#(please ask about it I’m dying to talk about it this au is quietly strangling me in the background)

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

no I will not provide context

[the-oc-lass]

Second Chances - The Prologue

*Waves* Hi there. I wanted to promote my book Second Chances (I will put the links to my Wattpad and Ao3 accounts at the bottom of the post - or remind me to post them if I forget to) by posting the prologue here and letting everyone have a taste of my work. So, like, weeeeee. 

(Note: I know my work isn’t perfect so feel free to leave suggestions on how I can make my writing better. I need to get better with criticism)

(Note #2: This is a Hamilton AU fic from the perspective of OCs, so there you go)

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO...

The End and The Beginning:

It’s a dreary day, yet so beautiful. These days are always nice. The lovely day is shattered as a single gunshot, followed by another, rings through the air. I freeze and listen, before creeping through the streets slowly. I look around, ever careful. Then my eyes find him, lying there on the cobblestones. I gasp.

“Philip,” I breath, before rushing to his side and falling to my knees. His hands are pressing against a bleeding wound. Although I know how little it will help, I pull a handkerchief out and press it over the wound in a feeble attempt to absorb the blood. His breathing is ragged, and I’m scared.

“Someone get a Doctor!” I scream, looking around the streets. Whoever had shot him is nowhere to be seen. A coward! I look back down at Philip’s face. It’s contorted in pain and agony, and his eyes hold so much fear as they stare up at me. 

“Everything will be alright. Come here,” I say gently. I lift his head and place it in my lap, and he hisses in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. He has tears on his face, and looks so afraid. I run my fingers through his hair slowly, hoping to soothe him and calm him down. He makes a strangled noise, and I shush him softly.

“Hush. I’ll take care of you until you’re brought to a doctor. Please, save what strength you have. You must survive, for your family,” I say, pausing to brush my thumb gently across his freckled cheek. Blood smears across where I touched. He coughs, and I shush him again softly, still stroking my thumb across his cheek, ignoring the blood. The expression shaping his face is breaking my heart. I want nothing more than to comfort him. He reaches a hand up toward me, and I pull one of mine from his hair to hold it. His hand is still covered in his blood, but I don’t care. Mine is too.

“Who are you?” he manages to ask in a strained voice. He doesn’t know who I am...Of course he doesn’t. I smile softly down at him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. 

“It does not matter. I am just someone who could not leave you here all alone. For, fear only grows in the privacy of one's own thoughts,” I say. He makes a strangled noise that sounds something like a laugh. He’s smiling at me very slightly.

“You are a poet?” he asks. I give his hand another squeeze and continue to run my fingers through his hair.

“Something of the sort, Mr. Hamilton,” I say kindly. He continues to smile at me.

“Philip. Call me Philip,” he says. I smile back at him.

“Philip,” I correct myself quietly. He coughs again, and I frown with concern. 

“Let us take him!” Men cry, and I raise my head to see them coming. They’ll take Philip to get the help he needs. I nod, and they hoist him from my lap. 

“One minute,” I say, stopping them before they go. Philip is still holding my hand, and I hold it tightly before leaning down and kissing his forehead.

“All will be well, Philip. I promise,” I say softly. He squeezes my hand weakly, before he’s hauled away. And I stand there in the street for a moment. Blood sits sticky on my hand. My handkerchief is gone. It’s okay. As long as he is okay.

“M-mother, you cannot be serious,” I stutter, eyes wide with horror. My mother shakes her head.

“Too serious, my darling. He passed many hours after he left you. You are likely the last person outside of his blood that he saw,” she says, holding my hands in hers. Her eyes shine with sympathy, but all I can think of is the darkness from her words. Philip is dead. He didn’t recognize me, but I’ve known him for my whole life. He’s...The first man I’ve ever loved. And I knew the fear on his face as he laid in my lap, dying. And now he’s...I shake my head and draw back, refusing to believe it.

“They have lied. It is not true!” I say, voice overtaken by emotion. My mother reaches out for me once more, but I flee from her, into my father’s study. I lock her out, and move slowly to my father’s desk. I know he keeps a pistol inside the drawer. It’s a man’s job to carry on the legacy in the first place. This will not matter. I take up a quill, dip it in ink, and write. My words spill desperately across the parchment. For I am running out of time. My last poem, my last words. And the words I’m Sorry curling at the bottom. I do not sign my name. I place the quill down gently and lean down, opening the drawer containing my father’s pistol. There is a bang on the study door, and my mother is calling my name. I do not answer. I draw the pistol out. It is loaded, as it always is, and I know how to use it. Father was adamant that I learned how. I move over to the window, and I stare out it. The gun somehow doesn’t feel heavy in my hand. In fact, it feels nice. As if it were made to sit there. My mother is still calling for me. I lift the gun, and the metal feels cool against my head. I whisper an “I love you” into the air, and close my eyes. The air smells of books, paper, and ink. All of the things I love. 

“I’m sorry, Philip, mon amour,” I whisper. My finger moves to the trigger. I take in a last deep breath, and push it down. Bang. 

I open my eyes. It’s bright and beautiful here. For a moment, I wonder where I am. I wonder how I got here. And it all comes back. I look around, searching for anything or anyone. 

“It’s you.” I turn toward the voice. And there’s a freckled face, framed by bouncing locks of curls. Philip. I reach a hand out slowly, carefully. He does too. Our hands meet, and his is...Warm. His hand is bigger than mine, and he has the calluses of a poet. The same as me.

“What did you do?” he asks me, a sad look on his face that should never sit there. I frown and turn my head away, hand dropping.

“I lied to a dying man. I removed the liar,” I say softly. His hand takes mine again, holding it.

“Miss, you said what was necessary to comfort a dying man. I do not feel as though you lied to me,” he says. I risk a glance, and his gaze on me is one that is kind and soft. Everything but angry. 

“This is her?” another voice inquires. I turn. He’s a man in uniform, from a war long gone. A bouncy head of curls tied back. Something about him reminds me of Philip. Perhaps it is the freckles and the curls.

“This is her,” Philip confirms, and I glance back at him. My other hand is lifted, and a kiss is placed upon my knuckles. I stare at the top of his head for a moment, until he straightens. 

“Who are-“

“John Laurens, Miss,” he says. My eyes widen.

“Laurens...My mother’s Laurens?” I ask. His brows wrinkle in confusion. 

“Your mother?” he asks. I step toward him, tears in my eyes.

“Mr. Laurens...My name is Lilith Derven. I’m your goddaughter,” I say. His eyes widen, and he reaches out to take his face in my hands. 

“You’re...My Anastasia’s daughter,” he says. I nod, and he pulls me to him. I bury my face into his chest. 

“You’re just as beautiful as your mother. I can see her intelligence in your eyes...She must be so proud of you,” he says, holding my head. I laugh slightly, a tear running down my cheek.

“Lilith?” Philip mutters. I turn my head, and his mouth is agape as he stares at me. 

“Hi, Philip. I was waiting for you to recognize me,” I say, smiling through the tears. He runs to me and sweeps me into his arms, lifting me and holding me close. 

“How long has it been...My Lily. My beautiful Lilith. My best friend in this world, a poet greater than I, and the girl I’ve-“ He pauses, and sets me down. 

“Laurens, could you-“

“I’ll leave you two be. I’d like to check up on Alexander anyway,” Laurens says. I hear him retreat, but my eyes are only on Philip. He takes my hands and stares me in the eye, cheeks flushed. 

“I wish I’d told you when we were both alive...Maybe we wouldn’t be dead in the first place if I had. We’d just grown apart. I was busy with school, as were you, I’m sure. I’ve always known you wouldn’t require a man to become successful, so some part of me was afraid that if I told you...You’d turn me down, or I would hold you back from your dreams. I didn’t think I could. I wanted to be bold like my pops, but it seems like the boldest thing was the one thing I couldn’t do,” he says. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a kind look. 

“Pip, what are you talking about?” I ask, using his old nickname. He squeezes my hands and looks down at them for a second, then back up into my eyes.

“Lilith...I’ve been in love with you since I was ten years old,” he says. My face flushes and my lips part in surprise. 

“You...Love me?” I repeat, still shocked. He swallows and nods. 

“I do,” he says. I smile at him and pull one hand away from him to raise it and touch his cheek. 

“Mon doux petit poète (My sweet little poet), I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Je t’aime aussi,” I say, caressing his face with my thumb. He stares at me for a moment.

“You do?” he asks. I smile wider and nod.

“Have I ever lied to you, mon amour?” I ask. He grins at me. 

“Probably, when we were children,” he says. I laugh and lean my forehead against his. 

“I’ve missed you, ma douce (my sweet) Philip,” I say. He chuckles, putting a hand respectfully at my hip. I pull back slightly to look at him through my eyelashes. 

“Pip?” I ask softly. He tilts his head to show he’s listening. 

“How much French do you know?” He hums in thought for a moment, looking at me curiously.

“Only what you taught me,” he says. My stomach twists nervously. Damn this corset. I take a deep breath and lean toward him.

“Embrasse moi,” I whisper in his ear. He pauses as I pull back. He swallows and licks his lips.

“That...Kiss you?” he asks. I look away shyly and nod. He smiles bashfully, before gently taking my face and turning it toward him. His eyes sparkle with adoration as they look at me, before they drop to my lips. His eyes close as he leans toward me, and mine do too. His kiss is soft and sweet, warm like the morning sunlight, and a bliss unheard of. I smile against his lips and I feel him do that same. It lasts for only a few seconds, before we pull away from one another. Blushes spread across our cheeks, and smiles curve our lips. 

“Wow,” he breathes. I giggle and throw my arms around him. 

“Je t'aime,” I say, holding tightly to him. He laughs, kissing behind my ear. 

“I love you too, ma beauté française (My French beauty),” he says. I giggle, and then shriek as he lifts me up. He’s spinning with me, and I hold on tighter. When he finally puts me down, I step back and sway.

“You’ve made me dizzy!” I giggle, grinning at him. He laughs at me, and I hug him tightly. Someone clears their throat, and we jump, moving away from each other. Laurens smiles at us. 

“I take it your feelings were mutual?” he asks. Philip blushes and nods.

“U-um, how are my parents?” he asks, changing the subject. Laurens’ face drops. 

“They’re...Grieving. Not just you, but Lilith. And they’re still searching for Evangeline,” he says. For a moment, my heart breaks. The Hamilton’s are grieving for me as well? I’m not even their daughter, I’m not of their blood at all, but they still grieve for me? Then my attention is drawn away from the fact. I look at Philip and raise an eyebrow. 

“Who’s Evangeline?” I ask. He looks at me for a moment, silent. 

“You are,” he says. I crinkle my eyebrows in confusion, tilting my head.

“What?” Laurens and I ask in unison, each with differing ratios of shock and confusion. Philip takes my hand, seemingly planning out his response.

“My mind was so blurred after I got shot. I was looking at the sky and still didn’t know which way was up. When I saw you, I couldn’t see your face. Not in the literal sense, but it didn’t click. In my mind you were a pretty stranger with pretty words, and I couldn’t see you as Lilith. Maybe it was my own mind’s way of trying to be merciful, because knowing that it was you I was dying on would’ve been many times worse than believing I was dying in the arms of a stranger. I tried to describe you to my mom, I wanted to have you speak at my funeral,” he looks up at Laurens to address him instead. “We couldn’t just call her ‘the girl in the purple dress,’ so my mom decided to call her Evangeline. It’s supposed to mean bringer of good news, which she associated with Lilith comforting me.” The way he’d described it all had been so poetic and sad. And he’d wanted me to speak at his funeral? What...What have I done? I turn to Philip.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling overridden with guilt. He puts his other hand over mine. 

“Lilith, it’s perfectly fine-“

“But it’s not. I caused your family so much pain and uncertainty. They may never know that it was me who sat with you, and they’ll live the rest of their lives wondering who I was. Not to mention that I’ve caused them more grieving by taking my own life,” I exclaim, tears welling up in my eyes. The outburst is so unladylike, and nothing like how my mother taught me to act. Yes, speak to be heard, but stand strong. Women are already seen as weak, do not allow yourself to show weakness if you wish to be taken seriously. Show emotion with words, not with your tears. Philip wipes a stray tear from my cheek, kissing my forehead. 

“Don’t cry, mon amour,” he mutters softly. I hiccup and nod, taking a deep breath to pull myself together. There’s a long silence.

“I want to show you kids something,” Laurens says, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. I grin slightly. 

“You just aged yourself a lot, Mr. Laurens,” I giggle. He sighs and rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head. He turns and waves for us to follow him. We do so, hand in hand. Eventually, he leads us to a cliff. The horizon is a painting of beautiful colors, which reflect serenely off the waves of the deep blue waters below the cliff. 

“It’s beautiful,” I say, awestruck. Philip is at a complete loss for words beside me. 

“As is everything in heaven,” Laurens says, eyes remaining glued to the horizon. I release Philip’s hand to climb a bit higher on the cliff, standing beside Laurens. He looks at me and I look back.

“As much as it saddens me that you’ve both come so early...Welcome to the afterlife,” he says. I smile slightly. 

