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yoonivy · 24 days

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my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 4.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. angst!!! 01| 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

---

King’s Landing is in utter disarray.

The past week in the capital of the Seven Kingdoms has been a shitstorm – for a lack of a better word.

Starting with the secret death of King Viserys I Targaryen. Then the gathering and holding captive of the supporters of the decreed heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra, in order for the Greens to usurp her birthright to give the crown to Prince Aegon. Then, there was the destruction of the Dragonpit during Prince Aegon’s – no, now King Aegon’s – coronation from when Princess Rhaenys made her escape on her dragon Meleys by breaking through the ground from the dungeons, resulting in the deaths of many smallfolks. And, finally, Princess Rhaenyra has found out of her father’s death and her younger half-brother’s ascent to the throne, and from a parley with the King’s hand, Otto Hightower, she had declared she is the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the Greens are the ones who are traitors to the crown.

Now, like a Cyvasse board with most of the pieces of the game set in place, each side is quiet again, both thoroughly planning their next move.

In Maegor’s Holdfast, Prince Aemond Targaryen sits on a leather accented chair, staring at one of the walls in his bedchamber – all four bare and empty, letting him be with just himself in complete withdrawal. Perhaps to decompress all that has happened. Perhaps to think about nothing at all. Perhaps to… Aemond does not even know.

All he really knows is that he just needed time to himself.

In the first half of this whirlwind of a week, he played a foolish cat and mouse game with his older brother – at the behest of his mother – to bring him back first to the Keep before his grandfather’s men, to force him of his fated coronation. Now Aemond has to watch Aegon gloat as he wears the crown that he did not even want — a crown that Aemond wants for himself — and it sickens the younger Targaryen prince.

Beyond that, he has not even properly mourned the death of his father yet. Or even, at all .

Aemond is not sure if he could even anymore. They’ve tarnished his legacy, spat in the face of his decree of having Princess Rhaenyra as his heir. His mother, Queen Alicent, said that his dying wish, whispered only to her ear, was that the King wanted Aegon to be the one on the Iron Throne after him instead of his first-born daughter. Aemond is not sure that even he believes that. But his heart has grown cold and bitter through the years – wanting power more than anything else now – and with Rhaenyra stripped from her title, he has risen up a step to be next in line after his baby nephew, Jaehaerys, one half of Aegon’s and Helaena’s twins.

So Aemond cannot mourn his father. Has to push back the memory of his death into the back confines of his mind – where he had stuffed and locked away other painful memories; like an island full of evergreens, a touch of a hand he had known better than his own, and a promise of forever whispered against soft lips he thought he’d be kissing his whole life.

It causes him to sit there in his bedchamber, basking in the selfishness and treachery of his family in the wake of his father’s death.

Live in it.

Let it become him.

It is the only way he can deal with all of it.

The Prince’s solitude is broken by Ser Criston, the newly appointed Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, entering his bedchamber.

“You’ve been called to the council chamber, my Prince.”

Aemond nods then stands, knowing that whatever they are summoning him for, he shall do.

For the victory of his family.

For the unspoken promise of the crown to one day be put upon his head.

---

Aemond is one of the last to arrive at the council chamber. His mother, the Dowager Queen, and his grandfather, the Hand of the King, were already on either side of King Aegon once the doors shut for the small council to start their meeting.

There is a map of Westeros laid on the table that they are all gathered around. As they discuss, there are pieces getting placed on different areas on the map to represent which Houses are for Aegon or for Rhaenyra – and of the latter, which Houses they can possibly turn to rescind their loyalty to Rhaenyra and bend the knee to Aegon instead.

Aemond cannot help the sinking feeling in his stomach when he sees Ser Tyland Lannister place a black pawn piece on a tiny island just North-West of Winterfell – Bear Island.

“The Mormonts?! For Rhaenyra ?” King Aegon scoffs out a laugh. “Surely they’ll be willing to bend the knee to me–” Aegon catches his younger brother’s gaze, a hopeful and gleeful smile spreading on his lips, “Right, brother?”

But Aemond simply breaks eye contact from him, looking back down at the piece on the island, devoid of any emotion. The answer of silence from Aemond has the King’s smile falling slowly.

From beside Aegon, Queen Alicent looks at her second son in an expression quite hard to read.

Is it pity… or guilt?

Only the Queen knows.

And maybe the one who speaks up next.

“It would be a waste of time, Your Grace,” Otto Hightower says gruffly. He does not seem to be in turmoil like the Queen is though, only obviously very frustrated at how politically unsavvy the new King is. “The Mormonts will follow where the Starks go, like most Houses of the North. So if we were to do any negotiating up there, we should focus on the Starks instead.”

“The Wolf of the North is as stubborn and loyal as the other Heads of House Stark that came before him,” Orwyle, the Grand Maester, says. “Cregan Stark might have written back to us back that he does not care for the politics of the South, but if push comes to shove, I fear they will stay with the Blacks.” “Not only that,” Ser Criston begins, “His younger brother, Willam, is also a part of Rhaenyra’s Queen’s Guard.”

“So we just give up the North?!” Alicent questions, exasperated. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“For now ,” Otto says in a tone that also tells his daughter to get her wits about her, keep her emotions in check. “So we should pivot our attention on a House we can sway to our side–” He leans forward, tapping on the black pawn piece on Storm’s End, eyes flicking to Aemond when he does so, “I propose for Prince Aemond to go to Storm’s End, break bread with Lord Borros Baratheon and bring their powerful House over to our side. Offer yourself to betrothed one of his daughters if need be. I say you ride there now, show them the promised consequence of their refusal by landing in on Vhagar.”

Alicent sucks in a breath, looking from her father then to her son. She cannot believe her father would just suggest this when they’ve not discussed this beforehand. “Aemond…” His eye finds her when she calls for him. The blank look on his face has her frowning. “Are you willing to do this… for us?”

Then he smiles, but it does not quite reach his eye. It is just there to placate her and everyone around.

“Of course, mother,” Aemond says, dipping his head in a bow. “I’ll do whatever I have to.” He then nods to his grandfather. “For the name of our House and the throne.” And then to his brother. “For the King.”

The Queen looks to her father, finds him already looking at her.

Aren’t you glad? The grin on the Hand’s face says. That we intervened all those years ago? And now Aemond is still free to betrothed a woman that will help with our cause?

No! Alicent wants to scream, but instead she just turns away, watching the back of her second son as he leaves the council room to do what was asked of him. A foreboding feeling twists in her stomach.

---

It all went wrong.

It has all gone horribly wrong .

Aemond takes fast and hasty steps through the halls of the Keep, his hurried breathing near hyperventilating. The rain that showered him on his flight home on Vhagar has already dried, but he still feels the heaviness of it over his body.

He disturbs his family and some of the members of the King’s small council when he bursts through the door of the hall as they feast their dinner. His mother stands up in worry at the sight of the anguish on his face, asking him what was wrong. What happened?

Aemond’s mouth opens, and he blurts it all out.

That Lucerys Velaryon, his nephew, came to Storm’s End while he was in the middle of negotiating with Borros Baratheon.

That he simply just wanted to scare the boy, threatening to take out his eye for the one the young man had taken from him.

That it was Arrex’s – Lucerys’ dragon – fault for angering Vhagar.

That he tried to stop Vhagar but she did not listen to him.

That he ended up taking more than just Lucerys’ eye.

The Dowager Queen crumples to the floor, a hand pressed to her mouth to suppress the agonizing cries that want to spill out, tears streaming down her eyes to mourn for a son that is not her own.

Aemond watches his mother, murmuring for her dear friend, the one she grew up with and the one she was losing in this game of thrones – only held together loosely with a string of love that they woven so strongly when they were just little girls. But after tonight, it will be completely severed.

“We have to tell her,” Alicent sobs. “We need to tell Rhaenyra. This one… This one we can’t keep from her. She deserves to know .”

But the small council present ignores her to argue amongst themselves, shouting over the other of which way is the best way to approach this unfortunate event. Aemond then feels eyes on him, and when he turns, he sees that it is Helaena looking at him — horrified — clutching her nearly four years old twin babes closely to her side, the kids terrified at all the shouting. To make matters worse, even Aegon seems disturbed at what he had done. Aegon – the man who is known to lay his rough hands on women who do not want his touch and betted coins on feral children to fight for their lives in the rat pits of Flea Bottom.

Then his mother glances up from where she is still a heap on the floor, and even she cannot stop the flicker of disdain when she meets her second son’s gaze.

Kinslayer , their voices scream at him in his head.

There is a constricting pressure in his chest, threatening to arrest his heart if he did not get away.

Perhaps he should just stay put and let the Stranger take him.

An eye for an eye. A son for a son.

But Aemond turns around instead, storming out the door from whence he had just came from.

Though his mind is numb and blank, his feet keep moving, taking him somewhere.

Where Aemond finds himself is in front a set of dark double doors and he should have known this is where his overflow of grief and remorse would mindlessly take him. Looking upon it, he lets out a shuddering breath — before he is pushing the handle to let himself inside.

The pungent smell of death hits his nostril as soon as he steps inside. It almost made him turn right around, but he pushes through and swallows down the bile threatening to come out of him. Aemond was not even surprised about the horrid smell. The small council now puppeteering his fool of a brother did this : left his father secretly decaying in his deathbed for the past week, all so they can conspire behind the back of his half-sister Rhaenyra without her even knowing that her father was dead.

The Silent Sisters took his father’s body away last night, working on the process to finally let him rest properly. Maybe that is why Aemond could not even mourn him. How can you mourn someone that was made to be thought of as alive?

Aemond closes the door behind him, looking around his father’s room. He has not been here in so long – even way before his father’s death in this room.

The prince did not want to admit it but… He hated the sight of his father in the last few years of his life. The disease that plagued the late King Viserys made him look like a husk of a man, rotting his flesh from the inside out. And when the sickness took Viserys’ eye, hollowed out the socket that he had to wear a gold mask to hide the sight of it from his people; Aemond did not feel any solace of a bond between them. If anything, there was this little voice in the back of Aemond’s head that said that is not what a king ought to look like.

Aemond regrets it, but there is nothing he can do about it now.

The miniature model of Old Valyria that his father once poured all his free time over lay in the middle of the solar more lifeless than before, with the webbing of spiders on every surface and corners of the blocks of buildings. Aemond walks up to it and swipes his hand through the webs in an attempt to make the model look like what it once was, when his father was alive and well enough to take care of it.

While doing so, Aemond accidentally knocks something over onto the floor. When he bends down to pick it up, he sees in his hand a wooden model of dragon.

He made this.

With…

To hold back happy memories made bitter through the years, he thinks about it more broadly. He made this with the Mormont siblings and their old Maester Garland who loved to make miniature models like his father did. Aemond gave it to his father after he came from one of his travels, and his father smiled at him so lovingly and pulled up a stool for Aemond to sit and they spent the rest of the day in this solar, his father telling him stories of the place their ancestors came from.

The memory makes Aemond smile sadly.

Perhaps wherever his father and Maester Garland are now, they are free to build a miniature model of the whole of Westeros together, if the New and Old Gods are merciful and kind and allowed them to.

Maybe Lucerys is there with them too.

Aemond puts his shaking hand against his mouth and takes a shuddering breath, remembering once again what he had done. He paces the room, his body shivering and beading in sweat at the dreadful thought.

And that is when he sees it, from the corner of his eye, in the far wall of his father’s solar, peeking behind a bunch of things hoarded inside the room. He knows what it is, so he does not know why he starts to move the many piles of books and boxes holding various items to get to it.

He is heavily breathing by the time he has made enough room for a path for him to get to it.

The backing board of the golden frame leaning on the wall is what faces him when he reaches it. He takes a deep inhale as he fingers swipe across the dust collected on the frame, remembering just how it got there.

It had to be at least two years ago when he furiously grabbed the golden frame off from where it hung on the wall in his bedchamber. It was the last thing in his life that reminded him of the bears on Bear Island, the rest already burnt into ashes under Vhagar’s fire. He strode through Maegor’s Holdfast carrying the heavy frame, determined with just his rage. Another courier had just returned and informed him that the youngest Lady of Bear Island turned him away, grimacing at the sight of the gift.

And that was it. That was the last straw. Aemond was done trying.

It was his mother that caught him in the act, the undeniable fury in her son’s features and the sight of the golden frame made her face fall.

“What are you doing?!” Alicent asked in a panic, placing herself in front of him and grabbing onto his arms to stop him in his tracks.

“I’m taking this where it belongs. Under Vhagar’s fire.”

His mother shook her head, disapproving of his plans.

“I… I know she has not written to you, or accepted any of the couriers you sent to her, but…” Alicent pressed her lips together, looking away as tears swell in her eyes. “I don’t want you to regret it if you burn your memory of her.”

“Why would I regret it? I’m just treating her how she had treated me. She’s dead to m–”

“Aemond!” Alicent admonished, glaring at him. Aemond did not know why his mother was taking her side. It puzzled him. He watched his mother take a deep breath, and then she turned to him again. “Come, I know a place you can take it. A place where it will be out of your sight forever… Or at least until you can bear to look at it again.”

Then before he could disagree, his mother took one side of the heavy frame, helping him carry it. As they walked together, she refused the help of any of the guards. Her face was unreadable as to why, but the weight of the painting was heavy on her back.

When they stopped in front of his father’s door, Aemond questioned why — his mother knew he hated it in there.

“Exactly,” Alicent said with a sad smile. “You’ll never step foot in here unless you have to… So it is the perfect place.”

And as always. His mother was right. Now he stands there, looking at the backing board of the painting and is desperate to see the face that would stare back at him once he turns it around.

So he does.

At the sight of your gentle smiling face, Aemond falls to his knees, grabbing onto the sides of the golden frame. His heart clenching so much so.

As much as it hurts to look upon you, you still give him a sense of relief as well. It’s confusing. It’s terrifying – how you still have such a hold on him when he has tried so hard to make the taste of your name his mouth so bitter that he has to spit it out.

Seeing your face again has him thinking crazy thoughts. That maybe, just maybe, if he can see you again, maybe you’ll tell him the real reason why you’ve spurned him. Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe then he can tell you of everything that has happened, the pain and guilt in his heart. Maybe then you’ll wrap your arms around, comfort his hurting heart in a way that he knows only you could do.

And that’s when he thinks, fuck it…

He needs to see you again. He will see you again.

---

Vhagar knows that her bonded rider is not pleased with her. When they had returned to King’s Landing earlier that day, Prince Aemond did not pat her snout for a job well done like he usually does, he had just walked away in complete silence. She stared after him, the taste of dragon flesh mixed with human flesh still on her tongue.

So when Aemond climbed up onto her back that evening, no words or command were spoken to her – but she just knew where he wanted to go.

The storm follows them in their travel up North. Although the rain is heavy on their backs, Vhagar lands at her pit on Bear Island past midnight and in three days time – a record for the she-dragon.

Mormont guards meet Prince Aemond at the wooden gate of the wall surrounding the keep, and they escort him inside. Aemond tries not to tear up at the feeling of home as he follows behind them.

It is Braeden Mormont who greets Aemond at the entrance hall, a look of utter shock on his face at the sight of the prince – looking more and more like his father Lord Mormont than from the last time Aemond saw him. There is a woman by his side – Rebeca, his childhood friend and now wife – carrying a young, sleeping girl of what looks to be of age 5 – Marjorie, born during one of the years Aemond could not visit and the reason Braeden did not travel to King’s Landing for the wedding.

“Ae–” Braeden catches himself, “Prince Aemond, what are you doing here and at this hour?”

Eyes wild and words hurried, Aemond does not even hear him and questions him instead, “Your sister. Where is she? I need to see her.”

He must have looked so manic that Braeden gently brings his wife and child behind his back as he steps forward towards the prince, a protective papa bear. “My prince… I… I’m sorry to tell you but… My sister… She does not live on Bear Island anymore.”

Aemond’s heart stutters. Dread on as to why that is already dawning on him, but like a fool, he still asks anyway, “Why… Why doesn’t she live here anymore?”

Braeden frowns at him, pity and confusion mixed together. “She lives in Harrenhal now, my prince... With her Lord-Husband, Jeremy Strong.”

Aemond can feel his heart shattering into a million tiny pieces, his hand clenching over it...

Jeremy Strong, who has the same coloring as Aemond’s nephew, Lucerys Velaryon – brown hair, brown eyes; instead of the Targaryen and Velaryon silver hair and purple eyes. Jeremy Strong, the man that shares the same name and blood with his uncle, Ser Harwin Strong, who was the rumored lover of Rhaenyra Targaryen during her first marriage with Laenor Velaryon – the reason why Aemond and his brothers call their nephews the Strong boys, implying their bastardness and their illegitimacy to the throne…

Wherever Lucerys is now, he must be smiling at how karma tastes — sweet like justice.

---

You awaken with a sudden gasp, your chest heaving, and a maddening thrumming in between your thighs.

The intangible dream of hurried mouth against mouth and a gaze filled with burning desire slipping through your fingertips with every second you become more aware of reality.

When your sleepy eyes flutter to take in your surroundings, it is your husband’s honeyed brown eyes you find, already on you.

Jeremy Strong’s immediate reaction is to turn away, embarrassed for being caught. His face is flushed pink when he mutters to the wall, “I apologize for staring, my l– La–” he stumbles his words, growing more red, then clears his throat, “My love.”

You do not know if you should smile with amusement or frown at how unsure he sounded.

I should tell him that it is quite alright for him to look upon me, for I am his, afterall.

But you have a feeling you would sound just as unsure as he had been if you said that aloud, so you forgo the thought. Instead you just tell him softly, “It’s alright, Jeremy.”

You sit up then, back against the headboard of the bed the two of you share, and watch as your Strong husband gets ready for his day.

Jeremy already has on his breeches, a heavy bulge straining at the front. Your whole body light afire at the sight of it, knowing it is probably there because of what he had witnessed while you were still asleep. Though the dream is far away from you now, the evidence of it is still wet between your legs.

When Jeremy throws a white tunic over his head, your gaze is on his body, transfixed. From the sparsely grown dark curls on his broad and muscular chest and down his navel, to the freckles splattered across his toned shoulders from working hard under the sun, and then to the healed scar on his left bicep from a spar with his older brother (you had smiled when you first saw it and when he told you the story, reminding you of your own from Jorah).

Just when he pulls the tunic down to cover himself completely, that is when he catches you and your ogling. Your eyes are quick to fall to where your hands lay on the furs around your body.

For two people who have spoken their vows to each under the eye of the Weirwood tree five long moons ago, you and your husband are embarrassingly still acting like blushing maidens around the other.

When your heartbeat evens, you brave glancing up at him again to ask, “What are your plans for the day?”

While shrugging on a dark brown leather jacket to fight the autumn chill, Jeremy says, “I will be overseeing the hunt today. I want to make sure we have enough rabbits for when your brother arrives.”

A warmth of tenderness spreads in your chest, your husband’s thoughtfulness causing you to smile.

In two days time, Jorah and Renee should be arriving in Harrenhal for a visit before they travel further south to settle in one of the villages in the Reach. It’s Jorah’s first time truly leaving Bear Island so Jeremy had wanted to make his favorite stew that your mother makes to ease his nervousness for the next big change in his life.

Jeremy even extended an invitation for Dorothea and her husband to visit as well, and they would be arriving in a day from Riverrun. You had not seen any of your family since your wedding so you are elated to see your dear sister and brother again.

Jeremy then turns towards you, and you softly awe at how truly beautiful he is with his kind, perpetually sleepy eyes and strong nose chiseled by the Gods themselves.

“Will you be hosting the kids for painting today?” Jeremy asks as he walks over to your side of bed.

“Yes, after noon,” you tell him just as he stops just beside where you are.

“Good, that’s, uh, good… Talia, she… she loves it,” he says, speaking for his niece.

“I’m glad,” you tell him with a small smile. “She is as talented as my sister.”

“She has a good teacher,” he compliments bashfully, only meeting your eyes for just a few seconds. Then he turns to the window, brows narrowed at the bleak view. “I should head out. They are most likely already waiting for me.”

You hum and nod, watching him from under long lashes. And this time, when his gaze turns to meet yours again, neither of you look away.

Then he is bending towards you, a slight hesitation in his movement but he pushes through, tucking his fingers around your chin to lift your face towards him. You find yearning in those mellow, golden browns; tender devotion that you do not think you have done anything to deserve.

But through the years, you’ve become greedy for intimacy, and it has come to a point when you just want to take, and take, and take. So when you lick your lips and your husband’s gaze flickers down to follow the movement of your tongue, you flutter your eyes shut in hopes for something that will get your heart racing.

What you feel though is but a chaste kiss pressed onto your forehead for a long second.

Then the closeness of him is gone.

When you open your eyes in obvious disappointment, Jeremy is sheepishly rubbing his hand behind his neck.

“I’ll be back for supper; so I’ll see you then… I, um, hope you have a good day, my love.”

Then he leaves and you cannot help but to glare after him.

Your poor, sweet Lord Husband only wishes to be respectful towards you but all you can do is burn him with your gaze, your hands clutching on the bedsheet in frustration.

Huffing, you plop back down on the pillows below you, desperately wishing you could have stayed in your dreamland a little bit longer.

---

It is Alys Rivers who enters your bedchamber next with a gentle knock, a little bit after your husband had departed.

But when your lady-in-waiting glides into the room, she is anything but gentle, with her feline-like eyes lined with kohl and her beautiful tresses as dark as the nights at Bear Island during the late Winter months. Even from the first time you met her, you knew she was a force to be reckoned with.

Although all that doesn’t make Alys any less sweet.

“My lady, why haven’t you gotten up? It is unladylike to wallow in bed when the birds are already singing,” Alys chides, but there is jest in her tone.

“There are no birds in Harrenhal, Alys,” you tell her, getting up finally at her behest. You frown out the window, dark clouds in the skies – like always. “Only crows.”

“But they still sing,” Alys says with a smile as she stands behind you when you sit on the chair in front of the vanity.

The crows do not sing . They caw and they rattle and they click, loud in their mourning. Perhaps to always remind the ones who still live in the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms of the last tragedy that befell in one the towers just a little more than a decade ago – continuing on the curse that is said to permeate through the walls of Harrenhal. How the previous head of House Strong, Lord Lyonel, and his heir, Ser Harwin Strong, burned to a painful death in a blazing fire that trapped them inside their chambers.

It was an awful story to hear. You can still picture the tears in your husband’s eyes when he told it to you. He was just a boy of ten and one when it happened, but the guilt for not being able to do anything still haunts him. He looked up to uncle so much, the valiant knight that once protected Princess Rhaenyra as her sworn shield – or, Queen Rhaenyra now.

You wonder why your first love never talked about Ser Harwin Strong before, for he sounded so good and righteous and brave like a knight of the Realm should be. He had told you tales of the other knights — like Ser Criston Cole, the Cargyll twins, Ser Harrold Westerling, and even his uncle, Prince Daemon Targaryen. But never of Ser Harwin.

“Your face will stay that way if you keep it up, my Lady,” Alys says with a light chuckle, breaking you from your thoughts. You huff a laugh back, softening your features.

Alys starts to brush your hair like your mother did, like Dorothea did, and for that, you are grateful for her. Alys’ presence brings you so much comfort in these cold stone walls. She is the only friend you have in Harrenhal besides your husband.

With your hair done in two loose double dutch fishtail braids, Alys moves to the wooden armoire. “What would you like to wear today, my Lady?”

“The violet dress, please,” is your instant answer, knowing it will cheer you up during this dull day.

