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ktheist · 3 years

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2 | all yours to enjoy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read part one, play me like a toy, here.

muses. heiress!reader x ex-mafia!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia au. arranged marriage au. modern au.

warning. implied smut, mentions of gun use and all that mafia shizz

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs.

synopsis.

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

the carved name above the handle points in wayward angles. as if made by a child.

well, 5 year-old-you lacked tact. and a sense of artistry but nobody dared insult the work of the only daughter of the han group.

the room hoseok stepped in feels familiar yet foreign at the same time. it’s been years, but the pink unicorn plushie still sits on your bed like it’s waiting for you to climb in and cuddle it every night.

the pastel peach walls have been repainted in a deep maroon shade. at your order, hoseok suspects. it’s as if you’ve renounced that childish innocence and took on a blood oath for the han family name.

much of that youthful wander in your eyes has disappeared.

‘it was my fault, i shouldn’t have left her all alone in this wretched place,’ hoseok surly thought to himself.

before he can even think about how inappropriate his actions are - to have stepped into a woman’s room without a reason - a surprised voice echoes from the door adjacent to where he’s standing.

“hoseok...” you’re standing there, in front of the ajar bathroom door, with a pristine white towel around your body and another wrapped around your head, water dripping from the stray strand that manages to escape from your towel turban.

perhaps he had a reason, after all.

perhaps he just wants to see you, the person who coerced him to come back to this god forsaken house where he’s seen more deaths than his fingers could count.

“i’m sorry- i didn’t know you were taking a bath-” hoseok didn’t even manage to take a step back when you shake your head, a smile he’s not used to seeing curved on your lips.

“it’s fine, come in. close the door behind you.”

when he remains frozen in his spot, hand on the handle that seems to seep cold, icy frost into his palm - you raise a pair of trimmed brows, “what? we’re getting married, aren’t we? you forgot but you’ve seen all of me,” a coquettish smile on your lips, “don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now after announcing to the entire head of families that they should sleep with one eye open.”

the funeral had been handled by uncle jihoon, your father’s right hand man and most trusted confidant. he probably cleaned up the skeletons in your father’s closet more times than you’d met your own father in your 25 years of living.

your father had enemies and someone had to get rid of them.

such was the ways of the hans.

yeojun was yours and sehun was chanyeol’s.

hoseok was meant to step in once uncle jihoon resigned since at an early age, he’d gathered enough support to ruin the whole nation. his only fault was being loyal to your father, han jiseok.

and it was his loyalty that made your father drive him away.

because no matter when hoseok was and what he was doing, he’d never betray the hans.

“he’s just a kid,” you’d once heard him say to uncle jihoon.

several months later, he’d announced at the annual family gathering that hoseok got into yonsei university as a business major. it also meant that his ties with the han group would cease to orphan student-influential family sponsors. every record of his existence was wiped clean. he was no longer the child uncle jihoon took in because he pitied hoseok’s miserable state of living. he’d come to your house in tattered clothes and a bluing bruise on his cheek.

jung hoseok was meant to carry half of the burden of the head of family until the true heirs grew up and learned the ropes of leading the han group.

in short, hoseok was a proxy. a stand-in who gathered a little too many support that threatened the powers of the actual heirs.

their bow lingered longer, as if they were thanking the gods for bringing him back just as they’d lost a great leader.

you didn’t mind though. you liked hoseok - he was the only one that didn’t look at you like you were a prophecy of death. a child who’d grow up just as wicked as her father.

he’d looked at you like a human.

han jiseok took a liking to hoseok, the loyal dog of the han family that would drive a fist into someone’s gut at the command of the head or any of his heirs. hoseok wouldn’t question it either - why he was beating someone up half-dead, he just... did it.

so when that jung hoseok who got cut off from the han family at chanyeol’s whining over how his succession would not be supported by the branch families if hoseok were to remain as the stand in - came back and announced first thing after his return, his engagement to the heiress of han group, naturally, all hell broke lose.

hoseok had stood by your side as you’d kept your head low, the black veil covering your eyes and nose did well to hide your dry gaze.

true to his reputation, as soon as he stepped into the mansion with you, the men who swore their loyalty to the han family, one by one, started bowing at hoseok whilst the heads of the vassal families started whispering among themselves.

“hoseok, the loyal dog? that’s him?”

“did the boss ever say who was going to inherit the family business?”

family business was just a white washed term of the commercial front of han group that was meant to blur the eyes of the korean government on what truly goes on underground.

“the attorney hasn’t been found, right? that means nobody here knows the contents of the will.”

“did he ever mention chanyeol would inherit the business?”

“____’s achievements aren’t something to be turned a blind eye on either.”

one of the heads of the branch approached you, he smiled too sweetly on the day of his principal’s passing. rubbed his hands together schemingly as he murmured words of condolences that sounded like congratulations, “the boss suffered for so long from leukemia, the gods must’ve answered his prayer. i’m sorry for your loss, miss ____.”

foolish fiend.

kang sungho was chanyeol’s uncle from his mother’s side. he was the head of one of the closest branch family who’d swore loyalty to the han’s. yet he acted like a stranger who didn’t have anything to do with his brother-in-law’s passing.

“say, hoseok, you’re here too,” sungho didn’t even wait for you to respond - perhaps he thought you were too in shock to say anything, “it’s been a while, thank you for coming even though you have no relation with han group anymore.”

just like that, sungho made a u-turn and spoke on the behalf of han group.

your hand that you didn’t even know was balled up into a fist shook silently - that was, until hoseok slipped and grasped it with his large hand as he lowered his head in a nod.

“it’d always been my intention to come back to serve the new boss,” his hand had left you to wrap his arm around your shoulders, “well, a husband is a slave to his wife, anyway, right?”

it was clear from what hoseok said that he didn’t mean chanyeol was the soon-to-be wife.

you’d sent yeojun to the hospital to confirm your father’s status while you’d met up with an - well, you were holding her son and husband hostage if she didn’t corporate but still - acquaintance who works at the korean embassy to speed up the marriage registration process.

it was when you were walking out of the embassy and to the car that hoseok slips his hand in yours and murmurs to himself.

but you’d heard every word of it, “your hands are trembling. you’ve never shot a man, have you?”

a sense of melancholy paints his face as his grasp tightens on your hand, as if saying ‘sorry i left you all alone in that house.’

you shook it off, heart too dried and withered to ponder on what he’d thought. thoughts of you father filling your heart.

no ceremony, no nothing.

and now you’re married.

the hoseok from just hours ago stood with his back straight and an ease in his aura. yet his presence alone was enough to make even the eldest of the head bow to him.

“are you... are you okay?” this hoseok asks you with hesitance in his voice.

“what makes you think i’m not?” you amble to the bed and drop your towel, letting it pool around your ankle.

there’s no mistaken low breath hoseok let out at the sight of your naked body. as if he’s a teenage school kid who’s never seen the body of a woman.

“do you mind zipping this up for me?” you say, standing with your exposed back on him, damp hair pulled to drape over your shoulder and chest.

hoseok lets out a cough. as if to announce that he was in the room and he was coming closer.

the fingerpads feels callous against your skin. you have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose than hold it in until your lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

hoseok takes his sweet, leisure time tracing down his index finger down your spine to get to the zipper. and when he does, he drags it up in an agonizingly slow pace, the grazing sound it makes causing the hairs on your neck to stand.

“skip the after-reception... you look tired,” he says after his hand falls away from your body and you’re suddenly missing what warmth it provides, like a flame that thaws the ice in your heart.

a dry laugh escapes you, “the elders are finally looking at me as an heiress, you know i can’t afford to slip out of the spotlight on the pretense of fatigue.”

before hoseok can offer any response, you twirl around, arms banding around his waist and bare face buried in his chest.

“hold me like you used to when i woke up from a nightmare and i’ll be fine,” the remnant of your sob threatens to spill from your mouth - true, you didn’t shed a single tear when you arrived late at night at the hospital.

the death of your father had been announced at 1703 hour.

but it’s only ever sunk in that the only family you have is gone - once you’ve left to your own devices to take a bath and change into new clothes before the after reception begins.

it’s then, that the waterworks began to pour over your cheeks without any hints of stopping.

hoseok must have seen the aftermath of your puffed, pink eyes when you stepped out of the bathroom, not expecting for anyone to be there except the silence.

a pair of strong, secure arms wrap around your body wordlessly. hoseok tilts his head so his cheek is pressed against the side of your head.

“you grew a few inches,” his husked voice brushes your ear like a dream you’d never want to wake up from.

a small laugh escapes you, “oh come on, i got more than my height on me but you-”

hoseok groans and you clamp your mouth shut, chuckling.

“i’m sorry,” he confesses, a treasure trove of remorse laced around those two little words.

all of a sudden, guilt gnaws at your conscience for having teased him too many times about forgetting something he couldn’t control, “don’t say sorry,” you mumble, “now i feel bad.”

“i used to tease you a lot about your obsession for ponies and unicorns.” his voice drums in your ears.

“i used to fantasize about finding a unicorn in the forest behind our beach house and beating chanyeol at a race someday,” without you realizing it, your cheeks are hurting from how wide you’re smiling.

silence lapses around you.

but it has no space in between your flushed bodies. you hear hoseok’s unusually fast heartbeat.

“you’ve changed...” you murmur, somber.

“i did?” he sounds melancholic, as if reminiscing about the days in this household.

chasing after the troublemaker daughter that always thinks they’re playing hide-and-seek. beating and threatening any rival members he sees hovering around the han group’s territorial influence.

“i didn’t say i don’t like the new you,” you tear your face off his chest, tilting your chin to gaze up to his warm eyes that appear deep brown under these fluorescent lights.

standing on the tip of your toes, you peck his lips lightly.

a sweet smile plays on your lips.

‘yeah, his lips are as soft as they look,’ you affirm.

it’s the way his eyelids cover his eyes as he blinks. the way his lips part as if surprised at the sudden, unannounced advancement. the way the realization seems to sink in that there was nothing stopping you from kissing him again-

an index finger presses against your pouted lips as you stand on the tips of your toes once again.

“it’s dangerous...” is all he offers.

but with the way his gaze becomes hooded as the chains of self-restraint shackles his hands and ankles, you think you know what he means.

instead of offering an answer, you sweep your tongue over the length of his digit, mouth opening to lightly bite his finger all the while gazing into his stormy eyes.

“guess i’m just a little kitten compared to the wolves in that room full of old wolves to you, huh?”

once the storm passes, his gaze becomes hooded with something - something you can’t pinpoint.

yet you let him slide his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling the soft pink flesh of your tongue on his fingertip.

you flutter your lashes skittishly, hand pushing the hair to the back of your ear as you lick a strip down his finger like you would his other head. but the rap on your door and the “miss ____, it’s yeojun,” coming from the other side almost sends your heart leaping into your throat.

you suck in a deep breath around hoseok’s finger before pulling away and stepping to the side, completely aware of the sexual tension that hovers in the air like thick, dark clouds.

“yeojun, is everyone here?” your gaze is fixed on the handle that your hand’s reaching out for.

“everything’s set, we’re waiting on the priest to arrive,” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

you step out of the door with half-damp hair and a face bare of make up whilst patting down the skirt of your dress.

but it’s not your half-as-acceptable appearance that makes yeojun stare at you for five solid seconds.

rather, he’s staring at something behind you as you feel the warmth of a body heat against your back.

“i’ll be the one escorting my fiance, yeonjun.”

he speaks casually despite yeojun being older than him and yet it felt natural. hoseok holds out his arm for you as yeojun stepped back with a bow, making way for you and hoseok to walk down the hallway leading to the flight of stairs where the main hall would be.

“god, i hate ties,” hoseok murmurs under his breath from next to you, nimble fingers pulling on his collar.

“you wear it well for someone who claims to hate going around in crisp button downs and shiny leather loafers,” a smile tugs on the corners of your lips.

chanyeol finally stepped away with the madam for some fresh air. maybe the death glares she’d been shooting you since you arrived - has finally got the world spinning behind her eyes.

“was the only option an orphaned nobody like me had when i was offered to work a nine to five,” he says casually, still fumbling with his tie.

your hand feels like a child’s when you place it on his. he pauses, gazing down at you before letting his hand fall on his side whilst yours remain on the knot of his necktie.

“may i?”

hoseok’s head moves, not quite a nod but not a shake of ‘no’ either. so you take out the pin from your hair that yeojun fetched from your room after your hair started falling into your face with every head bow you made in front of the guest. undoing the knot on hoseok’s tie, you slip the pin between the knot before looping the end over the knot and patting it down once you’re done.

the ‘how did you learn to do that’ look that hoseok shoots you makes you laugh. he’s both impressed and suspicious.

“my mom-” the one who’s confined to the house your father give and can’t even attend her late husband’s memorial service, reception and after reception, “-taught me all the things i needed to know to be the ‘perfect’ wife.”

“never pegged you for someone who’d obediently absorb her teachings,” he comments.

back then, you were as ruthless and spoiled as they come. the fine lines on your mother’s forehead was probably caused by your bursts every time she tried to push her views on you.

“a year after you left the seong’s proposed for our families to join together... they had a son and daddy had a daughter at his disposal... i was preparing to be a bride because that’s all people around me made my life to be until i just... had enough of being treated like a doll. so i cut a deal with seong joongki, got rid of his dad so he could step up as head, we remained engaged until i turned 18 and broke it. now he’s one of the people i know i can count on,” a shrug of your shoulder and you look up to him, locking his gaze with yours.

“seong, huh?” hoseok scanned the faces of the guests behind you, eyes narrowed like a hawk before they paused on something.

his gaze returns to you, an overly sweet smile appearing on his face as his dimples dig into his cheeks, “people like him cut and run when things get messy.”

you laugh, it sounds tired, but it’s still laugh, “if he does, i’d be the one to tell him to.”

“and i’ll put a bullet in his head if you didn’t,” he says words of murder like a romantic confession as he gazes into your eyes like there’s no where he’d rather be.

that is, until an unfamiliar voice calls the husband of the heiress by his name.

“namjoon,” hoseok hugs the chairman of kimcorp. for a lingering moment as the man pats his back once, as if unspeakingly consoling him.

kim namjoon, the second child and heir of kimcorp. and hoseok’s college friend and boss who booked a sudden trip back to seoul at the news of the head of the han group’s passing.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

when they break apart, hoseok turns to you, arm around your waist, “___, this namjoon. namjoon- ___... my wife.”

hearing the word ‘wife’ slip out of hoseok’s mouth warms your heart yet makes your stomach knot painfully. ironic how you’d want to believe the heartrendering way he introduced you to be anything more than the act you told him to put on.

“ah,” kim namjoon narrows his eyes at you, as if shifting through his memories, “the kid hoseok babysat.”

the disparaging regard to your status as heiress tells you enough what this so-called friend of hoseok thinks of you.

“the friendless nerd hobi befriended out of pity,” you state, flashing you best smile.

a nod from his side. as if saying ‘touché’.

“ah, mrs. aera didn’t come?” hoseok asks, eyes searching the crowd until namjoon shakes his head, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.

“she’s too tired so i told her to rest at home,” he says and hoseok nods, as if understanding the underlying reason that kim aera is missing from honoring the master his husband’s family’s served for generations.

the kim’s are one of the oldest families that was tied down to han group by an oath. your great great great grandfather helped his great grandfather build the legacy the kim’s found themselves on now.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

he steps away, greeting chanyeol and han chohee, your father’s legal wife before meandering away and keeping out of the spotlight for the rest of the night while you amble languidly with your hand on hoseok’s arm, exchanging pleasantries with the guests like it’s a wedding rather than a funeral until it’s time for the head of the family to gather in the boardroom.

everywhere you and hoseok goes, eyes follow. those who you approach tenses up while they wear their best smiles and utter words of sweet saccharine but as soon as the attorney turns up, you have no sliver of doubt that these people will be the first to vote for your head if it turns out the will appoints chanyeol as the next and rightful heir of han group.

those who you pass by end up with twisted faces. they’re the acquaintances of the han group, loyal to no master - the actual people who’d cut and run.

“mr. jee,” the middle aged man with too big of a nose and overbearing personality turns his full attention to you after hoseok was done talking about the stock market he’d been investing in, “a friend of mine, doctor maria wong, is a skin specialist who just received the asan award in medicine for her recent findings, i can introduce you to her, if you’d like.”

the youngest jee suffers from a rare skin condition which is why she never attended any social functions. they claimed she got accepted to a boarding school in europe when she was actually getting treated in one of the most prestigious private hospitals in the world in switzerland.

the situation is kept under wraps. you lost one of your holiday villas for this piece of information.

“o-oh, yes,” it takes a moment of him staring at you like you’re emitting halo from your body before he stammers back to life, “i- we,” he looks at his wife who shares the same hopeful gleam, “would really like that.”

“one down... tens more to go,” hoseok murmurs under his breath when you walk away from the couple, “you’re pretty good this ‘you know whose side you should be on, don’t you’ kind of threat.”

“i threatened the jung hoseok to marry me, this is child’s play,” you shoot him a coquettish smile, not expecting for him to lean down to your ear and whisper lowly.

“the lock was on the whole time,” he chuckles as he straightens his back at the announcement summoning all the heads of the families present, its representative, the children of the han’s and their spouses to the meeting room.

hoseok pulls out a pair of tucson, ariz’s tucked behind him and places them on the metal tray soobin’s holding out. he slips a hand under his suit, pulling out a revolver from his shoulder holster you didn’t even know he had on. then, two grenades from each of his pockets like he’s taking out a piece of candy. a foldup knife from the pocket of his blazer.

red lights go off when he walks past the metal detector, cursing to himself before he shoots you a sheepish look - the one the new hoseok would - and bends down before pulling out two kolibri the size of your palm and appear like toy guns in hoseok’s that was strapped on both his ankles.

one of your father’s men manually hovers a handheld metal detector and scans him from head to toe before giving him the greenlight to walk into the room just as kang sungho screams, “i’m the uncle of the future head, you’ll regret this!”

you roll your eyes at the old man’s outburst, taking out the dagger strapped to your thigh and pretending to not notice hoseok’s ogling at your exposed thighs when the dress rides up.

“bringing a knife to a gun fight - ballsy,” hoseok murmurs under his breath, his words meant only for you as you join his side, both of you stepping into the still-empty boardroom as the heads of the branch families you pass by grumble to themselves, pulling out the weapons they have on them and piling the tray in front of them.

one even pulled out a bandolier wrapped underneath his coat. the others merely have a pile of handguns and revolvers on their tray.

“oh, i brought something better,” you feel your lips stretching into a smirk as hoseok pushes the chair behind you before slipping in the one next to you, inquisitive eyes boring into yours.

a peck lands on his lips as you giggle at the way his eyes go wide for the briefest moment.

“tch,” someone says as they pass you and hoseok. chanyeol sits across from you, glare digging holes into your skull as he looks at you as if you were guM under his sole.

“please, tell me you have a plan that involves me driving my fist in his face,” hoseok’s low voice sends shivers down your spine.

it takes a moment for you to grasp that his statement needs a response.

“even better,” you murmur, head tilted to him, “you’ll get to do whatever you want with him after we walk out of this room.”

“we can’t go on without a leader for longer than 48 hours!” kang sungho smacks his pudgy fist against the clear glass surface of the oval table.

“we get your frustrations head family kang, but we need to locate attorney hyeon first,” seong joongki speaks informally to the man 20 years his senior and kang sungho can only grit his teeth.

in this room, no peerage title exists. every head is equal and that means every single person here is below you and chanyeol, the heir and heiress of han group.

“for all we know, attorney hyeon could be dead,” ahn sujin glances around the room, meeting every eye of the head until her gaze rests on you, “they found traces of tires on the road and a wrecked tree trunk a few feet away.”

“are you saying attorney hyeon got into an accident on the way here but someone quickly moved the car and bodies as if they were planned it, auntie sujin?” chanyeol baritone cuts through the tense air.

he throws you a side glance as he sits at the end of the oval table where your father and his father and his father’s father sat, bearing the weight of a legacy as old and majestic as the royal family had they survived all these years. the audacity of this man you call a brother walked straight up to the seat your father used to occupy and plopped down as if he owned it.

