#a flower that bloomed for everyone and not themselves

[cutebutclinicallyinsane]

ambition, to me, has always felt like a stranger in a tailored coat, passing through the station with a suitcase of reasons to leave. it is elegant, perhaps even admirable, but it never looks me in the eye. i used to wonder if this meant i was less alive—if the stillness of my days, the softness of my small rituals, the aimless curve of my existence meant i had failed to become someone worth anything at all.

i live differently. softly. with no torch in my hand, no horizon i'm sprinting toward, and no applause waiting for me at the finish line.

ambition, in the way they say it, has never lived inside me. i don't feel shame about it anymore.

sometimes, i wake up and stare at the ceiling until the light shifts just right. sometimes, i peel fruit slowly, quietly, until the juice runs over my knuckles and i have no choice but to lick it off. sometimes, i stand by my window long enough to watch the neighborhood change colors.

see, i don't think it's a lack of ambition. i just want to live the kind of life that won't need to be avenged.

there was a time when i mistook movement for meaning. i tried to want things i couldn’t even name. i tried to want more, because everyone said that was the point—to strive, to build, to conquer. but all it ever gave me was a mouthful of smoke and a silence i didn't recognize.

what i want is gentler. i want quiet mornings that don't demand anything of me. i want conversations that feel like rain, slow and unafraid. i want to hold someone's hand without needing a reason.

if ambition is a god, then i am content to live as a heretic.

i have known people who ran themselves raw chasing it—bloody knees, splintered tongues, eyes so wide open they forgot how to close. they called it purpose. i called it grief on a leash.

i won't fault them. but i won't follow them, either.

instead, i make my tea just the way i like it. i sweep my floors, not because they're dirty, but because the sound of bristles against wood reminds me i exist. i fold the corners of books i never intend to finish. i keep dried flowers long past their bloom.

this is how i live. not out of defiance, but out of desire.

i desire softness. i desire breath. i desire a life that can sit beside me like an old friend, not a deadline.

if anyone pities me for it, i don't mind. pity is still a kind of noticing.

but for what it's worth, i don't pity them back. only sometimes, when the moon is thin and mean-looking, do i worry they've never learned how to be still without breaking.

and even then, i do not pity them—i only hope they find a place to rest.

because if there's any reason i live, it's this:

not to be remembered, not to be envied, not even to be understood—but to live in such a way that the world feels safe curling up beside me.

[thecrocofkugane]

A black envelope is placed on Lia's bedside table, along with a single red oldrose flower. On it, is their name written in gold, embellished with a small heart. The handwriting looks like Adon's; having seen him scribble down orders in his notes before.

A small, slightly crumpled sheet of paper is folded in two. On the back is written "Anthesis."

Life and rivers entwine, only to form pools of sorrow. Harsh winter springs warm and kind, the one blossom that did grow. As though she knew her purpose - to bless, to bloom, to be forgotten. As such, she sought her purpose - to battle, to burn, to love ill-gotten. Fighting the torrent, my purpose was clear; to embrace the blossom no one could hold. Within the torment, all sorrow turned dear, to become the ashes from her coal. When life is to shatter, to come and go; I will never think twice, ne'er my blossom to the snow. Je t'aime, mon lapin. - A

[meo-eiru]

Day 6 of Character Trivia Night!

For tonight we have Micah

Micah is an only child with a mother and a father

He grew up in a small town and his parents were upper-middle class in town standards

They were very religious and paid a lot of attention to always appearing proper. They wouldn't wear the same outfits two days in a row and made sure their clothes were always perfectly ironed

His dad was quite strict with him, not allowing him to play outside and crease his clothes, and made sure he attended church regularly

Micah was never really interested in playing with the other kids so he didn't particularly care about the rules

Even as a child he was aware he was prettier and smarter than most kids around, he was also very apathetic towards others. He didn't particularly care about them but enjoyed when they praised and looked up to him so kept the good boy act

His one joy was growing flowers, because unlike humans flowers are not annoying. If he takes good care of a flower it'll grow up and bloom like planned, it won't betray his plans. Its life is on his hands, if he decides to cut it it'll die, and if he decides to stop watering it it'll shrivel

His parents weren't very into the idea of him taking care of their garden but after seeing he wasn't giving up and that he actually made it look prettier they gave in

He was later on sent to the capital to further his education, joining the cathedral and quickly becoming a high priest

Even away from his parents he continued to live following their teachings. He would wear clean and well ironed clothes, he usually preferred loose fitting ones that didn't show much skin

He also started growing his hair to the possible displeasure of his father, he enjoyed taking care of it and keeping it clean. He naturally had very thick strands but his hair was still very soft

He also quite enjoying coffee, especially with some light sweets accompanying it. Thanks you that he ended up being quite good at brewing coffee and baking low sugar cakes

He was popular with men and women alike thanks to his angelic appearance and polite personality, receiving letters of affection not only from people inside the cathedral but those who simply came to visit it

Soon enough he was more well known than the actual bishop amongst the common people

He didn't really care about ranking up more and taking on the bishop role, he actually enjoyed the fact that he was better liked even as someone of lower status which made the actual bishop quite furious

He was eventually sent to work at a church in a nearby town by the bishop who did not enjoy seeing him around, not that Micah cared. The town was small but clean and well taken care of, he could just live quietly while being adored by those around

He was greeted with many cheers upon his arrival to the church, his fame traveling ahead of him

He greeted everyone and introduced himself, not caring to pay too much attention to the stuff they told him

Around his third day at the church, as he was passing by the inner garden he heard the sounds of giggling

Two nuns in training, seemingly enjoying a conversation between themselves

Micah could hear what they were talking about but somehow it all felt like blank noise, not registering. The weather was nice, he could feel a warm breeze flowing through his hair. The sunlight was just right, making his skin warm and fuzzy but not to the point of making him sweat. He could hear the chirps of birds mixing with their giggles. Everything was so nice, so nice and so clear, and Micah was just standing there. He was just standing there and looking at the nun he seemingly had never noticed before. Was the sky always so blue and full of life?

It wasn't too hard finding more about you as you were on good terms with most people around. He quickly learned that you were a faithful child of god, that your family was quite poor and that you wanted to become a nun in hopes of earning money to help your family

The day he first approached you was an exciting day for you. He's THE Micah after all, anyone would be excited. He was so nice and so easy to talk to, before you knew it you were crying about your struggles and pains as he gently hugged you

You really liked him, he would always listened to your problems so patiently and offer you solutions. With him you felt so seen

At first it started small, Micah bought you the dress you've been eyeing for so long. Then it started getting bigger, he would sometimes directly give you money, telling you to go buy whatever you need

He was like an angel, truly a good person. You thought he must be a savior sent by god to make your pains go away

And so you trusted him, how could you not? He was such a good person, and everyone knew just how good he was. And you continued trusting him when he called you to his chambers late at nights, you trusted him when he locked the door behind you, you trusted him when he was being just a bit too close for your liking

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Micah didn't care about how many weeds he had to cut off to make one flower bloom the way he wants it to bloom. At the end of the day it's the flower he wanted, and his flower has the prettiest petals when he holds it in his hands

[colouredbyd]

"If you look closely, you'll see them!"

Regulus Black x fem!reader

synopsis: you swear regulus has dimples but no one believes you, not until he walks in and finds you with his eyes. the room stills, and for a breathless moment, they begin to see what you always have.

warnings: pure fluff, mentions of cold deameanor, some mild language, grumpy x sunshine kinda?

w/c: 3k

a/n: my headcanon is that regulus has dimples!!! i said what i said guys, argue with me !! also this has been in my drafts for a good 7 months </3

masterlist

"Regulus Black does not have dimples!"

Sirius declares for the third time that afternoon, sprawled across the common room sofa with his legs thrown carelessly over James’s lap, his voice carrying that unbothered arrogance he wielded like a second skin.

"You’re hallucinating."

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you stand firm before the Marauders, unyielding in your defiance. Mary is nestled against Remus’s shoulder, her eyes glimmering with barely-contained amusement as if she knows something the others don’t.

"I am not hallucinating," you retort, voice dripping with indignation, hands finding your hips in a stance that borders on stubbornness. "I’ve seen them! They’re right here."

You jab your own cheeks for emphasis, fingers pressing into the softness just beneath your eyes, and the room erupts into snorts and muffled laughter, your so-called friends delighting in your apparent delusion.

But you know the truth. You have seen them—the delicate crescents that carve themselves into his cheeks when he smiles in that unguarded way, soft and fleeting, like moonlight filtering through darkened leaves. It is a secret you hold close to your heart, something sacred and untouched, for Regulus Black is not supposed to smile like that. Not according to them.

To everyone else, he is sharp lines and cold eyes, distant and unyielding, a boy forged from winter’s breath and brittle starlight. His name drips from their tongues like a warning, a reminder of ancient bloodlines and whispered expectations. But you know better. You have seen the way his eyes soften when you laugh, the way his hands hesitate before touching yours as if afraid he might shatter something precious.

Regulus Black, to you, is soft edges and hidden warmth, tenderness folded into the corners of his smile, something gentle and achingly beautiful beneath the surface. They could not see it, would not believe it, but you did. You always did.

"Darling," James begins, slipping into his most condescending tone as he tilts his glasses down the bridge of his nose to peer at you properly, eyes alight with mischief. "I’ve known Reggie since fourth year, and not once have I ever seen a dimple. Not even a suggestion of one."

He is wrong, you think, pressing your lips together to keep the secret tucked safely in your heart.

They do not know the way Regulus looks at you when no one is watching, how his gaze softens like the edge of dawn, or how his laugh—rare and unbidden—blooms like a flower in the dark. They do not know that Regulus Black, for all his coldness, holds sunlight in his smile, and you are one of the very few who has ever been allowed to see it.

"That’s because you’re not paying attention," you shoot back, arms crossing defensively. "He does this little smile sometimes, it’s soft and kind of lopsided, and there’s this tiny dimple right here—" you poke your cheek again, more insistently, as if the physicality might convince them. "I swear, it’s like magic."

"Or madness," Remus suggests mildly, and Mary dissolves into laughter, her curls shaking as she leans further into him.

"I mean, we’re talking about Regulus Black here, right? My-face-is-carved-from-stone Regulus Black?"

"Maybe it’s just a shadow," Sirius chimes in, inspecting his nails with a grin that teeters on smugness. He hardly even glances up, as if the matter is too trivial for his full attention.

"A trick of the light. Or you’ve been hexed. Definitely hexed. I bet it’s a dimple jinx. You see fake dimples, fall madly in love." His grin widens, eyes glinting with mischief, and the others snicker at the notion.

"I have not been hexed!" you cry, voice pitching higher in your indignation, but your outburst only seems to spur their laughter further.

The sound spills into the room like the crackle of firewood, unrestrained and merry, and you stand at the center of it all, defiant and unyielding. "I’m telling you, I’ve seen them. He has dimples!"

"Right," James nods, his expression shifting to exaggerated seriousness as he claps a hand on your shoulder, eyes sparkling with that brand of Marauder mischief that rarely bodes well.

"And I’m secretly the heir to the Malfoy fortune."

"Stop it." you protest, your hands flying to your hips as if that might root your argument more firmly in truth.

"He has dimples. If you look closely, you’ll see them!"

They laugh again, the sound bubbling up like champagne flutes clinking together, indulgent and disbelieving. But you only hold your ground, chin tilted upward with all the stubbornness of someone who has glimpsed something magical and refuses to let it be reduced to smoke and shadows.

Because you know. You have seen the way Regulus’s face softens when he lets his guard slip, how those tiny, secret dimples blossom at the edges of his smile like something fragile and hidden from the rest of the world. It is not a trick of the light, not some fleeting mirage conjured by wishful thinking.

It is real. He is real. And maybe, just maybe, they have never looked closely enough.

"He does not," Sirius says flatly. "I would know. I’ve seen that miserable mug for seventeen years straight, and not once has it ever hinted at joy. If he’s smiling for you, you might want to check if he’s choking."

"You don’t know everything about him," you snap back, and it’s a bit more pointed than you intended, because Sirius’s expression shifts for the briefest moment, but then he’s back to smirking, one brow arched.

"Oh, I know enough. And I know that my miserable little brother is physically incapable of producing dimples. It would require smiling first. Which is practically illegal for him, by the way. Pretty sure he signed a contract with Death himself."

"He does smile," you argue. "Just... not around you lot."

Mary’s eyes light up at that, and she sits up a little straighter, nudging Remus. "Not around us, huh? Just around you?"

You hesitate, heat creeping up your neck. "Well… yeah. I suppose." At their expressions, you quickly add, "That’s not weird!"

"It’s a little weird," Remus says thoughtfully. "I mean, I’ve never seen him smile like that." He looks to Sirius for confirmation, who just shakes his head.

"Me neither," Sirius agrees. "And if he was going to be grinning like a lovesick idiot, I feel like I’d know. Or maybe you just have some sort of freaky dimple-seeing ability. Is that a thing? Can we get that checked?"

"Maybe he only smiles for her," Mary sing-songs, and you swat at her, cheeks blazing. "What? I’m just saying!"

You cross your arms tighter over your chest, frustration curling hot and sharp beneath your ribs. You know what you saw. It wasn’t magic or shadows or madness. It was Regulus, soft and unguarded in a way that felt almost secret. A piece of him reserved just for you, like a glimpse behind the curtain of a play only you were meant to watch.

But they wouldn’t believe you. They couldn’t. Because to them, Regulus was all sharp edges and cold stares, impenetrable as stone. But to you, he was something else entirely.

You saw the parts he kept hidden—the softness, the ache, the way his eyes would linger when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his fingers brushed yours just a bit too long when he handed you your books, the way he stood a little closer than necessary when you walked side by side. His dimples were proof of it. Proof of the parts of him that were gentle and real and yours.

"I’m not making it up," you murmur stubbornly, softer this time, almost like you’re telling it to yourself.

James leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You know, I almost want you to be right. I’ve never seen Regulus with dimples before. I think it would break my brain."

The room is still shaking with laughter when the portrait door swings open. It is a subtle thing, just the soft groan of hinges and the hush of movement, but you feel it like an echo in your bones. Your gaze snaps up before you can help it, the breath stalling in your lungs as if caught between heartbeats.

There he is, Regulus Black, framed in the doorway like he has stepped out of a painting, shadows and light playing across his features in sharp relief.

He is ice and elegance, his gaze sweeping over the room with cool detachment, the sort of look that makes even Sirius go still. His brother’s grin falters, an instinctual pause as if the air has been sucked from the room.

Regulus’s eyes flicker over them, James’s raised brow, Sirius’s smirk half-frozen in place, Remus’s unbothered calm, but there is nothing there, not even a nod of acknowledgment. His expression is marble-carved, beautiful and unyielding.

But then his gaze finds yours, and it softens, melts like snow beneath the first touch of spring. His eyes brighten, lips twitching at the corners, and suddenly it is like you are the only two people in the room. The change is breathtaking, the kind of transformation that feels like stepping into sunlight after days of rain.

Without thinking, you are already moving, feet carrying you across the room as if pulled by some invisible thread.

"Regulus," you breathe, and the way his name falls from your lips feels like unspooling thread, like the first sigh of spring. His expression softens entirely, something delicate and aching sparking behind his eyes as you practically throw yourself into his arms. He catches you easily, arms winding around your waist, steady and certain, like he has been waiting for you his entire life.

Your hands are in his hair before you realize it, fingertips grazing the base of his neck as you pull back just enough to look at him properly. His smile is still there, still hovering at the edges, and it is soft and real and yours.

"I missed you," you whisper, half a confession, half a prayer, and as soon as the words leave your lips, it happens.

A tiny crease, delicate and almost imperceptible, blooms on his left cheek, like the first hint of dawn breaking over a dark horizon.

A dimple, soft and secret, there and gone in a heartbeat, as if it only exists for you.

"I missed you too, amour," he murmurs, his gaze flicking over your face like he is memorizing it. "You have no idea."

There is a tension in the room, thick and breathless, as if the very walls are leaning in to listen, the crackle of the fire muted under the weight of disbelief.

The Marauders and Mary are watching with wide eyes, suspended between fascination and utter incredulity, as if the scene before them is too tender, too impossibly soft to be real.

Regulus Black—aloof and unyielding, frost-kissed and sharp-edged—is holding you like something sacred, his arms wrapped around you with a gentleness that seems to contradict everything they thought they knew of him. His thumb brushes across your cheek, feather-light and reverent, as though you are made of something finer than bone and breath, something worth protecting.

And then he smiles—just a fraction more—but it is enough.

You do not even realize what you are doing; your body moves before your mind catches up, and you lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and soft and so achingly familiar it feels like slipping into an old memory. He blinks, eyes flickering with surprise, but you do not pull away.

You lean in again, pressing your lips to his other cheek, right where his smile deepens, and it happens—a twin to the first, blooming on the opposite cheek as if coaxed into existence by your touch alone.

A second dimple, tender and unmistakable, carved into his pale skin like it had been waiting there all along, hidden just beneath the surface.

You are not the only one who notices.

Behind you, there is the unmistakable sound of someone choking on their own breath, followed by a very loud, "What the hell?" from James, his voice pitched somewhere between awe and utter disbelief.

Regulus glances up, his gaze catching on James, who is staring as if he has just witnessed stone turn to gold, like magic itself has unfolded right in front of him.

Sirius is uncharacteristically silent, eyes narrowed in something akin to suspicion or maybe even wonder, while James’s jaw is completely unhinged, glasses slipping precariously down the bridge of his nose.

Remus is blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear away a mirage, mouth slightly parted in surprise. And Mary—sweet, sharp-eyed Mary—looks positively gleeful, her grin spreading slow and wicked as she nudges Remus sharply in the ribs, her eyes dancing with triumph.

"I told you," she mouths, lips curving around each word with delight.

Because it is true.

There is no need to look closely, no need to squint or peer beneath shadows—Regulus Black’s dimples are right there, clear as daylight and twice as warm, so stunningly visible that they might as well have been carved out of starlight.

They blossom wide and unguarded, softening the sharp lines of his face, and for a heartbeat, he is not the boy forged from winter’s chill and midnight silence. He is something brighter, something softer, and it is plain to see that with you, he is allowed to be gentle.

"I told you!" you practically crow, turning back to face them while still locked in Regulus’s arms. "I told you he has dimples!"

Sirius remains silent, watching with something like suspicion, but James looks like he has seen a ghost.

James is still staring. "I think I need to sit down."

"You are sitting down," Remus points out.

"I think I need to sit down lower," James clarifies faintly.

But you are not paying attention to them anymore, because Regulus is looking at you with that same impossible smile, both dimples still lingering like promises.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking a gentle line across your skin. "You told them about my dimples?" he asks, voice low and edged with amusement.

You nod, breathless and unashamed. "I did. And they did not believe me."

His smile softens, stretching wider, and both dimples deepen like secret doorways to some hidden softness that only you are allowed to see.

He leans in, the space between you shrinking until his breath mingles with yours, and his voice drops to a low, velvety murmur meant only for you.

"You really should not spend so much time with Gryffindors," he whispers, his tone laced with quiet disdain that is more habit than heart, though his gaze remains warm and unyielding, crafted entirely for you. "I think they are starting to rub off on you." His eyes glimmer with amusement, but there is something else there too, something tender that settles in the quiet curve of his smile.

Your laughter spills out, bright and unrestrained, like the first crack of sunlight through winter clouds, and before you know it, your hands are tugging him closer, closing whatever space remains.

In that moment, it is just you and him, suspended in the fragile stillness that belongs only to the two of you, where the rest of the world feels distant and unimportant, something to be dealt with later.

For now, there is only this: his smile, his dimples carved like promises into his cheeks, and the gentle, unwavering warmth of his arms around you, holding you close as if he is terrified of letting go, as if this is a vow whispered into the spaces between heartbeats.

The truth is, Sirius had always known that Regulus had dimples.

He had known for years, had seen the faint creases carve themselves into his brother’s cheeks on the rarest of occasions, like fleeting whispers of a softer world beneath the ice.

But the thing is, those dimples only ever appeared when Regulus was around you, when your laughter spilled into the room like sunlight or when your name slipped from his mouth with that unguarded tenderness that seemed to unravel something deep and hidden in him.

It was as though the universe had woven this small, delicate fragment of softness solely for you to uncover, a secret threaded carefully into the very fabric of him, waiting patiently for your hands to find it, to hold it like something sacred and fragile and wholly yours.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

A Rainy Walk

SUMMARY: He invites you to go with him on one of his club's outings, but the weather is revealed, belatedly, tto be inappropriate and perhaps even dangerous for what should be a pleasant moment together.

CHARACTERS: Mountain Lover Club (Jade Leech) / Gargoyle Studies Club (Malleus Draconia)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Flirting; Kiss

WORD COUNT: An average of 2.370 words per character.

COMMENTS: In Jade's part, as a person who doesn't like hiking, I wanted to create a way for both those who like it and those who don't to be able to insert themselves. So I made the reader twist an ankle.

I hope you enjoy it. 🌧️⛈️

OTHER CLUBS:

But… We Lost… - Basketball Club (Ace / Floyd / Jamil)

Romantic Experiment - Science Club (Trey / Rook)

For a Quarter of a Second - Track and Field Club (Deuce / Jack)

Unlucky Overtime - Spelldrive Club (Leona / Ruggie / Epel)

In the Backstage - Pop Music Club (Cater / Kalim / Lilia)

P.S.: I don't know what's going on with me to make me start writing so much.

