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eloquent--asshole · 4 years ago

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My Date With the President’s Son

a/n: I’ve been getting a lot of anons recently letting me know they couldn’t find this piece. Well... I found out it was deleted. So, here is a repost of My Date With the President’s Son! I was so sad when I found out it was gone :( BUT IT’S BACK!!! :) And much love to all of you that let me know it was missing! Come talk to me about this, future ideas, or anything! --PJ

hey, hi, hello! this is my submission for the Pick Your Poison fic challenge! I went with a good ole fake dating piece. Also, sidenote: this is the first pic i’ve actually decided to post! Please feel free to message me with any comments, questions, or concern. Also, an absolutely MASSIVE shoutout to @for-fucks-sake-h, @oh-honey-styles, and @andwhenshesays for creating this and letting me be a part of it! I’m so happy I decided to do this even though I was an absolute mess about it! Buckle up kids, it’s about to get messy!

read the other challenge pieces here!!!!! and support them!

"Miss. Y/L/N, I don't think you understand the immense pressure we're under with this mission." My boss, Mr. Thompson, was staring at me from across the conference table. The room was bright. Almost too bright from the fluorescent lights beaming on us.

I looked at my hands resting on my thighs under the table before returning to his gaze. "Well, Mr. Thompson, I don’t think you understand that this goes against not only our ethical codes but my moral beliefs as well.”

Mr. Thompson spoke as he got up and came around the table, taking a seat on the glass two feet to my left. "Miss. Y/L/N, you are obligated to serve your country. However the circumstances may seem. If you do not take this mission, I will be suggesting your employment for termination."

I ran a hand down my cheek. "What –“ I ran the options through my head. Get fired or help the President’s son. Easy decision, really. “How could this even work? Does he know?"

"No, he doesn’t know. Don't worry about the details of that. We will take care of it. Nevertheless, on your part, it must seem as authentic as possible." I looked at him in disbelief.

How could this be happening? What did I do to deserve the position to role play as the President’s slutty son’s romantic interest? I let out a heavy sigh before nodding at Mr. Thompson. He let a small smile break through his tough demeanor.

“Very well, we’ve set up for you two to ‘meet’ tomorrow.” Mr. Thompson got up to open the door at the end of the room. “Oh,” he paused turning to look at me one last time, “And don’t worry, if anything goes off course, you’ll be wearing an earpiece and a mic. So we’ll know and figure it out as we go along. Remember Y/N. We’re all in this together.”

But were we?

I sat in position, waiting for the signal. I was outside a quaint coffee shop where my target was currently buying a coffee.

As I got my cue from the team, I got up and started walking in the direction of the van that was watching our every move. The door to the coffee shop flew open and I felt a heavy weight rush into me "Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you there," came rushing out of the stranger’s mouth. I looked down at the spilled coffee on the ground between us.

"No, no. It's okay, I should have been paying more attention." I said, letting an embarrassed blush creep onto my cheeks. Why did he have to actually run into me?

"Can I buy you another coffee?” He offered.

"Oh, you don't have to do that"

"No, I insist. Really." He said, reopening the door to the café.

"Okay," I hesitated. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

"Nice to meet you, Y/N, I’m Harry. What do you like to drink?”

I heard Thompson in my ear immediately, "Vanilla soy latte,” he basically shouted.

"Vanilla soy latte, please" I offered a smile to the barista, hiding my wince. “A grande.”

"You're joking." Harry smiled down at me. He was taller than I expected. Standing about 6”1. His curls cut into the frame of his sunglasses. Cute. I thought to myself.

"Why?" I asked, letting a giggle escape my lips.

"That's what I drink" He chuckled. Okay. I see what you’re doing, Thompson.

We smiled at each other and finished ordering. The drinks were up almost instantly. We sat at a table I chose outside. Purposely, so the team could continue watching.

"So, tell me about yourself," He started, taking a sip of his latte.

"I-" I paused briefly, waiting for instruction from Thompson.

"You work as the marketing director for Accent" Accent is a huge professional services firm. There’s no way I’m getting away with this.

"I work as a marketing director.” I took a breath, “For Accent."

"That's cool, I have some friends who work over there." Is he onto me? "Do you know Rich?”

"Rich Charleston. Operations Manager. 5"5. Auburn hair. Brown eyes.” Thompson barked in my ear.

"Oh yeah. The operations manager? He's not that tall. Auburn hair?" I questioned, a coy smile playing at my lips.

"Yeah! That's him! Funny, I've been to a few work parties with them. I've never seen you around." He looked at his coffee and came back to me. I felt my cheeks tinge pink yet again. No way I’m making it through this.

"Y/N, you're doing great. Just go with it. You started at Accent three months ago. They haven't had a company party in five months.” Thompson stated. It’s weird. Almost as if playing detective. Wait. I am a detective. A very…high end detective.

"Oh, yeah. I only started a few months ago, so that would make sense." I giggled, taking a sip of my latte.

Harry’s phone started ringing in his pocket. He slipped it out to check the notification. "Shit, sorry. I actually have to get going. I'm late for a meeting. Could I get your number?" He asked, handing over his phone.

"Yeah, that'd be nice." I took his phone where the ‘add new contact’ was already on his screen. I entered my information and handed it back. "Great, I'll see you around then."

"Gladly." He was off, hopping into the back seat of an awaiting SUV across the street. As it pulled away, I noticed it was in a no-parking zone. Of course, it would be. He's the president's son.

It has been three weeks since my ‘run in’ with Harry. He texted me an hour later asking if he could see me again. We had seen each other twice over the course of three weeks. Each time in a public setting to ensure the FBI could have an eye on us at all times.

We talked mostly about my work. He had finally let it slide through text that he was the President’s son. It was easy to act surprised through text. It would be harder to act as if I didn’t know my coworkers if it ever got to the point that I would be seeing him in a more intimate setting.

I was starting to realize why so many women were swooning for him. Not only was he handsome – he was charming, sweet, and extremely articulate.

I sat in Mr. Thompson’s office discussing plans for the upcoming benefit. The benefit that Harry had yet to ask me to.

"Mr. Thompson, he has no idea this plan is underway. Like what happens if he tries to make advances on me. I did not sign up to be this boy's actual girlfriend.” I borderline complained.

"Miss. Y/L/N. This is your duty for the time being. We're trying to keep him safe and clean up his image. This is the best way we can do that.”

"Mr. Thompson, with all due respect, what if he actually starts to have feelings for me. What if he asks me to be his girlfriend? What if – "

Mr. Thompson raised a hand to interrupt me. "Miss Y/L/N, if that happens, we will handle it. Mr. Styles will never know. Now for the upcoming benefit. You will attend with Mr. Styles. As always, you will wear an earpiece. Members of the secret service will be aware of your presence. If something comes up, I will be in your ear warning you to get Mr. Styles out of there. Understood?"

"Yes sir,” I agreed, sulking into the chair. “But sir, he hasn’t even asked me.” Thompson’s hands brushed through the air - almost as to dismiss my thoughts.

“Oh, don’t worry, kid.” He snickered. “Mr. Horan, the head of his security, has intel that he will be asking you.”

As predicted, Harry did ask me to join him at the benefit. Giving me a two-day notice. Scratch that. Harry said he wanted me to come to a “party” and ‘wear something suited for a ball’ I recounted the statement as he was dropping me off from our brunch “date” on Thursday.

I stared at myself in the champagne-colored gown in my full-length mirror. I let out a frustrated sigh. This was so wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this to him. He’s actually really sweet. How can I untangle myself from this mess? I could commit treason, leave the country, and lay under the radar. One part of my brain told me. Or be put to death. The other part reminded me. I gave myself one last look-over and decided it was time to head to the lobby.

My roommate, Ashley, whistled at me as I walked out of my bedroom into the kitchen. “Going somewhere nice?” she asked.

“Work event,” I brushed off. I hadn’t told her anything. Specifically, because of the confidentiality behind the mission.

“With Harry Styles?” I froze in my tracks, taking a deep breath.

“How did you know that?”

“Sweetheart. You are all over the magazine covers. Do you think no one has cameras in public? I was speechless. How could I be so naïve that journalists who have such a strong eye on Harry’s personal, party lifestyle wouldn’t spot us out?

“Honey,” I heard our third roommate, Summer, call from the couch. “Did you really think you could be so slick?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ashlie chimed in.

Before I could answer, a call from Harry popped up on my phone. “I’m sorry, I have to go. He’s here.” I said turning on my heel to exit our apartment.

“Wait – “ Summer stopped me – “Can you please give us some juicy details on the man-who – I mean your new fling when you get home?”

I laughed at her response with a nod and started my trek to the lobby.

He was waiting outside the SUV, dressed in a black suit and a matching champagne tie. “Well don’t you look lovely.”

I blushed at his compliment. The security guard driving us gave me a curt nod as he opened the door for us. “Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.”

When I dodged his kiss, he pulled me in for a hug before gesturing for me to get in first. “Thanks.” Despite the disappointment in his eyes, Harry’s smile was beaming. He looked absolutely adora – Y/N stop. This is strictly for work.

The door shut behind us and in half a second we were whizzing down the street to the banquet hall where the Benefit was being held.

“I’m really happy you agreed to be my date tonight,” Harry commented, not breaking his gaze from the window. “You can meet my parents.”

Parents? As in, the President and first lady of the United States? My body shivered at the thought. I have been in the same room as them before, yes. But meeting them as not an employee – but their son’s date, friend or whatever you want to call it – is terrifying.

“Wow, that would be – “ I tried to find the right words – “nice.”

“Really?” His eyes wandered to mine. “Most people would about shit themselves right about now.”

Well I’m damn near close, Styles.

When we pulled up to the entrance of the venue, our driver – Niall, I learned – hopped out and got the door for us. My eyes were blinded by the flashing lights. Harry grabbed my hand and helped me onto the ground. As we made our ascent, paparazzi were flooding him with questions. “Harry, Harry! Who’s this?” “New flame of the week kid?” “I heard you were bringing Kendall Jenner” could be heard from every angle.

Harry apologized as soon as the doors shut behind us. I shook my head to let him know it was okay.

“I am way too sober for this,” Harry mentioned before we walked into the noisy room. “And it hasn’t even started.” I let out a quiet giggle as he smiled at me.

The benefit passed with ease. As Harry walked us around making small talk and thanking people for coming, Thompson was in my ear telling me who people were and how they got invited. Harry and I kept making trips back to the bar. While I nursed two glasses of wine, Harry had drank 4 rum and cokes. It was becoming clear that Harry was feeling good. Almost too good for him to continue being at this event.

As a last stop around the room, we walked towards his parents.

“Harry, my boy. Thanks for being here tonight,” President Styles pulled Harry in for a hug.

“Like I had a choice?” He rolled his eyes. President Styles gave a laugh, one Harry didn’t reciprocate.

“Who’s this?” His mother asked as her gaze moved to me. Her eyes were kind. They matched Harry’s, I noticed.

“Mom, dad.” Harry said as he wrapped an arm around my waist, “This is my date, Y/N.”

“Hi,” I offered my hand to shake, “It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for having me tonight.”

“The pleasures all ours, sweetie.” His mother affirmed. I felt a smile creep onto my lips. His parents were sweet - partly informal.

As we were making our way to a table, we were stopped by a friend of Harry’s – Louis. Apparently, they had been long time friends. As they grew up, Louis had started a media company, one which Harry happily invested in to help him out.

“Harry, this your date?” He asked curiously.

“Yes, this is my future girlfriend, Y/N.” His words slurred, I felt the wind knock out of me. Girlfriend? FUTURE girlfriend?

“How about a kiss for the camera?” Louis interrupted my thoughts. “For a piece I’m working on?”

“Why not?” This boy was definitely drunk. Without having time to react, Harry grabbed my waist and quickly, yet gently, pressed his lips to mine. It lasted only about half a second and I found myself wanting more.

Harry chatted with Louis for a few more minutes before bidding goodbye and continuing our walk to a table in the back. I brought my fingers to brush against my lips, still feeling his burning into my memory.

The next hour passed quickly. Harry had downed another two drinks because “I’ve already talked to everyone I need to and now I can relax.” I could see why the media calls him a party boy. He’s 0 – 100 real quick.

Our conversation flowed easily and I found myself enjoying his presence.

“I’m having a really good time,” Harry slurred into my ear. He snuck an arm around my shoulders at some point, and I didn’t really care.

“So am I.”

“Good, I was really nervous to ask you.” His admission took me by surprise. The entire three weeks I’ve known him, he never seemed shy. He was always respectful. I’ve learned so much about the party boy that always seemed to be judged. If it were me, no one would care if I went out with my friends every weekend and brought a different guy home. But because he’s, well, Harry Styles. It matters. The presidential family is supposed to be clean, polished, not having any dirty laundry. But the media loves to air his.

I learned Harry had a – what most would call – normal upbringing. Small home in the outskirts of NYC. He went to public school up until high school, when his father had decided to run for congress and got in. His favorite color is yellow – because it’s happy. He loves music from the 70’s and 80’s because it reminds him of his childhood. He knows about his party-boy persona and absolutely loathes it – but continues to live it because it’s the only way he can let go of the stress from being the President’s son.

“Why were you nervous?”

“Well, it’s always intimidating to meet a beautiful woman who knows what she wants in life and won’t settle for less. I was especially nervous because I thought not only my reputation, but my status would scare you off.” My chest felt tight. If only he knew that everything, well half of everything, I told him were lines being fed to me from the Director of the FBI. “And I’m sorry it took so long for me to tell you. I didn’t want to lie. But I felt like it would be easier for us to get to know each other before I told you.”

There’s that word. Lie. I hate that word but yet, it’s what I was doing almost every time we were together.

“I don’t want you to ever feel nervous or feel like you have something to hide from me.” I took the hand he had draped around me in my own. “I just want you to be yourself. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. I don’t care about your status or the fact that your parents are the President and First Lady. That’s not something you should feel ashamed of.”

For the first time, Harry’s smile met his eyes. He’s smiled plenty when we’re together, but this was different. He tugged me closer and placed his lips on my cheek. They burned from his touch. My body temperature must have risen 10 degrees.

Did Thompson see that? Of course, he did. Wait, where is he? My smile dropped as I looked across the room, hoping for a sign of Thompson. He hadn’t been in my ear for a while. I wonder if everything’s okay.

“Everything’s fine,” I moved my eyes around the room once more, confused. “I can see that look on your face. I know that look. You were getting worried.”

Where the heck is Thompson and how can he see my face.

“Niall is about to grab you to take you both home. So, I’m off for the night. You’re on your own kid.” I heard the familiar static as they shut my earpiece off. So, they had heard that entire conversation, wonderful.

I smiled, reaching for my ear to take the piece out, but halting my movements when I remembered Harry was still sat next to me.

“Mr. Styles, the car is here.” Niall leaned down to whisper to Harry.

“Alright, love. Off we go.” Harry let his arm fall from my shoulder. I stood to grab my clutch off the table. I paused when I noticed Harry guzzling the rest of his drink before setting the glass on the table. “What?” he asked innocently. “I wasn’t going to just leave it there. Someone could try to sell that since my lips have touched it!” I smirked at him before linking my arm with his.

The drive home was filled with Harry trying to be touchy feely and a bit too flirtatious. Between him keeping trying to rest his hand on my knee, and the many compliments he spewed out in a drunken slur, I felt myself loosening up and enjoying his drunken, flirty presence. Niall made eye contact with me in the mirror one too many times for me to be comfortable with.

He knows.

When we pulled up to my building, I opened the door only to feel a tug on my wrist. I craned my neck to look at Harry, who didn’t let go of my arm.

“Will you kiss me?” His glazed eyes bore into mine as he leaned over to my half of the seat, “For real this time?” I contemplated for a second. Yes, I would like to kiss you again. Will I? I can’t.

I giggled at his lazy smile and glanced to the mirror at Niall who seemed to be minding his own business, “You’re drunk Harry.”

“Would you reconsider if I was sober?”

“Goodnight, Harry” I said, hopping out of the SUV.

“I’ll take that as a maybe!” He called as I shut the door.

What is this boy doing to me?

It’s been three days since the benefit. I hadn’t heard from Harry much, maybe a text or two over the last two days. I wish I could say I didn’t care. But I did. Yes, what I was doing was wrong. But after seeing him in a vulnerable state being drunk at the benefit, he grew on me. A lot more than I’d like to admit. Even though I hadn’t heard from him, I still had the inside scoop from Thompson. Apparently, Mr. Horan was keeping a tight leash on him. No parties or clubs recently.

One thing that should’ve been noticed a lot sooner on my part was that every time I was with Harry or Harry was out, he had Niall maybe 5 feet away. So why the hell would they need me?

Oh right – clean up the image.

“Y/N!” Ashlie screamed from the kitchen. I came to a screeching halt in front of her at the counter. “Have you seen these?” I furrowed my brows as she angled her laptop screen towards me. Right on the landing page of the most popular magazine’s website was Harry’s picture. Stumbling out of a club with none-other than Kendall Jenner, hand in hand.

My brows furrowed even closer when I grabbed the laptop from the counter. I quietly walked to the couch and sat down. ‘Eligible bachelor, Harry Styles couldn’t seem to get enough of the model as they were seen being cozy all night at popular night club, Avalon Nightclub downtown Washington, D.C.’

Would this jeopardize my mission? How would Thompson handle this? What now? Was he really done with me just like that?

With too many thoughts to process, I sat the computer next to me and stared at the blank TV. The weight of the couch shifted next to me. Ashlie slid her arms around my torso and rested her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” She was trying to be empathetic; I know. But I also didn’t want her pity.

“It’s okay,” I tilted my head to rest on top of hers. “Who needs him anyways?”

Wait, I do.

I stared out the window behind Mr. Thompson. He tapped his fingers in pattern on his desk, other hand resting on his cheek.

“Miss. Y/L/N.” He started, stopping his fingers from tapping. I flicked my eyes to his. “I knew this would be hard, having the type of personality he does. He doesn’t – doesn’t have a long attention span when it comes to women.”

I looked back to the window, admiring the cars streaming by on the 695. I already knew that. We all knew it. You thought one of your agents could change him? People don’t change because you want them to. They change because they want to.

When I didn’t offer a response, Thompson continued. “Did something happen after the benefit? After we unplugged you?”

I thought back to that night. Our drive home was filled mainly with his giggles and slurred pick-up lines.

“I don’t think – “ I didn’t kiss him. He wanted to kiss me, and I didn’t. “He wanted to kiss me, Mr. Thompson.”

“You didn’t kiss him, right?”

“Yes.” He quirked an eyebrow. “No, I mean – yes, I didn’t kiss him.” I clarified. I wanted to though.

“Miss. Y/L/N, we’ve brought in Mr. Horan. Head of his security. ”Thompson waved to Mr. Horan through the window. The screech from the chair next to me as it slid across the tile floor. My eyes flashed to the man next to me. Niall. Now it makes sense.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Niall cleared his throat, “Nice to see you again.”

“You as well, Mr. Horan.”

“As you know, Mr. Horan here is the head of Mr. Styles’ security and has been keeping an eye on him since the beginning of President Styles’ term. He’s here to shed some insight and help us through this obstacle. He knows Harry the best, so we will have his assistance for matters like this.” Mr. Thompson gestured to Niall to start speaking about what he knows.

“Yeah, so” Niall shifted in his seat and crossed his ankle at the knee. “Harry’s a bit frustrated. He feels like, I don’t know. That you – “ I caught his eyes drift to mine – “aren’t ‘interested’ in him anymore”

I scoffed at the remark, earning a glare from Mr. Thompson. “Miss. Y/L/N, a problem?”

“Sorry it’s just – “ I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, resting my palms on my thighs – “He feels like I’m not interested? When three days after the benefit he’s out gallivanting around D.C? That’s ridiculous.”

“See,” Niall turned towards me, “That’s just it. That’s how Harry copes. He doesn’t have healthy coping mechanisms. He thinks the best way to get around his issues is to drink them away. It’s why he drank so much at the benefit. It’s why he drinks so much in general.”

It explains a lot. He had told me that he’s been under stress, and I can only imagine how much stress he feels from having to live up to a perfect image that he can’t attain with his reputation.

“So, what do I do?”

“I’ve tried to knock some sense into him. I may protect Harry for a living, but he is my friend, and I care about him and his feelings.”

The Saturday sun was warm on my skin. I stared at the clouds in the sky, listened to the kids playing about 50 feet away, and the ducks in the pond. I should be at the gym, I reminded myself. Or at least running.

It’d been a week since I last saw Harry, part of me missed him. Thompson said he was going to work with Niall and how to get the boy back on track. Why me out of all people? There were so many young women in the FBI at this point, so why me? ‘Because we see the most potential in you. Half these women won’t make it another 6 months.’ Thompson’s voice rang in my ears from our conversation yesterday afternoon.

The bright darkness dimmed behind my eyelids. I opened one to see a figure standing above me. I jolted out of my comfort.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” I said sitting up and criss crossing my legs.

“Uh – “ raising a hand to the back of their neck – “Can we talk?”

“Yeah Summer, what’s up?” She sat opposite of me in the grass and looked around the park.

“It’s a nice day today, isn’t it?” Her eyes never settled on mine. She’s being cautious.

“Yeah, great day to be outside.” I looked over to the swimming ducks, still quacking at each other.

What I would give to be a duck right now. Not having any worries about whether or not my job was still intact. If my friends hated me for lying to them. If the boy I liked was done with me before even having a chance to know me, and really me.

“So,” Summer started after a few minutes of silence. I looked at her expectantly. “Someone dropped by today to see you.” My heart jumped; my palms started to sweat. Was Harry at my apartment?

“Harry?”

“Uh – “ she faltered – “No, Louis?” I scrunched my brows, confused. I wracked my brain trying to figure out who Louis was. “He said he’s a friend. You apparently met him at the Benefit? I told him you were out and didn’t know when you’d be back. He said to call him and left his number.” I looked at my crossed ankles. Oh, Louis. Wait, Louis took that picture of me and Harry. What does he want? “Do you know him?”

I looked back at Summer. “Yeah, he’s… he’s one of Harry’s friends.”

“You should probably call him, he looked in a rush.” I lifted my head in a nod, letting my eyes fall to the grass between us. A comfortable silence took over. “Y/N, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about whatever happened between you and… him. But I’m here for you if you do.”

“I know that, Summer. Thank you.”

I took a few steps into my room and tossed my purse onto my bed. I decided I should give Louis a call to see what’s going on.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Louis. It’s Y/N. I heard you stopped by today.”

“Oh!” He sounds surprised. His tone quickly hushed. “Y/N, thanks for calling. Yeah, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay,” I sat in my desk chair with one leg tucked under me. “What’s going on?”

“Can you meet me?” There was a long pause.

“Wh – “

“In an hour, at the park by the white house.” Before I could respond, I heard the click of him hanging up.

What?

I didn’t take much time to get ready to meet Louis. I threw a gray zip up sweatshirt over my tank top and slipped on my flare jeans with converse and was on my way. Louis texted me to say he wanted to ask me a few questions about the benefit – for a promotion he was working on for his company.

The sun had set on my way over, the purple, black sky taking over the D.C air. I glanced at the sky as I stood by the lamp post in the park. The stars look beautiful tonight. My eyes kept traveling around the park. Something I was trained to do. Have your eyes everywhere at all times.

I heard him before I saw him. The heavy footsteps, deep breathing. He sounds troubled. I whipped my head in the opposite direction.

“Y/N?” He asked, pulling the hood off his head. I could only nod. “What are you doing here?”

“I – “ I was off the script. No earpiece with Thompson telling me what to do, who to be, anything. “Just out for a stroll.” Harry stared at me as if he wasn’t really seeing me. He shook his head, his long locks falling in front of his face. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling the pieces that had fallen from his face.

“By… the white house?” He asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I love this park. Very peaceful with some great views.” I concluded. Louis sent me here, he knows what he’s doing. He and Harry are longtime friends. They must’ve talked.

“Right…” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking around.

“I wanted to talk.” “We should talk.” We spoke at the same time. Our eyes locked before breaking into giggles and looking at our feet.

“You go ahead,” Harry encouraged.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked.

“I –“ He rubbed the back of his neck. “How drunk was I that night?”

I blinked harshly, not expecting him to ask that. “What?”

“I don’t remember much after slamming my drink right before we left and…” He took a step away from me. “I was a little embarrassed and I wasn’t sure if I said or did anything wrong and… I thought if I held off for a bit then it wouldn’t be a big deal…”

“So why still didn’t you call?” Harry shook his head, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You didn’t get my voicemail?” He quirked his head.

“What voicemail?”

“Y/N, I called you like three times.”

“What?” Then it hit me. Thompson. Thompson tapped my phone when starting the mission to have all the details. But why?

“I just kinda thought you were done with us and I had done something after the benefit.”

“Harry, I had no idea. Honest… Is that why you went out with Kendall?”

He laughed at my question. “I haven’t gone out with Kendall. I haven’t seen her in months. Those pictures are from like… November.” I was bewildered.

I composed myself before speaking, “I’m sorry to have assumed the worst…”

“It’s okay,” he stepped closer. “Can I come to your place?”

“Right now?”

He glanced at his feet and back to me, “Yeah.” He murmured. Only meaning to be heard between us two.

“Are you okay?” I tucked some stray hair behind my ear, shifting my weight from my left foot to my right.

“I just – I just don’t want to go back yet. I had to sneak out and I just need some time away.” Running one hand through his hair, he grabbed my hand with the other.

“Okay.”

The ride to my apartment was quiet. Harry didn’t say much about what was going on within the White House walls, although I’m sure I would find out come Monday, if not sooner. I was trying to read his moving eyes, but there wasn’t much to tell. His eyes told a completely different story than his lips.

His lips spoke of stress and hardship. His eyes shine like the moon over a Georgia river in the dead of night.

When I finally parked my car in the lot, Harry slid out of my car with grace, taking my hand as each of us rounded the back of my car.

“This is it,” I sighed when opening the door to my apartment.

“Wow,” He looked from the kitchen to the living room before turning to face me, “Cute.”

“Oh my gosh,” I whipped my head to see Ashlie coming into the entrance in a towel from the hallway – clearly not expecting company.

“Uh – Hi.” Harry awkwardly waved.

“Hi, wow. Wasn’t expecting you.” She gave a small smile and gestured to her attire.

“It’s not a problem. Nice to meet you,” Harry extended his hand for her, which she gladly took, “I’m Harry.”

“Oh, I know who you are. I’m Ashlie.” Ashlie let out a flirty giggle. You know, the kind you hear at a bar when a girl is trying too hard to let a man know his jokes are ‘funny’.

“We’ll uh – be in my room.” I remarked, breaking up the awkwardness I could feel radiating through the room.

Harry trailed behind me, telling me he thought Ashlie seemed nice.

“How many roommates do you have?” He questioned, taking a seat on the foot of my bed.

“Two. My other roommate, Summer, is probably at her boyfriend’s.” I hung my hoodie over the back of my desk chair and took a seat on it backwards so I could face him. Harry nodded his head before letting his body fall back onto my bed. “So, what’s going on? At home?”

“It’s nothing,” He groaned, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“It’s obviously something if you’re sneaking out and wandering parks at night without guards. How’d you even get away with that anyways?”

“The White House has many escape routes that can’t be seen by the control room. I’ve found them all.” He stated, putting his hands behind his head.

“Interesting.” The silence that filled the room was deafening. “Harry,” I paused waiting for him to look at me. His eyes gradually found mine. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired of my family and the security telling me my behavior is ‘unacceptable’ because I’m the President’s son. I can’t go out with my friends. I can’t be seen with girls who are friends. I can’t have a drink in a bar.” He stood from my bed and started pacing around my room like his life depended on it. “When I’m in the White House, all I have is people barking orders in my ear, telling me what I can and can’t do. What I can and can’t wear. Who I can and can’t see? So, I guess,” Harry brought his hands to his head and started pulling his hair at the roots, “When I do get to go out with friends, I get carried away. Unfortunately, every time.”

I didn’t know what to say. What I want to say? I can relate. What can I say? Nothing.

When he moved to sit back on my bed, I joined him. He brought his chest between his knees and bowed his head, taking the stance of looking like he was about to vomit. I rested my hand on his back and tried my best to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades, still looking for the right words. “Harry, I’m sorry. I had no idea that was something you had to deal with.”

“I know, because I don’t share that part of my life. Not with anyone. The only one who really knows is Niall. But that’s only because he’s with me when I’m out and that’s when it all comes out.” He lifted his head and turned to look at me. “He’s the only person I really trust. He’s my best friend and I trust him with my life. I know it’s his job to be there. But, he’s the only one I really have.”

“That’s not true. You have loads of friends. I’ve seen them in the pictures with you.”

“No, those people – while they’re nice to hang out with – they only care about my status. They care about Harry Styles, President’s son. Not Harry.”

“I – I don’t know what to say.” And I truly didn’t. Here he is, spilling his heart to me again, and I can’t even reciprocate without blowing my cover.

“You don’t have to say anything. I thought Niall was the only person that actually cared about me. As in Harry, the person. And then I met you.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry sat up and turned his body towards mine, grabbing both my hands in his.

“Y/N, I know you would never do anything to hurt me. You care about me. You ask me about me, not what my family is doing, or what bills are going through congress. Or even try to advance your career through me.”

My mouth got dry, but I felt like I was drowning. How can he not see through this act? When will I give it up? When will Thompson have it cut? His eyes bore into mine.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

“I – I like you too Harry.” I have to tell him; I have to tell him the girl he thinks he knows is not who she says she is. I have to tell him; this was all part of my job. But this isn’t. It’s not your job to be here with him right now.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” The proposition tore me from my thoughts. I got up and headed for the door, gesturing for him to follow me down the hall.

I plopped on the couch flipping the TV on. Harry sat next to me and flung his arm to the back of the couch behind me.

“Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?” He looked over to me, nodding excitedly.

We flipped through Netflix for 10 minutes before finally deciding on 27 Dresses. The movie was the only thing that could be heard in the living room. At whatever point, Harry let his arm fall onto my shoulders and pulled me into him. I let my head rest on his shoulder as we continued watching.

“Hey Y/N?” I looked up at him, humming in response. “I’m sober now.” I scrunched my eyebrows and opened my mouth to speak, “Can I kiss you now?” My heart sped up, and my cheeks warmed with the blood rushing to them.

“I - I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I let my head dip so I wasn’t looking at him.

“Why’s that?” He asked, confusion taking over his tone. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but... I would really like to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I do. It’s just - “ I thought of all the things that could possibly go wrong - the FBI busting into my apartment to have me arrested, me starting what feels like a real relationship based on lies, breaking his heart after he let me in.

“Then let me,” Harry cupped my cheek and brought our gazes together. I stared at him for a moment before lightly nodding.

His lips ghosted over mine before gently pressing together. I swear I could hear his heartbeat. Or maybe it was mine. I rested my hand on his cheek and his hand moved to my waist, pulling me as close as possible. It wasn’t heavy, and it wasn’t quick. It was soft and sweet, like him.

He pulled away and leaned back into the couch. A smile graced his face. I nuzzled back into him and pulled my feet up on the couch.

I woke up to the room completely dark, the only light coming from the dim light above the oven. I was still laying on Harry. I sat up, removing his arms from my waist. I grabbed my phone from the table to check the time. 2:36am. Oh shit, I turned back to wake Harry.

“Harry, Harry wake up. You have to go.” I shook him out of his sleep.

“What why?” He stirred, rubbing his eyes, barely coming out of his sleep.

“It’s 2:36AM.”

“Mmmmm comfy.” He closed his eyes again and rested further into the couch.

“Harry, no. You’re gonna get into trouble.” I stood up and grabbed his hands trying to pull him off the couch.

“No, I won’t”

“Harry,” I insisted. When he wouldn’t budge, I gave up. Flopping back into the couch.

“Can I just stay – you won’t even know I was here.”

I woke up in my bed. I looked at my clock next to me. 9:22am. Was it a dream? I sat up, same tank top. Same jeans. I searched for my phone to find it under my pillow with a sticky note.

Left around 5. Carried you to bed and didn’t want to wake you. Call me. – Harry

Sticking my phone in my back pocket, I pulled myself out of bed and let my feet guide me to the bathroom. What did I do? Why did I have to do that?

After staring at myself for almost two minutes, I decided to call Harry.

“Hello?” his voice was chipper.

“How’d you get home?” I asked, putting the call on speaker so I could wash my face.

“I took an Uber. I woke up to one missed call and one text from Niall asking if I was in my room from around 2. I figured it’d be best if I was back in the house before sunrise and not let anyone get suspicious.” At least he was thoughtful of other peoples’ sleep schedules.

“Ah, alright.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you wanted me to call you?” I stated, remembering his note.

“Oh, yeah! I’m picking you up for breakfast.” He said, I could feel his smile through the phone. Man does this boy get right back on the love train; I swear.

“You? Or Niall?” I teased, breaking into a smile. I grabbed my washcloth and wet it to begin washing my face.

“Ha ha. Funny. No, me. Just you, me, and some delicious breakfast.” He clarified. Should I tell Thompson? Probably.

“Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up in 30 minutes.” We said goodbye and felt my heart beating faster. I quickly texted Thompson to let him know what was happening. I started the shower and dropped my clothes. Washing everything quickly, I felt my nerves beginning to settle in. Should I even have said yes? What if Thompson doesn’t want me to? Too late.

When I got out, I checked my phone for a response.

Thompson – 9:37am: Earpiece.

He really was a man of few words. Powerful words, but few. I quickly blew dry my hair and changed into some leggings and a ¾ sleeve blouse. Finishing putting on some light makeup, I heard a knock on the front door.

“Harry!” Ashlie exclaimed, “Good to see you again.”

I walked out to see Harry looking awkwardly at her. She was asking how everything was going for him, to which he politely smiled and said “Fine, Thanks.” His eyes lit up when they connected with mine.

“Hey, you.” He smiled, pulling me in for a hug

“Hi,” I greeted, returning his smile and accepting his arms around me.

“Ready?”

‘Let me just grab my purse,” I said, backing away down the hallway towards my room. I quickly grabbed the earpiece from my drawer and inserted it into my ear. I grabbed my purse from my desk and started heading back to our entryway. I paused in the doorway, glancing at my open drawer with my pistol sticking out. I slipped it into my purse before returning to Harry. “Okay, let’s go.”

Ashlie moved to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast, taking peeks over her shoulder at Harry. She shot me a wink as Harry opened the front door to lead us out.

When we were settled in the car, Harry turned to me. “First things first, I wanted to say thank you to you. For last night. And I’m sorry if I was intruding.”

“You weren’t,” I reassured him, “You never are.” As I finished my sentence, I heard the static in my earpiece. Thompson’s on.

“Morning superstar. I don’t know what happened last night, but good job getting him back.” If only he knew.

Harry turned on the radio for our drive. As we drove further out of the city, he told me how he loved some of the neighborhoods we were driving by. Mostly because he had friends living there that he made when we were in high school because Mr. Styles would often bring him to D.C., and he would meet other congressmen’s children.

I laughed at his jokes, and when he sang. Frankly, he can’t sing. But he does a very nice job trying.

