#off under moonlight. at a time when all his kids should be asleep so they dont step out the front door and see his entire ass out on the | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blossom-hwa · 5 months

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Worn-Out Soles [2] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 12.1k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

The day after the Moonlight Festival, Chan finds himself up at the crack of dawn, restless and anxious when he should still be asleep. Last night was long, after all—after you bid him goodbye, he went to find his apprentices, who danced up and down the streets for hours before they tired enough to return home.

He went home before them, actually. He tried to enjoy himself the way you told him to, so he forced himself to stay out for a few more hours before he decided he was too tired to continue and left. But if he was tired, he would’ve been able to sleep. He barely got a few hours of that before he woke again, and again, and again.

It’s stupid, he’s certain. The Kereseian king wouldn’t do anything to you, not when he is a guest in your country. You said you would be fine and he should trust you. But for some reason, he keeps replaying that last moment over and over again.

“I will be all right. Really.”

Your words were so certain, so strong. He almost believed you. But he knows how you feel about the Kereseian delegation, saw the trepidation in your eyes about their arrival that you tried to hide. You did a good job of hiding it, but when you bid him goodnight, all Chan could see was that fear.

He hopes you’re all right.

The sun rises. Jisung and Felix awaken a few hours later, bags under their eyes from the long night out, and Chan does his best to hide his worry as he brings them tea and toast. Chan gives them the day off to recover and disappears into his workroom to try and get some things done. He can’t focus, though, so by the time evening has begun to set, he gives up and returns to the main room, where his apprentices are starting dinner. Their banter echoes off the walls as he comes in. It makes him smile a little.

Then a knock sounds at the door.

Jisung’s voice peters out from the kitchen. The two of them poke their heads into the main room, where Chan is also staring at the door. “Are we expecting anyone?” Felix asks.

Chan shakes his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

The knock comes again, louder this time. Faster, too. Frowning, Chan swings the door open and blinks.

“…Your Highness?”

Princess Yeji stands in front of the door, covered head to toe in a large, brown cloak. Her eyes peek out from beneath the hood and in them Chan sees a desperation reflected in his own. “Chan,” she greets, short and trembling. “May I come in?”

. . .

Chan leads the princess inside. Felix dashes back into the kitchen, mumbling something about tea, and Jisung dithers in the doorway before following his fellow apprentice. Yeji sits down on one of the chairs Chan offers and he takes the other, trying not to show how hard his heart is beating in his chest.

“My sister is missing,” Yeji begins without preamble.

Missing. The word echoes off the walls of Chan’s skull, over and over and over again until all he can hear is that one word.

“…What?”

“She’s missing,” Yeji repeats.

Flames of hell. Chan’s head starts spinning.

“She didn’t come back last night. They say they don’t know who took her, but I know. It was Kereseia.” Yeji’s lips twist. “I don’t have proof—I couldn’t give you anything concrete, I’m sorry—but if you saw the way the king was looking at her for the entire festival, how he spoke to her every time they met—” Her voice cracks and all of her composure shatters, leaving her face in her hands.

Automatically Chan reaches out a hand towards her shoulder before a voice reminds him she’s a princess! and he draws back. She is a princess, and he’s just her cobbler, but when Yeji heaves a dry, angry sob, he throws caution to the wind and places his palm against the cloak, patting her shoulder softly.

Felix comes puttering in quietly, Jisung not far behind. They place down tea, sugar, and spoons, then quickly disappear once more. As Yeji pulls herself back together, Chan pours the tea and extends her one of the mugs. The thick ceramic looks somewhat out of place between her delicate fingers but she accepts it with grace anyway.

“It was Kereseia,” she says again, unwavering. “I know it.”

Chan’s memory flashes to the one time he saw the Kereseian king, when he came to take you at the end of the dances Chan shared with you. White clothing patterned with red that reminded him of blood, but not more than the cruel look in the prince’s eyes and the sharp smile on his lips as he led you away, hand clutching yours with far more strength than necessary.

He nearly curses. He never should have let you go—should’ve fought, should’ve said something—

In the present, Chan forces down those thoughts and clenches his own hand, only letting it go when he meets Yeji’s eyes again. “I believe you,” he says quietly.

Her face crumples with relief. “Thank all the stars,” she breathes. “No one else believes me. Or they do, but they say not to point fingers when there is no proof.”

“I was with her when he came,” Chan admits, heart aching when Yeji’s eyes go wide. “She—I—we had been dancing for a while. I was just about to escort her back to the palace. But he—the Kereseian king—he came, and he said he would take her back, and she kept telling me to go, that she would be fine…” Guilt and anger clog his throat, and he can say no more.

Yeji takes his hand this time, squeezing it gently. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says, with so much certainty that Chan can’t help but almost believe her. “I know my sister; she wouldn’t have let you come. For your own safety. And I’m sure she wouldn’t have expected…”

Silence falls between the two of them, neither knowing what to say.

Eventually, Chan speaks. “Who do they think did it, if not for Kereseia?”

“I don’t know,” Yeji says. “But that’s why I came.” She looks him dead in the eye. “Please, Chan. Find her for us.”

Chan blinks once. Twice. Nearly laughs, but Yeji’s incredibly serious expression tears the potential humor out of his chest.

“Me?”

“Yes.” She swallows. “And I—I do not ask this lightly. If I wasn’t currently being kept under lock and key with the rest of my sisters all hours of the day, I’d do it myself.”

She would. Chan doesn’t know Yeji as well as he knows you, but he does know she’s one of the strongest and most stubborn of the sisters.

Which means she must be truly desperate if she’s come to him for help.

“I’m only here now because my sisters are distracting the guards. I’ll have to return soon.” Her eyes flicker over to the clock in the corner of the room, then back to him. “But—Chan. You wouldn’t have heard, but my father is to issue a proclamation to our land and others. Our military will continue to search for Y/N, but should anyone find her, they will be rewarded with her hand in marriage.” Yeji’s lip curls just as Chan’s heart twists. “I expect there will eager adventurers showing up at our gates soon, claiming they will try their own hand. None of them care for her. None of them want her back safely. And I don’t trust a single one of them to succeed.”

Chan tamps down a wave of jealousy and anger. “So why do you think I will?” he asks, voice barely steady.

“Because you care. Because you know who we face. And because you would want her back safely, for her own sake and no one else’s.” Yeji swallows hard. “I know I ask much of you, perhaps for you to risk or even give your own life. But you—my sisters and I, we may not know you as well as Y/N does, but to us, you are…safe. We trust you.” A tiny smile curves her lips. “You should know that when we first found out she was missing, Yuna asked me if you would find Y/N. You were her the first one she trusted.”

He almost smiles, his heart rising for a moment before it drops back into his stomach. “Your Highness, you honor me. But I’m just a cobbler. ”

“Chan.” Yeji puts her mug of tea down before fixing Chan in her gaze once more. “I don’t know who can bring Y/N back. I don’t know if she will ever come back. But you are the one I trust most to try.” She smiles a little, again. “And truth be told, I would prefer you as my brother in law over any of the other young, undeserving adventurers who might try to claim my sister’s hand without her heart.”

Chan’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. Every piece of him that cried with despair at the knowledge you had gone missing craves to listen to Yeji’s words, to throw caution to the wind and make for Kereseia as soon as he can to drag you from the kingdom’s depths. But a saner, perhaps more cowardly part of him advises caution, advises restraint—he could die doing this. And what of Jisung and Felix, then? What will they do in his absence?

But you’re missing. Possibly hurt. Taken by a king who has nothing human in him, who comes from a kingdom described only as having been borne from the depths of hell.

How could he stand to do nothing in the face of that?

“I will go,” he says quietly. Yeji’s eyes crack in relief, but he holds up a hand. “On one condition. I ask that someone watch over my apprentices when I am gone—keep them fed during a time when our business will be low and I am not around to manage things.”

“Done,” Yeji says immediately. “They will be well cared for.” Her face, pale and tight, shifts to the clock and back to him. “I must go now—the guards will start looking for me soon. My horse is outside. Please take him for your journey.”

“Hurry back, and be safe,” Chan replies, standing up. “And please know…” He swallows hard, his heart thumping with anxious resolve. “Your Highness, I will do all that I can to bring her back.”

This time, a real smile graces Yeji’s face when she looks at him—briefly, only for a moment, but Chan takes that smile and presses it into his mind, a reminder of the unbelievable faith she is bestowing on him to take on this terrible quest. “I know, Chan,” she says quietly. “You have my trust.”

. . . . .

Kereseia is at once exactly what you expected, and nothing you could ever have dreamed of.

Granted, you haven’t seen anything but the palace in which you’ve been imprisoned. Your door is locked from the outside, only opened when someone appears to bring you a meal, and your repeated requests to leave—if your initial screams can even be called that—are left unheard. But your rooms, and the few sights you saw as you were dragged to it, provide enough of a case study that only cement your conviction that this place is truly a kingdom of hell.

Black marble lines the floors, lanterns burning in sconces at regular intervals along cold stone walls. There were no windows in the hall they dragged you down and you wonder if there are any at all in the palace—if the inhabitants cannot see the light of day, then what is the point? Your rooms have none—not a single one. The walls are hung with the same lanterns you saw in the halls, orange light flickering and casting strange shadows on the dark marble floors. Crystal glints from the ceiling, hung in chandeliers that glitter coldly in the firelight, and the smooth silk sheets that cover the massive bed give you chills even as you wrap them around you for a semblance of warmth.

It's cold. So cold. In the back of your mind, you’d always thought of hell as some place blisteringly hot, full of fire and the smell of burning flesh. But here everything is cold, from the sheets to the walls to even the fire that burns in the lanterns—when you stretched a shaking hand to the one hanging above the bed, hoping for even a sliver of warmth, even though a bright orange flame burned in the center, the glass walls were cold as ice. And somehow, it fits together even more than the hot hellfire you’d put together in your imagination—hell as the absence of warmth and light, the things that keep the living alive.

And now it’s going to kill you.

Shivering, you pull the sheets closer around you, shivering as a cold area hits your cheek. You haven’t cried yet, though you half expected to—shock, you think. It’s all still hitting you and you don’t want to believe it. All you’ve done is sit here and shiver for what has probably been hours. Part of you can’t believe you’ve been sitting here for so long. The other part of you feels like you’ve been here forever.

You’re still staring into oblivion when a click sounds at the door. You almost stop breathing, eyes trained on the dark wood. Logically, you know the king won’t kill you. That he still needs you for his—disgusting master plan or whatever, to have a child who can walk in the sun. Until then, you should be physically safe. But irrational fear closes your throat at the sound and you have to force yourself not to wrap the blankets more tightly around you as the door swings open.

It's not the king, which releases some of the breath from your chest. But one by one, three servants enter the room, heads bowed, each dressed in the same black silk that covers your bed. Like a little funeral procession.

The door shuts with a click and a thud. You imagine the scene must look at least a little bit comical to an outsider—three servants standing in an unbroken line before the bed where you sit wrapped in sheets, trembling, nothing like the princess you’re supposed to be.

“Your Highness,” one of them finally says, bowing slightly. “We’ve come to ready you for the evening meal.”

Evening meal. Your stomach churns. You’ve never felt less hungry in your life. “I’m not hungry.”

She bows again. “His Majesty said you were to be there.”

You set your jaw. “And if I refuse?”

She doesn’t respond. None of them do. All they do is bow again, then leave single file, the same little funeral procession.

You blink. You’re not naïve enough to believe you won this battle, but you have no idea what’s coming next. Will there be armed guards? Will they force you to dress? What will the king do to have you with him at his banquet table?

You don’t have to wait long to find out. Only a few minutes later does the door swing open again, your heart leaping into your throat as the king himself steps into your quarters.

“Your Highness,” he says smoothly, no indication of how he’s feeling about your tentative transgression in his voice. “I hear you don’t wish to join me and my court for the evening meal.”

Something tells you he’s waiting for a reply, but you won’t speak. Can’t, really. Your heart still feels like it’s clogging your throat. So you say nothing.

“We prepared so much for you, too.” He comes closer and you fight the urge to shrink back. “So many festivities, to honor the arrival of our soon to be queen. Will you not even grace us for a moment with your presence?”

A chill runs up your spine as his gaze bores into yours. “I am not hungry,” you say quietly. “I am not feeling well.”

“No wonder,” he replies, and suddenly his face is in yours, one cold finger touching the skin beneath your eyes. You jerk away, but not before the chill of his skin ripples across your face. “Why, it looks like you haven’t slept a wink since you arrived. Are your quarters not to your liking?”

“They are fine,” you reply, forcing down the snarl in your throat.

“Then what could be ailing you, Your Highness?” His eyes glint with amusement and you want to slap him for it. “If you need help sleeping, I could send a physician to help you. They would not dare refuse, as you are to be my wife, and my queen.”

He’s smirking. He kidnapped you from your own homeland, dragged you here, locked you up, and he’s smirking.

Anger gives you the strength to sit up, to look the king straight in the eye. “What makes you so sure I will be your queen, Your Majesty?” you say, rage clouding each word. “If I died before we wed, before we could conceive…now, wouldn’t that be tragic? Even more so if it was by my own hand?”

Silence hangs in the air after your statement. You stare at the king, who remains expressionless.

And then he laughs.

“It would be tragic, wouldn’t it?” he agrees. You almost shiver at the tone of his voice. “But it would be even more tragic if a second princess of Terpsichani went missing, no?” Ignoring your sharp gasp, he continues. “After all, I chose you. You should feel honored, Your Highness. But if you were to pass so tragically before our wedded bliss on the next new moon, then I would simply have to choose another.”

Rage blurs your vision. “You have no right!”

“I have every right, on the contrary.” The smile disappears from his lips, leaving behind only the darkness in his eyes. “A bargain made must be fulfilled, one way or another. If you try to cut your end short…do keep in mind that it will not bode well for any other.”

It is—so hard to breathe. So hard to think. Memories of your sisters flash through your mind, blurring your thoughts—lovely, sharp-tongued Yeji, sweet Lia, innocent Ryujin, Chaeryeong, Yuna—you think of them, and then you think of this monster smiling at them, touching them—

All of the fight leaves you at once, leaving you to slump into the cold sheets of your bed, gasping for breath.

“I remind you again,” he whispers, right by your ear. You can’t even find the strength to pull away. “We are bound by contract, by fate.” The smile in his voice sickens you. “You have no choice.”

The words slap you in the face, one by one. And you can’t even argue.

He stands again. “I will see you for the evening festivities, Your Highness. Please don’t be late.” You hear his footsteps on the cold floor, then the door opening and closing, leaving you all alone in a cold heap on the bed.

. . .

You let the servants dress you, clothe you in dark silk trimmed with gold and silver. You let them brush makeup onto your face, adorn your neck and wrists with cold gems. You watch them take your rough white robes and pure white slippers somewhere you don’t know, and then you let them lead you through the winding halls, armed guards on each side, to the dining room, where the king himself waits.

You sit at the table among the sneers and cheers of the Kereseian nobility. You eat little, and speak even less. No one bothers to converse with you anyway, only ever congratulating the king on “such a lovely fiancée, even if she doesn’t speak much and comes from the surface.”

When the meal is over, you pray that the night is also over, that you will be allowed to return to your rooms and—you don’t know what, grieve or cry or sit in silence until you’re next called or until you pass out. You just want to be alone. But then the tables are cleared, nobility chattering away as they move into the next room, and the king is looking at you with that awful smile. “It is time for the best part of the night. I think you will enjoy it,” he whispers, guiding you toward the crowd.

Somehow, you doubt it. But your silence only invites him to continue. “We will dance the night away, you and I,” he says, grinning even as your stomach drops in fear. “It is time for the Midnight Ball.”

To your horror, the nobility are already looking at you expectantly as the king leads you into a huge, glittering ballroom. The ceiling must be five times your height at least, inlaid with gold and gems that sparkle coldly in the chilly light of the chandeliers, and as the chatter dies down, you can hear your footsteps clicking ominously on the floor.

The shoes the servants slipped upon your feet are nothing like the ones Chan makes you. The supple, bright satin you’ve grown used to, stitched with shimmering designs that made you feel almost fairy-like as you danced, has turned into stiff, dark silk that pinches your heels and toes. All your life you’ve loved dancing, loved every style you learned, loved spinning about any floor, weaving emotions in the air no matter where you were, and so it’s a completely new feeling to be walking onto the ballroom floor with nothing but cold dread in your heart.

In the center of the ballroom, the king lets go of your hand, turning to the crowd. You almost run. But you would be caught in an instant, and besides, you don’t know where to go in this labyrinth of a palace. So you only stay silent and miserable as the king speaks.

“Be honored,” he says to the eager room, “to witness the first dance of the Kereseian king and his soon to be queen. Two figures bound not only by rings, but by fate itself.”

Fate. You stare at the hand that the king has offered you, that word bouncing endlessly off the walls of your skull. This can’t be fate. This can’t be your fate—you can’t be sentenced to a life under the earth, to bear a child for this king’s hellish plans, to wither away in this kingdom of hell without a hope of seeing the sun.

But the hand proffered before you says otherwise.

Fingers shaking, you take the hand. Allow the king to bring you close. Allow his hand to settle on your shoulder blade, skin crawling where his fingers touch, allow his other hand to grasp your own. Only years and years of training keep your own hand steady on his arm, your frame as strong and sturdy as your heart isn’t.

Perhaps it’s stupid, but all you can think is that he didn’t even ask if you were to follow or lead.

“Come now, why do you tremble so?” he whispers as the music begins, haunting melodies echoing off the walls. “I’m sure you are a fine dancer, princess of Terpsichani.”

Before you can retort, he whisks you into the dance. Your feet follow numbly. And as he whirls you around the ballroom, the eyes of the crowd crawling all over you, you stop thinking. Let your eyes whisper, unseeing, over the decorations on the walls. Let your muscle memory take over for your mind. Force yourself not to feel, not to emote, not to cry, because if you think—if you show a single emotion on your face—he wins. The entire room wins. Your despair will keen so loudly in your movements, desperation rolling off you in waves, and they will all laugh. They will all smile. They will point and whisper and cackle about the weakness of this princess from above the earth, and though you can feel your heart shattering to pieces on the ground, you will not let them have that. These scraps of dignity are all you have left.

When you return to your room, having danced the night away, you remember nothing. You don’t remember his voice whispering in your ear. You don’t remember the other nobles spinning beside you. You don’t remember how your dance shoes could have been worn out in one night, how you could have gotten these aches and pains in your arms and legs. You don’t remember how you returned to your room.

You haven’t cried this whole time, not since you arrived. You didn’t cry during the hours you sat in silence on the bed. You didn’t cry during the time you sat at the evening meal. You didn’t cry on the dance floor during a night of dancing you won’t remember. But as you lie in bed between the cold silk sheets, feet aching with the pain of following, following, following a man with whom you never wanted to dance, the first tears slip out.

And they don’t stop.

. . . . .

Chan rides fast, as fast as he can, but halfway through the woods he has to slow down because it’s getting dark and his horse is getting tired. He’s needed a break for a while but just the thought of stopping for something as trivial as his own rest terrifies him, so he continues on until it’s clear he can’t anymore.

He’s not afraid of the woods, even in this unfamiliar territory. He used to play in the trees as a child as his mother and father foraged in the grasses, and before he found his calling as a cobbler, the woods near his home were one of the places where he truly felt alive. Even now, with the weight of Yeji’s words and your situation on his back, the darkening woods comfort him, in a way.

It’s been two days since Yeji came calling—two days of nonstop riding south, to where the legends say an entrance to the Kereseian kingdom lies. The kingdom is underground. Chan isn’t quite sure how he will enter, even where exactly an entrance might lie, but he’s brushed that off for now. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

With a sigh, Chan dismounts his horse and leads it to a nearby stream. While he drinks, Chan unpacks the small bag of things he brought for himself. He doesn’t have much food left, but he should be close—and at that point, food will probably be the least of his worries. Sinking down under the shelter of a large tree, he lets out a breath, feeling fatigue overcome him as he bites into a chunk of bread.

Then a branch snaps.

Chan whirls around. It’s not unheard of for people to live in the woods, but he didn’t pass anyone on the path and assumed this area was deserted. An animal, perhaps? Or—

A small, stooped old woman hobbles out from the path. “Hello there, traveler.”

Chan swallows down his surprise along with a bit of bread and nearly chokes on it. “Good evening, my lady.” He cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth—he has no idea who this old woman is or her title, if she has one—but better to be more polite than necessary, he supposes.

“My, you have manners.” She smiles up at him with surprisingly bright eyes. “I don’t suppose you would have anything for an old woman such as I to eat? I’ve been traveling all day and haven’t had time to try and find a bite.”

A few hunks of bread, a few chunks of cheese, some greens he gathered on the short stops for water he took on the way. He has no water now, but he can refill that in the stream. “I don’t have much,” he says humbly, patting the ground next to him, “but you are welcome to share what I have, my lady.”

She sits down with a groan that Chan feels in his bones. “You’re a kind young man,” she says as he spreads out the remnants of his pack. “I thank you deeply.”

He bows his head briefly. “The pleasure is mine.”

They don’t speak much as they share their meal, only when Chan refills his flask and offers it to the woman. When they’ve finished their small portions, the woman leans back with a satisfied sigh. “Thank you kindly, young man. You’ve been good to an old woman. If you’ll come with me, my hut isn’t far. I don’t have much, but I’d like to give you something, if you don’t mind. As thanks.”

Chan weighs the old woman’s words. It’s strange that she showed up in the middle of the woods—without him noticing, too, and he’s been on the path the whole day—but she doesn’t seem to be malicious. He broke bread with her and she seemed kindly enough then. It’s true that she could turn on him in an instant now that he has nothing left to offer her, but that would be a lot of effort when she could simply go on her way without offering him anything in return for his food. He wouldn’t have thought twice about it if she did.

Anyway, she reminds him a little of his grandmother from when he was little. So Chan only nods with a smile, then bows his head in thanks. “I would be honored, my lady.”

