backs on you, family who locked you in your chambers like a princess in a fairytale. But this isn't a fairytale, it's real, and you can still hear his screams.

You would've given everything to meet your family back then, if only you could warn your younger self to come back to that small cabin in the woods, to beg Jessica to take you back. Even if it means you've never met him, even if it means you'll never feel his touch again as long as he's alive, knowing that he'll survive is enough. You now wonder if you didn't jump on that net that day, would everything still happen? Would Mathias still find the revenge? Would Finn and Ned still be dead if you just ran the other way?

It's too late to come back, it's too late to save them, to save him.

A bird passes by your window, and it's just now you realized it's dawn. The rose-pink sky upsets you further. Your brain concocts an image, an image where everybody lives. Where Finn and Ned drink on the revenge, where the trio plays cards on the rickety table. Where Hobie has his hands around your own as he guides them on the helm.

You haven't moved an inch from the bed, yet you stand in front of the mirror wearing a white dress.

With every pull of the ribbons behind the wedding gown you feel like they're gutting you like a fish ready for supper.

Silver threads weaved around the golden violets on your bust, the fabric is airy yet heavy and suffocating on your form. White gloves decorate your hands to hide the crescent shapes. There're heeled shoes underneath your feet to prevent you from running away, heavy perfume to hide the iron lingering on your skin. Make-up to hide your sorrows, jewelry to get people's attention away from the tears in your eyes. Top it off with a bow on your back and a golden tiara on your head— you're dressed properly for the slaughter.

And Hobie is too. If he had a mirror in the dimly lit prison they threw him in, he'd wonder who's looking back at him. He doesn't look like the captain he was supposed to be, doesn't *feel like the captain he was supposed to be. He's been beaten, his own ichor flowing out of his mouth and open wounds. Body shaking from the cold, he misses your fire.

He's not terrified of the blade that would kiss his neck, he's afraid to leave his family in this world. Afraid to leave you in this world.

He hates the fates for weaving him like this, to let everyone he has ever cared about die or be given a fate worse than death. Why did they shape him to be a knife that kills instead of something better? Something smoother around the edges, something that doesn't let everything he touches die?

Hobie whispers your name in the dark like you would materialize right next to him. The ground is wet under him, iron fills his nose, he wonders how many people lived and died in this cell. He feels the ghost of your touch on his hand, and he cracks at the seams.

Victoria appears next to you like a gust of wind. She fixes your mother's necklace on your neck, hands cold, nervous, terrified.

“You have a guest.” She says lowly, like she's already mourning.

For a moment hope blooms in your chest. Is it him? Did he escape to save you? Is he alive?

But if it was Hobie, Victoria wouldn't announce it. He would come to you like a dream, quick and quiet, touch soft and careful as he takes you away from your hell.

You have no fight left to scream at her, to claw at her painted face. She leaves before you could find the fight in you.

With gloved hands from the handmaidens, they guide you outside. Face blank and limbs limp, you let them.

They halt by twin doors, gold outlining the shape, birds carved on the dark wood. Eyes solemn, you only now notice the finely dressed man in front of you.

Eugene calls your name softly, like how someone would utter a person's name who's currently rotting six feet below the soft ground.

You are scorched by the sun. And you're ready to burn everything in your path.

“I'm so sorry about this—” Your knuckles hitting his cheek makes him stagger on his feet. He spits out blood, crimson coating the polished floors. “I deserved that.” He groans as he tries to straighten up with grace. With one look towards the staff, they all filter out of the hallway, leaving you alone with the object of your ire. “Listen, I didn't intend for this—”

“What did you intend then?” Your voice breaks from all the screaming and the sudden silence you sported after it. “Hm? Wed and bed me for what? Satisfaction? To breed me like a broodmare?”

“That—no! It's not like that!”

You wish you had your dagger to cut him right where he stood. Standing toe to toe with Eugene, he backs away from your heated glare. “What is it then? They're going to execute someone very close to me just because you wanted to marry someone you've only just met—”

“I fancy you and I had every intention to court you properly!” He sighs, and you notice the darkness under his eyes. “But this wasn't my intention. Getting someone in line for the gallows wasn't in my plan, or anyone's plan!”

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, he continues. “Listen, I gushed about you to my family.” There's no lie in his tone, but you still doubt him. Your punch leaves a mark on his posh face. “They encouraged me to call for you, knowing that I needed to marry or my title and estate would be in danger. When my godfather heard your name he did more than to encourage me. He's the one who orchestrated this…quick marriage. Not me.”

