#or me slowly getting back my freedom after art school.....

[alciedoodles]

seri with suspenders (based off this idea) :)

[min-youngis]

Say My Name - j.jh

Jeong Jaehyun x Reader

Fluff, Suggestive, Angst, Humour; NC-17; 12.1k words

Bodyguard x Princess, Royalty AU

Swearing, Alcohol Mention, Implied Spicy Times, Anxiety Mentions, Medium-to-Fast Burn, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Jealousy Jealousy, Sword Fighting as Foreplay

Four years at sea have trained you to survive on close to nothing, to plant your feet firmly on the deck of a ship without stumbling, to navigate a vessel through the eye of an earth-shattering storm. The eighteen years before that had taught you how to be an able princess, the darling of the kingdom, to observe without being observed, and to wheedle answers from people who did not wish to part with them. Now, with your ascension to the throne nearing, you’re learning the art of statecraft and diplomacy, war room tactics and dirty compromises with smaller rulers. But there are no lessons for what to do when your lifelong bodyguard starts looking a little too interesting.

A/N: surprise bitches, bet you thought you’d seen the last of me. pulled these titles out of my ass. cried a bit at jaehyun’s lil speech at the end.

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

If the fly doesn’t shut up soon, you’re going to scream.

           “And you, your Highness? What do you think?”

           You abruptly school your expression into one of neutrality. The fly is probably glad to be rid of your glare, anyway. “About?” you venture, trying not to inflect too much cluelessness into your voice. The exasperated look from your father isn’t very promising.

           The General, more than used to your wandering attention, makes no outward expression of annoyance at having to repeat himself. “About the campaign. Do you see anything untoward in the agreement?”

           At the slight dip of his head, you become cognizant of the rough parchment on the table in front of you. Hurriedly, you take it in your hands and begin to speed read, keenly aware of the eyes of the rest of the state diplomatic heads on you.

           “Looks fine,” you acquiesce, not giving it too much of a thought. The war room is in the worst ventilated quarter of the castle, and you can feel the fabric of your inners sticking to the skin of your back with sweat. The fly won’t shut up. You want to get out.

           Every day has been like this for the last week, since you returned from your travels. You were given a day to recover from the four years away, to regain your land legs and get reacquainted with the King and Queen, before you were put to work. That had been the agreement. Four years outside the kingdom, to explore and travel and sail to any port in the world with your crew, to experience freedom, before being cloistered back inside the castle you had grown up in to begin your training as the heir to the throne. The sudden adjustment had been difficult enough, dealing with the rigid palace timings and having to follow all the rules again after spending years with only the sea and your own thirst for adventure to guide you, but what had made it all even more unbearable was the incessant meetings with the war council and the diplomatic advisors about state policy. Your father had thought it was important for you to be present for these, to get a feel for what your future would look like. At the moment, it doesn’t feel very fun.

           Thankfully, it only takes a few minutes to wrap up the meeting once all the council heads have given their revisions and approval. Slowly, the others filter out of the room, leaving behind you and your father. You make your way to walk out as well, standing up with a nod at the King, when he stops you.

           “You know what I’m going to say,” your father states.

           The single open window lets in a stream of sunlight that illuminates the greys in his hair, the wrinkles on his face. But his appearance belies a strength that you had grown up in awe of. There’s steel in his eyes, spine ramrod straight in his high-back chair. Impressive, but you wish there was a little less steel to be seen right about now.

           You do know what he’s going to say. How are you going to govern the country when you’re the ruler? Why don’t you pay attention in the meetings? How will the council respect you if you spend your time here zoning out? 

“Then don’t say it,” you shrug.

           He sighs, shoulders dropping just a little bit. It makes you feel just that little bit bad. “Did you listen at all?”

           “The agreement is completely unfair,” you declare, sitting back down on your seat opposite him.

           “That’s the point, Y/N. There’s always a loser in any compromise.”

           “You’re cutting off their trade route to push them to depend on us. That isn’t compromise, that’s cruelty.”

           He sternly replies, “We’re building a dam.”

           “You’re building an excuse,” you spit out. “You’re shutting off a country half our size from the mainland, forcing them to rely on us for trade, and then you’re going to impose a completely unreasonable tax on them.”

           “If they have a problem with it, they’ll get back with an agreeable alternative.”

           “They won’t risk angering us, and you know it.”

           Silence. Unconsciously, you’ve moved forward in your frustration, and you lean back in your seat, stewing. Your father stares right back at you, equally defiant.

           “Why didn’t you mention all this at the meeting?” he asks.

           “Your General is a…difficult man to talk to.” A sneer accompanies your words.

           “Our General is the reason we have one of the biggest armies in the world.”

           “And the most enemies.”

           The King only sighs in reply.

           Giving up early today, you think.

           On receiving no further response, and recognising that you’ve both reached the stalemate that you end up in nearly every day, you make to get up again. This time, you get as far as the door of the war room before you’re stopped.

           “I’m increasing the frequency of your sessions with Junmyeon.”

           You turn around on your heel, protest hot on your lips, but the warning in your father’s eyes makes you halt. Instead, you lift your neck, stubbornness in your words as you reply, “He can spend as long as he wants teaching me statecraft, but it won’t make a difference to my opinion about your general’s dirty tricks.”          

With that, not allowing yourself to be stopped again, you promptly stalk out of the room.

“Fucking hell, it’s almost like I need to protect others from you.”

           You hold your position, sword pointed right at the middle of Jaehyun’s neck as you look down at his sprawled frame on the floor, relishing in the satisfaction of your third straight win of the day. Still panting from the round, you grin in response to his comment as you move your sword out of the way, arm extended for your opponent to stand up. He accepts your help, grabbing his own sword that you had knocked out of his grip from the floor as he lets you assist him to his feet.

           Wordlessly, the both of you make your way to the benches that line the circular practice courtyard, where your other guard, Hyejin, keeps watch. The argument with your father had left you restless, and like all previous similar instances, you had spent the evening training with the two members of your personal cohort. The balanced weight of the sword in your hand, the adrenaline from the fights and victories, and the exertion from all the physical activity had served to clear your head per usual, leaving behind only a dull soreness in your bones that you appreciate.

           Jaehyun and Hyejin have been with you for years – first as friends, only a little older than you, and children of members of the royal guard, when you were young. As the years had passed, time you had spent running around in the palace gardens and aggravating the head cook had slowly turned into them training in the guard, and you preparing for your eventual Queen-ship. On your sixteenth birthday, it was inevitable that they were announced as your official guards. You had missed them in your four years away, but the reassurance they had always provided made an easy reappearance after your return.

           “How many straight losses was that? Five?”

           Jaehyun scoffs at your goading as he rubs a cloth over his face. He’s only got on the loose, white tunic that’s worn by the guards below their uniforms, and sweaty patches on the fabric make it stick to his toned skin. It makes you savour the effort he’s had to put in to fight you. “Three. And I let you.”

           “You keep believing that,” you grin, giving his shoulder a soothing pat before you pull the coat over your own, equally sweaty tunic. “Next, you’ll tell me that you would have beaten me in the next round.”

           “I would have actually beaten you in the next round. Just to keep you humble.”

           “Humble me, then. Hyejin, do we have time for another round?”

           Your other guard doesn’t look at you from her roving gaze on the perimeter walls when she replies. “Not if you’re both going to bathe before dinner.”

           A pause.

           “Please bathe before dinner.”

           Jaehyun makes a big show of disappointment as he slides his sword into the scabbard that he’s attached to his waist, now fully attired in his proper uniform in preparation to go back into the castle. “Guess I’ll just have to teach you a lesson some other time, Your Highness,” he sighs in faux-displeasure.

           “Guess so, Jaehyun. Until then, I can be as insufferable as I want,” you smile, beginning to walk towards the palace doors and feeling the reassuring, constant motions of your guards behind you.

           Under her breath, Hyejin hums, “Is that not what you’ve been doing so far?”

           “I could choose to not bathe.”

           “And Her Majesty could choose to dismiss you from the dinner table because you’re masking the smell of the food with your scent.”          

You waggle your finger in playful warning at Hyejin behind you as you all reach closer to your room. “Don’t go around giving her any ideas, please. I have no idea what my father has already told her about today, but it can’t be very pleasant.”

           Her Majesty, (the Queen, your mother, etcetera), would rather see you suffering and starving in bed right now than next to her on the table, you’re sure and certain.

           Her steely glare hasn’t left you since you entered the room, her eyes narrowing at your (freshly cleaned and dressed) frame the moment you had entered. It had prompted Jaehyun to mumble a quiet ‘Ouch,’ under his breath behind you, and you could hear the wince in his voice. Now, after spending nearly an entire meal faced with the full wrath of that glare, you’re inclined to agree with him.

           It’s silent in the small dining hall, the one you use when it’s just family, with only the sounds of cutlery clinking. When you finish eating, dabbing the sides of your mouth with the white cloth, you observe your parents. You wonder if you’ll be able to make it out of the room pleading a headache before they’re done with their meals, but for the second time in a day, your smooth getaway is foiled.

           “Sit,” your mother calls out, even before you make the smallest move to get up. “Wait.”

           Perseverant, you reply in a tired voice, “I’d love to talk, but it’s been such a long day. Maybe tomorrow?” You press a limp hand up to your forehead for extra measure. One of the guards lining the walls lets out a puff of air that sounds like repressed laughter. Your target audience remains unimpressed.

           The King remains a quiet onlooker as you and your mother face-off, but you notice the glint of satisfaction in his eyes when you back down. He’s staying for the show. Defeated, you lean behind in your high-back chair in a show of acquiescence. “What would you like to discuss?”

           “How have your lessons with Junmyeon been going?”

           “Fine.”

           She doesn’t respond, quietly waiting for you to elaborate.

           You sigh. “Boring. He tells me things I already know, and the things I don’t know are said in such a monotone that I don’t want to know them.”

           “Hmm. And how was the meeting today?”

           “Same as all the others. The General shows just how crooked his moral compass is, and everybody suitably recalibrates theirs at his every proclamation.”

           Silence.

           Then, “You do realise that you’re the princess? That you’re next in line to the throne?”

           At your confused expression, your mother drops the sternness. “You are the second most important person in that room. What’s stopping you from telling them what you think?”

  ��        “They won’t listen, that’s what’s stopping me,” you huff.

           “So, make them listen,” your mother insists. “Remind them that you’re their future Queen. You aren’t gallivanting across the globe in your trousers, singing sea shanties while pulling rigs and sleeping in dingy bars with your crew anymore, Y/N. You’re training to be a ruler. When you take over the kingdom, you’re going to need people who respect you, advisors you can trust. Use these meetings to scope them out. Find a way to work with the General. And for heaven’s sake, pay more attention in your lessons.”

           You’re stunned into silence. You think your father might begin to break into applause.

           Subdued, you mumble, “I- I’ll see what I can do.”

           With that, your mother offers a firm nod before turning in her seat. “Now how was your day, darling?”

           “Just got a thousand times better,” the King replies with a wide grin on his face.          

This time, you aren’t stopped when you excuse yourself from the meal.

           The palace walls aren’t really as high as they look. The turrets run deceptively tall when they’re seen from the ground, and the four spires seem as though they touch the sky, but when you’re actually atop the towers, it doesn’t feel that high at all. Your legs dangle over the edge of the second tallest surface in the castle, and despite your guards’ complaints, it’s not that dangerous. Not really, not when you’ve got one of the many watch balconies jutting out just a few feet below you.

           The royal family had gone to bed hours ago, but sleep had remained adamantly elusive. Then you remembered the terrace. Giving the guards stationed outside your door the slip, you had made the familiar trek, avoiding the patrolling security, and climbed up the stairs.

           There’s a nip in the air, a chill that’s so typical of this time of year, but you relish the bite of the wind against your frame. From this height, you can see beyond the palace gates, out into the expanse of the kingdom’s capital. It’s too late at night to expect the hustle and bustle of regular city life, but the lights in some households remain luminant.

           You’re confident that you’ll be able to make it back to your rooms in secrecy when you have to, but for now, you want out. Just some time alone.

           “Thought I might find you up here.”

           You don’t turn around. Unspeaking, you pat the space next to you in invitation.

           Jaehyun takes the proffered seat, his presence and the heat of his body welcome after so long in the cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that his hair is tousled, and the only weapon he’s carrying is a long sword tucked into the belt of his tunic that looks rumpled, hurriedly worn.

           “How did you know I was gone?”

           “The guards heard you climbing out through your balcony. You’re slipping.”

           “I’m out of practice,” you combat. The last time you had executed this escape manoeuvre, you had been twenty-four hours away from a voyage with no end destination, and possibly no return, four years ago. “I’m sorry you had to be woken up.”

           “I wasn’t asleep.”

           “Why not?”

           He doesn’t meet your eyes. Then suddenly, it hits you. The messy hair, the haphazard tunic. Is that a bruise near the side of his neck? Immediately, you backtrack. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry you were- uh, interrupted in your…activities, I didn’t know – “

           “It’s alright,” Jaehyun chuckles at your rambling, the sound low and amused, if a bit sheepish. “This is my duty and all that.”

           You aren’t fully convinced. Wincing, you ask, “Hopefully, she understood?”

           “We aren’t courting or anything. No harm, no foul.”

           It shouldn’t be such an awkward conversation. You’ve both known each other for years, personally as friends, and professionally as heir-apparent and guard. You’re both adults. So why do you suddenly feel colder at the knowledge that Jaehyun has a life outside of you? When you had been away, he and Hyejin had been assigned patrol duty; just a few hours every day, giving them more than enough opportunity to explore their lives aside from palace work. And they don’t owe you anything when their shifts are over. What they do with their free time is none of your business.

           Maybe Jaehyun notices that you’ve suddenly gone quiet, and when he speaks again, it’s cajoling, curious, and conspicuously a different topic. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

           “It’s weird.” You keep your eyes fixed on the horizon. “I came back thinking I was ready to start training, but I feel so…out of place. The rules, the routine. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to live with a schedule. How to be a next-in-line.”

           “You seem to be doing fine, all things considered.”

           The small laugh bubbles out of you. “That’s awfully optimistic of you.”

           “No, I’m serious!” Jaehyun twists slightly, making you shift your gaze from the dark blue sky to his earnest face as he continues. “In one week, you’ve managed to cause more upheaval in that war room than there’s been in the last year. They aren’t indifferent to you - they’re just trying to get things done quicker now because they know that you’ll make changes when you take over.”

           You don’t want to believe it, but you trust his judgement and opinion, and you aren’t keen on starting a debate at the moment. “And the first person to go will be that dratted General.”

           “You’ll be fine. It’s been a while, but you’ll get used to the palace again. Only a matter of time.”

           You recognise the wisdom in his words, letting out a small sigh. Agreeable silence settles like a blanket over your frames, and the lights from the city keep your blank focus for the next few minutes, until you feel your eyes beginning to droop. Giving Jaehyun’s shoulder a pat, you say after a yawn, “I should get back to bed. And you should get back to…whatever you were doing.”

           The discomfort at the thought spikes for a second before you forcibly dull it again, as your guard stands and gives you a hand to help you up. “Would it be too much to ask you to take at least one guard the next time you decide to disappear from your room in the middle of the night?”

           “I’m afraid so. It defeats the purpose.”

           He doesn’t look surprised at your answer, just slightly disappointed. “Alright, then. But I’m increasing the security in your wing at night. Can’t make it so easy for you to escape.”          

You smile at the thought of the challenge, already plotting new routes in your brain. Maybe a disguise? By the time you reach your room, your eyes are threatening to shut fully. Jaehyun escorts you to the door, gives you a polite ‘Try not to do anything else that could jeopardise your safety tonight.’, and waits for you to sleepily nod and shut the door behind you. The sounds of him walking away accompany you on your journey to your own bed, and the thoughts of his destination continue to leave an unwelcome, sour taste in your mouth till you fall asleep.

           The General’s tone is mocking when he asks, “What do you think, your Highness?”

           “It’s a terrible idea.”

           The silence in the wake of your proclamation is so loud, you could hear a pin drop. Maybe it’s a good thing you hadn’t spoken all these days, if only to stun the advisors into listening when you finally do.

           The General sits similarly baffled for a second, but he’s the first to break the heavy quiet. Clearing his throat and darting a nervous glance at your father, he asks, “How so, your Highness?”

           “If we do that, we come off as brutes.”

           “So, we give in to their demands?”

           “Then we’ll come off as pushovers.”

           He grits his teeth, shooting another look at your father, who only looks on with approval. With great delight, you watch as the General takes a moment to calm himself, and asks in thinly-veiled annoyance, “Then what do you suggest, your Highness?”

           You’re having far too much fun pushing his buttons, so you take your time leaning back in your chair, seeming unbothered, like you have all the time in the world. You let the silence stretch, watching as the advisors roll their eyes and let out small huffs of frustration at your antics, and quietly delight at the morphing of appreciation into exasperation on your father’s face. Finally, just when the General opens his mouth again, you cut him off. “Instead of taxes, demand something else. A percentage of profits from any goods transported through our kingdom. A cut of their infantry to handle security and maintenance of the new corridor. Control over a minor port city from their territory, enough to give us a better foothold in global sea trade. You’ll increase their employment and reduce wastage of our resources at the same time.”

           Worried glances are exchanged when you finish, but they don’t bother you. You’ve said what you’ve been wanting to say for the last week. On seeing that there’s no reply forthcoming from anybody else, the King claps his hands with an air of finality and commandingly says, “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us in the next few sessions. We’ll consider each option. Send a rider saying they’ll have our decision within the fortnight.”          

You’re the first to get up from the table, and you feel eyes on you. Suspicious eyes, irritated eyes, slightly impressed eyes. At least now, they’re taking notice. You lift your chin up higher, deliberately not sparing them another glance, except for a nod at your father. Jaehyun’s proud expression meets yours before he and Hyejin take their places behind you, escorting you out of the silent war room.

           The next few weeks are easier than the first, partly because the council has started listening to you in the meetings after that first day, and partly because you’re slowly getting used to palace life again. You might have had freedom out at sea, but you didn’t have silk covers to crawl into every night and rose-scented bath water to soak in to your heart’s content every day. Your mornings are spent in meetings, drafting new policies and regularly butting heads with the General. In the evenings, you train with your guards. Your years away have made you comfortable with the sword, and every session with Jaehyun leaves both parties sweaty and satisfied. Hyejin has taken it upon herself to improve your archery skills, and her tough-love approach makes your limbs sore and achy, but the burn keeps your head clear, even if you do end up having to moan and groan your way to bed every night.

           You’ve been caught by Jaehyun lots of times on the terrace. You refrain from pointing out the details that make you stiffen – the unlaced tunic, the small, purpling bruise on his jaw, the mussed hair, and eyes that are too alert for two in the morning. These meetings all usually go the same way. A few minutes of awkwardness as you apologise for interrupting him and he waves you away, a few more minutes of silence where you both watch the darkened horizon, and then the stories. You’ve told him about the spices you’ve encountered on your travels that make your eyes water with just a whiff, the overgrown island with no inhabitants that you had run aground on, that one stormy night as the ship tossed on tsunami-like waves, making you wonder if you would see the sun again. You tell him about your crew – about Johnny, your first mate, and Yuta and Irene, with their pirate origins. You can’t keep the longing from your voice as you narrate these tales, however much you try. For his part, Jaehyun silently listens as you speak yourself to tiredness, till you’re finally ready to go to bed with the knowledge that you’ll fall asleep this time, and then escorts you to your rooms. In the morning, neither of you make any mention of it.

           Four days a week, you sit out of council meetings and head to the library for your statecraft education with Junmyeon. You wish you could say they were going as smoothly as everything else; it’s still difficult to sit in one place and listen to him drone on about history without falling asleep. Once, even Jaehyun had to be shaken awake by a discreetly yawning Hyejin as they both stood guard. Of course, it hadn’t been your fault he had spent the night awake.

“What happened in 1732?”

Junmyeon’s question pulls you out of the hard, perhaps too wild, glare you’ve been directing at one of those blasted flies for the better part of the last hour. You vaguely recollect a mention of the year in question during the session, but your memory stops at that.

“A war,” you hazard.

Probingly, your tutor asks, “Which war?”

“The, uh, Great War of…1732?”

You get an unimpressed huff in response. He sits back in his chair, seeming so defeated that you almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“It was the Final War of Demacia. Nearly half our current trade routes are possible due to the victory, and some of our biggest exports are from the lands we annexed during that period.”

That sounds like something you should have known.

You’re trying to formulate an appropriately chastised response, and you are chastised, when an interruption manifests itself in the form of a throat being cleared.

“That’s enough for today, Junmyeon. Thank you.”

You feel your blood chill at the sound of your mother’s voice. You slowly turn around to see her serenely gliding out from in between bookshelves. As Junmyeon gives a short bow and gathers his books, you try to school your expression into one of passivity and calm. The Queen, in all her regality, refuses to look at you, preferring to let you stew and fidget as you straighten your back. She takes your tutor’s seat, directly opposite your own, calmly leaning back.

“Your father would like to step down as reigning monarch by year’s end.”

“What now?”

“He’ll be announcing his decision during the Annual Winter Ball, two months from now.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’ll also be announcing your ascent, and the coronation preparations will begin soon.”

“Hold on a second,” you cry out, your increasing agitation at the surprise conversation finally culminating in a panicked shout. “What makes you think I’m ready for this? That the kingdom is ready for this?”

“You have been ready for this since you were born. This is what you have been training for.”

“You saw how terrible I am at history.”

Your mother’s placid expression doesn’t change. In the same, calm tone, she says, “We will look at different forms of teaching. Junmyeon suggested outdoor lessons. Maybe combined with your archery classes.”

Your thoughts are all jumbled, but before you can protest, the Queen holds up a palm - the first sign of assertion in the entire conversation. “What you cannot learn before sitting on the throne, you can learn on the job. Your father and I will be there to guide you.”

Her voice becomes more forceful as she continues, drowning out the beginnings of your misgivings. “It is time for a change of ruler. The kingdom will gain confidence in your leadership only once you begin to take decisions. We will start with weekly rounds of the capital city so they may be re-acquainted with you. After the coronation, a tour of the entire territory under you will be necessary, of course.”

You open your mouth once. Close it. Open and close again. Nothing comes out but a weak sort of whimper.

The Queen’s eyes turn gentle. “You have been training for so many years. Diplomacy comes naturally to you, and loathe as I am to admit this, your years as a ship’s captain have taught you leadership and given you real-world experience of the kingdom outside the castle. You’ve already begun to make your mark on the war council’s decisions. This is but a natural progression. The next step.”

“I’m not ready,” you manage to choke out. The little speech has served to only further your concerns, reminding you of the magnitude of the conversation. “I thought I had a couple of years left.”

“You will be a kind and just ruler, I am sure of it. You just need a little more focus and confidence.”

All you can do is chew your lip in consternation.

“There is also another matter.” A flash of uncertainty crosses your mother’s face, so quick that you think for a moment that you imagined it. “As per custom, a ruler must take a consort within the first year of ascension.”

At this, your face turns stony, nervousness giving way to annoyance. A reaction she must have anticipated, given her hand coming up to pacify once more, before you get a chance to hotly reply. “I am well aware that you have no intention of marrying immediately. I also have full confidence in the fact that you are capable of ruling this kingdom single-handedly. But the job takes a lot, and after a point, a companion will become necessary to keep you grounded. All I’m asking of you is to think it over. Scope out some of the neighbouring kingdoms for eligible suitors. We can organise a ball if needed.”

  For the second time in the conversation, you’re left speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You can tell when a discussion has room for disagreement. This one brooks none.

Like she didn’t just drop life-changing news on your lap with all the delicateness of a wild horse, your mother gives you a pat on your arm, stands up, and glides out of the room.

“Big day, huh?”

You chuckle bitterly. 

“Understatement of the fucking century,” you bite out.

The kingdom - your kingdom - is darker than usual tonight. A festival at a nearby village took place, meaning the people of the capital were spending the night there. The lack of light from houses means the stars are clearer, twinkling mockingly at your slumped over frame.

Jaehyun doesn’t seem his usual dishevelled self tonight either. All clothes in place, outline of his dagger in his boot. You don’t want to think he might have come to realise how therapeutic you found these tower conversations, and figured that you might have needed a little more company after the revelations of the day, but you know he’s a perceptive man, and that’s probably exactly what happened.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

His voice is a low rumble, gentle and coaxing. You’ve almost always been able to hide nothing from him when he speaks that way. 

Over the last few weeks, you’ve come to appreciate his solid presence, whether as a bodyguard during the day or a friend after sunset. He and Hyejin make you feel safe, and keep you company in your largely isolated existence. These facts you always knew. But the night-time adventures have been new. As a bodyguard, Jaehyun is a fighter through and through, always committed to his job to protect you. But these conversations, where he lets you talk yourself to exhaustion every night, decides to stay up with you rather than let you think yourself in circles alone, offers his own opinion on things you need some help with, and reassures you when the day has been particularly rough - these have been revelations. You don’t remember this kind of closeness before you left. You had also never really paid much attention to the warmth of his firm shoulder pressing into yours, or the fiery competition in his eyes when you sparred.

“What’s there to say? I’m not ready to rule, and nobody seems to realise that.”

“What makes you think you’re not ready to rule?”

You make a hassled flurry of motion with your hand, a literally-everything gesture, and a disbelieving look that makes him let out a small laugh. You slouch back down, satisfied that your point has been made.

“Alright,” he slowly continues once the silence has settled into a quiet comfort and you’ve calmed down a bit. “When do you think somebody’s ready to rule?”

Huffing, you begin to list out the very same things that had been running through your head for the last few hours. “When they know the history of the kingdom, maybe? When they can stand to be in the same room as their General. Definitely when they can say they’ve actually lived at the palace for an extended period of time recently.”

“Do you want to know what I, and most of the other guards, think?”

“Do share.”

“That you’re fearless and brave. That you can take the tough decisions that need to be taken, and that you love your kingdom enough to be able to recognise its problems and want to fix them. You think you’re not ready, but I - we - think you always have been.”

He’s leaned towards you a bit now, conviction writ large on his face as he searches your expression for a reply that doesn’t seem to be forthcoming. His hair has grown out a bit, a couple of dark brown strands fluttering near his temples in the gentle midnight breeze. When did he grow so tall?

You need to look away, overwhelmed by his response and the quiet certainty with which he says it.

Clearing your throat, you let the soundless dark settle once more around you after his proclamation. When you feel comfortable, you give voice to your other concern.

“How am I supposed to find somebody and convince them to marry me in a few months?”

You had hoped he had another speech prepared for this one, but the answering silence drags. When you turn to look at him, he’s not facing you. Leaned back on his hands, palms supporting his frame and shoulders bunched up as he lets his legs dangle off the edge, he surveys the city sprawled in front of him. You take in the angles of his face, the slow blink of fluttering eyelashes, as his neck bobs with a swallow. If you weren’t surveying him so closely under the pretext of waiting for an answer, you wouldn’t have noticed the rueful smile that mars his visage, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it expression that immediately morphs into blankness.

“Anybody would be a fool to turn you down, your Highness.”

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of vigorous activity. 

Your lessons are upped, and surprisingly more effective when taken outdoors. Junmyeon looks hilariously out of place in the garden, noticeably uncomfortable with the bees and the dirt, but he does his best, and the effort makes you eager to learn. It’s easier to stay awake when you want to witness the next rapidly-masked disgusted expression that crosses his face when a butterfly lands a little too close to his books.

You’ve become markedly better at archery, now dedicating a good portion of your day to practising on moving targets. Sword fighting, despite needing less attention, remains your preferred method of unwinding in the evenings.

Council meetings are easier, you find, now that you know you have the support of the guards standing along the edges of the room. Jaehyun’s words keep coming back to you every time you speak, and they lend a certain confidence to your words that you can certainly do with. Even the General has begun to ask for your opinion in a less mocking tone, and your father’s tacit approval has only become more apparent.

Your nightly rendezvous has come to a standstill. Part of you admits that it’s because your days are so packed that you hardly have any trouble falling asleep anymore, but you can’t ignore the fact that there’s been a tangible shift in the atmosphere between you and Jaehyun. There are no more muffled chuckles when you say something stupid, no more secret glances between meals when you look up from your soup towards the guards. Even sword fighting, while still exhilarating and adrenaline-inducing, has become purely transactional. A spar and then nothing. No goading, no whining. He bows, slides his sword back into his sheath, and you’re princess and guard once more. You feel like an invisible line had been crossed that night, and you flounder to steady your feet on the other side now. If Hyejin notices, she makes no mention of it.

Per the Queen’s plan, you’ve taken to roaming around the city when you can, usually in the late afternoons and near-dusks, when the streets are less crowded. These visits are filled with citizens either peering curiously at you while unobtrusively standing at their doorways, or approaching you with their problems. You make it a point to listen to all of them, even going so far as to get one of the palace librarians to accompany you so they can take down notes. This is one of your favourite parts of the day, you’ve come to realise. Understanding your people’s concerns and thinking of ways to help them.

The only real challenge to your otherwise smoothly operating schedule is the Annual Winter Ball. Every night, you come back to your room to find dozens of extravagant gowns in a multitude of colours and designs, hanging from so many racks that you can barely make your way to your bed. The ones you like are sent to your mother for final approval, and the ones you don’t are carted back to the modiste. They’re all fashionable, full of silk trimmings and lace ties, figure-hugging and made with lovely, soft fabrics. They’re also a pain to go through at the end of the day.

The bigger annoyance that’s present in your room every night is the bundle of portraits of princes and princesses from neighbouring kingdoms, suitors that you’re expected to choose from. To you, most of them look the same - same aristocratic high nose, strong chin, their credentials boasting leadership of successful armies and how close they are to ascending the throne. You try picturing yourself with them, any of them, but the image doesn’t form. 

To make things worse, the Queen has taken to accosting you in different parts of the castle. In between her work organising the Ball and your rounds between the numerous tasks that are keeping you busy, she appears from behind pillars and materialises from the bushes. Her presence is always heralded by questions about who is going to be on your arm that evening, whether anybody has caught your eye. You wave her away with excuses of your packed schedule, pretend that you’re so very excited to reach your lessons on time, but her expression is knowing, and you believe it’s only a matter of time before she stops indulging your pathetic attempts at evasion.

It looks like today, your luck has finally run out.

