#THE IDEA OF HIM BREAKING THE SEAL ON HER PACKAGES | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neewtmas · 11 months ago

Text

12 days of Christmas // A Lockwood & Co Advent Calendar

DAY 9

Welcome back! Today I have an absolute treat for you. Someone around here (I don't remember who it was unfortunately) brought up a locklyle regency AU - and while I initially felt ill-equipped to write it, inspiration struck and that is how we end up here.

So please enjoy this Bridgerton/Cinderella inspired Locklyle Regency AU, featuring Viscount Anthony Lockwood, Butler George and Kitchen Maid Lucy, who gets to have her very own Cinderella moment.

As the Clock Struck 12 - A Locklyle Regency AU

pairing: anthony lockwood x lucy carlyle

wordcount: 4.5k

masterlist

day 1 day 2 day 3 day 4 day 5 day 6 day 7 day 8

advent calendar tags: @givemea-dam-break @wellgoslowly @maraschinomerry @losticaruss @oblivious-idiot @uku-lelevillain @avdiobliss @strawberryloveyyy @strawberrycowgirly @demigoddess-of-ghosts @thefriendlyneighborhoodmomfriend @boookfreeak

A knock on the door made Anthony Lockwood look up from the correspondence he had been working on since early morning. He called for Bancroft to come in. The elderly man entered, carrying a silver tray in front of him. "This just got dropped off, my lord." His eyes twinkled. "By a Fittes' carriage, might I add?" Anthony thanked him and gestured him to put down the tray on an empty spot on the table. He turned his attention back to the half-written letter in front of him but then decided the unopened one to his right was of much more interest. He reached over to pick it up. It was heavy, and upon turning it around, he saw himself faced with a red wax seal, indented with none other than the Fittes crest.

Lady Marissa Fittes The Duchess of Devonshire cordially invites Viscount Anthony Lockwood to a Masquerade Ball to be held at Combe Carey Hall on the 20th of May, 1813

Anthony briefly scanned the rest of the letter. A masquerade ball. He could think of much better things to spend his time on, but one doesn't simply reject an invitation coming from Lady Marissa Fittes. At least he had a few weeks to mentally prepare himself, and thanks to Bancroft, he wouldn't have to worry about acquiring a mask either.

---------- 19th of May, 1813, Combe Carey Hall-----------------

George nervously glanced up and down the hallway, but it was just as empty as when he entered it a few minutes earlier. He stepped back into one of the bays, his back to the tall window, and partially hidden by the heavy curtains he took a deep breath. The quiet was a welcome change from the bustling that was going on in other parts of the estate. For an entire week, the staff of Combe Carey Hall had been working tirelessly to prepare the huge ballroom for the masquerade ball, there had been drill after drill for the butlers, and he had no idea how he was supposed to survive the evening tomorrow when his back and shoulders were already killing him now. He jumped as the curtain in front of him was pulled back.

"Sorry I'm late", Lucy hissed, quickly moving the curtain back so that now both of them were hidden from any curious eyes that might look down the hallway. "It's fine. I needed a break anyway. But I have acquired everything you need." He held up the bundle he had tucked under his arm. "Dress and mask." Lucy took the package from him, and as she did, the fabric opened up and a mask slipped out, into her hand. "Wow", she breathed out, delicately holding it. The mask was a stunning, deep shade of blue, with many intricate silver ornaments. She moved the fabric further and revealed a heavy fabric in the same shade of blue.

She stared up at George, mouth hanging open. "Where did you get that?" George grinned. "I have my sources. Just don't question it." He took the mask from her hand and held it up to her face. "Who knows, maybe a mysterious duke will fall in love with you?" Lucy scoffed. "Yeah George, right. Because Dukes are well known for marrying kitchen maids." She paused for a moment. "I don't need love. I just want one evening to feel like more than a kitchen maid who gets pushed around. Maybe one dance with someone, anyone. And then I'll leave and no one will ever know it was me." She looked down at the luxurious fabric in her hands. "Well, thanks for this anyway. I owe you big time." George squeezed her arm. "No worries. You covered for Flo so many times, that's the least I could do." Lucy perked up. "Speaking of Flo, she asked me to give you this." She searched the pocket of her dress and pulled out a note, folded up impossibly tiny. "You're supposed to read it alone though, so I'll leave you to it. See you tomorrow night!" And just like that, she was gone.

---- Morning of the 20th of May, 1813, The Lockwood's Estate-------

Anthony eyed himself in the mirror. He had forced himself into the finest tailcoat his collection could offer. It didn't look too shabby, he had to admit that. His gaze fell on the mask Bancroft had picked out for him. It was a rich, dark blue, ornately decorated with gold embellishments. It was perfectly fitted to his favourite waistcoat. As usual, he could rely on Bancroft's tastefulness. Anthony had decided to take on the journey on his own. Combe Carey Hall was just about two hours away, and he had planned to return the next day right after the brunch Lady Fittes was holding for an assorted group of attendees. He didn't even really know why he was invited to that event in the first place.

The carriage ride proved to be just as uneventful as he had expected, and after his arrival, a butler who had introduced himself as George led him to one of the many rooms of Combe Cary Hall, an estate much bigger than Anthony was used to from home. "This room is yours for the extent of your stay, Your Lordship. The Lady Fittes wishes to make known that you are free to request whatever makes your stay more comfortable. I shall be at your service until you leave the estate." Anthony took a closer look at George. He seemed to be roughly his age. "How long have you worked here?" "Just a few months, Your Lordship. I have just recently ended my training. If you wish for a more experienced -" Anthony shook his head. "No no, that's not it. I'm sure you'll do great." Something about the boy intrigued him. He had a feeling they could have been great friends if only they had been born into the same social circle.

------- 20th of May, 1813, Combe Carey Hall, 9 pm---------

After quite a lengthy conversation with George, who had excused himself to attend to some last preparations, Anthony had changed into the tailcoat he had brought and was now admiring his reflection in the mirror. The mask, which hid the upper half of his face, was fitted flawlessly to him and matched his blue and gold waistcoat to perfection. But now it was time to finally show up in the ballroom and offer a greeting to the hostess, Lady Marissa Fittes.

One entered through two large winged doors, and would then immediately reach a balustrade, over which the entire extent of the ballroom could be surveyed. Anthony took a sip from the champagne, which had been offered to him immediately upon arrival. He adjusted his mask, which had proved difficult to properly fasten without someone to help him. He wondered if it was on purpose that a butler fresh out of training, who also had responsibilities throughout the evening, was designated specifically to him. He let his gaze wander over the crowd. It wasn't hard to spot the Lady of the evening, even though she, like everyone else, was wearing a mask. Her tall, slender figure in a silver gown and a matching silver mask, by far the most elaborate he had seen so far, made her easily stand out. A lot of women would have blended into the crowd in a silver dress, but she seemed to stand out even more. He emptied the champagne and handed the empty glass with a nod to the nearest butler before he began his descent of the stairs that led down to the ballroom floor. It took quite a while until he got through to Lady Fittes, as he was not the only one here who wanted to express gratitude for the invitation. After a short conversation with her, he made his way over to the buffet at the side of the room.

He had just grabbed another glass he didn't quite know the contents of when George appeared by his side, a tray in his hand and wearing the same simple mask that seemed to have been handed out to all other butlers. He did a little bow. "My Lord. Are you enjoying the evening so far?" They had quickly switched to a much more informal style of conversation. Not only did Anthony not agree with treating his servants as his inferiors who weren't worth talking to respectfully, but their closeness in age made it easy for him to forget that George wasn't just some old friend with the same social standing as him. He took a sip from the liquid in the glass. Lemonade, delightfully bitter. Not the best he ever had though, he much preferred the natural lemonade with pulp his mother had given him as a small kid. "There hasn't been much I could have enjoyed yet. The conversation with Lady Fittes was…" He waved it off. "Let's forget about that. I should be off finding some lovely ladies to dance with." George's eyes twinkled in a mischievous way that reminded Lockwood of Bancroft. "I might know someone you'd like. But she won't arrive until later." Anthony knew it wouldn't be a good look for him to spend the entire evening talking to George, even though he found himself enjoying their conversations. He did not particularly enjoy the company of all the young ladies, since a lot of them seemed to think of him as an eligible bachelor who was desperate to marry as soon as possible. He knew that was what he should be, but he couldn't care less if he was honest with himself.

----------20th of May, 1813, Combe Carey Hall, 11:30 pm -----

Lucy's hands were slightly shaking as she made her way through the hallway leading up to the entrance of the ballroom. She was thankful for the mask that was hiding half of her face, and she had to stop herself from constantly smoothing out the skirt of her dress. She had no idea how George managed to get his hand on something as gorgeous as this. Really, it was much too gorgeous for her plain self. If it weren't for the equally gorgeous mask, she would have looked ridiculous. On the way to the ballroom, she had come across several of her fellow kitchen maids, all of whom had curtsied for her - it seemed like all it took to make her completely unrecognisable was an expensive dress.

She downed the first glass of champagne that was offered to her in one go, and for a moment she just stood at the balustrade, looking down on the crowd of dancers. Her fingers gripped the cold metal, and she had to talk herself out of turning around and going straight back to the kitchens. Luckily, she quickly spotted George, whose curly hair made him easily recognisable, even with the mask on. She felt weak in the knees as she slowly descended the stairs, still gripping the balustrade, fearing that at any moment, someone would recognise her for the fraud she was and throw her out. She made her way through the crowd, desperate to find George as quickly as possible. When she finally spotted him, she almost tripped over her dress as she rushed over to him.

"Woah, that is not very lady-like of you", George laughed a little as she skidded to a halt next to him. The masked lady next to them turned her head, and despite her mask, you could tell her look was disapproving. "I feel like throwing up", Lucy whispered. "This was a bad idea." George shook his head, still smiling. "You look fantastic. This is gonna be a great night. I already found you a dance partner." Lucy whipped around. "What? Where? Who?" George squeezed her arm. "Calm down", he whispered. "I think he's coming over right now."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Anthony was growing tired after the fifth dance of the evening. Somehow it felt like every girl he talked to had been the same. Maybe because they all looked the same with their masks, but maybe also because none of the conversations they had had during dancing had been stimulating enough to keep him with his dance partner for longer than the socially required duration of a dance. He grabbed himself another lemonade, scanning the crowd for George. Maybe it was time for a break. It didn't take long to spot him, but this time he had to do a double take. George wasn't alone anymore. Next to him stood a girl in a stunning royal blue gown. They seemed to be close, judging by the way they were whispering to each other. He was intrigued. Who was this girl? He felt the need to talk to her, maybe ask her for a dance. He put down the lemonade, and made his way over, straightening out his suit. For whatever reason, he wanted to make a good first impression on her.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

"There he comes", George said and gave her a nudge with his elbow. "Stand straight, you wanna make a good first impression." Lucy did what he said, and her eyes frantically scanned the room for someone coming towards them. What if this was George's way of paying her back for the pranks she had pulled on him some time again and now he had promised some old creepy dude a dance with her? Someone behind her cleared his throat, and she whipped around. Her stomach dropped at the sight in front of her. The man standing in front of her, his mask the same shade as hers, but with gold ornaments to her silver ones, made a little bow.

"I'm Anthony Lockwood, pleased to make your acquaintance." "Viscount Anthony Lockwood", George added and gave her another subtle nudge. Lucy gasped, and she could feel herself blushing in embarrassment as she did a very wobbly curtsy. "Miss - Miss Holly Munro", she blurted out the first name that came to mind that wasn't hers. Anthony smiled and extended his hand. Not really sure what to do, she went to shake it, but instead, he took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a delicate kiss on her knuckles. Lucy felt like she was about to faint, and she could tell that George was trying hard to keep his composure. What was happening? "Miss Munro, might I have the honour of the next dance with you?" She couldn't do anything but nod, much too overwhelmed by the situation. So when Anthony offered her his arm, she let him escort her to the dancefloor.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Miss Holly Munro. Anthony was racking his brain, but he was unable to put a face to the name. That in and of itself was not unusual, as the amount of ladies one met at these events was simply overwhelming and he did not care to know them. But then again, if he had ever seen this girl before, he would have remembered, he was sure of it. Something about her was entirely captivating to him. He could only see half of her face, but that coupled with her beautiful eyes that had looked at him with great surprise only seconds before made him sure that was remarkably beautiful. He wondered what her connection to George was. As he led her onto the dance floor, he could tell that she was nervous. They began dancing, and he quickly realised that her nervousness meant that her dancing wasn't as refined as he was used to from the ladies he had danced with before her.

But rather than annoyance, as he was used to from himself, it sparked in him the wish to hold her and relieve her of this nervousness. He tried his best to lead her through the dance, every now and then stepping aside to avoid her foot on his. "How come I haven't seen you around so far this evening, Miss Munro?", he asked. She wasn't wearing gloves, and her hand felt warm in his. It felt like it was supposed to be there. "Oh, I'm sure you've seen me", she said, avoiding his gaze. "I've been here quite a long time." "I find that hard to believe", he replied. "I could never forget a beauty like yours. And if I had seen you before, I surely would have asked you to dance right that instance." He couldn't help but smile as he noticed the blush on her cheeks as she looked to the ground bashfully, still not meeting his eyes. This was the most genuine reaction to a compliment he had seen all night. But then again, it was also the first genuine compliment he had given all night.

After a while, the conversation between them was flowing easily, and Anthony found himself not wanting to stop their dance. Where with every other girl he had felt the urge to leave as soon as possible, this was the opposite - he felt the urge to never leave her. With every time she laughed at his jokes and blushed at his compliments, or said something witty that made him laugh - he found himself thinking about how maybe marriage wouldn't be so bad if it was with someone like her. "Shall we get some lemonade"? he asked after they had - rather reluctantly from his side and, he felt confident, also from hers - ended the dance due to the band taking a break. She nodded and he fetched two glasses, giving her one. "Would you like to accompany me outside on the balcony? I could use some fresh air." "Of course, my lord." He could barely stop himself from asking her to just call him Anthony. Using his title was awfully formal when he felt like he had known her forever. They made their way to the balcony, her still at his arm, and he revelled in the feeling of having her pressed up against his side as they navigated the tight crowd.

The balcony was surprisingly empty, probably because everyone had gathered at the buffet after all the dancing. He let his eyes wander over the beautifully maintained garden that lay in front of them, but when he turned to her, it was like for a moment he had forgotten how to breathe. She looked ethereal, the silver on her mask glowing and her blue dress in the silver moonlight made her look like the gods themselves had blessed her. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than for her to take that mask off so he could see what beauty lay beneath it. "Have any other suitors expressed interest in marriage with you?", he blurted out, and immediately regretted it as she took a surprised step back. "Any other suitors?", she asked, her voice suddenly uncharacteristically small. Anthony cursed himself for his thoughtless words. "Surely you have many gentlemen interested in you?" He thought that was a harmless question, but it seemed to make her even more nervous. "I don't have any suitors", she said quietly, and he had to hold back a sound of surprise. "That's not possible", he said. "A lady as stunning as you, with no suitors?" She shook her head frantically, taking another small step back. He moved a little closer to her, fighting the urge to take her hand. Maybe she was embarrassed at her predicament. After all, having no suitors wasn't all that flattering. "Would you have any interest in a courtship with me? I have found our conversations -" She raised her hands, her voice wavering. "No, please, my lord, that's impossible. You can't marry me. No one can marry me. I - I'm so sorry." And with that, she hastily gathered her skirt and practically sprinted back into the ballroom.

Anthony Lockwood stood on the balcony and felt like he had been struck by lightning. What had just happened? One moment he had offered marriage to a girl, and the next she was gone. Did a marriage proposal from him evoke that much terror in her? She had seemed to enjoy their conversation just as much as him. And if she really had no suitors… 'No one can marry me' she had said - what did that mean? Just then, as if to mock him, the church bells in the little village below the estate started to chime - it was midnight. He needed to find her. She didn't have to marry him and she found him that repulsive, but he did deserve an explanation at least.

Back inside, he searched for George. In his rush to get to him, he knocked into several people, all of whom gave him indignant looks, but he could not care less. "George!" The butler turned around, looking surprised at his dishevelled state. "My Lord?" "Miss Munro, where is she?" "What?" "Miss Munro", Anthony repeated, impatiently. "Where has she gone? We just talked outside, and suddenly she ran away." George put the tray he was carrying down on the nearest table. "What did you talk about?" "I was offering her courtship", he said shortly, not wanting to think too long about the fact that the prospect of marrying him was what had made her flee the scene. George widened his eyes. "Marriage?!" "That is not the point now. I just need to talk to her." He tried hard to keep his voice down, but the prospect of never seeing her again made him erratic. He had never even seen her face. "You know where she is, George", he said urgently. George rubbed his temple. "She's gonna kill me", he mumbled, more to himself, and Anthony did not care to ask him what he meant by that. "George!" "Alright! Go through that door, down the corridor, then to the left, then to the right. You should find her there."

Anthony did not wait for him to finish speaking, instead, he rushed to follow George's instructions. The hallway was much smaller than the opulent ones he had seen so far, it seemed almost like this was an area for servants. Why did George send him here? He was running down the hallway, and while he tried his best not to trip over his own feet, he tried to undo the knot that held up his mask. Away with that stupid thing.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Lucy leaned against the outer wall of the estate, the stones cool at her back. Her hands were still shaking, and she was so focused on taking deep breaths in order not to have a panic attack that she didn't hear the approaching footsteps. "Miss Munro?" She clutched her hand to her mouth to stifle a startled yelp, and when she turned around, none other than the man who had just proposed marriage to her stood there. But something was different - his mask was gone. She felt her face get hot. He was even more handsome than she had imagined it. This was about to be a disaster.

"Miss Munro, are you okay? I did not mean to startle you just now. And I did not mean to overwhelm you with the prospect of marriage. We can always take a little more time to get to know each other better." His voice was gentle, and she could feel her eyes starting to water. Sneaking into this ball was the worst idea she had ever had. "You don't want to marry me", she finally said, and she hated how her tears were audible in her voice. Anthony took a step closer to her. "What makes you think that?" Lucy's heart hammered in her chest. Now she was trapped. She couldn't just run off again. Maybe she should just come clean. He seemed like a kind enough man, he would probably excuse himself and then leave her alone and not make her any trouble.

He was looking at her expectantly, and she bit so hard down on her cheek that she was sure it must be bleeding. "I can't be your wife", she finally said. "I'm not a lady. I shouldn't even be here and I'm not who you think I am." Anthony was quiet, showing no signs of surprise. She nervously shifted her weight. She had expected him to be upset. "I'm not a Lady", she repeated herself. "I'm just a mere kitchen maid, never suitable for a man of your social standing. You should never even be seen talking to me." Her eyes were trained on the ground, and she waited for the inevitable sound of him turning around and leaving, angry at her deceit and disgusted at the fact that he had offered marriage to a kitchen maid. But he didn't leave. Instead, he asked: "Is that how you know George?" Her head shot up, surprised. "Are you not angry?"

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Anthony had no idea how to feel. What she had just told him - never in a million years would he have expected that. "Angry? Why should I be angry?" he finally asked. Yes, maybe he should be angry. He knew that that was what was expected of him. But he couldn't bring himself to anger. "I deceived you", she said, dropping her head again. Without thinking, he closed the gap between them and gently raised her chin back up with his finger until she was looking at him. Her beautiful eyes, which he now finally had the chance to truly look into, were swimming with tears. "You did not. The proposal was extended to you, not to any title you might have or not have. It's you that has captivated my every sense."

Neither of them moved. He could feel himself getting lost in her gaze, and there was a not-so-small part of him that wished he could just lean down and kiss her. But a much bigger part of him wanted something else. "Can I take off your mask?", he asked quietly. He could tell that she hesitated. "I'm not sure this is a good idea. You might be disappointed", she said finally, and he almost laughed out loud. "I don't think I will be."

She hesitated a few seconds longer, then took a step back. She raised her hand to the back of her head, but he stopped her. "Can I do it?" She nodded, and quickly started working on the tight knot. It didn't take long for him to hold the two loose ends in his hands, and he slowly took a step back. She looked at him, and for the second time this evening he felt like he couldn't breathe. "You are as beautiful as the moon and the stars, Miss Munro", he finally breathed out. The girl in front of him swallowed thickly. "That's not my real name. It's Lucy." His heart skipped a beat. He carefully took both her hands, pulling her closer to him with a smile. "Well, you are as beautiful as the moon and the stars, Lucy."

#lockwood and co advent calendar #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #locklyle #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #regency au #locklyle regency au #anthony lockwood x lucy carlyle

22 notes · View notes

cherokeegal1975 · 1 year ago

Text

youtube

Johnathan was a family man and cargo runner and had no interest in getting entangled in royal affairs. So, when a deposed and fleeing princess arranges a meeting to give him a package to keep safe, he was reluctant to take it. But she convinced him to hide the royal seal until she needed it back despite himself. Unknown to him, she had also ticked him into carrying another precious cargo.

When Johnathan learns of the trick, he’s furious. When he confronts the princess about it, he learns it’ll be impossible to return it before it’s appointed time. Then she tells him of an unbreakable bond between them and ends a long search for someone he had lost as a boy. So, instead of revenge, he does what he can to help her. He must also avoid capture; the King would execute Johnathan if he ever found out about his secret cargo.

Author's Note 11/12/2023: Just looking for some honest feedback. People click on it, but they don't stay as far as I can tell. Or maybe a very few do, but they don't say anything. I won't be reposting this again on YouTube. It'll eventually sink under the pile of other posts there and I'm going to let it. But that doesn't mean I intend for it to be forgotten.

I find the number of people clicking on it, not staying and not saying anything very frustrating. Those comments mean a lot to me when i do get them.

This story contains adoption more than once. Tragedy, some romance, barely any sex, a princess that rescues herself in the background of the story, talking rats...beautiful ones. One of the main protagonists is a lovely golden rat who's a loyal companion to Johnnathan. There's even a jail break under desperate circumstances. Some sci-fi and fantasy elements though out. A constant threat of an evil King who doesn't have a legitimate claim to the throne with enough supporters that even the powerful princess has to make a run for it and gather an army. Gay werewolves in one chapter...I don't know why I put them in. Seemed right. Didn't even know it was a thing in this genera when I was writing it. Fake Middle East, very little research was done. There's more to it than just the genera of this book. I tried to keep the pace up at a good speed and make the whole story as well balanced as I could.

Even though the cultural inaccuracies were deliberate, I was never rude. I just borrowed bits of the real Middle East, bits of old Hollywood versions of the Middle East and threw in my own ideas.

Like the gay were wolves, I don't know why I put in a talking rat as a main character. Or the shape shifting dragon girl. But, they seemed right and it was nice to put a rat into a positive role when all so often they are all too often in negative ones. I've seen only three stories with rats in positive roles. One is Splinter from TMNT and that white rat in The Abyss movie. The Secret of Nymph might count too.

This is just a few of my story elements. I'm not going to give you any more spoilers. You're going to have to find out for yourself about the rest of it.

I will say this much, this isn't a fetish story. I never intended it to be. Just a fun experiment inspired by an online dumpster dive that was worth exploring, but most of what I found was awful. So, I did my own story to see if I could do better. That's it.

Any suggestions on hashtags that will attract attention? I've gotten a few of my ques from other posts, but I don't know how to make it more noticeable.

#cherokeegal1975 #digital art #fantasy #youtube #mpreg #dragon #rats #Youtube #mpreg birth #male pregnancy #mpreg art #mpregnancy #pregnant man #belly #romance #hetrosexual #heterosexual mpreg #mpreg baby #art

7 notes · View notes

maxparkhurst · 1 year ago

Text

[Following a package's arrival]

An autumnal chill crept inside, ushered by the drawn-back curtains. The sunlight peeking in shrank an emporium of vials, herbs, and dark shadows to its actual size. To what it was in truth. Nothing more than a simple shop owned and managed by two siblings. The elder of the pair perched on top of a ladder, dusting and facing the reagent shelf. She paused, dust rag clenched in her fingers, and peered at her brother’s reflection through a jar of pickled serpent eyes. Augustine lingered by the door, shifting on uneasy feet. A silk-wrapped parcel and an attached letter lay in his hands. The residue of a cordial smile remained plastered on his lips as he shuffled forward.

“It’s addressed to you.”

Max chewed the inside of her cheek. O’ how she had come to loathe letters and packages. They brought nothing short of disaster wrapped in twine. She flirted with the idea of a grimace, perhaps even a sneer, but remembered where and when she was. The jar of serpent eyes was turned and slid to the back. No audience would she humor. Then, after ironing out her wrinkled demeanor, she descended the ladder and faced her brother with a smile most pleasant.

“Thank you, Augustine,” she hummed, lifting the burden from his hands.

The tension in her brother’s shoulder began to unwind, and the uncertainty faded from his eyes. His hands fiddled with the hem of his shirt after Max freed him of the parcel. She could feel his expectant gaze follow her as she came to lean against the shop’s counter. “What is it?” he asked, craning his neck.

An absent hum passed from her lips. The item wrapped in silk was placed on top of an ever-growing stack of books. She regarded it with an initial air of indifference as she flipped the folded parchment between her fingers. The crimson seal caught the motes of escaped light, bringing an ethereal glow to the sunrise embossed in wax. Max paused. Then flicked her gaze up to meet her brother’s eye. A laugh, though it felt more like an incredulous expulsion, only furthered his bemusement.

“A gift from a previous- Ah.” Her gaze danced to the side, a microscopic line furrowing her brow. She humored the thought for a moment before dashing it away. She collected the silk-wrapped parcel from its abandoned perch and drifted towards the door stationed beyond the counter. “Simply a gift, I presume.”

“From who?” he asked, trailing behind Max. “And for what?”

Max turned on a heel, stopping her brother in his tracks with a simple look. He swallowed hard and took a step back.

“Right,” he muttered with a curt nod, “Business things.”

She rewarded him with a tap of her nose. “Yes. Business. The likes of which I shall look into later.”

It was rather late when she finally settled into her armchair, half-smoked cigarette in one hand and letter open in the other.

The hearth slumbered in its stone bed, casting the parole in a sepia film. Max sank into the over-stuffed chair. There was no one in the other. An end table sat in between, cigarette buds spilled over the ashtray - hours spent lighting, smoking, and repeating. Only when her lungs were black with smoke, and her head buzzed with nicotine did she break the letter’s seal. She read the first line.

Most dear and vexing Fox…

And set it aside. Another cigarette was lit and smoked to its near end. Then she read the note in its entirety.

Max chewed on the cigarette’s pipe, feeling her way through the unease that settled like hot, viscous syrup in her stomach. She reasoned it was from her sparse dinner of coffee and nicotine. Though, some part of her knew better.

“Esoteric as always,” she mused to the shadows as she carefully folded the letter.

The parcel found its way into her lap, curiosity guiding her hands as she unwrapped its silk covering. What lay inside truly gave Max reason to pause.

She breathed a soft exhale as her fingers brushed along the aged cover. Such a light, delicate touch. Almost affectionate in nature was the slow, deliberate turn of a stiff, crinkled page. She leaned in. Dove beneath the hearth’s shadows and hid within the parchment. Safety in that haunting smell. That musty, mushroom smell. She breathed it in, smelling the life -and the death- of this book. Centuries-old, she guessed, and passed between so many hands.

How long did she remain burrowed?

Max would’ve sworn she’d only sampled the bits of knowledge. Just a small taste - the first few pages were slow reading, alternating between draconic and common. They spoke about the Dragon Isle’s topography and what herbs could be found where. Hochenblumes were a common weed found in every region. Unlike Writhebark, which could only be harvested in the Azure Spans’ dense timberland. Bubblepoppy grew near rivers and streams, while Saxifrage hid in dark recesses. Not to mention all the variants in between and how they connected into a fathomless quantity of combinations and-

And then Max resurfaced, her reverie shattered by the chime of the parlor’s clock. She turned to look at the time, muzzle sodden from her feast, and drew in a sharp breath. Three ‘o’clock. Far beyond late, the night dangerously crept towards morning. She ran her tongue over a canine, gaze drifting down to the tome spread open in her lap. A laugh, arsenic-sharp, escaped as she eased it shut. She had been gifted a banquet of knowledge.

Yet those who knew Max intimately were aware

… that such a feast would only serve as an appetizer

For the hunger that gnawed in the fox’s belly.

“Ever a thoughtful Shadow.”

@longveil for mentions

#the alchemists #max parkhurst #fox and shadow #| Muzzle Stained Red |

6 notes · View notes

dark9896 · 2 years ago

Text

Birthday Cheer [Klaus x Reader]

Requested by Anonymous 👟

Klaus woke from the same nightmare. Always the same thing, at least twice a week. Seeing you spinning away from him into the darkest of abysses. Forever just barely out of his reach. Klaus hated the feeling, he hated that he had to give up like this. He was still determined to find you, though no one knew where you'd been in the Great Collapse. For all they knew, all their contacts, no matter how hard they searched...

Klaus hated that this was his one defeat.