“Godfather?” You ask breathlessly.

“He's inside, I have no idea why he would do anything like this! I promise you, I had no hand in this. I was forced, if I had a choice I would have courted you then let you decide if you wanted to marry me or not.” He tentatively takes your hand, “I'd take care of you though, I promise.”

Frowning, you grip his hand in an iron grip. Eugene winces, eyes darting around for help. “You do have a choice, Eugene. You always have a choice.” Your voice shakes. “It's not too late, call off the wedding and we can forget this ever happened—”

“I can't. Your family already paid the dowry, and we already paid our dues.” He says through the pain, voice faltering. You still won't let go. “My godfather did all the work, it's all set in stone. The priest is already waiting at the altar, your family and mine are already there. I'm sorry, Y/N, if the circumstances were different—”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes boring holes in his skull. Nails digging in, refusing to let go. “There's a part of you who wanted this, you're a man and a viscount, you had a choice. Yet you let it all happen.” Eugene frowns deeply, trying to get his hand back from your grip, head turned away in shame. “You were not forced, you're just as bad as your godfather, whoever he is, I'd like to face the fucking asshole.”

Pushing him away and away from the door, he sighs in relief, clutching his hand. You shoulder the heavy doors. Revealing a room that's finely decorated for the reception.

A sparkling chandelier hangs above, your ancestors’ portraits watch on from the walls. White lilies decorate the expansive room, violets are laid on every table. The fine table setting would've taken your breath away if not for the man sitting at the head of the table.

“Hello, little birdy.”

It's the end.

[itonashi]

Could I request a Reo x reader in which reader is socially akward and the opposite of him. I love the way you write him

MANSHINE CITY...

pairing: reo mikage x fem!reader

warning: mentioned of scar, nagi being nagi, multiple timeline.

note: i assured you that this is not like my prev fics of reo. enjoy <3

being in a prestigious prep school made you have no friends. since you have entered second-year now, your new year's resolution was to make new friends! maybe you're lucky this year unlike last year. you didn't fit in because of the difference in background and you were... socially awkward. you thought that maybe if you entered here you would not be an ordinary girl.

twirling your pen around your fingers, a group of girls went up to you. "[name]. last year, you were in mikage's class right? how is he like?" one of them asked you excitedly and you could hear squealing too. you never even interact with him... he was in a complete different world with you. he's an all-rounder while you were fortunate enough to pass the entrance exam with flying colours (you worked hard for it).

"i don't know him that much. you should ask someone else." you avert your eyes from them and they let out a sigh. disappointed since you don't know him. you were probably the easiest person to get information out off since you are a quiet person (you're just socially awkward). you side glance to your left side and saw nagi aka the loner (that's what they described nagi as). 'maybe i should use him as an excuse' but that didn't worked because right after you thought of that — nagi stood up from his seat and took his phone to go somewhere.

before you know it, the group of girls were already gone from your table. letting out a sigh of relief — the bell ringing indicating that it is lunch time.

going down the stairs, you heard some voices having a conversation about soccer —it was a one-sided conversation because you keep hearing the same voice. you loved watching soccer matches, maybe you could be friends with them. they heard steps behind them and looked behind them. oh, the voices belong to nagi (your classmates) and reo (your previous classmate).

"oh! you're [name], right? i remembered you from last year."

reo mikage, the richest and popular boy in school is talking to you. he's way out of your league to be talking to you... pointing a finger at yourself, you made a confused face.

"me?"

"yeah!"

"yes, you're right..."

curse him. you forgot that reo is that type of person who will remember anyone. you're glad that the only person in the place is you, reo and nagi. nagi stood up and shrugged reo's hand from his shoulder and looked at you. 'what is nagi gonna say.. i have a bad feeling about this. is he gonna say about that time?? this is bad!' last year, there was an incident that you don't ever want to remembered but nagi was the only one to witnessed it.. you feared that he will mentioned about it here.

"oh, you're tha-"

"im not!"

you were already at the bottom of the stairs and you slapped your hands onto nagi's mouth to shut him up. reo was startled by your sudden voice and laughed at the situation. i mean, you were basically tip toeing to nagi to shut his mouth. you couldn't handle the embarrassment at all. what if reo's first impression of you is a girl who have no shame?!?

you were looking at nagi with pleading eyes to not say anything and nagi understood you. he removed your hands from his mouth and you uttered an apologies to him many time but he shrugged it off since he didn't care much. this feeling make you wanna off yourself...

