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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

self-help

y'all liked my first fic, so here is another!

TW: Blood and injury; wound descriptions

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“Are you all alright?” Alcina asked, looking over each of the three creatures assembled in front of her. The blonde was slightly roughed up, but still stood up tall; the brunette bore a particularly nasty cut across her cheek, though it didn’t seem to bother her; and the redhead was slathered in man blood from getting to kill the intruder that had foolishly entered their castle and tried to murder them.

“Yes, Mother,” the blonde said, always quick to answer Alcina.

Alcina nodded. She looked at her other two daughters. “And you two?”

“I’m okay,” the redhead chirped. She seemed delighted to have killed something that day.

The brunette lightly touched the cut on her cheek, winced, then nodded, “I’m fine. It isn’t that bad.”

“We should still make sure any of that man-thing’s filth didn’t get into you,” Alcina said. She opened an arm and began guiding her middle child down one of the hallways. “Daniela, do what you will with the body. You’ve earned it.”

The redhead perked up, beaming, and bounded down a different hallway to where the corpse of the man had been left. Once she was gone, only the blonde was left behind in the foyer, and the girl instantly doubled over with a moan of pain, holding her stomach.

“Fuck,” Bela hissed. She was lucky for the dark material of her dress or else the blood seeping through the fabric would have easily been seen by her mother and sisters, and worrying them was the last thing she wanted. It was her own fault that she was shot. There were better things for them to focus on, anyway. Like Cassandra’s cut! Yes, that was definitely more important. She didn’t need any help.

Bela stepped forward and immediately crumpled to her knees when a spasm of pain rippled through her stomach. She bit down firmly to keep from crying out and tasted blood when her teeth pierced her tongue. Usually, the metallic tang would be rather appetizing, but something about it right now made her guts churn and twist up into knots, which definitely didn’t help her discomfort.

Kneeling, still holding her stomach, Bela rocked back and forth while taking several calming breaths. Breathing deeply furthered the strain in her stomach, while not breathing at all just made her chest hurt- she couldn’t win. All she could do was grit her teeth and bear with it like she did with everything. Don’t be a burden, don’t be a burden.

“Lady Bela?”

Bela looked up. A wiry, ash brown-haired maid was lingering at the opening of one of the cavernous hallways, shifting on her feet. Her dark amber eyes displayed nervousness, curiosity, and worry. The last emotion wasn’t an uncommon thing to see, at least towards Bela. Because of her general politeness to the castle workers, they tended to show more concern over her. The perks of not killing them for no reason, she supposed.

“Yes?” Bela said, forcing her voice to stay level and not quaver beneath the fiery edge of her own agony. She didn’t want to cause a scene, but she especially didn’t want to cause a scene in front of a maid. That was almost as bad as her sisters seeing her in such a state--though, for what it was worth, the maids wouldn’t tease her endlessly.

“Are you alright?” the maid asked, taking a small step forward. She was looking Bela up and down, most likely searching for any wounds, and Bela once again thanked Mother Miranda for black fabric.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Bela answered. At the same moment, however, a second wave of pain roared through her and her vision was suddenly spotted by black snow. Did someone open the window? And how long had snow been black? None of her books ever said anything about this…

“Lady Bela?”

Bela blinked harshly, and the storm disappeared. No windows were open. Snow was not black. The maid got closer.

“Ahh--” Bela swallowed hard. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The maid seemed to be trying to hold herself together. She was probably fearing for her own life if something happened to one of Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters under her watch. Bela would prefer to not have this one die, as she was nice enough to actually check on her instead of ignoring the situation like other maids would, even if Bela denied her physical state when she asked how she was.

“Yes, yes,” Bela said, nodding. “I’m alright. Just…stomach cramps?”

The maid blinked. “Do you even go through a menstrual cycle?”

Bela splayed her fingers open with a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The maid actually laughed, which was a rare thing to happen. But the laughter was quickly cut off when her eyes focused on something, clouding over with concern, and Bela realized she was staring at her hands.

There was blood on her hands.

Her blood.

Bela balled her fists and cleared her throat. She looked up at the maid. “Go.”

The maid opened her mouth, but thought against whatever she was planning on saying, not wanting to test Bela’s civility--not that Bela would have hurt her if she had stuck around to speak whatever was on her mind. She dipped her head and scurried off, glancing over her shoulder as she went.

Bela sighed. She wiped her hands on a part of her dress that wasn’t damp. She needed to do something about her problem before her mother or one of her sisters found out.

Standing up was difficult, and Bela was sure Cassandra or Daniela, most likely both, would have teased her if they saw her like this. When she began to walk, she felt blood slither in slow trails down her legs, itching her skin. She fought the urge to scratch until she made it to the privacy of her bedroom, then instantly began shredding her dress with her claws, throwing the tatters of wet fabric to the floor to be picked up later. Once the gown was off, she turned to her mirror to inspect the damage.

Red. The entire front of her body was smeared in red. And beneath the red, there were holes, some as small as her pinky, some as big as a coin, each even darker than the blood and packed full of shrapnel.

Bela had been a fool to go after the man-thing on her own. As reckless and wild as Cassandra and Daniela were with their fighting, they were strong, much stronger than she was. She had seen them withstand vicious stabs and strikes and shots that would have killed any normal person and keep slashing their claws as if nothing had happened, but it took a blast from a shotgun to put her down. She was so blinded by the idea of killing the intruder to impress her mother that she didn’t even think to create an actual plan until she became well-acquainted with leaden bullet chunks against her midsection.

The buckshot was evenly spread out along her abdomen, and maybe it could have passed as paint splattered all over her body if it wasn’t for the malevolent grey peeking out from liquid red. There was a particularly large cluster of holes on her left side, where an entire chunk of meat had been blown free from her waist, but they reached all the way over to her navel and up to the underside of her chest. The bullet pieces were the seeds of her agony, and she desperately needed to reap them from her flesh.

Bela began rummaging through one of her drawers, straining the lead lodged in her skin, and pulled out an old cotton gown she hadn’t worn in years. She walked over to the rocking chair in the corner near the window and sat down. She loved this chair, and it was a shame that it was going to be bled all over, but wood was easier to clean than cloth. She didn’t want to risk staining her bed right now.

Biting down on the gown, Bela began going over the buckshot. There were eighteen holes in total, all of them full of lead. She nearly miscounted a few times because she thought some of them were empty, but then realized the bullets were just buried in her tissue. There was one in particular that she didn’t even see, but could feel shifting around beneath her flesh like a hungry maggot. It made her stomach roil in disgust.

This was not going to be fun.

Bela’s hands were shaking as she brought them down to her stomach. Simply brushing the skin sent waves of torture shivering through her nerves, and she didn’t even want to think about what it was going to feel like to actually remove the slugs, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She couldn’t just leave them inside of her.

Taking a deep breath and biting down hard on the gown, Bela stuck her pointer finger and thumb into one of the holes. Instantly, her vision flashed black, then red, and then white, and she was sure she had passed out for a few eternal seconds. Even when she pried her eyes back open, all she saw was a messy mishmash of swirling colors, and she wondered if she had somehow gone blind. But then sight slowly oozed back to her, and she was able to see the grotesque image of her fingers stretching the edges of a bullet hole.

She swallowed down acidic bile and grasped the sides of the piece of lead.

For a moment, the stubborn little thing didn’t want to come out, and Bela began to fear that it was just a part of her now, forever fused with her flesh, burrowed within her like a leaden parasite, but then it popped out with a small spew of blood and she was able to catch her breath. She dropped the ball, which was no bigger than her pinky finger, and watched it bounce across the floor before rolling beneath her bed. She would get it later. Right now, she had its stupid siblings to deal with.

Breathing in deeply again, clamping down on the gown like before, Bela dug her fingers into a second hole that looked easy enough to scoop out. And it was, surprisingly. The blood proved to be a helpful lubricant and the bullet slid right out when she tugged, not bothering to put up a fight. She peered at it for a moment, squinting her watery eyes.

“You are an asshole,” she spat.

The bullet winked at her in response, the bright red blood coating its surface catching on the light inside the room and making it twinkle like a ruby. She flicked it away, and it left a line of crimson across her polished floors. She would clean that up later, too.

Third time’s a charm. Bela prepared herself again, breathing in and biting down, and dove into the next hole.

She didn’t know why she thought the process of pulling out bullets would suddenly be easier just because she succeeded with the first two. She was an idiot when she had gotten shot and she was an idiot now, trying to rid herself from the consequence of her actions.

Her claws slipped on the slickness of her blood and accidentally pushed the bullet in deeper.

Bela would have screamed if it weren’t for the blood that crawled up her throat, clogging her esophagus. She coughed, thinking that the bullet was going to come out of her mouth, and red splattered across her bare chest, staining her bra. Tears sprang to her eyes and poured down her cheeks. Her shaking hands hovered over the hole, but she couldn’t see the slug anywhere.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Bela muttered. Did she push it so deep it breached one of her organs? What would happen if it did? How was she going to get it out?

She tried to stretch the edges of the wound, but stopped when she nearly threw up from the pain. She sobbed. What was she going to do? Bela leaned back against the chair, causing it to rock slowly. Maybe she could just leave the bullets inside of her. They probably wouldn’t kill her. She and her sisters were able to endure more than normal creatures could, so it would probably just be very uncomfortable. For the rest of her life.

She swallowed blood and bile. Having to spend the rest of eternity like this didn’t sound very appealing. In fact, it sounded like the complete opposite of appealing. Unappealing.

A sound snapped Bela out of her muddled thoughts; the doorknob was wiggling. Someone was coming into her room.

Lunging forward, nearly slipping on a tiny puddle of her blood, Bela slammed the door shut before it could be opened completely and pressed her weight against it. From the other side, she heard a noise of surprise.

“Bela? What is the meaning of this?”

Her heart sank into her bullet-infested insides. It was her mother. She just slammed the door in her mother’s face. Oh, she was in for it now.

Bela nearly opened up right then and there and got down on her knees to apologize, but one glance down at her horribly-scathed body made her think better of it. She had told Alcina that she was fine, and now she needed to live up to it, even if she felt like she was being swarmed and eaten by her own insects. She had to swallow down her hopeless devotion to her mother to keep her from worrying over her.

“Sorry,” Bela said, hoping her voice wasn’t wavering as much as she thought it was. “I, uhh-- I thought you were Cassandra or Daniela. They always barge into my room without knocking. I don’t appreciate it very much.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but she still didn’t feel good about making up an excuse.

From out in the hallway, Alcina was quiet for a moment, and Bela wondered if she was going to break down the door and let herself in. But then she chuckled and said, “I see. I remember the time you tried to set traps for them when they kept interrupting your reading time.”

Bela laughed, which morphed into a groan of pain when her stomach strained. SHe masked it with a cough, then replied, “They were good traps!”

“Darling, you set up a board full of nails for them to step on.”

“My point still stands.”

“And a tripwire that would trigger a pot to swing into their face and knock them out.”

“You got to admit that it was pretty impressive that I was able to make that.”

Alcina chuckled again. “Yes, you have always been my most resourceful little one.”

Bela’s chest warmed with pride. The praise momentarily made her forget about the pain she was in.

“Now, can you let me in? I need to talk to you.”

And like that, the pain was back, the soothing warmth chased off by icy cold dread. Did her mother know? Did that maid snitch on her? She swallowed thickly.

“Umm-- can’t we just talk like this? It’s just as effective.”

“I would prefer it if I was able to see you when I speak to you,” Alcina said. She paused for a moment. “Why can’t I come in?”

“I’m-- I’m naked.”

Also wasn’t a lie, technically.

Alcina was quiet for a moment.

“Bela, I watched you come out of a mass of insects as naked as a babe. I do not think there’s anything left to be seen that I don’t know about already.”

You’d be surprised, Bela thought, looking down at her marred form.

“It’s-- it’s just embarrassing for me!”

Alcina sighed. “Then why don’t you put some clothes on?”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get out of this conversation, Bela said, “Right! Okay!” And then began scrambling for something to wear. The exertion made the two empty bullet holes pucker like hungry mouths and drool out even more blood that drizzled down her legs like snakes. She didn’t have time to clean herself up, so she just threw on the first gown she could reach in one of her drawers--a dark blue one she had sewn herself--wiped her hands off, kicked the tattered black dress under the bed, and smeared the blood on the floor until it couldn’t be seen against the hardwood. Then, she put on the most believable, while also innocent expression of normalcy and opened her door.

“My lady,” she said with a wide sweeping motion of her arm, trying to be funny, trying to hide the fact that she was in immense pain and simply being on her feet made her lightheaded, trying not to worry her mother.

Alcina didn’t laugh at her joke. She seemed rather suspicious as she ducked into the room--not that Bela really blamed her. She was definitely being very suspicious.

“What did you want to talk about?” Bela asked, looking up at her mother.

Alcina looked around her room, but Bela had been smart enough to clean the floors. Not well, but they were clean. When she found nothing, she studied Bela, and Bela held herself as she usually did--maybe a bit too formally.

“I just wanted to check on you all after the attack,” Alcina finally answered, meeting her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mother,” Bela said, and she hated lying to Alcina, but she didn’t have a choice. She hated being a burden even more and that was all she was going to be if Alcina found out about her wounds.

“Are you sure?” Alcina narrowed her eyes at her.

“Yes, Mother,” Bela repeated. Then, trying to change the subject, she asked, “How is Cassandra?”

“She’s okay,” Alcina answered. “She will heal. The cut wasn’t very deep.”

“And Daniela?”

“Feasting. I wouldn’t go near her if I were you. She may just maim you and add you to her meal.” A smile came to Alcina’s lips, and Bela let herself laugh.

Unfortunately, that laughter quickly turned to coughing as her body seized with pain. She tasted blood as the bullets seemed to rattle within her, flesh clenching down around lead. She wiped her mouth before pulling her hand away.

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Alcina didn’t respond for a moment. Her entire face was knitted with great concern, and Bela already felt bad for worrying her.

“Bela, are you sure you are alright?”

For a fourth time that day: “Yes, Mother.”

Alcina wasn’t going to let it go that easily, it seemed, because she questioned further: “Have you caught a chill?” She walked over and pressed a hand to Bela’s forehead. Bela couldn’t help but lean into it, always eager to be touched by her mother. “You shouldn’t be coughing like that.”

“I just had a tickle in my throat.”

“I don’t like being lied to, Bela.”

Bela’s resolve nearly broke beneath her mother’s stern gaze, but she kept her facade from falling through sheer willpower alone. She said, “I’m not.”

Alcina’s eyes narrowed. She pulled her hand back and went to say something when she appeared to slip on something. Steadying herself, she looked down at the ground, and Bela’s breath caught in her throat when she realized what exactly her mother had staggered on.

Alcina bent over and picked up the buckshot.

Bela didn’t let her panic show on her face as Alcina examined the tiny lead ball. Its siblings, still lodged deep in her stomach, seemed to giggle at the predicament she was ensnared in when a fresh bout of pain quivered through her nerves. She stayed calm as flashing yellow eyes slid back over to her.

“Bela,” Alcina said slowly, and Bela already didn’t like the tone she was using. “What is this?”

Bela considered playing dumb, but then she remembered that she was the smart, bookish one. She could use her multitude of knowledge as an excuse.

“That’s buckshot, Mother. It comes from a shotgun. Did you know that they have enough firepower to blow a head off? It’s because it has several bullets in one shot instead of a singular one, which means more power behind each blast.”

Alcina held a hand up and Bela instantly shut her mouth.

“Why do you have it?” Alcina asked.

“I was studying it,” Bela answered. It was believable enough. It did sound like something she would do, but Alcina didn’t seem very convinced.

“Your blood is on this, Bela,” Alcina said. “Why is your blood on this bullet?”

“I-- I--” Bela’s act was beginning to crumble.

Alcina turned to her completely, clenching the buckshot in her fist. “Were you shot?”

“Mother, I--”

“Were you shot?”

“Yes,” Bela blurted, unable to hide it anymore. “But-- but it isn’t that--”

“Show me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Bela Dimitrescu, show me where you are hurt. Now.”

Flinching at her mother’s severe tone, Bela removed her dress and revealed the mess on her stomach and chest. When she heard Alcina gasp, she quickly said, “It isn’t that bad. You don’t have to worry about me, Mother. I can take care of it.”

“You fool!” Alcina exploded, and Bela flinched away. “What were you thinking?! Why would you hide this from me?!”

“I-- I thought I could--” Bela was having a hard time collecting her words. If there was one thing she really hated, it was when people raised their voices, even if it wasn’t directed towards her. When Cassandra and Daniela would get into fights, she always left the room and got as far away as possible so she wouldn’t have to hear them yelling. But, as bad as their shouting was, it was nothing compared to their mother when she was worked up.

“I--”

“I asked you if you were alright!” Alcina roared on. “If you were okay! You said you were! And then I come in here and find you with bullets in your flesh?!” She shook her head, nearly dislodging her hat from her head. “What do you have to say for yourself, Bela?”

Personally? Bela really wished they weren’t having this conversation when she didn’t have a shirt on.

Dipping her head shamefully, the only thing that Bela could manage was a pathetic, “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Why can’t you just let me help you for once?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Bela confessed. “Or worry you.”

Alcina sighed and rubbed her face slowly. “Bela, I am more worried and disappointed because you hid this from me.”

Bela could only squeak out a feeble, “Oh.”

Alcina knelt down in front of her and lifted her chin. “Honey, why would I be disappointed in you for coming to me for help?”

Bela couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. “Because-- because I got hurt. And I shouldn’t have. I’m a shitty fighter and got shot and I should have been stronger.”

“Your strength has nothing to do with this,” Alcina said. “Cassandra got hurt too, you know.”

“Cassandra probably didn’t care.”

“I beg to differ. You should have seen her while I was rubbing honey into her wound. She was wiggling around like a little worm!”

Bela laughed slightly, then whimpered immediately after. Alcina glanced at her bullet-filled body, then cupped her cheeks.

“Do you know what I would have done if you had died from these wounds?”

Bela tried not to look at her.

“I would have done everything in my power to get you back to me. I would tear down the sun and moon for you, my darling.” There was so much love in Alcina’s words, so much tenderness and care. Bela was drawn to it. “Please tell me you will come to me next time something happens. I cannot fathom the thought of you being in any more pain.”

Whether or not she actually would when the time came, Bela nodded. Alcina smiled at her warmly and placed a kiss against her forehead.

“That’s my good girl,” she said. “Now…” Her eyes slid down to the bullet wounds. “To handle this.”

“I tried to get them out myself,” Bela said. “I promise I tried. I got two out, but then-- but I couldn’t--”

“Shh,” Alcina stroked her hair. “You tried. That’s all that matters. But I am so proud of you, darling. It must not have been easy.”

Bela shook her head with a whimper.

“Alright,” Alcina stood up straight. “Come on. Lay on your bed. We need to get those little devils out of you.”

Bela didn’t disobey. She had already disobeyed enough for one day. She crawled onto her bed, whimpering each time her body bent in a way the bullets disagreed with. They felt like festering parasites inside her stomach. She was lightheaded.

“Mama,” she moaned. She was the last to stop calling Alcina such a thing. Cassandra was first, then Daniela, and when they both heard her still referring to their mother in that way, they teased her. While it had been done playfully, it was still enough to embarrass Bela and get her to stop to avoid risking further humiliation. But now she didn’t even care. She was far too uncomfortable to care about anything her sisters had to say.

“Mama…”

Alcina caressed the side of her face. “I’m right here, baby. Lay back for me.

Bela, as loyal as a hound, did as she was told. Her head rested against one of her fluffy pillows, but it did little to stop the room from spinning like a top. She looked over at Alcina anxiously, but her mother had an expression of focus and calm.

“Alright, my dove,” Alcina said, cupping one of her clammy, pallid cheeks. “I need you to lay as still as possible for me. Do you think you can do that?”

Bela nodded feebly.

“Very good. I’m going to start now, alright? Just stay still and breathe. I’ll work as quickly as I can.”

Another nod.

“Here I go.”

Even with the warning, Bela’s body still jolted when she felt the sharp stab of her mother’s claws against one of the bullet holes. Her eyes snapped open, but she was blind for several seconds before details bled back into awareness. To her own credit, she managed to keep from crying out, but only because she clenched her jaw so hard she chipped one of her fangs. Cassandra and Danieal were definitely going to tease her over that later, but it was the least of her problems at the moment.

The third bullet slid out with relative ease, lubricated by her blood, and, Mother Miranda, she was only just realizing she had fifteen more to go.

“One down,” Alcina said, flicking the buckshot to the floor. She lifted Bela’s chin to examine her broken tooth. “Hmm. It’ll grow back, don’t worry. It didn’t chip that much.”

“I was using a gown,” Bela said, her words coming out wheezy and weak. “To bite down on.” She pointed to the dress left on the rocking chair. “Can I use it again?”

Alcina followed her hand, spotting the bundle of fabric. “Oh, clever girl!” she praised, rubbing Bela’s head. She picked up the gown and gave it to Bela. “As I said before: you are my bright little daughter.”

Bela smiled shyly before biting down on the gown. She gave her mother an affirmative look to begin again.

The next three bullets went out smoothly--or as smoothly as little masses of lead wedged in sensitive tissue and muscle could be. But then Alcina got to one of the deeper slugs and it didn’t come out when tugged on, causing Bela to cry out and jerk away.

“Breathe, darling,” Alcina said, settling her back on her back when she tried to roll over. “Breathe. It’s alright. This one is a little deeper. A lot of them are going to be, but I need you to stay still and stay calm for me. Can you do that?”

“I-- I don’t know,” Bela said honestly.

Alcina frowned. She stroked her face, wiping away tears. “I know you can. You’re strong, Bela, regardless of what you think. And just know that I am so proud of you.”

Bela reached up to grab her mother’s hand. She pressed into the warm palm like a kitten seeking heat in the middle of a winter storm. Finally, she relented, “Okay.”

“Thank you, darling,” Alcina crooned. She went to return to her work, but Bela didn’t release her hand. “I need you to let me go, Bela.”

Bela was unwilling to part with the warmth, so Alcina did it herself, easily peeling her fingers away. She touched her cheek tenderly for a moment before saying, “Bite down and breathe, baby. I’m starting again.”

Bela did as she was told, grinding her teeth into the gown as claws returned to her sore stomach. She flinched, but didn’t try to squirm away again, grounding herself by grasping handfuls of the sheets beneath her.

Seven, eight, nine, ten… Alcina worked diligently, expertly removing the buckshot from Bela’s body. When she got to the eleventh one and it proved to be rather reluctant to leave its host, she stopped for a moment to give Bela time to breathe and prepare herself.

“You’re doing so good,” Alcina cooed, stroking Bela’s hair, which was wet with cold sweat. Bela had started to tremble at some point, though she didn’t exactly know when, but she hoped it wasn’t making the bullet removal harder than it already was.

“Mama,” Bela mewled. “It hurts…”

“I know,” Alcina hushed her. “I know. I’m almost done. Just eight more to go.”

“Hurry-- hurry--” Bela panted.

“Are you sure? You can wait a moment longer to catch your breath.”

Bela shook her head. “Please.”

Alcina pursed her lips, then nodded. “Alright. Here I go.”

Bela braced herself.

“Eleven…”

Bela breathed.

“Twelve…”

Bela bit down.

“Thirteen…”

Bela--

Bela screamed.

Bela screamed because the fourteenth bullet was buried deep within her flesh, burrowed in her warmth like a maggot in a corpse. She kicked out her legs and tried to yell for Alcina to stop, but blood mixed with bile lurched up the back of her throat and her mouth was clogged with fluids. Alcina ripped out the pellet with enough force to slit the edges of the hole with her claws, threw it to the floor, and then lifted Bela’s head so she wouldn’t inhale her own blood and choke. Bela coughed, staining her chest in a fresh layer of red.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Shh,” Alcina stroked her thumb with her cheek. “Nothing to apologize for, darling. You’re doing very well. We’re so close to finishing.”

Bela looked at her, breathing heavily, her throat thick with blood. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded weakly. Alcina set her head back down on the pillow.

“Here we go, my sweet. Just a little longer.”

But Bela wasn’t able to handle it when the fifteenth was removed. She grabbed her mother by the wrist when she reached for the sixteenth one, clinging tightly.

“No more, no more--” Bela begged.

Alcina frowned. “I have to get them out, baby. You’re so close.”

Bela shook her head. “No, no-- can’t we-- can’t we just leave them in?”

“Bela. You’re smarter than that. You know we can’t.”

“But-- but it hurts,” Bela wept. “I can’t-- I can’t take it anymore. Please, Mama. Please just stop .”

Above her, Alcina looked incredibly worried. She ran her bloody claws through Bela’s hair, soothing her.

“I have to,” Alcina said. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Bela sobbed, but didn’t stop her.

With a cruel yank, the sixteenth bullet dislodged with a spit of blood. Bela shredded the sheets beneath her.

The seventeenth took some digging, with her mother stretching the tender edges of the hole with one hand, picking out flesh with the other. She nearly threw up at the disgusting squelching sounds that filled the air, but managed to save herself from the humiliation by swallowing hard.

The eighteenth, the one she had accidentally pushed in deeper, was the worst. It was like having a hot knife thrust into her soft stomach over and over again. She shivered with pain and blood loss as she felt the bullet being tugged on in her ragged flesh. It was a sickening friction of skin sucking against the force of her mother’s claws. She didn’t even know if it came out fully because her eyes rolled to the back of her head and everything went black.

——— ——— ———

Wiping her claws of blood, Alcina frowned down at her eldest daughter. Bela was unconscious. It seemed the pain was finally too much for her little body. Though, she made it all the way to the end. Alcina was expecting her to pass out a lot sooner.

And she said she wasn’t strong.

Scooping her up into her arms, Alcina carried Bela to her bedroom, telling a maid to clean up the bloody mess left behind. Once inside her chambers, she ran Bela a hot bath, washing her of all the blood that stained her body. The warm water seemed to rouse her daughter because shiny amber eyes peeked out from under heavy eyelids as she was cleaning out her hair.

“Mama,” Bela breathed out.

Alcina smiled at her lovingly. “Hello, my sweet.”

Bela looked around sluggishly. She seemed dazed. “I’m… huh?”

“You passed out,” Alcina informed her.

“The buckshot…?”

“All out,” Alcina reached out to caress her cheek. “It’s over. You did it. I’m so proud of you, baby girl.”

Bela, always wanting affection, pressed into her hand. “Finally…”

Alcina chuckled. “I’m just going to finish washing all this blood off and then you can lay back down. You need lots of rest to heal.”

“Can you…?”

Alcina smiled again. Her heart swelled with adoration and love towards her daughter.

“Yes, I will lay with you.”

Bela had definitely earned it.

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #dimitrescu family #resident evil fanfic #self-help #tw: blood #tw: wounds

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hhjs · 3 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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ilovebokutokoutaro · 2 years

Text

Chapter: 10

(imp note before you read further: from this chp on I'm going to be adressing the curse of love y/n, as krystal and the real y/n as y/n ofc, i like to read y/n out loud as krystal, so it kind of matches the story about them having thr same names to reduce the confusion for my beloved readers)

Small thuds could be heard from where she resided, buried under the covers, heart aching at her loud cries, "FEELS GOOD, DON'T STOP PLEASE!!" she pushed her head deeper in the pillows when she heard her cry out his name. She hated being a curse, why were her senses so sharp? She wished she'd be deaf, she wished she wasn't in love with him.

Crying wasn't easing the pain anymore, the stinging turned into burning as she once again closed her eyes in agony. She could hear him growl out the girl's name quiet a few times and she wished she could run away. And so she did.

Her white dress flowed beautifully behind her as she walked across the halls, passing by their room, and the cried getting louder had her chest burning, a little blood seeping out of her cherry red lips as she sighed out shakily nefore continuing her walk towards the pond he built for her. Only for her. Then outside the main gates wishing he would notice but she knew he won't.

her footprints turned bloody, sharp nails digging inside her palm in jealousy. "Should be me should be me" she repeated, long hair flowing as the soft wind brushed past her, telling her to go back.

But she never stopped, blood dripping down her pale chin, down her neck and seeping against her exposed cleavage. "Supposed to be mine." She grumbled absent mindedly as she removed the upper dress from her body, she had to get rid of this painful feeling and she'd do anything for it.

She'll make them love her, so she can live. She soon found herself entering a red district, she was more human than she thought or her heart wouldn't be throbbing at the way her loud moans echoed in the building he owned for her. Just for her.

All eyes turned towards her, she was absolutely stunning, walking down in all her glory even when blood seeped down her pretty white dress.

Arms and chest exposed enough to show bright red scales, indicating how she was a curse. But she knew no one could harm her, let alone come close to her, she would kill everyone here, she'll make them obey her, she'll own this place. her blood thirst flowing in waves making everyone tremble and kneel down in front of her, dread filled each one of their nerves and she couldn't help the content she felt.

Untill she found a man in a built big, looking at her straight in the eyes, he wasn't bowing down even as sweat dripped down his forehead at the tension. Her smirk growing as she flicked her fingers, all the women near him turned into mush and he hissed as the blood splattered across his face and cheaseled chest.

She laughed at the feeling of having someone so bold, reminded her a bit of sukuna, but this man was looking at her. Only her. he wouldn't lower his gaze even as she stood right in front of him. She giggled licking off the blood dripping down his sharp jawline and he huffed.

Grey eyes turning bright red at the taste, then she turned around, every person her eyes turned to laid dead and before he knew it everyone was dead. She didn't bother turning away her bloodlust as she turned around. "Thank you." He whispered to her, voice deep and hoarse making her body shiver in excitment.

If she can't have sukuna, then she'll have everyone else in this world. Each. And. Every. One. Existing. Her eyes met his again, deep black eyes she loved to see. He looked calm even as he watched everyone dying and this had her enchanted. Slowly she pushed at his bare chest making him kneel back at the huge headrest, thighs spreading wide making her huff out in comtent.

She found herself climbing over his lap, placing her body right on his hardened length. "Mine." She giggled, "you're mine." She stated and his gaze bore onto her blood covered lips. His buff arms coming to hold her small waist as he lifted her onto her knees, face inches away from hers to which she smirked.

She let him take control, knowing damn well she could rip him into shreds if she wanted to, thick smell of blood filled the building, his tongue swiping away at her bottom lip, taking in the taste of metalic blood and he growled, standing up with her in his arms.

She let him have his way, as he walked inside the building, entering a very big room, moonlight shining against the bedsheets as he dropped her down gently. Her eyes shining in anticipation as he grabbed the clothe resting against her shoulder, "all yours" he whispered in her ear, nibbling against her ear. pulling her legs apart, he situated himself in between. His back covering up her whole body without even trying.

And her eyes turned into a brighter shade of red....if that was even possible anymore, his huge hands grabbed the clothe covering up her chest before ripping it away, eyes shinmering in excitment. He teased her, fingers trailing against her sensitive upper body. He couldn't help but let out a deep laugh as she squirmed underneath him.

"will do anything for you" he growled, and she smiled in content as his lips pressed against her neck, hands groping her ass as he lifted her lower body up to press his body closer to hers. She was a curse she knew, she knew it every moment he held her, she knew it when she sneaked out of the huge mansion every night to meet him, she knew it when she held his huge hands with a sense of comfort.

She knew it when she slowly gained back the smile sukuna snatched away from her, she knew she was falling in love again and it was just as dangerous this time, a part of her still aching and trembling in fear, but she'd take the risk again. Because he loved her, better than sukuna ever did.

Because even as they walked past the prettiest of the ladies he had his eyes only and only on her. He didn't love her because of the power she held, he had no selfish intentions when he pulled her close to his chest, it was definitely forbidden. And she regretted it the second she entered the mansion and it reeked of blood, she regretted it when she walked past the series of bodies laying covered in blood. She regretted it when she saw sukuna snapping open the neck of one of her fav maid.

She regretted it when his eyes met her, his eyes filled with bloodlust as he grabbed her hair, pulling her up to face her as she cried out in pain, her skin burning at the bloody hands grabbing her jaw firmly as he questioned her.

Her feet dangling as she sobbed into his hands, begging for forgiveness as he marched through the small alleyway to his house. She regretted It when sukuna grabbed her lover with his throat, she sobbed helplessly trying to pull sukuna away from him, her heart aching hard again. "How dare you." Was all he said and it had her shivering, begging for forgiveness as she realised she had no power over anything.

As she watched her loved one dying in her arms, as she watched him leave her aching and bleeding out in pain and agony, as he turned back to love someone else again. She knew the second sukuna laid his eyes on her she couldn't just overpower him. Untill she laid eyes on the blood he let out, untill she held her lover's limp body against her aching chest she was sure she'd not make it. "I wished.....i wi-shed i could love you..forever...even though i knew it won't work." He whispered, a soft smile spreading against his sharp features eyes shimmering with tears as he told her to live for him.

"don't- p-please don't leave another curse on me. Let me die with you please" she sobbed but he only smiled, hands falling limp against his side as he lost his life in the arms of the one he loved. But she lived, for days, weeks, months....even after taking her revenge she lived. Lived for years and years and years, wandering around hopelessly for relief, for comfort, for love, for him. And then she found the little girl crying in her older brother's arms, the strong aura sending waves of relief in her aching chest.

She watched quietly as her brother cradled her very tiny body against his shoulder, she was barely 2, that girl looked at her over her brother's shoulder, giving her a small smiled through the tears and it was as if all the aching in her chest came to a halt. Just like that she followed her around for years, waiting for the right time to ask for help.

Even now as she sat on the edge of the huge cliff, her tears staining in the memories of the lost ones she wished she could see that little girl again. She wished she could see you again but rn wasn't a good time.

---------

Hey you all ahgaksgsnshsnsj sorry for posting so late i haven't been doing well nowadays- eh anyway i wanted to ask if you want me to continue the smut in this chp- like cuz you see i would write an extra chp for my lovely readers if you all really want it. For now i had to complete this chp somehow so i just went with the flow (very tragic backstory to come you're all going to need tissues and inhalers)

Also eh well idk I'll edit the writing style of this chp later. Love you alll💜💜🥰🥰🥰.

Oh and also I've no idea tf i wrote- like this is absolutely shit and I'm so sorry-

Series masterlist

#jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk imagines #jjk itadori #jjk ryomen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu sorcerer #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu itadori

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datawyrms · 3 years

Text

Half a Decade Late

Valerie was finally promoted to the main headquarters of the Guys in White. There she finally comes face to face with Phantom, who disappeared five years ago, locked in a cell. For Phic Phight 2021, @lexosaurus' prompt!

Nothing proved ’harder workers get ahead’ was only a capitalist lie than the absolute hassle getting promotions within the GIW. Of course she’d gone right to them for employment, it was the only organization large enough to actually pay people that took her resume of ghost hunting seriously. She had experience, actual knowledge and even her own gear but had still spent years getting jerked around to various small operations, basically just using her to train all their useless recruits while still just considering her a ‘fellow’ field agent. It wasn’t like she had the option to quit in protest, no one else was in the market for ghost hunters. As far as most people knew ‘ghost intelligence’ was just a joke cover story that the agents were very attached to. They didn’t want any more Amity Parks, so if she wanted to live somewhere new and still do her job...these guys were it. She’d been very clear, she wanted to be in the main office, where everything happened. That didn’t stop them from constantly assigning her literally anywhere but the actual headquarters. Maybe they finally ran out of other places, she still half expected to get stopped at the door and be told about a new field mission they absolutely needed her on immediately. It didn’t happen. Valerie Grey finally got to clock in as an Ecto Containment Officer at the main branch. Where they kept the strongest creatures, developed the new anti-ghost equipment and did more than just splattering a ghost down to nothing. Sure, she liked a good ghost obliterating, but it got boring after a while. There were only so many ways a ghost could beg for it’s useless afterlife before it became white noise. It didn’t stop any new ones from showing up, or tell her anything new. Just got rid of one pest, permanently. That wouldn’t help explain some ghosts, the powerful ones that showed up again and again. It wouldn’t explain the one that stopped showing up either. There was no way that life ruining ghost just got ‘bored’ and vanished without notice. It was still out there, plotting something. She just knew it in her bones. She had to be ready for it. There were traces of that ghost, hints of his ectosignature that she came across in the field, he was still out there. The GIW was just a means to an end, she didn’t trust them to be ready alone.