When we pulled up to the café, I noticed it was quite small. Niall hadn’t brought us here on our previous brunch meetings.

“Where are we?” I questioned.

“Oh, my dad used to take me here in high school. I don’t get to come too often anymore. Ya know, security and everything.”

Right.

Breakfast went exactly how I thought it would. Harry talked about his life, asked me about mine, and Thompson fed me lines that apparently “Niall had done ‘research’, and this is what Harry wants to hear.”

But this time, when I laughed with Harry, I felt more genuine. My feelings were too. I really liked him. He was kind, generous, thoughtful. Everything a good man acted like.

When he dropped me off, Harry walked me to my door. I didn’t hesitate to kiss his cheek. Harry grabbed my hands and squeezed them.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” He glanced at his feet, letting a grin bless his features with his dimples showing perfectly. I nodded, squeezing his hands back. He pulled me into him for a hug. I wrapped my arms around his waist, not wanting to let go.

“Bye, Harry.” I opened the door when he let go of me.

“Bye, Y/N.”

The next week felt like it flew by. I would see Harry after work, either for dinner, a drink, a movie, a walk, really anything he could think of to see me.

Thompson would be in my ear, encouraging me. Sometimes he wasn’t, those were my favorite nights with Harry. I could be myself without having to worry about if Thompson thought ‘Well that wasn’t the right thing to say.”

My phone ringing brought me out of my sleep. I looked at the caller ID and immediately answered.

“Hello?” I greeted, rubbing the sleep from my left eye.

“Can you come over?” Harry asked, his voice cracking near the end. I pulled the phone away from my ear. 1:11am. After a pause he added, “Please?” The desperation in his voice was almost tangible. A shiver ran down my spine just hearing his broken voice.

“Yeah, of course.” I threw my covers off of me and grabbed my nearest pair of jeans. I pulled them on and picked up one of Harry’s long sleeve t-shirts and ripped it over my head. “I’ll be there in 15.”

“Thank you,” he sobbed. “I can let you in by the east garden.” I hung up my phone and hesitated to grab my keys. I should take an Uber. Guards would see my car parked near the White House. I opened the Uber app and ordered a car.

“Morning ma’am.” Said Andrew, the driver.

“Morning,” I grumbled, climbing in the backseat.

“How was your night?” he asked, smiling at me through the rearview mirror.

“Could be better,” I sighed, rubbing my fingers into my temples.

“Oh, I totally get it,” he started. Andrew talked almost the entire way about his night. When he dropped me on the corner a block away from the White House, he concluded his rant with “And that’s when I kicked him out. Well, I hope your night gets better! Life’s too short to have bad sex.” I gave him the best smile I could muster and got out of his car.

I walked up the street and crossed through an alley to get to the East garden. I saw a sliver of light coming from a shrub. The sliver of light grew bigger, giving away that it was actually a door. A disheveled Harry appeared in the light. As I got closer, I noticed his eyes were red and puffy. He’s been crying. When I was close enough, he instantly crashed his body into mine, holding me so tight I might combust.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” I asked, cuddling him closer. He let out a choked weep. “Come on, let’s go.” I said, pulling away. He grabbed my hand and led us through the tunnels.

When we got to the halls, Harry looked around every corner, checking for guards before sneaking us to his room. The door clicked shut and the only thing I could hear were his soft sniffles. I took in the room before me. It was large and decorated for a king. There were items scattered, a chair tipped over, and a lamp lay broken on the floor next to his bed.

He took a seat on the edge of his bed, lowering his head with his hands covering his face. I walked over and took a seat next to him. I placed my hand on his shoulder and took another look around.

“Harry,” I whispered. “What happened?”

“He’s so disappointed in me.” He mumbled, barely audible. His body shook with sobs, soft enough to go unnoticed by anyone passing by.

“Who? Your dad?”

“He said his approval rate has barely gone up, and when he asked the cabinet about it, they – they told him it was my fault.” My heart broke at his words.

“Harry, I’m so – “

“He doesn’t get it. No one does,” he ripped himself from my grasp and stood in front of me, facing the door. “I have him, his cabinet, members of the staff, media, friends, everyone constantly yelling at me. Just because I want to go out and be normal. Live a normal life.” He was facing me now, arms flailing around to get his point across. “And as soon as I get something right, it’s not good enough!”

“What do you mean?” I inquired. I stood up and placed my hands on his shoulders, leading him back to sit down. “Talk to me.”

“You,” he stated as if it was obvious. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been trying to better myself. Not go out as much, get away from the crowd that only talked to me because they want something. I haven’t had any interest in doing that because – well. I want to be the best man I can. For you.”

I stood straight at his confession. I was left speechless. I took a deep breath before kneeling on the ground in front of him. I opened my mouth and closed it again, not knowing what to say.

“Harry, I – I’m proud of you for doing all of that.”

“Well I’m glad someone is,” he exclaimed. He threw himself back onto his bed and covered his face with his hands.

I got up and sat next to him, criss crossing my legs. I grabbed his hands from his face and held them.

“I’m sure your dad is proud of you too. He just doesn’t know how to say it.” I tried to assure him.

“Yeah because ‘if you would’ve kept the clean image like I told you to’ screams ‘I’m proud of you.” He groaned. He grasped my hands and brought them to his chest.

“Well, let’s think about this. Your dad is the President. He has a lot of people to answer to, and I’m sure he’s under a lot of stress.” I explained to him, rubbing circles on the backs of his hands

“I know, I know. But like, there’s a way to talk to your kids.”

“Yeah, and I’m not saying how he handled it was correct. I’m just saying, from his perspective, he’s probably not mad. Just frustrated. And I’m sure he’s proud of you for trying to better yourself.” I paused, glancing at the door. “Maybe you should just talk to him about how this experience has been for you. I know you haven’t and that might help him to better understand where you’re coming from.” I concluded.

“You’re right. I should probably try to talk to him in private.”

“Wanna hear a joke?” He nodded, cracking a small smile. “What did the drummer name his daughters? Anna one, anna two!” His giggle filled the quiet room, a chuckle left my own lips. He pulled me down, so my head was resting on his chest.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He tucked my hair behind my ear and caressed his hand down my cheek.

“I’ve been told,” I joked, returning the smile he gave me.

“No, I’m serious,” He looked at the ceiling before continuing, “You give really good advice that makes me think from another perspective, and you can make me laugh even when it feels like my world is crashing - not even two minutes ago.” He glanced back down at me. My eyes never leaving his face.

We stayed like this for a while. Talking about life, things we believed in, conspiracy theories, the best type of pasta (Tortellini was unanimously voted), everything.

Harry walked me back to the East Garden entrance around 3:00am.

“Are you sure you can’t stay the night? Niall can just drop you off in the morning.” He tried one last time.

“I’m sure, Harry.” I let out a quiet laugh. “But hey – maybe we should just keep this between us two? I don’t want to get any weird looks from m –“ I stopped myself before the words ‘my coworkers’ escaped my lips, “your guards.”

“Of course, don’t worry.” He kissed my forehead and watched as I waited for my Uber. Occasionally throwing out pick-up lines. My favorite being ‘Are you a time traveler? Because I can see you in my future’ I casually waved as the Uber pulled up.

“Y/N?” She asked. I nodded and opened the door. I took one last look towards the entrance, seeing just the crack of light, knowing Harry was watching through it.

The next few weeks continued like this. Harry sneaking out to my house, and me to his. Each time learning new secret passages that brings me to his wing, or his room. It got to be exciting, really. Seeing Harry without Thompson in my ear. I had somehow convinced him to keep Niall out of the loop of our late-night meetings. But, of course, going on public outings was a different story. Niall would be waiting in a blacked-out SUV, I had my earpiece in, and I had to give Harry lines fed from Thompson every other sentence.

Sitting in Thompson’s office was something I should be used to by now. However, ever since Harry and I began having our midnight rendezvous, I had been anxious every time Thompson was even so much as in the same building. Although Harry and I haven’t so much as kissed since that night in my apartment, every time I saw him, I could feel the sexual tension radiating off him like I was standing next to a bonfire. He was waiting for me to make the first move, which I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. It would put so much more confusion into this already sticky situation.

Harry has grown into my friend. Of course, there was romantic interest. But I couldn’t jeopardize my cover. To him, I was Y/N Y/L/N. Marketing director for Accent. Small town girl from Carolina. I went to college for Business. I have my mom and two younger brothers back home who encouraged me to follow my dreams and move to D.C. If he knew who I really was. We could never have a relationship. If he knew I was being paid to play his romantic interest, things would never be real for us.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson’s serious tone tore me from my thoughts, “We’re aware that things have gone swimmingly since Mr. Styles had picked you up for breakfast a couple weeks ago. But how are you?”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I’m well. He seems to be just fine. Hasn’t been as much in the spotlight. And the press - ”

“Miss. Y/L/N,” His tone lightened a bit. Thompson clasped his hands on his desk and softened his eyes toward me. I locked eyes with him as he continued. “Y/N, how are you doing?” His question took me by surprise. Thompson is always business. Hard-core authoritarian and never cares about sick days, let alone mental health days. He didn’t care if you were vomiting on the curb, you better show up for duty.

“I – What?” I asked, bewildered. My jaw fell slack, and I prayed he couldn’t hear my thoughts.

“Y/N, I know this must be extremely hard on you. I know I asked a lot of you when I assigned you to this. I want to be sure you’re doing okay. You two spend a lot of time together and I know how charming he is. I’ve met him on several occasions.” He chuckled, pushing his chair back and coming to sit next to me.

I turned toward him and put on a poker face. “Mr. Thompson, I know the longevity of this mission, and I know what a great deal of stress this is putting on everyone involved as well.” I couldn’t help it, I let my face fall into one of agitation. “But when I’m with him, I can’t help but think of how real it is for him. How would he feel if he knew that my interest is just a hoax? That it’s part of my job description to play this part?”

Thompson moved out of his chair and moved to the windows that looked out into the office. He took his time shutting the blinds before he came to sit in front of me on his desk.

“Y/N,” He started, the unease in his voice was something new. “I know your concern for his emotions is genuine. It’s part of why I hired you. You fully invest in what you’re doing. And that’s a trait that’s hard to come by nowadays. But I also hired you because I know how tough you are. You don’t let people push you around. You’ve truly shown your character with this.”

He took a long glance out the window at the cars driving down the 695. Did he have children? I never asked. We weren’t supposed to ask our superiors about their personal lives. The office and field were strictly professional.

“The unfortunate part of our jobs, is the mere fact that everyone we interact with, is part of our job. Whether it’s a civilian on the street, or the Queen of England. We’re on guard the whole time. Take Niall for instance.” He finally brought his gaze back to mine. “Niall is the closest we have to getting inside Mr. Styles head. To understand his motives and how he may be putting a risk to himself. That’s where we come in.”

“I don’t under – “

“Like Niall, we have Joe. Joe is the head of security for President Styles. President Styles may not understand what we’re doing at the time. But always comes to thank us later.”

“Mr. Thompson,” I let the confusion slide onto my face. “With all due respect, I don’t understand how this relates.”

“What I’m saying Y/N, is that, even though it may not seem like it, we do have Mr. Styles’ best interest at heart. But to do that, we need to be on the inside as well.”

I left Thompson’s office feeling even more anxious than before I entered. The phone ringing in my pocket halted my movements. Harry was trying to FaceTime me. I took a sharp right and entered the nearest bathroom, locking the door behind me.

“Hey,” I greeted him through the screen. He was in a car, driving. His sunglasses were pulled onto his head, pushing his chocolate locks out of his face.

“Hi! Oh – I’m sorry. You’re at work, aren’t you?” He apologized.

“Oh – yeah,” I fibbed. I hated this. I wanted to scream how I didn’t work at Accent and haven’t the slightest clue what marketing strategies were. You’re in too deep at this point, slick.

“How about I come pick you up for lunch? I can say hi to Rich.” He excitedly proposed.

“I can’t today, I’m sorry. I – uh” Think Y/N, think. “I’m actually in a business meeting with a prospect. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. What’re you doing tonight?” He didn’t even seem fazed. He had grown used to my typical 9-5 day. That was actually midnight to midnight and being on call over the weekends. I, technically, was always working.

“I think Ashlie was cooking some homemade eggplant Parmesan. What’s up?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come over tonight. Maybe watch a movie with some popcorn?” He gave a light smirk, before turning it into a full grin.

“I could be up for that. After dinner?”

“Do you want me to send a car to get you? Or would you like to sneak in as usual?” There was a hint of annoyance laced in his voice. He seemed to be getting tired of sneaking around.

“I can get myself there,” I stifled a laugh, trying to lighten his mood. “East Garden?”

“Yeah, okay.” I felt bad, that I couldn’t just stroll up to the main doors of the white house. But what security didn’t know didn’t hurt us. Well, me.

I arrived at the East Garden at 8:58, Harry was waiting with the door slightly cracked, as he had continuously done throughout our little meetings.

“Hey, ninja,” He smirked.

“Ninja?” I giggled as he pulled me into a hug. He rested his head atop mine, arms around my waist.

“Yeah, I think it suits you.” He snickered.

“If only you knew,” I whispered. I pulled away, “Shall we?” He reached for my hand, interlocking our fingers. Something I had grown accustomed to.

We settled in his room, laying back on the pillows. He pulled me into his chest as The Notebook started.

“Hey Y/N?” He gingerly murmured into my hair. Feeling the day weigh on my eyelids, I offered a hum in response. “How much do you. Ya know, like me?”

My eyes flew open at the question. My heart shook my toes with how hard it was beating. “What do you mean?” Trying to keep my voice even, I tilted my head to look up at him.

“Like, we’ve been seeing each other for a bit now, so I was just wondering like.” He grabbed my left hand and gave it a squeeze, “What are we doing?”

“Harry I – “ I took a deep breath. You knew it was coming. Play stupid. “I don’t follow.”

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

I sat up and turned to him, criss crossing my legs. “Harry, as much as I care about you,” The words were harder to get out than anticipated. “I really enjoy what we have going on. And, I mean, with your status. I’m nervous about it … blowing up. Does that make sense?” I shook my head at his disapproving eyes. My voice started to waver as I continued, “I’m sorry, I just. I know how nasty the media can be and…”

Harry bolted up, grabbing my face ready to wipe any tears that could fall. “Hey, I don’t want you to apologize. I just, I don’t know. I feel like you don’t want to be seen with me or something. Even around my own house…” his voice trailed as he looked down at his own legs.

I took the opportunity to grab his hands, rubbing circles into their backs. “Harry, I promise that I really care about you. I just, I’m not ready for something like that.”

“Okay, I understand.” His gaze peered back up to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you. I would just really love to show off the woman that has stolen my heart.” I stole his heart and felt mine drop. “Will you let me know when you are?” I could only nod. “Come on, let’s lay back down. I love this movie.”

I don’t know when Harry fell asleep. His soft snores filled the room long before the movie ended. I couldn’t move, but I had to get out of here. I had to tell Thompson I couldn’t do it anymore. I checked my phone for the time. 4:27. I have to go home. I carefully unhooked Harry’s hand from mine. I gathered my things from his desk before spotting a notepad. I glanced over at the sleeping boy. You at least owe him the courtesy to write him a note that you were leaving. He’s done the same before.

I scribbled a simple “Couldn’t sleep, call me tomorrow. - Y/N” On the paper before putting it next to him on the bed.

I cracked the door open as quietly as possible and stuck my head through the crack, looking for any potential sign of life. I slid my body through the door and shut it as lightly as possible. I ran my hands down my face and started down the hall.

“Y/N?” I froze as I was about to round the corner. I slowly turned around to find a confused Niall standing at the other end of the hall. He took several glances between me and Harry’s door. “What are you doing here?” His tone was cold.

“Niall, I – I didn’t think you’d be roaming the halls this early in the morning.” I tried to laugh it off while taking several strides towards him.

He stared at me dumbfounded. “Does Thompson know you’re here?” He took my blank expression as an answer. “So how long has this been going on?”

“Niall, it’s not what it seems.” I defended.

“No, you’re just sneaking over to the WHITE HOUSE in the middle of the night for no reason. Not to hook up with Harry?”

“Niall, it’s really not like that!” I raised my voice slightly.

“Then tell me what it’s like Y/N. You know this could jeopardize the mission!” Niall raised his voice higher than mine. Not seeming to care if other guards heard him.

“I’m being his friend, Niall!” I cried. ‘That’s all.”

“Being his friend?” He asked bemused. “I don’t think FRIENDS do what you’re doing, Y/N.” His voice lower this time.

“Niall, I’m just trying to do the best I can! There’s no precedent for stuff like this! He calls, I answer. If he asks me to be there for him, I am. Like three weeks ago when he had an all-out meltdown!” My hands swung from my sides, to cover my face.

“That’s my job Y/N, not yours. I’m the one he calls to handle situations like that.” He stated the obvious, raising his eyebrows. He spoke almost as if he was telling a three-year-old that they couldn’t jump off the monkey bars because they could get hurt.

“Yeah, Niall. I know it’s your job. But have you been doing it? Are you really his friend and have you been handling it?” I countered his argument. If Niall was the one to handle situations like that, then why did Harry call me instead?

“Y/N, I leave him alone when he gets like that. When he’s ready to talk, he does. I think I know him a little better than you.” Niall crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrows furrowed, and his voice was ear-piercingly serious.

“Do you, Niall? Do you really? You may know about everything he’s going through professionally, but –“ I took a deep breath, composing myself so my voice was even. “Do you even know the real him? The sensitive Harry that talks about how hard this life is?” I paused taking in Niall’s cold expression

“How about the Harry that’s favorite color is yellow, or that he loves rom coms because they always end happily? Or what about the Harry that’s just trying to cope because this isn’t the lifestyle he planned or hoped for? Do you even know him Niall?” My voice crippled as I finished my rant.

Niall doesn’t know him. Niall knows what he needs to know so he can report to Thompson at the end of the week. Trouble he got into, bars he went to, where the paparazzi who photographed his every move worked so they can get the pictures back from his blacked-out adventures.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Niall’s voice was too evenly keeled. “At least I know my place, when it comes to my job. Unlike you, who has no issues crossing clear boundaries. I will be pleased to inform Mr. Thompson of your little rendezvous with Mr. Styles this evening.” He turned his back before flicking his face over his shoulder, “And I’m sure we can find out about all the others as well.”

“What?” Niall froze in his tracks; I was too afraid to turn around. “What’s going on?”

I turned to find a red-faced Harry standing in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Harry,” our voices came in unison.

“You – Niall. Mr. Thompson?” The confusion took its rightful place on his face. “This,” Harry glanced at his sock clad feet. “This was a set up?” I couldn’t find the words to defend myself. “How did you – when were you – “ The unfinished questions never left his lips.

“Harry, I can explain.” My voice was thick. It almost hurt to get the words out. If I didn’t vomit when explaining to him why I like the privacy, it was sure about to come up now.

“You both… you both…” another unfinished question. He shut his door behind him and started walking in the opposite direction of both Niall and me. I gave a desperate glance to Niall, who quickly motioned for me to follow him.

“Go, you should talk to him.” His voice was soft. We both knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to play out. “Better you than me right now.”

I jogged to catch up to Harry. “Harry wait,” I called reaching out for his hand. He quickly swiped it from my grip and quickened his pace. “Harry, please let me explain!” I cried.

“Explain what?” He growled, stopping in his tracks. I stopped just before I crashed into him and took a step back. “Explain how you can go about your day just - just lying to me? About everything? Making me feel these things for you?” His voice was exceptionally hard, barely able to detect the hurt laced through.

“Harry, I’m sorry,” I whispered. ”I – “

“Sorry for what.” He barked, whipping around to face me. “Sorry for making me trust you, or sorry for getting caught in your big scheme.” His words rifled through me like he took an AR-15 to my heart. You should’ve known this could be the outcome. “Whatever you’re sorry for, I don’t want to hear it. See yourself out, I’m done.”

His shoulder bumped me as he walked past. I turned to watch him go back down the hall and around the corner back to his room. I remained motionless when I heard his door slam shut. I felt the wetness of a single tear rolling down my cheek and quickly raised my hand to wipe it away.

How could you have been so stupid, Y/N?

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justapoet · 3 years ago

Note

Hi mary! Can I request for tarlos: 37 "How weird is it that I just realized I want to marry you?" thank you in advance! xx

Sara!! Thank you so much for sending this ask! I really hope you like it :)

Prompt list: "How weird is it that I just realized I want to marry you?"

Send me a prompt!

2.2k | read it on Ao3

let's have conversations in the dark

Time seems to stand still whenever you need it to rush, and TK had learned it from a young age. The clocks seem to play a trick and decide not to move the way they're supposed to, just to prove whoever was staring that, even if time is merely a human concept, it still holds power over their existence.

It's something he had learned to deal with, only because he really needed to. Since he was a kid, his father would end up in a hospital, and he would be in the waiting room, staring at the clocks and hoping for the moment he would look back and see that it wasn't too bad to wait in there.

Time would pretend not to exist while TK would ask anyone above their heads to bring his father back home.

And, yet as a kid, TK would stare at the clocks and count the seconds until the time he knew both his mother and father would leave work. He would sit by the kitchen counter with his dinner and stare at the pointers, his leg bouncing and his heart racing, expecting the minute they would walk in through the door and look at his new "super-awesome" dinosaur pajama.

Time would go too fast until they would say it was time for him to sleep, and the nights would go too slow just for him to see that none of them were home by the morning.

Growing up, TK would try to fool the clocks, pretending he was having fun when he needed time to go faster and lying about how boring things were whenever he wanted the minutes to freeze for a few hours. It was silly, he could see, but also endearing ― according to Enzo.

He would slowly learn how to deal with it, though, not playing tricks on time anymore ― he would take a deep breath and just accept things as they were, hoping that the waiting would turn out to have a happy ending. TK would go out for a walk, watch a movie or a random show, or start some new book he had left on his shelf for far too long.

He would make peace with time until the moment he began to wish that time didn't even exist at all.

It was funny when he looked back to see how much things changed in a couple of years. The nights he would wish that never came so he could stay awake a bit more would become his only refugee and shelter from his parents' fights or absence, and the hours he spent crying would be just known for him and the walls. The sunny days he loved so deeply would become torture, people asking why he didn't go out or acted like a typical teenager, enjoying life and the young years.

And when he couldn't even remember how the days passed by, TK would wish the clocks to stop moving. Just for a bit ― just so he could rest. Just so he didn't have to cry for one more night.

It was weird just how that time wasn't a long time ago. And even more when, sometimes, those thoughts would take up TK's mind, hours, and seconds.

He was getting better, though, in both time and misery management. Sure, the clocks still stopped whenever he needed or desperately wanted it to go faster and rush whenever he wanted more time, but he was getting better at dealing with his agony and deception.

Especially when, after a shift from hell, even if it was only a twelve-hour one, TK got to get home to Carlos.

It was a Friday, and the both of them had the weekend off. Although they had planned to take a trip to Marble Falls, less than an hour from Austin, so they could relax and have some time to enjoy each other's company, Carlos getting sick had terminated that they wouldn't get too far out of the house.

Carlos got pretty upset over it, apologizing and saying that he didn't mean to ruin their plans ― and TK had only hugged Carlos close to his chest, trying to take the groundless guilt out of the man's mind. He dismissed every apology, saying that the only thing that mattered was that Carlos would get better so they could plan their trip again.

It had happened on a Wednesday, and TK had taken Thursday off after they had to take a ride to the ER within the late hours of the night ― or early ones in the day, for that matter. Carlos was running out of air and vomiting everything he didn't have in his stomach, and his fever was high enough for TK to cry when waiting for the doctor ― and, when she came, he couldn't get himself to pay attention as he should have.

His boyfriend was whimpering, crying, and asking for them to go home, and TK wasn't strong as he needed to be at that moment. The clocks wouldn't tick by, and Carlos would ask how long they've been there every five minutes, and TK would only wish it was nothing, and he only needed some fluids and regular medication.

TK knew it wasn't too serious ― he was experienced enough to know that ― but seeing Carlos in pain was a hell-sent experience. He would get withdrawn and make himself look small, silently begging for it to stop and searching for any contact TK could offer. TK would offer him a smile, some comfort words, and would caress his sweaty, messy curls just to get a shadow-ish grin in response.

It was worthy, though.

When Carlos got discharged, a few hours after he was admitted, TK messaged Grace so she could talk to Tommy and Judd ― who would tell the rest of the team ―, and Andrea and Gabriel, letting them know that he was okay. Both Grace and Carlos' mother had offered to make them some soup, and TK knew better than decline any offer, sending a thumbs up and a heart.

Against his will, he had gone to work Friday morning, his heart getting lighter when Grace knocked on their door minutes before he had to go. Carlos was still sleeping, curled upon himself, and TK pressed a kiss to his forehead before hugging Grace tight and leaving to the fire station.

And no matter how much he trusted Grace or how deeply he loved his job, he had spent the whole shift staring at some clock whenever he could. He wanted to go home, ask how Carlos was doing, and then let the other man curl himself against his side to feel some sense of protection ― he just wanted to see his boyfriend again and make sure he was there.

So, TK had taken a shower at the station before accepting Judd's ride to get Grace and check on Carlos, thanking God when he waited in the car, and Grace was already by the door. He loved them both, he really did ― but he didn't want to be cordial at the moment.

TK walked up the stairs silently, thanking God that their room was further in the hallway than it was in the condo they'd lost to the fire. His bag and shoes were left by the locked door, and he had thrown his hoodie somewhere in the living room.

He stepped lightly inside their bedroom, smiling fondly at the sight of Carlos lying on his back with one of his arms thrown over his face and the other in the vacant space that belongs to TK. His chest was rising and falling more smoothly than it was on the two previous days, and the paramedic couldn't help but sigh in relief at that.

Not wanting to wake his boyfriend up, TK made his way to their bathroom to take his clothes off, except for his boxers, and brush his teeth, stretching his back and letting the day settle behind him. Knowing he wouldn't fall asleep so easily ― worrying was inevitable ― TK walked to the bookshelf they had in their bedroom, taking one of the books he had bought and had yet to read it.

Then, he took his steps to their bed, where Carlos had already moved his arm from, and sat with his back pressed against the headboard, taking one of the blankets and covering his legs. He smiled at the man beside him before making himself comfortable and opening the first pages of the book, sighing in relief to be home.

TK didn't make it to the third page when Carlos groaned and turned his body, stretching his arm and loosening it to fall over the paramedic's lap and the book he was reading. TK blinked in surprise, turning to Carlos and then chuckling softly, his heart swelling with how much he loved that moment.

"Miss'd 'ou," Carlos grumbled, getting closer to TK and making him slip down a little so his boyfriend could hug his waist, at least. The paramedic closed the book, then, putting it over the bedside table, and turned lowered his eyes again, watching Carlos' sleepy face.

"I missed you, too, babe," TK said. "How are you feeling?"

It took Carlos a bit to process the question, his fogged brain still too deep in unconsciousness. When he did, he snuggled even closer, his head almost placed over TK's stomach and his arm not hugging him but still thrown over his frame.

"I'm good," Carlos said. "I missed..." he stopped, almost drifting to sleep again. TK thought he would, but then he took another breath, leaning closer to TK's fingers on his hair. "You," the man completed, and TK smiled fondly.

"Me too, love," TK said. "Are you comfortable like this?"

"Uh-hu," Carlos answered and then frowned. TK watched, his fingers scratching his boyfriend's nape. "Are you― I am not― the door," the man grumbled, and TK noticed he wasn't in their room anymore but somewhere in his sleep-fogged mind.

"What?" TK asked anyway. Carlos groaned, and TK thought he would pull away, but he seemed to think twice and froze in place.

"Did you get the... the rings?" Carlos mumbled, and TK frowned with a smile.

"The rings, sweetheart?" he asked, moving down a bit each second to be lying down like Carlos. His neck would be thankful in the following morning.

"Yeah," Carlos agreed, and TK was more than sure that he didn't know what he was agreeing to.

"Which ones?" TK asked again, watching as Carlos' lips parted so he could breathe better between each sentence.

"The... Uh," Carlos mumbled, now against TK's chest. "Saturn," he completed, and TK held back a chuckle that could wake him up. Instead, he passed his arm around Carlos, hugging him close, and took another of the blankets to cover his boyfriend.

"Saturn? I don't think I have them, love," TK said, an inch of supposed sadness in his voice. When he thought Carlos had fallen asleep once more, his boyfriend snuggled even closer.

"'ts okay," Carlos said. "Love you," he mumbled, and TK's breath got caught in his throat as if it was the first time he had heard Carlos say that he loved him.

He looked down at the man cuddled around him, and his mind settled with the peace he hadn't felt in forever. Time, well-known for its games and tricks, seemed to realize just how wide, gigantic, and precious that moment was, stopping in its tracks and lingering in the air just like those promises TK never dared to break apart.

Suddenly, there was silence and a quiet realization of the loudest of TK's feelings ― suddenly, there was just who they were, in all their greatness and insignificance, and it was enough.

It was enough, and it was real. Unlike the concepts of life, death, time, it was real, tangible, there, and theirs. Unlike the unknown presence of an unexistent villain, the clocks seemed to realize that there was something there that no one could ever put in words. Unlike all the demons, and the waiting rooms, and the sleepless nights and the feeling they hold, there was peace.

And there was a certainty TK could never see coming.

So, he smiled because there was nothing else to summarize what he was feeling.

"How weird is it that I just realized I want to marry you?" he whispered to the silence, Carlos' breaths slow and steady, indicating how he was already deep in his sleep. TK sighed, staring at the man he loved as if he was the most precious thing to be something on Earth, and lifted his head to press a kiss to the messy, brown curls.

He stretched his other arm, then, and took Carlos' hand in his, watching as, unconsciously, his boyfriend's fingers tangled around his own, a sigh escaping from his parted lips.

"I love you," TK confessed, his voice echoing in the room. "And I'll get the rings, too. Soon," he said again, his heart thundering in his chest with how sweet and sure the words sounded out of his lips. Carlos didn't move, and TK closed his eyes so he could join his lover in his sleep. "Promise."

And time didn't dare to rush their beating hearts, lulling them to sleep in peaceful silence and a glowing ticking of frozen clocks.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #prompt fic #my fic #prompts #my writing #my fics

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qqueenofhades · 3 years ago

Note

Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that’s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаров – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #a phantom in enchanting light #mearcatsreturns #ask #fivan ff

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delimeful · 4 years ago

Text

WIBAR Intermission: New Friends

winner of the first july patreon poll! thanks to @legendsgates for allowing me to sneak in a brief cameo of their alien species, cetarfreka!

previous intermission episode | start of WIBAR

warnings: violence, fear, tension, ptsd episodes, injury mention, being held hostage, misunderstandings, deception

It was about halfway through their trading circuit that the vidcomm from the Mindscape popped up.

Remyy perked up instantly, Patton’s distinctive singsong voice clear even from half across the main bay. They dropped to their feet and tucked all their wings tight against them to signal that anyone in the way should swiftly get out of the way. Those in the bay who knew them cast strange glances in their direction as they hop-skittered across the floor.

Remyy couldn’t blame them; this was probably the fastest they’d moved all week. They usually maintained a much more casual demeanor for the sake of their reputation, but in this case...

“Patton! Babes, you’re really okay!”

“Remyy!” The Ampen fluffed up, a pleasant glow filling the room around him, face pinching up happily.

In this case, exceptions would be made.

The Obrxyx currently managing the comms sighed at them, unimpressed. “You have this one, then?”

“Sure do,” Remyy drawled, still leaning between xem and the monitor so that half their face took up the comm screen. “We go way back, I’ll get them docked.”

They waited impatiently for xem to move to a different comm terminal, adjusted the seatpad so they could be seen properly through the comm, and promptly started complaining. “I can’t believe you guys, holing up in that rinky dink ship for so long with only voice calls to tell everyone that you were okay! Where’s the gossip? Why in the universe would you keep it from me?”

Patton’s hands jerked, and the comm screen wobbled, blurring his expression strangely for a moment. Remyy tilted their goggles slightly for a better angle, but by the time the mobile communicator stabilized, any change in demeanor had vanished.

“Be careful, Rem,” Patton said teasingly, “it almost sounds like you care about us or something.”

“Funny,” Remyy replied dryly, “I’ll have you know that I’ve just been missing Logan’s high quality deathbrew, none of that sentimental garbage.”

Patton laughed at them silently with his gaze alone. Innocent, naive Ampen, their ass.

“Are we cleared to dock y-- Is that Remyy?” Another voice from offscreen dropped abruptly into horror, and Remy’s eyes narrowed in gleeful amusement.

“It sure is, gurl,” they called, “and the Remyy in question seems to recall a certain bet that was never paid up on. 30 cenals, cough ‘em up.”

There was a loud groan, and then a thump that shook the comm slightly. Patton spent a moment staring at something with a confused frown, and then seemed to get it, nodding. He turned back to them very seriously.

“Sorry, Roman can’t come to the comm right now,” he informed them. “He, uh, died. Very recently. And tragically."

Belatedly, he put on a sad expression, antennae drooping. Remyy raised their eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Uh huh. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to join in on the funeral rites once I get down to help carry the goods over, huh--?”

“No!” The voices of both his friends overlapped, making the comm audio fuzz harshly for a moment. Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly, taken aback at the vehemence.

“Uh, I mean, we don’t have that much,” Patton hurried to patch up the awkward pause. “How about we meet you in the docking lobby instead? You can get Roman’s credits there.”

“Hey!”

Remyy’s ears angled back with displeased confusion, but they acquiesced anyhow. “Hurry up, then. And make sure Logan brings my brew!”

Whatever it was they were hiding, Remyy was sure they’d be able to weasel it out of them in no time.

---

After grabbing a short meal and a boring haggling session between the Mindscape’s crew and the cargo manager of the Starwinder, Remyy finally got to learn about what had happened to Patton during his disappearance.

It wasn’t pretty.

Their senspatches felt dry at the mere thought of Patton stripped of his coat and forced to starve because of it. It was beyond lucky that the remaining two of the trio managed to find and free the Ampen from the harvesters before it was too late. If anyone could do it, though, they believed this crew could.

Patton had grown quieter and less fluffy throughout the course of the tale, with Roman and Logan taking turns delivering a well-practiced explanation of the events. Seeing as these were extenuating circumstances, Remyy submitted to cuddles just this once, allowing the small alien to bury his face in the folds of their leathery armwings.

They took a moment once the story was over, casually and completely unintentionally folding more of their wing over Patton. “That bites, babes.”

“Yeah.” The Ampen hummed in response, mouth pinched strangely. “I… I’m really grateful that I got help when I did.”

Logan set a careful hand on Patton’s back, though the motion almost came across as less comforting and more… cautioning? Remyy’s senspatches flared up slightly as they tried to read more into the situation.

Before they could really investigate, though, Roman was leaning forwards and grabbing the edge of their arm to get their attention.

“Remyy. We’ve been having something of an adjustment period. Drop it, please?”

