#i’ve been in a pretty horrible flare these past two weeks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rhysismydaddy · 3 years

Text

An Artful Revenge pt. 3 (Feysand)

Part of the Damnation Series.

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

~Feyre~

I spend three days figuring out what to do with the phone number.

On Day 1, I decided I’d text, not call. It was the cowardly thing to do, but the thought of him answering the phone and putting me on the spot made me want to run and hide.

Day 2 had been plain ole procrastination. I’d gone to the museum on the hope he’d be there, but like he’d said, that really was a horrible way of communicating.

Day 3, I decided, was the day of reckoning. I’d text him today.

Shit, did billionaires even text?

Maybe I should send a properly-formatted memo instead.

And what should I even write? Hey seemed too casual. Hi, maybe? How’s your day going? Wanna make out?

Gods, I’m bad at this.

After another two hours of staring at a blank screen, I send: Dinner tonight?

Then, because I realize I’m a fucking idiot: It’s Feyre, btw.

I throw my phone across the room in embarrassment, and put my head in my hands like that’ll unsend the message, then jump the couch like a hurdle when I hear a ding.

And promptly frown when I read: If you’re going to ask me out, you have to call me like an adult.

I can practically hear his the smile in his voice, and I grit my teeth in annoyance.

But I call him anyway.

“Look who grew up,” he says in lieu of hello, voice gravelly and amused.

“Oh, shut up. Do you want to buy me dinner or not?”

He laughs at that, the sound making my lips twitch. “I would love to buy you dinner. But only because I can’t bear the thought of you eating Ramen for the third time this week.”

Narrowing my eyes and glancing around like a fugitive, I try to figure out how the hell he knows I’ve been surviving on reheated, soggy noodles for the past week.

I don’t have the chance to ask before he declares, “I’ll pick you up at six. Oh, and check your doorstep.”

The line clicks dead ominously, and I glance suspiciously at my front door.

Tiptoeing over, I peek outside, eyes going wide when I see a package leaning against the brick side of the building.

How long has that been here? I got the mail yesterday, so it had to come today, but... how did he know I’d call today? Is he Batman or something?

I grab the package, roll my eyes at the big red bow on top, and put it on the counter. Then I pick it back up and shake it like that’ll tell me what he’s up to.

But the curiosity starts to kill me, and I rip into the pretty packaging like a feral animal, unable to wait another second. A shiny black box is inside, and I flip the top open, eyebrows flying up when I look inside.

The dress is blood red and looks fitted and beautiful. But that isn’t what surprises me. It the thin, lacy underwear with a note attached. A note that reads, in Rhysand’s slashy, distinct handwriting, These are optional.

The feminist in me flares, and I decide right then and there to make him eat those words.

When six o’clock comes around, I’m prepped and ready for battle.

My hair is done, my makeup pristine, and the dress is hugging every curve and propping my boobs up to sit nicely on my chest. I don’t typically give myself compliments, but I look damn good. And more than that, I feel good.

I also don’t typically wear bold makeup, but I’ve thrown that rule out the window.

My lips match the dress, a dark, ruby red that makes my skin look pale in comparison. I’m complete shit at eyeliner, but I put enough mascara on to frame my eyes and make the blue pop against the red of my lips and dress.

I look like a mix between a pinup girl and a vampire, basically.

Knowing how punctual he is, as soon as the clock on my phone reads 7:00, I swing the door open and smile broadly.

Rhysand pauses, fist halfway to where the door was, and uses a long moment to take me in. His eyes linger on my lips, the exposed cleavage, the sweep of my hips. His mouth drops open slightly, but before he can speak, I step out and lock the door behind me.

“The problem with your chauvinistic little plan to tell me what to wear, Rhysand,” I tell him, slipping the lace he’d gifted me into his pants pocket and accidently feeling him up, “Is that now you know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“It was a flawed plan, I admit.” He swallows, eyes narrowing on my hips like he can sense if I’m telling the truth. “But the important thing is to not stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reasons for existing.”

I roll my eyes. “Quoting Einstein now to make yourself feel smart?”

He smiles at that. “Stop calling me on my shit, Feyre. Let’s go.”

I take his hand, happy with myself for winning this round, and let him pull me down the street. He stops in front of a dark, speedy looking car. “Beefcakes busy tonight?”

He gives me a strange look, then laughs loudly. “His name is Rolando.”

Still chuckling, he opens the door for me before walking around to his side. The car’s low to the ground and dark inside, and it makes a loud, rumbling sound when he turns it on.

He grins, almost like he can’t help it, and I laugh. “Boys and their toys.”

Rhysand pulls out of the spot smoothly, driving slowly because of the traffic. He reaches over and puts a hand on my thigh, just below the hem of the dress.

It’s warm and wonderful and casual enough to not mean anything, but I’ve made it my goal tonight to make him cry like a baby, so I swat it away. “Don’t even start.”

“Start what?”

I look over at him and smile sweetly. “Trying to seduce me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I link our fingers together and rest them on the center consol. “Where are we going?”

“New York.”

My mouth drops open. “Um, what? That’s like a twelve hour drive.”

“We’re not driving.”

I gesture around us with my free hand. “Yes, we are.”

“You are such a little smartass tonight. We are currently driving, but we aren’t driving to New York. And before you ask, the answer is yes.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “To what question?”

“If it’s my plane.”

I drop his hand and throw both of mine up in frustration. “Okay what gives? Did you stick a chip in my head or something?”

He smiles, pulling onto the interstate smoothly. Even though it’s not as crowded, he still drives slower than I’d expected when I saw the car. “Your face is very easy to read.”

“It is not,” I argue, my face instantly finding insult with that statement.

“Yes, it is. I’ll prove it to you. Tell me two truths and a lie, and I bet I can guess which one is the lie.”

“What’s the bet?”

He takes his eyes off the road to give me a very male look. I narrow my eyes, picking up on the innuendo in his gaze, and he laughs.

“And if I win?” I ask, taking in his profile while he drives and trying not to sigh at how handsome he is. Such a nice jawline.

“I’ll answer three of the questions you’re dying to ask.”

Oh, he knows me too well for this. His smile grows because he knows I’m a fish gladly swallowing the hook, but still asks, “Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

I take a few minutes to think of facts about myself.

“I had a pet goat when I was little, my best friend’s a lesbian, and I think Mick Jagger is sexy.”

They’re the three most random things I could think of, things he’d have absolutely no way of knowing.

But the damn bastard still says immediately, “Your best friend isn’t a lesbian.”

My mouth drops open because technically, she’s bi, and I make a strangled sound of disbelief that makes him grin. “I told you. You’re a bad liar. Shame, I could tell you really wanted to ask those questions.”

“I hate you,” I tell him, beyond annoyed myself.

He pulls off the highway and turns, leading us out to a dusky private airfield I--shockingly--never knew was behind the airport. Rhysand slows to a stop and looks over at me, then leans slowly to press his lips to mine.

It’s warm and sweet and soft, but I feel it all the way to my toes.

He ruins the moment by murmuring, “I’ll take my reward later, by the way.”

I shove him over to his side of the car and climb out, then realize I don’t know where to go. We’re surrounded by expensive looking planes, one of which is obviously owned by the billionaire trying to get in my pants, but I don’t know which one.

I glance back over my shoulder at him, and he smirks and points at the one to our right.

“Are you seriously taking me to New York?”

I kind of thought he’d been joking, but he nods. “My favorite restaurant is there.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“More like hungry,” he argues, holding out a hand to gesture up the open steps leading in the plane.

I stay where I am, casting a curious glance up the stairs. It looks nice and shiny in there, but no matter how nice and shiny, it’s basically a steel death trap.

Even though I can feel his eyes on me and desperately want to hide this fact about myself, I can’t step up.

And because he’s an observant little asshole, he notices. “You’re afraid to fly.”

“Um, well, not afraid-”

“You’ve never flown before.”

I nod, blushing from embarrassment. I mean, it’s obvious he flies all the time if he has his own plane, and I’m small town enough to have never even been in one.

“Don’t be embarrassed. My first time flying was three years ago, Feyre.”

My face must look doubtful, because he nods. “I’m serious. I never saw the point until a business rivalry made me feel inadequate. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. We can go somewhere else.”

He’s sweet to offer, but... I want to go. I’ve never been to New York, and when am I going to get an offer like this again?

“I’m... uh... are you sure about this thing?” I reach out and grab the handle of the stairs, shaking it to see if it’ll fall off or something.

“Yes.”

There’s no argument, no doubt in his voice. And I know it’s irrational, but-

Strong arms wrap around my waist and heft me up, and I yelp as Rhysand flings me over his shoulder and my head comes very close to his ass. “What are you doing?”

“Kidnapping you. You obviously want to go, and I’d hate to miss the reservations.”

“Rhysand, wait, hold on a second.” He ignores me entirely and walks up the stairs and inside the plane, even stopping to shake hands with the pilot. I’m dropped in a plush chair, and before I can object, a seatbelt is around my waist.

“See?” He gestures around. “Like a living room.”

“In the sky!”

He shrugs like that’s an irrelevant detail, looking back over his shoulder and gesturing again to the pilot. I peek around him to see the door seal closed, then the gentle-looking man disappears in the control room.

“He’s the one flying this thing?” I mean, he looked competent enough, but...

I start freaking out.

Rhysand slips his jacket off, throwing it over the back of a seat before sliding into it, gentle grace and luxury lining his every movement. His eyes roam over me slowly, and I can tell he’s about to try and distract me before he even says, “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I pant back, gripping the arms of the seat with white knuckles.

Plan A having failed, he swiftly moves onto B. “Are you really not wearing underwear?”

B, I have to admit, does a decent job of momentarily distracting me from my inevitable death. “I thought you said I’m easy to read.”

He smirks. “Tell me anyway. I won the bet, remember?”

“I remember you never specified the terms, so-”

I cut myself off as the plane starts rolling, and if I had half a mind to care, I’d worry my painted nails are about to bust through the soft leather of his chair.

I feel like fucking throwing up or stabbing him or running far away or crying.

Rhysand, on the other hand, looks completely relaxed, sprawled casually in the seat across from me.

The plane makes a slow turn, then pauses. Apprehension sweeps over me, and I groan and look at the ceiling.

“Allow me to rectify that horrible mistake. My prize is... a kiss.”

Despite the nausea, I raise a brow and looks at him suspiciously. “You want to kiss me? That’s it?”

“Mmhm. Right now. Close your eyes.”

“But the plane-”

He shrugs and waves a hand. “Just close your eyes, love.”

I shut up and close my eyes, slightly pursing my lips and waiting patiently. I hear a shuffle, feel the warmth of his body come close to mine. My breath draws shallow in anticipation, goosebumps appearing on my arms.

There’s another pause, and I’m about to open my eyes to see where he went, but then the plane attempts to break the sound barrier and takes off, and I’m thrown back against the seat.

At the same time, I feel a kiss on the inside of my knee.

My eyes fly open to find Rhysand kneeling in front of me, hands bracketing my thighs. I open my mouth to say something, but he growls, “Close. Your. Eyes.”

The frank demand in his voice gives me no option, and as soon as I do, he kisses my thigh again in reward.

“Now spread your legs.”

The plane goes faster and faster. “Rhysand...”

He sighs, a long-suffering sound that makes me giggle as I once again do what he wants. I mean, really, why was I even hesitating?

It’s obvious what he’s doing, and even though it’s not safe in the slightest, I’m well on board with the idea.

His hands move to my knees, then glide up, pushing the tight hem of the dress up. He’s pressing open-mouth kisses to my thighs as he goes, and then his hands slide up another inch, and my lack of undergarments are revealed.

“Fuck, Feyre,” he says, like my going commando was my idea, not his.

I’m about to point that out when he leans forward and put his mouth on me. At the same time the plane lifts off the ground.

I’m torn between panic and ecstasy. The combination makes me light headed, and a rush of adrenaline hits my system, making me gasp.

I try to sit up straighter in the seat, but he’s holding my hips in a death grip and pulls them the other way. I slide down, thighs falling further open. He slips his shoulders under them, completely in control of the situation, and all I can do is grip his hair and enjoy the ride.

His mouth is insistent and confident against me and makes me finally stop thinking about dying in a fiery plane crash.

He slides a hand up my thigh, somehow able to hold me still with just one, then presses a finger inside me. I groan and pull on his hair, squirming underneath his grip, but it’s useless.

Rhysand holds tight, his strong hands preventing me from moving, as he devours me completely. I make a helpless sound, but he doesn’t take mercy.

I think, instead of the crash, I’ll die from this instead.

I think I’ll just burn and burn and burn from the fire he’s ignited in my blood.

His name slips past my lips, and he pauses, then becomes even more demanding. I’m being adored, worshipped, eaten like a ice cream sundae.

Another finger slips inside me as his mouth sucks softly, and I come with a cry, practically strangling him with my thighs.

He keeps moving, kissing me softly, until my thighs go limp and I fall back into the seat with a huff.

He leans back on his heels, hands braced on my thighs, and runs his tongue across his lower lip in a way that makes me almost come again. Realization of what he just did courses through me, and I blush, well aware that my lady bits are still on display.

“Flying isn’t so bad after all.”

Rhysand laughs, pressing one last kiss to my knee before gently pulling my dress back into place. Then he sits back in his seat, crosses his legs, and looks me over slowly.

“Well, that was definitely a faulty plan, because now I don’t even want to go to dinner.”

“No?”

“No.”

The heat in his gaze sends a thrill through me, because suddenly, I don’t even care about New York. I want him to land this plane and take me home and give me a repeat of what just happened.

But now it’s abundantly clear that if I went home with him, I wouldn’t walk out with my sanity. So, once again a coward, I deflect. “Well, too bad. I’m hungry.”

He says something I can’t quite hear, the way he looks at me tells me not to ask.

“How long is the flight?”

He checks his watch. “About another half hour.” My mind wanders to very... creative ways we could fill that time, and I blush again. “I’m curious to know what you’re thinking about over there.”

His smile says he knows, so I look him over like he often does me and say softly, “I’m thinking about returning the favor.”

His eyes flare, his mind easily following mine, but he maintains his composure. “A half hour isn’t nearly enough time if we start going down that road.”

It takes me more than a second to figure out how to breathe again. “How much time would we need?”

“Days.”

Oh, holy hell.

I’m about to tell him to keep us in the air that long, but he winks and looks away, then presses a button on a remote I hadn’t noticed he was holding. A classy looking woman in a red skirt and matching blouse comes out of the cockpit, wheeling an ice bucket and holding two glasses.

“Good evening,” she says quietly, looking at me kindly but avoiding eye contact with Rhysand entirely as she pours us both champagne. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Then she’s gone.

I’m about to sip from my glass, but he reaches out and switches his with mine.

Immediately, I steal my original glass back. “I’m not getting poisoned because you pissed her off.”

“What makes you think I pissed her off?”

“She couldn’t even look at you.”

His lips twitch. “I know you’ll find this strange, but some people find me intimidating.”

I scoff, a very ladylike sound, and take a gulp of the champagne. Noticing he still hasn’t drank any of his, I take his glass and sip from it with a raised brow. “Are you going to let me die alone?”

He rolls his eyes and calls me a smartass but drinks from his glass anyway.

“Why are you always so sure someone’s trying to kill you, anyway?”

There’s a long pause, and he seems to be debating if he’s actually going to tell me before he responds, “I have a lot of enemies, Feyre.”

He sounds so unusually serious, like he’s just told me something important.

“I don’t,” I tell him with a sigh, suddenly irritated with my normal life. “I think I’ve grown a bit boring, actually. No one hates me, and I never even have to worry about being poisoned.”

Rhysand chuckles and gives me a strange look. “You’re not boring. And never worrying about being murdered isn’t a terrible thing.”

“I’m boring. I can’t even lie properly.”

“That,” he laughs, “I can’t argue with.”

“New game: I say something, and you guess if it’s a lie. No betting this time.”

He sighs but nods and gives me a get on with it gesture.

Keeping my face completely neutral and making sure my fingers aren’t twitching or any other obvious give away, I say, “I have two sisters.”

“True.”

I narrow my eyes, but take a deep breath and keep my cool. “I tried to learn Italian last summer.”

“Also true, but I’m willing to bet it went poorly.”

A laugh escapes me at that. “It was horrible. I’m complete shit at the accent.” I try to think of other facts about myself and come up short. Gods, I really am boring, aren’t I?

“I’ve never been in love.”

His eyes scan my face. “That’s a lie.”

“It is,” I confirm, looking at his chin and wondering why I even said that in the first place.

He ducks to catch my gaze. “Your ex?”

We’re getting into dangerous territory--even I know you don’t discuss your ex-boyfriend this early in the game--but he doesn’t seem upset or stressed or jealous. He looks... curious. So I shrug and nod.

“What happened?”

Taking another large gulp of champagne, I say, “He wanted to get married, I didn’t. I loved him, but... he was older and wanted something I just wasn’t ready to give him. And then he moved, and I got over it.”

Rhysand’s silent for a beat, a muscle in his jaw twitching, then nods like he understands. “Older, huh? You have a type.”

I laugh at the thought of the two of them being anything alike. “You couldn’t look more different from my ex. And you refused to actually tell me how old you are. ”

He sighs. “I’m seven years older than you.”

Quick math has never been my strong suit, but I figure it out eventually, my mouth dropping open when I do. “You’re twenty-eight?”

He nods in confirmation, and I proceed to lose my mind.

“Just twenty-eight? As in two eight, twenty-eight?”

Another nod, along with a very strange look.

I realize I’m acting just a little bizarre, so I shake my head to clear it and say, “You’re... very impressive, Rhysand.”

When I’m twenty-eight, I’ll probably be just another starving artist, looking for a museum to hire me as a curator and begging people to buy my paintings. I’ll be broke and will have developed an allergy to Ramen from how much I’ll be eating it.

I definitely won’t be a gazillionaire with a private art collection and enough real estate to own half the city of Chicago.

He shrugs uncomfortably, like my bewilderment isn’t deserved, and I can’t resist the temptation to tease him. “You also suck at taking compliments.”

“Yes,” he admits. “But so do you.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

He smiles and braces his elbows on his knees and immediately proceeds to prove me wrong. “You’re far more impressive than me. You’re gorgeous and talented and have a way of looking at the world that makes me feel like I haven’t lived a day of my life properly.”

I blush furiously and look at the ceiling of our death trap, wildly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “You’ve proved your point.”

Rhysand laughs, then glances at his watch. “We should be on the ground soon.”

Almost like he spoke it into being, the plane dips and a mechanical whirring sound meets my ears. Is that supposed to happen? “Oh, fucking hell, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“You did try to poison me.”

I give him a nasty look and mutter, “So fucking ridiculous, flying to another city for dinner. Next time, we’re going to Taco Bell.”

He rolls his eyes at my antics, unbuckling and moving to sit next to me. His hand slides into mine, warm and comforting, and I grab onto it like child child running from the boogeyman. His thumb runs over the back of my hand, and I sigh, leaning to put my head on his shoulder.

“Thanks for the dress,” I finally say, remembering my manners.

“It looks good on you. Like I said, I have excellent taste.”

I smile. “I’m waiting on dinner to confirm or deny that.”

Suddenly, there’s a large sound and a bump, then I’m leaning forward as the plane comes screeching to a halt. I press my eyes shut and squeeze the shit out of his hand, but he just keeps running his thumb along my skin, silently comforting me.

The plane comes to an eventual stop, and I peek open my eyes to see him grinning down at me. “Welcome to New York, Feyre darling.”

A week after our soiree to the Big Apple, I decide I have a problem.

I like Rhysand way too much to have only known him three weeks.

He’s all I fucking think about.

Which, I guess, isn’t a problem. Being swept off your feet is every little girl’s dream. But it’s getting harder and harder to resist sleeping with him.

I’ve been wined and dined and given searing kisses that make my toes curl, not to mention the whole incident on the airplane, but we haven’t actually had sex. Honestly, I thought I’d cave on the way back from New York, but I ended up passing out in a food coma before the plane even took off, my head nestled in the happy spot between his shoulder and neck.

I definitely want to sleep with him, so much so it makes my eyes cross just thinking about it, but it just scares me how much I like him.

And I know sleeping with him would just make me like him more.

I need a breather, need to get my distance and keep my head or whatever the saying is. I need to calm the fuck down, basically.

So I, being a mature adult, decide to avoid him.

I make it five days.

Five days of missed calls and intentionally unseen smoke signals.

Then he apparently decides to stoop to my level and figure out how to text, because five days after the most extravagant dinner date of my life, my phone dings.

If you ignore one more of my calls, I’m going to buy Dancers in Blue and light it on fire.

I spend exactly eighty-three seconds debating if he’s serious. I mean... surely not, right? I know he’s richer than sin, but he wouldn’t just burn fifty million dollars.

Right?

Rational thought and self preservation be damned, I pick up the phone when it starts to ring.

“That, Rhysand, was emotional manipulation.”

“Yes, it was.” He’s shameless. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.” I don’t know why I bother lying, since I’m apparently such shit at it, but I do. “I’ve been busy.”

Yes, very busy with watching nine movies in the past four days.

“With...?”

Inspiration dawns. “My senior project.”

“Oh, really?” A nervous sweat breaks out across my back at the knowing tone of his voice, and I begin to doubt my genius. “What’s the subject?”

“Uh, well-”

“Now that we’ve reestablished you’re a horrible liar, tell me what’s really going on.”

If he were here, I’d strangle him.

Or maybe kiss him.

“I need a few days,” I mutter, upset with myself for being an open book.

“Why?”

His simple question makes me think he doesn’t want space. Is he as into me as I am to him? Is that even possible?

“Because I like you,” I say honestly, having learned my lesson about lying.

Rhysand’s quiet for a long moment, then he chuckles. “I see the issue.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Answer the door.”

What? “There’s no one at the door.”

At least there shouldn’t be, because I didn’t invite anyone over.

“Incorrect.”

Eyes already narrowed, I stomp over and fling the door open, practically ripping it off its hinges in my frustration. He’s leaning against the brick stoop, looking sexier than socks on a rooster in a midnight blue shirt and black slacks, smiling at me.

“You are not allowed to avoid me just because you like me,” he states, brushing past me without invitation.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

He kisses my brow. “I like you, too.”

“Okay, but-”

“And I have cake.” He holds up a clear box, allowing me a glimpse of the fluffy chocolate deliciousness inside.

It’s almost annoying how well he knows me, because chocolate cake is my vice.

I try to think of another protest that won’t que him in to why I’m actually scared, but he cuts me off because of course, he already knows. “I won’t touch you, I promise. Even if you ask.”

My lips twitch. “Even if I ask?”

“Even if you beg,” he states with confidence, strolling into the kitchen like he owns the place. He looks around, face not giving a single detail away as he takes in everything.

Thankfully, I’m not a slob, so the place isn’t dirty, but it’s definitely not a penthouse apartment.

It’s a tiny old townhouse, barely big enough to even be called that. The water is lukewarm, never hot, and I had to just take the smoke detector out of the ceiling so it would stop beeping.

It’s part of my scholarship, and compared to where most college students live, it’s a dream, so I don’t complain.

His eyes roam over half-done canvases and art supplies, pictures of my sisters, random shit I don’t have the heart to throw away.

I sigh and bump him aside with a hip so I can grab two forks, then motion for him to follow me. We head into the living room, and I flop onto the couch dramatically, then motion for him to hand me the cake.

Sitting next to me with far more class, he flips open the lid and hands me a fork. “Chocolate mousse.”

“I’m going to be three hundred pounds if you keep feeding me,” I warn as I take a bite, not at all concerned with that possibility.

“I think you’ll be fine.”

I grab the remote and flip through movies, eventually sighing in defeat and putting on Scarface.

“Seriously?” he asks around a mouthful of cake, fighting a smile.

“It’s my favorite movie, and nothing good’s on anyway.”

He looks at me like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across, but settles down and flings an arm around me. Fighting the urge to tell him this breaks his whole ‘no touching’ rule, I snuggle into his side.

Maybe it’s the cake, or the fact that I’m horrible at staying awake through a movie past eight o’clock, but I drift off to sleep, my face pressed into his chest.

~Rhysand~

I finish the movie--fucking Scarface--even though she fell asleep a while ago.

She’s soft and warm against me, body relaxed into mine without an ounce of hesitation.

She tried to hide it, but I know why she didn’t want to see me.

She’s falling for me.

Which, technically, is the plan.

Technically, everything is going great.

Except she’s fucking worming her way into my heart too. Which is so goddamn annoying, it makes me want to strangle her. Or maybe kiss her.

Being with her is... a wonderful kind of torture.

She’s beautiful and charming and doesn’t look at me with an ounce of fear in her bright blue eyes, but it’s also like holding up a mirror that shows me the worst parts of myself.

I hear her laugh and am reminded of the last time I laughed and loved freely. I see her beautiful soul and compare it to the bleakness of my own.

I look at her blind innocence and force myself to not care that I’ll be the one who robs her of it.

Maybe that’s why I finish the movie. I give myself two hours to sit here and enjoy her company, two hours where she doesn’t hate me or curse the day I was born.

But then the credits role, and I have to pull my head our of my ass and get on with it, no matter how much I don’t want to.

Moving slowly so she doesn’t stir, I lift her into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck, fingers playing in the hair at my nape, and sighs happily.

I wish she wouldn’t do shit like that.

I wish she was heartless and cruel and cold.

I make my way up the creaky stairs to her room, then put her on the unmade bed, the covers horribly messy around her. The moonlight coming through the open window illuminates her skin and allows me to see how vulnerable she looks.

She’s in tiny little shorts that shouldn’t be legal, and a thin white shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide what’s underneath. Her hair’s a mess around her, her lips are parted, and there’s a calm, peaceful look on her face.

It’s perfect.

It’s horrible.

Taking a deep breath and running a hand through my hair, I tell myself not to care.

But as I take out my phone and snap a picture, my hands still shake.

And as I type the message I’ve been mentally drafting for years, I feel like I’m going to be sick.

But as much as I hate myself for it, a feeling of victory shoots through me as I hit send. Revenge, it seems, really is sweet.

And I’m just getting started.

___________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @alpha-omegas @joyceortiz13 @sapphic-beauty @meowsekai @ahappyhistorianreader @courtofjurdan @acalypsot @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @bamchickawowow @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #feyre archeron #feyre x rhys #rhysand #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury

161 notes · View notes

glitxhwayventeen · 3 years

Text

Ghostin

Seungkwan: Chapter 2 (A Little Bit Of Your Heart)

Characters: Seungkwan x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst (a shit ton of sadness honestly), semi-unrequited love, death mentions, implied genocide, runaway mates, family fighting, violence. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Hi Friends! I recommend listening to Just A Little Bit of Your Heart by Ariana Grande. I think it sets a good mood to this chapter. Well not good mood, but it helps give you an idea of how I want you to feel towards the end f it.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀

Ghostin Master List

Chapter 2: A Little Bit Of Your Heart

Over the next week, you continued to have nightmares about your past mate. Sometimes it was the memory of his dying, other times it was a completely unrealistic portrayal of terror with him leading the charge. Each time Seungkwan would dutifully come to your aide and hold your through your ordeal, kissing your head and rocking you back and forth like a baby. Sometimes, you’d lay your palm on him somewhere on his body and you’d suck him right into the dream you were having.

He couldn’t lie, seeing you so upset over another man was destroying him, but he loved you. He knew you’d eventually get over it, or at very least not be so upset over it. That’s what he kept telling himself anyway. But every dream he was thrown into with you made that thought dwindle more and more. He could see how much you loved your past mate still. Everytime you smiled at the other wolf, it broke something in him. Everytime you threw yourself into his arms and begged him to never let you go, he’d wake up the next morning, dart out the door and run into the nearby woods and cry until his throat bled.

He wasn’t like his brothers and how they were with their mates issues, he couldn’t keep up his brave face for long. He couldn’t help but let your past bother him. No matter how much he tried, it always affected him. He was just too emotional a person to have your situation not hurt him. He wanted your attention and love solely for himself. It was just his instincts.

He was never good at controlling them to begin with, but when you came around, what little self control he had went out the window. He couldn’t help but be jealous and angry. He couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down his face every night when he was holding you, hushing you back to sleep. He knew your heartache wasn’t for him. It was killing him. But he would NEVER let you know that. It wasn’t your fault this was happening anymore than it was his. He just wished you would see him rather than want your old partner.

His brothers were all very concerned for him. He was having trouble eating, sleeping, and just being his general happy little self. It was like he was a hollowed out shell. They wanted him happy, but they knew confronting him on it would just upset you, which would in turn, further hurt him. They knew it wasn’t really something you could control, they just wished that you two could get to your happily ever after already. You had started to notice how much of a toll you had taken on him too…

You woke up that morning in Seungkwan’s arms, a ritual to which you had become accustomed to. You felt safe with him, which you knew was probably only because of the mate pull, but you decided that you liked his naturally protective nature regardless. You had began to really enjoy being around him. He did everything he could to make you happy. He always made you laugh. He never let you say an unkind word about yourself. You had started to developed some very strong feelings for him. He was still out cold, he must’ve been exhausted trying to keep up with your horrible sleeping habits.

You nuzzled your nose into his bare chest and whimpered out, signaling to him that you wanted him to wake up. Of course, it worked and within seconds his precious eyes had shot open to check on you. The whites in them were dulled and their usual sparkle had lost their shine. You felt bad that you had done this to him, he looked so worn out that you couldn’t help but let another whine escape your lips. His hair was greasy and unkept, his skin was pale and the bags under his eyes had become prominent, even his voice had started to lose it’s cheery edge that you loved so much. You did this to him. And you absolutely hated yourself for it.

“What’s wrong baby? Is everything alright?” He quickly stated as he shook his head to wake himself up. Despite his tiredness, you were still the only thing he cared about.

“Y- Yeah, I’m okay. I just feel bad s’all” you mumbled against his hand that had found itself on your cheek as he looked at you with a great worry on his face.

“Why do you feel bad baby?” He questioned, bringing your face to his and giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“That you’re suffering cause of me. I’m sorry” you spoke to him with watery eyes. Shit.

“I’m not suffering baby” Liar. He lied to you as he hushed you, laying his forehead against yours as he started to rub your temples softly., “I’m just a little tired is all.” Well, that one at least wasn’t a complete lie.

“Because I won’t let you sleep.” You finally sobbed out and threw your head in your hands.

“I’m sorry. I keep trying to stop. I- I keep trying to take him off my mind, it just- it just doesn’t work. I don’t now what to do! I’m so fucking sorry!” You wailed before he pulled you into his chest, rocking you back and forth like he had the previous night.

“Shhhh… It’s alright baby. I’m alright. You don’t need to worry about me alright. It’s my job to worry about and help you. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.” He tried to assure you, failing miserably.

“I’m supposed to care for you too. And I haven’t been. I’m sorry” you let the tears freely fall before Seungkwan used his thumbs to sweetly wipe them away and forced you to look up at him.

“Baby, look at me, I’m okay. I’m just a little tired. But I’ll be alright. It won’t be like this forever, just a little while longer, okay? You don’t need to waste your pretty little tears on me. I’m a big strong wolf. I can handle myself.” He said a little too confidently, causing you to let out a chuckle at his joke.

“See, there’s my girl. Now hurry up. Breakfast is gonna be ready any minute and if we’re not down there, we won’t be getting any.” He kissed your nose and jumped to his feet, grabbing one of his shirts on the floor in the process. He took your hand and pulled you up out of bed, making his way to his bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen.

The scene in front of you after you reached the bottom of the staircase caused a grin to appear on your lips. All the boys had gathered around the kitchen table and were conversing loudly with each other. You had missed being with a big family, it was nice that now, thanks to Seungkwan, you had one again.

“Morning guys!” Seungkwan chirped as he sat in an empty chair, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you to sit on his lap, making you blush slightly as you weren’t yet used to that type of PDA yet.

“Morning kids!” Mingyu chuckled aloud towards you both as he put Chan in a headlock, fighting for the last piece of bacon on the porcelain plate in front of them.

“How’d you sleep last night Seungkwan?”Jihoon questioned bluntly, his gaze going straight to Seungkwan, completely ignoring your existence.

It wasn’t unusual for him to do that, he was one of the wolves who were closest to your mate. And though he wanted his brother to be happy, he didn’t like the fact that you were still hung up on your old mate. So he gave you a bit of the cold shoulder whenever he could. You didn’t really mind. You understood his anger and thought he had every right to dislike you. The other boys didn’t like seeing their brother so torn up, but they didn’t blame you for it. Just Jihoon.

“We slept just fine, thanks!” Seungkwan put on a fake mile to answer the older wolf’s question, knowing full well that he meant to disclude you. He didn’t like Jihoon’s attitude toward you and he did whatever he could to show him that he wanted him to stop.

“I didn’t ask about BOTH of you, I asked about YOU. How did YOU sleep? Did she force you to stay up again?” Jihoon sneered out while scowling at you.

“Hyung, knock it off. She didn’t ‘force’ me to do anything. You know that. I stayed up because I WANTED to.” Seungkwan shot back, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your heart beat speed up anxiously.

“Right.” Jihoon added, “because you just LOVE not sleeping for days on end.” He rolled his eyes before huffing, setting his eating utensil down with a loud clank sound.

“Would you back off already!” Seungkwan jolted up, setting you in his place on his chair before leaning over the table to get in the older boy’s face.

“She can’t help her nightmares! But you can help being an asshole!” He growls out, nostrils flaring and eyes turning red with anger.

Jihoon stood up from his chair, pushing it back with a loud screech before slamming his hands down onto the wood table. The noisy bang when he hit the table was enough to jolt you up from your chair.

“I’ll stop being an asshole when she stops playing with your feelings! All you want is Just A Little Bit Of Her Heart and she won’t give you anything more than exhaustion and heartbreak!” He yells out, chest puffing up and down with rage.

The other boys in the house had quickly gathered their mates and had taken them to their respective rooms, fearing for their safety in the event of a fight. All that remained in the kitchen with you three were the mateless Minghao, the nosey Soonyoung, and the Alpha Joshua.

You stood there in complete shock, not really knowing what to do. If you spoke up, you’d only make Jihoon’s anger toward you worse. But if you didn’t, your mate might attack him. Tears started rolling down your cheeks as you looked between the two arguing wolves. Seungkwan sensed your emotions through his anger and turned his eyes to you for a moment. He could see how much his brother’s words were affecting you, so he decided to get you out of there before things got worse.

“Joshua Hyung, can you please take (Y/N) back up to my room? She doesn’t need to deal with his bitchy attitude anymore than she has to!” Seungkwan snarled Jihoon’s way as he pleaded with the only Alpha available to get you out of the current situation.

You weren’t as helpless as the other mates, you were a wolf too, after all. You weren’t even scared of Jihoon, he was only a few inches taller than you in your human forms. In your wolf forms, you’d even be the bigger one out of the two of you. But everyone in the pack knew you didn’t like to fight. You’d rather get beaten bloody than potentially harm someone else with your strength, even if they had started it, you’d never continue it.

But Seungkwan was worried for you. Jihoon had, on occasion, started and finished some pretty gnarly fights. He didn’t want him to try and lunge at you. And he definitely didn’t want his brother to end up hurting you. He would protect you if he needed to, but he’d rather you be taken away from the situation to prevent it as much as possible.

Joshua nodded at your mate before he took your wrist in his hand and began to head towards the stairs to bring you back to your room. It was his job as Alpha to try and keep the peace, but his most urgent job right now was to make sure you, a mate, didn’t get hurt.

“Why would you try to send her away?? She needs to hear this! She should know what she puts you through everyday! She should know she’s killing you and that we’re all pissed at her for it!” Jihoon growls toward you, causing your mate’s fangs to slightly elongate at the older wolf as he did his best to keep his inner wolf from showing.

“Don’t you dare talk to her that way.” Seungkwan coldly said, moving to stand in front of your fleeting figure, blocking you from the older wolf’s view.

“My God! She could at least TRY to hide her pathetic little feelings for a dead guy when you’re around! But she doesn’t! Because she doesn’t love you like she loved him. Wake up Boo! She never has and she never will!” Jihoon jabs his pointer finger into your mate’s chest.

“Why can’t you fucking see through her stupid shit? She’s not worth you destroying yourself!” Jihoon screamed at his younger brother while staring up at the younger wolf, practically drilling holes into his eyes with the amount of fury he was exhausting.

Joshua had tried to pull you upstairs again once the two wolves had gotten closer to each other. The other boys in the room moving into position to prevent the arguing wolves from hurting each other, a sure fire sign that something was going to happen. But you managed to wiggle your arm from his grip. You jetted your way back to the center of the kitchen before you spoke up.

“He’s right Seungkwan, I’m not worth this! You shouldn’t have to destroy yourself for me. I’ll leave!” You jump in, causing all the boys to stop their snarling at each other and turn to you in shock. What?

“W- What did you just say?” Seungkwan whispered, barely audible.

He tried to step toward you with his hand going out to try and reach your arm, causing you to jerk your should backwards. The sadness on his face was enough to make you want to fall to your knees and cry, but you had to remain strong for this. You caused enough damage to their pack. You wanted the boys to all get along again, you wanted things to go back to normal for them, but most of all, you wanted Seungkwan to stop tearing himself apart because of you.