Sterile corridors and simplistic signs were expected, but even the break area was doing its best impression of a frozen tundra. Fantastic for morale? Probably not. Made the coffee pot easy to spot, at least. Even if she preferred to avoid the stuff in uniform. It stained too easily, and just made her wish for her red battle suit. She took a cup to at least have an excuse for her scoping out the place, she could pass it off to someone once she got to the containment area. A quick double check that everything was in place at the mirror before heading right back out to the winding halls. She wasn’t going to be late, she didn’t have time for that. Maybe a red tie was against protocol, but no one had been stupid enough to bother her about it yet. Judging from the deferential nods from her latest coworkers, that wouldn’t be changing. No one who worked here couldn’t know who she was. The only Ghost Hunter who got out of Amity Park without getting corrupted by the ectoplasmic monsters. It was a shame, Jack and Maddie Fenton used to be a serious force for humanity. Five years ago they suddenly flipped the script, denouncing their work and calling for peace with unreasonable fiends. Their daughter Jazz likely had something to do with it, but Valerie had her own theories. Danny, her friend and once boyfriend had gone missing around that time. Leverage to ensure the Fenton’s ‘good behaviour?’ The whole thing reeked of ghosts. To think she might have gone the same way. Back then she was actually listening to the pest, starting to really consider them a ‘good’ ghost. Like that was actually possible, when he’d just been playing to emotion and her own desire to give up in fighting a dangerous foe over and over. So much for that. That monster showed it’s true colours, sure enough. Something the GIW never bothered to look into, even as she wrote report after report about the incident, how unlikely it was for the Fentons of all people to change that drastically without constant possession. Not worth the resources, even when it was easy to see what tech was built on the foundations the couple had laid. They were throwing away so much to focus on little outbreaks of ghosts instead of making more of a lasting change. Stupid. That was what the funding was ‘meant’ to go towards, as if helping the Fentons would be less productive than making a slightly different ectogun.

She almost hoped there would be a problem, just to prove this is where she should have always been.Even if it seemed distinctly unlikely. She had to swipe to get into the lab, then yet again to actually get to the cells. Or the ‘vault’, as if the higher ups wanted to pretend the creatures in there were inert materials instead of cunning and dangerous beings. Even though they had someone posted at each door, and someone on guard inside as well, herself today. To get acquainted with the place mostly, she had more than enough training on ‘proper handling’ procedures.

“Hey, you can swap with me today, if you want.”

Valerie blinked, eyebrow already raised at the posted guard’s suggestion. “I can handle watching caged ghosts.”

They had the sense to look embarrassed, taking their hand away from the oversized ectogun to loosen their tie- which was tied rather poorly now that she got a better look at it. “I’m sure you can, it’s just, well.” They wouldn’t stop fidgeting with their tie now, eyes checking that no one was really paying attention to the guards. “H0G02 is awake today. No one likes those days.”

“Then all the more reason to get used to it early.” She didn’t give them time to sputter another excuse, swiping her card and striding past without another look. As if people should be worried about a captive ghost being awake. Maybe some of the people here never got a spine before joining up.

It wasn’t as cold as she expected it to be. Or as dark. It was actually brighter, thanks to the extra row of fluorescent lights. On some level she expected the room to reflect the monsters kept here, a shadowy icebox of a space. Of course it wasn’t. These were defeated creatures under human control, of course their cages would be bright and clean, the air warmed for human comfort. The ghosts might not like it, but why care what they wanted? It wasn’t like there were many to begin with, mostly green oversized vermin with blank red eyes. Most had the sense to cower back as she walked past, but a fair few didn’t even twitch. Calling a ghost of all things lifeless was foolish, but it was the only word coming to mind...she had to focus. She didn’t pity these things. Why so many creatures though? The real dangerous ones, the most monstrous ones were the ones that could play human, the ones that had conniving minds that only worked to cause destruction and terror. These were just feral things, annoying but hardly more impressive than a coyote when you knew what to do. Half of them she’d barely rate above ‘feral cat’. A light near the back flickered. Strange. When it flickered a second time she was already releasing her helmet to pull it on. Not nearly as easy as just willing it on, but at least she could carry it in a pocket without needing to rely on some ghost’s power. Three steps and her gun was ready, not that she expected to need it. Really, she worked on autopilot, legs still moving as she stared at the largest glass cage at the back of the room. Or more accurately, at what was in it.

“Oh, newbie. ‘Sup.” The ghost rasped out, blank green eyes watching the ghost hunter. A teenaged boy with a shock of white hair, a black jumpsuit, but the voice of a seventy year old chain smoker. Just sitting in a painfully bright cell, watching. Not exactly as she remembered him, but close enough.

“You.” The disgust was easy to voice, even as her brain struggled to catch up. He was here? Looking practically exactly as he had when she was still a soft hearted freelancer?

He only gave a sputtering laugh at the aggression. “Me? You’re not that mad about the light, are you? I’m bored, Tie.”

“What are you doing here?” That wasn’t the important question really, she should be more concerned that he apparently was able to manipulate light fixtures from his cell...but she’d been hunting after this ghost for five years. Protocol could go shove itself up the director’s ass.

“Same thing I do every day Tie, being some government property!” His laugh was wrong, not from amusement like she remembered. A desperate cackle that didn’t fool anyone. “You new enough to still have your soul in there?”

“Answer the question, Phantom.”

The smirk slid off the ghost’s face. “Wh’ad you call me? Like I’m only calling you Tie cus the red sticks out, I can call you Shooty if you don’t like it, newbie.”

The response made her insides run cold. It had to be Phantom, and the terrible sense of humour was just like him- but the ghost wasn’t quite right. What was this? It couldn’t be some copy of the ghost kid, could it? “I called you by your name, ghost.”

“Never heard of em.” The ghost crossed his legs and looked away, apparently bored of the person holding a weapon. “What day is it?”

Surely he was playing around. “What do you think your name is, then?”

He didn’t take his attention off the ceiling, looking more bored than anything.“Day first, Tie. Gotta know how much of a head start I’ve got.”

“Like you’re in any position to bargain.”

“Hm? Whatcha gonna do Tie? Let me be unconscious for a few hours? Scary. Day first.”

There was the Phantom she knew, snide and sarcastic when he really had no business being so. “I could do worse than that.”

“Doubt it. You gun grunts gotta listen to the freaks out there, remember?” His shoulders shook with a silent laughter, but it looked more like spasms. “No more mishandling the goods, yeah? Day Tie, comeonnnnnn”

Since when was he so interested in the calendar? Not to mention how weird it was how he kept referring to himself...and pretending he didn’t know his name. “It’s Monday.”

That got his attention, the casual rocking halting as he looked at her again, disturbingly still. “Monday, really?”

“Lying is your thing, not mine.”

He grinned. “I like you Tie, so you’ll probably be fired in like a week. Maybe it’s the red.” The tension left the ghost completely, she hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he’d been sitting until his spine relaxed as his elbows rested on his legs. “Pretty sure I’m H0G02. Least that’s what all your creeps call me.”

There was no way Phantom of all ghosts would call himself ‘H0G02’. He had to be a mimic of some sort, a ghost that modelled himself on the once well known Amity Park menace. “You like me because I told you it was Monday? Seriously?”

“I like the Mondays more than you, if that helps.”

“Not particularly.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” He was watching her again, more curious than anything. She shouldn’t be glad to see a spark of something in those eyes, but he was far less creepy this way.

“What’s so great about Monday? You’re a ghost.” She didn’t really care. She should be asking important questions. She was just...playing along to see if it really was Phantom. That didn’t stop her for being grateful for the helmet.

“Monday is the farthest day away from Friday.”

“Wouldn’t that be Saturday?”

“It hasn’t been Saturday or Sunday for...like four years? Those days don’t exist, I think you humans made ‘em up to prank me.” Phantom shrugged, sounding completely serious. Not even a hint of amusement or a grin. “Pretty good one, all you new guys keep it up.”

He was going to be completely useless if he kept saying nonsense. How could he be useful in finding out what happened to the Fenton’s son if he couldn’t even talk about the days of the week sensibly? “Fine, what’s so bad about Friday then.”

“Ohhhhh, you’re really new, Tie.” the ghost flopped onto his side, bored of sitting up apparently. “You know, the day they keep me around for? That day.” He wasn’t quite still, his right shoulder moving very, very carefully. Hiding something.

She didn’t have the patience for this.“What are you hiding there.”

“Tie has good eyes. Gotta remember that.” Phantom muttered, getting onto his back, a blue shard of ice melting off his arm.

“You don’t really think that some ice would help you out of there?”

“Out?” He looked mystified by the suggestion, but that could more be seeing his face upside down. “That glass doesn’t break for anything, I should know.”

Which didn’t explain why he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d made ice at all. He knew it too, but apparently playing stupid was still one of his favourite tactics. “Knock it off and just answer me.”

Phantom’s frown didn’t change, green eyes staring intently at her helmet as if hoping to see through it. “I could show you why?”

It didn’t sound like a threat. “Sure, why not. It’s gonna be a long day.” If it was? Then she’d show him that she wasn’t someone he could mess with.

Ice wrapped itself around the ghost’s lower arm alarmingly quick, a wickedly sharp blade of ice with serrated teeth jutting from the scrawny arm at an awkward angle. It was practised, something this ghost must have done often in all the time he’d been gone from her life. Yet it was so different from how Phantom usually chose to fight. That was a weapon to tear and maim, not to shock, stun or bruise. It looked wrong on him. The idea that this ghost wasn’t Phantom at all only grew more credible with that thing on his arm, even if ice powers were to be expected. His eyes flicked back to green, still fixated on her as he lifted the arm and stabbed down hard. Right into his other arm. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you doing!” She couldn’t remember the last time Phantom had ever been frightening on some primal level. This- with the disturbing snap of bone as the edges of the blade caught and tore made her hair stand on end. “Stop that, Phantom. What’s wrong with you!?”

“Cancelling Friday.” Phantom was laughing as the blade melted away into the pool of green rapidly spreading from his self inflicted wound. “I said you’d probably get fired Tie.”

“Forget Friday you idiot, cover the wound so you stop splattering everywhere!” He was just a ghost-a ghost messing with her. A ghost she’d fought with and had heard scream in pain. This...thing wasn’t him. Her heart didn’t care what her mind thought, insisting he needed help.

The ghost sat up, his left arm holding on by a shred of his suit before splattering into the puddle, but the left behind stump stopped dripping almost as quickly as he’d lost the limb. “Aw. Maybe Tie does have some soul left. You actually sound worried.”

“Of course I am! You slashed your arm off!”

“So?”

He didn’t seem to be in pain. If it wasn’t for the mess of green and the lack of a limb, she’d almost say she imagined it. Why did she care? “You wouldn’t do this sort of thing.”

“Uh. Yes I would? You just saw me do it. I’m down for an encore.”

The idea just made her feel ill. “Don’t.” Did she want this to be Phantom or not? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well I’m down an arm. So the coats are going to be very whiny about how much ectoplasm they can get out of me.”

“You must have felt that.”

“Sure. Isn’t nearly as bad as when they start ripping as much ectoplasm as they can out of you. Every single Friday.” He actually rolled his eyes, like she should just know this.

Why did they bother keeping Phantom around if they just wanted ectoplasm? He might be strong, but no ghost had limitless amounts. They’d just fall apart and stop existing. That’s why the weakest ones never even left the Ghost Zone, they couldn’t survive without constantly being around the stuff! “What makes you so special then? Not your attitude.”

“I’m just lucky enough to make my own ectoplasm. Who knew food was easier to get then high grade ectoplasm? Not me.” His remaining arm pointed to her weapon, his smile stretching. “Bet ya your weapon’s fully powered from Fridays. Yours and every other thing they use in this hellhole.”

“Ghosts can’t do that.” The lie was absurd. It went against everything they knew about ghosts, even before food entered the equation.

“Y’know, Tie. I think I knew a ghost hunter that wore red once.” the ghost’s eyes went unfocused, unmoving as he looked listlessly into space. “It’s a good colour.”

“You knew me. Quit fooling around with this not remembering crap.” Valerie threw her helmet aside, no longer caring. She had to know who this ghost really was. She had to know if everything he was blathering about was a lie. So what if it wasn’t ‘safe’.

His eyes didn’t change. “Y’know how hard it is to remake a brain? Cut me some slack Tie…”

“I mean it. Look at me Phantom. If you’re the ghost I know, you can stop pretending to be something else.”

“You lose the details. Arms and legs are easy. The brain though? Way too hard.” He kept rambling to himself, not reacting even as she put a hand to the glass to get his attention. “Y’know how many times they’ve cut it open? I don’t. I lose track after like. Eleven. Maybe. Pointy Shoe said my best was fifteen but I sure don’t remember that.”

She wanted him to just stop talking. She wanted this ghost to be some strange creature she didn’t know. To not have the only possible link to someone long lost a shattered husk. “Phantom. Do you remember the hunter in red’s name?”

He finally blinked. “I’m not this Phantom guy, Tie.”

“Okay, whatever, forget that part. The ghost hunter in red, what do you remember?” She insisted, knocking again in hopes it would keep the ghost’s focus.

“Wish I’d told em something.” he held up his gloved hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t remember what that something was, don’t ask.”

So he was Phantom? He couldn’t be. That was so non-specific it could be anything. “You never explained how you’re the only ghost that can make their own ectoplasm.”

“It’s in my name Tie! Come on. Thought you guys were smart or whatever.” He did a very awkward one armed attempt at crossing it, eyebrow raised. “The H? The feeding a ghost food thing?”

She didn’t really get the whole naming scheme they used here. The fact it mattered wasn’t making her gut unclench either. “What about the H?

“Hybrid? Might have been Human. That might have been a joke.”

Valarie’s mouth was drier than any desert when he said it that easily, that casualty while kicking his own arm aside. “You’re saying you aren’t all ghost.”

“Yup. Not yet! Trust me, I’ve tried,” the bubbly high pitched laugher clawed out of the ghost at that. “I tried so much. Guess it’s another thing I’m a failure at, eh Tie?”

Something told her not to ask. She had to know. Five years she waited, five years apparently knocked Phantom clear from reality.“Does Danny Fenton mean anything to you?”

He just laughed harder at the question. “Really Tie?”

“Yes, really.”

“That’s the name I scream at em. Don’t know why. Feels good though.”

“Is it your name?” Had he had contact with Danny? Been part of whatever made him go missing from everyone’s lives? He couldn’t be, there was no way.

“They get reallllll angry when I say it is.”

There was no way the GIW had a human captive for five years. There was no way Phantom could be the Danny she knew. The ghost was just lying. He had to be, she desperately needed him to be. “Were you fused with a human or something? Got stuck when possessing someone?”

“Nah. Been like this before I got here, pretty sure. You can check your fancy gear though. There’s some non-ghost DNA in it. Lucky lucky me,” he lay back down in the mess of ectoplasm, ignoring how it clung to his hair. “Thanks for the Friday off! I hate those.”

There was no reason to need air. Talking to a ghost she didn’t even like shouldn’t make her feel like she was being crushed under a boulder. Panting for air, outside the room would make her look pathetic and weak, but she needed the space, needed to be away from that...mockery of a ghost.

“He does that to everyone. He’ll repeat the whole thing in a week or so, but he’s a really good copy the first time you see it.” The guard gave a comforting word, apparently unsurprised by her sudden unscheduled departure.

Oh, there would be no ‘next time.’ Not if he was right about her weapon. But she nodded instead, letting her ‘coworker’ think she was just overwhelmed. Even if all she could think of was how many ways this place would burn if that ghost- that thing had been a human once. She was good at telling when ghosts lied. Phantom didn’t sound like he had. No matter how much she tried to convince herself he did.

#Danny Phantom #phic phight #phic fight 2021 #valerie gray #how obvious is the angst #100%#but maybe in a different way then usual?#the comfort is only the FLAMES OF POSSIBLE REVENGE

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

reunion pt. 2 (6/8) | r.b.

summary: The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings. Or, the winter after Shiganshina is frigid with change.

WARNINGS: mentions of heavy injuries, depression, angst all around, swearing, levi gives some advice, blood pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 8.2k

a/n: we’re nearing the end!!! ahh thats crazy adnkasln. not much reiner this chapter unfortunately but he will return next chapter!!

masterlist

crossposted on ao3!

You land heavily on your left leg, hand on Jean’s shoulder to soften the blow to your right as you watch Hange wrestle Mikasa back. Eyes widening, you sweep the rooftop—from Levi, to Erwin, to the burnt corpse that has to be…

“Don’t tell me…”

“Armin?”

“It can’t be…”

Bertholdt. Your eyes fall to his steaming body, marks of his Titan still imprinted on his face and you fall forward. Limbs chopped to the bone, blood pooling underneath him, a cloud of steam surrounding him. You’re the only one left.

Rising to his feet, Jean’s grip is iron on your shoulder, clamping onto the joint so hard you’re sure it’ll break and you look up at him, watery breaths puffing past your lips. He stares down at you, regret sewn into his features, but even so, there’s a hard determination in them.

You know what has to be done, he seems to say. Covering his hand with your own, a shooting pain splits your chest open as Levi looks from Erwin to Armin, back again—an impossible choice. You’re not jealous at all of the captain, deciding the fate of two soldiers who are both just as important, but for some reason, you can’t even think about Armin or Commander Erwin.

You smell the terrible perfume of burnt flesh mixed with the smoke and dust of the ruins of Shiganshina, the blood in your mouth, the sweat lingering heavily around them. It reminds you of Trost, of Reiner holding you as he told you Marco had died. You somehow can’t think of anything else.

It’s not until Levi tells them to get that you can tear your eyes off Bertholdt’s slumbering face. He looks almost peaceful and you reach a limp hand for him but Jean tugs at your shoulder, and you look at him.

“Come on,” he utters softly, and you let him help you up, hopping on your broken leg with a grimace. You can do this, you tell yourself as Captain Levi drags Bertholdt towards the commander by the scruff. Whatever happens, at least it’s for good, right? Please, just sleep, Bertholdt. I don’t want you to suffer anymore than you already have.

“Captain Levi, can I—“ Your voice comes out from your chest, surprising everyone there including yourself, and the bloody captain freezes, turning to look at you. You set your jaw, limping away from Jean who tries to stop you. “I just want to say goodbye.”

Levi’s eyes search yours, and then flicker to Hange, still holding Mikasa. A beat passes.

“Make it quick,” he allows. “The rest of you, scram.” The sound of ODM gear splits the air, iron wire screeching as the Scouts left head towards a distant rooftop. Walking towards the captain, you give him a weary look as he sets down Bertholdt’s body.

Crashing to your knees, you reach a hand to brush the dark hair out of his eyes, and his forehead doesn’t even crease when your fingertips brush over his brow. Overwhelmed, you can only gently trace the Titan markings on his cheeks, hollowed out patches of skin that outline his bones, reveal the muscle pulling his face together.

“Bertl,” you whisper. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” You wait for an answer that’ll never come, hand flattening against his warm cheek, and you feel his gentle breath against your fingers as your eyes begin to burn. “Why didn’t either of you just kill me? If we’re all devils, what made me so special?” You blink, and the tears fall down your face, land on his chest in gentle splatters. With your other hand, you cradle his face completely in your palms, and you bow your head.

“Nothing’s special about you,” Levi mutters, and your head snaps up to see him standing over Bertholdt’s body, nothing but a cold indifference struggling to find its place in his eyes. “They just decided you were. That’s all it was.”

His words sting, but nonetheless, you don’t let it faze you. You draw your hands back towards your lap.

“Captain, please keep it quick. I don’t want him to suffer,” you whisper, and you meet blue-grey eyes resolutely before pulling yourself up. “I don’t think I’ll survive hearing him scream.”

“Hurry up and go,” he orders. “I’ll be as merciful as I can.” Nodding numbly to yourself, you glance down at Bertholdt one last time, before heading towards the edge of the roof and launching yourself back towards the others. Mikasa helps ease you down to your knees and you send her a grateful look before shuffling in between Jean and Connie. Watching the captain’s green figure crouch beside the Commander’s, your nerves are shot and your headache only begins to intensify.

“Armin,” Eren’s muffled sob pricks at your ear but you ignore him, eyes trained on the singular figure arched over the apex of the roof.

“What’s taking him so long?” Jean mutters.

“Maybe the transformation isn’t instantaneous?” Connie suggests.

“If that were the case, the captain would’ve left and watched the commander transform from a safe distance.” Leaning forward, one of your hands plant on the wood of the apex on the gabled roof as the cloaked figure stands. Together, the Scouts watch as Levi turns around, walking to the other end of the roof towards a black, burnt body. Ragged, wet gasps tear the air as Eren lunges forward. Mikasa grabs his arm, hauling him back, and your eyes widen.

He’s going back for Armin, you realize distantly. He changed his mind. Why? How could he—

There isn’t time for questions. As soon as the captain seems to inject the fluid, he kicks Armin’s body off the roof before turning around and grabbing Commander Erwin’s body. Hange lets out a soft noise, sprinting off the roof towards their friend while the rest can only watch as lightning splits the air for just a flash of a second, destroying the back end of the home. Splinters and debris go flying as steam arises from the spot where lightning struck and the two senior officers retrieve the commander, retreating to a roof a distance away.

Only a few more seconds. Bertholdt has to stay unconscious for just a few more seconds. Jean’s hand on your shoulder is iron-like again, nails digging through your jacket, a silent warning that you don’t have to watch, but you’re frozen to your spot, waiting.

The shrill sound of wood ripping fills the air, even from where they watch, as one bony claw reaches through the steam. What follows—a blond head, a body more skeleton than flesh, and a gaping mouth.

Armin. His name sounds foreign in your head as he reaches Bertholdt.

You hear the first sob as he plants a hand onto his prey, lifting him into the air.

“No!” Raw and burning, Bertholdt’s screams brand into your eardrums as he thrashes as hard as he can in Armin’s grip but he’s nothing more than a limbless body and a head. Your world splits open as he’s raised through the sky. The fear fractures your chest, the desperation sinks into your skin, and you want to tear your eyes out but your fingers remain dug into the ridge as he screams wetly. Your hand is blistering, on fire along your fingers, and blood congeals on your tongue.

For the rest of your days, you will remember the moment his eyes found yours, bulging wide with untamed, unnatural dread.

“Guys, please!” Sobbing, his voice grows hoarse as Armin’s jaw unhinges. “Help me!” Head snapping, swinging, whipping any which way until he can free himself, the way his neck thrashes makes your stomach roll. Your legs are begging for orders, begging to spring forward to save him as the shadow of a Titan falls over his face.

Bertholdt screams your name and it pierces through, a bullet that shatters every nerve as your eyes begin to burn. Your teeth clench before you’re pushing off the roof, boots gritting against tile

“Bertholdt!” Pain spirals through your entire body as you take one step before an arm wraps around your neck, flinging you back. You fall onto your spine, the breath knocked out of you and your feet kick out, ODM gear clanking against the tile. Hands surrounding you, pinning you down, and you flail your arms and legs, nails clawing at anything you can make contact with, gasping for air, for space, for anything. “Bertholdt! No! No! Please!”

Vision blurring, you try to make out your captors as a knee presses into your wrist and another slams into your shoulder. Breath shuddering, your feet lash at the air, desperately trying to push yourself away from the others to save him. You have to save him—Captain Levi said it’d be merciful—

“Hold her down! Shit!”

“I’m trying!”

“Bertholdt!” Your throat begins to bleed and you taste the fire in your lungs as your head slams backwards, your back arching off the roof. Tears sear into your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a furious sob, heaving and wheezing before your mouth falls open and a burning scream bursts from your chest. Ribs poking into every inch of your flesh, your hands fly up to dig into elbows. Whoever you hold onto do not wince and you hear a jagged voice, wrought with anguish.

“Go! Go get Armin and make sure he’s okay. I have her—“

“But, Jean—“

“Connie! Go with Eren and Mikasa. We’ll be okay.” The knee on your shoulder lifts and you immediately swing your fist at Jean, clocking him in the cheek and knocking him off you. Throwing yourself up, you scramble forward and wipe at your face but the tears still do not cease. You can barely see.

Your heart decays, a cold, throbbing agony filling you as you scan the square. You see the blonde Titan just in view behind the house, collapsed on his stomach, steaming more and more as someone erupts from the nape.

The agony numbs.

So, that’s it then.

Bertholdt’s…

Crumpling in on yourself, your fingers clasp at the base of your neck and you curl into a ball, eyes sliding shut. Everything inside you falls apart, shattering into a million pieces and the walls around you begin to fall in, the fatigue and pain and heartache piling on top of you, burying you, blocking out the sun, you’ve lost everything, you have no one.

You couldn’t even save Bertholdt—

“Jean, go to the others.” Fingers tightening around your head, your tears scorch as they fall into your hairline, disappearing in all the grime and dust and blood staining your body. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Shoulders shaking, your breath puffs hot against your face and you’re panting for air as your back kinks painfully. Stabbing sensations nestled right underneath your shoulder blades, you begin to wheeze, face beginning to flush, body beginning to grow number and number until you can’t even feel the pain anymore of shattered bones.

All you can hear is Bertholdt screaming for you to help him, the silence of your body.

Why couldn’t you move?

Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure.

It spells itself out, digs its talons into your brain and pries you open until you’re sobbing harder into the stone. Your heart thuds in your mouth, large and swollen, as hands grip your shoulders, wrenching you up. On instinct, cold air seeps into your chest and you let out a gasp, face in pieces as you lift it to the sky.

“Hey!” Your eyes spring open as the hands on your shoulders grow more insistent and you lower your wet stare to Levi who is already studying with his quicksilver gaze. You feel everything inside you drain out. His teeth are bared in a tight scowl, and you still tremble in the aftershocks but he only holds on tighter. “Give yourself a moment, then pull yourself together. We still have a job to do. After that, I’ll give you as much time as you want to cry your little eyes out.”

“Captain—“ Your voice breaks, and Levi’s eyes flicker as you stare right through him. He lets go, drawing his hands back to himself. “Do you think it hurt?”

He pauses, deliberates this. “I think the fear was probably the worst part. If it hurt, it was only for one intense moment. Arlert crushed his head open,” he informs and your heart becomes a stone in your chest. “Now, come on. I’ll splint your leg and then we’re moving Erwin.”

“But, but Armin—“

“Do you really want to see him right now?” he cuts off sharply, and you wince as he stands. “Hange will take care of the others. You’re coming with me.”

Weakly, you mumble out his name, but he doesn’t stop as you struggle to your feet, following after him. You wipe at your face with sweaty hands, but it doesn’t help at all, only smearing it all over your exhausted features. Lungs still spasming in the occasional hiccups, you let your smashed, bruised fingers fall uselessly.

Captain Levi leads you to a demolished square near the Wall where Hange is already piling supplies, Commander Erwin’s body laid to rest. Eyes widening, you look at his corpse before looking at Levi who only looks over the body in passing before walking to a crate and ordering for you to sit down.

“We’ll be going over the Wall. I need to know you’re in shape to keep moving.”

“The others are bringing Armin back here before we start searching for survivors,” Hange informs.

You nod as Levi cuts away your pant leg and you grimace when you realize how swollen it is along your shin. Shaking his head to himself, he yanks your boot off and begins to wrap a nearby piece of wood he found and broke into the right length to your leg, splinting the bones tightly. Your bruised and broken fingers dig into the crate with every wince but he keeps going and going as you look down at him.

He slips the final round underneath the layers of cloth before stuffing your foot back into your boot despite the pressure mounting as soon as he does.

He steps back and you stand unsteadily. The pain is even worse, now, but you’re just going to have to be stuck with it. You’re sure walking around on a broken leg isn’t good for the health, but it shouldn’t matter. There’s still work to do.

“How much gas do you have?”

“Enough,” you reply, patting your ODM gear and he nods.

“I’m refilling once we get over the wall. All our supplies are probably knocked everywhere so grab as much as you can on the way back.”

“Yes, sir.”

The battlefield reeks of the tang of blood and shit. The air is hot and heavy under the beginnings of a warmer afternoon, and your stomach roils at the bloody mist still tinting the air. This was a massacre—nothing less—and you swallow your nausea, picking your way through the battlefield.

They search for a singular thing, but with the amount of red on the field, you can’t pick out what used to be brown from what used to be green.

“It would’ve been closer to the houses than the others,” Levi mutters. “Forster said he was hit first.” You nod, turning around and examining the land they’ve already traversed.

Standing beside your captain, your eyes widen when you catch sight of the only white on the field. It reminds you of the flags they’d teach about in cadet corps—white meant fall back, white meant give up.

White meant nothing Commander Erwin stood for, and you let out a soft gasp. Levi’s gaze snaps to you.

“Commander Erwin’s horse,” you finally croak, lifting a dead finger to point at the steed. It lays limp, dirty, and the more you focus on it, the more you can make out its features. His eyes are closed, and you could’ve believed the stallion was asleep as you approach it and crouch down slowly, touching the horse’s cheek. “Sleep well.”

“What a fucking shitstorm,” Levi murmurs as you push yourself up. He tugs your elbow to help you, and you send him an appreciative glance but you find he’s already looking at everything else, haunted pale gaze searching for something.

He looks starving for his target, greedy, and you look away. There’s blood that hasn’t steamed away from his face, and you don’t want to think about whose it could be.

You turn to see where the dirt had been imprinted on in an odd-long oval shape, different from the thousands of hoofprints stomped into the mud. A drag mark, carved into the soft mud. Following the trail, your throat begins to close up as you hobble beside it, only stopping when you finally find what they’re looking for.

You see the green cape, soaked in red, dragging at the ground, muddied and soiled, stepped all over and half-buried.

Nonetheless, you reach down pick it up, flapping what dry crumbs you can off the fabric and folding it over your arm before glancing over to where Levi stands near the horse’s head, staring at the patch of blood soaking the dirt.

“Captain, I found it.” You tilt your head heavily. “Captain?” Returning to his side, you try to find what he’s looking at. Following his gaze, you frown warily at the patch where the mud is saturated red, the grass still drinking in the blood like it’s been stuck in a drought and it mixes like a sickly stew.

Commander Erwin’s blood, you realize after a moment. Nausea sluices through you and you blink away the burning. The idea of him, cold, lying in the blood and awake, listening to his troops die around him…

“Captain, I found it,” you whisper rawly. As if your words break the trance Levi has put himself in, he looks up, shaking his shoulders out.

“Finally, he’ll have something to cover himself with,” he mutters at last, grabbing the cape from you, and you only look at your captain. At the rough, deep quality in his tone you’ve never heard before as he clears his throat. “Idiot.”

“Sir, don’t you mean buried with?” you ask timidly, and he shakes his head. “We’re not going to leave him here, are we?”

“We’re not bringing him back with us. By all means, his dream lived here and he died here. He fought his whole life to get here—I’m not going to be the one to take him away from that.”

Take him away from his mission, you hear in your head. Who is Captain Levi to decide that? Who are you to decide? Erwin stays here. It makes sense. I stay here. They had a mission. Who was I? Who was I to tell them to stop because of me?

“I’ll come back,” Levi continues, promises, but not to you, “to bury him. When this is all over. He deserves a proper burial.” Lips pressing together, you swallow down your words, and bow your head. After an unknowable amount of time, Levi finally sighs, shoulders caving, and starts walking back to the Wall. The green is clutched tight in his fist. You stand by the blood stain, the tip of your boot beside the head of the horse who could’ve been sleeping and he calls out, voice sharp and normal again: “C’mon. We can’t hang around—“

“I want to help you bury him,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and Levi freezes in his spot. Swallowing, you close your eyes for a moment, feel every nerve inside you pulse, before you fix your gaze on the Wings of Freedom printed on Levi’s back. “I know it’s not my place, but Commander Erwin gave me a chance to prove I wasn’t weak and I failed him. I need to make it up to him somehow.”

Levi sighs softly before continuing on and you limp after him as fast as you can, catching up after a few pained grunts. Your leg is blistering, burning from the inside out, but nothing has scorched you more than your tears, so in comparison, you almost feel relieved.

“Some things I have to do on my own, you understand that?”

Despite yourself, the faintest ripple in your lips that could’ve been a smile runs through your face before disappearing as if it were never there. It’s something he’s told you so many times during your suspension and you dip your head.

“Of course, sir.”

He nods numbly. “Okay, then.”

The others went to the basement and you’re left here.

Someone calls your name softly as you sit on the edge of the wall, looking at the ruins of Shiganshina hollowly. Raising your head, you see Armin standing, and you sweep your gaze for a moment before turning to look at the city again. He sits uninvited next to you and you barely resist the urge to ask him to leave you alone, reminding yourself you have no reason to be angry with him.

He didn’t eat Bertholdt on purpose. It’s just how the cards were dealt, how the dice was rolled. The pieces on the chess board lined up, and they had a chance to seize a game-winning piece.

Armin twiddles his thumbs. Your shoulders slump forward.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you intone quietly. “What matters is that you’re okay.”

“Yeah, but I ate Bertholdt, and I know—“

“Armin, don’t.” He falls quiet, and you look at him desolately. “There really isn’t anything we can do about it, now. At the end of the day, they’re gone, and I’m still here. You’re still here, and Bertholdt isn’t. That’s all.”

“I know.”

“I really am happy that you’re okay, Armin. I’m so grateful that you could come back, and that our side managed to get another Titan power. Maybe we can turn the tides, but…”

Knowingly, he finishes it for you, “But the price was too high for you.”

The words make you flinch and you don’t correct him.

“They could’ve killed me so many times. I’m starting to wonder why they didn’t,” you whisper mostly to yourself. A doe blue gaze fall on your cheek, and you close your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line.

“Because they care about you. I could never try and kill Mikasa or Eren. I can’t even imagine it, so the fact that you tried to put those feelings aside for duty, I think that’s saying a lot more than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

You scowl at his words, hating the tears threatening to spill over your cheeks again. You’re drained, dried out, yet still, more tears are always coming even when you think you’re done.

“Armin, if I took the multiple chances I had to kill Bertholdt, to kill Reiner, I think both you and Commander Erwin would be alive. Captain Levi would’ve never had to make such an impossible choice, and—“ And maybe I could remember how to breathe without all this weight on my chest. But you don’t say that. Instead, quietly, you plead, “Can you just… leave me alone? I don’t want to talk, right now.”

Armin’s lips upturn into a hurt frown, but you only stare at the space just in front of your knees, focus fixed on some imaginary spot. Before long, he’s pushing himself to his feet and walking back to Sasha, and you clasp your hands, watching the city blankly.

For some reason, you can’t stop thinking about the time you and Annie had walked the walls the day before graduation, finding Reiner and Bertholdt up there, too. How had that only been a few months ago?

It feels like years, now.

Without a second thought, you pick yourself up slowly, your splinted leg awkwardly colliding with the stone. Levi told you to get some rest, but…

You begin to walk away from the others, not quite sure where you’re going. You go past Floch, who’s taking watch, and when you close your eyes, you can hear footsteps behind you—two, light and fleeting, one more sure and steady.

“Have fun in the MPs, Annie. I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you.”

“You won’t be missing much.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Hey, the military ranking shouldn’t determine whether or not someone can join the MPs. What if someone’s just as good, but didn’t make it into the top ten because of how limited the spots are? It doesn’t make sense.”

A sharp laugh. “Someone needs to wash Bertholdt’s mouth, creampie. Look at him, renegading against the government.”