They flickered their ears at him dismissively, but really… looking at the small crew, they could see a sort of wariness reflected in their stiff posture, the way the three of them constantly cast glances back to the dock hall that would lead to their ship. Trying to make sure they had a quick exit. Whatever the details of their experience, it was stressing them out to lay it all out in the open like this. Remyy could understand that.

“Fine, whatever,” they sighed, sipping at the bitter brew Logan had thoughtfully provided. “I suppose I’ll keep my awe-inspiring ability to root out interesting tidbits to myself for now. I can just grill Lo later.”

The three friends slumped in relief, and Remyy turned their face away slightly to allow them some privacy to recover. They probably wouldn’t appreciate it, that was mostly an Elimtran thing, but it was the effort that counted. They cast about for some other topic to distract. What else had they heard about lately… oh!

“Have you all heard the stories about the rogue Human going around lately?”

There was spluttering, and they turned back to see Roman seemed to have inhaled mid-drink, and was now muffling coughs into his shoulder. Patton studiously avoided eye contact as he patted the Cravon sympathetically. Logan shifted one arm out from where they were politely tucked away, looking intensely intrigued. Strange, he wasn’t usually one for gossip.

“We have not,” he stated, hands twitching in preparation for his thought weaving thing. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Uh, duh,” they replied, trying not to think too much on the rather extreme reaction. If the crew was really so stressed, it made sense that news of a Human would freak them out. Shit, they sucked at this. Gathering information would make them feel more secure, yeah? “It’s been circulating at some of the more shady ports we’ve been to, rumors that a small-tier smuggling ring recently managed to rise through the ranks just because they got their hands on a Human and knew how to use it to their advantage. That much is like, okay, horrifying to know that there’s still Humans out there in the outer ranges, but whatever, it’s under lock and key.”

Patton clung to their wing tighter. They paused, deliberating on whether or not to continue.

“I assume, going by the fact that you called h-- it a ‘rogue’ Human, that's not the case anymore?” Logan supplied, waving for them to proceed.

“Well, yeah. Apparently, it tore through practically half the group members before escaping, and now people are reporting cases of a bloodthirsty Human all over this quadrant. Not that the calls are accurate. It’s just hearsay,” they made sure to add. “It might just be someone trying to work the local governs into a panic, put pressure on the Council for this or that political maneuver.”

Logan didn’t respond for a concerning amount of time. “Right. Of course, that is plausible. Still, thank you for the information, Remyy. We will… keep it in mind.”

Remyy sunk lower in their seat, regretting bringing the topic up at all. “Mm. You do that, babes. Remember the stats, too. There’s a warrant out. Sooner or later, the Council will probably find whoever’s at the source of the rumors and put them to rights, Human or not.”

“That’s… great,” Roman got to his feet abruptly. “I think maybe we should head out soon. We’ve got that next landing to prep for, after all. Holmao isn’t known for its gentle terrain.”

“What?” Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly as they stood up too, abandoning their drink and dislodging Patton. “You just got here! Aren’t you at least going to catch a night’s rest? No offense to your ship, but the arti-grav ain’t exactly stellar.”

“That’s why we need to do more jobs! Save up for better arti-grav installation, right guys?” Roman’s voice seemed slightly frantic. Remyy suddenly remembered what little history the Cravon had shared with them, and swore mentally. They really, really shouldn’t have brought up the Human.

“Ro, look, I’m so--”

Their voice abruptly cut off as a cool line of metal pressed between their wings, right against their life vein. They saw as Roman’s eyes locked on something behind them, scales rising to a prickling stand quicker than they’d ever witnessed before.

“Nobody move,” a voice behind them called in clear, precise Common. “Or you get to bleed out right after this one.” The flat of the blade pressed harder against their back, and they couldn’t stop their ears from flattening completely in terror.

“Let them go,” Roman demanded, halfway to a snarl. Before he could even take a step, though, more armed strangers were swarming into the lobby, barking orders for the few other people currently in the room to get down. Expression dark, Roman held his arms out in a gesture of compliance, though his scales continued to stick out in a defensive bristle.

Raiders, it had to be. Remyy knew they knew the reptilian symbol that was engraved in each of the strangers black masks, but they couldn’t remember the group’s name for the fear flooding their mind, keeping them frozen in place.

One of them kicked Patton clear away from Remyy’s legs, and the Ampen let out a short shriek of pain before clapping his hands over his mouth. The raider behind Remyy laughed, apparently unconcerned about any alarms being raised, but Remyy was more focused on the way the Mindscape crew exchanged panicked glances, Logan kneeling next to Patton and subtly signing something in Crav’n.

“Now, here’s how this is going to work.” The one behind Remyy gestured with their other hand, which Remyy could now see was holding a paralyzer. Raiders were known for using them to get information, since most aliens could take a few shots from one before succumbing to the pain. “You’re all going to line up against the wall while we search your vessels, and in exchange, nobody has to die, got it?”

Remyy could only look straight ahead, so they got a clear view of Patton’s furious glow dimming down to horrified in an instant at the leader’s words. Whatever the three of them were hiding, it was hidden on their ship, and apparently not well enough.

They ran their tongue along their teeth for a moment, debating, and then wiggled their ears slightly, loosening the grip their goggles had until they were slipping down their face slightly. Only their upper eyes were exposed, but with any luck, it would be enough.

It wasn’t long till they managed to make eye contact with a nearby raider; the leader was the one giving orders, after all, and they were being held hostage by said leader, so it made sense that eyes would stray in their direction.

The moment they locked gazes, Remyy flickered their pupils and let their senspatches slowly pulse. The raider took a moment to bob their head in confusion before becoming visibly more relaxed, and Remyy didn’t waste any time. 'Circle around and attack the one holding me.'

The raider swayed slightly for a moment before moving to obey, a side effect of not being exposed to the full hypnotic effect of their eyes, and Remyy had a moment to feel hopeful that maybe they could actually pull this off.

“Grahh’m, what are you-- Oh, you little shit,” the leader spat, moments before a strike to the side of Remyy’s head had them seeing stars. They heard Roman growling furiously, still forced to the ground under threat of gunfire, and hoped that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. He wouldn’t be any use if he was convulsing from pain.

“I should have known better than to leave an Elimtra awake and armed, hmm?” The leader flipped them to their back, pressing a knee to their chest and crushing their secondaries uncomfortably against the floor. A moment later, their other hand was shoving their goggles harshly back over their face.

Remyy gagged slightly as all the air was forced from their lungs. “Probably should’ve, ye-- eah,” they replied, struggling to inhale again.

“Funny.” There was a glint of silver uncomfortably close to their eyes. The knife. Remyy regretted the snark. They regretted the snark so much.

The leader paused. “Oren, is it the eyes or the little spots under them that do the hypnotizing, do you recall?”

There was a pause, in which ‘Oren’ seemed to have no answer, and Remyy realized with a chill just what was being threatened. The leader considered them for a moment, and then pulled their dark mask further up to cover more of their face.

“I suppose I’ll just get rid of both, hmm?” The knife wavered closer.

Across the room, there was a loud crash, and a strangled yell that cut off as quick as it started. Remyy watched as the leader’s head jerked up, and saw the moment that the severe frown on their face abruptly transformed into utter terror. Hurriedly, the raider stood back up, and they were pulled up along, shoved in front of them like a shield.

It didn’t take long to see why. Across the lobby, near the entrance to the dock halls, a tall, slender figure was holding the remains of what must have been a seatpad. The rest of it appeared to be lying crumpled along with the limp raider that had been closest to that entryway.

The whisper spread through the room as quick as any small-town rumor: Human.

The being was scanning the eerily-silent space, and when it reached the spot where the leader stood, accompanied by Remyy and friends, it’s lips curled up into a vicious snarl, teeth on full display. It moved forwards in a way Remyy could only describe as predatory, and the leader went tense behind them. “Stop that thing, now!”

One raider, either damn brave or damn stupid, charged right in, and received the rest of the seatpad to the skull for their efforts. Remy winced at the sound. This seemed to be the signal for the rest of the raiders to converge, and the room descended into pandemonium.

In the thick of it all, the Human-- for what else could it really be?-- continued to advance, unrelenting. It wasn’t as fast as some aliens Remyy had met, but it didn’t need to be. The way that it stalked through the room radiated threat like an oath, and when opponents did dare to stand in it’s way, the blows were vicious and crunching, often leaving splatters of residue on its skin.

Most frightening of all was the way it handled the paralyzers, which should have driven any creature with pain receptors to the floor. Each time a shot landed on the human, it would tear the spiked prongs out with a twitch and a grimace and just keep moving.

By the time the leader realized that a strategic retreat was long overdue, it was already far too close for comfort. Remyy heard a swear behind them, and then they were being shoved, hard.

They caught a glimpse of Roman moving, and then they found themself busy tripping directly into a Human’s warpath. So much for surviving this.

They folded their wingarms over their head in some paltry attempt at defense as they fell. There was a grunt, and then a hot grip on their shoulders, all-too-close to the base of their secondaries and stars above were they going to have their glider wings torn clear off--?

“‘Scuse me,” the Human muttered in Common, and then lifted Remyy clear off the ground, easy-as-you-please, and set them down to the side. It brushed past them, heading straight towards Roman and the others, and Remyy stared after it.

Rather than continue after the leader, who had been thoroughly pinned by Roman and was currently swearing viciously, the Human stopped in front of Logan and Patton and dropped to a crouch. Remyy jerked forward, but neither of their friends seemed keen to jump away or defend themselves. In fact, Patton looked to be carefully headbutting the Human’s chest, and Logan was speaking in low, comforting tones. Even stranger, the Human seemed to be listening.

The circuits connected in their mind, illuminating a truly outlandish conclusion.

They whistled lowly, drawing all the attention in the room to them. “Listen up, babes. As a subsect representative of the Council, I’m authorized to do my thing here, so I’m gonna need everyone to follow my directions.”

“Remyy, what?” Roman asked, and was thoroughly ignored. A nearby Cetarfris protested from where they were practically pressed halfway up the wall, red eyes wide and patterned tail thrashing in terror.

“Are you genuine? Do you not see the Human right there?”

Remyy clicked their tongue in reproach. “Gurl, do I not have enough eyes for you or somethin’? I will handle the Human. What else is the Council good for?”

“Uh, governing?” someone else muttered. Remyy ignored them, too.

“I need all the raiders that haven’t already jetted in holding cells immediately. I’m sure there’ll be a hefty reward for members of this particular gang, even if they’re small fries, so anyone who pitches in can get some of that bounty. And remember, keep your mouths shut about this unless you want to be up to your orifices in paperwork at best. If you have to gossip, keep names out of it or I'll know who snitched.” Remyy shifted their goggles up on their forehead, turning to the Human and ignoring the thick tension in the room. “I’ll escort the Human to proper captivity. Roman, Logan, Patton, with me.”

As expected, the mere fact that the Mindscape crew were accompanying seemed to put the Human at ease, even if just slightly. Now, came the bit that would make or break the lie. They moved forwards slowly and reached out for the Human’s shoulder, tugging slightly at it as though this wasn't the creature that had just plowed through a band of raiders like they were dust in the wind. “C’mon, babes.”

After a pause, the Human followed. The relief in the room was palpable, and Remyy was no exception. They liked a good bet as much as the next guy, but generally preferred when there weren’t so many lives at stake.

See, the thing about being a species that was somewhat infamous for their hypnotic abilities was that everyone assumed you were using them, even if you weren’t. This tended to lean more in the direction of being a bad thing, but in this case, it helped Remyy tremendously, as nobody cast a second glance at them as they guided the docile Human through the lobby.

That might also have been because nobody wanted to be in the same room as a rogue Human for very long, but such was the way of things. Small details.

Soon enough, they reached the dock halls, and Remyy swiftly led the four of them onboard the Mindscape. They closed and locked the connecting port after them, and resisted the urge to collapse in relief.

Instead, they turned around to assess the rest of this mess.

It was quite a scene, and at first, they seemed too busy amongst themselves to even notice Remyy.

The Human was curled in on themself in one corner, looking pallid and ill, but also coiled so tightly it looked like they were one wrong word from fleeing the quadrant. Positioned firmly in front of them, Roman was audibly rattling from head to tail, moving on automatic as he bodily prevented the other two from approaching. Remyy would have thought the gesture was for the Human’s sake if not for the way Roman angled his own body, like he expected to be attacked from behind at any moment.

“It’s not safe,” he uttered over and over, gaze haunted. “It’s not safe. You have to hide.”

Patton warbled in wordless distress, and Logan gave up on trying to pull Roman away, instead simply holding his ground and speaking to the Cravon, calm and firm.

“This isn’t then, Roman. We’re here, and that is Virgil, and he is not going to hurt us. We’re safe. We are on the Mindscape. We are safe. Observe the space around you. Can you tell me five things you see?”

Remyy waited unobtrusively as the two of them slowly coaxed Roman back into the present, bit by bit. When he hunched over to be closer to his shorter friends, Patton carefully grabbed his hand, rubbing small circles into it in a soothing gesture Remyy wasn’t familiar with. “You with us, Ro?”

Roman signed something with his other hand, too quick for Remyy to grasp, and Patton smiled, a bit sad. “We’re okay, but there’s a little bit of a situation going on with Remyy, remember?”

Roman glanced at them, and then to the Human, who was still vibrating violently. Remyy had thought it was barely restrained anger, at first, but the longer they watched, the more it seemed compulsive, more fearful than furious. It only increased as Roman’s attention fell heavy on him.

“I didn’t mean to,” the Human said, voice as shaky as the rest of him. “I swear, I-- I just heard Patton yell, and they had weapons, like-- I… I didn't want to hurt anyone. I’m sorry that I-- that I did. But you guys were in danger. I couldn’t just... leave you to that.”

He sounded almost resigned, like he was trying to plead his case but had already accepted deep down that it was pointless to fight his sentence. When Roman turned away from him, his thoughts only seemed to be confirmed, and his face dropped another shade as his gaze darted over to Remyy. He seemed apprehensive, not that Remyy could really blame him. Poor guy probably thought he was about to be surrendered to law enforcement.

“Remyy.” Roman’s voice sounded wrung out, and from Patton’s concerned expression, the Cravon probably didn’t normally force himself to speak after episodes like this. “Virgil isn’t-- He’s better here with us. He doesn’t... deserve to be subjected to the Council just because he decided to... to save us.”

The Cravon opened his mouth as though to say more, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he signed something short and planted himself in a sitting position in front and slightly to the side of the Human, even as his scales still shivered. ‘Virgil’ was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Roman’s right!” Patton took the opportunity to jump in front of them like the universe’s smallest, cutest guardian angel, cloak and ruff fluffed up stalwartly. Most effective of all was the Ampen’s ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed-at-your-life-choices’ look. “Virgil is part of our family, and I’ll fight you about it!”

The Ampen’s tiny glare wasn't nearly as alarming as the assessing look Virgil cast over them, like he thought Remyy was really going to try and fight Patton and was prepared to intervene. They resisted the urge to cast their lower eyes up in exasperation. Who would fight Patton? There was no reward, you’d just end up feeling bad. And also end up getting totally trashed by a Human, apparently.

As always, Logan was the one to get it first. He stepped forwards, extending a hand. “Before you take any legal action against our crew member, I’d like to see your Council identification.”

Remyy’s cheeks bunched up smugly as they stretched their armwings out in front of them casually. “That’s too bad, Brainiac, ‘cause I totally don’t have any.”

There was a brief pause. “What, you guys really thought I was some kind of narc?”

“You lied right to all those people’s faces?” Patton asked, somewhat aghast. Roman shot them a dirty look at the deception, but he also let all the tension leak out of him, so Remyy counted it as a win. Logan simply looked exasperated.

“Not completely. I’ve got connections to get their bounties called in quick, and I ‘handled’ the Human, didn’t I? It’s not my fault if they misinterpreted things.”

“This is all you’re going to do to… ‘handle’ me?” the Human asked, looking uncertain, a little suspicious, and even kind of bewildered. “Just… let me go? What’s the catch?”

They really did roll their eyes up this time. “Babes, I’m covering for you. Seeing as you literally just saved my beautiful face, and these losers vouch for you, I figure you can get some benefit of the doubt. Besides, I’m not done with you all just yet.”

The four of them studied Remyy with varying levels of wariness, and then confusion as the Elimtra strolled past them all to head further into the ship.

“If you think you’re going anywhere before you tell me all about how this whole situation came about, honey, you’ve got a big storm coming.”

#sanders sides #space au #wibar #ts remy #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #watch it burn and rust #wibar intermission #wibar int: nf #writing #my writing #im so tired... zzz #this is the first time ive ever written remy so please be nice #i had fun though ;w;#i cant think of any more tags i hope you guys enjoy!#zzz

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karlajoyner · 4 years ago

Note

Can you do a smut piece with Owen where he takes you to Hawaii and you guys meet up with the cast and everything, but then later that night he takes you back to the bedroom to show you some real fun. Ik you get this for a while, can’t wait for your other work love your writing style.

So Needy (Owen Patrick Joyner x Reader)

A/n: Hey guys I hope you like this one! I'm sorry I haven't posted in over a week I had a lot of shit to do but I have a few imagines done and I'm working on the rest of my requests so I could hopefully open them up again soon. Also Alex and Reggie now have last names and I’m 1000% freaking the fuck out because it was the last thing I was expecting . I’m gonna go back eventually and put them in all my imagines. And yeah....totally didn’t make me go back and watch the show for the 12th time. It’s a problem....it’s fine. Anyways Enjoy! (Sorry for any typos I always fuck up but I’ll go back and fix them later)

Requested by: @jjbassett (Tumblr)

Warnings: Smut! (18+)

————

I walked into the airport tiredly. Thankful it was at least somewhat empty.

"Owen why'd you book our flights so damn early?" I asked my boyfriend who was walking to my left.

"I didn't book them. Charlie did" He stated my gaze moving to the boy on my right.

"I should have known. No one but a psychopath would book a flight at the ass crack of dawn" I spoke earning a laugh from both boys.

"To be fair I thought you were a morning person y/n/n"

"Oh I am. When it's 8:00 o'clock and past that. I do not enjoy having to wake up at 4:00 o'clock in the morning to get ready. I mean seriously Charles it's still fucking dark out" I pointed out.

"Oh man. Alright I'll take that into consideration"

"Be lucky you didn't have to deal with her when the first alarm rang" Owen said making me glare at him.

"I love you baby. You know that but you just get so grumpy" He spoke making me roll my eyes.

"Did you just compare me to one of the seven dwarves? Fine. Alright. I get a little grumpy. But that's only because I have to be the big spoon too"

"Oh my god man your the little spoon" Charlie laughed as we arrived to security.

"You swore you wouldn't tell anybody" Owen whisper shouted.

"Yeah well that's just me being grumpy. Sorry babe"

"No it's cool. It's cool. Just wait until tonight" He whispered the last part in my ear before letting me go ahead.

"Seriously Charlie a knife? You tried to bring a knife on a plane?!" I asked exasperatedly as we boarded the plane.

"I didn't know they wouldn't let me bring it"

"I think it's a given that they wouldn't let you bring it dude"

"Yeah yeah"

"Well paybacks a bitch huh Charlie?" I joked handing Owen my carry on so he could put it above our seats.

"Haha y/n. I'd like you to remember that your stuck on this flight with me for the next few hours so I'd be a little nicer"

"I just can't wait to tell Jer about this" I said taking my seat next to the window. Owen taking the one to my right.

"Owennn your girlfriends being mean" Charlie complained earning a laugh from the blonde.

"I'm sorry Charlie but I can't do anything. The more she's mean to you the less she's mean to me" Owen said making me giggle.

"He's not wrong" I grinned intertwining our fingers and placing a quick kiss to Owen's cheek.

"That's all I get" He questioned making me playfully roll my eyes before pulling him in for a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Better?" I asked pulling away.

"Much" He smiled widely.

"You guys better not do that the whole plane ride"

"We won't. Gotta save something for tonight man" Owen joked. My elbow instinctively shoving itself into his arm as Charlie began to laugh.

"Ouch"

"Funny how you think your getting some tonight" I muttered.

"Am I not?"

"We'll see" I responded putting in my AirPods as the two boys began to conversate.

"Do you see your bag?" I questioned my boyfriend. We'd been stuck at baggage claim for ages trying to find Owens green suitcase.

"Nope"

"Owen" I groaned.

"There! There it is!" He shouted excitedly.

"Oh yes!" Charlie cheered as the bag reached our area.

"Let's get out of here"

"And just like that I hate airports" I said as we walked past random strangers.

"Y/n!" I heard a familiar voice shout. My eyes quickly spotting the source.

"Tori!" I screamed letting go of my boyfriends hand and running towards the girl who had her arms wide open.

I giggled engulfing her into a tight hug before turning to the rest of the group behind her.

"Kenny!" Owen and Charlie greeted their director.

"It's good to see you guys too" Jeremy spoke up.

"Care!"

"Y/n I'm so glad your here"

"I'm glad to be here. It's always good to see you too Jer" I spoke hugging him after I hugged Carolynn.

"Finally someone who appreciates me" He said making me throw my head back in laughter.

"To the hotel!"

"So what took you guys so long?" Jeremy asked as the 7 of us lounged around the pool.

"Yeah we were at terminal like 40 minutes after your flight landed.

"It's a long story"

"Speaking of stories" I smirked looking at Charlie.

"Don't" He warned pointing a finger at me.

"I didn't say anything" I giggled, back stroking away from the group.

"So me and Care we're thinking of doing some shopping tomorrow you in?" Tori questioned swimming with me.

"One hundred percent" I said glancing at Owen who was laid back on one of the lounge chairs near the pools edge. He looked so good with his swim trunks and his damp hair.

"So then we decided we'd just save it for Saturday before Care left" Toris voice brought me back to reality.

"I'm sorry what?" I asked.

"Did you hear anything I said?"

"I did not" I muttered.

"And why is that?" She asked teasingly poking my side.

"Because my boyfriend is sitting a few feet away and he looks like that" I internally groaned.

"I say you go get him" She grinned at me.

"Not yet" I mischievously smiled swimming back towards the group.

"It's so cold" I stated getting out the pool and grabbing my beach towel. Wrapping it around me.

"Aww come here" Owen said opening his arms widely.

I simpered making my way over to him and laying down in his embrace.

His arms immediately wrapping themselves around my soaked body. His bare chest coming into contact with my partially covered one.

"You guys are too cute" Tori teased.

"Not cuter than us though right?" Carolynn joked hugging Tori.

"No. Never" She responded making us all laugh.

"I'd like to propose a toast" Kenny spoke holding up his drink.

"To friends"

"To family" Charlie followed.

"To love" Owen said making heart skip a beat as he lifted his drink in the air.

"Cheers" They spoke in unison lifting their drinks to their lips. Owens beautiful green eyes never leaving mine.

"I love you"

"I love you too Owen" I whispered placing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Why don't we head back to the hotel for some real fun?" He suggested quietly making sure no one heard.

His hand running up and down my arm soothingly.

"Hmm is that your attempt to get me into bed?"

"Why? Is it working?" He asked making me smirk.

"So we're doing dinner tomorrow night right guys?" I asked sitting up straddling the boy beneath me. Rejoining the conversation our friends were having.

"Yeah. Kenny was telling us about this great place his friend recommended" Jeremy explained as I shifted a bit to get comfortable.

A pair of hands landing on hips.

"Oh really? Tell me more about his place Kenny" I said moving again hearing a small groan escape Owens lips as our thin clothed fronts rubbed against each others.

A wicked smirk forming on my face as we listened in on Kennys description of the place.

"It sounds fantastic. Doesn't it sound fantastic Owen?" I questioned my boyfriend shuffling again.

"Yeah. Yup sounds great. Listen it getting late guys. I think we're gonna head back to the hotel" He voiced sitting up as well.

"It's only 6:30 dude"

"Yeah but we just wanna have time to shower and get dinner. You know together. As a couple"

"Right.....well have fun you two" Kenny said awkwardly as I stood up along with Owen.

"Oh I'm pretty sure they will" Charlie joked causing me to snicker at the boy.

I quickly collected the remaining of my pool things saying my fair well goodbyes to our friends. Or tried.

Owen was clearly in a rush to get to the hotel.

"Don't leave me" Tori said hugging me one more time before we left.

"Sorry to break it to you but she's gotta go" Owen said removing the girls arms from my body and pulling me away.

"Bye!!" I waved to the group who were all cackling at Owens behavior.

"You didn't have to be so pushy" I muttered as we walked into the hotel lobby.

"Pushy? Please you knew what you were doing" He whisper yelled dragging me along the hallways towards the elevator.

"And what was I doing?" I asked stepping in immediately feeling my back pressed against the cold wall.

"You tell me" He whispered inching his face towards mine. I watched as he pushed the button to our floor before looking back at me.

I took initiative crashing our lips together. Feeling his hand land firmly on my waist as the elevator came to a halt signifying we were on our floor.

"Come on" I spoke rather harshly dragging him towards our room.

"Who's being pushy now?"

"Owen I swear to god if you say another word I will lock you outside and make myself cum got it?"

"Yes mam" He said taking my bag while I unlocked the door with my key card.

Immediately upon opening the door I felt the back of my bikini come undone the top falling to the ground.

Turning around I saw the childlike smirk on my boyfriends face as he shut the door behind us. Making sure to lock it.

I smirked back with the same look on my face. Biting my lip in anticipation as Owen moved forward wrapping his arms around my body.

"Your so-" I didn't let him finish as I crashed my lips onto his wanting to feel him closer.

He was quick to respond deepening the kiss as he back me up onto the queen sized bed in the middle of the suite.

"I can't even get a word out geez" He joked pulling away.

"I'm sorry baby what were you gonna say?" I teased as his body hovered over mine. My body prepped up on my elbows to get a better view of his face.

"I was gonna say your so needy"

"I'm the needy one? Really?"

"Well it's obviously not me"

"Care to test that theory?" I suggested watching his face scrunch up in confusion.

I pecked his lips one more time before using all my strength to flip us over so he was on his back. I moved my body over his so I was straddling him now. A grin appearing on my face.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good right now. I just need you to do what I say. Got it?" I whispered watching him nod his head rapidly, clearly intrigued at my proposal.

I leaned down kissing him passionately his hands finding my waist with ease. Slowly grinding down onto him earning a moan from the blonde. I bit his lip as we roughly fought for dominance.

Owen letting me win as soon as I began to palm him through his swim trunks. I pulled away moving down slowly until I was in front of him on my knees.

"Oh fuck baby. You look so fucking beautiful" He bit his lip taking a hold of my hair.

"No. You can't touch me. That's the only rule" I stated pushing his hand away.

"I can't? Why not?"

"Because I said so. Now are you gonna let me handle your little problem here or not?" I teased him, rubbing my hand against the fabric of his shorts.

"Fuck okay baby. Just- just do something" He pleaded. I smirked knowing I had it in the bag now.

"Take them off" I demanded. Sitting back as he removed his shorts along with his boxers letting his dick spring free.

I took the shaft pumping it a few times. Teasing the tip, even swirling my tongue around it earning a loud groan from Owen himself.

I slowly started pumping his length before placing my mouth on it. Beginning to bob my head up and down, feeling Owen thrust his body upward in attempt to get more of himself inside my mouth. His fist balling up and clenching the bedsheets tightly.

I hummed in response as moans escaped the boys mouth while I sucked him off. Eyeing him closely through my eyelashes seeing his head tilted back and his eyes were screwed shut made me even more excited for what was coming.

"I'm so close y/n" As soon as he said that I pulled away from him with a pop watching as his eyes shot open.

"W-what the hell?" He asked clearly confused.

"I'm just tired. Think it's time for bed no?" I questioned going to pick up my bikini top.

"No- No what the fuck babe" He spoke from behind me.

"Well I just th-" My words were cut off by a yelp as I was tossed back onto the bed.

"We're not done here" He spoke lunging on top of me quickly pressing his lips onto mine.

I sighed contently wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him closer as we made out.

"Who's the needy one now?" I whispered pulling away earning a scowl from him as he undid the strings of my bikini bottoms.

I shivered as I felt his tip align itself at my entrance. He didn't hesitate to push himself into me immediately filling me up. Something he'd never failed to do before.

I moaned as he began to move at a rather hasty pace. Not that I was complaining.

I pulled him back down making our lips meet once more while the noise of our bodies colliding echoed through the room.

"Faster" I mumbled into his mouth.

A familiar feeling pulling at the pit of my stomach. My orgasm becoming very close as Owen picked up speed. My legs wrapped around him as we struggled to stay in place.

"Owen" I moaned out as I came all over him. His orgasm hitting seconds later.

"Shit" He panted as he pulled out of me. Our liquids spilling out onto the comforter.

"Your calling for new sheets" I stated trying to regain my breath.

"That was so worth it baby" He spoke pecking my lips before getting off of me to go to the bathroom.

I smiled as he walked out with a towel, coming over to clean me up.

"I love Hawaii" He said making me giggle.

"Do you now? I wonder why?" I joked sitting up. Coming face to face with my boyfriend.

"But I love you more"

"Say more things like that and we'll be in bed the whole week" I spoke wrapping my arms around his neck. Giggling as he pushed me back onto the bed once more.

————

Up Next: Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Alex Mercer x Male Reader

Luke Patterson x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Jeremy Shada x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Reggie Peters x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Owen Patrick Joyner x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Carrie Wilson x Reader

————

@lolychu @headheartbellarke @bookish0918 @kcd15 @ifilwtmfc @moviesbooksandfandoms @lovesanimals @lavender-writer @kaitieskidmore1 @morganayennefertyrell @iloveteenwolf @ghostofmgg @jammi13 @theravenclawlife

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caiuscassiuss · 4 years ago

Text

Birched⎮D. Sicheng (M) P.2

Description: There was something that lurked beneath that pretty boy smile of Dong Sicheng— something dark, something dangerous… something you knew you would get pulled into once you got too curious. (Or, your ill-tempered coworker turns out to be your dominant.)

Part One is HERE

Genre: BDSM/ enemies to lovers winwin! smut | romance | angst WC: 11k+ Warnings: graphic smut (dom! sicheng + sub! reader, BDSM (Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and Masochism) choking, rough sex), taboo relationship, blatant sexism, TW: mentions of an abusive relationship

(A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @won-markiepooh-woo for helping me. This wouldn’t have been possible without you!)

Saturday February 1st, 2020

Y/N’s Apartment

10 AM HKT

The little jingle of a FaceTime call echoed through your silent apartment, and you snuggled into the sheets of your bed.

“Hello? Kun huang?”

A flash black hair and a sweet smile appeared within the view of the camera.

“Huang Gua!” you exclaimed.

Instantly, the happy smile slipped off his face and transformed into an annoyed expression.

“Can you not? We’ve been over this,” he complained.

“Oh come on! It’s so funny,” you jibed.

“It’s not.”

“You only used to eat cucumbers for years. You earned that name yourself.”

“So?” he snorted. “You used to eat shrimp chips as a kid. I don’t call you shrimp, do I?” A devious expression flashed over his face.

“Kun Huang…” you warned.

“Maybe I should start now. Right, shrimp?”

“Oh my god, stop!”

“No, shrimp. I can keep going, you know.”

“Okay, fine, fine. I submit!” You laughed.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

“So how are you now, Hendery? How’s your mom and dad? Oh my gosh, Hengwai!”

“I’m doing fine, as are mom and dad. Hengwai misses her little sister. They all want you to call them more. Sometimes I think they miss you more than me.” He pouted.

“Awww, poor baby. But give them my well wishes too! I miss everyone so much,” you said. For some reason, tears welled in your eyes.

Obviously, Hendery could tell you were about to start crying and started to panic.

“Y/N? Talk to me. Oh, you know I can’t take it if you start crying!”

He never really could. Even after many years spent together in your childhood, he was still awkward as hell around your tears.

You waved him off, swiping the tears. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just so lonely around here.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine! I swear!”

“Literally, one word and I’m on a flight to Hong Kong. I’m not playing,” he said gravely.

“Hendery, no. Besides, don’t you have some farms to run? I would never expect you to do that.”

“One word, Y/N. Just one.” He looked you dead in the eye.

You looked away. “Anyways, how are your farms going?”

A smile split his face and his eyes sparked. “Guess who just got their hundredth farm?”

Your jaw dropped. “No way, you’re fucking joking! One hundred?! I’m so proud of you! Kun Huang!” you squealed.

“Yeah, I know right? It’s so weird knowing so many people depend on me for their livelihoods now. I get sort of scared when I sit back and think about it…”

As Kun Huang went on about his day to day troubles in agriculture, a small, wistful smile played upon your lips. Why didn’t you just stay back and fall in love with Kun Huang? It would have been so easy. Being with Kun Huang was like breathing, and you could’ve spent the rest of your life like this. No Minghao, no BDSM, and most importantly, no… him.

Dolos.

Master?

Sicheng.

You hated how smoothly the puzzle pieces fit together. Sicheng always left early on Fridays, even though he always stayed late. At office parties, he lacked a significant other by his side, even when many would drop everything if he so much as winked at them.

It was hard not to think about him. You had started to feel an increase in your heartbeat whenever you thought of Dolos before Wednesday. You had originally wanted to know who was behind Dolos’ mask and if he returned those feelings. But, fuck, he would be so mad if he found out who you were.

Not to mention, how humiliating it would be if he knew. You had staked everything on being a cold-hearted bitch when Sicheng took particular pleasure in sneering at “the inherent submissiveness” of her gender. So if he found out Dove, who liked to be slapped during sex, and her, the la dame sans merci of the company, were the same person, it would destroy any chance of credibility you may have had in his eyes.

This was all one big mess. One big, gigantic and catastrophic mess. For so long you had rigorously kept your professional and personal lives apart, but the universe had conspired against you: to make the best dominant you ever had to also be your work nemesis.

Some higher being was laughing at you, you knew it.

Sunday February 2nd, 2020

The Dong Family Villa on the Shek O Peninsula, Hong Kong

1 PM HKT

A curl of disgust twisted his lips as he looked down on the lawn party going down below him.

“Don’t you look happy, Sicheng.”

Sicheng acknowledged ChengCheng out of the corner of his eye and went back to glaring at the party in contempt.

“This is not how I wanted today to go.”

His childhood friend snorted and plopped himself down in a lawn chair, contemplating the blond haired man.

Sicheng spun around and picked up his glass of wine, downing the drink in one gulp. He settled himself next to ChengCheng with a frown.

“I just wanted to come here and fucking relax, but, no, my parents just had to use it for the fucking party. Fete. What-fucking-ever.” He exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his hair.

Chengcheng looked over the balcony railing curiously. “Looks like a luncheon to me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Christ, what’s up your ass?”

“Just some work stuff. It’s nothing.”

The brown-haired man frowned. “Then why aren’t you at Black’s then? Nothing can’t be resolved by a good fuck.”

At the mention of the club, a pained expression flashed over Sicheng’s face and his knuckles inadvertently tightened around the stem of his glass. The tension that had been in shoulders wounded itself up even more and this clued ChengCheng in.

Something other than work had Sicheng in knots. Very rarely did the blond man ever show he was angry—not even when his father lashed him as a child, nor when the family forced him to work for the company—so he was evidently very troubled by this ‘something’.