He hardly noticed the date on the calendar, only a cursory glance to confirm that this was the day his nightmare had been set in. The empty feeling in his stomach swirled with anger and longing. Klaus didn't feel like eating much, despite the wonderful spread of breakfast Gilbert had laid out. Something was missing, and it ate at Klaus to not be sharing today with you. Everything felt off.

~~~~~

"Happy Birthday Klausie!"

K.K. flung her arms around the tall man's neck, holding a small well-wrapped package addressed to him. And while Klaus did indeed return the hug, it was only half-heartedly. This feeling of loss followed him, especially today.

"Thank you K.K." Klaus was practically toneless, worrying everyone in the office, "I truly appreciate this."

K.K.'s face fell into a soft frown, "Klaus, you know [Name] wouldn't want you to be like this. They'd have your--"

"Ease up K.K." Steven interjected, setting a card on Klaus's desk, "It's only been a year since... Well, since everything happened. You can't hold it against Klaus until the sting wears off."

Klaus turned, slightly ashamed of how his terrible mood was affecting everyone. He couldn't help it, he wasn't sure if even he was strong enough to bear the burdens laid upon his shoulders. Not all of these things happening at once.

~~~~~

"This just in, a building thought to have been lost in the Great Collapse has just re-appeared. Police have the area sealed off, but it looks hopeful for the prospect of survivors to emerge any moment now."

Klaus turned his attention to the television simply out of curiosity. If buildings could reappear then there might be a chance that people could as well. But the idea of getting his hopes up hurt more than he cared to admit. Klaus wasn't used to this pessimistic attitude. He wanted very much to get rid of it as quickly as--

Klaus knocked his chair over with the force of standing up. Disbelief swirled with the newfound giddy rush of what he'd seen. There was no mistaking who it was on the TV, one of the first to exit the building had been...

There was no stopping Klaus, he hadn't the patience to even consider getting into a vehicle. No, he was nearly racing down the street toward large ambulances and police tape.

Naturally, this behavior was causing everyone around him to jump clean out of his way. And leaving Steven, Zapp, and K.K. tailing after him. Steven had caught what made Klaus act so out of character, only just able to explain as they raced out of the office after their red-haired boss.

Klaus stopped just shy of the barricade, panting slightly and hair all a mess. Eyes scanning the area for where you might have gone, which ambulance were you near...

"Klaus..."

The poor frazzled man nearly broke his ankles turning to that relieved sigh. Unable to stop himself from scooping you into a tight hug. Tiny tears were easing out of his shut eyes, face buried tightly against your neck, fangs very much pressed against your skin in a way that would threaten to break through if he tried to speak.

But Klaus had no intentions of that, he was far too overwhelmed with emotions to speak. He just needed to have you close, not even caring how many people were around to watch.

Yet that joy and relief were short-lived as the guilt started setting in. How easily he had given up on you returning. The moment's intensity was stripped away by how horrible he felt. As if he had abandoned you, left you for dead. As if his dreams had been more you calling out to him rather than a manifestation of his own fears.

Or had it merely changed as he lost hope?

Klaus backed away, sheepish and guilty, unwilling to let go of your hand yet feeling as if he wasn't worthy of holding on. He had given up after all. That had to be the single worst thing he's ever done, right?

You were blocked from sight by a wild K.K. flinging her arms around you. Klaus stood there as the guilt mounted, K.K. explaining how Klaus had been the last person to stop looking for you.

He couldn't take the way you beamed up at him. He didn't deserve the way you were looking at him.

Klaus wanted you to hate him for giving up at all. To hold him accountable for something, for leaving you alone like that. For not making sure you were safe, anything.

But that never came.

You were just relieved to be back, no longer lost amid the Alterworld. Glad that everyone was safe, and that Klaus was there to greet you and show you back to the office. To be able to spend a quiet evening with him and properly celebrate his birthday, even if it was a year late.

"Klaus," You had to hunt him down in his greenhouse, "I meant to give this to you last year, but..."

"[Name], I... I don't." Klaus looked you over, but things were still settling in his mind, "Your being back is more than enough of a gift."

You frowned a little, "You've been kinda cagey since... Well, it's hard to pinpoint the moment you started being cagey but... What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Klaus might think he's good at lying but his fidgeting and generally shifty behavior said otherwise, "I've merely been attempting to not be overbearing. I'd rather avoid making a nuisance of myself the day you return."

Klaus didn't like how you were staring him down, not in the slightest. His finger ticked at the handle of his watering can, feeling like he had been cornered. Instantly knowing you'd caught onto the fact that he was lying.

"L-Liebling. I..." Klaus finally gave in, sitting down at the nearby garden table, "In truth, I feel as if I've failed you. Regardless of how long it took, I still gave up looking for you. I had believed you to be dead. I can't help but feel terribly guilty about that."

Klaus was shaking, badly. His breathing became shallow as his tempo increased as if he had to get all of this off his chest before he exploded.

"I had lost hope, for the first time in my life I had turned my back on someone I deeply care about. That feeling of complete defeat had barely set in this morning before the news broadcast showing you were perfectly fine. In my haste, I hadn't registered how poorly I was behaving. I had simply been so swept up at the moment I didn't think about the full ramifications of my actions how..."

"Klaus!" You squeezed the large hands as they twisted together, "Look at me. Please."

Like a child in trouble, Klaus couldn't stop that sad puppy look across his face. The tears just barely contained behind those glasses.

"You're doing this all to yourself. I don't blame you for anything." You were trying to pry his hands apart, emphasis on trying, "I get it, I felt the same. Every day I gave up a little at a time. But this, now that we're together... now that everything is back to... well kind of back to normal. None of that matters."

You really had to stretch across the table to cup his cheek, "It kills me to see you beating yourself up so badly on your birthday of all days. I know how difficult it must be, given everything that happened. But that doesn't mean you... doesn't mean that we can't still make the best of this."

You stopped, not sure if you really should keep going or not. You knew where Klaus was coming from, how torn up he must feel to be this shaky and upset. But you couldn't stand the silence either.

"I mean," You chuckled under your breath, "We've fought blood breeds and ended up in matching hospital gowns. Bouncing back from hardships is kinda our strongest attribute."

Klaus broke, chuckling a little through tears streaming down his face. His hand enveloped yours as he leaned closer. It would take him time to fully forgive himself, but at least for today he could set aside his turmoil and simply enjoy your presence.

Maybe even forgive himself before the new year.

#bbb #kekkai sensen #kkss #blood blockade battlefront #klaus von reinherz #ask

9 notes · View notes

coffee-with-bucky · 3 years ago

Text

Tenderhearted Traditions

Summary: You and Shangchi spend quality time together while he teaches you how to make dumplings (水饺 = shuí jiǎo)

Pairing: Shang-chi x reader

Words: 1.2K

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Minor spoilers for Shang-chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

A/N: This idea was suggested by the lovely @sweetheart-syndrome and this is greatly inspired by my own experience with making dumplings with my mom. I want to note that just because my family and I are Chinese and Shangchi and his family are Chinese does not mean that we do the same traditions, obviously. However, I like to believe that some traditions, especially with making food do crossover with some families. That being said, I guess in a meta way, I’m showing a splice of my own life through Shangchi’s perspective. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Slipping your shoes off and closing the front door, your ears pick up the soft shuffling in your boyfriend’s small apartment kitchen.

“Babe?” You call out.

“In here!”

Entering the cramped kitchen, your lips immediately upturn into a smile.

Brows furrowed and tongue slightly caught in between teeth, Shangchi focuses on the dumpling in his flour-covered hands. Your gaze trails to his hands as you watch him gently fold and pitch the edge of the dough wrapper, creating pleats until the entire dumpling is sealed. Placing the dumpling on a plate sprinkled with flour that prevents the dough from sticking, he wipes his forehead with his forearm.

“Hey,” He grins, “I thought you weren’t off work for another hour.”

“Slow today. They let me off early,” You smirk and step closer to the counter, planting a kiss on the apple of his cheek, “Whatcha doin’?”

“I was going to surprise you with some dumplings, shuí jiǎo, for dinner.” Shangchi chuckles, kissing your temple.

You eyed his prep layout, noticing the bowl with filling, a small bowl of water, and a plastic package with a stack of dough wrapper premeasured and shaped. Reaching for a wrapper, he spoons a ball of filling and nestles it into the center of the wrapper.

“Obviously, the dough can be made from scratch,” Sticking his finger into the bowl of water, he uses the water as an adhesive to stick the edges together, “But… It’s a lot of work to make the dough in my opinion. So, I bought premade wrappers to cut some corners. Don’t tell Katy’s mom and grandma because they’ll have my head.” He laughs.

With methodical hands and fingers, he simultaneously creates the pleats while closing the edges of the wrapper.

“Can I try making some?” You ask.

Shangchi’s eyes light up. “Sure thing! I’ll teach you.”

After washing your hands, Shangchi goes through the instructions with you, demonstrating each step until you get the hang of it. You put all your focus into the pleats of the dough and furrow your brows during the process. Shangchi glimpses over and watches you make dumplings, a smile breaking out onto his face and an overwhelming swell of pride surging through him as he notes your concentration.

You continue to create a handful of dumplings, placing them beside the ones Shangchi made.

“Mine are sort of scuffed.” You winced with a chuckle.

He shakes his head with a soft laugh, kissing the crown of your head. “I’ll tell you what my mom told me. It doesn’t matter what the shuí jiǎo look like. What’s more important is the time spent with each other while making them. And most importantly, eating them.”

As you and your boyfriend continue to make more dumplings, you tell him about your day and how your work was doing. Shangchi tells you his grocery shopping errands in Chinatown, recounting the market he went to pick up the ingredients for the dumplings.

Finishing the last few dumplings, you and Shangchi wash your hands at the kitchen sink together as he began to reminisce and explain why making dumplings held a special place in his heart.

“My mom taught us how to make shuí jiǎo when we were little just like how our grandmother taught her. We would sit in the kitchen and our parents would tell my sister and I stories from their childhood while we made them.” You gazed at Shangchi, the subtle yet sweet smile that laced upon his face never faltering. “Making the food she taught me reminds me to never forget how much she loved us and to keep upholding her legacy through this pastime. If I forget this tradition, I might forget the memories I have of her.”

You place a sudsy hand over his, stopping him from scrubbing his hands. “She sounds like a very lovely and kind woman. I can see how much love she gave to your family, and I know she would be proud of who you became to be.”

Shangchi grins, slipping his soapy fingers to interlace with yours. “She would have loved you if she had met you. Maybe ask you very bluntly if we’re getting married and if we’re giving her grandkids, but she would have adored you with open arms.”

You let out a gentle laugh, “And I would have loved her with open arms too.”

Shangchi tells you to boil the dumplings for about five minutes in hot water and as you watch the pot, he meanwhile heats up a container of soup given by Katy’s grandmother in the microwave.

As you stand by the stove and stir the pot, arms gently snake around your waist and a chin rests upon your shoulder. You smile and giggle softly as he plants kisses in the crook of your neck, trailing up until his lips peck against your jaw and cheek.

“You’re going to let the wrappers break if you overcook them, you know.” He smiles against your cheek.

“Well, while I’m not complaining, I’m a bit distracted at the moment. So, if they break, it’s on you.” You smirk.

Turning your head, your nose gently brushes against his as he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is soft and tender, a kiss that makes warmth bloom across your cheeks and blossom in your chest where your heart lies. You can never get tired of kissing this man, especially when he deepens the kiss with a faint sigh, pressing his lips firmer yet delicately against yours. You feel his smile against your mouth, making you pull away for a moment as a laugh escapes your lips.

Suddenly a hiss comes from the pot, making you two abruptly pull away with wide eyes. The boiling water began to spill over the edge of the pot, sizzling when meeting the raw heat of the stove element.

Swiftly turning off the stove, you quickly move the pot onto another stove element, letting it simmer down. With hands on your hips, you turn around, glaring at Shangchi who has a sheepish smile on his face.

“So… I might have distracted you for a bit too long…” He cringes, coyly rubbing the back of his neck.

You don’t hold the glare too long as you burst out laughing with a shake of your head.

After serving the dumplings and soup into bowls, you take your first bite and your tastebuds are immediately met with flavoursome notes. The warmth of the dumplings and soup gave you an instant feeling of comfort, a blanket of coziness.

“This is so delicious and comforting.” You sigh, hopping onto the edge of the kitchen counter.

There is a twinkle in his brown eyes you can’t quite discern, but his soft gaze on you makes your heart flutter. “Well, I’m glad you like it.” Shangchi grins, sipping down the last remnants of his soup.

As you finish your last bite and the rest of the soup, Shangchi strolls over to you, standing in between your legs and wrapping his arms around your middle.

You sling your arms around his shoulders before kissing the corner of his mouth and chin.

“Thank you for teaching me how to make shuí jiǎo and sharing your experience with me.” You admire, playing with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. “I love you.”

“And thank you for letting me teach you and for letting me make them with you, babe.” He smiles, pecking your nose and pulling you into a hug. “Love you too.” He muffles into your shoulder.

The dumplings and soup warmed you from the inside out, and Shangchi warmed you from the outside in.

#shang chi x reader #shang-chi x reader #shang-chi #shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings #shang chi x y/n #shang chi x you #shang-chi imagine #shang-chi fanfiction #shang chi fanfiction #xu shang chi #simu liu #marvel #marvel fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

todoscript · 4 years ago

Text

you receive a love letter in your shoe locker from an anonymous admirer

characters: bakugou katsuki, kaminari denki, kirishima eijirou, midoriya izuku, shinsou hitoshi, todoroki shouto

genre: fluff. very slight angst.

word count: 3.2k+ total, 400-700 per character

warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, feelings of doubt (mostly all fluff though)

author’s note: i’ve been on spring break so i found some time to write this! i absolutely love writing for these six (not like they’re my faves or anything pshhhhh—)

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

he’s already fuming the moment you open your locker and hold out the pastel pink card, sealed by a shiny heart sticker with your name written in smooth calligraphy.

it doesn’t take much for him to realize some other dunce head is trying to make moves on his girl.

and he absolutely won’t stand for it.

he stomps over to you and snatches the letter right out of your hands as you’re reading it.

your complaints go ignored behind him while he inspects the writing with the most livid expression.

you know that ugly face he makes when it comes to his over-exaggerated anger? the one with his eyes all squinted and the corners sharpened upward?

that’s his face as he continues reading, growing more twisted at every mushy sentence this anonymous admirer had the gall to say to you.

at one point, he can’t stand to read it anymore so he crumbles the letter in his fist before igniting it into crisps.

you scold him for causing such a scene and letting his anger get the best of him, but bakugou is still annoyed about it regardless.

“tch, who the hell does this shithead think they are, trying to make moves on you when we’re already together?! i’m gonna kill them when i find out who it is!” he exclaims, hands instinctively sparking with heat that scares off the other students walking by.

you mentally facepalm at this. still, you go about reassuring him that you won’t be swayed and take his hand to walk to the dorms together.

“katsu, you know it’s going to take more than a love letter to make me leave you, right?”

“heh, damn right, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more that’s for fucking sure,” he sneers, a confident smirk on his face as he knows everyone else never had a chance with you to begin with. they can keep sending those letters and he’d make sure to burn them before they could even reach your hand.

on the way back to the dorms, he makes a conscious effort at pda—arm wrapped around your waist while his eyes glare daggers at any extra that even so much as looks at you the wrong way—asserting his claim over you.

meanwhile, having bared witness to that whole scene, your secret admirer is trembling in the corner. they make note to never send you another letter again unless they want their life to flash before their eyes in a fiery explosion.

KAMINARI DENKI

surprisingly enough, kaminari takes the whole situation more positively than most people expected.

in fact, he’s actually prideful about it.

just as he’s about to head over to your locker so you two could walk to class together, sero pokes his shoulder.

“hey, did you see all those written love confessions in y/n’s locker?” sero whispers behind his cupped hand near kaminari’s ear.

the blond scrunches his nose, confused. “no. what love confessions?”

“the letters that were stuffed in your girlfriend’s locker.”

again, kaminari is still puzzled at this. he realizes there’s only one way to understand what sero means.

when he glances in your direction he’s met with you fumbling around with a pile of letters balanced in your arms. his vision zeroes in on the envelopes, deciphering the fancy stationary and pretty embroidery.

oh. they’re love letters.

“other people are trying to make moves on your girl. what are you going to do about it, kaminari?” sero chimes in with an important question and honestly, kaminari can’t exactly make out a solution. or rather, he feels he doesn’t need to.

sure, he should be a little annoyed over the fact that others are disregarding your relationship.

yet could he really blame them for taking such a liking to you?

you’re pretty, smart, nice—the whole damn package.

he’d be more shocked if you didn’t have any secret admirers lurking around.

kaminari decides to leave his friend’s question relatively unanswered and continues his trek to your locker.

“hey, pretty girl! whatcha got there?”

taken off guard by his appearance, you nearly drop all the letters in your arms.

“denki, you scared me!” you exclaim. “these? they’re just some love letters some anonymous person placed in my locker. don’t worry though! i don’t plan on returning their feelings.”

smiling at how quickly you reassure him, he crosses his arms behind his head. “nah i’m not worried, babe. i don’t feel threatened or anything. it only makes sense that my girl is popular after all!”

you’re pleasantly surprised by how rationally he reacts to the scenario. though, knowing his character, he can’t just seem to leave it at that.

“yep, seems like we’re quite the popular couple!” he grabs your hand, wanting to show each other off as you make your way to class.

the bakusquad sees this as another opportunity to egg him on.

“and just how many love letters have you received since the beginning of the school year, kaminari?”

the blond freezes at the question. kaminari bites back words, but begrudgingly answers.

“...zero.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU

“heya, babe!” kirishima enthusiastically calls to you, approaching your shoe locker. “ready to go back to the dorms?”

“yeah! in just a second though!” you reply.

as kirishima comes closer, he sees you occupied with some envelopes in your hand.

“what’re all those?” he asks, pointing at the refined stationary curiously.

“ah some letters gifted to me from an anonymous admirer. something about wanting to make their feelings finally known, but i’m not interested in them,” you say, clearing up everything before a misunderstanding could arise.

“oh, that’s cool.”

you quirk a brow at how relatively chill he is at this revelation. you were expecting a bigger reaction at this, but kirishima just simply smiles his genuine, care-free smile.

you don’t think much of it though. shoving the letters in your bag to dispose of later, you walk side-by-side with him to the dormitories.

little do you realize that kirishima actually mistakens this as pure, platonic admiration rather than infatuation.

to him, if they had really wanted to profess their love to you, they’d do it in person where you could see and hear them. not behind fancy penmanship and some pretty paper.

after all, that’s what a true man would do!

but as the days continue to roll by, he’s starting to have second thoughts.

“y/n, i’m telling you, with the amount of letters you keep receiving from them, you gotta find out who this person is!” he overhears mina lecturing you at your desk, going through another pile of notes that were left in your locker from that morning. lately, you’ve been greeted by an astounding number of these things each time you visited your locker.

“mina, there’s definitely no need for me to go out of my way to find this person.”

“aw, but look at all the sweet things they said about you!” mina recites a line from one of many letters. she muses about how the writer sentimentally compares your aura to that of a dandelion wisp in the wind—free and lighthearted yet fleeting and out of reach.

“how romantic!”

you roll your eyes, indifferent, but one side-glance at kirishima from your desk tells you that he’s beginning to interpret the situation differently.

the redhead has to admit that all those things that anonymous admirer said to you were… pretty sweet.

kirishima has always been a man of action—an passionate believer that actions spoke volumes compared to words alone. however, after hearing all of that, he’s wondering how he’s able to compete in that aspect.

he seeks you out during lunch and asks you something beneath a lonely corner of trees.

“y/n, do those kinds of things make you happy..?”

you tilt your head, curious about what he’s exactly referring to. one glimpse back at his demeanor in the classroom earlier with mina gives you an idea.

“do you mean all those letters i keep getting?”

kirishima nods slowly.

“well… i have to admit, it is nice to know that i’m ‘liked’ by other people,” you phrase delicately. “but all those pretty letters and sweet words don’t mean anything to me if they aren’t coming from you. besides, i always thought it’s better to let your actions speak for you, don’t you think?”

hearing your answer, kirishima’s face lights up immediately. before you can properly react, a pair of lips meet your cheek.

you rub the warm skin where his lips touched, flustered for a moment. kirishima grabs your hand, walking you two back to the lunchroom with a newfound surge of conviction in his steps.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

“ooh, look midoriya, seems like someone else has a crush on your girl.”

as midoriya’s tidying up his red shoes and bringing out his slippers for class, his male classmates inform him of the pink envelope held in your hands.

midoriya looks over in your direction. he watches as you peel the letter out of the envelope and begin reading its contents.

he doesn’t miss the slight flustered look on your features, observing how you scan through the writing while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, glancing over your shoulder as if your secret admirer was peering at you from behind.

“you better hold onto her tightly if you don’t want her stolen from you,” one of the boys warns, more so as a joke, but midoriya doesn’t take their banter lightly.

“knock it off, guys. just because someone else likes her doesn’t mean she’s going to leave me or anything,” he says this with as much confidence as he can muster, but his demeanor betrays him.

when he goes past your desk in the classroom later, he can’t seem to meet your eyes.

“good morning, izuku!” you greet him mirthfully. however, midoriya fails to return the greeting with the same enthusiasm.

“g-good morning, y/n…”

it’s hard for you not to notice that something is up by the way he heads straight to his desk afterward without another word.

throughout class, midoriya finds it a challenge to concentrate on anything but that letter you received that morning. his mind stumbles into the hole of bad possibilities—ones of you leaving him, those sweet words from your anonymous admirer making your heart flutter more than he ever has.

“—zuku… ‘zuku… izuku!”

he gets pulled out from his thoughts by your voice and turns to see the concerned look on your face.

“you okay? you haven’t touched your pork cutlet bowl this entire time.”

he stares down at his food, untouched since he sat down. “oh sorry, i guess something’s just been on my mind today.”

your brows knit together. “it’s about the letter i got today, isn’t it?”

midoriya stares at you, debating whether to deny your statement, but knows it’s pointless to try when it must have been obvious.

you take his silence as confirmation and grasp his hand that lays flat on the table.

“izuku, look at me,” you tell him and watch as his eyes slowly trail to you. “you know i wouldn’t leave you over some silly letter, right? no amount of words they can say to me could ever make me think differently about you.”

at this, a comforted smile spreads on midoriya’s face. he nods and squeezes your hand as a sign he took your words to heart before chowing down on his food, the uncertainty inside him disappearing.

SHINSOU HITOSHI

“another one?” you inquire to yourself in disbelief, opening your shoe locker to discover a rose-colored envelope waiting for you atop your slippers.

“dang, y/n, that’s like the fourth one this week!” uraraka comments, peeking over your shoulder.

“ooh! i wanna see what they wrote for you this time!” mina approaches from behind. you allow her to grab the delicate letter from your fingertips.

she over-exaggeratedly clears her throat, unwrinkling the paper by pinching at the sides. “‘you are the one who brought me sunshine when i only saw rain.’”

“aw! how sweet!” uraraka clasps her hands above her heart, seeming almost moved.

though the girls are all smitten by the love poem, you bite your tongue, hoping to suppress the urge to gag in front of them.

your boyfriend shinsou is on equal wavelength as you, witnessing the scene unfolding so early in the morning. he’s grown tired of replaying this spectacle for the past four days now.

his eyes navigate to the note and envelope in mina’s hand. by the script and the use of the same stationary, shinsou can tell the love letters you’ve been receiving are all from the same person.

“damn dude, you got some serious competition.” overhearing the girls, kaminari jabs at shinsou’s sides teasingly. “so, you gonna do anything about that mysterious guy trying to go after your girl?”

the violet-haired boy shrugs. “why should i? it’s not like i feel threatened.”

kaminari whistles at his confidence.

shinsou says he doesn’t care about it, putting on a level-headed and indifferent facade. but that was honestly far from the truth.

in actuality, he’s a bit pissed.

what kind of person goes around sending anonymous love messages to someone who’s already in a relationship? what the hell do they hope to gain out of doing this?

shinsou more than trusts you won’t be swayed by them, no matter how many times those notes discourteously greet you every morning.

you never bring up the topic of the letters whenever you two are alone, not wanting shinsou to be bothered over it and create a hassle. all in all, he’s grateful for this, and also for the fact that you make a point of never taking any of those letters seriously and dump them into the trash bin whenever the chance arises.

however, he can tell by your body language that the whole situation bothers you and makes you uneasy.

so, during one incredibly early morning, he decides to do some scouting.

he plays off his odd punctuality by saying he left something in the classroom yesterday and wants to get there early to look for it.

lo and behold, he finds a male student hovering around the lockers—suspiciously darting his head back and forth to be on the lookout for any other students.

little does he realize he’s already been caught red-handed.

“hey you.” shinsou abruptly calls out to him and the boy nearly jumps. “what are you doing here?”

the boy panics at his question, fumbling with his answer while hiding something behind his back—what shinsou presumes to be another one of those cheesy letters.

“u-um, just want to get to class early!” he sputters.

“is there any special reason you’re standing in front of my girlfriend’s locker then? ’cause last i checked, the lockers for general education students were located on the opposite side.” shinsou emphasizes his words with a bite of malice, arms crossed.

“i just lost my way is all–” the student suddenly stops mid-speech, his words and actions forcibly coming to a halt. all thoughts are overturned in the presence of shinsou’s quirk.

“i’m going to make this quick and easy for you to understand. not only are you going to forget about this conversation, but you’re also going to stop handing my girlfriend those love letters.” shinsou bends down to the boy’s height, staring at the abyss in his expression.

“and i’d also appreciate it if you kept your eyes off what’s mine.”

it’s safe to say, your influx of letters had been effectively cut off after that day.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

todoroki is no stranger to finding love letters from avid admirers and fans in his shoe locker before and after classes.

in fact, an unprecedented number of them had begun taking up all the space there after his impressive performance at the sports festival.

when he started dating you, however, he had made a clear declaration that he wouldn’t be accepting anymore of them.

but to be on the opposite end of having to watch you unlatch the door of your locker to have letters and notes practically tumbling out, todoroki wasn’t exactly sure what to make of this feeling that made his stomach twist into knots.

he notices the alarming amount of them and concludes they’re all from various students in different grades and departments.

“y/n, you’re getting pretty popular,” uraraka says, eyeing the stack of envelopes. “must be your dance performance from the culture festival! i remember you did get a lot of cheers in the crowd.”

“guess all those cheers came with a lot of fanboys, huh?” the invisible girl, hagakure, teases.

you jokingly nudge at them to stop with the teasing, but pause when your eyes cross todoroki’s. he’s giving you a look you can’t decipher—one that edges between troubled and apathetic yet you can’t tell which it is.

you send him a nod, silently acknowledging his presence as he waits for you to finish your business so you could head back to the dorms together.

watching you dispose of the various piles of letters has todoroki contemplating about what uraraka and hagakure commented on. about how popular you were getting and how your admirers have been bold enough to profess their reverence for you despite your relationship status.

todoroki’s not entirely sure what to make of this information. he doesn’t linger on it for long though when you finally approach him, your sneakers slipped on and your backpack securely hanging off your shoulders.

“ready to head home?”

a smile finds his lips at your appearance. he softly utters his response.

during the small distance to the dormitories, todoroki reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers together. as seemingly minor the gesture is at this point of your relationship, it’s a detail you mentally take note of.

usually, when it came to publicly displaying physical forms of affection, you were the one to initiate it. you have to admit, seeing the assertive side of todoroki is like a small breath of fresh air.

as you continue your short journey home, a couple of male students walking by greet you enthusiastically. though you wave back to kindly acknowledge them, you feel the grip on your hand tighten, followed by a slight tug closer to todoroki’s side.

that alone is enough for you to realize something is definitely troubling him.

“sho, is there something wrong?” you ask, steps still walking in tandem with him.

todoroki’s voice doesn’t waver in the slightest as he replies, “no, why would you think that?”

“you’ve been awfully possessive all of a sudden,” you note, “is this because of those letters from earlier?”

“...maybe.”

you quirk a brow, amused. “is that a yes or a no?”

now todoroki is silent. your steps come to a halt. not parting your laced hands from his, you turn to look him in the eye.

“sho?”

“it’s just… when i realize that there are other people looking at you the same way i do, i get… uneasy.” his gaze drops to the ground as he confesses this, hand squeezing yours. the uncomfortable churning in his stomach settles a bit now that the words are out, but he finds it hard to ease the atmosphere.

this is where you picked up from where he left off. your hand goes to his cheek, gently cupping it so you can tilt his head up at you.

“oh shouto, you have to know that you’re the only one for me and i don’t plan on looking at anyone else but you,” you assure him. todoroki stares into your eyes, and in them, he can’t find any hesitance or flutter of doubt.

at this, he lifts your twined hands and grazes your knuckles ever so softly against his lips, wondering whatever troubled him so much to begin with.

