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sukirichi · 3 years

Note

Breakfast for Choso with ingredients #17 and 34 with #2 sugar? Wine is optional.

EASY

— Nothing is ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d push through hell and back.

meal order: breakfast + 17, 34 (fake dating, rentboy au) + 2 (enemies to lovers) + biting, scratching, choso eating reader out, sex on the beach

warnings: mature content, unedited fic, choso is mean and harsh when he’s angry

notes: thank you so much for this anon! I really enjoyed writing this and this totally made my day. I hope you like it!

word count: 10k+ LOL CHOSO BRAIN ROT

check out the fanart @tigressnej-chan made, it s so beautiful HURRR

Your day was absolutely ruined. Dark, deep bags covered your under eyes as you stormed through the convenience store downstairs your apartment, body clad in an oversized hoodie and socks visible through slippers, hair greasy and lips chapped. You’re aware you look like a mess, but did you care?

Absolutely not, especially when you haven’t been sleeping well the moment you moved into this cursed apartment because of a certain fucker.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. That specific fucker – the cause of your ruin and the devil who prevented you from living a good life – waltzed inside the store, the small bell chiming to signal his presence. You scoffed at his confident, suave walk, further irritated because he just had to be insanely attractive – in an alternative, laid-back kind of way.

He wasn’t even your type; you preferred more refined men who wore pressed suits and leather shoes, but you had to admit this man was insanely attractive.

With deep, sunken eyes, a dark tattoo across the bridge of his nose and dark hair twisted into twin ponytails, large, muscular body covered in a black sweatshirt and a red scarf – he looked very much like a former member of a gang who retired because their barbaric ways wasn’t his thing. It was an odd theory, and you sat there at the corner of the store, glaring at the man who tiredly pressed the coffee maker machine for a dark roast.

As if feeling eyes on him, his lazy eyes slid over to yours, and almost automatically, one corner of his lips tilted up in humor. This fucker knew how much he annoyed you, and he only further pushed your buttons by walking over to you, the steam of his coffee nearly blocking your gaze.

“Good morning,” he greeted sarcastically, well aware that it definitely not a good morning for you.

“Have fun last night, neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Jeez, you won’t even bother denying it?”

“I see no point in it,” he invited himself by sitting next to you, long legs crossed over his muscular thigh. You found yourself staring at how he seemed so firm even in loose sweatpants, averting your gaze and staring at your soggy ramen noodle cup instead. “And you’re not trying to hide the fact you’re listening, either.”

“I wasn’t listening!” you slammed your fist down the table – he didn’t even flinch, only continuing to sip his coffee as if you weren’t burning in anger beside him – as you hissed, “The walls are too damn thin and you’re so fucking loud.”

“No, I wasn’t. She was loud, though.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms against your chest. He really was shameless. You already knew this man didn’t have enough shame in his body, but you didn’t think he’d have absolutely nothing.

Upon witnessing your stupefied state, he reached over to knock at your skull. “Still there, princess?” you cringed at his nickname for you; you didn’t even know this guy’s name, for pete’s sake! “Or are you still too bothered by the fact I got some good fucking last night?”

You flicked his arm away from you, nearly seething in your seat. “God, you’re insufferable. I should move out.”

“Yes, I think that would be for the best too,” he nodded to himself as he stared at his now empty coffee cup. Had it been that long already? Apparently, it was, because your noodles turned cold and your neighbor was already leaving your seat, dipping for a mocking bow. “Have a nice day, neighbor. Don’t think of my cock too much,” he teased, even going as far as winking until your jaw dropped.

You watched as he threw the paper cup in the proper bin, a little surprised he was decent enough to do mundane tasks like that. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget your neighbor was also a decent human being, but whatever.

You absolutely, utterly hated him, and you kept mumbling to yourself of the different ways you’d get your revenge on him as he walked out the door, his annoyingly gorgeous ass in view. “Yeah, right,” you scowled to yourself, “As if I can get that image out my mind now.”

He would not be an easy feat.

Despite your constant pleas for him to at least be silent during the weekdays to give you enough peace of mind to study for the finals, he didn’t stop. Hours just after the sun sets, you’d hear giggles and sloppy kisses on the hallway.

No matter how much you pressed your hands into your ears and set your music on full volume to block out the noise, you could always hear them.

Your neighbor was undeniably a fuckboy.

Every night, he’d have a different girl dangling in his arms. You knew, because the voices squealing his name while he fucked them right next door were always different. Some days, it was deep and throaty, and on other days it’d be high-pitched and nearly scraping at your ears. They all said the same thing though, such as fuck, right there, you feel so good or harder, harder, please, I’m so close!

To say you were traumatized was an understatement. You never wanted to hear such things again, but alas, your neighbor apparently couldn’t give a single shit because he was fucking someone again.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the person he brought home this time around just had to have the most fucking annoying voice ever. Or maybe it sounded like the others, but you were in the middle of memorizing veins and brain chemicals in alphabetical harder when you heard the headboard of his bed slam against your wall, the sound hard and loud enough you dropped your book in surprise.

They didn’t stop. If anything, he kept going harder until nothing but his low sexy groans and his partner’s screaming – that was right, she was fucking screaming – like she was having her insides rearranged.

You didn’t doubt the possibility that maybe she really was. Your neighbor was such a huge, attractive guy, after all, it would make sense he was capable of such. Before you knew it, you could no longer understand the words in your textbook. You kept rereading the same line over and over again, but nothing registered into your mind. You were so close to screaming at them to stop and shut the fuck up because it was three in the morning and they were still going at it, but you weren’t that mean.

Yes, you hated him, but you weren’t going to blue ball someone or make sex awkward. Sex with your ex was always awkward, so you knew how painful it was to live with that memory. No matter how much you hated your neighbor, you wouldn’t go that far.

So you trudged all the way up to the building’s public balcony, bringing a blanket with you to survive the chilly bite of the night.

You used your phone’s flashlight to read all over the textbooks, keeping your little note cards organized and color coded beside you. Finally, you could make sense of things a little bit more, and you chugged at your Red Bull to keep you awake. Time passed by so fast whenever you were lost with your nose stuck in a book, and your attention was only ripped away when the balcony door swung open, revealing your neighbor with messed up hair and bruised lips.

He looked totally fucked out.

“Oh, fuck, no – what are you doing here?”

“This balcony is for all tenants,” your neighbor barely blinked as he walked closer to you, but instead of joining you on the table, he leaned against the railings and stared into the night sky. He seemed so placid, a little approachable despite his intimidating face even, and for a moment, you were studying his sharp, masculine features before he turned your way with a passive face. “Last time I checked, I’m a tenant, therefore I have the rights to be here.”

“I don’t care,” you retorted childishly, pulling your books closer to you as if he wanted to steal it. He only raised a brow at your actions, the large muscles of his arms bulging up from where he stood.

It felt so hard to not salivate at the sight, but for the sake of your pride, you had to push those thoughts down and remind yourself why you hated him so much. “I evoke your rights. You’re not welcome here.”

“You’re awfully harsh to a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger, you’re my neighbor who brings girls in his home every night and I can never get a wink of sleep because all I can hear is them moaning and the sound of balls slapping!”

“Vulgar,” he smirked, and he had no business looking so attractive with that arrogant smirk on his face that it took all energy you had in you to not whack him with your book.

“I think I deserve an apology.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

You stood up with a scowl, nearly shoving the book right in his chest. “Bro, I’m this close to slapping this book right in your pretty face. You see how thick this is? I’m not kidding, this will hurt. Listen, I’ve got a final exam and a suture practice this weekend. All I’m asking for is just a few hours of sleep – that’s all. I just don’t get why you always seem to be balls deep in someone at every god forsaken hour; I can’t focus on my work when the noises are so distracting. At this point, I remember their begging more than I’m familiar with nerves. I need to study, okay? I really want to graduate.”

He fell silent at your sudden rant, then, he tilted his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“After everything I said, that’s all you remember?”

“It’s kind of hard to listen to every word when I’m distracted by your eyes.”

His comment caught you off-guard, and your eyes widened, arm coming up to hide your face that soon began to felt warm. He only chuckled at your reaction, the sound deep and throaty that it went right straight into the pools of your belly. “My eyes – what are you talking about? Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’re so creepy!”

“Hmm,” he snickered, “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“What, no one tells you you’re creepy?”

“No, people always say I’m handsome,” he said it with such a straight face that you gave him an are you serious look, and he raised one shoulder to shrug. “I’m surprised you’re not attracted to me, to be honest.”

“Wow,” you drawled out, shaking your head with a laugh as you plopped down back to your seat in defeat. “Aren’t you full of surprises? First, I get a really horny man as my next door neighbor who keeps me up at night with his shenanigans, and now he’s got the audacity to ask me why I’m not attracted to him?”

“I mean,” he scrunched his nose cutely, a huge contrast to his domineering stature. “Why aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I give up. I’m just gonna crash at my friends tonight,” you mumbled to yourself while gathering your things, leaving your neighbor all by himself. As you reached the door, you called out to him one more time, “Oh, and by the way, you reek of pussy. Go shower or something.”

“So how’s your exams going?”

“They’re fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, slicing through the fish a lot harsher than you intended. The knife scraped against the plate and you winced at the sound, ignoring your father’s loud munching. “Not too much of a big deal. My professors are nice and my classmates are nice too. I’m fitting in really well and I think I’ll even come out on top of my class this time if it weren’t for that stupid little bastard…” your last words ended up as a whisper, eyes glazing to the side as you glared at nothing in particular.

“Stupid little what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you waved your hand in the air, “Someone’s just distracting me from my studies, is all.”

At the mention of someone distracting your usually composed and unbothered self, your father straightened up in his seat, a large smile on his face that made him look younger than he really was. “Is it a guy? Do you finally have a boyfriend?”

“Ugh, dad, really, you’re the only father who’s so eager for his daughter to have a boyfriend. Shouldn’t you be more proud that, I don’t know, I’m pretty and smart? I don’t need a boyfriend or anything.”

Your father nodded, “True, you don’t need them, but trust me when I say life is going to get pretty lonely when you grow old and you’re all by yourself. It’s still better – and life is a lot happier – when you’ve got a stable supporting and loving figure in your life.”

“I have you for that.”

“And you always will,” he patted your hand gently across the table, “But a parent won’t always be there for their child, and if you’re still not prepared for the future or ready to stand on your own two feet, then that means I didn’t do a great job at raising you; that means I’ve failed as a parent. Tell me, have I failed? Have I raised my wonderful daughter to be so repulsed by the idea of love that she’s willingly closing her doors and locking herself away in isolation?”

“No…”

“I didn’t think so,” he grinned to himself, and you watched with a frown as his eyes crinkled in happiness. Your father was such the complete opposite of you; he was always so loving and open to everyone, while you were mopey and afraid of attachment.

“Don’t be too afraid to love, child. It’s one of the most wonderful things in this world – it’s a blessing – the absolute core of our being. Why do we exist if not to love?”

“Not everyone is a romantic like you, dad,” you sighed, “Plus…how is it so easy for you to finally find someone after Mom died? Isn’t she your soul mate?” you questioned, putting your fork and knife down as you looked your father in the eye. “I just can’t believe you’re getting married again.”

“It’s already been years since she passed away, Y/N. And yes, she is my soul mate, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of loving someone again. Our hearts aren’t limited like that, and your mother wouldn’t want me to keep mourning her when she’s resting in peace,” he gestured to the both of you after swallowing his food, “She would’ve wanted the both of us to be happy.”

At the mention of your passed mother, your shoulders deflated, and your eyes watered at the thought of her kind smile. You wished you could see that again.

“I miss her…”

“I know, child, I know,” your father smiled encouragingly, “I also know the reason you’re so afraid to love is because you’re scared they’ll end up leaving you too, like how your mom just slipped past our fingers like that, but it’s only her body that withered. She’s still with us, right in our hearts and in our memories.”

“You really do sound like a lovesick fool.”

“That’s because I am,” your father laughed with a slap to his knees. When his phone buzzed for his alarm, he quickly dabbed a towel on his lips, standing up to excuse himself. “Now, this lunch was lovely and I dearly missed you, but I need to go back to work. We doctors just never get a break. This is a life you have to prepare for if you want to follow my footsteps.”

“I won’t follow your footsteps – I’ll surpass you.”

“I’ll be waiting for that to happen then,” he announced proudly; pride bursting in his chest at how determined his daughter was. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You squinted at the mischievous look in his eyes, wary of what your cunning father had in mind this time.

“You won’t outsmart me. You better bring a boyfriend or at least introduce someone to me on the wedding – or else I’m pulling you out of the university hospital.”

“Wha – Dad, that’s not fair!”

“All is fair in love and war, child, you’ll learn soon.”

“Oh, I just hate men!”

You really did hate men.

Your final exam was tomorrow already and you’d lost count of the coffee and Red Bull you’ve inhaled today, all so you could study one last time for the test, but no, something – or rather someone – just had to get in your way.

“I’ve had enough,” you announced before slamming your door open; not hesitating as your fists came banging down on your neighbor’s door. “Hey! Keep it the fuck down – someone’s trying to study here! Seriously, man, is it really that hard for you to keep it in your pants for one night? This is what, the sixth woman you’ve had around the past four days? Don’t you get tired? Because I sure as hell am very tired of you!”

The moans and the sounds of bed creaking stopped. For a moment, you almost smirked to yourself when they fell silent.

If only you knew it would be that easy to shut them up, you would’ve done so long ago. You were about to turn back into your room when his door swung open, and you were met by his sweaty and muscular chest heaving up and down – either in anger or from his previous activities – you couldn’t tell.

Your throat felt dry as you peered at him under your lashes, almost afraid of the way he loomed over you. Thank goodness he found the time to wear pants, though, because had he been baby naked, you would’ve run for the hills already.

His dark eyes cut through yours as he seethed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m the one who wants to ask you that,” you were surprised to find your voice despite the way your pussy actually ached just by the sight of his chiseled body, but when you did, you forced yourself to stand up taller, refusing to back down from his gaze. “It’s literally three in the morning and you’re about to fuck a hole through my wall!”

“I thought you said you’d be crashing at your friends. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to have your permission to come back home. Next time, I’ll give you a heads-up, good sir. And for your information, unlike you, I actually don’t like bothering the people around me so I came home. Now would you please kick her out and shut the fuck up for once?”

“Babe, are you coming back here or what?”

Red acrylic nails wound from his body out of nowhere, and your mouth fell open as you watched the naked woman press kisses on the blades of his shoulder. You were conflicted, torn between feeling jealous that she got to touch him like that because damn was he fine, but you also felt appalled your neighbor would be this type of person.

“Babe?” you repeated with a sarcastic laugh.

Stepping away from your neighbor’s tempting pecs, you waved to the stunning woman behind him. “Hi, I’m his neighbor, I don’t mean to be a cock block or anything but I’ve been a witness to his fuckboy ways for months now. If you think you’re special to him, I assure you, you’re not. Yesterday he was just banging two girls until the sunrise. If you’re really as sane as I hope you are, I suggest you skedaddle before this man feeds you with more lies. You’re not special, hun, he’s just going to fuck everything that walks on two legs.”

“Is that true?”

“Nadia, you know how this works—”

“I was literally just on the phone with you last night!” the woman named Nadia pushed him away, but because he was bigger, he didn’t budge. Nadia turned to you, her lipstick smudged and a suspicious white stain on the edge of her lips. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look down her head, and you and your neighbor both watched as she got dressed and left, hands up in the air. “Thank you for this. I should’ve known better than to waste time and money on him.”

You snickered as Nadia pressed on the elevator buttons, a scowl sent his way. Turning to him with pride swelling up in your chest, you smirked, “How does it feel—”

“Happy now?” he growled, his eyes so dark and slit into tiny cuts you took a step back, your heart pumping frantically for different reasons. You never thought he’d be this bothered for not being able to bust a nut. “Satisfied now, Y/N? Do you even realize what you’ve just done?”

“Uhm, yes,” you scoffed, matching his tone. “I just saved that poor girl’s life. Who else knows what you would’ve done and said to her. We don’t deserve to be looked down on and treated like this, you know.”

“Neither did I. I’m just doing my job.”

“Job? You don’t even have a job! You don’t even go to university for fuck’s sake – your apartment is rundown and smells like sour cunt and feet! Maybe you should even thank me because I’m trying to give you ideas on better things to do!”

“Yeah, and be like you?” he snapped, tugging at the strings of your hoodie until you fell a step forward. “Dressed in loose shirts to hide the fact you’ve got no tits and your ass is flatter than your back? Lying to her neighbor that she’ll crash somewhere but ends up waddling back home anyway because she’s always cooped up in her apartment studying to prove that she’s not as worthless as she is and that she doesn’t have a life or friends to begin with?” tears pooled at your eyes at his words, and you knew it hurt because it was true, but did he really have to say it that way?

However, his anger got the best of him, and he didn’t stop there. “I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to skip meals and lose sleep studying for something I don’t care about because I don’t know anything else other than following daddy’s footsteps so he’d notice me more than his new bride. I’m happy with my life.”

“How did—”

“Like you said, the walls are thin. You’re not exactly so quiet to yourself, neighbor. It’s kind of pathetic you talk to the walls when you think I’m asleep because you’ve got no one else to talk to.”

Hands balled into fists at your side, you stood on your tiptoes to spit the words out. “You’re a terrible human being,” no matter how much you tried to exert dominance over him, your lips still quivered as you fought back the urge to cry. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re the one who needs to go fuck yourself and get laid,” he didn’t let you have another word as he slammed the door in your face, but you still heard him through the door anyway. “Uptight bitch.”

You were wrong.

Your neighbor wasn’t just difficult – he was completely impossible.

[Dad:] Don’t forget your date!

[You:] Dad…don’t push it.

[Dad:] I find it hard to believe my beautiful daughter can’t have one. Go out there and make some friends, Y/N, I know you isolate yourself too much. It doesn’t even have to be a boyfriend. You could date a girl for all I care. I just don’t want you to be too bored at the wedding. Bring a friend.

[You:] Fine, fine, okay.

[Dad:] But a boyfriend would still be better. Your old man isn’t getting any younger and I want grandkids in the future.

[You:] Dad!

[Dad:] love ya kid !

And so it was the turn of your events that had you groaning in your swiveling chair, the grip on your phone so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up breaking it. As if your week couldn’t get any more horrible with your neighbor’s hurtful words still living at the back of your mind, your father hadn’t stopped talking about you to his co-workers and his equally crazy mother that your grandmother didn’t waste time in calling you.

You loved your nan, you really did, but more often than not, she was much more of a pain in the ass than your father was. The old woman was ruthless, shooting you question by question on why her pretty granddaughter was still single, then came the demeaning comments of how you “weren’t living life to the fullest.”

Frustration eating away at you, you let out a silent scream.

The escort site blinked back at you mockingly, temptingly, as if to remind you that your problems could easily be solved with just a click. You chastised yourself for always having the need to solve problems fast and as easily as you could, because before you even realized what you were doing, your heart started beating a mile a minute as the other line kept ringing.

You ended up lying to your grandmother that yes, nan, I have a boyfriend, can I study for my exams now please, to which the pressing woman responded with, oh, finally! well, I won’t bother you anymore. study well, my dear, I can’t wait to see him!

Just thinking about how she would react if you came alone at your father’s wedding had you breaking out in a sweat, and you chewed at your nails while waiting for the site to pick up.

You were truly desperate now, so much so that you were actually calling a rental boy site.

“Good afternoon, thank you for calling Kamo Escorts! I’m Ijichi, here to assist you. What can I help you with?”

You held back a really painful cringe, biting the insides of your cheek as you got your heart to calm down. “Uhm, yeah…so this is like my first time c-calling a site like this and I don’t know what to do but…yeah.”

“I see, we get new callers too. Would you like a guide?”

“Yes, please, that’d be great thank you.”

“Kamo Escorts is all about, well, as you can see on our webpage – we have men and even women you can hire to escort you on special events. We mostly cater to clients who only need a pretty face to dangle off their arm for social company or even care, or whatever reasons the client may have and the relationship is purely business and professional, but in some cases, the escorts may have sex with the client too under the condition they are paid more.”

The gasp that left your lips was barely stifled, and you furrowed your brows at the implication. “Wh-what, so that’s like a real thing? Isn’t this…?”

Ijichi chuckled from the other line, almost as if he’d been asked this question many times before. “In a way, it is, which is why Kamo Escorts is commercially advertised for purely social company only. You may, however, negotiate with your escort if you would like more services, but we do require that you keep our escorts’ dignity and not look down on them. The service we provide may not be your typical honorable one, but we are dedicated and equally eager to be of service to this society. Should we find that you’re dehumanizing or harassing our escort, we won’t hesitate to…take some action,” the light warning of his tone didn’t go unnoticed by you, and Ijichi took note of your hesitant silence. “Would you still like to proceed?”

“Ye-yeah, I didn’t want the sex anyway.”

“Very well, then. What event are we looking for?”

“It’s for a relative’s wedding,” you supplied, “I need a date.”

“Any preference in escorts? Male, female, tall, short, sociable or introverted?”

Your eyes widened, your back flattening against your chair. “Oh, wow, so this is like a Build-A-Bear, okay, wait,” you chewed your nails again, racking up on your mind on who or what exactly you liked. “My ideal guy is…someone tall, and has pretty broad shoulders…I think I prefer a more introverted one too because people with too much energy sort of drains me…and someone caring and attentive, yes. Handsome too – but if that’s too much to ask for then—”

“It’s okay, Miss. I assure you all our escorts are definitely blessed in the gene department.”

At his confidence, you scrunched your nose and made yourself small on your chair. “Okay, but now that you say it, if he’s too handsome then I’m going to look like a potato next to him.”

“We’ll find someone compatible for you; we always never fail to please our clients. We’ll be able to match you with a more suitable escort if you’re more descriptive with what you want.”

“Okay, okay,” you continued, “Oh, and I like guys with long hair too, but really, anything is fine. I just want someone to effortlessly pretend they’re enamored after just one date and that they’re very glad to be there with me on the wedding. It’s even better if they’re introverted but can communicate well and isn’t shy at all. My relatives are kind of…freaky.”

Freaky couldn’t even begin to describe the chaos of your relatives.

In fact, had you not been paying for this service, you would’ve almost felt bad for the guy. He had no idea what he had coming for him – but then again, neither did you.

“I think we’ve got just the perfect guy for you,” Ijichi answered after a beat, “May I ask when is this event and how long you’d like to book the escort service for?”

“The event is in two weeks. I don’t need to meet him before the wedding because I’m very busy with exams, so I hope this guy can just act really well. As for the duration…I think just one day is enough. After the wedding, I’m coming right back home.”

“Convenient then,” he mused to himself, and you heard slight clicking from his side. “Let’s see…someone introverted and able to communicate well…definitely not Satoru, and his entirely booked by sugar mommies too…” Ijichi whispered to himself, followed by a slight humorous snort. “One last question: would you like someone older, younger, or the same age as you?”

“I’m in uni – I’d be more comfortable if they were closer to my age.”

“Oh, perfect, his schedule is oddly open for the whole month. Wonder what happened, he’s barely had free slots before…” the man was speaking to himself again, and you sat there pouting, even more dumbfounded at how this whole process worked.

Ijichi talked about this escort service and guided you so easily you almost couldn’t believe that it was as…simple as that. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but deep down in your mind, you were waiting for something fishy or weird to happen.

“I found someone for you. He’s one of our best escorts and I believe he’ll be great for this event. However, due to privacy issues, the disclosure of contacts and personal information can only happen once the escort agrees to this service. We’ll shortly get back to you if he’s up for the job. If not, I’ll find you another one quickly; you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, thank you so much!”

“It’s our pleasure. Thank you for contacting Kamo Escorts – we hope to see you again!”

Once the call ended, you fell back on your bed with a sigh. Your neighbor wasn’t around the whole day, leaving you in peace and silence, and you took advantage of the rare quietness by pulling out a book. Hours passed, and you were nearly finished with half the textbook, fingers slightly numb from practicing sutures over and over again when your phone lit up with a text.

It came from an unknown number, but the words were loud and clear. Hey, this is Choso, I’ll be your escort for the wedding. Please text me here for the details and what else you expect from my service. I’m only a text and call away, please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything else.

You blinked at your phone, unsure of how to process the whole thing.

So it was official now – you rented an escort and you had a date for the event. Quite frankly, you were kind of expecting that escorts would be a lot more…flirtatious or even eager to please, but this Choso guy sounded too formal for you to picture yourself having this stranger be a good company for your event. Ijichi sounded so sure though that you no longer questioned it; smiling instead now that you’ve finally solved one of your problems.

Life felt a lot easier.

At around four in the morning, you were too worn out to keep going. Your exam was in the afternoon so you still had plenty of time to sleep, your stomach grumbled, prompting you to leave your unit to get some snacks.

Keys in hand and feet cold in your socks, you locked your door, halting in your steps when you saw your neighbor. Different from his usual comfortable clothing, he was dressed in a formal white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his large, masculine hands coming up to loosen his tie. He wasn’t aware of your presence, almost blindly walking to his door and sighing. You didn’t miss the fact his shoulders were slumped, and he looked absolutely worn out.

For a moment, you actually felt worried, until you remembered what he said to you.

“What, no pussy to fuck tonight?”

He froze in front of his door for a moment, slightly tilting back to see your aggravated stance. Upon seeing it was just you, he shook his head and turned back to unlock his door. “No thanks to you.”

“Aw, did I ruin your reputation?” you mocked sarcastically, “I’m surprised people aren’t smart enough to pick up the smell of women’s perfume on you already. Seriously, are people that desperate for touch?” It was ironic; you’d never admit it, but you weren’t any better than them. You were equally desperate to be touched despite your aversion to romantic relationships, but he didn’t need to know that.

“It’s normal when you’re someone people are naturally attracted to. Not that you’d get it, of course, because it’s clear you don’t get some.”

“At least my apartment doesn’t smell like pussy.”

“At least I don’t masturbate every night then pass out after one weak orgasm.”

Your cheeks burned at his offhanded comment, and even with his back turned to you, you could see the slight smile tugging at his cheeks. He must’ve felt so cocky, thinking that he’d defeated you, so you blurted out the most intelligent thing possible: “How dare you!” while grabbing onto his shoulders to make him face you. “Look me in the eye and take that back!”

“Whatever you’re planning,” he crooned, head tilted to the side and making strands of his bangs fall over his eyes. He looked absolutely handsome under the flickering lights of the hallway in that moment, and you hated how you weren’t able to take your hands off of his strong shoulders, his masculine and spicy perfume clouding your mind. “It’s not going to work. Surprise surprise, but you’re not as cute as you think you are.”

Your eyes burned with fire, the nerves in your body so closing to popping. He infuriated you so much. “And you’re not as sexy as you believe you are!”

“Oh, yeah?” The positions are suddenly switched as he cornered you beside his doorframe, both of his arms planted beside your head. Because he was taller, he had to lean down to look you in the eye, his warm, minty breath brushing over your lips. You stared at him with wide eyes, fingers raking over the wall in a silent attempt to flee. Upon seeing your pursed lips, he laughed.

“Then why are you so shaky? Do I make you nervous?” his head dipped down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Say…you only pretend to hate me, but you actually wish it was you I’m fucking every night, don’t you? Tell me…do you touch yourself when you hear me eating someone out?”

“I-I’m not—”

Before you could combust under his gaze, he pulled himself away from you, a satisfied smirk on his face at your flustered state. He chuckled lowly, keys spinning on his thick finger. “I was just teasing you, princess. No need to get so worked up.”

“I never want you near me again!”

He raised both brows as if to challenge you, and you knew from the glint in his eyes he was up to no good. “Princess, you jumped on me first.”

“I didn’t!” You shouted, immediately slapping your palm over your lips after realizing people were sleeping. He snickered at your reactions, and you pushed past him back to your unit, suddenly losing the appetite to get your precious snacks. “God, I hate you so much.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

Difficult. Unbelievable. Complicated. Idiotic. Nothing was ever easy with him.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” your father scolded from his chair, his body barely moving as the stylists fixed his hair and makeup, but his eyes glared at you from the mirror. “You’re a lot more nervous than I am, and it’s my wedding.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

Your father sighed to himself, standing up after they were done with him. He checked his appearance in the mirror for a while, nodding to himself in satisfaction. It was still a little surreal that he was going to get married again, to a woman half his age of all people, but he was happy, and his bride seemed to really love him too, so you no longer questioned your father’s decisions. He was an adult, anyway, he could make his own decisions.

“You’re waiting for your boyfriend, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

You stiffened at the question. Not wanting your sharp-eyed father to pick up on the smallest cues, you lied through your teeth despite not having any idea on who or what kind of person the escort was.

Other than discussing details of how you two supposedly met, conversations had been crisp and short. You were lucky that the escort seemed to be nice and smart enough to not always ask you to explain everything, and he was crisp and curt in his texts too. No flirty or suggestive messages, not even a single emoji. He seemed a little stiff, and while you worried if you could fake chemistry with someone who seemed like a wall, you were also assured by the fact he wasn’t some creep.

“Nice. He’s sweet. You’ll like him.”

“And when did you meet him?”

“Dad, do I have to tell this story all over again?” you groaned, “We met after exams, he goes to a different uni and he studies law—”

“Law. Impressive.”

“Of course you’re impressed,” you rolled your eyes. Coming from a family of doctors and engineers, your father, and pretty much everyone else in the family, also expected that you’d date someone who was equally intelligent and had enough connections in different industries at least. It just so happened you were really lucky your escort also really did study law for a bit before he became an escort; a detail you never got enough explanation for. “He’ll be here anytime soon. Just you wait.”

In reality, you were the one who couldn’t wait.

You were excited and nervous at the same time to see this mysterious escort, and you were in the middle of talking to your father and his bride when someone called you.

“Y/N?”

You turned around with a bright grin. That must be him! You clasped at the hems of your dress so you could meet this mysterious, rigid man properly, but the moment your eyes met his equally startled gaze, you choked on your own breath. “Y-you—”

Choso stood before you; handsome as ever in his suit and tie, his iconic twin tails still there. How ever would your father believe you now that he was a lawyer, especially with his messy hair and face tattoo? You loved it and found it sexy on him, no denying that, but your father was a little bit more traditional. But that aside, it was Choso?!

His professionalism arose and he regained his composure quicker than you did, the smile on his face so natural and alluring even you almost fell for it.

Choso wrapped an arm around your waist before kissing you on the cheek, and the skin felt extremely hot under his lips. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak, because Choso was pressed flush against you, and he looked at you with stars shining in his eyes you didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid.

Maybe a fucked up mix of both.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad,” he explained with a small smile on his lips, and he looked so handsome and smelled so good in that moment you were left gaping at him as he bowed to your father, arm politely extended. “You must be Y/N’s father. It’s very nice to meet you sir. I’m her boyfriend, Choso.”

To your surprise, your father eagerly shook his hand with the brightest grin he’d worn the whole night before he faced you with a laugh. “No way,” he beamed, gesturing to Choso. “He’s your boyfriend? You managed to snag this fine man?”

“Dad!” your ears burned with embarrassment. Choso only laughed; making you painfully aware of his large, warm hand resting at the small of your back.

“I heard you’re a lawyer, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

Your father nodded in approval, the two exchanging over words about what his plans were for the future and how his studies were going. You stood there with a pounding heart, fearful that Choso could fuck up any moment, but he was so effortless and easy going. Had you not been the one paying him, you would’ve been fooled too.

So this was the life of an escort.

“So how much did my daughter pay you?”

“Dad, I didn’t—”

“I mean, there’s no way she actually charmed you with her non-existent social skills. My daughter here can’t even talk to someone and look them in the eye, much less ask someone out, so how did this happen?”

Choso laughed at your father’s lighthearted comment, saving the day for what seemed like the hundredth time already. “I approached her first, sir. We were both eating in this small diner and it was cramped, so we shared tables and started conversation,” Suddenly, his grip tightened on you as he pulled you closer, your ear now resting above the lulling and steady beating of his heart. How was he so calm?

He lightly squeezed your hip and it had you freezing under his touch, stiffening even more when he looked down at you so adoringly. “Guess it went downhill from there.” God, you had no idea who this man was.

“Really? What did you guys talk about?”

Choso opened his mouth to speak, but it was there, that damned glint on those dark eyes again that you clutched at his bicep. He may be damn good at this job, but knowing Choso, he was enjoying this way too much.

Anything you couldn’t predict or control properly was a huge no in your game, and you pulled Choso away before he could say something downright humiliating.

“Dad, just go focus on your wedding. I want to spend time with my boyfriend, okay?” You couldn’t even begin to fathom the inward cringe upon your words, the feeling only worsening when Choso fought back a laugh masked with a cough. Before your father could say anything else, you dragged Choso rather harshly, but he didn’t mind; he followed you obediently. “Come with me. I need to talk to you,” You didn’t stop until you were both alone in a desolated corner, and finally, you hissed at him. “What are you doing here?!”

“I should be asking you the same thing – but it turns out you’re my client.”

“Client? So you really are my escort?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So those women…”

“All my clients,” he confirmed your thoughts. “I assure you they knew what they were getting into. In fact, they were the ones who asked for that special service that caused you to lose your sleep every night. That woman the other day was just pissed because she booked me for three days, but I lied that I was available until the duration she wanted when I wasn’t.”

“You mean you were still working an escort for somebody else?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Why did you lie then?”

“It’s more money,” Choso stared down at his hands before his eyes flitted back up to yours, his face unreadable. “I’m saving up so I can move somewhere else. Our apartment isn’t exactly the most ideal considering my profession. I need to find someplace quieter with thicker walls this time,” he smiled, “That way, I’ll no longer bother my sweet neighbor,” your lips felt dry at his words, your tongue darting out to lick at them while Choso scrutinized you under his gaze.

“I have to admit though – you asking for escort service is the last thing I’d ever imagine you doing. Not that I’m complaining since it’s still money in my pocket, but you’re not the most pleasing company to be with.”

“Oh, you bet, Choso. Had I known you were going to be my escort, I would’ve declined long ago,” you groaned, your head dropping in your hands. “What was Ijichi thinking when he said I would be compatible with you?”

“You’re not,” he stated, “But I am compatible with you – as I am with pretty much everyone else. I’m one of the best escorts, and soon you’ll see why.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by then, but it seemed Choso was quite eager to show his skills off when he dragged you back inside the reception event. The whole time, you couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone else other than Choso. It still felt hard to believe that the whole time, he really was doing his job, and upon seeing how easily he had people believing you two were an item despite you just standing silently beside him, you felt guilty that you disrupted his “work” like that.