“the crash mark in the bark of the tree was still fresh,” ahn sujin nods.

“well...” at the sound of your voice, the whole room falls silent, “let’s ask him shall we?”

soobin, nods at you like he’s known your ways for years. he pulls out a remote and the tv screens tacked behind the leader’s seat.

the screen flashes with a picture of uncle jihoon getting into a sleek black car with the plate number HG that only you, chanyeol, the madam and your father have access to.

a blurred buzzing echoes against the soundproof walls of the boardroom before it gradually becomes clearer.

“...get the names?” a deep voice asks - the owner sitting directly across from you stares with knitted brows as he focuses on the familiar sound.

“a-... -re you... sure about...? ...involve ...your mother’s family...” uncle jihoon’s dialect wrapped around the syllables of the words, giving out who that voice belongs to.

he used to be proud of where he came from and wore his dialect like a medal.

“..-actly, they’re my mom’s family. not mine. ‘sides, kang sungho’s been clinging onto dad like a fucking leech even though he knows there’s nothing he can offer us that we want.”

silence fills the audio.

hoseok’s hand slips over yours, as if reminding you to let out that breath you’ve been holding.

chanyeol’s jaw tightens as he shoots daggers at you with his eyes.

“the names, uncle.” a sense of urgency laces around chanyeol’s voice.

“th-the kang’s, byun’s and ahn’s agreed to get molly to the scorpios in thailand on 23rd of april on flight ka8792 at 2:35 pm.” uncle jihoon says after a heartbeat.

each of the families listed are known for either their couture designs that receive orders from ministers’ wives all over the world, custom made colognes or either owns five star hotels in south korea and overseas.

“this isn’t enough, you think the cops are gonna believe all we have is the names of families involved in some mid level drug smuggling? my reputation’s on the line here.”

“a-and a fishing vessel will be making port at around 3 in the morning five days from now. it’s owned by the cha’s, they’ve been using it to smuggle meth and hide it under the hauls of fish they caught.”

the cha’s hold the monopoly to the wet market business.

“that’ll do for now, get out.”

the audio cuts off and the screens begin to move again, this time showing shots of chanyeol and a man in his 40′s sitting across from each other, having coffee.

shifting your hand so your palm is facing up in hoseok’s, you slip your fingers in the gap of his longer ones.

“that’s detective kim namseok and my beloved brother having brunch together - that’s right, chanyeol with the held of uncle jihoon, sold the kang’s, byun’s, ahn’s and cha’s off in his grand scheme of getting the leader position in exchange for police immunity for the han group... oops?” your lips purse into a mocking pout.

“lies! you know how much this bitch wanted to take over han group!” chanyeol roars, pushing himself off the chair and turning to face the wide-eyed gazes and dropped jaws of the heads of the families.

“i-i was b-blackmailed...” uncle jihoon stares at his reflection in the table, as if in a whole different world, “i-it’s not my fault! the young master threatened me!”

“let’s ask the detective shall we? since it’s been proven that men from the han group have a hard time believing the women’s words,” you roll your eyes.

the screen flashes with an dark, barren room with nothing but a man tied to a chair in the middle of it. his head is hung low but there’s no mistaking the sight of blood covering his face and shirt.

the ghost scent of the blood makes your stomach churn yet you wear the malicious smile of someone who’s about to grasp the very thing she desires - perfectly.

“he’s a little... tied up. we caught him just in time before he called up his partner and spilled everything your darling heir provided.”

“uh, hello? are we live?” a cautious, brittle-like voice echoes from the intercom as a man with greying hair enters the frame as he adjusts his glasses to sit higher on his nose bridge.

“attorney hyeon, you’re live,” you affirm, smiling tightly.

“ah, good evening,” a light of recognition glints in the man’s eyes as he smiles, bowing deeply before straightening his back and backing up until he’s standing next to the half-conscious detective, “i apologize for not being able to attend the meeting myself. i got into an accident, drugged and would have had my nails pulled out if miss han didn’t come to my rescue and brought me here.”

“argh... a... ah...” the detective interjects, groaning.

attorney hyeon laughs calmly as if he didn’t just hear the bloodied and bruised man asking for help.

“in my hands here, i have the contents of the will which i will now have my... uh, assistant-bodyguard share it to the screen and send to your phones... are you sure... they’re sent?” his voice becomes quieter whilst phones and tablets begin to ding with a notification simultaneously.

“... the three holiday villas in incheon, jeju and daegu will respectively go to the madam...” he begins listing out the properties owned by your late father and the distribution of a portion of it to the madam and your mother.

no one interjects even though attorney hyeon’s voice seems to drone on and one despite the tape and audio that leaves everyone on the edge of their seats.

“...and for matters regarding the succession of the new head, the boss, han jiseok, wishes a fair voting system be used to decide whether mr. han chanyeol or miss han ___ will take the position a starting a month after his death.” by the end of it, the room is deathly silent as if a pin drop would echo like thunder in this spacious room.

“the heir and heiress are given three months for them to prove themselves to the vassals and in the absence of a leader, jung hoseok will be appointed as proxy-”

at that, the whole room breaks out into a roar.

“jung hoseok hasn’t stepped foot in han manor for over fifteen years!”

“miss ___ and hoseok are married! this will lead to unfair results!”

a screech against the floor as a chair falls over.

“you still want to support the son of a bitch that’s willing to sell all of us out to the blue bastards?!”

“who’s to say the young master’s not selling out the names of sons of bitches like you who switches sides the first chance you have!”

in the midst of the shouting, chairs screeching and the elderly lawyer trying to gain calm the elders, chanyeol turns to you with the eyes of a man who’s watching his legacy fall right in his very eyes.

“i should’ve left you in the forest when we got lost 15 years ago,” he reaches for something behind his back.

you recall the brother with scratches all over his body, the sun was setting and his back had looked broad for your 8 year old self. you were just two kids who lost their way, slipped and fall in the forest not too far from the family villa.

that same brother is holding a gun to your face.

hoseok takes a long whiff of the cigarette that sits in between his index and middle fingers.

“that was a shitstorm,” someone laughs from behind him - your voice sounds oddly free for someone who’s about to either get hexed or get worshipped within three months.

the curve of smile on your lips makes him smile too. he breathes out, laughing, “yeah...”

“do you mind sharing?”

hoseok blinks once. then he regains his senses, looking at the smoldering bud and tapping the middle part of the cigarette with the tip of his index finger to get the ash off so it wouldn’t hurt you if it fell.

“yeah... here.” he pushes down the wince that comes from the slightest strain of passing the cigarette to you.

the way your eyes linger on the clean white bandage on his arm tells him you’re not fooled by his unfazed mask. yet you don’t say anything, your eyes flutter close as your matte burgundy lips wrap around the beige colored bud and inhale.

when chanyeol pulled out the gun, hoseok tried to reason him out of it. promises were made at the expense of his own life. all that, in exchange for yours. in the fleeting moment that chanyeol took to consider pointing the gun at hoseok, you find your opening, shoving his hand upward and hitting that spot in his rib.

the bullet didn’t hit you but it grazed hoseok’s arm. he was standing right next to you.

And hoseok has a brand new pack of cigarettes in his pocket along with an electric lighter - he’d probably grab them both in one grasp if he slipped his hand in his pocket now.

for some reason, he takes the cigarette you pass and takes a good, long whiff out of it.

“did you know?” the puffs of smoke pass through your mouth as you speak and breathe out.

“when i left, boss told me that i should be ready to drop everything i have... everything i am at any moment... they would have dragged me back one way or another and it’s not gonna be with a gun with its safety lock on if i didn’t walk in on my own accords,” hoseok taps the ashes off a second time, watching them flutter down and settle in between the green blades of grass.

a sense apprehension follows your nod as you stare at your reflection in your polished pumps, “after all this... after i convince the vassals, i’ll make sure you walk out of this alive. heck, i’ll sign the divorce papers today-”

the half of the unsmoked cigarette hits the ground.

hoseok finds himself swallowing the gasp that slips out of your lips at his sudden movement. you freeze underneath his fingertips like the ice you build in your heart but you don’t push him away and hoseok takes that as a maybe.

maybe there’s stability in this chaos.

maybe love does bloom in the most desolate place.

he feels his heart leap into his throat when your arm goes around his neck as you kiss him back just as desperately.

maybe, just maybe, you need him as much as he needs you.

the three months fly by with you gathering the majority of the votes by exposing the dirt you have on chanyeol as well as obtaining support from the main branch families by giving them more control over the underground market that was previously monopolized by han group.

though you’re competing with no one, the three month grace period still went on to ease you into the leadership spot.

to keep everything fair, you and hoseok lived apart. him in his apartment he’d been living in up till now and you in one of the holiday villas that your father gifted your mother.

by virtue, you had every right to keep staying in the main mansion as the heiress but chanyeol’s presence was still too strong. his people still lurk behind the mask of the so called loyalty for the han group. he’s locked in one of the safest hideout where only a selected few know where it is. one of them being hoseok. you never asked him what happened with your brother.

that brother of yours was dead to you the moment he pointed a gun at your head.

and with that, you find yourself in a standstill when it comes to your relationship with hoseok.

the last time you mentioned divorce was on the day the will was read. you ended up in one of the empty guest rooms in the mansion because yours was too far away. hoseok fucked you into the silk satin material of the bed like he did that night. as if begging you to keep him - even if it was only for cheap thrills and fleeting passion.

once you stepped out of that room - somewhat presentable and barely any feelings in your leg, so much so, he had to wrap an arm around you to keep you upright - he was whisked away to discuss ground rules of what being the proxy head is entitled.

and that included maintaining a professional - as professional as a mafia leader can be - relationship with the heir and heiress he were to oversee.

once the three months were over, hoseok moved in with you. did all the things married couples would do - attended social functions and established your power as the head and him, the husband of said head. as if saying he had no eye for the position of the head. as if saying if they’d get on their knees and bow down at his will, they better be ready to die for you at his will. only when you’re away on trips overseas, visiting other ruling families in tokyo, hong kong, china and everywhere in asia - would he take over your job.

he kept the men in check and made sure they had a good beating if they went astray. and even then, they’d still follow him to the ends of the earth.

jung hoseok has the full support of the people who swore loyalty to the han family and you have the majority support of the heads of the branch family.

to anyone and everyone, you two make a dangerously powerful couple.

except there’s one problem: you’ve only consummated your marriage once and you can barely kiss your husband without him running away like you’re the literal devil that’s after him.

“h-honey, you’re back,” hoseok stammers, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gazes down at your exposed cleavage that’s pressed up against his body, trapping him between the desk and you.

he looks as if he’s a touch away from losing his mind and fucking you against the table in front of the frames of your predecessors on the wall.

but then his phone vibrates in his pocket and he doesn’t need to take it but he does, a ‘namjoon’ flashing across the screen.

as if seeing a lightbulb go off his head, you shake your head, ‘don’t you dare’.

“i remember taehyun caught the baek’s men in our territory, they’re in the tortu- interrogation room. i was gonna kill them and get rid of their bodies, but since you’re back... i have golf with namjoon, see you tonight.” with that, he kisses you on the corner of your mouth.

in other words, hoseok was saying ‘they’re your problem now, boss.’

“wh-what, jung hoseok, you-!” you manage to yell back but he’s out of the door before you knew it.

hours later, the clock hands strike an hour and a half past midnight as they mock you for making your own husband run away at the sight of you. the door clicks twice as some slips in and shuts it behind them.

you don’t even catch the sound of footsteps as hoseok goes about the room, taking off his shirt and wrapping a towel around his waist. the only indication he’s even here is the body that suddenly freezes up at the sudden flash of light on the nightstand on your side.

“where were you?”

“i was out... golfing... with namjoon...” he drags out the sentence as if his brain short circuited when put in the spotlight in nothing but a flimsy towel around that muscular body of his.

“your wife comes back after two weeks and you decide to go golfing on the very day she touched down?” you say curtly, arms crossed over your lace donned chest.

“i-...” hoseok starts pointing to the open bathroom door behind him that he was about to go in had it not been for your abrupt intervention.

“come here,” you order.

“i just got back and i sweated a lot-” is it the way your eyes bore into his without so much as blinking that makes him clamp his mouth shut?

“yes, ma’am.”

a sigh leaves your lips heartbeats after he comes to stand by the bed, head hanging low like a puppy who knows he’s about to receive a scolding. but you’re not his owner and hoseok’s your husband. your lifetime companion.

“hobi,” the nickname slips out of your mouth without you realizing it as your fingers graze his, tugging on his index finger like a child.

he seems to understand your beckoning, bed dipping when he takes a seat, facing you. it takes everything in you not to let your eyes linger longer than a millisecond at the way the towel ends up stretching, revealing a very noticeable lump protruding in between his thighs.

you clear your throat, mentally chiding yourself for the wave of memories that flood your mind when hoseok is looking at you with attentive eyes. all ears for you.

“for some reason, i feel like you’ve been avoiding me and it’s not just this afternoon. since we started living together... it feels like we’re back to being strangers with memories who happen to have to spend their lives together from now on.” you play with his fingers that you tuck into your lap, heart beating too fast for you to look at him in the eye.

and to think you started off like a lioness prepared for war.

all of a sudden, the temperature of the room drops as you mention the word you promised you’d never utter again since the day of the reading of the will.

“i meant what i said about divorce - monthly alimony until the day you die, a house in gangnam a car with a driver, all expenses paid. and if you find someone and want to start a family with them, i swear on my honor as the head of han group, your family will be protected under our care for as long as i’m alive.”

“i don’t want a divorce.” hoseok says, sounding somewhat hurt.

“then- why-” you begin but he cuts you off with his troubled voice.

“____, i watched over you, i dropped you off and pick you up after school, taught you how to ride a bicycle-”

this time, it’s you who speaks over him,“-ten years ago. hobi -”

i’m an adult who literally knows how to put a bullet in someone’s head.

but you don’t get to say that when hoseok shakes his head.

“do you remember why you started calling me that? because you came home one day and said you learned a new word- hope. you said i was your hope and you were so excited because you could equate a new word to someone you know... someone who’s been like a brother figure to you- how messed up am i to marry the little girl that i watched over and actually desire her as a woman now?”

“so you do see me as a woman.” is all you say.

“is that all you heard, ___?” hoseok’s wide eyed gaze bore into yours, as if disbelieved by your nonchalance.

“it’s the only thing i care about,” you shrug, the easy arrogance almost costing you another ruined relationship but you sigh a second later, eyes fixed on the motionless hand in your lap before you slip your hand in his, holding it like you’re about to commence a thumb war, “i may have acted like a spoiled brat the majority of the time after we met again which is probably why this whole existential crisis is happening right now,” you laugh, “it’s easier to play the role of a bimbo daughter than a strong overbearing heiress. i guess i acted like that for so long, i started becoming that.

your hand lies still in hoseok’s as you look up, meeting his gaze for what it is, “i admit, it’s my fault if you think that my feelings spurred from the fond memories of the only person who treated me like a human.”

“but i assure you, i didn’t get to where i am now because i’m driven by sentiments like hate for chanyeol and everyone who looked down on me nor the love i had for you as a guardian. in life, there’s only one thing i want and that’s to be the head of han group. you’re a chest piece that helps turn the tables around for me but you’re not my only piece.”

the line of hoseok’s shoulders sag, as if hearing the truth hurt him more than the lie convinced himself of.

“choosing to make you my king is entirely up to me... not because of some childhood memory or dependency on a guardian figure like you thought but...” your thumb grazes hoseok’s knuckles as you lift his hand to your lips, pressing a lingering kiss on his knuckles, “we can take it slow, i won’t tease you anymore and you can see for yourself how true my words are.”

“feels like i should be the one saying that,” the lips on your forehead feels warm, spreading through your body like a mid summer’s night.

arms wrap around your body, hugging you to a strong, tight, unclothed chest as your breath hitches in your throat. you raise your hands to return the embrace but decide against it - it feels like a sin to be drooling over hoseok’s abs and greek god-like body when you’ve just promised to stop jumping the gun.

“you smell nice,” you finally cave, slender hands wrap around his naked torso as you breathe in his scent - a faint trace of musk and sea and masculinity.

at that, the body underneath you seems to freeze up, “i-i think i should take that shower now.”

hoseok’s sudden retreat almost has you falling face first into the sheets. you watch as he covers his face with that large, pretty hands of his while his feet carries him into the bathroom door and closes it shut.

the room is silent.

save for the sound of the droplet gathering underneath the tap before hitting the quartz countertop.

hoseok stares at himself in the mirror. lips parted, glazed eyes that are becoming clearer with each passing second as if gradually realizing the sticky situation he found himself in.

the bathroom smells like your favorite floral bath gel but he can still sense the scent of his arousal that, after running the shower head over, finally washed down the drain.

the water was obviously hot. not scalding - hoseok couldn’t take scalding hot showers like you do. but since he’d moved in and after screaming and almost tumbling down to his death if the water didn’t boil him alive first - the next day, he’d found the water to be cooler. warm enough not to make him freeze but not hot enough to have his skin emitting vapor like a half cooked human meat.

but that’s besides the point.

the point is - he’s already had a good, warm shower and jerked himself off but he’s still hard.

it’s the way your delicate frame presses against him when you try to hug him. no- hoseok shakes his head mentally, it’s the way you breathe and compliment his scent which, hoseok is certain, smells like sweat and grass and soil that he rolled over after miserably failing to hit the ball.

he might be well acquainted with riches and luxuries but he’ll get used to these rich people hobby namjoon’s been trying to get him on after his marriage with the head of han group.

these days, it feels like namjoon’s been trying to get hoseok to meet him more than the times they have to actually see each other when he was slaving over his perfectionist ass at work.

before hoseok can even ponder further on namjoon’s unarousing quirks and get his boner down, he hears a rap on the door and a hesitant,“hobi?”

“y-yeah?” ha manages to answer somewhat smoothly.

“i just wanted to say that i can sleep in my old room... if you’re not comfortable sleeping in the same-”

“no!” a rushed rejection, a heart trembling inside a chest.

hands of fear grasps at his wrists and ankles as though if he stayed tight-lipped any longer, he might actually walk out to an empty bedroom with no trace of you at all.

as this is all just one beautiful, tragic dream.

“no, i like sleeping with you.” hoseok slaps himself in the cheek, “i mean i like sleeping next to you... in the same bed.”

the silence seems to stretch on for hours until he hears the giggle coming from the other side of the door - hoseok’s heart warms, you sound like you’re back to yourself, “okay, well, come to bed faster.”

“i will!” he curses himself for that rushed response but you’re probably back in bed with the lights from the nightstand off, probably tired as fuck after a one hour flight back to seoul, having had baek’s men’s territory breach matters shoved into your arms and waiting up on your pitiful husband who was avoiding you over his conflicted conscience.

by the time he’s out of the bathroom, loose pajama pants hanging lowly around his hips, he sees that small lump underneath the blanket, your fetal position telling him you fell asleep facing his side of the bed.

hoseok slips into bed, laying on his side and admiring your pretty lips and thick lashes. his hand clenches and unclenches as if he’s not sure if he should sleep hugging you the way he’s used to.

he caves, hand wrapping around your back as he kisses the top of your head.

unbeknownst to him, you’re still awake. you pretended to be asleep because you didn’t want to make hoseok uncomfortable. but now he’s cuddling you like a child whilst his semi erected head presses against your stomach and it’s kind of too late to say anything.

not to mention, you were a virgin up until awhile ago and you’re not sure if it’s normal for men to be able to hold out this long without fucking their wives or if hoseok’s self-restraint is just over the roof and you’re the one with too high of a libido.

‘damn it, should’ve jumped on his dick before initiating a heart-to-heart.’

#bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #hoseok fanfiction #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #hoseok fluff #bts fluff #bts au #hoseok au #bts smut #hoseok smut

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rebeckalindahl · 3 years

Text

The First Time

It was the first time something like this had ever happened, and it completely thew Rebecka for a loop.

They were showering together, for the first time, but that wasn't what was wrong. That, was very right. They were all giggles and hands and mouths and skin against slippery skin, it was delightful. And Magnus didn't have to go to work and they had two whole days together, uninterrupted. It was the first time for that too, but that also wasn't it.

"I'll get out first so you can wash me off of you..." he smiled down at her, his hands softly on her hips.

"What if I don't want to wash you off of me?" she retorted as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him again.

Magnus melted slightly abut then pulled away and got out of the shower first, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his waist before holding a hand out to Rebecka to help her out of the shower.

It was such a sweet thing to do, and seemingly so small, but it was one of the things she had fallen in love with Magnus for.

He did those small things all the time, and he didn't even really plan to. That's what made them so important, so special to Rebecka.

He had told her, very early on in their relationship that he was bad at relationships, that he was a bad boyfriend, but Rebecka never believed him. It was true, he was bad at remembering things sometimes, and he didn't make a fuss about things the way some men did, calling attention to their actions and making it seem as though they are so thoughtful but it's really just about getting attention for being thoughtful. Magnus was bad at that.

But he was so good at other things.

He always remembered to pick up her tea cup from the side table before they went to bed, he always held the door for her and placed his hand on the small of her back protectively as they walked together, he always made sure she had water with dinner and something to eat when she was hungry (even when she had no idea she was hungry), And then this, the very simple act of getting out of the shower and then, before drying himself off at all, he turned, his hand outstretched, to help her out of the shower.

God, she was so in love with this man.

He grabbed a towel for her as he moved over on the mat, making a space for her to stand very close to him.

Rebecka smiled as he wrapped the towel around her and then leaned in to kiss her.

"Enough of that," she whispered against his lips. "I'm soaking wet..."

Magnus smiled mischievously .

"I know. I like." His voice was almost a low growl and Rebecka laughed and pushed against his chest.

"Can you hand me my other towel?" she said as she began to dry her arms off.

Magnus furrowed his eyebrows, confused.

"You have a towel."

Rebecka looked up at him as she ran her hand down her hair, squeezing out the water and trying to catch the drips with the towel around her.

"I need my hair towel," she said to him, matter of fact.

Magnus looked at her blankly.

"Hair towel?"

"Yes, silly, I need another towel for my hair, otherwise it will drip all over me and I will never get dry."

Now it was Rebecka's turn to furrow her eyebrows at him.

"You know, a hair towel. A towel that you use to dry your hair. I wrap it around my head like a turban and let my hair dry a bit before I style it... a hair towel."

He didn't know.

"Don't you use a hair towel?" she asked as she reached up to his wet curls.

"I... um no."

He kissed her again softly and then turned to find the other towel she had put out for herself, handing it to her cautiously.

Rebecka smiled at him and then bent at the waist and flipped her hair over, wrapping the length of her golden locks in the fluffy towel.

"I have a special towel for this, it's a special material and it soaks up more water and makes my hair easier to dry..." she explained, but she stopped short when she saw Magnus putting on his shirt, his body still glistening and dripping wet, the towel around his waist barely used.

"Aren't you going to... dry off..." she asked, confused.

Magnus shrugged. "I'll dry off eventually." And then he smiled at her, seeing the way the large towel turban on her head pulled her skin on her face tight.

And that was the first time Rebecka realized that they had so much to learn about each other. They knew each other so intimately, but there was so much more to know.

Rebecka smiled at him. Now it made sense why he could get dressed so fast.

"I'll get some food together, sandwiches ?" he asked as he reached out to stroke her shoulder.

"Yes, please," she smiled at him and leaned up to kiss him.

A small droplet of water from his wet hair dripped onto her check and she laughed.

#detektivmartinsson #drabble #just sweet fluff for my sweet friend #because we love these two #Magnus and Rebecka

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watchmegetobsessed · 5 years

Text

Tired - Shawn Mendes

i have always wanted to write a oneshot about the intimacy of washing each other’s hair so here we gooo

masterlist

The whole place is completely dark as she walks in, placing the keys she got from Shawn only a few weeks ago to the small cabinet near the front door. The gigantic windows that always light up his home are now completely covered by the blinds, not letting in any of the sparkling glow of the beautiful night city outside. She leaves her shoes in the hallway along with her coat and bag before slowly making her way to his bedroom in the dark.

He hasn’t answered the phone in twelve hours and Teddy said he looked distressed and very out of focus when they parted their ways at the studio’s building. It all made Y/N worried about him and decided it’s better to check up on him, knowing well sometimes things crash down on him at once, bringing him nothing but anxiety and restlessness. He would never say a word about it, but she knows he needs someone to rely on in these times and she would feel like the worst girlfriend if she weren’t there for him when he needs her the most.

The door to his bedroom is slightly open, she gently pushes on it walking in. Her eyes slowly adjust to the lack of light and now she manages to see him curled up under the covers on his king sized bed, his dark curls contrasting on the white sheets. Her heart aches thinking about how long he must have been here, in his own little shell without any contact with the world. It’s not that he doesn’t have good friends who would check up on him, but he is good at making it look like nothing is wrong or that he is able to handle it on his own. Teddy reached out to him, but he said he is just tired. Luckily she texted Y/N about her concerns and soon Andrew also contacted her if she knows where he is because he hasn’t been answering any texts. He shut himself down thinking that separation is a solution, but it’s not and Y/N is here to let him know he is not alone.

She carefully sits down to the edge of the bed, placing a hand on his cheeks and softly caressing it. She repeats it until his eyes slowly open, a layer of confusion clouding those hazel irises as he recognizes her figure in the dark.

“Hey,” she smiles at him warmly.

“Hey,” he whispers back, her fingers still gently stroking his soft skin relentlessly. “What time is it?” he asks in his hoarse voice.

“It’s nine pm. How long have you been asleep?”

He takes a deep breath doing the math in mind before closing his eyes again while exhaling.

“About eleven hours,” he mumbles.

“Did you eat before you went to bed?” she continues with the next question. He shakes his head no and as if his body wants to answer as well, his stomach grumbles in dissatisfaction. Leaning down she presses her lips to his forehead, planting a soft kiss to his slightly heated skin.

“Shawn,” she calls out, earning him to open his eyes once again. “Come on, let’s have a shower and then eat something, okay?”

It takes a while before he finally nods his head and pushes the covers off of his body. Y/N reaches to the lamp on the nightstand and sets it to a low glow, just enough to make them see the surroundings. She stands up as he hangs his legs from the edge of the bed, taking a few deep breaths before building up the energy to stand. Turning around she heads to the bathroom, feeling his presence right behind her and when a large hand slides into her palm, fingers curling around her hand, her eyes twitch for a moment, but she quickly puts herself back together knowing she needs to be his rock.

She adjusts the temperature in the shower while he slowly gets rid of his hoodie, sweatpants and boxers. In just a few seconds she does the same, leaving them both naked as the hot water is steaming up the bathroom. Taking his hand she pulls him into the shower and he lets out a tired moan as the water hits his skin. They take turns under the water, then she grabs the shower gel and starts soaping up his body, gently rubbing it into his skin, making sure she doesn’t miss a spot while he stands there, eyes closed, only focusing on her touch, nothing else. Once she is done with the soap she reaches for the shampoo. Their height difference is making the shampooing process a bit difficult, but she is extra careful not to get it into his eyes as her fingers massage his scalp. The feeling is unreal to him, it’s the first time someone who is not his mother or a hair stylist washed his hair and he can’t believe the intimacy of such a mundane thing.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, feeling like it’s time to finally make him talk, while her fingers are still working on his head.

“Tired. Very tired,” he mumbles, his hands blindly finding her waist aching for more physical contact.

“It’s okay. We can go back to sleep after you ate, alright?”

He doesn’t talk, just nods his head before she tilts his head back to wash the foam away. Once it’s done she runs her fingers through his locks, making sure it’s all good. His eyes finally open again when she is about to shut the water off, but he stops her.

“Can I… Can I wash yours?” he shyly asks looking down at her, a drop of water dropping from the tip of his nose and landing on her chest.

“Sure, she smiles taking the tie out of her hair and letting it fall to her shoulders before sticking her head under the water to wet her locks.

She turns around and just patiently lets him do whatever he wants. He squeezes some shampoo into his palm, rubbing it together before gently starting to spread it on her hair. His long fingers are moving in sync, massaging her scalp soothingly. She can’t help but close her eyes at the feeling. He is making sure not to tangle her locks too much as he works the shampoo into her hair and then he carefully rinses the foam off. His mind is so much more refreshed now, this small task just turned into such a huge act of love, putting intimacy into a whole different light for both of them. His heart is full again.

They both wrap themselves into a towel as they step out of the shower to dry themselves. Y/N puts her hair into a turban with another fluffy towel when she catches his eyes lingering over her in the mirror.

“What?” she asks smiling.

“Thank you.”

She knows exactly he is not talking about the shower itself, it’s what it stood for and she is glad to know the message was loud and clear.

Stepping closer to him she wraps her arms around his naked torso and kisses his wet chest.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers with an encouraging smile.

“I know it is. Because you are here,” he smiles back leaning down and kissing her lips shortly.

She caresses his rosy cheeks before turning back to the mirror and wiping the remaining of her makeup from under her eyes.

“Let’s make something to eat and then sleep. Okay?”

He smiles down at her from the mirror, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, thinking about how lucky he is to have her by his side.

“Okay.”

#shawn #mendes #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfictions #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes x reader #mendes army

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roslinadama-sinequanon · 5 years

Text

Saying Good-Bye to Yesterday-Chapter 11

So, yes it’s been forever and day. I haven’t dropped off the planet or quit writing for Shandy. It just got difficult for a while.

You can find the chapter here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13004092/11/Saying-Good-Bye-to-Yesterday and here https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321687/chapters/53083987 and here

****

"Hey, hon." Andy paused in buttoning his shirt at the greeting, his lips curving into a smile when he took in Sharon's disheveled appearance as she entered their bedroom, fresh from a workout, spandex shorts clinging to her long toned thighs, loose tendrils of hair slipping out of her high ponytail.

"How was the Barre class?" He asked.

"It wasn't Barre. It was Spin." Over the past few months, Amy had convinced her to start taking spin classes with her, adding to her usual regimen of Body Barre, Pilates, and Yoga.

"Well, how was Spin?"

"Ugh." She pulled the sweaty racerback tank over her head. "Jelly legs."

"Gorgeous legs," he corrected.

"Yes, well, that takes work, darling." Though she ate healthily, for the most part, was supple, naturally active, and thanks to genetics and a great metabolism, didn't have to fight hard to maintain her slender figure, she exercised to keep toned and fit. In addition to the classes she attended when her schedule allowed, she swam laps almost every day, did some light weights at the PD gym, and also got out to Malibu to a riding stable as often as she could. When she first mentioned her horseback riding to Andy as a full-body workout, he gave her a typical Andy quip, "for the horse, right? " She'd ignored the comment until she could prove her point. One afternoon she'd taken him on what he referred to as a "ball crushing" ride, and he'd sheepishly eaten his words. Later still, when they'd become intimate and he'd felt those "thighs of steel" around his waist, he'd come to an even greater appreciation of that "full-body" exercise.

"Well, I'm pretty gross right now, so I'm going to hop in the shower." She pulled off her sports bra and wiped at the sweat under her breasts before dropping it in the hamper and disappearing into the bathroom. When she emerged 15 minutes later, she had one towel wrapped around her torso, the other turban-style around her head.

"Don't forget, I have book club tonight," she said.

"Yeah, I'm gonna hit a meeting."

She glanced up sharply from her dresser, a pair of rose-colored panties dangling from her fingertips. "Everything okay?"

Though her tone remained neutral, Andy picked up the tiny inflection of worry. It wasn't his usual meeting night. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assured her. "I had to skip last week because of our case, and I haven't gotten the chance to talk to Isaac."

"About us?"

"Yes."

Once in her fresh panties, Sharon shimmied on a pair of black leggings that she paired with a long, slouchy v-neck cashmere sweater in a soft shade of blush. To finish off the casual outfit, she slipped on a pair of two-tone quilted Chanel ballet flats, big silver hoop earrings, and a silver cuff bracelet. Andy continued to watch her dress. Watching her shed her professional persona for her personal one was kind of a ritual for him. At work, she was all fitted, classic, sleek lines. Understated and sophisticated. At home, her wardrobe was softer and a little more eclectic. Even her jewelry was different. At work, simple diamond studs in her ears and her watch, no bracelets, no necklaces, no dangling earrings. At home, she often wore pretty bracelets, hoops or dangling earrings, and a variety of necklaces, including the crucifix she never wore to work. Separation of church and state and all. He asked her once why she stopped wearing necklaces when she took over Major Crimes. After expressing surprise that he had actually noticed that, she told him that Brenda had warned her that wearing a necklace when interviewing suspects was dangerous because they could use it to try to strangle her. Given the violent animosity their former Chief seemed to bring out in suspects, he figured she was speaking from experience. Probably a good idea that he wore his sobriety necklace tucked in under his shirt. He was pretty sure there were hundreds of suspects over the years who would have loved nothing more than to strangle him.

A half-hour later, with her hair blown dry and her make up re-applied, Sharon came out of the bedroom to see Andy slipping on his jean jacket as he prepared to head out. Rusty was sitting on the couch on his laptop.

"You boys are on your own for supper tonight," she reminded the two.

"Okay. " Rusty glanced up. "What do you want to do, Andy?"

"I have a meeting, so I thought I could pick something up for us on my way home. Want a pizza from Palermo's?"

"Just make sure my half isn't loaded down with veggies."

Andy rolled his eyes. "No veggies. Got it."

Sharon smiled and started to reach for the Trader Joes bag she'd left on the table.

"I've got that, babe." Andy took the heavy bag and followed her out the door. Not so long ago, she might have bristled at the move and argued that she could carry the bag herself, but Andy knew that. It was simply a gentlemanly act of kindness, and she no longer looked for any sort of underlying misogynistic meaning to his kind gestures.

******

The strong smell of flowers hit Sharon just outside the storefront, and she glanced up at the pretty awning hanging over the doorway. "Lotions and Potions," her friend Summer's bath and body shop in Mar Vista. She opened the door, and the floral and spicy scents grew more pronounced. Taking a few steps in, she scanned the room, looking past the displays of soaps, bath salts, body creams, and lotions to see Summer with a customer over in the incense and essential oil section. The little bell that jangled at her entry drew Summer's attention, and when she glanced over and saw who it was, she gave Sharon a smile and a hand gesture indicating that she would be with her in a minute. Sharon nodded and began browsing, lifting and examining the vintage apothecary jars Summer used to carry her product. The old-fashioned jars and antique-looking sepia labels with their intricate designs and calligraphy lettering harkened back to another era as if she was stepping back in time.

Several years ago, this had been a New Age jewelry and clothing store where Summer worked as a clerk. Summer fit right in with today's millenials, often flitting from job to job, but for as long as Sharon had known her, she grew herbs and made homemade soaps and lotions in her house, selling her creations on the weekends at craft fairs and farmer's markets. Then Anabel, the storeowner, allowed her to put a few samples out for sale at the store, and they were a big hit. Soon she had a whole product line for sale. When Anabel decided to sell the store, the first person she approached was Summer, which had taken Summer completely by surprise. She was an artist, after all, not a businesswoman. I mean sure, she practically managed the store, but what did she know about running a business? At least that's what she said to Sharon when they were talking out the pros and cons. It was a moot point, anyway. Summer didn't have the kind of money needed to start a business.

But Sharon did. When her grandparents died, she was bequeathed quite a large inheritance. Some of the money was in a trust, but she had more than enough to lend Summer for the start-up costs. Summer hadn't seen it that way. It had been a battle royal for Sharon to get her best friend to agree to the loan. The very idea of it terrified Summer. What if she didn't succeed? What if she couldn't pay Sharon back? Sharon had gone through hell digging out of the mess Jack created for her financially, and she didn't want to see her have to deal with anything like that again. And most of all, she didn't want the money coming between them. Their friendship was too important. But Sharon prevailed. They worked it all out, with Sharon as an investor, and then they worked together to make Summer's vision become a reality.

The quirky little store was a reflection of its quirky little owner, and it was a hit. Situated only a few miles from both Venice Beach and Santa Monica, it drew in both the unconventional crowd and the well-to-do. Summer paid Sharon back several years ago, but Sharon still took pride in all that she had helped her friend accomplish here.

Grabbing a bottle of her favorite vanilla/jasmine body cream, Sharon glanced back around to see that Summer was still engrossed in conversation with her customer, her light brown curls bouncing on her shoulders with every enthusiastic nod of her head. Rather than stand around waiting, she decided to make her way to Summer's office in the back of the store. She pushed aside the beads that hung in the doorway, in lieu of an actual door, giving a loud sigh at the chaos. As usual, Summer's desk was filled with clutter: folders, papers, coffee mugs, and a bunch of opened boxes. No way could she ever work surrounded by such a mess. In fact, she could already feel the prickles of anxiety at the very idea. She started to move things around to make a spot to set her bag down when an item in one of the boxes caught her eye. Reaching in, she pulled it out, eyes widening with both surprise and curiosity.

"Find anything you like?"

Sharon jumped, nearly dropping the glass object. "Dammit, Summer! "

Summer's wide grin grew even wider. "Gotcha. Either you're losing your cop instincts, or that object holds more than a little interest for you."

"What is it?"

"If I have to tell you, Andy has a real problem."

Sharon flushed. "I know what it is; I just mean why do you have boxes of this stuff?"

"That stuff, as you call it, is luxury personal care products. "

One elegant brow rose skeptically. "Luxury? They're…"

"Glass dildos."

"And again, you have boxes of these, why?"

"I had a distributor come in for a meeting today. She wants me to try selling her line here."

"You're going to sell sex toys? Here? At Lotions and Potions?" Sharon looked so appalled that Summer had to giggle.

"No, I am possibly going to sell luxury personal care items. I told her I would think about it. It's a big and pretty lucrative business right now. Look at them, Sharon, they're works of art."

Sharon looked again at the item in her hand, eyeing it critically. Blown glass with swirls of color, graceful lines. She had to admit, it really did look like a piece of art.

"Much more attractive than the real thing. Am I right?"

Sharon gave a little snort-laugh. "Oh my God, you're right. It is. Though we better not let the guys hear us say that."

"God, no. Men do love their penises, don't they?"

"Mmm…" Sharon hummed affirmatively.

"Almost as much as they love our boobs."

Sharon shook her head with amused affection and another little snort-laugh. She never quite knew what was going to come out of Summer's mouth. In that respect, and in so many more, they were as different as night and day. Oil and water. Chalk and cheese.

Summer was as outgoing and irreverent as Sharon was private and respectful. As unconventional and flighty as Sharon was traditional and responsible. As loud and boisterous, as Sharon was soft-spoken and reserved.

Summer was thrift store boho gauzy tops, flowing skirts, Birkenstocks, and arms covered in bangle bracelets. Sharon was Neiman Marcus pencil skirts, Armani suits, killer heels, and diamond earrings. Summer lifted her arms in worship to the winter solstice while Sharon knelt in reverent prayer at midnight mass. Summer was homeschooling and a childhood spent on a commune. Sharon was private Catholic schools and summers on Nantucket. Summer was Stevie Nicks to Sharon's Grace Kelly.

And yet, they clicked. For 26 years, they had been best friends. From the day that Sharon and Jack moved into their new home in Mar Vista and a bossy little child knocked on their door stating, "I'm five. Do you have any little girls my age I can play with?" With baby Ricky on her hip, Sharon smiled at the little ragamuffin with Popsicle lips and a mop of brown curls and then introduced her to a bashful four-year-old Emily. Within seconds, a harried woman in a tank top and an Indian wrap skirt straight out of the 1970s followed. Since she shared the same wild head of curls with the little moppet now dragging Emily along by the hand, Sharon assumed she was her mother. Indeed, the woman said she was looking for her daughter and, like Sharon, she too had a diapered little boy resting against her shoulder. Sharon introduced herself then invited the gypsy looking woman in for a cup of coffee. It was the beginning of three very important friendships: Sharon and Summer, Emily and Jade, and Ricky and Cody.