Sicheng’s phone rang and broke the silence. The man himself fished it out of his back pocket irritatedly.

“Excuse me for a moment, ChengCheng. I need to take this phone call.”

“Sicheng speaking,” he spoke as he stalked into the study.

“Hello sir, how are you—”

“Did you get the information or not?” Sicheng asked, cutting off the family’s retainer. His leg bounced, as he sat against the desk and he ran a weary hand through his hair.

“A-ah, unfortunately, Black’s doesn’t record pseudonyms digitally or on paper…”

“Fuck!” Sicheng yelled. Mr. Lau just had to be fucking careful, he thought irritably.

“... However, sir, I was able to obtain a membership list since the club was digitally updating their monthly list. I then compared it to the list from the previous month and found several missing names, indicative of them terminating their membership. I have compiled a dossier of several females that match your description of Dove and forwarded it to you.”

Sicheng quickly logged into his laptop, his blood rushing through his ears. The identity of the most perfect submissive he’s ever had could literally be sitting in his inbox right now.

With trembling fingers, he opened the attachment.

Wang Fang, age 25—

“Sir?”

The blond man glared at his phone. “Thank you for your service, Liu Wei. Goodbye.”

Wang Fang was a tall, spindly woman with a face like a horse. The policy of privacy by masks was kind to her at Black’s. However, the jaw was all wrong and he knew in his gut she was not his Dove.

He scrolled to the next page. Leila Williams, age 27—British expat, was absolutely gorgeous. But, even through the screen, she exuded an unshakable aura of self-assurance. A dominatrix, probably, so that excluded her from his search.

He went through 2 or 3 more documents; each one too plain or too ordinary to be Dove.

Y/N L/N, age XX.

Sicheng blinked rapidly, sagging into his office chair.

Y/N is—was—a member at Black’s?

The picture provided was the one from her LinkedIn profile: a professional headshot with a grey background. She was smiling tightly, coldly—just as she was in the office. The other image provided instantly tented his pants.

It was her, clearly on a night out. She was in attire that flattered her body and he could easily see himself running his hands over her. Y/N looked fucking fantastic with her unbound hair, so unlike her tight updos at the office. However, what drew his eyes was the most vibrant shade of red painted on her lips, which was parted slightly as she was laughing.

He recognized that lipstick. The same shade of firetruck red had been smeared across Dove’s cheeks many, many times. YSL Rouge Satin Lipstick—the one he told her he liked and she, like a good girl, had religiously worn.

Could that mean…?

Glancing at the side bar, he noticed there was one more page left in the dossier. Please let the next one be Dove…

His hopes were instantly deflated. Kwon Myunghee was too old and too artificial to be his gorgeous submissive.

With his heart in his throat, he scrolled back to Y/N’s page. Enlarging the picture of her laughing, he put a hand over her eyes and leaned back to observe.

Sicheng would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that mouth. Red fuck me! lipstick on an equally fuckable mouth parted in pleasure, or screaming his name while strung up on a cross. He would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that neck, covered in purple and red hickies or his fingermarks. An absolute damn fool.

Yet, at this moment, he would’ve given anything to be one.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Y/N was… Dove? And Dove… was Y/N?

So why did she leave? How did she end up at Black’s? Did she know? Did she end up there on purpose? Why—

Eventually, all the questions piled up in his head until he was left winded. Sicheng buried his head in his hands, pulling at his blond locks and breathing heavily. Something was bubbling in his chest and—

He started to laugh. He cackled, howled, at his shitstorm of misfortune, luck, and confusion until he was sprawled undignified on the Oriental carpet, staring up at the intricate wood carvings on the ceiling.

Monday February 3rd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

6 PM HKT

Shutting the door to your office, you collapsed into your chair and massaged your temples.

Today was the day Mr. Lee had left the office, leaving his official resignation. The top sales officials (including an off-color, brooding Sicheng) gathered in his office to congratulate him and give him an official goodbye. What was supposed to be a quick meet-up turned into afternoon drinking when Mr. Lee pulled out the good liquor from a secret cabinet underneath his desk. You accepted a drink with a grimace, but Sicheng declined and remained uncharacteristically detached the entire time. Granted, you too were detached from the conversation, uncomfortable with the lewd retirement and mistress jeers spouted by the older sales officials as they steadily got drunker and less inhibited.

As the time ended and a consensus to leave had been reached, you thought you could escape and actually work... that was until Mr. Lee walked alongside you and stuck himself in the elevator with you.

The bastard had the audacity to grope your ass in the crowded elevator. You shivered, remembering the awful and grimy feeling as his hot breath whispered in your ear that he was available any time for a “catch-up”.

This day was a mess. You had a shit-ton of work to catch up due to that fucking meeting and you had been sexually harrassed; you were also anxious about the promotion and, on top of that, you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Sicheng.

Huffing, you ate some red-bean bread as you powered up your desktop. This was fucking ridiculous. You knew Sicheng had noticed your odd, reticent behavior around him and this skittishness was impeding your ability to work. Well, no better way to forget about your problems was to solve other ones at work.

For the next two hours, you slogged through work emails and analytics as the sun set over Kowloon Bay. Your hair had been unbound and your blazer had been messily thrown over the back of your chair as your work progressed. Since most of the office had left by now, you figured it was safe to relax in your office.

It was night time by the time you had finished your last project and you sat back in your chair, staring at the skyline. Was this how your life destined to be? At the top, surrounded by the comforts of life, but alone?

A knock sounded at the door, jolting you out of your thoughts.

Who the fuck would be at the office at 8 PM?

“Come in.”

You caught sight of a golden head of hair slipping inside of your office and you sighed. Of course, it was Sicheng.

He took a seat unbidden and stared at you with an indecipherable expression on his face. His eyes roamed the contours and curves of your features.

You arched an eyebrow. “Can I help you with anything, Sicheng? I’m about to leave the office.”

He fought with himself inwardly, his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally settled on what he wanted to say. “I’d like to ask a question.”

You adjusted yourself in the chair. “Feel free.”

From his blazer’s pocket, he pulled out an aged sheet of paper and slowly opened it, before setting it in front of you. Sicheng settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his lap, the lights of the Hong Kong skyline playing across his face and making his sharp features stand out.

“Do you recognize this?”

The blood literally froze in your veins as your eyes caught sight of your handwriting in the letter, along with the tear-stains that blotched the paper and the text. Your heartbeat rose to your throat and all you felt was the blood rushing in your ears.

“Y/N?” he prodded.

You gulped and straightened out your top, your fingers trembling as you did so.

“No, I don’t. W-who’s Dolos? Why does this concern me?” you lied, stumbling a bit.

He watched you, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

“Don’t lie to me, Dove.”

“I-Dove? My name is Y/N,” you replied shakily. Grabbing your purse, you hurriedly stuffed all your personal belongings in while avoiding catching his seething stare. “Excuse me, I’d really like to get home.”

His jaw clenched and his palm twitched as he saw you had no desire to come clean.

“Look at me.”

Unthinking, you ceased all movements, put your trembling hands in your lap and looked up at him. “Sir?”

Your eyes widened and you slapped a hand over your mouth; your eyes darted around the room in search for an escape. You felt akin to a caged animal as he grinned meanly, incongruous on his cherubic features.

“That’s what I thought.”

“No—”

“You thought you could get away with this? You thought you could fucking play me?!”

You were aghast at seeing Dolos and Sicheng finally merging together in front of your eyes, and the result was grotesquely beautiful. His grin slipped off his face and twisted into a malevolent sneer. The naked fire in Dolos' gaze was finally unveiled in Sicheng’s eyes and, for the first time, you could see who Sicheng really was.

“Answer me, Dove—Y/N! Fuck, I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Sicheng shouted, running his hands through his hair while he paced around your office.

You stared unblinkingly at the bookshelf at the corner of the room. Fuck, this was all your nightmares coming true. You were going to be ruined and he was going to laugh on and on now that he knew you and Dove were the same.

“It was never supposed to end up like this,” you whispered hoarsely, tears welling up underneath your lashes.

“How was it supposed to end, huh? Fuck, you strung me along for six months—half a fucking year—”

“I didn’t fucking know, you ass! I wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot pole if I knew who you were!” you hissed.

He laughed harshly. “You did a hell of a lot more than touch me, Dove. But after you got your fix, you pretended that this never happened.”

“You would’ve done the same, so this never did happen. Walk out right now and this will have never happened and we can go back to our normal, spiteful dynamic—”

“You’re out of your fucking mind, if you think—”

“You don’t understand, Sicheng! Can’t you see I’ll be ruined by this? That we’ll both be ruined by this? I can’t afford that!”

“So you thought to just leave me? With just a fucking letter and nothing else?”

“I didn’t know, okay! I didn’t know what to do!”

“You lied to me, Y/N. Fucking lied to my face!”

“I had to! Because you and I were never supposed to find out!”

Sicheng moved to yell, but clamped his jaw shut. “You lying, cheating, slut,” he seethed.

Your mouth trembled for a moment at the sheer vitriol that sprouted from his lips, but you stood tall. “You know what? Maybe I am. But I can live with that if you’d just fucking let it go!”

“You think I’d be able to let go of this?!” He cupped your jaw roughly and pulled you into a hungry kiss.

It wasn’t a smooth kiss—not one with even a hint of finesse. Lips smashed into lips, with tongue and teeth grappling against each other as his hands bruised your wrists.

Your back hit your desk and he swept your belongings off the desk haphazardly, letting go of your chin to lift you onto the desk with no effort.

“Forget my tongue on your skin? Forget my hands in between your thighs?” he murmured between hungry dips of his tongue. “I’ll fucking show you.”

He kissed down your neck, stopping to nip at your collarbone, and left a trail of stinging lovebites all over your shoulders. Sicheng’s hips pinned you into the desk as he popped each button of your blouse, hurriedly ripping it to the side to leave more hickies upon your chest and breasts.

You moaned as he pushed the cups of your bra down, using his wicked tone to swipe complicated patterns but never once touching your tips. Finally, he nipped at them hard causing you to squeal embarrassingly.

“S-sicheng,” you whimpered, gripping his hair as he pushed up your skirt.

The blond man carelessly pulled your underwear aside and thrusted two fingers in.

“Fuck!” you gasped, as you buried your red face in the crook of his neck.

You couldn’t see it, but you knew he was smirking smugly so your hands drifted down to his tented trousers and gripped his erection hard.

“You wanna fucking play? Let’s play, baby,” he grunted and hastily unbuckled his belt. His glorious cock sprung up in the space between your thighs.

Sicheng pushed your back down onto the desk, leaving him to tower over you. Without warning, he roughly pushed his cock into your slit.

You both groaned at the pleasurable friction. Fuck, how could you forget this? His length stretching you out deliciously? His broad shoulders heaving in exertion?

He bottomed out slowly, stilling as his hips pressed into yours. A sly smile glanced over his face as his hand drifted over your neck.

“Sicheng! You asshole, fucking move!” you said to him, thrusting your own hips weakly for effect.

His devilish smile split his angelic features, and he shook his head. “Wrong name, Dove.”

His hips pushed into yours roughly and you whined, scratching at the edges of your desk. Sicheng withdrew just as quickly and thrusted in again, watching the lust ripple upon your expression. He had missed the way your left eyebrow ticked when he brushed against your G-Spot, your nose scrunching as you clasped his shoulders. Finally seeing your full expressions fulfilled something in him that he didn’t care to reflect upon.

After deep, staccato thrusts that had you gasping for breath, he settled into a smooth rhythm. You slapped a hand over your mouth as your back bowed, thrusting your breasts up to his hungry perusal. Unable to resist temptation—the godless Tantalus he was—he settled his plump lips over your nipples, raised his eyes to yours, and sucked.

Even with your palm practically stuffed in your lips, your keen echoed around the room loudly and slick dripped down your thighs, making the desk underneath your bottom sticky and wet.

He tsked, lifting his head up and looked deeply into your eyes. A slight grin settled over his lips and Sicheng tilted his head mockingly. “Oh sweet girl, haven’t you forgotten we’re in an office?” His eyes darkened even more. “I’ll have to keep you quiet, then, whore.”

His featherlight touches on your rib cage was replaced with a bruising grasp to your throat, stealing the air out of you. His wrist settled into your collar bone and his slender fingers mimicked playing the piano, placing pressure on different parts on your throat to an unheard rhythm. The blood rushed to your ears, the dizzying sensation of it blurring your sight and distorting your thoughts. The veins on his forehand, twisting and rippling in the light, caught your vision and he moved—ever so roughly—into you.

Sicheng set a new pace, stretching your legs even wider and your head fell back onto the desk with a thunk. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe; you just felt the numbing sort of pleasure that radiated from your pussy.

“Fucking slut,” he gasped. “You’ve bewitched me, haven’t you? Wrapped yourself around my brain and haven’t let me so much as breathe without thinking about you.” His grip tightened around your neck. “I’ll show you.”

Suddenly, your phone on the floor rang and you both froze. He released the grip on your neck and bent down.

His back was like one of those old sketches the masters of the age practiced with, the light played upon his back and his muscles rippled under his skin—belying the power hidden within him.

“Who the fuck is Kunhuang,” he said flatly, wrath bubbling in his words.

You sat up. “H-he’s a friend. Nobody. No one.”

“See you soon, love,” he read mockingly. “Call me when you have time.”

Sicheng crowded into your space, your eyes jumping around to avoid looking at his incensed face.

“Kunhuang.” He spat like it was filth upon his lips. “You left me for him?”

Feeling his constrained fierceness and his frantic gaze, you pushed harshly at his chest and bared your teeth at him. “It’s not like that. He’s my childhood friend!”

His rage bubbled to the surface and his nostrils flared. It was all the warning you had before he suddenly took your hips and flipped, forcing a scream out of you.

Your chest and breasts now pressed against your desk. Sicheng tugged you down to his hips, lifting one of your legs to rest on your desk and exposed your core to him shamefully.

“I’ll take you from behind like the whore you are,” he stated. His rough tenor the grating upon your ears and scraping upon your skin.

He lined up and thrusted hard and you bit your lip, cheek against your deck and tears streaming down your face. It felt so good to be in his embrace, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your muscles.

Soon, you felt that feeling rising in your stomach, burning behind his eyelids as your orgasm began to build. His hands grasped your throat and he pulled, bowing your back to his chest and forcing his mouth to yours.

Teeth and tongue clashed and his cock hit this spot in you and you screamed into his mouth, tensing up beneath him as you shuddered painfully.

A grunt left him as he felt your muscles nearly strangle his cock and he only lasted a few, staccato thrusts until his vision went white.

Wednesday, February 13th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7 AM HKT

You purposely did not look into Sicheng’s office window as you strode briskly down the hall with a coffee in your hand.

A few days ago felt like a watershed moment, but after you two had caught your breaths, the sheer amount of emotions in the room—frustration, satiation, anger, hunger—weighed upon your lips and forced them shut. He had quickly dressed himself, not saying a word, but he casted a glance in your direction that was undecipherable and left.

You, at the moment, did not know how to feel. Hurt? Angry? Sad? But you settled upon your usual solution: ignoring that anything had happened and resuming the normal.

Alas, the fates were unkind. They neatly disposed of your plans to avoid the man when the two of you were scheduled to meet with other sales heads in the afternoon. Unfortunately, when the time came to be, you and Sicheng were the first ones there.

He studiously avoided looking at you, busying himself by opening up his laptop and flipping to a new page on his legal pad. You ignored him as well, scrolling through the latest news on your webpage. However, as the seconds ticked by, you could not resist resting your eyes upon him. It felt like a damn magnet was pulling your gaze to him.

He looked good today, from the brief glances you stole at him. Freshly shaven, his hair was styled neatly and he was in a dark green, cashmere sweater. Was this your fate? To be shamefully attracted to a man that equally repelled you?

“Interesting.”

The both of you shot a look at the door, where an unrecognizable, lanky man with a proud, straight nose was peering down upon you and swinging a plastic bag in his hand.

“Chengcheng? What the hell are you doing here?”

Completely ignoring Sicheng, he settled his lidded gaze upon you before his eyes lit up in recognition.

“So you’re the one that has shaken him, then.”

Dead silence permeated the room. He looked at the two shocked faces, both ashen. “What? Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? Please. I’d have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to ignore the way you two gravitate to each other.”

Your two quick glances that were meant to be unnoticed clashed, resulting in your eyes meeting. You both turned your eyes away.

Chengcheng snorted, as if that moment confirmed everything for him, and he chucked a bag at Sicheng.

“You forgot your lunch, remember?”

Sicheng’s jaw tightened. “Thank you.”

Once again, awkward silence reigned and ChengCheng’s eyes switched back and forth between you like a particularly exciting tennis match.

“You two need to talk. You’ll both age prematurely at this rate, with the angst you two are producing. Talk.”

He left with a wave, striding down the hall casually and stealing many of your female coworkers’ gazes.

“... He’s right, you know.”

Sicheng’s eyes flicked up to yours and he focused his full attention on you. Intensely, he contemplated you, tongue poking at the sides of his mouth.

“I agree. We can meet—” he cut himself off, looking around surreptitiously. “—at Black’s.”

You sucked your lip in between your teeth. “Fine. Neutral ground.”

He took a good, long look at you, like a man seeing water after seeing nothing but sand.

“Tonight. At 8.”

Thursday, February 13th, 2020

Black’s

7:50 PM HKT

Strangely enough, you felt comfortable despite the jittery nerves under your skin as you walked into Black’s.

The receptionist had given you a knowing look as you repeated the guest password, letting you in without question. You strapped on the standard, white lace mask and steeled yourself, opening the mahogany doors.

The club was abnormally busy; the guests and members crowded the couches and loitered on the floor. The quiet string music that could usually be heard was masked by the loud chattering of the people in the room.

“Is that you, Dove?”

You spun around to see the smiling, wizened face of Mr. Liu.

A grin broke out on your face and you took his hands. “Mister Liu! It is wonderful to see you.”

“I am happy to see you as well.” He chuckled with his eyes gleaming fondly at you. “Have you decided to visit this old man?”

Playfully, you lightly smacked his shoulder.

Mr. Liu was an important figure to you. All those months ago, when you arrived at Black’s to be screened, as a potential member and straight out of a relationship with Minghao—broken, shattered, hollow—he took one look at you and said no.

Why? You remembered asking tearfully. Am I not pretty enough? Rich enough?

He searched your pale, wan face, as if seeing the emotional scars Minghao had lashed into you, before sighing.

You shouldn’t be asking me that. Are you enough for yourself?

Confused, you had asked him to elaborate. He sympathetically replied that he could see you were entering the club for the wrong reasons. You were different, he’d said. You looked so innocent that he could not morally allow you into the club, despite the depraved patrons that gained membership. He knew, at the time, entering the club would cripple you.

So, what now? You asked, confused. He said he would keep your file open until you came back ‘at the right time.’

The ‘right time?’

You will know it when it comes.

And somehow, you did. After a few months of picking the pieces of yourself together and stabilizing your life, you had grown into a physically and emotionally healthy person. The “right moment” came and you sat in his quaint little office again, opposite of a smiling Mr. Liu as he stamped his approval.

After chatting a few moments, the volume in the room increased slightly and you frowned.

“Why is it so busy today?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what today is?”

“No?”

“Today is the evening before Valentine’s day, dear girl.”

“... Oh.”

New information in hand, you looked at the scene more closely. You could see that some couples in the crowd seemed to curl into each other, the affectionate brushes and knowing glances giving you a sick, sick feeling.

And that’s when you saw Sicheng.

Even masked, he drew attention from the members—attached and non-attached. His lean, fit form struck a figure and you couldn’t turn away from him.

He looked directly into your eyes and only a few seconds passed by as you two observed each other.

“Sicheng somehow found out, hm? Clever, devious boy.” Mr. Liu observed the dynamic much like ChengCheng earlier. His gaze was enraptured how the two of you clashed yet sunk into each other, the way two tidal waves—in a rare moment of offbeat rhythm—struck each other and subsequently merged. Push, pull, push, pull.

“Listen to him and he will listen to you. You two match more than you think,” he advised, bowed, and sunk off into the backrooms.

“Sicheng.”

“Y/N.”

Frustratingly, his face was unreadable. Nevertheless, he offered you his arm (a surprising show of manners) and he led you to a place you had never seen before.

This place was much less pristine than the rest of the club. The wallpaper was older, much more faded, and the wood looked much more worn.

This was one of Mr. Liu’s apartments.

The pair of you entered a comfortable sitting room with the lights low, to which only large candles had been lit.

He made sure you were properly ensconced into an armchair before he turned his back towards you and made his way to the drink carts.

“Would you like something to drink?” Sicheng asked, voice measured.

“A gin tonic would be wonderful.”

After carefully making your drink and pouring himself a healthy 4 fingers of bourbon, he handed your glass to you and sat down in the chair opposite of you.

Silence permeated awkwardly and you turned your eyes towards the tapestry in the middle of the room, giving yourself something to do.

“Were those feelings true?” he asked, not looking at you.

“Elaborate, please.”

“The last night…” He looked quickly at you, before turning his eyes away and clenching his jaw. “The last night we were together.”

“Ah.”

Absolutely, unequivocally. Dolos was everything you had searched for in Minghao and, while your relationship was unusual, you could not deny the string between you two.

Something burned at your eyes and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Yes. Then and now,” you stated, opening yourself up for an attack.

His eyes widened and the twitching in his fingers stopped.

“And you, Sicheng?” you enquired boldly.

“Always,” he stated without hesitation. “It was never something as trivial as pillow talk.”

Seeing as he was on the brink of closing off, due to his rare moment of vulnerableness, you wrapped your hand around his.

His eyes shot to yours, then to your linked hands, before tightening his grip.

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. “I… One thing that has always been on my mind—why did you dislike me so much?”

He smiled bitterly. “Sometimes, I forget that you don’t see the way I see you. You are a smart, dauntless woman, who’s pushed all my buttons. It all just built and built upon each other until I found you—Dove—here.” He pauses. “I projected my frustrations onto Dove—you—here. But never, for a moment, doubt my feelings aren’t genuine.”

You pursed your lips. “Forgive me, but I cannot accept your accusations of me being the office slut—very rude, by the way—were without malice. You constantly pushed me down, clashed with me in the workplace and you were just plain classist.”

Sicheng’s eyes were casted down, but his grip was steady. “I will not lie. Those words I spat at you were with malice. But now, in retrospect, they were nothing more but words of immature frustration that I channeled towards you. I know that I cannot take them back and they will forever linger in the air between us, but I can apologize and recognize those words were completely unacceptable.”

He angled his body fully towards you and clasped your hand in both of his. “I am sorry for my actions. My anger was misplaced and the sentiments do not represent me anymore. I am sorry and I hope you can forgive me.”

“And then what? What do you want now, Sicheng?” An edge of desperation tinged your voice.

He smiled bitterly at you. “Everyday, the smell of you lingers and I, like Pavlov’s dog, cannot help but feel an ache in the marrow of my bones when I see your crimson red lips. Every night, when I go to bed, you are seared across the back of my eyelids and I cannot escape you, even in my dreams.” He paused. “I want you, or whatever scraps you’re willing to toss me.”

A sharp exhale left you nose and you blinked rapidly. “I don’t want to get hurt. You get off on hurting people.”

“With your consent.”

“Say I want a completely vanilla relationship,” you challenged. He didn’t flinch. “What about then?”

Sicheng clenched his jaw and held your gaze fiercely. “Anything.”

“I hate that you are all I’ve wanted in a man,” you admitted unwillingly. He hummed. “Will we be each other’s destruction? Or will we be each other’s maker?” you pondered nonsensically.

“Aren’t we already both?” he retorted.

Slowly, without releasing his hand, you rose from your chair and lowered yourself into his lap. His eyes traced your every movement. For a few, brief moments, you looked into each other’s eyes without the obsurance of a mask or the encumbrance of a workplace rivalry. Your left hand cupped his cheekbone and stroked the skin underneath his eye.

“This will be interesting,” you said.

He gave no sign of reaction, but tilted his head into your palm and closed his eyes. “After us, the flood,” he recited.

Monday, March 2nd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7:50 PM HKT

A secret grin tugged at your lips as you looked across the table at Sicheng, who was intensely focused on the presentation your coworker was giving. Perhaps he’d felt the weight of your gaze on him as he chanced a glance at you and gave you a small smirk.

The past month in your relationship with Sicheng was equally fulfilling and frustrating. There were times where both of you deliberately looked for a fight or misinterpreted each other, but there were also times you could shed your layers and just be yourselves with the other.

Even each fight, where you or Sicheng stormed out, or broke things, you came back to each other at the end. Pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling relentlessly. The flood, indeed.

You focused back in on the meeting and contributed to the smatter of clapter for the end of your coworker’s presentation. As he turned off the projector and people stood up to leave, Xiao Daiyu—the interim head of the Sales department—stopped you and Sicheng.

“Y/N, Sicheng, please stay back for a moment. I’d like to talk to you about Mr. Lee’s replacement.”

You and Sicheng glanced at each other and you sat back down. A while ago, you had both agreed the decision wasn’t going to break the quiet relationship you had built. It was going to be sour. You knew, when someone was chosen, things could get messy and awkward. But this… this was too good.

Daiyu sat down and put her hands together. “After much decision and going through your interviews, the CEO has stepped in and we are sorry to say neither of you are getting the position.”

You jerked your head around to Sicheng and he did the same—wild confusion and anger in both of your eyes. Both your years of loyalty and dedication are being passed over?

“Instead, we have decided to hire outside the company for some fresh intake. He may be young, but it comes to us that he’s highly recommended and would fit in with our culture well.”

A sour feeling came to your stomach and you narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to frown. They had decided to hire outside the company? This is how they decide to reward their workers? This was betrayal.

Glancing over, you could see Sicheng felt the same. His right hand grasped the arm of the chair tightly and you could see his knuckles turning white.

“I’d like to meet him and he’s coming—” She took a glance at her watch. “—right about now.”

A knock came from the door and a head of messy black hair peaked into the room.

“Daiyu laoban, great to see you.”

No. This could not be happening to you.

The wire glasses. The tall, lanky frame that filled the doorway. The almond shaped eyes hiding behind pitch-black hair, as black his shriveled little heart.

Daiyu, like the little bitch she was, giggled. “Y/N, Sicheng, please meet your new Sales Head: Xu Minghao.”

His eyes focused on you and your world suddenly felt tilted, careening sideways while the nausea hit you all at once.

“Nice to meet you,” he said cheerfully.

You could feel Sicheng’s concern radiating from him at your ashen face and look of shock, but you couldn't even think as flashes of blood and tears and pain shuddered throughout your body.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m pleased to be working with you!”

(”After us, the flood” or “Aprés nous, le deluge” is an expression from Madame Pompadour, King Louis XV’s lover.)

And it’s finished. Thank you. Please don’t forget to read, comment, and reblog. I love you all and goodbye.

485 notes · View notes

dfdph · 3 years ago

Text

Spotlight - Prologue

Author D.

Pairing Jungkook x Reader (female)

Warnings Mentions of cyber bullying

Word count 3.5k

Summary “Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta, the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders, and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier. Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.”

Award season was the period of the year Y/N hated the most. Despite being in the entertainment industry since she was a teenager - and now being in her late 20s -, she still couldn’t get used to the stress it put her through. She actually looked forward to dressing up and posing in front of dozens and dozens of photographers at the beginning of her career, but now that she had made a name for herself, now that everyone knew who she was, Y/N would gladly stay in her king sized bed watching some movie instead. Unfortunately, even if she wanted to, there was no way she could avoid attending this season’s ceremonies.

The past year had been Y/N’s most rewarding yet. She had been in fact casted by a renowned and award-winning director as the main character of his new historical movie, which turned out highly successful at the box office - earning more than $110,000,000 on its opening weekend - and highly acclaimed by the critics who had praised, not only the cinematography and the intricacy of the plot, but especially Y/N’s performance - described as raw, heartbreaking and graceful. To no one’s surprise, she was soon nominated as Best Actress in most of the award events, winning all of them despite the high competition and enriching the collection of trophies she had displayed in her home office.

When she debuted ten years ago with a minor role in an episode of a television series she only dared dreaming of reaching such a peak in her career. She could have never imagined that she would become one of the highest paid actresses in the industry, that she would afford buying her dream car and her dream house in Los Angeles, and that she would have millions of fans supporting her all over the world. Yet, there she was, getting ready for ‘the dream come true’, the award of the awards: the Oscars. And she, Y/N Y/L/N, had been chosen as the strongest contender in her category: Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role. She had already been nominated twice before, but this time was different, this time she felt she could actually win. Hence why she couldn’t stop walking anxiously back and forth in the 5 star hotel room her staff had booked for the day.

Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta; the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders, and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier.

Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.

Y/N was a completely different woman from who she was back in high school.

She had grown in a very poor family. Her mother had to raise her, alongside her older brother, all on her own, working long hours as a housekeeper for a rich and snob family who mistreated her and paid her just enough so that she couldn’t resign. She was a very sweet woman who had to struggle every day to give her two children the most normal life she could afford. Y/N’s father, on the other hand, was never present: an alcoholic who couldn’t keep a job for more than a month, he regularly failed to pay child support after the divorce and never once made a call to hear from them.

Y/N understood the importance of money early on, in elementary school, when her classmates started teasing her because of her hand-me-down clothes. She was used to wear her brother’s old t-shirts every now and then and never thought too much of it. She didn’t see any difference between the rock bands pictures or the flowery prints, she didn’t realize it mattered. And when she had told her mother that those girls had laughed at her, the woman almost cried, so Y/N decided not to mention it ever again.

Y/N grew up into a very introverted and shy teenager. She wasn’t good with socializing and generally preferred being on her own. Her desire for solitude was so evident that her classmates gave up on their attempts to befriend her and she soon became the lone wolf of their high school. By junior high, she became almost invisible.

Strangely enough, Y/N’s dream was that to become an actress, a profession that required a lot of things she lacked of. Confidence, to begin with, or charisma. The only thing she believed she could do was hide inside the unused storage room on the second floor and play with the old props left by the drama club.

She met Jungkook while doing just that.

The boy was just coming back from the first meeting of the Mathematics Discussion Club - of which he was the president - when he heard someone crying from a room he never noticed before. He opened the door quietly, peeking his head inside the dim lighted room, only to find the silhouette of a girl lying on the floor in a fetal position and seemingly crying her lungs out in pain. She had her hands clutching tightly her head and she was sobbing so hard that she was on the verge of hyperventilating. On instinct, Jungkook rushed to her side, his books, pencils and calculator clattering all over the floor.

“Are you ok?!” he screamed in worry, putting his hands over her shoulders.

Y/N jumped up, her wailing stopping so abruptly that it made Jungkook jump as well. As it turned out, Y/N was doing nothing more than acting the part of a terminally ill girl who was suffering intense head pains - a part she had invented all on her own to test her ability with dramatic scenes. it was something she did quite often. Just the day before she was performing Meryl Streep’s part in “Into the Woods” to an invisible audience.

“I-I’m ok.” she mumbled, drying the fake tears from her cheeks.

“What the hell?” Jungkook murmured, looking at her in astonishment. “What was that?”

“I was ... I was just pretending.” she replied, her voice horse from all the screaming.

“Pretending?” he repeated as he sat bewildered on the dirty floor. “You were pretending to be in pain? Why?!”

Y/N felt the heat rising to her face. This was the first time she had to explain her weird little secret to anyone. “Acting.”

“Acting.” Jungkook repeated once again. “And why are you doing it in here?” he asked looking around the creepy space, with its spider webs and abandoned miscellaneous objects. “What is this place anyways?”

“It was the old storage room of the drama club.” Y/N replied. “They don’t use it anymore. There’s no space left.”

“I can see that.” he said staring at the shelf just above their heads that looked about ready to collapse. “So, I guess you’re not in the drama club?”

“No.” Y/N answered looking down at her crossed legs. She wondered if he was going to snitch on her. She really didn’t want to get in trouble. Besides, it wasn’t like she was doing something that terrible.

“I could tell.” Jungkook replied. “I saw last year’s winter play and, let me tell you, you, crying on the floor 5 minutes ago, were ten times better than that.”

Y/N looked back at him with her mouth open in surprise. She had no idea who this boy sitting crossed legged on the floor with her was, with his white button down shirt and over washed jeans, but he singlehandedly gave her the best compliment she could wish for. “Right?!” she exclaimed sitting straighter. “I thought so too! But everybody else acted as if they saw the best performance of their lives! I knew I couldn’t be the only one who taught that their interpretation of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra was nothing but underwhelming.”

“Damn right.” the boy nodded in agreement. “I actually looked forward to it because I prefer it over Romeo and Juliet, but I was so disappointed. You should have played Cleopatra!” he added in an afterthought. “Why didn’t you?”

Y/N felt herself blush once again. “I never performed in front of anyone.” she confessed. “Apart from my mother an brother, that is.”

“That’s a shame.” Jungkook murmured pensively. “You have real talent, storage room girl. Believe me, I’m an expert.”

Being friends with Jungkook was easy, falling in love with him was even easier. It came so naturally that Y/N didn’t even have the chance to fully realize it before they were officially dating.

He was everything Y/N wasn’t and everything she wanted to be. Even at 16 years old he already was a very confident boy. He was incredibly smart, funny and a little bit nerdy. He didn’t belong to the upper class of their high school social pyramid, nor the middle, but he had no care in matching those standards because he loved himself for who he was - Stark Trek t-shirts, consumed tennis shoes and all.

In the short year the two of them were together, from junior to senior year, Jungkook became the reason behind Y/N’s happiness. She wasn’t aware of how lonely she really had been while asking to be left alone. Jungkook taught her to be open towards the world, to be curious and to believe in herself and her abilities. Thanks to him and his never ending support Y/N came to realize that she wasn’t meant to hide inside the abandoned storage room on the second floor, but she deserved the chance to follow her dreams.

Together they filed their applications for college: Jungkook always wanted to become an aerospace engineer and had set the personal - and ambitious - goal to work for NASA; Y/N, on the other hand, had worked hard during her last year in high school to win a scholarship for whichever Performing Arts College was willing to take her in - it didn’t matter which one because she knew she started her acting career late. All she wanted was to study to become an actress, to perform on stage and bring to life incredible stories, to be someone one day and someone else the other.

But it was such a big dream, something so fickle and risky, that Y/N couldn’t help but being overwhelmed by fear, not only for her future but that of Jungkook’s as well, because after all, despite all the changes she had gone through, a part of her was still hiding from the world. So she did something stupid, something very cliché, that nevertheless seemed the right thing to do at that time: she broke up with him.

It’s for his own good, she had thought. He is brilliant, I don’t want to hold him back.

Jungkook fought her and for her. He was afraid something like this would happen, he was sure it wasn’t what she really wanted, he knew she was just afraid. But Y/N was a very talented actress indeed and for a moment, as she looked straight into his dark eyes and told him she didn’t love him anymore, Jungkook felt his confidence waver.

“I’m really thankful for what you’ve done for me.” she had said. “I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you.”

“Please don’t lie.” he had whispered, trying to stop the angry and disappointed tears from falling from his eyes. “Don’t pretend. Not with me.”