It is the one Dorothea made for you to wear to her wedding (your sister excitedly sent you a letter moons before her wedding with a sample of the fabric she had found in one of the shops in Riverrun that she knew became your favorite color ever since you were ten and two), it is the one you spent wearing most your days while at King’s Landing, and it is the one you were wearing when your prince kissed you that one last time before you had to leave his side –

“Ah… Lord Jeremy’s favorite,” Alys says with a knowing smirk.

Your face flushes because you cannot even deny it. Whenever you wore the violet dress, the timidness in your Lord Husband disappears, replaced with longing desire.

Both Dorothea and Alys had told you before about how Jeremy had been smitten with you ever since the two of you met at Dorothea and Tobias’ wedding in Riverrun all those years ago. The latter of the two told you how the young Strong man came back to Harrenhal after the wedding and talked her ear off for hours about you – when all you had done at the wedding was accidentally made it known that you did not like the dish Jeremy made for the feast and stepped on his toes a few too many times when your mother forced you to dance with him.

At least he is a far better cook now, and you are a better dancer as well.

“You’ve not bled yet this moon, right, my Lady?” Alys asks suddenly.

You shake your head as you stand to move by her side. “I’ve not, but I think my cycle is just irregular.”

Alys hums knowingly with a frown. As your only confidant in Harrenhal, Alys knows that although you and your husband share the same bed every night, it does not mean the two of you have consummated the marriage.

“I overheard Ser Simon talking to Maester Fishl last night, my Lady,” Alys starts, already clearly frustrated at her own mention of the two elderly men, “He wants to know why you are not with child yet… He wants the maester to check up on you,” she then takes your hands in hers, fury in her tone and dark eyes, “I do not like the thought of these horrid men poking and prodding at your body, my Lady. Tell Lord Jeremy to waste his seed in a cup. Bring it to me and I’ll find a way for it to take in your womb without him having to touch you.”

You give her a watery smile, so touched at your lady-in-waiting’s care for you. Squeezing her hand, you tell her, “That won’t be necessary, my sweet Alys. The reason I have not lain with my husband is not because I find him to be grotesque... Actually… I find him quite the opposite… He is handsome and loving and not at all like the other men in his family. But I just needed time to…” Your head shakes, laughing to yourself, “Just… time.”

Alys sighs, nodding in acceptance. “If you say so, my Lady. But I hope you know, my offer will forever stand.”

“I know,” you murmur softly with a smile. “Thank you, Alys.”

Then you wrap your arms around her in a tender hug.

---

You spend the rest of your day helping the castle servants in any way you can. Although you are a Lady of a vassal House, you did not have the same luxuries as the Lords and Ladies of House Strong. You grew up doing your own chores, cleaning up after yourself, and helping with other duties around Mormont Keep. So you do the same in Harrenhal, finding comfort in the little things.

You help the kitchen staff prep for supper. You wash, sew, and repair clothes with the maids. You tend to the horses with the stable boys. Then finally, after sitting in while the septa teach the children, you turn the common room into an art class, with an easel for all the youngins present – it is your favorite part of your day.

As you float around the room to give each child your attention, there is an ache in your heart. You miss your nieces and nephews so wholly. From Jeor and his little sister, Marjorie, on Bear Island – looking more and more like Braeden every day – to Dorothea’s twins, Talis and Lyanna – a perfect copy of her and Forrest, just with Tully clear blue eyes.

It also has you desperately longing for one or two – or five , like your mother had – of your own in the future.

You used to dream of a babe with silver hair and amethyst eyes. But now you will not mind one bit for one with brown hair and honeyed eyes as warm as the summer sun.

The man with those same eyes meets you by the doors of the small hall later for supper, his gaze hungrily taking you in your violet dress with a hard swallow.

“How did the hunt go?” You ask, taking his arm extended towards you.

“Your brother will be sick of rabbit stew once he leaves Harrenhal,” Jeremy answers with a coy grin as he leads you inside the small hall.

“That is quite an ambitious feat, my Lord Strong,” you tease as he pulls back a chair for you to sit on.

“And it is an ambitious feat I dare to take on. For my brother-in-law’s happiness is also my lovely wife’s happiness, my Lady Strong,” he says when he sits beside you, taking your hand to place a dainty kiss on your knuckles.

Because of that, there is a flutter in your stomach that stays there while the men of House Strong drone on about politics and other things that do not interest you during supper. You always try to pay a little bit of attention but your thoughts always drift you away. You only get snapped out of your reverie of seeing Dorothea and her twins and Jorah again soon when the castellan of House Strong and temporary Head of the House in the stead of Lord Larys Strong still at King’s Landing, Simon Strong, says your name.

You turn to your husband’s grandfather, letting him know you have his attention now with a slight lean in his direction at the head of the table.

“There will no longer be time for the juvenile art classes you’ve been holding, today was the last. We need the boys to spend more time training and the girls learning more useful pastimes,” Ser Simon commands gruffly.

Unable to stop yourself, you glare back. “They’re children, Ser Simon.”

The oldest child in the group is a boy of only seven years.

Ser Simon huffs out roughly. “Do tell me, my Lady. But don’t they train even the women to fight on Bear Island?”

“Yes, but we have wildlings and Ironmen landing on our shores, trying to pillage our home. But that’s—”

“And now we have two dragons fighting for a throne, dragging everyone in the Seven Kingdoms into their war – that includes women and children, if your mind can wrap around that, my Lady,” he interrupts you. Hidden from view, your fists clench on your lap at the way you are being talked down to like you are just a child.

Then you feel a soft touch, a warm hand over your fist, comforting in every way. When you glance at your husband, his fierce glare is on his grandfather. “I will see to it that the boys spend more time on the training field, grandfather. But they will also continue their painting lessons with my wife once a week. Just because a war is coming, it does not mean we should take the children’s joy away along with their precious youth.”

“My Talia loves her painting lessons with her aunt,” Ser Sean, Jeremy’s older brother, pipes up. Then he turns to the girl of just 6 beside him. “Don’t you, honey?”

From across the table, Talia nods excitedly before she beams brightly at you. Your heart melts at the sight.

Ser Simon huffs again, but relents. “Fine. But if I find the children lacking in their training then it will be done for good.”

You and Jeremy both thank him, before you turn to your husband, a small and appreciative thank you on your lips. His hand closes tighter around yours as he smiles warmly back.

---

After supper, Jeremy walks you to the southern parts of the castle, to a room far from the bedchamber you share with him but one that you spend the most of your time in since arriving in Harrenhal. Jeremy drops you off with a kiss on your cheek, leaving you to enter by yourself, knowing you like your time alone sometimes.

As soon as you walk in, you are hit with the precious scent of chamomile and pine — reminding you of both your mother and father. Instantly, you feel as though you are at home, which was the exact reason why Jeremy gifted you this room.

In your first few weeks at Harrenhal, you were visibly very miserable although you tried your hardest not to be. But the walls are too cold and depressing, even colder than Bear Island, for the walls of your home had the warmth of wood and the sound of laughter drifting out of every room. So Jeremy found the room in the castle with the largest window – a fault in the build, but now your blessing in disguise – that the sun actually shines in when it appears sometime when the skies are cloudless. Then he built wooden shelves that now line all the walls, hiding the stone behind it to appear more like the rooms back home. Now they hold all your favorite things – like gifts from your family, the books you love to read, and material for your crafts.

It is one of the most thoughtful and loving gifts you have ever received, and you cherish your husband for it so much.

As you close the door behind, you see that Alys had already been in and lit up the lamps and kindled the fireplace for you to spend the rest of your evening in here before heading to bed. She had also watered and tended the plants that bring life to the small room, her knowledge and green thumb far better than yours.

You cross the room to sit at your desk, pulling out a piece of parchment and the golden writing quill that your first love had given to you. And once again, like every night since you arrived back home on Bear Island after the Targaryen sibling’s wedding, you write to him — just like you had promised him you would.

The only time you had stopped was just this past week, for you had received some news from both your eldest brothers that was quite hard to digest.

It was Braeden’s raven scroll that came first:

To my dearest Little Cub, I truly don’t know how to tell you this news, so I’ll just come out with it. Prince Aemond came tonight looking for you — looking like a wild man that I’ve never seen before. He did not give me the chance to ask or get an answer for anything else, for once he heard where you were, he stormed out and flew away on Vhagar. I’m so terribly sorry I did not do more, and I hope my inaction does not cause your heart more pain and confusion. Yours always and forever, Braeden

And then Forrest’s came two days after, a letter filled with angry scratches of thoughts unable to come out properly:

He’s gone. Luke is gone. I promised to protect him but he’s just gone, Little Cub. What kind of knight am I if I cannot even protect the young boy who reminds me so much of our brother. I just keep picturing Jorah dying that terrible death… Sister… They say it was Prince Aemond and Vhagar that took the life of Lucerys and Arrex. How can he do this? What the hell happened to the boy we grew up with? I know you do not know the answer since he has made himself scarce in your life and ours but still… Luke did not deserve this. I saw him swear on his life in front of his mother and under the Eyes of the Seven that he will not partake in any fighting. And I know that little boy like he is my own little brother, and I know he did not break his word. Whatever happened, it is the fault of Aemond, and Aemond alone.

You could feel your brother’s pain emitting from every word he had written. You wept alone in the same room you are in now for the boy you had only met once before. His young, cherubic face and sweet pleasantries to Princess Helaena burning in your mind.

When you first read Forrest’s letter, the hopefulness you felt from Braeden’s news quickly evaporated. You were so distraught, you could not believe it. Unlike your Septa Earla’s tales about Prince Aemond when you were younger, these ones are more unbelievable. A kinslayer. Aemond is now a kinslayer. How much has he changed in the last 4 years, 5 month, and 8 days since you last saw him that he has become someone who can take the life of his young nephew?

How could he be so different from the one you once knew, your best friend, the first and only man you have ever loved?

You have always been optimistic, and you know in your heart that whatever it was that caused Aemond to stop writing to you was not his fault. That it was something else keeping him from you. Perhaps he was even doing it to protect you. You just hoped he has read your and knows you are always thinking of him.

But with all that has unfolded, you are certain he did not get any of your letters – even the ones you sent while you were at Riverrun and in Harrenhal. Which could only mean that someone had been tampering your communication with your prince.

Can you be that high on yourself to think that your love could have prevented all this from happening?

You are not sure, but what you are sure of is that now you think you are in a better headspace to write to your first love again, ready to lay your heart out on paper once more.

You write that you want to ease the pain and burden he has suffered throughout the years, knowing there is probably plenty for him to do something so terrible. You wish you could have been there for him during the death of his father, the way you were there for your husband when his father died just a few moons ago. You wish you could have celebrated all your name days together, for every last one you had the past four years, something was missing. You write that you still want him in your life. Perhaps not as his lover, but just as his best friend once again…

With all that said, what you write to end the letter was:

But I think it’s time to let you go, my prince.

You did not even realize you had been crying until you taste the salt on your lips. After wiping the tears, you fold the letter up and seal it with wax, stamping it with the House Strong coat of arms instead of the Mormont sigil.

You stand then, letter in hand, walking to the hearth of the fire.

Just as you are about to throw the letter in, gone into the flames and unanswered like all the others you had written —- something stops you.

You want to keep it, the last letter that you poured out your feelings on. It is important to you, so you want to keep it as a reminder.

On one of the shelves, you pull out a heavy book and slip it in between the pages.

Shutting it, you stare at the cover with your heart aching at a memory. With your fingers, you trace the title… It is your prince’s favorite book, so it is the perfect place for keeping your last words for him.

Smiling sadly, you shelve the book back in its place. Then with one last look around the room, knowing you will not be spending as much time in there like you had before, you walk out the door.

Jeremy is already comfortably in bed with just a sleeping shirt and smallclothes on when you slip into the room.

He places the book down he was reading on the bedside table and stands as soon as he sees you, looking surprised. “Hey, uh… You’re back earlier than usual.”

You give him a small shrug and that sweet, gentle smile of yours. “I think I just missed you, that’s why.”

Jeremy splutters, cheeks and ears turning red, looking like he did not quite catch what you said. It is as if he can’t even fathom you saying that to him. “Wha– uh…?”

Your stomach swoops in regret at the insecure look that flashes on your husband’s face. Was it really that unbelievable?

Though you are kind to your husband, you know you have not been very forthcoming with your feelings. If anything, you have kept him at an arm’s length, always close and yet not close enough — and Jeremy, sweet and docile Jeremy, does not seem to mind at all, just happy for anything he gets from you. You are sure if you asked him to eat out of the palm of your hand, he would. But you are not cruel. At least not in that way. You are just closed off, guarded with your heart – and that is not entirely your fault either. If you could, you’d give Jeremy your everything. You want to — so, so much. But it’s just not that easy.

But now, as you step closer and closer to where he stands frozen in his spot, you want to try .

Once in front of him, you gently push your palm on his chest, coaxing him to sit back down on the bed. You climb on top of him when he does, and his honeyed brown eyes are gazing at you like you are the sun, the moon, and all of the stars.

You look at him just the same.

Then as you thread your fingers through the soft, brown curls at the back of his head, you bend down to finally press your lips against his – for the first time since the two of you said your vows.

Though his hands grip tight onto your hips, Jeremy still parts from you, sadness and more hesitation in those baby browns, “Are you sure.. I know another has your heart…” He bites his bottom lip, downcast, “You still dream of him.”

You cup his face, forcing him to face you and the tender smile on your lips. “No, Jeremy…” you begin, pressing your forehead against his. “This morning when I woke… It was you I was dreaming of.”

Your confession makes him exhale out a breath, hopeful. “Truly?”

You graze the tip of your nose against his as you nod, sharing the air he breathes. “Truly…”

Then it is Jeremy who captures your lips again, desperate and wanting.

And as the two of you take turns stripping the other between hurried kisses; you think that maybe, just maybe, it is possible for you to love someone new.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #hotd #aemond #aemond targaryen

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caarpenters · 1 year

Text

POISON

amber freeman x reader based on this request.

summary: the only one that can have you is amber.

rating: mature so minors DNI. beneath the cut there is unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessive behavior, and jealousy-fueled murder.

word count: 1,188 words

Wes Hicks vexed Amber Freeman more than she cared to admit. Not because of his borderline concerning level of paranoia. Not because of his deep-seated motherly issues. Not because of his horridly box-dyed blonde hair. Not even because of his deep attachment to her friend, Tara Carpenter. No, her vexation toward Wes could be traced back to one thing and one thing only: you, Y/N L/N. As of late, Wes had grown close to you, too close. He trailed after you like a dog with a bone, happily taking any scrap of attention you threw his way. For a time, his antics had been annoying, nothing more. Eventually, though, you began to inadvertently entertain those antics, to entertain him under the belief that he treated you the same way he did the rest of your friend group. You seemingly did not notice that the only friend he walked to and from class was you. You did not notice how whenever he stole a hug, he lingered just a moment too long, soaking in your warmth and taking in your all too sweet smell through his nostrils. Amber noticed, though. She noticed it all, and it sparked an anger within her that she had not known herself capable of.

Because you were hers. You had always been hers. Her friend, her steadying force, her person. You were the first person she had met when her family moved to Woodsboro all those years ago. She had been out playing in her yard, messing around with her collection of Chucky dolls, when you had ridden up on your rickety old bike and offered her the brightest smile she had ever seen, a smile that had rivaled the sun in intensity. You had asked to play with her Tiffany doll, the bride of Chucky, and that alone had been enough for her to know in her bones that you two were well-suited. Most children your age had frowned upon the dolls, deeming them creepy, but not you. You adored them, treating them with as much care as Barbie dolls or action figures were treated.

From that day, you and Amber had been thick as thieves, being one half of the other, which was why she could not tolerate Wes trying to weasel his way between the two of you. How would she handle him? Well, a more sane person would have likely come off with a lie, would have spread gossip meant to sully his name and ruin your perception of him. You were so good, though, so forgiving, so mere gossip would not be enough. Perhaps that was why when Richie Kirsch proposed a dark, blood-bathed plan to recreate the 1990s Woodsboro killings, she agreed without hesitation or regret. If pushed for her motive, she would without a doubt chalk it up to her love of the Stab franchise. She knew it is not that simple, though, for when Richie proposed his list of victims, she wasted no time in adding Wes to the list. C'mon, Richie. It'll add shock value. He's the son of a legacy character, after all, she had pointed out, even though Judy Hicks could hardly be considered as such. She had, in Amber's opinion, contributed little, the same way that her son had. Richie had thought her important, though, for he had agreed and added him to the list of victims.

That was why now, Amber waited outside of the Hicks residence, donning the typical Ghostface costume. The black material of the robe felt hot against her skin, itchy, but the knife felt right in her hand, its hold so comfortable that it felt as though it was made for her. From the shadows of the porch, she waited, anticipation strumming wildly through her veins. Richie was on the phone now, no doubt, luring Judy back to the house. She could put up a fight, could try her best to preserve her son’s life force, but her efforts would be for naught; her son had sealed his own fate when he had tried to take you, to steal you from Amber. Did he really think that she would sit idly by and let it happen? No, it was not in her nature to do so. To take such a profound loss sitting down was weak, and she was not weak, not when it came to you.

When Judy pulled into the driveway and ran up to the front door, her face a storm of fear, Amber jumped out, emerging from the shadows like a harbinger of death. And oh, what a perfect harbinger she was, for she mercilessly stabbed Judy, delivering upon her one devastating slash after the other. It was a wonder that she had ever become the sheriff of Woodsboro, because she went down easy, so easy.

Her son went down even easier.

After slaying Judy, Amber left her lying there in a river of her own blood to be found. That was exactly what Wes did, for as if sensing something was amiss, he pulled open the front door of the house and was met by a most horrid sight: the lifeless, cut-up body of the woman who had given him life, who had cared for him when no one else had. Unbidden, a grief-stricken cry tore its way out of his throat as he threw the door closed, trying to prevent the killer from getting in. Little did he know that Amber was already in the house, watching him, waiting. He leant against the doorframe, wheezing from a mixture of pain and fear. “Oh, God. Oh, God,” became a litany, the only words he seemed capable of . . . until Amber came out, her knife poised, aiming for his neck. In an act of pure desperation, his hands flew out, catching hold of the knife before it could make contact with his neck. “Fuck you,” he gasped as they struggled, fighting for control of the knife. He was distressed, willing to do whatever it took to survive, but she – she was incensed, rage incarnate. Months of pent-up vexation and jealousy came out, giving her the strength to win, to gain back control. This saw the knife plunging into his neck, immediately stealing away his breath and drawing out his scarlet blood. “No, fuck you,” she snapped, her tones cold as ice. The voice, it was her own, not that of Ghostface. “Now, die like the pussy you are.”

And he did . . . It was oh so satisfying to Amber.

Wes’ death seemed to hit you hard, to cause great pain to overcome you, which was why Amber stayed loyally by your side, doing everything she could to ensure that you were okay, that her actions did not break you. Little did she know that you took notice whenever she snuck away, believing herself to be discreet. You knew what she had done, but could not bring yourself to care all that much. Wes held no true place in your heart, after all, not the way that she did. And, perhaps, deep down, you knew that his murder, unlike the others, had been personal . . .

i HC amber as a child's play stan. idk why, it just makes sense, so here's a bonus fact: one year, for halloween, y/n and amber wear matching chucky and tiffany costumes. you can decide who wears which.

ALSO i know richie killed wes, but i changed it for the sake of this one-shot.

sign-off template.

#scream #scream fic #scream fanfic #scream franchise #scream movie #scream 5 #ghostface #ghostface x reader #amber freeman #amber freeman fanfic #amber freeman x reader #wes hicks #amber slaying (literally)

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heyiwrotesomethings · 9 months

Note

🐉 anon here! I hope you're doing alright! I hope these request won't be too much! Would it be okay if you wrote about Shinobu with a s/o, she/her, who has that dragon tattoo? Possibly a criminal syndicate but wants to leave her family because of how bad they have gotten! The family found her at a younge age and took her in, becoming the imitating woman she is. But what her boss asks of her is too much and not what she wants to do. So she tries to leave and stagger away from the family, meeting Shinobu in the process! She would be seen as a monster, but she really does have a good heart. Maybe even a slow burn with Shinobu? Those are my favorites! While she stays or keeps meeting Shinobu, the family finds her and roughs her up, she kicks thier ass but ends up being taking down. The boss would come in and try to cut her pinkie off, but Shinobu comes in being the badass queen that she is and deals with him herself, and saves her s/o, with a happy ending! Again, I hope this isn't too much to ask! I love your work!

What Is Right

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: Here you go, sorry it took so long! I hope it’s alright, I am having trouble with the December requests that are left. 😫 Word Count: 5,640

“Aniki, are you sure about this? Is there really no other way?”

“Of course not,” Akira scrutinized his adopted younger sister, put off by her reluctance, “That cowardly man’s betrayal killed my father, our father.” He hissed, crushing the remains of his cigarette in his hand, ignoring the burn.

“Then, if it’s absolutely necessary, shouldn’t it just be him who has to pay?” (Y/n) risked speaking out against him yet again, “Why kill his family, but leave him be?”

“It sends a message!” Akira shouted, “He’ll know not to fuck with us again. He’ll be forced to confront what he took from me, us. Don’t you understand, (Y/n)? That’s why I’m telling you this.” He grasped her shoulder a little to tightly to be friendly or comforting. “I’m trusting you to bring honor back to this family. That dragon tattoo on your back isn’t just for show, its supposed to mean something. It’s what unites all of us. Otosan loved you like you were his own flesh and blood. If you want this band of misfits, your family, to continue to have a legacy, you will do this.”

“But, they’re only little kids. Not even his wife knows the shady shit he’s dealing in. And it’s not just that… we’ve been pushing away our allies with the decisions you’ve been making in Otosan’s stead—“

“Do you think this is easy?!” Akira shouted again, getting in (Y/n)’s face, she stayed remarkably calm despite this, “I was chosen to make the choices that no one else has the guts to make! This is what has to be done!”

“I just can’t do it, Aniki.” (Y/n) shook her head, “It’s more than and eye for an eye to me. I think you’re asking for too much.”

“You either do this, or you will be marked as a scourge on this family. The family that gave you everything when you had nothing. You think you repaid us for that debt yet?” He asked coldly.

“I doubt I ever could.” (Y/n) murmured, focusing on her breathing to keep a calm appearance, “I’ll… prepare then.”

Akira searched her eyes for a long moment before straightening up again, “Good. Go on, then. I expect results. You have a week.”

“Very well.” (Y/n) bowed before the young man who had used to be so carefree, then got up and took her leave.

***

It had been a couple days since (Y/n) had that meeting with Akira, and she had yet to carry out her mission. She had shadowed the happily unaware family in that time, and it only made the reality of what she had to do even harder.

She was running out of time, only a few more days before her once beloved Aniki would call her back and put her through god knows what for disobeying him. So she decided to do what any decent person tasked with killing a burgeoning family would do, and got wasted. If she couldn’t do it sober, perhaps she could do it drunk.

But of course that plan went south quickly. Instead of gearing herself up for a bloodbath she was drunkenly sobbing in the izakaya. She had never had to kill anyone before, hustle and intimidate, rough-up, sure, but never with the intent to irreversibly maim or kill. The very public moral dilemma (Y/n) was having was finally brought outside when the owner of the establishment cut her off and sent on her way, leaving her to drunkenly stumble down the road alone.

She barely knew where she was, but that didn’t stop her from picking a direction and lumbering away. She didn’t really care where she’d end up. She wasn’t going to be welcomed back to the family unless she had carried out her job, and she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She knew she’d never be able to go through with it.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Her foot rolled over a pebble as she said this and unable to correct herself, she fell sideways, half in the path, half in the woods. Instead of attempting to get up, she just laid there. Not long after her tumble, she heard the crunch of gravel from the main path, the sound eventually coming to a stop right where she had fallen.