Despite their differences in background, personality, and temperament, the two young women easily found common ground. Their kids were the same age, they both loved the arts, and they were both in difficult marriages. Their bond was quick and strong. They spent their days off from work building sandcastles with their kids at the beach, pushing swings at the park, or attending children's reading circles at the library. They babysat for each other, swapped books, and on those rare occasions when they had time for themselves, browsed through art galleries, bookstores, and museums together. Most importantly, since neither had extended family in Los Angeles, they created a much-needed support system for each other. And that was something that became increasingly important, because, within a few years, they were both on their own. Single parents.

Summer came across as flaky, but she was everything Sharon needed in a friend: supportive, warm, honest, and a strong shoulder to cry on-one of a very select group of people whom Sharon allowed to see her vulnerability. They had journeyed together through all the difficulties and heartaches life threw at them, helping each other raise their children, bucking each other up when things seemed bleak, and sharing in each other's joy as they each found success in their professions and new love. From breast-feeding to hot flashes, they had seen each other through it all.

"So, " Summer continued. "Go ahead and take whatever you like. I know you're not a prude. Try one out and let me know what you think."

"I'm good." Sharon placed the item back in the box with a little quirk of her lips. "I've got the real thing now."

"Yeah, well what about these? Could be fun." Summer dangled a pair of handcuffs.

"Again, I've got the real thing."

"Pfff… Those things would hurt. These are love cuffs. Nice and soft. See." Sharon admired the plush cuffs Summer thrust in her face, faux fur with little tiny bows, definitely not standard LAPD gear, but shook her head negatively. "I'm all set." She glanced down at her watch. "Come on, Sum. We really have to get going or we're going to be late."

"Oh, no, we wouldn't want to be late."

Sharon rolled her eyes, ignoring the sarcasm. Fate had surrounded her with smart asses. "No, we wouldn't. So, let's go."

"Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a wad. Just promise me you'll think about it."

Sharon blew out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, I'll think about it, now let's go."

*****

Sitting in the back corner of the bookstore, Sharon found herself center stage, surrounded by a group of women gushing with excitement over the diamond on her finger, grabbing her hand to look at it and pumping her for all the details of the proposal.

"It's so beautiful, Sharon. " Aggie's eyes went dreamy, her hands in a prayer triangle under her chin, lost in the fairytale of Sharon's proposal. "And how romantic. I can just picture it…A winter wonderland. A romantic sleigh ride through the woods and Andy down on one knee professing his undying love for you-" She broke off, swiftly coming back to reality when everyone burst into laughter. "What?" She defended herself. "I love romance."

"As if we didn't know," Marina scoffed. Whenever it was Aggie's turn to pick their monthly book, it was invariably a romance of some sort.

"Hey, I thought Russians were supposed to have romantic souls." Aggie's protest was made in the soft New Orleans drawl she hadn't lost despite having lived in LA for the past 20 years.

"I had one of those…Four husbands ago." Marina, a ballerina, had defected to the United States in the late seventies and had later opened a ballet studio in LA after retiring from the stage. Sharon met her when she signed Emily up for lessons at her studio after her young daughter had become more serious about studying dance and outgrown her instructor. It was Marina who had seen the talent and drive in Emily and helped her become the principal ballerina she was today. Marina was also cynical and pragmatic and went through men, mostly younger men, the way Andy used to go through younger women.

"Don't listen to her," Sharon said. "You're right, Aggie, Andy couldn't have picked a more romantic way to propose. Hard to believe I found a man whose sense of occasion can actually rival mine. It's certainly a night I will never forget."

"I still can't believe Andy took Gavin to help pick out your ring and not me," Summer sulked. The room went silent, all the women turning to her with wide eyes before erupting in giggles. "What?" She held her hand's open palms up and shrugged in a "what the hell" gesture.

Rachel, a pretty blonde, responded. "Come on, Sum, when it comes to style, there is nobody, other than maybe Roz here, who is more opposite from Sharon than you."

"I'd take exception to that if it weren't 100% true," was Roz's good-natured response. A writer for a comedy sitcom, Roz was notoriously sloppy in her dress, preferring the sweatpants, t-shirts and Converse sneakers she was wearing right now to any other attire. When she was forced to wear something nice, she chose boxy male suits and would never be caught dead in a "girlie" skirt or dress.

"I don't think we're that opposite." Summer's protest drew more peals of laughter.

"Summer…" Rachel lifted her friend's skirt, smirking when she exposed plastic clogs. "You are wearing Crocs. Need I say more?"

"There's nothing wrong with Crocs. They're comfortable." Summer pushed her skirt back over her shoes.

"No offense, I love you to pieces, but they're fugly and Sharon wouldn't be caught dead out in public in them." With her sleek dark blonde bob and stylish clothes, Rachel Garner had far more in common when shopping with Sharon than Summer. Like Andrea, Rachel was a lawyer, now an advisor to Mayor Garcetti. She and Sharon had become friends back when Sharon was promoted to the LAPD's Women's Coordinator position and they had worked together on numerous cases.

"What I don't understand is why you want to get married in the first place. I mean you just got out of a bad marriage, why jump right back in?" The room went silent, this time with tension, not humor. Roz sat back, arms crossed over her chest, seemingly unconcerned by the group's collective disapproval.

"What the hell are you talking about?" It was Summer who quickly jumped to Sharon's defense. "Just out of a bad marriage? She's been done with that ungrateful, immature, disloyal prick for 23 freaking years! Just because she only formally divorced him a couple of years ago doesn't mean-"

"Summer," Sharon tugged on her friend's arm. "It's okay, calm down."

"It's not okay; she has no right to say that. You," she pointed a finger at Roz, "have no idea what she went through. You've known her for what? Four years? You have no right to question her choices. And just because you hate men doesn't mean she has to feel the same."

"Okay, okay, whoa. I didn't mean to start World War III." Roz held her hands up in defeat. "And for the record, I don't hate men. Well, all men anyway. I'm just saying, she doesn't need a man…a husband."

"Roz is right." Sharon agreed, taking a sip of her wine.

"What?" Summer turned to her with confusion.

"She's right. I don't need a man. But I can want one without needing him. And you know what? That makes this the purest relationship I have ever been in, ever. I don't need Andy's money, I don't need his security, I don't need his protection, I don't need him to provide shelter for me, I'm not looking for a father for my children. I am with Andy for one reason only. I love him. It's as easy and as simple as that. I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And yes, I want the formal commitment of marriage. I know I don't need it, but I want it. And that's my choice." She tapped her fingers on her chest, stressing the point. "I am at a place in my life right now where I can do what I want to do, not what I need to do, and you have no idea how much freedom there is in that for me."

"And we're thrilled for you." Summer's narrowed eyes shot daggers at Roz, causing Sharon to suppress a smile. Summer was about as laid back a person as she knew, however, one thing they did have in common was that you didn't mess with the people they love.

"Yes, we are." Patrice set a gentle hand on Sharon's knee. "Andy is a great guy, and he loves you to the moon and back." As Andy's caregiver while he was recovering from his surgery, Patrice had gotten to know the man and the way he felt about Sharon better than any of them.

Andrea nodded in agreement. "You all know how I feel about marriage, but hell, if I had a guy who looked at me the way Flynn looks at Sharon, who knows?"

Aggie, who had gone off to pilfer through the shelves, returned and flopped down in an oversized chair. She opened the small book she'd been looking for and began reading. "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

"That's C.S Lewis, isn't it? " Sharon recognized the passage from having read a lot of Lewis's work.

Aggie nodded. "From The Four Loves."

"Well, he sums it up rather nicely, doesn't he? " Sharon poured a little more wine in her glass, then sat back. "Loving someone is a risk, no doubt about it, but I will always believe that it is a risk worth taking." She was well aware of how easy it would have been to encase her heart in one of those caskets after Jack, to allow herself to become unreachable. But that just wasn't in her DNA. Barriers, yes, she had certainly erected some of those, but closed off completely? No. She simply had too much love inside her to shut down like that. She knew people often thought she was cold, aloof, unemotional. They never knew it was all a façade, a shield meant to hide the fact that she actually felt things very deeply. She'd had to learn how to contain those emotions, to hide her feelings, but they were there, they were always there. And, had she entombed her heart, she never would have been able to let Rusty in, nor been able to embrace the man who had become the love of her life. Vulnerable? Yes, love made you vulnerable, but the rewards far outweighed any risk.

"I agree, we all need to remain open to love. Now, who's hungry?" Helen, the owner of the bookstore, set to restore order to their opinionated little group. "We'll eat, then dive into the book."

Sharon shot the older woman a grateful look. They might all be friends, but she had never really been comfortable with people dissecting her life.

The food was potluck. Each member of the club took a turn hosting the meeting, but it was always potluck so no one was stuck having to feed the whole group. At the end of each meeting, they drew out of a hat to see if they would be bringing the beverages, an appetizer, or an entrée to the next meeting. Though it wasn't a rule, they often tried to base whatever food they brought on the setting of their book. The only part of the meal they did not draw for was dessert. Mary Agnes Boudreaux McCormack, Aggie, always brought dessert. Twenty years ago, Aggie had moved to Los Angeles after Craig McCormack walked into her bakery in New Orleans and swept the 37-year-old widow off her feet, taking her home with him to California. Aggie opened a pretty little bed and breakfast near Venice Beach and brought with her the French and Creole delicacies of her former home, including the to-die-for beignets she brought to each meeting, regardless of the setting. No one was willing to forgo those beignets.

This month's book was set in Mexico, so there were cheesy nachos with garlic guacamole, sweet potato and black bean taquitos, a creamy taco soup, Mexican chicken and rice, and fish tacos. Sharon had drawn beverages at their last meeting, so, along with a case of seltzer water, she'd brought a few bottles of a Baja Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blend along with the makings for Mojitos.

"And these," she drew out two large bottles of champagne. "Because we can't celebrate 10 years without a little bubbly. I still can't believe we've been doing this for 10 years." She poured the champagne and passed the glasses around to the ten incredible women sprawled over the sitting area. Ranging in age from their late forties to early sixties, with most in their fifties like Sharon, black, white, and mixed heritage, native Californians and transplants, gay and straight, single and married, they were a diverse group who had come together to bond over a shared love of books. And somewhere along the way, they had become friends. Friends that had seen each other through infidelity, divorce, infertility, empty nests, cancer, adoptions, menopause, job losses, promotions, and new loves gained and lost.

The book club had come about rather organically not long after Helen and her business partner, Jenny, opened "The Book Nook", a combination bookstore/café a little over 10 years ago. Helen's husband, Christopher, had accepted the position of visiting professor at USC, and the British couple fell in love with the climate and laid back lifestyle of Southern California. So, when a permanent position became available, they decided to leave the gray skies and rain of England behind and settle in the land of sunshine and surfers. At the time, Jenny was a stay at home mom whose marriage had fallen apart after her battle with breast cancer. Divorced, her children in college, and cancer-free, she was ready to embrace a new life when Helen became a patron of the coffeehouse where she was working as a barista. Soon they were discussing a joint venture. A few years later, their bookstore/cafe became reality, and Sharon, Summer, and Rachel became some of their first customers. Recommendations of authors and long chats over coffee regarding the books they read or were interested in reading had Jenny suggesting the idea of starting a book club.

For Sharon, it was perfect timing. Ricky had just gone off to Stanford, and with Emily across the country at NYU, she was reeling from the effects of her empty nest. For 21 years, her life had revolved around her children and their needs, car-pooling, cooking, laundry, helping with homework, getting them to practices, cheering them on at games and recitals, and most recently visiting college campuses in preparation for their futures. And then suddenly they were just…gone. The house was too quiet, too empty, too filled with memories. And, with her children gone, the fact that she did not have a love life only became more pronounced, her bed suddenly emptier, colder to the touch. And it didn't help that she was starting to feel like she was in a rut at the PSB. Melancholy enveloped her in its insidious web, eating away at her, telling her that her best days were now in the past.

Later, she would find that she actually enjoyed the peace and solitude of being on her own, the freedom of not having to organize anyone but herself. But in the beginning, the loneliness was crushing. Both Rachel and Summer commiserated with her because they were going through the same thing. It was Marina who encouraged her to use that time to focus on herself and do some of the things she'd wanted to do but hadn't had time for in the past.

For many years, Sharon had helped out a few nights a month at St. Joseph's soup kitchen, bringing Emily and Ricky along with her, which was how she'd gotten to know Aggie. Now, she began volunteering at the church's domestic violence shelter, counseling the women on their rights, teaching them how to defend themselves, and helping them to find jobs. She coached them through the interview process and helped them select outfits from donated clothes-including her own-that would help them look professional. Eventually, she ended up on the board of directors. She also became the LAPD's liaison with "The Sunshine Kids Foundation" helping kids with cancer, worked with Rachel to raise money for "Emily's List", sold her house and bought the condo, and then she joined the book club.

It was the perfect hobby and helped her to expand her group of friends. Other than Gavin, Summer, and Rachel, she didn't really have any close friends, confidantes. It wasn't that she was anti-social, she had many friendly acquaintances: Marina, Aggie, a few women and men at work. But, the truth was, she had never had the time to cultivate deep friendships. As a single mom, she was usually either working or taking care of her kids. And where most people made friends on the job, her work within the PSB made that impossible. Barriers were essential in her position, and that had not been easy, especially in the beginning. Even though she'd always been a bit reserved, she was not a naturally unfriendly person, so having to close off that side of her had taken time and effort. But she'd become good at it. Maybe too good. Once her walls were built, it was hard to let people back in.

The book club started out small, and though it had not been intentional, they were all women: Helen, Sharon, Summer, Rachel, Jenny, Marina, and Aggie. Roz, Patrice, and Andrea were later additions. Once the only women thing was established, they decided to keep it that way, which pleased Sharon. She was surrounded by men all day long, worked in a profession dominated by men, and she didn't have a problem with that. For the most part, she liked working with men, liked their direct ways, and had always felt that the best teams had a combination of women and men. On the other hand, it was nice to spend time with her women friends and immerse herself in the female perspective. It was also easier to be herself and let her hair down without the male/female dynamic, without feeling like she had to prove that she was tough enough, strong enough, smart enough, the way she did at work, every… single… day. Around these women, she could express her emotions, and frankly, her sexuality, without being embarrassed or viewed as weak.

"To ten years!" Helen raised her glass of champagne.

"To ten years!" The group chorused.

TBC

#shandy #sharon raydor #andy flynn #Major Crimes #shandy fanfic

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ladyrealgar · 4 years

Text

Fandom: Lupin 3rd

Characters: Goemon Ishikawa XIII, Fujiko Mine

Warnings: None

Title: Wearing other's clothes

The pouring rain dripped from his headdress like a stream and his clothes were soaked, but the samurai, accustomed to much more hostile climates, hardly noticed. He hadn't even noticed the heating inside the museum, where he had gone to do an inspection dressed as a tourist.

He didn't like to dress up and even less to wear the western clothes that Lupin chose for him, but if it was for work he would have accepted it.

But now that the western clothes were stored in a backpack and that Zantetsuke had returned to swing meekly at his side to the rhythm of his steps, Goemon Ishikawa XIII felt much more comfortable.

Working with Lupin had led him to learn skills that his samurai training could not teach, such as tracing the map of a building's CCTV surveillance system just by looking and memorizing the cameras inside, or identifying the type of alarm system inside the display windows.

As a living embodiment of the concept of tradition, Goemon couldn't even have imagined that one day he would have been able to do all of this and that was one of the aspects he preferred in working with the gentleman thief.

The rain had not stopped falling for a moment all the way from the museum to their hiding place and when Goemon had opened the door of the apartment at his feet a pool of water formed.

He listened for a moment to the noises of the house: during his training, he had been taught to perceive the presence of potential opponents before his eyes could see them.

Not that he expected anyone to find their hiding place, last of all Zenigata, who was their most stubborn pursuer, but it was a habit that always resulted to be useful in the past.

He didn't perceive the smell of Lupin's colony nor that of Jigen's cigarettes, which were usually enough to announce the presence of his associates, and no sound, except for the ticking of the rain on the glass, reached his ears.

His shoulders relaxed, while his mind reassured him that he was the only one present in the apartment.

So he decided to take a hot shower to get rid of the humidity from the outside waiting for his colleagues to finish their duties and join him in the apartment.

As he ran the water from the modern shower, Goemon sighed at the thought of the thermal waters of the springs in the mountains where he had immersed himself only a few weeks before.

Modernity certainly could not offer anything comparable to the feeling of being surrounded by sulphurous water and regenerating vapors among the landscapes of the Japanese mountains.

It was a quick shower, just long enough to wash his skin and hair, and the samurai came out, wrapping his waist with a towel. Only then he noticed that one of the towels that had been hung at the bathroom entrance was missing and his nerves stiffened: someone had entered the apartment.

He grabbed the faithful Zantetsuke, who had just sat outside the shower and tiptoed out of the bathroom to inspect the house.

He noticed almost immediately that the kitchen door was ajar and cursed against himself for not checking it earlier.

He bared the blade, which shone as cold as lightning that heralds a summer storm, and prepared to attack.

He took a long breath and kicked the kitchen door open, ready to engage in the fight, but what he saw left him with salt.

Fujiko sat at the kitchen table, reading a magazine and sipping hot tea.

The two stared at each other in surprise for that unexpected meeting, but then Goemon realized that he was only wearing a towel in front of a woman and the free hand ran to support that one piece of clothing.

Fujiko noticed his embarrassment and chuckled: -You mustn't be ashamed!- she told him, going back to drinking her tea -I certainly am enjoying the view.

At those words the samurai felt his face and ears heating up and ran out of the kitchen in search of his clothes, while the woman continued to read as if nothing had happened.

A few moments later Goemon returned to the kitchen, making himself presentable with a change of kimono and hakama, to face Fujiko.

He found her where he left her: -What are you doing here? - he asked.

-I have been surprised by the rain- the woman explained, turning a page of her magazine with her long fingers with perfectly manicured nails -And since your hiding place was on the way I thought I'd have given myself a refresh.

Goemon looked at her from head to foot for a moment, noticing the turban made with the missing towel that wrapped her hair and the white dressing gown that covered her body.

At a second glance, however, that dressing gown seemed very familiar to him: -Is that my kimono? - asked the samurai, pointing to the piece of clothing in question.

-You say this? - said Fujiko widening the edges of the dressing gown and thus showing a few centimeters more than the generous neckline.

Goemon felt a blaze again but he forced himself to keep his gaze and not give her the satisfaction of seeing him give in: -Yes- he nodded at last.

-It's just a little thing that I borrowed- replied the thief, better accommodating the long legs on the chair so that the kimono just covered the bare minimum and left them in view -You have always had such good taste in dressing! I certainly couldn't take one of Jigen's shirts, don't you think?

-What happened to your clothes? - Goemon urged her, feeling flattered by the comment on his good taste: all the clothes he wore were made to measure by a seamstress who had made clothes for her father and was proud of that.

Obviously he didn't say any of this to Fujiko.

-Don't get upset- the thief smiled, deliberately causing the opposite effect -They are drying in the living room in front of the dehumidifier. In a few minutes they will be ready.

The samurai nodded slightly, but his assertiveness was only apparent: years of work and experience had made him wary in front of Fujiko's presence and if that woman was in their apartment it couldn't have been only because of the onset of rain.

-What are you aiming at? - he asked calmly.

-It's like to hear Jigen and, my dear Goemon, I assure you that it is not a compliment- Fujiko tried to digress, but before the determination of the samurai, apparently impassive in front of her charm, she had to empty the bag -You really thought you were going to embark on the project of the theft of Maria Luigia's jewelry collection without involving me? - a large mischievous smile opened on her face -Lupin will have to give me explanations for having ousted me from the plan and, of course, I want a slice of the loot.