“I’m not.” Y/N replied, her voice firm. “I loved you, I really did. You’ll be my first love forever, Kook.”

And the very next day, just like in one of those cheesy television dramas her mother loved so much, she flew hundreds of miles away from him, trying to not looking back.

If she said she never regretted it over the following years, it would be a lie. As she started her new life, she never failed to think of him. She wondered how he was doing, if his dreams were coming true and if he ever thought of her as much as she did of him. As she grew up and matured, Y/N realized how stupid her choice had been and how important Jungkook’s role had been in shaping her personality and in breaking her shell. Y/N was sure of it: if he didn’t found her that day inside the storage room, she wouldn’t be who she was today.

Years after she broke up with him, Jungkook still popped up into her mind every now and then. She thought of him the first time she was casted for a walk on role in a movie; she thought of him the first time her name was credited in an episode of a TV show; she thought of him the first time she won an award.

She thought of him with regret and a little bit of melancholy. Y/N never forgot him. Not even when when became so famous she barely had the time and energy to think about herself.

The first time Y/N heard his name spoken by someone else’s mouth, three years ago, was a complete shock. She never talked of him to anyone, apart form her mother, her brother and Jimin, her best friend and manager, so he was supposed to be a nobody to everyone else but herself. As it turned out, with a very mysterious turn of events, Jungkook had left the path towards aerospace engineering and had decided to take his chance with acting. And from what Y/N gathered from the overheard conversation, he was starting to make a name for himself as well.

That night, back in her multimillion dollar villa, Y/N researched his name on the internet for the first time.

He was new to the industry and there wasn’t much about him, it was like he popped out of nowhere. But it was definitely Jungkook, Y/N recognized him from the pictures. He had grown into a beautiful man, so handsome that she did a double take and then had to stop herself from drooling. It wasn’t like he was ugly when they were together, but he was just a skinny teenager back then and this was a man, a real man who had lost all of his baby fat and now had a razor sharp jaw and a muscular body. Apparently, he was the protagonist of an ongoing TV series that was gathering a lot of success putting him in the center of the attention. ‘The new heartthrob’, that was how he was being called.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what happened after they lost contact with each other that made him change his career so drastically. Whenever she thought about him she imagined him working on some challenging project for NASA, never on a movie set. She remembered he was passionate about theatre and cinema, but never once he had expressed the desire to become an actor like her. Y/N didn’t know what to think.

As the years passed, Y/N watched as his acting career grew, as he starred in a success after the other and as he earned the respect of even the most strict directors and critics.

Y/N watched, yes, but from afar, never daring to contact him and secretly avoiding the chances to meet him again.

She had been successful, until now.

The drive to the Dolby Theatre went far too quick for Y/N’s taste. She could barely remember how she got from the hotel room where she had been preparing to the black luxury van. Before she knew it her stylist was taking away her favorite slippers and was putting on her dress-matching Dolce&Gabbana heels.

Y/N didn’t have the time to think. Three years of running away and finally the moment had come. Jeon Jungkook - her first love, her ‘the one that got away’, probably her biggest regret - was probably in the car behind hers.

“Y/N, two minutes.” Jimin called out, warning her to get ready. “You know the deal. Deep breath and own that red carpet as you always do. And-”

“I know.” Y/N interrupted him. “The left side is my best side.”

The man, dressed up as well in a black tux, gave her a wink. “I’ll be right behind you. You got this.” he declared, looking at her intensely. “This is the one.”

“Thanks, Chim. But from all we know I could be the next Di Caprio.” she joked, the roaring noise from the red carpet now deafening.

“On my dead body.” he smirked. “Talk to you later, princess.”

“Later.” she hugged him briefly. “Oh, can you please make sure my mom and Seokjin got in fine? I totally forgot to call them.”

“Of course. My assistant is with them, anyways.” Jimin said, putting a hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

Y/N took a deep breath, put on her best charming expression and nodded. “Ready.”

As soon as he opened the door, Y/N was immediately hit by the boisterous and echoing call of the fans. She wasn’t sure if it was only her impression but it seemed like every single one of them was screaming her name. She was, indeed, one of the biggest names of the night, there was no use in denying it, but Y/N couldn’t help but wish they stopped making her presence so obvious.

A young usher, pretending not so well to be indifferent and trying to be professional, guided her towards the beginning of the red carpet, hundreds of cellphones following her movements like magnets.

“Please, come this way, miss Y/L/N.” the usher instructed in a slightly trembling voice. “There will be someone from the staff signaling you were to stop to pose for the photographers.”

Y/N knew this already. She had attended countless of events like this, after all. Yet she didn’t say anything to the shy boy, preferring to smile at him sincerely. “Thank you very much.” she said, watching as he blushed violently.

Y/N started her walk, Jimin and her stylist following a few steps behind to make sure that everything went smoothly. The photographers went wild as soon as they saw her, the flashes of their cameras blinding her almost angrily. She was used to it now, she had mastered the trick: squinting sexily and blinking strategically.

As she walked slowly towards the entrance of the theatre, posing with confidence and channeling her best princess warrior, Y/N almost forgot the worries she had about Jungkook, until a new wave of screams echoed to her ears. She stiffened, even if imperceptibly. It was him, the line up said he would be walking right after her.

The time had finally come. Ten years had passed and she was seeing Jeon Jungkook again for the first time.

She continued to walk nonchalantly, every step confident and her chin up and proud. But once she reached the end of the red carpet and the photographers moved their attention away from her, Y/N couldn’t help but stop for a second, ignoring a fellow actress and ‘friend’ waving at her a few feet further.

She could feel him, she could feel his presence behind her back. She could either turn around and catch a glimpse of him, or resume walking and pretend he wasn’t there. It took her a couple of moments of indecisiveness, in which Jimin looked at her questioningly, before taking the umpteenth deep breath of the evening.

She turned, the hem of her $30 000 black dress brushing almost magically over the carpet, and there he was. For a moment the memory of the nerdy boy from high school overlapped the image in front of her. She was well aware of the fact that he wasn’t that teenager anymore, she had seen his pictures, watched his movies and interviews. The boy she remembered was long gone: standing tall and proud, more than twenty feet from her, was now Jeon Jungkook ‘the actor’, dressed in a perfectly tailored night blue tux that highlighted his toned body, black patent leather shoes and impeccably styled hair.

And he was staring - with his dark and deep black eyes - right back at her.

#bts #bts fanfic #purplearmynet #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bts jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook romance #dfdph #spotlight

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crispy-chan · 4 years ago

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carriwitchet ch.5

pairing | han jisung x reader, 3racha x reader genre/warnings | fluff, angst, high school au, slow burn, friends to lovers, love square word count | 3k a/n | sorry for the long wait. I really have to be in the right headspace for thsi series but i'll try my best to update it more often from now on. also - this chapter is a lil bit sadder than usual. enjoy <3

my masterlist

CHAPTER 5

“Hello there N/n,” Changbin beamed as he ran towards you. (I trolled you all kekeke)

“Oh hi Bin,” you waved at him, as he tackled you into a bear hug. This wasn't unusual in your relationship, the both of you being quite affectionate people. However, the hug was getting a little too long, even for a person like you.

“Ugh, let go. I can’t breathe,” you groaned, patting his back.

After he finally let go of you, you got to have a proper look at him. He definitely dressed up for the occasion. He sported a crisp white button-down (that outlined his toned biceps) tucked into black ripped jeans and topped off the look with his signature high-end cap. Overall, he looked pretty damn handsome. Suddenly, you felt a bit underdressed in your cardigan.

Changbin turned around to find you staring. “Whatcha looking at?” he smirked cheekily.

You immediately blushed and swatted him away, turning around to pretend you were looking at the movie options. It was a stupid move since you guys have already agreed on the movie, but Changbin was thoughtful enough not to call you out on your bullshit.

He must have sensed your discomfort though, because he leaned in and whispered in your ear, “you look really pretty today.”

You felt shivers run down your spine as he said that and felt a soft blush stain your cheeks. You pushed that thought out of your mind, focusing on securing a spot in the line so you could purchase your tickets.

Changbin looked amused at your antics but gracefully decided to drop it. Both of you approached the counter and asked for the tickets. You agreed on two back-row middle seats but argued for a while on who should pay.

“Stop being ridiculous Y/n, I'm taking you to the movies for your birthday so you're not gonna pay.”

“Oh come on, I can just pay for my own ticket,” you tried to protest but Changbin was already swiping his card on the terminal.

“No. I'm paying and that's final.”

You wanted to further object but decided to drop it at the unamused expression of the part-timer behind the counter. You didn't want to be kicked out after all and the annoyed whispers of the people behind you led you to simply drop it.

You reached the minibar and started to roam over the menu.

“Do you want to buy popcorn?” Changbin inquired, smiling at your apparent excitement.

“Of course. What's going to the movies without having popcorn?” you laughed as you stuck your hand in your pocket, struggling to pull out your wallet.

Changbin frowned at that, not liking that you wouldn't just let him pay so he put his hand over yours, halting your movements.

“Come on,” he whined, “just let me pay, ok? I invited you as a birthday present so the least I can do is actually pay for it.”

You groaned at that but finally agreed, albeit begrudgingly. Whiny Changbin was actually pretty cute.

Wait for what?

“Fine but I'm paying next time, ok?”

Changbin just shot you a wink and a sing-songy “maybe,” as he went up to the counter and ordered one extra-large popcorn and two medium sodas.

He pulled out his wallet and took out his credit card before swiping it over the terminal. Damn, why did guys always look ten times more attractive when paying by card? That must have been surely the mystery of the century. After grabbing the order, he pulled you in the direction of where your movie was being played.

“So, are you scared?” he teased.

“Oh shut up Bin! I'm sure it can't be that bad, right?”

“Well good thing you've got me to protect you,” he chortled.

“In your dreams.”

“Which seats do we have again?” you asked while climbing up the stairs.

“Twenty-seven and eight,” he read from the tickets.

You finally got to your seats, placing the popcorn on the floor for a moment before shuffling around to sit properly, lifting the popcorn from the floor, and placing the sodas in the cup holders on the armrests.

“Don't forget to turn off your phone,” you reminded Changbin while pulling out your own to not disturb anyone.

“Your right, thanks.”

The lights in the room slowly dimmed as all the ads started to run. After about ten minutes, you were feeling a little tired as you absentmindedly leaned your head on Changbin's shoulder. The boy was startled at first but cracked a smile at your zoned-out expression. When the movie started, he gave you a light nudge to get you to focus on the screen.

You whipped your head up in surprise, your cheeks heating up at you slip up as you quickly sat back, eyes directly on the movie. Changbin internally chuckled at your flustered state, redirecting his gaze at the screen too.

The movie was actually quite interesting, save for the occasional jumpscares that scared the shorts out of you. During one of the scenes, you could tell that the main character was walking straight into a trap and you really didn't want to witness it.

“Oh god, why is he going there?” you whined, “isn't it obvious that she's there and that she'll kill him.”

You couldn't stand it anymore, almost launching yourself onto Changbin's lap (while doing some gymnastics to get around the armrest in between you) as you pressed your head into his chest to drown out the movie completely.

“Why did I even agree to this in the first place?” you moaned, “I should have said no.”

Changbin had a hard time suppressing his chuckles at your adorableness. He'd never tell you this but he was actually glad whenever you snuggled up to him. At this rate, he was afraid though that the movie might be too much for you so he slightly nudged your shoulder.

“What?” you whispered, looking up at him with those big eyes. “Just that, you know - if it's too much, we can leave and go get ice cream or something,” he muttered, his palm going to brush some stray locks of your hair behind your ear.

You felt your heart skip a few beats at the gesture, choosing to snuggle back into his arm to avoid his intense gaze.

“I'm fine Bin, sorry for… sorry for acting like this. I should be fine now,” you smiled, moving away from him and sitting back in your seat. Embarrassment started to creep on you with how you just behaved. You hoped that Changbin didn't think you were too weird after this.

The rest of the movie went rather smoothly, none of the jump scares being nearly as frightening as the previous one. Changbin still did reach out to hold your hand whenever he sensed something even mildly alarming.

When the final credits rolled, the both of you started to pick up your stuff, heading out of the dim room while chatting about the movie.

“Look, I'm sorry for all that,” you started nervously, “but please don't tell anyone. I'd never live it down if they catch wind of it.”

He smirked at the display of you begging him like that but after seeing how worried you were, he decided to drop it.

“Don't worry N/n, I won't tell anybody. Besides, why would I share something as cute with the rest? This is now a thing between you and me only,” he smirked.

“Okok, that's enough,” you said firmly, not wanting to talk about it anymore, “let's go get something to eat.”

------

You entered the cozy cafe and took a seat near the window in a quiet corner. You scanned the menu, getting a little too immersed in choosing what you want as you completely zoned out when the waiter came to take your order.

“N/n,” Changbin flicked your forehead lightly to bring you back to earth. “What do you want to order?” he asked, pointing to the waiting part-timer who was slowly losing his patience.

“Oh. sorry, I'll have the latte and a matcha pudding, please,” you murmured, hoping the boy heard you. Luckily, he did as he scribbled down your order and briskly walked away.

You sighed, hating yourself for spacing out like that and making a fool of yourself. You were zoning out all day and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the movie - you were quite scared after all, no point denying that but you had this underlining feeling.

After finishing your drinks, Changbin walked you to the bus stop (insisting it was late already, and you shouldn't walk alone) and thanked you for coming with him.

“Seriously. Bin, stop,” you chuckled, “why are you thanking me? I should be thanking you. It was lovely, I didn't realize I needed this but I actually really did. I had lots of fun, and I hope you too.”

“Of course I had fun N/n. As long as I'm with you, I’ll always have fun,” he patted your head with a wink, shooting you the finger guns as he walked away.

You were still laughing about it as you got on the bus, his corniness proving to be really funny as always. You realized you actually missed some of his stupid jokes, the momentary separation between you two suddenly seeming way pettier.

You softly hummed the melody of For You. Again. But you just couldn't help it, the song had such a calming effect on you. It was your go-to song when you were stressed, anxious, or overwhelmed with school. And hey, who knows? Maybe there really are blessings waiting for you.

Getting off the bus, you walked the short walk home and rummaged for your keys. After stepping in, you made your way to the bathroom. You jumped in the shower, feeling ready to wash off all the sweat and lather yourself in that coconut body lotion.

------

On Monday morning, you walked into the school building, exhausted from just going up the few steps. You didn't get much sleep last night, opting for preparing for that chemistry exam even though it was on Thursday.

You see, chemistry was never exactly your forte. That's why you had mad respect for everybody that understood it, which was unironically about half of your friend group. Felix and Jisung were absolute chem and bio whizzes, making you wonder if they ate workbooks for breakfast. On top of that, Iris was also quite good which left only you, Mei, and sometimes Changbin to stick together

It was quite painful watching everyone understand the lecture and later not study at all, only for them to get a better grade than you, who had studied for three hours every day a week before the exam. You learned to suppress those feelings, not wanting to come off as rude, it wasn't their fault after all that you just couldn't beat those damn formulas into your head.

Chemistry today was especially hard, the teacher dividing you into pairs and handing you worksheets to complete with your partner.

You were paired up with Changbin, who usually fared better than you but today, he was none the wiser.

“God damn, I have no clue how to do this,” he cursed under his breath, scanning the handout with visible distaste.

You laughed at his antics, going through your backpack to find your notebook. “Neither do I but I think we should manage with the help of my notes.”

“Yeah, your notes are a literal lifesaver, thanks.”

You plopped the notebook on the desk, opening it and turning the pages to find the needed material.

With the help of your trusty notes, the two of you managed to complete the paper, even finishing before the bell rung and giving you some time to chat.

You left the classroom with a smile, feeling like you probably won't fail the next exam.

If you just put enough time into preparation, you could maybe even scrape an A. Today was Monday - that meant that you still had three days left to prepare. You studied for three hours yesterday, familiarizing yourself with the theoretical part of the topic. Now all that was left was to not forget it and go through the formulas to make sure you could build the proper equations.

Let's say you could cram in about two and a half hours of studying every day until Thursday. With that much dedication, you could likely do pretty well. While you were counting in your head and mentally planning out study sessions, Jisung ran up to you from behind and scared the shorts out of you.

“Wassup, N/n. Wanna hang out?” he put his arm around your shoulder and playfully nudged your side.

“No Jisung,” you threw his arm off, speeding in the direction of your locker, “sorry but not this week.”

When you saw his pouty face, you patted his hair and added, “the chemistry exam. I need to study as much as I can.”

“How come you didn't ask for help? I can tutor you if you want, I know how you despise chemistry.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I'll have to decline, Sung. I want to manage on my own.”

“I see,” he murmured, “that sounds a lot like you, actually,” he crinkled his nose and laughed. “See you tomorrow then.”

“Bye,” you waved at his retreating figure. Maybe you should have taken up on his offer. He was really good at chemistry, after all. You blinked, thinking about what would happen if you agreed, wouldn't do you any good. Plus, Jisung was a busy guy, he had a lot of things on his mind and you didn't want to bother him so it was better you declined.

You trudged your way home, entering your room and slamming the door shut. It was going to be a long day. Opening your notebook with a sigh, you started to go over the stuff for the n-th time. Oh, how you wished you were good at science. The stuff just didn't come easily to you and you had no idea why. You tried everything! All the methods there were but you could just never figure it out until you studied for hours. Maybe that's what you needed to do? Just suck it up and study some more.

You were about to just do that but the sudden clang made you put down your notes for a second. And then you heard it. The beginnings of a loud argument that brewed between your parents almost every day. They always fought over the pettiest things like who put the dishes in the wrong place in the dishwasher? Who left their cup on the table? Where was the remote?

Whenever you heard someone raise their voice, you could feel your thoughts spiral down the deep end. It was like this trigger that sent your thoughts to this dark place. Blocking out the noise, you picked up your notebook and tried to concentrate on studying as to distract yourself. That's something you really needed at the moment.

At ten pm, you decided you had enough. Standing up to stretch your sore limbs, you threw on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, not even bothering to brush your teeth as you made a dive for your bed.

It was a dreamless night.

------

The next morning, you practically moved on autopilot. Pulling on your clothes and shoving breakfast down your throat, you left the house without even bidding your parents goodbye. You ran to the bus stop and pulled out your headphones to listen to some music.

“Yeah I know, we know If it's you, you can do it, ayy Don't give up, oh no You persevered up until now What's the worry? Believe in yourself”

That helped a lot. It calmed your racing heart and gave you hope. You struggled with some pretty harsh thoughts and just bottled it up because you didn't feel like you had anyone to talk to. Listening to their songs provided at least a little comfort and let you somehow channel this stuff out of your system.

------

The day at school was pretty uneventful, you were only assigned an English essay and a few math equations. Nothing you couldn't handle.

It must have shown that you didn't sleep too well, many of your friends asking if you were okay at the sight of the black circles under your eyes. You bit back a sob and tried to patiently assure them with a fake smile that everything was indeed okay. That you just binged a Netflix show till four am and were tired.

They all bought it.

Except for Jisung.

He watched you like a hawk for the entire day, being extra kind and doing little things for you here and there to better your mood. You appreciated his efforts, you really did but no amount of candies and encouraging little notes would make you forget the upcoming exam as well as the stress piling up on your shoulders.

After class, you skipped lunch and went straight to your locker so you could leave as soon as possible without anyone noticing you.

“Oh hey, Y/n. Wanna grab lunch together?” Changbin smiled at you before bending down to tie his shoelaces.

Shoot. You completely forgot that Changbin didn't have lunch in the canteen on Tuesdays. You racked your brain for possible excuses, before eventually settling on the lamest one.

“Sorry, I have to study for chem. I'll probably just get something to go near my place.”

With an apologetic expression, you backed out of the hall, and almost ran to the exit with a quiet “bye” thrown in the confused boy's direction.

You ran down the cobblestone path, ignoring the grumbling of your stomach. When you told Changbin you'd get something near your place, you were lying. You figured there wasn't time to spare and you planned to invest every second possible into preparing for the exam. You knew it was wrong, to skip meals and lock yourself in your room for hours but you didn't know any better. Every time, you told yourself it was the last time you'd pull a stunt like that but as they say...old habits die hard.

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mrvltwimagines · 4 years ago

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Hidden Love

EMILY PRENTISS X READER

SUMMARY: You were relatively good at hiding your feelings, until the one you were hiding your feelings from gets in a sticky situation.

WARNINGS: Season 3, Episode 2 spoilers, but nothing triggering!

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

PROMPT: Can I get a Prentiss x reader where Prentiss is in danger and reader like pushes her out of the way or something without thinking and gets hurt and then angst ensues ending with a feelings reveal and fluff I guess?

The team was growing desperate during this case. The unsub had managed to already kill four women, and we knew as much that he already had a new victim. Your brains wracked trying to figure out the connection between the victims, seeing if you could figure out where he’s grabbing them from. A policeman walked into the room we were in, letting us know that another lady had been taken.

“What do we know?” Derek asks him.

“Her name was Claire Thompson. Her husband tried to reach her on the cell phone, and when she didn’t pick up, he drove to the department store. Her car’s in the parking lot, but she’s not inside,” The policeman filled you all in, letting us know that the husband was in the other room. Spencer grabbed J.J. and the two of them left the room, going to talk with the husband to see if they can figure anything out with what he knows.

“I had the department store uplink the security footage to you analyst in Quantico,” He finished. Hotch nodded at him, dismissing him before we all turned to each other, knowing we’re one step closer to figuring things out. Derek quickly called up Garcia, hoping she had found something on the tape that would be useful.

“Hey baby girl, tell me something I want to hear,” he speaks, getting a small chuckle out of me and a weird look from the chief of police we were working with. She clearly said something flirty back by Derek’s reaction, before he got a bit more serious.

“Did you locate the missing girl on the security footage?” he asks. Within seconds, footage was pulled up on the computer in front of us. We all studied what was going on within it, looking for any minor things that would help us get closer to finding the unsub.

“She doesn’t seem to be on anyone’s radar,” Spencer inputs.

“Look,” Derek speaks up, “Who’s the kid?” We watch as a kid approaches her, concluding that the lady only has a two-year-old daughter and not what looks to be a ten-year-old boy. The boy looked to be lost and asking her for help.

“Garcia, this all you got?” Derek asks into the speaker phone.

“That’s it, and then they turned down a hallway without any security cameras and we lose them.”

While the chief of police thought maybe the kid was genuinely a missing kid, Hotch was quick to jump in saying he believed that the kid was not a missing child, and instead a kid that’s doing whatever necessary to please his father.

“All the abductions and disposals have been timed around school. I thought the unsub might work in the system, but what if this guy is actually using his own son to lure his victims?” he questioned. We were all silent after that, letting the information sit in. It would make sense and with the physical footage of it happening, it sort of put the pieces together.

After figuring out the abduction and dumping grounds, on top of what kind of vehicle the unsub might be driving, the team set out different ways to try and catch this guy. You’d noticed Emily hadn’t been too vocal throughout any of this, and all you wanted to do was ask if she was alright but you knew now wasn’t the time.

“Alright, tell me if I’m in the wrong here, but we’re not getting anywhere focusing on the unsub, maybe we should try focusing on the son?” J.J. inputted, “If he really is using his son, wouldn’t the trauma manifest more clearly on the boy?”

You were quick to call up Garcia after bringing up to the team that you may need a list of all the children in area that we’re targeting.

“Talk dirty to me,” she answers, and for some reason you couldn’t help the flush that ran through your face. Emily smirked at your red exterior, everyone else finding it just as funny.

“Garcia, I need a list of every grade school in the third ward and Wauwatosa,” you requested. You could hear her typing in the background while telling you all that the third ward has one public grade school, but four private schools that draw from that area. In Wauwatosa, there were nine public schools and 3,200 students.

“Can you also get me a list of every guidance counselor that deals directly with the student body in that area?” She agreed, saying she would send it over as soon as possible, both of you hanging up your phones, “We need to present these counselors with the profile of the troubled kid,” you determined. You all split up after that. Hotch and Derek went with each other, J.J and Spencer went with each other, leaving you and Emily to be partners in literal crime.

“You know you’re really cute when you blush,” she compliments you out of nowhere as you walked from your car to the current elementary school that you were at. You couldn’t help but blush again at the compliment, making her laugh a bit as she held the door open for you to walk in. You thanked her, not knowing whether you were thanking her for the compliment or for holding the door open.

You both quickly made your way to the guidance counselors office, flashing your badges at her and quickly beginning the question process.

As soon as you got back to the police station, it was made aware to everyone that there was a lot more work to do, considering the amount of kids that fit our profile. As much as your mind wanted to be fully on the case, it was also running wild at how closely you and Emily were sitting to each other. You’ve been trying to harbor a crush for her that formed just a few months into beginning to work with the BAU which was just over a year ago. You’d done well, not making any noticeable efforts or moves that would throw suspicion to anyone on the team that you were growing more and more in love with her. It was hard, to say the least. Every time she got hurt or would need to miss a case due to her own issues, you wanted to bail and only focus on her, but you couldn’t. Relationships were deeply frowned upon between coworkers, for obvious reasons. Almost like she could feel your constant gaze flashing between her and the case files in front of you, she turned her head and looked you in the eyes, sending you a questioning gaze.

“Are you alright?” she whispered out, leaning even closer to you to try and keep your conversation private. You nodded quickly, your cheeks burning at have been caught, insisting that you were just thinking.

“Claire Thompson has been found dead,” a policeman announced while peaking his head into the conference room we were in. All of your shoulders fell, feeling a bit defeated that you hadn’t figured the unsub out before he was able to kill her. He dumped her in an abandoned alley surrounded by trash and overgrown weeds, her heart carved out like the rest of the victims.

“This is a different area than the dumpsites of the other victims, isn’t it?” Emily questioned.

“He’s getting smart. He knows where all our manpower will be so he’s changing locations.” Spencer offers up.

“Well how long before he changes when and where he abducts them?” Morgan comments, obviously asking a rhetorical question that none of you would be able to answer.

You all quickly made your way back to the station as Spencer began to map out all the abductions and dumpsites. It was determined that where the bodies had ended up, the unsub needed to know the area pretty well, because they sure as hell didn’t end up where they did by accident.

“So we go back to the schools, we eliminate the third ward, and we target problem kids whose fathers have held blue-collar jobs over the last ten years,” Hotch spoke up. Spencer was quick to cut in, letting you know what he was thinking.

“What if it’s not a problem child? Sometimes when a parent is unstable, especially if the other ones out of the picture, you’ll do anything to be the perfect child.”

“Like help your father abduct women?” Emily asked with a frown on her face.

“They’re never late for school. Even with the abductions, the disposals of the bodies, it’s always timed perfectly so the kid will be on time to school. I don’t think the killer would care, I think the kid would.” You thought about what he was saying. It was true that someone as out of control as our unsub was, he wouldn’t care about schedules, but if the kid was trying to please his parent in any way, he sure as hell would care. You instinctually looked at Emily to see what she was thinking, just to find her already looking your way. You nodded at each other, understanding that you were thinking the same thing.

Before you knew it, you and Emily were at one of the Elementary schools that the unsubs child could be attending, and you were back sitting in the counselor’s office.

“He’s a kid that’s a model student,” You start off the profile to the lady.

“Not just straight A’s, though. It’s someone who tries to please in a way that teachers have probably talked about.” Emily offered up.

After a bit more profile description you were given one name, David Smith. A kid with just his dad in the picture due to his mom leaving after the dad was diagnosed with a terminal illness. It explained the anger the father might hold, and the need for David to feel he needs to prove himself to please his dad. You both quickly thanked her, calling the team and filling them in before calling Garcia and asking for an address. You were close to their house already, and didn’t hesitate to make your way over there. The team were, if anything, only ten to fifteen minutes away from you so back up was on its way.

“We need to go in right away. You stay back and I’ll go in, okay?” Emily ordered off. You stumbled on your words, hating her plan. She was willingly going to go in the house by herself when you both know just how angry and temperamental the dad is?

“Are you crazy, Em? I’m not letting you go in there by yourself.” You bark back. You couldn’t help but hold your breath at the feeling of one of her hands caressing your face, thrown off a bit at the feeling of her skin on yours.

“I’ll be fine, I have a plan, and we know he already has a victim so he’ll be distracted. Please trust me on this.” You nodded, not even thinking about what you just agreed to, only being able to focus on the feeling of her hand on your face and the coldness that swept over your cheek once it was gone.

“I’ll give you a signal the second I have probable cause for you and the rest of the team to enter the house, but until then I need you to just keep the perimeter secured,” she ordered. The feeling in your gut made a wave of nausea float throughout your body, but you hid it and simply nodded, “I’ll be fine, y/n.”

Before you knew it, Emily was knocking on the unsubs front door and you saw the boy in the security footage answer it. You both knew that the father and his current victim were most likely in a secluded room where none of the neighbors would be able to hear any screaming or calls out. Your heart rate sped up as the door closed behind Emily, and you couldn’t help yourself from getting closer to the house to look through the windows, keeping an eye on her no matter what.

The team still wasn’t here and your nerves were going crazy. The second you lost sight of her as she walked down a different hallway, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You quietly made it to the front door, opening it and closing it behind you. You saw the boy sitting in one of the living room chairs, watching tv. You snuck behind him and followed the hallway that you last saw Emily walking down. There was only one door slightly open, and peeking through you could see her sneaking down the staircase. You could also see the wide eyes of the victim as she shook her head no at Emily, like she knew something neither of you did. You quickly stormed in behind her, just in time to see the unsub leap at her. Without thinking, you threw yourself on him, both of you toppling onto the concrete. The feeling knocked the wind out of you, and he gained control, able to land a hard hit to your face. Emily quickly got control of the situation before anything more could happen, and your unsub was in handcuffs with a shot to the foot quicker than you had time to fully gain your breath back. With Emily’s focus being on the unsub, you finally gained the strength to stand up and begin to untie the victim. You still felt a bit dizzy, but knowing you had saved Emily from a harsh attack made you feel better.

The rest of the team barged through the door just then, relieved to see both you and Emily were fine, grabbing the unsub and pulling him outside. You let yourself fully grasp the situation that just happened as Spencer consoled the victim and lead her outside too.

“y/n, what the fuck was that?” Emily asked, clearly distraught, “You were supposed to stay outside and wait for backup!”

“Em, he was about to attack you!” you exclaimed, upset that she was mad at you, “what would have happened then if I hadn’t have come inside? You would’ve been on your own and hurt with a distraught murderer!” just the thought made you wince. Things could’ve turned out way worse than they did. Instead of Emily being harshly attacked, you were just left with a bruise on your cheek and a small backache.

“I hate that you did that. I hate that you didn’t follow my instructions,” she expressed, coming up to you and gently tracing the redness on your cheek from the punch.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt, Em,” you whispered out, “I’ve already had to watch for close to a year, a fair share of times where you’ve gotten hurt and every single time it’s like a chunk of my soul chips away. I hate seeing you hurt, especially if there’s something I could’ve done to prevent it,” you admitted. By the look on her face, you could tell she was still upset, but taking your words to heart. Before you knew what you were doing, you leaned forward a bit, kissing her quickly before backing away and instantly regretting your actions. She was surprised to say the least, but your heart was beating out of your chest. Why did you do that? It was almost like your body fully acted out without consoling your mind. It was truly a heart over mind situation.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Em,” you whispered, quickly backing away and heading back out to the SUV you both came in. The team had tried to ask you questions, but you couldn’t fathom talking to anyone at the moment. By the look on your face and your ability to walk past them without acknowledging your questions, they could obviously tell something was wrong. You looked back towards the front door of the house just in time from Emily to walk out, her face staying neutral as she answered all the questions that you were probably asked to begin with.

Your heart ached thinking about how she looked after you kissed her. She didn’t necessarily look upset, but more surprised and distraught. Have you ruined everything now? Is she mad at you? Is this going to make things awkward now? It was ten minutes later when the drivers’ door opened, and you fully expected it to be one of the other team members, but sucked in a breath at the sight of her settling into the seat and closing the door.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” she asked, not even a tremor in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Em. My emotions just got ahold of me and I acted without thinking,” you admitted, your eyes filling up with tears as you thought of the repercussions you could face. You jumped a bit at the feeling of her hand on your thigh, getting your attention to turn back to her as she looked at you with soft eyes.

“I like you, y/n. Believe me when I say that. I have liked you for months now, and I’m nowhere near upset that you kissed me, I was just surprised,” she said. Your eyes grew wide at the confession, your heart doing a happy skip as you took in her words.

“Really?” you asked, still unable to believe that any of this was actually happening. A small smile crossed her face as she took the lead this time, leaning in and kissing you, but with more intention this time. You separated and could feel the blood rush to your face for the thousandth time today, a small smile gracing both of your faces.

“So what does this mean?” you asked, the worry growing a bit when you thought of the grand plan of how your relationship would work.

“I may have had to tell the team what happened due to them seeing you as distraught as you were,” she whispered, still gently holding your face in place so you wouldn’t look away. You scrunched your face up at the sound of that, “Hotch said it took us long enough to realize we both liked each other.”

Your eyes grew wide as a laugh escaped her mouth. They had known? You thought you did such a good job at hiding your feelings!

“I say we can talk about details later, maybe over dinner?” she asks. This time you couldn’t hold the large smile from forming on your face as you frantically nodded your head.

“I’d love that,” you whispered out. You regretted wasting all the months not telling her how you felt, but now that you know it’s mutual and there’s a large potential of being in the relationship that you’ve wanted so badly, you’re thankful that you hadn’t listened to Emily’s orders earlier or you wouldn’t have all of this. You were finally able to express your feelings and having her express hers back was a surreal thing. Your mind settled, along with your body as you both buckled up and she began to drive back to the station so you could grab your things and head back to the jet to get home. You smiled the whole way, excited for what was about to happen. You were finally going on a long-awaited date with the woman you loved, and you couldn’t be any happier.

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss x reader angst #emily prentiss x reader fluff #emily prentiss angst #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff

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fiddlepickdouglas · 4 years ago

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 9 - A Case

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, is it a lead?, 2k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Late the next morning, the guys stood with Julie’s family at the airport. Alex couldn’t believe that weeks of jamming together, writing music together, goofing around while Ray was filming, and dinners cooked by Julie’s aunt Victoria had all passed so quickly.

“It’s only another two months,” Julie was muttering to Luke, her eyes looking up into his with a special gentleness. Her hands gripped the top handle of her backpack with white knuckles.

“You’re gonna kill it out there,” Luke encouraged. The softness he applied was so different from what Alex usually saw, and he wasn’t looking forward to how miserable Luke was about to get in her absence. A painful thought told him it was probably similar to how he was at the moment, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. Having someone else reflect that wasn’t as nice as he thought it would be.

“Okay, kiddos, let’s get a photo!” Julie’s aunt was saying, shepherding them all together.

“Your mother asked me to take more pictures, so I’m taking all the pictures I can, sobrina,” Victoria came back.

“Tía,” Julie protested, rolling her eyes but smiling anyway.