Guilt gnawed at you as Choso made everyone laugh, and soon your relatives were cooing, praising you and congratulating you that you were “happy” now.

Back then, you always looked down on him and even called him a mere fuckboy, but Choso was so much more than that. He was intelligent; his past as a lawyer proved that, and whatever happened that caused him to work in this industry kept lingering in your mind.

There was no denying it now.

You respected this man – admired him even.

“And now it’s time to join the newly married couple on the dance floor! Come on, people, bring your dates up here for a twirl!”

You remained planted in your seat, too comfortable with Choso’s jacket draped around your bare shoulders. You’d lost count of how many times your head ducked down for the lack of sleep, and as much as you loved your dad, you wanted nothing more than to go home and rest.

Choso offered his hand to yours, a teasing smile on his face. He wriggled his eyebrows up and down, and he looked so utterly ridiculous that you couldn’t believe the boring man you were texting was the same infuriating yet undeniably attractive bastard who was your neighbor was the same fun. The world is very small, it seemed, and you weren’t sure whether you were brave enough to venture these strange places and feelings.

“Uh-uh. No. I’m not dancing.”

“Two left feet?”

“No, I’m wearing heels. My feet hurts.”

“Then take it off.”

“And get my feet dirty?” you scoffed. As if to prove your point, you snuggled deeper into his jacket that smelled heavenly like him, closing your eyes as you pretended to sleep. “Sitting here isn’t so bad. Plus, look at them, all staring at each other with goo-goo eyes. It’s revolting,” you shuddered.

Through the sickeningly romantic music playing in the background, Choso fell silent. You cracked an eye open, frowning when Choso studied each of your features carefully. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You seem to hate the idea of love.”

“Because it’s pointless.”

Choso narrowed his eyes at your answer, brows bunching up at the way your shoulders squared to keep yourself away. Then, he stood up and sighed, offering his hand to you once more.

“I won’t really ask you to explain why, because frankly, I don’t care,” you stared at his large palms for a few seconds. There must be a ghost possessing your body because you looped your fingers through his and allowed him to guide you on the dance floor despite your mind’s protests, and soon, Choso’s eyes were all over you. “But if you don’t want your money to go down the drain and you really want to convince everyone, I suggest you forget about that mindset for just a few more hours,” his voice dropped down to a low whisper, his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes turned solemn, his hand on your waist gentle. “Dance with me. Let’s show them how madly in love we are with each other.”

“We met just last week, remember?”

“Love at first sight, princess,” Choso kissed your forehead, sending your heart thumping and running to another dimension. Oddly enough, you didn’t mind, and your hands travelled from his strong arms to his broad shoulders instinctively. “Take your heels off. You can step on my feet and I’ll dance for us both. Just put your arms around my neck – yes just like that,” he nodded with a smile when your fingertips nervously played with his hair, and Choso began to dance you both in time with the music. “Are you good?”

“I don’t like this lack of space between us.”

Choso smirked, “Why, do I get you all hot and bothered?”

“Jesus, Choso, you can’t be serious for a minute, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard to be serious when you’re so flustered and adorable right now,” you pulled at his hair in response, but of course, he wasn’t really hurt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, but you refused, keeping your gaze planted on your bare feet on top of his again. “Hey. I said look at me,” he tilted your chin up until you’re forced to be like prey under his gaze, his breath tickling the bow of your lips. “I am your escort for tonight – and I humbly ask that you do your part as my client so I can perform my job well. I need you to look into my eyes and pretend you’re in love with me.”

“I don’t want to fall in love with anyone,” you suddenly admitted, “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he replied, softly this time, and his hands ran down tenderly to your hips to pull you closer to him. “I’ll be there to catch you.”

You couldn’t remember who leaned in first. The only thing you remembered was that the music faded in the background when you kissed him – or maybe he kissed you – fuck, you didn’t really remember. Eventually, the kiss grew too heated, his hands squeezing your waist while you moan at the taste of chocolate and wine on his expert tongue.

Choso easily read your mind and swooped you away from the crowd, the both of you stumbling until you made it out to the venue and onto the beach.

The salty air kissed your skin while Choso carried you bridal style, arms looped around his neck while he kept moving his lips above yours. He was laughing through the kiss with how messy and eager you were, tugging at his shirt to encourage him to unbutton it. Choso set you both down on the darker, isolated part of the beach where nothing but the sound of waves lapping against one another could be heard with your breathless pants and his chuckles.

You were lying on his jacket, dress bunched up to your chest while your legs were spread wide open for him. “Ch-Choso,” you choked out when his tongue ran flat across your slick folds, his hands keeping your hips pinned down to the sand. “I-I, please.”

“I got you, princess,” was all he said before he completely dived into your heat, his sharp nose brushing into your cunt.

It didn’t take long until you were spasming in his hold, legs closing around his head. Choso groaned into your pussy, a finger working its way inside your sopping cunt while he licks and slurps your arousal like it was fucking water. Now you understood why those girls always lost their mind – Choso was a fucking expert when it came to worshipping pussy.

Choso pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, but he was kind, eager to please you that he immediately replaced it with his tongue.

You cried out when you felt his tongue entering your hole, one thumb pulling the hood of your lips up to reveal your sensitive pearl. Choso rubbed your clit fervently, his other hand reaching up to squeeze and tug at your breasts while he drank your juices dripping down his tongue as if you would be his last meal – and he honestly wished you were, because you tasted like heaven on him and he wanted more.

Once he felt you clamping down on his tongue so tightly he struggled to retrieve his warm muscle back, he helped you reach your high by pinching your clit. You moaned out his name, the sound sending blood straight down his cock, and he groaned into your pussy the moment you grinded on his face as you relaxed from your orgasm.

Choso didn’t give you the chance to recover from your orgasm, pulling you up to his lap before he’s kissing you again. You moaned when you tasted yourself on his tongue, his face and cheeks sweet from your arousal and cum.

You should be ashamed, but you couldn’t find a single bone in your body that felt shy right now. Choso was right – there was no point in being shameful when it came to your pleasure.

The kiss was sloppy, more tongue than lips and teeth clashing onto another. Choso grinded you on his hardened erection in search of your heat that would bring him relief, but he slowed down and pulled away from you, a string of saliva connected from your lips. He wanted you – wanted to fuck you so badly – so he searched your eyes for the answer when you aligned the tip of his cock to your entrance. “Is this okay? Are you sure with this?”

“Yeah,” you gritted your teeth when his tip entered your tight cunt, your walls sucking him in greedily already. Choso’s head dropped down to your shoulder, his teeth sinking down to your shoulder. You slowly sat down on his thick length, but then froze before he could bottom out. “Wait, no, I’m broke! I can’t pay for your extra services!”

“It’s free for you, princess,” he rasped out, “Now sit on my lap so I can feel you around me already.”

“Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

Through the pleasure that had his abs rippling, Choso managed a laugh. “You might want to get used to it.”

“Why would I?” you breathed out, eyes shutting tight once he fully slid into you. He allowed you to get used to the sudden stretch; it had been too long since you’ve been touched this way that you were impossibly tight around him right now. Your chest rose and fall with each faltering breath, your nails running down his back when Choso gave a deep, experimental thrust that immediately hits your sweet spot.

You moaned, cheek resting on his shoulder as Choso set the pace, squeezing your ass as he bounced you up and down his cock. “You’re gone after this. Once this contract is over, you’re moving away and I won’t get to see you anymore. I-I won’t lose sleep anymore after hearing you fuck all those women and gosh, I hate you so much, you know that?”

“I hated you too,” he groaned through your skin, “Or at least, that’s what I told myself so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Hurt? I would never hurt you,” Really, you praised yourself for still being able to form coherent sentences even after Choso kept fucking into you.

“I’m an escort, princess, I’m everybody’s and nobody’s at the same time,” he explained almost angrily, and his lips zealously sucked love bites to the sensitive flesh of your neck, “Even if you won’t hurt me, we’re bound to crash and burn at some point. This is why we’re not allowed to get attached to anyone,” his lips brushed over her collarbone, his canines dragging along to make red marks. “Why we’re not allowed to fall,” he squeezed her breast in the palm of his hand, twisting the peaked nipple until you whined, hips bucking deeper into his cock. “Why we’re not allowed to love.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I’ve always liked you,” he laughed through the pleasure, holding your hips down so he could drive his cock deeper into you. Yes, he was selfish, yes, he was frustrated – and his feelings burst through the way Choso powered into you. You fell limp in his arms and he easily caught you like he always did, his eyes blown wide as he stared right into your eyes, his dick still pummeling through your gummy walls.

Choso inhaled sharply when you clenched down on him, an elongated moan spilling past your lips. “I liked you the moment you moved in and you fell flat on your face before you could greet me.”

“Shut up, don’t remind me of that!” you raked your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood, and Choso concealed the pain with light chuckle, the pain only prompting him to absolutely use you. “You’re seriously bringing it up now when you’re – ah, fuck – b-buried in me?”

Choso tugged at one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist, the sudden change of angle had you pressing down deeper into him. It felt like you were sinking closer and closer to his cock, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until you’re crying out in his arms, scratches evident on his back.

“For now,” he breathed out, “I want to at least be selfish enough to want you now, just for now if fate won’t still allow it.”

“W-we can try,” you said in your lust-filled gaze, lips crashing down messily to his while you bounced on him, your hips slamming down at the same to meet his thrusts. “It’s not going to be easy, but we can try, right?” You cupped his face, surprised with the sudden vulnerability from his hooded eyes, looking so innocent and beautiful as if he wasn’t painting your insides white.

“Okay,” he nodded, brows pinching together. And that was all the both of you needed before Choso sank his fangs down the column of your neck to hold on his low groans; your head thrown back as you both drown in the pleasure of being with one another.

In the blink of an eye, all tenderness is Choso’s touches replaced by the hunger in his eyes and the power of his lust-filled thrusts. You were a moaning mess by the time your hips sit flat on his pelvic bone and his balls brush on your ass from how deep he was hitting you, and you felt his teeth nibble at the side of your breasts again as he warned, “But for now, I’m not going to go easy on you – not when I’ve wanted you for so long and I’ve been so hard for you these all time.”

And you allowed him. Because nothing was ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d try pushing through hell and back.

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punemy-spotted · 3 years

Text

Of Blackbirds and Barons: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: You Make The Rain Fall Harder

Relationships: Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader; CEO!Billy Russo x Reader; Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader x CEO!Billy Russo

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con; Dark!Fic; Mob and Mafia Elements; Character Death (Minor and Major); Threesome; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Blackmail/Coercion; Kidnapping; Mentions of War; Human Rights Violations; Contract Killing; Mafia AU; Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat; Complete Disregard for Actual Rules of Journalism and Style Guides; Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply

Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-con; Drugging/Date-Rape; Fingering (F-Receiving); Vaginal Sex; Unprotected Sex; Possible Breeding Kink; Kidnapping; Obsessive/Possessive Zemo; Dark!Zemo; Human Rights Violations; Discussion of Destruction of Novi Grad and Sokovia; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The problem with having sympathy for the Devil is that he will drag you down to Hell regardless.

Author’s Notes: Another series! Because I can’t get enough of Mob!AUs! Zemo makes his dark entrance. And this IS dark, so read at your own discretion. As always, all of my work is 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Masterlist

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia, that which once stood the test of time against the Tsars of Russia, began to crumble long before its borders did, its sweeping architecture and decadent mystery giving way to the sharp lines of Brutalism and the characteristic industrialism of the Eastern Bloc. Still, the Sokovian people managed to maintain their identity in the face of a new kind of empire, bringing greenery and art to a brisk, concrete world.

There is no Sokovia now, not the way one would think, but there are still Sokovians scattered around the world, clinging to the traditions of their once-home and searching for a banner to be united under.

A banner carried by a man like Helmut Zemo.

The caret blinks back at you with a mocking sort of finality, a metronome counting down the seconds to your ultimate frustration. Once. Twice. Thrice — you lose count, staring at the screen until your vision crosses and the words blur together, until only his name remains.

Zemo.

Baron Helmut Zemo.

Your notes are expansive, excessive, papers strewn about you and you look at each scribbled anecdote, each carefully dictated word, each photograph you have annotated until it is more red marker than actual picture and you are… frustrated.

Where do you put all that passion? He asked you over champagne and charcuterie.

You know this man.

You know this man like you know your own soul. You know this man who has bared his soul to you in turn and how are you supposed to impress upon the world that he has shown you the broken heart beating slow and painful in his chest in just a thousand words?

There is nothing. Nothing you can do, nothing you can saywhich could even begin to encompass the horrors which he has experienced and now as you painstakingly tap out word after word describing the grand beauty of his apartment, you wonder if this really was what your life was meant to be.

These are… fluff.

This is a man who has managed to unite an entire fractured country under his royal banner and yet the project wants to know about the indoor garden of his apartment, wants to photograph him in fine suits and know his haircare routine and this can’t be it. This can’t be the face of the man you see everywhere now, moreso since you picked up the assignment, purple-masked and surrounded by brass wings, over the homes of Sokovians all over New York.

And not just there.

I am a man, he told you with his hand on your thigh, But I can become an idea. And an idea is immortal.

You let your eyes skim over the photographs you took, a collection of banners and graffiti and billboards all proclaiming the need for the Sokovian people to come together and heal. To show that their small country — broken and divided in the wake of an attack by a rich megalomaniac’s private military — could not be taken down simply because its borders had been erased and its capitol turned to rubble.

We live in an age of information, and through information we are boundless.

It should terrify you.

It does terrify you.

But inside of that terror is a sick fascination with the man, isn’t there? That’s the trouble with you investigative types — peel back the layers enough and you find yourself capable of feeling sympathy for anyone.

He flaunts his power, and yet it’s innocent. Is it so wrong, then, to want to bring my country back to its glory?

No, you remember answering shakily, but not as well as you remember the pinpricks of heat his fingers left on your skin when that gloved hand brushed over you arm.

Breathe deep, hover fingers over your keyboard and try not to feel like you owe him the weight of the world. He approved of this, even suggested a word count and a topic of conversation — any chance to put his name out into the consciousness of the public, it seemed, to raise interest for the gallery by raising interest for the cause. Make it indulgent. My people, they enjoy art. They enjoy knowing that their leaders have preserved the past for them.

So do it.

… Baron Zemo’s New York penthouse is its own garden amongst a sea of steel and stone, a veritable museum of priceless artworks rescued from what remained of Sokovian museums and ministry buildings. It is, in its own way, an ode to the spirit of Sokovia, which lives on in the hearts and minds of its people around the world. He displays artworks of the many displaced Sokovians, gesturing broadly to a 3D model of an art gallery he intends to have built near the memorial at Novi Grad — with the consent of the Slovakian government — and speaking fondly of his intention to showcase the lost art of Sokovia as a reminder that loss of land cannot be the loss of an identity…

The artworks, they will be painful at first. But the gallery will showcase more and more, and eventually we will have hope.

He waves a gloved hand over the pieces he has preserved. Sokovian history. Scenic expanses, fields and flowers, a city skyline dotted with domed cathedrals. Each painting marred some way too, you can see when you look close. Patched canvas, the dusting of ash and rubble in the corner of an ornate frame, a trick of the light revealing repainting to cover up damage.

A stone hoof sits on a bookshelf, The attached horse and rider blown to rubble in the attack. I’m told it was of Emperor Ferdinand, but my archivists have not been able to confirm, he tells you as he stands behind you, his hand resting soft on the small of your back.

Come. There is more to be seen.

More to be experienced.

His living room is a garden.

It smells like fresh jasmine the moment you walk in, ivy climbing the walls and you swear you can hear birdsong from more than the pigeons cooing outside. Flower arrangement is an often looked down upon art, but the gardens in Sokovia were impeccable. My father won several awards for his pieces before his…

He trails off and you watch him, seeing the pain paint his face as openly as if he meant for you to watch the facade crack and then back to that placid, pleasant calm, a serpentine smile on his face as he extends to you a hand and guides you to the open air of his balcony and bids you Sitbids you Enjoy bids you I have looked forward to his meeting.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Baron Zemo, you begin politely, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and trying to avoid the way his eyes follow your fingers, feeling seen, We’re grateful for the honor of your patronage for this piece, we know you could have —

Nonsense, he cuts you off with a wave of his hand, gesturing to his butler and then leaning back comfortably in his seat as champagne and various cheeses are brought forth, You are my guest, and I am grateful you agreed to come meet me here, to assist with my… project. Now. Please, enjoy, I do not want to treat this as strictly business.

Is that why he had you come alone?

Don’t.

Don’t dwell on it.

It happens all the time, right? It has to.

A somewhat reclusive man, not keen to be in the limelight, in need of public attention to achieve his goals — you are a means to an end and he is your means to an end, surely you can understand.

Is that why he wipes the honey from your lips and kisses it off his fingers?

This is going to be a difficult conversation and you know it. You can only gush over houseplants and rose décor for so long before it becomes… trite, before you’re a part of the problem, painting a shining veneer over a half-decade old injustice

But he is warm, warm and friendly and you cannot help but laugh to his response when you draw attention to the architecture to draw attention from your blush — Very modern, yes. We are in New York, after all, and the old ways are fine for country houses but not so fine, for sunny penthouse apartments —not noticing the way he looks like he’s just smelled blood at the sound of it, the narrowing of his eyes and the hiding of his inscrutable expression behind a sip of champagne.

Well then. Shall we get started?

Of course.

Why don’t we start with your plans for opening night?Your notepad is out, the recorder sitting in front of you to pick up the sound of your voice and his, ready to commit everything to memory.

Of course. We cannot deny the… elephant in the room, I think you Americans call it. There are many who took pictures of the aftermath of the attack, and not enough who have seen it immortalized…

… The tragedy of Novi Grad and the consequential absorption of Sokovia into its surrounding countries weighs heavy in the Baron’s living room, draped in ivy and jasmine and hanging vines but also in photographs of what was left after a private military corporation chose to turn human lives into a war game.

No one knows who Ultron is, only that he is dangerous, that his technology rivals that of the SHIELD Syndicate’s Tony Stark, that he is willing to ally himself to the highest bidder, and that he is fully capable of unleashing endless destruction upon the world…

You will never forget the photographs he shows you, all that death and destruction in the golden light of his balcony, all that warmth and all you can see is cold bodies bathed in concrete dust.

They call to you, when you close your eyes — answer for our crimes — and you remember the way his voice changes too, so soft and solemn, the brush of fingers against yours when you touch the bombed out shell of a country mansion My home, in Sokovia, to the gray-and-blood horror which forms the centerpiece of his display, and you remember your research too, that the Baron is a widow, that his title is inherited from the most tragic of circumstances, that his son was an innocent lost in the attack and you are furious too, at the senselessness of it all.

It is a tragedy yet unanswered for, more than half a decade since the dust settled.

That quote sits front and center on your mock-up, wondering if you could make whatever editor who would inevitably rip this piece to shreds — just before publishing its corpse alongside some glamour picture of the Baron his coat — finally see the error of ignoring the tragedy. You won’t, but it’s worth a shot, as you lean back in your chair and stare at the screen again.

Sometimes you think about it.

Watching Novi Grad happen from the comfort and safety of your living room, wrapped in blankets as open war broke out in the capital city of what had once been a crown jewel in an ancient dynasty. A playground, a show of force.

Sometimes you hear the screams.

The blinking carat waits for you to add more to this story, to decide where you want to go.

… The Baron plays a game with his interview, insists on knowing his guests just as we insist on getting to know the enigmatic leader who has risen up a beacon for the displaced people of his homeland. We will not be recreating our answers in this article, as they were of course of a personal nature, but we do thank the Baron for taking the time to get to know us just as he bared his soul, his sorrows, and his hopes to a gaggle of strangers seeking to make him known to the world…

Tell me of you, sweetling.

Me? This interview is about you.

And so I must tell all my secrets for free? No, I insist. A secret for a secret.

He watches you with a hunger, coal-black eyes an invitation. Slide your gaze away or fall and who knows what depths he will drag you into and what you will find there?

No.

Don’t look, don’t look as you sip the tea Oeznik brought when you politely declined the champagne — Another time, probably — and let it brace you with its bitterness, let it clear your head.

Breathe.

You’re in too deep now, trapped in this cave of wonders… and wouldn’t it be worth it? Know him as he knows you, follow the trajectory of the smiling man before you.

What would you like to know?

Tell me how you taste his eyes whisper.

Tell me what it would take says the curve of his fingers over your hand.

Let me put you on display hums the razor-blade of his smile.

Tell me what drives a woman to take on such a … dangerous line of work, is the final inquiry, innocent and curious and gentle and you sip your tea and smile.

Is it dangerous?

You must know how many secrets you uncover — and the lengths the keepers will go to in order to hide them.

If people get hurt, shouldn’t I bring that to light?

How noble of you, he tells you with another hum, with his fingers squeezing yours, with his eyes fixed on the gaze you refuse to send his way, It must be quite thrilling.

Let me thrill you too, sweetling.

Pull away.

Do it.

Pull your hand away, make an act of it, pick up a candied strawberry and press it past your lips, let the sweetness soak your tongue and wash away the bitter thoughts, let yourself be bright and chipper and pretend you are not afraid.

Because you’re not.

Of course you’re not.

You are in control here, you must be in control here.

This is nothing. This is a casual interview with a handsome man in his handsome penthouse, an interview about architecture and art galleries and you were a correspondent once and you are meant to be friendly here, not afraid, so what are you afraid of?

What is it about his coal-dark eyes and too-sharp smile that turns your blood, that sends you back into your hutch, little rabbit, what is it about the way he prowls at the corner of your thoughts that makes you shudder so?

What are you running from?

Who are you running from?

Your turn, sweetling.

Mmh?

Our deal, or have you forgotten already?

Yes. You have.

It’s his eyes, you keep insisting to yourself. They drag you in, so dark it feels like you’re drowning in the void of them, searching for the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s a chase.

It’s what you’re good at.

Right — I’m sorry, I’m…

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The fog in your thoughts doesn’t fade, confusion crossing over your features and ill delight crossing over his. All you had was tea, tea and some of the candied fruit his butler brought for your enjoyment, how can you feel so…

Hazy?

So…

Upturned?

Something clatters behind you and you realize it’s the chair you were sitting on as you stand, unsteady and abrupt, lost in the moors of your own frantic thoughts and there is his hand on your elbow, so careful and soft and there are his lips before yours, so…

Tempting.

Somewhere, a woman croons to you of falling rain and rushing blood and the room does spin round as you stand still in the open air of a desire that is yours and not your own all at once. Shhh, shhh, let me help you whispered in your ear, a hand to your cheek and you…

You blink.

Reality flows into view like a sudden bath of ice water. Jerk away from his iron grip, raise your hands and try to resist, shake your head and N-no, I think. I think I need to go, I’ll just call a cab —

I cannot let you do that, sweetling. Not when you are finally within my reach.

His hold is steady. Unbreakable, even, as he pulls you close and you might even be dancing with the way his arm wraps around your waist the moment you fall into his chest, Don’t look so afraid, sweetling. No one will hurt you, here.

I will protect you like a jewel.

Your mind is still yours — the dose was just enough — but your limbs? Your limbs are tied to his strings, lost as he guides you right back inside, lost as he gestures for Oeznik to close off the balcony.

Your place is somewhere else now.

You belong underneath me.

He guides you inside, jasmine intoxicating your senses and wisps of smoke seeming to float past your eyes. Reality blends into the fantasy, the Baron and his prize, the gentle touch against your soft cheek, the cradling against his form and he is…

Determined.

A door opens. A portal into another kind of decadence, with soft sheets and softer touches, the sliding of a mouth over yours as your escape clicks shut behind you and you are pressed between wall and man and you are consumed.

Curl your fingers into the lapel of his coat, lose yourself to the pressure of his lips, the sharp nip of teeth against soft flesh. He tastes of champagne and honeycomb and you are saccharine on the tongue, a mess of sighs and admonitions left unsaid.

My precious thing, whispered into your unfocused sighs, I will take such fine care of you.

And you want to protest, want to insist you are free you are uninterested you do not want this man and his hands under the cotton of your blouse but the words tangle on your tongue and instead all you can do is whimper.

Whimper, and hear him chuckle against your skin, a line of kisses drawn from your parted lips along your jaw until he’s found the thrum of your pulsebeat to draw a gasp the moment his teeth scrape against the delicate skin. He must mark you his, after all, and this he will gladly renew, over and over.

Over and over as he draws you to bed, lays you amongst soft cushions and softer sheets, indulges in the soft curves of you in the golden glow of the room. Your clothes — so conservative, so professional, so unnecessary — he makes short work of even with what mild resistance you manage, Shh, shh, do not fight me.

The heat is yours and not yours all at once, warming your skin and leaving you flushed, leaving a trail of burning want along your skin where his fingers trace over you and centering in your core You need this, sweetling, look at you…

Do you?

Is it you who needs this or he, he who has begun to kiss along your skin, he who presses himself between your legs so impatiently? The accusation lives in your thoughts and passes past your lips as a strangled Nnh-no, ignored without ceremony or appeal.

Protests are useless when your tongue can form no words and your limbs can do nothing but writhe, seeking structure in the grip of his sheets as he unravels you with a press of his lips to that soft center of yours, slick with a need you cannot own and yet all yours.

He maps you with a hungry gaze, fingers already tracing the plushness of your folds, gathering slick like he might have been collecting nectar and you watch him pull back, watch him bring his hand to his mouth, watch him wrap lips around his fingertip and drag the taste of you onto his tongue, One day I shall make you taste how sweet you are…

One day, after he has savored you so deeply.

You are so full of words they burst out of you on a normal day and yet nothing you say comes to light, just the bare whimpers and anxious mewls of your needy self as he returns to inspecting, to enjoying, to savoring the reactiveness of your body.

He touches. He touches as if he has owned your body a thousand times, he touches as if you are delicate, as if you are breakable, as if his fingers might lead you to shattering around him here and now and you…

Are so close, already.

So close, trying to find the strength in your muscles to pull away, to speak something beyond desperation with every curl of fingers against your cunt, with every pleased hum he utters in response to the flex of your sex. Shh… no more fighting, sweetling, I know you can be good.

He knows you can be good, he says, with all the innocence of a man trying to convince his cat to stop clawing the couch, not a man presently holding your legs open with one hand at your thigh and the other curling against your walls while you arch your back. It builds, the pressure, it builds and builds and builds and — Let go, sweetling. Let me see your ecstasy.

Is that what this is?

You keen. You keen softly, desperately, brokenly, as skilled fingers find the spot which makes you, which leaves you breathless and flushed and sobbing, a trickle of tears making their path down your cheeks as you bite your own lip to muffle the sounds you did not know you could make. Wordless and pleading and he notices with a cold smile the way you seem to succumb, hips no longer desperate to escape the curling, stretching assault of two — no, three — fingers preparing you for him.

Hips pressing back towards him now, a betrayal of your conscious-yet-barely-focused mind, that lustful sweetness in you taking over and he can only watch in awe. Awe not at your surrender but at your perfection, muttering in a language you do not understand and yet you understand perfectly what he means — he will have you, all of you.

Ah, I shall so enjoy playing with you more, sweetling.

But not now.

Now his impatience outpaces your need and both outpace his cruelty, his desire to see you beg and so instead he pulls back his hand — and hears the desperate N-no, please don’t — to bring a cruel gleam to his dark eyes and even barely conscious as you are you know he is beautiful.

Beautiful and cruel, as he frees himself and curls fingers around his cock, rubs your own slick onto that soft skin, hisses at the very feel of you like it must be a preview to how you will make him throb, and presses himself over you. Presses himself over you, absorbs the cry of pain or anguish or relief which pours from your plush lips with the punishment of a kiss just as he sinks, hips pressing against yours, stretching you with his full length and Now we are one, my sweet.

Now we are one.

He will take fine care of you but you, you take finer care of him, so plush and tight around his senses, so desperate as you cling, so lost and wanton and he kisses away the tears which continue to sting your cheeks and hisses half-sensible promises into your ear — You will always be mine — as he ruts his hips and practically shoves you forward with every thrust, dragging you back with a snarl and the pressure builds.

Builds and you moan, builds and you sob into his hungry mouth, builds and you hold to him as if he were the last thing which made sensein the world builds and you are consumed and he is consuming, and the release is both of yours, spilling deep inside of you and that too is the final shackle upon your soul.

You sit. In the darkness of your office and you remember, worrying the cuticle of your thumb and staring at the words you have typed while your memory drifts back to that hazy reminder.

… A discussion with the Baron about Sokovia reveals a country rich with history. Once a Duchy of the Hapsburgs during the era of the Holy Roman Empire, the deeply Catholic country clings to the Austrian and Italian tradition of ceremony and indulgence. Baron Zemo plays an example of the hymns sung in the many cathedrals which once filled the country, a mixture of Sokovian and Latin to raise the soul to divine heights.

The Baron speaks of the country’s culture with a warm fondness, of how even during Soviet occupation, the people managed to enjoy games like ice hockey, and football (the European, variant, the Baron would like to emphasize), and even spent time indulging in horse racing. Surrounded by Slovakia and the Czech Republic, it keeps a similar tradition, with a twist…

No, that cannot encompass all that you discussed, and yet that is what the recording shows, words traded back and forth which you do not remember, a conversation of laughter and warmth and none of it slots into what your mind tells you occurred.

You erase. You rewrite. It is the same passage, over and over, fingers acting unbidden of your frantic will and eventually you give in, demand to be done with these words and this screen, eventually you desire peace.

… Baron Helmut Zemo is many things. A historian, an ambassador, a politician, an activist. He is a widower, a man trapped in the past, a man with lofty dreams for the future. He wears his sorrow as well as he wears his happiness, and for those who still call themselves Sokovian, he is their shepherd into a new age.

And as the door to your office opens, your keeper.

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #dark!baron zemo x reader #dark!helmut zemo x reader #billy russo x reader #dark!billy russo x reader #helmut zemo smut #dark!fic #mob!AU #helmut zemo #billy russo

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velociwrangler · 3 years

Note

If you're doing the Things You Said When... writing prompt ask,, , MyLaurie please <3 #6 or maybe #12 if you're down? :-)

<333

#12 for cellar!AU (Laurie waylays Michael after his most recent escape and locks him in her basement trying to figure out how to gain closure in whatever fucked up way she can)

this is my first attempt at Michael!POV. references to violence, animal death, Michael Being Michael in general. this isn’t very saucy, I sincerely apologize.

He hears her coming down the stairs, coming not so much awake at her first footfall as fully aware from a state of waiting, eyes closed, body still. Hands, legs, feet slack against the dirt. He thinks of each in terms of control and potential, not so much in words but in his practiced, uncomplicated knowledge of the time and effort it will take his body to rise and reach the stairs.

She unlocks the padlock. The trap door opens. Down she comes. He counts her steps and remembers her long lean legs. He knows exactly the step at which point he could roll and kick at those bony ankles. Learning from his mistakes: a couple steps up, so that bound or no the blow of his legs would hit her at a point on the steps when she couldn't land gracefully.

He doesn't intend to. He doesn't need intent. The knowledge floats in his mind, is catalogued without feeling, and settles like a spider on the surface of the water. He waits and smells the air for her.

Michael waits. He is very good at waiting. The smell of her comes to him and he understands it to be shampoo, soap of a kind not like the industrial soap used on himself and other patients but also not perfume like the kind he's seen someone apply hastily in a restaurant bathroom (he broke her neck, he drowned her date) or dabbed at the wrists before heading in to an office building (he took the car and he consumed the small dog left in the back seat.)

He lies still. He is very good at it. His body obeys him when he has a use for it and rests when movement isn't in service of his needs. His mind is both very active and very placid, not that he would think to use words like this to describe himself.

She smells like fruity shampoo and like wine. Alcohol, too, Michael quickly came to understand after he gained his freedom. Behind the mask and his closed eyelids, he feels a flashlight beam play over his face. She stands looking at him, standing on the stairs - not close enough for him to knock down, after all - and she whispers, "what the fuck am I going to do with you, Michael," and then she laughs and her voice rises, wavering and panicked, and he notes and understands that too, with an animal's intuition. It folds into his understanding of his circumstances seamlessly. The concrete walls, the machinery she's only dared used once, the smell of wine and the gun he knows she's brought down, as she always does, safety off but finger laid genteelly against the trigger guard.

All of this things he understands, and absorbs, and allows to lie fallow in his mind. When the time comes he'll act.

Until then, he swallows everything she leaves on the air into himself and waits, one way or another, for her frozen detente to crack under the pressure of his actions or her pain. The anticipation is a taste, for him - since that moment her singing voice drifted back to him down the sidewalk - without peer.

#asks #captain-beck #fic tag #laurie x michael

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renxamamiya · 3 years

Text

The Sins of Your Mistakes Weigh Heavily On My Soul

A03 Link Here

My half of a tradefic with @wildcard-rumi. This is based on my Theatre of Mirrors AU and her Takuto is Ren's Dad AU, specifically on her 'Buried Memories' series.

Go have a read of her AU, it's amazing and I love it. As for people waiting for Theatre of Mirrors don't worry, I've been busy/exhausted with other personal projects and life that I haven't really got the time/motivation to write it. But I will hopefully put something out before March!

Sumire: Hello, Dr. Maruki-San Sumire: Can you come to Leblanc today? There’s something we need your help with. Sumire: It’s about Ren.

---

Takuto stared at Sumire’s message on his phone, his fingers awkwardly tapping against the hardwood that made the Leblanc counter. It had been a while since he’d met the rest of the thieves; more than a year had passed since he’d tried to force a false reality to the whole of humanity, one where there was no concept of pain, only placid happiness in which the wildest dreams had come true. It came with a price: the stagnation of humanity, one where no one had to struggle, had to fight for what they wanted. He did it out of kindness, of course; to save everyone from the pain he experienced, from the pain his son had to endure... Looking back upon his mistake, he found it ironic that his sole reason to plunge humanity in a reality of ignorant bliss was the one who unravelled his plans at the seams.

It wasn’t as if Ren didn’t have his share of anguish, yet Takuto was too aware he had condemned his son to nothing but suffering. A clumsy night in the early hours during his time in college, Ren having to grow up without a traditional, nuclear family... Him having to witness Rumi’s death, traumatized, only then to have his memories wiped... Takuto still found the memory of Ren in the hospital room hard to swallow, the time where he’d used his Persona’s powers to alter reality, to make him happy. Reflecting upon it with his changed heart, he now realised that his good intentions would have led humanity into a Hellish existence; though he didn’t regret it one bit as he wouldn’t have reunited with his son in the first place.