Eyes snapping open, you turn to look over your shoulder.

Nothing but still air.

The next few days pass in nothingness.

You’re moved to the old Scouts headquarters—where Section Commander Miche died, you still feel his ghost lingering the halls—away from the others. It’s mostly empty besides a few Garrison Regiment officers who keep an eye on you—Captain’s orders, and they’re your main source of news, even if it is just catching hints of gossip. You don’t speak to them, mostly because you’re sure they think guarding a teenager with broken bones who doesn’t even talk back is way below their pay grade.

Most of your friends aren’t keen on talking to you either, with a fair few forced exceptions, but at this point, you’ve written your report, detailing everything you did during the campaign, and you don’t want to talk to them either. You haven’t since their ride back.

They know you went back for Reiner, and, instead of striking him down, you tried to pull him free. It doesn’t matter.

You roll onto your side. Everything feels grey, time passing by inconsequentially in the rise and fall of the sun. You mostly stay in your room, content to let Shiganshina crush the ruins of your memory into dust, and you don’t recognize what day it is. Your nights are plagued with flashes of Bertholdt, the sounds of his screams ringing until you’re deaf. Reiner’s bare, burned face, steaming, eyes covered in a blindfold too tight over his skin.

The ragged gasp of your name.

There’s a knock on the door. You don’t budge from where you stare out the window, at the sun gleaming in through. It dapples on the cotton of your sheets, gentle pools of gold, and you trace one of the warm shapes absently with your wrapped, splinted fingers.

It nearly frightens you how much you don’t feel, how much you don’t care what happens to you next. The world is hollow, everything inside it scooped out and replaced with black coldness.

“I know you’re awake in there.”

Levi.

“You better be decent. I’m coming in either way.”

The door clicks and swings open.

They had a ceremony two days ago, honouring the survivors of the expedition before they could move on to a far more somber occasion today—a service for Commander Erwin at the end of the week, and the government going into a state of mourning. Flags are raised, speechs are prepared to be given, and you’re pretty sure the empty casket will be closed and buried somewhere in Mitras, empty words carved into a plaque.

Levi’s sigh breaches your ears. “Have you at least eaten today?”

“Yes.” You don’t move nor start at the creakiness in your voice. Blinking slowly, you examine a ripple in the bedsheet. “Doctor said if I didn’t, he’d break my other leg.”

“Good.” He walks to the window, and you see his shape lingering at the edge of your eyes. Tilting your head, you look at him. He looks rested, as well as he can be, but there’s a raggedness in his stature, the exhaustion engrained in his face that only comes with grief.

“The memorial is today,” you point out unhelpfully. “Will you be speaking?”

“Have to,” he mutters brusquely. “Not exactly excited to eulogize Erwin in front of a bunch of stuck-up bastards. Don’t think he would’ve minded either, if I didn’t.”

“So why are you doing it?” You shift a bit, sit up a bit straighter. There’s a pulse of silence where Levi seems to debate how to answer. His lips press into a thin, white line, and he scowls at his reflection in the pane of glass, before he exhales sharply.

“I don’t know,” he says before shifting the discussion blatantly. “Either way, you won’t hear it. You don’t need to come.”

“Sir…”

“You didn’t come to the ceremony two days ago, either,” he snorts. “I’m sure it’s no skin off your back.” He’s right, and you smile grimly. “Focus on healing.” Tugging at the lapel of his formal Survey Corps coat, he continues, “It’ll be a waste of time, anyway. Most of them spent most of their careers hating him. I doubt her Royal Majesty or any of your friends will want to be there, either.”

You swallow, sitting upright and adjusting the pillows against your back. He glances over, and rakes his gaze down your body with a critical glare.

“Would you look at that? You haven’t moulded to the futon, yet. I was starting to think you had lost your body back in Shiganshina.” He steps away from the window and turns, standing at the foot of your bed.

Clearing your throat, you reach up to scratch your collarbone and find blue-grey fixed on your fingers. “When do you think we can go back for him, Captain?”

Levi frowns, gaze flickering up to your face again.

“I don’t know. At this point, it could be months before the state declares that Wall Maria is free of Titans, especially with how small the Survey Corps are. Garrison soldiers can only help so much,” he adds grudgingly. “And the MPs are pretty much useless. Most of them. And Hange… is doing their best. Let’s just say that.” You nod again. He glances at the clock airily, then at you again. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, and he studies you quickly, gauging how honest you are with your promise, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and turns around. Your stomach is a thousand stones in your stomach as he glances at the splintered wood of the wall, and his footsteps slow to a stop. Watching his profile, you wait for him to say something as he lowers his gaze to the waste bin by the door.

He doesn’t. He simply continues out the door, speaks to the soldier on guard outside your room, and disappears from your sight.

“Lunch will be in two hours,” the soldier says before closing the door. You turn to look out the window.

Two days earlier, Connie and Sasha had come bearing a bolo tie, green gem gleaming, expression somber.

“It’s yours. For your services to the Survey Corps and to Historia.”

You had the grace to wait for them to be gone before flinging it with all your might at the wall and listening to the wood splinter as it clattered to the bottom of the bin.

The snow melts as soon as it touches your nose, and you glance at Levi uneasily as he jams the tip of the shovel into the dirt. His jacket’s been shed, and you swear he could be steaming with how much sweat drenches his entire body. He had insisted on laying the Commander’s bones to rest and burying him yourself which meant you had perched yourself on the roof overhanging the little clearing they’d found. It’s off-track in an already trampled ceremony—his grave now the singular headstone in a field of a thousand bodies—but it’s somewhere he can rest, you’re sure.

Adjusting your grip on your ODM gear, you look up at the blindingly grey sky. The snow slows to a stop as you fall to one-knee, examining the terrain.

Returning to active duty had been difficult. Rehabilitation even harder. You felt like there was scrutiny everywhere you walked, and there was a strange air lingering as the summer faded and fall began.

Even now, you’re sure Levi and Hange are the only people who bother to check up on you because they want to, not because they’re obligated to remember whether or not you’re still alive.

You scratch at your neck. Eventually they had to clear out the old barracks where you’d been staying which is what you’ve been doing for the past few months to avoid any clashes with your friends, and you’d come across the chess set, untouched, the pieces still in place as if the players had simply forgotten the game.

Your fingers had brushed over the piece Reiner had called a pawn, and it felt that much heavier.

A foul poison erodes your heart as you glance down at Levi again. He’s crouched in front of the tombstone, and you look away again, at the Wall. Beyond that—

Reiner is still out there. You wonder if he thinks of you half as much as you think about him, and whether if it’s just as laced with rage and longing. Half the time, you think you could scream into his face before tearing his head off his shoulders. Other times, you just want him back. You want to see Bertholdt’s smile again. You want to hear Annie’s dry jokes.

You could cry yourself to dehydration if you thought about it enough.

A sharp whistle cracks the air and you look down. Levi’s looking up at you, shrugging his jacket back on and you lower yourself back to the ground with a burst of gas, landing beside him.

There’s a quiet in which he gives you a sharp nod and you know what to do.

Accepting the handkerchief Levi offers you, you wipe at Erwin’s grave where some mud had been kicked up on the letters before laying down the flowers you had cradled in your arm. They’re dry, the petals already crumbling, but still, despite how gloomy everything seems, it almost feels right.

You step back, squinting a bit, the handkerchief clutched tight in your hand. The tombstone is a marbled grey, polished smooth and rectangular in shape, the corner sharp enough to puncture skin. Carved into the surface is his name, birth and death date, his title—and underneath all of that:

HIS FATHER’S SON

The epitaph is almost haunting the more you look at it and you salute the headstone before letting your hand fall to your side. Staring at the tombstone too small for a man of the Commander’s stature, you feel something hot sear through your chilled body. It’s nothing he deserves.

“Do you know why you were placed under my watch for a month?”

You blink, turning to look at the Captain. He’s paled so much in the winter months, it’s hard to think you aren’t looking at a ghost. The only exceptions are his red nose, his lips, and his flaring cheeks. That and those knife-point eyes.

“Because everyone around me was a traitor,” you murmur blankly, unsure of why he’s asking. Your hands ball into tight fists as you add, “And it only made sense that I should be one, too. Who better to watch me then Humanity’s Greatest to make sure I didn’t shift into a Titan, too?”

“It’s because Commander Erwin insisted not to leave you alone,” Levi agrees, “but not because he didn’t trust you. I doubt someone like you would turn around against the only people who are there for you. I read your file. Orphaned at birth, you grew up on a farm with no close known relations.” You turn your face away, teeth gritting together, and Levi tilts his head. “The 104th were all you had. Human nature insists that we latch onto those we have left.”

“Even you, Captain?”

Levi doesn’t answer. When you look at him again, his stare on the stone is darker, laced with noxious grief. “This job isn’t pleasant. You lose enough people—even those you didn’t care for—and you either grow numb, tired, or so damaged you can’t even wake up to another day. Most people find life meaningless after a few years.”

“Right…” Struggling to find the words, you cross your arms over your chest, fingers wrapping tight around your biceps. “I don’t know where you’re going with this. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

A heavy sigh. Levi shifts his boots in the grass.

“And what are you going to do after? What’ll you set your mind to next? Working as a Scout? I doubt you’ll find any fulfillment in working with people you don’t trust.”

“That’s not true—“

“You have a knack for isolating yourself when you believe you’re unneeded. Exiling yourself to an abandoned building under the pretence of ‘cleaning it out’ can only last so long,” he cuts off sharply, eyes finding yours dully. You clench your jaw, swallowing hard. He looks back at the tomb. “Look, I’m going to tell you something, and I expect you not to speak of it again, got it?”

You nod tightly. “Of course, sir.”

“I’m aware of people misunderstanding or making assumptions of where I’ve come from. To put it simply, I was a criminal in the Underground and I ran a network with two others. They were as close to me as I assume Hoover, Braun, and Leonhart were to you.”

You nod again, slower this time.

“We joined the Survey Corps because the Commander insisted it was a better alternative to a life time’s sentence in Mitras dungeons. I’m still waiting on that promise, Erwin,” he adds without any bite. Instead, his tone almost softens. “When they died on our first expedition outside the walls, I wanted to be left alone. He was only Section Commander at the time, and Shadis insisted I should be left to the MPs.

“Erwin refused. He forced me to come to training for the next expedition, to drills, and to the events the military held every once in a while just so I wouldn’t stay in my room all day. I lashed out. I screamed at him behind closed doors, was an outright violent son of a bitch and an unpleasant one at that, but he persisted.”

Levi scoffs. “It took me a long time to grasp what he was doing besides being a nuisance. It was when I realized I was constantly at his right hand when he was promoted to Commander did I understand. Every human dies. Whether or not they sacrificed themselves for a greater cause, it will always be a selfish act in the end.”

“Selfish?” you echo. “But, Commander Erwin died for the Scouts to survive, didn’t he? If he never did, you never would’ve stopped the Beast Titan. We’d probably all be dead.”

“And who’s left to clean after his mess, huh?” he cuts coolly. “That’s what’s selfish about death—those corpses get off scot-free. Their last moments may be guilty, or afraid, but they won’t give a damn the minute they stop breathing. It’s the living who have to deal with the consequences. Grieving alone sends you into a pit that’s hard to crawl out of. You either sink, or you come out of it strong like hell, but it’s easier when something’s at the top, so to speak. Telling you to get off your ass and climb out.”

He scowls, and his glare narrows at the epitaph as he half-heartedly kicks some of the disturbed dirt at Erwin’s headstone, but it’s less malicious and almost as if, even now, Levi wants to point fingers at Erwin. “I don’t know. Metaphors were always this idiot’s strong suit. All I know is how to cut down Titans.”

Your shoulders sink. “Captain Levi…”

“He’s why I volunteered to supervise. I remember what our gracious Commander told me,” he says quietly. “It’s a lonely life we walk. The people who stay are the ones we have to hold onto with both hands and all our might.”

You soak in his words silently, tracing the carved E in the stone with your eyes. Levi sighs, lowering his head and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. He seems to shake his head to himself, pale eyes darkening, lips twisting into a furious scowl. You know that scowl well—it’s the type of face one pulls when they’re trying to hide how real fucking sad they are.

You look away. You shouldn’t be seeing this.

“Suppose that doesn’t matter, though,” he murmurs. “They can slip through either way. What you need to do now is keep moving. You keep them in your memory, and you keep moving, but stop letting them haunt you. Find a new purpose, or it’ll be meaningless and you’ll realize you should’ve died, not those poor bastards who devoted their hearts to what they wanted.” He tilts his head back to the sky. Softly, then: “No one else can do that for you.”

You slide your own hands into your pockets, pull it tighter around yourself. “What if I don’t know what to do? What I want with my life?”

The first raindrop hits him first. A gentle splash against his nose that makes his eyes flutter, but not close. The next hit you, tapping against your skull that soothes the ache in your chest.

“Keep moving on, anyway, until you find it. It’s no good to stand around thinking about what should’ve been or what you could’ve done. Regret begets regret—have enough and it’ll start affecting your choices. Don’t have any when you go, and maybe you’ll live a life happier than most.”

You nod. Your neck feels tired. For lack of anything else, you manage to say, “Captain Levi… I’m really sorry for your loss.”

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there, fixing your gaze at the gravestone for a moment more, before bowing your head and saying your thank you to the fallen Commander. You turn around.

“I’ll wait for you by the Wall, sir,” you murmur. He nods, still staring up at the sky as if he can see something you cannot. You study his profile for a moment, then begin to walk away.

Riding back to Trost, the weight slowly returns, bearing down on your shoulders as if you can already feel the thousand-pound stares. The elevators are lowered and they step on, dismounting quickly to ease the horses. Garrison soldiers are posted along with a singular Scout, and you frown when you reach the top.

“Jean?”

He smiles grimly. “How was it?”

“Shitty, I guess.”

And you leave it at that. Jean watches you critically, surveying your form, but you only stand on the edge of the Wall, looking at a world that’s about to get much bigger.

In truth, you don’t know how to answer. Your whole body is heavy, only going through the movements as Levi climbs up next to you. He takes the reins of your horse as well and heads off without a second word. You watch him go as he walks towards the nearest building, presumably to find the nearest elevator down the other side of the Wall.

Sighing, you turn around to face the land you’ve just travelled. Wall Maria stands in the distance. Your gaze fixes on nothing, staring through, and you wonder if you’re just as ghostly as you think you are. All you can hear is the sound of Bertholdt, screaming for you to save him.

The land is barren, desolating to even look at it with the faint rain muddying everything and dulling all the colours. The grass is brown, the trees frail and empty. Nothing like a few months ago when everything seemed so promising of life.

“One day, we’ll be eating like this every day,” you had told Annie during a visit to Trost once. She was quiet, her blue eyes focused on the cream bun but softer than you thought was normal. Her lips curved into a faint smile as you added, “Just imagine it. Us as the dream team in the MPs, solving assignments together, and eating sweets in the inner Wall. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.”

How did that dream turn into this nightmare? It’s like every part of you has been chopped off until you’re nothing but a bleeding body and a heart struggling to find the energy to pulse another second. Your limbs are gone, bleeding, ravaged, your head’s aching, and you feel every shadow held back by Annie’s fierce stare, Bertholdt’s arms, Reiner’s body shielding you, swarm you all at once now that they’re no longer there to protect you.

Joining the military had numbed your body, and Bertholdt and Reiner had cut you off at the knees. And Annie…

Annie had spelt out tragedy on your throat in blood. If only you hadn’t ignored the red dripping down your neck, staining every word you breathed, maybe you could’ve stopped this.

You are wrestling for a way to keep crawling towards the light, but you will never be fast enough. Captain Levi had been right. Now that you’re alone, the pit is steeper than the walls, steeper than your fear, and the idea of waking up, of walking side by side with people who you’ve turned your back on for traitors, makes you nauseous.

They don’t deserve your half-hearted loyalty.

Your shoulders fall at that revelation, and your eyes close when you realize what you want.

It’s something you told Reiner, a million years ago.

No more bloodshed, no more war. There didn’t have to be water, there just had to be him—but even so, that can’t happen anymore.

The former, however…

“We don’t hate you, you know,” Jean says. “None of us blame you for what happened. You can still come back.”

“That’s really nice of you, Jean,” you murmur blankly as your hands move on their own accord. “But I just can’t let this go.”

You reach up to your neck, and pull the green cloak away from your throat. Drawing it off your shoulders, you hold it in your hands, the blue and white wings of freedom dull in the pale light. You run a hand through the fabric, over the stitched insignia that once meant so much to you before you step closer to the edge. Jean’s eyes snap to you.

Freedom feels like nothing when everyone who was supposed to stand next to you the day you achieved it is gone.

Fists tightening in the green, you clench your teeth and with a silent exhale, you fling it off the side of the wall. Jean lets out a strangled noise, and together, the two watch as it flutters to the bottom of the wall.

The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings.

“What are you doing?” he asks roughly as your hands move next to your belt. Undoing the clasp, the metal collides with your frigid, mended fingers, and your skin begins to burn as he grabs your arm, trying to stop you. “Hey—“

You jerk out of his grip, not looking at him. You don’t think you can.

“I need to find a new life, Jean,” you murmur, your stomach flipping, your heart wilting, your words carrying in the wind. “This one is finished.”

“No. No, your life is here.”

Your face burns as you blink, something warm trailing down your cheeks, but Jean only grabs you by the shoulders, trying to make you look at him but still, you continue to detach yourself from the contraption. He turns you, shaking you gently, but not even an immovable object can stall the unstoppable force of your hands.

Throat cinching shut, you stare at his chest as your ODM gear falls to the ground in an ungraceful crash. The hollow thud of the containers rattles your body and you look down at your gear that’s brought you so far.

“Don’t do this,” Jean murmurs. “You’re a Scout. Don’t let them make you give up.”

“No one’s making me give up, Jean.” You finally look up, look right through him, and Jean flinches back, his hands loosening and you take the opportunity to twist, shoving your gear off the wall with one swift kick. Heat shoots up your leg and the pain warms your entire body.

ODM gear falls, nothing more than deadweight, and it clanks against the wall before bouncing off the stone, and Jean jumps off, deploying his own gear to try and catch the tech before it can crash, damaged beyond repair, at the bottom.

Staring at his figure for a moment, you wonder if the harrowing feeling in your chest will last you forever, or just for now while you wait for something to take its place.

You’re not sure. But you do know a part of you feels lighter. You do know that a part of you just wants to go home and sleep.

Turning, you walk after Captain Levi, follow his trail to the building, and when Jean reaches the top of the wall again, you’ve disappeared.

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heynikkiyousofine · 3 years

Text

A just because little fic for my dear friend @enchantedink-ag, hoping you have a wonderful weekend!

Ao3: Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3

“I don’t give a fuck whoever you are, where is my wife?” His growl growing louder, laced with venom, causing the twin demons to shiver. Inuyasha tightened his grip on Tetsusaiga, golden eyes darting back and forth between the two, readying himself for whatever they had planned next. Sniffing, he could smell the faint jasmine on their silk clothing. Kagome.

The female demon on the left, whose long blue hair glistened in the moonlight, smirked at him, her silver eyes giving him the creeps. “My my, someone’s a little angry. Who knew the half-demon had a little wife? Did you know that’s who she was, Kimoto?”

“I didn’t Kirigaya, but it seems the woman has a protector.” The green haired demon’s matching grey eyes filled with laughter, turning to her. “It seems he has come to rescue her.” Inuyasha’s jaw clenched as he searched for some way to defeat them, unsure of their abilities. His anger coursed through him, boiling his blood beneath. His thoughts returned to Kagome. What would she do? Find out what they want with me.

It was as if she was standing right beside him.

“What do you want with her?” He seethed, his knuckles white and shoulders tense as he waited. He needed to find her and not kill them on the spot.

“As if it matters to you, we need her spiritual powers to bring back our sibling, on the night of the full moon.” Kimoto explained, with the wave of his hand, before turning glistening eyes his way. “Though I don’t why we bother telling you. She’ll be long dead by the time you find her.” Kimoto’s fangs appeared as his smile widened, a laugh coming from his chest when Inuyasha growled louder this time.

All common sense seem to just fall away as Inuyasha raised his fang above his head, calling on the adamant barrage when a loud, painful sound pierced the air. Folding his ears back, he managed to side step just in time to see Kirigaya swipe her claws, aiming for his face. Closing his eyes quickly, he shielded his head with his robe wrapped arm.

When the excruciating sound stopped, Inuyasha opened his eyes to see the pair gone. Shit.

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Kagome knew this wasn’t a good position to be in. The twin demons had caught her off guard and came from behind, striking the back of her head when she was picking herbs in the forest. She remembered a painful signing in her ears and then pain as blackness followed shortly. Turning her throbbing head as much as possible, she saw the rope that bound her arms behind her tied in an intricate knot around a wooden pole. Sighing to herself, she knew her best chance was to wait it out and for Inuyasha to arrive. If he can find me.

Frowning, she peered into the dim light room, her only source a small candle that hung on the wall behind her. The small room was painfully empty, her mind attempting to come up with an escape plan, but becoming unsuccessful. Glancing down at her dirtied hakama, she noticed a bit of blood splattered. Oh great. Inuyasha is going to have a field day with that. Faint footsteps could be heard coming from the door across the room, Kagome’s gut tightened as two matching demons strolled in, smirks on their smug faces.

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Inuyasha sniffed, searched, studied, even crawled in the dirt to catch the faint scent of his wife. He couldn’t help but be frustrated, because this was getting him no where. The two demons didn’t have a scent, which in his right mind, would’ve struck him as odd, but he was so focused on locating the calming jasmine, he didn’t care. A soft jingling could be heard approaching and he knew it was Miroku arriving by his aura. Inuyasha raised his gaze just as Miroku jogged over the crest of the hill, panting as he stopped in front of still kneeling half-demon.

“Inuyasha, what happened to Lady Kagome?! Are you okay?” He managed to get out between breaths.

“Twin demons kidnapped her, but I can’t locate her scent. It’s faint and these arrogant assholes don’t have one.” His growl growing louder as he finished his explanation. He didn’t have time to waste, Kagome could be seriously injured. Kagome. His heart ached at the thought her bleeding, crying out for him.

“No scent? How odd….” Miroku mused as Inuyasha focused his attention back to the air. After a few quiet moments, Miroku continued. “What do these demons look like?”

“One had blue hair, the other green, matching grey eyes. Pale skin, gave me the fucking creeps. No scent from what I can remember. Spoke something about reviving their dead sibling.” He sniffed at the dirt, his claws digging in the hard ground when he couldn’t come up with a direction.

“Nothing is coming to mind. Anything else?” Miroku’s fingers stroked his chin in deep thought.

“There was this painful ringing in my ears, then they disappeared.”

“Ringing? Like a bell or a gong?”

Nodding, Inuyasha looked towards the setting sun, he needed to hurry and fast. The full moon was tomorrow night and not knowing which direction to head was making his head swarm with anger and anxiety.

“Inuyasha,” Miroku’s quiet voice came from behind him, “If these twin demons are who I think they are, you might be in for a rough battle….” Golden eyes snapped his way, filled with something Miroku had seen many times in the years he had known his friend. Fear.

“Tell me everything you know. Let’s find out form Sango and Kaede too. We don’t have much time. I’m leaving tonight.”

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“You are even prettier in the moonlight.” Kimoto purred as he held Kagome’s chin between his slender, pale fingers. “Sister, it’s a shame she won’t be alive to meet our big brother. He would love her as a companion.” Kirigaya’s gaze only stared at them for a short second before returning to the scrolls she had in front of her.

When they returned to the small room, the lit the remaining candles, bringing a soft glow upon the room. They had uncovered a small window, where the moon shown upon her features, giving her a little hope. Inuyasha had to have known by now she was in trouble. Damn, why hadn’t she grabbed her bow and arrows….

Kagome watched as the female studied the scroll, ignoring her brother, who reminded her of Jakotsu, a dead member from the Band of Seven. His figure as a bit on the lean side, but he wore masculine clothing. His voice, mimicking Jakotsu’s tone at times and his head, though a different color, was almost a replica of the dead mercenary. The female however, was the one who radiated energy from her aura, clearly the leader at the moment. Her stance, legs apart, back straight like a soldier only enhanced her perfectly fit clothing. It wasn’t until she was studying that what Kimoto said registered. Won’t be alive?! No way would she be a sacrifice!

“Wait a minute!” She cried, catching both of their attentions, “I will not be some sacrifice. You are going to be sorry once Inuyasha finds us!” Anger and tears began to fill her vision, as the blurry female figure stepped towards her.

“Priestess, we met your little half-demon protector.” Her smile grew broader, little fangs poking out beneath her top lip. Kagome struggled against the ropes, bringing more pain to her already aching body. Grimacing at the tight pull, she did her best imitation of an inu growl, hoping Inuyasha was alright. How dare they hurt him?!

“What did you do to him?” She seethed. Her teeth grounding against one another, the faint taste of blood on her tongue.

“My my, someone’s angry.” Kimoto laughed, clapping his hands together, as Kirigaya grabbed a fistful of dark hair and tugged Kagome’s face forward.

“Your precious husband,” she spat, “will never find you and after we are done with you, there won’t even be a body recognizable to him. Now shut up and sit there like a good little girl.” Releasing her hair, Kagome could feel streaks of tears falling down her cheeks, wetting her red hakama as the two demons grabbed their papers. Snuffing out all but one light once more, the last thing she saw was soft moonlight as she closed her eyes to sob.

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“Sango, your sure this should work against that screeching?” Inuyasha paced as he asked the others a million questions. Everyone could tell this wasn’t like him. Inuyasha is more of a fight now, talk later kind of guy, if he’s this worked up over and taking his time to figure out information about these two demons, this is a serious situation. Kaede mused to herself, grounding some healing herbs for him to take. She wasn’t sure of Kagome’s condition but he could use all the help he could get. She listened to Sango gently explain everything to Inuyasha once more, as Miroku sat beside his demon slayer wife, writing out a few scrolls. Kagome could use them easily, her apprentice having grown much stronger in the months since her return.

“Inuyasha, take this with ye. It will help with most ailments, since we do not know Kagome’s condition.” The older woman gathered a small pouch and handed him the small plum bag, carefully setting it in his palms. Seeing him nod a silent thanks, she smiled softly for him. He had come along way as well.

“Bozou, whatcha got for me. Kagome don’t have her weapons, so these had better work.” Inuyasha settled the pouch in his robe, before turning towards his best friend.

“These should work, especially with her spiritual power. These two demons, Kimoto and Kirigaya were once part of a trio before their older brother was killed during your father’s reign by non other than Ryūkotsusei and his hoard of dragons. They were powerful in their own right, controlling the air around them. It is most likely why you couldn’t pick up their scent or much of Lady Kagome’s, because they can control the air around them. In turn hiding away anything. Finding them will not be easy. But if what you was true, I think I know where they will be. This ritual, is supposed to be fatal.”

Silence filled the small hut, the crackling of the fire the only sounds as Inuyasha tried to calm his breathing. He had to find her and soon. He hadn’t told her yet, her scent has changed. She doesn’t know she carrying our child yet.”

“Miroku, tell him about the ringing sound.” Sango whispered, her hand gripping tightly on Inuyasha’s arm.

‘Ah yes, excuse they can control air and such, the youngest, Kirigaya has developed the ability to send this painful sound, wrapping the noise around your head. Controlling how loud and painful the sound can be. Much like Kagura could with the wind itself. The plugs Sango gave you earlier should help with the intensity of the screeching as you call it, especially with your sensitive ears.”

“Is that it? Anything else I should know about these demons?” Inuyasha’s shrugging Sango’s touch off, before grabbing a small stack of sutras from him and reaching for Kagome’s weapons.

“There is one more thing, my friend. Their brother, Koyanagi, the one they are planning to bring back from the dead, is said to be very powerful. Much more than Kagura ever was in controlling the wind. Be wary. Though, if my suspicions are correct, even killing one of the three will weaken them greatly. Do you remember the Panther King?” Seeing him nod quickly, Miroku continued. “It will be much like that, with the sacrificial part, but this ritual is needing some serious spiritual power to bring someone back from the dead. A full moon, a special scroll, and the blood of a pure powerful priestess are the key ingredients, take away one of those things and they won’t be able to finish it. But Inuyasha, if completed, or done wrong, it could kill Kagome instantly.”

“I won’t let that happen. Now, where the hell do I go?” He ground out as a wave of nausea came over him.

Author’s note: Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you would like to be tagged when part two and three comes out! A special surprise for part 3 will be featured along as well. Have a great Thursday guys!💕

#inuyasha #kagome #inuyasha x kagome #inuyasha fanfiction #drabble #mirsan #inukag #Kaede #happy ending

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mintvender · 3 years

Text

UTOPIA [ 7 ]

Pairing: BTS x Y/N

Synopsis: Y/N L/N, the name of the current monarch of Corea. They became the ruler after successfully ending the previous king along with the dynasty as well. In their harem, countless men are present to help balance the court’s power. However, is this truly their intentions? The palace was always a place that needs to be proceeded with caution but as time goes by, recklessness would most likely outweigh it. You found yourself unable to prosper the kingdom without being too connected to it.

HaremAu!

Warning : Suggestive Content

Word Count: 9.8k

A/n: Finally finished this chapter. This chapter marks the end of the first era where the main ensemble finally unite. However, this is also the start of something else. Tell me what you think, 🌿.

Masterlist

Humming a quiet melody, you felt the air around you stirred. Closing your eyes, you focus on the sensation of the flow around you, patiently waiting for a response. Expectedly, your question was not answered.

Nevertheless, you knew better than to give up your standing and continue to participate in this wordless battle. After all, as a member of the Crimson branch, it would hurt your pride to lose to such a miscellaneous game.

Slowly but surely, the air around you both began to constrict, seemingly trapping you in its borders. However, instead of surrendering to either of your guys’ unmoving selves, none made a move in anything close to failure and instead, waited.

Such a manipulator.

Seconds steadily merge into minutes, and before you know it, you are left with a quarter of an hour before having to head back. Looking at the entrance of the alley, it had seemed that the sun was already setting. Turning around to meet Raven’s eyes, you let out a smirk before pushing yourself off the walls.

“ If you don’t have anything to say then I guess there is no other purpose being here,” you taunted, heading towards the bustling street.

Purposely exaggerating your steps to enhance the sound of your shoes colliding with the floor, you confidently walk the opposite way, not glancing back. However, before you can bathe under the colourful lanterns, an arm slid around yours, pulling you back into the darkness.

Quick to hide your growing smirk, you let yourself be dragged back deep within the alley. Turning around, you look down at the piercing eyes, staring menacingly into your own.

“ Stop joking around,” Raven warned.

“ Answer my question then,” you insisted, “ Why have you called me?”

Even with the mask, you could tell that she was rolling her eyes at your ridiculous question. Reaching into her long sleeve, Raven took out a thin envelope and shoved it into your arms.

“ The Master wanted to give this to you.”

Looking at her knowingly, you flick the tab open, reaching in to get the paper. Pulling the paper out, you motioned her to bring the lantern closer. You both peered through the content of the letter, processing the intentions that have been conveyed. Looking into each others’ eyes, silently having a conversation.

After a while, you both synchronously nodded, agreeing on the best solution.

Standing straight up, you carefully tuck the letter into your inner sleeve. You patted the spot a few times to test its stability as you mindlessly listened to Raven’s plan.

“ You do know that it is better to do it now than later right?”

Stopping what you were doing, you clench your hands repeatedly while staring at the ground. Letting out a tired sigh, you tussled through your hair in frustration, making obvious attempts to ignore her question.

“ You kno—“

“ I know!” You growled, biting your inner cheeks. “ I… need time to adapt to this current life. After that… I will tell them.”

Without looking at her, you could already define her expression of knowingness. Even so, you ignored it, too caught up with your thoughts and forceful emotions.

Letting out a loud sigh, “ Mind joining me for a drink?”

Looking into Raven’s eyes, you could almost spot specks of whites and yellows swirling into her magnificent midnight black orbs. Despite how gorgeous they were, you knew that they held nothing more than pity and sympathy; ones that aimed at you— your decisions specifically.

Once again, you both held eye contact for however long before Raven broke it with a gentle shake of her head. She nodded, quietly accepting your invitation, stepping away from you.

Following her lead, you nodded, tightening your grasp on your own mask, in which you had taken off unconsciously during the discussion.

Fingers running through the surface, you admire each stroke that has been carved into the wood. Unlike Raven’s who was smothered in shades of black and grey, yours was painted in a variety of red and gold. In another way, it showcases the difference between your animal and hers.

Each member of the clan is subjected to form their alias based on their branch and their ones that resonate with them.

For example, your branch— the crimson branch is categorized as a physical branch, people who focus on close combat. As a result, all the members within the branch are named after predators of all kinds, except birds. Raven, who belonged to the Gold branch, specializing in long-distance attacks, are thus named after various avians. With that, the Azures are categorized to different strategic pieces and theories, while the Veridian branch are varieties of poisons, and the Titanium branch, are all the raw materials used for craftsmanship.

Bringing the mask to your face, you quickly fasten it, lifting your hair to hide the knot under it. You started heading out of the alley, Raven following right after you and into the clusters of light.

As you both walked through the noisy crowd, you glanced around at the assorted shades of lanterns that are hanged throughout the district, most in deep, bright shades of red, confirming that you were indeed in the epicentre of the red district.

The red district was a very interesting place that attracts a wide audience— for the many different reasons that are available. Some people come here to do business— both legal and illegally, while some search for companions—for the reasons you won’t go into. Anyways, in your guys’ case, it was the former. Now for whether it’s legal or illegal? You didn’t exactly know.

Along the way, you randomly chose a cozy-looking winery in the depth of the district, one that wasn’t filled with too many lustful people.

This particular winery was unlike many others. Instead of drenching in the odour of alcohol, the winery quickly filled your senses with a delicate and flowery scent. Curiosity hitting you like a brick wall, you glanced around to try and find where the scent was coming from.

“ Welcome, precious guests,” a velvety voice greeted.

Perking your head up at the voice, your head naturally followed the direction. Immediately after looking up, you were faced with a figure adorned in pieces of red. Unexpectedly, the voice owner’s face was beyond any noble ladies in the capital, with a sharp yet captivating gaze, and perfect proportions. To say the least, she was flawless.

Seeing your guys’ silence, the lady let out a smile.

“ Please, follow me,” she said, leading you into a quiet corner, invisible to most people.

You nodded in gratitude, taking a seat on one of the wooden chairs.

“ What would you like?”

Looking contemplated, Raven asked, “ What do you specialize in?”

Eyes sparkling in excitement at Raven’s word, the lady clasped her hand together before clearing her throat, “ Finally! The Silvering Winery specializes in mixed drinks.”

Raising your eyebrow, curious of the reason for her being so excited, you asked, “ Don’t people come here for that since it’s your specialty?”

Reacting to your question, the lady huffed out a sigh, her eyebrows crunching up in frustration. “ Of course not! All we have coming are old, drunken men who know nothing more than jugs of those tasteless alcohol! With our location, even if so hidden, people still manage to find it. No one ever asks for mixed drinks… until now at least.”

You smiled, taking interest in her talk, “ Any recommendations you have?”

Tapping her chin carefully, the lady took her time to think as she scanned over the both of you. “ Mhmm, how about this? I’ll create drinks based on what I get from each of you.”

Raven hummed in agreement while you nodded in interest,“ Please… Mmm...Is there perhaps a name we could possibly address you?”

Plushed lips curling up to a smile, she answered, “ Please call me… Lisa.”

“ Sounds foreign.”

Lisa nodded, “ I’m from the west.”

Smiling at her words, you introduced, “ Please call me Phoenix.”

“ Raven.”

“ Then we’ll be in your care, Lisa.”

Turning around, Lisa headed off to what seemed to be the kitchen, “ Don’t worry, I never disappoint my customers.”