“Are you going to keep watching?” you pant, as you parry a thrust, twisting your sword with a slide of metal against Jaehyun’s as you move it down and away before stepping towards him. For his part, he remains focussed on the fight, sweat dripping from his forehead and neck, tunic sticking to his frame as he mirrors with his own countermove.

From the side, your mother replies, “Will that be a problem?”

Your attention is caught by a lock of Jaehyun’s hair coming free of its set position, flopping over his forehead. It distracts you enough to not notice his subsequent strike, and the next thing you know, your sword is flying out of your grip and the tip of his is pointed steadily at the centre of your neck. You hold his glance for a long second, taking in the pride in his eyes and the quick smirk that vanishes instantly. Chests heaving with harsh pants, you both step away from each other. He gives you a short bow before moving away, closer to Hyejin who’s standing a bit further, to give you and the Queen some privacy.

It was a stupid loss. You have no right to get side tracked by something like that.

You gather your wits about you, knowing you’ll need them for the ensuing conversation. You can recognise the end of the line when you see it. Your mother remains silent until you’ve retrieved your sword and sat down next to her.

“I liked the blue dress, the one with the lace sleeves and silver bodice.”

You nod mutely in reply, acknowledging her approval of your choice. “What do you think about Prince Taeyong?” you counter, preferring to have this conversation done with.

“Second in line to the Cilician throne? A diplomatically strong match. Do you like him?”

“I will take him to the Ball, but I will not name him my husband so soon, after meeting with him once. If he turns out to be disgusting and awful, and chews with his mouth open, I reserve the right to never see him again and to look for a different suitor.”

The Queen lifts her oft-repeated pacifying gesture. “Of course. Nobody is forcing you to wed somebody you do not wish to. I’m glad you've made such a sensible choice. We’ll send out a special invitation at once.”

The third pin pokes you somewhere between your fourth and fifth rib, making you wince and let out a small squeak of surprise. The sewing mistress gives a low apology, but remains focussed on her job of gathering extra fabric from your shift and pinning it in place for alterations. You’re stood in the middle of your room, arms held out as two maids take measurements there and a third flits around your frame, making marks on your corset and humming periodically. The blue dress that’s been decided on hangs next to you in its frame, and occasionally, the head tailor, who’s writing down notes and surveying the preparations, looks between you and the dress. Sunlight streams into the room, illuminating the swathes of fabric strewn across the floor. 

For nearly an hour, you’ve stood in this position, mostly patiently letting the tailors do their job. You have enough to keep yourself occupied. The thought of the Ball, just about a week away, where your coronation will be announced. The thought of Prince Taeyong, arriving at the castle in two days, whom you’ll have on your arm when the announcement is made. The thought of Jaehyun, always the thought of Jaehyun, standing on the other side of your door, stoic and stone-faced, never smiling at you anymore.

He’s taken to appearing more and more dishevelled in the mornings. Not once slipping at his job, but showing up bleary-eyed and with more marks around his neck at various stages of bruising. Stories of him frequenting seedy pubs and getting into fistfights reach you occasionally, and you can’t help but worry. But talking to him now is like talking to an enemy kingdom’s visiting embassy. Curt and perfunctorily polite responses, never elaborate and never giving any real information.

In the middle of your melancholy, your unseeing eye catches sight of a flash of a deep, red velvet, rich and grand, at the bottom of the pile on your bed. You don’t remember reviewing it before.

“May I see the red one there, please?”

A servant gently pulls it out, holding it up against her frame so you can see it fall clearly.

The neck is low - just short of too low for propriety - and the gold embroidery runs all over the fabric, highlighting the waist and neckline. Your mother would have a lot to say if you wore that for the Ball. But it can’t hurt to have it altered to your measurements, can it? Surely an opportunity will present itself sometime. Knowing that you’re setting yourself up for another hour in your current position, you give the order to ready the red dress as well.

A sharp knock on the door is the second thing to interrupt your thoughts.

“Your Highness?” comes Jaehyun’s low voice, muffled through the heavy wood.

Unthinking, perhaps uncaring, paying no mind to your current state of undress, you call out, “Come in.”

The tailors continue their work as if nothing has happened, as if a (tall, dashing, handsome) man is not standing in their vicinity while their future Queen is wearing nothing but a thin chemise and trying on different corsets. But you notice. And Jaehyun notices.

For a second, he stays on the threshold, just in the way of a sunbeam, his earlier focussed expression wiped from his face and shock replacing it. His eyes widen, and you revel in the small spike of emotion on his face, the tiniest morsel of animation you’ve managed to extract from him recently. You’re suddenly very aware of the broadness of his shoulders, the way his face is thrown into stark definition by the noon sunlight, soft hair a shade lighter in this position.

“What’s the matter?” you ask, your voice admirably steady.

But if that was admirable, Jaehyun’s subsequent transformation is nothing short of medal-worthy. His back straightens, confident and alert once more, and his visage is a smooth mask of nothing again. “The war council will begin within the hour. They’ve sent a messenger asking if they should wait for your arrival or proceed.”

“Let them start. I should be there momentarily.”

Your bodyguard gives a short, crisp bow, and then he’s spinning on the heel of his foot and walking out, not sparing you another glance, not sparing a thought for the burning you can feel just under the surface of your skin in all the spots his heated gaze had slowed.

Prince Taeyong is textbook. Handsome, kind, and gracious. He sits down only after you have, he listens to your answers attentively, and he’s one of the finest swordsmen of his kingdom. He’s only spent two days at the palace, but you’ve found yourself enjoying your time with him. The two of you had taken a round around the gardens earlier, the first time you could interact freely, and the glimpses you caught of his hidden candour delighted you.

The castle has been steadily filling up over the last few days with visiting royalty and the upper echelons in attendance for the Ball. The North and the West wings are reserved for guests, but meals are taken together in the large dining hall. Every dinner is a gamut of chatter, and the gardens are significantly crowded during the days. With just two days left for the Ball, excitement and anticipation are heavy in the air, and you’ve come across more than a few groups engrossed in animated discussion about their outfits and the rumoured crystal sculpture.

Nobody knows about the big announcement, of course. Your father stepping down while still in good health will come as a surprise to citizens and allies alike, but you don’t have the luxury of that ignorance.

Prince Taeyong may be charming, respectful, and friendly, but he can’t help you with your resurgent sleepless nights. The closer the Ball looms, the less sleep you manage to catch. However far you push yourself in training, however busy you keep yourself during the day, unconsciousness stays out of reach every night.

You had tried the terrace, hoping you could reclaim some semblance of your former friendship with Jaehyun under the cover of dark in a familiar setting, but it had been Hyejin who came to retrieve you. And she was less susceptible to your sob stories than Jaehyun was. With her, it was off to bed and not out of your room again until sunrise.

Jaehyun continues to remain distant, if not a little cold. You had noticed the clenching of his jaw when Taeyong had assisted you out of a patch of wet mud, the tightening of his grip on his sword when you had helped Taeyong up with a hand after a friendly spar. Every morning, you hope you’ll get more than one word answers and curt nods from him, but he remains frustratingly unavailable.

You’re back on the tower tonight, stars once again twinkling at your anxiety. You can feel your eyebrows drawn close together, the creases on your forehead, and the knots on your neck. The vast expanse of the kingdom beneath your feet only serves to heighten the magnitude of what’s about to happen, the population that you’ll be serving and be responsible for. You’re so preoccupied with your worries that you don’t hear the muffled footsteps approaching behind you, even in the stifling quiet of the night.

“Can’t sleep?”

A large hand gently settles in between your shoulder blades to calm you down when you give an alarmed cry, a soft thing of surprise. Jaehyun’s palm burns through your coat, your night robe, your shift. He lets it drop once he realises that you’ve recognised him, and takes a seat next to you.

You’re so stunned at the minute interaction, at the fact that he’s here, sitting next to you like you’re old friends, that you can’t say anything for a second. Suddenly, the only thing you can feel is anger.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, pulling your back straight, using the haughtiest tone you can.

Jaehyun has the audacity to seem confused, eyebrows knitting together as he turns his head towards you. “I thought you might appreciate the company, your Highness.”

“Oh?” Your voice is a hiss, an excuse for the shout you want to let out instead. “You think you can spend weeks ignoring me, being an absolute asshole to me, treating me as nothing more than your charge, refusing to even look me in the eye, and then waltz here in the middle of the night and expect me to welcome you?” you bite out.

His face becomes stormy, and it electrifies you. Good. 

“How would you like me to treat you, your Highness? Am I not your bodyguard? Is it not my duty to treat you like my charge?”

Unconsciously, you lean towards him, meeting him eye to eye, matching his cool annoyance with your own irritation. Weeks of pent up frustration are evident in your voice. “You know what I mean,” you stubbornly reply. “We used to be friends. You used to tell me about your adventures in the city, and I’d tell you about the shit in my head. What the fuck happened?”

“Friends?” he bites out, the word dripping with venom. “You’re the Crown Princess. I’m your bodyguard. Being a friend is not in the job description.”

“Then what are you doing here now?”

Silence. 

You’re both facing each other, slid close together enough for your knee to dig into the side of his thigh, and for you to make out all the emotions flitting across his face. Shock, like you’ve slapped him. Rage. Frustration, sadness, all of them come and go in a terrifying sequence until his well-worn blankness is back. That angers you the most. His gaze flickers down to your lips, before he draws back, as if burned. As if you’ve burned him.

He scrambles up, the most inelegant you’ve ever seen him. Before you can get a word in, and you’re not sure what you would have said because you’re slightly panting from the sheer chargedness of the interaction, Jaehyun is on his feet. Something in the way he stands, gingerly, delicately, makes the syllables stop on the tip of your tongue.

His next expression shocks you, completely throwing you off balance. He looks down, meeting your eyes for the first time in so long, and the sheer helplessness on his face knocks the wind out of your body. “I have no idea,” he mumbles in reply to your pointed question.

By the time you’re finished grappling for words, he’s bowed and left the terrace.

“You’re ready.”

“I’m about to vomit.”

“I felt better after vomiting on the day of my coronation.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, but the momentary lightness is overshadowed by the nerve-wracking anxiety that you’ve been plagued by since you woke up from a restless sleep this morning. The King and Queen sit on either side of you on your bed, the Royal Family indulging in one last private conversation before the festivities of the evening change your life forever. No longer a Princess, but a Queen-to-be. You feel another lurch in your gut at the thought.

Your father continues in a reassuring voice, “The announcement is a small affair. Once everybody has sat down for dinner, I will rise and announce that I am stepping down. Once I name you my successor, you will rise, acknowledge our allies, and say a few words about serving the citizens of this kingdom. Remember - this is only the announcement, a duty on our part to let the people know what is coming in the future.”

You nod, trying to force yourself to calm down.

“You are going to be a Queen. Remember that. Channel that.” Your mother’s tone is firm, confident, and leaves no room for uncertainty. It gets the job done better than the gentle platitudes ever could. Time to act like a Queen.

With a last few encouraging sentences, your parents are out the door, leaving you alone in your room once more, butterflies going wild in your stomach. You face your reflection in the mirror, surveying the results of the last few hours of work by the tailors and servants.

The blue dress hangs off your frame beautifully, regal and soft. You wish you were in your ship, in your breeches and belts, or in your daily dresses that let you be passed off as nothing more than a lower member of the aristocracy; but it’s too late for that now. A glance outside your window, at the rooftops of houses closest to the palace under the dusk sky, reminds you of all the improvements you’ve yet to make to this kingdom. Your kingdom.

Act like a Queen, you remind yourself, trying to inflect some fierceness in your expression.

A knock on the door interrupts your self-soothing. Smoothing down your dress, you call out, “Come in!”

You see his reflection before you see him. Jaehyun isn’t in his regular guard uniform, instead having opted for a grander coat that looks specially tailored for his tall frame. His hair looks a bit neater than usual, as if styled, and there’s no sword in his belt.

As you’ve been surveying him, he looks at you. He’s long given up the infuriating façade of nothingness, and makes no move to mask his emotions as his eyes give you a scan.

For a long moment, the two of you only analyse each other, not a word spoken. But when he does speak, it makes a shiver run down your spine.

“My Queen,” he says, bowing low, lower than he ever has before.

Your throat suddenly feels very dry.

“Not quite yet,” you mumble, once he’s risen and back to standing straight, not looking away from you. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the ceremony? How are you going to protect me without a sword?”

“I’ve taken the evening off, your Highness.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked the Captain of the Guard for a leave so I could enjoy the festivities with a…friend.”

The hesitation doesn’t escape your notice. You wish it had, because now, in addition to the roiling in your stomach, you’ve got a heart that’s beating unhealthily fast. “A friend,” you say, your voice dangerously soft.

“A friend,” he repeats, nodding.

You take a moment to compose yourself. “And you are sure this arrangement is just for today? Will I wake up tomorrow morning and find that you’ve handed in your notice so you can go running off to your friend everyday?”

A beat of silence. Jaehyun’s face closes over, and you can see the tell-tale signs of him about to bow and leave. Before he can, before his spine can so much as twitch, you say, loud and commanding, “You have not been dismissed.”

Something ugly twists in his features, his eyes widening imperceptibly as you take a step towards him. “Why are you here, Jaehyun? If the Commander has already granted you permission, why have you come here to tell me of your plans this evening?”

“You know why I’m here, your Highness.”

“Say my name.”

You’ve taken more steps towards him now, close enough that you have to tilt your head up a bit to meet his eyes. That same pleading look from the last night on the terrace crosses his face, respect warring with whatever desire he’s fighting to keep reined in. 

“I can’t,” he whispers.

It isn’t enough. It has never been enough. 

The bitterness comes crashing into you, and hurt, jealousy, and cruelty are apparent when you coldly declare, “Coward.”

You want him to fight. You want him to shout so you can shout back, and then you want him to storm out of the room. Anything but the blankness, anything but the helplessness. You’re close enough now to make out his slow, laboured breaths, deliberate efforts to keep calm and to not do something reckless. You’re sorely disappointed at the immense strength of his restraint.

The insult is countered with a beseeching, “What would you have me do?”

Your title is pointedly absent.

His fists are clenched at his sides.

“Leave,” you bite out. “You are dismissed. Enjoy your evening and your companion.”

The red dress makes you feel like a Queen. It is fully worth the sharp look you received from your mother when you had entered the Ball after being announced, and it helps you keep your chin up and face set. Not exactly a revenge dress, but you were feeling vindictive. It was an impulse decision, but you carry it so well.

“Your Highness could not be mistaken for anybody less than a Queen tonight.”

You allow a gracious smile to touch your ruby red lips - another last-minute appearance modification. “You are too kind, Prince Taeyong. Again, I apologise for the slight delay. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long?”

“Not at all. Your guests are riveting conversation partners, and there is no dearth of good company in this hall.”

If there wasn’t another, completely infuriating man who has recently taken up permanent residence in your brain-slash-heart, you’d be a little more jealous of the looks your partner has been getting through the evening. He cuts an elegant figure in his fitted suit, highlighting his litheness. The overhanging chandeliers throw the defined lines of his attractive face into further sharpness, and everybody can see his politeness and respect as he interacts with you.

For all you care, any of the aristocracy who have been throwing him sly and appreciative glances can have him. He deserves somebody whose head isn’t currently occupied elsewhere.

Interacting with nobility is exhausting and mind-consuming enough to distract you for a long time. Hyejin and Not-Jaehyun, a temporary replacement, are constantly just a few feet away from you as you make your rounds, your conversations filled with courteous laughter and surface-level discussions of petty territorial disputes. Taeyong stays by your side, per custom, but you try not to lead him on too much. When you eventually have to inform him of your decision to not marry him, you’d rather have a clean, severed tie than draw things out and make them messy. You keep your dances with him limited to two, and as civil as possible.

However hard you try, you can’t stop yourself from subtly scanning the crowd for Jaehyun and his friend. On occasion, you can swear you catch sight of a too-familiar shoulder, or a mop of dark brown hair, but you’re always interrupted by another diplomat that wants an audience. The result means you’re high-strung and on alert throughout the evening, right up until the bell for dinner is sounded and everybody makes their way to the dining hall.

Suddenly, you’ve got much bigger things to be nervous about.

Without paying any real attention, you’re eventually sitting at the head table in between Taeyong and your father, facing the large crowd of guests. Your guests. The bell rings again, signifying an announcement, and suddenly the King is standing, just as planned. You hear your name, ‘my daughter’, ‘lead the kingdom and her people to a glorious future’, all through a haze. There’s some polite clapping, and that’s your cue.

The grace with which you rise is surprising. Your feet are blessedly steady, and your voice seems strong as you begin to speak. Maybe your mother was right. Maybe you are ready. As the words you had planned flow out of you, you receive strength from the crowd, at their rapt attention, at the knowledge that you are here to serve them and that they are here to serve you. Your gaze roves over the audience, words gaining in power and conviction, when you see him.

Jaehyun has never seemed more open than in this moment. His face torn between awe and pride, eyes shining with a fierce loyalty that is reminiscent of the tone he had used when he had addressed you as his Queen. The effect is just as potent the second time, and you have to fight to keep your voice even. In that moment, you know with startling clarity that as you implement all these plans that you’re mentioning, he’s the one you want by your side.

He is noticeably partner-less, only a single person in the midst of other guards who have taken the evening off to enjoy the Ball. The possible explanations run through your head, but you regain your composure, making sure to avoid looking in his direction for the rest of your speech.

When you’re done, you retake your seat, accept Prince Taeyong’s hearty congratulations, exchange short but satisfied nods with your parents, and then promptly take a long draught of the wine in front of you. There’s a weight that’s lifted off your shoulders with the conclusion of the main event of the night, but an unsettling buzz has taken up residence under your skin that’s fighting to be released. On the outside, you’re all smiles and composure, participating in conversations and indulging Taeyong’s friendly interactions, but internally, you’re wound up like a spring, ready to leave and take care of what needs to be taken care of.

When the desert course is finished, and groups of people start to rise, you determine that it’s acceptable for you to leave the proceedings. You direct your attention towards the section of the hall where you had seen Jaehyun, only to find him gone. You feel your palms getting clammy. What if he took your previous hurtful words to heart? What if he really did quit?

“He left by the back way a couple of minutes ago.”

Shocked, you turn towards Taeyong. His eyes are twinkling with amusement, and all of a sudden, you feel like a fool. All this time you thought you were going to be letting him down gently, only to find out now that he’s far smarter than you had given him credit for.

However, appearances must be kept up.

“I’m sure I do not know what you’re referring to, Prince Taeyong.”

Again, with a diplomatic crypticness, he softly replies, “I can assure you, your secret will stay safe with me till the time you choose to reveal it yourself. Now if I may be so bold, I think your young man is getting farther away the longer you remain seated, yes?”

You feel deflated, tired from the day’s happenings and its buildup, tired from running around the castle looking for Jaehyun. All the optimism and hope and determination you had while leaving the Ball has long since evaporated into thin air, leaving behind nothing but a vague sort of emptiness, and a foreboding that you can’t seem to shake off.

You don’t know which prospect is worse - going back to Jaehyun being a stony-faced guard who refuses to otherwise acknowledge you, or Jaehyun leaving your retinue entirely. Would you rather have bad interaction than none at all? Which would hurt more? Maybe you could grow to love Taeyong in time, maybe he’ll accept somebody who’s obviously pining after somebody else. Maybe you’ve well and truly driven him away.

It’s no surprise that sleep doesn’t come easy, and before you know it, you’re flinging your covers off and making the familiar trek up to the tower. The smooth steps under your feet are all you really register, before you’re throwing open the door to the terrace, desperate to be out of the four walls and under the open sky instead.

Only to see that you aren’t alone.

Jaehyun’s broad, slouched back faces you as he sits in his regular place, legs dangling off the sides of the high wall. You don’t have the time to process what you’re feeling before he turns around at the sound of the door creaking shut.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. With a defeated, rueful smile, he says, just loud enough for you to hear, “I was wondering when you’d come.”

You’ve imagined so many scenarios of this meeting over the last few hours. What you’d say, how you’d say it, how he’d reply, the worst cases of how it could all end - but now that you’re actually facing him, you find yourself blank. You decide to start with what’s easiest.

“I’m sorry,” you say, warily watching as stands up and makes his way over to you. “For everything. I shouldn’t have pressured you, or called you a coward.”

He stops at a respectable distance, not too close but close enough for you to graze his tunic with an outstretched hand if you so desired. “No, you were right. About all of it. I was scared of what I was feeling, and I took it out on you by being an ass. You didn’t deserve that.”

“What were you feeling?”

It’s the closest you’ve gotten to being so direct about this…whatever this is. You know that this time, he won’t run away.

His head tilts. “Have I not been stupidly obvious?”

“I want to hear you say it,” you softly reply, unable to resist the urge to step closer to him, like a magnet. You look up to see his face, see the emotion swirling in his eyes, right before resolve takes over.

“I feel…,” he starts, voice lowering to a whisper, a secret between the two of you, trapped and treasured in the space between your bodies. “I feel like I’ve spent so many years watching you, that somewhere along the way, the watching became wanting. You distract me so much that I’m scared I can’t protect you. That’s why I started distancing myself, trying to do my job without getting sidetracked.”

His voice is low with confession by the end of his words, and it’s so much more than you had ever thought you wanted, but you’re greedy for more, hungering for more explanation, more proof. “What about all your night-time adventures?”

“Distractions from my distraction. I could never stay away for too long. It’s difficult to be by somebody else’s side at night after being in your presence the entire day. Why do you think I’d drop everything just to come up here and be with you?” Closer now, so close that he barely needs to raise his voice above a mumble for you to hear him. 

“And did you lie about your companion tonight?”

His gaze falters. A momentary slip from the previous vulnerability into darker territory. His tone takes on a sharper note when he says, “Seeing you with Prince Taeyong, knowing he might one day wed you, share your bed…it bothered me. I wanted to see if I could affect you the same way. It was petty of me.”

You step closer now, feeling more confident about where you stand than you ever have, now fully in his space so your front brushes against his. You know that if you reach out to touch him, it won’t stop with an innocent graze of skin against fabric. But you have to know one last thing.

“Why now?” you breathe out, fighting the urge to tip your chin forward just a couple of centimetres, enough for your lips to meet.

With more of that admirable restraint, he manages to murmur, almost in an undertone, “I couldn’t stand it anymore. Every day is agony. How many ever women I spend my nights with, whoever else I decide to court…it’ll always be you. I can’t stay away. And that dress today…I was afraid I was being presumptuous, that I’d be hung for my audacity, but the last few days…I can’t be the only one who feels this.”

The last phrase ends with a questioning inflection, a mixture of pleading and hope writ large on his face, so very close to yours. It’s only right to put him out of his misery. You do so by making that last move, unable to fight what your body so desperately desires any longer.

Your lips clash with a fury of pent-up tension and lingering resentment of the treatment you’ve both been giving each other for the last few weeks. There have been too many skirted-around confessions, too many naked looks, to take this slow. Those shoulders that you’ve spent so long just watching feel just as solid as you had imagined under your palms, flexing as Jaehyun’s arms wind around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his frame.

As if mirroring your frenzy, the wind begins to pick up, making you let out a tiny shiver, even as a small sigh leaves your mouth at the nipping on your neck. Jaehyun pulls away, eyes several shades darker, hair messier than you’ve ever seen it, filling you with a quiet pride. And then, you catch sight of a fading mark on the side of his jaw, only visible from this close. You feel something primal in you. Anger? Jealousy. 

“Why don’t you do something about it?” he asks, noticing your pause. He’s challenging you to take the final step, kick off the process of the beginning of the inevitable end of this night - in between the sheets.

You won’t make it that easy.

Your right hand, previously pressed against the side of his firm chest, slowly travels upwards, grazing against the smooth skin of his neck, before you insistently press the pad of your thumb against the offending bruise. Jaehyun hisses, gaze sharpening, his arms tightening around your body reflexively. The eye contact between the two of you is charged when you command, “Say my name.”

For a long minute, there’s no sound but the wind. Neither of you move.

And then he does. Dips his head low, low, until his mouth is right next to your ear, his frame towering over yours and strong arms keeping you in place. His lips brush against the shell of your ear as he whispers your name, voice a low rumble that travels through your spine. 

It flicks a switch that you hadn’t known existed before. Suddenly, you can’t possibly be close enough to him to satiate the need that’s rushing through your body, and if his enthusiasm when he opens the terrace door is any indication, he feels it too.

The mad dash back to your room is punctuated by feverish kisses, palms burning as they run over bodies, and painfully long moments of peering around corners to make sure there’s nobody there to witness the depravity. When you finally reach your corridor, the two of you enter your room as dignified as you possibly can, only staying apart long enough for the door to shut behind you. In the next instant, you’re both sharing the same space, the same air, pulling desperate sounds out of each other. The clothes can’t come off fast enough, and you don’t tire of hearing your name drop from his lips.

“Good morning, Hyejin.”

“Your Highness.”

“Good morning, Hyejin.”

“...Jaehyun.”

“Are you surprised?” you ask, genuinely curious, impressed by your guard’s lack of reaction except for a single raised eyebrow at your other guard stepping out of your room with you in the morning.

Hyejin shrugs. “Not particularly. You two haven’t been very…subtle.”

Tiny spots of colour appear on Jaehyun’s cheeks, matching the tiny, fresh bruises that you know are there right below his collar, safely hidden. You can’t help but grin. “I’m sorry for the discomfort that might have caused you.”

“No apology necessary, your Highness. I would be glad of a new partner, one that’s less broody all the time.”

Jaehyun’s jaw drops in offence, making you chuckle as he splutters his protests. Unconsciously, he’s stepped into his regular guarding position, two steps behind you on your right. With a grin, you soothingly pat his arm, dragging him next to you instead. 

“There, there,” you say, exchanging amused glances with Hyejin out of the corner of your eye. “Let’s go tell my mother that I’ve found somebody not completely repulsive to stand next to me at the coronation.”

[shivvroys]

lord, don't let me break this

shivlina oneshot

shiv and karolina, at the RECNY ball

you can also read it on ao3

a/n: surprise bitch, i bet u thought you'd have to wait another month for more shivlina crumbs!! This was initially meant to be a part of my other shivlina fic (you don't have to read that one first, but it would be cool if u did) as a reunion of sorts after Shiv's return from Sweden, but I decided to take that fic in another direction, so I'm just posting this as a oneshot.

Enjoy, muahhh! :XX

-

lord, don’t let me break this, let me hold it lightly

give me arms to pray with, instead of ones that hold too tightly

-

“I read the statement. Good one, plausible everything.” Karolina smirks.

“Yeah, Tom’s publicist tried to get us to do a sit down interview, but I told her I’d blow my brains out on live television if I had to smile holding an ATN branded onesie.” she pauses, narrowing her eyes. “That wasn’t you, by the way, was it?” 

She smiles at Karolina’s scoff of indignation. On stage, some bottle blonde with long, glistening legs is droning on about the importance of nurturing freedom of self-expression in our youth, while the group of kids dressed in beige rags waiting just in the shadow of the backstage area are sniggering and elbowing each other. She can see them expressing themselves just fine.

“God, no. Fluff pieces are probably the worst part of this job, if I’m being honest.” she replies.

Not the white-collar crime cover-ups? Shiv doesn’t say it out loud. She doesn’t want to put a damper on an otherwise enjoyable night. A surprisingly fun night. The onstage entertainment is typical RECNY bullshit, the same recycled speeches lapped up by uppity cunts patting themselves on the back for throwing crumbs to the poor pathetic art-school students and their future careers. God knows, there are only so many cafés looking for baristas in New York. The world needs improv groups, too! Shiv isn’t paying much attention to the stage, anyway. The lights are just dim enough to feel like she’s getting away with something, and Karolina is warm and loose at her side. Karolina’s only on her second glass of prosecco, but her face is slowly losing its reserved detachment, and her arm brushes firmly against Shiv’s whenever she laughs at one of Shiv’s inappropriate comments.

Turning to the other woman, Shiv finds her quietly contemplating. She looks like she’s deciding whether she can make some bad news go away by not speaking it into existence. Shiv nudges her. Spit it out. Karolina takes a deep breath, rolling her eyes slightly.

“I was just going to say-. Well, just that it wouldn’t have been the smartest option, anyway. Doing the interview.” Shiv frowns. Karolina’s suddenly grown quiet, like she’s steeling herself to get yelled at.

“And why is that?” Shiv asks.

The crowd erupts in applause, and the lights grow dimmer. Some bland electronic instrumental starts playing, as the kids make their way to the stage, all blank faces and languid steps. Shiv doesn’t pretend to be interested in whatever abstract emotion they’re trying to portray as they start flailing their bodies awkwardly. Kendall would eat it up. She focuses her attention back on Karolina, the other woman’s expression now harder to make out in the dark. 

“It’s nothing, sorry. I’m crossing the line, forget I said anything.” she watches Karolina take a sip of wine and pretend to immerse herself in the performance on the stage. A scrawny kid with a shitty fade and ear gauges is staring up at the light projectors and flapping his arms. Riveting. Shiv’s not letting her get out of this one.

“I wasn’t aware there was a line. Come on, Novotney, say it with your entire chest.” Shiv doesn’t realize she’d raised her voice until a couple of people turn back to look at them in condescending disapproval. She’d flip them off, but the silent scolding gives her an excuse to huddle closer to Karolina, so she lets it slide, and angles her body towards the other woman. They share a soft chuckle, like school girls caught trading notes during class. Shiv raises a pointed eyebrow, reminding Karolina she was very much still on the hook. 

“Well-.” she pauses. Shiv can’t remember the last time she’d seen her struggle so hard to find her words. “Well, purely from a PR perspective, a general representative statement is less…” she trails off. “Binding. Compared to a direct quote.” Karolina turns her head swiftly away from Shiv, a trail of perfume punctuating the end of her sentence. It’s something dark and ambery that briefly sends Shiv’s head spinning. It takes her a minute to process what Karolina’s actually said.

“Uh huh. So what you’re saying is, it would make us look stupid when we have to announce the divorce?”

Karolina had grown accustomed to Shiv’s particular knack for feather ruffling, but she still looks very uncomfortable to be broaching this particular topic. The Tom of it all. They hadn’t done anything, and whatever this was between them, this weird codependent clinging of each other, had been nothing but Christian. The longest Shiv’s held something between her hands without the urge to see it shatter. But still, they had an unspoken agreement that whatever it was, it would remain theirs. Nothing in, nothing out. They could make fun of Frank’s heavy breathing, and Matsson’s latest attempt at rebranding himself by trying to grow out a goatee, they could even share a silent laugh during meetings at Tom’s uncomfortable pep talks. But her marriage remained firmly outside of their thing. This rip in reality, their tiny cave at the edge of the world. And if Karolina was seeing someone, or seeking out someone to see, that stayed out too. Schrödinger's commitments.