The samurai smiled: -In short, the usual courtesy visit.

That comment left Fujiko speechless: - Was that a joke?- she asked, but the samurai was already gone from the kitchen.

His voice came to her ears from the other room: - Make sure Lupin finds you with your clothes on or he will get the wrong idea and neither of us will see a piece of Maria Luigia's jewels.

Hi! This is a little work to improve my English writing skills (so please be free to make corrections and comments about the structure and the grammar) and to give my contribution to the Fandom. This should be the first of a bunch of oneshots involving different characters from the lupin III fandom.

#lupin iii #lupin 3rd #fanfiction #goemon ishikawa xiii #fujiko mine #oneshot

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readbeneaththelines · 5 years

Text

His Possession Pt. 3

A/N: Debts are collected, one way or the other. Unfortunately, you were the collection for your father’s debt.

Yoongi is ruthless, cunning, and obsessive.

Characters: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings’ violence, language

this chapter has an extra warning: Rough handling of reader. please read with caution.

Word Count: 4536

This is NSFW, PLEASE READ WITH DISCRETION.

The door opened, letting bright white light fill the small room. “Wake up. You have five minutes to go to the bathroom.” whoever it was barked orders at you as you rubbed your eyes. You body was stiff and sore, begging you to go back to sleep. “What time is it?” you mumbled as you sat up. “Five thirty AM, now get up, you’re down to four minutes”

You scrambled to your feet, hurriedly walking out the door as he led you to the bathroom. If your memory served you correctly, this was Jin, the one you threw up on in the van. He was tall, his broad shoulders making him stand out from the others. You entered the small bathroom, your bladder painfully full. Once you emptied it, you washed your hands and face, using your shirt to dry yourself off. “A hand towel would be nice” you muttered under your breath as you made your way to the door. Jin was still standing there, leaned up against the wall.

“What happened to Hoseok last night?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s going to live, but not so sure about the walking good part. Now follow me.” with that, he turned and was making his way down yet another hallway. You had to nearly jog to keep up with his long strides as he led you up a narrow stairwell and into a larger bedroom. “There’s a bathroom with a shower, and the closet has clothes that should fit you fairly well. Now get ready, he doesn’t like people to be late for any meal. I’ll be right outside the door, so don’t even think about trying to run” He gave a lopsided grin then left you alone. As soon as the door shut, you were running for the shower, stripping off your clothes along the way.

You thought your bathroom was large, but this one made yours pale in comparison. There was an enormous walk-in shower that had jets lining all four walls and a showerhead that hung above you. You reached for the glass knobs turning the water on full blast. Steam billowed within the frosted glass enclosure, the jets hitting every inch of your aching body. You stood still, letting the hot water caress you and massage your tired, sore muscles. There was a new loofah and new bodywash on the built in shelf. You opened it, inhaling the delicate scent deeply. You scrubbed your skin until it was reddened, mentally trying to wash away the nightmare that was now your reality. You reached for the shampoo that, when opened, reminded you of your own, the aroma carrying your mind back to your home. Glancing at the label, you noticed it was the same kind you used. Hot tears began running down your cheeks, only to be washed away by the water that shrouded you. You lowered yourself to the ground as streams of water poured over you, your body trembling and shaking as agonizing sobs racked your body. When the water began to cool, you forced yourself up, turning the water off and opening the door. Grabbing a towel that was laying on a small stool, you wearily dried off then wrapped it around you. Taking another towel, you twisted it around your head in a turban and went to the mirror. The small cut on your cheek looked better than it did last night, the gash smaller than you thought.

After examining your puffy red eyes, you made you way to the closet. You quickly wondered how he had clothes that would fit you, but let it pass without much more than a fleeting thought. Turning on the light, you were greeted with row after row of different clothes. There were dresses, delicate blouses, dressy pants and evening wear along one side. The other side held more casual clothes, lounge pants, shorts, tanks and dressy tees. On the back wall were several rows of shoes. You opted for a light linen pair of wide legs pants, a loose tank top and slides. Walking back into the bedroom, you laid the clothes out on the bed. Searching the large dresser, you managed to find new lingerie that still had the tags on them. At closer inspection, you realized they were your exact size. You wondered how he knew what size you wore, let alone your favorite brand.

You removed the towel that covered your body, only to pull it close when you heard the door open.

“You have ten minutes, Y/N. I would suggest that you not be late to breakfast.” Yoongi stood in the doorway, looking fresh and rested. He wore a light grey pair of dress pants with a pale blue button down shirt. His silvery-white hair was slightly tousled but perfectly placed at the same time. His eyes were brighter, almost friendly, as he spoke to you.

“Gah! I’m trying to get dressed!” You yelled, embarrassed at your predicament. There you were, stood naked and only covered partially by a towel. “Leave, please, so I can get dressed!” you huffed when he simply shrugged his shoulders and turned around. “Nine minutes” he uttered as he walked away. You let out a sigh as he closed the door and left. Hurriedly, you got dressed, running the towel over your still damp hair. Nimbly, your fingers worked your strands into a loose braid as you walked to the door. When you opened it, you found Jin sitting in a chair in the hallway. “Good, we still have four minutes to get to breakfast.” was all he said as he led you to the dining hall. Centered in the middle of a vastly huge dining room was a long oak table. Five of the men were seated around the table, Yoongi at the head. Jin pulled out a chair for you at Yoongi’s right hand, then took his own seat across form you. All eyes were on you as you nervously fidgeted with your hands. “Gentlemen, lets greet our guest.” Yoongi ordered, and all six of them echoed in unison as they greeted you. “Good morning Y/N.” You bowed your head in response, then looked to Yoongi. “Thank you for allowing me to shower and providing me some clothes.” He nodded to you, a soft smile on his lips. “Now, everyone dig in, we have a busy day ahead of us. You sat in silence, nearly inhaling your meal, as the men talked about what they had planned for the day. There were meetings with other families, names which you knew, and other collections to obtain. You choked when this was mentioned. All eyes turned in your direction as your coughed. “Collections?” You asked? “As in, like I was? A debt collection?” A round of chuckles filled the space and you felt your cheeks heat as you blushed.

“Ehem. Men, we do not need to be rude. She asked a valid question.” Looking to his right, he focused on you. “Yes, as in like we collected you. Hopefully these will go better than yesterday’s. I prefer not to handle things the way I had to with your parents.”

At the mention of your parents, tears welled up in your eyes and you were instantly nauseous. You couldn’t hide the tears as they fell down your face, dropping onto your plate. “You know I will never forgive you for what you did.” you muttered, refusing to look back at him. “You took everything from me, my home, my life, my family. I have nothing because of your so-called collection process.” Your voice began to rise as anger filled you. “I will never be whatever you want me to be, I will refuse to give you the satisfaction of being kind to you. You’re a murderous asshole, and I will make your life as miserable as you have made mine!” You rose from your seat, but were pulled back down by Yoongi’s hand on your arm.

“You will sit back down, and you will either finish your meal or sit there quietly, do you understand me?” You jerked back, trying to free yourself from his grasp, but your attempt was futile as his fingers dug in. You were forced back into your seat, and once you were seated, his grip relaxed. “Young lady, allow me to make something very clear to you. Look at me.” His voice raised a few decibels, causing you to flinch.

“Do you know what you father did? Why you were so privileged growing up? Did you think he was an honest hard working family man?” you nodded as you looked at him through blurry eyes.

“Well, let me tell you the kind of man your father really was.” He pushed his chair away from the table, leaning back against it. The other men followed suit, their arms crossing their chests as they relaxed.

“You father was the head of one of the Geondal Families here in Busan. He was a hyungnim, Y/N, just like my father and me.He too was a murderous asshole, as you like to call us. Do you remember growing up with people always around. Wives talking and children playing while the men had drinks in his office? What did you think they were doing in there, talking about the weather?” Your eyes widened at the information Yoongi was divulging. “You father, the man you so idolized, was the very man that took my father from me. He convinced my father to let him work side by side with my father, in order to pay off his debt, my father would get a percentage of the takes. My father was a forgiving man, too kind at times, and agreed. You father, your perfect little daddy, set a trap and had my father killed in order to erase the debt. That was the kind of man your daddy dearest was.”

All you could do was stare in disbelief at what Yoongi was saying. “It’s not true, you’re lying!” you screamed as you rose to your feet. Not knowing where you were going, you stormed out of the dining hall, running aimlessly through the mansion.

“Tae, go find her, and bring her to my study please.” Yoongi ordered as he got up and left. The other men rose and bowed as he left, scattering to get the day started. Tae went to a small office where several monitors displayed the mansion’s interior and exterior. He spotted you sitting on the very couch you were first seated in when you arrived yesterday. He watched for a moment as you cried, loud wails tearing from your lungs. With a sigh, he made his way to you, carefully opening the large heavy doors. He came to stand beside you, not disturbing your grieving process.

“Miss, I know it’s a lot to take in, but you had to know the truth of what kind of person your father really was.” he said softly.

“My father was not that kind of person. He was kind and loving. He took care of my mother and me. He always had a smile on his face. He just couldn’t be the man that was just described to me.” your voice broke, shaking through the tears and pain your heart was feeling. “How could the man I knew be the person he described?”

Taehyung looked down on you. He understood what you were feeling. Yoongi’s father took him in when a ruthless mafia murdered his family too. He was young when he was orphaned, and Yoongi grew up along with him. They were friends and Taehyung knew the real person Yoongi was, not the face he was showing you.

“I know it’s hard to accept, Miss. But you were bound to find out eventually, one way or another. My boss wanted revenge for his father.” You looked up at him, shaking your head. “So, he thinks that by killing my parents and taking me, his revenge has been dealt? There had to be another way, there just had to be.”

Taehyung stayed by your side until your tears subsided to hiccups and sniffles. When you were finally calm, he proffered his hand to help you up. “He wants to see you in his study. It would be in your best interest to do as he says. He can be kind, but when he someone doesn’t do as he asked, he will make sure to teach them not to do it twice.” Reluctantly you rose to your feet and followed him slowly to the study. Taehyung knocked on the door waiting for the okay to enter.

“Come in” he heard and swung the doors open. Before you, at a large desk, sat Yoongi. His feet were resting on the corner and his chair reclined. The morning sunlight drifted in, surrounding him in a soft halo of light. Opening one of his closed eyes, he motioned with a nod for you to sit down. “Thank you Tae, you are dismissed. Make sure the others are ready to go when I say.” Taehyung bowed as he answered. “Yes sir.” When you were both alone, Yoongi closed his eyes again as you sat across the desk from him. “So, did I distort your precious view of your dear father? And, to answer your question, yes my revenge has fairly been dealt.”

"The man you described, that wasn't my father. I never saw my father raise a hand to anyone, he never yelled at my mother or me."

You sat there, fumbling with the hem of you top. A silent feel between you two, his eyes still closed as it he had fallen asleep. The sound of his voice startled you when he spoke.

"I know it's hard to accept the fact that your dear old dad was not who you thought he was. That's the horrible truth that you need to know, that he was not all sunshine and roses. You were done an inservice, by him not letting you know what kind of life you were born into. Maybe, if you had known, you would see it for what it is. A debt being paid for murder and theft.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and suddenly tight. The way he was so aloof about describing everything was very off-putting, and it made your head throb and your stomach turn flips. “But why my mother? What was her part in all of this that you had to take her life too?” He finally opened his eyes, turning in his chair to sit up and look at you for the first time since you entered. His gaze mad you nervous, causing you to squirm in your seat uncomfortably.

“You mother, let’s see, how can I tell you her part? She knew of everything your father did. She was best friends with my mother. Our families ate together several times in the beginning. Before you came along that is. She lied to my mom when she knew all to well that your family wasn’t going to pay back the debt they owed. She had knowledge of what your father had planned for mine, yet she didn’t say a word. She was just as guilty. Also, I couldn’t have you mother still living when I killed you father. She wold have other families getting involved in business that wasn’t theirs to begin with. She was just a ruthless as you father, and she knew the consequences of her actions.” You were not aware of the tears that were, for the hundredth time in twenty-four hours, running wet down your cheeks, until you could taste the saltiness as one fell on your lips. Yoongi’s eyes fell to your mouth as you licked the tears away with a swipe of your tongue. It was his turn to swallow hard. “I’m not heartless, Y/N. I wanted revenge for my father’s death. I wanted to make things even. Your father took away my family first, nearly taking me with them.” You watched with bated breath as Yoongi stood and began unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling the shirt aside, you saw a long scar than ran from his waist and then up around to his back. It had faded, as most scars to with age, but it was still quite noticeable against his tanned skin.

“This is what I have as a daily reminder that your parents tried to kill my entire family off because your parents were greedy.” He buttoned his shirt back up, tucking the hem back into his pants. You looked at him, eyes wide with a mixture of shock, fear, and sorrow. You had no inkling of what your family was capable of, and that scared you. What other secrets were kept from you? More so, what facts did Yoongi know?

“When did this happen? I mean my family taking yours away from you?” You lowered your head, somehow ashamed at what you had learned about you mother and father.

I was fifteen. Our families had taken a trip together, you were still back home with a nanny probably. We had all gone out on one of the yachts, me on the deck listening to music. Your mother made an excuse of not feeling well that day, and so your parents stayed behind as my parents and I went sailing. The only thing I really remember, was being thrown off the boat from the explosion. A piece of torn metal stabbing my side as I hit the water. Our yacht had been planted with an explosive, that took my parents instantly and left me to die in the water. Thankfully, a nearby boat found me. The rest is history, so to speak. From the moment I woke up, I made it my vow to pay your family back. I watched every move they made, even the slightest detail did not go unnoticed. For twelve years, I have planned, executed and taken back what was rightfully ours. That was until the time finally came to collect in full. That final payment being you, little girl.

“I am not a little girl! Nor am I a princess! Right now I am an orphan, all thanks to you and your men, who in fact, seem to have a problem following your order completely” Your voiced raised as you pointed to the wound on your face and the red handprint on the other. “If you recall, they didn’t deliver me unharmed.” You were to your feet before you realized what you were doing. Yoongi watched with flat affect as you leaned forward, your hands laid on the desk and you leaned forward. “Mak my words Min Yoongi. I will never let you own me. I will never be the complacent little pet you think you have. I would rather suffer beatings and torture, than have you think I am yours.” Instinct took over, your hand rising then falling in a sideways motion as your hand come in contact with him. Horror spread throughout you as it sunk in what you had done. Dread making your heartbeat faster as you remembered his last warning when you struck him.

"I will break you, destroy that fire you think you have, and you will be nothing when I am done with you. Mark my words, little girl, you are going to regret what you just did."

You fell back into you seat as you watched Yoongi rise from his. His eyes told you everything you were dreading was very valid and true. Rubbing the side fo his face tenderly, he made his way around the desk, coming to a standstill beside you.

“I warned you what would happen the last time you struck me. I was almost, almost, going to let it slide. But you had to go and act all tough and brave.” Crouching down, he made his eyes level with yours. You tried to look away, but he held your jaw firmly in his grip. “That bravado, that untamed spirit you have, is going to be tampered and tame when I am through with you. You act all brave now, but when I am finished with you, you will be a complacent little pet. Mark my words, Y/N. I don’t play petty games, and I always carry through with my promises. You should believe me on that.” With a flick of his wrist, you head was quickly turned aside as he let go of your jaw. You heard him snicker down at you when he saw your body trembling. “You should be scared, little girl.”

You held on to the arm of the chair with deathgrips, your knuckles turning white and your fingers going numb. Even though he spoke calmly, the way he looked at you had you nearly scared for you life. “Are-are you going to kill me like you killed my parents?” you asked through clenched teeth. His laugh filled the room, which had you wondering what you had said that was so funny.

“Kill you? No. That would defeat my plan. Like I have told you over and over, I own you. You’re mine now, and I like keeping my possessionis around.” The way he said that had you frozen in your seat, unable to move or speak.

“I see that flicker of your fire already dying out. Maybe you’ll learn to keep your hands to yourself from now on.” He stood back up, lifting you by your chin to make you look at him. “I’m a very dangerous man when I need to be. Im possessive, and slightly obsessive, when I want something. Don’t test my patience, and don’t push my kindness. Do you know what I mean?” With a half nod, you silently answered him. “Get up, we have things to do today, and you are going to be with me the entire time.”

Lifting your body from the limited security of the chair, you stood toe to toe with him. You turned your head up, looking at him through damp lashes. For a moment his featured softened before flashing back into the hard lines that etched the corners of his mouth and eyes. When he walked away, you were quick to follow, not letting him think you were already going to test him.

Yoongi led you from the study, you hot on his trail. You came back to the bedroom that you had showered in, giving her a perplexed look. "May I ask you something?" He nodded. " How did you know my size? And what body wash I used?"

"I told you, I've had twelve years to plan my revenge. I know almost everything about you, Y/N. The only things I don’t know are, what makes you tick and what you didn’t know about your family.”

You thought about that. What you had learned this morning, was in stark contrast to what you thought you knew of your family. To learn that the two people that showered you with love and affection, were the same people who could heartlessly kill another family with a child. Did they ever consider the fact that the same thing could have happened to them, to you? You would never know now. Strangely, a small part of you understood his need for vindication. Who’s to say that you wouldn’t do the same thing if someone killed your parents and nearly yourself. Anger can drive people to do scary things, pain can lead people down a dark and dangerous path. You were reeled back to the present by his voice.

“Did you hear a word I just said?” he asked, tuning you to face him. “Hmm? No, sorry I didn’t. What did you say?” you tried to hide the guilt in your eyes and he seemed to dismiss it. “I told you to get yourself fixed up, I have things to do, and you’re going with me.” When you didn’t move, he took your hand and led you into the room. Sitting you down on the side of the bed, he went to the closet, taking several minutes to pick out an outfit for you that would be fitting for what he had planned today. He had first decided that you needed some sort of closure. Even though he had taken everything you had known away from you, he felt that you needed something from your own home to have. Then he had a few meetings with other families to handle some business. You were his and he wanted to show you off to the other men and their wives. After that he had a dinner gathering planned and you would be by his side there too.

“Put this on, and hurry. I hate being late.” He took a seat, and you just stood there staring down at him.” You expect me to change in front of you? I think not. Now if you’d please excuse yourself, I’ll get ready.” He shook his head and continued to stay where he had planted himself. “Don’t think for a minute that I’m going to trust you by yourself unless your in your little room downstairs. I know your thinking of ways to get out of here, and I for one, will not give you that opportunity. You sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to watch you change and you couldn’t say anything about it.

Turning your back to him, you began to get undressed. You could feel his eyes on you, watching every move you made. When you were stripped down to the lingerie, you heard a sharp intake of breath coming from his direction. “Like what you see?” you asked over your shoulder. “Mmhmm” he replied all to quickly. “Too bad. You’ll never get to touch any of this.” you smirked to yourself as you quickly changed into the form hugging dress he had picked out. You bent over, slipping your feet into the low heels he had picked out. A cough made you laugh to yourself, knowing he was getting an eyeful of your ass in his face. “Watch were you put that thing, it might get you in trouble, princess.” You shook your head as you stood and faced him. “Please stop calling me princess or little girl. I’m not much younger than you, and I am far from the princess mentality. I don’t expect everything to be handed to me. What I do expect, is to be treated with respect and not treated as a pet or a commodity."

"Well then, since we're on the topic, here's what I expect. I expect you to not hit me again, for any reason. I expect you to do as you're told. The better you listen, then better you'll be treated. And like it it not, you are my pet, in a way." He raised an eyebrow, expecting you to retort. Instead you simply sighed, waiting on him. "I'm ready, can we get on with today now?"

"So impatient, but yes, we can get going." He guided you through the vast expanse of hallways to the front door. Out front was driver waiting for both of you.