Together, they trek through the forest, Chan leading his horse by the reins. By the time they reach what seems to be her home, a small hut deep in the forest, the sun has set entirely. The old woman waits patiently for him to tie up the horse, then leads him inside.

If the hut seemed small from the outside, the inside seems even tinier, cluttered with knickknacks and trinkets and old furniture that, strangely, still looks like it’s in some semblance of order. “Sit, sit,” she says, gesturing to an overstuffed chair that Chan gingerly settles into. It’s so soft, and he’s been so tired after days of traveling and sleeping in the forest, that when he blinks he’s almost tempted to fall asleep right then and there.

She sits in front of him, eyes gentle. “You look to be on a journey, young man,” she says, not unkindly. “A very important one. Would you tell me what it is?”

It’s a pointed question. Not one that Chan expected to be asked. Looking into the old woman’s eyes, he has the strange suspicion that she already knows the answer, but for some reason wants to hear it from his own lips.

Well, it’s not as if he expected to travel any more this evening. Before he met her, he was just going to settle right where he was and sleep until dawn. Swallowing hard against the lump rising in his throat, Chan speaks. “A…good friend of mine. She has been kidnapped, and I have reason to believe she was taken by the Kereseian king himself. I’ve come this way to find her and bring her back, if…if I can.” His voice cracks on the last word, and then he falls silent.

The old woman’s expression doesn’t change, though her eyes seem to turn a touch softer. “You’ve traveled far, young man. And you’ve done well.” She leans forward, presses one of his hands between her wrinkled, warm fingers. “You are devoted to your friend, and I have no doubt she is devoted to you in the same way."

There’s no mirror in front of him, but Chan can tell his cheeks are reddening nonetheless. It doesn’t stop the old woman, who only smiles knowingly before she continues. “I am a witch, young man. A practitioner of the magic beyond that of the arts that your people have been blessed with. My powers are not as strong as they once were, but I can help you with your quest. Give me but a moment.” She rises and walks to what looks to be a small closet set into the wall. Chan watches her rummage around some more, then come out with what looks to be a piece of cloth. As she brings it closer, Chan sees that it’s a short black cloak trimmed with pale gold thread. A gold clasp fastens the throat. When she sits back down, she extends it to him.

Chan takes it. Up close, he can see that it’s a bit small, perhaps just large enough to cover his shoulders, but the material is warm and seems sturdy. But it’s also just a cloak, and try as he might, Chan can’t understand what she gave this to him for.

She seems to anticipate this, though, if the glint in her eye says anything. “Put it on. And take care to do the clasp properly, or it won't work.”

He settles the cloak around his shoulders, surprised to find that it fits quite well. His fingers fumble around the clasp for a moment, but the second it clicks into place—

His arms disappear. So do his legs. And while he can still very much feel his limbs and knows that he must exist based on the indent he’s still leaving in the armchair where he sits, every part of his body is invisible.

Before him, the old woman smiles broadly. “It’s an invisibility cloak, young man. Take care to use it well.”

Chan unfastens the gold clasp, watching in amazement as he shimmers back into view. The rush of adrenaline that had come with turning invisible hasn’t gone, but he reluctantly tries to hand back the cloak anyway. “I shouldn’t take this from you, my lady,” he says. “Such a magical item should be treasured. I’m sure you could barter or sell it for some food, or whatever else you might need.”

She pushes it back to him. “This cloak is not for sale,” she says firmly. “It should be given to the one who needs it most, and I have decided that it is you. How do you plan to go sneaking around the Kereseian palace without it, hm? If they catch you, you will be dead for sure, and no one will be able to help you then. Not me, and not your dear friend either.”

Unfortunately, she has a point. Try as he might, Chan can’t think of any other way he’d be able to go around the palace unnoticed—this invisibility cloak would be a blessing. So he takes it, folds it neatly, and bows deeply to the old woman. “I thank you deeply, my lady.”

“No need for thanks.” She waves off his words with a grandmotherly smile. “Now, I will give you two more pieces of information to aid you on your journey. Listen closely.” Her eyes turn serious. “The kingdom of Kereseia feeds on dark magic. Dark magic, when caught, is easily destroyed—simply burn it with a clean flame in an iron fireplace.” She points to her own fireplace, one wrinkled eyebrow raised. “Unfortunately, it is not easily caught.”

Chan lets out a short, despairing laugh. Of course. “I figured as much.”

“Do not be discouraged yet.” She holds up a finger. “The dark magic of the Kereseian king is concentrated in two places—in his crown, and in the ruby he wears around his neck. Destroy these and you destroy him, and his palace to boot. No matter what contract binds your friend to him, it will be null and void if his magic is gone.” Her eyes crinkle in a sly grin. “There isn’t much he can do if his kingdom has collapsed, his source of magic disappeared.”

A crown, and a necklace. Chan swallows hard. “There is no doubt he keeps these on his person at all times, I assume.”

“You would be correct,” she agrees, and Chan’s heart sinks. It’s not as if he expected anything different, but still. “The rulers of Kereseia have never been fools, evil as they are. But you are intelligent, young man, and you have a good heart.” She smiles, and Chan takes some small comfort in the crinkling of her eyes. “You will find a way.”

Chan isn’t sure why she has so much faith in him, but he tries to take heart in it all the same. “Thank you, my lady.”

“I’m not finished. There is one more piece of information I must impart to you.” A glint comes to her eye, and Chan finds himself leaning in. “I will now tell you how to get into the kingdom of Kereseia itself.”

. . . . .

Day three dawns—metaphorically—as miserably as the past two. When you wake between the cold sheets, only icy fire lighting your room, all you can do is sigh and wish you hadn’t woken up at all.

It’s bad enough being trapped in an underground world where there’s no light or warmth, far from the home you’ve known your whole life. What makes it worse is that, apparently, there’s just nothing to do except wake up late, dress for the Midnight Ball, and dance with someone you’d normally not go near with a ten foot long spear.

Ha. When you put it like that, your situation almost seems funny.

You swallow a bout of hysterical laughter just in time for several servants to enter the room, each with the same countenance of a pallbearer that they all seem to have around here. Not that you can blame them—you think you’d feel pretty grim too, if you had to serve Kereseian nobility all day. They dress you in the same dark colors you’ve been wearing for days, then bow out with a whisper that your lunch will be brought in soon.

When they leave, you press a hand to your heart. Try to slow your breath. It doesn’t work, not really—your heart has been racing since the first day and it never quite calmed down—but you can trick yourself into thinking you’re not quite hyperventilating. Not just yet.

Another knock sounds, and you wait in silence as a fourth servant brings in a tray of food that you know you’ll leave mostly untouched. She bows herself out, and you eye the tray with trepidation. It probably all tastes delicious, but you’re about as hungry as you are delighted to be here.

“Your Highness.”

What.

Your already racing heart spikes and you let out some combination of a yell and a cough, clutching your chest. For a moment, you watch the door in case someone comes inside to investigate the source of the voice. But no one does.

Heart still beating way too fast, you survey the room with a careful eye. There should be no one in here except you, but you swear you heard a voice—

“Your Highness,” the same voice whispers, and then a familiar face appears out of nowhere, unclasping what looks to be a short black cloak from around his neck.

You gape. You’re dreaming, you must be. There is no way Chan, your cobbler, is standing in front of you in your quarters in the palace of the Kereseian king. You’re hallucinating. You’ve gone mad. The darkness of this place drove you insane and now you’re seeing things.

But the hallucination is so real as it steps forward, eyes shimmering with what look like real tears. It keeps coming closer, and you can’t bring yourself to blink the vision away, and then it gently takes the two of your hands in his—

You gasp when warm skin touches yours. Warm, so warm, so gentle and so familiar.

It must be real.

Chan barely manages to catch you when you stumble into his arms, desperately trying to muffle your sobs into his shoulder. He’s shaking too, you realize, holding you with at least as much trembling fervor as you hold him, and for what could be seconds, hours, days, you clutch him, sobbing, hearts beating together this time as one.

“How?” you croak when you finally have the breath to speak, daring to raise your eyes to the apparition-turned-human before you.

He takes in a shuddering breath, a trembling smile on his lips. “I had some help.”

Attention rapt, you listen as Chan tells you how Yeji came to his home to tell him of your disappearance, how he set out almost immediately after. He tells you of two days of nearly nonstop riding, stopping only for water and to rest at night. He tells you of the strange, kindly witch who gave him the invisibility cloak as thanks for sharing a meal, then told him where and how to find you.

“There is an opening in the earth that the Kereseian king does not know,” he says, describing a dark cave hidden from the sun, the opening framed by two large rocks with a strange, metallic glow that came from trees of silver down below. “I only had to go down the opening, and then I found myself on one of the streets outside the palace.”

“And you snuck in with just the cloak?” You shake your head in amazement.

“Well, I can be very quiet when needed.” He smiles almost shyly, and your heart skips a beat. It’s incredible how you’ve calmed with just his presence, your heart no longer racing a thousand miles a minute. “We need to get you out of here, now.”

Your stomach sinks. “I can’t,” you whisper, heart aching when Chan’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I—I don’t know the details. But my father made some sort of…bargain, I suppose, with the Kereseian king’s father. He and my mother had trouble conceiving, apparently. Enough that he sought a contract with the king.” You swallow down the disgust crawling up your throat. “In the end, in return for a child, the Kereseian king asked for one of his daughters. For his son.” Weakly, you spread your arms in some sort of attempt at humor. “And he chose me.”

Chan’s expression speaks of horror. “Your father knew of this?”

“I don’t know how much he knew of the current king's plan, but he certainly failed to warn me.” You laugh bitterly. “But the point is, Chan, I can’t leave. The king would only take one of my sisters instead, and I will not let that happen.”

“That won’t happen.” You open your mouth to argue, but Chan smiles slightly, cutting you off. “We may not be able to get you out tonight, but the witch also told me that if we can destroy the king’s source of power, whatever…contract keeps you here will be void.” He looks at you earnestly. “He wears a dark crown, apparently, and a necklace with a ruby. Have you perhaps seen them?”

A dark crown, and a ruby necklace. You think back to the past three nights of dancing with the king and fight the urge to shiver. “I have seen the crown,” you say slowly, remembering the heavy circlet of black metal and gems that always shimmers upon his head. “The necklace…” You recall a large ruby almost glowing on his chest. “Yes, I have seen it too. I do not see him much throughout the day, but every night…he always wears them.”

“Every night?”

“For the Midnight Ball,” you say quietly. “He…we dance. Together.” You fight to hide the revulsion from your face.

To your surprise, Chan almost looks like he might cry again. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

“Why do you apologize? None of this is of your doing.” You press his hands between yours. “And, Chan, do not call me Your Highness. Call me by my own name, please.” Your voice trembles, but you raise a hand when he tries to speak. “If I had my way I would have asked you sooner, but I know your bounds of propriety. But you came all this way for me. You came to save me.” You swallow hard, tears pricking your eyes again. “We are on equal footing here, and forevermore I will owe you my life.”

“Don’t say such things,” Chan whispers. “You owe me nothing.”

“But I do.” You smile wetly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “So please, at the least—call me by my name, Chan.”

For a moment it looks like he will still argue, but he doesn’t, only replies with a wobbly smile that is more beautiful than any gem you have ever seen. “As you wish…Y/N.”

You can’t help your own smile as you bring him close again, arms wrapping around his chest. “Thank you, Chan,” you whisper, voice unsteady with emotion.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just breathing together, then Chan gently continues. “The witch told me that the crown and necklace are where the king’s dark magic is concentrated,” he says quietly. “If we can take them somehow, all we need to do is burn them in an iron fireplace, which she has in her home.”

“He always seems to be wearing them, though.” You press your lips together, thinking. “You might need to take them while he sleeps. Unless he wears them both even then…”

“It’s worth a try,” Chan replies. He sets his jaw. “If I can try and slip in with this cloak and take them then, I’ll get you out and we can escape.”

“It’ll be a long wait,” you warn. “The Midnight Ball lasts all night, until dawn. Only then will he return to his rooms, if he even does—I do not know his habits. But…” Your narrow your eyes. “At night, the servants will come to dress me for the Midnight Ball. When we leave, you must leave with us. Of course, wear the cloak. Come to the ball invisible, and you will see the crown and the ruby so you know what to take, and when the night ends, follow the king to his chambers. He has to go there at some point. Then, when he falls asleep, you can take them.”

“You’re a genius,” Chan breathes. “Yes, hopefully this should work.” Suddenly, he frowns. “But how will I get you out? Your door is locked.”

You purse your lips. “He must have a key somewhere,” you conclude quietly. “I expect he keeps it on his person, since he has…he’s come before.” You ignore Chan’s look of concern. “You may find it in his room. But I will also try to see if I can keep the door wedged open slightly, or something.”

Chan doesn’t look entirely happy. You can’t fully fight the worry lodged in your own chest either—this isn’t a completely foolproof plan. But it’s about as good as you can get, and you say as much to Chan, who agrees.

“Tonight, then,” you say, forcing down a surge of hope that tries to spread through your chest.

“Tonight,” Chan echoes, squeezing your hand. “We’ll get you out of here.”

. . .

You’re more nervous than you’ve ever been. The servants have dressed and prepared you for the evening festivities, and now you’re out the door. Chan disappeared a while ago, and the last you felt of him was the soft press of his hand against yours before he vanished. The cloak is truly extraordinary. As the guards lead you down to the banquet hall, you send good wishes to the witch who gifted it to him.

It feels like you’re in a daze, almost, as you run through the motions of the evening. No one speaks to you as per usual at the meal, and when the king takes you to the center of the ballroom for your first dance of the night, you accept his hand blankly and let your muscles take over. All the while your heart is racing like no tomorrow, beating so hard you’re terrified the king will hear it, but he doesn’t say a word about it the whole night, which gives you hope.

Until the ball ends, and he says he has something he’d like you to see.

Immediately your throat seizes. He’s caught Chan. You don’t know when, or how—the king hasn’t left your side all night—but he caught Chan and he’s about to show you his mangled body or corpse—

Shut. Up. You force yourself to breathe. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

If your voice is a little more stilted than it usually is, he says nothing.

The king leads you in the direction of your rooms. Between the confusion and the terror of Chan possibly having been caught, you can hardly breathe, can barely take in what he’s saying as you pass through the myriad of rooms and halls, but then he leads you down a different path from the one you usually take. Finally, he stops in what looks like it would be an atrium if there was sunlight in this damned place. A fountain stands in the middle of the round floor under a high, vaulted ceiling, clear water running gently into the basin.

It's rather beautiful, really. If only it weren’t in such a dark place.

“Your Highness.” The king extends you a hand, that cruel smirk still embedded on his face. “May I have one last dance here, tonight?”

Your chest tightens in a mix of relief, apprehension, and exhaustion. Because if he wanted to show you that he’d caught Chan, he’d hardly do it while dancing, right? But also, why couldn’t he just ask for this dance in the ballroom? And you’re tired, so tired—your feet and legs ache like no tomorrow, and all you really want to do is lie down. You stare at the hand. “My slippers have already worn out, Your Majesty.”

“They’ll hold for one more dance, I’m sure.” He takes your hand even though you never accepted. “Why do you look so put out, hm?”

It wouldn’t do you any good to tell him the real reason—that he repulses you and you want nothing to do with him, ever—so you settle for a half-truth to change the subject. “You never ask me if I am to follow or lead.”

“Oh?” He spins you into frame. “Is that something I was supposed to do?”

You meet his eyes. “It is customary in my country, where all who dance with partners learn both roles.” It is a sign of respect and consent, you don’t add. That the one who asks another to dance must accept the other’s preferred role.

“Well, I have only learned one role,” the king responds nonchalantly, eyes glinting with malice. “And it is not as if I will ever do anything but lead in this partnership. What would you do, either, but follow?” Then he laughs as though this is the funniest joke in the world when you feel like you’ve just been punched in the gut. “Now, dance with me.”

It takes all of your self-control not to slap him in the face or pull away. You remember that Chan was to follow the king back to his chambers and pray that he isn’t witnessing this, and that if he is, that he doesn’t let his sense of justice push him into doing something rash. “As you wish,” you reply, monotone.

Inlaid on the atrium floor are twelve circles of white marble placed evenly around the fountain. Slowly, you begin to waltz with the king through the circles, shoes sliding ominously over the stone, wondering—why couldn’t he just do this in the ballroom where you were dancing before? But then something shifts beneath your feet and only years of training keep you from stumbling into the king, though a yelp escapes your lips—

“Keep dancing, Your Highness,” the king says, cruel amusement in his voice.

Embarrassment rises in your cheeks but you continue to follow dutifully, even as it becomes clear that the marble circles are rising, forming something of a winding staircase that rises over the fountain. Your heart leaps in your throat and in a moment of weakness you clutch at the king’s hands because gods and stars above, it feels like you’re going to fall.

But you don’t fall, and the staircase continues to rise until the vaulted ceiling itself begins to open, as though by magic. A small gasp escapes your throat as you take the last step onto the final circle, the king spinning you once, twice, three times as the ceiling fully opens, letting in—

Light. Very little, for the sky is still mostly dark, but the gray light of dawn has just begun to streak through the sky, filtering through the ceiling’s opening and bathing you in a soft glow. A choked noise escapes your throat and when you raise a hand to your eyes, you find there are tears.

It’s been too long since you saw sunlight, even as weak as this.

“This will be my wedding gift to you,” the king says, breaking the spell. Suddenly you remember you’re not on the surface of the earth, where you belong, but underground in a land of hell where an evil king controls your access to the sun. “On nights where I am pleased with you, I will take you to the surface. Of course, the spell will only be activated if you dance with another on these stones, and who else would you dance with but I?” He laughs, malice in his voice, but you’re trying to fight the rise of hope in your chest as you think of another with whom you might dance on these stones—

Chan. If the escape goes wrong, if you’re running out of time—you can escape here. Via this staircase, to the sunlight.

You force yourself back to the present in time to hear the end of the king’s deluded speech. “I cannot walk in the sun, of course.” His lip curls in a way that is anything but friendly. “That witch on the surface made certain of that. But you, with our child…” Suddenly his face is in yours, his hand cupping your cheek. “Someday, Your Highness, you might walk upon the earth’s surface with our child on your hip. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”

Gods and stars above. You pinch yourself hard to avoid doing something stupid—like throw up. Or scream. “Quite,” you grit out, fighting a wave of revulsion. “How kind you are.”

He laughs again, like you’re the most amusing person he’s ever met. It makes you sick. “Take a good rest then, Your Highness,” he says as he leads you down the staircase, the steps disappearing along the way and the vaulted ceiling closing on itself, leaving you with only the cold flames of the underground once more. “I will see you tomorrow night.”

As he turns away, you’re certain he doesn’t hear you whisper, “Hopefully not.”

. . . . .

Quietly, about ten paces back, Chan follows the king down unfamiliar corridors and through unfamiliar rooms to reach the king’s own quarters, all the time forcing himself to pay attention to the route and not to think about the cavalier way the king treats you, like you’re some sort of…exotic pet, or something, come to entertain him in this palace.

“On nights where I am pleased with you, I will take you to the surface.” Chan nearly broke out of his cover right then and there to punch this king in the nose. But he didn’t, because if anything you have the first right to do that, not him. And because that would mess everything up. His goal tonight is to get you out of here��not to have the two of you locked up. So he forces himself to stay invisible and silent.

If he’s being honest, Chan doesn’t think he expected himself to get this far. Sneaking into the palace was a nerve-wracking thing on its own, and sneaking around the palace is even worse. He’s quiet, but even his shoes have heels, and he breathes, and generally makes some amount of noise no matter how silent he tries to be. So as he steps quietly behind the king and his little retinue, all he can do is pray, and breathe, and pray some more.

They stop in front of a massive black door, inlaid with silver and sparkling gems. Chan gapes—this whole palace is full of luxury of the likes he has never seen, and he’s seen many beautiful things, working for your kingdom—but pinches himself to focus when two guards pull it open. The king steps inside, and before the doors close, Chan manages to slip in too.

The room is built similarly to yours—dark floor, dark walls, no windows at all. Lanterns of the same cold flame that light up the whole palace are arranged along the walls, spilling strange shadows onto the floor. Unlike your room, though, there are treasures hung everywhere—gems, drapes, suits of armor. They look like spoils of war. Chan ducks behind some sort of ceremonial tapestry as the king’s servants undress him, ready him for bed. All the while he’s still wearing the dark crown upon his brow.

Chan covers his mouth to muffle his breath as the servants leave the room, leaving just the king. Slowly, too slowly, Chan watches as the king lifts the crown off his head, then places it in an elaborate case by the bed. He closes the case and with a quiet snick, like it was locked. Which it very well might have been. Chan panics for a moment—how is he going to get it out of the damn case?—but he forces himself to breathe. He might not need to. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to burn the whole case with the crown in it. With bated breath, he waits for the king to take off the necklace, too.

But he doesn’t.

In horror, Chan watches as the king simply lies down on the bed without taking the necklace off. As the king’s breath evens into sleep, Chan fights the urge to start screaming. So close, but so far—

Breathe. Small steps. He can get the crown, at least. Heart in his throat, Chan tiptoes towards the king’s bed and picks up the case. It’s somewhat bulky, and extremely ornate. The gems and gold encrusted around the rims weigh it down and he can see that there’s no keyhole, only a large dent in the metal. It makes Chan wonder how the king locked the crown inside, because when he tries to open it the lid won’t budge. Still, while it’s a bit large, it’s not so heavy that he can’t carry it. Chan slips the case into his bag and tucks the whole thing back under his cloak, where it all disappears from sight.

Something catches his eye as he turns back to the king—a glint of silver. Chan leans in closer. It’s a key, hanging around the king’s chest on a thin chain.

Maybe the key to your rooms.

It almost seems too good to be true. Chan glances around the room, but nothing similar to a key catches his eye. If the king is keeping a key on his person, then it must be important. There must be a reason.

He bites his lip. There’s the key, and the ruby necklace. The key he might be able to get—the chain is thin, and looks like it could be snapped with enough force. The ruby, however, is large, and the chain that supports it is far too thick for him to try and break.

But he has to try.