If she said i love you in the middle of the night, but there was no one there to hear it, was she breaking a promise?

“I apologize, that was very inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

The performance is done, and the lights get turned up a bit. A man with broad shoulders and an arrogant gait makes his way across the stage, the projector lights following him like prey animals. By the look of her, however, the lights might as well have been pointed right at Karolina. She’s gripping the wine flute, and pointedly refusing to look Shiv in the eyes. The dig at her sham of a marriage hadn’t hurt Shiv. If anything, she’s glad to have a chance to drag that elephant out of its corner and pelt it with rocks for a change. No, it’s not the reminder of its failure that bothers Shiv, but the reminder of its existence. That fact that the moment she is in right now is the temporary one out of the two.

She’s holding the thing, like a big shiny marble, and she can feel it slipping away from her grasp, can hear it shattering against the cold floor. Say something.

The man at the podium has a ridiculously wide tie and his teeth shine fluorescent as he laughs at the jokes that have been written for him. Shiv pins him down with her stare, urging him to finish speaking, urging the lights to dim yet again and Karolina to brush her arm against hers again.

 “You know, it’s fine.” Karolina’s still refusing to look her way. Shiv leans closer. She can see the tension gathered along the column of Karolina’s throat. “Besides, you’ve got a point.” She watches Karolina swallow. “I appreciate you trying to keep me an honest woman, Novotney. Rotten work, though.” 

Karolina finally turns to look at her. She opens her mouth, but doesn’t dare let any thought pass through. Shiv is frozen in her spot, trapped under Karolina’s gaze and hollowed out by the other woman’s perfume. If she moves, she’ll do something they’d both regret. The lights are too fucking bright. Suddenly, Shiv can hear every fucking person in the room breathing. Can hear them shifting in their seats, scraping their forks against their plates, dragging their chairs across the carpeted floor. Can feel her mouth dry out, and the underwire of her bra digging into her chest. She wills it to break skin. The world comes back into view with violent clarity. The thing sits cradled between her palms like a cool, shiny marble, and Shiv’s fingers are twitching.

If she kissed Karolina in a room full of strangers, but she didn’t say i love you, would the fire be worth the burn?

But she can’t do that. Not to Karolina. An honest woman.

So, she pulls back. Grabs her own glass and sips it like communion wine. Sins all cleansed and mortal flesh left unindulged in, she turns to the other woman like she’s suddenly remembered something she’d been meaning to say.

“Hey, you know that on the day of the wedding my mother was going around asking people how long they’d give it? The fucking nerve!” her voice rings hollow, but Karolina gracefully accepts the distraction.

“God, that’s awful.” Karolina laughs. Her arms doesn’t brush Shiv’s this time, but she shakes her head, sending another waft of her perfume to tickle Shiv’s nose.

“Yeah, she is” she says fondly. Then, she leans in conspiratorially. “How would you have answered?”

“Hmm.” Karolina mulls it over for a bit. Once she seems satisfied with the wording, she says: “For as long as you’re both happy.” She doesn’t avert her gaze this time.

Up on the stage, a new presenter is giving the same speech.

Shiv looks down at the marble in her hands, turns it round and round, watches the way the light bounces off of it. She watches Karolina roll her eyes at the presenter’s speech, and feels her grip tighten around the marble.

[rosyronkey]

me when i write 17 pages of fanfiction in a blind rage haha, i'm just so in love with my 1960s rural louisiana native will graham headcanon and i don't even mention hannibal at all lmaoo

writing begins under read more, cws for mentioned abuse and period typical homophobia

Will said he would make the groceries himself. 

He announced it to himself, the second Sunday morning cartoons were over, when the bulky TV balanced carefully on the kitchen counter went to the news. His declaration was punctuated by a chorus of bird calls outside the stained glass window. He had done the window himself, as a school project in sixth grade, back when he could take art classes and not get called a pussy.

He dropped his bowl in the slowly overflowing sink, knowing his dad would be on his ass later that night about not cleaning them when he was done. His glass and spoon joined the mess, and he went to get his shoes from the well-worn rug by the door. The mat said "Helleaux" in faded blue block text, but the middle had been walked on so many times it read more like "Hel-ux". 

He paused by the door, waiting to grab his keys from the ring in favor of surveying the kitchen. The TV was still blaring on the chipped counter, and he had forgotten to push his chair in, so the scuff marks on the wood floors were evident. His dead dog's bowl was still pushed into the corner, gathering dust. He carried it from house to house, no matter how many times they moved. As much as he wanted to throw it away, trade it in at the junkyard for a couple extra cents, some stupid strand of sentimentality kept it there.

Will went to untwist the antennae of the TV, and sat on the counter to pull on his Converse. They were the only brand new clothes he'd gotten in years. Dad had bought them for him at the beginning of summer after Will left enough ripped out ads on the coffee table. He had knocked him upside the head the first time, but got the hint when Will defiantly slammed one down with bleeding knuckles. They were left on his bed without a note, and when he picked them up, the red cotton bled out into the air and stained his fingers. He left the laces untied and hoped he looked tuff enough to make up for possibly tripping over them later. 

The stairs were the same chipped concrete and struggling weeds as they always were, green leaves reaching towards the sky. They always struggled for freedom, only to be pulled up from the roots by some old man's hand. Will knew how they felt, in a way. 

He paused, and stopped to breathe in the air. Weed, crawfish, and human excrement. Someone was cooking, somewhere. Someone was always cooking.

The old lady across the street with a baby constantly on her hip yelled a greeting at him in French. It wasn't real French, he knew that much. It was bastardized Creole-French, the kind you can only learn from the old geezers who lived in rotting houses on the end of the block. The ones with empty beer bottles hanging from trees in desperate attempts to keep the ghosts away. He said something or other back, the words tumbling over each other in a way he would have been embarrassed to hear in English. She seemed to find his words satisfying, and turned away to soothe the child sitting behind her on the steps. 

The streets were empty, not surprisingly for a Sunday morning. If his dad were home, Will knew they'd be in church already, sitting in packed pews and drowning in the incense-clogged air. He'd have to dig out his good collared shirt from the pile in his room, and hope to God he didn't mess up the words when they had to stand up and sing. 

Church was supposed to come with a community feeling, that all these people were coming together to pray to one god. They read the bible verses together, and sang together, but it only left Will feeling alienated, no matter which town they were staying in. He hated church. 

A breeze picked up, pulling Will out of his head and back onto the cracked black street. He wished in hindsight that he'd grabbed a bag, even if it was his shitty messenger bag, to put the groceries in. The fridge was severely lacking in anything remotely edible, and he quickly listed off in his head what he needed, and what he wanted. The list of what he wanted spiraled into a philosophical mess, so he abandoned it and started down the street. 

At one house, he stopped dead. He wasn't more than halfway there to the store at that point, but he remembered this house. He'd been invited to a birthday party here, the kind you had in middle school where your mom invited the whole class, and you were too young to care about who came. Will doubted it was much more than a pity play, considering all anyone knew about him was that he was the boy with no mother, and the absent, fisherman father. Will didn't even know their son well, Casper May, who Will was pretty sure had called him a sonofawhore at one point, well after the birthday party in middle school. 

But they had a trampoline in their backyard. Will had never wanted to jump on a piece of shitty metal more than in that moment. It was more about the knowledge he'd have, knowing that he'd trespassed and used their toy without them knowing. Cars were absent from their driveway, and with a quick glance up and down the street, no one was around to see him. No one would notice, but then again, no one ever did. 

They had a low fence. Most houses where he lived did, with practically non-existent crime and all that small town bullshit. It only took a short trek to the service road, and a hop onto their garbage cans, and he was over the fence. The wood reached out for him as he jumped, and he could feel the rips on his pants widen. There was nothing he could do about it now, not in a stranger's backyard and with a waiting trampoline not five feet away. 

The first jump was like a hit of a drug in his system. Euphoric and short-lived, living him reeling and wanting more. He ignored the creaking springs to jump higher. The point when your feet were in the air, and everything was weightless and suspended in time and space was his favorite. He could feel his shirt lift, and watched the leaves and seeds scattered about flip into the air with every impact. Even the sharp pains going up his leg when he landed couldn't deter the pure fun he was having. He hadn't felt like this since he was a little kid. No responsibilities, just an open blue sky that he could almost touch. 

Will flopped backwards, onto his back, and had the breath knocked out of him. He was expecting to fall straight down with only a small bounce, but his momentum flipped him backwards, and his neck twisted at an odd angle. A scream threatened his throat. He stumbled back to his feet, hands flying to check his neck, but he was fine. He was just overreacting. He was fine, but he didn't feel like jumping anymore. 

He was sixteen years old, and he was jumping on a trampoline. God, he was so immature. He sat for a moment in the side, his feet hanging over and shoes contrasting the well-kept grass. His own lawn was brown and the only plants still alive were weeds, persistent things.

He laid back again, slower this time, all the while scrutinizing himself for it. He needed to leave, they could be back any minute and they didn't need some teenager lying on their trampoline. What he needed to do was scale the fence, and fuck off. 

But he stayed there, and stretched his arms toward the sky. Without jumping, it no longer gave the illusion of touching the clouds, more like his hands were hovering just inches away. His fingernails were scuffed and bitten short, his right middle finger nail torn away completely to show the pink skin. His hands were unnaturally knobby, too, probably an effect of malnutrition. Will traced his bones through the skin, and wished, not for the first time, that he could peel his skin away and pull them out. Not to harm himself, no, though the side effect was welcome. To see the muscles attached to his joints, and see how they flexed and moved. He wondered if they were really pinkish red, like he saw in diagrams at school, or if his were darker. Abnormal. 

He tried to ignore the car noises from the driveway, he really did. He vaguely wondered how the Mays would react if they found him like this, spread wide on hot metal. He didn't want to be found, but there was some dark part of him that begged to be seen. 

He could definitely hear their voices now, cheery but strained from church. If they came around the back and saw him, he was screwed. So why wasn't he getting up?

With a push off the springs, he landed in the grass. Unhurt, but adding new stains to his clothes. He brushed himself off with more force than necessary, then made the mistake of looking at the back of their house. Someone was standing behind the screen door, watching him. Not just anyone, but fucking Casper May, with his hands in his pockets and an open-collared shirt. Will could see his collarbones, and the slight flush on his cheeks. His face was void of any emotions that Will could see at least, and curiously, he wasn't turning to get his parents, or open the screen and yell at Will himself. He wasn't sure if he should thank him, but he couldn't seem to break his gaze. 

He dropped it finally when he was situated over the fence, but if he could see Casper's eyes through the fence, Will knew he'd still be looking. 

He'd wasted enough time as is, he needed to get to the store before everyone else got out of church. He turned and ran down the service road, nearly tripping every few feet on rocks and uncollected garbage bags. He ran like someone was chasing him, away from the May's house and deeper into town. 

His pace slowed once he reached a fork in the road. More people were milling around now, and he wondered just how long he'd wasted on the trampoline. Surely not enough for every service to have let out already, but many more than he wanted. He decidedly didn't catch anyone's eyes, and prayed they wouldn't give him a second glance. With his eyes trained downwards, tracking his feet as he walked, Will could almost pretend that he was alone. 

Will didn't like people. He saw too much at times, but not enough at others. Certain people were open books to him, just in the way they'd stand and hold themselves and what clothes they wore and how loudly they talked. But in turn, he seemed to mimic them, molding his nonexistent personality to something they would find suitable. His father called it a gift, but only when Will earned him some complimentary stares at a crawfish boil. Otherwise, it was a hindrance. 

For example, at that moment, he looked up and met a girl's eye across the street. She was pretty, and well-dressed, and stood with her family outside a church where the pastor (probably her father) was shaking hands. But when she looked at him, he could see right through her. The backhanded compliments she received nearly every day, and the pressure to be just like her mother, just like every other good housewife. Will watched her eyes stray to the bottoms of ladies skirts, and then quickly look away. She would never be her father's perfect daughter. 

Will realized he had stopped there, in the middle of the street, with his hands in his pockets to watch this girl. She didn't know him, and if Will saw her again he would purposely avert his gaze, but in this moment they were interchangeable. Every struggle she had cut through his skin like a knife through butter, and he felt her pain building on his bones. With a heavy heart, he pulled himself out of her head. He didn't want anymore pain, whether it be his own or someone else's.

He was almost at the junction of the corner store now, and he spirited in front of a car to cross. They yelled something at him, probably cursing him out for being a dumbass, but the words were lost to the wind. Will was momentarily grateful for it, but then the moment ended, and he was just a fool standing on the curb. 

The door was a step up from the outside, but inside was cool and quiet, with just a generator to interrupt his thoughts. Will breathed it all in, the artificial flavors, the burnt meat sitting under heat lamps, all of it. He wanted the smells to burrow into his bones and make a home so he could always have them with him. He walked to the freezer aisle.

He realized he wasn't normal for this. Even if his ideas of 'right' and 'wrong' were hopelessly skewed anyway (small town cops were ruthless, as he would learn), just the idea of relishing something as pointless as the smell of a store was weird. If he could admit that much to himself, breathing in the stale, cold air of the freezer aisle and reeling in its taste wasn't that hard. It was all he could do to not breathe air onto the glass, and trace meaningless designs until someone else came to get microwave pizza. The fluorescent lights glaring down on him were just that, glaring, like they could read his thoughts and wanted to blind him of his reality. 

He could only sit with his thoughts next to tubs of ice cream for so long, and he got what he needed. What he wanted and what his dad wanted for him were so vastly contradictory they could exist on different planes of existence, but there was some merit to his father's words. While gorging himself on crappy white bread and mozzarella cheese was, in his eyes, living the dream, his stomach would soon protest. 

He reached for the easy-heat chicken and broccoli meal, but caught the eye of Casper May from across the aisle. He was getting nothing but gum and cigarettes, tucked neatly under his bare arm, and so Will paused with his hand still inside the freezer. He'd changed his shirt to a white tank top, how in such a short time Will didn't know. Didn't want to know. His heart was beating faster than he wanted to admit, a reminder of the pulsating blood and muscle an inch under his skin. He was too scared to notice these things, the way the shitty fluorescents caught Casper's blond hair and made it shine like gold. He could come over to Will, yell at him in front of the frozen broccoli about trespassing on his land, but he didn't. He pursed his lips and had the audacity to look interested, as if he didn't catch Will in his backyard less than an hour ago. It was the knotted eyebrows, and the slight tilt in his hips that Will was sure he wasn't even aware of doing. But staring at Casper, and Casper's hips, and honest to God, were his arms always that thick? wasn't helping his heart, or his head. Please walk away. Leave me alone, Will tried to say with his eyes. 

Casper didn't hear him, couldn't hear him. He walked back outside, momentarily letting in sounds from the outside, and Will took a TV dinner from the back of the freezer. He would forget about this tomorrow. Hopefully. 

When Will stepped outside with his already tearing plastic bag of groceries, Casper was gone. Bastard. If all he wanted to do was give Will a heart attack, he'd achieved that much. But now, with the frost of his purchases dripping onto pavement before turning to steam instantly, Will realized he didn't want to go home. Not yet. This day had started as an adventure, and he'd be damned if it didn't finish as one. 

So he tapped his fingers together, and sat on the curb next to his groceries, and thought about where to go. Not the library, definitely. His classmates had caught him there once, and hit him upside the head with the book he'd been reading, and he'd had a bruise the size and shape of Texas on his cheek for weeks. He wasn't eager for a repeat performance. He could walk down to the creek, except it was blisteringly hot and probably crowded out there. Besides, it took nearly an hour to get there and back, and Will only had half of the day left. The only places a guy could go for fun was the pool hall (always full of drunks) and the fishing dock (the longer Will could avoid his father, the better.)

Yet again, Will cursed out small towns and their deprivation of anything to do under his breath. It had been better when his father was getting higher quality jobs, and he worked in port city after port city. Will could walk around those cities for days and still find new things to do, whereas out in Bum Fuck Nowhere, he could walk from one side of the town to the opposite in under an hour. 

So, there wasn't anything to do. Will sighed then blew a curl out of his face. The sun was beating down on him with no regrets. If he didn't put his groceries in the fridge, they'd get warm. Or something. Will didn't actually understand why cold things needed to stay cold. He'd rather they suffered in the heat like everything else. 

Will groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. Once he started personifying inanimate objects, it was over for him. God, it was so hot. Sometimes Will really hated summer in Louisiana. He looked up, propping his head in his hands and waiting for his eyes to focus. 

There was someone across the street, waving at him. He got to his feet, confused but intrigued as they gestured him over. When he got his groceries and set them down next to him, the man asked him something in French. People were so much more polite if they spoke French, he learned. Either that or they were the biggest assholes he'd ever met.

The man was asking him to fix the back door of his store. Before Will could respond, he went on to explain himself, saying he thought Will looked to type to know how to do such a thing. Will wasn't going to correct him if it meant he got to do something other than sitting on the curb like a lump of shit, waiting for inspiration to strike. He asked the man to show him the broken door.

There wasn't any charm in his tone. It came with the territory of fending for yourself as a kid, dodging drunken fists and finding escape in 50 cent paper backs from the corner store. If anyone realized his words were always lack-luster, they never said anything, but then again, he didn't talk to anyone if he didn't have to. He couldn't remember the last time someone had told him they were proud of him. 

The man (who Will still hadn't gotten the name of, but was too lazy to ask for it) led him around back, where the back door was practically falling off the hinges. The alley behind the shop was cluttered and dusty, and Will asked in rapid-fire French if the store had been broken into, but the shop-keeper waved him away, saying it was just worn out with much use. Then he said he'd bring him some tools, if he just sat tight for a few moments. It was always funny to hear American expressions in French, like hearing a senior citizen curse. Unexpected.

When Will received the tools from the man, he got to work. His groceries long forgotten, he shrugged off his shirt after only a few minutes, sweat soaking his skin to an uncomfortable extent. The open air was welcome, even if the exposed skin only served to make him uncomfortable. His chest was too skinny for his taste, ribs exposed and stomach sunken. It wasn't like he was doing this for vanity, though. 

He unscrewed the door completely, and checked the hinges. They were rusted, but usable. The screws on the door itself were another story and would have to be completely replaced. He yelled his findings inside to the shop-keeper, not waiting for an answer before starting to clean the hinges. 

Even this minimal amount of work helped to soothe his mind, and he lost himself in the easy, rhythmic work. He knew it wouldn't take long, or require strength, but he loved it all the same. He loved fixing things, to be specific. His bed frame when it broke, the kitchen sink when his dad threw a bottle at him and missed. It made him feel fulfilled in a way not a lot of other things did. That probably said a lot about him, that only by doing things for other people could make him feel useful. 

Will paused with his hands on the hinges, because, God help him, he thought he saw Casper May again. He had left the house to get away from his dad, only for another unhappy reminder of his psat to keep popping up. The boy in question was leaning against the wall a few houses down, intently reading a poster on the wall. His hands and eyes gave him away though, he was fidgeting and every few seconds he would glance at Will. 

What Will wanted to do was go inside the shop, tell the man he couldn't fix it today, then run like hell to his house to escape, but he wasn't going to do that. He physically couldn't, and even the thought of it made his heart twitch. If he wasn't offering his mind, body, and soul up for other people's use, what was the point? 

The other option was albeit darker, but it delighted him more. A brief fantasy overtook him, in which he gripped Casper May's head tightly, fingers interwoven in that frustrating blonde hair, and slammed his face into the brick, and watched as the blood smeared against his skin. Missing teeth and a broken jaw wasn't the worst he'd have to deal with. With a sharp kick to his knees, Casper May would be on the ground, and Will could really go to work then. 

Will pressed a grounding hand to the brick, not even stiffening when it started to cut through the skin of his palms. He needed the pain now, or he didn't know what he would do in the future. He took a deep breath and felt closer to crying than he had in weeks. Fuck. 

He still had to fix this stupid door and go home. Little things like a kind-of stalker were inconsequential. The shop-keeper popped his head outside the door, asked about the status of the hinges and all, and when Will was done talking, he looked back over to see Casper was gone. Good. He didn't need any more distractions. Today was supposed to be his day, damnit. 

The door was finished, or at least as finished as Will could do without extra parts, and the man (whose name Will learned only in their last exchange) sent him off with an extra dollar in his pocket and a bottle of Coke. It was refreshingly cold, and Will pressed it to his forehead briefly. It made him think of the one time his dad had taken him upstate, to northern Sportsman's Paradise during the winer. Will didn't remember if it was for work or pleasure, but he did remember the snow. It had snowed on their last day there, and he'd run around for hours in his shitty hand-me-down boots. He'd nearly gotten hypothermia, but it was worth it. Will loved every second of it. 

While he was walking back down the main street, he swore his eyes were playing tricks on him. Attention was nice, of course, but every block he could see Casper turning the corner just behind him. Tailing him.

In later years, Will would learn how to drop a tail, how to confront a persecutor. But right now he was sixteen, tired, and unfortunately, enamored with his stalker. It was the hair, Will swore. And the toned, swimmers arms. Needless to say, Will didn't care as much as he should have about another boy following him home. 

Will turned onto his street, waved to the lady who was back outside on her porch, then very certainly didn't look over his shoulder when he walked inside. If Casper could follow him all the way from the store, he could stand to wait outside for five minutes while Will put the groceries away. 

Will didn't know where his anger was coming from, and knew it was wrong to direct it towards another person who hadn't done anything wrong, but honestly Will was beyond caring at this point. He slid the plastic bag off the food, grimacing at the way it stuck to the sides with water, and threw it vaguely near the trash. With the food away, Will didn't have a real reason to delay, but he still wanted to draw out their confrontation for as long as possible. 

The sun was starting to ghost over the tops of trees in the distance, painting the sky with overtones of yellow in the west. Will stopped in his room and gave it a hopeless once over. He couldn't remember the last time he cleaned it, but it wasn't like he had many things anyway. The fixed bed frame supporting a thin mattress and messy gray sheets (they were white when his dad had gotten them.) He had a bookshelf on one wall, and a tiny desk on another. Altogether, it left him with almost two feet of walking space, which was mostly taken up by discarded clothes. Will never asked when his dad was doing laundry, and in turn, it never got done. It was only when the smell got to be too much that his dad would fold, and take his clothes to be washed. Will was always astonished at his own power plays. 

There were a few lures on his desk, and he fiddled with those for a few moments. He had made most of them himself, now that he no longer needed his father's help in tying knots and securing feathers. He only made them nowadays for something to do, rather than as an excuse to fish with his dad. Those days were over, and he was glad. He had bigger problems now, namely the one named Casper May who was still on his front lawn, as far as Will knew. 

He walked back down the hallway, the one that went through every room in the house. They lived in a shotgun, so there was no imitation of privacy to be found. Usually Will could get away with locking himself in the bathroom at the end of the house, but that wasn't working anymore. He'd have to find somewhere else to hide. 

Casper was still on his front lawn. He was sitting, cross-legged and weirdly childish, looking around like he was in trouble. Will worked his jaw. What would the harm be, anyway? At worst, this whole thing could have been a charade to chew Will out somewhere in private, but Will really doubted it. Hope was undeniably stirring in his chest, ignoring his feverish pleas against it. 

He opened the screen door with a bang, and Casper's eyes met his. They were brown, Will hadn't noticed. Or rather, he had, but he'd ignored them. 

They could have exchanged words, meaningful ones. Sentences laced with metaphor and apologies that more than made up for their grievances. Instead, Casper asked if Will wanted to go drink with him on the roof of the abandoned police station. 

It wasn't quite the declaration Will was looking for, but he expected he'd never find his someone. His soulmate, wherever you wanted to call it. Drinking on the roof sounded like a great idea, to be honest. 

Casper brushed off his pants, and Will's gaze lingered there for a moment too long, bringing a flush to both their cheeks. Will wanted to apologize, what for he wasn't certain, but then Casper extended his hand and every thought disappeared from his head. Will might as well spray-paint a slur on his wall with everything holding hands would broadcast, but he wanted to. It was like the trampoline, or helping Steven with his door. It was spur of the moment, and even if he forgot about it the next day, it meant something to him in the moment. Casper meant something to him at that moment, so he locked their fingers together. 

Casper's palms were sweaty, and his nails were longer than Will's. He was fascinated by it, just by touching his hand briefly sent flames licking up his arm, warming his face. 

He should have been looking around. He should have been checking to see if they were safe. Will's dad's car pulled in front of the house at twice the speed it had to, and it sent tendrils of fear right to his heart. He couldn't look at Casper in that moment, knowing he'd only find confusion and fear on his face. Their hands were still locked together, even as they stood a foot apart. 

Will couldn't meet his father's eyes either, not when he stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him, or when he yelled at Will to look at me in my eyes, you pussy. He saw his father's boots, water beading around the toes and staining the sidewalk. But he couldn't raise his eyes farther than that. Casper, the stupid, stubborn boy, didn't drop Will's hand or step away. He should have run. Will should have told him to run. 

The slap across his cheek was painful, borderline excruciating. Will had other bruises there, faded yellow with time but so, so sensitive. He rocked back on his feet and would have fallen if not for Casper, who pulled him upright and stood in front of him. Blocking his view of his father. 

His dad's voice only rose, to a painfully loud tone in which he denounced Will, calling him a deviant and a fairy and a thousand other words that Will had heard before, but never directed at him. Every person on their street could hear him if only they opened their doors, and let the hate roll in like mist. Will was sure they would. The words stung worse than the slap did. 

Casper tugged on his arm. Will was unwilling to look in his eyes. Will's father didn't seem to care who he was being queer with, only that his only son was the end of his precious bloodline. Will wanted to punch him. Instead, he focused on a leaf near his feet. It was tinged red on the edges. Fall was coming.  

Will let Casper pull him away, onto the street until they were running. The words followed him, and his dad didn't yell at him to come back. Will half-hoped he never did. 

They stopped outside a building, sneakers dragging on the street, and Will got his eyes high enough to see the shabby sign out front. Hopedale Police Station. A laugh erupted from him then, high and off-key, and unbelievably sad. He knew he was digging his fingers into Casper's hand too hard, and that he must be in some kind of pain. He didn't say anything, he just led him to the back of the building where a rusty ladder waited for them. 

They dropped hands to climb, Casper first, and Will immediately missed the feeling. He followed him up, and let his feet hang off the side, facing not forwards or backwards, but out towards the waterfront. Casper took his hand again when Will joined him. 

He could feel the scratchy surface through his jeans. All his pants had holes in them, not the stylish, fashionable ripped pants that people with more money than they knew what to do with had. These were the kind of holes that accumulated over the years, the kind that a thousand pool parties and fence-hoppings often lead to.

Casper said, at least you got his groceries. 

Will laughed normally, and pressed his forehead against Casper's shoulder. It was warm, and slick with sweat from their run. 

Which is great, Will said, except I doubt he'll ever let me in the house again. Unless he drinks and completely forgets about today.

Does he do that a lot?

Enough, yeah. More than I'd like.  

I'm sorry. 

It's not your fault. It's not mine, and I don't think it's his either. We're all a little fucked, this is just… how he deals with it, I guess. Will breathed out. This was more than he told anyone on a good day. 

I should've been less obvious, I can't help but feel like this is my fault. 

Will shook his head, still half-pressed against Casper's side. He would have figured it out. You were direct and it was… well, you were direct. 

Casper laughed, shaking Will slightly from his side. God, his laugh was like music. If Will could bottle it and listen to it on repeat every second of every damn day, he would. 

Why the change of heart? I thought you hated me. Even if Casper left now, even if he pulled away, Will wanted to know. 

Everyone else hates you, I just got roped into it. I never have, really. Casper sounded genuine. If his words didn't match his actions, Will didn't know what he'd do. 

They were silent. Will felt comfortable in knowing that neither of them felt the need to fill the air with meaningless garbage. Even if there was so much Will wanted to know, wanted to say, he could wait. 

He was content to enjoy the sunset, even if he knew he'd be going home alone. 

fin

[okeanosornamentalgraphics]

Some writing thing I did

I started this in 2018 when I was first getting into Fully Charged, then I abandoned it. And now I’m revising it and attempting to finish it. I don’t finish any of my writings though, lolololol

“Mind explaining to me as to why I had to accompany you for picking out art supplies for Mr. Canson’s class? You’re the one who starts his class tomorrow, not me.”

Aki pouted and fidgeted in his spot, clutching the small collection of drawing pencils of various shapes, sizes, and colors in one hand and a slip of paper in the other. He made yet another nasally grunt, indicating his annoyance to the whole affair. Who still used paper to write a list, anyway? And what was the point of having all these different pencils if they all served the same purpose?

His elder sister resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her sibling’s inquiry, carefully studying the tiny text etched into the pencil’s side. Her eyes picked up a gold plated, “2B” and it joined the small collection in her other hand.

“Did you forget that you start his class tomorrow too?” she retorted with a swift glance at her brother. “You even start his class before me, so why are you complaining? You’ve got to pick out supplies too!”

Aki took a moment to think. He then scoffed with crossed arms, an instinctive gesture to Suna being right once again and his distaste to admit it. Then again, if his memory banks served him right when granted, Mr. Canson’s art class was indeed placed in his schedule. Sixth period for him, seventh period for Suna. He envied her, having a class as lax and easy-going as art being the closing class for the school day. He could only imagine how rewarding Fridays were with that kind of schedule. Taking about an hour and a half getting lost in some drawing he carefully crafted, already forgetting about the monotonous lectures from the previous periods, slowly feeling the stress of school life melt away with each swipe of the hand, and looking forward to whatever freedom the weekend had in store for him. A perfect way to end a week of school.

He attempted to retaliate. “Well, that still doesn’t explain why you had to drag me along! You wanted to nab your supplies all the way here on the far side of town instead of waiting after class to see if we really need everything on that list!”

His attention dived down onto the elegantly written letters on the page and then came back up in an instant. “Like this, ‘kneaded eraser’ thingie. We’ve already got a bunch of regular erasers at home, so we’re good, right?”

“And why can’t we just share supplies?”