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi @trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570 @seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17@kingsuckjin

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi

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starxshine · 5 years

Text

@warringpeace for Lokitty

Whitehaven, on the coast of Cumbria, was no stranger to bad weather. The storm raged, lightning zig-zagging across the black sky. Rain lashed against buildings and no one was outside unless they had to be. The small cottage on the outskirts of town had buckled down for the storm, the windows closed tight against the wind and rain, in the fireplace the flames danced. While there was but one human in the cottage, there were four cats, all laying in various states around the fireplace on the throw carpet.

The one in charge was a petite female with pitch black fur, Kalapana, who had claimed the squishy armchair. Stretched out directly in front of the flames and warming his tummy was a rather hefty light-colored ginger named Momo. Tiggy, another small female tabby, was curled up on a pouf. Finally, there was the majestic Thran, a silvery-white with shocking blue eyes, who was stretched out on the sofa.

Their human mom was curled up under a throw blanket on a loveseat in the sunroom. Her head was tilted back and she was staring up through the glass roof toward the sky. There was something about a thunderstorm that Hokulani Hewahewa-Crawford enjoyed. Perhaps it was the chaos of it all, the raw, natural energy. Snuggled under her blanket in leggings and an oversized sweater, she was quite comfortable.

At least until she felt it.

Hoku always had an affinity for animals, for all of nature, since she was a child. She could harness the elements, find the healing herbs in a forest without really looking, and “speak” to animals. She stood, bare feet moving to the front door of the house immediately, tossing open the door. Despite the awning, rain soaked her feet and up her legs immediately. The cats had felt it as well. Distress. The need for help. Desperation.

“Stay.” Then she’s out in the pounding rain, immediately soaked through to the bone. It was freezing, lightening whipping across the sky. She follows the feeling until she sees it. A cat, huddled under a bush in the far corner of her garden. With little regard for herself, her knees hit the mud the same time her mind reaches out to the animal’s.

Hoku frowned, pausing for a split second. The brainwaves of an animal were different from those of a human’s. This cat’s was closer to a human’s, yet not quite; it was also different than an animal’s. She had no more time to contemplate this oddity as the bush whipped around in the wind, branches scratching her hands and face. Despite the cat’s weak protests, she managed to gather it in her arms and hurried back into the cottage, the door slamming shut behind her without her touching it.

She shooed the other cats away as she set about examining the newest feline. He (and it was definitely a male) was much larger than she had first realized. The fur around his neck was much thinner than the rest of his body, and what she could see if his skin under the fur was badly bruised.

For just a moment, her eyes met the cat’s; his eyes were a vivid forest green holding shadows and secrets and unimaginable pain. More than that, there was an intelligence not seen in an animal normally. She gently stroked him. “Don’t worry, my darling. You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you.”

The tricky part was getting him clean as he was already soaking wet and cold, but she managed it somehow. She got him dry and set to work on healing his neck; it was slow going as healing took a large amount of energy and she did not want to make a mistake. Once she was satisfied that she did what she could for him, she got a basket and laid it out with a pillow and then a soft blanket. She swaddled him in the basket before setting it in front of the fireplace.

She ordered Kalapana to watch over their new friend and keep the others away for the time being. Then she was stripping, sopping wet clothing hitting the tiled bathroom floor as she hopped in the shower. As much as she wanted to linger in the steaming water, she didn’t. She dried and got dressed in an oversized tee shirt, a towel-turban wrapped around her hair on her head. She sat down beside the basket and readied herself for a long night.

#warringpeace #v: a softer world

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harrisongslimited · 5 years

Text

An Impossible Task - a John Wick fanfic

TW -- Adult situations

Chapter 17

In the post office box were various documents introducing the world to John Warren Arrington and his wife, Christie Lee Arrington. Apparently, they both hailed from southern California and now, after growing a hefty retirement package and luck in the stock market, had retired to Kierney, a small town near the coast on Prince Edward Island in Canada. Birth certificates gave their ages as 42 for John, 38 for Christie. Their marriage certificate indicated they were married for 15 years. American passports showed they were world travelers.

There were credit cards for both of them, checking and savings accounts with the Bank of Canada for a combined balance of $100,000 and a credit score in the states of over 800. They both had Social Security Numbers, working cell phones that were included and an address.

As John drove north out of Portland, Cassie reviewed all the paperwork and was stunned at the depth of their made-up lives.

“It doesn’t say how often they have sex….” Cassie joked, still filing through the papers in her lap.

“All the time,” John offered as he glanced at her with a smile on his face.

It was another 10 hours of driving that John and Cassie shared before they arrived at the bridge that connected New Brunswick to Prince Edward Island. There were rolling green hills and a clear blue sky, plus an expanse of 12 miles over churning blue-green water.

Cassie paid the toll and began the last 20 miles of their trip while both John and Beau slept peacefully. Her hand rested gently in John’s hand that lay on top of his lap. She squeezed his hand lightly to let him know they were close to their final destination.

Down a short driveway protected by giant, old oak trees was a large 3 bedroom, 3 bath, 2800 square foot frame house painted a light yellow. In the distance past the house, was a canal that led back to the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

Cassie stopped in the gravel driveway in front of the double garage and stared out the window. She patted John’s leg.

“Do you see this?” she asked in shock. “Do you see this?”

John smiled. “Yes. I’ve seen it before.”

Cassie looked at him, then back out the window. “It’s huge….”

“Maybe,” John whispered leaning over the console to look into her eyes, “now that we’re married, we can fill it with kids….”

Cassie smiled at him sweetly and nodded. “And we’ve had the shortest courtship in recent American history.”

John laughed and opened his car door. Beau burst out and began running around the acres of plush green land surrounding the house.

John exited the car and went to open Cassie’s door as she was still staring out the window. “C’mon Mrs. Arrington. Come see your house.”

He tucked her underneath his arm and walked towards the front door that sat at the edge of the large wrap-around porch. John punched in the code on the lock box and a set of keys fell out that he used to open the front door.

Cassie began to walk in before John stopped her. “Wait,” he said. He picked her up bridal style and walked her over the threshold. “Congratulations, Christie.”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him intensely as Beau ran in and around their legs. “Let’s go see the rest of the house,” John suggested, patting Beau’s head.

It was decorated in a light, airy French County style with lots of grays, blues and yellows. The kitchen was stocked with food, the bathrooms were filled with plush towels and toiletries. The master bedroom contained a 4 poster bed with a country blue comforter and yellow decorator pillows against the headboard. On the dresser sat 2 small black velvet boxes containing wedding bands. John took them from Cassie’s hand and just said, “Later, baby. Later.”

A small assortment of clothes were in the closets and drawers of the dressers. “Who did all this? Won’t they know who we are?”

John shook his head. “We’re safe, Cass. We’re safe. I used people I trust. I went around the High Table.”

Cassie put her arms around his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. “John, I’m so tired. I’m so tired and so hungry….. I need a shower and so need to get out of these clothes that I’ve been in for 3 days. I want to burn these clothes when I get out of them.”

John kissed her forehead. “I can help with all of that. C’mon pretty brown eyes…..”

Still tucked in his arms, John walked Cassie into the master bathroom in front of the large, white soaking tub. He turned the water on, adjusting for the right temperature, and added a few drops of lavender to the water, then he turned to Cassie. Slowly and tenderly, he removed her Oxford shirt and spaghetti strap t-shirt, leaving light kisses on her shoulders and the back of her neck. Next came her jeans that he unbuttoned, unzipped and slipped easily off her body, then ran his hands up the back of her legs to her back side and finally to her bra strap that he unhooked quickly. John’s hands slid down the sides of her body to her black panties that he slipped his hands in and pulled off her body.

He held her hand as he led her to the tub and helped her step in. Cassie sat down and leaned against the back slope and closed her eyes.

“What about you, my love?” she asked as she felt her muscles relax in the warm water.

“I’ll be right back,” he answered as he leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

Cassie nodded and smiled, and then put her neck against the back slope of the tub. Her eyes closed naturally and she didn’t open them until John came back and kissed her forehead. Cassie looked up at him and the plate of cheese, fruit and tiny chicken salad sandwiches cut into triangles that he carried.

“I didn’t do the sandwiches,” he looked at her upturned face with a silly smile. “They came like that.”

They ate and talked until Cassie directed him to remove his clothes and get in the tub, which he did while Cassie added more hot water. John took a wash cloth and after adding soap, gently washed Cassie’s back and arms. After, he took a small plastic cup and, supporting her neck with his hand, tipped her head back and poured water over the top of her hair, following that with a small amount of shampoo that he began massaging into her hair. Cassie’s neck wobbled under his tender hands as she silently prayed he would never stop.

John knew then that his life would be a blessed one. Did he deserve it? No. But then he realized what really was happening. This was for Cassie. Her life was to be the blessed one and for some unbelievable reason, he played a role in that. And he knew she deserved it as she giggled under his hands as he rinsed her hair. Her laugh never failed to make him smile and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she laughed every day and knew how much she was loved.

They stood after rinsing off and stepped out of the tub, wrapping large, soft, creamy yellow towels around themselves, Cassie using one to dry her hair and put it up in a turban swirl. She purposefully went over to her clothes and threw them in the garage can, then, after putting on buttercup yellow robe, went to the dressers in the bedroom to search for bras and panties.

“Please do let me know how someone knew my bra and panty sizes?” she asked John holding up a pretty black bra.

He walked up to her, putting on a deep blue robe, and took the bra and tossed it over his shoulder. His hands went to her hips. “You don’t need that right now…,” he said in a low voice, rocking her gently, “because I’m going to make love to you like you’ve never been loved before in your life.”

#an impossible task #john wick fanfic #john wick #keanu #keanu reeves #almost done

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years

Text

Hjem(løs) - Ivar x OC - Modern AU - Part 12

Hjem(løs) = Home(less)

Synopsis: It’s Juleaften and Silje walks home from a late Christmas shopping spree. On her way back to her apartment, she makes an unexpected encounter.

Word count: 11,5k

MASTERLIST

Part 11 <<< >>> Part 13

The day Ivar flew off to Ireland, Silje was quiet. She was pretty proud of herself for not even crying when she damn well wanted to, especially when he kissed her one final time before hurrying off to board his plane. Quite the deed for someone who usually started sobbing within the first thirty seconds of a cute dog video montage or airport reunion videos.

She half expected the tears to well up during her train ride back home after parting ways with Ivar at the airport. They did not. Her eyes stayed totally dry and she walled herself up in silence the rest of the day. It was still early, barely past noon, and she had yet to eat lunch. Cooking seemed like an insurmountable task.

It was so still and quiet in here all of a sudden. There was no one to talk to. What did she do all alone in her apartment before Ivar moved in? Did she talk to herself? Read? Hum along to a tune? What the hell was she supposed to do all by herself? Chat up her upside-down reflection in her spoon?

She dropped it back into her mug and the clatter sounded louder than usual. Silje glanced at the digital clock on the microwave and groaned, letting her head fall back. Her eyes were trained on the ceiling, and she wondered if she ever took the time to look at it. It was white with light wooden beams. Who even cared about her ceiling? At least she would be back on the benches in a couple weeks, and univeristy would keep her busy enough to stop wondering what to do with her free time.

Ivar had been away for two hours and she was having a quiet breakdown on her couch, slouched in the most unlady-like fashion. Going out was out of the question because she had removed her makeup as soon as she came home and she wouldn't wish her sullen company to anyone.

The loud music of Nicolaj's ringtone nearly gave her a heart attack. She fumbled around to try and find the damn thing. It took her another chorus of Raining Men to find it.

“Yeehaw motherfucker,” her friend yelled into the phone. Was he high? Drunk? No it was too early, even for him.

“Chill out, cowboy,” Silje replied, not entirely sure what to answer to his singular greeting.

“Sorry, I panicked,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Thought you'd be a sniffling mess by now. How's dear Ivar? Catch his flight on time?”

“Exactly. So why are you interrupting my pity party?” she fired back without much conviction.

“We're not interrupting!” Laura's voice came through the phone too.

“We're crashing it baby, and you can't stop us,” Nicolaj kindly informed her.

“Absolutely not, I want to be alone with my dark cloud,” she immediately told them. “Leave me be.”

“Oh I'm sorry,” Ava's voice now spoke. “Did it sound like we were asking permission? Because that's not what's happening.”

Silje held the phone away from her ear and covered it with her hand while she let out the longest sigh she could muster. Then she put it back.

“Alright. But I'll be complaining the whole time. Don't say I haven't warned you!”

It was a miracle none of her friends crashed at her place while Ivar was still there. She should consider herself lucky that they only decided to impose now that he was gone. Maybe it would do her some good to not be alone. At the very least she would be able to speak without feeling like she was slowly spiralling into madness. Seriously, what did she do when she lived alone?

She might have to pick up crochetting just to keep insanity at bay.

“We expect as much,” Laura answered, followed by other people laughing.

The gods knew how many of them would soon crowd her living room. They would have do deal with the empty mugs sitting in strange places and the general mess – she wasn't in the right state of mind to clean up, and Ivar and her had made quite the mess while they packed.

“Oh, we're already here by the way. This was merely a heads up phone call, just in case you were sleeping it off or something,” Nicolaj said. “Open up, bitc-!”

Silje hang up before he could finish his sentence. What an endearing dumbass. She conjured all of her energy to get up and buzz them in, hearing the sound of their footsteps in the stairway.

The entire band was here – Laura, Ava, Nicolaj, Matthias and Asmus. Now she did wish she was still wearing makeup.

“You don't look fresh,” Nicolaj immediately commented, and Silje flipped him off because she wasn't in the mood. “Oh man, sorry. Someone's grumpy.”

“Of course she is.” Asmus pushed his brother aside to hug Silje. Silje stuck her tongue out at Nicolaj while she hugged Asmus, just to spite him. “You're still crying over your ex everytime you hear a Rhianna song playing. She's allow to be bummed about her boyfriend leaving for a year abroad.”

“Excuse me?!” Nicolaj screeched in offense while Ava doubled over in laughter, and Laura and Matthias went off about this being the most shade anyone's ever thrown Nicolaj. “Forgive me for finding Diamonds emotional.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Matthias said. He slapped Nicolaj's back as he walked past him and into the apartment. “Just own up to it, man.”

“Mus, as my brother, you should side with me and not use sensible information against me!”

“What fantasy world do you live in? Of course I'm using my status to dig up dirt about you and use it against you!” Asmus laughed with Silje. “I usually do it just for fun, but today it's to get a smile out of this one.”

“Thank you, Mus. It does lift my spirits to hear about Nicolaj's misery,” Silje admits before letting them all in and closing the door. “It's a mess. That's what you get for coming here unannounced.”

“Ehm, we did announce our coming, technically,” Ava argued. She threw her arms around her best friend's shoulder and held her tight for a moment, until Laura got tired of waiting for her turn and simple joined in.

“I'm feeling left out here,” she said as an explanation. “Do you feel the love yet, Silje? Should we hug longer?”

What a group of nerds.

Silje couldn't sleep. Her bloodshot eyes glared at her alarm clock, staring at the angry red numbers, watching them change. 1:12am.

She blinked slowly. 1:13am. Her alarm was set for 6pm, she had to get some sleep otherwise she would start dozing off in the middle of her presentation for her 8am class. Was it stress that kept sleep at bay? Or the fact that her bed was empty and cold?

All she wanted was a minute in Ivar's arms, to feel warm and safe. A minute was all she needed to finally fall asleep. But her hand stretched up to the edge of the bed and still, there was nothing but her sheets and no Ivar. How much could one miss another person? She felt she would find out soon, because every day she clammed up a little more, what with the eerie silence and stillness of everything in her apartment.

It hasn't been this quiet and lifeless in a long time. Every day when she came home from university only to find the place plunged in the dark and utterly silent, she wanted nothing more than turn back on her heels and leave it. Ivar was missing from the scenery, and from her life.

But even then, life didn't stay on hold because Ivar wasn't there anymore, and she had to deal with her problems alone. Grumbling to herself, Silje threw the duvet away and stood up, quickly wrapping herself in her fuzzy robe to fend off the cold. It was only early October, but Denmark had said goodbye to Summer a few weeks ago already.

In an attempt to think about something else than her dearly missed boyfriend or her upcoming presentation, Silje decided to change her bedsheets. Maybe clean linens would help her rest tonight, and if not then she wouldn't have to change them in two days like she had planned. It took her a while, as per usual, because changing a duvet cover on a queen size bed on your own can be quite the ordeal, especially if you do it in the middle of the night in a zombie state like Silje.

Eventually it was done, and then Silje thought it was useless to go back in the fresh sheets if she wasn't clean herself, and went to take a quick shower, hoping that the smell of her shampoo would soothe her enough to make up for Ivar's absence. He always used the same shampoo as her, she even smuggled one into his suitcase without telling him, so he would have something from home while he was away.

She had never been one to depend on someone else. She never missed not sleeping alone before, she actually liked having a large bed all to herself, but now it just felt a little wrong. Did Ivar have the same issues? Did he lie awake at night and wish he could hold her instead of his pillow?

Mushy romantic thoughts aside, Silje did wish he missed her a little. And perhaps she also wished he couldn't sleep tonight, no matter how selfish the thought. After wrapping her hair in a towel turban, she returned to bed and slipped under her soft, clean smelling sheets, feeling a new person.

But still, she didn't fall asleep, and in a last attempt to get any shut eye tonight, she grabbed her phone and opened her messages. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard a moment, not knowing what to type or if she should type anything at all, but she eventually did and hit sent.

To Ivar: Are you asleep?

A silly question, she knew it. However, even just reaching out to him felt good and made her smile. He probably wouldn't see the message, he must be sleeping. Hopefully waking up to this in the morning would make him smile, even just a little.

Her phone lit up.

From Ivar: No. Watching a movie... [Download file]

Silje's eyebrows shot up, and that's when she realized that she really didn't expect him to answer. She just wanted to reach out. Her thumb slid on the file he sent. It was a picture of his computer sitting on his lap, with Gladiator playing.

From Ivar: Bad choice. Made me cry twice already.

A big smile crept on her face now, and she typed a quick response.

To Ivar: Want me to watch it with you? How far into the movie are you?

From Ivar: You have a presentation in the morning, you should sleep.

To Ivar: You have work in the morning.

From Ivar: Time zones tho.

A second message popped on her screen.

From Ivar: Okay fine, WE should be sleeping.

To Ivar: Why don't you?

The bubble signalling her he was writing appeared, then disappeared. Silje waited a moment. It did it again, and this time she huffed when the bubble went away. The third time she saw it, she began to type too.

Her phone buzzed at the exact moment she hit sent.

To/From Ivar: I miss you.

Her face grew hot even though there was no one to witness her embarrassment, and she couldn't do anything but stare at the identical messages. So, he did share her sleeping issues. She knew it shouldn't make her glad, but it did a little and she couldn't hold back a small, satisfied grin – he wasn't there to see it after all.

Knowing they both suffered from the distance between them was comforting in a way, and she was sure he felt the same.

From Ivar: The place they gave me is very nice, but it's not home.

Upon receiving this message, Silje's mood changed altogether. From smiling to herself she went to fighting back tears. Reading those words tore a hole in her chest and made her feel his absence in her bones. She missed him so much! What follies she would do to be able to see him again right now.

Home. He considered her place like his home, and this thought alone was overwhelming enough, but Silje had to add to it the agony of missing him like a lost limb.

To Ivar: It doesn't feel much like a home without you here.

From Ivar: Are you okay? Do you want me to call you?

If she concentrated a bit, Silje could hear Ivar say these words, she could hear the concern in his voice and see it in his eyes.

To Ivar: No, don't call. I'm fine, just sleep deprived and emotional. I might cry if I hear your voice.

This time his answer didn't come as quick, and she guessed he was trying to find something adequate to say. Maybe he too needed a moment to find the right words and not give in to the urge to get all sappy and romantic at this late hour where their brain functions were at their lowest. After two minutes or so the bubble came back.

From Ivar: I'm 20 min into the movie.

To Ivar: But you said you already cried twice??

From Ivar: I know, don't mention it.

