#they picked such a wonderful and well suited group of cinderella girls for this cover

[gukyi]

the heiress and the hotelier | ksj

summary: when you share a kiss with a mysterious but gorgeous stranger on the night of your unwanted, lavish masquerade birthday party, the last thing you expect is for him to vanish at midnight on the dot. but when, as punishment for always arguing with him, your father assigns you to oversee the company’s newest resort hotel, you begin to realize that the handsome stranger may be closer than you think.

{cinderella!au, heiress reader!au, hotelier seokjin!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 21k warnings: alcohol consumption (nothing major), workaholic characters, face blindness, idiots to lovers a/n: hello and welcome to guyi is a nonstop writer!! that’s the fuck right !!!! thank you so much to @aurawatercolor​ for commissioning me for this (again!) and for being genuinely wonderful. happy birthday! oh--and i’ll be on a socially-distanced vacation this upcoming week, so i’ll be a little more inactive than usual, but here’s this fic to keep you occupied while i’m gone!

Your birthdays have never belonged to you.

Not when you were little, when your mother was always the most excited for you to open your presents and host your birthday party. Not when you were older, and your parents started using your age as a reason for you to start learning the inner workings of the family business under the understanding that you would one day inherit it. And certainly not when you’re an adult, when all your birthdays ever remind you of are the years gone by, blowing past you like dandelion wisps, glimpses of memories that are too nimble to catch between your fingertips. 

When people say that time goes by faster as you get older, they aren’t saying it because your life is getting exponentially more interesting with each day that passes. They aren’t saying it because you’re having more fun or doing more things, things that distract you to the point of looking out your window and realizing that it’s dark outside. 

They say it because the more years that you have lived, the more years you have to remember. And when you have to recall something as overwhelming as your life, your brain makes shortcuts. The days, weeks, and months blur together, leaving behind snippets from events that your memory deems worthy, events that have become less and less frequent with time. You can’t remember the last major celebration you had. Perhaps your university graduation?

The thing about birthdays is that you know that there will always be one next year. So why bother with celebrating now?

You would give anything to have everyone pretend that your birthday is just a normal day. 

Unfortunately for you, you are the only one in your family who seems to have adopted this mindset. 

Heaving out a sigh, you look at yourself in the mirror, reflection bathed in the white light of the bathroom, stark and unforgiving. In the merciless glow of the bathroom, you barely recognize yourself. Gone are the deep eye bags that you’ve so dearly acquainted yourself with, tired eyes covered with contacts to bring back the shimmer that has long been lost. You gaze into your eyes and they don’t even feel like they’re yours anymore. 

In your hand sits the masquerade mask you had ripped off the moment you entered the bathroom, having been desperate to take it off from the minute you arrived at the hotel. The feathers brush against your skin, soft and black, a custom-made accessory designed to match your gown, an ink black floor-length piece with onyx gems that sparkle silver in the light. 

Hoseok was going for a black swan theme—said that it would match your personality perfectly. You’re not exactly sure what he meant by that. 

Frantically, like there is a timer ticking down inside of you that you cannot turn off, you pull the mask back on, adjusting it over your eyes until it sits just right, resting atop the bridge of your nose. Hiding behind it, you can almost deceive yourself into thinking, if only for this one night, you are someone else. 

The door swings open next to you, revealing a guest that you don’t recognize, someone on the list of hundreds that your mother invited, none of whom you know very well and could certainly not identify beneath a masquerade mask. She smiles in that polite, awkward way as she rushes into a stall, deep maroon train trailing behind her, leaving you stuck between a rock and a hard place, having no desire to go back out into the fray but also not wanting to stay in the bathroom and listen to other people do their business. 

Thank God she didn’t recognize you. Your mother was insistent that you be recognized as the guest of honor despite the whole point of a masquerade party being the inability to correctly identify people, so you might as well be walking around in a t-shirt with your face on it. At least the mask is doing something. 

You blink at yourself, hoping that maybe if you close your eyes enough, when you open them you’ll be someone else. When that doesn’t seem to work, you take a breath and fix your mask one last time before heading back into the ballroom. 

Immediately, amongst the crowd of people, all of whom are only here to elevate their own statuses by being associated with an event hosted by your family, you spot the back of Jungkook’s head, deep brunette tufts of hair deftly styled by a whole team of people, a slicked back, Phantom of the Opera style. He’s got on a tuxedo and mask to match, but even with that on you could recognize him in your sleep. He is your brother, after all. 

He’s talking animatedly with the pianist, an old mutual friend of your family’s named Yoongi, who isn’t wearing a mask and is thus immediately identifiable. Not to mention the fact that your family has known his since before you learned to walk. As you get closer to them, you notice that his maskless-ness is because Jungkook’s got it snatched up in between his fingers, dangling it in front of Yoongi like the taunting claw of a rigged toy machine. You decide not to bother them. He’s always been closer with Jungkook, anyway.

You really wish your mother better understood what a masquerade-themed party meant. You can’t get more than three steps in before being stopped by someone you can hardly recognize, all smiles for the birthday girl. They wish you a happy birthday and give you a lifeless compliment that goes in one ear and out the other before going on their way, positively thrilled that they’ve been invited to an event as grand as this and determined to make the most of it. 

Eventually, after far too many interruptions, you make it to the catering table, helping yourself to a piece of the five-tiered, golden-iced cake your parents had ordered. At least they got your favorite flavor right—chocolate and vanilla swirl. You wait happily beside the rest of the catered food as you eat, hoping that you are just out of reach enough to go unnoticed. The least your birthday party guests could do is leave you alone. 

“Y/N!”

Never mind. 

You look up to the source of the sound and find only your father approaching, all dressed up in a crisp suit from the same tailors that made Jungkook’s. He isn’t wearing a mask and apparently doesn’t need one, since it is your birthday and not his. Not a good enough excuse, in your opinion. 

“Dad,” you say with a smile, wiping away the icing you feel sitting just off the corner of your lips. 

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks heartily, all smiles because he’s always felt rather at home surrounded by this sort of grandeur, almost as much as your mother. No wonder the two of them get along so well. 

“The cake is nice,” you dodge the question. 

“Ah, glad you like it,” he says, helping himself to his own piece. “We were going to get red velvet but then Jungkook reminded us your favorite flavor was the swirly one,” he laughs to himself, like it’s funny that they almost got it wrong. “Had to call the bakery last minute and change it.”

You purse your lips together in a tense smile, fork picking at the crumbs left on your plate. 

“Have you been chatting with your friends?” He asks. 

“Here and there,” you respond. Nobody here, except perhaps Jungkook and Yoongi, would be people you considered friends. Acquaintances at best. And besides, it’s not like you can even identify half of the attendees anyway. “You?” You always do much better when the topic of conversation is not your social life. 

“Ah, yes, of course, you know me,” he jokes, always the aristocrat. “I was just speaking with Mr. Oh about that corporate investment deal that I had been arranging with him.”

“Dad,” you say, exasperated, “You know that I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Y/N,” he says, already beginning to get frustrated. You and him have shared this conversation countless times already. “You aren’t the final decision maker. You know that.”

“Yes, but you value my input, don’t you?” You challenge. He nods tensely. “So listen to me. I don’t think this deal will be good for us. Even though the Oh’s have more money in their investments, they aren’t transparent with it. If you make this deal you won’t know where our money is going.”

“Nonsense,” your father rebukes. “Mr. Oh and I have known each other for years. I trust him. You’re just saying this because you don’t like their son.”

“Sehun has nothing to do with this,” you argue, even if it is true. Your mother had set you up on a blind date with him a couple of years ago and from the moment he walked through the door, you knew it would go south. He’s got the same conceited attitude his father has. “I don’t think it’s a wise business decision.”

“You mustn’t let personal grievances get in the way of your work and you know that,” your father commands sternly, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at you. “What will you do when you are the CEO of Jeon Group? Are you going to let pettiness get in the way of major advancements for the company?”

“No!” You insist, though you are far too gone for your father to believe you. 

“This deal is happening and that’s final, Y/N,” your father declares harshly, eyes narrowed at you. 

“But, Dad—”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you about this,” he directs. “You should know better than to argue with me about this sort of thing. Especially here. Your mother worked very hard on putting this party on for you, and you should be grateful.”

You exhale, incensed. “I am, Dad, but the business means more to me than—”

“Stop. You can’t change my mind.” Your father sets his finished plate down on a cart an arm’s length away, piled high with discarded dishes, glasses and utensils. “Go talk with your friends instead.” You frown at him, nose scrunched up in contempt. He gestures you away from him. “Go.”

Sighing, you wipe away the sweat that has gathered along your temples and go back out into the center of the ballroom, watching begrudgingly as your father steers you from him, having deemed your conversation over even if you weren’t finished talking. It’s obvious that there’s no more getting through to him. Unless all of the Ohs are suddenly arrested for embezzling funds or mail fraud, that deal is happening.

Standing in the middle of the room, you turn around once and you’re immediately lost amongst all of the guests, surrounded by people everywhere you look. You turn back to where your father was standing but he’s vanished, and when you turn the other way, Jungkook has disappeared from beside the grand piano as well. It feels like you’re outnumbered, like you’re trapped in a maze of people with no end in sight, like one wrong move and suddenly they will all turn to look at you, stare you down like camera lenses, relentless flashes of light. Nobody to talk to, nowhere to run. 

You’re stuck. 

Now that you think about it, you sort of always have been. 

The room gets blurrier.

“Hey, are you alright?” A voice asks. 

You feel like you spin around several times before your eyes focus in on the man it belongs to. 

“Here, come on, let’s get out of here.”

Your feet move against your mind’s better judgement, the man ushering you away from the center of the room and out of the crowd. You barely notice the direction he’s taking you in until you feel the cool late night air blow past you, tickling your skin and sending shivers down your spine. 

It’s the balcony.

The glass door shuts behind the two of you, sending a stream of wind against your back as it effectively removes all of the background noise of the party, containing it within the ballroom, leaving the both of you shrouded in the stars’ silence. 

Out here, you have a perfect view of the city. Even though it’s nearing midnight, the lights are still on, coating the town in a twinkling glow, yellow lights flickering on and off, as if someone were looking at the universe from far beyond it. Some parts of the city go to sleep when the sun sets. Others are just waking up. 

Next to you, the man removes his suit jacket and drops it ceremoniously on the floor at his feet, arms resting on the balcony’s railing as he gazes out into the distance. As you look out into the same deep navy sky, it’s almost as if the rest of the night has faded away. You don’t know who he is and you can only hope that he doesn’t know you either, hope that he has rescued you from the crowd to talk you down rather than talk you up. But you don’t miss the way he hasn’t said a word to you since you stepped foot outside, hasn’t dared to initiate contact just in case you were looking for a respite from all of it. 

At this angle, you can turn your head just enough to get a good look at him, at the way half of his face is enveloped in shadow while the other half is letting the moonlight do all of the talking. From here, the light from the full moon is faint, a barely-there silver glow, but it casts him in just enough light to make him seem as though he belongs in a dream. Like he isn’t even real. It highlights the sharpness of his jaw, the peaks of his cheekbones, his round button nose. But what it really makes gleam are his eyes, almost pitch black in the night. They reflect the sky like nothing else, glimmers of faint starlight in an ocean of ink.

Quite frankly, you wouldn’t mind staying like this for the rest of the night. 

“Thank you.” You breathe out the words and immediately feel his gaze jerk sharply towards you. “For getting me out of there.”

“Of course,” he says, and oh, goodness, his voice is thick and warm and comforting, like a fireplace on a cool night, like a blanket after a nightmare. “You just seemed like you needed a break.”

“You could say that,” you say, shrugging to yourself. You could use more than a break. A general pause on life is something you certainly wouldn’t object to—if only it was that easy. But hey, you take what is given to you and never miss an opportunity if you can help it. There’s a lot that you can (and do) complain about but even more than you should be grateful for. Your father was right. This party took a lot of planning on your mother’s part and you spent half of it in the bathroom wishing you were anywhere but here.

“A lot on your plate?” He asks with a smile, a real one, one that isn’t forced like everybody else. Almost like he’s smiling because he’s actually enjoying himself. 

“I feel like it’s endless,” you say, keeping it vague because, as it stands, this gorgeous man does not know who you are, and you would like to keep it that way.

“As is all of life,” he says sagely, almost as if it’s a reminder to himself as well. You wonder what he must have on his mind. You wonder if it’s worth sharing your life with a stranger. “It looked like you had a lot on your mind back in there.” He gestures weakly back towards the door. 

“I have a lot on my mind no matter where I am,” you correct, and you try to make it sound funny but instead it just comes out sounding sad. Normally you wouldn’t be cracking jokes at your expense in front of someone whose name you don’t even know, but you had a couple of drinks tonight and the taste is still fresh on your tongue, sitting alongside all of the words you want to say but don’t know how to. 

The man leaves it at that, not wanting to push any further, but you aren’t finished yet. Someone might as well know how you feel, since you bottle it up around everyone else. 

“Do you ever wish that you could just… I don’t know. Disappear?” You turn to look at him, heaving out a sigh. He doesn’t say anything, simply gazes back at you, like he’s willing you to carry on. It, in a way, worries you. “Ugh. I feel ridiculous saying it out loud.”

There’s a tense, pregnant pause between the two of you. It makes you feel like talking was a mistake. 

“It’s not ridiculous.” It almost sounds like the words are coming from someone else. Like this whole thing is just a figment of your imagination, created by your mind to keep you company because there’s no one else to turn to. 

He’s staring out over the balcony now, waiting for you to continue. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling utterly idiotic, like a fish out of water. “Sometimes I just wish that I could go somewhere else and be someone else and not have to worry about all of the things in my life. Things like my family, and my work. There are so many things that people expect of me. All the time. It feels like I’m living for them instead of myself.”

He nods along, holding back to see if you have anything else to say. You must sound like such an ungrateful little rich girl, you think to yourself. Complaining about this fabulous party and incredible life that you live, a life filled with wealth and grandeur and power, a life that most people dream of having. What will he think of you?

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I probably sound like such a spoiled brat.”

“You don’t,” he immediately assures you, taking a step to his right and closing the gap between you two. “It doesn’t sound like that at all.”

“Then what does it sound like?” You muse to yourself, forcing a laugh. 

“It sounds like you have a lot that you feel like you owe to other people,” he says organically. “You know, like you feel like you have to do all of these things because you can’t let other people down. I get it. I know that everyone nowadays is all, ‘You shouldn’t give a shit about what other people think of you, just do whatever you want,’ but it’s hard not to think about what other people think of you. And what other people expect from you. Letting them down sucks.”

You chuckle. Sounds about right. You may not be completely satisfied with your life right now but that doesn’t mean you’re going to fling your responsibilities onto the shoulders’ of other people. Your father works hard, your mother works hard, your brother works hard. The least you could do for them is offer up the same diligence.

“You’re quite the smooth talker,” you joke, looking him up and down and nodding your approval. He’s definitely figured you out, at least. 

“I’m just a people person,” the man admits. “I like talking with people.”

“And here I was, thinking that I’d be confessing my secrets to a brick wall,” you say, making him crack a smile, another real one. You like the look of them. A part of you wants to do it more often. 

“Secrets, huh?” He asks, sliding another inch closer, daringly so, teetering on the edge of territory that you haven’t touched in years. “I like the sound of that. Got any more for me?”

You smirk up at him, a grin playing on your lips. “Only if you have one for me in return. No freebies.”

He laughs, loud and clear, the sound ringing out in the nighttime air. “Alright,” he says, obliging. He leans in close, lips hovering above your ear. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

You’ve been listening to compliments all night but this one makes the heat rush to your cheeks like nothing else, a fire set alight in your veins. 

“That’s a secret, is it?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy, looking all around you just so you don’t have to look him in his eyes and feel your legs turn to jelly. 

“Not anymore,” he reminds you. “What about you? Anything else to share with me?” He’s standing dangerously close to you now, barely half a foot of space between your bodies as he leans into you, hands hovering above your waist. 

Slowly he begins to tilt his head towards you, and while you’ve never been one for dramatics, you have to admit that you haven’t felt this way since your schoolgirl crush days back when you were a teenager, giddy and electric and desperately craving more. 

You watch as his lips flutter above yours, feel transparent underneath his steel gaze, and you say, “I think you’re gorgeous, too.”

The fireworks thing had always been over the top for you. Like it was impossible for a kiss to feel that explosive to anyone, setting you alight over and over and over again. But his lips pressed against yours come pretty damn close. It makes your whole body go weak, like you can barely hold yourself up, hands clutching onto his sleeves just to make sure you don’t go topping off the balcony. He kisses you and you swear that you would never do this sort of thing normally—go about your romantic interests like a professional, a couple of dates and then perhaps a kiss on your doorstep—but goddamn, it feels like you might just give up everything for him. It feels like there are sparks running all across your skin, sending jolts of life into your heart. It feels like he is someone you are going to miss.

It lasts too long and ends too quickly all at once. You distantly hear the party celebrate the clock striking twelve indoors, cheers and screams and shouts as people rally themselves to continue long after the mark of a new day, and feel him pull away from you at the very same instant. Shamelessly, you instinctively reach up to try and meet his lips again, refusing to believe it’s over, but already he’s separating himself from you. 

“Hey, what’s wrong—?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing, I promise,” the man says, the words barely registering in your kiss-drunk haze. He scoops up his jacket from the floor and immediately begins to head back inside. “I just have to go, really. It’s nothing.”

You freeze, mouth agape. “Wait, I don’t even know your—”

“It was really nice meeting you, I hope that we can see each other again!” He pulls open the door with one final grin, one beautiful, brilliant smile, and then suddenly, he’s gone. 

You feel the rush of wind blow against your skin, holding you hostage on the balcony as you stare at the closed door, almost like he had never been here at all. 

It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. He was real, and he was here, and then he was right in front of you, his hands were on your waist, his lips were on your lips. And still, it’s almost as if it never even happened. 

You blink back at the door, trying to convince yourself that you are still awake, that you haven’t gone mad with loneliness, when you feel yourself step on something. 

It’s his mask. A plain, black one with a couple of decorative touches. The string meant to secure it to his face is broken, having probably snapped in half in his rush to leave, leaving it as the only reminder that you didn’t dream up the entire ordeal to begin with. 

You reach down to pick it up, letting it rest between your fingertips, and you laugh. Here you are, having fallen for a man whose name you don’t know and whom you don’t think you’ll ever see again, the only piece left you have of him being a broken, forgotten masquerade mask. Like the worst rendition of Cinderella ever. 

Leaning back over the balcony, you sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that even if tonight was more eventful than you thought it would be, you will have to get up tomorrow morning and go to work, just the same. 

And you suppose that that really is what the man was talking about when he said life was endless. 

It’s not that it has no end. It’s just that it doesn’t really feel like you’re ever beginning something new. 

You wake up in a cold sweat and are convinced you dreamt of the whole thing until you see the mask sitting on your chest of drawers, grounding you back to reality. 

