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junghelioseok · 4 years

Text

covenant.

↳ your best friend’s engagement forces you to reevaluate your own feelings.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | angst | werewolf!au | f2l!au ◇ 16.4k [1/1]

⇢ arguably also an arranged marriage!au, ft. kinda sorta dumbasses to lovers? a very, very late bday fic for the most beautiful man in the universe and my favorite funky lil dancer. ♡

notes: i started this in my drafts well over three months ago and all it said was “this ain’t gonna be on time for hobi’s bday i can feel it” and damn if past!me wasn’t right on the money!!! this has undergone three edits, going from 14.6k to 16.4k somehow, and i am going to lose my whole damn mind if i don’t just post it so here it is! hope you enjoy!

warnings: dom!hobi, alpha!hobi, bit of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), some grinding against hobi’s thigh, knotting, hobi’s got a big dick idk, also he’s in heat!!! but things eventually get really soft bc i love him and am a Soft Bitch™ 🤷🏻‍♀️

It’s going to rain.

You can smell it in the air and feel the damp chill against your skin, permeating through every layer of your clothing. The surrounding forest and all its occupants seem to be collectively holding their breath, waiting for the first drops to come. Even your footsteps, soft as they are against the loamy earth, sound much too loud in the hush that’s fallen. Dark clouds gather overhead, looming like an omen, and you silently reach into your purse to check that the umbrella you’d stowed this morning is still there. Vaguely, you wonder if it’s big enough for two.

Around you, the trees slowly begin to dwindle, until there’s only open sky above your head and a wide grassy expanse beneath your feet. A certain heaviness lingers in the air here—a low thrum of energy, born from the ancient magic that sleeps in the gnarled roots of the tree that sits in the center of the clearing. You can feel it prickling along your skin, raising gooseflesh and igniting your veins, and the closer you get, the stronger the feeling becomes.

At the far end of the clearing, you spot a small crowd of people, all clad in black. Your best friend—and your entire reason for venturing out today—stands amongst them in a tailored suit, his black tie snug at his throat and laid atop a charcoal gray shirt. He’s chatting with his father and a few other family members, seemingly calm and collected, but you can tell from the sloppy knot of his tie and the way he fidgets with the hem of his jacket that he is anything but. After all your years of friendship, you can read Jung Hoseok like a book. His auburn hair is disheveled as if he’s been incessantly raking his fingers through it, and even at a distance, you can sense the turmoil in his aura, haloing him like the stormy clouds overhead.

Sensing your approach, Hoseok’s gaze flickers up to meet yours. He raises a hand in greeting and bids farewell to the people he’d been chatting with, picking his way over to you with a wan smile.

“Hey. You made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this,” you reply, reaching out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong as always, but you don’t miss the slight tremor in his grip. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, a sigh escaping his lips and dissipating into mist in the wintry air. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It just… it all happened so fast.”

“I know,” you murmur, twining your fingers together in quiet reassurance. “I’m so sorry, Hobi.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly, his gaze flits to the center of the clearing where the ancient tree sits, traversing from the leafy canopy all the way down to where the gnarled roots disappear into the dirt. In its shadow sits a polished wooden casket, and you squeeze Hoseok’s hand gently as he walks closer, his eyes beginning to glisten.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know,” he mumbles. “All these years of war, of negotiations and peace talks, finally seeing the Accords pass and the company flourish… and now he’s gone. Cancer. Just like that.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence, and you clasp his hand a little tighter. You know as well as he does that a healthy werewolf can live for well over a century, if not for the human genetics that remain susceptible to human weaknesses and disease. True immortality afflicts only the faeries and the vampires of your world—and even then, there are still ways that those folk can die.

“He lived a long life,” you say after a moment’s hesitation, grasping onto any semblance of comfort you can offer. Together, you and Hoseok come to a stop in the shadow of the tree, peering at the closed casket where his grandfather lays. “And it was a good, just life. Not all of us can say that.”

A lone, wet droplet falls onto the polished mahogany, and Hoseok hastily wipes his eyes, tilting his head skyward. “Not long enough,” he whispers. “He still had so much to do. I… I still have so much I wanted to do—to say. And now I’ll never be able to.”

You caress a thumb across his knuckles, the motion soft and tender. “I know. And I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

Hoseok glances down at that, a glimmer of something manic and desperate swimming in his amber-flecked irises. “You could,” he says, grabbing both your hands and clutching them to his chest like a lifeline. “You could bring him back. You know how, don’t you?”

You shake your head sadly, hating the way his frown deepens as you free yourself from his grasp. “That’s forbidden magic, Hobi. That’s necromancy. You know I can’t do that.”

Hoseok’s entire body sags, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a heavy sigh. Instinctively, you step forward to wrap him in a hug, and he loops his arms around your waist automatically, pulling you flush against him. “I know,” he mumbles into your hair. Then he huffs out a dry chuckle, humorless and deprecating. “Fuck. I’m a mess, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Instead, you hold him a little tighter, rubbing his back soothingly in long, slow motions—the same way his mother used to do during bedtime. His heart thuds erratically in his chest, fast and frenzied like a caged bird, but lulls as you continue your ministrations, settling into an even rhythm once more.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a few moments, his warm breath caressing your cheek. “For coming today. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You can do anything, Hobi,” you reassure, running a thumb along the sharp line of his jaw when he raises his head to look at you. “With or without me. But… you’re welcome, all the same.”

Your presence at this funeral is unusual, and both you and Hoseok know it. Werewolf packs tend to keep their rites and ceremonies private, and the Gwangju pack is no different. Led by Hoseok’s father, and his late grandfather before him, the werewolves of the city have rapidly risen to prominence and power, aided in large part by the founding of JungTech. The company, started by Hoseok’s grandfather, began as a small operation in a battered old warehouse, but quickly grew to become one of Gwangju’s biggest corporations after the signing of the Accords twenty years ago. The peace treaty marked the start of a tenuous coexistence between humankind and Shadowfolk, and, together with your fellow witches—along with the werewolves, vampires, and the few fair folk who decided to leave their homes deep in the forests—you migrated into cities all over the country to forge new lives.

It’s proven easier for some. While the wolves of the city have found tolerance—acceptance, even—you have not fared quite as well. Humans, you have found, tend to fear the ancient magic that runs through your veins. Though nothing you’ve faced comes remotely close to what your ancestors faced in centuries past, you remain wary of those who take a little too much interest in your abilities.

You’re a bit paranoid, your familiar, Bast, has remarked on more than one occasion. But it’s justified, so I suppose it’s all right.

As if sensing that your thoughts have turned to him, Bast stirs in the back of your mind. You feel him yawn and stretch lazily before there’s a tug on the soles of your feet, as if the force of gravity has suddenly, inexplicably doubled. Then he’s materializing—morphing out of the spot where your shadow would be if the sun were shining, taking the form of an inky black cat with sharp, golden eyes. Hoseok perks up when Bast loops between his ankles, and immediately squats down to scratch behind his ears, a small smile settling across his face as a low, content purr rumbles up from beneath his fingertips. From elsewhere in the clearing, a single howl rises up into the air, forlorn and wavering.

It’s starting, Bast says in your head. At the same time, Hoseok straightens to his full height, fiddling with the hem of his black jacket and looking over at you tentatively.

“Sounds like they’re getting started,” he says.

You nod. “I should go.”

Hoseok opens his mouth as if to protest—as if to say no, stay—but you know better and cut him off with a single raised finger.

“I’ll go,” you murmur. “This is a private rite, and I don’t want to break centuries of tradition by overstaying my welcome. Go join your pack, Hobi.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Without a doubt.”

Your parting gesture is to reach out and grab his hand, tucking a little drawstring bag into his palm and closing his fingers over it. “Valerian root and chamomile,” you tell him gently, taking in his rumpled collar and the dark bags beneath his eyes. “Make some tea tonight. It’ll help.”

Hoseok swallows and nods, his features softening as he gazes down at his hand cupped in your smaller ones. He looks like he wants to say something, but another howl interrupts, disrupting whatever thoughts he may have had. Instead, he nods again, murmuring a soft goodbye before turning on his heel to join the rest of the pack gathering around the raised casket. You turn as well, leaving behind the ancient clearing with Bast trotting by your side.

Up above, the heavens finally open, drenching the dirt path beneath your feet with rain. And behind you, the single howl is joined by dozens more, echoing mournfully up into the weeping sky.

///

You’re in the middle of straightening out a display of dittany when the kettle begins to boil, emitting three short, shrill whistles accompanied by a long stream of whirling steam. When silence falls over the shop once more, you wander over to where the kettle sits—atop a small wooden end table next to an old wardrobe. It’s an old relic that’s been passed down through generations of witches in your family, wrought out of silvery metal and suspended in an iron frame above a single lit candle. The flame is glowing pink, flickering in a nonexistent gust of wind, and you smile. Quietly, you grab two teacups from a nearby shelf.

Not two seconds later, the door of the old wardrobe creaks open, revealing the familiar face of Kim Seokjin behind it. A fellow witch and a good friend of yours, Jin has made a name for himself as a baker, running a café in Seoul that offers all sorts of confections—both with magical properties and without. His hair is dyed a muted dusty rose—a stark contrast to the casual black hoodie and jeans he’s wearing—and you reach out to push a stray lock back from his forehead in lieu of a greeting.

“Your hair’s pink again,” you remark. “I like it.”

Jin grins, his plush lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Thanks.” Carefully, he steps out of the wardrobe and shuts the door behind him. A beat of silence passes, and you take the opportunity to select a canister of tea leaves. You don’t miss the flicker of solemnity that settles into Jin’s features, though, listening as he clears his throat before voicing the question that is undoubtedly the reason behind his unexpected visit.

“So. How’s Hoseok holding up?”

Jin has never been one to mince his words. You suppose you appreciate that about him.

Quietly, you lift the kettle out of its stand and beckon for him to join you at the little wooden table at the front of your shop. It’s tucked neatly into the nook carved out by one of the two bay windows on either side of the front door, flanked by two well-worn, mismatched chairs. Atop it sits a pile of books—everything from ancient remedies to common household spells.

One book in particular always sits open—a detailed list of all the herbs and plants you carry in your shop, along with the various concoctions you’ve created with them. Hellebore, the spine of the book reads, and it’s the same word that graces your storefront in flowing, golden text. An apothecary of sorts, you spend your days dealing out potions and remedies to those in need, both human and Shadowfolk. You do your best to help, for all the times modern medicine has come up short and left someone wanting.

“Honestly? I don’t think he’s been sleeping.” You set the teacups down onto the table and fill them both before handing one over to Jin. “I saw him this morning, at the funeral. He looked exhausted.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his pink hair. “You went to the funeral?”

“I didn’t stay,” you clarify, taking a sip of your tea. “Just wanted to drop by, say hello, and pay my respects.”

“Werewolves are a private bunch,” Jin remarks. “I’m surprised.”

You shrug. “Hoseok wanted me to be there. So I went.”

“I see.” He doesn’t say anything further, and neither do you, lapsing instead into a comfortable silence that’s broken only by the occasional sip of tea and the clinking of china. Your gaze wanders, drifting over to the front door of your shop, painted a cheerful green and set with a flowery stained glass window that throws kaleidoscopic rainbows across the cream walls and dark wooden floor. Sunlight streams through the wide bay windows, illuminating the interior in warm, hazy gold. On the other side of the room, Bast is curled up, fast asleep on his favorite plush bench beside the glass door that leads to the greenhouse, perfectly haloed by the sun.

“Must be nice being able to fall asleep anywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jin hears you anyway, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply, laughing with him. “Speaking of which, where’s Adam? Did he stay home?”

Jin nods, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the wardrobe. “Yeah, he’s keeping an eye on the café. Told me to say hi to you for him, though.”

You giggle at the thought of Jin’s familiar, a long-haired sheepdog with a stubborn streak the size of the Nile and blatant disdain for following orders—especially those that come from Jin himself. “Keeping watch, or trashing the place?” you tease.

“With my luck, probably both,” Jin admits with a sigh. “I should probably get back there soon. He ate all the egg tarts last time.”

“Bring him with you next time,” you advise. “Bast will keep him entertained.”

He grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

Finishing off the last of his tea, he stands up and taps the rim of his cup, murmuring a soft cleaning spell under his breath. You smile gratefully as he replaces it back onto the shelf with the others, and stand to walk him back over to the wardrobe. Opening up the creaky door, you watch him clamber inside, standing amongst the hanging coats and the single pair of shoes on the bottom shelf.

“See you later,” you murmur. “Give Adam my best.”

Jin nods. “See you.”

He shuts the door, and you watch the flame of the candle once again turn a soft, roseate pink. It flickers briefly, dancing in an invisible breeze, before reverting back to the color of regular fire, signaling Jin’s departure. Quietly, you clean your own teacup and return it to the shelf.

The remainder of the afternoon passes with few customers, so you opt to close down early and head to your apartment, located up a short flight of stairs on the second floor of the shop. You’re rifling through the refrigerator for dinner ingredients and humming softly under your breath when your phone suddenly rings, Hoseok’s name lighting up the screen in bright white text. “Hey, Hobi,” you say, swiping across the glass to answer. “What’s up?”

On the other end of the line, Hoseok exhales shakily. “Can you come over?”

You blink, glancing at the darkening sky outside. “Now?”

“Yeah. Fuck, sorry. I know it’s late, but I really… I really need to talk to someone. I—” His voice cracks, and your heart sinks. “I need you.”

“Say no more.” Straightening up, you shut the refrigerator door and tug off your apron. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Have you eaten yet?”

Hoseok sighs. “No.”

“I’ll bring takeout,” you decide, already glancing around for your purse. “See you soon, okay?”

Bidding him farewell, you don your coat and head out the door, locking up behind you. Hoseok lives downtown in a sleek, modern penthouse that’s normally a twenty-minute walk away from Hellebore, but after stopping by the restaurant on the corner for food, you opt to catch the bus instead. Fifteen minutes after you hang up the phone, you are rapping the bronze knocker on Hoseok’s front door, a paper bag and a bottle of wine in hand.

Almost instantly, the door is flung open. Hoseok stands in the threshold as if he’s been waiting there, his auburn hair wild and his eyes even wilder. His aura is turbulent, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You raise the bag. “I brought dinner.”

“You’re the best,” he sighs, stepping aside to let you in.

Hoseok’s apartment toes the line between modern and cozy in a way that only Hoseok’s apartment could—with lush green plants and plushy, earth-toned furniture to offset the cold impersonality of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the stainless steel kitchen. Flicking on the kitchen light, you set the food down on the granite countertop and grab two wine glasses out of the cabinet. Hoseok sidles over as you pour a generous helping into each glass, rifling through the silverware drawer for utensils.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, popping a box open. “I’m starving. Thanks for bringing dinner.”

You brush off his gratitude and hand him a glass, raising yours so you can clink it gently against his. Quietly, the two of you fall into a comfortable routine, with Hoseok grabbing the food and you grabbing the bottle of wine to bring into the living room. You help him clear off the coffee table and arrange the food, then settle onto the couch beside him, sipping your drink in silence and patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Years of friendship have taught you that he’ll talk when he’s ready, and you’re content to wait as long as he needs.

Sighing, Hoseok tips the rest of his wine back into his mouth before setting the empty glass down with a soft plink. “So,” he begins, not quite looking you in the eye. “My dad and I had lunch today.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He takes several more seconds to muster up the words, and when he finally finds them, they’re exhaled in a tumbling rush. “He told me that he’s pleased with how I’m running JungTech. It’s been over a year, and things are going well… so he wants to expedite my takeover of the pack. In two months, he wants me to take over as the alpha. And…” He swallows. “He wants me to settle down.”

Perturbed, you blink. “What?”

Hoseok finally looks at you, his expression frighteningly devoid of emotion. “He wants me to get married, {Name}.”

Comprehension doesn’t settle in right away. But when it does, your jaw drops to the floor, landing somewhere alongside the ornamental persian carpet and a stray sock that has no doubt jumped ship from Hoseok’s laundry.

“W-what?” you manage after a few long seconds of gaping at him. “Why? Why now? That’s so… that’s completely out of the blue.”

Hoseok shakes his head, a few shaggy strands of auburn hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. “It’s not, actually. He’s been talking about it for a long time—trying to arrange something with one of the other pack families. It’s tradition, you know? Mating within the pack, keeping the bloodlines pure through marriage. The difference is that Pops always talked him out of it. Always said I was too young, that there was no rush, that I should wait for someone I love, my true mate...” He sighs, heavily. “But he’s gone now. And Dad’s decided that he’s done waiting.”

You shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t, because you know it’ll hurt, but the question comes regardless—leaving your lips in a near whisper. “Who?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Do you remember Im Nayeon?”

You do. You’ve known Nayeon almost as long as you’ve known Hoseok—the three of you having attended the same schools starting from elementary all the way up until Hoseok left to attend university in Seoul. Admittedly, you were never close—and if you were completely honest, you always found her to be a bit disingenuous for your tastes. Nevertheless, you often found yourself at the same events—parties and gatherings you attended at Hoseok’s request, and that she was privy to due to her family’s high-ranking status within the Gwangju pack.

“I remember,” you tell him, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. “Does… does she know yet? Have you met up with her?”

Hoseok nods. “She was there this morning, at the funeral. We talked a little bit and got coffee after, but… this is all happening so fast.” Slowly, he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, a sigh escaping his parted lips. “But there’s nothing I can do, right? It’s enough that Dad’s somehow talked Mom into the whole thing, but now he’s gotten the Council on board too. Did you know that Nayeon has an uncle on the Council? It’s insane, right?”

“Insane,” you agree in a whisper, doing your best to ignore the way your heart is splintering at the edges.

“You know, I always thought my Dad pressuring me was bad.” Hoseok buries his face in his hands, peering at you from between his splayed fingers when you hum in acknowledgment. “But this? The entire Council on my back? This is way worse.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else there is to say. Your ribcage feels like it’s been split open and filled with burning coals, weighing hot and heavy on your insides.

Hoseok has dated in the past, of course. You both have—chasing that elusive, fluttery feeling called love and never quite being able to catch it and hold on. Hoseok’s last relationship fizzled long before he graduated from university, having lasted only about six months. You distinctly remember meeting the girl during one of your frequent visits to Seoul, at a small party hosted by Hoseok and his friends. By your next visit, however, things had already ended. He never really told you why the breakup occurred either—only that the relationship never would have lasted in the long run.

Perhaps foolishly, you chose not to pry.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask softly. Reaching out, you take ahold of his hand and tug it into your lap, threading your fingers into the gaps between his. The gesture is familiar and comforting, like cocoa in front of a lit fireplace, and you can’t even begin to fathom the idea of another person sitting here and holding his hand in your stead.

“Just talk to me,” Hoseok entreaties, squeezing your fingers. “Distract me. What’s going on with you?”

You hum, swallowing down the lump in your throat and letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you pick through the events of the past week for the most interesting tidbits. “Bast has been bringing me dead rats lately,” you finally say, nose scrunching at the memory. “You should see the size of them—they’re almost bigger than he is. And they smell like the sewers, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where he’s getting them from. It’s horrid.”

Hoseok huffs out a stilted laugh. “Sewer rats? Gross.”

“It’s not all bad, to be honest,” you tell him, nestling a little closer to the warmth of his body. Hoseok keeps his apartment chillier than you’re accustomed to, and you’re beyond grateful for the furnace-like heat he gives off naturally. “The bones are pretty useful. The tails too, provided you don’t tell people what they actually are.”

His laugh is much more genuine this time. “Tricky little minx,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

You ignore the uptick in your heart rate at his approval, grateful that he can’t see your face as a pulse of heat flushes your cheeks. Instead, you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Hoseok smells like the forest—fresh and woodsy, with a slight floral undercurrent from his fabric softener. It smells like home, and you smile when his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders.

“Jin came by today,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” The monosyllabic response rumbles through his chest.

“Yeah. He asked about you, too. You should probably text him later.”

Hoseok hums a confirmation, and, satisfied, you cuddle a little closer to him. You pull at the afghan he keeps laid over the back of the couch, laying it comfortably over your lap as he rests his head gently atop yours, his ear pressed to your crown. Your eyes fall shut as you listen to the rhythmic thud of his pulse—solid and steady, backed by the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic on the street far below.

It’s comfortable, sitting with him like this. Comfortable, stroking his arm with your fingertips, in time with the drumbeat of his heart. Ever so gradually, Hoseok’s breathing evens out, and you briefly think that you could stay like this—encapsulated in this delicate, iridescent bubble of contentment—for the rest of your life.

You know the thing about bubbles, though? Bast remarks dryly in your head. They burst.

I know, you sigh.

I know.

///

There’s something soothing about taking inventory—something calming in the repetition of walking down the aisles of Hellebore and restocking the shelves one by one. You’d woken this morning to an apologetic Hoseok making pancakes in the kitchen, his residual heat and woodsy scent lingering on the blanket tucked around your body. After a harried breakfast and a promise to text you later, Hoseok rushed off to the office.

You, in turn, returned to your shop, where you grabbed every ounce of cleaning supplies you possess and scrubbed the place from top to bottom, foregoing all of your usual dishwashing charms and dust-clearing jinxes. The physical labor is a welcome distraction from the events and revelations of last night, and you’ve thrown yourself wholeheartedly into all the chores you need to complete.

“Almost out of rosehip oil,” you mutter, eyeing the half-empty vial and making a note to extract more from one of several plants in your greenhouse. “Low on valerian too, hmm…”

The bell over the front door jingles merrily, diverting your attention away from your task. “{Name}?” a voice calls softly. A moment later, a familiar head of coppery red hair pops around the edge of the shelves, choppy bangs framing a soft, warm face. “Hey, there you are. You busy?”

You shake your head and shut your inventory book, setting it down on the nearest shelf. “Not terribly, no. What brings you here today, Lisa?”

Lisa’s answering smile is sheepish. “Got something to return,” she says, holding up a little glass jar full of lavender colored pills that you immediately recognize. “I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news. Looks like I won’t be needing these anymore, right?”

Your laugh sounds brittle, even to your own ears. “Right. Yeah. Not anymore.”

For just over ten years, Lisa has been the wolf assigned to help Hoseok through his heat. Between his family’s status and his longtime designation as the next alpha of the Gwangju pack, it’s imperative for Hoseok to avoid anything that might be perceived as scandalous. Torrid sex stories splashed across tabloid covers is the last thing a man like Hoseok needs, and that’s where Lisa comes in. Once a year, for three days, she goes to him, and no one is none the wiser. Her job is one that calls for the utmost discretion, and as the daughter of a high-ranking Council official, no one understood that better than she did. You’d only found out because of your role as one of the few witches in the country who makes and stocks the proper contraceptives for such wolves—the dosage much stronger than the human equivalent.

And when Lisa had first approached you to purchase the pills, you’d dropped two jars and nearly set fire to a third. Your stomach had fallen to somewhere around your toes, right alongside the shattered glass and little lavender tablets.

You’d chalked the accident up to surprise. Hoseok hadn’t mentioned anything to you, after all, and you’d known very little about the intricacies of werewolf heats back then, having just opened your shop at age eighteen. But surprise doesn’t explain the snaking jealousy that bubbles up in your tummy every time Lisa comes in to restock her supply of pills, nor does it explain the overwhelming sense of relief you feel now as she presses the unopened jar into your hands.

“I still can’t believe he’s going to be the most powerful man in Gwangju soon.” Lisa steps back, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting out a soft sigh. “And now he’s engaged, too. It’s pretty crazy, huh?”

“Crazy,” you agree tonelessly, turning to replace the jar onto the appropriate shelf.

Lisa, however, is nothing if not perceptive. A gentle hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey,” she begins, soft and slow. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you—?”

But the sound of the bell drowns out the rest of her question, metallic and bright in the quiet of your shop. “Hello? Anyone home?” a cheery voice asks.

“Be right there,” you say immediately, shrugging off Lisa’s hand and stepping out from amongst the shelves. There’s a young woman standing at the checkout counter, rifling through the collection of seeds on display, and you cringe as she replaces a few packets in the wrong spots. “How can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, the woman turns gracefully on her heel, her expression a perfectly crafted amalgamation of surprise and delight. “{Name}!” she exclaims, stepping forward with an outstretched arm. “Long time no see!”

“N-Nayeon,” you stammer, the shock of seeing her face freezing you in place. “What… what brings you here?”

The dark-haired woman steps forward to pull you into a hug, enveloping you in her fruity perfume. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to catch up with an old friend?” she asks playfully.

We were never friends, you want to say. In your head, Bast lets out a derisive snort of agreement. Lisa, you notice, has conveniently melted away somewhere amidst the organized chaos of your shop, disappearing into the myriad shelves and knickknacks.

“Plus, I really wanted to look at some flowers,” Nayeon continues, betraying her true purpose at last. “You’ve heard, haven’t you? About my engagement? I’m sure Hoseok—I mean, my fiancé—has mentioned it to you, of all people. You are his best friend, after all.”

The inside of the shop is beginning to feel stifling. Perspiration trickles down your neck and you tug at your collar, loosening the material from where it’s plastered against your skin. “Sure,” you manage, once you feel like you can breathe again. “Right. Sure. The flowers are right this way, if you want to follow me.”

I’d forgotten how much I don’t like her, your familiar remarks dryly in your head.

Shut up, Bast.

Mercifully, he does. There’s a tug on your feet, and you glance down just in time to see him morph out of the shadow you cast against the sun-drenched floor. Ghostly and amorphous at first, he quickly solidifies into the feline figure you’ve grown accustomed to, and slinks protectively around your ankles before darting off to perch in the cushioned bay window seat.

Conveniently, that’s also where the flower display is. Colorful blooms and trailing leaves adorn the wooden shelves and tables in this particular corner of the shop, and you force yourself to shift back into professional mode as you come to a stop in front of an assortment of honeysuckle. “So, what kind of flowers are you looking for?” you ask, brushing your fingers along the pale yellow petals.

Nayeon hums thoughtfully and picks up a potted rosebush, examining it from all angles. “Roses, maybe. Are roses too clichéd now?” She brings the crimson buds closer and inhales, eyes fluttering shut. “No matter. I’ve always liked them.”

“They’re beautiful,” you agree, turning your attention to the selection of roses lining the topmost shelf. “Do you have a color preferen—?”

“Or maybe these would be better,” Nayeon interrupts, plucking up a pale pink calla lily from the bouquet you keep in a table display. “Or that one—what is it?”

You follow the trajectory of her gaze to a bunch of little white flowers with golden centers, stark against the dark dirt and surrounding green foliage. “That would be bloodroot,” you answer. “One of my personal favorites—it’s both ornamental and medicinal. It would look lovely in a bouquet.”

Nayeon pulls a face and shakes her head. “No, no—I don’t want anything with such a horrible name. What about these?” she asks, reaching up to take a closer look at a larger bloom. “Peonies, right?”

By the time Nayeon makes it back to the checkout counter with a few sample rose cuttings in hand, you’re fairly certain that several eternities have passed. “Is there anything else you need?” you ask as you ring her up and wrap the flowers neatly in paper.

“A discount for an old friend?” she queries, shooting you a playful wink. When you don’t answer right away, she giggles. “I’m kidding! Obviously, I’ll pay. It’s not like I’m pressed for money—I mean, you’ve seen who my fiancé is, right? Now gosh, where did I put my wallet?”

Your cheeks are beginning to feel far too hot. Nayeon is still rummaging in her purse, and you quickly duck beneath the counter under the pretense of looking for some ribbon to tie off the bouquet. Fanning your face, you take a few deep breaths, listening as she continues chattering away.

“We’re having dinner tonight, actually, Hoseok and I. It’ll be our second real date, and… wait!” She gasps, and you peer up just in time to see her slap a hand over her perfectly lacquered mouth. “You should come! Bring someone, if you can—it’ll be like a double date!”

If you can? Bast snipes. Curse her.

You sigh inwardly and straighten back up, ribbon in hand. Shut up, Bast.

If you won’t, I will.

You’ll do no such thing.

Mustering up your best, most earnest smile, you hand over the wrapped flowers along with her change. “That sounds like fun,” you tell her, ignoring the way your insides lurch at the lie. “When and where?”

Nayeon beams and rattles off the address of an unfamiliar restaurant. “Don’t be late!” she calls as she heads for the door. The bell jangles cheerily as she departs, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Lisa pokes her head around a nearby bookshelf.