"i think you and me can be great friends, [name]!"

"eh?"

your jaw dropped. the girls at the school would feral at this. this is very very bad... the school might hate you. you don't even know what's gonna happened now. you feel like your palm is going sweaty. is this a joke. your overthinking was going over you. putting on a fake smile hiding your misery.

"i think we do make a great friends!"

"right! you, me and nagi."

"what."

even nagi was shocked with reo. did you guys suddenly become a trio. you three don't even know each other that well! maybe this is the time you said goodbye to your new year's resolution.

but you actually hoped that you three become good friends.

huh?

how?

how did you go from walking to school to riding a limousine with nagi and reo? this is too sudden. now you actually see your future's going black. imagine if your schoolmate saw this... you tuned out the (one-sided) conversation that reo was having with nagi. too shocked with what's happening..

"[name], do you know anything about soccer?"

you nod you head at reo's question and he hummed. that's when it all went down...

happily sipping the juice that reo provided, it was good. it's to your liking. "do you want to be the manager for the soccer team?" you almost choked on the juice and nagi noticed it. giving you a tissue to wipe yourself. you sweat profusely even though the inside of the long car is cold. you keep quiet for some time.

reo definitely is persistent because he won't stop looking at you until you give your answer to him. you shake your head, indicating that it was a big no. you fear that you wouldn't be good enough for the team and just messed up. you have low confidence.

"ill give you three days. if you said yes i will buy you anything you want." reo offered, you knew he was serious. it is money we're talking about and he's that kind of rich.

"fine..."

"then find me and nagi at the rooftop."

"huh, i never agreed to this."

"now you do, nagi."

within the three days, reo was observing you and nagi! he even went as far to go to our class. you bet that he asked some people on how you two are at class. burying your head on your hands, you think about the offer reo gave. it was too good to be true.

maybe you can help your brother at the hospital...

going up to the stairs to the rooftop, you feel your heartbeat thumping. 'gather yourself! it's not like you're confessing to someone!' you open the door to the rooftop and saw reo with nagi sitting around. reo was the first to saw you and waved at you. you waved back even though you felt like it was awkward to do it since you were not used to this.

walking towards them you sat on the bench beside reo, making a little bit distance from you two. you breathed in and out and before reo could ask you said yes to the position. reo was turning into a sun after you said that and you and nagi almost went blind because of his sudden bright personality.

"your favorite soccer team?"

"manshine city..."

you adapted to your life as hakuho's soccer team manager. everyone was so kind to you.. ofc, you went into some troubles because some girls were jealous that you were close with reo. i mean, everyone could see you, nagi and reo together everywhere.

you and nagi were like siblings but you and reo uhhh.. how to describe. it feels more than that. he treat you like a princess. of course you can't avoid your feelings any longer for him.

sitting in your usual seat at class, you twirl around a strand of your hair waiting for lunch time. 'nagi is sleeping' you watched nagi sleeping soundly with a book covering his face. the bell rang and the classroom door open, entering reo mikage. thud, you looked at your desk and saw your favorite drink from the cafeteria.

you looked at reo up and down. you pointed to the drink and at yourself back. "it's for you." oh, it really was for you. you awkwardly took it and put it inside your bag. reo was watching all your movements before he went at told nagi to wake up. you wondered what reo think of you.

when he first saw you last year, he thought that you were just an ordinary girl who managed to get into the school (luckily). you were quiet in class. you stood out from the others. you only talked to people if they talked to you first . he noticed you're socially awkward. he always saw you roaming around the hallway everytime. you just can never escape his vision when you were in first year.

his first impression of you wasn't good when he was a first year. now that he get to know you better in second year, his impression of you changed.

you got into the school to support your brother. little brother at the hospital. when you accepted the manager position, your first request was money to pay for your brother's surgery. you had a kind heart. anything for your little sibling. he doesn't deserved you.

his feelings of curiosity of you grew that's why he offered you the manager position. to see how worth you are..

and you were perfect for the job. you actually knew alot about soccer but you never had the desire to manage a soccer team. that's why you were startled when he offered you it.

the both of your feelings grew and nagi noticed it. nagi fucking seishiro, the dense guy noticed you two have feelings for each other. at some point, whenever you guys go hangout — he would made reo go buy you food and drinks.