.

You had gone to the Mostro Lounge, as you do from time to time with Grim, Ace and Deuce for a snack. When Jade comes to your table to take your orders, he informs you that he has prepared a new dessert and would love for you all to try it and tell him what you think.

“Myaah yeah, I'll take any-” Grim starts to say excitedly, until he remembers who he's talking to. “Wait... what do you want?”

“Me? I would just like to know if this new dessert I made has a pleasant taste. And who better than some of our best customers to tell me?” He smiles and proceeds to describe something you would absolutely love to eat.

“Funny, that really sounds like (Y/N)'s favorite desserts. ” Deuce says.

“Truly? What a coincidence.”

“Which I'm sure it isn't.” Ace adds. “Come on Jade, tell us what you really want in return. We might even consider it.”

“Very well.” he smiled amusedly. “It would cost you 17 thaumark each.” Everyone is shocked by that price for a small dessert. “However, I have another proposal.” you see his sharp teeth through the smile for a second. “I believe you know that I am a member of the Mountain Lover Club. This weekend, I'm planning on waking up before dawn to head to the mountains so I can see a flower that only blooms in the early hours of the day.” He looks at you. “And they are such charming flowers that I would love to share this experience with... someone. Perhaps (Y/N)?” If you accept, I can give you all a discount and the dessert will only be 8 thaumark.”

“Did you really need to do all this ruse?” Grim asks annoyed. “Why don't you just ask (Y/N) out?”

“Because that wouldn't be as thrilling, would it? Fu fu.”

“My wallet doesn't need any thrilling, thank you very much.” Ace comments. “And 8 still seems a little pricey for this type of dessert.” he tries to haggle.

“Five each if you let (Y/N) come alone with me.”

They looked at each other as if they were between a rock and a hard place.

“Deal!” You say. After all, you also have a crush on Jade.

Jade laughs seeing your friends' worried faces.

“There's nothing to worry about, gentlemen. I will make sure (Y/N) gets home safe and on time. We can even bring you souvenirs if you’d like. I would be happy to share the wonders of the mountains with all of you as well.”

~

He could have promised to keep you safe and sound on the mountain, but unfortunately, he couldn't do anything, nor was he prepared for something to happen to you before the hike. In one of your Physical Education classes you ended up twisting your ankle and it wouldn't heal in time for the day of the hike. You were in the infirmary when Jade came to check on you.

“(Y/N), I heard about your accident in Professor Vargas' class.” Jade tells you with pity, or at least it seems like it. It's hard to know when it's genuine concern. “But may I confirm with you that it was indeed just an accident?”

You confirm that it was just your foot that slipped, a little confused by that question.

“Very well. Don't worry, I believe in you. But you know that if there is a classmate who is less... pleasant with you, you can tell me.” He says with a sweet smile before forming his toothy little grin. “I can have a reasonable little conversation with them.”

You assure him that it wasn't any other student's fault that made you end up like this. At worst, it was Grim's mischief to blame. Jade chuckles.

“But it was quite unfortunate that it happened right before our hike in the mountain. However, I thought of a way for you to be able to accompany me, if you still wish to do so.”

~

On the day of the hike, or rather, that night before dawn, Jade appeared at Ramshackle Dorm door and sent you a message asking if you were ready. He asked for permission to enter the dormitory and go to your room and when he arrived he had with him a flying broom with a special cushioned seat for you. Since it's still going to be a bit of a long walk, he thought that maybe the broom like you normally use in class might be a bit uncomfortable. You could accompany him on the hike sitting on the broom and that way you wouldn't have to walk and strain your feet.

“Would you like me to help you get on the broom?” He asks politely.

If you accept his help, he will gently hold you by the waist and place you in the seat.

“The weather forecasts have been a bit... surprising.” Jade says with an enigmatic smile. “The predictions have proven to be quite inaccurate recently. There is a chance of some rain so I advise you to take an umbrella. But you should also put on sunscreen and wear a hat. Hats are essential when sketching outdoors. I got horribly sunburned once when I grew too absorbed in my work.”

Jade was dressed for the occasion from head to toe. He even wore a long coat full of pockets and was carrying a camping backpack. But in your case, he didn't ask you to take much more than necessary.

As you were walking at night, Jade took a lantern with him and placed another one on the end of your broom. He was using his magic to lead the broom like someone leading a horse by the reins. He took you through the Dark Mirror to the Dwarfs' Mountain. It was a full moon night and it was beautiful. It shouldn't be long before the moon disappeared and gave way to dawn and at that height it was beautiful to see.

“They advise anyone who hike at night to do so on a full moon night, as this is the phase in which the moon provides the best natural lighting. However, if I'm correct it shouldn't be long until dawn. Maybe 30 to 45 minutes. The flower location is also not far from here, we will get there in time even if we take it slow and appreciate what surrounds us. Feel free to ask me anything if you see something that catches your interest.” He smiles and begins the hike.

If you do as he suggests and ask him about something you see or simply what his hikes are usually like, he'll be very happy to tell you anything you want to know. And if you ask him about some type of mushroom, he'll be even happier.

“I appreciate your willingness to listen to me talk about the mountains. I started to tell Floyd my thoughts about hiking in the mountains, and he nodded off not even a minute in.” Jade was telling you, “What a shame we cannot enjoy this hobby together.” when he felt something in his nose. “Hm?”

You also feel something on your nose, then on your forehead, on your cheek...

“Looks like this is your cue to open your umbrella.” He tells you. “So that is why it seemed like it was taking so long for dawn to come, the clouds are covering the sun. Fortunately... we arrived.”

You open your umbrella, it's not raining much yet. You see a small field between the trees and full of closed flowers. When you look at Jade, you see that something seems to be bothering him and you ask what he was thinking.

“Oh, you noticed.” he smiles, as if he had been caught. “I was thinking about these flowers. It says they bloom in the early hours of the day, but I don't remember if they would do so regardless of whether they received direct sunlight or not. It would be a shame not to be able to achieve our main objective.”

And then the sky gets darker and the rain starts to get heavier.

“Oh no, it doesn't look like it's going to be a light rain. You should take shelter. The mine is nearby, let's go there.”

“I should take shelter? What about you?”

“Well, it's not like water bothers me, remember? Fu fu~” He laughs amusedly.

Jade takes you by the broom to the inside of the mine, not far from the entrance, just enough to take shelter and still see the outside. As soon as you sat down on the ground the rain seemed to turn into a storm.

“Oh dear! I've never seen the weather forecast fail so badly.” he says with that toothy smile, probably enjoying the surprise a little too much. But then he looks at you. “I'm so sorry I brought you out into the middle of a storm this early in the morning. I really wanted to see those flowers with you. It seems I was reckless and let myself be carried away by impulse.”

He sees you shaking a little.

“Oh! I hadn't even realized how much the temperature had dropped. Here.” He takes off his long coat and offers it to you to put on. “I appreciate your concern, but there's no need to worry about me. I have excellent resistance to cold, remember? Speaking of your well-being, how is your ankle?”

You weren't wearing the shoe on your injured foot, but a thick sock over the bandages. That cold was good for your ankle, but terrible for the rest of your foot, especially your toes.

“Yes, as I imagined. Let me take care of you until we are able to go back to school. It's the least I can do after putting you through all this while you're still recovering.”

He looked at you with concern, but you've seen that "concerned" expression a few times before.

“You're looking at me so suspiciously. That is quite hurtful. You should know how careful I am, especially in a situation like this.”

But he still had that smile that, whoever knows him, knows there is something behind it. And so you ask him if you're going to be indebted to him after that. If there's one thing you learned from Octavinelle, it's not to accept any favor from them without knowing the terms and conditions of it.

“Fu fu fu...” his charismatic smile becomes his true smile, the one with his teeth showing. “I'm glad to see that you learned such a valuable lesson from us, (Y/N). But there is another one that we may need to teach you better. And that is the ability to realize when you have the advantage. Remember how you agreed to accompany me in exchange for a discount on the desserts? We were even then. In the case of the broom I provided, in exchange, you would offer me your company even though you were injured. In that case, I might be at a disadvantage. Since I was risking your injury getting worse by bringing you away from the protection of your home. And now, that risk has become real. Which means I'm the one who owes you this time. Which means I am the one who is in debt to you at the moment. Due to my poor decision of a date with a suitable weather for the hike. Any treatment I provide you will only and slimply make me pay my debt. Do you feel safer accepting my offer under these conditions?”

Everything he said made sense. And while the Octavinelle trio have a tendency to create shady agreements and contracts, they don't necessarily lie. They can do it by omission, but this is not the case, so you accept.

You are sitting on the mine floor with the same pillow that supported you on the broom. Jade sits in front of you and asks you to stretch your legs so he can put them over his. He takes off the sock that covered your foot and uses magic to warm your foot with the exception of the ankle that needs the cold. And while this heating magic is taking effect he massages your ankle and feet, in a way that is appropriate and specific for a sprained ankle. He was really good at it.

“There's another thing we've been even from the beginning.” he says with a smirk and without looking at you yet. “Grim was right, I wanted to go out with you. But...” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, barely moving his head. “You wanted to go out with me as well... didn't you, (Y/N)?”

He sees you smiling, perhaps shyly, and takes it as a green light. He takes your feet from his lap and places them gently on the ground, then stretches out towards you, supporting himself on his hands, like a cat slowly approaching.

“I really feel horrible for putting you in this situation.” But he doesn't say this with regret, but rather in a purposefully seductive way. “I wonder what I can do to redeem myself? Especially if it lasts as long as it looks like it will. Making you wait here uncomfortably for so long will create a huge debt for me towards you.” He brings his face even closer to yours, with a smile as inviting as his heterochromatic eyes. “Tell me... what can I do to ease this situation?”

He won't kiss you. He'll wait patiently for you to do it first. Or better yet... for you to order him to kiss you.

“As you wish~” He says and kisses you passionately.

Rainy weather tends to get a person down, and that's what was happening to you too. Even though you may enjoy listening to the rain outside, it's never good when you have to go back to your dorm. Especially with Grim complaining.

Grim managed to get to Ramshackle Dorm dry because he made you to carry him. You, on the other hand, had your legs and feet stuck in water. It was when you were going up the stairs to change your clothes in your room that you saw some little and familiar green lights around you.

You turn around and go to the door. When you open it you see Malleus with a large umbrella and dressed in black waterproof clothes and a raincoat.

“Good afternoon, Child of Man.” Malleus greets you with a polite smile. “I couldn't help but notice you less cheerful and smiling than usual these past few days. I think it even coincided with the arrival of the rainy weather. Would the two be connected?”

You tell him yes. Maybe you don't like rain at all, or maybe you only like rain when you can sit inside and enjoy the sound. Either way, you don't like being out in the rain and risking catching a cold.

“Oh yes, that is true... a simple rain can make a human sick. But I believe that having wet clothes such as yours can also contribute to a possible sickness, am I correct?” he asks and you confirm. “Allow me to help you dry faster.”

“You're not going to use fire magic on me, are you?” you ask slightly worried.

“Yes, I was about to. Why so worried about it?”

“Because you can burn me with it.”

“Burn? Oh, no, I wasn't going to use direct fire. I know that fire hurts other living beings. I was going to use a variation of fire magic that just changes the temperature around certain objects. I have used it several times to dry my own clothes. You seem more relieved. Will you allow me to use it then?”

You accept and he uses his magic to dry your pants, shoes and socks in a second.

“You know, I personally quite appreciate this weather. It's perfect for the Gargoyle Studies Club because we can watch them perform their main function. Or at least I can see them. I would love to share this sight with you. Perhaps it could help you feel a little better on days like these. What do you say? Do you accept my invitation?” He smiles excitedly, which is also cute.

You say you'd love to, but you don't have rain gear like his.

“There is no need for this to be a deterrent. I'll be more than happy to provide you with suitable clothing.” He uses his magic again and changes your uniform into the same set of rain gear he was wearing. Seeing you in those clothes makes him smile even more. “They seem to suit you well.”

“But how do I go with you?” You ask. “Don't you usually fly up to the gargoyles?”

“I do. I was thinking, if you're comfortable with it, that I could carry you in my arms. Like I saw you doing with Grim just now when you were coming back home. This umbrella is big enough for two people. But if you prefer, I can also give you another umbrella and we can ask Coach Vargas for one of the flying brooms.”

You admit that you don't mind about the first option and maybe even use the excuse that you don't have magic and Grim clearly doesn't want to go with you, so you wouldn't be able to use the broom by yourself.

“In that case, if you're ready, we can go back to the main building to admire the gargoyles.” He smiles and bends his arm, inviting you to intertwine yours with his.

You do so, he places the umbrella between the two of you and you walk back to the school building. He was talking about his club and gargoyles in general until you got close to a wall with no doors or windows nearby.

“One of my favorite gargoyles sits right above us.” Malleus tells you. “Do you see that trickle of water? It's coming from that same gargoyle. Are you ready for me to take you up there and show you?” He extends a hand to you.

You place your hand over his and he gently pulls you towards him. He then lets go of your hand to bend down slightly, put his arm around you and picks you up. Your reflex is to put your arms around his neck to hold on, which brings your faces closer together. He looks directly at you and chuckles seeing your embarrassed/shy face.

“Hold on tight. And do not worry about hurting me, you wouldn't be able to even if you tried. Fu fu.”

As soon as he rises into the air you grab him tightly, which makes him chuckle because he was barely half a meter off the ground yet. Then he rises even higher, but slower than he would on his own. He doesn't want to scare you.

When you get close to the gargoyle, he sits the two of you next to it, you between him and the gargoyle so you can see it better. And he will never let go of your waist to hold you. If you are afraid of heights, or if you just feel a little scared at that moment and hold on to him, he will chuckle and hold you even tighter, but never too tight so as not to hurt you.

“Worry not, (Y/N). I won't let go of you. You can enjoy the gargoyle as much as you wish. I'll be holding you the entire time.”

As you admire the gargoyle doing its work and see the rainwater coming out of its mouth, Malleus admires you.

“Do you wish to know why this is one of my favorite gargoyles on the school building?” He asks and of course you say yes. “In terms of appearance, there's nothing very different about this one from all the others. In fact, there is nothing worth calling special about this gargoyle carving technique. What delights me the most about this gargoyle is not what any of us can see, but what it can see every day.”

You look ahead, trying to figure out where the gargoyle was looking, but the school grounds were so big and the sea so vast that you couldn't be sure. Malleus chuckles, as if you weren't seeing something obvious.

“You are looking too far away. See which building is closest.”

You look closer, at the least impressive building on campus.

“Ramshackle Dorm?” You ask.

“Correct. This gargoyle must have seen the whole story of your dormitory. When it was built, who might have been there before you, how it became an abandoned building and the answers to any question we might wish to know about its mysterious past.”

You look at that gargoyle again with new eyes. All your questions could be answered. If it could talk, it would certainly be a very interesting conversation.

“This gargoyle also witnessed all my visits to the ruins.” Malleus continues. “I wonder what it thought of me, coming in just to admire the decay of that dormitory. But more than that, I wonder what it thought of you. Arriving with a mischievous little monster, a being without magic and completely unaware of the history of this world. And yet, able to breathe new life into rubble and call it home. It also witnessed our meeting. Could it have found it as amusing as I did? Fu fu~”

You look at your dorm, thinking now of everything that gargoyle could have seen.

“And now, it is watching over you.” He looks at you with a sweet smile. “I've told this gargoyle a lot about you, and now it's finally meeting you.”

If you look at the gargoyle again and even greet it, Malleus will laugh in amusement.

“I am certain it was as delighted to meet you as I was that night.”

You look at him and see him looking at you with great affection.

“Speaking of which, I'm curious.” Malleus continues. “Did you also enjoy meeting me that night? You were not frightened, at least.”

You tell him how you felt that night. Surprised, especially seeing such a tall guy with horns, but also intrigued to know who he was. You also found him extremely polite by the way he spoke.

“But I remember finding you very handsome right away.” You admit it.

Malleus is taken aback for a second, but then he laughs.

“Well, I am quite grateful for your honesty. Fu fu. Therefore, I should also admit that I found you... intrepidly charming.”

“Is that a good thing?” You ask.

“For some it may not be, but for me, and the inherently way you show it, it is something wonderful. I could even describe it as cute, especially when you are oblivious to social statutes.” He smiles honestly. And after a moment of reflection, his gaze becomes tender. “I am very fortunate to have you in my life, (Y/N).”

You show him your surprise, that sudden line was very unexpected.

“These moments with you always become some of my fondest memories. I hope to be as pleasant a companion to you as you are to me.”

You feel his arm around you instinctively pulling you closer to him. It's being a cute moment until there's a flash. You both look up and a few seconds later you hear the deafening rumble of thunder. It was so loud that it felt like it was very close to you and made you flinch as a reflex. Which also caused Malleus to let go of the umbrella and let it float above you to be able to hug you with both arms.

“I need to get you out of here. We're too high.”

He picks you up with both arms without hesitation while the umbrella floats above the two of you. And then another bolt of lightning! But this time it hit the tower right next to you, which scared you and made you cling to Malleus.

“A quick trip it shall be.” He holds your head, making you rest it on his shoulder, and in the blink of an eye, you no longer feel the rain and the scene changes abruptly.

You are now at the door of Ramshackle Dorm. He has teleported the two of you there. He leans in for you to put your feet back on the ground.

“I'm sorry our study trip has been so short.” He says with pity. “There were other gargoyles I would have liked to show you. But if you enjoyed our time today, I can show them to you on another outing sometime.” He smiles at you.

Right after you say you'd love it, you hear another clap of thunder. And so, you decide to invite Malleus to stay in Ramshackle with you for a while until the storm calms down.

“You are... Well, I would love to accept your invitation, but you do know that storms are not dangerous to me, correct?”

“I know.” you simply say, without withdrawing your invitation.

Malleus starts by laughing softly, until he lets out a good-natured laugh.

“You certainly are a very strange child of man.”

Malleus is too much of a gentleman to advance much further than with charming words. So, that will have to be your job.

“I am very fortunate to have you in my life too, Tsunotarou.” You tell him.

Malleus looks at you in surprise for a second until an adorable smile forms on his lips.

“You are one of the few who would say that.” He smirks. “And certainly the only human outside of Briar Valley who would say something like that at all.”

Come to think of it, with perhaps the exception of Lilia, the Diasomnia boys tend to be a bit oblivious to subtext. So you decide to take a risk and be direct.

“Tsunotarou... Malleus... do you like me?”

“Of course I like you. I thought I was expressing myself quite well in that regard.” He says a little confused.

“I mean... could you...” He probably doesn't know what the word ‘crush’ means, or he may take it literally. “...be in love with me? Or something like that?”

He is taken aback, and looks at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Me? The successor to the throne of Briar Valley and one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland? In love with... a powerless human from another world?” He seems to think about it for a moment until a smile forms again. “Fu fu... ha ha... HA HA HA HA HA!”

That laugh hurts your heart a little, until he continues speaking.

“I had never thought of that.” He says, looking to the side as he thinks. “But... if what I feel for you truly is what they call love... then now I understand why it is such a longed-for feeling. And if it is true then... ha ha HA HA... Oh, the obstacles we would have to face to be together. It does indeed sound exciting... Perhaps...” He looks you in the eyes. “Perhaps you are correct in interpreting my actions as such. However, I still cannot be sure it is love. But perhaps I can answer your question by admitting that, in fact, I nourish a much more intimate feeling towards you than friendship. This would explain why your company comforts and makes me happier than any other.”

He sees you smile as you listen to what he was saying.

“May I interpret that beautiful smile of yours as a possible mutual feeling on your part?”

You confirm and he leans in to take your hand and bring it to his lips to kiss the back of it. If you dare to take advantage of the fact that his face is at the same level as yours and you kiss his cheek, he will look at you in surprise before chuckling.

“Such audacity.” He says with a smug smile and still leaning over, his face close to yours. “Are you certain you wiah to find out how passionate I can be?”

He interprets your smile as confirmation and he kisses your lips delicately. Despite everything, he knows he can hurt you if he lets himself get too carried away. He's going to have to test some... limits.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[4linos]

jealousy in bloom

lee minho x gn!reader

synopsis/request: a surprise bouquet sparks unwanted attention and jealousy from a coworker, minho, leading to an awkward apology and a confession that changes everything.

warnings: jealousy, enemies to lovers(?), mild language

wc: 2040

The day had dragged on longer than you cared to admit. Your birthday had started off like any other, quiet, low-key, and tucked in the corner of your mind as just another day to get through. But the moment that bouquet of flowers arrived at your desk, everything changed.

You weren’t sure what was worse, the flowers themselves, which were stunning in their vibrant hues, or the way everyone around you started gushing about them. A “secret admirer,” they all whispered. Who could it be? How romantic! Their eyes were bright with curiosity, and you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under the weight of their attention. You weren’t used to that kind of focus. You tried to brush it off with a casual smile, but deep down, you were anxious.

You’d never received something so extravagant before, and the lack of a card made it even more mysterious. It wasn’t from anyone you knew. At least, not anyone who’d owned up to it.