#bnha x reader #bnha scenarios #bnha headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #kaminari x reader #kirishima x reader #midoriya x reader #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #todoroki x reader #mha x reader

7K notes · View notes

atozfic · 3 years ago

Text

crash landed on you.

pairing. kang yeosang x fem!reader.

synopsis. amidst scandals and parties, kang yeosang is on thin ice with his parents: one more screw up and he’ll be cut off. when he accidentally injures a college student, he quickly makes a deal with them to avoid being sued: attend her brother’s overseas wedding under the pretense that they are madly in love to save her from her mother’s plans to marry her off to a stranger.

warnings. mild enemies to friends to lovers, fake dating au, nepobaby!yeosang, student reader, angst, fluff, he most wattpad-esque type shit i’ve ever written (fr a lot of this story is so unrealistic bye), unhealthy family dynamics, emotional abuse & manipulation, discussions of arranged marriage, so many stereotypical tropes (yes… there’s only one bed.), classicism, the reader hates capitalism but don’t we all? smut: switch!yeosang (extreme sub lean), switch!reader, nipple play, light degradation, edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia!!! (idk what it is about yeo but almost everything i write with him involves this kink... idk, it just suits him, okay?) use of pet names whore and kitten, implied oral (f receiving), implied cum play/eating, unprotected sex.

word count. 20.3k

hyde’s input. lmao rereading this just gave me an idea for a fic within the same universe.

seoul; 6 months before the wedding.

“the browning of the leaves and the reappearance of the wind is a tell tale sign that it’s finally the season again. yes, autumn has returned to our wonderful country but, something even more anticipated has arrived with it: kang-tech enterprises’ annual science fair!”

the envelope sits untouched, an offensive egg-shell white among the stained wood of the dining table.

you’ve been staring at it for the past ten minutes, caught up within your own inner conflict. see, logically, when one receives an envelope in the mail, they open it to get a grasp on what is written inside of it. this one, however, feels dangerous to touch. you were half convinced you were about to break out in a rash during the time it took you to pick it up off of your floor and drop it onto the first stable surface you could find.

you didn’t need to check the mailing address to know who it was from. everything about the packaging, from the expensive envelope- a perfect shade of egg-shell the she-devil always rages on about, the red thread detailing that had been sewn perfectly to hold the paper together, the wax seal that keeps the envelope shut- to the perfectly written cursive letters, stained onto the paper with the blackest of ink, is already enough to tell you that this is from none other than your beloved brother and his bride-to-be.

“-a whole 3 months of amazing displays, announcements of technological advancements, conferences with countless special guests, all culminating in the end-of-season science competition, where a lucky young student will win the privilege to work as part of the kang-tech enterprises’ amazing team of inventors!”

you dare to reach forward and brush your fingers along the envelope. it’s somehow both rough and soft, all at once, as if to demonstrate just how costly it really is. your brother- no, your whole family, in fact- has always been obsessed with money and lavish things. even when times were rough, with your father having to work three different jobs and your mother picking up extra shifts, they would always insist on buying the latest piece of tech or the most expensive brand-name handbag, despite the fact they were struggling to put food on the table everyday.

the beginning of the end was when your mother had the genius idea of setting up your eldest brother with a known socialite. one child down, she repeated her little game of money-hungry-cupid with her middle child, the golden child of the family. and, just as she wanted, his wedding is now months away, a pretty little wife with a favorable bank account waiting to be walked down the aisle.

which is why opening this envelope, this wedding invitation, is your condemnation. there will be no more denying the inevitable or pretending you don’t see her text messages. you’ll have to face your mother, and therefore meet whichever mindless, self-centered, daddy’s-money-having asshole she has lined up for you to marry.

your hand shoots forward all at once, ripping the envelope open like one would remove a band aid: quickly, painfully and regrettably.

the egg-shell white stains an iron red, a paper cut indenting itself on your finger.

"but kang-tech enterprises are also making other headlines this morning, for less exciting reasons. kang yeosang, son of the companies ceo and expected heir to the family business is no stranger to scandals."

it's been forty minutes of the same words being thrown in his face, over and over, both of his parents acting like a tag team set out to destroy him. and, oh what a pity, for them to not yet have realized how little he really cares.

what he does care about, however, is the fact he's now running twenty minutes late to a night out with some foreign model he’d met during london’s fashion week. she’d been working the runway and he’d been working at knocking back as many glasses of wine as he physically could.

kang yeosang lives by one life motto: the nights he doesn’t remember are always the best.

"you must be some sort of imbecile!" mr. kang is the current one taking the lead, pacing the large conference room while yeosang remains seated, face expressionless as he takes another bite of his steak.

the chef has messed up, yet again, not cooking it to his exact liking.

“...photographed as he was pulled over by the police. within moments, a sobriety test was done, as you’ll be able to see on the screen, and the cops did not seem pleased. yet, with nothing but a simple call from someone, the head officer allowed kang to walk free. many now wonder if this is what the future of kang-tech is choosing to do with his life: flaunting daddy’s money to bribe his way out of criminal charges.”

“you’re not even listening to me.” finally, his father has spoken words they can both agree on.

in his weak and unasked for defense, it’s a little hard to focus on anything when you’re busy watching yourself being reported on on a screen, on national television. right now, in who knows how many homes, strangers with no right to see his life are digging their judgmental eyes into the images of him and his disheveled clothes, stood on the curb next to his car as two police officers questioned him.

“do you understand how detrimental your behavior is to the company? to everything your mother and i have built?!” still, his father insists on continuing.

it’s always the same, a conversation yeosang knows by heart at this point. they cry about how they’re simply worried about him for a few minutes before they get to the real reason they care so much: their image.

god-forbid the world see them as parents who failed their only child.

“very well, if you won’t listen to me when i’m being nice then maybe you’ll listen when i’m being cruel.” it’s a new one, yeosang will give him that. it’s about time his dad found new names to call him, something a little harsher than imbecile or dim-witted.

“hit me with the worst you got.” arrogant, cocky, naive kang yeosang sinks further back into the office chair, arms crossing over his chest in a display of unwarranted confidence.

it only makes his father’s smile twist in more amusement as he pierces him with his dagger-like words.

“one more slip up and you’ll be cut off, for good. no more inheritance, no more place within the company, no more being my son.”

seoul; 5 months before the wedding.

kang yeosang is beginning to think he’s too comfortable with lying.

the party was arranged for no particular reason, other than an excuse to get drunk, and the atmosphere of the house makes that very clear. every corner turned, yeosang encounters another group of stumbling, mumbling messes who cheer his name and demand to know where he’s been “hiding out” all these weeks. with great ease, he tells them a tale of a last minute trip out of the country, that lead him to many drunken, forgettable nights.

it’s what’s expected of him, he knows, and that is why they all believe him with no great effort put in from his part. he’s kang yeosang, legendary partying rich-boy, known for his reckless behavior and utter lack of care for life. none of them would know how to act if they knew the truth, of how he’d been practically put on house arrest by his own parents, of how he’d had his car taken off of him and was now stuck being driven around everywhere by a chauffeur, like when he was a kid.

of how his own parents are on the brink of disowning him.

what’s worse about the situation, for yeosang, is having to come to terms with the fact perhaps he’s more like his parents than he’s willing to admit: obsessed with keeping up appearances. they don’t want to be known as bad parents just as much as he doesn’t want to be known as a rejected son. still, he needs to find a solution to this little bump in the road, even if it means parading around for a few months like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

he needs to make his parents regret even so much as thinking of cutting him off.

in the mean time, he’ll play the role of a goody two-shoes. he’ll trade in his reckless parties and foreign models for charity events and business relationships. maybe he’ll even commit to a romantic relationship, if seeing him feign being in love would please his parents. he’s willing to do just about anything, so long as none of his friends find out about his situation.

“yeo!” speak- or, in this case, think- of the devil and they shall appear, for right at the moment the familiar face of jeong yunho comes barreling right into his line of sight. he's quickly followed by song mingi. in all the time he’d known the two boys, both sons of politicians, they’d been attached at the hip, a true two-for-one deal. “you could have given us a heads up that you were back!”

he only manages out an uncomfortable yet believable enough laugh before mingi’s got him wrapped up in his sweater covered arms, patting the smaller boy on the head. yeosang thinks of pulling back but knows it’ll only encourage them to tease him and his intolerance for physical contact.

“you’re like a cat!” the seven boys he considers friends always joked. “the minute someone tries to hug you, the claws come out and you push them away.”

“figured i’d use the element of surprise or whatever.” before he knows it, his gentle giant of a friend is guiding him not so subtly out of the house, yunho trialing behind them both as they step out on to the messy front lawn. yeosang almost trips over an empty cup on the ground, which earns him a round of laughter from the remainder of his friends who are all huddled out together down on the grass.

“there he is, mr. fast & furious!”

“san, he got done for drunk driving, not speeding, you dumb-ass!” it’s wooyoung who scolds the smiling boy, slapping him over the back of the head.

it’s comforting to see nothing about them has changed in the past few weeks. not that yeosang had expected them to, but so much about his own life has already changed in that short time, he’s unsure he would be able to handle any more of it.

“oi, yeo, get your skinny ass over here and teach these idiots how to fly this drone.”

it’s an offer he could never refuse, sending him onto the damp grass to snatch the remote out of san’s hand before poor seonghwa loses yet another gadget to their idiocy.

it’s only three minutes into him tutoring them when disaster strikes.

karma may just work in mysterious ways after all, for as yeosang begins to condescendingly explain to them how to properly lower the drone back down onto the ground- instead of the brusque way they’d both simply been vertically dropping it back down- a resounding crash followed by a high pitched scream rings through the community.

“what...” hongjoong, finally taking his eyes off of his phone, speaks with confusion, even more so when he finds every other one of them staring back at him with a matching expression. “was that?”

“i think yeosang just broke hwa’s drone.” wooyoung doesn’t hesitate to throw him under the bus, even if it’s just by saying what they’re all thinking.

it’s an unspoken mutual decision for all of them to go in search of not only the drone but whatever had screamed. hwa spends most of the search making snide comments, repeating over and over how yeosang should be glad he can rely on daddy’s money to pay back seonghwa for the damages he’s inflicted. normally, he wouldn’t mind such teasing words but today, when he’s so aware of how close he is to losing it, it stings.

“hey assholes, this yours?”

all of them turn to look in the direction of the voice in unison, and there they find it: the drone, no longer the beauty it once was, tangled in the front wheel of a bike. atop of the bike sits you- more like, lays you, trapped under the weight of it- and you look far from happy.

“uh, yeah,” hongjoong takes lead of the conversation, despite not even having been a part of the drone flying, and steps closer to you, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “sorry about that. are you okay?”

“me? oh yeah, i’m great! i just like riding my bike laying down!” if your sarcastic tone isn’t evident enough, you punctuate your words with an eye-roll and an insincere smile.

“hold on, let me help you!” yunho is the one to interject the conversation next, showing no hesitation as he moves forward to carefully untangle you from the bike, discarding it- and the drone still in the wheel- to the side before offering you a helpful hand.

once you’re stood up straight, yeosang feels the need to fade further back into the group. you’ve scraped one of your knees, blood pooling from the gash, and a few more scratches rest upon your legs but it’s your hand that catches yeosang’s attention. a few of your fingers seem swollen and angled in directions unnatural for any normal person. he’s no expert but they almost seem broken, and that’s worrying.

what if you decide to sue him, for injuring you?

“mingi, go get the car and drive it round here.” yunho tosses the keys the boy’s way, who catches them and heads off back to the house party they’d all come from. “we’ll take you to the hospital, yeah? your hand doesn’t seem too good and your knee might need a few stitches. yeosang, you’re coming with us.”

great, so much for staying in the background, he’s now got the spotlight on him and a strange guilt when he meets your glaring stare.

“me? what for?” don’t say i done it, don’t say i done it, don’t say-

“because you were flying the drone,” yeosang silently spites everything that makes up the kind-hearted man that is jeong yunho. “the least you can do is pay for any medical expenses and make sure she’s okay.”

“wait, you were flying the drone?” for the first of what is soon to be many times- even thought neither of you know it yet- you address yeosang directly, scoffing with that same attitude hongjoong had received. “your piloting future ain’t looking too bright, buddy.”

“wouldn’t have happened if you’d had lights on that hunk of metal.” he nods his head in the direction of the discarded bike, instinct telling him to defend himself against this stranger with a smart mouth. “i mean, who rides a bike at two in the morning?”

“who flies a drone in the dark? maybe if you’d put had some lights on that hunk of plastic.”

yeosang can only dread the thought of how annoying this car ride to the hospital will be.

seoul, 3 months before the wedding.

with a deep sigh, you clench and unclench your hand.

there’s a stiffness in three- the pointer, middle and pinkie- fingers. it’s the only sign that remains from when they’d been broken, a side effect you’d been warned about by your doctor. if a little stiffness for a few months is the consequence of being able to finally bend your fingers again, you’re glad to endure it.

the computer screen lays open in front of you, a soft white light as you stare back at your zoom profile, your online tutoring lessons finally done for the day, meaning you’re free from having to use your fake, overly cheerful customer service voice.

the clock reads quarter to six.

he’s later than usual today. normally, by four o’clock, he’s knocked on your door over ten times and rang your doorbell even more, exhausting you to the point of ripping the door open to see what he wants, even if you’re already more than aware of what he’s here to say.

it’s been going on for two months, or however long it’s been since him and his irresponsibility lead to you flying over your handlebars. every few days- some times multiple in a row- kang yeosang shows up at your front door with some kind of edible arrangement and pleads for you to accept his apology, to not go through with suing him. you rarely have to go grocery shopping anymore thanks to him.

and, you suppose, there’s no one you can really blame other than yourself. both for making the threat in the first place and for allowing yunho, along side the boy you’d come to know as mingi and the notorious yeosang, to drop you outside your home after the unexpected hospital visit. had you not done that, the prissy boy who visits you would have no idea where you live.

in the midst of reminiscing over every time you’d opened the door to find him there, baseball cap on backwards and a mask over his easily recognizable face, your ringtone begins to play.

it’s the devil incarnate

“mother.” your greeting is as dry as stale bread, perfectly conveying how you feel regarding the woman on the receiving end of it. were someone to assume you hate your mother, they’d be wrong. you love her, dearly, which makes disliking her as a person so much more difficult to manage.

“oh good, you picked up. i worried you were busy... doing whatever it is you do.” it’s like she’s incapable of comprehending how someone could ever choose a different path in life from her, a high school drop out who simply had the luck of weaseling her way up in the world. she’d laughed in your face the day you announced you were going to university, even though your brothers had not received that reaction. to her, education and hard labor is for men, whilst the women are simply supposed to hang off their arm as decoration and spend their cash. “i’m calling to ask if you’ve booked your flight yet, and to confirm what hotel you’ll be staying at. your father and i, plus your your eldest brother and his wife, will be staying at the groom’s house but there won’t be enough room for you. your brother says there’s a hostel nearby that should fit your budget.”

with the way she speaks about her children, not even bothering to name them, you’d think they were no more than strangers to her.

“i booked my flights last week, mother, after minsoo texted me on your behalf to berate me about it.” you don’t hold back on the attitude in your voice, more than eager to make her realize your distaste for her behavior. and, in your defense, you have every right to feel this way towards her. what kind of woman goes and suggest her own daughter, who is already having to fly half-way across the world unlike the rest of them, stay in a cheap hostel while they all live it up in your brother’s townhouse.

“perfect. now, for your date to the wedding-” whatever she says next, you completely miss, thanks to the ringing of your doorbell.

“look, mom, as much as i’d love to sit and discuss the ins and outs of my love life with you, someone is at my door.” your finger itches to hit the red button on your screen.

“text me your flight details! and let me know when you book a place to stay. i’m already stressed enough with your brother’s wedding plans, don’t give me a reason to have to worry you’re too disorganized to make a simple trip alone.”

she hangs up before you get the chance to do so, getting the last word in, as always.

the doorbell rings again.

“coming!”

you pull the door open and are sent spiraling back into your reality, outside of superficial mothers and unbooked hotels, all from a simple glance at the black haired boy on your doorstep. today, he brings a bouquet of flowers instead of an edible arrangement.

you’re a little relieved, having begun to grow sick of the cheese, the chocolate, the sheer cheek of his gifts.

“i didn’t think you were coming today.” is all you can really say, to stop yourself from thanking him for interrupting your phone call. for once, he seemed to have a purpose.

“aw, did you miss me?” even with the mask covering half his face you know he’s wearing that snarky smile, like he’s better than you. in a way, you suppose he is.

“don’t flatter yourself, your visits remind me to take my anti-stress meds.” you say, stepping a little further out of your doorway, the cool wind licking up your heated skin in a way that has you keening into it.

while you focus on the cold, yeosang focuses on the warmth. more specifically, the warmth traveling right down his bloodstream to the vein that runs along the base of his member, the very subtle hint of cleavage peeking through the top of your shirt and your bare legs on display sending his disillusioned mind into a spiral of x rated thoughts.

he needs to get laid, desperately. family fortune be damned.

“what can i do for you today, kang?” it takes a few minutes for you to ask, after you watch him stare off into space.

“uh...” he blinks slowly, like he’s taking in his surroundings again and realizing he’s stood on your doorstep, flowers in hand and eyes on you. “flowers. i mean- yeah, they’re for you. you know, cause i’m sorry for-”

“crashing into the wheel of my bike, causing me to break my fingers, and then trying to put the blame on me, instead of your own shitty piloting skills?”

“hey! i’m the best drone flyer in my group-”

“being the best of a bad batch is not the flex you think it is.”

“anyway!” he changes the topic of conversation, mostly just to stop himself from playing into his own frustration and showing his true colors. the last thing he needs is to further anger someone on the brink of suing him. “yes, i’m sorry. i hope you can finally see how sincere my apology is.”

an idea pops into your head, then and there. the kind of idea that’s so ridiculous you convince yourself it isn’t.

“look, kang yeosang, cut the crap. i know you don’t really care about what you done to me, you’re just interested in getting me to say i won’t sue you.” despite what you’re saying, your hands still find the time to pluck the flowers out of his grap. they’re pretty, expensive and the perfect thing to send a picture of to your mother, in hopes of getting her to cancel out any plans of finding you a wedding date, likely a man she’s trying to force you to walk down the aisle to someday. “right?”

he’s unsure if it’s safe to respond truthfully, and he tells you so, only for you to reassure him he can be as honest as he likes. “then yes, you’re right. i mean, i am sorry about your hand but i’m only doing this to get you to drop any idea of suing.”

“why? aren’t you filthy rich or some shit like that?” you may or may have not done some googling of him, for safety reasons, of course. it most definitely wasn’t to find wind up on his instagram page, enjoying the various picture of him and his rich friends living life to the fullest.

“a lawsuit would reflect badly on my family’s reputation.”

it seems your mother isn’t far off from being the rich snob she so desires to be, she has the right attitude yet lacks the money. and, suddenly, the light bulbs are turning on inside your head, your neurons beginning to send out signals of what you needed to do, say, offer next.

“i’ll agree to never sue you over all this,” his whole face lights up in relief instantly, like you’ve given him the keys to heaven. “but, on one condition.”

“i’ll do anything.” he then hesitates, reevaluating his words. “if it’s legal.”

“accompany me to a wedding, as my date.” his eyebrows raise at this, and you spot the curling of his lips under his mask.

“i wasn’t aware you thought of me like that. you’re not usually my type but i guess you’re pretty attractive-”

“not actually date me, you idiot.” you need to stop him in his tracks, before he gives you another reason to beat him over the head with the bouquet in your hand. how anyone, even with a face as pretty as his, could be so full of themselves, you’ll never understand. perhaps money breeds ego. “just... spend a few days pretending that we’re madly in love.”

“let me guess, an annoying cousin you’re too embarrassed to face single?”

“something like that.” you can’t help but wonder if he too awaits the same fate as you, condemned to having a relationship created inorganically. you may not know much about their lifestyle but, through watching your mother and your own sister-in-laws, it doesn’t seem uncommon for the elite to set up their children, marriages being used as strategies to benefit two different riches.

“okay, sounds easy. i’m in, just tell me when and where to show up.” yeosang gives in to the proposal far easier than you’d expected, and now all your arguments as to why he should agree to it feel wasted.

“oh...” you trail off, processing everything he’s said again. “that’s the catch, the wedding is in paris.”

so maybe you’d lied about having booked your flights, and maybe you’d never really had enough money to hire a lawyer, never mind actually begin the process of suing him, but he needn’t know that and you aren’t about to share that information.

at least you’ve now got a date to the wedding.

seoul, 4 days before the wedding.

“you’re unbelievable.”

it’s all you’ve been able to repeat, over and over, for the past twenty minutes. but what else is one supposed to say when the mad man that is kang yeosang shows up at their apartment, four in the afternoon, beeping the horn of a limousine? you aren’t naive to the stares you’d gotten from all the nosy people who’d stepped out their homes due to the noise, all watching how yeosang dashed up the steps of your door to grab your luggage.

you’re surprised there aren’t already pictures of him all over the gossip sites, questioning why the little rich boy held the car door open for you, a common nobody, hand on the top of the opening to stop you from bumping your head against it.

“you’ve only got yourself to blame, you’re the one who put me in charge of transport.” yeosang sits across from you, leisurely spread along the row of leather sofa that makes up his seat. he’s so relaxed while you’re rigid, back straight, knees perfectly bent, hands carefully resting on your thighs to avoid making contact with the leather. “you should be used to this by now.”

he’s right, you’ve had the better part of three months to get accustomed to his extravagant lifestyle.

would you say that you and yeosang have become friends? no, but you can tolerate a full day with him and not return home with the urge to commit homicide, and that's better than nothing to you.

it was all yeosang’s suggestion, an idea birthed by his own boredom of trying to keep up his game of playing the good, civilized son. he’d called you up, four in the morning on a wednesday, and had the audacity to judge you for being awake, as if he wasn’t in the same position. teasing aside, he swiftly asked if you were free on thursday, to which you confirmed you were.

since then, every other thursday has been spent together in one location or another, running over the intricate details of your fake relationship. according to him, it was the best way to ensure it's as believable as possible to your family. you two need a plan, a story-line to give answers to whatever questions are thrown your way.

in those three months, you’ve come up with a very basic yet compelling love story.

a story where you’d met through mutual friends, at a house party- which, isn’t a complete lie. yunho has become your friend and they had been at a party when he flew his drone into you-, and exchanged numbers. after a standard amount of dates, the first one being at a bowling alley, yeosang told you he wanted to make things official, and that’s how things have been for the seven months you’ve been together. if asked about future plans, you're to brush it off with a giggle while yeosang is to “accidentally” let it slip that he has plans of asking you to move in together after the holiday.

leading perfectly into your reason for breaking up, once things are over and done with: you just aren’t ready to take that step and yeosang takes the rejection badly.

he now knows he’s too good at lying.

“what time’s our flight?” you ask a while into the drive to the airport, eyes fixated in watching the world pass by through the tinted window.

when the agreement had been made for yeosang to join you on the trip to the wedding, it was easy for you to relinquish all control for the security of not having to scrape together whatever pennies you could find, in the small hope of affording a two-way trip. which, by default of kang yeosang being the most secretive bastard to grace the earth, has lead to you not knowing a single detail of your trip. the transport, the accommodation, the flights, everything was planned by him.

it’s both exciting and unnerving.

“you’ll see.” is all he replies and rouses a groan from you.

“can you not just be straight forward for once?”

“where’s the fun in that?”

what remains of the drive you two spend it in silence, an occasional buzz from either of your phones and the radio serving as the only noise. it’s unexpected but not unwelcome, the way you two have grown to easily coexist in the same space, no need for constant bickering or bragging.

in all the time you’ve known the rich boy, he’s seemed shy. not shy in the ways of silence and a reserved nature, but a shyness that presents itself in the form of blushing cheeks and hand-covered laughter. he's confident with certain things, like the way he looks or the status he possesses, but anytime it's just you two conversing casually, like you're anything more than strangers stuck in a deal, yeosang fumbles over his words.

you hate to admit how cute it can be, to watch his eyes light up in excitement whenever he tells you about his work in his father’s company and to hear his unapologetic fascination towards all things technological. hell, your computer had broken three thursdays ago and he didn’t hesitate to shove right past you into your home. within less than an hour, he was bidding you goodbye and dismissing your praise for having fixed the damned thing.

so far, kang yeosang is proving to save you a lot of money.

“wait!” you’re forced to exclaim, as you watch through the window as the car grows further away from the airport entrance. “i think the driver missed the exit! can we tell him-”

“he didn’t. we’re not going through the airport.” yeosang watches you with amusement, which only serves to unnerve you.

the vehicle continues to move, each turn of the wheels driving you a little more insane. you’re starting to worry about what exactly kang yeosang has planned. for the first time since you’d handed him the metaphorical steering wheel, you’re debating slamming your foot down on the brakes and calling off this whole plan. it’s not like you’re really going to fool your family, anyway. they’ll see right through your lies, from nothing more than your body language towards one another.

you don’t hold love in your eyes for each other. your touches are rare and never linger. your words are sparse and very much not lovey-dovey. your worlds are completely the opposite: you struggle to pay your netflix bill and he buys netflix.

like, the entire company.

your mother will know it’s fake the moment she spots you two, arriving to the family brunch from hell that she’s organised to run over wedding details with you all. in other words, she wants an excuse to sus out the supposed boyfriend you're bringing along before the wedding, to figure how long she needs to wait to tell you about the man- more like, the wallet with legs- that she has planned for you.

you’re doomed. absolutely, certifiably condemned to a life of misery and champagne and being cheated on by a husband you don’t even want, and now you’re dragging poor little kang yeosang into this mess, and for what? all because he made a silly, drunken mistake? i mean, who hasn’t crash landed a drone into the wheel of-

the car is no longer on the main road.

it’s not on any road at all, in fact.

“yeosang...” you begin, eyeing the runway the vehicle is traveling along at a moderate speed, storage units larger than your whole block stationed along in a perfect row.

“before you freak out,” it’s irritating to know he’s already predicted your reaction. “i couldn’t figure out how to book a flight, and all of the ones i could find were going to have us stuck in a lay over for six or seven hours, and i figured you wouldn’t want to miss out on time with your family-”

“oh, you’ll soon change your mind.”

“so i asked my dad if we could borrow the family jet.”

“family...” each time you think you understand the extent of his riches, he pulls a stunt like this. on the second thursday you’d ever spent together, he’d noticed the wear and tear of your bag strap, shamelessly pointing it out to you in true blunt kang yeosang fashion. you waving it off as nothing a little superglue couldn’t fix translated in his brain as buying you a brand new one, this time the real deal instead of some fake copycat you’d bought down at a flea market. “fuck, you’re like rich rich.”

“we’re comfortable.” he shrugs, unbuckling his seat-belt and bringing your attention to the fact the car has stopped a few feet away from a jet-black... well, jet. the perfect way the sun reflects itself in the dark finish screams wealth, and you have to resist gasping as you watch the door open.

“that’s what all rich people say!” following him out of the car, you come to a halt in your tracks while he grabs both of your luggage. the plane feels so much more intimidating now, like a barrier you’re not allowed to cross, a metaphoric no trespassing sign for yeosang’s entire lifestyle.

“well,” your head snaps to look over at yeosang, who’s somehow already stood on the first stair, a suitcase in each hand, dark hair blowing a little with the afternoon breeze and a teasing smile on his face while he stares right back at you, frozen in your spot. “are you coming or what?”

“you’re unbelievable!”

paris, 3 days before the wedding.

“so, no horse and carriage?”

the driver slams the door shut after yeosang squeezes his way into the back seat, just in time for you to catch his eye-roll. throughout the whole flight, you’d ripped into him with jokes and comments about his family’s wealth, going as far as wondering what extravagant transport awaited to take you to your hotel. the car you sit in is certainly no royal carriage but it is a bmw and the seats are lined with the softest of leather.

“afraid not this time, darling.”

“darling?” you muster what little energy you have, biting back a persistent yawn. “cool it, lover boy, we’ve still got...” the blur of sleep in your eyes makes it hard to read the time on your phone screen. 1 am. “eleven hours until we need to see my family.”

“i find method acting works best for me.” there’s a wiggle of his brows and a teasing smile on his face, all which cause you to shove his shoulder. he overreacts- something he has a tendency to do, really- and sends himself crashing against the window of the car, feigning a pout as a hand rubs over his injury. “2 minutes into this relationship and we’re already having a domestic.”

“sorry, babe,” you shrug and plaster a smile on your face. past the windows, you can see the car has begun to move, carrying you away from the airport and towards the blinding lights of the city of love. “just trying out your method acting thing.”

all cities are the same. it’s a very easy conclusion for you to come to, despite only having been in two. cities are bright and loud. they’re overwhelmingly big looking. they make you feel like nothing more than an ant traipsing through a garden of towers or a speck of dust floating through the grand space of earth.

next to you sits someone who disagrees. kang yeosang, well traveled and well versed in the intricate details that make every city unique, finds them small. compact. cramped. there’s never enough room for the people living there, and that is why man-kind had to begin building upwards, creating more space. he feels like a giant in cities, like someone with purpose and a place to go, as he rushes past people, little care shown for if either of them bump into each other.

