#i tried to do their theme colors and it ended up being very valentines themed i think its cute | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starshine583 · 3 years

Text

New Girl on the Block (18)

(Hey, everyone! I have an announcement to make! After posting this chapter, I am going to be taking a temporary leave due to family matters. They’re fun family matters, so don’t worry! but they will prevent me from writing any further chapters at this time. I plan to post the next chapter on June 27th. Sorry for the long wait! That’s just how things worked out, but I hope I’ll get to see you all then, and please enjoy this new update! Feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called Journal Entries!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 17 / Ch. 19 (ao3)

Chapter 18: It’s the Little Moments

Felix grumbled to himself as he picked up his tie to pull it around his neck. Valentine’s Day parties were bad enough already with all of the love-sick couples that tended to crowd around him throughout the evening. Did he really have to further his torment by dressing up as well? His previous suit was perfectly fine for an event such as this. Fashionable, sleek, formal- there was no reason to change. Especially when it came to this ridiculous, unseemly-

“Oh, lighten up.” His mother told him, shooing his hands away so she could tie the tie herself. “It’s just a Valentine’s Day suit, and you’re wearing it for one night. There’s no need to scowl over it. I’m sure the other boys will be wearing some form of pink too.”

Felix scoffed. “Mother, don’t patronize me. You know I don’t care about the pink color. It’s the fact that you’re dressing me up to match the theme.”

Bridgette eyed him. “And? You’re supposed to match the theme for parties. That’s why it’s called a theme.”

“But if I match the theme, other girls at the party will probably think I approve of the theme too.” Felix argued. “And then they’ll be asking me to dance or trying to talk with me in general. I’ll have to spend the entire evening trying to shoo them off.”

A laugh tumbled from his mother’s lips. “Aw~, it must be so exhausting having all of the girls fall in love with you.”

Felix shot her a flat look. “Would you want to spend an evening rejecting people?”

Bridgette tilted her head in a nod. “I’ll give you that one, but you know Allegra could always scare them off if they become too overbearing.”

Felix blew out a relenting sigh. He supposed that was true.

“Besides, even if the girls are chasing you, you still need to look nice Marinette, don’t you?”

Felix furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “No? Marinette’s not going to care what I look like, so long as I’m not a fashion disaster, that is.”

Which, in this suit, he might very well be, to be honest. Perhaps he should text her a warning.

“I thought you two were supposed to be going on a fake date tonight.” His mother replied, tugging lightly on Felix’s tie to straighten it.

Felix’s gaze snapped to her. “Where did you hear that?”

Bridgette chuckled, offering him a teasing glance as she said, “Oh, please. You know Allegra and I talk.”

Felix tisked and rolled his shoulders, making sure his suit wasn’t too tight. Of course Allegra would mention that ridiculous suggestion to his mother. Those two loved to gossip together, specifically about him.

“Well, we’re not.” He remarked, leveling out the annoyance in his tone. “That was just some frivolous idea that Claude came up with the other day.”

“Really? I thought the idea sounded rather exciting.”

Felix resisted the urge to scoff again. Her too? “Why on earth would it be exciting? You galivant around with someone, probably doing the exact same thing you would do with them on a normal basis, but you call it a ‘fake date’ for what? A good laugh when someone assumes you’re a real couple? I can’t wrap my brain around the reasoning.”

Another chuckle came from Bridgette. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, but consider this: If you and Marinette pretend you’re dating for the evening, you might not have so many girls coming to ask you for a dance.”

Felix paused, his eyes widening slightly. That.. actually wasn’t such a bad idea. He might even consider it if the thought of asking Marinette didn’t sound so incredibly arrogant. ‘Would you mind being my fake date to help me escape the supposed hoards of girls who are going to chase after me tonight?’ You can’t convince him that that proposal didn’t sound anything less than tacky. She’d probably tease him about it the whole night.

“If it bothers you so much, though,” his mother spoke again, “why not ask Marinette out on a real date?”

Felix sputtered a bit at the comment, blurting out a bewildered, “Excuse me?”

Don’t get him wrong, Marinette was an extraordinary person and anyone who ended up with her would undoubtedly be lucky, but the very thought of him asking her out on a date felt.. strange. He couldn’t imagine asking her for anything more than what she was giving him right now, and he didn’t think there was anything she’d want from him when it came to a relationship anyway. Their dynamic was comfortable as it was. Why should they try to complicate things?

“Alright, alright, I was just asking.” his mother assured, almost seeming to laugh as she did. “You two are only friends. I understand.”

Something about the smile in her eyes told him that she didn’t understand, but he simply glanced to the side, electing to ignore it. Arguing wouldn’t change her mind either way, and in the end it was just a question. His friendship with Marinette wasn’t going to change over it, because neither of them harbored romantic feelings for each other. He was perfectly content to keep it that way.

~~~~~~

Marinette stood in front of her vanity mirror, twisting her hair into a side ponytail for the fifth time that evening. She’d spent the last hour trying over and over again to perfect the hairstyle, but she could never seem to get it right. The ponytail was always too lopsided or too messy or the braid tied into it would begin to unwind. Now, the ponytail was tied tightly enough, but the braid was crooked, and there were too many stray hairs flying around for it to look neat. How can she still be struggling after practicing this for an hour?

“Ugh! I give up!” She huffed, throwing her hands down and staring ruefully at her nearly knotted locks. This is what she gets for taking the easy route and always putting her hair in pigtails. “I’m just going to stay home.”

“No, don’t do that!” Tikki quickly spoke up, flying to her holder’s side. “You’ve worked too hard on your dress to stay home! And your hair really doesn’t look all that bad. I’m sure no one will think twice about it.”

Marinette tisked, plopping into her rolling chair and crossing her arms. “But I’ll think about it, Tikki, and I’ll be more self-conscious than I was going to be before.”

Tonight wasn’t just a Valentine’s Day party for Marinette. That was mainly what it was, of course, but she also saw it as a sort of debut. With the amount of time she spent hanging around Allegra and Claude and the others, she hadn’t had time to truly meet her other classmates at Rosemary, but tonight, they would all be gathered together for her convenience and she would finally have a chance to introduce herself to the school as a whole. It was exhilarating.. and a tad frightening. She’d seen plenty of students in passing that appeared to be less than friendly. How were they going to react to her? Were they going to be as sweet as her current friends? Or did she happen to run into the best group in the school first? There was no telling.

“Try not to overthink it.” Her kwami said softly, though they both knew she would. “Why don’t you try a different hairstyle?”

“Because I don’t know any other hairstyles.” Marinette sighed. “Well.. I know a bun, I guess, but I really wanted this hairstyle for tonight. I feel like it would really bring the dress together, you know?”

“It would.” Tikki agreed. “And it does. But if you think you can’t figure it out-”

“Marinette! Felix is here to pick you up!”

Panic seized Marinette’s chest at the call, and she leapt out of her chair to look in the mirror again. Felix was there already? The party wasn’t for another thirty minutes! Why did he always have to be early?

“Uh- j-just a second, Maman!” She called back, frantically trying to straighten her braid and smooth the wisps of hair around her ponytail. It didn’t work, unfortunately, so she threw a silver pin in her hair as a last ditch effort and made her way downstairs, trying not to whimper too much.

“Oh, Marinette, you look wonderful!” Her mother cooed as Marinette descended the stairs. “I need to go get Tom. Oh, and a camera!”

Marinette pulled a wince. They were going to have photo evidence of this failure of a hairstyle?

“Maman, are you sure that’s necessary? I get dressed up like this all the time.” She tried to dissuade, but Sabine merely waved off her comment.

“Of course it is! This is your first party at Rosemary. We must have pictures.”

“Best be prepared.” A voice cut in, catching Marinette’s attention immediately. “Claude will undoubtedly be thinking the same thing when we arrive.”

Marinette turned towards the front door with a smile, but a gasp escaped her when she saw Felix standing there. She knew it would be him, of course. She simply hadn’t expected him to be wearing a different outfit.

“You..” She paused, briefly wondering if it would be rude to finish, then continued, “you changed your suit.”

Logically, she knew he had more than one suit. No one can wear the same suit forever, and Felix seemed to be too proper to do it even if he could. However, when he didn’t wear his usual suit, he continued to maintain the black and grey color scheme, so it never quite stuck with her that he’d changed. Tonight, though, his suit was entirely red, so deep a red that she might acquate it with blood, and he had a wonderfully pink tie on, along with a pink cloth folded in his front vest pocket to complement it. The sight nearly knocked her off her feet. He was even matching the party’s theme! She didn’t think he cared for things such as that.

A smirk ghosted Felix’s lips, and he nodded. “Yes, courtesy of my mother. I see you changed your hair as well.”

A blush crept across her cheeks, and Marinette reached up to feel how horrible the hairstyle was again. Here Felix was, doing his best and looking great as always, and she was just standing there looking like a mess. Typical.

“O-Oh, yeah, I mean.. I tried to change it. I don’t think it worked out too well..” She muttered, glancing down at the ground. Maybe she still had time to take it out before they left?

Felix’s footsteps brought her gaze back upwards, and she watched him cross the room to her. His eyes were squinted ever-so-slightly, the way they always were when he was pondering something, and once he was close enough, he reached out, his hand lightly tracing over the side braid she’d attempted.

Marinette stood still, allowing him to ‘examine’ her for a moment before saying, “It’s awful, isn’t it? I couldn’t get anything to stay where it was supposed to.”

Felix hummed absently, bringing his hand down to let the tip of her ponytail slide off of his fingertips. “No, not awful. If you practice a few more times, I’m sure it would be perfect.”

Marinette blew out a small sigh. That meant it wasn’t perfect now.

“Do you have the reference you used? If I see it, I might be able to straighten the braid out before we leave at least.” Felix inquired, causing Marinette’s eyes to widen. Oh?

“You know how to do hair?”

“Not quite,” he admitted, “but I learned some of the basics during a few sleepovers. For some reason, Claude and Allegra thought it important that I had a decent grasp on the subject.”

A smile came to Marinette’s lips. That sounded like something they would do. “And you think you can fix my hairstyle from your limited knowledge?”

“Possibly, if you have reference,” Felix smirked, “but it’s alright if you prefer to keep what you have.”

“Oh no, please.” Marinette said, quickly pulling her phone out of her heart shaped purse. “Anything’s probably better than what I have in now. Are you sure we have time, though?”

Felix nodded. “I always leave around ten or fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, so we should have plenty of time.”

Marinette nodded as well and opened the reference video she’d used for her hairstyle. Felix took the phone from her and watched it once or twice as she pulled out the pins in her hair. Then, when everything was down again, Felix handed the phone back to her and let it play in her hands for a third time while he set to work. His fingers brushed through her hair, carefully separating the different locks and tying them together. The feeling behind it was quite strange, mostly because she could hardly feel it at all. His hands were so gentle, so cautious that even when he had to tug on her hair to tighten the braid, it seemed as light as a cloud. Felix was always soft like that. He spoke harshly to others and liked to scowl often, but when it came to his actions, she couldn’t recall a single time he’d been rough.

Recently, she’s been hearing that secret softness in his voice too, and it never failed to make her smile.

“Aw, did her hair fall out?”

Sabine’s voice brought the two’s gaze to the living room doorway. She was standing there with Tom, a camera in her hands and a slight, disappointed frown on her lips.

“No, I took it out.” Marinette assured over her shoulder. “Felix offered to do the hairdo himself so it would look better.”

“Oh, how gentlemanly of him.” Tom chimed in with a satisfied smile.

“Do you mind if I get a picture?” Sabine requested, prepping the camera in her hands.

“Uh..” Marinette looked to Felix as best she could. “Are you okay with that?”

“I don’t mind.” Felix shrugged. “Mother already bombarded me with pictures before I left. What’s a few more?”

Marinette chuckled. “You said she was the one who gave you the suit right?”

“No, she’s the one who made me wear it.” Felix corrected. “Something about having to match the theme.”

“Ah, I see.” Marinette said. She should have known Felix wouldn’t throw away his black and grey color scheme willingly. “She has great taste. You’ll have to let me meet her sometime so I can tell her ‘thank you’.”

A playful scoff passed his lips and brushed against her ear. “You know, I’m sure she would be delighted to do just that.”

*Click!*

The camera flash brought the two’s attention back to Sabine and Tom, who were both holding giddy smiles at this point.

“I think you both look fantastic.” Tom grinned. “Those boys will be falling over each other to get to Marinette tonight, I’m sure.”

Felix hummed as he twisted her hair to pin it into a side ponytail, muttering, “I quite agree.”

The comment was soft and absent, and it sent a blush exploding across Marinette’s face. That’s the second time he’s agreed to her being pretty and a supposed ‘boy magnet’. Does he ever think about what he’s saying or is it just some logical fact to him that shouldn’t mean anything? She’s not sure which one she prefers.

“Done.”

Felix’s hands fell back to his sides, and Marinette reached up to feel the hairstyle- gently, though, so as not to mess it up. The pull of the bobby pins was comfortable and tight, and her braid felt nice and straight as she grazed her fingers over it. Overall, it felt perfect, which was exactly what she’d wanted.

“Thanks, Felix.” She said, offering him a quick smile as she checked the reflection in her phone. “It looks great. You’re a life-saver.”

“And you two are going to be late if you don’t hurry up.” Her maman cut in. “Now gather together for a picture so we can send you off.”

Marinette rolled her eyes with a smile and tucked her phone back in her purse, then turned to stand next to Felix. He, in turn, straightened slightly next to her and clasped his hand behind his back for the picture.

“Alright, say cheese!” Sabine coaxed, holding up her camera.

The pair smiled. “Cheese!”

*Click!*

~~~~~~~

Claude’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he watched his fellow Rosemary students pile into the Mandarin Oriental. As usual, people of all shapes and sizes were here. The ‘cool’ kids, the music kids, the nerd kids, the geeks, the dancers- anyone and everyone who had a popular status at the school, along with a good group of others who counted as the stalking crowd. The younger, less-popular students who tended to follow the social hierarchies like loyal dogs. The ‘baby paparazzis’, if you will. They were all crowding inside with an urgency that only his- and Allegra and Allan and Marinette and Felix’s -parties could bring. Soon, Marinette and Felix will be there as well, and then the fun will really begin.

“Alright, Marinette just texted.” Allegra spoke up behind him. She was currently hovering around the buffet table to ensure the punch drinks were being dispersed properly. Claude, of course, was hovering around Allegra in case she needed his help with anything.

“She said they’re parking now.” His ‘fake date’ continued, glancing over her phone screen as she re-read the text. “You remember what to do, right?”

Claude huffed out a playful scoff, reaching for the platter of shrimp as he replied, “Of course I do. Take her onto the dance floor to help her get comfortable in the ‘party atmosphere’, convince her to dance with Felix while you convince Felix to dance with her, and-”

Allegra slapped his hand, coaxing a yelp from the brunette.

“Don’t touch the shrimp until the other guests have some first.” She scolded.

Claude rubbed his hand with a pout. So touchy. Why should he have to wait for the guests to eat? If they wanted shrimp, they should come up and get some. Why can’t he have the food that he helped pay for? (Well, the food that his parents helped pay for.)

“And keep your voice down too.” Allegra added, flipping her hair over her shoulder when it fell in the way. Wearing it in a half-up-half-down style wasn’t nearly as convenient as her casual braid, but he had to admit, the free curls that fell around her shoulders were extremely nice. “Do you know the amount of people here who would love to get their grubby little hands on the fact that we’re trying to set stubborn, stuck-up, stone-faced Felix with the new, cotton-candy-sweet, bakery-girl Marinette? The gossip would reach both of them within seconds.”

“Yeah, it probably would.” He agreed. “But at least they’ll both know they like each other then. Saves us the trouble, right?”

Allegra shot him a flat look, meaning he probably said something wildly inaccurate again.

“Claude, the only gossip that would be spreading would be the fact that we’re trying to get them together. Not that they like each other. How do you think Felix is going to react when he realizes we’re playing matchmaker? What about Marinette? I think they’d probably be a little uncomfortable considering neither of them probably think that the other person likes them. Which is why we decided to be subtle about this in the first place.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes, it does.” Allegra said, crossing her arms. “So keep your voice down when talking about it from now on, please.”

Claude nodded, leaning back on the buffet table as he faced the crowd again. “Sure, sorry.”

This was going to be a tough evening, trying to get Marinette and Felix together while not blurting the scheme out to the world. He just felt like everything would be easier if they simply talked to each other about it openly. But Allegra was more perceptive than he was. She probably knew things he didn’t about the situation. So he’ll go along with her plan and hope it works out.

Besides, this way he gets to mess with Felix as much as he wants. And he won’t get scolded, this time!

And if everything does work out, Marinette and Felix will be all the happier for it.

Win-win-win-win.

“Hey, guys.” Allan spoke up, joining them at the table and swiping a shrimp. “Do you know if Felix and Marinette are here yet? I haven’t seen them.”

Allegra opened her mouth to scold him about the shrimp as she had Claude, but Allan popped it into his mouth before she could. Claude held back a snort, watching Allegra purse her lips in annoyance. If he couldn’t have a shrimp, at least Allan got one.

“They’re on their way up now.” The blonde replied with narrowed eyes, unbeknownst to Allan. “They just parked a few minutes ago.”

“Cool. We’re still having Claude do his thing, right?”

“Yep.” Claude said, a devilish grin spreading across his lips. “And I am so ready to cause mischief.”

Allegra snorted and lightly nudged him in the arm. “Not too much mischief. This is supposed to be romantic, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Claude waved her off. “I’ll get them to be romantic. After I get to mess with them.”

“Claude-”

“Oh- there they are! Hey, guys!”

Claude perked up at the interruption, the familiar voice drawing his gaze to the front of the Mandarin Oriental. It was the very voice they’d been waiting for, and the source wasn’t hard to find.

Marinette and Felix were making their way through the crowd towards them, Marinette clearly excited as she waved them down with a bright smile. The designer dress she was wearing looked fantastic, as Felix had predicted, and the hearts littering it matched the theme perfectly. She even had her hair all done up tonight! (Which really brought out the elegance of the dress, in his opinion.) An outfit like that was only going to make his job of setting up a romantic thought process between the two that much easier.

(Of course, with the way Felix was staring at Marinette right now, Claude had a feeling that that thought process might already be set up.)

“Hey!” he greeted, meeting the pair halfway to give Marinette a hug. Was it the flowers on the table or did this girl actually smell like roses tonight? Did she use a special perfume? Oh, Allegra was going to love this.

“You two look awesome! I was starting to think you’d never get here.” He teased, stepping back again to get a better view of her face. She decided to go with a pinker shade of lipstick tonight, along with a glittering, light pink eyeshadow, and it’s a wonder that Felix hasn’t collapsed from swooning at this point. (Though maybe Claude can catch that when the two dance later. The video footage would be priceless!)

Marinette let out a light laugh, touching the tip of her side ponytail with a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry about that. Felix was helping me with my hair.”

“Aw, Felix!” Allegra cooed, coming up behind Claude just then to join them. “You did Marinette’s hair? It looks lovely.”

“I knew those lessons would come in handy.” Claude smirked.

“Yes, who would’ve guessed?” Felix muttered, briefly rolling his eyes, but Claude wasn’t fooled. He could hear the almost airy tone to Felix’s voice, see his eyes soften anytime he so much as glanced at Marinette. That guy had probably been ecstatic to do Marinette’s hair, and he just didn’t want to show it.

He would, though.. Soon enough.

“Hey, guys.” Allan chimed in, finally joining them as well. “You both look great. I haven’t seen Felix wear that dark of red in a while.”

“Or red in general.” Allegra remarked with a smile.

“Or pink.” Claude added, eyeing Felix’s shirt sleeves. “Actually, I haven’t seen you wear anything besides gray or black since Marinette had you wear that green, plaid shirt after the ‘flour incident’.”

“In other words.. Your mom made you wear that, didn’t she?” Allegra asked lightheartedly.

“Of course she did.” Felix said. “Why else would I wear it?”

“Well, I imagine you’d just want to look nice.” Claude joked, wrapping his arm around Felix’s shoulders and ignoring the blond’s scowl. “Either way, remind your mom how awesome she is for me when you get home.”

“I’m sure she already knows.” Felix replied curtly, shoving Claude’s arm off of him again.

A giggle brought Claude’s attention back to Marinette, who was now observing the party with sparkling interest.

“Everything looks incredible, you guys!” She nearly squealed. “The lights, the flowers, the food.. But I thought the party started at six. Did I get the times mixed up again?”

“No, it does- er, did.” Claude said. “People just get excited and like to get in as soon as they can.”

“Oh.” Marinette muttered, relief smoothing out her features. “So we’re not late?”

“Not at all. In fact..” Claude swept into a bow, offering his hand to her with a grin. “We were just about to start the dancing. Would you mind giving me the honors?”

A surprised laugh fell from Marinette’s lips. “Me? I thought Allegra was your ‘fake date’ for the evening.”

“She is, but I have to save the best for last, right?” Claude threw a wink at Allegra, who also let out a laugh and rolled her eyes. The slight blush on the her cheeks gave her away, though, and it caused his grin to widen.

Marinette gave an “Aw~.” and slipped her hand into his. “Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to dance with you.”

“Great!” Claude cheered, pulling her close.

They glided onto the dance floor, quickly catching the attention of the room, and with that, the first part of the plan fell into place. Claude was dancing with Marinette. Now he needed to convince her to dance with Felix.

Out of the corner of his eye, Claude could already see Felix starting to flounder. He simply stood there, quietly watching them dance with that neutral expression of his and occasionally looking elsewhere. Without Marinette to anchor him in a room of people, the blond would no doubt resort to being a wallflower again and wander over to some corner. A nice, hidden corner where Allegra could easily- and discreetly -convince Felix to dance with Marinette. They all knew him too well.

“Are we the only ones dancing?” Marinette asked, bringing Claude’s attention back to her.

“For now,” he confirmed, “but someone has to start it, right? Look, they’re already joining in.”

“I guess that’s true..” Marinette said, glancing at the few couples that had indeed started to join them. “I don’t normally dance all that much, to be honest. So it’s a little weird for me to be the one starting it for once.”

Claude laughed and took a step back to spin her around. “Really? You’re a natural at it!”

“Oh, thanks. That’s a relief to hear.” Marinette smiled, hobbling into a spin.

“Course. But you know who else is a natural at it?”

Marinette hummed. “Let me guess.. Is it you?”

Claude snorted. “Well, duh, but I was actually talking about Felix.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Felix?”

“Yeah! He takes waltzing classes at the school and everything, but he never dances! Can you believe it?”

A chuckle passed Marinette’s lips. “Kind of. This is Felix we’re talking about. Maybe his mom wanted him to take dance lessons like she wanted him to wear that tuxedo.”

“Maybe.. But it’s still a shame to waste such carefully crafted skills. You should try to get him to dance tonight.”

Marinette snorted. “Oh? And who would I get him to dance with? He doesn’t like getting close to random people.”

Claude hummed. “Now, that’s a question, isn’t it? Who should dance with Felix tonight..”

He made a show of looking around the dance floor as he and Marinette waltzed in a circle, then looked back to her. “..Why don’t you dance with him?”

Marinette nearly tripped over her own two feet at the suggestion, and Claude had to hold back a smile. Was she getting flustered? That’s a good sign.

“You want me to.. Are you sure he’d be comfortable with that? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even want to dance.”

“Come on, who else could get Felix to dance?” Claude insisted. “He’ll say yes if it’s you, and we can’t let him be a wallflower forever.”

Marinette let out a soft laugh, looking quite bashful as a blush curled onto her cheeks, and she glanced over at Felix. He was already standing next to the wall near the punch bowl, looking idle as he watched the dancing crowd.

“I don’t know, Claude. I think he rather enjoys being a wallflower.”

Claude chuckled. “Just say you’ll try? At the very least, it’ll make Allegra happy to see Felix out and about.”

Marinette turned her attention back to him and smiled. “..Alright. I guess I’ll try, but no promises about actually getting him to dance.”

“Deal.” Claude grinned. Mission success!

“On an entirely different note, though, your dress is incredible. You made that yourself, right?”

Marinette brightened and nodded. “Yes, I did! I had lots of fun with it so I’m glad you guys like it.”

“Aw, I’m pretty sure I’d like anything you make. You always put a cool twist on things.” Claude smiled. “By the way, how’s my prince suit coming along? Have you started it yet?”

“I have! It’s actually pretty close to being done. I’m on the ‘details’ stage.”

A gasp of delight escaped him. He hadn’t realized how close she was to finishing it!

“Oh, sweet! You’re gonna have to come over to my house when you finish it. We can even have a mini-fashion show for you!”

Marinette giggled. “That sounds like a blast.”

“Yes!” Claude briefly let go of Marinette’s waist to pump his fist. “Man, am I glad you came to Rosemary. I mean, not just because of the prince suit- even though that is pretty awesome -but also because you’re a fun person to be around, ya know? Everyone thinks so.”

“Really?” Marinette’s steps lagged slightly, clearly taken aback by the statement. “That’s.. Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

For a moment, she almost looked relieved.. Or even sad. But another blinding smile appeared before he could figure out why.

“I think you guys are fun to be around too.” She said warmly.

Claude smiled, feeling his uneasiness melt away. She didn’t sound sad or solemn at all. He was probably just imagining things, or seeing a trick of the light.

“Excuse me.”

Claude and Marinette slowed to a stop, turning to another boy who had come to interrupt them.

“Mind switching off with me?” He asked, offering his hand to Marinette. Was that even allowed during an informal dance such as this?

Nevertheless, Claude caught Marinette’s eye. “What do you say, Mari? Wanna switch off?”

Marinette blinked. “Oh- uh -sure. If you’re okay with it.”

“Absolutely.” Claude smirked, jokingly spinning Marinette into the other boy’s arms. “Just don’t forget your promise to try!”

Marinette chuckled as she re-situated herself into the dance position. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Claude watched the two dance away, smiling proudly at the seed he’d sown for Marinette and Felix’s romantic evening. Allegra was surely going to be pleased with his work, and he was going to be pleased watching it unfold.

