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punemy-spotted · 4 years ago

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The Price You Pay Chapter 4: Breach

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Betrayal; Lies; F!Reader’s Age Kind of Finalized; Specific Reference to Age; Blackmail; Crying; Slight Panic Attack; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: Even the truth can’t set you free.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Notes: And we’re back to pain. My outline got derailed for this chapter so bear with me, sometimes revelations need to be hammered in. No smut here for now but I also needed to get this arc finished so I can start on the next.

Also I know I keep jumping forward — I swear I will write about their relationship growing.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The air is…

Shifted.

Shifted enough that the whole office notices, avoids yours, avoids the glare Steve Rogers fires at them the moment they approach the door, avoids your eye. Shifted enough that you miss the before, the pressure of his presence demanding your attention, the smugness in his endless eyes you denied looking at.

Shifted.

Counsel.

What?

We need to talk.

Is that not what you’ve been avoiding doing all morning, Captain?

You swear you can hear his molar crack in the dead silence, but your eyes never flit upwards from the contract you’re poring through, red pen in hand.

Focus.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it, the presence of him, the pressure of him. It’s a job, and he calls on you to do your duty and you do but no one has ever asked you to be kind and no one has ever asked you to smile as you bear it so you don’t.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it.

You. Are a part of it.

Counsel.

It’s a bark, an order, an annoyance and you shouldn’t let his stubborn fury be the thing that derails you. This is your domain. Your palace of glass and steel, remember? New York buzzes behind you and you surge forward on the tightrope of his affections, teetering dangerously close to his temper and always, always daring him to pull you down.

Try it again.

Fine, with a sigh and a setting down of your papers, You’re closer to the door.

And in your defense, he is, seated on your couch as stiff as a board, scrolling through his phone on occasion and — previously, at least — deftly ignoring your inquiries about the status of his office and why he needs to spend his morning in yours.

He fixes you with a look you do not name and proceeds to stand anyways. The door clicks shut and stays that way — both of you have learned.

Do you still talk to him?

Excuse me?

The Senator. Are. You. Still. In. Contact.

He spreads out every word like an accusation and every word turns you a little colder. You’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him, distracted by work, the both of you but now you are back in each other’s orbits and this…

This cannot be avoided.

I haven’t spoken to him beyond to tell him I returned home safe that night.

Not. For lack of wanting.

If he’s hurt you, just say the words.

There’s nothing you can say.

It’s been a week. Almost two.

He’s been kind, stayed away, kept his distance but that… that will not last. Only as long as whatever conference has his office busy and then you know what comes next and then you know what comes after.

The bruising may have faded but the memories remain, after all.

They always do.

Steve Rogers is not Andy Barber, is not warm-eyed concern or a soft-voiced invitation, is not trying to save you from the horrors you cannot name, is not to be trusted but Andy Barber is also not Steve Rogers, is not exactly the man you expect, is not the answer to your dilemma, is not the devil you know and you…

Are still testing your wings.

Get up.

Get up and walk away from the prison of your desk, see how far you can get before you shackle yourself to your own ambition. Get. Up.

Blue eyes watch you like he’s calculating the next angle of his attack and technically you know that’s exactly the case but let’s pretend a moment he doesn’t have his claws out and you aren’t trapped in a cage for him to batter.

Delude yourself into the power you think you have, and keep him there, across the room where he cannot show you how effortlessly he strips you of it and how deeply you enjoy it.

Don’t.

You may be in bed with the mob but you are not asleep to his crimes and this is just an interim, a plan, a moment.

You stood me up, Counsel. After we made our deal.

It was a week ago and you ever-so-kindly taught me my lesson — don’t wince as you speak, don’t let him know you remember, don’t let him think you actually learned from his hand, hard against your body.

He hasn’t since, after all.

He says your name.

He says your name and your blood runs cold and you freeze by the coffee machine you keep in your office and you turn. Senator Barber is a friend.

A dangerous friend. I won’t even ask if you know his stance on —

On the Syndicate? Oh I know. I know who he shakes hands with.

Then you know why I’m asking.

Are you loyal?

Are you?

Is it loyalty that keeps you here?

Don’t let your hands shake when you look at him. Don’t let him see the slide of your eyes, the glance outside, the wondering how long before your window would be a portal and that tightrope would snap.

You are not a fool.

This. Is not loyalty.

I keep to my ethical duties, Captain.

You’re sleeping with your boss.

Oh that one makes you laugh, sharp and cruel and you do look at him then, fix your eyes onto him and raise an eyebrow and watch. All that power, all that smugness, wrapped up in one body and how does he contain it, do you know?

I believe the actual term is serving at your pleasure.

It’s back to the game, the dance, the ruse, the steps you take around each other, the blades he digs into your chest the reminders he gives you you are a whore you are a whore you are a whore and you lift your chin up, dare him to look at the bruises his lips leave on your skin and ask him in the silence and what will you do about it.

You could hate him. You do, technically. You hate that you could love him in the early hours of the morning, when his eyes seek you out and soften at the reminder you’re still here. You hate that his invasive presence in your office is a shield as much as it is a virus, a comfort in the silence and you hate most of all that the way he looks at you with that open desire women might normally have just dreamed was possible makes you want to return it.

You hate that he is dangerous. That he has bound you to him like this, chained you to the idea of his warmth and that there is a sick sort of safety in the binding.

You hate that he looks at you now with something like hope, with something like obsession, with something like vulnerability and you hate that it strips you of that cold armor as effortlessly as his hands strip you of your resistance.

And he could hate you too, in the whispers he leaves on your shoulders when he thinks you’re asleep. He could hate that you are soft, that you are sweet on his tongue that you…

Are his.

Could hate that he has thought of nothing else but the very theory of your betrayal and you know none of these things but his eyes are not so inscrutable as he thinks and so—

He twists the knife.

I talked to your Judge, by the way.

You did what?

You heard me. Interesting conversation.

Excuse me?

You really sold yourself to me for a lover’s spat, Counsel? I thought you were better than that — woman of the law and all.

A lover’s spat? That’s what he told you?

Just what would you call it, if not that?

He’s daring you, back to somewhere between smug and angry, as if disappointed you made him waste his time and all you can do is feel your heart sinking, feel yourself back in that place again, the decade-long sting of control over your body, the painful reminder of the girl you once were.

Where is he?

Did you think I’d clean up your dirty laundry for you? I’m not a breakup counselor, and you nee—

You left him alive!? The panic in your voice is so palpable it stops him in his tracks all over again, suspicious and surprised and you step back to reach for something — steady yourself steady yourself steady yourself you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe.

I’m not killing your ex-boyfriend without a good reas—

I was nineteen!

The world tilts, shifts, your knees are buckling, that’s tears in your eyes and you.

Are that girl again.

Too small, too scared, too naive to know better, too easy to mold and break and manipulate and you promised you’d never be her again, you promised you’d get her justice and you promised it wouldn’t be like this over and over again, promised he wouldn’t sink his fangs into you a third time.

What? He sounds smaller. Or is it faraway? You are too busy trying to stand, trying to still the shaking of your hands, the cold chill in your veins, too busy feeling your knees surrendering, too busy sliding to the floor and staring blankly into your memory.

Counsel. What. Did. You. Say. He repeats himself, and then he’s crouching before you, holding your chin in his hand and when did you start having tears on your cheeks for him to wipe away?

I was nineteen, you repeat, blank and broken, not seeing his brow furrow, not seeing the regret flash over his expression, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.

What are you saying, sweetness? How dare he sound so soft? How dare he sound like he actually cares, when he’s the reason you’re here, on this floor, barely resisting your breakdown yet again?

You know better.

I was nineteen, a third time, I needed a job, something to give me experience, and he — he used me. That was my experience.

He’s starting to understand, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when you’re staring too far into the past, into a sneering face and cruel hands.

(I can ruin you or I can help you, Intern, so you make your choice. You need me.)

It never stops. Not after the first time — but you know that.

But you know that. That’s your knife, the one you twist into his chest and the realization sinks in heavy as an anchor, the thing he’s done.

The thing he’s done to you.

So why wait until now?

I would have waited forever.

You hid the letter. Hid it well enough even he wouldn’t have found it rifling through your things. Hid the threat in those typewritten words and the casual signature swept across the stationary, unaffected.

Men like him never face consequences. Only you, only the women they make use of, the ones they turn into commodities for their enjoyment. Who would care if you’d made it public, if you showed the world the kind of man he was — he was appointed for life, he was friends with the Governor, he was powerful and you were never going to be strong enough.

(You wouldn’t want anyone in the District Attorney’s office knowing just the sorts of things you’re willing to do to get your way. I can still help you be an exceptional lawyer, Intern.)

What are you? Ambition and drive and skill but what does it all mean when it can be reduced to plaything and pet project and whore.

I helped him get appointed. He helped me get into law school. Introduced me to… To Andy Barber, who calls you Sunshine and watches out for you and comes to New York despite having no power in the state just to see you again because he worries, because he cares.

You pay.

And sometimes that payment bounces back.

You pay and you pay and you pay and you struggle but what is the culmination of your strife is it the sight of you finally broken on the floor, is it the moment he’s been waiting for, dragged off your pedestal why couldn’t he have left well enough alone didn’t he know the horse was for your protection and not his pride?

No.

They never do.

They never do, do they, always so wrapped up in themselves and even now he kneels in front of you and wipes your tears but he has no words to say to atone for what he’s done and you know he can never.

I need you to leave.

The words come out without your control.

You know what you are. You are fury made flesh and you will not be manipulated again, not by the pressure of his hands on your face, not by the way he almost hugs you, he lied he lied he lied he lied.

Sweetness…

No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.

You could have tolerated it. You could have accepted it you could have let yourself become the prize he took, owned his defeat by defeating you, you might even have enjoyed it but no.

No.

I held up my end of the bargain.

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #mob!au #political!au #dark!fic #steve rogers smut #andy barber smut #dark!steve rogers #angst #series #mob!steve rogers x reader #i really am gonna die here

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lazysublimeengineer · 3 years ago

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Bye Bye Baby

Summary: I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Characters: Takemichi H. & Manjirou (Mikey) S.

It wasn't just like a movie

The rain didn't soak through my clothes, down to my skin

I'm driving away and I, I guess you could say

This is the last time I'll drive this way again

Lost in the gray and I try to grab at the fray

'Cause I, I still love you but I can't

The roar of the CB25OT rang against the road as he swerved ferociously into the right panel of the street. Nonetheless, the sounds were being swallowed by the heavy rainfall and the clap of the thunderclouds. His clothes were soaking wet and clung heavily into his skin. But Mikey didn’t care. All he cared right about now was to get rid of the heavy thoughts around him ever since Takemichi left and went back to the future. He wanted to stop Takemichi from leaving that day. But the words got stuck into his throat. He didn’t have any right to stop him. Takemichi needed to go back to the life where he belonged to. And it wasn’t in his arms and in this past.