“Thank you, Mr. Laurens. I’m glad to have finally met you.”

~~~~~~

“My mother talked of you often, Mr. Laurens,” I say, staring across the sky. I pull at the petals of my flower crown absently. Laurens turns toward me.

“Did she?” I nod, smiling softly.

“She would tell my brothers and I stories of you, and read us your letters. And she told me once that when you saw me as an infant, you looked at me as if I were yours. You had the same love in your eyes as my father did, which is why they decided to make me your goddaughter,” I say. I try to imagine it. My infant self in his arms, a look in his eyes that can be described only as the all too pure pride of a loving father. I will never be able to feel that pride. I have robbed myself of it. Somehow, though, I do not worry. I am with Philip now, and John, and other family that has passed. I am content.

“Mon bien-aimé (My beloved) Anastasia,” he says, soft and fond. My smile is sad now, and I place the flower crown in my lap to prevent myself from crushing it.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” I ask. I miss my mother. My father. My blessed little brothers. 

“Not in the way that I love my Alexander, or in the way she loves your father, but, yes. She and I loved each other deeply,” he says, smiling sadly. I nod.

“She told me that she saw you at that ball and could tell you were different. She approached you, and you looked at her with all the politeness of a man that thought he was going to have to fend her off like other women. But the first thing she did when she reached you was turn her gaze across the room to Alexander, and whisper in a tone only you would hear ‘you love him, don’t you?’” I say, remembering the story my mother told me when teaching me to accept others. We never owned slaves. We claimed to, but we paid them and treated them as humans. And we’d never harmed them. They had families, children I’d played with. I smile softly at him, and he returns it.

“She’s always been such a strong, intelligent, and accepting woman. I never felt as though she was disgusted by me, and I never felt unsafe in her presence. She and your father were more of a family to me than my own blood,” he says, pausing for a moment before reaching for my hand and adding, “and when you were born, you were as well.” I hold onto his hands and gaze at him softly. 

“She’s always wished you could have loved him openly,” I say, unaware of the tear rolling down my cheek. He reaches up to wipe the tear away, and pulls me to him. 

“Mon petit tout (My little everything),” he mutters. I can’t help but laugh.

“Mother told me you called me that,” I say, pressing my cheek against his coat. We sit silently for a moment, the both of us reminiscing on our individual memories of my mother - his Anastasia - and longing to be back with her. We move away from each other in unison, and he smiles at me with an adoring look I’ve only ever seen from my father. He lifts the flower crown from my lap and places it on my head, grinning at me. 

“I didn’t know it was possible for people to accept this part of me until I met your mother. She looked at me with a teasing and playful twinkle in her eyes, and I could always talk to her without fear of judgement,” he says fondly. I touch the flowers in my hair, a fond smile on my own lips.

“She taught us that we do not choose how we are made, or how we are born. She said that we must treat everyone as we feel we should be treated. It is why we never owned slaves,” I say. John chuckles.

“Yes, your mother and I were adamant abolitionists. She had so much passion, especially when she was young and newly wedded. She went against the societal standards of women and we all admired her for it. Lafayette was quite taken with her,” he says. I gasp and put a hand over my mouth.

“Marquis de Lafayette and my mother?” I ask, mouth agape with a surprised grin. He laughs at my expression.

“Yes, but as far as I am aware, all that was shared was a few dances and some flirting in French. Your mother knew about his wife, however, and respected his love for her. Ever self sacrificing, your mother,” he says. I sigh and nod. 

“That she is, ma chère mère (My dear mother),” I say. He pats my shoulder.

“She’s-“

“Mr. Laurens!” We both turn when we hear Philip. He looks panicked. Afraid. Laurens and I both rise.

“What is it, Philip?” he asks, voice steady. Ever the soldier. Philip swallows

“It’s my father. He’s about to duel with Aaron Burr.”

~~~~~

Laurens has descended to be with Alexander for the duel. I hold tightly to Philip’s hand as we watch from above. He flinches when his father is shot, but Alexander seems quite calm considering the situation. Typical Alexander. He’s taken to a doctor, and Laurens comes back to retrieve Philip. 

“We should be with him,” he says. Philip nods, and his hand slips from mine. 

“Time passes differently when you don’t watch. It will only be a few minutes for you. We’ll be back soon,” he says, looking briefly at me. I nod, and I watch them go. Then I’m alone. Is this what it was like for Laurens? Long and lonely silence? I wait, eventually sitting in the grass. Sounds of nature surround me, so it’s not a deafening quiet, but I miss the presence of another person. I find myself weaving more flower crowns, and singing a French lullaby my mother sang to me as a child. I’m about halfway through my third flower crown when a voice breaks through my song. 

“My dear Laurens...And Philip?” I look up. It’s Alexander. He’s been reunited with his lover and his son. For a moment, I think to rise. I decide against it. Let him have his moment with the ones he loves first. I return to my flower crown, and continue to sing. I sound nothing like my mother, but it’s comforting nonetheless. 

“Lilith?” My singing stops as I look up, and I smile. Dropping the half-made crown, I rise to my feet.

“Monsieur Hamilton,” I say with a curtsy. He breaks away from Laurens and Philip to come forth and embrace me.

“Do not be so formal with me, my dear. You are like a daughter to me,” he says, sounding...Heartbroken? I wrap my arms around him in an effort to comfort him. 

“Darling, why did you do it? Why did you leave your poor mother in the manner of which you did? You have no idea how much heartbreak we felt in losing you. Lafayette returned for your funeral. Why, Lilith, why?” he asks desperately. I...I caused all that? 

“Because she’s Evangeline.” Alexander pulls away from me to look at his son. 

“She’s...What do you mean she’s Evangeline? You would’ve recognized her, and you didn’t know who the woman was. That’s why we’ve called her Evangeline,” he says. Philip shakes his head and moves to my side, taking my hand.

“My vision was blurred and my mind wasn’t working correctly. Think about it, Pops. Look at her. She’s exactly as I described Evangeline,” he says. Alexander looks from Philip to me and stares for a moment. 

“I don’t understand why being Evangeline would cause her to-“

“I felt guilty. So guilty that it hurt. I couldn’t take it,” I say, fingers twitching in Philip’s grasp. Alexander stares at me, shocked. Then suddenly he has my face between his hands.

“You had nothing to feel guilty for. I should’ve stopped him,” he says. I blink back tears.

“I should’ve told him I loved him sooner. Perhaps the three of us would not be here in this moment,” I say. The hand against mine flexes.

“Do not think in what if’s. What if’s will only destroy us,” Philip says. Alexander releases my face to look at his son, and I look at him too. 

“Mon doux petit poète,” I say with teary eyes, releasing his hand to touch his cheek. Alexander chuckles a little.

“We always hoped you’d fall in love,” he says. I grin a little bit.

“The plan always was to have us married anyway, wasn’t it? You wanted Derven-Hamilton grandchildren. That’s what mother said anyway,” I say. Alexander and Laurens both laugh, and Philip turns his head away to hide a blush rising to his cheeks. 