You wonder what it is about him, about last night, that so easily deceives you into thinking it never happened. Perhaps it was the time, or the alcohol on your tongue, or how storybook the whole thing felt, from the talking to the kissing to the disappearing into the night. Or perhaps it was the fact that you can’t remember the last time someone made you feel the way that he made you feel, can’t remember the last time someone kissed you like he did. Like your brain was convinced it would just never happen. 

At least you know that there’s still a little hope for you.

A part of you almost thinks that, for the rest of time, you won’t be able to think of anything but the mystery man and his excellent kissing skills. Even the morning after, the tingling feeling on your lips still lingers like lint on a blazer, like a scar that won’t fade. It feels like it won’t ever go away, dancing along your lips every time you look in a mirror. You hardly remember anything else about that night besides him, besides talking to him, besides his lips on yours. 

You continue to live in this post-kiss bliss for another ten minutes as you help yourself to breakfast and hum a mindless tune. Then your phone lights up. 

“Hey, Dad!” You say cheerfully, practically bouncing on your feet. 

“Y/N,” he says gruffly. “You haven’t left for work yet, have you?”

“Nope,” you say, stuffing a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into your mouth. “Why? Do you need me to bring something?”

“Actually, Y/N, you won’t be coming to the office today.” His tone is stern and sharp, no-nonsense. The same way he speaks to interns who have fucked up. 

Oh, no. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, trying to keep your tone positive even though you already know you’re toast. 

“I’m assigning you to watch over the new resort hotel at the edge of the city.” Your father has never been known to beat around the bush. 

“What?” You gasp out, shocked. “Dad, you know that I—”

“You wanted more independence and more input in decision-making, didn’t you?” He says pointedly, a reminder of last night.

“Yes, but I—”

“Good,” he declares. “This resort is going to be your responsibility and I want to see that you are doing well with the tasks at hand.”

“Dad, that sounds good, but you know I much prefer more corporate responsibilities—”

“And at this resort, you will have that,” he informs you. “It’s high time you take on your own tasks instead of doing the ones that I hand down to you. I expect to see this resort flourish.” You don’t understand his logic. Isn’t he literally handing you an entire resort to oversee? A brand new one, too?

“But wouldn’t you rather manage such a new hotel? What if it starts to encounter deficits?” You plead, a final attempt to get him to take your name off of this project so you can go back to doing what you’re used to instead of being flung a brand new resort you definitely aren’t keen on overseeing. 

“Then I should hope to see you solve them quickly,” he clips, effectively dissolving any hope you had that he would change his mind. Normally, you love your father’s typical hands-off approach when it comes to business, usually because it allows you to gain working experience without him carrying you every step of the way, but right now, you just wish he was more of a selfish businessman. For once, it would actually work out quite well for you. 

“Dad—”

“I’ll be checking in.”

He hangs up. 

Standing in the middle of your kitchen, you huff, nose scrunched up and eyebrows furrow as you try to think your way out of this. Getting through to your father is impossible, getting through to your mother, even more so. She’s always preferred to stick to philanthropy, anyway, having zero interest in what you and your father do. You scowl to yourself, already beginning to run out of options. Is your list really that short? Who else in your family could help?

Suddenly, you smack your head, shocked at how forgetful you’ve been. You grab your phone from where it sits on the counter and dial his number. 

“Y/N?” Jungkook asks from the other end, voice still groggy. At least he gets to sleep in. 

“Hey, Jungkook,” you say, sighing out your hello to sound more casual. 

“What’s up?” He asks in between yawns. 

“Listen, Dad just assigned me to oversee that new resort hotel on the beach just outside of town,” you say economically. You’ve always gotten straight to the point with your brother. It’s the only reason the two of you aren’t constantly at each other’s necks anymore. 

“Really? That’s awesome!” Jungkook says excitedly, voice jumping up half an octave. 

“I mean…” You begin, because it’s really… not.

“This probably means that Dad’s going to retire soon, don’t you think? Since he’s giving you such a big responsibility, right?” Jungkook asks, a suggestion that nearly sends you into a coughing fit at the mere thought of it. Retirement?

“You think so?” You ask, a little terrified. 

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, and you can hear his nonchalant shrug through the phone. “Maybe. He has been talking a lot recently about what’s going to happen when you take over the company.”

“Don’t you want that same responsibility, though?” Jungkook has never been treated as a business equal the same way you have, despite having the same expensive education as you and being much better with people. You’ve always wondered if that’s bothered him. 

“Not really,” Jungkook tells you, and you can hear the familiar log-in sound of his computer in the background. “I mean, I’ve always known you were going to inherit the company. This sort of thing just makes sense to me.”

You frown to yourself. “You don’t want to be involved with the business at all?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Jungkook says with a sigh, voice still groggy. “I’m happy that I’m getting the work experience and everything. But it’s just never something I’ve seen as part of my future.”

Mostly because it’s always been yours. 

The fact of the matter is that Jungkook, even if he is younger, and a little more rambunctious, and a little bit more impulsive, has always been the better candidate to take over the family business. He excels at task-driven jobs and has charmed the pants off of everyone he’s ever met, from Yoongi to your florist to the nice woman at the customer service counter at your local grocery store. He’s a quick decision-maker and never second-guesses himself. He also has zero problems with his love life and potential partners, something that your parents are desperate for you to figure out. He’s perfect for the position. 

So why are you the heir?

“What, are you just going to livestream video games for a living, then?” You ask snarkily, already knowing that he’s sat at his desk, ready for another match. 

“Probably. I could probably double the family’s fortune, you know,” he says, and he’s right. What he does is equally as profitable as what you do, and he gets bonus points because it’s something that he genuinely enjoys. 

“You better get started then, gamer boy,” you say, hearing his bubbly laugh echo through the phone before you hang up. 

Jungkook would take over the resort hotel management if you asked, and you know it. He’s got the experience and the expertise to do it flawlessly, no questions asked. But he won’t, because you won’t ask that of him. Because even if you don’t want to do it, it is better you than him. Someone in this family deserves to do what they love for a living. And nobody deserves that more than him. 

The Honey Nut Cheerios slosh around in the milk in the bowl in front of you. You aren’t very hungry anymore. 

Your father has always had an eye for design, a trait he never seemed to pass on to you. It’s no wonder why he’s the one the architectures and interior decorators run everything by while you manage the finances. It’s something your mother always says she loves about him. So, even if you are assigned to oversee a resort hotel that you have zero interest in whatsoever, at least it looks nice. 

“Whoa, this place is fancy,” Hoseok says, gasping as the two of you step out of the car beneath the golden awning that covers the hotel entrance. There are little lights lining the structure, something to bathe the canopy in a sparkling glow when the sun says goodbye for the day, light it up like stars in the night sky. 

“You’ve been to my house, this is nothing,” you say with a shrug, making him laugh as the doors open for you, carpet plush and hardly touched. From what you read in the file your father sent you, this place hasn’t been open for more than two weeks. 

It looks like it’s barely been occupied. 

The security guard, a gruff, stout man, nods a hello to you as you enter. 

“Uh, your house doesn’t have security guards,” Hoseok whispers into your ear as you pass him, pointing rather conspicuously to the man behind you. “Your dad really went all out on this one.”

You huff, gritting your teeth. Good thing it’s not an eyesore, otherwise you don’t think you’d last a week here. “Well, he’s always loved the beach.” 

“Why does that not surprise me,” Hoseok lilts, whistling as he gazes away from you, guilty. 

You smack him with the back of your hand in the middle of his torso. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he says, backing off even though he knows he’s the only person (well, besides Jungkook) who can get away with saying that sort of thing in front of you. “You two have always been polar opposites, I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, well, say it in your head,” you sulk, hitting him again so that he straightens up. You both have a duty to make a good first impression, though Hoseok’s red suit is doing half of the work for him. 

As you enter, all of the staff behind the desk scramble to get to their positions, hands together neatly in front of them as you peer over your wire-rimmed glasses to get a good look at the place. It’s clean, elegant, with touches of luxury here and there, a golden coffee table, an accent along the lining of the walls. It smells faintly of lemon and mostly of the ocean, a scent you are going to have to get used to. Everything seems to be in order. 

You stroll up the front desk, eyeing everything closely. Behind it, the three employees currently on front-desk duty wait patiently for you to speak. Their names are written in capital letters on gold-plated tags, pinned to the pockets of their blazers. You nod as you memorize their names. Irene, Seohyun, and Seokjin. 

Seokjin looks positively wide-eyed, flabbergasted to be seeing you, to be standing in front of you. There’s this faint sort of recognition on his face, like he’s just realized something life-altering, and he’s doing a rather poor job of hiding it. Perhaps he’s just starstruck.

“Well, we might as well get the introductions over with,” you declare, clapping your hands together. The sound makes the three of them jump. “If you didn’t know, I’m Y/N, and I’ll be overseeing this hotel for the foreseeable future. So let’s get along well together. For all of our sakes.”

They nod, polite smiles on their faces. 

“Which one of you is the hotelier?” You ask, looking between the three of them. Your father had written it down in that file somewhere but quite frankly, you were so exasperated that you had been assigned the hotel that you hadn’t really looked it over properly. 

“That would be me,” the man, Seokjin, says with a tense, small little grin, nodding his head when you turn to face him. He looks strikingly familiar, this sort of picturesque nostalgia that you can’t quite place, angles sharp in the bright light of the hotel. You wonder where you’ve seen it before. Possibly in some magazine or at an event. He certainly is worthy of being photographed. 

“Excellent,” you declare happily. “Then you’re on my staff, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I just received word about that last night,” he affirms. 

“Wonderful,” you say, fingers tapping against the granite countertops. “I can tell that this will all go smoothly, so long as we all make sure to stay on task. Sounds good?”

“Of course, Miss Jeon,” Seokjin says. 

“Please, call me Y/N. I do hate formalities,” you request. “So, shall we get started? I trust that you all know exactly what you’re doing. But I would like to receive a few updates here and there about the goings-on here. Mostly, I would like all total daily income numbers to be faxed to my office, transcripts of all of the customer service requests, and an updated menu. The pizza is far too cheap and the lobster just as expensive. How’s that for a starting list?”

“Would you like those numbers in an Excel sheet or graphed?” Irene asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Both,” you answer. She and Seohyun get right to work, leaving you feeling confident that this won’t be a complete train wreck. “Seokjin, you are with me.” You gesture for him to come out from behind the desk, and begin to walk around the lobby of the hotel, hoping to put some distance between you two and the other employees. He stays a solid two feet behind you the entire time, taking quick, short steps so he doesn’t dare start to catch up. 

“How can I help, Miss Jeon?” He asks, eyes wide.

You smile, shaking your head. “I told you that Y/N is fine. In any case, since you are the hotelier, I will need a little more from you.” He nods. “First, I need a summary of all expenses and income since you opened, preferably in Excel and formatted cleanly. I’ll also need a list of all of the employees, their respective positions, and their salaries. It would be great if we could begin to eliminate the part-time slots and allow the employees to become full-time so that they receive the same benefits as you and I. I’ll also need information on their schedules.” 

You notice he isn’t writing any of this down, simply bobbing his head as you lift off everything you want and a few things that you’re throwing in just so you don’t have to do them. 

“I assume that you don’t have constant contact with my father, but I don’t mind being the messenger in regards to hotel infrastructure and design. Any and all malfunctions should also be reported to me. It would also be great if we could maybe lose the curtains in the lobby. I think they close up the room. But, your choice.” You narrow your eyes, looking around to see if there’s anything else that needs urgent attention, when you see Hoseok already beginning to hunt through the concessions room, picking up bags of different themed Jelly Belly. “I think that should be enough for now. Update me whenever possible, please.”

“You got it,” Seokjin says, heading back to the desk as quickly as he had walked away from it, concentration washing over his features. It does, at least, bring you comfort that nobody seems particularly incompetent. 

Behind you, you can hear Hoseok muttering a few things at the front desk, most likely having to do with you and your attitude. But you don’t think it’s that big of a deal. You’ve always been work-oriented. It’s always been your biggest focus. Lingering in the lobby, you gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the entrance, the slick, newly-paved asphalt, the tropical flowers that surround it. You have always preferred a city to a beach, but at least the time might pass quicker here with people who know how to do their jobs.

Perhaps this might not be so bad after all. 

Then, your phone vibrates in your pants pocket. 

“Mom,” you greet, surprised that she’s calling you during work. “Hey, how are you?”

“Wonderful!” She shrieks, always the energizer. “Your father told me all about how he assigned you to oversee that new resort. I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks,” you respond, lifeless. 

“You know, you have a lot of responsibility now,” she reminds you, as if you had already forgotten how much work goes into supervising something like this. “Directing a hotel and its staff is a big deal. I don’t want you to think that you can just slack off.”

“Mom, I’m not going to slack off,” you explain. “You know I care about this stuff, just like Dad.”

“I know, I know, I’m just making sure. We want to make sure the company is in good hands when your father retires. He doesn’t have too many years left, you know.”

“Well, whenever he’s ready, I’ll be too,” you assure her, a promise you have vowed to uphold, no matter what becomes of you or your social life. 

“Good.” The conversation ends there. Or, more takes a quick pause, which can only mean one thing. Your mother has something else she needs to tell you. “Speaking of seeing you off…”

“Yes—?”

“Your father and I both think it’s high time you start to settle down with someone. You know we don’t want to see you end up all alone,” she begins, the same argument that you’ve had with your parents time and time again. 

“Mom, you know that I’m not really interested in going out and finding people right now.” Or ever. 

“Yes,” she begins, sucking in her breath between her teeth. Oh, goodness, what’s she going to say now? “But luckily, you don’t have to. You’re so busy, we can’t expect you to just drop everything. So we did.”

“You what?”

“Your father and I have set you up on some dates—just a couple!—with some of his associates’ sons,” she explains, but you are already livid. “We just think that you should be taking more time to see—”

“See what?” You demand. “See his friends’ bratty sons tell me how much money they make? See their cars and their clothes and their stupid Italian leather shoes? See them tell me how I work too hard and that I should just stay at home while they go out and change the world? No thank you.” You can’t name a thing in this world less appealing. Except perhaps supervising a resort hotel against your will. But even that’s better, because the men here actually know what they’re doing.

“Honey, you just aren’t giving them the opportunity—”

“Mom, they don’t deserve an opportunity. I don’t need to be dating people right now. At all!” You exclaim. “Like you said, I’m busy. If Dad is going to retire soon then I need to be ready for it. I have other priorities.”

“Your happiness is our priority,” your mother insists, convinced she’s doing you a good deed by setting you up on blind dates with rich men who care more about their watches and Italian leather shoes than they would a woman. 

“Working makes me happy,” you say between gritted teeth. “I’m perfectly happy as I am.”

“Will you please just give them a try, honey? You never know,” she pleads, desperate to get you to agree with something.

“Fine,” you say, caving in just to get her to stop talking about it. “But don’t expect anything out of it.”

“Yay! That’s all I wanted to hear.” You can hear her relief through the phone. 

“Anything else?” You ask, rubbing at your temples, wishing desperately for this day to be over so you can just go home and take a nice, hot bath, and dream about the mystery man in his black masquerade mask. You’re not interested in dating, sure, but for him, you think you'd make an exception. If only you knew who he was. 

“That’s it. Love you, honey, congratulations on the new resort!” She hangs up in that same voice that she started with, bubbly and animated, and the moment you hear the line go dead, you throw your dignity to the dogs and groan to yourself. 

“God almighty,” you mutter angrily, shaking your head as you rest your head in your hands, fingers massaging at your forehead. Another blind date? How could you possibly have agreed to that? The more you think about the more you wish that this part of your life was the dream instead. Fairytales are overrated but quite frankly, you certainly wouldn’t mind if that man from the party waltzed right into your life and swept you off your feet. He certainly had no trouble doing it last night. You wonder what he’s up to, now—

“Miss Jeon?”

You jump at the voice, scaring both you and Seokjin as you turn, a little cry escaping your lips instinctively. “Oh my God, you frightened me. And please, Y/N is fine. Better, actually.”

Seokjin looks like a deer in headlights, terrified to even talk to you, let alone address you by your first name. You appreciate the professionalism but have never been too fond of the whole ‘Miss’ thing. As if you or your parents need any more reminding that you’re single. Your first name feels much more natural. He flounders twice, opening his mouth to say something before shutting it again, as though whatever he says will suddenly enrage you. 

“Do you… need anything, Seokjin?” You ask, prompting him since he doesn’t seem to be taking matters into his own hands. 

The sound of his name from your lips snaps him out of his daze. “Oh! Yes, I do, actually. I just wanted to ask if you wanted me to include personal expenses on the part of the hotelier in the Excel sheet.”

“Personal expenses? Did you receive a credit from my father?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in surprise. 

“Yes, it was mailed to me just last week. I’ve only used it for a couple of items, though—”

“Like what?” You ask, head tilted. 

He blushes red, cheeks rosy like cherries in summer. “The curtains in the lobby.”

You bark out a laugh, amused at how unexpected this whole thing is. The one thing Seokjin spends money on, you instruct him to take down. At the sound of your chortle, Seokjin backs away, like a cat scared of thunder claps. “Of course,” you say, looking up at the sky and exhaling. Fate. “Please include those.” He nods, already making to scurry back to the front desk, but another sentence from your mouth stops him in his tracks. “Oh, and if you think that the curtains look nice, then leave them. I was never good at interior design anyway.”

You crack a smile, hoping that Seokjin will at least recognize that you’re attempting to be funny and grin, validating you and your lacking sense of humor. He doesn’t, but he does nod once more, and you at least feel like the ice between you is beginning to crack. 

Seokjin rushes back towards the front desk, taking on the enormous list of tasks you’ve assigned him without so much blinking an eye. You watch as his eyebrows furrow in concentration, knitting themselves together above the scrunch of his nose, as his eyes zero in on his computer screen. It’s obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing and has no issues regarding his work whatsoever. Good thing he’s the hotelier. 

From here, you can use supervision as a cover for the way that you are blatantly ogling him, his figure and his face, finding yourself rather impressed at the sight in front of you. Here, in this lavish, modern hotel, he looks like a prince rather than a manager, clean button-down shirt and fitted slacks, tailored to fit his short torso and long legs. His hair hangs in front of his face in strands, the same sort of hairstyle that the attractive male love interests get, messy and tousled but still fresh. It looks good on him. He certainly wears it well. 

You don’t think being here will be too bad, so long as you have him. 

“Hey.” You feel Hoseok wrap his arm around you, joining you as you stand by the windows. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you promise. “I am.”

Hoseok motions back towards them, where they work diligently behind the front desk as they wait for the next guests to arrive. Seokjin, thinking you aren’t looking, steps back from his computer for just a moment to take some breaths, catch some air. He stretches, arms above his head as his shirt is pulled out from where it’s tucked into his pants. Even from here, you can see the toned lines of his torso, his healthy, slim figure. 

Something about him is so familiar. Maybe you met him in a past life. 

“I think you’ll be fine, Y/N,” he promises, bright white smile gazing back at you, happy as always. “You don’t have anything to worry about. They all look like they know what they’re doing. Especially that Seokjin guy.”