Blood rushes in Chan’s ears, his heart thumping so loudly he fears the king might hear him. Slowly, slowly, he extends a hand to where the silver key lies, gingerly picking up the key itself. His heart nearly stops when the king rustles in his sleep, but he settles again, and Chan takes a deep breath. Careful. Gathering the key in his fist, he wraps a short piece of the chain around a finger and grabs another section. Praying hard, he jerks the chain.

Two things happen. One, the chain snaps, leaving Chan with the key in his palm.

Two, the king’s eyes snap open.

Chan almost gasps out loud. Just in time he presses a hand over his mouth, muffling any noise he might make. The king looks around, head jerking left, right as Chan backs away as slowly as his trembling legs will allow, hardly daring to breathe. Don’t notice me, he prays. Don’t notice, don’t notice, don’t notice—

The king looks down, at the broken chain on his chest. Then he looks left, to where the crown case has disappeared.

Shit.

“GUARDS!”

The doors rush open. Chan doesn’t think twice before sprinting out, clutching the bag beneath his cloak.

. . .

When you returned to your rooms that night, you didn’t sleep. You couldn’t—out of anxiety, of course, but also because Chan was supposed to return, and you needed to be awake for whatever happened next.

You didn’t expect to hear shouts and screams so soon, though.

Footsteps storm down the hall as cries of confusion ring off the walls. In your room, you freeze—what do you do? Do you just wait? What else could you do, when only a key can unlock your door from the outside, a key that no one would ever use—

No. You steel yourself. With the confusion now, if anything, this is the perfect chance to escape.

Mustering three days’ worth of condensed fear and rage, you open your mouth and scream.

To your surprise, it works almost immediately. Barely have you finished your second cry, throat raw with the effort, then do the doors swing open, Kereseian guards looking inside with confusion. Calling upon all the terror you’ve shoved away over the past few days, you swing an arm out and whirl in front of them in half a semblance of a dance, biting back a smile of satisfaction when the guards’ eyes blow wide with terror. “There is someone in my room,” you half gasp, half scream. “There is someone in my room—I felt them touch me—HELP ME!”

The guards step inside gingerly, eyes still wide with your manifested fear. You slip through the open doors and pull them shut against their cries of confusion.

The corridor isn’t quite empty, though it isn’t full of noise yet either. You stay near your room, back to the doors, praying with some sort of insane hope that you’ll blend in with the dark walls. Then a hand touches yours and a shriek builds in your throat—

But when you turn around, there’s nothing, and your heart melts in relief.

“How did you get out?” Chan’s voice hisses past your ear. His hand grabs yours, begins pulling you down the hall.

“I’ll tell you later,” you hiss back, weaving through the growing confusion. “Where are we going?”

“Where I came in from.” Chan gulps audibly. “It’s a bit far—”

“STOP THEM!”

No time to think. Ignoring his noise of confusion, you pull Chan in the direction of the atrium. “Circles,” you gasp, praying he understands. A gasp of recognition comes from his direction as you screech to a stop by the fountain, fumble for his hand, pull him into frame. “Just—follow me!”

You lead Chan into the fastest dance you know, spinning through one circle, two, then three, then four. Between adrenaline and the slowly rising steps and your haphazard spins of the Apollonian waltz—your instructor would have a fit if she saw you—you can barely step without stumbling, thoughts a mess beyond the rush of blood in your ears. Your heart is pounding so fast, sweat in your eyes, and Chan trips over one of the rising stones and you barely catch him in time and all the while the vaulted ceiling is opening, the pink light of dawn slowly beginning to filter into the atrium, filling it with blessed sunlight—

Hope begins to blossom in your chest, just as a hand grabs your ankle and pulls you off balance.

A shriek rips itself from your throat as you trip on the steps, banging your leg hard against the stone. Sharp pain streaks up from your ankle and you have just enough time to wonder if you broke a bone before your head hits the steps too and the world explodes into dizzying stars and in the moment all you can comprehend is that someone is dragging you down, while another hand is pulling you up.

You glance down. The movement sends your head spinning. But it doesn’t take much thought to process the grim face of the Kereseian king lunging forward on the steps below you, your ankle clutched in his iron grasp.

“Don’t let go!” Chan’s voice whips past your ear, clashing with all the fear and adrenaline shooting through your brain. Your hand is in his and you clutch it like a lifeline, trying to drag your leg out of the king’s grip, but it’s too much. Too tight. And all you can do is look at where Chan should be, his invisible grasp tying you down to earth, but you’re slipping, slipping—

And then, to your horror, the face of your cobbler flashes into view, one end of the invisibility cloak dangling off his shoulders.

A gasping laugh sounds beneath you. You barely register it as coming from the king. “So your lover came to save you?” he cackles, nails digging into your skin. Something wet trickles down your leg and you think it might be blood. “I thought he was just a friend.”

Part of you wants to fire back a witty retort. The other part of you knows that between the adrenaline and the pain, you couldn’t think of one if you tried.

“Chan, go,” you gasp, voice raw. “You need to go!”

He grips your hand harder but you know it won’t last. Already your hold is slipping, palms slick with sweat, while the king’s grip remains all too steady. “I’m not going to leave you behind,” he says between gritted teeth.

It’s the wrong moment. Completely the wrong moment. But in this faint pink light of dawn, you can’t help but think that he looks like an angel, sent by the stars and gods above to help you, to save you. Your own guardian. Your own love.

“I know,” you say, and for a moment a real smile curves your lips. “I trust you.”

Chan realizes what you mean to do a second before you do it. You can see it in his eyes, the way they widen in horror just before you let go.

The king stumbles, unprepared for the sudden loss of tension. He falls, and then you fall, tumbling down the stairs that are already beginning to vanish as no one dances. “GO!” you scream to the blurry figure of your love still standing above, stock still with horror, and you thank every god above when he whirls around, takes the last few steps, and disappears out of the ceiling just before it closes.

For a long moment, all you can do is lie where you are on the floor of the atrium, gasping for breath. All of the previous confusion seems to have disappeared, leaving nothing to break the silence except for your gasps of pain.

A shadow looms over you. Your head aches something awful with every movement you try to make, but you force yourself to lift it, to stare the king in the eye. Triumph briefly runs through your veins when you see that he looks worse for wear, even if not as badly as you feel. His pale face looks burnt—from the rays of dawn, you realize. It must be part of the curse that keeps him underground if even the faintest sunlight can burn him. He winces slightly as he steps forward. Something must have happened to his legs too, perhaps when you let go of Chan and the two of you fell.

“What an attempt at escape,” he sneers, and any triumph you just felt freezes into cold terror in your veins. You keep yourself rigid as he lowers himself, face entering your vision until it’s all that you can see. “I give you everything you need, even provide you every avenue for dance, and this is how you repay me.”

You swallow hard, tasting blood. You must have bitten your lip in your fall. “You kidnapped me against my will from my own home, and took me beneath the surface where I can no longer even see the sun,” you snarl back. Your head hurts so much you think you might throw up and every so often there are two Kereseian kings instead of just one, but you force yourself to continue. “How else did you believe I would act?”

“You could have made things so easy for yourself if you had just kept silent and gone with it,” he hisses. “Maybe I should just marry you now, hm? It wouldn’t matter if you tried to escape then.”

The thought fills you with terror but one piece of information keeps you sane. “You won’t marry me until the new moon,” you say, each word dragged physically from your throat. “It’s not customary. Not for your royalty.”

“Who’s to say tradition can’t be broken?” The king laughs, high and insane. Your heart nearly stops. “But I suppose we will keep tradition intact for now. In the meantime, though, I suppose I will need a new way to keep you from escaping.” He smiles, the knife blade curve of his lips so cruel. “Any ideas?”

If your mind were sound, you might have tried to throw words into his face. But you can barely keep yourself from passing out in pain, let alone summon something articulate from your lips, so all you do is spit in his face.

It’s a little easier to think when you focus on the tiny sense of satisfaction you get when he flushes with anger.

“I see your leg is already injured.” His snarl turns into a smile, diabolical and cruel and suddenly your veins feel cold, your mind clear, too clear as he steps around you, wiping his face almost delicately. He stops next to the leg that burst into pain when you fell. The one you think might be broken.

And stomps hard on it.

The world explodes into a dim haze of pain, black spots blurring the edge of your vision. You hear someone screaming and vaguely you think it might be you. But it’s too hard to think, too hard to keep the flood of tears back, and you can taste blood on your lips and your tongue—

“Break the other one.”

Briefly, you think, there is no way I can feel more pain than this.

You're wrong.

Screams echo in your ears, and you’re not sure if it’s just your mind shrieking or if the raw, animal sounds of your throat are actually bouncing off of the dark, marble walls. It doesn’t really matter. Nothing matters. The pain in your legs is all you can feel, all you can see, taste, and hear—

Your body is a ball of fire and it won’t stop burning.

“Don’t worry,” the king croons in your ear, one disgusting finger flicking a tear from your eye. “I’ll have you healed before our Midnight Ball—my court wouldn’t want to lose their new favorite form of entertainment. For all your useless body is worth, you do dance beautifully.” He laughs and the sound only makes your head pound more. “Take her back to her rooms,” he says, addressing someone else you can’t see. Vaguely you’re aware of someone picking you up, then more animal sounds of pain from your throat as your broken legs are made to hang loosely in the air. Your vision is coming in and out now, the room flickering in and out of focus. Finally, you close your eyes against the world, barely registering as someone drops you on the floor, and with a final burst of pain, your mind falls shut into blissful unconsciousness.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

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stardropsandrain · 1 year

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Harvey HC

Please do enjoy

Best bear hugs ever. He's warm and smells faintly of coffee. He buries his face in your neck and kisses the skin

When you come home from the mines, dirty and tired he won't let you touch him until you've showered. This will be followed by him lecturing you while he dries your hair

Yoba fobid you hit zero health in the mines. The poor man will sit on one of his hospital beds, you wrapped tightly in his arms while he cries. He begs for you to be okay. Maru has to take care of everyone that day

If you pass out in the town he'll sigh and dote over you as he says over and over "stupid, you could've been hurt" you have to reassure him your fine with many kisses and soft apologies

He charges you because he'll just use the money for you or the farm anyways

Has model planes everywhere and loves to ramble about them in any situation

He loves any thing and everything you give him "Harv, I found this really pretty rock in skull cavern and it reminded me of you" his eyes started to water and he sniffled "thank you so much"

Harvey calls you his bean. Because coffee beans. You call him Doc, Harv, and Breve. The latter being coffee inspired. Plus all the usual love, baby etc

Loves animals. You can find him cooing at your chickens in his free time. But he won't pet them in fear of being scratched

He's such a watchful dad, a tad over protective "I don't know, I know we should give them an education but leaving her with Penny for the day?" "Oh! Don't put that in your mouth!" Both were said within a five minute span

Harvey loves going to the movies with the kid(s). While he doesn't love kids movies, he loves seeing the smile on his kids face(s) and yours if you enjoy the movie too

He also loves movie date night, after a long day of exams and taking care of other it's nice to see his partner and take a rest to see a movie

Definitely holds your hand everywhere

"Harvey, you gotta let go, I need both hands for the chicken feed." He'll pout and let go of your hand just to take it back as soon as possible

His favourite kisses are neck kisses, giving or receiving. They're soft and intimate and the right about of sensual when need be

He definitely leaves hickies on 'accident'. You'll be half asleep with him kissing your neck before you realize he's been sucking on the skin "Breve!" He'll giggle and kiss the spot and, as long as you allow, get right back to it

When you're going to sleep he has himself tucked under your chin or vice versa. He loves to be tucked under your chin, breathing in your clean after shower scent. He also loves having you tucked under his chin, warm and safe, cuddled into him. Now this is all so you two can wake up with the covers off and on the other side of the bed because it got to hot

He says "Docs orders" when trying to get you to do something :P

A/N; I love Harvey so much even if Shane is my main romance route. Harvey is such a sweet nerd

Good riddance and stay safe 🖤🖤🖤

#Spotify #x male reader #x gn reader #stardew farmer #stardew valley #stardew harvey #harvey x reader #harvey x male reader #harvey x gn reader #harvey hc #stardew valley harvey

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nightskyfangirl · 6 months

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Two Kids, Two Sides of the Island: Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: JJ was asleep on the beach when a certain Kook tripped over him. Apparently family issues aren't reserved to Pogues.

Characters: Rafe Cameron and JJ Maybank

Also on Ao3 with more chapters

Story below cut

JJ had been asleep for a few hours. The sand was harder than a bed, but it was nice. After surfing for the better part of the day, he had decided against going home. He had everything he needed with him. Water, his surfboard, and the making for a sandwich. On the sand, he felt safer than he ever felt at home. Sleeping on the sand always left him feeling more rested than the sleep he got at Luke’s home. If JJ didn’t passed out from being choked or his head connecting a wall or table a little too hard, he had trouble falling asleep at Luke’s. As much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop himself from being on edge all of the time. Besides, by the time he’d left the house that morning, Luke had already started drinking. The beach was much safer tonight.

He had his surfboard beside him, still tied to his ankle in case someone thought of stealing it. At first, JJ thought someone stealing his surfboard was what had woken him up. Until he realized the culprit had fallen into the sand and hadn’t touched the board.

JJ sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. The moon was full, so he was able to recognize the other boy.

Rafe Cameron just tripped over him.

“Seriously, man? This whole beach and you had to trip over me?” JJ asked, sitting up.

“Just go back to sleep. I’m not sticking around.” Rafe’s voice didn’t sound as clear as usual. He sounded almost nasally and choked up.

“What’re you doing out here?” JJ asked, before Rafe could stand up.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Avoiding my Dad,” JJ said, deadpan. “Your turn, kook.”

Usually, JJ would say Kook like it was a curse, but this time it had no heat behind it. He wasn’t really sure why he told Rafe the truth, probably because he was still half asleep, but he felt like it was the right move. Besides, the Maybank situation was common knowledge.

The information seemed to make some of the tension leave Rafe.

“Yeah, I guess I’m about the same,” Rafe said, barely louder than a whisper. Rafe rubbed the back of his hand under his nose.

They didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just watched the water come closer to them, before drifting back out. The waves with the moonlight and the wet sand looked peaceful, but a look at Rafe told JJ that nothing peaceful was going on in his head. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t watching the water. He was in his head, watching something that JJ wasn’t present for.

Eventually, Rafe spoke up again as if they’d never stopped talking.

“He kicked me out again,” Rafe said in a voice so low that JJ barely heard him. Rafe didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes focused on the water. Every muscle looked tense, and his eyes were reflecting the little bit of light around them.

JJ turned to look at Rafe so that Rafe knew he was listening, but he didn’t feel like he should interrupt.

Rafe wiped the back of his forearm on his eye. “I don’t think he wants me around. I made a mistake but every time I make a mistake it is somehow so much worse to him than when Sarah does it. Last week she stole his car and all he wanted was the keys back. He didn’t even yell at her.”

JJ nodded like he knew what Rafe was talking about, but JJ hadn’t ever met Rafe’s dad and he hadn’t spent any time with Sarah. But he knew enough about the Island’s most loved family to understand what Rafe was talking about.

“And before that,” Rafe continued, ignoring JJ, “Dad was called by our school because she was caught buying weed from another kid. He paid the principal off with a donation and they didn’t even call the cops. He gave her some speech about the danger of drugs. If I’d done that…”

Rafe shook his head, not finishing the thought. JJ was able to put the pieces together.

“It was a beer,” Rafe said, shoulders sinking as if the sentence had taken all of the air out him.

JJ frowned. A beer? Sure, they were only fifteen and couldn’t legally drink for another six years, but a beer wasn’t worth kicking a kid out for. Then again, JJ didn’t really have many role models to draw from except Big John and Big John had been sharing sips of beer with John B for as long as JJ had known him.

“I’m never gonna be good enough for him,” Rafe said, monotone. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

JJ looked away and shrugged. Kie, Pope, or even John B would know the right thing to say, but they all had families. Instead, JJ leaned back into the sand. Little pieces bit into his elbow, but he ignored it. This was a language he spoke. He didn’t have a family to keep an eye out for him, make sure he did his homework, and put dinner on the table. He didn’t even have a family that worried about when he spent the night out on the sand. So, a dad that would never be proud of him? Yeah, he knew what that was like.

“So what, man?” JJ asked. He didn’t have to be looking squarely at Rafe to see the other boy look up in confusion. The move was sharp enough that JJ saw it clearly out the corner of his eye. “We’re only three years away. In three years, we’re eighteen. Then it doesn’t matter what they think. Your dad kicks you out then, you just don’t go back.”

Rafe shook his head, smiling with no humor. “I can’t do that. I’m not like you.”

JJ didn’t have to ask him for clarification. He knew what Rafe meant. Rafe had things to lose. Money, connections, reputation. Things that JJ wouldn’t ever understand.

“Yeah, I guess you’re not.”

“But if I was,” Rafe started, “I would leave. I would go somewhere else with a coast, another city. A place where I could start my own name.”

JJ looked over at him in surprise. He and John B had a game where they came up with all of the things they would do and buy if they were Kooks, but JJ hadn’t ever imagined it from the other side. What would a Kook do if they were suddenly a Pogue?

JJ sat up again so he could see Rafe easier.

“But there would be requirements. I would need money, right? I would probably start a business like a mechanic shop.”

JJ snorted. A kook mechanic. JJ knew they existed, but not down on the Cut where JJ knew most of the mechanics. Even Rafe cracked a small smile at the thought of this fantasy. Then some thought that JJ couldn’t hear crossed Rafe’s mind and his smile fell, his eyes darkening.

“But somewhere that didn’t remind me of him. Somewhere I didn’t have to look over my shoulder.”

JJ nodded. “Mexico.”

Rafe looked over at him.

JJ didn’t mean to reveal his location to Rafe, but he didn’t care much. This moment, this tense friendship would be gone by the time the sun came up and they remembered they weren’t only not friends, they were absolute enemies. But for now, JJ felt he could trust Rafe with this. And somehow, he knew that even after the sun came up and this temporary alliance disappeared, Rafe wouldn’t use this against him.

“I’ve always planned on going to Yucatan. My dad wouldn’t follow me there, and your dad probably wouldn’t follow you either,” JJ said, glancing at Rafe.

Rafe nodded slightly, gears turning in his head. “Maybe so. I’d be shitty mechanic though.”

JJ laughed. “Yeah, you would. Do you even know how to change your car’s oil?”

Rafe frowned. “Nah, I just pay someone.”

“You better learn, kook. Soon other people may be paying you.”

Rafe smiled, a genuine smile. “Maybe so.”

#Outer banks #Rafe Cameron #jj maybank #obx fanfiction #fan fiction

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cophene · 2 months

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interlude vi || ★ ⁺ — LAPPING OF WAVES.

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and pretty-faced crew notes : sci-fi au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 5.9k+

★˚⋆ THE PERPETUAL LAPPING OF WAVES was the music of Bruno Bucciarati’s childhood. A peaceful, somber sound—silent until you noticed it, and then deafening when you did. It lulled him to sleep and woke him up in the morning. Before he learned to speak, Bruno was mimicking the sound of waves. It was to be expected, growing up on the waterlogged planet that was Thetis, which was over three-quarters ocean.

Bruno adored his parents. His mother was a schoolteacher, and his father was a fisherman. Holding their hands, Bruno would toddle uncertain steps on the beach, shrieking with joy when waves lapped against his feet. His footprints would disappear in the seafoam like magic.

Bruno spent long hours of the day out at sea with his father. On a rickety skiff that was a remnant of the Old World. The air would be so salty that when Bruno smacked his lips, he could taste it. The wind would tousle his hair, and when his mother came to read him bedtime stories, her little boy smelled more like the sea than a child.

To Bruno, it seemed like there was no shortage of things his father knew. He knew about tides and currents and waves. Longitude and latitude, knots, lines, sails, bows, sterns. Every kind of fish father and son managed to haul up, Papa knew the name of, along with clams and coral and seaweed. The oceans of Thetis were vast and unknowable, but Bruno felt confident that his father must be close.

Bruno’s childhood was secluded. Nothing but the sky and sand and sea. Bruno could go days without seeing another person besides his parents. It seemed like everything on his plate came from the sea. It was an Old World way of living. It didn’t bother Bruno, but it did bother Mama.

A few weeks before Bruno turned seven, he crept up to his parents’ bedroom to sit and listen to their argument through the door frame. It was late, and he should have been asleep, but the house was wrung too tight to sleep. His parents had been arguing more often lately, arguments they insisted were about nothing.

This didn’t seem like nothing.

“Nobody lives like this anymore,” Mama hissed. “What child his age has never seen a hologram?”

“Lives like this are what everyone misses. Being connected to the land. Having fun. Exploring. He’s enjoying himself.”

“He has no friends his own age. He should be in school by now.”

“No one said he couldn’t go to school.”

Mama sighed. Bruno could almost imagine he felt it through the door.

“This isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t what I expected when you said we could raise a child out here.”

Papa was quiet for a long time. “He’s happy. Isn’t that all you can hope for?”

“He’s happy because he doesn’t know any better. This is no way for any child to grow up.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“I just wish you could see how—nevermind. I’m tired. I just want to go to sleep.”

The light under Bruno’s parents’ door went out. He waited there for a few minutes, then padded back to his room. The moon shone a rectangle of light onto his bed, and he climbed into it gingerly, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

He listened to the far-off waves, as familiar now to him as his own heartbeat. He looked at his room in the moonlight, the shells on his windowsill, the jars of rocks and pebbles, little drawings of fish. He thought about what his mother had said.

Why did Mama think he was unhappy? He wasn’t. If he had to go to school, he would. He’d rather go out to fish with his father, but he knew kids had to go to school.

Over the next little while, Bruno tried to be as happy as he could. He smiled widely at everything Mama cooked, did his chores at the dock without complaint, and eagerly told his parents about what he enjoyed about each day.

And yet despite his efforts, he could tell something was brewing, like dark, heavy storm clouds off in the distance. The sea churned uneasily and crabs always scuttled away before he could catch them.