You waited for the retrieving figure to enter the kitchen before setting your eyes back to the decor of the place. The whole venue was covered in wood, planks attached to the floor while chunkier pieces are used to form tables. Smaller pieces of wood are spotted splattered across the walls and the tops of the very many seats. On your guys’ table, a tray sat there, holding a plate of sweets accompanied by two wooden cups, filled to the brim with scorching hot herbal tea.

Reaching over to grab yours, Raven following right after, you both enjoyed the taste of the herbs in silence. Letting the bitter taste coat your skin, you hummed in satisfaction as the warmth spread through your body, seeping into your core.

Unlike your usual mask where it covers your entire face, this one only covered half of it, thus making it much more convenient to use during these situations.

“ It’s been a while since we’ve had a normal conversation.”

Humming in interest, Raven continued to sip her tea.

“ How have you been?”

“ ...I’ve been good. Just the usual stuff, nothing new.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, you reach over to grab a piece of sweet.

“ How have you been?”

Biting into the dessert, you munch on it while thinking over the question. “ It’s been hectic. This year has been a little … overwhelming.”

By the perked-up eyebrows, you could tell that she was interested in your wording but seeing how she had no intentions of mentioning it, you also dismissed the minor detail.

“ The Master had given you such a significant mission, it’s no wonder it would be so tiring.”

Tightening your lip to form a small smile, you nodded in agreement, your head bouncing with the force. “ In the beginning, I often wondered why the Master has assigned me to be leading this mission when there are clearly more suitable people than me.”

“ Who?”

Looking down to your own cup, you stared into the reflection of yourself painted on the layer of liquid. “ … For starters, you.”

Chuckling at your response, Raven eyed your slightly sunken form. “ Me? I have no interest in this type of mission. In fact, I’m quite glad that you were assigned to it. This way, at least, I have some reassurance that the mission is more likely to succeed.”

Refusing to look at her, you smiled in acknowledgement, the happiness unable to reach your eyes.

Seeing your sullen state, Raven reached out her hand to grasp yours, comfortably stroking over your knuckles.

“ You will do fine. In fact, you’ve done so much more than what that bastard has ever achieved in his entire life.”

Wincing at Raven’s profanity, you cracked out a smile.

“ You’re lucky he’s dead, if not…” you spaced out, slicing your finger across your neck to continue your sentence.

Raven smiled at your joke. “ You’re part of the Crimson branch, Y/n, a predator that stands out among the rest,” Raven reminded you, “ I know that this is weighing a great deal of pressure on you but know that we are always here to assist you.”

“ ...You’re really bittersweet, Raven.”

Blinking calmly at your comment, Raven replied, “ Of course.”

Feeling the conversation fade away, you both followed the flow, quietly minding each other’s interest.

“ What’s with the atmosphere here?” Lisa announced, entering the scene, carrying the beverages on a tray. “ Now, now. Don’t be too sullen. Let me cheer you up with these drinks,” she proudly proclaimed.

Looking at the drinks that she had placed in front of you, your eyes glimmered in interest. Picking the cup up, you brought it closer to you, inspecting the contents within the cup.

“ What is this?” You asked, sniffing the aroma that was escaping.

Resting her arms on her hips, she explained, “ With Raven’s, I decided to go with a simple drink. A combination of our winery’s signature wine and rice wine have been added to highlight a clean yet edgy taste. Swan Knife”

Raven nodded, lips curling up in satisfaction. Picking up her cup, she slowly bring it to her lips, taking small gulps to savor the taste. “ Swan Knife? Mhmm, it fits.”

“ Of course.”

“ What about mine?”

Clapping her hand in excitement, Lisa giddily answered, “ Yours was a combination of the winery’s freshest batch and an old brandy imported from the west. I topped the drink off with a little citrusy tang to highlight the harmony of the senses. Overall, you will experience the sharp, bitter, and tangy sensation in one mouthful. Bittersweet Kiss.”

Taking in a deep breath, you mentally cringed at the name while Raven openly smirked at the coincidence. “ Sounds like a roller coaster,” you hummed, taking your gulp.

Closing your eyes, you let the taste of the alcohol cover every crevice of your mouth, confirming what Lisa said to be true.

“ Interesting,” you said, “ Definitely worth your praise.”

Preening at your praise, she happily thanked you.

Using the tea to cleanse your palate, you repeatedly go back and force between the two beverages.

“ Why don’t you join us, Lisa?” Raven offered.

Shaking her head, she gave out a sad expression, “ I’m afraid that won’t be possible. My other customers are waiting.”

Taking a quick look around, you couldn’t spot any other customer except for yourself and Raven. However, as if on cue, the door was slammed open, revealing a bunch of drunken men, toppling over each other to try and enter the space.

“ LISA! Give me the usual!”

Rolling her eyes at the male, she quickly covered it with a smile, bowing in greeting at you before heading over to the other customers.

“ She seemed like an interesting fellow,” you noted before going back to your drink.

“... Has the Master been demanding?”

Stopping yourself at the question, you bite your lip in confliction. “ In some aspects, yes, he is. But I still don’t understand what we are getting out from these missions.”

Raven swirl her drink in a circular motion. “ The Master is planning something big.”

You snorted, “ Of course he is. He wouldn't assign me this mission for some petty excuses. You...you know something right?”

Confirming your theory at her refusal to look you in the eye, you nodded in understanding. “ You don’t need to tell me. I understand.”

“ No, it’s not because I don’t want to tell you but it’s … complicated. But what I can definitely guarantee you is that the Master is planning something that you will never expect.”

Staring at her features, you slowly studied the face that you’ve known for years. Suddenly, you came up with a surprise connection, one you didn’t expect to come nor become real.

“ If I look at you now, you hold some resemblance with someone I know,” you nonchalantly commented.

Stiffening at your sudden observation, Raven fidget with the cup in her hand as you stared her down, trying to identify who it was.

“ Who?” She meekly asked.

“... H— No i think I’ve mistaken you with someone else,” you covered up.

There’s no way that this is a coincidence. I’m just overthinking it.

Subtly shutting her eyes at your response, it was obvious that Raven didn’t wholeheartedly believe your words but ignored it either way.

“ I heard that you started adopting consorts, and changed the initial plan.”

“ … I did unconsciously recruit a few more consorts aside from Taehyung, and did manage to alter some part of the plan. However, I promised that it’s nothing major. The plan is progressing relatively smoothly.”

Chuckling at yoru panicked voice, she assured you, “ It’s fine. There’s no need to panic, I was just asking… Are they good people?”

Unconsciously smiling at the thought, you hesitantly nodded. “ They’re interesting people. Certainly unique in their own little ways.”

“ You know that you attract many people to your ways, right?”

Snorting at her response, you cheekily grinned. “ Good or bad, I wonder.”

Raven looked at you knowingly, before smugly looking at the decor around you, not wanting to give out a verbal response. Raising your eyebrows at her antiques, you also took your stride in looking around.

On instinct, you looked over at the opened doors to be met with a background of the dark sky, illuminated by lanterns. Hastily standing up, you bided Raven goodbye, “ Looks like it’s my time to go now. When you have the time, make sure to stop at my place.”

Going to the door, you almost couldn’t catch Raven’s greetings. Feeling a small smile adorned your face, you quickly exited the winery and back into the streets.

Looking at your previous spot, Raven mindlessly sipped her drink.

“ They’re certainly an interesting one, aren’t they?” Lisa pipped in.

Raven smiled, “ Definitely.”

☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️

Once again in the crowds of the festival, you hurriedly dodge through the drunkens, careful to not hit the vulnerables. Smiling every so often to showcase your politeness, your feet quickly carried you to the opposite end and eventually to a left turn.

Letting out a deep sigh, you were thankful for getting out of the mess in one piece. Just being in the place gets you to have flashbacks about previous experiences.

You slowed down your pace, making sure to not look any stranger than what already meets the eyes. . Unlike the previous district who was filled with energy, this place is quite tranquil considering it is a more major district of the capital.

Eyes constantly scanning the area, you felt yourself stopped at a particular parlour. Approaching the stall, you took your time admiring the items that were put on for sale.

Grazing over the various accessories, you smiled at how detailed the carvings are. Feeling your finger twitch at a certain ornament, you brought it closer for inspection. Hooking the look around your finger, you twirl it around to test its stability.

Not bad.

“ Owner, are there any other colors or designs for this?”

Clasping her hand in excitement, the owner hurriedly displayed the other designs available.

Eyes sparkling in interest, you inspect ones that caught your sight but couldn’t decide on which one to buy. Seeing your uncertainty, the owner said, “ If you don’t mind me asking but who is it you plan on giving it to?”

Looking up to look at her eyes that had started to droop from old age, you politely smiled. “ I am planning to buy it for a… a friend.”

Raising her eyebrows at your reply, the owner took a moment to look over at the collection, “ Is there anything in particular that stands out about them?”

“ … sunshine.”

Looking back and forth between you and the collection before she boldly handed you an ornament. Graciously accepting the ornament, you take a second to inspect the item.

“ This norigae* is sewn from one of the most popular materials this year. Even though the threads are sewn together, similar to a rope, it is very soft yet also extremely steady. The customer had said that your friend holds similarity to the sun so I thought that the golden color would suit them.”

Nodding at her observance, you happily accepted her advice. “ Thank you. I will take this one.”

Returning the ornament back to her, you looked down again at the accessories before spotting a few that had caught your eyes.

“ Owner, please also pack these up for me,” you said, pointing at a few items, “ Here is the money. Keep the change.”

Bowing at her in gratitude, you accepted the wooden box containing your goods before heading to the tea house. On the way, you once again tuck the box in your sleeves in case of any ill intentions roaming around.

Resuming your previous pace, you continue to scavenge around the district while on your way back to the tea house. Amidst the way, you noticed an inconsistent pattern of people that were accumulating in front of a store nearby, coincidentally blocking your path.

I must be aligned with crowds today, you sighed.

After standing in the same spot for a few moments, you begrudgingly put on a brave face and courageously walk toward the crowd, hoping to not be pulled to pieces.

Taking a deep breath at a particular hard jab, you desperately sucked in the warm, moist air around you, trying to not groan too loudly. Tightening your stomach in an attempt to make yourself seem smaller, you try your best to push through the crowd of people.

Hissing at a young lady that had bumped into you, stepping on your toe in the process, you suddenly found yourself stuck in the center, with no available escape route.

Sighing at your unfortunate situation, regretting your decision, you were suddenly aware of the admiring gazes that wee being pulled. Looking around in curiosity, you wondered why everyone was looking so intrigued … until you heard the strings of the gayageum* being plucked.

Ears on alert at the melody that was being played, you turned your head in the direction, your feet unconsciously headed towards the music until you were just behind a few other bypassers.

Once you had registered what was happening, your eyes widened in surprise at the main highlight of the performance.

Hoseok.

There he was, your Noble Consort, was at the center, seemingly carrying all the major parts of the piece, giving no care to the crowd that had surrounded him. Eyes closed, Hoseok let himself go and simply followed the flow of the music, in a complete trance where the only thing that existed was himself and the melody.

Robes fluttering along with his movement, Hoseok continue to move with th music, seemingly becoming one with the melody.

Speechless at the scene that is happening in front of you, you stared at his dancing figure in complete silence, completely forgetting where you are, too focus on Hoseok, himself. It also seemed that you were too involved in the performance that you, also gave no care to your surroundings.

Eyes staring at Hoseok, at his every movement— twirls, turns, and jumps, you engulfed yourself to enjoy the performance, deciding to put away your questions for later.

Slowly, one song after another ended yet Hoseok still kept dancing while you kept your eyes glued on him. No matter how many times you were pushed around, or the constant change in neighbours, you still remained in your spot only snapping out of your daze at a particular hard push.

Eyes glaring at the intruding figure, you shake your head to clear up your mind. Noticing at the slow change in melody indicating that the song was about to end, you looked at Hoseok one last time before turning around and returning to your tracks, this time making sure to not go off it.

At least I know I’m not the only one who’s late.

As you calmly walk through the street, the scene that had unfolded in front of your eyes kept coming back. Hoseok’s smooth yet sharp moves, soft yet powerful gestures, and how he managed to control the air around him made you more curious about him.

Who exactly are you?

Silently entering the tea house, you were too deep into your thought that you had even dismissed the greetings of the servants and instead just followed their lead to your previous spot.

“ Give me a serving of the sweets to go,” you mindless order.

Leaning back against the chair, you glanced down the window, searching for Hoseok’s incoming figure. However, you soon find out that he wasn’t going to come anytime soon. Even after receiving your sweets, Hoseok still did not come.

Placing the money down on the table, you grabbed the sweets and left the establishment and instead settled for the outside stairs to wait for him. Feeling your skin itch in agitation, you feel your anxiety increase as the minute goes by.

Where is he?

Feeling your mood getting increasingly worse, you accidentally growled at a man that accidentally touched you. Apologizing was a hazy memory when you were in this current state yet you still find yourself waiting, somehow not finding the need to go and find him yourself. However, in all of foolishness, Hoseok is bound to get at least a few of your lectures.

Finally, after the moon was halfway on its route, a familiar figure finally appeared. Letting out a breath that you didn’t know existed, you ruffled your hair in both relief and frustration; both emotions aiming at him.

“ Where have you been?”

Flinching at your cold tone, Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Instead, he opted to look down at the floor, in shame.

“ Did you realize what time it is?” You asked, “ When did we agree to meet?”

Once again, you were met with absolute silence. At this time, most of the stores and parlours had closed with only a few lanterns available to illuminate the street.

However, unlike the calm and tranquil the cool night should bring you, you felt a wave of frustration engulf you. In the back of your mind, you thanked your abilities to heal the wounds in time. Because without it, the wound would have already reopened with how hard you were clenching your arm.

Aside from your blazing eyes and your tense grasp on your sword, Hoseok couldn’t find any other evidence of your anger. However, even without any evidence, he knew that you were letting out anything but positive energy.

“ Whatever, we’ll talk about this at a later date,” you said, drawing a shaky sigh before presenting your arm, “ Let’s go.”

Looking at your arm, Hoseok hesitantly holds onto it before letting himself be dragged by you.

The silence presented during your guys’ walk was what Hoseok had expected when he accepted your invitation. However, he also understood the reason for why such a tense sensation was presented and was not naturally there.

As you approached the palace gates, you let go of Hoseok’s hand, reaching into your sleeve to take out your hopae*. When the guard spotted your tag, he immediately opened the gate, letting you both in. Before going in, you reached over to Hoseok to entangle your hand with his, not saying anything at his surprised expression. Thankfully, Hoseok also followed the flow and didn’t comment on your actions.

During the way to the Noble Consort’s courtyard, an eunuch had run over, offering to help guide you but was answered by a denial. Instead, you took the lantern from his hands and dismissed him.

Once you both were finally in front of Hoseok’s courtyard, you finally let go of his hand. Hoseok, who was about to bow to you, stopped when he saw you reach into your sleeve, seemingly looking for something.

Unlatching the rope that had secured the box, you quickly took out the norigae that you previously brought. Throwing it over to Hoseok’s direction, you turned around and began to walk to your courtyard, not looking at his reaction.

“ A souvenir from me. If it’s not to your fancy, throw it away.”

Hastily catching the item that you had disposed into his hands, he confusingly looked at it before realizing what it was. Grazing over the norigae fondly, Hoseok carefully untangled the knots. Grasping the ornament tightly, he felt his lips turn upward at your gestures. Bringing it close to his chest, he looked at your disappearing figure, attentively.

☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️

Within the next month of the announcement, news of the arrival of the new consorts began to enter the palace, and eventually, reaching the court. The ministers and officials were overjoyed at the news, happy that they were still sending over the candidates despite your announcement.

Unlike others who were happy about the consorts’ arrival, Taehyung was still soured over the news, as well as your choice.

Despite Taehyung’s obvious disapproval, it was customary for you to at least spend a night with each consort in the first week, especially if they were from a different country.

On your first night of the three, you met your first choice from the piles of possible candidates.

Sato Chungho, was a righteous man who had an outstanding record and an ambition in politics. He was so intrigued by it that you had spent the entire night talking about the subject.

“ Politics, you say?” You asked curiously as you propped your chin on your hand.

Chungho enthusiastically nodded, eyes trained on your every movement. “ Yes, your majesty.”

You hummed, “ Why are you suddenly bringing this up?”

Looking down at his hands, Chungho fidgets with the fabric of his attire. “ I had heard that your majesty is well versed in this field. Since I have met you, I … I knew that love would never be able to blossom between the two of u—”

“ Why would you say that?” You interrupted, eyes peering down at him in interest.

“ You might not know this, your majesty but you have been a very popular topic in Shihoma. Previously, we all had known about how terrible the Corea’s monarch was but since your arrival, everyone couldn’t help but be intrigued by how you managed to take him down. More importantly, the way you handled this Consort Selection both showcases your dominance and how you’re not afraid to flaunt it. Many would have to think twice about doing this, especially for a country that has yet to establish a good reputation.”

“ Then wouldn’t my actions be considered to be reckless. If you think about it, won’t it be easy for other countries to fight ours since it’s so vulnerable right now?”

Chungho shakes his head, “ It would be unlikely because most people know that most of the soldiers had gone to your side before and during the rebellion. You didn’t lose that many soldiers so attacking you is not a minor matter.”

Raising your eyebrows at his answer, you nodded your head. “ Then what would you like?”

“ I would like…” Chungho gulped, “ to learn more about politics under you.”

A potential.

Cracking a smile at his uncertainty, you stand up from your seat. Waving your hands to signal him to come over, you invited, “ Come. Play a game of go with me.”

With that, Chungho giddily accepted your invitation and both of you found yourself spending the entire night indulged in all the games you had available.

On the second night, things turned out to be more interesting with the second consort.

“ Chin-Hae means the truth and a vast ocean, correct?” You had asked.

“ Yes, your majesty.”

“ And you’re a son of a merchant?”

“ Yes, your majesty.”

Scanning at him from top to the bottom, and bottom to top, you couldn’t decipher the unsettled feeling that is blooming within your chest. You have been caught up in many situations where there is a sense of familiarity despite being strangers. And this is one of those situations.

“ You look familiar.”

“ I am afraid that we have never meet until today,” he said, “ However, you might have find my demeanour similar to some of the envoys that are currently residing in the palace.”

“ … you’re from Xin May yet you behave like the Ecenyths, you must have travelled quite a bit.”

“ As a merchant’s child, I have started travelling since I could even remember. However, I did spent a reasonable amount of time in Ecenyth.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. “ Tell me the stories of the land you have visited.”

“ Where would you like to hear first, your majesty?”

“ … Xin May,” you decided, “ Tell me the culture, people, myths, legends. Anything of interest to your home country.”

Chin-Hae smiled, “ Yes, your majesty.”

As a result, you spent the entire night listening to the various stories from Chin-Hae; from the land’s culture to personal experiences and connection, Chin-Hae had told it in such an interesting manner that it captivated you every step of the way. He truly is a merchant.

I wonder if Seokjin is also good at storytelling.

On the third and final night, you were beyond exhausted with being deprived of sleep for two days straight and the constant piles that were presented on your desk. Thus, you didn’t have as much energy as usual and hoped that today will be like the other two.

Turns out, the third time was really the charm since it was completely different from the rest.

Entering your bedroom, you wanted nothing more than to fall onto the bed and travel to dreamland. Feet dragging your slouched body to the familiarity of your bed, you were suddenly hit with the realization of the slight change in the room’s placement.

Sobering up at the thought of an intrusion, you glared at every change in your normally simple chamber, feeling the irritation in you double. Aside from the difference in decor, the usual scent of lavender that would caress your skin was replaced with an overpowering scent of perfume. Feeling a headache reappearing, you sluggishly walked towards your bed only to be met with a big clump covered by a thin, transparent fabric.

The person must have noticed your speechless demeanour when they let out soft, high-pitched giggles. Normally, you would have define the noise as angelic but with your non-sobered state, fondness was not on top of the list.

Harshly grabbing the fabric, you forcefully tugged it off the figure and threw it to the floor. Looking into the bright yet hazy black orbs, you find yourself not knowing what to do.

“ Greetings to your majesty.”

Squinting your eyes in an attempt to find familiarity in the person in front to you but unable to do so, you find yourself speechless of what to say nor do. Suddenly, you realized that he was the one who you have chosen randomly, a person that you didn’t even bother knowing the name of.

Turning the other way, guiltily, you refused to look into the person’s eye, ashamed as what you did that day. However, the person seated on your bed took your action as an attempt to distance yourself away from him. As a result, he sneakily reach out his hand to touch your clenched ones.

Shivering at the chilling skin that had enveloped into your warmer ones, you looked at him, waiting to see what he would do.

As if knowing what you were hinting, the person took the opportunity to pull you to him, successfully setting you seated next to him.

Taking a deep breath, you could define the different fragrances that he was using.

Rose, with a light note of chamomile, citrus, lavender? No, what is it?

Confused at what you were smelling, you didn’t notice the roaming hands that were venturing your body until it travelled to your thigh. In a moment of panic, you pushed him away from you, shocking him in the process.

“ You… what’s your name?”

Yet to recover from the sudden shove, the male hastily replied, “ P-park Jimin, your majesty.”

Awkwardly nodding at his answer, you make sure to raise your hands, signalling that you meant no harm. “ I apologize, Jimin-ssi. There was so much work that I seemed to forget your name,” you said, shuffling away.

You knew that lying was bad in this situation but you also knew that saying that he was chosen in a matter of luck was worse. In other terms, he was lucky to be picked and wasn’t picked based on his capabilities unlike the other two.

There’s no way that I’ll tell him that.

Once again, using the opening of you drifting off, Jimin approached you, hands delicately running up your legs, eyes glimmering with mischief and flirtatiousness.

Speechless at what he was doing, you could only stare as he continued to venture across the span of your skin. Gently prying his hands off you, you push Jimin away. This time, on alert for any of his upcoming initiatives.

“ So tell me about yourself,” you said, brushing off what had just happened.

Staring at you confusingly, Jimin’s finger twitches in agitation. “ Why are you doing this?”

“ What do you mean?” You asked, scrunching up your nose.

“ Why are you asking these questions when you already know the answer?” He asked, eyes hiding behind his bangs.

“ I apologize, it seems that I have offended you. These past few days have been so busy that I haven't had the time to go over your profile yet.”

“ You didn’t even have the time to look into me?” He murmured, eyes locked on the velvet sheets.

You waved your hand in a hurry, protesting. “ Of course not. I sincerely apologize. I truly didn’t have the time to do so.”

Part of it was true while the other wasn’t being told. Yes, you have been extremely busy that you didn’t have any spare time and would go to sleep straight away after you return to your courtyard. However, you also did pick Jimin randomly, thus not having the fresh opportunity to look at his portrait.

You were really regretting your decisions of following the ministers’ miscellaneous plans.

Picking his head up, you propped them on top of your hand, directly looking into his own. Seeing his stunned expression because of your initiatives was something unexpectedly amusing; plushed lips puckered out to form a pout, a crimson shade that is spreading along the span of his cheeks, and eyes widen in such a manner that you almost couldn’t stop yourself from cooing about his cuteness.

Regretting at not seeing his painted portrait, you wonder if the artist managed to capture his beauty.

Smiling gently at your gestures, Jimin blinks continuously to try and seduce you.

Smirking at his antiques, you followed whatever he was luring you into before trapping him under your body. Arms placed on either side of him, Jimin bravely looked at you, eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner.

Lowering yourself until you were barely above him, you whispered into his ear, “ What do you think you’re doing.”

Feeling an unfamiliar sensation blooming within his core, Jimin unhurriedly replied, “ Whatever your majesty wants to do, I will follow.”

Smirking at his response, you continue to tease him by grazing your finger lightly across his skin, similar to what he had done to you. Seeing him squirm at the feeling was definitely a sight to see; amidst your teasing, you could even see a slight change in demeanour for a moment before it was covered by the previous thin layer of lust.

How interesting.

“ Oh really?”

Shivering at the moisture of your breath, Jimin couldn’t help but anticipate what was about to happen. However, his fantasize was cut short when he was no longer pinned down, the previous pressure dissipating into the air.

Pulling away from Jimin, you turned around, starting to take off your robe. “ You may stay here if you wish. We can talk about whatever but nothing related to what we just did.”

“ … So you just wanted to tease me?”

Clenching your fist at his question, you shakily replied, “ I apologize. I… I wanted to find out something.”

Jimin bit his lip, eyes glaring at your back. “ And that gives you the need to tease me? You may be my master, your majesty. But I am still a human who has feelings.”

“ … I apologize.”

“ Apologies, apologies,” Jimin huffed out, “ If you don’t want me here then I will leave.”

Standing up, Jimin takes the fabric, previously thrown to the floor and wrapped it around himself. Walking past you, Jimin didn’t look at you and instead focused on the door. Pushing the doors open, Jimin was about to leave but was suddenly pulled back.

Gasping at the pulling force, Jimin staggered backwards into your chest. “ I did say that I would let you leave but I didn’t agree to you leaving while in such a foul mood.”

Now, against your chest, you and Jimin were at the same height, none towering over the other but within your presence, Jimin found himself cowering under your watchful eyes.

“ W-what do you want now?”

“ I want to apologize to you,” you said, “ What do you want me to do?”

Turning around to look into your eyes, Jimin undoubtedly could sense your genuinity. Still trapped in your embrace, Jimin took his time to think and weigh the possible outcomes.

“ You would do whatever I say?”

“ If it’s reasonable, yes. I would do anything.”

Taking into consideration of your words, Jimin giddily thought up of various options. “ Then… give me jewelry as compensation.”

“ Jewelry? What do you want specifically?”

“ Anything that shows your favour in me. Things that would make people envy my position by your side.”

You nodded, agreeing with his terms. “ I will have something prepared for you by tomorrow and sent to your courtyard. For now…”

Looking over at your drawers, eyes sparkling up at the idea. Unlatching your arms around Jimin, you walked up to your drawers. Pulling a small drawer, you gingerly searched around before pulling a certain item out.

Returning to where you previously were, you gestured for him to turn around. You carefully placed the accessories against his skin, encasing the knot to secure the necklace in place. “ Keep this as a promise that I will fulfill my role.”

Grasping the pendant, Jimin looked over the design in awe before cracking a smile.

Seeing his smile, you commented, “ I see that you ar—“

“ Acceptable,” Jimin arrogantly said.

“ I’m glad,” you said, walking towards the table, pouring yourself a cup of tea, “ Let’s have a proper conversation now, shall we?”

Rolling his eyes at your comment, Jimin clenched the fabric wrapped around him before heading towards the table, taking a seat opposite of you.

“ Now, what can I know about you, Jimin-ssi.”

“ You don’t need to be that formal. Please call me Jimin.”

You smiled, “ Gladly.”

☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️

“ Now tell me about the Scavenge Disaster.”

Hastily going through the notes that he had memorized yesterday, Jungkook clumsily replied, “ The Scavenged Disaster was a breakout of droughts in the southern regions forcing many to go get refuge in other places?”

“ Continue.”

“ Mhmm.. the Sca—”

“ Say it with more confidence,” Taehyung interrupted.

Shooting him a glare, you scrunched up your eyebrows in frustration. Opening your mouth, you were about to say something when Taehyung continued to interrupt you.

“ How can you not remember the basics?” He degraded once he saw the hesitation that still lingered in Jungkook’s eyes.

Eyes widening at his words, you shouted, “ Royal Consort! Be careful with your words!”

Rolling his eyes at your word, Taehyung leaned back against his seat and focused on Jungkook, waving his hand for him to continue.

Shaking your head, you roughly slumped down into your seat, ignoring the stare that Jungkook was giving you.

Swallowing all the tension down, Jungkook went back to what he has been doing, now, even more agitated.

From the start of today’s lesson, the intensity of the air in the room was at an abnormal level. You all have noticed the change but no one put in the effort to address it.

“ When did this occur?”

“ Ten years before the previous dynasty ended.”

“ How old were you then?”

“ I was… ten at that time.”

“ I heard that you were constantly out of the palace,” you said, “ Must have been hard for you.” Nonchalantly looking down at the papers on the table, you didn’t caught Taehyung’s soured gaze.

“ Ten? You’re barely an adult now. Must have been a little brat,” Taehyung commented.

Sighing, you tiredly looked over at him, “ Brat? Look at you right now. You’re the brattiest yet.”

Taehyung scowled at your comment, “ Whatever. What has this lesson turned into? A personal bonding time for the two of you? Forget it, we’re done for today. I’m not in the mood for it.”

“ Jungkook you may go,” you dismissed him, letting out an exhausted sigh, and rubbed your tensed eyebrows. Seeing Taehyung also standing up, you were quick to confront him, “ You, dear Royal Consort, is staying until I tell you otherwise.”

Turning around, Taehyung looked at you with raised eyebrows, challenging you. “ You can’t control me.”

“ As long as I have the crown, there is nothing I can’t get my hands onto, including you.”

Huffing at your comment, Taehyung slumped down into his seat, not looking at you.

“ Why are you like this?” You asked, frustrated.

“ Why are you asking me? Ask yourself!” He yelled out, disbelief clearly adorned on his face.

“ What did I do?”

“ You took in three other consorts!”

“ I was forced to!”

“ You’re the owner of this land, no one can control you.” He said, using your comment as payback.

You chewed on your cheek at your words getting backfired. “ It's a minor problem, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“ Minor problem? Sure it is. So incredibly small that it caused chaos in the imperial court, agitating all the ministers.”

“ If you’re worried about them interrupting ou—”

“ I don’t care about the plan. What if they fancy you!” He retorted, pouting at his own words.

Eyebrows raised at Taehyung’s tantrum, you unconsciously lean back to enjoy the show.

“ You’re worried that they will gain power if they have my favour?”

“ That too,” Taehyung muttered.

“ Don’t worry. Chung-ho and Chin-Hae aren’t in the mindset of settling down,” you reassured, “ Chung-ho is too busy with his interest in politics while Chin-Hae will be travelling.”

During your guys’ little talk, you had personally promised to give Chin-Hae the privilege to exit the palace at will in return for little souvenirs that he will bring back. This may sound immature but you have plans for those items.

“ You guys are on first-name-basis now? Whatever, whatever, whatever... Then what about the third one?” He asked.

You tilted your head confusingly, not able to hear what he just said. “ What did you say?”

Taehyung looked at you, eyes piercing into your own. “ I asked about the third one. Jimin was it?”

“ Jimin?” You pulled out, chewing on your head as you remember what had happened on your guys’ first meeting. “ I don’t know.”

Taehyung pouted, “ Then there is still a possibility!”

“ If you don’t trust my words then go see for yourself.”

At your words, Taehyung turned around and walked out. “ I will.”

I will see for myself what you all have.

☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️

A week later, Taehyung upholds his promise by arranging an informal afternoon tea meetup with the rest of the harem. He definitely needed to see how these consorts are faring.

Seated in the middle of the round table where every person that comes and goes is in his vision field, Taehyung patiently waited for all the guests to arrive.

Slowly, the Blue Pearl garden started to get crowded by people, surrounding the table situated under the gazebo.

On his left, seated the Imperial Consort, the only consort that he, the Royal Consort has to show some face to.

It is best said that the relationship between the Imperial Consort and himself is not the best but it’s also not the worst.

We just don’t align, is what he would like to say.

Maybe in another situation, he and the Imperial Consort can find a common ground but in a harem, he is barely able to keep it under his control without the interference of another party. As a result, if’s they can’t be acquaintances then being neutrals would do.

Naturally, the farther they are to the host, the inferior their status is, meaning that when those new consorts arrive, they will be on the opposite side of him. More specifically, facing him directly on this round table.

On his right, there sat the eldest Noble Consort, who was all too busy with looking at the surrounding to spare him no mind.

I must agree to what Y/N had said. Childlike yet witty.

Perking up at another incoming group, Taehyung smiled in greeting. “ Ah, Consort Sato, welcome. Take a seat next to Noble Consort Jung.”

Bowing down in greetings, Chungho smiled at Taehyung’s words. “ Greetings to the Royal Consort, Imperial Consort Min, and Noble Consort Jung,” he said before heading towards the seat next to Hoseok’s

At least this kid knows manners.

Taehyung smiled in satisfaction, “ Good. I like you.”

“ I’m honoured to be in your favour.”

“ The Consort Yang has arrived!” The eunuch outside announced.

Turning his attention towards the entrance, Taehyung gently nodded in greetings, already not liking the person with a tacky smile.

Unlike Chungho, who was dressed in the imperial hanbok, expected of a concubine’s status; and behaved in a way much like so. Chin-Hae, instead wore the clothes of his homeland, and put on a disgustingly confident smile.

Normally, Taehyung would have overlooked this as he is also interested in ways one can express themselves through fashion but when that person is his rival, he simply can’t overlook it.

Like understanding what he was trying to convey, a maid by his side stood up. “ Consort Wang sure is unique.”

Instead of being offended, Chin-Hae beamed at her words.

Seeing his expression, Taehyung also smiled in amusement. “ Take a seat, Consort Yang.”

Interesting.

“ I heard that Xin May is a really energetic country.”

“ The epicenter for festivals and entertainment,” Taehyung piped in, casually.

“ It really is. I would say that I am forced to attend at least a dozen festivals every year. And that doesn’t even account to the ones specific to each region.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Hoseok leaned forward in curiosity. “ That must really be eventful.”

“ Sounds like you were busy.”

“ I really wasn’t. Besides, I would trade time for the smallest chance of getting to attend. Unfortunately, my father is trying to train me to inherit the business. Days fill with work and politics is too much for me to cope, however...” Chin-Hae denied, sighing at the thought of the constant work piles.

Blinking at his words, Hoseok commented, “ Right, I heard that Consort Sato is interested in politics from your majesty. Is it true?”

Looking up from his hands, Consort Sato bashfully nodded. “ I have been interested in politics since childhood but was never allowed to have any information on it.”

“ You enjoy politics? Such a unique hobby.”

Taehyung opened his mouth, preparing to say something when he was suddenly interrupted with an announcement.

“ Consort Park has arrived!”

Raising his eyebrows at the incoming figure, Taehyung propped his head on top of his hand.

Now, this is a sight to see.

Compared to the rest, Jimin’s attire was overly done. From the expensive materials that were used, to the intricate designs that were sew onto the fabric, one could definitely tell that he was born noble.

With every step, the bells of his bracelet could be heard jingling as Jimin draws closer to the gazebo. Putting on a confident smile, Jimin did a slight bow in greetings, hands clasped over his chest.

“ Consort Park certainly is prepared,” Chin-Hae commented, astonished at his attire.

“ I thank the Consort Yang for the compliment.”

Taehyung bitterly smiled at the act, feeling his slowly adrenaline rise.

“ Please take a seat, Consort Park. The sun is already in its third quarter and the event has yet to start. Without any further interrupti—”

“ Apologies, apologies, Royal Consort. I had to do some work and forgot the time. I didn’t miss out on anything major, did I?” A booming voice exclaimed, racing from the entrance to where they were.

Taehyung scowled at the familiar voice, eyes glaring at the rushed figure.

“ Merchant of the South,” Hoseok greeted.

Like who Hoseok had said, the steps of Seokjin grew closer to the gazebo, face brightened up at the sight in front of him. Stopping meters away from the entrance, Seokjin bent down to a bow in greeting. “ Greetings to the Consorts.”

“ I was not aware that you were invited.”

“ Apologies, I immediately rushed over the moment I heard that you were holding tea time.”

You knew that you were not invited and yet…, Taehyung rolled mentally rolled his eyes before looking to the side, silently motioning for the arrangements to be done.

Nodding at his signal, the person focused on the preparations, no longer caring at the stares he was receiving.

“ Seems like you knew that you were not invited,” Yoongi straightforwardly pointed out, “ Why are you here then?”