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Bye, bye, baby

Takemichi always possessed a heart bigger than himself or any of them really. His honesty and sincerity towards them were pure as a snow. His promises to save all of them from their tragic fate was a beaming hope for their bleak and gray futures. It was one of Takemichi’s biggest strengths yet also one of his glaring weaknesses. Mikey could’ve take advantage of it. He could’ve stitch up lies about an impending danger to the gang or to anyone else just to make him stay. But all he could say to him was, “Go back to the future, Takemitchy. Go back to that future where Hina is waiting for you!”

Because Mikey can’t make him stay here if Takemichi’s heart doesn’t belong here and all he can give him was his sympathy.

He’s not cruel like that.

The picture frame is empty

On the dresser, vacant just like me

I see your writing on the dash

Then back to your hesitation

I was so sure of everything

Everything I thought we'd always have

Guess I never doubted it

Then the here and the now floods in

Feels like I'm becoming a part of your past

Takemichi stared at the picture where he stood beside Mikey and the other members of Toman. It felt like a long time ago yet it doesn’t. A month, a year, a few weeks or even a few days…where it all seemed like a minute or second had passed when he came back to the future. To the current present. Where he actually belongs.

But why does it felt like his heart was empty? A vacuum of nothingness?

He should be satisfied right?

But why he couldn’t shake off this feeling of emptiness?

The smiling face of Mikey before he returned to the future made his heart soar previously.

But now it also brought his heart down shattering into a tiny, million pieces.

How ironic.

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Bye, bye, baby

There's so much that I can't touch

You're all I want but it's not enough this time

And all the pages are just slipping through my hands

And I'm so scared of how this ends

They still meet up through a quaint café or in a nearby bar downtown to catch up. Mikey has been laughing and exchanging crude, childish jokes with them until Draken became annoyed at him as usual and they were beating up each other’s asses once again.

It felt normal. Yet it wasn’t.

There’s a lingering emptiness there that he could feel but avoided thinking about it further. Or even bringing that up.

Takemichi’s absence would seeped quietly into his veins when he was finally alone with his own thoughts and emotions.

Mikey stared at the ceiling numbly. A devastating ache started to fester inside his heart.

But he has to grin and bear it right?

Since he can’t drag people down with him.

And he already promised to Takemichi before they parted ways that he’ll protect everyone’s futures as well.

So, he’ll fulfill his promise no matter what it costs.

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Oh, you took me home, I thought you were gonna keep me

Bye, bye, baby

Draken told Takemichi that Mikey was managing a restaurant overseas so that’s why he couldn’t attend Pah-Chin’s wedding.

Relief and disappointment flooded Takemichi’s veins at the news.

He should be relieved right? Everyone’s doing fine. And Mikey was having a great future as well. So why does it feel like there’s a pang in his chest from the moment he didn’t saw Mikey at the reception hall previously?

Takemichi couldn’t hold on too long for that niggling thought as Hina has called him from afar, letting him know that there’s already a cab waiting for them outside the hall to get into.

Maybe he should let it go…

And focus on his impending wedding soon…

Since he promised Hina back in the past…

And say goodbye to these ideas and thoughts of wanting to see Mikey soon just to ease his anxieties and doubt…

But his heart told him otherwise.

Meanwhile in an obscure bar hidden in one of the alleys in Tokyo…

“You sure you don’t want to gatecrash and invite yourself boss to their wedding?” Sanzu asked idly as he sat down in a barstool holding a glass of whiskey into one of his hands.

Mikey continued to read silently about the latest reports on his former friends and comrades. Even though he already cut off his ties with them, he made sure that he was carefully keeping tabs on them and ensuring that their futures were secured and normal.

All except for one.

Takemichi and Hina’s impending wedding.

A blank expression was still on his face yet his hand automatically tightened its grip on the paper.

It’s the best future isn’t it?

So why did the news made his heart break down into tiny pieces?

“It’s not my style to gatecrash a wedding where I’m not invited in the first place. Besides, events like these are a waste of my time and utterly boring.” Mikey replied in a monotone voice.

As he said those words, he knew that he already said goodbye to his feelings about the blue-eyed crybaby hero that tried to save all of them in the past.

This was for the best even if his heart disagreed with it vehemently.

(A/N: I don’t own any of these characters from this franchise nor Taylor Swift’s Bye Bye Baby song. While waiting for chapter 213 of the manga to come out soon, have some Takemikey angst for your daily suffering needs. Currently listening to the Fearless Taylor Swift’s version of the album and Bye Bye Baby is just screaming of pain and angst hence the inspiration behind this one shot angsty fic. Reviews are amusing. So, let me hear them from you.)

#tokyo revengers #fanfiction #one shot #angst #manjiro sano #takemichi hanagaki #mikey x takemichi #takemikey #mikey #takemitchy #spoilers #manga spoilers

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

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This Side of Normal Ch. 8

AO3

Marinette was seriously considering murder. She was pretty sure Jason would be able to help her hide the body, he was a lot stronger than her. But murder was seriously on the table. Why has she decided to break that one golden rule, you might ask? Lila Rossi. The bane of her existence. The very reason they were spending two fucking weeks in the crime capital of the world instead of their original destinations. But no, Lila just had to convince Mme. Bustier to take them to Gotham. And then, as if making Marinette plan a million things last minute wasn’t bad enough, Lila decided to talk. Nonstop. Throughout the entire first half of their tour of Wayne Enterprises. The only thing keeping her from strangling the girl right now was the promise of coffee in the cafeteria. She didn’t need food, she needed coffee. And then she’d go right back to plotting murder. Would anyone look in the river for her body?

“Whatever you’re thinking, I’m sure you shouldn’t do it.” Adrien says, pulling her out of her murder plot. She glares at him.

“I’m planning a murder, and I don’t appreciate you interrupting me.” She deadpans.

“Murder’s bad, Mari. We don’t murder people.” Adrien sighs, throwing an arm over her shoulders.

“Maybe you don’t murder people. I’m thinking about branching out.” She hums, getting in the line for coffee. Adrien huffs and grabs her arm, tugging her behind him. She immediately starts whining, reaching out towards the coffee booth.

“Mari, you need actual food. You can have coffee after you eat something. I know for a fact you didn’t eat breakfast.” He says, staring her down. She huffs, crossing her arms.

“You’re not my dad.” She mumbles, turning away from him.

“Why the hell are you all pouty?” Jason asks, walking up to the two. Marinette smiles briefly, then drops her face back into a scowl.

“Someone is keeping me from my coffee.” She says.

“Good job kid!” Jason says, high fiving Adrien. Marinette’s jaw drops at the betrayal.

“Honestly rude. Guess I’m not gonna ask you to help me anymore.” She says, sighing dramatically.

“Help with what?” He asks, frowning.

“Murder. She wants to commit a murder.” Adrien says, rolling his eyes.

“Who’re we killing?” Jason asks. This time it’s Adrien’s turn to drop his jaw, Marinette laughing loudly.

“Ha! I told you Jay would help me!” She cheers, shooting Adrien a smug smile.

“Marinette! Lila needs your help carrying her tray.” Mme. Bustier instructs, walking over to the trio. Marinette immediately frowns, looking over at Lila who was carrying a tray. Just fine.

“Uh, looks like she’s got it.” She says, nodding towards the liar.

“Well, she got it okay, but she needs someone to carry it to her table for her.” Mme. Bustier says, frowning.

“And one of her friends can do it. I’m not getting out of line for my own lunch just to carry Lila’s tray Mme. Bustier.” Marinette argues, crossing her arms.

“Marinette-” She starts, then stops when she realizes Jason isn’t one of the students. “Very well. But we’re going to talk about this later.” She adds before walking away. Marinette rolls her eyes.

“Is she the one we’re murdering?” Jason asks, leaning down a little so he could whisper.

“Nope. The one whose tray I was supposed to carry is the one on my list.” Mari says, nodding towards the girl who was now fake crying.

“Jesus. How does anyone put up with her?” He asks, face curling in disgust. Marinette shrugs.

“At first I thought she was Meta. Now I think my classmates are just idiots.” She says simply. Jason snorts.

“I believe that. I’m gonna go grab you a coffee. As much as I’d love to help you commit a murder, pretty sure the boss would be pissed.” He says, ruffling her hair before walking away. Marinette turns to Adrien and gives him a smug smile.

“Ha, bitch.” She says, snorting as he starts spluttering.

“You can’t just say that, Bug!” He whines, before turning to order his food. Marinette snorts.

“Sure I can.” She says in English, before quickly switching to Mandarin and lowering her voice. “I’m a seventeen year old ex-superhero, I’m allowed to say bitch.” Adrien just snorts, thanking the lady and grabbing his food so that Marinette can order. Once she has her food, she follows Adrien to an almost empty table in the corner farthest away from their classmates. She smiles at the person at the other end of the table, Dick Grayson. He was their tour guide and had dealt with their annoying ass class surprisingly well. She was tempted to make him a certificate if he lasted til the end of the day without losing his sanity. Plopping down in her seat, she starts eating her food slowly, watching Jason across the room at the coffee booth.

“Mari, he said he would get you coffee. He’s gonna get you coffee.” Adrien says, nudging her side to try and get her to actually eat.

“You don’t think he’d get me decaf, do you?” She asks, remembering the time he’d brought coffee to one of their late night training sessions. It was decaf then, he claimed that she needed to be able to sleep after training. She argued that she needed to stay awake and do homework and commissions and some lameass decaf coffee was not going to help her do that. She just hoped he would take pity on her and get her actual coffee this time.

“I think I’d get you decaf,” Adrien starts, dodging her attempt to whack him. “But, I think Jay’s a little nicer than me today. Probably since he hasn’t seen us in awhile.” He muses. Marinette stops trying to attack him, nodding in agreement. He’d be more likely to give her decaf tomorrow than today. So it was still safe to trust her coffee order to him. For now.

“I’m sorry, did you say Jay?” Mr. Grayson asks, catching her attention. She glances at Adrien who just shrugs. She knew the two had talked earlier, but she really didn’t want to accidentally get Jay in trouble.

“Uh, yes?” She says, wincing at the awkwardness.

“You know Jason.” He says, and she nods, frowning.

“Yeah, we got to know him last year when he was on a business trip in Paris.” She explains, dodging around the whole ‘he trained us as heroes and then found out our identities and helped us take down a supervillain’ part of it. “We ended up getting close and we’ve kept in contact over the last year.” Mari adds, confused as to why Mr. Grayson looks so lost.

“Really?” He finally asks.

“Yeah. He’s basically like our big brother.” Adrien adds, obviously sensing that Marinette was getting uncomfortable.

“Hey Dick, long time no see.” Jason snarks, putting Mari’s coffee in front of her and plopping down in the seat next to Adrien.

“Jason. So you have two new siblings?” He asks, gesturing to Mari and Adrien. Jason nods.

“Yup. And they’re loads better than you lot. Pixie Pop here even said I could help her with her first murder.” Jason teases. Marinette’s face instantly heats up, as she turns her glare to Jason.