“Finally,” she sighs, walking over to join you. “I thought she’d never leave.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t dare speak ill of a customer, but you’re willing to make an exception today. “You and me both,” you reply, watching as Bast slinks over like a shadow and hops onto the counter beside you. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your elbow in silent solidarity, and you mindlessly begin scratching behind his ears as Lisa speaks again.

“Are you really going to go to that dinner tonight?”

You meet her gaze, shrugging. “I already said I would. Do I really have a choice?”

There isn’t much else to say, and both you and she know it. Pushing off from where she’s leaning against the countertop, Lisa flips her coppery hair over her shoulder and shoots you a look, brown eyes full of sympathy. “Good luck,” she says sincerely. You get the feeling that she wants to say something else, but decides against it at the last minute. Instead, she bids you goodbye and walks out with a wave and another chime of the bell. Silence settles over the shop once more, and you allow yourself a few moments to breathe—slow and deep, in and out—before picking up your phone and opening up the most recent text messages. It doesn’t take long to find the name you’re looking for, but you still pause, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before you begin to type.

[4:21pm] You: how would you like to join me for a very awkward dinner date?

[4:21pm] Jin: consider me intrigued.

///

You and Jin arrive at the restaurant first. It’s an ornate, palatial place with tuxedoed waitstaff and a coat room, and despite giving the name ‘Jung’ at the door, you’re certain that Hoseok played no part in the venue selection. The host ushers you to a booth tucked in the back, the cushioned seats a velvety burgundy and a chandelier glittering overhead, throwing refracted, iridescent light across the veined marble table. All of a sudden, the simple black dress you’re wearing feels painfully inadequate. Glancing down at your feet, you wonder if you should have worn heels instead.

Beside you, Jin cuts a striking figure in a creamy silk shirt with ribbons that tie into a bow at his throat, the material loose and flowy up until where it tucks into fitted black slacks. His pink hair complements the elegant outfit perfectly, parted and swept off his forehead to reveal his dark brows.

As if reading your mind, he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he says, before gesturing at the booth. “Now, do you want the inside or outside? Think you’ll need to make a quick getaway at some point?”

“Probably,” you sigh. Jin nods and sits down first, and you watch him slide across the seat cushion before settling in beside him. “I still can’t believe you volunteered to be here,” you murmur, plucking up one of the folded cloth napkins and fiddling with the crisp white edges. “You’re a saint, I swear.”

Jin chuckles and plucks the napkin from your clasped hands, laying it across your lap instead. “Not a saint,” he says, matching your soft tone. “Just someone who cares about you.”

Your cheeks warm at his sudden proximity. “Thank you,” you tell him, for what must be the umpteenth time. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to, then,” he replies with a grin. “Now, chin up. They just walked in.”

You can’t help the groan that escapes you. “Is it too late to run?”

“Afraid so,” he answers honestly.

And then Nayeon is slipping into the cushioned seat opposite you, syrupy smile in place on her berry lacquered lips. “Hi!” she chirps, laying a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he sits down beside her. “Sorry we’re late. We, um…” She pauses and shoots Hoseok a conspiratorial look, giggling. “... lost track of the time.”

Your magic flares, hot and bright in your veins, and you know Jin feels it too when he lays a cautionary hand on your knee beneath the table. “We weren’t waiting long,” he says, offering the two a genial smile. He’s perfectly polite as he and Nayeon exchange quick introductions, and gestures toward the assortment of menus on the table as soon as everyone has settled down. “Why don’t we order some wine to start?”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea! Isn’t that a splendid idea, Hoseok?” Nayeon turns to the auburn-haired man beside her, and you do the same, gaze landing on Hoseok for the first time tonight. He’s in an all black ensemble, sharp jacket layered over a silky black shirt, the top buttons loosened to bare a tantalizing sliver of golden skin. His auburn hair is parted, a stray lock falling across his forehead, and you shiver when you realize he’s staring right back at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

At the sound of Nayeon’s voice, Hoseok seems to snap out of his trance, his expression smoothing out as he plasters on a smile. “Take a look at the menu,” he says, picking up the leather-bound book and offering it to her. “Dinner’s on me.”

You blink. “We can’t let you do that, Hobi.”

“Let me pick up at least part of the tab,” Jin adds, already reaching for his wallet. “I’m no corporate bigshot, but I do well enough for myself.”

“No need to be modest,” you chime in, nudging him playfully. “Weren’t you just telling me about your new restaurant opening on the way over? Next week, right?”

Jin’s ears redden as all the attention is turned onto him. “Next week, yeah.”

“That’s amazing!” Nayeon chirps, pressing closer to Hoseok. “We’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe a date night, right, darling?”

Hoseok busies himself with rearranging his cutlery, swapping the knife and fork around. “Right—sure. If we ever make it up to Seoul, we’ll, uh… we’ll definitely stop by. Congratulations, man.”

The conversation continues. A server stops by to take your wine order, and Jin decides on a moderately priced bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Glasses are brought over, and wine is poured. Hoseok finishes his quickly and pours himself another, and though his wolf metabolism prevents him from getting drunk off of regular wine, you know that he’s a bit of a lightweight and tends to avoid drinking heavily no matter what the beverage. He’s drinking with a purpose tonight, and you’re beyond grateful when Jin pipes up with yet another story when the conversation lulls.

“And then I found out that the oven was on the whole time! Adam would probably let the entire apartment go up in flames just to spite me—I should watch my back.”

“Or, you know, just watch the oven more closely,” you tease. “I’ve seen your place, Jin—it’s a complete fire hazard. It’s a wonder it hasn’t burned to the ground already.”

Jin sniffs. “You’re exaggerating. Stop making me look bad.”

“You make yourself look bad,” you retort, laughing when his lower lip juts out into a pout.

Across the table, Hoseok clears his throat. “Speaking of fire hazards—did I ever tell you about the time {Name} set me on fire?”

“I did no such thing!” you protest, reaching over to slap his arm. “I mean, okay, maybe a little bit, but that was one time! And you were barely singed!”

Hoseok snorts out a laugh. “Barely singed? I couldn’t sit properly for a week.”

“Oh please, that’s a lie and you know it!”

Nayeon interrupts your conversation with a loud huff, setting her wineglass down with enough force to thud against the veined marble tabletop. “Do one of you maybe want to fill us in on the joke here?”

Abashed, you glance back at Hoseok, watching as his smile slowly fades back into the careful, neutral expression he’s worn all evening. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s an old story from when we were kids—when we first met, actually. We were seven years old, and it was the second day of school. I didn’t have a very good handle on my magic yet, and accidentally set Hoseok’s tail on fire during recess.”

“I preferred to run around in my wolf form back then,” Hoseok further elaborates. “There was a big field out behind the school—remember that, {Name}?”

You nod. “Of course. It went right up to the very edge of the woods. And if you kept going and went far enough, you reached the old wooden bridge.”

Hoseok is smiling again, soft and fond. “That thing was a death trap.”

“But the teachers could never keep us away,” you say, grinning at him.

“All right,” Nayeon interrupts again, sniffing disdainfully. “Enough about the old days—I think it’s time to talk about the present. And more importantly, the future.” She sighs happily and props her chin up in her palm, ensuring that the delicate golden band on her ring finger is on full display, the metal glimmering in the warm light. “You’re both invited to the wedding, of course. And I never did properly thank you for the flowers today, {Name}!”

Her words seem to come as a surprise to Hoseok, who straightens up in his seat. “Flowers? You visited Hellebore today?”

“Of course I did!” Nayeon hides a giggle behind a manicured hand. “I wouldn’t even think of trusting anyone else with my bouquet.”

Hoseok’s gaze skitters over to you, awash with concern and tinged with apology, but you ignore him in favor of forcing your expression into something that’s meant to be a smile. Yet no matter how much you strain your cheeks and stretch your lips, it feels—and looks, you’re sure—far more like a grimace.

“I’m happy to do it,” you lie, your teeth gritted and tight. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

///

“So. That was just as awkward as promised.”

You and Jin are walking back to Hellebore, leaving behind the bustling downtown area for the darker, quieter streets of your neighborhood. Your companion’s hair is tinged orange in the glow from the streetlamps, and you can only chuckle humorlessly when he turns to you and raises his eyebrows.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I was duly warned,” Jin agrees.

A car drives by, the headlights throwing Jin’s profile into stark relief. His expression is solemn but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. The remainder of the walk passes in silence, broken only by the occasional strain of conversation from passersby and the low drone of late night traffic. You reach Hellebore with no incidents, and you muffle a yawn as Jin steps into the wardrobe to go back to Seoul.

Just before he shuts the door behind him, he shoots you a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel, you know. He deserves to know. And you… you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t need him to. Long after he’s gone, his remark echoes in your head, and no matter what, you simply cannot seem to shake it.

///

It’s been years since you’ve last gone to the old bridge, but after last night’s conversation you find yourself pulled back, lured by the promise of memories of a kinder time. The forest beyond the field hasn’t changed much since your school days, and neither, you realize, has the bridge itself. It still stands tall, proudly spanning the steep ravine that your teachers warned you about, the rickety wood splitting apart at the seams and overgrown with lichen and climbing ivy. Far below, the white-capped river rushes by on its long, turbulent journey to the sea.

Carefully, you step onto the bridge—first one foot, then the other. The energy in the air shifts as soon as your feet leave the loamy earth, finding traction instead on hewn wood, and you sigh as your fingertips brush against the railing. The magic here is an old magic—different from the ancient magic that dwells in places like the werewolves’ clearing and the realms of the fae. The low thrum of it fills the air and seeps into your veins, quickening your pulse and prickling your skin.

“I thought you might be here.” The voice comes from your left, barely audible over the rush of the river.

“You thought right,” you reply, stepping forward until you’re toeing the railing and leaning over to stare down into the swirling, eddying waters below.

Hoseok joins you at the edge. His profile is stark against the leafy green backdrop, and for a few moments, all is still. Then: “I’m really sorry about last night.”

The apology hangs in the silence for a few moments before fading into the sound of churning water and wind whistling through the trees. You suck in a deep breath, oxygen swelling your lungs until you can hold it in no longer, before letting it escape in a resigned sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Hoseok.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.” He shoots you a sidelong glance. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

You raise a brow. “Make it up to me? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Anything you want.” Hoseok smiles crookedly, but you can’t quell the tumult brewing in your belly.

“What do you want, Hobi?”

His smile fades. “I—” He stops and shakes his head, auburn hair flying. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is about you.”

You gaze up at him, taking in the sharp cut of his jawline and the straight angle of his nose. Your eyes trail along the smooth slope of his rounded cheeks and the soft curve of his mouth, lingering on the little mole atop his upper lip.

And then you reach out and take his hand, savoring the way his fingers immediately, comfortably settle into the spaces between your own. “Why don’t we head down to the river?” you ask. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been, and I’ve missed it.”

Hoseok’s expression softens, a glimmer of something bright shining in his amber-flecked irises. Gently, he tugs on your hand, taking the lead as you leave the bridge behind and head north in search of the sloping path that will take you down and into the ravine that houses the riverbed. You chance a few glances over the treacherous edge, watching the water froth and tumble over the rocks.

“You know, this seems a lot more dangerous now than it did back then,” you muse. “I see why our teachers were always trying to keep us away.”

“We were kids back then,” Hoseok says, grinning. “We thought we were invincible. Nothing could touch us.”

“Simpler times,” you agree with a laugh. “I set your tail on fire, you cried—”

“—and then we became lifelong friends,” Hoseok finishes, joining in your mirth. “Easy-peasy.”

Together, you locate the path down to the ravine. The descent is easier than it was back then, your longer limbs extending your reach, but you’re grateful for Hoseok’s steadying hand all the same. He carefully guides you around the biggest rocks and tree roots, pulling you closer when you lose your footing near the bottom. His fingers remain twined with yours even after you’ve safely arrived at the riverbed, stepping across stones that have been worn smooth and warmed by the sun. You slip off your shoes, letting them dangle from your free hand, and Hoseok does the same.

Sunlight glitters off the water, throwing a thousand refractive diamonds across the surface, but when you dip your toes in you find that it’s cold as a mountain spring in autumn. That doesn’t stop Hoseok from bending down to splash you though, and you shriek in surprise before retaliating with a silent spell that sends icy water splattering across the faded denim of his jeans.

“That’s not fair!” he protests. “You can’t use magic!”

“I’m just using every resource available to me,” you reply with a sly grin, sending a swelling wave of water toward him with a lazy twist of your hand.

From beneath his drenched hair, Hoseok raises a challenging brow in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

Before you can even blink, he’s shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head, baring a taut, honeyed abdomen and toned arms. Tossing the discarded clothes onto the bank, he unfastens his belt and lets that drop as well, fixing you with a crooked little smirk all the while. The muscles in his torso ripple.

And then he’s shifting—limbs elongating and reddish-brown fur sprouting from his skin. His remaining clothing rips under the strain of the transformation, floating downstream in tattered shreds, but you don’t pay them any mind. No matter how many times you’ve watched Hoseok shift, you’ll never quite get used to it. He hunches over, more beast than man at this point, his chest rumbling. And before you know it—before you can even pinpoint exactly when the transformation is complete—he’s standing before you as a massive russet wolf, baring ferociously sharp teeth that you know could easily tear a man limb from limb.

His eyes, however, remain the same—warm, molten brown flecked with amber and gold, a devilish twinkle lurking in their depths. You cock your head to the side in a silent challenge, and swear that the wolf in front of you grins before pouncing forward, landing in the river with an enormous splash that leaves you thoroughly drenched.

“Now we’re both soaked!” you cry in between giggles, watching as Hoseok emerges from the water, his fur dampened black and dripping. “How is this a win for you?”

Hoseok rears back and lets loose a triumphant howl, shaking himself out and further drenching you with the spray of water from his coat. You squeal and back up several steps, batting him away, but Hoseok just presses closer and nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck. His body heaves with every breath, flaring hot against your skin, and for a few long moments, you simply stand there, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as icy water rushes past your ankles.

After what feels like an eternity, you step back, releasing Hoseok and staring up into his face. Even in his wolf form, he towers over you, and you reach up to stroke his muzzle tenderly before bopping him on the nose. “Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s dry off.”

Hoseok lets out a low rumble of agreement, and together, you make your way back to shore. You fold up his discarded clothing while he trots off to locate his shredded jeans, quickly finding them caught between some rocks and carrying the denim tatters back over to you in his teeth. Shaking your head, you add it to the growing pile and lay a hand atop it. Heat concentrates in your fingertips, mingling with the magic running through your veins. Stitch by stitch, his jeans repair themselves, drying in the process. Hoseok bumps your cheek with his nose in gratitude and darts off to change, and you dry your own clothes while you wait.

When Hoseok returns, he’s reverted to his human form, fully dressed and raking a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for drying these off,” he says, flashing you a sheepish grin. “And for fixing my pants. Again.”

“Mending charms are easy,” you reply, and it’s the truth. Over the many years you’ve known Hoseok, you’ve mended his clothing countless times—from the accidental transformations in his early years, before he could control it, to the calculated ones as he got older. Hoseok doesn’t shift terribly often nowadays, but on occasion he still goes out to stretch his muscles and hunt with his pack. His grandfather, in particular, always made the time to take him hunting at least once a month. You wonder if he’s gone since he passed, but decide not to ask.

“Should we go see the Towers?” you ask instead.

“Lead the way,” he agrees, falling into step beside you as you head downstream. The ravine walls are higher here, decorated with gnarled roots and rocky outcrops that obscure the periwinkle sky and cast long shadows across the ground. Cairns begin to crop up on both sides of the river—each tower of stones carefully and deliberately stacked. They’re small and scattered at first, but gradually become taller and more frequent until you’re nearly surrounded by a forest of stone. The air grows noticeably heavier—the magic more potent. It almost feels as if electricity is dancing across your skin, the sparks sinking into your pores and melding with your soul.

Hoseok feels it too, if the look of awe in his eyes is any indication. “I can’t believe I’d nearly forgotten about this place,” he marvels, running a finger across one of the stacked stones. “Do you feel that? The magic?” Then he chuckles. “Wait, of course you do. What am I talking about?”

You smile softly, tracing the path his fingertips leave behind. “Yeah, Hobi. I feel it.”

The topmost stones are almost out of your reach now. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a gray pebble about the size of your palm—a near perfect disc veined with white. Gently, you place it atop the cairn closest to you, watching it glint in the sunlight for a moment before turning to your companion.

“Well?”

Ancient legend dictates that as long as an offering is left, one may take a stone from the Towers. You and Hoseok have each acquired a rather sizable collection during your childhood years, lured by the promise that the stones will bring about good fortune and happiness.

“I forgot to bring something,” Hoseok admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “But I can pick one out for you. Hang on…” He hums thoughtfully as he scans the towering pillars, tapping his chin until he alights on one in particular, plucking up a stone that’s been worn smooth, burnished orange and marbled with ivory and copper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you reply, admiring the way the marbled surface glitters in the sun.

Hoseok takes your hand and places the stone gently in your palm. “It’s yours.”

Then he’s off—stepping over a fallen log to admire another tower, brushing a curious finger across a moss-covered rock before glancing over his shoulder at you. “Coming?”

You nod, tucking his gift away safely in your pocket. Together, you carve out a path amongst the towering cairns, clambering over river rocks and brushing aside the dense undergrowth. The path opens up again gradually, revealing the burbling water to your left and the steep ravine wall to your right. The river is calmer here—clear enough to see all the way to the bottom where shimmering, silvery fish dart about. A low, flat rock juts out into the water a short ways away, and Hoseok strides over to plop atop it, gesturing for you to join him.

“This is nice,” he sighs once you’ve made yourself comfortable by his side. “The fresh air is doing me a world of good. I’ve been cooped up at the office for so long, I swear I almost forgot what trees smell like.”

“You’re more than welcome to sniff around the shop if you ever need a reminder,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Better yet, I’ll bring you a plant for your office. Spruce up the place a little bit.”

“That sounds great, actually,” he admits with a chuckle. “I don’t have your green thumb, though. I’ll probably end up accidentally killing it.”

“Something low maintenance, then,” you promise. “A succulent, maybe. When should I bring it by?”

Hoseok’s expression sombers. “You can always stop by tomorrow after the hearing.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach. The Ministry—the overarching government body that dictates all Shadowfolk affairs—summons every pack alpha for a confirmation hearing when they first come into power. “They’re holding the hearing? Already?”

He nods. “The Ministry’s summoned me for tomorrow morning. First item on their schedule, I’m pretty sure.” A resigned sigh escapes his lips, dissipating into mist on the air. “And there’s a party at JungTech HQ afterward. You know. So my dad can officially hand the reins over.”

“The most powerful man in Gwangju,” you murmur, thinking back to Lisa’s words.

Hoseok lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. The most powerful man, beholden to his dad, the Council, and the entire fucking Ministry. It doesn’t matter what I want to do. Never has.”

It’s the second time he’s dismissed his feelings, and as much as you want to ask what it is he truly wants, you find that the words are stuck in your throat, your mouth suddenly as dry as the desert on a cloudless day. Instead, you lay a silent hand over his, feeling his warmth seep up into your palm.

“Hey.” Hoseok doesn’t tear his gaze away from the sky, watching a flock of birds fly overhead. “Yesterday, when Nayeon said she’d stopped by… did she say anything to you?”

The sound of her name leaving his lips leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “Not really,” you tell him. “She looked at some flowers and invited me to dinner. Simple as that.”

Hoseok nods slowly, lips pursed. “Was Jin already there when she came?”

You blink. “Jin? Oh, no—no, he wasn’t. I texted him after Nayeon left.”

“Ah.”

“I’m glad he was free, though.” You stare down into the water, where a curious fish swims in and out of the shadow you cast. “I’m honestly not sure who I could’ve invited if he hadn’t been available. Plus, it’s been ages since I’ve had dinner with him, and it’s been a few months since you’ve seen him too, right? I’m really happy it worked out.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop yourself. Hoseok has become eerily still, lost in introspection, and you feel obligated to fill the silence.

“You two make sense, you know.” Hoseok’s voice comes suddenly. “As a couple. Both witches—it makes a lot of sense.”

You peer over at him, eyes widening at his assumption. “We—we’re not actually together, Jin and I. We’re just friends.”

Hoseok straightens at that, his gaze flitting down to meet yours. “Really?”

“Really.”

A beat of silence. Hoseok looks like he wants to say something else, but a quiet buzz from his pocket stops him in his tracks. His mouth clamps shut as he checks his phone, teeth clicking together, and you can tell from the sudden tension in his jaw that it isn’t good news.

“Do you have to head back?”

He nods stiffly, silent apology written all over his face. “Work calls.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow after your hearing.”

He nods again and turns to leave. Before he can take too many steps, though, you call him back, reaching into your pocket to pull out the stone he’d gifted you earlier.

“Take this,” you murmur, pressing it into his hands. “I’m pretty sure you need it more than I do right now.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl protectively around the stone, holding on like it’s his only remaining lifeline. “Thanks.”

///

Downtown Gwangju is a monochrome forest of towering glass and steel, clamorous and unchecked by nature, proudly defiant in the face of the earth mother herself. The sidewalks are awash with people rushing back from their lunch break, forcing you to dodge around several businessmen too absorbed in their phones. Just as you are finding your footing again, a hapless intern carrying a tray of coffee cups rushes past, nearly crashing into you.

“Oh, shi—sorry! Sorry, oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

You wave off his apology with a smile, taking in the ill fit of his suit and the messy knot of his tie. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching out to help him steady the tray in his hands. A stabilizing spell—silently cast, the magic pulsing through your fingertips—should be enough to get him back to his office with no additional mishaps. You wonder if he’ll notice that his tray is suddenly more well-balanced, or that his hands have steadied.

But then again, you suppose it doesn’t really matter whether he does or not.

Somehow, someway, you make it to JungTech without running into anyone else. The receptionist recognizes you immediately and points you toward the elevator with a smile, and you thank her as you press the up button. It doesn’t take long to arrive, and you take a deep breath as you step inside, staring at your reflection in the mirrored walls.

All right? Bast queries, stirring awake in your mind.

You release the breath that you’d been holding in a long whoosh. Yeah. I’m all right.

The doors open on the top floor, and straight away, you are assailed by a cacophony of sounds. Scattered conversations and laughter intermingle with the clinking of champagne flutes. There are at least fifty people scattered around the open space that lies between the elevator and the glass-fronted CEO’s office at the very back—the office that bears Hoseok’s name on the door. There’s no sign of the man himself, but you have no doubt that he’s nearby. This entire party is a celebration for him, after all.

The elevator doors begin to close, and you quickly reach out to stop them, stepping out before it can protest at your dawdling. A young man in a pristine white shirt materializes on your right with a tray full of champagne flutes, and you pluck one off with a murmur of thanks. Sipping slowly, you wander around the perimeters of the party, listening to the lively chatter. Across the room, you spot Lisa, returning her friendly wave with one of your own.

“Hello, {Name}.”

The deep, familiar voice has you whirling around in an instant, head bowing in automatic deference. “Mr. Jung,” you murmur, not quite daring to look him in the eye. “It’s been a while.”

Hoseok’s father inclines his head in acknowledgment, salt-and-pepper hair gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. No doubt he was a handsome man in his younger days, but the salt in his hair has steadily overtaken the pepper in the last few years, the stern lines around his mouth deepening.

“I didn’t know you would be joining us today,” he says cordially. “But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after all these years. Have you been here long?”

“Not long. Five minutes, maybe.” Beneath his piercing gaze, you feel like a small child again. Quickly, you scramble for something else to say, gesturing around the sleek glass interior of the office. “This is a lovely party. You must be so proud.”

Another nod. “I wasn’t sure that Hoseok was going to step up,” he admits. “I had my reservations about whether or not he would accept his duties as a Jung, but he has, and I’m pleased that he did. It’s no easy feat, running this company and leading the city’s pack. But I’ve served my time, just as my father did before me.” His gaze flits down to meet yours suddenly, and you find that you can’t read the emotion swimming in them. “I believe I spotted you at his funeral the other day, did I not?”

You nod, resisting the urge to take a sip from your nearly empty champagne glass as your cheeks warm under the scrutiny. “I was, yes. I’m very grateful to have had the opportunity to pay my respects. He was a great man.”

“That, he was,” Mr. Jung agrees. “Hoseok takes after him in many ways. My father—as great as he was—always had a soft spot for the boy. Coddled him a bit too much.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jung, I think that’s a grandfather’s job,” you reply with a smile.

That earns you a smile in return, the lines around his mouth easing. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Hoseok’s father excuses himself to talk to the other guests, and you set off in search of Hoseok himself. You can feel his aura somewhere nearby, strong and steady, but the room is large enough that you cannot pinpoint his exact location. Not for the first time, you curse the fact that you don’t have a werewolf’s sharp sense of smell. No doubt it could easily be as cumbersome as it is helpful, but it would certainly help you right now.

Turning a corner, you are about to continue lamenting your average olfactory system when you suddenly catch a glimpse of familiar auburn hair, afloat in a sea of black suits. Dodging around a sharply dressed businesswoman and ducking beneath a waiter’s serving tray clears your path to Hoseok, and you’re milliseconds away from stepping forward to greet him when you feel it.

There’s an energy emanating from Hoseok, the likes of which you’ve never felt from him before. It’s heavy and commanding and so potent that the air is laden with it, and a cursory glance at the people surrounding him reveals that they feel it too—their gazes lowered, voices hushed and respectful. In his fitted black suit and emerald green shirt, he looks every bit the alpha he is, and you are quickly realizing that you’re not immune to the power radiating off of him. The Hoseok standing before you isn’t the same Hoseok whose tail you set on fire all those years ago. Far from it. The revelation is somehow simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, and your heart leaps into your throat when you notice that he’s waving you over.

As if compelled, you comply, striding forward until you’re standing before him. “Hi,” your murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

Hoseok’s face splits into a smile. “Hi yourself,” he says, and you would have laughed if your insides didn’t feel like they were about to burst.

“I, um. I brought you your succulent,” you tell him, reaching into your bag. There’s a tiny potted jade plant inside, packaged neatly into a box that you open up and present to him. “It’s jade. Easy to keep alive, and easy to propagate too, if you’re inclined.”

Hoseok accepts your gift, his smile growing as he admires the plump green leaves. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You shrug and wave off his gratitude, fiddling to clasp your bag shut. “So,” you start, glancing around and gnawing on your bottom lip, completely missing the way Hoseok’s eyes darken as he follows the movement. “It looks like everything went well at the Ministry. Your dad is pleased.”

Hoseok hums, low in his throat. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah, just now.”

“I see.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he’s interrupted by a blur of motion and a shrill cry of his name. A moment later, Nayeon is at his side, latching onto his arm and batting her lashes, adorned in a form-fitting red dress and golden jewelry.

“Hoseok! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Then her gaze alights on you, eyes going wide as if she’s only just noticed your presence. “{Name}, oh my goodness. I almost didn’t see you there, hi!”

“Hello, Nayeon,” you grit out, unable to hide your scowl. You wonder if she spotted it before you hid it behind a large sip of champagne.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention refocuses onto a spot behind you, and you watch as her expression lights up, delight etching across her features. “Mr. Jung!” she exclaims. “There’s my favorite future father-in-law. Come and join us—it’s not a party without you.”

Hoseok’s father chuckles lightly, coming forward to stand beside you. “Long time no see,” he jokes, nodding in your direction. “And Nayeon—hello. How are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, I’m having the loveliest time,” she chirps, simpering up at Hoseok. “How could I not be, when my fiancé is here with me?” Then she smiles—her lips painted the same shade of red as her dress. “But I’m sure I’m nowhere near as happy as you are. You must be beyond excited to spend some quality time with your wife after being busy for so long.”

“I am,” Mr. Jung admits. The severity in his features softens as he seeks out his wife, standing across the room surrounded by friends and extended family. “I’m a very lucky man to have a woman like her.”

Nayeon giggles. “And I’m a lucky woman to have a man like your son. Isn’t that right, darling?”

She tilts her head to look up at Hoseok, who blinks twice in rapid succession, his throat bobbing. “Right,” he says, his voice raspy. “The luckiest.”

And as you turn to engage Mr. Jung in conversation once more, you miss the way his gaze lingers on you.

///

Tuesdays at Hellebore are for brewing. You save bottling for Thursdays—giving your potions and other concoctions ample time to simmer and set—but today, you are hunched over the stove with all four burners turned to different temperature settings, watching over your pots so that they don’t boil over.