“It has been a while since I’ve been to a Derven wedding,” Laurens says. Mother mentioned that the four had come to her wedding. Laurens had given a speech, and danced with her. She said that until the day I was born, the day she married my father was the best day of her life. Not just because of her marriage to my father, but because of her friends, whom she loved so dearly. I can see why. 

~~~~~

As the years go by, more join us, and I meet many whom I never had the chance to meet. I’m reunited with others. My parents, my brothers, Eliza, all of Philip’s siblings. I’m properly introduced to people whom I haven’t met since I was born, or very young. I meet spouses and nieces and nephews. They all remain in their best form. Some being as they were when they died, and others appearing younger. Many reunions are tearful, joyous. When I first saw my mother, some ten years after my father passed away, I broke into sobs and collapsed in her arms. We all spent years in the blissful afterlife together, creating memories we never got. Philip and I get married in the presence of our families and friends. In the year 2016 on the regular Earth, I see a young woman portraying pieces of mine and my mother’s stories in a big theater in New York, in a show that is big on what is now known as Broadway. It is after I see this that the disappearances occur. The first to go is General Washington. Then my grandparents, and Philip’s. Years pass and Angelica is gone. A year later and Mr. Mulligan and Lafayette, then my father. The following year, Mr. Laurens, Alexander, my mother, and Eliza are gone. Two years and Aunt Peggy disappears. Very soon, it is Philip and I, and our siblings and their families. We await the certain fates of disappearance. And it is to my horror that Philip is gone first. Months later, I see a bright light. Each memory of my life flashes through my mind rapidly, and the light swallows me. The last thing I can see in my mind is Philip. Philip. Philip. Philip…

Yo. So that’s the prologue. It probably reads better on Wattpad or Ao3. It’s not updated as frequently on Ao3, but every time I finish a chapter, I update on Wattpad. I’m up to Chapter 14 there. So like. 

Wattpad (Main platform): https://www.wattpad.com/story/238070007-second-chances 

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575150/chapters/70031022

[goldencuffs]

Modern au lamen where Damen proposes? 😊

Damen keeps it simple.

He knows what Laurent likes: soft, slow kisses in the early morning light, cheap, sugary coffee from the local café and dinner in front of the tv after a long day.

Everything Laurent loves is simple; he takes joy in the smallest things. It’s connected to his past; Damen is sure of it. Laurent isn’t used to having extravagant things. All his Uncle ever did was hurt him.

It used to break Damen’s heart. Now, he wants Laurent’s love of simplicity to be connected to good things.

Damen spends a long time searching for the perfect ring. When he doesn’t find it, he decides to design his own. It’s a plain, thin gold band with a single sapphire lifted from his mother’s favourite necklace.

The proposal itself is nothing ostentatious. Damen knows Laurent.

They drive home together, after Damen picks Laurent up from the station. It’s Damen’s turn to make dinner, and he makes Laurent one of his favourite dishes: a classic roast chicken with potatoes. They eat it in front of the television, and as soon as Laurent finishes his plate, he snuggles up with Damen on the couch until the movie ends.

 Afterwards, they eat ice cream on the balcony. The sky is clear and dark.

 That’s when Damen does it; he pulls out the velvet box from his pocket and slides it along the railing, towards Laurent who has been staring up at the sky.

 As soon as it nudges against Laurent’s pinkie finger, he looks down, eyes widening. Then his eyes snap to Damen’s. They’re so blue, even in the darkness.

Damen is nervous, more nervous than he has ever been in his life. Nervous, but strangely settled.

“I’m not going to make some big speech or anything like that,” Damen assures, trying to keep the smile on his face light. “But I just want you to know that I’ve never loved anybody the way I love you. You make me so happy, Laurent, and I want to spend the rest of my life working to be the man you deserve.” He presses closer. “Laurent, will you marry me?”

“Damen,” Laurent breathes, and his eyes are misty. He turns his head a fraction, just enough to hide his face, so Damen won’t see his tears.

It dawns on Damen, then. Laurent isn’t going to say yes. It’s a painful realisation to come to, but Damen’s gut tells him he’s not wrong. He knows Laurent too well.

“I’m sorry, I can’t take this,” Laurent says.

Damen feels like he’s been shot.

Laurent is crying now. He’s quiet as he does so, curled in on himself, trying to be as small as possible. Again, Damen is sure it’s because of the environment he grew up in. He imagines paper thin walls and Laurent’s fear of being overheard by his Uncle.

 Damen taps a finger on the other side of the velvet box. “It’s okay.” His voice is strangled but firm. “You’re allowed to say no, Laurent. You don’t owe me anything.” He swallows and adds: “Is it alright if I ask why though? Am I allowed to ask that? I’m not sure what the proper protocol here is. Believe it or not, but this is my first time proposing.”

 Damen’s joke falls flat. Laurent takes a while to compose himself. The seconds stretch on for too long and Damen’s heart keeps breaking and breaking and breaking.

 Finally, Laurent turns to him. His eyes are red and his nose is pink, but he doesn’t shy away from Damen’s gaze. Laurent, to his core, is brave. Damen’s always loved that about him.

 “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Laurent says quietly.

 Damen tries to process that. Up until this point, he’d thought marrying Laurent had been his best idea.

 “Is it me?” he asks.

 “God, no.”

 The swiftness of Laurent’s response is the only thing that assures Damen that Laurent is telling the truth. He waits for Laurent to say more, but Laurent is still upset, and Damen is getting there, too.

 He doesn’t want to lash out at Laurent – or worse, cry and make Laurent feel guilty.

 Damen pockets the unopened velvet box. Laurent winces.

 “It’s okay,” Damen says. “We can talk about it later. Or not at all. Whatever you’re okay with.”

 An awkward silence falls over them. Damen doesn’t think they’ve ever been like this with each other: cautious and unsure.

 “I’m so sorry,” says Laurent.

 Damen nods, and then after some deliberation, leaves Laurent alone on the balcony.

 *

 Things are – naturally – weird for a while.

They walk on eggshells around each other for a few days, then a week, and then a little more than a week. Damen spends most of that time at the gym, working out his frustration in the boxing ring or on the treadmill. He begins to spend more and more time there, just to avoid Laurent and the stagnancy of their relationship back home.

He thinks he’s doing a good job at it until Damen comes home one day to see Laurent on the couch, drunk and upset.

Laurent starts talking as soon as he sees Damen. His voice is scratchy. He sounds like he’s just woken up from a long nap when he says, in one breath, “I know I fucked everything up and you hate me now but can you please forgive me because I miss you so, so, so much.”

Damen is weak for this man. He knows, in this moment, that for the rest of his life – if Laurent wants to stay for that long – he’s going to be smitten over him.

The sex that night is amazing.

Their relationship resumes its domestic normalcy after that. Damen’s insecurity finally leaves him. He’s just content to live his life with Laurent by his side. They don’t need to be married to be happy.

One night, Damen comes home to find a plate of his favourite French dessert, eclairs, on the table. They’re all misshapen and different sizes; Laurent clearly made them, and it makes Damen melt.

Laurent is sitting at the head of the table. Damen takes the seat across him with a smile.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” Damen says, fond.

Laurent says, “I know.”

He’s nervous. Damen can’t tell why, until Laurent brings out something from his pocket.

 Damen’s heart jumps. It’s the same velvet box he bought for Laurent. He hadn’t had the courage to get rid of it; instead, he’d shoved it back into the discarded shoebox in his closest.

Laurent places it on the table between them. “I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to interrupt until I finish.”

“Okay,” says Damen. His heart still hasn’t calmed down.

Laurent takes a deep breath. “I love you so much, but I feel like I’ve been selfish. This entire time – our entire relationship I’ve felt like I’ve been holding you back. You deserve much better than me.”

Damen says, “I love you, Laurent. I’ve been in love with you ever since you did that awful Gandalf impression on our first date. I don’t deserve you.”

“I told you not to interrupt me.” Laurent’s glare is undermined by the flush on his cheeks.

 “Sorry.”

“What I’m trying to say is – I was scared.” Laurent’s flush darkens. “I didn’t want you to regret anything with me and I didn’t want you to wake up one day and realise you had wasted your time with me.” He takes another deep breath. “But I don’t – I don’t want my Uncle interfering between us anymore.”

Damen swallows. Laurent rarely talks about his Uncle.

Laurent taps the top of the velvet box. “I’m dying to see what you’ve picked out.” His smile is shy as he pushes the box forward. “Ask me again, Damen.”

[mardi-nah]

Tricks

Circus worker narrator, trickster, fae, circus setting, unrequited love, pining, enemies to lovers, a pinch of angst, vulgar language, otherwise sfw

“I am in love with you.”

My reflection glowered back at me. I grimaced at it. “I love you.”

The reflection looked pained. This wouldn’t do at all. “I have fallen in love with you.” No. “I have loved you for—no. I love you. I love you. I am in love with you. Quinn, I am in love with you. I love ya, babe.”

The glass was cool against my skin as I slumped forward, forehead to forehead with my mirror twin. I had watched so many movies, so many shows with dramatic and simpering love confessions, but it wouldn’t do. I looked like I was constipated. Or ready to murder. Mama should have bore someone cuter, curse her in her grave.

“Quinn, I—“

Someone threw the sliding door open so hard it bounced against the wall with a foreboding boom! A voice that could try a priest called out, “Oh Gwen! Gwenny, honey! Gwenster! Gwen-dah-lee!”

I didn’t fucking twitch. “What.”

“It is the strangest thing, Gwenny-poo!” A sigh, and then the unmistakable screech of bed springs as someone fell on top of my cot. “All of the stage lights have gone out! Just like—“ a snap of fingers, “—that! Can you believe it?”

Oh, hell no. “What did you do?”

Mareth gasped. “Me? I haven’t done anything! Or I’ve done a lot of things, depending on how you look at it. None of them have involved lights.”

I spun myself away from the glass to glare at him.

Mareth was grinning, green eyes glittering and black hair wildly eschew. His little black tail was curling in the air behind him, tangling with my blankets just to piss me off. “Gwendy, you’re so scary looking today!”

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“Weeeeeell …”

“Mareth!”

“It isn’t my fault it started raining indoors! How could I have known?”

“You little shit!” I screamed, charging at him to fucking throttle his horrible little neck, but he only laughed gaily and disappeared the moment I fell on the bed.

“So violent! I said I didn’t do anything!” His voice chirped from behind me.

I twisted around, hands knotting in my sheets. “You are so full of shit! Come here so I can strangle you!”

Mareth tsked at me, strolling forward but staying just out of reach of my legs and fists. “Ah-ah. If you keep that up, I won’t tell you where the control panel went.”

“What?”

“Oops.” He giggled. “Didn’t mean to tell you that part. Guess it just slipped!”

“Why you—!” I staggered to my feet, ready to tackle him and wail on him until he cried, but he was already fading out.

“Well, would you look at the time! It’s time to dash! Au revoir!” His voice echoed around my room, his laughter chasing the last remaining shreds of my sanity.

I sank back onto my bed and put my head in my hands. Guess there’d be no time to talk to Quinn about my feelings or anything else tonight.

~

Mareth had been a pain in the ass my entire career working with the circus. Had been a pain in everyone’s ass, just about, but he seemed to get a special pleasure seeing me screech. Lately, I’d swear he was worse than ever, and it wasn’t just me, either. Poor Quinn came into the back one night dripping molasses, his expression icier than usual. Mareth had been found in storage, tied and bound with a growing black eye. Somehow, that hadn’t stopped him from emptying Quinn’s underwear into the river later that evening.

“Is he off in the head? What the hell,” I growled as I scrambled to reassemble the control room with Joan.

“It seems our dear boy is having a tantrum,” an amused voice came from the doorway.

I looked up to see Mr. Bailey leaning against the entryway, watching us with dark eyes that had an uncalled for amount of sparkle.

“He should be whipped,” I hissed, “He’s going to destroy the show.”

“Yes, probably. At ease, girls. I’ll talk to him.”

At that point, there was nothing to do but focus on the show. If anyone could straighten Mareth out, it was Bailey.

~

Quinn was beautiful tonight.

He dripped a milky fog as he shouldered his way through the back, glittering wings fluttering softly behind him. His act was particularly flawless tonight—it was as if he and Odessa were of one mind, one move sinking into the next, their limbs synched beatifically.

It was such a shame he would never consider someone like me.

~

Of all the people to find me on that night, Mareth should not have been the one.

The cart was dark in the night, the moonlight dying it dark. Its roof was cold against my ass, but I only pressed my bare toes firmer to it. I heard the ladder scream as someone climbed it, but I didn’t turn to look.

“Well, this isn’t the most depressing place you could have chosen,” a teeth-grittingly familiar voice chirped. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, she still has teeth!” The cart groaned as he moved towards me, and next thing I knew, a pair of dark pants had their legs slung over the side of the cart beside me.

“I’m not in the mood, Mareth,” I snarled, burying my face in my arms.

“Come here to cry like a little girl in private, hmm?” He hummed, kicking his feet out. “Now I’m very disappointed. I thought you had more to you than that.”

“Are you just here to mock me? I will knock you off the fucking cart. Go. Away.”

“What is it about Quinn, I wonder? It’s definitely not his personality, given that he’s q giant asshole. It’s not his money, since he’s as broke as the rest of us. What does that leave? Hmm …”

I snapped upright, eyes burning with the old tears, with anger, with frustration and hatred and this fucking guy. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Just because he doesn’t like you doesn’t mean he’s like that with the rest of us.”

“Really? What’s he like with you, then?” Mareth was smiling that damn shit-eating smile he had, though there was something a little off about it. Must have been my more than usual desire to punch it.

“He might be moody and quiet, but he’s just as intelligent and focused.” I turned away from him, scowling into the vast dark. “He’s prosaic and graceful. His manners are impeccable. And he practices like a damn mad man.”

“So? Many of our performers are like that.”

“Like hell they are. I don’t think anyone hates their job, but Quinn is—“ my voice broke, which would have been humiliating in any situation, but more so in front of Mareth of all people. I swallowed with difficulty. “He’s admirable.”

There was a brief silence, and I thought that maybe Mareth had mercifully run out of things to say, but then he quietly continued. “Doesn’t seem that great to me.”

“What do you know of greatness? You sabotage the show every chance you get.” I rubbed my wet nose against the back of my arm and grimaced at the feeling.

“Not the show! Just you. And Quinn. Mostly.”

“Can’t you just go?” I asked miserably, sinking myself into the ball of my limbs. Fresh tears were hard at work behind my eyes, and I could feel the worrying beginnings of a sob climbing my throat. “Leave me alone for once.”

At that point, Mareth looked at me, green eyes glittering—with anger, I realized. “I would never leave you alone, Gwen.”

I stared at him, but he only stared angrily back.

When I managed to speak, it was a croak. “Why?”

“Quinn isn’t worth breaking down like a child. Stop acting so weak.”

I huffed. “What right do you have to say that? You’ve never had your heart broken.”

“Oh, please. You break my heart all the time.”

My body stiffened involuntarily; blood was drumming in my ears. His words didn’t make sense. Another prank, probably. “Cut the bullshit. I’m not in the mood for pranks.”

I started when hands grabbed my head and forced me to turn to look at him again. If anything, he looked more furious than before. I almost shrank back from the rage in his gaze, but I swallowed it down. Mareth didn’t scare me.

“You never look at me unless I make you.” His voice was unsteady, steaming in the cold night air. “The only person you can see is Quinn, but he doesn’t see anyone but himself. Don’t you get that?”

“Trust me, I get it,” I peeled his hands away, avoided his stare.

“Then why? Why him?” His real meaning went unsaid.

“I told you why. Dammit, Mareth, I thought you hated the show. Hell, I had half a mind that you hated me even more than I hated you. Why are you doing this now?” I scrubbed angrily at my eyes, mad that I was crying and even more mad that he was there to see it.

Quiet again, but only for a few beats. Mareth took a deep, shaky breath. “I hate that you love him. I can’t get you to notice me at all, and he doesn’t even care that he has it. It could have been anyone else. I don’t know why you picked him.”

“Jealous?” I sniped.

“Horribly.” He agreed.

I hadn’t expected him to say that; the surprise made me wordless for a few minutes, but I recovered. “Should I fuck you out of it? I have the strangest suspicion that your feelings will magically disappear come morning.”

“I would whole-heartedly love for you to try.”

I grabbed the sides of his head and mashed my face against his before he could react. He was surprisingly soft—his hair and his mouth and even his cheeks, lips warm and pliant under mine. I didn’t want to admit how hot I went when he moaned against me, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell him how good he felt. He was eager and compliant, letting me move and dominate him, allowing me to conquer his lap and his trousers and later, his dick.

