#except that their workspace is nothing like that

[wndaswife]

girl next door | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Wanda attempts to become closer with the young woman who moved in beside her while balancing her work and personal life, though she’s doubtful of the possibility that you might be interested in her at all.

Word count: 23 310

Tags | MDNI: smut, fluff, shy idiots flirting, wanda is a cutie and kind of a pervert, specified age-gap, masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, dildo usage, praise, wanda doesn’t know what mommy kink is yet but you can tell she’d be into it, milf!wanda maximoff, lesbian reader

Checking her rear mirror before signalling left and merging into the adjacent lane, Wanda drove around the moving truck parked outside of one of the townhouse buildings she lived beside. Beside her detached house was a townhouse owned and put up for rent for temporary long-stay renters, and often, around the beginning of the summer or the start of September, Wanda would often see professionals working in Jersey City moving in.

It was the start of the summer now, and there were presently movers helping to carry small pieces of furniture through the open townhouse doors. It was furnished inside, Wanda assumed, though the furniture they were bringing in seemed to be building up to some sort of office — perhaps there was an extra empty room in there for renters, and whoever was moving in was setting up a workspace.

Wanda nearly missed her driveway while she was scrutinising everything the movers were bringing in, trying to pin down whoever it was that was renting. When Wanda stepped out and shut the car door, she could see a young woman from above the roof of her car stepping out of the townhouse’s front door, talking with the movers and letting them know where to place the furniture.

Just when it seemed that the young woman’s gaze shifted over to Wanda, who was, admittedly, staring a bit too hard, Wanda’s phone buzzed with an incoming phone call and she quickly broke eye contact to pick it up. She locked her car and walked up to her front door, carrying a stack of paperwork of upcoming orders that she needed to sort through.

She thought of you again while making dinner, curious about you for some reason she didn’t quite understand. She wondered if you were just a younger relative helping the actual renter move in, or if someone who looked as young as you had really moved into Westview by herself just beside her. 

From the kitchen island counter where she was standing eating her dinner, Wanda looked through the living room window where she could watch you continue to unpack a few small things from the back of your trunk. She regarded you curiously; perhaps it was your age or the fact that you seemed to have moved in alone that seemed to be interesting to her, though Wanda wasn’t sure why any of that would necessarily pique her interest as she felt like it had.

In the morning, Wanda prepared for the twins’ arrival in the afternoon when she’d have to pick them up after work, waking up with enough time to clean. 

Vision, Wanda’s ex-husband, worked as an attorney in New Jersey and often stayed in New York, but when it was his turn with the twins, he stayed in New Jersey — much closer to Westview.

Wanda had always counted herself as lucky for having been married to and having children with a good man. Though she and Vision were necessarily divorced, she never had to worry about what would become of their connection, and she knew that their relationship wouldn’t regress into something difficult between the both of them nor with their children.

However it became rather clear as their relationship progressed, especially after they had children, that the directions of their ambitions and perspectives of their lives were diverting from each other; nothing about them aligned except for their children. 

Vision was Wanda’s neighbour when she first moved into her apartment once arriving in America alone. He was smart and very kind and showed her around. He was a westernised Brit, which was palatable for Wanda who found security with a man who knew so much about the country she had just moved to, but who also wasn’t overbearing, and was rather well-mannered and docile. 

When they first met, Vision was finishing his second last year of law school, and Wanda didn’t have much going on for herself until she made plans to open a business. It all went quite fast after they married; Vision passed his bar and Wanda’s floral shop had begun to find its footing, and they decided to finally have a family. 

But Vision’s career and dreams took him further than what Westview could offer, and Wanda wasn’t the same young woman with wide-eyes and unsteady footing like she was when they met — she had dreams too, and children. 

By the time the twins turned two, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that things were different. Their dynamic had changed, they weren’t of the same mind as they used to be, and Vision could tell that Wanda had changed too; she hadn’t intended to be distant, but it always felt like her life took place somewhere her husband couldn’t reach. She was changing and growing, and she didn’t need a crutch to lean on anymore.

She wasn’t as unsteady and lost as she used to be. 

By the time she was leaving the house, it should’ve been around the time that Vision was dropping the twins off, but instead, she opened the door to see them running up the porch stairs. 

Surprised at the way they rushed passed her, both giving her a quick hello before they ran up the stairs, Wanda stuttered, “What–” 

“They forgot their class projects,” Vision explained with an awkward smile, stepping onto the porch and watching Tommy and Billy dash into their rooms. 

“The Bristol boards?”

He nodded.

“Did they behave?” she asked, holding her purse with both hands in front of her. 

“Of course,” her ex-husband answered with a smile. “We went to the cinema on Friday. Tommy cried during the final scene and Billy was quite supportive.”

Wanda and Vision shared a laugh, and chatted about how it was going with the new firm he was with and about Wanda’s shop, until the twins came back down holding their school projects. 

“Good luck on your presentations today,” Wanda told them and leaned down, holding each of their faces delicately and kissing each of their foreheads. 

“Thank you, mama,” Billy replied cheerily and gave her the best hug he could with his other arm full of Bristol board. 

Vision and Wanda spoke a little more about when he would pick them up this weekend for their grandfather’s birthday, which Wanda couldn’t attend because she had promised to help set up a town event celebrating the start of the new season. 

Westview was a popular destination during the Spring for it was located in a relatively secluded area of New Jersey, and well-known for its nature reserves, which also meant Westview well-decorated for the season. 

That also meant Wanda and her floral shop were always hard at work throughout the start of Spring. 

From the corner of her eye, Wanda saw your car pull into the driveway, and for a moment she saw you briefly running your eyes over her and Vision and the twins in the car. 

Throughout the day, Wanda thought of you for the same reason as she did last night, and with the same degree of inexplicability. While she signed and read through paperwork for orders and put together arrangements alongside her employees, she thought of how long you might be renting and where you’d come from. She thought of the kind of flowers you might like; she tried her best to recall the furniture and items you’d brought in yesterday to try and pin down your style. 

Once she realised how much she’d been thinking of you and realising it was strange that she kept acting as if she hadn’t been thinking of you, Wanda decided to put together a bouquet for you as a welcome gift. 

After she picked the twins up from school, she was sure to keep the bouquet in its vase secured in the passenger’s seat, checking on it occasionally as she spoke with the boys about how their days and presentations went. 

“Go put your things away,” Wanda told them as she ushered them through the front door, “I’ll come to help you with your homework in just a minute.” She locked the front door and headed back to her car, reaching into the passenger’s seat for the bouquet. 

Your car was in the driveway, and she could see some movement through the window beside the dining room. 

For the first time since she even thought to put the bouquet together, Wanda wondered if she was coming off too strong, or even too strange. After all, why would the older woman neighbouring you introduce herself with a bouquet of flowers?

Wanda could justify herself to you; she owned a floral shop and was working all day and didn’t have time to give you anything else and she always made a point to be friendly to neighbours. 

Before she could even justify herself to herself, she was already knocking on your front door holding the vase securely with two hands. She heard some rustling beyond the door, and a few chaotic tumbles, before the front door opened and Wanda got a good look at you for the first time. 

You were young — a college student, she presumed — and pretty. 

Wanda felt her words catch in her throat and she internally panicked trying to get some form of an introduction out. She hadn’t known what she had expected from you when she knocked on your door or what unsuspecting part of her curiosity was taken aback by your appearance, but Wanda forced out an introduction as normal-seeming as she could.

“Hi,” she said with a friendly smile, “I’m Wanda Maximoff, your next-door neighbour.”

Panicked and deciding that her initial introduction wasn’t enough, she added, “I thought I should introduce myself.”

She couldn’t seem to stop rambling. “A-And I work at a floral shop in the shopping district, hence the flowers,” she explained then held the vase out to you.

You seemed genuinely happy and appreciative when you replied, “Oh, that’s so nice of you! Thank you so much.” Wanda was grateful when you took the bouquet from her and didn’t look like you thought the gesture was strange.

“I was hoping I might be able to meet some people from the neighbourhood soon and maybe explore Westview a little,” you told her, “but I’ve just been so busy unpacking — so thank you, really.”

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” you introduced yourself. “I saw you this morning and thought to say hello today too, but I think I’ve just been so overwhelmed with the move.”

Wanda thought you were sweet and rather cute. She attributed it to the fact that you stood out from the other people of Westview who were older and a bit less spry. “It’s normal to be a bit overwhelmed once first moving into a new place,” she told you supportively. “I’m sure you’ll adjust in no time; Westview is easy to get comfortable in.”

“Thank you,” you answered graciously. “I’m happy to finally be able to talk to someone here.”

You were trusting and talkative too, Wanda noted.

“I would be happy to show you around whenever you have some free time,” Wanda found herself offering quicker than she could think through what she was saying. She added, trying to save her first impression, “Only if you don’t mind — I assume you’re a student and rather busy.”

“I would really love to have a tour!” you answered enthusiastically. “Thank you so much. I feel adjusted to Westview already.”

Wanda felt herself flush, feeling appreciated and flattered by your words.

“Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers?” you asked. “I can let you know when I’m free next! I should be sometime at the end of the week; I don’t start my work until next week.”

“O-Of course, that’s completely okay,” Wanda said with a wide neighbourly smile, stuttering slightly for a reason she couldn’t exactly explain to herself. It was normal to exchange numbers with acquaintances, but the idea of you asking for her number made her feel excited.

You kept taking her by surprise, though she wasn’t sure why.

For the rest of the night, Wanda tended to the twins — helping them with their homework, making them dinner, and playing Minecraft with them before bed.

They said she was bad at it, but they always asked for her to play with them.

As she got ready in her washroom after putting the boys to bed, Wanda picked up her phone at the sound of a text and found a message from you: Hi Ms Maximoff, it’s Y/N! Thanks again for the flowers, they’re beautiful.

The way in which you addressed her was all too formal, but there was something about how polite and proper it was that she enjoyed, even if it made her feel a little old. 

While Wanda found herself smiling at her phone and thinking up a way to reply, you texted again: You mentioned you worked at a floral shop in town. Where is it located?

Eventually, you spoke to her about what you were studying and what you were in Westview for and for how long. She talked about Tommy and Billy and their father and when she opened her business. You and Wanda continued to text you back and forth until she realised she had stayed up about thirty minutes past when she planned to sleep, and she had to tell you goodnight. 

Wanda couldn’t remember the last time someone seemed so genuinely interested in her life and interested in sharing things about themselves with her. It made her feel interesting and paid attention to. 

In the morning immediately after dropping the twins off and saying goodbye to them, her thoughts went to you and the conversation you shared together last night. 

You had just graduated and were now doing research with a professor, and you wanted to explore some research before beginning your Master’s. Since your professor’s research institute was located closer to Westview than northern New Jersey, you decided to move to Westview for the duration of your six-month research period.

Around the beginning of the day Wanda thought of you the most, wondering particularly about when she might see you again and when you might be free, until the afternoon rolled around when her scheduled employees came in and she started picking up the pace with her orders and arrangements.

It wasn’t a large shop, so there were typically four people working there at a time. One dealt with walk-in orders and those who wanted to purchase anything on display in the front, another with shipments and administrative work, and two that helped with preparing and putting together the arrangements. 

Wanda oversaw and managed all of it along with Agatha, who she’d opened the shop with, so she worked each day aside from Fridays and Saturdays — unless she needed to be at work — and Sundays when the shop was closed.

Spring was busy for them, but Westview was a rather small town and their shop was also local and a bit smaller. However, it was from Wanda’s shop that businesses and sometimes the town ordered intricate arrangements for events or for statement display pieces.

But by the late afternoon, the shop had a visitor that Wanda hadn’t expected.

“Y/N,” Wanda uttered at the sight of you walking into the shop, looking around at the vases and flowers and succulents on display.

“Hi,” you greeted with a smile once you walked up to the cash register. 

Wanda’s smile widened and she felt herself excited and unsteady at the thought that you might have come into the shop purposely just to visit her — but she couldn’t jump to conclusions. “Are you looking for another bouquet?” she teased.

You laughed and Wanda felt her chest flutter.

“No, not yet,” you answered. “I just thought I would return the welcome favour with a gift.”

You laid a cup of tea and a pastry on the counter between the both of you and Wanda found herself speechless by your gesture — you had come just to visit her after she told you where she worked, and you had brought a gift for her too.

“I finally got the chance to walk around today, and I thought to visit the shopping district first and stopped by the café down the street to get something for you. I hope you’re okay with Oolong.”

“Y/N…” Wanda didn’t know what to say, her hands laying themselves by the tea and pastry but not having enough confidence to take them. “You really didn’t have to — and to have come all the way over here!”

You laid your hand atop of Wanda’s and she felt her cheeks flush, her eyes flickering down to your soft hand for a brief moment before looking back up at your soft expression. “But I wanted to,” you told her, then retracted your hand. “I really am grateful and I hoped to be able to make my own impression if not pay you back for the gift.”

Wanda felt so warm and she finally gave in, taking the tea and pastry and moving it closer to her and beside the cash register. “Thank you so much, that’s very kind,” she said.

To have someone think of her so much, to go out of their way during their first day free from unpacking to visit her and make such a thoughtful gesture instilled in Wanda a feeling she hadn’t felt in a very long time — or ever, if she really thought about it.

She felt so cared for, and seen.

“Have you been liking the town so far?” she asked.

You nodded. “Westview is really beautiful, and I’m happy to have chosen to move here,” you answered.

“But you seem busy,” you said, looking around at the employees walking behind her with papers or assortments of flowers in their hands. “Hopefully we’re both free soon so you can show me around your favourite spots.”

“I’m really looking forward to that,” Wanda replied with an eager smile. 

Over the next while, Wanda’s free time completely diminished and she struggled to find any time to see you like she’d promised or even talking with you in-person or over the phone. 

You sometimes see her coming back late, sometimes looking fatigued or just in a rush to finally get home, so you didn’t want to push by messaging or visiting her, intruding where you shouldn’t as a neighbour and a new friend. 

You imagined that the mere thought of you must just be another task she must complete and try to fit into her schedule, so you didn’t want to impose yourself and overwhelm her. 

Wanda also thought often about reaching out to you just to ask how you’d been and to let you know that she’d just been rather overwhelmed for the last two weeks, but that she’d been thinking of you and hoping her schedule might free up soon. 

She felt disappointed in the timing too, because she knew that your research project had already begun. 

But she thought the attempts would be fruitless and unwanted — why message you just to say she still couldn’t fulfil her promise?

There was one time you nearly had a proper conversation with her a few days ago. You were outside planting some flowers you had bought, finally having finished packing inside and deciding that it was time to decorate the exterior of your place too. 

Wanda was waiting for a ride from her coworker as her car was in the shop, and she had gone out to wait for her at the same time you were outside. 

She asked how your research had been going and you spoke a little about that, but you spoke more about the flowers you were planting and Wanda’s tips on how to take care of them. 

The conversation ended abruptly though the both of you had plenty more to say when a brunette older woman around Wanda’s age pulled into her driveway — and in a rather gorgeous vintage car. 

A few times, Wanda saw you walking around town with Dottie, a teacher at Tommy and Billy’s school and a member of the town council, and Wanda sometimes saw her at the meetings when she occasionally stopped by. 

They interacted a handful of times during events, but first met when she was Tommy and Billy’s teacher. She came off as condescending, at least to Wanda, but got along just fine with Vision. 

She didn’t think there was any particular reason that Dottie would dislike her, but she understood that it did sometimes happen that some people just didn’t get along by nature. But she seemed to be getting along with you just fine — quite well actually, for how often she saw you walking together. 

Over time when she had begun to hear from you less, Wanda figured that perhaps you had only just wanted to make a friend in Westview, and Dottie was around far more than she was.

Wanda supposed that Dottie was perhaps a bit more enthusiastic also. She was younger than her too, which Wanda guessed was something that you might like more — perhaps you had more in common with her.

It seemed like the only thing that aligned well between you and Wanda was where you lived.

“Ms Maximoff!” you called from your driveway, and Wanda turned to see you waving at her.

It was around six in the morning, and Wanda had to head to the shop early to receive some shipments. 

“Hi, Y/N,” she answered and waved back with a pleased smile.

The two of you bridged the gap between the two driveways and met in between.

“Good morning,” Wanda greeted, her smile wider upon seeing you much closer.

Your eagerness to speak with her was refreshing and quite nice.

“Morning,” you replied. “Are you heading to work?”

She nodded and explained, “I have a few shipments coming in today that I need to be there for. And you? Are you heading to your professor’s office?”

“I am, yeah,” you said, a bit wearily as if feeling sheepish.

Sometimes you felt a little shy bringing up things that made the age difference between you and Wanda all the more obvious, like how you were basically going off to school just like her kids would while she was heading off to work at a shop she owned. 

Wanda was about to ask why you seemed to lack enthusiasm about heading there, but then you asked: “Can I drive you to work? I can pick you up when you’re off.”

The offer took Wanda by surprise. You were so considerate of her, and without even a second thought to it. “O-Oh, really?” she stuttered. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve been coming home late recently; I don’t want to keep you up or bother you with waiting for me.”

“I know,” you said. “I hope it’s not stalkerish — it’s by complete coincidence, I promise — but sometimes I do see you coming home a bit later. But I have some things to read for my professor today that I’ll take home to do tonight, so I’ll be up.”

“That’s… really sweet. But why go out of your way?”

She couldn’t tell because you were facing away from the sunrise so your face had casted shadow upon it, but it seemed like you were blushing as if having been caught in an act.

Wanda only regarded you with curiosity, squinting a little against the sun so she could see you better.

“I don’t want to come off as pushy, I apologise,” you quickly explained. “It was just something that came to mind.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” Wanda replied, waving her hands in front of her and placing a hand on your arm reassuringly when you looked unsure of yourself. She tried to conjure up something to explain why she was so confused and surprised by your kindnesses, but was quickly shut up by her own hand at the feeling of your still arm under her palm and the meeting of your eyes with hers.

She dropped her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to sort through her thoughts for you.

The more Wanda thought about why it was so difficult to navigate your personality, the more she came to the realisation that aside from friends, and coworkers — which category, for whatever reason, Wanda didn’t think you fell into in that same informality — the only other experience she could call on was that which she had with Vision.

He was very formal and docile, and never took risks or said or did things out of what was expected. It seemed often that he was filling a role or going through the motions of things, which had never been very much of a problem for Wanda, who had thoroughly appreciated how static and steady he was.

As such, Wanda found herself often flustered and surprised by your affectionate gestures that told her you were interested in spending time with her, and spared no subtlety.

“I just feel a little guilty for having no time lately, and I haven’t really done you any favours,” she explained. “I think I just feel surprised when you take the time out of your day to think of me.”

Wanda worried that she might have embarrassed you, and she stayed silent, trying not to fuck anything else up by rambling in the way that she always felt like doing. She forgot that you had just finished your undergrad and that she was, in stark comparison, thirty-two years old, divorced, and living in a small town in New Jersey with two young kids.

Maybe she was struggling to view you in the casual way that anyone else in her shoes ought to, to see you like a neighbour or a passerby or a temporary renter of the house she lived beside.

But if not any of those came naturally to her, how did she see you?

Why did she keep thinking of how you saw Dottie?

“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t sound like I was rejecting your kindness,” she added, unable to keep quiet for even a moment.

“Why do you feel like you have to do favours for me?” you asked. “It’s okay if you do nothing for me ever, actually. I think I just like your company.”

Did you like consistency, a stable presence?

Did it bother you that she had introduced herself to you, then didn’t talk much afterwards?

Was trying to see her more a form of seeking consistency in a new town, rather than out of an actual desire of seeing her?

“I would love to get a ride from you,” Wanda told you and smiled. “Thank you. And I don’t think you come off as pushy at all.”

You and Wanda talked a lot on the drive to the shop. 

She told you that she’d been extremely stressed with balancing everything and getting everything prepared in time, and always tried to finish most if not all of her work before the weekends so she could spend the most of it with her sons. 

Thankfully, she’d been able to catch up with everything as the orders had died down, and she predicted that she may be finished before the upcoming weekend.

“Um, I don’t know if maybe you might not want to — so feel free to say no, since I know you have stuff going on,” you said once you parked in front of Wanda’s shop. “But I went to this really nice garden a few days ago and saw that next weekend there’s a Spring festival event, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

Before Wanda could answer, you added quickly, “Again, also, I don’t wanna add to your stress.”

“Y/N,” Wanda said, softly, before reaching over to place her hand atop of yours where it laid on your thigh. “I would love to go with you. I don’t think you’re a bother, and it wouldn’t add to my stress to see you at all. In fact, I think I would thoroughly enjoy taking the weekend to relax with you.”

“Really?”

Wanda nodded and smiled. “Westview has the Spring festival every year — it’s one of the reasons I’m quite busy at the shop at the start of the season.”

“Would your kids like to go?”

“Their father is taking them to New York City this weekend, so it’ll be just you and I, if that’s okay.”

The enthusiasm written on your face at her answer made Wanda giggle. 

—

“What’s got you so jolly at six in the morning?” Agatha asked as she was unloading the shipment of glass vases from the delivery truck.

“What?” Wanda asked, looking up from her bag that she had placed in the backroom to start helping her unload.

The two women had been friends since Wanda moved into Westview with Vision years ago. She was there for her before they divorced, during it, and after, and helped Wanda open her business. 

In fact, Agatha was Wanda’s right-hand woman in the shop, and they worked closely in terms of their job position and responsibilities.

Agatha stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, surveying her best friend. 

“What are you looking at?” Wanda inquired hastily, leaning over to try and lift up a rather large securely-wrapped vase — it was for a new store’s grand opening for this upcoming weekend, so they ordered a rather large ensemble. “Can you help me?”

She ignored Wanda’s request for help and pressed on. “Are you seeing someone?” 

“What? No! I’m not seeing anyone.”

Agatha squinted and her fingers tapped distractedly against her hip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Agatha, I’m sure. Please–”

“Did you sleep with someone last night? A one-night stand, then.”

Wanda stood up straight and put her hands on her own hips defiantly. “No!” she answered with finality. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“You just look like…”

“Like what?”

“You look smitten.”

She never used the term smitten in thinking about how she felt about you, but to have someone else call it that made Wanda reevaluate her feelings toward you.

Is that how she felt?

“It’s just nice to be noticed… and-and taken care of,” Wanda said as she and Agatha started restocking the inventory room, with Wanda checking things off their checklist and taking inventory count — albeit distractedly.

“Honey,” Agatha started, setting down a planter on the table Wanda was leaning her hip on and standing in front of her. “I’m so happy that you’ve met Y/N, and she seems really sweet, but I hope you know what you’re doing with someone younger than you.”

She added, “It’s not like this is something familiar to you. The only person you’ve really been with is your ex-husband, and you were the younger woman.”

Wanda looked down at the checklist, thinking. “I don’t think I’m really expecting her to… to want anything. I don’t think she could even be interested in that,” she said. “I think maybe I should just see things from a black-and-white perspective — see things as they are.”

“Don’t get me wrong — I don’t want to deter you from pursuing who you’re interested in, Wanda,” Agatha told her. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. I know you’ve been married and that you have kids, but you have a wide-eyed view of the world. I don’t want to see you get hurt or let down.”

—

“Were you busy today?” you asked as you held the passenger door open for Wanda.

“Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile as she slid in. “No — Agatha was working with me all day.”

When you got into the driver’s seat, you asked, “Who’s that?”

“She’s a good friend of mine, and we opened the shop together,” Wanda explained, buckling herself in. “How was your day?”

The conversation was so casual and almost domestic, and the comfort of being able to see you after work felt a lot like coming back home after a long day. 

“I guess not so bad,” you answered, making your way home. “I was reading and taking notes all day.”

After a moment of trying to garner some confidence, Wanda spoke. “Y/N, I want to say that I really appreciate your company, and how kind you’ve been to me,” she said honestly, playing with her fingers with her hands tucked between her thighs. “I don’t have a lot of time to meet new people, and Westview is rather small, so it’s also rare for anyone to be as thoughtful as you.”

She added, “I thought I should be honest, and I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate the time you take for me.”

You shifted a little in your seat, and Wanda thought maybe you were just taking a moment to choose your words carefully. 

“I didn’t think you were unappreciative,” you reassured. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

Friendly. 

Wanda looked at you for a few moments, studying your face, until you turned and smiled at her. She returned the smile and looked back to the road silently. 

Had she embarrassed you this morning? 

Was she misreading things?

She wanted to sink into the seat and fall right through to the core of the earth. 

The rest of the drive was filled mostly with small talk, though it didn’t feel very awkward. However, Wanda felt like she was on edge, like she had some responsibility to be more direct or open, and she didn’t quite know how else to be anything but hesitant and unsure of herself. 

She felt disappointed when you pulled into her driveway, now having been unable to communicate her affection for you properly throughout the drive. 

“By the way, uh…” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly and Wanda looked at you, anxious about what you might say. 

If you were going to apologise for being so forward and open with her, she wouldn’t know what to do next. She wanted to keep becoming closer with you, and to spend time with you like you’d discussed, and she wouldn’t know how to take that up on her own if you decided to apologise for everything. 

“I made you dinner,” you said finally and turned around to reach in the backseat to hand Wanda a tupperware of pasta that was still quite warm. “You’re always coming back late, and I’m sometimes having dinner later because I just get caught up with the work I’m doing, so I thought I’d just make you some since I was gonna pick you up.”

You had an awkward, nervous smile on your lips and your thumb kept tapping against the lid as you spoke. 

Wanda melted, her hand coming to her chest as she leaned forward to take a look at what looked like spaghetti. “Y/N, I don’t know what to say… You didn’t have to…”

She felt truly a loss for words, being entirely unable to remember the last time someone had been so considerate of her. 

Since her divorce, most of Wanda’s life had been occupied by her job and her children. It wasn’t anything to complain about, and she very rarely ever did, but your kindness and attention the past little while reminded her of how infrequently she had anything new happen in her life. 

“You’re so considerate of me,” she said as sincerely as she could communicate, looking up from the food and at you, who met her eyes with a soft blush before looking away.

The bashfulness of your reaction made Wanda take her bottom lip between her teeth, a small grin forming on her lips, equally as nervous but also fueled by her intrigue in you.

“Thank you for driving me and making me dinner,” Wanda said after unlocking her front door.

When she turned, you were standing on her porch looking at her expectantly, the tupperware in hand. She thought you looked so sweet… and young — just innocent.

There was something so delicate about the respectful distance the both of you kept, a lingering interest in one another, and something that just felt tense. 

It made Wanda ache in ways she couldn’t quite explain. 

Even with Vision, the excitement she’d felt with him was different from what she was feeling now. She was so young back when they first met, and the pull she’d felt towards him was similar to that of a lighthouse’s to a stranded sailor. 

There was so much she’d yet to learn or live through when she first met him, and she often wondered how things might’ve been if she hadn’t spent so much of her time tied down. 

But at the end of everything, there were the twins, and Wanda could never truly wish for anything that had happened up until now to change if it meant not having them. 

If she thought about it, it seemed that most of what she did was settle for a lack of other opportunity; nothing very new or exciting happened in her life nor in Westview, and by the time she was no longer who she was when she first moved to America, she was engaged with plans for children and a future with the first man she’d met when she came here. 

She suddenly felt quite determined to become close with you, for it certainly wasn’t very often that anyone paid her any mind. 

Especially not someone like you. 

“I really enjoy your company, Ms Maximoff, and I know you think I’m always going so far out of my way for you, but honestly, I like to be able to help,” you insisted. 

Wanda felt a surge in the depths of her lower stomach and up to her chest at the polite tone of your voice and the way you looked in the warm orange of her porch light. She stepped forward and took the tupperware from you. She wrapped an arm around your upper back and pecked your cheek. 

“The effort isn’t lost on me, I assure you,” she said, then pulled away with a soft smile to find your cheeks slightly flushed and your eyes darting around nervously. Her smile could only widen in response and she laughed a little, pulling away from you to head inside.

She bid you a goodbye with a wave of her hand which you returned, and Wanda closed the front door behind her. 

Almost immediately once she closed the door, the twins called from their father’s phone to talk with her before they headed to bed; sometimes they called in the evenings when they were away, and especially if they’d done something fun with their father earlier. 

They greeted her together: “Hi, mom!” 

“Hi, boys,” she replied with a widening grin as she set her things down, balancing your tupperware in the other arm. “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

Then there came the excuses of wanting to stay up to speak with her. She thought they were cute when they were making excuses, so she pretended she didn’t catch on. 

It wasn’t until after the call ended and Wanda was in the middle of eating the dinner you’d prepared for her that she finally had time to reflect on some things. 

Firstly, the dinner was delicious, and so that made a marvellous impression in her mind about you as a well-put-together student who knew how to cook for herself. 

Then she wondered — worried, even — if the kiss was going a bit too far. But you didn’t seem uncomfortable, and there was something about you that made Wanda think you were–

She frowned at herself, rubbing her forehead with the hand she was holding her fork in as she nearly came to a thought that she wouldn’t be able to decipher between projection and reality. 

And if it were projection, that must mean there was some sort of intentionality behind it. 

Maybe Agatha was right, and she really was smitten. 

What would anyone else call it — a crush? 

That made her nose wrinkle up as she poked at the pasta, deep in thought; older women didn’t get crushes. Older women were presently married or they got divorced. 

But a college student, for crying out loud… 

What was she thinking?

She took her bottom lip between her teeth and stared at her phone, trying to repress the urge to text you about dinner as if she hadn’t just been scolding herself for the complicated feelings she was having about you. 

Giving in, she set the fork down and texted you, telling you that the dinner was delicious, and moreover, that she would certainly have to find a way to pay you back and buy you a meal this weekend. 

She thought she was acting ridiculous for having just previously been feeling conflicted for how she was feeling and now itching to hear a response from you. 

Wanda moved her empty bowl away and hid her face in her arms, feeling helpless for the fluttery way she continued to feel in her stomach in spite of how her mind desperately tried to come up with ways to reason her thoughts of you away. 

She knew what anyone would call her — a divorcée desperate for attention from a younger girl who wasn’t as caught up with life as people her age were and so, predictably, Wanda clung onto you. 

But it wasn’t like she couldn’t get the attention of other people. 

Once Wanda had signed up for a dating app upon Agatha’s advice, and she thought it was rather easy to find people interested in her, though often attracting men she didn’t feel very invested in at all nor whom she ever enjoyed seeing enough for a second date. 

Not very often, but here and there, Wanda would be approached by men in public too. 

She always thought her lack of interest was because she was too busy, and even entertained the idea that perhaps she just wasn’t cut out for any kind of relationship after her marriage. 

But she didn’t feel that way at all about you. She thought you were sweet and rather cute and though she had to admit there was something about your age that enticed her, she also really enjoyed talking with you when she could over text, and often looked forward to passing by you in the driveway. 

She was curious about things like your schooling and what you thought of Westview, and more about where you’d come from and how you decorated the inside of your place. 

And there was a feeling deep within her chest and rising up her belly when she was around you or when you spoke with her, blushing around her or smiling in the shy way you did, that she couldn’t recall if she felt with Vision at all. 

As Wanda got ready for bed and pretended like there wasn’t a reason she carried her phone with her to the washroom, she thought more about how she felt about Vision when they first met, and questioned her attraction to him. 

There were times when she certainly felt attracted, though most typically when they were about to have sex and more frequently after they got married, but she couldn’t recall if the interest she felt with you this early into knowing you was ever involved in how she regarded Vision. 

She just couldn’t stop thinking about how unsure and confused she was during the time of her life when they’d first met, and how that differed greatly from the place she was in now. 

While getting into bed, Wanda’s phone buzzed. She picked it up faster than she’d like to admit. 

You texted: Yay! Glad you like it!! I’m really looking forward to this weekend :)

A smile came to Wanda’s face as she read your text and she slowly descended into the comfort of her sheets as she replied. Perhaps she should’ve just liked the message and headed to bed, but after thinking of you for so long, she couldn’t help but want to talk a little more. 

She replied: Are you still up doing work? Or are you heading to bed soon?

The response was read almost immediately and Wanda felt her heart race. 

Just one more thing I have to do, then bedtime.. I hope you sleep well, Ms Maximoff <3

Wanda felt a rush surge through her and she inhaled sharply after reading the message, feeling her fingers partially frozen for a moment.

It was at a time in her relationship with you that you could start calling her by her first name, and really, the formalities made her feel a little old. 

But also, there was something she liked about how polite you were — the shy smile on your face as you called her Ms Maximoff, how well-mannered you were.

And if she really thought about it… Wanda thought it placed her in a position of some authority, implying not only an age difference but a power dynamic when you addressed her. 

It was new for her. 

Don’t overwork yourself, Y/N :) Sweet dreams.

Wanda set her phone down and stared up at the ceiling. She wondered if you’ve ever been interested in an older woman before. Her cheeks immediately warmed at the thought — calling herself an older woman, carrying with it some sort of scandalous implication, and imagining you, someone so innocent and sweet, involved in it. 

Her thoughts wandered before she could stop them, thinking of what that dynamic might be like. 

Did she suit the ‘older woman’ character? Didn’t someone young like you need someone older and experienced, and confident about their sexuality? Isn’t that how these things normally went?

But she hardly knew anything, and only had one very short fling with a man since her divorce. 

She’d never even been with a woman, let alone a younger girl. 

Wanda turned onto her side and brought her plush blankets up to her face, the cold surface of it cooling her flushed cheeks. 

But she couldn’t help but really think about it… As in, the kind of relationship and dynamic the two of you might have together if it really did happen, and if, maybe, she wasn’t making it all up. 

If you had the capacity to like an older woman, that must’ve meant you had been with other girls before. 

The thought of it made Wanda’s heart race. 

She’d heard from Agatha the difference between being with a woman and with a man, that women were softer and smarter, knowing how to touch another woman as if she were herself, never thinking of imposing herself upon her like men did.

Sleeping with a woman is a form of masturbation, she’d said, for how women knew each other like they knew themselves. 

Wanda wondered if you were as gentle with a lover as you were by your nature, for she knew that some people were vastly different in the bedroom than they were outside of it.

The thought of you exploring her body with your open palms and curved fingers, just as considerate and kind as you always were with her, a shaky ‘Ms Maximoff, is this okay?’ spilling from your lips as you moved closer–

Wanda squeezed her eyes shut and turned onto her other side, her fingers tightening around her blankets as she felt an undeniable ache growing between her thighs. 

Daring to act defiantly against her sense of shame and dignity, trembling fingers slipped beneath her pajama shorts, not daring to go farther than her hips. 

Her nails sunk into her right hip, scratching lightly at the skin as she held herself back, only for her thoughts to wander to the idea of your clumsy hands grabbing at her hips, your nails pressing into her skin as you pulled her closer, your breath shaky.

She took one of her pillows and lifted her blanket up, tucking it between her thighs and up against her clothed centre. 

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth and hiding the top half of her face with her hand, she dared to roll her hips forward to satisfy the pressure between her thighs. But it was too dull for how her clit throbbed, desperate for further contact. 

Frustrated at both how she was giving in and with how she had grown so desperate to the point of hastily pushing the pillow out of the way, she slipped her fingers past the waistband of her shorts and underwear.

The pads of her fingers met with the warmth of her sticky folds and Wanda whimpered into her pillow, turning her head and hiding from some invisible presence that she imagined was looking down at the display she was putting on. 

She circled her middle finger against her clit and she shuddered, goosebumps running up her thighs as she tightly wrapped an arm around the pillow she’d previously pushed away, and she pulled it to her chest. 

When she felt she was wet enough, and at the feeling of how she began tightening around nothing, her eyebrows furrowed together as she entered herself with two fingers, her thighs parting to allow her wrist some room. 

She couldn’t help the way her mind went to you, not when her body urged to feel more; her thoughts summoned the thought of you, daring to imagine you beneath her, your hands running up her bare hips and up to hold her waist, the look of your face contorted with pleasure, your eyes meeting hers. 

She’d never considered herself very assertive, especially not in the bedroom, but there was just something about you that awoke something in her that was completely foreign. 

The idea of it excited her. 

She’d never felt so… aroused. 

Her thoughts gradually became more shameful, thinking about how you sounded like when you orgasmed, and particularly enjoying the idea that you’d be shy to make noise, prone to begging, and one to be eager to please your lover. 

Wanda felt herself inch closer to her climax. 

Maybe you’d be nervous to be with an older woman, hesitant to touch her and worried about being disrespectful. The thought of herself encouraging you, no longer being unsure and passive about things, sent a thrill through Wanda that she was certain she’d never felt before. 

All this she associated only with you, and as she felt herself begin to tighten around her fingers, Wanda’s mind was full of you, shamelessly, and her heart pounded against her ribcage.

She came, crying out partially-muffled with half her face buried in her pillow, her wrist sore and her fingers numb to the repetitive speed at which she fingered herself.

When she fell back down from her height, her previously-arched back met the damp sheets beneath her and she felt momentarily anaesthetised as she caught her breath. 

She groaned at how fatigued she felt, not having had such a tiring orgasm in a while, much less with just her fingers. 

While she was washing her hands, she thought of you, wondered if you’d ever touched yourself to the thought of her, and soon squarely came to the decision that she would pursue you. 

She’d made quite a mess of herself, and decided to also change her underwear before heading to bed. 

The next few days before the weekend approached, Wanda felt increasingly encouraged every time she interacted with you, especially after having kissed you on the cheek that night. She still felt that she’d gone a little too far, but you still seemed to really like her. 

She realised that she didn’t know as much about you as she’d like, and became increasingly enthusiastic about thst weekend when she’d be able to spend more time with you. 

On Friday, you and Wanda made plans for the weekend, and it was agreed that she would drive the both of you to the festival then back home to repay you for a few nights ago. 

Dressed in a sundress that reached below her knees and deciding to go with her hair down, Wanda nervously crossed the strip of grass that divided your two driveways and walked up to your front door. 

It was convenient that you were neighbours, but the space between the two of you left very little time for Wanda to soothe her own anxiety as she prepared for a day out together. 

You opened the front door and stepped through as if not trying to waste a moment to head out.

“Hi,” you said with a smile as you stepped onto the porch before turning to lock the front door. 

“Hi,” she answered and returned the polite smile when you turned back around, slightly nervous with her hands held in front of her body, holding her purse.

Wanda was suddenly overcome at your momentary undivided attention, feeling that if you scrutinised her just enough, you’d be able to read on her face what she had done to the thought of you that first night it happened, and nearly every night since. 

It was the first time she was seeing you since then beyond some short conversations in the driveway, and some paranoid part of her thought you secretly knew all she’d been doing. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you with your hair down,” you noted as we drove to the town square where the festival was taking place. “Did you curl it a little?”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious now that you’d noticed, Wanda took one hand off the wheel and played with the ends of her hair. “Um,” she hesitated. “I did — a little.”

“No, I mean, it’s really pretty, Ms Maximoff,” you quickly said in case she got the wrong idea.

Feeling that perhaps you might’ve been teasing, for whatever reason, Wanda looked over at you momentarily and found you looking over at her. You met her eyes with a small encouraging smile and Wanda looked back onto the road.

“Thank you,” she replied, a smile of her own slowly growing. “I don’t usually do anything with it because I’m either working or at home, and don’t often dress up for anything.” She kept her hair short for functionality reasons, partly, and also because she’d cut it after her divorce just to try something new and found some comfort in keeping the same hairstyle.

Once or twice, she tried to grow it out again, but it just seemed impractical for how often she kept her hair up or had it pushed back with a headband during work, and even at home.

It made her feel rather flattered that you paid mind to something like her hair, since for the most part Wanda saw herself as blending in with the rest of Westview’s docile and placid background, which was to say that she didn’t think there wasn’t anything particularly interesting about herself.

To have a fresh pair of eyes focus on her so much made sparks flutter about in her body. 

Her polite smile wavered slightly as more perverse thoughts overcame her. She wondered what lay beyond your still gaze that was both polite as your eyes crinkled at the sides and slightly girlish as your face seemed to glow when you smiled. 

Surely, no one suspected that she’d done all that she had to the thought of you — how wet the thought of you made her, the amount of times she moaned your name with her back arched or with her body sprawled across the cool sheets of her bed.

But she had done them all. 

Could the same be said for you, beyond an externality that no one else would suspect such things about? 

Wanda felt a wave of shame course through her — what was she doing, assuming such things about a college student, and projecting her own desires onto you?

But even that thrum of shame made her ache and she pressed her thighs together in her seat; she should’ve felt humiliated and ashamed for the thoughts she was having, but instead, she felt… thrilled, and in a way she hadn’t ever felt before. 

Upon arriving at the festival, and finding a good parking spot in a closer area designated for employees due to Wanda owning the shop that had provided so many of the booths with their bouquets and flower arrangements, the two of you decided on getting lunch first. 

Truthfully, Wanda had been so anxious about the upcoming day out with you that her nerves had been far too frenzied to allow her to stomach any food, or to feel any hunger to begin with. It was only until she passed a booth of fresh buttered corn that she’d realised she hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and that she was finally hungry.

Deciding on some deli sandwiches, you and Wanda took your food and drinks to a seating area beneath an oak tree at one of the parks. 

For a Spring day, it was particularly warm — likely because there was hardly any breeze at all. 

For the weather, Wanda was glad she was wearing a dress, and maybe she was just making it all up, but she could swear she’d seen your eyes running over her exposed legs, and even peeking down her dress. 

Maybe you were just curious about what she was wearing, but still, Wanda couldn’t control the way she felt her heart thump at the prospect that you were checking her out. 

The eyes of men had only ever made her feel preyed on, and whether she was anything less than mildly annoyed depended on whether she had enough patience to tolerate any of it. 

Sometimes she thought it was strange for her to feel so abhorrent towards men when she’d been able to marry Vision. She hadn’t felt this impatient and bored around him, and not even when they’d first met. 

She certainly wouldn’t call it abhorrent, but with how often women her age spoke about fantasies or fooling around with younger men or their handsome coworkers — even Agatha had a tendency to do this — it wasn’t uncommon for some to question her interest in remarrying or at the very least, finding a new partner. 

All this she told you as you ate together, aside from how the train of thought started with her realising how aroused she felt at the thought that you were checking her out. She was interested in sharing much more about herself and learning that much more about you. 

“Maybe you haven’t met the right guy yet,” you suggested helpfully. “A lot of people say the right one comes along when you’re not really looking.”

Seriously, though, for whatever reason, the idea of going through the motions of meeting a new man was a process Wanda felt herself dreading whenever she thought about it. She could imagine nothing worse than inviting a man into her home and introducing him to her children, him meeting her friends, being touched by a man, waking up next to one. 

“I don’t think I’m looking for any guy right now,” Wanda replied, pushing a tomato that had partially slipped from her sandwich back in between the bread. She looked up and found you were looking at her, perhaps trying to interpret what she was saying. 

While she had your rapt attention, she couldn’t help but suddenly ask, “Where did you meet your boyfriend?”

The question made you blush a little but you also laughed, as if what she was asking could be interpreted as irony. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you answered, replying politely for it had been a serious question albeit with the intention to probe into your love life. 

Wanda tried not to show any expression at your answer, and instead tapped the tip of her shoe against the grass beneath her seat idly as if to pace herself. The thought that you might have a boyfriend was one of the ideas that Wanda let float around in her head to rein her mind back to chastity when it wandered off, and she felt herself take in a small breath when you said you didn’t have one.

“I presume it would be far too much to balance now that you’ve moved away and are now doing work in a new town,” Wanda said then finished the last bite of her sandwich. 

You made a noise like agreement, but also as if you had more to say on the topic, and when Wanda looked at you, you seemed to be gauging whether to say more. You bit your tongue after taking too long to choose between asking if she herself was seeing anyone or saying that you weren’t interested in men at all. 

‘I suppose that’s true,’ is all you ended up saying. 

After lunch, you and Wanda decided to walk through the corn maze attraction because the both of you were interested in talking much more and moving your bodies without being distracted by the booths and festival games. 

It was quite fun to go through the maze with you. It was really rare that Wanda got time to do fun things like this with someone other than the twins — not that she didn’t enjoy spending that time with them, but she herself felt a little more like a child spending this kind of time with you, which wasn’t a liberty she very often had the chance to experience. 

A maze was the perfect thing to do with you, Wanda thought, for even taking the wrong turn meant spending more time with you as you walked back to the fork to try a different path, and neither of you were in a rush to finish, so it was more like a fun walk.

You also said that though the research position was interesting so far, it was a routine that didn’t allow for much enjoyment unless you went out of your way to do something new. 

Wanda sympathised, saying that much of her new milestones in life had come about that way — marriage, having children, and starting her business with Agatha. After saying it, she realised how depressing it sounded and even felt a little embarrassed talking about such things with you. You were young after all, and here she was rambling about how all of her life was a comfortable endless routine as if she were Sisyphus.

“You must think I’m rather boring,” Wanda said, looking down at the mess of hay, flattened onto the grass from all the people who’d trekked through the maze. Her tone sounded almost apologetic to her ears though she didn’t think she was trying to apologise for anything in particular.

“What?” you said, shocked. “What do you mean? No, I don’t.”

She laughed a little at your shock, but couldn’t help but feel that your response was a little naive. Once you grew up some more and experienced more of the world and met far more interesting people, Wanda was sure she’d only be a memory you’d look back on with some kind of pity, thinking, ‘What a sweet woman she was — such a shame she lived in such a dull town. After all, I could only stand living there for so long until my research period was over.’

“Well, I’m always doing all the same things,” Wanda explained. “I’ll probably be doing it for much longer too until the twins grow up and go off to college. I love the shop but I think I’d rather move elsewhere once they don’t need me in town.”

There was silence and Wanda looked over to you as you both turned a corner, and you looked to be a little confused, or at least thinking. 

“But,” you started, “how does that have anything to do with you being boring?”

“How does that not mean I’m boring?” Wanda replied though acutely aware of how strange she was sounding, arguing for self-deprecation. “I just mean there’s nothing particularly interesting that I do.”

Then she added, perhaps rambling out of a place of deep belief, ��It’s different from you — you’re still young and pursuing your passions.”