A cursory glance out the window tells you that it’s well into the afternoon, the pastel blue sky littered with trailing clouds lit hazy and golden in the sun. You’ve been in the kitchen since early morning, and, desperate for a breath of fresh air, you crack the window open and inhale deeply. Then you turn back to the stove, giving one pot a stir and adding a pinch of burdock root to another.

Wandering downstairs, you head to the greenhouse. The sunlight is brighter here, the air more humid. Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the scent of the hundreds of plants growing inside, before heading for the laburnum tree in the far corner. Carefully, you brush aside the cascading golden flowers, about to gather the dried ones that have fallen to the dirt when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’m sorry, we’re close—” you say, stopping when you recognize the head of coppery red hair in the window. “Lisa?” Confused, you open the door and let her inside. “What brings you here today?”

“You need to go to Hoseok, now,” she says, foregoing any preambles. “He’s… well, you’ll see. Nayeon’s there right now, but she’s not helping the situation, and...” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can help him now.”

All at once, your stomach drops to your toes. “What’s wrong with Hoseok?” you demand. “Is he hurt?”

Lisa shakes her head, red hair flying. “No, he’s fine. I don’t know how much longer that’ll last, though.”

The cryptic response sends your heart into overdrive, pounding against your ribcage like a doomsday drum. Striding over to the bay window, you wake Bast from his nap in a slanted ray of sunlight, scratching behind his black ears and watching as his golden eyes flicker open, pupils going wide when he senses your turmoil.

What is it?

Hoseok, you reply shortly. Beneath your touch, Bast’s ears perk up.

What do you need?

You swallow, hard, and suck in a deep breath. I’m going to open a portal.

It’s a dangerous feat, and both you and Bast know it. Opening a portal requires an immense amount of energy, and maintaining one long enough to travel through is a risk to even the most experienced witches. You’ve heard horror stories of spliced limbs and paralysis, and in some cases, even death.

But for Hoseok, you’re willing to risk it all.

“Lisa,” you say, grabbing your purse and striding back to the front door of the shop. “Can you lock up once I’m gone?”

She nods nervously. “Of course.”

You incline your head in silent thanks. At your feet, Bast is slinking continuous figure-eights around your ankles, betraying his worry at the task ahead. Your own heart feels ready to spring out from your ribcage and onto the sun-drenched floor, but you swallow down your nerves and look down at your familiar once more. Ready? you ask.

Ready, Bast confirms. Be careful.

I will.

Closing your eyes, you begin to visualize Hoseok’s front door, focusing on every little detail you can remember. There’s the scuff in the black paint from when he first moved in and accidentally scraped a table leg against it. There’s the bronze knocker that always hangs slightly askew. The image builds slowly in your mind, coming together like the broken pieces of a puzzle.

The air around you is suddenly much warmer than before, an invisible force sapping away at your strength and weakening your legs. Bast’s energy melds with yours, but it’s barely enough to keep you on your feet. Exhaustion seeps into your bones and steals the oxygen from your lungs. You gasp, chest heaving.

I don’t think it’s going to work. Bast’s voice is a faint whisper in the back of your mind.

It will, you hiss. It has to.

The front door of your shop is beginning to glow white, becoming hazy and amorphous as the edges begin to blur. You spot a splash of black paint coming through the fog, followed by a bronze knocker. A matching handle appears a moment later, growing out of tendrils of mist and solidifying before your eyes.

Sucking in a deep breath, you reach forward to grab it. Slowly, you turn until you can turn no longer.

And then you step through.

The first thing you hear is a low, cavernous rumble—deep enough that you feel it reverberating through your very bones. Then your surroundings begin to come into focus. You’re in Hoseok’s entryway, all your limbs thankfully intact. The relief you feel at your success is quickly eclipsed by worry though, when you see Hoseok himself on the far side of the living room. The look in his brown eyes is nothing short of wild, his white shirt unbuttoned to nearly his navel and his auburn hair sweaty and disheveled.

“H-Hobi?” Your voice is no more than a breath, dissipating in the open air.

“Hoseok.” The new voice has you whirling. Nayeon is pressed against the wall opposite him, her expression harried. “Hoseok, please—“

“Get out,” Hoseok growls, his voice dangerously low. He’s bristling with the same energy as before, the same energy you felt back at JungTech—but this time it’s enough to fill the room and spill out the opened door and into the hallway. You can feel it pulsing against your skin, hot and electric, and know that Nayeon is even more affected from the way her shoulders slouch, her eyes dropping to the floor when he snarls. “Get out, now.”

She does. Nayeon turns on her heel and dashes out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you alone with Hoseok. His eyes are alight with something more wolf than man, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, and it’s all you can do not to shrink back when he turns his full attention onto you. Even from across the room, you can smell the liquor spilled across the coffee table in a dark ooze of fluid, cloying and bitter.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “You shouldn’t be here right now, {Name}.”

“Lisa told me to come,” you whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too much, Hoseok.”

Hoseok shakes his head and rakes a frazzled hand through his hair. “You need to leave,” he grunts. Shakily, he reaches out to right the overturned liquor bottle, the pad of his thumb skimming across the shattered edge.

“Let me do that,” you tell him, making to step forward, but Hoseok stops you with a raised hand and a low growl that stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare come any closer to me.”

You shake your head. “Hobi, it’s obvious you’ve been drinking. Let me help you.”

“No!” he snarls, flinching back when you take a step forward. “You need to leave. It’s… it’s dangerous for you here.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice is reduced to a whisper at the severity of his reaction, the energy in the air intensifying until it’s almost unbearable. “Why?”

“Because I’m in heat!” Hoseok spits. He sucks in a deep breath, the air whistling between his teeth, before he lets out an agonized moan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m in heat,” he repeats, reticence dripping from every syllable. “I can’t even fucking think straight, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you if you stay. So please, {Name}. Please go.”

“But Nayeon…” you begin, wavering when his eyes flash darkly at the mention of her name. “Or Lisa… I can call her, maybe—”

“No!”

You jump, startled at the volume of his shout.

“No,” Hoseok repeats, softer this time. “Don’t. I don’t want them. I’m—I’m fine.”

The sticky humidity and the pulsating energy flowing through the room tell you otherwise. “You’re clearly not,” you tell him gently, taking another step toward him. “Let me call Lisa. Or maybe one of the other girls in the pack, I’m sure someone can help y—”

“I don’t want Lisa.” Defeat suffuses his tone, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want any of them. I want—fuck.” Hoseok groans and lets his head fall back against the wall, the dull thunk echoing in the stillness. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I want. You need to leave, {Name}. You’re only going to be in danger if you stay.”

For the second time that afternoon, only one word springs to mind. “Why?”

Hoseok groans again. “Because I’m weak,” he mutters hoarsely. “Because I’m weak, and I’m not thinking straight, and if you come any closer to me, I won’t be able to stop myself from pinning you against that wall right there and having my way with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The rippling energy in the air is almost oppressive in its strength, and only grows when Hoseok’s gaze finally lands on you, his pupils blown out and blacker than the night.

“Go,” he entreaties, dragging a frazzled hand through his hair. “Please, {Name}.”

You suck in a deep breath, your lungs swelling and expanding with the newfound oxygen. Then, ever so slowly, you let your gaze flicker up to meet his. “What if I don’t want to?”

Hoseok freezes. Time comes to a standstill, and even the overwhelming energy emanating from him seems to falter. The room is near silent, broken only by your companion’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt. Even from across the room, you can see the sheen of sweat coating his honeyed skin, shining in the light of the setting sun.

“You don’t mean that,” he says at last. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can,” you whisper. “And I do.”

For three agonizingly long seconds, Hoseok remains rooted firmly in place, his throat bobbing harshly. Then, before you can even blink, he’s striding forward—a blur of motion almost too quick for your eyes to follow. He comes to a stop a hair’s breadth from you, one hand reaching up to cup your face delicately, as if you’re made of glass.

“You,” he rasps, “have no idea what you’ve just done.” His thumb traces the swell of your cheek just below your eye, the motion surprisingly tender. Your heart stutters in your chest.

And then he leans down and crushes his mouth to yours.

The rest of the world falls away, dissolving into nothing. Your eyes flutter shut as Hoseok’s hands slide down your sides to curl around your hips, your body melting against his taut frame. He is all you can feel and all you can taste, and you keen helplessly when he grinds against you, his cock hot and hard against your stomach.

The sound seems to awaken something in Hoseok, a cavernous groan erupting from his throat. Pulling away from your mouth, he descends upon the delicate skin of your neck, teeth and tongue blossoming bruises in their wake. Shaky hands find the collar of your shirt, questioning eyes seeking out yours for permission that you happily give. He tugs the garment off almost delicately, his ravenous gaze roving across each bit of newly revealed flesh, and once it’s freed from your head he tosses it aside and sets about doing the same to the rest of your clothing.

Maybe it should feel odd, watching through lidded eyes as Hoseok drops to his knees to pull your jeans down and off your ankles. Maybe you should feel embarrassed, seeing your best friend bury his nose between your legs, delirious bliss etching across his features as he inhales, his strong fingers curling around your thighs to spread you wider. But instead, it feels completely and utterly natural—as if this was always meant to be.

“You smell divine,” Hoseok breathes, slotting himself between your spread thighs and running a fingertip along your lace-covered slit, collecting the considerable slick there and bringing it to his nose. “Fuck, {Name}. Just one whiff, and I can tell that you’re primed and ready for me.”

“Take me, then,” you breathe back shakily, rolling your hips when he slips past the lacy barrier of your panties to find your clit, circling around the sensitive nub until you’re gasping his name.

Hoseok’s gaze darkens to obsidian, his pupils swallowing up the amber-flecked brown of his irises. In one smooth motion, he’s on his feet again, straightening up to his full height as his hands find purchase on your hips. He twirls you around until you’re facing the wall, your palms pressed flat against the woven tapestry hanging there.

“Gorgeous.” A single word, laced with unmistakable awe. Then he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, the metallic clink and tug of a zipper reaching your ears, before he presses against you, clothed chest molding against your bare back. Even through the thin layer of fabric, you can feel the sweltering heat emanating from him, his sweat soaking through the cotton and sticking to your skin. His mouth finds its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder again—teasing at the flesh until you’re quivering—before he begins laying a trail of hot kisses down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you,” Hoseok rasps, tearing your panties away once his lips reach the waistband, the flimsy lace ripped to shreds in his desperate grip. “Want you on your front, want you on your back, want you on my tongue—” His voice drops, rumbling through his chest and sending shivers through your entire body. “Want you. Wanted you for so long.”

And as if to reinforce his words, the velvety head of his cock nestles against the cleft of your backside, hot and slick.

Wordlessly, you arch your back, presenting him with the tempting swell of your rear. A glance over your shoulder reveals the strained clench of his jaw and the bob of his throat, his biceps tensed and his gaze unwavering. His control is undoubtedly dangling by a single thread at this point—a delicate, gossamer thread that’s on the verge of snapping. The delirium of his heat is overtaking his senses, his grip tightening on your hips, and ever so slowly, he begins to press forward until the tip of his thick cock is just beginning to part your walls. Already, the fit borders on excruciating, and your body tenses at the intrusion, stretched to the limit around his thick girth.

Hoseok exhales shakily, his primal instincts warring with his desire to ensure your comfort. Soft lips drop kiss after kiss onto your bare shoulders, your back, your neck—wherever he can reach as he whispers tender praises into your skin. “Breathe, princess,” he encourages lowly. “You can take it—I know you can. You were made for me.”

Obediently, you inhale, focusing on the way your lungs expand and contract as you draw air into them. The pain ebbs away with each breath you take, until all that is left is a low throb of pleasure. Your hips rock back against him, and Hoseok takes it as a sign to push forward once more, parting your walls until he’s fully seated inside you, your body stretched to the limit as you mold around him.

There’s no pain now—only an aching desire for more, more, more. He’s deep enough to reach parts of you that you’ve never been able to explore before—either alone or with other partners—and you moan brokenly when he rolls his hips experimentally. “More, Hoseok,” you whimper. “Please.”

He obliges. One thrust leads into another, the punishing pace he sets fueled by his heady desperation for relief. The full, heavy weight of his cock dragging along your walls ignites every nerve ending in your body, sizzling electricity blazing through your veins. It’s all you can do to plant your palms flat against the tapestried wall, fingers twitching at the woven fabric as Hoseok grabs your hips with enough force to bruise and pulls you back against him in time with his thrusts.

“Look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Love the way you feel, clenching around me like that. My perfect, pretty girl, taking my cock so well. I always knew you were made for me.” He grunts, forehead falling against your back, damp hair matting against your skin as he continues rutting against you. “Always—fuck—knew you were my mate.”

The particularly harsh thrust that follows his raspy declaration sends all coherent thought flying out of your head, taking your surprise along with it. All you can manage is a shuddery whine that vaguely resembles his name, the sound intermingling with the obscene smack of flesh against flesh and the continuous stream of praises Hoseok whispers into your skin.

There’s something building inside you—a dull, throbbing pressure at the point where your body joins with his. He’s still rolling up into you, but each subsequent thrust grows more and more shallow. The realization dawns on your dazed mind all at once, as you feel the growing swell at the base of his cock. Hoseok is rendered near immobile as he finally reaches his high, the entirety of his length sheathed firmly inside your pussy as he spills ropes of white against your fluttering walls. The swelling continues, filling you until you feel fit to burst.

“H-Hoseok,” you gasp. “I can’t. I can’t—you’re going to rip me in half.”

Soothing hands smooth along your sides, warm lips littering kisses onto your bare shoulders. “You can,” he murmurs tenderly. “You were made for me, and I for you. You can take it, princess. I know you can.”

The gentle repetition of his fingertips trailing nonsensical patterns into your skin eases your labored panting somewhat. Beneath his touch, you slowly relax, the pressure in your abdomen abating as his knot begins to subside.

“You did so well.” His voice is no more than a mumble, almost lost in the sweat and slick coating your skin.

You sag against the wall, taking a few moments to catch your breath before slowly easing off of him, the sudden loss leaving your core empty and aching. Gingerly, you turn around to face him, acutely aware of the way your combined juices immediately begin dribbling down your thighs.

“You said I was your mate,” you whisper, almost afraid that the sentiment will disappear if voiced aloud. “Did… did you mean that?”

“Every word,” Hoseok replies, equally soft. “Is that okay?”

A smile blooms across your face. Rising up to your tiptoes, you kiss him again—a soft, reassuring peck that he immediately leans into, seeking out your touch like a flower in the sun. “More than okay,” you breathe, feeling the way his lips stretch upward against yours. “I’m glad, Hobi.”

Hoseok sighs into your mouth, a slow smile settling across his features. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, and in an instant, he’s swept you off your feet, one arm beneath your bent knees and the other around your back. “And I’m planning to take my time with you, princess. You’re not leaving here until I say so.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, crossing your hands at his nape. “Fine by me,” you tell him, earning yourself a wide grin. His lips seek out yours again as he carries you down the darkened hallway and into the shadowy depths of his bedroom, pausing only to nudge the lightswitch on with his elbow. Golden light suffuses the room as he steps forward to lay you on his bed, your back sinking into the plush mattress and dipping further when he joins you. He hovers over you with an arm on either side of your head, and you reach up to trace the vein that lines his biceps with a gentle fingertip, giggling when he gives your bottom lip a punishing nip.

The kiss deepens from there. Hoseok parts your lips and seeks out your tongue with his own, subduing it into compliance. By the time you pull apart, all the oxygen has left your lungs, leaving you flushed and gasping. Hoseok chortles breathlessly and trails down to press a kiss to your navel, before traveling downward until he’s reached your clit. Gently, he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, rumbling with laughter when you buck against him.

“So needy,” he murmurs. To your displeasure, he straightens back up to kneel between your spread thighs, but your complaint quickly dissolves into thin air when he edges forward until his knee is pressed against your aching clit. Desperate for more friction, you grind against him, your wetness soaking through his jeans in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t take long for pressure to build up in your belly again, winding tight as a coiled spring. Hoseok is staring down at you, transfixed, and his undivided attention only serves to bring you closer to the edge, teetering on the very brink.

“Look at you.” His voice could almost be described as a purr, if he weren’t so utterly canine in mannerisms and appearance. “Such a greedy little thing, all desperate to get off. You’re making a mess of my new jeans, princess.”

You’re too far gone to care about the teasing lilt that colors his tone. The edge is rapidly approaching, and one last roll of your hips is enough to send you over, your walls convulsing around nothing as you ride out your high.

Hoseok doesn’t wait. In an instant, he’s back between your legs, having moved so quickly you didn’t even see when he’d started or stopped. His tongue darts out to lave at your folds, a growl rumbling through his chest when your hips jump on instinct. Immediately, he tightens his grip, strong arms winding around your thighs and anchoring at your waist to render you helpless in his grasp, only able to take what he sees fit to give.

“How is it that you taste even better than you smell?” Hoseok muses as he leans down to suck your clit into his mouth, lips curling up into a pleased smirk when you gasp out his name. “Cute,” he says, releasing the nub in favor of descending to your drenched entrance instead, flicking his tongue shallowly inside before withdrawing with a chuckle.

“Hoseok—” you begin, only to dissolve into a moan when he sheaths two fingers inside you without any warning, curling them up and in until you’re shaking in his grasp.

“Come for me,” he commands softly. “Go on, let me hear you.”

And you do, chanting his name like a mantra as a wave of pleasure overtakes you. Hoseok’s thumb circles your clit in just the right way to prolong your orgasm, and it isn’t until you’re cringing from overstimulation that he finally relents, descending down to mold his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. His lips part yours, tongue dipping out to explore as he sheds his shirt and shucks off his ruined jeans. His skin, when he presses against you, burns hot as a furnace wherever it touches. Against your stomach, his cock stirs back to life.

He’s gentler this time. Every movement is slow and deliberate and tender as he breaches you, murmuring your name reverentially as he fills you again. Your body bows to his willingly, stretching to accommodate him, and the spike of pleasure that lances through you when he bottoms out is almost enough to send your oversensitive body over the edge again, your walls fluttering around him.

There’s an unmistakable shift in the air when Hoseok starts up a slow rhythm, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips move against yours, soft and tender, before moving past your jugular and down to the crook of your neck, elongated canines scraping against the delicate skin in a silent question. You wind your arms around his neck and nod, giving him his answer. There’s no need for words.

And then his teeth are sinking into the spot he’s so lovingly scoped out, breaking the skin. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, and the pleasure intermingles with the pain of the bite until you are delirious, rendered boneless in his grasp. Hoseok’s hips stutter, his pace growing erratic as he soothes the wound over with his tongue.

You’re prepared for the swelling this time, but the fullness still manages to knock all the air out of your lungs, bordering on painful as his knot grows. Hoseok quells your whimpers with tender kisses, the instinct to comfort his mate paramount even as he paints your walls with ropes of creamy white. He traces a path from your lips down to where he’s marked and claimed you as his, imbuing your skin with a litany of praises that warm you from the inside out.

“My mate,” he murmurs, reverent. ��Finally.”

You lean into his touch with a tired smile. “Finally? How long have you wanted this?”

His lips curl into a smile against your clavicle. “Ages. If I’m honest, I think I fell in love with you the day you set my tail on fire when we were kids. It’s always been you, {Name}. Only you.”

You can’t help it—you need to hear it from his mouth again. “You love me?”

Hoseok chuckles. “Of course I do. My tricky little minx—my perfect, pretty mate. I love you more than anything.” One hand reaches up to caress your cheek, running along the tender skin beneath your eye before cupping the back of your head so he can mold his mouth to yours. “Love you more than I can even explain,” he breathes, punctuating each word with a kiss. His hands blaze trails down the slopes of your body until he finally anchors below the crook of your legs. “So why don’t you let me show you instead?”

And he does. Over and over that night, and in the two days of his heat that follow, he shows you exactly how he feels. Propriety is forgotten, left by the wayside with his scorned fiancé and marriage. He is yours, and you are his.

Consequences be damned.

⇢ aftermath.

also set in this universe:

[myg]

6K notes · View notes

sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

If You Leave Me Now

Summary: Ms. Oh’s letter gives Cha-young courage to say what’s in her heart.

Author’s Note: Back with another Chayenzo fic and surprisingly no angst this time, today’s episode inspired me to write this. Also fulfilled my Chayenzo fic prompt, this is what you call efficiency ladies and gents LOL I wanted to write sweet emotionally stunted Vinny and brave CY trying to let him know that he deserves love, hope you enjoy!

She doesn’t know what she had been expecting from the letter, initially she had thought it would simply be a thank you note-though it was unnecessary Ms. Oh was always very grateful and seemed to think that her mere existence was a nuisance to those around her. The woman had been so beaten down by life and she feels a sense of pride that her father spent all these years caring for someone that all others had all but thrown away after destroying her. She would never be as intrinsically good and right as her late father, she had too much blood and bad deeds on her hands to be sanctified but helping the powerless, she had enough heart left to see that this was something she cared about.

She had spent years following her mother’s untimely death hardening herself and convincing herself that others didn’t matter to her. She was an island and she needed no one else. This was her mantra as she worked her way up the social ladder at Wusang and purchased more and more temporary happiness in the form of bags and pretty suits, materialism filled the void that was left by her lack of any true love in her life.

She gently folds back up the letter, letting the tears cascade down her cheeks the words still tugging at her heart.

The woman had come to terms with her fate, knowing that while we are all essentially dying each day her days were numbered and their was an expiration date lingering in the imminent future. But it wasn’t those words that made her cry it was the words she has never seen coming.

It seemed the only people they were lying to were each other.

Ms. Oh knew.

Had known all this time and hadn’t deigned herself worthy of revealing the secret and getting the opportunity to hear that sacred word that only one person could anoint her with.

Eomeoni.

“It’s enough that I get to see him. He has grown up so well without me.”

It must have been torture for the poor woman to see the very son she had given away and not be able to hold him or hear his voice as he called her mother, her smile never quite reached her eyes when he called her Ms. Oh. It was as if she was quietly waiting and suffering for the day when he would slip and reveal their true relationship but if her partner was anything he was steadfast and stubborn. He wouldn’t be saying a word, at least without a nudge.

His words echo in her memory, “People like me don’t deserve love.”

it was such bullshit and cop out but she recognized it for what it was, a convenient shield from his feelings. If he believed that he didn’t have any right to love then he would avoid the pain that came from loving someone, the expectations and the vulnerability.

Squeezing the papers between her shivering fingers she grabs her phone before she can second guess herself, his number is the most recent in her call list. She had called him earlier today to see what he wanted to eat for breakfast tomorrow, it was his day to choose she had chosen last time.

The phone only rings once before he’s answering, his voice is warm honey through the speaker she knows he is laying down in his ridiculously expensive silk pajamas. She absently wonders how it would feel on her skin.

“Hmm what is it?” He answers groggily, sounding sleepy but patient and she can detect no annoyance at her calling so late, instead he sounds concerned and she can hear the faint sounds of him moving.

“I’m okay. You don’t need to get dressed.” He sighs in response, the sounds of movement fading and then it’s silent except the faint coos of Inzaghi in the background. “is Inzaghi keeping you up again? Maybe you should get someone to get rid of him?”

“No! How could I-- I mean no, it’s fine. His coos don’t bother me anymore. I find them soothing.” He replies more passionately than she had expected, he had been many hours cursing the pigeon in the past much to her chagrin but lately it was like he had found a new appreciation for the bird. It was weird. It wasn’t like the bird had saved him or something ludicrous like that so she had no idea why he was behaving like this.

“Okay.”

“What’s wrong? Why are you calling so late?” He hums on the other line, sounds of the kitchen reaching her ears now, he’s probably making tea he wasn’t much of a fan before but it had slowly grown on him. She had obnoxiously bought him a huge box of tea while she had been staying with him after he’d told her how he only enjoyed coffee- real coffee not the garbage she drank, she forced him to drink them with her every morning until he started making them on his own much to her amusement.

“Drink the chamomile tea, it’ll help you fall asleep.”

After a small pause he answers, “I don’t have trouble falling asleep.”

He lies and she doesn’t call him out, both recalling that night he had woken up sweaty and panicked after a dream. She hadn't questioned him seeing the terror on his face, knowing it wasn’t the right time. She had quietly made him tea and stayed up until he fell asleep, tucking the blanket more snuggly around him.

She listens as the kettle whistles signaling it’s readiness and suddenly she feels ready too, despite the consequences.

“Are you still planning on leaving Korea after you get the gold?” She asks suddenly, a familiar fear pressing on her chest the longer he goes without answering her and she can almost see his face- his wide eyes and the purposeful stoic look firmly in place.

“Why do you keep asking me that?” His voice is tired, desperately so and she can hear the hidden message, “why are you making me face my emotions?” and honestly she doesn’t know why herself, she has never been one to face her own emotions not with matters of the heart. She spent years pretending not to need her father’s approval or love whilst secretly pining and desperate for any attention from him even though she had been the one to push him away first.

It’s your fault she’s dead!

With those vicious words she had ripped her father’s beating heart from his chest and stomped on it with her stiletto heels. Then she had joined Wusang and fought against him, using money and influence to snuff out the hope of innocent people. Maybe Vincenzo was right and people like them didn’t deserve love.

But she was greedy and entitled and others might see that as a flaw but she didn’t care, she wanted this and she deserved it.

“Because I want you to stay.”

There’s no taking it back, the truth is now out there suspended between them and she can hear his gasp on the other line, she’s caught him off guard. Hell, he’s not the only one but she has already shot herself in the foot so there’s no turning back now.

She’s all in.

“I like you.” That’s a lie, the feelings she has for him have mowed past “like” a long time ago and are dangerously close to another L word she’s too chicken shit to admit to him or herself, she has some sense of self preservation and despite those lips devouring her own and stealing any doubts she had about his reciprocation of her feelings, she knows that he is scared of this and he could push her away in some blindsided decision to keep her safe.

“Wh--what?” He stutters out dumbfounded and far less eloquent than the smooth mafia member she has come to know.

It makes her smile softly, she feels honored to get to see this side of him. A side that he only shows to her.

“I’m happy that you came to Korea and that we met. That you met my father and for a little while you were on his side. That you accepted me after everything and that you have never judged me. Meeting you as been the best luck I’ve ever stumbled on, Vincenzo Cassano.”

The silence is deafening and she vaguely wonders if he has hung up too overwhelmed with her sudden confession and fleeing instead but the screen still says his name, “Corn Salad” when she pulls it back to peer at the screen.

“I know you don’t think you belong here in Korea, you don’t think it’s your home. But I’m learning that home doesn’t have to be a place, it can be people too and the feeling you get around them. You showed me that.” Her heart is thundering now but she feels relieved to say this out loud too, if anything were to happen to either one of them it would break her if he never knew how she felt, what he meant to her.

“Me? I showed you that?” He whispers stunned and she can hear the soft rustle of him sitting down, had she made him weak in the knees? She can only hope so.

“Yes. I have lived here my whole life but I never felt as seen or accepted until I met you. You feel like home.”

“Cha-young ah.”

She waits to see if there will be more but that’s all he says, her name like it’s a sermon. It’s the first time he has called her by her first name despite how close they’ve grown in the past months. It sounds like music to her ears, not that opera noise he’s always listening to despite her complaining-loudly- each time she comes over but real music, the kind you would put on during those summer days where you let your hair whip in the breeze. The kind that remains in your heart even after summer has long ended and fall creeps around the corner with a cool entrance.

“I’m happy you’re here and I want this to be your home now. I don’t want you to run away, we both want you to stay.”

His breath is erratic over the line, even more so than when she had found him injured in the underpass. She lets him process her words giving him time that nobody else has ever received from her in the past, with him she wants to be someone who can be patient, he is worth the wait.

“Why are you telling me all this? Why now?” He pleads sounding tortured and when he sniffles she wants nothing more than to reach through the phone and wrap him up in her arms, he sounds so young and confused.

“I don’t want to have any regrets. Not with you.” She answers honestly, the letter staring at her from the table words catching her eyes.

“I can’t let him know how much he means to me. I know it is not my place to ask this but please love him dearly and let him know he is important and needed everyday. Letting him go was my biggest regret, I hope you will be stronger than I was.”

Like she had a choice anyway, she had told herself many times that she shouldn’t have feelings for him but every time she saw him smile or watched him torture someone to get them closer to taking down Babel all of her logic went out the window and she couldn’t help but imagine a life for them after this was all over. Korea, Italy, Malta, it didn't matter where they went as long as they were together. She had no intention of letting him go, not without a fight.