He nestled the cup of coffee he had close to him, taking a sip from it, savouring the complex flavours intertwined with the tangy bitterness of the roast. Sakura-san had kindly brewed a cup for him to enjoy before closing the shop temporarily for his meeting with Ren’s friends, Takuto graciously accepting the cup and paying for it, waiting anxiously for the group to arrive. A ring of the bell caught his attention, Takuto whipping his head to see Sumire’s eyes peering from the frames of her glasses. She smiled upon seeing him, rushing into the quiet cafe followed by the other thieves before giving him a quick bow, “Good morning, Maruki-sensei,” she greeted, and Takuto laughed at her extreme politeness.

“You don’t have to be so formal, Yoshizawa-san,” Maruki laughed, “I’m not your teacher anymore, and I did come here because you asked, after all,”

He looked over to the rest of the group, the thieves minus Sumire sitting in the booths, their faces solemn as they looked away from his gaze. Takuto frowned; he had spotted Morgana quietly curled on Haru’s lap, the girl running her fingers in his fur absent-mindedly, looking worried at the cat with worry. Another sweep of the room with his eyes, distress welling inside him. Before Sumire could even speak, having noticed his panicked expression he asked out loud to the room: “Where’s Ren? Has something happened to him?”

“That’s... what we want to talk to you about,” Makoto said, yet she found it hard to look Takuto in the eyes. The feeling of unease between the thieves grew between them, the worried glances they exchanged only made him more anxious.

“What happened? Is he okay?” he stuttered, jumping from his seat, “Did he get into some sort of trouble? Is he in danger?” Each time he asked them the group winced, Sumire’s cheerful expression evaporated as she watched Takuto beg for any sort of information, each question curling the corners of her frown deeper on her face, “I need to know, please tell me: what is going on?”

“It’s... hard to say,” Ann replied to his plea, “It... he...”

“Ren’s gotta Palace,” Ryuji huffed, stoic at Takuto’s shocked reaction, “We’ve been infiltration’ it for some time now,”

“He has a Palace?!” Takuto’s eyes widened, shocked at this revelation, “W-when did he get one? Does that mean that world... the Metaverse came back? How-”

“We don’t know,” Makoto tried her best in answering him, her voice understanding at his floundering confusion, “We don’t know when the Palace had been formed, but when it did fully form it brought back the Metaverse with it,”

“And Mementos too,” Futaba added, “The whole thing, and his Shadow has been manipulating it too for his own goals,”

“Just like...” Takuto swallowed, still bewildered at this newfound knowledge, “But why? Do any of you know?”

“He has mentioned a performance of some kind,” Yusuke said, “One ‘of a lifetime’, it isn’t wrong to suspect his plans with Mementos had something to do with it,”

“Have you noticed something with the public, Maruki-san?” Haru asked him, her expression curious, “We’ve been noticing ourselves the renewed interest in the Phantom Thieves out in public, even selling Phantom Thief merchandise again,”

“I... I have,” Takuto swallowed, loosening the buttons of his coat, his hands shaking in the warm air of the cafe, “I’ve heard things on the radio about the Phantom Thieves; passengers would always mention about them to me, but I always thought it was because of the anniversary of your first heist that brought interest back. Kamoshida, right?”

Ryuji and Ann cringed at the mention of Kamoshida, Takuto immediately regretting his words, “S-so anyway, where is Ren? He has a Palace, but I assume-”

“He’s trapped inside of it,” Takuto whipped his head to look at the cat, Morgana, rising from his listless nap upon Haru’s lap to talk to him, “For some reason his shadow’s keeping him in there. No idea why, but what we do know is that he’s kept at the top floor,”

“Trapped inside...” Takuto repeated under his breath, rolling the words on his tongue as he tried desperately to even comprehend the situation. Heavy silence soon fell amongst the group. Takuto bit his lip, was he the one who caused this?

Makoto cleared her throat, snapping the room back into attention “There’s a vital area of the Palace he refuses to open up for any of us, Takuto. Anyone but you, that is, according to his shadow,”

Takuto looked at her in thought, contemplating her words, they churned in his mind. He looked at the polished floor of the cafe, his lips pursed. He curled his fingers into a fist, his chest tightened, Takuto blinking the tears from his eyes as they arose.

He looked back up at the thieves, their eyes filled with hope, pleading for him to assist them in saving his son.

“Alright, I’ll go with you to his Palace; Ren’s Palace,” he said.

---

“Is this?”

Takuto gazed at the foyer before him, watching the humanoid cognitions before him, all of them chatting to and fro, paying no mind to the thieves, all of them wearing masks. Light from the scarlet day of the outside shone wonderfully through the stained-glass windows. He gazed uneasily at the statue that nestled itself between the two ascending stairs, gulping down the stress and anxiety he felt, staring at an uncharacteristically pompous statue of his son.

“The Palace is becoming more unstable with each trial we complete,” Goro informed him, Takuto still bewildered by the mere fact that he was alive, and more importantly, helping the thieves with their infiltration, “I’d advise you to keep your wits and do whatever the shadow wants you to do, we can’t risk it prematurely collapsing,”

Takuto nodded, intimidated by the former detective, barely hiding the disdain he felt towards the former councillor. He had almost condemned the entirety of reality to one of false bliss, forcing his wants onto the entirety of reality. He also understood Goro still felt bitter towards him with erasing Ren’s memories, making him suffer, the infallible leader a mess in the confrontation of his recollections, having no way to cope with any of them. Sure, he had come out on top of them, able to power through his relieved anguish of losing Rumi, of losing his father, of having to witness her...

“It certainly has seen better days,” the bespectacled man sighed. He could still see signs of grandiose and luxury in the untended chaos of the tatters and scratches that accented each curtain and carpet, as if abandoned and allowed to rot with time. A part of him still wanted to deny the sight before him, still rationalised that nothing about this was real, that his son was back in reality, that he was safe, that this was some sick prank conjured up by his friends.

All those wishful thoughts Takuto had mustered quickly dashed when he saw the figure stood before them. Waiting.

“-And remember, refer to him as Joker, not Ren,” Goro hissed in his ear, “All we can do is appease him unless... well, I don’t suppose you’d like to end up as a corpse, would you?”

“I- Thank you, Akechi-san,” Takuto gulped, nodding in acknowledgement of Goro’s warning before turning towards his son. Though they were meters apart it felt like they were looking across the maw of a canyon. With a step, and then another, Takuto walked towards his son.

“Hello, dad,”

“Hello, Joker,” Takuto responded to the shadow’s greeting, already unnerved by his eyes, no longer grey but golden. Was this a shadow his friends constantly mentioned about, the dark, repressed side of the individual? Takuto had never gotten a chance to meet such a being, the ruler of his own distortions, he was the one who sat atop of his warped heart, ruling them with a gentle hand. He had his familiar outfit on, his will of rebellion, Takuto recalling seeing it when the thieves confronted him to change his heart. Though it was the differences that unsettled him: his dapper vest shining in scarlet red, his mask, black and golden, greatly increased the eerie glow of his eyes, “You wanted to see me?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I want to see my own father,” Joker said, words dripping with sarcasm, “It’s been a while since we last sat down and talked, I’m really starting to miss it a lot,”

“Likewise?” Takuto said cautiously, fearful of what the shadow’ll do to him if he misspoke, “I would like to spend some time catching up with you, if that is your reason for summoning me of course,”

“It was! You know me so well, father,” Joker smiled, and hand raised and the click of his fingers, a door swung open among the foyer, “Come, come with me, we have a lot to talk about I’m sure,”

---

The theatre room led him into nothing but a featureless void Takuto discovered, empty as if he was transported to another world. The Phantom Thieves, Ren’s friends, did warn him about the possible dangers that he had to face, Takuto still willing to plunge into whatever trial Ren - Joker - wanted him to face. The shadow unnerved him yes; he reasoned that anyone would be uncomfortable with the confrontation with the shadow of a loved one, their dark, inner thoughts giving shape in a distorted environment. A ‘Palace’ the thieves called it. Walking in the directionless void he hoped deeply his knowledge of the Metaverse could aid him in whatever Joker wanted him to endure. He had to save his son from himself, and this time he wasn’t going to run away from him, Takuto told himself.

“Daddy?”

Takuto’s heart jumped in his throat, him turning instinctively towards the sound of a child whimpering in the darkness. The voice was familiar, too familiar, a beacon that guided Takuto in the dark, or a lure to ensnare him into the jaws of his doom, Takuto rushing towards it with haste all the same.

“Daddy? Where are you?”

“Ren!” Takuto shouted, clambering toward the terrified child, tripping on his own feet with every other stride he took in a desperate, maddened haste to reach his crying son. He didn’t consider the possibility of the apparition of his crying son to be a trap, only instinct carried him forward until he approached the small cognition.

Grey, watery eyes full of innocence stared back at him, the small form of Ren clutching tightly onto a distinct plush of a cat. Takuto’s heart melted as he knelt to his level to address the boy, to show him that he meant no harm, the boy shying away into the fur of his toy.

“I’m here for you, Ren,” Takuto cooed, reaching out his arms towards the frightened boy. The young Ren stopped his crying. He looked at Takuto’s inviting, outstretched arms; and then at him, Takuto gave him a smile that radiated safety and love.

“Who-who are you?” from the stuttering, fearful cognition was the reaction that Takuto did not expect, his face falling in confusion, his bemusement matched with the smaller Ren that stared blankly back at him. Takuto tenderly brushed the mess of hair away from Ren’s eyes.

“I-I’m your dad,” Takuto said reassuringly, yet the cracks of his tone betrayed the melancholic feelings that welled inside of him. To see those grey eyes gaze upon him, wide and curious and with wholly innocence broke his heart, “There’s no need to be scared, Ren. I’m here now, I’ll protect you,”

Young Ren looked at him, slightly backing away from the unfamiliar, familiar man in front of him, “I... I don’t... I don’t remember, if you’re my dad I don’t remember you! I don’t-”

“Hey, calm down,” Takuto said, yet he respected the distance Ren had put between them, “It’s alright to forget sometimes, which is why we need others to help us remember,”

“I-”

“Do you trust me, Ren?” Takuto asked the frightened child. Young Ren looked at him hesitantly, clutching the stuffed toy in his arms closer against his chest. He looked down onto the floor, pausing in contemplation.

“I... Guess so,” Young Ren mumbled shyly, eyes flickering between the floor and Takuto that reminded the bespectacled man so much about Ren in his younger years. He gestured for the child to sit down in front of him, Young Ren doing so obediently, the both of them folding their legs as they sat cross-legged on the murky floor.

“Now, do you remember anything about your father?” Takuto asked, adopting a more professional persona with inquiring the boy, “Anything at all?”

“Well, I think he wears glasses,” Young Ren started, curling his small thumb and finger before holding them up to his face, peering into the holes he had made with his hands, “They’re really big on his face. He wears them a lot, and I barely see him take them off,”

“That’s good, what else do you remember?” Takuto asks, amazed at Ren’s recollection, the boy knitting his eyebrows in concentration.

“And... He had brown hair,” Ren recalled, his hands moving to his head, “Brown hair that was really long and wavy, but not too long like a girl’s. He also had brown eyes... and...”

“And?”

“He would watch Featherman with me,” Ren said, “Every Saturday, he would wake up just to watch Featherman with me. I would always ask which Featherman he liked the best a-and he would ask me who was mine, and it was-”

“Featherman Red,” Takuto finished, Young Ren’s eyes widening, “I remember. I’ve always remembered,”

“A-and,” Ren continued, his cheeks slightly flushed against his skin, “I remember whenever he came home he would always bring apples! He’s not good at cooking them, but I didn’t mind eating them anyway, because he would always bring home the really tasty ones,”

And the child continued his recollection, Takuto’s small smile that sat on his lips grew a little wider with each detail Ren managed to recall, the excitement in his eyes growing more and more, and Takuto wondered if the child was even aware of how much he recalled. Yet whenever Takuto asked for the child of his father’s name he merely blinked at Takuto.

“I don’t remember my daddy’s name,” Young Ren shook his head, his disappointment reflecting Takuto’s, “I’m trying really hard, I am!”

“I know you are,” Takuto sighed, resting a hand upon his shoulder, giving the small child a reassuring smile. Yet, as defiant as his grown-up self, Young Ren shook his hand away.

“But, there’s one name I do remember.” Young Ren mumbled under his breath. Takuto’s eyes widened, a sudden drop of water dropped upon his head. Carefully reaching over the moist patch of his hair he looked at his fingers. Nothing. He looked up. Only the black that characterized their surroundings present. He turned to look back at the boy.

“What name is it?” Takuto asked, Young Ren squeezed his eyes shut.

“I... it’s someone close to dad,” he mumbled. More droplets of phantom liquid dripped upon him, “Someone... I.... don’t remember,” The child began to panic, “I... I can’t remember it anymore. I can’t, I’m-”

“There, there,” Takuto cooed, brushing away Ren’s tears, ignoring the storming of the invisible rain on his person that only increased in ferocity, “It’s okay. Just do like what we did with your dad, okay?”

“O-okay,” Young Ren said, trying hard to salvage a mask of bravery, looking at Takuto with red, blotched eyes “I mean... I don’t have a lot of memories of her...”

“Her..?” Takuto feared he knew who the young boy was referring to, the invisible storm now pouring magnitudes onto him, unrelenting, the liquid thumping hard against his frame, his hearing starting to be muffled by the roar of rushing water, “Ren, maybe we should-”

“She had big eyes-” Young Ren began to recite, Takuto grabbing tightly onto his shoulders, his pleas for the boy to stop falling on death ears.

“-and she was smart, and nice-” Young Ren continued, oblivious to the panicking Takuto that desperately pleaded with him to stop.

It smelled. Everything smelled rancid, like something rotten, something foul, something metallic. But it was as if Ren was painfully unaware of the speckles of red splattered on his face.

“-and, and she had red hair!”

Takuto recognised the expression the young boy suddenly snapped into, grey eyes once filled with ignorance now watered with fear and distress. The memories of the break-in, the blood, the red. The child stumbled back away from Takuto, both of them shocked that the ground seemed to ripple under them.

“Ren!” was all Takuto could utter until a shrill shriek spilled from Ren’s lips. More blood dripped down from the sky, the child turned and tripped against his feet and fell onto the ground. Takuto reached for Ren but stopped.

Rumi. Rumi was in the reflection, so many copies of her, eye wide and afraid, blood gushing from her red locks, Takuto speechless, the only sound coming from his lips were the terrified whimpers that bubbled up from his tight throat. He too soon stumbled onto his knees, his own distressed reflection mirrored back at him, Takuto’s traumatic expression staring back at him among the mosaic of Rumi’s last moments. He dared not to look at the scene above him.

“Subject one is asleep and well, Dr Maruki,”

“Was the actualisation successful?” his voice rang in his ears. Takuto blinked his watering eyes, adjusting his vision to the spotless white tiles that made up the room. The familiar, sterile smell of disinfectant stung his nostrils, Takuto barely making out the sweetness of forgotten flowers in bouquets that splashed colour among the featureless wall. He allowed himself time to collect himself; he looked at his hands, bloodless yet he swore he could still feel the liquid staining his hands.

“Yes, Dr Maruki,” the unfamiliar voice rang out. Takuto swallowed the bile that rose from his throat, allowing himself to collect his composure and strength before he stumbled onto his feet with great effort.

Suddenly he found himself in a chair, gazing at the two figures looking over a sleeping child. One was a faceless nurse, writing on a clipboard as she talked. The other was himself, “There seemed to be no complications with the procedure,” the nurse continued, the reflection of Takuto reaching down absent-mindedly to stroke the sleeping Ren’s hair, “He should be waking up at any moment,”

“Thank you,” the other Takuto smiled, “You may go now,”

The nurse nodded before dissipating into a thin cloud of smoke, the other Takuto sighing before turning to the sitting Takuto, looking at him soberly.

“It was...” Takuto croaked, the guilt of his past mistake tightening in his stomach, “I just wanted...”

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” the other Takuto said quietly, turning back to the sleeping form of Ren, white-gloved hands coiling around strands of black hair. Flashes of memories flickered from within Takuto’s vision. How his son’s face contorted in anguish at the recollection of memories, how desperate he was to forget, willing to battle his friends to preserve his own ignorance, the lingering gazes, hauntings of his own psychological pain that echoed from within his own eyes, “He’s such a strong child, even when staring at the face of danger he still puts on a brave face,”

“Yeah, he really-” he feels something wrapping tightly around Takuto’s wrists. He looked down; blackish-blue tendrils slid across his skin. Panic rises from his chest and tightens his throat; he struggles against the grip of the monster binding him.

“There’s one more thing I need to get rid of,” the other Takuto murmured, Takuto futilely thrashing against Azathoth’s hold. The cognitive double approached him; eyes unblinking under the thick frames of his glasses as he watched Takuto struggle against the cognitive Persona. A click of his fingers, and the tendrils encompassed all of Takuto’s body other than his face, “This is for my patient, for my son,”

“You’re making a mistake!” Takuto’s voice cracked, his appeals to his cognitive double fruitless as he saw him snap his fingers. He felt himself pulled down by the otherwise unseen demon, his feet slowly sinking into the floor, the cognitive Takuto watching him disappear with a blank face.

“This is for his own good,” the cognitive Takuto said absolutely, his expression unmoving while he watched Takuto sink into the ground, “He needs to forget, he needs to be unburdened by the memories of her death, and that includes removing you from his life,”

“But-”

“It’s the only way,” the cognition repeated to him, the scenery around him going monochrome, the doubles skin growing paler before everything started to fade into white “We both know it’s the right way,”

“We...” Takuto croaked through the tears that started to well in the corners of his eyes, trying desperately to blink them away, tearing his eyes from his cognitive double in shame, “I was... I was foolish to think that. All it did was cause Ren and I suffering...”

The cognition said nothing.

“I should have been there for him...” he choked, the tentacles that wrapped around him grew ever tighter, “But I was a coward. I-”

He turned his head to see nothing. Featureless white. His throat tightened. There was nothing; he was stuck, yet the tendrils continued to drag him down, deeper and deeper, his breaths quickened, he was panicking, fidgeting against his bonds. It was too much, he was growing increasingly fatigued, he needed to escape, he-

“Daddy?”

Ren’s confused voice rang out, and Takuto quickly lost consciousness, his vision turning black.

---

“-he the next patient?” a voice rang out from the fringes of his consciousness, so familiar to his ears. His eyelids were heavy. Takuto wanted to sleep.

“Yes, Dr Am-” another voice accompanied the stranger. His mouth was dry. He felt sick.

“-ki, Takuto,” the first voice chuckled, Takuto dragging himself from his uncomfortable slumber, wincing in pain at the bright light that assaulted his vision.

“Who... who are-?”

Takuto jolted awake in alarm. The voice... was Ren, the grey eyes of his son looking at him, tired and heavy. His hair was slicked back neatly, his outfit a white, spotless suit, his shirt collar propped neatly around his neck. “Where am I?”

“You’re in good hands, Mr Maruki,” Ren smiled at him. It unnerved Takuto; Ren’s eyes shimmering yet empty, the curl of his lips rehearsed and forced, his voice too calm for the situation they both found themselves in, “Don’t worry. Soon your troubles will all disappear,”

Ren’s words did nothing to soothe Takuto. He looked down to where he currently sat, a white throne under him. Takuto paled.

“Patient seems to be distressed due to the loss of his son,” Ren spoke, snapping his fingers to the same featureless nurse from before, who then handed him a clipboard, “unforeseen circumstances; it seemed that the little one had died during a failed robbery-”

Ren fiddled his hair in thought, tucking a stray strand behind his ear before continuing, “Patient seems to be in great psychological pain. Advisory procedure includes amnesia brought upon by actual-”

“Ren, please don’t,” Takuto cried, shaking his head furiously, “Please stop this madness, you’re making a-”

“Nurse, please make sure our patient here is secure!” Ren ordered the cognition, it nodded its head before lunging towards Takuto, its limbs sprouting from its form before pinning Takuto on the throne.

“Please, Mr Maruki,” Ren begged the thrashing Takuto, “Just calm down. I don’t want to cause you any more distress, the redhead was already enough trouble to treat,”

“Ren wait plea-”

A snap of his fingers. The entire amphitheatre rumbled violently, a great figure rose from behind Ren’s determined form, its golden skin and green eyes glowing in the light. Takuto sat there petrified, his mouth hung agape, his body quaked in fear, eyes wide as his forehead perspired with sweat, his mouth dry, his heart thumped with sickening speed, only able to hear it thrash in his chest as he gazed up upon the Persona who stared back at him with its unmoving face.

“Adam Kadmon,” Ren uttered his name, “You know what to do,”

A click of his gloved fingers, and Takuto’s vision was once more engulfed into black. ---

His brown eyes flickered open once more. Takuto rested his head on the featureless floor. He was back to where he started, the weird ethereal voice that Joker- no- his son had sent him to face the trial he so desperately wanted Takuto to endure. He wanted to go home, he wanted this madness to stop; he rose from the blackness, seeing that he was now palming wood, the walls surrounded him painted black while fluorescent light hung above his head.

“Was this...” he mumbled, yet the clicking of familiar heels made him snap to attention, hastily scrambling up to his feet, the shadow of his son walking towards him with hands in his pockets, golden eyes transfixed intently, emerging from the shadows of the empty room, him using his will upon the Palace they were currently in to convey his dramatic aura with persistent intimidation.

“Did you have fun, father?” Joker seethed, tongue rolling with each syllable as if the words were bitter to the taste. He looked pleased with himself, claiming his victory over his father, looking down at him with scorn, yet Takuto could see the agony that brewed in him by the quiver of his bottom lip, “I sure did, watching you flounder like that,”

“Was all of that how you truly felt?” Takuto meekly asked, watching how Joker swaggered towards him, avoiding the rhetorical inquiry from the shadow, “Everything I put you through... did you suffer that much?”

Takuto didn’t like how the corners of Joker’s mouth tugged higher, how his smile grew wider, thinner, his golden irises quivering in delight, how the white in his engulfed everything. Joker said nothing, his strides widening, Takuto’s feet firmly planted onto the floor.

“I-”

“The things I had to endure,” Joker roared, his expression unmoving yet his voice quaked with rage ill-fitting of the mask he wore, “The fights between my adopted parents, the stares and whispers I’d get from my classmates, the anguish I had to endure once I remembered. I kept-”

Joker’s facade slightly cracked, lines on his face, as if it were porcelain.

“I had nightmares” he cried, voice breaking, yet he betrayed no tears, “Nightmares from that day, seeing things that I couldn’t explain, seeing her dead, the blood... I always woke up in a cold sweat, never remembering why I was crying, I-”

Joker inched his face closer to Takuto’s with each word, stretching himself further upward, standing on the soles of his boots. What he didn’t expect from his rant was the arms that wrapped around him, the shadow pulled from his taunt into a comforting embrace, Takuto’s hand snaked to comb the strands of his unruly hair. Joker’s expression transitioned one from hate into befuddlement, feeling something hot drip down onto his grand, black coat.

“I’m sorry,” Takuto choked, bringing him in closer, undeterred by the mask poking painfully in his neck, “I’m sorry,” he repeated, grasping his son’s hair, palming it with long, tender strokes, “I couldn’t bear to look at you, you didn’t move, didn’t speak, I wanted you to get better, I thought-”

Takuto swallowed the bile that rose from his throat. He felt Joker’s body in his arms slump slightly, his head resting on his shoulder, “I’m sorry,”

The shadow said nothing, merely allowing himself to be held, his body limp, small heaves escaped from his throat every so often.

“Please, let us help you, Ren-”

The shadow snapped to attention, a hand around the scruff of Takuto’s jacket collar, tearing him away from the embrace they were locked in. In his shock, Takuto tried to escape from the grasp of the invisible assailant, only able to by slipping from the article of clothing, stumbling forward and running back to the hunched shadow, Joker’s gloved hands hiding his face. Yet as he got closer something stopped his advance; he collided into something, hard, yelping in agony as he clutched his nose, blinking to see that there was nothing in between them.

“You don’t get it, do you?” the shadow laughed while Takuto pressed his hands at the unseen barrier between them, the sound hollow, no joy in his words, “None of you do,”

The sound of trickling water filled the room, red swirled below Joker’s boots, Takuto confused and scared at the sight before him. It was like... It was like... “I’m going to make everything better,” Joker continued, peaking through the gap of his splayed hand on his face, “Heaven is nothing but a lie; I’m going to make a place where desires can truly be realised,”

“Ren, you don’t have to do this! Please,” Takuto begged, the red liquid rising rapidly up towards Joker’s hunched body, the shadow glaring at Takuto’s fearful form, “You’re making a mistake, Ren, don’t make the same mistake I did,”

“Of course I won’t,” Joker smiled as he stood up straight, the waters still rising, his facade perfect yet again, the calm on his face appearing so sudden that it terrified Takuto how easily Joker was able to slip back into calm, “I know a way to make them obey, all of them,”

“Is it true? Are you using-” the water was now up to his waist, Joker unfazed by the liquid slowly drowning him.

“A trickster never reveals his tricks,” Joker laughed, licking his lips while he watched Takuto squirm, “Not like I’ll tell you... any of you. You’ll just make everything more complicated, you’ll ruin all my plans, and the worst thing is the realisation that none of you care,”

“You’re destroying yourself in the process,” Takuto begged, his hands pressing against the glass, “Your friends have told me everything, each day your mental state is decaying further, this place is collapsing in upon itself. You’re losing yourself, Ren-”

“DON’T CALL ME BY THAT NAME,” Joker screeched, banging two of his fists onto the invisible barrier between them, Takuto clumsily stumbling back with shock, “I am not Ren, I’m not him, I am better, HIS better!” the red was now at his neck, the room shaking with invisible fury, “I will never go back to being him, Maruki, and you should realise that by now,”

“Ren-”

But it was too late, the shadow fully submerged in the red liquid, seemingly gone. Panic engulfed Takuto, him now thumping against the glass with his hands rolled into fists, desperate to save his son from the other side, “Ren!” he called out to no avail, continuing to pound against the barrier before him.

A subtle crack, and then another, then another. Takuto heard the trickling of water before he saw it, red liquid now bursting through the dam separating him and his son, the cascade of water spilling out like dominoes, and it wasn’t long for the barrier to completely break, the red torrent sweeping everything in his path up in its tide, taking Takuto with it.

---

A low rumble came from behind the theatre door, the thieves emerging from another one of Joker’s trials pitted against them, it swung from its hinges with Takuto being thrown outside of the room. He landed with an ‘oomph’ onto the carpeted floor, the group running towards him in shock and worry, though they could barely see a visible scratch on him.

“Maruki-san!” Sumire was the first to rush to his aid, kneeling next to the dazed brunette, blue flames dissipating her mask while her hands glowing with the familiar green of Diarahan, “Are you okay, are you hurt, what happened?”

“I’ll, I’ll be fine,” Takuto assured her gently dismissing her, trying hard to amass the strength to stand up on his own two feet, “I just... I just need a moment,”

“You don’t look fine,” Haru pointed out softly, “Are you sure you don’t need to rest? You look like you’ve been through a lot,”

“If it’s anything like the trials we have to endure, I’m surprised he came out unscathed,” Yusuke mumbled out loud, “Though then again, Ren is his son...”

“I didn’t do anything too taxing, haha,” Takuto weakly laughed, giving the thieves an unconvincing, weak smile, “It was... it was...”

His smile faded, his facade melted, looking down at the faded carpet below him, “I... I didn’t realise fully the pain I put him through,” he said, almost whispering, “He was suffering all that time. It’s my fault-”

“It isn’t your fault though,” Ann said earning perplexed looks from the thieves and an unamused glare from Goro, “I- I mean, it’s not just you who’s at fault here, Dr. Maruki,” she clarified, “I think we each all have something to do with making Ren’s Palace appear. We’re at fault too,”

“Yeah, it’s not like you were doin’ it for bad purposes too,” Ryuji interjected, “I mean, you did what you thought was right, right?”

“All of you are too forgiving,” Goro muttered.

Without warning the Palace started to quake, everyone thrown off from their feet as the walls started to shake, the chandeliers suspended above their heads rattling amongst the thundering rumble that consumed the premises.

“W-Why is the Palace acting up now?!” Morgana squeaked before falling onto his back, the others struggling to keep their balance, “I thought-”

“Ren’s not looking too good!” Futaba squeaked, fiddling and adjusting her headset as she looked over the information displayed by her Persona, “His vitals are falling fast!”

But Takuto didn’t pay attention to the panicked chatter of the thieves, looking down at his hands, mortified how the dull colour of the red carpet below his hands faded even further into a rotten brown. Lights flickered around him from above. It was a nightmare, the cognitive patrons screaming. He felt something small and dust-like trickle against his back.

The quake went as sudden as it came, the roar fading into deathly silent once more. Takuto peaked out from under his huddled hands that shielded him from above, eyes darting from side to side in a panic.

“W-what happened?” he asked the thieves who were trying to regain their footing, though he already suspected the answer.

“Ren’s getting worse,” Makoto answered his rhetorical question, and Takuto’s face flushed with dread. She looked at him, her eyes sympathetic behind her mask, “You should get out of here, it isn’t safe for you,”

“You’re... you’re right,” he sighed defeated, aware that if he had accompanied further than necessary, he would be nothing but dead weight. He didn’t have a Persona, no way to support the rest of the group within or outside of battles, sure to get in their way. He hung his head in defeat, carefully picking himself up from the floor, “Just... just make sure you do everything you can to save him... alright? He’s... he’s all I have left,”

The thieves nodded in response, yet their expressions conveyed the apprehensive outcome of their endeavour.

---

Ren said nothing, merely watched his shadow wandering throughout the grand space of the dressing room. His path was directionless, absent-mindedly walking in loops, circling the furniture, his stare unfocused and distant.

“Why?” was all Ren could ask, baffled by his own shadow, “Why do you keep lashing out?”

“He deserved it,” Joker reasoned, continuing his purposeless pace, the other cognitions that normally served him purposely out of sight, “They all do, Ren, why don’t you see that?”

“They don’t, they don’t, Joker,” Ren said, and Joker laughed bitterly, “You’re hurting them. You’re hurting the people I- we-”

“Did WE deserve what happened to us!?” Joker snapped at Ren, turning to him, venom in his expression, “Did WE deserve to forget Mom? To get carted off to someone else just like property, to have to endure our adopted parents and their wrath to only be thrown by the wayside, to have our father, LIE to us, to be USED by him for his actualization? DID we!? DID WE?!”

“Joke-”

“HE ABANDONED US!” Joker shrieked; the walls of the Palace quaked around him. His golden eyes welled with tears, pulsating with anguish and bitterness, “HE USED US AS A- A- A SICK GUINEA PIG! I am SICK of being used as a- as a- a- an OBJECT! Like I’m NOTHING!”

“Joker-”

“Stop denying that you feel this way,” the shadow squeaked, his red fingers intertwined in his black, dishevelled locks, “Stop it! It’s hopeless, Ren, you know that deep inside you don’t want to understand, you don’t want to forgive. That bastard-” another sob escaped from his throat, Joker choking on his tears and disgust, a familiar swell of power coursing through his being. Another shaky sigh. He could feel Ren finally coming to his senses, his lips curling upwards from the corners of his mouth, yet he barely felt any joy as he continued, “He’ll soon pay. They’ll all soon pay, and I’ll make sure that they’ll regret what they did to us.”

---

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can’t help with?”

Takuto looked at Sumire, she and Goro the only ones escorting Takuto onto the edges of the Palace’s domain. A weak, tired smile he wore as he shook his head, “I’ll be nothing but dead weight, Yoshizawa, and it looks like you all have everything under control,”

“At least we agree on something,” Goro hissed, arms crossed as he leaned his weight on one of his legs, “No Metaverse Powers or any standout physical strength. All you’ll be to us is a liability. Deadweight. A sitting duck-”

“I wonder why, Senpai,” Sumire pondered, “I mean, he should have his Persona at least, right?”

“I-”

“Regardless, I hope that I was able to help in some way,” Takuto interjected, tearing Sumire and Goro from their pondering, “But please... please save Ren,”

“We’re doing everything we can, Maruki-san,” Sumire nodded, “And if there’s any way you can help we’ll tell you, right, Akechi-senpai?”

“Actually, there is a way in which Maruki can help,” Goro mused, as he looked at the bespectacled man, “There something I was wondering about Joker’s plans,”

“You have my attention,”

Goro turned to look at the theatre before them. A moment passed, before he gazed back into his brown eyes, “I want you to see if there’s anything suspicious going on in the outside world, any changes at all in the public cognition. If you do, contact Yoshizawa, and she’ll contact me, am I clear?”

“Why? Are you suggesting-”

“Just do it,” Goro snapped, and without another word he turned on his heel, making his way back to the Palace. With an apology and a quick bow, Sumire too left Takuto alone at the cusp of the ethereal realm.

He watched them leave, disappearing into the Palace in front of him. His eyes trailed upwards. Towards the top floor of the accursed building, to where Ren was held against his own will by his own distorted thoughts.

“Hold on a little longer, Ren,” he croaked under his breath, unwilling to leave as he blinked the tears away from his welling eyes, “Just hold on a little longer, please.”

#persona #palace: theatre of mirrors #ren amamiya #takuto maruki #takuren au #dan's log #png #mine*#myfanfic #mywriting

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dayseternal-blog · 4 years

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Summary: Naruto and Hinata join the Twelve Guardian Ninja of the Land of Fire's Daimyo. (But not really.) Their mission is to smoke out the rat among them who's selling political secrets to insurgents, while making sure the other Guardians don't figure them out.

Neither can tell when their acting became so convincing.

A fake relationship canon-divergent AU.

Rated E for eventual shameless smut.

Written for @naruhina2020 March - Bodyguard Theme

Chapter 1: Introduction: Motives

She’s called for a mission at an expected time, about 9:00 in the morning, rather than some odd hour of the night. Whatever it is, it must not be a real emergency.

He uses the rooftops to get to the Tower, as is his preferred route these days, rather than get caught up in conversations with groups of giggling girls.

She enters the Sixth Hokage’s office, surprised to see that Shino is not already there before her.

He makes his way through the hall, wondering who he’ll be partnered with, or if he’ll have a partner at all.

“He never knocks,” Kakashi laments, and right on time, the door swings open.

He excitedly wonders aloud, “Who am I working-”

She honestly can’t remember the last time she worked with Naruto. Their skills are too similar. Close combat. Sensory. And he’s simply too good to need anyone with the same specialties as him.