“Oh dear, have we had a little too much to drink tonight?”

(Y/n) managed to sit up on her elbows a bit so she could peer back into the path and her breath caught in her throat. Standing over her was a downright ethereal woman. Oh no, had she hit her head on a jagged rock on the way down? Had she died? Well, that put an end to one dilemma at least.

“Woah,” She said, oh so eloquently, “beautiful.”

“Oh my, thank you.” She chuckled, causing (Y/n)’s heart to stutter. “Here, give me your hands, let me help you up.”

(Y/n) didn’t need to be asked twice, she took hold of the strangers hands, a little more calloused than she would have imagined, and clumsily rose to her feet, almost falling back down a few times in the process.

“You can hardly even stand up. We had better get you home so you can sleep this off. I hope you will have learned your lesson about such heavy drinking when you wake up with a hangover tomorrow.”

Home… (Y/n) sobered just a bit.

“I, I can’t go home!” (Y/n)’s shoulders drooped and the buzz she had going fell flat, “I have no home to go back to anymore.”

The woman gave her a sympathetic look then seemed to be contemplating something before finally speaking again.

“Then I suppose you can stay with me for the night. It’s too dangerous to be out alone at night sober, much less drunk.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me, I’ll manage.”

“Don’t be difficult,” the woman sighed, “either walk with me, or I’ll drag you along. Your choice.”

(Y/n) laughed half-heartedly. “The way my feet keep tripping up you’ll probably have to drag me anyway.”

“I can see that.” She smirked, putting one of (Y/n)’s arms over her shoulders to help her keep her balance.

“My name is (Y/n) by the way.”

“And mine is Shinobu.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Shinobu.”

Shinobu hummed, but did not outwardly share the sentiment and somewhere in (Y/n)’s drunk brain she had the sense to be a bit embarrassed. What a wonderful first impression she had made, laying on the side of the road, drunk off her ass.

“I swear this is not normal behavior for me, you just caught me at a really bad time.”

“I’m not judging you, we all deal with grief in our own ways.” Shinobu told her.

“Grief?”

“Based on the puffiness around your eyes and the way the moon catches on your cheeks, how sore your voice sounds, you have been crying a lot, haven’t you?” She clinically deduced.

Grief… that would be an apt way to describe what (Y/n) had been feeling since her adoptive father had been killed, since everything she thought she knew about her family had crumbled in his absence. How Akira was spiraling in the name of revenge. How heavy and constricting the ink engraved upon her back felt as the days dragged on. How quickly things had changed.

Shinobu led her to an incredible mansion that she couldn’t help but gawk at. The inside was just as impressive. She had half the mind to ask Shinobu if she was a noblewoman, but by the time she had recovered enough to ask, she had already been led to a guest room.

“Drink this water and then rest. I will see you in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Shinobu gave a short nod and smiled before closing the door.

(Y/n) staggered into the cot and fell into a sleep like death mere moments later.

***

The next morning, almost afternoon, actually, (Y/n) awoke with a brain splitting pain. She could hear whispering around her, but they might as well have been screaming. She groaned pitifully and weakly attempted to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Oh! She’s waking up.”

“Is Shinobu-sama’s medicine ready?”

“I have it right here. Excuse me… Can you sit up please? We have medicine for your headache.”

(Y/n) grunted, slowly sitting up and then putting her head in her hands. Her head was swimming and she immediately wanted to lay back down, but a cup of sludgy looking medicine was soon put under her nose.

“Make sure to drink it all.”

“The smell may be off-putting, but it works really well.”

“Once you get some food and water in you, you’ll feel a lot better.”

Beyond the smelly hangover cure, (Y/n) could smell something good enough to make her mouth water. With great resolve, she downed the medicine and suppressed a gag, finally looking up at the three young girls working around her.

“Thanks,” she sighed, “sorry, I’m normally not such a mess.”

“Shinobu-sama said you were going through a difficult time. We aren’t judging.” The girl with pink butterfly clips promised.

“Here,” the girl with pigtails offered her a generous tray of food, “eat up.”

“You’ll feel better in no time.” The girl with braided hair smiled.

“Thank you all so much, really. This is fantastic.” (Y/n) said between bites.

“We will be sure to let Aoi-san know you enjoyed her cooking.” The girls beamed.

As (Y/n) ate, she chatted with the girls, learning all about the Butterfly Estate and all of its inhabitants. She also learned about the mansion’s purpose, to provide shelter and care to the injured. After her meal had settled, (Y/n) felt almost normal. There was still a bit of a dull throbbing in her skull every once in awhile, but given how much she drank the night before, it was amazing how much good that medicine did for her. She didn’t want to go back to her reality. She wished she didn’t have to leave this oasis.

“So, where is Shinobu now? I wanted to thank her before I left.” (Y/n) asked once she helped the girls clean and prepare the room for any new guests that may need it.

“Oh, she had something come up earlier this morning so she couldn’t come by to check on you herself.” Kiyo explained.

“She probably won’t be back until much later in the evening.” Sumi nodded.

“But we will make sure to let her know when she comes back.” Naho promised.

(Y/n)’s shoulders slumped slightly with disappointment. She had made such a poor first impression, she was hoping to end on a good note at least. There was also the fact that every moment (Y/n) was here, was another moment away from facing her reality. Maybe she could stall just a little bit longer.

“I’d really like to tell her myself… ah! What if I helped you guys with your work until she gets back? Would that be alright? Then I could really show my gratitude to you all.”

The girls gave it a little thought, but saw no harm in getting a little extra help for the day, so they happily agreed. (Y/n) spent the rest of the day sweeping, dusting and washing bedding. She was a little clumsy, and bit too rough and almost ripped the sheets she was scrubbing, but she got the hang of it. It was a lot different from the work her adoptive father would give her.

As she worked, she found out there was more to this infirmary than met the eye. She learned about demon slayers and was fascinated by their cause. It all seemed so noble to her, risking their lives to save unaware people like her from demons who roamed the night. She owed Shinobu more than she knew for last night.

When Shinobu came home around dinner time, she was surprised to see her guest was still there and even more surprised when said guest fell to her knees before her, thanking her so thoroughly for her good deed. Stunned, she blinked slowly then worked her mildly surprised expression back into a kind, yet reserved smile.

“Oh my, you are much more chipper than you were last night. Thank you very much, but please stand, there is no need for any of that.”

(Y/n) stood, but let it be known how much Shinobu deserved every second of praise and appreciation. She bowed again, but only at the waist. It was at that point the younger girls decided to chime in, telling Shinobu about all the tasks (Y/n) had helped them with during the day, so of course Shinobu offered to let her stay for dinner as well, and since the sky was darkening, she invited her to stay another night. Before they knew it, an extra night became two, then three, then—

(Y/n) was running out of time. Her week was almost up, just one more day. She had a decision to make, and she wasn’t sure why it had taken her so long to get to this point, as there was only one correct course of action.

Early that morning, she leapt out of bed to make the treck back to the city. She would come back, of course. She promised Shinobu she would fix all of the clunky sliding doors around the mansion today. She silently thanked the stars for the millionth time that she crossed paths, er, fell into the path of such an extraordinary woman. She was going to follow Shinobu’s example and live a life she could be proud of, a life her adoptive father would have been proud of.

“You’re up early.”

(Y/n) nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Shinobu call to her from the engawa, a cup of tea in hand.

“When I told you the doors could wait until the morning, I didn’t mean dawn.” She teased.

“Ah, right, but I’m actually heading to the city. I have some affairs to get in order, but I promise I’ll take care of those doors as soon as I get back.”

“Is that so? Well then, safe travels. Be back before nightfall and stay away from any alcohol while you’re out.”

“I’m telling you that was a one time thing!” (Y/n) said in an exasperated tone.

Shinobu chuckled and (Y/n) smiled despite the jab.

“I’ll be back later in the afternoon, try not to work too hard!” (Y/n) sent Shinobu a wave, then bounded off of the engawa and left the estate grounds.

When she made it to the city, she kept a low profile, staking out a certain home as she had earlier in the week. At this time, the man who had killed her adoptive father with his cowardice and big mouth was busy at his day job while his wife took care of the children at home.

She took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. When the wife answered, (Y/n) asked to come inside and explained all that her shady husband had been up to and why it was important for her to take her kids and leave the city as soon as possible.

(Y/n) expected to have to persuade the woman further, force her out the door if necessary, but it seemed she already had her suspicions about her husband’s strange behavior. Hearing gossip about people seeing him in the Red Light District, and him claiming they had barely enough money to make ends meet despite the large amount of money she had found hidden away in the back of one of his drawers. She had been waiting for answers before doing anything rash, but (Y/n) provided her the last bit of incentive she needed to skip town with her kids and take her unfaithful husband’s money with her. Her parents still lived in a little known mountain village a couple weeks journey from the city, they would go there.

(Y/n) helped the woman and her children pack up their most precious belongings and got them a ride that would take them to the city limits where a carriage would be awaiting them next. When (Y/n) saw their car disappear around the corner, she left the crowded city herself, finally allowing herself to really breathe for the first time all week. There was no turning back, but that was fine. She felt so much lighter.

She couldn’t risk showing her face around town any more than she already had today. It wouldn’t take long before her betrayal was discovered and Akira would send the clan after her. What her punishment would be, she was not sure. However, under Akira’s harsh leadership, she was sure it would not be pleasant.

She stomped down the anxiety fluttering within her. She was on a better path now. No more shady shit, she wanted to put her strength to good use. She was going to ask Shinobu about becoming a demon slayer once she returned to the mansion. When she got back and took care of the doors like she promised she would, she did just that and asked Shinobu about becoming a demon slayer. Shinobu didn’t seem surprised by (Y/n)’s interest, but she did try to dissuade her from taking that path. However, with passion and persistence, she did finally manage to get Shinobu to give in and introduce her to a cultivator.

“But… I thought you were going to teach me.” (Y/n) had sheepishly admitted when Shinobu dropped her off on the first day.

“To start all the way at the beginning with the fundamentals of proper swordsmanship and Water Breathing would be… how can I say this kindly… tedious and not worth my time.” She answered with a mischievous smile.

“That didn’t sound kind at all!”

“I’ll tell you what, you do well, and I’ll give you a supplemental lesson here and there.”

“I’ll hold you to it!”

And in the next few months, (Y/n) learned a lot. When the time for the next Final Selection came around, she would be well prepared. Between what the Water Breathing cultivator taught her and what Shinobu refined with her own expertise, she felt confident in what she could accomplish. Maybe a little too confident.

“Can I come with you this time?” (Y/n) asked hopefully as Shinobu packed a light bag of supplies for her mission.

“I will tell you what I always have. You haven’t passed Final Selection yet. It would be unwise to bring you along.” Shinobu said, snapping her small medical kit shut. “I mean no offense when I say this, but I don’t want to have to worry about you while I have to focus on doing my job.”

“Please?”

Shinobu gave (Y/n) a smile that was paired with a look she knew all too well at this point. The ‘I’ll leave you in charge of all the most annoying chores while I’m gone if you keep this up’ look. (Y/n) pouted.

“I don’t get it! Why can’t we have supervised missions? Don’t you think it’s a little extreme to go from training without seeing a single demon, to a several nights of fighting them alone in the woods? I trust that everyone is doing their best to prepare me, but it would still be helpful to see what I’ll be up against in the future.”

Shinobu considered this as she checked over the experiments scattered around her lab one last time. It was a fair point. People tended to either go in with too much confidence or went in terrified over what to expect. Many fledglings had been killed by getting stuck in their heads and forgetting all they had been taught.

She would hate for (Y/n) to meet the same fate.

“Very well,” she sighed, “you may come, but,” she pointed her finger towards (Y/n) in warning, “you are only to observe from a distance. Do not attempt to engage unless absolutely necessary. If you go against me, I will make sure that you will never be cleared for final selection. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes! I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise!” (Y/n) eagerly held out her pinky and Shinobu sighed again inwardly before hooking their pinkies together.

Hopefully she wouldn’t regret this decision. It was getting harder and harder for her to deny (Y/n) anything. Despite the undesirable first impression and how rough she appeared around the edges, (Y/n) was a true sweetheart. She had a very abrupt introduction to the mansion, but quickly became another familiar friendly face within its walls. It would be devastating to see her life cut short.

“So, where are we going?” (Y/n) grinned excitedly and Shinobu couldn’t help but smile as well.

“A village to the southeast.”

***

Everything had gone smoothly until it hadn’t.

Shinobu had left a small trail of poisoned demons in her wake, (Y/n) safely observing and cheering her on at a distance, until two other demons had snuck up on them both. While Shinobu was busy taking care of one demon, (Y/n) had to defend herself against the other. Shinobu had lent her a Nichirin Sword for just such an occasion, but (Y/n) was having a hard time reading the demon’s erratic movements and had been slashed half a dozen times across her arms, legs and back before she finally managed to behead the thing. It hadn’t been very clean, but she gave a triumphant, albeit breathless shout of victory.

She had then turned to Shinobu, excited to she her reaction to her hard fought kill, but that fire died immediately when she saw how angry Shinobu looked as she strode towards her, the last demon melting into a pile of goo behind her.

Instantly (Y/n) felt the need to be defensive. “You- you said I could defend myself if I absolutely had to! Everything’s fine, right?”

“Everything is not fine!” Shinobu dropped to her knees beside her and opened her medkit, “You are covered in wounds! If you had a uniform, you wouldn’t be hurt half as badly. You might even get an infection on top of all of this. I shouldn’t have let you come.”

“Hey, none of this is your fault. That demon scratched me all up, not you.“

“You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if I had left you at home.” She restated stubbornly. “Now show me your wounds, the sooner I clean and wrap them, the sooner we can get home so I can give you proper aid.”

(Y/n) let Shinobu clean and wrap her calves and arms, but when Shinobu began peeling back her clothes to try to work on her back, (Y/n) froze.

She had been rather vague with Shinobu about her past. How could she tell Shinobu she had been raised in a criminal syndicate that took a turn from admittedly kind of in a grey area, to definitely irreprehensible? That the night Shinobu met her, she was trying to gear herself up to kill an innocent woman and her children? No, she couldn’t. She could only imagine the disgust Shinobu would feel, the betrayal. (Y/n) suddenly felt ill.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Shinobu asked. She tried to peel (Y/n)’s clothes from her back quicker, worried she was having some kind of reaction to the demon’s attack.

(Y/n) tried to pull her clothes back up over her shoulders, but Shinobu was faster, a quiet gasp that felt deafening in (Y/n)’s ears left Shinobu’s lips as the spiraling dragon tattoo was revealed. The blood seeping from the gashes across (Y/n)’s back making it look even more ferocious.

“When did you get this done?” Shinobu lightly poked her shoulder blade, the dragon’s snoot.

“A few years ago.” (Y/n) mumbled, pressing her palms together.

“Why haven’t you told me about this before?”

A weak hum and a shrug of the shoulders.

“You know,” Shinobu traced the coils, making (Y/n) shiver, “I have heard about a group of criminals that bear similar tattoos…”

(Y/n) broke down and told Shinobu everything about her up-brining from when her parents had gone out on a routine fishing trip and didn’t come back, up until the night they met, now months in the past.

“I understand if you don’t want me around anymore. I’ll—ah!”

Apparently Shinobu had been treating her back throughout her tale, as made evident by the sudden tightness of the bandages around her torso.

“That’s just foolish. Do you think I’m afraid of a little ink? Do you think I would ever be afraid of you, (Y/n)? Let’s think logically here.”

Shinobu proceeded to verbally beat some sense into (Y/n)’s brain. Reminding her of all the good she had done in the last few months.

“There is no better place for you than the Butterfly Estate. It’s a much better fit. Isn’t that right?”

Before (Y/n) could collect herself enough to respond, she felt Shinobu pinch her skin lower on her shoulder blade.

“Yes, you are so very wise Shinobu.”

“Why thank you.“

(Y/n) blinked, turmoil somewhat pushed aside for the moment. “Are you… pinching my skin to make it look like my tattoo is talking?”

“I’ve patched you up as best I can here. Get dressed, it’s time to go home.”

“Hey, don’t ignore me!” (Y/n) fumbled with her clothes then stumbled to her feet to catch up with Shinobu.

It was a little awkward on (Y/n)’s part as they walked back to the mansion, but once the fact that Shinobu still liked her caught up to her, the conversation became more natural and by the time they returned to the mansion and Shinobu completed the finishing touches to (Y/n)’s care, (Y/n) felt a familiar weightlessness and with Shinobu’s teasing pokes, the tattoo on her back didn’t feel as heavy and constricting anymore.

***

In the following weeks of recovery, (Y/n) and Shinobu grew quite a bit closer and many residents of the mansion took notice. The touches that were a couple beats too long when they passed the other something, the lingering looks, and most damning was how Shinobu would put off some of her work to join (Y/n) for a meal or a chat and a walk around the garden, knuckles brushing as they went. (Y/n) couldn’t help but feel hopeful that Shinobu might want to change the nature of their relationship as well.

On this lovely summer day, she was prepared to share her feelings, for better or for worse. She had already planned a little outing that Shinobu agreed to join her on. Nothing too grand, just a sweet little picnic in the woods near the mansion. It was pretty much a date already. She had woken extra early that morning with the intent of getting everything in order before they left, but when she walked past her window, something on the sill outside caught her eye. A letter.

She opened the window and took the letter and wasted no time in opening it. The curiosity she had felt chilled into a heavy feeling of dread.

Traitorous coward, the letter read, If you have any ounce of honor within you, you will come to the cemetery and accept your punishment for deserting the family, or we will burn this mansion and everyone in it to ash.

There was no sign off, but (Y/n) didn’t need one to know it was Akira. She let the letter flutter to the ground and jumped out of the window so as not to be caught running down the halls. This was her mess to deal with. She would not allow anyone to be hurt because of her.

Part of her was hopeful she and Akira could talk it out, but she knew that wasn’t going to be very likely. Whatever happened today would be the final wedge between them.

She went to the cemetery and walked to the very last row. Though it was not specified, she had a feeling she’d find him near his father’s grave.

“There you are.” Though she expected it, (Y/n) stiffened at Akira’s icy tone. “Look who left her comfy new castle to finally face the consequences.”

“Aniki—“

“No, you are no sibling of mine. Not by blood nor bond.” Akira sneered, “I trusted you to do the right thing for this family. You’d think after taking you in, you’d have a sense of duty to avenge the man who took you off the streets and put food in your mouth.”

(Y/n) stood a bit taller, holding her head high, “I don’t regret letting them go. They did nothing wrong. I heard all about how you got your man in the end. That was all that needed to be done. It’s over.”

“Not until they’re all dead.” He growled, then sighed. “Here is how this is going to work. You tell me where they ran off to, or you will pay dearly.”

“I won’t tell you anything.” She declared almost talking over him with how quickly she replied.

“Oh, trust me,” he glared, “you will.”

People (Y/n) once considered family and friends had quietly surrounded them as they talked. And now were charging at her with the intent to harm. She managed to hold them off for a time, even incapacitated some after all the training she had done to become a demon slayer thus far, but between being outnumbered and her wounds still relatively fresh, she was beaten to the ground and held there at knifepoint barely able to breathe with the combined weight on top of her back.

“Start with the fingers.” Akira ordered cooly. “If she manages to hold out, we’ll move on to the toes. But before all of this is done we also have to take that tattoo back as well. Try to be as delicate as possible. I want to dry it out and hang it on my wall. My father always said it was one of his favorite works.”

“Stop!” (Y/n) squirmed beneath the weight, struggling to pry her wrist out of one of the many grabby hands. She closed her eyes and grit her teeth tightly, anticipating the first slice, but then she felt some of the weight get yanked away and her eyes shot open, craning her head back, she was surprised to see that the Calvary had arrived.

Inosuke cackled and crowed as he swiftly kicked outward like a hurricane, Kanao weaved behind thugs and struck them in their weak points, toppling them. Tanjirou delivered a few swift headbutts and even Zenitsu, though screaming, came through as well. Last but not least, Shinobu floated gracefully to the ground behind (Y/n), her smile too sharp and her eyes to dark to be considered kind. Her gaze was trained on Akira, challenging him.

“My home is filled with an array of trained fighters at all hours of the day, and our allies are many. You had best cut your loses and move on with your miserable life.”

Akira ground his teeth together and his eyes flickered all around him to see just how overpowered he was despite how small the opposing group was in comparison. He determined his clan was no match and called back his gang to retreat, but not before giving (Y/n) one last hateful glare.

While Inosuke cheered and cackled wildly around them, Shinobu dropped to the ground beside (Y/n) to check her over.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Show me.”

“I’m alright, you guys got here just in time. How did you know where to find me?”

“I believe we had a date planned for today.” Shinobu reminded with just the tiniest hint of attitude. “I went to your room, saw the letter on the floor and rallied the troops. If something like this ever happens again, you better tell me instead of running off by yourself. We are stronger together.”

Now, Shinobu had a lot to say just then, but (Y/n) was still fixated on the first line. A date. She saw the outing to ask if she wanted to date as a date in and of itself!

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Shinobu asked, tilting (Y/n)’s head in her hands, “Are you concussed?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think I am, I just, you just—“

“Yes?” Shinobu coaxed with just a touch of impatience. If there was something wrong, she wanted to know about it as soon as possible.

“You-me-we-us— date?!”

Shinobu laughed, it was a little more unrestrained than her usual chuckles and it made (Y/n)’s heart palpitate.

“Yes, is that not what this outings was supposed to be?”

“Well,” she flustered, “technically no. It was supposed to be like a pre-date to ask if you would like to date… it sounds kinda silly when I say it out loud but—“

Shinobu then sighed and rested her forehead against (Y/n)’s. “I think it’s cute. But we can just start dating now. I think we’ve beaten around the bush for long enough.”

“Y-yeah? Okay.” A smile spread across (Y/n)’s face. “Awesome.”

Shinobu took (Y/n)’s hands in her own and placed a quick kiss on her cheek before helping her to her feet.

“Why are you stumbling around like you’re drunk?” Shinobu asked, finding it difficult to keep (Y/n) upright. “Perhaps I should check your pupils again.”

“No, no, I’m good! Great, even! A goddess just kissed my cheek!” (Y/n) beamed, hooking her arms around Shinobu’s shoulders.

“Don’t make me change my mind.” Shinobu warned, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

On the tail end of the sweetness of the moment, Inosuke butted between them to tell Shinobu how hungry he was despite Tanjirou, Kanao and Zenitsu’s best efforts to keep him back. Shinobu chuckled and nodded in understanding. They all marched back to the mansion and enjoyed a hearty breakfast together with the rest of the Butterfly girls, (Y/n) and Shinobu sitting hip to hip during the whole lively affair.

#demon slayer oneshots #kny oneshots #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #shinobu x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu kochou x reader #requests #🐉 anon

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bidisastersanji · 6 months

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Had literal (not just inspired) Ranma 1/2 ZoSan galaxy thoughts with @anniilaugh and oh boy oh boy oh boy

Zoro and Hawkeye are japanese martial artists training in Jusenkyo, China, they get to the cursed springs and don't listen to the guide about how they should definitely not fight there

Zoro falls into the cursed spring of the young woman and from then on his body turns female at the contact of cold water and back to male with hot water- his dad falls in the panda one.