Being here wasn’t your first choice. It wasn’t even your second. But you have people that you can’t let down, and responsibilities to uphold. Besides, you don’t think it’ll be that bad. At least, not with someone like Seokjin around. Perhaps there is always a silver lining. 

“Yeah,” you repeat again, exhaling. Hoseok turns to look at you, fondness lacing his features, and you smile to yourself. “I know.”

Very seldom are you shouted at by people that your family has employed. The fear of being fired due to disagreeing with your boss is enough to keep many people quiet. Submissive, even. 

But not Hoseok. 

“What is with these eye bags, Y/N?” He exclaims at you, exasperated as he picks up the color-correcting pot from his kit and turns around to face you. “I thought we agreed on eight hours of sleep per night. Getting less than that is a death sentence!”

“I’m fine, Hoseok,” you insist, even though the bags underneath your eyes are deeper than the Grand Canyon. You, admittedly, have not been sleeping as much as Hoseok has insisted upon. 

“No, you’re not, look at you! Earlier today you shoved your toothbrush into your ear when I called you while you were about to start brushing your teeth,” Hoseok reminds you, an embarrassing moment in your life that you would prefer to keep just between the two of you. Sometimes you just mix up what’s in your hands. It happens. 

You frown. “I thought we agreed not to mention that.”

“Your skin is looking dry, too,” Hoseok says, dabbing on the product underneath your eyes. “These are all signs that your body isn’t doing well.”

“Okay, Dr. Jung,” you say with a roll of your eyes, making Hoseok scowl playfully at you. “But I’m fine. I’m just working a little bit harder right now. That’s all.”

“That’s what you always say,” Hoseok points out, unimpressed with your measly excuse. “Every time I talk to you about how you aren’t taking care of yourself, you always go, ‘It’s because of work, I’m fine,’ or ‘Don’t worry about me, I just have a lot to do right now.’ It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t sound like that!” You object, offended at his mocking high-pitched impression of you. You don’t sound like Hoseok on helium. You refuse to accept that. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hoseok says, shrugging you off as he pulls out the concealer. “I’m serious, Y/N. You work yourself way too hard. This event is supposed to be a fun business gala and you’re probably going to spend the whole time checking your email.”

“I will not!” You will.

Hoseok frowns, seeing right through you. One of the many benefits of being your personal assistant is the fact that he can read you like a children’s book. He also knows that he can say whatever he wants to you without fear of getting fired—not that he cares about that, either, because he’s probably got enough money in his bank account to put three kids through college. If he ever wanted to have kids, that is. So this is how conversations like these usually go. 

“If I didn’t like your live text updates on the stupid things people wear to these things so much, I would make you leave your phone at home,” Hoseok tells you. “You really do need to take time for yourself.”

“I do take time for myself,” you rebuke with a pout, thinking about how you’ve started waking up five minutes later so you have more time to sleep in. It means that you don’t get to read the morning news like you used to, but sometimes putting off politics until after you’ve had coffee is a good thing. 

“A once-a-month ten-minute bath while you put on a rose face mask doesn’t count,” Hoseok tells you pointedly. “You need to be incorporating this sort of thing into your everyday life. By taking time off. All you ever do is work.”

“It’s not my fault,” you huff, closing your eyes so Hoseok can do some eyeshadow. “I have a whole hotel to oversee after my dad assigned it to me. There’s a lot that I have to manage. Plus, my mom is making me go on these stupid blind dates with their associates’ snobby sons who still think that the pay gap isn’t real.”

Hoseok tuts to himself, shaking his head as he brushes color onto your eyelids. “Your parents have such bad taste in men for you.”

“I know!” 

“This is even further proof that you need to relax more,” Hoseok says economically, brain immediately connecting your predicament to his agenda to get you to take more time off, as always. “Because men stress you out.”

“Just them, but yes,” you correct.

“What do you mean ‘Just them’? Is there someone you’re interested in that doesn’t stress you out?” Hoseok demands, tapping your cheek to get you to open your eyes. You do and the first thing you see is Hoseok’s face, two inches from yours, staring at you as he waits for an answer.

You sigh. You might as well tell him about the mystery man. Clearly, you underestimated his power, because it’s been a week and you’re still thinking about him. “Yes, but—”

“‘Yes’?” Hoseok asks, shocked. “What the fuck, when did you meet him? What does he look like? What’s his name? Job? Is he rich?”

“At my birthday party,” you say. You can picture the scene perfectly in your mind. The balcony, the stars, the mask. The feeling of his hands on your waist, his lips on yours. They’ve been etched into your brain. “We talked on the balcony for a little while and then we kissed.”

“You what?”

“Don’t overreact, it’s not that big of a deal,” you order. The mere recollection of it is already making your body restless and your cheeks burn.

“What do you mean? It’s a huge deal!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” you interrupt, sighing to yourself, “because he ran off at midnight Cinderella-style and I don’t know his name, or his job, or even what he really looks like because he was wearing a mask the whole time.”

Hoseok stops dead in his tracks, the loose power leaving a puff of smoke in between the two of you as his words sink in. Yeah. That’s how you feel too. You finally develop an interest in somebody after years of going it solo and you don’t know a damn thing about him. Other than the fact that he is a fantastic kisser. Which is not an appropriate identifier. You suppose that you could use the mask, but you don’t even know half of the people your mother invited. How are you supposed to narrow down who was wearing a black mask and who wasn’t?

The fact is that unless a miracle happens, you don’t have any way of figuring out who that man is. Yet another thing that you have to dwell on while you worry about everything else going on in your life. 

Hoseok sits on his words for a few more moments, trying to figure out the right thing to say. Eventually, he settles on, “Damn. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you do anything to find him?”

You shake your head, resigning yourself to a life where the mystery man will forever remain a mystery. “No. I don’t even know who was on the guest list.”

“What if you ask Jungkook?” Hoseok poses. “Maybe he knows him.”

“Jungkook does not need to know about my barely-there love life,” you say with a self-deprecating chuckle. You and your brother typically keep your conversations far away from that realm of topics, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Jungkook is rather flush with admirers. Many of whom have gotten to know him a little bit… closer. “It’s no big deal, ‘Seok. I’m not really desperate to find love. I just need to focus on work, right now.”

“I wish you wouldn’t work yourself so hard, Y/N,” Hoseok says with a melancholic smile, knowing that no matter what he tells you, you’ll always be too determined for your own good. At least he tries. 

You purse your lips in understanding. Hoseok just wants what’s best for you, but what’s best for you right now is being ready for your father’s impending retirement. “There’s just too much that I have to do.”

“At least you’ll have help with the resort,” Hoseok offers, always looking on the bright side. “That Seokjin fellow seems like he really knows what he’s doing.”

You think back to your visits to the resort. Your longest stay was the first day you arrived, but you’ve been making frequent trips back to check in. And every time you arrive, Seokjin is waiting dutifully for your next orders, always getting your completed requests back to you on time, formatted perfectly. He listens to your every word and asks the right questions. He knows exactly what to do and he has no problems admitting when he doesn’t. He’s even started bringing you the occasional coffee.

He’s also terribly handsome, but you try to think about other things when you look at him. 

Hoseok’s right. At least you have Seokjin. His impeccable work ethic is half the reason you aren’t wearing yourself thin worrying about the resort. He was definitely meant to be a hotelier. 

“I guess you’re right.” You nod, letting Hoseok brush a deep maroon lipstick onto you as he finishes up with your makeup. “It could be worse.”

Hoseok mumbles in agreement, stepping back. “Let me look at you.”

You stand up, gown, heels, makeup, and all, letting Hoseok gaze at you to make sure that everything is flawless. You’ve never liked the events you have to attend, but getting dressed up is always something you rather enjoy. Especially when Hoseok is the one doing it. 

The dress drapes down your figure perfectly, hugging your sides as it gathers on the floor, leaving just enough space for the tips of your heels to peek out. Your necklace hangs low on your torso and your earrings dangle, soft golden strings with gems at the base. Your eyes sparkle with the help of the glitter that Hoseok has added, touches of shimmer on the high points of your face. You look into the mirror and for once, you feel satisfied.

“Wow,” Hoseok says, proud and beaming. “Look at you.”

There you are. 

Days at the resort hotel pass by faster now. 

Granted, no work day could ever top the speed at which the days passed when you were younger, playing outside with friends or running around in the yard during recess. But being here isn’t as terrible as you had first made it out to be. At least you don’t have your father constantly looking over your shoulder, even if he does call you every day to ask for updates. And at least the people here have integrity, more so than any of the usual executives you work with up in the central building in town. The people here aren’t brown-nosing you every minute of every day. 

And yes, getting to see Seokjin every day is also rather enjoyable. From a professional perspective. 

Hoseok says you need to take more time for yourself and relax more but quite frankly, being at the resort hotel is a vacation. It’s a respite from the hustle-and-bustle culture that your father has cultivated in his office building. It’s a break from the neverending business deals, the meetings, the agreements and bargains and contracts. And most importantly, it’s something that you can do without your father’s help. 

For once, it almost feels like a little taste of freedom. 

Of course, Hoseok would also tease you terribly about the fact that you consider overseeing a resort hotel a break, as opposed to an actual holiday where you take real time off. But he must know that that’s never going to happen. At least, not anytime soon. 

You hadn’t realized your father’s retirement was so close. The years pass by in a blur but you have always thought that your father has much too much to finish, tasks and projects, and events that will take another few years to come to fruition. Too many loose ends that he needs to tie up, deals he must close and finances he must track. You’ve been groomed to take over for him since you were young, even before you graduated, but retirement has always felt like a distant future. 

Not an imminent happening. 

Jungkook hadn’t even sounded surprised when you told him that you would be overseeing the new resort. 

You wonder if you’re the only one in your family who hadn’t expected your father to be planning his retirement so soon. The money and savings isn’t an issue—he will continue to invest long after he leaves his office—but the time is. Perhaps he has finished more than you thought he would. Accomplished more goals than you expected he’d do. 

Or perhaps, you just grew up too quickly. 

Time has always gone by much too fast for your liking. When you were little, when you were in school, when you graduated. You closed your eyes and suddenly all of your youth had whizzed by. You woke up and suddenly you were in and out of four years of college and two years of a Master’s in business. You blinked and suddenly you are about to inherit a company you thought you never would. 

The fear of everything ending is enough to keep you away. Away from that skyscraper in the center of the city, where your father’s office sits at the top floor, where he works nonstop to make sure that everything is ready for your arrival. Away from a future you thought you could avoid, until it reached you. 

Having this resort hotel, a brand new building in the beachy part of town, with efficient, competent staff and a gorgeous view, is enough to make you want to live in the past forever. 

Your phone screen lights up with your father’s contact for the third time today, the green ‘answer’ button and the red ‘decline’ button waiting patiently for your decision. Staring down at it, you frown. You normally aren’t one to purposely miss your father’s calls, but today is the day that the deal with the Ohs is finalized, something that you have zero desire to celebrate. 

After a few more moments, your phone stops vibrating in your hand, the screen going back. You roll your eyes and stuff it into the pocket of your pants, not wanting to wait for it to light up once more. You have a feeling that your mother will be phoning shortly to berate you for not answering your father’s calls, a call that you have every intention of ignoring just like the previous ones. You aren’t sure how to make clearer the fact that you think the deal is a bad idea. A terrible one, even. Mostly because the Ohs are horrible people.

Still, you cannot resist pulling your phone out when you feel it buzz against your side.

[Today, 12:27PM]

Jungkook: dude dad’s flipping out because you aren’t answering his calls

Ugh. Not Jungkook, too.

You: Tell him that I will congratulate him on the deal in person later. You: I’m busy right now.

Jungkook: he’s calling just to check in on the resort

You: I give him weekly updates and forward him any pressing news. He’ll manage.

Jungkook: just call him or mom’s gonna call you

You: Tell her that I will congratulate him on the deal in person. You: Later.

Jungkook: are you gonna be like this until dad retires?

You: Like what?

Jungkook: -_- Jungkook: don’t play stupid Jungkook: you’re being stubborn and you know it.

You: Dad already knows that I didn’t approve of him going through with the deal. I don’t imagine he’s expecting a party from me.

Jungkook: you can’t keep ignoring him just because you didn’t approve of one thing Jungkook: how is that professional???? Jungkook: you’re inheriting the business soon Y/N Jungkook: you need to start acting like it

You: Don’t tell me how to act when you aren’t the one busting your ass trying to make sure the business is ready for when he retires. You: You have your own life to lead and your own things to do. It’s not your place.

Jungkook: as a businessman, it isn’t Jungkook: as your brother, it is

You scowl at your screen. The brother card. Jungkook pulls it whenever he and you both know that you’re being unreasonable, and the worst part is that it always works. It always works because Jungkook only ever wants the best for you, wants to see you succeed as a businesswoman, as a future CEO, and as his sister. And who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?

You: I just have a lot on my plate right now. Dad and I can talk later.

Jungkook: yknow Jungkook: like, occupationally, you are more than ready to inherit the company and you know it. Jungkook: you work so hard 24/7 and you never take breaks, you know exactly what you’re doing and you can command a room better than anyone i’ve ever met Jungkook: but Jungkook: oh idk

You: What?

An impromptu psychoanalysis from your wise-beyond-years younger brother is certainly not something you had been expecting today. But Jungkook always has and always will know you better than anyone else, something that is both a blessing and a curse.

Jungkook: you are so fucking ready to inherit the business Jungkook: i just wish you would realize it

Silence. You pause, watching the three dots appear and disappear over and over again, Jungkook typing and deleting what next he wants to say. Chuckling to yourself, you read his message over and over again. 

What’s Jungkook on about? Doesn’t he know what you do? The position you have? Just because you’ll eventually take over the business doesn’t mean you’re ready for it. Isn’t Jungkook aware of how much work you have to do? About how your father assigned you this resort hotel as punishment for disagreeing with him? 

You aren’t ready. 

You’re barely halfway. 

You: Yeah, right.

Jungkook: i’m serious Y/N Jungkook: can’t you see how prepared you are

You: I still have lots to do, Jungkook. Just because I’ve been given more responsibility doesn’t suddenly mean Dad’s going to retire tomorrow and that I’m ready to take over.

Jungkook: that’s not what i meant and you know it

You: I don’t feel like talking about this anymore. Tell Dad that I’ll talk to him about the deal later. 

Jungkook: … Jungkook: fine Jungkook: but don’t say i didn’t try to tell you

You angrily switch your phone off, fuming at the fact that the deal’s gone through, fuming at how Jungkook thinks that suddenly because you were given a resort hotel to oversee it means that you’re ready to take over from your father, and fuming at how, above all, there’s a part of you and a part of Jungkook that both know that he is, as usual, right. 

There’s a knock on the door to your makeshift office at the hotel and you lose it. 

“What?” 

You look up just in time to see Seokjin jump slightly at your shout, coffee sloshing around in the cups in his hand. Ah. You hadn’t meant to scare him like that. 

Exhaling, you rub at your temples as you set your phone down on the desk, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Seokjin. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Please, come in.”

“Coffee?” He offers, a small smile on his face as he holds it out.

“You are a lifesaver,” you declare, taking the cup from him happily and having a sip. Perfectly scalding. Seokjin waits patiently behind your desk until you’re finished, swaying slightly. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Just thought that I’d let you know that I’ve just got more files on the finances.”

“Oh, excellent,” you declare happily, accepting the small manila folder from underneath Seokjin’s arm. You open it just to browse, and everything seems to be in order. An easy thing to file away for future reference if necessary. And there’s no doubt in your mind that Seokjin’s already faxed you an electronic copy as well. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Seokjin nods. He turns to leave but seems to linger, noticing the tension in your shoulders and the irritation on your face, the way you drink up the boiling coffee like it’s nothing, relishing in the burn down your throat. He almost stops himself, opening his mouth slightly and then closing it, but then he just sighs, and he asks, “Are you alright?”

You sputter out the coffee all over the manila folder in front of you. “I’m sorry,” you say over coughs, the beverage going down the wrong pipe in all of the chaos. “What—what did you say?”

“You just seem more stressed than usual, is all,” Seokjin says, rocking back and forth on his feet with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ink black slacks. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been snappy recently,” you say, admitting it. “There’s just a lot I’m dealing with right now. Mostly to do with work.”

“I hope I’m helping, then?” He says hopefully, a hesitant grin on his face. 

You nod in agreement. Without him, you definitely wouldn’t be sleeping half as much as you do now (which is apparently still not enough, according to Hoseok). At least Seokjin’s there. “You definitely are. I don’t think I’d have made it without you,” you chuckle. 

Seokjin smiles. “If you need me to do more, I’d be happy to. Just ask.”

“Thank you, Seokjin. I really appreciate that,” you tell him. In the short time you’ve known him, Seokjin’s kindness has outshone even his stellar work ethic, a trait that you’ve come to admire in him, mostly because you know you can only dream of being as generous as he. “It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” he says, and he means it, too. “I’ll always be here for you.”

And standing here, in your makeshift office, with a matching cup of coffee in his hand, and a gorgeous, toothy smile on his face, you know that he means that, too. 

Sometimes, you can’t even believe a man like Seokjin exists. He’s practically flawless.

“I will bear that in mind,” you promise. “You really are a wonderful person, Seokjin. Really.”

Seokjin grins, the compliment going straight to him, blushing furiously as he exits your office, waving a tiny goodbye on his way out. You return it, watching fondly as he nearly crashes into the door frame, hand slamming onto it before he realizes. He laughs at his clumsiness and even from here you can see his cheeks get redder, heating up like the coffee in his hand. 

Work is hard. Being the unprepared heir to an enormous conglomerate even harder. But Seokjin’s right. 

At least you’ll always have him. 

You’ve never been one to develop friendships with your employees, but there is something about Seokjin that’s different. Something about him that makes him a confidant first and a hotelier second. Something about him that pulls you in, an electric, magnetic touch. 

You feel like you’ve known him longer than you feel. Feel like you’re closer than you really are. 

Some people are just like that, you suppose. Some people just make you wish that you had known them forever.

Quite frankly, you don’t think you could name a single thing wrong about Seokjin even if you tried. He gets your coffee order perfect (not that it’s hard, it’s just that you’ve never told him what it is), he does all of his work before you’ve even asked, and he runs the damn resort hotel better than you do. He’s obviously a people-person and can make others laugh without trying. He’s even figured out how to compliment you, a trait that not even grown businessmen have learned.

The days pass in a blur, made quicker by the ease of working with him. Of being around him. Seokjin lifts up your spirit and he doesn’t even have to try. His competence in the workplace is enough to have you coming by the resort daily instead of weekly, hourly instead of daily, just so you can spend time in a place that, for once, makes you feel relaxed. 

Hoseok would say that Seokjin is a miracle-worker. 

You would say that he’s just brilliant.

Honestly, sometimes you think that even Seokjin is more well-equipped to run your family’s business than you are. And you’re the heiress. 

The differences between Seokjin and all other men you’ve had the displeasure of interacting with (besides Jungkook, because he’s your brother, and Hoseok, because he’s the best) become abundantly clear after your second mother-mandated blind date. 