If that made her a villian so be it, he had been the one to train her how to be one in the first place.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how I feel about you. I’m sorry if I kept you up.”

A long pause follows her apology and with a sigh she goes to end the call, he hadn’t outright rejected her and that was more than she had been expecting. She would regroup and make a thorough presentation of why they belonged together and why exactly he should either stay in Korea or let her go with him after they defeated those corrupt scumbags.

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” He admits, forgetting his earlier denial of this very fact.

“Are you drinking the tea?”

“Yes, I am. You left so many of them here. I told you I’m not a tea drinker.” He states contrary with the loud slurping she hears over the phone.

If she were anyone else his seeming dismissal through ignoring her confession would be heart breaking but she knows him too well now, is too aware of the dark inner workings of his mind and much he is overthinking every word she has uttered and cataloguing every reason that they shouldn’t be together, her safety is most likely top of the list. Old habits die hard and regardless of her constantly telling him that they should face everything together, she knows that there is still a lot that he hides from her in a guise of protecting her. His story about a nail pulling his suit plays out in her head.

“Tea is best for insomnia. Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up first, staring at the picture she had sneakily taken of him when he had been distracted in the office. It had been a long day and he had abandoned his jacket and loosened his tie, a sign that the day had taken its toll on him. She didn’t know what came over her but she found herself picking up her phone and snapping a picture of his side profile, he looked so handsome. When he had looked up and seen her on the phone, she pretended to be texting someone and walked away, her heart racing until he shrugged and looked away.

“I won’t give up on you Vincenzo Cassano.” She promises, putting the letter back into the envelope and making her way to the bathroom to complete her nightly routines.

Face scrubbed and teeth brushed to minty perfection, she walks across the moonlit room tugging down the sheets and crawling in, being so open and honest had been emotionally exhausting.

The things she did for him.

Getting comfortable in her bed she reaches out to plug in her phone to charge, but the tiny envelope icon on her phone catches her attention, she must have received a message while she was in the bathroom. Curious, she swipes her phone open before clicking on the message, she tells herself not to be too hopeful it’s probably not him and she’s going to be disappointed when it’s just a telemarketer trying to get her to switch tv providers.

“Oh,” She stares at the message, the light from the phone the sole source of illumination in the dark room besides the moon glowing through her curtains. She has no words, no thoughts either all she can do is feel and even that is difficult with too many varying emotions raging war in her body. She had tried her damnest not to expect anything, knew that he wasn’t ready to face his feelings and he might never be able to say how he felt about her, his actions would have to be enough. She would have accepted it as enough, having him was more than enough.

But as the message stares up at her, she realizes she had been lying to herself when the wave of unfiltered joy that crashes over her washes away her sandcastles of lies.

You are already my home.

It’s not the passionate confessions that are glorified in dramas, there’s no rain or dramatic slowing down of time, he hasn’t even said those coveted three oh so special words; on the surface he has barely said anything at all but to her his words are a blanket on a cold wintery day, she has only ever wanted someone to stay and now she has found that.

Loving him feels like coming home.

#vincenzo #hong cha young #vincenzo cassano #CCFC2021 #chayenzo #chayenzo living rent free in my mind #soft hours

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evermoreholland · 4 years

Text

Daddy’s girl | Charlie Gillespie

Pairing: Dad!Charlie Gillespie x Mom!Reader

Summary: The journey of your pregnancy until the birth of your baby girl.

Warnings: Angst if you squint, FLUFF

Word Count: 1,423

A/n: Two pregnancy fics in a row. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

You had been feeling sick for the past couple of weeks. You would throw up whatever you ate, but you were always hungry. Your head was constantly pounding and your stomach was hurting. You had no idea what it was, but your boyfriend made sure that you were feeling better.

Charlie was very nurturing. He cared for you so much and he always took care of you when you were sick, even though he could have gotten sick too. He didn’t care because he loved making you happy.

“Char?” You called out from your shared bedroom. You were currently laying in bed watching Netflix. Charlie was in the kitchen making you some tea.

“Coming, babe,” he said as he made his way to your room with a mug of chamomile tea in his hand. He came into the room and saw your cuddled up figure. He looked at you with sympathetic eyes. He did feel bad for you since he hated seeing you sick. Charlie came to your side and handed you the cup of tea with a warm smile.

“Thank you, honey,” you said in appreciation. You scooted over to one side of the bed so your boyfriend could sit beside you.

“Do you think your period is coming?” Charlie asked and your jaw dropped. You just realized that your period had been three weeks late. There was a very good chance that you were pregnant.

“No, it’s late, Char,” you said anxiously. “I think the reason I’m sick is because I might be pregnant.”

“You need me to go buy some tests?” Charlies asked as he got up from the bed and went to put on his shoes.

“Yeah.” Charlie could tell that you were nervous, no matter what the answer was going to be. He came over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Everything will be okay. Just trust me.”

Charlie came back around 15 minutes later with three difficult brands of pregnancy tests. You frantically took them from his hands and made your way to the bathroom. Charlie followed you to see if you needed anything.

“Can I be alone for a second?” You asked your boyfriend of two years. He nodded and left the bathroom to give you some space.

You did everything you were supposed to do and went out of the bathroom to wait for the test to process.

“Should be about five minutes until we know.” You said as you entered your bedroom. Charlie was sitting on the bed fiddling with his finger.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit, but I’m kinda excited to be a mom.” You said as you sat next to him. You grabbed his hand and interlaced your fingers together.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.”

“I thought you always wanted to get married first before we have children.”

“Life knows what’s best for us. So I’m going to trust the process.” Charlie said, which comforted you a lot. “Don’t worry, Y/n. We got this.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I think it’s time.”

You both went into the bathroom and you pick up the pregnancy test. You saw the two pink lines and you knew. You were pregnant.

“So?” Charlie asked in anticipation.

“I’m pregnant.” You said confidently. “We are going to be parents, Charlie.”

Charlie wrapped his arms around you. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

~~~

Charlie was on his way to Vancouver to work on season two of Julie and the Phantoms. You were about five months pregnant and you were coming along with Charlie.

“Babe, did you ever tell the cast that I’m pregnant?” You asked curiously when you were heading to the airport.

“I haven’t told anyone outside of our families.”

“Don’t you think they’ll notice something?” You asked as you pointed to your small but noticeable baby bump.

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell them,” Charlie paused to park the car at the airport parking area. “To see if they notice.”

“This isn’t a joke, Char. You also need to tell Kenny because I’ll probably go into labor while you’re working. We are going to be here for months, you know?”

“I know, I know.” He said and then you both got out of the car to grab your luggage and make your way to check-in.

“Then why haven’t you said anything?” You asked. Charlie remained silent when you both checked your bags and got your tickets.

You both made your way through security and when you were putting your shoes back on, insecurities washed through you.

“Are you embarrassed?” You asked.

“Is that what you think?” Charlie looked at you in disbelief.

“You’re making me wear this huge coat wherever I go and you refuse to tell your friends about the baby.” You said while pointing to your attire. Charlie’s eyes softened at your explanation.

“Angel,” Charlie said as he approached you. “I love you and our baby so fucking much.”

“We love you, too. Let’s just go the gate, okay?” You and then grabbed his hand. Charlie grabbed his backpack and walked with you to the gate. You both sat down in two seats in the corner by the outlets.

“Y/n, I’m not embarrassed by you or our child. I’m so happy that we’re having a baby together. I just don’t want our baby in the public eye just yet. I don’t want it to be too much for you.”

“I understand. I’m sorry for accusing you of otherwise,” you apologized.

“It’s okay. I’m going to email Kenny right now telling him about our situation,” Charlie giggled and then placed his hand on your stomach.

“You better be. I don’t want you missing the birth of our baby because you’re pretending to be a ghost.”

“You got it, babe.”

You arrived in Vancouver several hours later. You both made your way to your rented apartment after you picked up some food. It happened to be that Charlie wasn’t living with Owen this time around. It would just be the two of you and then in several months from now, your newborn too.

“I was thinking we could invite the guys over and tell them the news,” Charlie said after the two of you cleaned up dinner.

“Are you sure, Charlie?”

“I’m sure that they’ll figure it out anyway, dear,” Charlie said and then kneeled to press a kiss to your stomach.

Jeremy and Owen came over later that night and we ecstatic when Charlie told them the news. They couldn’t be happier for you and Charlie, and you were extremely grateful for their support. Kenny replied to Charlie’s email and wished you both a congratulations. It was very heartwarming to know that your baby was already loved and cared for by many.

~~~

Charlie had been filming for Julie and the Phantoms for the past few months while you got ready to give birth to your child. Charlie had been there almost every step of the way. He worked around his schedule to be there for you and you hired a doula for when you’re in labor.

Charlie was on set when your water broke. You called him on your way to the hospital.

“Charlie, the baby’s coming.” You tried to remain calm but you needed your boyfriend with you immediately.

“I’m on my way!”

Charlie was there within an hour. He was by your side and helped you throughout your 12-hour labor. You gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Charlie was in love.

“Hi, beautiful baby. It’s dada.” Charlie cooed. You had just fed and burped your daughter for the first time and now Charlie wanted to hold her. “She looks just like you, Y/n.”

“Did you think of a name for your daughter?” The nurse came in and asked. She handed you paperwork to fill out for your daughter.

“Delilah May Gillespie,” you said proudly.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” the nurse complimented and left the room for a moment.

“We’ve done good, haven’t we?”

“She’s perfect, Y/n,” Charlie said as he sat down on the hospital bed with you, Delilah in his arms. “And so are you.”

“When do you have to go back to work?”

“I finished my final scenes today. I’m all yours, and Delilah’s,” he said and then pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and an even softer kiss to Delilah’s.

“I can’t wait for our beautiful life together, Charlie.”

“Me too.” This moment couldn’t be more perfect. “She’s going to be such a daddy’s girl.”

#charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie fluff #charlie gillespie imagine

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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 3 years

Text

Safe Haven, part 1

(this is the continuation of 12C!)

Tag List: @deluxewhump @whumpinggrounds @yet-another-heathen @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @killtheprotagonist @kixngiggles

Content Warnings: immortal whumpee, lady whumpee, references to captivity and lab whump, malnutrition, dehydration, exhaustion, escape, caretaking, implied trauma, implied nudity

Author’s Notes: I really really hope you guys enjoy this one...I hope it’s as cathartic to read as it was to write. :)

I decided to start this next bit under a new title. The parts for the last one were getting excessive, and also this way even if my plans for the rest of it don’t work out, 12C is a complete thought.

As for the ‘escape plan’, I had more details of it in my mind but as I was writing it they felt...boring? So I cut the crap and kept it simple. Just trust that there was a plan and I’m just not a good enough writer to make it interesting. Besides, I wanted to get to the cute shit. :))

----

“You’re sure you know the plan?”

“Yes.”

“And...you’re sure you’re strong enough?”

“...I have to be.”

“That isn’t a yes.”

A huff lacking any real frustration. “Yes, Liv.”

“Okay. Two nights from now. Hang in there.”

----

The wheels of Liv’s cart are loud as they roll down the empty hallway, muffling out her sneakered footsteps. The sound also muffles her half-full water bottle falling from one of the shelves with a smack, and even if it weren’t for the cart, she’s got her headphones on, music turned up loud.

Liv comes to a stop at the door to the storage room. It’s unlocked, like always. She holds the door open with one hand and pushes her cart in halfway with the other. It’s then that she ‘notices’ her bottle down the hall, several yards away. Frustrated, she leaves the cart where it is and trudges to go pick it up.

When she returns, she only spends a couple of minutes in the storage room, restocking a few cleaning supplies so she won’t have to tomorrow. As she leaves the room and continues down the hall, she gives no indication that her cart has suddenly become heavier.

She gets into the elevator and heads upstairs to finish her final tasks of the night. This includes disposing of the garbage and hazardous waste she’s gathered throughout the night, putting utensils in a machine to be sanitized, and dumping linens from a hamper down a chute into a laundry room.

“Curl up tight,” she whispers as she tips the hamper. There’s a soft thud as more than just sheets and towels slide down the chute.

Liv finishes putting her things away, puts the papers from her clipboard in a file folder outside her manager’s door, uses the bathroom, and finally clocks out and heads to the parking garage. Calm, collected, seemingly lost in her music.

Heart pounding. Thoughts racing. Hopeful and terrified.

Her old but beloved little car sits alone on this floor of the dimly lit concrete garage. She throws her things into the passenger side before sitting heavily with a sigh in the driver’s seat. After a moment she turns on the car and begins the winding path up towards the exit.

As she rounds a bend she slows down a little...and remains slow for several moments until she hears her back door open and shut and a rustling as someone lies across the seat and burrows under a waiting blanket. She picks up her speed again, rolling down her window so she can swipe her ID card to get out.

Liv drives into the dark of night. It’s just past two in the morning, the roads empty, the traffic lights in town all blinking yellow. From the back seat she can hear weak, muffled breaths. When she looks at her rearview mirror, she can just make out the bundled heap trembling by the light of street lamps.

She waits until she’s a couple miles beyond the facility’s property before speaking, her voice hoarse from how dry her throat is.

“You okay back there?”

“...not sure,” comes Emmeline’s answer, fear and exhaustion palpable in her voice. “Do you think they saw anything?”

“If we did everything right, no...but I guess we’ll find out.”

Liv puts on an air of confident nonchalance that is so far from how she feels, but it’s for Emmeline’s sake. The risks have become so much more than a slap on the wrist. If they’re caught Liv will be fired and almost certainly arrested for theft of company ‘property’. But Emmeline...not only will she have to go back there, but she’ll be kept under such tight lock and key that any second chance of escape would be impossible, and Liv would no longer be there to even try.

This was their one shot, and all Liv can do is try to keep her panic at bay and hope they didn’t screw it up.

And take care of Emmeline, she thinks, glancing again at the mirror.

The drive home takes its predictable twenty minutes, give or take a few. Liv pulls into her spot beside a nondescript brick apartment building and shuts off her car. She closes her eyes and gives herself a moment to breathe and pull her thoughts together.

It’s quiet from the back.

“Are you awake?”

“Mmhmm…”

That translates to barely.

“Not much further...then you can rest…”

The weight of that statement is too much for Liv’s tired mind to truly process, but it still briefly occurs to her just how big it is, just what it means. For the first time in months, Emmeline can finally, truly rest.

She goes to the back seat and helps Emmeline to her feet. Emmeline remains resolutely wrapped from neck to ankles in the blanket. Despite it being the old, scratchy one Liv keeps in her car in case of emergency, to Emmeline it’s so much more than she’s been allowed.

Standing there barefoot in the parking lot, Emmeline slowly looks up at Liv, strands of limp, messy hair hanging around her face. The single light on the side of the building illuminates her drawn face and although she’s weak, malnourished, exhausted...there is a grateful reverence in her eyes that no matter what happens, Liv will never forget.

Liv swallows and pushes down the lump in her throat. “Come on,” she whispers, putting her arm around Emmeline’s blanket-clad shoulders and guiding her towards the door.

----

Her apartment is tidier than usual; Liv made sure of that, even though she’s pretty sure Emmeline won’t care. Considering where she has spent the last several months, a jail cell would seem like an upgrade. But if Liv is anything, she’s self-conscious.

Emmeline looks around, blinking blearily after having barely made it up the single flight of stairs. She’s swaying on her feet and Liv ushers her to sit on the couch before she passes out right there in the middle of the living room.

Liv is running on adrenaline and fumes at this point. It’s all too surreal, like an out of body experience. Even after long hours spent thinking and planning, she never expected to get this far. But now Emmeline is here, in her apartment, sitting on her couch. Existing outside of the lab, real and tangible.

And she needs you. Get it together.

“I know you probably want to sleep,” Liv begins. Emmeline is still looking around the room like she can’t quite believe it either. “But you haven’t eaten, so...I want to get something in you first, if that’s okay?”

“Okay,” Emmeline whispers.

Liv moves slowly to the kitchen and busies herself with preparing something light and easy: canned soup, crackers, a mug of herbal tea with honey. Like in the car, she allows herself a moment to take a few deep breaths and will her hands to stop shaking before she picks up the plastic tray and carries the food back into the living room.

Emmeline hasn’t moved an inch, not even to relax back against the couch cushions. It isn’t quite what Liv expected...but then, what did she expect? For everything to be better the moment they got here? It isn’t all going to be okay overnight, she realizes. Give her time.

“Here…” Liv sets the tray on the coffee table and sits at the edge of the couch, leaving a few inches between them, not wanting to crowd Emmeline. “Um - chicken noodle soup. Saltines. Chamomile vanilla tea.”

Emmeline blinks slowly at the items before her. “I’m not dreaming. Right?”

“I hope not. Eating canned soup in my apartment isn’t a very exciting dream.”

A faint smile appears on Emmeline’s face. “To me it is…”

Liv holds the bowl of soup while Emmeline eats small spoonfuls of it and nibbles on crackers. She only eats about half before moving on to the tea, cupping the warm mug in her hands and humming with pleasure when she takes the first sip.

“Could I - “ Emmeline begins, but stops abruptly, ducking her head and taking another sip.

“Could you…?”

“Take a shower?” she asks almost inaudibly.

“Of course you can,” Liv answers automatically. “You can have whatever you need.”

Emmeline hesitates, still so frail and uncertain. “Just that is enough...thank you…”

Strengthened by her meal, Emmeline is able to make her own way to the bathroom. Beneath the blanket she is wearing a pair of nurse’s scrubs, stolen from the laundry room at the lab just in case a glimpse of her was caught on camera, though Liv meticulously designed their plan to avoid that. She sheds the clothes and Liv bundles them and the blanket into a plastic bag to discard tomorrow.

Emmeline disappears into the bathroom and a minute later the water comes on.

Liv is left sitting on the couch, finally alone with her fears and doubts.

I can’t believe I did that…

If we get caught we’re so fucked…

Does she even want to be here?

What the hell do I do now?

She grabs the tray of dishes and hurries to the kitchen, where she actually washes them instead of pushing it off to tomorrow, just to distract herself. When that task is done too soon, she goes to change into pajamas and find something for Emmeline to wear.

She’s unfolding and refolding the clothes for the third time when the water shuts off. Just as Liv is standing to bring her the clothes, the sound of the shower curtain moving aside is followed by a cry and a loud thud.

Liv darts to the bathroom, everything else forgotten. She enters without knocking, her heart in her throat.

Emmeline is sprawled on her side on the floor, grimacing. One leg is hooked over the edge of the tub and it quickly becomes apparent that she slipped.

Not attacked. Not passed out or dead. She just fell. It’s okay. It’s okay.

At the sound of Liv entering the room, she rolls onto her back with a groan, revealing a bruise on her hip that slowly starts to heal as soon as the pressure is removed from it.

“Ow…”

“Shit...I forgot to put the bath mat in,” Liv mutters, embarrassed. No wonder Emmeline slipped. She crouches beside her and offers her arms for Emmeline to hold onto.

“Not your fault,” Emmeline answers quietly as she slowly gets to her feet. “I got dizzy…”

The moment Emmeline is standing she sways into Liv, leaning heavily against her before her legs can give out again. Liv freezes, acutely aware of the pressure of Emmeline’s body draped against hers, soft and clean, so weary, so in need of comfort.

All of those evenings Liv spent watching her suffer, wishing she could hold her, touch her gently, stroke her hair...now she has the chance, not a camera or another soul in sight, and she can’t move, can barely think. Not when Emmeline has her head tucked against Liv’s shoulder, breathing soft breaths against her neck.

Liv reaches blindly to her side until she finds a towel hanging on a hook beside the shower. She puts enough space between them to wrap it around Emmeline’s shivering form but remains close enough to steady her. By now Emmeline looks like she might fall asleep where she stands.

“Sorry,” Emmeline whispers, her drooping gaze fixed on Liv’s shirt. “I got you wet…”

“Shh. Don’t worry about it,” Liv answers quietly. “Come on…”

She guides her the final few feet into the bedroom and helps her into soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt. Then she pulls back the covers - freshly washed sheets on a freshly made bed, another thing she made sure of - and motions for Emmeline to get in.

“A bed?” Emmeline breathes. She runs her fingers over the sheet with a look of wonder.

“Mmhmm,” Liv affirms, lips pressed together. She’s afraid if she opens her mouth to speak she might cry from the sudden well of emotion at finally being able to give this to Emmeline, this comfort and safety she so deserves.

Emmeline slowly lies down on the bed, letting out a long sigh of relief when her head comes to rest on the plush pillow. Liv pulls the covers over her and tucks them around her snugly. She barely resists planting a soft kiss to Emmeline’s damp hair. Barely.

“Goodnight,” she whispers.

Emmeline is already fast asleep.

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thekristen999 · 3 years

Text

First Lines of Last 20....

I was tagged by @amandagaelic and I finally had some time to play :)

Guidelines: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all.) Choose your favorite opening line, tag some friends!

The World Is On Fire And No One Can Save Me But You 9-1-1 (Buddie) Traffic was snarled, red lights were ignored, people slammed on their cars horns, and all three rigs were stuck in the middle of it. “What’s the latest, Cap?” Eddie asked over the radio.

“Reports are sporadic,” Bobby replied. “Crowds are heading toward City Hall and counter-protestors are marching up Grand Avenue and Broadway.”

Are You With Me? 9-1-1 (Buddie) Eddie stared at the assorted box of teas, picking up one and scanning the label before putting it back down. Each box said the same thing: calming, relaxing, soothing bedtime formula. He settled on chamomile. His mother used to drink it when he was a kid, and his father was away on business. Funny—it was made of flowers, not leaves.

There Goes My Hero, He's Ordinary 9-1-1 (Buddie) Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of unease it stirred up, how his body tensed in anticipation of a fight that never came, or how memories he’d tried hard to forget kept popping up like flashes of a YouTube video. Whooshing rotor blades, muzzle flashes, the lingering smell of cordite. He rubbed a hand over his face, the physical sensation chasing away the phantoms.

We Found Each Other (Over There) 9-1-1 (Buddie) Omaha Beach 0100 June 6, 1944

At midnight 7,000 ships left Britain under the cover of darkness: Destination Normandy. Specialist “Buck” Buckley had no idea how many troops were aboard. Tens of thousands. More people in one place than he could ever imagine. His aunt had been to France once; she’d sent him postcards, causing his imagination to run wild. This wasn’t exactly how he imagined visiting.

Black and Blue and Broken Bones Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) The sunset painted the sky in hues of red and pink, capturing the moments before the day disappeared and night descended. Danny had to admit, it really was beautiful.

Beat Me To The Sacrifice Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Steve eyed the hamper full of clothes with annoyance when he walked into the bathroom. Thank goodness it was almost the weekend; the chores were piling up. After turning on the water to the shower, he got out his aftershave and razor and pondered if he wanted to brush his teeth at the sink or not.

The Call Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Given his status as the head of Five-O and the long list of people who would like to see him dead, Steve always took an extra moment to study his surroundings when returning home. While nothing seemed out of the ordinary, his gut told him otherwise.

The Quiet White Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Danny made arrangements with Lou to keep an eye on the team and ensure morale would remain high while they were gone. Walking into Steve’s bedroom, Danny dumped the duffle bag from his house on the bed to help pack.

Just You and Me (and Your New Best Friend) Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Danny didn’t live with Steve, per-say. Yes, the third drawer in Steve’s dresser belonged to Danny, the red toothbrush and Ultra Edge razor was also his, and maybe he kept his favorite snacks and food in the fridge.

Hold The Line Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Junior listened to the break-down of the mission and bit his tongue. He ran the numbers, calculated resources, and time. This was at minimum a four-man operation. Two-man was too risky. Solo was just-well, McGarrett type of stacked odds.

Anchor In The Storm Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) All the bones in Danny’s body ached, his limbs heavy with fatigue. Not from exertion, or a foot chase, no.This was simply because he drank too much red wine. Stupid.

Leaning back in his chair, he plopped two Alka Seltzer and watched them fizz.

In The Blink Of An Eye Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) As far as raids went, this was one Steve would like to forget. He balled up his fists to settle his shaking hands. Shit. That had been close. Blue and red lights flashed in the background as he walked away from the scene. Standing near a dumpster, he waited for the adrenaline rush to fade.

Past Tense Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Danny stared at his computer screen and debated buying the airline ticket. It’d been three months since he’d seen Grace. Too long. Distance and money were evil restrictions when it came to his daughter attending college on the mainland. Skype and weekly phone calls did little to ease the ache in his heart. He moved the mouse over the purchase icon.

Stay Loyal to the People You Hold Dear Marvel- Avengers:Endgame Dwelling on your mortality won’t change the inevitable. Live for each day and appreciate the time you’re given. Thor breathed in scorched metal and dirt, climbed and leaped over fresh craters. Blood pounded in his eardrums as he destroyed his enemies.

It should taste sweet; it should feel glorious -- it should have filled the hole inside him.

Split Seconds, Split Decisions Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno)

Junior was a SEAL, the best of the best, loyal to Team and Country.

He’d found fulfillment in the Navy, in serving his country, in the comradeship with his fellow SEALs. Waking up each day meant conquering another challenge; thriving on every adversity, earning the privilege of wearing the trident on his sleeve.

Then one day it all fell apart and he became unmoored.

Touch My World With Your Fingertips Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Every third Saturday of the month it was the same ritual. The mattress shifted under Steve’s weight as he crawled out of bed and Danny rolled onto his side to watch him.

Steve was a creature of habit. He adjusted himself. Rubbed his eyes. Stretched his arms into the air, treating Danny to the muscles of his well-defined back. And yeah, Danny wanted to join Steve in the shower, give up some shuteye for an amazing blowjob. But not this weekend. That was the rule.

A Light to Guide Me Home Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Steve pulled into his driveway. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he tried mustering the energy to finish the last part of his journey. He’d been in too many time-zones in too few days.

Safe Harbor Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) Steve studied the first four names on the false intelligence report.

Leo Bernard: Paris Torres Cantor: Madrid Hugo Bartlett: Berlin Drew Goff: London

Closing his eyes, he pictured the letters, listened to the cadence of vowels and consonant sounds.

Give Up, Give In, Or Give It All You’ve Got Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno)

1992 McGarrett Home

Steve walked through the living room and toward his dad’s office. He noticed a half-empty glass of bourbon on the desk.

“Your Uncle Joe got you into the Army/Navy Academy,” Dad told him as he walked in. “And I’m sending Mary to stay with your aunt.

From The Ashes Hawaii-Five-O (McDanno) The air inside the Camaro was stagnant despite the low hum of the air conditioner. Danny adjusted the seat to stretch his legs and tried to get comfortable. He was restless; all he could smell was the lingering odor from the burgers he and Steve had eaten hours ago. His stomach growled at the memory.

I tag: @thisissirius @renecdote @missslothy @stephmcx @agentlemuse @stellarm @tari-aldarion @cinematicnomad @matan4il @bgharison

and whomever wants to play!

#mcdanno #buddie #fic meme #kristen999writes

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palbabor-writes · 4 years

Text

The Gap in the Door

1: Cold

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SFW, imma say it’s rated T for Teenz, also F for fluff

Word Count: 4643

“Watch out. The gap in the door... it's a separate reality. The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?”

- P.T. by Kojima Productions

Notes: This thing is like, tooth-achingly sweet. For me, at least. Most of the other stories that I’ll post this week are gonna be nice and spooky/angsty, for that Halloween spirit, ya’ know? But, I figured let’s start with the treat before the trick 🎃

Not beta edited, so any and all mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

Cold /kōld/ noun

a common viral infection in which the mucous membrane of the nose and throat becomes inflamed, typically causing running at the nose, sneezing, a sore throat, and other similar symptoms.

You wake, sneezing.

Your throat protests the sudden spasm and you gulp heavily, a sharp pain echoing across the back of your mouth. Lifting a hand to your neck you sit up, your comforter falling from your shoulders. It’s dark and your apartment is quiet. Leaning back against your headboard you chance another swallow, flexing the muscles of your throat. You wince, as that same pain shoots down your neck. Fuck.

Groaning, you lift your legs from the sheets, pressing your feet to the floor. Great, just great, you think bitterly, padding out into your hallway. Since moving to Japan you had largely avoided any major allergies or colds. Looks like your time has run out.

Flicking on your bathroom light, you kneel by your sink, fingers tugging a large, plastic caddie toward you. You dig through the various bottles and containers, hunting for something that will ease the burning in your throat. The best you can come up with is an old box of Tylenol. Shit, you think, shaking out the last few pills, it looks like you’ll need to go to the store in the morning.