Now to get that shrimp.

~~~~~~~

Felix leaned against the wall, quietly observing the other party members dance, specifically Marinette. Her smile shined brightly as a boy twirled her, and her shoulders shook with giggles when the boy dipped her a second later. She appeared to be enjoying herself, and Felix was enjoying watching her. He had a feeling the other boys from Rosemary would be showering her with attention tonight- it was one of the rare times when she wasn’t being smothered by himself and the trio, after all -but he was admittedly surprised by the amount of stamina she possessed. It’d been at least an hour or two since the dancing started, yet she was still going as strong as ever, non-stop.

Well, he supposed it wasn’t non-stop. She had spun over to his little corner a few times to talk, which was how he ended up carrying two cups of punch instead of his one. Still, she should probably take a seat soon. Those heels she’d decided to wear were bound to be painful after a while. Perhaps he should grab her attention and find an empty table-

“U-um, excuse me, Felix?”

Felix glanced to his right, meeting the face of a girl that seemed vaguely familiar and a tad timid. She stood a certain distance away from him, her lips stretched into a nervous smile, and gave a little wave. Was that all she intended to do?

“Can I help you?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Oh- well-” The girl faltered, as though she hadn’t expected to get this far, and rubbed her arm. “A-actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to.. Dance? With me. Of course.”

Ah, Felix thought, heaving a mental sigh. He should have known that that would be her intention. Now her visible anxiety made sense.

“Apologies, but I don’t dance.” He replied smoothly.

The girl’s shoulders sank. “Oh.. really? I thought you took waltzing classes at the school.”

Felix schooled a neutral expression, if only to avoid glaring. What, was she stalking him or something?

“I assure you they are for my Mother’s pleasure only, but I myself do not dance.” He said, a flatter note in his voice than before. Take the hint.

Thankfully, she did, but not in the way Felix was hoping.

“Ah, I see.. How about I keep you company then?” The girl suggested, getting entirely too comfortable next to him. “You’ve been over here by yourself for a while now.”

Felix’s grip on the cups tightened. So she was stalking him.

“While I appreciate the gesture, it’s quite unnecessary. I’m simply waiting for my friend to get back.”

“Your friend?” The girl asked, glancing into the crowd curiously. “You mean the black-haired girl who gave you that drink, right?”

Felix held back another scowl, his eye twitching. Seriously, how long had this girl been watching him? Didn’t she have someone better to bother? There were plenty of other guys here that would be willing to dance or talk with her. Why did she have to choose to annoy him specifically?

“Her hair is raven, and yes, she’s the one that gave me this drink.” He responded curtly, taking a sip of his own punch.

The girl nodded thoughtfully, blissfully unaware of his thinning patience. “I guess her hair does have a blue shine to it. Do you want me to hold one of the drinks? I imagine they get heavy after a while.”

Felix pulled the drinks away from her grasp, finally fixing her with a look.

I want you to mind your business, you little-

“Felix!”

Marinette’s punch was plucked from his hands, and an arm settled on his left shoulder. He whipped to the new interruption, thinking what now? and about ready to snap at someone, until he saw Allegra’s smiling face. She must have noticed him getting irritated and came over to investigate.

“You look like you’re having fun.” She said brightly, swirling Marinette’s punch in her hand. “Thanks for holding my drink for me.”

Felix winced, practically feeling the gears in the girl’s head turning. He’d just told her that the drink was Marinette’s, not Allegra’s. She was no doubt going to pick up on that. (Unless she was dimmer than he gave her credit for. That could always be a possibility.)

“Wait-” The girl said, her brows furrowing. Great. “Your drink? Felix just told me that that raven-haired girl gave him the drink.”

Felix gave Allegra a tired look. Try getting out of this one now.

At least she got Marinette’s hair color right that time.

Allegra ignored Felix’s look, instead throwing the girl a sharp smile. It was a rare sight to behold, but a welcome one. (So long as it wasn’t directed at him, of course.) It meant she was preparing herself to tear someone apart.

“Yes,” She replied shortly, “I gave the drink to Marinette, so she could give it to Felix. Is there a problem?”

The girl frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I saw her-”

“You don’t believe me?” Allegra cut her off. “That’s rather rude to say to the hostess of the party, don’t you think? Go ask her yourself if you’re so skeptical. I wouldn’t recommend coming back to me afterwards, though.”

The girl huffed and crossed her arms, but turned around anyway, marching right off to a small group of girls that must have encouraged her to come talk with him in the first place. They swarmed her quickly, asking what happened and glaring at Allegra, but all Felix cared to do was take Marinette’s punch back from the blonde.

“I’m grateful, but I’m still going to need this back.” He said.

Allegra laughed and straightened to throw her hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Fine with me. I didn’t realize you’d grown so attached to the beverage.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I didn’t. You just might drink it by accident while we’re talking.”

Allegra tilted her head in a nod. “That’s a fair assumption. So what did that girl want from you?”

He sighed. “A dance. What else would people be asking me for at this ridiculous party?”

“Hey, it’s not ridiculous.” Allegra argued. “Marinette’s having a pretty good time.”

Felix’s gaze swept over the crowd again, finding Marinette easily as she switched off to a new dance partner. Her smile was contagious as always, and it spread onto Felix’s lips with little resistance.

“Yes, I suppose she is.” He agreed, taking another sip of his punch.

Allegra leaned against the wall next to him with a light chuckle. “You know, I bet if Marinette asked you to dance with her, you would.”

Felix scoffed at the implication her tone gave. Of course he would dance with Marinette if she asked, but only because it would make her happy, not because he wanted to dance with her. (Not that he particularly minded dancing with her either-)

“She wouldn’t ask me to dance,” he said before his thoughts could get out of hand, “because she knows I don’t fancy it.”

Allegra hummed. “Maybe you should ask her then.”

Felix shot her a look. This was going to be as tiresome as the other girl, wasn’t it?

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you need to not be a total wallflower this evening.” Allegra smiled. “And it would make Marinette happy. She’s already danced with Allan and Claude tonight, but with your professional lessons, I’m sure she’d have a blast.”

“I believe we just established that she is already having a blast.” Felix remarked, to which Allegra groaned.

“Just think about it, alright?”

“Unlikely.”

Why should he have to entertain an uncomfortable idea when Marinette was already enjoying herself? Granted, dancing with her didn’t sound awful, but the thought that it might encourage others to attempt dancing with him did. People were already asking him to dance while he was hiding near a wall. Imagine how many girls would come out of the woodwork once they actually saw him dancing.

Allegra rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Alright, whatever. I’m going back to the buffet table. Feel free to walk over if you start getting the urge to snap on someone again.”

Felix smirked. “In other words, I’ll see you in a few minutes?”

Allegra snorted as she walked away, and Felix settled back against the wall.. Just in time to see Marinette making her way towards him from the midst of the crowd. She appeared to be out of breath, though she offered him a tired smile when they locked eyes, and he moved forward to meet her halfway. That way she won’t have to trek all the way across the room for a drink.

“Are you finally taking another break?” He asked, handing her her punch when they joined at the edge of the crowd.

Marinette breathed out a laugh and took her drink with a “thanks”. It amazed him how well her outfit was staying together. The bow that held the dress together over her shoulders hadn’t loosened at all, and her hair seemed to be in place as well, save for a few stray strands. One would think that that amount of dancing would have her looking more disheveled.

“Yeah, just for a second.” She panted. “I’m starting to get dizzy from spinning so much.”

Felix chuckled. “Would you like to go find a table for a bit?”

“Uh..” Marinette glanced around the room for a moment, thinking it over. “You know what? Sure. I could sit for a bit.”

Felix smiled and gestured for her to lead the way, though he did point out an empty table that he had spotted earlier.

Marinette sat down first, with Felix pulling out her chair for her, and he sat down next to her. Their position faced the party rather than the wall, which allowed them- or at least Marinette -to continue enjoying the party atmosphere while they spoke.

“So are you having a decent time?” Marinette asked, taking a quick sip of her punch. “I know parties aren’t your thing, but you’re not too miserable, right?”

A bitter laugh escaped him, and he twirled his cup on the table as he said, “Miserable is certainly a good word to describe this evening.”

“Aw~, I’m sorry. Do you think going out to get some air would help?”

Felix offered her a smile. “That sounds delightful, but it’s as you said: Parties simply aren’t my preference. This party especially.”

Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together. “Because it’s a Valentine’s Day party or because there are so many people?”

“The Valentine’s Day theme.” Felix confirmed. “Not only are people more inclined to invade my personal space, but they also like to make the ‘Day of Love’ about romance exclusively. It diminishes the other definition to a ridiculous amount in my opinion.”

“Other definitions?” Marinette inquired. “What do you mean?”

Felix allowed a small, humorous smile to catch his lips. She’d just inadvertently proven his point right there. People were so focused on the romantic sense of love that they seemed to forget the several other types of love that exist.

“There’s more than one type of love, such as platonic love or familial love. In fact, the Greeks had seven different words for love. I believe they’re all important, so to see them all be dwindled down to just romantic love is aggravating.”

“Huh..” Marinette muttered, absorbing his words. “I never knew about the Greeks using seven different words for love. What were they?”

Felix briefly glanced up in thought. “If I remember correctly, they were Philia, Ludus, Storge, Philautia, Pragma, Agape, and Eros.”

“Wow.” Marinette smiled. “They sound beautiful. What do they mean?”

Felix smirked as well. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Always willing to listen and learn from my random facts.

“Well, the meanings are all decently complicated, but I supposed they can be summed up to this: Philia is the type of intimate love between friends. Ludus is the playful and ‘exciting’ type of love that one would get with a random crush. Storge is familial love, Philautia is the love of self, Pragma is the enduring type of love- which is the type of love needed for marriages or serious relationships -Agape is the unconditional love for humanity as a whole- which I clearly do not have-” He gained a snort from that “-and Eros is that of sexual love.”

The meaning of the last one felt a bit awkward on his tongue, but he pushed away the uneasiness. She had asked for the definitions, after all.

“I like those definitions.” Marinette said, a soft look coming to her features. “It’s cool that you know so much about them.”

“I have mentioned that I enjoy knowing things.”

Marinette giggled. “So you have. Just out of curiosity, though- and this may be a bit contradictory to the conversation -but have you ever had a crush on anyone? Or just, you know.. Been in a relationship in general? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly. He honestly hadn’t expected her to ever ask him such a thing. It made sense, considering the topic of the conversation they were having, but it was still surprising coming from her.

Nevertheless, he answered.

“No, neither. I’ve never been interested in anyone enough to pursue them, and anyone interested in me has always been too clingy. If I wanted someone to fawn over me constantly, I would simply invite Claude and Allegra to my house more often.”

For some reason, his answer didn’t feel quite right as he said it, and he found himself gauging Marinette’s reaction. Did he answer the question incorrectly? Was she going to be upset? Or possibly disappointed? Why would she be either? How could there possibly be an ‘incorrect’ answer to the question he’d just been asked?

Marinette snorted, clearly not upset at all, and it left him wondering why he’d bothered to worry.

“I figured you’d say that. You don’t seem like the type to get caught up in feelings like that.”

Felix nodded, though he silently questioned what she meant by the comment. Was she implying that he couldn’t get caught up in those types of feelings? Why did that seem so offensive to him?

“What about you?” he asked, brushing his thoughts to the side. He was just being ridiculous anyway. “Have you ever had romantic feelings towards another or been in a relationship?”

He already knew about her affections for Adrien Agreste, of course, but he’d yet to find out how far they went. And, on top of that, there was always the possibility of her having more than one lover. So it only made sense to ask the question, especially since she had asked him first.

A grimace overtook her features, clearly telling him that she had, in fact, had a romantic encounter before.

“Well.. I’ll admit I’ve had a lot of crushes, but there was this one that really got me. You, uh, you’ve actually met him already. Technically, anyway.”

Felix took a guess. “Adrien Agreste?”

She nodded, a bitter smile coming to her lips. “Cliché, right? The baker girl falling for the famous model..” She glanced down at her drink, absently tilting the cup to watch the liquid swirl. “I didn’t like him because he was a model, though. I liked him because he was sweet, and he was thoughtful, and.. I don’t know, I guess I thought.. that we could live a happy life together.”

Felix frowned at the cloud that seemed to pass over her, the pain that swelled in her eyes. He hadn’t realized how strong her attachment to Agreste was.

Marinette shook her head, breaking free of the thought process, and plastered on a smile. “I’m sorry, you didn’t ask about that.”

“No, it’s alright.” He assured her. “You can’t let things weigh on your mind unattended. If you feel you need to talk about it, then I’m willing to lend an ear.”

Marinette’s posture relaxed, relief making her smile a bit more genuine as she said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.. I don’t have any feelings for him now, but the pain is.. It still comes back, especially with how things ended. Sometimes I wish it had been different, sometimes I wish I had been different, and sometimes I wish I hadn’t fallen for him at all.. but mostly, I’m just glad it’s over.”

“What happened?”

“Well.. nothing happened, to be honest. And I think that was the hardest part.” Marinette drew in a deep breath, allowing herself to relax before continuing, “He came to my school a little over two years ago. Everyone was excited, but I didn’t even know who he was. When I did find out, though, we actually had a little bit of a misunderstanding. It’s funny when I think about it now, the way things turned out during that first day.”

“He apologized about it later, even though it wasn’t his fault, and I think that’s when I started to see him as something more than a friend. The more I got to know him, the more I started falling head over heels, and soon my friends found out about it. They thought we would be a great couple too, which kind of made me excited, and we all started planning these elaborate schemes to get him to notice me.”

She put her head in her hands and groaned. “It was so embarrassing, Felix, you should have seen them. One even involved me dressing up like a cat since he loved Chat Noir so much.”

Felix grimaced, though he tried not to show it. Marinette dressing up like a cat for some random guy’s attention? He couldn’t even fathom it. Who came up with that suggestion?

“Did it.. work?” He almost hesitated to ask.

Marinette laid her head on the table then, shaking it with a whine. “Not even close. This group of dogs saw me on my way over, and I guess my costume was too convincing because they chased me all around Paris. I ended up muddy and scratched up when Adrien actually saw me, which didn’t help at all.”

Felix was careful not to react, but he almost felt the need to pat her on the shoulder. How had she not died from embarrassment yet? If someone put him through that, he’d never go outside again.

“You see? That’s how all of it was. All. of. It.” Marinette said, lifting her head again to lean her chin into her palm. “Two years I spent chasing after him, making all of these plans and trying to catch his eye just once, but no matter what I did, I was only ever his ‘good friend’. A-And I’m not saying I hated being his friend or anything, I just.. I was trying so hard to be more, wondering why I wasn’t enough, and my friends were constantly cheering me on to keep going. It was exhausting.”

Felix offered her a sympathetic look as she went on, though he couldn’t help feeling annoyed by the story. What kind of ‘friends’ did she use to have that they would willingly push her to make a fool of herself in front of her love? What kind of friends would encourage her to continue chasing after someone who clearly wasn’t interested in her? That wasn’t healthy at all, and he could only imagine how miserable it would have made her.

Wait..

“Is that why he’s coming to see you now?” Felix asked. (or more of blurted out.) “Because of your previous feelings for him?”

“Oh, no.” Marinette said, going so far as to let out a laugh. “No, I doubt he’s ever going to see me in that light, but it’s still frustrating that he’s trying to visit me. Moving to Rosemary was supposed to be an easy break, but he just has to follow me here too.. Again, it’s not that I mind being his friend or anything, it’s.. I need time. To get over him. I don’t like the person I became when I only lived to gain his affection, and it’s hard to get over that mindset, ya know?”

Felix nodded. He didn’t quite understand her experience since he’d never loved someone himself, but he knew that old habits were hard to break, and that love can be known as an intoxicating and addicting emotion. It wouldn’t be easy to get rid of.

“You’re strong for deciding that.” He said sincerely. “It takes an immense amount of will power to let go of something that you think will make you happy, but I believe you’re right in thinking you’ll be better for it.”

Marinette pulled a small smile, twisting the small tip of her ponytail. “Thanks. I hope I am.”

Felix smiled as well and turned his chair to face Marinette more fully. He wanted to ensure that she would hear the words he was about to say.

“Marinette, you are.. an incredible person. And I’m not just telling you this to lift your spirits, I am saying it because it’s true. You are talented, intelligent, kind, and capable all on your own. You don’t need anyone to validate how amazing you are, because it’s evident in everything you do, and I truly hope you don’t ever doubt yourself because of Adrien’s foolishness.”

A blush bloomed across Marinette’s cheeks, and she glanced down to fiddle with her hands. “O-Oh, uhm.. Thanks.. Again. I won’t.”

Felix smiled, satisfied with the reaction, and picked up his cup to extend it towards her.

“Here,” he said light-heartedly, “to finding someone new, someone who appreciates you, even if that someone is yourself.”

Marinette giggled and picked up her drink as well, clinking the glasses together. “To finding someone new.”

Felix took a sip of his cup to complete the toast, but to his surprise, Marinette set hers to the side, instead standing up and offering her hand to him.

“Let’s go dance.”

Felix choked on his drink.

“Pardon?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Marinette insisted. “I mean, you only have to come if you want to, of course, but I haven’t danced with you yet, and Claude said that you took waltzing lessons at the school.”

Felix held back a scoff and glanced around the room, hoping to catch Claude’s eyes so he could glare at him. Why did that dolt keep telling people he took waltzing lessons? It only made it harder for Felix’s to reject people when asked to dance.

However.

He looked back to Marinette, who held a fresh, bright smile, waiting for his response.

“I bet if Marinette asked you to dance, you would.”

Allegra’s words resurfaced in his mind, unwelcomed. Why did she always have to be right? It only made her more smug as a person.

Nevertheless, Felix took Marinette’s hand. “Alright, but only one dance. I don’t want anyone else thinking I’m open to the idea.”

Marinette chuckled and pulled Felix to his feet. “Of course not. We’ll dance near the darker spots of the room so your face won’t be seen.”

They moved to the dance floor, and Marinette put her hand on his shoulder, while Felix wrapped his arm around her waist. It was a bit awkward pulling each other close, since the only other person he’d been this close to was his mother and father, but once they actually started to dance, his years of practice easily took over. Felix slid into the role of leading, and Marinette followed him willingly as he spun her around the party room, smiling when she laughed during a dip.

Such a fool.. He thought, tugging her back up to him. How anyone could pass up Marinette’s affection was beyond him, but in a way, Felix was delighted that Adrien had. He might not have been able to meet her otherwise.

With the two being so enveloped in each other’s movements, they didn’t notice Allegra, Claude, and Allan watching them from across the room, nor did they catch the smiles and high-fives that the trio shared.

Tag List: @sasstrashforlike5fandoms @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette @nickristus-dreamer @vixen-uchiha @casual-darkness @luxmorningstarr @jjmjjktth @kaithehero @itsme1598 @theymakeupfairies @xjaccyx @miraculous-ninja @miraculouspenta @swiftie-miraculer13 @justafanwarrior @all-mights-asscheeks @ira-sairain @lookatthestars1 @dahjokester @blissful-passing @solangelo252 @canivialemonsquints07 @derbygracie @pleaseignorejustheretoread

#felinette #Felix Culpa #Marinette #Miraculous Ladybug #Rosemary AU #New Girl on the Block #quantic kids

143 notes · View notes

bqstqnbruin · 3 years

Text

Always be my plus one - part 3

Ok, look, it's 4 am, there are going to be typos, and we're just going to have to deal with it. I also tried to find a gif that was Tyson and Cale but I couldn't find one in the gif insert thing on here so I just went with this one (it feels weird to change it up but like, oops)

I make no promises that you aren't going to be mad at me for this part so have fun !

This is shorter than the last part, coming in at around 5k words.

The only warnings I have here are implied sex.

Translations for the Italian in here: "tu sei uno stronzo" - you're an ass(hole)

stronzino - little asshole

Also want to thank @justjosty @zinka8 @hockeylvr59 @hockeywocs anons and I'm sure I'm forgetting people for helping me write this part but ily all I'm just dumb and tired

Read the previous part here!

Series masterlist

____________________

Valentine’s Day

The Feast Day of St. Valentine is traditionally celebrated in the Western Catholic Church on February 14, to honor the patron saint of love. Though not traditionally celebrated as a Catholic holiday, millions of people celebrate the day of love with those who mean the most to them. While pessimists of the day say it’s a ‘holiday made up by greeting card companies,’ approximately 190 million Valentine’s Day cards are sent in the United States alone, not including cards given by school children to their classmates. Couples enjoy the holiday with a romantic night out, presents, flowers, chocolates, etc., while those who don’t have someone or don’t care do whatever they want without the pressure of living up to a holiday that doesn’t mean very much in the grand scheme of things.

=============

February 12, 2022

“Where are you going tonight?” Matthew’s voice came through his younger sister’s phone. He had called early in the week to see if Anne could babysit Harper so he and Stephanie could do something for Valentine’s Day without having to shell out an extravagant amount of money on a sitter.

“I’m, uh,” Anne hesitates, “going out with Tyson. Sorry.” She hears Matthew let out a sigh on the other end. “Hey, stronzo, why don’t you ask Lucy? Her and Jason never do anything on Valentine’s Day.”

Matthew starts talking about how the last time he asked Lucy last minute to watch his daughter, despite their girls being best friends, she ended up going on a fifteen-minute rant. While Anne gets her heels on, staring at herself in the mirror and admiring the floor-length, red dress she had on the slit going up the side for no one but herself, Matthew continues to tell her about how his twin goes on and on about needing a schedule at all times, how she can’t just drop everything in a moment’s notice because he wants to do something with his wife.

“Hey, Matthew,” she cuts him off, trying to shrug her coat on, “Why didn’t you ask Lucy or Sebby after I said no earlier this week?”

“Because I didn’t think you actually had plans.”

“Again, tu sei uno stronzo.”

“I am not an ass!” he detests.

“Fine, you’re a stronzino, happy?” Anne hears him stammer again, not letting him get a word in, “I have to go, I’ll talk to you later, ok? Ask Ma, Dad’s off in Florida right now so she would probably love to have Harper for the night.”

He lets out another sigh, Stephanie’s voice coming through in the background despite Anne’s inability to understand what she was saying. “Fine. Have fun with Tyson. I don’t need another niece or nephew around Halloween, though, ok?”

“Don’t be gross,” she says, hanging up and finally heading out the door.

Her cousin Adriana was getting married to her soon-to-be wife, Izzy. Her family had no idea that she was the only one who still talked to them, her mother having a fight with her brother after their parents died when Anne and her siblings were younger and vowing to never talk to him again. So far, the stubbornness that seems to run through her mom’s blood going strong since it had been over a decade since she had last seen her brother. Anne was invited to Uncle Frankie’s daughter’s wedding, but no one else in her family.

Adriana and Izzy had this Valentine’s Day-themed wedding, everyone asked to wear red or pink in theme with the holiday, Anne not doubting that there would be paper hearts and cut-out cupids as the decor. The wedding gift she bought them, one of the first things she found on their registry that Anne could afford, was shipped to the apartment they already shared two weeks ago, Anne just needing to remember the card.

She was fully prepared to just sit in the corner with a bunch of people she didn’t know and watch as her cousin got married to the love of her life. Anne wasn’t sure that that side of her family would recognize her after how many years, guaranteeing her to spend her time on the sideline.

Anne slips into the back of the church, seeing no one she knew or recognized to even go up to and sit with them. Everyone was dressed in red, pink, and black. A bit too much for her own taste, but at least she looked good in red and would have worn the color anyway. ‘Note to self, no themed weddings,’ Anne thinks, not particularly fond of the lack of color or real choice that everyone had in figuring out what to wear.

A blonde boy in a red suit walks by her, too far past her to get a good look at him. There was something about him that caught her attention. Anne knew that walk, but she had no idea where she knew it from. It didn’t stop her from admiring him from afar, though, the short blonde hair and the obviously fit physique under the suit captivated her for whatever reason, leaving her practically unable to pay attention to the ceremony in front of her. Not that she cared, at this point she was just there to enjoy the free food she knew would be good at the reception later.

Anne sat at the table against the wall, her cousin not bothering to make a seating chart and just leaving it up to the guests to sit where they pleased. That meant she didn’t have to talk to anyone she didn’t want to, being virtually left alone at a wedding where she knew no one.

“Anne?” a familiar voice snaps her out of the trance she fell into watching Ana’s sister and brother-in-law, Catie and Danny dancing with their two daughters, remembering seeing their pictures on Facebook when they were born, not realizing how much they had grown.

She turns to the man in the red suit who had her attention throughout the ceremony. “Cale?” she smiles at him, not sure how the two had missed they would be at the same wedding this weekend. Since New Year's Eve, the two of them had been texting, calling, FaceTiming, they had hung out, spent the night with each other, Cale insisting he buy her dinner at least once a week. The only reason they weren’t dating each other was because neither of them had said they were. They both said they were busy this weekend, but who would have thought they would end up at the same place. “What are you doing here?”

“Izzy’s brother and I grew up playing hockey together. I grew up with her. What are you doing?” he asks her, taking the seat next to her.

“Ana’s my cousin. Her dad is my mom’s older brother.”

Cale smiles at her, Anne’s heart racing at the sight of it. “So I get to meet your family?”

Anne shakes her head. “I’m the only one here,” she tells him, explaining the family drama that went on between Frankie and Teresa.

Cale looks down at his lap, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his suit jacket. The red bowtie, red pants, red jacket even against the black shirt were so much Anne couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red because of the reflection of his clothes or for another reason. “Tyson’s met your family, hasn’t he?”

She nods, taking his hand in hers. “I told you, Tyson and I are just friends. I needed someone to come with me to a family thing, so he came with me.” Cale nods, not entirely sure that something wasn’t up with her and Tyson. Something was off, there was something he was sure Anne was leaving out, but he wasn’t sure. “Hey, I’ve seen Tyson, what, three times since New Year's? All of them when I was with you. I like you, Cale.”

Cale leans over for a kiss, his hand grazing Anne’s thigh, sending a shiver down her spine. “How about we dance like we did on New Year's?” he asks, standing from the seat, shrugging off the red jacket before he extended his hand out to her.

She rolls her eyes, getting up with him anyway. “I told you then, too, that I don’t like dancing.”

“And yet,” he says, pulling her close, his hand finding the small of her back while he presses his forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes, “you danced with me all night then, and you got up to dance with me tonight.”

Anne laughs, knowing he was right, burying her face in his shoulder, swearing she heard some camera’s clicking, probably the wedding photographer hanging around somewhere and taking pictures of the guests dancing.

“I know I have to say this about the brides when they come in,” Cale whispers in her ear, “but you are the most beautiful girl here.”

Anne could feel herself blushing, her mind flashing back to New Year’s Eve when Tyson told her she looked beautiful. He seemed so genuine saying it, Anne thinking back and not sure if he meant it or was actually pretending. But with Cale, she knew. Cale meant it. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she tells him, ghosting his lips before kissing him.

Being with Cale felt fine. Not perfect, but fine. It was right, but not correct, and Anne couldn’t figure out why.

Everyone starts clearing off the dance floor, the bridal party getting ready to come in. Cale takes Anne’s hand and leads her back to the table where he left his jacket, some other people finding their home base at the same table. Cale knew one of the men at the table, probably from their little hockey group that involved Izzy’s brother. The bridesmaids and bridesmen, as the DJ put it, started coming in, Cale leaning back with his arm slung around the back of Anne’s chair. She leaned back into him, his fingertips dancing up and down her arm as they watched everyone come in.

They watched Ana and Izzy dance their first one as wives, Anne’s stomach starting to make noise as they waited for the food to come.

Cale leans over, nervous about what he was about to whisper in her ear. “Are you hungry for food or maybe something more?”

Anne felt her entire body go numb at his words. They had been seeing each other for a month and a half already, so was what he was insinuating really that strange of an idea? “That depends.”

“On?” he asks, nibbling on her ear before kissing the skin right behind it, losing any sense of care over who at their table was potentially watching.

“On how long you think we need to wait before we can slip out without it being rude?”

Cale inhaled sharply, wishing he could say right now. “At least until they cut the cake. Unless,” he says, his hand moving up her thigh, slowly in case she decided she wanted it to stop, “Unless you wanted to try to find somewhere to sneak away to now.”

“Not for our first time,” she tells him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “And not with my family around,” she laughs.

“I’m fine with that,” he tells her, kissing her. “Your place or mine, though?”

“Well, I drove myself here.”

“And I got a ride.”

Anne smiles, crossing her legs in hopes that whatever she felt would be stifled by that simple action. “So it looks like it’s going to be mine.”

They spent the rest of the night waiting for the moment the cake was cut so they could leave as planned, Cale’s hand never leaving her leg unless he really needed both hands to do something.

Anne could feel her heart racing as she watched Ana and Izzy smash their cake in each other’s face, Anne looking over to Cale and smiling. “You wanna go?” she asks, her keys already out of her bag and in her hand.

Cale drags her out without saying a word, Anne leading him to her car. He walks over to the driver’s side, his arms wrapped around her waist with her back pressed against her car. “You’re sure about this?” he asks her, his eyes flicking between hers and her lips.

“Yeah,” she says, kissing him before he opens the door for her. She couldn’t wait to get home, sure she broke a few traffic laws as she sped back to her apartment with Cale sitting next to her in the passenger seat, his leg shaking the entire time.

They got to the elevator, Cale leaning against her against the wall with his lips pressed against hers, Anne’s hands already working to unbutton his shirt. Cale’s kisses trailed down her jaw to her collarbone, his grip tightening on her waist.

Anne pulled away to lead him down the hallway, practically running, partially due to anticipation for what they were about to do, and because Anne could feel a breeze on her back, indicating that Cale had already unzipped her dress. That, coupled with the fact that Cale’s shirt was already open, his jacket in his free hand, Anne had no desire for any of her neighbors to be given the chance to see her and however Cale was to her already getting naked before closing the door.

As soon as she unlocked her door, Cale had her turned back around, kicking the door closed as he carried her to her bedroom, Anne able to feel everything about him against her body. Cale laid her down on her bed, his lips never leaving hers as he positioned himself over her, sliding her dress off while she did the same with his shirt. Anne’s breath hitched at the sight of him, his body perfect while he stared her down, the first time she saw the typically innocent boy she had been seeing with a mischievous grin covering his face, his eyes darkening at the thought of doing what they had both been wanting to do all night.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks one more time.

Anne nods, taking his face in her hands. “Yes, Cale. I’m sure.”

=============

February 13, 2022

Anne woke up the next morning, the events of the night before rushing back despite finding the space he had occupied in her bed empty. Her dress was on the floor, Cale’s red bowtie somehow having ended up on her night stand. Maybe he left it there as an excuse to see her again, making a mental note to put it in the living room so she would remember it the next time she saw him.

He had slipped out at some point that morning, Anne playing the voicemail that he left her while she slipped on a t-shirt to cover herself. “Hey, Anne. Sorry, I couldn’t stay, but morning skate was calling. I,” she hears him sigh, knowing he had a stupid grin on his face for whatever it was he was about to say, “I can’t wait to have another night like last night with you.”

It was her turn to have the stupid smile on her face as Cale continues, “Um, anyway, I’ve got something going on with JT and some of the other guys tomorrow for Valentine’s Day, a, uh, charity thing? I think? So would you be free this weekend for a proper date for the holiday? You know, not as crowded, not as much pressure, ideally the same outcome, if you’ll allow it? Oh, hey Tyson,” she hears him say, figuring that he was calling her on the way into the rink despite her being unable to hear Tyson. “Yeah, I’m planning Valentine’s Day with Anne. No, not tomorrow night, this weekend. Uh, Anne, I’ve gotta go, but let me know about, say, Friday night? Alright, talk to you later. Bye.”

Valentine’s Day date with Cale? Part two, more like, but still. Anne liked the sound of that.

“So, uh,” Tyson starts, already dreading what he was about to hear from his teammate given what he had heard him say into his phone. “You and Anne?”

“Yeah,” Cale breathes out, chuckling at the thought of what happened last night. “We, um,” Cale couldn’t even get a full sentence out, acting like a child who just got the toy he had been begging his parents for on Christmas morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he was that happy. “We spent the night together last night. I left from her place this morning.”

More of their teammates were filtering into the locker room, looking at Cale’s face turn bright red while Tyson stood there with him looking like he just about wanted to die. “Ok, but did you spend the night, or spend the night?” Ryan asks.

Cale started to stammer out nonsense, not really wanting to divulge the private details of his and Anne’s night despite the guys teasing him and congratulating him for what he wasn’t saying.

“Guys, keep it civil. Anne wouldn’t want us talking about any of this,” Tyson pipes in, Cale letting out a sigh of relief as the guys disperse to get ready for morning skate.

“Thanks,” Cale tells him, going off on his own to get his gear on.

JT appears by Tyson’s side, a stupid smirk on his face. “Would Anne not want us talking about anything, or would you not want us talking about anything?”

“Well, Anne definitely wouldn’t.”

“Oh, come on, we both know Cale would never.”

“Doesn’t mean I want him to have the chance.”

“You’re treading in deep water, dude,” JT sighs.

Tyson looks at him, hating that he knew what he meant. He had barely seen Anne, despite her brother’s texts from the night before asking if Anne really couldn’t watch Harper because of the two of them going out, Tyson going along with the lie just in case. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“It seems like you don’t know what you want from Anne, either,” JT shrugs. “But Cale does, and he got it.”

=============

February 14, 2022

12 hour shifts were the only shifts Anne knew. And they were the shifts that Anne detested the most. She was fine the first ten hours, but the last two always seemed to suck more than anything, leaving her exhausted for the rest of the day, into the night, depending on when she got home in the first place.

All she wanted to do was order dinner from the Thai place down the street, having it delivered despite her really not needing to since it was within walking distance, plop herself on her couch and watch whatever reality TV Lucy had texted her that she thought Anne would like. Anne knew she would turn it off after a single episode and switch to Food Network, but at least she could tell her sister she tried.

Anne walks to her apartment, dragging her feet to her door when she sees someone sitting on the ground, his head down looking at his phone. “Tyson?”

He gets up, grabbing the two bags he had with him as the smell of food filled her nose. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my fake girlfriend,” he says, raising the bags while Anne opens the door to let him in.

“I’m confused,” she tells him as he sets everything down.

“Well, Matthew called me on Saturday asking if the two of us were sure we couldn’t watch his daughter, and I figured he might as well have some sort of photographic evidence as proof of us spending Valentine’s Day together,” Tyson explains. “So, I figured I’d go all out: flowers, dinner, and a present. You know, really convince them that we’re together.”

Anne stares at him for a second, not sure why her heart was racing at the thought of him going out of his way to keep up this facade with her family. “I don’t think I like that you and Matthew are so ‘buddy-buddy.’ Or that fact that he didn’t believe me the first two times I told him I was busy on Saturday night. And I thought that you guys had a charity thing tonight?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Tyson asks, handing her the container of food as she joined him on the couch, the Thai food she was planning on ordering right in front of her. “We have a groupchat. Yeah, it’s me, Sebby, Lucy, and Matthew.”

Anne scoffs, rolling her eyes at his failed attempt at a joke. “And let me guess: you gossip about me the entire time.”

“Actually,” he says, his mouth full of food, “you never come up. They think of me as the fourth sibling. The name Anne means nothing.”

Anne laughs, Tyson admiring the way her eyes closed as her smile grew. God, he wished he had gotten to her before Cale did. Why did he have to leave her alone at all on New Year’s Eve? If he were by her side the entire night like he had wanted to be, then he wouldn’t have to pretend to be her boyfriend, he could actually be getting somewhere with her.

“Hm,” Anne hums, swallowing her mouthful of food. “You said flowers and a present. When do I get those?”

“You can get them now on the condition that I can take a video to send to your siblings,” he offers, pulling out his phone and pushing the bag with the flowers and gift behind him. Anne rolls her eyes, smiling and nodding while he starts the video. He hands her the card first. “Read it.”

Anne pulls it out of the envelope, glitter getting everywhere and making her cringe, knowing that it would be impossible to get off her scrubs later on. It was covered with roses and hearts, bringing her right back to the wedding that weekend. “No one has ever made me feel like this. To the woman I love: Happy Valentine’s Day,” Anne reads, feeling a lump forming in her throat. The card was so corny, a little too corny for her taste, but coming from Tyson, she didn’t know why she loved it. She shakes her head, laughing at Tyson. “I love you, too,” she lies.

Tyson swallows hard at her words, wishing she meant them, pulling out the flowers from the bag and handing them to her. She looks down at the flowers, trying to figure out what they are before looking up at him. “Queen Anne’s Lace?”

“Queen Anne’s Lace for my Queen, Anne,” he tells her, cringing at his own words.

Anne giggles, placing them in her lap. “And my favorite flowers, anyway. Thank you, Tyson.”

“Wait, I have one more thing,” he says, hoping that the camera wasn’t shaking too much while he reached for the gift he bought her.

He hands it to her, a small red box wrapped with a gold bow. She unties it carefully, opening the box and gasping at the sight of it. A golden necklace with a white enamel heart as the charm, a golden pattern outlining the heart. “Tyson, it’s,” she starts, unable to find the words, “it’s beautiful.”

He stops the recording, figuring he had enough to hit send to his ‘girlfriend's' siblings. “Let me put it on you,” he says, Anne turning around and moving her hair out of the way. “I thought you would like it.”

Anne studies his face, the smile plastered on it despite her knowing that he didn’t mean it. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs, grabbing his food off the table and staring at it now in his lap. “It was fun. I’ve never had a girlfriend who I could buy presents like this for. I mean, I still don’t, but I have you.”

“Oh, come on. You, Tyson Jost, have never had a girlfriend? Look at you,” she says, praying that she was careful with the words she chose. “You’re gorgeous, you’re sweet, you’re funny, you get along with everyone you meet.”

Tyson hated hearing Anne go on about him, knowing that she was just saying it as a friend instead of something more. He scoffs, trying to save face from whatever pain or other emotion he was feeling. “Come on,” he says, not believing her anyway.

“I’m serious!” she insists, reaching up and starting to fidget with her new necklace. “Any girl would be lucky to have you as her boyfriend. I’m lucky to even have you as a fake boyfriend.”

Tyson nods, turning his body to face the TV instead of Anne. “So what are we watching?” he asks, changing the subject and putting his feet up on the table, Anne doing the same.

“Whatever’s on Food Network?” she suggests, holding the remote in the air pointed at the TV.

The two of them settle in, Tyson not paying attention to the show she had turned on. “Hey, what’s that?” Tyson asks, racing over to the red fabric that was on Anne’s coffee table.

“Oh,” Anne blushes, taking it from Tyson. “This is Cale’s. He, um, let it the other night,” she explains, Tyson watching her turn his teammates bowtie over in her hands.

“So you and Cale are doing pretty well?” he asks. Anne looks at him, not sure if she really wanted to tell him about it. “Come on, we’re friends. You can talk to me about anything.”

“I mean,” she says, putting down the bowtie on the table, not taking her eyes off of it. “We’re together? I think?” Tyson already hated that he even offered to listen to her talk about her and his teammate. “I like him. A lot. And I know he likes me, but,” Anne lets out a sigh, not sure where to even take her sentence.

“But, what?” Tyson asks.

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head, looking confused. “Everything is great, but it’s, I,” she stammers. “Something is off, and I can’t figure out what.”

Tyson stares at her for a second, trying to figure out what to say. “It’s probably just that it’s new,” he shrugs. “Everything seems weird when you’re still figuring it out. You and Cale will be ok,” he tells her, hating hearing those words come out of his mouth.

=============

February 19, 2022

Anne stared at herself in the mirror, the black turtleneck she borrowed from her sister coupled with a beige skirt and black tights on her as she got ready for her date with Cale. He was bound to show up any minute, promising each other they weren’t going to do gifts due to a general lack of time on both ends. She didn’t believe that he wasn’t going to get her a gift, however, sneaking out to the bakery down the street and buying some pastries that the two of them would like, giving them an excuse to both show up back at her apartment. And if he didn’t give her a gift, then she got the pastries all to herself.

If not, she could share them with Tyson, who had been showing up at her place or asking her to go to his place any free chance they both had.

She heard Cale knocking at her door, Anne rushing as fast as she could in her heels to answer. Cale was standing there, a black crewneck similar to her own turtleneck, paired with dark jeans, black boots, and a grey coat. Cale kisses her hello, one hand behind his back with the other resting on her hip. “Every time I see you I don’t think you could get more beautiful, and yet, you do.”

“You’re cheesy,” she jokes as he kisses her forehead, Cale laughing against her skin. “But you,” Anne says, resting her hands on his chest, “get more handsome every time I see you, too. And, you’re hiding a present behind your back, aren’t you, even though we said no presents.”

Cale laughs, closing the door behind him. “Maybe I saw this and had to get it for you,” he admits, kissing her again and holding up the bag near her head.

“Should I open it now or should I do it later when we come back here?” she flirts, holding the bag in her hand.

“Oh, we’re coming back here?” he teases her, trailing kisses down her neck.

“I might have gotten some dessert for us so we had an excuse to relive last Saturday. Plus, you left your bowtie here,” she gestures to it, still sitting on her table, “And I was thinking maybe you wear that tonight instead of keeping it off?”

Cale raises his eyebrow at her, a silly smile on his face. “And what else would I be wearing?”

Anne shrugs, pretending to act innocent. “I was thinking only the bowtie,” she tells him, feeling his grip around her tighten at the thought.

Cale kisses her again, unable to keep his hands off the girl in front of him. If he could, he would forget dinner altogether and just go straight to dessert, but he knew Anne wasn’t that kind of girl, and he wasn’t about to force her into anything she didn’t want. “Hey, I like that necklace you’re wearing,” he says, twirling the charm around in his fingers. “The heart is perfect for Valentine’s Day.”

She reaches up and takes his hand in hers. “Thanks. My sister got it for me a few years ago for my birthday,” she lies. She couldn’t tell him that Tyson had gotten it for her for Valentine’s Day.

#tyson jost #tyson jost fic #tyson jost imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche fic #avalanche #avalanche imagine #avalanche fic #tyson and anne

104 notes · View notes

suicidalslasher · 3 years

Text

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her. i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed. The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be.

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again. But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second. The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash, wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire) but a name - Harry Warden. 1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened. For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed. Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters, buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with love in their hearts and a smile on their face. Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself. Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs got decomposed, rotting corpses, instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings.

It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as a threat. Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable. A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay as they read the paragraph out loud all while shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards. The recent two cards had said; From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near! And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot. Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you. Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps. It could have very well been the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying. (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song.

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

(Of course, there was more.)

(The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.) Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs. "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully." "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N) turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs.

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason. Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was.

(Y/N) was trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge. With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things. Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel. She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse. "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital." (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name, the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up. Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received has said he's been missing since two days ago. He can be anywhere. More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.

Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off. "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's. The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same. She instantly regretted not doing so now, however.

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'. (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice. And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere. She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself. Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open. There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself. He looked up, surprised she had answered the door. Giving her a weak, lopsided smile, Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle. "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N). (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant. "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together." Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet. "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything. Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right. "Tom..." "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes. "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a coincidence.

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up.

Now that she was thinking about it....

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago....

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne. If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner. Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her. A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too. "I love you too." Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot.

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to." "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs." Tom grins and (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

#Tom Hanniger x reader #Tom Hanniger x Y/N #slasher imagines #slasher one shots #slasher x reader #Jensen Ackles x Y/N #My Bloody Valentine #Jensen Ackles x reader #Slasher fanfictions #Jensen Ackles fanfictions #Jensen Ackles imagines #Tom Hanniger imagines #Jensen Ackles one shots #my works #Tom Hanniger one shots #Tom Hanniger fanfictions #Harry Warden x reader #Harry Warden x Y/N #cierra's stories

316 notes · View notes

sweeethinny · 3 years

Note

Hi, Sweet! Ooh, thank you so much for sending me a prompt, I'm working on it! If you could please write "Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again" for any ship, my only request is that it's in some kind of AU. I love your AUs!

Sorry for the delay Mah, hope you like this Jily Muggle AU <3

Ps: for those who don't know, Valentine's Day is celebrated on the 12th of June in Brazil, and in June we have what we call the 'June Party', where it's time to exalt Brazilian folklore, and - for those who are Catholics - is the month of June Saints, the saints who baptized Jesus.

This month, there are parties where people go dressed as hillbillies, there is a lot of food, depending on the party, drinks, a lot of dancing, and it is for many the best time of year.

Couples tend to go matching, always wearing plaid clothes, with lace, ruffles and patches, and usually women braid their hair, paint their cheeks pink and men - for those who don't - paint a fake beard on their faces. They also wear a straw hat, and everything is very colorful.

A typical outfit for you, you understand more or less how it is <3 - HERE and HERE

I hope you all like it, I always like to insert a little of my culture in the fanfics <3

read bellow the cut <3

"Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again" He said, kneeling in front of her.

"Unfortunately," she said, but there was a smile on her face, a smile that James thought was adorable, and it matched her sun-rosy cheeks and the flaming strands of hair that fell over her face.

“I'll pretend to believe you.” He smiled, grimacing when she threw up again, what now felt like just water. "I'll never let you drink again."

"I never want to drink again," Lily laid her head on the toilet seat, her eyes almost closed and stared at James as if she was unable to focus her vision but was trying. The noise from the backyard party was still loud, but inside, the two of them on the bathroom floor, the silence was comforting.

"Famous last words." He shrugged, wanting to laugh but feeling sorry for her, who looked like she wanted to throw up some more. "Evans, you better pull yourself together, or I'll have to take you to the hospital, and I think it's the last place you want to go." James raised his eyebrows, wanting her to remember exactly where they were.

The idea at first was good; a weekend among friends at James' grandparents' farm, abusing every last drop of trust his parents had in him and Sirius. They promised they'd take care of the house, and it was going to be quiet, but now, when he looks out the window and sees Remus jumping off the roof into the pool, and Peter upside down trying to drink beer, he thinks things have lost a bit the control.

As long as nobody ended up in the hospital and nothing was broken, everything was perfect.

The nearest hospital was over two hours away, and none of them had the ability to drive for so long on a dirt road that it took a lot of concentration not to end up with a mired or overturned car.

"I'll be fine." She settled on the floor, leaning her back against the cool wall behind her and closing her eyes. It took James a lot of concentration to keep his eyes off her perfectly sculpted breasts, gorgeous in that black bikini. Her tanned skin made it difficult.

"Can you get up?" James asked, no longer able to stand being in such a small space with Lily so close to him, even though she had been vomiting less than a minute ago. She nodded and accepted his hand when he reached out.

James helped her wash her face and the back of her neck, trying not to think too much about how hot her skin was and how the scent of sunscreen and Lily blended together perfectly.

"Are you better, Evans?" Sirius appeared just as they walked out of the bathroom, cheeks rosy from the sun and alcohol, hair pulled back in a bun and bathing trunks falling over his hips. He had a smirk on his face, which James thought was the drinking's fault, but when Hestia walked out of the room Sirius had just left, her hair messier than before and her bikini smoothing, James understood what was happened. ‘Or do we need to call for help for you?'

"I'm great, Black." Lily tossed her hair back, as if she wanted to prove her point to him. “Dressing problems, Hess?” The girl was almost to the back door, ready to go unnoticed, but she stopped as soon as she heard her name.

Her cheeks caught fire, but her smile didn't waver.

"Yes, the knot was too tight." Hestia shrugged, pointing to the knot in her tanned back. "Sirius was helping me." James chuckled, noticing when Sirius nodded, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"I'm sure he helped." Lily looked at Sirius, then at Hestia, finally walking towards the door, her ass looking like the hottest thing in the world.

"Careful not to drool, Prongs." Sirius slapped the back of his head, looking like he wanted to wake him up from the perverted dream he was having, his drunken brain imagining everything he could do if Lily stopped looking at him just as a friend.

“You're imagining things, you idiot.” He defended himself, following the three of them outside.

The day was sunny, and even with a little wind, there was a mass of hot air that made them sweaty even when they were standing still. Everyone was sporting a tan/redness from their carelessness, and tomorrow probably wouldn't be so kind to them, but James knew that no one here was caring about tomorrow and the possible side effects of spending too much time in the sun.

It was Sirius who had come up with the idea, after looking tired of hearing complaints from Peter and Hestia about how hot it was and how they wanted to go swimming somewhere. James had blamed him for just organizing this because it was a reason for him to see Hestia in bikinis, because this wasn't the first summer Peter had complained about the heat, but it was the first that the girls had joined their group.

They had met in college, Lily was in the lab with Peter, and Marlene was in the same class as James, and when Remus asked Hestia to have lunch with them, somehow they had all become friends.

It was a unlikely group, James admitted that, but having Marlene, Lily and Hestia around always seemed to make their group much more alive and complete somehow, even though James had never thought they needed more members.

As he sat down on the lounge chair next to Lily, James wondered what she would do if he tried to flirt with her; would she repay or would she push him away and their group would break up? He'd seen how a little shocked she looked when he'd taken off his shirt, but maybe it was the tattoos that had caused it to her.

"I always thought you were too much of a mama's boy for that," she'd said, pointing to his chest, where a constellation was drawn.

Maybe that was just the shock, but James liked to think there was something else, and before she wanted to throw up her guts, he was thinking that Lily was returning the flirting start they were having, sitting by the pool while James gave her his seductive smile.

"Feeling better?" James looked over at her, lying on the lounger with her sunglasses on and her belly white with sunscreen.

"Yes now." Lily sighed. "Sorry I made you see me in that situation."

"Nothing." James shrugged. "I've gotten a lot worse, don't worry…" He took a deep breath, gathering his chest boldly and thanking that his mind was a little clouded by the beer. "Lily, are you going with anyone to Liz's party?"

Liz was a girl who studied with James, they were classmates in the Philosophy class, she was a Brazilian exchange student, and had said that she would have a party to celebrate Valentine's Day on the same date that was celebrated in Brazil, and that it was a party with the themed 'june party', which implied that they dressed in checkered clothes, or round and lace-filled dresses. She had also said that they should go as couples, but for singles, there would be something like a kissing chain or something, James hadn't quite understood.

From the photos she had shown, it looked interesting, and any opportunity to ask Lily out, James was taking it.

"I hadn't thought to go, until now." She turned her head toward him, and James cursed her sunglasses, preventing him from seeing those beautiful green eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date?

"Could be if you want," He smiled, hoping it was seductive enough.

"Are you asking me on a date after you saw me throw up?" This time Lily lifted her glasses, and her green eyes glared at him, her eyebrow raised and an adorable little smile on her lips.

"I said I've been worse." James bit his cheek, a little anxiously. 'Then? Do you want to be my partner? I can wear a dress if you like, I look really cute in lace.” He winked, just to make her laugh—and she did.

"I want," Lily put her glasses back on, and lay back down. 'Just because I want to see you wearing lace and ruffles… I promise to be a good gentleman and court you.' It was he who laughed now, thinking it was alcohol that made him feel silly like that, laughing at anything she said and with all those butterflies in the stomach.

"Fine, can't wait." He grinned from ear to ear, he would probably have his face torn open if he continued like this, but he was too happy to care.

He was going on a date with Lily Evans.

#jily au #muggle au #james x lily #marauders #prongs #james potter #lily evans #jily

54 notes · View notes

hallowxiu · 3 years

Text

Satan’s Valentine

pairing: satan x gn!mc

word count: 1.2k

summary: You have a purfect gift in mind for Satan.

a/n: this hasn’t been proofread, sorry!!

part five of the v-day one shots

part one | part two | part three | part four

If you were being honest, Satan’s was the easiest gift. You knew everything he liked, and unlike most of the brothers’, it was also very doable. Cats and books; that was what you had to work with. And, as you were a modern-day genius, you decided to combine both ideas into one. You planned on buying Satan a book that would teach him how to knit. Not just any book on knitting, no-- this would teach him how to knit cat-themed items and even clothes for cats. You also thought this would be a good outlet for his anger. Instead of keeping it bottled up, he could knit something if he felt angry enough. You weren’t sure if angry knitting was a thing, but regardless, you could see Satan taking it up.

So, you decided that you would take the demon out on a day of shopping. It could be a good way for the two of you to spend time together, and you could end the day by buying his gift. You look over to see Satan pulling on his coat and slipping on his shoes. “You ready?” The blond had a smile on his lips as he looked over at you. You invited him out the night before and he’d been looking forward to your ‘shopping date’ ever since. “I must say, I do feel special that out of all the brothers I’m the one you’re taking out.”

A smile forms on your lips and you can’t help but shyly glance down at your feet. “Well, we don’t get many chances to hang out with just the two of us, so I thought this would be a good way.” You rub at your arm and glance over at the demon. “And then you can see what I plan to get you.”

“I won’t lie, I have been curious these past few days.” You look over at Satan with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve been wondering what you’d get me when seeing the gifts for the others. I’m excited to see what you have in store for me. I’m assuming you’ll be picking out my gift while we shop, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“It won’t be much of a surprise,” Satan muses as he thinks this over, “but I’m not against it. I think it’s a unique take on gift-giving.” He smiles softly as he looks over at you. “And I’ll be spending time with you. I really can’t complain.”

“We’re at a knitting store.” The demon comments in an obvious fashion and looks around curiously. He couldn’t knit, and he knew that you knew this. Maybe you could knit? Maybe you’d be knitting him something? Satan blushes at the thought and stares straight ahead with furrowed eyebrows as he tries to keep his blushing at bay. Oh hell, maybe you’d knit him a stuffed cat--

“Yes, I know. But I wanted to drop by and see what they had.” You eye the spools of threads on the shelves, taking in all the different colors. “Do you see any colors that call out to you the most?” You glance back only to see the blond covering his red face with his hands. Alarmed, you ask, “Satan? Are you alright?”

“I’m...I’m fine.” It takes him a moment to recover, but soon he manages to pull his hands away from his face. “What did you ask?” His voice goes up a pitch and you raise an eyebrow at him. “J-Just answer the question.”

“I asked which colors you liked the most.” You turn your attention back to the different kinds of thread. “Since the gift is for you, I would like if it were colors you preferred.” His face seems to be reddening again and you cross your arms over your chest. “What’s going on with you? Are you running a fever?”

“No, of course not.” He makes a point of not maintaining eye contact with you. “I like the golden strands as well as the green ones.” It wasn’t uncommon to see Satan shy, but you were unsure as to what caused it. Still, you brush it off and bring your attention back to the thread.

“Those are nice colors. You can pick more though; you never know what you’ll end up liking, so it’s good to have a few options.” He quirks an eyebrow at your words, though he doesn’t question it.

“Then I also like the purple, orange, blue, red, and pink thread.” With each answer, you take the spool of thread off the shelf. By the time he was finished, you were holding seven spools of color. “Is that enough?”

“I think it’s enough. If not, you can always purchase some more later.” At that, he gives you another confused look. You hand some of the thread to Satan before pointing towards the back of the store. “Let’s look at the books they sell here.”

“They sell books here?” He didn’t know there was a bookshop combined with a knitting store. It could make sense if the customers liked both reading and knitting.

“Probably not the books you’re thinking of.”

“Then what books could they possibly be selling here?”

“The one that I’m looking for, hopefully.”

Before he can question you any further, you take his free hand and tug him toward the back of the store. There was a small section of books on the back wall, and your eyes were skimming over them before landing on what you were looking for. “They have it!”

“They have what?”

Leaning up on your tiptoes, you snag a book toward the top of the shelves. Without another word, you shove it into Satan’s arms, who nearly drops the spools of thread he’s carrying. “Wha--” He looks down at the book in his hands before a chuckle escapes him. “This is a book on knitting.”

“Knitting for…?” You prompt him to continue with a cheesy grin on your face.

“To knit cat-shaped items and cat plushes.” His eyes widen slightly as he reads the rest of the title before looking back at you. “You’re gift to me is to teach me how to knit things for cats?”

“Yes! Think about it; whenever you get mad, you can make something for a cute kitty.” You wiggle your eyebrows at the demon. “And whenever you bump into a lonely stray, what better way to help it than to give it cute booties or a nice scarf?” He ponders this, taking your words to heart. “And if you really want a cat one day but Lucifer won’t let you bring one in, you could always whip up a soft furry friend. Then you could make more furry friends for your furry friend.” His cheeks are red again, and his eyes are still wide.

“That’s… that’s possibly the nicest gift anyone’s ever gotten me.”

“And if you’d like, I can even learn with you!” His eyes are practically sparkling as he looks over at you. “It’ll be fun. We can knit scarves for cats together.”

“Scarves for kittens?” He repeats with wide eyes. The blush has gotten even redder.

“Yes, for kittens.”

He pauses for a brief second, looking back down at the book in his hands before looking to you again. “Marry me.”

#drabbles #flustered satan is the best satan #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall we date #satan #obey me imagine #obey me satan #mc x satan #satan x mc #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me satan x mc #obey me satan x reader #mc is gn #reader is gn #reader is gender neutral #mc is gender neutral

126 notes · View notes

ashesandhalefire · 3 years

Text

i know, you know

alex, michael, and a lonely hearts club gone slightly awry.

inspired by @malex-cupid day one and three themes: wooing my way into your heart and valentine’s day.

“Okay, here’s a nightmare scenario,” Michael says as he eases back down onto the couch with another slice of pizza in his hand. He crosses his ankles on the coffee table and bites the tip off. Alex raises an eyebrow expectantly, drawing a sip from his beer, and Michael nods. After a rough swallow, he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I once hooked up with a girl on February thirteenth. Totally lost track of the date.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “That’s not a nightmare scenario for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael takes another bite of his pizza and tries to talk around a mouthful of cheese, face twisted with playful indignation. “Someone like me?”

Alex leans his head against the back of the couch and says, “Charming people never end up in nightmare scenarios because they can, by default, charm their way out of anything.”

Brow furrowing, Michael wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called charming in my life. A few other choice words, sure, but not charming.”

“Well, I guess my perspective is a little different from the sheriff’s department. In my experience, you have a tendency to be very good at saying the right thing.” Alex wiggles his left foot where it sits, tucked beneath the center cushion on the couch, and rubs distractedly at his right knee. The knot in his sweatpants jostles close to Michael’s hip.

Entirely by accident, he’s significantly more dressed-down than Michael is in his slim jeans and crisply colored flannel. Neither piece of Michael’s outfit has the well-worn softness of his usual wardrobe, none of the torn seams or threadbare elbows, but the top two buttons of his shirt are undone like always and the collar hangs wide against his clavicle. Alex tries not to let his eyes linger.

As he chews through another bite, Michael stares back at him, and the gaze feels heavy enough that Alex turns away. “And, please, you’re sitting on my couch, watching my television, drinking my beer, and eating my pizza. If that’s not the direct result of charm, what is it?”

“Dumb luck,” Michael says. Amusement glints in his eyes as he licks his lips. “Besides, this whole lonely hearts club thing was your idea.”

“Yeah, but it was originally a party of one.”

Alex had quickly opted out, making his answer a polite but firm no, when Kyle mentioned the flier on the Crashdown’s front door that advertised the latest Wild Pony cash-grab attempt, but that hadn’t prevented him from running face-first into Isobel’s advertising efforts all over town for the next week and a half. General buzz at the post office and hospital implied that her reputation for event planning had drummed up some genuine interest from the locals, and that in and of itself cemented his plan for the weekend as pizza, beer, and whatever cable had to offer. His plan had, at no point, included running into Michael in the candy aisle at RiteAid at three o’clock in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day.

With an armful of personal care items marked with discount stickers, Michael had taken one look at the prescription envelope in Alex’s right hand and the box of chocolates in his left and said, “Got a hot date?”

“No,” Alex had said, wishing he’d chosen to put on something neater than his faded sweatpants. Michael rarely looked presentable by general standards, but he always looked good. “Just chronic pain and a sweet tooth.”

“You should come back tomorrow,” Michael had suggested. “Better sales after the holiday.”

“True, but then I won’t have anything to eat tonight.”

Michael had visibly perked, even though his face stayed neutral. “You’re not going to the singles night thing at the Pony? I thought Valenti would have roped you in for sure.”

“No.” Fleetingly, Alex had considered the idea of wandering through the crowded bar, equally decorated in distasteful neon and garish party store hearts, and trying to pick which of the Pony’s regular stock might like to have his drink bought by an openly gay veteran with one leg while his friends watch from the sidelines of their depressingly stable relationships. “There’s not enough booze in the world.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Michael had laughed. He hadn’t quite met Alex’s eye as they both carefully side-stepped the rest of the conversation. Alex had stopped paying attention, so he wasn’t sure if Michael had retaken to running up a tab yet. “Is is completely pissed at me, but I told her there was no way in hell.”

Alex had swallowed. “Got a hot date?”

“Totally,” Michael had said. He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I think you’ve met him.”

In retrospect, Alex blames the rest of the conversation on the fact that he’s been unshakably in love with Michael since he was seventeen. For the better part of a month, he’s been trying to work up the courage to throw out a line. But they exist in a strange no-man’s-land of casual acquaintanceship that borders on friendship and romance simultaneously, and Alex hasn’t quite found the right way out yet.

“If you don’t have plans tonight, you could swing by.” Michael, already at the end of the aisle when Alex called after him, had looked mildly startled when he turned around. “We can get pizza. Or something. Whatever goes with beer.”

“Everything goes with beer in my world.”

“It’ll be a lonely hearts club type of thing,” Alex had said, primarily for the deniability.

Michael had cocked his head. His eyes drifted lower and lower until they paused and climbed back up Alex’s body at a crawl. “Are you lonely?”

“I had a nose ring, remember?” Alex had clutched the prescription bag in his fist with a crunch and forced himself to laugh, even as bashful panic squeezed at his throat. “You don’t end up with a nose ring and Danger posters on your walls at seventeen unless you’re deeply lonely.”

A slow smile had stretched across Michael’s face, and he ducked his head like it was too private to share with the open aisle. When he looked up again, he wrinkled his nose to help steady his armful of bottles with a nudge of his telekinesis. “I’ll see you at six, then. Pizza and beer.”

Now, Michael breaks a wayward string of cheese away from his last bite and asks, “You want me to go home? Leave you to your pity party?”

“No. I’m enjoying the company. I think it’s because you’re so charming.”

Michael laughs. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Fine, don’t believe me. But hooking up with a girl who was looking for a hookup on the day before Valentine’s Day is not a nightmare scenario.”

“Alright,” Michael says, nudging Alex’s bent knee, “so give me a better example.”

“Uh, pizza and beer with a guy that never learned how to chew with his mouth closed?”

Michael tears into the crust of his slice and says, muffled by food, “I’ll leave anytime. Just say the word.”

Alex pulls his foot out from under the couch cushion and rolls his heel into the side of Michael’s thigh. “Don’t be disgusting!”

Mashing his teeth, Michael chews with his mouth open for another two bites and then relents. He drops a hot palm into the exposed skin of Alex’s ankle, holding it in place, and Alex manages not to react until Michael strokes his thumb into the hollow beside his Achilles tendon.

“I need a refill. Do you want another beer?” he asks, pulling his leg away and turning to plant his foot on the floor. He bends down to grope beneath the couch for his crutch.

“Yeah, I’ll take another one.” Michael stands, taking his empty bottle in hand, and says, “I’ll get it. I know my way around the fridge.”

As he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table, he drops a hand onto Alex’s left shoulder and squeezes. The touch is gone almost as soon as it starts, but Alex still lets out an audible squeak on his next exhale.

Being touch-starved is hardly new, but it makes him feel like an especially pathetic rescue cat when his body shivers at the barest graze. Twice it happened when Kyle leaned over to look at his laptop and put a hand on his back while they worked on the salvaged hard drives together, and Alex had barely been able to hide the heated flush in his cheeks. It’s more humiliating with Michael, somehow, because Michael has always been exactly the same. He’s always turned into Alex’s touch with eagerness, always looked for the most contact he could find. Something about touch between them turning casual and unaffecting on his end while Alex is gasping like an Austen heroine is especially unsettling.

He takes three deep breaths, holding the air in his chest and releasing through pursed lips, and then Michael squeezes between the end table and the chair with two beers. He twists the tops off with a twitch of his nose, and Alex watches the bent metal land on the coffee table with a ding.

“Show off,” he says as Michael hands him a bottle. Their fingers brush against the glass. “You’ve never fought with a jar of pasta sauce in your life.”

Michael eases back down onto the couch, snagging the last garlic knot from the crimped tinfoil on the coffee table on the way, and says, “Rubber band trick works wonders. Not that I’ve ever needed it.”

“Smug bastard.”

Alex watches the bob of Michael's throat as he takes a long draw from his beer.

“Oh, here. Almost forgot.” Michael pops the rest of the garlic knot into his mouth and lifts his hips off the couch to give himself room to root around his pocket. After a moment of tugging, he tosses something across the couch. It lands on Alex’s thigh. “For your sweet tooth.”

Alex stares down at the packet of SweeTARTS heart candies, emblazoned with the same sentimental phrases as classic conversation hearts. “These are sour.”

“Well, yeah, but aren’t those the ones you like?”

Fingers toying with the crimped edges of the paper wrapping, Alex nods.

“Then Happy Valentine’s Day.” Michael sucks a spot of oil and garlic from his thumb. “I had to go to, like, four different CVS stores to find them.”

“Thank you,” Alex says. “You didn’t— I didn’t get you anything.”

Michael shrugs. “You paid for dinner. Least I could do was pick up some candy.”

Darkness creeps up on them while they trade sarcastic commentary about the fake detective comedy marathon they found on a higher cable channel. The lone bulb still on over the sink casts a warm yellow glow across the kitchen and dining room, and the living room flickers between dark and light as the scenes change on the television.

Alex glances down at Michael, who has made himself comfortable with one leg dangling off the edge of the couch and the other curled up against the arm. His head rests on a pillow that he laid atop Alex’s right leg, and he has Alex’s left leg stretched out in front of his chest to keep it from blocking his view.

The shift was gradual: he slumped sideways and curled his legs up; he leaned on his elbow and tried to stretch out; he whined about his neck and grabbed the pillow off the floor, checking that it wouldn’t bother Alex’s knee if he put pressure on it; and he grabbed Alex’s left leg by the ankle to straighten it out while complaining that he couldn’t see. And now Alex’s shin is pinned beneath Michael’s palm, feeling the rise and fall of Michael’s chest whenever he chuckles at one of the jokes.

They’ve spent hours together, rolling around in Michael’s cot and the back of his truck and motel beds, but Alex isn’t sure they’ve ever been more intimate. Quiet stillness has always been difficult for them to come by, and he can barely remember the last time they spent an afternoon together without some sense of doom hanging over their heads. They’ve certainly never laid on a couch together for four hours.

Michael shifts, rolling onto his side, and his hand drifts down towards the top of Alex’s foot. The calluses on his palm catch against the weave of his sock, and Alex listens to the faint scratch of material without breathing. After a moment, Michael’s fingers slip beneath the elastic at the bottom of his sweatpants, and he strokes absently at the ball of Alex’s ankle.

The fears and the doubts are as present as they’ve been for the last few weeks. All of their baggage is exactly the same.

Alex winds one of Michael’s curls around his finger, and he feels the stutter in his breathing.

With empirical evidence like that, he has to be brave.

He mutes the television and says, “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Michael glances up. “Is this…new information? Should we be celebrating?”

“No, I mean—” Alex swallows. “I don’t have to go out tomorrow, so if you stay over afterwards, we can talk.”

Michael stares at him. “After what?”

Alex shrugs, but his eyes linger pointedly on Michael’s mouth.

“Oh,” Michael says. He turns onto his stomach slowly, like he thinks moving too quickly will turn Alex skittish, and then he eases up onto his knees between Alex's legs. Carefully, he pushes the pillow on Alex’s lap out of the way and onto the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, I could stay over. Afterwards.”

Light from the silent television flickers against the side of his face, and Alex reaches for the loose collars of his shirt. Michael bends pliantly, anchoring his hands beside Alex’s shoulders on the arm of the couch, and lowers himself until their noses brush. Then, he hesitates. He nuzzles against Alex’s cheek, rolls their foreheads together, and sighs out a laugh.

Alex giggles back, a nervous sound he has no control over, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I just— I don’t wanna screw up. This has been a no-fly zone for weeks.”

“It really hasn’t.”

“It really has. I have the bruised ego to prove it.”

A missing piece slots into place in Alex’s chest, loosening every ounce of tension left in his body, and he sags down against the couch cushions. He takes a moment to look up at Michael, at the vulnerable pinch of anxiety that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and then he reaches up to smooth his thumb over the crest of Michael’s cheeks. The wrinkles worsen, so he tows Michael in by his hips and shakes his head. “No. No, you’re— you’re cleared to land.”

“That’s not— ” Michael blinks, and then says, affectionately, “Oh, fuck you.”

He laughs, deep in his chest, and finally presses his mouth to Alex’s. Alex surges into the kiss, letting it linger until the smile splitting across his lips forces Michael to pull back. He tries again, but Alex can’t relax his grin, so, for a moment, they just breathe, silhouetted in the dark.

Then, Michael says, “No regretting it tomorrow?”

Alex shakes his head. “No.”

“No nightmare scenario? No backslide with my ex?”

“No.”

“No… I scratched my itch, now get out of my house?”

“No!”

“Okay, good. Good. Because I’m playing for keeps this time.” He settles his weight between Alex’s thighs, and Alex is struck suddenly with the realization of how easy it is to be happy, how earned it feels after all this time.

They kiss, lazy and unhurried, until the cable box starts to idle in the background and leaves them in a nearly pitch black room. The last three buttons of Michael’s shirt come undone under Alex’s fingertips, and Michael’s unshaved jaw scrapes his mouth almost raw.

“Next year,” he mumbles against Alex’s cheek in a moment of reprieve, “I’m gonna fill this house with roses.”

Distractedly, Alex hooks his heel around the back of Michael’s calf and says, “If you somehow have a quarter of a million dollars to waste on that many flowers next year, we will not still be living in this house.”

Michael’s whole body jolts.

“We?” he teases gleefully, and he digs his fingertips into the soft back of Alex’s knee. “Did you just forget we don’t have a joint bank account? Oh, fuck, you really do like me.”

A hot flush rises in Alex’s cheeks as he squirms. “I like your fake money.”

“I think you mean our fake money.”

Alex laughs. “I fucking hate you.” He turns away, and Michael bends down to kiss the exposed line of his neck.

“You don’t,” he says between nips. “You really don’t.”

“No,” Alex agrees. “I really don’t.”

#michael x alex #malex #malex fic #malexcupid21 #roswell new mexico #alright it's DONE it's out of me so now i can read all the other ones lol #it's been a long while since i posted fic but!!! i kind of need them back together ASAP #my fic

121 notes · View notes

paranaturalpop · 3 years

Text

I rate your pnat ships by how well they work as foils

I’m Professor Pops, welcome to Literature 405: comparing and contrasting in pnat ships. Love is in the air but all that really matters is narrative symmetry!

Mina and Agent Day (submitted by @anxanhh)

two women on missions who need a confidante.

Mina is a calculating woman of science with a tender, vulnerable heart deep down that she guards. Day is a fun, giggly love goddess but beneath the surface she is just as calculating.

They are both focused on their prospective goals to the point of subterfuge.

They have similar missions, to solve the many mysteries of Mayview, but they’re at odds instead of working together. Will these lone wolves learn to let their walls down and work towards a common goal?

Their spectral energies are complementary colors!!!!!!!!!!!!

9/10 so different yet so alike. They should kiss and also develop as people.

Spendcia

Where's that post about paranatural having what my hero academia wants?

These two had interacted in cannon only once before we found out they were dating, power move on Zack’s part

The cousinhood and the consortium seem to have bad blood…. Enemies to lovers????

As teachers, Garcia is tired and phoning it in while spender is energetic and committed. But when it comes to mystery solving Spender is burning himself out while Garcia keeps him grounded.

Garcia does things like pack spender lunches with little hearts drawn on the bag but was surprised to be called his boyfriend. He acts chill but inside he is deeply invested in spender but also knows about spender’s isolating tendencies.

8/10 there's a reason these two have been off and on again for 6ish years, they’re walking a tightrope of vulnerability.

Imaax (submitted by Rubyya)

The Destiel of Paranatural. No I will not elaborate.

Here’s a pnat history lesson, the original ship name was Maxaac, but Zack weighed in on twitter with a much better alternative: Imaax. Also sometimes called Team Lightning Rod.

Black and blue colors, just like the emotional bruises they leave on the people around them.

Isaac wants to be seen as heroic and Max wants to be seen as aloof. It presents in different ways but deep down they both really care what other people think.

They both fear sincerity. Isaac protects himself with theatrics and Max with sarcasm.

Isaac puts on a big show of having strong ethics but he’s a little mean on instinct. Max puts on a big show of cutting people down with his snark and devil-may-care attitude, but when push comes to shove he’s kind and cares how other people feel.

Max immediately insults every person he meets and they still want to be best friends with him, while Issac tries so hard to be cool and nice but people just can’t stand him.

The meta tension between Isaac, who wants so badly to be the protagonist, and Max “magnetic personally” Puckett who is exhausted with being the protagonist, is delicious.

There’s a reason official art tends to portray them together. They bring out the best in each other. Isaac brakes through Max’s performative pessimism and Max brings Isaac down to earth.

10/10 these two were written as a pair and it shows.

Suzabel (submitted by Rubyya)

One of my fav tropes is ‘enemies to friends’ where the enemy part is completely one-sided. Isabel probably thinks she and Suzy get along great.

Both the heads of their respective clubs, but with very different leadership styles.

Isabel only studies her grandfather's spectral style to please him and is a near master of it, while Suzy is incredibly self-motivated even though her actual skills are lacking.

Isabel is at a crucial time in her life where she’s learning to distance herself from adult authority figures in order to take on more personal responsibility. Suzy is already blazing with independence and could help her adjust.

Inversely, Isabel could teach Suzy a thing or two about treating your club members with respect and doing the emotional labor necessary to prevent future conflict.

Red and pink! Valentines colors!

Isabel could kill you but would never, Suzy would actually try to kill you.

Investigative reporter/person living mysterious double life is a great dynamic.

Back when Izzy had Eightfold they had the ship name ‘Paper Girls’ which is awesome

7/10 Don’t ask me how I know this but they would kill at karaoke together. And they’re ok foils.

Bullymagnet

Max ‘too cool for clubs’ vs a boy who defines himself by his tight knit group.

Max is learning to be less passive aggressive and johnny is learning to be less aggressive aggressive.

Max’s entry to spectral life was when he injured Johnny and saw a shade of a doctopi on him, and Johnny's first shade was Max's doctopi after the hit ball game.

Johnny refuses to commit to not bullying max anymore even though he really likes him, and max is working on being nicer but he’s still gonna be snarky with people even though they’re his friends. Old habits die hard.

If he hadn't seen that shade, Max might have joined Johnny's gang. He has the style, the stunts, the snark.

8/10 Just two bros whose lives are changing forever.

Isaac and Dimitri (submitted by Rubyya)

Here’s my pitch for a ship name: Brainstorm

Orange and blue are complementary colors.

Isaac hurt Dimitri accidentally somehow. Hurting others accidentally is the central theme of chapter 5.

Idealist/pragmatist is a classic dynamic

They both have relationships with their spirit partners that are rooted in fear.

Dimitri’s self concept is overly dependent on his sense of intellectual superiority, and Isaac’s on ethical superiority.

7/10 have not directly interacted in the comic yet but the narrative symmetry is there

Johnny and Isabel (submitted by Rubyya)

Burnhound Vs Shockadile

These two are natural leaders who know how to treat their friends with respect.

These jocks are both lethal weapons, but while Isabel is a master martial artist, Johnny is a passionate but blunt instrument.

They’re both going through similar identity crises.

Isabel is struggling to reconcile her violent and disciplined upbringing with a good, gentle heart and Johnny is trying to reconcile his violent and self-centered lifestyle with a developing respect and empathy for other people.

Johnny dies his hair red, so he would think it’s cool how Izzy emits a fiery red aura when excited.

8/10 there's a reason these two were the team leaders in the hit ball arch.

Violet and Lisa (submitted by Rubyya)

People have been theorizing about what kind of cryptid Lisa is since day one meanwhile Violet gives off big normie energy.

Lisa is very plugged into all the Mayview weirdness as the queen of the school underground, while Violet was the only person who thought to go get a teacher during the hit ball arch. Lisa was also the only one who really spoke openly about how something was clearly very wrong with Jeff, everyone else talked around it and played by the so called ‘rules’. Lisa’s secret brokering Vs. Violet’s ‘sunlight is the best disinfectant’ attitude presents two different approaches to trying to survive in a school run by a mysterious shadow organization within a town that contains several other mysterious shadow organizations.

“If you were, I’d have to be jealous too.” just two middle schoolers pinning over their crushes.

7/10 two girls against the world.

Isaac and Johnny

ship name: Firestorm?

Just 2 fiery redheaded mediums with anger management issues that command primal forces and wanna be best friends with max

Johnny chooses to have red spiky hair, Issac has had red spiky hair thrust upon him.

Both met Maxwell Pucket and decided they needed to change for the better.

I’ve said this before but Johnny and Issac have equal and opposite philosophies. Johnny doesn't care about the greater good, he just cares about a small group of people who he loves. Issac cares about the greater good, but can’t connect with individuals and ends up hurting them. Together they form one GoodTM boy.

Both their spirit partners want revenge on Spender. This spells trouble.

If there’s anyone to teach Isaac about unconditional friendship, it’s Johnny

Isaac has sworn off violence and Johnny worships at the altar of it.

9/10 they’ve only interacted in canon once so far but I’ve think we’ve got a big storm coming.

Suzy and Collin (submitted by Rubyya)

The Bakudeku of pnat. I will continue to not elaborate.

Suzy once stole Collin's phone which prompted Collin to try to cut her hair which prompted Suzy to stab Collin and at no point did either of them think to move to a different bus seat. As different as they are they are also very much the same.

Collin is the definition of mouth service (constantly disapproving of suzy’s antics but going along with it anyway.) while suzy is all action.

Despite their different attitudes they both seem genuinely passionate about the journalism club.

Fashion icons. Suzy’s sunglasses and legwarmers, Collins sweater vests and wrist bands, this duo could walk for Paris fashion week: middle school edition.

We’ve gotten an indication that Collin cares a lot about what Suzy thinks of him (taking off his wrist bands when she made fun of Max's) but we haven't gotten any sign yet that the feelings are mutual.

5/10 I think their story is yet to be told and we’ll get to know more about how they compare/contrast to each other in the future. Maybe brought on by Dimitri's betrayal?????

Cody and Isabel (Submitted by @a-bitchtm)

Cody is gay by WOG but that doesn't matter here since we are evaluating thematic compatibility, not romantic compatibility.

Red Vs. Blue

Izzy’s arch about stepping into her role as leader through communication and honesty contrasts Cody’s role as the secret class president. Izzy finally told Isaac the truth about the consortium, while Cody blatantly lied to max about being president.

Both seem to have generally good motivations and the skills/talent to back those motivations up.

Isabel is in the process of unlearning the ‘firm hand’ philosophy that she learned from her grandpa and Cody’s dad straight up tried to mind control him into murdering a toddler.

They were both taught to fall back on their capacity for violence and intimidation but those teachings conflict with the people they really want to be.

6/10 just two kids who are being led astray by authority figures trying to learn to be themselves.

Cody and Collin (Submitted by @gatortavern)

They both like vests.

Both beholden to blood thirsty predators

Collin is a journalist, Cody is a vampire/leader of the shadow government. It’s a huge power move on Cody’s part to hang out with Collin.

Cody’s support of his friends is enthusiastic while Collin would have you believe Suzy has kidnapped him.

4/10 they hang out for a reason but those reasons have yet to be fully developed

Isabel and Max (submitted by @Paranatural-goofiness)

They’re both people who have learned to put up walls to keep people out. Isabel through violence and intimidation, max through sarcasm and mockery. T

he other side of this is their mutual journey to let their walls down and connect with other people more genuinely, starting with each other.

Their search for acceptance and identity has led them both to become incredible athletes. Spectral fist martial arts = shred eagle stunts

As we saw in the hit ball game, Izzy faces things head on while Max is all about evasion. However we’ve seen how Izzy has actually learned to be evasive and guarded about her feelings while Max is a little more forthcoming.

8/10 Never has there been faster friends.

Isaac and Cody (submitted by Rubyya)

Drama kings

Isaac wants the likability Cody has.

Parallels of power: Isaac with power he didn't choose and cant control vs. Cody who also didn’t choose to have his power (elected), but wields it like an instrument.

Involuntary anime hair and involuntary glowing monster eyes

These two definitely both fall under the category of “lawful”.

I can see these two ending up on opposite sides of a conflict because they both have such rigid personal codes and an intense sense of duty.

I know I’ve been approaching almost all of these platonically but Isaac probably really wants a cool vampire boyfriend deep down

7/10 Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. You two should watch anime together.

Hijack and PJ (submitted by @gatortavern)

They both wanna join the activity club so bad

Both have immature ideas about heroism and villainy.

Both aspire to heroism while at the same time understanding that they aren't that yet and maybe never will be.

They both, like many people in this comic, wanna be friends with max.

5/10 Two supernatural babies who should play wii sports together

Stephen and Isaac (@Gatortavern)

Two boys who are easily overwhelmed

Lawful vs. chaotic

Isaac has enough secrets to give Stephen his conspiracy fix for a long time.

In their own ways they both just want everything out in the open.

Isaac is Stephen's dream, someone actually living a secret double life, and Stephen is Issac's dream, someone with a cool scar who would think he’s actually very interesting.

5/10 these two are both very intense in their own way.

Johnny and Ed (Submitted by @theevilbrainman)

Two souls lost in the wind

Two people for whom friendship and loyalty is central to their character, and they’re both struggling with personal growth because of it. Johnny is afraid to change because his friends have always liked the person he already is, and Ed is struggling to even define himself outside of Isabel, the person he cares about the most.

Both impulsive and uninhibited.

They both live lives free from expectation. Johnny’s wild bully persona means no one is surprised by his antics or cruelty, while Grandpa Guerra doesn't really care if Ed takes up phantom fist like Isabel. He actually calls him a freeloader. Not having much expected of you can feel free but it’s also lonely and can warp your self-perception.

6/10 these two crossed paths at exactly the right time.

I didn't cover every submission because even though only 9 people submitted you sent in 34 ships between you. Pnat’s fanbase is small but very dedicated.

Honorable mentions:

Johnny and clear sinuses, submitted by @gaul-the-unmitigated

Isaac and therapy, submitted by both @squidgeons and @somethingfishysgoingon

PJ and Johnny, submitted by @gatortavern, who seems to be under the impression that Johnny Would protect PJ and not destroy him just by breathing near him.

Day and Scabs, submitted by @gatortavern, because funny.

Special thanks to everyone who sent in ship between people who have never interacted in cannon, which was a lot of you. My eyes are opened now, so many possibilities.

#paranatural #pnat #q #ships #valentines #dr. zarei/agent day #imaax #spendcia #suzabel #bullymagnet #shipping #pnat spoilers

131 notes · View notes

marveldc-imagines-hub · 3 years

Text

That One Valentine’s Day Special (Captions)

Anon said: “Hello!! I saw that your wandavision requests are open and I had to request something! I’m so obsessed with Vis right now, it’s very bad. I can’t think of any specific plot ideas, all I know is that I would really love to see some fluffy Vision just head over heals in love with reader. Kisses, cuddles, all that jazz. Thank you so much ❤️❤️❤️”

Anon said: “maybe a request where it’s valentines and the reader and Wanda team up to get really dressed up and make an amazing dinner to surprise Vision, but when he comes home and sees them both he’s so flustered that either like has a shutdown or faints? And then obviously Wanda and the reader panic and spend the evening taking care of him and also teasing him for being so adorable/fainting? Thank you!!!”

A/N: Combined aspects from both of these requests to make an ooey gooey Valentine’s Day special (which got belated because I lost half of the writing when I transferred it from doc to Tumblr post :’D)!

Don’t think this is the type of dressed up you meant but I hope you like it, either way! The type of nightwear I was going for with Wanda was something like this.

Subtitles/Captions Masterlist

Tip Jar

Word count: 7,117

Warnings: Valentine’s Day sap. Lingerie, passionate kissing, and everyone being flirty (nothing graphic). Reader makes a really, really, just terrible pun in order to compliment Wanda. This was edited very late at night, so there might be a few errors.

Tag list: @cyanide-mustard @badasspolygenderfriend (These were the only two on the tag list who confirmed that they wanted to be tagged in everything WandaVision-related; if anyone else on the Subtitles list does, just let me know!)