Suna was off in her own little universe, subconsciously listening to her brother rant and rave about his expressive dislike of school supply shopping (or any shopping in general that didn’t align with his interests) while consciously inspecting the sides of all the pencils she touched. It annoyed her greatly when he went on and on about something important that needed to be taken care of. But at the same time, there was at least one thing her brother was snarling about that she could agree on.

This was last-minute. Very last-minute. One full page of specialized art supplies from brands she didn't recognize that was needed for a class starting the next day. She couldn’t say she was too surprised however, considering how chaotic the administration’s organization and planning had been recently. She was almost assigned Trigonometry for the second time when she should have been given Calculus!

“You can just buy everything we need on that list for class tomorrow and hand them to me,” Suna’s hearing picked up her brother’s monologue. “When my class is over and it’s your turn, you can just meet me by the classroom door and I’ll give the supplies to you. See, it all works out.” A trademark smirk carved its way through Aki’s lips, the same smirk he donned when he thought of an impromptu solution for whatever problem his sister threw at him.  

Suna pursed her lips, motioning for him to hand over the wrinkled list and slightly grimacing at the immortal creases on the formerly pristine surface. A crisp line slashed through the last remaining graphite-based item on the list, prompting a content bob of eggplant hair.

“Well,” her tongue clicked. “Think you can manage rushing from Mr. Canson’s studio on the west side of the school on the third floor, to Mrs. Waterhouse’s class on the opposite end of the school on the first floor? All within a five-minute window?”  

Now it was Suna’s turn to sneer. The infamous, “I know more than you do, so stop resisting and just admit that I am right,” kind of sneer that overruled Aki’s iconic, “I can make this whole thing work out, trust me,” sneer.  

Once again, Suna was right. The leisure time in between each period was brutal. You had enough time for one locker visit to frantically grab what you needed, have a short bathroom break, and be lucky enough to engage in small talk with one of your friends without being at least a couple minutes late. Rushing between classes on different floors and making triple sure he had all his materials was taxing on its own. There’s no way he’d be cool with all the extra running around every day, especially after lunch. Throwing up his hands in defeat and letting out an audible sigh, he surrendered for good.

“Dad gave us each the right amount of money to cover everything. Like you mentioned earlier we may not need everything, but I’m gonna play it safe so we don’t get any more surprises,” Suna included as she reached for a nearby basket to dump her findings inside. A brief moment of silence passed as her olive irises scanned the list before she passed it to her reluctant brother.

“Here, I’ve already memorized the rest of the items, so you can have the list back if you want. Because this is so last-minute and this store is far from home, I’m taking the liberty of grabbing everything while I’m here. Whether or not you’d like to wait until tomorrow when they go over the list and make a second trip all the way back here is your call.”

Aki took back the list in slight awe. “No wonder you’re so much better at tests than I am, you’ve got photographic memory.”

Her heels pivoted across the newly polished floor with a satisfied smile. “I’m going to get the rest of my supplies, shouldn’t take me long. Mini, I trust that you’ll keep my baby brother out of trouble?”

Aki swatted his sister’s hand away in embarrassment as she ruffled the thick chocolate locks of spiked synthetic hair.

“Hey! I do a great job at keeping the city out of trouble, I don’t need a babysitter!”

The tiny sentient robot that resided in Aki’s head crossed his legs and let out a small chuckle of amusement. Serving as Aki’s onboard repair unit and an external conscious drive with independent thought, Mega Mini became Aki’s first line of almost indiscriminate support who flaunted a rather rude and sarcastic sense of humor. What fun was having a best bud if you couldn’t tease them every once in a while?

“Don’t worry ya pretty lil’ head off, M’Lady. I’ll make sure ya itty bitty baby brother doesn’t hurt himself in this big, scary store,” Mini replied, puckering his lips and shifting the tone in his gruff voice.  

His remark rewarded him with a fading laugh from Suna and an annoyed grunt from Aki. “Hey, whose side are you on? You’re in my head, so you’re supposed to always agree with me!”

“Oh please. If I wasn’t programmed with a personality and had to do everything you say without question, we’d both be screwed,” Mini’s pixel eyes averted. "By the way, your penmanship's gettin' better."

Aki grumbled. It wasn’t like  all his ideas were bad or backfired at the worst of times. Mini made it sound like he wasn’t capable of doing anything on his own. The nerve!

“Are you saying that I can’t function without you? I’ll have you know that I was created before you were, Mini.” He took a finger to jab at his own temple. “I can take care of myself, thank you for asking. Don't you have, like, vacation days you need to use, or something?”

The tiny robot playfully rolled his eyes. “Ya sure about that, Chief? Didja forget about that tussle with Blasto Woman? How she knocked me clean out ya skull? Ya lucky I was able to save yer blue behind from hard crashin’.”

Aki swat both his arms dismissively, the crumpled paper in his grasp fluttering violently. “Aww, whatever. Have it your way, then. I guess I should get going and find all these stupid supplies before Suna finishes up. I’d never hear the end of it from her.”

His chocolate optics veered back down at the abused paper and scanned the remaining items. Brushes, one pack of brushes.

“One pack of brushes,” Aki read. “That shouldn’t be so hard.”

Mini continued to tease. “Hmm, ya sure ‘bout that, Chief? Didja see all them different pencils ya sister picked out? Are ya gonna be able to tell which one is which?”

“Oh shut it, you mini migraine,” the robo-boy grumbled. “They’re brushes! And they’re already in a pack, so it can’t be too hard, right?”

[vetsami]

America!

The topic I chose on this is America, even with faults, here is a greatness and these artists culminate the differences of views within their music. In Eminems song “White America” he maintains what I like to call a marching tempo with a clear beat. Eminem sings the problems he sees in America, such as race issues and the issues with the education system and how he was not given a chance until he met another specific rapper. The tone of the song illustrates a frustration contributing to the message being sent to anybody that is willing to listen to the art.

The next song I chose is Johnny Cash “Ragged Old Flag” being that it is not necessarily a song, but a poetic story with an instrumental background. Johnny Cash mixes the music around with a military style drum to a soft sound that transfers back to a military drum with a banjo. The story starts off with Johnny Cash meeting a member of the little town of the courthouse he was walking up to. The story of the flag represents the American flag and the history of it, the different wars and battles that it has been carried through and who commanded the troops each conflict the flag stood through. The tone is meant to develop a sense of pride in the flag and country patriotism.

The next song is “American Woman” by Lenny Kravitz, the song is a rock cover of the original by Guess Who. The song is widely misinterpreted with may thinking that it is an attack on American politics, but was actually about the women of Canada being preferred to women of America due to women seemingly to age faster in the United States. The version Lenny Kravitz did was a little slower and softer than the original but added a guitar solo that is signature of his style.

The next song I chose is “Fight the Power” by Public Enemy in the hip hop genre from the early nineties with a bouncy rhythm the artists channeled their tension from the justice system that was seemingly institutionalizing racism. This song was an act of defiance to the government to send a message to Generation X to get some of the black heroes on the wall of fame.

The next song is “It’s America” by Rodney Atkins with an up-tempo beat and a banjo backing, the song lists the good things of living in America, after stopping at a lemonade stand that would make a perfect post card. Along with the seeing people volunteering to help out the community they live in, driving in an American built vehicle traveling down back roads.

The next song is “Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue” by Toby Keith, this song was inspired by the passing of his father and then the 9/11 attacks. The song maintains an up tempo beat after the beginning of the song where Toby Keith started slowly with a tribute to the American People. The lyrics develop a high sense of patriotism and became the anthem of many service members that were in the military or were about to be serving the country upon completion of boot camp.

The relevance of this topic to me, besides being in the military, is that this was my motivation to join the military after the 9/11 attacks when I was in my sophomore year in high school, I decided that I wanted to be a part of the protection of the United States, because I want everybody to enjoy the freedoms we have.

[creedx13]

(Trauma)Jason Creed(Touture/gore)

Trauma night terrors and the walk of shame.

Content warning: PTSD, violence and hate

It was the same dream as usual, just a casual relieving of my screen debut with the "Friends Of Humanity".

 Mr. Logan had given me some pocket money for helping him with the firewood. It was like 3 dollars just enough for a slurpee or maybe a candy bar. It was a beautiful full moon night and I was much too excited for sleep. I had just moved up a belt in martial arts class and I was feeling invincible. So I decided, like an idiot, it would be a good idea to leave school grounds and head to the local seven eleven to buy sweets and chase pigeons. I scaled the outer wall using my claws and I was off into the night. I was so absorbed in the beauty of the night and the feeling of freedom in my hair I didn't notice I was being tailed. Rookie error. They wouldn't have caught me so easily if I'd have been paying attention. I didn't even make it to the stupid convenience store. They jumped me on the first block. I felt something hit the back of my head, a baseball bat I think. I fell forward and the bat guy's buddy snapped one of those ugly suppressor collars on me and hit a button. It felt like my whole body was crawling with angry spiky fire. Apparently, this model came with a Taser feature. How wonderful. I black out I hate blacking out. Next thing I know I'm strapped down to some sort of torture chair. Like where do you buy this stuff, super sickos are us? As soon as I started to come around I heard a woman's voice say "It's awake, go time boss." just like that the camera under the ring light turns on and Graydon Creed himself steps From the shadows. Of all the ways to meet your biological father for the first time I'm pretty sure this is the worst. He then started spitting his holier-than-thou bullshit showing my claws and fangs off to the camera then forcibly turning my head to show my ears. He then made the case that I clearly wasn't human and I didn't deserve a place in civilized society "You wouldn't send your child to school with a lion or expect them to share a bathroom or locker room with a polar bear?" as if I was a threat to kids. I'm a kid myself. "Tonight I will make the streets safer. tonight I teach you how to protect your families, your children." he then slowly declawed me, cutting my fingertips off slowly one by one using a pair of sharpened garden pruners. I screamed I cried, I fought, I growled, I swore, none of them flinched. They were void and cold behind their eyes and I was helpless and alone at their mercy. I fought and slashed wildly in my sleep, slicing my bed sheets to ribbons with my claws. I woke suddenly sitting up in bed shaking from the adrenaline and drenched in my own sweat. I carefully assessed my surroundings grounding myself in the present moment just like Mr. Logan taught me after the first nightmare I had in the infirmary. My roommate is deaf which is why he was chosen to share my room cause I won't wake him in the night. I carefully bundled up my torn sheets in my arms and headed down to the laundry room for some spare sheets. Mr. Logan was there he was dropping off his torn bedding as well. At least I'm not doing the walk of shame alone tonight. He hands me a fresh bundle of bedding. "Here ya go kid. You want me to help you make your bed?" he suggests. I can make my own bed but I don't want to be alone right now. I don't think he wants to be alone either. "Yes please." I sound small, I feel even smaller. Mr.Logan just gives me a sad knowing smile. "Common kid." He pats me on the shoulder, he is gentle but firm. After he helped me with my bed, I help him with his bed. As he escorted me back to my room he said something that stuck with me. "Head up kid, you're a fighter you'll get through this. You can and will survive worse. It wasn't your fault and they will pay. they always do in time. Now go back to bed it's past curfew." he gave me a sly smirk and headed back to his room. The terror of my past left me alone until morning. Thanks Mr.Logan you're a cool guy.

[borkthemork]

It’s been a while since I talked about this but since a few people wanted a masterpost on what one of my other AUs was all about, I want to finally introduce it and basically summarize what it’s about.

With that said...

Welcome to 48 Years, a sitcom-esque Marcanne AU where I take the concept of slow burn and basically fling more gasoline at it until it’s practically self-perpetuating.

UPDATES (1/15/2022): Slowly getting back into writing after a nice break, new links updated.

Co-created with @bloop-arts​, who decided to enable my insanity and never looked back.

TV Guide Summary ⦿ 30 MINS ⦿ Comedy/Drama/Romance ⦿ TV-14 ⦿  2021

Anne Boonchuy has lived quite a life for herself. She’s traveled many places, settled down with someone, had a kid, and got the dream ending every sitcom yearns for. However, this all ends when she and her husband decide to break up, both realizing that they’re gay after twenty years of stable marriage.

Newly divorced and struggling to understand herself, Anne settles down into her long-time friend’s apartment until she can find a permanent home. In her self-discovery, Anne will not only navigate the new-found freedoms of experimentation, but she’ll be confronted with the questions of motherhood, past childhood mistakes, and how to create silver-linings in her separation.

Especially when her best friends and family are along for the ride.

NOTES

⦿ Anne has been in a stable marriage for twenty years with her husband. However, instead of the separation being done out of abuse or miscommunication, it actually comes from a mutually-assured realization that even if the marriage was stable and full of respect/trust, they both wanted the other to explore themselves and their opportunities.

⦿ Her son is named Kamon. They don’t talk much for the beginning of 48 Years, mainly writing stuff down or using text-to-speech to communicate. They’re also a tiny gentleman who deserves the world.

⦿ Sasha works at her own physical studio where she teaches people kickboxing, Tai Chi, and swordfighting.

⦿ All of them are 48 years old throughout the main focus of the AU, unless the show refutes me regarding their birthdays.

⦿ Marcy works as a software engineer at an independent company. She does freelancing on the side.

⦿ Anne is currently juggling as a restaurant chef and a university student, is not having a good time in managing...well...time.

⦿ Sasha’s home is not that far from Marcy’s apartment. This leads to Sasha being able to walk in, help drop Kamon off at school, and overall being a consistent presence for hanging out.

⦿ Anne gets her own bedroom. They basically replaced Marcy’s prior office space to do this, meaning Anne and Marcy do online work at the dining table, their beds, or on the balcony. This will change at some point.

⦿ As time goes on, the environment and space that Anne once believed was temporary grows less temporary.

⦿ Yes, the moment that Anne starts to realize she can experiment with her identity, in her room she blasted every nostalgic 2000s to 2020s sapphic song she can find just to feel something. This includes dodie, and girl in red. They’re music classics now.

⦿ Anne’s identity journey also includes a lot more than blasting dodie, I promise.

⦿  Yes, there’s also an explanation to why it took so long for her to realize she’s gay.

⦿ All three girls actively teleport from Earth to Amphibia just to check on families, friends, and also to see the progress on Amphibia’s new political structure and reconstruction. Yes, that means the toads, newts, and frogs jump on over to Earth whenever they want to.

⦿ Since I stylize this AU as a sitcom format, meaning that I try to interpret the whole thing in a manner to its own standalone narrative from a TV show, that means the details of Anne’s “adventures” slowly seep into the picture, much to the audience’s confusion. Sasha could talk about being a lieutenant all that she wants, but the audience will believe she’s talking about the US military until the talk of “toads” hits them like a sack of bricks.

⦿ As time goes on, the audience begins to see that Anne, Marcy, and Sasha are post-journey adventurers, and the AU dives into the consequences and ramifications of that important year in their lives.

⦿ This is not only a slow burn but a SLOW BURN WITH OLDER QUEERS, BABY.

⦿ I am still working on a lot of WIPS, but to an introduction of this concept, feel free to read this drabble here.

POST INFORMATION/TIMELINE

Note - Shall update over time with new information posts and fics. Any questions over the timeline is encouraged.

Fanfics are in italics to differentiate.

AU-Inspired Fanworks

⦿ Marcy and Sasha’s Dance by @/cute-as-buttons

⦿ Unexpected by @/nexstage

Overall

⦿ Info on the Plantars

⦿ Info on the Boonchuys and the Amphibious Council

⦿ Age Clarification

⦿ Husband Information

⦿ Sexualities

⦿ Marcy’s Crush

⦿ Anne’s Crush

⦿ Marcy’s Tattoo Design

⦿ Trio’s Adult Designs

⦿ Sasha and Kamon

Pre-48

⦿ Kamon

⦿ The Zipline

⦿ Uncle Sprig

⦿ Honorary Council Member

⦿ Sasha and Kamon

⦿ The Agreement on Florentine Street

June

⦿ Bonding with the Kiddo

July

⦿ Dodie Night

⦿ Raining Stars

[crymeariveronceagain]

Keefe through his years at Foxfire

if you insist <3 :DDD

Year 1: Bright, excited little eleven year old. He walks down the halls with a spring in his step, not afraid of anything in the world. The world sparkles, for him. He's going to school with his best friend, he's taking fun classes, nothing can go wrong! He's got more freedom than he could ever ask for, and he's sure he'll make more friends. Everything will be amazing! This lasts for approximately a week and a half. Then he takes a test, and is moved up a level.

Year 2: His smirk hides the fact that he's bored out of his mind. His eyes burn as he stares at another textbook he doesn't have the patience to do more than scan and skip through, knowing he'll be able to recall it all for the test tomorrow anyway. He gets into pranks, this year. He's coasting through all his classes, putting no effort in. His dad took him out of Art, his dad upped the math classes. All he needed to do was stare at a page for about ten seconds and have it memorized. There's no challenge. He's bored. The Great Gulon incident was the prank that marked the school with his image. He grinned as he marched down the halls, pride in his eyes. They still don't know that he did it.

Year 3: He's become the school prankster. The one who never takes anything seriously. He ditches class constantly. He'll still pass every test with flying colors. His father's made sure of that. He smirks, finger guns, and slowly makes every girl in the school fall in love with him. He doesn't seriously pursue anyone, a bit of a Sirius Black more than anything else. He climbs the walls and goofs off and gets more detention than he should, primarily because Dame Alina's decided he's a little miscreant. He is, he admits to Fitz at lunch, one day, but that doesn't mean she has to say so. And, of course, this is the year he meets Sophie. This is the year that everything begins to whirl into a mess, right in front of his eyes.

Year 4: He smiles, and it somehow still reaches his eyes. His dad's gotten really bad, this year, his mom's been acting weird. It doesn't matter, he thinks, ditching school still, passing every class, still, flying on the back of an alicorn to save his friend from her own powers, still. He falls in love with Sophie for real this year. Her soft eyes and her flustered blushes. He really loves her. He thinks he'd die for her, if she needed him to. He kind of hopes she won't. He knows he'd do it, but he doesn't know if she'd like that.

Year 5: His smile doesn't reach his eyes, anymore. His life is spiralling out of control. He's missed too many days of school to make them up. It'll be a miracle if he's even allowed back in after the whole Black Swan mess goes down. Halfway through the year, he stops going to Foxfire. No one misses him, not really. Except his friends. He blows up someone's office. No one is surprised(Except Sophie).

Year 5(repeat): It's a good thing he was a year ahead, his father says. He's still on track to finish school on time. Keefe cringes inside. School is really hard, right now. He can't do anything right. How many different ways can you say "Traumatized Gifted Kid Burnout Syndrome"? He's failing a few classes, he gets yelled at a lot by his dad. He's kind of a loner, now. He used to be friends with everyone in the school, but not anymore. Almost everyone thinks he'd betray them at the drop of a hat. He keeps to himself, mostly. People tolerate him, from a distance. Sophie hangs out with him a lot. Partially because he's alone. It's not good, she thinks, that the person who kept me from feeling alone my first year is alone now. I need to stick by him. After all, she thinks, happily, almost. We're in the same level, now.

Year 6: He's got war intrenched in him. Flames seared into his mind, whenever he closes his eyes. Nothing is okay. Nothing will ever be okay again. He dreams of his mother. He wakes up to hear his father. He goes to sleep praying that the next morning the world will have finally burned around him, and he won't have to worry about it anymore. Needless to say, the world never does. He's still in love with Sophie. But it doesn't matter, because she's in love with someone else. Everything hurts. Everything is bad. He can't sit still long enough to pass any test, no matter how long he tries to burn the textbook into his brain. What was so easy years ago is now practically painful. Everything is hard. Everything is bad. But he still gets up, every day, almost mechanically, and goes to school.

Year 7: He doesn't to to school. He ran, again. No one is surprised. Except Sophie. Sophie cries. A lot. Everyone else quits going to school this year, too. There's a war going on. Haven't you noticed? School isn't important if the Neverseen are burning cities to the ground, looking for a mesmer who ran away.

Year 7(repeat for all Keeper Kids): His dad is pissed about this. Keefe doesn't talk about it. He goes through the motions, once again. Nothing is better. The classes are harder than ever, and he can't make himself think. It's hard to sit and stare at a page for endless hours, he can't figure out what anything means, or even what any of it says. But he's always had good deductive reasoning, even if, as his father says, he rarely uses it. He can pass tests as long as they're multiple choice. Most everything is multiple choice. He'll be okay. Sophie kisses him in the hallway they first met in. It's not their first kiss. He hopes, as he thinks about their plans for war, that it won't be their last.

Year 8: The war is over. He didn't have to come back for another year. He did. He wanted to take an art class. And somehow, as though breathing life through him, the art class pulls him back to life. He's going to be okay, he thinks, staring at a canvas with paint splattered in intricate depictions of real life. He's going to be okay, he thinks, sitting across from his new Mesmer Mentor, knowing that this power does not need to terrify him. He's going to be okay, he thinks, sitting in alchemy in front of a new teacher who knows him as a War hero, not a delinquent, passing the assignments with a sort of joy he hasn't felt in years. He kisses his girlfriend in the hall they met in, again, but in between classes they both enjoy. He looks around the halls of Foxfire. This place has not been okay in a long, long time. He had not felt okay here in years. But right now, he thinks, on his way to Elite Historical Writings, with books on people he's met in the bag he has on his shoulder, he's okay. He's going to be okay. He'll fight to be okay.

[boymeetsweevil]

Call me maybe

Grouping: Reader x Namjoon

Word Count: ~6.59k

Warnings/Themes: Club meet-cute AU, 1% angst +99% suggestive fluff, (legal!) alcohol consumption, language, flirting anxiety(?)

Summary: It all started with a stupid drinking game...

A/N: this is the One Direction wattpad-style fanfic that's been haunting me for so long. beware of that and the fact that this is unedited hahaha...

“You know the rules, girls. Whoever wins this round of rock-paper-scissors is It.”

You and your three friends, warm and bubbly from 2 rounds of shots at this point in the evening, assume your battle stances and stick your hands into the center of your table. Four hands make a square over the scattered layer of empty decorative shot glasses from the bar in the club.

There’s an air of electric excitement that comes with this game, lovingly nicknamed Hunter-Gathering. Whoever is It gets a target and has to pursue that target in hopes of bringing ‘home’ free drinks for everyone the rest of the night. But no matter how attractive the target is, you can't ever bring them home.

“Wait, wait!” Lia chimes in. “I can’t be It this time. I did it twice already and my ass still hurts from the last time.”

Dani nods seriously. “Fair enough. That means the odds are upped for the rest of you.”

“So, we’re just gonna ignore that ass thing,” another friend, Alexa, looks around the table with confused eyes.

“Do you actually want me to give you the details?” Lia smiles slowly at her from across the table.

Alexa’s face brightens with her own smile, worry evaporated. “You know what? I don’t! Never mind.”

The game begins and somehow you find yourself the lone rock amongst two pairs of scissors. Alexa and Dani laugh with relief because they don’t have to put in any work tonight. You roll your eyes to the heavens and silently question your karma.

“Are you ready to pick your target?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Nope!” Dani grins.

She steps forward and grabs a clean face mask out of her clutch bag and wraps it around your eyes, careful not to muss your makeup or hair. Three pairs of hands rest on your shoulders and you let them spin you lightly around a few times. Not enough to get you dizzy but just enough to make sure you don’t know what direction you’re facing anymore.

“Alright,” Dani’s voice sounds out over the music of the club. “Take your pick!”

You stick your hand out blindly and someone unties the makeshift blindfold. Everyone follows the line your hand makes all the way to a tall figure standing by the side of the bar.

He’s probably the most handsome man any of you have seen in a while. There's an intimidating aura emanating from him. You figure it's the understated all-black outfit complete with the heinously expensive watch he's wearing and the sheer height of him as he towers over people near him at the bar.

“Oh my god,” Dani whispers as you all take in the stranger’s face.

“We can finally get top shelf vodka,” Alexa pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Not bad,” Lia hums in appreciation.

“Okay, why is everyone acting like I bagged him already?” Your voice grows high with nerves. “I'm pretty sure I have, like, a 2% chance of interesting him."

“What are you so worried about?” Dani crosses her arms at you. “Just do whatever you did to get those history nerds to help you out that one time."

"This is not the same thing. Those guys parted their hair 90/10 unironically and thought Diva Cups are for when you don't want to hold your pee when you stand in line for roller coasters."

"You're kidding," Lia gasps. You wish you were.

"Well, just pretend he's one of them anyway." Dani suggests, "Every guy is the same."

You can't argue with that logic.

“I mean, I can try flirting with him, but he’s probably so used to people throwing themselves at him. I don’t think anything I do would, like, make a dent, you know?”

“Babe, no. No—listen to me, okay?” Alexa takes you by the shoulders and forces you around so you can see how serious she is.

“Tonight is the last free night of vacation. After tonight, we have less than a day to get over our hangovers, pack up the Airbnb, and then catch our 6am flight back home to start the spring term. Our last night of freedom lies in your hands.”

“But, what if—”

“No ‘but’s. Do you see yourself? Do you see your skin in this fresh white two piece? Have you seen how your tits look in this off the shoulder top? That poor man doesn’t stand a chance!”

Lia murmurs her agreement in the background and Dani mentions something about fearing for the guy's soul. You think about the freakishly good pictures you all took in the stylish club bathroom when you first arrived.

“I see your point.”

You turn back toward the bar to review your target. He sips from a dark green bottle as he looks around at the people on the dance floor between your table and the bar. As he continues to scan the room, he locks eyes with you. You hold his gaze even though your instincts are screaming at you to duck for cover. Surprisingly, he gives a small smile and raises his bottle in salute.

"See, you got the hardest part down already. Just fake the rest until you make it."

You chance a look back in his direction only to catch him staring in the direction of the table. When he catches your gaze again, he whips his head away, cheeks tinging pink under the soft yellow lighting at the bar.

Alexa cackles and starts detailing all the drinks she wants made with the top shelf vodka. Lia and Dani discuss leaving early to go back and clean up the apartment so it’s clean in case you break the rules and bring this guy back for the night.

“Uh, aren’t you guys moving a little fast?”

“Aren’t you moving a little slow,” Alexa counters.

“Hold on, Lex.” Dani turns to you. “You know you don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to, right? Hunter-Gathering is just a game, there's no pressure.”

For all their poking and teasing, you're reminded right then and there that your friends would never put you in a situation where they thought you were actually at any risk. The weight you felt on your shoulders lightens somewhat.

“No, no, I definitely still want to play, I just don’t want you guys to get your hopes up.”

“I believe in you.”

Lia bumps shoulders with you quietly. She’s not the most affectionate, so you know she really means it.

“I’ll do my best.”

You let them tweak you a little bit, fixing stray hairs and wiping away smeared lip gloss and hiking up your skirt, giving you their drink orders, before you grab your purse and phone and push in your stool.

When you finally make it to the bar, he’s in the same spot as you first found him in. He spots you once you get close enough and naturally makes room for you. You set your bag on the bar countertop before hopping up on the empty stool immediately in front of him. The movement causes your skirt to ride up even more and you’re glad you only let Lia hike it up one inch instead of three.

Dani's advice about treating this guy like any other scrub from school reverbs in the back of your head right as the nerves start to set in. With the guys in your art history class, your grade was on the line. There was no room for hesitation when you could barely draw a stick figure, much less write an essay analyzing what an old painting style could tell you about the dairy economy in a certain town like some of your classmates were doing. It was because you were desperate that you were suddenly able to transform into a femme fatale. It also helped that these guys quivered at any interaction with an adult woman.

Tonight's drinks are on the line, you tell yourself. As best you can, you try to trick yourself into entering the same mindset you were in when you would lay on the charm extra thick for the art history guys.

You let the corner of your mouth lift up in a coy smile while you survey the bar. The bartender is moving back and forth quickly to handle the high demand. A second later the girl next to you leaves her spot with a tray of 8 bright pink drinks, practically glowing in the dark. You wonder briefly if you should try to get a round of those for the table.

“—one of those before?”

His voice is deep and pleasant. When you give him a look over your shoulder, you have to suppress a gasp. Up close he's even more handsome. You really have your work cut out for you.

“What?"

"That neon pink drink," he nods back in the direction of the girl who'd taken the cotton candy pink drinks with her. "I was wondering if you'd tried them before."

“No, I haven’t,” you smile, letting your lips part slowly. His eyes dart from your painted eyes to the colored stretch of your mouth and then quickly back up. “Have you?”

“No. But I like to try new things.”

You purse your lips as if in thought, something you've seen other girls do while flirting with guys at school. “You must be pretty unpredictable, then.”

“Huh? Well, I wouldn’t say that.” He stammers a bit and nearly drops his beer bottle trying and failing to put it down. All the intimidation you felt coming from him earlier seems to have disappeared.

“I was just kidding.”

Like it has a mind of its own, your hand reaches out to rest on his arm reassuringly while you continue to laugh at him. His features clear up then and a relieved smile blooms on his face, bringing out an adorable dimple with it.

“You’re teasing me,” he realizes with a good natured huff and steps into your touch.

“You seem kinda fun to tease.” You let your hand linger a little longer before finally pulling it back.

“It’s kinda fun. You're pretty good at it.”

Oddly enough, this isn't as difficult for you as you thought it was going to be. In fact, you find yourself naturally tilting your head and fixing him with an intrigued look from under your lashes. He takes the opportunity to look you over as well, a small smile on his lips.

The personal attention does make you a little nervous despite the fact that it’s positive. So you dig in your purse to avoid looking directly at him for too long and to give your hands something to do. You brush up against a tube of lip gloss, pull it out, and reapply some to your lips.

You look back at him when you realize he’s grown quiet, only to find him following the movements of the gloss brush tracing the curve of your lips, cheeks dusted pink and eyes half-closed like he's in some sort of trance.

Experimentally you press your lips together and then purse them to make sure the gloss is distributed evenly. The man doesn't blink once. Suddenly, all his expensive apparel and large stature aren’t so intimidating.

"Is there something on my face," you smirk.

He slow blinks down at your mouth twice before realizing you're speaking again. His eyes grow wide and he raises a ringed hand to rub at the back of his neck. The movement rustles the hair covering his ears, revealing their pink tips. Cute.

"Just looking."

You laugh a little at him again. He marvels at the way the club lighting dances around in your glossy smile.

"So, how come I've never seen you here before?"

"Well...it's the first time me and my friends have come here."

"I see." He pivots to face you and leans his closest elbow on the counter of the bar. "Are you guys new to the area?"