"reo! [name] is hungry! she want some pavlova."

"eh!? since when did i said that, nagi!"

works everytime, he did that. he would see you trying to hold your blush and reo trying to not look at your face.

when the blue lock thing happened, you were bored out of your mind. it seems like reo and nagi weren't allowed to be on their phone at that so called training camp. throughout the months of them gone, you kept reading the old messages to entertained yourself.

i want to confess to reo...

you missed him so much (you missed nagi too). while they were gone, you were basically alone again. having no one to talk too. you became clumsy and have quite some scars at your hands. nothing too serious.

you visited your little brother at the hospital for some time to pass the day faster. you just wanna see him. and that day finally came.

reo was the first to called you but he said the blue lock project isn't ending yet and there's a match going up and he want you to watch it. he knew you never have chances to watch a real match in real life. it was always infront of a screen. he got you a ticket and wished you be there. anything for him.

maybe i will confess to him there.

finally, the day has come. the blue lock vs u-20 japan match. you weren't interested in the japan soccer team but you heard that their will be itoshi sae. the new gen 11. you could never missed this chances. entering the stadium, they were already a packed of people in it even though you went there early. you took some pictures to remembered the memories and walked around because there were still time.

you got bored eventually, roaming around the stadium. you went back to your seat (along the way you did brought some snacks). reo got you the best seat, he said that you should be watching him closely and god, you were blushing.

the match started, and you eyed contact with nagi and reo. reo waved to you — you waved back while nagi just give you a peace sign. the match was intense, nagi and reo improved so much while they were in blue lock and you weren't even sure that it was actually them.

you gathered up the courage and scream nagi and reo's name. and the only one who looked back was reo. you are never going to do that again. it was so awkward to you, but at least reo noticed you.

the match ended, and you sprint away from your seat to meet them — if you have the chances that is. seeing reo and nagi, you went and hugged reo first. startled by your sudden hugging, reo didn't expected you to hug him first. nagi snicker at the scene. he is third wheeling them...

"you two were so amazing on the field!"

reo rub his neck trying to hide his blush. nagi just nod at your praises. "heh, thank you." it's now or never , you want to confess to reo so you make eye contact with nagi. trying to sign him about something and he fortunately understand you.

"im gonna go."

now that nagi is away, you conversed with reo for some time first. you cut off reo suddenly with a sudden confession of your feelings.

"i like you, reo."

you confessed to him? he wanted himself to confessed to you first! but you beat him to it. at this point, he knew he is blushing profusely now. you're thinking if your doing a wrong decision, right now. what if your friendship and him become awkward?

what i-

"i like you too, [name]. more than you think."

note: i had some technical difficulties with this but it's ok. have fun with this. idk the wordcount.. i think i did a lot of words tho.

[wysteria-clad]

Hi! I love your writing and I saw you were taking requests so I was wondering if you could do a Steven Grant blurb + "isn't this the book you wanted?"

Thank you and I hope you're having a nice day! ~🦢

Hi there! Thank you! Have a lovely day/night <3

Steven Grant + 'Isn't this the book your wanted?' from this cute prompt list

-------

The cold air bites your skin as you stepped outside of your house, even though you were wearing layers of warm clothes, and a thick soft sweater.

It has been snowing for the past few days. Being cooped up inside has started to become pretty boring.

You wanted to go out, and do anything. At least to walk around the block. To get your legs moving and feast your eyes on the silvery white snow cloaking the city. It is beautiful.

Steven voiced to go and check out the local thrift store, and you wanted to devour a nice, warm cup of hot chocolate and other wamn delights from your favorite cafe. It was decided then.

You smile to yourself. You'd appreciate it more if you it wasn't this cold, but you enjoyed it nonetheless.

Steven stepped next to you. "Here you go, love." He slips your beanie on your head, tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. He pulls it down so it cover your eyes from the cold. He then places a kiss on your forehead.

You smile and thank him by kissing his lips. Despite the weather, his lips are warm. You slip your gloved hand into his, leading to your first destination.

.

.

The walk to the thrift store wasn't long.

It was an old fashioned store. Maybe that's the charm of it. It was one of your favourite thrift stores. A small bell rings as Steven opens the door.

The owner, Mrs. Thatcher looks up at you and Steven—her customers for the morning, and greets you. It was short and polite.

Few minutes pass as you walk around, searching for anything that catches your eye.

"Love?" he calls you.