“Hinata! You’re my partner this time?! This is going to be great!” He’s not going to fight over stupid things like he does with Sakura, Kiba, and Ino. He’s not going to be overworked with Lee and Tenten, who are both used to a level of workouts that no one else has been conditioned to enjoy. He’s not going to be creeped out by Shino.

Shikamaru’s his usual partner.

But Shikamaru’s been out on a ridiculously long mission.

“It must be a tough one if I’m partnering with Hinata,” he casually observes.

She doesn’t say it out loud, but obviously, if Naruto’s on the job, the mission must actually be some kind of emergency. A or...S-rank. For Naruto to say that something’s going to be tough...

“Yes,” Kakashi starts, hands folding together, lackadaisical attitude turning serious. “An extended S-rank. Estimated for a month or longer.”

They kneel before the Fire Daimyo, officially pledging their loyalties to a man who’s never known mud on his cheeks, never seen a comrade fall, perhaps never even broken a sweat in his life. Yet somehow he carries far more political clout than their own Hokage.

Not our Hokage, Hinata corrects herself. Or at least, she needs to pretend that she’s no longer a shinobi of Konoha.

They’re Guardians now.

On paper and in the assessing eyes of their new peers, their abilities and bodies belong to the Daimyo, to fight and protect this leader with their lives.

She can feel their judgement boring into the top of her head. Unlike Naruto, whose reputation precedes him, she’s often underestimated. Small. The only kunoichi in the room. She’ll be tested in some way by the others. But she’ll do whatever it takes to gain the other Guardians’ trust, and, eventually, smoke out the conspirator among them.

“Uzumaki Naruto. Hyuuga Hinata,” the Fire Daimyo addresses.

They stand at his call.

“Starting from today, you no longer serve just the interests of Konoha. You are now shinobi of the Land of Fire. You lay down your lives for me, you lay down your lives for the entire country.”

In the corner of her sharp vision, she can see Naruto bristling.

It’s no secret that Naruto has never held high regard for this man, whose decisions did very little to help during and after the war, who refused to fund Sakura’s mental health initiative for children, who seems to always defer to the loudest voice in the room.

If he could, he would tell the daimyo to stick his little speech up his ass. But he can’t fail, here, now, already, only a few minutes into their undercover mission. Kakashi made it a point to make clear that he didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but himself...but that he still had to show some level of respect to their political leader. While they’re out here in the capitol, the daimyo is their only contact to Konoha, the only one who knows of this charade.

After all, he commissioned them.

The reasoning being that the daimyo didn’t want to stir distrust among the remaining Guardians. They had already caught two informants on their own. Morale among the rest was high now.

But the daimyo had suspicions that there might be another hiding among them. Rather than having them turn against each other, he decided that this was an outside job.

And if this man fails to make a good decision in every other area of being a leader, Naruto needs to make sure that at least in this, they do not fail.

Failure could mean a coup d’etat.

Civil War when the rest of the shinobi world is at peace.

They can’t let that happen.

“Your accomplishments and track records in your career thus far have marked you as the strongest and most loyal to our nation. You join the ranks of the most elite shinobi in not just the country, but in the entire world. Here you stand among the greatest, and your names will forever be remembered for your service to me.”

Hinata keeps her face placid, not difficult at all for a Hyuuga.

She can only hope that Naruto’s doing the same.

But based on the furrowed brow of one of the Guardians, who steps forward, holding the branded waistcloths out to them, she can deduce that Naruto’s not doing a very good job hiding his thoughts.

They take the waistcloths, tying them on in the same way as the others.

The kanji for Fire emblazoned on their hip, meant to announce their status.

It’s a recognition that neither of them need, but Hinata knows she can’t ignore its meaning.

The ten Guardians who stand lined up before them, gathered from across the country, really are the best, on par with at least her own skills, and needing to take down even just one of them qualifies as an S-rank mission.

They haven’t even left the main office yet when four of the Guardians who were meant to show them the ins-and-outs of the administrative buildings turn them into an empty hall.

“So you think you’re better than us?” snarls one, a bulky man by the name of Geiiro.

“They’re Konoha shinobi. What did you expect?” laughs Tacchi, his pretty features marred by a long, raised scar cutting through the side of his head. “Konoha’s Hero, Saviour of this World,” he sneers. “It’s all gone to his head.”

Naruto holds his tongue. It was his mistake to not hide his dislike of the old man. These men are not his enemies.

At least not right now.

Geiiro huffs, “If you have no interest in being out here in the real world, then run back to your ‘hidden’ village.”

Naruto raises a brow at that. He didn’t know that that’s how the outside villages see Konoha. But he knows they suffered damages just as much from the war, if not moreso. And they don’t pledge the same prided allegiance to their country’s Hokage.

If they want to rant, he’ll listen. He’ll learn.

The tallest of the group, Eizan, steps forward, cocking his head, eyes trailing over her. “And what about the Hyuuga princess?”

They both tense.

She expected to be tested, but not quite so soon.

“So it’s true what they say. For you to have accepted a position here…you were replaced by your younger sister,” murmurs Hukukane. He stands in the back, hands on his hips like a casual observer.

Like a long-range fighter.

She doesn’t care about her sister taking the helm for the clan. She hasn’t cared about that in a long time. But she pays careful attention to the men before her, their formation, their “relaxed” stances.

Was this planned from the start?

“So she’s trying to prove her worth to her clan here?” Eizan laughs, earning smirks from the others. “Pretty little princesses should play at home-”

Her eyes flash up to his, just as his hand grabs at her chin.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Naruto’s rasengan is only centimeters from Eizan’s chest.

The warping chakra is close enough to exert the pressure of a fist pushing against his skin.

He glares furiously at Eizan, even as the edges of his senses tingle at the knowledge that the others have taken on their own cautionary stances. “She doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone!”

“Naruto-kun,” she tries, as calmly as she can, hoping she has just enough force in her voice to remind him to stay calm, too.

But Naruto doesn’t budge. If he doesn’t make a point now, then what else might they do to her? Eleven men and only Hinata? Why aren’t there any other women in this group?

It’s just another reason to hate the current daimyo.

“So that really is why he’s here,” Hukukane interrupts.

“Yeah,” Eizan agrees, frowning at the jutsu threatening to burst a hole in his body.

“We all have reasons to be here,” Geiiro says. “For us, not part of Konoha’s shinobi system, this is a steady job. Money to send home to our families.”

Naruto reluctantly turns his attention to him. But he doesn’t back down.

“Money for my younger siblings,” Tacchi adds on.

“I send money home for my wife’s aging parents,” Hukukane continues. “Believe us, we don’t like the daimyo’s decisions much either. But he’ll pay us to protect him. So long as we keep him alive, we have income.”

Naruto turns his attention back to Eizan. What their stories have to do with this guy touching Hinata, he still hasn’t figured out. But he’ll let Eizan explain.

“I never had a family. The Guardians are my family.”

That’s something Naruto can understand. Still doesn’t excuse the guy from touching and insulting Hinata.

“My family has no room for secrets.” This time Eizan’s eyes gain a fire that wasn’t there before. “What are two Konoha shinobi doing here?”

Hinata answers quickly, knowing these men are certainly sharper than they initially seemed. This confrontation was all a ploy to get them to reveal themselves. “We wanted to gain insight on affairs outside of Konoha. Our actions are limited within the village’s walls, we’re under constant surveillance. We only interact with other Konoha citizens and the occasional visitors or people we meet on missions.”

“For a Hyuuga to say that, certainly that makes sense,” Hukukane responds. “We figured that. They say clan lives are stuffy.”

“Naruto-kun,” Hinata tries again.

He lets his rasengan disperse. He lets a second pass before he finally steps back, closer to Hinata than before.

“Relax, Naruto,” Eizan starts. “None of us are stupid enough to touch your woman.”

She can’t help the reactive heat that touches her cheeks, even though she knows the obvious implication completely flew over Naruto’s head.

A glance over, and she can see only a contemplative distrust on his face.

“Sealed a goddess, ended the world war, master of the Kyuubi, next in line to be Hokage? We couldn’t think of any logical reason for someone like you to leave Konoha to join us,” Eizan continues, suddenly conversational.

“But love can make even someone like Naruto make irrational decisions,” Geiiro barks out with a laugh. “You two don’t have to keep your relationship a secret.”

“What?” Naruto asks, trying to catch up with the shift in atmosphere.

Hinata flushes even worse than before. She thinks to correct them, but that would only earn worse scrutiny on their reasons for joining the Guardians.

They can’t let them know they’re here on a mission. Any one of them could be another spy for the insurgents.

So...maybe she needs to play along. Even if it’s mortifyingly embarrassing.

She just has to make sure Naruto understands, too.

She swallows her own fears. And steps up to him.

She has to choose her words carefully. She still doesn’t know what abilities the other Guardians might have.

She closes her hands around her mouth, leaning in toward his ear, knowing it’ll look intimate to the others.

“Hinata?” he asks, finding her pressing against him.

“They know we’re lovers,” she whispers.

“W-what?” He steps away, eyes wide. “Hinata-”

She grabs his hand with both of hers, keeping him from backing away too far. “It’s okay. It’s better if they know.” She looks hopefully into his eyes. Hoping that he catches on. Hoping he doesn’t say anything in denial.

He just stares at her, mouth wide open, attention shifting down to her hands firmly around his. She’s acting really touchy with him. She said they’re lovers when they’re not. Hinata doesn’t usually act like this, so why-

“You really don’t have to hide it. We don’t operate on the same rules as Konoha,” Tacchi explains.

She nods, pretending to agree with him. She blushes harder with what she wants to say next. But she has to make him understand. “Naruto-kun,” she calls, as sweetly as possible. It sounds so embarrassing. Like she’s really trying to catch his attention.

He looks back up at her, eyes growing wider still at her flirtatious tone of voice.

“This way, maybe we can spend more time together...” She looks as meaningfully as she can into his eyes. “...alone,” she adds on, in a whisper.

The other Guardians start laughing and hooting.

She’s flaming red, she knows, she doesn’t remember the last time she felt so hot.

He can see the vibrant color on her fair skin, but he can also feel the searing heat pressing into him from her hands. He realizes she’s incredibly embarrassed. She’s not under some genjutsu or trying to play a trick on him. She’s pretending. So that they can meet to talk about their mission. “A-aah, yeah!!” he stutters out, embarrassment belatedly catching up with him. “W-whatever you want, Hinata!”

“He’s whipped!” hollers Geiiro. “Poor boy’s got it bad!”

She smiles in relief, trying to ignore the teasing of their new comrades.

He looks down, suddenly very, very conscious of her hands around his.

She lets go of him quickly.

“You two can hold hands!” Geiiro continues, laughing harder and harder.

Hinata shakes her head furiously. She got her point across, and she needn’t embarrass either of them any further.

And by Naruto’s blushing grimace, she knows she really embarrassed him.

#naruhina fanfic #canon divergence au #no the last #fake/pretend relationship #bodyguard #undercover missions #romance #eventual smut #minor original characters #naruhina 2020 #nh2020 #thank you for reading!#naruhina fanfiction

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yeoldontknow · 4 years

Text

Sheltered Hearts: 3

Author’s Note: i am slightly late with this update, but its still his birthday in my time zone so happy birthday yoongs <3 its been a very long time since ive been in this universe, but i admit it was A LOT of fun being back. this chapter is dedicated to @iq-biased who has been the most engaged and encouraging reader, and this story’s biggest advocate. i love u <3 Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (oc; female) Genre: enemies to lovers au; vet au; romance; fluff; angst Rating (this chapter): PG-13 Warnings: light swearing; medical talk; depictions of surgery on a dog (these are not graphic); depictions of blood; depictions of exposed bone (again, not graphic); yoongi being a big softie but trying to be tough about it; reader is too proud to admit she has a crush; big science brains Word Count: 7.2K

masterlist

Dr. Kern agrees to meet you at his medical lab two hours north, replying to your initial request email with an expediency that both is both surprising and reassuring. With his confirmation of interest, Dr. Hague approves the journey, handing you a thumb drive containing Casper’s CT, MRI, and X-Ray scans and affirmations of optimism.

Poised and graceful, Yoongi leans against his desk and watches this exchange with an expression you find uncharacteristically warm. A small smile plays at his cheeks, gaze focused intently on your hand you pocket the drive, neither supportive nor encouraging merely interested, his eyes twinkling with a hidden mischief married with unbridled fascination.

The arresting combination of these things transforms him, breath halting in your throat as it is caught off guard by his sudden shift into someone boyish, sweet, and young. Blinking, you wait for the vision to dissipate, but his smile remains, his focus is unwavering, and the swell of his cheeks almost too youthful for the terse man you know him to be.

Something about his gaze feels too interested, too curious, and you find yourself starting to bristle, all at once vulnerable and exposed. You always knew he burned with great intensity, his steadfast attention penetrative, rooting around in you, though not altogether combative. In this brief moment of silence, you realize he is learning you, seeing you, and you think, perhaps, this is the first time you have truly been witnessed.

‘I’ll go with you to meet him,’ he resolutely declares, arms crossed over his chest in casual nonchalance.

With this sudden announcement, Yoongi breaks the spell he cast of his own accord, the low rumble of his voice wiping away the embers of passion you saw in him. His lips crease back into the impartial emptiness he usually wears, corners of his mouth always threatening to turn downward into a frown. Bewildered, you wonder which of these dichotomous versions is the real Yoongi, which shell takes work to push and hide away.

Dr. Hague hums in approval, nodding his encouragement. Gaze shifting between both their placid, understanding stares, witnessing their silent conversation, the first tendrils of exasperation floods your synapses. Hands at your sides, you wait for the frustration you normally feel to follow suit, but it never comes. You wait and wait, expecting a snide remark from Yoongi or expecting your chest to boil with the threat of being challenged, but all you can manage is a tepid pool of annoyance, twisting your usual fervor for independence into a tired exclamation of impatience.

‘Why?’ you toss with a roll of your eyes, grabbing your things before exiting the office. ‘You don’t think I can handle dropping off some stem cells and scans?’

A bemused chuckle follows behind you, Yoongi pushing himself from the desk to trail behind, hot on your heels. The easiness of his amusement bores through you, sees beyond your pretense of anger, and, even without looking, you know he pleased.

‘I already told you,’ he explains with a click of his tongue. ‘Knowing a biomedical engineer is impressive.’ Pausing briefly, he collects his thoughts for the timing and you cock an eyebrow, not bothering to face him. ‘And I’ll be damned if you’re the only one who gets to be impressive around here.’

‘I swear -’ you begin, turning abruptly to cast him a glare you know will be nothing like the withering heat you wish it would be, but you find yourself cut off.

Yoongi winks at you, almost friendly, silencing you with this sudden affable nature as he walks past, a grin tugging at his lips.

The drive up the lab is mostly quiet, though not altogether tense.

He’d offered to take his car, citing comfortable seats and better mileage, though even in the way he phrased it you could sense there was an ulterior motive. Nonetheless, you agreed, glad to not have to drive the two hours there and back again.

Now, sitting in the front passenger seat, you realize his sole purpose for this offer was the music. Phone pressed into the console, a playlist of his own creation floods the speakers, songs you’d never heard before across multiple genres that ease him into the seat as he drives. So, too, do CD’s litter the car, pressed into side compartments and holders latched onto both sun visors strain to contain the numbers he has forced into their pockets. Surrounded by music, he appears an entirely different creature, elegant, serene, and utterly peaceful, you find no trace of his usual incisive attitude.

The sudden inclusion into what would normally be considered a private space makes your palms feel clammy, uncertain how to rationalize the man you know with the details you find. Fast food wrappers are crumbled into a plastic, makeshift garbage back at your feet; a tiny, framed portrait of a kitten dangles from the rearview mirror rather than an air freshener; the seats of his car a deep, tan leather rather than the black you would have assumed he’d select. In his car, you find you know even less about him than you thought you did, all your assumptions and expectations molding together to place a slight throb at your temple.

Beside you, Yoongi seems unaware of your struggle. If anything, it appears he doesn’t even notice you at all, relaxed into his seat as his hands grip the wheel with a tenderness you’ve only seen reserved for an animal. The morning sun changes the shadows and colours that usually settle on his skin, carving a dignified symmetry into the line of his jaw. If he feels the touch of your eyes against his features, he does not let on, allowing you to scrutinize the proportions of his cheeks, his lips, his ears - his regal profile turning your mouth dry.

His eyes remain trained on the road with a stoicism you find blissful. Strands of his hair, pale blonde and taking on the myriad of shades contained within the sun, fall into his eyes, which he does not both to move. Messy, and soft, and entirely, woefully, human. In this comfortable silence, you admit that he is beautiful - beautiful, and flawed, and unashamed of the mess he makes, more alive than you have ever seen him.

Tearing your gaze away, you study the passing trees and cloudless morning, doing your best to remember when or why you decided he was someone cruel, someone who surrounds himself in negativity. With you, he has always been stern, detached at best, yet never deliberately mean, and your stomach drops at the realization he has done little more than wound your pride. For months, you’d been running circles around one another, your remarks simply a retaliation for his blithe announcement of assumptions you both knew were true.

From the start, he saw through the heart of you, and you wonder when you had ever chosen to let him in.

When he pulls up to the lab, adrenaline floods your body. Here, even in the parking lot, you can feel the looming presence of purpose, potential, power. You are unashamed of the excited way you scramble out of the car, stretching briefly before slinging your bag over your shoulder and taking hurried steps towards the door. You don’t make it far, ears catching quickly that it is only your steps, your feet pressing against the uneven gravel, and so you look back, concerned.

Yoongi stares at the building with childlike apprehension, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, suddenly appearing impossibly, endearingly small.

‘What’s wrong?’ The question is sincere, and you don’t bother hiding the concern in your voice.

Unmoved, he continues to regard the dark windows and limestone front, the awning detailing only a number in an effort to remain anonymous.

‘He agreed to see the scans,’ he announces, voice loud enough to carry but soft enough to give away his uncertainty. ‘There’s still a chance he might not help Casper. He just might not be able to’

As he finishes speaking, his eyes find yours, the care and the doubt you find catching you off guard. Looking at him now, you realize he likely hasn’t slept, bags puffing beneath his eyes, and his pout sheepish. Nothing in his gentle wording exists to pull apart your ideas, to put blocks, to make things difficult. In him, you sense the fear, the worry. Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you watch the way he clenches his jaw, lips thin as he chews the inside of his cheek. Suddenly overwhelmed by his unspoken affection, you allow yourself to soften for him, if only because you know he cares just as much as you.

‘But,’ you counter, ‘there’s a very real possibility he can. And that’s what we have to hold onto.’

Yoongi’s gaze hardens, resolute as he nods, lips forming into a small smile of gratitude.

It’s the most you’ve ever seen him give over into kindness, and the first time he has ever relied on you for anything beyond a chart or a schedule reference. Briskly, he walks past you, pulling open the door and holding it for you, expectant. Swallowing thickly, you hurry towards the entrance, mind fuzzy with too many incoherent and inconsistent emotions.

Dr. Kern comes to greet you only a few minutes after the receptionist notifies of him of your arrival, his handshake strong and welcoming. He leads you towards his office, a small space littered with papers, charts, models of bone structures, two oversized prints of the periodic table framed on his wall between his degree credentials.

‘Thank you so much for meeting with us at such short notice,’ you offer, taking a seat in front of his desk.

‘No problem,’ he says, congenially. ‘For me, this case is highly intriguing.’

Yoongi clears his throat, taking the seat beside you with careful movements. ‘I’m hoping I don’t sound...ungrateful, but may I ask why you agreed to help?’ he questions gently, hands running over the arms of the seat, over and over. ‘Do you work in veterinary science? I’m sorry if that comes across badly, I just have never met a biomedical engineer.’

Dr. Kern nods in understanding. ‘It’s alright. I imagine it’s surprising that I’d want to investigate an animal case.’ Reaching into his desk, he pulls out two files, sliding one to you and one to Yoongi. ‘When 3D printing first became reasonably affordable and partially available to the public, I saw limitless potential. I’ve spent a significant amount of time working in labs across the country throughout my career, and I can think of hundreds of cases where printing like this could have potentially saved lives.’

He pauses, giving you the opportunity to read through the file. Everything pertaining to his lab, the printing, the technology, the materials they use is included. Most importantly, right at the start, is a mission statement focused on ingenuity in the effort of maintaining quality of human life.

‘I started and funded this lab with my own money,’ he continues, leaning back in his tall leather chair and folding his hands. ‘It’s important, I think, to welcome a new era for medicine. Doing so means you welcome a new era for hope.’

Eyes still scanning the pages, you’re aware you’ve taken on a wistful, altogether too hopeful expression. In medicine, hope is necessary, but it cannot be your crutch, the elation of such a feeling allowing carelessness and ego sink in, creating delusions of grandeur. But here, now, you let it wash over you, unwilling to let it stop.

‘There’s something cosmically magical about that power, isn’t it?’ you muse, hoping to share in this enthusiasm with him. ‘To choose the paradigm you want to shift.’

From the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi look up from the file, eyes taking their time as they pierce you. Keeping still, you train your focus on Dr. Kern, fingers pressing deeply into the file in your lap, hopeful he does not notice. Even as your vision blurs, eyes losing hold of the world around you, you feel him. You are starting to think you will always feel him.

Dr. Kern laughs, the sound jovial and forcing you back to reality. ‘That’s exactly the kind of thing I like to hear. That kind of drive, it was all over your email.’ Sitting up, he moves his mouse to wake his computer, glancing at you over his thickly rimmed glasses. ‘Now, show me these scans.’

He uploads the files from the thumb drive with a furrowed brow, lips pursed as you sit back in your seat, doing your best not to jitter your legs. In your peripheral, Yoogi appears just as tense and still, gnawing at the inside of his cheek once again. The silence consumes you, the kind that presses roughly at your spine and makes you wish for sound, the tick of a clock, the drip of a fountain. Eager, you break the silence with information you imagine will be pertinent.

‘As you saw in my email,’ you announce, leaning forward in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the screen, ‘there have been several studies where prosthetics like this have been made, the most recent being in the UK. There is precedent...’ your words drift, fading away and mildly disheartened by the lack of change in his expression. ‘Sorry, I’m just excited.’

At this, Dr. Kern breaks, an humming in consideration though he does not take his eyes off the 3D scans, moving his mouse slightly as he rotates them. ‘It’s alright. I’d be concerned if you weren’t.’

‘I’ve taken stem cell samples, as well,’ you add, ‘so new bone could possibly fuse together around the implant.’

His eyes move to yours, brows raised in pleasant surprise. ‘That’s very forward thinking of you.’

Beside you, Yoongi coughs gently, interjecting as politely as he can. ‘I admit,’ he begins, evenly, using a voice you’ve never heard him use. It’s soft, demure, and almost hopeful. ‘I feel a little out of my depth. After we took these scans, our conversation swiftly went from orthopedics into neuroscience and regenerative medicine. Having this technology…’ He falls quiet, slightly mystified. ‘The ability to reinvent and redefine the borders between disciplines is both overwhelming and inspiring.’

You study him, chest suddenly tight at his heartfelt compliment. He offers it with ease, as though he’s used to handling sweet words in his mouth, a slight blush creeping up his neck and ears, aware that he has humbled himself and unashamed of doing so. How easily he strips himself of pride, admits there is more for him to learn. How easily he makes himself small in front of you. This was not something you were prepared for, his presence looming against yours as it seeks connection, a bond, heated enough for him to feel him all over you. Like this, he towers over you, lacing his emotions with yours, and you, unhinged, allow him all the way in if only for this shared moment.

‘I like you kids,’ Dr. Kern states plainly, his gaze moving between your awed expression and Yoongi’s soft flush of humility. ‘I knew I made the right choice offering to help.’ Leaning back in his chair, he lifts his hand from the mouse and waves you both forward. ‘Come take a look at this.’

Without hesitation, you and Yoongi leave your seats with care, your fists clenching and unclenching in an effort to suppress the trembling in your fingers. This, you think, is how it feels to stand on the precipice of innovation, teetering over the edge into the unknown, and while you don’t feel quite ready for the totality of it, you feel as though you are glimpsing images of a future you have claimed as rightfully yours. Yoongi steadies you slightly as he joins you in rounding the desk, his hand resting lightly against your shoulder, both of you unstable on your feet.

And when you see him, see the way his eyes are wild and alight, you suddenly feel as though you are looking into a mirror, confronted by the missing pieces of yourself that bring you balance. But, in an instant, the moment he latches his eyes to the computer screen and you, turning to see what he sees, feel the sentiment dissipate, both of you falling back into your usual routine, hungry for understanding.

‘The goal here is the marriage of biomechanics and biology.’ Dr. Kern moves the scans with careful precision. ‘The plans you sent to me for the surgery include cutting from here to here,’ he says, gesturing to the length from the cubital bone to the carpus. ‘What you’re leaving behind is this section.’ Dragging his mouse over the length of the radius, he hums in consideration. ‘Effectively, what you’re asking me to do is create a bridge where dead bone would be, hoping that there’d be enough space left for you to drill the piece in without bridging across the wrist. In a sense, we need a piece of scaffolding that leaves space, so the stem cells can recognize the rest of the bone as their own.’

It’s something you had talked about in your initial discussion, you and Yoogni and Dr. Hague glancing worriedly at one another, doing your best not to sound excited. Hearing it now, laid out by the engineer who must build it, you suddenly think something like this would be terribly difficult, to tall of an order in such a short amount of time.

‘Can you do it?’

Yoongi asks the question on your mind with an urgency you find endearing. His insistent tone brings you comfort, no longer feeling quite so alone in your worry.

Dr. Kern nods, unblinking as he regards the screen. ‘I believe I can. The scans you provided are detailed and thorough, and I should be able to design something that will get within a fraction of a hair’s length to fit in the leg.’ Still, though, he sighs, looking over his shoulder momentarily to offer you both a clouded expression. ‘The concerns I have, however, are severe. There is a risk of failure to incorporate, mechanical failure, infection, or implant breakage. The size of the gap you want to create is large, and this area of the leg is subject to high stress due to motion.’

‘But you’ll try?’ Yoongi presses, insisting he provide you both receive a real, concrete answer.

‘Like I said, I believe I can try.’ Dr. Kern turns in his chair to face you, a smile playing at his lips. ‘And I do want to try.’

Yoongi glances at you, exchanging a moment of relief and unbridled joy. All at once, you fear he becomes the sun, blinding and incandescent. Biting your lip, you look away, heat overtaking your chest as your heart begins to race.

‘Will you be using carbon?’ Your words are rushed, an abrupt distraction to change the subject and redirect the rush of blood you feel beneath your cheeks.

‘No, in living material it’s always safest to use titanium,’ he explains. ‘We can easily print with that here, though it will take some time to get the measurements and prototypes correct. You mentioned this dog is a cancer patient.’ At this, a darkened cloud seems to overtake the room, the word itself an omen as you all share a frown, the kind of thin lipped grimace you give to someone when you are preparing to share bad news. ‘I am not an oncologist, and so I don’t know how severe this cancer is.’

Nodding, Yoongi swallows thickly, building himself into the austere, authoritative presence you are familiar with. ‘The scans we took show the cancer hasn’t spread to the chest or lungs, though it is aggressive. The cells were taken from the hip, which was clean. I’m confident cells should be able to produce the normal matrix that would realign with the bone.’

Blinking, your lips part slightly, the confidence in his tone a thunder roll that moves over your skin. You’ve never heard him speak this way, not to you, not as a scientist. Eyes narrowed, he stands taller, a rod of iron in his spine that makes him appear not unlike a god.

‘Though,’ he continues, ‘we cannot be sure of the current spread along the lung. At best,’ he adds, gravely, ‘we have about seven weeks before we’d need to urgently consider alternatives.’

Dr. Kern nods, turning back to his computer and opening a rendering program. ‘I can get this done in about five or six, though I’d need to start today.’ Turning back to face you both, he offers you a kind, supportive smile. ‘But you’ve got me on board.’

Overwhelmed, you release a sigh of relief, one that makes you press the back of your hand to your mouth in embarrassment. Yoongi chuckles, extending his hand to Dr. Kern in thanks, and you watch as they share a moment that makes them appear more as colleagues than you have ever felt around either of them.

Rising to a stand, Dr. Kern places his hands on your shoulders, offering a reassuring squeeze. ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ he states. ‘We do these kinds of surgeries on people all the time. It’s only fair animals are given the same shot at quality of life.’

‘Thank you,’ you murmur, blood rushing with a sense of vindication and validation, the first real success you’ve had in months.

Yoongi drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the way back, far more talkative and making more noise than he had in the morning. Like you, he rides the high of this exhilaration with poorly contained energy, the full brilliance of his smile eclipsing the sun. Every now and then, he turns to look at you, to ensure you’re just as wired as he feels, irises wild and body hyperaware. For you, this new version of him is simply another layer, another shadow you must contend with, having witnessed so much of him in one day.

Looking at him now, you cannot help but return his enthusiasm, seemingly welcomed wholeheartedly into the radiance that exudes from beneath his skin. His smile, his true smile, you learn, is gummy, eyes squinting with delight as he softens the light from the afternoon sun. The commonality of this experience, of the way you processed and handled the weight of worry, and the power of victory, binds you both, something that is nurtured and born to exist within the boundaries of his car alone. This morning, it was a quiet heaven; now, he brings the noise, the tidal waves of change that come from work, understanding, and commitment - things that apply to Casper as much as they would apply to a lover.

Looking at him now, you cannot help but feel awed.

Running your palms over the fabric of your pants, you glance back towards the road, back to the trees and the distant lake that shimmers as you pass. Even as you watch the light drench the world around you, a thing you witness regularly, the sun so willing to kiss the land, you recognize this day is special, a moment that will eclipse all others until your next big first, wondering if it’s him or if it’s everything.

Licking your lips, you speak, unwilling to live inside your mind, alone, any longer.

‘You seemed a little lost in there,’ you chuckle, casting a brief glance in his direction, attempting to witness a change. ‘That’s not a challenge, by the way, just an observation.’

Yoongi shakes his head, a non committal motion he marries with a hum of acknowledgement, a bundle of movement and sound that feels excitable, like a puppy.

‘I don’t think you realize what that was - what this is for me,’ he says, emphatically. Considering his words for a moment, he pauses, looking between you and the road with an amazement you find euphoric.‘At grad school, my focus is soft tissue surgery, you know? Airways, oncology. Not bones, and certainly not reinventing parts. I meant what I said when I mentioned I’m out of my depth.’

It makes sense, you realize, how he so easily discussed stem cells and cancer with Dr. Kern; why he was so quizzical, so focused when you first observed the scans, willing to meet you and fight with you, because this is his field and, now, it is yours too. Yoongi looks at each animal he sees with a reverence that often leaves you breathless, always leaves you bewildered, shaken that this kind of love lives within his core. But, now, you understand - he loves because he witnesses loss, witnesses pain and grief, the intensity of which is braved only by those who have survived it.

‘I didn’t know your focus was oncology.’ You hope the words don’t sound surprised, as though you would have underestimated his dedication or his character. So, instead, you clear your throat and try again. ‘It’s a difficult field. There, you fail more often than you succeed, and that's hard.’

‘You thought I just wanted to be a vet tech,’ he says, changing the subject while sounding smug.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. ‘I’m trying to level with you.’ Still, though, you can’t help but grin. ‘It’s true though,’ you admit. ‘I did.’

He laughs, a sound of real amusement, and your chest tightens, endeared. ‘Everyone always thinks that,’ he concedes. ‘Even my parents. I wasn’t the most attentive kid in school. I don’t really think people see me amounting to much.’

Enigmatic as he is, he surprises you once more with his blunt honesty, the way he lowers some of the walls he has built around himself, easing into the comfort that seems to have blossomed within the car. You're unsure why he would share such personal information, why he would bother to converse so freely at all, but you don't question it. Surprisingly, you welcome it, feeling yourself become endeared to him on instinct.

'Even when I first started at the clinic,' he continues, 'Dr. Hague seemed surprised. My credentials are solid - still waiting on my dissertation defense date - but I know I don't fit the profile. I don't look like someone who would choose this.'

Softening, you cock your head to the side. 'What's a veterinary surgeon supposed to look like, then?'

Turning to face you, startled by your question, his lips part slightly, a small puff of air moving between his pout. His focus moves between you and the road, his shoulders dropping in comfort and confidence, relaxed and eased by your words, though he chooses to remain silent.

And now, it is your turn to wink, the action making him laugh in surprise, the sound of full of honey.

‘So why oncology?’ you try again, hoping to steer him away from personal, somber waters. Mostly, a distraction to keep him talking, so the sound of his laugh does not seep into the pores of your skin, not unlike a waterfall. ‘It takes a lot of guts.’

He nods. ‘It does,’ he agrees. ‘Maybe that’s why I decided on it. It’s hard in every living thing. I figure why not give a voice to those who can’t speak for themselves? You know, Casper is here with cancer in his leg, but he’s still playing and eating and wagging his tail. He’s a good boy, a great dog. Someone has to fight for him.’

Nodding in agreement, you shift your attention to the road, memories stirring. Tongue eager, it feels important to share the thoughts his words have stirred, important to let him in. Truthfully, you've been letting him in all day, allowing the intensity of his stares, the warmth of his smiles, the kindness in his laugh to unmake parts of you, and, perhaps, you have been doing the same to him. The thought is motivating, the notion that his hand on your shoulder, his warm eyes and unwavering attention were born because you had worked your way inside him, too.

It feels motivation, and so you let yourself speak before you lose the will at all.

‘When I was eight,’ you begin, ‘my cat got run over by a car. She’d darted out from the garden when she saw a rabbit. I tried to stop her - she wasn’t even meant to be outside but I wanted to take her up to the treehouse.’

Even without seeing, you feel his expression morph, brow furrowing in concern as he listens. You have his attention, and he offers a small sound of encouragement, urging you to continue.

‘The car rounded the corner so quickly, I didn’t even hear it,' you sigh, falling back into the memory with a sadness that feels too palpable to be a distant wound. 'Her leg was badly wounded, but otherwise she was fine. Our vet, though, they fixed her up as best they could but there wasn’t a surgical practice around us, nowhere for them to refer us to that wasn’t miles out. My family couldn’t afford that trip and they kept convincing me it would be fine, but it wasn’t.’

'Shit,' he mutters, offering you a hurt, apologetic expression. 'I think I know where this is going.'

‘The nerves in her left foot died. She lost feeling quite quickly, and it wasn’t long until it became infected. We had to put her down because of that.’