~

The next morning found Mareth still in my room, for whatever reason.

He was naked, sprawled lazily over my cot, watching me put on my makeup with those smug-ass cat eyes of his. His tail was swishing slowly in the air behind him. He looked entirely too satisfied.

“Do you have what you want now, dumbass?” I asked, penciling in my eyebrows.

“Dunno. Are you going to come over tonight?”

I scoffed. “Why would I?”

In the mirror, I saw him frown, his tail stilling. “Then no, I don’t.”

We watched each other for a minute, and then I went back to putting my face on for the day, intent to avoid any further conversation.

Mareth was having none of it. “Won’t you consider it?”

“Consider what?”

“Being with me? You seemed—it was good last night, wasn’t it?” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, the tip of his tail twitching.

I eyed him in the mirror, and then smirked internally. “Give me your true name, and we can try to have a relation.”

His tail twitched again. “Oh?”

“I’m still not convinced you aren’t tricking me. Give me your name so I’ll know.” There. The matter was over.

Mareth sat up. “Is that all?”

“All”?

I blinked, and he was standing in the center of my tent, his clothes suddenly on again. “Consider it done! You may know me as—“ a gust of wind, and he was at my ear now, his mouth brushing my lobe. “Merit.”

“Your name is—?” He slapped a hand over my mouth before I could finish, wiggling his eyebrows at me in the mirror.

“Ah, ah. No spilling my secret now. I’ve just given you my soul, sweetie.”

I choked. “Your—?”

He actually did it. He gave me his—no, it must be fake. I could call his bluff.

I smiled sweetly up at him, murmuring, “Merit, why don’t you be a dear and get on your knees?”

Mareth gasped, and it wasn’t so much a sink to his knees as it was an inglorious fall. His knees hit the floor with a sharp crack and I couldn’t help but wince guiltily.

Holy fuck. He actually gave me his name.

I stood from my vanity, towering above him, staring. His eyes were gleaming madly, smile twisted into something familiar and devious. “Oh my, what ever will you do with me, Gwenny-poo?”

“You and I might be together for a long time, dear.” I brushed my hands through his hair; he tilted his head into my touch, and I fisted my fingers in his hair, making his breath hitch. “I guess I’ll have to train you.”

“Oh, please do,” he purred.

We had made a deal to try, at least. And if nothing else, I was a woman of my word.

~

Mareth was a very bothersome lover. I hadn’t decided if he was more or less so than before.

He whined if we didn’t have at least one meal a day together; he whined if he had to sleep alone; he whined if he couldn’t see me in the morning; he whined if I left him without a kiss goodbye; he whined if I wore something pretty and he wouldn’t be around to see it. He hated Quinn, and hated if I spent time with him, but I was a loyal partner, and he seemed to know this.

Besides, I wasn’t one to give my heart to someone who already broke it once. Mareth seemed to know this, too.

Lately Mareth had been pressing me to wear his favorite sweater—a dark green turtleneck that brought out the color of his eyes neatly. Not only was the idea of sharing clothes already ridiculous enough, but the fact that Mareth was a hell of a lot more petite than me didn’t seem to factor into his head.

“Mareth,” I said through my teeth, “This would stick to me like a second skin. I doubt it would even cover my stomach.”

“I know,” he purred.

I knocked him upside the head for that one, but he kept insisting that I “borrow” some of his clothes. I eventually caved and stuffed myself into one of his bigger jackets, and I pretended not to notice him watching me in it, or how he kept subtly trying to sniff at it after I returned it.

He also kept little useless items I gave him, which was so bizarre I couldn’t even bring it up to him. The number seemed to grow a little every time I was in his tent—a packet of toothpaste I lent him so he’d stop trying to use mine when he slept over; a pencil; a crumbled napkin I threw at him with a crude drawing of my foot on his ass; a glittery hair clip I had used to help Alice do his makeup before a show.

He was ridiculous. Absolutely bonkers.

If I obliged him in these things, it was no fault of mine. I was his girlfriend, after all, it was only natural to let your boyfriend have his needs and help meet them.

And if anyone claimed I enjoyed the little happy smile Mareth gave me when I used a pet name, or made him lunch, or wore his stupid sweater, or invited him to join me in the showers, I’d kick their ass too. And if they had the balls to claim I liked Mareth and his clingy affection and dumb tricks and loud laugh and short stature and ridiculousness, well, they might be right, but I’d still fucking end them.

[btsvt-adventures]

Day 04/30 - The Game Plan

A/n: Day (week) 4 of 30 day OTP challenge! This has been crossposted to AO3, so if by chance you see something like this under the u/n Soojinnie, don’t panic HAHA it’s just me from like 3 years ago or something :3 

Prompt: On A Date

Pairing: Jihoon x Seungcheol (Jicheol)

Warning(s): Nothing too bad, just a lot of heart exploding, toe curling fluff? heheh

Words:  1,545

Want more of this AU? Or want your own AU? Ask me here!

30 DAY (WEEK) OTP CHALLENGE Masterlist

“You can do this!” -silence- “Come on Choi Seungcheol you got this.” -silence- “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

Seungcheol’s been sitting in his car for the last ten minutes, freaking out about tonight’s date. It’s not just any date; it’s their sixth anniversary, and Seungcheol doesn’t want to mess anything up, not when he’s planned everything so perfectly. 

But he can’t get out of the goddamn car. 

He tries to pep talk himself again, hoping this time it’ll actually prompt him to walk up to Jihoon’s door, but jumps when his phone rings. He glances at it, fumbling to answer when he sees that it’s Jeonghan.

“Hel-”

“Get your ass out of the car already or I swear Jihoon is gonna kill you for being late.” 

Seungcheol forces a strangled laugh at Jeonghan’s annoyed tone, already feeling the panic and nervousness set in. His heart races, vision swimming for a bit,  and Seungcheol wonders if this is what a stroke feels like. 

“Okay Seungcheol, you can do this. Everything’s planned. All you need to do is pick up your boyfriend,” he tells himself, glancing out the car, eyes immediately finding the second story window, where his beloved lives.

“I can’t believe you’re talking to yourself like it’s your first date,” Jeonghan snorts, and Seungcheol hears him yelp in pain. “Ignore him, he was exactly the same for our fifth year anniversary. Good luck Cheollie!” 

“Jisoo,” he laughs, nerves already disappearing when he hears his other best friend’s soothing voice. “Tell Jeonghan he’s a fucking ass, and thank you.” He hangs up on his best friends before he gets out of his car, locking it decisively behind him.

Jihoon smirks to himself when he hears the knock on the door, but his smartass remark dies in his throat when he opens the door.

Holy fuck. 

Seungcheol doesn’t tend to dress up, (neither does Jihoon, but that’s not the point), but tonight he’s in a smart, ironed shirt, with a black blazer and dark washed jeans. Jihoon’s pretty sure his brain is 99% mush right now, and he seriously considers cancelling all their plans so Seungcheol can just come in and fuck him senseless.

“Hi Jihoonie,” he beams down at the frozen younger, kissing him lightly. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes, and Jihoon chokes out some semblance of “It’s okay” before he’s being whisked away for their anniversary date. 

“Where are we going? All I got from you was to dress warm,” Jihoon grumbles, looking down at his oversized sweater and dark ripped jeans. “Is this okay…?” he tugs at his sleeve, and Seungcheol gives him a once over, nodding and lacing their fingers together. 

“Jihoonie, you always look perfect,” he murmurs softly, thumb stroking Jihoon’s soft, milky skin. “And it’s a surprise,” he grins excitedly, tossing Jihoon a blindfold. “No peeking!” 

The drive isn’t particularly long, but Jihoon’s dying from curiosity, barely stopping himself from asking “are we there yet?” every two minutes.

“I hate surprises,” he mutters, fingers itching to rip off the damn blindfold. The road winds and winds (and winds some more), and Jihoon is nervous but excited at the same time. “You’re not taking me to some hill to kill me, are you?” he tries to joke, although it comes out more serious than he expected.

“Jihoonie, I’d rather drive myself off a cliff than hurt you,” Seungcheol murmurs softly, large hand enveloping Jihoon’s much smaller one. “I love you,” Seungcheol purrs, and Jihoon can’t hide the soft smile growing on his face. 

“Shut up,” he huffs, ears tipped a bright red, sitting upright when he feels the car slow to a stop. “We’re here?” he asks excitedly. Seungcheol just chuckles and gets out of the car, quickly rounding it to help his (tiny) boyfriend out. 

“Hyung, can I take this stupid thing off yet,” Jihoon grumbles, lips pouting naturally. Seungcheol’s heart nearly explodes with affection at how cute Jihoon is, deciding to finally put the younger out of his misery.

Seungcheol’s heart races as he watches Jihoon take everything in, from the fairy lights hung on the low branches of the trees, to the picnic set up all pretty for the both of them, to the stunning backdrop of Seoul’s night lights, glittering and sparkling against the dark, murky sky. 

“... Wow,” Jihoon breathes, throat tight with emotion. He glances around, feeling the cool night breeze against his flushed face. 

“Seungcheol- this… this-” he chokes, turning to his boyfriend, who’s staring at Jihoon like he hung the moon and the stars. He holds him tightly, face firmly buried into his chest, praying Seungcheol can’t feel the heat of his neck and face through the material of his sweater. 

“Thank you, I love you,” Jihoon whispers, and Seungcheol melts, strong arms wrapping around his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

Seungcheol loves that about him, that Jihoon, usually so brusque and cold, has this soft, caring, vulnerable side of him, and he loves it even more that he’s lucky enough to see it. He guides Jihoon to the picnic mat, and they settle quickly, pulling out coke and orange juice (because he’d very much like his boyfriend sober tonight, thank you very much), and offering them to Jihoon. The younger snorts, rolling his eyes as he accepts the bottle of juice, pressing it to his neck in an effort to return to a normal colour.

Seungcheol chuckles, and Jihoon swipes at him, grumbling about how his boyfriend’s so stupid to do something so grossly sweet for their anniversary, but there’s an unmistakable grin on the younger’s face that betrays him. Jihoon turns away, peeking into the picnic basket to escape Seungcheol’s knowing gaze, letting out a soft gasp  when he sees jajangmyeon and spicy ramyun in a bowl.

“You remembered,” he looks up at Seungcheol, who just rolls his eyes good-naturedly, pulling his boyfriend close.

“Of course I did babe, how could I forget such a weird combination?” Seungcheol teases, kissing the top of Jihoon’s fluffy head. “Hand me the chicken would you?” he murmurs.

Jihoon flails for a second, trying to feel out the warm takeout box he saw earlier, and hands it to Seungcheol, who mumbles his thanks, letting go of Jihoon so they can eat. Jihoon mixes his noodles leisurely, watching as his heathen of a boyfriend practically inhales the entire thing (he’s half sure Seungcheol might try to eat the box too). Jihoon chortles when his boyfriend looks up at him and grins, mouth (and somehow his cheek and nose) covered in the sticky garlic soy sauce. 

“You-uh- missed,” Jihoon snorts, motioning to Seungcheol’s...entire face.

Seungcheol just smacks his lips, and smirks at Jihoon, who grimaces and throws the pack of wipes at his boyfriend, grumbling that his boyfriend is a fucking child, and not a responsible, twenty-five year-old adult. 

Jihoon sighs, setting the now-empty bowl of noodles, and leans against Seungcheol’s broad shoulder, admiring the view (-coughs- of his boyfriend -coughs-) when suddenly he feels a drop on his head. He looks up, frowning in confusion, flinching when another drop hits his face.

And another. 

And another. 

And another.

He glares at the sky, daring it to rain on them, but it only seems to make it worse. The rain picks up, going from a light drizzle to sleets of rain before either one of them can react. Seungcheol curses, grabs Jihoon and the basket of food, and sprints to his Jeep. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Jihoon, I totally didn’t check the weather,” Seungcheol apologizes mournfully, grabbing a towel (Jihoon doesn’t know, or want to know why it’s there) to dry his drenched boyfriend off. “I was so caught up about planning the perfect date for their anniversary, and now I’ve completely stuffed it up, and god, I still had another surpr –”

Jihoon presses his lips to Seungcheol’s, effectively cutting off his panicked rambling. “I’m not mad,” he offers quietly when they pull away. “It was too cold out there anyway,” he smiles shyly at Seungcheol, and his boyfriend melts, heart full to bursting.

“I know, but now I don’t have space to do this properly,” he sighs, digging into his jacket pocket, and Jihoon’s heart nearly stops. 

He can’t be– He wouldn’t– Oh my god he is. 

Seungcheol is so nervous he’s sure Jihoon can hear his heartbeat. He takes a shaky breath, pulling the small waterlogged box from his pocket. 

“I know this isn’t ideal, and I’m really sorry. I’d planned this all romantic, and it was gonna be perfect but the weather had to –”

“Is that a ring?” Jihoon blurts, eyes trained on the box, posture stiff and mouth dropped open in shock.

“Y-yeah, it is,” Seungcheol breathes, stomach churning as he watches Jihoon. “It’s-It’s yours, if you’ll have me,” Seungcheol whispers, opening the box to reveal a silver ring, winking at Jihoon invitingly. 

Jihoon’s silent, and Seungcheol’s heart immediately fills with dread. “You don’t have to agree, maybe it’s too early, and I don’t want to pressu–” 

“Yes, you big idiot, yes,” Jihoon laughs, hands cupping Seungcheol’s face as he peppers kisses on his boyfrie– no, his fiancé’s, face. “I love you Choi Seungcheol, and I’d love to marry you,” he breathes against the elder’s plump lips, and Seungcheol grins, practically dizzy with happiness. 

“Good.”

Please like and reblog!

If you’d like more of this AU, or your own lil thing, of if you just wanna yell at me, you can do so here ~

[daveyjacobss]

notes

patrick “finch” cortez x reader

[newsies modern au]

12 days of christmas: day one 

summary: y/n has the biggest crush on the boy who sits next to her in english, and his friends keep asking her to give him things.

a/n: hello everybody, it's been a little while !! so this is the big surprise i've been hyping up: i'm doing 12 fics for 12 days of christmas!! i can't promise it's going to be every day for 12 days, and it might end up going past christmas, but i will have 12 posted by january. hope you enjoy this one bc i quite liked it and i love my boy finch :)

____________

English was Y/N's last class of the day, and she tended to look forward to it. The teacher, Miss Mullen, was always nice and open to all questions and discussions - and her tests were easy. Most of the time she just let everyone run wild while discussing the books and short stories they read, almost always ending up very far off topic. Sometimes it would lead to a heated debate and everyone would watch as people stood up and turned red and screamed at each other.

Y/N adored it.

And, though she would never admit it to anyone but herself, the boy who sat next to her certainly helped her pro-English attitude. Patrick "Finch" Cortez was far more popular than Y/N and had an enormous group of friends. He was smart and funny and insanely attractive. Sometimes, he would turn to her and ask her questions or make comments. She could have swooned just at the sound of his voice lowered so that only she could hear it. He always asked her, too, even though plenty of his friends were in the class. She supposed it was because she actually paid attention enough to know what was going on, unlike Race and Albert - two of his friends who sat behind him and her.

He talked a lot in general, too. He would contribute to the conversations and make jokes about the books. Y/N was sure that anyone who was looking in their direction could see the way she stared at him like he was some sort of god descended from the heavens. She could only hope that they would be too entranced by him to notice her. She just couldn't help but admire him - he was practically perfect. He didn't get perfect grades, but he always tried. He was on the soccer team, and on game days when the boys wore their jerseys he looked so damn good. And he was just so kind.

Some of the other boys on his team were arrogant and rude, but he never was. She didn't think she had ever seen him push around anyone the way some of the other popular people did. His whole friend group, big as it was, was probably the nicest group of people Y/N had ever had the pleasure of knowing. (Not that she really knew any of them. Her and Crutchie were friends, as were her and JoJo, and Sarah Jacobs was her lab partner, but she didn't really know them all that well.)

One class, while they had been discussing Lady Macbeth, someone had gone off on a bit of a tangent that lead to a conversation solely about Shakespeare. Which, in turn, lead to a conversation about Romeo and Juliet. Romeo, another friend of Finch's who sat on the other side of the room, had immediately brought himself into the conversation and winked at the whole class, making everyone laugh. But, as the conversation continued, it was Finch who dropped from his seat to his knees to deliver a dramatic rendition of Romeo's lines during the balcony scene - talking right to Y/N.

She sat in shock for a second, face flushed with warmth, amazed that he seemed to have remember it word for word. Albert and Race were absolutely dying behind her. Laughing slightly so as not to seem so flustered, she quietly replied with Juliet's lines, the words somehow passing through her lips as if she had always known them. She wasn't even sure she could have repeated it if someone asked, it was a bit of a miracle she remembered at all.

Finch had given her a bright smile, and it was worth it. Anything would have been worth it to see that smile on his face, all his attention on her. The class was full of laughter and even Miss Mullen was chuckling as she tried to get everyone to settle down.