“i’ve always liked pa-” yeosang’s words come to a halt in his throat, only to bubble right back down from where they’d come from when he turns to find you with your eyelids shut and your head leaning against the window.

he doesn’t mean to reach across the seats and touch you but a strand of hair threatens to brush over your face and he can’t risk you waking up, knowing you’d stayed awake the whole flight just to sync your body to the french timezone.

your hair is softer than he’d thought, and the intimate action of brushing a thumb over your cheek comes a little too easily. everything has seemed that way with you lately. it’s alarming for yeosang to see someone fit so easily in to his life, to feel less like an accessory bought by his family fortune and more like a human choosing to waste their time on him.

he’s grown used to the feeling of sitting next to someone, whether that be in a car or a plane or any other mode of transport, and feeling like they don’t belong, like they’re intruding on his personal space. you, however, fit right in, like you’ve never been anywhere else but his side.

and that is a feeling he’s not ready to get used to.

the thump of your head clashing against the window worries him more than the confusion in his own mind and heart. he jolts in his seat, unbuckling himself only to scoot over into the middle, closer to your sleeping form. he hesitates, only for a moment, to question what exactly he should do.

the answer comes in the form of him carefully leading your head on to his soft, warm shoulder. seventeen seconds pass and then he spots the goosebumps forming along your exposed legs, this time not even thinking before grabbing for his jacket and draping it across you, doing his best at shielding you from the cold and the solid window.

when you awake, it’s already nearing two in the morning.

there’s a newfound weight atop your body, one you’re more than certain was not there when you unknowingly drifted off to sleep. you’ve yet to open your eyes, instead focusing on curling further under whatever is blanketing your frame. it’s soft, far more pleasant to touch than any of your overly washed and faded bed sheets, and there’s a scent attached to it that has your mouth watering, your insides twisting and your nose itching to bury itself in it. it’s musky and sweet and fresh all at once, a concoction of contradicting smells that blend too easily.

something moves beneath your head.

“wakey wakey, sleepyhead.” it’s yeosang, so much closer than you remember him being when you’d both entered the car. “c’mon, we’re at the hotel. twenty minutes and you can rest that pretty head of yours on a pillow, instead of giving me a dead shoulder.”

at least he called you pretty.

“can’t you get one of your servants to carry me up?” opening your eyes, you shift off of him to sit up straight. a cramp has settled in the base of your neck, the feeling increasing when your lips part to release an untamed yawn, which quickly prompts one out of yeosang too.

“what kind of boyfriend would i be if i let someone else carry my girl around?” he watches the way you shrug his jacket off of yourself, with a questionably heavy heart in his chest.

“quit calling yourself that,” there’s a rush of cool air as you open your own door, unbuckling yourself as quickly yet as naturally as you can, a fresh wave of heat settling into your cheeks. the chill of the night is welcomed, anything to cool you down before the rich boy notices your physical reaction. maybe you’re coming down with a fever. “or i’ll have to assume you’re catching feelings.”

stepping onto the street, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie, one of those cheesy romcoms, like midnight in paris. everything is a plethora of beige and browns, streets lined with the quaintest like patisseries and cafes. the streetlamps cast a golden hue over it all, enhancing the romantic feeling. everything feels old, and historical, and fictional, and european.

you almost forget, for a moment, you’re not here to spend a vacation comprised of sweet treats and historical landmarks and unpromised romance but, rather, a long weekend of judgmental glances and uncomfortable conversations and fake relationships.

“is it really catching feelings if i already caught them a while back?” as if to punctuate his own statement, he sneaks an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, till both your sides are pressed against each other and you feel the brush of his thigh against your own with every step forward, with every stair you climb, burning into your skin with a foreign warmth.

you only part ways from each other when yeosang drops his arm down to make his way over to the reception. you trail behind him slower, eyes too busy taking in the lobby area, which is comprised of way too much marble, carpet and expensive yet uncomfortable looking chairs for this to be an ordinary, run of the mill, three star hotel.

at the desk, you pick up on the sound of the receptionist typing away quickly on her computer, mouth moving a hundred miles an hour as she speaks what you can only imagine to be french. what’s more surprising is when you hear yeosang easily replying. the knowledge of his multi-lingual talents only adds to his air of sophisticated riches.

by the time he’s gotten a hold of your room key, and completely ignored the flirty eyes of the receptionist, yeosang struts his way over to where you still stand in amazement. as if sensing this, he offers you shrug and a smile, non-verbally telling you it’s your fault for leaving him in charge of the trip.

the elevator ride up to your floor is relatively quiet, the jet-lag slowly seeping into both of your bones and threatening to drown you under it’s weight. the both of you stand on opposite sides of the small moving box, the baggage between you filling the space perfectly.

it’s oddly metaphorical, a clear separation of classes.

his bags are expensive, new, littered in the logo of some expensive brand you wouldn’t even be able to buy, even with all your life savings put together. meanwhile, yours are old, battered and they stand lopsided, thanks to the wheel missing on one of the corners.

before you can focus too much on it, the door dings open and out you both step, into a hallway just as lavish as the lobby.

“this door’s ours.” he sounds as tired as you feel, yet that doesn’t stop him from taking your bags off your hands, key-card resting between his teeth.

one look at the door isn’t enough to make you realize where you are, what room he’d booked. but a second, third, fourth glance certainly helps cement it into your mind.

“would you stop checking out the door and open it?” yeosang speaks carefully through gritted teeth, working at not dropping the card. “jeez, what did you pack? your whole wardrobe?”

“i didn’t know what the weather would be like.”

“then look it up on the internet!”

fed up of his complaining, you swipe the key-card out of his mouth, wiping his excess saliva on the shoulder of his jacket. your eyes land back on the door and properly read the elegant words splayed across it. you have half the mind to demand he cut the cameras to whatever cheesy romantic comedy you two appear to be starring in, because men like this and situations like this only happen in those.

“i can’t believe you booked...” you have to pause in amazement before you can actually say it. “the coco channel suite. that’s... insane. like, really crazy. it probably would have been cheaper for you if i had just sued you.”

“not in the long run.” his reply is stoic, something hidden in the meaning of it that you don’t feel quite comfortable questioning. “now, if you’d like to open the door, you’ll find there’s a perfectly well-made bed waiting for us to crash down on it.”

unlocking the door, it opens almost in slow motion, each movement slowly unveiling more and more and more of the wonders hidden in the extravagant room: the marble, the decor, the art, the furniture. it’s all beautiful, spotless. you could easily convince yourself, with how clean everything looks, that you and yeosang are the only people to have ever stepped foot in it.

the luggage thumps onto the ground behind you but you ignore it, and yeosang, in the name of venturing further through the suite.

then his words settle in.

“wait,” you do a one eighty and nearly scream when you find he’s already stood right behind you, jacket and shoes discarded at some point. “did you say bed, as in only one bed?”

yes, you’re definitely trapped in a romance movie.

though, approximately ten hours later, as you and kang yeosang hurriedly race through the streets full of busy parisians and starry-eyed tourists, it’s beginning to feel more like a thriller movie.

you slide to a stop in front of the appointed cafe, where just beyond it’s cute, baby pink colored door, lies the very core of your problems: your not-so-loving family. behind you, yeosang is struggling to catch his breath and, if you weren’t in the same position yourself, you’d have half the mind to laugh at him. your ankles ache under the pressure of your heels but you’re honestly a little too impressed by the fact you never tripped while running in them to care.

“did we,” yeosang starts and stops almost immediately, his heaving chest getting in the way of his words. “make it?”

“we’re fifteen minutes late.” your reply is disillusioned, knowing you’ll only be entering to more attention on you and the dark haired boy by your side. ideally, you’d wanted to be the first to arrive but mister daddy-pays-my-bills was too busy styling his hair.

“pft, at least i look good.” it’s like he can read your mind. “we’ll just call it being fashionably late, giving your family a nice view of us walking in.”

“wait, wait!” you grab his arm before he can make the move to open the door. to anyone watching, you look like nothing more than a girl trying to get a hold of her boyfriend’s hand, but yeosang is the only one to feel your deathly tight grip on him. “just... be prepared, okay? my mom can kind of be a bitch about things, especially given that we’re late. don’t let anything she says get to you, okay?”

you almost sound like you care about his feelings getting hurt.

maybe you do.

“i appreciate the warning, darling, but i guarantee i can take whatever she throws my way and return it by tenfold.” too easily, his arm slips around to hold you by your waist, lips landing on your forehead when both of you notice the audience watching you through the windows of the cafe. yes, the game has finally begun, for real now. “besides, if she tries to say anything about us being late, i’ll just tell her all about how her pretty little daughter jumped my bones in the shower and kept us a little busy.”

if your mother’s eyes weren’t burning a hole in the side of your head, you would slap the smirk right off of kang yeosang’s stupidly pink lips.

paris, 2 days before the wedding.

the first thing kang yeosang registers is warmth.

he knows it can’t be the morning sun, casting it’s heat down in through the windows and onto the bed. the curtains had been firmly shut last night, by none other than himself, when you’d both stumbled back in to the suite and collapsed on the bed, too tired for formalities and too emotionally drained to care about the fact you were sharing a bed.

when you’d first arrived in the room, and yeosang had seen you register the fact there was only one bed, you hadn’t hesitated once before grabbing a pillow off of it and dropping it down onto a couch, bidding him goodnight and good luck with finding a spare blanket while you crashed down onto the luxurious bed, laying smack in the middle of it to drive the point home: you would not be sharing.

twenty hours, a whole lot of running around and the awful company of your mother later, there was no time to fight over who got the bed and who got the sofa.

it’s big enough for you both anyway, right?

he’s reluctant to open his eyes, despite having woken up five minutes ago. it’s that same old feeling anyone gets, the denial of knowing the day is about to start and there’s no longer an excuse to lay around doing nothing in bed. this morning more than ever, he wants to fall back asleep.

yeosang had slept like a log for the first time in months, the combination of the expensive egyptian cotton, the cloud-like comfort from the mattress and the jet-lag coming together to create a perfect blend of ingredients for a good night’s sleep. the security of someone laying next to him, even if you were hanging off the opposite end of the bed just to keep distance from him, became the cherry on top.

the warmth grows closer, like it’s becoming tangible, something he can trail his fingertips over and feel it burn his skin.

even if it burns, he’d still touch it again.

curiosity finally catches up to him, culminating in his eyes finally parting. it’s uncomfortable at first, to feel the crisp in the corner of his eyes, where sleep has made it’s mark physically evident, and the dried drool on his lips. there’s a reason yeosang makes it a point to kick out any hook-up once the deed is done and, contrary to popular belief, it's less because he's a careless asshole and more so because of his embarrassing sleep face.

the first thing he sees is you.

you’re still peacefully asleep, a fact that makes yeosang envy you whilst relieving him at the same time, knowing that you needed all the sleep you could get, after the night you’d had. his eyes trace over your face, from the hair stuck to your forehead, down to your eyes, all the way to your lips. it’s not hard to spot the dried tears on your cheeks, not when he already expects them to be there.

he’d heard you crying during the night, a while after you’d both lay down. he’d made no attempt to comfort you, not when you clearly had waited for a time where you thought he would be asleep to unleash your waterfall, unaware that something unknown had been keeping him awake most of the night.

his heart had clenched a million times as he listened to your soft hiccups and stuttered breaths.

and, if you're sleeping, it also means you aren’t aware of the distance between you two right at this moment. or, better put, the lack of distance.

you, on your side, a leg nestled between both of yeosang’s while your head lays resting on his shoulder. every warm breath of yours he feels it on his skin, heating him up in ways he’s never experienced. him, arms around your waist to hold your firmly in place and chin resting atop of your head. on the king sized bed, the two of you combined take up less than one person would on a single mattress.

for no more than twelve seconds, he lets his hold tighten around you and he curls himself further into the warmth provided by your skin. it’s short and not lasting, but it’s a moment where he can let his eyes close and fool his heart into thinking this is a constant in his life, that he wakes up everyday to a familiar face and loving hold, that the nights pass with him anchored down into reality by someone who loves him rather than the brutal truth of his lonely, cold, unfeeling bed sheets being the only things to embrace him.

come the thirteenth second, he let’s you go and rolls over, eyes staring out at the extravagant room that suddenly dims in comparison to the sight of you and your messy hair.

paralyzed, he stays glued in his spot when he feels you move under the sheets, when you slowly sit up, when you stretch and yawn, when you slip out the bed, when you make your way over to the bathroom, when he hears the door shut and the shower start.

kang yeosang makes no attempt to let you know he’d woken up before you, brain too fried from his own confusing actions.

hours later, the events of the morning continue to haunt him as he throws back another shot of bourbon, caramel colored liquor burning into his throat with no mercy as he stares off into the distance, complete disregard for the scantily clad girl occupying herself in his lap and rutting against him in the hopes of a few tips.

she could take all his money, for all yeosang cares, he just wants her to fuck off so he can stop picturing your face instead of hers.

“so, you and my sister, huh?” it takes yeosang’s drunken mind a few moments to register who is talking to him, due to the fact he’d only met everyone at the table the day prior, over lunch and an uncomfortable stroll around the city.

it’s seyoung, the oldest of your two brothers. when he’d planted himself in the empty seat next to him, yeosang has no idea, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes and some glitter along his chin, which he can only imagine was originally stuck to the body of one of the strippers.

“yeah, me and your sister.” he’s not sure what else he can say, not given much of a prompt to go off of. it doesn’t help, the fact that yeosang has never experienced the talk with any family members of his past concubines.

the stripper in his lap finally gets the hint that he’s uninterested and moves over to seyoung, who welcomes her into his lap with open arms and a wolfish smile, one yeosang can only imagine his wife wouldn’t be happy about. instead of dwelling on the marital problems of a family he’s not related to, he shrugs it off and leans forward to grab the bottle of bourbon, refiling his glass while he tries to ignore the ache in his eyes, the clubs flashing lights feeling like a nuisance more than a mood-maker.

“you must be serious about her.” your brother lays a hand on the stripper’s hip, one yeosang knows the no touching policy forbids but the girl excuses with a few extra notes stuffed into her bra.

“why?” yeosang’s began to feel defensive. really, he should be glad to hear such a thing from your sibling, it means you two are succeeding at fooling them. yet, more than anything, he’s feeling called out, like he’s being forced to confront something he’s trying so hard to bury under his own consciousness.

something that’s caused him to cover you in his jacket, and carry your bags, and call you pet names, and pull you closer under the covers.

“dude,” the girl in his lap is swirling her hips in ways that would usually hypnotize yeosang, have him keen to find out what time she gets off, and how long it would take him to get her off. tonight, it makes him think more of how awkward the whole scene looks, how she’s not even on-beat with the song blaring through the strip joint. “we’ve been around naked women the whole night and you’ve looked nothing but bored. you keep checking your watch and looking around at the decoration. i don’t know how or what she’s done to you, but y/n’s got you pussy whipped.”

the way he speaks of you feels far too vulgar for any ordinary caring brother.

“where i come from we just call it being in a committed relationship.” there’s spite in his voice, an aggression. he’s glad to be angered by seyoung, because it gives him something to focus on other than the underlying meaning and reason behind everything the man has just called him out on. “but i’m sure a married man like you knows all about that.”

your brother rubs over his ring finger, a tan line where his wedding band should be.

the same wedding band he’d slipped into his pocket on his way into the club.

“so, you sure you’re serious about my sister?” an ironic question to come from a married man with a half naked woman in his lap and a semi-hard dick. “because if i find out you’re just messing around with her, like you little rich boys like to do with girls like her, i’ll skin you alive.”

it would be oh so easy for yeosang to call him out on his hypocrisy, on the fact he’s trying to act so different to yeosang when, in reality, he’s decked out in a tailored suit, with expensive shoes and a watch on his wrist worth more than the average yearly salary of most workers.

instead, he settles for another sip of his drink and a roll of his eyes.

“i don’t know what you mean by girls like her but,” finally having had enough of the music, of the flashing lights, of the invasive questioning from a man lacking morals or loyalty, yeosang stands up. there’s an itch in his fingers, one he knows will only be sedated by holding a cigarette between them. “i assure you, if anyone is going to skin me alive for messing around, it will be your sister.”

seyoung’s reply falls on deaf ears as yeosang abruptly walks away, carrying his half empty glass in hand. he watches the other members of the bachelor party as he makes his way through the club. some littered near the stage, others with their heads buried in the glittery chests of women, and the rest at the bar, engaging in some emotional confessional with the groom-to-be, minsoo.

the paris air is cold, refreshing, filled with the feeling of an upcoming spring when he steps out of the grim club. it’s like stepping into another world, into a movie set. the club, a slimy and cheap mockery of a vegas strip club, and the streets, a perfect replica of anyone’s favorite rom-com.

yeosang’s legs carry him over to a bench, where he sits himself down and, for the first time in hours- since you’d both went your separate ways for the bachelor and bachelorette parties, really- he feels himself relax, his shoulders untensing while he sags himself further down on the bench.

he’s spent, exhausted, lonely.

with one hand, he lights a flame with his lighter, dragging the dancing ember toward the nicotine stick waiting between his lips, and, with the other hand, he fishes his phone out of his jacket.

unlocking the screen, he skips past the missed messages and social media interactions, thumb heading straight to click on his contacts and scroll until it finds the person he’s desiring.

for a few minutes, he contemplates hitting the call button, tries to factor in every pro and every con of igniting a conversation. making his mind up, insecurities and complicated feelings getting the best of him, he clicks his phone screen shut.

it lights up a moment later, your name splayed across the screen.

he wonders if you also needed to weigh the pros and cons of calling him.

“did you really miss me that much,” yeosang doesn’t bother with a greeting, jumping right into teasing you. it’s what he’s familiar with, what he’s good at, what he’s wanted to do all night instead of talk about football matches he hadn’t even watched and bare witness to several infidelities. “you called me in the middle of a party?”

“oh, shut up, lover boy. you’re the one that answered before the second ring.” the way the r rolls off your tongue lights a spark in him, makes his stomach coil with an indescribable feeling. he wants you to only call him that, to be your only lover boy. “so maybe it’s you who missed me.”

“okay, sherlock, you’ve made your point. maybe i did.” neither of you want to acknowledge the sincerity in his voice or the hum of joy you reply with. “having a good night?”

“well,” you pause, a dried laughter slipping out of you. he can picture you, when he blinks, throwing your head back, eyes staring up at the sky. he wonders if you’re looking at the same star he is, bright and burning yet so far away, keeping it’s distance to protect itself from any unwanted calamity. “i called you, that should answer your question.”

“i’m glad we’re both having a shit night, then.”

“we’re truly radiating soulmate energy.”

“miserable without each other.”

“painfully so.”

for the second time that day, he allows his heart to be fooled into thinking this is a constant part of his life. phoning you, checking up on you, hearing about your day. talking about the most mundane shit yet still feeling high as a kite, sat on the most uncomfortable bench in all the world and feeling nothing but comfort.

“kang yeosang.”

he might prefer the way his name rolling off your tongue over the letter r.

“i-don’t-know-your-last-name y/n.” has your laugh always sounded so sweet? he could have sworn it used to be more like a witches cackle, not the symphony of sound he’s hearing down the line.

“it’s l/n.” he can hear the smile in your voice and laments that he can’t actually see it, having to rely on the you his conscious paints against his eyelids each time they close. “i’m hungry.”

it’s only two words. a statement, a way to fill empty space in a conversation and kill the awkward silence. yet it feels like more.

like an invitation.

“it’s late,” his watch tells him it’s just passed two in the morning. “most places are closed.”

you sigh in defeat, yeosang’s heart clenches. “i know.”

“though,” the pause is only for dramatic affect, to gain your attention, something he’s unaware that he’s actually had all night, even as you sat among drunken women and a man in the fakest cop outfit you’ve ever seen. “i did see a fast food place near our hotel.”

it takes him little to no time to arrive at the address you send him, where he finds you eagerly awaiting outside a brightly lit club, dress glittering under the reflection of the moon and your make-up smudged ever so slightly, only making him wonder how you still manage to look beautiful.

you two almost hug when he reaches you, but a drunken stranger stumbles into him and ruins the short lived moment.

“c’mon, let’s go get you some food.” he holds his hand out, not expecting you to take it.

you don’t.

“kang yeosang, you little flirt.” instead, you tangle your arm around his. “didn’t your mother ever tell you the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach?”

“the biology of that makes little to no sense.” he prefers the soft street lamps to the fluorescent lights in the club he’d abandoned. he prefers the smell of fresh air to the smell of too much cologne. he prefers the company of you to the bachelor crew. “i mean, it implies starting with anal-”

“you know, you’re real cute till you open your mouth.”

“i can’t tell if that’s a back-handed compliment or just you telling me to shut up.”

“maybe it’s both.”

just like that, an evening of unpleasant conversations and uncomfortable situations turns into one of lighthearted talking and subtle brushes of skin and grease covered fingers from the bag of chips you both got to share on your walk back to the fancy hotel, both of you already making plans to rent out some french movie and take a shot each time someone says oui oui.

and as he walks by your side down the old cobbled streets, he smiles.

he smiles so softly, that he doesn’t even notice it until he catches the image of his own reflection in a shop window. in fact, he watches both of your reflections and takes in the normalcy of it all. you in your beautiful outfit, glitter sticking to your skin and his jacket draped over your naked shoulders, him with his wrinkled shirt, matted hair and your heels dangling from his hand. you look no different to every other couple who would walk these streets.

he can only hope he’ll remember this night for the rest of his life.

paris, 1 day before the wedding.

the first thing you feel is warmth.

this time it is because of the sun, it’s first few rays that paint the sky also finding a way to bring their heat into the hotel room. neither of you had closed the curtains last night, too caught up in the thrill of cheap liquor and your awful attempts at mimicking the french accent, and exchanging war stories from the parties you’d both successfully ditched.

while yeosang was busy being quizzed on his intentions with you, you were being judged on every little aspect of your life. to be more specific, the mundane parts of your life. the wedding party is made up of girls with riches upon riches, family owned fortunes, and sugar daddies willing to spend half their salary just to keep a pretty girl in their life.

the moment you joined them all, you could already tell in what direction the evening would be going, based solely on the dirty looks and the way they all gave your dress a once-over, sneering among themselves like they just knew you’d hardly spent fifty bucks on it.

“you really should ask yeosang to let you borrow his credit card next time you go shopping.” seyoung’s wife had no shame in verbally shaming you, passing it off as a concerned comment, one of her clawed hands landing on your shoulder and giving it a squeeze, not hard enough to bruise but enough to leave the indents of her fake nails.

it took everything to not tell her to just focus on her failing marriage with your brother rather than concerning herself with the money you choose to waste on clothes.

at some point, with your intoxicated mind running a million miles per hour, the feeling of being an impostor, an outsider, an unwanted guest began to overwhelm your senses. the other girls were all caught up in their own conversations, gossiping about their husbands or bragging about their recent trips to bali, or the maldives, or any other ideal destination you’d never have the money or time to visit. it’s what drove you outside, to call the only form of moral support you seemed to have in paris.

yeosang.

who, many hours later, has his arms wrapped around you and a little bit of drool peeking out the corner of his lips. if you weren’t so frozen in your spot, the temptation to wipe it off of him would be irresistible.

anyone with vision could easily tell just how beautiful- perhaps ethereal is more suited- yeosang is. his features are a combination of sculpted details and perfect skin and soft locks of hair, topped off by his impeccable sense of fashion and the intoxicating scent of his cologne. but yeosang in the early morning sun is a whole new level of beauty, where his face is peacefully innocent and the birthmark adorning his left eyelid becomes more prominent, a symbol only he gets to bear on his skin to remind the world of how unique he is.

he’s deceptively vulnerable in the morning, you come to realize in your first attempt to roll over and unwind yourself from his hold. instead of doing the expected, aka setting you free and finding something else to clutch against his chest, he pulls you closer and tighter to him, a silent promise to not let go.

still, you try to pull away again.

he pulls you closer.

you give in to your fate, condemned to the hardly unenjoyable experience of a sleeping, cuddly kang yeosang, and let yourself relax again, melting against the mattress, eyes slipping closed once more as another round of sleep creeps up on you.

the next time you awake, the spot next to you is empty and you’re admittedly disappointed. you can hear water running in the bathroom, the realization that your travel buddy has decided to hop in the shower dawning upon you. the music blaring from his speakers is loud, but nowhere near as loud as the man himself, who’s voice you hear echoing against the tiled walls as he sings along to the chorus.

“have fun in there?” yeosang nearly jumps out his skin as he strolls out the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his slender waist as another is in his hand, working at drying his dampened dark locks, and obviously not expecting to see you sat upon the messy bed, awake and smiling like the cat who caught the canary.

“i don’t know what you mean.” used to putting on an act, yeosang takes no time to regain his composure. he spares no indication to being shy as he approaches you. a single drop of water falling from his hair and down his chest only makes you more aware of the fact he’d be naked if not for the towel covering him.

the room feels warmer.

“sure, whatever you say,” for a moment, you think he’s about to drop the towel from his waist. instead, he sits himself down on the end of the bed and, as you watch the short towel skirt further up his muscular thigh, it almost feels more scandalous to witness. “i wonder how the tabloids will feel when they find out infamous playboy kang yeosang sings along to mariah carrey when he showers.”

“they’d be too focused on the concept of me naked to care about the rest.” his face is smug, even when you whack him over the shoulder with a pillow. “and, i won’t accept your mariah carrey slander, thank you very much. she’s a skinny legend.”

“nothing makes me more uncomfortable than hearing you use twitter slang.”

“stop complaining,” like a child, the man sticks his tongue out at you and his hand reaches over to mess up your hair. “and hurry up and get dressed, i wanna go already.”

“wait- where are we going?”

“to get you,” he punctuates the word with a boop to your nose, setting off an inexplicable amount of butterflies in your stomach. “some breakfast, or else you’ll be grumpy the rest of the morning.”

kang yeosang’s theory of feeding you happy proves to be incorrect, for hours later, you sit with a frown etched onto your forehead and an empty drink in your hand.

the restaurant is lit up brighter than a thousand sunsets, a quintessential french aura encompassing the michelin star location: bright, expensive, lavish, like something straight out of a vogue magazine shoot. only, instead of models with luscious hair and bodies achieved with an array of blood, sweat and tears, the place is filled by middle aged men who’s years of drinking has caught up to them in the form of a beer-gut straining the buttons of their shirt and elderly women with more pearls on their neck than remain in the ocean, young girls in designer gowns and elevated shoes and young men with far too much gel in their hair.

yeosang’s hair sits freely on his head, every so often moving with the rest of him as he shakes with laughter.

you’ve been wondering for the past five minutes about just how soft it might feel to touch, if he uses a treatment on it. he has to, right? no one’s hair, no matter how healthy, looks that shiny, that soft, that inviting to comb your fingers through or grip in your hand as his head is nestled between your-

“if you keep glaring at me like that, they’re all going to think we’ve been fighting.” despite his words, there’s a smile on his face. it grows when your drag your stare away from his hair to meet his eyes, the awfully bright lights not looking so bad when they’re reflected in them.

“well, you did steal the last onion ring.” there’s noise all around you both, the many guests at the rehearsal dinner by no means shy to shout and holler and laugh amid their own dinner table conversations, but all you can hear is each other. “maybe we fought about that.”

“for the last time, i offered you it and you said you didn’t want it-”

“i didn’t say anything!”

“same difference!”

the events of your late brunch still weight heavy on your minds, from the onion ring incident all the way to the stolen glances over the table and the walk through the city you’d taken afterward. it's almost offensive that you’ve been in paris for so many days and not gotten the chance to see the sights, too caught up in your family’s incessant need to impose frustrations on your life.

starting off with the reunion brunch you'd all been forced to attend at your mother's demand. the moment you and yeosang waltzed into the cafe, the tension began. your mother had stared him down most of the time, whilst your brothers’ partners had unashamedly drooled over the skin peeking out at the top of his shirt. your mother sent you home with unshed tears that day, for only she knew how to rip down the self-esteem you've worked so hard to build up.

the bachelorette party had only been an improvement thanks to the absence of your mother, and that had still managed to be a night that left you nauseous and doing the last thing you's ever wanted to: running to a rich man for help.

"you're doing it again." this time, yeosang reaches forward, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and using it as his excuse to dip his head down, his voice a deep whisper by your side. "what's got you frowning, darling?"

he's only calling you that because there's people around.

"nothing." his thumb brushes over the frown in your forehead and, all too easily, it slowly melts away. "i'm fine."

"that's your code for i'm not fine, but i'm too stubborn to admit it to anyone, never mind you." as the words pass his lips, you make eye contact with your mother, who’s been sat at a table talking to a man you’ve never seen before for the past thirty minutes.

she gives you a knowing look, like she’s seen through you and yeosang’s fake smiles and unloving caresses all night.

the room is beginning to heat up, uncomfortably so. the bright lights feel blinding, like you’re a deer caught in headlights. all the laughter feels aimed at you, like you’re the center of everyone’s joke, a joke you’re unaware of. the remnants of your dinner twist and turn and jump in your stomach, threatening to bring themselves back up and out of the way they entered you in the first place. yeosang’s subtle touches feel heavier, emptier, more insincere than they’ve ever been before.

he’s only touching you like that because there’s people around.

the screeching noise your chair makes as it drags across the floor while your body shoots up to a stand attracts a few onlookers nearby and prompts the raven haired boy next to you to take your palm in his, thumb rubbing soothingly over your skin as if to coax you to look at him. his lips move, but you don’t hear a word he says.

you can’t hear anything but your own breathing, your own heartbeat, your mother’s voice as she continues to converse with the stranger.