The images of you and Dottie walking around the few times that Wanda had seen the two of you came to mind again. Even if there was a chance that you would be interested in women, and women that were older than you, Dottie seemed to be a better match for you. She was more talkative and though she was an elementary school teacher, she was still working in some form of schooling, which might interest you far more than flowers and single-motherhood, and she was younger than Wanda and, from the looks of it, seemed to have more free time to spend with you than she did. Plus, she hadn’t yet been married and didn’t have any children. 

Wanda could’ve been way over her head in two respects, and suddenly she felt a little foolish for how she’d been thinking of you — all this build-up in her mind when she didn’t suit you at all to begin with.

“But I think you’re interesting,” you reasoned. “I don’t think I’ve ever really put a lot of thought into what you do work-wise. Or your daily schedule.”

Then after a moment, when Wanda didn’t respond immediately, you added hesitantly, “But is that… something you’d expect people to consider? Or is that something you consider, usually?”

Wanda felt a kind of whiplash from the jelly you’d turned her legs into and the shame she then immediately felt for how shallow she must’ve seemed to you. “N-No,” she stuttered, speaking right away to not seem idiotic and just hoping to find the actual words she wanted to say while she was rambling nonsensically.

Truthfully, you didn’t think Wanda was being shallow at all, or that she was being overly concerned with hers and other people’s professions. You were also aware of the age difference between you and her, and how preferences and paths of life differed between ages; you were embarrassed at first, thinking that maybe you sounded far too naive, like a child with no grasp of real life or what really mattered to someone busy and with their own lives like she had.

Often, you thought you were way over your head, crushing on and fantasising about an older woman with her own business and family, with her own priorities who was now settled down and likely too busy to think about any romantic partner.

Much less with a college girl.

And wasn’t Wanda’s ex-husband a lawyer?

College girls weren’t her type.

“No,” she started again, “I just thought… We’re different in that respect, so I thought it might have maybe… bored you.”

If Wanda hadn’t also been looking down at the ground, listening to the muffled sounds of hay and grass beneath her shoes, she would’ve looked up and been able to see that you looked slightly flustered, for you felt that you were in a position of being confessed to.

It didn’t go over your head how Wanda seemed rather concerned about how you viewed her, and worried that you might think that she was boring. The very idea, whatever its context was, that she thought so often about you and your perspective of her made your knees feel a little mushy.

“But… You think I’m interesting?” Wanda then asked, raising her head and looking at you.

You had been so adamant to prove her wrong that you’d sort of just blurted it out. You thought you’d gone a little too far, but you looked over to Wanda and met her eyes.

It could’ve been the way the sun peeked from above the hay maze and cast its light upon Wanda’s face, but her eyes seemed particularly lit up, her expression looking even a bit hopeful as she asked you for confirmation.

“Um, yes, I do,” you confirmed with a smile. “I think you’re really nice and interesting and sometimes I see you out in the driveway with your twins and you seem like such a sweet family, and I’ve been curious about you since you said you owned a floral shop and brought me flowers.”

Well, now you were rambling.

Then you said something really stupid.

“Also, um… I think you’re a really pretty woman. I mean, ‘gorgeous’ is a better word. I hardly ever hear ‘pretty woman’ as a compliment, though I meant it to be true. It just sounds odd as a word combination.”

Wanda felt cheeks heating up and she was grateful that the two of you had finally found the end of the maze, for she felt like she needed to take a breath. But she couldn’t not respond to something like that right away. She swallowed and reached for your forearm and brushed her fingers against your skin to reassure you when you looked away, then dropped her hand.

She knew she should be saying something in response, especially now that she’d gotten your attention back by touching your arm, but she couldn’t come up with any words, just staring into your eyes with lips slightly parted but completely silent.

“Can we play one of the games?” you then offered, and Wanda blinked out of her stupor, remembering where the two of you were.

“A game?” she asked, still slightly disoriented. 

You continued walking away from the maze exit and headed towards the festival, Wanda following beside you.

“Maybe I can win you a stuffed toy,” you suggested, looking around at the game booths. 

Wanda smiled at the glint of determination in your eyes and stepped closer to you. “Maybe I’ll win you a toy first,” she challenged lightheartedly, looking for any excuse to interact with you more. 

The rest of the time you moved between different games, and you and Wanda didn’t talk so much about things other than the games you were playing and some lighthearted memories that came up as you played. 

Both of you were enjoying your time, but Wanda particularly, who’d never really done anything during such town events aside from help organise and sometimes take the twins out for them. 

Her cheeks were sore from smiling and laughing by the time you were the one to win a prize first.

You handed her a stuffed blue jellyfish, with thin curly tentacles and a soft round body, spotted with white and pale blue. 

“It’s so cute,” Wanda said with a tiny smile, squishing the soft body of the jellyfish gently and running her eyes over it in detail as the two of you walked to her car. 

She insisted, “I was really close to getting you the giraffe… It was luck that you won first — not skill.”

“Maybe I can win you the ability not to be a sore loser next time,” you poked. 

Then as she raised her head, seeing her car come into closer view, it dawned on her that she’d be dropping you off at home and your time together would be over, but she wasn’t quite ready to end the day. 

She stopped at the driver’s side and spoke to you over the roof of the car, “Do you want to take a look inside the shop? Maybe I can help you put together a bouquet, or any kind of decorative piece for your place.”

She added, to ensure she didn’t sound pushy, “Only if you want to and if you have time. I’m sure you had other things planned for the day.”

You beamed at the suggestion and nodded with a smile. “I’d love to see the shop,” you said enthusiastically.

“I’m excited to see more of where you are and what you get up to for so much of your day,” you confessed, your hands folded in between your thighs. “I remember when I visited, and it was gorgeous at the front of the store.”

Wanda thought it was so sweet how you thought her little shop was so fantastical. “It’s a bit more of a mess in the back and less presentation-worthy, but I’m also looking forward to showing you around,” she replied, looking over to you and feeling flustered at how genuinely happy you were. 

The feeling that you were truly eager to spend more time with her made Wanda all but melt in her seat. 

It was beginning to darken, a soft purple-pink tint coming over the sky as the sun began to set. It was still a little light outside, and the pink hue of the sun cast in a nice way against your skin. 

Wanda was feeling nice thinking about the fact that you’d been out together for a while now, and that you’d be out for longer still. 

“I don’t do this for just any old neighbour, you know,” Wanda teased, looking at you from the corner of her eye as she unlocked the front door. 

“Just a few?” you joked back. 

Without hesitation, Wanda replied and looked over at you with a little grin, “Just you.”

She didn’t seem to think very much of what she said, though it struck you as rather flirtatious and made you feel like a special figure in her life, since she walked ahead right after saying it, leaving you to follow behind after breaking from your momentary stupor. 

It felt so peaceful to be at the shop in the evening with you, telling you about things like how to store freshly cut flowers and how she kept them preserved upon shipments and how they did deliveries.

Wanda had indeed been interested in flowers and plants and owning a floral shop when she first opened it with Agatha, but much of the passion had turned into businesslike concern, and oftentimes Wanda didn’t have much time to take a step back and enjoy what she was doing.

But your fresh pair of eyes and genuine curiosity, asking her questions like how she knew she wanted to open a shop and how long she’d known Agatha for, made Wanda see everything like she had when she first opened the shop, and your curiosity and interest reminded her closely of the kind of passion she’d gotten distracted from once she got used to Westview’s repetition.

Wanda kept viewing herself from the shoes of Agatha if she had also been in the shop somewhere, watching as she giggled at your playful jokes and blushed at your undivided attention, which didn’t necessarily have to be interpreted as flirtatious for Wanda to feel flustered by.

Sometimes all you had to do was look at her while Wanda wasn’t looking so when she turned to look at you, your eyes were on her rather than on whatever she was trying to show you.

She kept thinking of Agatha especially because Wanda wondered whether she was making all of it up, and if all of it truly was platonic, and she wondered what her closest friend would say about all of this.

But the more Wanda felt herself stuttering around you or making some excuse to stand close to you or brush against you, she could no longer trust even her interpretations of what a third-party might say about things.

But the most delusional of it all, Wanda thought, was that she kept thinking of the image of you with Dottie walking down the shopping district during the times where Wanda was too busy to spend time with you and talk with you as much as she wanted.

She kept recalling the feeling of how tired she’d been coming out of work, the sun just about to start setting, and looking forward to getting home after picking up the twins. She had been at a stoplight thinking of what to make for dinner when you passed in front her along the crosswalk, Dottie at your side as you spoke with each other.

She was always wearing something pretty, her taste in clothing professional and delicate as an elementary school teacher, her blonde hair always curled or put up.

From what she’d heard from the few times she attended the town meetings — not that Dottie was so infamous but rather because she was friends with some of the mothers who attended — Dottie was the daughter of old-money parents who owned acres of rural farmland a few hours away from New Jersey.

Dottie was everything Wanda wasn’t.

Were you doing things like this with her too? 

Were you only being polite?

While the two of you were putting together a little vase of different coloured roses together for your living room, Wanda quietly spoke up. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…” she started quietly, kind of hoping you might suddenly change the topic, leaving the question forgotten. 

But instead you looked up from trimming a stem of a white rose, your curiosity piqued as you anticipated her question.

Wanda felt your eyes on her and she kept her hands busy carefully removing the thorns of the roses as she continued. “Not to sound… strange…” she said, trying her best to keep her voice steady and unsuspecting. “But a few weeks ago I saw you with Dottie, and I was just curious about how you knew her.”

She took a risk and looked up from the flower she was holding.

“She was Tommy and Billy’s teacher once, and they still go to that elementary school, so I sometimes see her around when I drop them off and pick them up,” she added, to sound like she was asking for a practical reason.

“Oh,” you said, sounding a little surprised to hear her name brought up. “She’s a friend of the professor I’m doing research with. I… can’t really remember how they know each other. I think it might be through Dottie’s parents.”

A wave of cool relief washed over Wanda and she looked back down to the roses and started dethorning the other one to keep her face down in case she accidentally looked a bit elated.

“I see,” she answered as nonchalantly as she could, though she could hear a waver of relief evident in the way she breathed out. “It’s a small town.” But Wanda still couldn’t help but press on a little, feeling not yet fully satisfied by your answer.

“But… You don’t see her… often, do you?” she asked, looking up again just to see your expression, and hoping you didn’t seem suspicious about why she was asking.

You shook your head, just focused on trimming the stems the right length and carefully placing them in a pleasing way amongst each other in the vase Wanda provided. “No, not often at all,” you said. “Usually I see her when we’re meeting up together to have coffee with my professor.”

“So it’s a professional relationship?”

To that, you finally looked up from the flowers in your hands and looked over at Wanda, who immediately internally cursed herself for not watching her mouth; she’d gone a little too far, just asking you whatever came to mind.

“I don’t even know if it would be considered professional, per se,” you answered, your hands lowering a little as you focused on giving an answer. “She doesn’t have anything to do with my research. I think it’s just circumstantial — that’s a good way to describe it.”

Wanda swallowed and looked back down to the roses, immediately ready to drop the subject and move onto something else after realising just how overly curious she’d been sounding. 

Suddenly you were feeling a little awkward that Wanda had been talking about professional relationships and networking and all. All of that felt like a different world, and there was still a lot that Wanda considered in life that you didn’t.

You didn’t even think you had professional relationships, really, aside from your professor.

It felt like every time she brought up something you didn’t understand, the difference in age between the two of you became all the more evident, and you felt yourself becoming more and more childish and inexperienced in her eyes.

“Um, by the way… Ms Maximoff, I wanted to say that I felt kind of nervous to ask you to go out this weekend,” you confessed, and from the corner of your eye you saw Wanda raise her head and look at you. “I thought it might’ve been… I don’t know, like, a little stupid, even.”

“What?” she asked, surprised. She set her rose down and turned her body a little to look at you. The tone of her voice made you raise your head and meet her eyes. “Stupid? Why?”

You weren’t exactly sure what you had hoped to accomplish by confessing that, but you almost just felt like apologising somewhat for doing something stupid or childish before Wanda could realise it for herself.

Maybe you’d seem a little less naive if you just admitted to it right away, because honestly, you really did think you had been sounding a little stupid to ask her out for the festival, and often wondered if she only ever said yes to you out of pity because of how young you were.

Sometimes when she apologised for seeming standoffish or distant, you couldn’t help but feel that she was just trying to tend to a child’s tantrum.

But her response wasn’t as you initially thought it would be, and she seemed truly shocked at your confession, so you felt a little flustered and you now felt that you had been overdramatic.

“I-I just mean… Well…” 

As you stuttered for a response, you realised you had no excuse to make, and honestly, Wanda had only ever been kind to you, so you had no reason to try and lie. So you thought to tell the truth.

“It sometimes feels like I don’t really have a grasp on your life, and like you may just be too busy or disinterested to do stuff like go out to a festival to get driven to work or…”

You trailed off to find the rest of your words, and you saw Wanda continuing to watch your face from the corner of your eye. One of her arms was resting on the counter beside her, her hands fidgeting with each other’s fingertips in front of her stomach.

“I think maybe I didn’t really consider that you might feel more comfortable not knowing your neighbours so much, and that even though it might be true you don’t mind when I do you favours or ask to do things in our freetime, I know that you’re also busy and preoccupied with things and… Just more comfortable with how things had been.”

Well… Dottie certainly didn’t get any of this kind of confession from you.

Wanda took a tiny step forward. She knew what you were trying to get at; there was an age difference between the two of you and sometimes the difference casted doubt on whether you were both thinking the same thing, always wondering how you were perceived by the other.

“I know how you feel,” she reassured, reaching out to brush her hand against your arm against the better half of her mind telling herself it was a bad idea to move closer to you. She fidgeted with her fingers again and took a little breath, wanting to be open and honest like you just had been.

She confessed, “I think that sometimes I might be projecting myself onto you.”

The words shocked you and you looked up and met her eyes, surprised to see her looking a little nervous as she spoke. You didn’t think anything about your relationship with Wanda had the power to make her nervous; she always just seemed like she had everything so well-structured.

She owned a business with a close friend and was a single mother of two young boys and lived in a nice house. She was beautiful and kind, and the idea that she might be nervous in any sense while interacting with you surprised you greatly.

“Sometimes I can’t exactly tell if I’m… understanding things correctly…” she added, swallowing hard. The momentary silence between responses thrummed against her eardrums, and the light from the ceiling became strangely brighter and looked as light often did when she was down with a terrible flu.

The implication was heavy, and she was worried about how you would take it. She tried to immediately relax herself by thinking that you’d only pick up on what she was implying if you yourself had been thinking similar things, but there was always a chance that you’d understand what she was saying and not feel the same way.

She could hardly bear the thought of confessing unreciprocated, for she foresaw absolutely no way to come back from that kind of rejection… She would look like such a fool, and she wouldn’t know how to handle the kinds of things she did and felt because of you.

The things she felt for you had been different from anything before, and if you rejected her, there was no way for her to deal with this new kind of awakening, and she was certain there’d be no other chance to be attracted to someone in the way she was with you.

“I think maybe I’m in over my head, Ms Maximoff…” you said quietly.

Suddenly Wanda was overcome with the possibility of what you were also implying, and the very possibility that you meant what she thought was overcoming the fear of being rejected or being wrong.

All she’d been doing was fantasising and mulling over possibilities and uncertainties about how she was feeling and how you might be feeling, and now the possibility that you might feel the same way, that she wasn’t just making it all up the whole time, seemed more real and tangible than it ever had been before.

She knew she was thinking irrationally.

There were better ways to do this.

But she could only really think of doing one thing.

She placed her hand atop the counter at the midway point between the both of you and she stepped forward, tipping her head to the side ever so slightly as she moved closer. Her breath felt warm against her own lips as her exhales reached your upper lip, and your eyes looked lidded and your face slightly flushed before she closed her eyes and met her soft lips with yours.

You immediately put your rose down and placed your hand on Wanda’s lower back, pulling her closer, and Wanda felt like she could collapse into your body at the gesture.

You really did want her. She hadn’t been making it up.

Though she’d been married before, this felt like the first time anyone truly reciprocated her feelings. Maybe that was because what feelings she had for Vision weren’t anything like the ones she had for you.

She was thirty-two and feeling this way for the first time; she felt like she’d really been missing out.

It didn’t take very long for the slow and hesitant kiss to grow heated, perhaps due to its confirmation of mutual attraction and interest. Your arm wrapped around Wanda’s waist and your other hand moved up the curve of her spine, up to where her sundress exposed her upper back, your fingers entangling themselves in her hair as they moved up her neck.

Wanda sighed into your mouth, listening to the way it merged with your tiny moans and exhales. She had her own arm wrapped around your waist too, but with her other hand caressing your cheek, her thumb brushing against your soft skin, encouraging you.

She felt her lower back press against the edge of the counter and she realised you were pressing your body flush against hers.

Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, her body feeling warm all over.

In her sundress with her arms and upper back and chest exposed, every brush you had against her skin sent shockwaves up her spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake as a familiar ache began to form deep in Wanda’s lower stomach, causing her to roll her hips forward, knocking them gently against your own.

Maybe when her mind was less fogged up and she could think of a world past the soft caresses of your hands and your delicate moans, she would think about how right Agatha was about being with women.

You were so delicate and gentle, and not only because she thought that that was just the kind of person you were, but also because of the smooth slope of your shoulders and how your arms slotted perfectly beneath hers. Your face was smooth and free of stubble and your lips were so soft, your sweet moans were enough to make Wanda weak in the knees, and you smelled so nice.

And it did really feel like you were touching her as if she were an extension of yourself.

“Ms Maximoff…” you sighed, sounding desperate as your hand fell away from cradling the back of her head and sending a wave of throbbing arousal down between Wanda’s thighs. Her eyebrows furrowed together and she pulled you closer, grasping at the hem of your shirt as her fingers tightened around the fabric, feeling just as desperate.

Then suddenly you yelped and pulled away from her lips, your body unwrapping from Wanda’s. Wanda’s eyes darted across your face and she worried for a moment that she accidentally bit your lip. 

“Y/N, a-are you okay? Did I hurt you?” she asked, panicked as she looked at you. Then she noticed that you had brought your hand up, surveying it under the light of the ceiling. “What happened?”

“U-Um, I accidentally put my finger down on a thorn,” you said, looking up at her sheepishly and showing her the curved thorn deep in your index finger.

Wanda stepped close again and wrapped her fingers around your wrist to get a better look at it. “Oh, dear… That’s quite deep…” she said, her voice low as she turned your finger around in the light to get a better look at it.

“Don’t worry — this happens quite often,” she reassured, looking over at you with a smile. The eye contact made you blush and you couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered down to her lips that now looked slightly swollen with how frantic your kiss had been.

The same flushed expression came over Wanda’s face but she looked back down to your finger and carefully laid it against her hand. “Don’t move,” she said. “I’ll take it out, but I want to make sure it doesn’t break off in your finger.”

Inching your hand closer to her eyes and into the light, her other hand came up and carefully pulled out the thorn, pulling it in the direction of its curve. A tiny bead of blood came from where it had pierced your skin. 

“Just a moment. Keep your finger upright,” she said, letting go of your wrist slowly so as to not move it from its place midair. She then turned and bent over a little to rummage under the counter.

You couldn’t help the way your chest fluttered at the sight of her so focused on taking care of you. 

She straightened again, now holding a bandaid, and laid the back of your hand against her fingers. With slightly furrowed eyebrows, she unwrapped the bandage and carefully secured it around your finger.

“There we go…” she said softly. “Not too tight?”

Heat rose to your cheeks when she looked back up to you again and you looked away with a shy smile and shook your head. “No, it’s just perfect.”

“Good.”

Then she threw the garbage out and brushed the thorns off of the countertop and into a nearby garbage can she lifted to the edge of the counter. She set it back down on the ground then turned back over to you nervously, brushing down the front of her dress.

She bit her bottom lip awkwardly, then quietly reasoned, “Maybe it was time we headed back home, anyway.”

You looked up from the floor and met her eyes with a little nod and a polite smile.

But neither of you moved from your spots, and Wanda felt a familiar impatience and gnawing urge pulsing inside her again.

Wanda was right in her observations of you — you were rather shy, and a submissive lover. You were nervous and hesitant, and after kissing you, she was sure you’d been with women before. That excited her, and she heard her own soft trembling exhales through her parted lips as she observed the hesitant look in your eyes, anticipating her next move.

You were still nervous, Wanda could tell. 

So young and hesitant and innocent and polite…

All she felt then and there was that she needed your hands on her, and Wanda stepped forward again, kissing you with immediate heated passion as her hands ran up to the sides of your face, caressing you gently. 

Your hands came to her hips and you attempted to wrap your arms around her waist until Wanda stumbled forwards, pushing you into the back room where it was more spacious. 

“Mmm, Y/N…” she sighed into your open mouth, pushing your lower back against one of the counters in the back room.

Your hands were on her hips, slowly rounding to her lower back, but it was still not enough. She took hold of your wrist and brought your hand to her breast, and you squeezed as if partial to the feeling of how soft her breast was in your hand, mindful of the way her body arched into yours, her body pressed against your hips. 

She felt herself throbbing when your other hand found its way beneath her dress, groping her ass and even tucking two fingers past her underwear to feel the soft, pliable flesh beneath the fabric. 

“Ms Maximoff, is this okay?” you asked, your words trembling for how you spoke them between heated kisses. The hesitant tone spoken with your soft voice juxtaposed the way you groped her ass, and Wanda felt like she was already practically nearing orgasm.

“That’s just fine, sweetheart,” she replied, her fingers snaking down your jawline to hold your head in place as she tipped her head to the side and deepened the kiss. 

Your fingernails pressed into her ass and she gasped, her body tensing momentarily.

Your tongues briefly brushed against each other and at the sensation, Wanda couldn’t get enough. She ran the tip of her tongue over your teeth then delved past your lips. 

Warm exhales and breathy sighs echoed between your open mouths, meshed together in the exchange of saliva as your thumb tugged down the neckline of Wanda’s dress along with her bra so you could thumb at her hardened nipple, your other hand taking another handful of her ass.  

Wanda had never felt more sexually desired, your hands on her body making her feel that you were thoroughly exploring her out of deep interest and pulsing arousal. 

It was no obligation or passive act. 

It was desire and craving, and you wanted her. 

Then she felt the urge to have her mouth on your cunt, to feel you pulsating around her tongue, to feel your warm, slick folds against her lips. She wanted to taste how wet she made you and how badly you wanted her, to swallow your cum and have your flavour spread across her tongue. 

She’d never pleasured another woman before, but all she felt was hunger, so much of it that it was painful, and that desire surpassed any need for prior knowledge. 

In a few moments your thighs were wrapped securely around her head, Wanda on her knees beneath you as she noisily ate you out. The intermingled noises of her moans and the sound of your soaking pussy made your heart race. 

She was far messier and dominating than you’d initially imagined, and you could hardly catch your breath. Each moment you thought you’d caught up, she’d want more, grabbing at you, delving her tongue into your opening or rubbing her flattened tongue against your aching clit. 

She gripped at your hips, pulling you down onto her face so desperately you worried you might hurt her.

She opened her eyes and you saw her meet your gaze behind the mess of her dirty blonde hair, and you reached down and carefully brushed strands of her hair away from her forehead, revealing green eyes darkened by carnal desire.  

The way she stared at you sent chills up your spine, causing you to roll your hips forward and bump your clit against the tip of her nose. She looked wildly predatorial, her relentless tongue and hot breath paired with a melody of deep groans and light girlish moans almost animalistic. 

Wanda saw your hand reach down, fingers twitching in hesitation, before she interlaced her fingers with yours and brought your hand to the back of her head. She felt very literally… hungry — she craved you.

You nudged her mouth against your cunt and Wanda mewled in pleasure, feeling caressed as if she were being pet. Her hair was smooth, and feeling it now, you found she truly had thick hair and it wasn’t just the way she styled it in the mornings. 

There were a lot of things you were newly finding about Wanda, new ways of viewing and understanding her that would make her different from how you had understood her before. 

You’d never be able to see her without knowing how she looked on her knees, eating your pussy in her shop in the early evening, never being able to unfeel how her hands were firm and confident as they rubbed your thighs and squeezed your hips. But her fingers were delicate and careful, likely from her profession handling flowers. 

You knew her touch.

Wanda knew exactly when you came — she felt it first before she heard it with how your thighs were wrapped around her ears. She could feel you contract and begin to pulse against her tongue, felt the way your hips chased her mouth and how your hands grasped at her desperately. She knew you had reached your peak because it reminded her so much of herself, and she helped you through your orgasm and through its aftershocks as she had for herself during the times she had come to the thought of you.

She carefully licked around your cunt and your inner thighs, cleaning you up as she blindly felt for your pants and underwear before sliding it back up your thighs while you caught your breath above.

When she buttoned your pants you helped her stand up and you adjusted her dress for her. Wanda leaned flush against your body with a little smile, watching your face as you straightened her dress, feeling your gentle hands rub against her.

Then you met her eyes and wrapped your arms around her waist, returning a smile.

She leaned forward and kissed you chastly, just feeling your soft, warm lips against her own, one of your hands moving up her back and rubbing softly. 

“Was I good…?” Wanda asked a little nervously as she pulled away and looked at you. The tip of her nose brushed against yours lightly.

You nodded.

“It felt amazing…” you answered honestly, your fingers making shapes against her lower back through her dress. “I think, also, that I’m really attracted to you.”

Wanda laughed, feeling her cheeks heat up, and she buried her face in your neck.

After a moment, she added shyly, “That was my first time.”

Shocked, you turned your head a little to look at her but Wanda kept her face hidden in the crook of your neck and in the curtain of your soft hair. 

“I couldn’t tell,” you told her.

“Are you being sarcastic…?” Wanda asked, looking down to play with the ends of your hair. “I can’t see your face.”

“I’m not being sarcastic.”

Wanda blushed, uttering a small ‘Thank you’ before she raised her head, fidgeting with your shirt a little. 

“Shall I drive you back home now…?” she asked, looking up hesitantly.

You swallowed, feeling an ache of disappointment and longing at the thought of ending the night without getting to talk with Wanda more or even make her feel good. But if that had been her first time, she’d already done quite a bit.

You didn’t want to push her further or pressure her, so you nodded once silently in spite of how badly you wanted to be able to touch her too.

During the drive back, Wanda felt a dull ache behind her exhilaration, forcing her to admit that she was still not entirely satisfied. She’d underestimated the significance behind how much she fantasised about you, and how much desire truly went behind how strongly and how often she thought of you.

She nervously tapped against the steering wheel with her index finger and she bit down on her bottom lip.

“Was that…” She swallowed and carefully picked out the right words as she saw you turn to look at her from the corner of her eye. “Were you looking for… just a one-time thing…?”

Wanda couldn’t stop herself from turning and looking at your expression when there was perhaps a millisecond’s worth of silence after her question.

You felt a weight drop in your stomach and your fingers pressed against the flower vase sitting in your lap. 

How would you come off if Wanda had been looking for something casual and you told her you weren’t? You would look childish and naive and disrespectful of her busy life.

You considered lying or perhaps answering nonchalantly, but tonight was the first time she’d ever gone down on another woman, and you felt you owed her honesty.

And… after all, it was still Wanda. She wasn’t someone to be scared of.

As Wanda turned into the neighbourhood, you answered, “I want to be closer to you than that. I don’t think I would want something like that to be a one-time thing.”

Wanda took in a sharp inhale when her chest tightened and filled with adrenaline, and she squeezed her hands around her steering wheel. She pulled into her driveway and parked the car.

Worried about the silence that would come over the both of you if she turned the car off, Wanda kept the car running as she ran her hands down her thighs as she gathered her confidence to speak again.

She turned to you and felt her heart pounding against her chest, threatening to suffocate her, when you turned to meet her eyes.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked directly. 

Wanda’s hands laid in fists atop her lap as she regarded you, her posture straight and her shoulders rising and falling in tiny rhythmic motions as she steadied her breathing. From the dim lighting of her driveway from the light above her garage, you could see her eyebrows very slightly furrowed and her eyes gleaming with a nervous vulnerability, her expression patient and waiting for your answer.

You nodded once. 

You stuttered when you tried to speak, then tried a second time, uttering a tiny, “Yes, I’d like that.”

The motions of following behind Wanda as she walked up her porch and unlocked the front door were mechanical and you watched her from behind, wishing desperately to know what was running through her mind. 

There was a soft warm light coming from the living room that grew slowly brighter when the front door was closed behind you and your eyes adjusted to the gentle lighting of her house. This was the first time you’d ever been inside.

You looked around at the decor and the evidence of Tommy and Billy’s presence that remained even when they were with their father — their shoes were put away on a rack, some of their schoolwork on the small table by the front door, and their jackets hung on the coat rack. 

“Are you thirsty or hungry for anything?” Wanda asked, evidently a little nervous.

You saw her take a breath and hold it when you set the vase down on the table where she had placed her keys to hold her hand. “I want to be with you, Ms Maximoff,” you said sincerely.

She swallowed and squeezed your hand and gave a little nod.

“I want to be with you too,” she replied, a little smile coming onto her face when you seemed to respond positively to her answer. She led you upstairs and you walked up beside her for how nervous she still seemed, and so you wanted to be close with her rather than following behind. 

Wanda closed the bedroom door behind her and with the bedroom curtains left open enough to have the room illuminated by the evening, none of you turned any other lights on. She turned around to face you once she came to her bed, and her hands nervously came to the waistband of your pants, fidgeting a little.

“Are you nervous…?” you asked her quietly, stepping closer so her hands were caught between your bodies.

She looked up and nodded silently.

Then she said, her voice small, “What if I’m not good at this?”

You ached at her evident insecurity and unfamiliarity around being so vulnerable. 

Your hand reached up to brush her hair back and you kissed her temple and murmured, “Not good at what?”

“At… this — making you feel good and being close with you, and connecting with you. I’ve never felt…” Wanda’s breath trembled and she swallowed.

She took a little breath. 

“I really like you, Y/N,” she explained, her gaze falling to your shoulder and your body pressed flush against hers. “I want to be good at this…”

“No,” you protested softly and pulled your head back to look at her. “That’s not really how it works, Ms Maximoff…”

She explored your soft gaze, curious about what you would say but also caught up in how kind and patient your eyes were. 

“You don’t really know how to do these things,” you reassured softly, “you just feel it.”

Wanda has always known what to do with things, and if she didn’t, there was someone who did know. Her marriage was all about expectation and filling roles as parents and as spouses, and her life, more or less, was about living through a planned schedule, doing things in order to be good at them and doing them right.

Was it okay to mess up?

Was it okay for her to do something just because she wanted to? She’d never been well-acquainted with the feeling of wanting something for herself to begin with.

“Can you call me by my first name?’” Wanda asked. 

You nodded and smiled at the humour of her request. 

She smiled in return and blushed before stepping back and allowing her hands some room to begin taking your clothes off.

You laid Wanda onto her back once her dress slipped from her shoulders, revealing her smooth skin and the contours and curves of her body. 

Wanda felt extraordinarily sensitive to your every touch, unable to take her eyes away from the way your hands moved across her skin; it wasn’t enough to just feel the way your palms glided across her sides, your thumbs pressing into the contours of her obliques as you kissed down to her belly button, then her thighs, her calves, and her ankles when you bent her legs slightly moving back up her body — she had to see it too. 

“Can I take your bra off?” you asked, looking up at her.

Wanda nodded and guided your hands to her back where her bra strap was, her back arching from the bed to allow you some space. She felt a surge of nerves course through her stomach when you took her bra off.

It had been so long since she was intimate with anyone, and even longer since she was with someone she felt engaged with, but it was the first time she was with someone she was truly interested in and attracted to.

For the first time, with your eyes running over her naked body, Wanda felt insecure about herself in a way she hadn’t previously; she was much older than you, and she started thinking about the other girls you must’ve been with.

None of them had ever been married or had children, and Wanda suddenly felt a dread come over her, feeling that she and her body were less attractive because of her age and what she’d done that neither you nor your previous sexual partners had.

But in spite of her anxiety, what she worried about wasn’t indicative at all in the way you continued to kiss her and caress her.

Your lips wrapped around one of her nipples, your hand coming to massage her other breast, and Wanda’s head lolled to the side atop her pillow, overcome by the feeling of being ravished and spoiled. 

Then you moved up and began kissing her neck, and if you bit her, you did it softly, taking just a little of her skin between your teeth and nipping softly. She laughed breathily when you tugged at her earlobe with your teeth.

She loved the feeling of your weight on her body — a physical, tangible reminder of your presence, symbolic of how she had surpassed the period of fantasy and yearning.

“Get on your back,” Wanda told you, running the tips of her fingers down the curve of your spine.

While you adjusted your position, Wanda sat up and leaned over the edge of the bed and rummaged somewhere you couldn’t see. She sat back up and laid beside you, a translucent purple dildo in her hand. 

Heat immediately rose to your cheeks and you imagined Wanda rolling her hips into it, slowly slipping herself down, and moaning as she fucked the faux cock. You even dared to imagine she fantasised about you. 

“Can I use this on you?” she asked, holding it up for you to survey the size.

The very sight of Wanda holding a dildo in her hand, asking you for your permission for her to fuck you with it, her green eyes curiously exploring your expression, her naked body pressed against yours so her breasts brushed against your upper arm…

You had to blink a few times to make sure you weren’t just dreaming it all up, napping on the couch of your place before heading out to the festival.

Wanda moved closer and kissed your cheek. “I can be gentle with you,” she reassured. “If that’s what you’re worried about…”

“I’m not worried.”

“Really?” she asked, teasing, lifting her head to meet your eyes. “You haven’t said yes yet.”

You immediately nodded, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Is that a yes?” Wanda pressed, feigning curiosity with furrowed eyebrows.

“Y-Yes,” you practically choked out, stunned at her sudden display of playfulness. 

She leaned back to where she had reached down before and came back up with a bottle of lube. Placing the dildo between your hips, Wanda asked for you to lather it on, holding herself up beside you and kissing up your shoulder and neck as you pumped your hand around the faux cock.

“As much as you want,” she purred. “I want to make sure you feel comfortable.”

You shifted your positioning a little so Wanda could have a better range of motion. One of your legs was perched up and your legs were parted, and you were laying back against a pillow for just a little elevation.

“Tell me if it hurts or if I should slow down, okay?” Wanda asked, nudging the tip of her nose against your cheekbone softly. She was taken by the urge to take care of you, to keep her body as close to you as possible, to feel your bare flesh against her own.

She really did think you were so sweet and precious, and the urge to care for you came stronger than it ever had before. 

She wanted to make you feel good. 

“Is this feeling okay, Y/N?” she asked, her other hand rubbing up and down your upper arm. 

Your eyes were shut, allowing you to fully take in the scent of Wanda’s laundry and her hair and her perfume. The soft sounds of her little moans and noises as she made careful efforts to enter and tease you sent chills up your spine and made you throb. 

“Th-That feels really good, M–”

You corrected yourself: “Wanda.”

A little flutter resounded in your chest at the feeling of calling her by her first name — it felt so personal. 

“That’s good, Y/N,” she cooed softly. “You’ve nearly taken half. It’s a big stretch, huh…?” You hesitated to nod; it was a big stretch, but it wasn’t too much, and you didn’t want Wanda to stop. 

“But you’re a big girl, right…?” she asked, and you immediately opened your eyes at her wording and the soft coo of her voice.

“I- Yes, I… I am.”

You watched as Wanda took her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes running down your body as her wrist curled and twisted back and forth, each time slowly pressing further into you. Her forearm muscle flexed with each movement and you could hear her breaths begin to quicken.

“Can I confess something a little embarrassing…?” Wanda spoke after a few moments of intimate silence, and you looked up from her forearm to her face.

When you met her eyes with patient curiosity, she continued. “I’ve pleasured myself to the thought of you many times, but I’ve never used this,” she told you. “I suppose I couldn’t imagine you in its place. It feels far more fitting to hold it.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and your breath hitched.

Wanda’s eyebrows raised and you felt a slightly forceful thrust, causing you to whimper. “Did you like hearing about that? I pulled out just a little and you’ve made quite the mess around it…”

The way her eyes scrutinised you, the focus in her expression, made you feel like she was observing you in great detail, feeling that her interest was sincerely piqued as much as she was aroused.

Then, with one more thrust, you felt the coolness of Wanda’s fingers pressed against your warm folds, and you knew she was entirely in. 

“Does that feel good, Y/N?” she asked, settling herself more comfortably beside you so she was sitting up, your head lying in the crook of her neck. Her arm was wrapped around your head with her elbow keeping her up, her hand stroking your head softly.

You felt like you were struggling to get words out with the size of Wanda’s cock inside of you, along with the gentle and tantalising way she entered and pulled out. She was practically cradling you against her as she maintained steady motion, and you felt as if you were being babied.

“Th-That feels really good…” you mumbled.

“Oh, I’m so glad, sweetheart…” She began petting the side of your head and you mewled.

You watched through hooded eyes Wanda’s focused expression as she continued her soft thrusts, the positioning of your bodies making the act look almost masturbatory with how your bodies laid together, meshed.

“I had a feeling this would be the pace you preferred, Y/N,” Wanda said, her voice a soft mumble, her voice now sounding raspy with how low she was speaking. “If I’m honest… I thought a lot about what kinds of things you might like… I always enjoyed thinking that you were a careful lover, and shy…”

Even though she spoke at a hushed volume, you could hear her soft laboured breaths from her stern efforts to keep her arm at a steady pace, and often you looked down to see her forearm muscles flex subtly beneath her smooth pale skin.

“I thought about that all the time,” she confessed, a little moan passing her lips as the recollection. “I thought about how… polite and delicate you were, and your sweet smile and how kind you were to me. I thought that must mean you were quite accommodating in the bedroom, but I just wasn’t able to allow my mind to wander that far, thinking about what you might be able to do for me. I just kept thinking about what you’d let me do, and that soft little blush on your cheeks…”

She looked up at you and met your eyes. Hers crinkled at the sides when she looked over your expression, and when she smiled, the faint hints of dimples on either side of her smile made your heart skip about a dozen beats.

“The kind of blush you have right now…” she whispered. 

“I wish you could see how you look,” she added, and you could feel her speeding her thrusts up, a new desperation in her efforts as you felt her move closer to you. Her hips knocked against the side of your thigh and her hardened nipples grazed against your upper arm.

Her breathing became laboured, and you felt yourself in a trance just looking into Wanda’s eyes, feeling pressure steadily build between your thighs she quickened her pace. 

It was almost a little embarrassing hearing how wet you were, listening to how you stretched open each time Wanda thrusted her cock into you, and how you sounded when she pulled out, your tiny moans and whimpers building, seemingly encouraging Wanda to speed up.

“You look so cute, looking up at me, just waiting on what I’ll do or what I’ll say,” she said. “Do you feel cared for, baby…?”

Slender fingers brushed your hair out of your face.

“Y-Yes, I-”

Wanda interrupted you — not that you would’ve had anything very substantial to say anyways with how you started to speak and stutter without really knowing what you were going to say. “I knew it was wrong, fantasising about someone so young… But I couldn’t help it…”

She moaned softly and you could see her rub her thighs together just below your eye line.

Your eyes were beginning to flutter shut, for you were feeling the pressure in your lower stomach begin to coil, and you felt yourself tightening around the faux cock, suddenly sensitive to every noise and brush of Wanda’s hair against your skin.

Her arm unwrapped from around your head and Wanda suddenly leaned her head down and wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, causing you to moan out at the feeling of her warm tongue flicking over you, her teeth gently nipping at you before switching to the other.

“You’re doing such a good job, honey,” she reassured, trailing her kisses up to your neck and beginning to run her warm tongue up your skin. “So close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, trying to respond with intelligible words but only getting so far as a little whimper of affirmation. 

From beyond distracted hooded eyes, your eyes flickered between Wanda’s fafe and her soft breasts, still pressed warm against your upper arm. 

“You’ve gotten so wet,” Wanda purred, biting at the corner of your jaw. “My fingers are slipping from around the base; I have to keep readjusting my grip. It doesn’t help that you’re so tight…”

“If I had a cock of my own, baby, I’d have you on your knees, bent over with your face in the pillows…” she mumbled against your ear. “You’d be so tight and warm around me… You don’t know how wet it makes me to think about fucking a young thing like you… Hearing your little sounds and your pleas…”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you reached out to take hold of her hip. “W-Wanda, I’m-”

She moved her other hand down and interlaced your fingers. 

“Come for me, Y/N,” she cooed.

Wanda was entirely captivated seeing you come, feeling the resistance around her dildo as your walls squeezed around it, your body arching from the bed while you cried out squeezed her hand. You came on the very bed and sheets she had to the thought of you countless times before, but the way you came was different. 

It was more delicate than hers — from what she could recall from her own self-perception — your moans fluttery and broken into tiny whimpers, your body combed over with tiny tremors and involuntary twitches.

"That's a good girl," she whispered against your temple as you came, her other hand squeezing and stroking your shoulder. "Just like that, honey..."

She was careful when she pulled out of you, and couldn’t help but bring the dildo up to her lips and clean some of your mess off of it with her lips and tongue. Then she set it down somewhere on the bed and moved down to be able to wrap her arms around you, bringing your head against her chest.

Her arm that wrapped around the underside of your head stroked the side of your temple while she kissed your forehead, her other arm wrapped around your torso, rubbing your side soothingly.

After a while of Wanda rubbing your hip and your stomach, your upper arm, and anywhere she could reach while kissing your face gently, you caught your breath and cuddled close to her.

“I really do like you, Y/N,” Wanda said after the moments of silence. She pulled away a little to be able to look at your face in its entirety, and she smiled down at you softly. “I think you’re very kind, and very sweet. It’s really been a long time since anyone thought or cared as much about me as you do.”

Then she added, a bit shamefully, “I know it just sounds selfish, but over the last while since you moved here, I’ve been thinking of you quite a bit. And I was always very nervous to pursue anything, or even allow myself to feel anything like this for you.”

You didn’t want to speak up and interrupt her, especially since she seemed a little nervous confessing her feelings.

“Not only was it my first time regarding someone of your age in the way that I had begun to, but I think there were just a lot of things I was used to that I had to try to unlearn, and find confidence in diverging from.”

Then she looked away from your eyes and began fiddling with her fingers. Sensing her nerves, you squeezed her hand softly and rubbed your thumb against the back of her hand. Though she didn’t look back at you, she acknowledged your gesture and squeezed back.

“And there was also my age…” she hesitantly mentioned. “I felt… insecure, and unsure of myself, being how old I am and not knowing what to do. I felt… late to everything I was feeling for the first time, and thought that everything I was feeling was some desperate fantasy.”

Hesitantly, she met your eyes again, and looked relieved when you were already looking at her. 

“You have no idea how good and happy it makes me feel that you’re sincerely interested in me…” she told you, a tiny shy smile spreading on her face. “I’ve never felt this way before, even with Vision… and I feel really lucky to be able to be with you like this.”

A realisation suddenly came over you hearing Wanda’s confession — did she really think it was all luck? You had been so shy about everything that you had failed to tell Wanda much of how you felt and how you saw her, and it wasn’t even your first time with a woman.

“I mean… it wasn’t really luck,” you said, fidgeting a little with her fingers, which Wanda thought was really cute. “I did ask to drive you home and visit you and work and… asked to see you this weekend.”

“Oh. That’s right, isn’t it?” 

She looked like she had a moment of deep pondering as she looked off to the side. Then she looked down at you again and smiled. 

“I guess I just didn’t really allow myself to accept the possibility that you were doing it all because of that,” she admitted bashfully. 

You let go of her hand and brushed your fingers against her hip, drawing nervous shapes against her soft skin. “Can I touch you too, Wanda?” you requested. 

For a moment, she looked surprised that you would even offer; her lips parted and she blinked, before closing her mouth and nodding slightly. 

“What will you do?” she asked, curious and sounding a little insecure in a way that you couldn’t entirely understand. 

The two of you shifted positions and Wanda laid on her back, looking up at you with eyes that made your chest ache. She looked vulnerable and almost a little anxious. 

Being intimate with women wasn’t the same as being intimate with men — Wanda figured this quickly. It wasn’t the same kind of mutual pleasure, but rather, rooted in a kind of selflessness, a deep and involved desire to please the other without receiving explicit pleasure of one’s own. 

Sex with Vision and any of the scarce intimate encounters she’d had since her divorce all seemed rather mechanical — it wasn’t so much about desire and interest as it was about fulfilling a role and doing what you knew you were expected to. 

Vision hardly ever went down on Wanda, and she was never quite interested in asking him to nor was she interested in connecting with him in that way. 

It wasn’t that she held any bitterness or negative reservations about him that confined their sex to duty or seeing it as an impulse of nature, as in having sex as one would eat when one was hungry, or sleep when one was tired. 

It was more so that their marriage was not the kind to be seen as based on passion or desire; that hadn’t been how Wanda had seen him when they first met nor how he had seen her. 

The idea that anyone could desire her to begin with, but moreover that one could desire her selflessly, whose justification was solely self-determined desire, made her anxious and uncertain. 

It was, paradoxically, a selfish form of selflessness, where Wanda had only ever known duty and expectation. 

“What you did for me before,” you told her, now settled between her thighs, on your knees. “Is that okay?”

Wanda nodded, looking at you. She adjusted herself a little, but you settled her by placing your hands on either side of her outer thighs. 

You firstly moved up her body, making Wanda think that for a moment you changed your mind about all of what you’d said, but instead you started softly kissing her, laying your body flush against hers as Wanda’s legs parted before squeezing her thighs around your hips. 

Her arms came to wrap around your torso. She stretched her fingers out so she could feel more of your skin, feel the way your back arched and curved as you kissed her lips, then her cheeks and then her neck. 

“You’re beautiful…” you muttered, making Wanda open her eyes and turn her head a little to look at the way you had your face buried in her neck, your hair sprawled out a mess across her chest. 

“Your skin is so smooth, and you’re so warm when you hold me,” you said. 

All Wanda could do was whisper a small, “I like holding you, Y/N.”

You slowly descended back down, your palms running down her sides as if to hold the shape of her body and the frame that made it up in your hands, caressing her. 

You massaged her breast, making Wanda loll her head to the side and let out a soft moan, her own hand coming to the back of your head and tightening her grip when your lips wrapped around her nipple. 

Your tongue was soft and teasing over her hardened bud, and you sucked with a gentle force that wasn’t hesitant, but careful, treating her delicately. 