“I said I’ll leave. This isn’t fair to your pack, and it’s sure as shit not fair to you. I’m killing you, and you don’t deserve this.” You say weakly, trying your best to hold back your imminent tears.

“But- But you’re my mate… You- You can’t just leave me… I- I can die if if you go.” Seungkwan sobbed, streams of hot liquid cascading down his cheeks.

You stepped in front of him, quickly cupping his face with your small hand and smiling defeatedly.

“No. You won’t Seungkwan. You have a family who love you enough to tell you the harsh truth, they won’t let you die on them. They love you more than you could ever imagine, Trust me on that. I know you’ll be okay because you’d never leave them when they need you as much as they do. You’ll be okay. I need to leave so you can be happy again.” You speak with shimmering eyes, tears forming at your water lines at the thought of losing him.

Last time you lost a mate, you wanted to die. Hell, you tried to die, more times than you can count. But the thought of losing Seungkwan felt like you already were dead. Your heart felt like it had disappeared from your chest and the air had evaporated from your lungs. Every morsel of your soul ached. But you had to do this, you had to do this for him. He deserved better.

Seungkwan stood there quietly crying his eyes out as you held his fragile face. The boys frozen around him were but a distant memory as he looked into your eyes and tried to find something to say, anything to say, to try and make you stay with him. But all he could do was take the hand you had against his cheek in his and snuggle into it, trying his best to memorize the sensation with everything he had in him.

“Please…” He mustered out, looking at every inch of your beautiful face as if it were the last time he would ever see it. For all he knew, it was.

You moved onto your tippy toes and gave his lips a loving peck before moving yourself back down, a tear dropping down the side of your face in the process.

“Jihoon was wrong on something you know. I do love you Seungkwan, more than I’ll ever love anything in this world.” You let out a small laugh as he shook his head in disbelief, not wanting you to go.

You dropped your hand to his face and let it hit your side right as you made your way for the front door. You reached for the doorknob and turned, pulling it open before you stepped outside and closed it.

You looked back at the house with fondness before shifting into your wolf form and sprinting full speed into the deep forest, leaving Seungkwan and the other boys standing paralyzed with shock inside.

(Updated 8/7)

#seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt au #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan

13 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

The Man in his Castle

Warnings: noncon sex. Let’s not be fools here. You know what I write.

This is dark!Charles Blackwood and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A co-ed discovers that money is still king.

Note: Charles is fun because he’s already horrible. I know my summary sucks but I hope you all enjoy this. It takes place in the 1960s so keep that in mind and enjoy! But let me know what you think in reblog or reply and slap a like on there <3

There were more than a dozen girls squeezed into the windowless classroom in the basement of Victory Hall. The book club had grown quite a bit since your first week on campus. The Brownies, you called yourself. An ironic play upon a lifetime of ridicule.

Every Friday night you met in some abandoned room bartered off the registrar and set to discussing your most recent read. Sheila was the leader; bolder than you as she fostered your sprout of an idea. She was cooler, calmer, and by all means, more radical. And she was a senior.

The flock of freshmen looked up to her and the few other older girls in the group. She had brought along with her, Linda and Patty; the former with her stiff turtlenecks and the latter her faded beret. These were the types your mother had warned you against. Peddling their liberalism in the name of Kennedy and Kruschev.

That week, your group had chosen Miller’s famed play, The Crucible; still relevant despite a decade past. Though the red scare had faded to orange, there was still a breath of suspicion in the air. As people marched in the streets and sat-in at diners and cafes, the old breed was growing nervous. The world was about to change, with or without them.

You sat amid the circle with your worn copy against your knee. You took turns reading the lines and pausing to discuss the intricate and yet overt allusions made by the playwright. The furor of the blacklist which still lingered in the air. A paranoia much broader than years before. No longer just the Reds, but all who spoke of equality and freedom; no longer exclusive to a single group. The same tensions which kept you in the basement with the dingy old desks.

You couldn’t help but smile at the group of girls. When you’d arrived on campus, you were certain you’d be the same loner as before. Solitary nights spent barricaded in your dorm only to lose yourself in the crowd of the lecture hall.

But Sheila had changed that. She was in your elective Lit class, filling a void in her audit so that she could graduate on time. You had lost yourself in a discussion of Marx and the mounting tensions with the East; not that they ever really subsided.

Then she invited you to meet Linda and Patty for a drink. Your lack of ID didn’t keep you from the chance to make friends as she knew the doorman by name. That was when you mentioned the club. It was just you and your friend, Elsie. Not really a club, more so a pair of girls with nothing better to do. But Sheila liked it and the next week, she had six new girls to add to your duo.

Now, you were a full blown corps. The three seniors and at least fifteen freshmen, a few in between to fill out the circle.

Sheila snapped her book shut and declared the end of the night as she checked her watch.

“We’ll finish next week,” She chimed. “Granted we don’t devolve so easily again.”

The girls giggled and began to pack up. You stood and shoved your book into your leather bag. Sheila stood with Linda at the back of the circle and Patty offered a goodbye to each girl as they left. Most did so in pairs or trios. Safety in numbers.

Your dorm wasn’t far and so you would keep a brisk pace with your keys in hand. You turned and Sheila called to you before you could reach the door. You spun back and neared her and Linda.

“Hey, you need a walking partner?” She asked. “Me and Linda are head down the The Cask. We’ll be headed past yours.”

“If you’re headed that way,” You accepted eagerly.

You helped rearrange the chairs and desk with the three seniors. Patty left on her own as Sheila locked the door. You walked on her right as Linda kept to her left and made your way out of the depths of Victory Hall. The night was cool but not bitter. You pulled your collar up as you passed between the carefully trimmed hedges.

“You sure you don’t want to come for a drink?” Linda asked. “Seeing as Patty ditched us.”

“Oh, you know she has that boy waiting for her,” Sheila countered.

“Um, no, I have an early morning,” You replied. “But thanks.”

“What about next weekend?” Sheila asked.

“Next weekend?” You wondered.

“Wanna come to a party?”

“A… a senior party?” You glanced over at her as you tucked your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, no, it’s not on campus,” She trilled. “But I think you’d like it.”

“Off-campus?” You said surprised. “Really?”

“A bit of an older crowd but…” She lowered her voice, “Of a similar mind as us.”

Your eyes widened. You blinked at her and she laughed.

“Oh calm down, they’re no interlopers, merely open-minded,” She assured you. “You have to realize that this little club, that’s a children’s game. If you’re serious, these are the people you need to rub shoulders with.”

“I don’t know. It’s pretty seedy downtown and the last time--”

“Downtown?” She scoffed. “Oh, this is different from that hole in the wall.”

“Where--”

“Uptown, actually,” She preened. “You know, we do have allies with money. They hide among the enemy until we can truly act.”

“I don’t know. That sounds--”

“You worry too much. It’s not illegal to meet people who think like you do,” She said. “Otherwise us Brownies would be akin to the mob.”

You laughed at yourself and watched your scuffed shoes on the sidewalk. “I guess you’re right. Um, what kind of party is it, exactly?”

“Wear something nice,” She picked a thread from your jacket. “Fancy dress hides a humble heart.”

You nodded and gripped the strap of your bag. “Sure, why not?” You shrugged.

“I’ll see you in Lit,” She stopped just outside your gate. “I’ll give you the details then. You should ask Elsie to come with you.”

“Alright,” You breathed. “Yeah, I’ll ask her.”

“Have a good night,” She sang and Linda echoed her.

“You, too.” You smiled.

You turned and unlocked your gate as their heels continued down the pavement. You let yourself inside and listened until there was silence. You were happy to have friends, happier that you were so much alike, but the thought of a party had your stomach aflutter.

🏰

You found your only formal dress. Rather, your most formal dress. A long-sleeved black number that flared at the knee. You wore the simple silver chain your mother gifted you for your high school graduation and a pair of kitten heels. You hugged yourself with a red shawl and grabbed your purse.

Elsie waited just outside your dorm room. She looked as nervous as you felt. The lack of details gave both of you the jitters. You were two shy girls who found each other among the sea of students. You took comfort in knowing you weren’t the only one in over your head.

And Sheila would be there too. She could help you maneuver your way through this maze of etiquette and idealism.

You took a bus as far as you could but at the last stop, you were still three blocks away from the place. Blackwood Manor. Sheila’s loopy cursive marked it on the corner of paper. The house on the hill, she said, can’t miss it.

The gates towered over you as you approached. Tinted lanterns lit the walkway and you pressed the button over the small speaker box. A dull voice greeted you from the other side.

“Um, hello,” Elsie squeezed your arm as you bent to speak into the box. “We’re here for the party.”

“Par-ty?” The voice said.

“We’re friends of, uh, Sheila.” You replied nervously.

“Ah, yes, Miss Sheila.” The crackle died and the gate clicked.

You looked to Elsie and a man in grey neared from the other side. He pulled open the gate and removed his cap as he waited for you to enter. A car drove up, its bright headlights washed over you, as you walked up the drive and the gates man spoke with its occupants.

At the front door, you met with a man with grey hair and the same even tone that rose from the speaker. He took your shawl and Elsie’s coat and directed you to the next room. You detached Elsie from your arm and gave her a look. She smiled tensely and smoothed the front of her dress.

The sparkle of the chandelier drew your eyes first. The light refracted from the crystals and illuminated the large room. Men in suits stood around with drinks in hand and chattered. You heard the next guests enter behind you and stepped out of their way.

You spotted Sheila in the far corner, a broad pair of shoulders left her barely visible. There were several other girls you recognized; Linda. Darla and Colleen, two other Brownies, and even a couple girls from your Lit class. Every women in the room was barely that; they were all bright-eyed co-eds amid a conclave of stiff-lipped men.

You felt a chill crawl up your spine but resisted the shiver. You were just anxious about all these strangers. It was natural to be a little nervous.

Elsie followed you across the room and smiled at Sheila over the shoulder of the man she spoke to. She waved you over and the man turned to look at you. His blue eyes flicked from you to Elsie and back again. His expression was placid as he buttoned his jacket.

“Charles, these are my friends,” She introduced you and Elsie, “And this is Charles Blackwood, our host.”

He seemed to recall himself and shook your hand and then Elsie’s. His grip was firm and his expression unbreakable. He was entirely unimpressed by you and your plain black dress.

“You have a beautiful house,” You offered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere so… grand.”

“It was my grandfather’s,” He said tersely as his eyes explored the room. “Sheila, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Gerald.”

“Of course,” She kissed his cheek and his lip curled before he walked away. “Sorry about him,” Sheila turned to you. “He’s a bit antsy, you know? Always is on nights like these.”

“I never…” You looked at Elsie as her eyes bounced around in wonder, “I never would think anyone who lived like this would you know, agree with us.”

“Oh, but we already know money isn’t everything,” She said. “You know, these men, they know that and they want to use their money for good. They want to make sure that students like us make it through college and go on to speak our truth to the world.”

She stopped a man passing by and took a wine glass from his tray. She offered you it and grabbed another for Elsie and herself. She batted her lashes at the waiter and returned her attention to you.

“Which is why you should loosen up and talk to some of these men,” She advised. “They are much preferable to the boys on campus and much more powerful. My second year, I had my tuition paid in full by one of Charles’ friends.”

“Wow,” Elsie gasped. “Really?”

“Consider it a grant,” Sheila explained. “Spread the wealth, right?”

“I suppose…” You uttered.

“Oh, there’s Patty,” Sheila perked up. “I knew she’d be the last one here. Pardon me a moment.”

“Alright,” You turned and watched her go as she waved over the heads to her friend.

You brought the glass to your lips and the alcohol burned your nostrils. Your stomach turned and you lowered the flute. Elsie drank deeply as you glanced around. A man with thick silver hair and a sharp aquiline nose stared at you from across the room.

You fidgeted and slipped behind Elsie to set your glass down.

“You should take it easy,” You warned her as she gulped down the wine.

🏰

The man with silver hair introduced himself as Harry. You weren’t fond of him as he talked of his new car and something about a cottage up north. You were confused. Sheila intimated that these people were like you; maybe not communists are heart, but left-leaning at least. They surely didn’t sound like it.

You glanced around for the umpteenth time and frowned. You didn’t see Sheila or Linda or Patty. Elsie was with a man in a striped suit, Darla and Colleen sipped from glasses as they listened to a pair of men banter, and you were stuck in the corner with this grey-haired boor.

You excused yourself, claiming to need the powder room, and walked along the wall as you searched the room. The seniors were gone. And something else caught your eye. The men drank from their stout tumblers and the women, more aptly girls, all held champagne flute. Yours was still on the table, untouched.

You neared Elsie and excused your interruption as you turned her away from her companion. You lowered your voice.

“Have you seen Sheila?” You asked.

She shook her head and wobbled. She giggled as she steadied herself with your arm. “Nope!”

“How much of that have you had?” You took her glass from her.

“This is only my…. Third,” She counted on her fingers.

“Well, I think three is enough,” You said. “Why don’t you come to the restroom with me? Splash some water on your face?”

“No, no,” She shrugged you off. “I’m talking to Gerald.” She turned back and smiled at the balding man. “He has a fellowship.”

“Elsie,” You drew her back. “Something’s… wrong.”

“What do you mean?” She hiccuped. “It’s all quite fine, isn’t it?”

“Just…” You peeked over your shoulder. “Wait here for me, okay? Don’t go anywhere else.”

She rolled her eyes and you sighed. You left her reluctantly and stopped a waiter as you neared the main archway. You asked him where the restroom was and ducked into the hallway. You passed by the foot of the staircase towards the next and paused.

You peered around the wall and pulled back. You slipped off your heels and looked back at the room that swirled with voices. You tiptoed to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. You searched for a mechanism but there was only the intricately wrought handle.

You went back to the stairs and listened to the buzz from the front room. You climbed a step at a time as your ears perked up at every creak and crack. You wondered what had happened to Sheila and the others. It was unlike them to leave early. And why was the door locked?

You found a window and carefully turned the latch. You shifted it up and cringed as the wood loudly rubbed together. You stuck your head out and stared down at the grass below. There was a tree not far from you, a few windows away.

“Can I help you?” The voice frightened you and you hit your head on the window as you reeled back. You turned to your host, Charles, as he leaned against the bannister.

“I was… looking for Sheila.” You lied.

“Oh, outside?” He wondered with a smirk.

“Well, no, I just needed a breath of fresh air so I thought…” Your voice trailed off as he stood straight.

“The party’s downstairs,” He said evenly. “I’m sure you just missed her.”

You stared at him. His eyes sparkled with mischief. Your heart dropped and your heels threatened to slip from your sweaty hand.

“She’s gone,” You said. His lips curved again and he chuckled. “What’s going on here?”

He inched forward as he pushed back his jacket and shoved a hand in his pocket.

“She did her job. Delivered what she promised.” He said coolly. “Can you blame her for cutting out?”

“What--” You backed up until you were against the window ledge. “I don’t understand.”

“You tried the front door, didn’t you?”

You blinked and your shoes fell from your grasp.

“You think you can get to that tree? Even if you moved a few windows to the left?” He got closer. “Or maybe… you think you can get past me.”

Your lips parted as his features hardened. His brow twitched as he held your gaze. He didn’t look away as he knelt and grabbed your shoe. He took your foot and shoved the kitten heel on. He did the other and stood.

“Let’s go back to the party,” He growled. “It’s only just getting started.”

🏰

You stood against the wall as the room spun. Your chest was filled with doom as you looked around at the girls in their sheath dresses and chunky heels. Many shared the same glazed look as Elsie. They swayed just a little, giggled airily, and their eyelashes drooped. They were barely awake on their feet.

The man who answered the door stood beside you. He squinted at you every now and then. Charles had told him to keep an eye on you. You watched the host of the event disappear through another doorway. You thought of the invisible lock and the tree just a few windows down.

It was that crushing sense of defeat when you knew loss was imminent but unavoidable. So you watched it slowly creep forward until finally you had to submit. You shivered and shook your head at yourself. Sheila had done this. Ensnared all these girls in whatever sick game this was.

Time dragged. You watched the servers offer their tainted champagne and the girls all too ignorant to realize that something was amiss. Your eyes stung and you gripped your purse tight. Whatever was planned, it couldn’t be good.

The clinking of metal on glass silenced the room. Your eyes were drawn with every other to the other side. The men exchanged knowing looks. The girls were confused but not suspicious. They looked to Charles as he relinquished the glass and knife to a server. He grinned at his rapt audience.

“Shall we commence with our evening?” He asked; the men nodded and mumbled in agreement. The girls frowned and wavered on their feet. “Very well. Girls…”

He waved an arm to his left and the waiters, now free of their trays, dispersed to herd the girls to the other side of the room. You were led along with them and stood in the row of drunken co-eds. For a moment, you wished you had drank the wine. That you could be as oblivious as the rest.

The girl at the head of the line was ushered forward to stand beside Charles. Her red hair hung in ringlets and her cheeks were rosy with alcohol. He asked her her name and she slurred “Carrie.” He repeated it for all to hear and shouted a number. Ten thousand.

A man raised his hand and Charles called eleven thousand. Another gestured and the number went up again. Again. Again. Carrie was visibly confused as she tried to keep up. She couldn’t. She was sold for twenty-five thousand and ushered into the arms of her buyer.

Elsie was next. She could barely stand as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Eighteen thousand for the mousy-haired girl. Colleen went for about the same and Darla was in tears as she was bartered for an even twenty.

You were near the end of the line. You marched up to the front and bit down as you stared at the bourgeois bastards. Harry was the first to bid for you. Your stomach flipped. Then another man you hadn’t even spoken to. You could see only his hand as he reached above the crowd.

The bids bounced back and forth, Harry cursed as he wondered who was so determined to have you. You sold for forty thousand to the faceless man. You were shown out the side door by a waiter as the last girl was brought up to stand by Charles.

You stood alone in a long dining room with a large table and more than a dozen chairs. You turned as the doors slid closed and faced the grey-haired man who had greeted you in his monotone at the door. You thought he was the help. You grimaced at him.

“You?” You sputtered.

“No,” He said blandly. “Not me.”

“Then…” You couldn’t finish as you were certain you knew the answer.

You swallowed and spun away from him. You gripped the back of a chair and placed your purse on the table. The furor from the other room reached a peak and then began to dwindle. The grey-haired man glanced at the doors.

“I must attend to the coats,” He announced. “Do not stray. He will be mad.”

You sighed as he slipped through the door. A hand kept them from closing and you watched the doorman rush away. Charles stepped through and shut the doors. He took a breath as he turned to you. He fixed his lapels as he stopped across the table from you.

“What?” You hissed as he stared at you.

“No… thanks?” He asked.

“Thanks?” You narrowed your eyes. “For what?”

“Don’t tell me you wanted to fuck one of those old men?”

You blanched at his language and your lip curled in revulsion. He laughed.

“Don’t worry. I only need… a maid.” He smirked.

“A maid?” You wondered.

“Cooking. Cleaning.” He tapped two fingers on the table as he spoke. “They ever write about that in your books?”

Your eyes were glossy as you gulped. You were furious, frightened, and frustrated.

“You girls think you know it all,” He scoffed. “There’s a lot they don’t put in books.”

“No, there are horror stories,” You assured him. “Of repulsive monsters and their nasty ways.”

He chuckled and rounded the table. He stopped just beside you as his hand closed over your purse. He slowly lifted the strap from your shoulders and batted your hand away before you could stop him.

“Trust me,” He said as he flipped it open and looked inside. “There is no monster like me.”

🏰

You were shown to a room with a barred window. It didn’t matter as it was in the basement and so narrow that you couldn’t hope to fit through it. The door was locked but even so, there was a man without. You could see his shadow under the door and hear him cough every now and again.

You didn’t sleep much. There was a blanket on the floor beside some dusty boxes. You sat against the wall and dozed in spurts. The night replayed in your head on a loop. Then all those moments you’d spent with Sheila. How she had lied so easily. Was she even a student?

Didn’t matter now. The sun rose slowly through the small window and the door opened shortly after. You were given a black dress, stockings, and a pair of black shoes. Nothing else. You were taken to a shower hidden in the cellar; the water was cold and you washed quickly in the closet-like restroom.

You dressed and contemplated turning your underwear inside out. They were too worn to re-use. You left them with the rest of your clothes and emerged in your uniform. The man in black who had spent his night outside your door was mute. You weren’t sure entirely if by choice.

Your first task was to clean the main room, still dirtied from the party. The grey-haired man, Albert, told you so and recited your list of chores. The kitchen would be next and then you were to sweep the upstairs corridors and check every room in case it needed dusting or new linens.

It took you hours to tidy up after the previous nights’ guests. When the glasses were cleaned, you stacked them in the cupboards and wiped the counters. Alone, you went to the back door. It was locked too. The windows on this floor only opened two inches. You cursed.

You climbed the stairs with a broom and pan and set to the endless tedium of sweeping every corner. That took another hour, if not more. You emptied the pan downstairs in the bin and returned with a duster.

You knocked on each door before you entered. Most were pristine and required only a touch up. When you reached the end of the next hallway, your rap was answered as the door opened from the other side.

Charles wore only an undershirt and pants as he looked you up and down. He waved you in wordlessly. You entered and set to dusting the mantle and all its ornaments. He moved around behind you and stopped in a doorway just left of the bed.

“I expect you to do more than dust in here,” He said. “Grab some fresh linen when you get the chance.”

He slipped through the door but left it open an inch. You huffed and continued on lazily. Call it spite or your fleeting mind. You tried the window. It opened but there was no way down. You closed it and turned away.

You went to find the sheets and when you had discovered the trove of pressed and folded cotton, you returned to the room. You could hear the soft ripple of water through the small doorway. You set the sheets down at the foot of the bed. You cleared the wrinkled clothing from the chair and dropped them in the hamper.

“Girl,” Charles’ deep timbre called sternly. “Girl.”

Your cheek twitched. He knew your name. You sneered and quickly wiped it away as you neared the door. You pushed it open hesitantly as you peered through.

“Towel,” He demanded.

He sat in the deep tub, his dark hair damp and his broad chest bare above the water. You tore your eyes away and grabbed the towel from its rack. As you faced him, he stood and the water dripped down his body shamelessly. You unfolded the towel and held it up so that you could not see all of him.

“Well,” He waved you closer and snatched it from you.

He stepped out onto the bathmat and fanned the towel around his body. You looked away quickly and a soft chuckle escaped him as he secured the towel at his waist. He passed you, his wet arm touched your sleeve and he neared the mirror as he admired his freshly shaved face.

“Did you make the bed?” He asked.

You shook your head and turned to return to the bedroom.

“Wait,” He stopped you. “That’s ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’.”

“No, sir,” You said bitterly.

“Then you better get to it,” He rebuffed.

You swept through and moved the new sheets to the chair before you stripped the mattress. He leaned in the doorway as he watched you. You could feel him as you moved around the bed and stretched the cotton over the corners. You spread out the top sheet and replaced the quilt over top. You changed the pillowcases and fluffed them.

Done, you bundled up the old bedding in your arm. He went to the bed and dragged his fingers along the quilt. He grasped the blankets and tore them from the mattress.

“Tuck in the edges,” He said. “Now, fix your mistake.”

“Yes,” You gritted. “Sir.”

You dropped the old sheets in the chair once more and set to redoing your work. He stood at the foot of the bed and when you slipped past him, you felt a brush across your ass. You ignored it, content to think it was natural friction, and carried on. You could feel the heat of his gaze upon you and as you faced him, it was confirmed.

“Very nice,” He commented. “You learn… quickly.”

“Quicker than the others?” You asked. “Huh? How many have you bought? What did you do to them?”

“Oh, you’re mistaken,” He said. “I’m not a buyer, I’m a seller… but well, I decided to indulge myself last night.”

Your mouth was dry. You turned and grabbed the linen again. As you backed up, you were stopped by a figure behind you. His arm stretched out around you and he held his towel out. Slowly, he released it and it flapped to the floor.

“You don’t learn that quick though,” He mused as his hand settled on your shoulder. “You think I would spend that much money on a maid.” His fingers crawled along your neck. He gripped your jaw as he pressed himself against you. You felt the prod of his arousal through your skirt. “But it was fun to watch you try.”

“Why me?” You breathed as he gripped your arms and pulled them away from the laundry. The bundle fell to the chair and drooped down onto the floor.

“Because you’re the first to figure it out,” He answered.

“Please,” You begged weakly as he pulled your arms back and rolled his hips so that he poked you.

“Get on the chair.” He ordered.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stood staring at the yellow wallpaper with its golden lilies. You turned slightly and he caught you.

“No, don’t turn around.” His voice sent a shiver through you.

Your lip trembled and you lifted a knee, then the other. His hands ran up your arms and around your back. He shoved you so you caught yourself against the back of the chair. You tensed as his hands fell to your hips and over your ass.

He squeezed and stepped between your ankles so that his legs were against the seat. He ran his hands down your thighs and kneaded through the skirt. He reached the hem and slowly raised it an inch at a time. When it was higher than your stockings, your hand flew back to stop him.

He grabbed your wrist and twisted until you cried out.

“If you scream, there’s no one here who will care,” He snarled. “And they certainly won’t help you.”

He pushed your hand away and tore your skirt up over your ass. He slapped you so hard you yelped. You could feel the heat of his palm across your ass even after it was gone. He bunched your skirts around your waist and hummed in approval.

“You look nice in black,” He said, “Better out of it.”

You kept your eyes forward. You couldn’t have looked at him if you wanted. This man, this stranger, was touching you like no one had before. And he meant to do more. Because he owned you.

His hand snaked around your hip and down your pelvis. He tickled the hair there and slid lower. You tried to press your thighs together but your ankles hit his legs. He tutted and leaned against you.

“I’m being nice,” He warned. “I don’t have to be.”

You grabbed his hand and shoved it away. He struck your ass again as he stood straight. He grasped the back of your neck and pushed your head down against the back of the chair. Your fingers clutched at the cushion beside your face as he held you there.

“I told you last night,” He pinched your thigh. “I can be the worst fiend you’ve ever known.”

He pushed his knees up on the chair between yours. His fingers crawled around your hip again and along your pelvis. He pushed two down along your folds. He rubbed your bud with his middle finger as he spread your lips. He flicked and teased until your hips bucked.

“Not so bad…” He purred. “Am I?”

“Stop,” You begged as his grip tightened on your neck. “Why are you doing this?”

“I can’t just let you go,” He said. “That’d be a poor investment. Even you could see that.”

He dipped his finger inside of you and you inhaled sharply. He drew it in and out and added another. Your thighs shook and your fingers bent against the cushion.

“You don’t realize how fucking lucky you got,” He pushed his palm to your clit as he rocked his hand. “Those other men; old men, they’d fuck you for two seconds before they blew. Leave you there, unsatisfied, discarded. The girls never last long.”

He curled his fingers and moved his hand faster.

“The men get bored. Naturally, they’re greedy,” His nose tickled your ear as his breath glossed over your cheek. “Or maybe the girl gets pregnant. No good. Send her away. Don’t care where, just don’t want to hear about her ever again.”

He nuzzled your hair as your breaths grew laboured. You found it hard to resist the heat that radiated from his touch. You shook as you tried to force the ripples back down.

“So, you keep me happy, girl,” He sneered. “And you might just last.”

You squealed as you came. You were ashamed and astounded. You’d never felt so… much. Never felt anything so deeply. You quivered around his hand and he slowly drew away and wiped his wet fingers on your bunched up skirt.

He reached between your thighs and you felt his length rub against your ass. He teased you and dragged his fingers along your ass. He pressed his tip to your skin and guided it down. He squeezed your neck and you whimpered. He pushed against your entrance and paused.

“You’re not…” He began and thrust inside of you all at once. “Well, it doesn’t really matter.”

Your walls ached as he filled you. The pain was nothing compared to relief that washed over you. You hadn’t realized how much you longed for that feeling. His hand slid from your neck and he gripped your shoulder. His other went to your hip and he rocked his hips.

You grunted as he thrust. You wanted it to end but you also didn’t want him to stop. He was relentless and impatient. You expected little else from the steely man. You quaked as his pelvis slapped against your ass. The noise echoed off the corners of the room, interspersed with his low groans and you pathetic mewls.

He moved your body against his as he plunged deeper and deeper. He sped up, driven by your helpless moans as you clawed at the upholstered chair. You wanted to get away as much as you just wanted to grab onto something steady. You turned your head back and forth as your nerves flared. You shook and gasped as you came again.

“St-st-stop,” You pleaded. “Stop. It’s too--”

He slammed into you so hard you shrieked. He didn’t let up as he crushed you against the back of the chair. He snaked his hand up in front of you and groped your tit as his other arm wrapped around your neck. His thick muscle choked you as he pounded into you and the chair creaked dangerously. You trembled as the ripples washed over you and you skin tingled with the heat of the man behind you.

His thrusts turned sharp and furious. His arm tightened around your neck as he pulled his other hand back. He pushed into as far as he could, holding himself there for just a second each time. His heavy breaths were like hungry growls in your ear.

He pulled out of you suddenly and you felt his knuckles against your ass as they moved frantically. A warmth spurted along your lower back and his hand slowed.

He sighed and unhooked his arm from around your neck. He climbed off the chair and smacked your ass again. It stung so much you were certain there was already a bruise.

“Clean yourself up.” He demanded as he sat on the bed heavily. “Then take that damn dress off.”

#charles blackwood #dark!charles blackwood #charles blackwood x reader #dark charles blackwood #we have always lived in the castle #au #fic #one shot #dark fic #dark!fic #read the warnings

582 notes · View notes

missfluffywriter · 4 years

Text

Purple Irises I Mafia Park Jimin x Reader

Author’s note: Oh my god this is the longest one yet! This was the one I was most excited abouttt I just have so much fun writing this. Honestly I’m writing characters that are smarter than me so.. Well, I guess that’s it for me. Happy readings!

Word count: 17k

Genre: Mafia AU, (slight) Doctor au, (slight) Florist au

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

(Series) Summary: You were supposed to be delivering flowers, how did you end up in an operation room digging out a bullet from a mafia boss’ shoulder?

Purple Irises: Royalty and wisdom

Warnings: Guns, language, mention of drugs, inconsistant grammar

Previous Chapter I Next chapter I Masterlist

The gleaming marble floor radiantly reflected the soft yellow glow pouring from the many wall lights lining the tall corridors of the mansion. The comforting golden hues gave the mansion a fairytale-like atmosphere. Marvelous paintings of landscapes and flora hung along the walls of the hallway, the beautiful artworks further extenuating the luxurious beige decor of the lavish home, additionally contributing to fanciful aura it held.

The blistering heat of the day had been replaced by the coolness of the night, paired with the quiet placidity brought by the moon rise further soothed your tired mind and aching body. A strange thing to say considering this was the household of a prominent mafia gang.

“Is it always this peaceful?” You muse, admiring the calmness of the ambiance of the scene around you.

“Not always,” Chuckling, Jeongguk answers your peculiar question. What a thing to ask a mafioso. “But, I guess it’s been pretty calm the past week.”

Giving only a soft hum as an acknowledgment of his words, you silently continue the trek to the second kitchen. A strange thing really, walking to the kitchen late at night with Jeongguk of all people. But the oddity didn’t end there, seeing as Yoongi was the one who had called for everyone to meet at the kitchen.

Hours ago, just as your training for the day had ended. Jeongguk received a text message from Yoongi, practically commanding the youngster to the kitchen. On top of that, he had been given explicit orders to bring you with him.

“I wonder why Yoongi wanted everyone together,” You wondered aloud. “And in the kitchen of all places,”

“Well, I guess we’re about to find out,” Smiling, he pushes past the white double doors. Sighing, you nod, stepping into the room your (e/c) orbs land on the six men scattered around the kitchen space. And with Jeongguk’s arrival, all of Bangtan’s core members were present.

“There you guys are,” Jin is the first to greet you at the entrance. “You guys were the last to show up,” He says, a hand on his hip as he leaned his weight on one of his legs.

At his loud greeting, someone else’s ears perk up, that certain someone’s nose prickling with a familiar scent, a scent she had memorized ages ago. And your seventy-pound barrels towards the direction she picked up the smell where she essentially tackled into you, excitedly covering your face in slobbery wet kisses. Although Shelty was very happy, she got to spend the majority of the day with Jimin. She still very much so needed your attention and affection.

“It’s called being fashionably late,” A soft chuckle leaves your lips as you return your puppy’s excitement, ruffling the furs of her neck and placing kisses on her soft head.

“Come on you two, get you asses in here already,” Yoongi’s voice flares from beyond the kitchen island. Where he stood with an assortment of alcohols, colors ranging from rich hickory to a clear liquid. ‘Vodka?’

“So...” Pausing, your gaze flickers to the alcohol then to Jimin, who had been leaning against the kitchen island. “Is this like another unofficial meeting? Or?” You question the group.

“Not exactly, no,” Namjoon answers, coming to stand beside Yoongi. “This is more of a test,”

Eyes widening, you feel your body stiffening at Namjoon’s words. ‘A test? What kind of test?’ A cold ice-like feeling spreads from the center of your chest, a wave of panic hitting you full force. Palms getting cold as sweat pools in them, you wrack your brain for any hint or they might have dropped of this test, or what this test might entail, but try as you might you end up empty. They hadn’t spoken of a test, was this a surprise test?

The alarm you were feeling within must have been written across your expression as Namjoon let out a light laugh, waving his hands. “No, no, not that kind of test,” He explains, but the confusion doesn’t leave your expression.

“When he said test. He meant we’re here to test your alcohol tolerance,” A mildly grumpy Yoongi clarifies.

And you release a deep breath of relief as you feel your soul return to your body. Before giving Jimin a ‘and you’re okay with this?’ look. To which he simply shrugs with a soundless laugh.

“You guys are horrible,” Placing a hand on your chest, you feel the rapid thudding of your heart. “I was so worried,” Shuffling towards Jimin, you rest your elbows on the island, your entire body relaxing after hearing Yoongi’s clarification.

“Sorry, I didn’t make it clear,” The older male chuckles.

“Isn’t the gala tomorrow? I don’t want a hangover on the day of the gala,” Folding your arms, you stare down the white-blond. “And just why the hell do we need to test my alcohol tolerance anyway?” Grumbling, you glare at the alcohol sitting on the white marble counter.

“The gala’s at night, you’ll have time to recover” Handing you a high-ball glass with some clear liquid, Yoongi explains, though you hear the sarcasm seeping through his voice. “Besides, this if for the gala, we need to know when you’ve had enough,”

“I think I’ll know when I’ve had enough,” Taking the glass from the older male, a retort flies from your lips.

“Just drink,” The white-blond haired mafioso waves his hands for you to drink.

“You just wanted an excuse to drink didn’t you?” You say, bringing the high-ball glass closer to your lips, not entirely sure why you were going through with this.

“I don’t need an excuse,” Scoffing, Yoongi turns his back to the group. His elbows move back and forth as he prepares another drink. A distraught look taking hold on your face as you watched his back.

“So just wanted to see me drunk?” The distraught expression folding into a scowl, chaffing at the older mafioso.

“Yeah pretty much,”

“And you’re going along with this?” Turning to face the leader of the band, you incredulously ask the silver-blond.

“I don’t see the harm,” Amusement dripped from his honey-brown orbs, Jimin shrugs. “Besides I can’t say I’m not a little curious,” A sly smile curling on his lips as equal parts curiosity and amusement tango in his eyes.

“You guys are crazy,” Drawing out he ‘crazy’ you whine leaves, finally bringing the glass to your lips.

“Yeah, whatever, just drink it,” Yoongi urges you.

And for reasons unknown you comply, gulping down a mouthful and regretting your decision the minute the liquid touches your tastebuds. You suppress your natural response to spit out and push the godawful drink down your throat as it burns your esophagus the entire way there. “Bleh, why is it so bitter?!” You splutter, placing the glass on the island counter, doing a double-take on the drink in your hand.“What is that?” Head snapping to Yoongi, you ask.

“Vodka, now drink,” Handing Jimin a glass filled with familiar shades of yellows, oranges, and reds.

“Did you just give me straight up vodka?” You exclaim.

“No, there’s water mixed in,” Yoongi saunters back to the alcohols on the counter, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“I want what Jimin has,” Demanding that you get a drink you actually like, instead of this bitter nightmare.

“No, that’s too light” You blanch at Yoongi’s nonchalance. “We need to get you drunk as soon as possible,”

“Why?” You lift an eyebrow at the male.

“Because,”

A quiet chuckle leaves Jimin’s lips as he watches the scene before him with interest. And though he was playing along for the moment, if you insisted you wanted a sunrise, he would have Yoongi prepare you a sunrise.

But, it doesn’t come to that as you down the rest of the clear liquid in a single go. Cringing at the bitter flavor of the drink. Jimin quietly observed as you scowled and grumbled while the white-blond poured.

In all honesty, he didn’t fully know himself as to why he was playing along, but he couldn’t resist the tug of curiosity when Yoongi had said he wanted to see what type of drunk you were.

His thoughts are interrupted with a soft ring and a vibration in his pocket, “I’m gonna take this outside,” He looks to you, waiting for you to give him a nod before looking to Namjoon then stepping outside the kitchen to the doors that led to the gardens.