Mihawk brings them back to Japan because he and his old pal Zeff had made a promise to marry their kids and join their dojos- he has to fight Zoro the entire way

Scene starts with Zeff sitting down his three adoptive kids with mommy issues (Robin, Nami and Sanji) to tell them they're about to receive his old friend Mihawk and his son Zoro- long ago they agreed to marry their kids to secure the "Anything goes" dojo's legacy, and both thought it wouldn't work out since they didn't have kids at first, but both ended up adopting in later years.

All three are pissed that they don't get a say in this- they've never even met this Zoro guy! Who cares if he's been training in China, they can probably still beat his ass.

Fem!Zoro and Panda!Mihawk are fighting it out in the street in the rain (which is what turned them both into their cursed forms)- Zoro is angry that his stupid father figure just decided this for him- fuck this, he's going back to China, and that's that! but Mihawk knocks him out and carries him on his shoulder to the Akaashi residence.

Back at the dojo, Robin hopes he's older than her, Nami knows she, the town lesbian with a gf (Vivi) won't be forced to marry him if it comes to it, and Sanji is just so angry that Zeff would make this decision for them- how stupidly old fashioned and this guy won't be taking over the dojo from them, no way. Also, who cares about a stupid boy. All that matters to him are beautiful ladies, after all. (still struggling a bit with being bi Sanji what's up)

A panda and a young adult come into the dojo and they're like ??? who the hell is this panda? the panda sets down Zoro in front of Zeff like "voila" and they're like! oh- could you be?

I'm Roronoa Zoro. Sorry 'bout this.

Zeff hugs him, feels the soft chest press against his own, and is like- oh. Did he misremember what Mihawk told him, was it a daughter after all?

Sanji is relieved, thinking Zoro is a woman (Zoro doesn't correct anyone, he doesn't really care, he just wants to get back to China and if this means he can get out of marrying on a misunderstanding, maybe it'll work out in his favour)- and he acts like his usual gentlemanly self with him, treating him to tea and asking him about his training. Zoro asks to spar, and Sanji truly couldn't- but can't say no to a pretty lady so they spar but Sanji never actually hits Zoro- always stopping right before he lands a hit, annoying the shit out of Zoro (what a prissy guy)

Having worked up a sweat (that Sanji guy wasn't half bad at fighting, even if he didn't actually hit him), Zoro goes to wash in the men's baths

Sanji, thinking "she" is in the women's baths, walks into the same bath, naked, and is faced with a very built, very attractive man in his bathroom, stepping out of the hot tub. he definitely doesn't ogle him

He panics and runs to the rest of the family being like "there's a pervert in the bathroom wtf"

Zoro joins them, dressed in the same clothes he was in before and reintroduces himself (I'm Roronoa Zoro, sorry 'bout this)

They all gather to go over what's happened in China (including demonstration as Mihawk throws Zoro into the pond) and Zeff cuts him off to be like

"There's truly no problem. So, Zoro, which of my children do you want to marry- although in his letters your father did mention you preferred men, and I only have one of those."

Robin and Nami pounce on this and push Sanji forwards "oh he definitely wants Sanji"- "what?? why me?"- "well, he's half a girl, so it works out perfect for you!"/"I'm a full lesbian and he's a gay man it's not meant to be"

Sanji fights this- "I don't want to marry this pervert!" "Who you callin' a pervert, you walked in on me, curly brows!" "yeah, well you were a strange naked man in my bathroom, so that makes you a pervert" "Yeah, well you took a pretty long, good look at me, so I'd say you're the pervert, ogling me" "I wasn't ogling you you brute!" "oh, I see, you were just jealous of how better built I am than you"

Sanji kicks him into the garden pond and leaves to take the bath he didn't get to take earlier

Zoro (in girl form) also goes to bathe, wanting to clean himself of the dirty pond water- and of course runs into Sanji, who gets a really bad nosebleed

AND SO BEGINS the slow burn of always bickering, full of misunderstandings, gender shenanigans, enemies to lovers arranged marriage Zoro and Sanji, with Zoro being really annoyed at the traditional gender roles that Sanji seems to be trying to enforce, and Sanji being constantly annoyed at this big brute of a man having no sense of priopriety and going around in his fem presenting form in ways that he thinks are a disgrace to womankind

but here is some more adapting:

Sanji, like Akane, has a crush on the local doctor (Dr. Law) but can't admit it to himself because he's still a bit struggling with the internalised homophobia from his birth father. Zoro finds it amusing in the beginning (before he catches feelings and gets jealous)

Again like Akane, Sanji starts with long hair and it gets cut because of a fight Zoro gets into with Pedro (who fell into the baby leopard spring), who will take the role of P-chan, sleeping in Sanji's bed and pining after him

Crazy love rivals galore and infinite fiance(e)s that Mihawk promised Zoro to of course:

the Kunos- Cavendish falls for Zoro when he meets him in his female form (oh my beautiful green-haired girl...). He always has the dramatic entrances (Cavendish, Age 17, the White Horse of Furinkan High), throwing his red roses everywhere. His just as...passionate? sister, Pudding, is in love with Sanji and thinks fem!Zoro is her love rival and tricks him into the rhythmic gymnastics showdown thing where Zoro has to be in a leotard, chained to baby leopard Pedro, both at risk of being exposed if hit with hot water in front of this crowd, and Zoro beats her with three clubs

Hiyori as Shampoo from the Amazon tribe who's at first sent to kill Zoro because he beat her in fem! form but then keeps trying to marry man Zoro who also accidentally beats her- Sanji is so mad about this specific one

Tashigi could be Okonomiyaki Ukyo (we think she's a man at first) or she could be Mousse (blind AF without her glasses) and turns into a goose with cold water

Brook as Happosai (old man with obsession for panties) who trains Zoro at times

Zoro doesn't get rid of the curse because plot but also even if he tried to, he would get lost if he tried to go to China by himself

Zoro's chest is 110cm no matter the form and Sanji is NOT OKAY

SO MANY NOSEBLEEDS (Ranma was such an ecchi manga and Zoro definitely has just as much propriety with his female form as Ranma does)

Nami makes money off of pictures of fem!Zoro like Nabiki does, selling them to Cavendish and all the boys at school who don't know the green haired girl is actually Zoro

Zoro was traumatised by the cat fu training Mihawk did to him as a kid and can only be calmed down and go back to acting like a human if he's pet and calmed down by Sanji. just like Ranma, he kisses Sanji in his cat form in front of the whole school (and doesn't remember it)

#ranma 1/2 zosan au #zoro x sanji #zosan #zosan fic idea #sanji x zoro #ranma 1/2 one piece au #ranma 1/2 AU #this would be just SO FUCKING FUN #with all the usual suspects attending the high school as well of course #zoro becomes friends with luffy and co #is there still the thing where people want to win sanji/akane's hand in marriage by beating her in combat?#that could be a fun scene for zoro to witness on the first day of school #hope I’m giving all the veterans some nostalgia #I grew up with Ranma as one of my first animes

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nocturnalazure · 1 month

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Character Focus: Romeo (Part III)

Omar and Romeo, each in their own way, act as mentors of sorts to Laurie and Erik. They both quickly get attached to the boys.

Romeo has been the only one to notice that Laurie and Erik's relationship might hide something more. Probably because he's very good at keeping his feelings hidden too. But conversations like this one with Erik may have set him thinking.

But if he wondered at that point, it was quickly forgotten because this was also the night he met Jamie, Gloria's cellist friend! Who dropped heavy hints just in case 'cause, you know, (I quote) "the man is cute".

In the end, Erik and Gloria weren't those who got some that night...

Jamie acts so disillusioned that Romeo tells him the truth: that he's still married and about to be a father. Jamie reacts... unexpectedly.

By accepting Romeo just the way he is, Jamie unknowingly unlocks something in Romeo's heart. When Romeo goes on "paternity leave", he takes the time to go and see Jamie so that he doesn't feel abandoned. This starts to feel like the first serious relationship Romeo has ever had.

But Romeo is now a father. And little Vincenzo is heir to the Pastorini legacy. What will that mean for him? His future hangs on Romeo's decisions for his family activities.

When Romeo gets back to Anne Arbor, he realizes just how much he has missed the gang.

The relationship between Laurie and Erik has suddenly deteriorated but even Omar doesn't have any insight to offer.

He doesn't really have the opportunity to dig into this, because he's come for something else. He demands Laurie to set a clear date for the end of his assignment. By opposing Laurie for the first time, he asserts himself as his equal.

Laurie asks for Romeo's participation to "one last move" against the Hei clan. It's still quite unclear but Romeo at least knows his time in Anne Arbor is coming to an end. But what about his relationship with Jamie? If he wants to give this a chance, he first needs to be completely honest with him...

And once again, Jamie doesn't seem put off. Jamie has his own complicated history (with Ash - you can read more about it here) and now that he's found someone who seems to like him back, he's not ready to let go.

Romeo has been asked by Laurie to arrange for Gloria to meet a notorious conductor on the lookout for talented musicians for his temporary orchestra in Los Aniegos. He also knows that Laurie specifically wanted to see Gloria play.

That is how he suddenly understands what must have happened.

This is all the more frustrating to him that he is very well aware of the reasons why Laurie pushes Erik away. Guilt has guided Romeo's whole life, and like Laurie, he didn't think he had the right to be happy.

Romeo goes to Tokyosou with Omar and Laurie to convince the Umeda family to join their alliance against the Hei clan.

He is dismayed to find out that Laurie had sex with the Umeda daughter and therefore now seems to use physical intimacy as a way to get information. He sees it for what it is: an escape mechanism.

When they get back and Erik is waiting for Laurie, demanding a conversation with him, Romeo knows what it must be about. Erik has been sent to Los Aniegos, the same place Gloria has now conveniently moved to. He tries to comfort Erik and invites him to his place. But Erik is in a very bad mood and unwilling to confide. He gets drunk on Romeo's homemade limoncello instead.

Romeo does manage to get some points across though. Including the fact that he has guessed Laurie and Erik's situation.

Laurie now confirms that the "last move" will be a mission in Shang Simla to destroy the Hei clan's main source of income: the plasma fruits crops. And that Romeo will be free of his bonds after that.

Which prompts Romeo to ask Jamie to come live with him in Monte Vista once the whole business is over (on the condition that he doesn't die!).

Laurie and Romeo now address each other as equals, both (reluctant) mob bosses but as close as can be to being friends. When they go back to Northeney for the first time since Luca's execution, they discuss for the first time Romeo's father's last words.

Will Romeo survive the Shang Simla mission? Will he get to be happy in Monte Vista with Jamie? Stay tuned. ;)

#ts3 #sims 3 #sims 3 story #character development #character focus #romeo pastorini

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tarnishedxknight · 1 month

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{out of dalmasca} Thinking about Drace's death. And I just. *sighs... leans forward... makes steeple hands*

The whole reason why Vayne could even order Drace's execution in the first place is because, as Bergan said, "When you drew your sword at His Excellency, you drew your sword against the Empire," or something similar. Meaning... Vayne's the self-proclaimed emperor now, so challenging him is treason.

Except.

Archadia does not have a throne succeeded by blood, legacy, or choice. It isn't passed down in a family, chosen or assumed by the current emperor, or chosen by literally anybody who walks in and says they're the emperor now. It's done by an election process. An election involving the voting of the masses. So Vayne... is not the new emperor automatically because he's his father's son or a member of House Solidor. And he cannot declare himself emperor, even if, as per his shoddy excuse, the Empire cannot be left without a head. There would still need to be an election to determine even a placeholder after Gramis is found dead, let alone the next emperor.

So... Drace could still have argued that Vayne did not assume power through fair and legal means, the People™️ have not had their say, and therefore she does not have to recognize his authority. She would have been well in her rights to do/say that, and I think if she had framed it that way, Gabranth and maybe even Zargabaath might have backed her up on it, outnumbering Vayne and Bergan 3 to 2.

At the very least, Drace could have been like, "You can say you're taking over until such time as an election is held, but until then, you hold no real power to make significant decisions regarding the fates of the accused." There has to be a law like that on the books somewhere. You're telling me a huge Empire like Archadia, given to eating its own young in a political sense, doesn't have legislation in place to deter or prevent someone from simply stating, "Welp, I'm in power now," and making potentially catastrophic decisions in government like dissolving the Senate and executing someone who, essentially, equates to a high commanding military general during wartime? I think not.

So I just. *rubs temples* Drace would have known the law better than that and so would the rest of the Judge Magisters. They're... literal judges. It's right there in their job title, heh. She should have pushed back more. They all should have.

No point to this rant other than that my girl got done dirty and I will never not be salty about it. XD

Thoughts?

#{ out of dalmasca } ᵒᵒᶜ #alt muse: drace

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writingintheshadowsforever · 1 year

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Kate Bishop x Reader Not Who You Think I Am Part 7

"Take off the mask." It wasn't a command this time but a plea. Her bow still laid at her feet with her knees quaking, and her eyes blinking back tears.

Her words barely reached your ears but a gust of wind blew by carrying them to you. Along with the tone of disbelief in her voice as well. Kate was telling herself this was all just one big mistake, or better yet a nightmare. She took a hard fall somewhere between getting off the plane and heading home. You were hovering over her hospital bed right now with glistening eyes begging her to wake up. Because the reality of this situation wasn't something she could handle. Not when she just barely survived her own mother betraying her in so many ways. Not when her mother revealed her father was anything but the hero she remembered he was.

You were her person. Her safe place. Her peace.

She buried herself in your arms night after nighter shedding tears for putting her mom in jail, and every single night you had told she had done the right thing. Out of everything you were to her the most important thing was being her reassurance. But now her entire image of you was beyond destroyed as she watched. Her nemesis who she believed you needed protection from lifted the wolf mask revealing to her. The two of you were actually the same person, and you had been playing her from the start.

What else did you lie to her about? Had you been under Fisk's payroll this entire time? Why weren't you present at the events that went down during Christmas last year? Did Fisk keep you on standby so he could use you later on?

"Why?" was the only word Kate could utter in the moment before she broke. Her bow clattered to the ground along with the arrow. Her legs carried her backwards till she felt her back connect with wall next to the door. She braced herself against for support with her body left with no strength to keep her standing.

You were still positioned on the ledge with your mask sitting atop of your head. Tears cascading down your face at the sight of your beloved breaking down. "Katie please I need you to understand-"

"Understand what" she fired back cutting you back as her voice finally returned. Kate pushed off from the wall to stalk back towards you. "Understand that you have been lying to me this entire time, understand you hired your goons to kidnap Lucky to lure me in."

"That wasn't me I would never put you or Lucky in danger and you know that." You corrected her jabbing a finger at her. Anger crept into your voice as it became harder to keep the emotion at bay. Yet you couldn't help but be bothered at how easy it was for Kate to see nothing but the worst in you. Then again maybe you were foolish to put your faith in the girl who called the cops on her own mother without hearing her side of the story first.

Maybe you should just be grateful Kate was granting you that courtesy.

"Really because I can't tell y/n what do you think you're doing right now" Kate cried.

"I'm trying to tell you the truth but you won't listen."

"Oh please go on tell me the truth. Explain to me why you are working for a criminal like Wilson Fisk."

"I didn't have a choice Kate okay. It was either clean up the Tracksuits mess, or he was going to come after you. I did it to keep you safe and get him off my back for good."

Kate frowned and if it was even possible the feeling of betrayal increased tenfold. "What do you mean for good? How long have you been working with him?"

"I told on the joyride to find Lucky remember. I was born into this Katie I never really a choice. It was only because of my brother Wilson didn't come knocking on my door sooner."

"This is a family legacy type of thing there was no helping me." Kate was replaying every single word from the previous conservation she held with you. Back when you were just a stranger she low-key felt sorry for. All of those words held new meaning to her now. The two of you had grown up together sharing every little dirty secret with each other. She was supposed to know you better than anyone in her life, but just like her parents there was a dark side to you. She knew nothing about till now.

"Where is your brother now? Why did he stop protecting you?" She asked with venom in her voice. Of course she was projecting the blame on him now. Kate was spiraling trying to make sense of all this, and some way to justify your actions in her eyes.

"Kazi is dead" You told her with no emotion. Knowing the revelation would hurt her even more considering she knew your brother after facing off with him more than a few times.

Kate tried to keep her reaction in check and give nothing away, but her mouth opened for just a fraction of a second. Before closing as no words came to mind she knew Kazi had died during the showdown between her and Clint, but only because the Avenger was the one who told her.

Clint had discovered his dead body while trying to round up all the bad guys to make sure. The cops put all of them behind bars where they belonged. He didn't tell her rather or not it was one a misplaced or arrow that had killed him, or something else. She always believed Fisk had doubled back to punish his second in command for failing him, but now she know the crime lord still had use of him. Kate was on the verge of hyperventilate at the thought that her or Clint had caused your brother's death. When you spoke up again easing her mind.

"Maya killed him in self-defense he wanted her dead so he could take over the Tracksuits. She was supposed to die the same night her father and mine's did." You reassured her stepping off the ledge wanting nothing more than to go to her.

"Wait your dad died in a car accident" Kate whispered sounding unsure. She didn't what to believe now.

You shook your head. "That's what I told you to and how it was setup to look like. But Kazi orchestrated those hits on the behalf of Wilson Fisk."

"Y/N' she breathed your name with sympathetic eyes. The night she had came to you crying about putting her mother away. You were grieving the death of your brother.

"Its okay Kate I came to terms with Kazi's death years before it happened. I knew this life would put him in the grave sooner than later. Why do you think I spent most of my teenage years begging him to leave it behind with me?"

"Why didn't he?"

"He was sucked into all of this from day one and no matter what it costed him. Kazi believed this was a legacy worth fighting and dying more. I knew it was a curse the day it took our mother away from me." You said with a faraway look in your eyes. The memory forced its way from the deep dark depths of your subconscious fighting to the surface.

It had been years since you thought about that night when ten-year old you was lying in the bed fast asleep. Until a crash in the living room pulled you from your peaceful slumber.

The sound of breaking glass was followed by your mother's cries of pain mixed in with pleas for her children to be spared. You could make out a few words with the side of your face pressed to the door. Frozen in fear waiting for your big brother or father to come to rescue, in the moment you hadn't yet realized. All of this was happening to the later, and eventually Kazi did burst from his room with a baseball bat in hand.

You heard the sickening crunch of the aluminum bat connecting with a goon's knee knocking out of place. The man let out a cry of pain dropping to the floor to clutch his knee. Before you knew what you were doing adrenaline took over, and you yanked your door opened to rush onto the scene.

Another goon was too busy trying to wrestle the bat away from Kazi who held onto it for dear life. A bigger guy stood in the living room doorway with a shape so big. It blocked out the moonlight trying to peek through from the windows behind him. His focus was solely on your mother who was kneeling before him with her hands folded out in front of her.

No one seemed to notice your arrival till you grabbed the gun that fell from the crippled goon's hands. You pulled back on the mechanism just like your dad taught you reloading it. Everyone's eyes snapped in your direction as you trained the gun on the big man. Unable to make out his face hidden by his over-the-top hat, and the shadows of the night.

"Leave my mommy and brother alone" You ordered keeping the gun steady.

The other goon released his hold on the bat causing your brother to stumble back into the table. He recovered fast enough to put himself between you and the goon. When the man pulled a gun from his waistband to aim it at your head.

"Boss say the word and I'll light the little brats up" came the man's gruff voice.

"No" your mother shrieked pushing herself to her feet to run over throwing her arms around. Both of you into her tight and protective embrace. "Not them Fisk please you can take me but leave them be. I'll make them behave."

The big man named Fisk tilted his head to the side letting out a hmph sound. The goon's finger trembled on the trigger ready to pull it, and bring an end to all this.

"Leave the children be and bring the mother. We shall make an example out of her" Fisk ordered his man. His voice calm and unwavering despite the intensity of the situation. He talked like this was just another business meeting, and he hadn't come here to destroy a family tonight.

Kazi fought his way out of his mother's grip and tried to shield her away from the goon. But the bigger man just slammed the butt of his gun into his head. Your big brother froze for just a second as his body locked up, and the bat slipped from his fingers. A second later he toppled over onto the floor.

"Kazi" you cried attempting to raise the gun still in your grip again. But your mother forced your hands back down and brought a hand to caress your cheek.

"Babygirl I need you to put this down. Can you do that for me?" she asked softly.

You were able to make out her soft features, and the tears glistening her face. "Mom please don't go with them" you whispered covering her hand with yours.

"I have too sweetheart but its going to be okay. They're only taking me to your father. I promise it'll be okay but you have to stop fighting" she tried again.

Your mother never broke a promise so you didn't hesitate in tossing the gun aside. She told you to stay with Kazi and pressed lingering kisses all over both of your faces. Then you watched as she was escorted from the house by the abled goon and the crippled one limped his way out. Fisk was the last to leave the house throwing one last glance at you and Kazi.

It would be the last time you saw your mother alive.

"I know you thought my mom died of a sudden heart attack." You whispered as Kate regarded you with a mixture of pity and pain.

"Did my mom know about this?" She mustered up the courage to ask after a moment of silence.

You nodded. "Its why she was always so welcoming to me. She knew I wanted nothing to do with this life, and tried to give me a little bit of normalcy by hanging out with you all the time."

Kate found herself unable to be angry with all the secrets being brought to the light. Even though she had every right to be after all you knew a good portion of her life had been a lie, and you played a part in maintaining the lies. But then again her mother probably hadn't given you much of a choice. In the matter she wanted to ask but was afraid to her more.

"My father failed and my mother paid with her life. My brother failed and the torch was passed onto me."

"I get why you kept all this from me when we were kids y/n-"

You let out a premature sigh of relief believing this argument was over. She understood your reasons and didn't hate you. Until Kate threw out a hand stopping you from hugging her as you approached her.

"But we're not kids anymore and I'm not a child who needed you to protect me from the boogeyman. I'm an Avenger now who took down Fisk last year. You should've came to me for help instead of doing his dirty work. You're no better than my mom."

It was too much especially the her last comment. You exploded unable to hold back anymore.

"Are fucking serious right now? After everything I just told you how can you still believe any of this was a choice. You know what Katie you are a child" You shouted knocking her hand away.

"I'm a child" Kate repeated your words with a scoff. Although you could hear the agony in her voice that she was trying so hard to mask. It broke your heart to be the one causing it, but you went on.

"Yes Katie I don't care what you did last year Fisk could've snapped your neck in a blink of an eye. If he wanted too but he needed your mom's money. Fisk has been put behind bars twice, and he managed to manipulate his way out both times. Maya put a bullet in his head and somehow he's still standing. What do you think you can do that hasn't been done?"

"I would've figured something out" Kate argued.

"And your plan would've failed Kate the only way out for me was too give him what he wants. It was just a few jobs here and there no one even got hurt." You told her.

"Fisk is still a bad guy y/n who killed your mom, and was willing to kill mine. How can you defend him?"

"I'm not defending him. I'm trying to make you understand I couldn't lose anyone else to him especially you. Kate I fucking love you, and I'll burn down this entire city to keep you alive. Not a day goes by where I don't wish I didn't put an end to him that night he came for my mother.

"Y/N" Kate murmured your name finally letting herself reach out to grip your chin. Lifting your head to making you look in soft blue eyes which were filled with tears.

"I told Yelena you wouldn't get it because in your world everything is black and white. There's no room for a gray area."

"Yelena knew about you" she said raising an eyebrow. The gears in her head started to turn, and there was nothing you could do to come back from it. The little moment of peace was over as Kate frowned.

"Is she the reason we're even having this conservation?"

"She was going to tell you if I didn't come clean on my own" You confessed.

"So you were going to continue to run around and do Fisk's dirty work."

"I only have one job left."

Kate released her grip on your chin to clench her fists. "Have? You're still going to finish the job."