Motioning the maid to go get another chair, Hoseok added, “ Are you here to greet the new consorts?”

“ Partially. I was getting curious at the uprising of the new trio and wanted to go see for myself.”

Unlike others, Jimin reacted at the comment by clenching his jaded fist. Staring like I’m an animal, how daring.

Looking around, Jimin noticed how no one was fazed by Seokjin’s words, secretly stunned at how nonchalantly all of them are until his eyes met with Yoongi’s. Flusteredly looking away, Jimin made a move to smooth out his attire, fidgeting with the fabric along the way.

“ Apologies, only those who have been given permission to attend can do so,” Taehyung's eyes narrowed Seokjin’s figure, “ Besides, I believe the envoy has much better things to attend to than some measly tea event.”

The merchant shook his head in disapproval, “ Attending this event is also part of my duties. The emperor has specifically ordered me to visit the consorts frequently to build a better relationship with them… Also, it had seemed that I was not the only one that came without being invited.” After that, Seokjin’s eyes automatically set its attention on the person behind the table of herbs.

The host smiled, grabbing his wooden fan on the table before flicking it open, gently oscillating it, “ Hmm?... Ah, care to answer that by yourself?”

Setting down the equipment, Namjoon unhurriedly waited for all the boiled water to drain from the pot before gently placing it on the tray. Motioning the maids to bring it, Namjoon made his way to the centre table, smiling all the way. Stopping a couple of steps behind Taehyung, Namjoon clasped his left hand over his right and bowed, “ I apologize for not greeting you, Consorts… Envoy of Ecenyth. Thanks to the Royal Consort, I have the honour of concocting all the drinks that will be served.”

Scanning up and down, Jimin observed Namjoon’s manners, picking up the Royal Consort’s obvious favour towards him. So he is on his side, or maybe… Jimin smiled at the thought which skillfully got hidden by a tea cup placed in front of him.

“ Concocting? Sounds like this will have many benefits.”

“ Of course, Noble Consort Jung. It wouldn’t be right of me to not prepare a nutritious drink,” Namjoon explained.

Hoseok only smiled but made no attempt to reach out for the cup. “ Please sit down, envoy. Why not have a cup of tea while you are here?” He offered once he realized Seokjin was still standing.

Smiling gratefully, Seokjin quietly slipped on to the seat that was just delivered.

Scanning around, Taehyung noted how not a single person had consumed the tea. “ Why aren’t you tasting it? This variety is quite fragrant and won’t be as nutritious if taken cold,” Taehyung commented, letting out a teasing smile, “ Perhaps you all are afraid that it is poisoned?”

Feeling the people around him tensed at his blunt words, Taehyung picked up his own cup before taking a sip from it, flipping it over to show he had finished it. “ See? Now, drink up.”

Sighing at Taehyung’s words, Yoongi deadpanned at how appetizing and easy it was to step into his trap. How annoying, he thought, glancing at Namjoon before staring into his own. Yoongi gracefully lifted the cup to his nasal, taking in a whiff of its scent. Placing the porcelain edge against his lips, Yoongi carefully took a sip. “ Not poisoned.”

Making eye contact with Hoseok, Yoongi subtly nodded, confirming what he previously said was true. Relying on his words, Hoseok also took a sip and smiled at the pleasant taste. “ Such a smooth taste.”

Taehyung smiled, at least we work considerably well together.

“ I’m glad that this tea has satisfied you.”

“ Move on to the next course,” Taehyung ordered, “ I hope you all haven’t ate anything today.”

At his command, the surrounding servants were put to work. Skilfully replacing the dishes placed on the tables with new ones, one can see the obvious change in style.

“ The decorations have changed,” Chin-Hae commented, looking at the sight in front of him in amazement.

Giggling at his comment, Taehyung nodded. “ Of course. Now that we are waiting on the next course, allow me to explain today's concept,” taehyung started, picking up the previous course’s cup, “ With each change in course, a new course will be bestowed based on a designated season. The previous was spring, this time will be summer, eventually becoming autumn and winter.”

Eyes sparkling at Taehyung’s voice, Jimin couldn’t help but clasp an exaggerated gesture over his petite face in awe. “ Such consideration the Royal Consort has put in.”

Taehyung nodded his head in gratitude, continuing to swing his fan back and forth.

“ Unlike spring, summer is considerably heavier so the Royal Consort has highlighted the use of fruits?” Hoseok asked.

“ Correct. Do you know the reason why?”

“ Because summer has the largest spectrum in terms of fruits.”

Snorting at his words, Taehyung said, “ Of course, envoy. However, aside from the taste, there is another factor to why I have put it here.”

“ Why?” Chungho asked, curious.

“ It’s because fresh fruits symbolises vitality, youth, abundance… and fertility,” Taehyung smiled. “Either way, isn’t it the perfect description of the Nurturing Solstice?”

Blushing at the Royal Consort’s indications, Jimin couldn't help but wonder what his life will now be like.

☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️

“ They were talking about the Nurturing Solstice?” You asked, “ Taehyung must have had a fun time.”

Compared to the past, the current Nurturing solstice is quite watered down. Previously, the Nurturing Solstice did not only mark the start of a new harvest season but also the start of something more humanly— something more mature.

“ Yes, the new consorts were blushing at the Royal Consort’s openness.”

“ Let him have his fun. Cooping up in the palace isn’t good for anyone,” you said, “ Right, make sure to keep an eye on the new consorts, especially Chin-Hae.”

Clenching his hands, Chin-Hwa clumsily bowed at you tonal command, “ yes, your majesty.”

Glancing at his posture from your spot, you observed how uncomposed he became. Sighing, you leaned against the window frame, gazing out of the window. “ The sky is darkening.”

“ Yes, you majesty. It is estimated that the storm will go on for at least three days.”

You hummed at his reply, “ As expected… an abrupt change is about to occur.”

Tilting his head at your sudden comment, Chin-Hwa shot you a confused glance.

Dismissing his stare, you continue to stare at the sky.

It’s just that I don’t know how though.

~MintVender ( 19/05/21 )

Definitions:

Norigae - a traditional korean accessory that is usually hung at the waist at a person. It acts as a fashion item as well as a good-luck charm to bring youth and wealth to the person.

Gayageum - a Korean board zieuter, with 12 silk strings, and 12 movable bridges. Made from paulownia wood, he zither is about 160cm(62 inches) long and 30cm(12 inches) wide.

Hopae - an identification tag that carries the bearer’s name, place of birth, status, residence during the Joseon dynasty.

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kaibacorpintern · 3 years

Text

the wound

word count: ~2500

summary: kaiba has some pointed thoughts about yuugi’s recent cooking injury. platonic rivalshipping. post-DSOD

a/n: a woman has too many unfinished one-shots in her google drive so i’m making time to finish them instead of overthinking them (and never finishing them.) yes this is about cooking and yuugi and kaiba and depression. yes i have already written about this. whatever man. enjoy.

++++

Same time as usual. Two in the afternoon, on Saturdays. Same place as usual. The picnic table under the massive oak in the park, two blocks away from the Kame Game Shop and twenty minutes by subway from the station under the Kaiba Corp tower. Seto took the subway mostly out of scientific interest, taking a professional curiosity in the world Atem had wanted to live in, and because Atem had told him to enjoy it. What had he seen here, in the faded orange seats and bright pastel advertisements and the quiet scattering of human-not-Puzzle bodies? What had he felt, as the subway swayed around the curve in the tunnel, unseen in the darkness and known only by its momentum, making everyone sway with it? Hands curled around handrails and books. Fingers on phones. The train burst into daylight. The side of that girl’s head against the glass, watching Domino slide by with an equally glassy look in her eyes. Two layers between her and the city. Missing someone? Or just bored of life?

He slunk off the subway, unnoticed and unknown, in an immaculate white hoodie and aviators, stainless steel water bottle dangling from one hand. Yuugi was waiting for him at the park entrance, as usual, wearing some kind of fashionable belted dark purple romper, with the usual tote bag full of games hanging from one hand. On the other hand, something unusual: his fingers stuck out from a half-formed mitten of gauze, giving his slender hand a clumsy, snub-nosed silhouette. He was having trouble holding his iced tea, thumb and fingers alligator-clamped around the lid. Someone had drawn a pair of flowers in pink marker across the back of the mitten, a bumper sticker of cheerful admonition: 🌺 BE CAREFUL! 🌺 Not Yuugi’s handwriting.

“Hey,” Yuugi said. “How’re you doing? You sleeping better?”

Seto pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, over his bangs, crown-like.

“On and off,” he said, which was true. His nights were now vast, tossing oceans of insomnia between shores of just good-enough sleep. Last night he’d simply given up trying to swim and instead, for the first time in years, read a book for amusement instead of education. Some sci-fi novel Yuugi had mentioned and Seto bought on a lark from the bookstore in the subway station. Most of his amusement came from correcting the bad science in the margins, until he woke up at dawn with his glasses bent and his bed linens blotted like calico cats with black ink. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, this?” Yuugi said, lifting his mitten-hand. “So, I was making a ceviche yesterday…”

He told the story as they walked through the park to the oak tree: the protagonist was a ripe avocado, its tough, disingenuous alligator hide concealing a soft, buttery-green flesh. The arc of the conflict: avocado against knife, a natural antagonist. The climax: the knife, ignorant of its own bluntness and made arrogant by the shine of its own steel, slid off its trajectory like a failing rocket and plunged at speed through plant skin and plant flesh straight into human skin and human flesh. The resolution: two identical cuts, a half-opened avocado and a half-opened hand. Man versus fruit.

"There was so much blood Otogi almost fainted," Yuugi said, thumping the tote bag onto the wooden table and straddling the bench sideways. "So we went to the ER and they stitched me up, and then when we got back home I finished making the ceviche. What game? You pick."

"Hive," Seto said. He couldn’t stop looking at his bandaged hand. It drew his attention like a glitch on a screen, an inescapable aberration. “Does it bother you?”

“I mean, it hurts, but whatever, you know?” Yuugi said, digging into his tote bag for the drawstring bag of wooden tokens. He spilled them onto the table in a clattering cascade of wood against wood. They rapidly sorted them out. “It’s not my first cooking accident.”

Seto raised his eyebrows. It was a testament to the amount of time they’d been spending together lately - every Saturday afternoon for a handful of hours, until he made some excuse to leave, and Yuugi accepted it not because he was gullible but because he knew Seto had a battery and it ran low - that he didn’t even need to ask a question, and Yuugi simply provided an answer, with examples.

“So, here, I was frying onion rings for Jounouchi, and I splattered hot oil all over my arm,” Yuugi said, lifting his hand and pointing out a haphazard constellation of white scars over his forearm. “Then here - I was baking cookies for Shizuka’s birthday and touched the tray fresh out of the oven with my bare hand, like a moron, I dueled Jounouchi after and drawing my cards was like, ow - ” he waggled his fingertips - “and this one is another burn - ” a long white ink-stroke across his wrist - “from when I was making ramen for Anzu, ‘cause she was home from New York. And this one - ”

More interesting than how and what were who. This burn for Honda’s birthday barbecue, that cut for Otogi’s game night. A violent kiss between blade and fingers behind a frothy veil of soapy water, cleaning up after a movie night. Another spray of oil splatters, frying tempura for his mother. A lot of meals for her, his grandfather, Jounouchi. Every scar Yuugi showed him had a name attached, almost all of them below the elbows, as though collected there for easy reference. Seto frowned as Yuugi's fingers flew over this map of friendships and family, their routes landmarked by midnight breakfasts, lazy brunches, beautifully-wrapped bento boxes. Something about it tasted sour to him, his tongue held tight and bitten between his teeth. All of his own scars had only one name.

“You probably think I’m a klutz,” Yuugi said, with a sheepish smile, sliding one of the wooden tokens into place around their hive.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Seto said briskly. “I’m not some dumpster for all your insecurities. You think you’re a klutz. You have no idea what I think.”

“I - ” Yuugi started, and huffed, with another smile, his chosen defense against causing offense. “Sorry, force of habit - ”

“Forget it. You don’t ever cook for yourself?”

“Duh. Of course I do. And I eat what I make with everyone else. It’s not like I make a pizza for all my friends and just sit there watching them while they eat it,” Yuugi said. “But I like cooking for people. I love... nourishing them. Knowing they’re not going to go to bed hungry or anything, and I can make something for them that makes them feel good.”

Seto tapped a wooden token on the table, under the guise of thinking about the game but really thinking about the kind of friends Yuugi made, and how he made them. Jounouchi. Honda. Atem. Himself.

“Did you ever cook for Atem?” he said, because he couldn’t help it, and braced against the soft look that came his way, with a default smile, a pre-emptive look, I'm fine. this didn’t hurt me smile.

“Yeah,” Yuugi said. “I did.”

Like what? Did he like it? Did he help cook or did he just watch? Just the two of you or with everyone else? Tell me. What did you nourish him with? What do you think he’s eating now? I ate pomegranates when I was there. Bread and honey and figs and garlic and beer. Nothing I ate makes me spend six months with the living and six months with the dead so instead I trade off day and night. Sometimes I leave for a few minutes, mid-afternoon, and I can hear my own name clattering through me as Mokuba calls me back. Seto kept all these comments to himself. There was only so greedy he could get with Yuugi’s grief; only so much he could share of his own.

He slid his wooden token into place around the honeycomb of pieces. Yuugi swiftly countered. Seto lapsed back into thought.

Yuugi took a quiet slurp of his iced tea, gave it a shake, rattling the ice until it settled, and took another, watching ducks paddle into the reeds at the edge of the pond and paddle out, a portrait of calm patience. It had taken him some time to get comfortable with Seto’s long silences. In concession, Seto made the effort to shorten them.

It was the kind of day where stepping into the shade made a difference. The air was darker and cooler under the trees and the flowering bushes that lined the park paths, while the rest of the earth baked in a cloudless dry heat. Seto made his move and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows.

“How about I cook for you sometime?” Yuugi said brightly, nudging another wooden token against the others with a single fingertip.

Seto scowled, not at the suggestion but at the way his thoughts splintered apart, like two halves of a wooden log split by an axe. He had no doubt Yuugi would pull out the stops for him, slave and sweat for hours over some seventeen-course feast of modern art finger foods. Or maybe something cozy that made him feel like he was just nineteen instead of nineteen and exhausted. Whatever it was, Yuugi would put in the effort. But.

“No,” he said, and made sure to clarify this refusal before the clouds finished gathering over Yuugi’s face in a dejected overcast grey: “I don’t need one of your scars named after me.”

“I - what?” Yuugi said, flashing him an uneven, sideways smile, and Seto felt a flicker of irritation. Atem would’ve understood immediately. But, in fairness to Yuugi, he was being a little obtuse.

“You have a way of suffering for your friends,” he explained. “And I think part of you likes it.”

Yuugi straightened up in his seat, suddenly electric.

“What the hell? It’s just cooking,” he said, with a stormy flash of lightning in his violet eyes. “You’re reading into this way too much. I cook because it’s fun and artistic and I like feeding people, not because I like… self-flagellating or something. Seriously, you can’t just spout off - ”

“You misunderstand me,” Seto countered. “There’s no reason to… hurt yourself on my behalf. If you want to eat together, I’d rather go to that kitschy little ice cream place down the block and get a fucking waffle cone. I don’t want you unable to duel because you burned your hand trying to pan-fry a steak for me.”

Yuugi opened his mouth, brows furrowing together… and scoffed, a surprisingly affectionate sound. He rolled his eyes around the park, his gaze swinging across the sunlit grass, and looked back at Seto.

“Okay. First of all, I've mastered the art of the pan-fried steak, and you should try it,” he said. “Second of all, what makes you think you’re not someone worth suffering for?”

Seto snorted, masking his inwards flinch. Mokuba already suffered enough, thank you. And for what? A ghost of a brother. A black hole, a perpetual collapsing. Things went in and they crossed the event horizon and the pressure squeezed them for eternity without ever letting them reach the center and nothing ever came back out, as much as it wanted to. The scientific term for such distortion of effort, stretched to an immeasurable length without breaking, was spaghettification. Even a black hole needs to eat!

He slid one of his tokens back and forth with his fingertip, short, scraping jerks of wood against wood, thinking.

“Direct attack on my life points,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you also got me pretty good,” Yuugi chuffed. “Let’s call it even. But relax. It’s just cooking. I love the process, and I love the result, and I love doing stuff for my friends. It’s not some big… metaphorical… symbol of something. This - " he lifted his mittened hand - "doesn't mean anything except I mishandled a knife. It’s not like… you and Duel Disks.”

But Seto also loved the process and the result and more than once he'd injured himself, machining parts or fiddling with wires that, like all wild living things, bit back in fear of his touch. He splayed his hand over the table, watching blood drip onto his work station, knowing he should get up, clean it, bandage it. But it was only two in the morning and there was work to do.

“The Duel Disk is a symbol of Kaiba Corp’s future,” he said, closing his hand into a fist. "I know what you've done for your friends. I’ve seen it. Doesn't that merit the same... mythology?"

Yuugi gave him a funny look, half skeptical, half knowing.

"That’s nice of you, thank you," he said, and an uncomfortable blush crawled up Seto’s neck. Sometimes he did understand. “Are you sure you don't want me to cook for you?”

Seto opened his mouth, closed it, folded his arms on the table. He felt like he was trying to explain the feeling of the color blue, or the arguments for why numbers do or don’t exist, or what it was like to dream. Well, you see, the last time I saw Atem, he told me - correction: the last time as in the most recent link in a chain of time, not the last time as in the end of the line, because he also told me we’d see each other again - he told me to enjoy this, and you know me, I never do what I’m told. And I can’t do what he told me to do because he was my friend, and if friendship is just getting caught in a great sticky web of small cuts and large cuts and burns and bruises and tears and suffering because they’re here and suffering because they’re not, then just go ahead and let the spider drink me up and dump what’s left of me in the dirt. I am so sick and tired of pain. Mine. Yours. Ours.

But he did enjoy these afternoons. He was enjoying the process of making this: he had more with Yuugi now than he ever had before. He reached across the table and took Yuugi’s bandaged hand between his own hands, running his thumb carefully over the inked warning. Yuugi's hand relaxed in his. Yes, Yuugi was wrong. It was the same as Duel Disks. In any act of creation there was pain, there was power, and there was glory. What difference was there between a hologram of a dragon and a steaming bowl of soup? Both nourished something. Both were an answer to hunger. Discovering an emptiness and filling it.

“Okay,” he said, releasing Yuugi’s hand. “Alright. Cook for me.”

“Yeah?!” Yuugi said, with rising excitement, beaming. “What should I make? What do you like?”

“Make me a steak,” Seto said, smiling. It felt good to see Yuugi smile. His hypothesis neatly undermined. See? It’s not all damage. “No. Surprise me.”

#fanfiction #intern memo #rivalshipping #a lite snack... once i've written up a few more i'll cross post to AO3 #okay good Night i am. wiped the fuck out

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joonkorre · 3 years

Text

(love) is a heartache

@drarrymicrofic prompt: hope is a heartache - léon

let it be known that harry goes through life purely on vibes. half of his reasons why for every decision at his big age are “idk imma just hope for the best”

ao3

People’s hearts twinge sometimes. For Draco, he can barely remember the last time he doesn’t have these twinges. It’s pretty normal at this point.

“No, it’s not,” Pansy says. She’s a Healer, so she’s probably right. But Draco prefers to ignore that.

“Leave it be,” Draco murmurs, lips against her scalp, “I’m fine. Say, are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah. You want to go somewhere?”

“Mm. Sleep.”

They go out the next morning, Pansy in thick makeup and Draco practically drunk under nine layers of Charms. The air is a bit humid, which seems to get worse when the bustling street intensifies in volume into a roaring din. Pansy pulls him under an awning, yanking at his sleeve a bit to try out her disgusting sugary coffee. She always does this whenever she wants to take his attention away from something, which means he just has to look at exactly where she’s doesn’t want him to. As his lips wrap around her lipstick-stained straw, he glances up.

Across the street, a couple strolls through a gushing crowd. Fiery red hair, airy laughter, a pale arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. Curls of black, sleek spectacles, a protective palm on his fiancee’s shoulder. They make the perfect picture, a vibrant oil painting. Their existence is formed from bold strokes of sunlight and starburst kisses, with the focal point being a shock of phthalo green and cadmium lemon, two minute specks that make all the difference. As all good paintings do, they pin the viewer on the spot, as if the viewer himself is a thing to behold. Then they shift away.

The exhibit moves forward and out of sight. It’s closing time, the viewer has overstayed his welcome.

Something leaps in Draco’s chest and splatters on the floor of his stomach. Placing her hand over his heart, Pansy frowns at him. She doesn’t ask why Potter stared at someone who looked like a stranger to him. Only tells him to start finding answers.

Months later, on the most awaited day in recent Wizarding history, there’s a knock on Draco’s door.

He throws on a sweater, and a throw, too, for good measure. Ambling to the door, he checks the mail slot before peeking through the peephole. Nobody but a package is outside. Draco hums and unlocks his door, crouching down the moment it opens. What feels like soft satin brushes against his cheek, cool and smooth. With a flash, a pair of shiny dress shoes appear before him.

“Draco.”

Draco peers up as he rises, hands around the package. Potter has his maddening Invisibility Cloak slung over his arm, his roguish charm heightened by a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. A tiny posy is pinned on his left lapel, muted green hellebores with a few sprigs of privet berries. He’s dressed like a man in love.

Draco feels something he hasn’t felt in months at the sight. He’s trained himself to suppress it the moment it showed itself and has been relatively successful until now. The sting, without warning, bursts from within his chest, calling forth a slight wince. Potter’s brows furrow.

"How do you know where I live?"

“How long has this been going on?”

Draco frowns. “Pardon?”

“That,” Potter gestures at Draco’s chest. “The heartache.”

He rears back. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? At Potter’s unchanging expression, Draco shoves his hair out of his face with a quiet huff and puts a hand on the doorknob.

“It’s none of your business. Please leave.”

“It is, actually,” Potter stops the closing door with one arm.

“Excuse me? We haven't had a proper conversation in more than a decade and suddenly you want to act like we're friends? Leave, now.”

“Listen to me. How can it not be my business when I feel it, too?”

“Check with a Healer, then. If you can put past grudges aside, I can hand you Pansy Parkinson’s business card,” Draco grits through his teeth, pushing against the door with his entire body, his throw slipping to the ground.

“Draco, stop, I already know, stop.”

“Know what? No, I don't care. Leave at once, else I’d alert the Aurors.”

A rough slam sends Draco staggering back. Potter pants, hard lines on his face. His chest heaves under his crisp white shirt, its top two buttons unclasped, and he steps over the threshold, closing the door.

“You think they’d believe you?”

The pain shoots from his chest to the rest of his body, and for several seconds, his lungs wouldn’t work. He whips his head away from Potter, who groans and sags against the wall.

“I told you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, that was a shitty thing to say,” Potter says immediately, sweat dotting his temples.

After an uncomfortable pause, clearing his throat, he picks up the near-forgotten package from the carpet. His hand feels around the outline of the object within, rectangular and heavy. Glancing at Draco, he says hoarsely. “I know why you bought this book.”

“Know this, know that, you know nothing,” Draco lunges forward, only for Potter to twist out of the way and raise the package out of his reach.

“The Life-long Burden of Dark Curses: A Caution by Elise Arrowlane, limited edition,” he says, unbothered by Draco’s slackened jaw. “You ordered it from the new bookstore on Diagon months ago. You were small and old and grey, but I recognized you. I always could.”

“Okay,” Draco sneers, “so you’re a stalker. Old news. Anything else?”

“There’s no need to order one. I would’ve borrowed it from Hermione if you had only asked,” Potter says. “Instead, I got curious and read it for myself. That’s how I connected the dots about the heartache, how I realized we’ve both had it since that day years ago.”

“Oh, the day you slashed me into ribbons and almost cut through my heart?” Draco clenches his jaw.

Being able to shout this ugly kind of truth into the perpetrator’s face feels oddly liberating. That is, if liberation also comes with a specific kind of agony that makes Draco want to fall to his knees.

“Dark Magic leaves a mark on both the wizard and their victim, doesn’t it? No need for a book to tell us that,” Potter says, the harsh afternoon glow of him gentled by the soft lamplight in Draco’s hallway. “In certain cases, it even leaves a link. A connection.”

Draco bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. The only consequence from that horrid night was his fucked up heart and nothing else, nothing at all. Whatever Potter is insinuating, he hates it. He hates this. He hates him.

“How are you so sure there’s a connection.”

“I wasn’t,” Potter says. “The Healers said it’s a health thing I developed after the War and I just needed to avoid strenuous activity. I didn’t think much of it, but then I read the book and realized that it usually flared up whenever you watched me.”

Scoffing, Draco turns and stalks into the kitchen. Walking past the boiling kettle, he throws a cabinet door open and grabs a mug, his hand trembling.

“Interesting how my health suffers when I see the bastard who quite literally carved me open.”

“I was eating dinner when I thought I was going to die of a heart attack at 23,” Potter continues. Draco pulls the drawers out, unable to find a single bag of tea for several excruciating moments. “The next day, I was reading about your mother’s death on the Daily Prophet. That was the first sign.”

Grabbing a rag and wetting it, Draco wipes the countertop even as he’s just done so last night.

“When Ginny saw you on the street during our date and extended her hand toward you, you shook it. But your heart ached.

“I saw you looking at the picture of Ginny and I kissing on the front page of Witch Weekly. Your hair was brown and your back was curved, but I saw you. Your heart ached.

“When I announced my engagement to her on the Battle of Hogwarts’s 10th Anniversary, you were clapping along with everyone else. But your heart ached.”

Draco throws the rag on the counter. The kettle whistles, a piercing sound. “What’s your point? Are you here purely to flaunt your relationship and imply that I’m in love with Ginevra Weasley? If so, I got it. Thank you so very much, it’s been enlightening. Now get out.”

“The point is,” Potter says, lifting the kettle off the burner to pour it into Draco’s mug, placing his tea bag in, “unless the article about you being gay was wrong, Ginny isn’t the one you’re in love with.”

“What arti—” Draco stops. “That was years ago.”

His sexuality was leaked to some irrelevant gossip rag, not even making the front page. Nobody noticed, nothing changed, and it hasn’t entered his mind in what feels like forever until Potter reminds him.

“I remember.”

“You—” Draco frowns. His eyes strain on the cup of tea until they hurt. He squeezes them shut, sighing. “It doesn’t prove anything. Perhaps I’m jealous of my childhood nemesis having a better life than me, ever thought of that?”

“Yeah,” Potter says, “I’ve thought about this a lot. Which is why I’m here. To make sure.”

Draco takes it in, then, unable to help himself, curls his lips at Potter and his attire. At his artfully gelled hair, his hanging bow tie, the elegant boutonniere on the lapel of his dark blue suit. His empty ring finger.

“Couldn’t you have chosen a better date to make sure? Preferably before your wedding day?”

Potter steps closer. A respectable distance away, but closer.

“I could’ve, but I spent most of those days in denial. Then the dots connected and I couldn’t deny it anymore, so I decided to just go through with the wedding regardless, be with the woman I loved. Hoped that maybe the odd emotions I had would go away,” he shrugs, raising his eyes to meet Draco’s. “Saw Ginny at the end of the aisle and, well, I couldn’t stop thinking that it should’ve been someone else. All this time, I’ve thought that she didn’t feel… right in my arms, but I pushed it down. And there she was in that white dress.

“Seeing that today was the last straw. I had to leave.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat. Swallowing it down, he grabs his mug, scooping out the tea bag just to have something to do. He takes a sip without blowing, ignoring its scalding heat.

“That was stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Draco can feel a headache building. “That was a horrible decision. I never imagined you—you!—out of all people, could be this irresponsible. What the fuck.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Merlin, that poor fucking woman. If your purpose here is to make me feel bad for Ginevra and all 300 of her relatives for once in my life, you’ve succeeded, congratulations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that to me, say that to—oh, you’d do what you want no matter what I say, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends on the situation.”

“‘Depends on the situation,’ he says,” Draco mocks, getting a carton of milk from the fridge to save his bitter, bitter tea. Potter doesn’t reply. Stirring the milk in, Draco lets out a heavy sigh.

“What do you want me to do about this?” He says. “I didn’t make you run out of your own wedding. If you expect me to take the blame for your inane decisions, the first person I Floo wouldn’t be the Aurors, but Ginevra Weasley herself.”

A small smile graces Potter’s lips. “I don’t expect anything from you but honesty.”

Draco squints.

“And how will you know if what I say is a lie? Will you reject my genuine answer if it’s not what you want to hear?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Potter says. “I trust your heart will speak the truth for us both.”

There’s a pang in Draco’s chest, and judging from the twitch of Potter’s brow, he can feel it too. Not another word is said, the two men merely facing each other from across a tiny kitchen, considering. Draco can feel the warmth of sunlight beaming through the little window and coating his nape as he leans against the sink, earl grey on his tongue. Lovely citric notes of bergamot drift up his nose. He closes his eyes. What to do, what to do.

Weightless oxfords clack against the yellowed tiles, clear and bright in Draco’s ears. Fabric rustles as Potter slips a hand into his pocket only to retrieve it a second later. Draco lets himself be cornered, barely glancing at the wool-clad arms caging either side of his waist. A clink catches his attention, however, and he tilts his head to the left.

Millimeters beside Draco’s hand on the counter, glinting in the sun, is a wedding band. Draco knows Potter and Ginevra’s in and out, has examined the picture on that day’s issue of the Daily Prophet more times than he should have. He knows the marquise droplets of Ginevra’s gems and the chevron curve of her ring, the blankness of Potter’s own band a dream and a question in his mind.

The band that’s resting on the counter is different. Rustic gold and a fissure in the middle, the fertile earth splitting open to reveal a stream of diamonds, a sparkling river. Draco sets his mug to the side and holds the ring up close, his finger smoothing over the grooves of its texture.

“Did you make a stop at a jewelry store before breaking into my home?” He asks.

“No,” Harry murmurs. Draco looks at him in surprise. “I’ve had this with me for months.”

A pause.

“I thought you said you were in denial.”

“I was, but I knew, somewhat, that I wanted someone else,” Harry’s head lowers, slow and careful, until his forehead rests against Draco’s shoulder. “I told myself that I just liked the way it looked, had to get it in case I didn’t want the other ring anymore. But I got it a size smaller. Been carrying it in my pocket ever since.”

Draco’s heart throbs and throbs. Large hands circle his waist, bunching up the back of his sweater and pressing him close, chest to chest. A blanket of pure heat envelops his body as he breathes in the timeless saffron and neroli of cologne, half-lidded eyes pinned on the band he’s given. Oh, dear, he thinks, and again when it settles at the base of his ring finger with ease, as if it belongs there and never left. Oh, dear.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #yeah erm harry isn't the brightest bean in the pod or whatever that saying goes #they'll work it out i promise #draco's idea of a first date would be dragging harry over to the weasleys and forcing him to give ginny a formal apology #like ok he doesn't care about her at all but having this woman's unhappiness on his conscience is unbearable #also i really like the idea of the sectumsempra fucking up draco's bodily functions #the scars are really cool but i especially like it when the consequences are idk more visceral and clearly lower draco's quality of life #im not gonna get into the whole connection thing bc idk either #just know that whenever draco feels something intensely #like grief fear jealousy and ooooh heartbreak #his heart throbs and harry also feels it #in this fic harry's secretly happy that despite the whole shitty heart thing there's an unbreakable connection between the two #he needs some work in this fic but he means well i assure yall #draco seeing harry canoodling w ginny and feeling his heart hurt: that was weird haha #joonkorre writes

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firefly-in-darkness · 4 years

Text

Colours of Love

Characters → Y/N & Dean Winchester, Other Supernatural characters

Summary → Until you meet your soulmate, everything will be black and white. But what happens when you see the colours of the rainbow but no soulmate in sight?

Word Count → 1.8k

Prompt → Soulmate AU + Stolen by Dashboard Confessional.

Warnings → Fluff.

Beta → the superstar that is @princessmisery666 // all mistakes are my own.

Dividers → @firefly-graphics.

A/N → This is for @justagirlinafandomworld Pick Two challenge - I’m so sorry it’s late, hope you enjoy it!

Fear wrapped itself around your chest as you tried to recall the previous night while also having to deal with the adjustment of seeing all these vibrant colours.

The previously faded grey armchair was now an emerald masterpiece and you couldn’t help your fingers trailing across the velvety material, enjoying the switch between the shades.

The gold embroidered cushions enveloped you in a squishing hug as you curled around and let your legs dangle over the armrest.

Jessica was sitting opposite, sharing the couch with Sam, her head resting in his lap whilst he snored softly, “Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?”

“I drank a lot last night.” You groaned, your eyes stung with the strain of looking at her newly colourful features and the floral curtains behind her.

You looked away and around the pokey apartment; the photographs of your friends were now more alive than before and the bookcase full of varying shades and tones framing the many books and ornaments.

Your head pounded against your skull and your mouth felt like there was a cotton ball stuffed in it. The graduating class had celebrated late into the night, to welcome in the start of summer before they went off into the big adult world. You remembered throwing back shot after shot.

The thought of the clear burning liquid had your stomach bubbling with nausea and making you sit up, “I remember leaving you two lovebirds by the firepit, I was dancing-”

“-If you call that dancing.” Sam interrupted, his head still tilted back, and eyes closed.

You attempted to roll your eyes, but the muscle movement hurt your head more than it was worth, “-in Brady’s kitchen and then I remember nearly falling over but other than that. Nothing.”

Jessica offered you a reassuring smile, “You’ll find them one day.”

Once your head and body had cleared itself of the alcohol, you relished in periwinkle, fuchsia and evergreen. But weeks later, you still hadn’t found your soulmate, the one that had enabled you to see all these new and beautiful colours.

Eventually, after many conversations with Sam and Jessica, you decided to let fate play out. You’d already planned to travel the world and now you were able to see it in colour, you were even more excited

Well, for a few months of your solo adventure, until the colour began to fade into muted tones alongside your aching heart.

One Year Later…

It was the last chance for the Winchester’s to enjoy the summer. To soak in the sun and spend time with their loved ones before the chaos of Autumn took over their lives.

Sam and Jess had rounded up all the usual gang for a barbecue to celebrate their engagement as well as Dean and Castiel’s new business venture; a bar in the next town over.

Across the garden, Sam had his arm around Jess while they welcomed guests as they wandered through the side gate. Ellen and Jo were the first to arrive, a selection of beers and chips in hand. Not long after, Bobby and Rufus brought in the burgers and more beer.

Dean welcomed them all and then retreated to the other side as they all began to gush about Sam and Jess’s engagement. He hovered over the barbecue as the charcoal heated up, sipping on his beer, watching the excitement unfold across the lawn.

Of course, he is over the moon for his brother; finding his soulmate, settling down in this beautiful white picket fence home and, now, getting married. He recalled how Sam’s name flashed on his mobile out of the blue, Sam’s words a little slurred and the raucousness of the college party in the background as he recounted how he needed his older brother’s advice on how to get the girl.

Sam’s vision had changed the moment he caught sight of Jess across the lecture room, he spoke of how her blonde hair glowed, the way her pink plump lips grew into a huge smile then turned into a breathy chuckle once Sam realised he’d been caught staring at her.

Dean glanced back over to his family and friends, the strip of freshly mown grass was dull and the flowers he’d helped plant were no longer hosting vibrant petals. The feeling of jealousy and the worry that he was being left behind took over and he looked down at the grill.

It all started years ago, it happened the night of Sam’s graduation party; the beautiful woman in the kitchen, dancing completely out of time to the music. Instead of going towards her and relishing in this newfound vision, Dean had decided to keep it to himself. He wasn’t ready for settling down, falling in love or even meeting his soulmate.