“Park Jimin, how are things going?”A smile curved onto the mafia boss’ lips as he deep recognized the familiar deep voice that spoke through the phone.

“Matsuuru Tatsuya, things are going well,” He answered, placing a hand on his pocket as he leaned against the wall adjacent to the door. “What about on your end? Did the ship arrive in time?”

“That’s actually why I called you,”

Jimin alerted on Matsuuru’s words, pushing off the wall to a stand. “Did shipments not make it? Are you missing products?” He questioned.

“Oh, no, no,” Matsuuru assured with a chuckle, “I just wanted to personally tell you that not only have the ship and the goods arrived, but also thanks to the information so graciously provided by your hacker, we have begun the security system upgrades,”

“Is that right?” Posture relaxing, Jimin breathed out.

‘What?’ A strange confusion set in as his eyes fluttered, trying to process his own actions. Since when had he cared what happened to the goods after it left his hands? Never was the answer, he had never before cared what happened to products once out of his ownership, and yet when Matsuuru spoke of the shipment, his mind flew in a thousand different directions, thinking of what might have gone wrong. ‘Well damn,’ He cursed himself, ‘She’s rubbing off on me,’

“Yes, everything is moving much smoother than I expected,” Jimin’s body jerked when he heard the voice from the other line. He hadn’t realized when he had spaced out.

“That’s excellent,” He smoothly covered with only a vague idea of what the man had been saying.

“Yes, yes it is,” Matsuuru mused. “Tell me Park,” The man in question hummed in response.

“How do you feel about another deal?” Matsuuru asked.

“Another deal?”A questioning brow rose on Jimin’s soft features.

“Yes,” The yakuza affirms. “Tell me can you deliver goods with the same quality as Yeong’s shipment?”

“Of course, both the route and the factory now belong to us,” Bangtan’s Thai branches had bought out the dealers previously selling to Yeong. Additionally taking over the warehouse and docks, which resulted in the total take over of the safest route to and from Thailand.

“Then I would like to continue buying from you,”

“Well then, we can set a meeting date to discuss the details,” Jimin’s head bobbed in a nod as he spoke.

“In two months I will be making another round to the states, and I’ll be stopping by in Korea,” Matsuuru says. “How about then?”

“That sounds fine,”

“I’ll send the exact date to your right hand,’’

“Right,”

“And Jimin,” The silver-blonde hums at the call of his name. “Tell (Y/n) that business has been booming,”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” He responds, pressing the circular red button and ending the call. Pocketing his phone, he heaves himself off the wall he was leaning on, making his way back to the. What excellent news; should Matsuuru continue to buy from Bangtan, they could begin expansion into Japan.

Closing in on the kitchen doors, Jimin hears loud voices echoing from within. ‘Sounds like they’re having fun,’ The corners of his lips quirked up as he strode into the kitchen until he heard a series of ‘(Y/n), that’s dangerous!’; ‘(Y/n), be careful with that!’; ‘(Y/n), what are you doing?!’ Followed by a series of loud giggles and slurred words he couldn’t clearly make out.

Hearing those words Jimin rushed into the kitchen, an ice-like feeling flooding his system. But the sight that greeted him could only be described as comical. Well, maybe a little bizarre.

There you were standing on the kitchen island, face flushed, a shit-eating face splitting grin curving your lips, hands flailing above your head, holding a gun; surrounded by six men desperately trying to get the gun from your grasp.‘A gun?!’

“What the fuck is going on here?” He asks, eyes trained on you, specifically the gun in your hand.

“Jiminie!” You exclaim, stretching out the ‘ie’; eyes lighting up as he entered the room. The men shout for you to be careful with the gun, all cries falling to deaf ears. Hobbling on your wobbly legs you climb down from the kitchen island; with both hands above your head, you move to greet the silver-blond. “Hero, waecom back!”

“Jimin, watch out she had a gun,” Namjoon warns the other male.

“I can see that,” Jimin snaps.

“Jiminie, guess what? Guess what? Guess what?” Snickering, you repeatedly call for the silver-blond's attention bouncing on your feet.

“W一what is it (Y/n)?” He returns, trying to reach for the gun, but you pull the weapon close to your chest.

“I became a spy!” Shrieking those words, you break into another fit of giggles.

“What?” Confusion riddles the male’s face as your laughing fit calms.

“So earlier,” You begin, “I sneaky, sneaky and took his gun, hehe,”

Even more, confused he searches the men’s expression for a proper explanation.

“Well, uh, it happened so fast,”

“Guk,”

“One minute she was resting her head on the table, then she suddenly got up and asked me for a hug,” His voice became quieter as he explained. “I gave her one. And she got the gun before I could do anything,” Mumbling the last part, he rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“See! I became a spy,” Sniggering you say. “I sneaky, sneaky,” Waving around the weapon in your hand, you give the men around you a miniature heart attack.

Sighing, Jimin still not fully understanding as to how an experienced professional like Jeongguk lost his gun to a drunk civilian. The gun safeties were intact so the situation wasn’t that far gone, but they had to get that gun away from you before you either kill yourself, him, or his men. But how? If you wouldn’t listen to the other what were the chances of you listening to him? ‘Well it’s not like there is much of a choice,’

“(Y/n), come here,” He spread out his arms, inviting you in for a hug. And to the surprise of those who still retained their senses, you shuffled towards silver-blond, allowing him to envelop you in his warm embrace.

Instantly relaxing in his hold, you nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Jimin feels your body slack; using this as an opportunity he uses his left hand to keep you in place as he shimmed the gun out of your grasp with his right. Heaving a relieved breath once he was holding the gun.

Glaring at the crowd before him he throws the gun to its owner with you still in his safe embrace. “How the fuck did this happen?” Jimin growls, his arms tighten around you as you felt his voice rumble in his chest. He was angry. Was he angry at you? You didn’t mean to make him angry, you were just curious as to what they looked like when they were worried.

“Jiminie, are you mad at me?” Meekly, you ask the male. All your previous bravado had now poofed out of existence.

His heart melted into a puddle of mush when he met your wide, innocent doe eyes. “I’m not mad at you,” He sighed. He wasn’t angry with you, he was angry with the idiots who couldn’t take care of you. But now, even that had faded as he gently brushed your hip with his thumb.

“You promise?” Looking at him with impossible wide puppy dog eyes.

Blinking, Jimin owlishly stared at you before responding, “I promise,”

How strange, he never thought he’d be promising someone he wasn’t angry, especially as a mafia boss. And seemed like the rest of Bangtan’s core thought the same, as each man failed to suppress their laughter.

“(Y/n) you should probably let go now?” Hoseok called from behind where the youngest stood.

“I’m good thank you,” Tightening your hold around Jimin’s torso, you nuzzled further into Jimin’s chest.

The six men look to their leader, who simply shrugs as he fully wraps his arms around your form. Glancing at each other they let out soft chuckles, aside from Jeongguk, who mopes around having been outrun by a drunk (Y/n).

“Drunk (Y/n) is a sneaky troublemaker,” Yoongi speaks up. “Noted for future reference,” Chuckling, he leans onto the kitchen island.

“Hehe, uh-huh. That’s why sober (Y/n) doesn’t like me,” Your warm breath tickles Jimin’s neck as you speak.

“What?” Namjoon asks, expression muddled with confusion. A commonality shared amongst the men. “What did you just say?” He reiterates.

“Just as I said, sober me doesn’t like drunk me. Well, me一 she doesn't like me very much,”

“Why?” Jimin questions.

“Because I don’t have a filter,” Snickering, you push just away enough to meet his eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asks again.

“I mean whatever's in here goes straight out,” Pointing to your index finger to your head and making a swooping motion from your skull out your mouth “And I always get her in trouble,”

“Oh?” A questioning brow lifts in Jimin’s face as he asks for you to continue, “Give me an example. What are you thinking about now?”

“An example?” Tilting your head at the solver-blond you say, and he nods. “Well, for one, I think Taehyung should come to me if he’s really having so much trouble with it,” You hobble towards the brunette as you spoke. “I could give you nicotine patches or tips and tricks for when you get an urge,” Your hands on your hips, almost as if you were chiding a child for misbehaving.

‘How?’ The male in question stiffened at your words as his eyes blew wide open. ‘She couldn’t have known,’ It wasn’t as though he was actively trying to hide the fact that he was trying to lessen his smoking habits, neither was it a secret. Yet, not even his brothers had noticed, so how had you?

“What?” Jeongguk turns to his elder. “What is she talking about?”

“How do you people not see it? Are you blind or something?” Your eyes flutter in incredulousness. “His hand has been twitching towards the pocket with his cigarette pack or his expensive cigars or whatever. It’s so painfully obvious, it kind of hurts,” You explain, your voice sharper than you intended to be.

‘What the shit?’ Taehyung stared at you. Not even he had realized he had been doing that. But, twitching meant nothing, it could have simply been something he unconsciously did, then how had you connected that to his goal? He didn’t ever recall mentioning it to you in passing and he definitely did not bring it up in conversation or even hint at it. He had done nothing, yet you still somehow caught it.

The men are stunned into silence, not used to being spoken to by your harsh tone. A silent pause falls upon the group, and you finally realize what you had done.“See, no filter,” Shrugging, you move clumsily to rest your weight onto the kitchen island.

“Anything else?” Jimin exhorted, urging you to continue.

“Namjoon, Yoongi, you two should really get some rest,” Turning your attention to the two older males, accusingly pointing your index finger to their general direction. “Micromanaging all our own information or restlessly trying to search for Yeong’s next move isn’t going to help. They won’t be doing anything, not right now anyway. And if you’re so hell-bent on doing something, keep an eye out for foreign mercenaries and underground hospitals or doctors,”

“Mercenaries and doctors? Why?” Intrigue laced Jimin’s voice, and though he did not understand foreign mercenaries and underground hospitals had nothing to do with the situation. His eyes narrowed at the realization that you had already had a plan of action or somewhat of a plan and yet you were keeping this to yourself.

“Why do you think?” Scoffing, you lay your head on the counter. “That night Yeong lost like what? Twenty? Thirty of his best men, and he can’t just replace them overnight. Not if he wants trustworthy men anyway,”

“But why foreign mercenaries?” Namjoon questions, catching on to your intentions.

“If he didn’t already know about Bangtan’s network, he knows about it now. Which also means if he hires men from within the country we will absolutely know about it, not to mention we probably already have counter strategies for any of those groups and that is a problem,” You said. “And what’s the solution to that problem? Hire foreign hands, places our network doesn’t extend to, people we don’t know anything about,”

“Hospital, why a hospital?” Yoongi quips, whatever haze the alcohol may have brought gone as your words seemed to have sobered the men.

“Do you people like… not think?” Facing the white-blond, your face scrunches in disdain.

“(Y/n),” His voice warns.

Sighing, you spell out the situation, “The speaker, how far can you hear it?”

“Twenty一Thirty feet?” Namjoon answers.

“Good, now how close do you need to be to the mic for it to be able to pick up sounds?”

“Fifteen to twenty feet at least,” He answers again.

“And we all agree that we heard Yeong’s voice loud and clear? We all agree that he was at most twenty feet from the mic and the bomb?” Noises of agreement echo throughout the room, “Good, now how far is the blast radius of the bomb?”

The blast radius was at least twenty-five feet, and even if Meong wasn’t within the radius the pressure of the explosion alone would be enough to do some damage. In other words, Yeong Cheol Meong was injured. How had they not seen something that was right before their eyes?

“The traitor? Do you know how we can find the traitor?” Taehyung speaks up, if you already had an idea of Yeong’s next move, then it would be highly likely that you also had a way of dealing with the most perplexing matter at hand.

“Oh, them?” You say thoughtfully, “It would entirely depend on your preparedness… preparedness is that a word?” You question yourself, unsure whether it was a legitimate word or if you had just created a new word in your drunken haze.

“Well anyway,” Shrugging off your thoughts you continue, “I don’t think anyone expected you to keep them alive for long. Maybe a few days, a week at most.”

“Which meant they had to work fast. And going by what Jiyoung said, we can infer that the traitor hadn’t made contact with him,” You pause, before looking up to the chestnut-haired male. “But why? Why hadn’t they made contact with him? Was it because something came up? Did something happen? Were they sent away? Was it because we acted too quickly? Or maybe differently than predicted? Or could they just not get to them?” A string of questions leaves your mouth, guiding the men to the conclusion you had come to.

“Placement,” Namjoon jumps in realization.

“If we can figure out who was in the house or was supposed to be in the house in the span of his capture and even after that. If we can figure out who was supposed to be where before (Y/n)’s plan happened then…” Yoongi mutters, following your train of thought.

“Bingo,” Sitting up, you fire a finger gun at the white-blond with a wink of your eye. “I mean it may not completely work out, but it definitely narrows down the suspect list,”

“Now, the question is do you have such a record?” Glancing at Namjoon, you lay your head back on top of the countertop.

“I think so,” Forehead scrunching Namjoon rubs his index finger with his thumb. “We’ll have to look for it, but we should have something,” He says.

There is a moment of silence as you stare at the man in front of you. The men lost in their own thoughts, but the quiet is short as the chestnut-haired mafioso breaks the stillness.

“How did you catch all that?” Breathless, Taehyung asks you, a perplexed astonishment on his face.

“How did I catch all that?” You parroted the brunette. “There was nothing to catch, it was all there, it has all been there,” Scoffing, you straighten your body.

“You people have eyes yet you do not observe,” Your razor-sharp gaze met Taehyung’s. And he couldn’t help the cold chill that spread across his body. Almost as though your stinging gaze pierced right through him. Whatever softness you may have held had completely evaporated, like it never existed.

“If you knew all this then why didn’t you tell us any of this earlier?” Taehyung snaps, unsure of how else to react.

And with the look he received, it may have seemed like he had just asked the stupidest question in the world. Before your face splits into a cheshire grin as you answered his stupid question, “What kind of player would I be if I showed you all my cards?”

Player? Showed all your cards? What was this? A game?

The room fell silent, all that could be heard was your quiet drunk mumbling and their own rapid heartbeats. However, as it stood, their hearts did not beat in fear, not in the slightest. No, the thudding of their hearts accelerated in excitement, they looked forward to the things to come with you by their side. What did the future look like now that you had been added to the mix? Would you give way for their success? Or their downfall? And the thought dawned on them all at once, you belonged in this world. A world of treachery, cunning, and politics.

“And um, well, I mean who am I to tell you how to do your job?” Your soft words break the men from their thoughts as you mumbled on, adding to your previous statement. “You know about this stuff more than I do, so I don’t really have the right to tell you what to do. Besides, you never asked me. If you had asked me, well, sober me, I’m sure she would have answered any questions you had,”

Tentatively wetting his lips Jimin speaks up, “Is there anything else you have been thinking?”

Your gaze fell to your hands, that rested on the marble counter as you twiddled your thumbs. Wordlessly staring at them for a solid minute before raising your eyes to Jimin. “There’s one more thing, but…” Trailing off, you don’t finish your sentence.

“What is it?” The youngest whispers, “You can tell us,” He coaxes you to speak.

“If I tell you, you have to promise you must not tell sober me I said this,” Lunging to where Jeongguk stood you shook his shoulder, putting extreme emphasis on must. “You can never ever, ever tell her I said this,”

“Uh,” He shared a glance of agreement with his hyungs, “Alright, we promise, if you tell us, we won’t tell sober you,”

“DO YOU PROMISE?!” Exclaiming at the top of your lungs, you stare the younger down.

“I promise, I promise,” He assures you quickly.

What could it have been? What could have possibly been so important that you wouldn’t share with them unless you were drunk and off your senses?

“You see the thing is,” You start.

“Yes?” Jeongguk says as he and his elders lean in to hear you.

“You guys are hot,” ‘What?’ A collective thought that came to the seven men at once. “And, like it’s not even fair, none of you are fair. I mean how can each and every single one of you be so beautiful,” A deep fuschia climbed its way onto their cheeks at your compliment.

“Do you see this shit?” You ask, gesturing to the men standing before you. “How the hell are these humans fair? No one has the right to be so attractive,” Childishly stomping your feet on the ground, your cheeks puff into a pout.

“Wha一”

“And you especially don’t get to talk symmetry,” Glaring at Taehyung, you growl. ‘Symmetry?’ Said male thought in confusion.

“(Y/n)一”

“Or you, you angle” Bravely cutting off the young mafia boss, you scowl at him. “None of you get to talk. It’s like the seven of you just stole every bit of beauty in this world all for yourselves and it’s like I’m not even mad,”

“How can seven people be so pretty,” Sniffles escapes your lips as tears of frustration sting on your eyeballs. It wasn’t fair to be so attractive, what about the rest of humanity? They needed beauty too, these men couldn’t hog all the attractiveness.

Unsure of how they were to react to your words they look to each other in question.

“Uh, hey, it’s okay, (Y/n). Don’t cry,” The eldest steps forward to comfort you, opening his arms, inviting you into a hug. Which you happily jump into.

“Thank you, Mr. Shoulders,” Sniffling into his broad shoulders.

“Uh, there, there,” He awkwardly patted your back as your sniffles dissolved and you once again lost yourself in your drunken thoughts. Until your now hazy gaze lands on the fruit-filled basket sitting in the center of the island countertop.

Your jaws slack at your incredible idea. ‘I’m a genius,’ Gently pushing away from Jin’s grasp you reach for the basket of peaches.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing?” The eldest asks as he watches you stretch across the counter, reaching for the fruit basket.

“Hehehe, peaches,” A giddy giggle escapes your lips when you have the container in your hold. Immediately waddling to where Jimin stood before holding out a peach to him, “Jiminie, I a-peach-iate you,” You say with the brightest grin he had ever seen you wear.

His breath caught onto his throat, watching you with wide eyes as you laughed and snorted at your own joke. Your eyes scrunching in happiness, he could practically see the sparks of joy sparkling in (e/c) orbs. A dark flush of red coating your cheeks, lips a bright pinkish-red from you nibbling onto them, an idiotic grin spreading on your face as you giggled at your pun. But at that moment he couldn’t think of a prettier sight than the one before him. His hands twitched while this heart thundered away in his chest. He dazedly took in your elated form.

Seeing as Jimin wouldn’t accept the peach on his own, you placed the single peach on Jimin’s hand, giving him one last rosy smile before moving onto the next man of the seven.

“Jin, I a-peach-iate you too” You beam at the man, giving him a peach. Then moving down the line, presenting each man with your terribly adorable pun and the fruit that was the center of your pun. Each man gratefully accepted the fruit and your pun, which only seemed to double your happiness.

“I really do appreciate you guys,” Stumbling over your own feet, your body automatically returns you to your unconsciously designated safe zone. “Much more than you know,” Sleepily muttering the last part you crash into Jimin’s firm chest, wrapping your arms around him before falling into Jimin’s embrace, the alcohol and exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you.

Jimin effortlessly catches you, leaving the peach you had given him on the marble countertop, he gently brings your body to the floor, then hooking his arms underneath your knees and around your back, he efficiently picks you up in a bridal carry.

“Did she just make a pun about peaches, give us peaches then pass out?” Jeongguk questioned, brain still processing the events passed.

“I like her, she gets the pun culture,” Jin comments, a soft grin curling on his lips. Perhaps he liked you more than he initially thought.

“Oh, please,” Yoongi scoffs.

“I’m closest to her room, I’ll take her back,” Jimin declares as he steps towards the kitchen doors. “Shelty come,” He orders the already half asleep wolf-dog. Who slowly and sleepily makes her way to the male.

“Namjoon,” A call of his name from his boss is enough for him to understand Jimin’s silent command. Your words were to be put into action, Namjoon and Yoongi would shift from managing Bangtan’s information to instead gathering the intel you had spoken of. And though you hadn’t explicitly said it, following the direction of all that you had said, conflict was on the horizon. Meong wasn’t done, he was coming. And they needed to prepare for when he did.

Gently, Jimin lowers your body into the plush mattress of your bed. Although you made it no easier for him to be gentle as you shifted and squirmed in his hold, especially considering the fact that he had to carefully remove a pile of pillows while holding you and making sure you didn’t get hurt or wake up. Incoherent mumbles falling from your lips as he tightly tucks you into the bed. Your seventy-pound puppy finding her spot at your feet.

Stepping back Jimin admires his handy work, nodding to himself, he turns to leave for his own room. But his movements are stopped when he feels a soft tug on the back of his shirt.

“Don’t go,” You whisper, you hold on his shirt tightening as you tug him closer to the bed. The alcohol in your system had made you braver than you would have ever thought possible.

“(Y/n), I can’t stay,” He whispers back, trying to loosen your grip on his shirt.

“Stay,” Your voice is quiet but demanding as you yank him to you

“(Y/n),” He called your name as a warning, which you blatantly ignored as you proceeded to beg him to stay.

“Jiminie, please,” Stretching out the ‘e’ of the please, you plead for the male to stay. “Pretty please,” Your cheeks puffing into a pout.

“(Y/n) I can’t一” The silver-blond felt his eye twitch when his gaze landed on your face.

Wide-eyed, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted ever so slightly, tugging downwards, looking like a kicked puppy. How was he supposed to say no to that?

With a deep sigh, he relents, gesturing you to scoot.

“Hehe, yay,” A lazy victorious smile curved onto your mouth as you shifted away from the man, giving him room beside you.

“Shush, go to sleep,” Laying down, he quiets you. Only for another fit of giggles to leave your reddened lips as you cozy yourself into Jimin’s side. Your form curls around him, your head on his arm you squish yourself into the silver-blond’s chest; head tucked underneath his chin. As the haze of sleep and exhaustion returns you unknowingly place a chaste kiss on the juncture of his neck.

“Goodnight Jiminie,” You whisper, sleep finally claiming your consciousness.

‘Oh thank god,’ The mafioso thought to himself, glad you wouldn’t be able to hear the loud drumming of his rapidly beating heart. He releases a shaky breath recalling the feathery light feeling of your lips on his skin.

For many minutes he sat as still as a statue, replaying the events in his head, from the way you called him ‘Jiminie’, which was barely settling in, to your sweet words for him every one, then to the kiss. His mind raced, buzzing with thought before relaxing into your hold, his fatigue setting in, he pushed away those thoughts, deciding to save the mulling over for another time, he shifted away from you, untucking your head from underneath his chin and taking in your form. Even through the dim lighting, he could see the peaceful expression that rested on your face, mouth partly open as you take slow even breaths. Your soft locks messily framing your face most perfectly.

Tentatively, he brushed the strands of hair that fell onto your face, running his thumb across your plump cheeks. ‘Beautiful,’ Was the only word he could think of, an unknown knot twisting and tightening in his chest in the best way possible. A tender smile danced on his lips as he once again pulled you closer, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, a strange warmth filling him as his own consciousness faded. Not realizing the weight of his own words.

“Oow,” Groaning, your face contorts in pain, your head hammering in your skull. A headache you wouldn’t wish even to your enemies attacking you. A whine escapes your lips, your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert, however far too lazy to actually get up for a drink, you nuzzle further into the warmth before you.

Snuggling into the comfortingly familiar warmth. An extremely recognizable scent fills your senses. ‘Hmm, smells just like Jimin,’ A masculine yet feminine smell, smoldering yet delicate, a scent unique to Jimin and Jimin alone. Your eyes fly open at the thought, but regret opening your eyes so suddenly as your sleep sodden eyes burn the moment you open them. A drawn-out groan leaves your throat as you rub your eyes open.

And there he was in all his sleepy glory, a lethargic smile on his lips as he watched you scowl at the world. “Good morning,” he groggily whispered as to not agitate your headache he could see you had. “How’re you feeling?”

After blankly staring at the godly beautiful male, having given up on logic and reason you simply sigh returning to snuggling into his neck. Making yourself comfortable in his heat, the rhythmic thudding of his heart somewhat soothing your pounding head. Though it did nothing for the dryness in your mouth.

A content sigh escaped your lips, a sense of completion flooded your systems as you were consoled by the domestic warmth of Jimin’s presence. A warmness that always blossomed in your chest every time you were close to Jimin. It was a homey sort feeling, in the most natural way, like you’d always belonged there. And a warm, gushy sensation blooms in your chest, a sensation that turns your insides to mush but also sends tingles down to the tips of your fingers. A sensation that made your palms clammy and made your heart beats just a tad faster.

All is silent, and you try to fall back into the comfort of sleep and you almost did, before Jimin’s voice snaps you from your haze.

“My arm’s numb,” He says flatly.

“I don’t care,” Clutching tightly onto his shirt, you mumble, determined to get your way.

“Get off,” He whines, half-heartedly nudging you away, only for you to cling onto him. Moments pass and you relax your clutches ever so slightly, only to feel the rumbling in Jimin’s chest as he chuckles.

“What’re you laughing at?” Untucking your head from under his chin, you scoff with a laugh.

Immediately his nose scrunches, eyes crinkling in disdain, “You’ve got bad breath,”

“Oh my god, do I really?”

“Yeah,” He nods.

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,”

A beat of silence passes before you both burst into a loud fit of laughter. Though you almost immediately regret that as the pounding in your head worsens. Groaning in discomfort, burrow back into Jimin’s embrace.

“Alright, get up,” He directs, supporting you to a sitting position as you grumbled and whined on your way up. You had never before wished more to become a rock and spend the rest of your life resting and existing. “Here, drink this,” He hands you a glass of water. But you don’t recall having water in your room. Whatever the case, you gratefully accepted the glass, downing the liquid in three gulps. Jimin holds his hand out, offering to take the glass. Returning the glass you mumble a thank you, leaning against the headboard.

Jimin carefully places the glass onto the side table, before pulling out his phone. His eyes ran over whatever he was reading, and you were left to wander your thoughts.

What a bizarre exchange. Nothing of this sort had ever happened to you, and you never expected to experience such things with anyone, let alone a mafia don.

Getting drunk, passing out, waking up next to someone that wasn’t Shelty, then laughing with that person while they take care of you. These days nothing you ever expected happened, which was a new experience. Usually, you were pretty spot on with your predictions, though your life wasn’t exactly the most exciting for unpredictable things to just pop up. But still.

‘Oh my god I was drunk,’ Your eyes widened, head twisting to look at Jimin. Per usual you didn’t have any recollection of the night prior. It wasn’t as though there was nothing, but everything was a blur, nothing you could make sense out of. What had you done while you were drunk? Had you done anything weird? You were known to be brutally honest while under the influence. You hoped and prayed you hadn’t offended anyone last night.

“Uh, hey, Jimin,” He hums at the quiet call of his name. “Did I do anything… weird last night?”

And a wide grin breaks onto his perfect face. ‘Oh god,’ So you had done something embarrassing. “What did I do?” You squeak, pulling your fuzzy blanket halfway up your face.

“Oh nothing much,” He muses, “Just helped us start our search for the traitor, figured out Yeong’s next possible move, gave Taehyung some advice. Nothing too big,” He lists off the topics you had covered, and as per word, leaving out the compliments you had showered them with.

“So she strikes again,” Grumbling in embarrassment you bring your hands to cover your face.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” His voice is gentle as he questions you.

“What was I supposed to do?” You drop your hands to your lap. “Tell you how to do your job when I know little to nothing about this world, about how things work? If anything I’d probably just get in the way,”

“Nonsense,” He interjects. “If there is ever something on your mind I want you to say it out loud. If there is ever you notice something that we don’t I want you to tell me. Besides, everything you said last night really did helped us.”

His eyes narrow at the silence that follows. “(Y/n),” There’s a warning in his voice, but you don’t feel threatened nor do you feel fear. Strangely, it warmed your heart that he cared about your opinion even though you were a novice when it came to things about this world.

You give a tentative nod, raising your gaze to meet Jimin’s. You see him relax as he returned to lean against the headboard.

As you observe him your eyes fall onto his shoulder. ‘His wound!’

“Jimin your bandages! Did I change them? Did anyone change them?” You ask you're frantically sitting up, flinging off your blanket as you did.

“Calm down,” He waves his hands in downwards motions as he speaks. “No, no one changed my bandages last night. But,” He cuts you off before you had the chance to say anything. “It was just yesterday, and I don’t really think one night will hurt,”

“No, it can definitely hurt, what if it gets infected?” Ignoring the throbbing in your skull, you crawl off the bed. “I need to change your bandages now! I’m gonna go get the first-aid box,”

“Wait!” Jimin grips onto your shoulder, gently tugging you to look at him.

“I had a feeling you might do something like that,” He sighs. “So I had it brought in here,” He gestures to the box sitting on the floor beside the bedside table.

“Oh?” Pausing for a brief moment before continuing on your way towards the first-aid box. “Well I still need to change your bandages,” Your vision blurs ever so slightly as you try to find your balance as you stand, however you shook off the short bout of dizziness, slowly waddling your way to the box, grabbing it and returning to the bed.

Jimin releases another deep sigh as he concedes defeat, removing his t-shirt to give you access to the bandages. “I thought you were hungover?” He laughs scooching to give you space on the edge of the bed.

“I am,” Chuckling you answer him as you unclipped the bandage clip and unwinding his cream-colored bandages.

“Then shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I will,” You say, cleaning the suture using an alcohol pad, then applying antibiotic ointment onto the wound before wrapping the wound in a fresh set of gauze and bandages.

“One of the maids will come by. Order what you want for breakfast, then rest. I need you at full capacity tonight,” He instructs as you clip on the bandage clip. “One of the girls should be coming in for your hair and makeup. After you’re done dressing, come to my room.”

“You’re room? Why?”

“Because I said so,” A soft smile curves onto his plump lips as he slips on his shirt.

Puffing your cheeks into a pout, unsatisfied with the explanation, but nod regardless.

“Good,” He bobs his head in approval. “See ya later,” Standing, he briefly runs his fingers through Shelty’s fur, lovingly petting her before giving her head a soft pat.

“Hey Jimin, can you take Shelty with you?” You ask the male. Seeing as you would be stuck indoors all day, and your puppy needed her daily dose of exercise, it would be better for her to be with Jimin. At the very least she wouldn’t be trapped in one room.

“Hmm? Sure,” He says looking at the wolf-dog in question. “Do you wanna come with me?” Shelty jumps at the offer, more than ready to be out of the room.

“Alright, let’s go,” Opening the door of the room, the pair exit, Jimin shutting the door behind him as they left.

And just as the silver had said, Eui arrived knocking at your door just as you had dresses after your shower. Still recovering from a bitch of a hangover that had somehow worsened after Jimin had left, you ordered for a light breakfast of toast with jam and butter, accompanied with fresh fruits.

After gobbling down your breakfast and placing the trolley outside of your bedroom, you immediately dive into your nest of blankets and pillows for a long nap.

“Miss (Y/n), Miss (Y/n),” A soft voice calls your name, and you jolt awake when you feel your body being shaken.

“Huh? Wha?” Vision blurry from sleep, you jump to sit up.

“Oh, I’m sorry miss!” Shoulders slumping when you recognized this meek voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you!” Eui wildly waves her hands, apologizing profusely.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Rubbing your eyes, you assure as a long yawn leaves your lips.

“So what’s up? Did you need something?” Groggily, you ask the girl, resting your weight on your hands.

“Um, I’m here for your hair and makeup,” She answers as her gaze falls to a silver box she was holding.

You blink once, then twice, processing the information just handed to you. Your gaze shifts to the windows in your room. Deep orange hues of dusk flooded from the clear glass windows. Which meant you would be leaving for the gala shortly. Which also meant you had slept for the majority of the day. Had you truly been asleep for the entirety of the daylight? Though now the hangover from the morning was right about nonexistent.

“Miss (Y/n)?” Eui’s soft voice breaks you from your thoughts.

“Right, sorry,” With a smile, you apologize to the girl, “So what’s first?”

“I’ll be starting with your makeup,” She responds quietly.

“Okay, should we move to the bathroom? Or a chair? Or?”

“Um, can we move to the desk?” Her gaze glued to the floor, she asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Removing the blankets from your legs, you walk to the office area of your room.

There is no exchange after those short words as he wordlessly works on your face. Massaging, what you assumed was moisturizer into your skin. You sat in silence as she applied some light makeup, nothing much, just enough to show off your natural features.

“Um, so, I was wondering, do you know who arranged my books?” You question while she was brushing the mascara spoolie through your lashes. However, you sense her body stiffen after your words leave your mouth.

“It一 it was me miss,” You hear the hesitation and fear lacing her voice as she answers your question. “Did一did I organize them incorrectly?” He

“Oh no, no,” Quick to reassure her, you shake your head. “I actually wanted to thank the person that did,” Facing her you explain.

“You organized them perfectly, thank you Eui,” A gentle smile curls onto your lips, but you couldn’t help wondering why she was so afraid of you? Or afraid in general? However, as it stood now, it was none of your business.

“Thank you, miss,” A small smile graces her pink lips as she bows, a slight flush on her cheeks.

“I guess it’s dress time now,” Heaving yourself off the office chair, you make your way to your walk-in closet. But pause when you see Eui following you. “Uh, so is there a reason why you’re following me?”

“Aren’t I going to help you dress?” Her head tilts in question, a confused expression forming on her face.

“No, no, I’m good, I can do it myself,” Waving your hands, you assure her. “Why don’t you wait here while I go put it on and then help me with hair?” Moving close towards the closet you suggest to the brunette. And though her face forms a light frown, she nods.

Hurrying into the closet, you quickly slip on the dress you had chosen. A deep wine red off-shoulder neckline came together in a v-shape at the chest. With a high split in the ball gown skirt that gracefully flowed behind you, making a sort of train. The smooth satin material that gently kissed your skin as the dress elegantly hung on your form, as soft and as pleasant as ever.

Reaching for your ‘Louis Vuitton’ shoebox that sat with your other shoes, you carefully undid the packaging before sliding your feet into the heels, then fastening the buckles on the adjustable straps around the ankle.

After a short glance admiring your outfit, you exit the closet, taking slow steps towards Eui, not that you had much of a choice.

“So what do you think?” You ask the girl, who had been standing by the desk.

“You look, wonderful miss!” She exclaims, her hands coming to her chest.

You thank her for the compliment as you slunk towards her.

Eui gestured to you to sit on the plush office chair while she fussed over your hair. You smiled as you saw the girl relax around you. Surprisingly she didn’t do much with your hair, she shifted your hair to better frame your face. And she was done.

Taking a few steps back she admires her handy work, nodding to herself. “All done,” She smiles.

“Thank you,” Standing you express your gratitude.

“Oh no, it was nothing at all,” Furiously shaking her head, then bowing as he excused herself, scurrying out the door.

Chuckling you glided across your room and out the door. As promised, you make your way to Jimin’s room. Though you weren’t exactly sure whether he was in his room or not, you were still asked to meet him there.

‘I wonder what he wanted?’ Musing to yourself, you knock on the tall double doors.

“Come in,” His voice comes through the door.

Pushing open one of the doors, you enter Jimin’s room. And the sight that greeted you truly warmed your heart. There he was, a suit-clad mafia don, on the floor cuddling a cloud of floof.

Was he really rolling around the floor wearing the suit

“Well, aren’t you two getting along?” Mockingly, you laugh, making your way towards the pair.

“Yes, we’re getting along perfectly,” He scoffs, before his eyes land on your form. His eyes trailed your body, his gaze drinks in your form. The red satin elegantly hangs from your body, as your hair naturally farms your face, further enhancing your raw beauty. Eui had done her job well. You looked just as gorgeous as the day you picked your dress, only you were still missing something. Your neck was far too bare for a party they were about to attend.

So he would fix that.

“So, what’s up? What did you want to talk about?” You ask, playing with your fingers.

“Right, follow me,” Standing from his position he leads you to his massive closet. You follow wordlessly.

Jimin pulls open one of the long drawers. And you see it filled with expensive watches and a navy blue velvet box. Most likely a jewelry box.

Your eye twitches as you realize that drawer probably costs more than everything you’ve owned put together, your apartment included.

“I wanted you to wear these,” Jimin’s voice brings you back from your thoughts as you see him open the velvet box.

The mafia boss’ eyes were trained on your expression as you gasp when you see the precious contents of the box.

There rested a white-gold necklace beautifully encrusted with diamonds. The centerpiece of the necklace was elegant curves with a diamond where they came together, another diamond hanging from the middle figure. More diamonds hung from the wing-like shapes that flowed away from the centerpiece, making the body of the necklace. The necklace itself sat beneath a pair of matching earrings. All of them encrusted with the same shimmering jewel. The exquisite piece was more art than jewelry. And was probably worth more than your life. (Picture is at the end [please go look at it, it’s really pretty])

A gentle smile curls on Jimin’s lips as he watches your awed expression before speaking up. “This used to be my mother’s,” He whispers.

“Ji一Jimin, I couldn’t. I can’t wear something so precious” Shaking your head, you step away from the box.

“Oh, I think you can,” Chuckling he lifts the necklace from his container.

“Jimin, no,” Distancing yourself from the male you deny his request. You would indulge him most to everything, you would follow almost any command he would give, but this was something you couldn’t do. This was something you didn’t deserve to do.

Sighing, he speaks, “Ever since my mother passed away, this has been sitting here, doing nothing,” His gaze rises to meet yours, and you felt your heart accelerate from the amount of warmth and affection they held. “I don’t think that’s what she would have wanted,”

“I think,” He inches closer, “She would have wanted someone to wear this. To show off this wonderful piece of art. To love this necklace just as she had,” Taking another step, he had you cornered you against the full body mirror in his closet.