As you sat down at your desk, trying to hide your unease, you couldn’t help but glance over at the corner of the room where Minho was sitting. You’d been coworkers for months now, and your relationship with him was�� complicated. You didn’t like him. You didn’t hate him either. He was just a presence in your life constantly irritated, distant, sarcastic. He always made sharp, biting remarks, but you’d long since learned to block him out. You didn’t have time for his attitude, and honestly, you’d never thought much about him beyond that.

But today? Today, he was different. You noticed him staring at the bouquet every time he walked past your desk. His eyes weren’t just glancing; they were glowering, like he was trying to will the flowers to disappear. It was strange, unsettling even. There was something in his gaze, something sharp and possessive.

At first, you brushed it off. You couldn’t care less. But as the morning dragged on, Minho’s behavior became harder to ignore. The way he walked by, casting dark glances at you. The way he gritted his teeth when he passed the flowers. And the sharp tone in his voice every time he addressed you. He was rude, as usual, but it was more cutting today. More deliberate.

The final straw came when he started assigning you extra work. You tried to keep your composure, but the extra work Minho had thrown onto your plate wasn’t helping. He’d assigned you tasks that were far beyond your usual workload, without so much as a “thank you” or a “please.” Each task felt like a subtle jab, a way for him to express some kind of underlying frustration with you. And it wasn’t until you saw the glances he kept shooting at the flowers that you started to piece things together he was upset, but you couldn’t understand why.

“Here, take care of this,” he’d muttered with a sneer, never even looking at you.

“Why don’t you do it?” you’d snapped, too tired of his attitude to care anymore.

“I’m busy,” he’d replied coldly, brushing off your question.

It was one thing to be a pain in the ass on a normal day, but today, it felt like he was actively trying to make your life harder. The sharp, demeaning remarks. The passive-aggressive attitude. Every time he passed by you, his eyes would flick to the bouquet and then back to you, like he was holding something back.

It was a strange feeling, being so confused by his actions. And it was starting to eat away at you.

You worked through lunch to avoid him, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, you were drained. Mentally and emotionally. You had no energy left to process his behavior or the awkward attention from your coworkers.

By the time the day came to an end, you were emotionally drained. The flowers had become a constant reminder of the tension in the office, and Minho’s cold, biting attitude had left you on the verge of tears. You’d barely managed to get through the day, but as soon as the clock hit the end of work, you gathered your things and quickly exited the building, eager to escape the weight of everything that had happened.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, you reached into your bag to grab your phone, the familiar weight comforting in your hand. When you unlocked the screen, you saw a message from your brother.

“Happy Birthday! Hope your day’s been as amazing as you are. Did you get the flowers I sent to your office? Hope you liked them!”

Your brother. Of course. You should’ve known. Every year, without fail, he sent you something for your birthday. It was his tradition, something he’d been doing since you were both teenagers. You hadn’t even thought about it, but now that you saw his message, everything clicked. He was the one who sent the flowers. It wasn’t some secret admirer. It was just your brother, doing what he always did to make you feel loved.

You smiled, a wave of relief washing over you. The mystery was solved. It was just your brother, always looking out for you in his own way. You were grateful, of course. But now, your thoughts turned back to Minho. Was that why he’d been acting so weird?

Before you could overthink it, another text came through.

“Call me when you get a chance. I want to hear about your day. Hope it’s been great!”

You were about to dial his number when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You froze. You didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Minho. His voice was unmistakable, sharp, but with an undertone you couldn’t quite place. You sighed inwardly, preparing for another awkward interaction, but when you turned to face him, you were met with an unexpected sight. Minho was standing there, his posture more reserved than usual, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

There was a strange look on his face, something different from the usual arrogance and bitterness. For the first time in ages, he didn’t look like the office jerk. He actually looked… uncertain.

“I just wanted to… apologize,” Minho started, his voice quieter than usual. “I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. It wasn’t fair, and I know I made things worse with the whole work overload thing. It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him, taken aback by his sudden sincerity. You’d expected him to brush everything off, to remain stubborn and cold, but instead, here he was, offering an apology.

Before you could say anything, Minho quickly added, “And for what it’s worth, happy birthday. I know it wasn’t a great day for you, but I hope you know I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

The words caught you off guard. You’d never expected Minho to apologize, much less wish you a happy birthday in such a genuine way. Still, you were cautious. “Thanks,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. “But why the sudden change of heart? You’ve never been this… nice.”

Minho gave you an almost embarrassed look, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly? I’m not good at this… talking about feelings stuff, okay? But I owe you more than what I gave you today.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Okay…?”

Minho shifted awkwardly, looking anywhere but directly at you. “I was an idiot. And I’ve been a jerk all day because… I guess I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” You stared at him, utterly confused. “Of what?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly struggling with the words. “I saw the flowers, and I guess it just got to me. I don’t know why. But the idea of someone else giving you something like that made me… pissed off. And it didn’t make sense to me, so I just started acting out. Like a dumbass.”

You blinked, processing what he said. You could barely believe the words coming out of your mouth. Minho? Jealous?

Minho still refused to meet your gaze directly. “I like you, alright? I’ve liked you for a while now, but I’m too stupid to know how to handle it. So I do what I do best, I make things harder for you. But it’s just because I like you, alright?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was almost too surreal to take in. Minho, the guy who had spent months being rude and dismissive had feelings for you? It didn’t add up. And yet, here he was, standing in front of you, admitting it in the most awkward, reluctant way possible.

You stared at him, unsure of how to react. Your emotions were a whirlwind, part of you still felt anger and hurt from everything he’d put you through today, but the other part of you couldn’t ignore the sudden vulnerability in his words. Was this the real Minho? Or just another layer of his complex, unpredictable personality?

“I know I’ve messed up,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But if you’re willing to hear me out, I’d like to make it up to you. Maybe... dinner? As an apology? I’ll pay, of course.”

You hesitated. You wanted to say no. You were still upset. He’d made your day miserable with his attitude, and the last thing you wanted was to sit across from him over a meal. But something in his eyes, something genuine made you pause. He was offering an olive branch. And… the offer to pay? That part made you smile despite yourself.

“Fine,” you said, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because I’m starving.”

Minho’s face lit up with a small, relieved smile. “Deal.”

-

Dinner was… awkward.

There was no sugarcoating it. You were both tense, unsure of what to say to break the silence, the air thick with unspoken words. You could feel the weight of the day’s events hanging over the conversation, but as the meal went on, the tension began to ease. Minho, despite his usual bravado, seemed like he was trying harder than usual to make things right. The quiet moments between bites didn’t feel as strained, and by the time dessert rolled around, you were almost starting to enjoy yourself.. almost.

When the check arrived, Minho insisted on paying, just as he promised. He’d apologized again, and while you weren’t quite ready to forgive him completely, you appreciated the effort.

As you left the restaurant and he walked you to your car, the air between you felt less suffocating. Minho spoke again, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it.

“I wasn’t sure how to say it earlier,” he said, looking down at his feet. “But... I’ve been jealous, alright? And it’s not just because of the flowers. I just… like you a lot, more than I can admit. The only reason I get under your skin the way I do is because I don’t know how else to show it. But I’m done with that.”

You stopped walking for a moment, processing his words. Was he really being serious? Was this a joke? You had no idea.

But the look on his face, the rawness of it told you he wasn’t joking. For the first time, Minho was completely honest, and you weren’t sure how to feel.

“Maybe… next time, try being nicer?” you said softly, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

Minho’s eyes softened. “I’ll try. I’ll try for you.”

With that, he gave you a small, almost shy smile, before turning to leave.

You watched him walk away, your mind spinning. You weren’t sure what this meant, what was going to happen next. But one thing was clear: the Minho you thought you knew had just shattered all your expectations and maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than you’d ever realized.

//

masterlist.

(a/n: after this reader & minho started dating, got married, had kids & laughed about this story when they retold it to their kids😌.)

[heliosunny]

Omg the latest yandere mydei and phainon in the hs au was crazy good! How about a yandere childhood friend phainon but like they got distant after middle school since phainon became the popular kid and maybe reader tried to like not interfere in his life and starts distancing themselves more but also as soon as they start getting along with other unpopular kids he tries/forces to get her back? Plz plz plz

Yandere!Phainon x Fem!Reader

As kids, it was natural, two little shadows following each other, your hand tugging at his sleeve when he got too far ahead, his laugh mingling with yours as you ran through the streets. You had always been by Phainon’s side, you were inseparable.

When you picked up volleyball in elementary school, he followed. At first, it was fun—practicing together, cheering each other on. But then he got better. So much better. While you struggled to keep up, he soared. Every serve he hit was perfect, every spike effortless. Coaches praised him, teammates adored him, and before long, he wasn’t just your Phainon anymore. He belonged to everyone.

It didn’t stop there. No matter what you did, he was always just ahead, just out of reach. His charm made him popular, his skills made him respected. Meanwhile, you felt like a supporting character in his story—someone who would always stand in his shadow.

So, when middle school started, you made a choice.

You distanced yourself.

No more waiting for him after school. No more standing by his side at lunch. No more forcing yourself to smile when people compared you to him.

It was time to find your own place.

But Phainon didn’t let go so easily.

For the first time in years, you weren’t in the same class as Phainon.

It felt strange at first—no familiar presence next to you, no knowing glances exchanged during roll call. But as the days passed, you realized you liked it this way. Without him always next to you, always being the center of attention, you could finally breathe.

You joined the gardening club. It was peaceful, a far cry from the intensity of the volleyball court. The scent of soil and blooming flowers replaced the squeak of sneakers on polished floors. You made new friends—people who knew you as you, not just as Phainon’s childhood friend.

Meanwhile, Phainon remained in volleyball, his name still echoing through the school halls, his presence larger than life. You rarely crossed paths now, and when you did, it was just in passing. A simple nod. A brief hello. No more lingering conversations, no more waiting for each other after school.

But Phainon didn’t take the distance the way you did.

One afternoon, he came looking for you, wanting to talk—to see you, even if just for a moment. But when he found you in the garden, hands dusted with soil, you weren’t alone. You were smiling, laughing with your new friends, completely absorbed in a world that didn’t include him.

You barely even noticed him standing there.

---

High school.

You had worked so hard to get into this school—one that was far away, a fresh start where no one knew you as Phainon’s childhood friend.

The relief you felt on your first morning was overwhelming. No familiar eyes watching your every move, no whispers comparing you to him. Just you, finally on your own.

But then, in the middle of the crowded hallway, a presence prickled at the back of your neck. It was familiar—too familiar.

You turned your head, and there he was.

He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

For a while, he didn’t approach you. Not in front of everyone. But later, when the hallways were quieter, when there were fewer eyes around, he stepped closer with a smile like nothing had changed.

“Hey” he said, as if he hadn’t just shattered your newfound freedom.

“Why?” Your voice was sharp, furious. “How did you even—?”

“I still talk to your parents,” he said simply. “They love to brag about their precious daughter.”

You didn’t say a word to him after that.

And more importantly, you didn’t mention anything to your parents. If Phainon was getting his information from them, the last thing you wanted was to give him more.

Strangely, the next few days were peaceful. He didn’t try to talk to you again, didn’t linger in the hallways, didn’t hover at the edge of your vision. It was almost as if he wasn’t there at all.

You let yourself relax. You made some new friends, settled into your classes, and finally started to feel like maybe this new school could really be yours.

But peace never lasted long with Phainon.

In the canteen one afternoon, as you walked with your tray, one of your new friends accidentally bumped into someone—hard. A gasp, the sound of food splattering, and then silence.

Phainon stood there, his uniform stained, his hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened as he looked down at your friend, who stammered an apology. The tension in the air was suffocating, his usual easygoing smile nowhere to be found. His fingers twitched, his body coiled like he was about to—

“Didn’t take you for a bully, Phainon.”

Your voice cut through the moment like a blade.

His head snapped up, his cold gaze meeting yours.

“Y/n, you know I'm not that kind of person.” he murmured.

Crisis averted—for now.

Phainon had only grown more popular over the years. His looks, his charm, his skills—everything about him seemed untouchable. People flocked to him, admired him, wanted to be close to him.

You wanted the opposite.

But Phainon never let you have what you wanted.

One afternoon, when you were alone in the hallway, he cornered you. His arm blocked your escape, his presence overwhelming.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“Because I need space. Because I—” You exhaled sharply. “Because being around you feels like drowning.”

Before he could reply, voices echoed from down the hall. A group of students was approaching, laughing and chatting.

Panic flared in your chest. If they saw you two like this—if they started whispering—

You pushed against him, trying to slip away, but he didn’t budge. “If you’re avoiding me, then I’ll just let them talk.”

“Phainon, don’t.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think about it. Then, suddenly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a stolen kiss.

The students passed by, glancing curiously at the scene—Phainon and a girl, too close, too intimate. You saw their eyes widen, their whispers start.

Phainon smirked. “If you don’t want rumors, I’ll make you a deal,” he murmured, just for you to hear. “Be my girlfriend, and I’ll rethink it.”

“…Fine”

His hand finally dropped from the wall, letting you go.

But the feeling of his lips against yours lingered, and you knew—this wasn’t over.

At school, you acted like Phainon didn’t exist.

You ignored him in the halls, never met his gaze, never spoke his name. To everyone else, you were just another student, separate from his world. It was the only way you could keep yourself sane.

But outside of school, it was different.

Phainon made sure of that.

Secret dates, he called them—quiet meetings away from prying eyes. At first, they were simple. Walks through dimly lit streets, sitting together in tucked-away cafés, moments where he talked and you listened, pretending this was normal.

But soon, it wasn’t enough for him.

His hand would linger too long on your wrist, he’d pull you close, arms wrapping around you under the excuse of warmth. He started demanding more—holding hands, leaning into you, resting his head against your shoulder as if staking a claim.

Then came the kisses.

You tried to protest, but Phainon never took "no" well.

The first time he tried, you turned your head away, and his lips barely grazed your cheek. You thought that would be enough—that he would stop if you showed resistance.

You were wrong.

The next time, he didn’t give you the chance to turn away. His fingers caught your chin, holding you in place, and his lips pressed against yours with a quiet sigh of satisfaction.

“You agreed to be my girlfriend,” he murmured when you stiffened. “So act like it.”

You tried to set boundaries, but Phainon never truly listened. If you flinched away from his touch, he’d laugh it off and try again. If you avoided his kisses, he’d corner you somewhere quieter, somewhere you couldn’t escape.

Whenever you resisted, he never snapped, never forced you outright. He just waited.

Because you always gave in.

And then, slowly, he started demanding more.

His hands would drift lower when he held you, fingers brushing against places they shouldn’t. His grip would tighten when you tried to pull away, his voice laced with quiet amusement as he whispered, What’s wrong? I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I?

The worst part was how natural he made it seem—And the more you resisted, the more he reminded you of the deal.

You agreed to be mine.

You’re the one who said yes.

So don’t act like you don’t want this.

Each time he said it, it became harder to argue.

----

Phainon was never late.

You checked your phone again, making sure you hadn’t misread the time. No, it was correct. He should have been here by now. The longer you stood outside the mall, the more uneasy you felt.

A group of men showed up, their gazes unsettling. At first, you tried ignoring them, stepping away when they moved too near, but they didn’t take the hint. One of them grinned, saying something you didn’t bother to listen to.

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“So?” One of them reached out, fingers grazing your wrist. “He’s not here, is he?”

Before you could pull away, something struck him—hard.

A bouquet of roses slammed into his face, petals flying.

The man stumbled back, cursing, as Phainon stood there. His grip tightened on the ruined bouquet before he swung it again, hitting another man’s shoulder with enough force to make him stagger.

The group ran.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Phainon stood still, watching them disappear, his jaw clenched. The bouquet—once carefully arranged—was now a mess, stems broken, petals torn. His fingers were scraped and red from gripping it too hard.

“You’re hurt.”

He blinked at you, like he hadn’t noticed.

Sighing, you reached into your bag and pulled out a small bandage pack. Phainon didn’t protest as you took his hand, carefully wrapping the wounds.

But as you worked, you felt his gaze on you.

And then, his lips curled into a smile.

“Thank you” he murmured, so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

You weren’t in the mood to go anywhere after what happened. Your nerves were still on edge, and the last thing you wanted was to be in a crowded place. Phainon must have noticed, because instead of dragging you somewhere, he simply started walking. And, without a word, you followed.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The streets were quiet, and the night air was cool against your skin. Eventually, though, Phainon broke the silence.

“You remember when we used to race home after school?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. “…Yeah.”

“You always thought you could outrun me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I almost did. A few times.”

“I let you think that.”

That earned him a glare, but his expression was light—teasing, almost nostalgic. It was strange, talking like this. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Like the past few years of distance and tension never happened.

Then everything shattered.

A group of students turned the corner ahead of you, chatting loudly—until they spotted Phainon.

“Oh my God, is that—?!”

His fans. The same group that followed him around at school, always eager for his attention. Their eyes widened when they saw him, then darted toward you.

For a split second, you considered stepping away, pretending you were just coincidentally walking beside him.

But Phainon had other plans.

Before you could react, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you against him.

“Ah, hey,” he greeted the group, completely unfazed. “Didn’t expect to run into you all.”

Their gazes flickered between the two of you, stunned. “Who’s…?” one of them started.

Phainon’s grip on you tightened just slightly.

“My girlfriend.”

There it was—merciless and undeniable.

The students’ expressions ranged from shock to disappointment, their excitement dimming into stunned silence. Whispers started almost immediately.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shove him away. You knew better. If you tried to deny it, if you acted like this wasn’t real, he’d only make it worse.

So you forced a smile and prayed they’d leave soon.

You didn’t go to school the next day. You told yourself it was just exhaustion, that the weight of everything had finally caught up to you. But deep down, you knew the real reason. You couldn’t face Phainon. Not after what happened.

The doorbell rang in the afternoon. You didn’t think much of it—until you heard your mother’s cheerful voice.

“Oh, Phainon! What a surprise! It’s been so long—come in, come in!”

You barely had time to react before you heard his familiar voice, smooth and polite as always. “Thank you, I was worried when she didn’t come to school today.”

You shot up from your bed, heart pounding. He wouldn’t.

But he did.

Your bedroom door creaked open, and there he was.

“Skipping school?” he mused, stepping inside like he belonged there. “That’s not like you.”

You rushed to the door, reaching for the handle. “You need to leave—”

Before you could pull it open, Phainon slammed it shut.

The force made you stumble, but before you could turn, his arms wrapped around you from behind, pressing you against the door. His warmth caged you in, his breath brushing against your ear.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You stiffened. “Phainon—”

“I don’t like that.”

“Don’t forget,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to your skin. “You’re mine. And if you ever think about running from me again…”

“…There will be consequences.”

A knock on the door made you freeze.

“Sweetie? I brought you something to drink” your mother’s voice called out.

Phainon’s arms were still wrapped around you, his presence suffocating. He leaned in just slightly, his lips barely brushing your ear as he whispered, “If you don’t listen to me, I wonder what would happen if your mom walked in right now.”

Shame and fury boiled in your chest, but you had no choice. Slowly, you turned to face him, your hands balling into fists at your sides. Rage burned in your eyes, tears stinging at the edges.

Phainon’s expression softened—mockingly so. He reached out, swiping his thumb under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall.

“Now, now,” he murmured, “you should answer her before she gets suspicious.”

You swallowed hard and forced your voice to stay steady. “I’m fine, Mom. Just—just leave it by the door.”

There was a brief pause. Then, “Alright, dear. Let me know if you need anything.”

Her footsteps faded down the hall.

Relief barely had time to settle before Phainon’s grip on you remained firm.

“I’ll open the door,” he said, voice deceptively sweet. “But first…” His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Kiss me.”

The seconds stretched unbearably long. But you knew there was no other way.

So you did.

You forced yourself onto your toes, pressing a quick, hollow kiss against his lips. It was over in an instant.

The sound of the lock clicking open was the only thing that let you breathe again.

Phainon stepped back, watching you with satisfaction as he finally let you go.

“See?” he mused. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You didn’t answer. You just turned away, gripping the doorknob so tightly your knuckles turned white.

You didn’t look back as you left the room. But you could still feel his gaze on you, as if he was already planning his next move.

The next few hours were suffocating in a different way.

Phainon barely gave you space to breathe, sticking close as you went over the lessons he had missed. He was smart—he always had been—but even he had gaps to fill after being away for a volleyball match.

Normally, you wouldn’t have minded helping. But with the way he sat so close, his arm occasionally brushing yours, his gaze heavy on you instead of the notebook, it was impossible to focus.

Just as you were pointing out a formula, his hand suddenly moved—tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You flinched, your pen slipping from your fingers.

Phainon only chuckled. “Relax. You’re so tense.”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to go back to the lesson. He didn’t make it easy. A sudden squeeze on your thigh. A finger tracing over your wrist. Subtle, fleeting touches that made you hyper-aware of his presence.

It was a game to him.

And when it was finally time to go home, he made sure to have the last move.

“Couples kiss goodbye, don’t they?” he mused, standing too close as you reached for the door.

“Phainon—”

He tilted his head, expectant.

You knew there was no arguing. No refusing. Not without consequences.

So, with gritted teeth, you leaned in. A quick kiss—just like before. That’s what you planned.

But Phainon had other ideas.

The moment your lips touched his, he deepened the kiss, his hand slipping to the back of your head to hold you in place.