“Jason!” She hisses. He’s lucky he’s on the other side of Adrien.

“Wait, you two are brothers?” Adrien asks, and Marinette blinks. Oh, yeah. Wait, what.

“You didn’t know?” Dick asks. Adrien looks at Mari who shrugs. She definitely hadn’t known. She’d assumed Dick was one of Jason’s bosses.

“Yeah, unfortunately this dipshit is my older brother. Adopted, of course.” Jason says.

“We also have two other brothers and a sister. And some unofficial siblings.” Dick adds, making Mari raise an eyebrow.

“All adopted?” She asks. Adoption was no joke. It was crazy expensive in the US.

“All but one. B kinda adopts every dark haired, blue eyed kid with trauma that he meets.” Jason says, smirking at Marinette’s face.

“I’m feeling attacked right now. Are you attacking me? If anyone has enough trauma to be adopted by a serial adopter, it’s Adrien. Not me.” She says with a pout.

“Hey!” Adrien objects. Marinette looks pointedly at his arm.

“Your arm was cut off by your supervillain father who was an emotional terrorist for over three years. That’s a shit ton of trauma.” She says as he pouts.

“Yeah, but if I get adopted in the US, I’d never see you anymore.” He points out.

“But you’d see me all the time.” Jason teases. Adrien grins.

“That’s right! Okay, sorry M, I’m gonna get adopted here.” He says with a wide grin.

“Traitors, the both of you. Mr. Grayson, how’d you like a new little sister? I’m officially disowning both of these losers.” Marinette says, ignoring the indignant squawks from Adrien. Dick snorts, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“Sure kid. And call me Dick. Do you happen to know any acrobatics?” He asks with a teasing grin. Mari smirks.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” She says. Dick freezes before a huge smile makes its way onto his face, his whole body shaking in excitement.

“Wait, really? You’re serious?” He asks. She nods. “That’s awesome! Sorry Jay, I’m stealing this one.” He says. Jason scowls.

“I don’t think so. I’ve known Pixie Pop longer, therefore, she’s my sister.” He says. Adrien clears his throat. “Our sister.” Jason amends, nodding to Adrien.

“But she’s an acrobat! You know I’ve been looking for someone to teach trapeze to!” Dick whines. Mari’s eyes light up and she starts bouncing in her seat.

“Wait, trapeze? Seriously? Where? Oh my god, that would be so much fun!” She squeals, suddenly actually excited about being in Gotham.

“We have one at our house, you guys have to come over! I could show you the basics.” Dick suggests, still grinning. Marinette turns to Jason, waiting to see what he’d say. If Dick didn’t know Jason, she’d never consider going over and learning trapeze. But since he’s Jason’s brother…..

“Ugh, fine. But if B ends up trying to adopt both of you, you can’t blame me. I wanted to keep you away from him. You’re the one who got suckered in by the damn trapeze.” Jason gripes, leaning back in his seat. Marinette just grins at him before turning back to Dick to figure out the specifics. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be that bad.

Tag list (open): @toodaloo-kangaroo @laurcad123 @kittenmywaythrulife @lost-in-the-world-of-maribat @queenz-z

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doiefy · 4 years ago

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blue // na jaemin

“The winter has passed and the spring has come We have withered and our hearts are bruised from longing”

- blue, bigbang

In which one ceases to age until they find their soulmate, with whom they then grow old. In which everyone has moved on without you.

genre: soulmate!au, fluff, angst, slow burn

pairings: jaemin x female reader (written with a female character in mind, but it can easily be gender neutral!), features relationships with other dream members, briefly mentions haechan x jeno

word count: 11.6 k

warnings: language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mentions of war, mentions of death, discussions of Korea under Japanese occupation, some of the historical references may be inaccurate.

taglist (DM, comment or Ask to be added): @simplicitysbabe Big thank you to @neojaems for beta reading this for me !! <333

spotify playlist

Your test comes back blue.

When you rip open the envelope containing your results, you find the little coloured square hidden between pages and pages of lab protocols, testing procedures and other nonsense you know no one actually has the time to read. Then there are the stupid pamphlets, the ones with overtly bright and bubbly messages reassuring people that they’ll find their “special someone” soon, slogans most likely written by people who found their soulmates before they even turned twenty. You scoff, shoving the useless papers back into the envelope and recalling the first time you tested back in 1945, right after the war. The receptionist wrote your results down on a piece of paper and nonchalantly told you to have your emotional breakdown outside.

Now you stare at the blue marking on your paper blankly. It simply means you haven’t aged biologically in ten years, but when you haven’t aged in decades, it means nothing. While the world progresses, you remain frozen in the same body, playing a cruel game with fate. And as with any game that one cannot win, you’ve slowly become bored with it, allowing it to take its course while you sit idle nearby. You feel only disappointed, and not even perplexed or surprised in the slightest. Something about meeting Jaemin just seemed too good to be true; after a lifetime of misfortune and failure, something about the bad news feels… expected. Inevitable. As if unconsciously, you knew he wasn’t the one.

Na Jaemin is not your soulmate. And you spend the walk home contemplating how you’ll tell him this.

When you unlock the door to your shared apartment, you know he’s already home, and earlier than usual: his shoes are placed meticulously on the rack by the door and his jacket is hung up next to the messenger bag he takes to work. The living room smells faintly of the pine and vanilla candle you bought last month, and you smell traces of shampoo and bodywash from the bathroom.

“I’m home!” you call out as you kick your shoes off and put them neatly next to Jaemin’s. There’s a muffled response of your name before the door to your room opens. Then his arms are around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he mumbles a tired greeting.

“Bad day?” You ask softly, pushing all your other thoughts to the back of your head. He looks exhausted. His hair is tucked messily under the hood of his navy sweater, still damp from the shower he took earlier. His eyes lack the usual brightness you often find yourself so immersed in, replaced with the fatigue and weariness he almost never brings home.

“I hate this company,” he sighs as you run your fingers through his hair. You feel him relax in your arms a bit. “My boss is a dick, everyone in my department hates each other and the coffee tastes like actual ass. Maybe I should just quit while I still can.”

You frown. “Jaem, you’ve been with them for literally a month. You can’t possibly be thinking about quitting already.”

“A month! A month in and I’m already having mental breakdowns under my desk at lunch. Imagine what will become of me if I spend a year there,” he scowls, but his expression softens when you kiss him reassuringly on the cheek. “Alright, alright, fine, maybe not quit, maybe I’ll just take a long, long, vacation and then retire… Move to the countryside with you…” He trails off dreamily and for a moment, you lose yourself in the fantasy he’s painted for you. The mental image of a quaint house by the ocean is quickly shattered when you remember the test results hidden in your bag. The sunflowers you envisioned surrounding the cottage are blown away in the wind, their bright yellow petals swallowed by the blueness of the sky.

“Oh, you wish,” you laugh, quickly pressing your lips to his in hopes that he won’t see your expression, that he won’t see the sadness and regret you’re fighting to suppress. “Maybe, baby, maybe one day we can do that.”

“Maybe,” he laughs, his face lighting up with the energy and liveliness that has been missing. “But enough about me. How was your day, love?”

“Mm. The same old,” you say, pulling out of his arms so you can finally take your jacket off. You crash into the couch where you fold up your scarf and toss it aside. “Stressful.”

He stares at you for a hard moment, visibly concerned as if he can tell there’s something troubling on your mind. “Is something the matter?” He asks carefully, sitting down next to you. He holds you at arm’s length so he can look at you properly. “Is this about the test?”

“What? Oh, no, not the test. I doubt the results will come in until sometime next week.” The lie slips out easier than it should, and you feel guilt slowly start to twist your insides. Just a white lie, you tell yourself. It can’t hurt anyone but yourself. He’s been through enough today. He’s tired. Not tonight. It can wait. “I’m just tired,” you shrug. “I need some dinner and a nap, then I’ll be all good again. Do we still have anything in the fridge or should we order takeout?”

“I already ordered chicken from Yong’s. I had a feeling that today would be a bad day for the both of us,” Jaemin grins. His smile is smug at first, then endearing when he sees your shock.

You practically pounce on him in excitement, and the two of you go crashing into the couch cushions until you have him pinned beneath you. “Oh my god, I fucking love you, you know that?”

Jaemin groans, curling into himself as he gives you a wounded look. “And that’s how you show your love? By trying to break my bones?”

“Besides the point,” you huff. “You aren’t going to say it back?”

“Yes, of course. I love you too.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, you lower your face so your lips are hovering just inches above his. He looks up at you starry-eyed, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks; you can’t help but notice the way his gaze travels briefly to your lips.

Then you realize how dangerous this is. You know that he’s not the one. You know that you’ll eventually part ways with him when he finds out, no matter how reluctant you’ll feel. Every moment you spend with him like this will come back to haunt you when he’s gone. It will become another reminder of what you’re about to lose, yet here you are, falling deeper into his embrace, intoxicated by his scent and lost in the depth of his eyes. You are only tying more strings between the two of you, strings that will need to be stretched and snapped. You are only making it more painful for the both of you.

But for tonight, you don’t care.

“Say it like you mean it,” you whisper.

He holds your face gently, and those sparks you felt upon your first meeting with him are still there, igniting each time he looks at you, blazing into an open flame when he tells you, “I love you.”

You kiss him with more urgency this time, your lips meeting his in a clash of teeth and tongue. He puts his hands around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. For just a moment, you’re focused on only him and his presence. For just a moment, you forget about everything; the sheet of test results is just another piece of paper in your bag, the blue mark just another colour. Because tonight, he is all that matters to you.

You met Na Jaemin almost three years ago.

Though the details have faded with time, you remember your first conversation well. It began at a friend’s art show beneath the golden glow of the studio lights, the two of you surrounded by brilliant splashes of colour and bold strokes of texture. Renjun had insisted on introducing you to Jaemin before you even arrived at the gallery, and you couldn’t have possibly refused. Your friendship with Renjun goes way back to the 40s, and you often think he knows you better than you know yourself. “I think he could be good for you,” he told you quietly just before leaving to speak with his other guests.

At first, Jaemin seemed timeless. It was as if he didn’t belong to any particular time period, as if he had lived to see several generations rise and fall, but had never risen or fallen with any of them. Dressed elegantly in a fitted turtleneck and a wool coat, he appeared youthful and contemporary; yet the way he spoke hinted at a certain maturity, at wisdom and sagacity. There was something charming about him too, something about the way he recounted events of the past and drew you in with only his words.

Next to a breathtaking oil painting of the sea, you discovered your commonalities. He was almost two decades younger, but like you, had spent his entire life searching for a partner without much success. You were delighted to learn that he had also worked in teaching—though he mentioned changing careers frequently whenever things became too mundane. He was effortlessly intriguing, and every word he spoke was lively and animated. He infused your conversations with colours, painted everything in bright yellows and aquamarines that matched the swirling paint strokes of the artworks around you, left you wanting to know more without even trying.