~~~

“Hey, Wanda?” You hollered to the woman in the other room. You were standing in front of the mirror in the Maximoff bathroom, adjusting the collar of the somewhat too-big shirt you wore.

“Yes, dear?” Your girlfriend hollered back from a couple of rooms away.

“While I definitely get the why we’re doing this,” you continued, tugging the shirt’s shoulders farther to one side, then back to the other, before giving up and moving onto your hair, “with Valentine’s Day and all, you know--”

Wanda piped up, probably to assure you that she was listening more than anything, “Yes, I do.”

You snorted. “--but is there a reason we’re doing so… much?”

As you spoke, you ran your hands through your hair, ruffling it to give it a bedhead type of look. You faltered a bit when your eyes settled on the ugly scar on your forehead that your hair couldn’t cover without being in a bizarre style. You frowned and dug a finger into the scar tissue, feeling very little other than mild pressure when you did so.

There was a pause on Wanda’s end. “You don’t think he deserves it, working so hard this past week?”

You reeled back, insecurity forgotten, and quickly left the bathroom. You walked down the hall to where Wanda was working on her own outfit in the bedroom she shared with Vision, rambling away, “No, no, no! I mean no as in no, you’re wrong, not as in he doesn’t deserve what we’re doing. Of course, he does! To be completely honest, he probably deserves it more than anyone in town--aside from yourself, of course--but… For example, we did a lot revolving around food and… Vis doesn’t eat.”

There was another pause and you halted by the closed bedroom door, mainly to pick a rose petal from where it stuck itself to the bottom of your stockinged foot but also because you didn’t want to walk in on your partner.

“But Valentine’s Day revolves around food quite a bit, doesn’t it?” Wanda said from the other side of the door. At this point in your relationship, you could pick up pretty easily how Wanda was feeling by her tone of voice. She spoke thoughtfully, which wasn’t all that concerning, but there was a certain edge to her voice that made you worried; she was going to start overthinking and scrapping the entire idea if you didn’t interfere soon.

You tilted your head from one side to the other while considering her statement before giving a nod she couldn’t see and responding, “I suppose you’re right there. Lots of holidays do, now that I think about it. Thanksgiving? Turkey. Easter? Candy. Christmas? Just… food in general.”

You glanced around as you spoke. You couldn’t see much of the house from where you stood in the hallway but you knew what to expect when you walked to the main part of the house. All of the house’s lights were off, save for a few lamps that washed the house with what would have been a low, cozy, get-comfortable-before-bed sort of light if Wanda hadn’t used her powers to turn the lightbulbs in said lamps from yellow to a red; because of this change, the dim light gave off a much more romantic energy that fit with the rest of your and Wanda’s decorating. Red, pink, and white rose petals were scattered all across the floor, starting from the front were, where Vision would be when he walked in after work and making a trail to different rooms of the house. One path led to the kitchen and dining area, where you and Wanda had spent a good part of the day preparing various sweet, Valentine’s Day- and romance-themed treats plus dinner and setting up the table with candles and flowers and a pink tablecloth that matched the pink rose petals. Another led to the living room, which was decorated in a similar nature. Thanks to Wanda’s ability to conjure, she was able to quickly clean up the area that was usually hidden under a mess of baby equipment, change the color of the throw pillows and blankets to the correct red and pink theme, and even had “floating” heart decorations that danced across the ceiling on transparent strings; the babies themselves were gone for the night, safe under Agnes’s care once she and you had been able to convince Wanda. Finally, a rose path, accompanied by ceiling hearts, led down the hallway until it made a fading stop at where were you currently stood, leaning next to the bedroom door. The bedroom itself wasn’t decorated and neither of you had really talked about the assumptions that could be made from looking at the trail, but what you had discussed was how many romantic movies Wanda was going to project onto one of the walls after dinner while cuddling would most certainly take place on the couch.

The third path was mainly to guide you down the hallway while Wanda greeted Vision from the kitchen. It was also to lead Vision to go change into his own set of comfy pajamas when you and Wanda would ultimately have to push him to do so after him grumbling about too tired to do so.

Poor thing, you thought while pushing yourself away from the wall.

Being the company’s fastest and best worker, Vision had become victim to Mr. Hart doubling his workload and as a result, the gentleman had been working like a dog for the entire past week. His days had consisted of getting up way too early only to go into work and be worked to the bone, then come home and relieve Wanda of the babies--regardless of her assuring him that she’d be fine while he rested--until he passed out on the couch sometime later into the night. You’d been surprised, after learning of his synthezoid identity, that he’d need to sleep at all but you supposed anyone would need to recharge after a day like that.

You, on the other hand, had racked up some vacation days and, after a chat with Wanda about the upcoming romantic holiday, decided to add an extra day to your weekend so the two of you could do something nice for her husband. You’d probably regret this on Monday but for now, you were just happy to have spent the day working with Wanda and were hoping the rest of the night went well.

Speaking of the woman, Wanda had been quiet for some time now, other than the sounds of rustling fabric. You decided now was a good time as any to get involved before she decided that she should do something completely different and cause all the previous work to go to waste, so you knocked. After getting a verbal invitation, you strolled in, only for a sharp inhale to almost propel you back to slam into the doorframe.

Wanda was standing in front of a full-length mirror against the far wall of the bedroom, anxiously fiddling with what little clothing she had on. She wore what looked like a bathing suit but was made out of a sheer, body-hugging, baby pink fabric and embellished with a subtle pattern of roses. Her back was turned to you but you could see from the mirror’s reflection that the piece still left plenty to the imagination with a more opaque version of the same fabric keeping her chest, the bit of fabric held snugly between her thighs, and even an upsidedown V-shaped panel that was framed by silky white bands and reached from the middle of her torso to the lower part of her hips covered. This lovely piece, clothing an even lovelier woman, was paired with similarly colored stockings of the same fabric, minus the rose pattern, and you were both surprised and amused by the addition of a string of pink pearls around her neck and one wrist with matching earrings and a pair of white low heels with a bow on the toe strap. Wanda’s hair was styled in loosely curled waves, making it look shorter than it actually was, and pushed back with a headband that could be mistaken for a minimal tiara, which was also embellished with pink-tinted pearls.

You knew that you were staring, flushed, and with eyes almost bulging out of their sockets--you knew only because you could catch part of your own reflection in the mirror, not because you could feel anything other than goosebumps-inducing tingles travel across your body--but it took Wanda laughing softly and catching your eye in the mirror to pull your slacked jaw off the floor and close your suddenly dry mouth. You eventually also tried to speak but not much other than a stammering “Uhhh…” came out and you gave up, instead choosing to scrub your hands over your face so you would at least look away.

Then Wanda dared to ask, “So, do I look okay?”

You stared at her again but this time it was one of disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

Wanda rolled her eyes and chuckled again at your utter belief before nervously running her hands down along a perfect set of curves. You fully believed she had no intention of torturing you by doing so but here she was, doing just that. If it hadn’t been for the awkward look on her face, makeup-free except for light lipstick and a little mascara, your gaze probably would have stayed with the path her hands made over her stomach and down to rest on her hips. You watched her gaze jump worriedly from one part of her body to the other instead.

“Look,” she continued, “I know I look okay, I know I look fine--”

Fine? Only fine? If Wanda asked you to strip naked and run through Westview while screaming her praises, you would do so without a second thought. Well, you probably would have done it regardless of what she was wearing but you wouldn’t be complaining about the extra bit of help.

“--but ever since the twins were born, I feel a little… hmph… wearing something like this.”

While you couldn’t possibly fathom how she could see herself as anything but one of the most beautiful living creatures ever, but you’d also figured out quite a while ago that she didn’t exactly see herself the same way you did. You chewed the inside of your cheek a bit before walking over and wrapping your arms around her; her own hands settled to rest on top of yours. You rested your chin on her shoulder and met her gaze in the mirror one last time.

“I suppose even goddesses have their insecure days, huh?”

Wanda laughed and rolled her eyes so hard you were vaguely worried about them rolling back into her skull. She lightly slapped your arms but still leaned back into your embrace as she scoffed, “Be quiet.”

“Wanda,” you said, “you had kids. You still look great. You look so good. So, so, so good. Insanely good. Earth-shakingly good. So pretty. Very gorgeous. Amazingly foxy. Incredibly stellar. Your mom body? Could demolish Aphrodite in a beauty pageant.”

You rambled on a bit longer before Wanda was smacking your arms again. She looked more at ease now, though, completely relaxed in your arms with her head leaning into the crook of your shoulder and one ankle loosely crossed over the other.

“Mom body.” She snorted. “Please, enlighten me further about this mom body I have.”

You quickly shook your head and gave her reflection a warning look. “Can’t. If I say much more, it’ll upset the gods. Every single one of them. I’ll be thrown into the pits for all the sinful things I’d have said.”

Wanda’s head fell back as she laughed again; you felt the tickle of her hair against your exposed neck as you grinned against her shoulder. When she settled again, you gave her a serious look, moved your lips to kiss the shell of her ear, then muttered, “But let’s just say you’re a foxy mama in absolutely every sense of the word.”

The woman in your arms erupted with laughter once more, though this time it was short and accompanied by a gentle slap to the cheek. Then her hand rested there, holding your head close as she leaned her forehead partially against yours.

“You and my husband,” she said with a little shake of her head, “and those ridiculous puns of yours.”

You nodded slightly in agreement, then tilted your head to peck her cheek. “That one really was just…”

“Awful?”

“Yeah, no, not good.” You chuckled and reached a hand up to poke her cheek. “Made ya smile though.”

Wanda hummed, squinting at herself in the mirror, then huffed. “I suppose.”

There were a few moments of the two of you just holding each other and soaking up each other’s presence.

Then Wanda just had to ask again, “Do you really think I look okay?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Wanda! You’re so pretty! You’re so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so--”

“You tell me I’m pretty all the time,” she pointed out.

“I have yet to be wrong,” you countered.

She looked herself over again. Tilting her head and glancing up at you from under her lashes, she said, “You could call me sexy.”

“I could,” you agreed, “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable though.”

Wanda raised a brow. “Did I not just say you could?”

You snorted. “Was my foxy mama joke not enough? Do you know what havoc me doing so would release onto the world? Would you want the gods to reject me because of my filthy language?” You leaned your head into her neck while keeping your eyes on hers. You waggled your eyebrows and lowered your voice. “‘Cause I’ll do it.”

Wanda made a face at you, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips in the special, incredibly cute way that only she could. Then she smiled and ruffled your hair slightly. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you calling me sexy once.”

“Oh, nay,” you insisted, “if it happens once, it shall happen a million types! An unholy, unhinged, affectionate monster shall be released from its mortal prison!”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully and made a show of tapping her chin and tilting her head. “Okay, deal.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. Giving her cheek another quick smooch, you said simply back, “‘Kay, you’re sexy.”

She smiled back at you and did a single clap. “Yay.”

“And, hey,” you said, tapping the scar on your forehead, “even if you weren’t a level of beauty that matched an immortal otherworldly being--impossible--at least you don’t have a scar on your face.”

You saw Wanda’s gaze soften in the mirror before she twisted around in your arms to face you. She gently took your face in her hands and your eyes fluttered shut as she leaned up to kiss you directly on said scar.

“I like the scars,” she said softly, “It means you survived something, even if you don’t know what it was, and I’m happy that you did.”

Your eyes blinked back open. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t be here for me otherwise.”

You huffed out a little breath, somewhat involuntarily, and were suddenly very aware of the fact that you two were practically tangled around each other now. You squished your nose against hers in a nuzzle and said in a lower tone, “Lucky you then.”

She dropped her hands from your face to wrap her arms around your neck. She matched your tone and bumped her nose back against yours, tilting her head a bit. “Very lucky.”

It was almost like a mutual decision when your lips crashed against each other.

Having been prone to the feeling of floaty dizziness as a result of your migraines, the feeling itself wasn’t particularly jarring. What replaced the usual undercurrent of pulsing pain, however, was what made this dizziness feel heavenly instead of hellish. When you kissed Wanda, it was like immediate intoxication but instead of booze, it was the taste of the gloss on her lips and the strawberry flavor that still lingered on her tongue from your cooking session earlier that day and the mix of citrusy sweetness from her perfume and shampoo that made you think of candied orange slices whenever you inhaled. You’d always be too busy to mentally describe it while in the moment, far too concentrated on committing whatever part of Wanda’s body that you were touching to memory via your grazing fingertips and adding new scents, words, feelings, images, and whatever else to the catalog of things that reminded you of her in your head, but when you thought about the love-drunk dizziness that followed the initial intoxication after the fact, you equated it to being a little tipsy and stumbling into a warm home. Only this time, home was a woman whose arms and mouth kept drawing you back for one more kiss, and then five more, and the thing that made you tipsy was the way the air crackled with invisible electricity and magic, and the look in her eyes when your eyes fluttered open after parting.

While time seemed to slow to a stop during your and Wanda’s moment, it hadn’t actually done so at all. This was proven when you heard the front door begin to open, causing you and Wanda to practically leap away from each other. She stared at you with wide, startled eyes and you couldn’t help but note your handiwork; her entire face and neck were flushed a deep red, her hair was significantly messier than it had been previously, that the lip color she’d been wearing had been partially transferred to your mouth.

The admiration could only last a moment. “You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”

“I’m supposed to be in the kitchen,” Wanda repeated. “My lipstick is all over your face.”

You brushed a thumb over your bottom lip and it came away with a glossy pink. “Your lipstick is on my face.”

Wanda stood in front of you, suddenly frozen except for flitting eyes and hands grasping at the air while she tried to think of something. Then, with a couple of snaps of her fingers, she remembered her magic a moment later. “Oh, I can just-- You look amazing, the shirt’s a nice touch. See you out there!” She snapped once more and disappeared in a puff of red smoke just as you heard the front door swing open and Vision’s voice drifted down the hallway.

“Darling, I’m ho-- Oh.”

Then Wanda’s voice also bounced back your way from where she was probably now perched in the kitchen. Her tone was one part frazzled, two parts cheery, and five parts flirty teasing as she spoke. “Hiya, honey! Whaddya think?”

You drew your attention from their voices to the mirror that you now stood in directly in front of. The outfit you wore wasn’t nearly as polished as Wanda’s, but it had its intimate charm. While the two of you both wore stockings, that was where the similarities stopped. Your stockings were a sheer brownish-black and you wore no form of shoes with them nor any other accessories aside from your lightly ruffled mess of hair. In contrast to Wanda’s overall body-shaping attire, the pair of high-waisted silky shorts that you wore were flowy and loose, and instead of the shorts’ matching tank top with uncomfortable lace straps, you wore one of Vision’s pajama shirts that was a similar shade of red with vertical yellow and dark brown stripes. Posing a couple of different ways for yourself in the mirror, you were pleased to find the red and yellow were an almost match to Vision’s skin and the glowing gem in his forehead; with a little more pondering, you were a tad upset that the shirt you were wearing had yellow stripes instead of yellow spots.

If it had spots, you thought, I could look like a strawberry with a thigh-high chocolate dip.

Pleased with your look otherwise, you aimlessly moved about the bedroom before hovering around the doorway where you could almost make out the rest of Vision and Wanda’s conversation. The plan in place was that Wanda was going to give Vision the itinerary for the night--gifts and cards, dinner, because there was food to be eaten whether Vision ate any or not, an indoor movie theater that Wanda would magically whip up, and the rest of the night spent in romantic snuggling bliss--and then would give you a cue. When the actual process of getting the gifts came about, you were to bring said items to the living room, being somewhat of a surprise gift for Vision in your own right. You glanced towards the bed, where a white clothing box wrapped in a red ribbon sat with a trio of cards, one each from you and Wanda and one Wanda had made on behalf of the twins, who were still too young to do much on their own.

You couldn’t be sure whether it was because Wanda had slipped up and mentioned you--it was much harder to hear them from the other part of the house after their loud introductions finished--or if Vision, clever and curious man that he was, had caught on to your and Wanda’s plan already and decided to uncover it ahead of time. Either way, you suddenly caught a glimpse of Vision turning down the hallway, hovering a few inches off the ground to probably preserve the rose petal trail underneath his feet, and jumped away from the doorway before he could see you. While you couldn’t quite make out what Wanda was saying, you could hear a slight strain in her voice as she tried to get Vision to back down from his cause, to no avail. You only had a few moments to think of something and you decided to hop onto the bed and get comfortable in a casual sitting position, moving the small stack of Valentine’s Day goodies and looking coolly off to the side just before Vision floated into the room.

The soft thud of Vision landing on his feet your attention back over to the doorway and you saw him standing there rigid in his work suit, his gaze roaming over you before respectfully glancing away--only to be slowly dragged back less than a minute later. After watching this process continue a couple more times, you decided to tease him.

“Oh, hey there, crimson toaster oven,” you quipped nonchalantly, reaching up to toy with a stray piece of hair as you did, “how was work?”

Vision’s eyes settled on yours as you watched him with a cocked head. You expected some sort of reply, and for a moment he seemed like he was about to speak. Instead, though, he settled into an almost completely frozen state, jaw clenching slightly.

At first, you were amused. Then you realized he was quite literally frozen, nothing moving aside from the whirling of gear-like shapes in his irises, and your facade broke down a bit.

“Vis?” you questioned, sitting up straighter and moving the Valentine’s Day gifts aside, “you okay?”

No response.

You frowned and got up to walk over to him. “Um, Wanda?”

The Sokovian woman appeared a moment later shimmying around Vision’s form to stand next to you.

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“Oh, dear,” Wanda murmured. You watched as her gaze turned red and she looked him over, using her powers to check that his internal functions were still working properly. Eventually, her gaze stopped at his face and after squinting at him, Wanda said, “Ah. [Y/N], it appears we broke him.”

“I’m sorry?” you choked, “Broke him?”

Wanda seemed much less worried than you felt about the implications of Vision being some form of broken. She instead smiled and stepped up to him, giving you a simple “Yep” before pressing her fingers to his temples. Her eyes flashed red again and a second later Vision’s body sagged into a much more human position. “There we go.”

You blinked and watched as Vision shook himself out, flapping his hands and then rotating his arms and neck with a grumble.

“Ah,” he said, “much better.”

You eyed him. “Everything’s chill then? His gears got, ah, de-gummed, so to speak?”

Wanda snickered. She was now tucked against Vision’s side and helping him shimmy out of his jacket.

Vision seemed to remember where he was and what was going on because his eyes flitted from Wanda to you and back. When he settled a bit more, he looked at you both in turn, his gaze making a slow, deliberate path down both your and Wanda’s bodies as he took in what each of you wore. Finally, his eyes jolted back up to meet yours, and he responded in a low, gravelly voice, “Well, right now, I’m doing absolutely marvelously.”

You grasped that everything was back on track again and a smirk graced your face. “Well,” you said, clapping your hands together and turning back towards the bed, “as long as the short-circuit didn’t fry anything, the step of the night is gifts.”

Then you were being dragged back to Vision’s side by your wrist and he had an arm around both your and Wanda’s waists. “Now, just hold on there, [Y/N]. Shouldn’t I get to spend some time with my lovely partners, especially after seeing all the effort they’ve put in? Besides, I haven’t even gotten to compliment you about your looks.” He paused and pressed a kiss to Wanda’s temple, then nuzzled the side of your neck. When he moved his head away again, he eyed the way your shirt hung loosely off your shoulders. “Is that my shirt?”

You and Wanda shared an amused glance. She’d told you earlier that day about the anniversary-Hart family dinner mishap she and Vision had had when they’d first moved to Westview, the same day you’d met the couple, and how Vision and the Harts had come home to Wanda wearing an intimate nightdress that had made Vision more than a little flustered; the story is what sparked the idea for the evening’s current attire. She ignored his comment about you wearing his clothes and decided to nudge him back to the plan as hand, brushing a hand over the suit jacket now hanging from her arm. “I don’t know about that, honey, your eyes were certainly saying something.”

Vision pouted and hummed, probably trying to come up with another reason to keep hugging you and Wanda close to his body. After a moment, he chirped, “Ah, well! I brought you each something and something for the boys, and I left everything out in the living room. We can’t open gifts without all of them, what a pity. We might as well--”

“I have an idea.” Wanda interrupted. When you looked from Vision to her, she was still smiling but her eyes sparked with a playful warning. She freed herself from Vision’s hold, much to the tall man’s dismay, and walked over to the bed. She picked up the cards and tucked them under the arm that also held Vision’s jacket, then brought the clothing box over and held it out to you. “How about I go and make sure the food is warmed up and the table is set, then get all the cards and things into one place while, [Y/N], you give Vision the one gift he should still have.”

You raised a brow as you took the box from her and watched her saunter to the door, consciously moving out of Vision’s range. “You don’t want to see him open it?”

“I saw you open one I bought for you, you get to see the one you bought him,” Wanda said simply. “And I have a feeling that we’re better off if we’re not all in the same room until things get back on track, Vision might run the risk of shutting down again.”

You gasped dramatically and pressed your free hand to your cheek. Looking at Vision with wide eyes, you whispered, “How will I warm my bagels?”

Vision narrowed his eyes and made a grumbling sound from so deep in his chest you could feel the rumble where you were still held against him. Said sound and Vision’s overall reaction so far made you perfectly happy with the idea of the night derailing a bit off course, but you knew how much of a stickler Wanda could be when she made a plan and this was just as much a night for her as it was for Vision or you.

With no further objections, Wanda walked out of the room. The heels she wore gave her a sashaying step and neither you nor Vision were particularly upset as the two of you watched her go. Then the door was shut and you two were alone.

“So,” Vision said slowly as he turned his attention fully to you, “this is what you’ve been up to instead of going to work today.”

“It is indeed,” you confirmed, “and before you say anything else, I know full well what I’ll be getting into when I go in on Monday.”

“I hope so. You’ll be working harder than I have all week.”

You hummed and chewed on your lip as you thought. “Maybe… I could just… quit my job…”

“Hah!” Vision laughed and waggled a finger at you. “No, no, no, no, no. If I have to endure it, then so do you.”

You grinned and turned away from his finger as if to avoid his complaint. He chuckled and tried to catch your eye, rambling away about Oh, the work we shall both do, but you merely twisted away further, feigning beautiful, blissful ignorance. You even went so far as blocking Vision’s face from your sight with the box you held, which made Vision break off briefly to laugh again.

“--and then, maybe someday you will come home,” Vision continued, catching you in his arms again and tugging you close to him, “and see both of your partners, looking very fetching and being even more wonderful than usual because they’ve set up and entire romantic evening, not only because it’s a romantic holiday but because they specifically wanted to plan something to help you relax after a particularly busy week.” He paused, then added, “And it might even be a little better for you than it will be for me because you actually get to eat the food that’s taken up the entire kitchen.”

You tittered, tilted your head in mock thought even though Vision couldn’t see it, and then lowered your chipboard shield just far enough for your eyes to poke out from over it. “Mm, now that does appealing. Just one question though.”

“Of course, darling.”

You waggled your brows at him. “Which outfit will you be wearing, Wanda’s or mine?”

Vision smirked just slightly but it was enough to set off a volcanic eruption of heat throughout your entire body. You felt his fingers suddenly brushing against yours as he started to gently pry his gift out of your hands.

He said, “Depends on what’s in the box.”

He snagged the box from your hands, revealing your blushing face, but instead of opening it right away, his arm moved around your waist to be with the other once more. He pressed his forehead against yours and you felt a different sort of warmth as the golden gem in his forehead touched your skin. He tilted his head closer still to nuzzle his nose against yours then--

You quickly turned your head away again, flashing him a wicked grin when he stared at you, dumbfounded. You draped your now free arms loosely around his neck, fingered brushing lightly against his neck and fiddling with the collar of his button-up shirt. You shuffled closer to him to eliminate what little space left there was between your body and his, looked him in the eye, and teased, “Careful now, Mr. Maximoff. Wouldn’t want to knock another screw loose in that gorgeous, handsome head of yours.”

Vision’s low chuckle vibrated in his chest, feeling almost like a purr against your own body.

“Or,” you added, “knock one too many screws in?”

“[Y/N].”

“Wind the gears too tight?”

“[Y/N].”

You looked at him innocently; the irritated scowl on his face was contradicted by the mischievous twinkle in his pretty blue eyes. “I can keep going.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of that,” said Vision in that grumbling voice that would probably make you implode every time if it were his regular speaking voice, “but we are never going to get out of this room.”

“Interesting hypothesis,” you said with a very serious nod. “You are welcome to test it or stop me at any time. Now, where was I?”

It took a smirk and a raised brow to kick Vision back into gear but then you were grabbing his face and laughing against his mouth as he all but threw himself at you.

Kissing Vision was quite different than kissing Wanda, although no less addictive. Wanda’s kisses always felt needy but not in the way that one would think. Her kisses always felt like she had been lost up until the very moment your lips would touch hers, and then she was finding refuge and trying to absorb every bit of warmth and comfort that came from the way her mouth melded against yours before the kiss ended and she was alone and lost again. She almost always felt soft and sweet against you but you could feel a wild, restrained power brewing just underneath, and her power seemed to draw out and entangle itself with a power of your own, whatever that power was; the kisses never seemed to last long enough for you to figure that piece out.

When you kissed Vision, you could never get the idea that you were kissing someone not totally human out of your head, but in the best way. One of your favorite things to do whenever you kissed him was to run your hands over his skin and explore every single uniquely intricate thing about him, like the way his skin somehow felt soft and dense at the same time and how it was just slightly textured with lines and grooves that felt inhuman or the way that he didn’t really have a heartbeat or a pulse but rather a gentle constant rumbling of whatever gave him life doing its job, and sometimes this rumbling would jolt or slow depending on where you focused your ministrations. No matter his current state of being--exhausted, flustered, distressed--he was always strong and steady under your hands like he was ready to catch you if you suddenly misstepped or fly you to safety at a moment’s notice should the need arise. You couldn’t help equating the way his mouth worked against yours with the phrase “built to please”; he was always curious and searching in the way his hands and mouth roamed, and he seemed to get the most pleasure when he figured out exactly what you needed and did that--and he was much more often than not oh so very right.

While Wanda felt wild, Vision felt grounding. When you were kissing Wanda, you were so focused on her body and yours and the energy that wrapped the two of you up in a magical cocoon that you felt like you could start bursting at the seams at any moment. Kissing Vision got you much more out of your head, to the point where you were merely exploring him as much as he was you, which led to the occasional knocking of teeth or finding a ticklish spot that caused the kiss to break into giggles and teasing; maybe you would go back to kissing or maybe the two of you would slip into a conversation so seamlessly that you wouldn’t even notice until a couple of hours had already passed.

You often wondered if, when you weren’t around and your partners kissed each other, if either of them felt the same thing that you did. You wondered even more often how Wanda and Vision felt kissing you.

This time, though, it was Wanda’s voice from a couple of rooms away, muffled but noticeable, that finally broke the two of you apart.

“Any day now,” she hollered, although there was no trace of irritation in her tone. “It’s not like we only have a few hours left to celebrate Valentine’s Day or anything.”

Vision’s face scrunched up and he eyed the wall that separated the kitchen and bedroom via another room in between. “Mm, she’s got a point.”

You pursed your lips and squinted at the wall as if you would see red magic permeating it if you did so for long enough. “Do you think she X-rayed us?”