Your eyes were glued to the floor as he tentatively pushed your hair away from the nape of your neck. Breath ragged, heart beating a mile a minute, you felt paralyzed as Jimin turned you to face the mirror. You couldn’t move, you wanted to stop him, to tell him you didn’t deserve to wear such a treasure. But you couldn’t, your body wouldn’t move as though under some spell

Your gaze remained plastered to your feet as Jimin unscrewed the necklace, placing it around your delicate neck, before screwing it on. The necklace was heavy, you felt the weight of the value, the importance of the necklace that hung from your neck as it rested on your chest.

“There, now it’s complete,” Appreciating the treasure that sat on your chest, Jimin says, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You look magnificent,” He murmurs in your ear.

Minutes passed and you had finally gained some sort of control over your body. Slowly, you turn to face the silver-blond, ready to express your disagreement, but your words die in your throat when your eyes meet his. His heart was beating just as fast as yours

Your mouth hung open but no words would come out. He was so close. Close enough for you to feel his shaky breath and his thundering heart.

You felt lost as you stared into his rich honey-brown orbs, each holding so much emotion, an emotion you recognized. Emotions similar to yours, but what exactly were your emotions. And as if on autopilot, your hands moved to rest on his suit-clad chest, clutching at the fine fabric.

Letting out a shaky breath your vision falls to his plump, cherry-pink lips. Taking in the wonderfully sculpted and so kissable. Your head twitched forward as you wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

An almost identical thought ran through Jimin’s head as he watched you nibble on your lower lip. And his body moved before he could think.

His lips crashing into your, perfectly melding together as they move in sync. Your eyes slip shut as Jimin’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into his silvery locks.

Groaning into the kiss, Jimin swipes his tongue across your lower lip, asking for entrance. A request eagerly entertain. A soft whimper resounding in your throat as his muscle dominated your mouth. Stumbling backwards, he pushes you against the mirror as a quiet moan leaves your lips, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his tongue roam every crevice of your mouth.

An electrifying feeling jolt throughout your body and everything made sense. The comfort you felt just being in his presence, the fluttering feeling that always flourished within you were with him. This strange sense of trust you had in him even though you had met him less than two weeks ago. Why his words held so much value to you, the jitters you got when he spoke sweet words to you. The emotion was so natural, so familiar, you never noticed your own budding feelings.

Minutes felt like hours as the kiss continued, but you didn’t want it to stop. Not now, not ever, slowly but surely becoming addicted to the sensation of Park Jimin’s kiss. And though unwillingly, you gently part from his lips when the need for oxygen burned your lungs.

His plump, cherry lips remained flush against yours, panting as your lungs take in as much air as it could.

Moments pass and you finally gather the courage to look up to him, and that would be one decision you would never regret.

He wore the softest expression you had ever seen, filled with warmth, care, and love. But almost defeated? Relented? Like he had happily given up. Head involuntarily tilting when you didn’t understand his expression.

“The things you do to me,” He whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, which you gladly return.

Your frown deepens at his words. The thing you do to him? What about the thing he does to you? And you intended to make sure he knew and took responsibility for feelings.

“And what about you?” Puffing your cheeks into a pout, you say. “What about the things you did to me?” An amused smile tugged at the corners of Jimin’s mouth.

“Trapping me into your too comfortable to be real cuddles and attacking me with your attractiveness that you unfairly stole from the world,” A half-hearted scowl makes its way onto your face.

“You think I’m unfairly attractive?” An overly amused eyebrow lifts as he questions you.

“That's not what I一yes, but一 uuwgh” You groan, leaning your head on his chest, you wrap your arms around his wait when you realized he had a complete advantage.

Chuckling, he runs his fingers through your hair. Letting out a laugh of your own when you knew he completely and utterly had you.

“You are so unfair,” You chuckle, softly hitting his shoulder. He, in turn, pulls you against his body.

“You’re crazy,” You giggle.

“For you,” He smoothly returns, he gambles his luck, testing your reaction. This would be his way of asking you to be his. As he finally figured out what had been going on in his head. His heart twisted in realization as he could finally name the inexplicable happiness he felt every time you smiled, the heated rage when you got hurt, the ice-cold fear he felt when you were in danger. And the incredible amount of adoration and warmth he felt just having you close by. The love he felt when you looked at him and beamed a smile that put the brightest stars to shame.

Your eyes widen, understanding the true meaning behind his words. And try as you might you couldn’t stop the face-splitting grin that made itself a home on your face. You’d already known your answer.

“Eww, you’re so cheesy,” Leaning into him, you murmur against his lips, pecking his lips before squirming away from him.

And you got exactly three steps in before you were pulled back by a strong yank.

“Be mine,” His eyes meet yours, all playfulness gone as he speaks seriously, though his words were more of a declaration than a request.

Mirth swimming in your eyes, you shimmy out his hold, giving him an innocent grin, you say. “I’ll think about it,” With that make you a break for the door. Though you don’t make it very far before you’re back in his grasp.

“Minx,” He growls, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. A gesture you gladly returned.

“We have to get going,” Giggling, you move away from the lip lock. A loud sigh leaves his lips and a pout puffs onto his cheeks as Jimin allows you to break the kiss.

“And you called me unfair,” He huffs out, his arms still locked around your waist.

“We have to go,” You repeat yourself.

“I know,” Mumbling, his eyes rake over your features.

“What are you looking at?” Poking his chest, you grumble.

“Am I not allowed to look at you?” He whispers, kissing the area behest your ear.

“Oh, whatever,” Burying your face into his neck, you pray you didn’t smudge your makeup.

Chuckling, he speaks quietly. “The earrings, you forgot the earrings,”

His words sober you from the giddy feeling you were drowning in just moments ago. Jimin notices your change in demeanor right away, and he knew the thoughts that were running through your head.

“Will you wear it for me, angel?” He pleads, leading you into his ginormous closet. Your eyes widen at the affectionate nickname, wordlessly following him.

“Jimin…” A soft murmur of his name leaves your mouth as you are once again standing before the full body mirror.

“You have some gall, making a mafia boss beg,” He chuckles, holding the marvelous pair of earrings.

“Fine, I’ll wear it, but just this once,” Your gaze meets his through the mirror, and you see amusement flood into those honey-brown orbs.

“Hm, sure,” Eyes narrowing at his reaction, you take the earrings from him, sliding them on, fastening them to your ear with the earring backs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Letting out a playful growl, you exit the closet, crossing the room to the door.

“You look beautiful,” He compliments, opening the door for you.

“Don’t change the subject,”

“Shelty come, let’s go,” Ignoring you, he calls for the jet-black wolf-dogs. Who enthusiastically trots towards you, brushing her head against the palm you held out, inviting her for pets.

“Shelty’s going with us?” Coasting down the hall, you eye the silver-blond.

“Of course,” Pocketing his fists in his suit pocket

“Is she allowed at the party?” A questioning brow rose on your face as you descended the spiraling staircase.

“Yeah, dogs are allowed,” Shrugging, he walks beside you as you step outside the house.

Huffing out a chuckle, you cruise to the limousine waiting for you down the front steps.

“Took you guys long enough,” An upset Jeongguk expresses the shared sentiment of Bangtan’s core six of them anyway, leaning his weight on the luxurious vehicle. “What were you even doing?” He gruffs out.

“Completing her outfit,” Jimin swiftly answers, coming to stand beside his younger brother.

“Is that?” Jin moves closer, his eyes landing on the precious treasures hanging from your neck and ears.

“It is,” Grinning, Jimin arm snakes around your waist, nudging you into the vehicle.

Questioningly, you look at the mafia don. Were you going in first? You assumed he always entered group vehicles first. So why wasn’t he entering first?

With a tilt of his head, he gestures you into the limousine, ignoring the query in your orbs. ‘Well okay then,’ Carefully lifting your dress, you crawl into the limo, dismissing Jimin’s behavior as a transparent change of heart.

To you the action may have not meant much, however to the men standing outside the vehicle, this was a silent proclamation. You were officially off-limits.

“Oh?” A knowing grin spreads onto Taehyung’s lips as he watches his boss enter the car.

“What?” Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you ask the seven men who each were miserably failing at suppressing their smiles.

But once again, Jimin is quick to change topics, “If all possible we’ll try to avoid talking about your position in Bangtan. But if we absolutely cannot avoid the subject then you’ll be recognized as a core member,” You blink once, then twice as the engines of the limousine hum to life as you feel the vibration of the vehicle moving. You thought you were attending as someone’s plus one or something of the sort, not as a core member. Just being called part of the core was a responsibility on its own, were they really trusting you with that?

“So remember to hold yourself in that regard, regardless if you have to identify yourself or not” Namjoon cleared his throat.

“Don’t let anyone disrespect you,” Yoongi adds. “It’ll reflect on us too,”

Bobbing your head in understanding, you soak in all the information, before adding a few points of your own.

“Uh, guys,” You call for their attention. “If anyone brings up the Yeong incident, just know I didn’t come up with the plan,”

Confusion pools in their eyes before realization strikes and they understand your cryptic words. Should anyone mention the incident they were to divert attention from you, obviously, you will attract some attention, however, the intention was to keep you hidden, to keep you harmless, at least your image anyway.

Everyone falls to their own thoughts as a calm silence takes over. But the quiet remained longer than you would have liked. So you did the only right thing to do in such a situation.

“Did you know your eyeballs are three and a half percent salt?” You throw the first medical fact that comes to mind.

“What?” Yoongi ganders at you like you were the stupidest life form in existence.

“Just a fun fact,” Jimin chuckles as your shoulders lifted into a shrug.

“Hey, (Y/n),” The youngest calls for your attention. “Can you dance?”

‘Well shit,’ Over the week, you were entirely focused on improving your combat skills, you had completely overlooked the fact that you couldn’t dance. Sure you could flail to a rhythm but you didn’t know proper ballroom dancing. “No,” Lowering your head, you answer.

And the limousine jerked to a stop just as you did. “Uh, that's okay, you can skip the dancing. The event is more of a banquet-style anyway,” The chocolate brunette assures you, as the dark door smoothly opened.

“Right,” Mumbling, you delicately scooch out of the vehicle and beside Jimin, who had his hand out for you.

And the sight before you was grand, to say the least. Bright yellow ground lights illuminate the two large pillars that stood on either side of the main entrance. You could see the lobby through the glass doors, marble floor, lush green plants decorated corners of the room, and a mahogany desk sat to the side of the space, giving the room an open feel.

Speckles of gold from the indoor lights sprinkled the length of the tall building. You had to strain your neck to see the whole building, you almost assumed it went on forever.

Ladies in extravagant gowns and dresses poured in alongside men dressed in perfectly tailored suits. One would think you were attending a royal ball by the way these people dressed, not a mafia party.

Cars you had only seen in movies and magazines passed by you as the crowd grew. And you feel a subtle tug on your hand, which you guessed was Jimin.

“Wait, Jeongguk!” You gasp, body jolting when you remember the gift you meant to give a certain lady if you could call her that. “Did you bring everything I told you?” You ask the male.

“Oh, yeah!” He exclaims, remembrance flooding his hazel orbs. “Hold on let me get it,” He rushes to the end of the elongated body of the limousine. And your expression falls into a blank look.

“Did you really put flowers in the trunk?” Your deadpan stare pierces through him as his shoulder rises high in a shrug.

“Well, I got them didn’t I?” He hands you the bouquet, stuffing his hands into his suit pockets.

Sighing, you shake your head. Although he was right, he had gotten all the flowers you had asked for.. And a mischievous grin splits on your face as you fuss with the flower petals adjusting and arranging them.

“What are those for?” Jimin comes up behind you, one of his arms wrapping around your waist. Your grin melts into a soft smile at the warmth of his touch.

“Don’t worry about it,” You assure him as he leads you up the front steps. Though still curious, he drops the topic, humming at your words.

You walk down the first corridor by the main entrance, your eyes fell to the floor as a sudden bout of nervousness hit you. Only it wasn’t only nervousness that had made itself known, you could feel the excitement pulse through your veins as you walked down the carpeted hallway.

“Alright here we go,” Jeongguk blasts his bunny smile as you turn one last corner and you see the humongous double door, you were sure you could fit an elephant through.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the room. Three enormous rectangular low ceiling chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. It looked as though it was raining gold; a clean white light poured from the large chandeliers. Neatly lighting the room in a soft enchanting glow.

Round tables dotted the great hall, as people mingled, greeting each other.

A soft smile plastered to your face you eyed the people you passed, taking note of their movements and expressions. Though you had to admit you were enjoying the shocked, almost scared glances you received from the many attendees when their eyes landed on your wolf-dog. You felt a surge of power run through you as you glide through the crowd with Shelty walking a naturally regal strut by your hip. And you knew the core of Bangtan was also enjoying that feeling.

As you walked, you carefully studied your surroundings, and before you even had a chance to really go through the information, you had already seen distinct characteristics in both men and women.

There were three kinds of women, ones that clung to men, ones that huddled together, and ones that sat alone, poise and prestige rolling off of them as they coyly sat and observed the fray. The quiet ones were the most dangerous, you will never truly know how much they understand.

Silently you sit in the chair Jimin had directed you to, still holding onto the bouquet. The men break into their own conversations and a few men approach Jimin, inviting him into conversations, which he somewhat reluctantly obliged. And you vaguely hear the men ask the silver-blond about your identity.

Minutes passed of you quietly watching the crowd, and Hae Seulgi was still nowhere to be found. From what you heard from the chocolate haired mafioso, she seemed like a fly drawn to honey, and yet she was still missing.

‘Oh? Ask and you shall receive, is what they say?’ You suppress your grin into a docile smile, calming your rapidly thumping heart. Jeongguk had shown you a picture of the girl, and you had to say, she was quite attractive, in fact, she was beautiful. And from everything you had been told about her, it would seem as though the jewels she wore were brighter than she would ever be. Plus as the spoiled younger sister of Hae Jae-sang, you were almost certain money had jammed her cerebral functions. But, a healthy dose of caution keeps you safe. You recite to yourself as a woman in a deep raisin-purple mermaid dress that flowed outward at the feet stalked towards the now seated beside you Jimin.

“Waiters will be going around with food, but if you want anything just tell one of us, okay?” He places a hand on your knee cap. And your plastered smile thaws into a genuine one as you nod to him.

“Well, well,” Hae Seulgi makes her appearance. “What’s this? Park got himself a new bitch?” She scoffs, her eyes trailing your form. Though her confidence all but evaporates when a deep snarl rips from beside you. She jumps back, her gaze finally finding the wolf-dog beside you.

“Shelty,” Camly you call her name, combing your fingers through the fur of her head.

In all honesty, you too were surprised at Shelty’s actions. Hae Seulgi had done nothing threatening, yet she released a powerful growl of warning.

“What the fuck?!” She yelps. “What is that thing?!”

“A goat,” Jimin snaps. “What the hell does it look like?”

“You know the rules,” She spits back. “No exotic pets,”

“She’s a dog Seulgi,” Jimin massages his forehead.

“No she’s not that’s clearly a fucking wolf,” She barks, stepping back awkwardly after Shelty bares her teeth at the girl when she tried to approach Jimin. And from what you could see the men seated around the table were equally amused at the sight before them.

A placid smile blossoms on your lips as you had got exactly what you had hoped for.

“Oh, I assure she’s just a dog,” Quickly coming to a stand, you rapidly explain to her that Shelty was a dog. “Please forgive her,” You give her a deep bow.

“And just the hell are you?” She scoffs, arms folded. You bit back a grin as you raised your head, your wide innocent eyes met her sharp catty ones. The seven men freeze at her words, would they really have to introduce you as part of the core so early on?

‘Pathetic,’ Her keen dark brown orbs appraised you. She could tell just from the way you spoke and reacted, you wouldn’t last more than a week in this world. She may have been spoiled by her elder brother, but she was raised in this chaos. Something as weak as you couldn’t handle this… If only she had known.

“A doctor,” You answer simply, your right hand covered by your right as they hung in front of you.

“What?” She sneers.

“Please, as an apology for Shelty’s behaviour一” You held up the bouquet, “一would you accept this bouquet?”

Her eyes scrutinize your form. “I’ve been here less than an hour, I wouldn’t want to start any trouble,”

‘How adorably pitiful, just this once,’ She hums, holding out her hand as she accepts the flowers.

“Seulgi,” Your attention is shifted to the man at the table across the room. A man in a navy-blue striped suit. His hard gaze commands for her presence.

“Well, I guess our meeting will have to be postponed,” She turned away from the table. “See you later Jimin,” She struts away with the bouquet, towards the male at the other table.

“Oh I think I will,” He says out loud, before muttering his next words, “In my nightmare,”

Giggling, you sit back on your chair. And a feeble smile forms on Jimin lips at the sound of your laugh.

“What was all that about?” Yoongi questions, but you keep your silence.

“By the way (Y/n), why did you give her flowers?” Jeongguk asks. “I thought we were offhandedly insulting her,”

You remained silent, you would explain your action to them once you were in the safety of your home. Right now, there were too many ears close by. Or at least that was your intention.

“Oh she did,” A voice comes from the right. During your little exchange, you hadn’t realized you had attracted the attention of a certain woman with the striking bouquet you were holding. And there stood Seoung Hei-ryung, wife of Seoung Seungri, co-head of the largest mafia gang in Seoul

“A foxy little thing aren’t you?” She smiles, confidently stepping closer to you, unafraid of the wolf-dog sitting beside you. Shelty does not react, as she comes to stand beside you.

So she caught your encrypted message. You’d have to be careful with her.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” There was no point in pretending in front of her.

“Geraniums, foxglove, meadowsweet, yellow carnations, and orange lilies. Quite the striking collection,” She muses.

“Hm, an interest in flowers I see,” You hum. “Do you perhaps have a garden?” An innocent question, but your eyes screamed a wicked loftiness.

“Yes, I do actually,” A mischievousness pools in her eyes.

“I happen to like flowers as well,” Smiling, you return.

“I can see that,” You laugh at her words, her sharp gaze trailing your form before she continues. “When an excellent find you’ve made Park Jimin,” She praised.

Jimin hum, unsure of what exactly Hei-ryung was speaking of.

“Here,” She hands you a card, a business card to be precise. “I’d like to get to know you better, and perhaps make a deal or two while we’re at it,”

“I’d like that too, Seoung-ssi,” You gratefully accept the card, and she lets out a loud laugh hearing your formality.

“Please, call me Hei-ryung…” She trails off, asking for your name.

“(L/n) (Y/n), but please me (Y/n),”

“Well then (Y/n), if I call you by your first name you must call me by mine,”

“I would be honored, Hei-ryung-ssi,” You answer.

“Suppose that’ll have to do for now,” She chuckles

The men around the table watch owlishly as you casually chatted and even scored a meeting with essentially the royal family of the mafia world. It was true that they had made a few deals in the past, but those were strictly business. This, on the other hand, the queen had just invited you to tea.

“But what exactly do the flowers have anything to do with this?” Jeongguk's face scrunches in confusion.

“Oh? You didn’t know,” A surprised brow raises on her face. “Well then let me tell you,” She grins.

It would have been most preferable to explain this in the safety of the meeting room, but you weren't exactly about to cut off the queen of the Korean mafia world.

“Geraniums signify stupidity, foxgloves represent insincerity, meadowsweets mean uselessness, yellow carnations mean “You have dissapointed me”, and finally orange lilies symbolizes hatred. Quite striking and full of loathing,” Chuckling, she elucidates the men. Their heads snapped to you as you held onto your coy smile.

“No. Way,” Jeongguk annunciates each syllable as excitement rushes onto his expression.

“Holy shit,” Yoongi runs a hand through his white-blond locks, a chuckle leaving his lips.

“So you cussed her out in flower,” Taehyunh wears a stupefied grin as he holds his forehead with both his hands.

“You are amazing,” Jin heaves out a laugh as he slapped the table.

“Isn’t she?” Another voice interjects from behind you.

And your face visibly falls, you feel a cold chill spread throughout your body. You recognized that voice. You jump off your seat, turning to meet the girl you hadn’t seen for nearly two weeks. The girl you never thought you would ever see again, the girl that shouldn’t be here.

“Soomin?” Meekly, you speak the familiar name as you take in the sight before you. She wore a burgundy, silk A-Line halter, sleeveless dress with a sweep train. And she looked gorgeous, you had never really seen the sweet girl outside of hoodies and leggings, but she certainly seemed to be killing that dress.

“It’s been a while. How have you been (Y/n)?” A hand on her hip, with a cheshire grin curves on her lips as she greets you. Before bending to pet your puppy’s head. “Hey, Shelty girl,” Cooing at the wolf-dog, she runs her fingers through Shelty’s silky fur.

“Wait, you know her?” The youngest articulates the thoughts of all seven men.

Did you know her? Of course, you knew Soomin. Why wouldn’t you? She was your boss. But what was your boss, from the flower shop you worked at doing here? She’s not supposed to be here? She’s supposed to be happily running a successful business you knew she loved. So what was she doing here, in a mafia party? Your thoughts fly in thousands of different directions as you try to make sense of the situation, but were cut off when the girl you thought you knew spoke.

“Hm, follow me, Ji-Eun Duri wants to chat,” She gestures to the door with her head.

You may have been distracted by the revelation before you, but you had regained your composure. And you didn’t miss the way Hei-ryung’s eyes widened ever so slightly before returning to their original position. Though the others were not as inconspicuous as the lady.

“Then, I will be taking my leave,” She turns to you. “Contact me when you can and we’ll set a proper meeting date,” She offers you a gentle smile before excusing herself from the group.

“Well then, come on,” Gesturing with her head, she commands.

“Why?” Jimin’s voice is deep, serious as he speaks.

“Why what?” A questioning brow raises on her brow.

“Why does she want to talk?” He asks.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Soomin’s eyes and her words spoke different meanings.

“Let’s go,” Your voice is final, as you meet Soomin’s gaze head-on.

Though surprised with your initial assertiveness, he stands with him followed the rest of the core. Pushing back their seats they stood.

“Right this way,” A grin breaks into Soomin’s lips as she leads you out the grand banquet hall. You hear soft murmurs around you while crossing the room, you bit your lower lip as you may have attracted more attention than comfortable. But that can come later, for now, you needed answers, you needed to talk to Soomin. And if talking to this Ji-Eun Duri was the only way, then so be it.

“I brought them,” She hollers, entering the room a few twists and turns from the main banquet hall.

The room is dimly lit, a large conference table sat in the center of the room. With a figure sitting at the far end of the table.

“Oh?” A female voice speaks, you notice the voice sounds that of an elder or at least older than anyone else in this room.

“Come, sit,” Ji-Eun Duri invites.

Stepping close, you get a better look at the figure before you. She had jet-black hair, her hair matching the color of the dress she wore. It was a simple design similar to yours. You could feel all your senses alert at her presence, your gaze studying her, trying to understand something, anything.

You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring at the figure until Jimin pulled you to sit beside him, as per usual you take a seat on his left side. And you finally allow your eyes to wander, that is when you finally notice the tense expressions the mafiosos wore. And you knew it was caused by the woman sitting on the other end of the table.

Moments passed, no one spoke, so you decided to ask the question that had been ringing in your head.

“Soomin, what are you doing here?” You ask, surprising even yourself at the calmness it held.

“What do you mean (Y/n)?” Soomin doesn’t sit, instead, standing to the right of Ji-Eun Duri. “I’ve always been here, you’ve just never known.”

“You knew her?” Jimin asks you, and even with the minimal lighting, you could see the frown line setting on his handsome face.

“She was my boss,” You answered. “The flower shop, she’s the owner of the flower shop I worked at,” Your voice steadier than you thought it would be.

“Hmm, honestly, one would think you bunch would show a little gratitude,” Soomin tuts, shaking her head. You could see their gaze flicker form each other then to the standing female.

“What are you talking about?” Sitting up straighter, Yoongi’s eyes narrowed as he spoke.

“You know, if I hadn’t sent (Y/n) to you when I did, your boss would be six feet under right now,” She states matter of factly.

Your eyes widen at her words. She had sent you to them? She had meant to send you straight into that fray? She had sent you to Bangtan's manor knowing there was conflict. She knowingly brought you into this world. ‘This was all on purpose,’

“You what?” Your voice falters ever so slightly.

“You heard me?” Her words are sharp, but dripping in amusement.

And that was all you needed to fully regain your steely composure. You could panic and mull over this late at home, for now, you need to figure out why you were brought into this, and the true intentions behind Duri’s summoning.

Glancing to Jimin, you nod. A silent reassurance that you were fine, and to continue the meeting.

“What do you want, Ji-Eun Duri?” He speaks curtly.

“Oh nothing really,” She responds. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the victory over Yeong Cheol Meong,”

“Honestly, it was like a breath of fresh air to see someone finally use their brain,” She lets out a breath of relief.

“What?” Jimin scowls, the gazes of the men around you darkening with it.

“All you people use is brute force and violence to solve all your problems,” She explains. “So it was nice seeing someone use what they had to their maximum advantage.”

“So well done Park,” Duri praises the male. “Gaining monopoly over the Thailand routes, making connections in foreign lands, and the profit That was one good plan.”

“Though I have a feeling the praise is falling to the person,” Soomin muses, her index finger brushing her lower lip.

“Hm, tell me Park what do you intend to do from here? What do you think would be the best course from here on out?” Duri questioned, leaning her head on her hand.

“We’re not obligated to tell you anything,” The silver-blond bites, his fists clenching. You gently nudge his feet, giving him a soft smile when he turns to you.

“What do you think (Y/n)?” The older woman shifts her attention to you.

You could have given the same reply as Jimin had, completely dodging the question. But you knew they wouldn’t let you off so easily, not with Soomin watching you like a hawk. Your former boss was well aware of your capabilities. And you knew she wouldn’t accept your roundabout answer.

The fact that they knew so much about the plan and things that came after the plan meant they knew, they knew everything. So these questions were more of a test, but a test for what? What were they really after? Going by the fact they brought you to another room, they didn’t want anyone interrupting, anyone listening. They wanted something, but what?

‘Fine, I’ll play along,’ Your gaze shifts to where the mafia don had been seated, meeting his honey-brown orbs. Your eyes spoke silent words, quietly asking him permission to answer the question.

What were you thinking? If you decide to truthfully answer this question then the future movements of the gang would be out in the open. More likely than not they follow whatever strategies you thought of. However, the fact stood that your decisions had yet to lead them astray. And though he didn't understand as to why you wanted to do this, he decided to trust your decision, on the accounts of all the benefits Bangtan had reaped from them.

“(Y/n)?” The ravenette calls your name, amusement, and interest pooling within her dark black orbs.

“It doesn’t matter what world it is, every world has it’s wars. Including this one,” You begin, “And with every war come politics, those two go together hand in hand”

Soomin wears a satisfied smile as she listens with the same interest as Duri.

“Just as politics can cause wars, it can also quell wars,” You meet the older woman’s gaze.

“And? What would’ve been your plan?” She questions. You knew she was following your thoughts, but you play her game.

“It’s simple really, trustworthy allies," Holding back a scoff you continue. “The more, the better,”

“Oh, so you intend to force Yeong into a corner?” A brow raises on her face as she reiterates your words.

“It’s not a bad plan, if you have strong allies backing you, then he can’t move as carelessly as he could if he were dealing with Bangtan alone,” Soomin hums, analyzing your suggestion.

“There's no point in having weapons if there isn’t anyone to use them, and there isn’t any use in having many allies if they’re only going to betray you,” Fingers toying with your hair, you ponder out loud. “But,”

“But?” Duri urges you on.

“If all possible I would want make Bangtan essential for Yeong’s gang survival,” Crossing your right leg over your left, your gaze lifts to meet Duri’s. “No matter how much someone may hate water, their body can’t survive without it.”

“And how do you intend to become Yeong’s water?” The ravenette eyes your form.

“I don’t know,” Shrugging, you answer honestly.

Ji-Eun Duri eyelids open then close, blinking once then twice before she bursts into a loud fit of laughter, her shoulders shaking with her laughs.

Your own eyes run over her form as you dissect her movements as you try to decipher the meaning behind her reaction.

“A curious little thing aren’t you?” Huffing as her laughter subsided, she ran her finger under her lower lip. Your line of sight shifts to Soomin, gauging her expression, only to find it drowning in amusement and a devilish pleasure.

“Well then, (Y/n),” The older woman begins. “Tell me, will you allow me to be the first to join your little alliance?” Pure joy danced in her charcoal-black orbs.

“I offer my full support and backing,” She proposes. “In any country, I have branches in, you will receive full support and cooperation from all my operatives. I’m more than willing to introduce you to any of my contact in whatever country you ask, I’ll even help you make connections or even expand,”

“What do you want?” Expression hardening, you feel your muscles tense. She wanted something, there was no giving in this world, everything was an exchange. So what did she want? And there was no guarantee she wouldn’t betray you, she has no real incentive to stay loyal. Even if she wanted something, that was not enough reason to keep someone loyal, especially people as crafty as her.

At first glance, it would seem like her words drip in narcissism, but that was exactly it, her supposed narcissism makes her easy to underestimate. An extremely dangerous weapon on its own. However, that wasn’t it, you did not know for certain but your gut said she had more than enough power to back whatever words she may speak.

“What do you want in return?” Repeating your question, you twitch your crossed legs.

“Something very simple really,” Humming, she toys with her manicured fingernails. Cocking a brow, you rest your elbow on the conference table.

“Loyalty, I want Bangtan’s loyalty.” She says simply. .

Your mouth gapes, at her words. And though the core members of Bangatn shared a similar reaction, your surprise was caused by two very different sentiments.

‘We’d be sitting pretty if we had one of Seoul's largest drug lords behind us,’ Yoongi thought, picking at the skin of his lips. As the head behind one of the most powerful drug rings, her control reaches much farther than the boundaries of Seoul or even Asia. With her by Bangtan’s side they could expand globally. And she was offering just that, expansion and in return all she wanted was Bangtan’s loyalty, a small price to pay for what Duri was offering. You’d be a fool not to take it, but would you?

Yoongi’s gaze flickers to you then to the older woman sitting at the other end. ‘Come on, (Y/n), we can't pass this up,’

Though you had heard the same words you had understood different meanings. This was why words were dangerous, if you don’t listen carefully, you will only hear what you want to hear, not what the speaker was truly articulating. Like in this instance Duri was asking for the gang’s loyalty, was she? Then your hunch about the woman was proven correct, she was smart and cunningly so, sharp as a knife and just as she had said earlier she took maximum advantage from anything and everything. This time she took advantage with her purposely vague words.

“You’re kidding? You’re kidding right?” Scoffing you push away from the table.

“Oh no, not at all, your loyalty is all I want,” Duri misunderstands the reason behind your disbelief.

“Words are just as lethal as weapons,” Voice sharp, you hiss out.

“I don’t see what’s wrong? All I ask in return for my backing and connection is loyalty,” She knows exactly what’s wrong, and so do you.

“So let me get this straight,” Scoffing, you decide you reiterate Duri’s word in simpler, clearer terms. “You’re offering connection and backing in other countries in exchange for control over the most extensive and most accurate network in Seoul?”

The seven men freeze when they hear those words leave your lips. Their bodies are rigid as they fully comprehend your words, or rather comprehend Ji-Eun Duri’s artful deceit.

Adjusting his cuffs, Jimin sat straighter. Focused on the things Bangtan would gain from the woman, he had overlooked what they would be giving up. But how could he not? Her words were molded in such an inciting trap. And these were the moments he was especially grateful that you were sitting beside him.

And though you had said plenty, you still had more to say, much more.

“The words “I want your loyalty,” is as clear as my skin swamp water. Of course, being aligned with you would mean none of the information collected on you would be shared, but using the term “loyal” loosely then if you asked us not to, we wouldn’t be able to gather intel on you or you could even ask that for people associated with you,” You explain. “And along the lines of information, going by your ambiguous descriptions of the deal, being “loyal” to you would also mean we wouldn’t be able to keep information from you whether it’d be about us and our own affairs or others. You would have not only full access to our networks but also almost full control over them,”

Puffing out a breath, you fold your arms leaning against the office chair. And the men around you visibly gulp as they were now able to see the finely laid trap.

“Did I miss anything?” You ask calmly, your briefly lost composure returning to you. “If so, please feel free to as the list,”

“I think she got all of them,” Soomin quips, nodding her head, thoroughly impressed with your understanding. “What do you think?” She asks Duri.

“Yeah, I think she did,” Sh chuckles. “It’s been some time since anyone has caught my words,” Her eyes form crescents from the wide grin she wears.

“I’d forgotten what it feels like to match wits,” She muses. “Alright, how about I make a better deal?” You watch her with incredulous eyes. Unbelieving of every word that left her mouth.

“I offer Bangtan my loyalty,” Her charcoal orbs land on yours. “In exchange for yours,”

“Again with th一”

“Not theirs,” Duri cuts you off. “Just yours, I want your loyalty (L/n) (Y/n),”

“Mine?” Forehead folding into a confused frown, you try to search for any hidden meaning in her words, any advantage she would gain from having only your loyalty. And you saw none. What was going on?

“Why?” Eyes narrowing, you question her.

“Because I want your loyalty,” Effortlessly dodging the question, she continues. “So do we have a deal or not?”

“What does the term loyalty include?”

“Anything you want it to,” She answers simply, she flicks her wrist.

If there were any advantages of having your loyalty then you couldn’t see it, however, if she were to pledge loyalty to Bangtan the gang would be able to benefit from all her resources. But what were the extent of her resources, was this really worth it?

Shifting your gaze to the men around you, and it dawned on you. No one was speaking, as a matter of fact, they had barely spoken at all. You were discussing the possible future of the gang, and none of the actual gang members were talking. Even Jimin had kept his silence, but why?

Your eyes find Jimin’s, silently asking him for guidance. His expression softens when he sees you looking at him. ‘What should I do?’ Your eyes asked. ‘Let’s take it,’ His answered, nodding, you scan the faces of the rest of Bangtan and their expressions said the same. So it was decided.

“We’ll take it,” The smile on Duri’s face remains the same as you answered. So she had predicted this.

“But,” You add. “Your word isn’t good enough, I want papers, contracts, a physical embodiment of your promise,”

“Oh?” She hums, her eyebrows raising in mild surprise.

“Make no mistake, you’re a threat just as much as you’re an opportunity,” You warn, uncrossing your legs, your hands falling to the armrests of the office chair you were sitting on.

A grin spreads on Soomin’s lips as she watches the interaction.

“Fine,” She says, her eyes closed. “Let’s meet three days from now, we can get everything down on paper, then,” Her gaze flickers to you then to Jimin.

“What do you say, boss?” Mockingly, she asks the silver-blond.

“Send the location of the meeting to Namjoon,” Standing he stares daggers into the older woman, he answers sharply.

“Alright, see you at the meeting, then,” She waves, lightheartedly.

“See ya later (Y/n),” Soomin called from her place beside Duri.

You stand just with the other core members, as your eyes flicker to Soomin’s catty ones then to Duri before you turn to leave the room.

“What the hell just happened in there?” Taehyung breathed out as you walked down the carpeted corridors.

What the hell had happened? Everything felt like a blur, one moment you are reuniting with Soomin in a place you never imagined you would. Then Ji-Eun Duri happened, just who the hell was she? And why did she want your loyalty? Was it some kind of scheme, a ploy? You’d have to ask Namjoon for proper information on her.

“I know right?” Jeongguk exclaims, his tone brimming with excitement.

“Did we really just strike a deal with Ji-Eun Duri? Like the Ji-Eun Duri?” Hoseok mutters still in soft shock.

“First Seoung Hei-ryung, then Ji-Eun Duri. Just one power woman after another,” Jin chuckles in disbelief, that you had just arranged meetings with not just one but two of the most powerful women in the mafia world.

“I know right,’’ The youngest joins in.

“I don’t think you understand the weight of your accomplishment (Y/n),” Namjoon says, impressed with what you had done.

“Yes, you did an amazing job,” Jimin praises, bringing you closer to him by your waist.

Sighing, you stopped in your tracks, staying in place. You were glad that they were happy, you really were, but seeing Soomin, the deal, you just needed time to process everything. And a party was not the place you wanted to do that.

“Jimin,” You whisper, wrapping your arms around the silver-blonde, you bury your face into Jimin’s neck. “Can we go home?” Mumbling, you nuzzle further into his neck.

A soft smile curved onto his lips as he curls his arms around you. “Of course, love,”

But your stomach twists and grumbles, making a very loud rumbling noise, a signal that your empty stomach was and crying to be filled.

“Can we go to McDonald's first?” You ask, looking up to him.

The silence continues for a solid minute before all seven men burst into laughter. Your eyes flutter at the sight before you join in on the laughing.

“Anything you want,” The mafia don chuckles, “Are any of you staying?”

“What?” Taehyung spits, eyebrows furring in anger. “And miss out on McDonald's? Fuck that,” He says.

“Let’s go to McDonald's!” Hoseok exclaims, his fists pumping into the air.

Laughing, you leave the grand gala in favor of a fast-food restaurant together.