The first one that you went on a couple of weeks ago was alright. He wasn’t an asshole, but also he had the same amount of flavor as the plain white bread that you were served prior to the meal. But no points is better than negative points, right?

You mentioned to your mother that you probably wouldn’t be interested in a second date with him. She didn’t sound surprised. 

Unfortunately for you, your second blind date was not nearly as uneventful. 

The good part about your date was that it was a brunch arrangement, which is unabashedly your favorite meal of the day and also saves you the trouble of having to get all dressed up for a fancy dinner in the center of the city. But that is where the good parts end. 

You don’t know what your parents were thinking, setting you up with a man like Sangmin. Every single thing that you have ever complained to them about a man, Sangmin either did or was. The first red flag was how he showed up to your brunch meeting wearing a navy blue suit. It didn’t get any better from there. 

You know that your parents just want you to find someone and settle down, someone who can take the weight off of your shoulders and get you to stop working so hard, someone who will make you happy and who can keep you comfortable, someone who is something that you genuinely will want to spend time with, but you can’t explain why, with this knowledge of your preferences and dislikes, they still send you on dates with men like Sangmin. 

Men who boast about their money with every chance they get, checking the time just so they can flash their Rolex watch even though their phone is right there, telling you how many fancy cars they own that deserve a woman like you in the passenger seat. Men who try to explain economic practices that your family pioneered to you. Men whose eyes flash with dollar signs when they hear that you’re going to be inheriting your family’s company. 

Your parents want you to find someone who can take the weight off of your shoulders and keep you comfortable? They should let you pick. 

At one in the afternoon and not a moment later, you storm into your office, flinging your bag onto your chair as you groan aloud, staring out the window and fighting the urge to punch right through the Plexiglass. There’s no word for the way you’re feeling, the unintelligible growl that you let out. You just aren’t having a very good day. 

Your desire to interact with men is at an all time low, and yet, you can’t help but turn around when you hear his voice. 

“Knock, knock,” Seokjin says from the doorway, two cups of steaming coffee in his hand. He strolls up happily to you, placing the plastic cup in your outstretched hand. “How’d it go?”

“Bad,” you spit, not wanting to say anything else.

“Oh, no, really?” Seokjin asks, genuinely disappointed. At least someone was rooting for you. You don’t even think you had been rooting for yourself. “Worse than the first guy?”

“Say the first guy was just… slightly stale white bread, okay?” You begin to explain, because Seokjin doesn’t need the details and you don’t need to relive the experience. “Then this guy would be… how would you put it—?”

“Really stale white bread?” Seokjin offers.

“A rotten egg mayonnaise sandwich that’s been sitting in a dumpster for two weeks,” you correct. 

Seokjin winces. A perfect reaction, as always. 

“It was just bad. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You decide once and for all, moving to your desk and slamming the coffee cup onto the wood. It sloshes over the edge and splashes around the side, leaving behind a ring that you know you’ll have to clean up later.

Seokjin goes to stand by the window, looking out into the back gardens of the resort, all tropical red flowers and vibrant green leaves. “You have a third one, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you groan, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine. And not the good kind. The fact that the dates aren’t even over yet is enough to send you into a tailspin. “God, my parents are just desperate, at this point.”

“Why?” He asks, turning to face you, brown eyes wide and curious. “Are they worried about something?”

“Ugh,” you begin, on the verge of slamming your head onto the mahogany. The problem isn’t that your parents are worried you won’t find someone. It’s that your parents think that it’s their job to find someone for you. “I think they’re scared that I’m never going to marry, or that I work myself too hard and need someone to spend time with to calm down. I don’t understand. Even if I were to never marry, that’s not a bad thing. I can do what I want. I’m perfectly capable of running my family’s group without someone else.”

“Do you not want to get married?” Seokjin asks. The reason, you realize, that Seokjin is so refreshing, a respite from the rest of the executives that constantly surround you, is because he doesn’t expect anything of you. He doesn’t assume that you’ll eventually marry and become disparaging when you suggest otherwise. He doesn’t assume that you constantly need guidance on official matters that you alone have been tasked to handle. He doesn’t assume that you aren’t capable. 

(He did assume your preferred coffee order. And he is an excellent judge.) 

“I mean,” you begin, rubbing at your temples in a desperate attempt to relieve your body of the stress that sits upon it, “I suppose that eventually, it would be nice. But I’m in no rush if I haven’t met the right person, you know? Like, I’m not going to force myself to if the time isn’t right. There’s no deadline to get married.”

Seokjin nods in agreement, mouth shut. One of your favorite things about Seokjin is how, whenever you begin to speak, he begins to listen. 

“My parents are just putting all of this pressure on me to get married because they think that I’ll need someone’s help when I take over after my father retires. Or they just think that I’m sad and lonely. Which, maybe they’re right about the second part, but I just hate how they’re putting all of this pressure on me to go on dates and get married and work hard when there isn’t even a timeline for me to take over yet. I don’t even have real confirmation that my father is planning on retiring anytime soon. I just—ugh!” There really is no better way to put it than to just shriek and throw your hands up in the air. You sigh, dragging your hand down the side of your face. “Do you ever wish that you could just… I don’t know. Disappear?”

Seokjin’s eyes widen when he hears your words, like they’ve set something off in his brain. Even sitting on your tongue, they feel familiar to you. Where have you heard those before?

He seems to wait for another few moments, contemplating what he’s next going to say, like if he just opens his mouth and lets the words flow out he’ll say something wrong. Little does Seokjin know, in your eyes, nothing he could ever say would be wrong to you. 

“You aren’t sad and lonely,” he begins, a nice, comforting pep talk even though you sort of are both sad and lonely. You work nonstop and have three friends, two of which are employed by your family, the other one being your brother. “And you don’t need to rush into getting married if you don’t feel like it, no matter what your parents say. I mean, at least I think you don’t. You’re obviously much more focused on your career and how you want to succeed in the future, and that’s good. It’s something that means a lot to you.”

He takes a few steps towards you, setting his coffee cup on your desk. You look up to him from where you’re sitting in your office chair, letting his words carve themselves deep into your heart, rest within your soul. 

Sometimes, you don’t realize you’ve gotten yourself down until someone is trying to pick you back up. 

“You do have control over your life,” he tells you, and for once in your life you actually feel yourself believing it. “What you are doing, what you have been doing, is right. Things will come with time. You’ll learn and grow more as you keep living. And even if you aren’t looking for them right now—” he says, eyes wide and knowing and promising, looking at you so desperately because God, he just wants you to listen to him. To let his words mean something. “—there is someone out there who will love you.”

The sound of his voice dissipates into the air, sinking into the floor, dust after a storm. 

“You really think so?” You ask, hopeful. You never believed in soulmates but you have always believed in love. Believed that when the feeling was right, you would know. 

(That kiss still lingers in your mind, like morning dew after a rainy night. Like frost settling over the grass. Is it possible that you can feel like that again?)

Seokjin nods, firm and true. He does think that. He does. “I do,” he says. “I really do.”

The third date is forgettable. 

Or perhaps Seokjin has just enchanted you. So much so that your brain doesn’t even choose to remember interactions with other men. They just aren’t as memorable. 

You finish up this round of parent-mandated rich boy blind dates and get back to work, knowing that you might as well make the most of your now-unoccupied time before your mother decides once again that it’s time for you to go on dates again with men you have no interest in. Work, unlike so many other things in your life, will always be a constant. For better or for worse. 

Today, it’s barely even dawn before you arrive at the hotel. In recent days, the resort has become your hub for all of your work, even the work that doesn’t have anything to do with it. There’s just something calming about being here. Something that makes you feel more productive. That makes you want to work more. 

You slide into your office with ease, coffee in one hand and messenger bag in the other, surprisingly awake considering the sun is hardly over the horizon, soft orange rays peeking out from between the trees and skyscrapers. You don’t imagine there’s a lot of tasks of immediate priority waiting for you on your desk, but there’s always other work to be done. Administrative orders, emails to send, requests to be made. Even here, there’s no shortage of items on your never-ending to-do list. 

Seokjin’s not due to clock in for another several hours, at least. But he works long days and longer nights, and he deserves at least the morning off. He should at least be afforded that small luxury. 

Sitting down in your office chair, you pull yourself into the desk, elbows resting on the hardwood, head in your palms. The smell of coffee wafts through the air, thick and potent, waking up your nerves, one by one, sending small waves through your brain. You close your eyes, almost drifting back to sleep, sighing happily. 

Today feels like a good day. 

The hours pass quickly when you’re here, the sun rising slowly in the sky as it always does, day in and day out. You rely on it as much as it relies on you, wakes up this little corner of the world, says hello to the people stepping out of their doors and onto the street. No matter what, you know that the sun will always be there to greet you when you wake and say goodbye before you sleep. Within thirty minutes your coffee is finished, within the hour your emails are answered. 

One by one, you check the tasks off your list, responding to a phone call or two, forwarding some files to your father, rejecting a business proposal and requesting changes to another. You don’t even notice the minutes blowing past you until the sun is high in the sky, and the clock is chiming twelve. Noon, already?

“Knock knock,” a voice from the doorway calls. 

You feel your body relax when you see Seokjin standing there, peeking his head into your office like he always does. He looks much more casual today, a sweater vest over a button-down shirt, looser beige pants in place of his usual tailored slacks, hair sitting in a tousled mess atop his head, forehead peeking through the strands that hang low over his face, brushing his eyelashes. Instinctively, you glance down to your usual pantsuit attire. Did you miss a memo?

“What, no coffee for me today?” You tease, an eyebrow raised as Seokjin enters, coffee cup-less.

“Not today, sorry,” he says with a guilty smile. “I thought that maybe we could get something else to eat.”

“Oh!” You exclaim happily. “Sure, we can order some delivery. What are you feeling? Sushi? A burger? Oh, I know this wonderful brunch place that’s just a few blocks away—”

Seokjin laughs, a hand reaching out to push your phone done. The mere sensation of his fingertips upon your skin are enough to have you looking back up at him, shellshocked, heart frozen in place. “I was thinking something a little different.”

“Like what?” There are plenty of options for the two of you to pick from.

“How about you and I take a break this afternoon?” He asks, eyes wide with ambition. 

You frown, nose scrunched up at the notion. “A break? You mean… leave?”

Seokjin nods. Oh, so you did hear him correctly. “You’re always working so hard. You should take some time off.”

“Ugh,” you respond, rolling your eyes, having had this conversation thousands of times before. “You sound like Hoseok.”

“Hoseok’s right, Miss Y/N,” Seokjin points out, much to your chagrin. “You’ve been working so much lately. Just a little break, alright? We can get out of here and do something fun.”

“Nice try, Seokjin,” you say with a scoff, turning back to the work in front of you. “Maybe some other time.” Which means never, so long as you can help it. 

“Oh, come on,” Seokjin says, a pleading lilt to his voice. He’s beginning to pout in front of you, lower lip turned outwards. “Just a couple of hours, please? We can go into the city and walk around for a little bit. Eat some food in the park, or something.”

You look up to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. That does sound good… but you have work to do, items to cross off your list. This hotel isn’t going to manage itself, and neither is your life. “A couple of hours?” You clarify, interest piqued. 

“Just a couple,” Seokjin promises, fighting off the grin that’s etching its way across his face. “Please?”

You sigh. 

Twenty minutes and a Lyft ride later, you and Seokjin are standing in the middle of the city, along the streets known for their high-class fashion boutiques and expensive restaurants with afternoon tea. There’s a park a couple of blocks to the north. It’s a part of the city that you rarely get to spend time in, usually trapped in the business skyscraper sector a ten-minute subway ride away, but for that reason alone, it feels brand new. 

Seokjin buys you both a cup of expensive coffee despite your objections, and the two of you walk along the sidewalks side by side, sipping from your paper cups with plastic lids, letting the warmth wash down your throats. 

It’s nice, being out here. Away from anything that reminds you of work. With someone you’ve wanted to spend more time with for a while, now. 

Out here, you can almost pretend. Pretend that you aren’t the heiress to a major global conglomerate, pretend that you aren’t being groomed to marry up, pretend that life is just a little more normal. 

Out here, you can almost pretend that you and Seokjin are more than just friends. 

“Oh my God, Y/N, look at this shirt!” Seokjin gasps, stopping in his tracks in front of the window of one of the most expensive luxury boutiques you can name. You’re pretty sure that Jungkook shops here sometimes. 

The shirt in question is a satin white button-down with hand-stitched birds decorating the fabric, wispy little designs that seem to be fluttering off of the material itself. It stands front and center in the window, a masterpiece meant to have people stopping in the streets just to gaze up at it in awe. It’s doing its job rather well. 

“You wanna try it on?” You offer, motioning towards the door of the shop, a sleek, black one with metallic silver accents. 

“What?” He asks, turning to you with an eyebrow raised. 

You smile, pointing up at the shirt, eyes tracing the drape of the fabric. “Come on, just for fun.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing to have Seokjin marching up to the door and pulling it open, giddy like a child walking into a toy store. He spots what he’s looking for immediately, a single shirt on a silver rack, hanging from a simple wire hanger. Other than the one on the mannequin in the window, there seems to be no other option. 

“It even feels expensive,” Seokjin sighs happily, hand brushing over the satin fabric. He holds it out to you, and it’s so light and pliable that you can barely feel your fingertips touching the material. 

“There’s the fitting room,” you say, pointing to the back corner, black velvet held up by a rod, muted gray paint lining the walls. Seokjin grins excitedly at you before rushing off, disappearing behind the curtain with a flourish. 

Instinctively, your eyes trace the interior, jumping from the hangings on the walls to the decorative shelves, the pastel cashmere sweaters and shiny leather loafers, the silken white button downs and navy striped ties. Every item in this room practically screams Seokjin’s name, and even when he isn’t in front of you can you picture him wearing each piece, picture him in an oversized light pink sweater or a sleek white suit. 

It’s weird. You’ve never been able to imagine things like that. Not even on you. 

The clothes in here are some of the most gorgeous garments you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on and yet there is something else in this room that outshines them all. 

“Ready?”

You turn back to the fitting room, watch as the curtain shifts slightly. “Ready,” you say.

A hand comes out to push the curtain to the side, satin sleeves covering his wrist, but not even that glimpse of skin could really prepare you for the sight before your eyes. 

Seokjin steps out of the fitting room and you almost gasp aloud at the sight. 

The funny part is that he isn’t wearing anything else designed to complete the look. His hair is loose and floppy, like he had brushed through it with his fingers once or twice before deciding it was good enough. His pants are a roomy beige, hardly even complimenting the monochromatic shirt, white with black accents. He’s wearing sneakers. 

And yet, he looks stunning. 

Standing in front of you, Seokjin looks like the kind of person that your parents would want to set you up with. Rich, well-dressed (not that he isn’t already), powerful, educated. But he looks like more than that, too. He looks like someone straight out of a painting, like a sculpture that belongs in a museum. He stands tall and mighty, the hero after defeating a villain, the love interest in an old-timey film. 

God, he looks amazing. Looks like he belongs in those clothes, belongs in this store. Belongs in the kind of life that the usual clientele of this store live in. Something about him is just so familiar. Like he has always fit into the crowd that your parents want you to associate with. Like you’ve seen him before, once upon a dream. 

“So,” he says, interrupting your thoughts with a smug smile. “How do I look?”

He must already know the answer to that. 

You’re speechless. “I—Wow, Seokjin. You look great.”

A hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you correct. “It fits you perfectly.”

The fabric shapes his shoulders but drapes over the rest of his torso, including his ridiculously small waist. It both hangs loosely and hugs all of the right places. Your family regularly gets clothing tailored and yet you still don’t think you’ve ever seen any item of clothing fitting someone as well as this one does him. It’s as if the damn thing was made for him. 

“It feels like I’m wearing a cloud and a blanket all at once,” he says dreamily, relishing in the feeling. “If only the price tag made me feel this way too.”

“How much is it?” 

Seokjin holds out the sleeve to which the tag is attached for you to inspect, and the moment you see a comma in the cost, you understand why. No wonder Jungkook’s fine with shopping here. To your family, that amount is pocket change.

“But you really like it, don’t you?” You ask, looking back up at him, closer now. Seokjin nods, lips pressed together in a thin line, wanting something that he knows he can’t have. You know that feeling, too. 

“I would get it if I didn’t mind taking out a loan for it,” he jokes, admiring the detail at the cuffs, the way it cinches in towards his wrist. 

“Then let me buy it for you,” you say before thinking twice, because you have more money than you realistically know what to do with and Seokjin deserves it. He looks gorgeous in it and more importantly, he feels gorgeous in it. He emerged from the fitting room and it was almost like there was this white glow surrounding him, this fluorescent halo that made it seem like the shirt was melting into his body. 

Seokjin’s eyes widen. “What? No, I can’t let you.”

“Please?” You plead, eyes gazing up to him. “You deserve it. Plus, you look amazing.”

“It’s so much money,” Seokjin reminds you, shaking his head. “I can’t. No.”

“Seokjin, do you even know who I am? I can afford it, don’t worry,” you assure him, already pulling him towards the register, his old sweater vest and button down still hanging on the rack inside the fitting room. 

“No, I can’t let you. It might not be a lot of money to you, but it is to me,” insists Seokjin, refusing to back down. 

You roll your eyes, figuring out the game that he’s playing. “Then consider it a thank you. For all of the things that you do for me. The least of which is bringing me coffee every day.”

“That’s just my job, Y/N—” He reaches out a hand to stop you from getting out your wallet, his enormous palm cupping yours as you stare at him, fighting over the shirt like two friends with a restaurant bill.

“No,” you tell Seokjin, because his job is to be a hotelier but he became a friend instead. And he didn’t do it just because he was told to. “You deserve it,” you say, placing your free hand on top of his. It makes him look at you, eyes glossy and big and beautiful. “You really do, Seokjin. This is the least I can do to say thank you for being there for me.”

“Ma’am?” 

The lady behind the counter catches you both off guard. “Will you be buying this shirt?”

Seokjin looks down at you in disbelief, almost like he doesn’t expect you to say yes. Like he doesn’t think he’s worthy of a shirt with such a high price tag.

But little does Seokjin know, if you could buy the whole universe for him, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

You walk out of the boutique with a light heart and a lighter credit card, with Seokjin by your side and his old clothes in a cardstock bag with ribbons for handles. Even if he had resisted at first, you’re happy that he caved. He looks stupidly handsome. You’re actually somewhat regretting agreeing that he should wear the shirt out instead. 

A block away from the park is a little macaron store with more available flavors than you can count on both of your hands and toes. Feeling insatiable, you buy a box of twenty-four and decide on the spot that you won’t be leaving the center of the city without having finished them all. The mere scent of the shop as you walked in was enough to send you into a tizzy. 

Seokjin scopes out an open spot on the grass, in the shade of a big Japanese maple tree, and the two of you immediately settle down in the park, the blades tickling your ankles as you set the box of macarons in between the two of you and get to work filling your stomachs. 

“All of my friends are going to think that you’re like, my sugar mommy for buying me this,” Seokjin says, taking a bite out of the lavender one. 