"You could say that, yeah."

He raises an eyebrow when you don’t elaborate. Without looking away, he raises his hand to signal to the bartender that he wants another drink. When the bartender runs right over, you realize this guy actually might be a big deal. Silently you pull your card out of your wallet as the bartender makes their way over. You figure you’ll have to spend some money before you can really ask someone like him to buy drinks for your table.

"What'll it be,” the bartender asks.

"Two of those pink drinks please," he says and before you can place any order the bartender zooms away.

While the bartender starts preparing the drinks, you turn toward him.

"Who said I wanted the pink drink?"

He grins down at you, a dimple now popping up in each cheek. "Who said it's for you?"

"I'm pretty sure it's for me."

"And what makes you so sure?" He takes a step closer to you.

"Just a hunch," you hum before crossing your legs.

The white fabric of your skirt hikes up your thighs again with the movement. You smooth your palms over the soft material.

"Nice skirt."

"Yeah? You like it?"

"I like it," he admits quietly.

"And the top?" You gesture toward the pair of straps on the matching tube top, manicured nails gliding over your décolletage. He wets his lips.

"The top too."

He reaches out one large hand to one of the straps that have fallen over your shoulder. The drag of his fingers against your bare arm as he fixes it makes you shiver. You lament the loss of contact when pulls his hand back.

The bartender arrives with your drinks then, startling the both of you out of the little staring competition that had spontaneously started. The pink drink seems to glow from within, topped with whipped cream and full of little round ice cubes made from some sort of darker rose syrup floating in the liquid like lava in a lava lamp. The color barely prepares you for the thick sweetness that floods your mouth on the first sip.

"Oh, that's kinda..."

He huffs a laugh around his own first swallow and nods in agreement.

"Not what you wanted?"

"It's just really sweet. You like it?”

He shrugs. “It’s alright. But—"

The way he cuts himself off has you confused for a moment before he's reaching towards you cautiously. You're not too sure what's going on until you feel the pad of his thumb swipe over the corner of your lips carrying away some of the whipped topping from the drink. Your eyes widen when instead of wiping the cream on one of the cocktail napkins available on the counter he brings his thumb to his own lips. In a fraction of a second the cream is gone, but you're left feeling a rush of fluttering warmth on the side of your mouth and in the center of your chest.

"You think your friends would like these?” He slides his drink to the side so he can lean on his elbow and turn to you again. Now's your chance.

“Um, I don’t think this is really their style.”

“What is their style?”

You rattle off their drinks of choice, making sure to mention their favorite brands with a sigh. Of course, whenever you play this game, the brands can change depending on the budget of whoever’s buying. This time, you make sure to name drop as much as possible, per Alexa's request.

“Sounds like your friends really know what they like.”

“Yeah, they have really…unique tastes.” You falter a little under his amused stare. “But we don’t always drink that way. I mean, not every bar even carries all those to begin with.”

“That’s true.” He nods. “This bar has every single of them, though. Pretty lucky, huh?”

“Yep,” you chirp. You’re not sure if you’re in trouble or not because he’s still smiling. He seems to be onto the game, but doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Well, it would be a shame not to welcome you all to the city. Get whatever you want. My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

You place your hand on his arm again and squeeze for good measure. You don’t miss the way his large bicep flexes under your touch. After a beat, he brings his hand up to grasp yours and holds it while signaling to the bartender again. You give him a blindingly bright smile and he strokes his thumb over your knuckles.

He asks the bartender to ‘take care’ of your table tonight on him, and you realize then that you’ve won the game. The victory isn't nearly as sweet as the pink drinks from earlier. The rules prohibit you from bringing him home or going over to his place. And even if it wasn't prohibited, your vacation is basically over.

“Where are you and your friends from?

You take his hand between yours and play with some of the rings on his fingers. They’re beautiful together in an eclectic way and you wonder if someone chose them for him.

“It’s a kind of small city, not like this one. It’s really just our university and then a few surrounding towns.”

“What made you guys move here then?"

"Oh, Right." You feel guilty. "Me and my friends are just here for vacation."

He blinks at you but takes the news in stride. "Well, if you want—I know the city pretty well since I have a place here—maybe I can give you a tour of the town later this week."

"I'd love that, I really would. But we're actually leaving tomorrow."

"For real?” His eyes grow wide and he looks down at your linked hands before looking over your face. You're shocked to see his features fall.

"Yeah, it sucks."

“Damn,” he smiles bittersweet at the floor. “I wish we’d bumped into each other sooner.”

“I absolutely agree," the sound of Alexa's voice rings loud in your ear.

“Uh, hello. Did you need me for something?" Your voice is high and tight as you fix her with an accusatory stare. You're not 100% positive, but it seemed like you and he were having a moment.

"No, babe, I just wanted to come over and show you my beautiful drink. I wanted to come show my gratitude to you both for making sure we have a good last night. The girls will appreciate that. Thank you, kind sir."

“Name’s Namjoon. And no need to thank me,” he smiles at the exchange between you two and sticks out his hand. Alexa daintily lays her hand in his and he lets out an incredulous laugh before playing along and raising it to his lips.

"What a gentleman," she coos before pinching lightly at the skin of your exposed back. It's a clear message just for you, telling you that there's about to be a change in plans. "What were you guys discussing?"

"I was actually about to offer up our booth. There's more than enough room for your table if you wanted to move. Me and my team—friends definitely wouldn't mind the company."

“You don’t have to do that!” You pipe up, suddenly shy. But it's quickly dashed away as Alexa pulls out her phone and opens up the groupchat.

"Let me just ask our friends if they’d like that."

You already know the answer, so you sigh quietly and gather up your card, phone, and purse. You can’t say you won’t miss the privacy from when it was just you and Namjoon, but you’re glad to be with your friends again as well.

The move from your little table to the VIP booth is lightning fast. By the time you get your own drink, Lia and Dani are already clutching their things and vibrating with excitement near the ropes leading to the VIP booth. A few of Namjoon’s friends are chatting with them from the other side of the ropes.

Once your group trickles in, you don't miss how they all arrange themselves in the booth so you're forced to sit on the end next to Namjoon with barely any space. The only options are to let one of your legs hang off the edge of the booth the whole time or sit practically half in his lap. Alexa winks at you over the first sip of her next very expensive drink.

Namjoon's friends are occupied by your friends re-telling some of the more exciting parts of the beginning of your vacation. Some story about how 'someone' lost their top while trying to jet ski. You send a weak glare to Lia as she tries to get them to guess just whose top it was. That's what you get for experimenting with spaghetti strings, you suppose.

"Do you guys like to dance," one of his friends says after a while of vibing to the music once the chatter cools down. Hoseok, you think his name was.

"Yes, definitely." Dani remarks while re-applying lip gloss. "You know who's a great dancer?"

"Who?" Hoseok looks around excitedly.

"She's gonna say me," you groan. "Which is not even true but let’s just all move down there already, no more 20 questions."

"Just one more," she pouts. "Namjoon, do you like to dance?"

He looks down at you once he's also out the booth, that little amused smile back on his lips.

"Well, it's not really part of my day job, but I don't mind it too much."

"What's your day job," you blurt out.

"I'm a...musician."

"A musician!" Alexa rushes over to you to link arms. "Did you hear that? Namjoon’s a musician."

"I don't recognize you," Lia says and Hoseok and another one of his friends burst into quiet laughter behind her.

"You definitely won't find Joon’s pics anywhere, that's for sure," one of his friends says. The rest of them dissolve into another fit of giggles.

The club lights hide the muted pink tinge his cheeks take on, and Namjoon leads the way to the dance-floor with a chagrined roll of his eyes.

"You think he's really a musician?” You whisper to Alexa and Lia. Dani is somewhere up ahead, already dancing.

"Maybe technically. Going off the way his friends keep laughing, he's probably, like, a failed SoundCloud rapper or something."

"No failed SoundCloud rapper wears Gucci like that," Lia motions with her chin to some piece of Namjoon’s outfit.

"That's true," you hum.

"Rich parents," Alexa says simply.

You and Lia consider it and then nod.

As you settle on the dance floor, you feel the rest of your nerves drift away. Lia comes over to take a selfie with you, and the two of you flirt with the camera until she's satisfied with the photos you've taken. She grabs your hand and makes a show of spinning you around and you figure that this is how the night will go before you stumble out around 2 or 3am and drunk pack for the flight home the next morning. You let her lead you back, further into the crowd before you bump into someone.

Namjoon's large hand comes to stabilize you at your waist and Lia acts like nothing happened before dancing away, phone light illuminating her sneaky smile.

"You good?" Namjoon's voice is soft in your ear.

"Y-yeah."

"You wanna dance, or should I let you go?"

Your friends shamelessly all look at the way he curves himself around you, all with their thumbs up in encouragement. You're reminded of the way you did the same a few nights prior when Dani was getting hit on by some cute guy at a different club.

At that time it felt fun hyping her up and watching her make a move, seeing how enamored this random guy was with your friend. Of course he is, you thought at the time, she's amazing. And you remember that this is probably what's driving them tonight as well with you and Namjoon.

You chance a look at him and realize that he's come to rest his cheek lightly near your temple, a soft look in his gaze as he awaits your answer.

"Sure, let's dance."

Namjoon was telling the truth when he said he wasn't all that into dancing. But he put in enough work to be able to follow you and meet you halfway while you were grinding on him to the music.

Even when you shyly stepped away after the first few dances to return to your squealing friends, you loosened up over time with more music and drinks and found yourself naturally ending up on him again. The first few songs turned into more and more and soon you were face-to-face, with his thigh wedged between yours and a heavy palm on your lower back guiding you to the beat.

You're not sure when you decided to abandon your friends and his, but at some point you did return to the booth under the guise of checking your phones. And you did check your phone first. But soon he was crowding you toward the wall by the booth and leaving you with no air of your own.

"You're really leaving tomorrow," he sighed into a bruise he was trying to leave near the hollow of your throat. "Or did you just say that because I was some creep at a bar."

"I never thought you were a creep."

He looks down at you with disbelief before getting distracted by your kiss-swollen lips.

"I mean it. I'm just a little shy sometimes."

"What do you have to be shy about when you look like this, huh?"

"Stop," you laugh lightly and look away from him.

He'd made a comment earlier about how much he liked the pristine white two piece you wore, but you'd been inching his hand up your skirt then. Now, one of his thumbs rubs an idle pattern just below the curve of your breast.

"No, but seriously. Are you actually leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah. The new term starts for us all in a few days."

"So, leave in a few days," Namjoon whines.

"That's not enough time to get ready for the term."

"But I'll be so alone without you."

He gives you an exaggerated pout that splits into a real smile when you snort at his stupid expression. He pulls you to him just a smidgen tighter then.

"Does this usually work with other girls?"

"I don't know. Never tried it with other girls," he frowns a little at you.

"Sure."

"You know me and the team almost went to Club BigHit last Saturday?"

"Oh, really? That's kinda funny." You try to imagine what might have happened if he'd come to the same club you went to earlier.

"Yeah," Namjoon's voice grows quiet. "If I hadn't gotten sick then we would have met last week."

"Yeah, maybe."

"You sure you can't miss a few days of the term?"

"Yes, I'm sure." You let out an exasperated laugh. "You can't really be this upset that an actual stranger is just passing through your life."

"No, I know. I just—," he lets his head fall forward until he's touching his forehead to yours. "It was like something clicked when I saw you. I feel like I need more time with you."

"Oh," your voice comes out a little breathier than you expected.

The same look that had flashed across his face when you first came up to him finally gets to rest on his features. You want to let him down gently because you really can't play catch up during the first week of school.

"Tell you what. I can't miss the beginning of the term but if you make a song with my name in it and it gets...say, 50,000 listens, I'll buy a ticket that same day and come meet you. Wherever you are."

He pins you with a look then, inquisitive and dark. His eyes scan your open expression for something, before whatever he finds passes the test. He stands up tall.

"And it just needs to have 50,000 listens?"

In your mind you were thinking it would be too lofty for a failed SoundCloud rapper, but something in his tone sounds like he's rising to the challenge and it makes you nervous. You spent a lot on this vacation, you can't afford to actually fly out so soon if he somehow managed to get the listens and call your bluff. Besides, targets are off limits.

"Um, actually make that 150,000. And it has to have my area code in it too." You rattle off the three digits to him and he quickly types your conditions into the notes app on his phone.

"Is that it?"

"That's it, I guess."

"Deal."

Namjoon pockets his phone and leans back into your space. Any worries you had clawing to the forefront of your mind vanish when he presses soft lips to yours once more.

A month passes.

You don't end up having a one-night-stand with Namjoon because it wouldn't be fair to your friends when they'd clicked with a target but didn't take them home. That and because Dani got sick on the dance floor from mixing strawberry daiquiri with one too many pink drinks. But you do pass on your full number after he very nearly begs you to give it to him while packing into a cab.

And then he never used it.

It's not that you were expecting much, but when a month passes with not so much as word from him, you figure he forgot about you and your little bet.

Then 2 months pass.

Even though you know that you only spent a fraction of a day with him, you can't help thinking about Namjoon. Namjoon and his pretty eyes and pretty words that made you think there was some sort of connection there. You realize after the first two weeks back that you don't have his number but by the time 2 months pass, you realize that was definitely on purpose.

4 months pass.

You're over it, swamped with end of term work like finals and grading and putting in hours at work. But every time your friends suggest a little fun and hooking you up with someone, every time someone asked for your number at a coffee shop, you said no. Because you're over it and you're busy and not at all disappointed for how hard you fell for the lies some failed SoundCloud rapper fed you on a vacation one time.

19 weeks pass.

You're all in Lia's apartment, basking in the first few days of the end of classes even if it means finals are a few days later. Alexa is playing her favorite playlist on the speakers and you're taking a break to get some coffee going in the small kitchenette.

While the coffee machine starts up you wander back to the main room. Alexa is leaning over to turn the music up, one of her favorite songs just now coming up.

"Who's this again," Dani pipes up from her spot on the couch. "It's that one guy's collab with the Bulletproof Girlscouts, right?"

"Yep," Alexa checks the song title before sighing. "This song is so old now."

"True, but it's my favorite one on the whole album."

"I guess it really has been two years since his last album, huh." Dani muses and then goes back to her practice problem set.

You try not to laugh at how cute Alexa looks sulking because her favorite artist hasn't put out any music in so long.

"Why don't you just play his new stuff," Lia says.

"He's on indefinite hiatus. This is as new as it gets."

Lia picks up her own phone, showing it to the group.

"He released a new single this morning."

"What!"

Alexa scrambles from her seat to grab her headphones and jam them into her phone. You all know how she gets about her music and let her have a moment to soak up the new song while you get up to check on the coffee.

It takes a few minutes to get cups out and put everything together since everyone has different tastes, so you're in the middle of pouring creamer when you hear a chorus of screams.

"Why are we screaming?"

You rush into the main room again only to be bombarded with music from the speaker, this time turned up as high as it can go. What must be the new song comes through the speaker, the bass vibrating on the ground as the speaker pumps.

"Okay, yes, new song. It's good but I don't get—"

"Just listen to the fucking bridge," Dani's voice comes out incredibly shrill as she cuts you off.

The beat surges for the bridge and suddenly the lyrics turn into the artist growling about some girl he met at the club with the prettiest little white outfit he'd ever seen. Saying something that sounds oddly like your name, although you figure that can't be right. But then the next verse has your name in it too, and the next one, and the next one.

Your feet take you to where Alexa's phone is plugged in and you pick up the phone to look at the song. It's indeed a song by her favorite artist, a prolific and mysterious rapper who's never shown his face and who'd been on hiatus from making music. The song title is simple, a small string of numbers that look suspiciously like your area code.

When you let out a tiny gasp, your friends let out more excited shrieks. You ignore them in favor of thumbing through the music app to the artist's page where the new single lies at the top of his discography. To the right of all his songs are the stream counts. Most of his older songs have a few dozen million or so. This brand new one sits at a modest 4 million, but the numbers trickle up as the app updates them in real time.

"What the hell?"

"I know!" Alexa cries, tears shining in her eyes. "I can't believe we sat in a VIP booth with him and I didn't even recognize his stupid voice!"

"What are you gonna do," Dani smiles widely at your stunned face. "Are you gonna call him?"

"I don't have his number," you say simply. Your voice comes out monotone with shock.

"You didn't get his number?" Alexa starts crying for real.

"People are blowing my phone up about this," Lia says once the song ends and begins again on a loop. "You might want to turn off your phone. It's just a matter of time until people start snooping around."

"Right."

You grab your phone from your pocket. On instinct you scan through your socials one last time before turning it off. There's a startling number of texts, calls, emails, and notifications on your social media apps. Curiosity gets the best of you and you open up one of them only to find your name trending as the top hashtag. Clicking on it brings up a bunch of tweets both from fans raving about the new song and wondering who the muse is, to random accounts with identical names in the handle all claiming to be said muse.

"Oh my god, he tweeted!" Dani shoves her phone into your hands.

As of right now [2:38pm] we're at 5.76 million streams. That's more than 150,000...

"What does that mean," she asks you.

"It means...he wants me to fly out to see him. Today."

"Oh my god."

Alexa screams again and at this point you've lost count of how many that is. Lia gets out of her chair and tucks her chin over your shoulder to read the post herself.

"You need to go," Alexa shouts. "I'll help you pack, let's go."

"What about finals?"

"Are you—are you actually thinking of not going because of finals?"

"I mean—"

"If you want me die, just say that," she does something with her mouth that looks like a manic smile.

"What Lex means to say is that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm sure even the profs would understand."

You're not sure what to say. First of all, you still don't have his number. Second of all, you're not sure how to fight through all the other accounts claiming to be you to let him know you saw the song. Third, you don't even know where to fly to. Fourth—

A Twitter notification chimes from your phone and a deadly hush falls over everyone. You go to your DM inbox with shaking fingers only to find a message request from an unknown sender. When you open the request, it's from Namjoon's agency.

Good afternoon,

You are being contacted today because one of our artists wishes to meet you. If you consent to the meeting, please review the flight information and tentative itinerary below and respond with your address and contact information. Please also note that the travel plans are for today [MM/DD/YYYY], so your response at your earliest convenience would be much appreciated. If you would like to go but cannot make it today—

"Do you think they'll send a car or should I book her a ride to the airport now?" Dani turns to Alexa.

"They'll probably send one to make sure the schedule is followed."

"That's true but what about—"

Lia taps you on the shoulder, startling you out of your stupor.

"There's a convenience store two doors down. Whatever you buy we can put in one of my suitcases and you can just take that. There's probably not enough time to go all the way back to your place."

"I—yeah, okay."

7 hours later finds Alexa, Dani and Lia finished with studying for the night. The entertainment channel is playing on the TV and the three of them have their heads bent over their phones and laptops, refreshing all the major gossip sites for updates.

"Maybe she's not even there yet," Dani sighs when the page she just refreshed shows no new posts.

"Yeah, I mean we still don't even know where she is," Lia says while putting her laptop to sleep. "What if they made her sign an NDA?"

"Even if they did, she'd probably still tell us once she got there. She's probably just busy killing time on the plane."

"She's sleeping!" Alexa screams a second later.

"Huh? How do you know that?"

"Check his instagram," is all she says before frantically typing a message to you about souvenirs.

Lia looks over at Dani's phone as she pulls up Namjoon's page. The rest of the layout is bare given his up until recent hiatus and the fact that he never posted any type of selfie. The video uploaded a mere 20 seconds ago undoes all the previous minimalism of the entire account.

The post isn't even of Namjoon. It's a black and white 5 second video of the top half of your naked back and shoulders, the rest of your body covered by the sheets. One of your arms is raised to cover your head with a pillow. The only sign of Namjoon is the arm that reaches out from the bottom of the frame, making it clear that he took the video himself. His hand reaches out to trace a heart over the skin of your shoulder blade. The caption reads:

Thanks for keeping your promise

[yourdeepestfathoms]

a little unconventional (part one)

[foster au]

this is set in America because i don't know how Romania works

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

rapture rising

“Alcina, my beloved sister, are you sure all of this is necessary?”

Alcina shot a glare over her shoulder at her toddling younger brother, who she was making carry in several boxes full of various items into one of the many rooms in her mansion. This one wasn’t one of the bedrooms, but rather a temporary storage room for all the things she had recently bought. She was going to have everything set up for the children to choose from when they eventually arrived. Just thinking about them getting to pick out their bedsheets and paint for their new rooms made a smile come to her lips, excitement rushing through her like dozens of butterflies flying for the first time.

…And then her idiot brother bumped into the doorframe and caused an avalanche of boxes to come down on top of him.

“Be careful!” Alcina barked, whirling around to him. She bent down to start picking the boxes up. “You’re lucky there was nothing fragile in here.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Heisenberg grunted, rubbing his head.

“And to answer your questions, dearest brother, yes, this is all very necessary,” Alcina said. “I need this to be perfect for them. This may be the first time those little girls get a real home.”

“Inflating your ego, aren’t you?”

Alcina stepped on his foot.

“I have the paints.” Moreau, Alcina’s other brother, shuffled inside, holding several cans of paint on his arms. If they were hurting him, he didn’t say anything. He seemed pleased with himself for being so useful.

“Thank you, Sal,” Alcina said. She took the cans from him and placed them against the wall. “Yellow, green, red, blue, pink, purple… Do you think that’s enough? What if they want, like, a mauve room?”

“Mauve?” Heisenberg echoed as he was crow hopping on one foot, still recovering from being stomped on.

“It’s a shade of purple,” Moreau supplied.

“I know what mauve is, asshole,” Heisenberg hissed. “I was just saying.”

“And I’m just saying, what if they want a lighter-colored room?” Alcina said. “This purple is dark. Should I go buy more?”

“You could mix white into the paint?” Moreau suggested.

Alcina thought it over, then nodded. “Yes, I could do that. Good idea.”

“Who wants a mauve bedroom, anyway?” Heisenberg muttered.

“Alcina!” A fourth voice echoed throughout the house, and Alcina’s sister entered the room. Donna looked uncharacteristically bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She was clutching something in her hands. “Alcina, I have finished them!”

“When did you get here?” Heisenberg looked at her.

“Just now,” Donna said. “It doesn’t matter. Look!”

A beautiful doll was presented to Alcina. It was hand-stitched and dressed with great care. All the little details, down to the freckles and shiny eyes, were incredibly-made, and Alcina couldn’t help but pick it up tentatively, as though she were afraid of accidentally destroying it.

“Oh, Donna,” she said. “It’s beautiful! Thank you.”

Donna beamed. “I have also made stuffed animals and toy clothes for them. An entire wardrobe, in fact. Many selections.”

“Damn,” Heisenberg looked impressed. “Toys dress better than I do.”

“We know,” the other three said in sync, eyeing his ratty trenchcoat and old cowboy hat that he insisted on wearing everywhere.

“You weren’t supposed to agree!” Heisenberg barked like one of his dogs.

“Shouldn’t have said anything,” Alcina shrugged daintily. She looked back at Donna and smiled. “Thank you, Donna. I really appreciate your support. I appreciate all of your support. Even yours, Karl.”

“Sure, sure…” Heisenberg said, though Alcina didn’t miss the glint of fondness in his eyes.

“This is so exciting,” Donna said. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, Alcina. Do you remember when we were all adopted by Mother?”

Heisenberg snorted. “I remember being kidnapped as a child and held for ransom, and then being one of the abduction victims to be actually found alive, only to discover that my parents had been killed while trying to get me back, to which I was then thrown into a home with you three.”

Donna winced. “Not…quite what I had in mind.”

“And you say ‘you three’ like we weren’t your best friends growing up,” Moreau pointed out idly, not looking at Heisenberg as he was helping unload some of the boxes. That one in particular held a wide selection of different bed sheets, ranging from leopard print to floral to plain blue.

Heisenberg raised his nose and huffed. “Well. Still.”

Alcina shook her head with a warm smile.

She vividly remembered life with her adoptive mother, Miranda, and her three other siblings. She was reborn from ash and flame after her old family estate burned down to the ground, smoldering the life she used to have and taking her parents with it. Yes, she could still smell the smoke, taste the embers on her tongue, even now, thirty-five years later. She was so small back then, only nine years old when the fire started, and she watched her home crumble to pieces right before her teary eyes. She thought it was over, that she had nothing, that she was going to be alone forever without her mother and father, but then a woman in a black cowl whisked her up into tender arms and took her under her wing as though she were the chicken to a nurturing mother bird.

She was the first of Miranda’s ragtag rascal children with harsh upbringings. For two years, it was just the both of them, reading books and watching movies in a beautiful countryside manor that quickly became her new home. Though the wounds had still been raw, the burns were very fresh, Miranda filled the void in her heart that her parents’ death left behind, extinguishing that eternal fire of survivor guilt and mourning.

And then the others came along.

At the time, Alcina had been rather indignant at the idea of having siblings. She was an only child with her birth family and she preferred to stay an only child with her new one, too, but she never voiced this opinion to Miranda. She grinned and bore it, even if it meant losing the attention of her mother.

Though, they didn’t end up being that bad…

The first of the “intruders” as she used to call them was Salvatore Moreau, a boy her age, though three months younger, and with a story similar to her own. He had been in a car crash after his drunken father got into a pretty nasty collision. The engine caught fire and it wasn’t long until the rest of the car followed. Moreau was trapped in the inferno, but managed to get out, running towards a nearby lake to extinguish the flames that were trying to make him its newest pyre. Unfortunately, the event left him badly burned, the scar still lingering all these years later, and nobody wanted to take in such a “disfigured child.” Miranda, however, stepped up to the challenge and fostered the boy, eventually adopting him fully later on.

Alcina was, admittedly, rather uneased by her new brother’s appearance at first, but she quickly got accustomed to him, even protective. There were several moments in school where she verbally (and sometimes even physically) pummeled any kids who dared to make fun of him, drilling into the bullies that he was not to be messed with while she was around. Some of her best retributions were when she threatened to leak unwarranted dick pics to the entire school, as it wasn’t uncommon for horny teenage boys to try to get into her pants, and that always shut them up quickly, especially when she loudly proclaimed details on their pathetic excuse for a penis, like the size and shape.

She and Moreau grew close rather quickly, much quicker than Miranda had been expecting. They both enjoyed more mellow things, like reading books and going on walks through the forest. Moreau was the sole reason she passed any English assignments done on Shakespearean literature, as he actually knew how to discern the confusing text, while she had to reread the same page over and over again to simply get a loose grasp on the grammar. He enjoyed cheesy romcoms, birdwatching, and swimming, the last of which he had a strong affinity for because of how the lake beside the car wreck very well could have been the only reason he survived. Now, he owned that very lake and made it into a popular fishing and boating destination for locals and tourists alike.

The second to arrive was Donna Beneviento, when Alcina and Moreau were both twelve. She was a full five years younger than the two of them and didn’t talk very often, at least for a good chunk of the first year she was there. She was put into the foster program after her parents commit suicide, leaving her with nothing but anxiety, trauma-induced selective muteness, and a doll named Angie.

It took time, but Donna eventually started opening up. First to Miranda, and then to Alcina and Moreau. Alcina strongly remembered a time when her little sister came to her room during a thunderstorm, lips quivering, tears glistening in her eyes, Angie clutched in a vice from her thin arms. She didn’t say anything, just stared from the doorway, whimpering and shivering.

“Alright,” Alcina had sighed. She flipped open her comforter, welcoming Donna. “Come on.”

Donna had brightened and skittered into the bed, snuggling right up against Alcina’s side. Alcina didn’t mind and resumed the book she had been reading before--Animal Farm, she believed. Donna pointed at the pages and then looked up at her curiously.

“Oh, this?” Alcina had said. “It’s called Animal Farm. It’s about these talking farm animals overthrowing their farmer to gain freedom, only to then be ruled by a communist pig.”

Donna blinked. “What’s a communist?”

“Well, you see…”

Her late-night explanation was certainly aided by the fact that they were in the middle of the Cold War at the time.

Overtime, Donna slowly grew out of her shell. Though she was still soft-spoken and reserved, she was also very kind-hearted and incredibly creative, which she showed through paintings, arts and crafts, and doll making. She would make dolls out of anything she could find--wood, thread, clay--so it made sense when she eventually became a toymaker once she grew up.

Finally, there was Karl Heisenberg when Alcina and Moreau were thirteen and Donna was eight. Right from the start, he was a loud, spitfire ten-year-old that broke the serene silence that used to hang over Miranda’s estate. He caused a great amount of mischief and mayhem, though Alcina would later discover it was to hide the fact that he was deeply traumatized by what exactly had happened to make him a foster child.

Even now, so many years later, Alcina still didn’t know the full story. Miranda said it wasn’t her tale to share and Heisenberg simply didn’t like talking about it very much. But from what she did know, Heisenberg used to belong to an incredibly wealthy business owner that ruled over their company with an iron fist. Due to the harshness his parents inflicted on their employees, it caused the workers to revolt against the abuse. A certain group took this way too far and kidnapped Heisenberg, holding him for ransom so they could get better treatment and pay at their work. Something ended up happening during the time between Heisenberg being held hostage and his parents paying up, and it left his mother and father in a way that he could never bring himself to explain. She only got snippets of the brutality of their deaths through brief moments when he would come to after vicious nightmares, one of which she actually stepped in to stop when she heard him struggling one night.

“Their heads, Alci,” Heisenberg had gasped, clawing manically for a desperate grasp on her arms, his body jerking and spasming in terror as his nightmare was still releasing his small, twelve-year-old body. “Their heads-- their brains were--” And then he stopped and keeled into her chest, sobbing in a way Alcina had never seen him do before in the two years he was living with her before that moment. Despite her occasional vex towards the boy, he was still her little brother and she was still his big sister, so she had wrapped her arms around him and held him close while he trembled and cried.

She never did find out what Heisenberg meant by “their heads,” but she had a hunch. Still, she never asked.

Nowadays, Heisenberg ran his own factory, where he treated his employees the way his parents should have treated theirs, learning from their mistakes. He also fostered all different kinds of dog breeds until they found their forever homes and rescued the more ‘vicious’ ones, like pit bulls and rottweilers, all of which he treated like royalty.

A freakishly tall girl, a burned boy, a selective mute, and a dog lover… They certainly weren’t the epitome of the stereotypical nuclear family, but they were family through and through, if not by blood, then by bloodshed.