“i’m going for a cigarette.” the words are monotonous, and yeosang physically flinches as you pull your hand from his clasp.

“i didn’t know you smoke.” he makes it so difficult to spite him, to hate him, now that you know him. before, he was just a rich boy with a failure to take ownership of his mistakes. now, he’s the boy who takes you for breakfast and brings you apology flowers and flies you across the globe just to offer moral support with your family.

moral support he’s never questioned once, never pried into why you need it.

“i don’t.” it’s all you say before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

your arms slip into the expensive material as you step out onto a balcony, cold air filling your lungs in one breath. already it feels easier to breathe. your hand dips into the pocket of the jacket, grasping at the cardboard packet the moment your fingers brush against it and dragging it out to reveal his cigarettes. the box is a mixture of white and blue, with warnings all over it about how smoking kills, accompanied by a picture of blackened lungs.

it’s a bit of an oxymoron, really.

his lighter is overly complicated, one you don’t doubt he spent far too much money on, and it takes you a minute to properly light the stick. with the first puff, you’re already coughing up a storm, lungs rejecting the foreign feeling of the smoke dancing down your throat.

you only manage to take one proper drag before footsteps approach you.

“smoking really does make you uglier.”

“thanks for the unwanted feedback.” smoke dances around the night sky as you exhale it upwards.

the paris night is one that carries a chill, from a winter now slowly fading away into warmer times where flowers bloom and the sun’s return brings back the smile to people’s faces. but the moment your mother steps into your line of sight, the air feels ice cold, like it’s burrowing itself into your skin and sinking into your bones. you breathe in and swear you get more of her perfume in your body than actual oxygen.

it’s overwhelmingly sweet, like she’s lathered herself in the bottle to cover up the stench of her foul personality.

“tsk,” she’s loading up another criticism, you can feel it. one of her hands lands on your shoulder, where it begins to sooth over the material of your dress, as if she’s removing dirt from you or fixing a crease you were too idiotic- in her eyes- to see. “your posture is awful, dear. how many times have i told you to stop slouching, especially when you sit down? it’s not lady-like.”

you attempt to take another drag of the cigarette and it takes all your will power to not cough when it enters your lungs.

“with all due respect, mother,” even calling her that feels too close of a word to describe your relationship. you love her, of course you do. but she’s a woman full of spite and empty of affection. “would you stop beating around the bush and get to the point? i know you followed me out here.”

shock paints her features, only for a flash of a moment but it’s still a small victory you’ll take. any chance to do what she doesn’t expect is something you’ll jump at, bend over backwards for, turn the world upside down in honor of. “can’t i just want to talk to my daughter? it's been, what? seven months? since i last saw you face to face.”

“fourteen months.”

“what?”

“it’s been fourteen months.” it’s never upset you, all this time spent not seeing your mother. until now, when you’re having to recount the timeline to the very same woman. it’s like you’re so insignificant in her life that she hasn’t even bothered to keep count since the last time she saw you.

“oh, that’s right! you never bothered coming on the family trip to iceland.”

more like they never bothered inviting you.

“but, sure, if you want to talk, let’s talk.” you inhale once again with the cigarette between your lips. all too quickly, the smoke burns you less and the nicotine is flooding through your veins, giving you the boost you need to endure this conversation. maybe you can understand why smokers insist it’s relaxing.

your mother doesn’t look you in the eye. it’s something she’s never done, not since you were a young child, and something you’re beyond questioning the reason behind: if you’re too beneath her or if she’s too ashamed to do so. she stares out into the paris skyline whilst her fingers sneak the stick from your hand and, as you go to protest in fear that she’ll fling it over the balcony edge, she puts it up to her mouth and inhales it deeply, eyes closed and face relaxed.

it’s the first time you’ve seen her without a frown in years.

“i never thought, out of all my children, you’d be the one to end up dating the heir to a multi-million company.” your mother speaks so casually that it strikes a nerve in you. she sweeps her gaze over your face and snorts back some laughter, irritating you more. “oh, come on now, you didn’t seriously think i wouldn’t recognize him, right? you should give me more credit.”

“so, what? do you spend your free time googling about your daughter’s boyfriend?” you almost wish you’d said my, but it gets trapped in your throat and exchanged for what comes out instead. speaking about yourself in the third person feels easier, a way to disconnect from you and yeosang’s fake love. “bit invasive, don’t you think?”

“what kind of a mother would i be if i didn’t look out for my daughter?”

“like you done when i told you i wanted to go to university? oh, wait! no, sorry, i believe you just laughed in my face.”

“he’s not the kind of man you should marry, y/n.” she’s pulling out the big guns, even going as far to address you by name. sometimes, when you were a teen, you’d joke around with your friends that she actually forgets what your name is sometimes.

the joke no longer feels as funny now, just painful.

“how do you know what kind of man he is?” you demand answers from her, for the first time in your life. there’s an unbridled need to defend yeosang. your mother can drag your name through the mud, but you aren’t about to stand back and listen to her degrade a man she hardly knows simply because he’s getting in the way of her forcing a stranger with a wallet on you. “shouldn’t you just be happy he’s rich? i done the hard work for you, you’re welcome.”

“he’s rich, yes, but he’s not the right man for you. he’s the kind of man that fills your head with poetic words and expensive gifts, so you can have something to think about while he goes out and cheats on you.” it’s the fact she doesn’t see the irony in her own words, how she’s describing the very kind of relationship she’s trying to force you into, that makes you laugh.

it’s humorless and dry, and oh so dangerous. the prospect of causing a scene in such a fancy establishment no longer feels so daunting, maybe you’ll even get yourself kicked out the wedding and-

“even a girl as naive and inexperienced in love as you should be able to see kang yeosang is a player, who talks a good game and has a lot of money and time to waste on it.”

“remind me again how this is any different from the kind of man you’ve been waiting my whole life to marry me off to?” by now, you’ve given up on the hope of getting the nearly finished cigarette from your mother and have resorted to lighting another.

poor yeosang might just have to buy a new packet soon, at the rate you’re going.

“i can’t believe you think that little of me. all i’ve ever wanted, for you and your brothers, is a life free of stressing over finance and romance. i would never have you be with a man like kang yeosang.” admittedly, this is the most emotion you’ve ever seen your mother display. it’s not something you’re willing to doubt, that she wants a comfortable life for you, but she seems to have forgotten to factor in one simple fact: it’s your life, not her’s. “i know what you think about me, about my meddling in your love life and setting up a marriage for you. but there’s a man in there, y/n, who’s been dying to spend time with you all night. you should have seen his eyes when they landed on your outfit when you walked in. he’s wealthy, he could take care of you, give you all the love in the world, be a man who’s truly serious about having you in his life. his name’s choi-”

“kang yeosang.”

two gasps escape into the night, both of you spinning around to stare back at the entry of the balcony. your mother gasps from outrage, unwilling to believe the man’s timing. yours, however, is out of pure shock at the flame in his eyes, the way it feels like neither of you can tear your stares away from each other, not even to blink.

you’ve never seen yeosang look so serious.

“it’s rude to interrupt someone, boy.” your mother is red in the face with anger. she never did master the art of patience, and walks through life believing her words are worth more than they are.

the fact he’s so perfectly ruined her chance to tell you about the husband she’s trying to dump on you has only served to make the situation more hostile.

“it’s rude to talk about people behind their back, ma’am.” yeosang snaps back, admittedly with a lot more composure than your mother, and you really can’t help but giggle. which you quickly cover up as a cough when your mother’s dagger like eyes stare at you.

“he has a point.” is all you can say in your defense, shrugging while flicking some of the ash off the cigarette burning in your hand.

“and so do i!” her voice has begun to rise in volume, something she rarely does. yes, your mother has a way of beating you down with her words but they’re always soft, condescending, lacking a real sense of emotion. “me and my daughter were having a serious discussion about her future, so if you’ll please excuse us and-”

“your daughter’s future is also partially my future, so this seems like a conversation i should stick around for.” you could kiss him. you might do just that. “forgive me if i’m coming off rude here but-”

“you are.” it’s quite comical, if you remove yourself from the situation, to think of your well-dressed, stuck up mother allowing herself to be wound up by yeosang.

yeosang who’s standing with a mess of hair covering half his line of sight, and a loose tie around his neck, and the most charming of smiles when he makes eye contact with you.

“but,” he presses again, determined to talk circles around your mother. “i’ve tried to be polite and kind all week with you, and all you’ve given me is dirty looks and called me boy. i don’t know what your issue is with me, nor do i want to know, but from what you said, you don’t seem to trust me with your daughter’s heart-”

“with a reputation like yours, what kind of mother would?”

“you’re right, i’m not really the poster child for commitment or parental approval. but i don’t regret anything i’ve done. making some of those mistakes literally lead me to meeting your daughter.” he’s speaking to your mother but he’s looking at you, eyes pleading you to see something you don’t quite understand. it would be so easy to get caught up in his words, to believe he’s not just saying this because of your deal. “this isn’t some rom-com with a toxic love story, where i’m the player who just needs to meet the right girl willing to fix him or your daughter is some sad virgin with a savior complex. she’s not fixed me, rather given me one more reason to be a better person for myself.”

had he rehearsed this? watched a thousand romantic movies, just to perfect the big confession scene, to master the art of giving a long winded speech where you say things you don’t really mean and glorify your relationship to a sickening extent?

“i’m serious about your daughter. more serious than i’ve been about most things in my life.” yeosang at some point has taken the steps needed to cross the distance between you both. there’s a tingling sensation in your fingertips when the thought of reaching out for him, brushing the hair away from his eyes or tracing the soft skin of his face, crosses your mind. “so try all you want to convince her to consider being with the man you want for her, because i’ll just keep working harder to prove why i can be the right man for her, if she let’s me.”

his hand finds your’s first, clasping onto your fingers in a gentle grip. he gives your hand a squeeze, one that’s filled with reassurance and an unspoken amount of sympathy, like he’s finally understood the great puzzle that is your strained relationship with your mother.

your mother who is now scoffing next to you both, eyes like vipers waiting to bite into yeosang and kill him with their poison.

“anyway, i only came out here to tell you minsoo was looking for you.” yeosang, for the first time in what feels like forever, breaks eye contact with you and faces your mother, a playful smile on his face yet a scowl accompanies it, subtle and only noticeable in the twitch of his eyebrow.

“really?!” back in wedding-planner mode, your mother has forgotten all about the not-so-pressing issue that is your love life.

“yeah, something about cold feet ahead of tomorrow? i don’t know, he was kinda hard to stand through all the sobbing and crying about wasting his youth away.”

her footsteps echo as your mother begins to make her way back inside, slowly but surely leaving you and yeosang alone on the balcony. you spin around to face him, back now facing the entry as you stare at him with suspicious eyes.

“did minsoo really say that?”

“no,” yeosang laughs, not even flinching when you can no longer hold back and brush the hair out of his eyes with your hand. he almost leans into the warm touch. “i just wanted her to leave you alone.”

neither of you have addressed the fact he’s still holding your hand.

there’s a pregnant silence, a heavy feeling in the atmosphere that’s only growing the longer you both continue to look at one another. closer than ever before, in more ways than just physically, your mind drifts back to how it felt to wake up to him this morning, to the way he’d sleepily pulled you closer in a protest to you waking up, to the strange feeling that had nestled itself in your heart as you sat on the bed and listened to him sing in the shower, envisioning him with a bottle of shampoo acting as his microphone.

it was a domestic kind of feeling you never expected to have, especially not aimed at some trust-fund baby in a million dollar hotel room he’d rented out for you both.

“kiss me.” he’s not as surprised by your request as you want him to be, more like relieved.

“why?” even if yeosang is dying to plant his lips on yours, he needs to hear your reason, needs to know it’s for more than some stupid deal or because of your-

“my mother,” his heart breaks a little but he won’t let it show, won’t betray you by letting you see the way you effect him, the way you’d both non-verbally agreed on not feeling towards each other. this was never meant to be so real feeling. “she’ll turn around and look at us, trust me. just do it.”

it’s selfish, of both of you, and yeosang knows this. he knows you just want to further drive the point home to your mother, knows he only wants to try sedate the burning hunger for you, knows there’s no universe where this should end well for either of you.

but he still follows your orders.

there’s no time to second guess things when his hand is cupping your cheek and tilting your chin to meet his lips at the perfect angle. the kiss isn’t rushed. there’s no urgency to begin or to end, it’s just lips molding against lips and sighs of relief. your own hands find perch on his chest, where they tug and crease the material of his white shirt.

yeosang pulls away first, just as he feels himself teetering on the edge of insanity.

your eyes remain closed a moment longer, a moment he takes advantage of to imprint the image of your glistening lips and your rising chest into his memory. it takes everything to not allow his mind to stray off into more explicit scenarios where he could garner that same reaction from you.

“is she looking?” you ask, eyes finally fluttering open to reveal the image of kang yeosang in all his enamored glory.

his eyes flicker over to the entry, where the hall leading up to the balcony can be seen.

the hall that lays empty, not a soul in sight.

“yes.” there’s many things that yeosang has said, done, caused that he shouldn’t have and, with each of them, he’s regretted it.

kissing you again is not something he regrets.

this time it is urgent, heads tilted, chests heaving, mouths glued to one another as he pulls you closer by the waist and you drag him further down, arms interlocked behind his neck. it’s not a burst of fireworks between you both, or the feeling of a million butterflies in your bellies.

it’s raw, real, burning embers.

he’s kissing you like that because there’s no one around to witness it.

paris, the day of the wedding.

“do you know you drool in your sleep?”

a resounding burst of laughter erupts from him, chest shaking beneath your head as he does so. there’d been no delay this morning in either of you waking up. as if on cue, no more than a few seconds after yeosang’s eyes had opened to find you laying next to him, limbs entangled like the previous parisian mornings, your own eyes had followed suit.

an infinity of time passed before either one of you spoke a word to each other, like wishing him good morning would only serve to jinx it. instead, you both welcomed in the comforting feeling of the sun hitting your skin and your tired bodies huddled close together.

“why do you care? trying to get my permission to lick it off me or something?”

if you weren’t so exhausted, arms in a state similar to jelly as they lay by your side, you’d have half the mind to rip his pillow from under him and smack him in the face with it.

“what the fuck, yeosang?” you settle for that instead, voice softer than you intended. your actions contradict you, as your body instinctively keens into his soft touch along your spine and your face nestles further into the crook of his neck. “you’re so weird!”

“hey! if you can think it, then it’s definitely someone’s kink.” his stomach rumbles for the trillionth time, much like your own has been doing ever since you’d woken up. “stop kink-shaming, y/n!”

there’s been a strange atmosphere between you both all morning. the banter has been playful and the conversation lighthearted, but there’s still the over-looming knowledge that you’re both avoiding the topic of last night. of your mother and her balcony battles. of awkward dinners and uncomfortable cab rides back to the hotel.

of the kiss only you two had been around to witness.

“is this your way of telling you have a drool kink?”

“maybe, maybe not. you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“is that a threat or a promise?” you never have time to hear whatever yeosang’s comeback is, the sound of your ringtone filling the space between you both. with a disgruntled groan, you lean further into him and pray his warm skin and the soft blankets will drown out the noise. “i don’t wanna answer.”

you feel yeosang shifting around, doing his best under the circumstances handed to him to reach his arm over you whilst also trying to avoid crushing you under him.

not that you’d completely be opposed to having kang yeosang hovering over you as you lay on your back.

“it’s your mom.” he announces, which only rouses another groan out of you.

“ignore it.” after the events of the previous night, you’re more than eager to avoid any conversation with her. “better yet, hit decline.”

“she could be calling for something important.”

“not as important as my beauty sleep.” you cement your point by rolling out of his hold and planting your head on your pillow, eyes screwed shut and blankets pulled up to your chin.

“okay but, when we’re late to the wedding, this time i really can blame it on you keeping me in bed a little longer.”

“good thing we’re not going to be late.”

to no one’s surprise, you’re both late to the wedding.

your mother doesn’t look pleased to hear yeosang’s excuses, even less so when she watches one of minsoo’s groomsmen pat him on the back and and try pry further details about your hotel misadventures out of him. thankfully, before the she-devil can leap at the chance to lecture you, the wedding begins and you’re all forced to your seats.

the ceremony is similar to any other wedding you’ve attended in your life- which admittedly aren’t many.

there's the typical scene of the bridesmaids, clad in the richest of fabrics, and the groomsmen, decked out in perfectly tailored suits, making their way down the aisle with their arms linked. your brother at the alter, nervously fidgeting with his tie, eyes widening just in time for the wedding music to begin. his bride to be moves gracefully towards him, gown covering her feet and creating the illusion that she's literally floating, walking on air.

vows are exchanged, tears are shed, kisses are shared. and, all the while, yeosang and you have been sat side by side, fingers bumping and brushing against one another as if a constant reminder to you both of how easy it would be to just take a hold of the other’s hand.

sometimes he glances at you, other times you glance at him.

once, your eyes drift over to one another at the same time and, instead of shying away after being caught, the faintest of smiles are exchanged before your attention is back on the marrying couple.

the reception is where the real fun begins to unfold. a birthing ground for interactions with family members and strangers alike, the two of you more or less making an olympic sport out of sharing the most amount of bullshit, false and made-up backstory to your relationship as you can, putting all that thorough planning to good use.

yeosang even gets to throw in a comment about moving in together soon, just like he’d wanted to.

which only serves to remind you of the fact this is not real, that “moving in” is the very excuse you will be using in a few months time to explain why your relationship has ended, a few months time in which you two will no longer have any reason to waste another second in each other’s company.

he’d return to the life of a rich, socialite bachelor while you’d go back to online tutoring lessons and avoiding your mother’s phone calls.

“they haven’t left you all night, you know?” the question is thrown your way at some point by your sister-in-law, still clad in her elegant white gown. both of you stood at the bar, you awaiting the cocktail yeosang had forced you to order and her just finding a moment of peace from the hectic feeling of being congratulated by someone every ten seconds.

“huh?” this might just be the most she’s ever said to you, the longest form of conversation you two have ever engaged in since she began seeing minsoo way past two years ago.

the fact she sounds so unrestrained, so friendly, only aids in increasing your confusion.

“yeosang’s eyes.” she has the gall to nudge you with her elbow, eyebrows wiggling as if to imply something you’ve yet to catch onto. “i swear, that boy’s always watching you. i’d be telling you to get a restraining order by now if i didn’t know he was your boyfriend.”

this conversation is one you’d never prepared for during the many planning-hangouts with yeosang, and certainly not one you’d anticipated having with your brother’s wife.

it feels far too casual, too colloquial.

“i think always is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“oh, trust me, it’s not. he’s whipped and you’re hot, give yourself some more credit.” she says it all with a smile you’ve never seen on her before, one that seems so much more genuine than the ones she wears in front of your mother and her own parents. if this is the kind of smile minsoo gets to witness, it’s not a surprise he fell in love with her somewhere down the line. “some of your uncles just waved me over, so i gotta go. wish me luck!”

you’re not sure when nor how you make it back to your shared hotel room that night, the copious amount of alcohol flowing through your bloodstream working it’s wonders and turning the night into a kaleidoscope of messy and blurred memories: unabashed laughter and hand-holding, stuffing your purse full of napkin-wrapped pastries and family reunions featuring you and yeosang’s fake fairy-tale, tearing up the dance floor with your two left feet and a dance partner far more smooth on his feet than you.

you can count on both hands the number of times you accidentally crush poor yeosang’s feet under the weight of your stiletto.

the only thing you are sure of, by the time your head hits the pillow and you don’t even try turn away from the warmth laying next to you in the bed, is that you’re thankful yeosang was there, that he agreed to help you deceive your family, that he’s given you the privilege of remembering how beautiful it can be to feel seen, cared for, loved.

even if it’s all pretend.

somewhere above eastern europe, 1 day after the wedding.

there’s fresh tears in his eyes.

this shouldn’t be the focus of your attention, given the situation at hand, yet it intrigues you far too much to ignore or simply shrug off.

soft lips, lips you’ve had the privilege of feeling against your own, tremble in the lowly lit room, quivering with every choked whimper he erupts. doe eyes stare up at you, reddened with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his veins and brimming with tears from all the times you’ve denied him in the past hour or so the very thing he’s been craving for over half a year. thighs twitch as his hips fight the urge to disobey your warnings, to throw caution to the wind and buck upwards into you, letting your aching cores finally meet in a puddle of melting warmth designed only to bring the most sinful of fantasies to light.

yes, you’ve so easily made a whore out of kang yeosang.

and in record timing.

the day had began in a different bed, a different country, a different atmosphere between you both. after wrestling back and forth with the undesirable idea of attending brunch with your family, the final meeting between you all before this hell-iday was officially over and you’d get to return to ignoring your mother’s calls and occasionally receiving a snarky text from your brothers, yeosang forced you out of bed and into the shower.

after brunch- which, admittedly, was less uncomfortable than the one you had all shared on your first day in paris- all of them had bid you and yeosang goodbye and good-luck with your flight home, giving the two of you a few hours to kill before the jet was ready for take off.

time which you took advantage of, dragging poor yeosang to just about every iconic landmark you could possibly visit in such a small time limit. the eiffel tower, the louvre, arc de triomphe, it all left you with a familiar sinking feeling, a dread in the pit of your stomach, made up of time wasted and opportunities lost. there was only one conclusion you could walk away with: you have to return to paris, someday, and not with a fake relationship and your family breathing down the back of your neck, but with someone who loves you enough to waste hours, days, infinite amount of time just wandering around the parisian culture.

this time around, it was yeosang who fell asleep in the car journey to the airport, and you who wrapped him up in a jacket and lent him a shoulder to rest on. unsure of when, you’d come to the conclusion that you quite enjoy the feeling of having him close to you, and not just because he's someone to fill an empty space, but because he's kang yeosang, a man made up of too much money and toned-down smiles, awful piloting skills yet wonderful ballroom moves.

because he’s him, and you’re you, and for some reason it just makes sense to be alone with him.

boarding the plane was easier this time, with less hesitance and an absence of anxiety welling in yourself. the same flight attendants greeted you as you stepped in, smiles on their perfectly polished faces as they divulged into questions about your time in the city of love.

the first few hours after take off, while the sun was still visible in the sky, were fine, ordinary, calm. peaceful, even. to pass the time away, yeosang brought out a stack of cards and began an impromptu lesson in poker. after three trial rounds, you successfully beat him and, consequently, his ego. after the card games came the mind games, in the form of a childish drinking game aptly named truth or shot.

yeosang had confessed to sleeping with one of his teachers, while you had opted to take a shot. when you admitted to the time you cheated your way through a whole year of classes, he finally decided to skip the round and took his first shot. eventually, you both confessed to your parental issues: you with your mother and her unquenched thirst to live a wealthy life via her children, and yeosang with his absent parents, years of being raised by strangers who only stuck around because it payed to take care of him and, most importantly, the recent of threats of being disowned.

call it pity, or discomfort, or just a sudden burning need inside of you, but you soon found yourself leaning over the space between your seats and planting your lips on his. hands heavy on skin, mouths desperate to taste more, bodies scrambling to grow closer, closer, closer, till there was nothing between you but oxygen and complicated emotions that blur the line of reality and fiction.

falling into bed together was never part of the agreement, was never a possible scenario you two had rehearsed in order to know how to handle it. if you weren’t so focused on trying to get his pants off, maybe you would have taken the time to question and marvel over the fact the jet harbored it’s own bedroom, one far more extravagant than the messy one awaiting your return back in seoul.

alas, interior design was not your main focus.

“please, y/n-” his own whimpers cut him off for the millionth time, head thrown back in a strangled cry of missing pleasure. two more tears breech the premises of his eyes, rolling down the sides of his face in a beautiful trail of wetness. it’s too tempting, how easy it would be for you to reach down and taste the salt on his cheeks. “please!”

“please what, sangie?” despite your question of false ignorance, your body works at grinding your soping core over his hardened member. you feel yourself grow wetter each time you watch your lower lips rub over his pretty cock, it’s painfully red tip disappearing between your folds only to reappear as it bumps against your aching clit, drenched in your wetness and his own precum.

“teasing me,” he tugs once, twice and then thrice at the satin material around his wrists, pinning him against the headboard. ultimately, yeosang is unsuccessful at releasing himself from the binding you’d created out of his tie. “please stop!”

“stop teasing you?” you echo his pleading back at him as a hand snakes it’s way up his naked, muscular torso until it finds hold of one of his nipples. the combined rolling of your hips against him and the rolling of his sensitive bud between your fingers has him seeing stars. “but you seem to be enjoying getting teased, baby. look at the mess you are.”

before the poor boy can so much as whine again, you give in, to not only his pleads for release but your own burning ache to sink down on his length finally. the stretch of your walls around his cock is perfect, a wonderful blend of overwhelming fullness and liquid serotonin in the form of your own slick running down your thighs and painting a mess over the boy and the sheets beneath you.

“is this what you wanted, kitten?” you give an experimental roll of your hips, reveling in the sweet drag of his member inside your pussy, too greedy to let more than a couple inches slip out of you before sinking right back down. “someone to fuck themselves on your pathetic cock? hmm, to use you like a pretty little sex doll?”

“yes, yes!” he’s chanting, like a preacher calling out praise to their most divine being. legs squirm behind you, unsure what to do with themselves amidst the electrifying feeling of your slowly increasing bounces, hypnotizing him into forgetting all about the other people on board the plane. “i’ll be your good boy, okay? just, just please don’t stop!”

luckily, your plans never involved doing such a thing. rather the opposite, in fact, riding him into oblivion one time, two times, all the way to a fourth time that leaves him in a mess of tears dripping down his face, cum pouring down both your thighs, all while starving lungs try to take in as much oxygen as possible while his brain short circuits around the pleasure of you.

by the time his cock slips out of your soaked hole, who knows what country you’re flying over or just how much of your sexcapade was overheard by the flight attendants and pilots alike. and who really cares, when you're too busy basking in the way yeosang, muscles finally being put to use, rips himself out of his binding only to get a firm grasp on your meaty thighs, nothing more than an unapologetic smirk before he’s dragging your body up to his face, tongue diving right in to clean up the mess he’s left inside you.

who knew that mommy issues really do bring two people closer.

seoul, 8 days after the wedding.

“spring is finally here, bringing with it the sweetest of smells and the freshest of fruits! we highly urge you all to go out and visit any nearby parks or nature sights, to bask in the glory of our blooming spring!”

waking up is disappointing, to say the least.

not just because you are, once more, inside your own bedroom, that lacks in the interior design and comfy bed department, but because returning to the reality of what your life is is like waking up from a very long, overwhelmingly real dream.

you’re still unsure if it wasn’t all a dream.

and the fact you’ve heard nothing from yeosang does nothing to aid in this feeling. it isn’t like you were expecting anything to happen between you once you touched down back in seoul. the boundaries between you, and everything that involves your relation with each other, were set very clearly from day one, with both of you in complete understanding of the fact this was all fake.

so what if lines were crossed when you woke up in each others arms, when he whispered sweet nothings in your ear on the wedding reception dance floor, when you felt the need to defend him against your mother, when you caressed each other’s naked skin in the most primal way know to man?

outside of the little bubble you’d created in paris, it all means nothing.

at least to him, it seems.

“spring is notorious for symbolizing rebirth, a trait which we can find in such mundane things as new flowers blossoming and fruits turning ripe under the sun’s warmth. it’s a burst of color gifted to the world, mother nature’s reward for making it through yet another cold, fierce and gloomy winter. this year, however, we can also see this rebirth in the recent rumors surrounding korea’s favorite socialite, kang yeosang!”

the she-devil has yet to call you.

which stings, in all honesty. one could argue that this is all you’ve ever wanted, to be left alone by your mother and her control issues, her money hungry tendencies. and, while that much is true, you also are only human and can’t help the part in you that just wants the most basic thing a mother could give her daughter: love, care, validation.

your mother does love you, just the same as you love her. it’s something that’s taken years for you to understand, never mind accept. her love doesn’t come in the form of heart-warming messages and calling to make sure you’re okay, but rather back-handed compliments and care veiled under a hint of criticism aimed your way. it’s toxic, no doubt, but it’s the best you’re going to get from her.

minsoo calls you instead.

“...so expect us in seoul in a few weeks, little sis.” he’s animated, so happy as he details him and his wife’s travel plans that you can almost picture his wide smile and the accompanying dimples he spent years hating as a kid. “and tell yeosang to get his wallet ready, it’s your guys’ turn to treat us after we treated you to the luxury of our wedding.”

“luxury?” you scoff as you struggle to keep the phone squished between your shoulder and the side of your face, both hands occupied with trying to fix your kitchen blinds. “please, at least you won’t have to endure an entire meal while being stared down at over the table by mother.”

“please, y/n, she’s hardly that bad.” though his words come off in her defense, the way he laughs at your comment tells you more than enough to know he agrees with you to some extent. “either way, you two better start planning the double date of a lifetime, i’m talking private islands and rented out restaurants, especially with all of yeosang’s money-”

the doorbell rings.

it takes a second ring for you to realize it’s your own door it’s coming from, rather than the television playing in the background or down the line on your brother’s end.