You left the gallery that night with his number in your coat pocket. Needless to say, Renjun was thrilled.

Weeks passed before you saw him again. Your busy schedules always managed to get in the way of your plans, but the two of you still kept in touch, chatting late into the night and well into the early hours. As the months went by, you dared to hope that maybe he was the one.

You immediately scolded yourself for being naive. With all your past partners, you had been hopeful in the same way, only to be let down in the end. Your test when you were with Donghyuck came back blue, as did the one with Mark. Both have since moved on, found their soulmates and written their happy endings. Even if you still stay in touch and meet up for an occasional coffee, you know that you are only a distant memory to them in some way or another.

The prospect of the same thing happening with Jaemin had never occurred to you—you’d been so caught up in getting to know him, so blinded that you’d completely forgotten. And then you saw him differently. As if he were a flame that could be snuffed out in an instant, a feather that could be sent flying with the slightest breeze, the slightest breath. You mulled over it for weeks and always did so silently, until it finally came up in conversation.

Almost a year had passed since you’d met him. With the summer coming to an end, the two of you had driven down to the Han River where you sat in the open trunk of his car, sharing a can of cheap beer from the convenience store. There were no words, only the faint melody of an old pop song buzzing from your phone and his hand around yours.

“Move in with me,” he said at last, glancing at you expectantly, trying to gauge your reaction. It wasn’t completely out of the blue—you’d been searching for a new apartment for weeks—but it still took you by surprise. “Too fast?” He asked when he registered your shock.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head and squeezed his hand. “Don’t get me wrong Jaem, I’d love to. It’s just, I don’t know about any of this. About us. If we’re actually…”

He hummed a quiet response, his brows furrowing slightly in contemplation. “Soulmates,” he said with a melancholic sigh. “You don’t want to go any further before we know for certain. I understand.”

You nodded. “It always hurts, you know? You think you’ve finally found them only to realize you’ve been completely wrong the whole time.”

“I know,” he said, and his empathy flooded you with warmth and reassurance. “You always think you’ll be prepared for the next time. You always think it will hurt less as time goes by. But it doesn’t.”

“Exactly.”

You tipped the last of the beer into your mouth; it tasted faintly sweet on your tongue before dissolving into a pleasant bitterness that hit the back of your throat. When you were finished, Jaemin took the empty can and fiddled with the tab, bending it back and forth until it snapped off.

“I want it to be you,” he told you after a few minutes of silence. “I want it to be us.”

“And if we aren’t?”

He kissed you, hard enough for you to see stars. It wasn’t desperate or longing, but it seemed to convey a hundred different thoughts all at once, a hundred different emotions for you to decipher. When he finally pulled away, his voice was thoughtful and he was seemingly lost in a pleasant daydream. “Oh, love, the universe has already cursed us to search eternally. We may as well spend eternity together.”

“Seriously, Jaemin, what if we aren’t?”

The tremor of your voice snapped him out of it. The glimmer of hope disappeared from his pupils and the dream slipped from his hands.

“We’ve been alive for so long,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t think I can go on like this. What if we aren’t meant to be? What will we do?”

You didn’t regret your time with Donghyuck or Mark or Jungwoo or any of the people you were lucky enough to have met, but you’d watched all of them from afar, watched them grow while you stayed frozen in time. Each new generation that came along was only a reminder of your loneliness. You felt a certain emptiness each time you invited new people into your life, one that deepened when they eventually left you behind. Or worse, when they gave you their pity. You couldn’t stand it when people told you that it was unfair or that you deserved better, all while they lived comfortably with their soulmates. You weren’t jealous, nor could you ever be angry at them for something beyond their control. Your anger was directed at the invisible forces that toyed with the world, the mischievous hands spinning the universe in some strange direction that left only you disoriented.

His expression took on a faint sadness and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, barely a whisper. “Then so be it. If you need to move on, it would be selfish of me to stop you from doing so.” He stared out at the waters wistfully, at the yachts sailing downstream. “And besides, you’re right. Maybe it’s time we settle down… even if it’s not with each other.”

Your birthday came a few months after that night, but you held off on testing. The bus you took home from work passed by one of the labs, but you never got off at the stop, always watched the doors open and close from your seat. The test isn’t that accurate anyways, you told yourself; it could produce only an approximate biological age, so maybe the longer you waited, the better.

But in the end, it was simply an excuse to escape reality, to avoid your confrontation with fate itself.

You moved in with him just before the end of the year.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t a big deal for you (you’d lived through too many for it to be exciting), but you spent the last minutes of the year with him, surrounded by cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Jaemin had still made some sort of effort at festivities despite your indifference: pale pink and gold candles lit around the living room, golden champagne in delicate glasses set on the table.

You were almost asleep when the clock struck twelve, wrapped up in one of his oversized sweaters and a white throw blanket. The celebratory music blaring from the TV was muffled in your ears, a pleasant symphony that lulled you deeper into sleep until Jaemin awoke you with a kiss.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Jaem,” you mumbled, a smile ghosting your lips as you focused on the comfort you felt in his arms; on the new year, on your new home, new hope.

You know something’s wrong.

Jaemin doesn’t come out to greet you, even after you announce your arrival. He’s home—his shoes and coat are put away neatly like any other day—yet it’s deathly silent, terribly still. No music playing in the living room, no voice down the hallway. Only the occasional chirp from your broken smoke detector, which you’ve been meaning to fix for weeks. As you bend down to unlace your boots, you can’t help but worry.

You find him in your shared bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the comforter. The sun has almost set and the shadows stretch across the room, blanketing him in darkness and masking his expression with ambiguity. He doesn’t move when you turn on the lamp on the bedside table. He doesn’t move when you sit next to him.

There’s a familiar sheet of paper in his hands.

“Jaem, I…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It isn’t accusatory or hostile; his voice is laced with nothing but sadness, yet you feel so much guilt, guilt that closes around your throat and squeezes the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless. You kept it from him for days, and now this is the way he must find out about it. From a piece of paper you were careless enough to leave where he might find it. From a piece of paper detailing the DNA extracted from a sample of your blood. You should have told him.

“I didn’t know how to,” you let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you serious?” There it is, the cold edge that begins creeping into his voice as he stares down at you. He flicks a finger in the direction of the date printed at the top of the paper. “It’s been a week, Y/N. You kept this from me for a week. Why?”

“I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, okay?” It comes out sharper than you intended; you immediately begin to drown in guilt as soon as you see Jaemin’s expression fall. You didn’t mean to lash out, and now you make up for it by taking his hands in yours. They're ice cold. “Look, the day I found out, you were already tired from work. I didn’t want to bring it up and make everything worse—”

“So you lied. Said the results hadn’t come in yet,” he says flatly and you rush to defend yourself, only to realize that he’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

The rest of your words don’t come. With a tired exhale, you bury your head in your hands, too overwhelmed to say anything else. You can only hope that he’ll understand, that he’ll empathize and that he’ll forgive you, even if you don’t exactly believe you deserve any of it right now. You hold back the tears. Only when he pulls you into his arms do they fall. He takes your hands, gently pulling them away from your face so he can wipe your tears despite your protests. There’s no coldness in his expression now, only concern.

“I needed time to process everything,” you continue, but you choke on the words. “I couldn’t even accept it myself, I couldn’t—”

“I know, love,” he says quietly as his thumb brushes against your cheek. “I know. It’s alright.”

Your silent sniffles turn into unrestrained sobs as he pulls you into his embrace, your pent-up emotions finally released in the form of silvery streams on your cheeks. You aren’t sure how much time passes. The sun meets the horizon in a hazy line of faint pink and orange. The sky darkens. Outside, the city lights up in a multitude of hues, the amber light from the street below seeping into your room. The minutes go by, but Jaemin never lets go of you until your tears have run dry.

“Better?” He asks, albeit his voice is shaky, his gaze trembling when he looks up at you. You nod.

“We’ll figure this out,” his eyes seem to say. You can tell he’s just as terrified as you are, just as unsure and as lost. Though for now, you simply hold each other. You say nothing about the paper that lays discarded on the floor or what it entails, even if you both feel the need to address it, to face its implications. In this moment of brokenness, neither of you have the strength to do so.

You eventually collect yourselves. You make dinner and force yourselves to eat before passing a meaningless hour in front of the TV. You clean up, wash up. Sleep early in preparation for tomorrow. Jaemin never leaves your side.

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper into the darkness of your bedroom.

“Tomorrow, love,” you hear him say just before slipping into unconsciousness, into restless sleep.

According to Lee Donghyuck, the chances of meeting your soulmate are 1 in 10 000. Or at least, scientifically. Theoretically. Donghyuck was a man of logic and reason, and had your lives not revolved around soulmates like the earth revolved around the sun, perhaps he wouldn’t have believed in fate at all.

“Remove fate from the equation,” Donghyuck mumbled to himself thoughtfully, jotting a few numbers down on a paper napkin. “And let’s assume your soulmate is around your age.”

“Can’t you rule that one out too?” You pointed out, but he was too busy, already lost in his thoughts.

“If your soulmate is determined at birth and instantly recognizable at first sight… And they’re actually alive somewhere in the world…”

You watched the quick movements of his blue pen with intrigue. He spun the pen restlessly, allowing its barrel to cross over and under and between his fingers, at times so quickly that it became nothing but a blur of colour. Finally, he scribbled a final verdict and inked two definitive circles around it. “If fate hadn’t been so kind, the chances would have been one in ten thousand. One lifetime out of ten thousand.”

“That slim? Ten thousand lifetimes, that’s nearly impossible,” you said, skeptical but amused at his train of thought nonetheless. You took the napkin from him and looked over his calculations, though some of the numbers were too big for you to check without a calculator. You trusted that Donghyuck had done them correctly though. “You know, if you told that to someone who’d spent a century searching for their soulmate, they’d probably beat you up. You’re lucky I like you.”

He giggled. “We’re lucky it’s only hypothetical.” He took the napkin from you and crumpled it, smudging the neon blue ink on the tips on his fingers.

With Donghyuck, things were simpler. He was young, young enough to not be in a hurry, young enough to speak his thoughts so freely. He never pitied you or worried about offending you, and he never treated you as if you were out of place among the new generations. He offered you perspective. You knew that you weren’t meant for each other, but you were still content to spend your time with each other. To wait together.

“So… I might have found a new place.”

You don’t miss the surprise on Jaemin’s face when you tell him over dinner. His eyes widen a bit in curiosity, his brows arching upwards and his mouth falling slightly agape. He sets his fork down against his plate, folding his hands together the way he does when he’s deep in thought.

“Already?” He inquires. Maybe you imagine a hint of disappointment in his voice, a slight dip in his tone. He looks at you with a sort of sadness, as if trying to imagine what it would be like with you gone, to come home to an empty apartment every night. “Seriously, Y/N, you’re welcome to stay if you need to. We said we would take the changes slowly.” His words aren’t just out of consideration for you.