"Do you have a better idea?" You shot back matching her tone of anger.

"You're lucky I haven't called the cops yet" she blurted out turning around to put her back to you.

"Locking me up the way you did your mom" You said looking away.

"You told me that was the right call or did your forget?" she yelled whirling back around.

"I told you what you needed to hear Kate but you were wrong. Your mother wasn't the bad guy. If anybody was it was your father who died and left behind a trail of mistakes. Eleanor did her to clean up his mess and keep you safe."

"So what does that make me then?"

"A blinded hero" You answered.

Kate didn't reply right away dropping into a crouch with her hands tangled in her hair. Turmoil on her face as she tried to process your words while working double time to keep. The guilty thoughts away as you unlocked a door she closed a long time ago.

You contemplated making a run for it while Kate was stuck in her own head. But no part of you wanted to leave things like this between the two of you. You wanted clarity on where your relationship with her stood.

The silence was deafening as both of you waited for the other to say something, but neither of you knew what to say because thing were so broken. It was beyond repair and Kate couldn't deal with that right now. While you wanted to believe all of this was still salvageable.

"You have ten seconds."

You had been staring up the night sky counting the stars to pass time when she spoke, so her words didn't register with you right away. "What?"

"You got ten seconds to get out of my sight and I never want to see you again." Kate said with a bit more force this time. Her eyes wouldn't meet yours.

"What about us" You implored.

"I can't be with you anymore y/n not after this. I'm letting you go that's enough alright so just go please" Kate replied. There it was again agony in her voice but this time she didn't try to mask it.

"Katie please you're my light okay. I need you in my life" You begged covering the distance between the two of you with one stride. You placed both of your hands on either side of her face.

"Y/N no stop calling me that" Kate protested attempting to pull away. Until a arm was secured around her waist and then your lips were on hers in a breathtaking kiss. You poured all of your emotions, all the desperation, and pain into it. You needed her to understand and her lips molded with yours like the perfect fit they were. The two of you were meant to be for better or worse. Hero and villain, good and bad, light and darkness. Nothing was supposed to be able to come between the two of you. She had promised you that herself, and you wasn't going to let Wilson Fisk cost you another promise.

Kate finally gathered up the will to shove you away so hard you fell back on the ground. Her bow was back in her hand in a flash, and before you knew. She had an arrow notched trained right at your heart. "And you were the one person in my life who I thought wasn't broken and messed up. But it turns out it was all a lie."

Her words torn through you, and ripped your heart to shreds. You got back to your feet holding back sobs. But the tears fell again as you had lost count just how much crying was done tonight. Your hand move to your collarbone where the arrow with the heart charm rested. "Wow would you look at that foreshadowing."

You yanked the necklace off and threw it to her feet. "Gooddbye Kate." Those were your last words and you turned around to breakout into a swift run. Leaping from the ledge of the apartment building to the next one. Kate watched as you disappeared into the night taking her heart with you.

Not knowing you left yours behind with her.

A Week Later

Wilson blew up your phone with numerous of calls and text messages in the following days. He sent a few men over to the apartment you use to share with Kate, but they never made it. You intercepted them every single of time, and put an end to their lives. Until he finally got the message to stop sending them on the fourth time. When none of his guys returned back to him to report.

He resorted back to threatening calls which were ignored as you were busy plotting revenge.

"Please please I give don't" the robber pleaded holding up his arm. You dropped to one knee moving his hand aside to sock him in the nose. He groaned in pain as his head bounced off the concrete ground.

Your fist was drawn back for another shot when a baton attached to a metal wire wrapped around wrist and tightened. Till the point your hand went numb with blood circulation cut off. The person on the other end gave tugged hard pulling you away from the beaten and battered robber.

"You are one hard dude to find you know. I've been trying to get your attention for days."

You twisted your around as your body was dragged backwards deeper into the alley. Your legs were extended out catching your assailant in the chest. He absorbed the kick with ease due to his armored suit.

"So you beat a bunch of street thugs within an inch of their life"said the mysterious man. His identity concealed under a yellow horned mask, but strangely enough it was only covered the top half of his face.

"You got an update on the suit I see it doesn't really go with the whole Devil of Hell's Kitchen title." You commented observing his suit for every little detail.

"I go by Daredevil now" he said with a shrug.

"That's catchy and less of a mouthful I guess."

He began to unwrap the wire from around your wrist and once you were free. The baton snapped back into place with the other end. "What do you want with me?"

"Your help you and I share a common enemy. The name Wilson Fisk ring any bells?" You asked ready to judge his reaction.

He hid his facial expressions well but his body tensed up at the sound of his number one nemesis's name. "I actually do my best too stay off his radar these days. He's not my concern anymore."

You nodded in understanding. "I would back off too if a man like that uncovered my secret identity, but what happens you should know better. Matthew because believe Fisk still keeps tab on you and your friends. Foggy Nelson and Kare-"

Matthew Murdock didn't give you the chance to finish your sentence before bone-rushing you. Slamming your body into the brick wall pressing the side of your face with vicious intent.

"Keep her name out your mouth" he sneered right in your ear. He was so close you could feel his breath on your neck.

"Who are you?" He growled.

"Someone who wants Fisk dead just as much as you did a few years back, but unlike you I intend on going through with it." You said through gritted teeth.

"What does that have to do with me? I wasn't going to stand in your way."

"I know but others might and I need help keeping them off might back."

"Why would I do that? Its not my style" Matt argued but he stepped back letting you turn around to face him.

"Because you're tired of walking eggshells around your home careful not to step on his toes, and bring upon his wrath again. You want to go the bed at night without looking over your shoulder or your loved ones's."

Matthew reached up to pull his mask off revealing his entire face to you. His dark hair was a mess and his eyes were guarded. "What did Fisk take away from you."

Tag List: @danveration @yelenabelovasgf @xxromanoffxx @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @natashasilverfox @catswag22 @be-missed @lizlil @acutenobody @kacka84 @supercorpdanbeau @itbeila @jimicantaffordtherapy @screechcat

"Everything so I got nothing else to lose so what do you say? Think you can go back to being the Devil of Hell's Kitchen for one more night."

#marvel imagine #mcu imagine #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop #hawkeye #matthew murdock #daredevil

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oklotea · 9 days

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GRAHESH GLITCH is a middle aged desi immigrant, who runs a struggling hardware store, with his long time business partner, ULYSSES "LEE" DISCOLLI.

Short-tempered. Divorced. Exhausted. Grahesh is trying to mend his strained relationship with his daughter, TALA GLITCH. But as the years go by, Tala wonders if it's even worth it. They both do.

No matter though, because Grahesh's life gets turned upside down as he finds himself being the sole individual who just might have a chance to save all of existence, against a dark, all-knowing, all-seeing entity.

WAHHHIIOOOOOOO HAHAHHSHAGGDGSHFHSHDHDHSHHSSJSHHDHCHDHCHHCHF I'M FINALLY FUCKING DOING THIS!!!!!!!

I REALIZED I LIKE TO HAVE FUN AND I'M A TINY HUMAN BEING ON A FLOATING ROCK I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have you watched everything everywhere all at once? WATCH IT. YOU'LL THANK ME LATER.

So this is one of the most outlandish go jetters au concepts on paper. Everything everywhere all at once...... And go jetters....... And the main character is glitch.

But you see it's actually genius and I don't think I've ever been so happy with an original au in my LIFE.

So here are a few of the reasons I created this au concept. And a few things I hope to achieve with it.

One aspect of glitch's character that I obsessively think about, is the fact that he may as well be the only Glitch who hasn't made like, a huge accomplishment of some sort. And despite glitch being proud of where he comes from, who his family is and their legacy..... They might not be proud of him back.

With this AU, and it's really grounded in reality setup, and with, making Glitch asian, I really hope to be able to explore that deeply-engrained, hard to escape disappointment, that comes with not making your family proud. For not living up to their expectations, and how to confront it, after living with that overwhelming disappointment your whole life. Because, glitch is at least in his late 40s. He has had to push aside all of his true feelings about himself, and his entire life of disappointment after disappointment, again and again; for the sake of getting his taxes done. For the sake of keeping him, his daughter, and his business partner afloat. He's just too scatterbrained and busy to unpack all that.

Another thing about this AU, is that even though here, Glitch and Ubercorn, or should I say Grahesh and Lee, meet through very different circumstances, and are living in very different conditions, they are both still inherently their canon characters, only just.... Put through the wringer known as LATE STAGE CAPITALISM ahem. Real world problems y'know?

SPEAKING OF THESE TWO OHHHRGGDGHHHHHHHH I'm about to ruin them. There are certain details I haven't really worked out ENTIRELY but know I'm about to do so much character exploration with these two and what they mean to each other (putting them through the wringer)

Also putting Tala through the real world problems wringer. Just to see what would happen. And adding a blaring disconnect between her and her father for shits and giggles

No but there IS a reason! Something very obvious about canon tala, is that despite what people say about her uncle, what her family hypothetically says about him, she continues to look up to him, and find him, and stay close to him. But with uhhhh eeaao!tala, she's had to live through all of Grahesh's failures, and mistakes. She's seen this guy in his entire ugly existence. How he constantly bursts out in sudden anger at the people around him, how he almost never has a proper plan, and consistently makes stupid mistakes. How no matter how hard he tries, he could never say the right words to her. Maybe a long time ago, she used to look up to him, but unfortunately, not anymore. Tala is in her early 20s in this au.

Even though it's sad, a hypothetical that I would LOVE to explore with this AU is... What would a hopeless Tala look like? A Tala who's lived long enough to completely lose her spark. Who can't see her father fondly anymore. Who has found herself completely drowning in disappointment. Just like her father.

Idk this is just a really self indulgent au and it makes me happy thinking about the art I could make for it :333

Also. Spoiler alert for the movie: I wanna see Tala be an omnipotent, destructive, multidimensional, nihilistic, weird girl who desperately wants to be understood by her father I NEED IT LIKE OXYGEN

I'll probably be making more concept sketches for this au so, be sure to look out for it!!!! :DD tell me what you think about it but only the good parts I don't need any criticism rn

Thank god orange, green, and purple are a color triad.

Uberglitch family is real

#everything everywhere all at once #eeaao #eeaao au #everything everywhere all at once au #go jetters au #go jetters #oklo makes a post #tea art 🎨#Ubercorn go jetters #go jetters ubercorn #ubercorn #grandmaster glitch go jetters #go jetters grandmaster glitch #grandmaster glitch #tala go jetters #go jetters tala #tala

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sophie1973 · 3 months

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Bloodstream (tell me when it kicks in)

New York, 1890. Henry is a slayer, Alex is a vampire. Somehow, they are not in a hurry to kill each other.

You can also read on AO3 or come yell at me on Twitter

Manhattan, Meatpacking District - November 1890

Not for the first time that night Henry wonders what the bloody hell he’s doing here.

Here is an empty, sinister back alley in the Meatpacking District, after nearly tripping on the freight train tracks on 10th Avenue. Thankfully, no one is around so late to witness his clumsiness.

No one human, that is.

It’s a frosty November night, and he shivers. Despite being made of the finest wool by one of the most upscale tailors of Bond Street, his coat is still not warm enough to fend off the cold of an American winter. He’s just happy Bea and he arrived in New York after the Great Blizzard of 1888 and hopes this year is not a prelude to a repeat performance.

Patrolling in New York is similar to patrolling in London. The smells are the same, hints of sewer and garbage, a potent odor of meat and dairy coming from the surrounding warehouses, and the sound and humid air emanating from the Hudson instead of the Thames.

He could be home with a nice cup of Earl Grey and his old, battered copy of Pride and Prejudice. Or maybe Jane Eyre. He meant to start that one a while ago but hasn’t found the time yet. Too many books, too little time.

His hand squeezes around the stake he’s holding, focusing on his surroundings. It wouldn’t be very clever of him to be ambushed because he was daydreaming (or is it nightdreaming, in this case?) about Mr Darcy or Mr Rochester.

He hasn’t used the stake yet tonight since Bea and he went their separate ways, but he can hear some shouting and grunts in the distance. Sounds like Bea is more busy than he is. He’s not worried though. His sister excels at this. She always has.

It is their legacy after all.

Bea thrives on it.

Henry…Not so much.

He’s good at it though. The last 5 years of training made sure of that. Besides, just because his heart was never in it doesn’t mean he would allow himself to fail and dishonor his family’s name.

Putting almost 6000 kilometers between them and their grandmother had been a crucial necessity propelled by his father’s unexpected passing and his older brother’s increasing worry for his younger siblings. (he hates that word. his father hasn’t passed away. But when he needs to be alert and focused like tonight, the word sounds better in his head than ‘murder’)

But Henry is not naive. Even from an ocean away, there is no doubt Mary Mountchristen-Windsor still has her eyes on them and their every move.

Antagonizing her even more than they already have would be madness.

Just as he decides to give up for the night and join Bea, a vampire appears from around the corner on his right and Henry sighs.

The fight is quick and expeditive, and in less than a few minutes, the vampire is a pile of dust on the dirty ground.

Henry wipes his hand on his trousers, turns around, and bumps into a wall.

Wait, not a wall. There’s a man in front of him, and Henry’s slayer senses failed him spectacularly, as he didn’t even hear him sneak behind him.

The first thing Henry notices is his height. Henry’s a tall man, but this one has a couple of inches on him. Despite the darkness, Henry can’t help but appreciate the fact that he’s also extremely handsome with golden brown eyes, dark glossy curls, and a devastating smile…

…which reveals a nice, shiny, white pair of elongated canines.

Oh, bollocks.

Henry barely has time to entertain that thought before being pushed against a stone wall.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A baby Slayer? Christmas must have come early,” the vampire drawls with an appreciative grin.

Henry rolls his eyes at that. Yes, he looks young, and the slow aging process doesn’t help, but he’s 25, for God's sake.

He has a retort on the tip of his tongue before he thinks better of it and shuts his mouth. He raises his hand, ready to stake the stupid - and very handsome, God help him- sod and finally be reunited with his warm bed and his books.

The next thing Henry knows, the stake is on the ground and he’s being pressed against the wall by the vampire’s strong, obviously muscular body.

Suddenly, Jane Austen is the last thing on his mind. The vampire has one hand curled around his neck, and the other presses Henry’s shoulder against the cold bricks. A predatory grin adorns his lips, and Henry thinks that this is decidedly not a good time to wonder about how long and pretty his fucking eyelashes are.

The pressure on his neck and shoulder intensifies, and he can feel the man’s thigh slip between his own and put some pressure on his crotch. His nose detects a rather intoxicating, spicy mix of santal, cardamom, and violet, and…is that cinnamon?

The vampire brings his lips against Henry’s throat and gives it a lick.

Henry gasps.

The tip of the vampire’s fangs are now grazing his skin, but he doesn’t bite, nipping softly at the smooth flesh, as if searching for the best spot to feed.

Henry’s always been told they ‌go straight to the jugular, but alright, this one likes to play with his food.

If Bea doesn’t arrive in the next few seconds, he’s probably fucked. And not in a good way.

That being said…He assumed that he would probably be scared out of his mind if confronted with this situation. He’s found himself in some dire straits sometimes, but never to the point of being so overpowered like this.

He’s waiting for the terror to settle in, the feeling of finality and ‘well, this is how it ends’ to overcome him, the resignation of dying so young without a real chance of accomplishing anything useful. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to Fitzwilliam, his beloved beagle.

But it never comes.

Instead, long, slow swoops of…something curl in his belly. He becomes extremely conscious of the way the vampire's knee rubs against his neither region, his hot breath on the sensitive skin of his collarbone, and how every nerve ending in his body seems to detonate like fireworks. He closes his eyes and bites on his lower lip, afraid of letting out the wanton moan building in his throat.

When the feeling of horror finally, finally invades his chest it is not because he thinks of his impending demise. With sudden clarity, Henry realizes he’s not scared.

He’s aroused.

His slayer’s instincts kick in and with his free hand, he reaches into his coat’s pocket, pulling out a small pistol and pressing it against the man’s chest.

“I know you’re not a werewolf, but I’m sure a silver bullet through the heart might still inflict some damage,” he says, surprised and a bit proud at how steady his voice sounds.

The vampire releases him and steps back, raising his hands in surrender. He smirks, and Henry sees a look of…appreciation flashing briefly in his eyes.

“Alright. New deal. I don’t bite you, you don’t shoot me. We stay out of each other’s hair.”

Henry nods but doesn’t lower his gun. Despite his gran’s claim that “a good vampire is a dead vampire” he learned early on that, just as humans, all is not black and white in the vampire world and some of them are useful members of society. He prefers to remain prudent still, especially considering the way the vampire narrows his eyes at him, and Henry feels himself squirm under his scrutiny.

“You’re Henry. The Mountchristen-Windsor Line. Arthur Fox’s son,” he says with a final certainty. As if Henry is some sort of renowned personality whose face and family’s line of work are plastered on every newspaper. As if he’s not just boring Lord Mountchristen-Windsor who prefers to spend time in his library than waltzing on a ballroom floor. He almost laughs at the idea of the faces some of the people he meets in these shindigs - as Americans say- would make if they knew of his nighttime activities.

He doesn’t though.

“Keep my father’s name out of your filthy, bloodsucking mouth.”

“Hey, I don’t mean any offense. I was an aficionado. Saw him a few times on Drury Lane when I lived in London. He was a fantastic actor. I mean, Vicky herself was a fanatic.”

Henry’s brain comes to a screeching halt. “Vicky as in…Queen Victoria?”

The vampire nods and Henry’s eyes widen.

What the…The utter disrespect.

He hesitates between laughing and being offended on behalf of Her Majesty. The adrenaline starts to wear off, and the former wins. He quells the bubble of nervous laughter as the vampire shrugs, “She’s the one who asked me to call her that.”

“Right.”

“Anyway…this has been real fun, but if you’re here that means the lovely Lady Beatrice is not far and as a Slayer she’s much scarier than you. No offense.”

“Offense is absolutely taken,” Henry answers through gritted teeth. He wishes he had a more clever retort and he’s going to hate himself when he comes up with one in the morning - too late.

“Henry!”

Bea’s voice resonates from down the street and the vampire grins. “That’s my cue. See you around, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.”

He walks away before turning around with a mock salute. “I’m Alex, by the way.”

And he’s gone.

Flabbergasted by the whole ordeal, Henry doesn’t even hear Bea catching up to him. She looks almost pristine in her coat revealing a pair of trousers that once belonged to Henry and had been adapted to her frame. One can’t exactly slay vampires wearing petticoats. The only clue of her previous slayering activities is a strand of ginger hair that escaped her bun, and a slight pink flush complimenting her fair skin. She looks lovely, but her petite frame also exudes confidence, her every movement deliberate and poised. That, paired with a devilish smile and an unwavering gaze, never fails to surprise the undead who see her as their next, easy meal. It’s a deadly combination and she never hesitates to use it to her advantage. No wonder the vampire - Alex - took to his heels. Realistically, Henry has to admit he was right. Bea is scarier than he will ever be.

The pride he harbors for his big sister knows no bounds.

“So? How many did you get? It’s rather busy tonight.”

Henry opens his mouth and closes it before saying. “Well, there was this vampire…” He trails off, not sure how to explain what happened.

Bea gestures to the pile of dust a bit further down.“You staked him?”

“Uh, no. That was another one. This one was different. Tall, handsome, well dressed…very long eyelashes. Oh, and he knew Dad, and you. Also, he was rather chatty. And insufferable.”

Bea gives him a look.

“That was…rather specific. And you didn’t kill him? You just had a nice chat in the middle of Manhattan at night?”

“Well, he tried to bite me, and I threatened him with my pistol, so the intention was there, but then we didn’t? I’m not completely sure what happened to be honest,” he fibs, as he is pretty certain his sister doesn’t want to hear about how his traitorous body reacted to the vampire’s proximity and the unwelcomed feelings it elicited in him.

Very unwelcomed. Henry can’t stress that enough.

She keeps looking at him, obviously debating if the subject is worth pursuing and he gives her his most innocent look, making his boyish look work in his favor for once. She’s not fooled one bit.

“Alright,” she says, changing the subject. “I heard about this nest-”

“Behind you,” Henry interrupts her, looking pointedly above her shoulder and she swirls, her stakes raised and ready.

“Do you mind? We’re having a conversation here.”

She easily stakes the vampire, muttering, “How unbelievably rude,” before dusting her coast with a grimace. “We should go home. This is becoming more crowded than Covent Garden on a Sunday morning.”

She starts walking towards their carriage, and after picking up his stake, Henry follows her without further ado.

“Do you remember that coffee shop on the corner next to the millinery? They had those little blueberry scones that were simply delicious. I miss London sometimes.”

“Enough to go back?” he inquires, bewildered.

She lets out a brief laugh. “God no. Phillip risked way too much for us to go back.”

They reach their carriage and Henry grabs the reins as Bea is about to climb on the front seat.

“He said his name was Alex,” he blurts out because he can’t let the topic go for some reason.

“Who?” Bea frowns and turns around.

“The vampire. The other one. The one I didn’t kill.”

Understanding dawns on her face. “Oh. Probably Alexander Claremont-Diaz then. He fits the description you gave me, especially the pretty eyelashes,” she says with a teasing smile and Henry repeats the name in his head.

Alexander Claremont-Diaz. It suits him. A long-ass name for a pretentious, uncultured prick.

And yes, as far as name goes, Henry is aware of how hypocritical he’s being.

“So you do know him?”

She shrugs. “I met him a few times. His sister too. Lovely woman. She works for the Washington Post..”

“Who is he? I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.”

“You probably did. You just didn’t pay attention.”

Henry nearly scoffs at that. If he had crossed paths with Alex before, he definitely would have paid attention.

“Anyway,” Beatrice keeps on, “He's Vanderbilt's lawyer, and he works for some other prominent families as well. He and his sister were turned at the beginning of the century. I don’t know the whole story. You should ask Percy.”

“Percy knows him too?”

“Percy knows everyone, dear brother. You know that.”

They both climb in the carriage. Henry clicks his tongue and the horses move forward.

“If you manage to get away from your books, you might see him again at one of the next soirees,” Bea tells him. “But I suggest you steer clear of him.”

Henry lets out a quite inelegant scornful snort.“I’m not afraid of him and I doubt he will attempt anything after tonight.”

Bea shakes her head, a fond yet slightly exasperated look on her face. “Oh, darling. He’s not going to kill you. He’s going to break your heart.”

*********

Brooklyn, Alex Claremont-Diaz’s house - October 1891

The room is solely lit by the fireplace, barely illuminating the two figures on the bed and giving it a golden hue, creating a warm and comforting atmosphere. The house is silent at this late hour, and the quietude is only broken by the occasional whispers, gasps, or soft moans.

“Is that a stake in my ass, or are you happy to see me?” The tone is slightly breathless but full of mirth.

“Oh my god, Alex, Seriously? Are you trying to kill the mood?”

This is a hypothetical question because at this point no power in the universe would be able to pry Henry’s from Alex’s very capable hands. And body. And everything else.

Alex is in Henry’s lap, the aforementioned hands sliding up his back, slow, tender, fingers spread wide and he feels every touch like fire burning from the inside out.

Alex shifts his hips, setting a slow and steady pace and their gaze meets, and Henry tries not to lose himself in his brown eyes.

He tries not to lose himself in his everything.

He thrusts up, sinking himself inside Alex, quicker and deeper each time. Alex catches his lips in an open-mouth kiss as he smiles and murmurs “Hen,” a touch of reverence in his voice.

A pleasant heat starts coiling at the base of his spine and his hand trails back up the soft, golden skin of Alex’s arm. “I’m close,” he whispers breathily.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” the vampire lets out in a hoarse voice.