When you finish, you find you are regarding your hands as they rest, uselessly, in your lap. Every time you think on this, this is where your eyes go - to your hands. The hands that held her, the hands that loved her, the hands that caressed her soft fur without giving shape to the life she deserved. You were useless then, altogether too young and unprepared, and the memory of these unfulfilled actions and touches live within your hands, where they speak and echo for no one but you to hear.

Yoongi remains silent, still comfortable in the trust though no longer free of pain. The atmosphere in the car has shifted, even as you look at the etched curves of your palms you can feel the change, one of companionship in this loneliness and this grief. As though a cloud of mourning has gathered within the small space, feeling him ache with you, feeling him hurt with you, is as though he has pushed through your memories, touched you, ensuring you are no longer solitary in this melancholy.

‘She was an otherwise healthy cat and,' you continue, voice thick and tongue heavy, 'at eight, it’s really traumatizing to lose a friend like that. She was my best friend. I decided then I wanted to be a vet, the kind that fixes broken limbs and makes new parts if I have to, so no one has to go through what I did.’

‘I’m sorry,' he finally says, his own throat tight with sincerity.

Lifting your head to watch him, you study the grimace that has pulled his lips downward. Instinctively, your hands ache to wipe it away, but you press them into your thighs, willing them to remain still.

‘That kind of loss,’ he explains, sympathetic and tender, ‘it stays with you.’

As he watches the road, a long and lost expression floods his irises, making him appear distant. Even as he quiets, you can sense there's so much more he intends to say, so much more he'd like to say, but the words elude him, seem to get caught somewhere between his heart, his tongue, unable to penetrate the heaviness of longing that has overtaken you both. So you don't pressure him, finding you are comfortable in this sort of unity, together and remembering, even if you are not touching.

Really, you think words no longer belong in spaces like this, would only tarnish the security you have only just found in one another, so new and so fragile. And so you remain silent, bonded with him, and comforted by him, knowing that things will change - the song will change or the subject will change, or, when you leave the car, the air outside will grant approval for things to return as you know them to be.

But, for now, this newness you have found with Yoongi feels natural and it is more beautiful than you could have ever intended.

It's five and a half weeks later when the part arrives at the clinic, the brown box, that would otherwise be so unobtrusive, lingering on the side of your desk as it generates a foreboding sense of apprehension in your belly. Dr. Hague agrees it's only right you open it with Yoongi, later in the afternoon when the start of his long shift commences, but the wait places a twitch in your fingers, skin itching with the desire to open it.

Such a small box, containing such a small item, the marriage of anatomy and biology, physiology and machinery. Weeks of work and weeks of conversation, running through your options and over and over, with Dr. Hague, with Yoongi, with Talia. So much is reliant on this small piece of titanium, you wonder if metal such as this, born of the cosmos and often in meteorites, could hold your expectations and not just the stars.

In these long weeks, Talia has worked overtime, pulling in extra money to pay the difference in cost her pet insurance will not cover. Casper, all good and warm and full of love, has been on medications to manage the pain, coming in weekly for scans to check the spread of his tumor. So far, not much has changed. So far, the spread remains contained to just the leg, but still you worry, deep down, what you will find when you finally see his bones with your own eyes and not just the empty, black and white images you're so used to examining.

This, all of this, is your risk, your drive to do what is morally correct and in the best interest for Casper. Weeks ago, you were confident you could save a leg, and a life. Now, with the box on your desk and the closeness of this imagined reality manifesting in the present, the weight of your choice is heavy in your lungs and chest. In this moment of being, it has never been so important to be right.

'What if we fuse the wrist?' you ask later, alone with Yoongi in Dr. Hague's office on the day of the surgery, his hands cradling the implant and your hands pressing against the desk in apprehension. 'What if there's no space to drill?'

Yoongi regards you quietly, brown eyes dark with compassion and understanding. You feel his gaze move over your face, feel the touch as though it were his own hands, and you lean into it, focus on it, aching for the comfort that comes from being held.

'Plenty of dogs have fused wrists,' he reassures evenly. There’s less than an hour, no time to turn back but time enough to think and rethink, to be consumed, and Yoongi, full of understanding, refuses to let you draw inward. 'You'd never know, even if you saw them up close.'

Meeting his eyes, then, you realize you have surrendered yourself into his care. In this moment, he holds you, his looking a sort of touching, his touching a deep, resonate sense of feeling, bound together in the moment of fear and unease, but, in him, there is no doubt. The same way you have surrendered yourself to his care, he has surrendered himself to you, trusting you implicitly, and knowing, in the end, you both would not move forward if it was not what was best.

You would not move forward if you were not united, together.

Dr. Hague invites both you and Yoongi into the OR, a first, he says, for a volunteer to be welcomed into surgery. But he smiles, rests his hand on your shoulder and reminds you you’re doing what’s right - there’s a lot of firsts happening today, and that counts for something. Talia squeezes your hands three times before you leave reception, Casper already placed under anesthetic and wheeled through the doors. Once again, the trust you find swimming in her eyes buoyes you.

‘There’s only so much you can do,’ she murmurs, as much for you as it is for her own nerves. ‘And I know you’ll do everything you can.’

The tremors in your hands, an uncharacteristic trembling that had taken root in your joints, dissipates upon entry. As if your body and your soul recognize this place is clean - free of distraction and free of second guessing. It’s sterile. It’s home. It’s safe. Shoulders pushed back, the rhythmic beeping of Casper’s heart monitor is your soundtrack; the bright, overhead light your moon. This is your universe, the precipice of a destiny you manifested on your own, created and dictated entirely by you.

And so, this room belongs to you.

After the first incision, as if by magic, your mind clears. You know the journey, the beginning and the end, you do not know what you will find, but you know the only option is to fix, to mend, to heal. The fog of other voices, other decisions is dispelled, every action and choice so much more simple than you would have imagined it could be. After the first incision, your focus narrows, the viciousness of your inner monologue dissolving into little more than numbers, measurements, and the sound of a drill.

‘Eight millimeters,’ you hear yourself say, even if it’s moot, even if Dr. Hague already knows, you still say it because it’s important. Few things, you think, have ever been as important as the length of this drill.

Yoongi watches, studies every movement with a furrowed brow, body still in a silence that makes you view him as an apparition. Under the white light, he glows, becomes something radiant, and you imagine him not unlike an angel. For so long he has watched over this process, watched over Casper, watched over you - learning and seeing and protecting. Yoongi watches and does not assist, not in any physical sense of the word, but he assists you, even if you are too proud to admit it.

Hours in, Dr. Hague hands you suction, tells you to manage a bleeder while he preserves blood vessels along the exposed marrow. Yoongi holds the frame of the wrist in place while you apply suction, the steadiness in his hand making it easier for you to quickly remove the overflow. He’s calm, the most composed you feel you might have ever seen him, there for you before you even ask him to be. Together, you anticipate one another’s movements, thoughts - you move around one another in a synchronization that feels natural, as though it was meant to be this simple.

With the bleeding stopped, you move the suction to the nurse behind you and catch his eye, see the way he watches you in admiration. There’s no time to really pause, to share a moment like this together, but you see it. See the way respect floods him, the way he moves his gaze back to Casper, a blush creeping beyond the perimeter of his surgical mask. It’s the most you’ve been involved in surgery since you finished your first residency. It’s the most you’ve felt like Yoongi’s equal since you met him. And both these things, the feeling of success and the feeling of wanting, you know, will never leave you again.

Dr. Hague educates both of you on the placement of the implant, the hardest part of the surgery. Something about this feels too easy - it feels like it goes too well. Casper’s vitals are stable, Yoongi’s eyes are wide, and your hands do not shake, but still you wait for the fall. You wait for the moment things change and go badly - even if it’s falling out of Hague’s favor, even if it means Yoongi never sees you this way again, you know it must be coming.

But it doesn’t.

At hour five, Casper is closed up, the implant successfully drilled. The stem cell samples you mixed with fribrin glue are sprayed into the mesh to rebuild new bone. Yoongi looks at you as though he is eclipsing the sun, and suddenly, your feet recognize the earth that holds you. Sound, thought, vision - they all come back, an onslaught that raises the hairs on your arms, overstimulated. The overhead light is turned off and Casper is wheeled to his recovery kennel, but you remain in the OR, standing still as your eyes adjust back to the fluorescent lighting.

It’s quiet now, almost too quiet, a calm falling over the room - a special kind of quiet that echoes with triumph, smells of sweat and anesthetic, and the fear of loss. This has never been done before. There is no guarantee it will work, no guarantee it could be done again. But it happened. It was real.

It was yours.

‘Are you okay?’

Yoongi’s voice breaks your thoughts. He’s close, closer than you normally let him be, but your gaze fixates on the way his mask dangles from his ear, playful, free, liberated. You’ve seen masks ripped away from faces in defeat, frustration, but he lets it linger, pressed against his skin as though he’s afraid of realizing it’s over or that it never happened. At such close proximity, you can smell him, his cologne mixing with the scent of iodine and blood, but you swoon, feel a little faint, and he steps closer, as though anticipating your drop.

‘I’m okay,’ you nod. ‘I just…’

‘You can’t believe it was real?’

A breath you did not know you had been holding, likely held deep within your lungs from the first moment you saw Casper’s scans, escapes your chest. You feel lighter, not necessarily relieved but aware you defied the odds, and so it is important to honor this moment.

‘Yeah,’ you agree, sounding breathless. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in an OR, even longer since you’ve felt like you were first for something, like you were chosen. ‘Is it always like that? For you?’

‘It’s always exhilarating,’ he says, considering his words carefully. ‘But no,’ he decides. ‘It’s not usually like that.’

‘Where do we go from here?’

At this, Yoongi laughs, reaching for your hand. Slowly, he pulls off your glove, the fingers stained a myriad of colours, and through the thin plastic you feel the tenderness in his touch. There is a greatness to the way he handles you, a familiarity to the way he pulls the plastic down and down further - pulling and shaping as though the hand was his, his hand yours; meeting together in the simplicity of this touch, aware that, from this moment, is it likely neither of you will ever have enough.

‘How about,’ he tries, delicately, gaze fixed on the slow reveal of your skin, ‘to a diner?’

It feels like the first time he smiled - the first time you smiled back and meant it. It feels like a first, is a first - the first time his hand holds yours, with purpose and intent. And so, you think you should get used to this.

‘That sounds great.’

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delicioussshame · 4 years

Text

Here is the Luo Binghe route for the prostitution AU.

I don’t know how obvious that was, but Shen Jiu stumbling on Yue Qingyuan and Shen Yuan was an accident. Let’s say he was visiting his own favourite brothel. The thing is, that’s not what he told his disciples, and Luo Binghe and a few others came to the city with him. Luo Binghe might have been curious about his Shizun’s whereabouts, so he was following him from afar, and while he didn’t get the details, he got enough to guess that the man both Shizun and Yue Qingyuan followed into that brothel had to be a prostitute.

For everyone’s peace of mind, let’s agree Binghe is at least in his late teens. Also for the sake of my peace of mind, Shen Jiu is a bit nicer in this, because I’m not getting him killed after I got him laid. So Luo Binghe is supposed to be a stallion protagonist, so hormones are raging, and even if Shen Jiu isn’t Shen Yuan I guess Luo Binghe would still think he’s Fine. So when he sees a Shizun lookalike good enough for Yue Qingyuan, one that he could just… pay and get over with his attraction to Shizun, he’s very, very tempted. So he puts some money aside, gathers his courage and visits Shen Yuan’s brothel.

The moment he sets foot in the place everything that can fuck is after him, because hello, Luo Binghe here. But Binghe knows what he wants and asks for Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan doesn’t get why a man as overwhelmingly attractive as Luo Binghe has to pay a prostitute to have sex when he could ask out any married woman and no one would blame them for cheating, but Luo Binghe knows what he wants, and any attempt at sending him off toward someone more age-appropriate, because Shen Yuan feels like a cradle robber (despite not being that old) are firmly rejected, so he figures he might as well enjoy it. Cue giving Luo Binghe the time of his life. That doesn’t stop him from being Shen Yuan, so weak to Binghe and giving him advice and worrying about everything being fine. Luo Binghe is kind of charmed and has had a very good night, and figures he’ll come again when he can. Which he does. Often.

Shen Yuan gets a bit worried that Luo Binghe is wasting his money and not eating right and not serious enough about his cultivation since he’s so young and pure. Anyone could take advantage of him! He sees Binghe as his cute horny puppy.

Obviously Luo Binghe falls for Shen Yuan, because duh, he’s Luo Binghe.

And that continues until Luo Binghe falls into the Abyss.

Shen Yuan gets worried enough after not having seen Binghe around that he gets around to writing a Very Formal Letter to Yue Qingyuan, whom he hasn’t seen since the man had very gently let him known he wouldn’t return to his brothel because Xiao Jiu disapproved (while looking overjoyed), asking about the wellbeing of one of his disciples. He gets a Very Formal Letter back telling him that Binghe died.

Shen Yuan mourns for real. He also gets very, very sick of being a prostitute, but hey, he has a contract so he’s stuck there.

The first thing Binghe does when he returns to the human realm is show up at the brothel with an obscene amount of gold, looking to buy off Shen Yuan’s contract. The Madam tries to argue. Luo Binghe puts even more gold on the front desk and tells him he’ll pay as much as necessary, but he’s not leaving without Shen Yuan. This point is accompanied by demonic qi so strong everyone in the brothel can feel it and Xin Mo oozing malevolence, so the Madam shuts the fuck up, takes the gold and has someone fetch Shen Yuan. Who is very into slightly older and much richer/stronger Binghe spiriting him away, thanks. He has no issues at all with Luo Binghe setting him up in his palace and keeping him buried under luxury and love, none at all.

At some point in the future, Luo Binghe has to visit the sect for some reason or another and decides to bring Shen Yuan just because. Yue Qingyuan chokes when he sees who Luo Binghe’s spouse is. Shen Jiu isn’t a fan either.

Shen Yuan might possibly still be a little bitter about how the whole thing turned out, so he waits for the right moment and calls Yue Qingyuan Qi-ge right in front of Shen Jiu. Who breaks his fan in rage while Yue Qingyuan sweats all the water off his body, because Shen Jiu knew Shen Yuan looked like him, but he didn’t know how much Yue Qingyuan shared about him or that he basically had him roleplay him.

Shen Yuan is having the time of his life creating chaos.

Shen Jiu is pissed as hell and turns his hostility toward Shen Yuan for half a second before Binghe, who has no idea what happened, radiates demonic qi strongly enough that disciples run away in fright, and tell Shen Jiu that even if he is his Shizun, if he touches one hair of Shen Yuan’s head he’s dead. And he means it. Shen Jiu sneers but he retreats because he knows he has no chance of beating him, and Yue Qingyuan is way too mortified to do anything.

Shen Yuan is very happy because out of all of them, he’s the one who got the better deal.

The End.

And now, a fic about Luo Binghe’s return.

“Shen Yuan! Shen Yuan! Go downstairs now! The madam needs you.”

Shen Yuan blinks at the shaken serving girl. “I would rather not.” Whatever is causing the waves of unease that are disturbing everyone, he wants nothing to do with.

The girl seems close to tears. “You have to! He looks nice, but I bet he’ll kill her if you don’t.”

Shen Yuan definitely doesn’t want to go down now. Why would he go meet a murderer. He will regret the madam dying a lot less than losing his own life. “Who is “he”?”

She starts crying. “I don’t know! But he wants to buy your contract! Why did you get involved with someone so dangerous!”

Someone who wants to buy his contract? A few names come to mind, but none stick. The only person with both the means and the will to do so hasn’t stopped by in years. Not to mention Yue Qingyuan isn’t the kind of man that would kill for him. “I have no idea who it could be. Are you sure he asked for me? It must be some mistake.” He isn’t dumb. While some of the courtesans here court disaster by entertaining thieves and killers, Shen Yuan always favored scholars and public servants, much less prone to turning against him.

“There’s no mistake! He asked for you by name!” The serving girl pulls at his sleeve with force.

This tiny slip of a girl could never hope to bring him anywhere he doesn’t want to go, but he has to admit to himself that if the man is that insistent, he will come to get him himself if Shen Yuan doesn’t come down, and that would make deescalating this situation that much harder. “Fine. Stop pulling, you’ll rip the fabric. I’ll come along.” Shen Yuan puts on his most placid mask and follows the girl to the front desk.

Where a very, very attractive man is waiting. For a moment, Shen Yuan is too blinded by the man’s sheer physical perfection to realise who he is. The next moment, he’s convinced he has gone insane. Dead men do not return from the grave.

And yet, there’s no mistaking that flawless visage. “…Binghe?”

His voice wavers against his will.

Luo Binghe turns toward him, polite smile fading into true happiness. “Shen Yuan!”

For a moment, Shen Yuan thinks Luo Binghe will jump on him and take him here and now, for anyone to see, considering how hungry for him he looks.

But Luo Binghe controls himself. “I came here to buy off your contract. Is that something you’re amenable to?”

…What? Why? What is happening? A mere disciple could never hope to buy off his contract. Then again, from the luxury of the robes he’s wearing, he probably isn’t just a disciple anymore. “Your sect master told me you were dead.” Important matters must be addressed first. Shen Yuan won’t be bought by a ghost, thank you.

“He was wrong. I had… family obligations to deal with, but now that they are dealt with, I returned to free you. Afterward, Shen Yuan can do whatever he wants.” His voice lowers and trembles a little. “He doesn’t have to come with me, if he would prefer not to. All I ask is that he doesn’t remain here. Shen Yuan is so talented, there are many things he could do if he chose to. Whatever path he wants to walk, this Luo Binghe will happily support, if Shen Yuan would let him.”

Shen Yuan stands frozen where he is. Not only Luo Binghe is back, he’s offering to free him? Why? Shen Yuan doesn’t understand anything.

This is unbecoming. “If you would follow me to my room? There are many things I would like to ask.”

“Yes!” Luo Binghe follows him almost too eagerly.

The moment the door closes behind them, Luo Binghe traps him into an embrace too strong to be escaped from. “Shen Yuan! Shen Yuan! It really is you! I missed you so much.”

All anxiety he might have held melts into nothing. Ah, this is still his cute Binghe, too innocent for this place and yet refusing to let it corrupt him.

He goes to return the embrace, but before he can, Luo Binghe pushes him away gently, leaving him destabilised.

“I pray Shen Yuan forgive my presumptuousness. It had been years. He might not even remember me.”

Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. “Did I not call your name as soon as I saw you? Of course I remember you. I would like to know what happened to you, though.” From up close, Luo Binghe looks like the son of a rich nobleman, or maybe even a prince. Everything he wears screams wealth. He is startlingly out of place in Shen Yuan’s small and proper room. “Is Luo Binghe the scion of some rich family? Or did he marry a princess?”

“I would never! The only want I would share my life with is you!”

Shen Yuan blinks at this declaration as Luo Binghe blushes. “Shen Yuan must forgive me again. I didn’t intend to be so blunt, but since it has been said, Shen Yuan must know only his memory keep me sane during those years. I would love nothing more than repay him for what he has done for me. All the wealth and power I control are his to command, if he wants to. But, as I said before, if he would rather try his fortune by himself, I will wish him well and let him go. I just don’t want Shen Yuan to have to share his bed with people he doesn’t desire. Even if it is how we met, he deserves better.”

Shen Yuan notices Luo Binghe’s eyes are full of tears. He mindlessly uses his sleeve to wipe them off, a gesture familiar to them both. Luo Binghe has always been easily overwhelmed.

The proposition is very appealing. Shen Yuan wants nothing more than be freed of this place. And since it is obvious that buying him wouldn’t even set him back… “Luo Binghe really wants to use his money to free this old man? Doesn’t he have better things to use it for?”

But Luo Binghe isn’t looking at him anymore. Through the open door to his bedroom, his eyes have caught the little altar with incense still smoking. “Shen Yuan, is this, can I dare ask if…”

Shen Yuan blushes. How ridiculous this seems now. Luo Binghe isn’t dead. He needs no offering. “Yes. I thought you were dead, and you told me you had no family, so I got into the habit of preparing offerings for you in case no one else would and just… never stopped. You can laugh at this sentimental fool, if you want.”

Luo Binghe kisses him, wet and hot and messy, hands tangling into his hair and keeping him there. “Let me take you to my home. Let me treat you the way you deserve to be treated. You will never lack for anything, I promise. If you don’t want to share my bed, that’s fine, but please, let me keep you by my side.”

His little Binghe is no liar. Shen Yuan could always read the truth of him on his face, on his body, in his every gesture. He knows too much of Luo Binghe to be scared of him, or to doubt him.

Also, Shen Yuan has eyes. Who but the blinds would not want to share this man’s bed? It’s a good thing Luo Binghe put an end to the kiss, because if he hadn’t, they might not have left today. “If, for some reason, Binghe has taken a fancy to this old whore, I would love nothing more than accompany him away from here and into his bed, if he wants me to.”

“Shen Yuan!” Luo Binghe kisses him so more, and this time, Shen Yuan kisses back, allowing himself for the first time to accept just how much he missed this dear little client of his.

“Is there anything Shen Yuan wants to bring along?”

Shen Yuan looks at the garish robes, the maquillage and the fans he held on to for whatever reasons. “No. But I should bring some clothes. I have little money to buy new robes.”

“Shen Yuan doesn’t have to worry. From now on, only the finest silk will adorn his body. If he doesn’t like his current robes, he can leave them here.” His own eyes travel over the room, before they falter. “I just, if Shen Yuan agrees, I would like to take the altar back? He won’t have to look at it if it brings back bad memories. I will keep it in my room, as proof of his affection.”

The blush returns to Shen Yuan’s face. He will never stop feeling stupid for tending to an altar for a living man.

Still. If it made Luo Binghe happy, it was less useless than it seems. “Luo Binghe can have it, of course.”

Luo Binghe seems ecstatic. “Thank you!” He extends his hand to Shen Yuan. “Well then, if Shen Yuan would come with me?”

Resolved, Shen Yuan takes his hand.

It’s so big now, strong and firm. Luo Binghe can easily hold all of Shen Yuan’s hand in his.

It only brings him reassurance.

His fingers curl around Luo Binghe’s, and his heart warms when they curl back.

He knows they won’t let go.

#The Scum Villain Self Serving System #Scum Villain #BingQiu

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tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors · 4 years

Text

Snowmelt

a/n: hi! this is my take on the what if Eirween had kept logan au! i am hoping i can make at least one more chapter of this because i do have a plot thought out, but i am not amazing at sticking to projects fdjhal. either way i hope this is enjoyable

warnings: child abuse/neglect, hypothermia, death threats, just eirweens A+ parenting in general.

———————————————————

Leith Snowmelt’s life so far had been fine, really.

Well, OK maybe not.

Maybe that’s just what he wanted to believe.

Maybe it was more along the lines of horrible.

He spent most of his time at the edges of the forest; hidden, in the warm months between the bushes. He had learned to be quiet, still and unseen.

He only saw other faeries when his mother decided she wanted to bring him out, like a shiny piece of jewelry for special events. He had learned to be quiet when that happened too, to behave and play tricks when asked.

There always is an anger building in his chest, a tiny part that knows. He knows he was born on the equinox and only if they let him, if someone only taught him, he would be able to bend the forrest to his will.

Instead he grows silly little flowers and catches sunbeams to amuse bullies who mock him to his face.

Unseelie thought of him, at worst, as a mistake who shouldn’t have been granted with the gift of seeing the light of day, at best they thought of him as The Banshee’s pet, funny silly little thing.

Most Seelie thought of him as a lost cause.

The only time he ever did anything for himself was nicking books off school children. It wasn’t even stealing really since he usually gave something in return. Children were easy to bargain with, if you were persuasive enough and you looked childish, they often wanted stupid little things in return for their books: a charm, good luck on a test, health.

It would be so easy to trick them.

Lieth didn’t.

How pathetically Spring of him.

His mother always cast him a half amused look when she found out he was “tricking” humans.

It was the fondest look she ever gave him.

But all in all Summer and Spring were bearable, but Autumn and Winter were a whole other story.

It’s so cold and miserable, and it’s pitiful how much he missed the sun.

Some Seelie hibernate, or at least stay inside, cover themselves. Snowmelt’s mother will not let him, as if he could learn to be Winter purely by her stubbornness.

So it was his 12th year of life and he has his worst month yet.

His mother seemed to become more unhappy with him by the day. The other Unseelie seemed to lose interest in her little pet, he was not sure what they would do to him if they got bored. Worst of all he had, although only fleetingly, caught the attention of the Serpent King. Only brief amused glances at revels, but Snowmelt knew very well that could bring him nothing but trouble.

Then a blizzard hit’s Wickhills, covering everything in a thick layer of snow.

Snowmelt is downright miserable, and very aware of the bitter irony of his name.

His mother fought with him, well it wasn’t really a fight, mostly she was angry at him.

Somewhere deep down there is a growl in him, “I could take you”, that part of him says.

But right now he is paralized, right now there is a blizzard outside and the sky is dark.

“I gave you life, Lieth,” she said.

He was sure that is the first time she has called him that, the first time anyone has called him that.

“I can take it too, Snowmelt.”

She had never been quite so direct, she bares her teeth in a mockery of a laugh, and suddenly he feels so very small.

So Snowmelt runs, runs through the cold forrest, through the snow. He runs until he can’t feel his legs anymore.

He runs until he is not sure what precisely he is running from anymore, but he can’t stop, he can’t even think about going back.

He runs all the way to the edge of the forest, where he usually reads books, hoping no one will find him.

He stops, his body giving out from underneath him.

He is immortal, he knows this, he does not remember whether or not the cold can kill him. He is, pitifully, Seelie after all.

It doesn’t really matter, he can not go either way.

How stupidly weak of him.

——————–

Thomas Sanders had a relatively average life, or well, as average as it can be growing up in Wickhills.

His mom was maybe a little more protective than was strictly necessary, but really with fae all around, who could blame her.

Anyway, on this particular day she had let him go out in the snow, she had said she was coming outside to join him in a second and for now he should stay in the street.

Thomas was absolutely delighted with all the snow, it was the most he had seen in his life, it was just too pretty.

Then he made a turn at the end of the street, suddenly he was at the edge of the forest.

Which was definitely not were the edge of the forest should be.

To his credit Thomas only panicked a little bit, mostly he was annoyed he had been pixie-led from his own street, and quickly started turning his coat inside out.

And then he saw him.

A Faery, or well a child.

He looked only a little older than thomas, 14 maybe? But he was also small, and a frankly alarming shade of shade of pale blue.

And Thomas just could not shake the feeling that he was frozen and surely hurt.

Thomas could say that what he did next was because leaving the fae there certainly would have left him with some terrible curse.

But something had brought Thomas there. And seeing his face his heart broke.

So he ignored all common sense and logic, finished taking his coat off and wrapped the boy in it.

He lifted him- he was so light it could absolutely not be healthy- and he sprinted home.

Only later he will be concerned about whether or not the rest of the town saw him.

In the moment he could only think that the boy in his arms might be seriously hurt or dying.

He, somehow, clumsily rang his doorbell.

Only when he sees his mother’s baffled face logic rushed back to him and realised that this was so terribly foolish.

He looked down at the boys placid face.

With the best puppy dog eyes he looked back at his mom.

“He is hurt, moma.” he said pleading.

She sighed and shook her head.

“Get inside Tommybug it’s cold,” she looked at the fae boy in his arms and looked back at her sons pleading eyes, “get them inside too, quickly.”

Thomas smiled and they gently carried him inside.

———

Dot Sanders was considering she might have made the worst decision in her life.

She should have been panicking, or be furious at her son or something.

She certainly shouldn’t be gently tucking the fae in the makeshift bed they had made for them on the couch.

She had called Larry immediately, he had been somehow slightly more rational about the whole situation, but ultimately decided they could not kick out an ill child.

She was in no way a medical professional, or prolific in anything magic. She wanted to call Abby, but she had picked this weekend to go on a short vacation with Roman. The idea of calling May Gage made her stomach churn.

So she did her best and wrapped the boy in slightly oversized warm clothes and turned on the heater.

She knew, although she did not know much about fae, the boy was hurt. He was quite literally frozen a dull blue gray pattern of frost implanted on his skin and he was dangerously motionless. Aside from that there were bruises, scratches, scars and something that looked suspiciously like a burn. She couldn’t help the profound ache in her chest as she added a blanket, she was a mother after all.

He made a soft slightly inhuman noise of pain.

“It’ll be alright,” she cooed, because she had gone just absolutely insane.

He groans again, and he looks so much like Thomas.

Just like her son when he gets the flu, or he scrapes his knee, or when he stayed up too late.

He looks like her students at school too.

Somehow, even if she knows he could be hundreds of years old, she knows he is just a child.

She runs her fingers through his hair gently and sighs.

“It will all be alright.”

——–

Snowmelt woke up in a place he did not recognize.

The room has a strange hum to it, he also had no idea what everything inside it is, except for the books. He is in clothes that are not his and give him a strange itch like feeling.

Somehow the room was hot, but he was not, he felt frozen from the inside.

He only has a few seconds of utter confusion before his thoughts were interrupted by a cheery voice.

“Oh gosh you’re awake!”

He turned to look at the human child, who smiled relieved and bright at him.

Snowmelt wanted to yell, or run, or something. He could not. Why?

The child frowned a bit.

“It’s alright if you don’t wanna talk, you must still be hurt, mom says you got some form of hypothermia.”

Fantastic, hypothermia.

“Well anyway, I am-”

“No” he manages, his voice rough.

The human shaked his head.

“Right, faery, sorry.”

Snowmelt wondered what his mother would think of him, refusing a mortals name like that.

Pathetic probably.

“You can call me Bug, my mom calls me that sometimes,” he said somehow still upbeat. “Is there anything I can call you?”

He stayed silent, baffled at this child’s lack of manners and common sense and just the entire situation really.

The child nods anyway.

“Ok,” he said, “do tell me if you need anything, mom and dad will be home in a second, they just went to get stuff for dinner.”

He wondered what kind of parents left their child with a fae, but then he tried to stand up and his body felt like he was being stabbed by needles. He went lightheaded and he noticed his body was littered with something that looked like frost.

He was completely harmless.

Great, perfect really.

————

The parents did come home soon, and they were…kind?

He did understood less about the whole situation by the second.

They explained that they had found him, and saved him, for reasons Snowmelt really did not understand.

The mother, who told him she could call her Dory, something Bug seemed to find endlessly amusing, well she was fussing over him, she even brought him flower tea he was petulantly refusing to drink, she seemed to not be aware of food rules in fairy courts, and generally seemed to be trying to care for him.

The dad, who the child insisted he called Merlin, was just a little bit weary, but still offered no protest to there being an actual fae in his house.

There must be something, Snowmelt thought, something they want. A blessing? A gift? Simply to keep him imprisoned?

Whatever it was, they had not asked, yet.

After a while they left him to rest, and with much pain he reluctantly drank the tea, which was very good and seemily did not curse him or imprison him further.

From his place on the couch he saw the snow still falling outside and wondered in just how much trouble he was.

---

V: oh! my!! goodness!!! GRACIOUS!!!!! this is so SWEET and the Dory-and Marlin joke was an adorbale little cherry on top of this wonderful sundae that i absolutely love

#longpost #laoft fic #not mine #laoft logan #laoft thomas #submission

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rowan-raven-rogue · 4 years

Text

kirschwein (ch1)

will probably edit later when it’s not 3am but let’s get this posted babey

kirschwein

word count: 2127/2830 part 2/8 rating: general audiences warnings: no warnings apply category: f/m fandom: critical role (web series) relationship: jester lavorre/caleb widogast Characters: jester lavorre, caleb widogast

additional tags: let’s see how matt mercer thrusts the harpoon of canon straight through the heart of this story in like 5 episodes, somewhere between AU and canon-divergent?, established relationship, technically mechanically compliant, we can discuss the meta of greater restoration vs heal if you want

chapter 1

Despite evidence to the contrary, she thinks, Jester really is not suited for healer’s work.

To heal is one thing, certainly; one whisper to the Traveler, and a wound in Beau’s shoulder closes, or a burn on Caduceus’ palm blisters over and cools. But the work of healing - bandaging, applying poultice, splinting - that remains a mystery, even after the morning spent in the red-haired healer woman’s tent. A body really does most of the work by itself, Jester thinks, diligently elevating a young man’s shattered leg all the same, the way the woman had instructed. She croons something low and nonsensical to soothe him, as he half-cries in his half-sleep, and is thankful that her mama taught her at least a bit about the work of consolation.

To be perfectly honest, she might have been of slightly more use on the builder’s crew. Slightly.

“That’s very good, dear,” the red-haired woman smiles, only with the corners of her eyes. She finishes applying delicate-smelling balm to the frizzy side of a dwarf woman’s face, then turns to Jester. “You learn quickly.”

“Not always,” Jester admits. “Only because you showed me. If I had to learn this from a book or something, or if you were just talking me through it I would have no idea what was going on.”

“We learn in different ways,” nods the woman, in her thick, familiar accent. “I learned much of what I know from books, but they do not, ah, always have the full story.” The young man lying next to Jester groans again, and she reflexively lays a hand on his arm and hums something lullsome. “A page cannot teach that,” she says, softer, indicating.

“I could do more,” Jester ponders, “but he seems okay for now, and if anyone else gets brought in that might be worse, I don’t want to… I’d rather save it.”

“More wisdom.”

“But if no one else comes today, I can fix it no problem,” Jester says, and puffs just a touch of green sparks from her fingertips, for effect.

The older woman’s eyes crease, again, the way they had earlier that morning, when Jester first arrived, when she first set her fingertips to the gashes clawed in a half-elf child’s back and asked Please, Traveller, make it stop hurting. Not in a smiling way, and not for longer than an instant, but long enough for Jester to see, and to vanish the green sparks with a small noise like a weasel’s squeak.

“You are talented,” murmurs the red-haired woman, and the rain slowly pattering away at the canvas above them drums a little harder and faster.

“I hope Caduceus is okay,” Jester says, as if she could look through canvas walls and summon him, dripping but cheerful.

“He is allergic to water?” the woman says, unblinking, and it takes Jester seconds to realize she’s joking.

“Yes,” she deadpans back, in her best mimic of Caleb - and there was a pang, she hadn’t seen him all day - but the woman actually laughs, small but full.

“He will be alright,” she says. “I am sure the apothecary is… overworked, today.”

“He’s better at this kind of thing,” Jester says. “Healing without, uh. Cheating. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I am grateful for your help,” the red-haired woman says, firmly, seating herself by the small brazier in the center of the tent. “Normally, they,” with a small circle of the hand, to her patients, “would be cared for at the hospital, but. You saw the state of the hospital, after...” And after a long pause, “I do not think of it as cheating.”