Getting in formation, Alex positioned himself in the back by default, resting his arms on the shoulders of his bandmates while Julie, Flynn, and Carlos huddled together in front. After being uncomfortably squished into Reggie for a few seconds, he got blinded momentarily with the flash and was pretty sure he’d blinked. Then again, he was sure Bobby had been giving Reggie bunny ears, Luke was off balance, and Carlos had pulled a face, so it was likely that Flynn and Julie were the only ones who looked good in the photo.

“Ay, dios,” Victoria said afterward. “Your mamá is at least going to laugh a lot when she sees these.”

“I don’t know about the rest of y’all,” Flynn said, flipping her braids over her shoulder. “But I look amazing.”

Everyone chuckled and Ray picked up his carry-on.

“Alright, one last hug for everyone and then we’ve gotta board,” he said, pulling Carlos into his side. “You be good for your tía, alright?”

“Promise!” Carlos nodded with his typical grin.

Julie was already squished by Flynn and all the guys at once.

“Okay, before I get hugged to death,” she teased. They all let go of her. “I’ll miss you guys.”

“We’ll keep in touch, though, right?” Luke asked, his eyes wells of hope.

Julie looked up at him and smiled demurely.

“If you had a phone I could reach you with, then of course,” she told him.

“Yeah,” Luke muttered, pulling a Sharpie out of his back pocket. Alex smirked at seeing him be so prepared. Luke grabbed Julie’s hand and scribbled out a number, both chuckling lightly the whole time at how over the top he was being. “There, you’ve got my number.”

“Great,” Julie said with mixed awkwardness and amusement. “I’ll try not to wash my hands before I give you a call.” With that, she shouldered her bag and waved at them before joining Ray on the plane.

Bobby wrapped an arm around Luke’s shoulders and pivoted him so they could walk out of the terminal. Flynn and Victoria followed behind them while Carlos began running ahead of the boys.

“Don’t go too far, Carlos,” Victoria warned. “We don’t want to lose you.”

“You could still find me if you wanted!” he taunted, even though he made sure he remained in sight.

“He’s right,” Flynn smirked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Victoria said. “I’m taking a break while my sister needs support.”

Alex’s interest piqued at what he overheard.

“Wait, what do you mean?” he asked, pulling back from the rest of the group.

“I mean I’m putting my job on hold to help take care of my sister,” Victoria said, slightly confused at his question.

“Yeah, but what was your job?” he insisted, trying not to sound too intense about it.

“Oh,” she laughed. “I was on a team of investigators. We worked on missing person cases, mostly. But I’m taking a sabbatical.”

A mesh of things rushed into Alex’s mind and he wasn’t sure if he dared say them out loud. He had that strange feeling again, like he’d had when he first met Willie in the diner. That exhilaration.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Victoria told him casually. “If you’re wondering about Luke, his case is through a completely different department, and I can’t do anything for or against him.”

“No, it isn’t,” he started. “What if there was evidence of a really old case? What would it take to pick it back up?”

She blinked at him.

“Well, if it’s a strong enough lead, then it would be worth looking into,” she said. “Why, do you think you know something?”

“No,” he said finally. “Well, it’s probably nothing, just a funny coincidence.”

Reggie’s words from last night echoed: sometimes a kid is just a random kid. Other arguments surfaced. There hadn’t been anything to tip him off that Willie had gone missing as a kid, it was just a poster with the same first name. Why did he get so excited about it? He gripped the strap on his fanny pack.

Victoria looked at him with mild concern.

“Okay,” she said. “Like what?”

Looking at the guys, Carlos, and Flynn in the distance, Alex breathed in nervously.

“I actually saw a poster for someone, and usually I don’t pay attention, but it matched the description of someone that I met a few weeks ago.”

“You mean, when you were in Las Vegas?”

He nodded.

“I would have to see the whole case, and reopening old ones takes a little more work. But if you truly think you know something, Alex, this is a very serious matter and I would need as much information as you could give.” She looked at him firmly.

Alex was caught on all the thoughts swirling in his mind as they entered the parking garage. He felt himself begin shaking. Maybe he was jumping the gun?

“Well, like you said, you’re taking a sabbatical. And I’m still thinking it’s a coincidence, so, I’d hate to take your focus away from Rose.”

Victoria smiled politely, although her eyes didn’t reflect it.

“Well, I appreciate that,” she told him as she made towards where Carlos and Flynn were already waiting at her car. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

A car horn from somewhere else was heard and Alex saw the guys all waving at him to join them in the van. Taking in a deep breath, he nodded to Victoria and ran over to join his bandmates.

“Dude, what are you doing talking to Julie’s aunt?” Luke wondered.

“Nothing,” Alex responded. “She just has a cool job and I wanted to know about it.”

“You know who else has a cool job, Alex?” Luke asked. “We do. We have the coolest job. Don’t get distracted.”

Alex buckled himself in as Bobby pulled out of the garage.

“I’m not, I swear!”

Reggie just patted him on the back with his goofy smile. Alex rolled his eyes, knowing the guys meant well. He could feel that all of them were trying to be normal around him, so he couldn’t blame them for their efforts. He knew he hadn’t been as easy to deal with lately. It wasn’t anything major, but something had gotten him acting more closed off from them, and he was balancing letting the guys be aware of it and trying not to burden them with it at the same time. Maybe that’s why he wanted to connect Willie to the missing kid. It probably had made him think he could get closure after everything that had happened on the trip. He didn’t want to accept the saying ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’

He couldn’t focus on that now, though. They had a few small gigs lined up and needed to get practicing. Opening for Julie had broadened their fanbase a little and things were going to change. Alex already didn’t handle change well. If he remained focused on something else, it was only going to make matters worse.

Later that night, they were just wrapping up practice in the garage. Bobby had popped a string on his guitar and ran into the house to grab a replacement.

“Alex, you were killing it, man!” Reggie was saying.

“Nah, I was just keeping it steady,” Alex shrugged.

“Seriously!” Reggie insisted. “You’re like the Energizer bunny! You know, always in pink, keeps us going, banging the drums - ”

“You should never make that comparison again,” Alex said, holding a hand up. “But alright, I was smoking, I’ll admit it.”

“Yeah,” Luke joined in. “Keep playing like that and you’ll be the next Neil Peart.”

Bobby reentered the garage.

“Hey, Alex,” he said. “You’ve got a phone call.”

All the guys, including Alex, looked confused.

“Okay...guess I’ll go get that,” he said, heading into Bobby’s house.

Finding the phone attached to the wall outside the kitchen, Alex picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Alex, it’s Victoria, Julie’s aunt,” he heard on the other line.

“Hi,” he answered, even more confused than before. “How did you know I would be here?”

“The number your friend gave my niece. She said that’s where you kids like to practice. I guess I called at the right time!”

He simply nodded in response, even though she couldn’t see it.

“Anyway, I wanted to know more about this person you saw.”

“Oh, okay.” He tried to remember as many details as he could while he gave them to her. He was pretty sure he could even remember the address for the hotel. Victoria just said ‘mmhmm’ in between everything, like she was writing it all down. It got Alex sort of excited, even though he remained bewildered that she was asking him for all of this information.

“Okay,” Victoria sighed after a few minutes. “I need to ask a favor of you boys.”

“Yeah, anything,” Alex said.

“Look after Carlos for a couple days? I can pay each of you.”

“Uh,” he blinked in surprise. “Yeah, cool, we can do that.”

“Perfect! And Alex, muchas gracias.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, glad to recognize at least one phrase in Spanish. “Thanks for calling.”

“No problem, kiddo. Ba-bye.” She hung up before him.

Alex slowly put the receiver back in place as he stood there processing. What had he just involved himself in? Julie’s aunt hadn’t exactly explained why she suddenly wanted to know everything about Willie. As he went back into the garage, he tried to calm his nerves.

“Well, who was it?” Luke asked as they all sat around waiting.

“Julie’s aunt,” Alex told them. “She wants us to watch Carlos for a couple of days.”

“Aw, yeah!” Reggie exclaimed, pumping his fists excitedly.

“Why didn’t she just tell me, then?” Bobby wondered.

“Because she wanted to finish the conversation that you guys so rudely interrupted before,” Alex said, only half-joking.

Luke and Bobby shared a puzzled look, but let it slide.

“Did you tell her we have a gig in a couple days?” Luke asked.

Alex’s eyes widened.

“Oh, no, I forgot,” he said.

“He can just be our VIP,” Reggie stated, clearly unbothered about it.

“That works,” Alex said, gesturing to Reggie.

A cold realization hit him and he clenched his fist. He’d forgotten to mention more than their gig to Victoria: he also hadn’t told her about Willie’s amnesia.

Victoria looked down at the picture in her hand. It was familiar, since she had worked on that case when it first opened. One of the few that had gone unsolved in her department for a long time. She sincerely hoped she wasn’t about to make a mistake.

“So, where are you going?” Carlos asked as he chewed a mouthful of fries. They were sitting beside the wall of posters on the pier.

“I’m just checking on something,” she said vaguely. “If you want, I can bring back something for you.”

“A million dollars?”

She chuckled. “Unfortunately, I don’t think so.”

“Are you gonna be solving a case?” he queried.

Looking at the picture again, Victoria sighed and gave him a sympathetic smile. She knew he would want to help.

“I’m not sure, bendición,” she said. “But maybe.”

Checking the address she had written down and the map once again, Victoria stepped out of her car and into the hotel lobby. No one was at the front desk, so she rang the bell on the counter. A young man with dark curly hair appeared.

“Welcome to the Desert Oasis, how can I assist you?” he said cooly, and she recognized his Brazilian accent.

“Hi, I made a call this morning for a reservation? For a Victoria Mo- ”

“Ah, yes, I remember your call,” he interrupted. He looked up the room in his records and pulled out a key. “Your room will be on the second floor and then all the way down the hall to your right. Have a wonderful stay.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the key, grabbing her one bag and heading up as fast as she could.

Hermana mía, por favor me perdones, she prayed silently in the elevator. If she was going to solve one case while she was supposed to be on sabbatical, it would be this one. She remembered searching high and low for this boy eight years ago and the devastation then. Rose would surely understand this, right? Victoria knew that if their positions were swapped, Rose wouldn’t be able to help doing something similar to help the people around her. It was just a family trait, she figured.

Getting situated inside the room, she pulled out the poster she’d pulled off the wall from the pier at Santa Monica and laid it on the table. Alex had called him Willie. She hoped they were the same.

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tayaminaka · 4 years ago

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Could you write a scenario of poe who is in a relationship with s / o and she keeps the secret that she has a terminal illness and he only finds out when she feels really bad, please?

𝑇𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠

“W-why didn’t you tell m-me....”

The quite voice broke trough the silence between the monitors. Hah how fast situations can change...from sitting together on the comfortable sofa while drinking some tasty tea to laying on a hospital bed in a nearly dead state. Moments are such temporary things, aren’t they? How tragic.

Sitting right beside, holding the hand of his beloved one and trying to find comfort at least in the sounds of the rain. It should be a comfort evening at home. After all, where should you go when it’s raining outside like this but the oh so beautiful plans for today were canceled so sudden. So sudden that he couldn’t even blink. Perhaps it was simple bad fortune, perhaps it was just bad luck but nothing can be done about it now. The rain was pouring down the streets, some people were running away while some had umbrellas, those who were at home had luck and those who not hadn’t it at all. Sometimes a simple nurse like in every hospital would come in and check the monitors or give you an infusion with a transparent liquid but what should change when it’s already too late?

How long did you actually plan to hide it from him? Till you die or till he finds it out himself? But now he knows it anyways so there is no point in acting. No point in putting on a façade that everything is fine. No point in playing like a clown in his circus tent. You should have told him from the very start but who wants to ruin his own happiness? No one wants. Perhaps it was that that was holding you back all the time. The lovely feeling of pure joy was simply holding you back from the unpleasant reality but at the end it was maybe even worth it to enjoy the beautiful moments.

“Why should I did it.....we were happy so why ruin it...”

You turned your head away from him. Right now you just don’t want to see him, not after what happened. The grip around your hand tightened and you could feel that he was shaken. Was it sadness or anger? Perhaps it was both and perhaps even more than that. How funny, it’s even raining outside like in the super cliche movies that you often see in the tv. Somehow it pulled a small grin on your face as you looked at the grey sky but it soon disappeared as you felt something heavy resting on your stomach. With a simple sight you slowly started to play with his hair, brush trough it with your fingers or pat his head like he’s a cat. Even trough the simple white blanket you could feel his growing sorrow but even if he felt this oh so bad feelings nothing will change, life is not a fairytale.

“...Hey Poe..don’t be sad...I know it’s hard but it will pass by....after all, feelings are just temporary things that come and go....It will be alright...”

But somehow you both knew it would get better. It won’t become brighter and it won’t be the same. No, not anymore. Life is such an unfair thing. It gives you happiness only to give you sorrow in the end. It gives you joy and anger at the same time...

And in the end life is too just a temporary thing.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs imagines #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs scenario #bsd scenarios #bsd poe #edgar allan poe scenario #bsd edgar allan poe #poe x reader #edgar allan poe x reader #bsd angst #bungou stray dogs angst #edgar allan poe

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the-darklings · 5 years ago

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—𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓'𝒅;

—PART XV. | BE ALL MY SINS REMEMBER’D

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 20k+ (the longest yeah boi ever)

summary: “One day you will thank me for this.”

warnings: PTSD, unhealthy coping mechanisms, self-destructive behaviour (aka your girl is absolutely going through it but it will get better), angst, swearing, some suggestive stuff happens in this one.

notes: might have taken 3 weeks & lots of rage but WELCOME TO CHICAGO PART 1!

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 13 | 14 | . . | 16 |

gif credit (x)

“Father, please—”

“Quiet.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. That’s the worst thing. He doesn’t have to. One word and it’s like the air has been sucked out of the room.

You look towards Gianna but she looks only at her father, her expression blank.

Cassian is tense as a bowstring next to her. There is conflict in his expression but he is Camorra. He is sworn in and regardless of the friendship you’ve built—

“You will depart this household at once,” Giovanni says and steps closer towards you. His eyes are pitch-black. “Let’s see how long you last, viper. Your protection that was so kindly bestowed upon you by my son is hereby terminated.”

“Father, I can vouch—”

“I said quiet,” he speaks again, colder this time, and Santino’s mouth snaps shut at once. “You have done plenty already. I’ve just about had enough of your decadence, boy.”

Then, Giovanni D’Antonio’s head slants towards you again and he regards you like he’s considering whether it would be easier to kill you here and now or later.

“Hector.”

A dark shadow moves from behind the Camorra head, always the obedient dog, and halts at his side. Step is staring at the floor, stricken. Julian’s eyes are full of sadness, his shoulders curved downwards. Dario’s lips are pressed into an unhappy line, his knuckles popping from under his skin. None of them move or interfere. They know better than that. They are Giovanni’s men. They owe no loyalty to you.

“Yes, capo?”

“Get her out of my sight.”

Hector moves without hesitation. You don’t try to fight him when he grips your forearm, his cool rings pressing into the flesh of your skin.

Your eyes find Santino’s across the room. His jaw is clenched so tightly you can almost hear the grind of his teeth but he’s silent.

Something crumbles in your chest.

You had hoped that maybe—

“Move it, sweetheart.”

You turn to go.

“If you take so much as another step, Santino,” Giovanni’s merciless, soft voice reaches your ears and you almost halt. “The consequences that will follow will be of your own making.”

Silence greets every echoing step after that and no one tries to stop you.

Alone.

Again.

[NEW YORK CITY, 3.5 YEARS AGO]

Your eyes crack open and for a moment all you can see is blurred, muted colours above you.

The Continental room ceiling greets you like an old friend.

The sour odour of herbs and old sweat mixes in the air when you try to inhale and your face scrunches in disgust.

Your skin feels dirty and cold to the touch. You’ve spent the last several hours on the floor no doubt sweating out the toxins in your body while going through several fits.

Wrong dosage. Again.

Trying and failing to roll onto your side, you huff a weak breath. Your throat feels raw and dry and you ignore the painful cramping of your stomach.

The elixir wasn’t clear enough again. You’ve spent almost two days trying to distil it till it was clear enough to mix and used the best alcohol you could find in the city—

Shit.

It doesn’t matter, you think and close your eyes again. You’re still delirious but there’s always tomorrow.

Welcome back, Kishi murmurs lovingly into your ear the moment darkness appears behind your eyelids.

Your nightmares begin moments later.

You heave painfully, your shoulders curving harshly as you gasp for breath.

Wrong fucking dosage.

And too many zootoxins. Goddamn viper venom. Goddamn stupid chemistry. Acetylcholinesterases must be having a field day ravaging through your body as you stay curled pathetically over the toilet, losing whatever little water you had consumed in the last several hours.

Pathetic, Kishi hums from beside you, his ghostly hands caressing your hair soothingly. No wonder he left you. No wonder he doesn’t love you.

“Shut up.”

You suppose the blood you see should concern you.

It doesn’t.

You’ve kept the dress you wore to his wedding.

It still smells like him.

It torments you as much as it gives you comfort.

Foxglove is a remarkably beautiful flower.

It’s also a rather deadly, beautiful flower.

Cardiac glycoside.

Interesting.

You scribble a new formula, your brain aching but still functional after your last failure.

Too obvious? Perhaps. It lacks finesse, sure.

But you don’t care much for finesse anymore.

You just want results. And you will get them. Even if it means bleeding yourself and this world dry to get them.

You hate so beautifully, Kishi compliments with a sigh, his dark eyes glimmering in the low light.

You simply prepare yourself for another count of agony.

Such is the price to pay for power.

The dress doesn’t even smell like him anymore. It’s been months.

You still like to pretend that it does.

John.

You turn the viper ring on your hand.

John.

He’s not coming back, Kishi tells you from beside you and you both ignore how his throat spills blood. He doesn’t care about you. No one does.

“I know.”

His rough fingers caress your cheek.

You might be crying but you can’t be sure.

You’re at the bottom of the pit and there is nothing but darkness and quiet here.

Even if you wanted to get up. You don’t think you can.

You don’t want to, either.

Easier…

Easier to let things wither and die.

But I’m with you. I will never leave you, little viper. I will hate you forever.

Kishi rolls over, his fingers wrapping around your throat, his mouth a sneer, and his eyes dark. His throat is open, gushing, and red rains everywhere.

His hands tighten around your throat.

You don’t try to stop him.

Freezing water splashes against your face and body.

You wake up with a strangled scream, scrambling across the dirty floor.

A puddle of sick lays not too far from you and you blink away the wooziness, trying to locate a weapon. Your heart sits in your throat as you attempt to find the culprit, too, and your eyebrows knit when your eyes snag onto two men standing before you.

“Oh, good. You’re still alive,” Winston drawls, a hint of coldness lacing his scornful tone. “Saves us the trouble of cleaning up.”

Charon says nothing but the bucket in his hand paints him as the guilty party.

You try to wipe the water from your eyes but it takes several tries to lift your hands to your face due to muscle weakness.

“What—”

A weak croak and you pause, forcing your unused vocal cords to work.

Winston looks away as if he can’t bear the sight of you and approaches the window, pulling back the curtains with a swift jerk. Light explodes across the room and you flinch, ducking your head down as you block it with your palm.

“What are you…doing here?” you finally force out, your throat sore and blood stinging your tongue.

Ulcers from the chemicals. Great.

“Considering that no one has heard from you in days, and you won’t let anyone inside without a threat of violence,” the manager explains, every word as icy as the last. “That left me with little choice but to check on you myself by forced entry. Do you plan to waste away here forever?”

The window opens with a crack and you shoot a glare towards Charon who moves around the room calmly. He opens doors and windows, letting the room air and you scowl at them both, still curled on the floor.

Your body aches and your muscles feel shaky with exhaustion. You haven’t left your room in days though. How funny it is that you feel more exhausted now than when you used to do jobs back to back with little sleep and danger around every corner.

“Get showered and dressed,” Winston instructs sternly, glancing at you only briefly and something in your stomach twists. Are you truly that repulsive to him that— “I expect you downstairs in ten minutes. Charon, handle the rest.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Winston only manages a handful of steps before your choked words stop him dead, “You’re not my father. Don’t order me around.”

With your head bowed, you imagine your glare is even more vicious when he eventually does look back at you. His own expression is cool, composed as always, and he hums thoughtfully.

“No, I’m not,” he agrees easily, his expression as hard as his voice. “And be glad for it. Because I reassure you that if you were, I would not be putting up with this behaviour. Ten minutes, dear.”

Then he’s gone, and the distant clank of his shoes fades down the corridor.

You wish that didn’t sting but it does.

The first sip scorches through your throat and you choke down a mouthful, pulling the glass away from your lips with a grimace.

“What the hell is this?”

“Bruichladdich.”

Ignoring the agony in your mouth, you scowl at the man before you, and force yourself to take another sip. Winston’s frown deepens as he watches you shrewdly over his glasses. You don’t care much for it. With how strong this drink is, it will probably knock you out with a few more sips and that’s the goal. Better than whatever the hell this is.

Intervention, little viper, Kishi speaks from beside you and this time you almost jump for a different reason. Kishi and his torture belong in the pit with the rest of you. Not here.

The lounge is suspiciously empty as you and Winston sit facing each other on twin leather sofas. In fact, only Charon lingers by the bar and you know that Continental lounge is rarely this quiet.

“May I ask what it is, exactly, that you’ve been doing as of late?”

The question is restrained but something simmers in that gaze as he pins you under his heavy scrutiny.

“Working.”

Winston’s eyebrows jump. “Oh! Working. Is that what you call it?” he wonders coolly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks to me like you’re just poisoning yourself repeatedly.”

Scoffing, you lower the glass and ignore the frailness of your own grip. Your longer than usual nails tap against the glass and you force yourself to swallow over the pain in your mouth. Your tongue keeps poking at the little wound inside your cheek and a sting of copper follows swiftly after.

Your hands are as cold as your feet. Your hair still damp from a quick wash in the sink—because there is no way you could have forced yourself to shower today of all days—sits around your head like a crown of black ice.

Just like when I drowned you over and over again, Kishi recalls happily and you grit your teeth, turning to face the fireplace and soaking in its warmth.

“That’s how Mithridatism works, Winston,” you inform him, your voice still a husky, raw mess and you swallow another mouthful even though the drink goes down like a hot knife. Better to feel this pain. Something to ground you. “It doesn’t happen overnight.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly aware of how it works,” the man barely waits long enough for you to finish before speaking and you fall silent. “It’s an art of discipline and brilliance. Given a different set of circumstances, I might have even praised you on your foresight. However, given how idiotically reckless you are being that can wait.”

Your grip on the glass tightens and you drag your attention back towards him.

“Why am I here?”

“It’s your birthday,” he says tightly, his eyes flashing. “But you had no idea, did you?”

Oh.

No—no, you didn’t.

Time has become…nothing.

A stream of existing and not existing. Of being lost, adrift.

You miss the sun.

You miss the dream that you could belong. That you could be a part of something and have companionship and trust.

You miss him.

John. Your John.

You miss him so much it makes you feel sick with longing for something that will never be yours again. He’s happy. Happy without you.

“I know what I’m doing.”

Quiet, hollow words. You both know that.

“You’re killing yourself.”

There it is. The thing he’s been trying to avoid voicing out loud.

His words devour everything. Even Charon goes quiet behind the bar and you stare at the manager blankly.

Raising your trembling hand, you drown another gulp of your drink before placing the glass on the table and standing unsteadily to your feet.

“No one would care anyway.”

You step past him.

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” he calls after you, his mild words full of something you don’t dare to class as concern. Not from a man like him. “Don’t let it consume you,” he adds, quieter, when you fail to respond.

You don’t reply to that, either.

Nor do you believe him.

You find flowers in your room the next day. You had planned to get them for research into a potential paralyser formula that’s been knocking around your mind for a while now.

There is no note attached to them.

But you don’t need it to know where they came from.

You suppose it should make you happy.

But there is nothing inside your chest.

Some nights it feels like your bones are made out of all the nightmares living underneath your skin.

Some nights you think you will swim.

Other nights you think you will drown.

And you know all about drowning.

Humming weakly, you shake the vial in your hand till the liquid inside goes from dark blue to red.

Finally.

It’s a potent, haunting sort of colour. Thick and striking as it rolls in the confines of the glass it’s encased in. It reminds you of—

Just like when you tore my throat out, Kishi mutters in wonder, leaning his face closer as he squints at the vial. Shoulder to shoulder. Your only companion. I bled red just like it.

He’s still bleeding. He hasn’t stopped bleeding. He will never stop bleeding.

And you can still taste it in your mouth. Except you’re no longer sure if it’s his blood or yours.

Toying with the pencil between your fingers, you roughly cross out Baba Yaga and write Kishi on top of the crumpled sheet of paper instead.

Then you tilt your head back and drown it whole.

There is everything and then there is nothing.

Distant voices. Urgent. Hands on you. Shaking, pulling.

Then nothing again.

“—cannot go on like this—”

“—there is nothing you can do, sir—”

“—dead soon—called—only option—”

“—use her—can’t—he will not—”

“He will.”

You wake up bathed in sunlight.

It almost makes you cry because for a moment you can’t help but think that you’re dead.

A faint rustle of paper reaches you, and you slant your head weakly.

Winston sits on an expensive leather armchair, his legs crossed and pen between his fingers.

This isn’t the hospital wing that lives beneath the ground floor of the hotel.

You know this room.

You just can’t believe the man next to you is sitting here with you.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” is the first thing to leave your mouth. A half-forced whisper on your tender throat. “I wasn’t.”

It’s true.

But you have no idea how to convince him of it.

The air seems thick with a thousand unsaid things and Winston lowers the newspaper from his face, taking off his glasses and placing both on his lap.

His expression is empty as he examines you.

You curl further into the clean, crisp sheets around you as the silence continues. An IV is attached to your arm and you cringe at the sight of it. Your skin is suddenly so itchy you want to tear it away from you but know better than to try.

“I know you weren’t,” the man voices, at last, his words steady. “You were punishing yourself instead. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You believe that you’re not good enough—that you are deserving of pain. Better to make yourself hurt than to let anyone else do it. Am I wrong?”

Your eyes sting but you don’t speak, staring at his gleaming shoes.

“Are you hoping that you will drown everything else out?” he questions but it’s not accusatory. If anything he sounds like he’s trying to engage with you in a way no one has before. “Never give someone else the power to destroy you. Hurting yourself will not erase what happened to you at Tokyo nor will it bring Jonathan back,” he continues, his voice grim after several moments of deafening silence between you.

You flinch at the name, your eyes closing in shame as moisture clings to your lashes.

Curtains flutter in the slight breeze.

Why did he bring you here?

“You will be staying here from now on.”

Your eyes fly open and your head snaps to him as panic fills your veins. “No—you—you can’t kick me out,” you mumble thickly, trying to rise, your fingers tangling between the sheets. You try and fail. “I pay for my stay. I—I haven’t broken any rules. You—”

Please, don’t throw me out. Please. I have nowhere else to go.

Winston’s expression creases. “I am not throwing you out,” he pacifies quietly but a shadow seems to have settled across his weathered features. “You are welcome to come back whenever you can afford it again.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and noting your confusion the man continues with a twist of his lips that would be biting normally, “When was the last time you picked up a contract, dear? It’s been months. Viggo Tarasov never gave you much to begin with and now…well. Your account ran dry two weeks ago. You likely have another two weeks at best before the Russian comes looking for you. He will expect you to pay up. It’s rather good that you already have your next job lined up though.”

That gives you a pause.

“What?”

Some of your panic has retreated but in its place blooms unease.

Winston tuts and stands to his feet. The newspaper is still in his hand and he slips his glasses into his pocket.

The look he gives you next makes you feel like you will have no choice but to comply with whatever he says next.

“You already know where you are,” he tells you knowingly, his eyebrow arching slightly. “Your employer is ready to see you.”

Santino D’Antonio hasn’t changed since the last time you saw him.

Which was before John and his wife. Before the wedding.

It was the night you decided to take a leap and hope for the best with your decision to come back to New York. Not like you could stay in Rome. Not with Camorra protection null and void.

Not with Tarasov demanding payment as usual.

Last time you saw him, Santino offered you to go to Paris with him. His own version of an apology. For not doing more to stop Giovanni. But no one could. The entire room could have stood in defence of you and it still won’t have changed a damn thing.

Last time you saw him, he had taken your hand in his and with that familiar arrogance and burning eyes and kissed your knuckles, asking only one question, “Come away with me, cara mia?”

You had refused him then.

And you would still refuse him now.

You will always refuse him because he’s not John.

That thought makes something deep down ache.

The Italian rises when he sees you emerge onto the terrace.

Your arm is hooked around Winston’s as you walk. Normally, you might have commented on how seeing the manager of all the people here is hilarious. You know that there is no love lost between the two so the fact that they have gone through the trouble of collaborating on this…

Do they really think you’re that helpless?

A lost cause?

You don’t have enough energy to ask.

Every step closer is a metamorphosis of expressions though.

Santino seems to go through a thousand emotions in those several seconds it takes you to cut across the terrace. Your steps are shaky, your muscles aching, and you’re sweating.

A tart bitterness still coats your tongue and your grip on Winston tightens.

The older man presses closer—just a touch—but the silent comfort that gives you is immeasurable. Surprising.

Ares stands behind Santino and her expression is stoic as she takes you in. Unlike Santino, her emotions are guarded.

They both look ready for a funeral. The atmosphere that greets you is near suffocating.

You sit down awkwardly, practically falling into your seat as Winston sits down beside you. Santino is the only one left standing but he seems frozen in place.

You see his fingers flex, his Camorra ring gleaming in the golden rays of the sun when he finally lowers himself in the seat opposite to you.

It’s too late for lunch but too early for dinner. Wine and fresh coffee are always present on the heir’s table though—this you know to be an absolute that never changes.

“Ciao, cara mia. A pleasure to see you as always.”

You blink. Right.

“Santino.”

Those brilliant green eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong with your vo—”

Winston clears his throat loudly and Santino falls quiet, frowning deeply. He tugs a napkin free and drops it on his lap carelessly, peering at you.

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife but you simply stare at the table.

“I have a job offer for you, bella,” the man begins amiably, folding his fingers on the pristine tablecloth before reaching for a glass of wine beside him. He’s frustrated, angry even. The cords of his neck are tense and the subtle clenching of his jaw betrays him. The way he taps his fingers repeatedly against the table and doesn’t seem to notice even more so. “One that I think you will find most beneficial.”

New York is so damn noisy. The traffic reaches you even up here. It’s a serenade of concrete, shouting, rushing people, laughter, arguing—

“Bella? Are you listening to me?”

You blink again, squinting at him. “Sorry,” you mutter shortly, ignoring the way Winston is dead silent, Ares is glaring at some distant point over your head, and Santino is gripping the wine glass so hard you can almost hear the cracking glass from where you sit. “It’s been a rough few days. What,” you exhale, your voice raspy and try again, “What exactly did you want?”

The Italian’s head slants, his demanding gaze drilling into you with enough intensity to keep you focused for at least a second.

“A job,” he repeats, slower this time, his voice colder, too. “I will require you in Chicago in two weeks time. In peak condition. Which you are currently not,” he adds the last part with such deliberate slowness that your bristle, something flickering in your gut.

It lasts only a second before fizzling out.

Yet between the rays of the sun blinding you both, it’s hard to miss the way he latches onto that brief moment. His navy suit accents the severe curve of his shoulders and the unmissable tension there.

“Not interested.”

A furnace, a volcano—Santino D’Antonio looks ready to shatter this world under his too-expensive shoe. Something whispers to you that it’s not anger directed at you, however.

Winston speaks before the Camorra heir can. “You need this job. It’s not a question of want or preference, I’m afraid.”

But you don’t want it.

Santino is just another reminder. A stark reminder that you don’t belong anywhere.

John didn’t want you, Camorra didn’t want you, Tarasov only needs you as long as you’re making him money, Winston is just doing his duty as the overseer of New York.

You belong in the pit with Kishi who seems absent for once.

Maybe it’s the brightness of the sun. He fears the light as much as you do now.

“It’s an undercover mission,” Santino endeavours to explain even though his voice is strained, deepening his accent. “Information gathering only. There are several individuals who have been, ah, causing problems for our trade as of late shall we say. It will be low risk, clean exit but no loose ends. What say you?”

He’s lying.

That’s for one.

Your eyes meet his stare and he leans closer like that can somehow keep your attention on him by doing that.

He’s lying.

So he either thinks you’re an idiot or he’s being purposely misleading due to Winston’s presence here. There is something else going on that he doesn’t want the manager of the Continental to know.

That calculating glimmer in his eyes is telling enough.

“No.”

You’re tired.

Downright, bone-weary type of exhausted.

Swaying, you stand to your feet.

“Tarasov is going to hunt you down—”

You don’t let Winston finish, turning to go. “I don’t care.”

A loud scrape of a chair fills the air and loud footsteps stalk after you. Deliberate. Furious. You ignore them, continuing on your way albeit sluggishly.

“And what are you going to do, hm?” Santino hisses from behind you, his fury spilling over. “Will you go cry a bit more about how your precious Johnathan left you? Will you just give up and go lock yourself away again?”

Your feet halt but you don’t turn around.

“D’Antonio.”

Winston’s warning is icy but Santino doesn’t heed it. That fire rages in him too brightly, scorching everything in its path. “When have you become such a coward, I wonder, hm? I knew a fighter, a tornado of a woman, now you can’t even look people in the eyes. Pity. To think that you have given up so easily—”

Fire doesn’t frighten you—it never has.

It’s a second, a breath, a heartbeat—

A blade stills against the curve of that elegant neck, and you stand face to face, seething when your eyes meet. It’s an echo from years ago, of your first meeting, and just like then Santino D’Antonio leans into danger, into the cold promise of death, into you and smirks. “Ah, there she is,” he purrs, enraptured, his voice a silky caress. “Are you going to kill me, cara mia?”

“I’m considering it.”

He raises his hand casually, stopping the guards who are no doubt ready to do their jobs and remove the threat—remove you.

“Yet you know that you cannot,” he dismisses, his voice still silky, smug. “For if you do the wrath of Camorra will rain down upon you till there is nothing left. Besides, it might be in bad taste to kill your host and friend, no?”

Friend?

You lean closer and Santino’s lips part at the proximity.

“I’m not staying here.”

His eyebrow cocks up and despite the residual anger you feel radiating from him, he still manages to sound effortlessly pompous when he speaks next. “You can’t afford to go back to the Continental,” he points out sharply and tilts his head, unruffled despite the bite of the blade against his pulse. “But if you prefer to sleep with the scum of this city then, by all means, be my guest.”

He’s right.

You have nothing. No home, no safe space to call your own, just nothing. John was your home once but he’s gone now, too.

For one hateful moment, you consider slicing Santino’s throat open just to have a quick out. But the truth is that you can’t.

He’s helped you too many times.

He helped John. He helped you. He gave you security when no one else could. He offered his hand despite everything—despite the fact that you still refuse to warm his bed to this day in spite of his clear eagerness for it. He keeps helping without pushing you.

For that alone, you know you owe him.