It lasted longer than you expected—longer than you could handle.

Your lungs screamed for air, your fingers trembling against his chest as you weakly pushed against him. He finally let go, but not before brushing his lips against yours one last time, as if savoring the moment.

You gasped, your breath shaky.

Phainon, on the other hand, looked perfectly composed.

“See you tomorrow!”

He was certain, and you weren’t going to escape. Not now. Not ever.

[big-poppa23]

Something Like Her

synapse: in a game built to kill, y/n didn’t expect to feel anything—until she meets hyun-ju, a former soldier with steady hands and a guarded smile. she’s only ever dated men. but there’s something about hyun-ju—something like safety, like defiance…like possibly love.

pairing: cho hyun-ju x female!reader

contains: objectification, transphobia, awakening of sexuality, death

a/n: i can’t believe I haven’t written for my queen until now. im so in love with her and dae-ho. btw i just found out the doll in red light green light is actually saying “the mugunghwa flower has bloomed”

PART TWO

. . .

The air is too still.

Hundreds of players stand frozen on a faded, oversized playground while the mechanical doll at the far end slowly turns her plastic head. Her pigtails sway unnaturally. Eyes scan with robotic calculation.

“무궁화 꽃이 피었습니다,” the doll’s robotic slowly hums. (Mugunghwa Kkoci Pieot Seumnida)

Everyone bolts forward in scattered chaos — some with desperation, others with deadly focus. Y/N sprints across the dirt like her life depends on it, because it does. Her heart slams in her chest like a hammer against rusted metal.

She’s halfway to the finish line when it happens.

Her shoe catches a ridge in the ground — a root, maybe. She stumbles, just slightly — a breath, a blink.

She’s going to fall as the doll’s phrase slowly comes to an end.

Time slows. There’s a flicker of acceptance in her chest — the quiet knowing that she’s about to die. Then—

A hand wraps around her wrist, firm and unshaking.

Player 120.

“I’ve got you,” a soft voice whispered urgently, barely audible over the gasps and screams around them.

She moves with the precision of someone who’s been forced to live carefully. In one graceful motion, the arm now around her waist as she yanks Y/N upright, steadying her just as the doll’s head turns and the eyes flicker over them, she looks up at her savior just in time.

They freeze.

The woman holding her was tall, with dark hair that framed her face like curtains. Her expression was sharp — serious — but there was something warm in her eyes. A quiet strength. Her painted fingernails were digging into Y/N’s jacket from where she held on, unmoving, as still as a statue.

They don’t move.

The doll scans. Pauses. Moves on.

Gunshots crack in the distance. Someone screams.

But the two of them are alive.

And then the doll is humming again.

Hyun-ju lets go. Y/N’s knees tremble, but she runs towards the finish line. They both do.

. . .

The cold hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzes like a warning. The vote is over. The decision made.

They’re staying.

Despite everything — the blood, the screams, the slaughter masked as a children’s game — the majority chose to keep playing. Desperation outweighs fear.

Y/N sits stiffly on the edge of a steel bunk, staring down at her hands. They still tremble a little. Not from the game — but from how close it came. One misstep. One second slower. She would’ve been—

“Dead,” she mutters under her breath.

She looks around the room. Players avoid eye contact. Some cry quietly. Some already lie down, curling into themselves like children. The air smells of sweat and despair.

Then her eyes find Player 120.

She’s sitting by herself, legs folded. Calm on the outside, but her fingers pick absently at the corner of her sleeve. A mask of composure, but Y/N knows that kind of loneliness. The kind that keeps you apart even in a crowd.

Without thinking, Y/N gets up and walks forward in the line. She grabs a fresh dosirak box, still faintly warm, and an extra water bottle.

Then she crosses the room — quiet, unsure. “Hey.”

Hyun-ju glances up. Her eyes soften just a little.

Y/N holds out the food. “I figured you probably didn’t feel like getting in line.”

A pause. Hyun-ju looks from the box to Y/N’s face, then takes it gently. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

Y/N shrugs, trying to mask the awkward warmth building in her chest. “You, uh… saved my life earlier. Felt wrong not to say thank you properly…Well, as much as I can in here.”

Hyun-ju smiles — not wide, but real. “You’re welcome. Just don’t die in the second round, alright?”

“That’s the plan.”

They sit there for a moment — not talking, not eating, just existing side by side in the strange quiet after violence. Somehow, this tiny act of kindness feels like rebellion in a place designed to strip away humanity.

Y/N finally exhales. “You always look out for strangers?”

Hyun-ju opens her water bottle, thinks for a beat. “No,” she finally says softly. “But you didn’t feel like a stranger.”

And for the first time that day, Y/N smiles too.

The tin of the dosirak clicks softly as Y/N peels it open, the scent of lukewarm rice and kimchi filling the air between them. It’s far from appetizing, but it’s something. They eat in silence for a few minutes, the tension slowly bleeding out of their shoulders like a muscle finally relaxing.

Hyun-ju glances sideways at her. “You eat like someone who grew up fighting for the last bite.”

Y/N huffs a faint laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

A pause.

“What’s your name?” Hyun-ju asks.

Y/N looks up, a little surprised. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Hyun-ju repeats, as if tasting it. “It suits you.”

Y/N tilts her head, eyes narrowing curiously. “You say that like you’ve known me longer than a few hours.”

Hyun-ju smiles softly. “Some people don’t need long.”

Y/N looks down, hiding the ghost of a smile. Then— “You?”

“Hyun-ju,” she says. Her voice lowers slightly, like she’s weighing whether to give more.

Y/N nods, then decides to take the chance. “I… didn’t know what to expect when you pulled me up earlier. I thought maybe you were just one of the quiet types.”

“I used to be a sergeant,” Hyun-ju says, the words spilling out without ceremony. “Special Forces. Never really had the luxury of being loud.”

Y/N’s eyes widen slightly. “Wait, really? You—were military?”

“Was.” Hyun-ju sets her spoon down. “I got discharged a while ago.”

“What happened?”

A beat. Hyun-ju’s eyes flick to the floor. She’s quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is steady, but heavy. “…I told them I wanted to transition. Live openly. As myself.”

“And?”

“And that was enough for them to throw me out.”

Y/N doesn’t respond right away. She just watches her. Takes her in. Finally, she says, “Well… for what it’s worth and from what I saw, they lost a damn good soldier.”

Hyun-ju lifts her eyes to meet hers. There’s something unspoken in her gaze — surprise, gratitude, maybe even a flicker of hope “Thanks,” she murmurs. “Most people just stare or whisper.”

“Screw ‘most people.’” Y/N says. “You pulled me off the ground today like it was nothing. Like you’d done it a hundred times before. Everyone here would’ve let me fall and die. But not you. You’ve got more courage in your little finger than half the people in this room.”

Hyun-ju chuckles. “Don’t make me like you too fast.”

Y/N grins, leaning back on her hands. “Too late.”

The fluorescent lights buzz above them, but for a moment, they feel a little warmer.

Not friends. Not allies. Not yet.

But something’s beginning. And in this place — this hell — beginnings are rare.

. . .

It was a new day which meant it would be time for the second game. As the remaining stepped into a new room, it was announced they all had five minutes to get into groups of five.

Y/N blinked, heart already racing. Five. It wasn’t enough time. Not for strangers. Not for trust.

People scattered like frightened rats, some sprinting toward familiar faces, others grabbing whoever was closest.

She looked across the sea of bodies and saw Hyun-ju standing alone.

Their eyes met.

And then the crowd surged.

Y/N moved fast, weaving between players, reaching out—but a shoulder slammed into hers before she could get to Hyun-ju.

“Hey! Group of four!” a man barked nearby. “We need one more!”

Y/N turned hopefully, but his expression changed as he looked her up and down — not with camaraderie, but with something that made her skin crawl.

Like she was for sale.

Another man beside him grinned, elbowing his friend. “She’s cute. Bet she’ll keep us warm at lights out.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She stepped back without a word.

“Suit yourself, sweetheart,” the first one called after her. “You’ll be begging to join us when the clock runs out.”

She ignored him and turned to the next group.

Three women. One man.

All eyes shifted as she approached.

“Already full,” one woman said coolly, before she could even speak.

Another offered a sympathetic shrug, but didn’t fight it.

Y/N moved on. Fast.

Around her, people were forming up in uneven circles, huddling in tight, wary clusters. She spotted someone waving others over — until Hyun-ju approached.

The shift was immediate.

One of the men in the group looked her over judgement in his gaze and sneered. “No, we’re good.”

Hyun-ju’s jaw clenched. She said nothing. Just nodded once, stiffly, and walked away.

Y/N’s chest burned. She turned sharply and forced her way through the throng, her voice rising. “Hyun-ju!”

Hyun-ju looked up — and this time, didn’t hide the relief in her eyes.

Y/N reached her, breath short. “Guess we’re the leftovers.”

Hyun-ju smiled faintly. “Maybe we’re just the ones who haven’t forgotten how to see people.”

Y/N didn’t reply. Instead, she grabbed Hyun-ju’s hand and held it tight. “Then let’s survive together.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, the crowd moving around them like a tide. Cold glares and cruel whispers bounced around the room, but neither flinched.

1:04… 1:03…

Y/N and Hyun-ju stood firm in the corner of the room, back-to-back against a tide of rejection, judgement, and half-formed alliances. The chaos was beginning to quiet — not because people had settled, but because options were running out.

Then they saw them.

A woman in her late 70’s or 80’s — slight, trembling but proud — moved through the thinning crowd with a young man beside her, maybe mid-fourties’. He gripped her hand tightly, knuckles white, his face a mask of worry as he scanned the room.

Player 149 and Player 007. Mother and son.

Their steps hesitated as they neared Y/N and Hyun-ju’s duo.

Y/N felt it too — the uncertainty, the desperation. She took a half-step forward, voice almost shy.

“Would you…?”

At the same time, the older woman spoke.

“Can we…?”

Their mirrored hesitation said everything — four outcasts finding one another at the final hour.

Hyun-ju glanced at the mother’s hands — worn, calloused, trembling not with fear but with determination. The son, silent, nodded in solidarity.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond—

“You insolent fools!” The voice sliced through the air like a blade. Player 044 marched toward them, her eyes gleaming with something unhinged. “You made me come to you when you should’ve come to me.” Her lip curled. “I should just slay you with my knife.”

Silence fell between them like a dropped stone.

Y/N looked at Hyun-ju. Hyun-ju looked back — deadpan, blinking once in disbelief.

Is this really happening?

But the clock was still ticking.

00:12… 00:11…

“We need five,” Hyun-ju said under her breath, gaze not leaving 044. “We don’t have the luxury to be picky.”

“Can we survive her?” Y/N murmured.

“We’ve survived worse.”

Ten seconds.

Without another word, 044 joined them, uninvited but technically valid.

The group of five now stood complete — a mismatched portrait of the rejected, the forgotten, and the unhinged.

And as the countdown hit 00:00, the doors slammed shut behind them.

There was no turning back. Not from each other. Not from the game.

. . .

They made it.

Somehow — through near falls, and the frantic clatter of childhood games turned deadly — they made it.

The Six-Legged Pentathlon had pushed them to the edge: five games in rapid succession — Ddakji, Flying Stone, Gonggi, Spinning Top, Jegi — all tethered together by cuffs on their ankles and coordination. Every misstep pulled someone else down. Every second counted. There was no room for ego, no time for hesitation.

But they worked as one.

Clumsy. Fast. Breathless. Alive.

Y/N hadn’t realized just how tightly she’d been clenching her jaw until they crossed the finish line and she felt her teeth ache from the pressure. They were one of the first groups back to the dormitory — bruised, limping, and victorious.

Now, the room hummed with exhaustion and leftover adrenaline. Murmurs. Shallow breathing. The occasional dry cough.

Y/N sat on the cold steel steps of their bunk, her back against the frame. Beside her, Hyun-ju sat close, their knees nearly touching. Neither of them spoke at first. They just breathed. Together.

It wasn’t peace — not in the real sense. But it was a moment without panic, and that was rare enough to feel holy.

Then, finally, Y/N broke the silence with a small, raspy voice: “You know…” Hyun-ju turned her head, a slow tilt of curiosity. Y/N smiled — crooked and tired — as she looked down at her own scuffed shoes. “I’d pay every last won I have to see you slap Player 044 again.”

That caught Hyun-ju off guard. A pause. Then the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. “She was panicking.”

“She was being a maniac,” Y/N countered, letting out a breathy laugh. “I mean, yeah, we were all freaking out, but she could’ve gotten us killed.”

“So I slapped her.”

“So you slapped her,” Y/N echoed, grinning now. “And it was beautiful. Like, poetry. Especially after all the shit-talking she did during each of our games.”

Hyun-ju chuckled under her breath — short and quiet, but real. “Next time, I’ll let you do it.”

“Oh no,” Y/N said, nudging her knee against Hyun-ju’s playfully. “That was your moment. I’d only ruin the art of it.”

They both fell into silence again, but this time it was warmer. The air between them carried something unspoken — not quite flirting, but not far from it either.

Y/N glanced at Hyun-ju from the corner of her eye. The soft curve of her lips. The way her hands rested calmly in her lap, even after everything. That quiet strength again. That stillness.

Y/N didn’t mean to stare. But she was. Again.

Hyun-ju was sitting there, the dull overhead lights casting soft shadows over her features — strong, serene, undeniably beautiful.

Y/N’s eyes traced the curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck, the calm set of her mouth.

She felt the flutter again. That weird flutter in her chest. Like excitement dressed in nerves.

It wasn’t the first time.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face against them briefly as if to block out the heat rising in her cheeks. Get it together.

She’d had boyfriends before. Some serious. Most forgettable. Some good in bed. Most…selfish.

But none of them ever made her feel this aware.

Aware of every glance Hyun-ju gave her.

Every silence they shared. Every time their fingers brushed just a little too long when passing a bottle of water.

It wasn’t like falling for a guy. It didn’t hit with testosterone and friction and predictability.

No — this was quieter. Deeper. It crept in slowly like warm water in a cold tub — and now she was in too deep to tell when it started.

And maybe what shook her most was the way it felt so natural. Not like a mistake. Not like confusion.

It just…was.

She found herself listening for Hyun-ju’s voice when others were talking. Watching her mouth when she wasn’t speaking. Feeling something twist — something good — when Hyun-ju smiled at her, like she was letting Y/N into some secret world no one else was allowed in.

Is this a crush?

Y/N let her head fall back against the cold metal of the bunk frame, staring at the ceiling like it held answers.

God, what even is this?

But the thought didn’t bring panic.

It brought the ghost of a grin. A thrill that buzzed beneath the exhaustion of survival.

Y/N looked at her again.

Hyun-ju was watching her now — calm, soft-eyed, curious.

Y/N looked away quickly, heart thudding.

Too fast. Too loud. Too hopeful.

She didn’t know what this was becoming.

But it made her feel alive. And in a place built to kill everything human, that felt like a kind of rebellion.

Hyun-ju glanced toward Y/N with the beginnings of a smile — small, quiet, but warm enough to thaw ice. She looked like she was about to say something.

But the moment was interrupted.

“Listen,” said Player 149, settling across from her on the bunk like they were old friends in a public park instead of prisoners in a death game. “Can I ask you something?”

Hyun-ju nodded politely. “Yes.”

“When you were playing Jegi… why didn’t you want us to look? Are you shy?” There was no mockery in her tone, only curiosity — the kind older women sometimes carried, blunt but not malicious.

Hyun-ju didn’t flinch. “It’s not that,” she said calmly. “I’m just… not completely done.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up at that.

“What do you mean?” Player 149 asked, genuinely puzzled.

Before Hyun-ju could answer, her son — Player 007 — shifted uncomfortably. “Mom, stop asking questions. You’re being nosy.”

But Hyun-ju only chuckled, her fingers folded in her lap. “It’s alright,” she said. “I still have some procedures left. I just didn’t want people to stare at me.”

The air stilled slightly.

“What procedures?” Then Player 149 blinked and, after a beat, gestured vaguely toward Hyun-ju’s chest, speaking without judgment — more like someone puzzling out a riddle. “Oh… so that’s how you got those too? I knew they were too big to be natural—”

“Mom, please,” 007 groaned, gently tugging at his mother’s arm.

Y/N’s gaze drifted, unbidden, to where the older woman had pointed.

She hadn’t really looked before. Not closely. Not in that way.

But now, her eyes found the soft curve of Hyun-ju’s chest, how it rose and fell slowly with her breath. And for one suspended second, her thoughts blurred.

Then realization slammed into her.

She was staring.

Her cheeks flushed instantly, blood rushing to the surface like a guilty alarm. She yanked her gaze away, jaw tightening in shame. The last thing she wanted was to make Hyun-ju feel watched, like a spectacle — especially after what she’d just confessed.

Stupid. Don’t do that.

Y/N’s heart thudded unevenly. She hugged her knees closer to her chest, face half-buried, trying to will the heat from her skin to vanish.

It wasn’t about curiosity. It wasn’t about shock. It was something else. Something complicated. Something real.

The truth was… she found Hyun-ju beautiful.

Not despite her being trans.

Not because of it.

But alongside it.

Hyun-ju was beautiful in ways that couldn’t be boxed in or labeled — not by surgery, not by old habits, or what she thought she understood about herself.

And if her body was still in transition… that didn’t matter.

Because what Y/N felt — this pull, this gentle ache in her ribs every time Hyun-ju smiled — wasn’t about biology. It wasn’t theoretical.

It was personal.

God, Y/N thought, pressing her fingers to her burning cheeks. This is really happening, isn’t it?

And yet, despite her embarrassment, a flicker of something stayed alive inside her: Warmth. A kind of wonder.

[thecuriousbeauty]

Under His Watch-Part 1 (Harry Styles x reader)

Series synopsis: Y/N, an ambitious FBI intern, joins the homicide department, where she catches the eye of the brooding head detective, Harry Styles. As they tackle high-stakes cases together, Y/N uncovers a side of Harry no one else sees. Are they just boss and intern, or something more?

Word count: 9.1k

A/N:- Hello everyone, so sorry for being gone for a while, but I'm back with something new that I hope you guys will love! This is going to be a short, two part series so like it up and reblog so I can get the second part out soon!

Warnings: Talks of murder, drug dealings, killings, crime scenes, violence, usage of gun. No smut in this part, but definitely in the next;)

____________________________________________

The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft, golden light through the open window. The air feels fresh, but with a touch of warmth that hints at the summer heat to come. Birds chirp in the distance, their songs a gentle reminder of the new day. A light breeze stirs the curtains, carrying the scent of flowers blooming outside.

In a small, cozy bedroom, y/n stands before her mirror. She fidgets with her clothes, unsure whether the outfit is too formal or too casual for her first day at work. She has seen agents usually wear suits, but she opted for a dark blue buttoned shirt and pants, because she was just starting as an intern. Her fingers tremble slightly as she adjusts her hair, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling inside her. Her heart races, each beat echoing the uncertainty of what’s to come.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The thought of the day ahead makes her stomach flutter—so many unknowns, so many new faces, and yet, the possibility of something great. She smiles at her reflection, trying to reassure herself. Beneath the jitters, there’s a spark—an energy that comes from stepping into something new, a sense of potential.

She checks the time and realizes she’s running a little late.The world outside is already awake, and so is she, ready to take on whatever her first day at work will bring.

Y/N doesn’t know when she decided to pursue a career as a detective. Maybe it was all the detective shows she used to watch with her father as a kid, or maybe it was the numerous novels she’d read. She loves the suspense, the mystery, and figuring out all the little clues. She loves the thrill of it. And now, as a result of her hard work and dedication, she has gotten into the FBI’s internship program.

The actual, Federal Bureau of Investigation. 

The FBI building looms like a fortress in the heart of the city, its imposing, angular structure made of dark granite and steel. The air is thick with history and authority, as if the walls themselves hold the secrets of countless investigations. As she takes her detective steps through the sliding glass doors, the buzz of activity inside is palpable. Agents in suits walk briskly through the sleek, modern lobby, while the hum of conversation fills the space with a sense of purpose.

The hallways are lined with framed photos of notable cases and agents, a constant reminder of the legacy the building holds. The lighting is stark, the floors polished to a mirror shine, and the walls adorned with maps and classified files that hint at the work being done behind closed doors. It’s both overwhelming and exhilarating—this is where the nation’s most pressing cases unfold.

“Oh, Miss y/l/n, right on time!”,  she hears before she sees none other than one of her superiors, part of the homicide department, Agent Eliza Carter. She had taken her interview. The woman held two coffees, and gave her the same kind smile she had given her that day.

“Good morning, Agent Carter!”

“Morning to you too. Sorry, I forgot to mention, you’ll be with homicide this month, probably another department for the next, and so on. Boss man’s just about to start the meeting, so come on quick!”

“Right. Do you know anything about the case?”

Her heels click behind her as she follows the agent, her eyes continuing to look around, absorbing everything around her. 

“Oh yeah, this is actually an old case. A really annoying one, you’ll see. Harry will brief us anyway.”

Harry. Detective Agent Harry Styles. 

Head of the homicide department, and one of the most renowned and respected figures in the field. His reputation precedes him: sharp, methodical, and almost legendary in his ability to solve cases that others can’t even begin to crack. She had heard stories about his brilliant mind, how he could piece together the smallest details that everyone else overlooked. The thought of getting to learn directly from him sends a rush of nervous energy through her veins.