“min, i’ll call you back, okay? i think my takeaway delivery just arrived.”

tossing your phone down onto your sofa, you animatedly make your way over to the front door, stomach growling in anticipation of getting your hands on some fried chicken.

only, there’s a different kind of snack standing on your doorstep.

“after months of flying under the radar, with an uncommonly low number of scandals, the heir to kang-tech enterprises has reemerged into the spotlight in a way none of us were expecting, possibly not even himself! spotted over the past week several times in the streets of paris, he appears to be sporting a new girl on his arm. with the way they look at each other alone, many are speculating over who this mystery girl could be and what exactly has she done to make a man out of a playboy.”

“what are you doing here?” it’s not how you imagined you’d greet him, should the two of you ever reunited unexpectedly, yet it’s something your impulses are incapable of stopping, needing to get across just how unexpected the sight of him is.

yeosang seems undeterred by your words, and it reminds you of the fact he knows you too well. he smirks and it’s like he’s telling you he was already awaiting your shock, that it’s something he’s reveling in and gaining pleasure from.

“it’s thursday.” his reply is simple, two words and a careless shrug, like he’s just told you the most mundane, well-known fact in the world.

of course, you know better than to believe it’s simple. nothing between you seems to turn out that way, no matter how hard you try convince yourself otherwise. months ago, him appearing at your door would be nothing out of the ordinary, a black car with the engine still on and an impatient driver sitting by the side of the curb as yeosang coaxed you out of your front door and off to another day of planning out the details of your relationship.

but that was then and this is now, where there’s no need to plan your fake backstory.

“the wedding already happened.” maybe it’s coming across like you don’t want him to be here, like you’re disappointed to see his pretty face.

that not the case, in the slightest. if anything, you’re disappointed it’s taken him so long to come around, not even a text thrown your way to let you know he was still a part of your life. then again, you hadn’t made any better effort yourself.

“i know.” the way he’s taken a hold of your hand, intertwining his fingers with your own like they’re puzzle pieces only destined to fit each other, contradicts everything about his words, about you two. there’s no family to witness this action, no audience you need to put on a show for. “anyway, i was thinking we should go paragliding for this date.”

“are you sure you won’t accidentally crash that too?”

“if i do, you better get ready to be my pretty knight in shinning armor and catch me.”

#ateez smut #kang yeosang smut #ateez oneshot #kang yeosang oneshot #ateez angst #kang yeosang angst #ateez fluff #kang yeosang fluff

775 notes · View notes

theringers · 3 years ago

Text

august - pierre gasly

illicit affairs, part ten

summary: "august sipped away like a bottle of wine, 'cause you were never mine"

warnings: this shit is sad

3 years later

You walked hand and hand with your son down the streets of Monaco. It was his first day of preschool and you were nothing short of emotional. “Mommy, stop crying!” He kept shouting at you as you walked. You bent down to him.

“Mommy can’t help it. You’re such a big boy now.” You walked past a newsstand and saw the headlines on the tabloids in bold red. “Formula One Driver and Wife Divorce”. Well, that was a familiar headline.

You took a few steps closer to see the faces in the photo. It was your husband’s career after all. Your son complained as you dragged him closer to the newsstand.

The subheading read in smaller font. “Pierre and Anna Gasly finalize divorce just days after filing”. No way. It was a quick divorce with little to no proceedings. He wanted out and he wanted out bad.

More tears fell, but this time it was for a different reason.

He finally left her. The poor guy suffered long enough, doing everything possible to make her happy and him getting absolutely nothing in return. You were hoping he could now find true love and happiness with someone other than the horrible woman he married. To replace you.

It had been almost three years since you spoke to Pierre. Anna’s threat stuck with you and you couldn’t break the promise you made. Not at the expense of your family. Especially while you were celebrating the birth of your son. Little Jamie was the joy of your lives. He came much earlier than expected but was fully grown and healthy. He popped out with a full head of hair as well, a dirty blonde just like his daddy.

The first few months were brutal, to say the least. He never stopped crying. No matter what you did, the loud wails never stopped. Except when he was in Max’s arms. You weren’t sure what it was about him but Max had a way with Jamie that you couldn’t recreate.

It was always tough when he was away for race weekends. You would sit in front of the tv, watching Max and rocking Jamie, hoping the sounds of the cars would soothe him. At least that’s what Max told you. “The whooshing will put him right to sleep,” he would say over the phone. You were exhausted and lacked sleep but he tried to be as positive as possible halfway across the world.

Jamie got to attend his first Grand Prix at only a month old. The Monaco Grand Prix was a sight to see for anyone. Even though he won’t remember when he’s older, there are photos to prove he was on his first podium before he could walk. His daddy held him proudly in one arm and his trophy in the other.

Every time you attend a Grand Prix, you receive a warm welcome from those around you. People are excited to see you after missing you for multiple races at a time.

There was one person who wasn’t excited to see you and you don’t blame her. Anna Gasly kept to herself and avoided you at all costs. It made your stress levels decrease knowing that she wasn’t going to seek you out and knock you out for sleeping with her man.

You could sit in Max’s driver's room or the garage and just enjoy the weekend. Cheer on your husband, exactly what you were meant to do all along.

You picked up the tabloids and examined them, going against your own rule of never reading tabloids. Those stories aren’t real, they’re pure fiction. For entertainment. But this time you hoped it wasn’t. You hoped it would be fact-checked and sources cited. A quote from the man himself.

Jamie tugged at your arm. “Mommy, I gotta go!” He said. He looked adorable in his school uniform. You got emotional just looking at him. He was so excited to be a big boy and go to school. He carried his lunchbox around for hours yesterday just to practice. He was so young and innocent. He had no idea what the universe had in store for him for his life. You crossed your fingers that he met the right girl the first time around. And that he beats his friend to her. Because he deserves all the happiness in the world.

You snapped photos of him in front of his school before waving goodbye and handing him off to the teacher. Your baby was so old and you couldn’t handle it.

The post office was directly across the street from his school, so you decided to stop in and check to see if you had any new packages. No boxes, but the postal worker did hand you two envelopes.

One envelope was stamped with your address and name. Return address, Princess Grace Hospital Lab, Monaco.

The other was handwritten. No return address but it was addressed to you.

You weren’t sure which to open first. The handwritten letter seemed more intriguing.

Y/n,

Hi. I shouldn’t be sending this but I am going to seal it up and hope for the best. If you’re really as mad at me as Anna said, feel free to throw this out. But I know she was lying.

I’ve thought about you nonstop for the last three years. It’s been exactly three years, nine months, twenty-three days, and some odd hours since I last heard your voice.

I used to think about it at night when I couldn’t sleep. You always knew how to calm me down.

Congratulations on the birth of Jamie. I know I’m late, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything when he was firstborn. He’s beautiful. He should’ve been mine. You should’ve been mine.

Anna and I are divorcing. By the time this gets to you, it should be public. If not, feel free to tell whoever you want. I don’t give a shit. I tried for too long to convince myself that she was you but no one compares to you.

You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. You are smart, funny, beautiful, and my better half. I didn’t want to imagine a life without you but I’ve lived it and it fucking hurts.

If nothing comes of this, I want you to know I love you. I always loved you and I always will. I think about you constantly and I can’t see that ever ending.

You look happy. I just couldn’t let another day go by without telling you how I feel. How I still feel.

I wish you all the happiness, success, and love in your future. Please don’t forget about me.

Pierre

He signed the letter with his signature, the same one he gives to fans. This made you laugh through your tears. Of course, he still loved you. Something like that doesn’t just go away overnight.

You made sure both envelopes were in your hand when you ran down the street. You busted up a set of stairs, almost tripping on the way up.

You knocked on the door and stood there waiting. “Y/n?” He said opening the door.

“Hi, Pierre.” You held up both envelopes and smiled. It was time to find out the truth.

next part

#f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 blurb #smut prompts #f1 fanfic #max verstappen imagine #pierre gasly smut #max verstappen smut #pierre gasly imagine #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly fanfiction #pg #mv

199 notes · View notes

mythiccheroacademia · 4 years ago

Text

—lunch box

A/N: just another cute idea i had because i’m obsessed with barbarian/dragon king!bakugo and fantasy shit in general. some context: you and bakugo are betrothed—although, sometimes you wish you weren’t bc he can be a real asshole. luckily for you, he’s willing to work on it bc he likes loves you just that much. a litte angst (it wouldn’t be a mtha story without it) but it ends in fluff <3

Warnings: cursing

Your friends looked at their food with heart eyes and dug into the neatly wrapped box with fever.

“Ahh! Thank you for making this, Y/N!” one of them exclaimed. The other could only nod in agreement, too into your cooking to speak.

You smiled and waved them off. “It was nothing. Consider it a thank you for letting me copy the homework last night,” you chuckled.

“Did you cook one for Prince Bakugo? I’d imagine he’d love it! If there’s anyone’s cooking he loves more than his own, it’s yours!”

At the mention of his name, your expression fell. You looked down at the case of food you had prepared for him as an apology.

Four days ago, you two were hanging around his residence. You managed to get him to dance around with you. Well, it more like you were dancing and he was doing his best not to combust in embarrassment. Katsuki warned you that you shouldn’t be too reckless otherwise you’d break something.

Of course, you paid him no mind, too enthralled with your fun to notice your proximity to a nearby statue—one of the Bakugo family’s treasures.

One thing led to another, and you knocked it over, shattering it before either of you could even react. Your rich skin lost its glow and your boyfriend cursed something nasty.

Least to say, his parents were not happy. But instead of being rightfully scolded, Bakugo had taken the blame for it.

They found him attempting to clean it up and assumed it was his fault. You wanted to correct them, but he threw you a nasty glare, sealing your mouth shut. He was now under punishment until they deemed fit and from then on, he hadn't spoken a friendly word to you.

A little sigh escaped your lips. Your two friends looked at each other before offering you encouraging smiles.

“Hey,” one spoke, placing a hand on your knee. You met her gaze. “You should go give it to him. He’d love it.”

There was a moment of silence before you decided to act. Taking the spur of confidence, you stood up and briskly made your way to the other classroom. Just before you entered, you heard his voice and felt your heart waver with anxiousness.

However, now wasn’t the time to let doubt consume you. Things wouldn’t get better until something was done.

You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, before opening the door and walking in. Your eyes scanned the room and found the young dragon prince amongst his group of friends.

Jaw set, you walked over to them, hands firmly around the packaged food.

Kirishima saw you first and gave you a friendly wave.

“Hey Princess L/N!”

“Hi boys! How’re ya doing?” you politely asked, putting on your best smile.

They gave you an upbeat answer that lifted your spirits.

Despite that, you hadn't heard a response from Bakugo. In fact, he hadn't even looked at you—but you wouldn’t be disheartened. You fueled herself with faux confidence and held out the dish to your betrothed.

“I-I made you something small yesterday, as an apology,” you stuttered.

Katsuki finally looked up, indifference in his stare. Ruby eyes flickered down to the box filled with rice, chicken, vegetables, and a small pastry on the side. His favorite kind. For a moment, he seemed like considered your offer, but you suffered the low blow of humiliation when he turned away to look through the window.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. Should’ve given it to me earlier.”

Something in your stomach fell. Crushing rejection blossomed up your throat with each passing second. His words were cold, harsh, and unforgiving. It might’ve been stupid, overdramatic even, but it hurt.

Heartbroken wasn’t even the word.

Your nose burned, eyes blurring before you could stop it. Your chest tightened with embarrassment. Luckily, you mustered enough strength to hold in whatever was threatening to crumble you.

“Oh,” you dumbly responded.

“I’ll take it!” Kaminari excitedly said.

“No, I will! I’m still starving!” Kirishima chided.

You placed the box down, struggling to keep up your act.

“Split it between the both of you. I hope it’s good!” You internally winced over how high your voice had become. “I’m gonna to get going now. I’ll see you guys after school, yeah?”

And before anything else was said, you bolted straight out of the room. You hadn’t bothered to look at Katsuki. Knowing him, he probably hadn't noticed the strain in your voice.

As soon as you were out of sight, the tears flooded. You held your hands against your mouth, desperate to muffle your cries. You quickly took you into the nearest bathroom and you prayed no one had seen you lest there be questions. If you went to your friends, it’d cause a commotion. Your parents would eventually find out and you didn’t want any more problems.

So, you cried your eyes raw and eventually willed yourself to stop when it was time to return to class.

…

The week had gone by without another interaction. The weekend brought you some relief since you wouldn’t be forced to see Katsuki’s face for the time being. Or so you thought.

All you wanted to do was run some errands for your parents and then go back home and continue sulking. Yet the universe would not let you rest.

The moment you caught Bakugo’s eyes, you pivoted on your heel and booked it the other way. You assumed his anger with you would force him to keep his distance.

But you were thoroughly surprised to find he was following after you.

“Y/N,” he called.

Irritation and hurt filled your chest. You only walked faster, clutching the purse against her chest.

“Y/N, stop,” he demanded to which you promptly ignored.

This went on for a good thirty seconds until Bakugo decided he had enough. Without much noise, he ran up to you, grabbing you by the shoulder.

You weren’t having it.

You harshly shrugged off his hand. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, keeping your eyes forward.

“I need to talk to you,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Well I don’t want to talk to you. So maybe some other time.”

Truthfully, the crowned prince found himself shocked at your coldness. Despite your innate boldness, he wasn’t used to such an icy tone. Especially directed at him.

His father warned him to never attack in these situations, but Bakugo let his temper get the best of him. His first reaction was to frown and deal back harsher words.

“What’s your fucking problem, dumbass? When I say stop, stop!”

A spike of anger flooded your veins. You whirled around on your heel and glared at him with frosty eyes. You felt compelled to drop your papers and slap him, but instead, you settled for a finger in his face.

“First of all, I’m not some dog you can just order around, you jerk! And just because we’re betrothed doesn’t mean I’m some girl you can treat like dirt whenever you feel like it! Until you apologize, leave me alone because my only problem right now is you. Bye.”

And just as quickly as you came, you turned to leave.

Now Bakugo was actually stunned. Forget, cold, this was a side of you he hadn't ever experienced. Admittedly, he hadn’t been spoken to like that from anyone besides his mother—and she only got away with it because she was not only the queen…but he was his mom.

Katsuki honestly didn’t know how to handle it. It was only then that he concentrated back on his father’s advice. Whenever his mother was upset with his dad, his father would fight back, but never with emotional anger. Always with humbleness and an understanding tongue.

It usually did the trick considering his mother could never stay upset with him for more than a night. It always struck the teen with hidden awe. Sometimes, Katsuki thought his dad was an angel.

Bakugo was no angel, but he hoped it’d have the same affect on you.

The blonde teen softened his face and walked up behind you. He stopped you, wrapping his arms around your waist to lie his forehead against the decorated braids the fell down your back.

“Damn it. I’m sorry okay?” he lowly said, face burning from such a public display of affection. “Just hear me out.”

You didn’t speak and he clenched his jaw.

“Please.”

You inwardly cursed your rapidly beating heart. If it weren’t for how stupidly nice being in his arms was (he was definitely working out more), and the fact that you found him kinda cute begging for your permission, maybe you wouldn’t have caved in so easily.

For now, you’d blame it on the fact that you two were destined to wed. It was better to start dealing with fights now so, hopefully, the future held less of them.

You heaved a sigh, unwillingly ignoring your body’s urge to curl in his arms. Instead, you pulled away and turned to face him. You peered into unsure crimson eyes with as much harshness you could conjure.

“Fine. Speak,” you permitted.

There was a small pause as he gathered his thoughts. When he opened his mouth, you instantly regretted it.

“I’m still mad at you for being dumb and breaking one of family’s treasures. And I’m still fucking pissed that my old hag is on my ass about it,” he started and noticed how your eyes narrowed in contempt.

You were about to turn away, thinking this was a waste of time. However, Bakugo took a hold of your wrist before you could leave.

“Leave me alone! If you didn’t want to get in trouble, you should’ve just let me take the blame. I can't believe I thought you’d apologize—“

“Let me finish, princess.”

It was your title, yet you felt your stomach flip when it came from his lips. You refused to let it influence you…but you’d give him another chance.

Bakugo stepped closer to you. “I’m upset, but I took the punishment because I wanted to. You didn’t mean to break it. Accidents happen, I understand that.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then, you softened your gaze a bit, eyes still lit with inquiry. “Why? Why would you do that if it meant getting in trouble? I could’ve taken the blame just fine.”

“Y/N, you freak the fuck out whenever you don’t get a perfect score on an exam. You try not to mess up and when you do, it’s like the world is ending,” he explained with a teasing smirk. You ungracefully snorted. He had a point. “When you broke the vase, I could hear your heart drop. You were two seconds away from crying. And when I saw how scared you looked I just—I don’t know.”

The look on your face was something between shock, surprise, and wonder. You blinked, thick lips parting slightly in awe.

“Katsuki…” you breathed to which the boy heavily blushed. Realizing how sappy he sounded, his mind screamed at him to cut it out.

Bakugo looked down and noticed he was still holding your wrist. He quickly let go and instinctively rubbed the nape of his neck.

“D-don’t be dramatic. I just didn’t wanna see you moping around or some shit. My father said that it wasn’t that important anyway…the vase I mean,” he mumbled.

Sure it wasn’t, you thought. What were you gonna do with this boy?

You supposed an apology was a good start.

“That was very nice and admirable of you Katsuki. Thank you,” you eventually said. “I’m still really sorry about the vase, and for being mean to you just now.”

He shook his head. “I know, but I’m the one that should be apologizing. I ain’t hafta treat you the way I did. I was being an ass for not accepting the food you made for me earlier.”

“Yeah you were, ya bastard.”

He chuckled at that. “The two idiots wouldn’t stop raving over how good it was.”

“Well, I had the best teacher in the kingdom,” you grinned.

“And I had an even better student,” he winked.

Your smile widened. Maybe marrying him wouldn’t be so bad.

You couldn’t help yourself when you heartily embraced him, enjoying how his arms slowly slithered around the small of your back. Your eyes met and you kissed him on the lips, leaving him with a little gasp. You pulled away and giggled under your breath.

“You know, you're a sweet guy underneath all that false bravado.”

“False brav—what the hell are you going on about!?”

Ignoring his explosive behavior, you readjusted the straps on your shoulder before turning on your heel.

“Don’t bring anything for lunch on Monday, okay? I’ll see you later, blondie.”

Despite his little tantrum, Bakugo still watched you disappear into the store with a gentle expression. You gave him more headaches than he cared for, but you were worth it. Besides, he was sure you could say the same for him.

Bakugo turned to leave and passed his fingertips over where your lips touched his own.

He’d never admit to the giddiness in his chest. He’d take that shit to the grave.

#mha #bnha fics #bakugo x black reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugo x poc!reader #mha fics #bakugo brain rot activated #barbarian bakugou #dragon king bakugo #mha x poc!reader #mha x black reader #bnha x black!reader #bnha x poc!reader #bnha x reader

1K notes · View notes

elementalwriter67 · 4 years ago

Text

How About a Dance

Word Count: 8213

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Please Help Me, First Turn, Second Turn and Strained Bonds, A Choice is Made, Happy Birthday, Decade Dance, A Kidnapping, A Death in the Family, It Should Have Been You

Summary: Your first turn was almost a month ago and things have been going well and your friends don’t suspect a thing and you and Klaus have been growing closer. So close that he invited you to the ball that his mother is throwing and you’ve decided you’re going to go. Hopefully you’ll be able to avoid your friends and the drama that comes with them for the whole night.

“Wait, Caroline. Caroline. Calm down. Calm down!” You shouted cutting through her panicked ranting about something that she had seen happen to Matt at the Grill earlier. What exactly had happened with him you didn’t really care you’d spent all afternoon studying for a huge science test you had on Monday and the last thing you wanted to deal with was supernatural drama or anything else drama related.

“What happened with Matt?” You asked her when she’d stopped rambling long enough for you to get a word in. You cradled the phone between your ear and shoulder as you juggled your bag and books long enough to get the door unlocked and open.

“Mom, I’m home!” You Shouted as you moved your phone away from your mouth slightly and kicked the door closed behind you.

“There’s a package upstairs for you, a real nice man dropped it off for you earlier today!” Your mother shouted back to you. Your brow furrowed as you walked up the stairs running through a mental list of who would have dropped off a package for you without letting you know they were doing it. Matt wouldn’t do something like this you two were close but not that close, Damon and Stefan were both out of the question, Jeremy doing something like this was… just weird, so that left… Klaus. But he didn’t have a reason to drop anything off did he? Unless you left something at his house on the full moon, though you doubted you did you would have gotten that back by now. So what could he have dropped off if he did drop something off?

“Oh? Who sent you a package?” Caroline asked momentarily distracted from her rant and you rolled your eyes as you walked into your bedroom to see an ornate looking package sitting on your bed with an envelope sitting on top of the package. Yep that was definitely from Klaus and you felt your heart race with the idea of what was in the package, or what the letter contained.

“Care, focus, what happened with Matt?” You asked her getting her back on track as you sat down on your bed putting your phone on speaker you dropped it next to the box as you picked up the envelope to see that it had been sealed with a ruby red wax. A small smile spread across your face even as you rolled your eyes this was just like Klaus he could never do anything halfway it was all or nothing with that man. Something that you were starting to get used to when it came to dealing with the original hybrid. Breaking the seal your smile grew when you saw that it was an invitation to a ball that the Mikaelson’s would be holding tomorrow night, however what really made your heart soar was the little message that had been written on the back: “Save me a dance ~Klaus.” However you frowned slightly when that little voice in the back of our head spoke up again, reminding you of the harsh reality of your situation. Reminding you that as much as you found yourself wanting to go, to listen to that little voice coming from the wolf inside of you that said to go, to be with him like you’ve been wanting to since the full moon, that you couldn’t. That you shouldn’t go to the ball, that your friends wouldn’t want you to, that Klaus was still the bad guy despite how nice he had been to you lately and what had happened between the two of you. It would be best to keep your distance, to avoid from getting to involved with this, from falling to far.

“(Y/N)! Hello earth to (Y/N)?! Are you even listening to me?!” Caroline shouted. You jumped dropping the invitation to your bed as you looked to your phone your eyes wide like you thought that she could hear your thoughts or even knew what you had gotten.

“I… yeah… no, sorry I kind of got distracted I’m sorry, what were you saying again?” You asked her as you reached up and pinched the bridge of your nose. Closing your eyes you took in a deep breath suddenly exhausted with everything and once again finding yourself wishing that you could just go to the ball if not to see Klaus but to at least have a night off and have fun for once.

“Seriously (Y/N)? What the hell did you even get distracted by? What I’m talking about is important.” Caroline stated and you sighed heavily opening your eyes to look at your phone in exhaustion.

“I’m sorry Care, I was studying all afternoon for the test I have in my anatomy class on Monday and I’m just tired, I’m sorry. Can you please repeat what you said to me and I promise that this time I’ll pay attention.” You swore to her and there was a moment of silence before she giggled slightly.

“That’s our (Y/N) always the diligent student. Right so, as I was saying I was at the Grill earlier with Elena and we were talking about how she got this invitation from the Mikaelson’s mother Ester to go to this ball their throwing tomorrow night and how she absolutely should not go, when in walks none other than Rebekah Mikaelson who throws some snide, rude, comment about Elena stabbing her in the back and then after that she goes and invites Matt. Matt of all people to the ball right there in front of us.” Caroline ranted and you bit your tongue as you looked at your phone in confusion. Sure it wasn’t a good thing that Matt, the only human in their little group, had been invited to the ball by Rebekah who had every right in your opinion to want to seek revenge on Elena for what she did. But still if you had to pick a Mikaelson for Matt to go with Rebekah would certainly be the one that you picked.

“Care, why exactly do you care who Matt goes to the ball with? I though the two of you were broken up so it’s not like it’s that big of a deal for him to go with Rebekah.” You commented and mentally you kicked yourself that had not been the right thing to say if the strangled noise of surprise that Caroline made was any indication of that.

“I’m sorry, we are talking about the same Rebekah here right? The same one who was trying to steal Stefan away from Elena and is basically a female version of Klaus?” Caroline lectured you and you cursed mentally you should have just agreed with her and kept your mouth shut it was always so much easier for you when you did that.

“Yes Caroling we’re talking about the same person. All I’m trying to say is that of all the people for Matt to go to the ball with Rebekah is one of the better choices sure the fact that she’s an original vampire with an axe to grind against Elena isn’t the best thing in the world but I can think of far worse humans for Matt to go to anything with.” You explained to her, moving your hand from your nose to rub at your forehead as you heavily debated hanging up on her. Caroline sighed on the other end of the line.

“I guess you’re right, there are far worse humans that Matt could be going with but still I bet the only reason that she invited him in the first place was to get back at Elena for what she did she’s probably planning on getting payback somehow by using Matt… maybe I should go to the ball and make sure that he’ll be ok, not to mention I’m sure Elena will go anyways and Damon and Stefan are going to need help keeping track of her.” Caroline muttered and you shook your head as you turned your attention back to the mystery box still sitting next to you. It was no surprise to you that Caroline had been invited to the ball she was apart of the founding families after all and if the Original family was looking to make a point inviting all the founding families would certainly be one way to do it. Just like it didn’t surprise you that Caroline felt the need to stick her nose inside of other people’s business even if it was to protect her friends plus it wasn’t like Elena was any better.

“Anyways what was in that package you got?” She asked finally causing you to stop playing with the box that sat on top of the box. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked back towards your phone debating on whether or not you should tell her the truth.

“Nothing special, just something I ordered online.” The words were out of your mouth before you could fully decide on what to say and you were thankful that Caroline wasn’t standing right in front of you and was on the phone almost all the way on the other side of town.

“Huh, why did your mom say something about a nice man dropping off a package for you then?” She asked and you sighed as you shrugged your shoulders falling back on your bed as you picked up the phone turning off speaker and pressing it against your ear.

“I don’t know, you know how my mother is Care the delivery boy probably just smiled and asked her how her day was or some shit like that.” You responded and she giggled.

“Yeah probably, anyways I have to go if I’m going to go to a ball tomorrow night I need to find a dress that would be suitable enough for an event as this.” Caroline said with a dramatic air in her voice that had you giggling despite the nerves that you were feeling at the moment as your first decision of the evening was made by her second one.

“Good luck Care, I’m sure whatever dress you pick you’ll look fabulous in.” You told her and you could practically hear the smile in her voice.

“I mean you’re right, but thank you anyways. I’ll talk to you tomorrow and let you know how it all went.” She said right before she hung up and you breathed out a sigh of relief as you dropped your phone on to the bed besides you.

You couldn’t believe it, you’d lied to your best friend about something that you had no doubt they would all see as a betrayal when they inevitably found out about it. But not only had you lied to her you had also decided to go to the ball despite the objections that you were sure you would receive from your friends when they saw you there. You’d gone against everything that little voice in the back of your head had been telling you and you had just subconsciously given in to what both your heart and wolf had been saying. Some distant part of you knew that you should have been upset with this decision that you should immediately be changing your mind about going. Yet instead you found yourself opening the box Klaus had given you, your decision only cementing when you saw what was inside of it a gasp escaping you at the same time.

Laying there neatly folded into the box was the single most gorgeous dress you’d ever seen in your life. Carefully lifting it out of the box you held it up in front of you. It was a floor length, long sleeve dark red dress with a black lace overlay across the whole dress, the black lace on the top of the dress had glittering stripes that traveled across the top following the lines of the cleavage and dripping down the sleeves of the dress petering out just below the elbows. The stripes along the stomach moved from the right to left almost like someone had dragged their hand across in, and then there were stripes that dripped down the skirt as well stopping at different places all of it seeming almost as though someone had dripped darkness down the sleeves and skirt. As you stared down at the dress, twirling around in a quick circle to see how it would fan out around you you found yourself thinking for the first time that you were going to look absolutely stunning in this dress. Twirling around once again, you laughed both in joy and excitement.

~The Next Evening~

You hesitated outside the door to the Mikaelson mansion, twisting your fingers together as you peered inside at the ongoing ball. The longer you stood out here the worse the uneasy feeling got in your stomach, you had already spotted Caroline, Stefan, and Damon from where you stood a fact that did not help to settle the growing feeling of dread. It also didn’t help in getting you through the door because the biggest thing you feared about tonight wasn’t just about embarrassing yourself on the dance floor but it was running into one of them after you’d kept the fact that you’d gotten invited from them. You knew that they wouldn’t be happy with you and you knew the moment they spotted you they wouldn’t let you out of their sight and you would have to endure lectures after lectures, and that was the last thing you wanted. However just as you were about to turn around and head home, having changed your mind, you caught a glimpse of Klaus looking relaxed for the first time since you’d met him as he talked to a group of men. Glancing over your shoulder you looked towards the driveway taking in the parked cars and weighing on whether or not you wanted to go inside, but then again the wolf inside of you had you walking towards the door a sense of confidence filling you as you turned your attention back to the crowd. Screw your friends, you came because you wanted to see Klaus and have fun and you’re going to do just that.