"Return to your seat please, Finch," she said. It was only then that Y/N had realized he was still on his knees looking up at her. Somewhere during his lines he had grabbed her hand without her realizing it, but once he let it go it felt cold and tingly. She couldn't breathe for the rest of the class.

___________

It was only a week after that that JoJo brought up Finch while he and Y/N were working on calculus homework together during study hall.

"Hey, you have english with Finch don't you?" He asked. She nodded, her cheeks warming despite herself. He smiled at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking, and it made her uneasy. "Could you give this back to him? I borrowed it because I forgot mine." He handed her a history textbook and she stuffed into her bag while muttering "sure thing."

The problem was, of course, that Y/N had never been the one to initiate any conversation with Finch. She always let him speak first. She didn't know how to talk to him if she wasn't just responding to something he had said. But she took he book anyway, and tried to take deep breaths as she walked to her English classroom. When she got there, Finch's desk was empty, and so were Albert and Race's. Breathing a sigh of relief she quickly took out his textbook and set it out on his desk before pulling out her English materials.

He walked in with Race and Albert only a minute or so later. They were laughing loudly, but they quieted some as they made their way to their seats. Finch looked at his textbook in confusion and Y/N tried not to look up from the  note she was writing herself to remind her about her science homework.

"How did this get here?" He asked, looking back at his friends, both of them shrugging in response. Y/N took a deep breath as quiet as she could before looking up and opening her mouth.

"JoJo asked me to give it you," she said. "He said you let him borrow it." She could hear Race and Albert snicker behind her and felt her face burning. Had she said something wrong?

When she looked at Finch he was glaring at them, his own face tinted pink. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion on instinct, titling her head at him. He looked back at her and swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing.

"Thanks," he smiled, sliding into his seat. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," she grinned back, trying to ignore the heat in her face. He looked down at his desk, opening the cover of the book. He looked confused again and pulled a piece of paper out of the book, presumably left there by JoJo. Y/N turned so she wasn't facing him directly, not wanting it to seem like she was trying to read his note. But she turned back to him when he made a strangled noise, his face entirely red. Race snatched the paper out of his hands from behind him, reading over it quickly. He burst out laughing, handing it to Albert. Albert accepted it eagerly, letting out a joyous hoot when he read it, crumbling it up and throwing it at Finch's head.

Finch glared at both of them, his face still burning red. Y/N tried not to stare too much, but she too intrigued, and extremely confused. What on earth could JoJo have written? Maybe it wasn't from JoJo, maybe it was from a girl. That would explain how flushed he got, and it would explain his friends' teasing. She tried not to think about it, feeling as disappointment settled in her chest. It had been a foolish hope anyway, to think that maybe she had a chance with Finch of all people. He was too good for her, for anyone.

Finch turned as if he was going to look at her but she looked away quickly, turning back to her papers, frowning. She could feel him looking at her, but she was determined not to give in. Eventually, he looked away and class started.

They didn't talk to each other once all period.

________

Sarah was next. They were finishing up a lab together, putting away all the chemicals and cleaning off the table, when she pulled out a sweatshirt out of her bag. (Y/N briefly wondered how on earth she had even fit it in there with all of her books and binders.)

"Hey, would you mind returning this to Finch? You have last period with him, right?" She smiled kindly at Y/N. Y/N could never say no to Sarah, she liked her too much. (Except for when Sarah proposed mixing chemicals that would definitely cause an explosion, then she could say no.) ("Come on, it'll just make a bit of smoke and a loud noise." "Absolutely not.")

"Yeah, of course," she answered, taking the sweatshirt from Sarah's hands as they walked out of the classroom together.

"Thanks," Sarah bumped their shoulders together and Y/N laughed. "He let me borrow it at lunch, it's been so cold in the cafeteria this week."

"Ugh, I know," Y/N groaned. "I don't understand why they can't up the heat just a little bit. There's literally snow outside."

"Exactly!" Sarah exclaimed. "Well, see ya!" She waved as she went down a different hallway and Y/N gave a small wave of her own. She tried not to think of Sarah wearing Finch's sweatshirt, of the note that had been in his textbook earlier that week. Maybe Sarah had been the one to leave it there, maybe they were a thing. It would probably make sense, they were two of the best people she knew. They would make a great couple.

She tried not to think about it.

Finch was already in English when she got there, looking at something on his phone. She'd been working on getting better at talking to him, telling herself that she didn't have a chance anyway, so what was the worse that could happen if she embarrassed herself? She walked right to her seat, dropping her bag to the floor.

"Here you go," she reached out to hand him his sweatshirt, smiling when he met her eyes. He took it back while raising an eyebrow. In the corner of her eye she could see Race's eyes go wide as he reached over to hit Albert's arm to get his attention. "Sarah gave it to me," she explained. "I had a lab period with her before this."

"Oh, okay." He took it from her, grinning. He moved to fold it, but as he did it made a crinkly sound like paper crumbling. With a confused look, Finch reached into the pocket and pulled out a paper from inside. He unfolded it, read it, and then promptly dropped his head to his desk with no regard for the possibility of a concussion from literally slamming his forehead onto a hard wooden surface.

"Oh my god," Y/N breathed out. "That had to hurt." She was barely concealing a laugh. But he merely groaned without even lifting his head, handing the paper backwards before Race could even make a move for it. Him and Albert laughed again, same as last time. She shot them a questioning look, but they only grinned cheekily.

"Trust me, not something you wanna know," Albert chuckled. Finch held up his middle finger in the redhead's direction, but it only made him and Race laugh harder. Miss Mullen started class shortly after, but Y/N's mind was wandering.

She supposed that that settled it, Sarah was the one sending the notes - and Y/N had absolutely no chance with Finch whatsoever.

__________

The Monday of the next week, it was Crutchie. (Truthfully, Y/N preferred to call him Charlie, but he insisted Crutchie was fine.) (She still called him Charlie most of the time anyway, but he didn't seem to mind.) They had french together two periods before her English class.

They spent most of the class talking since the teacher had given them busy work and they finished quickly and easily with each other's help. Crutchie had been showing her a funny video on his phone of a man who kept slipping while trying to stand up on ice when he startled her as he suddenly snapped and sat up straight.

"I almost forgot," he said as he reached down to where his bag sat next to his desk. "You have last period with Finch, don't you?" She couldn't help but feel a bit of déja vu.

"Yeah, why?" He he dropped a lunchbox on her desk in response.

"He left that in the cafeteria today, do you think you could give it back to him?" She smiled and nodded, glancing up at the clock. The period was over in only a minute, so they both started to pack up.

In English, Finch seemed less than shocked to have his lunchbox plopped on his desk as Y/N sat down.

"Crutchie gave it to me, said you left it in the cafeteria." She spoke as she pulled out her book.

"Crutchie gave it to you?" He asked. Now he was shocked. She nodded, smiling at him briefly before leaning down to grab a pencil from her bag.

"You should open it," Race spoke up, amusement clear in his voice.

"I really don't want to," Finch sighed, running a hand over his face. Still, he opened the lunchbox and pulled out a piece of paper without even having to look for it. He glanced at it quickly before crumbling it up and tossing it back to Race and Albert as if they were dogs he was playing fetch with. A small giggle left her mouth, and he looked at her in surprise.

"What are they, anyway?" She forced herself to ask. "The notes?" She knew she would hate the answer. She knew that. Why would she even ask that? He gave her a pained look and she felt the sudden urge to jump out the window.

"They're.... nothing." He sighed, turning away from her. "They're nothing," he repeated.

She wondered if maybe she had gotten it wrong. Maybe it wasn't a girl, maybe it wasn't Sarah. Maybe it was something bad. She hoped not.

__________

On Tuesday, Y/N had gym with Bill before English. Bill was probably one of her best friends, along with Darcy. They stuck by each other's sides during gym, doing their best to make it look like they were trying while not actually participating at all. The year before they had had gym with a bunch of their friends and the class had actually managed to be fun, but no such luck that year.

They were playing soccer and Parker, one of the boys on the school soccer team, ended up near Y/N during a majority of the game. He kept trying to strike up a conversation with her, shooting her smiles over his shoulder while he ran with the ball. Each time he scored a goal he would look back at her as if he was expecting some sort of reaction. She stuck to smiling politely and give him a thumbs up, not really knowing what else to do. Bill watched the entire thing with obvious interest and confusion, giving Y/N a look whenever he caught her eye. She just shrugged in response.

It was when the game was over and they were walking back to the locker rooms that Parker started to flirt with her. She was flattered, really, but she had no interest. He was nice and cute and all, but she didn't know him and she was still working on getting over her dumb crush on Finch (his teammate). She smiled and nodded while he talked, obviously uncomfortable.

He found her again waiting outside the boys' locker room for Bill. He walked over with a bright smile, and she considered it for just a second. It wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it? Parker was funny and nice, and he was certainly attractive. And he seemed to like her, to be interested in her. It wouldn't be so bad. In fact, it would probably be pretty good. But she wouldn't be all in, and that wasn't fair to him.

He was dropping lines into the conversation again, running a hand through his hair. She racked her brain for any way to escape without being rude. Bill was beside her in a matter of seconds, his arm thrown around her.

"C'mon," he said, not even sparing Parker a glance. "If we don't go you'll be late to English." She nodded, smiling back at Parker. He nodded at her, holding his hands up in a mock surrender at the sight of Bill's arm around her. She breathed a sigh of relief, leaning into her best friend.

"Thanks. I couldn't figure out how to let him down easy." Bill laughed at that.

"You should've just told him you'd rather bang his teammate instead." She gasped and slapped his chest while he laughed joyously. She tried not to smile, but a grin began to form on her face anyway. When they made it to her English classroom, his arm was still around her. She didn't mind, seeing as the school was cold and he provided some extra warmth. He walked her right up to the doorway, tipping an imaginary hat before continuing down the hallway. She giggled at him before entering the room, still smiling.

Finch seemed upset, she realized as she sat down. His eyes were practically burning holes into his desk and his mouth was set in a frown. Even Albert and Race behind her were quiet. She turned around to smile at them, but all they did was nod in response. For some reason she couldn't grasp, they both looked... worried? They kept glancing at Finch with something that resembled sympathy, or maybe pity.

Instantly, Y/N was filled with concern. She kept glancing her at Finch all class period, but he wouldn't look at her. A sick feeling started to settle in her stomach.

__________

Wednesday, she saw Finch after school. She was in the passenger seat of Bill's car, listening to Ariana Grande in the school parking lot. They had just been about to leave when Katherine, a friend of Bill's (and Finch's) ran up to their car to ask Bill a question about an article they had to write for their journalism class. Y/N only slightly payed attention to their conversation, bopping along with the beat to REM.

She jumped when someone knocked on her window. She rolled it down quickly, seeing Race waving at her from outside the car. She smiled at him.

"Aren't you cold out there?" She asked. He shrugged.

"'S not too bad," he answered, even though his teeth were chattering as he spoke.

"You should really go somewhere warm," she pointed out. "Like, maybe, your own car."

"Oh, should I?" He teased. (He was shivering. Literally shivering. She felt the need to roll her eyes.)

"Yes, you should. It was be the smartest decision you could make here." She retorted.

"Smart decisions and Race don't really go together," a new voice joined in. She turned slightly to see Finch walking up to join Race in standing in front of her window, grinning. Race winked at her, all dramatic and exaggerated, and she laughed. "What are you listening to?" Finch asked, leaning closer to try and hear the music. She tried desperately not to think about him getting closer, mentally blaming her darkening cheeks on the cold.

"Ariana Grande's newest album," she tried to answer, but it came out more of a whisper. He was so close, too close. He was practically leaning inside of the car. It would be so easy to meet him with a kiss, or to reach up and run her hand through his hair. (She refrained, thankfully).

"Hate to break this up," Bill interrupted. Y/N looked over to see that Katherine was gone and his window was back up. "But I've got a very cute boyfriend waiting for me to go study with him, so we're gonna leave." Y/N laughed loudly, waving at the boys as Bill rolled her window up for her.

She could have sworn that, as they drove away, Finch's jaw was dropped and Race was sporting a smirk.

__________

On Thursday, Y/N wasn't in class. Race told Finch that he had heard from JoJo that she was home sick for the day. He tried not to be disappointed. (He still was).

He had been hoping to see her, now that he knew he had a chance again. After seeing her and Bill he had just assumed they were together, and it had hurt more than he cared to admit. But, as it turned out, Bill was apparently gay and dating Katherine's friend Darcy. Which meant Y/N was single, and Finch could make a move if he wanted. Which, he did. Want to make a move, that is. But every time he saw her she looked so pretty and put together and he just choked up, never saying what he wanted to. (To be fair, he had literally quoted Romeo and Juliet at her and she still didn't seem to get it, so it couldn't be said that he didn't try.)

His friends did not make his endeavors any easier. Race and Albert had figured his crush out easily and they wouldn't leave him alone about it. Not to mention all of his friends had apparently ganged up on him. First it had been JoJo with the note in his textbook, written in all capitals letters: "ASK HER OUT ALREADY, DUMBASS!" Then, it had been Sarah with the note in his sweatshirt pocket: "Dear Patrick, man up you idiot. Ask her out and put us all out of our misery." And then, even Crutchie had joined in with the note he left in Finch's lunchbox: "just do it already dude."

And, as if it couldn't get worse, then Parker had decided he was going to spend an entire gym class flirting with her to see what happened. She hadn't returned his advances, thank the lord, but it still angered Finch that Parker had done it at all - and for what? To make Finch jealous? (Which, okay, kind of worked.)

He really didn't think it could get any worse.

Jack had left for a field trip during first period that morning for his AP Art class. Finch knew that he was supposed to be back during last period, but he certainly hadn't expected what Jack did when he got back.

It only took a few mumbles and giggles going around the classroom for Finch to look up to see what was causing the small commotion. There, through the window of the classroom door, Jack Kelly could be seen with a shit eating smile holding a sign that read: "ASK HER ON A DATE!" Finch felt his face burn with embarrassment. Race and Albert were consumed by fits of laughter.

Miss Mullen noticed after a few minutes, only turning to her class in utter confusion as a response. It was Romeo who finally got up to open the door and let Jack in.

"She's not even here, dude," he said. "He can't ask her out if she's not here."

"He could text her," Jack suggested. Romeo made an offended noise.

"He absolutely could not! That's not romantic at all!" The class seemed to be slowly catching on and Finch sank lower in his seat, pulling his hoodie up to cover his face.

"Oh my god, you wanna ask Y/N out?" Someone asked. It set everyone else off and the room erupted with noise. Even Miss Mullen seemed interested to hear the story - and Race and Albert were eager to tell it. Finch barely even tried to fight his sudden urge to throw himself out the window. Jack winked at him from the doorway before walking away. Finch scowled at his retreating figure.

When the bell rang, Finch shot up and raced to the door, closing it before anyone could leave. "This information does not leave this room, understand?" He asked. Almost everyone nodded enthusiastically.

"Are you actually gonna ask her out?" A girl asked. Finch sighed, hoping he wouldn't regret his response.

"Yeah, I'm gonna ask her out."

__________

Y/N was grateful when Friday finally arrived. Even with her sick day, the week had been unbearably long. Not to mention the strange and varied behavior from Finch that kept her reeling. (She was trying to let it go, she really was.) (It wasn't working.)

She was walking with Crutchie after French when Romeo came out of nowhere, stopping them in their tracks. She looked around with mild confusion, wondering where on earth he had come from.