Clutching the precious pain relievers into your palm, you stalk into your kitchen, turning on the lights as you step onto the tiles. Snagging a glass, you pour yourself a serving of chilled water and slug the pills into your mouth, easing their passage with a quick swig. They sting as they travel down your throat and you wince again. There’s nothing you hate more than a sore throat. You always found yourself swallowing impulsively and frequently, as if the pain would miraculously dissipate with the next gulp.

Clinking the glass back on the counter, you open a few cabinets, hunting for your battered teapot and electric kettle. You’re just plugging in the kettle when you hear your front door creak open. You turn your head at the sound, fingers coiling beside you.

“Hello?” you call into the void, hoping it will answer back with Tomura’s raspy voice.

He steps into the living room, his eyes already narrowed, searching. “What are you doing up?” he asks, catching sight of your bedraggled form.

“Making tea,” you supply, switching the electric kettle on at last, muscles relaxing at his familiar presence.

“At 3 am?” he queries, shrugging his trench coat off his broad shoulders and heading toward your bathroom. You think about calling an answer after him, but another deep swallow has you rethinking that tactic. It would really suck to have a sore and hoarse throat come the morning.

You hear the shower running and shake your head. At least he’d asked you a few, cursory questions. That was nice. For him.

Lifting up on your toes, you snag your small collection of tea bags, selecting a light chamomile and replacing the tin. Your kettle is just starting to beep when Tomura returns. He’s shirtless, his new sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His hands are scratching at the back of his head, sending small droplets of water across your mats.

“So,” he continues, eyes lifting to yours, “what’s with the tea?”

“Sore throat,” you supply, plopping the tea bag into a mug and pouring the boiling water over the sachet, watching it rise to the lid. You lift the cup to your nose and sniff at the fragrant aroma.

“You sick or something?” he asks, pulling a stool out and perching against your counter.

“Looks like it,” you grouse, lifting the tea bag out of the hot water a few times, watching the color shift to a pleasing sun kissed, golden.

“Since when?” he’s watching you closely, his head cocked.

“I don’t know, since a few hours ago? Sometimes colds just happen. It’s not really something you can predict.” You look at him appraisingly and arch an eyebrow. “You look, um, a little confused about that. You one of those people who never gets sick or something?”

Tomura shrugs, eyes drifting from you as he props his chin on his palm. “Always had access to a doctor.”

You laugh and your throat tenses again, making you grimace. Tomura is unamused and rolls his eyes at your response.

“Ooh, that’s fancy. Not everyone can say that,” you tease, taking a hesitant sip of your tea, the scalding liquid easing some of the lingering pain. A silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. The two of you have long since adjusted to the other's presence.

“He worked with my...Sensei,” Tomura expands, his voice low, almost too hushed to hear. You blink, surprised he’s elaborating on his thoughts.

While he has opened up to you a little more in the last few weeks, he’s never told you much about his upbringing. You sensed that his childhood wasn’t, well, normal. How could it have been? His quirk was activated by touch. Even if he has a family, there was no way that that manifestation had gone, uh, well.

“So, a personal doctor, that’s...yeah, I guess you weren’t really given a chance to get sick,” you take another sip of your tea and remove the tea bag, slipping it into your trash.

Tomura is quiet again. His eyes are staring off into the distance, the red unfocused, as if he’s remembering something.

Sighing, you blow against your mug and walk past him, stepping onto the mats of your living room. He doesn’t follow, but he does shift his position, twisting so his back is braced against the counter, facing you again. You flop onto your couch and lean against the cushions, clearing your throat after you take another scorching drag of your tea.

“Did you...eh, do you have medicine?” Tomura asks. His face is stuck in an odd scowl. It’s like he isn’t sure of the words and he’s testing them out. You smile. “Yeah, I took some painkillers. I’ll have to get the stronger stuff tomorrow.”

His jaw tenses again and he huffs out a sigh. His eyes lift to study your face for a moment. “You should sleep,” he murmurs, a light blush creeping across his nose. You try to hold in your grin and distract yourself with another swig of chamomile.

“Once I finish this, I will,” you assure him, eyes bright with your unspoken appraisal. His stilted behavior is kinda adorable. Not that you would tell him that. God, no, that would be a mistake of enormous proportions. He’d likely ignore you for the rest of the night, if not longer.

He nods at your response and stands, crimson eyes still fastened onto yours. He opens his mouth, but shuts it quickly, another scowl etching across his lips. Without a word he pads into your hallway, heading toward your bedroom. You cough out a laugh and wash the remains of your mug back, savoring that warming sensation a final time.

You sit on your couch for a while, your mug cooling between your fingertips. Tomura never ceased to fascinate you. Every time you think you’ve got him figured out, he turns on a dime, his personality shifting, surprising you. Tonight is no exception. He seemed...softer somehow, like he’s unsure how to voice his uneasiness with the foreign predicament you’ve found yourself in.

You lift yourself slowly, stretching on your tiptoes as you stand. Placing your empty mug on your media cabinet, you walk toward your hallway, switching off the living room light as you pass.

Your bedroom is cool and dark.

You can just make out Tomura. He’s splayed across your sheets, his hands balled in that familiar manner, quirk contained by his clenched fists. His eyes open when you shut your door and he watches you step toward him. Your knees dip the mattress as you climb across the surface, stopping when you reach his side. You sink into the sheets, tucking your legs under the covers and pulling your comforter up to your chin.

Tomura tilts his head to rake his eyes over your exposed face. You smile weakly at him, another sharp stab of pain racing along your throat.

Your eyes are drifting closed when you feel his arms around you, tugging you toward him. While this isn’t unusual, Tomura has long since established himself as Japan’s number one fugitive and cuddler in your books, you move away from his embrace. He sucks his teeth loudly and you look up at his irritated expression.

“Stop. I don’t wanna get you sick,” you tell him, shaking your head at his ire. He pulls at you again, lifting you effortlessly against his bare chest.

“Tomura,” you warn, pushing against his hardened grip.

“Go to sleep,” he grunts, digging his nose against your hair, his arms still locked around your back, fingers curling back into his palms. You sigh and try your luck again, squirming against his hold.

“Ugh, really?” you question, letting out a sigh of agitation as your efforts are quelled once more.

“Really,” he mimics, only loosening his arms when he’s satisfied you won’t try to pull from him again. You shake your head and let your cheek fall against his skin, the reassuring warmth of him seeping into you. His arms lower to the sheets and he locks his chin over your head, his own eyes finally closing.

In a few minutes, both of you are asleep.

******

A strange smell lifts you from your disjointed dreams. Wincing, you sit up. For a moment, you think you might be feeling better, then a well timed sneeze has you second guessing that diagnosis. Nope, still sick. You run your tongue over your teeth and shift your comforter away.

You’re alone in your bed. Your fingers trace across the side of the sheets that Tomura slept on. They’re still warm, he must have only just gotten up. Standing, you swallow heavily again and sniff back the sinus pressure that rushes to your temples. As you dig in your closet for a jacket, you catch a whiff of that odd smell again.

Your nostrils flare as you try to deepen your inhales, but the passageways are clogged. It’s no use. You can’t get a read on it.

As you pass your living room, you give the space a quick glance. The late morning sun is peeking playfully through your screen door and your console is playing the main screen music on the tv. It sounds dull, like a bad recording. Yeah, you think, popping into your bathroom to snatch up the Tylenol bottle, you definitely have a head cold.

Ick. There’s that smell again.

You pause as you enter your living room, searching for the source. Tomura isn’t on your couch. While that isn’t odd, on the whole, it’s not exactly normal either. He’s usually in one of two places when he’s in your living room: perched at your counter, or lounging on your couch. You peek into your kitchen and feel your jaw drop.

Tomura is standing beside your stove. There’s a pot resting on one of the burners and he’s poking at the contents doubtfully, wooden spoon stirring intermittently. It takes you a minute to process this image. Blinking, you shake your head and look again. Nope, it’s him alright.

Tomura Shigaraki is standing in your kitchen and appears to be attempting to, uh, cook? As he stirs the spoon across the pan again that smell wafts up. Ah, cooking had felt a bit strong. Besides, you reason, Tomura burning something at least feels a little more...normal.

“What’s that?” you ask and he turns, his eyes flashing. He doesn’t offer any explanation, he just twists back to the stove, a dark scowl spreading across his face. You walk to him and lean over his side, peering into the pot.

It looks like he’s found some of your chicken stock. There’s a small assortment of vegetables mixed in, some carrots, badly chopped onions and what appears to be some frozen peas. You tilt your head, checking the level of the gas burner. Yeah, it’s set way too high.

You glance up at him, “I’m going to adjust the burner. It’s too hot, so it’s catching some of the carrots.” He grunts and steps away, a red blush seeping across his nose and cheeks.

With a practiced ease, you lower the heat to a simmer and lift the pot up for a moment, shifting the contents. “All in all, it looks pretty good,” you tell him, sniffling as the strong aroma hits your nose. “Mind if I put some more stuff in it?”

Tomura snorts at that and shrugs, his eyes not meeting yours. “Do what you want.”

You smile at him and lift a hand to his arm, fingers tracing along his bare skin. He sighs at your touch, his eyelids drifting closed, shuttering his tense embarrassment.

Stepping past him, you grab your glass from the night before and fill it with some chilled water, popping the final set of Tylenol into your mouth. He watches as you swallow the pills and cocks his head, his pearly hair falling to one side.

Setting the glass back against your counter, you give him another long look and walk to your fridge. You grab a few ingredients: cold chicken, celery and extra broth.

Tomura circles to you as you set your selections down, curious.

Moving to your dry goods cabinet, you snag some spices and seasoning: ginger, thyme, rosemary, turmeric, salt and pepper. You chop the chicken and grab a small skillet, firing up another burner and heating it until it loses its pink center. As the chicken is cooking you chop the celery and start to add the seasonings to Tomura’s original attempt. Once the chicken is cooked through, you toss it in and add a dash of extra broth, sliding a lid over the contents.

Tomura hovers close by as you work, his eyes shifting from you to your preparations, seemingly fascinated. You let out a shuddering cough and he steps closer. Involuntarily, you lean away from him and turn to scrub your hands clean at your sink. He waits, letting you dry your hands on a nearby cloth, before repeating his movements. He’s close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. You shiver at the sensation and look up at him.

He looks...concerned? You’ve not seen this expression before. His eyes trace your face, the red subdued, tamped down, the irises almost looks garnet.

“How long does it need?” he asks, jerking his head toward your stove. You tear your eyes from his and sniffle, another cough rising in your throat. “Should- hem- should be ready in thirty minutes, give or take. Don’t turn the heat up,” you warn, lifting your eyes back to his.

Tomura nods and tilts his chin toward your living room. “Go lay down,” he rasps, his voice low and even.

“I’m ok-” you begin, but he steps closer, peering down at you critically.

“Don’t argue with me (Y/N), go lay down.”

Smiling at his insistence, you lift your hands in supplication and he lets you pass him. Before you settle on your couch, you step back into your bedroom, snatching up a spare blanket from your closet. When you return to your living room, you’re surprised to see Tomura sitting on your couch. He gives you a passing glance and lets out a shallow breath, fixing his attention on your tv, using your console controller to select a game.

“I thought you wanted me to lay down,” you question, one brow arched. He looks back to you and his eyes narrow.

“I do, come on.”

You let out a coughing laugh, earning yourself a disgruntled glare. “Stop acting like an idiot,” Tomura grumbles, rolling his shoulders agitatedly.

Plopping beside him, you tuck your cold feet against the cushions. He grants you a quick peripheral glance and lifts his hands, clearing space for you on his lap. Your eyes widen and you swallow thickly, the pain in your throat momentarily forgotten. Well, that’s a, um, different solution.

Tomura heaves a heavy sigh at your hesitation and you can feel his frustration rising. Not wanting to provoke him further, you quickly lay down, stretching your feet out and gingerly resting your cheek against his thigh.

Tomura tenses for a moment, his sudden movement entirely involuntary. You twist your head at the tremor but he stills your motion, leaning over you, his white hair curtaining the two of you.

“Sleep,” he grumbles, his eyes resting on yours, the red glowing in the bright light. You nod silently and he pulls away, refocusing on his game. Your eyes drift closed and you shrug your blanket higher, savoring the warm, content sensation that is pouring into you.

You must have passed out pretty quickly.

The next thing you remember is someone lifting your foggy head and then everything is blissfully blank again. It’s not until you hear a gravelly voice calling your name that you stir, eyes bleary, wincing against the afternoon sun.

Tomura is sitting, cross legged, in front of you, a bowl of soup resting in his four fingered grip. He’s redressed, his usual black shirt and pants dark against your mats. You sit up, the heels of your palms pressing into your eyes, a sharp pain hammering against your head.

Tomura’s red gaze fills your vision as you blink back your exhaustion. He lifts the bowl, re-focusing your attention. “Eat,” he orders, shifting the vessel into your cold hands. You nod and lean back into the cushions of your couch. He stands and regards you, his eyes flicking across your pallid face.

“You said you needed medicine?”

You pause, lowering your spoon back to the chicken soup before answering. “Yeah, I only have painkillers...nope, actually, I just ran out of those too. I’ll go out after I eat-”

“No,” he replies, his voice sharp. You look up at him, your head already tilted in confusion.

“What do you mean no? I need something stronger than what I have...ick, had. Plus, this cough is only going to get worse if I ignore it. I can’t-”

“I’ll get it.”

You gape at him. “What?” you ask, bewildered, thinking your clogged ears have misheard him.

“I’ll get you the medicine,” he sighs, his eyes meeting yours.

“Tomura-” you begin, but he cuts you off, standing. “Eat (Y/N), I’ll be back.”

“You can’t, what if someone sees you. It’s like, 4 in the afternoon, you never go out in the-”

“Fuck, stop arguing with me. I know what I’m doing, I’m not fucking stupid. What do you think I do when you’re not around?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t want you to-”

He ignores your rebuttal. “You think I walk around with some giant sign with my name on it or something? No one is going to notice me.”

“But, you don’t-”

“Goddamn it,” he bites out, red eyes flashing dangerously. “Do you want the medicine or not?”

“I was going to say you don’t even know what I need, Mr. I’ve never been sick before because I had a personal doctor at my beck and call.” You don’t mean to snap at him, but he’s starting to piss you off and your head is pounding.

Tomura glares at you and he lifts his phone up for your inspection. You blink, eyes squinting at the bright screen. It looks like he’s done a little research while you were sleeping. There are several pictures of various cold medicines and each has a small line of text underneath, listing the uses and side effects.

“Pick something,” he growls. You can tell that he’s trying to contain his anger and you feel a little guilty for snapping at him. He is trying, you think sullenly.

“You didn’t need to do all that...I mean, ugh, sorry,” you amend and point to two of the medications. He twists the phone back to his face, tapping on the screen a few times before lifting it back to you.

“Just these?” He shows you your two selected medications and that the others have been removed from his digital notes. You nod, lowering your head and biting your lip.

You know that he must have his ways of getting around. But, you can’t help that nagging worry that itches along the back of your mind. No, he’ll be fine (Y/N), you think. Remember how hard it was for you to find him on the fucking internet? Without those creepy hands of his, he’s practically an enigma.

Tomura stands and looks down at you. “Eat,” he reiterates and you dutifully dip your spoon back into the broth. He gauges you silently, but turns when you lift the spoon to your lips, sliding the hot liquid into your parted mouth.

He lifts his trench coat from a kitchen stool and threads his arms into the sleeves, sparing you a final glance before pacing down your walkway, toward your front door. You hear it open and shut, the lock turning with a decided click. Sipping another spoonful of soup you decide that your additions to the broth at least took the edge off the burnt carrots.

******

Tomura returns an hour later, a plastic bag rustling in his grip. A light rain had started soon after he left, so his hair is damp, clinging to his shoulders. He shrugs off his soaked trench, leaving it in your hallway, knowing you dislike wet clothing dripping on your living room mats.

You must look worse, because he eyes you gravely before stalking into your kitchen.

You hear your fridge opening and closing and a glass tapping down on your counter. A few moments later, he’s back in front of you, pressing a glass of water into your hands.

“One is a syrup. The other is a pill,” he informs you, tossing the plastic bag beside you. You clear your throat roughly, “Thanks.” He sits next to you, his shoulders tense.

“You ok?” you ask, worry creeping into your subconscious. You’ve never seen him like this. It’s like he’s vibrating with some unseen energy. You know it’s likely a mixture of apprehension and concern. Still, they’re not emotions that you’d usually associate with him.

He seems unsure, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest to hide his discomfort from you. Naturally, in tried and true Tomura fashion, that means he’s going to be sullen. Annoyance and anger are usually his go-to moods when he’s uncertain.

“Are you going to take them or not?” he questions, his voice clipped, sharp. His eyes lift to meet yours, the red dark and turbulent.

Yeah, he’s definitely on edge.

Huffing out a soft exhale of exasperation, you flick your hand into the bag, pulling out the first box your fingers land on.

It’s the syrup. Twisting the lid off, you portion out the recommended dosage and slug the thick liquid back, shaking your head against the slimy texture and biting flavor. Tomura’s eyes widen at your reaction, the red losing some of that underlying aggression.

“Does it taste bad?”

Shrugging, you replace the bottle in its original box, slipping it back into the bag. “It’s disgusting, but it works. This stuff always makes me loopy, so, uh, sorry if I pass out on you.”

You lift the final box from the plastic. This medicine is mostly used for migraines. It should knock out that pounding in your head pretty quickly. Cracking the packaging open, you slip the pill bottle out and pop a single tablet into your mouth, taking a quick swig of water to wash it down. Sighing, you lean back again. Here’s to hoping that this stuff would clear this cold out of your system.

Tomura is still observing you. You turn to him, curling your feet under your legs. “You should eat. You’ve been dealing with me all day, so I know you haven’t,” you press, lifting a hand to his dripping hair, fingers trailing along the strands. He narrows his eyes at your order, but leans into your touch automatically.

“Fine, go lay down,” he commands, titling his face into your palm. You grin, amused by his duality, and trace your thumb along the scar on his lip. His gaze darkens, tempted, but he leans back and your hand falls to your lap.

“Go,” he insists, standing, waiting for you to do the same. You gather your blanket around your shoulders and do as he asks, shuffling past him and into your bedroom. The autumn sun is just beginning to slip beneath the horizon and its hazy glow bathes your room in a low light. You sigh, unhooking your blackout curtains and pulling them closed, dousing your room in a comforting darkness.

As you curl into your cool sheets you can hear Tomura moving around in your kitchen. With a low exhale, you burrow your face into your pillow, the medicine starting to course through your system, lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

******

You shift back into consciousness as Tomura turns you to him. He intertwines his long legs with yours, settling heavily against you. His arms are tucked to his chest, palms facing toward him, fingers curled. His head bumps against yours and you have the distant sense to tilt your face away. Tomura dislikes this and unwinds his arms, his fingers urging you back to him.

“Just because I took medicine doesn’t mean I’m not contagious,” you warn, keeping your chin down, trying to avoid him. He grumbles at that, a low rumbling echoing along his chest. His hand lifts and cups your chin letting his rough lips capture yours, pressing you open. You gasp and pull away, but he follows, his lips urgently seeking yours.

“Tomura-” you scold, but he silences you with another kiss. You can’t help your moan, trying to ignore the warmth that is coiling in your core and shake your head, slipping him from you.

“Stop that,” he grouses, voice rasping against your parted lips. He won’t let you shift away, his strong thighs pinning your legs down, instantly tensing and stilling your halfhearted attempts at escape.

“I already told you, I don’t want to get you sick,” you pant, trying to ignore his incessant touch. It’s not an easy task. Part of you doesn’t want him to stop, while the rational, logical side is warning that if he’s like this when you’re sick, just imagine how agitated he’ll be if he catches this cold.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, lips gliding against yours again. He’s soft, not seeking anything other than your caresses. He’s not pawing or groping at your curves. Instead, his hands are resting beside your jaw, fingers teasing along your smooth skin.

“You say that, but how would you know? You told me you’ve never really been sick…mmm...this shit isn’t fun, Tomura…”

He’s not giving up, his forehead pressing against yours. He cups your face and sucks against your lower lip. You sigh at the rough sensation, exasperated, and, at long last, give in, returning his kiss, your hands drifting to his hair. Tomura hums, finally satisfied, and lifts away, his eyes latching onto yours. You groan at the loss of his lips, but don’t lean toward him. Instead, you distract yourself by running your fingers across his face. Smoothing against his coarse skin, touch delicate and featherlight.

He closes his eyes, sighing contentedly and rests his forehead against yours, his arms curling back to his chest. “Sleep,” he grunts as you lift your hands away from him.

“Hey,” you call and he opens his eyes again, vermillion scanning your face, waiting. “Thanks, for today, I mean...”

He exhales and presses closer, his breath ghosting across your skin. “Go to sleep, (Y/N). We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

Notes: He’s so cute y’all. (.づ◡﹏◡)づ.

If you wanna see more of their interactions I have two things for you:

1. Look Upon the Light - This is the main story I’ve written for the two of them. The moments in The Gap in the Door start after Chapter 7: Polaroid.

2. Send me some requests or themes, if you want! I’ve got another few chapters written for them, some are SFW and some are NSFW. I’ll add tags and triggers as needed and on a chapter by chapter basis. So, lemme know whatcha think! My ask box is open atm.

#the gap in the door #look upon the light #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #tenko shimura #reader insert #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #fan fiction #fanfic #bnha #boku no hero academia #start of spooky week #so much fluff in here

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coffeestainsandcashmere · 4 years

Text

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione), Part Four

Well, here’s part four for you! It’s really just part three continued, but since I didn’t want the previous part to be 7k words or so long, I split it up. The total wordcount is 12.4k words now!!

Thank you very much to those of you who’ve commented and sent me lovely owls on here to let me know you’re enjoying it! (this is a sideblog for me, so I don’t respond to comments on posts, but I do answer asks as Cashmere).

I know a lot of folks (me included) don’t like starting to read WIPs that are unfinished, so thanks to those of you who have hopped on now. Consider yourselves honoured beta readers! It’ll go up on AO3 when it’s all posted on here and completed.

No real warnings for this one, just some discussion of their past relationships (for both Hermione and Draco) before the plot thickens and things warm up a bit in part five. Not sure when that’ll go up - it kind of depends on how much feedback I get on this one I guess! Comments and reblogs feed an author’s muse after all.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

___

At her wry smile and tiny shrug, Malfoy laughed, apparently reassured. “A little,” he repeated softly to himself under his breath.

After a heartbeat she shot him a sidelong look and added, “You’ve changed so much, Draco. I can hardly believe it, but it’s clear as day.”

He did a little double take at the sound of his name on her lips, and then he smiled. It was such a tiny, fragile melting of his expression that she nearly missed it.

“I mean it,” she said, tightening her fingers on his steel-cable forearm for a fraction of a second. “I don’t know if it was the war or your marriage, or becoming a father, or something else entirely, but… you’re not the same person you were back at Hogwarts. Not at all.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he hissed. “I had a hell of a lot of growing up to do. I think I did ninety percent of it in the space of sixth year. But Astoria helped steady me after… after Hogwarts and all the bollocks and bullshit of the aftermath of… of… you know.”

“‘Bollocks and bullshit’ is a mighty casual way to say ‘a short stay in Azkaban and three years of house arrest’, Malfoy. That’s got to change a person, for sure.”

He shrugged. “I’m just glad it’s all in the past now. For the most part, anyway.” The silence that followed spoke volumes of the baggage that they were all still hauling around with them, of one kind or another.

They wound their way across the park’s pathways with no particular direction in mind. As the glittering waters of the Serpentine drew into view in the deepening dusk, she murmured, “I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me too,” he said, voice little more than a low rumble above the sussurating wind in the trees. “Theo seemed on fine form, and it was nice to see Pans again. It’s been a few months. Longbottom looks good too,” he added as an afterthought. “He grew into himself, didn’t he?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “Never would have called his and Pansy’s relationship though. I thought she went for the bad boys like you and Blaise…”

Malfoy snorted. “I’m a ‘bad boy’ now, am I? That’s an interesting spin on my past.”

“Maybe not so much ‘bad boy’ now as ‘grumpy reclusive Mr. Rochester’. How about that?”

“He one of your Muggle heroes?” he asked without sting.

“Yeah. He’s Jane Eyre’s leading male. A bad-tempered rich man who has a big house in the middle of nowhere and a secret deranged wife in the attic.”

“Well, I hit three out of the four criteria…” he said and Hermione’s heart lurched as she remembered he wasn’t a bachelor but a widower.

“Shit, Draco, I’m sorry,” she said. “That was thoughtless of me.”

He shook his head, the silver hair of his forelock tossing about as he chuckled, an entirely unfamiliar sound which she decided she wanted to hear again almost immediately. “It’s fine, Granger. You haven’t got a malicious bone in your body. Besides, it was a long time ago.”

They came naturally to a halt in front of the man-made lake and stared out at the lapping water for a time before she uncoupled her grip from his arm and shucked her coat back on.

That done, she drew in a deep breath and paused, leaning her forearms on the back of a cast-iron bench overlooking a flock of huddled, plastic pedalo boats moored up offshore. Malfoy remained a pace behind her, back straight as an arrow, his hands tucked into his pockets now that she was no longer hanging onto him.

A fair few Muggles were out and about, some walking lazily as she and Draco had been, others pounding along the pavement on their evening run, and a good number were walking dogs. The sheer mundanity of it all struck her deeply for a moment and her breath caught in her throat.

“Granger?” he asked in a soft voice.

She straightened and turned to look back at him over her shoulder. “I was just thinking how close we came to losing all of this… Sometimes it seems like a million years ago, and others…”

“Like yesterday,” he finished a beat later. His eyes glittered in the half-light, pale lashes ghostly and ethereal, and in the dark, his pupils were wide and black and inviting.

“Let’s keep going, hmm?” she chirped.

In fact, he walked her all the way back to her rather modest apartment in Muggle London. “You didn’t want to live closer to work at the bookshop?” he asked as she fumbled for her very ordinary, Muggle keys with half-frozen fingers.

Giving up, she murmured a quick ‘alohomora’ and pressed her hand to the extra ward she had placed on it. “I’ve lived here since I moved out of the house with Ron. Never seen any point in looking for something bigger or whatever. It’s cosy, and it’s just me anyway. You want to come in? I’ll have to tweak the wards if you do.”

“I… I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, his expression pinching.

“No bother. It’s a three minute job, if that.”

He looked torn, teetering on the edge of a refusal, but as she swept her curls back out of her face and blinked up at him, he seemed to waver, and finally he nodded. “Alright. Yes please.”

“Stay put. I’ll be right back,” she said, and left the door open so that he wouldn’t feel like a stray dog shut out in the cold.

After setting her bag and coat down on a sofa in the main living room, she stood and centred herself, reaching for the wards with her magic. They thrummed reassuringly as she wove a slightly different pattern into them, allowing Draco Malfoy to come and go, and then she released the magic once again.

“Ok!” she called to him and he stepped tentatively inside, shutting the door with a polite click behind him and levering off his fancy dragonhide Oxfords at the doormat.

There was something so intimately sweet about seeing him pad across the fake-wooden lino of her living room floor in his dark socks that she couldn’t help grinning.

“Those are some powerful wards you’ve got up,” he commented as he blinked curiously around the room.

“Hangover from the Ministry days, I suppose. Plus this is technically a Muggle building, so I can’t have anyone noticing anything strange. There’s another witch here, up on the seventh floor, but we don’t see each other often. You want something to drink? I’ve got tea or coffee, and a small selection of wine, though nothing nearly as nice as what Theo has on tap…”

He smiled. “A tea would be lovely.”

She ducked out into the tiny galley kitchen and lost herself in the simple task of filling and boiling the Muggle kettle. She turned to find Malfoy leaning his shoulder against the door frame, hands cupped under opposite elbows, watching her with that owl-like intensity again.

“Muggle kitchen,” she grinned almost sheepishly. “Magic is great for a lot of things, but some routines just can’t be beaten.” Ron had always hated and mistrusted things like electric kettles and refrigerators, not quite fully understanding the way it grounded her in her Muggle upbringing.

“I’m not judging you,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse. “I’m just interested. Do you mind?”

“No,” she said, fishing in the cupboard for her selection of teabags. She held the cardboard box open for him to select one and her eyebrows rose when he chose a delicate mint and chamomile one, but she offered no comment. “I can give you a masterclass in using Muggle kitchens if you like.”