You caught a glimpse of Klaus again as you pushed through the crowd and you smiled when you noticed him already looking at you. A stunned expression briefly crossed his face as his eyes trailed over what he could see of your body, you looked absolutely stunning. You opened your mouth to call out to him but before you could another man slid in front of you forcing your attention to him and the devilish smirk that he was wearing. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach that he knew exactly what he had just done by cutting in between you and Klaus, and that he wasn’t done yet.

“My, my, what a ravishing young woman, tell me what’s a beautiful young woman like you doing at a stuffy, boring, party like this?” The man asked as he bent down, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it as he gave you a dazzling smile. Your cheeks burned as you shifted back from him pulling your hand out of his grasp as you did so, looking over his shoulder to spot Klaus glaring death at the man in front of you.

“I was invited.” You told him not really knowing what else to say to him as you twisted your fingers together needing to distract yourself from the growing nerves. Having a complete stranger come up to you and compliment you was weird enough but it didn’t help that this man was up to no good, if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by, and you had a sinking suspicion that whatever he was planning had something to do with Klaus.

“Oh? And tell me who’s the lucky man fortunate enough to get to call you his date for the evening?” The man asked and you felt the blush on your cheeks darken and you couldn’t help but look towards Klaus to see that he was making his way over to the two of you. The crowd moving out of his way like they could sense the anger radiating off of him.

“Get away from her.” Klaus growled out as he grabbed the back of the man’s shirt and yanked him away from you, situating himself between the two of you with his back facing you. Rolling your eyes you shifted around the side of Klaus, keeping half of yourself hidden as you looked to the man who was now grinning smugly and looking Klaus in the eyes completely unfazed by the anger coming off of him.

“Hello brother, what brings you over here.” The man asked and your eyes widened slightly, so this was one of the family members that Klaus had been keeping in those coffins of his.

“You know why I’m here.” Klaus growled and a look of fake surprise crossed the mans face as he looked between you and Klaus.

“Oh, wait, don’t tell me, that this is the girl that you invited to the ball? Why didn’t you tell us that she was so beautiful? I would have come in and tried to steal her away far earlier while she was still standing outside.” Klaus brother said and Klaus growled again as he took a step towards him but you reached out grabbing his hand before he could go after his brother, now was not the time for a fight nor did you want to deal with that attention.

“Kol.” Klaus’ voice held the promise of a fight even as he held himself back, allowing the feel of your hand in his stop him from assaulting his brother right here and now. Kol’s gaze dropped down to your hands the smirk on his face seeming to grow as he looked back to Klaus’ face chuckling.

“Relax, brother, I was merely trying to have some fun, you know how bored I get at these sorts of events.” Kol commented but Klaus kept glaring at him.

“Well then go find Rebekah, I’m sure she would be more than willing to entertain whatever mischief you have planned for the evening.” Klaus stated as he tightened his grip on your hand and began pulling you away from Kol as he laughed.

“Are you alright? Kol didn’t do anything to you did he? I’ll dagger him if he did?” Klaus asked once he had dragged you far enough away from Kol.

“Yes Klaus, I’m fine he just freaked me out is all with his compliments and general attention.” You told him as you gestured vaguely while speaking and you watched as a brief look of concerned confusion crossed Klaus’ face as he stepped closer to you. You looked up at him meeting his gaze and you tilted your head to the side slightly.

It was still weird seeing this side of him, Klaus had always been slightly kind (in his own weird way) to you back when he was trying to break the curse and up until that night a month or so ago. But after your first turn, after you had spent a night with Klaus running wild in the woods as wolves, things had changed between the two of you. There was this desire to be around him that kept tugging at you, urging you to go out and find him even though you knew that you shouldn’t, but it wasn’t just the desire to be around him it was the desire to be with him, to understand him, it was like a switch had been flipped. You knew that he could feel it too he had been more kind, and considerate to you at least it seemed like it. It was hard to tell with him sometimes you’d come to know that he tended to express his nicer emotions in weird ways something that you found yourself getting used to the more you experienced it.

“I apologize for any discomfort that my brother may have caused you, though I have to admit while my my brother Kol is not often right about many things he was right about one thing.” He said as he looked you over, relaxing now that he was certain that his brother hadn’t done anything to dissuade you from staying or from him. Your brow furrowed as you mentally started running through everything that Kol had said to you trying to figure out what he could be talking about.

“You do look absolutely ravishing in that dress.” He told you when you gave him your confused look and you felt your blush come back full force as you looked to the floor in embarrassment shuffling your feet. To hear it from Kol was one thing but to actually hear Klaus say it, well lets just say you were really hoping he wasn’t using his vampire hearing at the moment.

“You really think so?” You muttered out refusing to meet his gaze even as a small smile spread across your face at his comment. His grip on your hand tightened as he pulled you towards him pressing the two of you closer as his other hand came up to your cheek gently tilting your head up so you were looking at him. A small smile spread across his face when he saw the blush darkening your cheeks.

“I find myself unable to think of anything else.” Your blush darkened, if that was even possible. You searched his gaze looking to see if he was messing with you or not only to see honesty shinning in them. There was that tugging in the pit of your stomach that urging you to do something you were sure would back fire on you later so instead of acting on it you took a slight step back, the hand on your cheek falling away.

“Klaus Mikaelson have you always been such a charmer?” You asked him instead and he chuckled as he glanced down at your hands before letting go of yours with an almost reluctant look on his face. Your heart clenched involuntarily at the loss of contact from him but you shoved the feeling away.

“Only when that woman is you.” He said and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you as you looked to the floor reaching up to brush a strand of hair back behind your ear as you shuffled your feet. Gods did you hope your cheeks would go back to normal after a moment or two because you were getting tired of looking like a blushing schoolgirl. However before either of you could say anything else the sound of metal tapping against glass sounded from atop the stairs, and when you looked up you saw Elijah standing there with Rebekah and Kol standing on either side and a man you didn’t know standing near the top of the stairs. Klaus sighed when he saw all of them standing there, turning his attention back to you he offered you an apologetic smile.

“And that would be my que, excuse me love, I’ll be right back.” He told you as he picked up your hand again kissing the back of it in the exact spot that Kol had before he headed towards the stairs. You had to fight back the smile that threatened to spread across your face as you watched him make his way through the crowd to join Elijah on the stairs just as he started speaking.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” A female voice asked in complete shock and you felt your stomach drop as you turned around to see Caroline standing there with a shocked expression on her face.

“Oh… um… hi Caroline.” You muttered out as you gave her a meek little wave and a sheepish smile.

“Don’t you hi Caroline me, what the hell are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.” She asked you and you bit your bottom lip, so much for avoiding them all for the evening.

“I’m here because Klaus invited me and I figured that it would be rude not to come.” You explained to her and her eyes widened.

“Mmm, uh huh, and just when the hell did you get invited to this thing? And were you ever planning on telling us that you got invited in the first place?” That was when your sheepish expression turned guilty as you took a step back from her.

“Well actually I got the invitation last night, along with this dress, as for your first question the plan was to never tell any of you.” You murmured and her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she looked at you in shock.

“That was the package you got last night! You told me that it was just something you ordered online! I can’t believe you! How could you not tell me that you got invited to this party by Klaus of all people? Have you lost your mind?” Caroline all but shouted at you and you cringed. This is exactly what you had been afraid of, and now you were absolutely certain that you wouldn’t be left alone for the rest of the night.

“I assure you Caroline I haven’t lost my mind, and before you ask me no I’m not being compelled I still take my vervain twice a day at random times no ones taking me off of it and no one will oh and this is exactly why I didn’t tell you.” You told her as you kept your gaze on Elijah as he recommended everyone head towards the ballroom and join them in the traditional first dance. Caroline started saying something else, something most likely akin to how she was going to bring you home, you weren’t really sure because you had stopped listening as you walked forward. Pushing your way through the crowd you made your way to Klaus as he descended the stairs with a confused look directed at you, subtly you shook your head as you met him at the bottom of the stairs. Seeming to accept your denial to answer your silent question he offered his hand to you as he bowed slightly.

“May I have this dance m ’lady?” He asked and you couldn’t help the small grin that spread across your face as you took his hand ignoring the fear of fucking up in front of hundreds of people as you did so.

“And here I was thinking that request was nothing but talk.” You commented as you did your mind made up, you’d come here to have fun and you were going to do it. Plus this was probably going to be the one and only chance you had to dance with him like this and you weren’t going to pass it up. Klaus smiled back at you as he lead you on to the dance floor and you could feel the individual gazes of your friends as you joined the women who stood across from the men and the music started up. The small smile never fell from your face as you began to move with the music to meet Klaus in the middle.

“You know love, you never struck me as the dancing type.” Klaus commented as the two of you danced and you chuckled.

“I’m not, but Caroline used me as a practice dummy more than a few times for her pageants.” You told him and he smirked as he pressed you just a little bit closer his gaze never leaving yours.

“Remind me to thank Miss Forbes for giving me such an excellent dance partner.” He said as you spun away from him and into your new partner.

“What are you doing here (Y/N)?” Damon asked as the two of you began to dance and you rolled your eyes.

“I take it Caroline informed you all that I was here.” You muttered and Damon gave you a look as he spun you around, pulling your back against his chest.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here, with the enemy?” There was a judgmental bite to his voice as he fixed you with a glare his grip tightening on your hand as he twirled you around.

“I’m here to have fun on a night of piece Damon, what is so hard for everyone to understand about that?” You asked him as you turned to face him, counting down the steps to when you could switch back to your original partners.

“What’s hard to understand is that if you wanted attention all you needed to do was ask us for it.” He commented looking for all intents and purposes smug like he’d figured out the key to everything you were doing right now. You however froze causing him to stumble in the steps as you glared at him.

“What?” You growled out, your anger coming quick and fast as you forced yourself to keep dancing with Damon so as not to mess up the rest of the dancers.

“Oh come on (Y/N), don’t play coy, it’s clear that the only reason you came to this place was because you wanted some attention from the rest of us after all why else would you have come to a ball with our enemy?” He asked and before you could process what you were doing you slapped him across the face, your anger slipping free just a little.

“You’re an asshole Damon Salvatore.” You growled out as you spun on your heel and stalked out of the ballroom your hands balling into fists as you shoved your way through the shocked crowd uncaring of the looks that you were getting.

You turned down the first hallway that you found and you stalked down it before you slipped into the first empty room that you could find. Pacing back and forth you clenched and unclenched your fists as you growled lowly in the back of your throat. It was one thing to come over and talk shit about Klaus, that was expected of Damon, but it was another thing entirely to come over and basically call you an attention whore. It was rude, it was uncalled for, and it was just plain fucking mean and you wanted nothing more than to go back out there and punch Damon in his stupid smug face for being such an insensitive jackass! Distantly a part of you was amazed, you’d never felt this kind of anger before this burning volatile ball of fire that burned inside of your stomach, threatening to burst out of you at any moment. Growling you paused in your pacing kicking off your heels in a far more violent manor than was needed the feeling of them pinching your feet only adding to your anger at the moment.

“Careful love, I’ve seen Rebekah kill someone with a pair of these before.” Your head whipped around to see Klaus holding one of your heels in your hand as you spun on your heel to pace back to the other side of the room.

“Good. Maybe it’ll bounce off the wall and imbed itself in Damon’s heart.” You growled out as you kept pacing and unclenching and clenching your fists as you vividly pictured stabbing your heel into Damon’s chest. You wouldn’t kill him, oh no, but you sure as shit would come close just to make it really hurt then maybe you’d break the heel off on one of his ribs just to make it a little harder to get out. Hopefully then that would teach him not to insult you like that and remind them all why you had survived as long as you had in their group.

“Wow, whatever Damon said to you must have been truly horrible I only ever see that face in the mirror when I’m planning something horrific.” Klaus commented as he crossed his arms over his chest leaning against the doorway to watch as you paced. This was interesting, in all the time the two of you had been around one another he’d never seen you express this much emotion, at least not around him.

“Oh, you know just that I’m basically an attention whore because I decided to come to this thing with you instead of telling them about it.” You all but shouted and you paused in your pacing when you heard a deep growl come from the door. Your brow furrowed as you looked to Klaus to see his eyes beginning to glow yellow as he pushed himself off the door. Just like that your anger was gone the last thing you needed was a pissed off hybrid rampaging his way through the party to start a fight with the biggest asshole here.

“No, wait, Klaus stop, don’t.” You rushed out as you raced forward grabbing ahold of his wrist and pulling him back into the room before he could get to far and he looked back at you letting you pull him back into the room as he looked at you with a mix of confusion and anger.

“And why not, judging by the look that was on your face you agree with my plan, so why stop me?” He asked not bothering to hide his anger or frustration and you sighed as you ran your fingers through your hair.

“Because despite being the biggest asshole in the room, at the current moment, Damon is still technically my friend and tonight is supposed to be a peaceful evening which means no going out there and beating the ever loving shit out of Damon no matter how much he may deserve it.” You muttered the last bit to yourself as you cast a longing look towards the door before shaking your head and looking back to Klaus. Klaus gave you a look that said he wasn’t convinced but otherwise he made no move to leave the room again.

“That’s some friend you have there.” Klaus commented as he walked away from the door, you following him not necessarily trusting yourself to keep your own word.

“Yeah, well I didn’t say me and Damon were close now did I? I just can’t believe him! I mean who gave him the right to call me an attention whore?! I mean has he seen the woman he’s in love with? Constantly trying to choose between two men when her decision has clearly already been made but because she’s so in love with the attention she gets from them both so she strings them along like they’re not actual human beings with feelings!” The words were flying out of you before you could stop yourself as you paced in front of Klaus that anger from earlier still burning brightly inside of you.

“Love you need to calm down.” Klaus said and you scuffed as you turned on your heel away from him and headed towards the other side of the room as Klaus watched you cautiously trying to figure out the best way to help you.

“That is better said than done, I mean I’ve been angry before Klaus but this is different, this feels like I’m going to snap at any given moment.” You told him.

“That would be one of the side effects of triggering the curse, werewolves are notorious for their tempers.” He said as he stepped in your walking path catching you when you walked directly into him. Closing your eyes you took in a deep breath the feeling of Klaus’ hands on your upper arms having an oddly grounding affect on you as you felt the anger eb away slightly.

“Does it ever get better?” You muttered out as you dropped your forehead against his chest as you just focused on breathing. The anger you were feeling slowly dissipating the longer you stood there in Klaus’ presence enjoying the calming affect he had on you. Klaus sighed as he wrapped your arms around you pulling you into a hug, that felt so natural that it had you wrapping your arms around him in response laying your head flat on his chest.

“It’s been in my experience, love, that things typically get far worse before they start getting better but you are far stronger than you give yourself credit for and I have no doubt that you will get the hang of this far quicker than most.” He stated with a surprising amount of honesty and firmness in his voice that caused you too look up at him with a look of adoration

“Thank you Klaus.” You breathed out as you tried to convey just everything that you were thankful for in a single sentences. The corners of Klaus’ lips twitched up in a little half smile as his hand moved from where it rested on your lower back so that he was cupping your cheek a nervous look crossing his face as he met your gaze his thumb rubbing across your cheek bone almost absent mindedly. You leaned into his touch subconsciously as you looked up into his eyes intrigued by the nervousness you saw there.

“(Y/N) I-”

“What’s going on in here?” Caroline asked breaking whatever trance that had fallen over the two of you as you both looked to the door to see Caroline starring at the two of you with a disgusted and shocked expression on her face. You felt your cheeks heat up as you quickly removed your hands from Klaus’ chest as Klaus dropped his hand from your face but kept his hand firmly planted on you waist.

“Caroline I- it’s-”

“What were you doing to her? Were you about to compel her? Get away from her!” Caroline shouted and the next thing you knew you were no longer standing in front of Klaus but behind Caroline and back by the door. You stumbled back from Caroline, bumping into the wall as you blinked multiple times and your stomach churned. You hated when they did that.

“No, Caroline that’s not what was going on.” You muttered out as you shook your head and pushed yourself off the wall at the same time Klaus went to walk around Caroline and get back to you but Caroline moved to block you from view again. Which caused Klaus to glare at her in annoyance and frustration not liking the blocking that she was doing right now.

“Bullshit that’s what was going on did you not see him standing that close to you (Y/N), it’s clear that he was going to compel you!” Caroline stated as she moved backwards, forcing you to take a step back or get a face full of her hair.

“Caroline stop, calm down, Klaus wasn’t about to compel me we were just talking it’s not that big of a deal.” You told her trying to get her to calm down and climb down from her high horse.

“You were just talking? Was that the lie that he told you to tell if the two of you got caught?” Caroline asked as she turned fully to face you and your brow furrowed as you looked at her before glancing to Klaus who was still glaring at Caroline his lips curling up just a little when she grabbed your wrist.

“What? No. Caroline, Klaus didn’t compel me I swear.” You stated but she shook her head stuck in her decision and refusing to believe that her friend could be willingly talking to the bad guy.

“Don’t worry (Y/N), we’ll take you to Bonnie maybe she’ll be able to do something to help you, come one we’re leaving.” Caroline stated as she started pulling you towards the door and you were too shocked by her actions to do anything except look to Klaus who was looking at you just as confused but also angry at the fact that Caroline was taking you away. Though you couldn’t blame him for his anger you weren’t exactly pleased with having been interrupted and pulled away. It wasn’t until Caroline had dragged you a good distance away from the door that you snapped out of your shock and surprise, your anger taking over and you started digging your heels into the carpet.

“Caroline wait, stop, let go of me, it’s not what you think Klaus honestly hasn’t compelled me to do anything. Stop. Caroline. Let go of me. Let go!” You shouted as you ripped your hand out of her grasp with more strength than you had meant to causing Caroline to stumble as you took a few steps back.

“(Y/N) what are you doing? Stop it, come one we need to get you to Bonnie maybe she can undo this compulsion that Klaus has done to you, or maybe I’ll be able to, or maybe we can do something I don’t know-”

“Enough! Caroline! Klaus hasn’t done nor will he do anything to me! We were just talking in there before you so rudely interrupted us! Gods why don’t you understand that?” You shouted as you walked away from her running your fingers through your hair in exasperation as Caroline stared at you in just as much exasperation.

“Because that would mean you were willingly consorting with the enemy and you wouldn’t do that (Y/N)!” Caroline shouted back and you sighed in annoyance as you dragged your hand down your face thankful you had talked your mother out of putting makeup on you.

“Caroline I am a grown ass woman and I am allowed to consort and talk to whoever I want regardless of what side of this little made up war you and the others are fighting besides it’s a night of peace isn’t it? Even bad guys deserve a break.” You bit out as you crossed your arms over your chest and continued to look at her in annoyance and she looked back at you in shock.

“Why are you even defending him? Night of peace or not he’s still the bad guy! He still tried to kill Elena and about a million other evil things!” Caroline exclaimed and you rolled your eyes as you dropped your hands to your sides curling them into fists as you glared at Caroline.

“Maybe I would be less inclined to defend him if my friends stopped treating me like a child incapable of making her own decisions on who she can and can’t talk to!” You shouted back not trying to hide your anger any more.

“And maybe we wouldn’t be treating you like a child if you didn’t hide things from us and go off to consort with the enemy! You’re supposed to be on our side or did Klaus compel you to forget that?!”

“For the last fucking time KLAUS DID NOT COMPEL ME! We were just fucking talking about how much of an asshole Damon is.”

“And I don’t believe you! That can’t be the only reason that Klaus brought you into that room! I refuse to believe it!” Caroline shouted back and you closed your eyes breathing in deeply for a few seconds. You were sure that the whole of the supernatural creatures attending this party could hear the two of you right now. But honestly you didn’t care right now all you care about was the fact that Caroline was being a stubborn pain the ass who wouldn’t just listen to reason and it was annoying and not at all something you wanted to deal with right now.

“You know what fine don’t believe, keep believing that everyone is out to get Elena and everyone else, fine, whatever but do it away from me yeah?” You stated as you pushed passed her making sure to bump your shoulder against hers as you made your way to the opposite the party.

“Wait were are you going?” Caroline called after you but you ignored her as you stalked down the hall incredibly glade that she wasn’t following you. You continued making your way through the mansion until you found yourself walking outside the gravel walk way digging uncomfortably into your bare feet and causing you to step in between two little trees situated next to the house.

Closing your eyes you leaned against the wall the coldness from the stone and the feeling of the fresh night air on your skin and filling your lungs calming you almost as quickly as Klaus had been able to. This was certainly not how you had expected the night to go, sure you’d figured that you would have run into your friends eventually but you hadn’t thought that they would go off the deep end like this. Then there was that… thing that had been going on between you and Klaus before Caroline had interrupted you and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t disappointed at having been interrupted and that you didn’t want to see where that could have gone. But no Caroline just had to have had the worst timing physically possible and fuck up everything all in some diluted pursuit of your safety, oh how you hated them sometimes. Taking in a deep breath you opened your eyes as you tilted your head up looking at the sky to see the moon hanging above you nearly full. You felt your wolf shift inside of you like it was pacing, getting antsy for the coming change and you couldn’t help but agree with it. The idea of running wild through the woods again sounding fantastic right now especially if Klaus was going to be there with you. You stood there in silence for a few more moments just starring up at the sky listening to the dull lull of the music filtering out through the open doors and windows when it was suddenly interrupted by the sound of someone shouting and then being dropped to the ground.

Picking up the skirts of your dress you ran around the side of the house ignoring the pain of the gravel digging into your feet as you turned the corner with just enough time to see Damon land on top of Kol before effectively snapping his neck. You stood there in shock looking from Damon to the others who had all raced to the front door.

“Damon! Are you crazy?” Stefan shouted as he stopped on the top of the stairs looking down at Damon as he stood up from Kol’s unconscious body.

“Maybe a little. Far be it from me to cause a problem.” Damon gave a pointed look to Elena at the last part and you rolled your eyes, of course this would have something to do with Elena it always had something to do with Elena didn’t it? You looked back to Damon as he walked away from the crowd that had gathered at the entrance before turning to look back at Stefan who just stood there glaring at his brother.

“What the hell is his problem?” You asked as you walked up to him, dropping your skirts as you stopped in front of him. Glancing over his shoulder you locked eyes with Klaus who was giving you a questioning look and you just shrugged your shoulders not knowing what it was that had caused Damon to attack his brother like that.

“With Damon it could be anything.” He muttered and you sighed heavily as you looked to the sky. ‘One night, that was all I wanted, one measly night was that really too much to ask for?’ You thought to the sky before looking back down and to the crowd at the sound of someone saying your name. You had expected to see Caroline standing there, but instead you found Matt pushing his way through the crowd cradling one of his hands against his chest and looking like he was in a great deal of pain.

“Shit, Matt, what happened to you?” You asked him as you moved towards him gently taking his hand from his chest as he hissed in pain and you frowned looking it over. It was definitely broken, but it didn’t look like it was anything that would do permanent damage to his hand years of being one of the few humans in on the gangs plans had given you plenty of time to learn what was going to be a debilitating injury or not.

“Kol, broke my fucking hand.” He gritted out and you cursed mentally as you let go of his wrist and instead reached into his pocket, taking out his truck keys.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.” You said as you took his good wrist and lead him away from the mansion and towards his truck. As you climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck you looked back towards the mansion to see Klaus standing there watching you as a couple of servants picked up Kol’s unconscious body, you gave him an apologetic smile as your eyes met across the drive. He raised his hand giving you a little wave and you nodded in acknowledgement before starting up the truck and driving away.

590 notes · View notes

twst-the-night-away · 2 years ago

Note

“Let’s set up camp!” (For Yume and your choice of OC!) <3

[ I took this in a bit of a different direction ... I hope you don't mind! Savvy and Yume haven't interacted yet, this is their chance to see her sly side. ]

“GRIM! There you are!”

“Mnyah!”

Grim sat, frozen, mouth full of shrimp and sausage, staring at Yume. Yume was, quite rightly, annoyed, hands on hips as they stood in the clearing where the Art Club had set up camp.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, and you’re taking food from some other campers?!” Yume sighed and gave a deep bow. “Violetta, I’m so sorry. He knows no shame.”

Violetta laughed, taking off her glasses to wipe her eyes. “Yes, I’m quite aware. You can blame Savvy for it, though.”

“What?! Why me?” The blonde Pomefiore beside Violetta huffed.

“It was your idea to tell him that he could have some.”

“Just being neighborly, that’s all.” Savvy poked at some foil-wrapped packages over the fire. “Anyway, now that you’ve found him, why not sit with us for a bit? We’ve still got plenty of food.”

Yume sighed, then laughed a little with relief - but made sure to give Grim a gentle tap on the head as they sat down on the blanket beside him.

“You made me worry,” Yume grumbled.

“I was on my way back,” Grim said, through another mouthful of food. “But then I smelled such a good aroma comin’ from the Art Club’s camp, I couldn’t help but investigate!”

“Yeah, but don’t you think we ought to be, I dunno, helping the Board Game Club set up? That’s who we’re here with!”

“They’ll be fine for as long as it takes for a snack break!” Grim waved a paw.

Savvy grinned and flipped over one of the foil packets. Yume leaned over, their own curiosity and hunger staring to awaken.

“I can't believe you caught all your fish already ... What are you making?”

Savvy and Violetta glanced at each other. Violetta looked away, flushing a little purple.

“It’s kinda like a shrimp boil,” Savvy said brightly. “Just some shrimp and sausage and a few veggies, well-seasoned of course. My daddy makes these for us all the time when our family goes campin’ together. We've got some that are just sausage, too, 'cause Violetta can't have shrimp, and some people just don't care for it.”

“Oh wow, that’s a good idea! …” Yume stopped to think, then raised an eyebrow. “Though I’m surprised they let you bring in food. I thought we were supposed to be catching our own.”

There was a long silence. Savvy and Violetta stared blankly. After a moment, Yume realized that this was a look of complete innocence.

“Okay, I get it,” they said with a giggle. “My lips are sealed.”

Savvy grinned and pulled one of the packets off of the fire with a pair of tongs. She set it aside to cool off, then opened up the cooler.

“So … you’re here with the Board Game Club?”

“Hmm? Yeah.”

“Well, it looks like we just happen to have some extras … I’ll make a couple for you to take back to your camp, okay?”

“What, really?”

Savvy’s smile was a little … too friendly. Yume glanced at Grim, then at Violetta, who was giving her clubmate a tired look.

“Way to be obvious,” Violetta muttered, shoving another piece of corn into her mouth.

“Well, I’m not great at fishing, or mining, or chopping wood, am I? Neither of us in the Art Club are.” Savvy started arranging ingredients on top of some foil and folding them into little packets. “We’ve gotta get in some good graces if we’re gonna need help later.”

Yume glanced at Grim, then looked at Savvy, who was still smiling sweetly. They sighed.

“Well, since Grim’s already taken advantage of your hospitality, I guess we have no choice …”

Violetta grimaced. “Sorry,” she mouthed.

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #yume ume #savvy laperle #violetta piccola #sorry yume your weird cat has eaten art club food and is now beholden to them #i tried to do something fun here i hope you're amused

4 notes · View notes

derekmorganscrocs · 4 years ago

Text

Her Lipstick: Ace x Reader

Pairing: Ace (Nancy Drew CW) x Reader, Valentine’s Special.

Word Count: 1,725 (short but sweet.)

Summary: With everyone else having their nights planned out with romance and dates, Y/n and Ace get stuck manning the night shift at The Claw.

Notes: Ideally takes place after the aglacea is gone, and we’re finally having a quiet moment. But like SPOILER ALERT!!!! if Owen lived. ALSO A QUESTIONABLE ENDING BUT I LIKED IT NGL.

Ace’s Dad’s name is Tom by the way, this is key info for later.

“No one’s even gonna come in, George. It’s Valentines, and last I checked, crappy fried clams aren’t most people’s version of romance.” You glance her way from the kitchen, pausing with an alarmingly large knife in hand. The parsley in front of you isn’t going to chop itself, but your hands are starting to cramp.

“Yeah, well it’s business hours. Just humour me this once? I’ll owe you one.”

“George, you already owe me like nine.” You roll your eyes and look her way, attitude softening slightly at her expression. Knowing how she felt when the whole crew was a day away from death, about missing out on her and Nick... it puts a little graciousness in your heart. For their first Valentines together, why not just help her out? “I’ll do this one for free. Wait! Not for free! I’m still getting paid right?”

“Yes,” she laughs. “Thank you.” Nodding your way once more, she turns and heads out, closing the door behind her. You sigh, turning back to your cutting-board. Finishing with the stack of parsley and dumping it in a plastic container, you throw the knife in the sink. Surveying the restaurant quickly, as well as the parking lot, you ensure the coast is clear before heading to the freezer.

These days it seems like everyone’s got someone except you. Nancy and Owen, Nick and George, Bess and Lisbeth, hell, even the weirdo chef no one likes who only works fridays has a girlfriend. Not you though. You and Ace got stuck on the Valentine’s shifts no one else wanted because you were the only two available. Admittedly, Valentine’s wasn’t a big deal to you, you just thought the tacky decorations were kind of entertaining to have around. However, it kinda sucks when you’re single. And crushing. Speaking of crushes, you snap yourself out of your thoughts at the idea of a certain floppy haired boy.