Your partner let out a short little chortle as he disentangled himself from you and looked over the box he’d managed to hang onto during your kissing session. “Even if she did, not like it’s going to be any different once we’re all in the same room together.”

“Good point,” you said. “Mm, more kisses.” You were still curious, though, so you hollered back to Wanda, “Hey, magical girl, did ya see me kiss your husband?”

All you got was a laugh back, which had you smiling.

Then you turned back to Vision, who was toying with the box’s bow, and said, “Alright, Vis, happy Valentine’s Day. Now give me your tie and your pants.”

You and Vision joined Wanda in the dining area shortly, Vision now dressed in a dark blue set of silky pajamas that matched your own shorts of the same shimmery fabric. Wanda had lit the candles not only at the dinner table but also around the rest of the house and she’d set proper places for three at the dinner table, although only two of the places had been served with simple dinner and various sweet, gaudy treats. After the three of you sat, Wanda gave Vision his cards: a beautifully designed one with a poem on the front and a lengthy handwritten letter on the inside from Wanda, a handmade one with bad Valentine’s Day puns and flustered ramblings all over it from you, and a “hand-drawn” one from Tommy and Billy that had really been drawn childishly by Wanda again as the babies were still too young to do so themselves. As he’d mentioned earlier, Vision had gifts of his own, which included a Valentine’s Day cupcake of your favorite flavor that he had snuck from work for you, cards and flowers for each of you, and a pair of inversely colored, Valentine’s Day themed stuffed puppies for the twins. With Tommy and Billy mentioned, Vision questioned their whereabouts and was surprised that Wanda had even let them out of her sight, though somewhat appreciative.

Dinner was next and went fairly quickly. You and Wanda ate a late dinner while the three of you conversed, mainly about Vision’s day and overall week but also you and Wanda explaining how you’d planned and prepared for the date without Vision being any the wiser. Vision made a comment that he, as an incredibly smart individual with a very expansive range of knowledge, should have noticed something sooner, which led to another bout of teasing from primarily you about how he’d fried his batteries when he saw his partners dressed up in pretty clothing and one of his shirts. Then topic conversations bounced around aimlessly for the rest of the time until both you and Wanda had cleaned your plates and even helped yourselves to some of the other goodies. Vision absolutely refused to let either of you do cleanup work, so you convinced Wanda to go change into something a little comfier--“At least take off those pearls and heels. Don’t really mind the rest of the outfit, though.”--and then went over to prepare the living room for movies by bringing over a few more treats to snack on, cleaning off an area for Wanda to magically project movies on the wall without clutter, and turning the couch into less of a decorative scene and more of a nest of red, white, and pink pillows and blankets.

Finally, the three of you settled onto the couch with Vision in the middle. That wouldn’t last for long, though, as you each grabbed a blanket or pillow and shifted yourselves into a big, fluffy, snuggle pile. You and Wanda managed to end up squished between Vision’s arms, where both of you could comfortably rest your heads on his chest. You could also slip an arm around Wanda and absentmindedly run your fingertips underneath the hem of the pajama shirt she now wore--another of Vision’s; it was a light blue and white striped button-down--and over the rose patterns of the sheer fabric hugging her hips. Instead of starting the movies right away, the three of you laid in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company.

Vision briefly had to unwrap his arms to stretch and yawn, the yawn something that wasn’t entirely necessary for him. After placing them back, he murmured, “We don’t normally celebrate these types of things, do we, Wanda?”

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open; you had been watching her lay in quiet, cozy peace and she smiled sweetly at you when she caught you. “Goodness, no. We’ve proven time and time again we’re not exactly the remembering type when it comes to holidays. Holidays, events--”

“Anniversaries,” you offered with a little grin. “Especially those that coincide with meetings with bosses.”

Vision groaned softly. “A minor disaster.”

“Ended well though,” Wanda pointed out.

“And provided the idea for this whole thing,” you added.

Vision hummed thoughtfully and you felt his hand run down your back. “That so?”

“You getting flustered over sexy nightwear?” you said. “What potential.”

Wanda snickered. “What potential indeed. We broke the man.”

“Well,” Vision grumbled, his arms tightening slightly around both of you, “I assure you I’m doing fine now.”

You whispered into his chest, “Only because Wanda put on a shirt.”

Your trio broke into tired chuckles, which then faded into warm silence. It continued for a few moments before Vision pointed out that the movie-watching part of the night didn’t necessarily need to happen.”

That you sitting up and reaching for a movie list you’d compiled much earlier in the day.

“We must watch at least one movie,” you demanded, “and that movie is Grease.”

78 notes · View notes

daydream-believin · 3 years

Text

Never-Ending Roadtrip (Autumn in New York, pt 1)

Summary: (ch 1) (ch 10) Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - chapter 9) new york tourism and some relaxation for a stressed-out emo wizard

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol mention, implied nudity (just a bath)

Word Count: 3542

A/n: Go listen to ‘autumn in new york’ by ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong to set the mood for this chapter and the next lol. i do like lovecore i promise. also this was going to be it but ive split it up. enjoy

Douxie was very careful to take inventory. One head, two head, dragon head, his own head. All accounted for. Four heads, no more no less. Not even a pesky stowaway gnome. His family was together. Up in the air, on the ship, winding blowing through their hair. Douxie could see sky scrapers on the horizon.

The trolls had been cordial in their goodbyes, but made no effort in giving the impression that they wanted the wizard family to stay any longer than they had. In fact, it was discouraged if not outright. The trolls almost gave off an aura of relief when they faded from view of the settlement. But that was understandable. Douxie’s family had caused a bit of trouble during their stay.

Bagdwella was certain that Archie was a bad omen for her shop and would freak out whenever he tried to enter. Y/n had been a bit confused and tried to explain to her that black cats were in fact supposed to bring wealth, not financial ruin, but apparently Bagdwella had been thinking of an old trollish superstition about dragons instead. Y/n had no counter to that.

Nari had no real knowledge of how money worked, and was determined to make that Douxie’s problem. And the problem of all the trolls in the shops of the town. There was a bit of a problem with her “dining and dashing” in the pub, the one troll eatery in the still developing town. Poor thing had no idea food costs money. Someone had always been around to feed her. Douxie and Y/n almost couldn’t keep up with the demand of sweaty socks they had to produce in order to pay the annoyed barman. Turns out it was somewhat hard to make sweaty socks when you’re actually trying to. It was like their feet realized what was happening and couldn’t pass up an attempt to make their owner’s lives harder.

As much as dear Y/n prided herself on being tolerant, she and Dictatious were going round and round. It was easier to ignore the guy when she didn’t have to live in close quarters with him but that luxury was lost on this stay in Trollmarket. Y/n and Dic argued every time they were in close proximity. She couldn’t help it. The old troll had opinions, and those opinions were wrong. And don’t even get Y/n started on how sad and then angry he made Blinky feel with the whole dead, wait not dead just an evil traitor, wait now he’s okay somewhat, thing. And his personality was shit. Peace was never an option.

Needless to say the trolls were in fact happy to send off the wizards. Douxie was happy to no longer suddenly hear a clatter and then instantly get a headache knowing it was probably one of his problems. They had only been in Trollmarket a few days. Okay so a week, they had stayed there a week. It was only seven days. Eight actually. So to say, they hadn’t been there long enough to cause any real problems. And now they were headed to New York. New York New York.

Douxie was ready to get some quality romance in with his wife. Autumn in New York was perfect for that. The city streets glowed with life. A nice stroll down the sidewalks painted in golden light, arm in arm, carrying the warmth in their hearts and bodies with them, was just what they needed. There were lots of sights to see, and Y/n loved to see them. And it was heavily populated, which would make it safer. Safe was something greatly needed.

For some reason, ever since that one night in the forest, Doux had felt like watching his back. It was tiresome, always being on edge. Of course, he had been this whole trip. But recently it had been amplified. Douxie didn’t know if he was sensing the Order’s presence or if being wed had turned up his protective instincts up to an eleven, but it really would be fantastic to be in a safer environment. He was crossing his fingers New York was one.

Just outside of city limits, the boat was shrunken into a little toy and placed back inside of it’s bottle. The little bottle fit neatly in the backpack that Y/n was wearing. Everything fit neatly into the backpack that Y/n was wearing. It was charmed. Doux would rather it be in hers than his, just as a peace of mind. A quick getaway for her lest they ever be separated. He wasn’t too worried about himself. Nari clung to her side, so it would also be best to keep it with her in order to protect Nari. Yeah, that was totally the reason.

They hailed a cabbie and took it into the bustling city. Douxie had pulled a couple strings with his old buddies, and managed to get them an apartment to stay in. The owner wouldn’t be back for a few weeks, and was happy to have someone to house sit for her. Douxie was happy to have a roof over his family’s head he didn’t have to pay for. It was a win-win.

Y/n never stopped looking out the window the entire cab ride. Douxie thought her excitement was adorable. She had her arm stretched over Nari in the middle to be able to hold his hand. The veggie lady didn’t mind. She was also focused on the view out the windows, fascinated by the sheer number of cars and the heights of the tall buildings. Douxie could feel Y/n’s wedding ring as she squeezed his hand. It helped calm him.

This apartment was owned by a starlet. It was huge, for New York standards. It was really high up, which made Douxie a wee bit nervous. Eleventh floor. It was eccentrically decorated, with bright colors. There was a wall in the living space that was a floor-to-ceiling window, covered by pale pink curtains and strings of heart-shaped beads. The other walls had a wallpaper that was white with red rose motifs. The couch was bright cherry red, furry, and oddly shaped. The kitchen cabinets were painted hot pink, with frosted glass doors that bore a rose pattern. The refrigerator was also cherry red, with white and pink heart-shaped stickers stuck onto it. Everything was fucking red, white, or pink. It looked like Saint Valentine himself threw up. Douxie was afraid to see what the bedroom looked like.

Douxie checked the fridge. Yeah, it was empty, apart from the box of takeaway from who knows when and the three bottles of wine. To be expected, of a single young up-and-comer, one supposes. They would have to go get groceries. Archie was making biscuits on the fluffy surface of the couch. It was probably very soft, Douxie had yet to touch it himself. He was kind of afraid of it, to be honest. Nari seemed to also like it, and was spread out on the top, limbs hanging over the back of the couch. Y/n opened the curtains a bit and was staring out the window. Doux headed for the bedroom, to go see what they were working with.

The bedroom was not in any way tamer than the open living space, but at least it wasn’t as bad as Douxie was expecting with the ah, love theme this place had going. It could have been worse. It was fluffy, pink, and glittery, but at least it was rated PG. Apart from the heart-shaped bed, it looked like it could have been a dressing room. There was a vanity with lights ringing the mirror and one of those dressing screens in the corner with several feather boas hanging over it like some kind of cliché movie set. Douxie was setting his backpack down, as he sat on the side of the bed turned away from the door, when he heard someone go into the en suite. And then he heard various noises of,, happy surprise? Sounded like Y/n.

“DEWDROP! THERES A HEART-SHAPED TUB. A FUCKING HEART-SHAPED TUB. COME LOOK.”

Bleeding balroths. Douxie rolled his eyes as he stood up from the comfy feather mattress to go see what she was shouting at him about. The tiles that covered the bathroom were annoyingly pink. The air smelled like something he could only describe as pink. Sure enough, there was a heart-shaped tub like someone’s cheesy honeymoon suite, and his wife was already in it, despite it not having any water. She wore an all too familiar cheshire cat grin on her face. He had one word for this.

“No.”

“Whatever.” Y/n stuck her tongue out childishly. “You’ll change your mind tonight. You will join me in the incredibly fragrant heart-shaped bubble bath, Dewdrop. Mark my words.”

~ ~ ~ As a first stop on the itinerary, they decided on Central park. Some greenery for Nari. And for Y/n too. Trees were good for the soul and one should never spend too much time on concrete. Gave Archie something to scratch that was not the couch that they did not own. It was fine when he did it in Arcadia, their sofa was old and tattered anyways, but not here in the apartment they were housesitting.

Y/n claimed the walk through nature was necessary to restore the energy lost on the trip into the city. The walkways were paved, and Douxie had to really keep an eye on both Nari and Y/n, who should know better, from wandering off the path. Maybe he should get two baby leashes when they were to shop later. Occasionally they would pass by a café. Douxie was glad he was not working in one of those. This trip was a much-needed vacation, as stressful as it was.

A little ways in and they came across a pond, with a cute little bridge that the walkway went under. Douxie rubbed his hand over the stones as they walked through. It was worn, as many hands had also done so over the decades. This bridge, as old as the park itself, was still younger than him. And it had met so many more people than he could even fathom. Doux himself had met so many people over the years. He had been touched by many too, like this little bridge. And just like the people who touched this bridge, none of them quite knew the impact they would be leaving. What they were wearing down. He heard a happy squeal as Y/n and Nari made a sudden sprint ahead of him. Apparently, there were ducks in this pond.

The Met was just a few minutes’ walk from where they exited the park. Douxie was happy with the idea of a quiet art museum trip, that sounded peaceful and relaxing. He needed all the peaceful and relaxing he could get right now. Y/n was actually really excited about this one despite it being not that exciting of an activity. She was trying to psych up Nari. “It’ll be fun, we can pretend we’re a gang of art thieves and we’re doing recon for a heist.” The veggie lady had no idea what any of those words meant.

There were lots of paintings in the Met gallery. It contained multitudes. One painting, they passed as they walked down the corridors, Y/n stopped, transfixed, stared at the painting for a few minutes, and then carried on like nothing happened. She didn’t look particularly sad, or happy, just confused, like she was processing something. Douxie made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Next stop was a walk down Fifth Avenue. It’s not like they could afford to shop, but it was a must-do in NYC so they must-did. They walked holding hands with Nari in the middle like their child. She liked looking in all the window displays. Every so often she would stop to stare and they would tug her along. The trees lining the sidewalks presented their autumn colors. The oranges and golds gave the streets a cheery vibe.

They passed a few food trucks. The trucks were filling the air with various delicious aromas. Douxie’s stomach growled loudly. Y/n giggled and suggested they pick a truck for lunch. Douxie had his eye on a fish and chips truck. It didn’t make ‘em quite like you could get in London but it was trying. A for effort. Y/n thought it was fantastic. Douxie was just spoiled.

They made their way over to the Rockefeller Center, just around the corner. A short walk and Y/n had spotted a coffee shop. So now they were going to a coffee shop. Douxie couldn’t help it, she looked at him with such big eyes. What was he supposed to do, say no?

The coffee shop was warm, and much appreciated relief from the autumn chill that had taken over. And a nice warm drink was sorely needed. Y/n found a nice couch in the back of the shop. Douxie sunk in, deeper than he expected to be able to sink in, but it was an old couch sunk into by many people. It was cozy. The love of thousands made it the sofa the way that it was. Love had made it squishy, love had made it comfy. Speaking of love and squishy and comfy, Doux pulled his dear wife Y/n to his side in an embrace. Low-key cuddling on the coffee shop couch was the best part of Douxie’s day. Nice, relaxing, he needed this. He pressed a kiss to the top of Y/n’s hair.

The Top of the Rock is an observatory deck in Rockefeller Center. Very high up in the air, one can see a great view of the city skyline and get a peek at that famous empire state building. Archie didn’t really care about it, he could get aerial sights any time he wanted, so he took this time to take a nap. Y/n leaned close to the glass, amazed and getting slightly wooed by the city. Douxie slung his arm around her, and, under the guise of affection, pulled her a few steps back. She really was hell-bent on stopping his fragile heart. And then Nari just straight up put her hands, paws, on the glass and put her body weight on the window. Nope. Douxie made sure to ask her to step away from the glass nicely, lest he frighten her, but still tried to convey that what she was doing was something he saw as dangerous and it worried him. Doux was very happy when they were back on the ground.

Douxie liked people watching. So did Y/n. It was one of the things the used to do on weekends in Arcadia, strangely enough. It wasn’t weird. All those people, they all had lives of their own. They all had stories they were living, and it was interesting to glimpse just a small insignificant piece of it. Or sometimes even significant. It was always hard to tell as an outsider, whether or not an ordinary moment was really the turning point of someone’s life. NYC’s famous Times Square was perfect for people watching.

There was something odd about it. The square itself felt wrong. A hundred neon advertisements all at one time. Not an inch of surface didn’t bare the name of a brand. There was something profoundly sad about it. One might even go as far as say disgusting. And there were many, many signs and people. Douxie tried not to attempt to take it all in at once, lest he risk sensory overload. The sun had already set, the brightly lit signs were brighter than ever. There were so many people around them. There were some buskers, some even playing at the same time, so the music clashed. Perhaps there was too much life here. It was loud, and Doux liked loud, but he liked harmonious loud, like music and excitement, not the chaotic loud that surrounded him. He made sure he could see Nari, that she was close to them. Douxie squeezed Y/n’s hand. He thought maybe he should just pay attention to her, tune out everything else. The lights made a brilliant halo around her gorgeous face as she turned to him. The beautiful goddess he called his wife’s eyes searched his, and she noticed he was not so comfy.

“C’mon, let’s go get some dinner.”

They walked away from the square for a few minutes, putting some distance between them and it’s light, before coming across a pizza place for dinner. It was good. The classic, New York slice. And it was pizza. Y/n would admit, it wasn’t special. She actually liked the pizza from the local pizza place in Arcadia Oaks way better. Douxie and Archie agreed with her. But don’t tell any New Yorker’s that. The main thing is that they got a nice dinner, and it helped Douxie calm down. There were only a few other people in the restaurant. The booth they were in was off to the side, away from everything. Y/n stroked Douxie’s palm with her thumb. Archie sat in his lap and purred. He appreciated them.

They’d had a long day. It was best to get home. Once opening up the cherry red door the valentine’s day décor assaulted their eyes once again. This would be okay for the time being but Douxie had no idea how someone could dwell here full time. As he plopped down on the furry couch, he noticed for the first time the numerous little cherub figurines that littered every available surface. It might be interesting to meet this starlet one day. She seemed to have a cupid schtick going. She probably looked the part too.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Y/n had made a sneaky beeline for the bathroom and that honeymoon suite style tub. Douxie rolled his eyes fondly and scoffed from his place on the sofa when he heard the water turn on. Of course. He supposed he could use some extra relaxing. But she’d feel like she won. Y/n was gonna make a big deal out of this, he could feel it.

Miss starlet had an unhealthy amount of soap bottles filling the storage space in the bathroom. A dragon hoard of fancy scented soaps. As fun as pouring some various vividly colored, strong and flowery goops into the tub and pretending it was a potion would be, and it would be, Y/n opted to find some more calming aromas for poor Doux. Lavender, lemongrass, and jasmine, were what she was on the hunt for. She managed to find both lavender and jasmine soaps, and a lavender candle. No lemongrass. But Y/n wouldn’t have held her breath on that one. It wasn’t exactly glamorous or glittery.

With the water hot, bubbles high, candles lit, Y/n had crafted a very romantic and relaxing evening. She stood back to admire her work for a moment before going to go get Douxie. He was laying across the couch, using his crossed arms as a pillow, with Archie snoozing on his chest, when she found him.

“Sorry Arch. Find a different pillow for the night?” The dragon-cat understood. That didn’t stop him from throwing a look at the two as he settled back down into the couch’s fluff.

Ignoring Archie, Y/n took Douxie by the hand as she led him back into the room she had set up. The air smelled very strongly of lavender. The pink of the tiles was muted in the dim light, which Douxie was thankful for. Then he noticed the giant fucking mountain of bubbles Y/n had turned the bath into. He supposed she wanted him to get in that. Somehow. They’d have to be careful not to accidentally choke on any bubbles.

Douxie let out a little groan as he slid into the bath. The hot water felt great on his tense muscles, he had to admit. He was feeling better, and more relaxed. He certainly wasn’t anywhere near as stressed as he was in time square anymore, but the tension of this strange combination vacation/flee-for-their-lives-trip was taking its toll on the master wizard. He wouldn’t put it past his hair to start greying soon. A wizard was only ever as old as they felt, after all. And boy, did Douxie’s bones feel old. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. No worries right now. He was safe, Nari was safe, Archie was safe, Y/n was safe. Y/n was right beside him, so extra safe too.

“So, how’s it going.” Y/n laughed at Douxie getting a little lost in the hot water sauce.

“Nuclear.” Douxie opened his eyes to take in his wife’s pretty face he just knew was smiling, he could hear it in her voice. Doux pulled Y/n into his embrace and against his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thanks. I- I guess I sort of maybe needed this.”

Y/n snickered. “Of course you did. Remember, I’ll always be here to take care of you.” She brought his hand up and kissed his knuckles. “Always, Mr. Casperan.”

“And that goes the same for you, I’ll always take care of you, Mrs. Casperan.”

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie casperan x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #tales of arcadia x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #my writing #nert

76 notes · View notes

soliverse · 3 years

Text

sugar, sugar - z.cl

reader x chenle

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: a kiss in the cheek, cuss words, pessimism (I think that’s about it? Let me know if I missed something.

word count: 6.2k

part of the Candy Hearts Collab by @127-mile (click the link if you want to read the rest of the collab)

synopsis: Your whole life, especially working for your boss, is a living nightmare. That was until you got some sugar in your life.

inspiration:

Isn’t It Romantic (The film from Netflix by Rebel Wilson),

Sugar, Sugar by the Archies

networks

@nctcreations @kdiarynet @kpopscape @kwritersworld @culture-cafe @neowritingsnet @neoswitchnet @czennienet

February 13,202x / 8:00 AM

It was a quiet and peaceful morning. Which is too bad since that’s not what you’re aiming for.

Your alarm should’ve sounded at 6:00AM. Instead, it woke you up an hour late despite how much fumbling and crying that you did make it work last night.

You have completely ditched breakfast, running as fast as you can to the bus stop that never comes and leave as scheduled.

Already half an hour late, you still sat down that bus seat, fidgeting as if not staying calm on your seat will make the bus ride shorter. Right now, the only thing that you’re still holding on to is that small, sliver of hope that you get there before your boss does.

After climbing down the vehicle, you ran like you’re in a marathon and looked for that one window that your coworker always leaves open whenever you’re late like today. You ungracefully climbed up the window of the storage room and met Jisung, who’s already getting himself ready before opening.

“Is he here yet?”

You whispered as you tried to dust your red shirt and smoothened out your wrinkled uniform. The goal is to make yourself look decent, an attempt that you barely managed to accomplish

“He just came in. Hurry up before he notices.”

You mouthed “Thanks” to Jisung before leaving the storage room and sneak into the main entrance to log yourself in for today.

Your eyes scanned the candy-themed decorations for any signs of life (or danger, in your boss’ case) but he is nowhere to be found. You walked casually towards the main entrance, breathing only a sigh of relief as soon as you get to the front door.

Finally feeling at ease, you pressed your thumb on the device that records your time and gave yourself a mental pat in the back for actually pulling it off. At least, before a hand pops out of nowhere and touched you by shoulder.

You yelped at the surprise appearance of your ever-so-stealthy boss right behind you.

“You’re late again.”

He was staring at you with those black intense eyes and his resting bitch face. His expression always made you worry because there’s no way to actually now if he’s mad or not. You kept your head down and tried to avoid as much eye contact as possible.

“Surprised? I saw your little stunt by the window. You know that it’s right in front of my office, right?”

He patted your shoulder before placing his hands back to his pockets.

“You also know that I’ll be deducting that on your payroll, right?”

“Yes sir.”

He didn’t even let you finish and just turned his back at you, walking towards his office.

“That reminds me. We should bolt that window down before someone else tries to sneak in and steal. Tell Jisung to work on that as soon as possible.”

As soon as he’s out the way, you rolled your eyes and went back to straightening the wrinkles off of your uniform.

“Tell Jisung to work on that as soon as possible.” You said, mimicking him made faces behind his back.

As if Jisung knows how to shut that window properly.

After that delightful conversation, you helped Jisung in refilling the candy containers, tidied the shop by little bit, and breathe for one final time today before you opened the shop.

Some people may have imagined working on a candy store to be a dream. You get to bask in all of the aesthetics, you get to interact with children every day, and there’s that perk that you get to enjoy an unlimited supply of sweet treats during your shift.

Oh boy, some people couldn’t have been more wrong.

Your location is near an amusement park, which is already hectic as it is, but you also need to deal with stuff that all retail staff goes through.

If you were to make an entire list of the stressful situations that you have to deal with every single shift, it would take you all day.

There are children throwing temper tantrums because their parents refused to buy the candy that the wanted, entitled Karens demanding free candy because you made her baby cry, teenagers who thinks they’re so smart by stealing handful of candies from their containers while you’re distracted. It’s a mess.

And that’s beside your main source of stress. That one is sitting on his office at the back of the store, probably playing some game on his phone while you act as both staff and manager, is the best boss in the world, Mr. Zhong Chenle.

Note the sarcasm.

That guy deserves a whole separate list by himself.

///

So far, the first few hours of your shift went smoothly. There were a few customers here and there but nothing that you and Jisung can’t handle.

All is well. But if you’ve worked retail before, you would know that those words are cursed.

You’ve always had this thing where you’d get a stomachache whenever something bad is about to happen. Ever since that one nice lady earlier told you to keep the change with a very kind smile, your stomach has been grumbling like crazy.

You sneaked into the counter and sat there for a moment to rest. The pain is bearable, but it makes it very hard for you to breathe properly. After taking a few deep breaths, the pain subsided a little bit.

Until, someone wrapped their arms around you, startling you off the chair and had you freefalling straight into your butt.

“I’m not paying you to slack off Y/N. Do something. I don’t know… rearrange the Valentines display. Just don’t sit around while there’s so much stuff to do.”

He dusted his overprized outfit that probably cost more than your wage, even grabbing the hand sanitizer from his pocket, completely acting like you had a contagious virus that.

Fighting the urge to talk back, you just turned around and went back to work.

Someday, I’m going to punch that resting bitch face off his face.

Someday.

You went back and found Jisung painstakingly arranging the M&M piece by piece, arranged by color, size and filling.

The kid makes you worry sometimes.

He’s a good kid but sometimes he can be a bit… clueless?

You remembered the first time that your boss bought a cotton candy machine and asked you and Jisung to figure out how to operate it. He almost left work with nine fingers that day.

“Hey kid. Bossman wants us to change the Valentines display.” You explained as you walk over to the center of the room where the display case is placed.

“Not again. What does he want this time?”

“I don’t know. His only instruction is do something.”

He whined for a bit, but he followed your lead shortly after and started removing all of the candy jars on display one by one.

You started working on it as well, hoping that he (aka the owner) won’t notice that you just switched the glass containers of the candy displays with each other and then placed them back in their original place.

You realized that he probably didn’t know what the display looked like in the first place. It’s just more unnecessary work just to keep you moving.

To pass the boredom, you decided to dote on the kid that is busy making a bouquet of out of rose-shaped lollipops right beside you.

“Sooo…”

You said in a high-pitched voice and tried to lighten up the mood a little.

“Any plans for the V-day?”

He stops for a moment, bowing his head down while he tried to hide his shy smile.

“I’m taking this girl out bowling.”

You squealed and poked his side to tease him. He used to be a little highschool kid that you were told to keep an eye on just in case he accidentally kills himself. It was a headache at first, but he grew on you and now he feels like your honorary little brother.

“Awww. My Jisungie is grown up. It felt like it was just yesterday when I was to trying to teach you to tie your own shoelaces. And now, you’ve got a girlfriend”

“Uhm Y/N. That was yesterday.”

You were about to pinch his cheeks once again when Chenle squeezed himself in between you and Jisung.

“And now you’re flirting. Geez. Do I have to do everything around here?”

Why does this guy keep popping out of nowhere?

He stared you and Jisung down before he slithered back to his office once again. You just stood there in disbelief, shaking your head as you went back to work.

///

The end of the day went by smoothly, which made you worry even more. As you return some of the candy displays back to the stock room, you can’t help but think that today was just the calm before the storm.

Take last year’s Valentines for example.

The shop was stuffed with that a customer fainted because of suffocation. Jisung was bleeding because some guy punched him for flirting with his girlfriend (even though the poor kid is just being nice and gave her one of the extra candy flowers.)

And oh, no dates. While everyone is busy celebrating the love that they will share together you celebrated at the fact that the day is all over.

Ever since you’ve started working at that shop, you’ve never really tried to meet new people. You keep explaining that you’re tired all day. That your job is very demanding time-wise and physically. But in reality, no one just asked you out.

You could’ve quit, but who would take in a highschool graduate without work experience? You’ve barely saved up for a whole college semester, let alone the curriculum. There’s nothing to do besides suck it up.

It’s just one of those things that you stop celebrating as you get older.

Valentine’s day, your birthday, your birthday which is the same day as Valentine’s day.

Sighing, you picked up the stack of empty boxes that you needed to take outside for the garbage truck. Once again, Chenle pops out of nowhere, hitting some of the boxes that tumbled back on the floor. His are arms folded at his chest, sneering because of the mess that he created.

“Will you clean up this mess? It’s almost closing.”

You just pursed your lips, nodding as you stacked the boxes once again, trying very hard not to lose your composure.

“And will you please close the lights outside this time? I doubt that can pay for the damages if this shop burns down.”

Back turned against your employer, you picked up the boxes from the floor. You’re just glad that it is tall enough to cover most of your face. If someone could see your face right now, they would say that it is the face of someone that is about to murder somebody. Which is getting closer and closer to reality every single time Chenle opens his mouth.

Besides, you left one of the lights open one time. His petty ass just can’t seem to live it down.

“I’ll make sure to double check before leaving, sir.”

“Good. Make it quick.”

Holding out the boxes, you figured that he’d at least hold the door out for you. You had that one tiny glimmer of hope that he’s nice after all and you judged him too hastily.

Nope.

He slams the door right behind him and closed the lights from outside.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You slammed the boxes down to search for the lights and open the door for yourself.

Just one punch. I need just one punch and that’s it. He’s gonna get what’s coming to him.

Scrambling in the dark, you almost faceplanted as you tripped one of the boxes in your way. With your arms stretched out as you feel up your surroundings, it took you a few minutes before you’ve finally managed to open the switch and see the mass that you made while stumbling.

You just facepalmed and stood there for a while, reminding yourself to take deep breaths and calm yourself before you actually burn this place down.

One by one, you stacked the boxes once again in one corner, making sure secure them this time. Keeping the door open, you’ve successfully placed them inside the bins.

One box in particular fell down to the ground. You picked it up to stuff it back to the garbage can but the motion made a rattling noise.

I must’ve missed a piece.

You dusted off the nearby pavement and sat down so you can open the box.

Inside was a few bags of candy, adorned with the usual red and white swirls with the text “Sweet Escape” taking over most of the packaging.

This one must be new.

You stuffed the box back to the garbage can, looked around for signs of a snooping, grumpy adult and placed candy on one of your back pockets.

If your boss found out that you messed up the inventory again, he will not hesitate to fire you. You’re just gonna have to sneak it inside before he gets there tomorrow. Well, assuming that your alarm clock works this time.

///

“Mom, what’s for dinner?”

You closed the door behind you and took off your shoes as entered your living room.

Throwing your keys and jacket aside, you’ve just noticed that the lights are all off and the house is eerily quiet.

You grunted as your sore feet walked itself to the kitchen, only to find a single note on the counter.

Me and your sister went out to eat tonight. Just order something for dinner

Love Mom,

All you ever wanted that night that you just to a nice, warm dinner and go straight to the bed and shut yourself from the world.

Great. No breakfast and dinner.

Fuck my life.

You threw the note in the garbage bin and just stomped your way to your room. You felt like breaking down at that moment but you didn’t have the strength to make cry and make a fuss. Maybe you can just sleep all the frustrations off and feel a lot better tomorrow.

Maybe it doesn’t get much worse than this.

You scoffed.

Sike.

As if.

You slammed yourself to bed but soon realized that it wasn’t a very good idea.

You felt something in your pocket popped and it made a huge mess in your bed. You took it out of the pocket and realized that it was the bag of candy from earlier. The seams popped out and tore open from being squished by a tired, underpaid employee.

At this point, you just glared and cursed yourself once as you cleaned the candy off of your bed. Some of the candy is inside the box, so you cupped your hands and poured the remaining contents to your palms. It was filled with tiny colorful candy hearts, which looked appetizing despite the tiny bits of disfiguration and the fact that it was in your pockets the whole time.

Well, I guess this is dinner then.

You popped the candy in your mouth, letting it sit as it oozes a strong citrusy flavor. It had a texture similar to those fever tablets for kids. In fact, it tasted like medicine a bit, too.

The citrus taste kept on spreading in your mouth and your face now contorted to a grimace. It felt like all moisture is getting sucked out of your body.

They sell this to kids?

You ran to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water to water the taste down. It didn’t do anything, so, you kept on chugging more and more water until you’ve finished an entire gallon of liquids.

You sat down at the kitchen floor and breathe a sigh of relief. The taste finally left your tastebuds, but you can still feel your body feeling repulsed by the extreme sour sugary candies that you just consumed.

Drinking one more glass of water, you went back to your room and changed into your comfortable clothes, finally ready to leave this day behind.

Let’s just hope that those candy bits won’t get you sued tomorrow.

///

February 14,202x / 8:00 AM

The alarm started blaring off from its place, scaring you shitless and making you jump out of bed in panic.

You could've have been happier and more annoyed at the same time.

You leaned against your bedroom wall, giving yourself a few minutes to calm yourself down before you decided to turn off the alarm.

Once your heartbeat has cooled down, you stepped back to the bedside table and pressed the alarm button to check the time.

8:00AM

"Dammit!”

Your heart started to race once again. This time, it’s the adrenaline rush that’s making you move faster than normal. You even contemplated about getting a shower. However, you're already screwed as it is, you're not going to work without breakfast and shower again.

You stepped back to your room, wrapped on a bathrobe and panting like you just ran a marathon. Digging into your own closet, you noticed that your uniform, a red polo shirt and matching star white pants, is missing from your closet.

"Mom! Have you seen my uniform?"

You shouted from your room but you heard no answer. It seems like they didn't stay the night either.

Great.

Seeing as how your day started, you've deemed the rest of the day unsalvageable and just grabbed the closest thing to red that you have on your closet, which is a red frilly blouse and a white paneled skirt that you've never worn before. It's right at the bottom of your closet, so you've figured you or your mother bought this before and just forgot all about it.

You also grabbed one of your newer shoes to match and bolted to the front door as fast as possible.

You locked the door behind you, only to be spooked as you turned around to see a car parked in your driveway.

It was one of those fancy ones too. The ones that have their doors open at the side like an alien spaceship.

You only know one person in the world that's flashu enough to ride one. And he's just came out of the car.

"Happy birthday! You're pretty early..."

Chenle smiled as jogs over to you, keys jingling on his fingers, and gave you a small peck on the cheek.

You stood there in your porch, frozen.

Zhong Chenle knows how to smile. And he knows about your birthday

"I was about to call you but I didn't want to wake you up. So, I came over instead. Did you eat your breakfast yet?"

You shook your head hesitantly, still unable to speak and process the situation.

"No good, young lady. Go back inside. We're not leaving with an empty stomach."

///

Here's something that you never encounter every day. Your spawn-of-the-devil employer is making you pancakes in the kitchen. And you finally have fresh milk in your fridge.

What happened to the world while you were sleeping?

"I'm not a professional chef but at least it's edible."

He said as he placed a perfectly fine plate full of fluffy pancakes right in front of you. Is this him being cocky?

He sets the apron aside and sat down right in front you, grabbing a plate and a piece of pancake for himself.

"Go on... Tell me if it's good."

You hesitantly took a bite, and then chewed in silence as Chenle expectantly watched you from the side. You set the fork down, speechless.

They're as good on the inside as they looked on the outside.

"You don't like it?"

He sounded upset. It wasn't like "I can't believe you forgot to do this thing that I told you" upset either. He looked at you with his puppy dog eyes and a bit of a pout.

You froze. What if all of this is trick? And this is just is way of firing you, like letting you down gently in case you formed a vendetta and burn the shop down in your anger.

Which, for the record, is partly true.

"Uhm. It's nice. It's very niceee"

In your panic, you might've overdone the compliment. It sounded like you're on gunpoint and you had to say it to live. Nevertheless, he still smiled to himself and took the compliment well, even pouring you another glass of milk so "it would go down better".

The interaction alone gave you the chills. It felt like you're walking on thin ice and the former Chenle will come out and bury you alive. But even that would've sound more real than what's about to happen next.

Like the gentleman that he is, he opened the car door for you. You never even got the chance to question where the two of you are going. After sitting down, just when you're about you're about to ask, he held your hand and gave it a kiss.

"You buckled up?"

"Uhm. Yes..."

Still holding your hand, he pressed some buttons on the dashboard and then music started playing. You recognized that it was that song, Sugar Sugar by The Archies. It’s one of the songs that you ironically played in the candy shop. There was also Sugar by Maroon 5, Sugar by Florida.

Well, you get the point.

“Sugar Ah, honey, honey You are my candy girl And you got me wanting you…”

He proceeds to sing along to the song merrily as he backed up your driveway. Meanwhile you sat there quietly as you tried to assess your situation.

Is this kidnapping? Would it be considered kidnapping if I willingly went inside the vehicle?

Once you’ve realized how ridiculous you sounded in your head, you relaxed for a bit and started humming along to the song. It was at this point that you realized that Chenle had a beautiful voice. The song didn’t have high notes, but it was hard to make your voice pop up with the middle register. It sounded stable, like he’s a recording artist.

The atmosphere at the shop would be much better if he sang like this all the time.

…which reminded you of something that Chenle might be neglecting to think.

Panic washed over you and soon, you can’t keep still and moved around your seat a lot.

“Are you comfortable?

He kept on glancing on your direction, keeping you in check for a few moments while he still kept an eye on the road,

“We can make a quick stop if you need something.”

Trying your best to keep yourself still, you finally sat down and placed both of your hands on your lap, like the kids at school when their parents ask them to behave.

“Where are we going again?”

The question finally popped out and you pursed your lips while trying to wait for the answer.

“I don’t know. It’s your day. We can go wherever you want to.”

“Oh.”

It’s not like him to be away from the shop at this time of the day, let alone the whole day. No matter how sucky he is, he did what is best for the shop. It was his baby.

And if the both of you aren’t going, then it only means one thing. His baby is screwed at the hands of someone.

"By the way, who's taking care of the candy shop?"

You tried to ask nonchalantly, but it only came out sounding more inconspicuous.

"Oh yeah. I left Jisung in charge."

He wistfully replied. Suddenly, you feel your head spinning from your seat from the sheer realization that he left the kid alone, in his shop, with no adult/proper supervision.

"You left Jisung alone... In charge... On Valentine's Day"

You turned your gaze away from him, trying to hide your internal panic. You'll be lucky if the guy made it alive until lunch by himself.

"Relax. He'll be fine. He's with the trainees. Figured it might teach them a thing or two in getting the actual job done."

“And with trainees too… oh my god.”

Great. More casualties.

“You don’t mind if we stopped by the shop first, do you?”

“Of course. You’re the boss.”

///

In a few minutes, he pulls over to the parking lot and you’re glad to see the shop in piece. On the outside at least.

You stepped inside the car and practically ran over to the inside of the shop, leaving Chenle behind.

“Welcome to Sweet Escape, how may I help you?”

Two unknown faces greeted you at the door. They must be the trainees that Chenle talked about earlier.

“Would you happen to know where Jisung is?”

They both nodded and pointed to the direction of the left side of the shop, which was supposed to be all the supplies were. Instead, there was Jisung on the register, which by the way looked different from what you can remember.

In fact, the whole shop looked nothing like it was yesterday. The colors seemed more vibrant and festive and the whole thing looked like a candy wonderland. To be honest, it reminded you of that one Katy Perry music video.

Jisung bowed at you formally and wore his usually customer service smile.

“Welcome to Sweet Escape, how may I—”

“How many fingers do you have now?”

You replayed the question in your head and it sounded just as crazy when it came out of your mouth. At this point, you decided to continue on with the question. For obvious safety reasons.

“Uh ma’am. What do you mean?”

“Hold your fingers up. How many do you have?”

He was hesitant to do as you say. Chenle just facepalmed and gestured him to do as you said, putting up all of his tall fingers in the air.

“Ten?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, almost rushing over to hug the confused Jisung when Chenle pulls you from behind.

“Please excuse her for the moment. She’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

He smiled and bowed to Jisung as an apology, another gesture that you haven’t seen him do before, pulling you outside the store to give you some air. Once you’ve reached the parking lot, he placed his hands on your shoulders to hold you still.

“Okay. Since when is hugging my staff became a thing?”

He stares you down with a genuine concerned look on his face.

He placed one of his hands on your forehead.

“It’s not like you’re sick either…”

Chenle sighs, finally releasing you from his grasp

“Tell me. What’s the problem?”

He sat you down at the pavement and gave you enough space to reflect on your actions.

You had the choice to say that you have absolutely no idea what’s happening to you right now, but you thought that he ought to know why you’re acting that way. Now, you just have to figure out how to explain it to him without sounding like a crazy person.

“I…”

You started slow, working your way into explaining that you woke up into this insane dream about how her boss is suddenly so nice to her that morning.

And then it hit you.

“I had a dream about you...”

Ideas started pouring down to your head, starting to piece together a story that actually made sense.

“And in that dream, you’re this mean guy that never cared about me and other people’s feelings. You just made everyone around you miserable. The dream felt so real so I’m very uncomfortable that you’re acting nice to me now.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded your head as an answer. Chenle pulls you over to a side hug, relief washing over him knowing that it wasn’t that bad as he made it up to be.

“I’m sorry if that mean version of me hurt you.”

He rested his head on your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

“If I decided to be mean to you in a dream again, feel free to punch me or whatever. I promise to make up for all of it once you wake up.”

It was probably the nicest thing that anyone has said to you in a while. Even though it wasn’t actually him who’s hugging you and making you feel all warm inside, you’re not going to see your boss the same way again.

“You know what, why don’t we start now. There’s plenty of time today to make it up to you.”

He stood up from his seat and brushed himself, helping you do the same right after.

“Where does my y/n want to go right now?”

Your lips formed a mischievous smile.

You knew just where you wanted to go at that moment, but he’s probably not going to like it

///

“Would it hurt you to rest for one second?”

You’ve been running around the theme park for the whole day and Chenle just barely kept up to you and your antics. He gave you a small opportunity for a payback and you’re not going to let it slide. Even if it’s with nice Chenle.

You were about to run off again somewhere when he tugs you by the hem of your shirt.

“Y/N-ah, don’t you feel sick at all?”

Chenle’s eyes droop down as he tried to compose himself. As someone that doesn’t like heights and gets dizzy easily, it seems like he’s about to faint any minute now.

“But I want to ride the Ferris wheel.”

He went sheet white, if that is humanly possible. Chenle had barely enough time to recover from the roller coaster ride a few minutes ago and now you’re already on your way to hop in to another one.”

“Fine. We can rest. I don’t think my ears can handle any more of your screaming.”

You can hear Chenle complaining under his breath. The two of you went to the horror house a while ago and there was a high-pitched screaming the whole time. You’ve been teasing him with it ever since.

“I told you, that wasn’t me!”

“The only person inside is you and me. And I don’t remember screaming my own name for fifteen minutes.”

His mouth opened like he was about to say something, but he stopped midway and just took your hand to drag you at the nearest bench. He sat you down first before he took the seat right next to you, both palms on his face and trying to give himself a moment to breathe.

As much as you wished to torment that guy to death, he really looked sick to his stomach. He can barely lift his head up without taking deep breaths.

“You alright?”

You said as you patted his back gently, giving some time to relax and a moment to breathe.

“I’m fine. I did say that I’ll do anything for you today.”

He takes one last breathe before getting up the bench, only to lean on one side too much and almost toppling over.

“Yeah. I think were done for the day. You can barely stand up.”

You sat him back at the bench and caressed his back to get him to relax. Not even a minute after sitting back down, he did a thumbs up to let you know that he’s doing fine already.

“What time is it?”

“4:30. Why?”

He tried his best to stand up and keep himself still. This time, his attempt was successful.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Are you sure?”

“You can barely stand up. What makes you think that you can drive?”

“Just trust me.”

///

Sure enough, you both got to your house unscathed.

He told you to step out of the car, which you did, and he smoothly backed the car to your garage.

“How was that?”

He said smugly just as he came out of the car, keys jingling on his fingers once again. You can joke about his motion sickness but you can’t comment on his driving.

Chenle was then about to enter your house, but you stopped him just before he turned the doorknob.

“You know what, I had a lot of fun today. It’s probably the best birthday slash Valentine’s Day that I’ve had a whole life. I think you deserve this…”

You held up your fist into a ball and pretended to land a punch to his face. He winced, which gave you and opportunity to tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He stood there frozen for a few seconds, but it was replaced by a cheeky, boyish smile that he’s been hiding from you the whole time that you know him.

You twisted the doorknob and stepped inside your house first, when a popping sound greeted you from inside.

Turns out, those were party poppers.

“Surprise!”

Your whole family is there, alongside all of your friends from way back highschool.

“Sorry for missing you this morning sweetie, we needed some time for the party preparations. Chenle did a good job of distracting you the whole day.”

An arm wrapped itself on your shoulders and gave it a tight squeeze. It didn’t take long for you to find out who it was.

“She made me ride the roller coaster, twice.”

“Stop being a baby. I asked you the second time but you refused to come with me.”

Laughter fills the room and it went for the rest of the night. The celebration wasn’t fancy but it was enough for you to realize what life you’re missing in the real world. And as much you want to make it longer, sooner or later you’re going to have to come back to your old life.

That time was the next day.

///

February 14,202x again / 6:00 AM

The shrill sounds of the alarm clock woke you up, but you were smiling ear to ear. Something about your dream have placed you in a very good mood. Too bad you can’t remember the specific details. All you know is that there’s a car, the shop, the theme park… Zhong Chenle.

Why would it be a nice dream if your boss was in it?

Before you started conspiring some theories, you shook it off and started to get ready for today. To your surprise, the alarm woke you up on time. This means that you can take your sweet time in getting ready, possibly even make yourself an English breakfast for a change.