More than a month has gone by silently, and within that time, the frigid cold of winter has finally given way to spring. Nothing has really changed when you think about it, as if your test results are meaningless. And you suppose that they have become just that, a meaningless scrap of paper at the bottom of the recycling bin in the kitchen. Jaemin still holds you the same way, though his touches are just a little bit more fleeting. Your conversations still extend late into the night, though they feel just slightly melancholic. You hang onto his every word even while telling yourself not to, that maybe there is no point in doing so when everything is already coming to an end.

“I don’t know if I’ll take it… at least not for sure. And even if I do, I won’t be moving in until April. I just thought I’d tell you ahead of time,” you tell him, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I think I need some time alone. So I can adjust to all of this.”

“No, I understand. It’s just a little jarring, you know? Don’t know what it’ll be like without you here.”

“It’s literally only a block away,” you giggle, and he smiles. “I’ll still be here.”

After the coolness of February comes grey skies and a drizzly March, heavy rainfall washing the white snow to grey slush. Eventually, the clouds part across the sky for the sun, allowing the brilliant blue of the sky to peek through. April comes sooner than expected, producing blooms of yellow and white in the flowery courtyards of your new apartment complex, bursts of bright colours along the cobblestone paths.

You stand surrounded by boxes in the middle of your new studio apartment, watching the people pass by on the streets below. The windows are cracked open for air and you can hear the bustle outside, the yells of the street vendors, an occasional shriek of a child’s laughter. The new bedframe and mattress you ordered stand leaning against the wall in the corner, waiting to be assembled. Jaemin stumbles through the door with another box and sets it down before dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“That’s the last one,” he says. He collapses on the couch that the previous owner left behind, out of breath. You sit down next to him, allowing him to rest his head on your lap. He finally looks around, then at you. “Everything you hoped for?”

You nod happily. “I’ll miss having you around though,” you chuckle, playing with the soft strands of his hair, freshly dyed—after losing a drunken bet to Renjun a week ago, he reluctantly let the latter bleach and tone his hair bright silver. But you think it suits him; it accentuates the darkness of his eyes and paleness of his skin, gives him a cold and chic edge offset by the gentleness of his smile.

“I’ll still be here,” he repeats your words from two months ago. “And you’ll be much closer to work, right? No more crazy subway routes and early mornings. At the cost of me being your personal alarm clock, of course.” He grins, and you smack him with a red throw pillow.

“I won’t miss that,” you roll your eyes teasingly.

“Whatever you say, love.” He lifts his head off your lap to press a kiss against your cheek.

You spend the rest of the afternoon with him, unpacking boxes, hanging up clothes, building the bedframe and fitting the mattress with clean sheets so that at least you’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight. When the sun sets, everything is lit in an ethereal glow, and you stare out the floor-length windows, admiring the sky. Jaemin joins you after a moment, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you rock back and forth to the steady rhythm of the music playing from his phone.

When he leaves in the evening, he gives you a final hug, jokingly telling you not to miss him too much. When he’s gone, you find yourself staring out the window once more, at the blocky silhouette of Jaemin’s building a few blocks away. He pointed it out earlier, thrilled that you could see so far from this high up.

You quickly learn that on cloudy days, it is nothing but a smudge of grey in the distance.

While Donghyuck always tried to ease your worries with reason and strokes of pen ink on his skin, Mark took you on long drives around the city, hoping that the wind blowing through your hair would clear your mind.

On late nights when you couldn’t sleep, you often found yourself in the passenger seat of his 1975 Hyundai Pony, listening to static-laced 80s rock music while he drove you around the streets of Seoul. He would always roll the windows down in the summer and watch the contentment on your face, one hand around yours while the other guided the wheel.

Mark Lee was even older than you—and with all the wars and tragedies he’d lived through, he understood what it felt like to be kept awake by the nightmares. To be kept awake by thoughts of loved ones being blown to bits, to be haunted with memories of the past. With how long he’d been searching for the right person, he knew the urgency you felt and the longing to finally settle down with a soulmate. He understood.

The stories he told you were woven between puffs of cigarette smoke and gentle kisses on your forehead. He told you about Canada and the mountains that surrounded Vancouver, where he’d spent some time in the 40s. He told you about his family, about his brother’s grandchildren who looked older than he did. It was strange, he’d admitted with a small laugh and sadness in his smile.

The two of you often pointed out buildings along the side of the road, reminiscing what stood in their place before the bulldozers and big trucks rolled in. Just down the street from his apartment, the old drive-in cinema was being replaced by an upscale theatre. Next to it, a park was being cleared for a new shopping centre. Even the studio he’d rented out last summer had been demolished so a new entertainment agency could build its empire. Once in a while, he would drive by and stare ruefully at the construction site—the classical compositions he’d once recorded there were being replaced by a new type of music, with catchy beats and pretty pop stars dressed in shiny outfits.

His music had been drowned out by a new industry, and likewise, many of the things you remembered from your childhood have been lost to time. Talking about the past with him helped you remember. It was a sort of reassurance even as you moved on.

Mark eased a bit of your pain, staying out with you until the early hours of morning to make sure that you were alright. The next morning, he would almost always call to ask if you’d slept okay, unless there was an issue with the old landline phone in his office. All concept of time disappeared when you were with him, along with your memories and the demons haunting your dreams. But eventually, he would drop you off at home and bid you goodnight, leaving you to watch him drive away. Eventually, the night came to an end.

He couldn’t stay with you the whole night, nor could he stay with you forever.

Your evenings are often interrupted by Jaemin’s messages asking you to come over. Sometimes he says that he misses you, or he wants to see you for dinner. Other times, he kisses you breathless against the closed door as soon as you’ve stepped inside, always with an unmatched fervour and urgency as if you might slip right through his grasp and disappear.

Tonight, however, it’s neither.

It’s half past midnight when your phone is set off in a series of quick vibrations. Wrapped in nothing but a towel with your hair still dripping, you type in a reply, hesitate, press send. You get changed, slipping into a pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt before grabbing your keys.

Jaemin is uncharacteristically quiet when he opens the door for you, his gaze downcast so you can’t see his expression. He’s deteriorating; you can see it in the way he turns his back to you after locking the door, the way he walks inside with a halfhearted invitation for you to follow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask when you’ve sat down across from him.

“I think I found them,” he mumbles and you notice how he averts your gaze. “My soulmate, I mean. I think I found her.”

“Wait, then why with the long face? Jaem, that’s great—”

He cuts you off with a sharp bark of emotionless laughter. His expression turns bitter when he pulls his sleeve up to reveal a mark along his wrist: two linear streaks of dark purple that twist together like the centre petals of a rose. He stares at it, almost with contempt. Apart from the standardized DNA tests, markings are the only other way to identify soulmates, though they almost never show. No one has any proper explanation for them and you have no explanation for why Jaemin has one now.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s great. She’s smart. She’s funny. We have the same mark so I know it’s her,” he says shakily. “But god, I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this.”

You feel dread. It hits you all at once, because the way Jaemin speaks is so distant and unnerving, as if he’s lost himself in a trance and forgotten all about you. You’ve seen this dazed look before, only twice, when he was truly distressed and truly lost. This isn’t like him.

He found her. He should be happy. You should be happy for him. He should be happy.

“What is it?”

“I think I’m broken. Something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, and you try to keep the urgency out of your voice for his sake. He doesn’t say anything. “Jaemin?”

“I don’t feel anything when I’m with her. Nothing.”

You don’t register his words. They don’t make any sense to you. They are barely coherent. No, you think. That can’t be possible.

“Maybe we rejected each other in a past life and then both offed ourselves. Or maybe this is just the universe’s way of saying ‘fuck you.’ Maybe—”

“Stop that,” you tell him firmly. “Whatever this is, there has to be an explanation for it. Marks don’t just appear out of nowhere, right?” You pause to take a shaky breath, suddenly realizing that your words aren’t meant to comfort only him. “We can look into it. We can figure out what’s going on. This is the 21st Century, remember?”

“But what am I even supposed to tell her?” He demands, his tone exasperated and his brows furrowed together. “‘I know you’ve been looking for me for your whole life, but I can’t see you as anything more than a friend, sucks for you’? What do I do, spend the rest of my life drowning in guilt and self-pity because I couldn’t love her the way she wanted me to? Because I could only pretend?”

You have no answers for him. Perhaps he hasn’t felt anything for her because he hasn’t let go of you. Perhaps it really was a mistake, a freak accident in the cosmos that put the wrong marks on the wrong people, designating a pair that was never meant to be. Your thoughts run wild, but you can’t put anything into words for him. Even if you could, you don’t think you would have the strength to say anything aloud.

Instead, you hold him in your arms, wiping away the tears of frustration that have formed at the corners of his eyes, running your fingers through his hair. You can only hope that his soulmate will do the same for him some day, perhaps in some future where the cruel forces watching over you cease their endless games. Genuinely, you hope.

The tone goes off a third time. You glance at the clock across the room: 11 AM. He has to be up by now, you think to yourself as your fingers continue drumming a repetitive rhythm onto the kitchen counter.

“Hello?”

Just before the automated voice can tell you to leave a voicemail, he picks up. Donghyuck’s voice is groggy, as if he’s just woken up—or maybe he’s just about to go to bed. With his disaster of a sleep schedule, you can never be sure.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh hey, you, I know you.” You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. “How are you, Y/N? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“I’m alright, the usual, I guess. How about you? How’s Jeno?”

“Jeno adopted another cat because he’s fucking insane, so now we have three little furballs running around the house. But yeah, it’s going great! So great,” he drawls with a familiar bite of sarcasm. You smile to yourself. “If he brings home another one because ‘Oh Hyuck, look it’s so cute, can we keep it?’ I will literally choke him in his sleep. Anyways, what’s going on? You never call me.”

“You never pick up,” you huff, earning a small laugh from him. “Okay, I wanted to ask you something. What do you know about soulmate marks?”

Thoughtful silence. “Not much. I mean, I’ve got my theories, but nothing has really been proven. Why, did you get one?”

“No, not me. Jaemin.”

“Oh, Y/N… then that means…”

“It’s alright, don’t concern yourself with me, Donghyuck. I’m more worried about him, honestly.”

“Hm?”

“He found his soulmate recently, but it’s not exactly… it’s not going as expected, let's just say that. He said he feels almost nothing when he’s with her, and to make things worse, apparently now it’s mutual. God, Donghyuck, they’re so awkward with each other, it physically hurts me.”

Donghyuck is silent again, and you hear the faint clicking of his keyboard. You can almost see his contemplative gaze and the soft blue glow of his computer screen lighting his face. “Did they know each other at all before the marks appeared?”

“Yeah, they were coworkers.”

He hums. “Okay… that could be why. Marks have a tendency to appear if soulmates have been around each other for extended periods of time without realizing it. It’s like nature’s way of telling them that the person they’re looking for is right in front of them. As for why they haven’t felt anything for each other? I dunno… reincarnation can really fuck with people. Any previous sentiments for your soulmate stick with you as you pass on, even if you’re both reborn completely different people.”