When storms were on the horizon, Papa always told him to batten down, to tie down anything that might be tossed overboard. So Bruno prepared himself, braced himself for the cold sting of rain.

It came one day when Bruno came down for breakfast.

Both of his parents were there, which was unusual. Papa was up before the sun most days and always waited for his son at the dock. Today, he sat at the table with his hands folded in front of him. Mama was looking out the window.

“Sit down, Bruno,” Papa said.

“What’s wrong?”

Mama sighed deeply. “Mama and Papa have been talking, and we’ve decided it’s best if we don’t live together anymore. It’s not your fault, though, sweetheart. We still love you very much.”

Bruno’s heart sank like a stone.

“I’ll be leaving for the city soon, and Papa will stay here.” Mama’s voice caught. “We wanted to know where you want to live, Bruno. With me? Or with Papa?”

Even worse than the fact that his parents were separating: they were forcing him to choose between them.

Bruno felt the backs of his eyes prickling. This wasn’t fair.

“You’ve always been a bright boy. There will be a lot of big schools in the city for you to study at,” Mama said gently. “And new technology for you to learn. Oh! There’ll be other children your age to play with too!” She reached across the table to hold Bruno’s hand. “You’ll go with Mama, won’t you, Bruno?”

Papa didn’t say anything to convince Bruno to stay with him. He seemed resigned to the fact that Bruno would be leaving with his wife.

Bruno looked into Mama’s kind eyes. He loved her, of course, but she wasn’t like Papa. He had the feeling that wherever Mama ended up, she would be okay. She would eventually forget about the sea and the docks and the grey sky. She would know how to make her way.

“I want … I want to stay with Papa,” Bruno said.

Mama inhaled sharply. Papa jerked his head up, eyes wide.

“You don’t mean that,” Mama whispered. She pulled her son into her chest, chair legs squeaking. “Say you’ll go with Mama. You’ve always liked me more, haven’t you?”

Bruno felt Mama crying into his hair. He stared at his father, who stared back. He didn’t know how to say that it wasn’t a matter of who he liked more.

It was a matter of who needed him more.

It had been two years since Mama had left. She had promised to visit every month, but that had turned into every other month and now, every other holiday. It didn’t bother Bruno too much. He knew his mother had a life of her own. Papa had told him that Mama had met another man, and that they might be married.

Life with Papa didn’t change. Not too much, at least. There was still fish to be caught and sold, boats to be repaired, people to be haggled with. Bruno still spent long hours under the sun at sea, listening to Papa identify types of coral and kelp. But lately, Papa had been talking about something else.

He’d bought a holopad not too long ago, a slip of a thing that fascinated and terrified Bruno.

“It’s for school,” Papa told Bruno. “You have to meet with your teacher everyday and do lessons online. She’ll tell you what you need to know. She knows more than me.”

School. The word made Bruno think of Mama. He logged onto lessons obediently, finding the videos and tinny audio strange. He was a diligent student, but he didn’t see what anything he learned had to do with the sea and working with Papa.

With their lines cast out at sea, Papa often asked Bruno how he was doing at school. Bruno always answered that he was doing well. He thought he was, at any rate.

“It’s too bad you can’t go to a real school. They’re supposed to be better than things online.”

“I don’t mind.”

Papa muttered something to himself. He squinted out at the water. “Bruno, when you’re older, I hope you’ll be able to go to a real school. One of those Institutes.”

“I don’t want to go to an Institute. I want to fish with you.”

“You can’t fish with me forever,” Papa said, ruffling Bruno’s hair.

“Yeah, I can. I’ll fish for as long as I can.”

Bruno meant for the words to make Papa smile. Instead, he looked sad.

“I’ll go to an Institute if you want me to, Papa.” Even if he didn’t know where Institutes were or what to do at them. Papa seemed to like that.

A few days later, Bruno found Papa repainting his skiff.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m fixing up the old skiff.”

“But it’s not broken.”

Papa wiped his forehead. “No, but I have to fix her up if I want to sell her.”

Bruno frowned. “Why would you sell her?”

“So I can buy a bigger boat. I’m planning on getting a cruiser, one that can take tourists out on the ocean.”

“Why?”

“To make more money. Fishing is good, but it’s better to have a few things going at once. That way, we can save up to send you off to the Institutes.”

Bruno looked uneasily at the skiff. He didn’t want to take tourists out on a cruiser. He just wanted to fish. It seemed like everything nowadays had to do with the Institute.

But he said nothing, because that would make Papa sad.

Papa eventually got his cruiser, and soon enough, brightly dressed tourists were crowding their corner of the dock to be taken out on the ocean. Not to fish or study the waves or the wind. Merely to gawk and look pretty. Sometimes, they would make Papa take pictures of them with their holopads. Bruno thought it was silly, but it apparently paid well. Well enough for Bruno to start going to school.

By now, Bruno was old enough to recognize how ironic it was for his father to be sending him to school. He’d decided against moving with Mama to the city to be with Papa, and here he was, sending him away anyway. Bruno hardly saw Papa somedays, and even though Papa told him not to, he worried.

He still had time to work with Papa on weekends, though. He would sign in tourists and help them into life vests. Sometimes the girls would ask him to take pictures, blushing down at the dock. Bruno might have been flattered, but he was too busy watching Papa, watching him scroll their credit account, bend over backwards to please tourists, pull on fake grins.

They barely ever went fishing anymore. Bruno had a feeling Papa had sold all of their fishing gear without Bruno’s knowing.

I want you to study at the Institutes, Bruno. That’s the most important thing.

Today was a school day, but Bruno was tempted to skip. They had more customers than usual, and he knew Papa would appreciate the extra help. It would be easy to lie and say that today was a holiday.

“Please put on this life vest,” Bruno said to the man and woman.

“Don’t need it,” the man said flippantly, hopping onto the cruiser. “It’ll just get in the way.”

“It’s part of the waiver. We don’t want anything to happen to you, sir.”

The woman remained on the dock, waiting. The man scoffed, reaching back to take the life vest. “Put it on and get over here, Sheila,” he said impatiently.

The couple might have been a few years older than Bruno. The woman was slight, with braided hair and a star-like mark over one of her eyes. The man was lean, with dark hair and flinty grey eyes.

Papa wasn’t here yet. Bruno finished the last of the preparations for the tour, trying to reel for time.

“Where are the two of you headed today?”

“We’re going to Cadoro,” Sheila said. The water made her uneasy. Bruno could tell by how stiffly she sat.

“I wouldn’t recommend it for sightseeing. It’s extremely dry this time of year and it tends to storm.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” the man said. “What we’re doing on Cadoro doesn’t concern you.”

Bruno turned to hide his scowl. He checked the guest log for the man’s name. Squinted at it.

Pascal Caprese.

“Hey, what’s taking so long? Are we leaving or what?” Caprese demanded.

“My father will be here shortly,” Bruno answered. He dealt with customers like this before. The less he said, the better.

“I’d prefer it if we left sometime today.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Papa said, blustering his way onto the boat. “Got held up with the merchants. Mr. Caprese. Ms. Erinni. Welcome aboard. Where are we headed?”

“Cadoro,” Sheila said.

Papa didn’t hesitate. “Cadoro it is. You’re strapped in already; wonderful.” He only then seemed to notice Bruno. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I can take the day off. You’re busy today so I��”

“None of that. I’m the one working, not you. Get to school. I’ll be fine.”

“But are you really going to take them to Cadoro? You always say the waters near there are—”

“Don’t worry about me,” Papa said firmly. He gave Bruno a push. “Go. I’ll see you after school.”

“But Papa—”

“I wasn’t aware I was paying for extra chit-chat,” Caprese sniped.

“Apologies, sir. We’re leaving now.”

Bruno had no choice but to step off the cruiser. He watched Papa pull out of the dock, Caprese frowning and Sheila’s braids whipping behind her. Papa never took tourists to Cadoro. Tempestuous waters and craggy shores made it dangerous. Why would Caprese be an exception?

Reluctantly, Bruno went to school. He was distracted all day and practically ran to get home when the last bell rang. His father would be back by now. Would he be alright? He had to be. Even if the waters around Cadoro were dangerous, his father was an experienced sailor.

Bruno would demand to know why his father had gone. It didn’t matter if he wanted Bruno to get into an Institute, risking his own life wasn’t the way to do things. Bruno didn’t want to admit it, but it seemed like the older Bruno got, the more foolish Papa became.

The cruiser had not returned to the dock. In its place was a cluster of people and the dark uniforms of Galactic Authorities. Bruno’s heart started to race. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

“Excuse me. Sorry. What’s going on? Did something happen?”

The crowd murmured among themselves. Someone caught hold of his arm.

“Your father’s in the hospital. Critical condition.”

Bruno felt like he had fallen off the dock. His entire body was freezing.

“What?” Bruno’s voice cracked. “How? What happened?”

Nobody had an answer. Bruno ran back to the street, got one of his father’s shopkeeping friends to drive him to the hospital.

Papa. In the hospital. He shouldn’t have gone to Cadoro. Papa knew that.

Bruno burst into the hospital. Babbled until an orderly escorted him to a different floor and gestured for him to sit beside a GA officer. The red light was on in the operating room.

“Are you Bruno Bucciarati?” the officer asked.

“I am. What happened to my father?”

The GA looked down at his holopad. “Your father was caught up in a shooting while transporting tourists to Cadoro. We believe he was a witness in an illegal trade between a fencer and buyer. They shot him, hoping to kill him before he could leak anything.”

Bruno looked down at the tile. “Will he be alright?”

“We’re not sure. He was in bad shape.” The officer sighed. “He’s an important witness in this case, though. Apparently, that fencer has been gaining some notoriety. We’d like to nip it in the bud. Ever heard of Zero?”

Bruno hadn’t, but he’d probably kill him if Papa died.

“Is my father at risk?” Bruno asked suddenly, straightening.

“If—” the officer cleared his throat. Changed his mind. “We’ll post a guard outside of your father’s room until this blows over. You can be assured that no further harm will come to him.”

No harm should have come to Papa at all, but Bruno didn’t say that. He held his head in his hands and prayed instead. To the stars. Please don’t let Papa die. Please. Please don’t. Please. Please.

After six hours in the operating room, Papa was wheeled out. It was a miracle none of the elector pulses had hit any internal organs, the doctor told Bruno. Extremely fortunate. With time, Papa would make a full recovery.

Bruno thanked the doctor profusely. Then he thanked the stars, or whatever had been kind enough to listen to him.

Bruno skipped school for all of the following week. He stayed Papa for as long as the nurses let him before getting kicked out. Papa was still too weak to speak but just the fact that he was still alive was enough for Bruno.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Papa,” Bruno said, gripping his father’s hand. “I swear it.”

Bruno had stayed back because he wanted to be there for his father. He intended to stay true to that. No matter what.

Bruno’s paranoia became too much. He took to leaving right before visiting hours ended and then sneaking back into the hospital to spend the night with Papa. No one had been arrested, but he wouldn’t be pleased that one of his deals had failed. He would be back to finish Papa off. Bruno just knew it.

And sure enough, one night when Bruno was nodding off, he heard the window crack open. He whipped around in his seat, elector drawn, but the intruder was faster, clamping a hand over Bruno’s mouth.

“Sweet of you. To watch over your old man like that. You must really love him.”

Bruno thrashed but the intruder didn’t budge. He whispered, low in Bruno’s ear, “Why don’t you come with me? I was planning on finishing your father off, but this might be the better alternative.”

Bruno stilled.

“Come work for me and I’ll forget about your old man. And the fact you tried to kill me tonight. I could use someone like you.”

Bruno darted a look towards his father. Sleeping.

“Refuse and I’ll kill him. The GA’s won’t be able to catch me.”

There was a small think! sound. Bruno caught the flash of something in the gloom. A blade?

He felt someone else brush up against him. And then something sinking into his chest. Bruno gasped silently.

Bruno believed him. If the intruder didn’t finish off Papa today, it would be some time next week, month, year, until it was all Bruno could think about.

I’ll protect you, Papa. I swear it.

Working for Zero turned out to be both worse and better than Bruno expected. But maybe that was because Zero kept him out of the thick of things. He was relegated to menial tasks and dull paperwork the bots weren’t smart enough to keep up with. That was all he was, really. A bot.

He never met with Zero directly. Only the people working under him, and Sheila occasionally. Zero was a shadowy presence somewhere above him, calling all of the shots like this was a sim and they were all characters at his disposal. Yet, despite this, Bruno was still willing to work for him. Everyone under his employ was. Something magnetic drew them all to Zero, so that even though he was just a figurehead, none of them could imagine being anywhere else.

It was amazing, the kind of effect Zero had on people. Bruno often caught hints of the projects Zero was working on, and he could be awed by them. Age-old artifacts, relics from forgotten times, jewellery and gems and gold worth more credits than he knew what to do with. Zero was building an empire, becoming the richest man in the galaxy. Bruno was just glad he could be a part of it at all. It was an honour.

Most days, Bruno didn’t even remember his father. And when he did, it was a distant ache. Someone to miss briefly before moving on. Nothing else to it.

Recently, the more pressing matter Bruno had to deal with was his newfound Stand. At least, that was what he thought it was called. He couldn’t be sure. There wasn’t anyone else to ask. It was vaguely human-like and had appeared without warning, scaring the shit out of him. Bruno didn’t know what it did. The blue-and-white humanoid didn’t appear to want to hurt Bruno. It didn��t seem like it could speak, either. It seemed like its only purpose was to observe Bruno with a faintly disapproving air.

A bot knocked into Bruno without warning. Bruno righted himself, frowned after the squat little bot. Then he had to dodge as an entire gang of them puttered down the hall, beeping frantically.

He hurried back to his cubicle. “What’s going on?” he asked around. No one answered. They were all frantically typing on their keyboards.

“I don’t care how long it takes, just do it!” someone barked from the other side of the office. Bruno looked up to see Sheila brushing off someone and storming towards the elevators.

“What’s going on?” he tried to ask her, but the doors were already closing.

Bruno felt enclosed by fog. What was going on? Why wouldn’t anyone answer him?

On a whim, Bruno took the next set of elevators. Something told him to follow Sheila. She might be going to Zero. He'd find out what was happening from the source.

It was quieter on the upper floors. No bots puttering around or frantic workers. Bruno kept a good distance between himself and Sheila, knowing she would chew him out and send him back if she heard him. She rounded the corner and disappeared behind a set of doors. When Bruno approached, a number pad flashed at him.

Bruno pressed his fingers against the glass. Well. That had ended before it began. There was nothing now but to go back and hope someone explained something to him.

There was a sound like something ripping. No, that wasn’t right. It was more like—

A zipper.

His humanoid was back, hovering off to the side. A large zipper had opened in one of the doors, revealing the other side. Bruno reached out his arm carefully, surprised when it went through.

Did you do this?

The humanoid didn’t answer. Not wasting time, Bruno stepped through and the zipper closed behind him, vanishing right after.

The click of Sheila’s shoes was retreating to the left. Bruno turned, walking on the balls of his feet until a set of doors slid closed. Bruno hesitated. The doors and walls were soundproofed. He wouldn’t hear a thing standing out here.

A zipper appeared where the floor met the wall. Peeling up the exposed wall, Bruno found a swirling pit of space. More confident this time, he stepped through, zipping the wall closed behind him. He got down on his stomach, found the seam of the wall, and unzipped it just enough to lift it up and peek out the other side.

Sheila was arguing with someone. They reclined in their seat, an intricate mask covering their face. Bruno could feel their repressed anger from here.

“I don’t know why you’re yelling at me when you failed to do what I asked of you, Sheila.”

“Your plan was stupid,” Sheila snapped back. “How am I supposed to kill an entire crew aboard their own ship?”

“It isn’t an entire crew. It’s two runaway soldiers. If you’d at least incapacitated them, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

“You raised the alarm. Not me. Who cares about some red necklace? You should’ve just let them go.”

The masked man got to his feet. He raised his arm, but it was a dark, translucent limb that choked Sheila.

“How dare you talk back to me. I can see now that your resolve is sputtering like a weak flame.”

Shimmering threads burst from Sheila’s chest. Bruno watched, horrified and fascinated, as a humanoid appeared behind the masked man, gathering the threads with its other hand.

“You will listen to what I tell you, Sheila. You will do exactly as I say.” The humanoid braided the threads together, a beautiful cord that it pushed back into Sheila. With a gasp, Sheila came back to herself, her eyes suddenly dull.

“What would you have me do, Zero?”

Bruno felt something in his own chest snap. Zero. Anger. Disgust. Fear.

Papa. How long had he left Papa alone?

Bruno had to get out of here. How had he allowed himself to work for the man who had nearly killed his father?

He made a plan. The first of many. He would get out of here. Find out who had stolen from Zero. Join them, if he could. Then he would get in contact with Papa. Let him know he was alright.

How had Bruno ever loved working for Zero?

Finding the pair of space thieves wasn’t hard. It made Bruno wonder why the GA’s hadn’t been able to do it sooner. They were eating at a restaurant of all places, so Bruno merely sat down to join them.

“Hey, dude, that seat’s taken,” said the one in the arrow cap. Guido Mista. The other one, Y/N L/N, said nothing. Eyed him nervously.

“I’m not with the GA’s,” said Bruno. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to join your crew.”

“And why would you want to do that?” Mista asked suspiciously.

Bruno lifted a shoulder. Brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes.

“I’m in need of employment. Do you happen to know who Zero is? I have quite a bit of experience under him. You could even consider me an expert on things worth stealing. I could help you spot fakes. Find things that will actually get you credit.”

Mista looked a few seconds away from pulling his elector out. Bruno splayed his fingers out on the table.

“I’ll put my money where my mouth is. Zero had his eye on a set of crystal decanters from a well known Upper Space family. I can take you there. I studied the schematics of the place for weeks. We’ll be in and out in five minutes. And you’ll be five thousand credits richer.” A small bluff on Bruno’s part. But with Sticky Fingers, it shouldn’t be too difficult.

Bruno could feel the pair beginning to thaw. They were still jittery, a thieving crew just out of training wheels. Bruno knew how that felt. He was still looking over his shoulder, expecting Zero at every moment.

“Give me a chance,” Bruno said. “You never know when I’ll save your life.”

Y/N frowned. Their gaze went to their drink, then drifted back to Bruno’s face.

“So what should we call you?”

“Bruno Bucciarati.”

Y/N pursed their lips. “Alright. You get us those decanters. If you don’t, we’ll kill you.”

Mista seemed surprised at the words. Bruno wasn’t. He extended his hand, met Y/N’s with a firm shake.

“It’s a deal.”

It was Bruno who suggested they named the ship. He was appalled that Y/N and Mista had gone on for this long without doing so. All of the ships he’d known at sea had names. The ones in space shouldn’t be an exception.

Passione. And Old World word from one of their dead languages. It was a fancy, slightly wistful name that Y/N seemed confused by but willing to accept. That aptly described most things that Bruno did.

After he’d gotten the crystal decanters, Bruno had slowly changed the trajectory of the crew. Buffed them out and gave them a foundation. He told them what was worth stealing and what wasn’t. Steered them away from being reckless but kept them bold. His encounter with Zero had given him a head for this sort of thing, it seemed. Bruno had no qualms about theft anymore. All he asked in return was a chance to visit his father once a month.

Overtime, Passione found itself. Became a thieving crew to be reckoned with, one known for being cocky, brash, but also forthright and cunning. Heists became easier. They developed their Stand abilities. Credits started filling in. New crew members established themselves, whether by accident or on purpose.

Fugo, the brilliant engineer with a black temper. Narancia, the cocky pilot with an easy smile. Trish, the negotiator with soft, biting words. Even Abbacchio, the deadset officer with questionable morals. It took a while for the personalities to meld together, but when they did, Passione functioned like a well-oiled machine. Sometimes, it was as though they could read each other’s minds.

Inevitably, Bruno grew to love the crew. He was someone different to everyone in it, but they all took a place inside of him, became someone to care about. He started to care less about how many credits they stole, and more about how much everyone was eating, sleeping, drinking. Their mental states. Sometimes the Captain forgot about that. Bruno was always there to gently remind them.

Bruno was the firm hand that held them back. Passione was too eager to throw themselves into the sun. He couldn’t have that.

And yet, for all of the lavish living that stealing afforded him, he wasn’t completely happy. It wasn’t something he liked to admit. A part of him still yearned for the sea, for choppy waves and calling gulls and salt in the air. He would miss the crew, certainly, but he couldn’t stay if it meant it constantly felt like his heart was hanging on a ledge.

Bruno approached the Captain after a visit to Leaky Eye Luca. It had gone well. As well as could be expected when dealing with someone so unpleasant. A healthy twenty thousand credits had been deposited into their account, and now they were flying to a resort colony for a week of relaxation.

If things went well, Bruno would be going back to Triton with his father, instead.

He knocked on the Captain’s room. “Captain? It’s me, Bruno. May I come in?”

He wasn’t nervous. But he wasn’t sure what the Captain would say. Their relationship was closer than most. What they could become Bruno didn’t let himself think about. It wasn’t worth it when he was about to leave.

The Captain’s door slid open. They were at their desk, a spreadsheet of numbers in front of them. “What’s up?”

“Do you have time to talk? I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother.” Captain dismissed the spreadsheet and turned to face Bruno fully. “What is it?”

Bruno stared at the Captain. He had the sudden, irrational thought that this was vaguely reminiscent of his parent’s divorce. All these years later, and the conflicting emotions he felt were the same.

“I want to leave, Captain.”

They didn’t react. Bruno’s heart momentarily lifted. “Where do you want to go? You don’t have to go to the resort if you don’t want to. I know crowds aren’t really your thing.”

“I’d like to visit my father. On Tritus.”

“A bit early for the visit.”

Bruno took in a breath. “If it’s possible, I’d like to make the visit permanent.”

“... What do you mean by that?”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought. I appreciate everything Passione has given me over the past while, but … it’s just not what makes me genuinely happy.”

The Captain was not Fugo. They would not let their anger get the better of them. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t still get angry.

“Are you saying you want to leave the crew?”