And you turn around as if it's your name. It's so simple, and so Steven, yet it made you feel warm everytime he called you. You are his love.

"Isn't this the book you wanted?" he lifted up a book to show you.

You grinned widely. You had been looking for this particular book, a rare edition for months. And he found it finally in a thrift store.

He remembered.

"You found it!." You walk to close the distance between you and him. "I knew you were my lucky charm."

That brings out a soft smile on his face. He doubts it. In fact he would argue it's the other way, but he doesn't lets his thought dull down the light in your eyes.

.

.

The next stop was even more cozy. You ordered tea for him, just the way he loved and much awaited warm, hot chocolate for yourself.

The cafe wasn't crowded, but you noticed few couples and a group friends.

You were glad to be seated on the table near the window. Sooner, the noises and people around you became a blur, and become background noise when you and Steven talked, just about anything that came to your minds.

He rambled enthusiastically about his latest favourite thing. You nodded along, content, with the taste of your warm drink down your throat. It was as if you were in a own bubble of world, just you and him.

It was a lovely day, indeed. Simple, but filled with little joys you adored. And love packed in between.

Maybe love doesn't have to be grand all the time. It could be slow, boring and mundane. It can be just remembering how your lover drinks tea, or remembering what book your lover wanted.

------

Moon Knight taglist:

@twwcs @friendlyneighbourhood-parker @fayes-fics @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @devilish-mirage @syrma-sensei @gaymistakeboi @scarabgrant @mintpurplemnm @kittiesluvyou @luke-o-lophus @nana1000night @this-is-me1 @thatdummy-girl @vinsevena @hot-mess-express1 @hotbisexualmess @fandxmslxt69 @beaxtrice @ninebluehearts @moonknightwifey @i-still-dont-like-your-face @toracainz @damnzelsoul @bitchyglitterfox @21stcenturycirce

[pandorasword]

Happy Valentine’s Day!!

Took the chance to say I love Chaeri’s world 🥰

If you don’t mind I’d like to ask you how Chaeri spent Valentine’s Day in these years

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

Chaeri's masterlist

「 Hi! Happy Valentine's Day to you too, even if a little late. Here is a small extract from Chaeri's first Valentine's Day spent with BTS members. I hope you like it ♡ 」

Chaeri's first Valentine's Day with BTS

❒ member: OT7

❒ genre: Slice of life

❒ words: 1.3k

❒ summary: In which Chaeri decides to spend her savings on a treat for her newly found "brothers"

❒ warnings: none

That year, for her, winter had come so quickly that she had been caught unprepared. Indeed, everything that had been happening to her for the past few months had been catching her unprepared. It hadn't even been six months since she'd left Paris, moved back to her dad's place in Jeju, left him too to move to Seoul and join a small dance crew that would support the rising idols of the BigHit company in their performances, to find herself at the end right among those people who would soon be making their way into the KPOP industry. And God, she'd only turned 14 a few weeks before.

It was freezing for months now in Seoul and she was not at all used to that weather, familiar with the milder winters she had experienced in France for most of her life. The snow fell slowly and ended on her dark hair as she walked along the streets lit by the LEDs of open shops. Her orientation still sucked and she ended up getting lost during each of her trips through the city, except for one road she knew by heart: The road from her dormitory to the nearest convenience store.

Everything she ever needed in those months was in that place. It was neither large nor small but certainly well stocked, the shelves so full that they almost burst onto the floor. The place had become so familiar to her that she no longer paid attention to the tinkling of the bell at the opening of the front door, the smell of detergent and the background of the radio kept on by the owner who, despite being covered with a mask and scarf up to her eyes, still recognised her by offering a polite smile as a greeting.

The coins in her pockets clinked with every step, reminding her to go straight to what she needed. She couldn't waste money. Those were all she had left from the allowance her father sent her so she could support herself there in Seoul. Unfortunately, she had to spend more than half of it on new clothes. She would have been fine with the limited quantity her mother allowed her to bring back from France when she left but her body was changing and growing and those cloths no longer fit her. She had bought cheap outfits but this still affected her monthly budget.

All she needed was a new pair of gloves. Her hands tended to dry out and bleed in the cold causing scratches to spontaneously appear on her skin. She stopped at the shelf in front of the cash desk, where all the wool accessories were stacked (almost) in order. She would take the cheaper ones, of course. As she was choosing a gust of wind made her shiver, a sign that the doorway had been opened.