Her hand stroked the back of your hand with her fingers, gently massaging your scalp and readjusting her hand’s position often to keep combing through your hair. 

Moving further down, you pressed kisses to her stomach, beneath her breasts, down to her belly button, watching Wanda’s expression intently as you looked up at her. 

She looked beautiful with her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted as she sighed and made little noises of pleasure. 

You hoped she felt taken care of. 

Your fingers began tugging at the waistband of her underwear and you looked up to her, expecting Wanda to feel a little hesitant, but instead she breathed out telling you to take them off, even reaching down and tugging at them. 

Wanda’s heart raced when she felt your breath brush briefly against her pussy. A shudder ghosted across her skin and up her spine when your tongue flattened against her, pushing through her folds as your lips wrapped around her. 

Her thighs squeezed around your head and she shut her eyes; the gentle curls and prods of your soft tongue set her on fire, and the way you rubbed at her thighs, squeezing gently, made goosebumps run up her skin. 

She really was quite sensitive, for you could tell exactly how her body would react each time you dragged your tongue up her cunt, pressed against her clit, or secured your lips a little tighter around her. 

You were gentle and intentional with how you ate her out, and Wanda could tell obviously that you certainly weren’t as inexperienced as she was. 

When opened her eyes and looked down, she met your gaze and immediately felt that you were too far away, and she quickly came to prefer not to come without you much closer to her. 

She loosened the grip of her thighs and reached down, her hand coming to the side of your head. 

“I want you up here,” she said. 

You couldn’t exactly hear what she said, but you could tell she wanted you to stop, so you lifted your head and Wanda guided you back up her body.

Quietly, you asked, “Are you okay?”

“I want you with me,” Wanda told you, wrapping an arm around your torso and pulling you close so your chest was flush against hers. Her other hand found your wrist and she led it down between her thighs. 

You felt that you previously didn’t understand Wanda the way that you now did after being intimate with her. She was sensitive and a bit shy, and you hadn’t expected her to be so loving and attentive when it was your turn before. 

There were things like the way she squeezed her arm around your torso when your fingers entered her, sighed into your chest, her head tucked under the crook of your neck, and took every opportunity to keep her body pressed against yours, that made you begin to reshape how you saw her. 

You liked to hold her, to kiss the top of her head. You liked how she kept pulling you against her. 

“Is this okay?” you asked. 

She nodded quickly.

“Am I going too fast?”

Wanda shook her head. 

She felt warm and tight around your fingers, and you were beginning to feel a sort of intimacy feeling the way she squeezed around you, and how she fluttered subtly when she moaned and arched her back to adjust herself. 

“Say you want me, Y/N…” she whispered softly. 

You lowered yourself to kiss her temple. “I want you, Wanda,” you said. ”You feel so good around my fingers. You’re so wet.”

She whimpered, eyes squeezing shut again as she lolled her head to the side to lay against your chest. 

“You feel so warm,” you told her, lips brushing against her forehead. Her hand squeezed at your side. “I think you’re so pretty, and sensitive, and I want to take care of you. I want to make you feel good. I really… want to be with you.”

The words nearly made Wanda want to cry, and she lifted her head, meeting your lips in a gentle kiss. She’d never felt so much connection and longing for another person before. 

It frightened her, at the back of her mind, feeling the way she began to cling at you. It was only you who she’d felt all this for, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if suddenly none of this worked out. She felt an overwhelming sense of passion, felt it as it filled her chest and forced her to take big breaths to soothe the feeling.

You sped up, mostly curious to hear how wet she was, and Wanda yelped a little, her back arching and pressing her stomach against yours. Her knee bent and she parted her legs further. 

You ran your eyes across her naked body, the way she was spread beneath you and clinging onto you, listened to her deep groans and little yelps and whimpers, watched her breasts rise and fall. 

When Wanda came she was much quieter than you were. She hugged herself close and cried out into the crook of your neck, her sweet-smelling hair filling your nose. Her other hand grasped at your shoulder, and you paid close attention to how she pulsed around your fingers. 

Suddenly her hand came down to wrap around your wrist, and she kept your fingers in place while her body shuddered with the aftermath of her orgasm.

Keeping your fingers deep inside of her and moving them not even a little let you feel her every movement while Wanda’s body slowly relaxed. She wanted to keep feeling you inside of her, just to feel that intimacy for a few moments more. 

Then she nudged your hand away on account of how tired she was to speak, and you carefully pulled your fingers out of her. 

As you looked at her beneath you and listened to her tired sighs and pants, you thought about how you’d seen Wanda as a woman on a platform for much of your time with her. Though you liked her and were attracted to her, you thought you’d always seen her and felt a little intimidated; she felt far away and greater, bigger, than your own life. 

But now she seemed sensitive and delicate, panting, her chest rising and falling, her body coated with a sheen of sweat, her closed eyes fluttering gently. She looked incredibly vulnerable, and in this state it was far easier for you to tell that it truly had been her first time with a woman, and with anyone she felt very interested in or close to in a while. 

You thought of her in more detail, your hand rubbing against her lower stomach, her own hand wrapped loosely around your bicep, her arm other around your waist. 

Wanda had been married and divorced before, she had children and a business and years of her experienced life that you hadn’t yet lived. It still remained true that there were things you didn’t quite yet know about her, and things that would always indicate a difference in your ages and experience, and a general difference in how you lived your lives. 

But in spite of all that, she had chosen to be here with you, and wanted you here with her. 

At the moment her cheek was pressed against your chest, and she adjusted herself and guided you so you could wrap both your arms around her shoulders. She intertwined your legs with hers and tucked her head beneath your chin. 

You wondered the kinds of things she must be thinking. 

The truth was that you wouldn’t know unless you asked or she told you, but sometimes even that wouldn’t be able to capture exactly the way she might feel — when words and language couldn’t bridge the gap of Wanda being unable to word how she was experiencing a romance and an affection that she hadn’t ever before. 

You thought a little about what Wanda said about her marriage before, and you wondered if you really made her feel seen and taken care of. 

You felt her breathing in your arms, listened to her soft inhales and exhales, held her body, and were the only one she wanted to be with and share this time with. 

“Can you sleep over, Y/N?” Wanda asked, lifting her head and meeting your eyes after adjusting her body to allow you to hold her more comfortably. She looked sleepy. 

You laid onto your side fully so your head was on the same pillow as hers. “Do you want me to?” you asked. 

She nodded. “Can you, please?”

“I’ll have to leave early in the morning since I live so far.”

A smile spread on her face and she nudged at your shoulder softly. 

“I want to stay over,” you then told her seriously, kissing her forehead and eliciting a little sigh of pleasure from Wanda. 

She said quietly, “I think I should get up and get ready for bed. I might still have a little makeup on.”

Before you could nod and ask if she had any clothes you could borrow, she sat up and looked at you. Her face was shadowed and her hair, now having lost the curl she had given it this afternoon, was a bit messy, and looked very soft.

You reached out to touch her hair, just to smooth some stray strands down, and make her face more visible. She tipped her face into your caresses, the back of your fingers brushing against her cheekbone.

While Wanda brushed her teeth and you were about to change into the pajamas she let you borrow, you suggested that you might shower together before bed. For most of the night there was minimal talking — not because you had nothing to talk about, but because both of you were far more occupied with just being together. 

Wanda’s hair was nice to feel when you lathered shampoo into it, and her fingers were strong when she washed yours. Her lotion smelled like the tiny whiffs you sometimes got around her but were certain wasn’t her perfume — it was her lotion.

On the bathroom counter were her earrings she sometimes wore and her glasses, and her makeup and face wash and hairbrush.

You liked seeing everything, and you liked being able to touch her whenever you felt, feeling your arms around her waist and being able to kiss her face and her exposed shoulders.

“Do you think… you’ll regret doing this?” Wanda asked quietly after some moments of silence while you laid together, the tone of her voice trying to communicate a space for you to be open and truthful with her. “You can be honest. It’s okay.”

You immediately looked over to her. She was on her side, her hand tucked under her pillow as she looked at you. The blankets were pulled up to her chin, making her look tiny. “No, not at all,” you told her. “I really want to spend more time with you, and I really like you. I’m interested in you.”

Then you wiggled a little closer to her so your knees bumped against hers, making her laugh at how you moved yourself into her personal space.

She wiggled close too until your noses were all but touching, and you could tell Wanda was trying not to giggle. 

“I want this,” you said. The serious tone of your voice sounded silly with how close you were to her face, and Wanda couldn’t hold herself back from laughing just a little. 

“Okay,” Wanda replied with a determined little nod once she stopped laughing. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “Good. So do I.”

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 31 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley knows there's only one way to contend with what Carl did, and he will gladly do it for you. All he wants is his house, his kid and his girl. You on the other hand don't know quite how to deal with anything that's going on, because it all seems out of your control. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, fighting, blood, and age gap (18+)

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

You were so anxious for your first day of work, you actually woke up way too early and spilled blazing hot coffee all over your scrubs, forcing you to make a detour back to the bedroom to get changed. All you seemed to be able to think about was that video. That goddamn video. You wished you never looked in that box in the attic.

Once again, you were on the verge of tears as you pulled on a clean top and went to wake Noah up for the day. Everything felt like too much right now unless he was with you. The fact that you were as dependent on Noah as he was on you was probably nothing to brag about, but he really lit up every time you read to him or made him food. And you felt much better inside when he was snuggled up with you or holding your hand. 

You felt like his mom. You felt like you belonged here with him. He trusted you to take care of him, and you always would. But your confidence where Bradley was concerned felt stunted now, and you couldn't even talk to him about it. If you were even strong enough to bring it up at all. 

Noah climbed out of bed and went right to you for a hug, never questioning if he was welcome with you. "Morning, sweet Noah," you whispered against his soft hair. "Did you have happy dreams?"

He yawned and said, "Yeah. I was a pink dinosaur, and all of the other dinosaurs were afraid of me. So I got to eat all the Skittles."

"Wow," you said with a laugh as you carried him into the kitchen for breakfast. "That's the best dream I've ever heard of."

"Yeah, I know." 

He ate some eggs while you successfully drank your coffee and vanilla creamer without spilling it this time. And when you dropped him off at daycare, the same girl was working at the front desk.

"Hi, Noah," she said sweetly before handing you the clipboard to sign with a bland expression. You kissed Noah on the cheek and watched him walk in with the other kids before you signed your name. "And will you be picking him up again today, or should we be expecting another babysitter?"

You froze, and a startled laugh escaped your lips. "I'll be picking him up. And I'm the only babysitter." She appraised you again, so you added, "Only the best for Lieutenant Bradshaw and his son," before you spun on your heel and strolled out to the parking lot. 

You were driving the Bronco. You were in charge of Noah. Bradley was acting like some sort of sugar daddy boyfriend with the credit card you had tucked in your wallet. You shouldn't have been feeling insecure at all. You tried not to think about anything except getting to work on time for your first day. 

And being out of the house did help. You met all of the doctors and other nurses, and some of them were your age. Dr. Kelly treated you to lunch, and you got to chat with her a bit. You learned you'd get to assist with a few special needs kids later in the week. It was exciting. You had your own tiny workspace. Being there occupied your mind. 

But when you were asked to fill out a small stack of new hire paperwork in the afternoon, your pen stopped on the page multiple times. You hesitated twice before you eventually wrote Bradley's address as your own. You wrote his name and phone number down as your emergency contact, but you felt ridiculous writing 'boyfriend' where it asked for your relationship to him. After a brief debate, you wrote it anyway and moved on. And a beneficiary for your life insurance? Well, you didn't really have anyone else, so you put Noah. 

And then when you handed everything back in, you felt kind of like you were pretending to be an adult. 

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

Bradley waited on his bunk for Carl to return. It was getting late, and he wondered where the fuck he was. Without completely dismantling the tiny room, Bradley had searched through as much of Carl's shit as he could. And that was after confirming that he was only missing the one polaroid that you sent with him. 

His ears were ringing. Fingers twitching. He was absolutely repulsed by the thought of anyone else looking at that picture. But especially Carl. That was a line you just didn't cross with a bunkmate. Bradley had seen some wild shit in his days, walked in on some things he wished he could unsee. But you simply did not mess with personal items. And you certainly didn't take anything under any circumstances without permission. And if it was anything pertaining to a wife, girlfriend or significant other, it was absolutely forbidden. 

And if you broke any of these unwritten rules, well... you should know what you were in for. 

When Bradley heard a key in the door close to midnight, his hands automatically curled into fists. Your pretty face popped into his mind, smiling up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips. Even though you weren't here, you deserved to be defended right now. He'd protect you and Noah until he used up his dying breath. And that just meant things weren't looking too hot for Carl at the moment. 

The other man strolled in wearing his gym clothes, and it struck Bradley that Carl was probably a little older than he was. He was in good shape, too, but that wouldn't stop Bradley from beating the absolute shit out of him if necessary. 

"What's up, Carl?" he asked, remaining seated with his fists planted on either side of him on the bed. When Carl seemed barely able to meet his eyes, Bradley knew for sure.

"Hey," he replied awkwardly. "Just wanted to hit the gym when it was empty."

Bradley just watched him for a few seconds, silently demanding eye contact. When Carl finally stopped bumbling around and met his eyes, Bradley slowly stood. "Where is it?"

Carl's eyes flashed with panic as Bradley rolled his shoulders and took a step closer in the already limited space. "What? What are you talking about?" He tried to back away, but there was really nowhere to go. 

"If you make me ask again, it's going to be a lot worse for you, man."

"I... I..." Carl's eyes followed Bradley's left hand as he loosened his fist. And then Bradley slammed him back against the door. 

"You know better," Bradley growled. "This isn't your first deployment. You know the rules. And it belongs to me. Where. Is. It?"

"The photo?" Carl whispered as Bradley pressed the heel of his hand against his sternum with even more pressure. 

Bradley raised his voice. "Where the hell is it? It better have never left this fucking room."

"I have it!" Carl swore, and Bradley released him.

"Get it," Bradley said as calmly as he could, but his voice was shaking. He watched Carl dig around in his bedding, procuring the photo of you and your perfect tits and your barely concealed pussy. Bradley had a flashback to Noah's birthday party when Jake kissed you. Then he pictured you at the fraternity house, drunk and helpless. Carl was about to pay a pretty large price. 

"Here," he grunted, extending the polaroid out to Bradley. Once he set it down on top of his dresser, making sure the photo was still perfect, he turned back to Carl and sucker punched him right on the nose. 

Blood was gushing onto his gym shirt as Bradley said, "That's fucked up, Carl. You had my photo in your bed."

He was holding his nose, looking at Bradley with guilty eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"That's my girl, you piece of shit." Bradley was seething as he rammed Carl back up against the door. 

"She's your girl?" he asked, trying to stop the bleeding with both hands now. "She looks barely legal. How old is she?"

Bradley released him and took a step back before he did more damage than he intended to. "Do you really think it's a good idea to ask me that, Carl? You probably jerked it to my girlfriend after you stole my photo, and now you're asking me how old she is?" He was panting, letting the rage flow through him, and then both hands curled into fists again.

"Shit, I didn't- I wasn't-"

"You're not very bright, are you?" Bradley asked, cutting him off. "I'll let you walk out of this room with your face mostly intact as long as you guarantee that you'll wear your bruises around this carrier without even so much as looking in my direction. And don't you dare visit the infirmary. Your indiscretion doesn't blow back on me. You got it?"

Carl looked resigned as he lowered his hands from his face and nodded. "Yeah. I got it."

Then Bradley landed one more punch, hard as hell, and Carl staggered around the room for a few seconds before he managed to take himself out into the hallway and toward the bathroom. Bradley carefully picked up his polaroid, and his heart ached. He was yours, and he'd have done anything to see your beautiful face in person right now.

And if Carl didn't so much as speak to him or look at him again for the rest of the deployment, it would be just fine with Bradley.

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

You always felt like you were rushing around. When you got out of work an hour early one Wednesday, you decided to use the time to go grocery shopping before you picked up Noah. It was easier to get just the necessities this way. The downside was that you were definitely getting lost in your own thoughts as you stood in the produce area selecting apples. 

It was almost a relief that Bradley hadn't contacted you yet. If you had to look him in the eye right now, you weren't sure you could do it without crying. That USB drive was currently on top of the refrigerator where you couldn't see it, but it was still enough to upset you when you thought about it. But at the same time, you missed your boyfriend and wanted him to come home, and you knew Noah would benefit from talking to him.

You wasted so much time looking at fucking apples that you were going to be late if you didn't get going. You winced as you used the purple princess credit card to pay for the food, and then you organized everything in the back of the Bronco. You loved driving it and briefly wondered if he'd still let you after he got home. 

You pulled into the gas station that was just a few blocks from Noah's daycare, once again using Bradley's credit card. You sighed as you inserted the card for payment and then started to fill the tank. And then you looked up toward the next row of pumps, and you were sure you knew that BMW. A second later, you met Meredith's gaze, and a chill went through your body.

You were afraid your voice was going to shake, but you called out, "You're not supposed to come near me."

She laughed maliciously. "This is a gas station, and I was here first. So maybe you should stay away from me."

"With pleasure," you snarled. You had to close your eyes against the sick feeling that rose inside you. Naked. You could picture her naked. Bradley used to love her. 

"You already ruined my life," Meredith snapped. "So your little restraining order stunt really doesn't matter to me." Then she was climbing into her car, and you watched her peel out of the parking lot and into traffic, heading in the opposite direction from Noah's daycare. 

Your hands were unsteady as you finished up at the gas pump. She was right; she had been at the gas station first. She was with Bradley first. She was Noah's mom before you ever came into the picture as his babysitter. She was everywhere, and she wouldn't go away.

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

Bradley emailed you days ago to let you know he would be able to FaceTime with you and Noah tonight, but you'd only written back, "Sounds good." You didn't give him any updates. You didn't call him Daddy. You didn't say anything else. 

Sounds good.

He grunted as he worked out in the gym. The sooner he could get this deployment completed and get home, the better. Carl's face was starting to look better now, but Bradley smiled every time he saw the bruises. He had no idea what excuse the other man had given for looking like a raccoon with two black eyes and a bent nose, and he didn't really fucking care. If anyone assumed he was the one who caused the bruising, they probably also assumed it was warranted. 

Those polaroids were wrapped up and put away now. But Bradley wanted the real thing. Your body and your voice. He'd been thinking about how insufficient it felt to call you his girlfriend. Just the same way you'd always felt like more than Noah's babysitter to them. But now with your lack of a real response, Bradley felt a little foolish for thinking about proposing to you. 

When it was time to make the call home, he sighed deeply. And when you answered your phone on the living room couch, your expression was hesitant. 

"Princess," he rasped, holding the iPad with both hands. "Baby. I miss you."

It felt like an eternity before you responded. "We miss you, too." 

He had so much he wanted to say and talk about, but your voice was just a little too soft, and your eyes were just a little too sad. "What's wrong?" he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

"Here. Talk to Noah." And then you were out of the frame, and Noah was there. Bradley laughed as he talked about daycare and making something called peanut butter snails and going for hikes. He held up some of the coloring sheets he had worked on, and Bradley noted that you had dated all of them. You always did little things like that. Now he'd be able to see which days his son worked on the coloring sheets when he got home. 

"I miss you so much, bub."

"Will you come home soon?" Noah asked, and Bradley's heart absolutely melted. 

"Really soon. And we can go to the beach and maybe take a little vacation, okay? Now can you sit with Princess so I can talk to her, too?"

And then you were immediately back in the frame and scooping Noah onto your lap. So you must have been standing right there the whole time. 

"That's better," Bradley sighed. His house, his kid, his girl. "You have no idea how much I wish I was on that couch with you." 

You smiled softly. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

"I'm not sure, Baby. Not soon enough. Tell me about work."

So you indulged him in a few stories, and it sounded like you fit in there. You liked your coworkers, especially Dr. Kelly. You loved all the kids you got to talk to and care for all day. But you still seemed a little distant.

"Are you sleeping okay?" he asked. "Any issues?"

You pressed a kiss to Noah's cheek and said, "We just miss you. That's all."

"We want you to come home," Noah whined. 

"Please?" you added softly. 

"So soon," he reiterated, wishing he could give you both a kiss. "Watch for my emails?"

"I will," you promised. 

"I love you. Both of you."

Then you and Noah said in unison, "I love you, too." And then he had to end the call.

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

Well it was done now. You were on your way to get the last few things from your place with Noah before you turned your key over to your landlord. Or former landlord. You were done paying rent here, and now you could start helping Bradley pay his mortgage. In fact, he would be home in a few days, and you'd talk to him about it then. There were actually a lot of things you wanted to have a conversation about.

"Do you remember when you came here for dinner? And I made you spaghetti in my little kitchen?"

"That was a long time ago," Noah insisted, and you held his hand as you walked up the sidewalk. "You live at my house now."

"Yep," you replied softly as you let go of his hand and dug around in your bag for the key you hardly ever used now. "Let's just hope that makes your Daddy happy and not annoyed since I never really gave him a verbal answer," you mumbled, finally locating the key. 

As you shoved it into the lock, Noah knelt down and picked something up from the porch. "What's this?" he asked, reaching his hand up to you.

Your eyes went wide. "Drop it," you said right away, and he let the piece of broken glass fall back to the porch. But there was more. Both of you were standing in it, and when you reached to turn the knob, there must have been a shard there.

"Shit," you gasped as your right palm started bleeding. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you kicked the door fully open. One of the panes of glass in the door had been smashed, and there was more of the mess on the floor inside. "Don't touch anything," you hissed, and Noah started crying. 

You kept him close enough to take a few pictures as soon as you were able to fumble with your phone. You took seven photos of all the glass plus the item that had been left. For you. It was just a dollar store coloring book, but there was a note on top of it written in crayon. Have fun playing house.

It had to have been from Meredith. Who else could have done it? She was already claiming you ruined her life. And ever since you saw her at the gas station, you were nervous that wasn't the last of her.

Blood was starting to pool a little bit in your upturned palm, and there wasn't much you could do at the moment except for ruin your shirt. "Let's get out of here," you whispered, and the two of you walked back across the porch, the glass crunching beneath your feet. 

You were able to buckle Noah with one hand, but even when you got back to Bradley's house, you were still bleeding. And the glass needed to be removed. So you finally caved and called Natasha. 

"I kind of need your help," you told her vaguely over the phone.

She laughed in response. "I kind of need a lot of things. What can I do for you?"

"Can you come by and help me remove a piece of glass from my dominant hand?"

"Fuck. Of course. I'm on my way," she replied, all tones of joking  gone. 

She was there in less than fifteen minutes, and she washed her hands right away. Then she used the sterilized tweezers that you handed to her to carefully remove the glass. "Just the one piece?" she asked, meeting your eyes. 

"I think so. I already checked Noah really thoroughly."

Nat's expression darkened. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

You were pressing some gauze against your palm now. You might need stitches. You would probably benefit from getting stitches. But you couldn't do them yourself with your left hand, and you didn't want to leave Noah right now. Not even with Nat. He was watching a Mickey Mouse cartoon on the couch, and you didn't want him further away from you than that. 

"It was just some broken glass," you replied. 

"Here?" she asked, looking around the kitchen.

"No. At my old place. It's fine. I just need to tell my landlord about it, and I'll replace it." You were amazed how easily you were able to keep your voice steady. 

"Right," Nat replied with an unamused look. "Bradley will be home in a couple days? Do you want me to stay here until he's back?"

"Of course not. We're fine," you insisted, averting your gaze.

She stood to leave and sighed deeply. "Please call me back if you need anything, okay? And do us both a favor and don't lie to Bradley when you pick him up."

You pressed your lips together and nodded. "I won't," you said softly. And after she left, you took Noah into bed with you and snuggled him tight. 

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

I hate Carl. I hate Meredith. I want Daddy to come home. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 32

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

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@rosesinmars

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@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

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@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

[missredherring]

Wrong Until You Make It Right

Joel Miller x Plus Size!F!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k.

Summary: After a long day when his kitchen sink starts leaking, there's only one person he thinks to call. You make a house call and Joel gets a wake up call.

Contents: no outbreak!AU. No kids!AU. Co-workers to lovers. Power imbalance (contractor/subcontractor). Reader is nicknamed "Patches."

A/N: This is a Secret Santa gift for the lovely @covetyou!!!

I hope you like this, Lo. All of your prompts were great and I had a hard time passing up Dieter giggling about butt plugs, but I couldn't resist Joel pining over his pretty subcontractor plumber.

I was going to try and wait to post this closer to Christmas but I'm so impatient to give it to you!!

I know nothing about plumbing except for what Google told me. Not beta'd; all mistakes are my own. Divider by @saradika-graphics.

Joel’s feet are wet. Why are his feet wet? 

He blinks his eyes back into focus from where he’d been staring blankly at the dishes and looks down at the floor. There’s a small puddle at his feet which explains the deeply unpleasant sensation of wet socks, but not why or where it came from. He opens the cabinet under the sink and a few more trickles of water rush out to settle around his feet too.

He sighs, and for one sweet second he considers going out to his truck, getting the sledgehammer, and just smashing through the whole damn kitchen. But then he thinks of the work and money it’d take to fix everything after his temper tantrum and sighs again. He turns on his phone’s flashlight and looks under the sink. There’s the usual pipes and nothing is obviously broken, but there is a puddle at the bottom of the cabinet to match the one on the floor. He hears another drop of water fall as he closes the door. 

His head hangs between his shoulders and he squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment. His phone is in his hand and ringing before he really knows what he’s doing. Your name is on the screen and his gut is mixed between the flutter of anticipation to hear your voice, and the sick twist of ‘oh shit.’ He shouldn’t be calling you this late after an even later day, but he has a plumbing issue, and you’re the one he always calls for plumbing issues. Ok, not always, but for the past year and a half you’ve been his plumber of choice. 

Your tiny voice is yelling at him by the time he makes up his mind to not hang up on you.

“Did he butt dial me or something? Man…” You’re talking to yourself and it sounds like you’re moving your phone away now so it’s his turn to call out your name.

“Patches, uh, hey. I meant to call you.” He says quickly. He grabs a kitchen towel and throws it on the floor, soaking up as much of the water as he can, moving it around with his already wet foot.

“What’s up?”

“I have a problem at the house. Kitchen sink is leaking.” 

“I just checked the kitchen pipes yesterday. Did something–”

“No, not at the site. At my house. There’s water all over the floor and–” He can feel the need to explain himself mix with the nerves in his gut and it’s an effort to stop the words. “Could you come over and take a look at it please? I know it’s after hours. I can call someone else.”

“Don’t worry about it, Miller. I’m leaving the site now, so I’ll see you in a bit.” You say and end the call. 

He’s left looking at his phone’s clock and rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly aware of his sore back and arms and the weight of tiredness behind his eyes. Joel takes the gamble and finishes the remaining dishes in the sink. He can give you the curtesy of a cleaned up workspace at least. When he’s done he goes under the sink again and turns off the water valve. 

Another hanging kitchen towel catches his eye as he straightens up and he tells himself that he might as well dry and put away the dishes while he waits for you to get here. Right after he changes his socks.

Headlights flash through the front windows and his phone chimes with a text. He checks it even though he knows it’s from you, and a moment later you’re knocking at the door. 

Joel saw you just this morning, passing you in the site’s upstairs bathroom as he left to meet up with the materials supplier. He already has the urge to give you a wide berth, to leave the room you haven’t even entered yet. As he opens the door he knows, deep down, that being alone with you is a bad idea.

You’re standing on his doorstep, still in your preferred work uniform of a t-shirt branded with your plumbing company’s logo and a worn pair of overalls. Sturdy boots are on your feet and you’ve got a tool bag in one hand as you shove your phone in a pocket with the other.

All of a sudden he regrets everything. Calling you was a mistake. You shouldn’t be here, all round and soft and looking like you’ve walked out of every dirty dream he’s had since he was a teenager just learning what to do with a stiff dick only steps away from his bedroom, his couch, his kitchen counter. Hell, he’d happily deal with his back and knees aching tomorrow if you let him fuck you on the stairs right behind him, or up against the door after he closes it.

You raise your eyebrows at him when he doesn’t say anything and just stares at you. “You said you’ve got some busted pipes? You’re gonna have to let me in if you want me to look at them, Joel.”

He nods and moves out of the way. His hand is fidgeting at his side, but he's happy to let it go, relieved that it hasn't done something dumb like reach out for you instead. “Thanks for coming over so late. I appreciate it.”

“You know, there’s a porno that starts out like this,” You say as you pass him, a teasing grin on those lips he does his best not to think about. “The genders are usually flipped –which is just a ridiculous waste of potential– but don’t worry, all I have in here are my work tools. I left my other tool bag at home.”

You laugh and it’s all he can do to force some kind of sound out of his mouth that he hopes to God sounds like a laugh instead of a groan at the thought of you watching porn. 

“I promise I can pay, no need for a trade of services.”

You click your tongue and give him a look over your shoulder. “Shame.”

Joel finally closes the door behind you, pointing the way to the kitchen. It’s the only other room on this floor with the lights on, so you find it easily and Joel follows you, watching the shift of your hips as you walk. He’d always thought the overalls looked good on you, hugging the lines of your belly and ass and making him want to pop the buttons at your hips to see how far down your shirt went today. He's seen it ride up your sides, revealing skin and rolls that his fingers itch to touch. 

They’re covered in stains and patches, just like every pair you own, but he recognizes this pair and that patch on the back of your leg. It was one of the first jobs you'd worked together and he was still keeping an eye on you, getting the feel of how you worked and how well you fit into an established crew all trying to get the job done on schedule. 

The denim had gotten caught just at the back of your knee on a nail that had been sticking out while you checked a pipe fitting. You didn’t care much, just glad the skin underneath hadn’t been caught as well. The next time he saw those overalls there was a patch over where the hole had been, the stitches neat and straight in a way Joel knew his mother would’ve admired.

He glances away from that same patch and the others that have since joined it when you set down your tool bag on the counter. 

“You said the sink was leaking?” You ask him with a curious tone. It was the same one you used when triaging plumbing issues. There's what the client thinks the problem is and what actual problem is, you'd told him when he'd asked about the obvious ‘customer service’ persona you used. He was good enough dealing with customers, but you had a way with them that made him wonder just how much patience with stupidity you had. He hopes it’s a lot because he’s feeling really stupid right now, as you give him another look.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s been in a hundred different kitchens, bathrooms, and houses with you, but somehow you being in his own home, in his own kitchen feels different. He likes to savor a pot of hot coffee at that table when his schedule allows for it. That counter is where he dumps his stuff from the day and shakes off his responsibilities as head contractor for a few hours before he has to do it all again. 

Now you’re here in the middle of it, and all his brain can do is wonder how you’d fit in those scenarios. Would you join him at the table, watching the sun come over the trees while you both wait for the coffee to cool down? Would you want something to eat first, needing something in your stomach instead of having caffeine first thing in the morning? Would you lean against him as you tug your boots off and take a moment to rest there, pressing your face into his shoulder tenderly before making a face and moving away to tell him he stinks? 

Joel’s done his damnedest to keep things professional with you, despite the attraction he feels, but now those lines are blurring. There's a familiar curl of desire starting in his gut and he knows he can't let his thoughts wander much more or he'll just make it worse. When he'd changed into sweatpants after getting home, he certainly hadn't thought he'd need the camouflage jeans could provide. He swallows and falls back into the safe zone of work.

“Yea. I was washin’ up and water was coming straight outta the cabinet underneath.” 

You hum and pull out a small flashlight from your bag. Clicking it on, you open both cabinet doors and go down on your knees. After a second you roll back onto your bottom to sit on the floor. He watches as the extra fabric of your overalls stretches over your thighs and the denim creases and pushes into you, and when you readjust to get more comfortable he can’t stop the thought of taking you down to the floor himself. The way you’d laugh at him as he’d wrestle with your clothing, trying to get his hands on any part of your warm skin he could until you took pity on him and helped, lifting your hips up into his as you move them out of the way for him. 

You’re up to your shoulders in the cabinet by the time he blinks the fantasy away and he catches the tail end of what you’re saying. 

“-- you aren’t trying to fix this yourself. Most guys think they can do it.” You say, your voice muffled and echoing at the same time somehow. 

He scoffs. He’d been hired to clean up the aftermath of underqualified “Mr. Fix-it’s” plenty when he was starting out and building up a client base to branch out into contracting. 

“I know enough to shut the water off and call someone who knows what they’re doing. I don’t mess with plumbing or electric, you know that.”

“Right,” There’s a pause before you speak again. “I’m surprised you called me actually, Joel.”

His brows pull together in a frown you can’t see. “Why’s that?”

“I get the impression that you don’t like me much. You’re always scowling at me.”

“I scowl at everyone.” He says, but you’re not wrong. He often finds himself scowling when he catches sight of you on the job. It’s not because of anything you’re doing, it’s because he has to remind himself to stop ogling you while you’re both at work.  

Instead of saying anything else you motion to the faucet. “I can’t tell much right now. There’s no giant holes or disconnected pipes. Turn on the water and let’s see what’s going on.”

He nods and after stepping around you he flips the faucet handle all the way back. 

It happens all at once. The only warning they get is gurgling and the interrupted flow from the spout before something breaks and it’s no longer a drip but a full spray of water coming from where it shouldn’t.

The handle is slammed back down and he’s standing there with his hands held up and a driving need to do something to fix the mess. You’re still leaning into the cabinet, taking a final look at things before he hears the squeak of the water valve being turned off again and you emerge.

You’re soaked. It’d splashed some onto his pants, but you’d gotten a direct hit. Your hair, your face, and down your chest: it’s all wet, dripping onto his floor. 

“Shit, Patches,” He’s all out of kitchen towels. “Hang on.”

You’re where he left you when he comes back, towel in hand. He can see how tired you are in the tight lines around your mouth, the dark circles under your eyes, and the way you’re slouching over your lap. He hands you the towel and you nod in thanks.

It’s a brisk rub down that leaves your hair even more of a mess and the way you hold the towel to your chest in an attempt to draw out some of the water that’s seeped into the denim makes him regret giving up the towel. He holds a hand out to you and helps haul you up to your feet, both of you grunting with the effort. 

“Well,” you start. “From what I saw it’s an easy fix. Just needs some new fittings and fresh tape. I know I’ve got the tape on me, but I’m not sure about the fittings. I can definitely take care of it tomorrow though.”

He nods and is trying to think of something else to say, to keep you longer, when you do it for him.

“Could you get something from my truck for me, Joel? I’ve got a bag of clothes, behind the driver’s seat.” 

“'Course.” He says and you pull out your keys from one of the numerous pockets in your overalls. He wouldn't have minded having to find them himself. Your truck is somehow neat and dirty at the same time and the bag you mentioned is easy enough to find. 

He’s jostling the duffel bag, shuffling the handles in his hand, back and forth as he comes in when he’s stopped in his tracks. You’ve unhooked your overalls and taken off your shirt. The denim is bunched at your waist, held up by your round belly and leaving your chest bare except for your bra. Joel doesn’t know what he’d do if you’d taken that off too, even though it must be wet.

There are red marks on your ribcage and indents on your shoulders where the elastic has pressed into you throughout the day and he wants to soothe them, rub his thumbs and fingers over the marks on your sides as he kisses your shoulders. 

You’re leaning so casually on his counter like it’s something you do all the time. Like you’re just waiting for him to come back. He knows you’re doing just that, but the domesticity of the scene you make is too strong deny and to keep blaming it all on the strong physical attraction he has for you. The thought is clear in his mind and it breaks through all the bullshit he’s been telling himself for the past year in a half: this is what he wants. To come home with you after a long day and spend the rest of the night relaxing together. 

His heart trips over itself and he understands that this is it. He can’t avoid it anymore.

“Here.” He says and you jump a little at his voice. He hands over the bag and doesn’t speak again until you pulled a shirt on. “I like you plenty and that’s the problem.” 

You're in your underwear in front of him with one leg in your own pair of sweatpants. You're bent over, your breasts swinging a little with your movement. There is no shy turning away, just a grateful shucking of wet clothing and he’s only looking at your face and eyes now. 

“You’re damn good at your job and I’ve been trying to be professional around you,” He pauses and rocks his jaw. Then he says your name, not the nickname he gave you or your surname or anything else. Just your name. “I like you a lot, as more than a coworker and these feelings haven’t gone anywhere in the time I’ve known you. If you’re not interested, this won’t change anything at work,” He promises. “But I’d like to see if there’s something there, with you. If you want to.”

He shuts his mouth with a click and almost winces as what he said comes back to him. If Tommy heard about this, he’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he might not have the smoothest lines out there, but he said what he needs to.

You pull your arms into your shirt and there’s movement under it before you’re pulling the wet bra out from an arm hole and tossing it on the pile of clothes. The sigh you let out is gusty and full of relief. 

“Thank fuck it’s not just me. You’re one stubborn man, Joel Miller, but I’m glad we’re finally talking about it.” You reach out to him and smile when he takes your hand. It looks small in his, and he can feel the calluses on your palm catch on the calluses on his fingers. “I’d really like that.”

It’s Joel’s turn to sigh in relief and he squeezes your hand. “I was gonna order a pizza. D’you want to stay for dinner?” 

You narrow your eyes at him and take your hand back to poke him in the gut. “Feeding me won’t get you out of paying for work, you know.”

Joel shakes his head and gets his phone out. “Not even if it’s from Ty’s Place?”

Your lips purse in consideration and it’s with a giddy feeling that Joel realizes that he doesn’t have to push down his urges anymore. He gives into it and leans down to kiss your pretty mouth.

It takes a second for you to reply. “...maybe if you get breadsticks too.”

He chuckles and kisses you again.

[pasteidolons]

COME WHAT MAY - LSM

pairing: lee seokmin x female reader, one-sided hong jisoo x reader members: kim mingyu, yoon jeonghan, choi hansol (vernon), xu minghao, boo seungkwan genre: historical au (early 1900’s)/historical fiction, angst, fluff,  warnings: injuries, coarse language, alcohol, smoking, political insurgence, smut (next part, mdni), historical inaccuracies for the sake of plot progression word count: 22.1k summary: you follow hong jisoo to kyoto after a troubling letter sends you spiraling. among the faces of new friends, a bond is formed and fate begins to tightly weave itself around you and lee seokmin.

MASTERLIST || PART II

[ 1909.04.01. Boston, MA ] ‘Josh,

I feel enough time has adequately passed to allow me to write to you. Although, there is not much news from home to tell you of. 

The snow is fast disappearing now. I came across an article in the paper the other day about Boston and it said that 14 or 15 years ago bears used to roam around the northern end of the city, but there seems to be nothing around now except the wild fowl, and an uncountable number of deer. 

How are your hands now? I know that the winter air dries yours as it does mine. Mine are very cut, so scattered with paper trails that I fear I should bleed ink from all the books that you left me. Have you been able to acquire any more on your travels? I find that the supply you gave me is running rather low now. 

You left for Munich enquiring after Daniel Lim if I recall the name correctly, I hope you found him in good health on your arrival. I also hope he does not overwork you, you said as much happened the last you worked under him in London.

I am very pleased to say I am keeping very well, and I trust you are the same. If anything happens, know that I will gladly storm my way across the sea and give your wrongdoers what for.

I miss you. And I hope you return soon, you know I love to hear about your travels.’

A short chuckle to yourself as you pull the pen away from the paper after signing your name, ink stains settling into the grooves of your fingers as you aren’t cautious enough with the writing implement. Short blows over the thin paper as you try to dry the ink as quickly as possible, although this isn’t the sweltering heat of the summer you’re unsurprised the ink hasn't run but so much. Carefully standing from your seat you begin your search around the room for an envelope, fingers brushing over various stacks of papers and novellas lying around your workspace. Eventually you find a weathered, but perfectly usable one underneath a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. You address the letter to his newest residence, some boarding house in Germany, but you aren't sure if he is even staying there anymore. If that doesn't work out and one of your letters is stamped “Return to Sender” once more, you’ll just have to wait for him to send you something first. It seems like you are always waiting after Josh. Not that you mind much, you had been as thick as thieves as teenagers and that had hardly ever changed, even after he’d decided to go abroad and study, then go onto some teaching stints wherever the wind blew him.

As you return to your seat you hear gentle meowing outside, head peering over your desk and out of the glass panes into the garden below you spot a small gray and white tabby looking up at you. A sigh escaping your lips as you move to grab your pen once more, beginning to write a post scriptum,

‘p.s. Your lovely feral cat has now decided that I take ownership of her in your absence. Is there a name you prefer I call her?’

You hope he can understand your tone, it’s an issue of yours that the words you write sometimes don't hit their mark. Regardless, you’d send the letter and hear his thoughts on it whenever he has the gaul to write back. You straighten your back from your hunched position and move through the house, your fingers tracing along the smooth walls until you reach the door leading into the garden, it lay nestled in the corner of the kitchen. There’s a faint scratching as you approach, only opening it to find the same tabby waiting for you, it barrels inside once it sees an opportunity.

“You wretch,” tsking as she begins brushing up against your leg. “What am I going to do with you?”

[ 1909.04.30. 今出川, 京都 ] The ground crunches underfoot as Seokmin walks; the pavement, covered with a thin layer of grit from a small windstorm that had picked up an hour or so prior, feels as if it’s shifting as his leather soled shoes move over it. The storm having left its mark and not going to disappear until a rain shower decides to wash it away, he breathes in the particles still floating through the unseasonably balmy weather. A small frown as he fans his jacket, allowing some air to circulate under the thick fabric. Had it not been impolite, he would have shed the garment as soon as he stepped out of the train station only minutes ago. His hand still wrapped around his bag he looks to the signs adorning the tops of businesses along the road. Seokmin was never great at learning hanja, so when it came time for him to begin learning the already different kanji and further hiragana and katakana that would come along with his trip abroad, he thought he might set out to find a tutor during his time here. Hand moving to rummage around the inside of his jacket, he procures a worn letter from its depths. ‘今出川 居酒屋,’ it is the only thing foreign to him within the contents of the scripture, the sender had asked to meet him there for lunch on the second day of Seokmin’s arrival to Kyoto.

Seokmin finds the bar after walking a few more blocks, north from the station and hidden away behind a bookstore in a back alley. Before he enters, he pauses. His grip on the letter tightening, the parchment creasing from the increased pressure as the slight tingly pervasiveness of guilt begins to wrack him from the inside out. A look to his left, and then to his right, a ghost of a figure in his peripheral, deterring him from running from the drinkery. It drives him closer, away from an inevitable future and towards the uncertain present. 

A haze of smoke blankets the air as he enters, that of tobacco intermingling with the small fire stoking in the back of the bar. It invades his nose rather viciously, itching the back of his throat and causing tears to form in the corners of his eyes as he greets the hostess with a small ‘Hello’ and ‘A table, please.’ She guides him and he settles down at a chabudai towards the front of the building, almost with enough of a view so that he can peer past the two small curtains at the entrance and into the street.

The letter now resting atop the table and his bag by its side, he reaches into his jacket yet again to procure an almost empty pack of cigarettes and a newly bought lighter. He had run out of fluid during his journey across the sea and he thought that buying a new one would be a novel idea to commemorate his trip. Seokmin’s eyes wander around the enclosed space as he scans the faces of the patrons. Most are men but there is the occasional woman mingling among the crowd as well. Cigarette placed on his lips, lighter spewing to life and igniting the end as he takes a deep breath in. Seokmin hates smoking, hates the way it pierces his lungs with its inky black vapors. It leaves his breath smelling awful, but it is just something people do to pass the time, and it calms him if only for a quiet moment. Fingers finding the cigarette, he removes it for a moment, tapping it against a small silver dish atop the table, the ashes pooling at the bottom as he continues to look for someone he hasn’t met yet.

“Did you want to order anything else?” A voice to his right calls out, he jumps slightly before turning, only to find the kimono clad waitress at his side. She sets down a tray of dishes, some foods he recognizes, and some he thinks to be the local cuisine.

“Oh, no thank you.” As his eyes look over the food, he moves to rest his cigarette in the ashtray to come back for later.

The woman gives a short smile and brief nod before speaking again, “Please let me know if you need anything.” Even after she had walked away, Seokmin could feel her eyes lingering on him like a child seeing some sort of marvel for the first time. This is not to say that he thinks that highly of himself, just that he knows that he is an outsider in a foreign place, his accent could tell anyone as much.

“I think she likes you.” A voice speaks up when Seokmin goes to take a bite out of the onigiri on his tray.

Mouth half full and brow furrowed in confusion, Seokmin turns to face wherever the voice had come from, “What did you say?” Chewing his food and swallowing rather harshly, he almost chokes as he thinks he’s going insane after hearing what sounded like Korean. This time it was a man who spoke, he was sitting at another table across from him, a shifty grin on his face. Something about him seemed different from everyone else in the bar, but the man couldn’t quite put a finger on it in this dimly lit room.

“She’s still staring at you.” The other man answers, now standing up and proceeding to walk over to him. “But it’s not like she’s hearing me say that anyway,” He laughs, brushing his hands against the lapels of his jacket.

Now in a better light, the man can get a better view of this stranger. “Are you Korean too?” He asks in his native tongue, feeling much more relieved that the burden of speaking a different language is momentarily sated.

“Did I give myself away that easily?” Another laugh as the man settles down in the seat adjacent. He pauses for a moment, his eyes staring into Seokmin’s as if he’s trying to memorize his facial features. “You wouldn’t happen to be Lee Dokyeom, would you?”

“Seokmin, actually– That’s just a teasing name.” He clears his throat. “I am,” Eyes glancing at the letter still atop the table, Seokmin comes to a realization, “Are you Yoon Jeonghan?”

“I am,” he smiles as he extends his hand. Less practiced with western formality Seokmin looks at the greeting for a moment before raising his own to formally address him, “It’s nice to meet you.” After a moment they drop their hands away from each other, Jeonghan’s gaze shifting to watch the hostess move his food from his old table to the one he now shares with Seokmin. “With an accent like that you must be from the south, Daegu, maybe?”

“Suji, actually.” He returns to his food for a moment, Jeonghan taking this time to also take a few bites from his own bento. “Where did you learn Japanese?”