“Yes. I’d like to leave the crew.”

The Captain’s face crumpled. “You want to leave? Why? Is it one of the crewmembers? Stress? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I’d just like to leave to be with my father. I’ve never said so, but I grew up by the sea. If given the choice, it’s where I’d want to spend my life.”

The Captain snorted and it was a hurtful sound. “But why now? We’ve been doing so well. I don’t see what the sea could possibly offer you. If you want to visit your dad, fine, but I don’t see what you could do outside of the crew. Are you telling me you don’t want to be rich?”

“That’s not what’s important to me.”

“You have to give me a better reason. I don’t understand why you’d just up and leave. You of all people.”

“So you’re not letting me leave?” “You can leave, I just want to know why.”

It was starting to feel like a confrontation. “I don’t know why this is a problem.”

“One of my crewmembers is telling me they want to leave without any warning. It’s going to disrupt our plans. Our systems. Everything. We’re losing a member! You don’t think that’s a problem?!” “It wouldn’t be right away. I’m just telling you now that it’s what I want.”

The Captain scoffed. “Am I supposed to agree to this? Just let you leave? You should’ve told me earlier! Before I started looking at jobs from Zero.”

“You what?”

“Some of Zero’s associates are putting up job offers. Lucrative stuff, and not at all hard. I was thinking of picking some of them up after our break.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I don’t see why that matters to you when you’re planning to leave.”

Bruno drew closer to the Captain. “You need to promise me to stay away from Zero. Whatever you do, no matter what it comes to, you can’t ever make a deal with Zero. You’re better off dead than with anything he can offer.”

“This coming from someone who used to work for him.”

“That was a mistake.” Bruno thought of shimmering strands bursting for Sheila’s chest. Zero’s slithering voice and his inexplicable, unwavering loyalty. A form of manipulation so terrible no one was able to escape from it.

“Promise me you won’t work for Zero. I wouldn’t say anything unless it was to protect you. You know that’s all I ever want to do.”

The Captain looked into Bruno’s eyes. “If it means that much to you, fine. I promise.” They leaned back in their seat. “Have you told anyone else about your plans?”

“No. You’re the first.”

“You should probably let them know, then.”

Bruno heard the dismissal and followed it. He paused in the doorframe. “I’m sorry this is so sudden, Captain.” He was apologizing for other things too. Things to come. He hoped the Captain would understand.

Later, when the Captain went to find Bruno, they wouldn’t be able to. They would search the entire ship and come up empty, and realize too late one of the escape pods was gone. They would demand to know what happened. Mista would tell them Bruno had gone to perform routine inspections on the ship’s exterior. A check from Fugo would reveal the pod had mistakenly ejected somehow, and blasted Bruno off of the ship. While everyone else grieved, the Captain would fume with anger. It wasn’t the best of ways, but it was the best Bruno could come up with.

No one but the Captain would know he’d wanted to leave.

Bruno hitchhiked his way back to Tritus and managed to spend a few months with his father before a lung infection took his life. After that, the seas of Tritus, despite their familiarity, became too lonely. It pained him to be out on the water, and he couldn’t go back to Passione without breaking the trust everyone had in the Captain. He assumed they thought he was dead. There was no coming back from something like that.

He needed somewhere lowkey to go. Somewhere without the risk of being recognized as a thief. Perhaps one of the research planets on the fringes of the galaxy. One with more water than land.

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#kismetva #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #golden wind #golden wind x reader #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #gender neutral reader #sci fi au

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lolibles · 3 years

Text

A-Z with kazuha

character: kazuha x reader

pure fluff, complete brainrot, some angst not much tho

synopsis: the fluff alphabet with kazuha

implied gn!reader but please let me know if there are any mistakes or things i should look out for when writing gn!reader, im still learning!! <3 NOT PROOFREAD its so long and im lazy :)

A- how affectionate are they with their s/o?

kazuha is a very affectionate person, and he doesn’t try to hide it. kazuha is known for his flowery words, while kazuha loves to turn all kinds of things into poetry, its painfully obvious when one is about you. kazuha never fails to show his affection and love to you with his words and endless haikus of you. he can not stop talking about you, and even though sometimes he does it to tease you and get a laugh at your flustered expression, every time he declares his undying love for you, he means it.

B- what their s/o does that takes their breath away?

there are many things you do that take his breath away, but one thing that makes his heart do backflips is when you remember his haikus, and keep his gifted poems. kazuha has dedicated too many of his poems to you to count, kazuha himself can barely remember all of them. so you can say he was very shocked when one night you randomly whispered a poem he created for you months ago into his ear. kazuha was beyond shocked, his head never turned so fast to look at you, eyes widening. when he asked how you still remembered it, you pulled out a little notebook with scribbles of the poems and pieces of paper stuck inside with notes of dates, and the occasional doodles. you said it was so you never forget any of them, even when you were old. as kazuha flipped through the book he noticed poems from as far back as when he barely knew you. kazuha turned back to you and buried his head in your neck, attempting to hide the blush on his face as he kept mumbling i love you. his heart was swooning with love and joy for you, he knew you loved him, but he never knew something as simple as that could make his whole world stop.

C- do they like cuddling? if so, how and when?

kazuha loves cuddling so much. kazuha is honestly pretty touch starved so he constantly craves your touch. kazuha also gets pretty tired after working a full day out on the alcor or helping out with the resistance. he believes after a full days worth of hard work nothing beats lazing around tangled in your arms. kazuha doesn’t mind being the big spoon or little spoon. there are times of vulnerability where kazuha just needs you to hold him close, run your fingers through his hair and tell him everything will be okay. and there are times where he wants to hold you tight in his embrace as if he was protecting you for the most malicious forces in the world. there are also times where he simply just wants to be close to you, bodies smushed together, his hands wrapped around you with his neck buried in your collar. he tries to make you laugh or giggle so he can feel the vibrations of your sweet voice. kazuha loves to cuddle you at night before bed, he loves to fall asleep with you, the sound of your heartbeat lulling him to sleep, the warmth of your body is so pleasant and inviting. however cuddling at night often means waking up much later than usual. it means that either beidou or gorou angrily barging into your quarters to wake you guys up because you both were late, threatening to split the both of you up since you can never wake up on time.

D- what do they dream of doing with their s/o?

kazuha is a simple man, he finds joy and love in the littlest things. but that doesn’t ever stop him for dreaming- or rather hoping. he wishes one day he can walk down the streets of his hometown and show you the different sights. he hopes that there will be a day when he can see you wear a kimono, under the moonlight as he takes you up to a secluded spot to view the beautiful fireworks, although he will argue that you are far more lovely. kazuha hopes to bring you to see the sakura trees bloom, as you talk about how you wished you could’ve have seen them earlier, he wishes he can brush off the flower petals on your head before pulling you in for a gentle kiss. most importantly kazuha hopes that one day, he can bring you to visit his friend. even if he no longer is blessed upon this world, kazuha is sure he would have loved you. it is only necessary for kazuha to introduce his beloved to his only family.

E- how much effort do they put into the relationship?

kazuha pours his entire soul into your relationship, you are the only one he has left after all. kazuha believes his sole purpose is to treat you like his queen, if even for a second you feel like you aren’t loved, then he has failed. kazuha wants to serve you, though you often tell him he should try to put himself first, he’d merely chuckle and say “if i’m the reason you smile as brightly as the sun, the reason you sleep well at night or the reason you wish to wake up the next day. then there is not a thing i would change.”

F - do they want to start a family with their s/o? what is parenting like with them?

after getting over kazuha's fear of marriage (check M), kazuha wouldn't mind starting a family. although he is perfectly fine if it is just the two of you. if you want children then he is ready to learn, for you. i think kazuha would settle with one or two children, and he says he doesn't mind if you have a girl or a boy- but he is hoping on a boy. kazuha would be a great dad, apart from the fact he travels a lot and is rarely home. he tries his best to be there for you, he usually takes on jobs in the area you are staying or go on shorter trips with the crux while you are in the first few years having a child. he doesn't want to leave all the work to you of raising a young child, nor does he want to miss out those precious years of being a new parent. he loves adventuring but he loves his family too. another thing kazuha can not get enough of is seeing the look on your child's face when he arrives back after a trip, waiting for him at the harbour, flailing their arms about to capture his attention. and he can not ignore the look on your face either, so happy that your loving husband is home. kazuha can be strict but he prefers not to be, he can't say no to those curious eyes that look just like yours. i like to think that kazuha teaches your child to be a smooth talker just like him, this means they both get out of trouble a lot with you. despite kazuha's aloof demeanour, he actually has a rather playful side to him often pulling small pranks with your child on you. he tells your child stories of all kinds of adventures he has been on, your heart swoons at the sight of your child resting atop his chest trying his best not to fall asleep due to the warmth kazuha radiates. kazuha teaches your child all about inazuma and his heritage, telling them about the history and how one day he will bring both them and you to visit his homeland. the safety of his family is his number one priority, he will do anything to protect you and your child. he also teaches your child how to fight, and most importantly self-defence. if you both are travellers though, you decide to wait until your child is older to bring them on your adventures. and when they are, beidou certainly doesn't mind having a little kid running around the alcor causing a ruckus amongst other crew members.

G- what kind of gifts to they give their s/o? do they want one in return?

kazuha has always loved the sentiment of crafting a handmade gift. the amount of time and effort that goes into making something, is enough to show how much love someone has for them. kazuha also always loves to imagine what kind of expression you’d have after receiving his gift, he never asks for anything in return, well actually occasionally he’ll ask for a kiss thats it. kazuha remembers making you a beautiful hairpin, one that matched with his maple leaf haori. he gave it to you one night randomly, his hands pushing aside a bit of your hair to pin up. the way your eyes closed as he inches closer, his fingers occasionally brushing against your skin. when he finally backed away from you to take a look at his masterpiece, he was stunned. the way your face glistened from under the moonlight, you were so ethereal. his breath hitched, and the calm man sitting in front of you became flustered. kazuha made a note to always mentally prepare himself before giving you a gift that you could physically wear- if not he’d definitely blow a fuse.

H- do they hug their s/o? how often?

kazuha definitely hugs you, but i feel like hugs only happen at specific times. of course he will indulge you if you ask for it. kazuha hugs you when he misses you, when he needs you close to him. if you didn’t travel with him, he hugs you a goodbye and a hello. kazuha hugs you tightly because he knows he will be leaving soon, or he misses you so much and never wants to let you go. if someone ever makes kazuha jealous (which doesn’t happen very often), he will hug you from your waist whilst no one was looking, as he buries his head into your neck, taking in your scent. “your mine.” he’d whisper, hugging you tighter. “i am yours.”

I- how romantic are they? do they have problems with being intimate?

kazuha has very little problems with intimacy, he is a naturally romantic person. the way he speaks should be more than enough as evidence. he doesn’t get flustered easily, and he loves to see your expressions when he does something overly romantic- cheesy even, at the most random times. his poetry and haikus are often of you, he doesn’t shy away from flirting with you, teasing you, and constantly he is thinking of different ways to show his love to you. like i said he never knows what may happen tomorrow, so he is going to spend every day in the present being romantic and loving to you.

J- do they get jealous easily? how do they act?

i can’t typically see kazuha as getting jealous easily. there is often the rare occasion of him getting impatient because someone else has held your attention for too long, but other than that its very rare for kazuha to get jealous- he trusts you too much and feels like there’s simply no need for such feelings. i feel like one of the only few times kazuha would get jealous is when he’s drunk. drunk kazuha is needy and clingy, he wants to be around no one but you. if there is the slightest bit of space between you two, kazuha is determined to get rid of it by any means necessary. if you’re having a conversation with someone, be prepared to continue it another day because kazuha is whisking you away and peppering you with kisses while glaring at the person who kept you away from him the whole time. it gets a little uncontrollable when it happens, but kazuha remembers everything that happens the night before and his reaction is absolutely priceless.

K- are they a good kisser? do they like it? how often?

kazuha is miraculously a great kisser, well that is debatable from the beginning since he didn’t have much experience but he learnt very fast, and he is an amazing learner. kazuha’s everyday kisses can range from many varieties. kazuha’s forehead kisses usually linger for just the right amount of time, they are comforting and homely. it feels like you can tell how much kazuha trusts and adores you when he gives you forehead kisses. kazuha’s cheek kisses are different. they are quick and fleeting, usually he peppers your face with them, instead of a single kiss. it is playful and often filled with laughter, kazuha does it with a teasing note as his hands cup your face and pulls you closer for another kiss attack. lastly kazuha’s kisses on your lips, saved for the most romantic and intimate moments you share. often hidden from the public where kazuha can show you how much he loves you without any interruptions. they are passionate and always leaves the both of you wanting for more. he kisses you not too rough not too gentle, just until your lips are slightly plump and red. he takes your cheek in his hand, his other on your waist, pulling you close he whispers “may i?” and if you allow him, he will make sure this is a kiss you never forget.

bonus: kisses on the back of your neck, saved for the most private moments. if you have longer hair he likes to brush your hair back and place a teasing kiss on your neck, just to see you get flustered. and if you have shorter hair he finds himself often staring at the back of your neck, and just decides to indulge himself a few times with a kiss- teasing you along the way.

L- when do they say i love you? how often? do they say or show it more?

kazuha has always been more of a mix of both, he tends to show his love a lot yet he never fails to let you know he loves you. kazuha says it when it is just the two of you, when he has your attention and he has yours. he says it while tangled in your arms, under the blankets as you try to fight the feeling of sleep so you can spend more time with your beloved. kazuha shows it in his actions, even if done unconsciously, he somehow manages to convey ‘i love you’. its evident in the way he smiles for you, his eyes glistening as he lets out a hearty laugh. its evident in the way he holds your hand, guiding you down the stairs- even though you are perfectly capable of walking on your own. it is evident in the way he stares at you while you patch him up after he got hurt again, listening to your mother-like nagging to be careful. he doesn’t always say it outright, but you know, you know he loves you.

M- thoughts on marriage? how do they want to hold the ceremony?

well kazuha definitely has thought about it, thats for sure. in all honesty he is a little intimidated by the idea of marriage. don’t get me wrong, he wants to get married to you, its just kazuha has an interesting past. he’s afraid that somehow even if he’s miles away from her, she’d end up coming back to haunt him, and this time take you too. kazuha also knows unlike others, he can’t offer you the most stable life. he fled from his own country, a god literally wants him dead. he wanders around without an end destination, no real home anymore. he wonders if you really want to get married to someone like him- this thoughts are the things that keep him awake at night. if you ever help kazuha get over his fears and make him understand you love him for who he is now, perhaps he wouldn’t hesitate before popping the question. he would love a quiet and small ceremony, he doesn’t mind a grand wedding but he would prefer something more lowkey and intimate. no distractions so he can take it all in, you finally are his.

N- what are dates like with them? how often do you guys have night outs?

dates aren’t as easy to come by with kazuha, working on the sea or with the resistance means work needs to be done and there isn’t much time for going out. but kazuha makes it work, most of the time its rather spontaneous. kazuha would appear before you and ask you to close your eyes, taking your hands in his to guide you to a little spot he made up on the alcor. hidden away from the drunkards causing a ruckus on deck. he sits you down next to him on a nice blanket and asks you to open your eyes. its a cute little get up, a few snacks and sake under the stars. kazuha would apologise for not being able to give you a proper date, yet you couldn’t ask for more. he’d pull you close saying he didn’t want you to get cold, and he’d teach you about stars and constellations.

another time while you both were working hard for the resistance, kazuha showed up by your tent at night and asked you to accompany for a walk. kazuha would take your hand in his, as he carried an umbrella over your heads. he wouldn’t bring you too far from camp but he tried to make your time worthwhile. he’d tell you about the poems he made of you the afternoon since he missed you the whole day. he’d promise to take you somewhere nicer once everything was under control again- he gives your hand a squeeze and kisses you on the cheek. it wasn’t much but it was all you both had. )

O- what would they do if their s/o got hurt or injured badly? (ouch)

it doesn’t matter how hurt you got, small or big, kazuha feels his world stop spinning. his mind flashes back to the moment he watched his friend die, and he desperately tries to keep his emotions at bay. tears threaten to spill, his voice cracks as he asks where you are. he gets to you as fast as he can, he begs that his legs don't give way yet. he blames himself for not being able to protect you, he couldn't save his friend, but please not you. the moment he catches the glimpse of your body bandaged up, bruises scattered all over skin, he can not contain the amount of guilt that rushes over himself. kazuha is by your side in an instant, taking your hand gently as he lets his eyes scan over your injury. he doesn't stop apologising, he lowers his head as he lets the waterworks run. ironically watching kazuha blame himself for not being able to protect you hurts more than the injuries you have sustained. if you can, please take him into your arms, tell him it's not his fault and you are okay. kazuha wouldn't know what to do if you were gone too.

P- are they playful in the relationship? how do they mess around with their s/o?

it may not look like it, but kazuha is rather playful. especially when it is just the two of you, kazuha suppresses the urge to not tease you. he can't help that you are just so easy to tease. he likes to challenge you to little games at the expense of a kiss. he loves seeing your expressions when he teases you, or purposely loses to you at a game. he also loves to flirt with you, tell you how much he loves you and how much he wants to make you his- even if you already are. he definitely is the type to ask you if your single and want to date him while you are dating, he says "your boyfriend doesn't need to know, so just come with me" and if you play along he falls more in love. it's also dangerous if your a ticklish person, he will often poke you just to hear your laugh or squeal. he craves to hear your melodic laugh, he never wants you to shut up. kazuha is never mean when he plays around with you though, he never crosses the line and he can read the mood well. he knows when is the right time to mess around with you, and he knows when to stop. as much as he loves it he never wants to make you mad. i

Q- what will they do if their s/o is queer or part of the LGBT community? how will they react?

kazuha doesn't mind, he believes that love is love and coincidentally he loves you for you. kazuha listens and is keen on learning your past and why you decides to be who you are now. he picks up on your prefered pronouns without hesitation and treats you with nothing but respect. if you are insecure about it, he will make it his only goal to write you a poem a day about how much he loves you and how much he wishes for you to find self love. kazuha is aware of the occasional disapproval from outsiders, and he doesn't think twice before using his vision to mess with them, knocking them off their balance or messing up their hair. he tells you that others may say what they want but you need not worry for there are many others who love you and will love you for the rest of their lives- him included.

R- how random and spontaneous is the relationship?

a relationship with kazuha is beyond random. there are moments when kazuha just grabs your hand and takes you away to some place because he wants to be with you. kazuha enjoys surprising you with things as well, if he sees something he thinks you will like, he will buy it or attempt to make it for you. when he travels he definitely brings you back pressed flowers or pretty gemstones that remind him of you. kazuha often does things for you on a "just because" basis, even if it holds no significant reason, he will give you a gift, give you a kiss or whatever you want. kazuha also randomly declares his love for you just because.

S- what do they do is their s/o is scared?

kazuha knows what its like to be scared, to feel petrified to the point its hard to breathe, hard to speak, hard to move. his world crumbles at the thought of how you may go through emotions like that. he never wants you to go through any pain, it simply doesn’t matter what causes you to feel so frightened. if it scares you, it scares you. there is no need for him to laugh at you or belittle your feelings. kazuha will never forgive himself if he makes you feel invalidated. when you are scared, kazuha will be by your side in an instant, his arms engulfing you like a warm blanket, as he whispers sweet nothings into you ear. he asks you to focus on his fingers tracing shapes onto your back. he doesn’t let go of you until he feel your heart rate return to normal. and when it does, he releases you from his tight grip to kiss away the tears rolling down your cheeks. giving you a simple smile. “my love, i wont let anything harm you. i love you.”

T- how much do they trust their s/o?

to be in a relationship means kazuha trusts you a lot. kazuha has gone through much, and is constantly on the run. there are few people he can open up to and trust that they would not leave him behind. it takes a while for kazuha to tell you about everything, don't get me wrong he knows he loves you but it isn't easy to bring something so dark about his past to light. he hopes you don't get mad or disturbed by him for keeping it hidden for so long. when he finally does tell you about his past, and you stick by him no matter what he feels his heart slowly gets put back into place.

U- do they like to take things slow or fast? (urgency)

kazuha takes things at a pretty average pace. honestly it's kind of like a write off, he knows it will take him a while to fully trust someone yet he is undoubtedly touch-starved. and when it comes to you he can't seem to hold himself back. when kazuha courts you its slow and relaxed, he never wants to force you into a relationship and make you uncomfortable. he takes his time to learn what you like and dislike, he takes his time to get to know you. and when you finally start dating he tends to take things faster, not too fast though, he makes sure everything he does is okay with you before rushing in head first. unconsciously he tends to touch you a lot, he finds comfort in your warmth. sometimes it's as simple as brushing your hair back, and sometimes it's having his hands on your thigh while you sit next to him. he just loves it so much.

V- how vocal are they about the relationship? do they want it to be a secret?

kazuha prefers to keep it lowkey. only a few people know of your relationship with him. he doesn't want you to get hurt because of him, after all he is rather infamous for escaping from the shogunate and their leader. he also is more on the private side. however its very easy to tell that kazuha is infatuated with you solely by the way he looks at you, talk of you. you can tell that he is completely smitten over you, it takes someone awfully dense to not realise his feelings for you.

W- random scenario with them! (wild card)

the first time kazuha saw you dressed up so beautifully was when beidou insisted that the both of you attended a party in liyue with her. he didn't enjoy parties as much but he thought it would be nice for you to take a break from running away, and if you were there he was sure it would be a lot more bearable. and he was right, it was. beidou had whisked you away earlier to be presentable for the occasion, kazuha himself had to wear something he wasn't used to- he thought it was uncomfortable. but the moment he saw you walk out of the room dressed to the nines, all the discomfort that came with his outfit was thrown out the window and replaced with fluster. kazuha was quick to regain his normal charm however, throwing compliments in your directions as he held out his arm for you to hold- yet not even his sly behaviour could escape your eyes, there indeed was a blush on his cheeks. beidou left the two of you to be, enjoying the food and lovely music playing in the background, yet all kazuha could hear was the melody of your voice. as the room fell silent and a slow tune began, kazuha earned a few nudges from beidou "ask them to dance" she whispered. and he did, it felt like it was straight out of a fairy tale. his eyes were burning into yours as he reached his hand out. you gladly accepted, but you never knew kazuha had learnt to dance, especially so well. you suppose everything about him is eloquent. the moment was something you'd cherish for the entirety of your life, the feeling of him guiding your footsteps along to his. his hands resting perfecting on your waist as yours did by his neck. he often made small jokes about the other stuck up guests, which made you laugh. his heart fluttered. as the song came to an end, you gave him a small kiss on his cheek. a smile appeared on his face, your action warming his chest.