"Hey, Y/N," he panted. He was unbelievably out of breath, as if he had sprinted to get there. Once she thought about it, she realized that Romeo had mentioned a few times in English that he had drama while she had french. The teacher who ran the theatre program and the auditorium were on the complete opposite side of the building. Crutchie was smiling next to her with a hand over his mouth that seemed to be the only thing keeping him from bursting out laughing. She gave up try to figure out what they were up to, just nodding at Romeo to continue. He held out a graphing calculator in front of him. "Can you give this to Finch in English? He let me borrow it and he needs it for the homework this weekend but I'm leaving early so I won't be there." His words tumbled out of his mouth at an intense speed, and she had to take a second to decipher what he had said. Sighing, she took the calculator for him.

"Yeah, whatever," she mumbled. "Apparently I'm Finch's private delivery service." Romeo simply nodded before taking off down the hall. She shook her head at him, starting to walk again. Crutchie wouldn't stop looking at her and smiling. "What?" She finally asked as they neared his classroom.

"Nothing," he said, though clearly it wasn't. "Just, have a good day, you know? Enjoy English." He walked away then, going to his class. She stared after him in utter bewilderment, a frown on her face. She was suspicious, to say the least, and very wary of the entire situation.

In study hall, JoJo was acting strange, too. He kept texting like a maniac and looking up at her like he knew a secret, always the same smirk on his face. She attempted to ignore him. When the period ended, he left her with a "have a great English class!" and she practically screamed. What was going on with all of them today? Were they planning to do something to her in English? She couldn't believe that Finch would let them to do anything mean, but it didn't stop her from worrying.

By the time she made it to English she was tense and on edge. Race and Albert walked in a minute after and practically ran to their desks before leaning forward to talk to her.

"Ready for class, L/N?" Albert asked.

"Today's a big day," Race continued. She looked at them both, at their cheeky grins and teasing eyes. With an entirely straight face she looked them each in the eye before turning back around to face the front board. She could practically feel their excitement start to deflate behind her.

"Are you okay?" Race asked her cautiously as Finch slid into his seat. He looked at her, eyes filled with concern.

"Is something wrong?" God, how could anyone not fall in love with a voice like that? She was so doomed.

"No, nothing's wrong," she sighed. "It's just been...." she trailed off, not quite sure what to say. How do you tell a guy that all of his friends have been treating you strangely all day like they were planning some sort of surprise? "A weird day," she finished. "It's been a weird day."

"What happened?" He kept pushing.

"Your friends happened," she mumbled under her breath.

"What?" He titled his head like a confused little puppy. She hated him for it. (She loved him for it.)

"Nothing." She forced a smile onto her face so they would stop pestering her. Miss Mullen, the blessed woman, started class only a second after - saving Y/N form any further interrogation.

Nothing interesting happened in English. She had no idea what everyone was talking about. The only slightly unusual thing was Race and Albert constantly hitting Finch lightly on the back, whispering to him. They seemed to almost be encouraging him. She didn't have the energy to try and figure it out, so she stuck to her English material and blocked out the boys around her.

When the bell rang at the end of class she suddenly remembered the calculator sitting in her bag. She pulled it out quickly and then ran out of the room to catch up to Finch, who had shot out the door the minute class had ended - followed closely by Albert and Race. She found him in the hallway, walking swiftly toward the exit with his friends got on his trail. She raced up to him, grabbing his hand to pull him back. He looked back at her with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," she breathed, panting slightly from her small run. "Romeo said to give this to you, I almost forgot. He said you would need it for the homework." Finch stared at it like it was something alien as he slowly took it from her hands. "Right, well, have a good weekend! I've gotta -"

"This isn't my calculator," he interrupted her.

"Wait, what?"

"My calculator is in my bag. This isn't mine." He tried to hand it back to her, but she held her hands up in a mock surrender.

"Well, Romeo said to give it to you, so..." She looked to Race and Albert for help, but their eyes were trained on Finch. She returned her gaze to him as well when he sighed, reluctantly turning the calculator on. Though she couldn't make out the words, she could tell that someone had typed something out on the screen. Finch looked like he wanted to throw the thing at the wall. "Okay," she spoke up. "I really should go, Bill and Darcy'll be waiting for me. I'll see you guys on Monday."

She was half turned around when his voice reached her ears.

"Do you wanna go out with me?" She practically choked, whipping back around to face him as her face burned. She tried to respond, spluttering and stumbling over her words before finally managing a meek "what?" He took a few steps to close most of the distance between them, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck as his eyes stayed trained on his shoes.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" He asked again. "I really like you and I think -"

"Yes," she breathed, eyes wide as she looked at him with a brilliant smile. "Yes, I'd love to go on a date with you." His head snapped up as his eyes met hers, a grin spreading across his face.

"Okay, cool," he said, matching her breathy tone. "Yeah, cool. I'll - uh. I'll text you, yeah?" She nodded happily.

"I've gotta..." she pointed behind her, hoping he would understand. Her brain couldn't formulate words. Not when the boy she had spent days trying to get over was asking on her date, and being adorably nervous about it.

"Right! Yeah, okay. I'll see you soon?" She nodded again, and they stood there just smiling at each other until someone cleared their throat. She snapped out of her daze and turned to see Race and Albert watching the two of them. Her face flushed again, as she waved and started to make her way toward the parking lot where she knew her friends would be waiting.

The entire ride home she gave all the details to Bill and Darcy as they hooted and hollered at her every word.

It was Sarah who eventually explained to her what all the notes had been. Apparently, everyone but her had known that Finch had had a crush on her. The final push had been what Romeo has typed in his calculator: IF YOU DON’T I WILL.

Two weeks after he asked her out, they walked into English holding hands - a bit later than usual because they had met up to walk together, but still making it before the bell. The whole class practically gave them a standing ovation.

___________

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[teacupfulofstarshine]

Manager flirting au with Analogical? Please?

FUN STORY: I ALREADY DID THIS PROMPT BUT I MISREAD IT

I DID NOT REALIZE IT MEANT A MANAGER AND THEIR COWORKER FLIRTINF

BUT IT IS OKAY, I WILL WRITE IT AGAIN (it’s definitely not because you requested analogical and i’m weak for them, it’s not, shut up) 

pairing: romantic analogical (my bOYS), background romantic royality

(tw: vv minor injury, brief blood mention) 

“order up!” 

patton smacks the bell with his spatula, and logan sweeps in imperiously with his handkerchief to wipe off remnants of scrambled egg. “as i know i’ve told you, patton, please refrain from using your spatula to ring the bell.” 

“whatever you say, manager man!” patton laughs. 

“patton, you are my twin. we have known each other since we were in our mother’s womb. i know you know what my name is.” 

“hey there, manager man,” virgil quips, pulling the plates onto his serving tray. logan turns his head away to hide the inevitable pink flush in his cheeks. “your tie’s crooked, you know.” he pokes logan’s chest with his index finger. 

logan (immediately, predictably) looks down to check his tie, which is, of course, perfectly straight (unlike himself). virgil (immediately, predictably) flicks his finger up and knocks into logan’s chin, and then he bops logan’s nose. just once, just softly, and then he’s spinning around with the serving tray, off to deliver whatever patton’s just pushed out. 

logan stares blankly after him, blinking perhaps a more rapidly than he otherwise would. 

“you’re really smitten, huh, bro?” patton smirks. he reaches a (mercifully clean) hand through the pass window to ruffle logan’s hair. logan squawks (quietly) and bats patton’s hand away, fixing his hair with a few quick combs of his fingers. 

(he truly, desperately hates being the younger twin, even if it is only by seventeen minutes, because he is also the more mature twin, and it’s leading to a lot of cognitive dissonance.)

logan takes a deep breath and prepares a snarky comeback, but before he can lay into his brother, roman shows up. he has a full tray of dirty dishes under each arm and a tray balanced precariously on his head. if logan didn’t know about roman’s seemingly inhuman balance from his many years of stage managing roman’s productions, he’d fire him on the spot. 

(he does know, and he’s still considering it, because dammit roman they’ve talked about this.) 

roman pushes the trays below his arms into the dirty dish rack and effortlessly lifts down the one on his head. he leans through the pass window (logan’s fingers itch to grab his notepad and write roman an infraction) and kisses patton before giving logan a messy, two-fingered salute and breezing back to the door to seat a new customer. 

“i’m going to strangle him with this necktie,” logan seethes. 

“but you like that necktie,” patton points out. 

“then i will take care tomorrow to wear a tie i am not particularly attached to and i will strangle him with it.” 

“i’d appreciate it if you didn’t strangle my boyfriend, lo.” 

“and i’d appreciate it if i didn’t have to come back there with a fire extinguisher. again.” logan raises a pointed eyebrow at patton, who whirls back to the thankfully-not-yet-smoking stove. he takes another brief moment to take a deep breath, regain his composure - 

and there’s a clattering noise, and the sound of something hitting the ground, and then the sound of someone hitting the ground. logan’s eyes fly open, and he wouldn’t be surprised if steam was pouring from his ears because he has had it up to here with roman’s theatrics - 

“fuck!” 

something tightens unpleasantly around his heart, because that’s not roman, that’s - 

“logan!” roman calls, but logan is already moving. he barely registers his feet carrying him, barely registers the blood rushing in his ears because virgil is on the ground, and there’s something red and wet all over him and logan wants to vomit. he crouches next to virgil, hands hovering over his torso, and he was a fucking emt in college why can’t he remember what to do - 

“logan?” that’s virgil. “virgil, it’s going to be fine, it’s -” 

“logan, dude, calm down. it’s just a broken dish.” 

logan blinks rapidly again (why does he keep doing that?) and the facts of the situation slowly start to settle in. virgil is on the floor, and he looks annoyed but not hurt (not hurt), and there are fragments of white porcelain around him, as well as more red liquid, too thick and too bright to be blood - 

it clicks in logan’s brain - virgil is sitting in a puddle of tomato soup. he’d fallen and dropped the dish, covering himself in tomato soup in the process. logan crouches, not caring about the mess on his shoes, and pulls out his handkerchief almost automatically, wiping the soup from his face. he gets about halfway through before roman’s back with towels and - and the first aid kit? 

“boss, you’re shaking,” virgil says, scrubbing at his eyes with his soaking sleeve. “are - you really that angry? you can take it out of my paycheck, if you -” 

“virgil.” logan pauses, breathes, because his voice shouldn’t be that shaky. “i’m not worried about the dish.” 

virgil’s eyes are wide and his face is red, and logan tries harder to scrub the soup from his face before he realizes that it’s not soup on his face, but blush. and then logan is blushing, too, and virgil’s eyes are very wide and very brown and very beautiful and his mouth is open and his lips look soft and inviting and logan wants to kiss him. 

“are you injured?” he says, and roman is soaking up the soup and sweeping the dish pieces into a dustpan and logan has the first aid kit (why does he have the first aid kit?). “why - why do i have this?” 

“i cut my finger, i think?” virgil holds up his hand, and there’s a shallow slice along his index finger, like a papercut but slightly deeper, and logan sucks in a breath and then he’s laughing. 

“boss? you gucci?” virgil snaps his uninjured fingers in logan’s face. 

“i thought you were dying,” logan wheezes, breathless with laughter. 

virgil smirks. “can’t get rid of me that easily, boss man.” 

logan soaks up the minimal blood with the cleanest part of the handkerchief and sprays it with neosporin. he carefully wraps a bandaid around the cut, and before he knows what’s happening, he’s pressed the pad of virgil’s finger against his lips. 

virgil’s face is redder than the spilled soup and there’s a windows error message noise playing on loop in his head for some reason. 

logan very abruptly stands up, does a one-eighty, and bolts into the kitchen. 

“logan, what the hell just - “

“pattonijustkissedhisfingerwhatthehelldoido!” 

“logan?” 

logan sits down hard in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, and breathes. patton lets him be. 

(sometimes, logan desperately enjoys being the younger twin, because patton has known him his entire life and can read him like a book.)

roman bursts in five minutes later. “so have you two finally gotten your lives together?” 

“what?” 

“logan, half this restaurant’s patrons only come in here because they like watching you and virgil flirt! please tell me you two finally got your act together!” 

“what are you talking about.” 

roman facepalms. “logan, he likes you! jeez, you’re thicker than those books you read! he’s been in love with you for ages!” 

logan rockets up, because oh. oh, he’s been such a fool. 

he bursts through the doors and marches straight through the restaurant, ignoring the whispers and stares and phone cameras pointed at his direction as he speedwalks towards a crestfallen virgil (not again, never again, he’ll never look like that again if logan has a say in it). 

“roman says you’ve been flirting with me.” best to be blunt. 

virgil blinks, once, like he doesn’t believe this is real. “only for the past three years, but yeah, thanks for noticing.” his voice is deadpan sarcastic, but there’s something swimming in his eyes. hope, logan thinks, because the cautious light flickering in virgil’s eyes reminds him of the feeling fluttering against his ribcage. 

“ah. it - it appears i’ve been a tad dense, then, thinking i was pining after a lost cause.” 

virgil turns scarlet. “you … i …” 

“at the very least,” logan whispers, taking a slow step forward, “our unnoticed, incessant flirting has been good for the business. but i find i don’t much care what’s good for the business if it’s not good for you.” 

he cups virgil’s face with one hand, brushes his purple-fading-brown hair out of his eyes. virgil swallows audibly, and one hand presses against logan’s chest. 

“is this okay?” logan asks, because he’s terrible with social cues. 

virgil pushes forward and kisses him, and well. logan has his answer now, doesn’t he. 

(it turns out they needn’t have worried about the business after all, because the video of logan storming through the restaurant and kissing virgil goes viral, and they’re busier than they know what to do with.) 

(once, virgil dips logan in the middle of the floor and kisses him, etiquette be damned. logan can’t even look at him for seventeen minutes after that - he just stands in the kitchen and screams quietly while patton laughs at him, the traitor.) 

(I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU HAD IN MIND!!! FEEL FREE TO SEND ME MORE PROMPTS ILYSM!!!) 

[maaaddiexo]

Always and Forever - T.H. | 004

Inspired by the wonderful @thewiseandfree who’s more into this book than I am

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (au - mob!tom)

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N never thought she’d be forced to marry infamous mobster Tom Holland. But since it was her father’s dying wish, she stupidly signed the contract.

Sheltered for the majority of her life, Y/N is introduced to a type of danger she thought she’d ever encounter.

With the news of their marriage travelling around the globe at impossible speeds, and all of Tom Holland’s enemies believing they’ve found a weak spot in his thick and shining armour, Y/N’s life is put in danger almost instantly, and she will have to learn to trust the man she despises most off of a small and meaningless promise.

Always and Forever.

Warnings: swearing, dominant!tom (not in a sexual way)

Additional Notes: As of now (and previous chapters) Y/N refers to the reader’s full name until further notice.

Mainlist

Harrison leaves Y/N and Tom alone, glancing back at the two worriedly. Y/N, in particular. Thankfully, he takes the gun.

Tom finishes his drink before he stands up slowly, and slowly makes his way to Y/N’s side of the table. He braces himself against the back of her chair and the table, leaning down. The leather creaks under his weight.

The soft smells of whiskey, apples, and wood wrap around Y/N like a blanket but do nothing to calm her nerves.

"It would be smart of you to take something from this interaction. Do not tell me what to do for it will never end in your favour. I am the King. I make the decisions. I will keep my job separate from our personal life like you asked but do not think for a second that you are above me because you do not agree with the choices I make." He leans in closer. "You will be my wife. You will stand tall and you will stand proud. You will stand at my side. You will stand with me."

"No."

"No?" Tom smirks. "Enlighten me, please."

"Why should I stand with a man who won't see me as an equal. Who will only see me as arm candy?"

"Because I am your husband."

"A true husband would see me as an equal. A true husband would respect me. A true husband would see me as more than arm candy. A true husband-"

"Enough." He growls. Fingers grip Y/N’s jaw tightly, holding me in place. Looking up, his eyes aren't black because his guard is up but because he's angry.