His lips pulled back into a broad, dazzling smile and he laughed. “Go on then.”

“Fridge,” she said, opening it and showing him. “Keeps things cold; powered by electricity. Freezer, keeps things, well, frozen…” She continued her tour while the tea steeped, and by the time she was done, the tea was ready and they made their way back out into the humble living room, with a second-hand sofa and a battered old coffee table with more ringed coffee-stains on than visible surface.

Her stomach rumbled and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“I didn’t get a chance to eat anything yet, other than nibbles at Theo’s,” she cringed.

“Don’t let me stop you having something for supper then,” he said.

“I’m not going to scoff a freezer dinner on my own while you sit there and watch me,” she blurted, laughing. “Unless you want to join me? I’ve got a couple of pizzas in the freezer. Nothing fancy, but they’ll be ready in twenty minutes or so if I put the oven on now.”

Malfoy looked like he’d missed something somewhere but was too embarrassed to ask, so he just said, “Pizza? Sure. The last time I had pizza was when I took Scorpius to Rome.”

“Well,” she said, setting her mug down on the table and heading into the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she called, “I can guaranteed these won’t be nearly as good as those were, but they’re pretty tasty. I think they’re both chicken and pesto - is that alright?”

“Perfectly.”

Oven on, she returned and folded herself into the squashy armchair which sat at right angles to the sofa, tucking one leg up beneath her and drawing the other foot up beside her. Malfoy, of course, sat like he was about to take tea with the Queen, while she felt like a pretzel on a shelf. A comfy pretzel though, she thought as she reached for her mug.

“I’m glad we walked back,” she said after a moment. “I can’t believe I worked myself up into such a tizzy over Ron like that. It’s so childish…”

Malfoy sipped his tea and then cradled it between his long, pale fingers for a moment. “What happened between you two? I thought you three were —”

“— the ‘Golden Trio’?” she purred, voice laden with sarcasm.

He made a conciliatory gesture with his head but said nothing more.

She sighed. “We were. I mean, Harry and I are still super close - I’m James’ godmother after all. Ginny’s the sister I never had, but something went wrong with Ron somewhere along the line.” She knew exactly what the final blow had been, but there had been a myriad other issues on both sides before that. “I think… I think he felt like he never had a real niche, you know? He was always second fiddle to Harry in the heroics and quidditch departments, and, well, everyone knows I was the brains of the trio,” she said self-effacingly. “That’s not to say that he’s stupid — he’s not.”

Malfoy scoffed at that, and for a moment she saw the petulant, petty little thirteen year old he had once been. A deeply sceptical look filled his eyes, and he looked like he was physically biting his tongue to keep himself from disagreeing with her.

“No, really,” she scowled. “He just makes stupid, split-second decisions without thinking anything through. I’m not defending what he did or how he behaved at the end of our marriage, but…” she sighed heavily and drank a mouthful of too-hot tea that scalded her throat on its way down. “He’s in a pretty good place now with Lavender. We just… rub each other up the wrong way, even now I think.”

“Theo said he was being an arsehole earlier,” Malfoy pushed.

She shrugged. “A bit. I think he carries a lot of bitterness towards…” she gestured vaguely in Malfoy’s direction, “… Slytherins? I’m not really sure. Stupid house prejudices that a lot of witches and wizards clearly never get over. As if one moment in our history defines us for the rest of our lives, or as if we’re limited to the characteristics of the house we were sorted into at the age of eleven… It’s just so fucking dumb, Malfoy!”

He laughed softly at that.

“What? You don’t agree?”

“No, I absolutely agree with you. I was enjoying hearing you swear, that’s all. Forgive me.”

She flushed and looked away, anger leaving her as swiftly as it had come. “Ron has a lot of insecurities, and a few of them centre around me, but… I guess I just wasn’t enough for him in the end.”

“How could you possibly be ‘not enough’ for someone, Granger?” Draco asked in a hoarse whisper. “And you were the bloody Minister for Magic for Merlin’s sake…! What more did he want from his witch? Morgana herself reincarnated?”

She laughed long and loud at that, and Malfoy seemed to relax a little in the wake of his little outburst. “My reign was very short though,” she said as she stood and took the opportunity to put the pizzas in the oven. When she returned, she asked carefully, “What about you and Astoria?”

“What about us?” he asked, voice even and steady, though his eyes swirled softly like Trelawney’s crystal balls, hiding their secrets behind a shifting sheen of silver.

“Were you happy?”

Malfoy’s eyes slid away from her to stare unseeing at a point across the room, and he sat back against the sofa cushions, still nursing his cheap, Tesco mug between his hands.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “For the most part we were. It wasn’t… earth-shattering or anything, but it was pretty good, all things considered. It was arranged by our families, you know?”

She nodded.

“I knew Astoria’s older sister, Daphne, far better than I knew her, but Daph promised to an Austrian count already. He’s actually very nice. I’m glad for her.”

“I vaguely remember Daphne from school, but I didn’t have many classes with her as we got older.”

“I’d met Astoria a few times before it was all formally arranged, but even then, we only met a total of perhaps five or six times before the wedding proper. It wasn’t the huge event my mother had always dreamed of throwing for me, but with my father in Azkaban and me under house arrest, the mood wasn’t really there, you know?”

Hermione did some quick maths and realised he must have been only nineteen or so when he’d been married, and her eyes widened. She’d only been twenty-two when Ron and she had tied the knot, but still, that struck her as very young. Scorpius hadn’t been born straight away though, and there had been vicious gossip about blood-curse-related infertility until the little mandrake had arrived. Hermione been about to make the leap to Minister at the incredibly tender age of twenty five when the attack on the Manor had taken place, and Scorpius had been mere months old at the time.

“Toria and I grew to know each other better,” Draco went on, “And in time, I think we came to love each other, in our own way. She certainly adored Scorpius before the blood curse took her.”

“What was she like?” Hermione asked in a whisper.

Again, Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes with his head tipped back to rest against the sofa cushions. “Quiet, intelligent, articulate, easy-going most of the time, but when she got passionate about something, she could be pretty stubborn. Scorpius inherited a lot of that from her.”

“He looks like you though,” she said. “I mean… almost exactly like you did at that age. It gave me quite the turn when I saw the two of you on Platform 9 3/4 you know?”

He smirked and cracked an eye open. “Tell me about it,” he said. “Mother is always calling him ‘Draco’ instead of ‘Scorpius’. It drives him nuts.”

They shared a laugh at that. “Your mother lives with you at the Manor then?”

“Yes and no,” he said, shuffling a little and getting comfy again, relaxing his torso more casually against the arm of the sofa at last. “She moved out of the main manor when Toria and I married. Now she lives at what we affectionately call the Dower House. Officially it’s called Nightshade Cottage.”

“Ominous name,” she said and he smiled again.

“Apt though. There’s a rambling, stone-walled potion-garden round the back of it, full of all sorts of interesting plants, and a stunning rose garden at the front. It’s really beautiful in spring, and rather potent in summer.”

“You make it sound almost welcoming,” she said without thinking and he huffed a dry laugh.

“Parts of the estate really are lovely, Granger; its sordid past notwithstanding.”

When the beeper went on the timer, Malfoy jumped and looked confused, but she laughed and showed him. She did use her wand to cut up the pizzas though, and by the time they were seated back on the sofas with plates in their lap, they resumed their easy talk as if they’d never been interrupted. Watching Malfoy in his fancy clothes and eating pizza with his hands was almost too much for Hermione to bear, but if she focused on his voice too much instead, she found herself mesmerised on that front too. Who’d have thought that Hermione Granger would have found herself growing more and more attracted to Draco Malfoy all these years later.

Long after they’d finished eating, they spoke a little more of Scorpius, and how Malfoy guessed he was getting on after his first week at school. “Of course, he hasn’t written to me yet, but I’m hoping he might pen something this weekend…”

“You worry about him, don’t you?”

“Constantly,” he snorted. “One of the burdens of being a father, I suppose.”

“Of being a good one,” she amended, and she didn’t miss the way he swallowed thickly and blinked his glassy eyes rapidly a few times.

Then he sighed expansively and then levered himself to his feet. “It’s late, Granger, and I should probably be going. I’ve got a meeting to get to early tomorrow morning in Scotland, and I still have a bit of paperwork to do tonight.”

“But it’s the weekend, Malfoy,” she said as she rose too. “You can’t have to work, surely?”

He nodded and shrugged, but made his way to the door and slid his feet back into his shoes without further comment or explanation.

A little, fluttering, doxy-wing cloud of nerves shimmered to life in her chest as they stood face to face at the door. Malfoy swallowed again and hitched a tiny, lopsided smile. “Thanks for tonight, Granger. And…” he faltered and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Thank you.”

“I feel like I should be thanking you,” she said. “You got me out of my funk and walked me safely home.” She ran her fingers through her mass of curls and didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to watch the movement before he blinked and turned away to open the door, clearing his throat.

With his fingers still on the handle, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “My pleasure, Granger. Sincerely.”

Hermione barely managed to offer him a watery smile before he was striding off down the corridor.

She lingered in the doorway long after his footsteps had faded down the stairwell — apparently using the Muggle lift alone had proved too daunting for him. After she locked the door and recharged the wards behind her, she picked up his empty plate and mug to put them in the dishwasher.

As she passed the dresser that had once belonged to her mother, she caught sight of a moving photograph of Crookshanks. The half-kneazel was staring at the flat’s front door with his yellow, lamp-like eyes wide. “What do you think of him now, huh Crooks?” she asked the photo. “Bit different, eh?”

Photo-Crookshanks purred and circled in the bottom corner of the frame a few times, bottle-brush tail twitching, before returning to his fireplace and curling up with a look of contentment on his face. God, she missed that cat.

“Yeah. I think I like him too, Crooks,” she said. “Merlin help me, but I think I like him too.”

Part Five

___

I’ve only written all 12,410 words of this because people told me they liked it, otherwise it’d have stayed on whatever the first chapter was, so if you want more, let me know with a reblog! Feel free to send me an anonymous owl too if you’re more comfortable doing that.

Anyway, take care, and more soon, I hope. I’ve got a fair chunk plotted out, and it should take us up to Christmas in the storyline (it’s September now for them).

writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #dramione fic #older dramione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger x draco malfoy #draco x hermione #draco x hermione fic

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stressisakiller · 4 years

Text

Time to Go Sunflower

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

(Hello Sunflower Part 6)

Summary: 6 months after escaping Hydra you have an unexpected visitor.

Warnings: Fluff straight Fluff. A little bit of melancholy

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Flashbacks are in italics. Bit of a filler chapter again, but needed to move forward with the story. Let me know if you have any requests for future chapters! Thank yall for reading!

Series Masterlist

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You had gotten to enjoy a normal life with Bucky for 6 months. Six months of going to work and coming home to spend time lounging around. You didn’t just lounge around, of course, neither of you is that kind of person. You work and worked out every day at a local gym, you had quickly become friends with the owner. He didn’t ask too many questions when you asked for a job and you taught women self-defense and helped keep the place running. Bucky taught a boxing class and helped you teach self-defense. He really enjoyed the ability to use all of his training to help others rather than hurt. The nightmares are the hardest thing for both of you. You both did this you weren’t proud of, you were both tortured, and now that everything was peaceful all of those memories were coming back to haunt you. You slowly fell into a routine on the nights when the nightmares kept you up.

You woke up first, due to your nightmares or his, walking into the kitchen you would place the tea kettle on the stove. Bucky had surprisingly become fond of some chamomile tea when he couldn’t sleep, but only when you’re the one who makes it. You place your coffee mugs on the counter, you had gotten them as a joke when you first moved to Brooklyn. Smiling, you remembered the day you bought them.

It was a chilly spring morning and you had just moved to New york. As you explored your neighborhood you noticed that there was a farmers market. You looked over at Bucky giving him your best puppy dog eyes. He rolled his eyes, before chuckling and saying,

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt for us to look around for a minute. We could use some fresh fruit at the house.”

Walking through the narrow paths you pointed out every funny or weird thing that you could find. Reveling in the small smiles that occasionally graced his face as you pointed out something especially silly. It was so different being able to do whatever you wanted, having time to just joke around. You couldn’t help being on high alert, even as you had fun walking through the market, and you could tell that Bucky was in the same boat. Your eyes scanning the area, taking notes of exits, and paying attention to everyone around you. Your eyes grazed over a particularly cluttered booth full of assorted kitchen items when you saw it. The perfect mug for your soulmate. You hurried over to the booth, Bucky following behind you confused at the sudden pit stop. You grabbed the mug and excitedly asked the man behind the table.

“How Much?”

“For a pretty lady like you, $5.”

You quickly pushed the money into his waiting palm, turning back to Bucky to show him your treasure. It was a large white mug with the sentence “I never thought I would be a grumpy old man but here I am, killing it.” He took one look at it and laughed out loud, a full belly laugh that had you grinning like an idiot. You had never heard him laugh like that before and it quickly became your favorite sound. He searched the rest of the market, looking for the perfect mug for you as well. You were walking past the last booth when he saw it. Dark blue with a yellow sunflower beside the words “I run off of coffee, chaos and cuss words.” It was his turn to rush over, purchasing the cup before you even caught up. Looking up at him with curiosity when you reached his side. He was grinning like a schoolboy when he showed you what he had found.

Bucky’s arms sliding around your shoulder brought you out of your memories. You leaned back into his chest, pouring the water over the tea bags. You spun around and wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your face against his chest. You always loved how warm he was, you didn’t normally get cold, thank you serum, but you still loved snuggling close to him whenever you got the chance. You both froze when you heard the knocking at the door, grabbing the gun you kept in the drawer you and Bucky shuffled towards the door, remaining as quiet as possible. You couldn’t help but shake your head at the Deja-vu of seeing Steve standing outside your door looking just a little bit lost. You looked over at Bucky, lowering your gun and tilting your head to let him know it was ok. Cracking open the door you scanned the halfway, before ushering him in. You heard Bucky’s gasp when he saw who it was. Locking the door you turned to face your guest.

“Hey there Cap, what can we do for you at, oh 3 in the morning,” you asked glancing at the clock on the stove.

“They are getting ready to start the trials for the information that Shield “leaked”.”

You caught Bucky’s eyes and knew that it was the end of your time out of the world of Shield and Hydra. There was sadness and resignation in his eyes but also determination.

“So what do we need to do?” He asked.

“The best thing would be for you to come live in the Avenger’s tower. We will give you time to get accustomed to it before we look into putting you on missions. The council will look at you more favorably if you are actively trying to make up for your past.” He stated, speaking as if he were ordering a cup of coffee.

You tensed at that, “Does the council understand that we had absolutely no choice in our past? Maybe we could take them to a hydra base and show them what it’s like to have your brain emptied and someone else’s will forced on you.” you spat.

“I know, Y/N trust me, I think it’s stupid for them to have these trials at all. You and Bucky have been through enough as it is but there is nothing we can do, not if you want to live a life where you aren’t constantly on the run.” He assured, his voice softening at you obvious distress.

You collapsed into yourself at the kindness in his voice.

“I’m sorry Steve, I shouldn’t take my anger out on you. When do we leave?”

“It would be best if we leave now. We will get all of your stuff to the tower as quickly as we can, but we need you to come back with me. We already have rooms set up for you and we want you to leave at night, fewer eyes on you.”

You closed your eyes and dropped onto the arm of the couch at his words. You knew this was coming but you thought you would have a bit of a warning so that you could prepare. Yeah, the apartment you were in wasn’t great, but it was home and it was the first place you had truly felt safe and happy. Bucky placed his hand on your shoulder giving it a comforting squeeze. You lifted your head and eyed Steve,

“Fine, but give us thirty minutes to pack the essentials.” You went to your room, not waiting for his answer. Bucky walked in shortly after, stopping your angry packing and pulling you into a tight hug.

“It’s going to be ok my little sunflower. I know we both wanted more time to ourselves before being dragged into this, but we will make it work, and we won’t do anything that we disagree with. Our decisions will be ours and our alone. Ok?” you relaxed into the hug and nodded. He pulled you back and gave you a quick kiss and started helping you throw all the things you needed, including the few pictures that you had into your duffle bags. You walked into the kitchen and grabbed your coffee cups, pouring out the now cold tea before packing them as well. If Steve thought it was strange he had the courtesy not to say anything. You had changed out of your pajamas as you packed, so as soon as you packed the mugs you were ready to go.

Shrugging your duffle bag onto your shoulder, you took one last look around your apartment. You took it in, seeing a movie of memories flash before your eyes. You pulled your eyes forward before steeling yourself, grabbing Bucky’s hand and nodding to Steve. Stepping out of your home for the past 6 months you faced an unknown future. But with Bucky by your side, and Steve at your back you knew that you would be able to face anything.

#bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #avengers fanfiction #avengers #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider x reader #soulmate au #hello sunflower

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akimmito · 4 years

Text

Heroes are made by the path they choose

Previous | AO3 | Next

___________________________

Chapter 3

The Paris news continues to speak of the Akuma two days after the event, Marinette is stressed coping with the disaster that remained on her catwalk. Unlike in previous years, Paris is not ready to deal with another Hawkmoth again, and the city's mood fell immediately from the moment appeared. Fashion week continues, but everything feels bad. They have not officially left the apartment since the event, although they have been going to the MT headquarters.

She looks at the cup of chamomile tea that Hugo, her butler?, was kind enough to prepare to help her relax, but she knows that a tea won't help her.

"Mother, we should get out of town. You're pale. ”Damian approaches her and analyzes her posture, obviously she didn't sleep the night before because she was checking the security cameras distributed by Paris looking for the origin of the butterfly, but they are more than five hundred and Max's algorithm barely reduced it to one hundred and twenty cameras. He's concerned about her health, he knows how she gets when she focuses too much on a task.

"Do you want to go to the country house?" She asks putting her head on her arm, dozing off from lack of sleep and the calming effect of chamomile. She just needed a distraction from her mind.

"Yes, you could use a break. Felix can take care of everything in the MT and if they need us, we are a portal away. "He maintains his neutral expression, there are days when he reproaches himself for caring for the woman who decided to adopt him knowing that he's a trained killer, but today is not one of those. She never wanted to change it, not as he thinks his father would have done if he had gone to live with him... Bruce Wayne doesn't tolerate murder, after all. The MT is curious, they dance a lot on the gray line. He was lycky to get them.

"Yeah... you're right." Mariette straightens up and rubs her eyes. If they are going to travel, she must avoid falling asleep until they are in the car on the way to the country house. "That reminds me, we can take Ringo, the vet says that its leg is already better and that he can be transferred from the shelter without problems. "

Damian is encouraged by the news, the little cub was shot in the leg by some thieves, the owner despised him taking it as lost, but he asked his mother to help it heal so that it would not die. The puppy is alive and they can take it to a place where he can be safe and be a happy dog. They made the right decision.

"Go get your bags ready. Maybe we will get to lunch time. "She gets up and picks up her phone, she must notify the employees that they will arrive earlier than planned.

Damian goes to his room being followed by Longg, he must get everything he will carry ready. Not even fifteen minutes have passed when he has everything ready, keeping comfortable clothes to be able to play with his pets in the extensive terrain, very different from his normal residence.

Marinette and Damian live on the top floor of an apartment building just four blocks from the Eiffel Tower, she likes the evening view and even has a window where she has placed a mattress. Damian also became a fan of that same location and became his favorite area within the apartment, although he prefers the Animal Shelter and the country house, both of which were bought especially for him, all because she couldn't fill the apartment with animals (despite of her own desires to do so).

The only pet in the apartment is a very demanding fluffy white cat who likes to be the center of Damian's attention, who gets angry on weekend trips to the country house, where it's forced to live with the others animals ... dirty and unworthy of be a Lenoir. The cat is very proud to be the favorite and it hates with all its might the cat of country house, which always steals the child's precious attention (with dogs it doesn't get in because they are very large, two German shepherds, a Garafiano shepherd and an Australian Shepherd, plus a Bernese Mountain puppy.)

Damian is ecstatic with the prospect of spending six days on the country house, although the cat, named Dafne, doesn't look happy and even growled at the boy when he tried to grab it the first time, now it has already relaxed and brought its bad humor to its transport box. He closes the box and takes his things, now all he has to do is wait for his mother to stop being a mess to they can leave.

"Do you have your suitcase yet?" Marinette asks going from one side to another in the rooms, Damian doesn't even answer her and he only goes out to the living room to wait until she finishes messing up the whole apartment. "Hugo, where are my sketch books?"

They're already packed, Miss Marie. Also the fabric catalog of the next collection and the general balance of the month."

Hugo is a very English man to someone who lived in France most of his life, but she's not going to question him about it (Max did a very good background check). He started working with her a year after founding her brand and somehow managed to discover the MT and is now an unofficial member, making her escapades much easier by having him cover her. She's grateful to heaven for making her cross her path, she would have gone mad without him already.

"Thanks, Hugo."

"Hugo, did you pack the Kwami and Dafne meals?" Damian asks when the man returns to the room. He's eager to leave to meet his pets, he sees them every week, but it's not enough time.

"Of course, the extra order for cheeses was also made for the country house."

"Oh, Hugo! You're the best, I hope you live a thousand years!" Plagg arrives full of joy and almost dares to hug the man, but that is not his style, on the contrary, he cheers for the excellent service. "I wish all my kittens would treat me like you. "

Marinette enters the room with her suitcase and looks at Plagg with mock annoyance, amusement seeping into her gaze. She misses Tikki, she was always the voice of reason, but Plagg has a unique way of keeping her high spirited and, with the stress of her life, very much appreciates his presence, daring to consider he more effective than encouraging words from Tikki.

"Yeah, right? It's not like I paid for all your cheese. ”Plagg flies towards her and repeats the action, causing her to finally laugh at his games. Longg lets out a small snort from his position near the boy, he had not made any noise and that causes others to be surprised by his presence sometimes. Damian rejoices when he sees the others jump off for forgetting that Longg is active too.

"Shall we go now, mother?"Damian takes out some Dior brand sunglasses and the black mask from his handbag to prevent his face from going out in magazines or social networks without his consent, he doesn't understand what is the interest in them, they are only people with a little money and a brand that becomes more famous after each show. In any case, they shouldn't be interested in him and he detests those who do.

"Yeah, we can go now."

Damian smiles with pleasure putting on his dark glasses, which are already part of his daily wardrobe because he always accompanies Marinette to all kinds of events, the least he can do is learn to combine brands and styles for each time he goes out. He usually opts for black, although lately he no longer cares about trying styles and clothes that he would never have considered wearing.

When they go out to the main entrance, where Hugo is already waiting for them with the car, he have already put on the mask and, of course, a curious spectator treats them as if they were the stars of an Oscar-winning film. At least no one can notice his annoyed expression under the mask.

They enter the car and Damian takes the opportunity to get Dafne out, it prefers to travel like this and they will not change vehicles as when they leave the country, he can carry it all the way. Everyone thinks that he’s too spoiled, but he considers that it's fair since it's the only animal that he's allowed to keep at home.

As the small Lenoir family moves towards the country house, in the MT, Kagami destroys the training dolls with a saber, under the watchful eye of Luka who, from the second level, watches her move with the fury of a hurricane. He mentally notes placing the doll replacement as part of the following month's expense.

"If she continues like this, she will come looking for us to fight with us." Luka turns to the person who has just entered, Alix stands near him, appreciating the power of the cuts and the lethality of the Japanese woman. "The little demon would have a good training match with her. "

"Mari sent a message, they will be at the country house. "

"How envious, I wish I had a place like that to escape to." She yawns, leaning on the railing. "But duty calls.”She mutters when her phone starts ringing to the rhythm of the Seven Nation Army, which means it's a call from work. Alix walks away just waving.

Luka smiles softly, it's a calm day. Perhaps everyone is a little more tense, stressed and with excitement itching their hands, but it's very calm, life continues its course regardless of the problems that may exist. The insignificance with which life itself deals with the matter gives he the certainty that they will solve it, that this time there will not be a third party that stands in their way of recovering Nooroo.

The voices are loud outside the training room and he can see the moment when Nathaniel and Kim enter arguing, Marc is a few steps behind them looking at them with an undoubtedly irritated expression, as if they had been on that same topic for a long time.

"I tell you, if we were to work with someone outside the MT, it can't be Batman. I love my privacy, thanks. ”Nathaniel says tired, he despises eternally the heartless blonde who brought up that subject only to leave saying he had job. Kim is not an official member, hei tournaments trips and constant swimming training prevent her from being one, so he doesn't fully understand why the MT remains so in the shadows (even with the irony that the Parisian media talks about they with the same frequency as Jagged, Clara and other famous faces).

"He would help a lot, you know."

"Yeah, but he would also discover the Miracoulous and that is a resounding no. Our duty is to protect them and the less people know it, the easier it'll be. "

"They mention it in the news!"

"In fact. "Marc speaks behind them, tired of hearing them repeat arguments. "Since decree No. 35 of the current French government was released, any mention of the Prodigies in the media will be sanctioned according to the provisions of the MT, that is to say, us, and of the Parisian heroes, also us. It has even been included in the Constitution as a secret of identity and provenance for the protection of heroes. Chloe was devastating when she demanded a law that protected us and the Kwami, without lying, she put all the cards on the table without mentioning personal gain. "

Kim is speechless, he really didn't know that. When was the last time he updated on the laws in his country? He might as well break some and he wouldn't know it. To take into account, just like talking to Chloe about it.

"You see? Now that we are done with this, can we train? "

Kagami destroys the last doll at that moment and turns to the newcomers, has released all her frustrations.

They are supposed to be starting the investigation into the new Hawkmoth, but the mayor's office has requested that they refrain from starting the investigation for a week, he does not understand the irrationality of that request. She's very angry at the mayor's negligence, the longer they delay the investigation, the harder it will be to track him down. Still, it annoyed her more the way Marinette and Felix so easily accepted orders… when they don't take orders from anyone, they can move around the edges of the law, but they're not below it.

"Has Mari-hime arrived?"

"She texted that she'd be at the country house with Damian, she needs the break," Marc replies before heading to the locker room to change into training clothes.

"Where's Felix?"

"Work." Nathaniel growls the answer and then follows his boyfriend, just thinking about the blonde makes him bitter. An hour arguing nonsense with Kim is enough to put anyone in a bad mood, he doesn't understand how Max can be such a good friend with him.

Kagami frowns and hands the saber to Kim before leaving the training room, she's angry again. What do Marinette and Felix intend? She rarely understands what goes through their heads.

Luka comes down from the second level to intercept Kagami, she's being overbearing on the whole miraculous butterfly issue. He knows that Marinette doesn't play with the affairs of the MT, she doesn't endanger them on purpose and they don't make hasty decisions, only one person is more cautious than she and that is Felix, if the two agreed to wait, they have something keep in mind.

"Kagami." He calls her, but she doesn't stop. "Kagami."

"I'm not listening to you, you're going to defend them."

"I ask you to think about it more deeply. Mari is very serious about retrieving the butterfly clasp, she knows what she's doing."

"Oh, Yeah. I really believe that." She looks at him annoyed, in front of him.

"You are upset, but don't let anger cloud your thoughts. We are all frustrated, eager to fight, but we will only hit a wall if we rush. You have to know when to take a break, this is a good time. "

She purses her mouth, holding back the words. He's somewhat right, their cannt just run into the unknown pretending they know where they are going. Her only answer is a nod before she resumes her journey, perhaps she should go see her mother and stay away from the MT until the break ends or another Akuma appears, whichever comes first.

_______________________________

Damian @DamianLenoir

Ringo is better and today he will meet his new brothers, he is a very happy puppy.

[Attached photo]

Alix @LostHeroBunnix

Why did I think opening an art school would be fun? I should have kept my skates.

Felix @GrahamV_Felix

Should I yell or yell at the worthless one who flooded the set? I just had to turn on a tap, not recreate the scene of the Biblical Flood.

Nath @NathanielKC_twt

@GrahamV_Felix Being nice and not giving a scare of death to the people around you could help you the other people not flood the set. Did you know?

Felix @GrahamV_Felix

@NathanielKC_twt And become Marie? Is not my style.

Marie L. @MarieLenoir

@GrahamV_Felix @NathanielKC_twt Too much style for you, it doesn't fit with you; p

Chloe B. @BourgeoisQueen

Marie take me with you! @MarieLenioir

Damian @DamianLenoir

@BourgeoisQueen NO.

______________________

Ages:

Tomoe T: 50. Bruce: 45. Dick: 28. Luka: 26. Jason: 25. Marie and her group: 24. Tim: 19. Damian: 10.