Smiling, Silje grabbed her laptop off the floor and put it on the bed, quickly finding the movie and starting it at twenty minutes.

To Ivar: I'm all set.

Silje buried herself further under her duvet and snuggled her pillow, feeling a bit warmer and fuzzier than before now that she had some company in her loneliness – even if it wasn't what she craved at the moment, it was as much as she would get and she knew it. Knowing that Ivar was holding onto his phone and texting her in the middle of the night on a weekday, even if he was in another country, was comforting.

Her phone lit up again a minute later.

From Ivar: Have I told you I miss you a lot?

Silje stared at her macro-economics assignment with a deep frown on her face, and she was pretty sure that it glared back at her.

Life was going slow these days, as though she just hopped on a carriage after having driven a sports car for months. It was boring. Or maybe she was just done with university? True, she had thought that her classes would keep her busy enough to stop whining about Ivar's absence and how much she missed him – her friends were endlessly grateful for that – but it became harder and harder as time went by.

The truth was that Silje wasn't enjoying herself at all, and it worried her. She was a practical person, who put rational thinking ahead of her other impulses, then why did she feel more and more like she had wasted the last five years of her life doing something she didn't even like?

Anyone would say that no one really enjoys their job, they just have to have one if they want to afford the life they want. She could get behind that, but did it mean that she had to spend her entire life doing the same, boring activities every single day? It got her thinking. But what was more: Ivar told her something shortly before he left, and it had been on her mind ever since.

She had been rambling about Ava's new crush and how the girl always acted like the was the main character of a chick flick whenever she had a boy on her mind ; Ivar was sitting on the kitchen stool, watching her, listening quietly with a smile on his face, until she became self-conscious and asked him what he was looking at so intently.

“You,” he had said. “You're fascinating.”

It had made her heart jump in her chest and the pink rise to her cheeks.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she had denied, looking away now that she was hot in the face.

“But I think you do. You like telling stories. You're good with words, do you know that?” he had continued, grabbing a piece of red bell pepper and eating it.

“So what of it? Want me to become a bard and go from city to city to serenade pretty ladies in big hats?” she had teased him, slapping his hand away from the bowl of red pepper before he could grab another one. “Hands off, these are for dinner.”

“You should be doing something artistic,” he had suddenly blurted out. “I mean, I know you're good at what you do, but sometimes it looks like it's sucking the life out of you. You're always stressed out. I can imagine you studying literature, art, fashion, be at a cooking school, I don't know.”

She had bitten the inside of her cheek and pouted, pondering what Ivar said. He wasn't in the wrong, but she had her reasons for not going off to live the dream and move to Paris, to the left bank of the river Seine.

“These things don't pay, they are fantasy jobs,” she had argued, and Ivar grinned as if he had been expecting her to say that.

“Listen, I know it might sound rich, especially coming from me, but money isn't everything.” Silje had been about to reply but Ivar had kept talking before she got a chance to. “You need to do something that makes you happy and creating makes you happy, I know it. It's an outlet for the emotions you can't voice. You're just good at those things, you make things with love and it shows.”

To this, she didn't have a counter argument, and she still didn't.

Well done, Ivar. He had planted these words in her head and now they grew. There were little sprouts of “what if I dropped out and starting doing art?” growing in her mind. She had half a mind to fly all the way to Ireland only to grab Ivar by the shoulders and shake him like a tree for the way he had messed with her head.

Before he had said that, her life was perfectly clear: she had boring, practical skills that would land her a job at the end of her master's degree, and pay her bills. What else was there to ask? Who even thought about silly concepts such as professional fulfillment? Ivar, apparently.

“Damn you, Ivar!” she cursed him, throwing her pencil away, out of rage.

The fool was right, of course. And she needed to figure out what to do now.

The black cloud hovering over her head dissipated when a friendly hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“Hej!” she welcomed Ava.

Her friend smiled gently and sat down next to her in the library.

“What'd that pencil do to you?” she asked. Silje blinked when Ava placed said pencil on the table in front of her before taking out her laptop.

She had been sitting in the library for hours now, the sun was starting to set and the last rays hit Silje in her face through the blinds.

“Nothing,” she sighed and slumped back. “Just thinking 'bout Ivar.” She distractedly twirled the pencil around, not looking at Ava – she didn't need to, she knew her friend was rolling her eyes.

Bless Ava, she was the most patient friend in times of need. Though, everyone's tolerance to other people's whining had its limits, right? Ava reached hers six weeks and five days after Ivar's departure. Which was two days ago, when Silje called her on the phone while sniffling in front of a kids' movie, crying about how much she wished Ivar was here.

Even Silje knew she was pathetic; she needed to get a grip because soon, Ava would stop being nice, and start smacking heads.

“Colour me surprised,” she chuckled. “So tell me, what did dear Ivar do to get you so frustrated?”

“He told me to do what makes me happy.”

“Oh, I see. Very problematic. Can't imagine where that comes from,” Ava answered.

“Stop being sarcastic, I'm serious!” Silje groaned and shot her a look. “I hate this, I'm overthinking everything he told me because he's gone. Maybe I'm starting to lose it, that would explain it all.”

Ava's laptop made a soft powering up whirring noise while both girls sighed in unison. They had gone over this topic what felt like a hundred times.

“You're not crazy, you're in withdrawal. I don't know exactly how much time you spent with Ivar when you weren't with us, but you clearly don't know what to do with yourself now that he's away,” she stated.

Silje was a bit shocked by how accurate a description Ava made of the situation, and it brought to the forth something else that had been on her mind...

“About that,” she started, fiddling with the pencil now. Ava's eyes darted to the thing until Silje stopped and spoke again. “I think it's time I tell you how Ivar and I met.”

Quite frankly, it had been a bumpy conversation that lasted well past the library's closing hours and prevented any work from getting done that afternoon. It ended at the coffee shop round the corner, and Ava was practically buzzing both because of the amount of coffee she ingested and the shocking revelations Silje dropped on her.

Getting past the part where she had found Ivar, who was homeless, sleeping on a bench, and invited him, a homeless stranger, into her home for dinner and a night's sleep, was hard. Ava kept interrupting her and pointing out all the moments where Silje could have been killed if Ivar had been a psychopath.

Silje hadn't been drinking coffee, she was downing green tea by the liter to calm her nerves and stay open and understanding of her friend's reactions. Only when Silje mentioned Ivar's injury and his getting a job as soon as he was able to eased Ava's worries.

“You are insane. I take back what I said earlier, you've lost it, completely.” She finished her coffee. “I don't even know what to tell you now. I guess we're well past the part where I give you the “be careful” speech because he's just a stranger you picked up on the street. You guys are in a relationship, hell, you've been living together without me knowing! I am kinda mad about that, not gonna lie.”

“I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't approve!” Silje said to defend herself but realized too late that it was a bad point. “Well, I mean... I didn't really know what I was doing in the beginning, I hadn't planned on taking him as a roommate before he got beat up, and then he was there and I was stuck with a hot stranger on my couch, what did you want me to do? Throw away this chance to turn my life into a romance novel? That's how they all start!”

“You're always so down-to-earth, what happened?” Ava cried out in a hushed tone. “For Odin's sake, you sound like me, and it's not a compliment.”

“I get it, I do. But can we rather focus on the now? Everything worked out in the end, don't forget that,” Silje said, pointing her finger toward Ava who fought back the urge to jump over the table and strangle her friend. Silje saw that. “Please, don't be angry with me. I liked him, and once I had introduced him to you all, it became his secret to share.”

“What changed? Why are you telling me now?”

“Because... he's moved on from that now. It's in the past and no longer holding him back, at least I think so. He has a job, a place to live, he'll continue his master's soon. His life is on tracks now, and he can look back and laugh about the past, knowing he pulled through.”

Ava seemed to think about it. Her lashes fluttered a bit and she pursed her lips – a clear sign that she was conflicted. Silje kept quiet because she had been talking for the last three hours, her throat was on fire and she was sweating through her shirt. Was it the air in the coffee shop that was stifling or did Ava's approval matter more than she thought it did.

“You know-” she started slowly, probably for suspens. “I like Ivar. He's a good person, and he's so in love with you that it makes us sick,” she stated as if it was nothing. Silje's puzzlement was evident. “I suppose that I wouldn't have been so inclined to welcome him in our group, had I known his past, so I can't really blame you for hiding it from me. I can also understand that it wasn't your secret to share, I can respect that you wanted to let him come clean when the time was right. But he didn't.”

“Because it doesn't matter anymore.” Silje had jumped in to defend Ivar without thinking. “It's not who he is. It shouldn't define the way people look at him, and that's why neither of us said anything in the end – before now. And this should go without saying, but I'm trusting you to keep this to yourself.”

Now Ava looked very displeased.

“You can't drop this bomb on me to relieve yourself of the weight of your secret and then demand that I keep it for you!” She sounded positively scandalized and ready to storm off.

“You're my best friend, who the hell can I tell this if not you?” Silje replied, equally offended. “I knew you wouldn't be thrilled to hear about this, but I thought you'd understand.”

“I understand that you have lost your mind because of some pretty boy!”

Silje swallowed her comeback and started blankly at her friend. A poor friend, as it turned out. If her closed off expression said anything, Ava must have understood it. The conversation had come to an end and it was time to leave before either of them said words they would regret later.

It was deadly silent and the air had become cool between them when Silje grabbed her bag and stormed off.

She power walked back to her apartment and threw herself face-first on the sofa, screaming into a couch cushion until she felt better. Then she kicked off her shoes, stripped and went directly to bed because it was late already, and she did not want to get lost in her seething thoughts under the shower.

It was a restless night of tossing and turning and angrily crossing her arms over her chest while cursing Ava. Then she thought back to what Ivar told her and cursed him too, for being away and not holding her in his arms after she fought with her best friend, for not being there to talk about her doubts concerning university.

Fuck, now she was crying. She wiped away the tears with such force that her skin burnt under her eyes and she bit hard on her lower lip to calm herself. She had become such a mess in the last few weeks, she didn't recognize herself anymore. Where was the headstrong, independent woman she had grown into? Her parents would be ashamed of her behaviour. And Odin be damned, Ava was right, she had acted recklessly by letting a stranger into her home, she should have sent a safe message to all of her friends the second she invited Ivar into her apartment on julaften.

When she woke up the next day, her face was stiff because of the dried tears and she felt as awful as she looked. Today was Saturday, she had no business being up before noon, especially since she had come to the conclusion that her life was in complete disarray anyway – what was the point of being an early bird for the sake of it? To cease the day? Bullshit.

But a loud banging on her front door made her lift her head from her pillow. What was that now? Couldn't a girl have a breakdown without being interrupted?

“Go away!” she shouted, though whoever was outside her apartment couldn't possibly hear her weak protest through the closed door of her bedroom.

The banging didn't stop, and so Silje grumbled and crawled out of bed, wrapping herself in a robe and combing back her hair with her fingers. She nearly lost a hand amidst all the knots.

“What do you want?!” she asked as she swung the door open.

It was Ava, who looked tired and sorry.

“Hej. You look like death,” she said as a way of breaking the ice after their fight.

“Right back at you.”

“I thought I should rip off the bandaid sooner than later, so I came here to apologize,” she explained with her usual down-to-business voice that she used when she didn't want to get too emotional over something – like when she tried to explain the plot of Star Wars to someone who had never seen them without sounding like an absolute nerd.

“Apologies go well with freshly baked goods,” Silje pointed out, feeling merciless this morning – and hungry: she hadn't had breakfast yet.

Ava knew her well, and she quickly opened a bag to show she didn't come empty-handed. Silje nodded solemnly, granting her access to her home.

“You may enter.” She pushed the door wide open though she refused to smile until she extorted proper excuses from her friend. One should have a minimum of dignity.

“Please, Sil, don't be like that,” she whined.

It seemed that she understood just how badly she had hurt Silje with her hurtful words and obtuse thinking last night. Silje's arms were still crossed on her chest, to give herself countenance even though she wanted to hold Ava in her arms very badly and forget it all.

“I'm really sorry. I was so taken aback, I almost forgot to look at the bigger picture because I was worried about you. It doesn't justify anything, so I brought you this, to make amends...”

She pulled a folded sheet of paper out of her pocket and held it between her fingers until Silje deigned taking it to look at it.

When she did, her eyes widened.

“Go see your boyfriend, Silje. And by all that is holy on this earth, stop with the pity-party. I just want you to be happy, and he clearly does a damn good job of it, so... that's all I, or anyone else for that matter, needs to know about him.”

Silje threw her arms around Ava's shoulders, taking great care of not wrinkling the printed plane ticket in her hand.

If this wasn't the right building, she was truly lost. Her heels clacked on the pavement and the steady rumble of her suitcase' wheels followed her steps. She pushed the heavy oak double doors and walked in. It wasn't dark yet, so hopefully someone would still be there. This wouldn't have happened if her plane hadn't been delayed!

Now wasn't the time to complain though, he would soon be there. Her eyes searched for a sign and fell on a small golden plate on the wall to her left. “Secretary's office” it said. She followed it, happy to see there were arrows painted on the floor to help clueless people like her find their way.

One narrow door stood ajar and soft light came out of there. Gently, she knocked on the door.

“Come in!” A woman's voice called.

Silje pushed the door wide open and stepped in, feeling like she was in high school and being called in the principal's office all over again – it had been Nicolaj's fault, he dared her to sneak into the boys' locker room. Would there ever come a day she wouldn't feel shy and guilty when talking to a figure of authority?

“Hi! I'm sorry for bothering you. I'm a bit lost I think,” she said as way of introduction.

“You're not bothering me at all, dear, come on in,” she gestured her to sit down. “Where are you headed? You're not from around here, you have quite the accent,” she observed with a warm smile.

She seemed to be in her fifties, her hair was already getting gray in some areas and she wore thin glasses.

“I'm from Denmark,” Silje told her to satisfy her curiosity. “I'm actually here to surprise my boyfriend. He works here as a teacher assistant?” she explained, trying to get a reaction out of the woman that would indicate she was in the right place. “His name is Ivar Lothbrok, could you point me in the direction of his room?”

“Oh dear! I'm not allowed to let a stranger wander around school property sadly. You come a bit late.” She looked embarrassed and sorry for Silje. “It's the rules, I'm afraid.”

Silje's face fell. So much for the surprise then. She had pushed off calling Ivar directly because she wanted to surprise him, but nevermind.

“I understand.”

“Wait. What did you say his name is?” the woman asked, obviously feeling sympathetic for Silje who had flown all this way to see her beau. The young woman's face lit up again.

“Ivar Lothbrok. He works here part time as a history teacher assist. You must have noticed him if he's been around here: quite tall, brown hair, blue eyes,” she described. “He should be living on school grounds.”

“Oh I think it rings a bell, let me check in the system.”

The woman pushed her glasses further up her nose and typed on her old keyboard. She was swift and seemed to know exactly where to look. A little smile soon appeared on her face.

“Oh yes, I see,” she hummed to herself. “He does work here, so you're in the right place. However, I see here that he does indeed live on school property, which is why I still cannot let you go on your own. It is technically still a school day, and family and friends are only allowed on school grounds during the holidays, that is, starting tomorrow.”

Silje tried to follow her fast speaking rhythm – she wasn't used to speaking english that much, especially not the irish accent.

“The best I can do is try to call him,” she offered, ever so kindly. “It's the end of the day, he should be back in his quarters if we're in luck.”

“Thank you so much! That would be wonderful! Don't tell him that I'm here though,” Silje exclaimed gratefully.

She sent Silje a conniving smile and dialed the number. He seemed to pick up, which was a relief – she wasn't sure she could hang around here much longer – and the woman made quick work of it, asking him to come over because she needed him to sign a paper. Then she hung up, and Silje took a sharp intake of breath.

“There you go, sweetheart. It's the end of the day for me, so I'll be leaving too. You can wait on the bench outside the office.”

That was a dismissal if she ever saw one. But she nodded and gave her thanks again. This woman had stayed a little longer at her office to accommodate a total stranger who wanted to surprise her boyfriend. She was allowed to shoo Silje out now that her good deed was done.

A grand total of five minutes after the woman locked the office, Silje heard footsteps coming this way and stood up from the bench, her race racing uncharacteristically. It must be Ivar! Her palms became a little sticky and she was more flustered than she cared to admit seeing her boyfriend again. It had only been two months since they parted ways, but on the other hand, it had been two whole, long months that she spent thinking about seeing him again.

She barely had the time to rub her hands against her dress and give herself some countenance before the double doors swung open, and in strutted a nonchalant Ivar, both hands in his pockets, whistling to himself like he didn't have a care in the world. The hallway had been in the dark since Silje sat down because she hadn't moved at all, but as soon as Ivar arrived the automatic light turned on and revealed the presence to his left.

He stopped in his tracks, Silje saw surprise and a bit of disbelief in the way he looked at her and shook his head as if he thought he was having a hallucination, but then he smiled. She smiled back, and her heart leaped at the sight of him.

“Silje?" he asked, his voice fairly cautious but ecstatic still as he already took a first step towards her, a disbelieving smile plastered on his face.

Without saying anything Silje lunged forward and they met halfway, throwing their arms around each other and holding on. The rush of warmth and comfort that erupted inside her when she felt Ivar's arms engulf her in a hug was indescribable. With her head on his chest, Silje heard his chest rumble as he laughed – at least he seemed happy to see her, even if she popped out of nowhere without giving any warning.

“I can't believe you're here!” he sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple but not letting go yet, not even enough to give her a proper kiss.

For now, he just needed to hold her a bit – gods he had craved holding her again for weeks now! At any moment someone might walk in on them, but he couldn't care less, even if it was a student.

“You better start believing it,” she giggled, letting her hands fall down his back and onto his sides. She pulled back reluctantly; she wanted to see his eyes – and maybe his lips too. He smiled so wide and bright she was moved to tears. He really was happy to see her, and here she was worried she might arrive at a wrong time or mess up his holiday’s plans. “Kiss me like you missed me,” she told him.

Silje didn't need to say it twice, Ivar grabbed her face and crashed his lips against hers in a split second, all too happy to accommodate her. They both smiled like total fools in love in the kiss, but they couldn't care less about this somewhat awkward kiss. Silje's hand slid up to his neck and grabbed a fistful of his hair to hold onto and she pulled him down even more, pressing him harder against her lips, urging him to kiss her deeper.

Instead he broke their embrace and placed a quick, feather-like peck to the tip of her nose, startling her.

“I did miss you,” Ivar admitted, smiling fondly at Silje and her rosy cheeks. “Let's go to my place, shall we? We can't be caught making out at my workplace,” he reminded her.

A little laugh fell from Silje's lips when she realized she got carried away so quickly after seeing him again.

“Well at least you won't be able to say I wasn't glad to see you again,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly and turning around to go grab her luggage.

Ivar laughed, shaking his head – he had missed her antics and little innuendos – and he followed her, carried the duffel bag while Silje dragged the small suitcase behind her, and together they made their way to his apartment.

“I wanted to come knock on your door directly but the woman behind the desk said I couldn't go there because it was on school property,” Silje said when they approached a big Victorian-looking building with an impressive number of windows and giant wooden double doors through which an elephant could no doubt fit.

“Yeah they actually gave me the building’s superintendent’s’ apartment, he retired last year so I'm getting his place – and his job too, I have to make sure the doors are locked after a certain hour and signal it to the administration if students sneak out,” he explained, holding the left door open to let Silje through.

“Which happens often?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed. “You'd be surprised how creative these little shits can get when a night at the pub is at stake.” He rolled his eyes and lead her to a door at the back of the hallway, almost hidden behind the main stairway. “Here we are. Me casa es tu casa, you know the drill,” he told her.

Ivar unlocked the door but let Silje step in first, closing behind her and turning on the lights. He sucked in a breath and held it without really thinking about it while Silje silently took in her surroundings, looking around her.

The place was bigger than her tiny student apartment in Copenhagen, and much less stuffed with various unnecessary things such as the unreasonable number of blankets she owns, or the piles of books covering every single square inch of horizontal surface. It felt a little more... empty, but it was nice, clean, and it was Ivar's.