Your plans are foiled, however, when you realized that the kitchen wasn’t empty.

“Happy birthday…”

Your mom came from the living room to give you the tightest hug. She hasn’t hugged you like this for a long time, so you reciprocated and pulled her in a tighter embrace.

“I’m sorry that this is all we can afford for now…”

She sits you down the table and pushed the small bento cake right in front you. It is not bigger as your hands, but the pink icing and the decorations looked so delicate and beautiful.

“I promise to make you a better cake next year.”

“This is all I need Mom, thank you for doing this.”

///

Everything is going smoothly today. The bus is on time and the driver even gave you a small Valentine’s card as you went inside. For the first time in your life, you looked at the streets painted different shades of red and you’re perfectly fine with it.

You even got to work early. Doors are still shut down when you got there, so you decided to climb up the storage window so you don’t have to wait outside. As instructed, you finally locked it behind you and made it a point to be on time so you’ll never have to use it again.

You started with work right away, cleaning up as much as you can before everyone gets there. While you were mopping the main shop, you can hear keys jingling from outside, meaning that your boss already got there. The door swings forward and upon turning around, he opened the lights, only to see you standing in the middle of the shop.

He screamed at an ungodly pitch and almost fell down at his place.

“Oh, it’s just you. That wasn’t me, alright? ”

He dusted himself off tried his act together and be as cold as before, only to be embarrassed because you kept laughing at his face.

You tried to keep a straight face and bowed at him to excuse yourself. If your tardiness won’t get you fired today, it would probably be your excessive laughing.

“This is the horror house all over again.”

You swear that you heard him mumble something else, but you weren’t sure if you heard it right.

What are the odds that he dreamt about a horror house too, right?

Before you got the chance to go though, he said something that made your heart race for the rest of the day.

“You were there too, right? I just want you to know that that was really me.”

You turned around to see if he’s joking, but instead found a smiling Chenle at the other end of the shop.

“I actually liked you for a while now. So forgive me for always lashing out on you.”

He placed his hands on his pockets and walked slowly towards you, his head down while he tried to hide his shy smile.

“Happy birthday Y/N. I don’t mind repeating that day again... just don’t make me ride the roller coaster twice this time.”

///

60 notes · View notes

yandere-society · 4 years

Text

Roses | M

Sypnosis: You grew up dirt poor in the shadows of society, barely managing to survive without parents or family and very little money. Somehow through multiple part-times and endless overtimes, you land a job at the most profitable company in your country: the Jeon estate. Now you work for the young head of the estate, Asia’s most powerful man, Jeon Jungkook, as an assistant. One day, as you are preparing for the Grand Valentine ball which Jungkook has formally set up for his and his fiance’s anniversary, you realize two things; Jeon Jungkook and the rich like him will always live above people like you and two, Jungkook really loves his fiance. Or…is it really her he loves?

Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

Word Count: 5,350

Admin: @roses-ruby

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Warnings: yandere themes, blood, death, murder, mentions of smut, mentions of sexual harassment, evil plans, letter openers; those knife looking kinds

You had always been jealous.

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot these days…”

The morning air wraps around your frame with frigid clarity. You had to breathe once, then twice to be able to concentrate on the intense eyes before you.

“Your fiancé, sir?”

With a sober gaze, you focus on the handsome yet stoic man sitting in front of you. His stare was vacant but captured your whole torso in a viper like grip.

“About what to get her.” He speaks in the same dull tone as before.

“…Maybe roses?”

Women like roses, right?

He tilts his head at you, as if he was signaling you about how thoroughly he was contemplating your answer. The action raised goosebumps along your upper arm until they met with the cold polyester sleeves of your dress shirt. There was such beauty even in his most simple movements, but truthfully there was nothing quite simple about the raven-haired man that eyed you with such an unreadable expression. Even though you reacted in such a way, you refused to let him see you fazed. To invite him to sink his teeth below the upper casing like he so desperately wanted.

Not yet.

With a sigh that yelled defeat, he leaned back in his chair. Mumbling to himself.

“Roses it is.”

And just like that, he dismissed you. Looking off into the distance on the left, where a large window displaying the huge metropolis laid bare. You wonder how it must feel – the raw power of staring out that window, knowing that every inch of the land could be yours within seconds. All he had to do was say the word. How would it ever be like to wake up every day wearing uncountable riches and diamonds and dynasties upon your thick skin? Either to mold or to destroy.

How does it feel to hold the fragile earth within your fist?

Perhaps you were curious because you’ve never had that luxury. Left behind to rot by that very earth itself, you’ve never had any luxuries. For you were just a simple, everyday peasant unlike the heir to the Jeon throne himself. The differences between you both were similar to that of the sun and moon. He sat on a throne you could only watch upon, forced to stand up on your impoverished legs for the rest of your life until they were to cave when you were to finally die.

Only the red are privileged to sit.

Your pace is nimble, but you manage to make it back to your desk outside his office. With a sigh, you plop down onto your rolly chair. The cushions mold into your stiffened back and your muscles relax against the plush. In the back of your mind, behind your closed eyes, you picture someone pressuring each side of your heart. Being the cause of the faint ache you felt inside your chest.

But you don’t get to rest for long, as a loud bang enters your office hallway. Startled, you sit up – and as soon as you do, the chalky screeching surrounds your ears.

“My God, some people are insufferable! I mean how hard is it to clean a dress? A monkey with a sponge could do it! Accident they say, those lazy rats. Really – and today of all days as well. This is sabotage! I will have them regret the day they tried to cross me-”

You watch with wide eyes as the lady in red hair clacks around in her maroon heels. She was seething with anger, cheeks rosy and steam coming out of her ears. But even through her fury she remained the epitome of beauty, her doll like features heightened by her puerile attitude. All you could do was gape at her as the pounding in your brain grew from her each word. With one final stomp, she stops, right in front of your desk. Her body was facing your boss’ door as she glared into the distance quietly before whirling her head at you. Eyes squinted with menace making you jump in your seat.

If looks could kill.

“What are you looking at, pig?” She snarls

Before you could answer her, the door opens. He comes out with his hands in his pocket, heartless as usual. But his eyebrows were furrowed, and you could sense the annoyance in his stance.

“What’s with all the commotion?”

“DARLING!” It was as if all her animosity had vanished in that instant. She leaped over at Jungkook, arms flailing and eyes sparkling. Your lips twitched subtly at her shrill scream.

Wrapping her long arms around him, she practically moans into his neck. Her red lip gloss smearing over his soft skin. He places his hands on her hips to hold her – and himself – steady. They look so perfect together – a sight to behold. Yet something threatens to crawl out your throat the more you watch them.

“Darling, it was awful! The Chang’s, darling – they ruined my expensive, custom made ruby iridescent Prada evening gown! They ruined it, darling!” She loudly wails into his shoulder.

Jungkook listens to her cry, before sighing. You couldn’t read him completely, it felt like he was looking at a young child throwing a tantrum. A precious child. “Why would you even use an industrial dry cleaner when you have professionals at home babe? What did they do to it?”

She backs away from him, looking into his eyes like a hurt puppy.

“T…They tore a piece from the bottom…from the wash they say… Miuccia designed it for me herself Kookie…y-you can’t let them get away with this.”

Jungkook stares into her glossy orbs for a bit, before he glances at you. His gaze makes you jerk, facing elsewhere in a heartbeat. It felt like you were interrupting them, your cheeks burn with shame. Your heart even more until you heard him huff.

“Alright, I’ll contact Min. He’ll be able to handle it.”

“Oh darling, I love you so much.” She screeches, hugging him once again.

Min. That was the family lawyer. A cut-throat man who managed to make powerful billionaires beg for their livelihood on Jungkook’s feet. One small-time laundro mat was a speck of dust compared to them. Your chest ache grew as you clenched your fists beneath the desk. The poor Chang’s had just managed to put their oldest into college, they had no savings left. They were barely handling 3 more kids and multiple elders to nurture, 9 people in total in one small apartment. Something like a lawsuit was bound to put them out on the streets. But now that they had crossed paths with Jeon’s beloved fiancé, how horrible their fate was bound to be.

There were thorns in your throat.

“Darling, I just wish tomorrow will be perfect.”

Her tone always contained a particular weight that captures your attention back to her. Jungkook was still looking at you, his stare heavy, holding down your shoulders. You felt the red explode inside your pupils as she wrapped herself around him before kissing him.

“Don’t worry, it will be. I promise.”

They start to make out, unabashed. But what shame would a rich person ever have? The cold morning air surrounds you again, as you steady your breaths, and try to get back to work. Manage to yet again contain your jealousy.

Sadly, you end up missing the intense eyes that were still on your figure, gripping tightly and never moving off once.

Valentine’s day. A time of small importance to you.

Is what you say as you eye the crimson curtains and scarlet carpet. The chandelier had a red tinge in its shards, lighting up the vast room in an almost bizarre way. A ballroom fit for the never early King and Queen. You stare at the monotone waitpersons cavorting about, carrying colored shots and expensive sweets in their trays. Your eyebrow perks up as your gaze lands on one of them being subtly touched by an older gentleman. His aged wrinkles in his drunk, lustful gaze versus her frightened young orbs and doe posture. It reminds you of your past. In all those cheap diners and broken eateries, being groped and disregarded all at the same time. In those days as well, Valentine’s day meant nothing to you.

Turning back to the long table before you, you pop another chocolate covered strawberry into your mouth. At that moment you hear soft laughter, making you look toward the left end of the table. There stood your coworker, Jimin, in his pink tux and blonde hair. He was talking to another coworker. You turn your eyes away once he catches your gaze.

And coincidentally, they end up meeting with the man you’ve been avoiding all night. On the other side of the table, stood Jungkook. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Jungkook in his infrared suit. A blend of garnet and carmine and sanguine. Gelled hair, bright skin, dark glare. Such marbled precision. He was staring at you then too, when Jimin came to flirt with you a while ago. As well as when Taehyung tried his luck.

And oh, if looks could kill.

Your little moment is interrupted when another man in red walks up to him, starting a conversation. His red wasn’t as strong as Jungkook’s, you noticed. Actually, you’re sure Jungkook probably held the strongest red in the world, just like her. They were born with it after all. You, on the other hand, worked your whole life through the mud pit to be able to bear pink upon your frame. A few of your coworkers wore pink too, some of their attires barely blushing, while the ones worth more wore fuscia. The waitpersons wore white and that forced you back in time the most… the time you could only wear white like it was a scar engraved into your skin.

Maybe you should make peace with the fact that a day like today wasn’t something for people like you to enjoy. That even if some people still view you as nothing but a body to fulfill their desires, you now have a face to go along with it unlike the servants around you. Maybe you should be thankful you are more blessed than the help. And the helpless. Even if you desired a lot more. It’s always been like that hasn’t it. A few speeches of wisdom draped upon the less fortunate public.

“Be grateful for what you have.”

Startled by the voice, your head whips back, where the lady in glimmering red stood. It was her, the one who had arrived with him, hand in hand, half an hour late. Yet she had instantly been the main attraction at the ball, people swarming towards her like hungry bees. Her gown was the color of a rose’s center – the strapless dress, lingering the ground like a mermaid’s legs, hugging her slender figure so delicately – it was the epitome of perfection. Your pink sun dress fell short in comparison. The impenetrable beauty was addicting, attracting even the shyest of insects into her clutches. For a second you got high on her scent alone, before the malicious tone of her words settled into your brain.

Why was she here? A minute ago, she was stuck to Jungkook’s side like she was glued together with his larger frame. Perhaps she gave him some space to breathe for once, but that still doesn’t explain why she came up to you out of all the bugs about. Seething in her perfect set of teeth, she glares a hole through you, making you unnerved. Even with ill intentions written in her eyes, she presented a beautiful, kind smile on her cherry lips.

“You’re probably happy knowing that you’re the only secretary Jungkook hasn’t fired within a week. You’re probably thrilled to have someone like Jungkook promote someone like you to the department head. You probably get off every time he calls your filthy name.” She breathes into your face; her breath was cold and pupils sharp. “You might think you have him wrapped around your finger and I’m not sure you know who you are, but since your poor education has failed you so greatly, I’m here to remind you.”

She steps closer into your space, as a way to intimidate you. “You’re a mutt he’s taking pity on and nothing more, you understand me? A pig shouldn’t get so happy being fed the scraps of a stallion. You mean nothing to him and as soon as he’s fucked you senseless, he’ll forget about you like every other girl that has tried to take my place.”

Her smile never faltered. If anyone was watching this interaction, they’d think she was having a pleasant discussion with you. That the reason you were shying away from her was because you could not handle her radiant glow and pouring compassion. And in the same second the gears in your mind started turning, searching for a possible response, she took a step back.

“Don’t try to get too close to him. Don’t smile so much when he looks your way. Don’t let your pathetic feelings cross the line. Stay in your lane and be grateful for what you have. Because trust me, I can make everything disappear.” With a nod, she brushes past you.

Gone, just like that.

The spot that once held her being is forgotten, your head turning to watch her leave. A few butterflies fly up to her, each one wearing a thousand more on their figures and necks, but nothing that could be compared to her red.

It felt as if she never threatened you. As if she wasn’t the villain you just witnessed but a sweet cerise princess. You watch the girls gush about her life; about how luxurious her dress, her hair, her nails, her jewels, and the Grande Valentine ball was. About how blessed she is to have loving wealthy fiancé like Jungkook. She laughs agreeing with them while exhaling the same breath she took pretending to be humble.

Soon you were blending into the background. As usual.

Finally able to pry your eyes away, you stare at the ground, feeling the ache in your chest slowly cover your vision. It felt like the green, bitter thorns from a Rose’s stem, pressing against your heart with brutal force. You already felt like an outsider as soon as you stepped in here, but this was the final straw. The thorns grew amongst your chest, you spent hours finalizing every single thing about tonight on Jungkook’s command. All for his precious fiancé, choosing the colors out of your personal reach and decorations and the drinks and the food. And yet you feel like you just showed up uninvited to a stranger’s house. Knowing nothing here was meant for you.

Parting your lips, you begin walking towards the exit, ready to crawl back into your mouse cave where the lights weren’t so exposing.

You trudged along the exit hall, feeling the cheap heels of your shoes leaves sores against your soles. The ball was only an hour in, and you were fleeing way before midnight. It shouldn’t matter however; it was best to remember that Valentine’s day and its activities hold no meaning to you. Foggy thoughts run throughout your head as you watch the gleaming floor.

When you were almost at the door, a shadow overcasting the tiles and resembling a person makes you halt. Your head tilts up to catch the man in the elegantly fitted red suit, staring back at you with those familiar eyes.

��Leaving already?”

You aren’t sure how you ended up here.

All you remember was him telling you to follow along and you obeying his command silently. He led you out of the banquet hall, into his rumbling sports car and then straight inside his mansion. Jungkook never uttered a word, but his essence – his aura…it spoke for him. You walked behind him placidly, like the prey of a snake slowing moving inside the predator’s seams. When he walks into a room, the walls light up immediately at his presence. They glow of a lavish chamber leaves you jolting in place as he carelessly strides to his open bar.

How was this any different from where you just came from? If they wanted, they could have just held the ball here.

You watch as he grabs a bottle from the shelf, turning around and placing it on the counter as he picks up a glass.

“Would you like a drink?”

You immediately shake your head in decline. He shrugs, pouring himself a good amount of dark liquor. As you stand still, watching him take a sip, confusion finally settles in from the whole ordeal. Why would he bring you here? Your ignorance made you feel like scum on the back of his expensive shoes.

She probably always felt at home here.

Jealousy was a suffocating feeling and to deal with the pressure, you look away. Try to think about something else other than his ethereal face. On a small, decorative table to the left of you was a stubby golden vase, filled to the brim with roses. The vibrant flowers capture your orbs closely, like you were being lulled in by their appearance alone. You take small steps up to the table, your heart beating in your ears. When you were close enough you could see the thorns decorating the stems.

The thorns that hindered the beauty of the red.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you pick up a knife – possibly a letter opener from underneath the vase. You carefully take a stem into your hand, pinching it beneath your fingers. With a quick breath, you slice away a thorn, then two. Ridding the plants of its spikes and ugliness in animosity. Making it perfect with each removal.

Your haste movements froze when a hand grabbed yours. You look up to see Jungkook, holding onto you while staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“What are you doing? I thought you liked roses?”

That’s what you wanted to ask him, what was he doing? Why did he bring you here? But it’s not like the rich were born to be questioned. As you hold his gaze with anger, but bite your tongue from speaking, he sighs. Taking the knife out of your hands and placing it back on the table. He replaces the object with his fingers and your whole body heats up from the rush of your hands.

His scent was heavenly. Like a thousand roses laid amongst a field.

“You…at the ball…you seemed off.” He says, capturing your attention with the same incomprehensible face he always has on. “There were so many bugs flying around you there…I needed to take my chance.”

“…What?”

You watch closely as Jungkook tongues his cheek.

“You’re always so…closed off. Like there’s nothing on your mind…like you couldn’t care less about anything. I always…notice.” He huffs, looking at the floor in concentration. “I remember, it was your third day. I was passing by on my way for an early brunch with a buddy. And I saw the support manager fall onto a wet floor. The way she screamed…I and everyone around us rushed to her. Through the commotion and her cries and everyone making sure she was okay…I spotted you sitting at a desk 10 feet away. I saw you…and you didn’t do anything, even though she was in obvious pain… you just gave her a glance and then went back to work. She ended up breaking her arm and suing the company, so I got rid of her but none of that mattered.”

He looks back up at you. “What mattered was you…you caught my eye. Your lack of interest in everyone, your empty eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

It goes quiet for a moment and you now know how haunting the silence is in a big space like this. That and Jungkook’s presence made the atmosphere surreal.

“Would it have made a difference?” You question. His eyebrows raise at your response. “I mean…if I had cared…would her pain have disappeared?”

Jungkook gazes deeply into your eyes, like he was trying to read you. The hand that held you shifted slightly and you tried to not let the movements affect you. It was then that he broke out into a smirk, he seemed intrigued.

“I guess not.”

“No, it wouldn’t have. The one place there is no worth – no red – is in compassion.”

He chuckles. “I suppose with my status and what my family’s taught me…I’m inclined to disagree. But I can’t help…like this…like you.”

It was your turn to raise your eyebrows as he looks away, turning crimson. “I can’t explain why…so don’t ask me. I’ve been involved with plenty of other women…but it was always carnal pleasure. My fiancé always made sure they didn’t last long anyway but it doesn’t matter…they bore me. Yet…I don’t know what it is about you that calls to me. To keep you close to me.” He turns back to you with a determined face. “I want you and I want to get rid of anything in my way that keeps me from you.”

It felt like time stopped. The lull reverberated off the walls with intensity. There was a strange new sensation in your chest the more you stared at his sharp features. He was born with the beauty of red. When you finally felt like you could breathe again, you took your hand out of his. For a split second, you felt his whole physique embody a pout before you lightly placed your finger on his shoulder.

He froze under your touch. You continued to lightly rub at the fabric of his red coat, before placing your other hand on his other shoulder. Jungkook couldn’t look away. Especially not when you moved closer to him, not when he could feel your soft breath hit his face.

“Is this…close enough?” You whisper, watching the way his bright eyes turned dark. Within moments you felt a sudden source of heat around your waist, before you were pushed into his sturdy chest. His heartbeat matched your rhythm and your lips hovered one another as your orbs fought for balance. There was a cocoon of warmth around you, traveling up your spine as his thumb brushed your waist.

“It’s perfect.” He says before you feel his naturally red lips touch your coral ones.

It had been a while since your last kiss. That would explain why your tongue felt so sensitive and weak against his. Your hands hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady and at that moment, you recall how this very scene happened before you just yesterday, with his hand on her hips. You recall the jealousy. Bitter thoughts don’t ever completely vanish, do they?

As he bites your bottom lip, you fail to conceal a moan. He smiles into your kiss, before breaking away. Your lips were raw, and although you couldn’t see yourself, you knew they were swollen red. So you begin to smile as well.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says before kissing your cheek, down your jaw and into your neck. “All mine.”

You hold onto the back of his head as he nips at your neck. Gazing at the roses behind him.

“And you, mine.”

You woke up to the dark.

It didn’t take you long to figure out you weren’t in your house. The smell…the atmosphere…the scenery…it was all different. Not the familiar color you were used to. Your ear catches the sound of soft snoring, so you turn to see Jungkook sleeping peacefully by your side. His dark bangs covered most of his eyes and you slowly raised your fingers to move his hair out of his face. He seemed so different when he was asleep compared to his cold office demeanor. So calm and innocent – almost like a child.

In that second, your throat feels dry, so you try to sit up. Maybe you’ll have that drink he spoke of now. But a heavy arm thrown across your body stops you. You peek underneath the blanket to find Jungkook’s biceps holding onto you tightly. He was definitely the possessive type. With a quick inhale, you subtly try to remove his big arm off of you. Freezing whenever he faintly stirred. When you’ve managed to become free, you get out of bed, wincing as soon as you get up.

Even without the light, you could tell how damaged you were as you limp towards the door. He didn’t hold back in bed, wanting you to show him every expression of pleasure – of pain you were capable of. Him and only him, he said. There were bite marks on your neck and ass…he loved using his mouth. And then there was his endless fucking stamina. But truthfully you didn’t mind it one bit, it felt like he was pouring his deep rich wine upon you. You felt yourself inflaming up from the inside out, it was a feeling like no other – addicting.

Actually, you’ve always known about his interest in you. He had managed to make his face unreadable because of the position and line of work he’s in. But he’s still always slipped around you. You saw the subtle yearning and longing way before you came up with this plan. A plan that was necessary, you had never been this lucky before after all. And you wonder if she saw it too. If she knew you weren’t like Jungkook’s others. Perhaps that’s why she came up to you tonight. To try and stop you.

But mere warnings don’t work on the desperate.

As soon as you’re in the other room, the living room lights flash on. Prompting you to squint, while trying to adjust to the brightness. Once again, your attention is immediately captured by the vivid red roses in the golden vase on the small table across the room. You begin walking towards the vase mindlessly but once you were a couple feet in, you notice another shade of red to your left.

A glittering red.

You turn to face her, the princess of the kingdom, in her soon to be king’s castle. Naked and sullied in retrospect to her lavishly covered frame. But strangely, compared to you in this moment she was weak.

It was her face. Her face as she glares at you, eyes squinted, and lips pulled back. Mascara and tears ran down all over her cheeks and her eyes were puffy swollen. She stood there, shaking in her heels as her hands clenched into fists. How could she look so pathetic dressed in red of all things? There was something funny about the sight…it almost made you burst into laughter. Instead you pursed you lips and raised a brow.

Right then she launched herself at you.

“You BITCH!” She screamed at the top of her lungs before you felt her sharp nails collide with your cheek. Your ears rung as you try to regain your balance. You didn’t have time to react as she pulled your face up using your hair and smacked you twice before pushing you down. Already frail torso crashing upon the tiles a bit too easily.

Really, you felt like laughing as you laid there while she screamed and pounded her weak fists onto you. You couldn’t feel the pain, nothing at all, not even when she banged your head against the tile. Not when she kicked you in the gut. So you laughed, and you felt her go quiet for a second. Small giggles turning into something insane. Your laugh got louder and louder as your cheek connected with the cold floor. The ringing surrounded your ears, but you still heard her curse underneath her breath, calling you crazy. You’ve always hated her voice.

“DIIIIEEEEE! DIE YOU CRAZY BITCH! HE’S MINE!” You could hear her tight dress starting to rip with every sudden jerk and twist. It was ironic. Your head felt light and your vision started to blur as she pulled at your stands frantically. Suddenly, you were being pulled up onto your legs with the world spinning around you and thrown right into the small table you couldn’t stop being called towards.

On impact, one of the legs gave out, causing you and the vase to slip onto the ground. You were completely out of it for a few seconds. After a blurry moment, you could finally feel the wet water and the broken wood and the shattered glass and the cold metal scraping against your skin as you struggled to get up. That…and the green thorns stuck inside your chest, bleeding raw.

Once you were up, you struggle to maintain your steadiness. As your slippery feet came to a halt, you stare down at your wounded chest. At the thorns in your heart, before you hear her shrill voice coming towards you again. So, you timed it in your head. Waited for the bottom ruffles of her beautiful dress to slide along the tiles and signal you. Let her red give her away.

And once she was close enough, you spun around. Extended your hand until you could tell the blade collided through something hard yet pudgy. Everything comes to a standstill. You hear her inhale loudly before her face actually appears before you. Eyes wide and mouth parted. Her hands were still in midair, they were coming for your neck. Her shaky pupils gape at you, before looking down below where the knife met her.

When she’s distracted, you take out the letter opener from her stomach before slamming it back into her once again, a little left. It made a soft, stubby sound and she gasped faintly. Your hands shook dimly with the blade still inside her, blood staining your fingers. The ringing had vanished now, and you were facing the silence of the mansion. Now that you had gotten the gist of it, as quick as you could, you stabbed her a third time. It was your final attack because as soon as you took the edge out, she fell backwards with a loud thud. You didn’t have time to process everything, just cringed at the way her head collided with the floor.

For a while, you just stood there. Weapon in hand, watching the way the blood slowly oozed out of her sides. Her eyes were wide open in shock, lips parted, and jaw unhinged. Bringing the blade up to your face, you closely examine the loose blood along the edges as the knife gleamed underneath the lights. Red was truly a magnificent color. If you were to split her open, would she bleed it all out before you? Let you have all her secrets and riches? You take the blade and carefully wipe both sides of the blood onto your chest, over your heart. Making a perfect x and letting yourself become red.

Like you’ve always wanted.

Once you were done with that, you look back at her. At her lifeless face and sunken eyes.

“What are you looking at, pig?”

Just then a hand grabs yours from behind. You dropped the letter opener in surprise, and it crashes onto the floor with everything else. The object is replaced by long fingers. Your head whips back to meet a bare Jungkook standing right behind you, as handsome as ever, staring at you with a smile. There was a little insanity in his eyes, the same one you saw every morning in the mirror.

“I was wondering how to get rid of her myself.” He says, before wrapping his arms around your shivering torso and placing his mouth on your neck.

It had only been a few hours after Valentine’s day, and here you stood. Being gently rocked by your boss, with his beautiful fiancé bleeding out on the floor in front of him. Even in death…she was the epitome of beauty. And you had always been jealous.

Not of who she was to Jungkook.

But because of the vibrant, glowing, bleeding red rose she always resembled.

What you were jealous of was the rose she embodied.

The rose you wanted to be.

#yandere society #bts #jungkook #yandere bts #yandere jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader

1K notes · View notes

katrinawritesthings · 2 years

Text

Jonghyun/Kibum/Minho; get the treasure (part 1); PG-13

wrote this for the summer of shinee Valentine's fic exchange : ) it was a really fun prompt that I was comfortable writing but was also off of my usual brand and I think it came out really good uwu

[part 2]

Minho is a prince. Every year, the Royal Family invites a few artists to the palace and has them draw portraits of them during their birthday month. This year, Jonghyun and Kibum have been chosen. The catch is, Jonghyun and Kibum are thieves, and under the guise of artists, they enter the palace to steal the crown jewels — but get their hearts stolen by the prince instead.

"Ah," Minho says. Another pause, another frown, another moment of him searching for words, another deep breath in. "That's... a shame. But even with limited practice, your style is beautiful."

"Thank you." Kibum does have to say, he is quite enjoying watching Minho squirm with every lackluster reply. The veins on the backs of his hands stand out when he squeezes them, glimpses of strong forearms peeking out from his sleeves, and every time he licks his lips is a personal treat. It's a much better view than the garden all around them. Kibum looks around like he's interested in the plants anyway, putting the idea in Minho's head that maybe he's not being rude and maybe he just doesn't talk a lot and maybe he is actually interested in sitting in peace with a companion.

Also TWs for emotional abuse, gaslighting, insults, etc from Minho's family and also some blood near the end

Bling and Key.

Two artists that, until Minho announced his decision, were entirely unheard of in the royal court. Minho himself hadn't heard of them until he was sent to make an appearance at a local art festival in one of the smaller villages around the kingdom. His parents, the king and queen, or even his older brother, the heir apparent, were too important, they all said, to waste a day on the venture. Instead it was his job to show up so the people wouldn't forget that the royal family still cared.

It was quite a nice festival, honestly, for what little Minho was able to see of it before he was ushered into the event holder’s office and offered gifts and praise for existing. Full of splashes of color and artistic interpretations that were frankly shocking to him compared to the usual brand of proper, accurate realism in the portraits commissioned every year on his family's birthdays. The festival bustled with life, artists and visitors talking in loud, cheerful voices that made Minho eager to listen even though he didn't understand much of the lingo or their accents. Two pieces in particular stood out to him, and it's the artists behind those that he chose to invite to depict him this year. Bling and Key.

Much to the chagrin of his parents, who regret finally allowing him to choose for himself so much that he can tell it causes them physical pain, but he's trying very hard not to care. It's his 24th birthday and he deserves something fun.

Even still, that's not the argument that won against his parents. There wasn't really any argument at all. He was given the opportunity to choose one thing for his birthday celebrations this year instead of having it all planned to fit whatever would make the castle look the best. He's certain that his parents expected him to pick a theme, or where they’ll all go on vacation after the celebration weeks are over, but he chose the artists instead. And when they tried to back out of their agreement, he fought for it by giving up his favorite flavor of birthday cake, and who the guests would be, and what the hired entertainment would be. And he promised not to speak up during political meetings for the next month.

That last one, he's sure, is what really sealed the deal. He knows that he's been annoying his parents and his brother with all of his questions ever since he'd been given a seat at the table four years ago. Why won't we send money to the village that got flooded during the spring? What do you mean we don't have enough? Isn't that project to reguild the castle staircases in a month? Why can't we cancel that and put the money towards something that's needed instead? Why do we need to look rich when everyone already knows we’re rich? Wait, wasn't there supposed to be a dam built in that area a few years ago? What happened to that funding?

And that was all in one meeting.

But Minho got the artists that he wanted. He got something for himself on his birthday. He got something for himself, period. It shames him, but even as a prince, he finds himself often thinking that that's a luxury.

"Highness."

Minho starts at Taemin's quiet voice by his ear. He'd been zoning out. It's the same every year, every birthday, with the fanfare and the introductions and the speeches about the great honor of royal blood and loyalty to the country, stiff and hot in his formal robes and the crown that he hasn't worn in months and smells strongly of cleaning products, and he'd been zoning out. Smiling and sitting up straight, nodding attentively, but paying more attention to the heavy royal rings that decorate his right hand fingers than what was actually going on. It's a skill that he's acquired, just like Taemin has acquired the skill of being able to tell when he's not all there inside and warn him.

And just in time, because Bling and Key themselves have just been introduced and are walking in, standing before the family, bowing to them in order of importance. Minho couldn't ask for a better personal attendant. He nods his head just enough to let Taemin know that he understood and is grateful before focusing on the artists.

First is Bling. Dressed in a simple white shirt and brown breeches, he stands with the confidence of someone that knows he's attractive. He has a slim waist but broad shoulders, a sharp jawline and cheekbones but full lips, a round nose, and soft big brown eyes. His black hair is cut quite haphazardly, so it falls into his eyes and spikes out around his head. When he introduces himself, his voice has a musical quality to it, like each word is assigned a note in a song. When he smiles, the entire room gets a little bit brighter.

And then Key. Several inches taller, he stands with the confidence of someone that has fought for it and will fight to keep it. He wears the same outfit as Bling, but different; his trousers are tucked into calf-high black boots, his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders, and a thick sash is tied around his middle that's colored the same golden yellow as his hair. His face is thin, his mouth small and delicate, his eyes sharp and pointed, and one eyebrow is almost split in half by a severe scar. When he speaks it's deeper than Minho was expecting and when his mouth curves up at one corner it's less of a smile and more something that feels like a warning.

"We’re honored to have been chosen by your highness," he says, bowing once again to Minho. Bling bows as well, nodding his agreement. Minho puts his right hand over his heart and nods his head back in the appropriate response.

"I hope you honor me as well with your time and skill," he recites from memory, the same every year since he could speak, "and I hope that the weeks you spend here will be much to your liking." And then, with a quick glance at his parents, he adds before they can stop him, "I will be happy to offer you as much time as you need with me if you require it for your artwork." Technically that is part of the traditional speech, but they’ve taken to leaving it out in the last couple of years, and the artists have never had the courage to ask for it since. A waste of time, the rest of the family says, but it was always Minho's favorite part. He just likes getting to know people, learning about the way they live, how they think, how they’re similar and different from him.

Bling and Key thank him, bow to the family again, and leave to take their seats in the crowd at their assigned table.

The rest of the opening celebration goes as usual. More speeches, praise for how good Minho makes the royal family look with his accomplishments, the explanation of activities that will take place over the next four weeks before the finale on Minho's big day, the big dinner feast, the entertainment–a musical play this year about their country's recent victory in battle with one of their neighbors–and finally dessert, where something different happens that only Minho notices.

It's not his birthday yet, so there's no cake; just the usual beautifully decorated pastries and puddings. But when Jinki, the head dessert chef of the castle, comes out to present his gourmet artwork and serve the royal family personally, he winks at Minho so fast that Minho almost misses it. Confused, Minho looks down at his platter and has to fight to not let his face break into a huge smile.

Sitting there innocently next to his spiced pudding is a single red velvet cupcake. His favorite.

Biting his lip, Minho tucks in right away. If he ignores everything about his family, this birthday is already looking pretty great.

The castle garden sprawls out of the east wing, bright bursts of color between the dark browns of leafless trees and dazzling white of winter snow. There are no fruit trees, no vegetables, no rows of herbs and spices. Instead, there are flowers, bushes trimmed and shaped into animals, trees bent into archways, wide expanses of flat grass, and fountains that never get turned off. The only animals around are birds that nest too high up to be shooed away by underpaid staff. Snow covers the tops of trees and bushes, frost clinging to delicate winter flowers, but the paved stone walkways are clear. Underground, there's a series of tunnels and a roaring fire that keeps them heated all day long.

Walking through the entrance gate, Kibum does not see anyone else around to appreciate the beauty. It's just here. Huge, expensive, and empty until Kibum rounds a curve in the path and finds the prince.

Minho is already seated at one of the fancy glass tables dotted around the garden when Kibum arrives right on time. Dressed in his fancy little prince robes, perfect posture, waiting patiently with Taemin by his side. It surprises Kibum; he hadn't expected any noble, let alone one of the nobles, to care about respecting someone's time. For a moment he thinks that it must have been Taemin that got him here early, but he quickly shrugs that thought off. He knows that Taemin doesn't respect his time.

Schooling any hint of his surprise off of his face, Kibum puts on his best smile and bows to Minho when he reaches the table. And, though it pains him to do so, bows to Taemin standing behind and to the right of Minho as well. On his list of priorities, refusing to show Taemin any sign of civility is lower than making sure that Minho sees him treating the both of them the same way.

He knows that Minho sees it, but what he thinks of it is lost to Kibum. Lost in his smile, handsome and wide, carving lines around his mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. He stands up and does the royal bow back, putting his right ring decorated hand over his heart, his empty hand behind his back, and nodding his head. As he does so, his long straight black hair falls over his shoulders and his bangs hide his eyes. For just a second, as he straightens back up, he looks at Kibum through his eyelashes and his brown eyes are so big and round and gorgeous that Kibum almost loses his breath.

"Key, It's good to see you," he says, his voice just as deep and practiced as it was when he was reciting his lines last night. Kibum latches onto that, the training, the royal facade of compassion, and uses it to drag himself out of the beauty of Minho's face. It's all money, he reminds himself. It's all money and makeup and the power to decide what is and what isn't beautiful. Up close, he can see that Minho isn't as perfect as he's pretending to be. His skin has flaws, a scar underneath his right eye, and his complexion is marked by teenage acne and dotted with sunmarks that not even his makeup can completely hide.

"Thank you, your highness," Kibum replies politely. "And your acquaintance?" he asks, looking at Taemin expectantly.

"Oh," Minho says, glancing at him over his shoulder. He seems off-put, like he's not used to anyone pointing out that he needs someone to follow him around every moment and hold his soft royal hand. Kibum smiles. Good. Taemin stays passive, proper, but once Minho looks away, he arches an eyebrow over his shoulder. "This is my attendant, Taemin," Minho says, gesturing to him. "He stays with me and provides me with assistance."

"Ah, of course," Kibum says. "Forgive me. I'm not so accustomed to your peoples’... habits." He wrinkles his nose just enough to suggest distaste without doing so much as to be called out for it.

Then he takes a seat at the delicate glass table without being invited.

He's sure that Minho didn't mean for him to catch his small, quick frown, but Kibum certainly means for Minho to catch his small, quick smirk. "You'll have to forgive Bling as well," he says as Minho takes his seat across from him and Taemin pours them both tea. "He wanted to be here this morning, but he's not much of an early riser. I'm sure he'll catch you another time."

"Whenever he's available." Minho's smile is stiff, forced. He takes a breath and seems to relax, a little. "Do you two know each other?" he asks.

"Yes," Kibum says simply. "Quite well."

"Interesting," Minho says. He opens his mouth, hesitates like he's not sure, like he expected Kibum to say more. "Usually, the two artists that we commission each year aren't acquainted."

"Hmm," Kibum hums, interested not in what Minho said but the way he said it. Unconvincingly casual, his hands clasped a little too tight on top of the table, too eager, too needy for attention. Kibum thought it would be much harder to push the prince’s buttons. He's almost disappointed.

The awkward silence between them is enough to keep him entertained, though. There's an extravagant little brunch set up between them, tea and pastries and embroidered cloth napkins that likely cost more than Kibum's outfit. Kibum takes a bite out of a tender, frosted cookie and wipes his fingers on his pants. They're lemon flavored, at least. So nice of Jinki to make his favorite.

As the moments stretch on, he looks again at Taemin. Seeing him again for the first time in months, Kibum regrettably does have to admit that he cleans up very well. Gone is the greasy, grinning little gremlin that Kibum has known for the past nine years. Now he stands up straight, shoulders back, hands locked behind his waist, full of a seemingly endless patience that he never bothered to exhibit back home. Dressed up in fancy servant’s garb, washed and lotioned and perfumed, even with his shoulder length black hair tied back into a ponytail and delicately framing his face, he looks like he belongs here.

Taemin catches kibum looking, grins, and quickly puts bunny ears up behind Minho's head.

Kibum smiles into his teacup. Maybe he hasn't been entirely converted, then.

"So...." Minho says slowly. He twiddles his thumbs, then says, "how long have you been painting professionally?"

Since you announced that you wanted me as your artist , Kibum thinks. "Technically, never," he says out loud. "I only ever paint when I have free time, and that isn't often. Doing art professionally isn't something that we do where I'm from. It's not something that we can do, when we're always so busy trying to survive." He speaks pointedly, so close to accusatory but not quite. By now he knows that Minho is perceptive enough to pick up on an unsaid, not that you would know what that's like.

"Ah," Minho says. Another pause, another frown, another moment of him searching for words, another deep breath in. "That's... a shame. But even with limited practice, your style is beautiful."

He lets the silence drag on, doing nothing to break it. He puts that responsibility square on Minho's shoulders. They sip their tea, Minho eats a muffin, Kibum watches a bird flying in and out of their nest in a high tree, Taemin jerks harshly but silently away from a bug, Minho takes yet another deep, relaxing breath.

"Were you feeling okay last night?" he asks. "I noticed you leaving the party early."

"Did you?” Kibum asks, annoyed that not only did he get caught, but also that his voice comes out with his real surprise instead of disinterest. If Minho noticed him leaving, who else did? "Forgive me," he says, covering his slip. "I tend to get headaches around large crowds. I left early to get some quiet and rest." Mostly the truth; good lies usually are. He's only leaving out the part where he also left to see how populated the rest of the castle was during royal events.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Minho says. "I meant to send someone to check on you, but it slipped my mind.”

"I'm sure it did," Kibum says, smiling, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes. He's entirely certain that Minho wanted to nose into where he was going, and also that Minho forgot about him.

Minho's eyes also narrow, but it's coupled with a breath so deep that his nostrils flare. He speaks again without acknowledging Kibum's reply: "if you want pain relievers during your stay, you need only request them from one of the servants."

"I'm sure that I won't," Kibum replies pleasantly. "I wouldn't be so selfish as to trouble someone to do something for me when I could easily do it myself. I'm not used to living like that."

And there . As soon as the word "selfish" leaves Kibum's mouth, Minho stops pretending. His mouth pops often, his eyebrows furrow, his hands flatten out on top of the table. Not angry, but close. Annoyed. Kibum tears his eyes from his long fingers, from his strong jaw, from his perfectly manicured eyebrows, desperately searching for somewhere on his face that isn't the definition of handsome. He tries settling on Minho's eyes since he figures there's no way to cosmetically alter those, but that was a mistake–there's a fire in them that wasn't there before, and intensity in his emotion that catches Kibum's breath in his throat. Fuck. He focuses hard on the center of Minho's nose instead.

Thankfully, Minho is still reeling from the selfish thing. He tries to bring it back, to compose himself, but he doesn't take any calming breaths or force polite conversation. "I was under the impression," he starts in a hard, clipped voice, "that you requested this meeting to get a better understanding of me to help with your portrait."

"Well, I don't know what gave you that idea," Kibum says, placing an innocent hand on his chest and thinking that he definitely has gained a better understanding of the prince.

"Why did you want to meet with me, then?" Minho asks. Angry now, fed up. "If not to attempt to convince yourself that you're superior to me?”

"Not to be judged by you," Kibum snaps back instinctively. He's angry too, suddenly and icily, all of the fun that he'd been having replaced by raw indignation. How dare Minho say that to him. How dare he act like Kibum isn't an equal. How dare he imply that Kibum needs to convince himself that he has value. Kibum cannot fucking believe the sheer royal audacity. "You should know, I don't think much of those that judge other people," he says.

"Excuse me?" Minho shoots back, his bright eyes wide. "You say that, but all you've done since you arrived here is judge me."

Royalty aren't people , Kibum's brain says immediately, but he holds it off of his tongue. It's true, but even he won't let his anger get that far away from him. At the very least, he knows that if he goes that far the mission will fail right here right now. "You don't know me," he says, dangerously quiet. Minho knows nothing to judge him by except his appearance and the name of his village. "I know you. I know what you're like." He's just the same as every other noble, living lavishly up here in his castle, kept away from the rest of them, in his own little world–

"You know about me," Minho says. "You don't know me. "

Kibum stands up.

Minho does too.

Minho is barely an inch taller than him so Kibum doesn't have to look up at him, unlike last night when he was up in his throne and all of the little people were down below. Kibum can meet him square in the eye to say, "thank you for your time, highness ."

He turns and leaves the way he came out, stalking through the useless garden and back into the castle, fuming the entire time. He doesn't know Minho , his ass. Maybe that's true, maybe he only technically knows about Minho, but knowing about him is more than enough with people like him.

Jonghyun is just waking up when he gets back to their rooms, sitting up in bed and rubbing his palms into his eyes. He smiles at Kibum underneath his messy hair, sleepy and happy to see him.

"Morning," he croaks. "How was brunch? What's he like?”

"Pretty," Kibum snaps, marching to his own bedroom.

“Wha–“

"Petty! ” Kibum corrects quickly, stopping in his tracks and whirling around. "Petty, petty. I meant petty. He's a self-absorbed, attention-seeking–fuck you." He spins right back around and storms into his room, slamming the door and leaving Jonghyun laughing behind him.

Jonghyun is in such deep shit. He's no fucking artist. Neither is Kibum, but at least Kibum has experience drawing humans and sketching out costumes. What does Jonghyun have? An affinity for getting his hands dirty and picking what colors he thinks are pretty. And now he's supposed to draw a portrait of the literal prince? What the fuck. He knew he shouldn't have volunteered to work that art festival last year.

None of it was even his art, or Kibum’s. It was Krystal’s and they were just there presenting and selling it as their own because she’s wanted for treason and the two of them offered their extroverted asses up to go instead. We’re bored and we want something to do , they whined. Jonghyun in particular remembers hyping himself up so much about how hot and good with people he is and how much money he would make the Rebellion. Jackass. Now he's here in the Rebellion’s most ambitious and public execution worthy mission to date and it's all his fault.

He's lucky that he's so hot and charming and good with people because otherwise he definitely would have been found out by now with how anxious he is. He's spent most of the day since he woke up wandering around the castle with his sketch pad, doodling random fancy pieces of decoration to cover how he's matching the castle layout physically with the mental map he has in his head. And also to cover how he's already pocketed several little jewels and rings off of the ugly suits of armor in the hallways.

What does armor need jewelry for, anyway? To look pretty? Rich people are so ridiculous. Jonghyun wrapped them up in his doodles and handed them off to a Rebellion contact in the castle post office, signaling to her that it should definitely be her that delivers them back home and not someone else that isn't part of the Rebellion. He's been stopped by the castle guard a few times wanting to know what or how he's doing, and every time he's played the starstruck country bumpkin just taking in the sights.

Which, honestly, is true. Good Most lies usually are. Execution anxiety aside, he has always wanted to come see the castle. He knows now that all it represents is bloody greed, but that doesn't stop the eager little boy inside of him that wants to see where the fancy people live. It is nice to stand among luxury and pretend he's one of them but without being a goblin. Just pretty and adored by everyone. It's fun.

His self-guided tour has taken him to the main hall, through the library, around the royal portrait gallery, all through the bedroom hallways, and now to the kitchens, where he's sitting at a table in the corner, staring at his sketch pad, and thinking about how absolutely fucked he is.

At least Jinki is here. Gentle, kind Jinki, always full of sweet nothings and cheek pinches and little treats from extra pieces of the cooking. They've only met a handful of times when Jinki got time off from the castle, but something about him comforts Jonghyun. He's at his place in the kitchen, simmering bananas in butter and caramel on the stove in between calling out names of other chefs and signing orders to them one handed, never once falling behind or losing his place. His calm demeanor and efficiency in such a hectic environment is soothing. Plus he's nice to look at, all soft angles and round cheeks, his honey colored hair held back from his forehead by a black sweatband.