It makes Henry’s toes curl in the sheets just as pleasure blooms low in his stomach and he tilts his head back and shivers as white fangs shine in the dark.

“Now,” he exhales and closes his eyes as Alex plunges his canines into his neck, right at the same time he’s hit, in perfect synchronicity, with a wave of pleasure, lighting every nerve ending of his body on fire. A breathy laugh and a string of intelligible words escape from his throat.

Alex is right behind him and lets go of his neck gently to let out a guttural groan as he comes between them, making a mess of their stomachs, his release mixing with the crimson trail flowing slowly from Henry’s puncture wound.

They meet in a searing kiss as they both come down, his lips molding to Alex’s like they are one and the same, and Henry feels his body sag, his head a bit dizzy both by the intense pleasure and blood loss.

His eyes are still closed but he hears Alex biting his own wrist before pressing it against Henry’s lips, and he takes a few sips, feeling immediately replenished.

Alex leaves a trail of kisses against his jaw, his hand searing a path down his abdomen, gathering some of the come and blood on his finger and bringing it to Henry’s mouth, who opens it and welcomes the salty, coppery taste on his tongue. Alex repeats the gesture, this time bringing his finger to his own mouth and licking it clean with a sultry look from under his eyelashes that makes Henry want to go again almost immediately.

They stay entwined like this, uncaring of the mess between them, their breathing slowly evening.

“You ok, baby?” Alex asks softly, and Henry nods, burying his face in his lover’s neck, still unable to form a coherent sentence.

He never expected this.

Never expected the tenderness and the caring and the complete bliss he found in Alex’s every touch.

At first, it had been a way to itch a scratch, to get that bloody impossible cretin out of his system. A quick shag and they both would go on their merry way, preferably separately.

That had been 4 months ago.

And yet he’s still here.

Bea’s words from almost a year ago resonate, unwelcomed, in his head

He’s going to break your heart.

He had been warned and had nevertheless rushed headfirst into the worst decision of his life.

(Or was it?)

He gives Alex one last, lazy, languid kiss before he pulls out, wincing at the loss of heat, and trying to ignore Alex’s soft whimper. He grabs a cloth on the nightstand, cleans his stomach and Alex’s, then gets off the bed, throws the cloth in the basin on the vanity, and starts collecting his clothes.

Alex frowns. “You’re leaving already? It’s barely 2 am.” His face is impassive, but his voice betrays his disappointment.

Henry buttons his shirt, and looks at him briefly. He suspects Alex is as deep in this as he is, and the elation he feels in his heart is at war with the logical part of his brain screaming at him regularly that this dalliance is a bad, terrible idea.

“I don’t want to risk people seeing me coming out of your house in the wee hours of the morning, love. You know that.”

Alex shrugs and climbs out of the bed, unbothered by his nakedness. There's no doubt he flaunts it because he knows the effect it has on Henry. Henry doesn’t exactly complain either.

He walks to a round table and pours himself a glass of brandy.

“Besides,” Henry goes on, pointedly not looking at him, “I don’t want to come face to face with Bea.”

“Does she know?” He walks back to Henry, standing beside him and watching as he puts his trousers on, not bothering to fasten his waistcoat or tie his cravat.

“Yes. I don’t keep secrets from my sister. That doesn’t mean I want to come face-to-face with her in the hallway at dawn. She’s an early riser.”

“What did she say? When you told her?”

“She doesn’t disapprove. She likes you. For some reason.”

Alex chuckles. “For some reason? Are you saying you don’t like me, sweetheart?”

Henry tries hard - and sadly fails - not to blush at the term of endearment but still gives Alex his most bland, uninterested look.

“I tolerate you. Barely.”

“Well, you seemed to tolerate me well enough an hour ago when I was eating your a-”

He doesn’t get to finish his phrase as Henry grabs him by the jaw and captures his lips. He learned very quickly in their relationship - since the werewolf incident- that it was the best and most gratifying way to shut Alex up.

Alex hums into the kiss, leaning and letting out a whine as Henry takes a step back and grabs his coat.

“Come on, Hen. Stay another hour.” There is a vulnerability in his voice that tugs at Henry’s heart, because God knows he would love to stay a few more hours too.

A few more days…A few more years? A lifetime?

He wished desperately he could stay and lounge in bed with Alex, and not just for the - spectacular - sex but for the odd companionship he found with the vampire. The hushed conversations in the dark. The knowing smiles and heated gazes from across a crowded ballroom. The jokes and even the gossip about some members of the High Society.

But it’s just too dangerous. What they are doing is already reckless but selfishly, he can’t stop.

He put on his coat and looks at Alex who still stands beside him, a soft look on his face, his curls in disarray, his fucking eyelashes, and freckles of gold in his brown eyes, cast there by the light of the fire. There is an array of emotions in those eyes that Henry doesn’t have the time, but mostly the will, to decipher at that moment. He’s already very close to throwing reason out of the window and pushing Alex back against the bed.

It takes a lot of willpower not to do it. One he didn’t even know he possessed.

“You’ll catch your death, darling. Go back to bed”

Henry’s volition only goes so far, and he leans for another kiss, sweet and light, as he breathes him in and presses their forehead together for a few more precious seconds.

“Are you going to the Vanderbilts tonight?” He asks as they finally find the will to separate.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you there.”

Alex nods, and Henry takes a step back, opens the door, and checks the corridor. A last longing look, an imperceptible shake of his head, and he leaves.

A few minutes later he is in the street, walking briskly, a dark shadow reminiscent of the creatures he hunts at night.

The taste of Alex still lingers on his tongue.

#red white and royal blue #firstprince #fanfiction #rwrb fic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #Henry the Reluctant Slayer #Sophie1973

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llamawrites · 3 months

Text

Legacy

The warm tropical sun shone through the windows of the villa. Lucille Tracy sat at her desk. She let out a sorrowful sigh. I can’t believe that it’s his death date again. Lucille thought bitterly. Her vision blurred as tears spilled from her eyes. It had been years since her husband died, but grief felt like new. An ache pushed against her heart. He was her other half, the one whom she shared all her secrets with. He was gone, and all she could do was weep into her hands. She was so deep in her sad thoughts that she didn’t notice that she had company.

“Oh, mother,” said Scott, full of sympathy for his grieving mother. The oldest Tracy had an inkling that he needed to check on his mother. It was lunchtime, so Scot grabbed lunch for his mother. He set down the plate on the desk and went to give his mother a huge hug. Lucille leaned into the hug, and she couldn't help but cry even harder. They stayed like that for a good minute before the eyes in the third oldest son’s portrait started to glow.

Lucille looked up from her hands. She gave Scott a mournful smile. Gosh, he could have been Jeff’s twin. A new wave of sadness hit Lucille like a Tsunami. She swallowed the lump in her throat, but tears rimmed her eyes.

Scott let go of his mother. He flipped a switch on his mother’s desk and was greeted with the concerned face of one John Tracy.

“Ma, how are you doing?” John asked.

A sad sigh Escaped Lucille's lips as sadness flitted across her face.“I’m doing as well as I can be.” Scott stood beside Lucille. He gently squeezed her shoulder as if to say, ‘I’m here, mother.’

John’s heart twisted as he watched on from Thunderbird Five. In moments like these, John wished that he wasn't up in Thunderbirds Five so he could comfort his grieving mother.

‘I miss him terribly.” John said the whole family was grieving on this day. John himself had grieved in his own way. He had spent almost all morning talking to Virgil. They had talked about the bitter-sweet memories of their late father. He had found himself mourning the death of his father too.

Lucille gave a glum smile.” Your father came up with the idea of International Rescue. He told me about his wonderful organization that would save people. I was on board the moment he spoke the words "International Rescue.” There was a pause, a lump formed in Lucille's throat. “He told me about his International Rescue a few hours before his death. I made myself a promise when I saw Grant and his frozen bodies. That promise was to make International Rescue real so that no one else had to go through the pain that I went through losing my husband and father-in-law.”

After another pause, Lucille shuddered, holding back a sob. She gestured with her hands to the room around her. “Scott, John, this is your late father’s legacy, “ Lucille said,” if it wasn’t for your father’s ideas, none of this would be possible. At that moment, Lucille wished that Jeff could be here to see his sons now.

“He would be so proud of you guys,” praised Lucille as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

“Mother,” said Scott,” Father would be proud of you. It takes a lot to run a billion-dollar company. He would be proud.”

John nodded in agreement and added,” You’re also a great author. You made three mystery novels, two of which were on the bestseller list. Father would be so proud of your novels too.”

Lucille gave John a sad smile. She let out a sigh. The pain of loss was still there, but the pain was less.

Before they could continue talking, something caught John’s attention on Thunderbird Five. “Ma, I think I’m getting a call in for International Rescue, be right back.” With that, John hung up, and Lucille sat staring at John's still Portrait.

Thirty seconds later, John's face reappeared in the portrait. “Ma, that was the California Fire Department. They need help fighting a huge forest fire.”

Scott stood beside his mother, ready for action.

“Tell them that Thunderbirds One and Two are on their way.”

“F.A.B.”

With that, John ended his second call. Lucille checked the clock that hung on the wall beside her. It was noon, and the rest of the Tracys were enjoying lunch. There wasn’t time to walk to the kitchen with fire rescues every minute counts. So, she did the next best thing. Lucille slapped a red button on her desk, and all of a sudden, an alarm rang throughout the island.

Virgil was the first one to arrive behind him, Gordon and Allan. They stood by the desk, ready for their mission

“Boys, there is a wildfire in California," stated Lucille. ”Launch Thunderbird One and Two, Gordon, you go with Virgil. Alan, you stay. You might be needed on another call.”

With that, the boys rushed to their Thunderbirds, and Alan went out onto the patio to watch the launch. Rubbing the last tears from her eyes, she glanced up at the heavens.

“Keep watch over them, Jeff.”

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

Here my first fic of my Role Swap AU, where Jeff dies and Lucille lives. It has been sitting my drafts for a while, Enjoy.

#thunderbirds 1965 #tos au #thunderbirds #legacy au #I'm going to post on AO3 tomorrow

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seospicybin · 2 years

Text

FATAL ATTRACTION.

PART I

I.N x reader. (s,a)

Next chapter: Part II

Synopsis: Your father as the leader of the Southside must given up something as a penalty for breaking the territorial rules to the Northside leader, Yang Jeongin. It's an exchange that he can't resist, a hidden daughter of the Southside, you.

Author's note: Part II will be out tomorrow! Enjoy this one ❤️

The gun is loaded and his slender fingers are wrapped around the handle.

Pale white skin on cold dark steel, someone's life is right at the end of his finger. The gun is pressed hard against a man's temple and the bullet is only a few inches away from his brain being obliterated. After that, he guesses it's the gate of hell since they're both in the same unholy business.

Jeongin's eyes are nowhere but staring into the other man who's kneeling on the floor, begging for a life that isn't his.

"You didn't hesitate to kill my man when he entered your territory," he says to the begging man.

The man lets out a shaky breath and screws his eyes shut for a second, begging certainly is not his forte, the man is struggling.

He understands that his pride stands between him and what he wants. The pride is coming from the family name that he upholds above everything else.

Unfortunately, Jeongin has a family name to uphold as well and his family wouldn't let this chance easily pass, a chance to win more territory which leads to more power to rule over the city.

Jeongin's family has ruled over the Northside for years and he, the rightful heir to the throne that had been passed down right from his father, leads the family's business.

What kind of business? Anything that brings money, legally or illegally, he doesn't care as long as he gets to maintain his family's prestige name.

And here, the man who is begging for a life to be spared happens to be the one who leads the Southside and his family's mortal enemy with decades-long of enmity that goes way back to when Jeongin wasn't even born yet into the world.

He knows enough that if he should give him a pass he has to get something in return.

"Not my son, please?" The man begs again, bleary eyes filled with fear and the sheen of sweat on his forehead glistening under the dusty light bulb.

Seeing him pathetically begging for him like he is praying to a god makes him feel like playing one, he presses the gun until it digs into the skin.

"Tell me why should I keep him alive?" He asks, giving the man one more chance at redemption.

"Anything but my son!" He answers without a beat.

Jeongin looks down at the man's son who seems to be only a few years older than him. He learned of his mortal enemy's history to know why his son is so important to him. He's the only one who will inherit the Southside, the only descendant left to continue the legacy, the same fate just like him.

As much as he hates to give a shred of sympathy, Jeongin relates so much to that. It reminds him of how his father had sacrificed so much just so he can have all of these because truthfully, a lot would kill to sit on his throne.

His hand loosens around the gun then uses it to scratch his head, thinking of something to exchange for the son's dear life.

A huge chunk of territory would suffice, he reckons.

He smacks his lips together and squats down in front of the father, "In exchange for your son's life, I'm taking Red Lights district from you!" Jeongin says ever so casually like he was asking for a piece of chewing gum while the man's eyes widen in shock.

Not only that he's asking for a big chunk of territory, Red Lights district has clubs, drugs, gambling, and everything illegal that makes money the most, in other words, it's their main source of income. To take it away from him might as well shut down his business and leave so little for settlement.

"I– I can't... can't give you that!"

Jeongin clicks his tongue, dissatisfied with his response.

"You. Are. Not. In. Position. To. Make. A. Bargain. With. Me!" Jeongin enunciates every word with every push of his gun onto the man's chest.

He leans in and stares into the man's eyes, "do you want to save your son or not?"

The man vigorously nods.

"Give me the Red Lights district and I'll let you two walk back to the Southside," he offers again.

"You know what? I'm feeling generous, I'll even give you a ride home!" He adds with an enchanting yet evil grin.

The man closes his eyes again, conflicted, panicked, in fear then glances at his son who's bruised and swollen from being beaten up by Jeongin's loyal subordinates.

Jeongin gestures to his right-hand man, Joon, to get him a paper of agreement of the transfer of property and puts it down on the floor for the man to see.

"All you need is to sign this paper," Jeongin puts then he slams the pen on top of it.

"Then you'll be having champagne in my limousine back to your home and we'll pretend that this never happens!" He concludes with an eased smile, giving him the easiest way out.

The man grips the pen but does nothing to uncap it, he holds the pen in the air for a moment with eyes squeezed shut, Jeongin is testing his conscience: his son or his business?

When the man finally uncaps the pen, Jeongin exchanges a triumphant smile with Joon, knowing damn well that this would earn him acknowledgment from the side of the family that still doubted his leadership.

Jeongin looks at the man again who slowly leans down to jot down his sign when all of a sudden, the man cries and his tears wetting the agreement paper.

"I can't do it!" The man cries, dropping the pen, and covers his face with his hands, ashamed of his decision, of himself.

The smile on Jeongin's face drastically fades like a day turns to night.

He runs out of patience, Jeongin picks up his gun and walks to his son, pulling his body straighter by the collar, pressing the gun close to his temple again, getting the bullet even closer to his brain than before.

"Well, it seems like you choose the hard way!" Jeongin remarks and cocks the revolver, the sound of it magnifies the palpable tension in the basement of some abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, where Jeongin reigns the most powerful, on the Northside.

The bullet is on the cylinder and ready to pierce through the poor man's skull at the gentle squeeze of Jeongin's long forefinger on the trigger.

"I have something else to offer!" The man cries out with his tear-streaked face while holding his hands up in defeat.

Jeongin keeps the gun pressed to the son's head and nudges him with it, tipping his head to the side.

"You don't have anything else that I desire so don't bother!" Jeongin says with sinister eyes, his finger curves around the trigger.

"Please!" The man cries again then crawls until he is close enough to his son, "No one knows about this but I'll let you have it!"

Jeongin is intrigued, he put his finger away and aims the gun elsewhere to make the man relax a little.

"What is it?"

The man is a stuttering mess still "...just... as precious... as my son!"

The son seems to know what his father is willing to exchange for his life. He was silent the whole time but starts grunting through his duct-taped mouth at the mention of it, that only means the man offers him something as precious, or even more.

"Keep it hidden..." the man stutters again, "...no one knows!"

Jeongin scoffs, pitying the so-called man who owns the Southside. He gestures for his man to get them up to sit them down on the worn-out sofa while he sits on the folded chair facing them.

Joon hands the man a drink but he hardly drinks them, the alcohol flooded out of the glass as he was taking a sip, the front of his shirt drenched with it.

"Now tell me more!"

The man wipes his mouth and nervously licks his lip, "I've been keeping this as a secret for years—"

The son grunts again, interrupting his father by headbutting his father's shoulder to stop him from talking and shooting daggers with his eyes.

"I don't have any other choice, son!" The father meekly says to him.

With his eyes, Jeongin orders Joon to hold the son for him so the father can speak in comfort.

Jeongin fills the man's glass with more alcohol and tells him to drink it.

"Relax!" Jeongin says to him as the man drinks his alcohol in one big gulp.

Jeongin pours himself a glass of alcohol and holds the glass close to his mouth.

He takes a moment to take it all in, that the man who owns the Southside is begging him to spare his son's life and he's about to offer him a precious gift in return.

He drinks his alcohol and it feels so sweet on a day like this.

Jeongin slams his empty glass on the table and folds his legs, "Let's do it again from the start, shall we?"

It's a slow day on a Monday morning.

You always take the time to take a personal tour around the gallery but the time you spend the most is admiring this painting of a flower field.

The longer you look at it, the more immersed yourself in it.

Maybe you're slowly losing your mind but you swear you feel like swaying away with the wind that is depicted in the painting, how it slips through the grass and brushes your skin.

Every time you look at the flowers, you can feel how soft their petals are without having to touch them.

You sigh and think of how beautiful it would be to just lay on that field with your hands turned up while looking up at the serene blue sky.

And how the painter weaves the delicacy in the painting, you sigh again at how amazing a few strokes of paint on a canvas can make you feel.

You want to meet the man who painted it but it seems impossible because the identity of the painter is still a mystery, they only go by the initial H.

"Is this painting for sale?"

You turn on your heels to find a man in a suit, hair as dark as midnight, sharp jaws, and a pair of foxy eyes.

"This painting?" You ask again, gesturing to the painting you've been admiring for a few days now.

He nods and takes a step forward, taking a closer look at the painting.

"You're the curator, aren't you?" He points to your ID card hanging around your neck.

"Yes." You answer with a smile.

He hums while nodding, "I want to buy this painting!"

You get the impression that this man knows nothing about painting and it's not the first time you met such customers. It's clear that he's one of those rich people who buy whatever they want as they please. They don't care about the price so what makes you think they will care about the art value of the painting they bought?

If they want to buy a painting on a Monday morning? They got it

Therefore, you don't have to waste time sharing some pieces of information about the painting, and leads him straight to where he can process his purchase which consists of signing some paperwork.

The man tells his assistant to do the rest while he walks up to you.

"Congratulations! You just bought a really beautiful painting!" You said to him with a courteous smile.

His foxy eyes deeply stare into yours again while he holds his hand out at you.

You don't hesitate to take it and shake his hand, "hope we get to see you again!

He doesn't say anything in return but keeps staring into your eyes like something wondrous is happening in them.

"Oh, I have a feeling that we'll see each other again real soon!" He confidently says as he lets go of your hand but not his eyes on you.

You don't walk him out of the gallery and let the director of the gallery do the task while you stay inside, watching him get into the car from the window of the second floor.

Rich people behave as they please because they are under the illusion that everything can be bought with money and you met some crude ones.

You met enough to know that he isn't trying to offend you yet he put you a little on edge.

The eyes tell all and his piercing eyes cut through you like a knife through the water.

On weekdays, the gallery closes at 4 pm and the time on your computer screen tells you it's already 25 past 5 pm.

"You're not going home, pup?" Mr. Shin asks. He is an art restorer who has worked for the gallery for almost a decade and still carrying the same leather briefcase since you joined two years ago.

"In a minute!" You replied while saving the files before you forget.

"I'm leaving," he announces.

"Don't want to upset missus again!" He adds while heading towards the door.

You softly laugh and get up from your office chair, "Be careful and send my regards to your wife!" You shout before he exits the door.

He responds with a smile then waves bye at you.

You didn't forget to turn the lights off before leaving the office and carrying your bag in one hand. You walk past the director's office and it seems like she's already left as well.

The security greets you as you exit the back door and you pull your car keys out of your bag since the car is already in sight.

"Excuse me!" Someone asks.

You are only a few feet away from your car when you turn around and someone suddenly holds you from the back, a hand covers your mouth to muffle your cry for help.

Another person ties your hands behind your back and then everything goes dark as someone puts a cloth over your head while your body is being lifted.

You hear a lot at the same time, a car coming and footsteps, someone whispering orders at the same time.

You try to scream but it's no use since you are the last person who left the gallery and no one is going to hear your screams, you also doubt someone is watching you getting abducted through the security footage.

But someone will watch and know and then help you, right?

Someone puts you down on you guess the backseat of a car and then there's the sound of the car door being slammed shut.

The car is moving and is taking you somewhere that you're afraid to guess where.

"Who are you?" You ask to the void or so you think since your head is covered in dark cloth and can't see anything. You believe there's someone else in the car with you because why would they let you alone, unguarded?

"Why are you doing this to me?" You ask again.

There's no answer and the car is taking a complicated route to avoid you know where they are taking you.

"I have nothing. I don't have money or anything. Kidnapping me will get you nothing!" You say again in a shaky tone as your thoughts rush through your head at a light speed and it seems like it's not slowing down any soon.

"Please, let me go!" You begged, this is the last effort you can do to get a response or anything.

But nothing, no answer but the car keeps moving, taking you to your uncertain future.

The car finally stops moving after an hour or so, you stop keeping track of time, and your brain is drained from endlessly thinking all sorts of thoughts, good and bad, everything in between.

They take you out of the car and walk you somewhere, dragging you by your elbow even though you can walk by yourself if they take the cloth off.

Your heels click-clacking against the floor you're walking on, and from the subtle slippery surface, you are sure it's a marble floor. The sounds echo so it gives you an idea of how big the place you are walking into is.

There's a creak coming from the door being pushed open, two big wooden doors from how you have to stop walking and that means the guy who escorts you have to push the door open with two hands.

"She's here!" The man who walks beside you announces.

He drags you by your elbow again and sits you down on a chair. After a moment of silence and someone cuts off the tie that shackles your hands, you take a deep breath before slowly lifting the dark clothing over your head. You close your eyes as the light starts to fill your vision all at once, blinding you.

You blink your eyes a few times to adjust to the light and the first thing you see is his eyes piercing right through your chest.

"Who are you and why are you doing this to me?" You asked since you're still curious as to why someone would bother to kidnap a nobody like you.

"So you don't know?" Jeongin asks back with a slanted grin.

"If you think you can get anything by kidnapping me, you're wrong!" You say again, looking up at him since he is sitting on the long wooden table.

He scoffs and fixes the cuff of his shirt, "but you are the hidden daughter of the Southside leader!"

You don't move despite knowing that you're no longer tied, no one knows this and no one even knows that you exist in the first place.

For the last 23 years since you were born, your father has successfully concealed your existence from the world, no one knows that you're the daughter of the Southside leader and you're grateful that you don't have to live with the notorious family name.

It seems like you are under the illusion that you'll always be safely hidden from the world.

Unless the two people that know about it give the secret away.

"Is it my father?" You guessed, he is the most likely to spoil a secret.

He doesn't respond but gets off the table, walks closer then stops right in front of your chair.

"I heard our fathers fought over your mother," he chuckles because it's baffling him as he recites the tale he heard from his jealous passing mother.

"And I wonder how beautiful she was that my father was willing to kill for her."

He takes even a closer step to your chair, "I saw her picture once and I admit that she really was beautiful."