“If you’re really that embarrassed, you could always say that I just gave you a raise,” you offer, peering over into the box to pick your poison. The problem is that you just want to shove all twenty-three into your mouth. 

“No way,” says Seokjin over a mouthful of macaron. “A sugar mommy is way more exciting. I’m just lucky I have a boss with a bank account.”

“Well, unlike all of the other men that my parents have sent me on dates with, you actually deserve to have someone treat you once in a while,” you say happily, eventually deciding on a lemon flavored macaron and popping the entire thing into your mouth. “I’ve met very few men who are as charming as you, Seokjin. Charming and kind.”

“‘Very few’?” Seokjin repeats, interest piqued. “Who dares upstage me?”

You laugh at his brazenness, his attractive confidence. “Oh, no one,” you say with a shrug of your hand. “There was this one guy I met at my birthday party, but I didn’t even catch his name.”

“Too busy mingling to ask?” Seokjin teases, looking sufficiently less confident than he did ten seconds ago. Like someone you had just said caught him off guard. 

“Yes, actually. And you don’t really need to know this, but he was an excellent kisser, too. Really sent me into a tailspin,” you say, feeling the faint sensation dance across your lips, the ghost of his mouth on yours. “But he ran off at midnight like Cinderella and left only a mask behind to remind me that I didn’t dream up the whole thing.”

“Ah,” Seokjin says with a nod, a strangely succinct answer for a man as wordy as he. A silence settles over the two of you as you continue to eat, slowly emptying out the box of macarons between the two of you, a light snack to keep you occupied when your mouths aren’t running circles around each other. “My dog gave birth a few weeks ago,” he says randomly. “Want to see some photos?”

At your enthusiastic reply, Seokjin pulls his phone from his pocket and opens up his camera roll to reveal a gorgeous terrier with four equally adorable puppies nursing from her, and your heart nearly melts. Nearly all of his most recent photos are pictures of them as they’ve grown older, opened their eyes and learned how to walk, started play-fighting with each other and eventually tracking into new territory (the living room), but you don’t miss the couple of selfies you see here and there. Even with the warped iPhone camera does Seokjin still look positively flawless. 

“They’re adorable, Seokjin,” you tell him, heart soft. “I’m in love.”

“Me, too,” Seokjin says happily. “Two of the puppies have future homes but I think I want to keep one of them. I just love them too much to let them all go.”

“You’ll make a great dog dad,” you assure him, sighing contentedly. “God, don’t you even know how perfect you are, Seokjin?”

He is silent. 

“Like, you bring me coffee every day and do all of your work and never talk down to me or assume that I don’t know what I’m doing. You’ve raised a family of dogs and have shown them more love than anything else. You even got me to leave the office for once even though you knew that I’d be really annoying about it,” you declare, partially to him, partially to you, and partially to the world, who deserves to know that there is someone out there like Seokjin that is equal parts wonderful and generous and kind and handsome and funny and lovable. 

It’s not just the fact that most of your interactions with men your age go sour. It’s the fact that Seokjin is good just because he is, not because he tries to be. It’s the fact that he cares so deeply and loves so much. It’s the fact that for once, there is someone out there who really does understand you. 

“You deserve a break,” Seokjin points out. “You work too hard.”

“Hoseok will be so angry that you accomplished what he’s been trying to get me to do for months, now,” you say. You’ve already missed three phone calls and seven texts from him within the last couple of hours. 

“It’s my charm,” Seokjin teases, a soft watermelon macaron grin on his face. 

“It really is,” you agree, feeling the gap between you close, inch by inch. “There’s just something about you, Kim Seokjin.”

“Mmm, do tell,” Seokjin murmurs, beginning to lean in, your bodies moving of their own accord. Your mouth tastes like lemon and sugar and coffee, but you can’t find it in yourself to care any less. “Because there’s something about you too, Miss Y/N.”

Slowly, you feel your eyes begin to drift shut, craving more than what you already have, itching to feel his lips press against yours, to feel that same fire in your feins. Of course, the next time you kiss someone would be here, underneath a giant Japanese maple in the middle of a city park, the furthest cry from a hotel balcony beneath a starry sky. But something about this is distinctly familiar in a way that you can taste, in a way that you will know once his lips press against yours. Beside you, Seokjin is barely an inch apart from you, pink lips with macaron crumbs hovering over yours. God, he’s so close. 

You want him to be closer. 

And then—

“Aw, what the—?”

The two of you jerk apart to find a giant stain on Seokjin’s shoulder, courtesy of an unknown flying park visitor who has long disguised themselves amongst the leaves of the maple, waiting for the right time to do its business. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin groans, looking down at the white and brown stain that now rests squarely on the fabric of his brand new shirt, an unpleasant splat front and center. “Thank you, bird,” he declares, throwing his hands up in the air. 

You fight the urge to laugh at how uncanny all of this is. “I’ll pay for dry cleaning.”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin says, grabbing a couple of the napkins from the macaron shop to dab on the stain. “A little soap and laundry detergent will be enough. No big deal.”

“I just feel bad,” you tell him. 

“Me, too,” Seokjin agrees, pressing gently against the fabric. “Great timing, too.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, dejected. 

Perhaps, if you were a little bit bolder or a little less fearful, you would try again. You would throw caution to the wind and press his lips against his, bird business and all, and never look back. You would relish in the sensation of his mouth on yours, of his hands on your waist, itching to feel that same feeling again. Itching to know that there really is someone out there who will love you. 

But you aren’t, and the moment is over. And you can’t, because you just don’t know how to. And you ponder if you will forever wonder what he tastes like, what he feels like. 

The clock strikes three. 

Some days you come in early, and some days you stay in late. 

Later than usual, that is, because you regularly stay past eight in the evening without blinking an eye. 

But some nights, you just don’t feel like going home. At least, not yet, you do. Some nights, you would rather stay here.

Home is where you’re supposed to feel at ease, where you’re supposed to relax and unwind, take off your heels and jacket, pour yourself a cup of tea. And that is what your home is to you, a place that you try to keep as free of your work life as possible. 

But sometimes, you would rather just work. 

Rather work and feel productive and get home a little bit later than go home and feel like you still have so much to do. Rather work than dwell on all of the other parts of your life that don’t involve work, things like marriage and retirement and your family. Things that you feel like you have no say in, no control over. You go home and waiting for you is another phone call from your mother telling you that you need to find someone. You go home and your father drops by to hand you a pile of late-night tasks reminiscent of how hard he’s been working lately. You go home and even if you’re all by yourself, your thoughts take control over your mind. Your worries and fears are magnified. 

So some nights, you would rather just work. 

Peering out the window of your office, you notice that the stars are just a little bit brighter out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Not nearly as clear as they were on your birthday, at a hotel overlooking the town from afar, but clearer. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the stars twinkle above you, waving hello from millions of light years away. 

Nights like these are too rare to spend indoors, huddled over your computer as you draft another email. Just because you’re still at work doesn’t mean you still have work to do. Well, you do, but you’re trying to be kinder to yourself. Trying to cut yourself a few more corners of slack. 

The rooftop is not off limits to guests. But you know a couple of secret places that can afford you the privacy you want, the space to lie back against the cement and feel the breeze tickle your skin.

When you arrive, there’s already someone there. A familiar tuft of brown hair, an oversized pink sweater. You wonder how long he’s been out here. 

“Knock knock.” Your sounds like a whisper but feels like a shout, the wind carrying the words from your lips to his ears as he turns around, hardly surprised to see you here. 

Seokjin laughs when he sees you, this fond, wonderful smile as you stroll up beside him, where he’s sat with his legs crossed on the rooftop’s edge, looking out over the distant city, the waterfront. “Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says. 

“I could say the same for you,” you retort easily, setting down beside him. If you were any braver, you’d rest your head on his shoulder. 

You’re not. 

“You must know by now that I practically live here,” Seokjin jokes.

“Well, I’m starting to pay rent as well, so you better get used to it, don’t you think?” You tease back, looking out into the same city, illuminated by the same moon. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “I thought that you were going to start taking it easy on yourself,” he reminds you pointedly, one of the lasting lessons you had learned from the day out on the town. The other being not to sit underneath Japanese maple trees. 

“What can I say, I just love to work,” you say, and even though you try to make it sound like a joke both you and Seokjin know you’re not kidding. Work always has and always will be your biggest priority. Never have you lived in a world where anything else comes first. Never have you cultivated that sort of life for yourself. 

“How’s your family?” He asks, a broad question with a loaded answer. 

You don’t even feel yourself letting out a sigh until the groan leaves your lips, settling like dust. “The same as always,” you say, not even attempting to sound cheerful or happy about it. “They work me hard because they want me to succeed. And I want that, too.”

“But don't you ever want something more?” Seokjin asks, but it’s not the sort of question where he wants you to give him a yes or a no. It’s the sort of question where he already knows that you want to say yes, that there is a whisper deep inside of you that wants to have a life outside of your job, your workaholic family. But you can’t. Because your family is counting on you. 

“I just can’t let them down,” you say instead, because you and Seokjin both already knew how you were going to respond anyway. “There’s so much that they expect of me. What kind of heiress—no, what kind of daughter am I if I don’t at least try?”

“It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot,” Seokjin muses. 

You force a chuckle. Obviously you have. Whenever you aren’t working, you’re thinking about what next you must do, what next is on your list. You’re thinking about how your family is counting on you to succeed. And how you want to do it for them. “I’ve had my moments.”

“Do a lot of people know how you feel?” He poses, looking at you curiously. 

You shrug. “Not really. My parents, no. Jungkook, sort of. Hoseok, yes. And I suppose you, now, too.”

Seokjin cracks a small smile, this lopsided grin that makes you feel like you’re missing something. “So I guess they’re secrets, aren’t they?”

“Secrets?” You respond naively, an eyebrow raised in bewilderment. 

“Secrets, huh?” He asks, sliding another inch closer, daringly so, teetering on the edge of territory that you haven’t touched in years. “I like the sound of that. Got any more for me?”

You smirk up at him, a grin playing on your lips. “Only if you have one for me in return. No freebies.”

He laughs, loud and clear, the sound ringing out in the nighttime air. “Alright,” he says, obliging. He leans in close, lips hovering above your ear. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh my God,” you say aloud, dumbfounded. “Oh my fucking God. It’s you?”

Seokjin laughs out loud at that, clapping his hands together at your positively shocked face, mouth agape like a fish out of water. He seems very amused by this, for some reason. A reason you can’t ascertain, mostly because you had no idea. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even figured it out from that. It took you forever to realize.”

You’re so scandalized you don’t even have the right words to respond. “What do you mean, ‘it took forever for me to realize’? Why didn’t you say something?” You demand. 

Seokjin’s still fighting off the remnants of his laughter, hiccups escaping from his parted lips every few seconds. “Because it was obvious you didn’t recognize me at first! And I had no idea it was you until you showed up at the hotel that first day anyway. And I didn’t want to bring it up, because I was worried it would have made things weird.”

“Look at us now!” You cry, positively mortified. Seokjin knew it was you the moment you stepped through the sliding glass doors and you still hadn’t figured it out, not even after weeks of knowing him, of getting to spend time with him. “God, I just—I can’t believe this.”

“The funny part is how I knew you had no idea who I was and yet I fell for you anyway,” Seokjin says, but his words aren’t making you laugh whatsoever. 

Your heart freezes in place as they sink in, etching themselves into your thoughts. “You—you what?”

“You befriended me without knowing that I was the man you kissed on the balcony that night, let me bring you coffee and confided in me and bought me the most expensive item of clothing that I currently own,” Seokjin says, a list of things that you loved him for all the same, “and I realized that it didn’t take that kiss to get me to fall for you. It took knowing you. Learning who you are. Who you want to be.”

You feel your heart getting lighter with every syllable that leaves his mouth, every breath that he takes. 

The truth is that no man had ever made you feel the way that the mystery man did when you kissed that night. But no man had ever loved you the way that Seokjin did. Treated you the way that Seokjin did. The kiss was a spark. 

The friendship was the fire. 

“All this time you were right here,” you muse, looking at him. Here in the moonlight you finally understand why he looked so familiar, why the light hit his skin in all the right places, why the sound of his voice had always struck a chord within you. He glows silver in the moonlight and yellow from the halo above his head, he sits beneath the navy sky and lets the starlight decorate his irises, sparkles in a deep brown ocean. “All this time, and I had no idea.”

“I’m sort of glad you didn’t know,” Seokjin admins sheepishly. “We got to fall in love another way.”

Love?

Could it be?

You’ve never truly been in love. Not the way that your parents are, or the sneaky way you see Yoongi looking at Jungkook sometimes when he’s not looking. But if it feels anything like this, anything like electricity beneath your skin and embers inside your chest, then you think you might be on your way. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask. 

“Kinda, yeah,” Seokjin admits crudely. 

You feel your cheeks heating up, your heart bubbling within you. You lean in close, watching faintly as he does the same, eyes trained on your lips. “Do you have any other secrets for me?” You murmur, the words hot and heavy on your tongue. 

He inches closer to you, lips hovering above your own, this soft, contented smile on his face as he gazes down at you, at the way that you are beginning to love him back, at the way that you already do. 

“This.”

The words barely leave his lips before he’s pressing them against yours, and the moment you touch him you know, you know that it’s him, that it’s Seokjin, that he is the man that you have been waiting for. Immediately your body lights up, electric shocks tearing through your veins, blood set alight. He is so familiar, smells and tastes and feels so familiar, like you have known him for a thousand years and you’ll know him for a thousand more. You get the same sensation you had when you last kissed him, all those nights ago, your body going weak, your skin turning to flames, but there’s something else, too. 

A burst in your chest. A puff of smoke in your heart. 

A fireplace. A little room in your heart, just for the two of you. For you. For your love. 

You think you could get used to this. 

He pulls away after a few moments and immediately you feel dizzy, like his lips were the only thing keeping you stable, closing your eyes as you burn the feeling into your brain, memorize how his mouth presses against yours. 

When you finally open them, there Seokjin sits, kiss-drunk and in love, this goofy, wonderful smile on his face. 

“I’m still angry at you for not telling me. You could have saved us so much time,” you declare, not wanting the moment to last too long for fear that you’ll become obsessed.

Seokjin laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your nose. “Even if you forgot who I was tomorrow, I wouldn’t tell you,” he says, this stupid perfect grin on his face, this gorgeous, brilliant grin, “because I would happily fall in love with you all over again.”

God, he is so beautiful. A dream come true. A happy ever after.

The following morning your father saves you the trouble of having to awkwardly explain why you don’t feel comfortable continuing to oversee the resort hotel by letting you know that you’re welcome back in the central building in town and that he’ll have another executive replace you. Thank God, because that would have been one strange phone call. 

Luckily, when your parents do eventually meet Seokjin, they are pleased to see that he’s been a loyal hotelier to your family’s conglomerate for several years now, and that he excels at his job. You also think that your mother’s just gotten softer over the years, wishing more for you to be happy than for you to be married to someone you hate. 

It’s a good thing Seokjin’s charming. Otherwise, you have no idea what could have happened. But he’s here, and he’s with you, and your parents are happy and so are you. What more could you ask for?

“Your mom really didn’t have to throw this whole party just for me,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as the music plays on inside, this soft classical sound that Yoongi had composed not too long ago. 

You turn around to look back in through the window, watching all of the guests waltzing along to the song. Jungkook’s in the back corner, behind the grand piano, and you can see him throwing winks Yoongi’s way every now and then. The sound of the party is barely audible from out here, in the stars’ silence, in the faint way the night whispers, this distant white noise.

“Throwing parties is her thing,” you explain helplessly. “Besides, you’re part of the family now, aren’t you?”

“Hey now, we aren’t married just yet,” he reminds you pointedly. “Unless you—?”

“Only after my father’s retirement next month,” you tell him for the umpteenth time. It’s not that you don’t want to be married. It’s that you don’t have time. You’re about to inherit an entire empire. You would prefer not to be juggling two major life events at once, if you can help it. “Besides, you don’t even have a ring.”

“How do you know that?” He asks innocently.

You smack him in the torso with your satin-gloved hand, shocked. “What?”

“I never said anything,” he teases, looking off to the side far too guiltily for your liking. 

You place your hands on your hips and turn firmly to face him. “Kim Seokjin, do you want to marry me?” You demand. 

Seokjin laughs, twirling you around before pressing a kiss to your lips, the two of you giggling. “Always!” He declares to the world. “I think about marrying you every day of my life.”

You grin. “Then we will. Then let’s get married. After my father’s retirement, of course.”

“Of course,” Seokjin agrees. 

“What do you think the theme should be?” You ask, racking your brain for potential options. You like the idea of a rustic, cottage-y wedding. Or perhaps a more celestial one. Or maybe, if you wanted to go full circle, a masquerade.

Seokjin smiles. It’s clear he already has his answer. 

“How about Cinderella?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[tbtssstuff]

Creative Soul || kth

↣ Summary: Art was all that you knew. Never really had time for anything else, but you didn’t really mind. Until you became friends with a man who frequented your convenience store and you start to wonder if art was really everything.

🎨 Seventeen: Winter Bear

↣ Pairing: Idol!Kim Taehyung x Army!Reader

↣ Genre: Social media au, Fluff

↣ Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

-TJ/ TacoAdmin 🌮

AN: I recommend listening to Winter Bear while you read this. I wrote it with that song on loop. It really makes things better.

“So he didn’t tell you where we were going?”

You shake your head as you watch Scarlett do her makeup. Taehyung was going to be pulling up to your apartment in about an hour so you had Jackie, Scarlett, and Vix up in your room to get ready. Mark, Lucas, and Victor were sitting in the living room waiting for you to be ready.

“But knowing them it’ll be a nice place. I would go with a semi formal look.” Jackie suggested, rummaging through your closet. They were all dressed, but you had yet to pick out an outfit.

“Semi formal?” You question. “Like you did?”

“Hey! I need to stand out if I want my future husband to take notice of me.”

He would definitely notice her that’s for sure. Jackie looked stunning in her tight, thigh length black dress with a see through crop top sort of shirt over it, black heels and adorned with gold jewelry. Her makeup was more on the heavier side, but it wasn’t over bearing and her dark hair was curled, tied into a side ponytail.

The other girls looked just as beautiful as well.

Vix straightened her newly dyed blonde hair and wore a light blue dress that stopped at her knees with a pair of white slippers. She really went for the whole Cinderella look, topping it off with a pearl barrette that held some of her hair behind her right ear and a simple silver necklace.

Scarlett wore a short flowy pink dress with a black belt and shoes to match. To complete her outfit had a black leather choker and a leather jacket. A real sweetie baddie. Her dark hair was curled and half of it was pulled back, secured with a pink bow. Scarlett was in the middle of putting on her makeup at the moment, which seemed to be a lighter touch, but with a bold winged eyeliner.

Compared to them, you weren’t so sure you could come up with something.

There usually wasn’t anything in your closet other than leggings and oversized hoodies and sweaters. Nothing screamed a nice restaurant date kind of outfit.

Johnny always said that you never looked good in dresses so eventually you stopped wearing them and even buying them. What was the point? You were not a dress person and that was fine. No matter how much you wanted to wear one and feel pretty, it was fine.