For a week in her life, Silje would be living at Ivar's place, and that was strange in an upside-down kind of way, but also thrilling. She wasn't sure how she should behave because so far, she had been the one 'at home', and for the first time she realized how odd it must have been for Ivar to spend all this time living under a roof that wasn't his, sleeping on a couch, and basically squatting someone else's place.

Now she understood with full force why he needed to leave Denmark, why he needed independence so badly. A tinge of guilt tugged at her heart when she remembered the way she first reacted to his news about leaving.

“I haven't really taken the time to make it mine yet,” Ivar said behind her when the tension became too much for him to handle. This silence was too thick. “I meant to decorate a bit, but I just never got around to it.”

The bare walls and nearly empty shelves did scream 'a man lives here' to Silje, which made her smile. The whole place looked rather old – not in a crumbling way, just as in a historic way. This was an old building and the inside reflected the outside. The walls were a dull shade of forest green, and every piece of furniture apart from the kitchen corner was in dark wood.

“What do you think?”

“I think you miss the Scandinavian minimalistic aesthetic,” Silje teased him, nudging him after they dropped her luggage. “You know, as long as there's a little room for me in your life, I don't really care what it looks like.”

“Oh yeah, I dare hope so, because it was a proper mess when we met,” he reminded her.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and lead her to the back, towards two closed doors. The house tour didn't last long. Ivar opened the doors to show her where the bathroom was, then the bedroom, and that's when Silje decided the tour was over.

She pushed him inside and told him she needed to take a closer look at the bed, because she couldn't possibly form an opinion without trying it out.

Ivar's phone lit up next to them for the third time in a row, making them both sigh. Silje sat upright and climbed off Ivar to go grab it and have a look at who was continuously interrupting their activities. He saw her frown at his phone, which had him on his feet faster that the speed of light.

“What does 'hey man, how's she cuttin'? Don't forget we going out on the lash and mottin' with the lads tonight' mean?” she asked slowly, as if she were reading an obscure foreign language, her brows still knitted together in complete and utter confusion.

Ivar's groan, followed by a chuckle made her turn around, cocking a brow at him while waiting for a translation.

“I completely forgot I agreed to go pub crawling with my friends tonight,” he told her, rubbing his face.

Silje had been here for four days now, and to be frank, Ivar and her and done nothing but walk around town hand in hand, get lost in each other's gaze to the point where they didn't hear the voice of the waiter at the restaurant they were at, and then went back to his place to undress each other with more than their eyes.

He had tried to show her around, had taken her to museums, bookshops and fun attractions, but nothing in the world appealed more to Silje than her dear, handsome boyfriend, and so they clung to one another like their life depended on it, not caring what other people thought of their public displays of affection.

Today, Ivar had insisted on taking her outside of the city and into the gree nature of Ireland. She knew him well and expect as much, which is why she came with adequate shoes for climbing around muddy hills and sharp rocks. They were tired and sore, but not too tired and sore to end the day with a bang. However, the thought of having to go out again really didn't sound appealing anymore, especially now that Silje was here, half naked, and Ivar had a semi-hard on from their heated make out session on his bed.

“I still don't understand anything that's in this message,” she told him, handing him his phone so he could answer.

“It's dumbass for 'hey, what's up? Don't forget we're going drinking tonight',” he explained. “And mottin' means women chasing. Cillian is feeling lonely these days,” he laughed when Silje sent him a nasty glare at the mention of their planned activity. “I'll tell them I can't come.”

Ivar was already typing when Silje snatched the phone from his hand.

“You can go,” she said. “You don't need to babysit me, I'll just read a book or watch a movie while you're out.”

She had taken up so much of his free time already, she wouldn't deny him a night out with his guy friends – the Norns know boys need their boyfriends.

“Nonsense!" he retrieved his phone. “Either I cancel, or you join us,” Ivar said, his tone final.

“But I don't know them, and you had plans. I don't want to intrude on your boys' night or whatever these are called,” she insisted. “Also, it's rude to cancel plans last minute.”

Ivar couldn't hold back his smile when she gave him that motherly glare that meant he had to stick to his engagements.

“Alright, then you're coming.”

“Ivar...” Silje started with a deep sigh.

“No, no, no you need to come. They need to see you're a real person and that I haven't made you up,” Ivar argued, holding onto Silje's hand to pull her towards him. Silje's eyebrow rose at that, an expression of confusion and amusement painted on her face.

“Your friends think you have an imaginary girlfriend?” Silje laughed when Ivar nodded. She pondered the thought for a short moment, leaving Ivar in waiting. “Well, then I guess I have to come.”

Needless to say, they didn't make a quiet entrance. The moment Ivar stepped through the front door of their pub of choice, tailed by Silje who looked around in fascination, taking in her surroundings, a round a disbelieving cheers greeted them. Three boys around their age stood up and raised their glasses, so Silje assumed these were Ivar's friends. By the gods, what have I agreed to?

Ivar did head towards the merry group, and he greeted each one of them while she stayed back, waiting for her turn. She was fascinated by everything around her. It struck her that the place was already filled to the brim with jul decorations, while also having a few pumpkins, glow-in-the-dark skulls and spider webs here and there for Samhain next week.

“Ivar, man! Ya boyo, why have'na told us ya were comin' with such a fine thing?” one of them said, and although the sentence was dotted with words Silje didn't quite catch, she did understand he thought her pretty.

“Shame on ya, Ivar! Don't ya have a mot back home?” another one said, shaking his head in disappointed. Ivar was just about to protest and introduce her when the last one spoke up.

“Shrupp, ya dickbrains, can't ya see the lady's awaitin'?” The third one told them off and stood up to greet Silje.

All three spoke with heavy accents, rolling their r's and using slang Silje had never heard before. Ivar caught her glancing at him for help, looking thoroughly lost. She ended up opting for attack as the best defence, before Ivar had a chance to step in and translate for her.

“Hi, I'm Silje. I'm gonna assume Ivar told you about me?” her Danish accent was a bit heavier than Ivar's.

One of the boys at the table clutched his chest and exclaimed, “I'm in love!”

“Told us? It's hard to make him shut up!” the other one declared dramatically, raising his pint to Ivar who glared at him.

“I'm Dean,” the one who had stood up introduced himself, and Silje shook his hand. “The love sick fool ove' there is Cillian, and that's Caleb.” Each of them waved their hand at her when Dean mentioned their name and Silje returned the gesture with a little smile.

“So you didn'a makeup that story, eh?” Cillian teased Ivar, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Havin' ya girl fly all the way heyar just to prove us wrong is a bit much, innit?” Caleb added.

“Well, you didn't give me much of a choice, now did you?” Ivar snapped back good naturedly shoving his friend in the shoulder.

Dean gestured Silje to sit on the bench next to her boyfriend before he sat down himself.

“Ivar told me I was quite the cryptid around here, so I jumped on the first flight to make a surprise appearance at the pub and freak out the locals,” Silje said, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. Now that she was here she had to make the best of it, and not shrink back on herself while the boys chatted the night away.

“'tis a good thing ya came, ya fella wouldn'a take that puss off his face because he missed ya so,” Dean told her, nudging her gently.

She stared at him with big eyes, then turned to Ivar who wore an amused expression. But he was once again interrupted before he could even start speaking.

“He's telling ya your man missed the heck outta ya, girl!” Caleb said. “Ivar wouldn'a stop sulking and rambling about his amazing girlfriend,” he added with a grin that showed he was quite satisfied with himself for having both supplied Silje with a translation and having made Ivar blush.

“Alright, it was nice seeing you guys, we'll go now,” Ivar declared but Dean sat steady and didn't let him and Silje get up.

“Don't get ye knickers in a twist, man! We're just teasin'. Ya brought us a pretty lash, we're intimidated,” Dean tried to calm him down.

Their exchange made Silje smile, and she rid herself of her coat to get more comfortable.

“De fortæller mig ikke noget, jeg ved ikke allerede1,” Silje told Ivar, placing a hand on his arm. Her words seemed to have an effect on him, though his friends had no idea what she said, Ivar ended up nodding and shrugging off his jacket too.

“It's like she's speaking magic words,” Cillian told the others upon seeing Ivar's annoyance melt like snow in the sun.

“Kan du se hvad du har rodet os ind i ? Fortryder du det ikke?2” he asked her back, if only to bother his friends who didn't understand a single word of Danish – thank the gods for that by the way.

“Nej det gør jeg ikke,3” Silje answer with a triumphant smile. “Should we get drinks?”

Her question woke the others from their fascinated gawking at the couple speaking foreign words to each other and made them snap back to reality. Ever so reactive, Dean raised a hand to call for a waitress from their corner table. The place was packed with people – they chose a Friday night of all days to go out.

Soon as the waitress was there Cillian raised a hand.

“Five pints of brown beer, lovely,” he told her, making the girl smile.

“Oh wait!” Silje called her before she could scurry off to get their drinks. “Make it three pints and two glasses of white wine.”

The girl took note of the change of order and ran off.

“Christ, Ivar! Your mot been heyra for a couple hours and she's leading ya by the nose already! Ordering fancy drinks, eh?” Caleb teased before downing the remaining of his beer to make way for the next one.

Silje blinked in slight confusion. She was leaning on the table with both elbows when she looked at Ivar, waiting for an explanation. He merely shrugged, but he was mistaken if he thought she was going to drop it and make it easy for him. He wanted her to tag along, he would have to own up to it.

“Why Ivar, haven't you told your friends you don't like beer?”

Her question was followed by a round of choked up screeches and a variety of downright offended protests. Meanwhile Ivar closed his eyes and groaned, causing Silje's devious grin to widen even more.

“We're in Ireland Sil, I wouldn't have made any friends if I didn't drink beer,” he grunted unhappily.

Silje nodded. It made sense of course, but she couldn't pass up such an opportunity to tease him in front of his friends. It was usually the other way around since they spent a lot of time with her own friends.

She gave him a gentle smile and pushed a strand of his hair out of his face, effectively making the three boys at the table stop rambling about the beer thing, and start poking at Ivar for being such a sap when his girlfriend was here. He didn't pay attention to them, and instead chose to enjoy the moment. For weeks now, he hadn't had a moment like this, he could only dream of it. To have Silje sitting next to him for a drink, and not halfway across the world, should be something to appreciate to the full, regardless of the presence of his merry group of idiotic friends.

“Jeg kan ikke vente til jeg har dig for mig selv resten af ugen,4” he whispered in her ear, making all three of his friends lean towards them in hopes to catch something even though it was all Chinese to them.

Throughout the evening, whenever Ivar said something only meant for Silje he switched back to Danish both because she wasn't as comfortable speaking English as he was – especially the local slang that was difficult to grasp -, and because it was more private. His friends looked confused as all hell at first but after hearing the tone of their voice and seeing them smile at each other, Cillian came up with a theory.

“Ah, I see! You're speaking that silly language of yours to talk dirty in public! I get it.”

Silje and Ivar both frowned and shared a glance.

“Man, that's not at all what's happening,” Ivar told him.

“Yeah, right,” his friend replied, giving them both a conniving wink as though he was now in on a secret.

“Don't mind him. Han er lidt dum5,” Ivar told Silje, making her chuckle in her glass.

The pub crawl was adjourned due to Silje's presence – not cancelled, never cancelled – and they decided to spend the night here instead. The place became even more crowded if that was possible, to the point where it was impossible to call for the waitress. All the staff was behind the bar, pouring drink after drink.

Silje volunteered to go get their next round of drinks and went to the bar. She hopped on a stool when one became available while she waiting her turn, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the sticky counter top. The waitress from earlier spotted her and yelled over the noise to ask her if she wanted the same. Silje nodded and smiled at the girl.

There weren't many girls here tonight from what she could see. But there sure were a lot of inebriated men, as proven by the one trouble maker who elbowed his way towards her until he was leaning against the counter right next to her. Silje leaned in the other direction ever so slightly.

“What's a ride like ya doin' alone?" he slurred, giving her a once over in an obvious manner, which suggested he meant it as some sort of compliment.

She scrunched up her nose and pretended she didn't hear him over the noise, hoping he would take the hint and go away – though she was positive he wouldn't take a hint smaller than her fist in his face. Maybe she should just do that from now on – hit first and talk later. A thought to ponder.

Silje wasn't one to complain about slow service in any kind of place, be it a pub or a fancy restaurant, but these drinks sure took their sweet time to get to her. All the while the drunk guy attempted to flirt with her with as much subtleness as an elephant in a china shop. How much longer now?

From the other side of the room, Ivar stretched his neck to see where Silje was with their drinks – Caleb grew nasty when he didn't have a cold one in his hand – and what he saw made his jaw clench. Seeing that beefy dude drool over his girlfriend made him glare holes in the back of his head and he stopped listening to the story Dean was telling him altogether.

She said something then, but the gods have mercy it only seemed to entice the guy even more, though she wore her disgust like a pearl necklace and shot him annoyed glances.

He felt his hand tighten its grip on his empty glass. He wished he could read lips because there was no hearing what they were saying over the ambient chatter, and he didn't want to cause a scene for nothing even if he really wanted to get up and teach this asshole some manners. Ivar was left breathless by the force of his urge to mark his territory. Silje would flick his forehead if he ever voiced his instincts.

“Hey man, your mot in trouble?” Dean asked, finally taking notice of Ivar's change of mood and following his gaze. “That chump acting the maggot. Go get her.”

Silje exchanged a few more words with the stranger, no smile in sight as she pulled away slightly when he scooted closer. Then she turned towards the table and pointed right at Ivar. Good. This fucker needed to know she was taken. Happily taken. Now he better back off or the gods have mercy on him because Ivar won't.

He was ready to storm across the room at the slightest hint of distress on Silje's face. But when Silje saw the look of rage on her boyfriend's face her expression softened a bit and she raised her palm discreetly. He blinked, then looked back at his friends and dropped the frown on his face, forcing his rage down.

“Nah. S'all good. She can handle herself,” he told his friends to their utter bewilderment.

A second ago he looked like he was ready to stab the guy in the throat and now he acted like it didn't even bother him to see his girlfriend being hit on. He stared a little harder than he normally would at his empty glass and couldn't help glancing towards the bar every other ten seconds, but he calmed down.

This was her sign. The little hand gesture. He knew it meant she had things under control. He didn't need to come to her rescue - even if he damn well felt entitled to and it itched him greatly to sucker punch this idiot. He trusted her, Silje wasn't overconfident in her skills or reckless at all. If she sensed actual danger coming from this guy, she would call him. After another while of tense silence between the guys where everyone was staring at the exchange except Ivar who glared at his glass like it was guilty of something, his suffering came to an end.

His back muscles relaxed as soon as he felt her familiar gentle hand on his shoulder. She laughed when she felt him literally melt under her touch. She expertly set down the plate of drinks she held with one hand, and joined Ivar on the seat bench, pressing into his side and snuggling him a bit despite the very public space to reassure him.

“Good thing you got rid of that wanker,” one of Ivar's friends chuckled in his glass. “Ivar was about to pop a vein.”

“I would have popped his head like a champagne bottle,” Ivar countered, scowling and leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I know you would have, but I like to try solving situations my way before letting you maim anyone who dares look at me.”

“This is about that guy at the park this summer,” Ivar groaned and rubbed his face. “I thought we wouldn't bring it up again.”

This triggered his friends to ask a lot of questions what exactly went down last summer at the park, and Silje happily obliged them and told the whole story, much to Ivar's despair. It wasn't even his fault; the other guy had started it.

The gang and them were out for the day, enjoying the sun. And some dude at the park kept losing his ball while playing volleyball with his friends and it somehow always ended up at Silje's feet. Ivar's patience ran out after the fifth time and he threw the ball back full force. It hit the guy in the face so hard it sent him stumbling backwards and falling on his butt. Their friends laughed but Silje didn't.

She finished her story with a fond smile on her lips, looking at Ivar with such whole-hearted tenderness that it melted the frown right off his face. She leaned back into him.

“Next time a guy hits on me I'll punch him in the face, promise,” she whispered to in his ear. Then she grabbed her glass and the boys carried on their conversation like nothing happened. “Oh look, they have-” Silje stopped and visibly searched for a word, snapping her fingers as if to summon it. “Ivar, hvad hedder dartspil på engelsk?" she finally gave in, turning to her boyfriend.

“A dart game,” he provided, and Silje snapped her fingers again, this time in victory.

“Yes! A dart game. Let's play darts,” she said, waiting to see if the boys would agree to her challenge.

“I can't accept, it would break me heart to crush ya at a game,” sighed Cillian as if it was a sacrifice on his part in the name of chivalry.

“Can't hand their asses to pretty girls like ye,” Dean agreed with his friend, drinking the last of his beer and chuckling to himself while Ivar's grin grew wider and wider. Silje saw it and smirked a little.

“If you're scared of losing it's alright, I understand you don't want to lose to a girl in public,” Silje said nonchalantly, knowing that they wouldn't be able to let slide this blow to their ego. Boys were so terribly easy to manipulate, it was a wonder the human race survived so long.

As expected from a bunch of young men slightly drunk off beer, they all immediately puffed out their chest and stood up, accepting her open challenge while claiming they wouldn't be held responsible for her crushing defeat. Only Caleb seemed to sense there it wasn't a good idea and remained by Ivar's side.

Ivar leaned back and kept smiling to himself like an all-knowing Cheshire Cat. He followed Silje but declined the invitation to participate – he knew better.

“No mercy, Sil,” he told her with a wink. “I'm going to sit this one out and enjoy the show.”

The two of them watched Silje slowly but surely crush Dean and Cillian's self-confidence with each dart she threw exactly where she intended. The two boys lost their mind – along with a fair amount of people who watched the game, one beer in hand, placing bets – and quickly understood their mistake. That's what they get for underestimating girls.

Silje never lost her grin and she scored more and more points.

“Ivar, ya jammy client6,” Caleb mumbled in his beer, nudging Ivar in the ribs to get his attention.

He had been entranced by Silje's gleeful smile and lethal aim. Yeah, he sure was the luckiest man alive.

It was already time to say goodbye and they both hated it though they knew it was coming. The wind was blowing strong, the sun wasn't even up yet, it was dark and cold and yet neither of them wore gloves because they needed that skin-to-skin contact just a while longer.

Soon, they would be able to wear gloves again as they wouldn't see each other until jul. At least this time, it wasn't a vague goodbye with no idea when they would meet again. Ava's part in their little reunion was much, much appreciated and Ivar would need to thank her, but they had arranged their next meeting ahead of time this time.

No surprise visit, no wandering about on school property to find the right building; Ivar would go two hours early to the airport and wait for Silje with a cheesy note written on a poster that he'd hold very high for her to spot from a distance once she had collected her luggage. She was going to hate it, he thought, amused.

“The bus is coming,” she said, spotting the headlights coming round the corner of the street.

She squeezed Ivar's hand and turned to him, her eyes glowing under the streetlight and looking a bit too glossy for Ivar's liking. If she so much as shed a tear, he wasn't going to let her leave. He didn't care about the consequences, he would pull a proper kidnapping and keep her all to himself, screw Denmark.

“I wish I could come with you,” he said, cradling her face and kissing her softly. Their lips were still swollen from all the kisses they exchanged these last few hours. One would think they were never going to see each other again instead of parting for roughly two months.

Ivar couldn't escort Silje to the airport because he was working today, bright and early; he could only walk her to the nearest bus station and wave her goodbye until she was out of sight.

The bus stopped and the doors opened: it was time.

“Jeg vil savne dig7,” Silje whispered before leaving.

“Jeg elsker dig8,” he answered.

Right before the doors closed on her, he stole one last kiss and felt her smile against his lips.

TRANSLATIONS

1They aren't telling me anything I don't already know.

2See what you got us into? Any regrets yet?

3No, I don't.

4I can't wait to have you all to myself for the rest of the week.

5He's a little dumb.

6Lucky bastard

7 I'll miss you.

8 I love you.

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19 notes · View notes