A little while ago he gave Jonghyun a half sized chocolate muffin made from leftover batter and Jonghyun has been picking at it while he tries to put something down on paper. He does have some stuff down; a scribbled out sketch of the kitchen, a little drawing of his puppy back home, a couple lines of a song that he's been working on, and a sketchy doodle of the prince himself making the funniest face Jonghyun has ever seen in his life.

He saw it last night during the play. From his angle, he could perfectly see Minho sitting at the end of the royal table. He could see Minho and how much he was not paying attention to his own birthday celebration. He seemed more interested in whispering and joking to Taemin next to him, though the both of them shut up and looked away from one another when another noble would come by. At one point, Minho made his eyes wide, smiled so fucking weird and tight, and wiggled his eyebrows up and down, and for the next five minutes both Jonghyun and Taemin had to stifle their laughter from opposite ends of the great hall. Kibum kept elbowing Jonghyun and hissing at him to shut up like he was actually interested in the play.

That face has stuck with him since, and it still makes him chuckle as he looks down at his little drawing of it. Maybe he isn't an artist but he definitely nailed the expression.

"Very flattering." A long, ring decorated finger taps the table next to the drawing and Jonghyun grins even wider to himself. He does love validation, even from strangers.

"Thanks, I know," he says. "It's one of my finer–”

He looks up to speak to his new pal and looks directly into the eyes of prince Minho.

"What the fuck –? Oh my fucking–” manners! Jonghyun's brain screams at him, and he promptly almost knocks over both the table and his chair by standing up too fast. He bows so low that his nose almost touches his sketchpad and fumbles out, "sorry, sorry, your majesty, I mean, your highness, I mean, I was just, I didn't mean to, fuck, I mean, sorry." He straightens up and clasps his hands behind his back, aggressively ignoring both Taemin badly hiding his laughter behind his hands and the way he can feel his own face burning with shame. He bravely meets Minho's eyes again. "Did your highness wish to speak with me?" he asks as evenly as possible.

Minho is chuckling. A handsome chuckle, deep and warm, that, if anything, makes Jonghyun blush even harder. "It's all right," he says, smoothing his smile with his hand. "Don't worry. I don't mind." He looks at the drawing again, turning the sketchpad with a careful hand to see it right side up, and laughs once more. "I hadn't thought anyone else saw that," he says.

"Ah," Jonghyun says, "well," he says, "I did," he says. And then scrunches his nose. Fuck. Shit. Of course he saw it. He wouldn't have drawn it if he hadn't seen it. "I wasn't," he says, trying to clarify, "I wasn't really paying attention to the," he's making it worse, "to the play."

"Yes, well," Minho says. He heaves a big sigh, shakes his head, and rolls his eyes. "Those do tend to drag on sometimes." He turns Jonghyun's sketchpad back to face him. Glancing around dramatically and leaning in, he smiles, "I won't tell if you don't." And he winks at Jonghyun. He actually winks, him, the prince, winks at Jonghyun, some guy from the middle of nowhere. Jonghyun keeps blushing but for an entirely different reason now. "Excuse me," Minho continues. With a royal bow, he walks away from Jonghyun and further into the kitchen.

Jonghyun slithers back down into his chair and puts his cheek on top of the table. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He is such a disaster.

Kibum was right. Minho is very pretty.

And for someone to be considered pretty when Taemin is standing right there next to them is no small accomplishment.

But there's just something about Minho. His big eyes, his soft smile, his warm voice, his easygoing attitude. Jonghyun knows that he's easy, but fuck. He almost feels bad about being here to steal the royal jewels right off of Minho's crown.

He picks his head up and looks for Minho. He's talking to Jinki about something; if Jonghyun leans right, he can see that he’s signing, "thanks for last night."

He puts his head back down on the table, feeling slightly less bad. Well. If Jinki is soft enough for Minho to be doing favors for him, then maybe it isn't just Jonghyun. Maybe everyone can't help but like the youngest prince. Even Kibum, he guesses, grinning to himself at the memory of his babe all pissy this morning. He still can't believe it only took one conversation for Minho to get past Kibum's smug mask. It takes a special kind of person to get Kibum that angry and horny at the same time, and an even specialer kind of person that makes him deny it.

"Bling?”

"Hmm?” For the second time, Jonghyun looks up into the eyes of his prince. "Yes, highness?" he asks, sitting up straight. Minho smiles gently at him.

"I hope that the final portrait won't look like this," he jokes, tapping the edge of the sketchpad. Jonghyun can't help the breath of laughter that comes out of him.

"Me too," he says. He also hopes that Minho never finds out how extremely literally he means that.

Minho looks heartened by Jonghyun's laugh, standing up straighter, shoulders sinking down a little. Jonghyun hadn't even noticed he'd been nervous. "Key told me that you wanted to be at brunch this morning but you slept in?" he asks then.

“Uh," Jonghyun says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. Not quite. But close enough. "I don't wake up early,” he admits. He thought he would be able to this morning, but he woke up and Kibum was already gone so he went back to sleep. And the plan was to split up their initial meetings anyway. Better to let Kibum get first impressions of people on his own.

"All right, I'll remember that,” Minho says. "But would you like to get together and talk a little sometime tomorrow? I'm quite busy this week, but I do have evening tea free.”

“Oh,” Jonghyun says. He's blushing again. The prince himself? Is asking him for time together? The prince himself remembered that Kibum said that he wanted to speak with him and is making it a point to make that happen? Fuck. "Uh, yes I would like that, your highness," he says. He would like that very much. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers that it's literally his mission to get close to Minho, so he can gather information to be better prepared for the big day. In the front of his mind, he thinks that Minho is biting his lip and that is a whole lot to process so suddenly in the moment.

"Great," Minho beams. "It's a date." Another royal bow and he's gone, heading out of the kitchen with Taemin on his heels.

Jonghyun stays where he is and slowly turns into a tomato. By the time Jinki gets another break and comes to check on him, he's still in the same spot, face in his hands, feet tapping all over the floor.

It's a date.

Minho strides down the hallway to the family's private dining quarters, his heart thudding in his chest, his pulse pounding in his temples. His hands shake, but when he balls them into fists to stop it, his nails dig painfully into his palms.

An earthquake. A whole entire earthquake in the south, and nothing was said to him. For days . At this point, it's not that no one informed him, that it has to be that the information is being kept from him on purpose. He wants to know why and he's going to find out.

Just before he turns the corner, Taemin grabs his wrist. "Highness," he says quietly. "Wait."

"I'm not changing my mind about this, Taemin," he hisses, whipping around. He's done being treated like an annoyance, like he's not mature enough to understand why his family thinks some people don't matter. "I can't keep letting them do this to me."

"No, just, I meant," Taemin says. His usually smiling face is pinched with anxiety, his lower lip between his teeth. He's blinking a mile a minute and his hands won't stop twisting and knotting together. "Don't tell them that I told you," he says. "Please."

Minho calms down, a little bit. Watching Taemin, he sighs. Of course.

When Taemin first came to the castle, he wasn't in the best shape. Hollow, underfed, desperately pretending like it hadn't been at least a week since he'd had a wash. He'd clearly been trained as an attendant before, but he'd also clearly been recently fired and lost as to what to do next. He'd been given a job serving tables, but his clumsy hands and nerves had led to enough accidents in his first few days that he was close to being fired again before Minho offered to take him as his attendant. Another one of Minho's tenderhearted wastes of time, according to his family, but Minho has never regretted it. Taemin has been more than great with him in the months since. It was lucky, really, that his previous attendant had quit that very same day.

"I won't," he reassures Taemin. He knows how Taemin worries. Minho has never said it because he doesn't want to overwhelm Taemin, but he connects more with Taemin than he ever has with any of his peers, let alone his family. He kind of thinks of them as misfits together.

With Taemin's small, grateful nod, Minho continues to the family room. He bows to the guards at either side of the door and walks in. All three of them are sitting at the table, his father, his mother, and his brother, similar to him by their looks and their matching rings and what feels like nothing else.

"Why–"

"Minho, You're late for lunch again." His father's reprimand stops him in his tracks, sends a chill down his spine. An involuntary reaction, but effective nonetheless. Minho shakes his head and tries again, determined.

"Why wasn't I told about the earthquake?" He demands.

His parents exchange a quick look. "We didn't want to worry you during your birthday celebrations," his mother says gently.

"You didn't–what? Were you going to keep it from me the whole month?" Minho can't believe the words even as they come out of his mouth. Even for his family, that has to be absurd, but his brother rolls his eyes.

"You know you get emotional," he says. "You think I want to watch you being a whiny baby when we're trying to have fun?"

"I'm not–it's not just–it was an earthquake, " Minho insists. His pulse is pounding again, his hands shaking. He locks them behind his back. "It hit three villages . There was a fire started in one because of it. Who cares about my birthday?"

"Minho!" His mother exclaims, scandalized. "Do you know how much labor I went through for you?"

"Do you know how hard the staff is working for you?” His father adds. “The security? the kitchens? The laundry and the maids with all of the guests? Do you know how far people have traveled for you?”

"I–” Minho huffs. Yes, he knows how long he took to come out. Yes, he knows how hard people are working. Yes, he knows how far people have traveled. "I never asked for any of that," he says. Shame burns in his throat but he fights it off and continues, "you know every year I ask not to do all of this extravagance. There's no point to it."

"I don't remember you ever asking not to do birthday stuff," his brother drawls. "All I ever remember is you being ungrateful for it. Didn't you barely even participate in planning this year? When all of it is for you in the first place?"

"That's not," Minho starts, incredulous. That's not how it works and his brother knows it. He's never been able to participate in the planning in the first place. Neither of them have. It's always been their parents. He knows that his brother knows that.

Does he? Maybe his brother is right. Maybe his brother has been able to plan his birthdays this whole time and Minho has never known about it.

"The point is to celebrate you," his mother says icily. "The people love their prince, Minho. They look up to you as a beacon. They derive joy from your joy. They love you. "

The people. Minho’s nails dig into his palms. That's what he came here for. His people, the people he is sworn to protect and care for. He knows that his people don't love a prince that hasn't even acknowledged their tragedy. And he is absolutely certain that they don't love a person that they've never met. He takes a deep, slow breath, trying to calm himself.

"This isn't about me,” he says, hating the way his voice shakes. "What–"

"You sure are making it about you," his father snaps. "Bursting in here late for lunch, yelling at us. Throwing a tantrum because we tried to be nice to you. I'm tired of your selfish attitude."

And just like that, that one word hits Minho so hard he almost takes a step back. Selfish . Every time, it's like a knife in his gut. Selfish, how he’s disregarding his family's kindness. Selfish, how he doesn't care about the staff. Selfish, how he chose two artists with styles that don't match the rest of the portraits at all. How he chose to employ Taemin when he had already caused so many problems. How he doesn't have the country's best interests at heart. How he doesn't look at the bigger picture.

Minho closes his eyes and breathes hard through his nose. Lies, a small, broken voice whispers in the back of his mind. It's louder than it used to be, more confident, but he can barely hear it, barely bring himself to consider beginning to believe it.

But it's still there. He opens his eyes.

"What's being done to help the victims?" he asks. "Have we sent them money? Have we sent some of the army down there to help rebuild? Have we done anything for them?"

"They're fine," his brother shrugs dismissively. "They're all carpenters down there. They know how to build. And there was a Rebellion base there anyway."

"You know we can't spare any of the army when they're all up here to provide security for your celebrations," his father says shortly, like he's annoyed that he has to explain something so simple.

“You're ruining the festive mood," his mother chides. "Come eat. Let me tell you how the lord and lady of the western hills were complementing the hallway decorations earlier today."

Minho turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"Will you suck my dick later?"

Kibum snorts, not surprised but amused nonetheless. He glances at Jonghyun next to him. They're in the art room of the castle, a place dedicated entirely dedicated to paint, clay, and crafting and yet entirely too clean to believably have been used for any of those since the last time the family had a birthday. Kibum is sitting in front of an easel, sketching in a basic body pose for another small sized practice portrait. He's already done four, but extra practice never hurt and it's not like the royal family can't afford more canvases.

Jonghyun is working standing up with his canvas on the table in front of him, dipping his fingers into paint and swirling them around. He meets Kibum's eye and wiggles his eyebrows up and down; Kibum chuckles. He does love his Jonghyun, blunt and straightforward and unashamed.

"For fun?" he asks. He'll suck a dick for fun.

"Yeah," Jonghyun says, a smile in his voice. "I've been spending all of these evenings with Minho this week and Taemin keeps doing the," he falls silent mid-sentence. Looking at him again, he's pointing his thumb towards his mouth and pushing his tongue into the opposite cheek at the same time. Kibum rolls his eyes. Of course. Jonghyun continues, "behind him and now I can't stop thinking about getting my dick sucked."

"Oh, I see," Kibum says, mock offended. "You want me to suck your dick so you can pretend it's Taemin the entire time."

"No," Jonghyun says defensively, "I just want to get my dick sucked. It doesn't have to be him."

"So it doesn't have to be me either? You'd be fine with anyone?"

"Noooooo, Kibummie," Jonghyun whines. "You know that's not–" again, Jonghyun stops mid-sentence. Kibum smirks to himself. He's caught on. Jonghyun shoves his shoulder so hard that he draws a jagged line right through his sketch, and then leans his cheek gently against the same shoulder when he straightens back up. "You’re so mean to me," he pouts.

Kibum pets his soft hair. He knows that Jonghyun means that with all of the love in his heart. "Yeah, well, if you think that's mean, get ready for this," he says, and leans in to kiss Jonghyun's cheek. Jonghyun makes one of his tiny cute happy noises, high-pitched and entirely pleased. Kibum blows a raspberry against his cheek next, just to make him laugh.

He does, straightening back up and returning to his painting. Kibum copies him, returning to his own. He could erase that big line and keep going, but he shrugs and grabs the canvas anyway. He tosses it into the pile of used ones and gets up to grab another. As he does, he thinks over their short conversation. Wrinkling his nose, he sits back down.

"Can't believe you can stand spending all that time with him," he mutters. Kibum gets annoyed just looking at Minho.

"He's nice ," Jonghyun sighs. "He's thoughtful and insightful and kind. He's not like his family. You just don't like him because he called you out on your hypocrisy within fifteen minutes of meeting him."

"I don't like him," Kibum starts in a hiss, and then takes a moment to calm himself. "Because he's royal." The word feels like curdled cheese in his mouth, as usual, as it should. "I know I don't need to tell you why I'm not wrong." He knows that Jonghyun knows as well as he does about the evils of the monarchy, blah blah blah, they're literally here to steal from them to fund the Rebellion against them.

"Yeah, whatever, eat the rich, destroy the monarchy, I know," Jonghyun says. Kibum doesn't need to look to know he’s rolling his eyes. "But the monarchy as an institution is not him as a person."

"Do not start not all royals ing me," Kibum grumbles. He doesn't need it. "It doesn't count with them, you know they're born–"

"Privilege, " Jonghyun starts loudly, stomping his foot on the ground, "is not an indictment of inherent ev–for the love of the fucking moon. I'm not having this argument with you again." He turns and glares at Kibum, pointing his hand towards him so sharply that a little glob of paint falls off of his finger and splats on the floor between them. "Are you going to suck my dick later or what?"

Kibum pouts. "Spoilsport," he grumbles. Jonghyun knows that arguing is one of his favorite pastimes. “Yeah," he adds. Sex is another one of his favorite pastimes.

Pleased, Jonghyun wiggles as he wipes up the paint on the floor. They fall silent, each of them working on their paintings. Kibum knows that Jonghyun isn't confident in his artistry skills, but he is doing a good job swirling in a background even if he's too afraid to start blocking in a person. For his part, Kibum just sketches in another pose. He's decided to just start a bunch of paintings and then pick the one that he likes most to actually finish. The hardest part is really going to be trying to copy Krystal’s art style, but he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

"Bling? Key?"

Of course. Kibum sighs long through his nose, not turning to the doorway. Of course Minho would show up when they were talking about him.

"Good afternoon, your highness," Jonghyun chirps. He waves and more paint drips to the floor. Cursing, he wipes it up. Out of the corner of his eye, Kibum can see him smiling, biting his lip, his ears flushed pink. Again, of course. "Did you want to speak with us?" Jonghyun asks.

"Just with Key right now, actually." His voice is closer, two pairs of footsteps drawing near, and Kibum didn't need his body to raise his hackles to know that Minho has come to a stop behind him. He didn't need the internal reminder of how annoyed he still is that Minho got under his skin last week. He hasn't had time to get over himself and stop being embarrassed yet.

"Oh," Jonghyun says.

"Great," Kibum mutters.

"Key?” Minho tries again. "Would you consent a conversation with me? Or to setting a time for us to have a conversation?"

Would he consent to it? What the absolute fuck kind of question is that. He shoots a glance at Minho, trying to read him, trying to figure out why he's being so overly careful. Minho stands with his hands clasped behind him, calm and collected, Taemin at his elbow. Kibum sighs. "I'm free now," he says, gesturing to the empty space in front of him. Better get it over with quickly. "What are we talking about?"

There's a short silence, like Minho didn't expect him to agree so easily, and then he walks around to face Kibum. His fancy little prince robes sweep over the floor and flow around his body when he turns. "I was thinking about our first conversation," he says, "and I wanted to apologize for losing my temper.”

“Oof.” Instantly, Jonghyun stands up. He gathers all of his paint and carries it to the sink where he washes his hands quickly. "Not that I wouldn't love to sit here and watch this," he says, walking back to them and drying his hands on his shirt, "but I would rather be stranded in the desert. I'm going to go hang out in the kitchens." He puts a bracing hand on Minho's shoulder. "Good luck, highness," he says. To Kibum, he waves with three fingers and says, "later." And then he's gone through the door.

Minho watches him go, eyebrows furrowed, confused. Kibum watches him go, shaking his head. Coward. He turns back to his canvas and tells Minho, "I don't care for apologies.”

"Oh?” Minho's eyebrows rise up behind his bangs. For a moment, he hesitates, thinking. Then he says, "may I ask why?"

"Sure can," Kibum says. He lets the silence after that stretch on, expectant and pointed, until Minho sighs and says, "okay, why?” Only then does he answer, "by the time you get to ‘sorry,’ it's already happened. Sorry isn't going to fix it, or make it not happen. It's empty words." He doesn't have the time or the patience for something that amounts to nothing. "The best apology is changed behavior."

Again, Minho stays silent, thinking over his words. Since he's being given time, Kibum works more on his sketch. He kind of likes the pose that he has now. He just has to figure out how the robes drape over the body. He also argues with himself a little, grumpy. He knows that he was only so distant and standoffish to Minho last week because he was trying to get on his nerves, but that doesn't mean he has to stop now. He shouldn't let his love of talking drag him so low that he would willingly have a conversation with the prince.

Still. Maybe he could use this opportunity to see what the fuck Jonghyun is talking about. He knows how their argument usually goes; Jonghyun admits that no, it's not wrong for Kibum to be wary and closed off to those with power, and Kibum concedes that yes, most of the issue on a person-to-person basis is learned behaviors and not necessarily any inherent negative traits. Kibum is too harsh and Jonghyun is too soft. It's the same as all of their other arguments. Maybe Kibum could, just this once, put their hypothetical conclusions to the test.

Plus, he just had such a good idea to help with his sketching.

"An apology–"

"Hold on." Kibum interrupts Minho, glancing between him and his canvas. He makes a rectangle with his fingers, frames up the canvas, and then holds them up to put Minho in the frame instead. "Step back?" he asks. Minho, after a moment’s frown, obeys. Kibum checks the position again and nods. Good. "Bend your right knee," he orders next. "Turn your left foot out. Left hand on your hip. Right arm 90 degrees at the elbow. Hand limp. Pinky up a little bit. Look to your left. Turn towards me. More. Good. Perfect." Kibum smiles between the real life Minho and the little sketch Minho. They're practically identical. "Continue," he says, starting to lightly pencil in the robes.

"An apology," Minho starts, and Kibum is almost impressed by how calm he sounds. There's just the tiniest hint of sharpness in his voice like he's suppressing it on purpose. Interesting. "Is the start of changed behavior, I think. It's an acknowledgement of something done wrong. I don't think you can start growing unless you admit that you need to grow in the first place."

Hmm. Very interesting. Definitely never something Kibum thought he would hear coming out of a noble’s mouth. Point for Jonghyun, he guesses.

"I suppose," he says. That wasn't really his issue, though. "But I don't see why you need to announce the start of your growth." He doesn't have a problem with the meaning behind the apology, more the reasons for doing it. "You don't need to tell me that you've done something wrong and you feel bad about it. I already know that." He glances quickly at Minho, trying to see if that got any reaction. It didn't; Minho is still standing perfectly posed, only looking at Kibum with his eyes. His jawline forms a sharp point, handsome and eye-catching. Distracted, disappointed, Kibum draws in the folds of his robes on the floor.

"That you would come all the way here to find me and tell me seems performative. Like you're not doing it for me, but for your own guilt." He pauses, smirks a little, and decides to tease Minho with his favorite word. "Seems almost sel–"

“Don't.” The word comes out of Minho loud, sudden, and almost harsh, so much that Kibum almost drops his pencil. But when he looks at Minho, already his eyes are closed and he's breathing in so deeply that Kibum can see his chest rising and falling. He watches Minho deflate, his hand unclench on his hip, his face settle back into neutrality. He opens his eyes again and, meeting Kibum's gaze, says, "don't. Say that to me. Please. I can't...," he looks down and exhales slowly through his mouth. "I can't deal with it today."

Kibum examines him quietly, entirely intrigued. One sentence, but so much information. He considers saying it anyway, just to see what would happen, just to see how the prince would react to him disobeying a direct order, but over Minho's shoulder, he catches Taemin's eye. His glare, more like. Taemin shakes his head a fraction of an inch from side to side.

Kibum huffs through his nose. "Fine," he says. If it's so important that even Taemin is serious about it, then fine. Besides. Minho did say please. Kibum wouldn't want to be rude. "But you understand what I mean." Apparently upsetting insults aside, Kibum did have a point.

"I do," Minho says after another breath of a pause. "I think. I can see where you're coming from. But." Again, he takes a moment to think. Kibum barely suppresses a roll of the eyes. Why did he want to come here and talk if he hadn't entirely thought out what to say? He erases a mark and leans around the easel to see Minho's robes better, taking his time to redraw it. "I still think...," Minho says slowly. "An apology can be important... for the wronged party... to receive that acknowledgement and validation... of their pain. Instead of ignoring it."

Kibum eyes him over the canvas, suspicious. He already told Minho that he doesn't need that. "Is this your way of trying to tell me you want me to apologize too?" he asks bluntly.

"No," Minho says, and he looks and sounds so surprised at the accusation that Kibum begrudgingly believes him. "I’m sharing my opinion. I don't expect an apology from you."

"But you would like one," Kibum says. He can tell, just from Minho's description of apologies, that he holds them in high regard. And, like he thought, a quick frown shadows the prince’s face before he schools it away.

"I would appreciate one, yes," he says, "but I've been thinking about it and understand why you dislike me. And I understand that I'm not entitled to anything from you."

"Hmm." Kibum very much doubts that Minho truly understands why he dislikes him, but he does like the admission that Kibum doesn't owe him anything. Especially considering how Kibum treated him last week. Another point for Jonghyun. He could make an exception to, as Minho puts it, acknowledge and validate his pain, but he could also just not do that. He doesn't make exceptions for anyone, and definitely not a prince. "That's another thing," he says instead, pointing at Minho with his pencil. "You say you've been thinking about it. Why? It was over a week ago."

"Well," Minho says, and he's surprised again. "It was only–"

He stops at a sudden quiet but still audible raspberry from behind him. Taemin is rolling his eyes hard, lips flapping through the noise. Abruptly, he turns and walks to the wall of the room. He rustles around in the pottery stuff, then walks to the table, sits down, throws a slab of clay onto it, and starts playing with it. Just pushing it around, squishing it, forming it into nothing. Kibum raises his eyebrows at him. Bold move.

Though, maybe not, because Minho doesn't seem to mind. He shakes his head, but he actually smiles, a fond little thing. And that, more than anything, makes Kibum stop and think. Any other noble, he is one hundred percent certain, would have at the very least reprimanded their attendant for that. For the interruption, for the clear display of boredom, for abandoning his post without permission, for getting his hands dirty.

But not Minho. Minho looks back to Kibum and continues as if he wasn't interrupted. Annoyed, Kibum gives yet another point to Jonghyun. At this rate, he might have to admit that Jonghyun was right about the prince. He shudders at the thought.

"I like to resolve things," Minho is saying. "If there is animosity between me and a person, I want to take the time to figure it out and then clear it up. Don't you?"

"If I wanted to clear up animosity between us, I would have done it that day," Kibum says. There's no point in waiting around. "If I thought there was still animosity between us, I would have cleared it up by now," he adds. It's honestly news to him that the prince is still bothered by their conversation. Has been bothered this entire time. He's almost flattered that Minho cares that much about him.

"I–do you not?" Minho frowns. He starts to move, to scratch the side of his head, before Kibum points sharply at him. He's still sketching. Minho freezes, then returns to the correct pose. He says, "you're not still mad about it?"

"I mean," Kibum shrugs. "Do I still dislike you? Yes. But do I still care about what you said a week ago? No. I'm over it. All you're doing is bringing up something that isn't important anymore."

"But that's–have you ever thought–"

Kibum is becoming very familiar with the habit of Minho's to stop himself and take a breath. To close his eyes, breathe in, breathe out. To calm himself, to revert back to prim and proper. He's becoming very familiar and very annoyed by it. What's the point of having an argument if Minho is going to hold back the whole time? If he's not going to treat Kibum like he's worth respecting with his real emotions? There's no flow, no cadence to the conversation. Kibum is finishing up the details of the robes around Minho's shoulders and he doesn't have anything new to think about while he does it except how there's nothing new to think about.

"Finish the sentence," he orders.

“Excuse me?" Minho, still in the process of calming himself down, blinks at him. Kibum waves his hand in circles towards him.

"Have I ever thought what?" he prompts. "You had a thought. Finish it. It's not like I can't handle it.”

Minho still takes a moment to bring his face back to neutral, but at least he says, "have you ever thought that other people see things differently than you?” His voice is still calm, but there's more of an edge to it, more life. Kibum can't help his triumphant smile. Here they go. "That even though something isn't important to you, it might be important to someone else? That you're not the center of the–" he stops himself again. Kibum snorts. Coward. Should have just said it.

"I have, actually," he says airily. He has thought about that a whole lot. "But just because other people think differently to me, that doesn't mean I have to change myself to fit their view." Their opinions do not have to change his opinions. "You can stop posing now," he adds. He's done with the robes. He just needs to draw the face on top of the guide circle, and it’s as he has that thought that he realizes that he's never actually drawn a face before. Fuck.

"No," Minho concedes, relaxing and turning to fully face Kibum. "But I do think it means that you should have the grace to consider other people's points of view before you project your own onto them like it's the final word."

And now Kibum is conflicted. Upset. Because what Minho just said... was right. He was right. It's been something that Kibum has been working on for years, and he cannot fucking believe that he just had to have a morality reminder from a fucking prince.

He stops keeping track of Jonghyun's points. He glares at his canvas, drawing a little frog where Minho's head should go. He’s embarrassed, too, because he guesses that he has to admit that Minho isn't as self-absorbed and cruel as he at first thought. That he can be thoughtful, and kind, and compassionate.

Annoying.

Also annoying is the realization that he's never drawn a crown before, either, and he doesn't even remember what Minho's crown is supposed to look like. He only wears it during formal events and Kibum hasn't been paying attention to him during all of the fancy formal bullshit he's been to this past week and a half. He knows that Jonghyun has, through his touristy wandering of the castle, figured out where the royal artifact room is and what the security around it is like, but maybe the two of them could convince Minho to let them inside of it for a little bit. To practice drawing the crown, and also to see what they'll be dealing with in there on the big night. But that'll be something for another time.

For now, he doodles a generic little crown on the frog and tosses his pencil onto the table. "I'm done," he announces. "What do you think?" He picks up the canvas and turns it around to show Minho.

Taemin bursts into laughter.

Loud and hiccuppy, just as obnoxious and just as warm as Kibum remembers. Kibum spares him a rare smile, then turns a raised eyebrow to the prince.

And is surprised to see him smiling as well, before he covers it with his hand, trying to smother it and failing.

"The resemblance is uncanny," he says, and his voice shakes with suppressed laughter. Kibum guesses, if he can't have the enjoyment of insulting Minho, at least he gets the flattery of making him laugh. Even if it does score Jonghyun yet another point.

"Well, good," Kibum says. "Because I'm done for the day." He's done enough sketches and he's had enough of this conversation. "I'm going to clean up and go find Bling," he says.

"Oh," Minho says. There’s something in his voice; not exactly surprise, but disappointment, maybe? Like he wanted to continue talking. Still, "very well," he says. He gives Kibum the royal bow. “Thank you for giving me your time. Taemin?"

"Yep," Taemin says, popping up from his seat. He grabs his mess of clay and tosses it back into the bag he got it from, washes his hands, and is dignified and elegant at Minho's elbow again within a minute. Together, they head for the door.

Kibum watches them go. Already, he's thinking of their conversation, repeating it to himself, picking it apart. It's a bad habit of his. But it does remind him of something, and he calls out, "your highness?"

In the doorway, Minho turns, humming in question. Kibum purses his lips. He's just realized. Minho didn't even come in to apologize for the right thing. "Last week," he says, tapping his finger on the edge of his canvas. "I wasn't angry because you lost your temper. That was the one part of the conversation I did like.”

"Really?" Minho asks, eyebrows hidden behind his bangs. "What were you angry about then?" he asks.

And Kibum sighs hard and sharp, wrinkles his nose, shoves himself into saying the words. "I was angry because you were right," he says. It hurts his pride to say it, but not as much as it would hurt his pride to not admit a fault. "I was projecting and I don't know you. I just know about you."

Jonghyun is never going to let him live this down.

He's never going to let himself live this down either, because when he says that, Minho fucking smirks. He actually smirks, the smug fucking asshole, for a fraction of a second before he smoothly fixes it into a perfectly average smile.

"Thank you for saying so," he says graciously, which pisses Kibum off even more. fs Minho is going to be cocky than he could at least have the confidence to revel in it instead of acting all humble. "If I may ask," he adds, "you liked when I lost my temper? Why? I thought you thought it was a royal temper tantrum."

Kibum snorts. "I would rather you had a temper tantrum," he admits. "Then at least I would know you were being honest. All of this shit you were doing today? Suppressing your emotions? I hate that. I don't want you to treat me like I'm a baby that you have to be careful around just because you're royal . I want you to treat me like you would your peers. Equally." He doesn't know why he's saying all of this to Minho. There's not really any point. It's not like Minho is going to do it. And it's not like they’re going to have a lot of opportunities to talk after this anyway. The birthday month is already almost halfway over.

But at least he's said it. At least Minho has heard it. Based off of their conversation today, he might even think about it.

He certainly thinking about it now, staring wordlessly at Kibum. No, not at Kibum. Passed him. Through him. For a long, silent moment until he suddenly blinks, shakes his head, and smiles. But it's a sad smile, small, distant.

"I do treat you like I do my peers," he says. Once again, he gives Kibum the royal bow. "It was nice speaking to you.”

He turns and walks out, leaving Kibum with a lot to think about.

Jonghyun has a problem.

Well, he has three problems.

Well, he has a lot of problems. Most of which have followed him around since he popped out of the womb, and a few others that he's picked up along the way. But more specifically, and more recently, he has three problems that need solutions very quickly.

First is that he thinks maybe he's a little bit in love with Minho.

Jonghyun is easy; he's a hopeless romantic. He crushes on people all the time. He flirts for fun. He craves that feeling of butterflies, the rush of enamoration, the fireworks and heartbursts that come with a new attraction. Two weeks ago, he was feeling all of that for Minho, and that was fine. That was fun.

But that was two weeks ago, and this is now, and all of those feelings are still here. They're still here and they're bigger . Usually they're gone within a few days, replaced by just fondness, friendship, memories of blushes and fun. The first time Jonghyun felt like this for longer than a week, it ended in a heartbreak so huge that it still hurts today. The second time, he wound up married to Kibum. Based on his odds, he doesn't have high hopes for how it'll turn out with Minho.

But no matter how often he tells himself that, his heart still flutters, his breath still catches, his mouth still automatically smiles whenever the prince comes near. He looks at Minho and he feels a song in his heart. He looks at Minho and hears a song in his head, a melody and a rhythm and a harmony, lyrics jumping uninvited to the front of his brain. Lyrics about a universe, about a satellite, about the desperate need to be found in a crowd of thousands.

And all of this is on top of the guilt, the ever growing sense that he's not just going to steal from Minho, but that he's going to betray him. Because they've been having evening tea with each other every day since they met, and Jonghyun considers himself an expert at telling when people are into him, and he knows that Minho is into him. He can see it in his smile, in his bitten lips, in the way he looks at Jonghyun's hands like all he wants to do is reach out and hold them. He never meant to find his way into the prince's heart, just into his treasure room.

And all of that is on top of the fact that he overheard the conversation that Minho had with his family a few days ago about the earthquake. He'd been scoping out more of the castle, exploring hallways, slipping in and out of the hidden passageways that have been forgotten about by the royals for generations but remembered by the Rebellion for just as long. He was in one when he heard the whole conversation and now he has that on his conscience as well.

Every day since then he’s been struggling to figure out what to say about it, or if he even should say something at all. How can he offer comfort and advice to someone that he's deceiving? To someone that he's never going to see again when the month is over? And is it even his place to give advice to a prince about his family anyway? He's gotten very comfortable with Minho, but he doesn't know if he's that comfortable.

That's his first problem.

His second is that he's still not a fucking artist. He can copy Krystal’s art style, easy, but that's it. He can't copy her natural talent for seeing an image in her mind and putting it down on paper. He can't copy the years of her practiced skill of lines, colors, techniques. He can't tap into her stunning ability to take a solitary emotion, expand it out into every single possible facet of its existence, and then condense all of that down into a single two by three foot canvas. He can't take the overwhelming feeling of longing, of yearning, of potential and possibility and infinite choice that he can feel fighting to burst out of Minho and just splat that out of a few bottles of paint. All he can do is get his hands dirty and feel bad.

He can paint a portrait of Minho, but not the one that Minho deserves, and his body seems to have decided that if it can't do that, then it won't start at all. Jonghyun has painted a different background every single day, but when it comes to actually putting the prince down on the canvas, he can't do it. And the portrait ceremony is next week. If he doesn't come up with something to present then he's going to get executed before they even have a chance to steal the crown jewels.

His third problem is that as he is sitting here in the garden under the stars agonizing over Minho, Minho is walking towards him. Closer and closer, Taemin at his elbow, a smile on his face, moonlight illuminating his cheeks before he walks into the warm lamplight. Jonghyun's heart soars and his stomach drops. It's a very weird feeling and he would like to never feel it again. He stands up from the low wall he was sitting on and bows, remembering his manners.

"Hello again, Bling," Minho says in his warm voice. "I almost didn't see you. It's getting dark earlier these days, isn't it?"

"Ah... yeah,” Jonghyun agrees. Winter, solstice, the eternal shifting and expanding of the universe. The usual. "I don't mind," he says. He points up at the sky. "Makes it easier to see the stars."

Minho looks up and just for a moment, the stars are reflected in his eyes. Vast, glittering, endless, an entire universe condensed. Jonghyun forgets how to breathe until Minho looks away and smiles at him again. "Pretty," he says.

What a fucking understatement.

Quickly, Jonghyun hoists himself back up on the wall. He picks up one of the cups of tea he had next to him and offers it to the prince. "Jinki had it ready for me today,” he says.

"Oh?" Minho takes the cup and hands it to Taemin; Taemin takes it and wanders into the rows of snapdragons to play with the flowers as usual. Jonghyun gives Minho a second cup and picks up the third for himself. "I suppose we have been doing this every day," Minho says. He turns to lean against the wall next to Jonghyun. Like this, their heights are equal. Like this, all Jonghyun has to do is turn to the side to meet Minho's eyes. He stares into his tea cup and takes a sip. "I do like Jinki," Minho hums. "I wish I knew more sign language. I try to learn what I can, but I don't have much time. But I enjoy talking to him anyway. He's very kind."

"He's sweet," Jonghyun agrees. Sweet and gentle, a perfectly acceptable person to fall in love with, and Jonghyun got over his butterflies for him in three days. Multiple times; it was only once or twice a year that Jinki could get time out of the castle to visit them at their branch’s headquarters, and every time, Jonghyun fell in love with him again. But every time, he got over it. They make a game of it, the two of them, dating for a few days out of the year, just for fun.

Jonghyun and Minho sit in a comfortable silence. They're long past the charade that they're spending time together for Jonghyun to get inspiration for the portrait. They haven't talked about it in at least a week. Instead they just make small talk, enjoy each other's company, and never address their attraction to each other. Jonghyun figures Minho isn't bringing it up because it wouldn't be proper, as a prince. He's thankful, he guesses, because Minho avoiding it makes it easier for him to continue cowering around the topic as well.

A cold winter breeze rushes past them and Minho shivers, drawing his robes tighter around himself. He glances at Jonghyun, then does a double-take, and exhales the softest laugh, tilting his head. "Don't you ever get cold?" he asks.

Jonghyun glances down at himself; he's in his usual shirt, trousers, and boots, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He chuckles, sheepish, and shrugs. "Not really," he admits. "I'm just naturally hot.”

He says it instinctively, with a grin, even as his brain instantly starts screaming at him. Stop fucking flirting, it yells, we're making it worse.

"It's one of the reasons I like winter more than summer," he tacks on quickly, trying to fix it. "I get sweaty easy. Summer is awful. Too hot." And now he's oversharing, which isn't fixing it at all. Panicking, his brain spins a wheel of things to say and lands on, "I heard you arguing with your family the other day."

Fuck.

"You what?" Minho frowns, turning completely to Jonghyun. "In–about the? The earthquake?"

"Yes," Jonghyun says, and then, finally, his brain does something right. He stands up and bows, horrified at himself. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't–I didn't mean to, um, I wasn't–eavesdropping, or–"

"Bling." Big hands, warm hands, gentle hands, on his shoulders, pulling him up. As he straightens, Minho's hands hover just around his cheeks, like he's going to cup them, before he folds them in front of himself. "It’s all right," he says softly. "I'm not angry.”

Oh. Jonghyun swallows. Anger wasn't really his worry, but that is a relief. Since he's apparently started this conversation, he's going to have to finish it. And finishing it will be much easier if Minho isn't angry. It's always easier to tell the truth when the one receiving the truth isn't angry.

"I'm confused," Minho says. "How could you have overheard?"

Well. Maybe not the whole truth. But that part is easy. Jonghyun is used to it.

"I was," he starts. "I was exploring around the castle. You know how beautiful I think it is in there." He's told Minho that enough times, and he really means it. "And I wasn't paying much attention to where I was going. And I found myself a little lost in all of the hallways? I saw some guards by a door at one point, but I got scared that. You know." He pauses sheepishly, looking down. "If I was in a place where they needed guards at the door, then I probably shouldn't be there. So I went around. And then I heard your voice. Through the wall. And I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I was just curious, and then. I mean. It wasn't exactly quiet."

"Ah," Minho says. He scratches the side of his head with one finger. "You're right about that." He steps back, leaning against the wall once more. Quietly, hesitantly, Jonghyun hops back up next to him. Minho has a faraway look in his eyes, not quite like he's thinking. More like he's remembering. Jonghyun twiddles his fingers, searching for something to say. Something lighthearted. Something simple.

"Your family, um," he tries. "They don't keep their voices down, do they? Not like you. If that's okay to say." He adds on that last part quickly, not sure if he's overstepped or not.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Wait–really?" Minho comes back to himself all at once, his distant expression snapping into focus on Jonghyun's face.

"Um," Jonghyun says. He's not entirely sure which part Minho is questioning. "Yeah," he says. "I could barely hear you, but I heard every word from them." He almost wants to say it must be a royal thing, the confidence to always be heard, but he can't truthfully say that when Minho is right here in front of him.

Again, Minho goes distant for a moment. He frowns at the ground and mouths words to himself, frowns harder, and then seems to remember that he was in a conversation and looks up again. "I thought you meant–I thought I was the one that was." He hesitates, then shakes his head. "Never mind," he says.

Jonghyun does mind, though. "Because your father told you you were yelling?" he asks gently. Silence from Minho again, but then a nod. Up and down, just once.

And now here they are. The crux of the matter. The words that have been lurking inside of Jonghyun's throat since the day he first heard conversation. The words that, if he chose to say them to anyone else in the noble class, would get him severely reprimanded. At best.

But not to Minho, he doesn't think.

"Highness," he says, "if I may?" He waits for Minho to look up, to meet his eyes, and then decides that it's not enough. He stands up off of the wall again, facing Minho. Looking up at him, his deep eyes, his pretty, soft face, Jonghyun itches to hug him, to hold his hand at least, but even he thinks that would be too much. Instead, he just says what he needs to say: "you don't deserve to be spoken to like they did.”

"I... what? Like what?" Minho is confused, his brows furrowed, his head tilted. "I mean, my brother, maybe, can be rude, but that's just. That's just how brothers–"

" No , highness," Jonghyun says. He shouldn't have interrupted, he knows that, but he needs Minho to understand this. More than anything, his heart pounds in his chest with the all-consuming need to tell Minho that he deserves better. "It's not just that," he says. "It's–it was everything, the, the insults, and the dismissal of your feelings, the overexaggeration of your feelings? The way they would tell you how much they cared about you one moment and then demean you the next? The lying, the–they made it sound as though your only worth was that you were a prince, and anything human about you was wrong. They called you overemotional and selfish for caring about people, and they acted like you had no reason to be upset, I mean–I knew about the earthquake, I knew about it on the first day, and it's literally your duty to care for your citizens, of course you would be–it wasn't right , it wasn't fair , and they made it out like you were the one that was being absurd, and. You don't. I don't. I don't understand how. You're not like them, highness. You don't belong here."

That was a lot more than he meant to say. Jonghyun is a little breathless, panting, his mouth dry, his eyes wet. It's the tendency of his to, once he gets started on something that he's passionate about, to accidentally summon a waterfall of words that spill out of his lips with no filter. It embarrasses him, but it's already happened. He’s said everything and Minho has heard everything, and now they're in this moment together, underneath the moonlight, Jonghyun's heart beating so loudly that he can hear it in his ears.

And Minho is silent.

For a long time, he’s silent, staring at the cobbled stone path, his knuckles white on the wall. Jonghyun bites his lip. Now that the rush is leaving him, he's remembering everything he said, regretting it, feeling guilt for it. Maybe. Maybe it was too much.

Definitely, he thinks as the silence goes on. Definitely too much, especially at the end. "Highness?” he says hesitantly. "I'm... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…. It was only one conversation. I know... that I don't really know what your family is like. Forget I said anything, please."

And still, Minho sits in silence, until he shakes his head.

"No," he says. His voice sounds far away, and he rubs his hand over his face and through his hair. "No, it's... I'm not angry," he says. He looks at Jonghyun and seems to come back to himself, a little. "I just... have a lot on my mind. Suddenly. If you can believe it." His smile is weak, but not forced. Jonghyun nods his head, not sure what to say. "I don't... I’d like to stop talking about this, Bling. For now."

Jonghyun smiles now, chuckling softly. "Bling," He says. "Such a silly name, isn't it? For such a serious moment." It's his nickname, his artist name, his code name, his secret identity when he's doing Rebellion work. But it's never fooled anyone. "You can call me Jonghyun.”

"Jonghyun." In Minho's voice, his name is gorgeous. Minho stands up straight, then stumbles; automatically, Jonghyun reaches out to steady him, holding his arms. Minho's hands grip onto him as if in response. He pulls Jonghyun closer to get his footing, but then he doesn't let go. He just looks down at Jonghyun, and Jonghyun looks up at him, closer than they've ever been. When Minho flicks his eyes even lower down, Jonghyun swears he could count his eyelashes. "Very well then, Jonghyun," he says. "On one condition."

Jonghyun can't help it; he flicks his eyes down as well, watching Minho's lips form his words. He takes his time dragging them back up Minho's face. He draws them over his soft cheeks, covered with makeup that can't disguise acne scars and pockmarks. He pauses on the scar just underneath his right eye. A small, horizontal line right on his cheekbone, like a cut on purpose. Further up, his eyes, dark brown, warm, full of so much emotion that Jonghyun can't begin to comprehend the weight of it. Eventually he remembers that he's supposed to reply and asks, "what's that, highness?"

"Only if you call me Minho."

Jonghyun's heart skips a beat. "Minho," he says, and he hopes Minho thinks that his name sounds just as beautiful in Jonghyun's mouth as it feels. He hopes that he is as beautiful in Minho's eyes as Minho is in his. He leans forward, just an inch, and hopes that Minho leans forward too. And when Minho does, when they're so close that they're sharing each other's breaths, Jonghyun closes his eyes and hopes–

A crash, a shatter, the skitter of debris all over the ground. Jonghyun jumps a mile, his hands flying up and his eyes going wide, his heart hammering in his chest. Minho jumps so hard that he has to grab onto the wall to catch himself.

"Fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck. My fault. Sorry. I'll fix it. Fuck." Taemin, cursing and mumbling, bobs up and down in apologetic bows on the other side of the wall. He crouches over a huge fallen pot of white flowers and lugs it back up, grimacing and cursing as he inspects the big chip in its side, the pebbles and dirt spread all over the walkway.

Minho turns away, closing his eyes and resting his hands around the back of his neck, breathing out slowly towards the sky. When he does, Taemin holds his hands out at Jonghyun and mouths, what the fuck?