“Can you get the door please?”, Eliza asks, and y/n quickly swings the glass door open for her, and then steps in herself, into the big room where there were around seven people gathered. All of them in matching suits, discussing amongst each other as they stared at the boards pinned with information about their cases. 

“Everyone, this is y/n y/l/n, our new intern, she’s gonna be with us for this month!”, Eliza introduces, handing one of the coffees to a man, who also gives y/n a smile. “Hello, I’m Ethan Grant.” 

The others also started introducing themselves, most of them friendly and smiling, two of them only giving her a nod, to which Eliza rolled her eyes. 

“Styles running late?”, Agent Cole Matthews asks as he looks at his watch. 

“I saw him getting a call, he had that face on.”, Nora says. She had short silver hair, and dark blue eyes, that looked like she would kill you if you pissed her off.

“Oh no, that can’t be good.”, Eliza shook her head.

“Face?”, y/n asks the girls who just smile at each other, Nora gives her a wink. “You’ll see.”

The door swings open with a quiet click, and Detective Harry Styles steps into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. Tall and impeccably dressed in a dark suit that fits just right, he exudes a quiet authority. His broad shoulders and confident stride catch the eye, but it’s his sharp jawline and the faint stubble along his chin that hint at a more rugged edge beneath his polished exterior.

His eyes—piercing, yet thoughtful—scan the room as he steps forward, his gaze pausing just long enough to meet each of their eyes, an unspoken understanding passing through the group. The way he moves is purposeful, the air around him almost charged with intensity, as if every step he takes is measured, calculated.

Then his eyes meet hers, eyebrows raising up in question. “New intern, boss.”, Ethan says. 

She acts quickly to introduce herself, “I’m y/n, it’s such a pleasure to-”

“We’re still talking interns?”, he rudely cuts her off, and her lips seal shut at his tone. 

“Yes we’re doing rotations this year, Harry, they must have given you a form to sign.”, Eliza said, and Harry let out a sigh, not even batting a single eye in y/n’s direction, turning around to the projector. 

“Whatever. Let’s get to work, we have a busy day ahead of us.”

Y/N’s heart sinks. She’d imagined this moment so differently—she thought he’d at least say something encouraging, maybe give her a quick nod of acknowledgment. But instead, there’s only the cold, impersonal air of the office, and his complete disregard.

“We’re dealing with a 30-year-old man named Charles Russo. He's been on our radar before but slipped through the cracks. He’s involved in drug trafficking, but this isn’t just about drugs—it’s about control. He’s a key figure in a network that stretches across the city, and he’s responsible for at least three recent murders tied to his operations.”

A photograph of Russo appears on the projector screen—a mugshot from a previous arrest, his face hard and defiant, his eyes cold. Styles gestures to the image.

“This is our suspect. Russo has managed to stay under the radar for months, but he’s back in the game. We have intel from one of his associates that he’s been laying low, but now we’ve gotten wind of him resurfacing. We know he’s been making contact with his former contacts in the drug trade, and his movements have been tracked to the outskirts of the city.”

He pauses, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. The team leans forward, eyes narrowing as they take in every word.

“We can’t afford to let him slip away again,” Harry continues. “He’s ruthless. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way. The last time he disappeared, it took months for us to get any leads. We’re not going to make that mistake again.”

“So what’s the plan?”, Nora asks.

Harry points to a map on the wall. The area surrounding an old industrial district near the city’s border is highlighted in red.

“We’ve got a lead. A tip from an anonymous source says Russo is meeting with one of his suppliers here,” Harry explains, tapping the map. “We’ll be setting up surveillance teams around this location. We’re going to hit him where we know he feels comfortable. His old contacts will be there, and that’s our chance to bring him in.”

He looks at his team, making sure they understand the stakes. "This won't be easy. Russo knows how to cover his tracks, and he won't hesitate to go violent if he thinks he's cornered. I want everyone to stay sharp, no mistakes. We’ll have undercover agents in place, and our best tech team will be monitoring the area for any sign of movement.”

He glances at y/n, the intern who’s been quietly taking notes in the back. His voice softens just slightly, but still firm.

“You’re going to work with Carter and Grant to run background checks on Russo’s known associates. I want every detail—every business transaction, every phone call, every scrap of information you can dig up. It could be the key to finding him faster. Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.” She nods quickly, her mind racing. This is her chance to contribute, to prove herself, and she’s not about to let it slip away.

“Once we have enough intel, we move in. Fast, clean, and without hesitation. Our goal is to catch him off guard,” Harry finishes, his gaze sweeping over his team. “I expect everyone to be in sync. This guy has evaded us long enough. Let’s make sure it ends tonight.”

The room falls into a focused silence as everyone gets to work. The plan is set, and the wheels are already in motion. 

Eliza shows y/n her desk, and Ethan quickly shows her all the technology, y/n didn’t need much explaining, she was familiar with it all. She had even taken up courses in coding and hacking. 

Finally, it’s time to attack. Officers bustle around, adjusting their gear, making final checks on equipment, and running through last-minute details. The hum of radios, the clinking of handcuffs, and the soft rustling of jackets fill the air as the room feels like it’s on the verge of something big. y/n stands off to the side, a little on edge as she watches Harry gather the team for their final briefing. His green eyes scan the room with that characteristic sharpness, giving quick instructions to the officers heading to different positions. 

With a deep breath, she approaches Harry as he finishes talking to Detective Logan Pierce. Her pulse quickens, and she straightens her shoulders. This is it.

“Detective Styles,” she begins, trying to keep her voice steady, “I was wondering if—if I could come along. I know I’m new, but I’ve been following everything closely, and I’m ready. I can help in any way I can.”

Harry looks at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. There’s a brief silence before he responds, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not ready for this kind of field work. This operation is too high-risk, and it’s not something you should be thrown into on your first day. I need you back here, where you can handle communication, and make sure we stay on track. You’ll be a key part of this, just not in the way you expect.”

She feels a small pang of disappointment, but it’s quickly replaced by a sense of clarity. He’s right. She’s still learning the ropes. The reality of the danger in the field is something she can’t ignore. But at the same time, the disappointment doesn’t sting as much as she thought it would. She’s still going to play a crucial role.

“Understood,” she says, nodding as she pushes her feelings aside. She can feel a sense of purpose rising in her chest. “I’ll stay in touch with the agents, make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll be ready to react if anything goes wrong.”

A flicker of approval crosses Harry’s face, though he doesn't show it fully. “Good luck!”, she can’t help but call out as Harry reaches for his own bullet proof suit and a hint of a smirk crosses his lips. 

It was so brief, that she wondered if she had really seen it, or if she had imagined it.

The night is thick with tension as the operation unfolds, the air heavy with the weight of what’s at stake. Outside the industrial district, the team is in position, each agent hidden in shadows, waiting for the signal to move. Inside the precinct, y/n is stationed at her desk, headphones on, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she tracks the operation. Her eyes are focused on the live feeds from the surveillance cameras set up around the district, her mind sharp and alert.

The plan is simple—surround Russo and catch him in the act. The agents are ready, but they need to stay in constant contact. That’s where she comes in. She’s the lifeline,watching the feeds, listening to their transmissions, and keeping them updated. She had earpieces connected to Harry and Cole, who had teams on both doors of the warehouse.

Through the earpiece, the voice of Agent Logan Pierce crackles to life. “y/l/n,we’re about to move in on Russo. He’s on the move—heading toward the south side of the warehouse. We need a visual confirmation. Is he coming into our range?”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest, but she keeps her voice steady. “Got him. He’s moving east toward the rear entrance. You’ve got about thirty seconds before he reaches the blind spot. You need to move fast.”

“Copy that,” Pierce responds. “We’re moving in now.”

y/n watches the screen, heart racing as she tracks Russo’s every step, eyes darting between the surveillance feeds and the map on her screen. Every second feels like an eternity. She checks her watch, counts the seconds in her head. Then, suddenly, he disappeared.

“Shit.”, she says, trying to figure out where the piece of shit is headed now.

“I hope I didn’t just hear you say shit while monitoring one of the most important cases, newbie.”, she hears Agent Styles, and her cheeks redden a little bit, but she focuses on the task.

“Sorry, you need to wait, Agent Pierce, I’ve lost him.”

“You’ve lost him? What do you mean? He’s right here-”

“-No, I think..I think he’s coming around from the other door. Agent Styles?”

He answers immediately while y/n works on a way to monitor Russo again, “Yes, are you sure it’s not a connectivity problem or-.”

“I think he’s on your side.”

“Oh yeah? That mother fucker. Guys, close in.”

“Wait, y/n, are you sure? Cause this might be the last chance we have to get him and one mistake-”, Cole begins, a little unsure.

The image on the monitor shifts—Russo steps into the frame. 

“Agent Styles, he’s about to break through—wait for it—now!”

The moment she speaks, Harry and the rest of the team spring into action. They converge on Russo in a synchronized move, cutting off his escape route before he can even react. There’s a flurry of movement, the sound of boots pounding on the ground, and then, within seconds, Russo is tackled to the ground, handcuffed and subdued.

A burst of static fills her earpiece, followed by Harry’s voice. “We got him. He’s down. Nice work, y/n. You nailed it.”

He called her by her name for the first time and the compliment made her heart race in a way she hadn’t expected. She blinks, her breath catching in her throat. Styles—the man she had been eager to impress—had just complimented her, and it felt like everything she’d hoped for.

“Thanks,” she replies, trying to keep her composure. “I just did what I could.”

“Well you’re the first newbie to actually not piss me off on their first day. You can go home, y/n, enough for the day. We’ll bring him in.”

Y/N exhales slowly, a rush of adrenaline flooding her veins. Her hands shake just a little as she removes her headset, a smile creeping up her face. They did it. They caught Russo, and she was the one who helped make it happen. For the first time since walking into this precinct, she feels like she truly belongs.

___________________________________________________

Over the next few days, she really fit in with the team members. She especially loved talking with the girls, Nora and Eliza. They’re laughing about the latest office drama—how Agent Matthews accidentally spilled coffee all over Harry’s favorite jacket this morning.

“I swear, it’s like he doesn’t even notice how clumsy he is,” Nora says, shaking her head with a grin. “But Styles—he’s always so cool, never says a word. You’d think he’d be fuming after that.”

y/n chuckles, feeling more at ease in their company. "I bet he was just silently judging him in that typical Styles way. You know the look I'm talking about, right?"

Eliza laughs, leaning in. “Oh, absolutely. The silent judgment is his trademark. But I’m surprised he didn’t rip Pierce a new one.”

y/n finds herself grinning at the camaraderie, feeling like she’s starting to fit into the team’s dynamic. It’s easy, the way they talk, tease, and laugh together. 

She decides to stay back a little longer that day, her eyes skim through the pages—cold cases from years ago, some unsolved, others with only the vaguest of leads. She’s been digging into them to understand the bigger picture of how the team operates, trying to learn from the cases they’ve solved, and the ones they’ve left behind.

Her focus is interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. She looks up to see Harry, his coat over his arm and his briefcase in hand. He stops a few steps away, his gaze lingering on the pile of files she’s working through.

Her gaze lingered on his arm, his sleeve rolled up enough for the ink on his forearm to peek through. She could see the dark outline of a tattoo—a design she’d never noticed before—curving around his wrist and disappearing beneath the cuff of his shirt. The way the ink curled around his skin made her wonder how many more he had hidden beneath his clothes.

She couldn’t help but admire the way his sleeves clung to his muscular arms, the sharp lines of his body defining his form. His green eyes were a striking contrast to his skin, deep and captivating. They always seemed to hold a quiet storm, a vulnerability masked behind his professional exterior. The way his curls fell around his forehead, slightly unruly, added a touch of ruggedness to his otherwise polished look.

There was something magnetic about his distinct features, something that caught her attention all the time.

“You’re still here?” he asks, voice quiet, as if genuinely surprised she hasn’t already left for the day. There’s something in his tone that feels different, not judgmental, but more... curious. Maybe even a little approving.

y/n clears her throat, trying not to seem too caught up in the files. “Yeah. Just trying to catch up on some of the old cases. Figured it’s a good way to learn how you all approach things.”

Harry studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before setting his briefcase down and taking a few steps closer. “You’ve got the right idea. We learn a lot from the cases we didn’t solve. The ones that slip through our fingers.”

She nods, feeling the weight of the truth in his words. “I’ve noticed that. Some of these cases... they’re so close to being solved, but there’s always one missing piece.” She pauses, flipping to a specific file that’s particularly puzzling. “What do you think about this one? A string of disappearances in a small town, no evidence left behind. It’s like they just vanished.”

Harry glances down at the file she’s holding, leaning over slightly, his voice low and contemplative. “Sometimes it’s not the evidence you’re looking for, but the pattern behind it. Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks. But if you look at the people involved—especially the families, the connections between them—you might find something that doesn’t belong.”

“Thanks for that,” she says, her voice more sincere than usual. “I wasn’t sure if I was overthinking it.”

Harry gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a little. “You’re thinking in the right direction. Just keep pushing yourself. That’s how we get better at this job.”

She smiles in return, feeling a little more confident in her approach. Harry glances at his watch, then looks back at her. “Well, if you’re going to keep at it, you’ll need a little company. I was planning to head out, but it’s quieter here than usual.”

y/n looks up in surprise. “You’re staying?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Not really,” he says, his tone dry, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Just thought I’d walk you out. It’s late. Wouldn’t want you to be walking to your car alone.”

Her surprise morphs into a small, grateful smile. “That’s... considerate of you. Thanks.”

He offers a slight nod, then gestures toward the door. “Come on, then. Let’s get out of here.”

The two of them walk out together, the quiet hum of the office behind them. Outside, the evening air is crisp, the sky darkening as they make their way across the parking lot.

As they approach their cars, y/n hesitates for a moment, then turns to him. “You’ve been doing this for a long time, huh? The whole... detective thing. How do you keep from getting burned out?”

Harry pauses, his hand resting on the door handle of his car. He looks at her, his expression momentarily distant, as if reflecting on the years of work behind him.

“It’s not about not getting burned out,” he says quietly, “It’s about finding what keeps you going. Whether it’s the people you work with or the cases that pull you in, you have to find something that reminds you why you do it.”

y/n nods, absorbing his words as they linger in the cool air between them.

With that, he starts his engine and pulls away, leaving y/n standing in the quiet parking lot for a moment. She watches his car disappear down the road, wondering what led him into pursuing this career.

___________________________________________

The next day, the guys are gathered around a table near the bullpen, eyes glued to a sports game playing on the office TV. The game is close, Ethan and Cole are already arguing over who’s going to win the match.

“Come on, you’re seriously betting on them?” Ethan snorts, shaking his head. “They’ve been playing like amateurs.”

y/n can’t help but overhear, the playful banter catching her attention. She’s not usually one for sports, but she’s been learning the ropes from her fellow agents. She knows enough to get by, and today, something about the challenge calls to her.

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite,” she says, walking over with a raised eyebrow. “How much are we betting here?”

Ethan looks up, surprised, then grins. “Didn’t think you’d be interested, y/n. You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

She smirks, her confidence growing. “I’m a quick learner. I’ll take your bet. I’m putting my money on the underdogs.”

Cole raises an eyebrow. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. This’ll be fun.”

As the game continues, the guys teasingly rib her for her risky bet, but y/n holds her ground, getting increasingly into the match. When the underdogs actually pull off the win, she’s the first one to stand up, pumping her fist in victory.

“Told you,” she says, beaming with pride as the guys groan good-naturedly. “Pay up, gentlemen.”

“Yes, we’ll be there soon, got it.” They all look up at the sound of their boss, who comes into the room, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Murder scene in Oak Drive, let’s go.”, Harry tells them, and everyone gets onto their feet, getting ready to go.

y/n goes to her desk as usual, knowing she’ll be given the duty of doing the background checks.

“Who’re you riding with Styles?”, Logan asks him.

Harry straps on his gun, and looks at y/n. “Can you drive?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Come on, then, newbie, let’s go to your first murder scene.”

y/n almost squealed with joy, jumping up in excitement, but then toned it down as Harry raised his eyebrows, waiting for her answer.

“Yes sir, right away.”

The car ride is quiet, with a subtle tension between them, an unspoken understanding, a quiet connection that neither has acknowledged. y/n's fingers tighten around the steering wheel as they approach the crime scene. He can’t help but steal a glance at y/n—she’s focused, eyes sharp, her thoughts clearly already at the scene ahead.

“You aren’t gonna faint, are you?”, Harry asks, breaking the silence. “Cause one of the interns did, seeing all the blood.”

She laughed lightly. “Nope, I’m excited, and I’m good with blood.”

“Good.”, Harry lets a small smile escape, and she pulls over to the crime scene. The other agents have already reached and are doing their allotted work. 

"Alright, you’ll handle the photos for now. We’ll take care of the rest."

Y/N nods, grabbing her camera from the seat beside her, trying to steady her nerves. She’s been given more responsibility lately, and with Harry’s subtle support, she’s been slowly gaining confidence.

 "Got it. I'll make sure to get everything."

As she moves closer to the crime scene, Y/N kneels by the body, snapping photos of the surroundings. Her heart beats a little faster as she works, but the adrenaline feels good. And while the scene before her is dark, there’s something about Harry’s quiet faith in her that makes her feel capable. She captures the details—each angle, each small clue—as if she’s been doing this for years. She steals a glance back at Harry, catching him watching her from a distance. For a moment, she wonders if he sees something more than just a hard-working intern.

As the team works around her, Harry steps away briefly to speak with the others, but his eyes flick back to her every so often. Y/N can feel it—his attention on her, the weight of it—but for now, she’s focused on her task. Still, there’s a strange pull between them, unspoken, but undeniable, lingering in the air like the tension of the scene itself.

Harry wants to leave soon, to talk to someone and take y/n with him, this time, he drives. As they pull away from the crime scene, Harry’s eyes are focused on the road, but his mind is already on the next step. Y/N’s still processing everything they’ve seen.

“So, what’s your take on this case so far?"

Y/N pauses, glancing up at him. She can tell he’s genuinely interested in her opinion.

“I think the victim knew the killer. Too many personal details for it to be random, but the motive’s still unclear."

Harry nods thoughtfully. "I agree. That’s why I’m going to talk to the first suspect now. Stay sharp—this could get tricky."

Y/N feels a small thrill at his trust in her judgment. It’s not just about the case anymore; it’s the way he values her input. As they drive toward the suspect’s location, she wonders if he’s giving her more responsibility on purpose, or if it’s just part of the job. Either way, it feels like a step forward.

After questioning the suspect, Harry and Y/N head back to the office, the car cutting through the quiet streets. Y/N’s mind is still on the conversation with the suspect, but then..her stomach growls loudly.

Harry glances over at her, his eyes sharp but gentle.

"Did you eat anything this morning?"

Y/N flushes slightly, trying to keep her cool, but the guilt is written all over her face.

"Yeah, I—"

"You didn’t eat, did you?"

Y/N shifts uncomfortably.

"I’m fine, really."

Harry sighs, shaking his head with a small smile."We’re making a stop. You’re getting something to eat. I know a good taco place.”

He turns the car off the main road, pulling into a small taco place. The smell of sizzling meat and fresh tortillas drifts through the air as they step out, and Harry opens the door for her, his usual professionalism replaced with a kind of care.

As they sit at a small booth, Y/N digs into her food, finally letting herself relax. Harry watches her for a moment, the glint of something unreadable in his eyes. After a few bites, she glances up at him.

"So, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you always so grumpy? You’re like... a walking storm cloud sometimes."

Harry chokes on his drink a little, caught off guard by her boldness. He laughs—genuinely, with a surprised smile that softens his usually serious face.

He chuckles and wipes his mouth. "Grumpy? I’m not grumpy. I’m just... focused."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Focused, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?"

Harry shrugs, his smirk turning wry, clearly amused by her bluntness."Okay, maybe I’m a little grumpy. But someone’s gotta keep this place in line. You can’t just go around smiling all the time like everything’s sunshine and rainbows."

Y/N laughs, and for a second, their eyes meet. There’s an ease between them now, something playful, yet still with an undercurrent of something deeper. Harry’s usual walls are lower, and Y/N’s teasing is making him more human in her eyes.

"I don’t know, sometimes I think it wouldn’t hurt to see you smile a little more. Just... not at the crime scene, please."

Harry chuckles again, and it’s the kind of laugh that feels lighter than usual—almost as if he doesn’t mind sharing this side of himself with her.

"I’ll try. But no promises.", he says with a soft smirk.Y/N found herself grinning as she saw his dimples poke out. She hadn’t realized how much she loved seeing that little dimple until now, how it made him look so much more... approachable.

After a few more bites, she glances up at him. "Why did you want to be a detective, Agent Styles?"

The question lingers in the air. Harry’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and for a moment, there’s a heaviness between them. "Because I lost someone who mattered. My sister... she was murdered by some people when we were younger. I couldn’t sit by, not after that."

Y/N’s breath catches, and she sees the pain flicker in his eyes—his calm demeanor betraying a history of loss that runs deep. It’s the first time she’s seen him so vulnerable, so open.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know.", she says quietly.