“So this is the girl you chose?” Duri observes the swirl of the wine as she twirls her glass.

“Yes,” Soomin spoke softly, leaning against the wall behind the onyx haired woman.

“Did you see the confused look on her face when I said I want her loyalty?” Duri chuckles airily.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how someone could be so sharp and so dull at the same time,” Soomin sighs, her soft-blond hair falling onto her face.

“Why did I want your loyalty?” Duri says as though speaking to you. “It’s simple my child, when you take over the world I want to stand at your side.”

“In the first three days of her arrival, Bangtan took over the Thai weapons routes. In a mere three days, so imagine what she could do in three months or three years,” The older woman asserts.

“The game board just shifted my daughter,” Sipping her wine, the older woman stands. “Things are changing, whether it be for the better or for worse,”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” The younger woman hums thoughtfully.

“Well, I see every situation as both an opportunity and a threat,” You muse, watering the sunflowers. “O一of course that doesn’t apply to every situation,” You stammer out, realizing you had just said something people would normally classify as strange.

‘Seeing every situation as an opportunity and a threat, huh? I look forward to seeing what you become (Y/n),’

#Purple Irises #Mafia au #Mafia Boss Jimin x reader #Mafia jimin #mafia jungkook #Mafia Yoongi #mafia jin #Mafia Namjoon #Mafia Hoseok #Mafia Taehyung #Mafia BTS #Doctor reader kind of #Jimin x reader #Park Jimin x reader #Park Jimin

162 notes · View notes

umbry-fic · 3 years

Text

A Palette Full of You (4)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd’s lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Chapter: 4 of 6 Word Count: 5897 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 12/06/2021

Chapter Title: Stardust

Chapter Summary: The astronomy club holds a stargazing event on the school rooftop. As chairperson, there's no chance Lloyd isn't going to invite Colette. But as the night progresses, actually spotting the hard-to-find stars become the least of Colette's concerns.

(Colloyd Week Day 4: Stargazing)

Notes+Warnings: Chapter 4 of my multi chapter Colloyd week fic! Warning for some major internalised acephobia.

Chapter list Full fic Previous chapter Next chapter

~~~

16-years-old

Stepping out of the science lab into the corridor, Colette came to a halt, her schoolbag weighing on her shoulders, soaking in the warm air as other students filed past her. One of the most unfortunate things about attending practical make-up was that she wasn't guaranteed her usual seat by the lab window. Sitting right under the air-con was enough to send her into hibernation, and the test was hard enough as it was. She'd barely managed to finish on time.

Rummaging through the pocket of her navy blue pinafore, her fingers brushed past a packet of tissue and her wallet before successfully pulling her phone out. She needed a reminder of where the stargazing event was taking place, and who better to ask than Lloyd? She hoped he was reading his messages.

"7.23 pm, May 18th" blinked at her from her phone screen.

Wait, 7 missed calls? From Lloyd? What for?

Gah, she’d forgotten to tell him.

She dialled his number, placing the phone against her ear and waiting for his anxious voice to ring out. Which it did, just seconds later as he picked up.

“Colette? Where are you? I tried calling you so many times, and Sheena and Zelos wouldn’t pick up because they’re both at tuition!”

“I forgot to tell you the makeup got pushed by an hour. Sorry for making you worry, Lloyd. But I’m done now. Where’s the event at?”

"We’re on the school rooftop! Where we celebrated Sheena's birthday last month, remember?" Lloyd replied, his voice tinny in quality from the phone call. She could hear, in the background, the overlapping sounds of many voices.

“School rooftop, school rooftop, school rooftop…” she mumbled, beginning to scurry through her secondary school's corridors, head darting every which way to determine where she was and try to find clues as to where she was going. She didn’t often wander into this part of the school campus - block D, the science block - since she only took two sciences. Usually, she’d take the main staircase straight down to the canteen, but it would take forever to get back to the roof from there. She didn’t want to be too late.

“You’re coming from science lab 3, right? If I remember correctly, it’s one right, walk past the storage room to block C, and then take the first left down the bridge to block B. You should see the staircase to the roof. Do you need me to come and get you?”

“No, no, it’s fine! Just stay on the phone?”

“Alri - OI, MATTHEW, STOP MESSING WITH THE TELESCOPE! YOU DO NOT GET SPECIAL TREATMENT JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE MY DESKMATE! GET YOUR HANDS OFF AND LET ELLA HANDLE IT!” The yell was muffled, probably because Lloyd had taken the phone away from his mouth to avoid deafening her, though his raised voice was still enough to make her wince, tearing the phone away from her ear.

“Sorry about that,” Lloyd said, his voice lowered back to normal volume again. “Got to prevent property damage. You know how it is.”

“Right…” She laughed nervously, wondering how many people were up on the rooftop and what exactly they were up to. She was hoping to spend a peaceful evening stargazing with Lloyd and listening to him talk about constellations, the shining passion in his eyes rivalling even the stars above, not… getting distracted by people fooling around.

“How’s it going? Are you getting closer?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m heading in the right direction,” she assured Lloyd, taking the left he’d directed her to and running down the bridge connecting two blocks, her ponytail flaring behind her and her pinafore swirling around her legs. There was almost no one left in the school now. The hallways she’d run through had been abandoned, for the most part, the stragglers she passed by all heading in the direction of the main gate. The sky, visible from the bridge, was in the last throes of twilight, slowly bleeding into night as black seeped across the sky.

Colette skidded to a halt at the end of the bridge, gaze landing on a familiar door. She could recall this stairwell now, having taken it two months ago. She, Zelos and Lloyd had somehow managed to lead a blindfolded Sheena up it, whereafter they had surprised their friend with a birthday cake they had baked together. That birthday cake had been salvaged solely by Zelos, who was a surprisingly good baker. Or maybe they were just average, and weren't knocking over the baking tray every ten minutes like her.

“I’ve found the right staircase!” Colette said, hanging up and stuffing her phone back into her pocket and starting to take the stairs two at a time. She usually never did that (and was often teased by Sheena over it), choosing to climb each step carefully, for the risk of tripping was too high. But she was in a hurry, and so had no other choice. Her shoe-laces were coming undone, and her school bag seemed to be getting heavier with each step.

Everyone else who was attending the event was likely already on the rooftop - Colette could hear voices and the sounds of footsteps against concrete through the open door at the top of the stairwell. Grabbing the cold metal handle, she threw the door open, finally emerging onto the rooftop.

There were about thirty or so people milling around, everyone still dressed in their school uniforms, chatting with friends, holding cups of fruit punch or lounging on the mats that had come from the gymnasium. Not enough people to count as a crowd, but certainly respectable. Just a small event, one where she could relax and enjoy some peace and quiet.

Now she just had to find Lloyd...

"Colette!"

Speak of the devil! Or the angel, perhaps... Colette tracked the source of the voice and spotted Lloyd, making his way over from a group of students who were busy fiddling with a telescope, his hand gripping a red plastic cup. One side of his collar was flipped up, and the small shooting star pin that marked him as the chairperson of the astrology club was pinned to the other. Only one of the sleeves of his white blouse were folded like they were meant to be, the other way too long and leaving barely any skin visible above his elbow. His white long pants had been rolled up as much as possible - which wasn't much, honestly, the most it could reach was mid-thigh. It was one of those stuffy nights with no wind that was stifling and hard to fall asleep in.

"You made it!" Lloyd's grin grew wider as he grabbed her hand, only for him to flinch away instantly, vivid red liquid nearly sloshing over the rim of his cup. “Gah, your hand is really cold.”

"Sorry! You know how cold the lab is. Anyway, I only made it here thanks to your assistance." Colette laughed, feeling her weariness peel off her instantly. Lloyd always had that effect on her - his energy was infectious, like it was being injected straight into her veins whenever she was in close proximity to him. Especially now, with clear excitement alive on his face.

It was strange, though. He was the only one with that effect on her. Meeting her other friends never failed to make her happy, but Lloyd was the only one that could make her feel ten times more alive in an instant the moment she saw his smile. It had only started in the past year, this unknown, electrifying sensation that arose in her heart whenever she was with Lloyd. The desire to see him again after school ended got stronger with each day, but she couldn’t understand any of it…

“You’re staying for the afterparty, right?” Lloyd asked, taking a sip of the fruit punch. He said afterparty, but she knew it wouldn’t be much of a party. Just all the members of the astrology club hanging out in the tiny room the school had assigned to them, playing card games and chatting. Everyone in the club knew her by name, for she was the friend of their chairperson who somehow managed to turn up at every meeting. She was practically an honorary member at this point.

A homey gathering without any alcohol in sight. She much preferred it that way. The last time alcohol had come into play when she was staying overnight at a chalet with the rest of her class, sometime late last year. She'd avoided the cans of beer stacked on the floor, the smell not appealing to her. But alcohol sure made the rest of her classmates go wild. Running away from slightly drunk classmates trying to get her to play truth and dare was not fun. Normal truth and dare was already horrible, with questions like "who are you crushing on" and "who would you like to kiss". She didn't understand why it was a game that people insisted be played at every class gathering or orientation. No one ever believed her when she answered honestly with "no one", and she was fairly used to the reactions by now, the common ones being that she had to be lying, for everyone had someone in mind, or that she should stop acting so high-and-mighty, or just snickers of her being a prude.

Just because she was used to the biting words didn't mean they had stopped hurting, reminder stacked atop reminder of how she was isolated from everyone else around her. And as much as she hated answering "truth" whenever that accursed bottle landed on her, answering "dare" was even worse. There were the innocent ones like doing the chicken dance, and then there was having to kiss someone. She always did her best to leave as soon as the bottle made an appearance, but she could never say "no" when someone asked her directly to join, for she never knew how to turn people down. Neither did she want to give her classmates more reasons to treat her as a laughingstock for being too much of a coward to play. So now, whenever she was forced to play the game, she would give the least offensive answers possible - mostly girls, for she at least found them pretty, though she didn't think that was what attractive meant.

But the drunk version of truth and dare? That was hell on Earth. The questions got even more invasive. She could never understand how someone could ask "who would you sleep with here" with a straight face. And alcohol loosened the lips of her classmates, enough that she had heard snippets of some of the more adventurous ones describing their sexual escapades in sickening detail. She really didn't need the reminder that sexual activities weren't just a thing of fiction, but something that actually happened amongst real people and that people seemed to really want to do. She'd spent half of that chalet stay playing Uno with Zelos in a corner, because Zelos was way better at promptly rejecting offers to play truth and dare.

Only her friends had ever come to her defence, but it was not like they could help that much when they weren't in the same class, apart from Zelos. Still, they afforded much-needed safety, and they never pointed out how she was weird or strange or different, even if they must have noticed by now. But...

She was 16. Wasn't she supposed to get it by now?

“Yep, I'm staying. We can go home together,” Colette suggested, tearing her thoughts back to the present. "Dad already knows I'll be coming home late, and Aunt Anna can just pick us both up."

Colette reached out to fold Lloyd's right sleeve, straightening the wrinkles out, before reaching to flip his collar down. His uniform was always in such a state of disarray, and it was always up to her to get him looking neat before the teachers did their inspections during morning assembly.

"Yep, I'll let Mom know," Lloyd replied, squeezing her hand. "Let's actually get to stargazing, shall we? Come on, I reserved the mat with the best telescope. The..."

Colette let Lloyd ramble on about the specifications of the telescope as he guided her towards their destination. It was always endearing to hear him talk about the topics he loved, whether it be the ocean or the stars. His words would get faster as he went on, until he was barely intelligible as all the syllables clumped together, without him even noticing. She didn’t want to interrupt him, though, much preferring to just watch him as a smile inevitably grew on her face.

"Right! Get comfortable!" Lloyd said, having completed his spiel and coming to an abrupt stop. Colette stumbled a few steps forward, so engrossed in listening to Lloyd that she'd nearly tripped. He gestured towards the deep blue mat stuffed with foam, placing his cup next to it before crouching to adjust the sleek black telescope, nimble fingers flying from knobs to levers. His face was scrunched up in concentration, focussed entirely on his task.

Colette dumped her school bag down and kicked off her school shoes, leaving her feet clad in white socks, and scrambled onto the mat, lying down on it. Lloyd joined her soon after, having finished whatever preparations he was doing, sidling closer on the mat so that his shoulder pressed against hers as they both stared up into the night sky, now completely dark. In the distance, Colette could see the lighted-up M sign on the business complex.

“We can look at the stars first before we use the telescope to find the planets. What do you see, right now?”

"Um, well… I can only see one star in the sky," Colette muttered, pointing out the lone, twinkling presence. It was common knowledge that there was too much light pollution to actually see any of the vast galaxies and planets that were scattered throughout the universe. The most Colette had ever seen at once when looking out at the sky from the balcony of her apartment was three stars, dimly shining and far away from each other. They were hundreds of light-years away, unreachable and yet still shining their light for all to see.

"No, there's more. It's a really clear sky tonight, and we can see so much!" Lloyd replied eagerly. The starry-eyed enthusiasm had returned to his eyes, seeming to burrow straight into her heart. Pointing up into a particular patch of sky, he said, "There! Do you see the top of the Big Dipper?"

"Ah..." She tried to follow the line of his arm but didn't spot any hidden stars, shaking her head. "No...? The Big Dipper is the one that looks like a frying pan, right?" It was one of the many constellations that Lloyd had taught her while on his impassioned rambles about astrology. Ever since he'd picked up that one book on constellations from the library in primary school, he'd been obsessed with stars. She could still fondly remember the first time he had talked about it. She'd plopped down in front of him at the canteen table after school, asking what he was reading. He'd shut the book and told her about white dwarfs, planetary systems and the Milky Way for a full five minutes while she listened in awed silence. She'd rarely seen him this excited over anything. Lloyd had been about to continue before shutting his mouth abruptly, flushing as he realised how long he had gone on for and apologising for running her ear off. She'd told him that she didn't mind listening to him - there was something soothing about it, really, listening to his voice and watching his excited mannerisms.

"You remember?" Lloyd craned his neck so that he was facing her. There was something in the depths of those eyes that stared back at her. Something which, for the past two years, she would spot occasionally. And yet she still couldn’t put a name to it.

Somehow, how truly close they were hadn’t registered in her mind until this very moment. If she inched forward just a little, their noses would bump.

But they’d been this close so many times before. Why was this time so different?

Or, more accurately, what had changed in the past year? Why couldn’t she be this close without something in her clicking, filling her with a warmth that was both familiar but foreign? Why were her palms starting to sweat, her heart starting to race? It felt like she was about to give a presentation to a room full of strangers.

But that wasn't the case. She was just next to Lloyd, her oldest friend and the person she trusted most in the world.

Perhaps recently she had been noticing more tiny things she hadn't before, staring at him for just a little longer than she used to - how his hair fell into his eyes on days where he didn’t bother to comb or style his hair, how there was a dimple only on the right side of his mouth, how his hair could vary in shade under different lighting, from a golden brown to dark chocolate. It even appeared red sometimes.

She felt like she was at the cusp of a discovery.

"Of - of course I remember." Colette stumbled over the words, averting her gaze up towards the night sky. "You've been working on the notes for this club for so long, and I helped you with them! So of course I'd remember."

"That's true. We did spend a lot of late nights on those." Lloyd chuckled. "Remember all the pillow fights?"

"Yeah, I do. You always let me win, you cheater," she grumbled, glad for the light-hearted change in topic to distract from her confusing feelings. "But I'm happy everything worked out and you managed to get the club set up! You've worked really hard on all this. You deserve the success."

"I couldn't have done it without you, really," Lloyd retorted, taking gentle hold of her wrist. "And I know I've thanked you already, but let me just say it again. Thank you. In return, I'll do my best to show you as much as I can!" Lloyd pointed her arm towards a point in the sky. "There. Look closely. Do you see it now?"

She focussed on that spot, squinting in hopes that the secrets of the night sky would be revealed to her. "Oh!" Colette exclaimed. She could see it now, just barely - a faint source of light. There was a lonely little star, shining as brightly as it could, just enough to be noticeable but going unseen by the unobservant eye.

"You got it!" Lloyd cheered, beginning to slowly guide her hand to trace out a shape - that familiar pan shape he’d drawn for her so many times. His fingers, wrapped around her wrist, were so warm... "Now do you see the Big Dipper?"

"You're right," she said in amazement. The pattern had been there all along. How many more were waiting to be found, causing the sky to come to life before her very eyes?

"There are so many beautiful constellations to find in the sky." Lloyd grinned. Dimly lit by the gentle light of the night sky, far from the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom and the often blinding rays of the sun, his features seemed softer than ever, and she had the urge to just... reach out and touch his face. Splay her fingers on his cheek, rest her forehead against his, let the strands of his hair fall through her fingers…

"Yeah..." She glanced back up at the night sky. She could spot the Little Dipper now, glimmering. Already, she was discovering new things.

When she glanced back, Lloyd was staring at her with a wistful expression, the arm not holding hers held stiffly against his side, like he was aching to reach out but was holding himself back.

The moment was gone, as quickly as it had come, and Lloyd's face once again sported a happy smile, like nothing of significance had happened. Perhaps she had imagined the whole thing. But in just a few seconds, the entire centre of her world had shifted, throwing her irreversibly off balance.

Her chest felt constricted, like she couldn't breathe properly, that strange sensation back in her heart again.

But it would be a lie to say she hadn’t figured out what it was. She had fallen into the unfamiliar pit of love, just as she had always wanted. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say she had fallen a long time ago, but had only just realised she wasn’t standing on solid ground any longer.

She had found The One. Finally.

So why... Why had nothing changed at all?

It was no longer possible to convince herself that she could be just like everyone else. Not when she was acutely aware of how stupidly immature she was compared to everyone else, always cringing away from the thought of sex. Whether it be skipping raunchy scenes in books or shows, avoiding popular pop songs with explicit lyrics, or promptly deciding to stop listening whenever her classmates decided it was a good time to talk about it. She couldn't rid herself of nausea that would roil in her stomach. But... that was wrong, wasn't it?

If she loved someone, she was supposed to desire them. That's what happened in all the stories - people fell in love, and then they happily had sex with each other. It was everywhere. In every book, in every show. Even the terrible sex-ed lessons had parroted that a happy relationship was one with healthy amounts of sex. Everyone was going to have sex at some point once they got into a relationship, to want to have it and to eagerly give it. But she didn't. She had never felt the same way. And that was her truth, the one that went unregarded by others.

Or maybe her truth was that she was just broken. That something had shattered inside of her a long time ago, and now she couldn't be put back together, couldn't feel what she was supposed to, what others did. And she didn't know what to do about it.

No matter how much she hated the idea of sex, someday she’d have to force herself to go through with it. After all, it was a requisite for a relationship. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be worthy of love, and she didn’t love her partner enough. She owed it to whoever her partner was, even if one day it ended up being Lloyd. This was her fault, after all. No one else was broken in the same way as her.

It would just be like… forcing herself to eat her vegetables when she was younger, wincing over the yucky taste until she got used to it. Nothing more. Easy.

Maybe then she’d finally get it.

Maybe then everything would magically fix itself.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes which she willed to disappear. She felt like the stars above. Shining alone, so far away from any other companion, looking down upon a world that was too far away to understand. All alone. Always all alone.

"Too bad we can't see more here in the city. One day, I promise, we'll see the real starry sky together! The galaxies, the planets, the suns... All of it. It'll be amazing," Lloyd continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. Because even he could not read her mind.

Colette folded her hands over her stomach, closing her eyes. The enormity of the emotion beating in her heart absolutely terrified her, as did the thought of the future and what awaited her. Could she ever act on these feelings? Would she ever be deserving of acting on them, inadequate as she was? Did she even really love him?

There was no use in agonising over these thoughts, for no answers would ever be found.

"I'd like that," she whispered, squeezing his hand. She was more than willing to just enjoy his company for now. Her dearest friend.

“I’ll show you the rest of the stars that are visible today! Then we can look into the telescope and see the nebula. I’ve already pointed it in the right direction! You won’t want to miss it, it’s incredible! Over there is…”

So long as she could remain with him, everything would be alright.

~~~

“Bye, Lloyd!” Ella said, waving as she sprinted out of the club room. “Have a safe trip home!”

“You too!” he called out after her, as loud as he could without waking up Colette. Her head was resting on his lap, the hair she had freed from her ponytail forming a golden sea that swallowed his legs. Her arms were still wrapped tightly around the huge penguin plush that acted as the club’s unofficial mascot. He couldn’t for the life of him recall where it’d come from.

How did he always end up being Colette’s pillow? Not that he was complaining…

Lloyd ran a gentle hand through Colette’s hair, making sure not to awaken her. Mom would take another 20 minutes to arrive at the drop-off point, so he might as well let Colette continue to sleep. After all, he still had to clean up and lock up the room. At least Colette had helped him with most of it.

He moved his hand rhythmically, watching her minute facial movements. What dream was she having right now? Was it a happy one? He hoped it was. He wanted nothing more than to see a truly happy smile on her face every day, and that was the root of the feelings that had built up over years.

In the ensuing silence, he couldn’t help but think back.

What had happened while he was showing her the stars? There had been a period of time when she had seemed to withdraw into herself, becoming far quieter than she usually was. Almost contemplative. Even a little sad.

She had been back to normal afterwards, cheerful with her large smiles and bright laughter. He didn’t know how to question her about it, didn’t know how to even start the conversation. He wanted to find out, so he could help, in any way he could.

But… No matter how much he hated it, he could only wait. After all, if whatever was weighing on her was simple, she would have told him already. He could only hope she’d be able to tell him about what was troubling her, someday.

And he would wait. For as long as needed…

~~~

26-years-old

Lloyd set the rental car in reverse, slowly backing it up into the empty lot in the mostly deserted car park, the wheels crunching against gravel. Turning off the engine, he pulled the keys out of the ignition and stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans. Glancing over at the seat next to him revealed that Colette was peacefully asleep, head lolling onto her shoulder. Somehow, the abrupt bump in the road some ten minutes ago hadn't woken her up.

This was their second day in Melbourne to celebrate their honeymoon. Dad and Mom had come here for their honeymoon too, but maybe some things become a tradition for a reason. He and Colette had followed a strict itinerary, taking some advice from his parents when planning where to go. They had visited the fisheries for lunch yesterday, where Colette had sung the praises of the fish fillet, absolutely delighted at its freshness, which could never be experienced at home. Following which, they had driven to Phillip island to catch the nightly penguin parade, Colette cooing over all the little penguins waddling home. It was a cute sight - both the penguins and Colette.

It was the middle of winter, the temperature just shy of needing actual winter gear but cold enough that they were both wearing turtlenecks, not accustomed to the winter winds. A bit of a shame, actually. He would have loved to witness the adorable sight of Colette in a beanie that covered her ears, cheeks flushed from the cold and fingers housed in fluffy gloves. But alas, that sight would only remain in his imagination until they travelled to a country with much colder weather.

The car journey had been silent, Colette alternating between staring at the rare car that passed them on the narrow dirt roads, or doodling on her phone with a stylus, occasionally letting out a tiny giggle. As they had agreed upon, she had stopped looking out of the window for the last leg of their journey, which was close to a whole hour. At some point she had stopped making conversation with him, soft snores replacing the sound of her voice as the quiet night and hours of travelling had finally taken their toll.

He reached out a hand to hover over her shoulder, hesitating. He didn’t want to disrupt her rest, but she wouldn’t be seeing anything if she didn’t wake up, and that would render all his effort to transport the two of them into the remote meaningless. He had no choice.

“Colette.” He called her name softly, gently shaking her shoulder until she let out a tiny sigh. Her eyes fluttered open, still filled with sleepiness.

“We’re here. It’s time to get out of the car,” he said, grabbing hold of the strands of her hair that had fallen into her face during her sleep and tucking them behind her ear.

“Oh. Thanks for waking me up.” Colette yawned, covering her mouth with her hand as she stretched, trying to shake the sleep out of her system. “I need to cover my eyes while I get out, right?” she said, covering her eyes with her palms and giggling, doing exactly as they’d discussed without question. “I can’t look until you say so! Can’t spoil the surprise now, right?”

“Perfect! I’ll help you out of the car. Wait there.”

Lloyd stepped out of the car, shutting the door and running over to her side. He opened the passenger-side door, grabbing hold of her bent arms.

"Carefully now," he muttered, slowly helping Colette out of the car and steadying her when she stumbled slightly onto the gravel. Taking a stronger hold around her arm, he began to guide her across the carpark towards a small hill, walking backwards and taking the occasional peek behind his shoulder to get a gauge for where he was going. With each step they took, the loose bits of gravel under their feet were kicked aside.

The grassy hill was a little harder to go up backwards, but he persevered. The grass was wet with dew, starting to wet the hem of his jeans as they brushed the skin of his ankles. Colette was completely silent, seemingly holding her breath in anticipation of the big reveal.

The trip out here had been exceedingly long, for this place truly was off the beaten path. He could count the number of people here with the fingers on one hand. But he could certainly say the trip had been worth it. Just sneaking a peek upwards was enough to make up for everything. This place really lived up to all the praise it had been given online.

Making sure they had a wonderful view of the sky, Lloyd came to a stop, turning Colette by the shoulders so she was facing the right direction. "You can look now," he whispered into her ear, tapping her shoulder and stepping back.

Colette uncovered her eyes and let out an audible gasp, transfixed by the night sky. They were far from civilization, so distant that there were no artificial lights to interfere with the natural dance of the stars. Laid out above them were millions of stars, clustered together and twinkling in unity. Swirls of pink and purple denoted the galaxies, resembling little bits of cotton candy painted onto the black canvas of the sky, interspersed with tiny dots that represented planets. The entire universe was spread out before their eyes to witness, splendid and magnificent.

He watched as she raised an arm, tracing the skies slowly. It almost seemed like her index finger was trailing stardust. He wouldn't be surprised if she actually was, since she was already pure magic in every other way.

She turned to face him, the starlight reflecting in her wide eyes and off the ring on her left hand, painting her as a more beautiful sight than even the gorgeous skies above him.

"You remembered!" she exclaimed, running over to throw her arms around him, knocking him back slightly as she smiled up at him. Thankfully, they were nowhere near the edge of the incline, or they would have gone tumbling down a long way. This close, he was even more reminded of her untouchable beauty: her shimmering blue eyes were breathtaking. "You kept your promise."

Colette moved her arms so they were wrapped behind his neck. She was practically hanging off of him; his gaze focussed on her smiling face.

"Well, I wanted to see it too." He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to press a kiss on her forehead. "And I always do my best to keep my promises."

I promised that I would never leave you, and I will keep that promise. No matter what.

“They’re all together now. They’re not alone anymore,” Colette said, "Thank you." She rested her head against his shoulder, his hands automatically shifting to her back, holding her close. "I love you."

She said those words so easily now, without the hesitance that had bogged her down at the beginning. He knew not all of her fears and insecurities were gone - maybe they never would be, and all they could do was reassure each other. There were the terrible nights where she would sob next to him and admit she felt like a fraud for being unable to give him sexual intimacy, crying that she wasn't enough and that he deserved so much more. All he could do was hold her in his arms and whisper into her hair that it was alright, that he loved her, that he didn’t care. But as time went on, those nights became less frequent, until they were few and far between. Besides, she did give him pieces of that intimacy, whenever she could - the gift he cherished, for it truly meant the world coming from her.

"I love you too. Picture?" he offered, holding up his phone. He wanted to create a physical memory of this magical moment, one that they could preserve forever.

Besides, if his parents didn’t get a photo, they would probably murder him. Mom, at least. So would Sheena, with Zelos’ snickering as an accompaniment to the crime. He wouldn’t live to see another day once he got back home.

"Of course," she replied. And he hoped the picture would be able to capture her bright smile, that which was most precious to him.