Jonghyun gives him the middle finger. He's lucky that Jonghyun basically adopted him when he joined the Rebellion all of those years back.

"It's all right, Taemin," Minho says evenly. He's still speaking to the sky, but he tilts his head to watch Taemin, who has already gone back to worrying over the pot like nothing changed. "It can be fixed," Minho says. "Are you hurt?"

Taemin mumbles out a reply; Jonghyun sighs, ruffling his fingers through his hair. Well. He's grateful, he guesses. No need to dig himself so deep that he can't crawl back out.

He laughs, quietly, rubbing his palms into his eyes. He thinks he's already there.

He sits on the wall again, picking up his long-forgotten tea and taking a cold sip. Minho finishes checking on Taemin and returns to his original position as well, leaning next to Jonghyun. They exist in silence, the two of them, until Jonghyun glances at Minho and Minho glances at Jonghyun and then both of them glance away, and then both of them grin and meet each other's eyes again.

"So," Jonghyun says casually. "Where were we?"

"We were," Minho starts, and then, suddenly, beautifully, he flushes a bright red. Jonghyun can't help it. He bursts into laughter, stifling it into the back of his wrist. At least, if he survives this and gets to go home, he'll have something extra to brag about. He'll be the only one that can say he made the prince blush.

"I meant before that," he smirks, nudging Minho with his elbow. Minho hides his entire face behind his hands.

The showcase room has been cleaned from top to bottom. Dusted, scrubbed, and shined so it gleams with an almost artificial brilliance. It's decorated in rich blues and purples because those are the colors that the king thought would most match the robes that the family is wearing tonight. The queen picked out the robes, long and flowing and tied together with elegant sashes delicately embroidered with grapes and berries to subtly remind everyone what they gained by defeating their agricultural neighbors to the south in battle over the summer. Vases of flowers picked out by the crown prince are set in intervals between the closed windows.

On the walls, there are countless portraits of the royal family in neat rows. One wall is entirely dedicated to ancestors of the family, one portrait of each dating back hundreds of years. The rest of the walls are covered in the current family. Each member has 2 portraits for every year of their life, all proudly displayed in the center room of the castle.

Guests mill around the spotless tile floor, mingling and appreciating the art. Nobles from up and down the country, dignitaries, and lords lucky enough to buy entrance to the event alike praise the neat rows of portraits, praise the family, praise the country. Servants weave among them offering drinks, food, and assistance. The two artists of the year hover in the corner, allowed to be in the present company as long as they stay in their place next to their covered portraits.

None of the other artists that the family have commissioned in previous years were restricted in their movement.

Minho always has been. He is not to get up from his seat on the stage in the center of the room with the rest of his family. He is to stay here, letting everyone else come up to him if they wish to speak. He is to graciously accept praise and compliments from people that look at his royal rings before they look at his face.

He is to sit here in a too tight robe of a color that he dislikes, surrounded by flowers that make his throat itch, and watch other people treat his birthday like a stepping stone to curry favor with those of higher class than themselves.

In between listening to people fawn over his parents and thinly veiled attempts to gain his affection, Minho studies the wall of portraits in front of him. In one long line, he can see his entire life, doubled. Him as a tiny baby, smoothed out and given even skin tone by generous painters. Him as a toddler, big eyes and fat cheeks, already wearing his four rings on his pudgy little hand. 10 years old, his hair sleek and brushed as a 10 year old’s never is, wearing an expression of calm and serenity that a 10 year old never has. 15, the year he got his scar, though no one would ever know it to look at the portraits. 17, standing tall and proud, jaw stronger, nose straighter, cheekbones higher. 20, looking mature and wise beyond his years. 23, just one year ago, perfect in every way.

Every single one, composed in a way that makes him look larger than life. Every single one, posed so that his rings are prominently on display. Every single one, colored so that his crown is the brightest pop of color. He looks powerful, decisive, regal, stoic. He looks like he is a credit to his status, an accomplishment that the family can be proud of.

38 Minhos look down on Minho, and Minho looks back up at 38 strangers.

But he's sure he's being dramatic. He tends to get emotional this far into his birthday month, when the weeks of formal events and socializing without break start to really pack together. The portraits are meant to show him at his best. His most formal, his most regal, a depiction of the current prince to be passed down through history. In past years, he's wondered why his best self always appears to be so much better than he feels. So idealized, so glorified, so exaggerated. All of his best traits, none of his worst. But he would soothe himself, remind himself in his mother’s voice that he is a beacon, an example of what to strive for. If he were to show weakness, the crown would look weak. He needs to look strong so that the people can have confidence. He needs to look strong in public so he doesn't embarrass his family any further. His weakness can be on his own time, in private.

This year, a different voice lurks in the back of his mind. They treat you like your only worth is because you are a prince, and anything human about you is wrong.

Could that really be it? Minho doesn't know. He's been thinking about it for a week straight and he just doesn't know. He doesn't think his family would be that cruel. They care about him. They're kind to him. They sacrifice so much for him. He can just imagine their reactions if he were to voice his thoughts out loud; his brother’s scoff, his mother's shock, his father's disappointment.

And yet. He looks at all of these portraits of himself and all he sees is what he's never going to be good enough to be.

He's pulled from his thoughts by the gong of the castle bell. 8:00. Time for the portrait presentations. Time for Jonghyun and Key to show what they've done.

But first, another speech. The royal speaker, a proper a little woman that only ever says "yes your highness” to Minho, steps onto the stage in front of the family. She unfurls a scroll and reads from it about the ancestry, the generations of wealth and splendor, blah blah blah, and finishes it with a sentence about Minho's continued life extending the marvelous lineage of royalty. She rolls the scroll shut, announces Key, and steps off of the stage, not a hair out of place.

Key, head held high, hair coiffed up, eyebrow scar severely accentuated with makeup, strides through the crowd and up onto the stage without sparing a single glance for any of the nobles. Seeing not just his pride and his confidence, but the bravery he’s showing by not disguising those emotions, Minho can't help but feel fond. The two of them have exchanged polite small talk in the past week ever since their conversation in the art room and, Minho might dare say, Key has been warming up to him. At the very least, he likes Minho more than he likes everyone else in this room right now, save Jonghyun and the servants, and he's not afraid to show it. He sure does stick to his principles.

A servant carries his covered painting on a stand, but he also holds several smaller canvases under his arm. Minho sits up a little straighter, curious. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his father frown. Even though it's not directed at him, he feels that frown as a chill throughout his every nerve.

"Your majesties," Key says, bowing down to each one of them in order of importance. He straightens up the fourth time facing Minho, smirking. Just barely, so much that Minho almost doesn't see it, he twitches his scarred eyebrow up and down. An invitation to reply. A challenge. He knows that Minho is bound to the annual rehearsal of this event and he's daring him to go off-script.

Minho compromises by giving him his own small hooked smile in return. An emotion, at least, an honest display of his amusement at Key’s boldness. Key exhales softly, a snort to Minho but an innocent release of breath to everyone else.

"When I received the invitation to paint your royal highness this year, I was intrigued," Key says, projecting his voice so the entire showcase room can hear. "Me, an unknown artist from a poor village in the northern mountains? What could I offer that piqued a prince’s interest? So I decided to come offer my service, if only to see for myself why I was chosen. To understand what it was about your highness that would make you consider me.

“From our first meeting I was...," and Key pauses here as though searching for the right word. He makes direct eye contact with Minho, though, with just the barest hint of mirth in his eyes that Minho can't help but match. He knows they're both thinking the same thing. Hostile is the word that Minho would put to it. "Cautious," is what Key chooses to say, the word surrounded by a smile. "And I wasn't quite sure that I liked who I met. I'm still not sure.”

Someone in the audience actually gasps ; Minho fights the gargantuan urge to roll his eyes. And people say he's dramatic. Key looks all the more smug for it. Of course he does.

"But I am sure that your highness is much more than I thought you were. We've only spoken at length a few times, but the impression that you left on me after our last conversation was strong. So strong that I felt as if one single portrait would not be enough to completely capture your aura." On Minho's left, his mother sits up, leans forward, opens her mouth as if to protest, to declare that only one portrait was commissioned, only one is needed, and probably add on that Key won't be compensated for the extra. Key continues before she can speak, so smooth and seamless it's like he didn't even notice her, rendering any reprimand for interrupting or cutting her off unfounded.

"The official portrait is finished and can stand on its own," he says, "but my hope is that these smaller companion pieces will add context and depth to the whole." He swings the stack of small canvases out from under his arm to hold them in both hands, looking down at the one on top. "I fear," he says, and here he smiles, sheepish, round cheeked. He looks up and continues, "looking at all of the beautiful art in this room, I fear my skills cannot match," he says. "And I apologize for this."

Minho raises his eyebrows at him, just a little, confused. He apologizes? Key meets his eyes. He glances at the rest of Minho's family and back, and his perfectly humble smile quirks a little bit at one side, and Minho understands. He's not apologizing; he's covering himself, admitting a fault that he doesn't believe in or more likely doesn't care about to distract from how wildly off-kilter he has already thrown this entire ceremony. Minho has to say that he's impressed. Key could become a regular in the noble class with how well he can twist his words. Key finishes, "but I hope that my art pleases you, your highness, and serves as a suitable representation for this year of your life."

"Thank you for your time, skill, and labor," Minho recites. “Your art will reflect not only myself, but the honor of my title." It's the same reply that he has given every artist since he could speak. He hesitates, takes a deep breath of courage, and adds an extra, "I'm sure I'll like it no matter what, given as it's come from your heart." He doesn't know why he's so sure that Key has put in heartfelt effort; by all accounts, Minho wouldn't be surprised if he took off the cover and it was just a doodle of a frog on there. But somehow, he's sure that Key has put in more effort than the 38 artists before him. "Please show us your work," he says.

Key nods. He starts lining up each small canvas underneath the large one. They're all about a foot tall and eight inches wide, and there are five in all. The first thing that Minho notices is the art style–just like it was that day at the festival. Soft, fuzzy around the edges, and without outlines, just colors that contrast to each other even if they're similar hues. Seeing that style, friendly and colorful, is enough to make Minho fall in love with the pieces.

Then he registers what they're actually paintings of. They're him, of course, but they're all different expressions of his. The first one has him looking up, through his bangs, with a polite smile. In the second, he's angry, eyebrows furrowed, mouth open. His eyes are closed in the third, his lips pressed tight, his nostrils flared. The next has him laughing, a broad smile covered by his hand. And the fifth is faraway expression, his eyes unfocused, his mouth parted slightly.

Such a wide range of emotions, so vibrant and so expressive on his face. Key wasn't lying; his art style is nothing like the hyper realistic, detailed portraits of years past. But somehow, he's still managed to depict Minho's face with such charm and nuance that it feels more realistic than any Minho has ever seen. He hasn't tried to cover anything up or make Minho look pristine, either; he has the scar under his eye, acne marks on his skin, flyaways in his hair. Minho is almost starting to wonder how Key was able to create those emotions and details of his from his brain when he recognizes something else about the portraits: the backgrounds.

In the first two, he's framed by snow and hedges; the garden. The third is a full body pose–the one that Minho remembers standing for in the art room, with painting supplies hung up behind him. The fourth has the same background, and the fifth has him standing in a doorway, light from a hallway behind him spilling in.

These aren't just portraits; they're memories. Each one of them a moment in time from their two conversations where Minho's guard was down. Where, just for a moment, his trained beacon of royal nobility mask slipped. Where he showed Key that he was more than his first judgment.

As he pulls his eyes from the paintings to Key, he realizes that his mouth is hanging open. Quickly he closes it, but Key's triumphant smile is more than enough to let him know that the paintings have had their desired effect. Adjusting the last small canvas to be aligned with the others, Key then takes the sheet covering the large portrait in his hands and pulls it away.

At first, Minho is underwhelmed. The first paintings hit him so hard, but this official one seems just like the others hanging on the walls. It's Minho from the waist up in the royal bow position. One arm behind his back, ring hand resting over his heart. His face is stoic, the background is a blend of the same blues and purples that have decorated the castle all month. His jaw is strong, his skin perfect and smooth, his crown and rings shining brightly on the canvas. It's an average, expected portrait of the prince.

But, the more Minho looks at it, the more he realizes that maybe that's the point. Next to the other five paintings, he looks artificial, fake. And there are other details, small things that he thinks stand out only because he's looking for them. His posture is straight, square. Stiff. It's not that his jaw is strong, but that it's clenched. His knuckles are white. His face is completely flat, his mouth neutral, his eyes dull.

No, not dull. Empty.

Minho loses his breath.

He sits there in silence, heart pounding in his ears, and looks at that portrait of himself.

Of himself . Minho takes in the entire thing, every tiny detail, and feels for the first time in his life that that is him painted onto the canvas.

"Beautiful.” Distantly, he hears his father's voice. "Your unconventionality and lack of refinement is expected, but it is a fitting portrait nonetheless." Minho's vision is blurry; he realizes this when he’s suddenly surrounded by polite applause. That could only mean that Key has picked up the portrait and shown it to the crowd. Minho blinks, shaking his head and trying to discreetly rub his fingers into his eyes. Key gives his portrait a slow pan around so everyone can get a view, then sets it back down gently. He looks only at Minho, chin up, eyes just barely narrowed. The only opinion in this room that he cares about is Minho’s.

Minho remains silent, struggling to remember how to speak, struggling to put into words the intense feeling of both solitary loneliness and complete intimate personal understanding that this portrait has dropped on top of him.

"Thank you," he manages to get out. “It's very... impactful." And he fucking hopes that Key understands just how impactful he really means.

Key holds his gaze for a long moment, then bows deeply and takes his leave.

Minho has just a few short moments to try to compose himself and be prepared before the royal speaker steps up and announces Jonghyun. He doesn't succeed.

But watching Jonghyun weave through the crowd, helping carry his portrait with the servant, Minho feels a little calmer anyway. They haven't spoken about their almost kiss last week, but they haven't stopped meeting up for evening tea every night, either. And every night, Jonghyun has been asking him how he feels. Not prying, or pressuring him to speak. Just asking and letting him be as silent or open as he wants.

Mostly Minho has been silent, but just the simple fact that Jonghyun has been offering himself up in such a way that makes him feel cared for in a way that is so unfamiliar and yet so warm inside of his heart. It's an intense feeling, one that takes up his whole entire body, but a safe one, a gentle one. And when Jonghyun steps up onto the stage, bows to his family, and straightens up facing Minho, his soft smile evokes that same exact emotion.

"Your highness," he says. He takes in a big breath and lets it out in a whoosh. Eyeing the rest of the family, he grins, "if you thought that was unconventional, wait until you see mine." He points with his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Key, then sticks his hands into his pockets. Minho's brother snorts, but Jonghyun remains so relaxed, comfortable, and he speaks with an ease that makes Minho jealous.

Jonghyun turns his attention back to Minho. "The first thing you said to me one-on-one," he starts, "was a joke. And I knew from that moment that you were kind-hearted."

Automatically, Minho smiles. In all of his years, that's the first time that someone has complimented his soft heart instead of shaming him for it.

"And from our conversations these past weeks, I've come to learn that you are so much more. You are kind, compassionate, self less ," if Minho isn't mistaken, Jonghyun glances at his father when he puts emphasis on the word, just for a fraction of a second. Minho's heart stutters for just as long. "Thoughtful, and caring. All of the qualities that I always hoped my prince would have." He bows again. Minho has to fight to keep from biting his lip at all of the flattery. This is nothing like what he's been subjected to all day; he knows that Jonghyun means all of this. He knows that this is genuine.

"But if I may make a confession, your highness?" Jonghyun asks, straightening up. For just a moment Minho panics, thinking of the kind of confession Jonghyun could be wanting to make, until Jonghyun continues, "for the longest time, I couldn’t start on your portrait. It wasn't until our conversation last week that I was... struck," the word comes with another smirk, "with inspiration."

Minho sure hopes he's not blushing as hard as he thinks he is right now. Struck is definitely a word for it. "I completed your portrait with that inspiration, but more than that, I, um." Jonghyun hesitates. He looks down, rubs the back of his neck, and looks back up, whooshing another breath through his lips. "If I may make another confession? You invited me here for my artwork, but I've never considered myself much of an artist. At least, not in a visual way. I've always been much more invested in poetry and music."

Jonghyun pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. Minho sits up straighter, surprised, curious. Jonghyun has told him that he's interested in music, yes, but not to this extent. "And, I wrote a short... piece. To go with my artwork. Which, um, I can do. Like, as part of my presentation. Legally." He's speaking nervously to the rest of the family now, shaky and hesitant even as he unfolds the paper and holds it tightly in his hands. "Originally, actually, the chosen artist each year could choose whatever art form they wished. That's why I, um. I don't know when the tradition changed to just portraits but–"

"Just read it," the queen snaps. Minho physically recoils at her tone; when she starts getting annoyed, that's definitely not a good sign. Jonghyun snaps into perfect pin straight posture and then an exact 90 degree bow.

"Yes, yes, okay," he says quickly. "Um–well, first.” First, he takes the cover off of his portrait.

Minho can't help but gasp softly.

His face takes up the whole canvas, graceful arcs and lines without any shading just like the collection of art Minho saw at the festival. But back then, Jonghyun didn't have anything like this on display.

The entire thing is covered with stars. Tiny, minuscule little pinpricks dot his face like freckles, and the background is a swirling, blended galaxy of colors. Even his hair, solid, sharp, and black, glitters with dazzling white constellations. His mouth is soft, lips parted, and Jonghyun has individually drawn every single eyelash with such detail that Minho could count them.

But what really gets to Minho is his eyes. It's like Jonghyun has painted an entire galaxy alone inside of them. They look endless, unfathomable, like everything in existence lies inside of them. Each point is meticulously placed like Jonghyun had a star map in front of him, but Minho would bet the entire castle that he could recreate it from memory.

“Um." Minho is pulled from his daze when Jonghyun clears his throat. He has his paper in front of him and he's taking another steadying breath. Minho can hear his parents muttering to each other. For once in his life, he tunes them out and nods at Jonghyun, encouraging him to proceed. Jonghyun, with the smallest, most heartened smile, begins reading.

There are too many stars revolving around you

But they’re all fake, man-made artificial satellites

I swear by the moon, it’s only you for me

It’s only you

If you ask me not to follow you

I can’t help it, you’re like a magnet

My heart is already not listening to me,

It’s looking at you

There’s a universe

There’s a universe filled in your eyes

The moment our eyes electrically meet

The tip of my ears felt a zap, the stars have twinkled

Sometimes, my eyes rolled back

Please look back at me often

Check to see if I'm revolving around you

To see if this orbit is right

His voice shakes, but there is a cadence to it, a dip and flow, more so than his usual speaking voice. It's almost like he's singing the poem to them. He only looks at the paper for the first verse. The rest he spends with his eyes locked onto Minho’s.

When he finishes, Minho barely notices. He doesn't think Jonghyun really notices, either. Both of them are just looking at each other, quietly, breathing. Minho feels just like he did that cold night a week ago, when there was much less space in between them. All of the same hesitancy, nerves, guilt, doubt, and all of the same fluttering, heart pounding, warmth, affection.

One person starts clapping, distant and lonely. Minho knows without looking that it has to be Key. Quickly, the rest of the crowd follows suit and soon the room is filled with polite applause. It startles the both of them; snapped out of each other's eyes, Jonghyun hurries to pick up his portrait and show it to the audience so they know what they're clapping for and Minho hurries to recite his script.

"Thank you, for your time, and your skill, and, your labor," Minho says. His voice sounds far away in his own ears. "Your art will…. Your art is...." He can't remember it. He can't remember what fake bullshit he's supposed to say. "Your artwork is gorgeous," he says honestly. And then, because the question is burning in his chest, in his throat, behind his eyes, he asks, "is this... truly how you see me?"

Jonghyun, gently setting the portrait back down onto its stand, looks up at him. His eyes, big, soft, and earnest in his handsome face, blink slowly. His chest inflates with a deep breath. He licks his lips, his tongue soft and pink, his lips thick and pretty.

"Yes, your highness," he says. He bows once more and leaves the stage.

Minho watches him walk all the way back to the corner to stand with Key, and then he watches the two of them for the rest of the event. Their two portraits watch him until he leaves the room at the end of the night.

Kibum leans against a wall in the outdoor practice courts, arms crossed, watching the prince stay long after all of the other knights and nobles have left. Minho sweeps the sandy ground, inspects all of the wooden practice swords for damage, and helps a servant load all of the padded armor into a cart for the laundry. Only then, sweaty and tired, does he stretch his arms over his head and find Taemin reading in a corner.

Only then, annoyed and resigned, does Kibum straighten up and walk over to him.

"Do you have time to talk, toy soldier?" he asks to announce his presence. Minho raises his eyebrows at him, blinking slowly. Kibum arches his own back. He has something real that he wants to talk about, but if Minho wants to take his bait and argue about either the military or the cowardly lack of physical involvement in the history of royal bloodshed or even how fucking ridiculous it is that he didn't take off his huge rings to practice sword fighting, Kibum will be fine doing that instead. It would be much easier on his part.

"I like the exercise," Minho says. "And maybe. What do you want to talk about? If it's about why they didn't hang your companion pieces next to the portrait, I already tried arguing with them. I'm sorry I couldn't convince them."

"No, that’s." Kibum wrinkles his nose at the apology. That annoyed him more than finding out that only the large portrait was put up in the showcase room. He truly does not care about the portraits. And honestly, their refusal to hang them only proves the point he was trying to make with them. But for Minho to look him in his eyeballs and apologize to him after their entire conversation makes him want to turn around and leave right now.

And Minho has to know that, because he's smirking again, lopsided and smug and way too–“I'm leaving in a few days," he says bluntly. If Minho is going to start smiling at him like that then he's not going to fuck around trying to play games. He's just going to get straight to the point. "And I wasn't going to ask about this because, who cares, we're never going to see each other again, but I know it'll be bugging me. So here I am.”

"Okay," Minho says. He says the word slow and pointed, a tone that instinctively makes Kibum narrow his eyes. "Still waiting to hear what we're talking about." He crosses his arms, frowning, and actually starts tapping his foot. Like he's impatient. Like Kibum is taking too long. And he's sneering, almost, but in a way that somehow still has that insufferable smugness to it? Kibum cannot fucking stand it. Again, he gets right to the point.

"I don't have a lot of empathy," he says. None, really. He's never had, needed, or wanted the ability to put himself in someone else's shoes. "But I do my best to be compassionate. You know, listen to people when they speak about themselves and believe them and try to interact with them on that knowledge." He taps his finger on his arm, pursing his lips, running through what he planned to say in his head. He's so fucking annoyed that he's about to do this. "But to do that,” he says, "I need to listen to you. I need you to explain something to me so I can accept it and. Try. To be. Compassionate. Towards you."

Just saying the words out loud hurts in his throat, makes him want to scream and stomp around and throw things. But he is being very calm and mature. He's being a big boy. And if compassion truly is as important to him as he likes to say it is, he needs to put his money where his mouth is and at least fucking try. He's not going to back down from his biggest challenge yet.

That, and this is one last chance before he has to suck it up and admit to Jonghyun that he was right and Minho isn't all bad just because he’s royal.

"Okay," Minho says, and this time it's not annoying. It's thoughtful. He puts his hands on his hips, thinking. He puffs out his lips, smirks a little, then scrunches his nose and shakes his head, and then finally raises his eyebrows and shrugs. Before Kibum can even begin to figure out what the fuck any of that meant, he says “still a maybe. What do you want me to explain to you?"

Kibum stares him down. Last chance. Last chance to back out of it and pretend he's right because he was never technically proven wrong. Last chance to save himself a headache. Last chance to– just fucking ask him, his brain snaps, and he huffs. "In the art room," he starts, "I told you to stop hiding your emotions and treat me like your peers. And you told me you did treat me like your peers. What did you mean by that?"

This time it's Minho's turn to stare at him, but in surprise. His eyes go a little wide and his mouth pops open. His lips aren't much to look at, but like this, softly parted, glistening when he licks them–Kibum stops looking at his mouth. But now, Minho is thinking, humming. Doing this thing with his eyebrows, a little scrunch in between them as they slant sharply downwards, making his eyes look–

A little desperate now, Kibum focuses directly on his nose.

"That’s... a tough question," Minho says. "So no, I don't have time to talk right now."

Oh, good. Great. Kibum suddenly doesn't want to talk anymore. Did Minho always look like this? Something's different about him.

"Would you have time to meet with me later today?" Minho asks. "Or would you like to have a meal with me in 20 minutes?"

Fuck no, Kibum thinks. "I'll talk with you after you eat," he says, and fuck. He didn't want to do that either. But at least it'll give him time to sort himself out and get his shit back together.

An hour later, he has his composure, he has his shit, he has his confidence, and he immediately loses all of that when Taemin lets him into the prince's private rooms and Minho smiles at him from a cushy little armchair set by the window.

His hair is wet. His face is bare. He's out of his sweaty training clothes, but he hasn't changed into his fancy robes, either. He's in a light, flowing shirt and trousers. And his smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, lights up his face, glitters in the sun that shines through the glass.

Fuck.

It's just money and class, Kibum reminds himself as he walks to Minho and sits in the armchair opposite him. "Okay, I'm here," he says. He refuses to look around the rest of the room because he refuses to appreciate all of the soft pretty expensive things in here. He looks at the row of books on the windowsill instead, taking in their titles about history and politics with a bored eye. "Do you have an answer for me?" Best to get right into it before he gets distracted again.

"I do," Minho says, “and you're not going to like it because it's going to be a lot of me talking about how hard it is to be a prince." His tone carries a warning, but his mouth carries a smile. He rests his elbow on the windowsill and his chin in his hand and smiles at Kibum, appraising him like he's just waiting for him to make a snappy retort. Kibum holds it in just so he doesn't get the satisfaction. Fine. He's here to be compassionate. He'll listen to prince problems. Maybe he might even learn something.

Highly doubtful, but just maybe. "So?" he asks, expectant.

"Okay," Minho shrugs. He sits up straight, then sighs. "Okay," he says quieter, softer. "As a prince," he starts, and Kibum can't resist the urge to roll his eyes. Thankfully Minho ignores him. "I have to set an example. I have to put my best foot forward. I have to exemplify dignity and humility and etiquette. So the people can look at us and feel confidence and pride in their monarchy and their country. For me to lose my temper, or even show annoyance, would make the whole family look bad. It would make the country look bad to the rest of the world. Does that make sense?”

"On paper, maybe," Kibum says, frowning. In theory, that would be a good explanation. If the people had time to give a shit about their monarchy being dignified instead of actually taking care of them. If the people thought etiquette was more important than adequate funding and fair laws. If the people had pride and confidence in their country. If their neighbors didn't already think their country looked bad. And, most confusingly, “how come you're the only one that cares about whether or not your family looks good then?" he asks.

"Excuse me?" Minho frowns. "I'm not. My family are the ones that taught me how to be dignified. It's important to all of us."

"They're the ones that told you all of that?" Kibum can't help the incredulity in his voice and expression. What the absolute fuck. Minho has to be lying to him. "That's not what you’re taught at fancy little prince school or whatever the fuck it is that you go to? You learned that from your family?"

"Don't act so surprised," Minho says. He's more than frowning now. He's almost glaring, that fire that Kibum saw in his eyes the first day just beginning to spark to life. "My family are–"

"They're really not." Whatever Minho was going to say in defense of them, Kibum knows for a fact that it wasn't going to be true. "I don't want to get exiled so I'm not going to elaborate, but trust me. Even before I met you, I knew you were the least volatile one.”

That was the biggest argument everyone back at the Rebellion had to convince him to go through with this mission; that at least it was Minho. At least it was the quiet one. At least it's not the king who snaps and yells at anyone that comes within a mile radius. At least it's not the queen that's so infamous for her petty temper and impulsive decisions that no one will even speak in her presence unless absolutely required to. At least it's not the crown prince that cannot go 5 minutes without insulting someone or complaining about something that doesn't matter. Never in his entire life has Kibum gotten the impression that the three of them cared about acting dignified or with etiquette.

“And you know how much I don't like you,” Kibum says. "So imagine how much they piss me off. And now you’re telling me that you're censoring yourself all the time because your family tells you that you make them look bad when they do that enough on their own?”

"I censor myself because I'm worse,” Minho hisses. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and frowning out of the window. "They let more of their emotions show because they're not as bad as I am." Kibum glances out of the window as well. It's the garden out there. A couple of servants are a crack in a flower pot. He looks back to the prince. He can't be serious.

He is. "It's always gotten me in trouble,” he grumbles without looking at Kibum. Kibum isn't entirely sure he's looking outside, either. His eyes are unfocused and distant. "It was always, ‘stop crying, you're embarrassing us,’ and ‘don't yell at your brother, you know he didn't mean to hurt you,’ and ‘none of the other kids your age want to be friends because you're too eager and clingy, just leave them alone,’ and ‘I can't believe you offered them all of that money just because you felt bad that their town got raided,’ and ‘it was so selfish of you to–”

He stops talking all at once. He takes in a deep, long, breath, and then another, and then another. He brings his face back to neutral, then breathes some more, and then lets himself feel again, a little bit. He turns to Kibum with a small glare, a tense jaw. "I've always been too emotional," he says. "It's better for me to make myself calm so I don't cause any more problems."

Kibum thinks he's beginning to understand now. He looks at Minho with wide eyes, unable to find words for once in his life. He thinks he gets it. The suppression, the acting, the obedience. The ever-present, ever charged energy in Minho's body, like a spring wound so tight that it will break once it finally releases. Jonghyun's insistence that Minho is good.

His heart pounds in his chest, but not because of Minho's looks. Not because he's angry. His heartbeat pulses in his entire body and it feels just like it does when he's out doing Rebellion work, when he learns about a new injustice, when he's putting himself in between what is right and what is wrong.

"So," he says abruptly, startling himself as much as Minho. He leans forward on the table, resting his elbow on it and pointing at Minho with his whole hand. "Let me get this straight," he says. Let him make sure he's processed all of that correctly. "Your family has told you that having emotions is embarrassing, and you shouldn't fight back, and you're not capable of making friends, and it's bad for you to care about people less fortunate then you are, and that you're selfish. That's what they’ve told you. Your whole life."

"Well," Minho says. His face softens. He opens his mouth, closes it, looks down, and looks back up. "When you say it all like that, it sounds…. It's not like. It's not like I can't handle criticism. They told me that so I could learn what was right and wrong. And so I could be a good leader. They care about me."

“That's–" Not true. That is not fucking true. That's what Kibum wants to tell him. That Minho cannot say all of those things and then cap it off with they care about me . But in his experience, pointing that out so bluntly isn’t going to help. Instead, he takes it down a couple of levels. "You know that's fucked up, right?" he asks. "What they say to you? That's wrong. It has nothing to do with being a prince. That's not what you say to people that you care about. That's not how you treat anybody. No one deserves that. You understand that, right? You don't deserve that.”

It feels so fucking weird, to be giving this kind of speech to a noble, especially considering he's going to be robbing him in a few days, but Kibum isn't going to stop speaking the truth just because it's awkward. He's given this speech enough times before to know that it's always true no matter what.

Minho is staring down at the table. There's a scrunch between his eyebrows, but it doesn't look angry. It looks contemplative. He chews and nibbles on his bottom lip.

"You know,” he says. He looks outside again, watching the flower pot get repaired. "Jonghyun said something like that to me before," he says. "And now you’ve said the same thing. And I'm starting to wonder if maybe if it's not... if the way I was raised wasn't as normal as I've been thinking?"

"It definitely...." Kibum hesitates for the smallest second. Jonghyun. Minho said Jonghyun, not Bling. He's going to have to have a fucking talk with Jonghyun about getting too personal with their targets.

Then again, he's sitting here in Minho's private quarters consoling him about the history of his childhood abuse, so maybe he's not one to talk.

Whatever. Not important right now.

"If I were you, I would just leave," he says. He doesn't even need to think about it for a second. He would be out of here in a heartbeat.

"Just leave ?" Minho asks, squinting at him. "Like run away? I can't do that."

"Why not?" Kibum asks. He crosses his arms, tapping his finger on his bicep. It's not like it's hard. "Cut your hair, go get some real people clothes, smudge some dirt on you. Maybe get yourself a cool face scar. Find a nice little village and get a job as a farmer. Who's going to recognize you?" Most citizens don't have portraits of the royal family hanging up in their houses. It would be easy for Minho to blend in.

"I meant," Minho says sharply, "Even if I didn't get found out, I can't just leave all of my responsibilities. It's my duty to–"

"Tell me," Kibum says, “honestly, what it is that you do here that you couldn't do better and faster physically in person out there?" That's the fucking thing about Minho. About all nobles. They think they’re able to do everything themselves because they were born fancy. Maybe Minho’s heart is in the right place, maybe he wants to do good, but no good will ever get done when all of his time is only spent in offices writing laws about people he's never met going through problems he's never experienced. Never in Kibum’s life has any legislation or decree from the monarchy had any immediate, positive effect in a village. It's always been the Rebellion, or local unions, or public effort from an entire village that has produced results and saved lives. Besides, from what Kibum has heard, all Minho has been able to do is bring up good ideas and then get shamed into abandoning them.

“Compassion, assistance, support–those aren't individual responsibilities,” he adds, frowning. It's not up to Minho to single-handedly care for an entire country through a government that was designed to function by caring as little as possible. “Those are community-based principles built from the ground up. No amount of begging your family to care enough to write a nice law is going to change that. The only thing that's going to change that is getting out there and making change happen alongside everyone else.”

Minho doesn't reply. Instead, he's quiet. For a long time. Kibum wants to say more, wants to press the matter, but he can tell that Minho is lost in thought. Not receptive to further discussion. But he should at least say something.

"Anyway," he mumbles, "I'm sorry they treat you that way." There. They can leave it at that. Just a nice, calm moment between the two of them.

Minho still doesn't reply. He just stares out the window until the servants finish their work and leave the garden. Then he sighs. He rubs his hands over his face, through his damp hair. His bangs cling together, frizzy and messy over his forehead. He looks tired, so tired, but still, he leans over the table. He rests his elbow on the surface and puts his cheek in his hand. His cheek squishes up and pulls his mouth into a lopsided smile and he arches one eyebrow at Kibum.

"I thought you didn't do apologies," he says. He teases. His tone rises and falls, almost sing-songy, and his lips finish the sentence with the tiniest little puff.

Instantly, Kibum is ravenously furious.

"It's not a fucking apology," he snaps, slapping his hands on the table. "It's sympathy. Not every ‘I'm sorry’ is an admission of guilt. Sometimes it's an acknowledgement of–"

Minho is smiling wider. Smiling with teeth, with deep lines bracketing his mouth, with crinkles at the corners of his eyes, with a twinkle in his irises. It's so much. It's so fucking much. It's blood rushing to Kibum's face, it's his breath stopping somewhere in his neck, it's his heart stuttering under his ribs. Minho has to be doing it on purpose.

"Fuck you." Let him get in trouble. Let him get kicked out of the castle. Let him tank the mission. He doesn't care. He's not going to let this smooth asshole play him like this.

Minho laughs, hard and loud, leaning back in his chair and not even bothering to cover his mouth. And it's not a handsome, deep, princely chuckle, either. It's high-pitched, wild, raw, and so fucking much. "For someone that gets on my case about hiding all of my emotions," Minho says between laughter, "you should really try it out sometime."

Kibum stands up. And now he's making fun of him? Now he's teasing him like they're friends?

No, now he's done laughing. Now he's looking up at Kibum with wide eyes, so big, so expressive, and his mouth is open, his lips wet, his tongue barely visible, his teeth sharp–

"Stop that," Kibum orders venomously. "What are you fucking doing? With your face? Are you flirting with me? Is that it? Is that all you've been doing today?" All day long, he's been doing this, giving Kibum these looks, making himself look so fucking–

He struggles to come up with an insult, any insult, but all he can get out of his brain is, “gross. Don't do that. Stop that. Fuck you." They have three conversations and Kibum paints him some pictures and Minho thinks he can flirt with him? Absolutely not.

"I'm–I'm not?" Minho sounds baffled, like he truly can't believe it, even as he looks at Kibum with those big brown eyes so full of emotion and fire. "I'm just–? You told me that you wanted me to stop hiding my emotions. In the art room. So I stopped. I've been trying really hard to not keep them bottled up. I thought this is what you wanted?”

"You–oh." Oh. Kibum deflates all at once. That makes. That makes sense. That Minho is just. Is just doing what he wanted. People pleasing. Obeying.

Trusting. He's trusting Kibum enough to let his guard down, take his mask off, be as expressive and emotional as he was always told not to be. Kibum's stomach does a flip.

"And you thought I was flirting?" Smiling again. Smirking again, standing up and leaning forward with his hands on the table to get a better look at Kibum's face. "You thought it was attractive when I did that?”

“Mind your own business,” Kibum snaps. Fuck. Fuck. He is in so much trouble. He can feel how hot his face is, he knows how red it must be, and he swears that his heartbeat is so loud that Minho has to hear it. Minho licks his lips, eyebrows raised.

"Is that why you made all of those extra portraits?" he asks. “You like when I–”

“Fuck you," Kibum hisses. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

"I mean, if you want to so bad, I wouldn't mind." Minho is too fucking casual, too fucking relaxed, for how he's lighting every single nerve on Kibum's body on fire right now. Kibum has to do something, has to get back his control somehow.

He clambers on top of the table on his knees, making himself taller, dragging himself closer. He fists his hands in Minho's shirt collar, yanking him so they're face-to-face. Up close, he can see every detail of Minho's dark brown eyes.

"Shut up before I shut your mouth for you," he threatens. He'll fuck a prince. He doesn't care. He's had hate sex before plenty of times. He'll teach Minho a lesson, put him in his place.

Minho grabs his wrists, but he doesn't push him away. He just holds him, close, tight, not letting go. "I'd love to see you try," he says.

And fine. Fucking fine. Kibum leans in, pulling him closer. Minho wants it so bad? Fine. He'll see what it gets him. Their mouths are centimeters apart and–

"Hey!"

The shout scares Kibum so bad that he almost falls off of the table. He looks around wildly; Taemin is sitting up on a couch in the corner of the room, open book in his hand, glaring at the both of them. "Come on,” he says, exasperated.

Fuck. Kibum forgot about that little fucking gremlin. Minho did, too, because he jerks himself away, hiding his pink face in his hands.

"Sorry, Taemin," he says into his fingers.

Kibum sighs, arms limp at his sides. Well. Probably for the best, honestly. No need to get himself in deeper than he needs to be.

He shakes his head as he slides off of the table and adjusts his clothes. He probably already is.

He needs to leave.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, your highness," he says as evenly as possible. Minho looks at him from between his fingers; he clears his throat, then fixes his own shirt collar, smoothing the wrinkles Kibum left in it.

“The pleasure was all mine," he says elegantly. "I look forward to meeting... you again." He scrunches his face a little, like he realized the implications of what he was saying as he said it. Kibum snorts. He bets.

He walks himself to the door, aggressively ignoring the bug eyes Taemin gives him behind his book. Like he's never gotten in over his head and needed Kibum to save his ass before.

Hand on the doorknob, Kibum pauses. He looks back at Minho over his shoulder. The prince is fixing the tablecloth, smoothing out wrinkles. "Highness?" Kibum asks. Embarrassment and half chub aside, he wants to know something. Needs to know something. Minho's head snaps up, his eyes big and questioning even from the other side of the room. Kibum taps his foot for a moment, then asks, "you really trust me enough to let me see your emotions?" he asks. "Really really?" He really, from two less than pleasant conversations, felt safe enough around Kibum to have no hesitations about letting himself loose?

Minho exhales softly, rubbing his hand around the back of his neck. His hair falls in front of his shoulder, gleaming in the sunlight.

"I really really do," he says. "I think I trust you with my emotions more than anyone else I know.”

Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.

Kibum yanks open the door and leaves before Minho can see him blushing again.

It's the third straight hour of Jonghyun moping in the corner of the kitchen when Jinki comes to check on him again. He announces himself by sitting down next to Jonghyun, so close their sides touch, and petting his hair softly. Even though his head is in his arms, Jonghyun knows that it's Jinki. Jinki is the only one that's been making it a point to come visit him for a little bit every hour even with his busy chef schedule. Jonghyun knew there was a reason he falls in love with him all the time.

He picks his head up and puts it back down with his cheek resting on his bicep, blinking at Jinki in the light. Jinki is soft and cute as always, smiling at him, pushing a plate of cut up fruit in front of him. "They’re the weird looking ones, but they still taste good," he signs. Jonghyun nods, grateful. He always likes the funky reject fruits most anyway. He picks up a lumpy grape and puts it into his mouth, chewing slowly. He’s still been working his way through the slice of cinnamon bread Jinki gave him last hour. It's so hard to eat sometimes, especially when he's busy being consumed by guilt.

"I have some time to talk now," Jinki says gently, holding his hands close to the table so Jonghyun doesn't have to look up so much. "If you want to tell me what's bothering you.”

Jonghyun whines for himself, for the vocal release of tension in his throat, and he pouts for Jinki, puffing out his lower lip and scrunching his eyebrows. He doesn't want to talk about it. Talking about it means thinking about it.

But he's been thinking about it this whole time anyway, and at least talking about it will get him some sympathy and comfort.

"I still like him,” he signs, his hands small and barely raised an inch over the table.

"Still?" Jinki asks, surprise in his raised eyebrows. Jonghyun nods, miserable. Still. Over three weeks in and he's falling harder and harder every day.

"I hate lying to him," he says. He hates it so much. Every single time, it's a weight on his heart, a burn in the back of his eyes. It's getting to the point where he can barely talk to Minho without wanting to run away and hide before the conversation even starts. He put all of that work into his portrait, painting each individual little star, in the hopes that it would make his deception less severe, but it doesn't. He truly, truly does see Minho that way. Beautiful and dazzling and a universe condensed. But he knows that by next week Minho is just going to see it as another string in his sprawling web of betrayal.

If they even get found out. If everything goes according to plan, they won't be suspects. Minho won't even know that Jonghyun has betrayed him, and that might even be worse.

"Well," Jinki says. He hesitates, his hands floating motionless, and then he sighs. He pinches Jonghyun's cheek softly. "I know," he says. "I know it's hard." Again, Jonghyun nods. He knows that Jinki knows. Jinki has worked here in the castle longer than he’s been in the Rebellion. He's close with everyone here, spy or not, and Jonghyun knows that it pulls him apart at the seams sometimes to have to keep so much from people that he cares about. "Just...,” Jinki says. "Think of how much good we’ll be able to do with the money from the jewels."

The money from the jewels. Yes. They're selling them to one of their neighboring countries, and then there was going to be a mission to steal them back, and then they were going to be made into common jewelry and sold like any other at an art festival. And they're going to put the money towards education in every town and village that the Rebellion is a part of. History and language and writing and art. And towards the fight against royal propaganda. And towards the communal kitchen and shelter that's being built in their village.

All of that is worth more than a couple of broken hearts. Jonghyun knows that. But it doesn't make it hurt any less. He puts his face back into his arms. A moment later, he takes it back out just in case Jinki wants to say anything else.

He does; he tries a different tactic and says, "hey. It'll get easier once you leave, okay? Just make it to the day after tomorrow."

“ Fuck, ” Jonghyun groans, grinding his cheek into his sleeve. "That's another thing," he signs. "He's not even going to be able to say goodbye to us." Minho still thinks him and Kibum are going to be at the castle until the day after his birthday. But after tomorrow morning, they'll never see him again. They'll just be gone, and the next day the jewels will be too, and Minho will still be here, hurt and confused. "And what if we get caught and then he gets blamed?" he asks, suddenly aware and suddenly distressed even worse. Jonghyun wouldn't put it past his family to make this his fault somehow. What if he's hurt and confused and in trouble?

"I know, baby," Jinki says. He pets Jonghyun's hair softly. "I know." Gently, he offers Jonghyun an orange slice. Jonghyun lets him push it between his lips obediently. "We’ll look after him," Jinki says. "Me and Taemin and the others. He won't be alone."

Jonghyun hums. He knows that. It still doesn't make him feel better. He shakes his head when he sees Jinki starting to sign something else. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore. All it's doing is making him feel worse. All it's doing is making him want to cry. And he doesn't want to cry in the middle of the kitchen. He'll save it for when he gets to bed where Kibum will be waiting for him.

Jinki lets it go with another soft pinch of his cheek. He puts his hand on Jonghyun's bicep, comforting and warm, and gently coaxes him to eat more fruit with his other hand. Jonghyun lets him even though his appetite is non-existent and swallowing is a chore. He'll never pass up being babied and taken care of.

Jinki gets a substantial amount of food inside of him before he urgently taps his shoulder. He points across the kitchen; frowning, Jonghyun looks up.

Minho is walking in, Taemin at his elbow. He catches sight of Jonghyun and smiles, heading over.

"Fuck," Jonghyun says. He sits up straight, rubbing his cheeks, fixing his hair, and trying to suppress both the way his stomach just turned and filled with butterflies at the same time. What time is it? Fuck. He glances at the clock and curses again. He's late for tea time.

"Jinki, Jonghyun, hello," Minho smiles when he gets to them. He gives Jinki the royal bow, then tilts his head at Jonghyun. "You didn't show up and I got worried," he says.

Fuck, he's so fucking wonderful.

"Yeah, um," Jonghyun says. "I was talking with Jinki and I guess I lost track of time. You'll have to forgive me." He stands up straight and bows automatically.

"Of course," Minho says. His smile is so soft, his eyes so gentle. Jonghyun is so fucked.

"I'll go get your tea.” Jinki stands up. He smooths his hand over Jonghyun's back, bobs the quickest bow to the prince, and leaves them. Jonghyun smiles after him, appreciating his existence. He does like Jinki very much.