Harry shrugs, with a distant look in his eyes,"It’s alright. It’s been a long time... but it’s why I do this. It’s why I never give up on a case. To make sure no one else has to go through that."

There’s a pause, and Y/N feels the weight of his words sink in. She reaches out, placing her hand gently on his. The warmth of the moment takes them both by surprise. He appreciates the gesture, thumb ever so softly stroking a line on the back of her hand.

“You can call me Harry by the way, when we’re not at work.”, he says to lighten the air, and she smiles, drawing her hand back. “Okay.”

Little did she know that Harry had told her something that no one else knew about him. 

________________________________________________________

The precinct is buzzing with its usual morning chaos, the air thick with the noise of phones ringing, officers discussing cases, and the sound of feet shuffling across the floors. y/n is at her desk, flipping through some case files, trying to focus. She’s about to make another note, when she hears the unmistakable sound of Ethan and Eliza approaching her desk, their voices carrying through the room in a familiar, teasing tone.

“Well, well, y/n, looks like you’ve caught Styles’ attention,” Ethan says with a playful grin, sliding into the seat across from her. He leans back, crossing his arms, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

y/n looks up, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Eliza raises an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, come on. We’ve all seen it. Harry doesn’t usually make time for anyone. But you—" she motions between the two of them, “—you got breakfast with him this morning. He doesn’t do that unless he’s got a soft spot.”

Eliza’s cheeks flush slightly. She opens her mouth to protest, but Ethan cuts her off.

“We’re just saying, Harry’s usually all business, right? But with you—” he gestures with a wink, “he’s practically a different guy. You must be special.”

y/n can’t help but laugh awkwardly, trying to brush it off. Yes, they had eaten breakfast together that morning, because both of them happened to arrive early to the office. “You guys are ridiculous. We just had breakfast. He saw me sitting alone and he was just being... well, Harry.”

But they aren’t buying it. Eliza smirks, leaning forward. “Right, Harry just casually opens up to you about his deepest, darkest secrets over a bagel. We’re all jealous, you know.”

y/n shakes her head, a little embarrassed, but also secretly amused. “Okay, okay, I get it. He’s not a softie, I swear.”

Ethan grins, clearly enjoying teasing her. “Sure, sure. But just wait until the next big case. When he pulls you aside to give you a ‘confidential’ briefing, we’ll be here, dying of curiosity.”

y/n sighs, trying not to laugh as she adjusts the papers in front of her. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m still the intern, remember?”

Eliza raises her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what we’re talking about. We all saw the way Harry looked at you when he was complimenting you yesterday. Like... he actually noticed your contribution for once.”

At that, y/n’s face goes a little redder, but she can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face. “He just—well, he just doesn’t say much. When he does, it’s kind of a big deal.”

Ethan chuckles, leaning in closer. “Yeah, we’ve noticed. Harry doesn’t exactly dish out compliments like candy. And if he says you’re doing good work? That’s... noteworthy.”

y/n laughs nervously, feeling a little overwhelmed by their teasing, but she’s also secretly flattered. She’s always admired Harry—his skill, his mind, the way he commands respect from everyone around him—and to hear that they’ve noticed the shift in his behavior, even in the smallest ways, makes her feel like she’s on the right track.

“Alright, alright, enough. You’ve got me all figured out,” y/n says, trying to play it off cool. “But don’t go getting any ideas. He’s still Harry Styles.”

“Sure, sure,” Eliza says, winking. “But we’ll be keeping an eye on you two.”

As they walk away, leaving her to her work, y/n smiles to herself, a warm feeling spreading in her chest. She wasn’t sure if Harry really had a soft spot for her, but just knowing that she’d earned a little of his respect—enough for the team to notice—felt like a win. Maybe she wasn’t just the intern anymore. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to become something more.

______________________________________________

y/n has been busy lately. She passed her detective training exam but the theory exam wasn’t over yet, so she was preparing for that, along with managing the work she had been assigned at the FBI. It’s nearly midnight when Harry walks into the office, his eyes scanning the darkened room before landing on Y/N. He spots her hunched over her desk, staring at the screen, her tired eyes squinting in the dim light. By now he knows she’s a hard worker, but what really hits him is how late it’s gotten—and how she hasn’t stopped working.

Harry’s voice is tight with concern, trying to mask his frustration."Y/N, what the hell are you still doing here?"

Y/N looks up, startled, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard as she blinks at him, trying to hide the exhaustion on her face.

 "Just finishing up some things... It’s not that late."

He sternly walks closer. "It’s midnight. You should be home, resting. This can wait until tomorrow."

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops her. She’s used to his seriousness, but there’s something more here—something that’s not just about the case.

His voice softens, but still firm."You’re not invincible, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself."

Y/N sighs, glancing back at the stack of files on her desk, torn between wanting to finish everything and knowing she’s pushing herself too hard.

 "I’m fine, Harry. Really. I just want to get this done."

Harry’s frustration slips through as he says, "No, you’re not fine. You’ve been at this for hours, and you’re running on empty. I’m not leaving until you get some rest."

Y/N meets his eyes, seeing the genuine concern there, but also the subtle edge of worry in his features. She opens her mouth to protest again, but Harry doesn’t give her the chance.

Harry grabs her bag from the desk. "Come on. You’re getting in the car, and I’m taking you home."

She hesitates for a moment, but Harry’s serious enough that she knows there’s no point in arguing.

She grabs her things and follows him out of the office. The rain is coming down hard now, the city streets glistening under the dim streetlights. Harry opens the door for her, holding out an umbrella as they step out into the downpour.

They don’t speak at first, the quiet of the night surrounding them, just the soft patter of rain as they walk to his car. Once inside, the silence between them feels comfortable, but Harry keeps glancing at her, concern still etched on his face.

Harry breaks the silence."You sure you’re okay? You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately."

“I’m fine, my detective exam is soon, I just really wanna make it.”

“You will, you’ve already passed the physical. Trust me, you don’t have to worry about making it, the exam’s gonna be very easy for you.”

She lets out a soft exhale, those words making her feel a little better. After all, he had gone through all of this. “Are you gonna apply to work here?”

“Yes, I think this is where I wanna work. Not sure about the department though, I still have other rotations. I’m going to be with foreign affairs next week.”

Harry gasps in hurt, glancing over at her. “You don’t wanna be in homicide? Is it because I’m grumpy?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “It’s not you, Harry.. And I love homicide, the thrill is amazing! It’s just that I still have other departments to experience, you know, that’s what an internship is for.”

“Believe me, you aren’t gonna find any other department as interesting as this. But yes, you’re right. You have time to decide.”

The rest of the drive is mostly quiet, just the sound of the rain tapping on the windshield. When they finally reach her flat, Harry pulls up to the curb, parking the car in front of the building. He looks over at her, his voice quiet, with that same concern in it.

"You sure you’ll be okay getting inside? It’s late, and it’s still raining pretty bad."

Y/N nods, though she can’t hide the weariness in her eyes."Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride, Harry."

He doesn’t move, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to say something more, but instead, he opens his door and steps out, walking around the car to open hers.

He holds the umbrella over her as they step out into the rain, his arm wrapping around her back and her arm as he keeps her close and they walk side by side toward her building. The air is cool, and the rain falls steadily, but there’s something about the closeness of the moment that makes it feel almost intimate.

When they reach her door, Harry stops, looking at her with that same quiet intensity. "You’re getting some sleep tonight. No excuses."

Y/N can’t help but smile at his persistence, the kind of care that’s always just under the surface of his gruff exterior."I promise. I’ll get some rest."

Harry doesn’t move immediately, his gaze lingering on her face. There’s an almost unspoken weight in the air now, a subtle shift between them. Without thinking, Y/N reaches out and touches his arm, her fingers brushing against his sleeve.

“Thanks for everything, Harry. Really."

His eyes flicker down to where her hand rests on his arm, and for a moment, the world seems to pause. Slowly, he lifts his free hand, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingers for a second longer than necessary, and Y/N feels her heart race at the intimacy of it.

His voice is low, and a bit hoarse."Anytime. You don’t have to thank me."

The tension between them lingers in the rain-soaked air. Harry steps back, holding the umbrella just a little closer to her to shield her from the downpour. Then he whispers softly, "Sleep well, Y/N."

He gives her a soft smile before turning to leave. Y/N watches him walk away, her heart still fluttering from the small but meaningful moments they’ve shared. The rain still falls, but in that quiet moment, everything feels a little different—like they’ve crossed a line, even if just for a moment.

As she walks into her apartment, she can’t help but replay his words and the feeling of his touch, knowing that whatever happens next, something between them has changed.

_____________________________________________

Y/N enters the quarters, the soft click of the door barely audible as she steps inside. The usual hum of chatter and playful teasing is absent, replaced by an air of tension that hangs thick in the room. Her eyes quickly scan the group of agents—none of them in their usual good-natured moods, all absorbed in their own thoughts. Something’s off.

Her gaze lands on Harry, talking quietly with someone behind his glass office door. He looks serious, his posture rigid, eyes narrowed as if he’s deep in conversation about something important. Y/N walks to Nora who’s sitting at her desk, the usual casual grin replaced by a solemn expression.

"Hey, what’s going on? Why’s everyone so serious today?"

The agent looks up. "We got a lead on the Rotherl case. Word is, he has a fourth hostage with him. Cole and Eliza managed to track down where he should be right now and we’re just waiting on Harry’s word to go.”

“A fourth hostage?”, she gasps. She wasn’t part of the team during the investigation of the Rothel murders but she had read up all about it. He was one of the most wanted men, who kidnapped his victims before killing them. He had already killed three innocent people, leaving no traces behind him. If they had a lead on him, that was amazing.

She glances toward Harry’s office, where he’s still deep in conversation, his jaw clenched. Before she can ask more, the door opens, and Harry steps out, his sharp gaze scanning the room. “Let’s go, everyone. I’ve called for backup. Matthews, Carter, good job. Now let’s wrap this up.”

“This mother fucker has had enough of a run.”, Eliza mutters, strapping on her bullet proof west and tossing the other to her partner. 

Y/N’s been with the team for weeks now, and in that time, Harry’s allowed her to tag along when things got tense, letting her learn the ropes. She can’t imagine being left behind on something so big, not now.

She grabs her things, ready to move with the team, but Harry catches her before she gets too far, his lean fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"Not this time, Y/N.", he says, his voice firm, with no room for negotiation.

Y/N freezes, her heart sinking at his words. She’s about to protest, but she catches the look in his eyes—a mix of concern and something else she can’t quite place. She takes a breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Come on, Harry. I’ve been with you through worse. You know I can handle it."

“It’s not about how much you can handle, y/n. This is a mad man, and you don’t even have a gun to defend yourself.”

“But I’m trained to fight, and I can use a gun if someone throws it to me-”

“-y/l/n.”, Harry cuts her off with his classic stern face. She hasn’t gotten her gun license yet, she’ll get that only after she becomes an agent after her exams, but she’s already done with all her training. He’s trying to protect her, she realizes. Still, she won’t back down so easily.

"You can’t keep me in the dark. I want to be there with you guys.”, she says firmly.

Harry stares at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if weighing the risk. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

He reluctantly agrees. "Fine. You can come. But you stay in the car. Understood?"

Y/N’s heart skips, but she hides her smile, knowing she’s won this small battle. She nods, her voice determined.

 "Understood.”

Harry studies her for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge if she’s really going to stick to her word. When he finally nods, there’s something like relief in his eyes, mixed with the ever-present worry that seems to linger with him.

"Good. But if you step one foot out of that car, I swear I’ll drag your ass back inside myself.”

Y/N chuckles lightly, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of something unspoken. “Got it, sir.”

As Harry turns to lead the team out, Y/N follows behind, a mixture of excitement and nerves swirling inside her. This was more than just another case. It was a dangerous one, and she was in it, even if only on the sidelines. 

“Here, y/n, put this on.”, Ethan comes to her with a bullet proof vest just like everyone else’s. She didn’t think she’d need one sitting in the car, but she put it on, not wanting to start another argument with an agent.

They pile into the cars, the tension in the air thick as they head toward the high-risk location. Y/N’s fingers tap nervously on her lap as she watches Harry in the rearview mirror, his eyes already set on the mission ahead, and she can’t help but feel, even in the midst of everything, that tonight could change something between them.

The car rolled to a stop a few blocks from the dilapidated building. The air outside felt damp from the rain that had just stopped falling, but the tension was thick, and the city streets seemed unusually silent, despite the flashing lights of squad cars surrounding the area.

Y/N leaned forward in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to the building in front of them. The usual lighthearted banter between the team was gone.She could see Harry’s figure through the windshield as he stepped out of the car, his dark coat flaring behind him like a shadow as he walked toward the rest of the team.

She saw the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his body was braced for the weight of what they were about to face. His focus was sharper tonight, sharper than usual. He was already in the thick of it, mentally preparing for what could be a deadly confrontation.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the seat, but she stayed silent. Harry moved with precision, the rest of the team falling in behind him as they gathered around him. The air between them was charged, the kind of energy that only came when everything was on the line.

She heard Harry’s calm voice through his earpiece, “Position yourselves around the building. No one moves unless I give the word.”

Y/N nodded along with the rest of the team, even though Harry couldn’t see it. Her heart hammered in her chest as her gaze shifted from Harry to the building—dark and looming against the city skyline. She could barely make out the figure standing in the doorway.

It was Rothel. The man who had committed violent crimes. And now, he was holding someone else hostage.

Y/N exhaled slowly, gripping the seat tighter. The girl in the doorway, only a teenager by the looks of it, was standing frozen in place, her face pale with fear. Rothel had a gun to her forehead, and she heard him yell out something, but couldn’t make out what it was. Harry raised a hand to the rest of the team, signalling them to hold off.

She could hear Harry. “Rothel, listen to me. Let her go. We don’t need any more bloodshed. Just put the gun down.”

She couldn’t see Harry’s face from the car, but Y/N knew how carefully he must have been approaching the situation. His voice never cracked, but there was an undercurrent of urgency there—just enough to show he was trying to negotiate without pushing Rothel over the edge.

The earpiece crackled with static, and then Rothel’s voice, sharp and filled with fury, came through.

Rothel growled. “I don’t want to hear your deals. If you don’t back the fuck off, I’ll shoot her right here.”

Y/N’s hands went ice-cold. The air in the car felt thick, suffocating. She swallowed hard, wishing there was something she could do, some way she could help, but all she could do was watch—wait—and pray that Harry could talk him down.

Harry’s voice came again, steady and unwavering.

“You don’t want to do this, Rothel. Let her go. We can work something out. Just... put the gun down. It’s not too late.”

Y/N’s eyes were fixed on the building as the tension in the air grew heavier. There was a shift, a subtle movement at one of the upper windows. She squinted, her heart dropping as she realized the figure there wasn’t just an observer—he was armed, and his sights were set on Harry.

Her breath caught in her throat. Panic surged through her as she saw the man preparing to act. Without thinking twice, Y/N grabbed her earpiece, trying to warn the others, but there was no time for that. The danger was too immediate.

She threw open the car door, barely pausing before sprinting toward the building. Every step was fueled by a sense of urgency, her mind racing. She couldn’t let him hurt Harry.

Y/N reached the back of the building and found a staircase leading up. She didn’t hesitate as she ascended quickly, her heart thumping in her chest. At the top, she paused, ears straining for any sound—anything that would give away the shooter’s position.

There, at the far end of the hallway, the man stood, oblivious to Y/N’s approach. She didn’t think, she just moved. Silent and quick, she rushed toward him, tackling him off balance. They hit the ground, but the struggle wasn’t over.

“Move out of my way unless you want me to kill you, bitch.”, he growled.

“Oh you can try.”, she growled back.

The man pushed back, trying to regain his footing, but Y/N used every ounce of her strength to keep him down. He fought back, his hands grabbing at her, but she was faster—more determined.

In the chaos, she was struck hard, sending her crashing into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the growing pain. She couldn’t let him get to Harry. He needed to save that girl.

She heard gun shots from below and something that sounded like a cry of relief from the hostage, then she heard Harry’s voice through her fallen earpiece. “He’s down, great job team.” She made the mistake of letting her guard down for one second, in relief, and that’s when the man managed to rise to his feet and point the gun at her.

She heard Harry’s voice again, through her earpiece, now panicked. “Y/N, where are you? Answer me.”

Her vision swam from the dizziness, but she forced herself to focus. The man looked down and groaned in frustration. y/n laughed. “Guess your little plan didn’t work out, huh?”

“It was a good plan, now it’s all ruined because of you. Did you think I was joking when I said I’d kill you?”

“Y/N?”, she heard footsteps and Harry’s voice. 

“Harry!”, she called back, panic starting to rise in her chest. The gun was pointed at her, so she couldn’t risk moving. 

Harry points his own gun at the man. “Put it down right now, you sick bastard.”

y/n closed her eyes as she heard two shots fire at the same time. Then she heard a big thud. Suddenly, there was pain shooting through her body. The pain was overwhelming, but there was something else—disbelief, confusion, and the shock of what had just happened.

She had been shot.

She was brought back from her dazed state by Harry’s panicked, almost broken, voice, “Y/N, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay..don’t worry, o-okay?”

She could hear the crack in his voice, the fear that only came when someone was truly scared of losing someone they cared about. Her heart fluttered weakly in her chest at the realization. Her thoughts weren’t on the blood soaking her arm or the pain threatening to consume her. They were on Harry. He was here. He was with her. And as she fought to keep her eyes open, the last thing she heard was him calling her name, desperately holding onto her in the chaos of it all.

____________________________________________

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[charliemwrites]

Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

[rotagnus]

your first child --<3

note: can you guys tell i like horses? LMAOO

this pac will be focusing on your firstborn. if you don't want kids/aren't planning to have any, don't feel like you have to read it! this reading isn't for everyone.

it'll focus on the temperament of your child, their behavior, maybe some qualities of you and the other parent.

thank you for the love on my father/husband reading! more readings will be coming <3

pile 1.

wow. your firstborn is going to be a fierce character. probably a fire sign, but i feel like they may have some earth placements as well. this child may heal some of you who felt overshadowed in the family--they'll adore you as their parent, and they'll be an absolute sweetheart. they might not be the child to take no for an answer, and they can be hardheaded, but that was part of what you wanted to teach them--to be firm and resolute with what they say. they'll be quickwitted, albeit probably not book-smart. they might grow up in a place with lots of birds; i think birds are significant for this pile, not sure why. they'll have darker features, or have a generally darker temperament. might have your nose. they'll have this bright light in them that'll transform into a talent in the right environment. as a parent, you'll encourage them to develop their craft, which can range from a sport like basketball to a hobby like poetry. i think that this child has potential to better the world, and they're a gift to you. i'd advise you to give this child time to bloom, whatever that means to you.

signs: birds, planes, things to do with the sky. warm colors. automobiles/mechanical items. 333. fire/earth signs. sources of water--particularly lakes/rivers. vases.

pile 2.

ohhh baby this child is going to be a little angel. on the quieter side, though, somewhat melancholic. they may be extremely introverted and prefer to stay to themselves, even though some of you guys have a wide social circle. they'll contrast you in all the good ways. they'll probably be very smart, but you have to make sure that you tell them that. they can be insecure and doubtful of themselves. they might not be the kind of a child you expected, and this might weigh heavy on them. they may struggle socially, but pile 2, this isn't all bad. deep inside, they want to be seen--and eventually, they will be. they'll feel like they're with the right group of people, aligned--maybe they'll develop a deep connection to a person or a hobby, but they're destined for greatness. they may not have an easy life, but the rewards will outweigh the bad. they may be an old soul. everything will be alright, though--do not fear.

signs: goats. angelic imagery. music. air signs. diaries/journals. bite marks. long hair. 2000s music. cozy, small spaces.

pile 3.

peacemaker who?!?! this child is gonna have a good heart, pile 3. a great one. they'll have this intricate ability to read situations and people in the blink of an eye. extremely socially smart and adept--an inherited quality rather than a taught one. they'll be accepting of people and unlikely to uselessly argue, but they won't tolerate any bs! they may have more masculine energy--doesn't mean it's a boy, but i'm getting more typically masculine cards and signs. they'll have a pretty nice life, mainly because they worked their ass off for it. you'll instill good values in them--they may not be the most patient person, and they could get on your nerves sometimes. maybe they're a yapper or they cried a lot as a baby, something to do with the voice. other than that, they'll be a typically balanced person, valuing harmony and peace over things that are wastes of time. they may not be fond of family activities, preferring to keep to themselves though...just something to be wary of. other than that, it's all going to be good. this child will bring out a very vulnerable part of you.

signs: flowers. guitar. blue hour. nostalgia. abundance, particularly financially. grandparents. 555. air signs/water signs. beauty in simplicity.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia( pt.1 Here!)(pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. Also, I went overboard. So much that I exceeded the character limit and need to post Diasomnia in 2 parts. I have favorites I guess :/

Malleus experienced more firsts over the course of three years than the duration of his life. His first board game session, his first group trip with peers, his first taste of carnival food, his first sleepover, his first true friend - so, so many firsts. All a byproduct of one person walking into his life and taking a genuine interest in him.

You were the first houseguest he personally invited over to Diasomnia. Not for a tour, not for business, not on behalf of another - no. You were Malleus' houseguest, there to visit Malleus and spend time with Malleus. The snacks prepared were for you both to share. The lounge seating reserved for your company. His first time hosting for fun.