“Did Jisoo not tell you?” Jisoo is their mutual friend, he’d given Seokmin Jeonghan’s contact information to inquire if he had any availability to tutor him. “I studied with him when we were in college, I moved here a year after we graduated. I had my parents move here once my mother became ill so I could better look after her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Seokmin frowns, shifting as he sets his chopsticks down. The two must have met after Seokmin had left his schooling to return to his family, per their wishes. 

A smile, “She made a perfect recovery and even returned home. I, however, am still trying my luck here.” Jeonghan reaches for the porcelain flask of sake the hostess had brought over, pouring himself a small glass then offering one to Seokmin. The younger politely refuses, still not accustomed to the savoriness of the drink, as Jeonghan nods and knocks back his own cup before speaking again. “When can you start classes? We typically meet for an hour or two every day if we can.”

“We?” Seokmin is caught up on the word, he thought these would be private lessons, not an actual class. He leans forward, somewhat anxious at the thought of his abysmal language skills to be put on show for more than one audience member.

“Just a handful of other students from all over the place,” Shoulders shrugging, Jeonghan leans backwards, hands placed atop his knees as he stretches his back. “We have a few Korean and Chinese kids, even a Canadian student as well. Not everyone’s at the same level so you shouldn’t worry too much about it.” He smiles, toothy and carefree as if there wasn’t an unhappy thought that had ever crossed him, Seokmin somewhat resents the uncertain assumption he made. “The schoolhouse isn’t too far away from here actually; did you want to stop by?” Hand motioning towards the doorway, Jeonghan’s head tilts inquisitively.

“I actually have to check in at the hotel I’m staying in, my parents told me to write whenever I arrived and I’ve been putting that off for a while,” A sigh escapes him. Seokmin had been thinking about what to pen for the past day and a half but couldn’t muster the strength to go through with it. He’d left on rocky terms and was expecting to be hounded whenever they responded. “I’ll stop by tomorrow when you have class if that’s alright?”

“Fine by me,” He’s now searching his own pockets, finding a pen and reaching out for the letter near Seokmin. Jeonghan scribbles down something, a few kanji that Seokmin can’t decipher, and hands him the paper back, “Classes start at ten, when you’re in the area just ask someone if they know where this is and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks,” Seokmin looks down to the paper, seeing in his periphery that Jeonghan was already on his feet, straightening his jacket as he begins to head over to the waitress.

Seokmin sees him say something but can’t make out what, it’s only when Jeonghan turns to him and speaks that he can ascertain the meaning, “Don’t worry about paying this time, you’ll have to treat me to lunch some other day.” And with that Seokmin finds himself alone once more in the tavern.

[ 1909.04.30. Boston, MA ] The letter had arrived early in the morning, but you had been out in town with your mother attending some group function that you didn't want to be a part of in the first place. So, when you walk into your own little study and see it lying atop your things you race over and tear open the seal adorning it.

‘When I arrived in Munich, my work left me so urgent that I could not write in time before I left again. I thus deferred it to a point where I once again found myself with solid footing. It rains heavily in Seoul today; my travels have taken me here instead of crossing the Atlantic.

Currently I am holding a tutoring position for the American consulate’s son. I expect to hold this position for some time before I return home to Boston. 

Tell my mother not to fuss over me too much, if anything I implore her to look after you. Of all people, other than your own family, she knows of the antics you pursue.

I was able to sneak out a few books from Munich, upon my return I swear to you that you will have the greatest library in all America- no, the world, even.

If I were a better artist, or wealthy enough to photograph, I would show you how beautiful my journey across the world has been. Although so much has changed in Seoul since I held my studies here. I cannot help but have the inklings of melancholy eat away as I recall the memories and compare them to what I see now. This will come to pass, I hope. 

I hear the boy calling for me now— My writing will have to cease here, I fear. Send my affection to your family, I know they miss me as much as you do.

With all the love I can muster,

x Josh

p.s. I think I have decided to call her Minnie, please refer to her as that accordingly.’

While scattered with his familiarities and humor, the letter seems all too short, all too hurried. Your lips purse as you read over it, brow furrowing as a small knot in your stomach begins to form. Thumb rubbing over the x marking his name the worry only grows ever more prevalent, you pull your eyes away from the words and begin to rummage around for your own writing implements and paper, wanting to respond to him as quickly as possible.

‘Josh,

Your letter left much to be desired. Seoul? Your mother anxiously awaits your return any day now, before you left you said you would only be gone until early May at most. I hope that nothing unsavory has happened, God knows you find yourself in trouble more than any other man I know. 

Please let her know that you are safe, I fear that she may follow after you should you be gone any longer. A son should never burden his mother with his absence for an extended period, I can only keep her company for so long before her weariness sets in and she longs to see you. 

She also knitted you a pair of gloves, seeing as you left your moth-eaten ones behind. I know the air is growing warmer, but it is somewhat endearing to see how doting she is over you. Please, ease her mind by writing.’

[ 1909.04.30.-1909.04.31.  今出川ホテル, 京都 ] Seokmin eventually finds himself standing at the small entrance of a hotel, the name written in cursive English on a wooden sign above the doorway. Jisoo had recommended the inn, saying that it would be one of the more accepting places to stay at as a foreigner. It has a somewhat Victorian looking façade, contrasting the traditional Japanese styled buildings around it, he wonders why that is as he ascends the handful of steps to the door, struggling ever so slightly while lugging his bag behind him. As the door swings open, he’s greeted by an elderly woman with a rather round face, “Good evening,” she smiles and ushers him inside. “Did you need a room for the night? Or do you have a reservation?”

Mind fogging as he struggles to keep up, “Apologies, my Japanese isn’t—” The stone floor clicking underfoot as he follows her to the main desk.

“Ah, Korean?” It’s accented, but he appreciates it nonetheless. “Do you have a reservation?” Her hands dance along a worn leather book atop the desk, flipping it open as she looks down a list of names, some of those which are crossed out and some of which are not.

“I do,” He nods his head with a short smile, “It should be under Lee.”

Humming as she runs her finger down the list, as her head turns upward it causes Seokmin to return his attention to her, “Mr. Lee Heesung or Mr. Lee Seokmin?”

“Lee Seokmin,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, mentally hitting himself as he should’ve been more specific. Eyes scanning the list, Seokmin takes a short look around the interior of the inn. The space is smaller than he imagined, but rather cozy. A glowing fire going to warm the chill of the night, large armchairs beside it and the largest bookshelf he’s ever seen built around the hearth.

“Wonderful,” She smiles, turning her back to him to find his room key from a small drawer behind the desk. Before she faces him again fully, she shifts through a small stack of papers atop the desk, “This also came for you,” The woman reaches to pull out a thin card from the stack, it has both hangul and kanji printed on it so it was easy to assume it’d come from his homeland.

“Thank you,” He smiles back before taking the telegram and tucking it into his jacket pocket. She hands him the key and he’s off to find his hotel room. It lays up the staircase and down a winding corridor, as he passes by some of the rooms, he can hear the muffled voices of a few of the other patrons, speaking languages he can mildly understand and others that sound alien. Once he finds his room, he’s all too giddy to throw himself onto the bed. Door locked, shoes and suitcase strewn aside he falls onto the plush bed, his eyes watching the ceiling as the weight of sleep begins to take over his vision.

Broken sunlight filters into the room, the shades drawn enough only to allow sharp slants of light to come through. The city outside is bustling whereas the hotel room seems almost vacant of any form of noise, save for the sound of soft breathing as the occupant sleeps. Lee Seokmin continues to snore softly, dreaming of something sweet enough to add a slight curvature to his lips. He rolls in his slumber, the telegram received in the night folding under his weight, unbeknownst to him.

Three swift knocks rouse him from the depths of slumber. He bolts up, raising a hand to run through his hair as a frown of confusing forms on his lips, wiping away whatever essence of his dream remained. “Are you awake?” A voice rings out seconds after the rapping. It’s the woman from the night before, Seokmin was too tired to connect the dots quite yet.

“Yes,” He responds groggily, moving to allocate his footing onto the floor. He hears soft footsteps leading away from his door, he supposes his wakeup call is completed. Rummaging around his wrinkled jacket-pocket he pulls out his timepiece, the clock reveals that it is seven forty-five in the morning, he has two hours before his lessons begin. Letting out a soft groan, he places the watch away and pushes himself onto his feet. His knees creaking and cracking as he rises and stretches out his arms, signaling that his sleep must’ve been docile. Once again, his hand moves to his jacket as he recalls the telegram, now crumpled in the crevasses of his pocket. Seokmin pulls out the card, walking to draw open the shades to allow more reading light in.

“Lee Seokmin,” He mumbles out, reading over the first, short line as the sleep is rubbed from his eyes. ‘Mom and Dad are going to kill you if you continue to ignore them. For my sake, please write. - Seoyeon’

An audible scoff after he’s finished reading, he can almost hear his sister’s tone. Seokmin does care about his family, but his sister is as much on his parents’ side as he is against it, it is a giant rift in their already teetering relationship.

The telegram tossed onto the bed as Seokmin takes off his jacket, he has been avoiding his familial issues for a while now and it seems as if they have come back to bite him in the ass. It isn’t entirely his fault for doing so, his father was never a good listener and Seokmin’s ideas were always pushed asunder.

A few moments later he finds himself in a fresh set of clothes, ready to face the day. In truth, he is dreading his lessons but at least it will provide some relief from thinking about the drama happening back in Suji. His shoes drag along the wooden floor as he steps out of his room, locking it with the small, gilded key behind him. Once in the hallway, his posture straightens as he begins to make his way towards the staircase that would lead him into the main lobby. The crushed emerald, green velvet railing runs under his fingers as he descends, swiftly moving into his pockets once his feet land on the granite tiles splaying out an ocean of deep gray below him.

A thin beam of light shines in through the slit in the door of the entranceway, the windows attached to the door are covered in the same crushed velvet encasing the staircase via curtain. It feels like he is in a black hole with how dimly lit the interior of the building is. Eventually he makes his way through the lobby, past the plumes of smoke belonging to the lackadaisical men resting in overly decadent armchairs smoking out of their kiserus.

Seokmin shuffles his way to the front desk, a younger woman manning it instead of the elderly woman from the night prior. “Can I help you?” Voice sullen sounding, or maybe tired, Seokmin still isn’t awake enough yet to dissect it fully. 

Reaching into his pocket, pulling out the letter from Jeonghan with the name of the school, “I’m looking for this?”

The girl leans over the desk, it’s easy to tell the yukata she wears is inhibiting her from her full range of motion. Eyes reading the characters carefully, “Whoever wrote this has awful handwriting,” She mutters under her breath and Seokmin can’t understand it entirely. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk that way,” Hand raising to motion southward, “When you see the sweets shop you should turn right, and it will be a few buildings down on your right.”

A nod of his head as he thinks he caught most of her instruction. He takes the paper back and tucks it away, thanking her as he makes for the door. The heat greets him with a gentle breeze, an inkling of warmth as to what’s in store for later in the day. Seokmin looks to the sky, to see where the sun is positioned so he is able to gauge the direction he was supposed to go. He sets off, pace not brisk or lax, merely at a stride to absorb what’s around him. It’s still early in the morning, plenty of time before the school day begins to wander the streets for a bit.

The street’s crowded, thinning in places where it seems more residential than not, it reminds him of home. Different feel, different language but it has a strange nostalgic aura about it. A sweetness hitting his nose as he approaches a small wooden building, he can’t read what it is but by the smells emanating from it he supposes that it’s the sweet shop the girl at the hotel had told him to turn at. Head tilting to peer down the street, it looks like nothing of note. As he stands there, presumably looking more confused than the average local, he feels a finger gently tap on his shoulder, “Are you lost?”

The voice comes as a surprise, turning Seokmin on his heels to come face to face with a stranger. Eyes wide as he looks the boy over, “A little bit... I’m looking for,” reaching into his pockets as the other stops him.

“Are you Lee Seokmin?” It seems as if everyone here knew of him before he could introduce himself. Before he can speak, a nod of affirmation rattles through him and the other smiles, “Jeonghan said that we’d be getting a new student in today.” Hand outstretching, Seokmin’s a little more practiced with the greeting now, “My name’s Kim Mingyu, I can show you the way to the school if you want?”

“It’s nice to meet you,” He gives a brief smile before another nod of his head, “I’d really appreciate it.”

[ 1909.05.06. San Francisco, CA ] If anything were to be your downfall, it would be that of your impatience. You’d been sitting down with Josh’s mother, a woman you likened to your own family when the one back home was too involved in her own business, when the news broke. She was kind, offered you tea and as always had the little tin of biscuits you loved when you were a child sitting atop the tea tray, and then graciously divulged to you that her son was currently under police custody in Tokyo when the last you’d heard he’d been in Seoul. It would explain the absence of letters, or inability to write. Upon questioning her further you realize that maybe he was in far greater a circumstance than he left you off thinking.

It isn’t a matter of asking your parents to ship you off to a foreign land, it’s a matter of when and how soon you can leave. The money sitting in the dank vault of your late grandmother’s account had laid in wait for some sort of use, and she had wanted you to use it to fulfill some sort of errant dream of yours after her passing. You couldn’t find it within yourself to touch it, seeing it as too prized and too treasured a thing to take away from for some frivolous means. But your grandmother had liked Joshua, the late one on your father’s side and not the vile one from your mother’s. She had treated him kindly whenever he had stopped by, sometimes even saying that she had wished him her grandson more than the monsters that were your cousins. You think that is reason enough to pull from your funds and splurge on a rescue mission to Japan. There were several people you’d known that had been there before, detailing it as a curious place but had neglected to tell you why; you don’t think of the language or cultural barriers separating you until you’re standing on a pier in San Francisco, waiting for your ship to dock.

The brine of the sea had never settled well in your stomach, salty on your lips and your cheeks as the coastal winds torrent towards you. Your ship doesn’t leave for a while yet but the queasiness felt on the decks of other ships returns to the pit of your stomach with a ghostlike vengeance. Perhaps it is anxiousness that riddles you instead of the fear of the sea.

 “Im-a-de-ga-wa Gai-ko-ku-jin Ni-hon-go Ga-kko” words falling from your lips in strange and oblong vowels and consonants that were almost completely incorrect. Joshua had mentioned it in the letter to his mother, detailing that should she not hear from him for another month to contact the school and ask for the aid of a Mr. Jeonghan Yoon, a friend that he’d talked about in passing a few times. Apparently, he is a persuasive sort that would most definitely help him out should the occasion arise. Or so Josh had put it, you aren't really sure what to think of him.

Josh’s mother had insisted that it had been a mix up at customs but a bitter taste in your mouth and gut wrenching feeling in your stomach told you otherwise. He was a rebellious spirit and had probably said a few choice words that had gotten him in trouble, he had said his Japanese wasn’t great but he had learned a handful of colorful phrases from the aforementioned friend in University that could definitely be taken the wrong way by unknowing ears.

If the seas are steady and your luck is good, maybe you can reach him within a month. If not, a week or so longer but you’re not sure if the anticipation of it all would let you, you might jump ship and hope to swim there faster should such a situation arise. Again, impatience being your downfall you can barely stand just watching the large metal steamship land at port and empty its passengers before you were to board.

The air is salty, the gentle spray of foam from the shore landing on your cheeks carefully as you look towards the ship that is to be your dwelling for the next portion of your life. Maybe you shouldn’t have come alone, taken a chaperone or a friend with you, but you were worried, too crunched for time to even entertain the thought as you packed your bags and told your mother you were taking the first train out of town. Your face still stings with the remembrance of the slap she’d given you in her frenzy, calling you something along the lines of a girl too thoughtless to know her role. By no means a heartfelt way to leave her, but your father had said to go, knowing a little more than your mother how much Josh means to you.

Your bags, brown leather and worn from the days when your father was still youthful enough to travel, lay at your feet as the thin paper ticket folds under your grasp. The chatter from the crowds around you mixes in with shouts of vendors and merchants lining the docks over the squalls of seagulls overhead. It’s all too much when your mind is racing with concern, although not too much to deter you from a gentle tapping on your shoulder.

“I think you dropped this?” Deep voice causing you to turn on your heels and face the perpetrator. When you do, you’re greeted with your passport being held out to you and a dimpled smile to go along with a rather dashing face.

“Oh,” Eyebrows raised as you reach out to gingerly take your own booklet from the other, you hadn’t realized its absence since you had thought it stowed away in the depths of your handbag. “Thank you—?” A pause as you wait for an introduction.

“Hansol Choi, or Vernon, whichever is easiest for you,” he nods and then you offer your name before he speaks again. “It was really no problem,” he continues with a smile as he looks down to the bags at your feet, “Did you just get back or are you going somewhere?”

“Well, thank you Mr. Choi.” The innate curiosity of the stranger is mildly perplexing, “I’m off to Tokyo.”

“Tokyo,” his tone faltering as his hand drops down to his side after you begin stowing the passport back away in the small purse slung over your shoulder. “What business is taking you there?”

You pause as you think, it isn’t exactly family troubles or business matters that are taking you across the Pacific, stubbornness, and inability to take your friend for everything he said, more like it. “A friend settled there a little while ago,” a nod after a moment of silence, “it seems that he has gotten himself into a little trouble, so I’m going to make sure everything is alright.” Absentmindedly patting the bag as you can see the other mull it over in his head, “What about you? Are you heading in or out?”

“Out,” The answer is almost immediate, a shift on his feet as he straightens his posture. “I’m heading to Korea; I haven’t seen my family in almost seven years.”

“Seven years?” The most Josh had been gone was the three years he spent studying abroad; you can’t imagine someone gone from your life for that amount of time. “What were you here for?”

“I was staying with a group of missionaries as I went through college,” Hands in his pockets as he turns to the blue horizon overlooking the ocean you are both meant to traverse, “Now that I’ve graduated there’s nothing keeping me here.”

“What will you do when you’re-” you begin to speak when a loud whistle blares from the port your ship had saddled up to. Growing quiet as you begin to hear the general buzz of the people around you grow as they begin to shuffle towards the bridge that linked the port to the steamship. “I guess it’s time,” Reaching to pick up your bags, the leather against your palm somewhat soothing your nerves, “are you boarding too?”

A shake of his head, “My ship doesn’t leave until the afternoon.”

“Ah,” the sound leaving your lips as the thought of, perhaps, having someone to accompany you on your journey was swiftly diminished. “Well,” A small smile gracing your lips, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Choi.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” his smile returns, “Safe travels.”

“And to you,” You nod as you begin to walk towards the front port, looking down to your hand to make sure that your ticket is still in hand.

[ 1909.05.16. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “It’s not kūremashita, it's agemashita.” writing on a chalkboard, the dust from the small white stick clinging to the ends of Jeonghan’s jacket as he scrawls out the hiragana. “Unless you’re thankful that Seokmin’s parents give him money?” A smattering of laughter echoing the room as he tries to teach the handful of students how to show appreciativeness and the reporting of it to others. “Try one more time.” Seokmin sits back in his chair and looks at a pink cheeked Seungkwan who leans over his notes in an attempt to reconcile his verbal mistake.

There’s another try from the dark-haired man, it sounds good enough to Seokmin but apparently, the structure of the sentence needs more tweaking, as seen by Jeonghan giving out a small sigh before walking to Seungkwan’s side. Seokmin takes this time to look around the small, confined classroom. It is in no means shabby, but one could tell this building isn’t meant to be a school, Seokmin thinks Jeonghan told him that it had been some sort of distillery prior to the deed falling into his hands.

From ten in the morning, when the sun slants in through the two glass windows of the classroom just enough to see the dust flying through the air, until noon is when Jeonghan teaches the native Korean speakers basic Japanese grammar and vocabulary. It’s only a handful of students; Mingyu, whom Seokmin had met on his first day, Seungkwan, who is somewhat timid but roaringly confident at times, Chan, a kid on some sort of exchange trip who hopes to build up his language skills before his university classes start in the fall, and of course, Seokmin himself. It is an intimate learning experience, perhaps that’s why Seokmin now feels miles more confident in his speaking ability now than he did a month prior. Hell, he could now converse freely, albeit somewhat confined in his topics, to the front desk woman at the hotel he still resides at.

There’s a knock at the classroom door, pulling the attention from the room’s occupants away from their work and now to the dark wooden door that leads out into the small foyer where the next group of students is presumably waiting for their lecture. “The next class doesn’t start until noon,” Jeonghan looks at the clock placed atop his desk, “You’ve got five minutes.”

The door opens with a small creaking noise, shadows from the entranceway spilling in as Seokmin catches a familiar face standing there to greet the class. “I was actually hoping to sit in?” A voice Seokmin hadn’t heard since his university days accompanied the squeak of floorboards underfoot as Jisoo strides into the room. “I think my Japanese is a little rusty.”

A small laugh from Jeonghan as he recognizes his friend, “There’s the jailrat.” Jeonghan returns to the front of the room to stand in front of the taller, no doubt feeling the confused gazes of the students behind him staring past him and to the stranger. “I’m surprised they let you out that early.”

“You know I’m persuasive,” Smile lingering on his lips as his head turns and he catches sight of Seokmin looking at him quizzically. He is still caught up on the word jailrat and the connotation behind it, when had Jisoo been incarcerated?  

“Well,” Jeonghan turns on his heels to address the class, “Why don’t we end early today?”

Mingyu’s already leaned over his desk to get Chan’s attention, Seokmin thinks he hears him say something about grabbing lunch at the nearby market, but his interest is far too deterred to be paying full attention to the younger men. The class packs their bags, Seokmin taking the longest time of all as he tucks away his books into his makeshift bag. In all earnest it was a bag he’d borrowed from the reception at the hotel, he’d neglected to bring or buy a suitable bag for school when he left home and arrived in Japan. The worn canvas of the thing is almost wearing through at the bottom, he slings it over his shoulder and makes his way towards Jisoo and Jeonghan, who look to be in deep conversation.

Jisoo spots Seokmin approaching in his periphery, turning to greet him with a jovial smile. “I see you made it here in one piece?” His eyes looked tired, his face gaunter than the last time he’d seen his elder, but he wasn’t going to question, it was neither the time nor the place.

“Mostly,” Seokmin replies, “Jeonghan’s been a great teacher.”

“Thanks for the ego boost,” Jeonghan’s fingers dance on the lapels of his jacket in mock vanity, only then moving into his jacket pocket for a lighter and his infamous pack of Chūyū cigarettes. He offers one to Jisoo and then to Seokmin, to which they accept, pulling their own lighters out of their pockets and lighting the butts of the sticks.

“God, these are shit,” a grit through Jisoo’s teeth after he pulls in a drag. “They confiscated my Lucky Strike back in Tokyo.” Seokmin’s brow furrows as the other begins to speak again, “Let me know when you’ve got a free night. I’d love to grab dinner and catch up; it’s been a while.”

“I should have time this Saturday?” Seokmin thinks of his schedule, it’s not that he had massive time commitments here, but he was making a point to travel around the city in his free time. “If that works for you, of course.”

“It sounds doable,” A nod as Jisoo moves his hand to tap his cigarette against an ashtray atop Jeonghan’s desk, the wood around the tray stained with the ashes of past smoking ventures. “Are you still staying at that hotel I told you about?”

Seokmin shifts on his feet, “I am, are you staying there too?”

“Jeonghan has offered me residence in his home until he is sick of me,” Jisoo nods to the aforementioned, “I can meet you in the lobby around five then?”

“Sounds good,” Seokmin agrees, looking at the clock hanging on the wall, “I think Seungkwan wanted to go over the homework together so I should go and help him out.” It’s something of an excuse but Seokmin could feel as if there was some sort of pregnant secret looming over the heads of the other two.

“Would you mind sending Junhui and the others in?” Jeonghan asks as Seokmin snubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and makes his way to the door.

Metal knob in hand, Seokmin turns and gives him a brief nod, “Of course.”

There’s something that doesn't sit right with Seokmin. Jisoo had noted that he’d planned on staying in Seoul for a while in the letter he’d sent to Seokmin a few weeks ago. It’s not as if plans can’t change or anything of the sort, yet he’d seemed vehement about it, detailing something about a someone he was going to visit before heading home to America. He isn’t one to question where questions aren’t due. If his friend was to stay in Kyoto for the time being, he’d be nothing more than appreciative of having a familiar face around.

[ 1909.05.18. 今出川ホテル、京都 ] When Seokmin ascends the staircase, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, he can immediately tell that Jisoo sits in one of the large armchairs by the hotel’s unused fireplace in the lobby. Although his face is obscured by the wings, with the way his hand taps in rhythm with the song wafting through the air, the excitedness of the movements are a telling sign that it is his friend. 

A glance to the victrola that lies in the corner of the room, the audio scratchy and soft as it emits a tune that Seokmin does not know. He strides over to the plush chair, glancing down to its occupant before speaking. 

“Good afternoon,” the words escape him and Jisoo turns to him with a jump and widened eyes before he realizes who it is. 

“Dokyeom!” Jisoo smiles from the armchair, rising to his feet to greet the other with a quick embrace, “Long time no see.”

“I’d prefer if you called me my real name,” he nods awkwardly as Jisoo steps back from him, his hand rising to scratch the back of his head, “helps me forget the meaning of that epithet.”

“Still having family issues?” Jisoo’s brow furrows as they break their embrace, “I thought you wrote that you had sorted that mess out?”

“More or less,” another awkward smile, “But enough about me— I thought you were supposed to be in Seoul?”

“Change of plans, there was someone I was meant to meet in Tokyo, but they left during the time I was imprisoned.”

“Jeonghan mentioned something like that when you first came in, what happened?” Jisoo holds out his hand, motioning to the door, as Seokmin questions. The latter begins to walk forward, towards the entrance of the hotel as his friend trails behind him, “Were you really taken into custody?”

“They thought I had ties with Homer Hulbert,” A laugh as the two make their way out the front door, trapezing down the steps and onto the sidewalk, “Which is correct, but they had no grounds to imprison me on the notion that I know him alone or had one of his books in my possession.”

“Hulbert— is he the one that—?” 

“The very same,” Jisoo waves the notion off, “But that is more than contrived at this point, let me know how you are. It sounds like things are the same with your family the last time I saw you.”

“If things were okay then I would have stayed home,” a huff of heated breath leaving him in something of a passive laugh. “My father is still trying to set me up with that girl, the past runs deep, I suppose.”

“I cannot agree with you more,” Jisoo agrees with a nod, “Have you even met her yet?”

“The last time I saw Seungwon was when I was thirteen, even if I saw her now, I cannot say I could point her out in a crowd if you asked me to.” Seokmin's hands find purchase in his pocket, hidden away from the sunlight that falls onto his head and burns the back of his neck as Jisoo and he walk further down the street, through the masses of people.

The older one nods solemnly, almost as if he understands the situation, "I have a friend who's in a similar predicament as you. Although her parents haven't found her a match or approved of anyone she's liked, I'd say her feelings mirror your own."

"Is that right?" Seokmin questions rhetorically as Jisoo digs through his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes, "Is that the girl who you spoke so much about during our classes together?"

Jisoo sputters, his hands failing to ignite his cigarette at Seokmin's words, the object dangling from his lips, "Did I really talk about her that much?"

"So much so I feel like I know her," Seokmin smiles and shakes his head, a familiar pang hitting his stomach once he looks back to the street before them. "Do you want to grab something to eat? I don't think I've eaten since lunchtime yesterday."

"Too busy studying?"

"Something like that..." In actuality, he'd received yet another telegram, this time from his mother, scolding him for staying away again.

"You always were more studious than me," the other nods and looks to a small restaurant they begin to pass on their left before stopping in his tracks, "What about this place?"

"Soba?" The intensity of the sun once again baring down above him as he looks at the sign on the door, he nods quickly, "Sounds great."

 The pair make their way inside, settling down at a small table in the back corner of the shop as they wait for their food to arrive. Seokmin moves his hand to unbutton a few fastens from the front of his jacket to allow some of the shop's cooler air to hit him. His hands then move to rest atop the table, his long and slender fingers tapping as Jisoo smokes the last of his cigarette, snubbing it out on the ashtray settled at the end of the table. 

"How's your family doing? Is your father's business going well? I saw a few copies when I was in Seoul.” Lackadaisical in question, Seokmin can hear something edging behind his friend’s tone that tinges upon suspicion. 

“It’s going well,” a silent nod as a server comes to their table, the two order quickly, leaving little room for questions before Seokmin asks, “What about your family?”

“Willfully ignorant as ever,” Jisoo frowns, shifting in his seat. It looks as if bitter words reside on his tongue but he swallows them down with a redemption of a smile. 

“About what?” Seokmin pauses as he reaches for the pot of tea the server had brought on her arrival, his hand hovering over the handle. 

“Everything.” Jisoo’s shoulders shrug as Seokmin eventually pours himself and his friend a cup of tea. “Joseon politics, American politics, hell- even the politics of their own inner circle. I refuse to believe they aren’t intelligent; they refuse to accept anything that isn’t affecting them personally.” 

“I see…” He winds off his acknowledgement with the abating of his words, woefully aware that his parents are of the same mindset. His own father being the worst of all of them, claiming that any interaction or deals with unsavory businessmen were for the benefit of the family, not to the detriment. 

“My father’s own brother died in ‘07 and he seemed unfazed by it at all,” Jisoo huffs out, “At the hands of the Imperial Army, and yet he said nothing.” 

Seokmin’s eyes widen, and he raises a finger to his lips as if to tell the older to lower his voice, unknowing if anyone within the shop understands Korean. “Even if he did, there would be nothing your father could have done about it. Not only is he in America, but he also holds no authority in Joseon.” 

“No one wanting to do a damn holds any authority in Joseon anymore, you know better than me what the yangban have gone through, what everyone’s gone through.” Jisoo leans in closer to Seokmin, ceding as he lowers his tone, “It may be easier said than done but I believe we have the ability to change that.” 

“How would-” Seokmin begins but is interrupted when the server comes back with their food, carefully setting each dish atop the table before retreating into the depths of the kitchen. “How could ‘we’ possibly do that?” 

“There are ways, I know there are. I just need time to think of a proper solution,” Jisoo nods as he reaches for his chopsticks, eager to sate his own hunger that had risen during their conversation. “If you’re interested, I’ll tell you more when I have an idea.”

[ 1909.05.27. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Seokmin’s mind doesn't return to that conversation with Jisoo until a Wednesday afternoon about a week later. The sun begins to sink down in the sky as Jisoo, Mingyu and himself clean off some blackboard tablets in the main room of the school. Jeonghan is busy teaching a class down the hall as Seokmin’s fingers begin to prune from what feels like endless scrubbing with a rag and vinegar ridden water.

“You know,” Jisoo speaks up after an eternity of silence, brushing his hands on his pants after setting down a board onto the floor below. “I think we can really change something here.” His shoes quickly tap on the floor in a sort of anxious apprehension, “Jeonghan and I have been talking and the resistance effort in Joseon seems to be strengthening again.”

“What are you implying?” Seokmin asks, confused at the sudden statement. His brow wet with perspiration, even having the windows cracked open doesn't allow for much wind to travel throughout the building.

“I am saying that we can try and do something to change the… trouble happening back home,” Jisoo shows no anger but a passion resides in his voice that remains hard to mask. “Do something before something more is done to us.”

“That is…” Mingyu begins, looking up to Jisoo from his task of drying off the boards.

“Idealistic?” Seokmin interjects, biting his lower lip before continuing, “Jisoo you do realize if someone hears you talking about that you’ll get thrown in prison again?”

Eyes trailing around the space as if he hadn’t already known they were alone, “Every one of us are sitting ducks. You know that” a point to Mingyu and then a point to Seokmin, “and you know that. Is fighting back against that such a bad thing?”

“How do you propose we do that? Drop everything now, hop on a ship back to Joseon and just roam the countryside looking for this supposed group?” Blood rushes to his ears and it sounds like waves crashing on a beach’s shore. 

“Not at all,” A shake of his head. “There are ways of resisting that do not rely on fighting, think peaceful, diplomatic.”

A nervous laugh escapes Seokmin, it’s involuntary but he can’t help it. “Hong Jisoo, I knew you were insane, but this is another level.”

“I— uh— I’m going to get some chalk refills from the storage room,” Mingyu excuses himself from the conversation, a glance at him as he walks away tells Seokmin that he doesn’t know how to interact with the situation and was looking for an easy escape.

“Seokmin, if you would just listen to me and get that stupid doubt out of your head you might just be able to make some sense of it all.” A sigh from Jisoo as he stands, reaching into his jacket to rummage around for a pack of cigarettes. “Can I bum one off of you?”

Cheek bitten as he grabs his pack out of his pocket and tosses it to the other, “Do you have any idea what they would do to my family if they knew we were having this conversation? Your family and Mingyu’s are across the world and have no worries about what they say or do. The other student’s and mine are not privileged with that.” Cigarette carton tossed back, the sound of a lighter igniting and the smell of smoke pervading through the air as he tucks the pack away into his pocket.

Jisoo thinks, an exhalation of smoke through troubled lungs as his outward breath intermingles with the dust thick in the air. It dissipates without a sound, quietly invading the space as Seokmin is overcome with a sense of trepidation from the other, he picks his words meticulously, trying to string them together as carefully as possible, “This is not just about you or me or my family or yours. It is the fate of a nation on the line, is that so hard to understand?”

It causes the younger man to pause for a moment, his hand falling to his pocket, hovering there before he pulls on the fabric as if he’d meant to straighten the coat all along. His throat clears, thinking of his parents and brother he’d left behind in Suji, what any actions that Jisoo’s ideals cause may entail for them. Even if he was trying to get away from his obligations back home, he’d never want to intentionally put them in any sort of danger. 

Seokmin opens his mouth to speak before catching a bright glimpse of color passing by one of the front windows, followed by the school door opening with a large slam against the wall. Silhouette standing in the setting sun for a moment, not looking at all familiar to Seokmin. An equally confusing circumstance when the words, “Joshua Hong,” spill from your lips.  It’s a confused expression that crosses your face, standing in the front door of the school as the one named leans leisurely back against one of the walls. 

Cigarette in hand, Jisoo turns at the call of his name, nearly falling over in surprise to see you standing there. No, not surprise- bewilderment, shock or some form of abject horror as you take a few long strides to stand in front of him. It’s as if a child’s been caught by his mother and Seokmin is playing witness to it all.

Seokmin watches the scene in a state likened to childlike curiosity, he understands not one word that falls from either of your or Jisoo’s lips, but he can tell you’re angry and him beyond apologetic. Hand movements gesticulating, he catches the words ‘Seoul’ and ‘Tokyo’ at some point as you huff something out under your breath. Voices rising, Seokmin’s surprised Jeonghan hasn’t come out to tell them to be quiet, but if he were in Jeonghan’s shoes he wouldn’t as you sound royally pissed. When you turn on your heels Seokmin looks to Jisoo for some sort of explanation, but his gaze is solely locked on you leaving.

“Shouldn’t you chase after her?” Mingyu asks, the two others not realizing he had returned, box of chalk in hand as the three men watch you storm out into the crowded streets.

“She needs to calm down before I talk to her again or she might really kill me.” Jisoo sighs, bringing the cigarette to his lips before taking in a long drag. A hand runs through his hair as it looks as if all of the blood had drained from his face upon your arrival.

“Is that the friend you mentioned a while ago? You showed us a picture I think.” Seokmin questions, somewhat relieved at your intrusion into their previous conversation.

“It is,” the answer not coming from Jisoo, but from Mingyu. “And by the sound of it she’s ready to pack you into her suitcase and take you on the next ship home.” Head nodding as he looks to the space you once occupied, “You really didn’t tell her you were coming here?”

“You understood that?” Smoke leaving him he turns to the younger, “You didn’t tell me you speak English.”

“It never really came up.” Shoulders shrugging as he sets the box of chalk he’d been fiddling with down onto a nearby chair. “I was raised in Canada for the first eleven years of my life.”

“Son of a bitch, Jeonghan never mentioned that.” Jisoo muses, tossing the cigarette from his hand and smothering it with his shoe. “But yeah, that’s her. I may have neglected to mention that but I was a little held up,” he looks confused as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way to the door, peering out in the street. “I just don’t know how in the hell she found me.”

“She probably used the wrath of God to do it,” Mingyu suggests, “That’s how my mom says she knows everything I’ve ever done wrong.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” A shake of his head as Jisoo turns to Seokmin. “She said she’s staying at the hotel you’re in. Would you mind meeting up with me tomorrow morning in the lobby to talk some sense into her and get her to go back home?”

“I don’t even know her though?” Hands dried on a nearby towel, Seokmin stands and reaches for the bucket of now dirty water. He walks past Jisoo and into the street to dump its contents out, “I don’t even speak that much English.” 

“It’s more of moral support than anything,” Jisoo steps aside to let Seokmin back in, “I wasn’t joking she might actually kill me if she gets the chance.”

“Fine,” Seokmin sighs, walking to pick up his bag from the corner of the room. His hands smell of vinegar and he rubs his still pruned fingertips together as he thinks of what the next morning would hold. “You owe me, though.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jisoo breathes a sigh of relief as Seokmin makes his way to the front door once again, this time with the intent of leaving. “Nine work for you?”

“Nine works for me.” A nod as he walks down the two steps and onto the dirt road below, the indentations from your shoes leading off down the almost empty road. He glances back to Jisoo with a, “See you tomorrow,” and then to Mingyu with a question of “Do we have a quiz on Friday?” before waving it off and beginning his trek back home.

The night descends on Kyoto quietly and without noise, the stores closing long after the sun has fallen behind the western mountains in Arashiyama, lanterns aligning the street as Seokmin shuffles his way to the hotel. It’s quiet, the city typically is at this time of night, he’s learned over the course of his stay in the ancient former capital.

Before he goes inside, he stands outside of the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he stares up at the night sky blooming with stars. His bag lays at his feet, more worn now than it had been on the first day of class. Crumpled in his fists, buried away into the depths of his coat lies a letter, the ink that had adorned it far too smudged and water damaged to read now. Seokmin hadn’t meant to ‘accidentally’ drop it into a puddle when it had arrived that morning, so the contents lie unknown. However, on the corner of the envelope, a blurred name, ‘Seungwon’ stays virtually untouched as if to remind him of former obligations. 

It’s as if there’s a clock ticking in his chest, counting down to a day, a time, when he’s meant to take up the holstered responsibility of his family and place it onto his own shoulders. A burden not yet ready to bear, he sighs out into the calm night and makes his way inside of the hotel. 

[ 1909.05.28. 今出川、京都 ] Seokmin wakes to the knocking on his door, his head burrowing into the tangled blankets and pillows from a restless night’s sleep. It takes a moment for him to find himself, writhing around the sheets before pulling himself out of his own stupor. Feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, he drags his lethargic body to the small bathroom, running his hands under the cool water of the faucet before splashing some onto his face to wake himself further. He meets his own gaze in the reflection, tired eyes and the slightest shadow of stubble beginning to darken on his jaw and upper lip. He’d have to visit the barber at some point in the coming days before he becomes totally unkempt.

He dresses himself in casual attire, a white linen button up, the most breathable thing he’d wear today, before he dons the dark blue of his three-piece suit, a light gray and black one still residing in his wardrobe. He notices the threading is nearly worn as he buttons the bottom half of his jacket, the things threatening to fall off should he exert too much force. The soles of his shoes too lie in disarray, wearing thin from endless wandering the streets of Kyoto after his classes have finished. It’s not that he’s searching for anything in particular, maybe a solution to his current situation. But he can’t find that at a merchant’s stall.

The route to the dining hall located on the first floor is a path easily tread, remembered in his first few days of arriving in Kyoto. The carpeted floors give way to a wooden expanse the further he delves into the hotel, the scents of varying breakfast foods calling out to his aching stomach. 

His hands keep busy with the morning paper, perhaps yesterday’s or the day prior to that one. It takes a while for the Korean post to arrive in Kyoto, the postage system seems to take years for important things to arrive, yet the letters from home seem to be weekly. A sigh as he sets down the news, reaching out for the carafe of coffee situated some ways away from where he’s seated. He begins to pour himself a cup, only pausing when he catches something out the corner of his eye. 

A few darkened drips from the coffee pot settle into the white linen of the dining room tablecloth as he spots you stalking towards him. His eyes go wide and his breath hitches when your gaze narrows on him, almost causing him to choke on coffee he’d just brought to his lips.

The way you saunter over to his table reminds him of his mother when she’d be out to scold either him or his brother. Seokmin doesn’t know you but can easily tell that you’re not a force to be reckoned with. 

“Where’s Josh?” You ask, standing before him, arms crossing over your chest as you look down at him expectantly. “You were one of the men with him yesterday, right?”

“What?” Seokmin asks, trying to make some sense of what you were saying. When he was a young boy, his parents had allowed him to take English lessons with a handful of the Christian missionaries that had drifted through Suji, but seeing as he understands nothing of what you just said, it’s obvious he hadn’t retained much, if any, of his vocabulary. “What are you looking for?” He sees no glimmer of understanding in your eyes as your brow furrows, probably trying to decipher what he’d just said. “Jisoo? Are you looking for Jisoo?” It’s the common connection the two of you seem to have, it’s his best bet on trying to figure out what you want. 

You nod at the name, recalling that his mother shouts that at him whenever she’s angry. “Where is he?” If you’d taken up Josh on any of his invitational Korean lessons, you may have had much better luck in this situation. But you’d gone off to learn French because you were enamored with one of your classmates at the time, you could almost hit yourself seeing where it’s gotten you. 

“Whe-” Seokmin pauses, lips pursing together as he thinks of the word. Jisoo was meant to be in the lobby when she came downstairs, but it’s now clear he’s nowhere to be found. 

 “School.” It’s one of the words he can pull from memory. “He’s probably at the school,” he says again and gestures in the general direction of Jeonghan’s academy. 

“The school- The language school?” You’ve said the name of the institute hundreds of times to yourself that you think it’s the only Japanese you know. Not that you fully understand what it means, just knowing that it’s the name of the place. 

Seokmin nods, somewhat surprised that you know the name. 

“Can you take me?” The question falls out quickly and you see he’s confused, so you repeat it again slowly in hopes that he comprehends it. It seems that he does, reaching for his coffee and finishing the cup before rising to his feet, motioning for you to follow him as he heads towards the exit.

The walk to the school is painfully awkward, drenched in a silence that neither of you want to address. Both of you are not confident enough in the other’s mother tongue to make small talk as the two of you begin to walk the streets. 

“Hey!” Seokmin hears Mingyu call out as the schoolhouse nears, “Took you long enough, you’re almost late.” When the younger sees that you’re accompanying him he gives you a small wave, “You’re Jisoo’s friend, right?” 

“I am,” You say after a moment, not having expected to hear English today. But with the company that Josh keeps, you can’t be too surprised at anything now. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, he’s not here yet,” he shakes his head and turns to Seokmin, “Didn’t Jisoo say that you’d meet him at the hotel?”

“He did,” Seokmin’s lips curve into a frown as the three of you make your way into the school. “She’s been interrogating me about him, I think. Although I can barely understand what she’s saying.”

Mingyu laughs at the older and then turns back to you, “My name’s Mingyu.” His demeanor has a lightness to it that descends onto you as something of a godsend. It’s an ease that you’d probably find with Josh if he were here, and you aren't still angry at him. 

“It’s nice to meet you Mingyu,” you offer him a smile before your eyes go wide and you turn to your partner, “I uhm, I never asked him what his name is.”

“Seokmin,” Mingyu answers, another chortle leaving him, and the elder looks confused as to why his name’s just been called out. “What’s your name?”

You respond quickly, glancing over your shoulder to see if Josh is on his way in, to your misfortune, he isn’t. Mingyu quickly introduces you to Seokmin, probably so he has a gist of who you are. It’s hard to tell if Josh’s said anything about you to these men, but it doesn’t look as if he’s said too much.

“We’ve got class soon,” Mingyu’s voice pulls you from your search and you turn back to him, “I’m sure Jeonghan would let you sit in on the class if you wanted to, although I’m not too sure that you’ll understand much, I don’t even get all of it.”

“It’s alright,” you shake your head at him, “I’ll just wait out here for Joh- Jisoo.”

The man in question strolls into the school around thirty minutes later, the local paper tucked under his arm as his brow raises in surprise to see you, “I thought I said I’d meet you at the hotel.”

“I got impatient,” a frown as your gaze flickers over to him. “Jail Josh? Jail?” You fume, storming over to the taller, “Do you have any idea how worried I was, how worried your mother was? God- If you don’t write to her today and tell her that you’re okay, I'm stuffing you in my suitcase and taking you back with me.”

He laughs heartily, despite you glaring him down, “I wrote to her as soon as I got out. I wrote to you too, but it doesn’t seem like you got the message.” A few more chuckles escape him as he holds his arms out, “I missed you.”

You sigh, falling into his embrace, “I missed you too.” After a moment you pull away, stepping back from him, “I’m glad to see that you’re okay, but if you ever do something like this again-”

“I’ve missed your hollow threats,” Josh smiles and glances around the school’s empty halls, “Do you want to get out of here for a while? I know a good cafe nearby, they have a lovely castella.” 

“Don’t you have class?” You question with a tilt of your head, the gentle murmurs from the classroom some ways away drifting out into the hall. “Mingyu said that Seokmin was already late, I wouldn’t want to stop you from your lesson.”

“I’m not a student,” Josh shakes his head, “I’m just… in town for a while and Jeonghan’s putting up with me for a bit.” He flashes you a grin before you have a chance to ask him exactly what he means by that, “Now come on before they run out.”

The two of you walk out into the dense heat of late spring, passing by a group of students as you do so. Josh recognizes some of them whereas you don’t, him saying something to them that elicits a laugh or two before you’re both back on your way to the city center. 

“Why were you arrested?” You can’t stop yourself from asking the question as you turn onto the main road from the alley in which the school is situated. There are only a handful of people perusing the streets, but none look interested in what you’d just said. “It wasn’t serious, right?”

“Of course not,” he reassures you and looks to a few buildings ahead, “We’re almost there.” Josh walks in silence for a moment, his fingers rubbing against his palm as he looks back to you, “I lost my passport, can you believe it?” You recall when you were leaving San Francisco and you had lost your own passport, if it hadn’t been for the man that found it for you, you’re not sure where you’d be.

“Well, actually, I didn’t lose it, it fell between the pages of one of the books that I bought, which reminds me- I have a few for you, I wrote you about them, just remember to tell me to give them to you,” Josh says quickly as you approach the building he’d been eyeing earlier, walking into the opened door confidently and heading to the nearest open table. 