“Ace?” You look around for your shift partner and best friend... and yes, crush, who for some reason isn’t in his usual happy place. Or anywhere to be seen. He doesn’t respond, so you look in the pantry, the dark corner by the lockers, and even the supply closet. He’s nowhere to be found. “Ace?”

“You looking for me?” Ace puts a hand on your shoulder, coming from behind you. Not gonna lie, it scares the crap out of you. And you whip around and punch him in the face. Then you realize it’s him and let out a small gasp.

“Ace! Oh my god, I’m so sorry-“ you lean down, taking his hand and helping him up, as he massages his jaw with his other hand. That’s embarrassing. Really embarrassing.

“My fault,” he mumbles. “Forgot you scare...” he pauses for a second, trying to find the word, “...punchily. Good hit though, really starting to get that impact value.”

“Thanks, I think. I’ll go get you some ice, can you just watch the dining room?”

Ace nods and you head to the freezer. Of course there’s no ice. Why would there ever be ice when you need it? You root through the options of ice packs for Ace’s eye, as you think to yourself.

Lately, you’ve been making yourself a fool in front of Ace. See, it wasn’t this bad a few weeks ago, when you liked him but didn’t know you liked him. You throw a box of clams (ew.) to the side. Now that you’ve realized, you’re a hot mess. Next you find a singular frozen fish (also ew.). He’s been acting a little off too, and you’re worried it’s because he knows. Now you’ve found a lobster that you’re pretty sure has been there since the place opened (ew x3). Oh look, some frozen bread (that won’t really work).

What you don’t know is that Ace has also just recently realized his feelings for you, and his dad, Tom, has just tricked him into bringing you over to their place later. You finally find a box of heart shaped popsicles, and take a couple of them back to the kitchen, where Ace stands, leaning against the counter.

“This is all we have. Valentine’s special, have some heart shaped chemicals for your black eye.” You hand him two of the three popsicles you’re holding. “I also brought you one to eat. If you’re crazy enough to.” You hop up on the counter beside him and sit cross legged, tearing open the third wrapper.

“If you are, I am.” He rips open one of the frozen treats and places the other below his eye. Looking down at the wrapper from the one he opened, he makes a face. “I can’t even read half of these things.”

“Hey, I could’ve brought you the lobster.”

He knows exactly what you’re talking about and backtracks his critiques of the popsicle. The two of you sit in silence for a few seconds, disturbed by the bell ringing. A woman walks in, which grabs both your and Ace’s attention, but she just pins a flyer to the bulletin board and leaves. Exciting crowd.

Soon enough, the snack popsicles are gone, and the ice pack popsicle is slush. Ace throws the melted package into the sink, the slush inside making a questionable ‘plop’ sound as it hits the metal. The two of you stand around a little longer, before packing up the perishables and putting them back in the freezer/pantry. Business is slow, and it’s boring. The two of you are back to waiting around, and Ace ends up laying across one side of a booth, you on the other. The two of you pass a rolled up napkin back and forth, tossing it over the table to the other person. It doesn’t keep you entertained for long, though.

“You bored?” You turn your head and look at him under the table.

“Yeah,” he chuckles.

“Same.” You sit up, getting a slight head rush as you do. Ace mirrors your actions, minus the head rush. The two of you stand, but before you can start wandering around aimlessly-

“You, uh, you have something on your face,” he chuckles softly, his goofy grin turning into a smaller smile, a certain softness appearing in his eyes. You reach for your cheek, trying to swipe whatever it is off your face. Seems like you miss, because Ace chuckles, before asking- “Can I?”

You nod, and he wipes your cheekbone with his thumb, his lips parting just a little bit as he lets out a small, nervous, chuckle. Suddenly your heart is beating about a thousand miles a minute, and as Ace’s eyes settle on your lips for a second, you look at his face, taking in every detail that you can.

The bell rings and the door opens, making you and Ace launch away from each other. A strong gust of wind blows in, and no one walks in, making you sigh. The wind literally blew open the door. Horseshoe Bay is dead quiet tonight. No customers. You close the door, and realize it’s nine pm, so you flip the sign to closed and lock the door.

“Hey, Y/n, you wanna come to my place? My dad told me he’s making food for three tonight.” Ace watches as you make your way to where he stands by the kitchen.

“That his way of inviting me over?”

“Guess so,” Ace quips with a smirk, throwing an arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk to the locker room. After double checking that the freezer is sealed, you lock up The Claw and head to Ace’s place, hitching a ride in Florence, of course.

When you get to Ace’s place, the smell of cherry pie wafts straight into your face as soon as you open the door. Ace’s dad stands by the coffee table in the living room, and his face lights up when you walk in. You sign a quick hello, Ace doing the same behind you. Ace also throws in a cautionary ‘don’t embarrass me’ but that goes unnoticed by you, you’re too busy checking out the coffee table. There’s all sorts of food that you love, especially compliments of Chef Tom.

You flop onto the couch, snatching a fresh baked dinner roll off the table. Ace flips on the tv, sitting down beside you, and Tom heads back to the kitchen to clean up. Looking around, you notice some of the sweet little Valentine’s decorations around the house. There’s a few plastic hearts hanging around the rooms, and some red streamer thingys. They bring a smile to your face, despite being a little corny.

“Dad knows you like the tacky decorations. No matter how much you say you hate them.”

“Your dad is so sweet. I always feel like part of the family when I’m here,” you say softly, pure joy radiating off your face.

“Okay, I gotta be honest for a second,” Ace blurts out sharply, seemingly out of nowhere. Your heartbeat speeds up a little as anxiety bubbles in your chest, and you nod quickly. “It’s because he wants you to be part of the family.”

“What?” Your eyes widen as you look at Ace. “Sorry, that makes no sense.”

“You really are blind. Nancy told me you couldn’t take hints but I didn’t think she-“

“Ace!” You put a hand on his thigh, cutting him off. He pauses, getting back on topic.

“Well... you see. You’ve always gotten along great with everyone. Especially Dad, sometimes I’m convinced he’s your best friend. And I made the mistake of telling him that I have feelings for you, so now he’s like extra nice. Because he wants me to be happy.”

“Oh wow,” you laugh, suddenly a lot more relaxed.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid, and-“

You cut him off by grabbing his shirt and pulling him towards you. You kiss him, and he obviously kisses back, his hands settling against your face as he pushes himself closer to you.

“I like you too. Thought it was obvious,” you breathe against his lips. He lets out small chuckle.

“Not really,” he whispers, and then kisses you again.

Now your arms are over his shoulders, and you’re basically on his lap as the kiss heats up a little. Tom is forgotten until the sound of footsteps behind you causes the two of you break away again. You turn to see Ace’s dad come over and put a plate on the table.

You sign a ‘thank you, Tom.’ his way, and he smiles widely back at you. He glances over at his son beside you, and his eyes widen slightly. Glancing back and forth a few times, he lets out a delighted chuckle when he makes the connection.

“You two? Finally,” He signs quickly.

“What?” Ace tries to play it off, but fails miserably. He’s not the best actor. About thirty seconds of your and Tom’s laughter and Ace’s denial go by before Ace folds. “What gave it away?”

“You’re wearing her lipstick.”

TAGS:

@ananad1

@remmysrecs

@bookish-bucky

@sahi-raa

@peakyrogers

#ace nancy drew #ace nancy drew x reader #nancy drew fic #nancy drew cw #nancy drew #alex saxon #valentines #happy valentine’s #x reader

218 notes · View notes

celosiaa · 4 years ago

Text

you can talk to me

Summary: Jon may or may not be questioning his gender. Either way, Martin is there to listen.

CW: dysphoria, periods, panic, self-deprecating thoughts, food mention

for a prompt from @transcendentalbf! <3 hope you all enjoy!

Sasha: you wanted channa masala, right?

Martin: yes! got it in one!

Sasha: of course I did! be back in 15

Martin: <33

Setting his phone back on the desk, Martin tips back in his chair and lets out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Though it’s been nearly three weeks since he’s started living in the archives, that doesn’t mean that he’s gotten used to it—if anything, the long hours of being constantly on the lookout for anything creeping or crawling across the floor has only served to heighten his pre-existing anxiety. It’s so lonely here. The low ceiling of the basement seems so vast when you wander beneath it in the dark—and even now, with his friends promising to return with lunch for him shortly, he can’t help but feel the weight of their absence.

Christ, Martin. You’re pathetic.

Can’t even handle a bit of pain.

As if the thought alone had caused it to happen, the aching roar of his cramps flares up once more, causing him to bend over the desk to breathe through it yet again. It’s just so embarrassing—he’s been on T for years now, surely the bleeding would have stopped—but alas, no such luck to be had. Of course he would be one of the people for whom it gets worse. Of course.

I’ve got to text her.

Martin: hey, do you have ibuprofen? didn’t want to look through your desk without asking!

Sasha: course! middle drawer. you okay?

He wants so badly to lie to her, say it’s fine—but he can’t really do that after asking for pain relievers, can he?

Martin: fine!! just having some cramps is all, it’s okay!

Sasha: aw, I’m sorry, Martin :/ need anything else? I can stop by the store later if you need

Martin: not yet. might soon though

Martin: I’m sorry.

Martin: please don’t tell Tim

Sasha: I would never. and don’t worry about it! it’s no trouble. I’ll get you some stuff later, alright?

You’re a burden you’re a burden you’re nothing but a burden

Martin: thanks, sash. you’re the best!

Sasha: <3

Returning his phone to its place on his desk, Martin has to stop to take a few deep breaths—heart pounding with embarrassment over the entire discussion. He knows it’s alright, knows Sasha means it when she says she doesn’t mind…right?

Jesus, stop it.

Just…take a walk, and you’ll feel better afterwards.

Standing a bit painfully on swollen legs, Martin swallows a few of Sasha’s ibuprofen before he makes his way toward the stairs, hoping for a chat with Rosie while waiting on lunch. At the very least, he could get some sunlight, escape from the windowless basement for a while. He could only hope that the worms aren’t too bad up there.

The lift dings its arrival to the main floor, where Rosie immediately turns to greet him with a warm smile.

“Ah, Martin! How are you, my dear?” she says as he approaches, looking genuinely glad to see him.

“Can’t complain!” he beams, leaning against her desk with one elbow. “You doing alright? Staying out of trouble?”

“You know I’m not,” she laughs, swatting playfully at his arm. “But neither are you, I’m sure.”

“Got me there.”

Martin can’t help but smile back, pleased at the thought of bringing happiness to someone’s day, satisfied to listen to her stories of cats and knitting circles and whatever soaps she’s been watching on telly. It reminds him of his mum, a bit—the nicer parts of her, anyway.

“Oh, that reminds me—“ she bends down beneath her desk to pull out a thin package, handing it over to him. “This was delivered for Jon this morning. Probably listed the Institute on the order form by accident again. Would you be so kind as to take it to him when you go back down?”

Holding it in his hands, Martin can feel the shape of the thing within it—some sort of soft fabric, stamped on top with a return label indicating a very nice clothing brand.

Date clothes.

He’s got a date.

Even as his heart sinks, Martin curses himself for it—it’s none of his business, Jon wants nothing to do with him, has no interest at all—after all, how could he? How could he when he’s…well, him?

“Stop making this about you, Martin,” he hears his mother say, closing his eyes against the memory. “You’ve always got to spoil everything, don’t you?”

“Martin? You alright, love?” Rosie asks quietly, and Martin looks up to see her worried face—hand coming to rest lightly on his arm.

Damn it.

“Oh, ha, of course, Rosie! S-sorry, it’s just—“

He backs away from the desk, pressing the call button for the lift.

“I’d better get back downstairs, then. Don’t—don’t want to keep Jon waiting. For his package, I mean.”

The lines of Rosie’s face only deepen, staring concernedly at him as he steps into the lift.

“Oh—alright, dear,” she says, a bit surprised at his sudden retreat. “Come back and visit sometime, alright? I’ll make us tea on your next break.”

“That sounds lovely,” he replies, forcing a wide grin to his face, flooded with guilt that she feels the need to make tea for him, when that’s supposed to be his responsibility.

“Nasty child, always making things about yourself.”

God, stop it.

“I’ll see you later then,” he continues with a wave, begging the lift doors to close quickly and hide his face.

—

Breathing deeply a few times before Jon’s office door, Martin finally gathers the courage to knock.

“Come in,” comes Jon’s baritone from behind the door, and he swings it open with a gentle creak.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt—Rosie had a package for you at the desk,” Martin says in as cheery a tone as he can manage, holding out the floppy package to Jon.

At once, Jon’s eyes go wide—he snatches it from Martin’s hands, setting it quickly out of sight with a blush rising to color his cheeks.

“Oh, th-thank you, Martin, erm—must have, must have accidentally sent it here,” he stammers, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, no longer meeting Martin’s eyes.

Just get out just get out

“It’s no trouble,” he replies, and it’s far too happy, too sharp, too loud to be natural. “Sorry! Sorry. I’ll just be going, then.”

He closes the door on Jon’s shocked face, clearly surprised that Martin had not kept trying to make conversation, as usual. Stepping away from the door, he tilts his head back against the tears springing to his eyes—Jon was so clearly flustered by the package, confirming what he already knew: he’s seeing someone else.

Stop it stop it stop it

Furious with himself, at the hollow cavern of his chest, he turns toward the break room—determined to at least make this lunch normal and pleasant.

Just be normal.

For once, just do it right.

—

Though the hour is just barely approaching 8pm, Martin is more than ready to settle in for what he hopes might be some half-decent sleep. He’d been on the lookout for worms all day, as usual, but had really found very few—and certainly none within the sealed doors of document storage. Even if the air feels a bit stuffy, it’s nice to have a bit of added security that those things couldn’t possibly reach him in here. Or so he hopes.

It’s as if the cot has its own gravitational pull, beckoning him to just tip to the side, to let it all wash away into sleep—the only problem being that he cannot yet bring himself to take off his binder. To put it mildly, it’s been a day, even with the lovely lunch Tim and Sasha had brought him, even with the warming cup of tea he and Rosie had shared. The idea of kicking his dysphoria into an even higher gear is enough to set his heart pounding again, so much that every time he tries to just take it off, your lungs will thank you—he can’t get past even touching the hem sitting tightly against his ribcage.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, he smacks the back of his head against it a few times in frustration, before ceasing at the pain reverberating through his skull.

Just take it off just take it off just—

He pulls it up just a little higher.

Nononononono I can’t I can’t I can’t—

Bringing it back down against his pounding pulse, he forces himself to take deep, grounding breaths, shuddering and hitching a bit as his frustration builds up to form a lump in his throat.

Pathetic pathetic pathetic—

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of his phone against his thigh.

Sasha: hey, Martin—I popped some tampons and pads into your desk drawer. saw your door closed and thought you might not want company right now.

Sasha: and I got you some ice cream. double chocolate fudge. I’ve left it on the top shelf of the break room freezer.

Sasha: hope you’re alright—love you <3

Oh god.

Martin feels his eyes welling up as soon as he starts reading, the tears causing the words to swim almost too badly to see. God, Sasha—she always knows what to say, just what he needs—and he barely had to say a word about it.

Martin: love you too, Sash. you’re unbelievable. I can’t wait to tuck in! love love love you <3

Sasha: good man! I don’t want to see any left by the time I get in tomorrow. goodnight, handsome <3

Oh god oh god oh god

He can’t help but clutch the phone tightly to his chest, allowing a tear or two slip down the side of his cheeks with a soft smile. “Good man,” “goodnight handsome—“ even if he knows she’s saying it because of the dysphoria, it means everything to him that she would even think about it. That she would even notice it.

That she cares enough to want to make him feel better.

Dizzy with happiness, Martin slips out from under the covers and heads into the archives to retrieve his ice cream.

—

Spoon and his wonderful frozen gift in his hands, he makes his way back to document storage—knowing that if Jon were there, he’d be livid to see him take any sort of food or drink into a place where such precious pieces of spooky history are kept. In spite of himself, he lets the corners of his mouth turn up at the thought, imagining how terribly cross he would be, hands on his hips, shouting up at Martin, who stands a foot taller than him—

There’s a light on in Jon’s office.

Surely he’s…not…

Worry pooling in his stomach, Martin pads as silently as possible over to the partially-open door, peering inside just in case, hoping against hope that he’s not going to find more worms, or someone covered in worms, or Prentiss herself—

His heart leaps into his throat at once.

Inside the room, he finds Jon—with no worms in sight, no injuries—staring at the full length mirror on the wall. Hanging from his frame is a loose and flowing dress, thin shoulder straps drooping down into a dark navy ‘v’ across his chest, blue and white striped skirt falling graciously around his hips and to the floor. Slits in the fabric run from the hem up to his knees, giving the entire piece such a feeling of freedom—and the look on Jon’s face says he feels just the same. His eyes sparkle as he moves about in the skirt, feeling the fabric against his legs, reaching up to let his hair hang loosely over his bare shoulders. It’s lovely, it’s soaring, it’s—

Intensely private.

Oh god, I shouldn’t be here.

Desperate to leave as silently as he came, Martin takes a step back—right onto a worm wriggling beneath his foot.

“AAGH!” he yells, dropping the ice cream and spoon at once, scrambling backwards to grab a book from the desk behind him, smashing into the horrible little thing until it is well past dead.

“God, sorry,” he pants, swiping a hand across the sweat of his brow, setting the other to rest over his chest as he bends over to catch his breath. “Sorry, I must have scared you, I just saw the light on, and I—“

When he looks up, he’s greeted with the sight of a man frozen in place—eyes wide with shock, and…fear? He stands with his back pressed against the opposite wall, no breath visible in the movement of his shoulders as he stares back into Martin’s eyes.

“A-are you alright? Jon?” he asks carefully, taking a cautious step forward.

He receives no reply in return—the only movement visible to him the shakiness of his legs.

“You don’t look w—oh, Christ,” Martin yelps, rushing forward to catch Jon as he starts to slip to the ground.

It strikes Martin suddenly that he still hasn’t seen Jon take a breath—and he begins heaving at once, lungs gasping for oxygen.

“God—that’s it, just take a breath, just--just take a breath,” Martin encourages nervously, sweeping his eyes over him for some sort of injury. “Are you alright?”

Jon does not reply for a few moments, eyes still blown wide and wild, before at last turning them up to meet Martin’s gaze as his breaths begin to slow.

“Y-you—“ he begins, before his eyes sweep downwards for just a sliver of a moment. “You’re wearing…a binder.”

Oh, Christ.

With a start, Martin looks down at himself—only just realizing that he’s crouching in his boss’s office, wearing nothing but his boxers and a skin-tone binder.

“O-oh, God, I—“ he instinctively brings up his arms to cover himself. “S-sorry, I just—I didn’t mean—“

“N-no, Martin—that’s not—that’s not what I meant,” Jon assures in a anxious rush, reaching out to touch his arm—before hurriedly jerking it back.

“No?”

“No, I—“ he cuts off again, pressing a hand over his chest as he takes another grounding breath. “I’m really—I’m actually…relieved.”

Now Martin is properly confused.

“You’re…relieved?”

“Yes, I—“ he looks up, laughing a bit wetly before continuing. “I suppose you…you wouldn’t…I suppose you would understand. Perhaps.”

“Understand…”

It hits Martin like a train, now that the panic of a possible crisis has been averted: the dress.

“OH! Oh, I—I’m so sorry I burst in on you, Jon, I didn’t…I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that. On purpose. I can leave you alone? Or to change, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I—I think I would like that. To change, I mean. You can—“

He drops his gaze to the floor.

“You can come back. If you want.”

For a moment, Martin allows hope to swell in his chest—before quashing it rather forcefully.

“O-Okay! Sure, I’ll just—I’ll be back in a mome, I’ll just…put some clothes on. Right.”

Elegant exit made, Martin briefly allows the shock to wash over him before dashing back to document storage—popping on a pair of pyjama trousers and a band t-shirt, sure to grab a canister of CO2 for proper protection this time. On his journey back, he spots the ice cream he’d flung to the floor at the sight of the worm—a bit melted now, perhaps—but if anything warrants some slightly-melty ice cream, it’s the conversation that he thinks Jon wants to have now. Turning on his heel, he grabs two spoons from the kitchen, and by the time he gets back, Jon’s office door has been propped back open. He knocks against it lightly all the same.

“Jon? Alright if I come in?”

“Y-yes—erm, have a seat, if you’d like,” he says from his desk chair, now back in his typical work-day cardigan, hair pulled into a bit of a messy bun.

“Right, sure,” Martin replies, settling in the chair opposite him and offering a smile. “Feels like I’m about to give a statement or something.”

To his complete surprise, the corners of Jon’s mouth actually turn up a bit at this—and though he still will not meet Martin’s eyes, something about the openness of his expression tells Martin to mark this moment as one to remember.

“I suppose it must feel rather like that,” he agrees, beginning to fiddle with a pen on his desk, staring intently at it.

They sit like this for quite a while—letting the silence settle, as Martin tries to intuit whether or not he ought to say something. Worrying at his bottom lip to keep himself from speaking, he tries not to stare at Jon, wanting him to feel comfortable, just wanting him to know that he’s there for whatever he needs to say.

It’s the most unnatural thing in the world for him to do—but it appears to have been the right decision, as Jon at last begins to speak.

“I haven’t,” he begins, before clearing his throat. “I’ve never worn a dress before.”

Ah. So it is what I thought.

Leaning forward against the table, Martin tilts his head in an effort to let Jon know that it’s okay, you can look at me, you’re safe here—but he’s not quite ready yet, and Martin is certainly armed with patience.

“I think that’s great, Jon! I think that’s really great that you tried it,” he begins, hoping that this is what Jon needs to hear in this moment. “Do you want to—I mean you don’t have to, but—do you want to talk about it?”

Brows furrowing, Jon stops twiddling the pen long enough to glance up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just…I mean…how did it make you—feel?” Martin clarifies, and Jon nods in response.

“Ah, I see. I—erm—“ and away he looks again, back to staring at the pen, perhaps more nervous than Martin has ever seen him. “It’s…difficult to say, I suppose. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“That’s okay, that’s perfectly natural,” Martin is quick to assure, running a hand over the bits of stubble that have crept up over his chin.

He remembers this, remembers the doubt, the exploration of what he did and did not want, what he did and did not feel—it was far from easy to do, and he’s starting to think it’s much the same for Jon.

Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning

“Are you—and you don’t have to answer this, but—are you…thinking about your gender identity?” he asks, watching Jon’s body language carefully.

He seems to curl up further into his seat, shoulders hunching in a way that makes Martin’s own hurt just looking at them.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Jon mutters, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m…hesitant to say, really, I just…”

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes, arms braced against each arm rest.

“I happened to see that dress a few months ago, and it wouldn’t leave my mind, and I had some extra money to spare, and…and I bought it. I don’t know why.”

All of this spills from Jon in such a rush that it winds him, still not opening his eyes.

“That’s okay, Jon. Really. You don’t need to know why right now, okay? This kind of stuff can be complicated,” Martin soothes, letting out a little huff of laughter. “Believe me, I understand.”

At this, Jon opens his eyes again, bringing them up to meet his ever-so-slowly. Once they land there, though…Martin has a feeling that they will be fixed on him for the rest of this conversation, though he cannot put a finger on why.

“Would you tell me?” Jon asks in a near whisper, leaning against arms which he’s propped up on his desk. “I mean—I would like to know how you found out, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah. Right. Erm…well, I suppose I was pretty young when I started to figure it out. I’d never…I’d never really felt like me in my body, you know? The long hair, the school uniforms, just…it wasn’t right. At least not for me.”

He pauses for a moment, half expecting Jon to interrupt, to tell him he’s heard enough—but Jon still appears transfixed, as if he’s drinking in every word he has to say.

“But I didn’t really understand what that meant until secondary school. I was…well, let’s just say it was an upsetting time for me all around, right? One day I felt upset enough to chop off my own hair in the bathroom. And it was long by that time—nearly down to my waist.”

He laughs briefly at the remembrance, running a hair through his now-shorn locks.

“I cut it off—and it was like some small part of me started to understand. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I tried to dress in what I thought boys should wear, walked around dressed like that to see what would happen—and the first time that someone called me “Mister Blackwood,” I just…it’s was like a great big wave of relief. It was like someone finally saw me. Like I finally saw me.”

Pausing there, he looks back up at Jon’s face—still reverently focused on his own. It sends a chill up his spine, in not an entirely unpleasant way.

“Thank you, Martin,” he murmurs at last, lowering his hands away from his face to stretch out across the table. “Thank you for telling me. That’s very…insightful.”

“Is it?” he replies, leaning towards him once again. “Can you tell me why?”

He can almost hear the gears turning in Jon’s head—the lines of deep-seated thought clear on his face. After a rather long silence, he begins to speak again, voice more certain than it has sounded all evening.

“The feeling of it. What you said about not being able to get it out of your mind, I just—” he breaks off to sigh, frustrated with the way the words are stringing together. “I’m not saying I understand completely, because it’s obviously your experience and not mine, but…”

He swallows, setting his face with such strength of intention that Martin finds himself bracing for the impact.

“I liked it. The dress. I liked the fabric, I liked the way it…the way it looked on me. I…I liked feeling…feminine, I suppose you could say.”

In this moment, Martin is not sure he has ever felt such a surge of affection for the person before him—which is saying quite a lot, all things considered.

“I’m really happy for you, Jon! Thank you for sharing that with me, I know that’s not always easy.”

Jon’s only response is a curt nod, his penchant for decorum and professionalism shining through even in this moment of relative vulnerability.

“Could I ask you—have you thought about pronouns? Or names? I mean—I’m happy to call you however you want to be called. Or perhaps even to try something new out, if you want. Just to see,” he quirks up a little smile at him, pleased that Jon feels comfortable enough to look back at him.

“Erm—I suppose I had thought about it a bit,” he says as he wraps his arms around his middle again, a gesture that Martin knows to be one of self-comfort. “I…I don’t think I would want to change my name. Not now, anyway. I rather like how it sounds.”

“That’s alright! I…I think your name is lovely, if that matters,” Martin replies—flushing as he realizes what he’s just said. “Erm—anyway, what about pronouns? Do you want to keep using he/him? Or do you want to try something else?”

Again, Jon seems perfectly at ease to think about this in silence for a bit—turning away and twirling a loose strand of his hair with his right index finger. That all-too-familiar twinge in his chest returns with a vengeance at the sight, endlessly endeared to everything about him.

God, stay focused for one moment, Martin.

“I—would you mind to try they/them? I don’t—I don’t think I want to try it around the office yet or, but…would you? Try it?”

“Of course!” Martin breathes at once, hand reaching out instinctively to cover Jon’s own where it rests on the table—and to his utter shock, Jon does not even flinch at the contact, nor try to pull away. “Of course I will, Jon. Do you want me to try it now? I can say some sentences so you can feel it out.”

“I…yes. Yes, that would be lovely, Martin,” Jon replies softly, still not moving his hand away.

“Right. Erm…okay. This is Jon. They work at the Magnus Institute. They’re the Head Archivist, and their work is very important. I like to bring them cups of tea in the afternoon, and they wear cardigans almost every day,” he pauses there, reading the smile creeping up on Jon’s face like the sun breaking through the clouds—and knowing in that moment, that they must have gotten it right.

“So? How did it feel?”

The smile takes on a full-bodied appearance now—eyes sparkling dark and gentle across the table, boring into his own with such depth of meaning that Martin is not sure he could ever fully take in.

“Yes,” they reply simply, smile spreading even wider. “Yes, I—I rather liked that.”

“I’m really glad, Jon! I mean—I would have been glad even if you didn’t like it, of course—the important thing is that you tried it out,” Martin stammers, nervousness somehow creeping back into his words.

“Thank you, Martin. I’ve…greatly enjoyed this talk,” Jon says, at last pulling their hand away from beneath Martin’s to point it at the forgotten tub of ice cream, currently sweating a circle of moisture on the wood of their desk. “I think you might want to get back to this before it melts, however.”

“Oh! Oh, right—I forgot I sat it there!” Martin replies, grabbing it quickly and rubbing a sleeve over the damp spot it created on the wood. “I actually—“

No no no, stop.

Don’t make it awkward

Don’t ruin it don’t ruin it don’t—

“Would you like some?” Martin presses on, against every voice that tells him to do the contrary. “I—I actually brought two spoons, I thought…I thought maybe you could use a pick-me-up. After I barged in on you like that.”

The expression Jon gives back to him now is a mixture of things—incomprehension, confusion, disbelief—and perhaps, just perhaps, a small bit of delight.

“You don’t—you don’t need to do that, I—“

“I insist, Jon. Please have some with me,” he interrupts, handing him one of the spoons. “Sasha told me to have it gone by morning, and there’s no way I can do that myself.”

“Well,” Jon replies, taking the spoon from him with just a whisper of a grin. “I suppose we’d better get to work, then.”

“Let’s.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #jonmartin #hurt/comfort #trans martin blackwood #nonbinary jonathan sims #cw dysphoria #cw periods #cw panic #cw self hatred #cw food mention #my writing #lmao tumblr deleted all the text from the first post #so that was exciting

702 notes · View notes