I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this. Jaemin’s words echo in your head.

“Obviously, there’s still opportunity to fix things,” Donghyuck adds quickly before you can get too lost in your thoughts. “It just takes time. Honestly, I wouldn’t be too concerned”

“I know, I know,” you groan. “I’m just upset that after everything he’s gone through, this is the shit he has to deal with.”

“Yeah. I can’t even imagine.” He pauses. “You know, a lot of people would just run off if they were in the same situation. He’s lucky to have you.”

You give a breathless laugh and shrug. “I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“You never give yourself enough credit,” Donghyuck says, a hint of melancholy to his voice. There’s a sudden noise in the distance that cuts him off, and he curses beneath his breath. “Shit, the new cat’s not trained yet and I think she’s doing something stupid in the kitchen. Jeno will kill me if anything happens to her.”

You suppress a giggle. “Go ahead. We can catch up some other time.”

“Of course. See you, Y/N.”

The line clicks.

If Donghyuck taught you to be hopeful and Mark taught you to be strong, Jungwoo taught you to be brave.

Kim Jungwoo was your first love, and in many ways, you consider him to be irreplaceable. Perhaps it had simply been the result of young naivety back then, but you thought he was unlike any other person you’d ever met. In hindsight, he was different. A bright light dancing his way into your life when you were only a child in the 30s, a free-spirited boy who went where he pleased despite living under such an oppressive regime.

The Kims lived only a few doors down. You frequently saw the boys in their front yard kicking a beat-up soccer ball back and forth between them. Jungwoo was the middle child, and he sat right in front of you in class, his back always perfectly straight against his wooden chair so as to avoid the teachers’ chastisement. He was a quiet boy, and he never said a word unless it was to answer a question. But even then, his voice was small—not exactly shy or scared, just quiet. He quickly learned to raise his voice when the teacher hit him on the back of the hand with a ruler and demanded he speak up, when the wood scraped apart the skin of his knuckles.

At the time, when Japanese was all too foreign on your tongue and you struggled to understand anything taught in class, you thought he was a genius. He always had the right answers when he was called upon and there wasn’t a trace of an accent in either of his languages. Not that you heard him speak Korean much; you didn’t dare speak it unless you were hidden in your own homes, where your parents could discuss the uprisings without having to worry about the police roaming freely outside. Though, they still spoke in hushed voices as if anyone could hear them, as if terrified for what could happen if someone did hear.

The first time you spoke to Jungwoo properly was in middle school. After a humiliating incident at school that left you in tears, he ran to catch up with you on the way home and spoke to you in timid Korean, offering to help. You were still teary-eyed and beyond upset, but you let him guide you through your homework. He rambled to you about the Japanese grammar you couldn’t understand and explained the mistakes you’d made for your teacher to lash out at you the way she had. It didn’t stop you from making the same mistakes the next day, but at least he was patient, unlike the adults at school.

“You’re not stupid,” he told you one afternoon on the way home. Again, you were in tears.

“But the teachers think I am,” you grunted. “And I feel stupid. I can’t understand a word they say. I never have the right answers. Everything I say is wrong. If that’s not stupidity, I don’t know what it is.”

“Y/N, all we do at school is memorize meaningless facts that don’t really matter,” he replied with a shrug. “Just because you can’t shove all that information into your head doesn’t mean that you’re stupid. Look at Doyoung. He was failing school but he’s still one of the smartest people I know. He just… learns differently.”

“So? That doesn’t make me smart either. They still think—”

Jungwoo scoffed. “Who cares what they think? I think you’re wonderful, and they’re the real freaks. Miss Ito, especially.” He wrinkled his nose. “She smells funny.”

“Hey, be nice, Jungwoo,” you chided, but you were laughing. He was effortlessly funny and it was such a pleasant contrast to the way he acted at school. He was always so disciplined and perfect when the adults were watching, but he seemed to let loose around you. It made you feel… special, in a way. Validated, accepted. Something you never felt at school.

You walked home with him almost everyday from then on. You became inseparable, even when your school shut down and sent all the students to gender-segregated schools, even when your parents worried that you were spending too much of your time with him instead of studying. Even when war arrived.

The Second World War plunged your lives into darkness; Jungwoo quickly became the only light to guide you. He was there for you while your parents were away, while they laboured in the factories making helmets and guns and bullets so that they could at least put food on the table. He was there when the light at the end of the tunnel went dim, though he was miles away from home.

Jungwoo had never struck you as a fighter or rebel, even if he had the physique of a soldier. He had the drive and the courage and the steel to fight, but you only saw gentleness in his monthly letters to you. The last letter you received from him still sits in a drawer somewhere, the last words he wrote sealed in a plastic envelope so that they won’t fade away.

You took the test a few months after the war ended, only because he had pleaded with you to do so. Even if I don’t make it home, he wrote to you in the same curving script he’d used to teach you years ago. Promise me.

When the receptionist gave you a piece of paper with an X marked next to your name—there were no colour indicators back then, only X’s and hollow circles—a part of you felt relief that you couldn’t quite explain. Another part of you was disgusted, convinced that you were being selfish and apathetic. You thought that maybe you had no regard for him; that you only cared for yourself and a stranger you were still searching for. He’d risked his life to join the rebel army, fought on the frontlines with the Allies, and you repaid him with nothing.

It would take you years to come to the conclusion that your reaction was only natural. It would take you years to heal and start seeing other people. In due time, you would stop frequenting the church in your hometown and your fingers would cease to brush against the memorial stone in the yard, upon which his name was carved. Just one name among many.

Jaemin’s hands are all over you: in your hair, around your throat, pushing you against the wall as he kisses you. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls on the strands, forcing your head back a bit so he can continue trailing his lips over your neck and collarbones.

“We can’t be doing this,” you tell him when you manage to pull away. His arms come around your waist anyways and he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and you glance behind him to see empty soju bottles on the kitchen counter.

“I’m not with Jieun,” he snarls. “Besides, like I said. I think we’re fucked. We aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss, taken aback by his sudden coldness. “This isn’t fair to her.”

“It’s mutual, remember? I bet she’s out there doing the exact same thing with some other guy. She doesn’t need me.”

“Jaem—”

“We’re fucked. She told me she doesn’t need me, and I told her the same.”

You’re horrified. “You did what?”

“Hilarious, isn’t it? We had our first fight, and we aren’t even together yet.” He scoffs, pushing a hand through his hair in irritation. “Some type of soulmate.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this. He’s out of his mind. He’s lost it. “Fuck, Jaem, how much did you drink?”

“Not enough to feel better, clearly,” he snaps.

“Alcohol and whatever this is between the two of us isn’t going to make you feel any better. This isn’t going to fix your problems.”

“Then what do you want me to do?!” His words are sharp, his expression hard when he glares at you. “You tell me to move on and to give her a chance and to stop doing whatever—” he motions frantically. You’ve never seen him so wild, so out of control, and you’ve almost never seen him lash out at anyone like this. “—whatever the fuck this is, but do you even know how it feels? Do you even care?”

A sharp intake of breath, and then the world is crashing down around you.

The feelings you fought to suppress re-emerge, rising up to crush you and force you into relapse. Doubt. Regret. Guilt. The little voice in the back of your head is a raging monster now, and it shouts at you, screaming at you in a blind rage. Telling you that you’re heartless and self-absorbed and indifferent, everything you believed you were when Jungwoo died. Reinstating what you know isn’t true. You know he doesn’t mean it. You know that it’s just alcohol fueling the words spewing from his lips and nothing more, but they still bring back unpleasant memories, a sense of dread you can’t shake.

He realizes, albeit a bit too late. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

If you knew how much it hurts me to watch you do this to yourself. If you knew how much it hurts me knowing that there’s only so much I can do for you. “Don’t. I get it.”

For a few seconds, the room is silent, save the ticking of the clock behind you. It reminds you briefly of a memory that you can’t quite grasp, like a flash of deja vu before you spiral back down to the present reality where you stand in cold, frigid silence. The broken smoke detector chirps.

“I should go,” you say at last. You go to grab your keys from where you left them on the counter but he quickly stops you, his hand coming around yours. You look up at him in irritation, pulling away sharply.

“It’s late,” he says shakily, almost pleading. “You shouldn’t walk home at this hour. Not alone.”

“I’ll call a cab,” you shrug before slipping into your sweater and pulling on your shoes. You bid him goodnight and leave him dumbfounded in the living room.

You return home to a sleepless light and endless thoughts in a cold bedroom. A broken record replays his words in your head again and again, until you see Jungwoo’s face floating above you in the darkness. His features are faint, like wisps of smoke that loosely form sad eyes and lips pulled downwards in a frown. And then he’s the one asking, “Do you even care?”

You have no answer for the annoying voice in your head. You stare at the lines of light drifting across the expanse of the ceiling, wide awake as the sky brightens outside.

“How long will you be gone?”

It was the 3rd of August 1995. You knew because the next day would mark 50 years since Jungwoo’s death. The next day, you would be going back to your hometown and laying flowers on the altar in the Kim family home, revisiting the memorial you’d left behind when you moved to Seoul.

You shrugged as Mark passed you his lighter. The old zippo produced a small spark between your fingers, and then the sting of smoke was filling your mouth and nose. You didn’t smoke regularly—you’d stopped years ago—but you sure as hell felt like you needed one tonight.

“I dunno,” you said, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “A couple more days after the ceremony? If I stay any longer, Doyoung might get upset.“

“Upset?”

“He doesn’t like seeing me. Said I bring back bad memories. I think I remind him of Jungwoo too much.”

Mark grimaced. “Well it’s scary, seeing a childhood friend who hasn’t aged in fifty something years… Must he like seeing a ghost.” He paused, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear so that he could see your face. “My nephews feel the same way about me.”

“You remind them of something?” You asked.

“Their father, I guess,” he explained. “My brother… wasn’t the most understanding of them when they were younger. Whenever they see me, all they can think of is their childhood and his abusiveness.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He took a moment of contemplative silence “No, not really. I mean, maybe it did at first. But it’s not like I go out of my way to avoid them just because of the memories they associate with me. That would be unfair for me.”

“It would be,” you agreed.

“So then why avoid Doyoung? What he thinks of you is beyond your control. If you remind him of painful memories, that isn’t exactly your fault.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel like staying out of his way might help him heal. Maybe it’ll help him move on from everything he’s trying to forget.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Mark took your hand with a breathless laugh. His smile was both sad and endearing, as if he were in awe of you—what for, you weren’t too sure until he murmured, “You’re too kind sometimes.” He paused to exhale, smoke escaping his lips and bleeding into the atmosphere, dispersing into the starry sky. He stared into the sky for a few moments, silent.

“But it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves.”

“What the hell happened to him?”

Jaemin looks like a mess. His hair is disheveled and swept messily all over the place. His skin is unhealthily pale, unusually warm to the touch beneath your fingertips. You can tell he’s had a little too much to drink; he sits on the couch in a daze, his eyes fixated on an invisible point in front of him as if searching for something that is no longer there. He yelps in pain when you wipe at the cut on his lip.