“Well I thought this would happen,” Jackie turned around and went to a bag she had brought with her, opening it up and rummaging around. “I remember that ass would tell you that you didn’t look good in dresses - which he is wrong by the way, you look beautiful - so I got one for you.”

“You what?”

After a second she pulled out a light blue dress with gold and dark blue flowers all over it along with a pair of black high heels. The dress was absolutely stunning, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that you would just ruin its beauty.

As if knowing your thoughts, which she probably could read your mind since she is your best friend, Scarlett glares at you through the mirror. “Oh no! No stop thinking what you're thinking. You will look amazing in that dress, Vix will do your hair and I will do your makeup. Do not worry about how much the dress costs. Jackie got it for you so you could wow your man and damn it you will. So get your cute little butt into that dress and come over here.”

You wanted to argue, but you knew it would get you nowhere. You were going to end up wearing that dress whether you liked it or not.

But you definitely liked it.

Once the dress was on, Vix and Scarlett started their magic. Scarlett worked on your makeup and Vix started curling your hair.

“Girls!” You all hear Mark call from your living room. “Are you ready yet? Taehyung is here and I can’t keep Victor from asking too many questions!”

“Hey!”

You laugh when you hear Victor try and justify his ever curious nature.

“Yeah! We’re coming now!” Jackie calls back and turns to you. “Ready?”

You nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

Vix and Jackie leave your room first, Scarlett sticking behind when she noticed your feet weren’t actually moving. “Come on y/n,” She laces her fingers with yours, easing your worries a bit, “Your winter bear awaits.”

You smile at how Scarlett calls Taehyung that. She knew that Winter Bear was your favorite song by him. It was the first song you had listened to after Johnny left you. The song that warmed your heart and stopped your tears.

The song that made you fall even more for the man that is Kim Taehyung.

Scarlett tugs on your hand and your legs start moving, leading you in the direction of your living room where you see Taehyung talking with your friends.

He stood there in the center of them all wearing an all black suit, his usual boxy smile adorning his face. You swear you have never seen a man so handsome especially with his new long, sandy brown hair. How did you get so lucky?

Your heart skipped when he finally looked at you, his eyes wide as they took you in.

“Wow.” You hear him whisper as he walks over to you, his hands coming up to lightly rub your arms, “You look beautiful.”

You smile shyly, looking down to avoid his gaze. No one had ever looked at you the way he did. “Thank you… You look handsome yourself.”

Taehyung chuckles and leans down to look at you more. “Thank you, but I would appreciate you saying it to my face.”

“Noooo.” You whine, shutting your eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

Taehyung laughs and our friends join in, enjoying how embarrassed you were getting around your own boyfriend. But how do you not? It wasn’t everyday a man like Taehyung compliments you and all but demands your love and affection… Though now it was your everyday. Still you would never get used to it.

“Come on, the guys are already at the restaurant.”

With that you all piled into Taehyung’s car and were off to meet the rest of the group.

It had been an hour or two since you showed up at a very expensive looking restaurant, to which all of your friends choked at how much the bill was going to be and how they couldn’t pay for it, but Taehyung assured them that this was all on him. He wanted everyone to make a good first impression and this was the boys favorite place to eat.

You were impressed that Victor and Jackie didn’t squeal or faint when they saw Seokjin and Jungkook. In fact they smiled, greeting them like they would any regular person on the street. All of your friends were like that. You thought at least one of them would have freaked out, but they knew how important it was that they behaved as to not ruin anything.

They really were the best.

Throughout the night they all began to break off into their own conversations. Scarlett and Jimin were talking about some makeup line that was about to release a new pallet. You were happy to watch them get along especially because Scarlett confessed to you that she was nervous to see him after the Twitter thing. She was almost certain he was just messing with her, but when you saw how he looked at her when she walked in, you knew he wasn’t.

Vix, Hoseok, and Jungkook were in their own little world as well, but what they were talking about you didn’t know. All you could catch was Jungkook trying to impress Vix, which was cute, even though her attention seemed to be solely on Hoseok. He didn’t give up though.

Jackie was sitting next to Seokjin, laughing loudly at every dad joke he threw her way and even making a few of her own. At one point you heard her snort, which she tried to cover up, but Seokjin told her that he found it kinda cute.

You were happy that she was finally letting loose enough to snort around someone other than you and your gang.

Finally Namjoon, Yoongi, Lucas, Victor, and Mark were talking about music. While you knew Mark and Victor had no interest in making music, they listened to the two producers go on and on. You even saw a spark in Lucas’ eyes when Namjoon offered to teach him if he wanted. You pray that Lucas takes him up on the offer and finally finds something he could be passionate about. He’s always just floating along and not knowing what he wants to do and you just want the best for him.

“Hey.” You turn to see Taehyung standing beside you, his hand open for you to take. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Trusting that your friends would be okay if you stepped out for a moment, you take Taehyung’s waiting hand and let him lead you out of the restaurant and onto a little balcony.

You gasp in awe at the sight before you. Seoul at night and from this view was breathtaking. All the lights of the city seemed to illuminate the sky, turning from its usually dark color to a pale purple.

“Wow.” You breath, walking towards the railing. “It’s beautiful.”

“But still nowhere as beautiful as you.” You scoff lightly at his cheesiness. “I’m serious! You look so so beautiful in that dress.”

You turn to see that while his eyes were a very real serious look, his lips held a soft smile. You flush. “R really?”

As many times as he says it, you can’t seem to come to grips with what he’s saying. You? Beautiful in a dress? If Johnny heard anyone say that he would very loudly disagree.

‘Her? No way! Dresses are for girls who can fill them out, Y/n is more suited for large clothes.’

‘Don’t wear skirts, Y/n. They just don’t look good on you.’

All the times he has said things like that to you swims through your head and suddenly all you wanted to do was run away and tear the dress from your body. Once again Johnny has crushed your self confidence and he wasn’t even here.

Sensing the sudden change in your mood, Taehyung once again offers you his hand. “Why don’t you come dance with me?”

“Huh? Dance? But there is no music.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

You shake your head, a sad smile forming on your lips. “I can’t really dance, Tae. Trust me, it isn’t pretty.”

“Nonsense!” Taehyung takes your hand and pulls you against his body, his chin resting on your head. “Just sway with me.”

You struggle against his hold even though you knew it was futile to try. The last time you danced with someone was Johnny and he yelled at you for stepping on his toes one too many times. You didn’t want to experience the same thing with Taehyung.

“Tae, really.” You finally wiggled your way out of his grasp, but when you looked up at his face you could see the sadness and worry in his eyes. “I’m sorry…”

And now the moment was ruined. The once happy time you were having ripped from underneath you. This was why you didn’t date. Didn’t share your time with anyone other than your friends and your paintings. Your insecurities always got the best of you and the mocking voice of Johnny fought its way in.

Not wanting to further the awkwardness, you step away from Taehyung and try to go back into the restaurant, but he quickly snapped out of whatever trance he was in to grab your wrist before you got too far.

“Come on, Winter Bear, please? It’s just one dance. I promise it won’t be so bad.”

You froze hearing the nickname. Yes you and him call each other a multitude of cutesy nicknames, but this one actually meant something to you. Something he couldn’t have possibly known.

Turning your head, you look at him wide eyed. “What did you call me?”

Worried that he said something he shouldn’t have, Taehyung quickly dropped your wrist. “S sorry it just kind of came out. If you don’t like it, I won’t call you that again.”

“No no… I like it.”

You sigh, this time reaching out to take his hand into yours, relieved when he intertwined his fingers with yours, and step forward to rest your head on his chest. “I’m sorry, Tae. It’s not you it’s me - or more so it’s Johnny.”

“Johnny? Your ex?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “You see, he’s always said things about me and to me that eventually I started believing.”

“Like what? If you don’t mind me asking that is.”

“Not to wear dresses, they didn’t look good on me. Always yelled at me when I danced with him because I stepped on his toes. And many other extremely hurtful things and after a year and a half of that you start to believe it.”

You could feel his grip on your hand tighten, a signal that he was getting pissed, but you continued talking.

“So when you tell me all these sweet things I have a hard time believing them.”

“Y/n…”

Taehyung lightly pushes up your face with his other hand, his features hard and serious. “I promise I will never make you feel like that. You are the most important person in my life and I will do anything to keep you. I love you.”

Tears fill your eyes and they flutter shut as Taehyung leans in, his lips pressing against yours. The spark there was undeniable and you could feel all of his love behind it. Taehyung really did love you and you loved him just the same.

Taehyung slowly pulled back, his eyes now soft and full of love. “Now dance with me, my Winter Bear.”

“Will you sing that song for me?”

Without a word, Taehyung pulls you close, his arm wrapping securely around your waist and begins to sway. Soon he started singing for you.

“She looks like a blue parrot. Won’t you come fly to me.”

You close your eyes, sinking further into his hold and being lulled by his voice.

Completely and utterly in love with the man before you.

Tag list: @ego-allie-bap @brightchillstar @lovelyseomin @tangledsparkles @pureshinso @3sriracha @kisskissshutmydoor @leafyturtle @nxtrogers @eleganttravlercloud @ladyartemesia @littlemeowyoongi @thelilbutifulthings @aviwasabi21 @ireallylikeyourwriting @xannybill @kimmalik​

[carewyncromwell]

The Cinderella AU is back, and...ahhhh, my babiiiiies. *dissolves into a pile of happy goo*

The Winter Festival presented in Royaume is most strongly related to the celebrations for Saint Nicholas in French provinces such as Lorraine, which are held on December 6th and include lots of music and a parade led by Saint Nicholas (or Pere Noel, as he’s also called), the French alternative to Father Christmas and Santa Claus. Florence’s holiday likewise resembles Italy’s Feast Day, which is hosted on December 8th. 

Back in the olden days, dancing wasn’t just done for fun -- it was considered a standard form of socializing. Prior to the 19th century, it was far more common for Europeans to dance in large groups that then switched partners frequently, as opposed to being locked onto a specific partner, and this applies to both formal gatherings and more informal ones. Strict pair dancing really came more in vogue in the early 1800′s with the German waltz, so during the Renaissance, one could expect to see a lot more swapping of partners at parties than one generally sees in the modern era. There were couple dances at that time, of course, such as the lavolta -- they just weren’t as popular as dances like the waltz became at formal gatherings later on. Country dancing, or dances performed at informal gatherings, was generally seen as more lighthearted and easy for people to join in without being expert at it, while court dances, which were generally saved for more formal events, were much more performative and choreographed.

Carewyn’s dress in this sketch was strongly based off of this absolutely gorgeous dress, which was inspired by real Renaissance artwork.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

With the arrival of winter, Carewyn found herself busier than ever. The King and Queen of Royaume had ordered that the palace be fully furnished with holiday cheer, so Carewyn and the rest of the staff soon had their hands full, putting gold-trimmed garlands around every banister and decking every hall with holly and ivy. Carewyn wondered how in the world the King and Queen could afford such finery when they still couldn’t seem to scrounge up enough funds to have the proper tools and supplies in stock for their staff, let alone to give them proper food rations -- but from what Bill and Charlie told her, this wasn’t too uncommon.

“It’s like this every year,” said Charlie, sounding very surly. “The royals and the court always pig out on the most sumptuous feasts, and then we have to pay for it after the fact. Just you wait until New Year’s -- the Queen always likes hosting a huge masked ball to ‘start the new year off right’ and the nobles end up leaving the worst messes behind...”

Bill sighed. “I don’t think it’s all selfishness on their part, really. I think it’s to try to lift the Prince’s spirits, more than anything. You know he isn’t allowed to leave the castle grounds...and I’m sure he no doubt hears all about the Winter Festival and all the other celebrations in town around this time of year, from the staff. The holiday season can’t be that much fun, when you’re forced to sit and watch from the sidelines...”

Andre did indeed seem to be in a forlorn mood. Whenever Carewyn caught sight of him walking through the palace gardens with her cousin Iris, he seemed to always be looking away, off into the distance, while Iris tried to engage him in conversation. Carewyn couldn’t help but feel sorry for him -- as much as his parents clearly were spending beyond their means, it seemed to be largely so that they could try to shield him from the War going on outside. It wasn’t a good decision, Carewyn thought, but a slightly understandable one...and more importantly, Andre himself had no hand in either the staff’s struggles or his own captivity.

One day Carewyn was polishing the floors in one of the guest suite, singing the song Orion had given her for the second time that day, when the partially ajar door was very quickly shoved open. Carewyn looked up just in time to see a ruffle of bed curtains, as if someone had leapt onto the guest bed and drawn the curtains so that they were hidden from view.

Carewyn opened her mouth, ready to ask who was there, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice echoing down the hallway outside.

“Your Highness?”

Iris?

Carewyn frowned deeply. She heard heels clapping down the hall, and sure enough, her brown-haired, slender cousin came into view through the open door.

Iris caught sight of Carewyn inside the guest suite, and her confused expression instantly turned ugly.

“Have you seen the Prince?” she demanded.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows innocently. “No.”

“Well, if you do, tell him that Lady Iris is looking for him,” said Iris waspishly. “And see that you don’t speak to him either.”

“I don’t quite know how I can tell his Highness that you’re looking for him, if I’m not allowed to speak to him,” said Carewyn rather coolly.

“You know full well what I mean,” Iris snarled under her breath.

Eying the almost completely polished floor, she rather pointedly strode right through the part Carewyn had just finished cleaning, dragging her heels to leave long, streaking footprints through it.

“Prince Henri might like using you as his little dress-up doll, but don’t think it means he actually likes you,” she whispered coldly. “Why would a prince ever be interested in a servant girl with no dowry or prospects?”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed upon the streaks on the floor before flitting up onto Iris’s face with a very stony look. She was very tempted to remind Iris that she had no interest in kissing up to the richest man that would have her, and that a man and a woman didn’t have to be romantically interested in each other to engage in conversation...but, honestly, she didn’t see much point. She wouldn’t be able to soothe Iris’s jealousy no matter what she said, and Carewyn quite frankly liked the thought of Iris leaving far more than to try to make her feel better.

Satisfied that she’d gotten the last word, Iris picked up the skirts of her lavender brocade gown and strode quickly from the room and down the hall in search of Andre.

Carewyn remained on the floor for a moment, waiting for the sound of her cousin’s footsteps to fade away. Then she slowly rose to her feet, walked over to the door, and closed it, before she got back down on her hands and knees so she could start cleaning the part of the floor Iris had slid her feet through.

“Andre?” whispered Carewyn without looking up. “Is that you, hiding in there?”

There was a rustle. Then the bed curtains parted, to reveal Andre sitting on his knees on the bed.

“You knew it was me?” he murmured.

“I thought it might be,” said Carewyn, offering him a small gentle smile even though she didn’t fully look up from her work.

Andre looked almost guilty. “...Thank you for covering for me, Carewyn. I don’t mean to insult your cousin, I just...need some space.”

“It’s all right. It can be draining, not to have any time to yourself, even when you are around people you like. And really, I didn’t lie -- I hadn’t seen you, however much I thought I might know where you were,” she added with a wry smile.

Andre tried to smile, but it came out rather forced and faded very quickly. He glanced from Carewyn to the closed door and back.

“...Does she always talk to you like that? Iris?”

Carewyn paused in the work and looked up. Andre’s face was twisted in a very troubled frown.

The maidservant returned her focus to the floor so as not to look at him, scrubbing at a particularly dirty streak.

“Not always,” she said mildly.

Sometimes she says worse things.

Andre’s eyes narrowed slightly, becoming sadder still. “Carewyn...I had no idea. I mean, I understand your mother was estranged from your family and your father skipped town, but...Iris is your cousin. Even if she’s nobility and you’re not, the way you talked about your family, I thought...”

He trailed off. He felt incredibly foolish, for not having questioned whether Iris and Carewyn’s relationship was really that good. KC had even complained about her mother trying to matchmake her with Carewyn’s cousin, Arsen Dupont, hadn’t she? Did that mean that all of Carewyn’s family talked to her the way Iris did?

Carewyn, however, was very stoic in her response. “Please don’t judge Iris based on how she speaks to me, Andre.”

Grandfather would be furious if I were the reason Iris didn’t marry Andre. The only reason that Iris and Andre shouldn’t marry should be Iris herself, and her own stupidity.

“Good people don’t have to get along with everyone, not even their own family. The way Iris speaks to me is just as much my own doing as it is hers -- and truly, her words are just words. They don’t injure me. If you enjoy her company, then you mustn’t judge her too harshly for something like this.”

Judge her harshly for other reasons.

Andre didn’t look very comforted. He adjusted himself on the bed so that he was sitting on the edge with his feet on the floor.

“...To be honest...I don’t really enjoy it that much,” he muttered.

Carewyn looked up again.

“She’s amiable enough, I suppose,” said Andre uncomfortably, “but...well, I was curious to meet her because it sounded like she enjoyed fashion and might have some good ideas for me to try out. And she had a few -- I mean, I still don’t think ash gray suits you at all...but I ended up finding a rather nice shiny pewter fabric for your shoes, and -- well, you’ll see it when they’re done. I think you’ll like them. But even with that...it just feels like, a lot of the time, she’s only saying what she thinks I want to hear, rather than what she really thinks! Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike flattery -- but I already get that all the time at court. Especially around this time of year...”

He looked down at the floor, his shoulders dropping as he rested his arms in his lap.

“I have plenty of servants and subjects and...well, people who only want to be around me for my crown,” he said dejectedly. “I guess all I was really hoping for was...”

“A friend.”

Andre looked up at Carewyn in surprise. She’d put down her rag on the edge of her bucket, her eyes full to the brim with compassion.

Within seconds, the Prince’s face had burst into a delighted, relieved expression.

“Yes! Oh, I’m so glad you understand, Carewyn. Erika always says I shouldn’t complain so much...and I know she’s right -- I have a lot to be grateful for. It’s just...”

“You can have a lot to be grateful for and still be missing what you need,” said Carewyn very primly. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do more or be more. It’s how you express that feeling that matters.”

Andre cocked his eyebrows curiously. “Express it?”

Unable to meet the Prince’s eye straight-on, Carewyn fixed her ponytail so that some of the hair coming out of it was restrained again.

“Well...to Lady Rath’s point, complaining about a problem, or wishing it would go away, never really solved anything. My mother used to say that ‘dreamers never make a dream come true’ -- if you want something to happen, then you need to act on it, not just sit around and wish that things might change.”

That’s why I can’t just sit back and wait for the War to end so Jacob can come home. If he’s out there on the battlefield, in pain and alone, I need to find out where and figure out some way to reach him.

Andre considered this for a long moment. At last his face split into a huge, blazing white smile.

“You’re right! You’re absolutely right, Carewyn...”

He leapt off the bed, bent down to get down on Carewyn’s level, and grabbed both of her shoulders.

“Will you go to the Winter Festival with me?”

Carewyn was taken aback. “What?”