~~~

The picture they took would become a cherished memento, to be displayed on their nightstand forever - Colette pressing a kiss to his cheek, even as she gave him bunny ears, both of their faces lit up with large smiles.

~~~

Next chapter

#fanfiction #tales of symphonia #multi chapter #colloyd #colloydweek2021 #day 4: stargazing #colette brunel #lloyd irving

4 notes · View notes

perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

Text

I Am Lost

Masterlist

do i still taste like war?

can you still feel the battles on my skin

stitched across my back

am i still rebuilding

bone by fragile bone?

-what does forgiveness taste like? (r.n.)

It has been three weeks since the end of the Giant war. Three weeks of trying to build some semblance of normal. Of burning flags and wiping tears. Of visiting the medical rooms and silently cursing the gods for their arrogance. Campers wandered around, lost dulled looks in their once bright eyes. The little ones, sheltered by wood nymphs and aging satyrs in that violent week, ran around tugging at each other, and causing small forms of chaos. It was a grace that they had been spared the horrors of war.

Percy Jackson was swinging from the hammock in his cabin, staring at the rolling waves that crashed to the beat of his heart. His mind was faraway, wandering through the clouds, looking for meaning amongst fallen leaves, trying to breathe life into fallen embers.

He thought about seeking out his girlfriend, but a knot formed tight and heavy in his chest. It was a new, unwelcome feeling. The first time he thought it was nerves— not surprising when it came to her. She had always made him a little gooey on the inside, like the thrill of a plunging drop, like something exciting, and unfamiliar. But then he had met her in front of the great hall and those nerves had grown into this unbearable weight, pressing down on his lungs.

She had looked at him and some fleeting shadow brushed past her eyes. It was less than a second, but he had caught it, felt it like ice in his veins. Fear.

He shrugged it off that first time but their interactions since had become choppy, robotic.

He spent more time between his cabin and the training room. Hours upon hours, twirling and stabbing Riptide into dummies. He had only been interrupted twice. Once when a gaggle of children came in to stare. He only noticed because they clapped after he sent a dummy flying across the room.

He had laughed at them and brought them closer so they could learn. Camp activities were not yet restored to the scheduled times so some of the children hadn't any training with the weapons. They gasped and giggled as he helped a little boy shoot a pretend arrow. As he helped little Alec with their wooden dagger.

The second time when a friend had leaned against the doorway, a corded arm held above their face to block the sun streaming in.

"Percy," The voice was low, raspy in it's softness.

He let it wash over him but didn't acknowledge it, instead rolling his shoulders and pounding at the punching bag once more. Sweat dripped down his forehead, catching on his cheekbones.

"Percy!"

He dropped his head back, letting the timbered roof see his smile.

"Need something Grace?"

"You need to take a break."

"I'm not tired. But thank you for the concern."

"Bullshit, you've been at it for two hours."

That startled him, eyes squinting as he checked the clock on the far side of the room. His gaze travelled across the beams and landed on concerned blue eyes.

"I didn't realize it had been that long."

The blonde moved into the room, "You are killing yourself."

He shrugged, pulling off the tape around his hands, "So what?"

Jason's eyes whipped to his, something like devastation on his princely face, "What do you mean?"

His smile was cruel, "Did you come here for any particular reason?"

The blonde made to step forward, but then thought better of it. "I've just come to tell you that we've been summoned to the dining hall and—" He paused, taking a deep breath as if to gather courage, "And to ask if I could join you tomorrow?"

"Here?" He frowned.

"Yes, I could do with some training. Ever since Hera wiped my memories, I've been struggling to refamiliarise myself with the strategies I learnt at SPQR. I was hoping you could teach me?"

He tilted his head, studying his friend, "Sure." He said after a moment, "But only if we can learn a little more about combining our power."

"Why would you want to do that?"

He shrugged, "Call it curiosity."

The Son of Jupiter seemed to think about it for a bit, weighing his options as if life were a sensitive scale. "Deal."

Now he swung from his hammock, striking match sticks against the wood posts, watching as they flared, burned, suffocated. The smoke, he thought, was pretty in its evanesce.

A knock at the door scraped his mind to the present. He debated not answering but where else would he be if not here. So he jumped down and strolled through the cabin.

"Annabeth, hey."

"Percy," She gave a tight-lipped smile, "Can we go for a walk?"

"Uh sure," He disappeared for a moment, grabbing a cap and Riptide from the table.

"So what's up?"

"Percy," She said his name like it exhausted her.

"Are you okay?" He frowned, lifting his hand to feel her forehead.

She sidestepped him, kicking at the ground in false distraction.

"I— we—" She took a deep breath, "Piper and I are going to New Rome for the rest of the summer. Reyna invited us and since we're the only two who haven't gotten the chance to explore, we figured now was a good time to start."

"Oh cool, when do we leave?"

She winced, looked up at him with those swirling grey eyes he had loved like adventure, like hope, like something new.

"No Percy not we. Me and, and Piper. Just us. I think we need some rest. Some time to just be safe and do what we want. We need a break."

"You want a break?" His lungs felt too small, heart stammering like a stick record, mind buried in quicksand.

"Yes," She said it with certainty. As if she had thought about it enough to remove even her own doubt.

"From Camp Half-Blood or from me?"

Her face looked stricken, like she hadn't considered it, like they were one and the same. Maybe they were.

"Both?" She was less certain now, fumbling on loose stones.

"Do you want to break up?" Words were cotton threads sown into his tongue.

"Yes, no, maybe, I don't know!" She cried.

"Annabeth," Anguish was a mercy.

"I think it's best if we go our separate ways, for now anyway."

"What do you mean separate ways?" His throat was adorned with a necklace of rope, "We have been on the same path since we were twelve. We have followed each other into and out of battle. Have taken daggers, swords, curses for each other. We have experienced firsts, seconds, life together."

Her tears were endless, but her expression was without doubt, "I love you. I think a part of me will always love you, but times are changing, and I have to learn who I am without worrying about how to keep myself safe. I have to live Percy. I have been surviving for too long."

He sunk to the grassy hill; his knees too weak to hold him.

"Maybe someday," She started softly, "Maybe someday we will find our way back."

He looked up at her, pain making her blurry, a silhouette, unrecognisable. "I am not lost."

She crouched down, until they were staring into each other. He knew she could see the words written in his eyes, as she always had. For all they struggled with their dyslexia she had always been able to read him like a cherished book.

"I will miss you Percy."

He didn't reply, didn't have the words even if he wanted to. She kissed his cheek, wiped a stray tear and left him on half-blood hill, her blonde curls ruffling in the lowly breeze.

***

A week later Percy was waking before the sun, nightmares and heartache refusing to evict from his body. He scrubbed a hand over his face and slid out of bed. If the day was to start now, without his choice he could at least decide what to do with it.

It was no surprise then that Jason Grace found him in his newfound second home, amongst the ratty dummies, slashing Riptide through their stuffed insides.

"Do you ever sleep?"

He snorted, not faltering as he pretended to dodge and then swiped his sword low.

"Who are you fighting for?"

The questions caught him off guard, stumbling to his knees. Jason was at his side in an instance, supple fingers wrapping under his arms to haul him up. They settled on the bench, backs against the wall, hands flexing and clenching. The quiet was so loud in his head, like a ringing that never stopped.

"I am fighting for myself." He finally exhaled.

"I am fighting because I have been doing it for so long, I do not know any other way."

The Son of Jupiter didn't say anything, didn't even look his way. Percy settled further into his position, content to lapse into silence. His turmoil had been his friend for these long years, and he has learnt its language.

"When I was with Lupa," Jason started, "She used to say a wolf who is separated from the pack is only alone if they do not howl. Mostly it was a lesson for the cubs, so they knew to call if they ever got lost. But I liked it because it reminded me that telling someone you are lost may not make you less lost but will make you less alone. Someone will find their way to you."

They did not speak again, happy to be silent companions.

The day passed by in a blur of preparation. It was already halfway through the summer and as they did each year the Half-Blood Feast would mark the occasion. Percy helped where he could, picking strawberries at the request of Juniper, and pulling his weight in the dining hall by scrubbing at the concrete slabs on which they ate.

By the time night fell his bones were creaking like hollowed stairs. But he was excited. If for nothing else but the sense of routine and joy this festival brought after such horrible events. He tugged on a plain blue t-shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. It did not count as dressing up, but it felt nice to put effort into something. Albeit his hair couldn't be tamed, wild curls sticking every which way.

"Percy," A knock sounded at his door.

With a final glance at his appearance he stepped out, taking a deep breath of ocean air.

His heart skipped a beat, skipped two. It wasn't beating at all. Beating too fast to feel. Jason Grace was leaning against a marbled column, a halo of sunshine around his head and a blue shirt making his eyes as bright as the cerulean skies.

"We're matching!"

"The camp store does not have much variety." He grinned, "Although I think I'm pulling it off much better than you Grace."

It was a lie of course, Jason looked ethereal.

"I have to agree," The blonde winked.

Percy laughed, rolling his eyes as they made their way to the dining hall.

"A pity we can't sit together," Jason frowned.

"Maybe Chiron will make an exception today, since it is a special occasion."

"We can ask, the worst he can do is say no."

Minutes later they were seated at the same table while everyone gathered together.

The feast was as glorious as it had always been. Food to feed nations, fill homes, warm bellies. The sounds of laughter were a balm to his soul. He turned to his dinner partner, to see him with a soft smile on his face, eyes bouncing from table to table.

"It's nice isn't it?" He muttered, "To see them happy."

"I don't have the words." Blonde hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. "It has felt like an eternity since we were all together, under the same roof."

They looked at each other then, twin flames dancing in their eyes.

"What do you plan to do after the summer?"

"I want to finish school. Want to finish something that doesn't involve in my death, or that of my friends."

Jason nodded, "It would be nice wouldn't it, to feel not constantly in danger. Although around you that may be a little hard."

"What do you mean?" Percy narrowed his eyes.

"If you were a Disney prince, you'd be Prince Danger."

"You think I could be a Disney prince?" He scrunched his nose teasingly.

"I think you can be a lot of things." That smile was cheeky, wicked.

"Is this the part where you say, 'I can even be your boyfriend'?"

Jason's answering laugh was bright and beautiful.

When dinner was finished and campfire songs had been sung till their throats were raw, the crowd finally dispersed, heading back to cabins for the night. He lost his dinner mate at some point in the singing and his other friends had long since disappeared. He didn't quite feel like tucking himself into a cold bed only for sleep to abandon him. The Son of Poseidon shucked off his shoes, stepping onto the sun-warmed sand and let his feet sink into the world. He walked towards the ocean, along the shoreline; let the water wash over his bared skin.

"Jackson!" A call sounded from faraway.

He stopped, turning to see Jason running towards him and couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips.

"Hey, I wondered where you ran off to?"

"Got pulled away by Nico. He wanted to talk."

"It's nice. That he has you." Percy had been relieved to learn Nico confided in someone. And a part of him had been shamefully grateful it wasn't him. He did not know, was almost one hundred percent certain he wasn't fit to be someone's confidant, or mentor, or whatever it was that he would have become to the younger demigod. He had proved that the big brother role was not for him and he would not disappoint Nico again, or Bianca.

"So," Jason knocked his shoulder lightly, "What's got you lost in thought?"

"Bold of you to assume I think."

The blonde shook his head in amusement, "Do you ever wonder what our lives would have been like if we weren't demigods?"

He snorted, "More often than is healthy. It's like an obnoxious alarm that goes off at the most inconvenient times. When I'm in battle, just before I fall asleep, when I see my mom after an age, when I saw New Rome, when i—" He glanced at his friend, wishing the moon was brighter so he could see those comforting blue eyes.

"When you what?"

He shook his head, "Doesn't matter."

The Son of Jupiter tugged at his arm, pulled them closer.

"Sometimes I wish I had met certain people in a coffee shop on a winter morning, or at school on the way to class, or just anywhere but in the middle of war and prophecies."

Their foreheads fell together, sharing icy air.

"Wouldn't that have been nice?" He breathed.

"Jason I can't do this right now. I—" He winced, "I loved her."

"But did you?" The blonde muttered, "Really?"

"Yes. I did." His voice was hard with the truth. "You do not get to discredit my love just because the relationship it bloomed in has ended." He pulled away, turning to face the sea.

"You're right." He stepped back, scratched at his neck, "You're right, and I'm sorry."

"Did you ever love Piper?"

"I thought I did. But I don't think I really know what love is."

"Maybe it changes," The Son of Poseidon whispered, "But with her it was adventure."

They sat down on the sand, uncaring of the waves that soaked through their clothes.

"What do you want it to be like next?"

"What do you mean?"

"If it changes, what do you want next?"

"It will feel like home."

69 notes · View notes

bigtimetired · 4 years

Text

Red ‘n Blue

another one-shot in a wider au- in which robin and superboy meet for the first time (set near the beginning of reign of the supermen, in this au not long after damian wayne meets his father)

Sunday 5th November 1989

[Palisades Avenue, Metropolis, DE]

Tim’s never been in Metropolis in person before, which is far from ideal.

Obviously, he’s looked at maps and pictures- he’s not an idiot- and he’s fairly confident that he could navigate the main streets. There are plenty of signs on the ground after all.

Unfortunately, Tim is neither on a main street nor on the ground.

He’s on a cold and miserable rooftop, somewhere rather far from where he stowed the bike he shouldn’t be riding between cities- between states- after dark, but hey, that’s just life.

It had been a spur of the moment idea, coming to Metropolis- an idea Tim had had (purely coincidentally) after a phone call from Bruce, reminding him that patrol tonight was cancelled.

(Tim hadn’t heard anything to suggest that he was there but had been fairly fucking certain that Damian had been smirking somewhere nearby.)

(Tim had also very carefully not thought about how this was the third time Bruce had either cancelled on him or brushed him off since his son had come to America. He had also very carefully ignored the burning feeling in his chest at the thought- such things didn’t bear further investigation.)

It had been a spur of the moment decision which Tim might be starting to regret, just a little bit.

One would have thought that there would be plenty of crime to stop here, considering what had happened to Superman a few weeks back. (Rest in peace, Big Blue.)

One would have been wrong though, because Metropolis has been cool and quiet and melancholic so far, and altogether very lacking in the crime department. That’s good obviously- great even- but if Tim doesn’t find an outlet soon he’s going to start fucking screaming.

He’s just a tiny bit on edge, recently.

He wonders why.

Tim makes the leap to another rooftop, peers down over the side with disinterest- a darkened movie theatre, shutters drawn, and doors locked. Just like every other building around here seems to be.

(Would Gotham do the same for Batman?)

“Nice costume, dumbass,” says a nearby voice, and Tim whirls, heart thumping and staff in hand.

There’s a boy- only about his own age- floating (actually floating) by the edge of the roof, arms crossed and face unimpressed.

Tim’s eyes skitter around, desperately trying to find some inspiration for a plan. His gaze catches on the bright insignia just visible under the boy’s leather jacket.

Tim blinks. Surely this isn’t…

“Superboy?”

The boy huffs, annoyed. “No, I’m the new Superman.”

Tim eyes the boy’s messy hair and very young face and snorts rather rudely.

Normally he would feel bad- Robin has faced similar disbelief in the past- but Tim hasn’t been in the best of moods lately.

“Sure thing, man. Whatever you say,” says Tim, and the boy’s face twists.

“Yeah, and who the fuck are you?”, he spits, and Tim scoffs, feeling like an absolute asshole and enjoying it.

(And if he’d much rather direct all this vitriol at a certain assassin-in-training rather than a complete stranger, then that’s no one’s business but his own.)

“Robin,” says Tim, as if it’s perfectly obvious.

“Uh-huh,” says Not-Superboy. “Don’t you have a gargoyle to be standing on or something?”

“Don’t you have kittens to be saving from trees or something?”

Not-Superboy floats closer, mouth opening in response.

And then there’s an explosion from down the street.

Tim stumbles badly, is saved from tipping off the roof by Not-Superboy himself, who looks more than slightly dazed.

“Thanks,” says Tim quickly, before taking off towards the smoking crater which used to be a building.

Finally, finally, something to do, to investigate, to-

After a moment Tim realises that he seems to have acquired a shadow.

He slants a hard look at Not-Superboy, who takes this as an opportunity to grab his arm and yank him to a halt.

“What the fuck man?”

Hot, simmering, rage is starting to build in Tim’s chest.

Not-Superboy frowns at him. “What are you doing?”

“My job? What’s it look like?”, Tim snaps, and Not-Superboy rolls his eyes in response.

“No, you’re gonna stay here, out of the way.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘cause you’re just a kid?”

Oh hell no.

“Oh yeah?”, Tim’s ears are burning, and he finds himself stretching up- because the bastard’s still floating like a complete dick- into Not-Superboy’s personal space. “You’re pretty fresh-faced yourself, bud.”

Not-Superboy throws his hands out from himself in frustration. “Yeah, but I’ve got superpowers. You’re just a civilian with a stick and a cape.”

Tim would very much like to smash said stick into someone’s face right now.

It’s at this point that the cause of the explosion decides to make itself known; a huge, spider-like, machine of gleaming silver trundles its way out of the wreckage and into the street, headed towards what Tim thinks is the city centre.

Not-Superboy lets out a harsh breath. “Fine. I don’t have time for this- if you get yourself killed, that’s on you.”

He shoots off after the machine, and leaves Tim standing there, fuming.

A civilian with a stick and a cape.

That’s a fucking challenge right there, in Tim’s book.

He unholsters his grapple gun and zips ahead of the metal spider-thing, mind already whirring with plans and ideas.

If he creates a blockade up here, that’ll hopefully limit collateral damage and buy him more time to shut this thing down before it gets to somewhere slightly livelier.

Tim squints at the scene behind him- the silver thing is still making its way towards him, seemingly undeterred by the colourful shape floating alongside and hammering dents into it.

Tim rolls his eyes, before snapping back into professionalism.

Assess the situation, Robin.

It’s got spidery leg things, that’s for sure, but the machine is actually trundling along on thick caterpillar treads, which gives Tim an idea.

Out of his belt he pulls the largest and hottest flares he owns, and chucks them at two faded patches of road, roughly around where the treads will run over them in several moments’ time.

Hopefully, the tar should start to melt around there and stick to the treads for a few minutes until Tim can stop this thing permanently.

Tim jumps from the roof, swings himself onto the back of the spider with his grapple and a well-placed girder, and starts poking around for a weak spot.

A vent, an escape hatch, any gap in the armour.

Tim narrows his eyes at a tiny space next to a panel of some sort and unceremoniously wedges the end of his staff into it.

Levering a panel that doesn’t want to move is easier said than done- even more so when one is on the back of a trundling monstrosity and in danger of being flung into the street at the next sharp turn.

Tim glances up and catches Not-Superboy’s eye, who has stopped whatever it was he was trying to accomplish and is instead staring at Tim in askance.

Tim jerkily beckons him closer with his chin, not letting go of his bo staff for a second.

Not-Superboy drifts over and yanks the cover up with relative ease- that fucking show-off- and Tim slams the end of the staff into the revealed circuitry over and over until it sparks.

It’s inelegant, but it generally works.

Some of the spidery legs rise up and twist around on themselves in an admittedly very impressive display of dexterity before one of them shudders violently and pierces the shell of the machine with a horrible scraping sound.

The vehicle judders then- once again Tim nearly falls and has to be steadied by the floating dumbass- and slows its steady trundle forward.

Tim glances around and realises that they’ve driven over his melted asphalt and mentally pats himself on the back.

Not-Superboy has landed at long last and is currently stomping on the shell with one foot. Tim wants to ask him what the fuck he’s doing, but it becomes obvious as soon as one stomp makes a slightly different sound than the others.

He’s found another weakness.

This panel is also ripped off with sickening ease, though this time Not-Superboy goes, “Ha!” and reaches in.

Finally showing some sort of effort- see how it feels motherfucker? – Not-Superboy uses both hands and starts levitating again to pull out a full-grown, wriggling, man dressed in various shades of grey and not in the least bit pleased about the current state of affairs.

The man breaks free and takes a swing at Not-Superboy who dodges it, and Tim decides to delegate that particular task to him and instead focus on turning off the whatever-the-fuck’s engine, as the whatever-the-fuck is still slowly inching forward and may or may not have some form of explosive on board.

Tim drops down through the hatch and into the cabin. There are a whole load of monitors and wires and stupidly complicated-looking panels in here, so Tim takes a nice, deep, breath and compares it all to the most complex machine he can think of- the Batcomputer.

Tim knows how to turn the Batcomputer off- he pictures it in is head, the flickering lights, the hum and whirring of machine parts, the button sequence required to switch it all on and off.

And then he slices as many wires as he can with the side of a Batarang until all the lights go out and the ground stops shaking.

Never fails, that one.

Tim clambers up on the ladder back to the top and peeks his head out strategically.

Not-Superboy is still struggling with the man, taking a glancing blow to the arm and being knocked back surprisingly far.

Tim decides to not be an asshole about this and creeps up on the pair.

He kicks out the man’s legs and Not-Superboy takes advantage and socks him in the jaw with an audible cracking noise.

The man crumples, out cold.

For a moment, neither of them say anything, just catching their breath.

Then Tim says, “Do you wanna call the cops?”

“…yeah,” Not-Superboy decides. He hesitates then, “Do you have, I dunno, zip ties or something?”

Tim nods.

“Cool- back in a sec.”

Tim watches Not-Superboy dip down to ground-level, making a beeline for the nearest phone-booth.

Tim rolls the man over with some difficulty and cuffs him like Bruce taught him to. He predicts then and there that Bruce will have called him by midday tomorrow about this whole thing and a part of him lights up with a savage kind of pride.

Not-Superboy is back then, staring up from the ground with an unreadable expression.

Tim raises an eyebrow and nudges the man’s unconscious form with his boot. (Lightly, because he isn’t a complete ass and is feeling a great deal more vindicated than earlier, for some unknowable reason.)

“You gonna help me with this or not?”

Not-Superboy’s face crinkles. “Huh?”

“We’re not leaving him on top of this thing, dumbass,” says Tim, with significantly less venom in his voice than earlier.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Not-Superboy blinks, and Tim rolls his eyes, dragging the man to the edge by the armpits.

Not-Superboy takes him then and Tim hops down to the ground, surveying the scene. He decides that this is a victory for Robin on the collateral damage front and awards himself bonus points for managing it on someone else’s turf.

There are already police sirens in the distance, and Tim blinks.

“Huh. That was quick.”

“There’s a precinct a couple of blocks over,” says Not-Superboy matter-of-factly.

“Ah.”

Tim grabs his grapple again and decides that the top of the movie theatre looks promising.

“Wh-where are you going?”

Tim shrugs, cocks his head slightly. “I dunno how you do it over here, but back home we don’t tend to stick around for the cops too often. Vigilantism, and all.”

“Oh.” Not-Superboy seems to consider this for a moment. “Alright, I guess.”

Tim salutes him and zips up to the rooftops again.

He makes it all of ten seconds before a voice calls after him, “Wait a sec!”

Tim obligingly waits a sec and is only kinda exasperated to see Not-Superboy floating up to him. (Again.)

Not-Superboy rubs the back of his neck and doesn’t quite look at Tim when he says, “Thanks, I guess. I mean, I had it covered, but it was nice of you to stick around, so, uh, thanks.”

Tim nods, not quite willing to unbend yet.

“Am I still just a civilian with a stick and a cape?”

Not-Superboy winces. “Yeah-uh, that was maybe kinda shitty of me and, uh, I guess I was wrong. So sorry about that.”

It’s definitely not the best apology in the world, but Tim’ll take it.

He shrugs. “It’s okay- I was kinda a dick earlier, so we’re even.”

“Cool.”

“Where’re you going now?”, asks Not-Superboy.

Tim rolls his shoulders. “Home, I guess. Just gotta find my bike first.”

“Bike?”

“Yeah? I mean, I hardly walked here from Gotham, did I?”

“Guess not.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Not-Superboy glances around furtively.

“Is he here?”

Tim blinks. “Is who- oh, you mean Batman?”

Not-Superboy nods.

“No,” says Tim, and he decides not to elaborate on that.

“Alright,” Not-Superboy’s shoulders relax a little. “Where’s your bike?”

“In the alley next to some diner back that way,” Tim gestures vaguely behind them.

“Lou’s?”

Tim squints, tries to remember. “…maybe?”

“Oh my god.”

Not-Superboy’s rolling his eyes but his tone is light, so Tim doesn’t feel too offended. He drifts back a few feet, gestures that Tim should follow him.

“C’mon- I don’t think Gotham will ever forgive me if I leave Robin stranded over here.”

Tim snorts but follows anyway.

Tim’s bike is stowed neatly in the alley next to Mary-Anne’s diner, as it turns out. Not-Superboy stares at it for a few moments, eyes starry.

Tim grins. “Her name’s Redbird.”

“She’s gorgeous,” says Not-Superboy, sounding as if he means it.

Tim nods. “Yeah, she is.”

“You know your way back, right?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Dude.”

Not-Superboy grins, honest and open. “Just checking, man.”

Tim swings his leg over Redbird, settles down and brings the engine to life.

He looks at Not-Superboy, who looks much friendlier than he did earlier.

“Thanks again,” says Tim, meaning it. “This was fun.”

Not-Superboy shrugs, but he’s still smiling. “Yeah, it was a lil bit. See you around?”

Tim nods. “See ya.”

He shoots off into the night then, feeling much lighter than he did on the trip in.

(He gets to school by lunchtime the next day, waves a forged doctor’s note at the necessary people and doodles in the margins of his notes until the final bell.

Bruce is either busy or getting old- he doesn’t call the house phone until 6pm. Tim lets it go to voicemail, grins a little as he listens to it over dinner, despite himself.

Bruce is disgusted, Tim is benched until the weekend, and somehow he’s not quite as upset as he thought he would be.

Funny, that.)

#dc #tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #robin #superboy #timkon #if you want #one-shot #first meetings #dgs #i can't write action scenes

35 notes · View notes

angelsfalling16 · 4 years

Text

Jealous

Summary: After catching Simon making out with someone underneath the football stands, Baz plots a way to break them up while Simon comes to terms with his feelings for someone different.

Word Count: 4037

A/N: I wrote this one 20 first kisses style, and it was a lot of fun. I miss writing those fics sometimes. I hope you all like this fic!

Read on ao3

***

Baz

“What the hell?” I shout, not caring about lowering my voice. I feel Dev tugging on my arm, but I’m frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the sight in front of us.

“Baz, let’s just go before they see us.”

“But look at the two of them,” I say, gesturing at the couple making out, barely hidden by the football stands. “How can Simon be kissing Andi?”

“Because he likes them?”

I sneer at Niall, and he snaps his mouth shut.

“I thought he was still with Wellbelove.”

“They broke up a couple of weeks ago. Didn’t you hear?”

Of course Dev would know that. He and his dirty crush on her would betray me in a second.

“No, I obviously did not know that,” I hiss.

Dev pulls on my arm again, harder this time, and I finally go with him, shaking off his touch and all but stomping away from Simon and his unsightly escapades with one of my own teammates.

Andi is the second-best player on the team (behind me, of course), and up until now, I considered them a friendly acquaintance, rather than one of my adversaries, but that just changed.

“Why Andi of all people?” I ask, mostly to myself, but Dev responds anyway.

“I thought you said Andi just likes to mess around.”

“They do.”

“So maybe Simon is just messing around with them.”

“And how would that make this better?”

It would be one thing if Simon actually cared about them, but knowing that he’s just having fun means that he could be kissing lots of people, which is so much worse than him kissing the same person multiple times.

“Why do you care?” Dev asks.

“I don't.”

“Liar. Baz, we’re not stupid. We know how you look at him and why you have yet to find a way to take him down like your aunt wants you to.”

“It doesn't matter,” I say, neither confirming nor denying my feelings for Simon. I know that it’s no use. “He's with someone else.”

“It could all blow over. Maybe he was just experimenting.”

“It still doesn't matter because he will never like me. Now, let’s drop it. I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

But I can’t stop thinking about it

That night, as I pretend to be asleep and definitely not staring at Simon through the darkness, at the way the moonlight illuminates his freckles, I keep replaying what I saw over and over in my head.

Simon’s hands in Andi’s hair. Andi’s hand slipping into Simon’s back pocket. Simon pulling them closer and smiling widely at them.

The images are forever burned into my mind, and something sharp and painful flares up in my chest.

I was admittedly jealous when Simon started dating Wellbelove, but this is different. This is new.

Maybe some part of me believed that if Simon ever broke up with her, he would come to his senses and want to be with me. It’s a ridiculous fantasy, which is why I’m sure the real reason I’m upset is that I had just hoped to never have to see him with anyone else or see him doing anything like that. He and Wellbelove always seemed to be against any sort of public displays. I rarely even saw them hold hands.

Seeing Simon kiss someone is a new, painful thing that threatens to tear me apart.

I can’t do anything to change it, but I can avoid Simon for the rest of eight year and try to forget about it. Which is exactly what I plan to do. After tonight, there will be no more thoughts about Simon kissing anyone.

Simon

Andi walks by mine and Penny’s table at breakfast, and they grin when they see me, throwing a knowing wink in my direction. I smile back before turning back to my breakfast, feeling a strange little flutter in my stomach.

“Simon, tell me you didn't,” Penny says, and I shrug sheepishly at her.

“I did.”

She groans, and I can already tell what she’s thinking.

“It was just a kiss,” I say. A really nice kiss, but still, it was just one kiss. It’s not a big deal.

“Come on, Simon. Andi?”

“There's nothing wrong with Andi.”

“I know, but they kiss everyone. It didn't mean anything to them.”

“So? It didn’t really mean anything to me either. I was just um…” I trail off. I’m not sure what it was exactly.

I ran into them after football practice, and we got to talking. And then, I found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss them, and they didn’t seem against it, so I just went for it. I don’t plan on doing it again. I don’t have feelings for them.

“Seeing what it was like to kiss someone other than Agatha?” Penny suggests when I don’t continue what I was saying.

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

She thinks about it for a moment before saying, “Is there someone who you’re hoping to...experiment with next?”

I feel my face warm immensely as one person comes to mind. Someone who I can never stop thinking about, no matter how hard I try to push them out of my mind.

“Kind of,” I admit. “I think I like someone actually.”

“Ooh, do tell,” Penny says, leaning close to me. She’s never been one to be interested in gossip, but she seems particularly intrigued by what I’m about to say.

I look down at the table, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement. It’s a weird experience because I never had to tell her how I felt about Agatha. That was always obvious, but this is different.

“No judging,” I tell her.

“Promise.”

I take a deep breath, then, all in a rush, I say, “It’s Baz.”

“I knew it!” Penny exclaims, making people turn their heads in our direction to see what’s going on.

“Shh. I don’t want everyone to know. Wait. How do you know?”

“Simon, please. You're obsessed with him.”

“I wouldn't say obsessed.”

Penny scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Fine. Maybe I am the tiniest bit obsessed. But in my defense, he has plotted against me in the past.”

“I can’t believe you’re in love with a vampire,” she says.

“I'm not in love,” I say defensively and possibly a little too loudly because it causes someone to stop suddenly just beside our table.

Swallowing nervously, I look up, hoping to see just some nosy first year, but of course, that’s not my luck. Baz sneers at me in disgust before turning and continuing on his way, Dev and Niall hurrying after him.

“Thanks, Penny,” I groan once Baz is out of earshot, letting my head fall onto the table, narrowly missing the plate of butter. “Thanks a lot.”

She laughs lightly at my mortification, and I groan again.

I can’t believe that I just embarrassed myself like that in front of Baz. I mean, I’ve embarrassed myself in front of him plenty of times before, but this was worse. I can only hope that he didn’t hear everything we said so that he doesn’t know that we were talking about him.

That would be even worse.

Baz

“Love?!” I exclaim as soon as I step out of the dining hall. “Simon is in love with them?”

“I'm pretty sure he said he wasn't in love,” Dev says.

“And you don't know that he was talking about Andi,” Niall adds unhelpfully.

“Who else would he be talking about the day after we caught him kissing Andi?”

The two of them are silent as they catch up to me, struggling to match the quick pace that I’ve set.

“We have to do something,” I decide.

“You want to break them up?” Niall asks.

“Yeah. Sure. Break them up,” I say, distracted by all of the ideas that are already running through my mind.

Forget ignoring Simon and forgetting about the kiss. Things just got a lot more serious, and I do not want to have spend the rest of the year seeing him in love with someone else. I have to put an end to this before it’s too late.

A more permanent ending than just breaking them up.

“You aren't going to physically harm either of them are you?” Dev asks like he knows that I don’t just intend to break them up.

“No. Of course not.”

“I wish that sounded more believable.”

I ignore him and begin plotting out what I’m going to do about this.

It takes staying up all night down in the Catacombs, but I finally come up with the perfect plan, and it begins with confronting Simon. I’m not sure what exactly I’m going to say, but it’s going to be something along the lines of he’s making a mistake and that Andi isn’t the right partner for him.

If that doesn’t go well — which I know it won’t — then I will move onto part two, which has something to do with getting Andi as far away from Watford (and Simon) as possible.

I plan to talk to Simon the next day, after classes are over and I can find a way to get him alone. I want to do this as soon as possible.

Simon

“I’m going to talk to Baz,” I tell Penny the next day at lunch.

“About what?”

“I’m going to tell him how I feel about him.”

“Wait it’s only been a day. Why are you moving so quickly?”

“Speak now or forever hold your peace, right?” I say. Now that I’ve said how I feel about him out loud to someone, I don’t think I can stop until I know if there is a possibility that Baz feels the same.

“That’s for weddings Simon. I don’t think that applies here. Don’t you think you should take some time to think about it before you rush into it?”

“If we’re being honest, I’ve been thinking about it for years. I was just never sure of my feelings until now. And I need to know if he feels the same.”

“What if you get hurt?”

I’ve been asking myself that same question since I decided to talk to him, but I’ve decided that knowing the truth has to be better than always wondering.

“At least I'll know.”

She sighs like she knows there’s no use trying to argue with me on this. I’ve already made up my mind. I just wanted her to know what I will be doing in case something goes horribly wrong, and for some reason, she can’t find me. There is no telling how Baz will react.

“Are you sure about this?

“Surer than I've been about anything in my life.”

“Okay. Good luck. When are you going to tell him?”

“Tonight after dinner.”

It’s soon, but I can’t contain my feelings any longer. I have been unknowingly suppressing them for long enough now. It’s time for me to let go and act on them.

I just hope I don’t get hurt in the process of doing so. I hope he feels the same way.

Baz

It’s almost time for dinner, and I still haven’t found a good opportunity to talk to Simon. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to find him before dinner so that I can talk to him, but I’m running late after football practice.

Dev and Niall are walking with me, and it’s Niall who sees them first. I think he tries to usher me past, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen them.

“Seriously?” I say, managing not to shout this time. “Is that Andi’s special place they take people or what?”

Football practice just ended and they have already found someone to make out with under the stands. Someone who is unmistakably not Simon.

I feel my hand clench into a fist, ready to hit Andi. How could they do this to Simon?

I’ve taken a step towards them when someone yanks me back.

“Don’t,” Dev says. “It’s not worth it.”

“I have to do something.”

“No, you don’t. You’ll get into trouble.”

“Fine. I won’t hit them, but I have to tell Simon.”

A look passes between Dev and Niall, and I can tell that they think that I’m going to do it to be cruel, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Yes, I hate the thought of Simon being with someone else, but I hate that person cheating on him even more. Simon deserves to know the truth. I want to try to save him from the heartbreak of being strung along by someone who obviously doesn’t care about him and finding out the truth on his one.

I keep walking away from Andi and their cheating ways, trying to come up with a way that I can break this to Simon without him hating me for it.

Dev and Niall don’t understand why I’m doing this, why I can’t just leave Simon alone, so we decide to part ways. It’s a good thing because it won’t do to have an audience when I do this.

Deciding to skip dinner and talk to Simon afterwards, I go up to our room to shower and then head down to the Catacombs to feed and think this through some more.

I don’t think that there’s an easy way to tell Simon that his partner is cheating on him, so I will just have to tell it to him straight. He already hates, so really, I’m the best person for this job. It’s not likely that he can hate me anymore than he already does.

He can get as mad at me as he wants. I just want him to know the truth.

Simon

Baz isn’t at dinner, which makes me nervous, but it's fine. I can wait until we're in our room to confront him. That will actually be better because if he decides to get all murdery on me after I tell him how I feel, the Anathema will kick in and protect me.

I'm so nervous about what I'm going to do that I can't eat. Not even the steaming plate of sour cherry scones looks tempting.

Penny tries to get me to eat, but I'm worried I'll be sick before I manage to say what I need to say to Baz. What happens if he doesn’t feel the same way about me? Will it change things between us? Will he be so disgusted that he’ll be the one requesting a roommate change this time?

I hate thinking that finding out that I like him will turn him against me even more, but that’s why I need to know the truth. I need to know if he’ll only ever hate me, or if there is a good reason that I’ve fallen for my vampire roommate.

Baz is waiting under a tree just outside of the Tower when Penny and I step outside, and I falter in my steps as he waves at me, a strange occurrence. The most he ever does to acknowledge me is sneer, so this is different. Is it possible that he already knows that I want to talk to him?

"You’ve got this," Penny whispers, giving my arm a squeeze before heading off toward her room. I wish she would stay, if only to bear witness to whatever Baz decides to do.

"Hi," I say warily as I make my way over to where he is standing.

"I would like to speak to you about something," he says stiffly, looking over my shoulder, like he would rather be doing anything but talking to me.

I won't let it get to me, though. I'm going to do this.

"I wanted to talk to you, too,” I say.

"Fine. But not here." He’s still distractedly watching the other students who are slowly exiting the dining hall. It’s like he's worried about being seen by someone. I wonder who could have him acting like this.

“Alright. Where then?” I ask.

“Our room.”

“Okay.”

With one last hard look at the people behind me, Baz turns on his heel and heads in the direction of Mummers House, not even bothering to check if I'm following him.

I do. Of course, I do. I’ve been following him for years. I’m not about to stop now.

Baz doesn’t stop moving or look behind him until we are safely shut away in our room, away from the rest of the world.

“What did you want to talk about?” I ask when he just looks at me for a long moment with an unreadable expression.

“Andi.”

“What about them?”

“They’re cheating on you.”

“No, they’re not.” What is Baz on about?

“They are,” he says insistently, stepping towards me, where I still stand beside the door. “I saw them.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what you saw, but I can promise you that that isn’t true.”

“Before dinner, I saw them kissing someone under the football stands. The same place I saw them kissing you yesterday.” He looks away from me as he says this, like it’s hard for him to say.

“Oh.” Oh. Baz thinks that Andi and I are a couple. I feel myself blush, knowing that Baz saw me with them the other day. I didn’t think anyone saw us. “It’s not what you think,” I tell him.

“Then, what is it?”

“Andi and I aren’t together. They are allowed to kiss whoever they want.”

“What?” He asks, looking back at me, frowning. “But you were just together yesterday.”

“It isn’t like that.”

“What is it like?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I start to wonder why he cares. It isn’t any of his business.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I say. It doesn’t matter why I kissed Andi, and I don’t have to explain it to Baz.

His jaw moves like he’s gritting his teeth, and his eyes flash. He takes a couple of steps towards me, wearing that expression he always does right before he hits me, and I throw my hands up to stop him.

“The Anathema,” I say.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he sneers. “I just want to know what’s going on with you and Andi.”

“Nothing. Why do you even care?” I ask curiously. Is Baz jealous?

“How can it be nothing? I saw that kiss. It didn’t look like nothing.”

“Again, why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just—.”

“Just what?” I need him to tell me, to say something that would give me a clue to whether or not he likes me.

“I thought you liked them. And I just thought you might want to know if they were cheating on you.”

“Well, thank you,” I say slowly, surprised by the softness in his tone. “But they aren’t cheating on me.”

“I can see that now, but you like them, don’t you? Why else would you kiss them?”

“There are lots of reasons to kiss someone,” I say. “It doesn’t have to mean that I like them. They aren’t the person that I like,” I add, wondering if there is still a way for me to say what I wanted to tonight.

“Oh. So, you were what? Trying to make someone jealous with that kiss?” Baz asks, sounding somewhat angry.

I shake my head. “No. I just wanted to know what it was like to kiss them.”

“Even though you like someone else?”

“Yes, because I don’t think that other person will ever like me back.” If the way Baz is acting is any indication, he just seems annoyed, but it still doesn’t explain why he’s asking so many questions.

“How do you know that they don’t like you?” He asks.

“Because it’s you!” I don’t mean to blurt it out like that, but this conversation is going nowhere. Softer, I say, “I like you, Baz.”

Baz

My entire body freezes, and whatever I was going to say next leaves my mind.

Simon has to be joking. Right?

He doesn’t like me. That’s not possible.

He hates me, and there is no way that they will ever change.

“But what about Andi?” I ask because I can’t think of anything else to say.

He sighs, and this look crosses his face that makes him look pained just for a moment before he just looks annoyed.

“That was just a kiss,” he says. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“How do I know that you don’t just want a kiss with me?”

“If I just wanted to go around kissing people, I can promise you that it would be a whole lot easier to do it with people other than you.”