Jester sits, mindful of the patients resting. The woman continues to stare into the glowing coals.

“We simply have different ways of accomplishing the same task,” she says, finally. “You are skilled as you are, dear.”

A blush purples faintly over Jester’s cheeks “You sound like my - friend,” she says. How do I refer to Caleb, exactly?

“Hmm?” says the woman. “She is smart, then.”

“He’s so smart,” says Jester, eagerness creeping in at the edges of her voice. “I meant you sound the same like you have the same accent. He’s Zemnian, too.”

“Is he a healer, also?”

Jester shakes her head. “He usually needs me to like, put his arms and legs back on after a fight or something. But he’s really good at other stuff.”

“A mage, then,” and that same small ghosting look gathers in the corner of her eyes, and dissipates just as quickly. “That will be useful, if your aim is to hunt these creatures. They are quite strong.” There is a small pop from one of the glowing coals. “My husband was a soldier, and he only barely managed to slay one of them, once. I nearly had to put his arms and legs back on myself.” A suggestion of a smile turns at the woman’s mouth. “He is… not in his fighting prime, of course. That was one of the few times I have thanked the gods for his hard-headedness. I think he was simply too stubborn to bleed out.”

“Oh my God, Caleb is so stubborn sometimes,” agreement spills from Jester, and the woman cocks an eyebrow.

“Your - friend?” she says, with a suggestion, lilted and understanding, and Jester takes pause.

“Well - yes, and also - I mean, we’re together, but - it’s so hard, when we’re with this big group, you know, like - you never get any time to yourself as it is, and it hasn’t been that long…” Jester’s words trail off into a small, exasperated sigh.

“My goodness,” the woman laughs again, this time fuller. “I do not miss being young, my dear, it seems just as complicated as I remember.”

“It wouldn’t be, if…” and Jester trails off again. If we weren’t worried about everybody making it weird? or for a shameful instant, if he could let himself be happy for longer than a few minutes at a time? although that one Jester quickly sweeps away.

The woman filled her pause. “Well, I’m sorry to say you signed up for stubbornness with that one, if he’s a Zemnian boy. My husband is this way, and my son.” There is a hitch to her voice, near the end, catching over son in a way Jester can’t miss. The pitched canvas above them thrums harder still beneath the rain. “He was a mage, as well.”

“Your son?” Jester says, carefully.

“Yes,” and the woman’s voice peters out into something like a whisper, carrying something heavy and unmistakable.

“I’m sorry,” Jester says simply.

“Thank you,” the woman replies. The wind and rain somewhat quiet, and eventually she picks up again with the smallest of shakes of her head. “From where in the Zemni Fields is your friend, dear?”

“Oh, uh. I’m not actually sure, he doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

Nodding, “Many lives were difficult, before, after the first war. I cannot blame him. Well, if you are going to be in town for a few days, you are welcome to pay us a visit. Gods know there aren’t enough friendly faces near, especially for strangers.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.”

“And if it helps, you can tell him we’re from Blumenthal. He probably won’t know where that is, it’s such a small village, but. Who knows.”

“I will.”

“I’m back, Miss Una,” the canvas flap at the front of the tent mutters open, and Caduceus ducks inside, stray strands of pink slicked to his otherwise-placid face. “They were out of yarrow, I hope you don’t mind, I asked for comfrey instead. Jester, I saw the weirdest thing,” he says, depositing a large pouch on a nearby work table. “I thought this guy out there was Caleb for a minute, it was freaky.”

“Caduceus,” Jester says, in mock disappointment, hoping the points of her teeth don’t belie the joke, “It wasn’t actually Caleb, right?”

“No, when I got closer it was an older gentleman. One of the guys working on the hospital,” he replies. “They look really similar though. I know everyone’s supposed to have a doppelganger here and there, but. Huh.”

“On the hospital?” Una says, frowning. “The only older man working there would be my husband, I think. Tall, brown hair, short cropped?”

“Yeah! That’s him,” Caduceus says, with seemingly no opinion beyond. He digs through the pouch until he finds a vial of greenish liquid, and turns to crouch over the young woman he had left previously, the one with a deep gash just above her collarbone.

As the glow from the coals dances over the woman’s red hair, something begins to gnaw at Jester.

“Miss Una,” she says finally, drawing closer, as one might draw close to an animal that may bolt. “You said you were from Blumenthal?”

“Yes?”

“How - when did you come to Druvenlode, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh,” she says, drawing out a small tilt of her head. “It’s been seventeen years, soon.”

“Hmm,” Jester says, hoping her nonchalance can pass for acknowledgement rather than processing her thought. She creeps further still. “Miss Una.”

Something begins to be wary about the woman’s eyes. “Yes, Jester?”

“Why did you and your husband come here?”

She tenses into rigid politeness, even as her crest falls:

“I - we. We were moved here, after the death of my son.”

“You were moved here? You didn’t move here yourselves?”

“Well, no, we were - this is really not something I would like to discuss, Jester,” says Una.

“Please, forgive me, but - it’s really, really important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

“We were offered to move, yes. My son was - he died at school. The Academy offered to relocate us, as recompense.” She tightens further, everywhere but her eyes. “It was difficult to leave, at first, but eventually the memories became too - strong, in that house. And so we accepted.”

“The Academy? The Soltryce Academy?”

“What is this about?” Una stands, and Jester sees Caduceus tense as well, before he finishes his work and slowly turns to face them.

“I can explain everything, I promise, I just - need to know. Your son was a mage? And he died - he died seventeen years ago?”

“Uh, Jester…” she hears Caduceus begin, and he approaches, but her focus is trained on the burning brown eyes of the red-haired woman before her. Una stares, stone-faced, calculating.

“Caduceus, this is like, critically important, I need you to trust me,” she says, and perhaps it is because she rarely speaks with such urgency, but he backs down, drawing slowly closer to her instead of between the two women. Jester plays her fingertips over the holy symbol at her belt, and murmurs a plea to the Traveler.

“Please, please forgive me, Miss Una,” she begs, and a shimmering green encircles the woman’s feet. She recoils with a sharp intake of breath. “Please answer my questions, and I promise promise I’ll explain everyhing.”

“Jester…” Caduceus warns again, voice rolling low and docile in an attempt to cool tempers.

“What is your name?” Una is still and silent.

“Please answer me.”

Quietly: “Una Ermendrud.” The white circle at her feet flares white briefly, then shrinks back to green.

“Is there any other name anyone else ever calls you?”

“No.” Another flare of white.

“Is there any other name anyone else has called you before?”

A brief pause before her next answer, “Una Kohler, before I was married.” Yet another white flare.

Jester’s voice quivers. “Your son died seventeen years ago.”

“My son is dead.” The circle burns white.

“Your son Bren. He has your hair.”

Jester feels a whipcrack surge between them as they lock eyes again. Confusion plays across grief plays across anger plays across love plays across guilt on Una’s face. “Please answer me.”

“Yes.” Once more, white.

Pain lodges at the back of Jester’s throat.

“Tell me a lie now, Miss Una.”

“Jester -”

“Please.”

“I - we. We live in R-” and the word rolls and rolls, but she cannot seem to finish it. The circle flares angrily red as she manages “-Rex-xen-trum”, and she stares down, understanding narrowing her eyes as the color fades back to green.

Jester pulls her last question like an arrow from her chest.

“How did he die?”

The whisper cuts over the patter of rain, the reedy keen of the wind:

“A fire. There was a fire.”

The circle momentarily flares white before Jester clenches her fist, and it disappears.

“There were other students, inside,” Una breathes, continuing. “He was - he went back -”

“I’m sorry, Miss Una, I’m sorry,” she says, resisting, “please don’t call the guards or anything, I can explain, I can -”

“You knew my son.”

Jester feels Caduceus’ hand warm her shoulder on her reply.

“I know your son.”

#widojest #liam o'brien don't read me please

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wincore · 5 years

Text

less than peace | lee jeno

pairing: jeno x reader

words: 2.8k

prompt: anonymous sent: i’m not sure if you do any other members besides renjun but can i request a fluffy jeno fic where he takes op on a midnight drive where he confesses his love or something cheesy like that? i know cheesy but i would like to see you write this since your renjun fic was so (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) loved it btw! sorry for the long request 🥵

genre: fluff, and i mean fluff, college!au

warnings: none

a/n: lovestruck!jeno is the cutest thing ever bye

(need a playlist for a 20 minute drive to a hilltop to confess your love to your crush? here!)

Jeno taps his foot nervously as he presses his phone to his ear. A cool breeze hits his cheek as he leans against his car, his nerves more than uneasy. It’s not like Jeno to be so spontaneous—he’d rather have texted you to let you know, or just made sure in any way that he’s not being too imposing or wasting time for either of you. Nevertheless, there are times when Jeno’s heart gets too stubborn, too adamant on a little freedom and he finds himself well outside the comfort of his safety bubble.

The phone rings thrice before you pick up and Jeno smiles to himself at the sleepiness in your voice before speaking. It shouldn’t affect him the way it does, but here he is, blushing under the orange streetlights. He could have let the night go by, he could have just closed his eyes and fallen asleep.

“And why would I leave my comfortable room into the hot night?” you ask, but the shuffling makes Jeno think you’ve already got up.

“My car has air conditioning!” Jeno answers, confused, before realizing that’s probably not what you asked. “I mean- I thought you’d need a break from all the studying.”

Your laugh quickens his heartbeat, and he chuckles softly to make himself sound less awkward. Peace seems to be rather alluding to him these days. He’d complain about the unfairness of crushes but he knows better by now.

“Well, that’s not convincing enough,” you hum, but Jeno hears the click of a door through the phone.

“I have pizza,” Jeno says, bluntly.

“Well, you should have said so earlier!” your voice comes from behind him, at the gates of the apartment.

Jeno can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips as he stands up straight. You take quick steps towards him, and Jeno almost forgets how to breathe. This is not how it’s supposed to go.

You pat Jeno on the back, and his skin burns in a way it isn’t supposed to. His heart isn’t supposed to backflip in your presence, his legs aren’t supposed to feel like jelly and he certainly isn’t supposed to stammer out his words this bad. You stare at him expectantly as you open the car door, and Jeno suddenly realizes how stiff he’s standing. He quickly scrambles to his seat, and the two of you shut the door in sync. This isn’t the first time you’re going on a late night drive, but then why does Jeno feel so jittery?

“So where to, Lee Jeno?” you ask, smiling wide.

“Nowhere,” he smiles back with the usual answer even if it’s not true. “Did you have a place in mind?”

“Absolutely not!” you grin, and Jeno backs the car into the street before driving into the midnight blue.

The skies are dark but clear—the remaining wisps of clouds minding their own business high up in the sky. The stars can’t glow any brighter than the obnoxious orange streetlights down here, but you know the stars will pick up their strength the further uphill you go. It’s fascinating how gentle the wind gets at night, almost as if trying its best to lull you to sleep, as if it knows you shouldn’t really be out here on a weeknight. The heart of the city won’t be asleep, you know, but this part sleeps early with almost all the houses having their lights out. You can’t wait to get to the top of the hill, and remember the skyline and the lights that never rest easy.

“The 1975?” Jeno quirks an eyebrow.

“What?” you ask, defensively, “This is like the perfect late night drive music.”

Jeno laughs and hums along to the music. He’s trying to be calm, but there are feelings in his chest that just won’t settle. Do you have to smile at him like that?

Jeno isn’t trying to blame Donghyuck, but he is trying to blame Donghyuck. If he hadn’t given Jeno the brilliant idea of confessing in the middle of the night, under the moon and the stars (“Jaemin, tell him it’s romantic.” “It’s too romantic for him.” “You guys…”) and if Jeno’s mind hadn’t wrapped itself around the idea obstinately, Jeno could have lived his life in the perfect quietude of keeping his mouth shut, by your side as a friend.

Jeno catches himself sighing out loud. He glances at you to find you looking out the window, your face at rest with your eyes half-closed and lips curled into an absentminded smile. You nod along to the music ever so slightly, and when you turn to Jeno to look at him, he turns his attention back to the road, his hand gripping the wheel tighter and his heart hammering in his chest.

Just how hard could it be? Something along the lines of ‘I have a huge crush on you!’ or ‘I’m really into you!’ or ‘I literally die inside every time you brush your hand against mine!’ should be easy enough to communicate considering the honesty of his feelings. But Jeno’s never been good with words, at least when they’re on his tongue. He’s honestly surprised at how you manage to understand the garbled mess that comes out of his mouth—words that either fall too short, or words far too tangled within themselves to pull apart.

“Jen,” you say, all of a sudden.

“Huh?” Jeno turns his head towards you.

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” you say, pursing your lips afterwards.

“H-huh? No! I-I mean,” Jeno catches himself from any further stuttering. “Why would there be anything wrong?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Well. To start off, you go on your random midnight drives when you’re thinking too much.”

“That’s not true!” Jeno defends quickly. “That’s…that’s…okay, kind of true.”

“This isn’t a Daeni case, is it?” you ask, leaning back and tilting your head at him.

“Gods, no,” Jeno grimaces at the memory of the girl. She’d been all over him for the entirety of last semester to the point of becoming almost stalkerish, and Jeno’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with that anymore. His tendency to go on midnight drives had increased noticeably; he’d felt uncomfortable within the confines of his room.

But more than whatever was going on in his head, you seemed to be more pissed off than he ever could be. He still doesn’t get why you got so worked up over a problem he could have dealt with by himself. Jeno blushes at the memory of you holding onto his hand a little too rough and pulling him out of that stupid frat party he shouldn’t even have been to. You were so pissed off at Daeni trying to hit on him that night that even Jeno was a little scared, he’ll admit. ‘Stop being so nice all the time,’ you had said to him outside. Jeno still can’t think of an appropriate response to that.

But Jeno remembers your head against his shoulder as you fell asleep under the moonlight by Wong Yukhei’s swimming pool, grumbling about how Jeno’s going to keep attracting trouble if he doesn’t stop being so pure all the time. And Jeno most certainly remembers you wrapping your arms around him and the scent of your shampoo as you’d mumbled, ‘I care about you, you know?’

“Well?”

Jeno turns to find you looking at him expectantly. “Uh.”

“I just couldn’t sleep tonight,” he says and hopes you can’t see through him that easily.

“It’s not about your studies, is it? Because you should know, you don’t have to pull all-nighters to ace,” you explain, as you sit straight to turn down the music, “You’re like at the top of every class you have, Jen! You don’t have to work yourself over—”

“I’m really fine!” Jeno interrupts. “I wanted…I wanted to…uh…I just like driving.”

Jeno curses himself internally. How hard is it to say that he just wanted to spend some time with you? It’s not even confessing; why does he have to be so wary of all the affection that leaves his body?

Jeno looks up to see your lips pursed in a disappointed frown. He doesn’t like that look on you. But before he can say anything, you sigh.

“I like going on drives with you too, Jeno,” you smile.

And Jeno’s heart goes haywire all over again. He lets out a nervous laugh and fixes his eyes on the road and the increasing shrubberies on either side the further up you went. Just how is he going to tell you?

The streetlights have reduced in number and brightness, just enough to guide any traveller to the top of the hill. The sky is clearer here with its blues and purples, and so are the stars, swaying gleefully through the tree branches. Jeno remembers the first time he came here. Jaemin, Renjun and Jisung were here, and of course, you were too. He didn’t know about feelings then and he assumed the looks from Jaemin and Renjun meant they were up to something, some prank of sorts. Jeno doesn’t get how they knew before he did. Has he always been obvious?

When Jeno’s dad gave him the keys to this car, and told him to go on drives with someone he loves, he assumed the implication was friends and family. He’s been on countless trips with his friends (read: group of demons), and he’s been on placid journeys by himself too. Never in his life did he think that he’d fall in love, and never did he think he’d be able to enjoy the hum of his car engine and the comforting breeze passing by with them.

Yet here you are beside him, tugging at his heart with your every movement. Lovestruck is not a word he’d like to have in his dictionary, but it seems very fitting at this moment. Jeno’s far down the rabbit hole now, but he thinks he’s taken a liking to Wonderland.

The wooden rails have been repainted white, Jeno notices. The hilltop café is dimly lit but he’s in no mind to enter tonight as he shifts nervously, checking his watch. He’s not mistaken, right? When Jeno looks up, you’ve already made your way to the edge, leaning forward on the railing. You look back at him and gesture for him to join you. Jeno complies after a moment of staring blankly at you. Right. He needs to get himself together.

Jeno stands beside you and admires the sea of light below that you love so much. Jeno sighs softly, thinking of all the time that’s passed by. It wasn’t always like this. Jeno was your friend first—the first one he made in college, and hanging out used to be peaceful, calming even. Jeno used to be able to endure your touches and your smiles, your eyes on him. But somewhere along the line, they turned into the source of Jeno’s unrest, and before he knew it, you were all he could think of.

“It’s weirdly cool today,” you say, hugging yourself for emphasis.

“It’s still summer,” Jeno says.

“Yeah, no shit, Jen.”

The two of you look at each other to fall into laughter, a merry sound within a cool summer night. But it stops only moments after it starts, and it feels like reality again. Jeno holds his breath as he looks at you; you look pensive, your lips in a tight line as you gaze into the distance. Is it right to say something now? Or should he wait longer?

“Jeno,” you suddenly turn towards him, and Jeno almost jumps in his skin.

“Y-yeah?” he asks, trying to hide his evident surprise.

“I need to tell you something.”

Jeno’s heart goes thump in his chest at the words. Did he do something? Is there something you’ve been keeping from him? Will you tell him something awful? ‘I need to tell you something’ can’t mean anything good especially when you’re looking at him like this.

“I…I really- I…” you struggle.

Jeno waits patiently for you to gather your words. If it really is something awful, it’s better for you to deliver it slowly.

“Lee Jeno, I—"

Jeno snaps his head towards the suddenly showers of light. He wasn’t wrong about the timing, he thinks, discreetly checking his watch. It’s pretty, the way the light gleams across the purple-blue sky. He almost forgets the pool of light from the city beneath him as his eyes follow the meteors zipping across the night.

When Jeno looks at your face, all his worries melt away. Your smile is wide as you gaze at the dripping light along the sky. He doesn’t have time to worry about meteor showers being a tad cheesy, as he moves closer to you so that your shoulders almost touch. He breathes once, then twice and turns towards you.

You laugh at the sky, the melody carried by the cool, comforting breeze, and when you turn to look at Jeno, he doesn’t look away. If he’s got only one chance, he should try his best to take it.

“I care about you,” he says, not paying attention to the way his voice cracks. “I care about you a lot.”

“Jen- uh- what…” you begin, confused, but the way Jeno gulps nervously and forces himself to look you in the eye must give him away, because you break into a shy smile. It’s not fair how cute you look when your cheeks and ears are all pink.

“Don’t tell me,” you start, punching Jeno’s chest lightly, “Don’t tell me you brought me here to confess. How did you even come up with something so cheesy?”

“I…” Jeno’s voice cracks again but he clears his throat. “I didn’t. But I think I would have come up with something worse.”

You laugh. “I’m sure you would have.”

There’s a pause before you let out an annoyed sigh and step forward to bury your face in Jeno’s chest. If he hasn’t been making it clear before, he surely prays that now of all times, his heartbeat isn’t as loud as he thinks it is.

“Look what you’ve done!” your muffled complaint reaches Jeno. “You’ve made me embarrassed!”

Jeno laughs against your forehead, easing with every breath, and soon he draws enough courage to wrap his arms around your waist. He’d be lying if he says he didn’t light up when you hugged him back, the feeling of your hands against his back and your breath against his collarbone electrifying. Jeno missed your touch after all the avoiding he’s been doing.

“You’re so stupid,” you say, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“You literally lectured me on how I’m on top of the class and—”

“No, the other kind of stupid,” you glare.

Jeno laughs in response and holds you tighter. This feels nice, he thinks. Nicer than most thngs.

“I really do like you, you know?” he whispers, as if he needs to get the feeling across more clearly.

“Lee Jeno. I can’t believe it’s come to this but. I have literally been trying to tell you I like you since the first semester and here you are, acting like you’re the genius who thought of confessing,” you say, your eyebrows scrunched into a frustrated glower.

“What.”

You separate from his embrace to rub your temples. “You are so oblivious. I fell in love with you the moment you introduced me to your cats.”

“So you just want me for my cats, huh?”

You punch his chest again. “Your jokes are not funny.”

The two of you burst into laughter nonetheless, and Jeno wishes he could hold you for longer. He can’t seem to remove his arms from around your waist, but you don’t let go of him either, and the closeness of your hearts gives him a sort of peace he never knew existed.

“Oh no, the pizza!”

The next time Jeno’s heart falls into turmoil is when you grab his T-shirt to pull him into a kiss, sitting atop the hood of his car under the night sky. Your lips are sweet, tasting suspiciously like chocolate milk, the kind Jeno usually has, and he wonders if it has something to do with the one couldn’t find in his bag in the morning. Jeno gasps when you pull him closer, your touch almost overloading his senses. The giddiness doesn’t fade away for the next few days; in fact, neither of you let it fade away with the pressing of your mouths against each other every time you get the chance, every time you’re alone with each other, every time you can’t seem to have enough of each other. Maybe, just maybe Jeno could live without the dull calmness he kept clinging onto for so long. Or maybe he’s starting to find a new kind of peace—the peace in your smell, your laugh, your lips. Jeno finds that he smiles to himself more often, looks forward to every day now; and he’s got only you to blame.

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cruzrogue · 4 years

Text

Nerdapoolza

#Fictober19 @fictober-event

————————————————————————

for fanfiction:

Prompt number: Prompt 27 “Can you wait for me?”

Fandom (AU if applicable): #arrow fanfiction #olicity

Rating:PG13

Warnings/Tags: relationships conversations

Summary: A troubled Oliver visits his best-buddy and lands up having to hang with a bunch of nerds at a study group.

Notes: Oliver talks about his past relationships with a girl who listens and with her own advice things change…

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

Nerdapoolza on A03

Oliver has no idea when and why he let things go so far. Doing both Lance sisters was a disaster in the making. So much so that the outcome when visiting his best friend on the East Coast his troubles happen to come along. He just loved having sex. He liked having a girl at home to placid his mother at least. He just really liked the opposite sex and what they had to offer.

What he could do without is the complication some girls brought to the table. Neediness, those girls who couldn’t distinguish between sex and love. Never happy and who can never get enough attention or help. They have no tolerance for being alone. They're clingy. They don't take hints. They call or text you continuously.

Oliver deleting another angry text by Laurel as he just goes to the TV room. Tommy laid out on the lounger watching an oldie.

“Woman problems?” Oliver just shrugs. “I told you to end thing eons ago but do you listen?”

“My mom liked Laurel.”

“Yea, because your mom is the one dating your girlfriend… I mean the ex-girlfriend, now right?”

“I had to leave Starling. It was insane. She’d show up wherever I went. Call, text, shoot even email me.”

“Well your free now. You need a cooling down period anyways?”

“Cooling down?”

“Yes. No girls for at least two weeks.”

“What? No way. Two weeks?”

“Whatever girl you date next shouldn’t fall into the mess you’ve got going on now.”

Oliver takes a moment to think this through, “Okay I get that but no way on the two weeks’ policy I’ll try to manage one.”

“There is no policy it’s just… You know what, if you could manage one without hitting on a girl. I’d be amazed.”

“Oh, please it’s not that hard.”

“Yea maybe when we were eight and we still thought them as yucky.” Tommy looks at his watch. “Alright I better setup for my study group I’m hosting tonight.”

“You actually hosting a study group?”

“Of course, Like my GPA to reflect how kick ass I am.”

“Nerdapoolza.”

“Ha, maybe if you actually cracked open a book, you’d be more than an average student.”

“Shit Tommy, you’ve insulted me in a few things today you want to try my manhood next?”

Tommy holds his hands up, “Bro, if the ladies are okay with you, which it seems they are because let’s face it they seem to bend over backwards for you.” Oliver rolls his eyes. “If you like you can hang out with us intellects.”

“Aren’t I lucky?”

“Here’s the deal. It’s a group of nine, four ladies the rest all guys. We all roughly go to different schools we met through online groupchat pipelines.”

“You just met these strangers online?”

“Well you meet face to face first in a public place and we had more of us but through semesters some have weened out.”

“Fascinating?”

“Ollie, I really enjoyed this. I’ve meet people with my same interests or people who make lackluster subjects that need to be taken easier. Also, there is a comradery.”

“Have you hooked up with anyone?”

“This isn’t like that. If I want to get laid there are better alternatives these are peeps, I want to mindcrush with.”

“So, no hot chicks?”

“There has been a few and well there is one that gets under my skin at times. You’ll meet her.”

“Plays hard to get?”

“No, she’s different?”

Oliver wonders if she is the crazy, bitchy kind of girl that is beautiful but out there. “Crazy? Pure lunatic? Or are you leaning the other way? Boring and predictable?” Seeing Tommy mum his lips, “Underage?”

“No actually she is legal since this past July.”

“Then what is wrong with her?”

“Nothing!” Tommy laughs. “She’s great. Smart to boot and she can dish out like the best of them. She just has different tastes than me.”

“She ‘ll be here tonight?”

“Yea, she’s also in charge of the chip selection.”

“Chips?”

“Yes, they’re brain food if you ask her and they are cheap enough that everyone can handle their chip turn.”

“You guys sound like the lamest party group on the planet.”

“Good thing we are a study group. Come on help me makes some drinks.”

“They won’t have any alcohol, right?” Tommy just sways his head in a different no position.

As there in the kitchen Oliver just watch Tommy take a veggie plate from the fridge. Placing some cut up fruit from a container onto a bowl. Oliver mixing some extra ice to the ready-made ice tea.

“So, what the subject for tonight?”

“Physics and Statistics.”

“Great!”

“In between we may play a game Charades but mostly we talk about what ails us.”

“You really want me to actual negate points now?”

“Come on Ollie, you may actually enjoy a night of brainpower and sharing personal stories at its finest.”

“Shit, if I wasn’t so into proving I can lay off woman for a week I’d take off and enjoy the city’s nightlife.”

“You’d be missing out!”

As the first ring on the doorbell happened Oliver laughs, “Nerdapoolza here we come.”

“Hush!” Tommy opens the door to a Mike and then a Craig and Lisa join in. Soon Phil, and Jessica, and a Robbie joins them. When Carol joins the festivities Oliver wonders if she is the girl but she didn’t bring chips. As they spread around the nice living room the doorbell rings again and Oliver takes the lead to open it.

“Tommy, I got held up by the elevator. I mean why does your place’s elevator have it out for me anyway?” He can’t see her over the large bags of chips she’s carrying. “They had this sale and I couldn’t remember if it green or red salsa Lisa likes so I got them both. The had lime flavored popcorn that Rob likes and I also got you your nachos.” She keeps going and its weirdly amusing as she walks herself to the kitchen. She says hi to everyone without even glancing their way. As she dumps the chips on the counter, she simultaneously takes her backpack off.

From his vantage point he just sees her backside. A really nice backside. His eyes wavering until he focuses and what an interesting view it is. She’s wearing ankle grunge boots, her tie up leggings go up to a flair skirt and it seems she has a wraparound top. With the conversation earlier on this girl he can’t believe he didn’t ask for her name.

“Hence why I’m late and you know I’m an early bird.” She stops as she places the bag she has idly on her hand. Somehow, she is thinking it is weird that Tommy hasn’t stopped to add a colorful comment. “What’s gotten into you…” Her face shows shock the moment she realizes it’s not Tommy. “Who are you?”

“This is my best-buddy in the world.” Tommy says cheerfully as he walks into his kitchen. “We have been through some thick and thin times?”

Felicity glances between the two and then rolls her eyes. “Yea, I bet. Who drank the last beer and who was somber enough to get more?”

Oliver a little irked, “Wow! Really? He just means we made it through high school. Nothing to deep.”

Tommy can see Felicity size his friend up. Either she was going to go after his male ego or sock him.

“Well! Congratulations on that achievement. You know…”

Cutting her off, “Felicity, here is a Mathalon champion.” Oliver gives a don’t give a hoot look. “One of the reasons we are here tonight is how everyone of us has something to give. Tommy gives Oliver a freaking behave look. It has Oliver raise his hands in surrender but he still has a disgruntled look as Felicity is moving bowls and acting like she owns the place.

Pulling Tommy to the side, “What’s her deal?”

“I said she was different. She’s the alpha here. Just go along with it.”

“You have got to be kidding me?”

“I swear Ollie give it some time. Just go with it. She’ll win you over.” Oliver just sighs and says fine to his friend. They join the others and Oliver just has a notebook he tries to at first follow everyone and after the first hour Oliver has just mentally closed off this group as he’s been doodling. It takes a hand to his thigh to get him to stir back to present time.

“I brought you a drink. You’ve been creating a really cool masked man, is that a bow?” Oliver looks down to his artwork and doesn’t really know why he drew this. “Well I think its cool. Not much into archery. Well… Not into many sports.”

“I’ve actually done some archery when I was younger.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. It was bad manners and I’m am sorry.”

He doesn’t know what to say so he nods and thanks her for the drink. Somehow from there on he enters the conversation with the group and finds himself walking the remarkable girl who grew on him this bizarre night.

They find themselves in a coffeeshop and there really is no topic off limits. Somehow dating became the subject and within the confides of what they’re talking about she off handily says, “Can you wait for me?”

“If your okay waiting about a week.”

“Huh?”

Seeing her confusion, he’d like to ditch the week thing but he decides to do something different tell her a truth, “I hate that I’m going to say this.” He huffs, “But I’m in a cooling period.”

“Oh! Though you gave yourself a week to figure out things with a girl?”

“What? No. I… I really don’t know much about this cooling off period thing but I’m not in a relationship. I messed up royally.”

“Do you want her back? Maybe talking to someone who isn’t Tommy would do you good.”

“Funny thing is I couldn’t fully ever break up with her.”

“Maybe there is something there. You really do need a cooling off period then.”

“Actually, you don’t understand. I’m not a good boyfriend.” Moaning, “I’ve cheated on her numerous times and yet she’d be disappointed but she’d take me back and the process would continue.”

“Hmm… It seems you are wondering if you a serial cheater? How many other girls have you cheated on?”

“I actually haven’t had many girlfriends. Other than Laurel they were all short lived and I guess no time to cheat.”

“Then you need to tell yourself what makes Laurel different than these girls?”

He doesn’t need time to answer because it flows through his lips, “Because she keeps my mom off my back.” Hearing Felicity making a displeased tone he needs to add, “Yea, I don’t think I need a longer cooling off period to figure that Laurel and I aren’t right for one another.”

“Okay, step one is figuratively figured out. Now you need time to reckon out what you want, to feel your own emotions, and to work on the next two things.”

“There’s more?”

“A week won’t solve anything but if you actually take the time.”

“If I take the time? Like another week?”

“I have no idea. It could take a week, a month.”

He blurts out, “Five years?”

“God, no. Five years would feel like a lifetime.”

Oliver just looks at the girl that is truly different like Tommy said. They keep talking and talking and after a week make it two, they’re still talking. Conversations that last longer as seasons change. Time may pass as they exchange heartfelt dialogue to one another in front of friends and family. Arguments over baby names. Sharing milestone anniversaries.

Although Oliver makes sure to have all the assorted chips under the sun. To him it commemorates one of the best celebrations as for one evening every year they host “Nerdapoolza.” From that one-day years ago every chat with Felicity has pushed him further to accept his situation and commit to change. He is this gleeful man today because he is loved and is loving the best part of him, his amazing tenacious wife.

***Thanks for reading as I try as I might to get all these stories out as soon as I can. It’s been a struggle at times. I have 4 more to go.Thank you all for reading!!!

#fictober19 #olicity #arrow #oliver queen #felicity smoak #thomas merlyn

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samesongxox · 4 years

Text

Savior: Chapter 5 (There’s Something about Phyrra)

Summary: (Hellboy 2019) AKA Turning a New Leaf AKA Good Samaritans Need Love Too. The B.P.R.D is tasked to infiltrate a black market creature trafficking ring led by a powerful warlock. Hellboy rescues Phyrra who is found being held hostage, a slave for her magic. He must protect her as she is hunted by her master and his gang of monsters. (AU where Broom isn’t dead/Abe wasn’t found)

It will be rated M, it will include violence, swearing, smuttiness, all the good things in life.

Disclaimer: Hellboy belongs to Dark Horse Comics/Mike Mignola, I don’t own anything except the AU and my OC’s.

Phyrra sat cross-legged on the bed, enraptured as Binx animatedly retold her side of the story: how Phyrra had sent her away during her dealings with Elias, then the shock of the pixie being accosted by some woman on her way back to Phyrra’s room. Returning to a wild, bewildered Phyrra acting as if that Hellboy was the only one she wanted around her. Binx used her usual scathing descriptions of how she saw things.

“You were scandalous with him Phyrra! Not at all yourself! I had not seen you like that in many moons! I tried to get him away, but you would not allow it!”

Binx had spent decades protecting Phyrra from the men around: that nasty warlock being the bain of her existence. At least the beast’s attention towards Phyrra had not held any contempt or lascivious intentions, Binx couldn’t say the same for this demon.

Sure he had strode in and took Phyrra away from the wicked man that had held her friend, and by extension herself, for so many years. But the pixie had the unusual talent of reading things unsaid clearly, and she sensed great darkness in this Hellboy. Perhaps Binx was biased in her opinion, she owed everything to Phyrra. It didn’t stop the light that ever emanated from the elven girl.

No creature on earth would ever be worthy of Phyrra, in Binx’s eyes at least.

“But...He saved me Binx, saved us.”

“Yes, yes what a white knight he is.” Phyrra, her mind unwillingly placing a picture of Hellboy in her mind, she felt her face burn.

She was struck with the remembrance that in the last moments before her blankness, she had been in a towel, readying for a bath.

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. She was in a robe now. Someone had changed her. Maybe it had been this woman? At Phyrra’s urgent question, Binx could only glance away, further prove of what Phyrra feared. “I will concede he was at least a gentleman about it all. Also at least stopped you from further harming that human.”

“Binx,” Phyrra desperate urging in her voice frightening the pixie. “I’m all fuzzy. I cannot remember much. It’s all coming in flashes.”

“What of our time before…” Binx hesitated, the reminder of her friend’s loss of memories stunning her. “What do you remember of your family?”

“Nothing, it’s all blank.” Binx, normally the fire-cracker, looked more fearful than Phyrra ever seen. Binx choked on her reply. She just couldn’t do it. Selfish as it was, Binx had no desire to open the old wounds of Phyrra’s past.