You can tell he’s lying. You’ve only known him since you were children and he’s the closest person to you, you know almost every little quirk about him. And one of the first things you’d learned was that he talks quickly when he’s not being truthful. Yet, you don’t question him on it, seeing as you’d just calmed the tension between you, you don’t want to ignite it for the second time today. So, you just nod and follow him inside.

More oft than not, you hide your feelings behind a veneer of snark, of a bite that seems to sting but never lasts. It’s a sham way to hold yourself together, for if you let the dread of reality seep into your veins any longer than you allow it, you may just become the person you’re trying to hide. A vulnerable being who longs for the company of others but finds errant ways to keep them close instead of just outright saying it. 

Josh offers out a seat to you and you sit, hands folding neatly atop the tabletop as you look to the menu scrawled onto a chalkboard near the cafe’s counter. You’re not sure why you do, the mix of Japanese alphabets is still foreign to you.

“I’ll go grab something, just wait here,” he says, noticing your confusion, still standing before he turns on his heels and strides over to the counter. You turn away before he begins to speak to the barista, looking out of the glass window at the front of the shop, 

“How long were you planning on staying in Japan?” Josh’s voice stirs you some time later, the gentle sound of two cups being placed on the table making you turn in his direction as he sits down across from you. 

“As long as it took me to find you.” You smile at him, reaching out for the small cup, “I guess that means I can pack my bags and leave now.” The smile placated on your lips is joking, but you hold a sincerity in your gaze as if to ask him if that’s what you should do next. He was the entire reason you were here, to find him, to make sure that he was okay and to bring him home if you could. 

Josh’s finger traces the rim of his own coffee cup, gently lifting after a moment to tap along the surface of the tabletop. He hums, low and obstinate, as if to ponder the significance of you being here. 

“I guess you could,” a slow nod of his head, “You know, you were never obligated to chase me half-way across the world to try and get me back home. I’ve been detained before-”

“You have?” eyes widening as you look from your coffee to meet his eyes, “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“I’ve been detained before but,” he continues, gaze hardening at you as you interrupt him, “I really thought I had lost my papers so I sent my mom a letter saying I may need my official documents back home to get me out of the mess I found myself in. This was a little more serious than the others.”

“What happened the other times?”

“Well, in London they stopped me for taking too much tea out of the country, I guess they thought I’d run them dry of it,” a teasing smile twinges on the corners of his lips, “and in Cairo, I tried to sneak off with a few things from Cleopatra’s tomb.”

“You know,” you lean back in your chair, a snide frown on your lips, “lying less might help you out in the future.”

Josh laughs, reaching into his jacket pocket to procure his pack of smokes, it isn’t until he’s got a lit cigarette dangling from his lips that he speaks again, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He suddenly gasps, the smoke he’d been inhaling filtering into his lungs and causing him to sputter for a moment. You reach for and hand him his cup of coffee  so he doesn’t choke on himself. After a moment of hitting his chest and extinguishing his cigarette into the ashtray on the corner of the table, he speaks up, “You didn’t use your grandmother’s money to get you here, did you?”

“Well, technically it isn’t hers anymore,” a guilty exhalation of a chuckle, “but yes, I did.”

“Oh,” He’s crestfallen in the most faux of ways, “You said you’d take me to Italy with that.” It’s a joke, but you can see his concern wavering behind the sincerity of his words. 

Your hand falls to run over the textured brocades of your dress, a wavering smile delicately tugging at the corners of your lips, “I was just worried about you.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do,” brow softening as he reaches for his coffee, voice still a bit hoarse from his earlier choking. “But you don’t need to throw everything you have away for me, I know the trip probably wasn’t cheap.” 

Josh’s not wrong. It had taken quite a large portion from your deceased grandmother’s account to get you here, and the subsequent stay in the country. 

“I had to make sure you were okay,” you shrug your shoulders with a coy smile, reaching out to pick up your teacup and bring it to your lips. It’s then you realize something, setting the cup back down and looking around the shop, eyes wide.

“What is it?” Josh questions, noticing your shift in demeanor. 

“I haven’t ever been abroad before, I thought maybe I’d travel to Paris or London, Milan, even… Never…” A small hum as you turn to look back at him, “Never to Kyoto.”

“I’d have loved for you to see Seoul,” Josh smiles softly, his fingers tapping along the sides of the cup, “It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“You make it sound as if it’s impossible to go,” a tilt of your head. Josh had told you stories from his time studying abroad, of the antics he and his friends would get up to and of the history he’d learned. 

“It would be a little difficult to go back right now,” the smile lingering on his lips looks sad now, almost wistful in a way, “I’m sure we could go in the future if you want to.”  

“I’d love to,” you nod, glancing out of the window once more to watch the passersby walk up and down the crowded street. 

[ 1909.05.30. 今出川、京都 ] Japanese is difficult. You expected it to be, and you never expected yourself to have an aptitude for language seeing as how your conversational French lessons had left you with a minor understanding of the language itself. Most Korean words that Josh had tried to teach you over the course of your friendship had evicted your mind as well, so when Jeonghan asks if you want to sit in on the Korean student’s class as they learn Japanese, you’re not sure why you accept. 

You stay in that class for a few days, struggling to get along as you furiously scribble away into your notebooks. Jeonghan has offered you an English to Japanese dictionary and you copy and try to memorize the words as best you can, albeit the characters you draw are choppy and cause your instructor to spend a few more minutes with you trying to aid you in your quest to master hiragana. 

“Do you think we should have an English only class?” Jeonghan questions you one day after the class has ended, a few minutes remain before his next, so he pulls you aside as the rest of the students filter from the room. “Jisoo failed to tell me that he never taught you any Korean and I can see you struggling more than you have to.”

“If I’m going to be the only student, I cannot see the point,” you smile and shake your head at him, “Doing so would only amplify your workload.” 

“Never mind that,” a wave of his hand, “I can scrounge up a few of the boys who I know are a bit more… multilingual and have them sit in. Actually,” he thinks for a moment, his eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling before settling on you, “I think it would be rather beneficial for them… So, what do you say?”

You ponder on the thought for a moment, not wanting to seem selfish enough to steal away a few of the men from the other classes for your own personal gain.  

“If they’re okay with it…” Nodding slowly, “Then I don’t see why it should be a problem.”

“Great,” a toothy grin from the teacher, “I’ll see what I can do.”

[ 1909.06.05. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Kim Mingyu is sitting in the back of the schoolhouse’s main classroom, his nose buried inside Jeonghan’s mandated textbook, when you approach him. 

“I’m sorry to have pulled you from the other class,” you sigh out, taking a seat at the desk in front of him, yet turning in the chair to face him, “You must think me horrible for it.” 

“On the contrary,” Mingyu says after a moment before he sets the book in hand atop the table, a glance downwards shows that he had been hiding a small paperback book behind his study materials. He must’ve been reading that while looking so studious. “Ever since I switched classes I think I’ve actually learned more now that Chan’s not whispering in my ear or Seungkwan isn’t cracking a joke.”

“That’s a relief,” you smile, pausing for a moment as you take a deep breath, “I have a favor to ask of you, if it isn’t too… much.”

“A favor?” Piqued eyebrow as he looks quizzically at you, “Can I inquire what it is you’re asking of me?”

“You know Korean, right?”

“Well, uhm,” the question causes him to falter, “I should think so?”

“Teach me.” Hands finding themselves latched onto the back of the chair you sit in, you lean towards him, voice whispering as if you’re embarrassed, “I never bothered taking Josh up on it and now he’s too busy to help me study. And all I’ve been learning is Japanese except for when the others teach me a word or two.”

“You might want to forget those… most of them were pretty,” his face pinkening as he shifts in his seat, “inappropriate.”

“Oh really?” You feel your own cheeks warm with embarrassment, “I suppose I should’ve realized—”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell them to stop.” Mingyu says quickly to save you from any further mortification, “Are you free this weekend?”

“Are you asking me out?” Knowing the question will fluster the other, as it does, you stifle a laugh. “I am, should we meet here to study?” 

“If that works for you?”

“I’ll see you on Saturday.”

[ 1909.06.12. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Have you given any more thought to what I asked?” Jisoo stands in the doorway of Jeonghan’s main classroom, Seokmin scribbling away at something, too concerned with what he’s writing to notice that his door had opened.

With a small jump, he turns in his desk chair to his friend, “About?”

“Trying to organize something here.” With a cautious motion, Jisoo steps into the room. “I’ve been mailing the consulate in Tokyo but haven’t gotten a concrete meeting date set, I’m sure someone of your influence— of your family’s influence could—”

“Jisoo…” A frown settling onto Seokmin’s lips as he tucks the paper he’d been writing into the desk, away from the other’s prying gaze. “My family’s newspaper is scrutinized enough and it’s already considered pro-Japanese, what’ll my family do if they find out their son is working against the very thing keeping them afloat?”

“Where is your sense of justice?” Jisoo returns the grizzled grimace, “Didn’t you flee here to escape that reality for a while?”

“That is— It isn’t just that.”

“I am not trying to force your hand. I know that you’re smart and I know deep down you disagree with everything that’s going on.” A pause, “We’re meeting in Gion on the ninth, in Hanami. You’re welcome to sit in and hear what everyone has to say and make your decision after that.”

“... Okay.”

“You’ll go?”

“I’ll go, but don’t expect me to sign my life away just like that.” A sigh and Jisoo wordlessly leaves the room. Seokmin waits a moment more and pulls out the note sheet he’d been working on, as well as the letter he’d written earlier. He scans the letter once more before he sighs, folding it and tucking it away into an envelope and then into his bag.

‘Jihoon,

Much has happened since I left Suji. I hope things at home are still stagnant. 

The friend I told you of before leaving (the one who acquainted me with Yoon Jeonghan) has arrived under the most peculiar circumstances. I thought him to be in Seoul, but he arrived in Kyoto mid-May unannounced. And the strangest thing is that not even a month later, his friend from America shows up to scold him profusely for a litany of issues. I found her first impression rather intimidating, but I now find it rather endearing the more I try and speak to her.

I suppose I should ask how my family is doing, yet with their barrage of letters I feel as if I never left. The plague of this marriage overwhelms me constantly, I am not the heir to the company, yet my father and mother find it imperative to make a match. 

Enough rambling from my end, I hope your store is receiving the customer base it deserves. Starting any business now is sure to be wrought with turbulence, but I know you can and will persevere.

Seokmin’

[ 1909.06.15. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Excuse me,” Heat sweeps through the schoolhouse this afternoon, saturating the air in a humid gale that seeks to suffocate the air from one's own lungs. Seokmin stands before you as you sit in the main lobby of the schoolhouse, the textbook Mingyu has given you in your grasp as you look at him. 

“Is something wrong?” You ask, lowering the book in hand to look up at Seokmin. 

The toe of his shoe scuffs on the wooden floorboards as he rummages around his coat pocket for a moment. His brow furrows, and then lightens before he now moves his hand to search around his bag until he finds his fingertips brushing along a folded piece of paper. 

“For you,” he says, pulling out the parchment and holding it out to you. 

“Me?” A ginger grasp on the paper as you take it into one of your hands, unfurling it to read the contents. “Is this… the alphabet?” Various characters, both Korean and English, litter the page before your eyes in a haphazard, yet somehow meticulous, manner. 

“To help you study,” Seokmin says with a nod, his English vocabulary not proficient enough yet to tell you that he’d seen you studying the language after your class and Mingyu had mentioned in passing you were trying to learn. In no way is he sufficient enough in English to teach you major words but the alphabet… maybe that would be more doable.

“Oh,” your eyes still scan the page, eyes widening in recognition at some of the letters that Mingyu had taught you, before you return to looking up at the man, “Thank you, Seokmin. This will really help a lot.”

His heart flutters at your words, and he can only nod and return your smile before awkwardly rushing past you and towards the class he’s already late for. 

“What was that about?” Seungkwan guffaws as he settles into his seat, “Trying to make friends?” The younger looks back through the doorway of the class to note that you still have the paper in hand, carefully looking over its contents.

“It’s not like he fancies her or anything,” Chan shakes his head, noting Seokmin’s almost coy expression. “Oh my God, you do, don’t you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Seokmin bites, looking up to the front of the room where Jeonghan’s about to begin his lesson. “She just seems… lonely.”

The lesson drags on quietly after Seokmin’s sunken into his seat, his fingers aching with the sheer amount of notes he’d taken over the course of the hour and a half. When Jeonghan has finished his lesson on preposition making, somehow managing to reprimand Seungkwan in the process, the teacher dismisses his students out into the hall. The handful of men shuffle out into the narrow space, bursting into the lobby like salmon fighting their way upstream.

“Mingyu?” Seokmin thinks he catches his eye as he presses through the throng of Chinese students heading to class.

“Yes?” He locks eyes with him, the two stopping in the hall as the crowd recedes and it is only the two of them remaining.

“You know English, right?” He asks his friend, stepping towards him as to not clog the entirety of the hall.

“Why does everyone keep asking—” Mingyu sounds almost exasperated at the thought, “Yes, I do.”

“Would you mind teaching me? Or at least helping me with mine?”

“I mean, I can try to,” his hand runs through his tousled black locks, “I’m learning that I’m not the best teacher though, so it may take some time for me to get the hang of it.”

“That is fine enough with me,” Seokmin nods with a small smile, “Thank you.”

“Of course…” Mingyu says as the other begins to walk off, “Actually, Seokmin?”

“Hm?” The elder turns on his heels to tilt his head at the other.

“Why do you want to learn English all of a sudden?”

“Oh…” Shaken by the question, a flush of pink over his cheeks as the main object of his want for learning lies only several meters away in the lobby, in other words: you. He shrugs, “I just thought it’d be a good language to get a leg up on.”

[ 1909.06.21. 鴨川、京都 ] “Arthur? Really?” Josh chides as he walks along the sidewalk, his hands busy holding several blankets as he speaks to the man. Behind him and Mingyu, you and Seokmin walk step in step, carrying assorted picnic gear of your own. You notice the way Mingyu’s shoulders shrug in the summer heat as Josh speaks again, “It’s not a bad name, but a little Doyleish,” he turns to glance back at you before looking ahead, “don’t you think?”

“I think it’s a perfectly fine name,” you shrug loftily, your hand raising to your brow to wipe away a few droplets of sweat.

“Defend him because he’s got an author’s name, I see—” Josh scoffs jokingly as he sees Jeonghan waving at the three of you as the river’s bank draws near. “I’m going to go and help him set up.”

“Forever the busybody,” you sigh, looking to the other two accompanying you, “Why did you come to Japan, Mingyu?”

“My dad’s company is thinking about extending its outreach here, he’s in Tokyo trying to negotiate something and I’m here just… Well, I’m really just here,” he laughs, something rattling in the basket he holds.

“Are you going to take over his business?” The inquiry falls from you quickly, not realizing that he comes from a presumably affluent family.

“When I get older, maybe,” he sighs out apathetically, “I want to be a novelist.”

“A novelist?” You perk up at the word, “Who do you like?”

“I really like London.”

“He’s great,” A nod as the three of you walk onward, “You know, if you have anything, I’d love to read it.”

“Really? You’d do that?” His eyes widen as he looks to you, stumbling over an uneven stone as he asks.

“Of course, Josh typically sends me novels from all over the world, but now that he’ll be here for a while I haven’t got anything.”

“I can give you a few pieces tomorrow at the schoolhouse.” A sheepish blush dusts his face, “I’ve started a manuscript but it’s still fairly rough.” 

“That’d be great.” You smile and look at the others in your party, but before you can ask, Mingyu speaks up.

“And what about you, Seokmin?”

“Me?” The elder looks confused, as if he hadn’t been paying attention to the prior conversation. His attention elsewhere along the river before being interrupted. 

“What are you doing once you go back home?”

“My father set up a position for me at his business,” A sour frown on his lips, “I think that’s where I’ll put myself.”

“There’s nothing else you want to do?”

“Of course, there is, but I’ve given up my frivolity for the working mindset,” another frown as he lies to himself. The only reason he’d fled to Tokyo is because of his frivolity and unwillingness to settle down so soon.

“I see…” Mingyu sighs, turning to you, “And what about you?” 

“I suppose I’ll get married, live unhappily with my husband until I’m old and gray, and maybe after he dies, I’ll be able to do what I want,” humming as you’ve already given too much thought about the topic considering there aren’t many options for you. “If I were to have it my way though, I’d die a spinster, a book reading, novel writing spinster.” 

“You write too?” Mingyu interjects.

“Not well,” a bashful smile spreads to your lips, “I’ll let you read some of my works once they’re written.” 

“What did she say?” Seokmin asks, noting your change in demeanor.

“She wants me to read over a few of her things,” Mingyu says, looking from him to you. And then as if a light sparks in his head, he snaps his fingers, “You know. If you’re trying to learn Korean and you’re trying to learn English, I think helping each other out would be better than me trying to teach you.”

“If someone wasn’t chasing after James McAllen or whatever his name was, maybe she’d be a bit more proficient.” Josh guffaws as he saddles back to the three of you, the blankets he’d once been holding now lain on the bank of the river.

“French is still a good language to know,” you murmur, then looking up to Mingyu, and then glancing at Seokmin, “Although, that doesn’t really seem like such a bad idea, does it?”

[ 1909.08.10. 今出川、京都 ] “Is something wrong?” Your question pulls at Seokmin. For the last few minutes, you’d noticed that he hadn’t been working on the letter practice that you’d given to him when the two of you began your joint lesson. Instead, he’d been absentmindedly looking off into space as his hand draws thoughtless circles onto the page before him.

“No,” Seokmin jumps in his seat across from you as his gaze returns from the void where he sought nothing. “I’m alright.”

“Okay,” you nod, returning to penning out the sentences that Seokmin had given you. It only takes a few more lines of script before you get tired, stifling your mouth with a yawn before you turn back to your partner. “What does your father do for a living?” 

“My father?” Seokmin asks, wondering what could’ve spurred this question, “He’s a founding member of the biggest news publication in Korea.”

“News publication?” 

“The Seoul Daily,” he responds, “Although I have to admit I don’t read it often.”

“I see…” You say, not wanting to bore him with the simpleness of your own father’s profession as a clerk. “You know, I find it surprising that Josh’s here. He never likes to sit still. I thought he would be teaching somewhere by now.”

“Is he a teacher?” Seokmin questions, looking up from his work.

“Teacher, tutor, whatever the term is… but yes. He said that’s what took him from Seoul to Tokyo in the first place. And what took him from home.”

“Is he really?” Seokmin cannot recall Jisoo ever professing that his job was that of a tenured teacher, his degree had been in something of business administration if he recalls correctly. 

“Did he not ever tell you?” A prickling of suspicion biting at your lips. During your luncheon with Josh some time ago, the same inkling of distrust in your friend’s word invaded you, you had brushed it off then, forgetting it until now. “He said he was staying at the American ambassador’s home.”

“The American legation shut down some time ago in Seoul,” Seokmin muses, catching the glimpse of shock in your eyes before he moves to speak again, “That isn’t to say that the ambassador has left… To be honest I’m not well versed in Joseon’s political affairs with western nations to know such things.”

“Really…” You hum, pursing your lips as you try to process it. Not wanting to lower the already stagnant atmosphere of the session, you look at the sleeve on Seokmin’s jacket, noticing something peculiar about it. “Seokmin?” 

“Yes?”

“Is that hole in your suit?” You point your finger to the bit where the button should be on the sleeve.

His finger moves to trace the outline of the threadbare hole where his button used to lie, “I suppose it is.”

“If you ever want me to mend that for you, I should be able to.” You offer, failing to mention that your handiwork would be subpar at best.

“I may just take you up on that offer,” he smiles, only then to look back down at his notes, “Now, should we get back to work?”

[ 1909.08.15. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The light of the candle on your desk flickers ominously behind its pale shade as you reach for the wrapped parcel Mingyu had given you earlier in the day. You’d received it just as he, Josh, Seokmin and a few of the other students were leaving the school that afternoon. They hadn’t asked you to go with them, citing some sort of man’s meeting in which you could only presume a visit to one of the city’s geisha districts again. It was a favorite pastime of one of the men, saying it was much better to talk business in the confines of a private room where one language was known among them all. 

What they mean by that, you’re unsure. This is a school group, not a business venture, right?

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the thought as your fingers trace along the twine at the top of the large envelope. Unlacing it swiftly, you reach your hand inside to pull out a substantial amount of writing from Mingyu, some in his hand and some seemingly typed on a typewriter. The letters are strong, bold, and in the margins lie a mix of notes in both English and Korean. You try your best to decipher the latter but find it too scrawled to read, you’d practiced reading typed or printed Hangul rather than a messy author’s handwritten scrawl. 

Eyes flickering to the top page, you begin to read over his work,

‘The halls of the Haut have lain in wait for a mildly jolting occurrence for some time now. Ebbed in an inky and sickly black of gloom that settles itself on every person, beast and object that dare enter its halls. Yet for those that traverse its rooms, the darkness is felt more as a way of life than of a looming threat, some finding solace in the flickering lights of the candles that adorn the walls every handful of feet while others have succumbed to the habitual nature of torment that resigns itself to its home.

The spark of candles igniting save them from that horror, for a time. A thought of hope, a taste of the light that has been longed for for eons at this point, as the doors never open and the shutters remain bolted in place. Candles are the only light available to the residents of the Haut, whether that is a welcomed gesture or not. 

As the fires in the candles flicker endlessly throughout the day, I have come to a realization during my stay in the Haut. The light, shadowing across faces; new ones, ones they would see every day and faces they would never see again act as more than just a breath of hope to see the sun again. It acts as a catalyst, until their wick wanes low and it is to be tossed out like the ones before it, returning to an obscurity that prevails over all in the end.’

Mingyu’s thoughts penned down onto the page confuse you more when you read them over again. It is clearly alluding to more than a fictional Haut and the symbolism of candles is more than noticeable. You wonder why, of the fictional pieces that he’s told you of writing, he chose to place this one first. If there even was a reason, or if he had shuffled his papers together haphazardly before he left his apartment that morning. 

You look from the page to the window by your bedside, noting the sun had sunk some time ago, the small clock on your desk reading half-past eight. 

Almost as soon as your eyes settle on the clock, a knock resounds around your room. It causes you to jump and you quickly rush to the door to see if the men have returned. Upon opening the heavy door, you’re met face to face with Josh.

A bitter taste fills your mouth, but you hide it with a smile. The conversation that you had with Seokmin about your mutual friend had revealed a few things that you hadn’t known about your friend, and you’re still struggling to come to terms with the untruths he may have told you over the course of the years.

“I honestly expected you back later,” you say jokingly, noting the flush of red on his cheeks. He must’ve been drinking.

“Decided to call it a night early,” he shrugs. Josh stands there for a moment, as if he’s debating on whether to step into your room or not. It seems as if he opts not to, parting his lips to speak, “Listen… There’s something I want to talk to you about, you and I have known each other for a long, long time and I don’t think I’ve been very honest with my thoughts.”

“Your thoughts?” You give him a puzzled look; you had expected him to speak about something other than that.

“You see,” he starts, “I-”

“Oh,” a voice from outside of your room speaks up, both you and Josh look to see who it is. “If you’re in the middle of a conversation I’ll come back another time-”

“No, no,” Josh says quickly, motioning the other over, “We were only just chatting, Seokmin.”

“Hello Seokmin,” you give him a small smile as he returns the gesture. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I um, I wrote down a few poems for you to try and translate if that is of any interest to you.” The folded paper in Seokmin’s hand crinkles at the margins as he holds it toward you. You hadn’t seen it upon first glance. Through the thin parchment you can see his handwriting that has bled through a bit.

“Thank you,” you say, a small fluttering of butterflies in your chest as you take the paper into your grasp, “This was very kind of you to do.”

“It was no problem, really,” he waves his hand. “Well,” Seokmin says quickly, looking from you to Josh, although his expression shifts slightly when he looks to the elder, “I’ll leave you to your chat.” And with that, he quietly turns on his heels and walks down the hall, towards his room.

“That was cute,” Josh muses once Seokmin’s out of earshot, “Almost like a lovelorn schoolboy.”

“Don’t tease him,” you scoff, gently nudging your friend with your hand. “What was it that you wanted to talk about earlier?”

As if he’s remembered what brought him to your room in the first place, he quickly shakes his head, “Never mind it now, it’s a conversation for another day.”

[ 1909.08.19. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The wicker wiring of the basket’s handle is rough and almost sharp in your grasp as you lug the thing down the long street in front of you. One of the ladies at the hotel’s reception had offered to help you but you’d kindly refused. Yet with the beads of sweat beginning to form at your hairline, you almost wish you had taken them up on your offer. 

As you burst your way into the lobby of the school, several heads turn in your direction. Seokmin and Seungkwan look up from their hushed conversation and Jeonghan looks perplexed as he looks at what’s in your grasp, but makes no comment on it, only asking, 

“What are you doing here so early?”

“Seokmin Lee,” a sly smile as you hoist the basket up, “Do you have the availability for me to steal you for the day?”

“I…” his eyes travel to those around him, their heads tilting in confusion as they probably think that this is you coming to reign hell upon him just as you’d done to Josh upon your arrival. 

“I think he does,” Mingyu pipes up, realizing through the tone of your voice that there isn’t any ill will to be found. “Go,” he nudges Seokmin, “skipping class for a day won’t hurt you, believe me.”

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you smile as Seokmin walks forward hesitantly. Turning to Seokmin you smile, “I hope you’ve worn walking shoes; we’ll be going on a small trek.” 

The two of you take a trolly south, and then another one even more south to the edge of the city’s limits. Seokmin had offered to take the basket from your grasp as he noticed you shifting your weight with it as you stood in the interior of the crowded car. 

“I thought I might treat you to lunch,” You say as the car comes to an abrupt stop, jostling the passengers before you disembark, him following closely behind you, “if that’s alright?”

“Well, if I’m already here—” Seokmin accepts without outright saying it. “Where are we going?”

“That’s a secret,” you smirk, continuing to walk down the street.

It takes a moment, but you soon recognize several poignant features of the landscape that the hotel’s reception had pointed out to you. The town dwindles away, opening into a swath of open greenery and hills that roll on, seemingly forever. A few homes dot the landscape, you assume them to be the living spaces of the families that farm the land.

A rocky, dirt path leads you and him through a thicket of brush before coming out into a large field, yellow flowers saturating the landscape.

Noticing the way that your gaze seems to linger on the flowers as the two of you approach, Seokmin asks, “Do you like sunflowers?” Fingers dancing up one of the large stems beside him once the two of you near the field enough, his digits flitting up towards the petals bursting towards the blue of the afternoon. 

“They remind me of home,” wistful thoughts as you turn towards him, attention turning from the blossom in your gaze. “My mother grows them in her garden.” You set the picnic basket on the ground, reaching to pick up a fallen flower before you look back to him.

Eyes locking together, his own breath catches in his throat as he realizes how close you are, how the sunlight cascades onto you in a serene beam, not unlike a spotlight from a stage production. A cough and he looks to your grasp, to the yellow petals and browned florets in the center. Seokmin doesn’t know this now, but he’ll come to associate you and these flowers together in a harboring memory locked in the library of his mind when some time comes to pass. 

“Every summer the flower peddlers would come into town with their bushels of blossoms,” the memory can be recalled almost as if it were happening right in front of him. “My mother loves blue bells, my father and my brother both like carnations.”

“And you?”

“Sunflowers,” a nod as his hand retracts from the stem of the plant and into his pocket.  “I like sunflowers.”

“You must be happy that we came here, then,” a smile flaring onto your lips, “I bet everyone else at the school is jealous I stole you away for a while.”

“Jisoo more than any of them,” head shaking in disagreement, “he dotes on you, you know.”

“Dotes and guards are two very different things, Seokmin,” the smile falters a bit as you think of your friend. He had been acting strange lately, almost as if he were a caged animal with no escape. Was it because you had followed him here? 

“As he is not here I see no reason to fuss over him,” you shake your head, dropping the flower to the ground gently and turn to the assortment of snacks you’d brought. You open the basket, settling yourself down onto the ground near the stalks, and motion Seokmin over.

You reach inside to procure two glasses laying empty before you as well as grabbing a dark green bottle from its depths. “I had the lovely ladies from the front desk put this together for us last night.” Another rummage through the basket has you revealing a wine opener, the screw end eventually finding itself plunged into the cork in the bottle’s neck. 

“Thank you,” you say once you’ve poured Seokmin and yourself a generous glass of wine each. While you’d fiddled with the cork, Seokmin set out to lay out the small bites you’d brought along.

“For what?” A piqued eyebrow as he reaches for his glass, slight confusion shadowing his face. 

“Talking to me. I know Josh and Mingyu do as well, but I feel like everyone else ignores me.” 

Never mind the reason being that they’d heard of how you’d tracked Josh down and were worried that should they get on your bad side they’d suffer a similar fate— Seokmin found their fear rather funny but would make a note to try and tell them to open up, it isn’t as if you’re a monster. 

“Even if things are lost in translation— it’s nice.” Glass raised to your lips, giving the deep red a small sip before setting it back down. 

“I’ll tell them to talk to you more, and that you’re not that mean,” he chuckles and takes a drink from his own glass, the spirit flowing rather smoothly down his throat. It doesn’t stop him from making a face, though. 

“Are you implying that I can be?” A joking question as you peer over to him.

“Jisoo’s told me a select few stories,” Seokmin smiles, “but don’t worry, I’ll keep them private.”

“Promise?” You laugh out, only imagining what your friend had uttered. For a moment you catch Seokmin looking at you, a softness in his gaze and the smile on his lips seeming nothing less than genuine. It makes you pause for a moment as he opens his mouth to speak. 

“Promise.”

The two of you sit and talk in the midafternoon light until the sun slowly starts to sink beyond the horizon. Not wanting to be caught in the countryside at dark with no source of light, you and Seokmin make your way back to the southern edge of Kyoto. Another trolly ride and a brisk walk, the two of you find yourself back inside of your shared hotel.

“Mr. Lee?” The receptionist calls out just before the two of you pass the desk. By now far too familiar with the myriad of Jeonghan’s students who filter within the walls of the hotel, many of the staff seem comfortable enough to call out to them whenever a parcel, letter, or telegram arrives. “A letter arrived for you this afternoon.”

“If it’s from Suji I want nothing of it until tomorrow morning,” Seokmin sighs before waving off the offer of the envelope.

“It’s from a Mr. Lee Jihoon,” she reads over the address, “It seems to be from Seoul?”

“Ah,” you note a glimmer in Seokmin’s eyes and a slight smile overcoming him as he retracts his steps and moves to quickly take the letter with a ‘Thank you’ before heading up the staircase, you following closely behind.

“Who’s Lee Jihoon?” You ask as he ascends the steps, the sound of the envelope being torn open quickly ripping through the air.

“A friend,” Seokmin muses as he reads his friend’s words, chuckling at a witticism or two strewn among the mass of text greeting him. “He writes of home, of my family and….” He pauses before he allows himself to speak further, stealing himself away so as to not embarrass himself.

“And…?”

“Of you.”

“Of me?”

“Ah, yes, uhm,” he scrambles for words, his cheeks flushing as he recalls having mentioned you in his letter a month prior. Had he known his feelings would have coalesced into something more than an intrigued observation and into a budding courtship, he may as well have left your presence from the letter to deter Jihoon’s prying ways. “I mentioned your arrival and he’s inquired on whether you’ve turned out to be kindly or not.”

“Well?” You question, brow raised as the two of you stop walking in front of his room, the basket in your hand reminding you that you’d forgotten to return it upon your arrival back to the hotel. “Have I?”

“If your actions today don’t speak volumes to your generosity, then I should call myself a fool for saying you’ve been anything less than kind hearted— more so than anyone else I’ve met here… To me, at least.” His small smile once again prods at the corner of his lips, “I won’t speak on Jisoo’s behalf.”

“Thank you, Seokmin,” another smile creeps onto your lips as you look down the hall, “I suppose I should be getting to sleep—Jeonghan’s homework won’t finish itself.” Before you’re able to turn back towards him, you feel Seokmin’s hand gently pull you closer and then the soft feel of his lips against yours.

You had kissed a boy once before, but it had been at one of your family’s Christmas parties when you were a little over the age of sixteen. Josh and a few of his friends had smuggled some of their own spirits into the festivities, so while you danced and sang the night away, you were barely able to establish the stupor you were in until the next morning where it had formed into a splitting headache. 

Yet before the night had ended, you found yourself under the large oak in your family’s front yard, kissing one of Josh’s friends that eventually flittered aimlessly into the night, never to call on you again. 

That kiss had been sloppy, a drunken miasma of endearing regret that culminated from one glass of madeira too many. This kiss though holds words and emotion far too under the surface of both of your skins to be relinquished properly. Of unsaid promises and a look for direction in a darkened tunnel. 

It stays brief, his lips on yours lasting a few seconds, burning as they pull from you and his eyes widen. 

“I’m sorry,” his hands fly to the hem of his coat, messing with the fabric as he searches for words, a flush of red coating his cheeks, “something came over me I just—”

And you kiss him this time, wordlessly as your empty hand places atop one of his fidgeting ones. He leans into you, the fear of angering you subsiding as more spontaneous feelings begin to manifest deep within his chest. 

The two of you part, not gasping for air but feeling a significant lack of oxygen in your lungs. Seokmin stares at you for a moment, something forming in the glimmering of his eyes in the dimly lit glow of the hallway’s lamp. 

“I—” lips parted before you interject. 

“I should be going,” quickly speaking as you hoisted up the wicker basket in your grip. “I should return this before the ladies yell at me… See you tomorrow?” 

Seokmin nods too eagerly to look remotely collected, “See you tomorrow.” 

[ 1909.10.26. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The leaves had just turned color the prior week, the sickly smell of their sweet decay wafts into the classroom’s open window as the sun shines directly onto Seokmin and his desk. If he weren’t in class, the man might have found himself basking and napping in the midday glow.

His mind remains anywhere but Jeonghan’s teachings at the moment. The courtship between you and he had only remained steadfast in the weeks following a short confession the day after he’d kissed you. Both you and he are meant to go to dinner this evening at a place Mingyu had recommended, although with the younger’s cruder palate, both you and Seokmin want to venture there on morbid curiosity alone.

Seokmin’s daydreaming of the evening to come ends when the sound of heavy footsteps begins to echo throughout the building. Having attended the school, as well as gotten to know its attendants, for a while now, Seokmin can tell it’s Seungkwan who’s just barged into the building.

“Itō’s been shot,” Seungkwan pants as he races into the classroom, “the paper just announced it.”

The younger looks absolutely pallid, sweat on his brow as his heavy breaths remain the only sound emanating from the group of students and lone professor.

“Shot?” The name stings Seokmin’s ears as he straightens in his seat. “Where?”

“Manchuria,” the paper procured from the bag in Seungkwan’s hands, extending out to the group so that anyone may take it. 

Jeonghan reaches it first, scanning the headlines, “Itō Hirobumi, a prince of Japan, but the greatest commoner in the empire, who was assassinated by a Korean today, had stood for two years between Korea and the degradation of immediate annexation, hoping to build up that country anew. He was shot down as he alighted from a special train at Harbin, Manchuria, whither he went from Tokyo in his capacity as president of the privy council on a mission of peace.”

Gaze lifting from the print, he looks to the class, the paper falling down atop the nearest desk as others move to read it, “This is… troubling.” 

Seokmin rises from his seat and walks to Jeonghan, scanning the rest of the article with bated breath, knowing that the ramifications of this were to be far more than just troubling. His stomach drops, knowing full well that this could mean a swift return home depending on how the Japanese government reacts to this, and even more worrisome- how the general public around them would treat his fellow countrymen residing in Japan.

[ 1909.10.29  今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Can I speak with you for a moment?” Josh looms over your desk where you’ve sprawled out your notes for the day. Ink stains riddling your fingertips as you close the textbook and look up to him, his hands buried in his jacket pockets. 

“Of course,” you nod, standing from the small wooden table. Your hands brush the front of your skirts, smoothing the disturbed fabric before you watch him begin to walk off. Quickly, your footsteps trail after him, down the hall of the school, through the lobby and out of the front door. 

You pass Seokmin and Mingyu on the way out, offering them both a curt wave before the cool winds of autumn greets you on the streets of Imadegawa. 

“What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

Josh stays silent, his back turned to you as a cart ambles down the road. His shoulders shrug as if he carries Atlas’ burden before he turns to you and speaks, “The thought of you getting hurt if you stay around here for too long worries me greatly.”

“What do you mean by ‘hurt’, Josh?” A bubbling of strife in your tone as you ask, further culminating as you continue to speak. “Are you going to get hurt if or when I leave?” An angered step towards him, “I know you lied about having a tutoring job, why are you here?”

“I never meant-” He frowns, mutters ‘shit’ under his breath as he breaks his gaze away from you. Hand tousling the already disturbed locks, dredging down his face as he gently pulls at the skin with his fingertips before relinquishing his hold on his own face. “Who told you?” The question sounds accusatory as he fails to answer your own questions, “Was it Seokmin?”

“Even if it was, why do you care?”

“Because the longer you stay here you become more enraptured by everything you know nothing about. I see you fawn over him -- have been seeing it for the last few weeks now,” Josh shakes his head.

“And what of it? Am I not allowed minor courting?”

“The longer you throw yourself at him the more you will come to regret it when the time comes to part. You should be home, safe. Here you are neither of those.”

“Do you really think I am staying here for that reason alone? Just for him?” You nearly roll your eyes at him, “I went to Tokyo to find you! I followed you to Kyoto, I traveled across half of the world for you!” 

“And you fell into the arms of the first man who showed interest in you! You never think rationally and look where you are!” His voice raises, not to an octave to draw attention, but enough to make you want to raise your own as well.

“I can say the same for you!” You huff, stomping off for a few feet, only to take a deep breath and turn to him.

“If you cannot believe that I have paused on the possibility of me leaving I would call you insane,” the incredulity drips from your words as venom does from the hollowed teeth of a snake. “There is absolutely nothing here for me in the grand scheme of it all, I know that. And yet there is nothing for me at home except for the anticipation of a life that I do not want without you in it.” Breaths heaving from your chest as you try and compose yourself to the best of my ability, “You’re my best friend, Josh, but don’t think that I can’t make my own rational decisions without your input.”

“You two are more similar than I could have ever imagined,” His eyes rise to the clouded sky as if he’s having a conversation within himself. After a moment he sighs, exhaling all the air in his lungs before he shakes his head and looks at you.

“I was never planning on going back to Seoul,” he frowns, “I really did have a job in Germany, not in Seoul, though. I received news that a friend fell ill. I decided to visit should he not recover from the illness. He passed on the first of May and asked me to visit a friend in Tokyo for him prior to his death.”

“Why you, though?” 

“There wasn’t anyone that he knew in Seoul that would be allowed in Japan because of their acquaintance with him.”

“Who was this friend?”

“Ernest Bethel, I met him while I was with Daniel Lim in London.” Josh shakes his head, “He began a publication that called out the atrocities of the Japanese soldiers in Korea. They put him on trial for it and barred him and anyone that worked under him from entry into Japan.”

“Josh…” You begin but he cuts your words in two.

“With the climate now… With the growing disdain for foreign nationals after Itō’s assassination, I cannot guarantee your safety here,” the look in his eyes reminds you of an abandoned pup, lost and almost hopeless, “And that scares me more than anything.”

[ 1909.11.16. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The days since your conversation with Josh had been nothing short of meandering, lessons, studying and then more lessons. Time with Seokmin had been almost always interjected with another student hoping to make conversation or with the looming presence of your aforementioned friend somewhere beyond. Although you remain unsure if Josh had spoken to Seokmin about his malcontent with your new budding relationship, you can almost ascertain something has been divulged unto him as his more public displays of affection have become intermittent throughout the days progressing. 

And you cannot find it within yourself to press him on it. Jeonghan had assigned him a presentation project that he was to give in a handful of days and Seokmin had spent most of if not all of his free time in the little library of dictionaries and manuals that lay scattered about in the back of the classroom. Ink stuck to Seokmin’s fingers most evenings, and oftentimes most mornings as he seems rather unable to clean the stains himself. 

As your thoughts linger on this, you look to the sedentary streets outside, the inside of the schoolhouse dim with the waning light of worn lamps and lanterns scattered around. A few passerbys occasionally look into the building, most just move on without a second thought.

Quiet resounds around the building, only the gentle scratching of your pencil atop your paper. The interior is quieter than usual on this Tuesday evening– many of the boys had gone out, drinking, no doubt. But you cannot be too angry at them, apparently Jeonghan, in his chase of school authority, had given them a rather difficult test last week and had announced the results earlier this evening. Judging by the demeanor of those who left the classroom, this is a much needed getaway. So, after a chaste, secret kiss on the cheek, Seokmin was swept off by the other students, leaving you sitting alone to complete your work in silence. 

The seconds, minutes and hours tick away as you scribble and oft daydream into the ever becoming night. Then, you hear voices, feet scrambling and foreign words you only begin to comprehend as the doors to the school burst open and a plethora of bodies pour inside. 

“What happened?” The confusion sweeping into the room, overwhelming as an amalgamation of movement and shouting in several languages begins to overwhelm you. It’s then you begin to count heads; Seokmin, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Chan… 

“Where’s Josh?” Amid the chaos you look at Mingyu, dread in his face paling as the seconds pass. “Mingyu,” you ask, voice growing softer as a sickening dread begins to clamp around your abdomen, “where is he?”

“He was injured.” A voice to your right. Seokmin stands in the gentle twilight of the school’s entranceway, dusk falling behind him as he moves to shut the door. “Jeonghan has taken him to his friend’s home to get him treatment.”

Mingyu begins to call out to you, to deter you from what Seokmin’s just relayed. But you still feel that clutching dread begging you to ask for more information. 

“Injured? Is he okay? Can I go and see him?” Voice now fraught with panic, you begin to question everything. “What happened?” Even if you and Josh had been at odds earlier, he is still a dear friend to you. 

A glance downward and you see Seokmin’s hands, stained not with the ink you recall from earlier but red with what you presume to be the blood of your friend. Another glance around the room and you see some of their shirts and pants have oblong streaks of drying cruor adorning them, almost as if they’d been carrying the injured party. 

“I think it would probably be best that we fill you in tomorrow,” Mingyu says with a frown, his own hands shoving into his pockets as if to hide any evidence of what had occurred, “all of us are… trying to understand what happened.” 

“Hey, Mingyu,” Seungkwan says something offhandedly to him, but you’re too hyper focused to try and translate. 

“Really?” Mingyu says to his friend and sighs out, shaking his head, a few beads of sweat that had been clinging onto the ends of his soaked locks fall onto the floor. He returns his gaze to you, a grimace set on his lips before speaking, “The group is going to go back out, we can walk you to your hotel if you need us to.”

But you do not feel like walking, you’re not sure that you can with the weight surmounting in your legs as the joints are locked into place. You let yourself have a strangled gulp before trying to compose yourself, “I will wait here for you all to come back.”’

“Are you sure?” Mingyu says hesitantly, “There’s a good chance that we may not be back until morning.”

“I don’t think I could leave if I tried,” you offer a weakened attempt at a smile. Hands clenching to try and stop the undeniable tremble coursing through you, the nauseating dread making you want to curl up and cry. 

“I’ll stay back with her,” Seokmin speaks up from beside you, his voice soft among the chatter that’s occurring elsewhere in the hall. 

Mingyu doesn’t speak, only looks from you to Seokmin before nodding his head in acquiescence. He calls the others over to tell them of their next plan, each resounding off a stuttered goodbye before leaving the school and treading back out into the now darkened streets. 

You stand staring at the doorway for a while, you’re not sure for how long as time feels both encased in ice and unbelievably fast at the current moment. It’s only when Seokmin moves to close the door once more are you pulled from staring out into nothingness and onto something real. 

His hands, bloodied and crude, remain at his sides as he removes them from the door’s handle and looks to you. There’s a glimmer of what looks like weariness in his eyes as he glances down to his palms, perhaps now only realizing to the extent they were stained. 

“Let me get you some soap and water,” you tell him, quickly leaving him standing alone as you whisk yourself off to the small bathroom in the back corner of the building. 

You grab the lye soap that sits atop the porcelain basin of the sink, only then to grab a bucket sitting next to it typically used for mopping. The contents dumped into the basin, you refill it to the best of your ability with the lukewarm water from the groaning pipes. 

Returning to the lobby of the school, you find Seokmin sitting at one of the tables lying at the entrance. He’s watching the world pass by as he sits, his eyes lost as he distracts himself with anything but his present. 

“Let me see your hands,” you say, setting the bucket down on the table top, as well as setting down the towel you’d slung over your shoulder. 

Seokmin jumps before he turns to you, startled by your presence as he probably hadn’t heard you come back. 

“There are bigger things to worry about other than my hands,” he begins to protest, only to have you shake your head at him and motion for him to extend his hands to you. And he does reluctantly, still sitting as you take his hand into yours. “Thank you…” his voice is quiet as you take the towel in your free hand and dip it into the water, only then to do a precursory scrub of his palm and fingers before lathering the soap onto it. 

“...Can you tell me what happened?” You ask, dipping the towel back into the water, noticing the liquid turning a tinge pink as you do so. Stomach twisting, you can tell Seokmin’s reluctant to answer by the way the digits on his hand twitch. 

He coughs to clear his throat, “We were in Gion meeting with one of Jisoo’s acquaintances. The name escapes me, Donggeun, I think— But things turned sour quickly, some man started yelling at us after he heard us speak and then Jeonghan tried to calm him down. He was speaking so quickly that I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”  Seokmin recounts the event to you, but it’s still hard to get the gist of what had happened. “I know he said something about Itō’s death, but that wasn’t our fault,” tongue swiping over his bottom lip as you switch to his other hand, “even if it should have been. He got so riled up he called over a pair of policemen, we thought after talking to them they would let us go, but as we were leaving there were two shots that rang out. One hit the pavement beside us and the other hit Jisoo in the leg.”