“Do you guys remember the time Karl tried to clean the dishwasher with Kool-Aid?” Donna reminisced with a giggle.

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Heisenberg said.

“Absolutely not,” Donna grinned at him.

“I still don’t know how you came to the conclusion that that would work,” Alcina shook her head.

Heisenberg threw his arms up into the air. “John said it did!”

“John also tried to steal a school urinal.”

“Also, you’re supposed to take all of the dishes out before you try to clean it with Kool-Aid,” Moreau spoke up. “You left all of the pots and plates and silverware in it.”

“And he didn’t even put it in the right spot!” Alcina joined, cackling. “You’re supposed to put the powder in the detergent dispenser. Karl, you just poured it out all over the dishes!”

“It wasn’t even the right powder,” Donna put in. “You’re supposed to strictly use unsweetened lemonade only. You used tropical punch!”

Alcina, Donna, and Moreau all burst into laughter, while Heisenberg crossed his arms and glared at them.

“John never specified any of that!” he blustered.

“Never trust John, dear,” Alcina tittered.

“Well, it happened!” Heisenberg said. “It’s over! What other boxes do you need to move!”

More laughter.

“I’m serious! I’ll get the boxes! Also WHAT IS THAT.”

They all turned to see a patchy tortoiseshell cat lazily strolling into the room with them. It looked like it had been run over, dismembered, run over again, and then put back together by a blind surgeon, but it held itself like it was the most pristine lion to ever walk the earth. It glanced over at the four siblings, meowed at them, then continued on its stroll to one of the empty boxes, which it jumped into and made itself comfortable inside.

“It’s a cat,” Donna said as if it should have been obvious, earning a snort from Moreau and then a glare from Heisenberg.

“It’s not funny,” Moreau said quickly after Heisenberg glared at him, too, but it was obvious Heisenberg’s leer was all in good fun.

“No, no. Tom from Tom and Jerry is a cat,” Heisenberg said. “THAT is an overgrown street rat.”

“Well, one could assume the same about you, but you don’t see us pointing it out,” Donna said breezily.

Another bout of laughter, this time with Heisenberg included.

“Okay, okay, you got me there,” Heisenberg said.

“Must you insist on reacting the same way every single time you see Tea Cake?” Alcina finally spoke up through the playful bickering. She crouched down next to the cat and stroked its back, which caused it to purr in content.

“It’s my trademark,” Heisenberg said with a shrug. “That old woman is still alive?”

“And kicking,” Alcina smiled fondly at her pet.

Tea Cake had been with her for a long fourteen years, witnessing more than a few existential crises and drunken concerts put on to chase off her lurking PTSD. That cat came during the worst part of her life, and Alcina owed everything to that little beast. She learned how to laugh and smile and genuinely feel again, not hide behind the facade that she was a strong, powerful woman who could take on everything and come out without a scratch.

And, yes, Alcina had known- still knew, that she had Miranda and her siblings, but sometimes they were not enough, not back then, not when she was filled with so much shame and self-hatred and disgust. Animals were different in a way people couldn’t be. Animals didn’t lie, they didn’t judge or think about how messed up you were in their heads. They didn’t share your secrets or give you false hope. They just--be there. They listened and lent their presence and, sometimes, that was all that was needed, and some people didn’t seem to understand that.

Tea Cake’s fur had dried more of Alcina’s tears than anyone else ever had because she never let them fall in front of others. Tea Cake didn’t get upset when Alcina touched her; she didn’t understand the concept of emotional trauma and sexual harassment and body image issues. She just cared, even if she didn’t quite get it.

Alcina would probably be dead if it weren’t for her.

Yes, she remembered that fateful night… The wind in her shaggy hair she hadn’t washed in days, the moonglow on her ashen skin, the tears burning in her eyes--all of it was so clear, even now. She remembered how horribly, hopelessly depressed she had been and how she drove out to a field with a note on the dashboard and a gun in the passenger seat.

At the time, nothing had helped her. Her antidepressants weren’t working, going out only made her feel unsafe, and her family’s presence no longer brought her comfort and happiness, rather guilt and shame. The only thing that ever helped was when she drowned herself in the alcohol she made for a living, drinking away her despair and trauma until her body tingled and the phantom hands went away. She was surprised her liver never exploded inside of her during those awful few months.

She had sat in her car for a while, leaning her head on the steering wheel and wallowing in silence and darkness. Then, she got out, made sure the note was visible, and grabbed the gun.

She considered calling or texting her mother and siblings, but that would make it hurt worse. It was better to leave them with their last memories of her than to have this sudden news of a goodbye that they wouldn’t be able to stop.

She placed the pistol’s barrel in her mouth and rested her finger on the trigger. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes like some movies or books say it did, and she was quite thankful for it. She didn’t want to relive the agony she had been put through that led her up to that point. She just shut her eyes as tight as possible in preparation for the bullet to pass through her brain…

Then, there was a rustling from the grass nearby.

Alcina hesitated. The metallic taste of the gun left her tongue and she looked in the direction of the noise.

“Hello?” she had called out in her best possible not-about-to-kill-herself voice.

A tiny meow answered her.

“Your roadkill wants you,” Heisenberg’s voice cut through the daze that had momentarily descended upon Alcina’s mind.

Blinking, Alcina realized that Tea Cake was gnawing on her finger and meowing. She smiled.

“It’s probably dinner time,” Alcina said. She stood up straight. “Come on, children. I have news to share.”

Curious, her three younger siblings followed her out of the room and to her kitchen, Tea Cake padding after them eagerly. Her house was a beautiful creation of the finest wood and the most luxurious stonework. Top-of-the-line appliances filled the space and every little detail, down to the hanging droplets on the chandelier and the grooves in the staircase railing, were customized to her preference. 6 bedrooms, 9 bathrooms, 17,182 square feet, 14.99 acres filled by lush vineyards, and $5,500,000 later, and you had the Dimitrescu Estate.

And it was a barren prison.

It had always been there, ever since she moved in: that lingering loneliness that seemed to shroud every hallway. She had so much space, but nobody to fill it. Nobody except herself, Tea Cake, and her maids, of course. Lying awake one night, thinking about this issue as she often did, a solution had finally come to her.

After pouring some wet food into Tea Cake’s food bowl, Alcina grabbed a bottle of sweet butter wine out of her wine fridge and poured a glass for herself and each of her siblings, all of which were staring at her curiously. After taking a long sip, she finally began: “As you all know, I have plans to foster a child. And I greatly appreciate all of the support you three have provided me up until now.”

“Is this an award ceremony or something?” Heisenberg joked light-heartedly. “Can I have the award for most boxes carried? I think I deserve that one.”

“You mean most boxes dropped?” Donna giggled, earning her a playful poke in the side.

“No, it is not an award ceremony,” Alcina glared at Heisenberg without any fire in her gaze. She opened up a drawer in the stainless kitchen island they were gathered around. “Though, this may very well be an award…” She pulled out a blue folder packed full of papers and set it on the marble countertop, grinning brightly. “I just wanted to let you all know first that my training is done. I’ve completed all the classes.” Her heart swelled in her heart as she spoke her next words: “I’m a foster mom now.”

All at once, her younger siblings lit up brighter than the sun’s supernova, throwing their arms up into the air and letting out a celebratory shout. Donna and Moreau even raced around the island to hug Alcina, which she returned with a laugh.

“Oh, that’s so wonderful, Alcina!” Donna said, squeezing her with surprising strength. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Me too,” Moreau agreed.

“Sal, are you crying?”

“No!” Moreau yelped, then sniffled. “I just have something in my eye, that’s all.”

“You mean tears?” Heisenberg teased. He then looked at Alcina. “That’s amazing, Alcina. I’m really happy for you. You deserve this.”

“Aww,” Alcina crooned. “Is my little brother going soft?”

Heisenberg instantly steeled himself. “Me? No way! I was just saying what you would want to hear.”

Still being embraced on either side by her other brother and sister, Alcina chuckled. “I see.”

“Do you know your placement yet?” Donna asked, looking up at Alcina as though she were a child again.

“Placements,” Alcina corrected. She couldn’t help but grin again as she spoke of her future children. “Two. I’m getting two little girls.”

“Aww!” Donna and Moreau both cooed.

Heisenberg was nodding. “Girls. Yes. I can do girls.” He looked up at Alcina. “I’m getting them a puppy.”

“Oh, you don’t have--”

“I’m getting them a puppy,” Heisenberg said again, and it was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Alcina chuckled. “Alright. A puppy it is.”

Donna and Moreau began to join in on plans for being the greatest aunt and uncle, with Moreau saying that they needed to come to his lake for a swim and Donna listing off all the toys she would make for them. Alcina listened to them with a fond smile, happy to have such a supportive family. This was exactly what her daughters were going to need.

Daughters.

Just thinking about that word made her heart flutter in her chest. Her grin turned giddy. She was going to be a mother soon.

As she sipped from her wine glass, she thought about her placements. She had gotten the call four days ago and was scheduled to meet the little ones in the next two weeks. She could still hear her caseworker’s words in her ears during the conversation as she recalled it to her siblings.

“The first is named Daniela,” Duke had said. He was a studious, patient man with a warm smile and hands like chipmunk paws, keen on helping Alcina ever since she started her training to become a foster parent six months ago. “She’s a little girl and eleven years old. Her parents have, unfortunately, recently died due to a car crash. Her living relatives are unfit to take care of her, so she’s been placed into the foster system. Right now, she’s staying with her aunt and uncle, but she cannot be kept there much longer because of, ah…jealousy issues with their actual child.

The second is named Cassandra. Another girl, this one twelve years old. She’s been in the foster program ever since she was a baby when she was given up, as she was born from a teenager who couldn’t take care of her. She’s had…quite a few foster homes, all of which had given her up to someone else due to…issues. I understand if you don’t want to take this child. She’s been known to cause problems in her houses and pick fights. There is-- woo, that’s a lot of complaints… There are some notes on her left by her former families and-- Goddamn. They’re writing of her like she’s a monster or something…”

“Of course, I couldn’t turn down either of them,” Alcina concluded her retelling. “Especially the second one. Cassandra. The poor thing sounds like she needs a good home.”

“You’re so sweet, Alci,” Donna said, smiling at her.

“Think you can handle it?” Heisenberg asked. “I’m not doubting your abilities, but from what you said about the kid… Well, she just sounds difficult.”

“You were difficult,” Alcina said, grinning at him. “And everything turned out just fine, didn’t it?”

Her youngest brother’s concern didn’t diminish. “Yes, but… I don’t want anything to happen to you or my niece.”

Alcina, Donna, and Moreau all cooed. Heisenberg huffed.

“Oh, shut it! I have a heart!”

“You do,” Alcina’s smile lightened slightly. “But don’t worry: everything will be okay. I can do this. I need to do this. Those two little girls need a mother.”

Heisenberg considered her for a moment, then nodded. He smiled at her. “You’ve got a good heart, Alcina,” he said. “If you ever need any help, I’m here.”

“Me too!” Donna joined in.

“Me three!” Moreau piped up.

Alcina laughed. “Thank you. Really. This means a lot to me. Now…” She raised her glass. “Let’s drink before we have to cut back because there will be children around!”

Her siblings laughed and mimicked her gesture.

Alcina couldn’t wait.

[taehyungsgrowl]

uhhhh duncan in prison angst 👀👀

hey 👋🏽

i’m sorry this took me so long to answer! but i did make a lil moodboard to go w it :•)

also i've written quite a bit of angst lately so this will be a little angsty, but also smutty.

long distance(?) old school version of sexting, really

hope y'all enjoy!

(yes, i did just discover the indention feature!)

warnings: angst if you squint, h*rny love letters, prisoners cat calling y/n, aaaand smut

word count: 3.5 k (i really don't know how this was supposed to be less than 1,000)

i don't love how this came out but the idea kept floating around in my head so i wanted to share!

Y/N didn't think what started as a harmless little experiment would show her just how powerful words could be.

She scrolled through row after row of photos on the 'write a prisoner' website on a boring evening just for something to do. And now each time she got a letter in the mail from him, her stomach would flutter.

Her finger stopped mid scroll as she came across the photo of the scruffy faced man with cheekbones carved by the gods and eyes clearer than the skies.

Duncan Shepherd.

Her eyes scanned his profile, learning that he was being held in a minimum security prison out of D.C for numerous white collar crimes, including bribery and extortion. He listed his interests as fine arts and finer wines. He'd be out for parole soon but was looking for a way to pass his time in prison.

Out of the hundreds of prisoners Y/N had scrolled past, none of them held her interest like Duncan.

It started off innocently enough. She grabbed a piece of paper from her drawer and her favorite pen and wrote him a simple introduction letter. Even if Duncan didn't seem like a dangerous or violent criminal, she felt a sense of adrenaline in writing him.

Duncan,

I hope this letter finds you well. I like to imagine you get a lot of mail sent to you. I read on your profile that you're a fan of the arts, I'd love to know more about you and what kind of art you enjoy. Truth is, I don't even know why I'm doing this, but figured prison must be lonely so I hope this helps pass the time.

I included a print of one of my favorite pieces of art to hopefully liven up your cell.

All the best,

Y/N

Y/N knew it wasn't much to start off with, but she had no clue what to send to a strange she knew next to nothing about. She printed off a print of one of Monet's Water Lillies and sealed it in an envelope with her first letter.

She let herself forget she sent the letter, not making any expectations. For all she knew, Duncan Shepherd wouldn't even reply to her. It would be hard to imagine that other people browsing the site would ignore Duncan's profile. His beauty, even in a mugshot was beyond compare.

But before long, she'd gotten a beat up envelope in her mailbox from none other than Duncan Shepherd. Excitement buzzed around her as she took a seat in her bed and tore it open.

Y/N,

Thank you for the lovely picture. I've got it hanging above my bed as a reminder of things I loved about my freedom. My mother has an original piece hanging in my childhood home. I remember staring at it for hours, enthralled by the beauty of it.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the print in your envelope.

You know what they say about great minds.

Sometimes I wonder if my family would have let me pursue the arts if I'd be where I am today.

But I am eagerly counting the days until I am able to stroll through a museum in Paris again.

I am dying to know more about you. Tell me what makes up Y/N.

At the bottom of the sheet, was a rough sketch of a garden Duncan had drawn out for her.

The letters continued like that for a few weeks, slowly learning little bits and pieces of each other through writing.

She'd learned a lot about him very quickly. He told her about how troubles with his app and his powerful family led to him going to prison. And he also told her about all of the things he loved to do. Much to her surprise, she had more in common with him than she thought she would have,

Y/N,

We've been writing to each other for some time now and I must admit, curiosity is killing me. Not to mention, I do believe it's unfair that you've known what I look like from the start.

Tell me, did my photograph have anything to do with your interest in me?

I'd love to see you Y/N.

Y/N re-read the letter over and over trying to justify the butterflies in her stomach at the idea of Duncan thinking about her. Wondering what she looks like.

Duncan kept every letter Y/N had sent him using them as a way to fuel his daydreams of the woman behind the letters.

-

Y/N dug through her things in search of an old polaroid camera she had. - she thought Duncan would appreciate the use of instant film. Even if she felt a little silly doing so, she did her hair and makeup and searched her closet for the perfect outfit. In some way, this would be like Duncan's first impression of her. Little did she know, she'd already made a huge first impression with him.

She settled for a deep burgundy silk tank with a cowl neckline. She tossed her favorite leather jacket over it and put on her favorite dainty gold necklaces, letting them rest above her cleavage.

She made a little set up by the window in her room, where the light came in just right for a photo, and propped the camera up on a pile of books before setting it on an automatic timer to have it snap the photo of her.

She stared at the photo, smiling - happy with the results.

Y/N sat at her desk, writing him another letter and including her photo along with it.

-

Duncan opened his new letter from Y/N letting the photo fall from the envelope. He picked it up and stared in awe. He couldn't even focus on reading the words on the page as he stared at her picture.

In his mind, he expected her to be beautiful but was blown away by her photo.

He kept it safe, tucked under his pillow. He would take it out every night to look at it until he fell asleep dreaming of her.

Duncan saw her face... eyes clenched shut... pouty lips formed into a perfect "O" as her thighs surrounded his face.

He saw his hands traveling up her legs... kissing up her bare stomach... kissing her lips.

Everything felt so real.

Duncan woke up in a hot sweat from his over realistic dream. He could almost imagine her taste on his tongue.

The moon shone into his room giving him a sliver of silver light and he pulled her photo out, tracing his finger over her face.

He turned on the little lamp at his desk and sat down to write her back.

I can't tell you the time, but I believe it's past midnight and I can't sleep without dreaming of you.

Forgive me if I'm being forward, but I can't get you off my mind.

What I would give to be with you now...

Y/N, I want to feel your skin on mine. I imagine what it must feel like to have your lips pressed against my own.

I can't stop myself from thinking of all the ways I want to make you mine.

D.S.

--

I want to make you mine.

Y/N kept going back to those words.

If it weren't for the prison bars keeping Duncan away...

Her daydreams of spending the afternoons sipping coffee and strolling through colorful cities with Duncan began to change after the last letter. Knowing that he wanted her sent shivers down her spine.

I can't stop thinking about you either... Especially your last letter.

I want to know all the ways you'd make me yours.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it as well. I'm counting the days with you until you're able to get out and do just that...

Y/N colored her lips with her favorite lipstick and kissed the bottom of the page, leaving the perfect kiss mark on it.

She had unlocked something with Duncan with the last letter. Ever since he and Y/N started to exchange letters back and forth, he hadn't even bothered to open mail from other admirers. He only had eyes for Y/N.

Y/N.

Wish you could hear how your name falls off my lips as I chant it over and over when I bring myself relief - picturing your lips around my cock.

God.

It's hard to think clearly when you're on my mind.

You want to know of all the ways I'd make you mine? My hand would fall off by the time it took to write out each and every way I'd do that, sweetheart.

For starters, I'd love to skin my teeth into your skin. Leaving sweet love bites along your neck. Would you like that?

I wouldn't want you to worry about a thing.

You'd let me take care of you, right baby?

Maybe I'd tie up your wrists to make sure you keep still while I work on making you cum.

I hope you know I plan on keeping these promises the moment I get out.

Y/N touched herself as she read Duncan's letter again. His words making her pool between her legs. She dipped her hand into her panties and imagined everything Duncan described that he'd do to her.

Y/N wanted to do something special for Duncan.

She changed into a lacy lingerie set and grabbed her old camera again. Her heartbeat was beating fast with excitement. She held one hand up with her finger on the shutter and pointed it towards her bottoms. As she dipped her free hand into the waistband of her panties, she took the teasing shot of her hand inside her underwear.

Her cheeks felt hot as she took a look at the photo.

She took a few more. A few more teasing pictures - like the one she took wearing her leather jacket barely covering her - along with more R- rated photos.

She grabbed her small stack of photos and tied them with a piece of ribbon in order from least to most risque and added them to the letter she sent off to him.

Do you know what you do to me?

My letters make you touch yourself? What I would give to be able to see it in more than just your pictures. To be able to hear you for myself.

You don't know how much I loved your photos. You make my cock throb, thinking of just how much I want to fuck you.

I need to see you. Hear you.

How would you feel about coming to see me?

I can arrange with my assistants (the ones not in prison) to arrange a flight for you...

Please let me know what you think.

Love, D.S.

Love D.S.

-

"Shepherd. You got a call," the guard buzzed Duncan out of his cell and took him to the phone booth where the phone was waiting for him.

He wasn't expecting a call from his lawyer until later this week so he wasn't sure who would be calling him. Not like he and his family were on great terms at the moment.

Y/N tapped her foot anxiously on the other end of the call, trying to fight the nerves off.

"Hello?"

His voice was lower than she expected.

"Hi," she spoke barely above a whisper. "It's Y/N," she continued.

"Y/N? Y/N? Oh my god." Duncan smiled in a way he hadn't since he stepped foot into prison. "Your voice!" he laughed, "I'm hearing your voice! Wait, how? I - why? How?" he was at loss for words at the surprise.

"I hope it's okay. I called the office where I send my letters to and asked to call you," she bit her lip. "I like your voice."

Duncan chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow. It's so good to hear yours."

They knew they didn't have much time but they were both so wrapped up in the fact that they were hearing each other for the first time.

"I, uh, also wanted to talk to you about your... proposal from your last letter... about visiting you I mean." she paced back and forth in her room. "I'd like that. A lot."

His cheeks would be hurting from how hard he was smiling.

"You've got it, baby. We'll make it happen, I promise."

There was a brief pause, "Don't know how I'm gonna control myself when I have you in front of me, princess."

"Two minutes, Shepherd," the guard called over making Duncan roll his eyes.

"I have to go soon. But include your info in the next letter and I'll have my lawyers work something out with you, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled. "And Dunc, it's so good to hear your voice too,"

"You'll call me again?" he asked, desperation almost bleeding into his tone.

"Yes. I promise."

"Good." he grinned. "I'll talk to you soon. Bye, baby."

-

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Duncan continued to have phone calls more often, but their letters never stopped. He got in touch with his attorney and passed along Y/N's information for him to follow up and help arrange a trip for her.

Before she knew it, she was being flown out in a first class seat to D.C.

They had her stay in a luxury suite the night before she got to finally meet Duncan.

The morning of, Y/N had piles of clothes tossed around the room as she searched for what to wear.

She'd known Duncan and his taste pretty well from his letters and phone calls to know what he liked. Y/N put on a baby pink silk mini slip dress that tiptoed the line between streetwear and lingerie, and strappy heels.

"Damn, baby. Haven't seen you around here..."

"Are you here for me?"

Along with countless other cat calls flooded her ears as the guard led her to Duncan's cell.

Duncan heard the commotion down the hall and he knew Y/N would be there any second. He frowned, wanting to take her away. None of those creeps deserved to even look at her, and here they were harassing her. It was his fault for bringing her there. He tried to tune them out, wanting to be okay when he saw Y/N.

Y/N was standing behind the guard as they came to Duncan's cell.

"Follow me, Shepherd. You both have an hour," the guard let Duncan out and he could finally lock eyes with Y/N.

She froze, finally seeing. His photo on the website did him no justice. The piercing stare of his eyes couldn't be recaptured on camera. His pink, full lips were even prettier in person.

"Hi," Duncan broke the silence between them. He was handcuffed immediately so he couldn't touch her the way he wished he could have right away.

But they were taken to the parloir where they would finally have some sense of privacy. Duncan's lawyers had worked out for this conjugal visit. They might have slipped the guards a few extra bills to ensure Duncan and Y/N had extra privacy for a moment. But Duncan had been a model prisoner (in one of the comfiest prisons in the country), so the guards had no reason to say no.

"One hour." he reminded Dunc, as he removed his handcuffs and left the room, leaving Y/N and Duncan alone.

"You're here," he closed the gap between them and embraced her. She smelled even better than he imagined.

"Duncan," she smiled with tears in her eyes, "I can't believe it's really you," she giggled.

"It's me," he pulled back, holding her hands as he admired her. "God, you're gorgeous."

Y/N couldn't help herself. She threw her arms around Duncan and kissed him.

Duncan stumbled back a little before steadying them. He cupped her face and deepened the kiss. He could feel her pulse quickening under his hand.

"God, can't believe you're here," he mumbled against her lips.

It'd be so long since he'd be this intimate with anyone - let alone someone he liked so much. He tried to push back the thoughts of the ticking clock counting their time and the cold industrial feel of the room they were in.

"I'm here... I'm yours," she tangled her fingers in his hair before kissing him again.

Duncan led her to the table, setting her on top of it. He towered above her, his hands on her thighs, slowly inching up her dress. She was everything he imagined and more.

"Open your legs for me," he instructed, parting them open.

He lowered himself until he was face to face with her dripping cunt. Her panties, if they could even be called that - they were a piece of barely-there cloth - were soaked. Duncan pressed her lips to the wet spot on her underwear and kissed it slowly, letting his tongue poke out through his lips and coat them with his saliva as well.

"Taste so sweet," he murmured, pulling her panties aside and putting his tongue on her wet pussy.

He lapped her wetness with his tongue, letting it massage her clit. Sucking and kissing her - watching how every move he made caused a different reaction from her.

Y/N tried to keep quiet, biting down on her lip to stifle her moans.

Duncan peeked up at her, holding in her sounds. He remembered the way the other prisoners hollered at her.

"I wanna hear you, baby. Please," he begged. He kissed along her thighs, "Want everyone in this god damn prison to know you're mine."

Y/N let the sounds she was holding in fall freely.

"Duncan. Duncan..." she called his name over and over getting closer to the sweet relief his tongue promised.

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

Duncan felt her heels digging into his shoulder blades as she trembled, finishing on his lips.

"Good girl," he praised, kissing along her thighs.

Duncan stood up as Y/N watched him with her hands pressed on the table, leaning back slightly to watch him.

"What?" Duncan chuckled, slowly undoing his jumpsuit.

"Just can't stop looking at you! You're real!" she laughed.

"Sure am," he grabbed his shaft, closing the gap between them. "I don't know when we'll be able to see each other.. like this again," he leaned down to kiss her. "Wanna make sure I make you feel good,"

He rubbed the end of his cock against her pussy. "Are you ready?"

"Waited so long," she whined, nodding her head.

Duncan pushed inside her, slowly. Savoring the way he stretched her open.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so tight," he panted, feeling her clench around his length.

He focused on the way he snapped his hips into hers, keeping a steady pace trying not to finish before she did.

But it had been so long. It had been a long time coming for this moment.

His head was in the crook of her neck, panting heavily. "Fuck, baby." he sunk his teeth into her soft skin. "Gonna cum," before he could finish his statement, he shot his load into her.

He stayed inside her as he rode out his orgasm.

Flushed Duncan faced her; embarrassed for finishing before he wanted to. "I'm sor-" she stopped him by pulling him in for a hard, deep kiss.

She pushed his hair out of his face, bumping her nose with his, "Nothing to be sorry for."

She had Duncan lay on the floor, using his jumpsuit to hold his head up, and then straddled his waist.

Her silky mini dress was bunched around her hips. Duncan found himself getting hard again as she climbed on top of him.

"Thought about doing this for so long," she kissed him. "Can't tell you how often I touched myself reading your letters... thinking about riding you," she sighed, positioning herself over his cock and sinking down.

She rode his cock, bouncing up and down his length. Her nails dug into his chest as she used it for support. The curve of his cock hitting her core made her eyes roll back with each roll of her hips.

Hot sweaty bodies had the coldness of the room forgotten.

Y/N grabbed Duncan's hands, intertwining their fingers, "Gonna.." she started, her legs shaking as her movement got sloppier.

"Me too," he grunted.

She felt Duncan fill her to the brim for the second time.

After a few moments of stillness, Y/N finally stood up, helping Duncan up with her. Her legs were shaky and Duncan helped her sit down.

She reached into her purse for a rag she brought. Duncan took it from her hand and got on his knees again. He cleaned their cum off her thighs, stopping only to give her small little kisses on her legs.

He heard Y/N sniffle and looked up, concern painted across his face. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Is she regretting it? He thought.

"No! Of course not," she sniffled again, "I just wish... you could come with me. Leave this place with me."

"Oh, baby," he stood up and kissed her forehead. "Soon. I promise," he tilted her chin up to kiss her.

And Y/N knew he meant what he said. Soon they'd be able to be together all the time, but it still broke her heart to leave and have to see him stay behind the metal bars.

tags:

@desertsunflower00 @celestialrequiem @dhampiravidi @ritualmichael @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @xavierplympton @langdonswhoreprobably @feralthoughtdump @wroteclassicaly @melodylangdon @bloodcoatedeclipse @kitty4860

bonus: screenshot from a very good point drunk!anon made vkfsjk

[dystopia-fantasy]

Always read the job description -Part 1

Max was a fit, well built man. He had been body building since he was 14 and now In his early 40s he has the body of a god, but is slowly getting to the age when he needs to find another way to make money. He knows he can't take part in his competitions anymore, and needs to take it easy. He got great grades in school and college, proving people wrong that you can't be a nerd in a jock body.

Max had some money saved and was able to keep up on bills for a few months but needed a job to keep his large house, in the rich area of the city. He got a call from a business he applied to a couple of days ago, telling him to go in for an interview tomorrow, and if it goes well he will be sent straight on a trip for the company. He gets his new blue suit ready to be worn the next day.

The morning arrives, it's 5am, and Max wakes. He does his normal morning routine, making breakfast, working out, taking a shower, then gets his suit on ready for his early morning interview. Driving to the office building in the middle of New York, it's at least 50 stories high, and is made of mostly glass, and is one of the newest modern builds in the city.

On arrival a large man in his late 60s wearing a suit greets him, "hello sir, you must be max, Sir Mammon is on his way down to collect you, may I say what an amazing suit you have on today".

Max looks the man up and down, seeing the man's huge belly flowing out from under his dress shirt, showing a massive W shape, "thanks mate, you might want a bigger shirt" then points to his belly.

"sorry if I offended you sir, but all clothing has been chosen by Sir Mammon himself" Mammon is the big boss of the business "if you would like to make a complaint I can print you a form".

Max laughs, "No thanks, I'm gonna sit over there, tell Mammon im there".

"will do sir, have a great day" the man says while max walks away paying no more attention to him.

About 15 minutes later a young handsome slender man walks over. "Max is it?" He says behind Max.

"yes.." max says confused.

"I'm Mammon, nice to meet you" he smiles holding his hand out for a shake.

"oh hello Mammon, is wasn't expecting someone so young, no offence of course" max shaking his hand.

Mammon let's out a little laugh, with a little grin "it's ok max, people don't expect someone like me to own such a remarkable company like this one would you like to follow me, we can go up to my office, this is Mark by the way, he's my Butler". Mark is another large man aged around 50, he has a massive belly stuffed into his suit, hes huffing and puffing, like he ran a marithon, "don't mind him, most of my staff are..."

Max cuts him off "fat?"

They both laugh, "you could say that Max" the elevator arrives and they all walk in, "now max, you did read the whole advertisement correct?".

Max didn't, it's was 48 pages long, who would read it all? He just looked at the wage he would get, it started at $100,000 per month. "Yes, I did".

"that's good, most guys are more keen to keep their body's but I guess if your struggling you'll do anything."

Max now confused just nod's and watches though the glass elevator as they fly up to the top floor.

"where here sir" Mark the butler says peacefully in his British accent.