#dickinette #maribat #dick x marinette #ml x dc

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missnxthingg · 4 years

Text

𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕨𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 • 𝕥𝕨𝕠

SUMMARY: It’s the first day of senior year. Harrison and Tom got everyone’s eyes on them, but Tom only has his eyes for a certain someone and she’s willing to get to know him better.

Based on my one-shot, Flawless.

PAIRING: Rich!Tom Holland x Rich!Reader (Best Friends to Lovers AU)

WORDS: 9.2K

WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of sex, underage drinking.

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𝕥𝕨𝕠 • 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕝𝕪

“I can’t fucking believe it!” (Y/N) cursed and pressed her pillows on her ears, groaning in anger. “This is just disrespectful.”

It had been a long day for (Y/N) and the thing she craved doing the most during the whole day was having a chill and early night, but things started to go sideways from the moment she stepped into her apartment. It was the same old chaos, with all the people hired to work for your family running around the house and your mom smoking a cigarette and checking some emails in the living room. She didn’t give two fucks about how her daughter was feeling or even took a good look to see her face. She only mumbled ‘I got a date, so don’t wait up’ and disappeared hours later with a pretty red dress.

The whole night was hard, trying to take care of herself and staying hydrated. Also, it was one of the nights her mental health was getting the best of her. She was feeling lonely and weak, but that was just something that happened a lot and she was getting used to it, even though nobody should get used. She tried to wash it down with hot teas and solo movie night with scented candles and a bubble bath. While she emerged in hot water, she started to think about her life, it was completely shitty and there was nothing she could do about it. Her mother didn’t care about her and her father was never around when she needed it. Also, she didn’t have any true friends and that was what she hated the most because that meant that no one liked her enough to stick around.

And then she remembered the boy she met earlier today. Tom was different than anyone she had ever met and something about him made her want to know him better like she was supposed to know him somehow. The boy didn’t leave her mind during the whole night and it was funny how he just appeared and didn’t leave. There was nothing special about the way they met, he was just nice to her and it made her feel better. Maybe after today, she would have a friend. That was too good to be true, who would want her as a friend anyway?

When tiredness hit her body, she went to sleep or at least tried to, because half an hour later her mom and she could hear the loud giggles and the whisky bottle hitting the edge of the glass. (Y/N) already knew that it was going to be a long night, as usual. But things only started to get worse when her mom got to bed with the guy she was dating. The bed hitting the wall, loud moans and screams, it was like they were the only one in the house.

“Ugh, when I bring boys home, I try to be as quiet as possible. But no, she has to do the loud screaming. That’s not even a turn on.” (Y/N) mumbled to herself as she got up to circle her room as she thought of something to do, but what was she supposed to do? She knew that interfering wouldn’t work and she was too sick to go out and look for somewhere else to stay. So she decided to walk around the house, after all, her mom was too busy to care what she was doing right?

She drank at least three bags of chamomile tea that night, trying to calm down and maybe not shout at her mother once she woke up the next morning to go to class. Now she was even considering not sleeping at all because it would be much worse to sleep for such few hours. God knows at what time her mother stopped screaming and she finally got to sleep, the only thing she knows is that when the alarm clock rang, she was very tired and her head was exploding in headache.

“Ugh, fuck me.” She cursed under her breath and made her way to the bathroom to find some painkillers and take a shower. She might be looking like a fucking zombie, but sure as hell won’t give them the small chance to see that. Makeup helped a lot and she was an expert on making it look natural. She was almost done with her mascara when a knock on the door interrupted her.

“I need to borrow your new Prada heels for a meeting.” Her mother came into the room wearing a silky robe and holding a cigarette between her fingers.

“Good morning to you too, mother.” (Y/N) was clearly in a bad mood, as she always was, not a morning person. “Did you sleep well? Because I for sure didn’t.”

“What got into you?” Josephine searched through her closet for the heels.

“Uhm, I don’t know… Maybe only three hours of sleep on a school night with my lovely mother having the time of her life with God knows who.”

“His name is Garold and he’s a fine man. Be nice to him.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and started to get dressed since her mother was taking forever to find those heels. She dressed in her common pencil plaid skirt, a white blouse with a bow neck, a black sweater and black oxfords. “Those schools uniforms are always horrible.”

“At least the school is flexible and I can wear it however I want.” She finished her hair in the mirror and took the heels out of the closet to make her mom go away. “I am going to be very clear with you, mom. I don’t ever want to go through this situation again because it’s embarrassing and gross. If it happens again, I’m moving in with dad.”

“Pft, please… You would never go live with your dad because he’s never home.”

“Try me.” (Y/N) threatened. “Now if you excuse me, I have to go to class.”

“What about breakfast? I was thinking about some croissants with you and Garold...” (Y/N)’s mouth fell agape as she gathered all of her things inside her purse and rushed outside the bedroom.

“Never in a million years.” She shouted before rushing downstairs to avoid talking to her mother. “I seriously need to be accepted in a university far away from her.”

Living close to the school was a privilege in New York due to its natural bad traffic. It didn’t take less than 15 minutes to get there, but it was long enough for (Y/N) to settle her breathing and calm down. It had been a long night, but it was her first day back in school and it was her senior year. Everything about it was supposed to be fun, right? And things would always remain the same, her getting there early to eat breakfast from the café across the street, sitting by her window table to read her latest book discover over waffles and a very hot latte. Of course, she had someone to make her breakfast back home, but morning routine was so agitated around her apartment that even on weekends she decides to go out and find herself some breakfast or brunch.

Everyone knew who she was, even the café's barista, who rushed to make her usual order as she walked into the room and mumbled a polite good morning at him. Joey, the barista, was an old fling of hers that nobody knew about, probably because nobody ever knew about who she dated or hooked up and because he was a Columbia kid, working at the café to pay for his bills. Joey was the kind of boy that wasn’t breathtaking, but his cute smile and his introverted side that enjoyed books, hanging out at the bar and having deep conversations was what attracted (Y/N) the most. He was one of the nicest guys she ever went out with, although it didn’t last long. Turns out that he only talked to her in the first place because he knew she had money and he was drowning in his college loan. But it was a nice relationship, one where they would read books to each other, have long conversations by the café window, she’d spend the whole weekend having a sex marathon in his flat. With time she got bored though, it wasn’t her type to be a homegirl. When they broke up he remained respectful, although he still flirts with her every morning as he serves her breakfast.

"Morning, (Y/N). It's been a while." Joey mumbled as he rested her latte in front of her, followed by a plate with a large waffle.

"It's been a while since I've last been to New York." She grinned as she put her hair back in a bun. "I was in Paris."

"I know. You're everywhere. In every magazine, every fashion adds on the internet." He chuckled as he poured the syrup on her waffles. "You look pretty today. A little different than I've ever seen you."

"Different how?"

"You're not wearing big fancy coats or too much makeup. And you look more mature. Flawless, as always." She knew Joey had a hard time after their breakup and maybe he still felt something for her, but he was only a good friend and that was it.

"Thank you."

"I have to go back, but have a nice say." He waved as he walked back to the balcony where customers were waiting.

"You too, Joey." She smiled sympathetically and drove her attention back to the food in front of her. Right now, she wasn't feeling so good to read her newest book. There were days that the only thing she wanted was to sit there by the soft rock music playing in the background, the sound of the coffee machine, the amazing smell in the air and the agitated New York morning routine outside their windows. It was better than having breakfast with her mother and her newest fling.

(...)

Tom woke up from a late night with his brothers and his best mate. After what happened at school, Harrison drove him home and stood over when Nikki invited him for dinner. Also, he knew that Tom needed support after the day he had and to discuss a little more about the girl keeping a smile on his face ever since he left the nursery. After a little confront in the car, Tom opened everything up to Harrison, like he always did, and spared no details. Haz couldn’t swear he never saw Tom so excited about a girl before and he instantly knew that there was something between them. But he didn’t mention it for the rest of the night, too busy with poker and the twins bad jokes being shot through the air. It was past midnight when Harrison left for his apartment and Tom got to bed.

The morning wasn’t generous at all with him and it was like a truck had hit him during the night. He would’ve done anything to just stay in bed, but it was the first day of senior year and he for sure wasn’t going to miss it, especially after the day he had yesterday, meeting a lot of nice people. He wanted to cause a good impression, as always, but there wasn’t much to do when you’re reduced to a uniform. He decided to go with social navy trousers, a white blouse with the collar popping out of a sweater and to finish, a tie, which was mandatory. He’d never used a school uniform before, but he had to admit he looked extremely hot on them.

“Morning mum, dad.” He kissed Nikki’s cheek when he made his way to the kitchen and she was making sure all of her boys were fed up before going out. He tapped his father’s shoulder and gently poured some tea in his cup to sit between Harry and Paddy.

“Morning Tommy. Are you feeling better?” He nodded sleepy and she smiled at him. “I guess poker with the boys helped you.”

“He just loves to lose to me.” Sam pocked his tongue out and all the brothers rolled their eyes. “You’re all just jealous because I won twice.”

“You cheated twice, Sam.” Harry said before attacking the eyes in front of him.

“Do you want something to eat Tom?” Nikki asked and he shook his head.

“Tea is fine mom, I’m not 100% better and I don’t feel like eating.”

“Okay, rush boys. Tom, you still have to pick Harrison at his apartment and I still have two schools to drop the twins and Paddy.” The boys nodded and rushed to finish their breakfast. “Dom, you sure you’ll be fine taking the subway to work?”

“Everybody uses the subway in New York. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He kissed the top of her head. Dom and Nikki were a team, making it easier to raise four boys, even though there were moments that definitely weren’t easy. But when they look at their kids, they know they’ve made a good job. “Okay, I gotta go. Have a good first day, boys.”

“You too, dad.” They mumbled as they watched the old man walk away from the kitchen.

“Okay, bye. I have to rush.” Tom waved and they all said their goodbyes to the boy.

Being the only one with a car, Tom had to drive to the Upper West Side to pick his best friend, even though he lived right next to the school. Luckily, it didn’t take long until he got to Harrison’s apartment to find him leaned against the building’s walls in his pretty uniform. He dressed up differently than Tom, ditching the sweater and opting for a blazer instead.

“Morning, mate.” Harrison sat inside the car and Tom quickly started to drive again. “Feeling better?”

“A little. But I still can’t eat, too sick to do so.”

“Or are you nervous to meet the pretty girl? What was her name…”

“(Y/N). And no, that’s not because of that.” Liar. It was all he could think about ever since he woke up. Actually, it was the only thing he could think about ever since he left that nursery yesterday. How did that girl shake him up like that after one small conversation? “I’m not sure she’ll talk to me today. She doesn’t seem like the type of girl that likes to hang with lads that aren’t like her. We’re not extremely rich, or famous.”

“Come on, mate. You’re hot, she’s not stupid. At least I think you can hit that.”

“No, I don’t wanna hit that. This one is different.” He sheepishly smiled as he remembered her from yesterday, sitting next to him and keeping her voice soft and low, just for him to hear it.

“You like her.” Harrison smirked and Tom sighed loudly.

“I don’t. She’s just… a friend. Yeah, I think maybe less. She’s pretty, but I don’t think I want to hit that.” He tried to avoid that subject, but Harrison wanted to know more about the girl that made Tom’s eyes shine for the first time in his life. “Because she’s the first girl that made me feel different and I don’t wanna ruin that.”

“Just… be careful mate. She might be nice, but don't forget that she’s a spoiled kid like everyone else in those schools.”

“I’ll be, promise you.” Tom found a parking lot next to school and left his car there.

His new school was cool, but the people were a little… different. They were rich kids, raised as one, so it didn't match either Tom's or Harrison’s personality that much since they couldn't stand those type of people, being raised to use their money wisely and never feel like they’re better than someone because of what they materially have. Still, some people were nice enough to talk to them on the first day. Others looked at them up and down with disdain and arrogance.

Parties were already being planned. The Welcoming Party hosted by Noel Kaim in his big Long Island summer house and there were whispers all around the school that this one was going to be epic since it was Noel's senior year. Everyone in school was always invited, but only a few selected people showed up. Of course, (Y/N) was the most expected to be there since she never misses a party, especially when it’s hosted by Noel.

"I don't know if I'm doing Noel's party this year. Not in the mood." (Y/N) commented when she met up with her friends after a good breakfast. They were all reunited at the restroom getting some final touches in their makeups.

"Come on, (Y/N). Noel is like… your guy. Aren't you gonna show up at his party and claim for what's yours?" Courtney said as she applied some lipgloss in the mirror.

"First of all, he's not my guy. We make out sometimes, and I take him to red carpets and events with me. But that's because I can't show empty-handed." (Y/N) started to braid Stacy's hair as she asked earlier. "Also, I'm getting tired of him."

"Why?" Stacy frowned and (Y/N) shrugged.

"Too clingy." They all laughed together. "S, you should go after him at that party. I know you always flirt, so maybe this should be the best opportunity."

"Won't you be mad about that?"

"No, I swear."

(Y/N) always tried to be sweet with her friends and they normally were sweet back, especially Courtney who is the sweetest girl in the world. But sometimes Stacy seems like she just wants to be (Y/N) and she was tired of it, maybe her hooking up with Noel will get her to stop.

"And Court, you know basketball's team Lamar, right? He seems like your type, you should go for him."

"What? No, no, no. Lamar is way over my league." Courtney chuckled nervously as she changed her lipgloss for mascara.

"Are you kidding me? You're amazing, he would be lucky to be with you."

"It's not like I'm you, (Y/N)." She said in a low tone and before (Y/N) could question it, the bell rang and they had to rush to class.

Classes were just like any other day. It was the first day of the school year and still, things didn't change at all for those who were used to the school. Tom and Harrison had a hard time to pick up everyone's pace, but soon they realised that it wasn't so different from their school back in London. Still, being new in school is always hard and everyone needs some time to adapt.

"So what are you thinking about?" Harrison asked Tom when they sat down to eat lunch together.

"Everything's so different, right?" He grinned and shrugged. "I'm kind of terrified."

"Why would you even be terrified?"

"Everyone around here seems to be working hard to become someone. Great college education and a proper major. I just want to be an actor."

"And aren't you working hard to become it?" Harrison arched his eyebrows and Tom shrugged. "Tom, you're not inferior just because you don't want to go to an Ivy League university and become a lawyer."

"Well, maybe I am."

"Well, if you say so, then so am I. Did you forget that I'm also trying to be an actor?" Tom didn't know what else to say and just concentrated on his sandwich.

"I'm sorry mate."

"It's okay. If you ever wanna talk about this, I'm your guy." Harrison gave him two taps in the back and went back to his food. "Oh, what about that (Y/N) chick?"

What about her? Well, at this exact moment she was sitting in her usual spot by the stairs in front of the school, eating with her friends while they commented on people's dressing. That's something they normally do when they're bored and didn't have much to talk to each other. It always worked to fill the blanks and they didn't need to talk about something deeper or anything else.

"Noel looks good today." Stacy commented and Courtney nodded.

"He looks the same as every day." (Y/N) siped her lemonade as they all observed Noel passing balls with his friends and laughing a lot.

"His hair looks different." Courtney commented and (Y/N) frowned.

"No, it doesn't."

"Not Noel's. Lamar's. He got a buzzcut." She pointed to the boy standing next to Noel, passing a hand on his shaved head.

"It looks ridiculous." Stacy said with a laugh.

"I like it." (Y/N) said and Courtney agreed with a nod. "It gave him a mature look."

"He looks so pretty, doesn't he?" Courtney had full heart eyes when she was looking at the boy, and (Y/N) liked her, so that's why she shouted next.

"Hey, Lamar. C'mere." She signed to the boy as he looked their way. He pointed to his chest and she nodded. Courtney looked like she was about to burst into flames as he approached.

"Hey, (Y/N)." He sat down with them and sent a smile on Courtney's way. This was too easy.

"Hey Lamar, you remember my friends." (Y/N) pointed to the girls and they waved shyly.

"Courtney, right?" He pointed and she nodded with a blush. "And… Stella?"

"It's Stacy." She groaned and started to gather her things.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He apologized and she shrugged.

"Yeah, it doesn't matter anyway. I have to make a call." Stacy walked away as everyone frowned at her attitude.

"So, are you guys coming to Noel's party?" Lamar asked.

"Sorry, I only go to Long Island on vacations." (Y/N) said putting on some sunglasses. "Plus, I have a thing. But Courtney's going."

"Really?" He opened a little smile for her and she nodded with a shy smile. "Cool."

"I have to go, but I'm sure you're gonna take good care of Court, right?" (Y/N) rested a hand on his shoulder and he nodded, looking at Courtney.

"Yeah, of course." He had a playful cheeky smile on his face.

"Are you going to be okay, baby?"

"Yeah. Lamar can keep me company." Courtney pointed at him and that was all (Y/N) needed to hear before stepping up and walking away.

She took the time alone to sit on a bench and read her book since she wasn't in the mood earlier that morning, but after a whole day of boring classes, she was dying to get a little time to just be alone and relax over those thousands of words while eating peaches as she loved to do. But her quiet moment of peace was disturbed by someone sitting next to her and passing an arm behind her back. She knew who's touch it was by now.

"Noel, I need some time alone."

"Hey baby, why are you avoiding me?" He removed a hair from her ear and she rolled her eyes.

"First of all, I didn't give you permission to touch me." She removed his arm from her shoulders and sat away from him. "Second, I'm avoiding you because you're annoying."

"You never called last night."

"I got food poisoning. And thank you for asking if I'm good."

"I didn't know that you were sick."

"Yes, you did. You have a Twitter, everyone in school was commenting about it." She crossed her arms and they remained in silence.

"I missed you when you were gone."

"Yet you didn't call me once." She avoided his gaze, which she knew was locked on her. "You were probably too busy getting wasted in Rio."

"It was Fernando de Noronha."

"I don't even know what that means." She shot up and started to walk away, but Noel followed her. "Stop following me."

"Are you coming to my party?" He asked and she ignored. "Come on, baby, talk to me." He reached for her wrist and pulled her back to him, making her wince in pain.

"Noel, let me go. You're hurting me."

"You can't avoid me forever." His voice sounded harsh and commanding. (Y/N) was trying to remain though with a tight grip on her wrist.

"She asked you to let her go, mate." They heard a voice from behind them and they looked its way. (Y/N) smiled when she saw Tom standing there, eyebrows furrowed and folded arms.

"Hey new guy, you shouldn't get your nose where you were not invited."

"Yeah, I don’t care. I’m not letting you do anything to her."

"Let me fucking go, Noel." She forced her wrist out of his hand and after a lot of debating, he let her go.

"Our talk isn't over." He pointed out before walking back to his friends.

"Don't fucking talk to me." She massaged her wrist and walked Tom's way. He still looking at Noel with an angry face, making sure he walked far away from her. He slipped his hand on her back and pulled her away from the guy, walking towards Harrison waiting in the back.

"You okay?" Tom asked and she shook her head no. "Should we go to the nursery again?"

"No, I'm fine." You didn't dare to look up to him or you would cry again and you were sick of crying in front of Tom. "Noel's an idiot."

"Is he always like this?"

"To me? No. This is new." She shot an angry look at him, now back to playing with his friends. "We used to date. Well, nothing serious though. But he never was aggressive with me before."

"I’m gonna keep an eye on him, okay?" Tom looked angry and full of concern as he analysed her wrist carefully, holding it like it was made of glass. "Come on, let's sit with me and Haz. We'll keep you away from that idiot."

Tom and Harrison were getting out for some air when they spotted (Y/N) fighting to get away from a boy who had a strong grip on her wrist. Tom immediately interfered and got her safely with him and Harrison on another bench.

"Hey, you alright?" Harrison asked her and she nodded.

"Yeah, I guess so." She sighed and fixed her hair. "Sorry, uhm… I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

"I'm Harrison Osterfield. And it's nice to meet you."

"I met both of you in the worst situation." They laughed together and Harrison sat aside, patting the space next to him so she could sit down. “I’m so sorry, I’m not usually this messed up, I promised.”

“It’s okay. We all have some bad times and it’s not your fault.”

“Especially this one.” Tom still looked angry and was having a hard time to calm down. He was still facing Tom with a red face, crossed arms and eyebrows furrowed. Harrison shot a glance at his friend to make him calm down a little. Tom rolled his eyes and sat next to (Y/N).

“Is that the Noel everyone in school is talking about today?” Harrison asked and (Y/N) nodded. “They are all saying his parties are epic.”

“I’ve been to better ones.” She said. “Noel is one hell of a popular guy and everyone thinks he’s nice and powerful, but he’s so dirty. Ugh, I want to punch him sometimes.”

“Do you know him very well?”

“Better than anyone else in this school. But no one truly knows him, it’s frustrating. You have no idea what he’s capable of. I just thought I was the limit.”

“Well, I guess we all just saw what he can do.” Tom said and Harrison nodded.

“But it’s okay. We’re gonna take care of you.” She smiled at the boys. She didn’t know them very well, but something was telling her that they were very trustable and she could be comfortable around them.

“Thank you so much.”

“Yeah, anytime.” Tom softly smiled at her, making her heart warmer.

“I know we met at the worst time possible. But I would like to hang out with you sometime.”

“That would be great.”

“Do you guys drink?”

“Yes.” They answered in unison, making her laugh. “You wanna make us happy? Get us a pint.”

“I know the perfect place to go to. Maybe Friday night?”

“Oh, it’s my mom’s birthday and we’re going out for dinner. But you two should go and have fun together.”

It was a complicated matter for both of them. They’ve never gone out with another person alone if it wasn’t for a date. Tom didn’t even remember the last time he even befriended a girl without second intentions and he knew that Harrison was trying to get him alone with (Y/N) after long hours hearing him saying that Tom was in love with this girl. And it’s been a while since (Y/N)’s last relationship, but even when she was in France she used those fancy restaurants for quick late-night dates ending up back in her hotel room at the end. What it was like to sit in front of each other with two drinks and just talk without any second intentions?

“I would love to.” Tom said first, trying to take a leap of faith and being confident about going out with her.

“I guess it’s a date.”

(...)

(YN) never invited someone on a date before. She was usually asked on them by other boys. But when she was standing right there in front of Tom, something just made her say that it was alright to go out with him and that’s why she was going through her closet to find a good outfit for her date. Well, it wasn’t exactly a date, was it? Everything just made you so confused. Not knowing what it was made her question about what to choose for wearing, and she nearly emptied her wardrobe to find something nice, which considering its size, was not an easy job.

“What’s wrong with you?” Her mother asked as she came into her daughter’s closet, finding almost half of her closet on the floor.

“I can’t find anything nice to wear.” (Y/N) sighed as she sat down in the chair place right in the centre of a sea of clothes.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. You act as if I’m not your mother.” Josie stepped into the closet and started to look for something fresh.

“Well, we’re not exactly on speaking terms.”

“And that’s on you, sweetie. You’re the one not talking to me.” She went through many skirts that were already on the floor, throwing some of them back when she wasn't satisfied.

“You had crazy monkey sex with some guy and kept me up all night.”

“You’re mad because of that?” Josie did an ugly face looking back to her daughter and (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“What did you think I was mad for?” She frowned and her mother shrugged.

“About the event the other day. And well, in that case, I should be mad at your for running away and for the day that followed that one. You got yourself inside that hole Noel Kaim calls his bedroom and didn’t come back for two days.”

“You’re friends with his mother.”

“Cornelia is a lovely woman. Can’t say the same about the boys in her family.” Josie threw a leathery black skirt over her daughter and kept searching to match for the uppers. “Well, that woman is wearing the horns of a cuckold, and they’re probably Prada’s.”

“You’re one of the women George Kaim had an affair with.”

“Yeah, and I regret it deeply because that man doesn’t know how to make a lady cum. I wouldn’t be surprised if his wife is also having an affair.” (Y/N) almost choked on her mother’s words, there clearly wasn’t a limit in the words that came out of her mouth.

“Oh God, get out of here!” She pointed the door and Josie rolled her eyes.

“I’m almost done, Jesus…” She threw a black tank top over her daughter’s lap and a leather jacket. “Try these with black high heels or Dr Martens. Also, pretty lingerie underneath it, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“You’re the world’s worst mother.” Josephine showed her a middle finger on her way out. She came back a couple of seconds later with a cigarette lit up. “What did I ever tell you about smoking indoors?”

“Yeah, whatever. My apartment, my bills, my business.” Josie rambled before taking the cigarette again. “I’m going out with Garold tonight, and will probably stay at his place. So don’t bother about waiting for me.”

“Would never bother about that.” (Y/N) started to change into her clothes. She could say anything about her mom, but she had to admit that Josephine knows how to dress someone up. “At least I can have a proper night of sleep.”

“And if you want to use the apartment later…”

“Please leave.” (Y/N) said as she pointed out the door, already grossed out by that conversation.

“Use condoms.” She shouted from the back and (Y/N) continued to get ready, trying to forget the inappropriate conversation she just had with her mother.

While (Y/N) was finishing getting ready, Tom was trying to find the perfect outfit for tonight, just like she was doing before. See, the thing is that Tom heard many things about her during the week. A lot of people said that she was the kind of girl who doesn’t usually befriend with a boy if she doesn’t want anything else, but she also doesn’t want any commitment. And that kind of made Tom nervous because he didn’t know what tonight meant. Was it a date, or was it just two friends hanging out? But most importantly, did he want it to be a date?

“What are you doing?” Harry asked popping his head into the room.

“Trying to find something nice to go out tonight, but it’s not an easy task when all my stuff is still packed inside many suitcases.” Tom chuckled as he removed many t-shirts from his bag.

“Mate, I’m so glad my closet is already finished.” Sam popped inside the room with his twin brother.

“And now we have a crowd.” Tom chuckled and his brothers stepped into the room, taking their seat in Tom’s mattress since he didn’t have a proper bed yet.

“You already have a date. You’re lucky.” Harry said. “The girls in my school are so hard to get.”

“That’s because you give them the impression that you want something serious.”

“But I do want something serious.” Tom rolled his eyes and took a black shirt to match his jeans. “Sam found someone great, and I want that too. I don’t want to end up like you, miserably chasing after girls.”

“First, chasing after girls is fun. Second, I’m not going on a date, I’m taking my time.”

“You already said to me that you hooked up with a girl after class on Wednesday. That was your third day of classes.”

“Come on, Sam. Look at me, I’m irresistible.” Tom pointed down to his body, which made the twins laugh.

“Oh, do me a favour and tell Haz that I want my Xbox controllers back! He has it ever since we were in England.” Harry mumbled as he replied a text on his phone.

“I’m not hanging out with Harrison. Today’s Phil’s birthday.” Tom said, voice a little lower than before. The twins shared a look once Tom looked away, frowning to each other.

“So you’re not going on a date, but you’re not hanging out with Harrison. Who exactly are you hanging out with?” Sam crossed his arms and frowned. Tom shrugged as he put on his jacket.

“You’re hanging with (Y/N), aren’t you?” Harry asked and it was Tom’s turn to frown, quickly turning his head to the twins.

“How do you know who she is?”

“Harrison told me everything about you two.” Harry shrugged and Tom’s mouth fell agape.

“That bitch.” Tom cursed under his breath.

“So it is a date!” Harry jumped excitedly and Tom took a long breath, clenching his jaw.

“No, it isn’t. I’m hanging out with (Y/N), but we’re going as friends.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to believe you. And honestly, I don’t care.” Sam said and Harry laughed. “I still don’t know who’s this (Y/N) chick.”

“She’s just this girl I met at the nursery on my first day and she’s cool. Like...stupidly cool.” Tom opened a small smile on his lips as he talked about her. “And you know, she’s pretty and everything, but she’s different from anyone I’ve ever met. I’m not wasting that with a meaningless hookup.”

“I can’t believe this…” Sam started with a grin on his face. “Tom actually likes a girl.”

“What?” Tom turned around angrily to find the twins laughing. “I don’t like her.”

“Yes, you do. You talk about her with a big smile on your face, it’s priceless!” Harry pointed and received dirty underwear on his face. “Hey, not cool.”

“Remember me to kill Harrison later. Now, does this looks cool?” Tom showed what he was wearing and the twins analysed it closely. A black t-shirt, dark washed jeans and a leather jacket. He always dresses up simple, but he looks hot with them.

“If you’re planning on getting laid tonight, I think it’s good.” Harry nodded and Tom adjusted his jacket.

“But don’t forget your cologne, since girls are always falling for it.” Tom rolled his eyes and started to push the twins out of the room.