Your grip on Seokmin’s hand tightens at his last statement, he winces and pulls away, settling his hand atop the coarse towel and beginning to brush off the suds and water that remain stuck onto his hand. For the most part, the gore and viscera that stained both his skin and nails had muted into a softer pink, splotchy, but for the most part gone. He heaves out a breath, unable to look at you as he composes his thoughts,

“I don’t think it was the officers who fired, though. Jisoo said that it was as we were carrying him off but when I looked back the officers had the man who was yelling at us pinned on the ground.” It’s hard to say why Seokmin’s relaying this piece of information, almost as if he’s doubting himself. “We took Jisoo to one of Jeonghan’s friend’s houses, you should probably be able to see him late tomorrow or the next day depending on how things go.” 

Hands fumbling around with the rag in your hands, you nod and drop it into the bucket with a soft plop. “Thank you for telling me.” After a moment you move to grab both sides of the bucket, returning to the sink in the small bathroom and dumping the bloodied contents down the drain before placing it on the ground. 

You meet your reflection in the grimy mirror atop the basin, the dim light overhead casting strange and oblong shadows on your face as you notice how downcast you look. Eyes with dark circles, hair unkempt, more so than the typically casual look you adorn yourself with. 

A tear, hot and scorching, rolls down your cheek, a mass of guilt engraving its way on the hallows of your face before it drops into the sick. 

“Are you… okay?”

Maybe you’d been in here longer than you thought, Seokmin’s voice calling out after a gentle knock on the bathroom door. The light above flickers from the rumble of an incoming train somewhere in the distance, your hand falls to grip the basin of the sink, porcelain cool against your skin as you brace yourself to speak.

A cough into your hand, a look from your bleary eyes into your bleary visage in the mirror at Seokmin’s words. 

“I’m alright,” you say to yourself more than Seokmin, turning to open the door. You meet him, face to face in the dark hallway of the school and absolutely crumple. “I’m alright,” this time you say it while falling into him, face pressing against his shoulder as the wells of tears brimming stain into the gray of his coat. 

His hands find yours after a moment, gently pulling you towards the lobby of the school, the quiet sounds of your footsteps ringing around the hall. You find seating on the staircase leading to the second floor, Seokmin quietly sitting next to you, letting you weep all you need to. 

Soon you find that your tears run dry, leaving hot and sticky trails down the sides of your face as Seokmin continues to provide quiet comfort, one of his hands still entwined with yours. 

Head on his shoulder, your eyes trail to the dimly lit street outside, not a single person caring or knowing the strife you’re riddled with. It’s hard to ascertain whether you’re unbelievably angry or unbelievably upset, but your breaths lay heavy in your chest laden with that uncertain feeling. 

“I think I’d like to go back to the hotel,” the statement cold as it leaves you, anything but the comfort of which you desire set into every syllable. 

The walk back is forgotten in the haze of the events that transpired earlier in the evening, glowing lanterns buzzing with an electricity seen only to you and dimmed in the darkness encompassing your very being. 

Your lips don’t speak another word until you’re standing in front of your door at the hotel, Seokmin standing beside you in silent solidarity. Fingers grasping for the small key in your bag, hesitating before you slide the gilded thing into the lock. Turning to Seokmin you softly ask, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

The statement that would typically leave him flustered and pink takes on the air of a silent plea tonight. Anguish in your eyes and voice that you lay in front of him, vulnerable and nearly at your wit’s end. 

“Of course,” it’s nothing short of a quick response, his hand sliding into yours as he waits for you to take the first few steps towards his chamber. 

As you enter his room, you find that the only garment you discard is your jacket and shoes, flung atop the sofa and scattered on the floor before you fall into Seokmin’s bed. The scent of him fills your senses, only more so when he comes to kneel by the bedside so he can speak to you. 

“I’ll sleep on the settee, try and get some sleep so we can visit Jisoo tomorrow.”

“Seokmin, I can nearly see your breath from here,” you reach out, taking his chilled hand into yours, gently pulling him towards the bed, “sleep in your own bed.”

“I should think a lady deserves a proper–”

“We can sleep on it together,” a pause as heat rises to the flesh on your cheeks, “Separately, of course. I just need the proximity of someone comforting.”

“You honor me,” Seokmin's smile curls at the edge of his lips, “I’ll go change in the bathroom, please make yourself feel comfortable.” 

For a moment more, Seokmin pauses, looking at you before you relinquish him from your grasp. He makes a slow approach towards the bathroom before heading inside, the door locking with a small click, leaving you alone with the empty space of the main interior. 

[ 1909.11.19. 今出川ホテル、京都 ] The space of your dreams is nothing but a black, endless void that only aids in helping grow the gnawing anxiousness that pervades you even during sleep. It isn’t until the unfamiliar feeling of a hand ghosting your side pulls you from slumber. For a moment your heart races, your own hand reaching to grasp as the one hovering over you now—

“Sorry if this is too-” A sigh escapes you as Seokmin’s whisper grounds you in quiet reality. “You seemed troubled.” 

“Don’t apologize,” your voice rough from sleep, the ghost of your fingers atop the smooth surface of his hand, gently pressing the pads of your fingertips to him as a quiet gesture. You don’t turn to him from your side, instead looking towards the thick blue velveteen curtains that obscure any notion of light from the outside in front of you. “It’s alright, I promise. Are you alright?” 

From behind you can feel the bed shift with a short, unfunny laugh from his chest, “I don’t know. I suppose I am but tonight… I think it’s shaken everyone.”

“Do you think Josh will be okay?” A murmur from your lips as you gently pull Seokmin’s hand closer to your chest in want of comfort. 

Another shift, and you can tell he’s gingerly moving himself towards you, “He has to be.”

The call of the darkening void begins to etch its way around your vision. How can you sleep at a time like this? You should be racing over there now to see him. But that would make it real, the peril, why Josh had been anxious about you staying those handful of weeks back… 

With a squeeze, you relinquish Seokmin’s hand from your grasp and he returns it to its original position on your side, “I don’t know if I made the right decision coming here,” voice lost into the darkness of the room, in the breathing by the being beside you, you think to be asleep. 

“I don’t know if I did either,” a sleepy response from Seokmin, voice riddled with a tired concern ringing in its whisper. “But I don’t regret it,” his hand laid across your waist ever so slightly grasping at you as if to show his unspoken thoughts.

[ 1909.11.18. 滑川康男の住居、京都 ] The areas of Kyoto you had previously traversed seemed to be marketed towards a more foreign influence, you’ve come to surmise. Now as you walk anxiously with your hands threaded together through rows and rows of wooden-sided homes with thatched or tiled roofs, you’ve begun to see past the veneer of opulence that sought to bring in the traveling and wanderlustful for what the average citizen sees on a day-to-day basis. It is no more humble than the homes of Boston, in a way it reminds you almost nostalgically of what and who you left behind across the ocean and near an entire continent. A cat lazing on a nearby stoop gives you pause for a moment before you continue, lengthening your strides as you return to your party. 

“When Josh’s better he’ll need to return to Minnie.” You say rather assuredly, willing it to be, as Seokmin and you trail behind Jeonghan.

“Is that his… Friend?” With the way Seokmin emphasizes the last word you cannot help but let out a stifled chortle.

“She’s a cat,” you answer him quickly and he nods in understanding. “Did you have any pets growing up?”

Seokmin looks ahead at the road in front of him, the bustling streets hindering your path for a moment, the crowds coming in and out like the tides along the river. “We had a dog to guard the house, he might still be there but he was old and gray when I left. Not really a pet, though.”

“I see…” 

“We’ll be there soon,” Jeonghan calls from up ahead, “It’s just around this block.”

With those words you subconsciously find your legs moving even faster towards your friend.

The house that you arrived at was much like the other ones lining the streets. You’re welcomed in quietly by the host, their name eluding you as your vision tunneled to where they said your friend lay in quiet rest. 

“He should be awake,” Jeonghan says quietly, “Go and speak with him, we’ll be out here if you need anything.”

Down the hall, first room on the left. That’s where you find Josh looking outside, one of the sliding doors open to look towards the inner garden of the home, facing away from the sliding door you'd entered from. He lays in a futon, a stack of fresh bandages on the tatami next to him. With the way his breath rises and falls, you're unsure if he’s asleep or not.

“Josh?” You ask gingerly, stepping into the room. “Are you awake?”

When you hear him mutter out something you take a few strides toward him. His injured right leg remains covered by a blanket, held up by what you assumed to be a propped up pillow. There are beads of sweat pooled on his forehead as he turns slowly to meet your gaze.

His name leaves your mouth in a whisper as you fall to his side, knees thudding atop the tatami as you inch yourself closer. “How are you?” You wince at the question, fully knowing it wasn’t the best one to be asked.

“I’ve…” The words are slow to come, hoarse from a throat rung raw from pain, no doubt. “I’ve been better. Would you mind fetching my water? I’m not very amble at the moment.”

“Of course,” You say quickly, looking to the nightstand where a singular glass and water filled bucket lay. You notice your hands trembling slightly as you hand him the glass and help move it towards his lips. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, I just had to see if you…” 

“I understand,” he says, you notice his face is pale. Too pale for comfort.

“You’re absolutely feverish,” the back of your hand pressing gently against his forehead. Your free hand reaches to one of the rags already submerged in the basin of water atop the nightstand. “Were you injured anywhere else?”

“My pride remains intact, my morale slightly asunder but I’m sure it will recover in time,” he flashes you a weak smile. “I never like making you worry, even if it seems that’s all I make you do.”

“Do you remember when you were twelve and you had scarlet fever?”

“I remember being absolutely miserable,” Josh murmurs out, wiping the beads of water away from his eyes with the fabric of his shirt.

“Your mother sought out any doctor she could find to try and help you, and the plethora of holy men too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rabbi and an Episcopal priest in the same room as each other before,” you snort, recalling how frantic his mother had been. It had been scary, but he had made it.

The frown on his face encapsulates him for a moment and his eyes close, his head hitting the wall behind him gently, “You said that you loved me.”

It feels as if your heart has dropped into your stomach. You remember kneeling by his bed, whispering prayers to any and all gods that would help him recover from that illness. His pinkend and rashed flesh on display as the doctors said exposing the areas of effect would cause it to weaken the strain of disease, maybe. Under heavy sedation of laudanum and whatever other mystery tincture, it had stripped him of happiness and prayer was the only thing you offer, it wasn’t as if you were a physician or miracle man. Also, hadn’t he been asleep when you confessed that at his bedside?

Freezing before you’re able to dip the rag in the bucket again, “That was years ago, Josh. I do love you but not…”

It’s him that stifles a laugh, “I know. But it is still endearing that you’ve stayed by my side, I really do appreciate it.”

“You ass,” a gentle nudge, “You must truly be ill if you’re complimenting me for my duty as your best friend.”

“You’re probably right,” he replies breathily. His hand reaches out, and you take it instinctively. His grip is weak but reassuring. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You sit there in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the rustle of the barren branches tapping against one another and the occasional chirp of birds. The tranquility of the scene contrasts sharply with the turmoil you feel inside. Josh has always been the strong one, the one to pull you out of your own dark times. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and dependent, shakes you to your core.

“You should rest,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “You need your strength. Did you want me to close the doors? It’s getting rather cold in here.”

He shakes his head, but you can see something stirring within. Words lay heavy on Josh’s tongue, you can see him formulating his thoughts before he speaks abruptly. “I’m going to Tokyo,” Josh sighs after a moment, sounding resolute. “After this,” his hand waves to his blanketed leg, “is healed.”

Now it is your turn to frown, “Tokyo? Whatever for?”

“It’s come to my understanding that my friends haven’t been making any headway for our cause,” Josh sighs out and you have the feeling he’s intentionally being vague.

“Why not ask the American government for help?” Even if he chooses to don the masque of ambiguity, you can still infer what he means.

“America and Japan have been formulating plans together for some years now, exercising their rights with one another. That’s how America gained control of the Philippines and Japan got control of Korea, the Pescadores, Taiwan and parts of Manchuria,” Josh relents after a moment. With the way his eyes widen briefly you can tell he’s already opened the door slightly for what his intentions may be., “I have hope and reason to believe that I can be more impactful if I reach the Korean consulate in Tokyo. I fear America will not be of any aid.” 

You take a deep breath, your hands still trembling slightly. “I understand your passion, Josh. I truly do. But promise me you won’t make any hasty decisions. Rest, heal properly. Then we can talk about how best to proceed.”

He nods, though you can tell he’s only partially conceding to your point. “I’ll rest. But I can’t promise to delay for too long.”

His stubbornness is both frustrating and admirable, and you feel a surge of protectiveness over your friend. “That’s all I can ask for now. Just... don’t push yourself too hard.”

Josh gives you a faint smile. “I’ll try not to, for your sake.”

You return to the main room, Jeonghan, Seokmin, and Jeonghan’s friend sitting around and not speaking. 

Seokmin stands as you enter, his hands twisting together as he notices the dour look on your face, “How is he?”

“As stubborn as ever,” you sigh out, “But I think he’ll be okay, I cannot be certain about the usage of his leg though–?” Eyes trail to Jeonghan and his friend, the latter of whom stands to address you.

“Apologies for not introducing myself, my name is Otomonoi Hiromu. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances but the doctor that was here earlier this morning said your friend would recover, albeit the mobility of his leg may be altered. The bullet failed to hit any major artery but shattered the bone of his femur…” 

Your stomach rolls and you nod your head slowly, “How long will his recovery take?”

“With the application of the Thomas splint anywhere from three to six months,” Jeonghan interjects, “We’re planning on having him moved to my residence within the next day. I fear we’ve encroached on Hiromu’s kindness too much already.”

“It’s truly no issue Jeonghan,” Hiromu nods and looks back to you, “Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” You say curtly and glance to Seokmin, “Did you wish to speak to him?”

“I think Josh needs his rest,” Seokmin says softly, and as if your apprehension is palpable suggests, “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

“Oh? Okay,” you murmur and take the arm Seokmin offers you. 

“We’ll meet you back at the school tomorrow evening if you wish,” Seokmin states to Jeonghan. “I cannot imagine that classes will be held today or tomorrow?”

“No, they won’t be.” Jeonghan nods, “I’ll send out letters informing the students of our reopening sometime later this week or next. Until tomorrow then.”

“Until then,” Seokmin then leads you outside, past the gate of the home and back to the busy streets. The two of you walk in silence, the churning in your stomach not lessening, despite your far proximity to the house in which Josh lay. “How are you feeling?” His voice breaks through to your thoughts after another few moments of walking.

“I did not see his leg,” you murmur, “but with the blood and panic of everyone yesterday I can surmount that it is no simple injury…”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Seokmin says softly, “I can only imagine the horrors you have felt in the last twenty-four hours.”

“No more than you, I suspect. I was not there when it happened.” You wince as you speak, unable to conjure the imagery of the attack in your mind. “I know Josh will get better, know that he is alive. That alone is enough to make me okay for now, at least.”

[ 1909.12.31 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Josh’s leg never healed fully. While he can apply pressure, a tearing pain sometimes courses the length of it, so, rather to be safe than sorry, he’s become acclimated to walking with a wooden crutch to catch himself should he ever find himself unstable. Aided by the arm of another, Josh slowly makes his way down the streets of Kyoto.

“I could have made it on my own, you know.” Josh’s voice escapes him in a plume of white, the breath intermingling with a few flakes of snow dancing towards the icy and muddied street below. A thin line of perspiration begins to form along his brow, but as it hits the frigid air it makes his body seem almost colder. “My speed has been reduced but I do not need such constant attending to.”

“She asked me to escort you,” Seokmin says, releasing Jisoo from his grasp, “I could do nothing but oblige.” 

Jisoo lets out a short, dry laugh at that, “She has a way of ordering us around.” 

The two of them walk still, their cheeks becoming more and more reddened with the wind that whips at them, slashing through the air at no measurable pace. There are few others on the road at this hour, the streetlamps glow in the nighttime, leading them further into the heart of the city. It isn’t until they come upon the familiar building which houses Jeonghan’s school that a liveliness begins to pervade the wintry night. Music drifts from the building, as does the sound of chatter and laughter.

“Is that…  A piano?” Seokmin asks, both he and Jisoo know there were no instruments to be found in that building prior.

“A phonograph, perhaps.” Jisoo murmurs as they stop outside, noticing a figure loitering around the front. A plume of smoke rises from the turned figure, Jisoo lets out a sigh and calls out to them, “If your mother knew you were smoking, she’d have your head Mingyu.”

“Shit-” The younger jumps as he’d not heard the two approach. “She only wrote a scathing letter once about my allowance usage and that’s all you can remember of her.” Mingyu turns to the pair, “I’m happy you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Jisoo flashes him a small smile. “I think it’s a bit too cold out here for me, so I’ll see you inside?”

“Of course,” Mingyu nods, “And be careful– I think Jeonghan was a bit… heavy handed with his pours tonight.”

It isn’t long until the two of them make their way into the now cramped space, soon finding themselves with a respective rum punch in hand. Jisoo notes the faces that pass, most looking to the crutch at his side, and it leaves a sour taste on his tongue. Despite the people, he doesn’t find you among the faces that shift by him, and by the way Seokmin scans the crowd next to him, he cannot find you either. 

Eventually Jisoo and Seokmin find you at the keys of an upright piano. An upright piano that had not been there the week prior, which had been the last time Jisoo had visited the school. A cordial glass in hand, your free one seeks to play a small accompaniment to a piece that Seungkwan plays while seated next to you on the bench.

“I never knew you knew how to play!” Seungkwan says loudly, lifting his hands from the keys and reaching for his own glass atop the piano. 

“My mother made me take absolutely tear-inducing lessons when I was younger,” you laugh, taking a sip from your drink. You recoil a bit from the flavor, “Although I must admit it has come to my aid at parties, even though there is much to be desired.”

“I was unaware you played as well,” Seokmin notes as Jisoo and he approach the bench, “You play wonderfully.”

“It was Seungkwan doing all of the work,” you admit, “And Josh can attest to my skill, as poorly as it is.”

“I’ll adamantly deny your assessment, you played a lovely set at my mother’s birthday several years ago,” He gives you a warm smile. “So much so that she begs me every year to urge you to play again for her.”

“Well, if I am back in time to play for her next year, you can consider me booked.”

“Then I must write to her to let her know of it,” He says and you turn your attention back to the piano. Jisoo’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he sinks into the crowd, looking for Jeonghan. It isn’t long until he finds his friend mingling with a few of the Chinese students in one of the classrooms. 

“Would you all mind if I stole him away for a while?” Jisoo asks the group, while nodding his head towards Jeonghan. “Business, I’m afraid.”

Within a few moments the students have cleared the room, only leaving the two of them together. Josh sighs, setting his glass down onto one of the tables, and leaning against it slightly.

“Where in the world did you acquire a piano?”

“Do you like it?” Jeonghan smiles, “Hiromu’s sister was moving houses and had to do away with it… Too gauche or something of the like.” He hums and takes a sip of his drink, an old fashioned by the look of it. “Now, what is it you want to talk about? I know you cannot have asked to clear the room over a piano.”

“Am I that easy to read?” Jisoo laughs, glancing to the hall to make sure no one was listening. “It is my intention to go to Tokyo within the upcoming week or so. I hope to have your discretion on the matter.”

“Who is it that you wouldn’t want to– Ah.” Jeonghan begins to ask, “You’ve already run off on her once, are you so eager to do it once again?”

“It isn’t as if I wouldn’t come back to her, I never intend to hurt her as I did before.” The taller sighs out, reaching for his drink. He takes a hearty swig, “She is my oldest friend and confidant of all things unrelated to the reasons that brought me here. I had only hoped to keep these two spheres of myself from ever colliding. But she is a whirlwind I can never account for.”

“And what is to stop her from following after you once more?” Jeonghan prods, “She is a whirlwind, after all.”

“Seokmin.” Jisoo says simply.

“He’s staying here?”

“No,” Jisoo shakes his head, “He’s coming with me. With both he and I’s assurance she will have to accept that we will return. She adores him too much to allow him to put himself in harm’s way.”

“What a gamble, thinking that she’ll do just that.” Jeonghan muses, knowing fully how well you seem to take heed from either of the two men. “As a friend I will not say anything to make her feel untoward towards your departure. But you cannot be angry with me if she chooses to go after you.”

“How could I?” Josh says with a small, thankful smile. “Now, I was also hoping to get a few contacts from you, although I suppose that can wait until after this little soiree. Apologies for taking you away from it.”

“It’s not an issue,” a wave of the thought away. “Now have fun, be merry. Mingle before everyone begins falling over themselves.”

And fall over themselves they do. The hours seem to pass in minutes with games, stories and revelers in abundance. Jisoo finds himself flitting from group to group, with Mingyu and you speaking of prospective stories, to Seungkwan, Chan and Junhui arguing about some type of grammatical dissimilarity in Japanese compared to Korean and Chinese. He passes Seokmin at some point, who seems to be chatting with one of Jeonghan’s invited friends about the news industry. The party goes on late into the night, and it seems by the quarter hour another person has to step outside to regain their composure from the drunken stupors they find themselves in.

At one point, as the clock nears towards the end of the night and into the new year, Josh escapes from the bustle and sits on the stairs that lead to the second story of the building. He settles down, a third drink of the night placed on the stair next to him and his wooden crutch leaning against the wall.

A sigh escapes him and he tilts his head backwards, several joints popping in his neck. His eyes close and for a moment he listens to the chatter floating by him, of merriment and not the sinister dread that invades him most hours of the day. In another life he may have been able to enjoy tonight, but that path died early on in his life, especially since his first visit to Korea nearly fifteen years ago. A pang shoots up his leg as he shifts, reminding him more of the peril that he puts himself into. And another pang begins in his stomach, clenching and festering as he is reminded of the danger he has put you into. 

Jisoo laments not writing to you before he left Korea, perhaps that would have diminished his fears. He laments telling his mother a portion of the truth of his detainment in Tokyo. He should have known word would get to you and that only God himself would be able to stop you from reaching him. He laments for keeping his thoughts to himself when he should have been more honest with you. There are many things he regrets, the ire of which is now before him as he hears movement coming from the hall of classrooms. With stiffened movement, he straightens and looks over to see you leading Seokmin out of one of the busy classrooms, your hands intertwined with his. 

He thinks of saying something, to announce his presence, but before he can he sees your face near Seokmin’s. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek as you whisper “Happy New Year”. Seokmin’s hand breaks free from your interlocking fingers as he goes to caress your cheek, it lowers and he guides you to meet his lips in a kiss that Jisoo would not describe as chaste.

Jisoo looks away from the two of you, suddenly now very interested in looking at a poster of the hiragana alphabet hanging on a nearby wall. The two of them leave for the party after a few more words that are too whispered for Jisoo to hear, and he himself decides that he should return as well. After more mingling among the students and friends, he excuses himself, but not before asking Seokmin to join him for a cigarette.

“Okay,” Seokmin cedes as he bids you a short farewell, promising to be back soon. He follows Jisoo out to the school entrance, the few flakes that had been falling from the sky becoming nothing more than a flake every moment or so now. “It looks as if the weather has taken a good turn.”

“If only it will stay that way,” Jisoo says, reaching for the case of cigarettes and matchbook in his coat. “Would you mind striking this for me? I’m afraid I am still hindered.” 

“Of course,” Seokmin says, taking the matchbook and swiftly igniting one of the matches. He holds the flame to Jisoo’s dangling cigarette, making sure it’s ignited before dropping it to the snow below. 

“Thanks.” Jisoo takes a moment, letting the smoke mingle with the cold in his mouth before exhaling deeply. “Have you been enjoying your night?”

“It’s been quite a lovely party.” Seokmin nods, “Have you had any issues maneuvering around?”

“No, not at all.” Jisoo responds before taking another drag of his cigarette. “I was wondering if you had told her about our plans to leave in the coming weeks, or if I should be the one to break the news to her–?”

A look of almost panic takes over Seokmin’s face momentarily, Jisoo can’t tell the full extent as the streetlamps light only but so much. His brow furrows as he looks on to the younger, “Am I to take that as you haven’t mentioned it?”

“No– No, I have mentioned it to her.” 

“Then why do you look at me if I am a parent about to scold you?”

“I invited her to join us,” Seokmin says quickly as Jisoo lets the cigarette fall from his mouth to the snow below, “And I know you made note of not asking her to but with her aid I truly feel that–!”

Before Seokmin can finish speaking, Jisoo finds himself grappling the younger to the ground, the pain tearing through his leg be damned. “You fool–! It was expressly my intention not to bring her, are you deaf or so lost in your way you defy reason? Do you love her?” Both a question and a realization wrapped in a sentence too pained he hadn’t wanted it to spew from his lips. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Of course I love her.” Answered as if the question had been as simple as ‘Is the sky blue?’ Seokmin shoves Jisoo, so the two are now parted, sitting on the muddy ground. “But not like a disillusioned oaf. Think, for a moment, of the circumstance and not of her beguile that you too, seem to fall asunder to.”

The wetness of the earth begins clinging to Jisoo’s trousers, seeping up from the ground below. “In what way would she aid us? You’ve just about solidified her acquaintance with us and if we were ever to be found out…”

“Do you not think that she is aware of that?”

“No, Seokmin, I do not!” Jisoo shakily rises to his feet, reaching for the crutch he’d discarded in his fury. “I have had many friends die because they thought to speak their minds. Would you bear that responsibility for someone whom we both deeply care for? Her blood would be on your hand–” 

It’s Seokmin who acts out not, sending a fist flying that collides with Jisoo’s cheek. The older falters, but is otherwise unmoved from the display of rage from his friend. His hand raises to the site of the newfound injury, and he tenderly touches it.

“I will take your anger as drunkenness. But you know the truth as much as I do.” Jisoo says solemnly, “I cannot make her stay, but you have put everything at risk by bringing her. It would be in our best interest to send her home.”

Seokmin’s breathing remains heavy as he nurses the hand he’d used to assail Jisoo, “You know she would never let us.”

“Then we do not allow her a choice.” Jisoo frowns, his hands reaching back into his coat for another cigarette, “I will play the villain but you must not fill her head with promises of a bright future. Everything grows more uncertain by the day and I wish for her to be as far away from this politicking and scheming as she can.”

[valkyyriia]

A Study in Green

Words: 2915

CW: Fingering, Artistic Liberties with History | NSFW

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle / Female-Bodied Reader

Prompt: Abandoned Mansion (caution!)

Notes: This is I think the third time I've ever written smut, so please bear with me. I also thought the title was rather cliche, but I liked it, so... I also think I got a little carried away. Whoops. And Mo, if you read this - I remembered that comment I left you on your fic about the Paris Green and MC freaking out and it immediately came to mind when I rolled this prompt with my dice.

Crossposted on Ao3 here.

Banners/dividers by @natimiles.

For @xxsycamore's event, Sexy Ikemen Summer!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, eyeing the abandoned building with suspicion. It appeared to have been an older, late-eighteenth century mansion. Ivy crept up the crumbling mortar like grasping tendrils, giving it a foreboding look. 

“It’ll be fine, luv,” Arthur said, a cheeky grin on his face. “A little urban exploration never hurt anyone.” 

“I would like to see the evidence to back up that stateme-” You were cut off by Arthur tugging you close and kissing you sweetly.

“Come now. I swore to protect you, didn’t I?” He tapped your nose with a gloved finger. “That includes the dangers of uninhabited, derelict places and all the things that go bump in the dark. You have absolutely nothing to fear as long as I am here with you, okay?” 

You exhaled shakily and offered a weak smile. “Okay.” 

“Besides,” Arthur added. “You do make a rather adorable damsel in distress.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed, taking your hand and leading you inside. 

One thing you had never quite gotten used to in this era was the sticky heat and lack of air conditioning. Even though the climate wasn’t too different from what you were used to, the fashion of the day was much more stifling. The summer sun was currently high in the air, beating oppressive rays down on the building. Fortunately, the mansion was still in reasonably good repair; the roof was intact everywhere except the far left wing, where the walls had collapsed in on themselves. It offered some protection from the heat, paltry though it was.

Arthur had, true to his word, faithfully stuck by your side. The vampire hardly even let go of your hand, giving you something to anchor yourself to. You were grateful for his considerate nature. 

The sunlight shining through the cracked stained glass windows cast glittering constellations on the dusty wood of the parlor floor. Furniture draped in age-stained cream cloth was positioned in key places around the room. If it weren’t for the thick layer of dust and the obvious smell of decaying wood, you would almost think the owners were just out on vacation. 

Arthur had done some amount of research on the building before bringing you here, aided by le Comte and his connections. As it turns out, the owners of this mansion had fled to America twenty or so odd years ago due to some sort of legal trouble. The Crown had seized the mansion to repay the family’s debts and it had remained uninhabited since. According to Comte, the left wing collapse happened a few months after the Crown took over the property, and they hadn’t tried to renovate or rebuild the structure. Ultimately, other than the left side, the mansion should have been perfectly safe - within reason for an abandoned building - for a first-time urban explorer. 

He grinned. “Look at this,” Arthur said, using your joined hands to point at the desk in the corner of the room. It was neatly organized, a couple of books stacked on the side. A half-written letter lay on the workspace. A quill pen sat in a long-since-dried inkwell, the bottom of it stained black with India ink. “They really were in a hurry,” Arthur commented, pulling his tortoiseshell glasses from his pocket and setting them on his nose. “Let’s see…”

He blew gently on the surface, scattering the dust. Your eyes watered and you cough into your elbow. “Sorry,” Arthur murmured, rubbing your back lightly as he looked at the letter. 

“To my love,

“I hope the day comes when I can see you again. Father says we must leave in order to stay out of prison, and I dread leaving you behind. I had desperately dreamed of the day I would make you my wife, but I fear we must place those plans on hold for now. Wait for me, my love. I will return for you.

“Forever yours,”

And then nothing. There was no signature. You frowned. “The poor dears.. I hope he was able to stay in contact. Or at least let her know what happened.” 

Arthur studied the paper intensely for a moment, before looking at the books next to it. “I can’t imagine she wouldn’t know what happened. These kinds of things are rather big gossip in the upper echelons of society.” The hand on your back moved to your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Her family likely refused any further contact with him or his family after they left. Even if he continued to write to her, she probably never saw any of those letters.” 

“That’s so sad,” you said, leaning into him. “It sounds like he really loved her.” 

“If he loved her half as much as I love you, he must have loved her a lot,” Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “If you would like, luv, we can maybe try to deliver this letter to its intended recipient. There’s probably some other correspondence between the two stashed somewhere here, if we look for it.”

You looked up at him in surprise. He had a kind smile on his lips, but his eyes were serious. If it were something you wished to do, he would make it happen somehow. “I would, but,” you started to say. “What if it opens up old wounds? What if she’s moved on and this just brings it back up?” You sighed and laid your head against Arthur’s shoulder once more. He ran his thumb up and down your waist in soothing motions. “I don’t want to make things worse.” 

“Even if she has moved on, it could give her closure,” Arthur pointed out. “But you are right; it could cause more trouble for them. Maybe we should leave it here?”

You mulled it over for a moment. “If I were in her shoes.. And you had moved away for some reason against your will, I don’t think I could really move on. Even if I was forced to marry someone else. I love you too much to ever forget you.” 

Arthur was silent for a moment. “Then we should do everything we can to make sure it’s delivered. Even if it is twenty-something years late,” he said, voice quiet and somewhat choked. You went to move away and look up at him, but Arthur’s hand kept your head against his neck. His free arm wrapped around you and he held you firmly to his body. You gave up fighting him, and just locked your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Arthur finally let go and stepped away from you, looking around the room once more. “Let’s see if we can find out who the lucky lady is, yeah? The game, my dear, is on!” 

The two of you went looking around the parlor for any other correspondence between the pair. Coming up empty handed there, you moved to other rooms. Normally Arthur would have been able to make an educated deduction on which room likely belonged to the author, but with the state of disrepair the house was in it was much more difficult. Or at least, that’s what Arthur said - but you suspected he just wanted an excuse to lead you around the house by the hand for a little longer. Not that you’d complain about that.

The two of you looked inside a bedroom suite on the second floor. The door creaked open, revealing a lavish room, covered in linens matching those in the parlor. A thick layer of dust coated the room as it did everywhere else in the house. You carefully stepped over to another desk, this one facing the window that overlooked the long-overgrown lawn. Spread across it were several letters in varying states of completion. Some were well-worn, clearly having been read over multiple times. Those ones appeared to have a different author than the one found downstairs. 

“Alyssa Bloodwell,” Arthur murmured. “That name doesn’t ring any bells for me, but Daddy Dearest knows just about everyone worth knowing among Europe’s elite. We can ask him when we get back. For now, though…” Arthur turned to you, a devilish smile on his lips.

“Arthur,” you warned him to no avail. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed you by the hips. Your arms snaked around his neck automatically. 

He grinned. “What is it, oh darling love of mine?” He gave you an innocent peck on the lips. 

“Oh, don’t even start, Arthur,” you protested, but made no motion to step out of his embrace. His lips moved to the side of your face and you reflexively tilted your head to give him access. “We can’t - not here.” 

“Says who?” Arthur murmured seductively, nibbling at the shell of your ear. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to stop us.” He walked you backwards to a sturdy chest of draws against the far wall, and easily lifted you up onto it. “You’ve been looking positively delectable all day. I can’t help myself from wanting a taste.” He leaned in and kissed you more insistently, his fingers dancing around the ribbon at the collar of your blouse. 

“You are incorrigible,” You responded weakly, already returning his kiss. 

“But you like it, don’t you?” Arthur replied, grazing your earlobe with his fangs. “You dirty little thing.” He ghosted his lips down the side of your neck, pressing a kiss right over your pulse point, before mouthing the spot and sucking hard. You cried out at the sharp pain of it. 

Arthur ran his thumb over the red blooming there. “Beautiful,” he said. “I would bite you, but then I’d have to carry you back to grab a carriage.” He ran his tongue down the column of your throat, his fingers gently setting the ribbon to the side and dragging the top of your blouse down. His other hand slid up your skirt, the thumb running back and forth over the flesh of your inner thigh. “And I really don’t want to have to explain that one to the constable,” Arthur whispered, his breath coming out in puffs against your collarbone.

The drag of his sharp fangs against the skin of your chest combined with Arthur’s fingers moving higher underneath your skirt caused your breath to hitch. His gloved hand pressed gently against your clothed sex, applying a small bit of pressure through your underwear. You let out a soft whine at the contact. He rubbed his fingers back and forth between your thighs while leaving love bites all over your exposed chest. 

His lips kissed back up your throat, and he pulled away to look at you. Smirking, he pulled his hand from between your thighs and took the glove in between his teeth. Arthur slowly, teasingly, pulled it off of his hand, the now bare appendage returning to its former place between your legs.

“Arthur,” you whimpered as he slid the material of your panties aside. He dragged his fingers back and forth through the wetness gathering there, circling the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs. 

You threw your head back, a low keening sound escaping your lips as he continued to swirl his fingers between your legs. Arthur shot out his other hand to catch the back of your head.

“Look at me,” he murmured. You bit your lip but did as he asked, and he smiled. “Good girl.” 

Arthur’s thumb brushed against your lips and then he leaned in for a deep kiss. “You’re so cute when you come undone under my fingers like this,” he purred. “You’re normally so put together.” You probably were a sight to behold right now - skirt hiked up to your hips, blouse untied and loosely draped under your cleavage, chest heaving  - you were the very image of debauchery. 

Arthur leaned back in for another kiss, his tongue moving against yours in time with his fingers as they pushed inside of you. 

Your gaze drifted up, suddenly settling on the walls of the room. Your eyes widened and you broke the kiss. “Arthur,” you breathed, voice scratchy. “Is it just me or is that wallpaper green?” 

Arthur groaned and he pulled away with a discontent sigh, his lips forming a frown. “It is, and quite a lovely shade of it. But I don’t see how the color of the wallpaper is more important than my hand.” His fingers deftly continued their work, and you bit back a groan. “Unless you are unsatisfied, and want something more?”

“Because,” you breathed, trying to ignore Arthur’s actions and failing miserably. “Green pigments from around this time period are made of arsenic. It’s poison.” Your thighs trembled as he pleasured you. You were so close-

-and then Arthur suddenly stopped and looked at you, bewildered. You whined at the loss of stimulation. “Really?” He looked away from you, his gaze flitting all around the room that was blanketed in peeling green wallpaper. Arthur’s cobalt gaze met yours again, a light panic to his eyes. “And they didn’t know this?” 

“No! The paint was invented sometime in the early nineteenth century and fell out of use during the mid nineteenth century because people were getting sick,” you sighed, the ache in your belly slowly subsiding, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and wanting for more. “It was later used as a pesticide, until they realized that was dangerous, too.” You were somewhat regretting your choice to stop Arthur at this moment. Curse your brain for being safety-conscious even with an incredibly attractive man between your legs, who wanted nothing more than to bring you pleasure.

Arthur sighed, pressing a kiss to your lips. “We should probably continue this elsewhere, then,” he conceded, removing his hands from your thighs. You shuddered at the loss of contact and watched as he lifted his slick-covered hand to his mouth, sucking on the fingers. The lewd sight sent another flare of smoldering heat right to your belly. “When we get back home, you’re going to have to make up for leaving me hanging like this. I hope you’re ready for the consequences of your actions.”

Bonus:

After speaking with Comte about what you discovered while exploring (trespassing), you and Arthur found yourselves standing outside of a beautiful, well-kept mansion in the Parisian countryside. As you approached the gate, a butler, who was trimming roses nearby, placed his garden shears down and stepped over.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Monsieur,” he greeted. “How can I help you?” 

“Is there an Alyssa Bloodwell at this residence?” You asked.

The butler frowned. “Madame Bloodwell does live here, yes, but we were not advised of any visitors today. Was she expecting you?”

“Not exactly,” you replied. Arthur then pulled a time-worn letter out of his pocket and showed it to the butler, explaining, “I shan’t go into the specifics on how, but we came across this letter and believe its intended recipient is your mistress. We simply wish it to go where it belongs.” 

The butler looked at the letter for a moment before nodding. “If you will, follow me,” he said and led you both into the mansion’s entryway, and from there to the parlor. “Please wait here, mademoiselle, monsieur. I will inform Madame Bloodwell of your visit and we shall proceed from there.” 

After a few minutes of waiting, you looked up to see a woman in her late thirties descending the stairwell. “I am Madame Alyssa Bloodwell. I was informed you had correspondence intended for me?” she asked. 

You curtsied and Arthur handed over the letter. She took it, eyeing it, and her hand dropped to her chest. “Where did you get this?” she said, breathless. 

“We recently came into possession of it,” Arthur said, smoothly avoiding giving the details. “We did some detective work, and determined you were the recipient.” 

Lady Bloodwell walked over to an armchair on uncertain legs and sunk down into it. “Louis,” she murmured. “I haven’t heard from him in twenty four years.” Her fingers caressed the fraying edges of the paper. “His family had been found to be embezzling money from one of the royal artisans and was disgraced. They fled Paris in the middle of the night and caught a ship to America. My parents forbade mention of him and the betrothal was called off. I ended up marrying a local lord, but.. I never did stop wondering what happened to him.” 

You smiled sadly at her. “I’m sorry that we didn’t come bearing current news, but I’m glad we could at least bring you the letter. It’s obvious how much he loved you.” 

“Thank you, cherie,” she said. “Please, is there anything I can do to repay you for doing me this kindness?” 

You began to decline, but Arthur cut in. “If you don’t mind, could you answer a question for us as payment?“

She inclined her head. 

“Did you ever move on?” Arthur asked, a serious look on his face. 

Madame Bloodwell shook her head. “I love my husband,” she began. “But no. Louis was - is - special to me. I never stopped loving him, and I doubt I will stop until the last breath leaves my lungs.” She looked between you and Arthur, a content smile on her face. “I see such a resemblance between you two and myself and Louis. Monsieur, whatever you do, don’t ever lose her.”

Arthur looked straight at you and squeezed your hand. “I won’t.” 

Taglist: @natimiles

[catscidr]

Imagine Yandere Dottore x puppet like reader 🤭

i got carried away (again) im sorry lmaogsnfs(ɾ⚈▿⚈)ɹ this isnt as yandere as u would expect it to be for a dottore post bc i love me some good slow burn and character development but its fine its still dottore ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: dottore tinkers with reader's inner stuff (literally), he gets weird about it includes: gn!reader, dottore, pantalone and dottore's clones mentionned for like a second wc: 1,5k

You and Dottore had a simple routine; once a week, he would fix you up from whatever had happened to your body and mechanical system from adventuring in the past seven days and, in exchange, you would let him look and poke around your intricate mechanisms so he could learn more about machines and artificial life in Teyvat. He was, first and foremost, a scholar after all. 

However, he’s been getting a little more handsy and has seemed almost... worried the last two times you came back from your trips. 

...Worried in his own way, of course. 

The doctor wasn’t afraid to make you uncomfortable and, when he found a particularly harmful anomaly in your body, he could be even more insufferable. Nothing that you couldn’t handle- being mostly made up of elemental energy and cables gave you a pretty resistant body- so his change in attitude only irritated you more than it hurt. His hands, usually covered by surgical gloves, would lack the latex material to move aside your plates, leaving fingerprints all over the sides and corners. You voiced your annoyance with his behavior but, in normal Il Dottore fashion, he simply disregarded your complaints. 

Today was no exception; you had just come back from a trip in Liyue, exploring the depths of the Chasm and underground mines, and came back to his lab covered in that gross, dark goo. You weren’t experiencing any side effects from the substance thankfully, still, the doctor argued that there had to be something wrong somewhere. The dirt stuck to your clothes and had no intentions of coming off when you rubbed at it (you considered bugging the Regrator to pay for a new outfit because there was no way you were going to lose your hard-earned mora just because a hilichurl decided to fling a handful of that filthy mud at you), but that was the extent of your problems. You kept insisting to the doctor that you were fine, that you just needed a good, long, scalding hot shower to scrape the dirt off of your artificial skin, but he just wouldn’t let it go. 

You had taken off your overcoat, the extra layer being in the way of his handiwork and had tossed it somewhere on his desk in petty revenge. He paid no mind to the small mess you made of his workspace, his attention purely on you- or rather, his attention purely on a stubborn stain on the bottom of your neck, trickling down to your collarbone, stopping right before your inner layer of clothes. Right where that damn hilichurl had struck you. 

“Do I need to send a segment with you every time you go out or will you stop putting yourself in situations where you get all fucked up and have to crawl back to me?” he grumbles dramatically under his breath, loudly enough for you to hear. Purposely. 

With your head thrown back, tilted away from him to allow him the space to open up your neck panel to clean your inside system from the goo that had seeped through the cracks, you can do nothing but groan in annoyance, done with his passive aggressive comments demeaning your competency. 

“You keep saying that, but I doubt you or your clones would be able to keep up with me. All you ever do is stay holed up in your lab. How would a hermit possibly be of help to me?” you huff, staring up at the ceiling.  

Suddenly, you feel your hand clench and twitch repeatedly and you wince in discomfort. Glancing down, you see Dottore’s unamused and irritated gaze boring into you as he pinches the wire in your mechanism responsible for hand movement, a silent threat for you to tone down your attitude. 

“What? It’s true!” you double down stubbornly, smacking his fingers away from you with your free hand. He scoffs, irritated, but doesn’t respond. He had better things to do than to prove himself to you, anyways. While he sulks, you bring your (previously twitching) hand up to the light, rolling your wrist and wriggling your fingers to make sure he didn’t damage anything. 

“Next time I’ll just ask one of your clones to patch me up if you’re so pissed that I come see you when I get back from my trips,” you scoff, placing both hands flat on the vivisection table you were sitting on, leaning on them as you look at him with a raised brow. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, his jaw clenching as he straightens his back, looking (glaring) back at you. 

“Don't,” he says simply, taking a step towards you and bringing his hands back up to your throat to finish the job he had started earlier- getting rid of that pesky mud. 

You feel the atmosphere shift as clear as day. You may not be human, but you were pretty in-tune with emotions and how they worked; which was why you were even more confused as to why the Harbinger was acting this way. Tilting your head back to let him do what he was doing just a few minutes ago, you break the tense silence. 

“Then stop being on my case,” you huff, closing your eyes to let him do what he had to do. You hear him hum in response and hold back the urge to scoff at him and his childish antics. 

Dottore diligently and silently cleans the crevices of your neck and throat, nimble fingers fixing damaged wires and placing things back where they should be so everything is in order once more. With his usual mask absent, his face was impossibly close to your throat, almost inside of your puppet body as he studied how you worked. Instead of blood flowing through veins and creating a pulse, you had electro energy flowing through you, mimicking the veins you lacked. When you inhaled, a weak wave of energy would flow up the left side of your body, and when you exhaled it would go back down, and rinse and repeat. Dottore watched the process, pensive, while you stared at nothing, bored out of your mind. 

“Are you done yet?” you ask quietly, legs itching to hop off the metal table. Dottore stays quiet for longer than usual, lost in thought. 

In a flash, he puts his entire hand beneath your chest from the opening in your neck. His fingers brush something rubber-y in texture, digging deeper between your chest plate and the mess of cables mimicking a spine. You make a garbled noise of surprise, roughly pulled out of your thoughts and yank his hand out, face flushed with embarrassment and something akin to fury (but not quite). 

“What the fuck was that?!” you hiss, hand still holding his wrist firmly. Dottore watches the way his hand prickles with electro as it fades in the air, his eyebrows furrowed and expression indecipherable. Crimson eyes flicker back up to meet yours. You can't help the shudder that passes through your body, swallowing a lump in your throat nervously from the intensity of his gaze. 

“I wonder how your body would react if you were injected with hydro energy,” he murmurs to himself, still staring right at you. “Would you let me find out?” he asks, voice slightly louder than before. 

“Would you let me do more than just observe your inner machinery?” he asks. The Harbinger takes a step forward. 

“Would you let me toy with you?” 

Dottore, now staring down at your sat figure, carried an aura you couldn’t decipher. With his body blocking the overhead lighting, it almost looked like his hair was reflecting the buzzing fluorescent lights of his lab, icy hair surrounding his head like a gentle halo. You feel your mouth get dry, rendered unable to respond. 

“Only come to me. I’ll learn how your body works, inside and out. No one is to see you like this,” he whispers, face eerily still. “Not even my segments. I’ll behead them in front of you if need be.” 