“We bumped into a couple guys at the bar. One of them took a swing at him,” Renjun explains as he passes you the bottle of disinfectant. You carefully apply a drop to a cotton swab. “And it didn’t help that he was also drunk. Thank god Lucas was there to break up the fight.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Jaemin groans in protest. “Just tipsy.”

“Tipsy? You couldn’t even tell me Y/N’s number.”

“I don’t remember anyone’s number.”

“Well, you couldn’t tell me your own name either. Got any excuse for that one, smartass?”

You ignore their bickering and continue cleaning the cut on Jaemin’s cheek, holding him firmly by the shoulder so he doesn’t move. The cotton quickly turns light pink between your fingers. You briefly examine the red marks along his jaw where he’d been hit, frowning. Jaemin has never been one to get into fights and especially not while under the influence, but the bruises on his cheek and his knuckles suggest otherwise. Hell, he rarely even gets drunk, but it’s becoming more and more frequent, to the point where Renjun makes sure to watch over him whenever they go out together. He’s derailing, you think to yourself as you brush his hair into some sort of order.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” You put his arm around your shoulder and help him up to his feet, nearly staggering beneath his weight. Renjun rushes over to help you move him into the bedroom.

“You should probably go home. It’s getting late,” you tell him when Jaemin has been settled in bed. You glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen as you clean up the first aid kit on the table: almost 2 AM. “I’ll stay with him… make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I really tried to keep him away from the alcohol tonight. I swear I turned away for only a second to deal with Yangyang and he— Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Renjun apologizes again, shaking his head. “This whole soulmate ordeal is really getting to him. I’m worried, Y/N.”

“You know how he is. He always figures it out one way or another” you reassure him. “I’ll talk to him again though. Maybe he’ll actually… listen this time.”

“Well, call me if anything happens. I probably won’t be asleep anyways.”

“I will. Thanks, Jun,” you nod appreciatively.

By the time Renjun has gone home and you’ve finished cleaning up, Jaemin is already asleep. He stirs when you switch off the lamp and reaches out for you in the darkness, fingers intertwining with yours. “Stay,” he mumbles, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say as you admire the way the moonlight filters in through the windows and draws pale lines across his cheeks. Despite the cuts marking his skin, he looks so much softer now, innocent, in a way. Again, you’re reminded of the Jaemin you met at the art gallery. He was none of this. None of this pent-up frustration released in empty beer bottles, none of these crimson bruises marking his otherwise smooth skin.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” you murmur. There’s no reply at first, and you wonder if he heard you at all.

“I’m sorry,” you finally hear his voice: small, feeble in the darkness. His words become more urgent as he keeps speaking, spilling from his lips uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I wasn’t thinking. You know I could never mean it.”

You hush him, wrapping him in the security of your arms. A single tear brushes against the back of your hand, then another. “It’s alright,” you assure him as you rub soothing circles against his back. “You were going through a lot. I understand, okay? It’s okay.”

He shakes his head frantically, his tears falling in steady streams now. You let out a low hiss when you see them stain pink with the blood from the wound on his cheek. “Still, that shouldn’t be an excuse. I’ve managed to fuck up everything since all of this started. I hurt Jieun, I hurt Renjun, I hurt you. I can’t even go to work and look at Jieun without feeling like such an idiot and getting mad at myself for being such a child. Without feeling like maybe I deserve this.”

Your heart drops, then shatters into a million pieces at the bottom of a dark abyss.

“Look at me,” you plead as you take his face in your hands. “Look at me, Jaem, please.” He finally lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the stillness. All you can see is brokenness, defeat and regret, a look you knew well. It’s an expression that once followed you around for years, appearing in every mirror and reflection you passed by. An innate, intimate part of you that you despised so much until you came to accept it. “Listen to me, Na Jaemin. You are one of the strongest, bravest and kindest people I’ve ever met, and nothing will ever change the way I see you. You don’t deserve any of this bullshit. You don’t deserve this.”

“If you knew what I told her, Y/N,” he lets out a shaky breath. “If you knew what we told each other when we found out neither of us had any feelings for each other… maybe you would think differently of me.”

“If that’s truly what you believe, fix what you broke,” you say firmly. “Apologize to her. Make things right between the two of you, unless you want to go through this all over again in another life. Things will only get worse if you don’t address them now.”

“And if I can’t?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Jaem.” Trembling, you press your lips to his temple. “Whether or not you end up with her, whether or not you think you deserve this, I love you. And that will never fucking change.”

He leans forwards, his forehead touching yours, his nose brushing against yours and his lips just inches from meeting yours. But he never comes any closer, and you feel no urge to close the distance either. Perhaps it’s a sign that both of you are already starting to let go, to drift apart; this moment is nothing romantic or lustful, nothing more than comforting each other in your brokenness. Nothing more than trying to help each other numb the pain.

“I love you.” His voice trembles, but his words are steady, deep-rooted in sureness.

“Then promise me you’ll try, Jaem. You’ll try to set things right, for both our sake.”

“For you, love,” he murmurs, so quietly that you can barely hear him. His voice is lost to the faint rumbling of the air conditioning unit somewhere outside and the distant noises of traffic. “For you, I would do anything.”

You wonder if he’ll remember any of this in the morning. You wonder if he’ll take your words to heart, or if they’ll simply be enveloped in dreams fueled by drunkenness, reduced by sleep to nothing but a blur.

...it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves

You’ve done everything you can for him, you decide. Even if you continue to walk by his side, the rest is up to him.

One Saturday morning, Jaemin shows up at your door dressed in black jeans and a button-down shirt, his hair swept up neatly. There’s a kind of brightness to him; it’s not necessarily hope or excitement, but certainly a change from what you’ve seen the last couple of weeks. He’s meeting Jieun for lunch, he tells you nervously. He wants to see you before he goes. You tell him you’re proud of him. That genuinely, you admire him.

The next time you see him, it’s at a floral shop. He’s in the middle of picking out flowers, and he flushes when he sees you. A single rose seemed too cliche, he tells you sheepishly, and asks your opinion. He thinks she’ll prefer something a bit more unique but equally tasteful, equally elegant. You recommend orchids or gerberas. They last longer than roses, but they convey the same message. When he’s gone, you buy a small vase of irises for your apartment; your living room needs a bit of colour.

Weeks later, you find a small package in the mail: a parting gift, you realize when you tear open the padded envelope. It’s nothing too special, nothing fancy or expensive—just a piece of blue glass wrapped in silver accents, attached to a delicate chain that you loop around your neck. When you hold the pendant up to the sun, its blue tint shatters into infinite colours, tossing specks of luminous yellow and orange all over your bedroom. More than just a singular colour, it reflects the other hues around you. And for just a brief moment, you think you see your own reflection.

You watched Jaemin move on just as you’d watched Mark and Donghyuck: from afar, with reserve but at the same time, excitement. Close enough for him to know that you were still there for him, but allowing some sort of distance that grew as the days melded into weeks and then months.

For the most part, he seemed to be alright. His texts were always cheerful, covered in happy emoticons—he used them when he was too giddy with excitement to type actual words. “We figured things out,” was all he said one night, and it was all you needed to hear to know that they’d be okay.

You started to notice the fondness he’d developed for her; it was subtle at first, just a hint of affection in his voice when he told you about her over the phone. Though slowly, it developed into something more. It was just as Donghyuck said: time had forged a relationship out of nothing, out of empty words and empty emotions, growing a garden from a barren piece of wasteland.

The first time you spoke to Kim Jieun, it was over the phone during one of your calls with Jaemin. She’d chimed in on your conversation at some point to say hi, and the way she spoke almost reminded you of Donghyuck: bright, cheery, a little sarcastic in a playful manner. You quickly learned that she was easy-going though brutally honest at times, well-mannered yet well-humoured. Most importantly, she wasn’t judgemental, and she didn’t treat you any differently from Jaemin’s other friends just because you’d been with him previously.

Of course, there was still a sense of yearning, a bittersweetness whenever you saw the two of them together. Your fingers always danced fleetingly along the screen of your phone before pressing like on the photos he posted to his social media. You saw him less and less, only occasionally running into him at the bakery you used to frequent together or at a friend gathering. For the most part, you let the past stay in the past. He seemed happy. And honestly, you were happy for him.

“I told you he’d be fine,” Donghyuck murmured to you at one of Jeno’s rampant parties, once most of the guests had trickled out for the night. The two of you sat on the balcony, watching everyone stumble around in their drunken stupor: Jeno was passed out on the couch with two cats sitting perched on his chest. Renjun was trying to braid flowers into Jaemin’s hair, which he’d recently bleached yet another shade lighter to match Jieun’s platinum locks. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Chenle and Jisung exchange a few bills and bicker over a bet—Chenle was still in denial that Jisung had won, apparently.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second, Hyuck.”

“But you were worried,” he grinned smugly.

“Why wouldn’t I be worried?” You sighed and knocked back the rest of your wine before motioning for him to pass you the bottle. You swiftly poured yourself another glass. “If I couldn’t have my happy ending, at least I wanted him to have his. As… cliche as that sounds.”

Donghyuck raised a brow at you. “What’s to say that you won’t get yours too? They can’t keep you waiting forever. The longest it ever took for someone to find their soulmate was 241 years.”

“Goddamn, are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Better, of course! Okay, what I’m trying to say is that it’s rare for anyone to wait longer than two centuries. If everyone lived for up to three hundred years, we’d have a lot of dictators and other crazies running the world. The universe would spontaneously combust.”

“I know I’m barely even halfway there, but come back to me when I set a new world record,” you rolled your eyes, to which he responded with a small chuckle.

“So what now?” He glanced at Jaemin, who sat across the room with his eyes half-closed, an empty red solo cup in his hands. Jieun had her head on his shoulder, rambling drunkenly about something to Renjun. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought she’d been a part of the group all along; she fit in so seamlessly, and it warmed your heart to see her getting along with everyone.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Nothing for now, I guess. Just waiting.”

“Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll be worth it,” he hummed in reply.

“You think so?”

“People say that the longer you wait, the better. It’s all in your head, of course, but they have a point.”

You sighed, lifting your head to gaze at the stars hanging overhead. “I suppose they do. Maybe someday I get to find out.”

He patted you on the shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out. You always have.”

Donghyuck left a little later to get a drunk Jeno to bed, and then you had only the quietness of night to keep you company. Your mind drifted and you contemplated his words, repeating them silently to the wind. The night sky replied with nothing but a gentle breeze against your skin.

You could be patient, you thought as you watched the others inside. You fished the pendant out from beneath your shirt and stared at the reflection in the glass. It was as if you were grasping a piece of the night sky between your fingers: the stars and a crescent moon captured in a single, translucent oval. In the dark, the pendant appeared deep indigo, not too different in hue from the four coloured markings you’d acquired over the years.