“I’ve never been, not even once, even though I’ve always wanted to,” said Andre, his eyes bright with excitement. “Of course we’d probably have to be sneaky about it...but the courtiers will be plenty occupied all night here, with Mother’s ball. There are plenty of times I’ve been able to sneak out of the ballroom and no one’s ever found me, even when they were actively looking. I have the perfect purple brocade doublet I could wear...and I’m sure your new shoes will be stunning with the dark blue velvet gown I made for you...”

“Andre,” said Carewyn, a bit taken aback by his enthusiasm, “hold on. Brocade and velvet...those are hardly things to wear outside the palace, if you don’t want to be noticed.”

Andre blinked. “They’re not?”

“No,” Carewyn said very firmly, her eyes narrowing reproachfully as she slid out of his grip. “Only people of status and wealth wear those materials. People in town wear cottons, linens -- wool -- and they’re far simpler than even the uniform I’m wearing right now. You and I would stick out like sore thumbs, especially since all of the nobility will be at the Queen’s Ball. I doubt we’d last more than five minutes in town before we got caught.”

Andre deflated visibly.

“...I see,” he said, disappointed. “If only I’d thought of this sooner...I could probably have made us something else, if the Festival wasn’t the day after tomorrow...”

Carewyn bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t love the thought of going against the King and Queen’s wishes, and of course spending time with Andre was uncomfortable considering she was supposed to stay out of Iris’s way, but...well, she agreed with Bill. It had to feel pretty rotten, to be stuck on the sidelines, watching everyone else have fun and longing to join in, during the holidays. Carewyn had never really gone to the Winter Festival as a kid since her mother didn’t like large crowds and she’d preferred spending quiet time at home with her and Jacob...but Andre clearly wanted to go to the Festival so badly...

“...I could...always go pick something up, in town,” Carewyn said slowly, her eyes lingering on Andre’s shoulder rather than his face. “I’m supposed to be meeting a friend at the castle gate around noon...I could always convince him to walk with me to look for some festival clothes for both of us. Then you could always tailor what I bring back, in case it doesn’t fit correctly...”

Andre looked like Carewyn had just presented him with a unicorn for a Christmas present.

“Oh, Carewyn...you’re absolutely brilliant, that’s what you are! Don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of money -- buy whatever you think is best -- ”

And that was how Carewyn got roped into going to the Winter Festival. But really, she knew she couldn’t in good conscience let Andre sneak out on his own...and despite herself, her heart was much too gentle for her to even think of trying to tell him not to go, however much trouble she knew both of them would be in if they got caught.

All the more reason to make sure we don’t, she told herself.

When she met Orion at the gate that day, she told him she had some shopping to do before the Festival. Orion had quirked an eyebrow when she had him hold up several peasant-worthy outfits over himself so Carewyn could examine them, but Carewyn refused to tell him who she was shopping for, merely that he was around Orion’s height.

“Can I take this to mean you’ll be attending the Festival after all, my lady?” Orion asked, his eyes trailing over her face with some interest. “I believe you told Ginny Weasley that you’d be too busy.”

Carewyn avoided his eye as she took the outfit he was holding from him and placed both it and a forest green and white dress she’d found on the counter so she could pay.

“I am -- but I’ve opened some time in my schedule for it all the same, at least in the evening.”

Something flickered in the back of Orion’s eyes. Was it curiosity, or was it disappointment? “The gentleman you’re shopping for must be someone special, for you to reschedule your plans.”

Carewyn couldn’t fight back a proud huff. “He’s special only in the way that he needs help, and I’m the person who can give it.”

She took the clothes from the cashier and started heading out of the shop. Orion followed along behind, his black eyes running over her face even while she refused to look at him and narrowing ever-so-slightly.

“...I see.”

Andre was pleasantly surprised by what Carewyn had brought back for them. Although yes, they were made of far less expensive fabrics than he was used to and lacked decoration, he was very pleased with the colors. He’d mentioned having a purple doublet before, so he wasn’t surprised she picked that color of tunic for him, but he was very happy when she picked out some very handsome emerald green trousers trimmed with gold embroidery to go with them, as well as some tall black leather boots with gold buckles. Andre hadn’t really put purple and green together much before, but he really liked how the shades looked together. Carewyn’s dress, however, he did make one large alteration to besides just the fit -- adding a rather pretty trim to the front and back of bodice and the bottom of the skirt made of thick silvery linen ribbon. (He claimed that it was to help the dress better blend with her new pewter gray silk slippers, but Carewyn also just suspected he couldn’t help himself, seeing how plain the dress she’d gotten was.)

The night of the Festival, Andre went down to the Queen’s Winter Ball. After going through the motions for a half hour or so to throw off suspicion, Andre slipped away, and -- after quickly changing into his peasant clothes -- met Carewyn by the gate of the palace. When he got there, he found Bill, Charlie, and their little sister Ginny waiting just across the street, ever so “casually” looking away from the castle wall as Carewyn carefully opened the gate and she and Andre slipped out. Once the gate was closed, the three Weasleys swooped down on Carewyn and Andre, Charlie grabbing Andre’s arm and Ginny grabbing Carewyn’s, and the group flooded into town to meet up with the rest of the Weasley clan.

From the moment they arrived, Andre looked happier and more laid-back that Carewyn had ever seen him. Carewyn couldn’t help but feel like just walking around the Festival, surrounded by ordinary people who had no idea who he really was, made this the best day of the young Prince’s life...and she had to admit, as much as she could take or leave parties, his enthusiasm was infectious. When Ginny suggested they go dance, Andre was absolutely thrilled at the thought of learning how to do a country dance, and pressured Carewyn to show him how. Carewyn hardly thought herself the best choice for this, but found it difficult to say no, seeing how excited he was. Once Carewyn, Charlie, Andre, and Ginny jumped into the fray, though, she did find herself having fun. The steps were actually pretty easy to follow along to, especially compared to the sorts of court dances she’d always seen her older cousins practicing at the Cromwell estate, before any private balls they were invited to.

It didn’t take long, though, for someone to spot Andre. In the middle of one of their dances, a hand came from out of nowhere and snatched a hold of the back of the Prince’s purple tunic, pulling him back out of line.

“Hey!” yelped Andre. “What are you -- ?!”

He looked up, to see the rather tall and foreboding frame of his fencing instructor.

Andre gave a very weak smile. “Aha...hi, Erika.”

Erika’s expression was very stony. Carewyn, Charlie, and Ginny immediately hopped out of line and over to them. Standing right behind Erika and dressed in a sapphire blue cloak that obscured her elegantly trimmed linen dress was KC.

“Lady Rath!” said Charlie with his best attempt at a winning smile. “KC! What a nice...surprise! Heh...”

KC raised her eyebrows coolly. “Hello, Charlie...Carewyn.”

Bill had rushed over too, sensing trouble.

“It’s not their fault, KC,” said Andre quickly, “I can explain -- ”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said KC, her arms crossing as she looked at Andre. “We know full well it isn’t their fault.”

“I say it is,” said Erika rather bluntly, her eyes flashing dangerously at Carewyn and the Weasleys, “considering they encouraged it.”

“It isn’t their fault because they wouldn’t have felt able to say ‘no’ to the Crown Prince of Royaume, even if they’d wanted to,” KC pointed out logically.

Andre suddenly looked very guilty. He glanced from the Weasleys to Carewyn, almost silently asking if he’d pressured them into any of this. Charlie, in response, spoke rather forcefully.

“Well, frankly, we did want to! Andre deserves a fun holiday, for once. Reckon it’s a helluva lot better than that stuffy old ball going on up there.”

He jabbed a thumb behind him in the direction of the palace.

“The Prince’s safety is more important than a fun holiday,” Erika shot back coldly, “as are the King and Queen’s orders. You’d do well to remember that, Weasley.”

“Erika, please,” said Andre desperately. “No one from Florence would dare come this far west of the border...and even if they did, none of them would recognize me, dressed like this. And you said it yourself, KC, it’s likely they won’t attack our forces anyway until after the 8th -- that’s when their winter holiday is, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” granted KC with a frown. Her voice became much more thoughtful as she added, “Though if they wanted to be really clever, they’d strike on or the morning immediately after a holiday, when everyone’s got their guard down...”

Carewyn faced Erika with as much conviction as she could, even though she was completely eclipsed by the taller and stronger woman’s shadow.

“I realize the Prince’s safety is important,” she said in a very low voice, so as not to be overheard, “but if there truly was anyone who meant to target him, wouldn’t they be more likely to look for him at the Winter Ball, rather than here among the peasantry? And considering that the palace is only about five blocks away from here and he’s in the company in one of the castle’s most capable guards,” she nodded in Bill’s direction, “and both his combat instructor and our army’s chief military strategist...I’d say that he’s quite well protected.”

Erika gave Carewyn a beady look.

“People say you’re nothing like your family, Cromwell,” she said rudely, “but I think they’re full of it. You’re just as pretentious and fawning as the rest of them.”

She nonetheless released the back of Andre’s collar.

“I’ll stay for two hours only,” she muttered to him sourly. “When I go, you go.”

Andre beamed from ear to ear.

KC and Erika weren’t much for dancing, but they did loosen up in time, while sitting with the rest of the Weasleys and enjoying some of the fresh sugar-dusted crepes, mince pies, cocoa, and coffee. Before long as well, Andre had mastered the art of the country dance. Ginny was thrilled to have someone else who was just as excited to dance as she was, and -- bless her heart -- the twelve-year-old treated Andre with the same amount of cheer and respect as she probably would’ve anyone else, just like her brothers did. She even ended up giving Andre pointers about how to do the dances better. Carewyn soon found herself getting pretty tired, but Ginny, Charlie, and Andre all kept pulling her back into line with them, and she bit back her exhaustion if only to see them smiling a little longer. It had been a really long time since she’d been able to make anyone smile like that, while doing so little -- it made herself feel that little bit better about herself, and made her stand just that little bit taller.

While dancing to a particular song, the woman playing the fiddle sped up very abruptly, changing tempo. Soon everyone was rotating in chaotic, joyful circles, switching partners constantly. As to be expected in country dancing, a few people made mistakes that they had to correct, but nobody really cared. One mistake, though, was Carewyn losing her footing and tripping over her skirt. The new gray silk shoes Andre had made for her, as lovely and comfortable as they were, were more like slippers than any proper outdoor footwear and didn’t have great traction, so she would’ve fallen right off her feet if someone hadn’t suddenly appeared behind her and caught her with an arm gently looped around her back.

It was Orion. He was dressed in clothes that were nicer than usual, but still modest, including some brown suede boots and a handsome forest green doublet that ended up being the same shade as Carewyn’s dress, though he still lacked the high-collared undershirt one would usually see from a nobleman.

“Forgive me for catching you twice, my lady,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Carewyn couldn’t help but smile. “At least you weren’t hurt after throwing yourself under me this time -- ”

They couldn’t continue the conversation, though, without getting locked up in the midst of the group dance. Carewyn was forced to twirl in sequence, just to avoid another pair moving on through.

“Shall we?” she asked.

Orion suddenly looked oddly wary, like a foal learning how to walk.

“I’m afraid I’ve never done this before,” he murmured, just barely dodging another pair of dancers.

Following the sequence, Carewyn rested an arm lightly around Orion’s waist, steering him in a circle.

“Don’t worry,” she said, as she offered him an encouraging smile. “It’s only a pattern...no one will complain if you make a mistake. Follow me.”

His face betraying some hesitance, Orion nonetheless found himself letting go, mirroring Carewyn in stylized turns and spirals through the dancing crowd.

Orion had come to the Festival because he’d guessed that the mysterious “guest” Carewyn was shopping for was -- in fact -- the Prince of Royaume, and thus this would be the perfect opportunity for Orion to meet him and get a better fix on his character. But even with this goal in his mind, he’d found his inner balance oddly disturbed, when he caught sight of Carewyn. She’d always been a rather pretty woman, but in the company of her friends -- smiling with such pure, undiluted happiness, at the sight of how happy they were -- her blue eyes sparkling with such soft emotion, every time they laughed -- her ginger hair flying free as a flag behind her as she twirled around them...it distracted him. It was an unwelcome distraction, one he was quick to scold himself for, before trying to relocate his center and return to the task at hand. And yet, when Carewyn lost her footing, he found himself once again throwing away his own internal balance and laser-pointed focus in favor of turbulent, emotional chaos...and soon they were dancing, and Orion found himself surfing in that chaos -- relishing that wild, but liberating warmth he felt coming off of her. Was it some magical aura she had, that made him feel like he was dancing with a blazing, soothing fire even as the snow began to fall overhead?

Carewyn Cromwell truly was a remarkable woman, to divert the Prince of Florence’s focus away from his one and only goal...and yet, as Orion danced with her, he couldn’t help but think...oh, if their world could be but a world where they could dance like this anywhere...even in Florence, where everyone knew his face...

When the dance came to an end, everyone clapped, and Carewyn and Orion moved off to the side together to sit with Bill, Ron, KC, and Erika. Erika was very suspicious of Orion from the off-set, finding him way too “pleasant” for her tastes, but Orion wasn’t the least bit offended. If anything, he said with a wry smile, her aggressive aura in some ways reminded him of a good friend of his. After several more rounds, Andre, Charlie, and Ginny finally came to sit down with the others for a quick break.

“Whew! I’m parched,” said Andre. He brought a hand up to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Here,” said Bill.

He offered the Prince a stein of apple cider. Andre gulped down about half of it before lowering the stein, his mouth stretched into a broad smile.

“Oh, Carewyn, thank you for this,” he said, reaching out a hand to squeeze hers. “If I’d had any concept just how much fun this was, I would’ve come years ago.”

Carewyn smiled, looking genuinely touched. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Andre.”

Orion glanced from Carewyn to Andre and back. His face was very unreadable, but his black eyes had widened noticeably.

This must be him, he realized. Prince Henri.

The thought was a club to the back of the head, knocking some sense back into him after having gotten so thoroughly distracted. Orion’s thoughts moved very quickly as he watched the two interact.

“I am,” Andre said fervently, his eyes squinting slightly as he beamed. “And I hope you know how grateful I am...”

Something grimmer flickered over his face.

“...I hope you know...Iris was wrong, about how I see you.”

Carewyn was startled. “Andre...”

“I don’t just see you like a little dress-up doll,” said Andre very seriously, as he squeezed her hand. “You’re my friend, and a good one, at that. And for what it’s worth...” he smiled broadly, “...I’d say any royal should be proud, to have you on their arm.”

Carewyn was clearly a bit overwhelmed by the Prince’s complimentary words. Her gaze had drifted down to the table.

“...Thank you, Andre,” she said very softly.

Although her face was demure, her sparkling eyes and voice betrayed some deep, genuine emotion -- and despite himself, Orion felt some warm pride welling up in his chest, at the sound of it. Catching himself, Orion forced himself to return to the task at hand and lightly cleared his throat.

“Forgive me,” he said politely, “but I don’t think we’ve met.”

Carewyn looked from Andre to Orion quickly.

“Oh -- yes,” she said, “Andre...this is Orion. Orion, Andre.”

Andre’s eyes lit up at the name.

“So this is the infamous Orion you’ve been telling me about, KC!” he said, shooting a bright grin over at his cousin.

Orion raised his eyebrows curiously. “‘Infamous?’ I must wonder what she’s told you, for me to have earned that title.”

KC grinned. “Just that you saved Carewyn from a bucking horse, pulled her out of a ravine, and climbed over the castle wall twice just to visit her.”

Ginny’s freckled face lit up. “Orion, you did all that? That’s so romantic!”

Both Orion and Carewyn immediately tried to correct the record, but no one seemed to care much. Andre was laughing most of the time.

“Are you well-traveled, Orion?” asked Andre. “Judging by the way your doublet is distressed, I’d guess you’ve been to the Islands in the Southern Sea -- I’ve only seen such fabrics as imports.”

“I’m...afraid I haven’t, actually,” confessed Orion. “Though I have been to the Southern Sea.”

Florence’s castle was actually positioned on the shore, right by the sea. It was one of the few things Orion could say in its favor, even though there were times it made him long to cast off and never return.

Everyone seemed interested in this.

“You have?” said Charlie eagerly. “What’s it like?”

“Did you sail on a ship?” asked Ginny.

“Were you ever attacked by pirates?” added Ron.

“Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid,” Orion chuckled. “I’ve only seen it, not sailed it...at least, not yet.”

Carewyn’s red lips turned up into a full, pretty smile. “It must be beautiful, though.”

Orion turned to her, his own mouth spread in a grin. “It’s breathtaking. A seemingly endless void of blue that nonetheless sparkles as green as jade and as white as pearl. It’s as translucent as crystal, and yet so deep and mysterious that ships have been swallowed whole by it, and no man could ever discover all of its secrets. Its waves whisper to you as it ghosts the shoreline, and yet it can also roar and ravage like a beast, without warning or mercy. It can hypnotize you, draw you in...make you long to drown yourself in it, while simultaneously wanting it to spirit you away, over the horizon...”

Like your eyes.

Orion caught himself staring in them. Closing his eyes and bowing his head, he forced a soft laugh.

“Forgive me -- I’ve gotten carried away...”

“Not at all,” said Carewyn gently. She rested a hand lightly on top of his forearm. “It sounds wonderful.”

Orion found himself unsure of how to respond to her touch. He’d never really been around a lot of physical affection before, so he was at a bit of a loss of what to do in such a situation. Fortunately Carewyn withdrew not long after, and Orion tried to find his center of balance again by turning his focus back to Andre.

“...I must say, though...your attention to detail is impressive, Andre. I can see why you and Carewyn get along -- she also has an eye for hair and clothing pieces.”

“Of course she does,” said Charlie, sparing a playful smile in Carewyn’s direction. “Carey is our little lady, after all.”

Carewyn shot Charlie an attempt at a sardonic look, but it was foiled by the broad smile that had conquered her face.

“That she is!” Andre laughed.

“A lady with considerable grit, however,” said Bill, his mouth turned up in a wry smile not unlike Charlie’s. “I’ve never seen anyone else climb up onto a mantle, just to reach a chandelier.”

KC looked at Carewyn incredulously. “What? Why didn’t you get a ladder?”

“It wasn’t necessary,” said Carewyn primly, crossing her arms. “I had it under control.”

Orion’s black eyes sparkled affectionately. “I’d say even an experienced soldier in the field would hesitate before climbing over a steep cliff and into a briar patch at the bottom of a ravine...wouldn’t you agree, Andre?”

Andre nodded. “I daresay so! Though I’ve never been to the battlefield myself, or met any soldiers...I would dearly like to, though.”

Orion frowned. “Like to?”

“Well, yes,” said Andre, his tone becoming more serious. “We could use all the help we can get out there...I’d love to feel like I could really help the war effort on the ground, rather than staying at home. Especially when my comfort is built on the backs of those who are hurting.”

Orion’s gaze fell down onto his hands as they clasped together on the table.

“...Your conviction is inspiring,” he said softly. “But believe me...a battlefield is not a place anyone should like to visit.”

Not long after, Erika rather abruptly rose to her feet and told Andre it was time to leave. The group all left the festival together, though Carewyn lingered behind with Orion, so as to try to give Andre cover for getting back inside the palace without anyone noticing.