"Tom." Y/N whimpers. He doesn't hear Y/N, tilting her head up further, bringing his face down to her’s.

"I am your husband, Y/N."

"Technically, you're not even my fiancé seeing as you haven't even proposed."

Tom jerks Y/N’s chin toward him, pulling her against the arm of the chair and her hip digs painfully into the chair.

"This marriage may be arranged, but we will be married. I will be your husband. Do you understand?"

Y/N’s eyes water and air stops entering her lungs out of fear. She can’t find her voice to call out for Harrison or Harry. She nods weakly.

Okay.

His grip disappears and Tom steps back. He's not smiling but he's no longer angry. His eyes zero in on Y/N’s cheek.

"Wipe your tears, Y/N."

♕♕♕

Y/N don't speak to Tom nor does she even chance a peek at him for the rest of the ride. Harrison and Harry notice the tension radiating from her but don't ask, turning back to their card game.

When they land, two black SUV's are parked by the nose of the jet. No one is in sight.

"Y/N." Tom calls, his voice colder than ice. Turning around, he waits patiently at the foot of the stairs to the jet, adjusting the collar of his suit.

"What, Tom?" Y/N asks, rubbing her hip absentmindedly. Just looking at him made it ache. There would definitely be a bruise. He doesn't notice the action, tugging at his tie.

"You may have signed the marriage contract, but not the confidentiality contract." The tie dangles in his hand, like blood dripping from his hands. "Until then, the location of the Citadel remains a secret."

Y/N sighs, turning around so he can blindfold her with his necktie. Tom doesn't notice Y/N’s shaking fists.

Unlike when his hand held her jaw in a death grip, Tom’s gentle in wrapping the tie around Y/N. Not that she falls for the act. He could easily pull the tie down and wrap it around Y/N’s throat and pull back. Her eyes well with tears at the thought.

When the tie is secure and she can't see a thing, Tom leads Y/N by the hand to the car. He doesn't slow down his pace for her or make sure she doesn't trip or run into anything like in all the books and moves. Instead, Y/N trips on what must be every crack in the pavement and Tom sighs in annoyance every time he catches her.

Y/N doesn't think about how warm his hand is. Rather, she thinks about how that same hand was clutching her jaw only hours ago.

Y/N swallows uncomfortably when Tom lets go of her hand. She fidgets in my place knowing Harrison gave Tom his gun back when the plane landed. Hands land on her shoulders and Y/N jumps, trying to get away from the assailant.

"Relax, doll." Tom speaks.

"Where are Harry and Harrison?" I'd feel a lot better if they were with us, Y/n thinks.

"They're driving in the other car. I need some privacy with you."

Y/N swallows, wincing. "Why?"

"We need to talk about what happened on the plane." His hands wrap around the straps of Y/N’s bag and pull it off her shoulder. "Your bag is in the back seat."

He guides Y/N into the passenger seat, placing a hand on the top of her head so she doesn't hit it on the frame. What a gentleman. Once inside, Tom buckles Y/N in, his shoulder brushing her front as he reaches across to click the seatbelt in.

"How long is the ride?" Y/N asks quietly, knowing he's inches away from her. His body radiated heat like a furnace and all she could smell was apples and wood.

"Half an hour, why?"

Y/N sucks in a deep breath. Because I'm alone with you, a killer who choked me a couple of hours ago, and I can't see a damn thing. "Just wondering."

The door shuts and the little light that managed to get under the tie disappeared, and Y/N really was left in the dark. Her fists clench and her palms become slippery with sweat. Just like anybody else, all she wanted to do was reach up and rip off the makeshift blindfold and see. But Tom would kill her before she got to see where his secret mafia hideout is, and he didn’t need to tell her that for her to know.

The door opens and the car rocks as Tom slides in behind the wheel. The seatbelt clicks and the car begins to roll forward. Y/N weaves her fingers together and presses them between her thighs to hide the shaking but Tom notices.

"Why are you shaking?"

"Because I'm alone and blindfolded with a man who hurt me and will probably do it again."

Tom sighs. "I'm not going to hurt you, Y/N."

Y/N chokes out a laugh that makes her throat burn. Did he not hear me just now? "You're too late to make that promise."

"That was a mistake. On both our parts."

"Both of our parts? Tom, you grabbed me! That’s assault.  You can't do that just because I piss you off."

"Listen to me, Y/N. I know you do not want this. I don't either, but too bad for us. We will be married and we will have to learn to live with that. We do not know each other so let me tell you something about me. With my job, I learn to control my anger in order to get what I need. But you pushed my limits today and I lost my temper. I apologize for my behaviour and promise that I will not lay a hand on you like that again. I am your husband and I should not treat my wife like that. But you need to realize that I have a limit and that it is best not to push me farther than that."

"Look,” Y/N sighs. “I realize that my big mouth can cause problems. It wasn't my intention to piss you off, but I am not surprised it got me in trouble. But we will be married and I should be able to be honest with you without the fear that you are going to strangle me or kill me some other way."

"That's not really an apology."

"Because I'm not sorry for what I said. Hopefully, in telling you that you scare me, you will try not to scare your wife in the future."

"In what way do I scare you?"

"Aside from the proof you provided on the plane? Your job. You don't care that an innocent person is killed and that is what scares me. Because if you don't care about someone dying because they won't answer your questions, what is stopping you from killing me when I piss you off?"

005

@anytimebitches @yourwonderbelle @yourfavoritemistxke @reganmarler @fangirly27 @scarlett-georgia @casualprincess77 @o-brienwrites @maakeme-up @fuitseavey @zseonlydavinci @dej-okay @amagicalpieceofshit @alicia5833 @madelynivie @a--n--t--i--v--i--s--t @spideyboiiiiiiii @lizzie-143 @thewiseandfree @pignolithecookie @alina-barnes @dangerousluv1 @nettuskainen @bellagrayson-wayne @shine-dont-shadow @unadulteratedgalaxyprogramming @adamsbubblegumbitch @lustgardn  @lemirabitur  @anthonystoner  @fandomlady09 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @queen-but-trash 

[kimjongdaely]

The War [Chapter 3]

Mafia!AU

Pairing: Kai x Reader x Xiumin

Warnings: Language, violence

Summary: After the tragedy of your ex-boyfriend, you find yourself constantly thinking about him. Memories are hard to erase, after all. Then in comes a man you met by chance and who stole what’s left of your heart. You find yourself stuck between your old love and new love.

Prologue│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Epilogue

After your engagement with Minseok, you decide it wouldn’t hurt to move in with him. It’s quite hard for you to believe that you now live in a mafia base when you so hated the idea before.

You’ve met a close friend of his, Kim Jongdae, as well as a few of the men in his mafia. Some of them scared you a little, such as that man named Do Kyungsoo but calls himself D.O to avoid the police. But most of them are pretty nice and easy-going, so you’re not too worried about staying here.

Plus, you’re Minseok’s fiancée. They can’t possibly hurt you. On the other hand, they’ll definitely protect you with their life.

“How do you feel?” Minseok asks, resting a hand against the small of your back affectionately. “Used to the whole mafia thing yet?”

“Honestly? No.” You tell him. “Don’t think I ever will.”

The corners of his lips curl downwards in a frown, but he’s trying not to let you see. You giggle lightly at him before leaning your head against his shoulder, lacing your fingers together. “But I love you, so nothing else matters.”

You can practically feel the happiness rolling off him as he plants a kiss on the top of your head, pulling you close.

You enjoy a quiet moment with him before Jongdae bursts in. “Minseok! Minseok!”

“What?” He growls in annoyance at the younger male, obviously not pleased about being disturbed when he’s spending time with you.

Being the leader of a mafia means he has work a lot, but he still finds time every day to be with you.

A thin layer of sweat cakes Jongdae’s forehead, as if he ran over. “He’s back.” He breathes hard. “He’s back, Minseok.”

Instantly, Minseok is up and quickly making his way out.

“Minseok?” You call, suddenly terrified of what’s happening. Who’s back? Why does Jongdae and Minseok look so agitated?

“I’m sorry,” he calls back to you, but he doesn’t slow down. “I’ll be right back!”

Wanting to know what’s going on, you chase after Minseok to the lobby.

“Why did you follow me? You could’ve waited in my office.” Minseok tells you once he slows from a run to a walk, letting you catch up.

“I want to know what’s happening.” You tell him, your eyes wide with sudden fear. But Minseok doesn’t look scared in the least. In fact, he looks a little relieved and excited.

“He’s waiting at the doorway.” Jongdae tells Minseok, a grin breaking out on his face. He turns towards you and reaches for your wrist, holding it gently. “Noona, I think you should wait here for a moment. Let them reunite.”

Still extremely confused, you are only able to nod as you watch Minseok slowly open to door that leads to the lobby and then disappearing through it. “What exactly is going on?”

“You’ll see.” Jongdae winks at you. “Just be patient.”

You wait for several minutes and you’re starting to be a little impatient and bored. You really want to know who has them so excited. You’ve never heard anything about something like this from Minseok.

After a while, Minseok opens the door with a wide smile, motioning for you to come over. You glance at Jongdae who gives you a thumbs up, and you follow Minseok into the lobby.

You were excited to see who it was, but upon entering you freeze in disbelief. Shock. Denial.

No.

This is impossible.

“Kim Jongin?” You stand in the doorway with wide eyes, not believing the scene in front of you.

“Jagiya?” Minseok asks softly as he wraps an arm around your waist, but you’re rooted in the spot. You can’t pry your eyes from the man standing in front of you. Minseok looks at you with concern, seeing your pale face.

Jongin looks equally as shocked as you.

“Hyung,” Jongin starts lowly in disbelief, his eyes glancing from Minseok to you. “What did you just call her?”

“Jongin,” you start softly, trying to somehow get rid of all the confusion, but Jongin let’s a loud, humorous laugh.

“Jagiya?” He repeats mockingly. “You’re my brother’s girlfriend now?”

“Fiancée.” Minseok corrects and Jongin laughs even louder in disbelief.

Your eyes grow wide in absolute horror. Jongin…is Minseok’s brother? No…that’s impossible…

“Four years…Four years later, I come back only to find you engaged to my brother?” He chuckles darkly. “Incredible.”

“Jongin, please,” you try to calm him down, try to give him some sort of explanation, but you’re just as confused and shocked. He throws you a sharp glare, shutting you up, before stomping away without another word.

There is silence for a while, and you feel Minseok’s arm fall from around your waist to his side limply.

“…Jongin was your ex-boyfriend?” Minseok asks quietly in shock, his eyes blown wide.

Your throat goes dry as you nod curtly. The word you force out rings in the empty room.

“…Yes.”

You sit on your bed with your face buried in your hands when you go back to your room. You hear Minseok close the door softly, his footsteps coming nearer.

“Jagiya…” Minseok calls, almost scared he’ll trigger you. “Are you okay?”

“I…I don’t understand.” Your voice shakes wildly, emotions strangling you. “He…He died. I saw it. He—How?”

“All I know is that,” Minseok sits down next to you, but there’s distance that didn’t exist before. “He was chased by our rivals and his car crashed into the ocean. He managed to get out of his car before it was engulfed by water and swam to shore. I told him to hide somewhere for a while so that our rivals will believe he’s dead and stop pursuing him.”

“So…He didn’t die then.” Your eyes widen in disbelief. “He was hiding for four years?”

“Yes.” Minseok verifies. “Originally we planned for just one year, but there were complications and he ended up prolonging his leave.”

You look down at your hands, trying to wrap your mind around all the information that is hurdled at you. Jongin is alive. He and Minseok are brothers. He was your ex-boyfriend. Now you’re Minseok’s fiancée.

This is all so absurd.

“He did mention a girlfriend.” Minseok says slowly before he let’s out a humorless laugh. “I can’t believe…I can’t believe it was you.”

“I can’t believe it either.” You whisper and Minseok stands up.

“Maybe…Maybe you should go talk to him.” He says. “It might clear up some things.” You hear the reluctance in his voice. Of course. No sane person would want their fiancée talking to her ex-boyfriend, especially if he knows she possibly might still have feelings for him.

So you hesitate, wanting to decline and just let him go. He was in the past. But another part of you is dying to find out more, what happened, how he survived, where he went in those four years.

“It’s ok,” Minseok tells you softly. “I’ll be ok. Go talk to him.”

He leaves the room and closes the door softly behind him to let you decide.

You bite your lip as you stand awkwardly in front of Jongin’s room. Jongdae brought you here, and although Jongdae didn’t exactly know what happened, he got the wisp that something is terribly wrong.

He’s smart enough not to ask anything.

You suck in a deep breath and manage to bring yourself to knock; a timid, quiet knock.

“Come in.” Came Jongin’s muffled voice and you hold your breath as you enter, taking in the dim room and then zeroing on Jongin’s form sitting on the side of his bed, scrolling through his phone.

He looks up and his face falls as he sees you. He turns off his phone and sets it aside, suddenly serious in your presence. “Sit.”

You awkwardly go to sit next to him, making sure to put distance between the two of you. You analyze him in your peripheral vision, taking him in. He’s still as you remember, tan and lean with dark hair. He doesn’t have the dreads like he did before, instead his hair is shorter and straightened.

He looks good.

And you feel guilty at the thought.

“So…you’re with my brother now, huh?” He starts first, his voice bitter and quiet.

You only manage a silent nod, your hands clenching tighter as you tense.

“How long?” He whispers and your mouth goes dry.

“About a year.” You answer.

“Only a year?” He spits. “Only a year and you’re engaged? We’ve been dating for how long? We’ve been dating for three years!”

“I love him!” You exclaim, harsher than you intended and he freezes, his eyes blown wide with shock. You instantly regret what you said.

“Did you…love me?” He asks, his voice much quieter and pained. “Did you ever love me?”

“I did.” You cry, trying so hard to make him believe. “I really, really loved you, Jongin.”

“But you gave up on me.” His voice drops and cracks pathetically, his eyes glazed with hurt. “You wanted to break up with me…and after the accident, you believed I was dead.”

“I didn’t mean—” You try to say, but Jongin cuts you off, his voice rising in anger.

“Four years! For four years, the thought of coming back to you was the only thing keeping me alive. I loved you, I thought you did too. But…But I come home to find this,” he gestures towards your ring that shines in the moonlight. “…I don’t know what to do. I don’t—” His voice breaks. “I don’t know.”

“Jongin, I’m sorry.” You cry pathetically. It’s all your fault. 

But is it? 

Can you be blamed for something you didn’t know about? How could you have possibly known he was still alive? Can you be blamed for loving someone else when you thought your past lover was dead?

“Sorry won’t fix anything.” He whispers. His hand comes to graze your wet cheek, but falls back to his side limply. “You…You’re my hyung’s fiancée.”

Hearing him say that makes everything more painful.

“Leave.” He turns away from you, his voice cold and sharp. “Get out.”

You flinch at his harsh tone, but there’s nothing that can be done. He must be the most hurt out of everyone. You were the one who hurt him.

You slowly make your way towards the door, turning to look at him one last time before whispering, “Good night.”

You make your way to Minseok’s room. You wiped away all of your tears, but you can still feel dried trails on your cheeks.

You enter without knocking and you slip into the bed, pressing yourself against Minseok’s warm body.

Instinctively, he wraps and arm around you, but it’s different. It’s colder, more distant, as if he’s not sure what to do.

“How did it go?” He asks softly and you shake, another sob threatening to spill.

“Badly.” You whisper, your voice cracking. “Minseok…I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either.” He says before finally bringing you closer and tucking your head under his chin. “I don’t know about you and Jongin. But I know I love you, and I hope you love me too.”

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

He pulls away slightly, searching for your hand and grasping it tightly.

“But please…no matter what happens…” His voice is filled with pain and sorrow. You’ve never heard such a tone from him before. It makes him sound so weak, so vulnerable, and your heart aches, your eyes brimmed with new tears. “Please continue to wear this ring.” Minseok brings your hand to his lips and kisses the ring he put on you.

You see the shine of your matching rings when it’s hit softly by the moonlight. You see Minseok’s large eyes watching you, terrified of your answer.

Yes, you love Minseok. You’re going to marry him.

You smile, but you wonder how sad it looked.

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

The War Mini Masterlist

A/N: Birthday update! Haha this story is gonna be filled with angst, sorry not sorry. It’s getting more interesting and complicated from now on. Hoped you guys like the story so far~ Please tell me what you think and thank you for reading! 

©kimjongdaely

Request and let’s love!

[icyhobi]

Angel in the Darkness (M) pt.4

Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically)

Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au

A/N:This is a dark and filthy story! Graphic descriptions of sex (masturbating, etc), heavy dom/sub undertones, drug use, vulgar language use……(alot of smut comes in later) This is a mature read! You have been warned!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 (final chapter)