You were the first person he ever got a present for outside of his family. How quick your birthday had come, and how startled he became to find he cared. You were older. Growing so quick and changing at an alarming pace. He could see it in your features and mannerisms. Malleus knew that humans aged at a much faster rate than fae. Silver sprouted like a beanstalk. Yet you were blossoming like a flower in spring. How long until you'd wither?

Malleus cared. Not out of curiosity, but something deeper. Malleus did not want a servant to pick your gift, not even his closest companions. He desired to adhere to human custom and do the task himself. He did not trust another to pick something meaningful and to your preference.

You were the first to make him laugh. Your humor being like none he had heard before. Others tend to correct themselves in Malleus' presence, or try to cater to 'his' taste. Even those closest to him, often sharing a joke that flies over his head without any explanation. You did no such thing. Your humor was curious, and perhaps a bit crude. The jokes did fail to land with him, but he still found them funny regardless.

You were the first to make him yearn. Malleus had felt loneliness before. He's been bound in it's searing clutches and taunted. Yet his rooted longing never compelled him to change. He never felt jealous. Until your smile became another's and he felt a hot pit in his stomach. One different than his fiery magic.

You were his first desire.

Malleus fumbled and panicked. He had finally found a friend, yet he wanted more. The realization striking him deep. The first want he had no guarantee of obtaining. Yet his need for you was strong. He could not lose you. Malleus begun to value your presence. Your joy. The new life you breathed into him. He held it as dear as his family. You became his fondest treasure.

Malleus needed to ensure that you would never be taken from him. That you would never change.

You were also his first failure. On the dawn of your second year and his graduation, Malleus proposed. He had forgone all customs and jumped straight to marriage. Love to the fae was a lifetime bond. No power could chain you to him stronger than matrimony. Which is why he demanded your presence in the gardens after the ending ceremony. He decorated according to your tastes, with colorful lanterns and firefly lights strewn across the plants.

He saw the hope in your eyes. The way they sparkled with affection and pride bloomed knowing that he was the cause.

“Malleus….It’s so beautiful. Did you prepare this just for me?” You ask, clutching your hands to your chest. He smiles, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a black velvet box in the shape of a rose.

“I’m happy to see you like it; however, I hope this offering pleases you more”

Malleus opens the box to reveal a ring. Your eyes widen owlishly and he interprets it as a good sign. Until you step back.

“Oh Malleus….I can’t accept this. We aren’t even dating!” You deny his unspoken proposal with a shaken tone Malleus’ is unfamiliar with. Not from you.

“Why not? I love you. Is that not enough? Do you not love me?”

He fails to understand why you declined. He spent countless hours studying human customs and expression. No. Studying you. He was confident you returned his affections. So why? Why not leave this place and join him?

You explain to him that you’re incapable of marrying someone you haven’t spent time with romantically. That you do care about him. That you liked him and did feel for him. That you could love him, but not so suddenly. You have friends at NRC and didn’t want to leave. Not to mention how him marrying a human, especially with no warning, would cause so many political problems.

Of course he had already taken all this into consideration. He didn’t care about all that, yet bit his tongue from speaking his mind. Another first for Malleus.

“What if I abide by your terms? Would you allow me to court you properly?” He cuts into your sea of reasons not to be together. They weren’t his concern. Only you.

This gets you. He clearly wasn’t listening. Love blinded the average person, and Malleus’ heart bled. You consider his offer, and agree to his courtship. It would be difficult to maintain considering your distance and his status. Yet they were fickle matters to Malleus.

You were his first failure, yet he didn’t mind. There was no true victory without a bit of labor.

The change that he so feared, it became something Malleus adored. Every time he would whisk you away from NRC, or return for a visit - you were different. You had a new story to share, or had changed your appearance. At first he began to panic once again at how quickly you seemed to evolve without him.

And one day he realized that you would keep changing. He’d see a new you forever. All these new versions. A constant spark and longing that made him realize how precious each one was. They would come whether he bid them to or not - so he had to cherish them. Every version of you was one he loved and lost. Yet the fact that another would emerge kept his heart complacent.

You were his first kiss on a dewy fall morning. You were his first heartfelt dance, dressed in shimmery black satin and pearls that he gifted. You were his first goodnight kiss, and first morning embrace. You were his first comfort after tragedy struck and his first sympathetic heartache. You were everything.

It was no longer about chaining you. He loved his firsts. He would forever remember them.

His first goodbye.

On the cusp of your 3rd year coming to a close, Malleus prepared the ring from two years prior. He would gift it to you after your graduation. It would be yours whether you accepted the meaning behind it or not - the ring could go to no one else.

An announcement arrives to him the week prior via pen and paper. Hand written by you and oh how he so loved your letters. Malleus opened it with calm delight, yet as his eyes traveled across the words he forgot how to control his strength. The paper alit in flames.

‘The Headmaster found a way to send me home. Would you come for a visit?’

The letter was not so blunt, but that’s all he could comprehend. Malleus was not ready to say goodbye. He once thought his greatest fear was to watch his flower wilt, yet now it must be cut to make a bouquet.

As much as it tore him apart, Malleus had to let you go. He couldn’t root you to soil forever. His hands unconsciously drift to the velvet rose box tucked safely in his breast pocket.

It’s only natural you’d be the source of some of Malleus’ lasts. He would never love another.

He joins you days before your ceremony. You explain to him the procedure to return, and he bites his tongue once again. He encourages you, and is happy that you’re happy. The ring burns a hole where his heart lies yet he continues on with grace, ignoring the cautious behavior of your peers whenever he’s around. The only opinion he cared for was yours, and he’d stay as long as you needed.

Malleus missed the way your heart sought his. The way you gave him chance after chance to ask you to stay. How you clung to him despite the roles normally being reversed.

“I guess this is goodbye. I’ll miss you,” you whisper, holding Malleus’ hand and glancing at the glowing portal behind him. Malleus smiles, his eyes softening as he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“I will never forget your heart,” he murmurs against your skin, and reaches into his breast pocket with fluid movements. Malleus places the velvet rose box in your hands, cradling them gently with both of his.

“This is yours. I had it made for your finger alone, and only you will be the one to wear it. My heart belongs to you. Let this be my final selfish wish, but I hope you will think of me when you look upon it”

Malleus doesn’t understand why you break down. The way you clutch the box to your chest and look at him with such pain. He thought you wanted to go home. Is it not what you waited so long for?

He cannot be strong when you’re crying. How can you be so cruel. He won’t be able to -

“I want to be with you. I love you,” you whisper yet he hears it perfectly clear.

Malleus’ heart stutters and he clutches your shoulders. With one hand he tilts your chin up to look at him. Your eyes splotched with red irritation and glassy with sorrow. He wipes at their edges with his thumbs, cupping your cheeks ans looking at you for any sign of doubt. Any insincerity or fear. Your expression from years prior still lives rent free in his mind…he would not risk your happiness for his selfishness.

He finds nothing and pulls you in his arms. For the first time, Malleus sheds tears born from love. From relief. He wraps his arms protectively around you, and tucks his chin over your head.

“If you love something, let it be free. If it was meant to be yours then it will come back willingly. This is a saying of humans, is it not? I could not have you at the cost of your happiness. You do not deserve such a tainted love…but if this is truly what you desire, then I will not cease my efforts. You are mine, and I will eternally be yours,”

{Malleus’ ring is hand crafted by the royal blacksmith. Some would assume that there is a ring passed down through generations of the Draconia bloodline. There is not. The fae do not follow such traditions, yet Malleus would not instill all his values onto you. If it is a ring you need, then it is a ring he will get. He decides to reforge a gem plucked from his mother’s staff. The ring is made especially for you, with a teardrop-cut of magic-infused emerald as the focus point. It’s enchanted to reject any hand other than your own, and morphs to the size of your finger. It is subtle, made of pure gold, and a symbol of union between fae and mankind.}

"One should never make a vow of eternal love lightly. Take it from someone with ample life experience"

Lilia often imposes advice without any prompting. The musings of an old man normally went in and out of people's ears anyways. Sometimes it takes experience to learn, and no matter how we try to warn our children - fate is fate. They will go through the motions just as the people before them. Especially when it comes to trials of the heart such as love and loss.

Lilia knows both intimately. They've forged the man he is.

Philia: Love of friendship and equals. His peers, his comrades in arms, his fellow fae. The friends he has lost through death and distance. Those he fought to protect.

Storge: Parental love. To raise the son of his closest friends, and the blood of his sworn enemy. Lilia has fought through loss to feel the gratification of fatherhood. Lilia loves his children.

Agape: Love of man. This one took work. It took losing all he had, and then losing more. Hundreds of years of healing and trying to be better. Even in his final stretch Lilia is still learning this love.

Eros: Passionate, unconditional love. Lilia has felt this once, and only once. The wound still fresh with a dribble of salt steadily halting the healing process. To feel eros is a beautiful thing, but to have it ripped away is enough to kill.

Lilia experienced his fair share, and now enjoys watching those in the prime of life seek out love. He doesn't engage in romantic gossip, but enjoys watching others live their lives. One of his biggest curiosities being you, oddly enough.

This is because you've shown no interest in feeling love of any kind. Being the nosy man he is, Lilia finds your dismissal of others a bit concerning. He's not the most open person himself, yet you're a young human. This is when you should be wild! Surely you must feel something, considering all the 'escapades' you've been on with other students. The best way to bond is over shared trauma - he's not endorsing it. Just stating a fact.

"It's nothing personal. I'd rather not get too attached considering my living circumstances, if you catch my drift" you say in response to his prying.

He indeed 'catches the drift' and sees a bit of himself reflected in you. You were not unkind, yet also not overzealous. You did not push others away, yet also made an effort to protect yourself. For all the kind deeds you've done, Lilia knew better than to think it a case of bleeding heart syndrome. You remind him of how he was when deciding to raise Silver - afraid and very good at hiding it for the sake of others.

He decides to step in against his better judgement. If anything to repay the kindness you've done Malleus and his two youngsters. He couldn't watch you waste the precious life you’ve been given huddled away in isolation. Lilia would become your confident, as he is the most equipped to endure inevitably bidding farewell. If anything he will encourage you to forge stronger bonds of your own accord without fear.

He does an outstanding job at being the extrovert adopting an introvert. His favorite hobby being to startle you - popping out from random places like trees, bushes, the ceiling, your closet, etc. So much that you grow accustomed to his antics and expect them. Going so far as to always carry hard candies in your coat pocket as a peace offering.

He invites you to play online video games, go shopping, and sometimes pops by your dorm with Malleus. However his visits soon become solo, sensing that his adopted son didn't enjoy his 'nightly stroll' with his best friend being invaded. Lilia didn't mind - it meant that he'd get your company all to himself! There was nothing like watching a few horror flicks and tormenting Grimm after them. You even had a guest room in case he felt too ‘lazy’ to fly home.

On your birthday, he bakes a cake and leaves it on your kitchen windowsill. You found it, and even thanked him 'happily' later that day. He never said he was the chef though....you must have quite a keen sense of taste! That or he must be so talented that you know his cooking by heart!

Lilia felt a sense of relief, seeing your mannerisms shift from neutral to happy as time passed. It was hard work ebbing away at those walls of yours. It's not good for humans to be stressed. It lessens their already short lifespan.

He really should step aside. Let you befriend more humans and people that will support your journey. Except he doesn't want to. Philia's taken root in his heart - you're now a friend. An actual one.

So...he doesn't let go.

You join the college's boardgame club, and Lilia feels honored that he's the first you ask to play with. Each time you sought his company made him feel young again. Thrills did tend to follow your wake after all.

You often spent many evenings teaching Malleus, Silver, and even Sebek about your world. Not something Lilia planned for, but seeing you open up about it put his mind at ease. The different cultures, history, trends - Lilia listens in happily as well. Going so far as to learn some of your favorite recipes. He wants to cook them right away, but agrees to wait for your company. You grew nervous when he brought the topic up, possibly because you didn't want to be left out? Surely, that must be why.

Soon comes another January 1st - Signifying a new year and also Lilia’s birthday. The night prior he was out on the prowl, flying free throughout campus, watching people party and celebrate. Normally he’d spend this evening having fun of his own, but being caged at a school left him little chances to be free. Jumping across rooftops and sneaking around doing parkour was a trip down memory lane. The fireworks and lively people made for an excellent atmosphere.

By chance he happened on your rooftop, and decided to pop in for a quick respite. Slipping in through an open window was child’s play, as was avoiding your paranormal houseguests and popping in and out of rooms.

His keen hearing picks up your voice coming from the main bedroom - and normally he wouldn’t invade a personal space but the door was open. So obviously it was an invitation. He sticks to the ceiling and crawls to a shrouded corner with a mischievous grin.

How unsuspecting you were - dressed up in fancy clothes and muttering to yourself while in front of a floor length mirror. Lilia thinks you’re going to a party and is prepping to tag along -

“Alright. I can do this,” you mutter and turn around to pace the floor. A neatly wrapped present is clutched tight in your hands - wrapped in ivory paper with a sparkly pink ribbon. Lilia freezes just when he’s about to jump down, and clings back to the wall. “Just give it to him. Give it and tell him how you feel,” you turn towards the mirror, holding the box out, “Hello there Lilia. Yes, this is a birthday present. Yes, you’re a year older, how exciting! By the way I really like you so would you want to go on a date?” You fall silent, cringing in disgust at your reflection before sitting on the bed, “Ah. That was such dogshit”

Lilia exits as swift as he entered. The night air whips against his skin as he transforms into a bat and is already on the way back home. The implications of what he just witnessed weighing heavily on his mind.

This would not be the first time someone has caught feelings for him. You don't go 700 years without any suitors - he'd always turn them down with careful consideration.

Except he doesn't want to this time. That's the major issue.

The flight home was long, with purposeful detours until he felt tired enough to retire. A familiar bitter ache stung his heart. He'd only felt this disappointment once prior, and swore off letting it bud again.

Eros.

Lilia was in love too. He recognized the passion growing long before this moment, and against his better judgement let it fester.

"Seems I'm not as equipped to handle this as I once believed" he says to no-one and moves to play some online games instead of sleeping.

Lilia once felt a love he couldn’t express through anything other than fealty and devotion. It was a darker time where there was no promise of future. He swore not to endure that pain again - yet this is similar yet also different. The love is blooming effortlessly. His devotion is growing. The desire is there and so is the fear. All the same feelings yet without the dire weight of external forces adding pressure. This time it’s his choice to follow through. There’s no bigger force at play stopping him. Not even your mortality, considering how his lifespan is almost at its close.

Yet for all his years of wisdom, the thought of putting his heart out was still as frightening as the first.

In truth, Lilia had ulterior reasons for pursuing your companionship other than worry or repaying a debt. Your behaviors did remind him of his past self. That was no lie. He simply felt affection blooming upon your first meeting and thought having your friendship would morph it into something more tame. He had a habit of drawing in lost souls - what was one more?

Now the affection is stronger, and you return it.

Heavens, was he being given another chance? After all these years.

You return it. It's requited. He needn't hide it for the sake of someone else's happiness. Lilia could be selfish, if only he let himself.

The next day, Lilia finds an ivory box with a sparkly pink ribbon outside his door. A neatly written letter is attached, with the words 'Happy Birthday' written on the front. His name is written on the tag in black ink, with your name signed as the sender.

Lilia picks it up and undoes the wrapping with nimble movements. Inside is an assortment of treats that he wanted to try from your home, and a neatly folded letter atop them. It details exactly what was expected, a perfect explanation of your feelings that's entirely different than the nervous display he intruded upon.

He looks around the hallway, checking to see if you’re nearby before disappearing without a trace. Nothing but an open door showing that he left.

Everything after is a blur. While doing the dishes back at your dorm and trying not to think of the present - Lilia appears out of nowhere, startling you for what was probably the first time in months. His typical cheeky grin and snicker were nowhere in sight.

He says one thing, “Are you certain?”. The words held a heavy meaning for the both of you.

Asking if he’s willing to go for one last chance. To take one final risk or simply be satisfied with all he’s accomplished thus far. It asks if you’re willing to do the same - to risk everything you’ve built in one fell swoop.

You nod, and Lilia smiles. Not an impish smirk or a snarky grin. A true, soft smile that is full of released tension. He happily hugs you from behind as you finish working in silence, gradually slipping back to his playful ways yet not entirely. He would remain the out of touch peepaw that you so loved to tease him as, but a bit of his youthful spirit was being revived. His inner self being healed, perhaps.

He loves you, and the world hasn’t split in two. It was his time.

Finally.

From then on he had no reservations in loving you. This was a new form of eros. A new passion filled with joy and living for the moment - versus the weight of time holding him back like it did when he was younger. Nothing changed in your dynamic other than he now had the strength to let himself love freely.

Which is exactly why he wastes no more time. Just as he told you off hand long ago, one should not make a vow of eternal love lightly. He’d take his own advice and seek his own happiness for the first time in hundreds of years.

On a random night with no inkling of warning, Lilia drags you out of bed to the Ramshackle rooftop in nothing but your nightclothes. It wasn’t the first time he’d ask for a midnight escapade - just for the thrill and surprise, most of the time. He loved to keep things exciting.

Except he was being far too gentle. Far too nostalgic. He sits you down on the edge of the roof and puts his cardigan over your shoulders. Not a word passes between you as he tucks it snug around your shoulders - his hand tracing the line of your cheekbones, down your arms and to your hands. He cradles them gently, never taking his eyes from yours.

Then something foreign glimmers against your finger. In an effortless motion, he slipped the ring on without pause. You can’t help but stare at the gem in thought, looking between it and Lilia’s thoughtful expression over and over.

Lilia nods, taking your hand in his and running his thumb over the ring - admiring it against your skin.

“I’ve lived many years. Lead many lives. I thought I had accepted my nearing end, yet I find myself wanting more. I want to grey with grace at your side. To enjoy mundane evenings - greet you come morning and kiss you to seal a day’s end. I want my last life to be at your side, if only you will have me”

{A blood red garnet placed inside a blossom frame. Lilia’s ring is made of silver, and gives the illusion of a red rose in a bed of vines. Red is the color of passion, devotion, and unconditional love. Red roses hold this very meaning in the language of flowers. Lilia has felt this before - but you are his fated. You have chosen him simply for the person he is - not who he needs to be. He can finally be free and at peace. Your love is something he can selfishly hoard and it gives him the desire to enjoy life. He feels full. Happy. He hopes that this ring shows that he wants to live for the moment by your side, eternally}

[ghostlyferrettarot]

💎Pick a Picture: ‧₊˚💎✩ ₊˚How do you let your beauty shine?‧₊˚💎✩ ₊˚

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

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✨️Masterlist✨️

💎Pile 1:

Hi pile 1, the cards are talking to you about something really beautiful, something you probably don't always recognize clearly, but that is within you all the time. I feel like you don't just have external beauty, but a radiant, natural, authentic beauty that comes directly from within. The most special thing is that your beauty is expansive. Just like nature at its best, like a garden blooming with all its flowers, its light grows and touches everything around it. Your beauty is not something superficial, it is deep, because it is born from a place of compassion and understanding towards yourself and others.

Do you know what your cards and general aura tell me? That your light shines brighter when you give yourself permission to be yourself, when you stop looking for external validation and focus on what makes you feel good inside. Your beauty shines when you nourish yourself. When you take time to take care of yourself, to pamper yourself, to feed yourself with what makes you feel good, whether physical or emotional. When you surround yourself with what makes you feel at peace and happy, showing the brightest version of yourself. When you let go of external expectations and simply allow yourself to be, then your true radiance appears.

Your energy is that which will inspire others to love themselves more, to accept themselves as they are. When you are authentic, you open yourself up to a beauty that cannot be measured, because it is the beauty that comes from the heart, when that energy is projected outward, making everything beautiful around you.

💎Pile 2:

If you chose this pile, I want you to know that your beauty doesn't need to be forced. Your beauty isn't something you have to work to show, it's simply the reflection of your inner light.

What stands out most about this reading is your ability to show yourself without fear.

The beauty of your aura comes from the ease with which you present yourself to the world. You do not need external validation or approval, because your confidence and warm energy are so great that you are not afraid to show yourself as you are. Your energy is a warm refuge that offers comfort without asking for anything in return. I feel like you embody the beauty of The Sun (is one of the cards that popped out really quick as I was shuffling). You don't hide, you don't limit yourself. You give yourself to life, you give yourself to people, to experiences. You live with overflowing joy and an optimistic attitude that lights up everyone who crosses your path. That ability to enjoy the moment, to laugh with your whole being, is what really makes you shine. It's not just how you look, but how you make others feel, and that's what makes you someone absolutely beautiful.

Your beauty is not only in the clothes you wear, or in your makeup (if you wear it). It is in the way you share your energy with the world, how you make everyone feel better about being around you. That is your power, that is your radiance, in your true light, you are the SUN.

💎Pile 3:

Hi pile 3! The first thing that comes to me with this reading is that you are really alluring, but your beauty is not just external. Your beauty is calm (you may be more in the introverted side), but powerful, because you know who you are and you are not afraid to show your truth, even when that means being vulnerable. People see you, and what they see is not just what it is on the surface, but that quiet strength you radiate when you don't give up. Your beauty is in the way you face difficult times, in the way you get up again and again without losing yourself. There is a greatness of soul in you that is what really makes you shine, and it is something that is felt in the air when you are around others; you are a beautiful soul pile 3 :").