Once they were alone, Orion once again found himself off-balance. He’d acknowledged before that Carewyn indeed was a person to be admired, as well as a person who could be admired by anyone...even him. He did admire her. He enjoyed her company -- he found her witty and engaging -- he identified with her independence, resilience, and determination -- he was struck by her compassion and utter selflessness. She was like him in so many ways, and yet she was methodical and insightful, as well as braver than a bear, despite her size. Her voice was so soothing, and yet it rippled with a kind of deep passion and emotion that it truly rivaled the deep, dark sea. And tonight especially...tonight, he kept catching himself staring...but none of that mattered. None of it should matter, in the face of achieving peace for Florence.

“She’s not on your side,” McNully’s words returned to him. “She’s on Royaume’s. Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion couldn’t help but feel as though using his head would be easier if he could more easily tell which way was up.

“I’m glad you came, Orion,” said Carewyn. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better dance instructor -- dancing isn’t really my area of expertise.”

Orion’s black eyes sparkled mischievously. “Perhaps we shall simply have to dance again in the future, so that we might practice.”

Carewyn giggled. “Somehow I doubt either of us will be attending any grand balls in the future.”

Orion’s amused gaze softened as it trailed over her cold-kissed pink cheeks and along the snowflakes clinging to the ginger waves cascading down her back.

Carewyn tilted her head, her lips twisted up in a wryly questioning smile. “...What?”

Orion looked away quickly.

“Forgive me -- I merely...don’t recall ever having seen you wear your hair down before. It’s...different.”

Carewyn brought a hand through her hair absently. “Mm...yeah, I guess it would be. I don’t wear my hair down much, but...well, I figured for a casual event like this, it wouldn’t be a problem...”

“It’s no problem at all,” said Orion. He kept his tone as level as possible, even though he felt a flush creeping up his neck. “I was just thinking it was appropriate...to see you letting loose with your friends, the same day you chose to wear your hair free...”

He came to a stop, and Carewyn stopped too, turning around to face him properly. Orion reached out his hand and -- very tentatively -- took hers, holding it between their chests like a gentleman.

“...You should be allowed to feel like that more often,” Orion murmured. “Free.”

Carewyn scanned Orion’s face, her eyes lingering on his before dipping into the corners of lips. Orion felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He wanted to kiss her hand, but...did he dare?

“She’s not on your team.”

“You reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?

“Mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

It was just too much. Orion couldn’t think, whenever his thoughts got too loud. Closing his eyes, he took several deep, measured breaths. Only once he’d brought his heart rate down did he open his eyes again.

“I should go,” he said at last, his voice coming out much more calmly than he felt.

His eyes flickered down to his hand holding hers again, but he’d already lost his nerve. He released her hand, even though his hand felt like it had chilled as soon as the contact was broken.

“...Good night, Carewyn.”

He turned to go.

“Orion.”

Carewyn’s hand enclosed over his. Orion stiffened, his heart pounding full-force once more, and he turned back around to face her, just as she raised his hand up to her own lips and placed a gentle kiss to the back of it.

Orion stared. She raised her head with a smile, releasing Orion’s hand with a kind of muted confidence even despite the pinkness of her cheeks.

“Until we meet again, Mr. Freeman.”

With this, she picked up her skirts and darted away up the street, in the direction of the palace.

Orion stared after her. He stared long after she was out of sight, his galaxy-like black eyes staring at the swirling snow without even seeing it. He tentatively took his own hand, trailing his thumb over the place her lips had grazed...and despite all judgment, despite all rational thought, he found his lips turning up in a smile of their own accord. He’d never felt so light and so off-balance in all his life -- was this what it felt like, to glide on a bird’s wings? And yet he knew, despite the weightlessness he felt, it was instead indicative that he’d fallen.

In the midst of using her to get intelligence about her kingdom...in the midst of him following the strategy he’d laid out to get the end of the War he wanted, by learning their weak points and using them to soften others to him...Prince Cosimo Orion Amari, heir to the throne of Florence, had fallen head over heels in love.

[19mrs-barnes17]

Wedding Guest

Summary: Bonus Theme Day - Wedding Date

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Warnings: little steam

Word count: 1,683

A/N: A bonus fic for theme weekend! Enjoy!

~

You had developed a habit of always checking the plus one box, just in case. Life had been a swarm of weddings as of late and you were feeling left behind. Usually you would bring some friend who was free, but this time you knew you couldn’t. This was a family filled wedding which meant that if you didn’t bring an actual date you’d be interrogated all night. And you’d rather be asked pleasant questions about a fake relationship than be scolded for wasting a chair and being alone. So, there you stood before your best friend, your eyes begging her to accept the invitation.

“What’s in it for me?” Strands of her fiery red bob were slipping from the scrunchie, her brow arched. 

“Free food and an open bar?” 

“Boy you really do know how to treat a girl. I’ll do it.” You nearly tackled her with a hug, her arms wrapping around you as you thanked her profusely. “Yeah, yeah. But you have to wear the dress if I do.”

“That old thing?” She leaned against the door frame, smirking. “Yeah, ok. Then I get to pick your dress.”

“I’m glad we could come to this arrangement. Come on in, sweetheart.” Shaking your head at her laughter you follow her to her closet and get to work.

In the passing weeks you and Nat forged a solid story, planned for any questions that might arise, and booked your flight. The plane ride was fairly standard, the two of you watching movies off your laptop. Soon enough it became time to introduce her to a family member, and of course it had to be the most guilt tripping one of them all. Your niece. She had run up to you in the airport and wrapped her arms around your legs. 

“Aunt Y/N! Is that your girlfriend?” She peeked around you at Natasha with curious little eyes, smiling when Nat squatted down and waved. 

“Hi there. My name’s Natasha but you, you can call me Nat.” Her gentle smile seemed to coax Lyla in, her small frame emerging from behind your legs. 

“I’m Lyla. I’m 6 and a half.” Your attention was torn from the adorable scene to the group approaching you. 

“Isaac!” In mere seconds you practically tackled your big brother to the ground, his wife laughing as you pulled her in. “Marie you look better. Healing okay?”

“The surgery went well and the doc says I’m recovering quickly. Enough that I might dance at least once tomorrow night.” Her daughter came running back, latching onto her leg like a leach. “You actually brought a girlfriend home?”

“I know, we’re gonna be swarmed.” Nat caught up, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended toward your family.

“You must be Isaac and Marie, right?” She turned to you feigning the guess, a soft smile dancing on her lips. “I did my best to learn names beforehand.”

“You found yourself a clever one, eh sis?” Isaac smiles shaking Nat’s hand, his eyes still cautious. Marie linked arms with Nat and led her toward the car, Nat glancing over her shoulder at you with a sweet smile. “Finally bringing someone home, she must be important.”

“She’s been my best friend for years, I trust her. And I trust that meeting you whackos won’t deter her.” Isaac smiled before tossing you over his shoulder, your screams turning into giggles. 

“You still walk too slow.” 

“We passed the entry exam. Get ready for the next level.” She shook her head at you and mumbled something along the lines of ‘I used to be a spy you know’. “I come from a family of therapists and professors. They eat bullshit for breakfast.” 

Nat sat in the middle seat of the back of the van, her fingers intertwined with yours as the hour long drive began. The ride consisted of sing-a-longs, in which only your niece participated. If you didn’t know the words to every song in Cinderella, you did now. The parking lot of the hotel was packed, you recognized 70 percent of the cars from family and friends. Nat carried both your bags and rejected all offers of assistance.

“She’s pretty independent.” Marie shook her head, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

“You should have seen her when I moved in. Helped me carry every box and sent the boys to pick up lunch. You should have seen their faces.” You laugh as your thoughts go back to the day you moved into the avengers facility. She had given the guys one look and they went scurrying out the door.

“I’m glad you’ve found someone Y/N. She seems to suit your temperament very well.” Perhaps she did, but that was what had made the two of you such instant friends.

Every waking moment around your family with Nat felt suffocating, they all seemed so proud of your choice. Apart from your Aunt Dinah that is, she was a little stuck in the wrong part of history and never approved of your life choices. She was quite vocal about it and Natasha was not very happy to find this out. In fact, she seemed to up the fake romantic touches whenever your aunt was near. While it made you smile to see her so furious, it also meant a lot more touching than you had planned on. Skin to skin contact with Nat had you questioning your relationship and on a few occasions forgetting it was fake. You thought you could be stronger than all those fake couples in the movies, however, it turned out you were just as susceptible. 

The day of your younger brother’s wedding had arrived and you could not be more grateful that this charade was coming to a close. Pretending to be in love with someone really does a number on your emotions. Hours spent readying the room and double-checking that everyone was being prepped, everything was underway. Tonight you would dance with Nat a few times before saying goodnight and heading back to the hotel. Easy peasy. 

Oh, sweet jesus. Not easy peasy. In no way would her being close to you in that dress be easy peasy. You felt rather compelled to jump her right then and there, which was rather problematic. Even worse your sister-in-law saw the look you had on your face when Nat rounded the corner, it was definitely lustful. You couldn’t hide it.

“Someone’s getting lucky tonight.” Marie smirked as she nudged your arm, eyes twinkling mischievously. “You both look fantastic.” 

“Marie!” You whispered, shooting her a warning look before turning back to face Natasha. “Wow, I told you that was the dress.”

“Then was it your intention to make all the men in the room drool? If so, you’ve done splendid.” One of your cousins was staring at her with a look that you wanted to smack from his face. She moved closer, whispering so only you would hear. “If not, I can only assume it was because you wanted to see me in this dress.”

She wasn’t wrong, you had always wondered about the black gown hanging in her closet. All that she had ever said was that it was for specific missions. By this point you were beginning to gather what sort of missions she utilized its stun capability for, and you were flush in the face. My god, you had done this to yourself.

“Why choose this dress for me? And why it was your stipulation?” Nat smirked and gestured that her lips were sealed, linking her arm with yours before leading you into the elevator. 

Eyes followed the pair of you everywhere, the entire event someone was gawking at her or staring incredulously at you. The entire thing made you squirm in your skin, far too much attention was being placed on the two of you. However you took this opportunity to become even more physical, partially to send the onlookers’ gazes elsewhere and partly because you needed to know whether her flirtation was real or had limits. Your hand rested on her exposed mid-thigh, her hand soon covering it and moving it upward. Either this woman was the queen of acting or she wasn’t having to. Dancing was even more intimate, no matter the speed of the song she was close to you. Her hands roaming and eyes flirting. This was send your gay heart into a panic, you had absolutely no idea what to do with this kind of attention. 

“I need to ask you something and I need an honest answer.” Nat’s hands rested on your lower back and yours at the nape of her neck. Her eyes met yours and with a nod of her head her attention was yours. “Is this even fake anymore?”

“I was wondering when you’d finally ask.” She smirked, something hidden behind her eyes. “I’m not sure it ever was. Maybe when we arrived, but not for long.” 

“So you felt the same? This whole time?” She nodded, arching a brow at you. “When did you?” It was a vague question, but she knew the answer you were seeking. 

“New Years.” The drunk kiss, well half drunk apparently. Only you were tipsy, Nat barely buzzed when you pulled her in for the midnight kiss. It had been passed off as nothing, but it seems both of you knew it was so much more. “Care for a redo?”

“What?” 

“Kiss me while everyone is watching.” Your eyes glanced from hers to her lips, heart racing in your chest as you pulled her into a kiss. Deeper and deeper you fell into the kiss, soon breaking to move it elsewhere as the song ended. A round of goodnights and you were on your way back to the hotel, in the elevator, and behind a closed door. Nat had pushed it shut with her back and you were quick to pounce, tongue sliding in. Your body was coursing with adrenaline as things began escalating and your mind slowly turning to putty. “Seems Marie was right after all”

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @gstran18​ @cantnkrusshedevil​

[americaswritings]

Cinderella | Part 17

Prompt: Fairy tale AU

Summary: When your father marries another woman, she brings not only two evil stepsisters into the house, but turns you into a maid. Working hard day for day your only hope is the princes ball, where he will pick his future wife. But will you be able to flee from the claws of your family?

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: nothing I can think of rn

Pairing: Steve x reader

A/N: This is for @ruckystarnes writing challenge.

I am tagging more people than I get notes for the chapters. I won’t delete the tags or sth, but please keep in mind that it is more work for me to tag you and if you aren’t interested in the story anymore please tell me so I can delete the tag. Thanks!

To the people leaving me feedback: I love you guys! Honestly, it means so much that you are still following this story and always take the time to comment :) It means a lot to me!

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!

Add yourself to my taglist!

Series Masterlist

You started to kick against the wood again when you heared footsteps coming closer.

They got louder and louder, until they came to a hold right before the door. You didn’t know who to expect, so you crawled to the back of the room.

With a loud squeak the door slowly opened. Dazzled by the daylight you closed your eyes and blinked a few times.

“Oh my god”, you heared a familiar voice whisper and you opened your eyes, spotting your best friend in front of you.

The light was surrounding her and in this moment, she looked like an angel, here to save you.

You cried out in relief, but Wanda semmed to believe that it was from pain, so she immediately began opening the chains.

First she freeded your legs, then your hands and finally removed the wet cloth from your mouth.

It felt like heaven to be able to breath the fresh air again, feeling it fill up your lungs.

The pressure of the chains had left red marks on your ankles and wrists, but in this moment all you cared about was that you were free and Wandas was here for you.

She still starred at you with wide eyes, but you pulled her into a bone-crashing hug.

Carefully she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and it took all your effort  not to break into tears.

“I am so happy that you’re here”, you mumbled and you could hear her chuckling.

You let go of her and she helped you get out of the dovecote.

“And I am so glad we found you”, Wanda stated and gazed your body up and down searching for any severe injuries..

“We?”

In this moment Pietro appeared from the other side of the garden. He gave you a relieved smile and you reciprocated it.

“And what about my stepmother?”, you questioned, but Wanda already guided you back to the house, her arm on your shoulder so she could push you forward.

“That’s a long story! First we have to get you in shape so you can go to the ball.”

"The ball?”

Your heart fluttered in excitement and you couldn’t hide your big smile.

You would see Steve again.

-

Natasha and Clint were guiding the family to the guest rooms. They had asked a maid, if she could show them a free room for the them and she immediately led them through the castle to the bedrooms.

“I have never seen you here before”, she suddenly asked Clint and Natasha, while the guests were chatting behind them.

“Yeah, we’re new here”, Clint tried to come up with an excuse, but the maid frowned even deeper.

“In what position do you work?”

Natasha felt her heart beating rapidly in her chest, but she couldn’t think of a good answer.

“He’s a-” But she couldn’t complete her answer when a loud alarm was heared and a group of guards stormed through the big hall next to them.

Clint and Natasha instantly sped up their pace, which didn’t go unnoticed by the maid. 

“Here! They are here!”, she yelled into the guards direction and they promptly turned towards them.

“Damnit, come on!”, Clint urged and grabbed Natasha by the hand, leaving the confused family behind.

But they didn’t make it far when another group of guards showed up, blocking their way.

They surrounded them, pointing their swords at the young couple.

“Hereby we arrest you for the crime of attacking the palace guards and infiiltrating the palace”, one of the guards spoke up.

Clint squeezed Natashas hand even tighter and (y/n)’s stepmother started to scream hysterically.

“Wait!”

A sudden voice made them look up. The prince himself made his way over to the scene, eyeing the group suspiciously.

“I think I know you”, he mumbled in confusion, alternating between mustering the redhead and the older woman behind her.

Then he gave the guards a sign to lower their weapons and stepped closer to the group.

“I need to talk to these two for a seond. Bring the others to one of the guest rooms”, he ordered and Natasha and Clint exchanged a surprised glance.

“Are you sure about this, sir?”, one of the guards in a seemingly high position asked and the prince nodded confidently.

-

“You look stunning”, Wanda announced when you walked out of the dressing room. It had been torture to put on the dress, because your body was still hurting from the lack of sleep and the bent posture you had to sit in during your capture in the dovecote.

The golden dress looked indeed marvelous and fit your body perfectly. Wanda had even brought a pair of new shoes, since she knew that you had lost one of yours at the last ball.

They were simple and weren’t too high, so you could easily walk in them.

Your skin still smelled from the bath you had taken, which had washed off all the dirt, but had also showed you how the chains had left dark bruises on your body.

Luckily the bruise on your face had faded, so you could easily cover it up with a little make up.

The ones on your ankles were covered up by the dress, but it had taken a lot of effort to hide the red marks on your wrists.

You gave Wanda a smile and turned to the mirror to see, if she was right or if she was just exaggerating.

But she wasn’t. 

After the days you had been covered in dirt and sweat, you had never dreamed of looking this astonishing.

Your hair was falling down your shoulders in soft curls, which framed your face perfectly.

“Let’s go”, Wanda announced, who had changed herself.

She was wearing an elegant red dress now, while her brother was wearing a rather simple suit.

He hadn’t planned on going to the ball at first, but Wanda had convinced him that she didn’t want to let you go alone and that they could need any help they could get.

She was currently adjusting his jacket, while making fun of thim. Both of them laughed and you couldn’t help but wonder how amazing it would be to have sibilings, who you shared a great bond with. 

Not like you and your stepsisters did.

-

The prince waited for everyone except two guards to leave the room. He hadn’t wanted them there, because he didn’t thought the pair in front of him was a threat, but the king had insisted on it.

“Sit down, please.” Steve pointed towards a few chairs next to a small table.

The two followed his command and he sat down himself as well.

“I don’t think you are here to attack the palace nor help the girls get a better chance in this”, he stated, calmly observing his guests.

“Then what do you think?”, Clint questioned, his hand reaching for Natashas under the table.

“I think you know (y/n).” 

Uncertainty was suddenly visible in his voice and he cleared his throat. 

“You do, right?”, he repeated and Natasha nodded. “Yes, we do know her. How do you know?”

“I saw you two talking at the ball. And I recognized her mother from the market”, he explained. 

“Stepmother”, Natasha corrected him and he nodded in understanding. 

“This makes sense”, he mumbled more to himself than the others, but quickly gained his posture again.

“What happened to her? Is she alright?”

Although Steve tried to sound casually his voice gave away his concern.

“Honestly, we don’t know”, Natasha replied and tried to cover up her own worry.

“We made a plan to get her out of the house. Our part was to distract her family, which required taking them here. We had to convince them that you wanted to meet them before the ball started or else they wouldn’t have believed us.”

Steve nodded along, but seemed deep in thought. “And the other part of your group will take her away from there?”, he questioned and they nodded.

“They are supposed to take her to the last ball so she can meet you again and explain everything”, Natasha told him and a smile filled his face.

“Sir? The family want to talk to you, They say it’s important”, an attendant suddenly appeared. 

Steve sighed, his smile dropping. “Can’t it wait?”, he tried to brush it off, but the man shook his head. “It’s urgent”, he reported and Steve nodded.

“You’re free to go”, he told Natasha and Clint before leaving the room to go back to his duty.

“He is so in love with her”, Natasha laughed once the door had closed.

Tags:

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Steve Tags: @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Cinderella Tags:

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