Ripping the blade away from his neck, you spin on your heels and stagger away, your skin damp with sweat.

Blood is rushing loudly in your ears and your tongue feels dry and bloated in your mouth as you stumble into the apartment. You manage a few steps before slumping against the wall, your breathing laboured. Wiping clumsily over your face, you take a moment to appreciate the suffocating silence your departure has left behind.

You linger just long enough to hear Santino’s clear, bitter command that rings like a death knell across the terrace.

“Postpone everything. We are staying in New York till this is sorted.”

You’re holding on.

But barely.

Just barely.

Maybe not even at all.

Winston leaves twenty minutes later.

He stops by the guest room you have claimed as your own and watches your prone figure on the bed.

You don’t turn to him, don’t say anything, either. You want to be angry that he’s as good as threw you out. That he’s forced you into this situation. That you found your clothes moved into the sleek closet behind you but not your solutions or poisons.

They don’t trust you.

They might believe the fact that you weren’t trying to end your life, but they don’t trust you not to do more harm.

The anger you felt only minutes ago in Santino’s presence has fizzled out and died. Darkness has cocooned you in its embrace once again even though something restless still scratches under your skin as always.

Even now, there is no peace.

“Let me come home.”

You don’t realise your slip up till you hear the older man exhale; a weary, ragged sound. You wonder what he must be thinking. If there’s some code he has to follow in a situation like this.

Home.

What sentiment.

What’s the protocol for this?

“Your death will not be on my hands,” he says at last, cruel and kind all at once. “One day you will thank me for this.”

And then he leaves.

Ares knocks on your door by the time dinner rolls around.

You don’t answer.

She comes in anyway. Her stare as hard and uncompromising as always, and the dour expression on her face only makes you blink and press your cheek back into the pillow.

Dinner?

You don’t move.

She signs again.

Sits on your bed and repeats it.

And again.

You don’t move.

Eventually, she leaves and you’re relieved that she’s gone.

A distant, angry voice sounds from somewhere in the apartment several minutes later but it cuts out quickly.

Somehow the silence that follows is even louder.

You could leave. You should.

But there is nothing for you out there but death.

No weapons, no solutions, and a weak body.

You won’t last a day.

For one foolish, pathetic moment you consider calling John just to see if his number is still the same. If maybe—

You curl under the covers and sink deeper into the dark.

Ares comes to call you for breakfast the next day.

You pretend that you’re asleep.

She brings you a tray of food and leaves it on the table.

You don’t touch it.

You pick at some of the food eventually.

But you don’t leave your room, spending endless hours curled under the covers, thinking.

Let Tarasov come.

It’s finally perfect. The poison you’ve created just for him. Just a touch more lethality and it will be ready.

You can’t wait to see him erode into nothing.

When he is dead—and one day he will be—you will delight in every second of dizzying triumph that will follow the stilling of that dark heart.

One day, he will die with terror in his heart that wears your name.

John. John. John.

Kishi has been absent for so long that you’re surprised to see his grinning face appear in your nightmares.

Hello, viper. I’ve missed you so dearly.

He cups your cheeks, grinning wider, wider—

His face morphs. Raven hair. Dark, thoughtful eyes that you love—

John leans forward and sinks his teeth into your neck.

Blood spills down your chest.

Your scream is silent.

Hands try to hold you down as you trash, your skin slick with sweat, and clothes sticking to your skin.

“Wake up,” a voice urges. “Open your eyes!”

You do. A scream climbs up your throat but you force it down, your eyes frantically seeking the figure above you.

A familiar pair of green eyes stare down at you. Wild with an emotion you have no name for.

His fingers hold you by the forearms but his grip relaxes when he sees you’re lucid.

Gasping for breath, you twist from underneath the covers, shaking his arms off and dash for the bathroom. Your knees crack against the gleaming tiles and the content of your stomach empties itself in a brutal lurch. Next several moments are full of your suffering. Tears sting your eyes from the pain, and you bite your lip, your limbs still twitching as your stomach rolls.

You feel him hovering behind you.

“Cara mia?” there is a question in that breathless address but you ignore him. “Are you well enough to stand, at least?”

He sounds frustrated but his voice is still calm—just barely.

Footsteps draw closer to where you lay half slumped over the toilet, your eyes closed.

You feel so drained that even tears won’t come. The skin of your neck feels dirty and torn. Faint traces of the feverish nightmare still cut into you and you shiver.

Hot fingers settle on your shoulder, light and cautious, and you snarl, jerking away from the touch. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re unwell,” Santino shoots back tightly, his eyes blazing and body rigid. He’s clad in only a clean, white shirt and trousers but you don’t care to ask what the time is. “What is happening? Is it the poison? Did you take something—”

“Shut up and get out!”

“You need—”

“I don’t need you!” you scream; a raw, awful thing that leaves you gasping. You want to claw at your own skin but can’t—shouldn’t. “I don’t need anyone,” you add in a broken, quiet whisper and it’s like that awful hotel room all over again.

His expression darkens, strains. For the first time, Santino D’Antonio looks unsure of what to do. It’s like that finely honed arrogance with which he carries himself has abandoned him. Here, in this cold, dark bathroom he simply glares down at you.

“Very well, bella,” he says, his words biting, low. “Wallow in your misery alone if you must. But we are eating breakfast together.”

The last part isn’t up for negotiation.

A brief spark of anger ignites, nothing more than a tiny ember. Egoistical prick.

No response greets him.

He lingers for a few, expectant moments but you don’t move. The only dialogue between you is your shallow breaths and the weight of his overbearing regard.

Go, leave. Everyone always does.

You don’t feel yourself drift away.

The next morning, it’s the blinding sun that awakens you once more.

You’re back in your bed.

At first, you think that last night was a bizarre dream until you rub your face, and catch a whiff of vinous scent staining your skin.

Santino.

There is a feeling—

It flees as everything else does now—too fast for you to grasp onto it.

You don’t get up for breakfast.

You don’t get up the entire day.

Or the day after that.

It’s been at least a year and a half since Tokyo.

Yet it still feels like you’re drowning.

Maybe you’ll never stop.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

Your eyes crack open and you lick your cracked lips, turning towards the doorway.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him inside this room aside from that night when he woke you up from your nightmares.

He’s been sending in Ares to deliver you food and water, to try and engage.

“What?” you mumble, blinking sluggishly.

Santino stalks into the room and aggression lines his every step. He’s trying to control it, keep calm, and his hands buried inside his pockets say a lot. Behind him, Ares walks in with a tray of food. She moves closer towards you and places it on the bed before sitting down at the foot of it, the tray now between you.

Much to your surprise, the heir of Camorra does the same.

He looks beyond uncomfortable, his mind clearly somewhere else, but Ares starts first by picking up a mango slice from one of the many plates, and placing it inside her mouth. She chews slowly and stares at you expectantly as she does.

She’s clad in dark burgundy today as is Santino and you know that colour holds a special significance at Camorra but you can’t think of one right now.

They’re both not used to this, you realise distantly, making an effort for someone.

This is weakness. This is something that’s ruthlessly crushed and disposed of at Camorra. Such...inability would never be tolerated.

Yet they’re trying.

Santino is scowling at a wall but he’s chewing his fruit obediently. Ares is doing the same.

It’s awkward.

No one speaks.

And yet—

Your fingers stretch towards the strawberries.

Santino’s eyes snap to your hand, focusing on the motion and you still briefly before pinching one between your fingers. Your head barely lifts from your pillow but you bring it to your lips, nibbling on it cautiously.

It’s delicious. Sweet and zesty taste explodes against your tongue the moment you bite down on it. It’s taken days for the wounds inside your mouth to close but now the full extent of your taste receptors seems to have come back.

No one speaks but the tension in the room seems to ease a touch as you continue nibbling away.

You manage three strawberries that morning.

Every single one of them feels like scarlet, gushing victory.

For the first time in months, you don’t taste blood in your mouth.

You only taste the sweetness of life.

It’s hours later, long after they’ve both left, that information crawls up from the back of your mind.

An heir apparent and his right hand wearing burgundy outside of Camorra duties. No deaths, no coronation, no birthday or births to warrant that very deliberate choice of dress code.

This is something else.

Burgundy they wore in a show of favour, companionship, respectful implication that they consider you an equal and are seeking an alliance.

All while you laid in bed with greasy hair, dark circles under your eyes, stale breath and vacant eyes.

Something deep down flutters at that. You try to grasp onto that spark with whatever little strength you still have left but it’s so hard.

Everything is so hard now.

Warmth.

Your nose presses into it, curling against it and you sigh faintly. There is something so comforting about having someone else in the bed with you—

Your eyes snap open and you scramble backwards, your legs tangling in the sheets.

Santino lays on the other side of the bed, one hand resting behind his head. He’s relaxed, his clothes immaculate as always—pale blue, cotton shirt and trousers, no doubt all designer—and Rolex gleaming around his wrist as he taps his fingers on his chest in a careless rhythm. His eyes drag slowly from the spot he was observing on the ceiling to you, and a slight smirk curves his lips.

A spark again and it flares enough to work your tongue.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks at the sharpness of your question and you don’t miss the trace of surprise in those green depths.

“This is my home, cara,” he says pleasantly, his voice a lovely roll of syllables, and you’ve forgotten how effortlessly charming he can be. “I am resting.”

“Get out.”

It’s hardly a demand. It sounds more like a strangled, detached whisper.

His eyes roll at that, effortlessly dismissive and condescending.

“Hm. No.”

You claw deeper to dig out that ember of your old self back. The one who would have sliced his skin for using that tone. Thrown him off the bed without warning and threatened him for good measure, too. If only to see that smug gleam in his eyes after. Listen to him throw a deliberate, heated comment about how attractive you are when angry while his eyes drag over your figure with obvious desire.

The same dance.

Always trying to get under your skin.

Even now.

“Get out.”

His eyes spark. Eager. Coaxing.

He sits up unhurriedly, his chin lowering as he looks you right in the eye.

“Make me.”

A deliberate challenge. Everything since you’ve come here has been deliberate. From his actions to his words. He’s trying to get a reaction. Even more so than he used to before. Before it was about him and his ego. Now you have no idea what he’s trying to achieve with his goading.

“What are you doing?” you demand even though it sounds faint and takes more effort than it’s worth. “Trying to piss me off on purpose?”

He leans closer and your eyes narrow when you come face-to-face. This is the closest he’s been to you in months. Since Rome. Since before whatever little control you had got buried with your heart at John’s wedding.

“Yes, cara, indeed I am,” he admits easily, shameless as always, facing you unflinchingly because it’s who he is. He never shies away and expects the same from you. “Be angry with me. Rage, yell, scream till your lungs give out. Anything is better than this.”

A knot forms in your chest at his angry, disgusted hiss at the end. At the way he waits, agog—waits for that fire to rise up and match his own.

Play with me, come on, those eyes say and you stare at him flatly, your mouth tilting downwards.

“What do you know about it?” you breathe quietly, and there is a muted sort of rage there. It prickles your skin, and your fingers knot in the sheets beneath your palms. “Poor little D’Antonio with his mean daddy who won’t shower him in praise. You have it so hard. Mansions and cars and a mountain of wealth. Freedom to do whatever you want.”

If he wants to play this game, you will indulge him.

His expression smoothens, growing colder at your words, and he leans back a touch, his chin tilting. The moment of almost ends and the cool, collected heir is all that’s left.

“So quick to pass judgment, cara mia,” he points out softly, icily. Still, his eyes drag over your weary features and there is determination there. “Join me for breakfast.”

“Why?”

His lips curve and he leans forward without warning again, his breath tickling against your ear. “Because I asked nicely and I rarely do that, no?”

You shove him back with your hand and he hums, seemingly entertained.

“Asshole.”

He stands to his feet, not a stitch out of place, and stretches to his full height, glancing at you before offering you his hand.

You ignore it, pulling the covers back yourself as you stumble to your feet, trying to find your balance.

“Better,” you hear him acknowledge, and flip him off without looking back as you stride towards the bathroom on shaky legs.

His chuckle sounds immediately, pleased, and you make sure to slam the door shut extra loud behind you.

You didn’t have to get up. You didn’t even think you had it in you to do so.

You cup your hands around that ember inside your chest protectively and soak in its warmth.

Just for a little while.

“You’ve gotten worse.”

Stabbing a fork into the fluffy pancake on your plate, you don’t answer.

The sun is bearing down on you both, warming your neck as you sip on your juice without engaging him. It tastes good. Freshly squeezed and organic no doubt—only the best for the Italian prince.

Santino exhales forcefully. He’s not used to being ignored and he doesn’t like it.

Good.

“You weren’t like this when you were staying with us,” he tries again and you ignore the resentment you can hear coating his words. “He did this to you.”

Your head lifts, your mouth a hard line, and find Santino half leaning across the small table towards you. He always does that you realise suddenly. Like he’s being dragged closer by an invisible rope.

He’s right though. Even if you hate the fact that he is.

Camorra for all its awful brutality and endless ambition had been a safe haven. It had been routine and focus and purpose. Most days you were so busy you had no time to think about anything else. You were hunted and wanted to change that.

So you shed your skin—the skin that was soft because you hadn’t realised just how much John had shielded you from before—and became a hunter yourself.

The Hunt had been a poetic slaughter—a baptism of blood.

Giovanni D'Antonio allowed you space under his roof because you had been relentless. So relentless to return the favour that with time he might have even offered you a place in his ranks and tried to buy you out from the Russian.

Camorra had been a twisted hope of belonging somewhere.

It had been friendship and hope.

Had.

“Why burgundy?” you ask him instead because it’s been plaguing you. “I have no position of power for you to seek an alliance with me.”

He blinks, exhaling, and then his mouth quirks. His features soften a touch and you ignore the fact that he appears beyond pleased with you.

“You remembered.”

Only because his family and the endless list of traditions and laws infused into the very foundation upon which that empire of blood and bones stands is fascinating. You’ve always been eager for knowledge because that’s what keeps you alive and both heirs had obliged you happily.

Many things they kept from you because you were still seen as an outsider but it hadn’t mattered.

Santino never lacked enthusiasm when it came to you wanting to know more about Camorra.

Because he’s proud of his family. Because he’s proud of his position in it. Because if he’s capable of love you think that Camorra might be the only thing he truly loves.

But articulating all that seems exhausting so you offer him a half-hearted shrug in response.

Still, this seems to have brightened his previously foul mood and he rests his chin on his folded fingers, his elbows digging into the table as he peers at you. His ring glints in the sunlight, momentarily distracting you.

“My intention is exactly what you think it was,” he reveals calmly. “I need you to come with me to Chicago, cara mia. This job is rather important to me personally.”

“Important enough to lie Winston about it.”

His smile is slow coming this time around and all teeth. A sinful, wicked soul residing inside a shell of a man with golden skin, dark curls and piercing eyes. Handsome, dangerous package. A temptation very few have resisted, you know as much.

“Perhaps,” he purrs gently and you force yourself to lower your eyes back to your food. “But I need someone like you. An individual who can deliver and be discreet about it. Besides what Winston doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, no?”

I need you.

You wonder if he’s realised that he’s said it twice in a span of less than five minutes. There is no emphasis on words or deliberate pauses. No indication at all that he’s said them on purpose. In fact, he appears entirely focused on your conversation, his voice smooth and steady.

“What is it?”

He seems even more pleased with your show of interest.

“It wasn’t entirely a lie, bella,” he says breezily, leaning back in his seat as his hands lower back onto the table. “It is undercover. Every five years operational managers from our world meet for a conference of sorts. Everything from food to clothing to weaponry is discussed. Hands are shaken, deals are struck, ah you know how it goes, cara, no? This year this very special event is being held in Chicago. We will attend it.”

You stare at him as you chew and swallow before forcing another bite of pancake into your mouth. You feel full already but you’ve only eaten half of one. You can—need—to eat more. Easier to do so with this distraction, with those eyes tracking every bite you take.

“You need me to kill someone.”

Not a question and those round, pleasant features draw into something remote, downright chilling. In that look, you see something else, something bloodthirsty. It makes you remember the words you associated with his name before your first meeting.

Charming. Power-hungry. Not to be trusted.

Fitting even now.

No, looking at him right now, it’s more fitting than ever.

“Yes,” he admits lightly with a pleasant little hum but his eyes rage. “And I want him to suffer.”

Interesting.

“I could go in alone—”

“No. You will never make it. This is a High Table related event and the security there will be unlike anything you have ever encountered,” he rebukes, and his words wash over you with the intent that tells you he’s been waiting for this moment for a while. “My name is your ticket inside. But most importantly Continental style rules apply. No bloodshed. It’s neutral ground for trading. No one can know it was you or the consequences will be...severe.”

There is more he’s not telling you.

“What do I get in return?”

Santino D'Antonio raises the espresso cup to his mouth and watches you over the rim like he’s already won. “1.5 million USD, cara mia. Agree and it’s yours. You have till twilight to decide.”

Charon stands beside Winston as the manager goes through the documents in front of him.

The concierge notices you first, his glasses reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace as you approach.

Winston’s attention follows several seconds later and the man straightens when he sees you, slipping his glasses off as you halt before him.

You haven’t seen him in days. Almost two weeks, in fact.

He takes you in with a critical eye before gesturing to the unoccupied seat opposite to him.

Slipping smoothly into the space you both observe each other for several moments.

“So,” Winston begins, his tone loaded. “Is signor D’Antonio dead or did you finally grow weary of his company?”

That almost makes you smile.

“Neither.”

A twitch of his expression but it’s so slight that you can’t quite read it.

“Yet here you are,” he notes calmly and something lingers in his tone, in his gaze, too. “Out and about. Looking better as well.”

Do you?

You don’t feel like it but you haven’t been feeling much of anything lately.

“I need access to my room,” you decide to cut to the chase and tap your fingers against the table as your eyes slide around the room. Few pairs of eyes skitter away under your attention. Good. This is the legacy of your bloodshed. “I need to prepare.”

Winston exhales and his regard changes. “You agreed then?”

You don’t look at them but you can tell both men are tracking your every breath. “In theory.”

You don’t elaborate further because Winston knows better than anyone that business and confidentiality are key.

“Wonderful. Though I would take this moment to remind you what kind of man you are dealing with.”

Your eyes slide back to him and you do smile this time even if it feels hollow. “You mean the very same one you threw me at?”

Winston’s expression doesn’t so much as shift. “Do you expect me to apologise? Because I have no intention of doing so,” he voices curtly and you don’t feel surprised by his words. “I took a gamble that paid off. But Santino D’Antonio is vain, bloodthirsty and arrogant. You would be wise not to trust him.”

Typical Winston. Always three steps ahead of everyone else.

A small scoff escapes you at his words and you lean back into the comfortable, plush seat. “Believe me,” you state coolly and tap your foot against the floor, once and then again. It takes a lot of energy—just like this entire trip has with your weak muscles and heavy head—but you force yourself to do it anyway. “He’s at the very bottom of the list of people I would ever trust. I know what he is.”

Just as monstrous as the rest of you. Maybe even more so.

But you’re not here seriously considering his offer because he asked nicely or offered you a mountain of money that will feed Tarasov’s greed.

You’re here due to the unspoken thing you can’t help but wonder if he’s even aware of.

The initial two-week deadline is up in less than two hours and yet he’s made no other preparations. Has taken no extra precautionary measures in case his plan backfires and you don’t agree. Despite how he keeps stressing that this job is so important to him, he’s waiting on you.

In Camorra, there is no such thing as “irreplaceable”. If someone is unavailable or incapable other options are sought out with startling ease.

He believes that you will do it.

It’s not about his need for you.

It’s that belief.

It…

It makes you want to fight, too, and you don’t know why but you want to at least try.

Winston takes a sip of his drink, considering you and bobs his head once. “Good. It’s still better than being alone.”

He reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a keycard, sliding it across the smooth mahogany table. Something in your chest ceases at the sight of it, at the fact that he’s had it on him this whole time.

“You figured that I will agree.”

It’s not a question but he still replies with a calm, “Not at all. I hoped that you won’t disappoint, of course,” he notes and there is a brief glimmer of a smile before it’s gone. “And you haven’t.”

You’re both quiet for several moments after that. Charon says nothing as always.

Your unsteady fingers wrap around the card eventually, and you stand with a nod in their direction, straightening.

“Charon. Winston.”

The older man salutes you with his martini. “Bonus fortuna.”

You turn to go and wonder what it means that men like Winston and Santino D’Antonio have more faith in you than you do.

LaGuardia airport appears in your sights half an hour later.

Santino’s men greet you at the entrance of the airport.

Private check-in, private everything. Security is nonexistent when you’re flying with a man of such power and influence.

Ares greets you outside the private jet and you watch a slight grin transform her steely expression into something a bit more cordial.

He is waiting for you inside. Good to be working with you again, pretty viper.

She goes slower than usual so you catch everything, and you appreciate it because you’re still learning ASL. Not to mention the fact that it feels like your brain is just barely functioning.

“Likewise.”

Climbing up the stairs, you nod at the flight attendant who beams back you when you pass her to get inside.

Even the vast, luxurious space can’t seem to contain Santino D’Antonio and his larger than life presence. Every line crisp and tidy, he hardly looks any different than usual. But tinted shades hide his eyes as he stares out of the window. Those long, graceful fingers tap restlessly against the table and you take him in for several stolen seconds.

His head snaps in your direction when you enter the plane and he stills at the sight of you.

You can’t see his eyes as you approach but feel the intensity of his regard all the same. “1.5 mil was it?”

You both know it’s not about the money. It never has been with you. But it’s easier to pretend that it is. If only because that’s safe and familiar.

Santino slips off his sunglasses with a slight chuckle, looking up at you from beneath his lashes as you plop down tiredly in the seat opposite to the heir. It’s like sitting down on a cloud.

He folds the shades and hooks them on his shirt pocket with practised ease. He seems to have a penchant for making every little gesture appear effortlessly elegant and pretentious at the same time.

That little quirk of his lips remains though.

“Indeed it was, cara mia,” he says and extends his hand towards you. “A deal is a deal.”

You grasp his warm hand in yours with the intention of shaking it but as always Santino acts on his own accord. He lifts your palm to his lips and kisses your knuckles instead, his heated breath tickling your skin as he peers at you. That ghost of a smirk is softer this time, and you pull your hand back with a roll of your eyes.

He considers you for a moment before glancing over your shoulder and nodding only once. Behind you, the crew prepares for take-off.

“How long were you going to wait for me?”

Santino’s head slants in thought but his expression is serious. The switch surprises you somewhat but you wait, ignoring the fatigue in your bones.

Ares passes you both with a wave and two guards behind her, heading towards the back of the plane without so much as a backwards glance and you blink.

Deliberate again. Clearly, Santino has something he wants to discuss in private.

He appears deep in thought, going between looking out of the window and you as the jet leaves the ground below. It’s a smooth and trouble-free take off because Santino always hires professionals of the highest degree. Certain things are routine with this man and there is a certain degree of comfort to be found in that.

“You lied to me.”

It’s been long enough that his voice startles you and your muscles tense, your mind immediately flying to all the weapons you have on you.

He seems to notice the way your body locks up just for a moment before relaxing again and his gaze darkens.

“What?”

“When I check in after you left Rome,” he begins and you suddenly understand what this is about. “You told me that you were back at the Continental safe and well. Working.”

You did.

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort tightly, guarded. “I was working.”

“Oh? Is that so? Work.”

Ignoring the scorn in his voice, you give him a fair warning, “If we are to do this job together,” you state icily, a warning ringing through your words. “Then you don’t ask me anything. Better yet, don’t talk about the past at all.”

That dangerous flame licks across his features, tightening his expression. For a prolonged, charged moment you simply survey one another. He saw it after all. How terrible it can be.

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the flight to Chicago.

The presidential suite is as grand as all other places Santino usually stays at.

The spacious, high-ceilinged room is located on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking over the beautiful ravine that is Lake Michigan.

The sleek, white walls somehow manage to add dimension to an already large square footage by still remaining welcoming. Decorated tastefully with glossy cabinets, lavish loveseat and colourful armchairs to not detract from the massive canopy bed sitting in the furthest corner of the room. The velvety covers and plush cream pillows have never seemed more inviting and your eyes linger on it the longest.

There’s just enough bold colour sprinkled through the room to remove the clinical factor such bright space might bring to mind, and you peek an adjoined en-suite bathroom hiding behind one of the doors you walk by.

It’s curious how despite Santino’s life back in Italy being rooted in tradition whenever he stays anywhere else, he always chooses modern, contemporary designs.

This is the height of luxury—a welcoming card, cuvee white brut champagne, fresh fruit and chocolates already laid out in a neat manner—and behind the connecting door to your right lies this room’s twin image.

“We can discuss further details tomorrow, bella,” Santino says but doesn’t look at you as he does so. “You should rest.”

You wonder if he can tell that you’re standing upright by sheer will alone. There is a tremble in your knees as you move and your steps are heavier than usual.

You’ve grown weak.

The muscle that has been forged through years of brutal training has softened and diminished.

When did you allow yourself to become this?

When did you let Kishi win?

Never give someone else the power to destroy you.

But you have done exactly that. No matter how much you’ve been trying to dress it up, this fact still stands.

You have been punishing yourself.

It should make you feel something, you imagine. Furious, upset, determined, sad.

Anything at all.

Instead, you just feel tired.

Tired and cold, and like something has been raked right out of you, leaving a hole behind that might never be filled. A hole that you can pour happiness and hope and sadness into and it still won’t matter. Because nothing can fill what’s bottomless. Nothing can fix something like that.

You want to try but—

But you’re not sure if you’re strong enough.

Nodding your head, you head towards the bed without a word.

Santino slams the door to his half of the suite with enough force to rattle the hinges.

Water slides down your throat, scratching and tearing at your vocal cords as you choke on your screams.

You’re jerked back by the hair and Kishi smiles, caressing your cheek with stiff, cold fingers.

Your hands are dirty, viper, he hums lovingly and grabs you by the back of your neck, you are dirty. Time to get you clean.

You jolt into wakefulness as hands drag you forward abruptly and your forehead connects with a solid chest instead.

“Calm, shh, you are awake,” a voice urges with gentle but instant fingers digging into your shoulder blades. The comfort of that touch is so familiar that deep down it makes you gush with agony, some distant loss you can’t name. “You’re safe.”

Safe.

“John,” you sob, blindly clinging to that warmth, to silent strength there. “John.”

The figure freezes, tenses. A few shallow breaths follow and then a hand settles on the top of your head. Those muscles relax gradually and careful fingers stroke your hair. Soothing. Slow.

“Don’t—don’t leave,” you beg weakly and cling tighter, tighter because you love him so much and it hurts— “Please don’t leave m-me.”

That grip tightens and holds you closer, cocooning you in warmth. For once, the ever-present chill in your soul seems to ebb, fade just a little.

“I won’t, amore,” he reassures softly. “I won’t.”

You believe him.

You dreamt of John last night.

Of comfort and him staying. Fingers smoothing over your hair in that achingly familiar manner he used to touch you with when it was just you two alone. When you managed to mangle that iron-like willpower of his by leaning into him, seeking him out.

Remembering that warmth makes you both devastated and happy. It’s like a soothing balm against wounds that refuse to heal. But it’s also a knife cutting deeper and deeper.

You swore to yourself that you would let go but—

That, too, is hard.

A folder slides across the table surface and towards you, hitting your hands and you jump in your seat, rigid.

Ares shoots you an apologetic look as she goes to stand in the corner of the private breakfast room, clasping her hands in front of her, and you squint at the folder, forcing yourself back into reality.

“What’s this?”

“That, cara mia, is information about your target,” Santino explains over the rim of his espresso but his tone remains dispassionate. There’s something odd about him today but you don’t care enough to ask him. “Read it carefully.”

Opening the manila folder, you move several pieces of paper aside, blinking at the pictures of a stern-faced man. They’re black and white but they reveal a male who looks no more than five years older than Santino, his features handsome in a hard, rugged sort of way. His short hair is either brown or black and though all photos are too far away to be able to tell for sure, his eyes appear dark, too. Brown or hazel if you had to make a guess.

He’s handsome, but there is something about his features that makes you think of Tarasov. Makes you think of enough charm to get by but preference for brutality instead.

His face tells you that trusting this man would be unwise.

“Who is he and why do you want him dead?” you question after a moment of analysing the pictures.

Rafael Conte

A part of you can’t help but wonder what this man has done to evoke the wrath of the Camorra heir. Though, as always, it likely has something to do with greed and egos.

Santino doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he spreads jam across his toast but there is something…violent about the way he drags the blade across the perfectly toasted surface. Something about the way his hair is unstyled today and a few messy, loose strands fall into his eyes. Something about the way his movements are jerkier than usual, less refined.

He’s back in a full three-piece this morning but a voice at the back of your mind whispers armour. Because this is different from those two weeks you spent at the penthouse. He rarely wore a suit at all during that time. There was something more open and casual about him then.

“Oh, you aren’t killing this man,” he finally speaks and you frown minutely at the way he lowers the butterknife back onto his plate a little too loudly, then sighs, and looks up at you with forced calmness. “We will be using him to get to your actual target. We need to be very careful about what we do here, cara mia. This man can lead us to the man he serves, and it’s him that I need you to dispose of.”

Still frowning, you look back towards the pictures. Santino’s attention lingers on your face but you ignore it.

“Why wait this long?”

“What do you mean?”

Your head slants and you regard him with a knowing, calculated look. Santino doesn’t answer you, however, he simply stares back, and the look in his eyes challenging. You know he wants you to engage and so you do. After yesterday, after that fleeting memory of warmth, you feel like you have the strength to do so.

“Why wait for some obscure event with a ridiculous level of security when you could get rid of this man on a Tuesday afternoon while sipping lemonade in your parlour?”

Because that’s easy and clean. Because he won’t have to lift a finger and get needed results unless—

“Tell me, bella,” Santino begins, interrupting your racing thoughts and his index finger traces the rim of his cup lazily. “Have you heard of an organisation called the Black Dragon?”

Your tongue works quicker than your mind. “John—”

The words die in your throat; a feeble, pathetic crumbling of syllables.

The temperature inside the bright, sunny room seems to fall by several degrees.

Santino’s fingers are still, his attention focused on his cup. His toast remains untouched.

Forcing down the lump in your throat down, you force out a strained, “He’s told me about them before. Private organisation. Janitors of the High Table, right?”

“Indeed,” he intones coolly in reply and taps his fingers again, more agitated this time. “We are here to kill its current leader. A man by the name of Andre Boutin. The issue, however, is that if you search for a definition to word ‘paranoid’ in the dictionary that man’s name will be under it.”

He lifts the cup back to his lips again but those bright viridescent depths zero in on you. A shadow lingers across his features, and once again you can’t help but feel like he’s not being completely honest with you—there is more to this than he’s letting on.

“He never leaves his secret little lair unless the High Table forces his hand,” Santino continues and cuts a neat piece of his toast before biting into it. It doesn’t surprise you that like a true, refined heir he chews and swallows before speaking again. “Hm, but he will have to attend this event. Signor Rafael is his right-hand man. Aside from the standard proceedings, there will be…exclusive invitations into certain circles. We are to get Rafael’s attention and penetrate his. That’s the only way to get to Boutin, bella, and it’s crucial we do so. Tomorrow will be our only chance.”

“No traces?”

His eyes narrow and he nods his head once, dead serious. “None, not even a whisper of one,” he says solemnly, his heir ring tapping against the ceramic of the cup once, twice. “You are to be beautiful but harmless. I know Rafael personally. I will get you close enough.”

But he never places himself in the firing sight. Never dirties his own hands. Just how desperate is he to see this man dead to do so now? At an event that will have so many eyes from the highest circles of those under the High Table on you no less.

“You mean you need me to act as your whore,” you deadpan and go on before he can interject. “You need me to fool them, pull the wool over their eyes. But what if someone recognises me?”

Santino looks like he’s biting back a sigh and inclines backwards into his seat, staring at you. Those loose curls fall into his eyes and for a moment they distract you. “I would prefer if you did not use such…phrasing, but I suppose in a sense, yes,” he tells you and you stab a piece of melon with extra vigour before placing it between your lips. For the briefest of seconds, the man before you focuses on that tiny little movement before his attention shifts. “I also recognise the, ah, dangers. It does seem likely someone might but I’m not trying to hide you, carissima. You have spent a year with my family. You by my side is no longer a novelty. It might even be expected in certain circles.”

He pauses at that, his lips parting like that realisation is just hitting him, too.

You by his side is nothing new. You by his side. He says it with such ease, such boldness—like it’s as obvious as the sun rising every morning.

A silence that follows those words is different somehow. Almost like you have both become intimately aware of each other’s presence in your lives and all the time you have spent together.

“You don’t want this attached to your name,” you say frankly, at last, forcing casualness into your words. “Only a handful of guards with you. All this secrecy. This goes beyond killing a lackey of the High Table. What did this man do, Santino?”

Because he would never take such a personal risk unless he had no other choice. But that’s also why he needs you. A clean, untraceable kill. Even if people were to suspect him there would be nothing to stick on him personally. Clever, unprincipled bastard.

“That,” the Italian mutters, his voice wooden. “Is of no importance. You are here to kill Andre Boutin and that’s all that matters. Do you think you can you do that for me, bella, hm?”

This is personal. That much you do know.

But something about this challenge fills you with determination to hold onto that warmth from last night.

Maybe wherever John is, his spirit is still looking out for you.

So for now at least, you decide to let the topic go. He does have a point after all. You’re not getting paid to ask questions.

“Sure I can,” you demure slyly and smother your grin against the glass of juice in your hand. Santino blinks, seemingly taken off guard by the unexpected teasing, at your spark of energy. “Anything specific wardrobe wise you want me to wear? Aside from the obvious.”

Something bold yet tantalising enough to make most people in that little get together hate you and want to fuck you in the same breath. Such is Santino D’Antonio’s way. He has to court attention at all times. You cannot be seen as less. When it comes to appearance Santino never spares expense. What a spoiled prick.

His gaze sharpens at your words, and that heat returns as he scrutinises you.

He hums quietly, his eyes dragging over your figure before saying, “Green. Wear something green,” he instructs lightly and when he meets your stare next, you do feel something inside you settle and still. “But I need them to look at you and feel like they can’t breathe.”

Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.

He hasn’t.

You had wanted to say that to Santino last night but couldn’t.

John hasn’t—

But hasn’t he?

It’s a destructive cocktail of anger and bitterness and doubt churning deep inside your chest. A part of you misses John with an intensity that shakes your bones; fracturing them and unmaking them with swift, expert proficiency. Another part of you hates him. He let you believe that he loved you but then chose another woman over you the moment a possibility of a normal life came up. Better drop the dead-weight. Better to erase the messed up, traumatised weakling from his life. Be done with it.

No, John hasn’t robbed you of anything.

He gave you a different sort of fire.

A flame of rage and longing all fusing together to create something far more devastating.

But last night…

You’ve almost forgotten what that’s like—being carefree, smiling, doing something so simple yet freeing.

Santino D’Antonio had given you a moment of yourself back without realising it. You’re not quite sure what to do with that knowledge. With the memory of your messy dance and that whisper of wonder in his eyes as he took in your smiling expression.