Dottore held his face mere inches away from yours, his ragged breath tickling your cheeks as it made the stray strands of hair flutter. Your eyes never left his, not even when he brought one hand up to your face, sliding across your cheek to tangle itself into your hair while his other hand glid across the cables inside your chest cavity in uncharacteristic fondness. Though his fingers were gentle and soft, his eyes didn’t betray the flicker of something sinful. 

“Would you like that? To be able to study their innards,” he says in a sickly-sweet tone. You study his face; his eyes, usually swimming with irritation and contempt, held a hint of something akin to devotion. 

“Let me study yours. Let me pull you apart completely and then put you back together. I’m not satisfied with simply looking anymore,” he hisses, eyes widening. “I want to mark you from the inside. So let me.” 

You couldn’t find the will to protest. 

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Doctor's Assistant chapter 1

Note: inspired by a request from @sigtryggrswifey.

Warnings: none (yet).

pairing: Doctor!Sihtric x Assistant!Reader/You (f) (x Doctor!Sigtryggr).

summary: Two doctors opened a new practice, and you are their assistant.

wordcount: 3,3k

Masterlist

The new practice.

You had been a doctor's assistant at the same practice for many years when you got the news that you were to be transferred to a new practice at the other side of town. Somewhat reluctantly you had agreed to the transfer, not really wanting to give up the practice you had grown fond of and familiar with all the doctors and their patients, but you also knew it was time for a change too. You were told the two doctors at the new practice were young and eager, unlike the old and somewhat grumpy doctors you had worked many years for. So you looked forward to your new workplace after a bittersweet goodbye at your old place.

After a well deserved break of two weeks, you found yourself staring up at the new building where you would spend most of your week from today forward. You felt nervous and excited. You wondered what kind of patients you would get to meet here and how busy it would be, since it was a new practice. But you mainly wondered what the two doctors would be like, since you knew nothing about them and had no idea what they even looked like or what their names were. You also worried if you would fit in, as some doctors look down on their assistants and treat them like garbage.

The things you did know was that the three of you were all new at this practice, but you all had years of work experience already. And with that knowledge you walked up the narrow stairs to the second floor, where the first thing you saw was your new workspace: the front desk. The entire place was so new that it was squeaky clean, and you wondered if the painfully bright white paint had fully dried, as you could still smell it. You walked up to the front desk when you suddenly heard loud laughter emerge from a room on the right side, down a narrow hallway. You carefully walked over to where the two male voices continued to sound. Your heels clicked lightly on the wooden floor, and the voices suddenly stopped as you closed in on them. Then, before you could even knock on the door, you were startled as the door flung open and a tall man with bright blue eyes stared down at you. His hair was braided and the sides were shaved. He was wearing a black knitted sweater with black jeans and black boots underneath. He had a large scar on his face as well as a well kept goatee and moustache, and around his neck he wore a silver hammer pendant.

'Hi!' the impressive man said with a beaming smile, 'you must be our assistant.'

'I am,' you confirmed and shook hands with the tall, handsome man.

'My name is Doctor Ivarsson, but you can call me Sigtryggr,' he said, 'or Sig, since that's easier to pronounce.'

'O-okay,' you chuckled and introduced yourself while the doctor still held your hand in a firm handshake.

'Nice to meet you,' Sigtryggr smiled at you.

'Nice to meet you too,' you said and felt yourself suddenly become a little shy under his gaze.

'Okay, okay. Hurry up, prince charming,' the second voice you heard before sounded mockingly from inside the room, 'let her in, I want to see who we're dealing with too.'

Sigtryggr finally let go of your hand and beckoned you in the office as he held the door open for you. You stepped inside the room and laid eyes on the bearer of the second voice you had heard. Another stunning man looked up at you as he was seated behind a desk, and a cheeky yet sweet smile appeared on his face, which was also scarred, but more subtle than the other doctor's face. He also had a well kept goatee and moustache and, like Sigtryggr, he also had a hammer pendant around his neck, except his pendant was bronze instead of silver. His long, dark hair was tied back into a bun, and he wore a white shirt which left nothing to the imagination; the doctor was insanely muscular and well built, and you wondered if Sigtryggr was also that muscular underneath his cosy sweater.

'Ah,' the muscular doctor clicked his tongue and looked at Sigtryggr, 'now I understand what took you so long, trying to win her over already, huh?'

Sigtryggr smiled and shook his head while the other doctor got up and made his way over to you, and you felt your cheeks heat up a little.

'My lady,' the doctor said with a smooth, warm voice and held his hand out, 'I'm Doctor Kjartansson, but you can call me Sihtric,' he quickly looked over at Sigtryggr and then back at you, 'or Siht, if that's easier for you to pronounce,' he winked.

'Gods, you're such an ass,' Sigtryggr scoffed with a smile, while Sihtric grinned at you.

You shook Sihtric's hand as you chuckled and introduced yourself to him, his tattooed fingers also holding you in a firm but gentle grip.

'I like your eyes,' you blurted out as you looked up into Doctor Kjartansson's mismatched pair.

'Awh, thanks, sugar,' Sihtric smiled, then looked at Sigtryggr again, 'I think I won her over already.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Sigtryggr rolled his eyes, 'we'll see about that.'

'Who said I could be won over?' you taunted both men as you all sat down.

'Feisty lady, are we?' Sihtric hummed with a smile while he sat back and crossed his arms.

'You have no idea,' you snorted, making both men laugh.

'Well, let the games begin,' Sihtric grinned at you.

'Yeah, okay, anyway,' Sigtryggr cleared his throat and became serious, 'jokes aside, welcome,' he smiled again, 'we're glad to have you on our team. We were told you have a lot of experience and we heard nothing but good stories about you. We really need you to get this practice up and running smoothly. Of course, we already have some of our own clients who came with us when we moved to this practice but, as the whole place is new, we will still need time to adjust.'

'We take it that you have everything you need to get yourself settled at the front desk?' Sihtric asked and pulled his hair tie out, then raked his fingers seductively through his wild locks while he wetted his lips slowly with the tip of his tongue.

You wondered if the doctor knew how good looking he was, and if he was doing this on purpose.

'Y-yes,' you said as you tried not to stare at Sihtric's biceps, 'I, eh, I am ready to get started.'

'Good,' Sigtryggr smiled, 'then I say we get to work. If you need anything, darling, this is my office, and Sihtric's office is on the other side of your desk.'

'Sounds like I'm cosy in the middle then,' you joked.

'Cosy in the middle,' Sigtryggr nodded.

'Or,' Sihtric smirked and got up from his chair, 'you could be cosy in my office too.'

'I bet she'll be cosier in this office,' Sigtryggr retorted.

'I'm sure I will be cosy enough at my desk, guys,' you chuckled and got up.

Sihtric held the door open for you, and only then you truly noticed how comfortable he was dressed, with his black sweatpants and black sneakers underneath. You were amused and intrigued by the contrast between the two good looking doctors, but, as handsome as Sigtryggr was, you felt very much drawn to Sihtric, and you shyly walked past him out the door. He smiled at you and followed closely behind as you walked to the front desk, but not too close, as he took his time to check you out in those tight denim jeans with your black blouse on top.

'If you need anything,' Sihtric said as you got seated behind the front desk, 'you know where to find me, yeah?'

'I'm sure I'll be able to find you, yes,' you smiled.

'Are you sure?' Sihtric asked and leaned on your desk, 'I mean I could show you where my office is.'

'It's down this hall, right?' you teased, as if there was another hallway.

'It is, sugar,' Sihtric smiled and leaned in, 'you don't want to check out my office right now? It's nicer looking than Sig's.'

'Oh, really?' you feigned interest.

'Totally,' the doctor said with a smug face, 'come, I'll show you.'

You couldn't help but chuckle when you followed the less formally dressed doctor to his office, and you had to hold your laughter when Sihtric showed you his hyped up office, which was even more depressing looking than the other doctor's office. Sigtryggr had a few props in his office and a tiny plant on his desk, but Sihtric's office was… completely empty, except for his desk with a laptop, a phone, three chairs, and an examination couch.

'Oh, wow,' you snorted, 'oh, yeah, I absolutely love what you've done with the place.'

'Right?' Sihtric laughed, 'much cosier here, no?'

'For sure,' you nodded, 'but, eh, you don't want a fancy skeleton in here, like your rival has in his office?'

'That skeleton was actually mine,' Sihtric pouted and sat down in his comfy chair, 'Sig just stole it when we unpacked our stuff.'

'Geeze, fighting of skeletons and the assistant?' you mocked, 'you two must be very busy.'

'You should know,' Sihtric shrugged, 'you're in charge of our schedules.'

'Well, I'll make sure it's fully booked by the end of the day, doctor,' you chuckled and turned on your heels.

'You go and do that for me, sugar,' Sihtric grinned before you closed the door.

It felt like your first day at the new practice went by faster than you could blink. You enjoyed the constant bickering of both doctors when they had a moment to spare, and the rest of your week wouldn't be any different.

The next day you found the two men arguing at your desk as you climbed up the stairs, early in the morning.

'There she is, why don't we just ask her,' Sihtric said and skipped over to the stairs, 'good morning, sugar,' he smiled as he held his hand out to you and helped you up the last few steps of the stairs.

You fought a smile and felt a pleasant tingle in your body as you held Sihtric's big, warm hand. Today, your "favourite" doctor was dressed in a black hoodie with black jeans, while he was wearing yesterday's black sneakers. His long hair was braided today, which made him look so attractive, it made you lightheaded.

'Show off,' Sigtryggr coughed while Sihtric offered you his useless help up the stairs, 'and good morning to you, darling,' Sigtryggr, who was dressed in all black again too, smiled at you and was quick to hand you a cup of coffee he had bought for you on his way to the practice.

'Good morning, doctors,' you chuckled and shook your head while you got seated at the front desk, 'thanks for the coffee, Sig, that's really sweet.'

'See,' Sigtryggr elbowed Sihtric, 'I'm sweet.'

'Whatever,' Sihtric rolled his eyes, 'look, we have an important question.'

'Oh?' you frowned and sipped your hot drink.

'If you have to pick,' Sigtryggr began.

'Between the two of us,' Sihtric continued, 'who would you rather date?'

You stared at both men and grimaced while they gave you their sweetest smiles and puppy dog eyes, as they both leaned with their elbows on your high desk.

'You guys can't be serious,' you snorted, 'really?'

'Really,' Sihtric said.

'We're very serious,' Sigtryggr added.

'God, eh,' you chuckled and felt your cheeks heat up, 'how can I possibly choose between my two favourite doctors?'

'Oh, you have to, lady,' Sihtric smiled and leaned in closer, 'it's a life or death situation, sugar.'

'Oh, come on,' you sighed and sat back, 'fine… I'll save both and date both of you.'

'What?' Sigtryggr frowned, 'no, that's not an option.'

'No, you can't pick both,' Sihtric agreed and turned to Sigtryggr, 'look, she'd totally date me, but she just doesn't want to hurt your feelings.'

'Oh, please,' Sigtryggr scoffed, 'as if she'd date a guy with that haircut.'

'There is nothing wrong with my haircut,' Sihtric looked offended, 'it's almost like yours, but better.'

'Better? You mean worse?' Sigtryggr teased, 'because you look like a homeless person when it's loose, I don't.'

'Hey, the ladies find it very sexy when my hair is all loose and wild,' Sihtric said firmly.

'Ladies? What ladies? When was the last time you took a girl home?' Sigtryggr provoked.

'Listen, I'll give you a new scar that will match the one on your face if you keep going,' Sihtric jokingly threatened.

'Fine by me,' Sigtryggr shrugged, 'then our lovely assistant here can patch me up, ain't that right, darling?' he looked at you, and you tried to come up with anything to say.

'She won't have time for that because she'll be out on a date with me,' Sihtric snapped back and then looked at you, 'ain't that right, sugar?' he smiled.

'I… eh,' you stammered. 

But before you could continue, the phone on your desk rang.

'Okay,' you then laughed and waved the two doctors off, 'someone here has to actually do their job.'

'That's right,' Sihtric smiled, 'and you,' he nudged Sigtryggr's shoulder, 'stop talking to my future wife.'

'Your what?' you giggled as you reached for the phone while Sihtric shoved Sigtryggr to his office.

'You heard me,' Sihtric said as he looked back over his shoulder and winked.

You tried to collect your thoughts again as you answered the phone, and your ridiculous nerves became less as a few minutes passed. But when Sihtric walked past your desk to his own office, he winked at you with a sly smile, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat for a second. The pretty boy doctor, with his fine haircut, made you nervous like no one else had ever done before. And once you simply accepted the fact that you definitely had a crush on him, it only got worse. It also didn't help that an hour before lunchtime he came over to the front desk, and sat down in the chair next to you while you answered the phone. You felt your cheeks heat up when Sihtric rolled the chair closer to yours, and you tried your hardest to not let him see your slightly trembling hands as you added an appointment to the other doctor's schedule in the computer.

'So,' Sihtric smiled and leaned in once you hung up the phone, 'what would you like for lunch, sugar?'

'For lunch?' you blinked, 'I, eh, I brought my own lunch. I always do.'

'Oh,' Sihtric said, a little disappointed and leaned back in the chair.

'Why?'

'Well, I wanted to buy my future wife lunch,' he shrugged.

'You're not his future wife!' Sigtryggr yelled with a laugh from his office, down the hall.

'Hey! Stop talking to my future wife!' Sihtric snarled, just as a patient stepped out of the elevator.

Sihtric froze and cleared his throat, then bit down a grin while he watched you help the old and rather confused patient to Sihtric's boring office. When you made your way back to the front desk, you met Sihtric in the narrow hallway, and he stopped you by trailing his fingers down your arm, to grab your hand gently.

'Think about what you want for lunch, okay, sugar?' Sihtric said softly with a sweet smile, 'you can pick anything, I'm buying.'

'What about Sig?' you asked, quietly.

'He eats lunch on the road when he prepares to go on house visits,' Sihtric almost whispered and leaned in as he lightly stroked your hand with his thumb, 'it'll be just us, if you don't mind?'

'Oh, I see. No, I- I don't mind,' you whispered.

'Good,' Sihtric smiled and bit down on his lip, then stepped back as he reluctantly let go of your hand.

Just when Sigtryggr left the building, your lunch was delivered, and Sihtric sprinted up the stairs with the delivery in his arms after he had locked the entrance door. During your lunch break, which lasted an hour, the practice was closed and only emergency phone calls were answered, which were rare. You ate your salad while Sihtric ate a slice of pizza, followed by two chicken wraps.

'That's a healthy meal,' you chuckled.

'What?' the doctor frowned, 'there's lettuce in this wrap.'

'Oh, so healthy,' you teased, 'such a good example you are.'

'Hey,' Sihtric nudged your shoulder and smiled, 'watch it, lady.'

'Or what?'

'Or I'll pin you down on my examination couch and we'll see how healthy you are,' he taunted.

'Sure, because that's how it works,' you laughed and finished your salad.

'Well, I can surely check your heartbeat and stamina that way,' Sihtric winked.

'Fine,' you shrugged, 'you'll find out I'm perfectly healthy then.'

'Oh, will I?'

'Yep,' you smiled and cleaned your desk up as Sihtric finished his food too.

You got up to throw away the bag and empty wrappers in the trash, and walked into the little kitchen to make yourself and Sihtric some coffee. The doctor followed you and washed his hands while you leaned back against the kitchen counter.

'Are you single, sugar?' Sihtric asked bluntly, 'I know we taunt a lot, but we never even asked about your relationship status.'

'Eh, yeah,' you chuckled, 'I am. You?'

'Of course, lady,' Sihtric smiled, 'what kind of a guy would I be if I'd tease you all day while I have a woman at home?'

'You'd be a pretty common guy,' you grimaced.

'Well,' Sihtric stepped closer and towered over you, almost trapping you between his body and the kitchen counter, 'I'm not a common guy, sugar,' he whispered.

His duo coloured eyes darted over your face, and you felt yourself swallow hard as your own eyes trailed down to his lips, which he licked as he hummed, and you quickly looked back up into his eyes again.

'But you don't want a common guy, do you?' he spoke softly with a half smile, then leaned with both hands on the kitchen counter, locking you between his strong arms, 'hm?' he hummed.

'I don't,' you agreed, as you felt his warm breath on your lips.

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed again, amused, 'we still have about twenty minutes,' he whispered and smiled cheekily, 'how about that examination?'

You wanted nothing more than to be dragged into his office and pinned down on that couch by him, but you did want to be unprofessional, or risk anyone walking in on you or simply hearing you. You also wanted to get to know Sihtric a little better before you gave in to his charms, no matter how badly you wanted to grab his face and kiss him. This was only the second day you worked with him, you'd be a fool to mess around this soon already and risk your job.

'Actually,' you smiled, and teasingly trailed your fingers down his muscular arms, 'I think your schedule is fully booked for today, doctor.'

Sihtric brushed his lips lightly over yours, which made you lightheaded and exhale sharply, which was exactly the sound Sihtric needed to hear, and he understood your hint. Now he knew that you were clearly interested in him, and maybe even desperate for him, he was in no rush to get in your pants. He enjoyed a chase and a tease, and he knew he was going to enjoy this game when Sigtryggr would also seek out his chances with you. But Sihtric already knew he had nothing to worry about, as he had already seen that the way you looked at Sigtryggr was way different than the way you looked at him.

'Unfortunately, I think you're right,' Sihtric breathed, his lips almost touching yours, 'but, just in case you ever need a house visit outside of working hours, sugar,' he smiled, 'I think you should save my private number.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn

[writeyouin]

Hi :D Can you do a Mirage x a fem reader were the reader has a crush on Mirage but she does not know how to tell him because he is a autobot and she is a human and is nervous of how he will react? (Sorry if this is cringe 😅) (fell free to add whatever you want if you want to :)

Mirage X Reader – A Knight in Metal Plating

A/N – So, this story turned a wee bit angsty. Still, I hope it’s to your liking.

Warnings – Minor attack on reader, which is thwarted by Mirage but does come off somewhat creepy.

Rating – T

New York City was large and somewhere you felt wholly out of your depth. The alleys seemed darker and more dangerous than those in other places, except apparently to the natives who were used to traversing the city quickly via said alleys. The streets were either far too loud and bustling with people, or eerily quiet in a manner that set off warning bells that something sinister might be lurking just out of sight in the shadows. Then, there were the con artists, thugs, and petty thieves who all managed to hide in plain sight.

Fortunately for you, there were also Autobots hiding in plain sight, and they could only be spotted by those who knew what they looked like when disguised as ordinary vehicles. Mirage, one of said Autobots, had taken to waiting outside your workspace so he could drive you home on late nights. He couldn’t understand how you felt unsafe after braving the fight against Galvatron’s forces, but he supported you in your plight anyway, vowing to do whatever he could to make you feel safe.

You smiled when you saw him, walking a little taller and prouder. Mirage was one of the few people who made you happy. He was sweet, kind, funny, and… you were totally in love with him. How could you not be? He had risked his life to save you, Noah, and Elena. Then, you had gone through the shock of witnessing what you believed was his death at the time.

You remembered that day all too well. You were stuck with Noah beneath Mirage’s chassis, and his optics had softened despite how much pain he was in. He didn’t care for his own life. Only of yours and Noah’s as he protected the two of you, breaking his body down to nothing more than spare parts which he gifted to Noah as armour.

After that, you were left in Bumblebee’s care, a final request by Mirage before he briefly shut down.

As far as you were concerned, Mirage was never allowed to scare you like that again, and you had told him so immediately after Noah managed to bring him back online.

You got to the car door and were about to greet Mirage when you heard a voice holler, “Hey baby, how about a ride in a real car.”

You turned shakily around hoping that the voice was addressing someone else, anyone else, even though you and the heckler were the only two people in the parking lot. Sure enough, the man was coming towards you. He looked a lot like Noah’s friend Reek, though he lacked the mischievous manner and kind eyes that Reek possessed.

This man was a stranger, a threat to you and he was suddenly only a few feet away. You backed up against Mirage, the cool steel of his door handle pressing against the small of your back. You felt a light indistinct rumble of his engine. The rumble was a message; he was there for you, and he was angry at the intruder.

The man stopped in front of you, humming appreciatively, “Or we could forget the car and you could ride me.”

“I- I have to go,” You stammered.

Even though Mirage was right there with you, you knew he wasn’t supposed to be seen and you didn’t want him to have to blow his cover for you.

“Go? But we’ve only just met. Where do you have to go that’s so important?”

“I’m- seeing someone.”

“No surprise someone so fine isn’t on the market. But whatever happens here, in this place, that’s just between you and me baby.”

You shivered at the malice in the man’s voice. There was no room for interpretation. Unless you or Mirage acted, he was going to take what he wanted from you.

He reached out to grab you, and you ducked out of the way, almost tripping over, though you managed to recover using Mirage’s front bonnet for support. Your harasser pursued you, but Mirage opened his front door hard, slamming into your assailant.

He grunted and fell to the floor, “What the fuck?!”

You didn’t wait for him to recover as you ran to the driver’s side of the car, getting in hurriedly and pulling the seatbelt over you.

“Want me to run him over?” Mirage asked you, revving his engines.

You shook your head curtly, the idea of any bloodshed making you nauseous.

“I just want to go home,” You whispered.

“Rodger that.”

You heard the screech of wheels as Mirage stayed on the spot, pumping his brakes to build-up the speed he would need for a dramatic take-off.  He opened his passenger door again, hitting your attacker square in the face before leaving. If that guy wanted to harm his human, then he would have to deal with the consequences.

Once safe, Mirage waited a while for you to talk, but it soon became clear that you weren’t planning to.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You shook your head, then realised you weren’t sure whether he could see you when you were inside his vehicle mode. “I- I wasn’t prepared for that… If you weren’t here-”

“I was here (Y/N),” Mirage said supportively.

“But if you weren’t-”

“No, don’t think like that. I’ll always be here for you.”

“You can’t always be where I need you, Mirage. It’s not fair on you. You have a life too.”

Mirage thought about his life before he met you. It was a lot of hiding, and no good conversation since Optimus never wanted him to do anything that drew attention to him or the other Autobots. Essentially, you were his escape from a life with the tight-asses. You gave him someone to talk to, and you laughed at his jokes. You went with him to new places, directing him on where to go, and despite the strange circumstances under which you met, you had never feared him, trusting him intimately in a way he never knew a human could.

Moreover, you had a huge crush on him. He had known for a long time, but for a while, he waited to see if you would make a move. He wanted you to, hoping that he could take the opportunity to brag about how great he was and then, when the moment was perfect, kiss you. Yet, the often-neglected mature part of his processor also held him back, for as enchanting as a relationship with you would be, there was always a chance that he and the others would have to leave Earth at some point; despite the quietness of the previous years, the war still waged on somewhere out there, and the Decepticons were no pushovers.

Suddenly feeling sorry for himself, Mirage made a quick U-Turn, cutting off several now furious drivers who beeped their horns at him and swore out of their windows in equal measure.

Your shoulder slammed hard against the door and you hissed in pain.

“Mirage, what’s going on?” You asked worriedly as you rubbed at the sore spot.

“We’re going to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” You asked incredulously. “What do we have to celebrate?”

“The world is still here, we know each other. It’s a nice night, and you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

You flushed red like you always did when he complimented you offhandedly. You wanted to take it in your stride but it was difficult to when you knew that was just Mirage’s nature and there was likely no real desire behind his words.

“Okay, now you say something nice about me,” Mirage wheedled.

You couldn’t help smiling at his attempt to coax a compliment from you, “You’re my knight in metal plating.”

“And…?”

“And you’re totally smoking hot,” You laughed.

“And…?”

“And the second-best driver that I’ve ever met.”

“What?” Mirage sputtered. “Second? No way, I’ve got the wheels, the heels, and nobody can beat me in a race.”

“I’ve seen you race Bumblebee and lose. When you beat him around the warehouse, I will concede that you’re the best driver I’ve ever met but until then,” You tsked, “I’m afraid that you’re only second best.”

“I’ll show you second best.” Mirage pumped the accelerator, using his energon boosters to break any speed limit that human cars could set. Only a short while later, you and he were in the middle of nowhere, far outside the city on a relatively unused rural road.

Mirage opened his door for you, transforming immediately afterwards.

“Whew,” He stretched his arm across his chassis, “Alright, so this second-best business has to stop. I’m your hero, your top-notch bot, your número uno hombre.”

“If you say so,” You smiled, setting the pace for a leisurely walk through the woods. Although it was late at night and dark, you felt safer in the small wooded area than you did in the city. Old leaves crunched under your feet and Mirage kept himself to a slow walk so he wouldn’t overtake you.

He was glad to see you relaxing again, and even happier to see that he’d managed to bring your smile back. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he could make you both equally ecstatic. It would be corny, oh man, would it be corny. All he would have to tell you was that he knew how to be your number one, and when you demanded to know how he would kiss you and reply that he was the only one who could take your breath away.

And yet, he couldn’t bear to do so. It was better for you to find mediocrity in your life rather than true happiness if it meant avoiding the difficulties of an inter-species relationship where you would constantly have to worry about the future. Mirage hoped you would see it the same way because there might one day come a time when you confessed your feelings for him, and if you did, he wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer. He would be yours forever more, and frankly, that terrified him.

Like you had said, he was your Knight in Metal Plating, but wasn’t the irony of knights that they often had to leave their loves when an important quest came along? Mirage didn’t ever want to leave you, but if he ever had to, he feared the tearful goodbye. He had promised to be there for you, but who would be there for him when you inevitably no longer needed him or found someone who you could spend your time with? Someone human moreover.

Frankly, Mirage didn’t know what he wanted as he walked by your side, stealing furtive glances in your direction. He wanted to be yours, yet contrarily for you to stay away from him. He wanted you to be with someone who could love you as you deserve to be loved, but to avoid that kind of spark-ache, he would rather see you alone. He wanted you to tell him how you felt, yet also remain silent. Ultimately, he just wished for you to stay in his life.

When it came to you, Mirage couldn’t make up his mind, but that was the curse of love; it was a fickle mistress of the heart.

[fanfics4world]

Chapter 3 - Tea and confessions

Daniel, the White Knight, was returning to the castle after a long mission. His armour glittered in the moonlight, and his white cloak billowed with every firm step he took.

As he reached the castle gates, Daniel noticed unusual activity. The guards seemed more tense than usual, and the atmosphere was charged with a palpable unease.

As he rounded the corner, he found two guards guarding the kitchen door; he knew it was Skye, for the kitchen was one of the few places where the princess found peace and calm in the palace. Their stances were rigid, and their gazes watchful. Daniel stopped in front of them, his presence imposing and his gaze steady.

"Good evening, knights. You can retire to rest. I'll take it from here"

The guards exchanged glances, hesitating for a moment.

"Sire, the Queen has ordered us to watch the princess wherever she goes"

Daniel nodded, understanding the situation. "I understand, but I'll take care of it. The princess is safe with me"

The guards finally relented, bowing their heads in respect before retreating. Daniel watched them walk away, making sure no one else was left in the hallway. Then he walked over to the kitchen door and carefully opened it.

The kitchen of the White Kingdom was a place of breathtaking beauty and elegance. The walls were lined with white marble, with grey veins that seemed to dance in the light of the crystal chandeliers. The floor, also of marble, reflected the light of the chandeliers, creating a luminous and serene atmosphere. The countertops were of an even purer marble, immaculate and gleaming, as if they had never been touched by human hands.

Cabinets, white wood carved with intricate floral designs, lined the walls, providing a delicate contrast to the marble. The cabinet handles were silver, polished to shine like little mirrors. In the centre of the kitchen, a large marble island served as a workspace, surrounded by high stools with white velvet cushions.

The air was permeated with the scent of fresh herbs and spices, stored in glass jars lined up on open shelves. Copper and stainless steel cooking utensils hung neatly from hooks on the wall, ready for use. The kitchen was a place of constant activity, but at the moment, it was silent except for the soft crackle of the fire in the fireplace.

Skye was sitting at one of the tables, her head resting on her hands. The calm of the kitchen was a haven for her, a place where she could escape the stresses of the palace. But her peace was interrupted when she heard the door open.

"I strictly asked not to be disturbed"

"You don't even want to greet your knight?"

Skye lifted her head, and upon seeing Daniel, a smile tugged at her lips. "Daniel, you're back" she said, but Daniel immediately noticed the mark on her cheek, a sign of the recent altercation with her mother. His expression hardened.

Everyone in the palace had witnessed, at one time or another, the White Queen's treatment to her daughter. Servants whispered in the corridors, and guards exchanged sympathetic glances when they saw Skye. The pressure of being the perfect heiress had scarred her soul, and at times, her body as well.

Daniel approached her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What happened?"

Skye averted her gaze, trying to hide her pain. "It's nothing, Daniel. Just another argument"

Daniel vividly remembered the day the Queen knighted him as Skye's knight. At first, the princess barely spoke to him, keeping a cool, reserved distance. Over time, however, Daniel managed to break through that barrier, showing Skye that he didn't care about the perfection everyone expected of her. In him, Skye found a friend, someone who accepted her imperfections and valued her for who she really was. 

Now, Daniel felt caught in a whirlwind of helplessness. His mission as a knight was to protect Skye at all costs, but how could he protect her from the same person to whom he had sworn loyalty?

The next day, Bridget's mind couldn't stop flashing back to her nighttime encounter with Skye. 

How they danced to the music, how their bodies seemed to coordinate in a magical way, and how they were about to share their first kiss.

In that instant, Bridget let herself be carried away by the impulse, by that invisible thread that pulled her lips to Skye's, who didn't seem to dislike the idea either. And then the Cheshire cat appeared, Bridget couldn't help but smile at the look on Skye's face, clearly disappointed by the interruption.

And then came the promise of a second meeting, at the place where they first met, which made Bridget excited.

What are you planning Skye?

"What gardens is your mind stuck in, sweetheart?"

Bridget snapped out of her thoughts at her mother's question, blushing. "Nothing I was just thinking about the dance yesterday mum," Bridget replied. Her mother smiled.

"I guess it all went well in the end," said her mother and a big smile formed on Bridget's face. "It was amazing! You should have seen her mum, she looked spectacular, everything was just spectacular" Bridget replied excitedly, which warmed her mother's heart.

"Well, you'll have to introduce me to that secret date you're so excited about, it would be a pleasure to meet her," Bridget's smile faltered for a moment, she looked at her mother, whose gaze reflected something Bridget couldn't quite identify, as if she already knew about Skye. No, Bridget shook her head dismissing the thought, it wasn't possible.

"Yeah... I'm sure you'll love it..." Bridget replied, trying to sound as normal as possible. Her mother wanted to meet her date, she wanted to meet Skye. There was no possible way this was going to end well, what was she supposed to say to her when they saw her, it was clear that Skye's appearance, her pale skin, her white hair, did not belong to a citizen of the Kingdom of Hearts.

"Mom this is Skye, the daughter of the White Queen, your greatest enemy, I met her in the forest near the border, as she likes to cross the wall and enter our kingdom" and also, "I invited her to your ball and we danced in front of the pond, she sneaked into the castle avoiding the guards and tomorrow I'm meeting her again"

There was no possible way Bridget would dare tell her mother the truth about Skye's identity.

"That's why I wanted to ask your permission, to meet her tomorrow, and I would like to well, be able to be with her without the guards" she said, Bridget didn't dare sneak out of the castle, she would rather risk asking her mother for the favour of leaving the castle unescorted.

Her mother frowned, she clearly didn't like her daughter's request, but she seemed to be mulling over her decision. "I don't know sweetheart, I don't like the idea of you leaving the castle unguarded, it could be dangerous" replied her mother, Bridget pouted.

"Please mum" Bridget pleaded. "We can't both be comfortable if I have guards following us, I want us both to be able to spend time alone" 

Her mother watched her carefully, her eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and understanding. She already knew the truth, she had stepped out into the garden for a moment to get some fresh air, when she saw her daughter dancing with a young girl. 

She watched from a distance, hidden in the shadows. Her gaze hardened as she recognised Skye White, the daughter of her enemy, in her castle, in her kingdom. The initial impulse was to call the guards and have her caught immediately. But something stopped her.

As the two young women danced, her mother noticed the way they looked at each other, how their bodies moved in perfect synchronicity, as if they were made for each other. The hardness in her heart began to soften as she saw the glint of love in her daughter's eyes. As much hatred and resentment as she held for the White Queen, she could not ignore the happiness that radiated from Bridget in that moment.

Her mother knew she could not blame Skye for her mother's actions. She decided, in that instant, to prioritize her daughter's happiness over her own bitterness. However, she promised herself that if Skye hurt Bridget, she would not hesitate to act.

"All right, you have my permission, but I want you back at the palace by dinnertime"

Bridget's face lit up. She stood up, rounded the dining room table and hugged her mother tightly. "Thank you!" she said before letting go of her mother and running to her room, as her mother smiled warmly.

I hope for your sake Skye that you know how to appreciate my daughter.

After the conversation with her mother, time seemed to pass faster for Bridget, so much so that night had already fallen over Wonderland.

Bridget was about to crawl into bed when she heard three knocks on the balcony door of her room, confused, she approached the glass door, only to discover that on the other side was a floating envelope.

Bridget opened the door and the envelope came into the room.

"Special delivery for the princess," Bridget was surprised when the Cheshire cat appeared in front of her, holding the envelope.

"It's you," Bridget said, the cat's smile grew bigger, which made Bridget's skin crawl for a second.

"I'm Chessur, but you can call me Chess. Skye asked me to deliver this letter to you," he said, Bridget took the envelope, and in a second, Chessur disappeared, leaving a faint trail of smoke.

Bridget sat down on her bed and looked at the letter, it looked like a normal envelope, except that it was stamped with a seal with the initials SW. Bridget opened the envelope and read the contents of the letter.

Princess,

I hope Chess didn't disturb you too much by delivering this letter, I would have liked to tell you in person, but my mother has me under the watchful eye of her guards, and I couldn't risk crossing the border.

About our meeting tomorrow, meet me half an hour before the clock strikes teatime.

I want to see you again already.

Skye.

"I realise you love adventure and danger, but this is too much, even for you Skye"

Skye couldn't help but roll her eyes at Tarrant's response. She doesn't even know why for a moment she trusted Chess not to say anything, but he did, and as a result, she was now being sermonised by the Mad Hatter.

She and Daniel had gone to visit him at his home, Tarrant lived on the outskirts of town, far from the people and the perfection the queen demanded. That was one of the many reasons he quickly became friends with the rebellious princess, they both defied the written rules, but Skye was happy that her mother allowed Tarrant to be outside of her perfection, even if she sometimes envied it.

Tarrant's workshop was filled with hats of all shapes and sizes, and the air smelled of tea and madness.

Not a minute had passed since the tea had been served that he began to sermonise to her. Skye took a sip of her tea before looking out the window at the 5 chess soldiers keeping watch outside the workshop.

"First of all, keep your voice down please. If they hear you, my mother will find out and I may as well be dead, Tarrant. You don't understand what this means to me," he said. Tarrant stopped his frantic pacing and sat down in his usual chair next to Skye.

"You're okay with this?", Tarrant looked at Daniel, who remained standing next to Skye despite attempts to get him to sit down to make himself more comfortable. 

Daniel sighed. When Skye filled him in on the latest events in her life, he didn't even know why he was surprised. He knew Skye too well to know that despite her constant pursuit of danger, she wouldn't go into such danger if she didn't think it was worth it. To him Skye's happiness was above any oath or duty as a knight, and he knew Skye would not find happiness in the White Kingdom.

"Even if I didn't agree, Hatter. Do you think even I could do anything to stop it?" he replied, which made Skye smile innocently, as if it wasn't her life at stake.

"Skye, I know living here is complicated, especially with your mother and her rules, but seriously. Of all the people you could date, the princess of hearts? It's bad enough that I have to have your back on your escapades across the border," she said, picking up her teacup, which was shaking from her nerves. Skye sighed.

"You can't tell anyone Tarrant, it's bad enough I have to let Chess know" Skye asked, Tarrant watched her, hesitating about what to do.

"Skye, this is very serious, much more serious than crossing the border"

Tarrant looked at her with concern. "I should warn your mother. She needs to know"

Skye could feel Daniel tense beside her, even he was unable to imagine what the queen would do to Skye if she discovered the truth, and if to protect her she had to.... Well, eliminate some trouble. He wouldn't hesitate to do so. 

"No, Tarrant. If my mother finds out, it's all over. She'll never let me leave the castle again"

Tarrant frowned, clearly conflicted. "Why is it so important to you, Skye?"

"What I feel with Bridget is nothing I've ever felt before. It's something real. I feel like I'm finally in control of something in my life. I can't lose this, Tarrant"

He watched her silently, seeing the sincerity in her eyes. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "All right, Skye. I'll keep your secret, but if this is serious, you'd better start thinking about how you're going to tell your mother that her daughter's mother-in-law is the Queen of Hearts"

Skye couldn't help but laugh, no doubt that wouldn't be easy, but she was content to keep it a secret for the time being. "Thank you, Tarrant. You'll meet her tomorrow. I'll bring her over so we can all have tea together"

Tarrant smiled, though his concern did not entirely disappear. "I hope you know what you're doing, Skye"

Skye nodded, determined. "I know, Tarrant. I know"

Bridget walked briskly through the forest near the border, her heart pounding. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the trees, creating a play of light and shadow on the stone path. The place where she had met Skye was just around the corner, and the princess couldn't help but smile at the thought of seeing her again.

The scent of spring flowers filled the air, and Bridget paused for a moment to inhale deeply. She remembered every detail of that encounter: Skye's laughter, her gaze shining, and the way her words had made the world seem brighter. She hadn't stopped thinking about her since.

When she arrived, however, she didn't find Skye alone. Beside her, a majestic white horse glistened in the sun, its silver armour glinting like stars in the night.

Bridget stared at the horse in awe. She had never seen such an imposing and beautiful creature. The combination of the armour and the purity of the white coat seemed like magic. Skye, with her mischievous smile, approached Bridget.

Bridget felt a knot in her stomach at the sight of the reddish mark on Skye's cheek. The princess of the White Kingdom, always so strong and confident, now showed a vulnerability Bridget had never seen before. Who could be capable of hurting Skye? 

Bridget felt a surge of protectiveness and affection for her. She wanted to hold her, to comfort her, and to make sure she never had to suffer again. The mark on Skye's cheek was a painful reminder that even the strongest people could be hurt, and Bridget was determined to stand by her side, no matter what.

"If I'd known Star would steal all your attention, I'd have thought twice about bringing her along," Skye said, a spark of amusement in her eyes. Bridget couldn't help but smile. 

The horse whinnied softly, as if it, too, recognised Bridget. The princess reached out to stroke its soft mane. "I never imagined I'd find something so beautiful here," she murmured.

Skye moved even closer, her hand brushing Bridget's. "Sometimes the most beautiful things are right in front of us," Skye said, which made Bridget blush. "Ready for a new adventure?"

Skye mounted the horse, waiting for Bridget. "The truth is...I don't know how to ride," Bridget confessed.

Skye smiled, holding out her hand to Bridget. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I won't let you fall" Bridget nodded, feeling the warmth of the promise in the palm of her hand.

Carefully, Skye helped Bridget onto the horse, placing her in front of her. The animal's white fur was soft under her trembling fingers. "Ready?" asked Skye.

Bridget nodded. The wind rustled through the leaves of the trees as the horse began to move.

"Now you must close your eyes, cupcake," said Skye, "otherwise the surprise will be spoiled"

Bridget obeyed. The world faded away, and only the sensation of the horse moving beneath her remained. Skye guided her expertly, and Bridget held on to her promise. 

The horse galloped into the hollow of the border, and Bridget smiled, allowing herself to relax and rest her back against Skye's chest, noticing how she smelled of vanilla and mint, an intoxicating mixture.

Time in the dark stretched like a silken thread, and Bridget felt uncertainty curl in her chest. The air grew colder, and the muffled sound of the horse's hooves echoed in her ears; they were picking up speed. 

Then Skye's voice broke the silence. "You can open your eyes now, princess"

Bridget blinked, her heart pounding. When her eyes met the light, her breath caught for the third time that week. 

The path of white roses stretched out before Bridget like a dreamy path. On either side, fields of white roses spread out as far as the eye could see.

The flowers, like snowflakes, rise on slender stems. Their soft, snowy petals catch the sunlight, creating an ethereal glow. Each rose seems a small universe unto itself: delicate, yet resilient. The intoxicating scent floats in the air, enveloping Bridget like a warm embrace.

The path meanders, inviting her to explore further. The roses intertwine, forming a white tapestry that seems to merge with the sky. Some are in full bloom, while others are still shyly awakening. The wind whispers secrets among the petals, and Bridget feels she has crossed into a kingdom where time fades.

"Welcome to the White Kingdom," Skye said, her voice soft as a caress.

Bridget could barely articulate words. "It's... it's beautiful," she whispered.

The white horse, guided by Skye, turned off the rose path and into a dense forest. The trees seemed to whisper ancient secrets, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a play of shadows on the ground.

The air grew cooler, and the sense of the unknown filled her with anticipation.

Finally, they emerged from the trees Before her stood a house shaped like a top hat, like something out of a twisted fairy tale. The roof was pitched, the windows of different sizes and shapes.

A place where time bent and normal rules didn't apply. The walls were painted in vibrant colours, and in the garden, a large table held teapots and singing cups. The scent of tea and madness hung in the air.

"I hope you don't mind if we have tea with some friends of mine before I show you my second surprise," said Skye getting off her horse. She held out her hand to help Bridget down. ""It would be my pleasure,"" she replied before taking Skye's hand and getting off the horse.

Skye led Bridget to the table, where Chessur, Tarrant and Daniel were waiting for her. Skye found the scene quite funny, Chessur was over Daniel's head, obviously trying to annoy him, Daniel had a look of wanting to make the cat disappear while Tarrant was busy making tea.

"Can't you even behave for a moment, Chess?" Skye said smirking. All three boys raised their heads to look at them. 

"Guys, this is Bridget. Bridget, this is Daniel, my knight, Tarrant, the mad hatter, and well, you know Chess," said Skye. Bridget raised a shy smile. Tarrant rose from the table, and removing his top hat, did a graceful curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you, your highness," he said. Bridget smiled, "No need for formalities, just Bridget," she said.

Tarrant nodded before going back to preparing the tea. "I hope you like mint tea, well, it's not like there are any other kinds of tea here either," Tarrant said before pouring the tea into five cups.

Skye guided Bridget to a white wooden chair next to hers. Daniel sat across from them, and as always, Tarrant presided over the table. 

Daniel watched Bridget with a mixture of distrust and curiosity. He had heard a lot about her, but seeing her in person was different. There was something about her presence that unsettled him, though he couldn't identify exactly what it was. However, he remembered Skye's words: Bridget was not a danger, and if she made her happy, he could only accept that.

Despite his reservations, Daniel decided to trust Skye's judgment. If she believed in Bridget, so should he. He watched as the two princesses interacted, noting the genuine connection between them. Though he still felt a slight mistrust, Daniel realized that his loyalty to Skye meant accepting Bridget into his life. And if that meant protecting her as well, he was willing to do that.

"Don't let Daniel intimidate you, despite his tough looks and that armor that shines too bright, he's a softie," Skye said, which made Bridget laugh. Daniel rolled his eyes.

"You Bridget, don't let Skye confuse you, despite looking tough on the outside, she's a softie" said Daniel, Skye smiled.

"We'll see if you say the same to my sword" challenged Skye.

"Anytime princess"

"Well, before this turns into a battlefield, let's have tea before it gets cold," said Tarrant.

The afternoon passed in a dreamy atmosphere in the Mad Hatter's House. The scent of freshly brewed tea filled the air, mingling with the sweet perfume of the white roses that surrounded the place.

Tarrant, with his trademark hat and mischievous smile, began to tell stories of Skye's childhood. "Did you know that Skye used to hide in the cupboards to avoid her lessons in manners?" he said, winking at Bridget. "Once, we found her asleep in the coats""

Bridget laughed, imagining a young Skye rebelling against the strict palace rules. Skye, her cheeks flushed, tried to defend herself. "That was a long time ago! And besides, the lessons were boring"

"What about the time you tried to ride Star and ended up in the pond?" continued Tarrant, laughing. "I've never seen someone so soaked and so happy at the same time"

Bridget couldn't contain her laughter. Each story revealed a more human and charming side of Skye, and her heart filled with warmth. Every second she spent with Skye, she felt her affection for her grow deeper and deeper.

After tea, Skye and Daniel decided to engage in a friendly sword duel. Bridget watched with interest as the two prepared. Daniel, with his firm stance and focused gaze, seemed a formidable opponent. But Skye, with her grace and agility, was no slouch.

The duel began, and the swords clashed with a metallic clang. Skye moved with impressive dexterity, dodging Daniel's attacks and striking back with precision. Bridget watched, marvelling at Skye's skill. Each move was graceful and calculated, and it soon became clear that Skye had the advantage.

Finally, with a quick twist, Skye disarmed Daniel, sending his sword crashing to the ground. "Admit I'm a better knight than you," Skye said, smiling triumphantly.

Daniel, though defeated, smiled respectfully. "You're the better knight"

Bridget felt a surge of admiration and love for Skye. Seeing her in action, so strong and confident, only reinforced her feelings. She wished these moments of happiness together with Skye would never end. In that instant, she knew she was falling in love with her, and that she would do anything to protect and be by her side.

Skye helped Tarrant and Chessur carry the cups and plates into the house. "I'll be back in a moment, cupcake," she said, winking at Bridget before disappearing behind the door.

Bridget was left alone with Daniel, feeling a slight discomfort in the air. Daniel watched her for a moment, his eyes serious but kind. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Do you love her?"

Bridget's face flushed instantly. She hadn't expected such a direct question. She looked down, fiddling nervously with her hands. "Yes," she admitted quietly, "I love her"

Daniel smiled, and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "Skye's life hasn't been easy in the White Kingdom. She's had to face a lot of hardships, but knowing she has someone like you by her side, someone who loves and supports her, gives me peace of mind"

Bridget looked up, meeting Daniel's eyes. In his expression, she saw a mixture of approval and relief. "I'll do everything I can to stand by her side and protect her," Bridget promised.