Dean decided to rush past her and out of the house. His mission nearly failed as she collided into him and nearly fell over. He set her steady and without a second glance, left the party. Deep down, he knew he’d regret his actions, and that he’d end up in this position; watching his brother lead a life that he could only dream of.

The dull colours were a constant reminder of what could have been. He turned his focus back to the grill, placing the burgers down and drowning out the sounds from across the garden.

The moment the porch door swung open, you wrapped your arms around Jessica and nuzzled your face into her curly blonde locks. The travel tension dropping from your body, the soft gesture and the sepia tone of her face brought a warmth into your chest.

Jessica held your hands as you soaked in each other’s appearance “Y/N! Would ya look at yourself? Your video calls have not done you justice!”

“Says you!!” The pair of you grinned at one another before you glanced down at your right hand, pulling her left one up to expect the sparkling diamond, “The boy did good!”

"That he did.” Sam sauntered over and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his locks fell across his face as he grinned down at you. “It’s about time I made an honest woman out of her. I’d crash and burn if it wasn’t for Jess.”

You rolled your eyes and slapped at his chest and turned back to Jessica, “Is he always this cheesy? I don’t remember him being this bad!”

“You’ve been away too long,” Sam chuckled and tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Nice to see you again Y/N. Let me take your bags; I’ll let Jess give you the tour.”

The lounge was homely with its large plush corner sofa and the floating shelves full of books, framed photographs and ornaments. Jessica guided you to the guest room and you relished in the normalcy, especially after years of owning nothing but a rucksack and a few days’ worth of clothes.

“Our bedroom is up the stairs and to the left, the room opposite is Sam’s office and then the bathroom on the right.” Jessica then rushed out the final words, “Dean’s room across the hall. He’s been staying whilst he sorts out the bar with Cas.”

“I’ll just freshen up and I’ll be straight out.” You smiled and shooed Jessica out of the bedroom. “Go and entertain your guests, I won’t be long!”

You wandered through the kitchen, a slight smirk on your lips as you twisted around to do a full rotation of the room; it was just how you imagined it would be. With the refrigerator adorned with magnets, gadgets neatly placed on the counters and the photographs dotted along the walls.

Without realising, you turned and walked straight into someone. Your face smashed into the soft cotton adorning someone’s chest. You gasped and stumbled backwards; the heat of embarrassment settled on your cheeks as you looked up at the wall of muscle you had collided with.

You found the bright green eyes of Dean Winchester looking like a deer in headlights. The golden flecks around his dilated pupils pulled your gaze across his features. His tanned skin and freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks had you follow the darker stubble along his jawline. His mouth was slack, and his pink fleshy tongue darted across his bottom lip.

A laughter echoed from outside, bringing you out of your trance. “I am so sorry!”

You rushed past him and out into the garden with the want for the ground to swallow you whole. The only time you had met, well-spoken to, Dean, was during a phone call with Sam and then you had seen him when Sam had video called him. Of course, the webcam footage back at college was not the best but you had felt a warmth grow each time you walked past Sam’s room and could see Dean catching up with his younger brother.

A warm welcome by Bobby and Rufus was exactly what you needed to distract yourself from how the first time of meeting Dean Winchester had gone completely wrong. The offer of a beer and a patted spot on the blanket from Ellen had you grinning but not enough to stop your thoughts from wandering back to the man you collided with in the kitchen.

It had always been a surprise to you that it had taken this long to meet Dean, you’d met everyone else in Sam's circle except the closest member. You sipped on the beer, relished in the sunshine and the laughter around you as your thoughts drifted back to the way Dean looked, frozen in the spot just like you.

The pictures and videos did not do the man justice, and well, the last few years had done wonders and the way his bright green eyes sparkled in the frame of soft wrinkles.

Bright green eyes. You almost choked on your beer as you looked down to the ground. The navy and white striped blanket was no longer a dull tone, it was almost vibrant. Your heart raced as your hands glided along the soft fabric.

Slowly, you glanced up at the raised flower beds to your left; luscious green leaves and dazzling pink petals facing upwards. You followed the flowers’ gaze; the cotton white clouds looked delicate against the contrasting blue sky.

Your mouth dried and your skin shivered in anticipation as your eyes fell back down to the house, and the man standing on the decking in front of the French doors.

His sparkling green eyes focused on you, and only you.

Everything Tag List: @reann-loves-sebstan / @aroyaldarknessblr / @thefridgeismybestie / @kitkatd7

Supernatural Tag List: @deanwanddamons

SPN Pond Tag List: @manawhaat / @thing-you-do-with-that-thing / @nichelle-my-belle-spn-con-blog / @notnaturalanahi / @deanscarlett / @whispersandwhiskerburn / @roxy-davenport / @deathtonormalcy56 / @samsgoddess / @frenchybell / @for-the-love-of-dean / @mysupernaturalfics / @spn-fan-girl-173 / @deandoesthingstome / @jelly-beans-and-gstrings / @fiveleaf / @deansleather / @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname / @waywardjoy / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious / @kayteonline / @supernatural-jackles / @wevegotworktodo / @quiddy-writes / @babypieandwhiskey / @wi-deangirl77 / @deantbh / @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki / @deanwinchesterforpromqueen / @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog / @memariana91 / @plaidstiel-wormstache / @chelsea-winchester / @becs-bunker / @writingbeautifulmen / @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell / @castieltrash1 / @supernaturalyobessed / @ohwritever / @ruined-by-destiel / @inmysparetime0 / @winchester-writes / @evilskank-inthemegacoven / @maraisabellegrey-blog / @faith-in-dean / @winchestersmolder / @bennyyh / @clueless-gold / @deanwinchesterxreader / @melbelle45 / @winchester-family-business / @4401lnc / @there-must-be-a-lock / @just-another-winchester / @canadianjelly / @emoryhemsworth / @cas-backwards-tie / @coralanadianspnhunter / @mostly-shawn / @sierra-grace1227 / @flamencodiva / @kalesrebellion / @emilyshurley / @deanwanddamons / @ellewritesfix05 / @idreamofplaid / @emptycanvasposts / @herfalsegod

*Bold - unable to tag

#Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester Fic #Supernatural #Supernatural Fic #SPN #SPN Fic

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angelisverba · 5 years

Text

i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

in which y/n is just really creative and harry writes erotica under a pseudonym.

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

note: i’m so freaking sorry this took so long. thank you for being patient with me, and i hope its what you expected :) also the formatting is all wonky i have no idea why.

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

She knew what it felt like to sit and nod while someone else talked about their accomplishment. The itchy pull of heart strings; the yearning of wanting success, too.

But, she also knew how awkward it was to go back and forth declining compliments.

Which is why she never bragged about her newfound success. Or did the whole ‘oh you’re too sweet’ ordeal. She said thank you, and moved on.

Because it definitely was one.

A sudden change of no recognition to suddenly everyone wants her.

She had her friend, Lucy, to thank. Lucy had just opened up a coffee shop. One of those cute artsy ones on a street in West Hollywood somewhere, with money she had saved up over the years. It just so happened that her best friend was a talented painter, designer, and dabbled in all kinds of crafts. Y/n was known for always maintaining a tiny business of whatever it was she could come up with, and when her friend asked for help to decorate and set up shop, she jumped at the opportunity to go big.

The store was a loft-y type space. A blank, grey walls and metal; an industrial room. The first time Y/n looked at it, her mind flooded with ideas. Mirrors, art, frames, flowers, and anything that could be put up. Different themes and approaches to light up the room. But, before doing anything, she had a nice long talk with Lucy, about what she wanted to see. Had her set up a pinterest board with items for the shop. Color schemes, movies, plants, etc. From that, y/n took hold of the project, asking for Lucy’s opinion here and there, but taking most choices to her own judgement.

The end result… well, it was the reason why Lucy was full all the damn time. Y/n had turned the lofty space into an Instagram hippie galore. Lucy’s mood board consisted of a weird mix of Madonna, pearls, and David Bowie. So, all over there were some of the most famous pop-culture posters. Streams of pearls. Mason jars lined with pearls. Velvet curtains with golden tassels; the stringy ones that tickled when you rub them all over your palm. There were light bulbs and fairy lights hanging in the wooden beams from the ceiling, that were turned on everyday 30 minutes after sunset, like the headlights on cars. Additional records were set to look through and buy in a corner, and opposite that a jukebox with records that both y/n, Lucy, and Lucy’s boyfriend, Mike, had picked. The labels were written in y/n’s writing, a mix between curly-cue and messy doctors cursive; clean enough to read, messy enough to enjoy.

No plants. Or succulents, at least, but y/n had bought 5 dozens of roses from downtown. She’d hung them up to dry, left some where they were, and others she put in empty glass cola bottles that were in the center of each of the 10 booths. On the single, middle tables, y/n had placed leather table cloths. No flowers.

And the menus? Oh gosh, the menus. They were y/n’s pride and joy.

She’d closed herself in an entire day, to create the finishing look. With a copy of drinks (labeled like ‘Madonna’ and then the actual coffee order that star would’ve wanted) and the small variety of sandwiches (& other finger foods) y/n drew portraits on blackboards, used different fonts, painting mediums, and at a certain point even incorporated glitter, to create these magnificent hand drawn chalk menus.

Then the outside of the shop. This is what got her word out.

A journalist of some sort had happened to stumble upon Coffee for Rockstars the day that y/n was painting the windows.

You know, like with a brush and paint can.

She’d blocked off her workspace with chairs and caution tape, jammed her newly bought airpods in, and pressed play to her music.

The mural- Lucy labeled it, but to y/n it really wasn’t all that much, consisted of a the planet Saturn, with David Bowie, Elton John, Prince, Stevie Nicks, Freddie Mercury, and The Beatles prancing along the rings (all picked by Lucy). The window was a 5-or-so feet taller than her, so she had to use one of the chairs to reach the top half of the planet.

While she painted Elton’s fluffy feather suit on, the journalist had approached her, his waist pushing through the tape y/n had put up.

“Excuse me?” he called out to her, hands positioned on one of those Canon Rebel whatever they were called everyone seemed to be carrying around these days.

And Wild Night by Van Morrison may have been playing a little too loud because y/n didn’t hear him the first time, and he had to call out again, leaning forward slightly to catch her attention.

“Excuse me?” The guy says a little louder. This time, she sees him, and turns while removing her headphones, getting paint on her forehead and hair.

“Oh!” she said, startled. “How can I help you?” Her cheeks flame a bit when he gives her a boyish smile, lips twirling up to the corner of his eyes. He’s cute, she thinks, floppy hair that’s sunbleached at the tips from the sun, and freckles in the bridge of his roman nose.

“Yes, actually. My names’ James. I was wondering if I could take your picture for an article I’m doing. I work with the LA times, in the local business section, and there's a piece on West Hollywood’s hottest places. This one’s trending.” He lifts his camera in a ‘here it is!’ gesture.

“Me?” she asked in disbelief. Her eyebrows raised high above their usually places, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Shouldn’t you be photographing inside? You know, like the people?”

“You worked on this place didn’t you? That’s what Lucy told me. You’re a big part of what makes this place hot ‘n trendy. Plus, this live painting action will look wonderful…” he trailed off, his glance drifting to the window and to the picture she was painting. “It’s really good. Deserves some recognition.”

“Uhm…” Y/n looks around. There’s people on the opposite street staring at her, some that linger as they walk by. She catches a window roll down as the car goes by.

She’s always been small. In size, in popularity. She’s never been in demand. If she said yes, there's a possibility that that would change. A small part of her wanted that… she could finally start her business, like she’s always wanted to...

“Okay, how do you want me?”

He laughed, and told her to just continue with what she was doing. So, she did. She added more paint to her glass palette, and unprofessionally used her bare thigh to rid the brush of the excess paint. Momentarily, the brush found its way to the bite of her teeth, so the girl could put her earphones back in and get back into the right headspace to work.

The journalist, chuckled as he watched her, amused by her tactics, how she leaned back to look at the bigger picture. He was done in a matter of minutes, taking pictures of everything she’d set up in her closed off area. The tarp she’s laid on the floor. The cans of paint; red, blue, yellow, green, white, and black. An uneaten sandwich and a glass bottle filled with pink liquid (lemonade and a bit of vodka, y/n’s choice of drink when she was painting, claiming it got her ‘creative juices flowing’).

He has to get her attention again the same way, because she’d managed to lose herself in what she was doing.

“You’re all done?” she asked him, once again plucking the earphone out with a yank.

“Yep, got more than enough.” James said, placing a black cap on the lens of his camera. “Can I ask you a few questions?” Y/n smirked a bit, thinking back to her school days when smartass teachers would respond with ‘i don’t know, can you?’ and she nearly did as well.

She didn’t though. She just said, “Go right ahead.”

“Well, first thing’s first,” he reached into his front pocket, and pulled out his phone. Who keeps their phone in their front pocket, she thought. “Name, age, and what you did for Rockstar’s cafe?”

“My name is y/n, I’m 21, and I was interior and, as you can see, exterior, designer as well for Rockstar Cafe.” She’s shifting awkwardly side to side, tugging at the ends of her large, orange Garfield shirt nervously. Flashes of her jean cut-offs peeked where her shirt lifted.

“Tell me a little bit about the process of creating the entire ‘astro-70’s’ vibe you got going on here are the shop.” James doesn’t look up at her, because he’s furiously typing away at his phone, noting down what y/n says.

“Well, that was really Lucy’s doing. She provided me with pictures of things she wanted, kinda like… uhm.. that aura? I guess you could say that she wanted the place to have. I worked side by side with her, to make this happen. This was her vision, I just helped it....” she struggled for a moment, to put her thoughts into words, “come to life.”

He looked up at her then, a small smile on his lips. “What’s your favorite thing about it so far?”

“I’d say, the way the menu is set up. An artist’s name, and the drink they’d get. Lucy did her reasearch, and found out like, I guess you could say, their ‘regulars’. So, what’s on the menus are what the artist actually would like.” Subconsciously, she points to the inside of the shop, referring to the menus.

“Last question, have you ever done anything like this before?”

Y/n stammered for a moment, then said, “No. I haven't.” She taps the tips of her shoes together, all paint splattered and scuffed. “Nothing at this level of big. I’ve always kinda, worked on crafts. In highschool I had a small business, where’d I’d sell personalized things. I think that’s why Lucy trusted me so much. Because I have a history of reaching to the stars when it comes to paper and pencil.”

“That was great. Thank you so much, y/n. It was interesting to hear about you, and the cafe.” James places his phone back in his front pocket, and hooks his thumbs onto the straps of his camera as if they were suspenders. “Is there a website or business card you’d like me to reference in the article, after your name and all that?”

“I don’t have anything like that actually. Just that I worked with Lucy, I guess you could say.” She puckers her lips at the end, shaking her head slightly.

“Okay, well then. I’ll leave you to it. It’s coming along amazing.” James nods politely. “Have a great rest of your day, y/n.” Then walks away.

“Bye, James.” She twiddles her fingers at him her way of saying goodbye. It doesn’t take her long to get sucked back into her work. In fact, as soon as she puts the earphones back in, she’s gone off the face of the earth, and doesn't notice when a green-eyed stranger stops to stare at her, right by the tree that she’d wrapped the caution tape around. The man pinched his lip as he watched, eyebrows furrowed with the same concentration y/n had for her work.

Except that he was watching her. The way her wrist flicked, how she tilted her face to look at what she was doing. How she stood like a flamingo, with her ankle pressed against her calf. The way she blew the wisps of hair off her mouth.

He watched her intently, wondering who she was and how did she get there and what her name was.

And then,

Brushing those thoughts out of his mind, he walked into the shop and didn’t look back.

“Y/N!!” Lucy yelled from the counter.

Y/n, covered head to toe in sparkly purple fabric, rushed out with a bit of hummus on toast in her mouth still.

It was Halloween, and Lucy had demanded they both dress up as part of the uniform at Rockstar that day. Y/n, had decided she would go as Selena Quintanilla, and had crafted herself a halter top-style romper with purple cloth she had bought at the fashion district earlier that week. She’s woken up early too, and gone to her mom’s house so she could do her hair, and make up (given she’d lived at the same time Selena had).

Lucy, ever the creative one, teased her blonde hair, spray painted it with a cheap can of green hair dye from the dollar store, and bought a pinstripe tux. TA-da! Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice.

“Y/n!” Lucy was hissing now, impatient and demanding. It was a busy day at Rockstar. Social media influencers had come out for photo-ops and the like. Also, Lucy had a deal going of buy one get another iced coffee half off, and a free cassette with the $20+ purchase.

“I’m coming, Luce! I’m coming, Jesus Christ,” y/n finished off chewing, tugged on the halter top to make sure nothing would pop out of place and washed her hands in the sink to help Lucy at the register.

After she finished, she took place along side the three baristas, Kelsey, Tilly, and Kim. Kelsey was a broke college student, Tilly an Asian girl who doubled as a pole dancer on certain nights (she wore a mask to make sure her identity stayed secret), and Kim was a 30- year old who lives in his parents house. Bit of a creep if you asked y/n.

“Y/n, you wanna take order 48 or 50?” Asked Tilly while rinsing a measuring cup.

“I’ll take 50 and start on 52.” Y/n responded, tying the apron straps behind her neck. She didn’t tell Tilly that she picked order 50 because she hated making espressos, and order 48 consisted of three espressos. Order 50 was only four iced coffees.

After she finished decorating Lucy’s coffee shop a month ago, Lucy didn’t offere y/n a job, but she was always around to help, and Lucy paid her for it. After class, y/n would stop by the shop, and that would lead to her working as a barista. Which she didn’t mind, the money helped and it gave her something to go. Otherwise, she’d be at home with her nose stuck in a regency novel and a buzzing feeling of want in her crotch at the cue of poetically beautiful yet smutty words.

“Order number 50!” She called out. She set the plastic cup on the pick-up counter and plucked a stray from the jars to place alongside the drink. Seconds later, the drink was picked up by a tall and tanned man with green eyes; nails painted black; rings adorning each finger; soft, pink lips and a scruffy jaw. Curly strands of brown hair peeked out of a green beanie.

He smiled at y/n. The way you smile at the cashier in the market. Polite. A bit disconnected in the eyes. He said, “Good morning, Selena. May I have a cup holder please?”

In a British accent made heavier by the morning gruffness in his voice. Scratchy, deep, manly. And incredibly sexy.

Of course, y/n took a moment to take in and drink the image presented before her, but after she felt her cheeks heat up like the fire underneath a witches feet, she cleared her throat and responded with, “You recognized who I was! Kudos to you, sir!” with a grin on her red lips. The man chuckled, and took the carton cup holder y/n gave him.

“Have a great rest of your day,” was the last thing he said before he walked away. Y/n stared after him, watching the way his thighs filled in the fitting yellow pants he where, and how his biceps looked deliciously muscular; bulging in a white tee.

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, Lucy!” Y/n skipped back to her post in front of the screen,and began reading off orders for Tilly, and Kim to make, and picked one for herself. Two iced coffees, one heated croissant. She was in the middle of measuring the milk when Lucy called her name again.

“Lucy, I’m doing it, okay?” Y/n responded, frazzled.

Lucy sucked on her teeth. “Y/n, come over here.” When y/n looked up, she saw that not only was Lucy looking at her, but a tall skinny blond with a sharp cut bob and a long white silk dress.

Confused, y/n dumped the milk into the mixing cup and handed the order over to Kelsy for her to finish. “Yes?”

“This is Karime, and she wants you to help her decorate her store.” Lucy held a palm out towards the woman. “Karime, this is y/n.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Karime said, and y/n had to restrain from cringing at her nasally, high-pitched voice. “I love what you’ve done with this place! My store could use some re-camping, and when I saw the article I just had to come and see if I could hire you.” Karime makes gestures with her manicured hands, and titles her head in ways that makes her hair shake like sheets in the wind.

“Oh! Um…”

“Why don’t you go ahead and talk with Karime, we’re all covered back here.” said Lucy, an extra-pleased tone in her voice; the voice she used with customers to keep them happy, y/n had recognized. Oh so now you don’t want me to work? y/n thought to herself, but gave the same smile the green-eyed stranger had given her, and walked out through the waist high swinging door to meet with Karime.

“So, I wanted to know if it was possible to hire you on a month to month basis. Ou could come in the first week of every month, decorate, redecorate, while I suggest and give you a picture of what I want, like you did for Lucy.” Karime had a bamboo handle purse, and they clacked together every time she moved her hands in ‘here’ or ‘there’ gestures.

They’re both standing at the start of the record shelves, and Y/n is awkwardly shifting her weight from foot to foot and fiddling with her hands. She’s sweating, too. This was huge. Big. Is this what networking was? Getting the word out? Expanding? If she said yes, it’s possible that it’d create a cycle. Someone else would come in, asking for help, to hire, to contract. It was a rush. She was giddy, excited. But most of all, nervous. One, because she’s a bit clumsy in the social aspect, and Two, because she had a standard to meet.

Despite all this, she said, “Of course, when do I start?”

Then, Karime had given y/n the address of her shop (a weird mix of aromatherapy, kale smoothies with books), and they decided on a day to meet up (the second day of every month starting November, two days from that day).

Karime left after that. She hadn’t bought anything. Lucy congratulated y/n, squealed over it even, and Lucy never squeals. Kim looked over at them when he heard Lucy, and tried to ask what all the fuss was about. Lucy demanded he go back to work, and y/n ignored him.

When closing time came, the girls did the bare minimum, and rushed out to pregame at Mike’s apartment. Like crazy teenagers, Lucy and y/n shared three bottles of a Stella Rosa bottle that had been on sale at the grocery store at the corner of Mike’s apartment complex. Inside, Mike was 2 beers in, and claimed he wouldn’t drink anymore since he was the DD.

“You guys go on and drink yourselves black.” he said, sitting on the couch with a water in his hand and Lucy in his lap. Mike, a slender punk rock kid who proved his mom wrong in the fact that his like for the color black is ‘not a phase’ is the sweetest guy y/n had ever met. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for Lucy, always doting on her, and if she asked, would rip out his heart and give it to her.

Y/n was jealous. She yearned for a relationship like theirs, and no matter how long she waited, how hard she tried, Prince Charming never showed. Instead, she was stuck with watching Mike and Lucy rub into her face what she wanted so badly.

Affection. Love. Companionship.

Cheers to that, y/n thought. Her bottle of Mango and whatever the heck the flavor was called, was nearly done and she could still walk in a straight line. The wine was juice in her hands. Child’s play. Water. It had no effect on her. Not until she was three bottles in. It took an entire bottle of Smirnoff vodka shots to get her going once. Only then could she completely let go.

“A lonely soul drowns in Stella Rosa, Mike.” Lucy, her hair sticking up like Einstein from the re-teasing she’d done in the bathroom. “There it stands, taking the shape of Selena. Poor, poor, Selena.” Lucy giggled. A teasing jab that made y/n pout, and y/n heart to clench because she knew Lucy was right. A lonely soul she was.

“That’s not very nice of you, Lucy.” Y/n pointed at her friend, bottle in her hand. “First you yell at me at work, now you make fun of my love life?” Shes joking, too, but there's a bit of truth to her words. Meaning, Intention.

“Drink up, lonely soul, and prepare for the battle that lies ahead: the making intercourse with an attendee of the club.”

“Blah,blah, and screw you.” grumbled y/n, finally, finishing the bottle with a final drink.

Not that y/n had anything against it, but fuck the club. She hated it. She only ever went because Lucy or Mike or whoever else begged her to go with them and promised something in return. (Lucy promised she wouldn’t ask her for help the following day). She hated the lights, how load it was, and how much she was being touched. Sweaty men and women alike, rubbing up on her in places where she didn’t want to be, it was too hot, and her toes always got stepped on.

“The usual for you, y/n?” Mike was yelling. His mouth was at her ear, but even then, only some of what he was saying made it into her ears. She simply nodded, and lifted up to fingers. Two gin and tonics. One part water, three parts gin.

Lucy and y/n had managed to snatch a tiny booth when they walked in, and this was the place y/n was planning to spend most of her night. Not out on the blue-lit dance floor, not standing at the bar. Sitting at the dark booth, glumly sipping at her two gin-n-tonics.

“You are not gonna sit here sippin’ glumly at your drinks, got that?” Luccy pulled at the lapels of her suit, popping her collar so the tips touched her jaw.

“Lucy, please.” Y/n’s bangs were deflated and her lipstick was smudged, at her friends comment, she sunk into her seat and pulled her head around.

“Let’s go.”

Lucy tugged her onto the dancefloor just as some song by Cardi B or Nicki Minaj (y/n couldn't tell anymore) blared through the speakers, and the bass beat thrummed in her chest. They stayed for a few minutes, and in those few minutes, y/n’s toes grew numb with how much they’d been stepped on, and her hair was beginning to stick at the back of her neck. Lucy’s black and white makeup was gleaming with her sweat, and her hair dropped with condensation.

It looked a bit funny really. Selene and Beetlejuice together on the dance floor. An odd pairing, but a parenting nonetheless. Lucy led her back to where Mike was when she got tired of dancing, and like an obedient puppy, y/n trailed behind her. When Lucy ordered y/n to chug her drink, she did it.

She couldn’t say not. Not to Lucy. Not to Karime. Not to James.

She couldn’t say no.

And because she couldn’t say no, y/n woke up the next morning and couldn't remember a thing. She had a Katy Perry Last Friday Night moment. Sadly, there was no really hot guy next to her on her bed, and thankfully, she hasn’t wearing headgear.

What woke her, was the pain behind her eyelids that started when the light hit her. With a groan, she hid in the crease of her elbow while she scraped her thoughts together. Y/n was still in her Selena get up. She itched, smelled, and had a headache that hurt like...well, it hurts so much that she didn’t even know what to compare it to. She felt on her nightstand, and there it was. Bless his heart.

Mike had left her a glass of something cold, and two pills. She didn’t know for sure because she didn’t have the energy to peek and see, but the class was probably pedialyte. The hangover cure. The pills were Tylenol. They had to be, because he knew ibuprofen doesn’t do shit for her.

“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” y/n mumbled. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the dry roof of her mouth, and when she swallowed, there was a dangerous taste of gin to her spit. Pressing her fingertips to her aching temples, she curses Lucy for making her go out last night, and Mike for letting y/n chug alcohol.

Unfortunately, she makes the stupid mistake of rising quickly from her potition on the bed to ‘get it over with’ and not even a full second goes by when she feels her stomach contents worming up her throat. She had to clamp her lips together and rush to the bathroom with her blanket wrapped around her ankles so she doesn’t barf all over her floor.

She doesn’t make it in time, and she spilled her gut on the toilet seat, before she’s made it so that her head is positioned right over the toilet bowl. She heaves and heaves until her chest hurts from the muscle contractions and her throat burns from the amount of acidity her bile holds. Tears drop from the corner of her eyes to where her thumbs grasp the seat because it fucking hurts and she’s gotten throw up in her hair.

The pain in her chest seems to have gone deeper, and wrapped its sharp talons into her heart. Her tears become purposeful; there’s a reason behind them not. She wishes there was someone there to hold her hair. To rub her back and tell her it was all going to be okay. To bring her the glass of pedialyte of her bedside table and coax her to drink it because she’d forgotten it.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, y/n gets up and flushes the toilet, wiping down the toilet seat with paper from the roll. The blanket, still curled around her ankles, she picks up and hoists it over her shoulders. She gurgles water from the sink before heading out, avoiding making eye-contact with the horrendous image in her mirror.

Pedialyte goes down like the gin did last night, and she throws in the pills when she drinks, simultaneously pulling the strings so her blings flip downwards and cut off the light coming in from the outside. Quickly, she strips from the itchy Selena ensemble, and slips on a red t-shirt with the Kool-Aid man’s face on it over her head. Y/n has learned that its worse to go to bed and not eat, so she doesn't get back into bed, even though she really wants to and instead throws the blanket on top of her scattered pillows, and turns to make breakfast in her impossibly tiny kitchen.

She lives in a little lofty space in the downtown area. The cheapest of all her options, and the best kept compared to the rest. The windows were blackened around the edges, and her air conditioner didn’t work, but hey, at least she had a roof over her head that she didn’t have to share with her parents. And she liked the window wall, too, and how the windows propped open on hinges. The way her brick walls looked during golden hour. It was very pretty. Relaxing.

Slowly but surely, she’s built herself a little home that she feels comfortable in. In her tiny little space, her favorite thing was her radio. An absolute steal at the thrift store: a really old radio with big knobs and the red line that moved left and right when you tried to pick a station. She went to it now, and turned it on at a soft volume. The song that always feels like it's about a one winged dove by Fleetwood Mac came on, and she hums it softly while she turns on the stove. It click, click, clicks on when the gas catches flames, and she pours oil into a pan to crack an egg over it. The white edges sizzle, and bits of oil jump up and splash onto her skin. It happens so much it doesnt hurt her; she doesn't even flinch. When the egg begins to turn golden, she turns down the knob, and goes back to her fridge in search of an avocado. Call her a trend follower, but she’d be damned if egg and avocado didn’t hit the spot. Plus, she makes an ace toast.

Surprisingly, the smell of egg (her dad likes to say eggs smell like ass) doesn’t upset her stomach, no. Actually, her stomach grumbled when she smelled it, and the ache that had begun to spread across the lower region of her abdomen made her hurry to cut open the avocado, and pop in a slice of sourdough bread into the toaster. She fore-went mayo that time, instead just wanted to get something into her burning stomach because she was so hungry. Her eyes blearily while she does all this.

By the time she’d spread her avocado and egg of the long slices of bread, the radio was playing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun By Cindy Lauper and y/n is doing a little happy dance on her way to her wicker table by the window, next to the bookshelf resting against her wall. Before she sat down, she reached for a novel on the shelf, and set it alongside her plate on the table.

Biting into her toast, she opened the book.

Dani’s cheeks blushed a wine-pink color. She looked away.

“You confuse me so,” she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear.

“How?” He grazed her jaw with gentle fingers, enough to turn her so she’s looking at him.

“You say that what we have, this spectacle we put on, is simple only to convince the people you will be a good king, but them you look at me… like that.”

“Like what? Like I want to kiss you?” he whispered, smiling faintly. “Because I do.”

She seemed not to know what to say, and resolutely, she turned so she sat facing forward between his spread thighs, back to him.

He realized then, that her shyness had caught up with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and set his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m no expert in etiquette, Your Highness, but I’m sure this is high;y improper.” She sait, stiffly and primly while he cuddled her.

“Proper? They call me Rafe the Rake. I’d say, my little peach, that we passed proper a long time ago.”

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled.

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.”

He chuckled at her response. “It’s a hellions name. It suits you well, all right. You can call me Rafe, if you like.”

“I do not wish to call you Rafe.” “No?”

“It’s a scoundrel’s name. I wish to call you Rafael. Like the angel.”

“An optimist, aren’t you?” Rafael began combing his fingers through her hair, sifting through the silking

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

She sank back into his chest with a sigh. “That feels wonderful.”

“I should probably warn you,” he leans forward so that his lips are pressed against the shell of her ear. “I’m rather gifted with my hands.” She tensed again when he leaned down and nibbled on the skin of her neck, but Rafael left her melt in his arms when he continued his sensual massage on her shoulders. “Are you uneasy with this?” He paused to take her hands into his own, feeling as if he were young again with the first girl he had taken a liking towards.

“No,” she said quietly.

“Good.” With fingers still threaded through hers, he drew her hands back, and pinned her arms ever so gently behind her for a moment, gazing down her neckline at her creamy chest. Her breasts her small, but awfully perky and firm. He wondered if he could fit the entirety of one in his mouth. He bet that she’d like it if he did.

Y/n paused for a moment, and clenched her thighs together. A buzzing feeling was starting to form on her clit, and she felt the space where her thighs touch grow warm. The Kool-aid man’s eye popped with hoe erect her nipples were. She was aroused. And she knew that the feeling would only grow more intense the longer she read, which she planned on doing. So, she picked up her plate, placed it in the sink, and took her and her book into her dark room.

Her novel, Our Sign of the Times by Lemus Knox was tatted and bent this way and that from all the times she’s cracked the pages open for a steamy read. A painting of a bodacious woman and handsome prince posing in front of a castle adorned the front cover (one of the main reasons why she bought it). The was was strong, with raven hair and a strong jaw that portured strongly as he kissed the brunette woman in a lilly gown that he held in his arms. The castle was cottage like, with ivy covered walls and stone hedges; complete with a moat and bridge wrapping around the area. The author, Lemus Knox, painted the image himself, as he say so in the acknowledgements. No one knows who he is, how old he is, where he lives, or anything else about him really. A pseudonym, he says. A way to keep his life private life and still do what he loves to do: write.Y/n stumbled upon his book two years ago, in the best sellers section at Barnes and Nobles, and has been slowly falling in love with him and his characters ever since.

When she settled back into her blankets, y/n opened her book, and placed a single hand on her tummy, over the Kool-aid man’s mouth.

“It’s getting dark,” she said rather breathlessly, “don’t you think it’s time we head back?”

“I like being on the water at night. You can’t see. You can only hear the wares and you have to feel,” he teasingly brushed his fingers over the tops of her breasts, “your way back to shore. Feel your way through the dark.” He whispered into her ear,one of his hands splaying on her stomach and pushing back up, up, up to her breasts. “A man has to know exactly what he’s doing.”

She arched against him with a soft catch in her breath as he finally cupped her small breast in his large hands; her generous nipples turned hard underneath his circling thumbs.

“Rafael,” she moaned breathlessly, arms wrapped against his neck as she pushed her swollen mounds against his roaming hands. “We can’t. We’re not married yet.”

“Oh, my sweet love.” Rafael’s hands slid back down against her belly and began stroking her thighs. “I don’t plan on deflowering you yet. I simply wish to learn what it is you like.”

“But… I do not know what I like.” Her words were gasps of dreamy pleasure.

“Then I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Knowingly, y/n’s hand began to follow the same path that Rafael’s had. Thumbs circling against swollen nipples, fingertips teasing the insides of her thighs.

Her head was cushioned against his chest, and she turned her fact to him, seeking his mouth in innocent yearning. He lowered his head, and parted her lips with long strokes of his tongue into her sweet mouth, savoring the way she tasted. She reached up, and caressed his cheek as they kissed in slow, soulful agony.

While she ran her fingers through his unbound hair, Rafael deftly inched her skirts upward over her exquisite legs. His heart pounded as she let his hands roam under the gathered layers of silk gown and muslin petticoat. He groaned into her lips when his fingers came to the edge of her white stockings, and found tenderly warm skin. His groin flooded with heat and his body turned rock hard in an instant. Unwilling to push her beyond what she was currently willing to give him, Rafael fought to keep his needs in check.

Having been with many of the calculating damsels of the court, he knew that Dani was unlike them. She was soft, fragile, small, so precious in his arms. And while she may think herself independent, Rafael wanted nothing more than to hold her close and protect her, as much as he wanted to give her glimpses of what was in store for the night of their wedding.

Under her dress, he took his time exploring, kneading, caressing her belly, her hips, all the while devouring her mouth. Behind closed eyelids, he smiled to himself when she began to writhe and twist in his hold, virginal madness getting the best of her.

“Rafael, Rafael,” her voice grew drunk with urgent need.

When he stroked her at her ore, he was more than pleased to find she was soaked with silky wetness, throbbing under his fingertips with pure female invitation.

“Dani,” he mumbled against her earlobe, as her took her skirts with his empty hands and raised them higher and higher. “Would you like to watch?”

“NO! I couldn’t.” Her chest heaved. “Don’t make me.”

“Watch me touch you.” he murmured as his fingertips began to circle. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my darling. I only want to fulfill your desires. Watch me pleasure you. Look at how beautiful you are , your sweet body. My wild, virgin love.”

“Oh , Rafael!” she turned and kissed him ardently. A burning moisture inexplicably rose behind his eyelids, and quickly fled as their kiss ended.