"Good evening Oppa, how are you? Did you eat?" "Hello sweetie, I'm glad to see you. What are you doing here?" "I came by to say happy Valentine's Day. These are for you. I made them myself."

Her curiosity was a lot more than her shame not to be nosy, so she turned to witness the scene she had only heard about up to that point. In front of the shop's owner was a younger girl with a large box carefully packed in her hands. She was confused for a few seconds then mentally called herself a fool: There in Korea, on Valentine's Day, it was women who gave chocolate to men. In Paris it worked differently, guys gave small gifts to women mainly to propose themselves. She still had memories of the gift she received the previous year from a friend of her brother: a small key-ring with two cherries. She always kept it pinned to her backpack, never leaving it behind, not because it was a gift of love but because it was the first present a guy had ever given her.

"You sure know how to make your big brother a happy man" "Don't be too happy, next month I expect a gift as good as mine from you" "Have I ever forgotten to spoil you on white day in my life? "No, never. That's why you're my favourite brother"

Her brother never gave her chocolate, but she wanted to convince herself that it was because traditions were different in France and they had lived there most of their lives.

However, that scene left her with a doubt… was she supposed to buy chocolate for the members too?

They weren't that close yet, mostly because she was trying not to get too involved with them to avoid future delusions, but she felt she had to at least take a look at the pastry shelf. She wandered around the shop until she came across a whole section of chocolate snacks. It was soon obvious to her that even the smallest boxes of sweets were more expensive than she would have expected, probably because of the time of year. On Valentine's Day everything was TOO pricey.

She couldn't take her eyes off a small box of choco mochi, though. It was placed a little too high for her stature but, struggling, she could read that there were exactly eight sweets inside. She was sure everyone in the dormitory would've liked them.

She slipped her hands into her pockets to count again the money she had with her. It wouldn't have been enough to buy both gloves and the gift for the boys. All she had to do was choose what to get. . . . . . ◟੭ The appartment the guys called a dormitory was so small that it left no privacy, which is why Namjoon walked out of the bedroom they all shared when the sound of keys in the lock was heard. From the moment he met Chaeri he felt a sense of responsibility for her. He had chosen her to join them and he had to look after her. She was barely more than a child in his eyes, after all. Although Chaeri was always rather distant, he could feel that at that moment he was the member of the group with whom she felt most comfortable, probably because he tried to spend as much time with her as possible.

"Welcome back Chaeri" "Hi Namjoon-ssi " "I have told you more than once you can be not so formal with me, with all of us actually" "Yeah, right"

Namjoon couldn't hide a brief smile, that little girl was so stubborn.

"We were waiting for you to have dinner, take off your coat so we can light the stove and sit down to eat."

The last hours of the evening passed quickly as they were gathered around the table in the small dining room, the warmest one in the house. They had almost finished clearing and washing the dishes when Chaeri walked away from them only to return and place a paper bag in the middle of the table

"Before you go to sleep I wanted you to have this."

Hobi was the first to approach to take a look "What is it, Chaeri-ya?"

"I'm not good with this stuff, I've been living in Korea for a short time but… I know it's a tradition here to give chocolate on Valentine's Day."

"You bought us chocolate? Ooo so cute, you shouldn't have"

Jin affectionately placed a hand on top of her head as the boys crowded around her and the table to take a treat each.

"Thank you." "Thank you Chaeri-ya" "You sweetened our evening"

She smiled, it took so little to make them happy that happiness spread to her too.

"I never got chocolate for Valentine's Day before" Jungkook spoke, covering his mouth with one hand as he gulped

"Well, having a girl in the group has its positive sides" Chaeri jokingly said. Strange how she was the one who gave them a little gift and yet had the feeling that she was the one who was being filled with love

"Only positive sides for real" Jimin winked at her from across the table

"Chaeri-ya, this tastes so good. We need to buy more tomorrow" If he could have, Tae would have left home right away to go and buy another pack of those delicious mochi.

"For this I might even forgive you for all the hair I find in the bathroom after you've been there" Yoongi nodded as if he was talking more to himself than to the girl, causing the room to fill with laughter from all members.

To herself, the girl thought she could get used to living in such a house, noisy and full of joy.

Chaeri looked down at her bruised and aching hands - yeah, it was worth it.

"Hey kid, have a treat too"

She looked up again until she met Namjoon's eyes, as soft as the first time she met him. He was handing her the last goodie in the box.

"Thank you, Namjoon"