He has a point. I would be the last person he would come to if all he wanted was some fun. I’m the person he comes to when he wants to get out all of his aggression, not to french with under the football stands.

He takes a step towards me, and it takes all I have not to take two steps back and put more space between us.

“It would be different with you,” he says softly.

“How?”

“Because I like you, and I want more than just a kiss.”

He sounds earnest, and I want to believe him, but I don’t know if I should.

What if this is just fun with him? Sure, he says he has feelings, but what if that changes? What if he changes his mind about me? I’m not sure that I could take it if he did.

Still, he looks at me with those ordinary blue eyes in a way that I’ve never seen him look at anyone before, and my heart does a flip in my chest.

I so want to believe him. I want to take a chance to see if this is real. The only thing holding me back is the fear of getting my heart broken, but I’m willing to risk that if it means being with Simon.

I don’t say anything, but I take a step forward to show him that I’m thinking about it, that I’m not about to walk away.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and then he steps towards me so that we’re standing toe to toe now.

He looks up at me with a question in his eyes. He doesn’t have to say it aloud because I know what he’s asking, and my whole body is screaming the answer at him.

With a nod, I murmur the word, “yes.”

Then, he kisses me.

It feels like he puts his whole heart into it, kissing me so deeply that it nearly knocks me off my feet.

I’ve never kissed anyone before, but I know that if I had, it wouldn’t have felt anything like this. It wouldn’t have felt this right because it wouldn’t have been with Simon.

Simon has always been it for me. Even though I spent years wishing that he wasn’t.

I hated myself for wanting him, but now, I’m just grateful that he somehow found a way to like me back.

Because he has to like me. It has to be true.

You don’t kiss someone like this without feeling something.

This kiss… It feels magickal.

I would think it really was magickal if I didn’t know that Simon was so shit at magic.

No, this a real kiss. A very perfect, passionate kiss that I will never forget.

Simon breaks away and presses his forehead to mine, and I find myself smiling at him in a way that I swore I would never do.

“Do you believe me?” He whispers, and I can see how anxious he is.

He thinks that I’ll say no, that I’ll push him away after we just shared that fiery kiss.

“Yes. I believe you, Simon.” Then, it’s my turn to kiss him.

I feel him smile against my lips, and I know that this is real.

Simon likes me, and that’s not going to change anytime soon.

No matter what comes after this, no matter what the Mage or the Families or the Humdrum throws at us, we will have this. We will have us.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #rainbow rowell #snowbaz fanfiction #my writing #jealous

41 notes · View notes

reluctantly-plus-ultra · 4 years

Note

So....I'm literally in love with your rei&lov stuff and wanted to ask if you're still taking scenario suggestions? In case you do; how about dabihawks, in which dabi figures out/always knew that hawks is actually a spy but convinces hawks to actually become a villain? Or literally any hawks&shouto interaction in which they talk for some reason(internship?) And bc of that hawks figures out that dabi=touya and endevour=horrible and has kinda a breakdown? (Bonus points of shouto already knew) Thx

First of all, thank you so much! I’m definitely still taking requests- sorry this one took a while to post, but I’ve been in finals this past week and things have been hectic. Second, I’m going to have to apologize in advance because I saw all of your awesome suggestions here and instead of tackling this like any sane person would by choosing one thing to write about, I decided to write all of them in one request… So in other words, this sucker is LONG. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy the piece!

[REQUESTED] DABIHAWKS: DARK SIDE

- All it takes is one boy being saved for everything to go absolutely batshit crazy.

- Keigo “Hawks” Takami is a cunning man, ruthless when it comes to intelligence, speed, determination. He’s been trained- raised his whole life to be the personification of the perfect working hero: instinctive, quick, capable of wearing as many masks as it takes to get the job done and hiding all of that deadly capability behind a warm, smiling face that keeps him the darling of the public eye.

- And yet, despite his wit, despite his impeccable skill for analysis, despite every sign that should have given him a few warning bells about this situation, Hawks had stumbled in completely blind. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

- It had started off as nothing more than a basic street brawl. Hawks had taken the day to patrol with Enji and Shouto, the young man having returned to his father’s agency for his internship. In fact, it was mostly because of Shouto that Hawks had decided to head out with Endeavor in the first place- he was curious about the youngest Todoroki. The boy already had a pretty impressive reputation regardless of the fact that he hadn’t yet gone pro, and Hawks was curious to see whether or not he would hold up in person.

- So when they’d gotten the call that there was a robbery four blocks away and that a fight had broken out in the square, he hadn’t given two thoughts about it, really. Hell, the kid had faced off against the League shortly after entering his first year and come out without a scratch. He could take a couple amateur thugs no problem.

- And at first, things actually go really well. Shouto’s got some serious skill, and it doesn’t take long for them to get the situation sorted out-

- That is, at least, until a few familiar faces show up.

- Hawks swears he’s going to kick Dabi’s ass into next week when he, Toga, Compress and Twice all round the corner and straight into the whole mess. Like, it’s bad enough that now he’s going to have to put up a fight with them, but for fuck’s sake the last thing he needs is to be gearing up to face them while also trying to put on a nonchalant expression as Toga starts laughing her ass off at the sight of him being there.

- So of course shit goes sideways and a second fight breaks out. Hawks has never been more thankful of Twice, because the man just keeps sending clone after clone his way and it’s keeping him busy enough that he doesn’t have to throw punches at any of the others. After all, the League had just started warming up to him, and he really doesn’t want to be sending anybody home packing black eyes on his account.

- But that also leaves three villains against two Todorokis, and while that still shouldn’t be a problem, it turns out to be.

- In hindsight knowing what he’d come to learn much later, maybe it was the way Endeavor barked the boy’s name. Maybe it was how he’d whipped around so suddenly the flames on his body guttered and flared. Maybe it was even just the simple matter of having his arm raised when he turned.

- Either way, whatever he’d been going to tell his youngest child goes unsaid, be it advice or otherwise.

- All Hawks knows is that it takes a full two seconds for Endeavour to shout his son’s name, to wheel around to face him, arm still rigid above his head from the last burst of flame he’d sent at Compress, hand exploding into a raging blaze once more- and then Dabi is fucking sprinting.

- And at first, Hawks almost goes after him because it seems like the fire-user is about to take out Shouto and quite frankly, it didn’t matter who you are: going after a child is a low blow, plain and simple.

- So when he dispatches Twice’s next clone in a messy hurry and moves to follow, he’s stopped dead in his tracks by a display he never thought he’d witness: the patchwork villain yelling “Sho!” so loudly his voice cracks before quite literally hauling the young hero behind him and bracing his free arm in front of them both in a gesture that is so inherently and naturally defensive it makes Hawks pause.

- Half a second later, there’s an explosion of blue fire so fierce and bright that it’s damn near blinding. It takes a few moments for the winged hero to blink the light from his eyes, but when he manages to do so, it is only to take in the sight of three faces equally painted in horror.

- And here’s the thing; Hawks expects some kind of reaction from Shouto, so the fact that he’s still stunned and unmoving behind this villain isn’t exactly a surprise. Hell, he expects a reaction from Dabi too, because that degree of defensiveness, that scale of fire, the sheer desperation in his movements seconds before the explosive blast- it’s so unlike him, especially over some hero’s son?

- But it’s when Enji Todoroki blanches just as pale as the other two, eyes wide as Shouto’s, hands shaking like Dabi’s, that Hawks feels an uncomfortable clench in his gut. That feeling persists, too, as the fighting stops around them, and everything falls into silence, ashes falling down around them like snow. It’s the first time that Hawks has noticed that the walls of the surrounding buildings have been scorched black from the heat, smoke still rising in the air.

- There’s blood leaking down Dabi’s face, his arms, past his burnt jacket sleeves and the collar of his shirt. He’s in pain, Hawks can tell, even from where he’s standing. That move took a lot out of him-

- But there’s also no way he wouldn’t have known that before doing it, and that raises more than a few questions.

- All three men look like they’re reliving some kind of flashback, some kind of memory or unanimous nightmare. It’s Shouto who speaks first, voice wavering, and even then it’s only one word, indistinguishable from their current distance- but it’s enough to snap Dabi out of whatever reverie he’s in and cause him to snarl and bolt.

- Nobody goes after him, not even Endeavor, and in seconds the patchwork man is gone, lost to the shadows and alleys. Being realistic, it would take Hawks less than a minute to soar up above the buildings and scout him down, demand some answers, but Twice is quicker to the punch.

“Let us handle this for now- you can take of him later, I’m not handling his broody side.”

- The rest of the League is in the process of disappearing as well as Hawks makes his way up to the pair of still shell-shocked heroes, quirking an eyebrow and tugging at a few feathers that got bent in his fight.

- “You want to tell me what that was all about? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

- The hard glint in Enji’s eye as he glances at him and then spins around on his heel without a word, walking in the opposite direction is all the confirmation he needs to know that maybe they have.

- Days pass. It had been hard enough not asking questions for the rest of their patrol but when, four days later, Endeavor still won’t give him the time of day and Dabi won’t respond to any of his texts and calls, Hawks has had about enough.

- Aizawa’s not exactly thrilled about the Number Two hero calling in to ask if he can take part of the morning to talk to Todoroki about some of the events of their last patrol, but he presses that it’s important, and Aizawa eventually gives in on the grounds that it’s safer for them to talk at the school about mission work than anywhere else, really.

- And that’s how he and the dual-quirked boy end up facing one another over cold coffee in the otherwise vacant teacher’s lounge, Shouto guarded as ever, and Hawks feeling a bit nervous despite the circumstances. Truth being told, he isn’t sure what he’s looking to find here, exactly, but the whole situation has been burning a hole in his stomach for half a week, and something about it really isn’t sitting right.

- “…This is about the whole… Incident with him, isn’t it?” Todoroki asks eventually, tone flat, and Hawks has to admit that he’s chosen some interesting phrasing.

- “Pretty much, yeah,” Hawks scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure where to even start. The whole thing seems pretty absurd. The youngest Todoroki hums and sips at his cold coffee, the light rippling of the liquid being the only thing betraying the slight tremour of his hands.

- “If you have questions, why not ask him instead?” Hawks immediately wrinkles his nose at that.

- “Who, Endeavor? Something tells me he wouldn’t be the most willing audie-”

- “Not Endeavor.” Shouto fixes his cup back on its saucer before turning curious but carefully blank eyes on him, “Dabi. You two seem close enough for it.”

- Well, fuck.

- Hawks’ brain is going a mile a minute trying to figure out how Shouto managed to put two and two together. There’s no way he’d figured it out from that patrol day- they hadn’t even interacted at all, and Hawks had been careful not to mention the patchwork villain around any of the other heroes so as to not raise suspicion with his mission, or to have anyone go snooping too deeply into something that could also get him in a huge deal of shit.

- Not really knowing how else to play his cards but to try and save face, Hawks squints and shakes his head at the boy in confusion, hoping the “dumb-bird” act will save his ass. Underneath the surface, though, he can feel the pinpricks of an impending anxiety attack, the boy’s blunt and unexpected words having shredded every assumption of caution that he thought he’d put up. Hell, if Shouto has figured things out this far, has he also figured out Hawks’ connection to the League? Has he told anyone else? The Commission is going to skin him alive when they found out-

- “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawks tries, grimacing at the end of the statement for effect, “Unless you’re meaning because I didn’t intervene when everything went down and help you guys out- sorry about that by the way, but I figured you two would have everything under control, and when all the fighting stopped, I just froze.” He shrugs, trying his best to look sheepish, “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes when the shock is great enough I’m more of a natural freezer than a reactor. Probably some kind of weird bird thing.”

- Shouto regards him for a solid second, unblinking, before cracking a small smile.

- “You’re a good liar.” He says simply, before sipping his coffee again. “But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”

- Those pinpricks return again, and Hawks’ wings flutter somewhat nervously on their own accord. He resists the urge to let them expand just to give himself a bit more of a size advantage, and instead tries playing it off again. Shouto’s eyebrows raise at the attempt, and it’s with almost exaggerated disbelief that he sets his cup down for the second time and announces, in that odd, cool way of his, “So you just let any villain wear your feathers, then?”

- Hawks chokes on his coffee.

- This time, he legitimately does not know what the hell Todoroki’s talking about, but it turns out that the observant teen had caught sight of a long stretch of cord that had shifted somewhat out from under the other man’s loose shirt when he spun around to run.

- And there’s nothing weird about that in itself. Dabi’s kinda a jewelry guy, and Heaven knows he’s got enough piercings to prove it. But when Todoroki gets to mentioning that there was a small red feather on the end of the rope, Hawks can’t help but flush pink just a little bit because he’d left that feather as a calling card to tell the other man he’d broken into his apartment two weeks ago and he’d gone and strung it on a necklace what an absolute fucking dork-

- “I don’t think Endeavor saw,” Todoroki continues absently, “So it’s just me that knows, and I don’t want any of the details,” He looks at Hawks solemnly again, this time his voice growing quieter, “I’ll keep your secret, but forgive me for using it to make sure you keep mine.”

- Hawks examines him for a slow moment, fully aware that neither of them are moving, and the air is growing tense. This boy could bring his career crashing down around his ears with a few words muttered in the right direction, and yet Hawks is inclined to believe him when he says he’ll keep a secret. With a sigh, the winged hero extends a hand.

- “Deal.” He agrees, shivering at the contact of ice on his palm, Todoroki apologizing for the slip under his breath. “Now, what’s this secret, then?”

- Shouto chews his lip for a moment before sitting back in his seat, hands clenched into fists.

- “I need to tell you a story.”

______________________________________________________

- An hour later, the entire fucking world has been turned on its head, and nothing is ever going to be the same.

- Shouto Todoroki sits quietly for a moment, before calmly reaching out for his coffee cup again, more for the simple grounding action of holding it than anything else. The silence in the room is stifling, especially after the burrage of information Hawks has had dumped on him in the last sixty minutes, and his brain is still sluggishly trying to process most of it.

- “He’s… He’s your brother?” The hero manages eventually, mouth feeling dry, stomach churning. That panging ache in his stomach that he’d felt before has returned tenfold, and it takes everything in Hawks’ apparent willpower to not run for a garbage bin and puke from all the nausea.

- Todoroki won’t meet his eye, and Hawks doesn’t blame him- after everything that’s been revealed at this coffee table, he’s not sure he could look the younger man dead in the face without breaking down in some way. Seeing his scar, mentally comparing it to Dabi’s many, brain running lists of all their similarities and those lists coming up remarkably long.

- The worst of it is the carpet that got all but torn out from under his feet as Shouto had explained what his father had put them all through, his involvement at home, how they had assumed for so long that their oldest sibling had died, and that it had been their father’s fault, no different than Rei’s hospitalization and, by extension, Shouto’s burned eye. It’s this news that curdles his stomach more than anything, makes his blood freeze in his veins.

- He can already tell that when he allows that news to settle, it’s going to hit like a bombshell, but he can’t do that in front of Shouto, so he pushes it to the back of his mind for now until he can handle it later and instead tries to focus on the subjects that he thinks can be safely discussed.

- Todoroki just nods, seemingly spent on this whole ordeal as well, and also not really knowing what to do with it.

- “I’d had some suspicions,” He admits softly, fiddling with his hands, “But I didn’t want to think on them too closely or get my hopes up- he was dead, or supposed to be anyway. And then that patrol happened, and… I don’t remember much of him, really. The memories are all hazy. I was so young- but he used to call me Sho as a nickname when we were kids. When he ran out in front of me though, I…”

- “You remembered it wasn’t the first time.” Hawks concludes, and Shouto nods again, his shoulders slumping.

- “It was exactly the same,” He murmurs softly, “And it just… Triggered memories of all of these things I’d forgotten, but now they’re all coming back, and I don’t-” He sighs in frustration, taking a deep breath to rein in his thoughts, “I don’t know what to do because he’s not dead anymore, but at the same time, I’m not sure that he’s really alive either. That part of him that I knew might be gone entirely- I’m willing to believe that his actions during our patrol were out of memory reflex more than anything.”

- But Hawks is already thinking about all of those times that Dabi has helped Toga arrange her hair into buns when it’s being too stubborn, and the almost-petty sibling banter he slings back and forth with Shigaraki sometimes just to get a rise out of him. There are other habits too, just little things here and there, but the more Hawks imagines Dabi being a former sibling, the more connections he sees.

- They clean up their dishes quietly, dirty laundry aired, secrets hanging heavy. Before they leave, though, Hawks turns back to Todoroki one last time.

- “You know I can’t bring him back, right?”

- It’s a harsh reality, but a very real one. Quite frankly, Hawks suspects that there’s a lot of the person Todoroki remembers in this new Dabi figure, but no matter how much of that remains, no matter how many different and surprising and kind, soft, gentle, loyal angles Dabi has, it doesn’t change the fact that he is first and foremost a villain. That takes precedence over anything, and there’s really no turning back from it, not now, and not after the extent he’s gone to. Shouto nods, hair falling in his face, though Hawks can see through the fringe that his eyes are clear. There’s no judgement, no upset. He’s more than aware, and something in Hawks’ chest twinges again at how quickly this child had to grow up, seeing the world with such adult eyes.

- There’s something else still tickling the back of his mind, and at first he hesitates to ask it. Shouto’s been through enough today as it is, and he doesn’t want to push too far, but at the same time, he’s dying to know. There’s this sense in him that it’s probably important, and Hawks has long ago learned better than to ignore his gut.

- “One more thing- what did you say to him that day? Right before he ran?”

- Shouto’s hand freezes on the doorknob, literally freezes on the doorknob, ice crawling over his fingers. For a second, Hawks is considering apologizing and moving on, afraid that he’s overstepped a boundary. But then Shouto’s grip on the handle eases, and the ice crackles and falls away from his hand, falling to melt in the fibres of the carpet underfoot.

- “Touya. I called him Touya.”

- They leave the room and don’t look back.

_______________________________________________

- Hawks walks Shouto back to class, only to pull Eraserhead outside for a moment and explain nothing more into the situation than that the youngest Todoroki experienced some stressful things during their last patrol, and that after their discussion that morning, it probably wouldn’t hurt to have him take the rest of the day off just to recuperate a little.

- And with any of the other teachers, he might have been hit with a hardass no, but this is Shouta Aizawa, and if there’s anything that man cares more about than cats, coffee, and the occasional witty remark, it’s rest and his students. As much as he likes to deny it, he keeps a better eye on those kids than they know, and he’s caught Todoroki acting a bit more reserved than normal, less concentrated. He nods slowly, dismisses Hawks with a casual comment about wasting his time, and goes to fetch Shouto from the classroom again.

- The winged hero leaves to the sound of Aizawa telling Shouto that he’ll get a notes package done up for him for the day, and to go rest. There’s some muffled arguing before the older man makes some statement about mental health that effectively shuts Shouto up and sends him back in the direction of the dorms, Hawks grinning to himself the whole way down the hall, until he can no longer hear the two. Shouto Todoroki has had one hell of a life, that much is certain, but nobody can deny that he’s in good hands now and that itself is a relief beyond words.

- That being said, it takes all of ten seconds upon returning home to his apartment and getting the door shut behind him, before Keigo Takami all but collapses on the hardwood and begins to sob. Once the tears start flowing they just won’t stop, and there’s this kind of warm, gentle light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling-windows that seems to just encourage the outpour even more.

- Were anyone to see him at that exact moment, they’d probably think it made an interesting picture, the Number Two hero weeping on his knees, wings spread about him like some kind of devastated creature of God, light pouring down his shoulders and face as though his halo had melted and dripped like tear stains over his skin. There’s this burning, raw sensation inside him that just won’t ease, and as he lies there, a crumbled statue of a once proud Icarus, he lets the truth rage over him like wildfire, lets the heat of it all melt the wax and burn the feathers, and feels it pull him into a drop he’s not sure how to recover from, or if he ever will.

- There’s this war raging inside him on how to feel, a million emotions crushing his chest all at once. The first that hits him is disgust, disgust for this man that he had looked up to for so long, who had been a hero to him even when he’d had nothing, nobody, not even a dream. He had put so much faith in him, had defended him at every turn, had stood by him as a colleague, watched his back, taken wounds to keep him safe. This was the man he’d bled for, if he deserved to be called a man at all.

- But the emotions that follow after this are so rapid-fire, they’re almost impossible to keep track of, aside from the pain- the pain lingers and grows, makes itself known in every damned crevice of his being. There’s betrayal, both to the person he is now, and to the young child who’d cheered the fire hero on, who he’d wanted to impress so badly. There’s sadness for the world he thought he knew, for the person he thought he knew, and all of that being stripped away to reveal something so much more grim and ugly. Grief for the loss, mourning for the death of something he’d seen as a foundation to his person, the pain so strong throughout.

- One of the worst, though, is the anger. When the anger arrives, it isn’t in a gradual wave like the other feelings had been, full of upset and still-numb disbelief. When the anger arrives, it is as a battering ram of rage that burns so fiercely in his core, he wants to scream. Rage for Shouto Todoroki, rage for Rei Todoroki, rage for Fuyumi and Natsuo, and damn it all, blistering, agonizing rage for Touya Todoroki and the unjust cards he was dealt. When the anger arrives, it’s with the passion of a man who has longed for family his whole life, and can’t imagine how an individual could so carelessly ruin what another would die for.

- When the anger arrives it stays, and it leaves Hawks trembling on the floor long after the tears have stopped rolling, after the damp spots on his cheeks have dried, after the pain has stopped clawing at his throat, and taken up permanent residence in his heart instead.

- And that’s how Dabi finds him three hours later as night starts setting in, and the light from the windows has faded, the warmth in the floorboards gone. Hawks is so out of it, so physically and emotionally exhausted, that he doesn’t even hear him come in, only notices him when the tall man crouches down in his line of vision, concernedly snapping his fingers in his face.

- Somehow the sight of him just manages to drive the knife in deeper, and he has to take a deep breath to keep his composure. Dabi’s eyebrows are drawn together in worry at the scene, hands beginning to rapidly check him all over for wounds of some kind before Hawks weakly bats his hands away, protesting. The cremation villain sits back on his heels, unimpressed, and flicks the other man’s forehead.

- “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon- why weren’t you picking up your phone, dumbass? I thought something must have happened.”

- The irritation in his voice thinly covers his relief, and Hawks can only manage to blink up at him once or twice before clenching his eyes shut altogether. He doesn’t mention that Dabi hasn’t responded to any of his messages until today either, figures a fight isn’t what either of them need right now.

- “I talked to Shouto today,” He says quietly, voice so hoarse from crying, it’s almost hard to listen to. Dabi stiffens, but doesn’t turn away or make a sound, so Hawks continues, “He told me… Everything. Everything that happened, everything that that bastard did,” Hawks takes another steadying breath, choosing not to look Dabi in the eye for this part, “He knows who you are- I know about that part too. And that’s fine, really, it is; I won’t call you by that name or anything if you don’t want me to. I just… I can’t believe that I looked up to him so long, and he was doing all of this and nobody knew-

- And suddenly it’s all spilling out all over again, and there are more tears, but much less than last time, a slow and steady trickle compared to the earlier downpour. Dabi doesn’t do anything but listen as the minutes pass, as the sky grows steadily darker and they’re left in the kitchen with no lights on, almost silhouettes in the room. Somehow, it feels comforting- Dabi has a way of making shadows feel less like threats and more like hiding places, and Hawks has never felt it more strongly than now.

- But it isn’t until he’s done his tirade that he realizes his most crucial mistake- that in confessing all of this, he’s just botched his own story of being done with the hero world, the lies that he’d given Dabi when they first met. He’s just outed himself as a turncoat. And not only that, he’s just outed himself as a turncoat to a villain who is still kneeling over him in a dark room, and who would have literally nothing stopping him from crisping the winged hero right there, not even Hawks himself. Fast as he is, he doesn’t think his reflexes will save him quickly enough in this state, and all it will take for him to be completely defenseless would be Dabi moving his hands an inch or two forward to light his wings on fire, exposed as they currently are.

- He can feel the panic building in his chest as Dabi stays silent, breathing picking up a few notches before he’s suddenly scrambling to get into a less vulnerable position, trying to make out Dabi’s expression in the dark. Maybe if he can get out a window fast enough, he’ll be able to catch a draft and soar out of the way- it’s his best bet, but the kitchen island is against his back now because he scooted too far back, and there’s no way for him to get to a window without either getting through Dabi or-

- The panic attack that he was feeling earlier decides to kick in at this exact moment, and that’s when Hawks realizes that if Dabi wants him dead, he’s dying in this room. All of his instincts and nerves are shot, he has no sense of coordination, he can’t see, the dark no longer feels safe-

- The lights come on, and Hawks glances up sharply from his position against the island to see Dabi with his hand still on the lightswitch, expression hard to read, but not the crazed, maniacal look Hawks would have expected to receive if the villain were planning to outright kill him. He watches as the other man slowly walks forward, gaze locked, until he kneels so closely on the floor in front of him that if Hawks so much as slid his knees a centimetre forward, they’d be hitting Dabi in the chest.

- His heart is hammering so fast, he’s sure he’ll either hyperventilate or pass out at any given second, body trembling, brain unable to focus. He manages to force his eyes closed as Dabi extends a hand out, certain that he’ll be feeling those blue flames crawling his skin the second they get close enough to burn. The flames never come.

- Dabi’s fingers trail across his temple, brushing back a few strands of sweaty hair, before going to cup his cheek entirely. The action is so uncharacteristically tender that it causes Hawks’ eyes to flash open again, the scarred man looking at him with intent eyes.

- “Take a few deep breaths, pretty bird.” He says calmly, not even flinching when Hawks’ hand comes up to clench hard on the patchwork man’s bicep.

- “You took all of that info rather well,” Hawks states, almost accusingly, through gritted teeth. His breathing is starting to slow, heartbeat becoming less erratic, though Dabi’s sudden smirk isn’t helping anything.

- “I’ve known that you weren’t legit from the first day,” He scoffs, looking a touch of smug, but also somewhat offended, “Give me more credit than that, sweetheart. This isn’t news.”

- The simple, familiar arrogance of it all forces a sharp laugh from Hawks’ throat, and against all odds he can feel the adrenaline draining from his system, beginning to relax again.

- “You’re such an asshole, you know that?” Said with a tired grin. ‘I’m relieved this one corner of my world isn’t crumbling down too.’

- “Only time you’ll catch me alive saying guilty as charged.” Said with a smile as crooked as a broken law. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

- They wait like that just a few minutes longer, listening to the hum of the overhead lights, nothing needing to be said for those moments at least. Then, once Hawks has calmed down enough to relocate, they move to the couch.

- “So,” Dabi is the one to begin this time, throwing his lanky form across the whole sofa and stretching out well enough across it that his head can rest on one of the arms, his ankles dangling off the other. “You know about my shitty childhood. I`d rather not talk about that any more tonight, honestly.”

- Hawks, appreciative that he seems to be willing to let to matter of the anxiety attack drop completely, chooses to take a seat on the middle cushion, leaning back against Dabi’s hip as a support and letting his wings fall over the back of the sofa and behind it. The longest feathers drag on the floor from this height, and Dabi watches for a second as Hawks flares them temporarily to adjust his wings in a better position before continuing. “And I know about you not being true to the League. Anything else you’d care to hash out while we’re in the sharing mood?”

- “Yeah, actually,” Hawks shoots him a look and raises an eyebrow, “If you knew I was lying, why the hell did you keep me around?”

- Dabi goes entirely still, one hand subconsciously draping across his chest, and Hawks remembers the comment Shouto made earlier about the necklace. He wonders if the villain is reaching for it now.

- “You don’t ease into anything, do you?” He asks eventually with a chuckle, Hawks’ answering grin speaking for itself. “Alright, it’s… I guess, you know when you’re in a deep body of water and your head goes under, and it kind of hits you that you could drown there? And the first thing you do when you see it is reach for the light?” Hawks nods even though he’s always had an aversion to swimming due to the weight of his wings and has never been close enough to drowning to truly know. “It’s… Fuck, I’m trashing the hell out of this, but it’s like that. I could tell I was sinking, and I didn’t give a shit. And then you showed up, and I knew right off the bat that you were lying to my face, but for once, there’s this light right in front of me, close enough to reach for. I never really meant for it to be more than that.” He paused for a second before adding, “But there was something about the fact that you were batshit crazy enough to walk into the wolves’ den for your cause, and you just kept coming back. You had to know we’d figure it out eventually, and when we did you’d be done, but you kept trying anyway.” Dabi grins slightly, fingers definitely closing around the necklace this time, “That’s real hero shit. I’d spent so long hating all of them that I’d forgotten they weren’t all like the one I grew up with. And I can’t ever be like you, I’m not hero material, but… Reaching for that light here and here, it makes me feel like maybe I can be more than this someday.”

- He didn’t expect this kind of response. He didn’t expect this kind of honesty, barbless and vulnerable and kind. He didn’t really expect to find himself moving to straddle Dabi’s waist so he could be in a better position to kiss him, either, but that happens as well.

- Wordlessly, Hawks tugs Dabi’s hands from his necklace, and settles them on his hips, the winged hero pressing his own palms to either side of the villain’s scarred face, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. He can feel Dabi’s breath against his mouth and cheeks as the other man lets out a soft exhale, his skin carrying that familiar slight chill that it always does, cooler still where his fingers rest on staples. He could stay in this forever, this moment, safe and sure and grounded. It isn’t until Dabi pulls away from him slightly to trace one hand down the curve of his wing and into his primary feathers that Hawks realizes that in his contentment he’s brought his wings up almost defensively, shielding them off from the rest of the world though there’s no one else around to see.

- “I used to hate the colour red.” Dabi murmurs, repeating the action once again, Hawks fluttering his wing against the fire-user’s calloused hand just to bring a smile to his face. That smile carries into the kiss Dabi pulls him in for an instant later. It isn’t their first kiss, not by a long shot, but there’s something more sweet and slow about this one, and it takes Hawks a second to realize that unlike the kisses they’ve shared in the past, this one isn’t laced with the premonition of an ending. Usually, there’s this sort of rushed tension in their more intimate moments, an unspoken understanding that whatever this thing they have is, it can only last so long. But that’s missing this time, the overlying pressure of awareness, of only whispering things that won’t break your heart later, of never knowing when each embrace might be the last and being prepared to cut your losses if it is. This time is different, sanguine, and Hawks suddenly gets the feeling that things are about to change.

- He isn’t wrong.

- “What if you joined us for real?” Dabi breathes, eyes hooded as they draw apart but still lingering close. Catching Hawks’ incredulous look, he runs his hands up the other man’s arms, taking on a more serious tone. “I mean it. We can get you out from under the Commission- they’d never be able to touch you again. You want a world where heroes have more spare time on their hands than they know what to do with? That’s never going to be a possibility the way things are now. Most of the groups and agencies are corrupt over the profitability of it all, and there’s a lot of heroes in the same boat. Believe me, birdie, they don’t want the crime rate going down- they just want it televised.”

- Hawks knows it’s true- Dabi isn’t just saying this to sway him. The winged hero has seen this firsthand. There are heroes out there who would sooner go into a situation after a disaster has already happened rather than stopping it before anyone can get hurt, because it’s flashier. It’s more likely to gain attention, even if it means innocents being injured or, hell, dying in the process. And there’s all the other stuff too- the notices they get at the beginning of each new year, informing them that if they save ‘x’ number of people from various minority groups, there will be a bonus payout for them by the end of the year, as diversity is good for their public image. Hawks always threw those papers away, but there were some who held onto them, kept a tally going. There are heroes who are only on the field for the money, who couldn’t care less about the people they’re saving so long as there’s a cheque at the end of it with their name on it. Hawks has even heard of a few cases where heroes staged or set up disasters and accidents to be noticed. There’s the Commission, literally grooming child soldiers and people like Endeavor who wear two faces to hide a darker truth from the public eye.

- For an organization made to help, the hero collective is a dog-eats-dog world, and it’s ruthless. Dabi’s right about Hawks’ dream being impossible- because as long as people are profiting off crime, they’ll never allow it to stop.

- Suddenly, all Hawks wants to do is sleep, cut the nightmare short and try to let himself catch up with the feeling of free-falling. He can’t go back to working beside Endeavor like nothing’s happened, he knows that. And to make matters worse, he told Shouto he wouldn’t tell anyone about this though he desperately knows he should, but at this rate he’s not sure it wouldn’t do more harm than good. There may be a time later in the future where the truth can be revealed without completely annihilating the small, fragile, bright world that the youngest Todoroki has been slowly building for himself, but to have the public come after him over something this big, demanding answers and surrounding him at all times… He can’t handle that yet, and Hawks can tell. Someday, but not yet.

- “And after you dismantle the system? What happens then?” Hawks asks quietly, noting the surprised flicker behind Dabi’s blue eyes. He hadn’t been expecting him to entertain this idea.

- “Hey, my job’s just to burn it to the ground,” Dabi snorts, nonchalant, but his hands stop moving up and down Hawks’ arms, and loosely circle his wrists, “I think I’ll leave the rebuilding to those of you who will do it right. Let the real heroes take care of the hero world, and maybe everything else will settle too. Maybe things can be better- and who knows,” He puts on a smirk, “Maybe the heroes will find they’ve got some spare time on their hands, just like you said.”

- Hawks considers this, nods once, makes up his mind and goes ‘fuck it’ while cutting his losses.

- “Fine.”

- Dabi freezes under him, confident look replaced by something much more comical.

- “What?”

- “Fine, I’m in.” Dabi goes to say something about considering options for more than three seconds, but Hawks cuts him off. “No, I’m serious. Things need to change, and that’s not going to happen with the way everything’s going now. I’m a hero because I want to help people, not because I have a license, and damn it there are more people I can help by fighting against the hero track than on it, which is really fucked up in itself. I’m in, and I’m saying that while I’m pissed off and bitter enough to go through with it because for fuck’s sake I can’t keep going back to that place and letting them wring me out until I’m dead. None of this is normal or okay, and I can’t keep pretending that it is. I need to do something.”

- The fire-user just stares at him awestruck throughout all this, and for a long while afterwards too, before eventually sitting up.

- “You’re certain?”

- “Yes.”

- “…Damn it, pigeon, what the hell am I going to do with you?”

- Hawks laughs at the weak pet name even as Dabi cups his face and pulls him in for another kiss, the blond’s laughter spilling out across their lips, fingers carding through Dabi’s hair. It’s a bright moment to end a dark day, something hopeful amid the tentative nature of something new.

- “We’re never rushing this again.” Hawks grins when they both need to take a breath, that warm embrace of security and peace having returned to him once more, settling in his chest and radiating so strongly he’s surprised he’s not glowing. Dabi hums in response, turquoise eyes mostly closed as he leans down to dust a kiss on the other’s collarbone, almost painfully slow as if to prove a point.

- “We won’t have to.” He promises, chuckling lowly at the slight gasp he receives for turning the kiss into a nip, “Welcome to the dark side, birdie.”

#BNHA Headcanons #bnha requests #dabihawks #dabihawks requests #dabihawks headcanons #bnha #mha #mha headcanons #mha requests

130 notes · View notes

a-town-called-hometown · 4 years

Text

Red Carnations

Thanks to @krispdreemurr and @knifehecker infecting me with love for their interpretation of the poncho human, I’ve written fic about their concept! Apologies to my regular followers; this fic is pretty different than my regular fare.

***

You are in the garden with me, monster prince, and you are painted in coreopsis (always cheerful) gold, and you are smiling, smiling, a chervil white (sincerity) smile catching the glints of the sunlight. You are handing me a pair of shears. You are here with me under the hyacinth sky, and your hands are caked with dirt. You are young, I am young, and we are together, and we are trimming flowers.

“My father has drawn up a new proposal,” you are telling me, and oh, your face is aglow with life. “I think it will quiet the new rumors of war.”

I am snipping a leaf from the oak-leaf (true friendship) geranium. I grew it as a gift to you, cultivated carefully to make your garden beautiful, and you’ve smiled on its progress the whole time. You understand that words are unwieldy better than most would, my friend, and you have tried to learn the floral meanings that I use when words fail. I’ve taught you so much. But now it occurs to me, as the scarlet petals flame under my searching fingertips, that I may not have taught you all my meanings. Geranium is a capricious flower, its life thriving or failing based on context. Scarlet warmth flares to life when it’s properly cared for.

Scarlet stupidity reveals itself when it is not.

I swallow, and swallow again. The words bloom slowly. “We can hope so.”

You lay a hand on my shoulder. “You worry too much. I personally contributed to the proposal. I think your people are going to be content with the idea.”

You do not see what I do, my friend. You do not see the budding thorns spiking on the ambassador’s tongue, nor the belladonna poison my fellow soldiers are starting to spit at your soldiers. You are too focused on the bright things – the sun-loving petals of daisies, your bride’s gentle smile, the cloudless skies we’ve had this summer – to notice how tense things have grown. You do not watch storm clouds the way I do. I doubt you’ll ever spot a coming storm on your own.

But you are an optimist, and I do not want to crush your hopes with my clumsy words. I let your hand stay where it is. I trim another leaf. It is a season for scarlet, for scarlet geraniums and scarlet pimpernels (change), and I know, quite suddenly, that the color will be all I see the next time I close my eyes.

“Prince Asgore,” a voice calls, and I know that this moment has ended.

You let me go. You are smiling. You are coreopsis gold, and chervil white, and you are blossoming like a lily (majesty) in the sunshine. “Everything will be fine.”

It is the last time I see you before war breaks.

***

The war is painted in flowers. There are the aloe-pale cries of grieving families, the basil-sharp hate of human soldiers, the sharpness of misanthropic thistle blooming in my heart. I see oleander blooming in the corners of my vision, mocking beware! beware! at me, but there is nowhere to run, and there is nowhere to hide. I do not see battle, but my heart aches as though I am in the thick of it.

The war is painted in flowers, and I am powerless to uproot the worst of its evils. Two weeks after fighting breaks out, when I am with my country’s ambassador on the other side of the border, the news arrives that the entire royal family is dead. Assassination. The knowledge is gladiolus-blue (you pierce my heart) and bitter as aconite poison. What can I do but reset?

You do not live that time around. You do not live the next ten times around. Always, something thwarts me, something creeping in to steal your life. It would make more sense to cut my losses and let you stay dead, though it pains me to have to make such a cold calculation. But the single time I ride out a timeline past your death, I realize that you are an essential piece to monsterkind’s survival. Without a ruler, the monsters crumble. It is less than a year after your family’s assassination when the final monster perishes. For all your people’s strength, they are powerless without someone to pin their hopes on.

So I reset, and reset again, and we are always in the garden, and you are always smiling, and there is always a scarlet geranium. I try a hundred different actions, a hundred outcomes. I work as ambassador for your kingdom. I work as ambassador for mine. I turn my hands and heart to battle, on both sides, and my trident sweeps through a hundred thousand people, but always, always, your side loses. You die. You die. You die.

Time loses all meaning to me.

I am in the room when it is suggested. I am working on the human side, trying to quell aggression, and your side is losing. There are dozens of people in here, mages and politicians and warmongers, and it is suffocating. I am thinking of the soft white of plum flowers (keep your promises). I am wishing I was somewhere else. My carnation brooch glitters scarlet on my chest, and my fingers are tracing its familiar edges. I am wishing that I was in a garden again.

“The monsters have offered surrender,” a commander says. “With a few conditions.”

“We don’t need to accept conditions. We have them all cornered. We can corral them, and make sure they never take another human soul again.”