"won't you dance with me again, my love?"

X- do they like petnames? do they use petnames? (XOXO)

kazuha loves using petnames on you. he likes to call you darling or my love. he finds using nicknames rather endearing, and he loves how you react with a simple "hm?" because you know he loves you like that. if you ever give kazuha a petname his heart swoons in adoration for you. he loves them! but kazuha also loves the way his name rolls off your tongue, the sound of your voice is like maple syrup in his ears.

Y- what do they do when they yearn for you?

missing you is something kazuha is unfortunately used to. given that kazuha is a traveller it is understandable why you two are often apart. when kazuha misses you, everyone can tell. especially since your absence in his life is all his poetry becomes. he muses how you are and how it hurts being so far from you. he often finds himself immersed in creating more haikus to show you when he finally reunites with you. more here.

Z- what is sleeping like with them? (zzz)

sleeping with kazuha is warm, you never have to fear the cold especially with kazuha's arms wrapped protectively around you. kazuha doesn't care whether he is the big spoon or small spoon, he just wants to be with you. if he spoons you, just make sure that he wakes up earlier than you if not he is never letting go. his grip is not too tight but still very strong around you. he enjoys being close to you and he loves how you let him be near you. if you are spooning him, please let kazuha rest his head in the crook of your neck. he loves to feel your heartbeat as he tries to fall asleep, the last thing he hears is your heart thumping every so peacefully. the smell of your soap puts him to sleep in a way he never knew it could. he loves how this time you wrap your arms around him to protect him instead, for once he feels like in your arms, he is perfectly safe.

oh my god this took so damn long???? but i didn't have much inspiration and this just came to mind. some letters were EXTREMELY hard to write so please excuse if its a little ooc i tried ;-; im glad im done tho, this honestly is the longest thing i have written in a very very long time and im really happy i did. im also pretty excited to try it for other characters i already have childe's and xiao's one in mind :) anyway!!!!!! please let me know if you liked this thank u bebs muah...

#lolible writes #genshin #kazuha #kazuha x reader #genshin x reader #kazuha imagines #genshin imagines #kazuha fluff #kazuha angst #genshin fluff #genshin angst #lolible likes writing

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Text

Yan Genshin / Being Their Darling.

Childe:

The days of living a peaceful, quaint life will be far behind you. Childe doesn’t allow himself the vulnerability of getting close to many. He doesn’t care how bloody the road ahead to winning you is, as his hands have never been clean. All is fair in love and war, right?

Childe will get his claws deep into your life before you realize what’s happening. Whether it be extortion or threatening, Liyue’s Fatui are at his disposal, to be used however he sees fit. He’d like to have some form of leverage over you as a backup plan if the regular attempt at romancing you is unsuccessful. There’s also an appeal to knowing you’re under his thumb.

Fatui underlings would be assigned on shifts to watch over you. Anyone that Childe perceives as “too friendly” (which he has a rather lenient definition of), is harassed at a later time to deter further interaction with you. The sudden isolation is unexpected, those who used to be close with you seem too frightened to look you in the eye.

He wishes he had more time to spend with you. The times he does get to spend by your side are eventful, but not in ways you can appreciate. Childe is something of a pest by your side. He won’t leave until he feels you’ve given him enough attention, which is difficult since you always leave him wanting more.

“Didn’t you know I had to work overtime to spend this evening together? Really, trying to lose me in a crowd... I’m almost insulted that you thought that’d work. Try that again and I might just have to tie you up. C’mon, don’t look at me like that, I’m just kidding.”

Diluc:

Luxury and pampering at a cost of your autonomy. You won’t know of the latter until later. Diluc’s attention might even feel enthralling at first, Mondstadt’s most desired bachelor seeking you out is a deep honor if nothing else. Gifts are delivered to your residence, ranging from simple to extravagant. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself at first, but it doesn’t take too much investigation to find who the gifts are from.

When you’re asleep at night, Diluc finds himself drawn to your residence while sweeping the city of Mondstadt at night. There’s a certain perch nearby that gives him access to your bedroom window. How the moonlight shines on your sleeping face makes his heart go wild, a sliver of a smile on his lips.

Diluc is already a hard worker, but he pushes himself even further to cleanse the world for your sake. You become another unhealthy obsession and almost a reward for his efforts. The entitlement to your time and love creeps up on him before he knows it. For the most part, he can repress it, but that’s exacerbated by any advances on you.

Overtime will grow more overbearing as these emotions rise to the surface. Insisting on walking you to places, helping with your finances, and even suggesting you quit your job altogether. Diluc makes it clear that he wants to take care of you but won’t say why exactly. To have you relying on him would be ideal, so that’s what he’s going for.

“Your hesitation is understandable, but please give it some thought. Whatever it is that’s stressing you, I can handle, so that it’s no longer an issue. I’m more than capable of that.”

Kaeya:

Underneath a meticulously crafted façade of friendliness are layers of cunning. For every step you feel you’re ahead, Kaeya is ten more. It never hits you until it’s too late how entangled your paths are. Everything was planned — months in advance, even — to bring about the result he desires.

Operates more in the shadows before making a move. Ideal scenarios fall perfectly into place, painting a favorable picture of him to you. Leading monsters to areas you frequent, only to assist you in fending them off, even offering to tend to your wounds should you have obtained any. All the while having his signature charm on full display.

Kaeya desires for you to rely on him to an unhealthy degree. That way you’ll come to return his love, or so he believes, a bond formed under turbulent times. The coincidental eviction and offer to stay with him is a perfect example. When the world is falling apart, Kaeya is there by your side, extending a helping hand. Little do you know that it’s those same hands that manipulated these situations into existence.

He’s done his homework and it shows. Every little accidental brushing over his hand over yours, amorous whispering into your ear, and flirtatious remark is designed to your liking. Kaeya mentions your interests in conversation, anything to warm you up to him. It works like a charm too, as you steadily let down your walls and let him in.

“I’m staring? Oh, you caught me. Though, I can’t bring myself to apologize. It’s unreasonable if you think I could take my eyes off you, when you’re standing there looking like that. Ah... there’s that blush again. See what I mean?”

Zhongli:

The unrelenting favor from Liyue’s Archon is suffocating. He has astounding wisdom on matters often left in the pages of dust-covered texts. He knows your family lineage and situation on an almost intimate level, recounting details that no one else should be privy to. You’ll get the sense there’s more to Zhongli than what he’s letting on.

Zhongli will see to it that you have lots of free time (to be spent with him...). Any business-related ventures, whether it be filling out permits or negotiation contracts will be completed in record time. All he asks in return is to have dinner together. At the time, it feels like a reasonable request, if not a confusing one. Shouldn’t you be the one treating him after all his help? He looks uncertain when you mention this to him, like he hadn’t thought about it before.

Your family will likely encourage your relationship — even if you insist it’s strictly platonic — believing Zhongli to be an ideal match. His work ethic, knowledge, and cordial nature would be brought up to further convince you. They’d reason that should you ever marry, Zhongli would be more than capable of taking care of you (and them, by extension), for the rest of your life.

He’s more than aware of this newfound grievance in your life. Zhongli believes that by earning the approval of your family, he’ll earn yours as well, so that’s where he started. The pressure surrounding from all sides might make you cave eventually. Until then, he will continue to present himself as a desirable bachelor. This methodology feels perfect, since any angst you may have won’t be directed at him, but your family instead.

“So you think talking to them about it would only worsen the situation? While that makes sense, I believe I could be of assistance, should they hear it coming from me. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist this time.”

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outerbankies · 3 years

Text

new light part 4: underneath the moonlight — rafe cameron

new light series masterlist

summary: you and rafe meet the parents (properly) and go to midsummers together, but not everyone is as smitten with your relationship as you two are.

pairing: rafe x kook reader

warnings: drinking, swearing

a/n: say hello to a few characters (tw: ward) i have had yet to feature thus far 🤗 more of y/n being besties with kelce (and topper this time—our fave obx himbo) there’s a lil drama in this part y’all... into the thick of it. thanks for all the feedback 💖not canon rafe

my writing

yeah if you give me just one night, to meet you underneath the moonlight

You’re startled awake by a loud knock on your bedroom door. You’re squished between 6 feet and 3 inches worth of boy and the pink wall your bed is pushed up against. Rafe always insisted on laying on your outer side, closest to the door of your bedroom. Which means you often woke up pressed into the wall, your neck sometimes aching from the awkward angle. Not to mention Wilbur always taking up the space at your feet, Rafe usually nudging him into your space so he could stretch out.

Rafe stirs also, making sleepy noises and stretching his legs where they hang off the end of your bed. He grumbles and smacks his lips together a few times, your hand instinctively coming to rub along his jaw. His eyes flutter open as the sun streams in through your window, illuminating the hint of golden stubble on his chin. You’d only slept over together a few times, since you were both staying with your parents for the summer, so it’s always nice to wake up with your boy in your bed.

Oh fuck. Your boy is in your bed.

Rafe's eyes widen at the same time as yours.

“Oh shit, we fell asleep?” he whispers, head whipping around your room.

“Fuck, you have to hide right now,” you whisper, stumbling through your thoughts sleepily.

Another knock sounds from the door.

You extract yourself from your spot between Rafe and the wall, his hands guiding you by your hips as you tumble over him.

“Just, fuck, just like—get under the covers or something. God, I hope it’s not my dad,” you whisper.

“Me too,” he says, slinking into the gap between your bed and the wall as best he can, covering his face with a pillow.

You check that he’s concealed enough, turning to open the door just the slightest bit. Dylan stands in the crack.

“We have brunch at the Club in an hour, mom wanted me to ask if you invited Rafe,” he peers around you, gaze moving to behind your shoulder. “Or I could just ask him myself. Sup, Rafe?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dyl,” you whisper-shout. “Where are mom and dad? Can he sneak out the back? And don’t lie to me, or I’ll tell them about Hilton Head.”

“God, calm down. Dad’s in the garage and mom’s getting ready. Just have him go now.”

“Thanks,” you say, all but slamming the door in his face. You turn around and press your back against the door, letting out a shaky breath.

The covers rustle, and Rafe springs out of your bed to gather his things while Wilbur watches him. He always starts pouting when he notices that Rafe is putting on his hat or shoes, signs that he’s about to leave.

“We are so dead.”

“You don’t think he’ll say anything, do you? I don’t think I can sit at brunch with your dad in an hour if he knows I slept in your bed last night.”

“Not if he’s smart,” you sigh. “Want me to walk you out?”

“No, I got it. Just keep Willy in here. I’ll text you when I make it out alive. If you don’t hear from me, just assume your father murdered me,” he jokes, leaning down to give you a kiss after he slips his shoes on. “See you back here in an hour?”

“Yes, please be early. And clean shaven.”

“Yes ma’am. And don’t insult me,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Nervous?”

“Not nearly as nervous as I will be if I get caught, sweetheart. Gotta go so I have time to shower—and shave. See you in a bit.”

He gives you one last kiss before he departs, and you move to the window with Wilbur to watch him slink across the backyard, arms crossed and a fond grin on your face. He turns and blows you one last kiss before he disappears around the side of your house.

—

“Y/n, can I speak to you for a second?”

Your dad’s voice comes from his study as you pass by, checking yourself over in the entryway mirror one more time. Rafe should be here any minute.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Come sit,” he says, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. You feel the hair stand up on the back of your neck. Your dad only invited you to talk in his study if it was something serious. The last time he did was when he told you he was going to take away your Range Rover if you didn’t pull your Bs up to As your freshman year of college. You’ve had a 4.0 ever since.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. Just wanted to talk about the new boyfriend.”

“What about him?”

“I always knew of him while the two of you were growing up. But I talked to him a bit back during Dylan’s grad week.”

As an unruly teenager and the rightful heir to his father's business, everyone in the Outer Banks knew about Rafe and his antics. Good or bad. You could even recall your mom gossiping to your dad, words passed on from Rose, about some of his more... notable incidences.

“Y-yeah, he's...” you trail off, searching for the right words to describe Rafe these days.

“Seems like a good kid,” your dad supplies.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Business, mostly. His future and whatnot.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No, I just wonder... are you sure about this one? When you were kids, that boy was always causing trouble. And you know your mother and I were always so proud of how you stayed in line.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But Rafe’s not a boy anymore. Just give him a chance.”

“I will,” your dad says, slapping his knees to stand up. “But I'm also gonna give him a hard time.”

“Dad, please.”

“It’s my job. Your mom gets to freak out about Dylan moving out, and I get to handle scaring every man who gets to look at you.”

The doorbell rings.

“Please. I am literally begging.”

Your dad draws a fake halo around his head, and you just roll your eyes.

The morning gets off to an even more embarrassing start as soon as Rafe crosses the threshold into your house. Wilbur jumps into his arms immediately, all ninety pounds of him, and your mom’s eyes widen.

“My goodness, he’s usually so hesitant around strangers!”

Dylan chokes on a laugh, and if you weren’t across the room you’d have elbowed him in the ribs.

“Oh, I’ve walked Wilbur by Tanneyhill before.”

“Yeah, I-I love Willy. Mrs. Y/l/n, it’s so nice to see you again,” Rafe says, effortlessly following your lead after Wilbur scampers out of his hold. He shakes your mom’s hand politely. Your dad sidles up to her then, fixing Rafe with a stare harder than you’d prefer. “Mr. Y/l/n, you as well. Thanks again, to both of you, for inviting me.”

“Good to see you, Rafe,” your dad says, a strong hand clamping onto his shoulder. “Dylan, come say hi.”

Dylan’s grin is devilish, and you're just watching on in pure horror at this point. “How have you been, Rafe? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

—

Rafe’s grinning ear to ear, hand firm on your thigh, all of the windows in his truck rolled down. He even popped the sun roof, letting you blast your playlist all the way down the road.

“Okay—I just... did that go well?”

“You did great, Rafe.”

Despite Dylan's best efforts to embarrass you two, brunch had gone really well. Your dad took a second to let his guard down, unlike your mother who was immediately gushing over him. You could practically see the wheels in her head turning, the wedding colors she'd picked for you. And your dad came around quick enough once Rafe brought up Formula 1.

Your boyfriend looks so relieved, hand even coming to feel the air pass through his fingers as he hangs his arm out the window, hand on your thigh coming back up to steady the wheel. He taps on it excitedly.

“Lowkey, feel like I nailed it, baby.”

“Okay,” you giggle, leaning over to peck his check. You pull him in with a soft hand to the other side of his face. “Let’s not get too big for our britches.”

“Oh, I’m a parent-meeting expert now. Might go into consulting.”

“You’ve perfected the sport?” you joke.

“No, no. That’s—I’ve never actually met parents before,” he admits.

“No way?”

“Way? Have you?” he asks, slight edge seeping into his tone as he pulls up to the stoplight outside of your favorite coffee spot.

“Uh... once. We weren’t even really dating yet, but they came to visit and he like, ambushed me with them at dinner. They were kinda hippies, though.”

“Yeah?” His tone is clipped as he parks his truck.

“Yeah, some guy from my comparative literature class sophomore year,” you sigh. “But, you’re the first to meet my parents.”

“Mm,” he hums, fingers tapping on your knee. That satisfies him. He gathers one of your hands in his. “You coming in?”

“Will you just get me a latte? Kinda wanna call my mom and debrief.”

He laughs, kissing your knuckles. “I’ll give you a minute, sweetheart. Oat milk?”

—

Your original plans to meet the Camerons fell through, a last minute staging emergency arising when you were all supposed to go for dinner. You’d tried not to look down while Rafe attempted in earnest to cheer you up, telling you how pretty you looked while you took out your earrings and let your hair down. He'd kissed the crown of your hair and apologized profusely, promising they would love you when they finally got to meet you.

“M’not upset.”

“Okay.” His hand stroked your back through the thick cotton of one of his old water polo sweatshirts he’d let you borrow for the night.

“I’m just really nervous about meeting them. You might’ve set the bar a little too high with my parents.”

“You just have a great family.”

“I don’t know,” you said when you finally cracked a smile. “Made it pretty far on your first try.”

“Don’t worry. They’re going to love you, sweetheart.”

You let him kiss your cheek, your forehead, your nose and chin.

“Hope so.”

“Know so.”

And Rafe had somehow convinced your father to let you go to Midsummers with his family, promising to join up for pictures and greetings later. Your dad had willingly let him, to your surprise.

The event was a big deal to Figure 8 patriarchs and matriarchs alike, always trying to outdo the other in every way, all while feigning some sense of island camaraderie. But when Rafe had set aside time at brunch to specifically ask your family for their permission to accompany you to the event, they’d been hard pressed to say no. Your family immediately accepted Rafe as your boyfriend, any lingering hesitations about his character drowned out by the equal chances of your personal happiness and the heightening of their social and business profiles.

But he’d still come to your house to pick you up, ready to greet your parents in the foyer once again.

He takes one look at you in that blush pink dress, hair, makeup and jewelry all done up this time around, daisy flower crown in place, and flicks his eyes around his surroundings. Your father and Dylan were nowhere in sight, and your mother was busy fixing her earrings in the hall. He takes to your side immediately, a kiss to the side of your head followed by his lips pressing against your ear. “I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

With the high from those words, you ride in his truck to Midsummers, nerves never dissipating no matter how many reassurances he speaks across the summer air streaming in through the vehicle. “Remember, they’re gonna love you.”

He helps you down from his truck so you can focus on keeping your dress off the ground, assuring you for the fiftieth time that Rose is going to like your headpiece.

“Miss Y/l/n, how lovely to see you again you at last,” Ward sighs, sounding somewhat fond. “Rafe’s been talking my ear off about this, meeting you again even though we’ve already met. Sorry we couldn’t make it work earlier.”

“No worries, Mr. Cameron. Thank you so much for inviting me to tag along with your family at Midsummers. You as well, Mrs. Cameron. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you! And of course,” Rose says, bringing you in for a hug, one you definitely were not expecting.“You’re out in California, aren’t you?”

“Yes, home for the summer.”

“That’s a long way from here,” Ward says. His eyes flicker to Rafe. “Long way from Georgia. Shorter, but still a long way.”

“Dad, c’mon,” Rafe cuts in, and you can feel his hand gripping the back of your dress:

“He’s just stating the obvious, Rafe,” Rose intervenes.

“Yeah, it is far,” you agree. Rafe’s head whips around back to you.

“We’re figuring it out,” he says. To anyone else in the vicinity, he probably sounds confident and self assured. But you know Rafe, and you can look into his eyes and see that he’s not. That if he weren’t in front of his entire family, trying earnestly to impress his father, he’d have said: ‘we’re gonna figure it out, right?’

“I’m sure things will work out the way they’re meant to,” Ward says after a lapse in conversation. “One way or another.”

“Let’s get some photos so we can all enter and the two of you can run off,” Rose says immediately after, giving neither of you the time to say anything else.

You do your best to shake off Ward’s comment as the four of you join up with the Cameron daughters, plus Sarah’s boyfriend, John B. After posing for what felt like hours, the photographer asks you and John B to hop out so they can take some family pictures, the two of you swiping up a couple of Old Fashioneds from the bar. You have to assure Rafe twice that you’ll be okay for ten minutes on your own.

“First time meeting Ward?” Sarah’s boyfriend asks, leaned up against the bar like he owns the place.

“Er—of course not,” you say, like it’s obvious. But of course John B knew nothing about Figure 8 social circles. “Just the first time as Rafe’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah, you look nervous,” he admits, chuckling when your mouth drops open. “It’s not too obvious, I just know because—been in your shoes.”

You should be insulted that the teenager compares his and Sarah’s relationship with yours and Rafe’s, but you know he isn’t being malicious. You see nothing but kindness in his eyes. And it’s nice to have somewhat of a teammate in this situation, the two of you standing by while one of the most powerful families in Kildare poses together in their finest outfits.

Rafe looks hot in his grey suit, especially with the pocket square he’d agonized over for weeks before you gifted him one that was hand sewn from the extra material where your dress had been hemmed. Monogrammed, of course.

You’d decided to go with his initials, since it was going to him after all. But your stomach gets fluttery if you think about the expression on his face when he’d received it, telling you that you should’ve put yours on it instead. “That way everyone will know I’m yours.”

Turning back to John B, you can’t imagine how he must have felt the first time he was invited into all of this. It intimidated even you, and you’re pretty sure John B was friends with the boy who delivered your family’s groceries every week.

“Any tips?”

“You’re way better off than I was, first of all,” he laughs. “But he’s really only scary when it’s one-on-one. He cares too much about this appearance of a perfect family to make digs in front of an audience.”

You nod. “That’s actually really good advice, John B.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, kook.” He clinks his glass against yours, promptly throwing the entire drink back as you watch and laugh. “That’s another tip. Drink whenever you can.”

“I’m familiar with that one.”

It's intimidating entering the event, a little after everyone else has arrived. Rafe told you that was by design—the Camerons could never be earlier than fashionably late. You always assumed you and Rafe were raised with similar pedigrees, but you're barely through the doors of the event before you realize that's not entirely true. Up until the last millisecond, Rose is fussing with Sarah and Wheezie's gowns, the older daughter making eye contact with you and rolling her eyes at her step-mother's antics. And Ward brushes Rafe's shoulders off more times than you can count, straightening his bow tie for him repeatedly. Rafe just places his hand on your back, leaning down to whisper into your ear. “You ready?”

You smile up at him, but your nerves are firmly settled in at this point. What you reply isn’t completely true. “Of course.”