His hand reaches for your face and holds your chin up with his fingers, observing your face like you're a statue.

"The resemblance is uncanny!" He sighs in disbelief.

"Don't fucking touch me!" You snarl, swatting his hand away from your chin.

He juts his lips then shrugs, "beautiful yet vicious!" He says then turns around on his heels.

"Let me go!" You shout at him.

"I have nothing to do with my father's business!!!" You tried again.

He sits behind a desk and ignores your demand, "Take her to the room and lock her up!" He orders the man who escorts you earlier which you recognize is the man you thought was his assistant back in the gallery.

He drags you by your elbow again and you yank your hand away, "I can walk by myself!"

Every day is the same.

You got locked up in your room, a maid only comes to serve meals on the tray if not to clean the room. The closet is filled with clothes from casual attire to ball gowns, you laugh at the irony because it's not like you have anywhere to go.

It has been two weeks, more or less, you stop counting the days because no one is coming to save you anyway.

You got thinner, weaker and your tears dried on their own from the countless night you spent crying yourself to sleep.

You're on the brink of losing yourself to insanity.

"Get up, you have somewhere to go in two hours!"

You don't have to turn your head away from the window to know that it's his right-hand man, Joon, you learned his name since he's the messenger between you and Jeongin.

"If you're not taking me to kill me in the middle of nowhere, I don't want to go!" You replied with a snide remark.

You might as well just die than live like this, chained to an evil man and this shit luck of a fate you have.

You hear Joon heavily sigh then leave, unbothered by your words.

An hour later, the door to your room flies open and heavy footsteps come your way.

"Get up!" Jeongin yanks you by your wrist and forces you to get up from the bed.

"Don't touch me!" You protest, trying to get your hand away from his grip.

"Then do what I tell you!" He says with a heaving chest and lets you go.

With so little energy you have, you stagger backward and fall back down on the end of the bed.

"What do you want from me?" You ask, rubbing your wrist to soothe the pain.

"I want you to obey me!" He replies.

Those piercing eyes have come to the point that they disgust you and make you sick to the stomach, "why should I?"

He bends down to look you dead in the eyes, "do I look like I want you here?"

His hot breath brushes your face as he speaks, "have you ever thought that maybe I didn't kidnap you?"

"Have you ever think why your family suddenly revealed their secret child after twenty years?" He asks, his words sting and your eyes start to water.

"Have you ever thought that maybe you're not that important to them?"

Every question he throws at you feels like a slap to the face and egging on your pain, opening your eyes to the reality of who's the real evil behind this.

He finishes with his forehead pressed on yours and says, "Do the fucking math, princess!"

You close your eyes and hot tears roll down your face, it surprises you that you still have any liquid left in your body to secrete.

"I want her to be ready in an hour!" Jeongin orders Joon and slams the door shut behind him.

"I have a few people to help you get ready," Joon says, he hesitates to get closer to you and stops after a step.

"I'll tell them to come up in 15 minutes!" He says, giving you a little time to mourn for your sad, cursed life.

You feel like a doll being dressed up as three people working at the same time to get you ready so Jeongin can show you off to everyone.

You're the hidden daughter of the Southside leader and you're an arm candy to the man who leads the Northside, after a few trips to his clubs, you learned his true intention. He wants to show the world the jewel crown of his achievement and that is having a Southside daughter under his feet, which will earn him respect and a lot more.

It's the same every other week, you come to the club and just sit still and look pretty next to him like a flower.

And he wants you to do nothing less or more than that.

But that night, a surprise guest comes to the club and insists on seeing Jeongin.

"It's someone from the Southside!" Joon whispers to him and he might have intentionally raised his voice louder so you can hear him too.

"Let him in!" Jeongin says and reclines on the leather sofa with a glass of drink in his hand.

You look at the doorway to see if it's a face you recognize from the Southside and your heart races when you see that it's your brother.

He makes a run for you but someone quickly stops him from getting close to you. He breaks out and sits on the sofa across from you.

"I want to talk to my sister!" He says to Jeongin.

Jeongin doesn't bother to look at the person he's talking to, he's more interested in looking at the sphere ice cube inside his glass.

"She's mine now!" He casually says like you are a mere object.

He puts his glass away and puts an arm around your shoulder, enjoying the hatred in your brother's eyes that is directed toward him when he does it.

"Why? Are you jealous that it's not you sitting beside me now?" He mocks with a lopsided grin.

"You fucki—" your brother holds himself back, knowing that it's not the right place to be reckless, he's powerless here.

He shifts his eyes at you with concern, "are you okay?"

You nod, the tears clogging your throat preventing you from talking.

"Did he hurt you?"

You shake your head but avoid looking him in the eyes.

"You can talk! It's okay," Jeongin says as he pours another glass of liquor.

Your brother's hands are balled into fists on his lap, "I'm sorry that you got caught in this!"

Jeongin stifles a laugh because he knows damn well who gets you into this mess in the first place.

"Its father isn't it?" You ask.

Your brother knows you'll catch up to it because you're smart, his face drops into his hands and he tries to come up with something to say.

"It's okay," you say.

"I know that he will always choose you over me," you tell him.

The nights you spent on your own made you rake your brain for any possible reason why you ended up here and then what Jeongin said earlier stuck with you. You finally come to this conclusion: your family has dumped you.

"He's not—"

"We all know he despises me. He wishes that I had never been born."

The truth hurts but it needed to be said.

Your brother is the only one who treats you like a family, hence he can't lie to your face, he knows that it's true.

Jeongin raises his glass at you, "You finally did the math! Good job!" He says with a sinister smile on his face

Your brother almost jumps at him for making fun of the situation, he succeeds to ignore his remarks and turns to look at you.

"But I care for you!" He sincerely says with his eyes looking deeply into yours.

He is your brother, the only person you trust and you've been relying on. But he's also the one who brought you into this mess.

Betrayal pains you the most when it's coming from someone who's closest to you.

You close your eyes to fight the tears from coming out, "that doesn't change anything," you unintentionally raise your voice at him.

"What difference would it make?"

"You can't save me on your own!"

"It's too late for that!"

You attack him with fact after fact and leave him tongue-tied, unable to speak. He can't find anything to say to defend himself, it is too late to save you now.

"Time's up!" Jeongin suddenly announces and gets up from the sofa.

Getting used to being his shadow, you follow him getting up from your seat and standing behind him. Two of Jeongin's men come into the room and hold your brother down by the shoulders.

Jeongin doesn’t have to say anything again to make you come with him, walking behind him as the two of you make your way to the exit.

Your brother grabs your hand as you walk past him, "I'm sorry."

You yank your hand away from him and look straight ahead, "you're not my brother anymore."

The music inside the club is deafening and the dress you're wearing is suffocating, the lump in your throat making it harder for you to breathe.

Maybe it's the fact that you just cut ties with the only person that you consider as family.

It feels like you just cut ties with the world altogether.

You broke down once you arrive back at the mansion and Joon rushes to help you, kneeling on the floor with an arm around you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, shaking you by your shoulders.

Jeongin turns on his heels and watches you while standing a few feet away from you, unfazed.

"Put your hand around me. I'll carry you to your room," Joon offers, taking your limp arm and putting it around his shoulder.

But your hand gropes around his chest and found the gun inside the pocket of his suit jacket. You succeed to pull it out real quick. Joon was quick enough to catch your hand and yank it back from you, but you don't let him take it away from you.

"What are you doing? It's dangerous!" His concerned voice turns into a mix of panic and an angry one.

He holds the gun but your hand is wrapped so tightly around it and with the strength you have, turning it at your head.

"Kill me! Kill me, please?" You beg with tears flooding your cheeks.

"Stop acting stupid!" Joon snaps at you while struggling to get the gun from you without hurting you in the process.

"I don't want to live anymore and you don't have any reason to keep me! They threw me away so kill me! Kill me!" You beg again.

Joon finally succeeds to get his gun back and hurriedly taking a step back, put the gun as far away as possible from you.

"Give her the gun!" Jeongin coldly orders. His voice cut through the quiet of the room and is as cold as the floor you're sitting on.

Joon who has just placed his gun back into its holster looks at him with uneasy eyes, "Pardon?"

"Give her the gun!" He enunciates the word one by one, confirming that Joon didn't mishear him.

"Make sure it's loaded too!"

Joon hesitantly does what he is told to do, emptying the clip and showing you that there's not one bullet missing. He loads the clip back into the gun, then hands it to you. There's a second of pause before he puts it on your open palm and guided your fingers to wrap around it.

It's cold and heavy in your hand, so this is what death feels like.

You look at the gun closely and take a second to admire the person who invented a tool that makes death as easy as pulling the trigger with your finger.

You roughly wipe your eyes since they're blurry with your tears then bring the gun close to your head and press the end under your chin.

All of a sudden, Jeongin let out a laugh and it echoes in the empty hall, "Now I see why they dump you!"

He laughs again and licks his lower lip, "if you put that bullet in your head, you're only proving that you are worthless and it was the right decision for them to dump you."

He put his hands behind him and observe you like you were a wounded animal in a cage, pathetic and helpless but he can't do anything about it.

He approaches you and leans down to look you right in the eyes, "If you hated it so much, why would you die with that name?"

His gaze lingers on and you can see the disgust in his eyes. And you hate that he is right, his words feel like a slap in your face.

He walks away and then stops on his track, slowly turning at you to say, "If I were you, I'll make a name for myself! Make them whisper my name in fear! Make them regret casting me out!"

Jeongin shoves both of his hands into the pockets of his trousers, "but of course, you're too weak for that too."

He laughs again and walks further into the house, "Please, don't bleed all over the marble floor. Joon can show you a better place to do it!" He nonchalantly says without looking at you.

He leaves you there, on the floor with the gun pressed under your chin.

Maybe he is right, you are too weak and you don't have it in you to live with your family name.

You loop your finger on the trigger but not pulling it yet.

"Just think about it! Please?" Joon begs again with a pleading voice, hoping to stop you from making a bad decision.

"I can't live like this!" You say between your choked sobs.

"I'll help you! I can help you!" Joon's offers come out of the blue.

"How?" You scream.

"Put the gun down first!" He commands.

Your finger lingers on the trigger and all you need is one gentle push then...

Then again, Jeongin is right, you don't have it in you.

Your hand goes limp and the gun falls off, clattering onto the floor.

Joon kicks the gun to get it away from you, then helps you get up as your body goes limp from malnourished, adrenaline, stress, and everything that makes you feel that you're dead inside.

Joon comes to your bedroom in the morning and makes sure you eat your breakfast, watching every spoonful of food that goes into your mouth.

"You've been doing it wrong!" He says as he goes to open the window and fills the room with fresh spring air.

"What?"

He sits on the stool across from you, "I've known Jeongin since we were little. We practically grew up together."

Isn't that obvious? Joon is the only person you know is the closest to Jeongin, it comes to your knowledge that he's not a part of the family so the only conclusion you have is that he grew up with him.

"I know him well enough to know that going against him will never get you anywhere," he explains, taking a piece of a ceramic miniature from your vanity table to play with it.

"You're only riling him up and making him detest you," he adds.

You can trust him, right? Because Joon has been nothing but nice to you.

"Then what should I do?" You ask.

"Soften him. Try to be good and just do whatever he says, I promise you he likes obedience more than anything."

He twirls the miniature in his palm and pauses, "no wait, obedience is the second on his list."

That intrigues you, "then what's the first?"

"Loyalty."

It's interesting. You thought that he would put his family over anything else.

"He has no reason to keep you here, that's true and perhaps, if you did soften him and the timing is right, it's possible to get what you want," he furtherly explains and leans against the vanity table.

Joon makes it sounds so easy to you, "I don't know that seems..."

He smirks at how you doubt him right away.

"Jeongin might seem difficult but you only need to know which button to push," he says and puts the miniature back in its place, "just one right button!"

He gets up from the stool and looks down at your breakfast tray, "maybe you can start by not looking like an ET first," he jokes.

You roll your eyes at him, slightly annoyed.

Everything that Joon shared with you stayed with you the whole day.

Jeongin never laid his hand on you to harm you unless it was necessary and it was always because you provoked him first.

He doesn't have any intention to harm you but keep you trapped here, being his little doll.

And maybe this little doll can gets what she wants if she sits still and looks pretty for him, nods to everything he says, and smiles because she doesn't know how to do anything else.

If that's what he wants, then you'll give him that.

The rose's rarest essence lives in the thorn.

For him, you are a rose but lack that rarest essence.

To be that beautiful yet so fragile, a delicate thing that is so exposed to the cruel, cruel world.

Should he help you grow some thorns or should he protect you more from the world?

He can't decide yet.

After that night when you went to your wit's end, something changed.

He admits he was too harsh at you that night but he knows he's right, but a little part of him still worries that you took his words by heart, or worst, broke you more.

You are broken, yes, but humans are never irreparably broken. We can always heal, we can always piece ourselves back little by little until we're whole again. We always do.

Maybe this change is you piecing yourself back together and he can see you.

A beautiful rose you are!

Blossoming smiles, the twinkle in your eyes, and the echo of your laughs in the hallways that are usually occupied if not by the dead silence, it's the heavy footsteps of his men coming with information for him.

He follows the source of the sound to find you helping in the kitchen, kneading dough on the kitchen island with your flour-dusted hands.

On another day, he watches you swimming from the balcony where he can see your body slicing through the water and the shape your body took as you come out of the water.

That quite resembles how Aphrodite was born. You weren't born from the foam of the sea but you do own the beauty of the goddess of love.

And if you're not swimming or walking around the garden, you hide in the greenhouse and read the book you secretly borrow from his library.

By the night before the old clock in the mansion struck midnight, you're already in your room and tucked in for the night.

This sudden obedience astounds him but at the same time, sparks his curiosity. There must be something behind all these good girl behaviors.

"Arrange a dinner!" He orders.

Joon puts down his glass of whiskey and takes out his phone, "the usual place?"

"Yes."

"How many people?"

"Two."

Joon slyly smiles, "it's not a business dinner, I reckon?"

Jeongin doesn't answer but looks out of the window and sees you walking out of the greenhouse.

"And get her ready for it!" He adds.

When it finally registered to him, Joon nods in acknowledgment and gets up from his chair.

"Sure!"

Jeongin booked the whole restaurant just for you and him where the chef cooks the dish from the finest ingredients and serves the most exquisite wine with its aphrodisiac smells that instantly relaxes you.

It's the first time that you're out of the mansion yet you seem so calm and collected.

Again, he admits that you look so beautiful in that dress, deep blue like the color of the pacific ocean.

You thanked and praised the chef for every meal, but you show less enthusiasm when they serve the desserts.

There's no meaningful conversation in between the meals so he wonders what changes.

"You don't like the dessert?" He asks.

You shake your head and smile, "it's just so pretty."

And you thank the chef again for it.

"Is there any reason why we're having dinner together?" You ask.

Jeongin triumphantly smiles, it's not hard to make you finally ask the question he wanted you to ask.

"Because you've been very good lately," he simply answers and lifts his wine glass to take a small sip.

"I think you deserve a nice dinner," he adds as he puts down his wine glass.

The night doesn't stop there, he takes you on a little stroll around the city just to see how are you going to react.

He wants to know if you're tempted to flee or pull an act, instead, he watches you shivering from the gust of cool night air.

He puts his suit jacket around your shoulders.

"Thank you," you sweetly mutter with the moon reflected in your eyes.

"Should we head home now?"

You nod with a smile.

Arrives back in the mansion, walks you to the door of your bedroom, and stands there in front of you, looking at your face with an intense gaze.

"Thank you for the dinner! I had a nice evening," you say to him.

He only smiles in response.

"Oh yeah, this," you shrug his jacket off your shoulders and hand it back to him.

He grabs your hand instead of the jacket from you, "Is there anything you want?"

Your eyes widen in surprise or maybe this is what you've been waiting for him to say.

He slides his hand up to your elbow then pulls you closer, "you can tell me and I'll give it to you."

With the other hand, he brushes your hair to the side and lightly caresses your cheek, "you deserve it," he says with a voice so low it's almost like a whisper.

You swallow air before answering, "I—"

Jeongin lifts your chin and forces you to look him in the eyes, he leans in close you can see yourself in the irises in his eyes.

"Come on, tell me..." he murmurs with his lips only inches away from yours.

You try again to focus on answering him, "I—"

This time, he cuts you off with a kiss.

He knows that those lips would be soft, but Jeongin doesn't expect them to be that soft.

He let the kiss sweep you away and takes you out of your head for a moment. It's just your lips on his lips in an enamoring kiss.

He can easily carry you to the bed and have you pinned underneath him, kissing you more, deeper, and harder that breathing is no longer necessary to him.

Doesn't want to waste another second, his hands start to explore your body, touching your miles and miles of silky smooth skin that make him whimper against your lips.

His hand goes down your thighs and pulls the hem of your dress so he can touch you there.

Then he can feel that you're stiffening under him, your legs are pressed shut and your hands are on his chest, keeping a space between your bodies.

No matter how much he likes kissing you, Jeongin abruptly stops and retracts himself from you.

He may be a bad person, but he's not a vile man who fucks a girl against her will.

"Don't force yourself, I know you don't want to do it," he breathlessly says.

You slightly get up from the bed, "but it is what you want, right?" You ask and reach for him again.

He jerks away and puts your hand away, "just tell me what you want!"

He met a lot of people and a lot more variety of evil people, but he knows the tricks people usually do to get what they want.

The dinner is just to let you know that he acknowledged your effort to get his attention and you did a wonderful job at it.

But now, it's time to find out what you want to gain from it.

"Let me go," you meekly answer.

"I am worth nothing anymore therefore I'm holding no value as your hostage. Just let me go and I'll disappear from your life forever," you breathlessly explain the reason behind your demand.

"I promise. Please, let me go!"

For a split second, you remind him of how your father begged for your brother's life. Thus, reminded him how easily he gave you away in an exchange for your brother.

It disgusts him how easy for you to say that you're worth nothing.

"I'll let you go," he says.

Your face lights up hearing his words.

"But with one condition!"

Your face goes dim in a second but there's a flicker in your eyes, "I'll do anything! Anything!" You eagerly say to him.

Jeongin fixes his shirt and his cuffs, "you have to marry me!"

And it's like all the happiness drained out of you in a second, your face turns pale and your hands fall to your lap.

"How can I marry you? We're— We— I don't even know you!" You stammer, confused and shocked at the same time.

Jeongin gets off the bed and picks up his suit jacket from the floor, "well, that wouldn't be hard since we're living together!" He nonchalantly says without looking at you.

He puts his suit jacket back on then walks to the door, he lingers there, then turns around to look at you one more time, "and don't worry. I'll never touch you again without your permission!"

Jeongin walks in the direction of his office for a quick talk with Joon but finds him as he walks past the dining room, eating by himself.

"Oh, I didn't know you were already home!" Joon gasps with a stuffed face, a red jam smeared in the corner of his mouth.

Jeongin pours himself a glass of water, "what are you eating?"

He slides the plate toward Jeongin and lets him have a piece.

"Cherry pie!" He exclaims as he bites into a piece of cherry from the filling.

"It's good, right?"

He shrugs but Joon knows him well enough to know that means he likes it.

"She made this all afternoon for tonight's dessert," Joon informs.

"You're lucky I left you some," he adds with a chuckle.

Jeongin takes another piece and shoves it into his mouth, feeling that burst of that tangy mix of sweet and sour. Now he knows why you look a little sad during desserts.

"Sweet," Jeongin says.

"I know right?" Joon chimes.

But Jeongin isn't talking about the pie.

It's been a week now but still.

Marry him?

Ugh, the more you replayed those words in your head the more pissed you are at him, the more you pissed the more you wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

But as far as you can get is the greenhouse.

And you've been stuck on the same page of the book you're reading because your head can't stop replaying his words that are impossible for you to fulfill.

Why did you have to say you'll do anything? Anything? You hit your forehead with the book repeatedly.

You can foresee your future from here and it looks grim.

You cover your face with the book next and hope that it will teleport you somewhere or the page magically sucks you into the story, Victorian era is way better than here.

How people back in the day are okay with arranged marriage? How is it okay for them to marry someone they don't know? How can they have a marriage without love? Why would they marry a...

"...this is going to work just like we planned! Trust me!"

You jolt awake from the long bench you're lying down on and hear someone talking just right outside the greenhouse. You can only make out the shape of them through the foggy glass wall, two men huddling together and whispering into each other's ears.

"If you look nervous, he'll know that we're up to something!" One man says to the other.

"We're just going to rob one of his compounds and what damage it will do? he'll only lose a little fortune, he'll forget it in no time.

For a man who persuades another man to commit treason, he's quite convincing.

"What makes you think he'll not suspect us?" The agitated man asks while rubbing his hands together despite the day being warm with a clear blue sky.

"We've been doing business together for years now, he trusts us and in my experience, he'll always pay back no matter how much."

The agitated man is intrigued, "so we're not only getting money from our rob but also getting the money back from him?"

The confident man laughs, "I told you, it's good money and we only need to pull it out once!"

The agitated man who seems to be the one with power is assured that the plan is going to work and trusts his accomplice.

You accidentally drop your book and it hits a potted plant, the two men hear and look around to find the source of the noise.

One of them wipes the glass clean and looks inside, you hurriedly squat down, hiding behind the row of potted plants.

"Are you calm enough now?" The confident man asks.

"I guess, yeah."

"Let's go then!" He says and starts walking toward the mansion.

Without thinking, you sprint out of the greenhouse and into the mansion through the kitchen door. You're going through one room to another to find Joon and tell him about two men conspiring against Jeongin. You must tell him before they come into the house.

You almost bump into the maid and quickly ask her if she sees Joon.

"He's in the office!"

You break into a run to go to the front office to the part of the mansion where Jeongin first took you, this is where he takes care of his business.

"Joon! Joon!" You call even though you're still a meter away from the door of the office.

You open them all at once then close them behind you, you sigh when you see him inside.

"Joon, I have to tell you something, there are..." you pause to catch a breath while clutching your chest.

"It's not a good time!" Joon tells you as he approaches you.

You get to him first and grab him by the elbow, "It's important, I swear!"

Joon looks away to the other side and you follow to where he's looking, the two men are already there, sitting at the long table.

"We have guests," Joon tells you, "but if it's that important, you can tell me!"

You smile at the two men and then look back at Joon, "I'll tell you later!"

He wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion.

You get out of the office and run to Jeongin's bedroom, it's your last chance to let him know that someone is planning bad to his compound.

You break into his bedroom without knocking and find him tying his tie in front of the full-length mirror, he only looks at you for a second before back looking at his reflection, totally unbothered by the sudden visit you make to his bedroom.

"Haven't you been avoiding me lately?" He says, setting the knot close to his collar.

"Or you've given up already?"

You scoff at his words but for the innocent lives that will be taken in his compound, you're willing to let it slide.

"They're going to rob your compound!" You hurriedly say before forgetting why you came here for.

That catches his intention and he turns around to face you, "who?"

"The two men who just came in today!" You tell him.

"The Park brothers?"

"They're brothers? But they're different"

Jeongin gives you a perplexed look.

"Anyway," You immediately retrace your conversation back to where you started.

"They're going to turn against you!"

Jeongin walks up to the chair and grabs his cufflinks from a velvet box.

"They paid a few men to rob your compound, the one where you produced their order and they will blame it on you so you'll have to pay what you owe them but also get the money from the products they robbed!" You explain as detailed as possible and make it concise due to the limited time you have.

"They're not going to do that," he coyly says and picks up his suit jacket.

"I heard them talking when I was in the greenhouse. Trust me!" You beg, following him to wherever he goes in his bedroom.