A knock resonates again your door and your head slants in the direction of the sound. “Come in.”

Ares pokes her head in first before stepping into the room already dressed in a tailored suit. It’s a dark, patterned number mixing black and deep grey tastefully. The black shirt she wears underneath is neatly pressed, and the pin she bears under her throat in an illusion of a tie is of Camorra making. She looks amazing and carries herself like she knows it, too. Dark makeup around her eyes accents the piercing nature of her blue eyes and you click your tongue.

“Trying to outshine me?” you joke but she doesn’t reply, taking in your appearance as well. Smiling, you run a hand down the body of the dress and towards the shimmering skirt. “What do you think?”

Her eyebrows jump up deliberately, staying that way as she signs with her eyes still on you. You fulfilled the brief.

You’ve certainly tried.

Your hair and makeup have all been done by expert hands because you didn’t trust your own. Not right now. Not with muscle weakness and the tremors.

You’re glad that this mission is not an active job that will require fighting your way out of a situation. Right now, you can admit—even only to yourself—that you would be more of a liability than an advantage in a physical fight. You can’t be seen shedding blood at this event and perhaps this is the best kind of job to ease yourself back into things.

That dedication to see an assignment through was bred into you by John, and now that you’re here no matter how empty things might feel, a part of you wants to see it finished no matter what.

It’s refreshing.

Wanting something.

“Where is Santino?” you ask her, turning to go, double-checking all your weapons—what few you could sneak in—are all on you. “I haven’t heard him in his room.”

Ares waits for you by the door as you approach, shrugging. He went ahead. He will meet us there.

“Is Piero with him?”

Ares nods and you both leave the room together, heading down the hallway.

Another security measure. Every invited person is allowed to take but one guard with them. Two, if they come with a plus one which in Santino’s case is you. A measure introduced to appease the inherently paranoid nature of the people attending but also avoid any potential…disagreements. When you have one guard you are far less likely to start making a nuisance of yourself.

A car is waiting for you outside when you and Ares exit the foyer, and you know the venue is only fifteen minutes drive from the hotel. You’ve made sure to analyse the site as much as possible.

A hotel and casino in one, Paradise has served as a hotspot and neutral meeting ground for anyone seeking an audience with Chicago’s Outfit and their Boss. The word is that you either make a deal with them or you don’t leave Paradise alive.

You suppose it’s just your luck that Chicago Outfit and Camorra have a long-running alliance from as early as the bloody 20ties era. Back when Italians have first set their sights on powerhouse cities like New York and Chicago amongst others, waging deadly wars amongst each other for territory.

An enemy of a friend is always good to have, Santino had told you with a secretive little smile and a dangerous air of viciousness thick in the air.

You can’t help but wonder if this has—to some degree—been planned for even longer than you first suspected.

If this gathering only happens once every five years and always in a different city and continent, just how long has Santino waited to put this plan into action?

Chicago. A city ruled by an Italian-American crime syndicate and ties to Camorra.

The Black Dragon. Janitors of the High Table. Trained killers who answer only to their leader and the Table.

You. A mission to kill the current leader Andre Boutin. A man who always hides as if fearing something.

What did this man do?

How do the puzzle pieces fit together?

The car rolls to a stop and you blink out of your stupor, glancing ahead and see Ares turn towards you from the front seat.

Ready?

You bob your head once and inhale deeply, letting the oxygen sit in your lungs for several seconds while she exits the expensive vehicle and opens the door for you. You take her offered hand with a silent squeeze of thanks.

From this moment on, you are no longer you.

Your heels hit the damp pavement and the Vipress steps out.

Ares shadows your side as you trek up the extravagant staircase to the Paradise hotel, ignoring the flurry of snowflakes that settle in your hair. The attendants greet you both, checking your name on the guest list, then weapons, and you’re both ushered inside with polite, stiff nods. Your coat gets taken at the door and you dip your head in a cool, disinterested manner—just enough to appear polite.

Ares is a silent phantom by your side.

The gathering has started already. S will be waiting for you by the staircase to the ballroom. You both need to be seen.

Should we not go straight for the target?

S believes appearing innocuous first is your priority.

Your eyes sweep over several individuals around the foyer who shift at being caught staring, clearly uncomfortable at your signing, and you suppress a remorseless smile. Good.

Santino wasn’t exaggerating though, most people around are unfamiliar to you. These people are the wheels that keep the underworld business rolling but they are not Tarasov or Giovanni. These people are at the top of their own food chain but under the Table, they are specks only.

The grand staircase leads up a level where the hotel rooms are located and downstairs where the ballroom and casino can be found.

Ares moves a step behind you as you descent slowly, taking your time with the gown and the shoes. A dull twinge of weakness still locks your knees and you force yourself to focus on your every move.

Just like the woman behind you warned, Santino waits a little away from the main staircase, chatting with the burly, brown-haired Piero in hushed voices.

He’s striking tonight.

Admittedly, Santino always looks good—he takes special pride in his appearance, you know that much—but today he made an effort and it shows.

The suit he wears is as dark as the richest night, tailored to fit him to perfection, and the light reflects a peculiar shine of the material whenever he moves. His hair is neatly combed and those unruly curls pulled back but you can already see a few rebellious strands trying to free themselves. The white shirt he sports under the suit is blinding and a satin bowtie rests around his throat, pulling the dignified image together.

His black dress shoes might as well be mirrors.

Santino looks like an arcane, sinful dream and you know many recognise the Camorra heir as he stands there with an air of effortless arrogance.

His eyes flicker away for a second, scanning the room and snag on you just as you reach the final step, your dress skirt dragging down the polished marble and falling against your legs as you walk with deliberate slowness towards the heir.

Santino doesn’t have to fake his reaction and that’s good—too many eyes on you.

He stills and you note the slight downwards dip of his shoulders as if whatever oxygen he did have in his lungs has fled.

His lips parted, he watches your approach unblinking and with pulse-pounding sort of intensity. He doesn’t bother masking the raw desire in his regard, either, and there is a nudge of surprise when you feel a flicker of warmth in your chest in response.

You’ve missed this. Being seen by someone. Being desired openly and without shame.

Not pausing, you walk right up to him and wrap your arms around him, resting your nose against the smooth skin of his neck.

Santino goes stiff with surprise and you tilt your head so your lips brush against his ear, “There are eyes on us. Wrap your arms around me right now,” you direct quietly and pull him closer with a smile. “Touch me as if we’re lovers.”

He does.

His right arm snakes around your waist before trailing up your back, his burning fingertips brushing against your bare shoulder blades. His breaths are shallow but he leans in and presses a brief kiss against your shoulder as his hand drags back down the arch of your spine. Slow, wanton. You have to suppress a genuine shiver despite your best efforts to play your own little act.

Pulling back, you remain right against him, meeting his stare and Santino’s eyes wander over your features, guarded.

The reservation is surprising. Is he gauging what he can get away with without you snapping at him?

He gave you a brief, a job to do. You intend to fulfil it. The last thing you need is to be caught as well. That means playing the part to perfection.

“Looking quite handsome, darling,” you tell him with the slightest curl of your mouth. Your fingers skim over the velvety material of his bow tie and you glance at him from under your lashes. “Am I to your liking tonight?”

He licks his bottom lip and his sizeable pause generates amusement deep down that you don’t let anyone see. For once the man with a silver tongue has nothing to say.

“Yes, amore,” he says thickly and his stare doesn’t stray from you. “You are breathtaking.”

Clever bastard.

He might as well be undressing you with his eyes but that’s the point.

The black gown you wear glimmers like a thousand little jewels—and indeed every inch of the light material is stitched with little gems that depending on light reflect silver or dark green. The dual-chrome aspect makes every step you take a visual feast and thin spaghetti straps made out of strings of tiny gems glitter in the light as well. The cut at the back of the dress dips all the way to your lower back and Santino’s fingers press into your skin. Tracing, lingering.

Leaning back slightly, you reach for your clutch, pulling out a silky piece of cloth that matches the reflective green of your dress.

Santino’s hand still rests securely against your lower back, and you peek at him as you place the handkerchief in the otherwise empty suit pocket. With delicate fingers you smooth the pocket square into neat lines, dragging your palm deliberately down his chest after. You stare at each other for several moments, ignoring everyone else around.

Well, not you. You’ve already counted the exits and the guards present with every guest in the nearby vicinity. Taken stock of most of their weapons, too.

Who is the biggest threat? John’s low voice questions in your ear and you take note of that as well. Keep them in your sight.

Santino, on the other hand, looks like he can barely recall where he is.

“Shall we?”

Before he can answer another voice speaks first.

“Santino D’Antonio. It has been a while,” a deep voice calls with an accent you can’t quite place. It almost makes you think French but there is a sprinkling of something else there. “Giovanni couldn’t be bothered to attend himself?”

There is an accusation in that question and you control your expression. Letting surprise show now won’t be in your best interest. You are a shell, a plaything, a snake in the garden.

Still, not many would have the guts to speak like that about Giovanni D’Antonio—and to his son no less.

You only turn towards the owner of the voice after Santino does, and his grip on you tightens briefly before relaxing. You’re still practically hip to hip and behind you, Ares and Piero slip closer; a subtle manoeuvring.

Tucking yourself into Santino’s right side, you give him room to shake hands with the man who comes to a stop before you. He’s taller and broader than you both and that handsome but stern face makes your instincts prickle in real life even more so than the pictures did.

“Rafael,” the Italian greets smoothly, and yet you can hear the subtle contempt in his tone as he drops the man’s hand. “Always a pleasure to see you. Father could not attend. Business with the Triad, I’m afraid.”

You have no idea if that’s true or not but regardless Santino says it with enough conviction that even a priest would believe him.

Your mark doesn’t look convinced though.

Rafael Conte in his immaculate grey two-piece suit eyes Santino with cool disdain that hides behind a ghost of a smile. Clearly, there is no love lost between the two. So much for knowing the man personally.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” he states flatly, and his dark eyes slide towards you. He looks you up and down like a butcher assessing livestock and you work to keep your expression open and friendly, shy even. “Your plus one, I assume.”

“Wonderful, is she not?” Santino poses icily and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

Rafael’s eyes linger on the skin of your thigh that peaks from between the slit in your dress. Then they drag towards your hips and deep plunge of your neckline before he finally meets your stare. The entire assessment lasts no longer than a scant few seconds but whatever he observes he seems to find lacking.

“Not your usual type,” he intones in deliberate, clipped Italian. “Couldn’t find an attractive model to fuck instead?”

The air crackles with tension as two men stare at each other, silent.

This isn’t going like expected, so reading the situation and its potential deterioration, you decide to gamble, “Actually,” you begin sweetly, in equally deliberate Italian, and Rafael’s attention snaps to you. “Most nights I fuck him so thoroughly that he doesn’t want to leave the bed the next morning. Isn’t that right, Santi?”

You’ve never called him that before and you sense the minute twitch of his muscles in reply.

His fingers sink into your hip firmly but his words are calm, genial. “I have nothing to complain about,” he admits mildly, turning to look at you and you meet his reticent gaze with a slight, coy smile. “You always impress, principessa.”

Turning back towards your mark, you find those inky eyes focused on you and blink innocently.

“This one has a mouth on her,” he says, his words terse and he looks you up and down again. “Might get her into trouble one day.”

Santino smiles but it’s more of a predator baring his teeth in warning as he presses you closer to him. “Ah, it’s a rather delightful mouth I reassure you, and I could never resist a bit of danger, Rafael. You know how it is.”

The muscular man scoffs. “Your lack of self-control is well known, D’Antonio,” he notes briskly, and the sarcastic bite of his deep voice is offset only by the easy smile he flashes you both. It softens his forbidding expression but doesn’t hide the contempt. “I certainly hope you’re here to do some actual business instead of wasting everyone’s time. But do enjoy your evening,” he adds with a purse of his lips.

He brushes past your party without another word, every step purposeful and you can practically hear the grind of Santino’s teeth beside you. Placing your hand on top of his, you pull his attention towards you.

“A dance, darling?”

He doesn’t reply, simply wrapping his arm tighter around your waist and leading you both towards the ballroom where the main event is being held. Behind you, Ares and Piero fall in step behind you.

The room itself is massive and decorated in tasteful greys and silvers—Chicago Outfit’s colours, you recall. A canopy hangs across the ceiling, a million tiny fairy lights creating an illusion of the night sky. Your gaze swings towards the massive dance floor where a glistering chandelier hangs suspended above the already dancing guests. In fact, the vast space is already full of people milling around and chatting business. Champagne, whiskey, bourbon and wine are only a couple of the drinks you spot being poured around the room. Later, when the masks fall away, you know everything from cocaine to ecstasy will be served just as openly.

Across the room, you spot the entrance to the private casino section but know that it won’t be in use till later. After these civilised people do their song and dance of being normal.

Santino cuts straight towards the dancing guests, only giving Ares and a vague tilt of his head to indicate that the plan is now in motion.

The said plan was always to catch Rafael’s attention here. Running into him this early had never been part of your previously discussed play.

A strain weighs across Santino’s face when he pulls you on the dance floor just as the live band finishes playing a song and starts another.

His arm settles around your waist and you step closer towards him, your fingers lacing together.

He settles you into a rhythm smoothly and you spin across the shiny floor with other patrons.

“What was that?”

His quiet, indignant question doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his attention remaining on the attendees and you fight back a sigh.

“I was getting his attention,” you murmur in reply, giving his palm a measured squeeze. “Now we’re on his radar. He will watch us twice as often. We will dance and dine and have a great time,” you explain evenly and that familiar focused calm thrums through you. When your eyes meet next, you add a meaningful, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Hand in hand, you spin in a slow circle and his eyes find yours.

“Trust is not a currency I deal in often, cara mia.”

You part, your palms grazing as you circle each other, and you hold his heavy stare.

“See how this whole trust thing works is that you have to give some away before any can be given back,” you remind him when he pulls you back to him, and this time you stand close enough to smell his cologne and count his eyelashes as they flutter when he fleetingly looks towards your lips. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

He notices the mocking edge to your words and his eyebrows arch slightly when he draws you closer.

“Are we not friends, bella?”

You give him an honest answer. “Hardly.”

Something flickers across his expression but it’s gone in an instant and his answering smile is uncaring, forced.

“Such a cruel tongue you have.”

Smiling pleasantly, you hum, “I keep it especially sharpened for you.”

This time, the sharpness recedes and something more honest is left in its place as Santino dips you and unlike last night, this time you’re ready for him. Perhaps the awkward practice paid off after all.

The world tilts and then he pulls you back to him, an array of colours blurring your sight, and for the briefest of seconds, all you can see around you is him. Him and the crooked dip of his grin as he peers at you.

“I have missed this,” he admits in the space between you but even over the dancing guests and the music, you hear him. “This you. Could she perhaps be persuaded to stay, hm?”

It would be so easy, you can’t help but think, allowing yourself to tangle in his web. Allowing yourself the privilege of forgetting John and Kishi and Tarasov—of forgetting every dark shadow that haunts you. He almost makes it easy. Easy to breathe and forget. But you now know what it is to be broken apart when you allow someone else to complete you.

Never again.

Never with a man who will no doubt exchange your company for someone else’s soon. Winston had a point. Santino’s favour is bound to come with an expiration date. One day, he will grow bored of you or resentful because he’ll realise that you will never give him what he truly wants.

One day, inevitably, he will let you down. Replace you. Leave.

It’s simply who he is.

Pivoting on your heels, you turn your bodies in a different direction, your steps unfaltering as you move across the floor.

Santino blinks, his silent scrutiny letting up as he squints at you.

“Are you trying to lead, cara mia?”

“Not trying,” you murmur slyly under your breath, a slight smile lingering across the seams of your mouth. “Succeeding.”

The soft set of his lips part and this time his grin shows teeth, dimpling his cheeks. He swiftly pushes your bodies apart, spinning you, and your skirt flares around your legs before he yanks you back to him, your bodies colliding. His arm envelops you immediately, keeping you pressed to him and the warmth of him seeps into you as he watches you through hooded eyes. His thumb caresses the bare skin of your lower back and a shiver crawls down your body as your warm breaths mingle.

You’re out of breath due to acute exhaustion still gnawing at your bones but—

“I could give you anything you want—anything at all. Power, money, jewels, pleasure,” he whispers faintly, leaning closer, and you fight to ignore the sultry drag of those words. “The world. All you need to do is ask.”

With his power—with the power he might still inherit—you imagine he could.

But—

“And what would you want in return? For me to be your pretty, obedient pet?” you whisper back but your voice lacks all the heat his has. Something far more critical twists your words and you meet his gaze, your faces inches apart. “Warming your bed whenever you feel like it until something more exciting comes along? No, I know how this game works, Santino. Men like you collect women and use them to appease your overinflated egos until we’re no longer interesting to you. Then you throw us out like trash. Even though the problem is rarely us but rather your inability to emotionally connect with another human because all you want or care about is fleeting excitement of the chase. Cheap sex on the side. Sorry to disappoint you but I’m no one’s pet.”

His jaw clenches, a ripple of emotions flitting across his features.

“I don’t want a pet.”

Low, wary.

But you push because you don’t believe him. Trust his word even less despite the fact that any and all promises he’s made so far, he’s followed through with.

“Then what is it that you want?”

He stops. You’re the only two unmoving bodies in a sea of movement.

Those vivid green eyes glow with something you have never seen before as he studies you.

It is desire but—

He reaches up and caresses your cheek; nothing more than a whisper of a touch.

“You.”

A breath rushes out of you.

A lump forms in your throat but you don’t move or speak. It’s like you’re both locked in your own private little bubble and the sheer intensity of Santino’s gaze leaves you with no escape. Your muscles seem to have stiffened up with disbelief. He’s always made it clear what he wanted but…

“Santino D’Antonio! It’s good to see you again.”

He exhales and whatever it was that you saw only moments ago is gone, leaving a far more familiar sight of a proud Camorra heir behind.

He turns to greet an unfamiliar man approaching, his grip on you loosening but not dropping entirely, and you remind yourself that you are nothing to him. Nothing more than an object of desire, a trophy to win, a conquest his damn pride won’t allow him to drop till he succeeds.

You hate the fact that for a second—just one—you had believed him.

Your eyes flicker over the crowd, a blur of faces, before a large man next to a bar catches your attention.

Rafael Conte takes a slow sip of his drink that dark stare boring holes into you.

Your lips curl.

Santino does talk business.

He really has covered all his basis and found a legitimate reason to be here—be here and appear unsuspicious as well.

Camorra is one of the wealthiest families in the world and there are plenty of individuals eager to do business with them.

Santino talks—ruthlessness and charm weaving effortlessly—shakes hands and deals business. Number start blurring somewhere in their millions.

You stay by his side through it all. His grip around you is resolute, secure. It’s surprising how natural the fit is, comfortable. Especially because any and all foreign touch since Tokyo makes your skin crawl with disgust. You’ve only ever fit this well beside John but thinking about him now stings terribly so you push the thoughts of him away.

Instead, you focus on your role entirely. Submerge yourself in it so wholly that you can almost believe that’s truly all you are: your job.

A mindless girl who is desperate for any scrap of attention from the powerful, handsome man beside you.

Fingers ghosting over his neck, leaning into him, giggling in his ear and playing with his fingers—you embody the desire you’re supposed to represent. Santino’s replies are rarely verbal but any and all attention from you always seems to distract him, shattering his concentration.

His fingers rub circles against the swell of your hip in response, and other times he wraps his arm around your shoulders. His cool Camorra ring grazing the skin of your arm as he traces random patterns on your skin.

People stare discreetly. You know by this point more than a few have recognised you. No one dares to comment though.

You imagine that to them you look completely caught in each other. Sharing breathing space and suggestive whispers; heat and something carnal, something only lovers could ever fully grasp.

Buying into the rampant tension between you must be easy.

You succeed in your mission.

Two hours in, a waiter approaches a spot where you and Santino sit—you draped over his lap and arms around his neck while he discusses weaponry with some Romanian crime syndicate representatives—and delivers a scrap of paper with a simple message.

Join us for poker and business, D’Antonio. Your plus-one can come along as well.—R

You’re in trouble.

Big, fat trouble.

Not because Santino is gambling three million away—though you imagine losing that won’t be in your best interest—but because this intimate setting is even more intimate than you ever would have suspected.

No guards, for one.

The game itself is between six players—counting Santino—in a small closed-off booth section of the casino. Your game is not the only one ongoing but you doubt this kind of money is being thrown around anywhere else. Every man playing seems to have brought their plus ones as well, including Rafael himself. A tall, stunning woman with glossy black hair, beautiful brown skin and shrewd almond eyes.

The problem is that unlike you, these women don’t have to pretend. Their interest is genuine, and when twenty minutes into the game you notice zippers being unzipped and hands starting to wander, you feel something inside your chest shrivel up.

Santino’s grip on you remains and you find yourself clinging to him for a different reason. At first, you play at being shy, burying your face against his neck. He notices, dragging his long fingers down your leg gradually, trying to calm you, as he considers his cards silently and takes another drag of his cigar. He’s purposely trying not to draw attention to either of you. It both amazes you and gives you a sense of reassurance. Perhaps there are some lows that even he won’t stoop to.

The only issue is that Rafael Conte won’t stop staring at you.

He knows that you’re not too drunk or high enough to stop your hands from exploring. He’s been keeping track of your leisurely sips of champagne the entire evening. If he doesn’t suspect something is not right yet, he will soon. He’s smart. The same chilling, ruthless smart that reminds you of Tarasov.

If you don’t do this…

It all would have been for nothing. Another failure. If Rafael suspects something is amiss, if he thinks that you are here for any other reason other than being Santino’s lover—

You will never get access to Andre Boutin.

Fuck.

Something cold and slippery rolls inside your stomach at the muffled groan a man closest to you lets out, and the woman wrapped around him titters.

I—

You can do it, John reassures you gently, gripping your shoulder but you blink and it’s Santino’s hand on you instead.

Your eyes meet in the dim light and his hooded gaze is solemn, cautious. He, too, can see how this situation is escalating. Either you adapt or retreat.

All this preparation. You can’t help but wonder if he would still force you—

Fuck this.

And John.

And Santino.

And Kishi and Tarasov and every other asshole that’s ever hurt you.

They can all go to hell.

You’re more than this.

You didn’t survive Tokyo and John’s abandonment just to break apart now. To fail yet again.

Enough.

It’s not real, it’s just an act.

Shifting, you practically straddle Santino and feel his breath hitch when your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head back for better access. Your lips press against his jaw, neck, your other hand tugging on his bowtie till the silken material comes loose between your fingers.

His pulse pounds against your mouth and you kiss that golden skin, sucking on it, your lips tingling. You’ve never been physically this close to him before and the heat of him envelops you, his free hand sliding up your back and settling against the arch of your neck. Those strong digits sink in, firm and eager, but he doesn’t push you closer until you lean into him further. You’re chest to chest. Your fingernails scratch against his scalp deliberately and a small sigh escapes him, warming the blood in your veins.

“D’Antonio.”

Tugging on his shirt, you undo the first two buttons in a second, peppering eager little kisses against the curve of his collarbone. The scent of his musky his cologne sinks into your senses, making your head swim and your lips part, your tongue swiping against the skin—

Santino’s hand tangles in your hair and he pulls you back, his wild stare pitch black. With your fingers buried in each other’s hair, you gaze at him for a heated moment, and he at you. Reaching out, you let your fingertips lightly trace up his neck, pausing on his adam’s apple. You draw a lazy circle with the tip of your nail and his breaths grow heavier. Leaning even closer, you let your fingers trail up his chin before your thumb settles on his parted lips.

He’s staring up at you like he has never seen a sight more divine, more sublime, and the heat between you is sweltering.

You’ve forgotten what it is to feel like you’re burning, igniting, coming apart.

“D’Antonio.”

This time his self-restraint doesn’t hold, he jerks you to him till you’re fully on his lap, your foreheads almost touching as you eye each other. His fingers slip from your hair, dragging downwards till he’s grasping the side of your face, his own fingers mapping the shape of your lips as he guides you closer. Like a magnet, you follow his pull. Your mouths hover over each other and the tip of your nose nudges against his cheek, mirroring his eagerness. You grasp onto his hair firmer, those strong strands like silk in your grip. If you pull hard enough, if you kissed him, would he moan—

“D’Antonio, do you mind?”

The haze lifts and you see Santino blink as if snapping himself back to reality, his breaths are laboured, heavy, and you know that you’re hiding him from sight. This slip-up, this moment of hungry eyes and needy touches, is for you alone.

He looks you up and down, as if memorising the sight of you like this—so close to being his—before licking his lips and swallowing as he gathers his composure. His elevated breathing and blown pupils betray him, however. His appearance is dishevelled in that gorgeous, seductive sort of way and a stab of satisfaction follows the realisation that you did this to him.

He slides you carefully to one side and you release your grip on his hair, wrapping both arms around him instead as you smile slightly.

The Italian doesn’t look away from you, giving Rafael only a distracted, “Hm?”

“Make your next play, then feel free to fuck her if you must,” the man drawls, and you focus on Santino and his hair and his eyes because the careless way Rafael speaks about you sets your teeth on edge. Keep calm, keep calm, this is not Kishi. “In fact, after that little display, I’m pretty sure I won’t mind a sampling myself. See if she’s really all mouth.”

Your nails sink into the back of Santino’s shoulders and it takes sizeable effort to keep that bashful smile on your face. The heir finally looks away from you, his attention turning towards your mark, his features hardening.

“Come again?”

Rafael Conte chuckles, a rumble of a sound that unsettles you. “Don’t be shy, D’Antonio,” the man speaks, amused. “You do mine and I’ll do yours. What do you say? Unless mine is not to your liking? I can get another one in here. Two? I’ve heard you’re into that.”

No one else in the room so much as shifts or protests. This is a typical party code for them. Swapping deals, drugs, women, and whatever else they please.

Your skin crawls, those words dousing whatever heat your moment with Santino has managed to awaken in you.

Don’t let him talk about me like that. Don’t let him touch me. Don’t, don’t, please don’t—

Those words burn at the back of your throat and you grit your teeth to hold them in. You can’t risk breaking character like this but—

Kishi grins from the shadowed corner of the enclosed room and you suddenly feel sick.

Santino is quiet for a moment.

You watch his side profile with a halted breath, and another beat of silence follows before a slight smile finally tugs one side of his mouth upwards.

It’s a dangerous, dark thing and your stomach twists into knots.

Please—

“No one touches my woman,” comes his silky, cold declaration and those long fingers rest on the bare skin of your thigh; possessive, protective. “No one.”

The terror and revulsion in your veins ebbs, ebbs, his words echoing—

You don’t care about how untrue they are. That you both know that you’re not his in any sense of the word nor will you ever be.

The conviction, the threat, the protection—those are real.

For the first time since Tokyo, since John, you don’t feel alone.

A peculiar sort of hush falls over everyone at that.

“In fact, hm, why don’t you go and freshen up, principessa?” he suggests and lifts your chin with his index finger so he can look you in the eyes. “I’m almost done here. We can go back to the hotel after. I’ve missed those pretty sounds you make when I’m inside you. Yes?”

He can see it.

And feel it, too.

The way your skin has gone cold and clammy. How a tremor shakes your muscles. How you grip onto him but your eyes keep skipping towards every shadow in the room. How your serene, sensuous demeanour is no doubt splintering right in front of him.

He’s giving you an out.

Your nails sink into him briefly and you force yourself to act, force yourself to continue on.

Cupping the side of his face, you press a lingering kiss to his cheek. There is nothing sexual about it. Only a distinct feeling of gratitude that strums through you with the same intensity your earlier interaction did.

Your eyes flutter close briefly, the tip of your nose pressing into the smell of his aftershave, and you image to everyone else it might look like you’re simply clinging onto him, unwilling to be parted.

Standing on stiff legs, you straighten your spine, and don’t flinch as Santino continues the performance, staring up at you, lowering his cards so he can touch your knee. He rubs a soothing circle there and his lips twitch.

“Don’t take too long now, hm?”

Your hand trembles when you reach for him, and you hope that the darkness of the room helps to mask it. Despite that, you still manage to swipe back unruly strands of his hair that have fallen into his eyes. Like a refined feline, he arches into your touch, a faint smirk appearing, and you rearrange your facial expression into something unassuming.

Trying to speak fails, so you simply dip your head once, and pull away from him. It takes everything you have to keep your footsteps steady and unhurried as you exit the small room.

The world around you splinters.

Pathetic.

Look at you.

“Shut up.”

It’s a choked, weak mess of an exhale. It hurts to talk and you grip the sink harder, your knuckles straining under your skin as you wheeze.

Your frightened eyes reflect in the mirror and you note how your expression crumbles in despair. Just hours ago, you had looked at your reflection in the hotel room mirror and felt beautiful for the first time since Tokyo. Since something was tarnished and stolen away from you.

Now mascara smears under your eyes and your waxen expression betrays you.

You need—

John.

You need John.

I need you. I need you. Where are you?

Kishi sinks his bony fingers into your arm and you flinch, jerking backwards. The incandescent bathroom lights scorch behind your closed eyelids, and you grapple for the running tap, letting the freezing water pour over your hands.

It hurts more, petrifies you more, but it also keeps you lucid, coherent enough to hear the bathroom door opening behind you.

“So—sorry, it’s busy! Could—could you please use—”

“The Vipress.”

You freeze.

You’re trembling but your head tilts upwards, and in the mirror reflection you see Rafael Conte leaning against the bathroom door with his arms folded over his chest.

Those dark eyes narrow and the grin on his face makes you become terribly aware just how unprepared you are for this type of confrontation. He’s taller, stronger, and heavier.

While usually, that would hardly bother you—both John and Cassian have taught you plenty of ways to take down individuals who severely outclass you in a physical sense—that was then.

The husk of a person you have deteriorated to is not as confident in her skills.

How he even found you is beyond you. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, didn’t bother finding Ares in the crowd of people because she was instructed to mingle and collect information. You purposely didn’t go in the casino bathroom or the one right outside the ballroom. You went through the bother of trekking halfway across the hotel just to find a secluded bathroom far away from the main event.

Just your goddamn luck.

Keeping him in your sight, you straighten.

Where is Santino?

“The viper that never strikes twice. I wondered why D’Antonio would bring you,” the man says after you keep silent and his smile turns more cutting. “But then I realised that this might be something more than just business.”

“This—this is neutral ground,” you force out, trying and failing to keep your voice even. “There is nothing—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man snaps, stepping from the door and you twist around, glaring at him. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know he’s up to something. You will tell me what, or I will send your head back to Viggo Tarasov as a present.”

Your hand flies down but he’s faster.

A pistol appears in front of your face just as your fingers wrap around a blade strapped to your inner thigh.

“I don’t think so,” the man growls and steps closer. “Drop it.”

The water from the tap keeps running noisily, and you try to calculate how quickly he would be able to pull that trigger. Would you be able to throw your blade faster? Or would he react quicker?

Don’t let him corner you, John warns sternly, or you will lose.

You let the blade drop. Rafael marches towards you, shoving the barrel of the pistol under your chin, tilting your head. He glowers at you, the heavy set of his eyebrows pinching. “Why are you here?”

“Get fucked.”

His palm connects with your cheek, a flare of agony numbing the right side of your face. He jerks you closer by the hair, pressing the barrel painfully into your cheek.

“I will blow your fucking brains out, princess,” he warns harshly, and shakes you once, your teeth clenching. “Is D’Antonio really worth dying for? Answer me!”

Your knee drives between his legs and you duck when his grip on your hair loosens, ignoring the painful tear. You strike his arm, the pistol slipping but he grabs it just before it falls, kicking you in the stomach as you slam against the sinks with a loud thud. You gasp in pain, trying to grab onto the edge of the basin to straighten yourself, but your weak muscles struggle to obey and Rafael grabs you by the throat. He slams you into the mirror and then again.

And again.

The mirror cracks and you choke down a sob of pain, everything blurring.

“You know,” the man pants, and his grip on your neck tightens, choking you. “I expected more from John Wick’s partner. His little protege. But you’re pathetic.”

He slams you against the mirror again. “Tell me what D’Antonio is doing here,” he demands, giving you another shake and you feel something wet staining the back of your head. “Tell me or I will drown the truth out of you.”

A handkerchief gets pushed into the sink, trapping the still pouring water, and you let out a whimper of pure terror.

No—no—no—

Rafael grasp you by the back of your neck, and you kick at him but your muscles are frail with exhaustion and panic, failing you when you need them most.

The man hits one of your legs and you crumple, your face flying towards the half-full sink as you let out a sob. No matter how much you struggle or try to push yourself back, you’re not strong enough.

Another brutal shove downwards.

You’re never—

The bathroom door slams open with a deafening bang.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

A slight chuckle against your neck. “D’Antonio. Slow as always.”

The grip on you loosens and you slump to the floor. Footsteps step over you, but Rafael’s gleaming shoes don’t miss your trembling digits. He steps on them on purpose and you flinch as the sink overflows, spilling water all over the white tile floor.

“I will skin you alive for this.”

You can’t remember ever hearing Santino so furious before.

“Sure you will,” Rafael remarks and the mirth in his voice is clear. “You know my father always told me to never trust you D’Antonio’s. He said that you all have the devil in you. Especially your psychopath father and that frigid bitch you have for a sister. You’re just the leftover people tolerate because they’re scared of your father. After San Diego, I knew my father was right.”

“What’s the matter, old friend,” Santino wonders in Italian, his voice honey and rage all at once. “Can’t handle a bit of competition, hm?”

Your forehead slides across the tiles when you turn your head, a wall of tears blurring your vision as you try to blink them away. Violent shivers wreck your body as water roars in your ears and your body convulses. Blinking, you try to tighten your bruised fingers into a fist. It’s then that your eyes snag onto an object an arm length away from you.

“I sure can. Because I don’t fear weak fuckers like you,” Rafael shoots back coolly and you hear the cocking of the pistol as he aims it at Santino. “I would be lying if I said that I will not enjoy this.”

Santino.

A meeting in a church.

“I always get what I want.”

A favour without a charge.

“I’m not doing this for him but for you.”

An offer of help.

“You can stay with me, cara mia. My home can be your home. It will not be for free but no harm will come to you.”

Burgundy suits.

“I need you.”

Arms around you, something in his eyes you have never seen before—something genuine.

“You.”

You slam into Rafael with full awareness of what this will mean.

“Fear me.”

You plunge the poisoned blade deep into his neck.

. . .

an: can you believe Santino D’Antonio really hit that high this early on and then....just never been able to hit it since lmao. amazing. anyway whooooooooooooo babey!!!! if you read this in one sitting, please pat yourself on the back, soldier. sorry that I didn’t have time to reply to everyone about the last chapter. life has just been a big ‘ol mess as you all know, and I’ve been really busy and blocked so if this chapter reads funny....well then......though, as always, I’m super excited to hear your thoughts. :D

as always you’re all incredible, amazing, and the best so please take care of yourselves! <333

#john wick #john wick x reader #santino d'antonio #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #john wick fic #santino d'antonio imagine #riccardo scamarcio #fanfic #fic: children of ares

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