—

You take John B’s advice, of course, and choose Kelce as your designated drinking buddy for the night. He was hard to keep up with, but you threw your inhibitions to the wind after you got meeting the Camerons out of the way. Plus, Rafe had more business to attend to than he’d let on, and you were getting pretty bored. Not too long ago he would’ve been right beside the rest of you, causing trouble and borderline embarrassing all of your parents. It was weird to see him walking around, shaking hands and rubbing elbows. He’d invited you into a few conversations, you trying your hardest not to simply watch him in awe.

You’re engaged in some strange dance battle with Kelce when he stacks his drink into yours, both empties at this point. “Your turn to get a round.”

“Boo,” you sigh, throwing your head back. “What d’you want?”

“Surprise me.”

“Aye aye.”

You’re turning on a shaky high heel, and you have to give yourself a little mental pep talk to straighten up. Of course you can, though.

“What can I get you, miss?” the barkeep asks.

“Vodka press, Tito’s, and a Jack and coke. Double Jack. Actually—single. Thanks,” you murmur, trying to fish a ten out of your clutch.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got the tip for this one,” a voice says next to you. Ward Cameron is sidling up next to you, sliding a fifty across the counter. Your eyes widen at the tip, trying not to be embarrassed as the bartender sets the drinks down in front of you.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Cameron.”

“Ah, call me Ward.” He flicks his eyes back to the bartender, who quickly pockets the tip and makes himself scarce to give the two of you some privacy. You can’t help but think of John B’s warning: ‘he’s really only scary when it’s one-on-one.’ There’s no point in even trying seek out Rafe, you knowing full well you’re expected to stay rooted to the spot until Ward dismisses you. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s always fun to come back out here for this.”

“So, California to Georgia,” he whistles. “That’s probably a five hour flight, at least.”

“Yeah, um,” you take a minute to make sure your flower crown is perfectly in place. “It’s actually two.”

“Excuse me?”

“Two flights. From his school to mine. Rafe checked, he said there’s nothing direct,” you clarify.

Ward let’s out an indifferent chuckle. “Of course he did.”

Your eyebrow furrows because you don’t know what to say, turning to look at where your drinks are starting to melt. Kelce would be wondering where you are by now if he wasn’t three sheets to the wind. And where the hell was Rafe?

“Y/n, as far as I can tell, you are a nice girl. I just need to make sure we’re on the same page about one thing.”

Your heartbeat that hadn’t really settled since Ward approached you is picking up again, and you really wish Rafe had been the least bit more concerned about where you were at this moment.

“Um, I-I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I'm don’t know how serious you two are, Y/n, but I know my son. He's clearly very invested in pursuing you.”

Your resolve crumbles a little at that, your heart warming, thinking about Ward noticing something like that.

“But Rafe needs to be committed to finishing this degree so he can come home and start learning the ropes next year. And in four years, Sarah will do the same. Then Louisa after her.”

“Wow, that’s so lucky for you—that they all want to go into the family business,” you praise, not really knowing what else to say. It must be the wrong thing, because Ward just quirks an eyebrow.

“In this family, our business will always come first. Before anything and anyone else. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

You swallow, catching on to where this is going for the first time. You still go for playing dumb.

“Ward, I really don't think I understand.”

“But you do, don't you? You know Rafe. He’s a bit emotional, he’s a ‘feeler,’” Ward says sarcastically, putting it in air quotes. All of the niceties you experienced earlier when you first greeted Rafe’s family were long gone. You can only gather that it was all an act for Rafe’s benefit. But you know the only option is to sit there and take it. “He thinks with his heart, never enough with his head. Sarah, for example—when it’s time for her to cut that pogue lose, which it will be soon enough, I know she will. Whether it’s my decision or her’s. I can count on that, because she’s just like me in that respect; she knows we have to make sacrifices. But Rafe—I don’t think I can make that same assumption about him.”

“Ward, with all due respect, Rafe is really focused on the business.”

“You're correct, and I’ve worked hard to get him there. Which is why I can't have him spending his senior year of college, when he should be buckled down, traveling back and forth from California and getting distracted from his future by some girl.”

“Mr. Cameron, I would never—”

“You know that it’s true. I can tell you’re bright. You come from a great family.” It’s a compliment and an insult all at once. He likes you because of your father’s business and your mother’s social status, not because of what you do for Rafe, or what you have to show for yourself. He continues like it was nothing but the highest praise. “But right now, you are across the country from him, and I can bet he’s determined to make that work, no matter what it takes. Which I obviously can’t have,” Ward sighs. “It’s just not the right time. You can understand that, can't you?”

You nod numbly and pick up your drinks, hoping he’ll get the signal to wrap this up soon. You’re at the point where you can’t listen to this anymore, liquid courage re-flooding your veins.

“I’m not asking you to stay away from him, because you’re both adults,” Ward says, stopping you with a hand on your shoulder. “But I’m asking you to think long and hard about what’s best for the both of you. Rafe already knows what’s expected of him. He’s always known.”

You look back towards the crowd under the gazebo, able to make out John B of all people. He sees you talking to Ward, shooting you the most subtle thumbs up he can muster. He has no idea. You don’t take the chance to nod at him, turning back to the bar.

“Say the two of you let it go for the school year,” Ward bulldozes, taking a step closer to you. “And you end up back here too, great. But even then Rafe’s going to be working all the time, the longest hours he ever will in his life. For the next few years, Y/n. You’re so young—are you really going to tie yourself down to a commitment like that? What about your future?”

In a tone you hope comes across as confident, you say, “I really appreciate your concern, Ward.”

Ward's perfectly white teeth are pulling into an even more perfect grin, and the sight makes you sick.

“Great. I'm glad we had this talk.” He pats you on the back, leaving first before you get the chance to.

You just shuffle through the crowd numbly, not even reacting when someone steps on your toe, taking it all in stride as you seek the comfort of your friends once again.

You were foolish to think Ward would warm up to you immediately, or at all. You had been way too confident in yourself, especially after witnessing the wear working for his father had on Rafe. ‘He’s not an easy man to please.’ How could you be so naive, thinking you could coast by on your charm?

You’re a few feet away when you notice that Topper had joined up with Kelce again, as had your boyfriend. He’s joking with them, amused at the way Topper is clearly almost done tolerating Kelce’s drunken antics, but you stand and watch for a bit as he scans the crowd, gaze flickering toward the bar you’d just been at. You realize he’s looking for you when he finally spots you, his face relaxing as the two of you make eye contact.

“There you are.” He pulls you in close, kissing your forehead. You want to cry. “Where’d you run off to? One of those for me?”

He’s gesturing to the drinks you’re holding, reaching for the darker of the two. But Kelce is swooping in, snatching it out of your hold quickly. “Nope,” he pops the ‘p.’ “This one’s all mine. Sorry Cameron. Thanks Y/n/n.”

Rafe just rolls his eyes at the two of you, eyes lingering on your face when he notices your fallen expression. He sets your other drink down on the high top table you’re all standing next to, pulling you in by your hips. “You okay?”

If you had a choice right now, about how to proceed with telling or not telling Rafe about what had just happened, your instincts compel you to bypass the decision process altogether; you paint a careful smile on your face, shaking your head slightly. “Yeah, all good. Just zoned out for a sec.”

He isn’t convinced. “Tired?”

“Maybe a little. Kinda drunk. Are we leaving soon?” you ask, melting into him. It’s a lot easier to handle his tone of voice when you don’t have to look him directly in the eye.

“I vote yes,” Topper says, gesturing towards Kelce, who is somehow sucking down his new drink at an alarming pace while continuing to dance to the oldies tunes they play at these things. “Like, right now. Rafe, you’re hanging back right?”

You look back up at your boyfriend in confusion. “You’re not coming with us?”

He bite his lip in contemplation, looking around the party. The twinkly lights reflect off of his pupils, making him look starry-eyed as he surveys the crowd. A sea of opportunities to prove himself to his father. Rafe looks resolved when he turns back to you.

“Well... I was gonna stay, wrap up some stuff,” he explains. His eyes flicker across your face, still not pleased with your expression. “But that’s okay, I’m good to go now.”

“No, Rafe,” you say immediately. You take a deep breath, rolling back your shoulders and painting on a smile that comes easily with years of experience at parties like this. “Stay, I’ll go ahead. How long will you be?”

“An hour, tops. Will you take her?” Rafe looks hesitant, still taking your green light anyway, already slowly extracting himself from your hold, Topper rolling his eyes but nodding and beginning to corral Kelce toward the exit.

“I can’t believe you’re making me babysit two of them.”

“Don’t let her drink too much.”

“Hey,” you protest, pushing him in his chest half heartedly. The push barely does anything, only proving your impaired motor skills further. Or that you're dating a tree. “What are you, a cop?”

“I’m your boyfriend, actually.”

“Really? When did that happen?” you decide to play along, picking up your drink again.

“‘Bout a month ago, Y/l/n,” he says softly. He can see right through you, can tell you're putting on a show for all of your friends but you're still not okay. You have to break eye contact.

“Hmm, for some reason I thought you were just this guy from middle school.”

“At least this time nobody spilled on your dress,” he teases half-heartedly, and the memory only hurts you more. “Not sure I’d wanna sacrifice this one.”

“Can you—you guys are the worst. Focus. We need to go now, before Kelce gets his entire family blacklisted from the club. You coming or not, Y/n/n?” Topper begs.

You’re nodding, leaning up to give Rafe one last kiss before you leave. He holds you close to him with a firm hand on your back, voice dropping to a whisper right next to your ear. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

The lump in your throat is growing, but you push through, lowering yourself back down to your feet as soon as you can. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Focus on the rest of your night.”

Rafe still looks unsure, his hand resting on the nape of your neck as he kisses your forehead. “Y/n—”

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” you finally admit. Rafe nods curtly, can tell you’re not going to let him leave with you right now. But he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know that if you pull him away from his responsibilities right after that talk you had with Ward, it’s going to spell disaster for the two of you.

“Just some business stuff, alright?” he assures you. “I’ll see you soon. Forty-five minutes.”

“Promise?” you murmur, fiddling with his pocket square. He smiles down at you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Promise. You look so pretty. Half an hour. Now go.”

Topper’s guiding you towards the parking lot with a polite hand on your back, but you have to watch Rafe as you leave. You watch him approach his dad, who gives him a smile and a pat on the back. Rafe preens under his gaze.

But Ward must have been watching you two from afar because his gaze is flickering back to you, and he fixes you with a hard stare. He raises his eyebrows, bringing his drink to his lips. Taking a leisurely sip, hint of a smirk on his face. You can practically hear his thoughts: ‘Rafe chose to stay here with me, with the business, and sent you off with his friends.’ It’s everything in you to not let the tears that have been building on your waterline spill over. But your friend isn’t easily fooled.

“Y’alright, Y/n?” Topper says from beside you, trusting Kelce enough to walk on his own as you all near the parking lot. He moves to follow your gaze but you stop him, quickening your pace towards his gray Jeep. “Did something happen?”

“Ward Cameron happened.”

———

tags: @moniamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @littlementalpolaroids

#rafe cameron #rafe x y/n #rafe fic #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #obx fanfiction #she writes

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sabinanotfound · 3 years

Text

Let’s Fall in Love for the Night

- Wilbur Soot x fem!reader

- warnings: just a mention of being tired and mention of kids

- summary: snippets of your and Wilbur’s relationship

- a/n: written for lovely @basilly’s and @losingvienna 's 1k/600 writing challenge! go check it out!

- (flashbacks in italic)

Wilbur played his guitar, fingers softly pulling the strings as he hummed along. You sat next to him, a blanked draped over your legs. You sleepily watched your boyfriend, your eyes looking like the exact definition of heart-eyes. You loved him more than anything. He turned to look at you, his previously concentrated features softening, and a smile finding its way onto his lips.

“whatcha lookin’ at, love?” he asked, pretending as if he didn’t already know.

“that wall is very interesting-“ your sentence was cut off by Wilbur tackling you on the couch. He propped himself on his elbows, trapping you under him.

“how about now?” he asked, his smile growing wider. Gosh, he loved you so much.

“I think I’m looking at a handsome young man.” You said playfully, pecking his lips. He laughed and pulled you into another kiss.

“Do you think she’ll say yes?” Tommy smiled to himself. How couldn’t Wilbur see that if he asked, you’d come to the end of the world with him?

“She’ll definitely say no.” Tommy answered his friend’s question in a sarcastic tone.

“Tommy! I’m being serious here!” Tommy could picture Wilbur’s expression. His voice softened.

“Of course she will. She loves you, mate.”

The clock showed 3 am. You tossed and turned in your bed, but just as in the past few hours, couldn’t fall asleep. You were getting exhausted at this point, but with a buzz of your phone you gave up on trying to fall asleep an reached for it. The notification was a message from Wilbur.

‘hey. are you asleep?’

‘nope. why?’ you texted back, and his reply came almost instantly.

‘i’ll pick you up in twenty five ;)’ you grinned to yourself, wondering what he had in mind.

Half an hour later, you were in his car, one of his hands on your mid-thigh and the other on the steering wheel, driving somewhere.

“So… what do you have in mind?” you asked, fiddling with his hand that was on your thigh. He smiled mysteriously.

“You’ll see, my love.” You leaned back in your seat, smiling.

Wilbur drove for about 20 minutes, neither of you breaking the sleepy, comfortable silence. Finally Wilbur stopped the car a little bit out of town. There was a small area, more specifically a flower field. The moonlight was bright, letting you see the beauty in front of you.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur spoke behind you. There was a blanket in his hands.

“So, how about stargazing?”

Wilbur tried to tame his wildly beating heart. He checked his appearance one last time before seeing you come towards his car. You were wearing a white sundress, as Wilbur told you to wear something suitable for the beach. He nervously gulped. You looked like a goddess. He exited his car and went up to you, leading you to the vehicle and opening the door for you, not before giving a few compliments.

The ride to the beach wasn’t long. Wilbur parked his car and opened the door for you. the place looked similar... and then you remembered. Here, on this beach, Wilbur had opened up about his feelings and had asked you to become his girlfriend. You remembered how nervous he was, and it made you smile.

Wilbur led you to the exact spot where you’d sat so many years ago.

“Decided to remember the good ole times?” you joked as if you were 80 years old. Wilbur laughed.

“Maybe.” a few minutes passed by, with you chatting and laughing at funny memories.

“y/n... do you remember how I asked you to be my girlfriend here?” you smiled.

“It’s hard to forget.” Wilbur seemed to collect his thoughts for a while before pulling out a ring.

“Today, I decided to do it again. But this time I’ll ask if you want to marry me.” he said and your cheeks flushed. You couldn’t imagine a better proposal.

“And I will say yes!” you weren’t able to contain your excitement and happiness. You kissed him, once again reminding him how lucky he was.

Wilbur’s head was in your lap, your fingers playing with his hair. On TV was a random Disney movie you’d picked out for that movie night. You and Wilbur were having quite a lot of fun singing along with all the songs. Just as another song was ending you noticed Wilbur wasn’t singing. You looked down at him, he seemed to be deep in his thoughts. You gently poked his cheek.

“What are you thinking ‘bout, baby?” he sighed, turning his head to you.

“The future.” You slightly furrowed your brows in confusion.

“The future?”

“Yep. I- you know, I’d love to have a future with you.” He blushed, and your heart swelled.

“I’d future with you too. Imagine, if we have little y/ns and Wilburs running around.” You said laughing. Wilbur looked at you. You were so sincere, if he could, he’d marry you on the spot. He gently cupped your face and kissed you. You smiled into the kiss. You both wanted to grow old together.

“And you, y/n y/l/n, do you take Wilbur Soot as your husband?”

“Yes. I do.” You said, your eyes watering. Wilbur was looking at you, and at that moment nothing mattered other than your love for each other.

“you may now kiss.” You and Wilbur both leaned in at the same time, but maybe that wasn’t the best idea, because your noses harshly bumped into each other. You both started laughing, all while holding your aching noses.

- “What time should I pick you up, love?” Wilbur’s voice rand through the phone, his British accent never failing to make you blush.

“Hmm... like in 20 minutes or so, if that’s okay?” you were very tired after work and couldn’t wait to see Wilbur. You’d missed him.

~20 minutes later~

You opened the car door, tossing your bag inside before getting in.

“Hello,” Wilbur said, giving you a peck on the cheek. “How was your day?” he asked, starting the car.

"It was good, but I'm so tired... I feel like I could sleep for a decade," you said with a chuckle. "But anyways, how was yours?"

You made small talk, but the conversation soon died down due to both of you being tired. You were home in 15 minutes, thanks to the traffic not being very bad.

"y/n, love? We're home." Wilbur said, taking the key out of ignition. When you didn't respond, he turned to look at you. A smile spread across his face at the sight of you peacefully sleeping, your cheek leaned against the window.

He got out of the car and got both of yours' bags, trying to be as quiet as possible. He then carefully opened your door and picked you up bridal style, while you still sleeping. He carried you to your shared apartment where he gently laid you on the couch. Just as he was about to go and change, you loosely held his wrist.

"Please stay." you whispered, still half awake. Wilbur smiled before laying next to you on the couch and wrapping his arms around you. You nuzzled into his chest.

"I love you." your voice came out slightly muffled. Wilbur affectionately stroked your hair.

"I love you too." and with that you drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

"He's so- so tiny!" Wilbur exclaimed, carefully rocking your newborn in his arms.

"Will, he's a baby. He's supposed to be tiny." you chuckled, looking at your two favourite people in the world.

"He's so cute. Look at his eyes, his nose, his chee-" he stopped mid-sentence. You worriedly looked at him, but your gaze softened and became one of amusement once you saw the reason.

Tommy, as you and Wilbur decided to name him, had grasped one of Wilbur's fingers with his small hand. Wilbur looked like he could explode any time.

"y/n, can we have another one?"

masterlist

taglist: @nachocatowo

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godlygreta · 3 years

Text

i never stopped loving you | j. kiszka

title | i never stopped loving you

summary | jake and y/n have known each other since grade school, they’ve been neighbors forever. a bit of romance ensues, but ends fairly quickly when complications arise while the boys are touring. a trip home from college ends in a slightly drunk confession.

warnings | some mature themes (bit of sex, but not explicitly), swearing, slight angst

word count | 2.5k+

author’s note | hi! this is the first thing i’ve written for any of the boys, so i hope you enjoy. i’ve written for other bands before, so writing isn’t new to me, but writing for greta is.

“I never stopped loving you.”

It slipped out. It didn’t mean to come out. Jake didn’t necessarily want it to come out. They say drunk words are sober thoughts, right? At the same time, who trusts the words of a drunk person? Usually it’s just brushed off as babbling, but Y/N couldn’t ignore what Jake said. Especially because she couldn’t blame it on not hearing him. There was no music playing outside the bar. The music was faint enough that anything Jake had said was heard.

High school was rough for Y/N with hormones mixed in with academics, horny teenage boys at every turn. Y/N wasn’t even interested in dating, not due to the fact that nobody was necessarily interested in her, but because she was too focused on her studies to even give a damn. School dances were a nice break from academics. There was a shift, though, when one boy in particular would start to really pay attention to her.

Jake Kiszka was charismatic in every sense of the word. Him and his twin brother, Josh, were always the two sweetest, yet most famous troublemakers in all of Frankenmuth High School. It got even worse when their younger brother, Sam, ended up in high school with them as a freshman. Jake had girls wrapped around his finger from the moment he had gotten a haircut. His hair was a lot shorter than before and barely even touched his forehead. Y/N didn’t really give a damn. To her, he was still Jake Kiszka, neighbor.

Their parents were friends and always hungout on the weekends. Y/N’s family had a cabin on the lake which they always vacationed at and occasionally would bring Jake’s family with. One particular summer, they stayed there for a week between the summer of sophomore and junior year. The summer’s were always hot, but this week in particular was hotter than the other summer’s before. “It feels like the Devil’s asshole out here.”

“I know, Mary, but that’s the exact reason we chose to come here this week. The kids can swim in the lake, it’s a lot cooler in the water than on the grass.” Y/N’s dad spoke, returning the conversation from her mother. He gave her a quick kiss on the side of the head and returned to unpacking the car. Y/N and the boys had already gone into the house and picked their rooms. The boys shared one, and Y/N got one of the spare bedrooms.

Dinner was made as soon as everyone was settled in. Everyone sat around the dining table, laughing and eating as they did almost every weekend. “You excited for Junior year, Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m sort of nervous about taking the SAT and ACT. I’ve been studying when I’m not working at the shop.” She picked at some asparagus on her plate as she answered Mrs. Kiszka’s question. Jake and Josh weren’t entirely ecstatic about it, it didn’t really matter to either of them. Music was their passion and that was never going to change.

Smores after dinner was a tradition that started when they were all really little, barely old enough to eat them. The fire was lit by Mr. Kiszka and Mr. Y/L/N. Jake, Sam and Josh had always played music while the rest of them made their smores. Y/N always made extras for the boys for when they were done playing music. Whenever they had no idea what to play, Y/N always knew the answer. Running out of songs to play, though, was a rarity in itself. The Kiszka’s knew so much about their sound, nothing was in their way of playing songs that fit it. However, every once in a blue moon they would ask their friend what she would like to hear. “C’mon now. You should know I’m a sucker for The Beatles.”

Y/N could recognize the sound of Blackbird the second it started playing. She had only listened to it eight million times that summer. She hummed lightly along as they played. Everyone clapped as soon as their song was over, the boys immediately delving into their smores. Y/N had finally taken a seat next to Josh when she was finished making their smores for them. Once their parents had gone inside, though, Y/N and the twins dipped into their parents' cooler of beer.

Neither of the sets of parents cared, they knew their kids would be safe and unharmed if they drank at the cabin. Jokes were told and stories of the past school year were discussed, as well as the future. A topic so vast for high schoolers. “I still can’t decide between a lawyer and an art teacher.”

“You’ve always been great at arguing,” Josh joked, “Practically got fuckin’ Lindsey McNeil out of that suspension.”