He turns around and almost bumps into you, "I've been doing business with them for years and so far, I have no problem with them so why should I trust you whom I have only known for a few months?" He asks.

Is this his way to get back at you for rejecting his marriage proposal because you said you didn't know him well enough to marry him?

"You don't have to trust me then," you say.

Jeongin puts his suit jacket on with his back facing you.

"But you have to know that the lives of the men working in your compound are threatened. Do it so you don't have to regret not trusting me."

But he seems to be unfazed by your words and takes one last look in the mirror.

"Are you done talking?" He asks.

You sigh because he chooses not to trust you and you see him walk to the door.

"Why would I lie to you? What good it would do to me for lying to you?" You shout at him.

But he opens the door and leaves you alone in his room, in his big, spacious, and lonely room.

The fear keeps you awake the whole night.

The fear of the guilt that you will carry your whole life for knowing something evil is going to be done yet you did nothing to stop it.

You tried and you failed.

But the guilt, you believe will keep haunting you.

The mansion is eerily quiet tonight and it only heightens your fear.

Then you hear footsteps in the hallway and you quickly get up from your bed to see who it is. You see Joon opening the door to the front office and getting inside.

You don't care if you're intruding again but you need to know if something happened, good or bad.

"Joon?" You call from the door.

He stops rummaging through the drawer of Jeongin's desk and sighs when he sees you, "Is that what you were going to tell me earlier?"

Your hands are shaking from anxiety, "did something happen?"

"You're the one who told Jeongin that the Shin brothers are conspiring against him?"

You stifle a nod, afraid that it was all just a trap the Shin brothers set up for you and you fell into it.

"What happened? Tell me!" You insist.

He rushes to you and squeezes your shoulder, "thanks to you that everyone in the compound is safe!"

It's like a giant invisible rock has been lifted off of your chest and you can properly breathe for the first time.

"Oh thank God!" Your knees got weak and you hurriedly sit on one of the empty chairs.

"Jeongin ordered a few men to catch the robbers first before they could execute their plan," Joon furtherly explained.

You let out a long breath and recline on your chair, "then what about Jeongin?"

"He's still taking care of it and I'm here to grab the contracts," he briefly shows you the paper he takes from the drawer.

You sigh again.

"Don't worry, he's okay and I have to get back now," he says, putting the contract paper into a briefcase while checking his phone and furiously typing a message on it at the same time.

"You'll be safe in the mansion," he says before leaving.

It's not like you have another choice but to wait until they get back and you hope when they do, they are back safely.

It takes them a day to take care of it.

A few years' worth of business is blown by one stupid plan, you can only guess there is a lot of mess to sort.

But only Joon comes back and you don't know why you feel a little disappointed.

Joon is a very observant person, he can see even the faintest of expression change on your face.

"He has a lot of things to handle at the moment," Joon tells you, "he'll be okay."

You look down at your book, "I'm not asking," you say.

"Yeah, but I just want to let you know," he says, saving you from being embarrassed about asking Jeongin.

On the following day, Jeongin is back but he comes home very late at night and you take a peek through the crack between your bedroom doors of him entering his bedroom.

You get back to your bed and have the most restful sleep you've ever gotten in a while.

In the morning as you're having breakfast in your room, Joon comes with a file and a pen, then puts it next to your tray.

"Sign on the highlighted part," he says then put a pen on

"What is this?" You ask.

You are about to read the content when Joon snatches

snatching it away, "Just sign it, quick, we don't have much time!"

"I can't just sign without knowing what I'm signed up for!" You say with a glare.

"Trust me! I swear it's not something bad but you'll regret not doing it," he says with a smile.

Joon has that sweet smile of a boy and you can't help but smile back at him.

"Trust me, okay? When did I ever lie to you? Never, right?" He assures you.

Joon has been nothing but kind to you and he's indeed honest, maybe for this once you trust me for everything he had done for you.

"Okay," you cave in and uncap the pen to place your autograph where he instructed you.

"There!" You hand him the pen back.

Joon closes the file with a satisfied grin and holds it under his arm, "Congratulations! You officially become the new owner of this painting!"

He signals someone from outside your bedroom and you crane your neck to see them carrying a big painting, it's still wrapped so you can't see which painting he talked about.

Joon gestures for them to step aside, "you want to do the honor?"

"You want me to unwrap—"

He eagerly nods even before you can finish your sentence. You put your napkins away and walk toward the painting, carefully ripping the thin brown wrapper to slowly reveal the painting.

A part is unveiled and you can tell already what painting it is, you gasp with your hands covering your mouth.

"There is no way!" You say in disbelief.

Joon grins seeing your reaction and lets you continue ripping the whole wrapper.

It's the painting you adore so much, The Flower Field by H.

"Oh, this is so beautiful!"

You still can't wrap your head around the fact that it's so beautiful it evokes so many emotions in you, the flowers that are swaying with the gust of wind and the soft pink sky above, at how you want to lay in the flower field. How peaceful that would be!

"You want it hung in your room?" Joon asks.

"Of course!" You answer rather too passionately.

You stand next to Joon as the men start working to hang the painting in place.

"What did I do to deserve this?"

"It's a gift from Jeongin for you," Joon answers.

You snap your head in his direction, "Isn't this too much for a gift?"

As a curator who watched over this painting for a few months, you know how valuable it is and how much it costs. This is not just a gift for you, it's a promising investment.

"Well, you saved everyone in the compound and he believes that alone costs a lot more than this painting," he says.

He leans in close to your ear, "I'm quoting his words, by the way, not mine."

It takes you aback and you feel so warm inside, "but still, I don't feel good for accepting it," you meekly say.

"You already signed the certificate, you can't do anything about it but I suggest, a little thank you will do."

You chuckle, "thank you!"

"I only did the legal stuff, but you're welcome," he replies.

And before he can add anything else, you say, "I will thank him too."

The two of you continue admiring the painting hung on the wall

of your bedroom, it will take you some time to get used to seeing it before bed and as the first thing you see in the morning.

Jeongin hates to be compared with other people, especially his father.

His father was his own person and a role model to him, he aspires to be like him. A man with so much charisma and poise, a man that didn't need to explain who he was because everyone already knew.

Jeongin can't duplicate him and he doesn't intend to.

He wants to lead like him but not to copy every move he made.

He wants to be... himself.

"Am I that easy?" Jeongin asks, gripping his crystal glass so hard.

"What do you mean?" Joon asks back.

"Am I that easy for everyone to dare to try and fool me?"

"Hey, no one saw that coming and it's not your fault that they chose to betray," Joon comforts him.

"If anything, they should not mess with us and you show it to them."

Jeongin finishes his liquor and put the glass down on his desk. He fills it with more liquor and one more ice cube, his eyes notice the transfer of ownership paper on the pile on his desk.

"The painting?"

Joon stops flipping the files he is reading, "it's hung in her bedroom."

Jeongin doesn't need to know the rest, knowing that you receive the gift is enough so he drinks the whiskey he pours.

"You should see her face, she likes it so much!" Joon adds.

Jeongin pours another and brings it with him as he looks out the window.

You're swimming at night, that's a first.

He puts his glass down and walks out of his office, taking slow walks until he arrives at the swimming pool. The water appears blue from the lights and your body glides under, seamlessly like you're one with the water.

He silently watches your body swimming back toward the edge and breaking through the water's surface.

There it is, how Aphrodite was born.

He sees how you are slightly surprised to see him there, standing at the edge of the pool.

You slowly climb the steps to get out of the water and Jeongin immediately reaches for the bathrobe lying on the sunchair, he takes it and offers to put it on you.

He promises not to touch you but allows himself to do a little chivalrous thing like this.

"A hot night?" He asks.

"Yeah," you hesitantly answer.

You turn around and slip your hands into the sleeves, finishing it by tying them together.

"Thank you," you mutter to him without looking him in the eyes.

After a few days of rarely seeing each other and you already change again, a little timid but still the same sweet girl.

"Are you going back to your room?"

"Yes."

"Can I walk you there?"

"Sure."

Just another little chivalry, no physical contact, totally safe and not against the rules.

Jeongin only needs to take his mind off things and just quietly walking the hallway with you does work for him.

"I'm glad that you made the right choice and everyone is safe," you suddenly say, breaking the silence.

"It's all thanks to you," he simply states the fact.

"I was just a mere messenger, you were the one who made the decision," you state another fact back at him.

He feels bad for doubting you back then, if you didn't ask him what good it would do for you to lie to him then he would choose not to believe you.

Your obedience still needs some work but you are an honest person and it pours out of you, that's what makes you so fragile.

And in the world he lives in, honesty comes with a price.

"Thanks for walking me back," you say and snapping him out of deep thought.

Does his mansion shrink by its size or the trip from the l swimming pool to your bedroom has always been this short?

He looks at you and the drops of water rolling down your neck, the wet hair stuck to your face.

He fights the urge to not put them away and shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Goodnight!" He mutters.

"Goodnight!" You say back and push open the door.

Jeongin is about to walk to his bedroom when you call his name and come up to him.

"I have something else to say to you," you say and put the hair curtains on your face behind your ear.

"What is it?"

"I want to thank you for the painting," you say with eyes gleaming, something about it that resembles a pool of stars.

"Don't mention it. It's nothing if you compared it with the lives you saved that day," he says, resisting pulling his hands out of his pockets to touch you.

"You know how much I like that painting so I want—"

He cuts you off and he doesn't want to hear you which gives him the impression that the gift is burdening you.

"It's nothing really, you—"

Then you cut him off as well with a kiss, it's a soft peck with your plush lips against his and it makes him feel like he's floating in the air, nothing is going to bring him down.

You let go of the kiss with a shy smile and look down at your feet.

"Thank you and goodnight," you mutter so fast that when his brain finally processed your words, you're already back inside your room.

That isn't a little chivalry yet it's not a violation because he is not the one who initiated it.

But it feels good, isn't it? Breaking the rules.

"Where are we going, Joon?"

Joon rushes you to get dressed after breakfast and now, you're on the way to the airfield where a private plane is waiting.

"A business trip," he answers.

"Why am I part of this business trip?" You ask out of curiosity because they've been on so many business trips and why all of a sudden they take you in one.

"He reckons you need some fresh air," he replies.

"Oh?"

So it's Jeongin's idea to take you, not Joon's.

When you meet on the plane and you keep your head down, walk to the seat, pick up your book, and don't try to engage in a conversation with him.

You don't know what led you to kiss him on the lips, you plan on thanking him and that's it. It crossed your mind to kiss him on the cheek at the last minute but by the time of the execution, you didn't know why but your lips found him and kissed.

Now, you have to deal with the consequence of it and it's to always avoid his eyes, trying not to make any eye contact with him.

Joon seems to be oblivious about it though, thank God for that! Jeongin is not a schoolboy who kissed a girl and then told his friend afterward.

He's the leader of the Northside for God's sake, you remind yourself.

He kidnapped you and imprisoned you in his mansion, he'll not let you go unless you agree to marry him. You're supposed to hate him, aren't you?

Once you arrived in your hotel room, Joon takes you to your room and helps you with your bag.

"A hotel suite just for myself?" You ask.

It takes only one look to know that it's bigger than the apartment you once lived in and the ceiling-to-floor window that overlooks the city is so captivating.

Joon takes that as a joke and chuckles, "I'll be back in a few minutes!"

He goes back inside to tell you, "don't try to do anything funny!"

You walk to the liquor cabinet and open it to show mini bottles of all brands of alcohol inside, "you mean I can't get drunk in the middle of the day?"

He chuckles again, "yeah, especially that!"

After Joon leaves, you take time to look around the hotel suite and drag your suitcase to the bedroom, sitting on the bed while touching the fine fabric of the sheet.

You give in to the temptation and lay down on the bed, exhaling a long breath that is long overdue only for the thoughts to go back into your head again.

That Jeongin kidnapped you, took you into his mansion, and locked you up, the only way out is to marry him.

You are supposed to hate him, you said in your head.

You close your eyes and inhale a deep breath, filling your lungs with as much oxygen to let your body relax.

The knocking on the door snaps you awake and you hurriedly open it.

"Are you ready?" Joon asks.

You tip your head to the side, "what?"

"I told you, I'll be back in a few minutes," he says and puts something inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"But you didn't say we're heading out!"

He grabs your bag from the chair and pulls you along with him, "everything is ready, let's go!"

It feels nice to be out of the mansion for a while and have a little sightseeing as the car ride around the city, but it seems like Joon has one particular place to take you.

Then you see the banner from outside the gallery, it's an exhibition of your favorite painter, the painter H.

"You should have said that you're taking me here, I would have come running to the lobby!" You playfully remark.

Joon lets you walk and look around on your own while he's following you from behind at a safe distance.

Looking at all of the paintings and being surrounded by them transport your back to the days working in the gallery, your routine of making a round before the opening hours with a coffee in your hands and spending time looking at your favorite pieces of art.

You can only dream of going back to those days.

You're so deep in your thought that you didn't notice a man standing next to you.

"It seems like you were deep in it," he says.

You politely smile and glance his way, "Yeah, I was."

He's beautiful, shiny dark hair with a faint mole under his left eye. He's dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans with a flannel shirt hung loosely on his shoulders, he looks a bit older but he wears what a typical art student wore to school.

"What do you think?" He asks.

It's the first time you talk to someone else apart from Jeongin and Joon or anyone working in the mansion. You find it hard to calibrate yourself to society again.

"Mmh?"

"The painting?"

You look back at the painting and try to verbalize your thoughts into words, "I've seen every painting in this exhibition and he used a lot of color blue, but the kind of blue that is so... gloom and cold," you comment.

"Then in each painting, there is an element of red in there, deep red, crimson..." you clasp your hands together in front of you.

"I don't know it's just... that the blue look like the color of a dead body and the red is blood oozing out of a wound," you finish with a small smile.

He nods but not saying anything. Then he lets out a laugh, a laugh that tells so much but nothing at the same time.

You quickly add something to back your previous remark, "It's just so different from the previous collections, they're tender and vivid and lively like forever blossoming flowers."

He turns to you again and praises, "You have good eyes!" praises.

You awkwardly laugh, "I'm a curator."

Then you remember you stopped working one month ago, "I was," you correct.

He looks at you and you feel like you're shrinking in size the longer his gaze lingers on you.

"Do you have a favorite?"

"From his works?"

"Yeah."

"The Flower Field," you answer without a beat.

He nods again and looks straight ahead, "nice."

"I have it hung on my bedroom wall," you brag with a smile and you realize how cheap that is but who else is going to hear you brag about owning his painting? Also, this man knows how to appreciate art and you will never meet him again anyway.

But the answer seems to surprise him that he walks away. Or maybe you shouldn't brag about the painting in the first place.

Joon comes up to you while talking on the phone, "are you done?"

"Yeah, I'm done looking around."

At this point, you stop asking Joon where he'll be taking you next. After a late lunch, he takes you to a boutique and you guess that you'll be dressed for something tonight.

All these times you have someone picked a dress for you and you had no choice but to put it on. Today, you have the perk of choosing the dress and taking the time it needed to try to find the perfect one.

It baffles you how much effort you put into this, but you remind yourself that you're not dressing up for a man, you're dressing up for the enemy.

"I have one more favor!"

"Since when did you ask?" You say with a subtle eye-roll, fiddling with the strap of your purse because you have no idea why you are so nervous.

He scoffs but lets this one slide, "look, it's important that you make the entrance at the right time."

Seeing that Joon's face turns serious, you intently listen to him.

"Now, here's what you have to do," he leans in close and whispers instructions into your ear.

Jeongin has lost a few million dollars already.

Poker is never his favorite game to play, but reading their faces is what he's good at.

Except for Mr. Yamada, he's a little tricky. He maintains unwavering eyes and shows the slightest bit of gestures, he hides his cards well. He's an experienced player and has been in the game longer than Jeongin's reigns in the Northside.

That's why he raked over almost a hundred million already.

Jeongin needs a little distraction to penetrate his enemy's mind and try to beat his game.

"Mr. Yang, your bet?" The dealer asks, derailing his train of thought.

"How much?" Jeongin calmly asks.

"1 million, sir!"

Jeongin looks at his cards once again and calculates his odds, he's not going to win with them.

Then the doors to the private casino lounge open and the sounds break the thick, intense silence in the room, all heads turn to see who it is.

Magenta, a color that never comes to his attention until he sees it on you, on a dress that reveals just enough to make everyone coo in awe.

And you make eye contact with him, don't stray for a second until you arrived next to his seat.

Then you lean down and gently, kiss him on the cheek.

It's a part of his plan, a distraction that he needed but he didn't know that he'd be just as distracted.

"I'm sorry for coming late," you softly speak then places a hand on his shoulder.

You look at everyone around the table and then back at him, "Good luck, darling!" You sweetly say.

Jeongin takes your hand and places a kiss on your knuckles before letting you go.

"Sir?" The dealer asks him again.

"Sorry, yeah, one million, isn't it?" Jeongin intentionally stammering his words.

He throws the chip to the middle of the table and when it's time to reveal the cards, he loses another game.

But this will be the last because now he knows how to outsmart Mr. Yamada's slick poker face.

Sometimes, in gambling, you don't need to play smart or dependent on your luck or pull an intricate trick, sometimes you just have to follow your guts.

That's what Mr. Yamada doesn't have.

He's old, he runs out of a sense of recklessness and that impulsiveness, so he plays safe.

Good thing Jeongin doesn't want to play safe, he pushes all of his chips to the center of the table.

"All in!" He coyly says that those chips don't worth more than ten million dollars.

After a moment, he finally comes to a decision.

"All in!" He calls Jeongin's bluff.

There's a total of roughly fifty million on the table and all the eyes are on him, waiting in anticipation.

"It's time to show your cards, Mr. Yamada!" The dealer points at him to open his cards first.

He slides the cards on the table and flips them open at once, he lets out a snarl for getting a straight.

Everyone gasped in surprise, probably pitying Jeongin who may lose all of his money.

Jeongin's face drops a little but it's time to show his cards, he slides them to the dealer which he takes then turns them over.

"Straight flush!" The dealer announces.

That's when Jeongin finally let out his triumphant smile, victory is sweet but seeing his opponent's losing face is even sweeter.

"Mr. Yang wins!" And the dealer rakes every chip from the table to Jeongin's side.

Jeongin flicks one chip worth a thousand for the dealer as a tip and gets up to grab a drink for himself. Or that was his plan until he sees you standing with Joon from across the room.

His secret weapon, a distraction that got him distracted as well and almost derailed him from his plan.

"Good game!" Joon beams at him with an exciting laugh but he soon understands that he's only getting in the way when he notices that Jeongin's eyes are on you, "I'll get you a drink!" He says, then leaves him with you.

You sip your champagne and smile, "Congratulations!"

"I should thank you for that good luck kiss," he calmly says and grabs a glass of champagne from a server, he gulps it down in one go.

"I'm glad that worked," you say and finish your glass.

Tonight, he meets the feisty you that he rarely meets.

He puts his hand against the table to block you from leaving, "I wonder what kind of luck I would get if I got more than just a kiss on the cheek," he says

You crack a laugh, "it's ironic because you need the luck to get more than that," you say, boldly looking back into his eyes.

But Jeongin's eyes are focusing on those lips, lips that he kissed and vividly remembers how it tastes.

He takes a step forward but maintains a little space in between, "I—"

Someone comes from behind him and taps him on the shoulder. It's Mr. Yamada and he comes to congratulate him.

"Brilliant game, Mr. Yang!"

Jeongin lets you go and takes Mr. Yamada's kind offer for a handshake, "you almost had me there!"

The old man chuckles then shift his to you, "and this lady had me!"

You let out a polite smile, "oh? Me?"

"I don't have to tell you how beautiful you are! Everyone here is captivated by you!" He compliments with a charming smile for a man with salt and pepper hair.

"Oh, thank you!" You respond with another courteous smile.

He offers his hand at you, "would you have a dance with me?"

"Certainly!" Your answer and for a second forget that Jeongin is there with you.

Mr. Yamada sees the glance you throw at him, "Mr. Yang, you don't mind me borrowing your fine lady for a dance, right?"

Jeongin fixes his bowtie and smiles, "Not at all!"

He shouldn't be worried about you having a dance with an old man, he's not that petty. He earned millions of dollars tonight, he should be happy with it.

But seeing you having a great time and waltzing around the place, he agrees that Mr. Yamada is a pleasant man to be with.

He can be one too if he wanted.

"Your drink!" Joon comes with his third glass of drink and he's getting just as agitated with Jeongin throwing icy glares at Mr. Yamada.

"Poor old man just wants a dance," Joon comforts him.

Jeongin scoffs but not answering.

"Go get your turn then if you're so annoyed," Joon says and pushes him toward the dancing floor that Jeongin almost sloshes his drink onto his tuxedo.

Lucky that he knows Joon since they were little or else, he would have his men teach him a lesson. He throws a dagger through his gaze at Joon but he can only laugh at him in return.

And the sound of your laugh is getting louder now, he hates that he isn't the one that can make you laugh that loud.

He stomps his way to Mr. Yamada and taps his shoulder, "I think it's my turn now," he says straightforwardly.

Mr. Yamada laughs at him then at you, "someone is impatient!"

You notice how his jaws clenched and hurriedly let go of Mr. Yamada's holds on you, "I had a great time, thank you!"

"Likewise!" He says to you and kisses your hand before parting.

Yet Jeongin just stands there and looks at you.

"Aren't we going to dance?" You ask.

Jeongin immediately takes your hand and starts dancing with you by placing the other hand on your waist. Takes him a moment to adjust his body for a dance or he is just nervous but doesn't want to show it.

"Does winning millions of dollars not enough for you?" You say with your cheek barely touching his.

"Why should I win you? You're already mine!" He simply states a fact.

"Men and their obsession with possessions!" You say with cute but condescending low chuckles.

Your warm breath brushes his cheek and reminds him of the kiss you placed earlier, as light as a feather yet so addictive.

"Did you forget that your only way out is to legally become mine?"

The smug on your face fades a little, "Thanks, I really do need the reminder!"

Jeongin doesn't mean to turn the mood sour, something in you that makes him get easily provoked. While all he wants is to tell you how breathtakingly beautiful you are and how much he wants to touch you.

But in order to do that, he has to earn your permission first.

"You're—"

"It's getting boring," you abruptly stop dancing and let go of him altogether, "I want to go home!"

Jeongin yet again rubs you the wrong way.

He hasn't yet to find any ways to handle you with care when you're like this. You walk so fast in front of him, and can't wait to get in the car and go home.

"You did it again!" Joon grumbles at him while also walking fast to catch up with his pace.

Jeongin can't defend himself, because he did blow his chance.

"Slow down! The cars are not here yet!" Joon shouts at you, giving up chasing after you, and goes to the valet service.

He knows he shouldn't go near you, it will only piss you off more but seeing you rubbing your hands up and down your arms, he comes to offer his suit jacket.

Something stops him on his track.

An inkling, a gut feeling.

Maybe it's an instinct or maybe he's been in the same situation one too many times.

He can feel that something is not right, he is almost certain that something bad is going to happen soon. He looks around the place and scans through a group of people crowding the entrance of the casino.

There, he sees it, a man pulling out a gun from the inside of his jacket.

Without thinking, he dashes toward you and throws himself at you, shielding you from whatever comes your way.

Then...

BANG!

There are screams and shouts, people scramble to safety.

But all he sees is you, the terror in your eyes with your hands clutching onto the front of his shirt.

He wraps his body around you and says, "I'm right here, you're—"

But before he can finish his words of comfort, there comes another one.

BANG!

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