“Yeah, you’re pissing me off. Goodbye!” He slammed the door at their faces and took a second to breathe.

As Tom finished his final details, (Y/N) texted him saying that she was already leaving the apartment to meet him there. He rushed to get his things and come downstairs to find his mother cuddled with his father and younger brother, Paddy. They looked so comfortable that it made Tom want to cancel his thing and snuggle in his mother’s arms.

“Oh, what a handsome young man.” Nikki got out of the couch and walked to her son, giving him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Are you going out with Harrison?”

“He has a date, mom.” Harry interrupted and received a death glare from Tom.

“A date? That’s lovely. I hope it’s a girl that makes you settle for good because I hate having to memorize all of their names.”

“First, even I don’t memorize their names. Second, it’s not a date. I’m hanging out with a girl, but we’re only friends.”

“That’s new.” Dom commented. “Well, take some money from my wallet. Make it a nice evening for her.”

“And be safe.” Nikki kissed his forehead and he smiled before looking for his dad’s wallet to take some money to take off.

New York was beautiful at night, just as much as it was during the day. (Y/N) didn’t make it a secret when it came to love the city and anyone could see it in her eyes, how they shinned as she glanced out the window to watch the lights and the movement around her. Tom was learning to love it too. He came from a big city, probably one of the most popular cities in the world, but New York was slowly owning a place in his heart. It’s been less than a month since he moved here and it’s been such a nice time, especially when he got to meet nice people, just like the one he was about to go meet.

He never would expect that his first outing with a girl around the nightly city would be as a friendly date, but he was so happy to be doing this. It was almost magical the way she made him feel, it was almost like a soulmate connection that pulled them together somehow and he couldn’t help but like it. Even though he loved Harrison and they had been together for years now, Tom had this feeling that (Y/N) was something special in his life. Maybe she had the potential to be his best friend.

"Oh, sorry love. Have you been waiting for long?" Tom said as he stepped out of the taxi to find her standing outside the bar. He only saw her twice with clothes that weren't school uniform and he was pretty sure she doesn't wear fancy dresses all the time, but right now she looked like a real supermodel fashionista. Everything on her matched and fit like they were meant to be worn together.

“Don’t worry, I just got here.” (Y/N) fixed her hair and smiled at Tom. “I liked your jacket.”

“Really? It’s like… super old.”

“Vintage, darling.” She pinched his stomach and Tom smiled. Maybe that was something she always did to people she’s intimate with and now she was doing it with him like they’ve known each other for a long time.

“Well, thank you. Coming from a girl who’s always dressed up flawlessly, it must be pretty good.” He fixed his jacket and she chuckled.

“The perks of being Josephine (Y/L/N)’s daughter.” She shrugged and pulled him inside the bar.

Tom felt like coming home from the moment he stepped into that place. The brick walls, the green leather booths, warm lights and a lot of people united on the tables having a good time. The big bars full of drinks, bartenders and stools so they could sit closer to the drinks. And to finish the decoration, a big neon sign saying “Vertigo”. It was a full pub right in the middle of New York. Tom was fascinated by that place.

“Well, this is familiar.” He pointed out and (Y/N) chuckled, pulling him to sit on the stools.

“I figured you’d like this one because it’s just like a London pub. Maybe this would make it feel like home.”

“Thank you for bringing me here.” She shrugged and sat on a stool by the bar. “I bet you always come here with your friends.”

“No, they would never come here. Not fancy enough for them. They prefer hotel bars and fancy clubs, I can take you there someday.” He sat right next to her and they waited for the bartender to come. “Also, the other bar doesn’t have good beer. The owners from here are British, so it’s supposed to be good.”

“Good evening, miss (Y/L/N). Seems like you brought a friend.” The bartender asked with a strong accent very similar to Tom’s, maybe a little heavier. By his tag name, Tom knew that his name was Oliver.

“Hey, Oliver. This is Tom, be nice to him.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom. What can I get you?”

“Fish and chips and a pint.” Tom said and the bartender smiled with the accent that came out of Tom’s mouth

“One of my lads from England.” He winked and Tom nodded with a smile. “It’s always nice to see someone from back home. Where are you from?”

“London, mate.”

“I’m from Sheffield. And what can I get you, love?” The bartender asked (Y/N) after she went through their drink menu.

“I’ll have a lemon and rosemary gin tonic, please.” The young man nodded and walked away to prepare their order.

“Okay, I officially love this place.” Tom said excitedly, which made (Y/N) laugh. “Harrison will love this one. He’s the one who was always buried inside the pub even before we turned eighteen. The only thing we were against while moving here is that the drinking legal age is 21 and we weren’t ready to stop going to pubs. Even before, we used to hide in a pub that allowed us to drink there and keep it on the low.”

“Yeah, kind of like this place. Although I’m the only one allowed in here. The owners are friends with my dad.”

“That’s why the guy knew your name.” He pointed back to Oliver filling a glass with beer.

“Yeah, that’s Oliver. He’s cute and always serves me the best drinks. I always tip him well, that’s the key.” (Y/N) winked and crossed her legs. A couple of guys sitting on the next table looked her up and down, which made her roll eyes. Tom followed her look and furrowed his eyebrows at the guys.

"They are like twice your age."

"Yeah, unfortunately, it happens all the time. It's disgusting." Oliver served their drinks and told he would be back with their chips. "I'm lucky that Oliver is serving us tonight, he's the only one that's respectful with me. You see the guy over there." She pointed to a guy organizing cups in the back and Tom nodded. "He always tries to abuse me somehow, hands on my ass or waist, never with consent. But he's quiet tonight because I'm here with a guy."

"That's fucking pathetic. I get so angry about those things." Tom then remembered the situation that happened earlier that week with Noel. "What about that Noel Kaim? He seemed pretty abusive with you."

"Noel never treated me like that before. Sure, we like to tease each other because that’s how our relationship was built. But never with anger, never with aggression. I got really upset when he did that to me." She sipped on her drink and felt her throat burning with the strong drink.

"If he ever does anything to you, even if it's small, you can tell me and I'll break his face."

"Thank you." She smiled softly and he finally drank his beer.

"Oh my God, this is fantastic." Tom said almost rolling his eyes in pleasure. "I officially love this place. Do you want some?"

"I'm not a fan of beer, but my dad brought me here the first time and had me drinking one beer and it's really good."

"Thank God your dad brought you here.” He sipped his beer again and sighed. “And well, you look like someone that doesn’t like beer. You look very fancy, like everyone in our schools.”

“Yeah. I was raised on champagne with two strawberries on the bottom of the glass. But you know, when I visited London, I went plenty of pubs with some friends, sometimes with my dad and I enjoyed their beer.” She took a big sip on her drink and did an ugly face when it burned down her throat. Tom laughed at her and thanked when the bartender came with his chips. “Mom got pretty mad that day. Mad at me, at my dad, at the world, honestly. As always.”

“You seem to have a pretty disturbing relationship with your mother.”

“With my family, in general. My mother is… peculiar. She never wanted to be a mother, at least that’s what she tells me now and then. She only did it because of my father. He wanted to be a dad and back then, they were very in love. That’s why I think I’m the reason their relationship fell apart.” She brushed the tip of her finger around the border of the glass. “Sorry, that was too deep. Tonight was supposed to be a fun night.”

“No, tonight was supposed to be a night to get to know each other.” He smiled softly at her and took some chips before he continued. “You can tell me more about your mom.”

“Uhm, we’re always fighting. She doesn’t care much about what I do and at the same time, she cares too much. She wants me to be perfect, to be the best student, the best dressed, the most desirable. But she doesn’t care about how I feel or what I wanna do.” She glanced down, maybe to tried hold some tears forming on her waterline. “But hey, tell me about your mom. I owe you some minutes to listen to you ramble on about your life.”

“I love my mom. She always supports me and takes care of me. She’s my best friend, honestly.” He smiled to remember his old mum that right now was cuddled with all of his brothers in the living room. “My family is everything to me. I don’t think I can even show how much I love them. They are the best part of me.”

“You have a big family?” She had a small grin on her face and he nodded.

“My parents are still together and I have three younger brothers, two of them are twins.” He smiled when he started talking about them. (Y/N) saw a sparkle in his eyes when he started to talk about his family. He talked with such adoration that it was almost hard to believe that someone loved their family this much. That was what she wanted all her life. “And I am so lucky to have them in my life. You will know when you meet them.”

“I would love to meet them.” They both opened a big smiled when their eyes crossed.

“Sam and Harry are really fun to hang out with. But being friends with them requires a big appetite for food and for talking photography.”

“I love photography! I’m a model, the camera loves me.” She posed for him and he laughed. “And I’m always hungry. That’s something you need to know if we’re gonna be friends.”

“Noted.” He winked and they fell into a brief silence so they could drink a little more. “Do you like being a model?”

“A little. I love fashion, I do. But my mother always tried to put me into a certain beauty pattern because that’s how she was raised, my grandmother is just like her, maybe worst. And I have many self-esteem issues because of that. She even had me wearing tight corsets when I was 12, it was horrible.” ”

“I’m so sorry darling.”

“After a while, I started to speak up and tell her no. So I only model for her sometimes and decided that I wanted to be a lawyer instead of going to a fashion school and being a part of this messed up world that excludes those who aren’t inside the beauty pattern.”

“Well, you could try changing it from the inside.”

“That’s why I still model and I try to stick to my true self, nothing aesthetically different.” She took some second to breathe and continue. “I got tired of doing what I was told. My mom even controlled my relationships at some point.”

“Really? How did that work?”

“She broke me and my last boyfriend. Well, we weren’t serious but when she found out I was going out with a guy that wasn’t rich and worked at a coffee shop, she lost his mind. Well, Josephine is very found of Noel Kaim and his family and Noel was the one who told her I was going out with that guy.”

“How did he know you were dating?”

“The boy worked at the café in front of the school. Noel saw me kissing him goodbye once.” She rolled her eyes. “I was never lucky in the relationship department.”

“God, me neither.”

“Really?”

“I tried to date a girl once, but it didn't work out because I don't feel like I ever truly liked anyone. Never felt head over heels, in love like a fool for someone. Also, I don't like serious relationships.”

“Me neither! Ugh, I don’t like being tied down. I love sleeping around and hooking up with a lot of guys. Even though I’m very subtle.” She signed Oliver to bring two more drinks and he nodded. “I love sex.”

“Yes! Sex is the best!” He giggled with her being so open about it. But again, he was also very open about it.

“And you know, most of the guys I truly dated never made me cum. Just Noel, and I guess that’s why I keep going back.”

“I don’t like being tied down to only one girl. I like flirting and meeting new people all the time, and Harrison is the same. I guess that’s why we’re best friends.” Oliver came with more drinks and they got drunker with every sip, opening their hearts to each other about every aspect of their lives.

“What would make you stop?”

“Meeting the right girl, I guess.” Tom smiled down to his beer and they fell into silence. "It will only stop when I truly feel how it's like to love someone. But I'm not desperately looking for them."

“Yeah, me too. Although, I want to find someone special so we can grow our own little life together.” She smiled, already feeling a little tipsy. Gin was much stronger than beer. “I want a family so I don’t be lonely.”

“I’ve never told any of those things to anyone.” Tom admitted.

“Me neither.” She agreed. “But I’m glad to share this with you, Tom. I feel like I can trust you. Like I can be vulnerable. That’s new to me.”

“I feel the same.” He extended his drink and she raised hers so they could toast. “And (Y/N), one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t have to be so lonely. At least as long as I’m here.”

“I don’t think that’s possible by now, Tom.” She buried her face in her drink to hide her sad face and he reached for her hand resting over the counter.

“Yes, it is. You’re waiting for the right guy to not be lonely, but you can’t spend the best years of your life looking for that someone. That’s not how life works.” She left her to drink behind to pay attention to what he was saying, maybe trying to hold some tears when touching in such a delicate subject for her. “I’m your friend and I’m here, right now. You don’t have to be lonely.”

“Why are you so fond of me?” She frowned, letting some tears fall on her cheeks and he shrugged.

“I guess I can’t stand to see someone crying.” He cleaned her tears with the pad of his thumb and she sobbed. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“No, I’m sorry for crying.” She tried to suck it up but didn’t move his hand from her face, which was now just rubbing her cheeks gently, trying to give her some comfort. “Thank you, Tom. For tonight. I needed to have this talk.”

“Do you need a hug?” He asked and she nodded, throwing herself in his arms with no hesitation. Tom was probably the best hugger she’d ever met, he could pass confidence and calmness through his touch. She could already feel her mascara ruining. Tom pressed her against him and rubbed his hands on her back, trying to give her some comfort. “I’m here for you, okay?”

“Okay.” She nodded her head, resting on the crook of his neck. “Do you want to order another drink? I don’t wanna go home yet.”

“Yeah, sure. Another gin tonic?”

“I think I’ll have a pint.” She winked and they laughed together. “Just to try it, you know.”

“Okay. Oliver, two pints please.”

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

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dreamcatcherfication · 4 years

Text

Ghosts Are Just as Real as You and Me - Part 4

READING GLASSES CATHY PARR RISES!

*clears throat* Well then. Chapter four, never thought I’d make it this far. This is actually the longest chapter yet, reaching about 3250 words. Here we get to jump around and see a little bit of everyone including (what anon asked me about a while ago) Duo Moms Aragon and Jane. This chapter escalates from happy to sad to oh no pretty quickly, so I hope you all enjoy that as much as I did. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my brother was performing ritualistic sacrifices in the living room.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas (now featuring random asks). If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Random Asks

Trigger Warnings: Threats of violence, Henry VIII

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A few days passed with all the queens waiting anxiously for the storm to hit, but life went on as normally as it had before Henry showed up. All the queens became hesitant, unsure of how to support each other when Henry’s reincarnation was uncharted territory. Eventually the tension became too much and Aragon approached Jane before breakfast one morning. “Jane, how would you like to go out for coffee?”

“What?” Jane furrowed her eyebrows. “But I have to make breakfast for the girls, it’s the only time we all still eat together.”

Wincing Aragon put a hand on the countertop. “Well yes, but… I was thinking that if you and I take Kitty out for coffee and muffins this morning -”

Jane caught on to what Aragon was saying. “We’ll be able to get her mind off of everything. You know what Catherine, I actually like that idea.”

Sighing in relief, Catherine moved away from the table and towards the stairs. “Will you finish making breakfast for the others if I go and wake up Kit?”

“One step ahead of you!” Jane called as she flipped some bacon already cooking. Turning around, Aragon made her way up to the second floor and across the way to Kit’s room. Kit was never the last to wake up, but she was never the first either. Chances were she would be shut in her room listening to music or watching television, waiting until Jane called her down for breakfast.

Knocking on the door, Aragon listened until she heard Kit’s voice. “Who is it?” came from within the room, muffled through the door.

“Aragon.”

A hum of confirmation came from Kit, and Aragon entered the room. “Is breakfast ready?” Kit asked, her phone in her hand as she turned off her music.

“About that,” Aragon started, then immediately regretted it when she saw the way Kit’s face dropped. “Jane and I wanted to take you out for coffee and muffins instead today. We thought it’d be nice to get out of the house a bit.”

Eyes lighting up, Kit scrambled off the bed and shot Aragon with the most precious smile on Earth. “Why’d you say it like it’s a bad thing, of course I’ll come with you two!” Exhaling, Aragon couldn’t help the grin that grew on her face at Kitty’s enthusiasm. Lately the girl had been so down on herself that seeing her back to even a sliver of her enthusiastic self was enough for Aragon to feel proud of herself for her coffee idea.

The two of them made their way down the stairs to where Jane was setting out plates for the other queens. Cathy was already at the table with a book in her hands and her reading glasses on. Anna was out on her morning run, sure to return later, and Anne was still in her room sleeping (like she always was). Glancing up, Cathy watched as the three other queens pulled on their shoes and got ready to leave. “Have fun out there you three,” she called, turning the page of her novel.

“Do you want us to bring you anything back?” Aragon asked her God-daughter.

Pondering the offer for a second, Cathy shrugged. “If they have hazelnut muffins, could you grab me one?”

“Sure,” Aragon replied. Jane chuckled, realizing how domestic the exchange was, but she didn’t complain. Kit tugged at her hand and looked pointedly at the door, anxious to get going. It was a change to see Kit so carefree, but it was obvious the girl was trying to push away her doubts. There was still the bit of hesitation before she grabbed Jane’s hand and the cringing when either of the queens spoke too loudly, but Kit was trying. Neither Jane nor Aragon were afraid of coddling Kit when she showed her strength in working to overcome her own problems. In fact, it was a very welcome sight for the queens who had begun to worry.

Jane was the one driving, with Aragon in the passenger seat and Kitty in the back. To a passerby they might’ve looked like a family, and although none of them voiced it, they all had the thought cross their minds. “Which shop are we going to?” Kitty asked, fiddling with her phone without turning it on.

“Coffee and Creme, it’s the bakery down the street,” Jane answered, making a left turn at the intersection.

Kit gasped. “Oh I love their chocolate chip muffins, they’re always so warm.”

Chuckling, Aragon added, “Well we can get you one when we’re there.”

“Really! Jane never lets me eat chocolate in the morning,” Kit leaned forward in her seat. Jane shot Aragon a subtle glare, causing the woman to mouth sorry in response.

But it made Kitty happy, and that was the goal of the outing, so Jane relented. “Just this once, okay Kit? And don’t let us catch you telling Anne about this, or else she’ll never shut up about it.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kitty mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key.

As Jane pulled up to the shop, she groaned when she realized the only parking spot was on the other side of the street. “Alright, you girls hop out and go wait in line while I park. Catherine if you could order for me-”

“I know your order by heart,” Kit cut in, a proud smile on her face.

The two older queens felt smiles grow on their faces without any permission. “Well then, I think Kitty’s got it down pretty well,” Aragon shrugged.

Getting out of the car, Aragon poked her head back in. “I’ll be inside in just a moment, you go ahead with Kitty,” Jane assured.

“You be quick Seymour,” Aragon ordered in a faux-stern voice. Rolling her eyes goodnaturedly, Jane pulled away from the side of the shop and drove to the end of the street. Making a legal u-turn, Jane found the open parking spot on the opposite side of the road and pulled into it. Getting out of the car, Jane made sure to lock the doors before moving to cross the street.

She froze, making eye contact with a man right next to the bakery. It was undeniably Henry, regardless of the different clothes he was wearing. He wasn’t moving, just watching Jane from where he stood. Cold fear gripped Jane’s heart as she was unable to move. Jane blinked multiple times, hoping it was only a trick of the light, but Henry remained where he stood. Taking a step forward, Jane was about to cross the street when a large bus passed in front of her.

The queen jumped back, jerking herself back into reality. Looking at her surroundings, Jane let the noises of the busy street filter back into her mind. Returning her gaze to where Henry was standing, Jane wasn’t surprised to see him gone. Why would he stick around longer than to make sure Jane knew he was watching? Henry was playing a psychological game, and Jane wouldn’t fall for it this time. Not when she had Kit and Catherine, Anna and Cathy and Anne to protect.

The bell above the bakery door rang when Jane stepped in the shop, her entrance greeted with a “Welcome!” from the peppy barista. Shooting a smile to the barista, Jane made her way over to Kit and Aragon who were seated at a corner table. Kit was happily munching on a giant chocolate muffin with a frappuccino in front of her. Normally Jane would disapprove of all the sugar, but today was an exception. In front of Catherine was a simple cup of coffee with milk and some sugar.

And at the empty third seat for Jane was her order, exactly as she always got it. It consisted of one of the bakery’s shortbread cookies cut in the shape of a heart with cinnamon sprinkled over the top. There was a piping mug of chamomile tea resting next to it, the tea bag still in the drink, just as Jane always had it. Even though Jane had come to the bakery with Kitty multiple times before, it still warmed her heart that the teen remembered her order.

That warmth disappeared when Jane once again reminded herself of the encounter outside the bakery. Clearly, Henry was trying to mess with them, get to them mentally instead of physically. Withholding information from the queens could cause a lot of conflict but, Jane reasoned, it would cause more harm to tell them than to hide it. She couldn’t let the fear return to Kit’s eyes, the fear she and Aragon were trying so hard to ward off. Opening her mouth, Jane attempted to speak, but couldn’t get any words out.

“Jane, is there something on your mind?” Aragon asked, her grin warm and inviting.

There was no way Jane could ruin this picture perfect moment with Kit and Aragon by telling them what she had seen. Instead, Jane shook her head and sat down in the empty seat. “Not at all. Just glad we’re all here together.”

On the other side of town, Anna wasn’t on her morning jog through the park. Anyone who was used to seeing her wouldn’t suspect anything amiss, she had probably just cut her run short. But Anna would have to postpone her morning run for the time being because she had more important places to be. Instead of being out in the park, reveling in the sunlight, Anna was plotting. Plotting every possible way to kill Henry before he could even make another move on Kit or any of the queens.

She had no idea how she would do it, but Anna was going to track Henry down and get to him first. She couldn’t tell any of the other queens for fear they would disapprove or in case Henry was listening (there was so little privacy in the modern world), so Anna only had the companionship of her own mind.

Her first order of business was signing up at a local boxing arena in order to get fighting experience. It wasn’t the most desirable sport, and Anna much preferred running and weightlifting - non contact sports, thank you very much - but she was willing to do anything in order to increase her chances of winning a fight against Henry.

One of the first things her instructors taught her was that it wasn’t being the biggest or the strongest that made you the winner, it was your skill and endurance. Anna would never be stronger than Henry, that was a given, but if she trained enough, her hope was that she would be able to take him down when she found him. He was slow and fat and probably didn’t have any experience. Anna was young and lean and training, the odds were against him.

In the days since Kit’s confession, Anna had been training as hard and as often as she could, gearing up for a fight that could come at any time. It was on this particular morning when an instructor pulled her to the side. The woman had a high ponytail and must’ve been in her mid twenties, but her muscles were ripped and she clearly had experience. Unable to remember her name, Anna resorted to referring to the woman as “you”, trying to get the conversation over so she could get back to training. “Why are you doing this?” the instructor asked simply, no lead up or extra commentary.

“What do you mean?”

The woman watched a bead of sweat drip down Anna’s forehead. “Why are you working so hard? You showed up less than a week ago and you’ve already advanced faster than anyone else here. So what’s your motivation?”

“I don’t have to tell you that,” Anna said defensively, flexing her hands in the tape wrapped around them.

The woman shrugged, unbothered. “True, you don’t. But sometimes sharing motivations makes it easier to see reason. To pace yourself. The best solution isn’t always working as hard as possible all the time.”

Anna scoffed and ignored the advice. “Yeah, well not all of us have time. If you’ll excuse me,” Anna pushed past the woman and moved back to her punching bag.

“Is it someone in your life?” The woman called. Anna stopped with her fist in the air, about to swing at the bag. “So it is,” the instructor continued, noticing Anna’s hesitation.

“Stop trying to get into my head, okay, it’s not gonna work,” Anna hissed.

The instructor rolled her tongue in her mouth before making a clicking sound. “Maybe you’re trying to protect someone you care about?” Once again, Anna hesitated and cursed herself when the woman’s eyes lit up. “You’re trying to be their night in shining armor.”

“You have no right to violate my privacy -”

“But why? What is threatening them that you feel the need to work so hard?” The woman kept pushing deeper and deeper, hitting all of Anna’s soft spots.

Clenching her fists, Anna swung at the punching bag and watched it go careening in the opposite direction. It wasn’t the most impressive punch, but the amount of anger behind it drained Anna. “Henry. His name is Henry and he has a lot of history with us.”

“Ex lover?”

Anna chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, something like that.” Breathing in deeply, Anna steadied the punching bag. “She’s dealing with a lot, and if I let him get to her again, I’m afraid she’ll break and it’ll be all my fault.”

“Again.” It wasn’t a question, more like an invitation to elaborate.

It wasn’t that Anna didn’t realize she was confiding in a stranger, it was more the comfort of knowing that she could say anything and the instructor would have no idea. “It was my fault the first time, it can’t be my fault the second time. I - I…”

“You love her too much to see her get hurt.”

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

On a regular basis, Cathy tended to be pretty concerned about Anne. With her constant shenanigans and chaotic nature, it was hard not to be worried about what trouble the beheaded queen would get into next. But right now, Cathy wasn’t concerned because of what Anne was doing. No, she was concerned about what Anne wasn’t doing. Ever since Anne had gone to her room after talking with Cathy a few nights back, she had been practically AWOL.

Sure, Anne came down to snag food, but then she would immediately disappear back into her room in the attic. Cathy had seen her come from Kit’s room a day earlier, but the strange part was that Kit had been downstairs with Jane. Anne wasn’t making any sounds, but she didn’t seem to be in any kind of distress or slump.

In conclusion, something was wrong with Anne Boleyn, but for the life of her, Cathy Parr could not figure it out. That’s why when Cathy heard someone leaving later that day, she decided to investigate, praying it was Anne. Sure enough, luck was on her side and Anne’s coat was missing from its hanger.

Noting that she was the only person in the house, Cathy realized she had free reign to satisfy her curiosity. Acknowledging how dangerous her curiosity could be, Cathy threw caution out the window and headed directly for Anne’s room. She needed something, any kind of clue as to why Anne was suddenly acting as if the rest of the queens were infected with some deadly disease. Or maybe she’s the one infected, Cathy thought to herself.

Stopping in front of Anne’s door, Cathy felt her conscience kick in. Is it really okay to violate Anne’s privacy like this? Cathy knew the answer was no and if Anne found out, she’d be pissed, but in that moment Cathy knew she’d never again have this opportunity to - for lack of a better word - snoop.

Opening the door, Cathy made her way into the room. Clothes were strewn about mingled with trash and food crumbs from Anne’s meals. The bed was unmade (of course) and there was an assortment of random items (kazoos, teddy bears, a pair of heelys) in every corner. There was a nightstand next to Anne’s bed, the only thing untouched by all the chaos. Wading through the mass of junk on the floor until she stood in front of the desk, Cathy observed her prize.

It was a journal. That was the last thing Cathy expected Anne to have, but she picked it up anyway. Her reading glasses were resting on her head, so Cathy pulled them down and opened the book. The first page was a doodle (it was surprisingly intricate, Cathy noted) of… herself? The sketch was clearly Cathy, her arm above her head as she slept on the queens’ couch, her glasses askew. Blushing, Cathy read the caption of the picture. Gold star for Cathy Parr, an angel I see.

Frantically, flipping the page, Cathy tried to smother the erratic beating of her heart. She could squeal later about Anne’s drawing. The next page was another sketch, this time of Kitty with a water gun. Cathy remembered the incident over the summer when the queens were out having a water war. The teams were Cathy, Anne, and Anna versus Aragon, Jane, and Kitty. The fight had gotten down to the very end when Kit sprayed Anne, only for Anna to secure a win for her team by taking down Kit. The memory brought a warm feeling to Cathy’s chest, making her smile with a nostalgic fondness.

Flipping further into the book, Cathy came across some of the more recent entries. These ones didn’t make any sense. They were nonsense words like “Double” and “Envelope” and “Instructions”. There was no rhyme or reason to any of the words, and if anything would have been coherent, Anne had scribbled it out with a black pen.

The final page that was written in made more sense. He made it easy for me, a five step plan. I don’t want to help him or do anything he says but Kitty… I went into her room the other day. I was hoping I could find any cameras or wiretaps (I looked it up, they’re easy to get), but there were none. The only choice I have is following instructions. Especially those from the envelope.

Eyes widening as a chill overcame her body, Cathy opened the drawer of the nightstand. Inside was a single, white envelope with Anne’s name on it. Reaching for it, Cathy’s hand closed around the edge when the door downstairs opened with a loud bang!

Releasing the envelope, Cathy closed the drawer and practically sprinted out of Anne’s room. On her way downstairs, Cathy did her best to compose herself so to appear that she had not been snooping. Hanging her coat by the door was Anne, an unmarked bag in her hands. “Hi Anne,” Cathy said, eyeing the bag.

Unaware, Anne gave Cathy a smile that normally would make the girl swoon. “Hi Cathy,” she replied, walking over to the other queen. Anne lifted a hand and Cathy frowned in confusion, only to be answered as Anne carefully pushed the forgotten reading glasses up her nose where they had been slipping off.

“Are you going to hide from us again?” Cathy asked, channeling her passive aggressiveness.

Sighing Anne gave the other queen a forced smile. “I guess I am,” she said before disappearing back to her room.

---------------------------------------

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