~~~~~

“You’re a mistake! You should have never even been born!” the group of nine-year old’s like yourself, taunted you.

You were mindlessly walking outside during recess, until a group of kids from your class cornered you. They formed a circle around you, deciding to remind you of what kind of blasphemy you were.

“Just leave me alone!” you screeched back at them, just wanting to distance yourself. You tried to leave, but there was no escape, as they would just push you back into the middle of the circle.

“Where are you going you little bitch?” a boy who was a bit taller than you mocks.

When you glare at him to try to push past, he shoves you roughly back, making you fall on the cold cement. You cringe when you skid against the ground, layers of skin from your elbows and hands being ripped off.

Each of them laugh at you, as you just sit still on the ground, not daring to look up at them. Why did this always have to happen to you?

“My parents told me that your mother is just some dumb whore who got pregnant with you by mistake!” a tiny little blonde girl laughs.

Your small hands curl in anger; you could take them name calling you, but no one ever messes with your mother.

“Don’t talk about my mom that way!” you say threateningly.

“But it’s true!” another boy snorts. “That’s why you have no papa, right? Your mom must have been working at those whore houses.”

Your eyes burn at the mention of your father, but you manage to hold back the tears. “Your wrong! My momma got married to a noble man!”

“Then where is he?”

“He’s…” you trail off. You didn’t know anything about your father, never even met him once, or knew what he looked like. Whenever you would ask your mother, she would tell you that his job required him to work far away, but eventually he’ll come home soon. You were nine years old, but still no sign of him.

“Ha ha ha!” they all point fingers at you.

“Stop laughing! He’ll come back! And when he does, he’s gonna beat all of you up for me!” you scream at them, not being able to hold back your tears anymore.

One of the tallest boys approaches you, then quickly kicks you in the stomach. You gasp in pain, but then he grips your hair harshly, making you scream.

“Your gonna be a slut just like your mom,” the pudgy boy laughs into your ear.

Your fists clench tightly and you grit your teeth, “I said don’t talk about my mom that way!”

“Why shouldn’t I? She’s a whore.”

All the kids chant “Whore! Whore! Whore!” taunting you.

You could feel your rationality slipping away, as a certain demon was awakening inside of you. You begged and screamed for them to stop saying such things, and to stop hurting you, but no one would listen.

So finally, blinded by complete rage, you manage to turn around and tackle the boy who was holding your hair. The children all laughed at the scene, still chanting horrendous things about your mother.

Even the boy who was currently under you, still laughed with the others. That is until you wrap your tiny hands around his neck, and with angry tears, you cried;

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!!!”

~~~~~

“I’m gonna kill you!”

Your vision is brought back to Jungkook, who was still strangling the man. No, he needs to stop…

You look around, as people stare at the scene play out in front, or just completely ignore the situation over the booming music. Your quick to jump up from the leather cushion of the booth, and charge towards them.

Before you reach them, a hand comes out and grabs your arm. “What the hell do you think your doing?!”

You look to see a woman who looked like she was in her late thirties, holding you back.

“If he doesn’t stop, he could kill him!” you yell.

The lady lets go of your arm, but has a warning look on her caked face, “You’re in the red-light district sweetheart, and nobody gives a fuck to what happens here.”

You stare at her in disbelief; is that why no one bothered to help you when those men attacked you? If it wasn’t for Jungkook…

You shake the uncomfortable thoughts away, trying to focus on what was happening at the moment. “Well I do.”

You then charge towards Jungkook, and wrap your arms around his muscular chest, trying to pull him off. “Jungkook stop!”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, as he continues to tighten his hold, while a sinister smile of satisfaction graces his handsome face, when he hears the man desperately gasping for air. You try your best to tug him off, but he doesn’t budge, still completely rooted to the dying man. Deciding that you won’t be able to pull him, you then let go and grab his arms, trying to release the pressure on the man’s neck.

“Stop it Jungkook! He’s had enough!”

He looks up into your eyes, to glare at you “Do you know what he was going to do to you?!?!” he screeches. “Your lucky I kept an eye out for you!”

He was watching me the whole time? I thought he left…

“I know, just please stop, you don’t wanna do this. Please!” you desperately shriek.

His eyes are red and watery, as he looks down towards the suffocating man. “I know what kind of person he is! He deserves to die!” And with that, he adds even more pressure, and you can see the assaulter starting to lose consciousness.

No no no! What should I do?!? How can I make him stop?!? I need him to take his mind off of the situation…

Coming up with a plan, you let go of Jungkook’s strong arms, then go to grip his face, trying to make him look up to you. “Listen Jungkook, I’ll tell you why I actually met you! I’ll tell you the truth! Just please let go!”

His ears perk at your plead, and he finally meets your eyes; tears were running down your face, but he saw the desperation in them, making his cold heart tug for the first time.

With a deep sigh in frustration, he finally releases his grasp around the passed-out man’s neck. You hastily go to check the mans pulse, and sigh in relief when you can feel the faint heartbeat and breathing.

Before you can say anything, Jungkook abruptly grabs your arm, then stands up bringing you along with him. He speed walks towards the exit, with you in hand, paying little attention to the stares people were giving you two.

When you both reach outside, his grip tightens, to ensure you don’t leave his side. You look up to him, and see that he has a stressed look on his face.

“Where are we going?” you quietly speak up to him.

He continues to look straight ahead, as he speaks “To my place.”

What? Why? You were starting to feel uneasy, as to what his motives were. “W-why?” you ask nervously.

He continues to keep up his fast pace, as he sighs, “You told me you’d tell me the truth, right?” In the corner of his eye, he can see you nod, so he continues “We obviously couldn’t stay back there, and there isn’t anywhere else that’s safe to talk.”

Huh? Safe to talk? “What do you mean?”

You can see his car as you both approach the parking lot.

“Look Y/n, just know it’s not safe around here, okay? Especially telling secrets, you never know who’s listening.”

You gulp as you glance around you, scary looking men and women, leering at you. I should listen to him. He knows more about this place than I do.

You both finally reach the car, and you clumsily get into the passenger’s seat, because you didn’t want to stay out any longer.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word, as he ignites the engine then speeds off…

~~~~~

You can’t help but shake off a weird feeling as you and him both wait on the elevator. You were expecting him to live in a nicer apartment building, as he dressed so rich and owns an expensive car. But when you both reached the building, you were surprised as his apartment complex didn’t look so expensive, it barely looked nicer than yours, and your rent wasn’t much.

You look over to Jungkook, who was standing directly across from you. His eyes are glaring dagger into you, causing you to instantly turn bright red as you decide to look down at your feet.

The elevator finally stops and opens at the 12th floor, and before you could walk out, Jungkook walks towards you to wrap his deadly grip around your wrist. You look up to him questioningly, but he raises his eyebrows at you, daring you to let go. You back down from the challenge, and let him lead you through the dimly lit hallway to his apartment.

He stops at the last door, then takes out his keys from his pockets, and unlocks it. He shoves you in forcibly, then quickly locks the door behind him.

You look around, and see that his apartment didn’t differ so much from yours; it had one bathroom, one bedroom, and a living room, that was partially connected to the kitchen.

“Now talk.”

Your snapped out of your gaze by his commanding voice. You turn to look at him, as he’s standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for your answer.

Talk? Talk about wha- oh right, I said I would tell him the truth. You try your best to keep a poker face, but in reality, you were terrified. You had no idea what to say, and telling him the truth about Jin wasn’t an option. Taking a deep breath, you try to steady your voice when you come up with a quick lie, “I… I just wanted company.”

Jungkook’s eyes furrow at you. Wanted company? With a prostitute? What the fuck? “You wanted company… from a prostitute? Are you that idiotic?”

Where the hell am I even going with this lie? I’m still too tipsy to even think straight! Ugghh I’m never drinking again! “N-no, I just, wanted to talk, and maybe have some intimacy.”

He’s still staring at you like you’re some type of alien, so your quick to speak again, “I have a stressful job, and I’m a full-time university student. I’ve never had time for friends or relationships. So, I just wanted physical and mental comfort for once.” That totally sounded believable, right?

What the… is she fucking serious? “But you purposely tried to avoid my advances. That’s physical, isn’t it?”

Oh damn, that was a good point. “U-urm I wanted to go slow! I didn’t know if I was read-”

“Ready to have sex? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

With the effects of alcohol still lingering in your system, you found yourself getting irritated at him. He almost choked a man to death for crying out loud! He’s so confusing!

Before you could even stop yourself, you blurt out “Well unlike you, I have values. So, I don’t rush into things.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” you hear him growl.

Oh my god, did I say that out loud??! He’s getting aggressive again, no! STUPID ALCOHOL!

He has the predatory look in his eyes again, as he stalks towards you.

Not this again! You stick your hands up in defense, trying to fix your mistake. “Look, Jungkook, that’s not what I meant…”

“I know exactly what you meant, you judgemental bitch.” You were expecting him to stop right in front of you, but you shriek for your life when he grabs you by your waist, to hoist you up over his shoulder. He rushes to his bedroom, then tosses you roughly into his bed.

Your legs are hanging off of the edge, and you try to sit up, only for him to come and pin your shoulders down to the bed. He traps your dangling legs between his own, and he leans over you with hooded eyes.

You start to panic, as he lowers his face towards yours, so you just stare at him with wide eyes.

��You know, why is it, that I can only get you to admit things when I have you in this position?” he snarls into your ear. He then grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his furious eyes. “I saved you from those scum, but I don’t even get a simple ‘thank you’ in return? I just get shamed for what I do.”

How did you end up in this situation again? You never meant to slander his occupation, your mind just wasn’t working properly. “I d-didn’t mean that! I…” you trail off. What did you mean? You were just trying to defend yourself, but for some reason you insulted him instead.

“I’m sorry!” you blurt out.

He just laughs bitterly at you. “Sorry? Sorry for what? You don’t even know two shits about me, but you still judge me like any other whore.”

“No, I didn-”

“When will you stop fucking lying?” he interrupts. “Didn’t your parents teach you to not lie your way out of shit? Do you even know what those men would have done to you if I didn’t look out for you?” he screeches.

Your eyes start to burn at the mention of your parents. No… don’t think about them, not right now. You try to change the topic, as you knew if you thought about your parents again, you’d break.

“I was just lonely, I wanted comfort…” you say quietly, ignoring his last question.

“Avoiding my question again, are we? Fine, have your way, I’ll play along,” he says while gritting his teeth. “Aww, you poor baby. You were lonely? So you decided to play with a prostitute, but instead of doing the deed, you want to just insult the guy.” He then changes his tone to a more bitter one, when he speaks up again, “Listen here Y/n, you don’t know shit about being alone. You don’t know anything. Your just an oblivious girl, who’s had everything given to her.”

You felt your anger rise over your nervousness, as you clenched your hands. He was judging you now, but he was so wrong about you. You’ve always felt alone, always disconnected. He was right about you not knowing anything about him, but you could change that; you could learn. But he also didn’t know anything about you either. The things you had to go through at such young ages.

“You’re wrong. I’ve never gotten anything I wanted. I believed I was cursed for the longest time.” You say, trying to withhold your tears. “You think that I was raised with all the love and care in the world? That I was spoilt with everything?”

Jungkook’s grip softens a bit, but he still holds you down firmly. “Yes, I do. I never got any of that growing up, because my parents have been dead, for a long time.” He says, as he tries to blink away the wateriness in his eyes.

You softly glance up into his dark eyes, as you croak out, “Mine are too.”

He stares at your pained expression, then decides to let go of your chin, but still hovers above you, with both of his arms trapping your body from moving.

“I never knew my father, so I don’t know if he still is alive. But my mother, she died in a car explosion,” you say quietly. You blink your eyes, as you could start to feel the first tear escape, “But the worst part… I was with her in the car.”

Jungkook just silently gapes at you, waiting for you to continue.

“I remember I was yelling at her, asking her why she was making us pack up and leave so suddenly. I was scared and confused, but she promised to tell me everything, after we got to safety. I didn’t even know what danger we were in.” You then close your eyes, and take a deep breath as you say the next part, “I told her I hated her, for hiding so many secrets from me, for giving me false hope that my father would return someday. I thought she never cared. But then some van came, and crashed right into us, causing our car to flip over. Apparently, as the car was continuously tumbling, I fell out the window, and my mom was trapped inside, while the car exploded. I don’t really remember when I fell out, as when the initial impact caused me to blackout. But that’s what the doctors told me when I woke in the hospital.”

She’s… like me.

You then continue, “I lost the one person who only cared about me. So when I tell you I’m lonely, I’m not lying. I’ve been by myself for so long.” You slowly open your eyes, and look into his unreadable ones, and whisper, “And I’m sorry for saying such a thing to you before, I didn’t mean it. I know I don’t know anything about you, but I want to. I wanna get to know you, the real you.”

The real me? “But… what if you don’t like the real me?” Jungkook says, and for the first time, you can hear the uneasiness in his voice.

You let out a small smile, “Nobodies perfect Jungkook, that includes me,” you say gently.

He looks at you intently; you had tears running down your face, your long hair was fanned out on the bed, but he could see the honesty in your eyes, and in your smile. Normally he wouldn’t examine a person with such intensity, but he realized you weren’t any ordinary person; you were special.

And with that he leans down, till his lips were on yours…