“It is not my place Phyrra. You must recall it yourself.” Phyrra looked at her friend with great confusion, Binx had the answers, but was refusing to give them. It was preposterous.

“Excuse me? Don’t be ridiculous Binx! Tell me!” Binx’s expression was hearty with gloom. Phyrra was already in a fragile state, Binx did not want to be the one to break her. Maybe in a week’s time, if all goes well. Binx rationalized to herself. On the outside, she smiled with great sadness towards Phyrra.

“I...I simply cannot.”

“You are really annoying me dilthen nad (little one).” Phyrra snapped, scooping the miniscule creature up into her hands. Holding her with the intent of not letting go until Binx gave her the justification for this unnecessary behaviour.

Binx decided the conversation was over, dictated by a burst of fire in Phyrra’s palms.

Letting her friend go, she scurried away on translucent wings. Figure it out herself? Phyrra was baffled. At the back of her mind, she could hear the Professor talking about the texts regarding all matters of subjects. Well, if she was to be responsible for returning her memories, that seemed to be the best place to start.

“Fine, have it your way Binx. We are taking a trip to that library,” Binx returned back to her companion, hesitant but firm in her Phyrra’s strength to see through this. Goddess knew the elf had spent many lonely nights of hard survival before Binx found her.

Using her internal clock, Phyrra had to have been talking to Binx for an hour or so. She was brought here last night, Hellboy had slept the whole night by her side. Now it was mid-morning.

Phyrra felt herself unthinkingly pondering over him. Perhaps she should go talk to him first? She needed to know what had happened, and what he had seen from her. He disconcerted her in a way Phyrra has never experienced, she hoped his answers to her questions would aleve that.

“Hey, brought you the clothes. I also ran into someone in the hallway.” Phyrra was halted in her determination as Sorah walked in with a hulking human male, dressed in a fine black suit. Phyrra only had to shift her gaze to the awful purple mottling along the male’s neck to know who this was. The man she had mauled. Had held in her grasp with intent to hurt, maybe even kill.

“Jason Hurse, ma’am.” He was smiling at her with quiet reserve, much too kind of a greeting for what she deserved.

“Call me Phyrra.” She felt her eyes sting, she was a monster. An absolute brute. He should he furious with her, too disgusted to even be here.

“It’s a pleasure, Phyrra.” Jason approached her bedside with ease, completely unafraid of her despite what had occured between them.

“Words can’t describe my guilt. I feel…. Ghastly.”

“Don’t. Hey, you were strapped onto this gurney in this new environment, you did what you had to do. Trust me this kind of danger comes with this job, and I’ve been through worse. I fully understand your reaction to that situation.”

Phyrra was astonished. This human was unbelievable in his humbleness. There was something Phyrra could obviously do to make up for it.

“You are a gracious man. Please, allow me to heal you.”

“Well I’m not gonna argue. It would save me trying to explain this to the missus,” Hurse said good-naturedly. Jason gave his consent as Phyrra requesting to touch the bruise. Both him and Sorah watched in awe as the tattoos on the elf’s body began to glow, the patterns floating off her skin onto Jason’s. After a few quiet moments, Phyrra removed her hand to Hurse’s usual pale toned neck, the injury was gone.

“Phyrra...That was amazing!” The elf shrugged under Sorah’s watch. She was used to being praised for her magic, although it had always been Elias. It left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Woah.” Hurse stood up and shook his arms. “Weird. I feel like I have so much energy.” Taking stock of how his body felt rejuvenated, he glanced at his watch. Cursing at the time, he explained that he was supposed to be meeting with S.W.A.T Team Two right now to discuss the Yeti den findings.

“Thank you Phyrra. I gotta get back to work, but it was great to meet you again, seriously. See you around!” The man bolted out of the room, already late. Sorah and Phyrra regarded each other laughing softly.

“Sorah, would it be possible for me to go to the library?”

“Of course! Your just gonna go to the elevator and hit the button that says 5C. In fact, I’ll walk you over there. It gets a little crazy around her at this time.”

There was much action happening around her when Sorah loaded Phyrra into the contraption: nurses dressed wounds and speaking with patients or each other. Phyrra thanked whoever was listening that no one seemed to pay her much mind, and as always having Binx by her side gave her strength.

Either they had been warned about her presence, or were still wary of her because of what she did to Jason… She would have to seek forgiveness from them all.

The elevator jerked to a stop. Phyrra looked up at the glowing red ‘4B’. Not her floor. The door slid open to reveal a young woman who looked in appearance around the same age, she was dressed very casually with a floppy hat and baggy pants. Her placid expression lit up at the surprising sight of Phyrra.

“Hey! Great to see you up and about. Back to normal yeah?” Phyrra was snapped out of her wallowing thoughts by the bright voice. The woman walked into the elevator and went to press the same button Sorah had not three minutes ago. Phyrra remained suspiciously silent, left so by this girl’s affectionate greeting.

“Right. Sorry. Forgot you woke up not remembering everyone,” The female extended her hand, “Alice, nice to meet ya’.”

“This is the girl that stopped me back at Elias’s. She reeks of death but is perfectly healthy. Quite a strange thing.” Shushing Binx’s harsh words, even though the taller girl could not understand the words, Phyrra accepted her hand.

“You are the one that found Binx?”

“Your little glowly friend? Yup that was me. Hey again.”

“She wasn’t rough with me, and is quite charming.” Binx couldn’t stop the humour entering her voice. If they were to be in contact with these mortal’s for now, she would try and find her amusement where she can.

“I must go around to you all and apologize for my actions, they are reprehensible.”

“Aw, not to worry! All is right as rain, as my mum used to say.” Phyrra found herself smiling at the easygoing, playful way Alice held herself.

“Okay Phyrra. I gave you your chastization, but please try and not beat yourself up too hard old girl.” The elf nodded at the pixie. She understood, at this moment she was going through a great change. Phyrra was in a place she didn’t have to watch what she said and could make her own decisions. The idea was daunting.

“Is she mad at us for bringing you here or something?”

“Of course not, Binx wants what is best for me,” Smiling at Alice, this cordial girl, Phyrra felt the burdens surrounding her ease.

“I believe this is what is best for me at the moment. Would you mind showing me around the library?”

Alice agreed wholeheartedly, even going as far as linking her arm with Phyrra in a show of camaraderie.

The door’s dinged open.

Phyrra could do this. Right now she was with good company, people she could trust. She felt she had a purpose, one that didn’t involve being someone’s pet. And once she recovered fully, she could decide if this ‘being a team member’ would work out.

A few hours later…..

Hellboy tossed the beer can into the growing pile detected.

He was a stranger to her now. Hellboy wished, no matter how he told himself not to, for the Phyrra he found to come back. She would wake up and once again only want him around.

Absently strumming his guitar, the memory of their time together haunted him: her first waking up, pinning him with her gaze, the choice she made to stay in his arms, mending his wounds, trusting him so explicitly. Now all he could think about was the disdain and fear she emitted as he tried to touch her. He reached for her fucking hand. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The last couple hours he spent asking the same mundane question to creature after creature: Where are you from? How were you abducted by Elias? How can we help you find your way home? At least it had made it so his mind was occupied. Now in the comfort of his room, he had nothing else but to wallow in his misery.

He knew she was one of the good ones. He was glad to find out her reactions had been some sort of animalistic sense of survival she had turned to.

Hellboy, during one of his breaks, had snuck into the security rooms, finding the feed of Phyrra’s room. He found the logs in which his father spoke with her. He knew he was being a coward, a worm. His finger hovered over the play button. Father had told him nothing but perfunctory information when he stopped by after talking with Phyrra: She was another prisoner of Elias’s, and seemed to be suffering from amnesia.

Hellboy wanted to hear it from her.

In the end, fate had answered the dilemma for him. Ben arrived on the scene, having been told where the cambion had slipped away; Hellboy whipped around with guilt like a teenage boy caught playing with himself. Ben was holding two sandwiches from the mess hall, wearing a smug grin.

“There you are, come on Hellboy.” The Major threw the wrapped one at Hellboy, forcing him to catch it. “I even asked them to cut the crust off for you.”

There was also the matter of Hurse.

On their way back, Hellboy heard his name being called. Turning around, he was met with the running form of Hurse, the man wasn’t winded when he reached them.

“Hey Hellboy, I just wanted to tell you. I met Phyrra, again.” Happily, he displayed his neck sans bruise. Hellboy knew he wasn’t doing it with any malice, just wanted to be a man showing good will. Hellboy knew Hurse to be happily married for 15 years. It didn’t stop the envy at the idea of Phyrra just healing anyone willy-nilly.

He knew first hand the penetrating, all consuming feeling when she used her ability.

“No hard feelings, she’s a real sweet kid.”

“Shit.” Hellboy realized he was playing the chords to ‘More Than Words’ and stopped immediately. He had to get a hold of himself for Christ sakes.

So he agreed with the fact she didn’t attack intentionally, obviously he knew he couldn’t be with enamoured with an evil being, Nimue crushed that idea. He did want her back to that way incidentally, if only to not have to be so foolish around her. He was getting very frustrated with the conflicted feelings surrounding her. He wasn’t a dealing with feelings kinda guy, he needed to go out, do some target practice, get into some trouble.

Maybe start a fight.

Hellboy stood up too fast, letting out a slurred ‘Woah!’ before balancing himself sloppily on his dresser. That was the first time he had risen in 30 minutes, those beers were hitting him.

Clumsy as shit, Hellboy stumbled about his room, until the telltale sound of light knocking reached him. Who the fuck was bothering him right now? It was the middle of the fucking night.

Hellboy lumbered over to the door, retching it open. A curse ready on his tongue.

It was Phyrra. Looking at him expectantly. Sorah had found her clothes, Hellboy thought belated. She was dressed in a black t shirt depicting the B.P.R.D logo, and pajama pants. It was quite a different sight from the robes that bundled her, or the slight towel she was draped in when he first saw her..

He was way too drunk for this.

What he wanted to say was, “Hey Phyrra. What brings you out here at this late hour?” Instead, what he got out was:

“Oh.”

Phyrra was taken aback by the stilted greeting, but only for a moment. It was quite a late hour, she cleared her throat and pressed on.

“Hello again, I could not stop thinking. At least not until I came to make amends.” Phyrra felt herself strangely nervous around him, sweat collected at the back of her neck but she felt chilled anyways.

After spending the last while in the library with Alice, finding comfort in the woman’s help and presence, Phyrra had found nothing to jog her memory. Phyrra could see the way Alice was struggling to keep her eyes open, she made the decision to call it a night, thanking the woman for her company and asking where Hellboy was. She was met with a wide grin from Alice with prompt directions to his room, before she flounced away in a girlish manner betraying her age.

Phyrra liked the B.P.R.D. It wasn’t hard to find these lodgings much more satisfactory than under Elias’s care, but it wasn’t just that. There was life in the B.P.R.D, agents and various government workers passing her in the hallway with kind looks, sometimes a ‘Hello,” Phyrra wasn’t used to most interactions, especially with mortals. They were quite an interesting kind of people. Her new friend’s Sorah and Alice molding her opinion.

She thought about all this on the way to Hellboy’s domain, now that she was here. Her tongue was undoubtedly tied in knots, she wanted an answer from him, but forcing herself to look up to continue eye contact, she was thoroughly intimidated.

“Thank you is not sufficient to extend my gratitude. I am forever indebted to you for-”

“Stop!” Both of them flinched at his sudden loud interruption.

“Sorry, I mean, you don’t need to do all this.” Hellboy scratched the back of his neck, bumbling the whole thing rather expertly. “I was just doing my job.”

“Okay, but still. I was told of the way I…. Behaved towards everyone here, and how you were there to stop me. That still requires my recognition.”

Fuck, she was so beautiful. There was no doubt about it, he couldn’t feel shame for thinking something so evident. She was like one of those paintings he saw the time werewolves got loose in the Met.

During the midst of the fight, Hellboy had stopped, strangely drawn to a specific one hung on the wall. Hellboy wasn’t some fine art connoisseur, that kind of frou-frou shit was more dad’s style, but he had to admit this was kinda cool. It was a young girl, tangled in what looked to him to be bandages or rope or something. The background had been dark colours made to look like some sort of forest. She was fighting against the binds, hands curled into fists and muscles flexed in tension, her face displaying the strain it was to break free.

She was a cutie, by 17th century standards, but it was her eyes that caught him most of all. They were a curious sort of calm, as if she knew without doubt that eventually she would succeed in her struggle. He could of stood there analyzing that painting the whole night, if he hadn’t of been tackled away from it by some smelly dog.

That girl in the painting reminded him of Phyrra. Many layers made her up. Fierce and wild at times, vulnerable and distant at others. This elf girl was an enigma. One that was currently looking at him with confusion.

He hadn’t said anything in response to her.

He had just been staring down at her like a creep.

“Well, good night then...” Phyrra scurried away from the entrance to his bedroom; well that did not go the way she wanted it to. She would first apologize, he would accept and she would get the chance to ask him what happened while they were alone.

Now away in her thoughts, she couldn’t just blame her own blundering. What had greeted her at his door had halted her, something was off about Hellboy. What was once full of nervous energy, was slothish and bumbling. He could barely get his words out.

No matter, she had cleared her conscience and now could leave him alone, he obviously didn’t care nor desire her apology.

Whatever happened between them could be completely forgotten about. Reliving what had just transpired on repeat as she escaped, Phyrra knew that was an utter lie.

Hellboy watched stunned as she walked away.

“Night…..Hey wait!” Hellboy took a step through the threshold, only to step on the tail-end of his jacket, spilling himself to the floor in quite a hilarious spectacular if anyone were around to witness it.

“Shit.”

#hellboy fanfiction #fanfiction #hellboy 2019 #hellboy #writing #hellboy oc

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zacharybosch · 5 years

Text

Playing God - chapter 2

the continuation of my hannigram vampire AU~

chapter 1 on tumblr or ao3

read Playing God chapter 2 below or on ao3

Will hadn’t been quite prepared for how it would feel to reveal himself to someone outside of the FBI. When was the last time he’d revealed himself? Over a hundred years ago at the very least; he’d handed himself over to federal agents in a fit of suicidal righteousness shortly after the Bureau was established in 1908, fully expecting a swift execution and instead finding himself chained up in a basement cell for twenty years while they figured out what to do with him.

He hadn’t been expecting Hannibal to leap from his chair and invoke the name of Christ against him, but nor had he been expecting the calm, slow-blinking acceptance. A raised eyebrow, perhaps, or a brief slackening of the mouth. In all his long years, Will had never met anyone so infuriatingly placid.

He said as much to Miriam, and she smiled knowingly. He’d been familiar with her, in a rather vague sense, ever since she’d first begun her training at the Academy. And then he’d seen her, afterwards, shut up in the witness protection unit, trying to use an arm that was no longer there. Will had seen many people go through many horrific things over the course of his life, and none of them had been so resilient to those horrors as Miriam. When the opportunity to become Will’s handler arose, she had been damn near ready to fight people for it.

“Makes you want to kick him in the balls just to see if he’ll even wince, right?” Miriam said. “Not that we don’t have reason enough to kick him already.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so blasé about him.”

“Well I know everything is terribly dramatic and overwrought for your kind--”

“Oh god, don’t--”

“--but that’s just not me. He’s already got two years of my life. I’m not giving him any more. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Looking after a middle-aged vampire is a better thing to do?”

“Well I’m getting paid for it, so yeah, it is,” said Miriam. “Look, deep emotional turmoil aside, how was it physically? Did you feel anything? Any... twinge that might turn into a problem later on?”

Will closed his eyes and thought of Hannibal, the sandalwood scent of clothing that contained so much hot skin and blood beneath it. He felt a twinge, true, but he was constantly getting these ‘twinges’ in varying degrees from every person who saw fit to stand within a three-foot radius of him, so it was nothing new. He was very well-trained in denying that which called to him.

“No,” Will said. “No twinges. I’m fine.”

***

On a desolate and windy beach in Virginia, Will watched as a decaying totem pole of bodies was carefully catalogued and photographed.

His first thought was that he hadn’t seen any kind of human monument like this in a very long time, and this one particularly was quite impressive in its ambitiousness. His second thought was that it might be useful to say as much to Hannibal; it might make him jealous and provoke him to a misstep.

His third thought was that he should probably make a few shocked or appalled noises, like the other people attending the scene. There was a certain amount of nonchalance he could get away with, and which was indeed expected of him as an employee of the FBI, but a totem pole of bodies was apparently one of those things that you shouldn’t have become used to, and so Will turned away and shook his head as if to try and dislodge the image from his mind. One of the crime scene techs caught his eye and grimaced in solidarity. Just two humans together, doing the appropriate emotions.

The case quickly became boring after the initial excitement of the totem pole, although Will was faintly amused to discover that their killer had unwittingly murdered his own son. It reminded Will of a man he had known at some point in the nineteenth century - perhaps 1820 if he had to guess, or thereabouts - who had also mistakenly murdered his son. That man had in turn reminded Will of a similar man before him, and he of yet another man, on and on, back through the years. Same hubris, same ruin, same patterns cropping up again and again.

Will discussed the case with Hannibal at their next appointment anyway, careful to dress it up as more personally intriguing than it really was, but Hannibal seemed unmoved. Clearly it took more than that to make his jealousy spike, if he even entertained such an emotion as jealousy in the first place. Hannibal’s interest these days seemed to lie far more in the nature of Will himself than in the nature of Will’s reactions to the horrors he bore witness to. He’d made a valiant attempt to be light with his questioning in the intervening weeks since Will had outed himself, but their therapy appointments now frequently ended with what was essentially a vampire Q & A session.

“Do you eat?” Hannibal asked abruptly. “Besides blood.”

Will got up and stretched. The incessant questions had rankled at first, no matter how cool Hannibal tried to play it, but annoyance and feeling like a spectacle quickly gave way to a comfortable sort of indifference. And it wasn’t like Will ever had much else to do with his evenings; his subsistence appointments at Quantico were always scheduled late at night, and it was nice to be able to talk casually with someone about these things that no-one else wanted, or was allowed, to hear.

He wandered over to the window and peered out into the gathering dusk. “Sometimes. When I want to, or when not eating would seem suspicious. There’s no nutritional value in it for me, so it’s a largely pointless exercise.”

“And here I was hoping that you’d declined all my dinner invitations for purely physiological reasons.”

“I try to avoid close personal situations as much as possible. It’s, ah, easy to get bitey, you know.”

“I can imagine. But would this now not count as a close personal situation?”

“You’re my therapist. It’s different.”

“Am I, and is it? I’ve found that we both seem to have some trouble drawing the line between the professional and the personal, when it comes to each other.” Hannibal glanced briefly down at his watch. “Our appointment ended thirty minutes ago. Both of us were fully aware of that, and yet neither of us made an attempt to close the discussion. Why is that?”

Will turned away from the window and met Hannibal’s eyes across the room. “You tell me.”

“My reasons are entirely selfish. I would keep you here to talk with me indefinitely, if I thought you would let me get away with it.”

“That sounds awfully possessive, Doctor.”

Hannibal gave a gentle shrug. “It’s all I can say, it being the truth. I’m sure you’ve had similar sentiment directed towards you before.”

“Not for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Are you asking me how old I am?” Will said, and it came out sounding far more flirtatious than he’d intended, but maybe that wasn’t so much of a problem. “Rude, Doctor Lecter.”

Hannibal picked up on it, of course, and shaded his reply with the same coy tone. “Are you willing to tell me?”

Will had lived to twenty eight in human years, with an extra six hundred and seventy three vampire years on top, but that wasn’t really any of Hannibal’s business. “Maybe another time. I should go. I have a date with a bag of blood.”

***

Will’s subsistence appointments were grim affairs. His Keepers still believed that he was at his most dangerous when ingesting blood, so they strapped Will to a modified dentist’s chair and fed him the blood through a tube taped in place over his mouth. No opportunity to lick his lips and savour the taste, no chance for a stray drop to land on his skin and let him remember how it felt to be covered in it.

The blood was administered by feeding technicians, trained only in the processes of applying and removing the tube; taking measurements and readings before, during, and after; and setting up four separate cameras to record the whole appointment. They were not told what the measurements were for, or what happened to the videos. They were not permitted to speak to Will beyond a short list of approved instructions.

It had been humiliating at first and Will had thought the whole ritual to be needlessly cruel, but over time the feeling faded along with everything else, and now these subsistence appointments were just one more low buzz in the background noise of his life.

When Miriam started in her post as his handler, she took it upon herself to meet with Will on Friday evenings to go over his subsistence reports for the previous week. It gave Will a sense of involvement in his “ongoing care,” or so the official line went, however more often than not the meetings consisted of five minutes on the reports and forty minutes exchanging mildly-interesting office gossip. It was the closest thing Will had to a normal friendship with a normal human being.

Miriam downed half of her mug of cold coffee and grimaced. “Hmn. All looks more or less okay. Starting temp was a little higher than usual today but still within the allowed range. A little hot and bothered, were you?”

“Well I saw them bringing in a bag of B-neg and I just couldn’t help myself,” Will dead-panned. “What’s new?”

“Bev had a couple of days in the lab this week. Just a few hours.”

“How is she?”

“Impatient to be out of the secure unit and getting on with the rest of her life. You know she’s in the same suite they put me in? We’re calling it the Hannibal Lecter Trauma Centre.” Miriam eyed Will over the top of her mug. “Maybe they’ll have to put you in there eventually. Or is the noose tightening already?”

Will shifted about in his seat and thumbed at a non-existent crease in his trousers. “Not exactly. Plan’s shifting a bit.”

“I knew this was a bad idea. He’s getting to you, isn’t he?”

“No,” Will lied. “I just… I think it needs a little more delicacy than what we originally planned for. He’s not a giddy teenager, Miriam, I can’t just pop my fangs out and expect him to immediately fall at my feet.”

“Has he said anything yet?”

Will levelled his own flat look at her. “What do you think? He’s operated undetected for years. Don’t hold your breath for a result any time soon.”

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal fanfic #my fic

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winterrose527 · 6 years

Text

Love is Blind

Thanks for the ask @octaviahales

I moved this out of my ask so that I could do a page break because this got long because I love this prompt so much.

octaviahales said: I was JUST here I know but a blind date au? Robb & Ella being absolutely determined to get their best friends to date bc it’s so damn obvious to everyone else & finally get them each to go on a blind date but it’s with eachother?? idk if that’s any good and again only if it inspires you oh my gosh

As a PSA to all: I love prompts! Please send along.

Jon walked into Last Hearth, one of those New-Westerosi restaurants obsessed with brussel sprouts and truffle oil, at three minutes to 8 o’clock on Friday night.

He wasn’t much for these kinds of restaurants, preferring to eat at home or at Winterfell, but of all of them, this was admittedly his favorite.

“Okay just remember you like The Wight vintage 74 and the meatloaf,” Ella said to him as he pulled on the charcoal sweater she’d insisted he wear.

“Ella I can order for myself!,” he growled, annoyed by how much more comfortable he felt in the sweater she’d suggested than the button down he’d intended to wear. “Just like I can find my own dates!”

“If you were better at finding your own dates we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we?,” she asked with a skeptical raise of her brow. Her face softened, “And I know you are perfectly capable of deciding what to eat and drink and everything else… I just want you to be happy.”

“I know you do, Ella,” he said with a sigh.

Ella was always well-intentioned. It was frustrating. Not as frustrating as her always being right though.

“Now is this really necessary?,” he asked, holding up the flower she’d given him.

“Yes,” she said firmly, “A winter rose. She’ll have one too.”

Jon couldn’t quite believe that he’d agreed to a blind date. He had never been on one before, and quite honestly, they had always been his nightmare. He wasn’t really one for small talk and that was all a blind date could be.

Plus the uncertainty of it all. At least with a regular first date you know the girl found you mildly appealing. This was a total shot in the dark.

He gave Robb’s name to the maitre’d. That was all a part of it, Ella loved suspense.

He was ushered over to a table in the corner. He knew it must be coveted, two corners of it were on a banquette, which Ella had told him long ago made things more romantic. According to her, Robb would always whisper sweet things in her ear over dessert, though according to Robb, they were usually utterly filthy.

He sat down and waited, setting the blue rose onto the table in front of him. He wanted a glass of whiskey, but he knew that wouldn’t exactly make the best impression on his date and he had been assured by both Robb and Ella that she was worth making a good impression on her.

“She’s stunning,” Ella said.

“And so sweet,” Robb confirmed.

“You’ll adore her,” Ella promised.

“I bet by the end of dinner you’ll feel like you’ve known her for years,” Robb offered.

Jon highly doubted it, even though he usually trusted Robb and Ella implicitly.

He turned towards the door and saw a slender figure in a navy blue dress being escorted right towards him. He saw the rose before anything else and then his eyes landed on the most beautiful face he’d ever seen.

He stood up, his throat was dry and he really wished he’d given in and had that whiskey.

She looked at him questioningly, as though she didn’t understand why the maitre’d was bringing her towards him, so he reached on the table and picked up the winter rose, waving it slightly.

Realisation dawned in her eyes and he looked away from them in case disappointment came to rest there. He wasn’t sure that he could take it if he did.

“Jon Snow,” she said by way of greeting.

“Sansa Stark,” he offered in return.

“You’ll feel like you’ve known her for years,” Robb had said. Robb his hilarious and completely dead best friend.

Oh he’d known her for years, ever since he’d met Robb in pre-school and she’d been gurgling happily in her bouncy seat. He’d known her for all but one of her twenty five years.

And he’d been in love with her for at least twelve of them.

***

She couldn’t quite believe that she’d allowed Robb to talk her into this.

He’d caught her of guard last week by asking. In all her life, she had never known her big brother to encourage her to date. He wanted her to be happy, she knew, but if that happiness could be achieved by spending all of her time safe with him and Ella and their family then more the better.

“I can’t believe you want to set me up with someone,” she scoffed, “Aren’t you the same man who has threatened every one of my last four boyfriends?”

“Well yeah,” Robb nodded, stuffing his face with the lemon bars she’d made for the whole family. The plate was now halfway gone. “But that’s because they were assholes who didn’t deserve you. At least this way, I know he’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve you - no one could - but he won’t hurt you.”

“You’re not playing fair,” she whined.

He was so good, and so caring, it was obnoxious.

“Never have, never will,” he grinned,“Come on Dovey. Give happiness just one more chance.”

So it was that at 8 o’clock on the dot she walked into Last Hearth, her favorite restaurant in the city (they had the yummiest brussel sprouts).

She smoothed down the dress Robb had suggested, though she suspected that came from Ella. It was navy blue and silk and she was pleased that other patrons were dressed similarly. It was a great tragedy that no one seemed to dress up anymore and she wouldn’t want her date to think she’d been so eager to please.

She gave Robb’s name to the maitre’d and he nodded at her and escorted her through the dining room.

She fiddled with the Winter Rose she held in her hand nervously and looked around.

Then, to her utter dismay, she saw Jon Snow of all people sitting at the corner table.

Why does he have to be here? Couldn’t the gods have at least given whatever poor bastard has been set up with me a chance? How am I supposed to care about them when Jon Elliot Snow is sitting a few tables away?

Jon stood up when he saw her and she was about to say to the maitre’d that she was just going to greet a friend quickly when he waved something at her. A single Winter Rose.

She tried to keep her face placid, though she searched his for signs of disappointment. He averted her gaze and her stomach plummetted. Of course, he had thought tonight was a date, a real date with a girl he might really be interested in. She wondered briefly if he had thought that he was going to get laid tonight and blushed at the thought.

The maitre’d stood in front of Jon with a flourish as though this was a great unveiling and she mustered all of her strength to greet him with a calm, “Jon Snow.”

“Sansa Stark,” he said in that velvet voice that always made her name sound like a caress.

“Your waiter will be with you in a moment,” the maitre’d said and took his leave.

“So… I assume that Winter Rose isn’t a coincidence?,” Jon asked.

“Would you prefer to pretend that it was?,” she couldn’t help but ask.

He blanched and she regretted it instantly but he recovered quickly, a small smile whispering in the corner of his eyes, “Of course not. You look beautiful, Dovey,” he said kissing her cheek, “Like always.”

He had always been kind, unfailingly so, and he’d been calling her beautiful since before she knew that not everyone in the world was. It didn’t mean anything, she knew that.

“Well you certainly clean up nice,” she said back, “I’m glad I chose that color over the blue.”

He was wearing the sweater she’d bought him for his birthday last year. Another detail to thank Ella for she was sure.

“Me too,” he nodded, the tips of his ears turning pink, “It’s my favorite… should we um…?,” he asked gesturing to the banquette.

“Oh, of course,” she nodded and they sat down.

They were seated at the corner table, the most romantic one in the restaurant, and according to Northern Times, the most romantic one in the city.

“So…,” she said, suddenly completely incapable of thinking of anything interesting to say.

Love had a way of making a smart girl stupid.

***

"Do you really think this will work?," Robb asked her.

Ella rolled her eyes, "Are you starting to doubt me now?"

"Never," he said, pulling her to him, "I just know how stubborn they are..."

"Which is why our intervention was necessary,” she reasoned, running her hands over his sweater-clad chest. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her cheek over his heart and went on, “The good news is that they are as predictable as they are stubborn. In fact, I can tell you exactly how it's going to go.”

“Is that right?,” he asked with a grin, “Go on then.”

“First... they are going to to act as though they are angry with us because neither of them realises that the other one is just as head over heels for them..."

"I'm going to kill Robb and Ella," Jon grumbled.

"I think that's a little unfair," she scoffed and his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her that he didn't mean that in a bad way about her, but she said, "There's no way Robb had the foresight to do this. Killing Ella will probably be sufficient."

He chuckled and nodded, "That's true. I'll forgive him, he knows not what he does."

She giggled wind chimes and then her face fell, "Do you... Well... I mean... I'd understand if you wanted to... I don't want to ruin your Friday evening..."

Ruin. You're cute.

How many times had he imagined asking her out? No more than the number of times that he’d chickened out.

He’d been mad about her at least since she was thirteen years old. Before then he hadn’t quite realised why he always got sweaty around her and why her opinion seemed to matter so much.

It had all changed on her thirteenth birthday. It was the first year she had a boy-girl party and he and Robb and Theon had all promised to attend. It was no skin off Robb’s nose who had already been dating Ella for a year at that point, having realised much earlier (at the age of eight during a terrible thunderstorm) that she was his beloved.

They played spin the bottle and Sansa had spun first, she being the birthday girl. He had somehow been next to Joffrey, Ella’s horrible older brother, and the bottle had landed right in between them. It had been Joffrey who had taken the bottle and turned it towards himself before marching proudly over and planting a kiss on Sansa’s lips.

She had been beet red but his knuckles had been white he was so angry. He realised then that he wasn’t just angry, he was jealous, and more than anything he was upset that it hadn’t been him.

He’d pushed those feelings down, always coming up with some excuse or other not to pursue her. But now sitting next to her all of those excuses fell right out of his head.

"Well um... we're both here, right?," he suggested, "We have to eat... and I know how much you love their kale or whatever green thing is most popular this week."

"It's their brussel sprouts and they are iconic and timeless," she said haughtily.

"Well then," he said, picking up his menu with a flourish and earning that giggle again.

"Okay, well that could last through dessert...," Robb reasoned.

"Oh no," Ella said with a smile, "Because then we bring out the trump card..."

It became quite clear that in order for her to get through this date, alcohol would have to be involved.

They’d at least made it through the initial awkwardness, there was no icebreaker greater than how impossibly annoying their completely loving and totally wonderful best friends could be.

And it wasn’t as though, once she had slowed her heart rate, that Jon was so difficult to talk to or anything. He wasn’t much one for small talk, but there was no need for small talk between them. She had always seemed to confide in him, all apart from one topic of course, because he was such a good listener. He really listened, thoughtfully, always nodding and never interrupting. He’d ask questions that made you know he was really thinking about what you were saying.

Even still he smelled so good and he looked so good and he was sitting so very close to her that she was afraid if she didn’t have something to do with her hands she might just removed his hair from it’s bun and run her fingers through it.

"There's this red wine here that I really like actually," Jon said, as though reading her mind. "If you wanted to split a bottle? Though if you'd prefer a lemon drop martini I can get something else..."

She told herself that it didn’t matter that he knew her favorite drink. If he was sitting with Arya or Robb or Ella he’d know what all of their favorite drinks were too. He just knew everything about her, the way you did with the people you knew your entire life.

It didn’t mean anything, but she blushed all the same.

"Wine sounds good," she nodded, "Which bottle is it?"

She picked up the wine list and because they were on a corner, it was very easy for him to lean in next to her. He really did smell so good and he'd trimmed his beard for tonight and she had the ridiculous urge to lick his neck.

"Fuck...Ella even told me it before I came... um...," he said scanning over the list.

"Pardon me," a voice said from above them and they looked to find a waiter proffering a bottle. "A bottle of The Wight 74, with compliments..."

"Is that-," she started.

"Yep," Jon confirmed with his eyes closed.

Sansa had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He was so adorable when he was annoyed.

She remembered her thirteenth birthday. She had been upset when it had been Joffrey who she’d ended up kissing and had gone outside to get some fresh air and found him there. He was snippy with her and she’d gotten angry and then as though he couldn’t help it he just grabbed a small box out of his pocket and shoved it at her. It had been a necklace with a dragonfly on it and he’d been so surprised when she wanted to put it on immediately. She still had it and was surprised Ella hadn’t recommended she wear it.

"That wouldn't happen to be compliments of an Ella Stark, would it?," she asked.

The waiter smiled and, as though he'd been anticipating that question, said, "The party has asked to remain nameless to protect your unborn godchild."

"Unbo-," Jon said and then looked at her.

Tears pricked her eyes as she looked back. She knew that Ella and Robb had been trying for a few months but Robb hadn't said anything when she'd seen him earlier.

She started to laugh and so did Jon. There were tears in his eyes and she wiped the ones running down her cheeks. He pulled her to him and she sank into his embrace and she squealed and they both laughed.

It was so wonderful to hear this news with him of all people who would love the baby just as much as her. It felt so right to be with him and it reminded her how no matter what, they would always be inextricably linked.

Just like Ella intended.

“May I?,” the waiter asked.

She’d forgotten he was there and she nodded, easing reluctantly out of Jon’s embrace.

The waiter set about uncorking it and she couldn’t take it, she threw her arms around Jon’s neck, wiggling all the while.

“I get to be Auntie Sansa!,” she giggled. Another little Stark to love.

“Uncle Jon,” he mused, cupping the back of her head and pressing a kiss to her hair.