“It wasn’t fair. All she did was stand up for herself and what she believed in, plus that teacher is fucking creepy and everyone knows it.” Everybody laughed, the beer in everyone’s hands was getting a little warmer with every minute that passed by. Everyone filtered out one by one. Sam went in first, followed by Ronnie (she was slightly upset about coming, having made other plans with friends for the hot weather), and then Josh followed, leaving behind Jake and Y/N.

“Did you want to go inside yet or stay out here for a bit longer?” The silence beforehand hadn’t been awkward for the pair. “Cause I was thinking of going swimming for a bit.”

“I’ll join you, we haven’t swam yet today.”

The sand leading into the lake was met with a bit of rocks. It was picturesque under the moonlight. The pair discarded their clothing, leaving their underwear and got into the water. The coolness of the water sent goosebumps along her skin, leaving no piece without some. Jake followed in behind her, coming up next to her before completely dipping under the water. He popped back up and shook his head.

“You know,” Y/N started, “I think you’d look really good with longer hair.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. You should grow it out.” She swiped his hair out of the way and giggled a bit. “You’ll still never be prettier than I am.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

The rest of the summer followed with light flirting and spending lots of time together. Junior year came around and nothing changed a bit. Prom was spent with the Kiszka family, Josh driving the three of you, as well as Josh’s date. The dance was lame, the songs were overplayed pop music, which Y/N secretly had a bit of a soft spot for. She would never tell that to Jake, though.

The pair ended up back at Y/N’s house, giggling all the way up to her room. He went into the bathroom to take his suit off, using one of Y/N’s hangers to make sure it wouldn’t wrinkle. However, Y/N was still having issues. She couldn’t manage to undo the zipper by herself, waiting for Jake to come back into the room to do it for her. He came back in, saw her still in her dress. “Need my help?”

“My zipper -- I can’t reach it.”

“I can do it,” he whispered, knowing Y/N’s parents were asleep. His hands were warm against her back, undoing her zipper slowly. The moonlight coming in from the window felt like that hot summer night at the cabin. He slid the straps down her shoulders, his mouth slightly agape. How could someone look so beautiful and delicate at the same time?

She turned around, her body facing Jake’s. He stuttered, telling her he could leave and he was honestly about to. Until he felt her hand grab his wrist. “Don’t go.”

He nodded his head, helping her get the rest of the way out of her dress. She stepped closer to him and put her hands on his chest. She could feel how fast his heart was beating. She had a hard time meeting his gaze, nervous of him not feeling the same way she had been. “You looked really good tonight.”

“Me? Everybody was staring at you the whole time, Y/N,” he spoke, one hand finding their way to her waist, the other pulling on her chin to force eye contact. “You looked absolutely breathtaking.”

There was a split second where both of them second guessed themselves. But it was over when Y/N pressed her lips lightly against Jake’s. It was such a feathery light touch, it almost felt like she wasn’t even kissing him. She pulled away slowly, her eyes closed, not really knowing what to do next. She didn’t have to figure it out though, Jake’s lips returned to hers with more pressure.

His hands had found their rightful place on her back, bringing her closer to him. Hers found their way into his hair. It felt so natural - the need for each other grew stronger with each passing minute. His mouth never wanted to leave hers, it felt as though her lips were coated in fucking drugs the way they were so addicting. He couldn’t get enough. “Do you want to..?”

“Yes, please.” It came out so needy - desperate. Y/N didn’t even care about how that presented itself to Jake. She just wanted to be even closer to him than she already was. And she got to be right where she wanted to be.

Her bed was more comfy than Jake had previously remembered. Or maybe that was because they were here under different circumstances, not just studying algebra because Jake wasn’t quite getting it. All he knew was that he wasn’t ever going to forget it. He wanted this moment to replay forever and ever. Not because he was just some horny teenager, but because holy fuck, this had just been some random thought - a daydream, almost. But this was real. This was happening.

A tangled mess they were when climaxing. “I love you,” came out as barely above a whisper. It took Y/N a half of a second to register what he was really saying before it finally hit her. She didn’t feel as if she had to say it back, if anything, he should realize that she loved him too.

“I could honestly stay here forever and stare at you until the end of time.”

“So do it. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

They didn’t though. And it wasn’t that simple. Complications arose after that night. Everything got messy and trying to tie in a relationship while the band was traveling and on the road became increasingly difficult, especially when Y/N went to college.

She came home to Frankenmuth while she was off for the summer. Her mother and father missed her a great deal and the first weekend home was spent in the Kiszka’s backyard, the boys excluded. It was weird to be at their house and not see them littered around anywhere. Ronnie was full of stories though, telling Y/N about previous times the boys have come home from touring and the memories they brought back with him.

It was painful to hear, but she was so incredibly proud of everything they had accomplished and done. Every once in a while, Y/N had checked up on their band's Instagram account. When she was really nervous — having a hard time not worrying about them — she texted Josh or Danny. Neither of them were ever going to say anything to Jake or mention it to Sam.

The two families decided to get together and have dinner at a local bar. The boys were still away, they weren’t scheduled to come back to Michigan for at least another month and a half. Ronnie and Y/N spent most of their time talking about future plans for the upcoming weeks while their parents discuss their weekend plans — what to have for dinner and who’s house to have dinner at. Time had passed quickly and before they knew it, it was 10pm.

The parents had left, leaving Ronnie and Y/N at the bar by themselves. At least, that was until the boys walked in.

Ronnie smiled widely, hugging her brothers but then proceeding to punch them for surprising her and not just telling her. Josh and Danny hugged Y/N first, Sam leading after. Jake didn’t hug Y/N. It stung a bit. It made sense though. The last time they talked — it ended in an argument which was the resulting cause of their breakup.

A few drinks were downed, a couple shots thrown in there as well. Y/N figured it was time to throw the towel in. She couldn’t handle the awkward glances and forced conversation on their part. She grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and put it on as she said goodbye to everyone. “Boys, lovely to see you again. I’m sure I’ll see you this weekend.”

She wasn’t going to. She was gonna avoid them at all costs. Come up with a lie — say she had the flu or something. Her mother would believe her either way, as well as understand where she was coming from with her avoidance. Her mother was there for her while she cried her eyes out.

She didn’t notice when Jake had followed her out. She didn’t notice him calling her name. The only thing she could notice was the tears falling down her cheeks, wiping them as soon as she felt them.

“I never stopped loving you.”

“When we broke up,” he started. “I was a wreck. I was immature. It could’ve worked out - it would’ve worked out if I wasn’t such a child about everything.”

“Jake —“

“No, Y/N, I need to say this now. I’m a little drunk so I actually have the balls to say everything I want to. It was stupid to break up over something as menial as distance. The things I feel for you are so intense it scares the fuck out of me. I was so afraid of being gone all the time. You deserved someone who could be there to help you study for midterms. I was always in another state and sometimes another country. I wasn’t… there to be able to help you through anything. Everything’s different now, though.”

She sighed, not entirely sure on what to do with the information that was thrown at her. She was sober enough to remember the conversation tomorrow, but not nearly drunk enough to be able to deal with it tonight. “Do you wanna just come home with me? Talk about this tomorrow morning when we’re both sober.”

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

#jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fanfiction #godlygreta writes jake #jake #kiszka #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fic

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Midnight Dances

Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Summary: Upon your first week settling into your estate as a newlywed couple, you share a moment alone.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol, fluff, kissing

(aesthetic made by the lovely @heloisedaphnebrightmore )

It has been three days since your arrival at your new estate across England, and still, you have yet to see the entirety of its beauty. It was extraordinarily perfect in every way one could imagine, and impossibly grand for two newlyweds who spent most of their time in each other’s presence. In just three days time, you felt as though maybe you’d only seen just half of your newfound home, and you were determined to change that.

You huff out a quiet sigh as you stare up at the ceiling once more, not a single bit of fatigue as you lay awake. The same could not be said about Benedict as he lay tangled with you, soft snores puffing into your skin lightly. Nothing could get you to sleep; not the warmth of his skin on yours, not the late hour of the night, not the breeze seeping in through the open window, bringing with it the scent of flowers and fresh air. Any and all efforts to be swept into a blissful sleep were rapidly proving to be futile as the minutes passed.

With an exasperated sigh, you untangle yourself from him as carefully as you can manage, a smile gracing your lips as you watch his face nuzzle into the pillow. You slip on your night robe with a fond shake of your head, tying it closed before heading towards the door. You offer one last glance at your lover, at the grand details of your bedroom and the way the curtains fluttered under the breeze blowing against them. You slip out of the room and pull the door closed quietly, making your leave down the hall.

Your footsteps go unheard on the navy colored rug, not a single tassel out of place as they lined the entirety of the hall. Warm lighting illuminated the space in a dim glow, just enough to navigate but not enough to wake those trying to sleep. You were quite sure everyone in the vicinity had been asleep, everyone in the town even, everyone except for you.

The windows you pass by overlooked the gardens, perhaps the most brilliant and extravagant you’ve had the pleasure of seeing. It was hard to believe that it was yours. Finely manicured bushes were assembled in a meticulous pattern, almost maze like. And there were as many flowers as one could possibly imagine and then some, each different in color and type, each just as beautiful as the last. The blossoming trees were what had enchanted you the most, with the way their petals rain down in a flurry of pale pinks with just the slightest gust of wind.

You descended the marble staircase, your hand sliding down the smooth and cool stone railing as you made your way down the curving steps. It felt impossible to look at any one thing at a time, for everything was too glamorous and too wondrous to do so. Even down to the candles melted at varying heights as they sit in their rightful candelabras, ready to be lit again.

Shortly you arrive at the first landing, the familiar skylight coming into view as you continue walking down the stairs. The arched glass structure tucked amongst the lavish detailings on the ceiling lit up the first floor with a natural glow, the stars glimmering just beyond it. You found you liked it better at night than in the light of day.

You pass through familiar halls, ones you’ve frequented most often since arriving there but a few days ago. You passed familiar rooms such as the library, too grand and full of books for your own excited good. You passed the kitchen, still smelling of honey and cinnamon from that night’s dessert. It was the kind of scent that carried with it warmth and the feeling of being truly at home, regardless of the fact that this estate was still very new to you and most likely would be for a little while as you adjust.

With what seemed like a daunting amount of wandering through gorgeous hallways, each just as vacant as the last, you finally reach unfamiliar territory. Maybe you’d already been there, things tended to look quite similar when you were lost. The sound of ticking clocks had been apparent just about anywhere you’d been and anywhere you will go, as was the consistent artwork adorning every other wall in small glimpses of other worlds in depictions of nature. The only noticeable difference was the navy rugs had since changed to a soft lilac, fluffy golden tassels lining the perimeter.

With a few more steps, your brow raises at the sight of the unfamiliar double doors standing tall before you, adorned with intricately carved woodwork as gold sparkled on its surface. You have yet to see what was on the other side at all, and now you were taking full advantage of the opportunity to with your newfound time.

Upon pushing open the doors, you’re met with a sight so grand and enthralling you hadn’t quite expected to be presented with such beauty. Perhaps the most wondrous ballroom was contained within your very own home. It’s cream-colored walls were lined with carved framework at every edge and every corner, a metallic bronze detailing every curve and bit of linework lacing along its perimeters. Several paintings lined them, each encased in a carved and complex frame to house each nature scene captured within them. The far end of the large room held rather tall windows, nearly floor to ceiling, the very tops arched with a matching set of mirrors to adorn the walls between the glass structures. Not a single smudge was to be found.

Ruffles of silky cream curtains frame each window, pooling on the polished wood floors. Through those very windows, the moonlight had been streaming in so brightly it illuminated the room much like any candelabra could. It’s moonbeams reflected off the several chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the myriad of crystals that dangle from each one casting little flecks of light on the floor and over your skin. The ceilings were made up of several sunken ovals, the same bronze detailing encircling each one. The murals inside had made you feel as though you were standing underneath the sky itself, and it was so meticulously painted you hadn’t known how many hours it must have taken. Surely far too many to wrap your head around. The ceiling in its entirety was so impossibly detailed and intricate you could give yourself a headache thinking of the effort put into creating it. It was delightfully busy.

Your eyes fall on a grand piano sat in the corner next, sleek and pristine with its ivory keys on display and waiting to be played. And the silky upholstered seats spaced out throughout the room. It was spacious, so vast you felt as though it could house all of England if they’d been invited. Though selfishly, a part of you wanted to keep this all to yourself.

“So, this is where you’ve run off to?”

You spin on your heel, a smile pulling at your lips once you see Benedict standing in the doorway. His arms crossed over his chest, the buttons of his shirt only half done and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a haphazard attempt to look decent as he roamed the halls in search of you. His hair was a mess, however, dipping over his forehead as the corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. A grin that never fails to uncage butterflies in your stomach. You were unaware of just how long you’d been gone.

You smile, twirling once in the grand room as your nightdress flutters at the action. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I quite like it,” he says with a shrug, pushing himself off the doorframe to make his way over to you. “Though I do believe that some things in this room are far more beautiful than others.”

You turn to face him fully, a blush staining your cheeks that had fortunately gone unseen in the lighting. His smile widened as he raised a brow at you, a laugh falling past his lips when you rolled your eyes.

“What? I was referring to the chandeliers, of course,” He quips with mischief, his eyes crinkling with his grin as you swat at his arm lightly. Your attempts to evade his grasp were futile as he grabs your hand, turning you to face him again as his lips press to your cheek. “I am only kidding, my love.”

“You really are terrible sometimes, you know that, don’t you?” You ask, a lightness in your tone as he drops a kiss to your neck.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” He says, his hands squeezing your own. “Though I suppose it’s better than being terrible all the time, is it not?”

You roll your eyes once more as you turn away from him in an effort to conceal your smile at his antics, walking over to one of the large windows. Just outside was a different angle of the garden, a view aiming straight down a long pathway of perfectly imperfect trees. Fluffy hydrangeas appeared just under the stone window ledges in varying hues of pinks and purples, vines climbing up the far wall of the building.

It hadn’t been long before you felt his arms snake around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“We must take a walk through the garden tomorrow,” you state, your heart fluttering at the feeling of his lips on the exposed skin of your shoulder. You could barely remember what you had planned to say next, until you’d forgotten altogether. “Are you listening?”

“Certainly, we must,” he responds with a soft laugh, pressing his lips to your cheek again. “And should it rain?”

“Then we shall take an umbrella,” you say as if your answer was entirely obvious as you slip from his arms with a delighted grin and a tap of your finger to his nose. You left him to look after you with parted lips and a shake of his head. He was awestruck to say the very least.

You wander about the room again with a bounce in your step, running the tips of your fingers along the soft curtains. Upon closer inspection, you discover the detailed linework you had seen moments before were in fact sculpted and carved vines and flowers spidering up the walls. Such a beauty nearly made you swoon at the very sight of it. Everything just kept getting better and better the more you gazed at it.

“What could be the need of a ballroom this grand?” You ask with a laugh, your eyes falling on Benedict.

“Perhaps to dance in,” he says with a shrug, an amusement in his features. You huff out a sigh though you can’t seem to fight your smile this time.

“You know what I meant. Of course it is made for dancing. ”

“Would you be so kind as to have this dance with me, then?” He asks, a teasing tone still weaving around his words as he offers you his hand.

“If I must,” you huff lightheartedly.

His nose scrunches at your counter and he promptly pulls you close, eliciting a squeal to echo into the room at the sudden action. His hand envelopes your own and his arm encircles your waist in the rightful position of a slow dance. Though this time, it was much less formal with the absence of watchful eyes and the need to execute every move with a flawless ease. For you were quite sure bare feet and slippers, night robes and half-tucked in, half-unbuttoned dress shirts were not of appropriate attire for such things.

No music was needed to find your own rhythm, no music was ever needed when the two of you were in your own world.

“I apologize…for waking you,” you say after a few moments, meeting his gaze once more.

“I was barely asleep, not with all your tossing and turning,” He says as you sway.

“Your snoring tells me otherwise.”

A look of faux surprise and offense crosses his face as he twirls you, wrapping his arm around you once more, “I do no such thing!”

An incredulous scoff leaves your lips as he tugs you close, your brows knit together and he continues to act as though he had entirely no idea what you had been talking about.

“I suppose I’m just hearing things then,” you state, far from being earnest as he nods along, “Perhaps it may have even been me.”

“Perhaps it might’ve,” he repeats in playful agreement, halting your frown from deepening as his lips press to yours in what surely would not be the last of many kisses that evening.

You sigh softly as your lighthearted bickering falls silent in favor of enjoying each other’s presence, enjoying the very fact that this was your home. This was your life now and you couldn’t think of anything better than that. He was ever so tender when he kissed you, when his fingers grazed up your side each time you fell out of rhythm. He claims it was just to hear you laugh, and rightfully so, but it was also in a playful payback for your sleepy dancing skills or lack thereof.

He was patient regardless, for the technicalities of the dance were not of much importance, they never were. Not even in a formal setting did he care if it was done perfectly. He cared about the fact that the most wonderful person in the world had been in his arms, and he loved you for all that you are and all that you will be. He hadn’t even needed a fancy ballroom to want to dance with you, hadn’t needed a large estate to be happy with you. He was perfectly content dancing with you in the field of flowers he’d spotted just two days before, and he made a mental note to take you there the following day.

For a while it was silent between the two of you, save for the occasional giggle when his fingers brushed over your skin. Or the patter of your slippers on the hardwood floors. Or his boisterous laughter he cannot contain when your lips ghost over that very sensitive spot just under his jaw, the fading scent of his cologne still lingering on his skin.

He twirls you before drawing you back into his arms, not without you stumbling into him, of course. It was as if your own two feet had been out to get you, and the undeniable grin on his face was telling enough that he’d been up to no good. Not after that.

“Remember that one dinner with my family?” You sigh in mild exasperation as you groan and look away from him at his words, fighting your smile nonetheless. “You had been so nervous you’d sent a spoonful of peas all over the floor. And—if I recall correctly, you proceeded to knock your wine onto my lap.”

“Am I to assume that you shall never let me live that down, Benedict?” You ask with a squint, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Yes, you would assume correctly, Y/n.”

“It is only your fault, you have a dreadful habit of making me flustered after all,” you defend with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

“I very well see that,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

You bite the inside of your cheek to stave off your grin, he did not deserve that satisfaction. Instead, you lean on your toes and press your lips on his, effectively kissing away the teasing smile he once had in favor of basking in the feeling of the warmth of your lips brushing over his own. In the feeling of your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck once more. His arms tighten their hold around you out of instinct, a soft hum escaping him.

“Perhaps I should bring it up more often if this is how you choose to quiet me,” he suggests against you, stealing another kiss.

“Or perhaps you shouldn’t.”

You pull away from him much to his dismay, and he finds himself chasing your lips for more. You laugh softly, your hand settling on his cheek as his once teasing smirk turns to that of a fond smile. The crystal reflections of the chandeliers above glimmer down over you, the moonlight illuminating the loving gaze that had been focused on you and only you. He couldn’t help but to capture your lips once more, for now that he had the opportunity to do so just as much as so he pleases he finds he can’t get enough.

Your hand falls from his face as your giggle brushes against his lips, his embrace sending you stumbling back a step or two.

“We’re supposed to be dancing, are we not?” You ask, breaking from his hold and spinning away from him, leaving him to smile after you in a lovestruck daze as you twirl in the glow moonlight.

He stood back to watch you for a moment, the way you seemed to beam more beautifully than any natural wonder ever could. The way you captured his attention far more than the lavish ballroom you currently resided in. Of all the luxuries he’s seen, of all the dashing estates and elegantly decorated soirée’s he’s been in attendance of in his life, there could be no greater beauty than you. There could be nothing in the world that is more enamoring, more effortlessly alluring.

He never knew the profound effects of love until it came along and grabbed hold of his heart, the feeling lancing through him with a wholehearted certainty that it was real and it was all-consuming. He knew love, of course. The Bridgerton family was large and filled with an unwavering warmth and welcoming one could surely wish for. He knew unconditional familial love amongst numerous siblings no matter the bickering that was bound to take place, serious or not. But this—this was different.

This kind of love was wonderfully and delightfully dizzying as it crashed down upon him in waves, immeasurably intoxicating with every fleeting moment that passed him by.

“Are you going to stare at me for the entirety of the night?”

Your teasing voice had stolen his attention once more, his attention that had been so distracted focused on you. It was then that he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you off your feet, suddenly spinning with you in playful retaliation for noting his gawking and telling him all about such a thing. Your laughter rang out into the glorious space while his lips pressed a flurry of kisses up your neck, your hands settling on his shoulders as his breath danced across your flushed skin.

To marry your best friend, whom you truly love endlessly is but a wonder indeed, a fate many dream of but very few experience. It is a feeling most incomparable to all else.

He set you back on your feet but his kisses never cease, his lips brushing along the underside of your jaw with his laughter left to linger against your skin. They travel upwards to press tenderly across your blush stained cheeks, to the very tip of your nose, and perhaps most giddily and passionately to your already kiss swollen lips.

He doesn’t know how he manages to stop; perhaps it’s your constant yet soft laughter breaking the two of you apart, or perhaps it’s his desire to see the way your eyes sparkle in the glowing light. Or the way your face is illuminated so beautifully that it has him fighting the urge to grab his sketchbook, but he does not want to leave you not even for a second. Perhaps it’s both and it’s almost entirely too much for him to handle all in one moment.

“Why ever are you looking at me like that?” You ask, amusement in your tone.

“Because,” He says with a breathless laugh, “because I love you. I burn for you.”

A fond smile pulls at your lips immediately as you look at him, and it is impossible to ignore the warmth blossoming in your chest, lancing through you. It is impossible to ignore the insurmountable love coursing through every part of your being as you gaze into the eyes of your lover.

“I love you, Benedict,” you murmur, “I burn for you.”

He finds his smile unable to be contained as his forehead drops to rest on yours, noses brushing. His hand once again finds yours, his arm encircling your waist, and you sway. In the ridiculously large ballroom, to a melody unheard by anyone else. You sway and twirl and laugh in a slow dance all your own, a midnight dance.

—

Tags: @dreaming-about-fanfictions @valwritesx

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