"I didn't know you knew sign language." Minho is still smiling at him, signing the words as he speaks them with his big hands. Jonghyun nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, just a little,” he says. He lies. "I learned when I was a kid." Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. The whole truth is that he learned when he joined the Rebellion at 14 years old so he could communicate without being overheard. He looks down at the table so he doesn't have to look at Minho's intrigued expression. His plate of fruit is still there, lonely grapes and end pieces of bananas waiting to be eaten. Jonghyun picks up a banana and turns it around in his fingers.

Thankfully, before the silence gets awkward, Jinki returns. He gives all three of them a cup of tea and just like that, they're out of the kitchen, walking towards the door to the gardens.

The walk is nice; it's silent. It's just the three of them with their mugs and their shoes tapping on the cold tile floors. Minho keeps glancing at Jonghyun, smiling at him, and Jonghyun can't help but smile back. Just don't think about it, he tells himself. Just think about this moment right now. Enjoy it now and deal with it later.

It helps, a little. Enough that when they pass the windows leading up to the great doors to the garden and find that they can barely see out of them for all of the snow rushing down from the sky, Jonghyun actually laughs a little bit.

"It wasn't like this a couple of minutes ago,” Minho says, chuckling himself. He holds his mug in both hands and leans forward to peer out of the window, squinting. "Hmm.”

"Well,” Jonghyun says. He hops up onto the fancy stone windowsill, big enough for him to sit comfortably and stretch his legs out so they reach the other side. "Guess we're having tea time right here.”

"I suppose we are,” Minho agrees. He leans against the wall next to the window. Taemin sits down in the next windowsill over.

Jonghyun looks out the window at the falling snow, then around the hallway. It's at the side of the castle, out of the way of most of the traffic but still regularly used by servants and the like. The chatter of quiet voices speaking during the nightly cleanings drifts from open doorways. On the side of the hallway, Jonghyun absorbs the warmth from the castle, and from where his shoulder is pressed against the window, the cold seeps into him from outside. It's cozy and uncomfortable at the same time. A little reminiscent of the way he feels about Minho, actually.

Don't think about it.

"Jonghyun?”

“Hmm? Yes, Minho?"

"I wanted to–well, does it even matter? No, yes, it does." Very quickly into speaking Minho stopped looking at him and started frowning at the floor, mumbling to himself. But just as quickly, he meets Jonghyun's eyes again. “Um," he says. The faintest pink dusts over his nose. "I think it's, um, important to tell you, that. Key and I, um. Yesterday, we. We–"

“Oh, how you two almost fucked?" Jonghyun grins, understanding suddenly what Minho is trying to get out. Minho gets even pinker. He glances around the hallway, towards the open doors. Jonghyun, amused from his very core, lowers his voice politely but doesn't bother suppressing his smirk. "I know," he says. "He told me." He told Jonghyun and he was sooooo grumpy about it, flushed bright red and stomping around the bedroom. It was very adorable. Minho must have really gotten under his skin.

"And you don't mind?” Minho asks. His eyebrows fly up behind his bangs. "I mean–I only ask because, um. I really, um. Like, there’s, us, um. I don't entirely know what, um, we. There's– we, um, and–I wasn't sure if–I don't know what... we–"

"I don't mind," Jonghyun reassures him quickly. A little desperately, maybe. Minho was getting very close to talking about it. Jonghyun grips his mug so hard that the tea inside of it trembles and veers hard in the opposite direction. "He fucks people all the time. It's kind of what he does."

Minho opens his mouth, then closes it, tilting his head; Jonghyun scrunches his face. That came out wrong. Not enough context.

"I mean," he says. "He's not–he doesn't really see. Hmm. You know people always assume that I'm the slut? Between the two of us? I'm not a slut. I'd like to be a slut. But I just act like a slut. Key is the one that's actually a slut.” This isn't coming out entirely right either, but it is coming out funny, and he has to take a moment to laugh into his mug. "He has a high sex drive, and he doesn't put any emotional or romantic connection to sex, is all I'm saying," he says. That's it. It's just sex for him. Nothing else. "So no, I don't mind."

He is a little worried that Minho was able to make Kibum so grumpy–not angry, grumpy– because that's usually the start of emotional attachment for him. To find someone that gets him all worked up but also someone that he cares too much about to be fully furious toward is rare for Kibum. Including himself, Jonghyun can count on one hand the number of people that Kibum is that invested in.

But he's not too worried. If Kibum felt like he was getting too deep, he would have said something. And it's not like Jonghyun is one to talk about getting emotionally attached to–

"It's the same reason why he doesn't mind when I get crushes on people." It's so hard not to think about it. Jonghyun presses his forehead against the cold window, willing it to calm him down, to numb his brain so he can't think about it anymore. "I fall in love with everyone." He's a hopeless romantic; Kibum fucks anything with a pulse. It's why they work so well together. They balance each other out.

"Do you?" It's a soft question, a quiet question. An almost, if Jonghyun wants to admit it to himself, trembling question. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Minho leaning closer to the window, closer to him. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at his face.

"Yeah," he says. "I've fallen in love with twelve people since I got here. It's just that I fall out of love just as quick, usually. Key knows that if I felt seriously about someone I would tell him." And boy has Jonghyun told him.

"Usually." Minho repeats the word to himself, barely more than a whisper. Jonghyun hears it anyway. He taps his head against the window, a slow rhythm, cursing himself. He needs to get them off of this fucking topic before he says something he regrets.

He hears two pairs of footsteps, two voices saying "hello your highness" and "good evening your highness." Minho murmurs back a greeting. Jonghyun needs to get them out of this fucking hallway in case he does say something that he regrets anyway and it gets overheard.

"Can I show you something?" he asks. He pulls away from the window, turning to face Minho. "Somewhere?" he asks.

"Sure.” Minho agrees in a heartbeat. He straightens up, adjusting his robes. There's something to be said about his immediate trust and willingness to go along with Jonghyun. And that something is also among the list of things that Jonghyun doesn't want to think about, so he busies himself with standing up and downing the rest of his tea. He takes off down the hallway, Minho behind him, Taemin behind Minho.

Just somewhere private. Somewhere close by that's private, not likely to be walked in on. And not anywhere actually dangerous to know about. Jonghyun leads them down a few turns. Along the way, he catches a Rebellion spy pushing a cart full of dirty dishes from room to room; with an apologetic smile, he gives them their empty mugs. They owe him a favor anyway.

One more turn, and Jonghyun stops them outside a cleaning supply closet. "I found this when I was exploring the castle," he says. When he was exploring it to match it up to his memorized map.

Don't think about it.

"A closet?” Minho asks slowly.

"No," Jonghyun says, opening the door. "Well," he says when they’re met with dusty shelves of buckets and cleaning chemicals, "yes. But!” He holds up one finger and slips in behind one of the shelves. "Check this out." He fumbles around on the wall until he finds the latch and yanks. A door opens up in the wall, sliding out of sight and revealing a stone hallway not unlike the one they just left.

"A secret passageway?" Minho hisses, eyes suddenly wide and excited.

"You can call it that," Jonghyun shrugs. "I don't know about how secret it is, though. I've been in here a couple of times and I keep getting found by staff." They keep finding him because this is their meeting spot for discussing Rebellion stuff, but still. It is common knowledge among the staff. He stands aside, dramatically flourishing his hand to invite Minho and Taemin inside.

When Taemin passes, he gives Jonghyun a look, an are you sure about this? with his eyes. Silently, Jonghyun signs back, "just let me." It's his last day here and he's emotional and it's not like this passage goes anywhere important. Taemin rolls his eyes, but doesn't protest otherwise.

Jonghyun closes the door behind them and taps one of the lanterns on the wall, bringing it to a soft, glowing light. It throws shadows on their faces, giving them just enough light to see each other. Minho catches on and taps another lantern a little farther down the passageway. It illuminates him from behind, framing his hair with an ethereal golden glow, and Jonghyun has to repress a sigh. Of course.

"It just goes straight until it comes out in another supply closet," he says, gesturing. Even from here, in the dim light they can see the end of the tunnel and identical sliding door. "I'm pretty sure it's just a shortcut." This passageway goes in between the library and some paperwork offices. Nothing special. "But it's nice, right?" he asks, a little hesitant. "Cozy. Quiet. Away from everyone else. Somewhere to hide if you need a minute.” Minho strikes him as someone that needs several minutes very often.

"It's great," Minho says. His smile is as wide as his face and his voice is a little breathless. "When I was a little kid I always wondered if there were any secret tunnels here in the castle, but I could never find any." He's still looking around with wonder even though it's just a plain stone hallway. Jonghyun can't help but smile. If anyone's inner child deserves a gift like this, it's Minho. "I wonder if there's any more," Minho says.

And of course, suddenly Jonghyun doesn't feel like smiling anymore. "Well," he says. "I've been exploring all over for more secret tunnels, and…." He shrugs instead of finishing the sentence and saying that he's found a whole lot of them. Lies by omission aren't as bad, right? They can't be, otherwise he'll feel even worse.

Don't think about it.

He slides down the wall, lowering himself to the ground and then lying down on his back. "Join me," he says, patting the stone underneath him. It's nice and cool and refreshing.

"On the floor?" Minho asks. He walks to Jonghyun and stands at his head, looking down at him. It's a much steeper angle than usual, giving Jonghyun a direct view up his nose. He stifles a laugh into his hand.

"Yeah," he says. He pats the ground again. "Being on the floor is good for you. Come on."

Minho hums disapprovingly. Silently, Taemin sits down, slouching against the wall and staring at the ceiling. Jonghyun doesn't know where he's pulling all of this patience from. But he's grateful, because seeing him, Minho follows suit. He sits down carefully, mindful of his robes, and crosses his legs by Jonghyun's head.

"Here," he says, and gently guides Jonghyun's head into his lap.

"Oh," Jonghyun says. Minho's hands on his neck and chin are so soft, gentle, like Minho thinks he's so delicate and fragile that he’ll break if he holds on too strongly. “Ah." His head settles on top of Minho's thigh, his cheek nestled against his stomach. Hmm. This is. Hmm.

Heat creeps up the back of his neck and into the tips of his ears. He counts himself lucky that both of those are covered. Minho is so warm, and he smells so good, and even with the awkward angle, when he smiles down at Jonghyun, his face is so pretty. "It can't be good for your head to be on the floor," he chides.

Jonghyun can't find a witty remark anywhere in his brain. Instead, he scrunches his nose, bratty and defiant, and then turns his head to look at the wall. He wiggles around, getting comfortable and using it as an excuse not to have to look at the prince. He hopes Minho can't hear his heartbeat, or feel it thudding hard and fast underneath his ribs.

As he has that thought he realizes that it was too late. One of Minho's hands already has come to a rest on top of his chest. Comfortable, casual, like it belongs there. In a panic, Jonghyun picks it up and asks the first question that comes to mind: "do your rings mean anything or are they just to look rich and fancy?"

Minho's quiet chuckle does nothing to help his heart.

"Mostly, they’re to look fancy," he admits, "but they do have meaning." He points at the big one on his pointer finger, diamond set in a black metal. "For father," he says and points at the next, "gold for mother, silver for Minseok, and bronze for the second prince.”

"For you,” Jonghyun says automatically. The second prince. That's Minho. Minho's hand is limp in his, his fingers moving easily as Jonghyun inspects each ring.

"I... yes. You're right.” Minho lets out a breath, but it doesn't sound like a laugh. It sounds like a sigh. Jonghyun looks up at him. He has the fingers of his free hand threaded through his hair, his eyes closed, his jaw tight. "Bronze for me. For the second son of the royal family." A furrow between his brows as he says it.

Jonghyun quickly looks back at his hand before Minho opens his eyes. The second son in a family that does nothing but make him feel like he isn't one of them.

He looks back up, meeting Minho's eyes as they open. Minho seems surprised to find him looking. Even more when Jonghyun bites his lip and squeezes his hand.

"Minho," he says quietly. He thinks for a moment, then sits up straight, gets to his knees, turns around, faces Minho eye to eye. Still holding his hand, he says, "I know." He knows. He knows what it's like to not be wanted. He knows what it's like to not belong. He knows what it's like to know that he's one thing but feel that he's another without even knowing what other thing he could possibly be. "It's not just you. There are a lot of us.”

“I'm not... Sure that I under–"

"I know that too.” Jonghyun says it fast, heavy, squeezing his hand so hard that the rings dig into their skin. It's hard. It's confusing. It's complicated. "But one day I hope that you will."

A lump forms in Jonghyun's throat. He hopes. That's all that he can do for Minho. There's nothing more that he can do with his limited powers, his limited status, and definitely not with his limited time. All he can do is tell Minho that he's not alone and that he hopes that one day it gets better.

All he can do is look into his gorgeous eyes and hope that one day it makes sense.

All he can do is watch Minho lean forward, watch Minho’s eyes close, and mirror his movements.

All he can do is feel the press of Minho's lips against his, the warmth of his skin, the little puffs of air from his nose, the tiniest tickle of his eyelashes. Feel the soaring of his own heart, the racing of his own nerves, the fireworks in his own mind.

Feel the guilt rush through his entire body, bubbling his stomach, searing his throat, scorching behind his eyes, so fast that it makes him dizzy. He wrenches away so hard that he falls, catching himself badly on his wrist so it buckles and he winds up on his elbow. His heartbeat pounds behind his eyes, his eyes that are suddenly so blurry, fuzzy, bright.

"I'm sorry," he blurts. He stumbles to his feet, breathing hard. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–I'm sorry." He's so fucking sorry. He so fucking should not have. He shouldn't have kissed Minho, he shouldn't be here in this passageway with him, he shouldn't have let himself get his close, he shouldn't have agreed to go on this mission in the first place. He's breathing so hard, so fast, but it doesn't feel like he's getting any breath in his lungs.

"Jonghyun." Minho, just a tall, pretty blur in front of him, gets to his feet. A gentle hand on his shoulder, an even gentler one underneath his chin, tilting his face up. "Jonghyun, I know, it won't work out, between us," his voice is so lost, full of so much regret, trying so hard to mask both of those things, "but, we have four days left, don't we? Can't we... make those count?"

Four days left.

One day left.

Don't think about it.

The next thing Jonghyun knows, he's crying. Sobbing, painful and desperate. They wrack through his body, his throat, his chest, his heart. He can't see, he can't hear. The only thing he can do is stand hunched over and cry so loud the entire castle has to be able to hear him.

Until Minho pulls him into a hug.

It doesn't muffle him, but it does give him something to hold onto. Minho is so tall, and he's so solid underneath his robes, and even when Jonghyun squeezes him so tight it strains his muscles he doesn't complain. He just holds Jonghyun, one arm around his waist, the other around his shoulders, snug and warm. He pats Jonghyun's back, he rocks him back and forth slowly, he makes soothing little noises.

It's exactly what Jonghyun needs when he gets like this, and that's exactly what makes it so much fucking worse. Every breath in is a gasp, every breath out is a whimper. Every soft cluck of Minho's tongue is sharp pain, every gentle shhh carves a deeper hole into his heart. When he finally does start calming down, sniffling, breathing slowly, it's not because he feels better. It's because he's out of tears and his body is running on empty.

"Jonghyun," Minho murmurs gently next to his ear. Jonghyun's heart skips, stops, stutters back to life. He shakes his head hard, pulling away from Minho but not letting go, stopping whatever he was about to say. Whatever it is, he can't hear it. Minho looks just as gorgeous and perfect as always, his eyes huge with worry, his mouth parted softly with words unspoken. Jonghyun blinks, not wanting to take his hands back to himself to rub his eyes even though they hurt so much it's hard to keep them open.

"Minho, I really," he says. It comes out as barely more than a whisper. His voice is so hoarse and weak. "I really, really, really, really like you." He can't bring himself to say love. He never says love on a regular day, even when his entire heart is bursting with it, because he never wants to overstep, he never wants to go too fast and admit something that won't be true in a few days. Today, right here, right now, the truth of the word would explode him into a billion pieces.

"Believe me," he squeaks. "Please. Please believe me." He needs this. He grips Minho's arms hard, bruises of desperation forming beneath his fingertips even through the layers of his clothing. He needs Minho to believe him for his sake. For tomorrow's sake.

More than anything, for Minho's sake. So that when Minho wakes up on his birthday and finds out what Jonghyun has done to him, he'll know that it wasn't because of him. That it wasn't his fault. That at least, with all of the lies, all of the deception, all of the betrayal, at the very very least, Jonghyun wasn't lying about this. "Please," he begs.

"Of course I believe you, Jonghyun," Minho says. Just like that. No thought, no hesitation, just the softest smile. Like there's no other response Minho could conceive of there being. Like there's no reason to not trust Jonghyun. A stray dry sob bubbles out of Jonghyun's throat.

"Jonghyun," Minho says. Gently, so gently, he rubs his sleeve covered thumbs over Jonghyun's cheeks, drying them. “I'm not. I don't have... a lot of experience... at this. But. I think... me too. I think I lo–”

"I can't." Jonghyun shakes his head so fast that he gets dizzy. He pulls himself away completely, stumbling back until he hits the wall behind him hard. He can't, he can't, he fucking can't hear that, he can't let Minho say it, he can't be here. "I can't," he whispers. "I'm sorry.”

Minho steps forward, hand outstretched; Jonghyun takes off. He all but sprints to the door, slamming into it because he doesn't slow down in time. He needs to leave. He's going to leave.

And gentle on his shoulder as he’s fumbling with the latch–Taemin. Silent, comforting, understanding. He squeezes Jonghyun's shoulder and lets go. Jonghyun gets the door open.

Automatically, against his will, he looks back at Minho. The prince is still standing where Jonghyun left him, face full of longing and pain and regret and, worst of all, forgiveness.

Tears well up in Jonghyun's eyes once again and he runs out of the passageway.

He runs all the way back to his bedroom. He doesn't care who sees him sprinting through the hallways, doesn't even check to see if anyone is looking when he wrenches open another secret passageway and hurtles through the shortcut.

Kibum is sitting up in bed when Jonghyun bursts through the door. He looks up, concerned, glancing Jonghyun up and down. Jonghyun knows that he's a wreck. Face flushed, nose red, eyes bloodshot, chest heaving up and down with his breath. Kibum has maps and plans written out and arranged around him, plans for tomorrow, plans for the day after.

Jonghyun clumsily shoves off of the bed and climbs on top of Kibum. He clings around his neck, buries his face in his shoulder, and cries, his body pulling moisture from the bottom of his heart and releasing it as a new torrent of tears.

Kibum doesn't question it. He just wraps his arms around Jonghyun, shushing and soothing him, rearranging the both of them to lie down underneath the covers. He rubs his big hands all over Jonghyun's back and gently kisses his neck, his cheek, his ear.

"I know, babe, I know,” he murmurs in his deep, soothing voice. "I think I've started falling for him too."

It's far past two in the morning the night before Minho's birthday and he's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

His mind is so full of what feels like every thought underneath the sun. His birthday, his family, his title, his self-esteem, his purpose, his country. Jonghyun. Key.

They're gone, the two of them. The snowstorm that blew in a few days ago threatened to close off the roads back to their mountain village. Rather than let them stay at the castle until the spring thaw, they were given a carriage back home early and that was that. Minho almost didn't know until they were gone. He barely made it outside to see them off in time, and the only thing he could do was give them the royal bow as they left. He can still see their faces in his mind: Key softer than Minho has ever seen him, surprised to see Minho and then a smile that bordered on touched as he waved, and Jonghyun well and truly miserable for the few seconds that Minho saw him before he sunk down low in his seat.

And of course his brother was there already to see them off, because of course everyone else knew except for him. And of course he got made fun of for being upset, and of course he was told to stop throwing a tantrum. And obviously he's selfish for expecting to be told something so unimportant, and obviously he’s selfish for wanting the castle staff to have to put up with them for such a long time. And why would anyone assume that Minho would care about the artists in the first place? It's not like he's spent a lot of time with them. Their art wasn't even that good. Why is he always making such a big deal out of everything? Lighten up, it's his birthday month. He needs to just go back inside and talk to all of the important nobles that care about him enough to come see him.

Minho sighs hard, rubbing his hands over his face. This isn't doing him any good. He rolls out of bed, searching for his slippers in the darkness. A walk. That's what he needs. A nighttime stroll to clear his mind. He picks up a handheld glow lamp and carries it with him to Taemin's room. He hates to wake Taemin up, but he also hates being alone in the castle at night. He knows that Taemin won't mind.

At the very least, Taemin won't call him selfish for it.

Taemin is curled up like a shrimp in bed, arms sprawled in front of him, drooling a puddle onto his pillow, out cold. But when Minho puts a hand on his shoulder and tries to gently shake him awake, he bolts upright in a heartbeat, tense, fists up, ready to fight. Minho doesn't startle; he's aware that Taemin wakes up like this.

He wasn't aware that Taemin was able to sneak in a knife from somewhere, but it's there in his hand, gripped tight and ready for stabbing anyway. Still not very surprising. Concerning, but not surprising, and not something that Minho is going to ask him about. With his history, whatever Taemin needs to feel safe is fine.

"Taemin," he says. "It's just me.”

“Wuh? Oh." And almost like a switch, Taemin loses all of his fight. He rubs his fingers into his eyes, flumping back down into his mattress. "Time is it?” he mumbles. “Fuckin’ ay, dude.”

Minho can't help but smile as he answers, "almost three in the morning. Forgive me." It's not often that Taemin slips back into his common accent after trying so hard to sound proper and noble ever since he got here, but Minho loves when he does. "Would you mind if we went on a walk?" he asks. "I can't sleep."

Taemin just lies there for a minute, rubbing his face. He slips the knife casually back underneath his pillow. Minho is about to say forget it, never mind, sorry to be so selfish, when Taemin sits up again. "Sure, your Minhoness," he yawns. "Whatever." And he stumbles out of bed, clumsily getting his footing. His long hair is a mess, his sleep clothes rumpled, his face puffy with sleep, and he slouches, shoulders slumped, into his slippers, but he gestures for Minho to lead the way anyway.

Alright, then.

They're just leaving his rooms, closing the door behind them, when Taemin pauses for just a moment. He blinks groggily at Minho in the warm glow of the lamp. "Three in the morning," he says. He points at Minho. "Birth. Day. Yours. Happy." And he smiles, sleepy and warm. Minho smiles back from his heart. That's one person that he will enjoy hearing a birthday wish from today.

He wishes there were more. He wishes that the two people that he was actually looking forward to seeing on his birthday weren’t unceremoniously shoved out of his life earlier than their already too early parting date.

Minho sighs and starts walking.

It's what always gets him to sleep. The mindlessness of it, of letting his feet carry him wherever they want while he zones out staring at each ring on his fingers. And it's the exercise of it. Getting his blood pumping, using up all of his energy. He just needs to walk his restlessness out, walk all of his thoughts out of his brain. Thoughts about how this whole month hasn't been about him at all, about how his whole life has never been about him. About how everything, all the time, always, is about his status. Is about the prince. Ever since he was born, he was never a person. He's always just been a prince.

And never a good one, never one that could make a positive change in the country, never one that could make his parents proud to have given him that title. Even when he tries his hardest, condenses himself, squashes himself, suppresses himself, to be exactly what he's supposed to be, it's never enough. Because it's always an act, and they know that.

It's a weird thing, to know that all you are is a powerful title with no real power. He can't even use his power to help his people like he's supposed to. Not without getting blocked and shut down and ridiculed. It would honestly probably be easier for him to walk into the nearest city and start handing out money than it would be for him to give them any help from here in the castle.

Minho doesn't know why he's suddenly thinking like this. Suddenly realizing all of these things.

No, he knows why. It wasn't his realization at all. It was Jonghyun and Key. The two of them and their stark contrast to the rest of his life opened his eyes. It was Jonghyun's kindness, his acceptance, the overpowering force of his gentleness. His instinct to speak up, speak loud with reassurance and comfort. The calm and quiet in his presence, the unspoken invitation to share, the unquestionable lack of judgment.

When he was with Jonghyun, Minho felt like he was everything. But not in the way that his family makes him feel like he is everything; not like everything is his responsibility, not like everything revolves around him, not like he needs to be everything or else. When he was with Jonghyun, he felt like an infinite amount of potential all wrapped up in his singular human body and waiting to be explored.

And it was Key. His straightforward stubbornness, but also his reflective flexibility. His steadfast conviction towards his opinions coupled with his willingness to listen and learn and change them. The unashamed way he bore all of his thoughts and emotions on his sleeves and expected Minho to do the same. When Minho was with Key, he felt like nothing. But again, not nothing like the way his family makes him feel like nothing. Not worthless, troublesome, in the way. Not a waste of time, money, effort. Not a voice preferred to be unheard, preferred to have never been born.

When he was with Key, he felt like a quiet laugh at gentle teasing. Like surprised anger at an uncalled for insult. Like an annoyed sigh, like a vacant thought, like genuine joy at meeting someone new. He felt like whatever emotions happened to rise up in him every exact moment, and like all of those emotions were the right thing to be feeling. He felt like an equal, a person, a nobody. Not a prince. Just a guy.

The two of them and all of their traits together, so different but so compatible, balanced, gave Minho everything he needed to see that the people controlling his life don't have any of it.

He had so much more that he wanted to say to them. Questions to ask, apologies to give, confessions to make. Two fragile, shaky relationships, not even a month old, that Minho was desperate to try his fucking hardest to solidify.

And now it's just him, on his own, with an ache in his heart big enough for two people.

He misses them. It hasn't even been a day.

Minho hasn't been paying attention to where his feet have been carrying him. He's just been walking, lost in his thoughts, and so when he shakes his head to focus and realizes that they're coming up on the doorway to the royal artifact room, he isn't entirely surprised. His crown is in there, freshly cleaned for the umpteenth time this month to be ready for the official birthday ceremony tomorrow.

Minho thinks for a moment, then shrugs. Sure. Why not. If he's out here having an emotional walk about his feelings in the middle of the night, he might as well do it looking at the symbol of all of his problems. He slows when they reach the door and grabs the handle. Why not look at the crown that says he should be the center of the universe while the two people that made him feel like the center of the universe are gone forever?

“Wuh–your highness, Minho, wait, don't–!" Taemin speaks suddenly, grabbing at Minho's sleeve, but Minho is already opening the door. He glances back at Taemin, confused, and then looks inside.

Where Jonghyun and Key are standing. Frozen. Looking directly back at him with wide eyes.

Minho knows that it's them even though they're wearing all black and their faces and hair are covered. There's Jonghyun, his eyes huge, soft, and brown, down on one knee, tying the hands of two unconscious guards together behind their backs. Minho glances behind himself at the door, his sleep deprived mind noticing the lack of guards several beats too late.

And there’s Key, his eyes sharp and piercing, the lower fork of his eyebrow scar just visible underneath his mask. He’s bent over something–over a crown. Over Minho's crown. The glass case covering it is on the floor, a box of tools on top of it, another box with a soft velvet interior next to it. As Minho watches, Key's gloved hands, almost as if acting on their own, pop one of the royal jewels right off of the crown with a quiet, metallic clunk .

A hundred, a thousand questions enter Minho's mind. The one he asks is, "why?”

"I'm sorry.” Jonghyun speaks first, and the words come out as a squeak.

"You fucking know why," Key snaps. He's already looking back to his work. Another gemstone lining the base of Minho's crown clunks off. He drops it into the velvet case and it fits perfectly into a premade divot next to all of the others. Jonghyun ties off the guards’ hands, wiggling his fingers between their wrists and the rope to check the tightness. The door slowly swings to a close behind Minho. His mind opens up with waves of tiny realizations.

“You're in the Rebellion." They're not just thieves. Key's hostile attitude towards the entire castle; Jonghyun wandering the halls and finding things he shouldn't; Key antagonizing him the first day for fun; Jonghyun's detailed knowledge of the laws. They're too organized, too informed, to be just thieves. Even.... Minho feels dizzy. "Was there even a storm? Up north? In the mountains?” Was that real, or was that just them using the weather down here to bolster their lie? The lie that they had to leave early? Did they even go farther than a few miles?

“I'm sorry ," Jonghyun breathes. He gets to his feet, hands balled tight in the hem of his sweater. His eyes are overbright, almost overfilling. Minho recognizes the look from just two nights ago. Key doesn't say anything. He pries another jewel off of the crown. Minho winces at the noise.

"Hey," he says. His mind is racing and so is his heart, and he latches onto a sharp flare of annoyance. The least Key could do is look at him as he steals from him. He takes a step forward. Before he can do anything else, Jonghyun steps between the two of them, his right arm held out to shield Key. There's the slick, metallic slide of steel on leather and then Jonghyun is holding a sword in his left hand. And it's nothing like the swords that Minho trains with, standard and legal; it's a cutlass, curved and vicious, scratched on the flat but deadly sharp where it matters. Automatically, Minho mirrors Jonghyun, throwing out a hand to cover Taemin without looking back at him.

"I'm sorry," Jonghyun whispers. His voice shakes, but his hands don't. "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm sorry." Another clunk.

"Stop fucking saying that," Key snaps without looking up.

"Why?" Minho snaps back at him. "Because he can't un assault my guards? Because he can't un sneak into my home? Because he can't un break my–” He stops before he says it, but the realization of it slams into him anyway. It's true. His mind is going a thousand miles an hour, his lungs are pumping oxygen through his body, every single one of his nerves is buzzing, but his heart?

Slow. Painful. Broken. Quiet, cold pieces inside of his chest as he fully processes and understands what's happening in front of him. They're not just stealing from him. They're destroying his crown on his birthday. They're humiliating him.

No. They're not doing this to him. They're doing this to the prince. They're humiliating the monarchy. After everything, he's still just a title to them, a stepladder to get to his family.

Clunk.

"Stop that," Minho hisses.

“Or what?” Key asks. Clunk .

Minho inflates with angry breath, a thousand words running through his brain and none of them coming out of his mouth. Or what? What is he going to do? What can he do? Fight them? Hurt them? No. Run away and find more guards? sign their execution warrant himself? No. Never. Not for anyone. Clunk.

“Or nothing," he says. "Just. Stop. Talk to me."

Key scoffs. Minho takes another step forward; Jonghyun does too, thrusting the sword right underneath his chin, the point barely a millimeter away from his neck. His “I'm sorry” comes out barely more than a breath. A tear falls out of his left eye and immediately soaks into the fabric of his mask. “ Please” comes out of his mouth too, the softest yet.

Please. Please believe him. Please believe that he cares.

Minho does. That's the thing. Despite everything tonight, he still does believes that Jonghyun wasn't lying to him two nights ago. Wasn't lying to him about the portrait. Wasn't lying to him about his family. Wasn't lying to him about his feelings. Lying to him about everything else, but not about his feelings. Minho turns to Key over Jonghyun's shoulder.

"What's your plan?” He demands. "What are you going to do now? With me? Kill me? That's way more than you came here for, I know that much.” Stealing from a prince is one thing; killing a prince is another thing entirely. He knows for a fact that they're not going to go that far. “Do you think I'm going to let you just leave? Do you think I'm going to lie for you? Do you think I can lie for you?” Key ignores him, methodically working his way around bottom of the crown, then getting started on the big, fat jewels in the center. "And what about him?" Minho asks, gesturing to Taemin. "What do you expect him to do? He's a shit liar. Are you going to take responsibility for him when he gets in trouble?”

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Key uses his tools with expert precision, not damaging a single gem as he removes each one.

"What about everyone else in the castle that's going to get interrogated on suspicion of helping you? Have you thought about them?” Has Key thought about whether or not anyone else would be in danger because of this? "Is teaching the prince a lesson worth all of that?" Minho asks. He's furious now, almost shouting, because Key won't even fucking look at him. "Answer me!"

He tries to step around Jonghyun, faking to the left and then going for the right, but Jonghyun moves in a flash. A flash, and a sharp, sudden pain on Minho's jawline. Heat, wetness trickling down the right side of his neck, the iron scent of blood. Taemin rushing to his side, grabbing onto his shirt, whispering curses but not knowing what to do. Jonghyun breathing heavy and loud, both eyes spilling over, red dripping off of the curve of his sword. Minho stares at him, shocked into silence.

"Minho," he says, voice trembling. "Please." He sniffles, he swallows, he whimpers.

Key puts a hand on his arm. Steadying, comforting. He glares at Minho.

"This isn't about the prince," he says, dangerously quiet. "Hurting the royal family is just a bonus. But this isn't about them. This isn't about you. This isn't about us ." He gestures between himself and Minho. “Your lot is awful. You get far more abuse than you deserve. This is going to make it worse. I know that. I have sympathy for you. But this is not. About your heart. This isn't about my heart. There are more people with bigger problems." He bends back over the crown and continues his work.

The prince. The family. Them. You.

Different. Separate. Key speaks about the prince and Minho as if they're different, as if he understands the difference. And the thing is, Minho believes him too. He thinks, more than anyone, Key knows that the prince persona and Minho's real personality are two separate entities.

And something else. Minho gently pushes Taemin off of him, shushing his worrying. It hurts but it's not concerning right now. "Us?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. Since when is there an us ? Key hesitates for the smallest fraction of a second. "Your heart?” Minho adds. Since when was Key’s heart on the line?

"Mind your own business," Key snaps. The next jewel clunks off of the crown much louder than the others.

Minho chooses to mind his own business just like he did that day they had a conversation in his rooms and asks, "you do care about me?" He does? Genuinely? Minho thought that maybe Key was warming up to him that day. Not just because they almost had sex, but emotionally, when Key stopped to ask about trust. Minho thought that was something. He quickly wrote it off as nothing, too small of a thing to make a big deal about it. But he wasn't reading too much into things? "You were blushing,” he realizes out loud. When he left. There was pink over his nose. Minho thought so, but second-guessed himself. But he was . "You do care about me." He repeats it as a statement, not a question.

"So what." And Key does the same thing; he speaks a statement, not a question. He says it as yanks off a jewel from one of the points of the crown. Casual, almost flippant, dropping Minho's jaw.

"So ," he says, a heavy breath. His heart comes back to his life, pounding in his chest, pounding with a hundred new possibilities that have just opened up to him. "So–so if you care–” If they care, both of them, Jonghyun and Key, if they both care about him, if the only thing they were lying about was tonight, if they both meant what they said about everything else, if they both truly do understand–automatically, he takes a step forward, forgetting about the sword, forgetting about Jonghyun's conviction.

But it's not Jonghyun that cuts him again; faster than lightning, Key stands up, whirls around, and grabs the sword. Pain sears across Minho's left cheek just underneath his eye. Blood trickles down his face, hot and uncomfortable. Taemin curses louder, starting to surge forward before Minho throws his arm out to stop him. Jonghyun squeaks, grabbing Key’s wrist in a bruising grip. Key doesn't take his eyes off of Minho.

"Just because we care about you," he says, venom dripping from his voice like Minho's blood off of the sword, "that does not mean we don't care about other things more. You are not so special to us that we will stop."

"What–? No, that’s. Well, yes, but.” That's not what Minho was trying to get at. He can explain himself better, he can get them to understand the soaring that’s suddenly happening in his chest. " Listen –”

"One more word," Key hisses. "One more word and you'll find out if I care about you enough to not kill you." His voice is so hard, his eyes so sharp, and Minho doesn't doubt him for a second.

He speaks again anyway: "let me come with you."

“What?” Jonghyun and Key both speak at the same time, eyes wide, voices high pitched with confusion.

"You can't come with us,” Key says. He lowers the sword just enough in his distraction that Jonghyun can snatch it back. Jonghyun doesn't level it at Minho again. He lets it swing down by his side, dripping onto the carpet. Key barely glances at him. "You can't just decide that,” he says. “You have no idea what you'd be getting into, you can't just choose to–"

"Why not?” Minho demands, incensed. He cannot believe that Key of all people is saying this to him. " You’re the one that told me that if you were me you would just leave." Now he's trying to just leave and suddenly Key doesn't think that anymore? Bullshit. Key splutters, holding his hands out wildly.

"I said leave and get a job on a farm, not join the fucking Rebellion, that's not–ugh. I'm not arguing with you. Jonghyun.”

He turns away, back to the crown to finish his work, muttering under his breath. Minho looks at Jonghyun; his name was apparently an order, one that Jonghyun obeys with a heavy sigh. He wipes Minho's blood off of his sword, slides it back into the sheath, rubs his palms into his eyes, and looks up.

"Minho, you can't come with us," he says. Finally, Minho guesses, he's free from his four word limit, free from his tears. For now. He steps close to Minho, raising his hand up to his face. He hesitates, eyes darting to his cheek, to his jaw, and then he just puts his hand on Minho's shoulder.

"Look,” he says. “You've been here your whole life. And maybe you don't belong here, but you're not prepared to be out there, either." He gestures behind himself to mean outside of the castle, out in the world. “You don't know how bad it is for the rest of us. Especially us in the Rebellion. We're always on the move and in danger. You wouldn't last."

Minho opens his mouth, almost offended. He knows how to survive. He knows how to camp and fight and protect himself. But something tells him that that's not what Jonghyun means. He takes a moment, the first moment since he opened the door, to stop and really sort through his thoughts.

Does he even know how to camp? He's been camping with the royal procession, everything planned out and prepared beforehand. He's been trained to sword fight, but he's never gotten close to being in actual battle. He's been traveling, but every location he's been ushered away from the common people and into mayor's houses, nobles estates, general's tents. He's heard about fires, earthquakes, floods, raids, but he's never been allowed to go see the damage firsthand and try to help.

He doesn't know anything. He's never been connected to his people. And that only strengthens his resolve.

“I have a duty to my people. I want… I need to help my people," he says. "And you two are the the ones that made me realize that if I can't help them from here, then I need to leave." He puts his hands on Jonghyun's waist, gentle, pleading. Jonghyun doesn't move away from his touch. "You told me," he says. "You told me that I don't belong here. You were right." He was right. He was right. Minho has been thinking about it every single day since Jonghyun said it. Never once in his life has Minho felt like he belongs here. Never once in his life has anyone tried to make him feel like he belongs here. This is the first time that he's said it out loud, but it feels right in his mouth, in his chest, in his heart, because he knows that it's true.

"You only like us so much," Key says loudly, straightening up and turning around again. The crown is entirely bare now, each and every jewel pried off. Key speaks as he makes sure they're all secure in their right places in the cushioned box. "Because we are the first two people that have ever been fucking kind to you. The bar is so low. Trust me. It's not a good idea to run off with us just because we don't treat you like shit."

Minho can't help the scoff that rips through his throat. "You have not been kind to me,” he says flatly. “You–’

“I have not been nice to you," Key snaps. “I have been very kind to you."

"You're so fucking pretentious.” Minho is distracted suddenly, annoyed suddenly, amused suddenly at the way he can just tell, even under his mask, that Key’s mouth is opened in outrage. “ Kind but not nice ," he says mockingly, wiggling his fingers. " I don't do apologies . Don't you ever get tired of caring about things that don't matter? Don't you ever get tired of nitpicking every little thing?”

"Oh, you're right, I should just not think about anything and join an anarchist group like it's no big deal." Key spits the sarcasm at him. "Do you even know how many of your people fucking hate you?" he asks. "Do you think it was just me? Do you think you can change all of their minds as easy as you did mine? How long do you think you would even last? All you've ever done is gone on fancy little royal vacations with servants to do everything for you and guards to keep you safe from the rest of us."

"Well, I'm pretty sure they'll like me a lot more once I'm actually able to help them," Minho snaps back. "And you're the one that said I could help better in person than I could from here." At this point, after so long of not being able to do anything, it's his responsibility to do all that he can to help. He can do it. “I can learn."

"You can learn ?” Key laughs, actually throws his head back and cackles. It's the first time, Minho thinks, he's ever heard it, and he does his best to ignore the stuttering in his heart. He has other stuff to focus on right now. “Who's going to teach you?" Key demands. " Us? "

"Like you wouldn't love to teach me a lesson or two,” Minho snorts.

Key slams the box closed and starts towards him, fire in his eyes. "I'll teach you a lesson right n–”

"You said," Jonghyun interrupts them with a hiss, stopping Key with a hand hard on his chest. "You weren't going to argue with him. Keep it in your fucking pants.” Quickly he pushes Minho back a step as well, eyebrows furrowed. "You too," he says sternly.

Minho looks blankly down at Jonghyun. Him too? He realizes suddenly that he’s grinning, his heart pounding, his fingertips tingling. He was having fun arguing just then, with the back and forth, with the uncensored release of thoughts, with the way Key wasn't holding anything back. Just like he was the day they argued in his rooms, he's filled with a rush of freedom, elation, a complete release of his inhibitions.

"Fuck," Jonghyun says, rolling his eyes. "No wonder he likes you so much." He snaps his fingers in Minho's face, one hand on his hip, so little in his bossiness. "Focus,” he commands.

Minho is focusing, all right. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, he feels more focused, more certain, than he ever has in his entire life. He knows what he wants and, for once, he knows how he's going to get it.

"Minho," Jonghyun is saying. All of his annoyance has left him and he's back to his big, round, pouty eyes, his tired voice, his small hands gripping in Minho's shirt. "Minho, I know it's hard, and I know it's lonely, but–"

Minho cups Jonghyun's face, tugs down his mask, leans in, and kisses his surprised gasp.

Hard, and long, indulging in him, feeling their mouths move together. Very quickly Jonghyun goes limp and wraps his arms around Minho's neck. He lifts up on his tiptoes so the angle isn't as steep, so he can press their bodies together, and Minho holds him close. The movement of his jaw agitates his cut, making it sting and burn. He remembers that he has blood running down his face, down his neck, and that Jonghyun is holding him anyway, not caring about getting dirty, and he holds Jonghyun even tighter.

It's the best kiss Minho has ever had in his life.

When they break it, he rests their foreheads together and whispers Jonghyun's name.

"I don't belong here," he says. "And maybe I don't belong with the Rebellion either. But, Jonghyun. I want to belong with you." He wants to belong with Jonghyun, with Key, with these two wonderful people that came into his life and burst his world wide open.

"Oh?” The word comes out of Jonghyun's mouth as a whine, little and high-pitched and long, a five note melody that ends with his eyes overflowing once more. He drops back down to his heels but just so he can push his face into Minho's chest. "Minho," he whispers.

There's another slam; Key closing his toolbox. "You are so fucking soft," he mutters. There's nothing in his tone but fondness. Minho smirks, watching him place the crown back on its pedestal and carefully lift the glass display box back into place.

"I'll kiss you next,” he says. "See how soft it makes you.” Maybe it's the sleep deprivation and the blood loss, but he feels on top of the world. Key scoffs, turning away, but not before Minho sees what little of his face is visible underneath his mask turn pink.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," he grumbles. He puts his face in his hands, stomps the floor hard, and grinds out the most vicious “fuck!” Minho has ever heard. Then, "fine. You can come."

Minho's heart skips over the moon.

He inflates with it, with joy, with relief, with gratitude, with love .

"Thank you," he sighs. "Both of you. For everything." For speaking to him, for accepting him, for making the effort to understand him. For opening his eyes and giving him a way out.

"Yeah, whatever," Key says. He yanks Jonghyun away and gives him the box of jewels, pushing the toolbox into Minho's arms next. "Don't say you weren't warned. Now come on. We have to go.”

"Wait." A lot has been happening in the last few minutes, but Minho hasn't forgotten. In the back of his mind the entire time has been, "Taemin.”

He turns and finds his attendant where he thought he would be: sitting down, his back against the door, nervously playing with his hands in his lap. Ever since Minho first asked the other two to let him join them, he knew that Taemin had backed away, made himself small. His eyes are down, his lips bitten. Lost, alone. Abandoned. Now Minho kneels down in front of him, tilting his face up.

"I won't go without you," he says. "You don't belong here as much as I do. We've... we've been surviving this place together, haven't we? I won't leave you here alone. Will you come with us?"

"Oh," Taemin says. His eyes are wide, his mouth open with surprise. "Oh, um." He glances behind Minho at the other two and back. "This is awkward, uh."

"He's already with us," Key says.

"He's a spy too," Jonghyun adds.

"Uh, what they said," Taemin says, nodding.

Minho blinks at him. "What?" he asks. "The–the whole time?" He's dizzy again. Jonghyun and Key are one thing, but Taemin?

"Well," Taemin says loudly. He holds his hands out, waving them around like Minho is supposed to gain meaning from it. "I didn't know you cared about me this much," he whines. "Fuck. Now I feel bad!" His hands fall into his lap and he pouts, his eyes big and round. He looks so genuinely upset that Minho has to believe him.

"Taemin–”

"You can talk about it later," Key hisses. He grabs Minho by the arm and hauls him to his feet. "We are on a schedule and we’re already late. Are you coming or not?”

"Go,” Taemin tells him. "I'll be fine." Even as he says it, Jonghyun gently tugs him over to the two unconscious guards and ties his hands up alongside theirs. "I'm proud of you, by the way." And he smiles so big and wide that Minho feels it in his heart. He still trusts Taemin. He trusts Jonghyun and Key.

"Okay," he says. He stands up, running his hand through his hair. One of his rings catches on a strand of hair and tugs it out. Wincing, he frowns at his hand. His rings glint back at him in the dim lamplight. Four markers of who he is. Four markers of who he never was. "One more thing," he says.

He walks to the glass proudly displaying his empty crown. Ignoring Key hissing “what now?" he takes off his rings. Diamond for the king, gold for the queen, and silver for the crown prince. He lines them up in front of his crown.

"What are you doing?" Key asks. "We can sell those– ow. ”

Minho ignores Jonghyun scolding Key in a stern whisper as well. For a long moment, he looks at his last ring, bronze around his pinky. His ring. The ring of the second son of the royal family.

He takes it off and puts it next to the others.

"He can't send them a message, we’re sending them a message, his message is going to overshadow our –”

"I'm ready.”

"Good. Let's go." Key stops complaining without a second thought; apparently leaving quickly is more important than leaving the right message.

Minho goes, following Key through a secret passageway right in the royal artifact room. Jonghyun trails after, closing the door behind them. Minho doesn't look back.

#jongho #jongtae #minho #jonghyun #kibum #key #fluff #fantasy #Get the treasure au #I have extra tags to go with this but my arms suck today lol and for once I posted it on ao3 first because of the event #so check there if you want them finger pistols and a wink wink

2 notes · View notes