He was going to be a wonderful uncle, of that she was sure. If the baby was a boy, he’d want to be just like his Uncle Jon - brave and gentle and strong - and if the baby was a little girl, he’d treat her like a princess, the way he’d always treated Ella.

The way he’d always treated her.

Their waiter poured them a glass each and made himself scarce.

Jon picked up his and held it to her, “To our niece or nephew,” he said and she raised hers as well, “And their meddlesome parents.”

“And to you, Uncle Jon,” she said with a smile.

“Auntie Sansa,” he said with a small shake of his head, his eyes on hers as their glasses touched.

“Good work little one,” Robb said, kissing her stomach.

She stroked his rich auburn curls and sighed happily.

He leaned his cheek upon her stomach now, they were splayed out on their big bed, the baby making her tired already.

“Tell me what happens next,” he said, as though this were a bedtime story that she’d soon tell their child.

She closed her eyes and thought about the two people they loved the most and said with a lazy smile, “Next, Sansa will get giggly and Jon will get horny.”

“Ella!,” Robb complained.

“You asked…,” she reminded him.

***

“Oh my god,” she moaned and Jon made sure his napkin was well and truly covering his lap.

The brussel sprouts had finally arrived along with tuna tartare and freshly baked bread. Everything was delicious, including the wine, and Sansa was very appreciative.

“Seriously Jon,” she said, stabbing a sprout gently with her fork and raising it towards him, “You’ve got to try this.”

He accepted the bite and fought the urge to moan himself, chewing it and nodding at her.

She giggled and raised her thumb to his lips, swiping across and gathering some excess sauce and bringing it to her own mouth.

She looked at him like she couldn’t believe that she’d done that and he knew that he was looking at her like he too couldn’t believe that she’d done that. More than anything though, he knew he was looking at her like he very much wanted her to do it again.

Though he wouldn’t mind if next time she just kissed it off of him. In fact he’d go back into the kitchens right now and get a whole bottle of that sauce just so she could lick it off of him if that’s what she wanted.

He shook himself out of it and raised his glass to his lips again. The wine wasn’t helping, it was a heady wine and it was making Sansa’s already perfect features all the more alluring. It was also making her more at ease, and when Sansa was at ease she was touchy. Which was exactly as wonderful and terrible as it sounded.

“So why?,” she asked him.

“Why?,” he repeated dumbly.

“Do you think they did this?,” she clarified.

Maybe because I am hopelessly in love with you and they are completely aware of it.

“Boredom?,” he offered instead, earning that giggle once again.

***

“Okay but this has been happening for years,” Robb reminded her, “I mean he has been in love with her for over a decade at least. She’s been in love with him for just as long. How many millions of opportunities have they had?”

“Too many,” she agreed and then smiled, “But that’s when the table does it’s magic…”

***

It was on the second bottle of wine that the banquette seemed to get smaller. Or perhaps the restaurant just got louder.

Either way, she and Jon got closer.

“I can’t eat anymore,” she told him as the waiter handed them their dessert menus.

“You’re right,” he said with a grin, giving it a once over, and looking up at the waiter, “We’ll just have one of the lemon tarts, please.”

“You’re trouble, Jon Snow,” she said, taking another sip of wine.

“You know Theon’s theory on that phrase…,” he said.

Their plates had been cleared and he now rested one forearm on the table, and the other on the back of the banquette. She had found her way into the hollow of his arms and her legs were crossed towards him and their calves were touching and had been for some time.

She blushed because she did know, but she traced the rim of her wine glass with her index finger and played dumb.

“Theon has so many theories…,” she said, “I’m surprised you can remember them all.”

“Not all,” he told her, and his voice was low when he added, “But this one just got suddenly more interesting.”

He was playing with her, she was sure of it. Even still she liked that quality to his voice and even though she didn’t know the rules quite yet she began to like this game.

“Go on then,” she said, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s… um… that…”

The tips of his ears had turned pink and his eyes were threatening to bug out of his head and she knew that he knew they were in uncharted territory.

“I remember now,” she said and took a small sip of wine.

He chuckled sheepishly and said, “Some of his theories are dumb.”

“Some,” she agreed, but not this one.

He looked at her like he’d heard her say it. Like she’d shouted it at him. His eyes were trailing over her face like he was trying to see all of her at once and she realised in that moment that it wasn’t the first time he’d looked at her like that.

She knew that Ella and Robb knew about her feelings for Jon. That was, after all, why they’d set this whole thing up.

But she thought about Ella and Robb, the two people who loved her and knew her best in the world, and she thought that maybe they wouldn’t have done this if they didn’t at least think he might feel the same.

“Why do you think they did this?,” she asked him again.

***

“The more you talk about this, the more it kind of sounds like you are intending for them to end up in one of the restaurant bathrooms…,” Robb said with a shudder.

She giggled and shook her head, “Not their style. You… on the other hand…”

“That was one time,” he reasoned with her, his hand snaking up her stomach, over her breast, tracing her neck until he could cup her face, “And it was your fault.”

“What did I do?,” she asked him stubbornly.

“You were you,” he told her sweetly, “When a guy like me is sitting next to the girl of his dreams and she, against all reason or sense, loves him back, there’s only one thing to do.”

“Exactly,�� she said with a smile.

***

It was now or never.

He had realised halfway through the first bottle of wine that Robb and Ella, the two most caring friends in the world, would never have put him in this situation if they didn’t at least have an inkling that Sansa may, or at least could, feel the way for him that he felt for her.

He started to think so too during the second bottle of wine and she was so charming and lovely that he couldn’t help but move closer to her.

She hadn’t seemed to mind that and so he’d gotten closer still, because it was the only thing to do when a girl like her let you.

And then she’d said it. You’re trouble Jon Snow.

According to Theon, when a girl said that it meant she’d already pictured sleeping with you. He usually disregarded Theon’s theories as utter crap, but this one… he would sorely like this one to be right.

She was looking at him like it maybe was right and he panicked and backtracked but she hadn’t. Sansa Stark was many things but a coward wasn’t one of them.

“Why do you think they did this?,” she asked again.

“Maybe they thought you deserved better than what you’ve gotten,” he told her.

It wasn’t cockiness that made him say it. There was no pride in being better than her exes.

“Is that what you think?,” she asked softly.

“You know it is,” he said in a low voice, “How many times do I have to tell you that for you to know it to be true?”

He’d been there through every relationship. The tears and the betrayals, the cheating, even the one hitting. He’d seen it all and he always told her that she deserved better, that she deserved to be cherished and treated like the angel that she was.

She never believed him though, maybe because he’d never shown her.

“Maybe it’s you they were looking out for,” she mused, “After Ygritte and Val… maybe they thought you needed someone more…”

She trailed off as though she couldn’t think of any way that she was better than the girls he’d dated before. As though she wasn’t miles ahead of any other girl that could possibly have come before. As though she wasn’t the human embodiment of perfection.

“Kind?,” he asked her, “Thoughtful? Lovely in every conceivable way…?”

She looked at him with her wide blue eyes, a delicious blush rising on her cheeks.

He lifted his arm that had been resting on the banquette and took his hand and brushed some silky hair off of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“Jon,” she said and he stopped as though cold water had been splashed on him.

He had been about to lean in, but he must have been imagining it. He must have misread it. Of course he had. How could a girl like her ever want him?

“Yeah?,” he managed to ask.

She let out a shaky breath and asked, “Do you remember my thirteenth birthday party?”

***

“So just like that, huh?,” Robb asked. “After years of wanting one another, they’ll just give in, all because of a booth?”

“Not because of a booth,” she shook her head, “Because they know us. When they stop doubting themselves they’ll realise that we would never do this unless we knew they were both all in.”

“Where were you a decade ago?,” he asked her.

“Right here, by their side,” she said, “Hoping they’d stop being idiots long enough to see the most obvious truth of them all.”

***

She was an idiot and she’d ruined it.

He had been looking at her like he might kiss her and then she’d just ruined it.

Jon placed his arm back on the banquette and moved the other to reach for the bottle of wine. He poured the last drops into her glass and his and then looked at her.

He went to set it back down on the table, but instead of putting it standing upright he’d laid it on it’s side and turned it, definitively, and beautifully, towards her.

“It’s twelve years too late,” he said, “And my palms are still sweaty but I love you even more now than I did then. Happy birthday, Sansa Stark.”

And just like that he kissed her. He kissed her and she was thirteen again. Nothing bad had ever happened to her. She had never been cheated on, no boy had ever yelled at her, there was certainly no boy who had ever hit her. He kissed her and it was like she was pure and unsullied once again.

And he loved her.

She kissed him back, because she loved him too. She’d loved him at her boy-girl party and during every relationship that followed. She’d loved him at Robb and Ella’s wedding when he’d walked right over to her while she was standing with Ramsay. They’d been fighting about something because he was ruining what was meant to be a wonderful day and Jon had taken her hand, and said, “Sorry mate, it’s tradition,” because he’d been the best man and she’d been the maid of honor but he hadn’t seemed sorry at all.

And he’d held her so gently and said, “Why are you doing this to yourself again, Dovey?”

And she’d said, “I don’t want to talk about it. Just dance with me a bit longer, won’t you?”

“I’ll dance with you all night,” he promised, “If it keeps you out of his reach.”

“You can’t do this,” she broke away and his eyes were as black as midnight and he moved to get away from her but she held him close, close enough that no one else could reach her. “If it’s not forever. I won’t…”

“It’s already been always,” he told her, “And it’ll be forever too. Just love me back, Dovey, because you own me. I’ll love you either way but it’ll make forever so much better if you just love me back.”

“I’ve never had much choice when it comes to loving you,” she confessed, “No choice at all. I just do. I always have and I always will. I love you Jon Elliot Snow.”

He kissed her again, and she was no longer thirteen, she was twenty five, and though it might have been twelve years too late, it was all the sweeter knowing that she’d never have to live without it again.

***

They must have fallen asleep before she finished the story, because it was light outside when her eyes opened.

She was alone in bed, well Grey Wind was there but Robb was gone, and she rose and brushed her teeth, slipping on her slippers before padding into the kitchen.

“Morning sweetheart,” Robb said from the stove where he was making pancakes.

“What time is it?,” she asked, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade on her way to get a glass of water.

“Almost ten,” he said and she heard his grin when he said, “Mom thinks that means it’s a boy.”

They’d only told his parents so far. Well, now Jon and Sansa knew too but no one else. She got emotional every time she thought about her goodparents’ reaction to the news and she went and hugged him from behind.

“And if it isn’t?,” she asked softly.

She knew he wanted a boy. He wanted many children but he wanted a boy first.

“Then our daughter will be another beauty, just like her mother, and I will love her more than life itself, just like I do her mother,” he promised her.

She turned him around and stood on her tiptoes so that she could kiss him. She loved him so madly, and the way he loved her was her favorite thing about herself.

It was the only reason why she’d done what she did, so that Jon and Sansa could know the happiness that she and Robb had been lucky to have for so long.

“Do you think we should call them?,” she asked with a hopeful smile.

“What if you were wrong?,” he asked her. She fixed him with a look and he grinned, “Let’s call Sansa first.”

She grabbed her phone and dialled the familiar number. She answered after two rings.

“YOU’RE PREGNANT!,” Sansa squealed.

“WE’RE PREGNANT!,” they yelled back.

“What do you say, Auntie Sansa?,” she asked, “Can we count on you as godmother?”

“Of course you can!,” Sansa giggled, “I can’t wait to hug you both, right after I MURDER you!”

Ella felt fear for the first time in this whole thing and she said slowly, “Did… did it not go well?”

“Jon they want to know how our date went,” she heard Sansa say and Ella screamed bloody murder.

“Terribly,” Jon said sleepily.

“By the gods,” Robb grumbled as she jumped up and down.

“Terribly is it?,” Sansa asked flirtatiously and she could practically see her pout.

“Yep,” Jon said with a smile in his voice, “Think I’ll have to take you out again tonight just to make up for it.”

“Come to dinner at our place,” Ella offered, “We can celebrate.”

“Baby or relationship?,” Robb asked.

“Both, everything! I don’t care just will you come over tonight please? You’ll forgive me for meddling, won’t you?,” she asked.

“You?,” Sansa scoffed, “We had this pegged as being all Robb’s idea…”

“Finally someone recognises my genius,” Robb said as though long suffering.

They all said their goodbyes and hung up with promises of dinner later and she hopped up on the counter as Robb handed her a plate of pancakes and a fork.

She hummed to herself as she bit into one and he ate his own with a small smile on his face.

“You’re already planning their wedding, aren’t you?,” he asked her.

“It’ll be in June,” she nodded, “It’s Sansa’s favorite month… you’ll wear a kilt. Don’t worry, you’ll look great.”

“Ella…,” he warned.

“I just want Sansa to be loved the way you love me. And I want Jon to be loved the way I love you. Is that so terrible?,” she asked him.

“No, sweetheart,” he said, “Like everything about you, that is absolutely perfect.”

***

“You know Ella will have us married off come Winter, don’t you?,” she asked Jon as he pulled her to his chest.

“Fine by me,” he said, his fingers trailing her naked back, “Though I thought you’d want to get married in June.”

“What makes you say that?,” she asked.

“It’s your favorite month,” he reminded her.

“I meant…,” she trailed off, not wanting to ruin the perfection of the evening and the morning by saying anything stupid.

“I know what you meant,” he said, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him, “And I’m telling you I’ll marry you any month, any day, any hour that you want. I’ll marry you in front of 500 people or in a court house with just Robb and Ella as witnesses. What did you think I meant by forever, Sansa?”

“June sounds good,” she said with a smile, “What will we do until then?”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” he said with a devilish grin, rolling them over so he was on top of her, “We’ll think of something…”

“Forever,” she mused, as he kissed down her neck to her breasts, “That’s a lot of somethings…”

He looked up at her and grinned roguishly, “Shall we begin?”

#prompt #fanfiction #modern #jon x sansa #jon snow #sansa stark #myrcella x robb #meddlesome myrcella #modern au #one shot #but long

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athyrabunlord · 6 years

Text

LLSHP(P) Prelude - Wish

Main Story: [LLSHP AU - Yoshiko Tsushima and the Fallen Angel]

[Brief note about School Term] [other LLSHP AU stuff] [YohaMaRuby concept arts] [ChikaYouRiko concept arts] [KanaDiaMari concept arts] [Hogwarts Staff]

[FFN link] [Pixiv Link] [Translated to Chinese by plin2290]

Sequel blips: TriWizard Tournament series

A/N: Here’s the prequel story Delphinus, about Mari, Kanan and Dia’s early years at Hogwarts. Just a short prelude here to start things off, to show the kind of tone in this prequel. As stated before, this will mostly be in Mari’s POV, a lighter tale in comparison to the Main Story.

Reminder Mari, Dia and Kanan are 15yo, 14yo, 14 yo respectively here, and they have a bit different characterizations than in the main story since, well, they’re just starting their first year. They have not grown to be the senpais that Yoshiko knows them as in the Main Story, so stay tuned to see their growth and how they become close~ Without further ramblings ado, here’s the prelude!

Words: 4,121

The door creaks loudly as it is pulled to a close.

She smiles nostalgically at the noise, wondering when the next time it would be for her to open this equipment shed, if ever again. Her heart thuds mournfully at the sight of this old building basked under the setting sun, like it has already blended into the scenery as a forgotten relic of the past. Shaking her head, she turns away resolutely and walks towards the plank that serves as the bridge between the port and the small boat.

Briskly, she hops onto the rickety boat, not all all deterred by the way it bobbed up and down along the waves. Her hand fondly brushes against the rusty walls as she enters the steering room, her steps gradually slowing to a stop. She bows respectfully before reaching for the small photo frame that hung from above the helm.

“I’d love to take you with me, Jii-chan, but you’d probably prefer to stay here by the sea, wouldn’t you?”

The elderly man is grinning back at her, his lively spirit nicely captured within the picture. Very carefully, she placed the photo frame onto the table she had set right beside the helm.

“I’ll be back in a few months, don’t worry. Maybe I’ll have some neat tricks to show you, maybe I can even reel in a big bluefin tuna! But, you’d prefer that I catch one with my own power, ne?”

The quiet echo of her own voice saddens her but she reigns in her emotions and manages to exit the boat with a placid expression. To her surprise, there are people waiting for her by the equipment shed.

“Kanan-chan!” “Kanan-chan!”

Kanan Matsuura steadies herself in time to catch an orange and silver shape. The two 12-year-olds sure have grown so much! It only seems like yesterday when she first played dodgeball and bug-catching with her childhood friends in the nearby park, all carefree and happy.

“I’ll be back after the first term, I promise, Chika, You.”

Chika’s characteristic ahoge is droopy as she woefully peers up at Kanan, while You has burrowed herself against Kanan’s side.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Kanan musters up her most easy-going smile and playfully wraps each arm around the girls’ shoulders. “When have I ever broken a promise to you two?”

“True…but! This ‘private’ school, why is it so secretive?” “Yeah, why can’t we go with you? Or I can ask Shima-nee or even Mito-nee to go with you?”

“It’s okay. A Professor is coming to escort me there. Don’t worry, she’s been very nice and helpful.” Honestly, the young girls’ worried faces are enough to make her heart melt. It’s staggering to know that there are still people in the world who cares this much about her, that she isn’t alone.

And that’s enough for her.

“Come on, it’s already getting dark. Your families will be worried if you don’t get home soon,” Kanan ignores the stifling feeling inside her chest at uttering these words, and gently nudges Chika and You away from the port. “I’ll be fine.”

The two girls only manage to walk a few paces away before turning back to give her one last tackling hug. Kanan almost stumbles from the force but she embraces them just as tightly.

“Write to us as soon as you get there!” “Remember to tell us all about the school!”

Kanan waves at them, calling and exchanging words with Chika and You even as the duo walks away. It is only until the two girls are out of sight that she allows her forcefully cheerful demeanor to drop.

Her expression probably looks awful right now but at least there is only one witness.

“They truly are worried about you. They are good girls.”

“They’re like little sisters to me,” Kanan says proudly, not too startled when a woman materializes out of thin air near her, as if she’s been concealed behind a veil of invisibility all this time. “I try to be someone they can look up to but it’s been hard.”

“I understand. Have you packed up everything?”

“...yeah. I guess I have. I’ve already cleaned up everything back at the house and here too,” she glances at the boat and the equipment shed one more time before turning to face the new arrival. The beautiful woman has cascading hair as blue as the sea itself, which is also her namesake. Her kind amber eyes and her deep, sonorous voice have a calming effect on Kanan, the same feeling she has whenever she is out by the sea.

Indeed, in spite of the unknown future, Kanan feels relaxed around the witch named Umi Sonoda.

“As we had discussed before, you may return here during the Christmas break, and you can always Owl them letters.”

“Right. Owling letters. That’ll be interesting,” Kanan allows a small smile to appear. “Birds always seem to like You. I’m sure Owls would too.” A thought then occurs to her, that both of her childhood friends have experienced odd events as well, ones that could count as displays of accidental magic. Perhaps, in a few years or so, they would also get that special acceptance letter?

And they could all study together in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

As if reading her thoughts, the woman speaks softly. “That is indeed possible. I have sensed something special in those two girls.”

“Of course. They are very special, especially to me.”

“You are special too, Kanan.”

“... I don’t know about that. What I do know is, I’m ready to leave this place behind,” Kanan chuckles wryly and picks up her small backpack.

“Are you certain? We are ahead of schedule so there is no need to rush. It is your home after all.”

“It’s okay. I’ve… said my goodbyes. Besides, it’s not my home, not anymore.”

“Kanan…”

“It’s not a home if no one is there.” She thoroughly believes this thought, even when Grandpa was still alive. It doesn’t matter what city or what sort of house she lives in. As long as the people she cherishes is there to welcome her home, then she will call it just that.

“I see.” The witch sounds a bit sad but respectful. “I hope you will like Hogwarts then.”

“Me too. I mean it when I told you that I’m looking forward to it.” At this, Kanan shuffles awkwardly and tries to meet the woman’s gaze. “While I really appreciate you coming here to pick me up, but I could’ve gone to King’s Cross myself, uh, Umi.”

It still feels slightly odd to be calling her so familiarly, but after spending the last few weeks in her company, especially after everything she’s done for her, ‘Sonoda-san’ seems too distant. When she first called Umi directly, the witch had been very happy, and that was enough of a reason for Kanan to continue calling her that. Moreover, this sense of closeness makes her feel connected to this new path in life.

“I am certain that you could. I am accompanying you because I want to. Humor me?” Umi smiles kindly as she holds out her hand.

The image is superimposed with the one from the night Kanan first met her. The witch had come to her home, requesting to speak to her guardian. After Umi was told that there weren’t any, not anymore, and learned about the teenager’s predicament, she had held out her hand and offered to take her away.

It was like being given a lifeline.

It’s been surreal to learn about the world of magic, that the nifty little tricks she’s done throughout her childhood are actually due to magic. As fascinated as she is though, she remains skeptical of how she would fit in this new world. She prefers things to be simple and she thought that she would stay in this seaside town even after she grows up, watching over her little world because she is familiar with everything here.

But her grandfather isn’t here anymore, and she is given a chance to escape this shattered dream. Everything’s changed and it’s too painful to call this town her home nowadays.

With a deep breath, Kanan takes Umi’s hand and allows the latter to Apparate them away. She doesn’t want anything and doesn’t dare to wish for more. She’ll do whatever she could, to find a place she could call home again, a new world to watch over.

Perhaps, Hogwarts has the answer she seeks.

====================

Within the massive extravagant painting, the Black Jaguar swishes its tail languidly with its head rested on its crossed paws. In spite of its relaxed demeanor, its sharp eyes remain predatory as it stares at her from its perch high in the tree. The progenitor of the Kurosawa family rarely deems to speak and usually remains in his Animagus form to impose an intimidating presence on whoever is summoned to the main manor’s grand office. Likewise, all the portraits of past Heads of this prestigious Pureblood family are silent as they cast their judgemental gazes upon her.

Dia Kurosawa remains unmoved in her seiza position, her back straight and her expression serene. Her legs are numb and her heart is beating fast from all the pressure, yet she does not allow any hint of discomfort to slip through her rigid demeanor. She needs to be every bit as indomitable as her name.

The Patriarch calmly sips his tea and does not offer an explanation as to why he has summoned her to his office. The silence, however, is merely a test and an inaudible conversation has already begun between the heiress and her grandfather.

Despite years of cultivating her patience and the austere image of a Pureblood heiress, she is quite relieved when the Patriarch finally speaks.

“Time passes by within a blink of an eye, does it not?”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“I still remember when you first bonded with your wand. Your parents, many of your relatives, and even myself, have wands of dragon heartstring core. But a wand of phoenix feather core has chosen you, just as it had chosen our great Founder in the past. It pleases me, Dia, that you have shown such potential already. I believe you have been taking well care of your gift?”

“I have been keeping it safe and polished, just as it is meant to be.” At this, Dia allows a hint of a smile to grace her features. The carbonado necklace is a possession she prizes above all else, a symbol of recognition from her family. While it is traditional for a Kurosawa to receive a jewel in association with his or her name after bonding with a wand, hers is more special than anyone else’s. The priceless black diamond can store magic, a powerful accessory that can eventually act as a shield against even the worst of Dark Magic.

Certainly, the item is meant to be given to the significant other, like how her father had given his carnelian brooch to her mother, but Dia does not foresee herself ever finding such a person in her life. Therefore, the carbonado necklace is hers to keep and it will protect her.

The Kurosawa doctrine is to ‘strike before stricken’, which Dia believes in as well, but it does not hurt to have that extra defense should all else fail. Because, really, she would rather avoid any confrontations even though she is confident in her own ability to take on anything.

“Very good. Once you have proven yourself worthy, you will receive the heirloom that our great Founder and I have chosen for you.”

The Kurosawa sabre.

Her heart sinks even though she has expected it already. She is the heiress after all, and nothing is more symbolic and prestigious than the sabre which is said to rival the famous Godric Gryffindor’s sword.

The Patriarch speaks further of her responsibilities and expectations now that she is going to Hogwarts, and only dismisses her once he finds her responses satisfactory. After giving him and the Black Jaguar portrait a respectful bow, Dia exits the office in a graceful manner. It is only after she is well out of the main manor that she picks up her pace, relieved to be out of that stifling place.

Her gaze sweeps over the extensive Kurosawa estate, both enjoying the beautiful scenery but also conflicted over her desire to leave her home. She has seen the world beyond, from the galas that her family has hosted to the other formal events the Patriarch took her along with as a guest. While the prospect of fully presenting herself as the heiress is daunting, she also cannot wait to explore the endless possibilities that the society offers.

Perhaps, in time, she will finally be able to hold her head up proudly of who she is, instead of forcing herself to maintain this facade.

She exhales tiredly once she arrives at her home, a moderate-sized building in comparison to the main manor. Only her immediate family lives here, though her relatives visit often due to the various meetings that her father holds or the apprentices who bring items from the family apothecary to her mother. One day, she would like to have her own private housing, one that can be granted to her if she shows the Patriarch how much she accomplishes.

She must do well in Hogwarts if it meant earning her miniscule freedom.

After briefly greeting an uncle by the engawa, she enters the living room to find her parents enjoying the afternoon tea together. It is really only under the comforts of their own home that her parents appear this relaxed. Unlike the many arranged marriages that her relatives had, her parents are fortunate to actually be in love with each other and therefore the atmosphere at home is more pleasant than some of her cousins’. At least, that’s what she had heard, since there is no cousin near her age, the closest one being a decade older.

She urges her parents to enjoy this rare downtime together instead of sending her off, assuring them that she can get to Hogwarts by herself. After a few more exchanges, both her parents solemnly wish her the best of luck, her father giving her an encouraging nod while her mother sends her a small smile.

Dia pushes aside the persistent yearning for a pat on the head, or even a hug, and politely excuses herself to get ready for her trip. As soon as she enters her own room, she notices something out of place. Warily but calmly, she casts a spell to reveal the hidden presence.

“Pigi!”

Her 10-year-old little sister, shivering, slowly steps forward with her head lowered, most likely expecting a reprimand. Sighing, Dia puts away her wand and speaks quietly so that she doesn’t startle her easily-frightened sister.

“You are too young to be able to master the Disillusionment Charm, Ruby. However, you have improved a lot.”

“R-Really-? Thanks, Onee-chan!” A bright smile morphs on the little girl’s face, a cute expression that matches the bunny plushie that Dia had given her years ago. She then notices the traveler’s cloak that Dia is already wearing, and quickly runs forward to cling to her.

“Y-You’re l-leaving already?”

Dia so badly wants to return the hug but she could sense house-elves close by. Open display of emotion is considered a sign of weakness and Ruby’s standing within their family already isn’t very good. Not wanting to be reported to him through the house-elves as they are ordered to do, Dia simply pulls away and speaks firmly.

“You should get back to your lesson. I believe your Transfiguration tutor is already outside at the engawa.”

Ruby flinches, her doe-like eyes welling up with tears at the rejection. Dia grits her teeth and desperately hopes for her sister to understand her intention.

“I will return for the Christmas break. I expect you to show even more improvements by then.”

“O-Okay…” Ruby tucks the plushie under her chin and, as if in a burst of defiance, hugs Dia one more time. “I’ll miss you, Onee-chan.”

Not trusting herself to speak, Dia merely nods and stands as still as a pillar even long after Ruby leaves her room. She glances at the big modified broom collecting dust at the corner, recalling the innocent days when she took her little sister for flights around the Estate, when they had more freedom.

Just a few more years. Once she’s a legal adult, surely, she can do something. But what? All the other Kurosawas followed the Patriarch’s wish and became Aurors, Curse-breakers and so on. Those few who rebelled or were considered blemishes in the family name were cast out. She does not want that to happen to her and most of all, not her precious little sister.

Indeed, what lies in her future? Their future? Frankly, she is very afraid.

Smiling humorlessly, she begins to pack her luggage for school. Hogwarts will be a temporary refuge for her. She has five years to become used to the fact that her life is already planned out for her. There is no point in struggling against it.

She will take what Hogwarts has to offer, and return the favor by being an exceptional student that both her family and herself will be proud of.

She shall invest just the right amount of her heart, no more and no less.

==============================

“Thank you very much for coming! Take care!”

She plasters the shiniest smile she could summon onto her face and bids her guests farewell with just right balance between exuberance and poise.

As soon the last of the guests disappears from the fireplace via Floo Powder, she flops onto the carpet like a cat that just lost all its bones.

“Aaaah, I’m so tired! My face hurts from smiling too much!”

Mari Ohara proceeds to close her eyes and begins to nap there and then. Combined with the fragrance of coffee, the lulling quiet cackles from the fireplace and the melodious violin in the background, she’s truly immersed in this heaven of her home. While her family owns many properties around the world, this mansion on the private island is her personal favorite!

When something prods at her arm persistently, she whines and peeks open one eye. “Daaaaad!”

“Now now, those guests are esteemed members of Ilvermorny Scholars. It’s always vital to have connections! You never know when you need favors.”

The Head of the Ohara household strokes his beard with theatrical flair, his crooked grin belying his serious words. If it weren’t for his friendly demeanor, the way he dresses would have a commoner mistaken him for an important governor or even royalty!

The influential businessman chuckles as he continues to nudge at his daughter’s arm with his toe, and laughs harder when she playfully punches his shin. “But dad, they’re all so boring!”

“That they are, that they are. But honey, it’s through such connections I was able to get the best of the best Hippogriffs for you years ago, hmm?”

Mari pouts, unable to refute. Her Starbright is her darling and indeed the most amazing pet ever. The magical creature always seems to know where she wants to go and has always been watchful of her. Between even the world-class broom and her beloved Starbright, of course she prefers flying on her Hippogriff!

“But you’re right, I’m worn out too! Or, what is it that you youngsters say nowadays? I’m pooped?” Her dad also slumps onto the carpet beside her. The two share a cat-like grin before synchronizing in lying spread-eagle. Before they could close their eyes though, a loud cough makes them wince. They warily look up to see Mrs. Ohara looking down at them, her arms folded.

“If only all those guests could see you two right now. Whatever would they think?”

“That we’re super awesome?” Her dad offers.

The stern expression on her mom doesn’t last long as she crouches beside him and flicks his beard. The corner of her lips twitches a bit as if she’s trying hard not to muffle laughter. “Yes, yes, you’re the best.”

“Did you hear that, Mari-chan? Your mom approves!” Laughing, he struggles to sit up and cheerfully kisses his wife, who returns the gesture just as passionately.

“Eeww, no public display of affection please,” Mari covers her eyes but giggles when her parents lean in to peck her cheeks as well.

Her mom even ruffles her hair fondly. “I think you should go get ready, Mari-chan. You’ll be late for the train if you don’t hurry.”

At this, her dad groans loudly. “Oh that’s right, my baby girl’s going to Hogwarts! I can’t believe it’s already time!”

“Dad, I’m fifteen already.”

“Yes, and ready to date, you’re at that age, you can’t deceive me!” He lets out a scandalous scoff. “I can see it already, the moment my beautiful daughter steps foot into that castle, all those stupid, hormonal boys-”

“Dad, I like girls.”

“- girls are going to be all over you so I’m gonna Jinx them before they even-”

Mari rolls her eyes and zones him out, though her smile remains on her face and unlike the case with the guests, this one comes from the bottom of her heart. She came out to her parents not too long ago, but it seems like her dad’s already gotten used to it as if it’s old news. Sure, there may be slip-ups here and there about the gender stereotype, like now, but she could truly feel her dad’s effort in trying to make her like it’s the norm. Her mom is only too happy at the prospect of possibly having two daughters in the future.

Geez! She hasn’t even gone on a date with anyone and her parents are already planning way ahead!

Still, she loves them and she knows that she’ll always be her dad’s perfect little princess. Giggling, she gives her parents a loving hug before skipping towards her room to pack up. She isn’t wholly surprised that her house-elves have already prepared all the necessities while leaving room for her to place extra items.

Grinning mischievously, she stuffs a few more dresses and bags of her favorite coffee beans into her luggage. And, just because she could, she hops from the balcony of her room and is safely caught by her clever Hippogriff.

“That’s really dangerous, dear.” Her dad knows she would pull this stunt and thus is already waiting for her by the foyer. Mrs. Ohara also comes out of the house a moment later to stand beside her husband. Starbright approaches them without needing Mari to give instructions.

“I only do that because I trust Starbright will be there for me. You too, dad~”

He shakes his head as her overly sweet tone. “Gosh, I’m so going to miss you around here, princess. Well then, as promised, we’ll let you get to the station by yourself, on this ol’rascal here. Make sure nothing happens to her, capsice?”

The Hippogriff paws at the ground once, with its neck ramrod straight, to show that it will do its utmost best in escorting its mistress.

“What was the other thing you promised, dad?”

“... no mushy farewells, I know.” After taking a deep breath, Mr. Ohara gazes affectionately at her and smiles. “Enjoy yourself at Hogwarts, stellina, and definitely tell us if anything happens! In bocca al lupo!”

“Crepi! I’ll miss you both.” Mari winks back and, with a nudge to Starbright, the young witch-Hippogriff pair then takes to the sky.

She hums to herself, thinking for the umpteenth time that she’s probably the most fortunate person in the whole world. She has parents who love her, accepting her unconditionally and always providing anything she requests within reason. They spoil her really, and she knows that, and so she always tries to be the daughter they can be proud of. In spite of her complaints, she really does enjoy helping her father increase his influence and obtain more connections with important figures around the world.

Naturally, she’s excited about Hogwarts, but she’s also been to Beaubaxton, Durmstrang and even Ilvermorny a few times while accompanying her parents and they are all amazing schools! Therefore, going to Hogwarts only feels like being on an extended trip, rather than ‘her home for the next five years of her life’.

Indeed, she has everything she’s ever wanted. She’s happy, so what else could she possibly need at Hogwarts?

Mari grins as she urges Starbright to fly faster.

Well, she can always wish for more, can’t she?

stellina - my little star

In bocca al lupo - Italian slang equivalent to english slang of ‘breaking a leg’

Crepi - Italian slang equivalent of ‘gotcha’ responding to the above

#athyra writes #LLSHP AU #kanadiamari prequel #hmm rereading Ch21 of the main story might give this prelude a different flavor #I finished this weeks ago #just didn't had chance to upload #cuz the cover pic wasn't finished/finalized #anyway yay \Umi da!/#reminder the whole prequel was outlined prior to season2 anime #so Mari's parents here are my own version #Mari is a spoiled princess here #Dia is cold very condensed carbon #Kanan is angsty sulky loner #this is their journey to grow up to become the reliable senpais in the main story #and also SG cameo and more

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