Daniel nodded, satisfied with her answer. "That's all I can ask. Skye deserves to be happy, and if you can give her that, then you have my support"

At that moment, Bridget felt a deeper connection with Daniel. She knew that, although he was protective and distrustful by nature, he also wanted what was best for Skye. And that united them in a common purpose: the happiness and well-being of the princess of the White Kingdom.

The white horse galloped gently, leading Skye and Bridget towards an unknown destination. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, tinting the sky with warm, golden hues. Bridget clung to the horse's mane, feeling the excitement and anticipation in her chest.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Bridget curiously.

Skye smiled, her eyes sparkling with mystery. "To a place where the roses touch the sky at sunset," she replied. "It's one of my favorite places in the whole kingdom"

Bridget nodded, feeling lucky to be there. The landscape changed as they went on: the trees became more spaced out, and the breeze carried with it the sweet scent of flowers. Finally, they reached the hill.

Before them lay a sea of white roses. Bridget climbed down from the horse, her feet sinking into the soft grass. Skye followed, and together they walked into the field of roses.

The sun was setting behind the mountains, painting the sky with shades of pink.

Skye sat down on the grass and then reached out her hand to Bridget. "Come here," she said. Bridget sat down next to her, resting her head in her lap. Skye stroked her hair, and Bridget closed her eyes, feeling at peace.

The world came down to the two of them. Bridget wished this moment would never end. Skye's closeness, the scent of flowers, and the softness of her caress enveloped her like a spell. 

"What will be the first thing you do when you become queen?" asked Skye, Bridget paused for a moment to think.

"I would like to unify the kingdoms"

Skye looked at Bridget with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Unify both kingdoms?" she repeated, as if considering the idea.

Bridget nodded, feeling a little braver. "The Kingdom of Hearts and the White Kingdom could be stronger together instead of apart"

Skye smiled, and her gaze grew more intense. "You know, Bridget," she said quietly. "To unify the kingdoms you would have to marry me"

Bridget felt her heart pounding. "And where would the problem be?" she asked, with a bravery she didn't know she had.

Skye looked at Bridget with a mixture of surprise and sadness. "Bridget," she said quietly, "you deserve someone better than me. Someone without so many scars"

Bridget felt as if her heart was in a fist. "No," she replied bravely, "I want you Skye. Scars and all. I don't care what baggage you bring. I'm willing to carry it with you, to face any challenge. Because what I feel for you is stronger than anything"

Skye was surprised, her eyes widening at Bridget's words. "I'm broken, I'm a lost cause. How could someone like you love someone like me?" she muttered, as if she couldn't believe it.

Bridget stepped a little closer, her determination shining in her eyes. "You're not a lost cause, Skye," she said softly. "If you're broken, I'll help fix you"

Skye looked up at her, her eyes full of emotion. "What if I can't offer you the happiness you deserve?"

Bridget smiled, leaning a little closer. "Then together we will find happiness, Skye. Because what we have is real, and I'm willing to fight for it"

And in that moment, surrounded by white roses and with the sunset painting the sky, Skye leaned into Bridget and their lips met in a sweet, promising kiss. 

The world seemed to stand still as thousands of white butterflies, formed from the petals of the roses, flew into the evening sky. It was as if the magic of their love manifested itself in that instant.

As they parted, Bridget was amazed at what she saw. White butterflies danced in the air, creating a magical atmosphere. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

Skye smiled and asked, "Have you even looked in the mirror, princess?"

The blush on Bridget's cheeks intensified, and in that moment, she knew she had found something more precious than any kingdom or crown: true love.

Masterlist

[missmarveledsblog]

SWEETPEA (Joel Miller x reader)

summary : when failing to live it in new york  sweet pea goes home only to meet two new faces at her families barbeque that leads to new job and new friends and maybe more 

warnings: no outbreak au  , mechanic au , cheating , goofy i guess , softjoel!

Reblog to be added to taglist ♥️

This was that same old tale , young girl leaves home to make it in the big bad world alone , except this time the big bad world chew her up and spit her back out in ten folds. first it was the stress of trying to make it in a big city  before the  limitations of the workspace meant she was on the chopping block to come home and find her boyfriend in throws of heated passion with someone she thought was her best friend. she didn't think twice kicking his ass out  the while he told she was nothing to him , she ended up packing up her apartment and heading home tail between her legs .  so here she stood outside her house , she could hear the chatter of the crowd making her realise the date  and wanted the ground to swallow her whole . she had showed up on the day her parents host their annual backyard barbeque , meaning a backyard  filled with loved one , friends and god knows who were there . 

" well hello there " a voice drawl making her jump .  turning she could two men standing the younger one giving her a flirty grin  but for the life of her she couldn't help just start crying .

" oh shit  sorry " his wide eyes and scared face .

" idiot you scared here , hey miss you lost , need help " he asked coming closer to her .

" sweet pea darling what you doing here ... crying " her brothers head popping up behind the men .

" all i did was say hello jake swear  " the younger of the two moved to side.

" sounds like reason to cry to me " the older one snickered .

" hey tommy , joel could you get my parents " her brother smiled weakly wondering what the hell was going on .

" im home for good because i'm a failure and my boyfriend cheated on me and new york was a bad idea " she began ramble as the two men walked quickly into the house.

" ok ok calm down there , cheated on you sure cause matt isn't.. "  .

" his dick was literally in her when i caught them " she sniffled . 

" ok well if he shows his face around  i'm sure me and jessica can kick his ass right" he hugged .

  that's were his dick was " she looked down to ground .

" shit sorry sweetpea " he hugged her looking up to see his parent stand sad looks on there face.  " hey honey come on " her mom smiled holding her arms out making her rush to the two . now  sitting with them explaining everything before heading to her room needing to shower after her long flight . 

after a shower and good cry she decided to join the festivities hoping the good mood wasn't ruined by the sudden turn up and her emotional outburst  .  she walked around as everyone smiled brightly welcoming her home and awkward nod from her former best friends parents .  she walked over to the cooler pulling out a beer before heading to the grill where he dad and brother stood along with the two men from earlier.

" hey sweet pea , you feeling better " her father gave her quick side hug before turning his attention back to the grill .

" yeah , i'm feeling better , sorry about earlier " she rubbed the back of her neck barely looking at the two  now noticeably attractive men which giving the recent luck in the last three weeks of being in new york and the one day home seemed to be on par .

" nah your all good,  i'm tommy and this is my brother joel  , so your the famous sweetpea we have heard all about " the younger brother smirked .

" i mean it's what they call me i don't know why  , also it nice to meet you both and again i swear i don't make it habit to just burst out crying at strangers  , you just  caught me in a shit storm " she smiled weakly taking a big gulp of the beer in her hand .  " anyway enough about me , how do you know my family " she  turned to the men eye lingering a little longer on  the older one .

"  we work with jake and well for your old man " joel spoke up  suddenly she wasn't so concerned on her break up after hearing the gruff yet some how smooth voice .

" well my sympathies  having to listen to jakes shit all time " she giggled . 

" he's well matched with tommy so i'm used to it " joel chuckled.

"  i ain't two of them " her dad shook his head.

"  so how long you sticking around for ?"  jake asked ignoring the insult.

" erm for good  , i need to find a job " she winced .

" i could use your help down the shop "  her dad turned handing her a plate . " like in the shop shop ? " tommy asked confused.

" sweetpea here is dab hand around an engine " jake boasted .

"  i mean once i'm not in the way " she asked. 

" nah nicky left last week , joined the army and we've been over run so really you'd be helping us out" her dad spoke up as she ignored the now curious gaze on her .   

" ok well then  i'm happy to help " she beamed.

" well morale in the shop just went up that's for sure " tommy winked  while both joel and jake punched each arm. 

" hey shit sweet pea good to see you darling " mark called coming over .

"  hey boomer " she smiled hugging the man.

" hey boomer sweetpea is coming work with us " tommy wiggled his brows only to dodge the incoming punches.

" thank god  she can fix your fuck ups " his laugh boomed  which is how he earn the particular nickname . 

 " so more mature even if she's the youngest of the team now " her dad chuckled at the good nature banter.

" well i look forward to see your skills little lady " joel winked  making her think matt who ? . 

" she was the one who actually loved being in the shop, we all thought she would start her own in new york to our surprise when she said she was a waitress in some restaurant" jake shook his head.

" that's cause they didn't take me serious out there  plus it was a diner and lets not talk about new york please it's awkward enough their parents are here" she rolled her eyes.

" well i didn't know their kids done mine dirty " her dad defended.

" what did i miss " boomer looked around the group.

" well matt and jessica decided to fuck and i didn't want to be a  third wheel and i got fired so i came home " she said bluntly.

" sweetpea language" her dad warned.

" ellie would love you " tommy chuckled . " ellie ? " she asked confused.

" she's one of joel's daughters  and sarah " tommy smiled.

" their with their mom and her new husband in austin  " joel suddenly felt his own cheeks heat .

" 50 /50  custody " tommy droned on .

" oh like jake and lydia with luka " she nodded in understanding . " yeah actually exactly like that " jake patted her back .

" oh shit mom's looking pissed and walking towards  jessica's parent , i'll see y'all later  " she rushed off shoving the plate and beer into her brothers hands . 

joel watched her guiding her mother away and to a different part of the yard and thought her eyes still reddish from her earlier burst of emotions she still was the prettiest little thing around . he felt like a pervert as the others talked to her while he smiled and unable to speak and now she was going to be working in the shop .  everything about her was calling to him like siren  and yet he barely only met her putting it down to being single for too long and little bit of the heat . even though he hit his brother for his remark , he couldn't help agree having her in the shop was definitely going boost the mood .  he watched as she talked to the women like she wasn't just crying her eyes out hours before , keeping her mother from  causing a scene .  he barely even listened to the couples that came up apologising and leaving .   he pretended to listen to the men around him though his attention kept steering towards sweet pea .  even thought he was definitely too old for her and knowing she probably didn't want a single dad   , it didn't hurt to look right? .

" so  she gonna need help around the shop " tommy asked .

" no seriously we weren't kidding , she spent her child and teen years either helping my old man and his own old man fixing cars , girl knows her way around an engine better then town " jake chuckled.

" she worked in shop for   years before she and dick for brains went to new york too " boomer agreed. 

" funny you two showed up in town the week she left " her dad tim  mused. 

" we would of been here the week before but tommy got food poisoning " he could help mentally curse his brother. 

" that your kids gave me " tommy shot back . " i warned you " joel laughed .

" they still coming next week " jake asked.

" yeah  i can't wait , apparently ellie going through a swearing like sailor phase though " he winced.

" don't have her around sweet pea then or it will get worse" . 

" bring them down shop be good to see them again " .

" will do tim " he nodded his eye once again looking toward the woman. " it definitely didn't hurt to watch " he thought as she threw her head back laughing.

[duckymcdoorknob]

𝓣𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓪𝔂 14: 𝓢𝓸𝓯𝓽

Me when- when the- when-

I love them, your honor.

I wanna go to Waffle House.

WOOHOO WELCOME TO TKTOBER IN NOVEMBER GUYS LETS SEE HOW LONG IT TAKES ME TO GET THEM DONE

Tags: @chrimsss @ticklish-n-stuff bc you helped me ❤️❤️❤️

—This do have tickles below the cut ngl—

The life of a forest ranger is never dull, and boy is the stress never-ending. It’s almost impossible for Tighnari to come back to his hut unscathed and unaffected by the day. This day in particular, he actually managed to cheat death!

Except, now he can’t sleep.

There’s zero work to be done, the hut is clean, his clothes are hanging to dry, Collei is completely taken care off, dinner has been cooked and dishes washed, workspace tidy, floor clean, nothing.

His mind raced through what could possibly be the issue, but he’s yet to find one.

Sighing, he threw his hands over his eyes before standing up and sliding on his slippers. He gently trudged past Collei, stepping outside for a moment.

The fennec shivered a bit as he draped a cardigan around himself. He glided to the hill near his hut and stood quietly, arms crossed. A chuckle broke him from his trance.

“You look like a wife waiting for her husband to return from the war.”

Tighnari gasped, summoning his bow in that moment. He groaned out a sigh of relief, letting his shoulders slump down and putting up his weapon. “Nice to see you too, Cyno. You spying on me?” he grumbled.

“Hey, I was here first; you were too busy being a war wife to notice me sitting here… Hey, great reaction time by the way.”

“Ugh, you’re such a- nevermind…“ the dendro user was far too exhausted to even argue, instead opting to lay down next to his dear friend and place his arms behind his head.

The general turned to look at him fondly, a small smile gracing his features. “So, what brings you here?”

“I just can’t seem to fall asleep. All of my work is done, but I just don’t feel the need to rest,” Tighnari replied in exasperation, resting his hands on his eyes.

“Do you want relief, or someone to just let you feel your feelings?” the white-haired man hummed.

“I want to say both, but I just want to get to sleep…” the bow user murmured.

“Alright, come here.”

Cyno reached out to the man next to him, waiting for him to react. Tighnari opted to grab onto Cyno’s hand, eliciting a chuckle from the latter. “What?” he grumbled.

“I was offering for you to lay on me, but this works too.”

“Oh…” the fennec hummed, scooting closer and draping atop of his friend. “Oh, yeah… this does feel nice.”

The general grinned and brought a hand up to gently card his finger’s through the black and green mess of hair in front of his eyes. He gently raked his nails down Tighnari’s head.

Tighnari’s eyes fluttered shut and his head lolled to rest on Cyno’s chest. A pleasant sigh escaped his mouth as he fully relaxed.

“See, you are tired; your mind is just completely overstimulated right now, so it’s keeping you awake,” Cyno replied in a low voice, bringing his hands up to scratch at the bow user’s ears.

Breathy giggles suddenly escaped the other male.

“Oh? Come on now, don’t tell me you’re ticklish here too?”

“Yohohohoure suhuhuch ahaha buhuhully,” the fennec whimpered, unmoving.

Cyno smiled fondly at Tighnari’s sweet giggles, caressing his ears with ticklish touches. His other arm wrapped securely around the latter’s waist. “Gasp, I’m no bully,” he deadpanned, “I would never. After how nice I was to help you…”

“Cynohohoho. Yohohouhuhure- pfffahaha-“

“I’m what? I’ve never heard of that adjective before. Have you and Alhaitham been hanging out without me?”

Tighnari groaned through his giggles as he lay still on Cyno’s torso.

The general’s heart skipped a beat when the fennec weakly reached for his hand, hoping to stop the ticklish scratches. “Aht aht, I’m trying to help you sleep.”

“Nohohoho- yohohou’re tihihickling mehehe.”

“Tickling you? No… if I was trying to tickle you, I would’ve gone for your feet.” A wider smile tugged at his lips as he felt Tighnari instinctively cross his ankles to protect the sensitive spot.

The hand on the exhausted male’s waist poked and prodded ever so gently, tracing light circles over the forest ranger’s back and sides. Sleepy giggles emitted from him as his eyes continued to open and flutter closed. “Cynohohoho.”

“Mmm?”

“Thahahahanks.”

The general ceased all movement, wondering what Tighnari could’ve meant. He called his name; no response was given. When he tried again, he realized that the forest ranger had finally fallen asleep.

As carefully as he could, Cyno guided the latter into his arms, letting his head rest against his chest.

Their walk back to his hut was silent, but it was a long one. A million thoughts were in his head, yet Cyno said no words.

When he returned and entered the humble home, he was greeted by a bleary-eyed Collei getting some water. He pursed his lips and shushed her gently, resulting in a smile and a nod from the girl.

Laying the man down feet first—he remembered Tighnari saying that it worked on babies, so maybe it’ll work on people— and gently caressing his cheek, the general bid him farewell.

A hand grabbed his wrist as he turned around. “stay.”

Cyno exhaled fondly, settling down and taking Tighnari in his arms. Tighnari cuddled close to him and smiled in satisfaction; Cyno had to take a moment to keep himself from blushing too hard, then planted a small kiss on the ranger’s forehead.

—

BONUS:

Later on, Collei returned to the kitchen for some more water. On the way in, she noticed a bigger mess of blankets on her master’s bed.

Curiously, she opened the cracked door and laughed to herself. Retreating quickly, she grabbed her Kamera from her nightstand and took a quick photo. After securing the device and photos, she happily snuggled between the two, smiling in safety.

Her family…

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

[angel-of-the-moons]

Blood Moon

Marc Spector/Moon Knight x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Mentions of murder, spouse death, child death, betrayal, blood, violence, guilt, depression, manhunt

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Yeah remember what I said about trying to finish this before Halloween? Yeah I'm a fucking liar don't ever take me for my word I am a monster.

This is where I decided to merge a tiny bit of lore from comics/MCU Moon Knight here in regards to his powers.

But anyways... Have this little tidbit into Marc's backstory! Marc and Randall are only about two years apart in age. So that means Marc is 36 at the time of this story. Forgive a few discrepancies here and there as I better establish a timeline.

Taglist: @badbishsblog

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Pt. 5

Living with Marc was certainly a hell of an experience. But, at the same time, you two were becoming a well-oiled machine. Barring the awkward slip-ups that had you two avoiding each other like the plague for hours, anyways.

It was nice, you found, to not be alone in your house anymore. You never realized it before, but you were always so... gray. Lifeless almost when you were alone. You didn't like to be left alone with your thoughts of yourself, of your inadequacies you'd never voice with anyone except your therapist.

But having Marc around eased that loneliness you actually hadn't realized you'd been feeling. Hell, it wasn't until he moved in and you got used to having another body in your house that you realized you were lonely in the first place.

Despite this, you'd realized that while yes, you had read his file and learned about his background, you'd yet to actually ask him about his past.

You haven't heard it directly from the horse's mouth, as it were.

But you decided not to broach the subject, yet. You still felt that it was too soon for that after your fight and make-up as a team to risk being at the throat of your new roommate.

Because, you realized, it was nice having one again. You hadn't had a roommate since you had been in foster care.

And you weren't ready to lose that just yet.

Marc had odd habits, to say the least. More often than not, you'd catch him actually sleeping in the basement on the old plush couch you kept down there, instead of his bedroom.

His bedroom was always kept immaculate, but the basement was his workspace and god, was it a mess.

Papers and tech strewn about, gear scattered on worktables as he took them apart to fix them or run maintenance; plus the cases containing your hero gear as well.

It looked like a college student crammed for their exam two hours before their finals almost every time you went down there...

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Tonight, you'd found Marc fast asleep, snoring softly as he sprawled out on the worn, suede couch, his body sinking into the ridiculously squishy cushions as he dreamt.

He had one arm draped over his face, one knee raised, and the other arm hanging off the edge of the cushions, a datapad clutched tightly in his hand.

It was almost cute.

You pulled out a quilt you nabbed at a yard sale, once and carefully draped it over him, as the basement could get rather chilly at times and poor Marc was passed out in nothing but his sweats and a t-shirt.

You put your hands on your hips and looked at the mess scattered on the surface of the coffee table in front of him, plus the few on the floor. A few SHIELD-issue tablets, and some paper files (yeesh, who even used those anymore?).

You chewed your bottom lip hesitantly, sparing the unconscious Marc a small glance before you felt a nagging in your gut. Curiosity was always one of your less... qualities at times.

How did that story about curiosity and the cat go, again?

Anyways...

You simply couldn't help yourself. What exactly was Marc always researching all the time?

You had to know. Even if it was just a tiny nugget of knowledge.

You sat in a squat next to Marc, looking at him as he breathed softly, showing no signs of stirring.

You slowly and as gently as possible, pulled the tablet in Marc's hand free of his calloused fingers, and stepped away from him to turn it on, so the light wouldn't stir him.

And you were glad you did, it almost blinded you when you hit the power button.

How the fuck did Marc see with shit this bright?

You had to fumble until you turned the brightness down, and let your eyes re-adjust.

The thing that immediately struck you was one line.

A name.

It made your blood chill, turning into icy sludge as it crawled through your veins; you felt your mouth go dry.

Randall Spector.

Age: 34

Race: Caucasian

Last known confirmed location: Paris, France.

The rest of the page had a list of crimes he was the main suspect of. Murder, theft, espionage, assassination...

You looked up, dumbfounded at Marc's sleeping body.

There was no way they could be related. It had to be common name, right?

You looked back down and scrolled to another page.

And your hopes that it was a common last name were dashed.

The picture of the man was this Randall, younger obviously, he looked to be in his early 20s in his Illinois ID.

But the resemblance to Marc was sickeningly uncanny. Randall had messy curly hair that was slicked back as best he could, and a charming smile that could no doubt put a heart attack at ease, his brown eyes glowing with humor in their depths as he grinned for the camera.

You swallowed hard at the lump in your throat and continued scrolling. The file contained grainy and blurry security footage of possible sightings over the years in various places across the globe.

The most shocking picture at the end, however... Was a picture of Marc with a group of people, Randall included.

They were, judging by the looks of it, in a desert of some kind. Randall hung on Marc, appearing to be laughing as the photo had been taken, meanwhile Marc stood, unusually clean-shaven and stoic, his arms crossed over his chest as he gave a small, ghost of a smile.

A young woman stood to Marc's left, holding onto his forearm as she smiled widely, her dark black, curly hair pulled back into a tight braid, her thick-rimmed glasses perched all the way up her nose.

Marc and that woman wore matching bands on their left ring fingers.

You brought your hand to your mouth in revulsion at the revelation, feeling your stomach roil in protest. It was either guilt, or horror because you knew... Marc had no family. You knew about his daughter being dead. But not her mother. Nothing about a brother.

You were in too deep now, and you just couldn't stop yourself.

You scrolled to a new page, detailing a small bit of information on that woman.

Erica Spector.

Age (deceased): 26

Race: Hispanic.

Cause of death: Vehicular Accident (Attributed to brake failure)

The picture of her ID broke your heart. She beamed at the camera, her slightly crooked teeth showing as she smiled proudly, a slight glare in her glasses as the flash hit the lenses.

The next photo, was her and Marc. At their wedding. She wore a gorgeous mermaid gown with a floral lace neckline, her sleeves ending in almost a bell-shape. Her hair hung down in gorgeous waves with violets pinned to the strands, framing her face and sun-kissed skin illuminated with highlighter as she smiled at the camera. Marc had been looking at the ground for whatever reason as they both stood at the altar, his arm around her waist and his hand adjusting the waistline of his dress pants.

But he was smiling. And it was such a gorgeous smile, teeth out, dimples in his cheeks and his eyes practically closed from how wide his lips were stretched.

The next photo broke your heart.

It appeared to be a maybe a year or so later (at most) after the photo of them in the desert.

Erica was pregnant, her belly sticking out far in the baby blue sundress she wore, holding up a cute pink onesie in her hands that simply read "Daddy's Princess" on the front in purple cursive font.

The photo after that one was of them in the hospital, Marc standing by the window of the hospital room, holding his newborn daughter in his arms, a soft, glowing smile on his face as her tiny fingers gripped his hand.

You felt your chest burn as you felt the gravity start to kick in, but you turned another page in the file.

Diatrice Spector

Age (deceased): 5

Race: Hispanic-Caucasian

Cause of death: Homicide (Found to be caused by gunshot wounds to the chest.)

You felt like your heart would give out at that word.

Homicide.

You assumed Marc lost his daughter in some horrible, tragic accident, like you'd lost your family.

But no. Three years ago, someone murdered his baby. And her babysitter.

The photos of the crime scene unfolded next, bloody boot prints everywhere, the babysitter's head partially caved in from a beating, and Diatrice--

"What the hell are you doing?!"

You jumped and almost dropped the tablet in your fright, spinning on your heels to see Marc staring at you from the couch, the quilt hastily tossed off of him.

You expected him to be angry, to look absolutely pissed at you.

Instead he looked... Terrified. Scared.

Heartbroken.

His gorgeous brown eyes were big, heavy dark circles hanging like curtains over his cheeks as he stared at you, mouth agape.

"I... I... I'm sorry, I... I didn't--" You stammer, swallowing hard, clutching the tablet against your chest.

"I was just..."

God, there was no excuse for this. You were curious. Curious and nosey, and you didn't have the guts to ask him anything about his past to his face yet, afraid for the repercussions that might cause; of the ripples it would trigger in the glass-like surface of the water of teamwork you two strove for.

Marc looks at you, your eyes locked in a tense, silent stare.

Then, he runs his hand through his air as he lets out a slow exhale, shoulders dropping.

He looks away and waves you over to sit next to him, and he scoots to the side.

The moment you sat down, you immediately thrust the tablet into his lap, your palms spreading over your knees as you bounced your feet.

"L-Look, I was just--"

"Stop." Marc sighed, setting the tablet on the coffee table. His voice was still heavy with sleep, that slightly gravelly tone you may or may not have fantasized about once or twice.

He looked at you, his lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke.

"How far did you get?"

Your nails dug into the fabric of your pajama pants as your legs bounced aimlessly, trying to alleviate the embarrassment, guilt, and shame of you snooping through his things.

"I..." You say, chewing the inside of your cheek.

God, you felt terrible.

Your body stopped cold when his heavy hand slid over your knee, stopping your movements in their place.

You felt his fingers squeeze you softly, before his palm rubbed the bones he could feel beneath your skin and muscle in a soothing gesture.

"I guess it's only fair I tell you about me, huh?" Marc sighed dejectedly, taking his hand off of you and wiping his face, as if that gesture alone could erase his fatigue.

"To answer the first few questions I know you have bouncing around in your head..." He added, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he stared at the paperwork and tablets on the table in front of you two.

"Yes. Randall is my brother. My little brother. And yes. I'm looking for him." Marc looked at you.

You were sitting patiently, your brows pinched and your expression pensive.

"Nobody would listen to me, but I know he caused the accident that killed Erica." You saw his throat bob hard as his expression darkened. "The investigation said she veered off the road due to bad conditions. But I'm not stupid. I looked into it myself, and bribed someone to let me look at the wreckage. The brake lines weren't torn during the crash, they were cut before the crash. Nobody would listen to me and I almost got arrested for interfering with an investigation. Yeah, right."

He snorted, a humorless and cold sound.

"They closed the case as an accident, wouldn't listen to me. Said I was "too hung up on the loss of my wife"." He made finger quotes. "So I investigated myself. God, fuck, I knew it was Randall... If they'd just listened to me... He..."

His voice broke up as he clenched his eyes shut.

"Diatrice wouldn't have been... I would still have her."

"Marc...." You say, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Why... why would Randall do this?"

He sighs deeply, a heavy sound coming from him like the air was just vacuumed out of his lungs.

"It... Fuck. Randall is the one who introduced me to Erica. I had just gotten out of the Marines. It just... They weren't a good fit for me, so I returned to Chicago. Home." Marc leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. "Randall had gotten a job in some security firm for archeological digs, which is where he met Erica. It was good money, he told me. They were friends. She just got her degree and was trying to get the spot on a dig site somewhere. We... hit it off fast. Within a year, we got married, Randall got me a job in his firm. A year after that, we went to Egypt with Erica on a dig."

"Your file said you got your powers on a dig in Egypt..." You say softly.

"Yeah. That same dig. It was a pain in the ass, we still don't know what exactly happened. I touched something, a statue, and... Poof. Powers." Marc lets out a slow hiss of air, his eyes closing, dark lashes touching his cheeks. "We finished the dig, everyone swore into secrecy. SHIELD found out about it anyways, and offered me a position. It's where I built my ankh and my tech."

"But... Peter said you got your powers from the ankh." You say, brows knit together in confusion.

"He's wrong. My file was put down incorrectly, but it's been fixed since I noticed the discrepancy after Peter mentioned that when he wanted my help during the Symbiote Invasion." Marc looked at you, his eyes tired and strained.

"But still. Something pissed Randall off. Randall and I weren't ever really friends, even as siblings. We tolerated each other. When I got those powers and he didn't? He just... he fucking snapped. After we returned from the dig, members of the team started turning up dead. Then, we found out we were expecting our first child. It turns out that Erica either got pregnant during the dig or shortly after."

You couldn't help but smile softly, your expression a bit pained. "During the dig? Marc..."

"Let's just say we were happy I wasn't dead after touching that statue." Marc said, closing his eyes with a nostalgic, yet sad smile.

"But anyways... with our baby on the way, we focused on that instead. When Diatrice was born, it was the happiest day of my life. She was a happy, bubbly little thing."

You sensed the shift from affectionate pride as he spoke about his daughter, to the grief you knew was coming as he spoke:

"Two years later, Erica had her "accident". Three years after that... Randall murdered Dee and Sandra. God. That poor girl. She was still so young. She tried so hard to keep him from hurting Dee."

He gritted his teeth and rested his arm over his face, most likely to hide the tears that wanted to roll free from the dam of his eyelids. Marc's voice was a weak tremble.

"After that, I started hunting, I moved my base of ops to the sewers. I went digging after he vanished. He became a hitman, a no-good killer for hire. Then I went to ground six months before the Symbiotes invaded. After that is when Peter found me, or well, I found him."

"And here we are, a year later..." You said softly.

"Yeah." He croaked out weakly.

You both sat in a long, pregnant silence. You weren't even sure how long it was, all you could hear was the sound of the water heater making noises now and again, and the buzzing fluorescent lights illuminating your basement.

"Marc?" You finally asked.

"Yeah?" He answered.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and lean back and over, until your head rested on Marc's shoulder.

You could feel him hold his breath and tense, and you waited until he breathed again to speak.

"...I'm sorry for snooping." You apologized.

"You were curious about me. It's not like I've been forthcoming about this shit." Marc sighed softly, his body softening slightly.

"But still. It was wrong." You say to him, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath.

The smokey, pine scent of his choice of cologne and body wash filled your nose, filtering around in your lungs as you take in the essence that is Marc Spector.

"Marc."

"Still here."

"Thank you... for telling me all of this." You whisper.

"It was about time I get it all out. I guess it just took the right battering ram to knock the door down."

You can't help but chuckle, and Marc joins in with you.

It was good to hear him laugh.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Pt. 6: Link

[slaasherslut]

Sunday Morning Sketching

Summary: Vincent cant help but become entranced by his lover who is an artist themselves

Warning: Smut

1.7k Words

Sunday mornings were made for two things; relaxing before the start of a busy work week and setting aside time to do art with Vincent. When you two met, you both were enthralled that you had found another person to share your passion with, who appreciates art and loves making it. You both had spent countless hours just sitting in his workspace in the basement together and working. Sometimes the air would be filled with the radio or a CD you both enjoyed, and other times the room would be comfortably silent. Each focusing on the task at hand and just enjoying the presence of each other. It has been a few months now since you decided to start the tradition to have your Sundays be for spending time together. You both may have been busy throughout the week but you had one day a week where no matter what you were spending time together and creating. Just the two of you and your art supplies.

The previous night, you and Vincent laid cuddled on the couch after finishing a movie. He had asked you what you were planning to work on tomorrow. You hadn't decided yet. When he told you he was probably going to do a bit of sketching you had the perfect idea.

"How about we sketch each other?" You suggested enthusiastically. "I could use a bit more practice drawing the human form anyways, I'm getting better but I need a little more time."

Vincent nodded his head and signed, "I don't mind getting to stare at you for an entire afternoon."

You felt your face run hot at his statement. He was always a total gentleman and incredibly sweet, so whenever he said bold words like that it made you weak in the knees. 

The next morning you both went about your morning routine before heading down to Vincent's work space. You both sat down on the floor, facing each other while pulling out your necessary supplies and getting to work.

You were wearing a little sundress that stopped just above your knees. It was a pale yellow that he thought complimented your skin very well. Since Vincent was going to be sketching you and it would be something that would be in his sketchbook forever, you wanted to wear something cute that made you feel pretty. The top came up just barely enough to cover your breasts. One of the straps had slipped off your shoulder and you were too busy sketching him to notice. But Vincent noticed, he always noticed. The strap slipping caused more of your breast to be exposed, enough that he was sure there was nothing under it, if it slipped a tiny bit more you would be completely exposed before him. He couldn't help but marvel at your form.

Your eyes trailed across him, making sure to capture every detail of the man before you. There was one thing that you noticed was different than before you drew it. Vincent tried to cover it with his sketchbook but from your angle you could see it. The raging erection in his pants. You smirked.

"How's the sketch coming Vinny?"

He nodded, saying that it was going well. You knew that was a lie, his almost empty page proved that. If he couldn't keep his focus then you would give him something else to focus on.

You stood up from your spot on the floor and took slow teasing steps toward his desk. You grabbed the bottom of your dress and with every step, hiked your dress farther and farther up your thighs. By the time you reached his desk your dress was pulled up just enough to barely cover your ass as it peeked out from the bottom of the fabric. You climbed on top of his desk, making sure to give him a peek of the lack of panties under your dress. You planted your butt down on it and faced toward him.

Vincent was still in his spot on the floor with eyes laser focused on repeatedly moving up and down your body. His entire body was frozen except for the tent that had grown even larger in his jeans. Seeing the effect you had on him gave you a sweet boost to your ego. You slowly spread your legs and raised your knees up to your chest, giving him the full view of what he was thinking about under that dress. You used two of your fingers to slowly spread your lips open, giving him a full view of your already soaking wet pussy.

Vincent was now standing between your thighs, hands teased as they trailed up your legs and to your waist, pushing the dress up as he went. One of his large hands drifted down and made its way to your exposed pussy. Slow fingers got straight to work and began massaging the bundle of nerves there. If he had his way he would have just buried himself in your tight cunt the moment he had his hands on you, but his size was always a lot for you to take. He knew that by the way you would whimper and whine and cry out for him. He wanted to make sure you were sopping wet and ready for him. Two fingers slowly slid down your wet slit and were harshly shoved inside you. A loud moan erupted from you as your head was thrown back in pleasure. He pumped inside you at a steady rhythm, scissoring you open with his large fingers. His other hand went to work roaming your body, he wished to leave not a single inch of your beautiful body untouched by his calloused hands. The lewd squelching coming from between your legs and your high pitched whines and only made his cock harder. He was so hard it was starting to ache. He needed relief before he felt like he was going to burst. You pulled your dress up and over your head before tossing it somewhere unknown on the floor for you to find later.

"Fuck.. Vincent, you feel so good!"

Your moaning out for him was the final straw as he pulled his fingers from you. A cute whine escaped you at the emptiness you now felt. He could see your pussy once it was empty and you repeatedly clenched around nothing but air. The hand that was inside you was placed on your stomach and gently pushed you back until your shoulder blades made contact with the wood of his desk. His fingers, still glistening from your arousal, trailed down your stomach leaving a wet trail just below your naval. You looked up at him through hooded eyes as his hands made quick work of his belt and jeans.

"Vincent, fuck me already, quit your teasing." 

He wasted no time pulling out his throbbing cock before sliding it inside you, the look on your face said you were in pure bliss. He leaned down to pull both of your hands up above your head, one of his large hands held both of yours so easily. He locked your arms in place before rocking inside of you. 

In that moment you both looked into each other's eyes. No words were exchanged but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. The love between you and Vincent was like poetry. He may not be able to speak but his actions spoke so loud they were screaming. The way his eyes searched yours for permission. The way his jaw softly opened and closed and clenched meant you were making him feel good. The way his hand rested on your cheek meant he adored you. The way his hands squeezed yours as he pinned them above your head meant he loved you deeply.

Vincent pushed himself back off of you and pulled out his weeping cock. He grabbed you tightly by the hips, pulling you off the table enough to get your feet on the floor and spun you around. He harshly pushed down on your back, pressing your sensitive chest into his desk as he shoved himself back inside you with a gravely moan. Not stopping until his pelvis was flush against your ass and his heavy cock was all the way inside you. A loud moan forced its way out of you as you felt the wind knocked out of your lungs. He slowly pulled his hips back, leaving just his head inside of you before slowly easing himself back inside. Your walls fit perfectly around his shape as if your body was made for him. As if you were sculpted in wax by his own hands for his own desires. 

"Vincent.." Your voice brings him out of his thoughts. "Make me cum." 

You could barely contain the neediness in your voice. He was moving so slow and your whole body felt as if it was on fire. The feeling of your nipples, rubbing bare on the desk, caused an electric current of pleasure with every movement, every thrust. Your words lit a fire in his loins as his pace sped up. You were both so close and you wanted nothing more than to feel your insides fill up with his cum. He grabbed a tight hold of your waist, steadying you as his hip thrusted inside you faster. The red hot feeling inside of you started bubbling up so much faster than you expected. Your entire body was a sensitive mess as you felt yourself go limp. The bubbling inside is finally about to overflow.

"Vincent, baby, I'm cumming!" You screeched out, legs kicking and shaking under between the desk and Vincent's own legs. His erratic thrusts brought you to your orgasm as he fucked you through it, his own release following not long after as he painted your insides with his cum.

With chest heaving, Vincent pressed his forehead to your back as he caught his breath. He pulled himself up to grab your chin and pressed a quick kiss to your open mouth as you tried to suck in as much air as possible. Vincent was still inside you and every movement made your breath hitch.

"How about we finish those sketches, sweetheart?" He signed. You chuckled and nodded.

"Uh huh, just give me a minute, I just had the air fucked outta me."

☾ notes: this was requested by the lovely rottent33th. I hope you like it!! Its also my longest fic so far!

☾ tag list: @rottent33th @cries-in-latino @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better

message me if you want to be added to my tag list!

[cluelessatthispoint]

Lovely Surprise

Engineer x Reader (fluff, romantic pairing) lightly mentions sex but nothing happens.

~~~~~~~~

The drive through New Mexico was a long and boring one. The dust and dirt mixed with the occasional odd misshapen tree were the only things to decorate the barren landscape. The air conditioner in the truck sputtered off and on multiple times during the ride much to your dismay. Sweat would gather on your forehead, only to be cooled by the occasional blast of ice-cold air. It was a very welcomed feeling. You were used to the heat, having grown up in the midwest the heat was no stranger to you. Off in the distance, you could see the roof of one of the battle-worn buildings.

"About damn time", you could feel a Cheshire-like grin spread across your face.

It's been about two months since you've last seen your boyfriend; Dell. Two long months and not so much as a phone call or letter. Whenever he would go off to work he would spend the next week in advance before leaving to spoil you with kisses, flowers, little do-dads that he made, and romantic dates. It was nice but unnerving. He always acted like it would be the last time he ever saw you again. Something about the way he looked at you, with these sad, adoring eyes. The last time you asked him about his job he shut up tighter than a clam and changed the subject. It hurt you to see Dell get this worried about a job.

At the last Harvest Festival that you and Dell went to he brought along some of his friends from work. They were nice, kind of off-putting but nice. During the party, you and Scout really hit it off. He reminded you of one of your younger cousins. Ever since then you and Scout had been keeping in contact with each other. Dell didn't mind one bit, as long as Scout knew that you were already in a relationship that was fine by him.

The sound of the air conditioner rattling brought you back from the little trip down memory lane. You eyed the dashboard with dismay; thank goodness your boyfriend was a genius with machines. Before making the over 300-mile trip by car Scout made sure to tell everyone in advance that you are coming to visit. Everyone except Dell that is. With Valentine's day literally around the corner, you knew that you had to visit. After driving past the first outcrop of rocks jutting almost unnaturally from the ground you could see Scout and Demoman waiting for you.

You pulled up next to them and rolled down the window, "Ey, any of you folks need a ride somewhere?"

With a laugh, you opened the car door and stepped out onto what could only be described as "hellish heck".

"Long time no see! It's great to see ya again!"

Nodding along to that statement you pulled both the Scotsman and the Bostonian into a hug.

" I agree! It's been quite a while since I saw ye, how've ya been lass?

Pulling away from the hug you looked up to meet Tavish's eyes.

"I've been doing well Demo," you looked around, the building in front of you definitely has seen some better days.

"So tell me, where's my stubborn boyfriend at?"

Demo rolled his eyes- well eye, in what looked to be a playful manner. Scout bouncing on his toes, grabbed your arm before Demon could say anything and dragged you off in the direction of what you hoped to be your boyfriend's workspace. The walls zipped by at the speed the both of you were going. Finally, you got to a door that looked most like the one that Dell could have.

"Well, first off lemme tell ya, he has been down in the dumps for days now thinking that he's gonna miss being with you for Valentine's day. So, your gonna walk in there- all confident like and say something funny."

"Thanks, Scout I really appreciate it, but I think I got it."

Scout turned his head to the side and mumbled into his palm. from that close proximity you could see the tips of his ears turning red.

"If it makes you feel any better I will walk in there with all the confidence that I can muster, and afterward I'll bake everyone something sweet."

As you turned to the door Scout mumbled some more.

" What was that Scout? I couldn't hear you?"

He walked further down the corridor leading to what appeared to be the rec room.

"Yeah, I'll take a rain check on dat one! You are gonna be too busy and too tired to leave his workshop at all today." With a cheeky wink, he sped off.

You could feel your face flush and your stomach turning in happy nervous knots. You don't doubt Jeremy's words one bit. With a stifled breath, you knocked on the door. the only sign that you've been heard was a tired voice from within.

"Come in."

You opened the door slowly and walked in shutting the door behind you. Hunched over a desk facing against the wall was your boyfriend. The smell of engines and gasoline filled your nose. It wasn't a bad smell, it was one of the smells that you'd associated with Dell the moment you met.

He was sitting on a roller chair in a way that you knew wouldn't be good for his back. You silently made your way over to him and tapped his shoulder. Putting down whatever he was working on he spun to face you. Quickly and without thinking you sat yourself down on his lap and kissed his cheek.

"Well hello handsome"

Dell was too stunned to even speak, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. It was like he was trying to form words but couldn't find the right ones.

"You-you came all the way out here?! what? wha-

To gently shut him up you pressed your lips against his. With a gentle sweetness, he began to kiss back. The smell of his deodorant and sweat filled your nose. Pulling away he stared into your eyes. Confusion and adoration set upon his features, you hoped to see more of the latter later on.

"Well, I'll be darned If this isn't the best Valentine's day surprise I don't know what is."

Large gloved hands grasped at your sides, and gently they started rubbing up and down your back sending little electric shocks and pleasurable tingles down your spine.

"I missed you, Dell,"

"I missed you too Darlin."

[kaijuposting]

Details about Hermann Gottlieb's personality in the novelization that (probably) came from the bio written by Guillermo del Toro.

With Newt and Hermann's bios never being posted on Guillermo del Toro's Twitter account like Mako, Raleigh, and Pentecost's were, I decided to try and comb the novelization for information that might have been derived from their bios, based on it dovetailing with Guillermo del Toro's general writing style and habits. The following is a list of personality/psychological-related stuff that I currently believe were based on Hermann's bio: Psych evaluation reveals fundamental need to create distance between self and any problem, using data and mathematics as buffer. Obsessive neatness of person and workspace also reveals this impulse to maintain controlling distance. Currently estranged from father due to differences of opinion about value of Jaeger project as opposed to Pacific Perimeter Program. Inveterate filer of complaints, primarily against Kaiju Science colleague Dr. Newton Geiszler (q.v.). PPDC psychological staff recommends accepting but not acting on these complaints. (p. 73-74) Note: The above comes from Hermann's personnel dossier. Since Mako, Raleigh, and Pentecost's dossiers are all very clearly abridged versions of the bios Guillermo del Toro wrote, one can assume it's the same for Hermann's. Also, filing ridiculous complaints is very much the kind of thing del Toro might play for laughs, similar to how the character of Tom Manning was used for comedy in Hellboy and Hellboy II: The Golden Army. He [Newt] went to the fridge and dug around in it until he had half a salami and cheese sandwich, some German potato salad, and a bag of baby carrots that belonged to Hermann. (p. 98-99.)

Note: Guillermo del Toro's character bios pretty much always mention a number of specific food items characters enjoy eating.

numbers language of the universe and they will hide me I can hide behind them because they are never angry they are never wrong they choose no sides and expect nothing they are purely themselves and will never betray me ... Gottlieb was soldering together a robot can I build an intelligence that will pass a Turing test and if I could of course I can I must never say anything about it until it is done or Father will (p. 268-269) Note: The above is supposed to represent Hermann's stream of consciousness during his drift with Newt and baby Otachi, hence the odd writing style. With problematic to horrible fathers being a common element in del Toro's work, I think it's a safe guess that this was all based on his bio. Unfortunately, the novelization omits Hermann's POV except for when he drifts with Newt, so there isn't a lot of material here. But what there is suggests that Hermann was conceptualized as a deeply traumatized individual who tries to avoid conflict wherever possible, likely to the point of avoiding people when he can, and trying to supplicate them when he can't. This, I believe, is evidenced in the elevator scene, where Newt says "Hermann! These are human beings! Why don't you say hello?", and where Hermann (unsuccessfully, lol) tries to head off potential conflict with Raleigh with "You'll have to excuse him, he's a kaiju groupie; he loves them." (And speaking of the elevator scene, if you haven't seen the extended version where Newt addresses Raleigh as "guy" and tells Hermann to stop saluting Pentecost yet, you should!)

It also seems that Hermann was imagined as someone who tries to cope with all the things he can't control by controlling everything that he can - one notable example being 50% of the k-sci lab. It would appear that "no kaiju entrails on my side of the room!" doesn't just indicate a desire to keep his space physically clean, but it's also indicative of his ongoing refusal to let the chaotic and unpredictable Newt inside emotionally.

So yeah, it would really be great if all of the character bios were released (not to mention the 250 page universe bible... sigh), but... since they aren't, I'm just gonna have to resort to doing stuff like this, lol.

[starkaddict]

The worst thing about the Alternate timeline is it is Star Warring Star Trek

Leia defies Tarkin

Tarkin blows Alderaan in front of her eyes as petty punishment

The place is barely mentioned in the main series

She moves on and falls in love with the affable rogue

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Spock(alternate) defies Nemo

Nemo blows Vulcan in front of his eyes as petty punishment

The place is barely mentioned again

He moved on and DOESN’T even fall in love with the affable rogue (Kirk)

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except they didn’t even Star War it well.

Nyota has top billing, but nothing on her original character. She is not a strong black women excelling in her workspace.

She is Spock’s love interest- but second to Kirk - because it is the story of Spock and Kirk at the end #NoHomo though.

It is also reductive of her in the sense that she got the cake, she is one of the leads, practically replacing McCoy in the triumvirate.

But the cake taste like shit.

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The best thing about the alternate timeline is it introduced me to The Original Timeline

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The worst thing about the Alternate timeline is that for a long time I thought that was what Star Trek was all about