They walk into the room, and Mammon sits at his desk pouring himself a glass of wisky, and Max one too. Max looks around in aww, the room was covered in art work, with the walls painted in golds and whites and had its own bar. "How do you have all this money?" Max asked.

"a mix of many things, this company, and a few investments paid for this whole building, I have many other ways but we're not here for that." Mammon points at the seat," take a seat max" Max sits the chair is made from leather and is very comfy. "So, max, I've gone through your file, I think you're perfect for the job."

"so, does that mean I have the job?" Max replies confused, expecting to be asked a question.

"well yes, if you agree to the terms"

"terms?" Max still confused.

"well yes, you expect to be paid 10times the amount the normal person for this job without any terms or conditions?"

"well I didn't know.." Max gets cut off.

"Max let me simplify them for you. You sacrifice your body to the company, and in trade you get, $100k X the amount you weigh paid into your account per month, So if you weigh 450lbs, you get $450k a month."

"what the fuck? That's sick, I'm not doing that, I'm leaving" and with that Max got up from the chair and stood face to face with Mammon, with the desk all that is separating them. "Your sick, you fa**ot".

With that Mammon's eyes glow a bright red. "I'm a what?" Max got through back against the chair by an invisible force. "Max you could have just left with your freedom, but now look what you've gotten yourself into".

"Let me go, What the fuck?" Max says while traped against that chair, it chreeking with the force of his muscle.

"I'm a fucking demon max, I'm never going to 'let you go'" he took a second break to mock max, "now, what did you say? Fa**ot, was it?".

"fuck, I didn't mean it" the force pins him down harder, trapping his arms against the leather chair arms, and pushing his legs against the underboard. "Please let me go home, I won't do it again."

"shut up max, the process is already starting".

Max looks down to see his body deflating, his pecs turning from mountain peaks to a flat surface, his giant powerful arms turning weak and light. And then looking up he sees a whole new man infront of him.

"Not as big as I thought I would get, but boy I'm big" he took a break to admire his new giant arms and pecs.

"what the?" Max looks in confusion, "how did you do that? Give me them back".

"what are you gonna do max? I'm an infinitely powerful being and you, your an old man, or at least your going to be."

"I'm only 42, what do you mean, going to be?"

"you see I don't have my infinite life span on earth, so to stay alive and in this fit body, I absorb anything a guy has and I want. In your case, these massive muscles, but then I need to absorb their life force as well, in order to make sure I don't age."

"what do you mean life force?"

"well, you have roughly 50 years, worth of life left, I'll drain about 20 years leaving you in your future crippled body at around age 60, force you to work for the company for another 20 years, then when your 80 drain the rest of your life, which after you get fat won't be much, then you got to hell."

"man your sick, let me go, LET ME GO!".

A bright red light shoots from Peters hand enveloping Max's whole body, and he starts to age, his face wrinkling, skin dropping, eye sight worsening, hearing getting muffled, and mind changing a little. "Max, you ok old man?".

"yes sir" max was confused in his mind, why did he say sir?

"max, you ready for your Cruise? You can have tones of food for the next 6 months."

"Yes sir, I'm ready" max lifts his head, opening his eyes to see a new blurry room from his new old eyes.

"you're gonna need these from now on" Peters eyes glow and a new pair of glasses appear on Max's face he can now see clear.

"thank you... Sir", max blinks seeing Peter infront of him, "what have you, done to me".

"Max, I've turned you into the perfect office worker, old, brainiac, who is soon going to get fat and live the rest of his life, in an office chair for me, don't worry for accomodation you live here now, we have apartments on floor 30 to 40, all workers live here, it's policy, we have also sent a team to your house to, well, blow it up, that way nobody is going to be looking for you, becuase we can plant a body"

"give me... My.... Body back, give me... My.. life back."

"Max we both know that will never happen, now enjoy a life of gluttony, and prepare yourself for hell, that's gonna be worse then anything I can do to you." Peter snaped his fingers and a red glow enveloped max.

Recovering from the glow max sees two men infront of him with a trolly of sorts between them. "Is he awake" one says,

"I don't know" said the other.

"im- awake" max said in a much older raspy voice.

"good we can now start the feeding" the man on the left said, his body as muscled as a god, ripped from head to toe, and we can see everything.

Max rubs his eyes under his glasses and opens them again, "Fucking hell, put some clothes on both of you".

Both men where nude, one a ripped god, another muscled up but with a big gut. "Clothes are banned here mate" the beefy man said in a type of Australia accent, "you cant say much fella, look at that tiny pecker".

The men laughed pointing at Max's shriveled up old cock and low hanging balls, "what the fuck"max tries to move his arm to cover him but his arm doesn't move, he looks down to see him stuck in a chair, with a cut out hole under his ass, and straps tying him down, trapping him. "What... Are you gonna do to me?" Max asked sceared.

The men laughed at him again, "no need to act to sceared, we're here to feed you for the next 6 months".

"but... Sir said..." Max get cut off.

"he said you'd be going on a cruise? Fucking hell are you dumb? He's a demon, you shouldn't trust a demon" The muscled guy says.

"bro let's start the feeding we have 50 other guys to see and I wanna watch football Tonight." The beefy guys says, and in unison both their eyes glowed a bright red, showing they where demons too.

The trolly between them had several items on top, one long tube, which floated in the air for a few moments before shoving itself down maxes nostril and deep into his stomach, his head flipped back trying to wriggle it out, but it was stuck. Another item moved into his frame, a IV bag holder, holding a giant barrel type object made of glass, and two large bags floated of the table again and started to drain into the barrel, and the tube connected itself to it, starting a flow of the liquid into maxes stomach.

"done" the beffy guy said. "Now we'll be back tomorrow to refill your barrel, and clean you up if you make a mess, but youll basically be unconscious for the next 6 months, due to the drugs were feeding you."

"so enjoy your sleep mate, you'll litterally wake up a different man." The two men laughed and walked out, max tried fighting the restraints but in his crippled form could do nothing. The door slammed and locked, and the room fell dark, max screamed begging into the darkness to be let free, and to have his life back, which he had only an hour before, but nothing happened, nobody came. He felt the drugs taking effect, but tried to fight back, but it was useless, his body slumped and loosened. His mind fell blank as he drifted of into his 6 month hibernation.

[unloved-cadillac]

My Sweetheart.(A Levi x Reader Oneshot)

I found this writing prompt on Pinterest but you can find writing.prompt.s on Instagram.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌: 2.5𝗄

It’s been years since high school. You left everything behind in Sina and moved to London to pursue your art career and it took off. But now after your art had all been successfully sold and some displayed in art museums, you decided to move back home to teach art at Sina College.

You didn’t come back empty handed. Hange, your close friend who you met in London, landed a job here as well. So, making things easier you offered to share an apartment with her and she agreed.

“So, are you going to hang up your art like how you did in London?” Hange asks and you shake your head. “Nah. I’m not so narcissistic.” You say and place a box on the floor. “Narcissistic? Your art is beautiful and deserves to be displayed!” She shouts and you laugh. “Thanks for the compliment, Han. But after the gallery did so good back there and everything got sold, I have to make some more.” You explain and walk into the kitchen with Hange following close behind. “Yeah. I wonder who bought all of those paintings. They paid double the price, isn’t it?” She asks and you nod. “I wish I could’ve met them. Whoever they are to thank them. They technically saved me from going bankrupt.” You joke. ”Oh! That reminds me. Can you run down to the store and get some snacks? I’m starving here!” Hange holds her stomach in mock hunger. “Ugh. Now I need to change. I was going to the store anyway, but I need to run down to the bank to withdraw some cash.” You say and head to your room to put on some reasonable clothes and grab your bag on the way out.

Luckily, your apartment was set in a very convenient location from the mall, small stores and banks. It really was a jackpot apartment. Walking into the bank, you stand in the cue and wait. Playing on your phone and listening to music, you see the line started to move. When you came up to the counter, you remove your earphones and look at the girl behind the glass. “Hi there. I came to make a withdrawal.” You say and take out your bank details and card. “How much do you-..” “EVERYONE HANDS UP! DON’T MOVE!” You hear and turn around to see men with black masks on with guns in their hands, aiming it around. Oh great. I’m going to die, you think and look at the people. One of them moved past you and you carefully moved your hands up. On their right arms, they had white and blue wings patched into it. Some sort of gang? Another masked man, caught your eye and you could see his eyes widen and started to panic. “Yo! Roll out.” He says, still looking at you. “What?! Why?! We didn’t even get the money!” One says and looks at his leader. “That’s her. We can’t do this while she’s here. Don’t aim at her. MOVE OUT!” The leader says and runs away while others look at you, while lowering their guns. They turned around and headed out of the bank, leaving everyone in shock and looking at you. You exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and hold your chest. “Who are you?” Someone asks you. You look at them, still in shock. “Just an ordinary person.” You say, breathing heavily. “Well, you just saved our lives and the bank from getting robbed.” They say and you furrow your eyebrows. What the hell?

~~~~~

“So they just left?! Just like that?!?” Hange yells out and grabs your shoulders. “Yeah. It was so weird.” She hugs you, squeezing you a bit. “I’m so glad that your okay!” She says and you pat her back. “Yeah. I’m fine. But I still don’t know what to think.” You say and sip your whiskey. You think of the situation and those patches. “Hange.” You call her and she hums. “They had this symbol. A white wing overlapping a blue one. Any idea?” You ask and she taps her chin before going to her laptop. You leave her to do her thing as you hear the clicking of keys. “Come here. And check this out.” Hange says and you walk to her, sitting on the arm of the sofa. You look at her laptop screen. “This symbol is the Wings of Freedom. It’s a symbol of the crime syndicate called “Titan’s of Death”. Ugh, scary.” Hange says and you scroll down. Members were over one thousand and they were everywhere but most were situated here in Sina. “It says here people who don’t pose a threat to the Titans are on a No Harm list. The list isn’t revealed to protect the identity of them but it’s said to have only a few names. Y/n! What if your name was on there?!” Hange shouts and you scoff. “Why would my name be there? I’ve never heard of these people before.” You say and cross your arms. Hange scrolls further and comes across the leader of the group. You had left the sofa to go get your whiskey from the counter when Hange spoke up. “Do you know a “Levi Ackerman”?” You stop dead in your tracks and look at her. Levi? No it can’t be. “Do you have a picture of him?” You ask and she nods her head motioning to the laptop. You walk slowly to her and look at the laptop. There he was. Levi. The boy who had your heart all these years. Your high school sweetheart. “Levi.” You whisper and touch his picture. He kept the undercut. His face had lost his little baby fat he had when he was younger and became chiseled. He looked so handsome. You smile a bright smile while blushing furiously. “Y/n! Who is he to you?! He’s making you blush and it’s just his picture!” You look up to her, still smiling brightly. “He’s an...while I can’t say ex. But we dated back in high school. We ended things because I had to move ASAP to London and he couldn’t come with me. But, God I loved him. It broke the both of us when we had to leave.” You recall the memory.

It was sad. That was the only time you had seen Levi cry and just thinking about his face like that made you ache. “Why didn’t you two keep in touch?” Hange asks and looks back at his photo. “We tried. But life had other plans for us. His social media disappeared and numbers changed. Mine did too and once I lost his number I couldn’t find him again.” You explain, while staring at his photo. “Maybe it’s because he became the leader of this place and couldn’t risk having his number everywhere.” Hange reasons with you and you agree. “Yeah. Seems about right.” You sniffle and wake up while holding your cheeks. All of the memories that you had with him came flooding back in and all of the love you had for him clouded your mind and heart. You turn to Hange and smile. “Where is the Titan of Death’s headquarters?” You ask and Hange looks through the page. “Oh. It’s right here. Downtown though. Oof. Dangerous. Wait. Don’t tell me..” “Yes, Hange. I’m going to see him.”

Later that night, you logged into your old iCloud account, the one you had in highschool. It was filled with old pictures of your friends from back there and...Levi. You two went out for two years. Although it may seem a short time to others, to the both of you, it felt like eternity. You chuckle at all the funny pictures you took with him. One where he stayed over for the first time, while he slept, you drew all over his face. There was another one where you both were sharing a coke with two straws. You had yours in your mouth and looked at the camera while Levi had his in his mouth and looked at you. That was a good day. You go back to your browser and look at the opened tab with Levi’s picture. For a 25 year old, he didn’t look a day over 21. The Ackerman gene, huh? You smile at what he will think seeing you after all these years. You were very confident in seeing him again. After transferring some photos to your current phone, you go to bed but only slept two hours later since you were so excited. So you drifted into a dreamless sleep after thinking about Levi.

~~~~~

Waking up a bit earlier than usual, you pick out a good outfit and smile. You couldn’t stop smiling because that’s the effect this boy had on you. He made you feel so happy and safe and loved, which made you think about what would have happened if you didn’t break up. If he moved with you to London. Both of you would probably be married by now. But snapping out of that thought and jumping the gun, you head out of your room to see Hange watching TV. You stand in front of it and show off your outfit. “What do you think? Too much?” You ask and Hange squeals. “Oh, Y/n! It’s perfect. I still can’t believe your ex is a mafia boss.” She says and you laugh. “Me neither. But I have to see him again. I never knew how much I missed him until I saw his picture. Now send me the directions and I’ll see you later, Han.” You say and wink at her. “Stay safe. Take pepper spray please.” She says and you show off your can. Heading to your car, your phone dings with Hange’s tone. You see she sent the directions and you skip to your car. Levi.

Driving with the GPS on, you head into downtown Sina. You had never been here and you remember Levi saying all those years ago that you should never head there alone. Well, too late now baby. A lot of people walked around openly with their guns in their hands or holsters. You weren’t afraid. If you were in Levi’s ‘No Harm’ list, you were sorted. You have arrived at your destination. You hear your GPS say and you look at the big ass gate. It was black with a whole lotta cameras and whole lotta guards. Rolling down your window, you look at the camera and at the guards. One of them walked to you. “What business do you have at the Ackerman mansion?” He asks and you clear your throat. “H-hello there. I’m Y/n L/n. Levi is…” You get cut off by the man shouting. “She’s good. Let her in!” He turns back to you and smiles. You smile back and thank him. You drive to the house and park next to another car. Hopping out, a tall man waits for you. You walk up the stairs and the man greets you. “Hello, Ms L/n. I’m Mike Zecharius. The Boss would see you shortly. He’s in a meeting right now, so please, head inside to the main lounge while you wait.” He explains and you smile. “Nice to meet you, Mike. Thank you.” You say and walk into the house and wow. Was this place huge. It was a combination of white, black and grey. But mostly white. So Levi. You walk into, what you hoped was, the main langue and looked around. The walls had paintings and you furrow your eyebrows. Making your way around the big room, you realized: these were your paintings. Most of your work was proudly displayed here. Oh. Levi. It was you. You think and bit your lip to suppress a giggle. The one that caught your eye was the one that was in the middle of the wall. It was one of the first ones you painted which you had gifted Levi for his birthday. It was painted on black paper while you used only white paint. It was two albino peacocks by a lake, one had their head on the others with the words, “ ‘We Loved With a Love That Was More Than Love.’- Edgar Allen Poe.” You smile at the memory and the message that was written behind it. “Happy birthday & Merry Christmas, Levi” you start to say while running your hand on the frame, “My days have been so much happier since you entered my life. Thank you. It’s you, because..” “Because no one else makes sense.” You heard a voice complete the message and you turn around to see him. Standing there, with his full black suit and his hair in the same style from all those years ago. You smile so much and you could feel tears form but quickly wipe them away. “Levi..” you whisper and he smiles back to you. “Y/n.” He says and walk to you. You’re so overwhelmed by happiness that you just hide your face in your hands. You felt him right in front of you and you look up from your hands to be met with the sight of his chest. God, he smells so good. You feel his hand on your cheek and you look up at his face. He looked so much better in person. “Hello, sweetheart.” He says and you smile. “I-, oh my gosh. Levi. It’s you. It’s really you.” You say and move your hands around his neck and hug him. You tuck your face in his neck and smile. “It’s me.” He simply says and hugs you tighter.

You pull away from him, but still in his embrace and sigh. “What happened? I lost all contact with you.” You say and he moves a stray hair behind your ear. “It’s such a long story, Y/n.” Levi says. “How about you tell me over dinner?” You say and he raises his eyebrow and smirks. “Dinner? I can make that happen. Tonight? 8?” He asks and you nod. “Wait. Yesterday, at the bank..” you start to say and he smiles softly. “When I became the leader here, I was given the option of a ‘No Harm’ list. Your name was the first one I wrote down.” He says softly and you smile. “Oh, Levi.” You smile and look at him. As you were about to say something again, both of you were interrupted. “Boss, sorry to disturb. But there’s an urgent call for you.” One of his men say and he scoffs. “Tch. Alright. I’ll be there just now. Tell them to wait.” He says and looks back at you. “I’m sorry. But dinner..” “I’ll see you at 8.” You say and start to walk away but stop suddenly and bite your lip. You turn back and walk up to him and kiss his cheek. “Call me, okay?” You say and place a card into his pocket. Levi nods and watches you walk away while grazing his finger along his cheek. He could still feel your warm lips on them. He takes out the card and looks at it.

Y/n L/n Arts.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Xoxo

He smiles softly and puts it in his inside pocket. Levi never wanted a day to go faster than right now. He had to let you go 7 years ago and he’s not going to make that mistake again.

———————————————————————

“I live for Mafia Levi.”

🖤🤍Thanks for reading🤍🖤

-Caddy.

[brandywine-tomatoes]

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a fluffy Lydia x reader where the reader is really bad at flirting, but absolutely loves being flirted with, as well as cuddling and being cuddled! Y’know, the usual fluff stuff. ❤️❤️❤️ Love ur aesthetics btw!

Natural Beauty

Masterlist

1 634 words

tw: none, just a bit of fluff in hallways at lunch

a/n: ahhhh!! Thank you so much for the request! I’m sorry it took this long, chemistry is taking up a lot of my time. I hope this is alright!! (and thank you for being my first request 💕)

“You need to learn how to repress your feelings better, it’s incredibly obvious,” your friend Anya said out of the blue from the desk beside you.

You whipped your head around. “What? What’s obvious?”

“You like her, plain as day, you’ve been staring at her for weeks. She’s your best friend, just tell her,” she went back to writing whatever was written on the chalkboard.

“I do not!” Your voice rose an octave. “She’s just that, a friend.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she smirked at you.

You hadn’t been staring at her, just... admiring her. She was a work of the best artist, her smile perfect and lifted the clouds from your mind, how could anyone not admire her? But this was different. She was your closest friend, and you were her first friend at school, though that had been a different time. You both were young and innocent, now you were a year away from graduating and everything seemed to become more free-flowing and fast-paced. But Lydia was always there, she was the constant throughout all of it, who helped you when no one else could. She laughed at your terrible puns and stayed late on the phone to help you stop crying. She’d trusted you enough that she even invited you to meet her dad and stepmother and told you ghost stories until you drifted off to sleep beside her.

“You’re staring again,” Anya mumbled.

“I’m never sitting next to you again,” you sarcastically grumbled, trying to catch up on the photography notes.

Lydia sat a couple rows in front of you beside the window, her face always illuminated by the natural light while she furiously scribbled down notes and listened intently. She was incredibly talented; she could be accepted into the best schools for photography and that would be with her ‘worst’ photos. She just loved it so much.

“Okay class,” the teacher started, standing up to pack her bags. “There will be a project due in the next couple of days, very simple and covers what we’ve learned so far. I want you to find a natural beauty and capture it, keeping in mind the composition techniques we’ve learned. This will determine your status in the course.”

As she finished, the irritating bell rang over the intercom, signalling the start of lunch and a bit of freedom.

You and Anya packed your things and left the classroom in a hurry, not wanting to be caught in the stampede of students. You both stood close to the wall, waiting for Lydia.

The highway of students thinned out and only the ones who hung out in the hallways at lunch were occupying it.

“What’s taking her so long, I’ve got food to eat,” Anya asked.

“Dunno, maybe she’s talking with Ms. Wilson?” You shrugged.

“If she doesn’t come out soon, I’m gonna starve to death. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, she can’t be much longer,” you reasoned, looping your arm in hers so she wouldn’t abandon you.

“This could be considered hostage-taking,” she retorted.

“This is a sign of friendship.”

She chuckled at that. “You’re so ‘sunshine and rainbows’, maybe Lydia will change that.”

“What am I changing?” Lydia walked out of the classroom with Ms. Wilson behind her, walking in the other direction.

“Apparently I’m too much of a ray of sunshine for little miss ‘I’m a hostage’,” you looped your other arm in hers to her surprise and started walking towards your lockers down the hall.

Lydia held onto your arm, the gesture warming your cheeks a bit. “Oh yeah, 100%, we’ve gotta work towards corrupting you.”

“New project for the spring, corrupt little miss sunshine.” Anya unlopped her arm and went to unlock her locker.

You realized Lydia was still clinging to your arm and your free hand found itself wrapped around hers. Your heart started pounding and you quickly let go to unlock your own locker.

“Any other projects I should be aware of?” You asked jokingly.

Anya gestured to an occupied Lydia opening her locker beside you. “Many in the works.”

You playfully slapped Any’s arm, feeling the heat rising up your neck and locked your locker.

The 3 of you slid down the lockers and started talking about whatever came to mind and shared the food you collectively had. As the minutes ticked away, somehow Lydia’s head ended up in your lap and your hands played with locks of her short black hair while Anya couldn’t stop smiling at the sight.

“So, then I was like ‘he wouldn’t do that! You’ve got be kidding me!’ and they were all ‘nope, he did, he let every bug he could find in into the house’ and then I was like ‘well where is he?’ and they were all-” Lydia went on about her step-uncle, her hands animated in the air for emphasis.

You had a little smile on your face as you looked at her passionately going on about her family. Your back was getting sore from leaning on the locker, but you didn’t dare move.

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N?” Lydia’s voice interrupted your thinking.

“Yeah?”

“You were staring,” Anya almost vibrated off the floor in excitement.

Oh no oh no you thought. Lydia could get the wrong idea... or was it the right idea?

“I wasn’t staring, just thinking,” you defended, Lydia looking up at you with curious eyes, causing more anxiety.

“Anyways,” Lydia thankfully interrupted, seeing you were uncomfortable. “I asked if you had any ghost stories.”

“I mean, I believe in them, sure, but I’ve never met any.”

Lydia’s lips quirked up. “You’ll meet some one day.”

“Is that a promise, Deetz?”

“You betcha babe,” Lydia winked. Anya choked on a french fry and you looked anywhere but Lydia, laughing nervously and your face feeling incredibly hot. You were suddenly very aware of your hands still playing with the locks of her hair and slowly pulled them away reluctantly.

“Aw, you’re blushing! You’re so cute when you blush!” She excitedly said as she sat up, her face inches apart. You swallowed and looked to the ground, to the wall behind her, to your fidgeting hands, anywhere but the gorgeous girl in front of you. You finally turned your gaze to her and saw hers was observing your lips. She looked from your lips to your eyes, then again, and you swore the corners of lips turned up when you let your gaze slide to hers.  

The irritating bell rang out, echoing off the walls and made you jump back. Lydia smirked and gathered her things into her bag. You sat there for a moment, stunned and really confused. You thought she was actually going to kiss you, in a school hallway, in front of Anya, around everyone else, against the no PDA rule. You told yourself you didn’t want that to happen as you packed up your things and let Anya help you up who was grinning like an idiot. 

Your breath hitched when Lydia looked at your lips, you almost leaned in, you imagined cupping her cheek and holding her closer then would be considered just platonic, you wanted that to happen. But you always felt like that, you always felt your heart pounding when she grabbed your hand to lead you to class and tried to keep your breathing even when she was bumped closer or when she flirted shamelessly with you.

You vaguely remember saying goodbye to a beaming Anya and walking slowly through the crowd to your next class, lost in thought. Well, lost in figuring out what you were going to do about Lydia.

“What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours, Y/N?” Lydia came up beside you. You snapped out of it and halfheartedly smiled.

“Oh come on, what’s wrong? Was it something I said?” She stepped in front of you, her eyebrows turned down and a worried look in her eyes. The students behind gave you dirty looks as they passed by.

“No, of course not, you didn’t do anything wrong.” You gave her a reassuring smile, though she didn’t look convinced. You put your hands on her shoulders, trying to ignore your rising heartbeat. “If you did anything wrong, I’d tell you.”

She put her hands on top of yours, a relieved smile overtaking her features. “Come on, I’ll walk you to class.”

“Isn’t your class the other way?”  

She winked and pulled you forward, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “I can run.”

Her short hair tickled your jaw and you could see her dark purple lipstick shimmer in the fluorescent light. The crowd thinned out as everyone got to their classes, leaving you two walking through the empty halls. You walked to your art history class in a comforting silence, consumed by your own thoughts.  

You finally got to the plain entrance of the class and Lydia slid her arm off your shoulder to your dismay. You both faced each other, waiting for the other to say something, a goodbye or a confusion.

“You wanna come over after school? You know, to do the photography assignment?” She asked.

“Uh, sure!” You replied a little too eager. “I don’t really know what to do for it, but I guess I’ll think of something.”

Lydia smirked at you and began walking back down the hallway. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Well, what’s the idea?”

“You.”

She blew a kiss and ran back down the hall, leaving you fumbling and blushing like crazy.

Once your heart slowed down, you smiled to yourself, wondering if the goth girl of Winter River really had a thing for you. Maybe she really did think of you like you thought of her. Maybe you could really be her natural beauty.

[viastro]

nobody knows | choi seungcheol

ミ★ synopsis: in which seungcheol is ordered to kill you, the secret daughter of his boss’s rival.

ミ★ genre: mafia!au, assassin!seungcheol, suspense, humor, fluff, some angst

ミ★ warnings: minor character death, mentions of blood and vomit 

ミ★ word count: 7,264

ミ★ pairings: seungcheol x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! it’s been a long time since i’ve written a oneshot, and i definitely did not mean for this to be as long as it is. it’s almost as long as daises omg. i haven’t put out a oneshot in a long time because i was dedicating so much time into finishing remember us, which i did ! so now i’ll be trying to write oneshots as much as i used to :D i’m not really a big fan of how this turned out but i hope you guys enjoy it ! i didn’t wanna scrap it just because i didn’t know how to fix it, so i hope it’s okay <3

“Changwoo has a daughter?” Sunghoon nods his head at the question, smirk taking over his features at this newfound information he’s been given. He glances at his personal assassin.

“I need you to kill her Cheol, as a means to show Changwoo that he shouldn’t harm what’s mine.” 

Seungcheol stares at his boss, knowing that he’s been angry about Changwoo killing his right hand man a few months ago. Having this information on his supposed daughter could either make things worse for the two rivals, or make the other mob boss back off. However, Seungcheol doesn’t get a say in these decisions. He can never choose to save anyone Sunghoon orders him to kill, even though he may want to. All he can say is, 

“Of course, sir.” 

“Thank you! Have a good day.” You say cheerfully, waving goodbye to the customer as they walk out the door, boba in hand. You let out a sigh once the door closes, placing your hands on the edge of the counter to close your eyes for a moment. 

“Yn, are you okay?” Opening your eyes, you look up to see your father’s bodyguard staring at you with a bit of concern laced in his features. You nod your head, giving him a thumbs up. 

“Just a bit tired Wonwoo, but I’m okay. I stayed up too late last night watching dramas again.” You joke, giving Wonwoo a bright smile to try and lessen his worry. He lets out a soft grin, shaking his head at you. “You should be sleeping earlier when you know that you have a shift the next day.” 

You shrug, “I know, but the drama was getting spicy. I highly recommend it’s okay to not be okay.” 

Wonwoo chuckles, telling you he’ll check it out when you guys get home. With that, he turns and walks back over to his table, where he will sit for the rest of your shift as it is his job to protect you when you’re out. 

You don’t know why your father even sends Wonwoo to be with you when you have your shift, or why he cares in the first place. You live in a different house than him, he doesn’t visit you at your apartment, the only time he goes out of his way to speak to you is when it’s your birthday. And even then, it’s just a short phone call.

He’s made it his, thing, to push you away the moment your mother passed when you were in high school. You know of his lifestyle, you know how he earns money, and you know that more than half of South Korea fears him. You may be the heir to one of the largest mafia bosses in South Korea, but you have made it clear you want nothing to do with that life. Your father knows that as well, but he decided to take it a step further and just pretend you don’t even exist.

But he gave you your freedom, as long as Wonwoo is by your side to make sure you’re safe. No one knows of your identity, there’s no knowledge of your father even having a child, but he still wants that extra protection on you. That’s why when you decided to move out of the house and into an apartment, he had Wonwoo go with you. 

He’s been with you for the last three years, even going to your on-campus classes. Wonwoo’s become the talk of the town with the ladies and gents there if we’re being honest. He’s not that much older than you, he has about three years over your head. He started working for your father as a drug runner, then he slowly rose up the ranks when it was discovered that he’s incredibly good with a gun and does martial arts. 

And that’s how you’re here now. At your shift with Wonwoo waiting at the table he always stays at when you work. Perfectly safe and sound.

Or so you thought.

“Do you have a picture of his daughter?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water as him and Seungcheol sit in the car in front of the boba shop you work at. Seungcheol nods his head, handing Mingyu the file so that he can look at it.

“Jesus Christ, this photo looks like it was taken ten years ago.” Mingyu mutters, looking at a very young version of you. It’s blurry as well, making it hard for him to get a good look at your features. Seungcheol lets out a sigh, squinting through the tinted car windows to try and look into the shop. “That’s because it was taken ten years ago. No one has seen her since then.”  

“What if she’s cute now? She’s just a couple years younger than you.” Mingyu asks, wiggling his eyebrows jokingly. Seungcheol turns his head and looks at his colleague/best friend, giving him a bored expression. “Did you forget that my mission is to kill her?” 

Mingyu shrugs, turning his head to glance out the window. “No, I remember.” 

“Then why did you ask such a ridiculous question? You know our line of work Mingyu, can’t have anyone in our lives that can make us vulnerable.” Seungcheol reminds the younger, and he nods. Mingyu just stares quietly out the window, feeling slightly upset by the reminder of the life that they live. 

Seungcheol looks at Mingyu for a moment, knowing that he doesn’t enjoy this lifestyle. Didn’t want to get dragged into it, but was desperate for money. Now he’s in too deep, and there’s no signs of getting out of it until he’s older and not of use anymore. Seungcheol can say that he’s the same, except the only way he can get out of this business is for him to die, or to kill his boss and take over. However, he’d never do the latter, no matter how much he wants to.