He kissed the curve of her neck, moved by his shy uncertainty as she lowered her heat to watch as he touched her, panting slightly. She was so ready, he thought in pure agony as his hardness chafed against her back through their clothes. It would have been easy to take her then and there, on the warm glossy planks of the deck, but her repeatedly shoved that temptation aside, vowing to prove his respect for her by making their wedding night her first time.

Y/n, too, was panting as she continued to read, her vision growing blurry with pleasure and need.

His thumb deftly teased her jeweled center, while his middle finger gently stroked inside her tight, fluid heat ,and as he kissed her ear and the back of her neck.

Y/n threw the book aside, letting her own hands take the pace it needed to to bring her to her high. HEr slender fingers deftly pumped in and out of her slick hole, the hand that was holding her book now rubbing fast circles against her swollen button. Wet mewls left her swollen lips, and her chest arched to meet hands that weren't there. The feeling of clenching in her abdomen and a squirming need something increased.

She left herself clenching on nothing, pinching her pert nipples with damp fingers as she rubbed faster and harder circles onto her mound.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” she gasped under her breath, a long groan escaping her as she felt it instenifsy; anticipation of water nearly spilling. It hit her like a splash of cold water, her head thrown back against her pillows with her mouth open; a scream and no sound. Her body felt electrifies, her veins fueled by fire.

And when it died out,

She fell back like a ragdoll, limp and tired onto her sheets. Y/n was all droopy eyelids and noodle limbs after her orgasm.

She fell back asleep with sticking fingers on top of her red Kool-Aid man t-shirt.

“... you know what I mean?”

“So… you don’t want a beach theme?” y/n asked. Karime, dressed in another silk dress, but this time in floral red pattern, was having a very hard time identifying the theme she wanted for her Aromatherapy cafe/library.

“No, but I just want like, beach-y vibes. Airy? Ooopen. Yes, open.”

“So plants,” Y/n jotted bulleted notes into her planner, in a blank section under ‘Karime’. “White and green color scheme. Open, clear room.”

The two are standing at Karime’s shop, three streets away from Rockstar; an alarmingly vast space with plain walls and counters. Y/n has a lot of blank canvas to work with, and much to improvise because Karime wasn’t being exact with her vision. She hadn’t even set up a moodboard like she said she was because ‘an LA girl has a wild life you know, hun?’

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know.

“Okay now, what’s your budget?” she asked, her tone businesslike but full of warmth and interest.

“Um, how much do you think you’ll need?” Karime wasn’t looking at her, no, she was picking at her cuticles, and pushing them back with her thumbs; her nails had grown and blank space separated the polish from her skin. Karime was across y/n, behind the quick-serve counter where smokey machines and masks where all lined up; one for each stool.

“Plants are expensive. If you want big and already grown plants, they’re expensive- ranging from $20 to, I don't know… maybe $80?” Y/n taps her pen on her chin. “Furniture, and other wall decor I can craft and thrift, so that right there is maybe $200? $400 tops.”

“Okay.” Karime said, shrugging her shoulders with a crescent moon smile on her pink lips, “I’ll write you a check for $3,000 to start. I don’t want anything from second-hand like Goodwill or anything like that. I’ll give you addresses to pre-selected antique stores and the likes. Now, you mentioned something about measurements?”

“Yes! Thanks for reminding me,” she’d forgotten all about that, and it truly is a key process in the decor department. “Do you happen to have a measuring tape?”

“Actually, yes. There’s one in the back, I’ll go get it.” Karime pushed herself off the granite table top, and turned on her heel to walk through a golden confetti curtain, leaving y/n seated at the counter.

For a moment. She fiddled with the tubes coming from the humidifying machine in front of her, an opaque purple bowl with two tubes sticking out from opposite sides that connect to facemasks that cover your mouth. They’re cool to the touch, but warm when her fingers linger. A humming sound emits from the machine when she accidentally presses the start button, and she pushes it again in a panicked state to make it stop. She decides it’s best if she stops messing around with expensive machinery, and instead turns to looking at the small amount of people that are in the shop.

There’s no one really up and about at 10 in the morning on a Sunday. The few that were, came with laptops to do work in the library section of the shop, with coffees on their tables, or some kind of breakfast, which had to be from somewhere else because Karime didn’t have a menu for food. Just drinks.

One of these really risers, a man who hunched over a sticker covered Mac, looked strangely familiar. Y/n was staring at his choice of clothing (a worn down Brittney Spears shirt with jeans and rolled at the ankles and pristine white vans) when he turned to look at her. It was then, looking onto his dazzling green eyes and watching his taffy pink lips curl into a smile and a hand coming up in a small wave, did y/n recognize that it was the stranger that recognized her Halloween costume a few days ago.

Cheeks heating with clear embarrassment, y/n raised her own hand and timidly twiddles her fingers. She mouthed hello and tried to keep from cringing when he raised a finger to rub under his nose to hide the way his lips twitch upwards. His nose scrunches and wiggles, and his eyes wrinkle at the corner, a cheeky gleam in his look.

“Y/n!” Karime, reappearing, held a ruler in her hand. A ruler. “This is the best we’ve got, babe.”

Her head snaps from the familiar stranger to Karime, who smiled as if she’d just solved all their problems when she’d really just created more because measuring with a ruler? Seriously. Y/n curses at herself for forgetting to bring her own measuring tape.

She has no other option than to nod, smile, and take the ruler, and start taking measurements.

Like the hand-over-hand motions of steering a car, y/n has to place the ruler, mark where it ends with her nail, and repeat the process again and again.

The walls, the patio, window space, countertops, tables, and the one she’s dreading to do: the dimensions of the room the stranger is sitting in. Karime’s place was split in two and a half. A small outdoor patio, the man space with tables and machines, and the library lounging space. The library lounge space, a doorway cut into a small cozy room to the left when you walk in.

She’d yet to go in there and measure the walls and bookshelves, putting in on to last in hopes that he’d leave because measuring with a ruler is really embarrassing and it’s possible that she’d be shuffling around him.

God.

Getting a grip, she pulled her shoulders back and walked into the room, counting how many steps it took to walk through the door frame. She felt like fingers trapped in a Chinese finger trap, constricted.

Walking into the room, the stranger didn’t look up, instead he looked even more immersed in his work than ever. Eyebrows furrowed and fingers tapping away on his keyboard. He was even leaning into his computer screen, like he couldn’t get whatever it was he needed to type onto the screen fast enough.

Sure enough, staring at him, lost in whatever it was he was typing, y/n stumbled on her own two feet, and an absurd noise escapes her lips when she tried to catch herself.

She doesn’t turn to see if he’s looked at her (he did, with a grin that showed off his bunny-like teeth) and instead hangs her head and makes her way to the opposite wall. Great way to be inconspicuous, she thought to herself.

The wall opposite the stranger, was tall, like the others were. And even though she was sure that it was most likely the same dimensions, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Pulling up a chair so she could stand on it once her arm couldn't reach anymore; huffing because Karime had those really heavy metal chairs that screeched if you didn’t pick them off the floor. Seven feet later, y/n had to step up on the chair, wobbling on her legs while she hiked up, pressing harder on the wooden ruler to make sure it’s place didn’t move.

Her nail pins into the wall, at the end of the ruler, before using her other hand to move up the start of the ruler where her nail left off. When the ruler reached her hip, y/n stumbled leaned forward and effectively knocked out her balance so she was left flailing, falling, fa-

Not falling.

No, not falling, because two hands grip her hips, and pull her back on the chair to make sure she doesn't fall flat on her face. Her eyes are pinched un closed anticipation, waiting for the smashing of knees against the cold, hard floors but it never comes.

“Gotcha!” says a deep british voice. A warm gust of minty wind flutters in y/n’s nose, and when she opens her eyes. Glittering green eyes, wispy strands of hair, and petal pink lips.

Right. In front. Of her face.

“Selena, you’ve really got to be more careful,” he says, chuckling as his speaks so his words are broken with sounds of laughter. He’s even lifting her up from her leaned position off of the chair, and settling her down on the floor, biceps tightening and a humming noise coming from his throat as he does so.

She’s flabbergasted. Doesn’t know what to say because she doesn’t think she’d ever been picked up before. Its ridiculous really, seconds away from eating shit on hard ass surface and all she can think about is how she was picked up. But jeez, who could blame her, the man was hot.

All sharp jawline, clavicles peeking out of his shirt, and the column of his throat such a nice pretty color. Quite handsome, really.

“Shit,” y/n finally manages to get out, her eyes wide, shoulders tense, and instinctively, her fingers are digging into his shoulders (though she’s not aware of it yet).

“You alright?” The man says, when he notices the way she’s gone rigid. He doesn’t say anything about the way her fingers are gripping at him.

“Uhm, yes. I am now. Thank you…” Y/n’s voice comes out in breathy spurts, and her forehead glistens like she’s just run to catch the bus. That’s when she noticed where her fingers were placed; the way the white cloth dipped in from the amount of pressure she was exerting onto his skin. Cheeks turning a darker pink, she cleared her throat and avoided looking at him when she removed her hands.

“Harry” He mumbled. “My name’s Harry. Yours? Not quite sure if it’s Selena or not…”

“HA!” A loud exclamation, a bit too loud that it was awkward. “No. Not Selena. Y/n.” She looked into his eyes them, raising her chin the last inch to move from Brittney Spears face to his eyes. Eyes the color of light streaming through a tree leaves in a forest on a spring forest. Y/n sucks in a breath.

“Well, wonderful to meet you, y/n.” He leans towards her, a ringed finger pointing jeeringly at the stick still in her hands. “I gotta say, measuring with a ruler?”

“Very efficient. As you can see,” She shakes the hand the ruler is in, and then uses the ruler to point at the seemingly innocent metal chair “You should try it sometime.”

“Only if you catch me.” Harry grabs his own wrists behind his back, his shoulders hunching forwards and head shaking side to side a bit as his speaks.

It takes a moment for her to drink in what he’s said, to fully react with a scoff and a smile. “Catch you? I’ll hold you up on my shoulder’s myself.”

“Then we’ll both end up sprawled on the floor, all roughed up and bruised.”

They both laugh at their jokes, and Harry even goes as far as to clap his jean clad knee. When it gets quiet, their laughs dying down, Harry speaks again.

“Saw you in the paper. Helped decorate Rockstar didn’t you?”

Y/n’s jaw drops. Her lips opening and closing like a fish eating crumbs at the water’s surface. “The paper? What paper?” This was news to her. She was aware that the article James would write would be like, online or something. But a physical paper. That’s a little bigger. And him having remembered. Having identified her.

“The local paper. WeHoVille.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, one side of his lips pulling up in a confused manner. “Was picking up a sleepy time tea and honey at the Wholefoods, and you painting was a feature next to the counter. Didn’t show your face, but I walked past that day and remembered.”

“The paper… wow. I didn’t know. But yes,”Y/n twirls the ruler on in circles with her fingers, putting all her weight on one hip so on of her feet could tap loosely on the floor. “I decorated Rockstar.” After a beat, “What’d you think about it?”

“The place is amazin’!” A strand of Harry’s hair flops down to the space between his eyebrows and eyelashes, tickling his skin. He had to brush his fingers through his hair to comb it back. “Love the feel of it. Gotta stop myself from going in everyday or might blow all my money on Stevie’s usual.”

“That’s my favorite too! Next time you’re there, give me a wave down and I’ll have you covered.” Y/n’s offers had Harry’s eyebrows raised in seconds. “Least I could do, given you saved me from a concussion and all that.” She tried to explain, words coming out in a flurry from her mouth.

He chuckles at her flustered stare, the same repressed smirk that he’d given her when he caught her staring. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” Silence and then, “What do you plan on doing with the place?”

“Turn it into a greenhouse,” y/n said bluntly. The two were still standing next to the wall y/n was measuring, and Harry leaned one of his shoulders against it, moving his hands from behind his back to his front, wrapping one around the other one’s wrist.

“That’ll be nice. Even more uh, how do you say, therapeutic? I guess more relaxing than the place already is. Karime said plants?” He asked. It didn’t quite settle with y/n that he knew Karime on a first name basis, that he was interested in knowing she picked plants, and she wanted so badly to say: Karime doesn’t know what she wants, but instead pushes that feeling away and goes with,

“Well, she gave me a scope to work with. A color scheme. A gist. Certain decorations she wanted to see. So on and so on. Plants is just what I took from it. And it goes with her place because it has to deal with aromatherapy and all that. What do you think?”

“I think you’ve hit it right on. Can’t wait to see what it’ll look like.” He raps a knuckle on the wall. “Did you still need wall measurements? I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again.”

Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

“Up you get, then.” Harry pointed to the chair, and y/n raises her leg to hike up, this time with Harry’s hands placed on her hips, steadying her.

A tiny dash on the wall where her nail slid off marks where she was at when she nearly fell off the metal chair, and this is where she places the ruler. She left off at 7 feet, the ruler at her hip. Resuming the same positions, she starts to wobble again, and Harry's hands tight, holding her straight.

She guesses he hears her gasp when she feels herself wobble because he says “I’ve gotcha.”

Y/n moved the ruler up one, two, and three more times, and then her arm can’t stretch anymore and pinches one eye closed to cry and guess how many more feet are left. She guessed four… ish. On a whim, she tries to push the ruler up once more, and her shirt rides up on the left side of her hips. Warm sequential breaths hit her skin, and a shiver drops down her spine when she realizes what’s happened.

Harry, ever the gentleman, doesn’t waste a second, and slides his pointer and middle finger over her skin, his warm fingers splaying over goosebumps to pinch her shirt and pull it down for her.

“All done,” she squeaks. “Coming back down.”

Harry released her, but offers her a hand and she takes it, holding on to his as she comes down, his palms warm and rings cool; a nice contrast.

“Thank you so much for h-”

“Y/n?”

Booth Harry and y/n tun to the doorway that leads to the main room, where Karime stands with a checkbook in her hands. Y/n turns back to look at Harry. The curls behind his ears, the blonde hairs on his top lip. He turns to look at her, and gives her a closed lip smile. She smiles back and twiddles her fingers, mouthing a bye bye.

Karime walks away when she sees that y/n is following her, and takes them both back to their position on the counter.

“Here’s the check. Two thousand dollars. Deposit it into your account, and use it for gas, furniture, anything that has to do with Aromareads you can pull from this.” She opens the book and tears out the slip of paper. “I will need receipts. And your name?”

Karime glances up at y/n, only to see that she’s busy looking back through the door frame at Harry. The manager is slightly irked at the fact that the person she’s hiring to reshape her business isn’t paying attention, but following her line of gaze, Karimer can’t blame her. Harry, a usual in her store, is a very very handsome man. Towering, with broad back and a neck Karime would love to bite into if she wasn’t gay. He sat at his laptop, thighs spread and eyes hard and stern, pondering with a pout. Karime is sure that what caught my/n’s attention is the way Harry’s thighs and crotch looked at that very moment, enticing, strong, sensual.

Clearing her throat, “Y/n. I need a full name to address the check.”

Y/n’s neck snaps towards Karime, her hair getting caught on her lips at her velocity. “Uh- yes, sorry it’ll be Y/n Y/l/n.”

Karime repeated her name, and asked for her to spell it, which she did while stuttering mildy.

“Here you go.” Clicking her pen against the marble countertop, Karime handed the check to y/n. “Listen, by no means do I wanna pressure you, but if you could get this down before the holidays are in full force, I would love that.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take me that long.”

And it definitely didn’t.

On Monday, y/n spent the entire day (and part of her night) driving to most of the places Karime had sent her through a text. She spent a few minutes googling the places and looking through the pictures that came up and cursing every time it would redirect her to yelp- because really who has yelp? The antique stores were all spread out in the Los Angeles area.

There was one in Long Beach. The pictures showed a really big warehouse with chair lying on top of each other and tables littered with little statues and the likes. Here she bought baskets. Tons of them. Gus (the owner) has dedicated an entire isle to them. When he saw y/n’s cart, the laughed then asked her “Why dolly, whadda ya need all them baskets for?” And when she told him it was for business, he offered her coupons and package deals.

“Tell ya what,” he scratched the scruff on his chin, the only hair he had because he was bald, “You buy all these baskets,” he pointed to her cart, “I’ll give you a twenty pa’cent discount on ya purchase, and if ya want, you can pick anathin’ ya want from over there because no one wants tuh buy them.” Then he pointed to a pile of books that lay haphazardly next to a stove and a turquoise refrigerator. She paid one hundred and fifty.

She walked out with wicker baskets, one being a picnic basket she snatched for herself, lined nicely with red patterned cloth and a lid for it to close, and that same picnic basket full of regency novels from the 90’s.

There was another in Laguna. A beachside thrift shop, where she paid for (very overpriced) frames of painted lighthouses and beach landscapes for that ‘beach’ factor Karime wanted. By this time, she drove back towards Hollywood to drop the items back at Aromareads because her car was getting full. She didn’t go inside, just unloaded the tings in the back and Karime took them inside. If she had, she would’ve seen Harry.

Y/n then took to the shops in the downtown area. One being, a swapmeet type place where you walked through and looked at all the furniture. They set up different sections for different themes. Victorian, regal, animal skin themed, and a hall full of mirrors. Y/n bought a large 8x8 mirror for five hundred dollars. It would be delivered the following day.

One of the sections was retro-themed, and she snapped a picture of a hip-height lava lamp and sent it to Lucy. Lucy then proceded to beg y/n through to text to please buy that I fucking need it. Will pay u back. So she bought it; $100 that she knew would be no big deal for Lucy given all the business she had.

Her final stop, were the flowers and plants district. There, she placed a large order for 30 succulents, and an assortment of nearly 100 leafy plants to fill the baskets with. She blew $1,000 there.

By the end of the day, she’d wasted nearly all of Karime’s check; a measly two hundred remaining after she refilled her car with gas (give or take some). Y/n met with Karime at around 6, in the back parking lot again, and left everything she’d bought.

“Oh! And the mirror should be delivered tomorrow before closing time.”

Karime was wearing a caramel turtle neck and black slacks tucked into latex ankle boots, her hair pinned back and tied into a spiky ponytail. Her ears were adorned with pearl earrings, and her fingers were jammed into golden rings. Y/n felt embarrassed in her measly purple jumper and paint splattered mom jeans. Her accessories consisted of a fanny pack full of nails and a hammer at her waist.

“Good, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” Karime was already turning back and returning into the shop when Y/n said:

“Actually I was hoping I could start now.” Her words lifted into a question at the end, half suggesting half stating.

Karime’s face morphed into one of confusion and surprise, but in the end she agreed, and told y/n to do as she pleased.

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented.

She walks into a frenzy of… nothing. It’s like an industrial kitchen, but completely empty. Occupied only by the things she had brought in. She remembers that she walked into the back and not the front, and it made sense because Karime doesn’t offer anything that would require use of the kitchen. Everything she has is done at the bar by the barista outside.

Karime leaves y/n in the back, where she asses her items. The baskets. The frames. And well, that’s really all there is. It would be more with all the plants coming in. She realizes that she doesn’t really have much to work with and there really isn’t much to do than hang picture frames, and there’s only five of them.

Nonetheless, she goes outside with the first frame in hand. A soft blue painting of a lighthouse on an island with light from a hole in a cloudy sky shining on the building. When she picked this one up, she knew exactly where it would go. By the wall next to the sliding door that lead to the patio. She sauntered over to the spot then, dodging a woman on her boyfriend on her way there. It was packed, and rightfully (it was a tuesday).

She reached the spot, and lifted the picture on the wall, lifting and tilting so it would fit naturally. Eventually, she found the sweet spot, and reached for the hammer she had stuck into her belt loop and the box of nails she’d placed into the fanny pack on her waist.

Without hesitation, she put the first nail on the wall, and started banging. Three taps in, and she hung the wire on the nail, balancing it so it looked the way she envisioned it. After she was done, y/n stepped back to admire her handiwork, and tilted her head to the side the way one does when their looking at a picture that’s upside down.

Perfect.

She walked around the shop then, with the purpose of noticing empty spots on the walls, anything that could be filled up with artistry. The simple tables? No they had to stay that way. Placing something on the tables would clutter them and tarnish the ‘relax’ mode people came in for. The window that faced the street? Yes. Y/n planned on lining them with hanging droopy plants on the edges, not obscuring but not leaving a clear view either. She’d have to buy shelves to place baskets on the walls. Hooks to hang them. This she would do with what was left from the check.

Yet… something was missing. The alternative-ness she knew should be there. Something ‘hippie’ and ‘aesthetic’, off the minimalist side of things.

Looking into a corner where the walls met, a light bulb went off. She knew exactly what was missing. Letters. Y/n had seen an image on Pinterest not even less than a month ago. A picture of a string of letters. Or rather, a message. It said something along the lines of ‘You are my light’ or something edgy like that. Each word had been hand cut and strung onto a piece of- she didn’t know, string? Tweed? A wire?- and hung in a corner of a room where walls met. It knocked off every box on the checklist. Minimalist. Crafty. Aesthetic. And cheap, considering how low the money was.

She knew she’d have to brainstorm phrases and pass them by Karime, but she’d worry about that later.

It was Friday. One day after the plants had been delivered, and y/n was set to work full force. Sure, she’d have to work amongst customers, but no matter. It would get done.

She started in the back. With the plants.

Y/n had bought a plastic-type lining at the Home Depot to place soil in the baskets. She lined then all first, securing the material with tape around the edges. After, came the transfer and placement. She decided this would be a better method, and if there were extras she could have Karime sell them. This way, she wouldn’t overcrowd the place and stop when she saw an adequate fill of green.

The first, a circular basket with no handle the color of a waffle cone. Because it was one that would go on a shelf, she placed one of the droopiest plants in it, a green stream of vines and shrubby leaves.

Last night, y/n had given Karime the benefit of the doubt, and allowed her to place shelves where she’d liked them So, before she opened at 7, Karime had decorated her store with wooden slabs for y/n to decorate. Taking the first plant, she walked out.

As expected, Aromareads was bustling with energy. Women with mojitos in their hands, burnt out college kids hooked up to masks, older men and women laughing like tinkling bells.

She’s walking towards the first row of shelves she sees on the wall across from her, besides the sliding doors, basket held gingerly with both hands, when she hears:

“Y/n!”

Looking to her left, she sees a sleepy, just-rolled-out-of-bed looking Harry. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the words ‘Treat people with kindness’ in a gradient rainbow color, and… and grey sweatpants. Grey. Sweatpants.

Grey sweatpants.

Y/n tries not to visibly swallow him whole as he walks towards her with an innocent smile on his face because god if she isn’t all hot and bothered right now. Her eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to his crotch, trying but failing to grasp and image of what may be lying underneath.

“H-hey, Harry,” she smiles at him meekly, her voice cracking when she speaks. She cleared her throat and said again, “hey, Harry. S’nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too.” He bows his head towards her, and endearing mannerism that has y/n’s heart pooling down to her ribcage. “I see you’ve brought out the green guns today.” A teasing grin on his extra red and shiny lips. Perhaps it was chapstick. It was rather windy outside.

“You see correctly.” She giggles at his joke, at the same time, rolling her eyes at how cheesy he was being. “Today’s the day it all comes together.”

“I’m excited to see how it all turns out. Don’t go falling on any chairs today alright?” He wags his finger at her, mocking a mother shunning her child.

“I’ll try not to. But if I do-” she said, coquettishly.

“I’ll catch you.”

“You better.” Laughing at him, she repeats his actions and lifts her finger up to point at him.

With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Harry walks away and into the working room.

Y/n watches him walk off, and walks off her own way as well, resting the basket against her hip as she went. When she reached the wall with shelves arranged in a checkered pattern, she placed the basket on top of the wooden plank, and tufted leaves so they look naturally messily placed. Unintentionally intentional; they way one teases their hair so it looks nice.

She went back to her work station: the now full kitchen, and repeated the process. Picked a basket, filled it with a plant, and took it outside. She left the hooks for last, wanting to leave of being in the way of people until she had too. Almost effortlessly, y/n filled Karime’s space with greenery. Cacti on shelves, large leaves and vines on walls, frames of beach paintings on nails. Once, she pricked her finger because her it had accidentally slipped inside the glass globe in which the succulent was in.

When the time finally came to walk into the room Harry was in, the outside was looking rather… forest-y. She liked the way it looked; a calm type of chaos. One that showed relaxation and no care for anything. Which was the point of the entire place. Come in. Relax. Breathe in from diffusers to get that extra push to decompress.

Harry sat in his usual spot, directly in spot of the doorway, in one of the middle tables. Hunched over his computer with fingers flying over his keyboard. He had earphones in this time, white buds tucked right into his ears, stray strands of hair looping and covering them. His lips were placed in a puckered pout, the scrunched pink skin twitching from left to right.

Humming to herself, y/n forces herself to walk past him, forces herself to not turn back and glance at Harry even if she can feel his gaze burning into her back. She makes it seem like the hook and plant in her hand are the most interesting things in the world. Turning it over in her fingers, and even going as far as to lift the basket (this on with a handle and curved bowl bottom) to her nose and smell it.

“Need a hand with that?” Harry says from behind her. She feels his presence from behind her, standing close enough that she can feel when he reaches to her front and takes the basket from her hands. Y/n’s heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Closing her eyes to get a hold of herself, all she sees is green. Green, the color of his eyes.

“Yes, please.” Her voice is small, shy.

Harry, feeling bold, nudged the tip of his nose on the hair behind her ear. Enough to make her notice, but not enough to make her completely sure that it was there. “Where do you want it?” He says, breath hot on the shell of her ears. Her eyes widen, and her body goes on full alert. She’s suddenly aware of the closeness of his hips on hers, the brushing of the fabric on her the back of her hand.

“Up…” Y/n steps forward, towards the wall. She places her finger on the smooth surface, and traces it over to where she wants it, doing loopty-loops to her desired spot. “...here.”

He places the nail on the wall, hits it with the hammer that y/n gives him and hooks the basket as well. He turns to her when he’s done.

“Got any more?” He asks, placing a hand on his hip.

“Yeah, in the back. Wanna come help me?” Y/n points with a thumb to the doorway, half of her body turning as well.

“Lead the way.”

So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

“S’very nice back here.”

“Wanna grab a few baskets? Place ‘em in the lounge?”

“Sure thing.” Harry wraps his hand around the handle of three baskets at the same time, and with the other, he grabs the still-packaged hooks and wait for y/n by the doorway. She hurried to grab two succulents, and met Harry at the doorway. They had an awkward moment of deciding who’s going first. A huffle of backwards and forwards until eventually, Harry held his palm out to allow her to go through while biting his lip. Y/n ducked her head and felt the tips of her ears go warm.

“So, I tried Elton John yesterday.” He said, trailing behind y/n into the lounge like a little puppy. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

“Oh? How was it?” She replied, juggling the two glass casings in her hand, and then pricking herself again. She flinches, but doesn’t make any noises.

“Think I might have a new favorite,” he said, bashfully ducking his own head and peeking at her through his hair. Her heart fluttered, and if it could, she was sure it would bust out with the dreamy sighs she suppressed.

“It’s that serious?” She asked.

“It’s that serious.” They reach the lounge, and y/n sets the succulents she carries in her hands down on a table. “Have you had it yet?” Her stretches her hands out to Harry, signaling for him to give her his items.

“No, not yet. Should probably give it a try if its changed your mind. Can you pass me a hook?” Harry gives her all four packages he holds in his one hand. When she wraps her hand around them, her finger brushes against the chubby part of his hand.

“Here you go- I only drank it ‘coz like, I’m on this diet thing and needed a drink with oat milk in it. Elton’s was the first one I saw. Woke me right up, too.”

“Diet you say?” y/n took the hammer and walked over to her desired stop, a few feet away from the one Harry had put in.

“Some altered version of keto. Had a really bad bug, had me feeling icky and ‘just decided it was the best.” He takes place next to her, watching as she positioned the nail and hit it a few times with the hammer. He held out a basket on his finger when she was done. She was a whirlwind, he thought. Busy little bee, never stopping. Harry nearly feels bad because she’s so full of energy, bouncing back from the table to the wall and arranging plants before he could even blink. “S’not fair. Not letting me do any work.” A pout appears on his lips, eyes teasing.

“You just stand there and look pretty. I’ve-” she points to herself, finger at her chin. “Got this.”

Harry grumbles something that she doesn’t catch with his chin tucked into his neck.

“What was that?’ she hums.

“‘Said, can’t exactly be pretty ‘coz you took that job too.”

Y/n’s hands still. Immediately, she feels her chest grow red roses blooming on her cheeks. She’s not exactly… embarrassed, per say. No. The familiar feeling of ants running wildly in her lower stomach began to burn, her ribcage tickling as butterflies try to creep out with beating wings. Pretty. He had called her pretty.

“Uhm, thank you?”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” His tone of voice is smug. And when she looks over at him with eyebrows raised, he’s biting his lip and his looking at her through his eyelashes like he had before, but there was no childish play in it this time.

“Say,” she picks up a succulent. “What’s it with you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugs.

“Lovin’ all up on me.” She puts the succulent back down.

“S’nothing wrong with lovin’ all up on a pretty girl.”

There it is again. Pretty girl. Y/n is on fire her entire face pink, color concentrated on her cheeks and nose as if she had taken a walk in the brisk wind.

“Stop it,” she said.

Harry’s face turns concerned, brows kissing and lines appearing on his forehead. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” All work is forgotten, and instead they stand facing each other.

“No! No, no,” Y/n’s eyes widen and her hands waving back and forth to eradicate the thought of her being disturbed by him. “S’just,” she sighs. “Not used to it, is all.”

Upon hearing this, Harry’s face breaks into a smile. “Well then,” he starts. “Better get used to it.”

“Oh, you.” She playfully slaps his shoulder and picks up the succulent again, this time actually going to put it on a shelf adjacent to the window; a little alcove Karime has placed in a weird spot.

“When do you get a break?”

“I think I get to take it whenever I want, why?” “Wanna head down to Rockstar? Craving a Madonna right about now.”

“Never pegged you as a Madonna guy,” (the Madonna was a sweet caramel iced coffee with whipped cream and chocolate chips; not actually what Madonna would drink, and the beverage itself being one of the few inaccurate ones). “Let me finish with this, and I’ll let Karime know.”

So she did, much faster with Harry’s help. He handed her nails, hooks, and the plants she asked for. He asked if he could leave his stuff in the back, and he followed her back there once again, ticking his bag into an empty cupboard next to y/n’s things. On her way out, she said a quick goodbye to Karime who she was sure didn’t even hear what she said.

Harry and her walked the short block side by side, with him playfully knocking his shoulder into hers and smiling like a mushy schoolboy when she pushed him back. They made small talk about drinks and the weather, shoulders hunched up and chins tucked in because it was a little cold. Y/n’s frayed highschool sweater wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and she had half the wind to pull her hood up the way Harry had his.

Looking over at his, his nose was going a bit raw. Pink and the skin around it a little pale. By the time he noticed she was looking at him, they’d reached Rockstar, and he was opening the door for her. Murmuring a small thank you she walked through, and stepped to the side to wait for him to step inn as well, given he’d held the door open for the few people that had been walking behind him as well. From inside, she could see him nodding and smiling at everyone who stepped in.

“You wanna grab a table and I’ll get the drinks?” she says to him when he appears next to her with hands in his hoodie pocket; she’s craning her neck to meet his eyes.

“Sure. I’ll be in the records?” He takes one hand out to point over to where the records are.

“Okay.” Y/n nods and head to the counter, where Lucy is busy taking someone’s order. She only see y/n when she walks behind the person and makes a silly face at her. Lucy laughs, but continues taking the order, and y/n pushes through the doors to put on an apron and make her and Harry’s drink.

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

“Y/n! Girly its been forever,” Kelsey bumps her hip when y/n get to work alongside her at the steaming machine.

“Yes, yes, I know. Missed my favorite baristas.” she giggles, bumping her hip a little harder and making Kelsey gasp in faint shock. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Called in sick. Poor think could barely speak.” replied Kelsey. Y/n hummed a response, and made her drink first, a hot chocolate, and set it to the side to allow it to cool down meanwhile she made Harry’s. When Kelsey noticed her reaching for another measuring cup after just making her own she says,

“Two drinks?”

“Got a friend waiting for me in the records.” Y/n explained, pumping an extra pump of caramel into the cup. She puts in less ice too, and extra chocolate chips and whipped cream.

“The records…” Kelsey craned her neck out of where customers pick of their drinks to peek tp the records section. “Wait, wait, the one in the hood?” “Yep,” said y/n, unbothered as she capped Harry’s drink.

“Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!”

“Yes, Kelsey, I am aware.” Y/n rolls her eyes and picked up both drinks, turning on her heels to walk out but nearly bumps into Kim, who stood not even an inch away from her. She backs up instantly.

“So are you and he a thing?” He asked, leaning in closer to y/n’s face,his breath smelling on the ramen he always ate during his lunch break.

Y/n, uncomfortable by his closeness, tried walking around him but he stepped to the side. “It’s none of your business Kim.”

“You never accept my dates, but you’ll accept his?” Kim’s tone is angry, and when he takes a step towards her, Kelsey steps in front of her.

“Kim, leave her alone.” Kelsey says, turning back to y/n and nodding her head in the direction y/n was heading. When she pushes past the swinging doors, she catches a bits of what Kelsey says to him in a harsh whisper, “just wait until Lucy hears about this.”

“Haarryy,” Y/n says in a sing-song voice, dodging people as she makes her way to the records. Harry’s standing with a record in his hand, legs spread apart and leaning back a bit with his other hand tucked into his opposite armpit. “Here’s your John.”

Harry takes the plastic cup from her, giggling as he looks at her.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“Still wearing your apron,” Harry wraps his lips around the straw, tongue poking out to lap at it and take it into his mouth as y/n tries really hard not to stare.

Looking down at herself, y/n shrugs, and leaves it on, taking a seat on the nearest loveseat and wrapping her now empty hand around the warm cup.

“What did you get?” He asked her.

“Willy wonka.” She brings the cup to her lips, tilting it up slowly and her mouth waters when she catches the scent of the foaming chocolate. Harry takes a seat next to her, his thigh touching her jean-clad one. He sits with them spread, leaning back in an eased position, and y/n eyes jump down to the bunched grey fabric at his crotch. And… well, there’s a larger than normal bulge through the fabric, drawstrings bending over the imprint, and y/n chokes on her drink. Some of it sputters out onto her apron.

“Still hot?” She nods. “ Gotta be careful, love. Who picked the names?”

Y/n looks over at him, head tilting to the side with eyes squinting. “Picked what?”

The cloudy skylight streamed in softly, casting a soft grey glow on Harry’s side profile. “The names for the drinks. Who picked them?” He holds his drink in one hand, straw near his face so all he had to do was maneuver his wrist to the plastic tube was in his mouth.

“Lucy did. Well, for most of them. I picked Andre 3000, Madonna, Willy Wonka and made the drinks myself. They’re not accurate though.” She sipped from her drink. “The rest of them are.”

“How much of this decor did you do? Like, concepts and stuff.” Harry takes out the tucked hand to wave around, and then tucks it back in.

“Concepts? Hmm…” she trails off for a moment. “All of them. I don’t want to say that I made this place myself, because I wouldn’t have done it without Lucy’s guidelines, but I went out, bought the furniture. Everything you see me doing at Karime's, I did here… ‘cept Karime’s is just plants and this,” she waves around her in a gesture and leaves it at that.

“Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

“W-what?” Y/n, in the middle of a sip, and very surprised at his question, stuttered at his

“‘Coz mine’s looking kinda bland right now, was thinking maybe you could help me put some life into it.”

“Harry, I-”

“Kinda like the Rockstar vibes, but like, a little less on the trendy side? I dunn-” Harry isn’t looking at her, his eyes wandering and landing on everything but her.