I feel like you have learned that vulnerability is not weakness, but a source of strength that allows you to be open, authentic, and sincere with others. And that vulnerability, far from making you weaker, makes you someone strong, capable of connecting with others in a genuine way. You have the power to show your scars and still remain beautiful, because you have learned to love them, to see them as signs of your power.

When you let your beauty shine, you do so from a place of deep acceptance of yourself, even in your most fragile moments. You know that you don't have to be perfect to be incredibly beautiful. In fact, perfection doesn't exist, but what does exist is that magnetic energy that you radiate when you accept yourself as you are. By accepting yourself, you open a space for your beauty to shine. Your beauty also comes from that quality you have to remain calm in times of chaos. It's as if your energy has a special ability to reassure others, to make those who are close to you feel safe, protected and understood.

💐Thanks for reading! Tell me if it resonated and i hope you have a great day!💐

[olessan]

I've been dropping in on the Sydney Botanic Gardens' titan arum (corpse flower) live stream and it gets less hinged by the hour, especially now that Putricia (the flower is named Putricia) has begun to bloom

At time of posting (5:30pm), she smells like wet socks and dead mice:

Other highlights:

People in the greenhouse are taking selfies with the plant but also the livestream camera

There is a discord server, apparently mostly comprised of the people who've been in the chat for 3 days straight

Aformentioned people formed a community of like 50-200 chatters until Putricia started blooming and the viewers and chat exploded to like 9k people ⠀

There are what appear to be Prayers to Putricia™, consisting of: WWTF (we watch the flower), BBTF (blessed be the bloom), WDNRP (we do not rush Putricia), WDNEP (we do not eat Putricia), and now WSTF (we smell the flower)

Faithfuls frequently post these to spread the word of Putricia

They have dubbed themselves the Children of the Corm:

Yesterday someone asked if Putricia's petals had started to open/bloom yet, and without fail 50% of chat immediately made innuendo jokes about their """""petals""""" opening, but that it depended on their personal humidity, who was touching the petals, and if the time was right for petal opening ⠀

Every 3rd time someone stands dead centre in front of the camera's FOV sufficient to block the view, chat starts 1: speculating on how tall they are (one guy was erroneously thought to be 7ft tall), and 2: immediately switch priorities to telling them to duck ⠀

a lot of people are waving at the camera and goofing off in the 3 minutes they have in the greenhouse with Putricia

A guy and his kid signed in AUSLAN at the camera ⠀

loads of fart jokes now that Putricia is starting to dutch oven everyone

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 20]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.3K

"Sorry, sir. This is a private event for listed vendors only." The guard came up to you and Jihoon.

"Oh, he's with me." You explained to the guard.

"Apologies, miss. But we only have you listed under the florist teams. As this event has tight security and many high profiled guests attending, I cannot allow someone to be here without being checked." The guard said.

"Of course. We understand." Jihoon cut in. He glanced behind the guard and saw Hongjoong standing there, watching the entire exchange with a smirk on his face.

"Actually, are you done? I can head back with you." Jihoon turned to you.

"Oh... I'm not really done yet. Plus, the event is organised by someone I know. You've met him, Hongjoong..." You informed.

"I see. It's fine, I'll see you tomorrow or something. Let us know when you're heading back." Jihoon patted your head. You nodded with an apologetic smile and waved as he headed off.

"Hongjoong, if she finds out, she's not going to be happy." Seonghwa said as Hongjoong watched Jihoon leave with a proud smile.

"Then she won't find out, Hwa." Hongjoong shot his best friend a pointed look and walked away.

"If only I could take (y/n) to the gala with me. Have her on my arm." Mingi said absentmindedly, not realising Hongjoong was standing behind him.

"Mingi." San coughed. Mingi blinked in confusion and turned around to see Hongjoong standing there with a threateningly stoic expression on his face. He reached up to slap the back of Mingi's head and walked over to Yunho, who was discussing things with the venue's manager.

"You're dead." San whistled.

"Not surprising but enlighten me. Why is Mingi hyung dead?" Jongho asked with a snicker, having heard what San said to the taller. Mingi rolled his eyes with a low groan.

"He said he wants to take (y/n) as his date to the gala. Right in front of Hongjoong hyung." San chuckled.

"Goodbye, Mingi hyung." Jongho waved.

"It's not my fault he stood behind me. Besides, he's so protective and possessive of her but he would never admit it or act on his feelings." Mingi scoffed.

"Those that are done can go to the prep rooms." Seonghwa said, calling the younger boys.

"You guys, go first." Hongjoong told everyone. They watched as he jogged to where you were, starting a conversation with you.

"He should just ask her to come with him tonight." Yeosang tilted his head.

"He did. He got rejected. This isn't (y/n)'s scene and Hongjoong hyung doesn't want to make her even more uncomfortable. You should have seen their reactions when they found out that (y/n) was the florist for the gala." Yunho informed.

"Oh, yikes. Okay, let's leave them then." Wooyoung winced as they headed to the rooms where they were going to get dressed and prepare themselves for the gala.

"You did this... Didn't you?" Mingi asked his best friend as they walked side by side.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Yunho replied with a glint in his eyes.

"As your best friend, I have to tell you that you're one scary man, Jeong Yunho." Mingi shivered. Yunho burst out laughing, slinging his arm around Mingi's shoulders.

"I am great! I should open a matchmaking service." Yunho joked.

"That's if Hongjoong hyung and (y/n) doesn't kill you first." Mingi raised his eyebrows.

"Hongjoong hyung, I'm not scared of. (y/n) on the other hand... I don't know her well enough to know if she actually has the ability to kill me. But I'm sure they'll thank me soon." Yunho's eyes widened.

"Sure..." Mingi chuckled as they entered the presidential suite, where they will all be getting ready. San and Jongho were already laying in one of the big beds, lounging lazily while Seonghwa and Yeosang were discussing something in front of their iPads. Wooyoung looked like he was scolding someone on the phone.

"The outfits are here." Yunho announced, pulling the clothing rack in that was delivered to them.

"Check through to make sure it's okay." Seonghwa said to everyone. They took turns, unzipping the fabrics and making sure that all their clothing items were there.

"I'm using this space for my accessories." Wooyoung announced, reserving one of the tables so he could lay his things out.

"I'm gonna nap." Jongho yawned and went back to the bed.

"(y/n)." Hongjoong called.

"Hongjoong, I was about to come look for you. I'm done with the set up if you would like the check." You smiled, packing up the empty boxes and your water spritzer.

"No, I won't check. I trust that you know what you're doing." Hongjoong teased you with a cheeky smile.

"Now that makes me more pressured." You punched his arm. You both strolled around the place, giving Hongjoong a chance to check the floral arrangements. But to be honest, he wasn't even really paying attention to the flowers.

"So, are you thinking of heading back already?" Hongjoong asked.

"I feel like I should stay in case anything goes wrong when the gala starts but if you think I should go home now, I can...?" You looked at him, giggling.

"No! No, no. That's not what I'm saying. You can stay as long as you like." Hongjoong involuntarily raised his voice defensively.

"I'm just kidding, Hongjoong." You smiled.

"We have rooms to rest in until the gala begins, if you'd like to hang out there. It's upstairs." Hongjoong offered. You thought about it, should you be seen hanging out around them?

"Don't worry." Hongjoong said softly, as if he knew your fears. You chewed on your bottom lip but nodded.

"Alright, this way." He gestured and you both headed to the lift.

Hongjoong's right, you shouldn't feel uncomfortable. You're just friends with Hongjoong and you didn't have any ulterior motive in being his friend, you didn't even know he was rich before. He was always known to you as Mrs Kim's son. You were just unfamiliar with all the looks and stares.

"Are you hungry? We usually get food." Hongjoong asked as you both travelled in the lift.

"No thanks, I'm good. But also, don't you guys have like michelin star chefs and all that cooking for the gala tonight? Wouldn't you guys be too full?" You asked.

"We're usually too busy to eat since we're handling other things, networking, greeting people, all that." He explained.

"Also, you've seen the boys eat. They can eat multiple meals in one seating." He added.

"Yes, I have seen that. They do eat a lot." You laughed. Hongjoong led you to the presidential suite and swiped his room card, opening the door for you to enter.

"(y/n)'s here." Hongjoong said to the boys, not announcing your arrival but more of a warning to them.

"Hi again, (y/n)." Yunho waved but his eyes were glued to the screen of the gaming console.

"Hi, Yunho and Yeosang." You chuckled, sitting on the couch behind him and Yeosang, who were challenging each other in some game that looked like street fighter. Yeosang gave you a backwards wave as he focused on trying to beat Yunho.

"(y/n), can I try to change your mind in attending the gala with me tonight?" Wooyoung sat on the couch beside you and slung an arm around your shoulders.

"Are you asking me to be your date?" You raised an eyebrow.

If you saw Hongjoong now, you would have seen him about to burst a blood vessel but he stood behind you, plotting Wooyoung's death.

"Of course, we'll be the next power couple." Wooyoung smirked. You just laughed in reply.

"Thanks for the flattery, Wooyoung. But it's really not my scene. You guys know this rich people world and I don't." You giggled. Despite this, Wooyoung didn't remove his arm from you.

"Don't go touching people without permission." Hongjoong growled and pinched Wooyoung's arm, making him recoil.

"If you're worried about looks, I can get you dress right here, right now. Just say the words." Wooyoung winked.

"Let it rest, Wooyoung ah. Don't make (y/n) feel cornered." Seonghwa said with a chuckle, hiding under the guise that he was caring for you. Actually, he didn't want Hongjoong to have a heart attack or stroke right before the gala just because Wooyoung was deliberately trying to rile him up.

"Here." Hongjoong passed you a glass of sparkling water with a lime wedge, noticing you didn't have anything to drink yet. You received it with a grateful smile.

"Room service is here." Mingi yawned, going to open the door for the staff to enter who pushed in carts of food.

"Wow, that's a lot of food." Your eyes widened.

"Told you. Help yourself, okay?" Hongjoong smiled, taking a plate and handing it to you first before the boys could ravage the food. Since you were not that hungry, you grabbed some fries first.

"Isn't anyone gonna wake San and Jongho?" Yeosang asked as he turned off the game.

"Nope. They snooze, they lose." Yunho stretched his arms, putting a forkful of pasta and a chunk of steak on his plate.

"Let me know what time I should leave for you guys to get ready." You told them.

"Get ready to stay the entire time because we will never tell you to leave, (y/n)." Mingi laughed. You laughed along with him, shaking your head.

You thought they were joking but Mingi was right, the boys all adored you too much to tell you to leave. Usually, they wouldn't care and just speak their minds but with you, even as their friend, they liked having you around with them.

But when the time came, you did excuse yourself, letting the boys change and get ready while you went downstairs.

"Hey, you! I've been trying to talk to you. You didn't mention that you're close friends with the organiser!" The girl from before came up to you with a big grin.

"Honestly, I didn't even know they were the organisers. Both us didn't know." You rubbed the back of your neck.

"You're so lucky, they're all so good looking. And no one dares to approach them because of their status." She giggled.

"We're just friends, I guess I never took into account their status." You shrugged.

"Some of the guests are arriving soon. If you want to observe the event, we can stand over there to remain out of the way." She pointed to the corner.

"Thank you. I just want to make sure the flowers are okay. If there are any that are wilting or drooping, I'll change it." You explained.

"Sure. I have to go help with ushering. See you!" She patted you on the shoulder and ran off.

You tried your best to stay hidden by the corner of the room, watching as guests finally began to stroll in. They were all high society people, you even recognised some celebrities and politicians here. Compared to the simple clothes you were wearing, they were dressed to the nines.

You have never felt so out of place.

"Entering now, let's welcome to organisers of this gala." The announcer said. You turned your head to see the 8 standing there, dressed in their matching purple, velvet outfits.

"Good evening." They walked down the stairs together, the diamonds of their accessories shining under the light of the chandelier.

"Wow." You couldn't help but admire how handsome all of them were. Everyone clapped for them.

They scattered around, with people rushing to greet them and shake their hands. Hongjoong looked so different, confident and charismatic as he greeted people.

"Mr Kim. Nice to see you." An older gentleman approached Hongjoong with a girl by his side, you figured she was his daughter.

"Hongjoong. How are you?" She smiled and pulled Hongjoong into a hug of familiarity.

"I hope you 2 are enjoying the gala so far." Hongjoong smiled back. The girl naturally hugged Hongjoong's arm as he conversed with her and her father.

"She's so pretty." You couldn't help but comment to yourself. She was obviously rich, someone from Hongjoong's world. You tried to ignore the sudden tighteness in your chest, clearing your throat and tearing your eyes away to observe the rest of the gala.

Then you were struck with a reality check. This scene wasn't you, you were not familiar with this. This wasn't your world.

"(y/n), are you alright?" You didn't realise that Jongho had come over to you, noticing the tense look on your face. Blinking to re-focus yourself, you nodded your head.

"Everything looks under control here so I think I'm going to head back." You told him.

"Are you sure? If you're not feeling well, you can rest in the room. We don't mind it." He tried to offer his room card to you.

"No, no. It's fine, Jongho. I'm fine, don't worry, thank you for the offer though. I'll just go home now, see you." You forced a small smile and patted his arm.

"Wait, at least let me arrange for our driver to send you back. It's late and you shouldn't be alone." He protested.

"Thanks but I'd rather walk. Have a nice evening." You said and left before he could insist further.

You and Jongho didn't realise that while talking to business partners, Hongjoong kept his eye on you the entire time. He wasn't even focusing on what the man and his daughter was saying.

"Jongho, is (y/n) okay? Where did she go?" When he was finally able to get away from the very boring conversation, he caught the youngest by the arm. When he saw you leave the ballroom with a slightly grim expression after speaking with Jongho and not returning, he was worried.

"She said she's fine but I'm not sure. I told her that she could go up to the room to rest but she wanted to go home." Jongho explained.

"Did you get the driver to send her back? It's so late." Hongjoong asked, checking his watch to see the time.

"No. I wanted to and insisted but she wanted to go home on her own, she walked away before I could argue further. Hyung, is everything okay?" Jongho blinked.

"Yeah..." Hongjoong replied, absentmindedly.

"I need to-" Hongjoong was cut off by Seonghwa heading over with someone else.

"There he is. Hongjoong, I've been looking for you. This is the new medical director that will be overseeing our new wing at the hospital." Seonghwa smiled as he introduced.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr Kim. Thank you for entrusting me with such a responsibility. I will not let you down." The male bowed.

"Sure." Hongjoong said, not shaking the guy's hand. Seonghwa could tell his best friend's mind was somewhere else.

"Hyung, you go ahead. I'm Choi Jongho, one of the 8 leader seats of the organisation." Jongho cut in front of Hongjoong, shaking the guy's hand on behalf of Hongjoong. Hongjoong patted Jongho on the shoulder and walked away.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Choi." The male bowed with a smile. Even if Hongjoong was the leader, Jongho was just as important. Seonghwa's eyes subtly followed where Hongjoong disappeared to.

"Excuse me." Seonghwa said politely and excused himself, scanning the room to find Hongjoong.

"Hyung, what's wrong?" San asked.

"Nothing. Did you see Hongjoong?" Seonghwa asked back, still looking around for the missing captain but there was just too many people. San shook his head.

"I can't believe he went AWOL." Seonghwa cursed.

"What? I'm sure he is somewhere, hyung. We've all been roped into conversations with people. Maybe he's just occupied." San said.

"No, he's gone." Seonghwa sighed with a shake of his head. Taking his phone out, he sent Hongjoong a quick text before he was soon approached by yet another business partner.

"Yunho sshi, did you see Hongjoong sshi? I've been looking for him since our conversation earlier." A girl came up to the taller.

"No, weren't you with him? Talking with your father." Yunho tilted his head.

"He said he will be right back and just disappeared. He was talking to Jongho sshi about something." The girl said. Yunho nodded and saw the maknae engaged in a conversation with the new medical director. Being taller than the rest, he was able to easily look through the crowd. That was when he noticed someone else missing.

"Maybe he's just talking to other business partners. There is a lot to discuss tonight with multiple people." Yunho lied. The girl's cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Right, I understand." She cleared her throat and left.

"Jongho ah, did Hongjoong hyung and (y/n) run away together?" Yunho approached the youngest.

"Yeah. She looked upset about something and left to go home. I told Hongjoong hyung and he seemed quite bothered by it. I wouldn't be surprised if he left the party." Jongho sighed.

Hongjoong didn't really know where to go. He didn't want to call you and make you think he was watching you or something.

"Where to go?" He stood in the middle of the street, wondering if he should go to your home or the shop.

"Mister, are you a celebrity?" A couple of girls approached him. Right, he forgot that he was in his gala outfit and wearing God knows how much money worth of white gold and diamonds.

With a frown, Hongjoong ignored the girls and walked away. He walked to your shop, knowing it wouldn't be right for him to just show up at your door step. He wouldn't know how to explain himself if you asked why he was there.

"Hongjoong?" You froze when you opened the front door, intending to water your plants outside, seeing the male there.

"(y/n)." Hongjoong let out a sigh of relief.

"Wha-What are you doing here? Is the gala over? Did something happen?" You blinked, frowning slightly in worry. Hongjoong shook his head and walked towards you.

"Hongjo-" You were cut off when he suddenly pulled you into a tight hug, effectively cutting you off.

"I hate when you're upset. I worry when you're upset." He whispered.

"Upset? I'm not upset. There's nothing to worry about." You stated, unsure of what to do with your hands. Were you supposed to hug him back?

"I know you are. If you weren't, you wouldn't have left." He said. You felt the warmth of his cheek against your own.

"I'm not..." You didn't really know what to say. You were stunned, to be honest, because you didn't think that he would have noticed.

"We shouldn't do this outside. People are staring." You suddenly said. Hongjoong pulled away and nodded. Keeping your gaze down, you walked back into the shop with him in tow. Once you were in and away from public eye, you turned to look at him.

"I'm not upset. I didn't leave because I was upset." You stated, eyes looking everywhere else but him.

"Then?" Hongjoong tilted his head.

"I don't know. I don't know how to explain it because I barely know what I'm feeling. It's not that I won't explain it, it's that I can't." You let out a soft sigh of frustration.

"May I?" He asked softly, holding his hand out to you. You stared at it for a few seconds, hesitating before putting your hand in his.

"(y/n), I... I never expected it and I'm guessing you too. But I like you and not just a friend." Hongjoong said.

"What?" Your head shot up.

"I know you think we're very different and maybe we are. But our worlds don't have to be parallel. Look where we are, we've met somehow. And if you would give me a chance..." He trailed off.

"Hongjoong, I... I don't... I..." You didn't know what to say but your first instinct was to retract your hand.

~

Series masterlist

[candy-heart-brew]

WH Spoilers below

/

/

I think this flower is meant to be symbolic of Frank and Julie's relationship.

This past update all but directly stated that Frank and Julie are a couple in-universe- they star in Sweetbriar together, refer to each other with names like "Julie Dear," and Julie introduces him to her family the way you'd introduce a romantic partner. Of course, Frank is gay, Clown confirmed that long ago and you can feel the underlying discomfort whenever he has to act as her boyfriend: his attempts at being romantic in Sweetbriar are stilted and awkward, he appears exasperated with her more often than not, and his attempts at affection feel more like he's placating a child rather than interacting with his romantic partner. To put it simply: their relationship simply isn't working and that fact is becoming harder and harder to deny.

Julie isn't stupid, she knows that she's the one doing all the legwork in this relationship. She's always the one to initiate things between them: displays of affection, games, dates, it's always her trying to move things along and its taking a toll on her.

She's trying her very hardest to make this relationship work but it just isn't, Frank is keeping part of himself closed off from her and she knows it but nothing she does can get him to open up to her. But she keeps trying. She excessively compliments him, drags him out to places she thinks he'll like, rarely gives him a moment alone, and just generally tries to appear happy and unbothered about everything.

Now we come back to the flower.

Julie drags Frank out into the woods to see her make this flower bloom but it just doesn't. She tries talking to it, playing games with it, showering it with attention and affection...but nothing works. It's not the flower's fault that it can't bloom, it's a sad fact of life that some flowers wilt before they can fully blossom and there's nothing anyone can really do about that. But Julie can't accept it. It's her job to make the flowers bloom, what would everyone think if she couldn't get this one little flower to open up to her? So much of her sense of self is tied up in this, it's literally what she was made to do, so if she fails at it then what does she have left? Who is she if she can't make this work? She doesn't know and the longer the flower stays closed, the more aggressive she becomes. She pleads with it to just blossom before anyone sees, desperately apologizes for perceived slights, and when all else fails, resorts to burying it altogether so that no one can find it.

Julie's breakdown feels to me like someone coming to the slow realization that a relationship they've poured so much of themselves into just isn't going to work but they're so terrified of the unknown that they can't accept it. Of course, the comment she makes in the last video about potentially getting into trouble could imply that she can't give up on this relationship even if she wants to but it's a bit too soon to say for sure.

All I can say for certain now is that Frank and Julie are in a relationship that neither of them are truly happy with... and it's starting to drive her insane.