“Let’s get going now.” Seungcheol states, opening the door and stepping out of the car without another word on the subject. Mingyu lets out a sigh, opening the door to the car and hopping out. He follows after Seungcheol, shoving his phone in his pocket as they walk into the small boba shop. 

You turn around at the sound of the bells from the door, about to flash a big smile at the customers that walked in, only to feel your breath get caught in your throat when you lock eyes with the blonde haired man. 

His eyes are a deep brown. It’s the first thing you notice about him, and you can’t seem to find yourself backing down from his intense stare. In fact, you don’t want to, and Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at that. 

“It’s definitely her.” Mingyu mutters under his breath, pretending that he’s telling Seungcheol what he wants to order. However, his friend doesn’t answer him. Mingyu opens his mouth to repeat what he said, only to turn his head to find Seungcheol staring directly back at you with a glint in his eyes that he can’t seem to decipher. 

“Yn, it’s time for your break.” You snap out of the intense staring contest with the handsome man when Chanhee steps out from the back, preparing to take over for you. You give him a smile, “Thanks Chanhee.” 

“Of course yn. Oh, by the way, are you going to get food from next door?” You purse your lips as you think for a moment, before shrugging. “I don’t see why not.”

“Great, can you get me the greek fries? I’ll pay you back.” You laugh, reaching out and patting your pink haired coworker, giving him a thumbs up. 

Seungcheol watches the whole interaction in a dazed state, and Mingyu is left standing beside him incredibly confused. Mingyu’s never seen Seungcheol like this before, usually when they’re out on a job he’s stoic and swift. However, Seungcheol just stands there staring as you turn back around to glance at him, giving him a small smile before walking into the breakroom. Now out of sight. 

“Are you oka-”

“We can’t kill her.” Seungcheol murmurs, turning to look at Mingyu with a serious expression on his face. Mingyu’s eyes widen at the absurd confession, one that he never thought he’d hear Seungcheol make. “I beg your pardon?” 

“We can’t-”

“Are you guys ready to order?” Chanhee asks the two with a grin on his face, and they immediately change their attitudes, flashing the man a smile. Mingyu walks up to the counter first, looking up at the menu before beginning to order. “Yes. I’ll have the hokkaido milk tea.”

All while Wonwoo watches from the table, eyeing Seungcheol suspiciously as he drinks the fruit tea you made him. 

“Hi! Welcome to Tsukki Tea!” You greet cheerfully, looking up from the register to see the handsome man from a week before. Your eyes widen slightly, and the blonde haired man tilts his head at you. 

“Are you ready to order?” You ask slowly, unable to look away from his face. You didn’t comprehend how handsome he was at his last visit due to you having to go on your break, but now that you’re getting a good look at him, he’s incredibly attractive. 

“I’ll have the brown sugar milk tea.” The blonde says, and you feel your knees wobble at his deep voice. You nod your head, putting his order into the system as you hear your heart beat rapidly within your chest. 

“Your friend isn’t with you today?” You ask as he pays for the drink, initiating small talk. He freezes slightly, glancing up at you, “Huh?”

“Your friend. The really tall one from last week, I noticed he wasn’t with you today.” You explain, a nervous smile appearing on your face due to how much you regret asking him the question. He lets out an, ah, before shaking his head. 

“He has work today so I came on my own.” He answers, giving you a reassuring smile, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks at the pretty sight. You immediately glance back down at the touchscreen, ripping his receipt and holding it out towards the handsome man. 

“Can I have a name for your order?” You ask, and he gives you a grin. “My name is Seungcheol.” 

You nod your head, writing his name down on the cup. You can’t help but think that his name is pretty as well, quietly muttering it to yourself as you put the cap back onto the pen. Seungcheol notices this, and bites the inside of his cheek, thinking of how precious you are. 

“Your order will be ready shortly.” You tell him, and Seungcheol nods his head. He walks over to an empty table, sitting down and pulling out his phone to check his messages. 

Seungcheol told Sunghoon that he needed some time to scope you out. To understand your schedule, and find out when you’re alone. He was lucky that his boss believed it, but what he doesn’t know is that Seungcheol isn’t doing any of that. 

The assassin just wants to get to know you. 

When Seungcheol told Mingyu the first day they saw you that he can’t kill you, Mingyu didn’t believe him. He thought it was just from lack of sleep, or he was just pranking him. However, he came to find out that it wasn’t from either of those reasons at all. That Seungcheol was serious.

“You’re never like this Cheol, why can’t you kill her? It’s never been hard for you before.” Mingyu says, taking a sip from his boba as they drive back to headquarters. Seungcheol just stares silently out the window, biting his finger as he thinks of why he can’t kill you. 

He doesn’t have an answer to that.

“I haven’t found the answer yet.” Seungcheol simply responds, and Mingyu turns to glance at him with a flabbergasted expression on his face. 

“WHAT?!” 

“I’ll figure it out along the way.” Seungcheol mutters, still wondering why his heartbeat quickens when he thinks of your bright smile. Mingyu just scoffs, leaning back into the driver’s seat. 

“I know that I said she might be cute and insinuated that you fall in love with her, but it was absolutely a joke. What if the boss finds out that you aren’t actually going to kill her?” Mingyu asks, and Seungcheol purses his lips at the reminder. He lets out a sigh, frowning as he thinks of an excuse to give him. 

“I got it.” 

“Do you?”

“Probably not.”

“Seungcheol!”

Wonwoo glares at the mysterious man from across the shop, wondering what his intentions are with you. He tilts his head to the side, glancing back at his phone while he wonders why the name Seungcheol seems so familiar to him. 

You take the finished boba out from the machine that adds the plastic seal, walking over to the counter. You grab a straw and place it on top of the lid, “Order for Seungcheol!” 

The man in question turns towards you at the call of his name, letting out a small smile. He stands up from the table, walking over to you and gratefully taking the boba. 

“I hope you enjoy it, Seungcheol.” You say softly, and he takes notice of the twinkle in your gaze. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, smiling down at you.

You glance up at the man with your eyes slightly widened, having not expected him to ask a question. He tilts his head to the side in amusement, and you let out a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“My name is yn.” You answer, and he nods his head.

“Well, thank you for the boba yn. I’ll be sure to enjoy it since you made it for me.” Seungcheol says in a sweet tone, causing you to smile. You wave bye to him as he steps out, and he waves back at you before closing the door. You let out a sigh once he’s out of the shop, resting a hand over your beating heart. 

“He’s too handsome.” You mumble, before turning towards the sink. Wonwoo watches as you begin to clean the station, small smile on your face as you do so, and he feels himself growing more concerned. 

“I gotta find out who he is.”

“Seungcheol, it’s been close to three weeks. Why isn’t the girl dead yet?” Sunghoon asks as Seungcheol cleans his gun quietly. He freezes slightly, before quickly relaxing, turning to glance up at his boss. 

In complete honesty, Seungcheol is shitting his pants at the moment. Him and Mingyu have been planning on how to not kill yn without letting their boss know, and they don’t really have a good idea. However, Seungcheol spends his days going to visit you at the boba shop. The conversations between you and him continue to grow longer each time he goes. To the point that he waits for you to get on your break so that the two of you can spend it getting to know each other. 

He’s discovered that you started working at the boba shop because of your serious addiction towards the drink, and that you wanted to learn how to make it yourself. He’s also learned that you’re allergic to bees, yet you love flowers and nature with a passion. Seungcheol finds you to be rather endearing, especially when you brightly tell him stories.

While you’ve learned that Seungcheol is a very simple guy. He enjoys working out in his spare time, and would like to own a dog. You asked him why he hasn’t adopted one yet, but he just gave you a small smile, shaking his head and saying that it’s not the time for him to get one.

“She has a bodyguard on hand at all times, I wouldn’t want to cause a bigger mess.” Seungcheol lies with ease after a second of thinking, and the man before him squints slightly. He leans forward towards the assassin, the power and influence he has radiating off of him in waves. 

“Since when has making a mess been a concern to you, Seungcheol?” Sunghoon asks in an icey tone, and Seungcheol stops wiping the cloth over his silencer. He glances up at his boss, keeping eye contact as they practically stare each other down. 

“Do I need to remind you of who you work for?” Seungcheol hears his heartbeat in his ears, knowing damn well what his boss is capable of. He’s known since he was a child. So Seungcheol shakes his head, visibly backing down from the oncoming fight that was going to break out. 

“Good. I want her dead by the end of next week Seungcheol.” 

“Okay, but hear me out.” You begin, and Seungcheol watches you with an amused smile. You lean forward in your seat, staring directly into his pretty eyes, causing a small blush to form on his cheeks. 

“Bigfoot.”

“No.”

“But Cheol! They have to be real.” You state, and the latter just shakes his head at you, taking a sip of the boba you made for him before you went on your break. He lets out a breath, “Yn, if bigfoot was real, then someone would’ve caught them by now. There’s no way a creature with big ass feet and is apparently really tall wouldn’t have been captured by now.” 

This is one of the many ridiculous conversations you and Seungcheol have had since the two of you have gotten closer. Seungcheol looks like the epitome of relaxed as the two of you converse, but what you don’t know is that there’s a storm running within him as he realizes what he has to do the longer he stares into your bright eyes.

You frown at the handsome man, leaning back into your seat with a pout on your lips. Seungcheol coos at you, reaching out to squeeze your cheek, and you slap his hand away. He lets out a hiss of pain even though it didn’t hurt, rubbing the back of his hand. You try not to peek, but when Seungcheol begins blowing on the area you hit, you can’t help but look up. 

You reach out and take his hand, and Seungcheol’s eyes widen when you pull it towards you, blowing softly on the back of his hand. Warmth rises to his cheeks, as do yours, but you both pretend that you’re not at all flustered by the action. After a moment, you glance up at Seungcheol, “Are you okay now?” 

He immediately looks away from the direct eye contact, feeling too shy to even sputter any words. You let out a smile at the sight, softly resting his hand back onto the table. Seungcheol mutters a quiet, thanks, and you chuckle, finishing the last of your boba. 

“I still think bigfoot is real.” You pettily mutter, and Seungcheol lets out a laugh. 

“In your dreams, yn.” 

Wonwoo watches from his table, pursing his lips at the sight of you and Seungcheol having gotten so close in a matter of a few weeks. He still doesn’t know anything about Seungcheol, having not done any research as of late. However, he leans back in his seat, now decided on what he has to do.

Seungcheol’s about to step into the boba shop when he’s grabbed by a hand and pulled into the alley. He immediately reaches for the gun in his waistband, only to freeze when he realizes that it’s no longer in his possession. His eyes slowly trail up, and he finds your bodyguard standing in front of him, his own silencer held in his hands, pointed directly towards Seungcheol’s head.

“So you work for Sunghoon, huh?” Wonwoo asks, not breaking eye contact with Seungcheol. Wonwoo did some digging, because he knew Seungcheol’s name was all too familiar. Which was when he discovered that Seungcheol is Sunghoon’s personal assassin. His boss’s rival mafia leader.

“You did a background check, Wonwoo?” Seungcheol asks, and the latter shrugs, chuckling darkly. 

“I can’t let yn get hurt.” Wonwoo states, squinting at the assassin standing before him. Seungcheol shakes his head, “I’m not going to kill yn.”

“Bullshit. You never pull back from a job, I saw it in my search on you.” Wonwoo exclaims, moving to turn the safety off when Seungcheol raises his hands up in surrender. “I’m really not. I plan to kill Sunghoon to protect yn.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes widen slightly, before squinting again. “And how do I know you’re not lying?” 

Seungcheol stares into Wonwoo’s eyes, hoping that his honesty shines through his gaze. He lets out a breath, “Cause I would’ve killed her by now. I know you did your research on me, you should know that all my victims died by my hand in 1-2 days after the assignment was given to me.”

Wonwoo does know that Seungcheol’s assignments would die in a matter of days when they were first presented. That’s why this information causes him to hesitate for a moment, but it doesn't make him remove his finger from the trigger. 

“What do you want with yn?” Wonwoo asks, and Seungcheol surprises the black haired man by giving him a small smile. 

“I want her to live peacefully like she is now. I want her to be happy.” 

The two stare each other down after Seungcheol’s confession, thinking to themselves. It’s after a minute or so that Wonwoo lets his arm fall to his side, turning the safety back on. Seungcheol almost sighs in relief, only to visibly pause when he catches Wonwoo still squinting at him. 

“So, what’s your plan?” Wonwoo asks, handing the silencer back to Seungcheol. He quickly puts it back in the waistband of his jeans, before giving your bodyguard an amused grin. “What? You gonna help me kill my own boss?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, finally cracking a smile. “It’ll keep yn safe, and it’ll also give me brownie points with my own boss. I don’t see why not.” 

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. He leans back onto the brick wall of the alleyway, finding himself enjoying Wonwoo’s company even though he did almost die because of him. Seungcheol glances up at the dark sky, seeing the stars shining brightly. 

“I’m killing him at midnight.” He breathes out, and Wonwoo nods his head. He looks at his watch, seeing that it’s 8:50 pm, meaning you’ll be getting off your shift in a few minutes. So they have to wrap up this conversation soon.

“Well, you gonna pick me up later or what?” Wonwoo asks, and Seungcheol laughs quietly. He nods his head, glancing back down at the black haired man, finding him smiling as well. “Of course, it would be rude of me not to drive around the man who offered to help me kill a mafia leader.” 

“Ah yes, finally. A man with morals.”

Seungcheol and Mingyu step into the building, calmly walking towards the elevators to get to Sunghoon’s office. Wonwoo stayed behind in the car, where he’s currently hacking into the security system so that he can cut off the video feed when the deed is done. He’s already erasing the data of Mingyu and Seungcheol even being in the building in the first place.

“You think he’s gonna put up a fight?” Mingyu asks quietly, and Seungcheol scoffs. 

“Of course he is, but do you think he can win?” Mingyu ponders the question for a moment, before turning to Seungcheol and flashing him a mischievous smile. “Against the best assassin in Seoul? No.” 

“Checking the video feed now.” Wonwoo mutters into his mic, typing into his laptop. Seungcheol and Mingyu say a quick response back, continuing to walk towards the office.

Wonwoo goes through the video feed, trying to see if Sunghoon is just in his office like Seungcheol claimed he would be. Only to freeze when he sees who else is in the room with the powerful man. Wonwoo panics, immediately moving to speak into the mic when the connection gets cut out. 

“NO!” Wonwoo yells, watching with wide eyes as Mingyu and Seungcheol walk right into the room. 

Seungcheol and Mingyu look like the definition of ease when they step into the room, with Mingyu even cracking a smile at Sunghoon. Seungcheol opens his mouth to greet their boss, only to stop when he looks towards the chair by the desk, catching your frightened eyes.

There’s a towel stuffed in your mouth, preventing you from talking. There’s tear tracks on your cheeks, and your wrists are zip tied behind your back as you cry silently in fear. Sunghoon lets out a smile at the sight of his assassin standing in pure shock, head cocking to the side. 

“Took you too long to kill her, so I got impatient.” Sunghoon slyly explains, glancing over at you with a cheeky grin. You look away immediately, closing your eyes as more tears fall from them. You begin to regret letting Wonwoo go out for the night, or else you wouldn’t even be in this situation at the moment. 

“Yn, I need to be somewhere tonight. Is it okay if you stay home alone? I promise to be back in a couple hours.” Wonwoo tells you, and you peek your head out from the kitchen, glancing at the bodyguard who suddenly looks timid. You let out a happy smile, happy that Wonwoo is finally going out to do something. 

Since he was assigned to be your bodyguard, he hasn’t had a day or night to himself. Never even asked you for one, so obviously you’re going to let him. You nod your head, bouncing over to him with a big smile on your face, causing Wonwoo to raise an eyebrow at you. 

“Did you want me to leave that bad?” Wonwoo teases, and you slap his shoulder with a chuckle. 

“No! You just haven’t gone out without me since you became my bodyguard. Which was three years ago…” You trail off, having not realized how long it’s been. Wonwoo rolls his eyes, trying to hide the fact that the reason he’s going out is still for your safety. 

“Don’t pity me now. I enjoy my time with you, yn.” 

“Do you have friends, Wonwoo?” Wonwoo glares at you, having not appreciated the question. He slips on his shoes, turning and heading towards the door. You let out a laugh at his reaction, waving bye to him. 

“Remember to lock the door after I leave and turn on the alarm. Don’t answer the door, no one should even be knocking on it anyways. If anything happens, call me or your dad, okay?” You nod your head, and Wonwoo lets out a nervous breath. He glances up at you one more time, feeling his heart pound as he hopes you’ll be safe with him gone. 

“I’ll be back soon, yn.” And with that, Wonwoo walks out the door. 

It’s only within an hour of being alone that you hear a knock on your door, and you cautiously reach for your phone when you hear it again. Your hand wraps around your phone, only to freeze when you hear the locks turn and the door opens. You quickly run to your room, locking the door quietly behind you and rushing under your bed. You make sure the sheet underneath the mattress shields your body from view, before pulling out your phone in the cramped space. You move to text Wonwoo, only to freeze when you hear the doorknob jiggle. 

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you worry that the assailant can hear it from how silent it is in your apartment. You quickly turn on your phone, managing to pull up your conversation with Wonwoo when the door unlocks, and you freeze in fear. You turn off your phone so that the light won’t show from underneath your bed, and you stay as silent as you can as you hear the person’s shoes step around your bedroom. 

You watch as the person moves to walk out of your room, but you don’t dare make a sound until you can no longer hear their footsteps. You’re about to let out a quiet breath of relief, pulling up your phone to text Wonwoo when the person lifts up the sheet, staring directly at you with a smile on his face.

“Hello, yln yn.”

“Boss-” Seungcheol begins, only for Sunghoon to raise a hand up to stop him from speaking. The pieces slowly come together as to why he couldn’t get a dog, why he always redirected the conversation when asked about his life. Seungcheol catches your eyes, and he sees the betrayal in your gaze. He mouths that it’s going to be okay, and you look down at your legs, wanting nothing more than to leave. 

“Care to explain why I heard plans of you and Mingyu trying to kill me?” Sunghoon asks, eyes squinting at the two. Mingyu stiffens beside Seungcheol, and your eyes widen, beginning to wonder if Seungcheol is actually on your side. 

Seungcheol and Mingyu don’t respond for a second. With Mingyu internally panicking about whether or not he should lie, and Seungcheol pondering on how to answer the question. However, Seungcheol decides not to answer it, instead pulling out his silencer from his waistband in a matter of seconds, pointing it directly at his boss’s head.

Mingyu steps over to you as Seungcheol and Sunghoon stare each other down. You look at Seungcheol’s friend from the day they first stepped into the boba shop, and he gives you an apologetic smile. Mingyu reaches into his waistband, pulling out his knife, beginning to cut off your zip tie. “Sorry to meet you on such bad terms, Cheol has told me a lot about you.” 

“I didn’t believe it when I caught wind of the rumor. After all these years, you’re going to kill me just like that? Over our rival’s daughter?” Sunghoon asks, eyes not faltering from Seungcheol. He stands up from the table at Seungcheol’s silence, letting out a smile at the fact that Seungcheol hasn’t pulled the trigger.

“For yn?” Seungcheol begins, and you glance up at the blonde. He locks eyes with you for a moment, letting out a breath. Seungcheol turns back towards Sunghoon, squinting at the man. “Anything.” 

“You’re not really going to kill me for her, right Seungcheol?” 

Seungcheol lets out a breath, before turning the safety off the gun. You watch the confrontation unfold with wide eyes as Mingyu works on cutting the ropes wrapped around your legs and the chair. 

“I’ve always hated you.” Seungcheol mutters, pressing his finger to the trigger. Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, “You wish I just left you at that crack house where I found you? Seungcheol, I made you-”

“You made me into a monster!” Seungcheol shouts, hand shaking as he points the gun towards his boss’s head. Mingyu and you jump slightly at the raise of his voice, having not expected Seungcheol to lose his temper. Mingyu quickly takes off your gag, and you stand up from the chair, holding onto the back of Mingyu’s shirt as the two of you try to silently leave the room.

“You made me into a man that kills people, for your own gain.” Sunghoon listens in silence, watching Seungcheol's hand tremble. The blonde blinks back tears, feeling all the pain he’s hidden slowly pouring out as he stares at the man who practically raised him. He takes a deep breath, before applying more pressure to the trigger.

“That’s why I’m going to kill you for my own.” Seungcheol states, about to pull the trigger when Sunghoon knocks the gun out of his hands. Seungcheol reaches out to grab it quickly, but Sunghoon is faster as he kicks Seungcheol in the stomach unexpectedly, winding him in the process. Sunghoon grabs the gun in the short time that Seungcheol is out of it, and raises it into the air.

“Did you forget I taught you everything you know, Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol’s eyes stare at the gun pointed in his direction. You and Mingyu are frozen in place, with Mingyu’s hand resting over his own gun in the waistband of his pants. 

“Drop the gun onto the floor Mingyu, or else he dies.” Sunghoon threatens, and Mingyu glares. Seungcheol nods his head at Mingyu, and the latter slowly rests the gun onto the carpeted floor, before glancing back up at Sunghoon.

“Yn and Mingyu didn’t do anything, just kill me.” Seungcheol says, and Sunghoon shoots him a glance. He rolls his eyes, and you feel your breath hitch when he adjusts his hold on the gun.

“You’re right. However, remember what you learned?” Sunghoon asks, and Seungcheol feels his heart sink. The mafia boss chuckles at his silence, letting out a breath.”You know this Seungcheol, it’s the first thing I taught you when you were a kid. The loved ones always pay the price.” Sunghoon states, letting out a laugh at the harsh glare the blonde is throwing his way. He tilts his head to the side, before glancing over at you, finding delight in the fear on your face.

“Goodbye, yn.” 

Seungcheol shouts when Sunghoon quickly turns the gun in your direction, reaching out to stop him, while Mingyu moves to shield your body with his.

The loud sound of the gunshot echoes around the room, and you’re holding Mingyu’s shirt tightly in your hands. Your eyes slowly open at the sound of a body falling to the floor, and you look up to see Mingyu still standing safe and sound. Both of your eyes widen at the same time, and you turn to find Sunghoon slumped to the floor, blood pouring out of his lifeless body. 

You glance up to see Seungcheol staring at the door, and you turn your head to see Wonwoo standing there, gun held in his hands. He slumps onto the door frame, letting out a tired sigh.

“God damn it you guys. I told you to move in on my signal, yet when the connection cut out, the two of you still went inside.” Wonwoo complains, reaching his hand up and wiping away the beads of sweat that formed from sprinting all the way here. Seungcheol lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. Mingyu lets out a breath of relief, walking over to Seungcheol to ask if he’s okay. All while you just stand there, suddenly realizing that there’s a dead body right in front of you. 

“O-oh my God.” You mutter as your vision slowly goes in and out, and Wonwoo’s eyes widen when he remembers that you’re incredibly sensitive to blood. Everything fades to black and you begin to fall, causing Wonwoo to take a step forward in an attempt to catch you.

However, Seungcheol’s faster as he runs over and wraps his arms around you, catching your passed out body before you hit the floor. He sighs, moving the strands of hair that rest on your face. He turns towards Wonwoo and Mingyu, finding them also feeling relieved at the fact that he caught you. 

Wonwoo lets out a breath after a moment, glancing over towards the dead body. He pulls out his phone and begins to take pictures, causing Mingyu to raise an eyebrow at the odd behavior. Seungcheol also stares at Wonwoo, but he knows why he’s documenting the experience.

“Don’t worry Mingyu, I’m just doing this so that my boss gives me brownie points.” Wonwoo mutters, before deciding that he’s taken enough. He quickly sends it to your father, before pocketing his phone and looking up at the three of you.

“Let’s bring yn home.” 

You wake up to the smell of fried rice, and you feel your stomach grumble at the scent. Letting out a sigh, you reach up and rub your eyes, only to freeze when all the memories from the night before resurface. You sit up in bed, only to pause when you register the hand gripping yours. You turn your head, finding the familiar head of blonde hair resting on the edge of your bed. 

“Cheol?” You murmur, wondering why he stayed with you as you slept. The question gets answered once you look up and see Wonwoo leaning against your doorframe, taking a bite of a strawberry as he gives you a small smile. 

“You were having nightmares on the way back, so Seungcheol wanted to stay by your side to make sure they weren’t too bad. Guess he fell asleep though.” Wonwoo explains, and you feel your heart warm slightly. You run a hand through your hair, suddenly feeling the need to vomit at the memory of Sunghoon’s dead body. 

Wonwoo’s way ahead of you, as he is now walking over with a garbage bag. You silently thank him, clutching the plastic with a tight fist as you try to forget the visual. Seungcheol stirs in his sleep, holding your hand a bit tighter as he pouts. The sight calms you down, and you let out a quiet coo. 

“Your dad plans to visit later to make sure that you’re okay, by the way.” You nod your head at the newfound information. For some reason, you never expected that getting kidnapped and almost murdered would get your father to come and visit you. 

but alas...

“Do you approve of Seungcheol, Wonwoo?” You ask quietly, choosing to let go of the plastic bag in order to softly pat Seungcheol’s sleeping head. Wonwoo shrugs, tilting his head to the side. 

“He killed his own mafia boss in order to protect you. I’d say that’s more than enough to consider him as a good guy.” Wonwoo answers, and you let out a smile. With that, Wonwoo walks out of the room, now out of earshot. 

“Wake up, you’ve been approved.” You mutter, patting Seungcheol’s head. He opens one eye, glancing up at you with a small smile. 

“How’d you know I was awake?” Seungcheol asks, and you shrug in response. It’s a trick you don’t think you want him to know yet. He lets out a smile, squeezing your hand once again. He lets out a tired yawn, letting go of your hand in order to stretch his arms above his head.

“What will happen to you and Mingyu now? You did kill a man who has a lot of power in South Korea after my father.” Seungcheol leans back into his seat, not wanting to remind you that Wonwoo was the one who actually killed Sunghoon in order to not let the image come back into your mind. 

“Mingyu and I did a lot of digging, that’s where we found out most of the people working under Sunghoon hated him. By most I mean around 90%, by the way.” Seungcheol explains, and you let out a quiet, ah. “So they were fine with you killing Sunghoon?” 

Seungcheol nods his head, “Precisely.” 

“What about the other ten percent?” You ask. Seungceol opens his mouth to respond, only to stop when he sees Mingyu and Wonwoo standing in the doorway. You raise an eyebrow at the sight of Mingyu wearing your apron, but you decide to close your eyes. 

“Breakfast is ready.” Mingyu announces, and the two flash you and Seungcheol a mischievous smile before stepping back out of your room. You let out a sigh, turning back towards Seungcheol. 

“Guess we’ll find out, mm? For now, let’s go and eat breakfast.” Seungcheol says, and you purse your lips, before nodding in agreement. You climb out of your bed, leading the way towards the dining table to find Mingyu and Wonwoo already eating without you two. 

“Rude, didn’t even wait for us.” You tease, and Wonwoo chuckles. 

“Not our fault you and the new mafia leader are slow.” Mingyu responds, taking a sip of his coffee. You squint at the latter, and he just flashes you a smile. 

“Ew, don’t call me that Mingyu.” Seungcheol mumbles, taking a bite of the fried rice that was prepared. 

“I’ll call you what I want to, leader.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“How could you say that in front of your future girlfrie-” 

And with that, Seungcheol launches himself across the table, causing the two to start wrestling on your wooden floor. Wonwoo and you let out a sigh, turning to each other and smiling. 

“What a strange breakfast.” You mutter, no hint of malice behind your smile as you and Wonwoo watch the two fake fight on the floor. You tilt your head, and Wonwoo lets out a sigh when he sees no sign of them stopping. 

“I’ll stop them.” Wonwoo mumbles, getting up from his chair and walking over to the two. He pats his elbow, then jumps onto them, eliciting a loud groan from Seungcheol and Mingyu. You giggle quietly, shaking your head and taking a sip of water at the chorus of complaints of how sharp Wonwoo’s elbow is from Seungcheol. 

You tried to get out of the mafia life your father lives by moving out. That obviously didn’t work as you have a new mafia leader on the floor of your dining room who saved your life the night before. However, the longer you stare at Seungcheol as he laughs with Mingyu and Wonwoo, you find yourself rather grateful for the events that unfolded since meeting Seungcheol. 

He turns and catches your gaze, immediately smiling at you. He waves you over so that you can help him up off the floor, and you roll your eyes. You stand up from the chair and walk over to him, extending your hand out towards the man. 

“Can’t even lift yourself up off the floor?” You tease, and Seungcheol rolls his eyes. He takes your hand, and you pull him up off the floor. 

“Gives me an excuse to hold your hand.” Seungcheol responds cheekily, and you scoff at his answer, although the rising warmth to your face clearly says otherwise. Mingyu and Wonwoo glance at each other, both taking turns to make vomit noises at the two of you. 

“Get a ROOM!” 

“Disgusting.” 

“Not my fault you guys are lonely!” You shout back, and Wonwoo squints at you. 

“It is your fault.”

“Shhh.”

“Yn!” 

“Wonwoo!” Seungcheol grins when you and Wonwoo begin to squabble, letting out a happy sigh. Mingyu stands up from the floor, letting out a sigh at the sight of you and Wonwoo arguing.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mingyu yells, raising his hand up, causing you and Wonwoo to pause mid-argument. You both turn to glance at Mingyu, finding him and Seungcheol staring at the two of you with amused looks on their faces.

“Eat now, argue later.” Mingyu states, and you and Wonwoo share a look, before moving and sitting back down in your seats to continue eating. 

“It is your fault, by the way.” Wonwoo mutters, and you glare at him. Seungcheol snickers behind his hand, taking a spoonful of fried rice to stop the noise from escaping. 

“Fuck you, Wonwoo.”

“How could you say that in front of your future boyfr-” And with that, it’s now your turn to launch yourself across the table and onto Wonwoo. 

Mingyu lets out a tired sigh, choosing to ignore the loud bickering from behind him. While Seungcheol chuckles at the sight, finding himself at peace for the first time. 

seungcheol was finally able to save someone. 

You let out a giggle at Wonwoo’s pained expression from falling backwards onto the floor, and Seungcheol feels his heart warm from the sound.

and this time, it was you.