“Harry.” she said a little more sternly, putting a stop to his little rant. He looked at her then, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure you want me to help you decorate your home.”

“Why not? You’d be helping me is all, and I love the way you’ve made Aromatherapy and Rockstar look.” He licks his lips, moving his head to the side and bringing the straw into his mouth with his tongue (that y/n stare at for longer than necessary).

“But it’s your home.”

“I am aware. Help me make it more me.” He shifts his body towards her then, his knee bending so he chest is to her. “Please?” He makes the face Puss in Boots made in that one movie, y/n couldn’t remember then because Harry looked much cuter than that dumb cat did.

Y/n tosses this idea around in her head. Helping Harry decorate his home. She was scared, not only because Harry was cute, but because home was a personal and private space to be calm and safe. What if she screwed it all up and then Harry was uncomfortable in his own home? What is she did such a shit job that, that- well such a bad job that a horrible result came out of it again. This thing with Harry, a budding friendship? She barely knew the guy, just that he had an affinity for showering her with compliments and he made her turn more red than that really bad sunburn she got in the 10th grade after she refused to put on sunblock on a trip to a pool resort. What her point was, is that decorating someone’s home- a place where the heart is pure- is a really big job.

“Of course, this would be after you’re done with Karime’s place. Don’t wanna stress you out or anything like that.” A nike shoe, white and crisp looking like it had come straight out of the box, pressed into his thigh when he wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled his bent leg in tighter. “Whadda ya say?”

After hemming and hawing a few times, y/n finally says, “Okay. But you’re gonna have to be one million times more specific okay?” She elbows him, his position causing her elbow to poke at his pec instead of his bicep, and y/n elbows into hard muscle.

“Heyyy, can’t go hurting the girls now,” He rubs over where he poked her, and pouts childishly, even going as far as sticking his tongue out at her. “Do you need to head back? I don’t wanna get you into any trouble, y/n.” The use of her name makes her heart skip a beat. “Yes, we should probably get going.” She moves to get up, and accidentally places her hand on Harry’s thigh. Before she would say sorry for touching him, he says,

“Alway using me to hold yourself, huh? Sneaky thing, I see what you’re doin.”

“You offered! Said it yourself, I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again,” she deepened her voice, and faked a british lilt as best she could.

“I do not sound like that,” He whined.

He got up right after her, grabbing her hand to ‘pull’ himself back up, but he was really just holding it. His hand was cooler than hers (because he’d used the hand that had been holding his iced coffee) and enormous around hers. If he tried, he could close his finger tips and they’d be overlapping. When he was fully stood up, he reached around her neck, and lifted the black strap over her head, transfering the cloth over to the hand that held his cup, and then reaching again, this time around her waist to undo the knot. His front, not even a full step away from hers, and y/n got a whiff of detergent and something else she could only describe as ‘clean man’. If she were a shark, this would’ve been the moment her eyes turned black and rolled to the back of her head.

“There you go, no longer look like a little barista.” He hung the apron over he shoulder, and walked alongside her to the exit. Y/n split from him for a short second to return the apron, but then resumed her place next to him and they walked out together. She was hyper alert the entire way, taking notice of when their hands brushed, or when he pressed his bicep against hers. They walked a little stumbly, walking against each other almost. Had it been Lucy, she would’ve already yelled at y/n, and y/n would’ve walked near the sidewalk to avoid bumping into her again. But Harry?

Harry takes it like a champ. Giggling and pressing back against her, and he even placed her on the inside of the sidewalk when she walked to the side closest to the passing cars.

“So, tell me.” He starts, tossing his empty cup at a recycling bin as they waited for the light. “What kind of premeditated preparations should I take to be- as you said- extra specific?”

Y/n still nurtures her cup in her hands, the coffee lid resting on her bottom lip. “Moodboards. Magazine scraps. Room inspiration on pinterest. Make a list of things you like. Anything really. Anything that you like and would like to see in your apartment. Also, you need a budget.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout a budget. I’ll work on everything else. You want it done by a certain day?” He asked, gallantly placing a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street.

“Preferably within the next week or two. I’m pretty much done with Karime.” She straightens up when she feels Harry’s hand on her, a warm feeling spreading from where he pressed, unlike the nastiness Kim made her feel.

They’re three shops down when he said, “Gotta give me your number so I can send you everything then. You can keep me updated and I’ll keep you updated.” They pass by a tree whose branch is just low enough to graze Harry’s head, and it hooks onto the hood on his head, effectively pulling it back as he walks through. His hair looks incredibly soft. Wispy strands the color of the drink in her hands, billowing up and around his face, a ringlet falling in front of his right eye.

He licks his lips, using his fingers to push his hair back and raise the hoodie over his hair again. HE looks over at her as he does, waiting for her response.

“Oh, oh, yes. Sure thing. Got your phone on you?” Harry jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the latest model, sleek and looking incredibly small in his hands. He placed it into her outstretched palm, unlocked but not on the contact app. Y/n has to swipe through shamefully, scared he’s gonna think that she’s snooping. She puts her number under ‘y/n :)’.

“Thanks, love.” He took the phone from her, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. He hisses when he does so, saying, “Y/n your hands are so cold,” and then proceeds to take her hand and squeeze it between his own two.

She giggles sweetly, “Aye! Trynna hold my hand now?” she teased.

“No, trying to hold your hand would be this,” He grabs her hand with one, and lets it wall between them. They walk into AromaReads like that, with him holding her hand and the both of them laughing like they’d heard the funniest thing in the world.

Karime, standing at the counter and welcoming everyone as they come in, catches y/n’s eye and she smiles at herself knowingly. Y/n shakes her head while still laughing with Harry, and they both head to the back. Harry to get his stuff, and y/n to continue her job. Just when he’s walking between the isle and cabinets, his phone dings and he takes it out, his jaw dropping and palm slapping his forehead.

“SHIT! I completely forgot. I have a lunch meeting with my friend today. Fuck,” Y/n, this being the first time she hears swear words coming out of his mouth, rases her eybrow at him and chuckles. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep helping you, but-”

She raises her hand, silencing him. “You do what you have to do. This is my job anyway. Just don’t forget to text me.” Basket handles fill her hands, wicker patterns pressing into her pals, and she tucks one of the last two frames under her hand too.

“I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He types into the phone that’s still in his hand, and a few seconds later Y/n’s back pocket buzzes and chimes. She doesn’t pull it out to check. “Now you can text me if I forget.” He says finally, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“Bye, sweetheart!” He called out, turning back over to smile at her. Y/n’s lips pulled up at the corners, gazing at him with a certain look in her eye as he walked out.

“Sweetheart, huh?” Karime stepped into her direct line of vision, snapping y/n out of the daydream in her head where she’s the housewife and Harry her husband leaving to work, calling out bye, sweetheart! as he walked out the door.

Karime’s looking at her with a smirk and a single pointy eyebrow raise.

God, what had she gotten herself into?

Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

And received a text from him that same night.

She’d been in her bathtub with cucumbers on her eyes when she heard her phone chime. Chin pointed upwards and wrists perched on the edges of her porcelain basin, she lay unbothered and unmotivated to even move. Arms aching and the soles of her feet tired from walking from place to place and lifting she did at Karime’s earlier that day. Tealight candles were the only source of light in the tiny bathroom, a soft yellow glow cascading on the skin of her neck. The valley of her breast peaked out everytime she took a breath, her mind drifting off into thoughts of green eyes and warm hands, all she’d been able to think about that day.

She planned on staying there 30 more minutes, but her phone dinged again. After she thought it was the two minute thing the phone does after receiving a message, but when it dinged again, she huffed from her nose and removed the soggy cucumber sliced off of her eyes. Should’ve turned off my phone, she thought to herself, grabbing the towel she left on the toilet seat across from the tub, and wrapping it around her torso. The phone screen a blaring white light in contrast to the dimness of the candles.

Y/n, eyes cloudy with sleep and limbs saggy with fatigue, is very much surprised to see that next to the app icon on the display screen, is ‘H.’ Hey eyes pop out of her head at the realization, and her heart shakes up the fatigue to beat up a storm for the boy she’d been thinking about all day since he’d left her.

Standing in her bathroom, on bare tiles with water still dripping on her, it hit her full force. She liked Harry. Liked the way his cheek squished against his shoulder when he shrugged. They way he looked at her through his eyelashes, and they way he made sure that she was walking on the inside of the street. Liked how he smiled at her and said her name. She was obsessed with him.

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s

What do you think :D ??

And attached were varying pictures of vast rooms with big windows during golden hour and white flowy curtains with art pieces on the wall. It was minimal Even more minimal that what Karime asked for. This is what he wanted help with? Not to mention, the pictures he sent were of rooms far bigger than she’d ever seen for an LA apartment. Hell, those rooms might as well have been in Italy, one of the windows had a view of a pretty pink sunset and orange tree branches littering the way.

However, she couldn’t argue that they were very pretty rooms. Sweet and plain, easy for the eye to absorb and just the place you’d be able to melt on the floor with a book.

Or the kind in which you have slow, hazy afternoon sex, but who was she to say what harry would use his rooms for right?

Disclaimer: if this is the look you’re going for

This exact look? You’re gonna have 2 have a really big apartment

Not even a full minute goes by until the grey delivered letters turns into ‘Read at 10:15pm’ and the grey typing bubble appears at the bottom of her screen. Her palms begin to sweat and her breath hitches. She doesn’t realize she’s been holding in her breath until she releases it after his message comes through.

are you doing anything this weekend?

Y/n is confused, brows furrowed as she reads his message. Why does he want to know?

No. why? she responded.

so you can come and take measurements of my apartments. that way i know how to tweak what i want

and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

Y/n rolled her eyes and giggled at her phone screen, turning and resting her bum on the edge of her sink.

Saturday?

Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

The idiot. Of course he’d sign off a text message. Scoffing, y/n let the towel drop to the floor, and reached into the tub to unclog the drain. As soon as she felt the pop of water flowing down the pipes, she took out her arm and walked out.

On Wednesday, y/n laid in bed until 12. When she got up, it was only to brush her teeth, pee, and eat ramen with rice and egg like the asian lady in the liquor store had taught her to make. When she finished, she went back to bed. Maybe she masturbated to get herself to fall asleep again.

Maybe.

On Thursday, she went took Our Sign Of The Times and took it out to read in her car on signal hill. She finished it.

She cried.

When she went home, she started another one. Rogue Lover. This one with a really pretty purple flower on the front, and the first page when you open it is a raven haired man with shoulder length hair who’s propped up next to a busty redhead. Her nipple is in his mouth, and her head is thrown back in pleasure. Y/n fell a little more in love with

Lemus Knox upon finding the dedication was a note rather than a name.

It said:

Whoever reads this, I’ll be waiting for you where the stars and clouds meet. My heart is yours. Lemus.

Friday.

She helped Lucy at Rockstar. A bald man with a blue beard came in asking for her. He has a boutique in Long Beach. Doesn’t want to come off overbearing. Will he help her?

She said yes.They were set to meet next week.

Also, Harry texted her asking if they were still on for tomorrow and come ready to eat because I made Italian food for a few friends I had over and there’s leftovers.

Saturday.

Y/n woke up with an appetite for Italian food. She didn’t have to be at Harry’s house until 12-ish. They hadn’t really clarified. And with it being 8 am and all that, y/n decided to take some time to shower and prep herself all nice and delicate. She spent 15 minutes lathering herself in her tub, letting her skin absorb berry scented bubbles that made her mouth water, and if she didn’t know any better she’d scoop up the bubbles and eat them.When her skin shriveled, she stood and drained the water, letting the stream from the overhead wash her off, and stepped out onto her heart shaped mat, the kind with little stubs that felt really nice against the bottom of her feet.

A little while back, she’d bought a lemon face scrub from a really expensive skincare place that had a sale, and meanwhile she put on her clothes, she put some on her cheekbones and forehead to sit for 15 minutes. It required extra care when slipping her floral dress over her head. Once she managed to poke her head through, and the material rested all bunched up on her neck, the rest was a breeze. With a careful yank, the light material cascaded down her body, dropping just below her bum. Checking herself in her mirror, she smiled at the way she looked when she swayed her hips side to side. Cheeky flashes of her bum glint at her teasingly. Humming contently, she took off to wash off her face in the restroom. She was eager to find out how Harry liked the way she looked; her dress a low neckline, and she wasn’t wearing a bra because it was one of those dress in which the fabric bunched at the breasts to create a makeshift cup. The patter was a nice pink that looked nice against her skin, dainty little bows at the sleeves and in between her breasts accentuating her features.

Y/n opted for nothing other than a dark shade of lipstick, and let her hair flow down her back. As she was putting on her shoes, a pair of those recycled shoes that sent some of the proceeds to charity, she noticed that much of what she was doing felt like what she would have done if she were getting ready for a date.

And… and Harry had food waiting for her at his place (apartment? Loft? She didn’t know specifically). Was this a date? She definitely wouldn't mind if it was.

She finished, and grabbed nothing other than her keys and shoulder bag, hesitating at her door whether she should grab the measuring tape, but deciding against it after remembering that Harry, quite teasingly, had said he had one at his house.

In her car, she scrolled up her and Harry’s text to find the one which contained his address, tapped on it when she found it, and set in on the small mount on the headboard of her cart. Huffing, she set off to Harry’s house.

It didn’t take her long to get there, about ten minutes, and she parked in front of a much nicer version of her own apartment complex, but in Beverly hills. A beige building that have the similar structure of a hotel, with turquoise patios and green roofing. Palm trees making a walkway to the entrance, which guarded by a security guard who asked who she was there to see.

“I’m here to see Harry…” she falters, realizing she doesn’t know his name.

The security, an old man with a limp and scrutinizing eyes, looked her up and down and said, “Ya one of dem girls das always botherin’ him ain’tcha? I suggest you turn back and go home. Mr. Styles won’t see you.”

Y/n, with her jaw dropped, stood stunned in the middle of the pathway, not sure what to respond. Surely, he was confused. And whichever “girls that came around bothering Mr. Styles” she wasn’t one of them.

“Go on and git,” he said, crossing his arms and standing possessively in front of a keypad.

She hurried to reach into her bag for her phone, walking back to her car while she punched Harry’s “call” because she didn’t want to stand while an agitated security man watched her.

He picks up the phone, and doesn’t even give her a chance to talk before he says, “is Felix giving you a hard time?” His voice gravelly and knowing.

“The security guard? He said that you won’t see me.” She whines into the receiver.

“Ah yes, the strict old man. Gimme a second.” He hangs up on her, leaving y/n clutching the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turn white.

“Ms. Y/n?!” Felix calls from behind her. She turns around, surprised to see that his face was completely transformed with a smile. His front tooth is gold and he’s missing a molar. “You can go on ahead, dolly. Mr. Styles just called and said you was a nice ‘un.” He said, punching a thumb into the keypad behind him. “Sorry, bout that Miss. Enjoy the rest ‘ur dey!” He touches the tips of his fore and middle finger to his gleaming forehead and salutes her as she passes him, giggling and blushing.

“Thank you, Felix. You too.”

She walks through, and is greeted with a fine lobby. It really does look like a hotel lobby. Carpeted floors, a receptionist, and a door leading to a pool just outside the elevator. Before she can even wonder where to go, she hears her name being called by a familiar voice,

“Y/n, over here!” Harry calls out, standing in front of open doors to the elevator to her right. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck and black slacks that are cuffed at the ankles. Yellow tortoise shell glasses and his hair is parted down the middle making him look like MiloThatch. A lavender towelette is in the grasp of his right hand, and he’s waving it at her like soldier girlfriends saying goodbye on the platforms.

Stunned at his etherealness, y/n felt the roof of her mouth go dry. Staring at the way he filled out his clothing, she walked to him hypnotized, transfixed by his appearance. His chiseled features, boyish grin. She gravitated towards him. Enchanted.

“H-hi, Harry.” she said dreamily. Harry’s eyes raked her up and down when she came to a stop in front of him.

“Why, hello. You look exceptionally lovely right now, darling.” He rasped, looking down at her sternly, all traces of a sweet smile gone and replaced by something a little more serious. A little more sinister. His light green eyes turning a darker shade, y/n’s lips parting and knees weakening.

She musters the words to say, “so do you,” and Harry’s lips turn up at the corners.

“Shall we head up. Pasta and salad is waiting for you.” He turns away from her and presses the circular button that goes red when he pushes it.

“How was-”

“So, you-”

They both say at the same time, laughing and stopping to let the other speak and Harry says, “You go first.”

“I see you’ve a few fans that bother you, and Mr. Felix has taken to guarding them off,” y/n commented. Her eyebrow quirked at him.

Harry laughs, a single loud ha! “Felix just takes his job very seriously. That’s all.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have women-” the elevator rings and the doors open, “lined up on your doorstep.” Harry steps in first, and uses his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing in on y/n.

She steps through, and they both stand side by side in the metal encasing. Glancing up, she sees the ceiling is covered in mirror panels.

“Well,” Harry shifts his body so his front is facing her, and takes a step, shoulders taking turns on tilting forward with every slow, torturous step he takes. “Does it,” Y/n takes a step back, breath hitching in her chest, “ bother,” her back collides with the cool wall, the floors on the meter above the doors keep going, 5, 6, “ you?”

He’s a needle away from her nose, his mouth ghosting over her own and his chest rising up and down slowly while hers is an erratic mess. She’s breathing out of her mouth, her eyes shifting between his own two that are fixed and straight on hers. 7, 8, Harry’s hand comes to rest on the right side of her face, caging her between the elevator wall and his bicep, his palm cupped her jaw and running a thumb tenderly over her cheekbone.

“I-I,” she stutters.

“Cat got your tongue, petal?” His breath smells like mint and coffee. The tips of the curls that hang in front of his eyes tickle y/n’s forehead and down the side of her temple and eventually her cheek when he leans in to put his lips at her ear. “Look so pretty right now, y'know?” HIs british drawl is heavy because his tone of voice is low.

8, 9, “Harry,” she gasped, involuntarily tilting her head to the side when he noses at the back of her ear. “What are you doing?”

The elevator comes to a stop at 10, and Harry retracts, leaving her a red, heated mess and slightly panting. He takes the few steps to stand in front of the elevator doors, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled at her sweetly, his demeanor innocent as if we weren't just going to ravish her in an elevator like Robet Patterson for that one Dior commercial.

The doors open to a long hallway that turns sharply at the end to the right, a door where it would’ve turned on the left side. The right wall is a window that looks out onto the middle of the building, where y/n could see the pool that had been behind door. The flooring is a green colored tile, the same as the roofing, and the walls are a flattering soft yellow bordering on white.

Harry’s shoes, expensive looking-black heeled boots that have a rainbow pattern on the, making clacking noises against the floor with every step he takes. Y/n can’t help but feel awkward while walking alongside him, but Harry, humming along to the tune of Maneater, by Hall and Oates, doesn’t seem to share her opinions. At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn to left, and she bumps into him. Mumbling a sorry she steps back to allow him to open the door.

It’s not locked, and with a quick turn of the brass knob, the door opens and the smell of tomato and basil hits them both in the face.

Y/n’s stomach grumbles, and she places her hand over her bell and looks over at Harry with wide eyes, embarrassed.

“I take it you’re hungry?” He steps through, holding the door open for her.

“...yes…” she mumbled, stepping through.

“Just in time then because I…” Whatever Harry says is drowned out. Y/n is amazed. Harry doesn’t have an apartment. He has a goddamn penthouse suite. His living room wall is a window, his kitchen open and blending in with the rest of the space. There are no walls, just turns where the building walls connect. Tall and wide walls painted with angles of shadows and lights that stream in. No furniture other than a long, wooden dinner table and three white chairs, and his bed. A mattress and a white comforter messily strewn over pillows. Before the walls turn to the streetside view, Y/n catches glimpses of cedar wood bookshelves arranged in the middle of the room; just like in a library.

“Y/n?” Harry appears in her line of peripheral vision, a knowing look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?”

“Said, do you want spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine?”

“Mmm,” She scrunches her face like she’s thinking real hard, “fettuccine.” Then she adds, “please.”

“You got it.” He said, walking away while playing with the collar of his turtleneck. Y/n follows after him, to the kitchen isle and utilities placed in a little alcove underneath the stairs that lead upstairs. To what, y/n didn’t know.

Then she sees the pots and pans that are still steaming, the cutting boards with chopped lettuce and other vegetables and realizes that-

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

“I did.” He picks up the knife next to the tomato, and continues chopping the lettuce. “But I left it out, and it went bad. I promised you Italian so I made it myself instead. Much better than Olive Garden, anyways.” He shrugs, looking up at her and pointing with the knife to a chair across from him. “Sit.”

“NO!” She said, exasperated. “Let me chop something, too.”

“Darling, this is finished. I’ve got it. Sit, the fettuccine is almost finished. Just,” he twists his neck to look behind him, at the clock above the stove, a cat with a swinging tail. “Five more minutes.”

Y/n slides the bag she carried off her shoulder and hooks it in the back of the chair he had told her to sit on, which she still wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not fair.” she stomped her foot, a flat slapping noise of her sole against his wooden floors.

“Oh sit, or I won’t give you any food.” He tuts his tongue at her, shaking his knife and turning to turn down one of the knobs on the stove.

Pouting like a child, y/n sits down with a plop and a screech of the chair sliding against the floor.

She sat and watched Harry as he took plates out of his cupboards and placed food on them. The only noises being the quiet bubbling of pasta sauce, the tapping of his heels, clinks of plates against each other, and y/n’s grumbling stomach. Her face was still puckered in a pout because Harry hadn’t let her help him, but it slowly eased off as she focused more and more on the way he looked in his fitting black pants. The way the fabric was tighter on his ass, how his thighs flexed with each stride. Suddenly, y/n got the urge to bite into them, and she felt herself blush at her own thoughts, especially when Harry turned to her with a sweet smile of his lips.

He placed a plate in front of her, complete with salad and garlic knots.

“Would you like some wine? Got this really nice one the other day and I haven’t opened it yet. Figured since we’re having Italian, it fits.” Harry was holding a dark wine bottle in his hand, that he had just pulled out of his silver fridge.

“Harry, I would love some, but-” Y/n tried to explain that she felt bad because she came here for take out and had cooked her a meal.

“NO buts. Have some.” And instantly, there was a cup of red wine next to her plate.

Even though he had a table for eating, he placed his own plate next to her, and sat down to eat. Y/n looked at him, deflated and with a pained look on her face, while he forked spaghetti into his mouth and raised his glass for a drink.

He froze when he saw she was looking at him. Looking her up and down, he said, “Moppet, eat your food. We have work to do.”

Y/n rubbed her palm down her face, her lips pulled down. With a groan, she picked up her fork, sulking, and twirled it in her pasta.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but definitely not the mini piece of heaven that was in her mouth. Harry had managed to create the perfect blend of cheese and cream that glazed her tongue like silk. It was so good, she moaned, her fingers pressing against her mouth and head tilted back.

“S’good,? Harry questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh.

“Very,” she said, shoving more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Good.”

They eat quietly, Harry snickering at her whenever inhumane noises of pleasure left her mouth.Y/n practically cleaned her plate with the garlic knots. She only remembered about the glass of wine when Harry set his down empty, lips stained, and eyes droopy if she looked at him hard enough. After she’d cleaned her plate, she reached for the thin stem of the g;ass and drank it like it was grape juice, only slightly wincing after it had gone down, the tart acidity washing down the sweeter tones of cream.

“Slow down, Moppet. Don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” Harry said, patting her hand tenderly and pushing himself off the seat to place her plate in the sink. At this, y/n jumped from her chair and took the plates from Harry.

“You cooked, not I wash the dishes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the tip red from the wine.

“But-” Harry protested.

“No buts. Go,” she bumped her hip against his, and walked the last few steps to the sink, picking up the sponge and turning on the water. She washed the dishes, and like always, got the front of her dress wet, water splattering onto her chest. Sucking on her teeth, y/n used the towel hanging on the handle of the oven to pat off the water. Harry watched this from where he leaned against the isle across from the stove; a new glass of wine half empty.

Returning to the table, she grabbed her now full- no thanks to Harry- glass of wine and sipped from it. It settled nicely in her stomach, warming down the path it took to settle.

Clasping her hands, she said, “Okay, Harry. Let’s talk decor.”

Harry untucked his hand from underneath his armpit, and smacked his lips together, “Follow me.”

He started walking out to the living room area, and into the bookshelves y/n had seen. Up close, they were actually taller than her, just about Harry’s height. He walked past them, and stopped again at a corner where one building face meets the other. Here, he had pictures upon pictures laid out on the floor. He even had scraps of fabric.

Y/n stared, and nodded approvingly. “You did your research. Good job.” Looking closer, she saw what the images were. Albums (David Bowie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Beatles, Prince). Pop culture pieces (Andy Narwhal, Pulp Fiction, Sixteen Candles). Fabric patterns, colors, and a lot of velvet. About half of the pictures were shots of other room like the pictures he’d shown her.

To her left, Harry tapped onto his phone, and seconds later, that song he’d been humming in the hallway, Maneater, played with clarity on speakers hidden from the eye. When he was satisfied with his queue choices, he knee and sat next to his big circle of inspiration, legs splayed out in front of him looking infinitely long. Y/n noticed he had taken off his boots, and his feet, knobby and lanky, had toes painted blue and pink. He had black markings on his big toe, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Look, sit sit, I was thinking…” Harry began, patting the area next to him and grabbing a few of the papers he had spewed on the floor. Y/n, inexplicably endeared, sat with her legs crossed to the side next to him, feeling her butt press onto the cold floor, and listened to him go on and on about his vision.

Hours passed with them just talking about images, why Fleetwood Mac would go better than Prince (because Fleetwood Mac is more of an afternoon in the meadows, and Prince is a night going down the highway in Malibu) and fabric choices for the windows (i’m sorry Harry, y/n had argued, but unless you can find a near translucent velvet its not gonna work. If you want the summer in italy during the 70’s look, you need transparent curtains).

They sat long enough that the way the light filtered in at an angle according to the sun, changed completely (it was at a harsh slant with the morning light, now its at a soft bend with golden light). When the light made Harry’s face look a golden pink, he fell back onto the wooden floors with a groan and said,

“How do you do this, y/n?” He blew hair out of his lips to move the few strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

A midst the mess, she guesses they missed it. Underneath a picture of a fruit bowl and flowers, was a picture of a naked woman, with birds eye view from the bot of her head, so you could see the tips of her breasts with they way she arched her back, and the head of hair in between her thighs. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes closed and a hand fisting her own hair like she was doing to the man in between her thighs.

Her cheeks burn upon her discovery, and she feels a familiar buzz in the place where the woman in the picture had a tongue pressed against her.

When he heard her little gasp, Harry shot straight up and when he saw the image in her hands he said, “Ah, I see you’ve finally found it. Was wonderin’ when it would come out.” Reaching across her, his chest smushed againt her shoulder, he plucks it from her hands and look at it, smirking.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing x-rated work.”

She says it teasingly.

But maybe it was the way she was looking at him then. She couldn’t help it. The roots of his hair looked blonde in the light, and his eyes were clear, almost see through as light passed them. His lips looked particularly tasty, having been tinted red from the wine, glinting from his own spit, and swollen from how he’d plucked at them while he was thinking about her suggestions. The juncture of his throat was partly hidden, but she could still see every time he swallowed, hos his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. And… and it wasn’t her fault that black pants looked good on him either. The material stretching taught over his muscles, flexing with every, single movement he made, no matter how small.

So, maybe she had been looking at his provocatively, and her comment had… fueled Harry. Tuned him in on what had been on her mind.

He lifts himself with one arm from his indian-style position on the floor, up to his knees, and crawls to her. Eyes looking with hers, y/n’s chest starts to heave, her breaths growing bated; shorter; faster.

“Do you want to do x-rated work?” He said, his voice dangerously low. His rings clink against the wooden planks, and brush against her thighs when he comes close, hands bracketing her hips, his nose nudging hers.

She’s gupping, like a little guppy fish, her lips opening and close, but nothing comes out of them.

Harry’s nose moves to her cheek, pushing back her hair. “It’s okay, pet. I can ask you again. Do you want,” his lips are at her ear for the second time that day, except that she thinks maybe they’ll actually gets somewhere this time. All she has to do is say,

“Yes.” Her voice is small, an airy squeak when Harry presses a kiss to the back of her ear. Her hands, sitting dumbly on her lap, move tentatively to his chest, searching from something to hold onto. She clenches the soft fabric in her hands just as Harry starts to lean back, his palm falling into her naval, and pushing her back, back, back, until she has to stretch her legs out to lay comfortable on her back, staring up at him with bleary eyes, glossed over.

“Yes? Course you do, pet.” He moves his knees to straddle her hips, leaning down close so he’s almost talking into her mouth, and one of his hands smooths down the shape of her waist. Y/n feels herself grow wet when Harry dips his thumb into her belly button, and she’s whining because she hasn’t done anything with anybody in so long and she wants him to do something.

But, if he’s not gonna do anything, that she might as well. She stretched her neck the last of the way, flattening her lips against Harry’s. The relief is instant, she quells her desire of being closer to him, and Harry responds almost immediately, swiping his tongue on her bottom lip and licking into her when she lets him. Harry groans, because she still tastes like wine and a sweetness he can only credit to her. His kiss becomes urgent, smashing his against her soft, malleable mouth.

Y/n whimpers, hips jutting upwards when Harry takes her lower lip between his teeth, and bites down on it,hard enough to where the pain was pleasure. Although her mind is swimming, she knows that the bulge she feels through the flimsy cloth of her dress is Harry’s cock. Elated and driven mad by her need, she arches up into him, needing any friction she could.

Harry pulls away from her, their lips separating with a wet noise, and tuts his tongue at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not getting my cock tonight, y/n. Not yet.”

She mewls, her eyebrows dipping and red, puffy lips pouting, “Harry, don’t be a tease. S’not fair.” She doesn’t care is she sounds pathetic, the space between her thighs aches, and she’d like him to very much sate it “Do something, please.”

He coos at her, pressing wet kisses along her neck, his hand sneaking past her waist, to the start of her dress, and slipping underneath it. “Whining like a little puppy, aren’t you?” His hand glides of her thigh, the shill of his rings sending a violent shiver up her spine. His nail scratches a path near the place where she’s most warm. Most needy, and she moans when he feels how close he is to touching her, the splotch on her panties expanding every time he spoke. “You’re alright puppy, I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s breath hitches when his finger hooks onto the strap of her underwear, snapping the material twice with a chuckle at the cries he elicited from her.

“Harry, harry, harry,” she’s half mad with need, her eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, and when Harry sees the desperation in her slack mouth, his own features go soft, and he takes out his hand from underneath her dress to cup her cheek.

“Puppy,” he said, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he said again, “Puppy, look at me.” his thumb rubs over her cheek, ignoring the imploring whines that leave her lips, and instead leaning down and kissing her to shut her up. “It’s okay, its okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” She shouted, eyes going wide, amazed that he’d even ask that. “Do something.” She ruts up again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against her hood. Harry groans, noticing how fucking hard he is. He’s leaked through his pants, a darker splotch where his head it.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, more to himself than to her.

His hand makes the same trail it had before, flipping up her dress this time to see her clothed center. Her panties make him want to cum on the spot. Baby pink cotton with a bow on the center of the band. Biting his lip, he uses a knee to spread her thighs, and then he sees just how much she needs him.

“Oh puppy. We’ve made a mess of your panties haven’t we?” He looks at her with amusement, “Guess they have to go, don’t they?”

Y/n hums desperately, her hips writhing up to meet his fingers. Pressing a last kiss to her lips, Harry scoots back so his knees are by her feet, and he and slip off the material all the way off. Suddenly aware of how bare she is, he clasps her thighs sht, obscuring Harry’s view of her pussy.

“C’mon now, honey. Don’t be shy,” with a strong hand, he pries her knees apart and lays himself down in front of her, his breath hot on her swollen clit. From that angle, he can see how much she glistens, and how her juices spill out of her every time she clenched her hole around nothing. “Look at you, just begging to be stuffed.”

With a single finger, he slides up and down her slit, collecting her wetness, and then slipping into her.

Y/n bleats, his intrusion stirring her heat up more; she wanted more. Wanted to be filled than more with just his finger, but was scared to say. Instead she said, “another,”

Harry slid his middle finger inside her, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lick a stripe on her clit. Y/n arched her back, and moaned loudly, her eyes squeezing shut and hands touching at the area around her, looking for something to hold on to and settling to clenching at her own dress.

He hears the sound of her hands colliding with the floor, and looks up to see her knuckles going white with hoe hands she was fondling her dress.

“Y’can pull my hair, puppy.” he said against her slit, the vibrations of his words sending prickled of pleasure to the building orgasm she feels in the pit of her stomach. The second her muddled brain comprehends what Harry said, her fingers jam themselves into her his hair, just as he suckles on her. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and her gasps come out in staccatos.

Harry’s fingers are still pumping in an out of her, twisting every time he pushed them back into her. He’s looking for the spongy spot inside of her, when he hears her say something incoherently.

“What was that?” he asked her,his fingers stilling inside her.

“Said, what about you?”

Her voice is faint and weak, her voice and comment sending pin-pricks of satisfaction to his throbbing member. His heart clenches at her considerations, so touched by the fact that she’s so lost in her own heat but she’s still worried about him.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Y’gonna cum for me, puppy?” He feels the pad of his middle finger slide against something that has a different texture that the rest of her, and when her breathing hitches and she lets out a long moan, he knows hes found what he’s looking for. Y/n’s pussy clenches around, her fingers tighten in his hair, so hard it makes Harry yelp. “Clenching m’fingers, puppy, I know you’re there.”

Y/n feels the familiar slow burn of her orgasm twisting in the pit of her stomach, her entire body hyper aware of Harry and what he was doing to her. How he pressed a hand on her navel to keep her from lifting her hips, the harsh sucking of her clit, and then finally the flick of his pointer finger curling inside her. The build-up unravels, and her mouth opens up in a silent scream like the women in the picture, her body going taught, and then falling limp when the wave calms.

“That’s it, love. All better now isn’t it?” Harry slowly takes his fingers out of her, reveling in the way she’s still squeezing around him. She’s sensitive and jerking from her orgasm when He lick his fingers clean, kissing his path up her body. Her thighs, her exposed navel, her clothed valley of her breasts, her collarbones, and up her throat, behind her ear where he’s taken a liking to kissing.

“Jesus, Harry. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” She titters sleepily.

“S’my job, puppy.” He nibbles at her earlobe and down her jawline.

Alarmed, y/n’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, pushing Harry’s chest and holding him at arms length. “What do you mean, it’s your job?” She’s scared she’s just been used or something along those lines.

“I mean it’s my job. Learned a few skills from writing erotica, pet.” He responses calmly, diving back in to continue his assault on the skin of her jaw. His voice warped against her, he adds, “write under a pseudonym. Lemus Knox.”

Lemus Knox.

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

“You’re…” she’s still. Almost like that fight or flight instinct.

Harry stills when he realizes she has. He knows, simply by the tone of her voice that she knows who he is. Who Lemus Knox is.He withdraws to look at her, grinning fro ear to ear.

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

“Harry, I’d even go as far as saying I’m in love with Lemus,” she blurts, reddening as soon as the words leave her mouth, but Harry just smiles fondly at her.

“That’s okay, puppy. Lemus and I aren’t the same person. You have a right to love him,” he nuzzles into her neck, kissing down her shoulder, “Just as long as you save some love for me.”

And lying there, completely stunned ant with Harry’s hard cock pressing into her hip, y/n bursts out laughing. She laughs because she’s happy. Because she likes Harry. Because she loves Lemus Knox.

She laughs because for the first time in a long time, someone is laughing along with her, kissing her, holding her.

She laughs because she can’t wait to see where Harry will lead her.

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