“I agree,” a mage says. Her eyes are the bright yellow of a black-eyed Susan. Justice. “But we don’t need to kill them. They’ve already surrendered. We can trap them somewhere so they can’t get out.”

“And how would you suggest that?”

“There is a spell to make a massive barrier. It would take a lot of power, but it is better than killing them, surely.”

There is fig flower-colored argument, there are words thrown back and forth across the room, but I am listening with only half an ear. I wish I had my hands planted deep in the earth, because then I could finally coax some words out from where they’ve been hiding, but I have only the bereft anemone (forsaken) feelings left to guide me. I have to think back on oak-leaf geraniums and summer sunshine.

I have lived through this flower-painted war a thousand times, trying to keep monsterkind alive, trying to minimize the deaths this war accumulates, and there has been no timeline where peace comes about yet. This newly-proposed peace is horrible. You will be locked underground and left to wither. It is a fate I would not wish on even my most stubborn black rosebush.

But.

It is a solution.

It is a solution that leaves you alive.

It is a solution that leaves you, and your loved ones, and the remnants of your people, alive.

It is a solution that keeps your people safe from mine. The other mages believe that it is the other way around, that we are protecting ourselves from the imagined ravages of monsterkind. I know, in the thorny chambers of my thistle-flower heart, that they are wrong. Humanity is always the aggressor, always the sharp and unrelenting foe, and you will be safest when we cannot touch you at all.

I summon up a few fragile words. War has bled the color out of my words, and I have no flowers to fill the gaps with vibrant meaning, but I manage to say, “I think it’s an excellent idea.”

The discussion continues. I am the white of raspberry flowers (regret), but I do not waver. My fingers trace the scarlet edges of my brooch.

Red carnation.

(My heart is breaking.)

***

It hurts worse than anything I have ever done. No death I have experienced can compare to the pain. It is belladonna and buttercup and aconite agony, the sharp burning of a million poisons. I feel like it is my body being split in half, not just my soul, but when it is done, my ability to reset is gone.

It’s terrifying, this permanence. I’m used to every timeline being as fleeting as cherry blossoms in the spring. But I trust you, my old friend. Someday, you will find a way out. It there is anyone who will find a way to break the barrier, it will be you.

(And I am tired of the weight. A thousand lives is far too many to live. I am only a single person, a thin branch with too many unpruned leaves, and another round of resets would snap me entirely. It might be cowardice. But I do not want to have the responsibility anymore. As scary as it is, it’s freeing.)

If I had a purple hyacinth (please forgive me, please, I tried all I could and I am so, so tired of living), I would bring it to you. But their season is over, the gardens razed for a hundred miles, and I know it would be inadequate. Instead, I simply wash my face until it is raw. I weave my brightest red ribbons into my hair. I put on my cleanest clothes, I thread a single camellia into my braid, and I take myself and my trident to the refugee camp.

Your coreopsis gold has mellowed to marigold (grief), your chervil white softened to snowdrop (consolation and hope), and your king’s crown sits heavy on your head. You’ve grown older, but you are still so young. Younger than me, now, with all the years I’ve accumulated. There are thick shadows under your eyes. When I approach you, you are wary of the weapon in my hands, until you finally recognize my face.

There are questions, and attempted hugs (I refuse, I refuse, I do not want to cry my helenium tears in your arms, not now, not on the eve of your imprisonment.) You try to ask me about what’s happening. You want to know if I’m all right.

I shake my head. I press the trident into your hands. My voice is scratchy as willow bark. “Keep this. It will… help you find a way out.”

“Out of the barrier?”

I nod.

There are so many words to say. I want to ask you if you still remember our flower garden. I want to tell you how much your friendship has meant to me. I want to say that I have lived a thousand lives, and I have died a thousand deaths, and through it all, I’ve seen you blossom like a chamomile flower, with the same strength in adversity it carries. I want to tell you are a good king. I want to tell you that you will someday be free.

But my words have all withered at the root. An entire acre of flowers would be insufficient to say what I wish I could say. I don’t know how to express any of it. All I can do is unthread the blossom in my hair and give it to you. All I can do is turn my back and leave you to your preparations.

This body I have is not long for this world. Soon, I will give my family persimmon blossoms; a request to bury me in nature’s beauty. I will stay standing long enough to watch your live burial, and I will keep my eyes on you as long as I can when it happens. I wonder if your eyes will meet mine. I wonder if you will understand by then. If you will remember the meaning of the single flower wilting in your grasp.

Camellia.

(My destiny is in your hands.)

You’ll see the sun shine again, king of monsters. It is the last promise I can give to you. Keep me close.

I will be with you in the dark.

#nic fic #poncho human #big thanks to kan and airis for enabling this flowery nightmare!

76 notes · View notes

1dffchallenges · 5 years

Photo

Maybe I’ll Come Home

Written By: @harrysdodgyankles

Summary: In which Mona Arshad, Chief Technical Officer of the Calm™ app, is horrible at not letting an accidental discovery drive her absolutely crazy. Good thing Harry Styles, her boyfriend of three years, knows all her tells.

Author’s Note: I have no affiliation with Calm™, nor do I claim to know anything about being a CTO at a startup. Anything mentioned in this fic is purely for entertainment purposes.

Warnings: language, inordinate amounts of goopy fluff. Enjoy!

December 16, 2022

Mona Arshad stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in her office with her arms crossed. She eyes a raindrop as it runs down the glass, slowly getting larger as it merges with other stagnant drops until it disappears into the puddle on the windowsill. Los Angeles is a dreary grey this morning. At least the drought is over.

She sighs, subconsciously slipping into her Ujjayi breathing. Her yoga brain is lingering after the sunrise class she took this morning. It’s the only reason she hasn’t completely blown her top at the sheer amount of idiocracy she’s experienced today--and it’s not even lunchtime.

If she closes her eyes, she’ll see her color-coded schedule behind her eyelids. Blocks of blue for meetings, yellow for phone calls, green for video calls. The only thing keeping her sane is the pink rectangle--lunch with her boyfriend. She hasn’t seen him in five weeks. Her stomach flutters at the thought of seeing him after so long.

Mona turns around on her heels and trudges back toward her desk. The light on her office phone is blinking yet again. She pushes out a lion’s breath with closed eyes and flared nostrils. “Few more hours,” she mutters to herself as she reaches out to press the call-waiting button. “Yeah?”

The crackly voice of her assistant, Devon, filters through the room. “Scott is on line two for you, Mona.”

She can’t contain the roll of her eyes, nor the sharp exhale that leaves her nose. “Did he say what it was for?”

“Nope. Probably something about the new developers. Want me to take a message?”

“No, that’s alright.” Mona runs her hands over her face and sighs. “Connect me to him. Thanks, Dev.”

“Sure thing, Mona.”

A few seconds pass. Mona settles herself into her desk chair as Scott’s voice sounds from the phone. “Mona! Glad I caught you before lunch. Did you see my email?”

Oh, she’d seen his email. The one from this morning--and the one last night, and the one from yesterday morning. “Sure did, Scott,” Mona replies, much less enthusiastically. “I told you I wasn’t looking to rotate my engineers until I figure out what’s going on with my guys. Did you know Anton was thinking about leaving?”

“Yeah, he spoke to me about it.” There’s a pause. “I just wanted to make sure you have options moving forward. I’ve vetted them extremely well--you’ll have the best of the best when it comes time to pick.”

“And I appreciate that, Scott, I really do.” Mona’s pinching the bridge of her nose with her eyes clenched shut, trying to think up an excuse to get off this call. Scott is one of her most enthusiastic recruiters and he always does his job well--maybe a bit too well, sometimes. “I also need to speak with Marta about this. Let’s arrange a meeting with the three of us, okay?” She checks the time--it’s only been two minutes. “Listen, I have to run. Just ping me on Slack with the details, please.”

“Okay! Should we do--”

Mona hangs up before she can hear the end of Scott’s question. She does feel a bit guilty--he’s just doing his job, after all--but it’s one of those days where all she wants to do is lock herself in her office and disconnect all her devices so she can just be left alone.

Exhaling loudly, Mona collapses back into her chair. It’s still not quite noon, so it’s too early to skip out of the office to head to lunch. But then her stomach growls--fuck it, she thinks, pushing herself out of her chair and grabbing her purse from the floor beside her desk. She’s her own boss. She can take an early lunch if she wants.

“Devon, leave my messages on my desk. I’m going to lunch,” Mona says as she marches out of her office, coat and umbrella clutched in hand. “Should be back in an hour or so.”

“You’ll be back in two hours and we both know it,” Devon smirks from behind her computer. Her blonde hair is pin straight, not a single strand out of place. You would think Mona would possess even the ounce of grace that her assistant has, but unfortunately that’s never been the case. “Lover boy meeting you there?”

“Gonna call him now,” Mona quips back, phone already pressed to her ear as she pushes the door to their office suite open with her shoulder. “See you in a bit!”

The hallway is a peaceful reprieve to the bustling office. As much as she loves working at a startup--and being a ranking member at said startup--sometimes the restless energy pervading the office makes her feel especially twitchy. She takes her time getting to the elevator as the dial tones sounds in her ear. A few people from the neighboring office walk past and she waves, cradling her phone between her shoulder and ear as she pushes the down button.

The call goes to his voicemail after a few rings. The elevator arrives and she steps inside, already thumbing a text to make sure he’s even awake. Once she gets to the lobby of the building, she tries again. She’s eyeing the rain warily when he finally picks up.

“Hi, baby. Sorry I missed your call.”

“Hi,” she answers in a quick breath, already fighting a smile at the sound of his sleep-tinged voice. “I thought you might be asleep. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I just got out of the shower.” There’s some rustling on the other side. Mona walks over to the couches on the far side of the lobby and sits, crossing one leg over the other. “You still want to get lunch?”

“If you’re not too tired. I left the office early so I’m heading there now.”

There’s a soft hum across the line. Mona can picture him in their bedroom, probably gazing out the window into the backyard. “It’s raining,” he murmurs, confirming her assumption. “Let me come pick you up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Make it ten,” Mona says softly. She ducks her head and says, even quieter, “I miss you.”

She can hear the amusement in his voice when he replies, “Miss you too, Moons. I’ll see you in a bit. Love you.”

He hangs up. Mona breathes a sigh and drops her phone in her purse after locking it. She stares outside at the rain--it’s coming down harder now. Good call to get picked up, she thinks. An absent smile pulls at her lips at the thought of seeing her boyfriend after over a month. He’s been all over the world in that time while she’s been at a standstill in Los Angeles. She’s ready for their life together to pick back up again.

Sometimes when he’s gone for long periods of time and Mona starts getting used to waking up in a bed alone, she thinks about the life they’ve built together. Three years is a long time to get to know someone-- you learn their habits, their quirks. You come to share their aspirations, their fears. All of these things get especially louder in her brain when he’s gone, as if her subconscious is reminding her of all the ways they’re committed to each other.

She must have a strong subconscious because it always seems to squash any seeds of doubt about the stability of their relationship. Even with the schedule he has, being long-distance multiple times a year hasn’t driven a wedge between them. If anything, it’s brought them even closer.

A black Audi pulls up to the curb then, its hazard lights flashing as it parks. Mona shrugs on her coat and opens her umbrella as she steps outside into the torrential downpour. She runs over to the car and slips in as quickly as she can, though she still manages to get wet trying to get her umbrella closed.

“Stupid thing,” she mutters as it finally closes, leaving her with soggy hair and slightly damp clothes. She drops it at her feet with a scowl, wiping some of the water off her forehead.

“Thanks for getting the leather wet.”

Harry calmly observes her struggle to get herself settled, elbow perched on the armrest of his door with his body angled toward her. Mona takes in the sight of him--his hair is still damp from his shower, cologne sharp and sweet and every ounce of the familiar scent she’s come to associate with home.

“Oh, shut up,” Mona says, though the immediate grin on her face mutes the harshness of her words. “Nice to see you.”

Harry’s lips quirk. “You as well.”

There’s a pause. Then, the movements as natural as breathing, they lean forward. Mona stretches over the console as Harry reaches to cradle her jaw. Their lips meet in the middle, both still smiling. Harry breathes life into Mona again and, suddenly, her morning is forgotten.

It’s gentle. Mona’s bottom lip is caught between both of Harry’s in a delicate press. Their lips part with a soft pop after a few seconds. Harry sponges another kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling away.

“Hi, my love.”

“Hi.”

Mona can’t help the way her heart thrums when she sees his dimple pop. FaceTime doesn’t do any part of him justice. Sometimes she gets a bit overwhelmed by how much he glows, both in physical form and personality.

They’re both still leaning toward each other, still grinning like idiots, but Mona is happy. Happy to have her boy home, happy to be with him again. Rain and dreadful morning aside, today could still be savaged.

“Flight was okay?” she asks, reaching over to link their fingers.

“Yeah, was actually a bit early. Managed to get a quick nap in, too.”

“Your time is still pretty screwed up though, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugs helplessly. “It is what it is. But we’re leaving soon anyways, so I won’t really bother trying to correct it.”

Mona hums in agreement. Harry finally pulls back fully and switches out the hand that’s linked with hers so he can shift gears and pull away from the curb. “Can’t wait to get away from here,” she says under her breath, though she still hears the cluck of Harry’s tongue against his teeth.

“Bad morning?”

“The worst. The update we pushed didn’t go as well as we’d hoped, so now I have to get my engineers to get through the new prototypes as soon as possible so we can push another update.” Mona scowls and shakes her head. “But there’s a mutiny--half of them just want to go back to the old features. What’s the point of an update if you don’t change anything?”

“I actually quite liked the update,” Harry replies, nodding toward his phone in the cupholder. “Messed around with it a bit on the plane. Didn’t seem very buggy.”

“You know, I already let you put your dick inside me on a more-than-regular basis. You don’t have to be a butt-kissing friendly user, too.”

Harry lets an affronted scoff mixed with a laugh. “Moons, maybe I just like the app that much. Why do you think I invested in it?”

“Fair enough.” Mona leans over the console again to smack a kiss to his cheek. “I love you. Glad you’re home.”

Harry spares a quick glance at her, eyes filled with affection. “Glad to be home.”

-*-

Mona met Harry at an Eagles concert in 2018. The Calm app had just closed its first round of funding and they’d splurged on a box at the Forum to celebrate. She’d never really listened to the Eagles but she’d figured it would look bad if every ranking member except the CTO was there.

She’d shown up begrudgingly, choosing to linger by the buffet while the rest of the group watched the opener perform. She was too busy filling up her plate with cheese and grapes to notice Harry walk in with some of the other investors. They were introduced by the head of their main venture capital firm. Harry shook her hand and said a few kind words, politely ignoring the way she was struggling with her appetizer and drink. He left her with an amused smirk and a nod, and that was that.

Fast forward to February of 2019. A perplexing Instagram follow was the only form of contact Mona had received from Harry since the concert. She didn’t dwell on it, nor their interaction. The greatest awareness she had of him was his generous investment alongside Ashton Kutcher’s firm. It was his gift that allowed them to secure $27 million in Series A funding and be valued at $250 million. She’d be out of a job without him, quite frankly.

So, it was understandable that she had been a bit confused to see a notification from him. A question, asking if she was still in Japan. She figured he’d seen her photos from her trip with her brother earlier that month. By the sound of it, they’d been there at the same time.

She replied, saying no. The messaging began. It continued, progressing into questions about each other’s lives. It persisted when he arrived in Los Angeles once more. It was odd to get messages from him at a normal time of day rather than in the middle of the night. Pretty soon, he asked her to get a drink with him. She said yes, because--well, why not?

They got together in the easiest and simplest of ways, Mona thinks. A conversation over drinks. Liking that conversation enough to have another one over dinner. Quick lunch meet-ups turned into lunch dates. Harry asked her to be his girlfriend after a month of quiet dating. She said yes--and that was that.

-*-

December 18, 2022

“Babe! Have you seen my glasses?”

“Kitchen, maybe?” Mona calls out.

There’s a thud, then a triumphant, “Found them!”

Mona rolls her eyes fondly. She’s sitting criss-cross on the floor of their bedroom folding Harry’s laundry. An open suitcase half-filled with her things is to her right, mounds of freshly-washed clothes surrounding her.

They’re heading to the UK for the holidays in the morning and, as usual, they’ve both left their packing until the very last minute. One would think living with someone like Harry, who travels as often as he does, Mona would have learned how to pack quickly and efficiently. But every single time they go away together, without fail, she’s always left scrambling to get everything together.

Still, she can’t wait to leave dreary Los Angeles and trade the tumultuous, unpredictable weather they’ve been having for the last few weeks for the perpetual overcast skies of England. They’ll be stopping in London for a few days before heading north to Holmes Chapel. Mona can’t wait to see Harry’s mum and sister again after so long--the last time she’d seen Anne was on Harry’s last tour stop in London the previous year.

The telltale creak of the floorboards in the hallway alerts Mona of Harry’s presence. Sure enough, his head pops through the doorway a few seconds later. He’s got one of her butterfly clips holding his fringe back. “How’s the packing going?” he asks, fingers tapping on the doorframe.

“Horribly,” Mona deadpans. “Can you do it?”

“Mmm… don’t think so.” He shrugs. “I’m busy.”

Mona glares at him before rolling her eyes and falling backwards with a groan. She’s cushioned by a pile of winter coats. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whines, voice muffled by her hands on her face. “Can we take a break?”

“You’ve barely been at it for an hour.”

Mona only grunts in response. She’d had the longest day at work making sure everything was in order before they left for their extended vacation. Her VP of Engineering, Marta, would have it all under control, but she wasn’t so sure about her developers. Too many people left to their own devices spells danger in her eyes. At least there’s only a few more days until everyone’s out for the holidays.

“Darling.” A pair of hands grasps her wrists and pulls them away from her face. Mona blinks a few times, still disgruntled when Harry’s grinning face comes into view. His knees are on either side of her hips as he looms over her. “You’ve been so stressed lately,” he notes softly, simply stating an observation. “You weren’t even this stressed when you’d just become CTO.”

She blows out a sigh because she can’t find the words to reply. Yes, she’s been stressed--there’s been more pressure than ever to make sure the new updates are rolling out smoother than before. And with the company outsourcing and making hires all over the country, she’s got a new arsenal of remote developers she can barely keep track of. She won’t admit she’s in over her head--because she’s not--but it’s wearing on her, nonetheless.

“Baby,” Harry says, voice soothing. Mona looks up at him through her eyelashes, frowning. He tilts his head at her and exhales through his nose. He nods to himself, as if coming to a decision. “Okay, c’mon.”

He starts to pull on her wrists as he gets up off the floor. “Where are you taking me?” Mona whines, head lolling back as he lifts her off the ground. “Let me lay here and wallow for a bit, please.”

“Nope, we’re getting up now.” His voice comes out strained as he heaves her up. Mona collapses head first into his chest; his arms are quick to wrap around her shoulders, squeezing tightly.

He starts walking them backward toward the bed. Mona lets herself be maneuvered by him, fully content to be dragged away from the dastardly pile of clothes. The backs of her knees hit the mattress but before she can steady herself, Harry lets his body’s momentum take them all the way down to the mattress, Mona letting out an ‘oof’ at the sudden weight on her chest.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles from where his face is tucked into her neck.

Mona shifts so his shoulder isn’t digging into her sternum anymore. “Let me breathe, you big lump,” she grunts halfheartedly. “I didn’t ask to be squished.”

“You love being squished.” Harry’s arms tighten for a split second. “Can I tell you about my day?”

A smile tugs at her lips. Harry knows exactly when to fill in, when to provide a distraction for her ever-racing mind. Usually his distractions come in a different form--mainly one involving his mouth and the space between her legs--but she probably wouldn’t be able to get in the mood even if she wanted to thanks to how bone-tired she is.

“Sure,” she says, burying her nose into his soft curls. “What did our mega rockstar do today?”

Harry snorts a laugh and lifts up off Mona’s chest. His nose crinkles, eyes shining with mirth. He dips down and pecks a series of quick kisses against Mona’s lips. “I love you, Moons,” he whispers, voice light. “D’you know that?”

“Think I do.” Mona lifts up to kiss him again. He takes the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue swiping against the seam of her lips. She sighs, letting her head fall back as Harry dips his tongue in her mouth briefly. When he pulls away, she says, “Go on, then. How were your tour meetings?”

Harry launches into an enthusiastic retelling of his day, talking vividly about the ideas he came up with for the new tour’s set design. Mona listens aptly, humming at the appropriate times while gently carding her fingers through his hair. He rests on her chest like a weighted blanket. The feeling of his skin on hers provides security, peacefulness. She latches onto the way her chest vibrates beneath his as he speaks in his low, raspy drawl.

“Can’t wait for you to see all of it,” he’s saying as he shifts so only his leg is draped over her thighs. He rests his head in his hand and his elbow on the bed as he gazes at Mona through lidded eyes. “After we get back from Mum’s, of course.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to get to your mom’s house. Is she gonna make the Scotch eggs again?

Harry nods. “She even got the special sausage for you.”

Mona nearly moans at the thought. “Your mother is a saint.”

He snickers at the look of faux-ecstasy on her face. Swaying a bit on his balanced arm, his eyes flicker over her face. They make quiet eye-contact for a few seconds. Mona cracks a small, sleepy grin at Harry’s inquisitive stare. She reaches forward and cradles his cheek, running her thumb down the slope of his cheek.

“Feeling better?” he murmurs, sliding his toe along her calf. Mona nods silently. Her thumb moves lower and digs into the tiny crater of a dimple in his cheek. “Good,” he whispers. “D’you want me to get started on dinner?”

“That’d be lovely,” she says, not having the energy to insist on cooking. “Can you use the last of the chicken in the fridge so it doesn’t go bad?”

“Sure.” He leans down to kiss her again, just a light peck that leaves her lips tingling. “Wraps sound good?”

“Yes, please,” she says, puckering her lips for one more kiss. Harry obliges with an easy smile. “Thank you,” she adds quietly once he’s pulled away with barely an inch between their mouths.

She doesn’t have to say what for, but Harry always knows. His mouth quirks to the side and he raises his eyebrows in full awareness.

It takes Mona a few seconds to find the will to push herself off the bed. Her suitcase stares back at her like an open-mouthed monster. With Harry puttering around in the kitchen, she figures she should get the rest of the packing out of the way so she can go join him and forget about the 11-hour flight waiting for them in the morning.

Getting off the cloud-like mattress is a Herculean task. She stands over the mounds of clothes and scratches her scalp, formulating a plan. The clean laundry needs to be put away, but it takes forever to organize her clothes and Harry tends to be particular about his shirts. The socks and underwear can be done quickly, though.

She grabs enough pairs of Harry’s briefs and tosses them into the suitcase to be folded later. The rest of them can go in his drawer. She folds them and stacks them neatly before gathering them in her arms and walking over to the dresser. Harry’s briefs and socks have their own drawer at the bottom, per her request to keep their socks separate since he tends to nick her patterned ones and stretch them out.

The drawer is a bit messy, so she starts by taking some of the rumpled underwear and refolding them. It’s when she lifts a pair of red Calvin Kleins that she sees it.

Mona stills.

She doesn’t know why she’s taken aback. They’ve talked about it in incredible detail, more so than she ever thought she would. They’re both pragmatic, logical people--they live together, they have joint assets, they co-signed on their last three new cars. She considers his family her own, and he feels the same about hers. Her dad takes him to football games whenever they’re visiting. They’ve built a goddamn life together, for crying out loud.

And yet. The little black box has rendered her completely shocked.

She starts reaching for it--but then she yanks her hand back like she’s been burnt. What is she doing? She can’t ruin her own proposal by looking at the ring.

The ring.

Harry’s planning on proposing.

Her brain whites out.

She shoves the boxers into the drawer in the flurry without even bothering to fold them. The sound of her slamming it shut echoes through the room. Her chest is heaving--eyes wide, heart racing. She wants desperately to forget what she’s just seen.

A part of her feels guilty--Harry takes pride in the fact that he’s one of the only people who can successfully surprise Mona. He knows how to keep a secret well. She’s never been able to sniff out any of their anniversary or birthday plans. It isn’t like him to leave the ring in such an obvious place. Almost as if… he wanted her to find it.

Mona frowns. Whatever Harry’s intentions may be, she doesn’t have time to dwell on them. She doesn’t believe he’s that much of an idiot to throw a curveball into her already tumultuous life as of late. Besides--who’s to say how long the box has been in there? It’s not often that she has to put Harry’s laundry away, so she hasn’t opened that drawer in a few months at least. He could very well not have plans to propose any time soon.

That would be preferable.

Not that she doesn’t want to marry Harry. Of course she wants to marry him!

Her frown deepens.

There’s a clatter in the kitchen, effectively startling her out of the haze of internal turmoil she’s currently experiencing. “Babe?” she calls worriedly. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine! Just dropped a tray!” A pause. “Actually, could you come here for a second?”

Knowing him, something’s definitely been spilled. Mona sighs to herself. Still, cleaning the kitchen is a better alternative to contemplating the impending future of her relationship. So, with a huff, she pushes herself off the ground, wipes her clammy hands on her thighs, and trudges out of the bedroom, hopelessly attempting to throw any thoughts of the little black box out of her brain.

-*-

Dating someone in the music industry was never something Mona expected to happen.

She’s a tech nerd, through and through. Graduating with honors from Berkeley with a degree in computer science, she fell headfirst into the startup space right when Calm was getting on its legs. It was fairly easy for her to ascend in the ranks from a novice to a proficient senior developer.

So, it made sense for her to stay on at Calm after they were offered funding considering her joint algorithm she built with a few others lay the foundation for the app. She was head down in her work until finally breaking through and being offered the CTO position five years after starting there. Conveniently enough, that’s when she met Harry.

The tech industry is all she knew for her professional, young adult life. Similarly, the music industry is all Harry knew. It was a strategic game of push and pull to get each other acquainted with their respective lives. It helped that Harry was technically allowed to come to the investor dinners--part of Mona felt like he wouldn’t fit in with the bigheaded VC’s whose heads were so large she felt suffocated at the table. But he charmed his way in, matching their strides and taking pride in and boosting Mona’s accomplishments as CTO, letting his role as an investor become secondary.

Harry’s job was exciting, Mona came to learn. The process of creating music, the procedural task of laying down the foundation of a song and producing it in the studio, the choice to write lyrics for music or music for lyrics--it felt very similar to the operative way she wrote code. Miles away from the expectation that they’d have nothing in common, Mona suddenly found herself deeply moved by the way Harry conducted his life.

The attention, however, was something else.

It took a while to get used to. And it was difficult--extremely so after the first time they were seen holding hands. An ill-timed moment, an unfortunate coincidence of being near a pap while walking to dinner in North London together. After that, the floodgates opened. But Mona likes to disappear from time to time, and this gave her an excuse to do it more often.

Three years later and people have finally seemed to accept the fact that Harry and Mona are in it for the long run. Moving in together, splitting costs evenly, having a joint bank account for their combined assets--the equity Mona received from Calm allowed her to consider herself Harry’s equal in most respects. When she started earning that respect from Harry’s fans, she considered them to be in the clear.

But as Mona lays awake the night before their flight to England, she wonders how they’ll react if she steps out with a diamond ring on her finger. Some part of her knows it’s going to cause chaos. The thought is enough to keep sleep away until her alarm sounds at 6:15 the next morning.

She hardly reacts. Harry grunts next to her. He snuffles a bit into her hair, his arm tightening around her waist for a brief moment before he moves off her. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s early,” he says with a groan. He reaches over her frame and taps her phone to silence the alarm. “Want coffee?” he asks before pecking her cheek lightly.

“Sure,” Mona says. She hopes her voice doesn’t give away the fact that she’s barely slept.

Harry peers at her through bleary, sleep-riddled eyes--this is her favorite Harry; the Harry no one else gets to see. His eyes crinkle with the boyish grin that appears on his face. “We’re goin’ on holiday,” he cheers in a croaky whisper, drawing out the last word. “Are you excited?”

“Thrilled to be sitting in a metal tube for 12 hours, yeah.”

He pouts. “Spoilsport.” Sponging a close-mouthed kiss to her lips, he throws the duvet back and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll wash up. Could you bring the suitcases when you come down, please?”

It’s more of a request than a question. Harry’s out of the bed and out the door before Mona can even object. She holds back a yawn as she begrudgingly rolls herself out of bed. There’s a crick in her neck that makes her wince. Should be a great flight, she thinks.

After washing up and throwing on her sweats, Mona does a final check in the bedroom. Their suitcases are closed but still unzipped. She makes sure they have all their belongings before closing them up properly and dragging them down the stairs.

Harry’s just putting milk in their coffees when she’s got the suitcases by the door. “For you, my love,” he says sweetly, placing the mug in her hand and punctuating it with a smacked kiss to her temple.

“Thank you, H.” Mona raises on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Passports are with you, right?”

“Yeah, I’m ready to go when you are--oh, could you just grab a pair of socks for me while I load everything in the boot?”

Mid-sip, Mona nearly chokes.

Harry looks at her with wide eyes when she starts coughing. “I’m fine,” she reassures hoarsely after a few seconds. He doesn’t look convinced—she shakes her head and hurries away before he can question anything.

Upon entering the bedroom, her eyes immediate fall to the offending drawer. “Socks, of course,” she mumbles to herself. Its handles stare back at her like two beady little eyes.

Rationally, she should just get the socks and go downstairs so they can get on the road to the airport. But, because Mona is the way she is, she dawdles. Reaches into the drawer to grab the socks and notices the way Harry’s briefs have been spread flat rather than how she’d thrown them in there yesterday. She gulps, wary of the obvious--Harry’d been in the drawer at some point last night.

Mona pushes the underwear aside. Her eyes flit over the empty space in the corner. Somehow, she knew this would happen.

The ring is gone.

-*-

December 23, 2022

Mona’s on edge.

Harry hasn’t noticed yet--surprisingly so, considering every interaction they’ve had has left her skin prickling with the thought of him dropping down to one knee at any moment. He’s startled her too many times to count. She can’t be in a room alone without her thoughts wandering toward the proposal that is absolutely going to happen on this trip.

After stopping in London for a few days, they set off for Harry’s mum’s house in Holmes Chapel after a lazy morning spent in bed. The drive is long enough to put Mona to sleep. Harry wakes her when they’re about twenty minutes out. It’s nearing three and her stomach is rumbling.

“Can we stop for some coffee or something soon?”

“Mum’s got a whole spread on at home. We’ll be there in a bit.”

Mona pouts a bit but drops it nonetheless, turning to face the window. The countryside flies past her eyes--she allows them to go a bit unfocused, everything turning into a green blur. She’s been looking forward to this trip for ages. She’s desperately needed a step away from her hectic work life. And since Harry had been away for so long for work himself, it was the perfect time for them to relax and recharge together, away from the bustle of their professions.

Yet, here she is with a tense line down her spine that hasn’t eased since they boarded their flight from Los Angeles. The uncertainty of when encompasses her thoughts. Harry is none the wiser, completely oblivious to her torment.

By the time they reach Homes Chapel, Mona is sure that Harry knows something’s wrong purely based on how clammy her palm is against his hand. She’s eager to get out of the car and get some space to herself, but that proves impossible the minute the front door opens.

“Oh, my boy! And my lovely girl!” Anne greets them with a megawatt grin, wasting no time in gathering both of them in her arms. She squeezes them for a few seconds--Mona finally finds a bit of ease in the familiar embrace. “Happy Christmas, you two. So glad you’re here!”

Harry pulls away and presses kisses to Anne’s cheeks. “Happy Christmas, Mum. Is Gem here yet?”

“She’s in the sitting room with your cousins--Mona, love.” Anne turns to her and squeezes her arm, already pulling her into the house. “I need you to try the curry--I followed your mum’s recipe but I’m still certain there’s something missing.”

Harry disappears with a peck to Mona’s lips and a squeeze of her waist. The rest of the evening progresses at a whirlwind pace--it’s always like this whenever they come visit. Harry’s always eager to catch up with his family and while Mona’s seamlessly blended into his little group of cousins, she and Anne have developed a special bond in the kitchen.

So she spends the rest of the evening with Anne, helping her finish off the goat curry (with a little help from her own mom) and making fresh naans for the entire brood of relatives in the house. Harry acts a nuisance in the kitchen as always and keeps nicking bites of the food before it’s on the table. Mona whacks him with a dish towel more times than she can count.

There’s something about the full table with the air imbued with holiday spirit that clears Mona’s mind for a few hours. She’d never celebrated Christmas growing up--it wasn’t until she started dating Harry that she got to experience the holiday in its truest form. This is their second time spending the holidays with Harry’s family and she knows it’ll be something she can continue to look forward to for years to come.

By the time the dinner plates have been cleared away and the adults are nursing overflowing glasses of mulled wine, Mona’s nearly nodding off on the couch. Harry’s not faring much better. The two are curled up on the loveseat under one of Anne’s quilts, Harry’s head resting on Mona’s shoulder as they all watch a film. He’s got an arm laid across her thigh, his fingers scratching her bare legs every once in a while.

Mona purses her lips against his forehead. He shifts closer and looks up at her. “Alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, just a bit sleepy.” Mona smiles down at him through lidded eyes. She leans forward and connects their lips in a lethargic, drowsy kiss. “Might head up. You stay, though.”

Harry doesn’t object, knowing Mona wants him to catch up with his mother in private. He gives her a sleepy smile and she pecks his lips once more before getting up.

Mona squeezes Anne’s shoulder before heading up the stairs to Harry’s old room. She makes quick work of getting ready to sleep, halfheartedly splashing her face with some cold water and braiding her hair so Harry won’t complain of waking up with strands of it in his mouth. Turning the light off, she clambers underneath the mess of blankets on the mattress, pulls the thickest one over her head, and promptly falls asleep.

-*-

December 25, 2022

“You’ve been a bit quiet.”

Mona slows her pace a bit. She bites the inside of her cheek, staying silent.

“Moons?”

Harry stops walking, their joined hands outstretched in the space between them. The path they’re walking on is completely deserted on Christmas morning. It’s a little loop around Harry’s house they like to take strolls on whenever they need some time for themselves.

“Hey,” he says quietly, tugging her toward him. Mona goes easily, wary of the way her face has gone tight. “Is everything okay?”

She spares a look at his face--there’s a faint divot in the space between his brows. He regards her carefully, like he doesn’t know how she’ll react. “I’m fine, H,” she reassures him. “I swear, it’s nothing.”

He sighs--she knows he doesn’t believe her. Never once has she felt the need to conceal her feelings about something. It’s the reason why their relationship works as well as it does. But right now she feels like the secret has a vice-like grip on her vocal cords. She wants desperately to tell him she saw the ring and she’s ruined the surprise, that the stress of not knowing when he’ll propose is eating her alive--but how can she tell him?

“Baby, I know… I know I’ve been a bit withdrawn,” Mona admits, stepping closer to him so she can lay her head on his chest. Harry’s free hand immediately comes up to cup the back of her neck. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, okay? Honestly, it’s mostly work stuff.”

She pulls back to give him what she hopes is a comforting smile. None of this is Harry’s fault--she has to make sure he knows that.

“It worries me when you carry that stuff home,” Harry says.

“It’s shitty, isn’t it?” Mona gives him a dry smile. “You’d think they’d let me relax before the holidays, but I guess not.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Harry still doesn’t look convinced with the way he squints at her. She swallows, forcing herself to plaster a grin on her face. “Nothing you want to talk about?”

“I’m sure, babe.” She rolls onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss square on his lips. “Let’s get back to the house. I want those Scotch eggs.”

He searches her eyes for a few moments. Mona can see the fight disappear from his eyes in a split second. He nods, cracking an easy smile before looping his arm around her shoulders. They start back down the path to the house and Mona tries to keep her thudding heart under control.

-*-

December 27, 2022

It happens in the morning.

Harry’s in the bathroom and Mona’s coming up the stairs after finishing breakfast with Anne and Gemma. The door to his bedroom is mostly closed, just a bare strip of sunlight peeking through the crack. She pushes the door open and walks in with her head down and thumbs flying over her phone’s screen.

The sound of the sink shutting off makes her look up. “Darling, can you grab me a pair of pants?” Harry’s voice calls from behind the bathroom door.

“Yeah, one sec!” Mona tosses her phone onto the bed and goes to the chair with Harry’s suitcase on it in the corner of the room. She unzips it and lifts the flap--and freezes.

The box is sitting perfectly on a pile of folded shirts. Mona instantly knows it’s not an accident.

This time, she picks it up. Surprisingly, it doesn’t burn her fingers. The weight of it in her hands suddenly makes the situation fathomable. The ringing in her ears drowns out the sound of Harry coming out of the bathroom.

The door shuts. Mona startles out of her daze, whirling around to face Harry.

“I’m sorry, I--”

Her words halt. Harry’s fully dressed--she immediately realizes he meant for her to find it.

“You know,” he starts, taking a few steps toward her, “I had an inkling this is why you’ve been weird since we left LA.” He stops in front of her and plucks the box out of her fingers, as if it were something mundane. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

There’s no use in denying it. “I didn’t mean to,” Mona says softly, voice trembling. “I didn’t look, I promise. It just… it caught me off guard.”

“I figured.” Harry smiles to himself and chuckles softly, like he’s remembering something. “I told Jeff to hide it in the closet, not the dresser. I knew you’d see it eventually.”

Mona frowns. “Jeff?”

“I had him drop it off from the jeweler’s. Had to get it sized.” It’s then that he gently flips it open, revealing the most stunning diamond on a simple white gold band. Mona can’t hold back the gasp that escapes her lips. “Should’ve known him to hide it in the most obvious place,” Harry says through a laugh.

Mona doesn’t know what to say. She can’t think. Her eyes go cloudy. “Harry…”

“I know things are hard for you right now.” His voice is more determined, filled with an intensity that has Mona’s legs feeling weak. Their eyes meet--he’s staring at her intently, willing her to listen to everything he has to say. She can’t look away. “I haven’t been around and I’ve been kicking myself for it. And I know this isn’t always the answer to everything, but…”

“Wait! Wait.” Mona holds her hands out in front of him to stop his movements. Harry stills--there’s a split second where he genuinely looks worried. “Were you going to do this now regardless of if I’d seen the ring or not?”

Harry pauses for a moment. “Well… yeah.” He shrugs. “I’d planned to have the house to ourselves, maybe cook you dinner, love on you a bit beforehand. But you were driving yourself crazy, Moons. I felt like I needed to put you out of your misery.”

Mona purses her lips at him. “I’m not some anal-retentive control freak, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says simply, dimple popping. “Besides, I figured you wouldn’t want a showy spectacle anyways. And…” The corners of his lips quirk upward in a secretive smile. “...I just really want to marry you, Mona.”

He drops to one knee. Mona can’t breathe.

“Fuck.” She shifts, blinking rapidly to clear the sudden mist in her eyes. “Fuck, okay. You’re doing this.”

Harry nods with something fierce. “I’m doing this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” He chuckles with a shake of his head. “I’m the one who should be asking you that question.”

He’s right. Mona swallows, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes for a few short seconds. “Right,” she says thickly, not even caring about how blotchy her face must look as she’s on the verge of tears. “Okay, I’m ready.”

They both take a shared breath, Harry adjusting himself on his knee and presenting the ring to her. “So,” he says shakily, and she can finally see how much it’s affecting him. They’re looking at each other through foggy eyes, but Mona loves this boy with everything she has and she can’t even believe why she was ever worried.

“I love you,” he breathes, eyes glimmering with fresh tears. “With everything I have, I swear. Will you marry me?”

Mona sniffs, a tear finally falling. She nods, slowly at first but then quickly. Her fingers are pressed against her lips to keep herself from losing it completely. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Harry takes the ring out of the box with delicate fingers. It casts a rainbow over the wall from the way the sunlight hits it. Mona’s transfixed. He raises up to his full height and slides it on her finger--they’re both crying but she can’t look away.

“Thank you,” he whispers. His forehead knocks against hers--she doesn’t waste another second and leans up to connect their lips. She tries to convey everything through the kiss, clutching his cheeks to hold him against her.

She pulls away to ask, “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because I just--I don’t know.” He laughs stuffily, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. He takes Mona’s left hand and presses a kiss to her palm, then to the band of the ring. “I love you, Moons. We’re going to be just fine.”

Her mind is finally settled. She believes him.

-*-

They tell the world with a single photo of their entangled hands with the ring visible. Nothing more, nothing less.

#1dff #cliche challenge #harry

293 notes · View notes