But the sun would rise in due time, you thought to yourself mirthfully. Beneath the brightness of morning, you’d hold a different colour in your hands. You tucked the necklace back into the fabric of your shirt. You could wait.

read the epilogue, yellow

#nct #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #nct jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin fanfic #nct angst #nct fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #the longest shit ive ever written hoLY SHIT #cznnet

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mercurysnitch · 4 years ago

Text

1976 Guitar (200 follower celebration)

Summary: An Australian runaway walks into a London pub... and finds herself having a drink with the one and only Roger Taylor.

A/N: As promised, my little celebration piece. I actually started this after I hit 150 followers, but I put it aside because I wanted to work on other things, and then decided to keep it for my next follower milestone. Which ended up taking a lot longer than I was anticipating, but hey, we got here in the end.

Just fyi for clarity, the reader here is Australian, but living in London after finishing journalism training. Yes, even in the 70s London was full of runaway Aussies. But it must have seemed a lot further away in the days before instant messaging and video chat and free phone calls over the internet.

Title is from a Skyhooks song, recorded well after the 70s, incidentally. The bits in italics are lyrics from the song. This isn’t a song fic, and I honestly can’t remember why this is set in 1976 (I think it just sort of popped into my head like that) but those particular lyrics seemed quite fitting.

Warnings: Drinking, light swearing

*********************************************************

...one night I met a girl at the Sebel bar

And she taught me how to play that 1976 guitar

London, 1976

You decided you liked English pubs soon after you moved to London. They were cosier than the airy places you were used to back home, and the clientele were a lot less rough. Most of the time.

Your favourite pub was your local, just around the corner from your poky little second-floor flat. Decent food, good drinks, and interesting people. The bands playing on Saturday nights were always worth a listen too. Tonight, though, was a weeknight, which meant you were there for a stiff drink and maybe a nice greasy pub meal.

You hardly looked at the bartender as you flopped onto a stool. He floated over almost instantly anyway. "What can I get yer?" "Whiskey please" you ordered, attempting to be polite but mostly sounding tired. The barman smiled. "Coming up." It was fairly empty in the pub, so he returned with your drink almost immediately. You smiled gratefully and wasted no time taking your first sip. But you'd barely swallowed it, still dealing with the afterburn, when you heard a huff of surprise from a neighbouring stool.

You turned in the direction of the noise to discover the source: a youngish bloke with shaggy, pale blonde hair and big blue eyes. He looked strangely familiar, but you couldn't think where you recognised him from. If you weren't so annoyed you would've been taken aback by how attractive he was. Instead you glared at him. "What's your problem, mate?" He flashed you an annoyingly pretty smile. "Nothing. Just don't see many girls drinking whiskey like that." "Like what?" you shot back. "Like they do it all the time. Suits you, though." He flashed the smile again, and you felt your anger ebbing away.

Seeing the smile again seemed to jolt your memory. "Fucking hell," you gasped, "you're Roger-" "Don't say it" Roger hissed, cutting off your exclamation. "You'll tell the whole pub and then I won't get a moment's peace all night." You immediately looked downcast. "Sorry." Roger smiled reassuringly. "It's alright."

You eyed Roger curiously. "So tell me, what's the drummer from Queen doing in a place like this?" He broke into a cheeky grin. "I could ask you the same question" he said flirtatiously. "I've had a very long day and I live around the corner" you told him. "What about you?" "We used to play here, in the early days" he explained. "I always liked the atmosphere, and the people are always… interesting."

Suddenly you noticed him eyeing you up with curiosity. "I like your accent but I don't recognise it. Where're you from?" he asked casually. "Australia" you told him cheerfully. You noticed his expression fall slightly. "Not from Sunbury, I hope" he joked. You grinned cheekily. "Melbourne, actually. But I don’t blame you for not liking Sunbury." Roger was shocked. "You know about that?" You nodded. "I was there. It was a great day, actually, for me at least." Suddenly you smiled. "Anyway, whoever thought booking Queen to play at Sunbury was a good idea clearly knew nothing about bloody Sunbury. Or Australians, frankly." Roger smiled grimly at the memory. "God that was a shit gig. Might be the worst reception we've ever had." "If it makes you feel any better I enjoyed your set" you told him softly. "Queen's just a bit too sophisticated for most Aussies, I think." "But not you?" he asked, smiling. "But not me" you agreed.

"So what brought you to London anyway?" Roger asked. "I got sick of Australia" you told him. "It's so… behind, culturally. Anyone who's a serious artist or writer or whatever buggers off to London or somewhere first chance they get. So when you're still there you feel so far away from everything, it really feels like you're at the arse-end of the world sometimes." Roger grinned. "Arse-end of the world. I like that" he mused. "But I don't think you've come to the other side of the world just because you thought Australia was boring." You stared at him crossly. "Oh yeah? Why d'you reckon I'm here then?" you asked, challenging him with a look. "I think you ran away from something" Roger declared softly. "As far away as it was possible to get, just about."

You stared at him in shock. Now you thought about it, he wasn't exactly wrong. Suddenly your expression darkened. "Well, I suppose I'm running away from my mother and her bloody expectations of how I should live my own bloody life" you grumbled. He quirked an eyebrow. "Expectations?" "She wants me to be like her" you explained. "Find a nice bloke with a ‘suitable’ job, get married, buy a house, pop out a few kids, be a bloody housewife for the rest of my days."

"And you don't want that" Roger said quietly. He understood how it felt to choose a life different from the one your parents wanted for you. "No, I bloody well don't" you agreed. "I want to achieve things with my life, have a proper career." Your mother had told you several times that there was no point trying to advance in your job since you were just going to quit when you got married anyway. The recent feminist revolutions seemed to have entirely passed her by, but then Australian society in general did have a tendency to run a bit behind on things like that.

Roger's gravelly voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "And what might that career be?" You smiled. "I'm a music journalist. Well, I'm a researcher right now, but I'm trying to freelance a bit on the side." Roger nearly laughed. "Y'know, most music writers seem not to like us for some reason" he observed wryly. "But I get the impression you might be an exception." You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” "Maybe I would" Roger quipped.

You both drank quietly for a while, Roger gazing at you curiously. "Y'know, you never did tell me what's driven you to drink on a Wednesday night" he commented, casually as could be. "You really want to know?" you asked incredulously. Roger nodded. "Wouldn't ask if I didn't, love." You sighed. "Well, I was supposed to have a date last night, but he stood me up, which was just a delightful way to spend an evening" you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then this morning my boss was even more of an arsehole than usual, and I found out my article that was supposed to be published next week got pulled from the issue, so god knows if it'll ever see the light of day now. And then when I got home the disappearing date had the nerve to ring with a pathetic excuse that I'm almost certain he made up, and apparently he was blind to the possibility I wouldn’t want to reschedule the date he missed until I spelled it out to him."

Roger winced in sympathy. "Christ, that is a shitty day." “Well, it seems to have improved since I got here” you observed, flashing a sly smile. Suddenly he grinned, not bothering to be subtle about eyeing you up again, almost appraisingly this time. “You know, I could make it even better, if you’re interested” he said smoothly. You cocked an eyebrow in interest. “Oh, really? And how exactly would you do that?” “Have dinner with you” he replied, not missing a beat.

You blinked, shocked. “You want to-to what, take me out to dinner? Why?” “You seem interesting” Roger said, shrugging. “Besides, I like having company when I’m out, being alone’s not as fun.” You had to agree with him there. “So is it a date, then?” you asked, still a little uncertain about the turn your evening was taking. Roger smiled cheekily. “If you want it to be” he said. He seemed nonchalant, but you thought you detected a flicker of uncertainty under the rock-star swagger. You grinned. “You know what, bugger it. Take me on a dinner date, Roger.”

******

There were some decisions in your life you would live to regret, but going on that first impulsive date with Roger wasn’t one of them. One date very quickly became many, and before you knew it Roger was a fixture in your life. Well, as much as a touring rock star could be, anyway. You found it oddly satisfying writing a postcard telling your mother you were going out with a shaggy-haired rock’n’roll drummer, knowing he was almost the complete opposite of the sort of person she wanted you to pair up with. You’d also finally managed to get an article published in the paper, but, predictably, your mother’s response to your postcard entirely neglected that achievement in favour of detailing every reason she thought you should leave Roger and return home immediately. None of them really held much weight, and the suggestion your actions would damage your reputation back home was in your view rather forcefully disproven by the enormous quantity of messages you received from both friends and relatives congratulating you on both the article and your choice of boyfriend.

You did eventually find the things your mother wanted for you with Roger, in a way. Technically you never actually got legally married, but you were deeply committed to each other. And you did end up with the big house and the family of your own, alongside a flourishing career in rock journalism. It wasn’t always easy, juggling everything and getting people to take you seriously as a journalist, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Sometimes, just sometimes, you were just a tiny bit grateful for that shitty day in 1976.

In '74 we got tight, in '75 we starred

Then we learned to play that 1976 guitar

**************************

A/N: I don’t think there’s too many Australianisms in here, but feel free to ask if you’re confused!

Taglist: (as always let me know if you want to be added/removed/think you should be on here but aren’t - it’s been so long some tags have changed since I added them) @wandering-at-midnight @royal-avengers @trumanjo @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark @itsametaphorbriansblog @wineandwanderings @simplyvictoria-93 @kotoamor @j1224 @florenceivy @jennyggggrrr @mercurycrowley

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fic #roger taylor imagine #queen fic #queen imagine #ben hardy x reader

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danddymaro · 4 years ago

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Abbacchio Finding Out About A Secret Child With The Reader.

Reader insert // Your name // (Y/n)

Daughter’s name // (D/n)

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word Count : 3031

Abbacchio Finding Out About A Secret Child With The Reader.

Abbacchio stared down at the picture in his grip, and as he did, his hand trembled the entire time he tried to properly hold it, wanting to avoid having it fall out of his shaken grasp.

“She just turned three,” he read, trailing his eyes over the words.

He instantly recognized the familiar writing scribbled on the white back of the image as he’d turned it over during his inspection of it, and it only made him feel more uneasy as he read the message out loud,

"Three…" Leone breathed softly.

He felt his heart tighten, and lifelessly, he let the photograph fall onto the desk, joining more which lay scattered across the surface.

“Three years,” he said to himself, his hands both slowly rising, pressing over his face as he sought to think rationally, attempting to pull himself together before he said something stupid, or much worse, picked a fight that quite possibly wasn’t even there to take part of,

“It just...No...There has to be...be a reason...an explanation,” He maundered incoherently.

He tried hard to keep himself together, but it was hard to when every bit of him shook with recollection of the memories that came forth, from the lovely ones that he kept locked in his chest, to the miserable ones that followed after his joy slipped through his fingers.

‘I miss those days,’ He thought to himself, remembering her and the little things that had made his life feel worthwhile.

Her (h/c) hair felt soft as it slipped through his fingers, the little knotted bits eased loose by his gentle tugs,

“I wish my hair was like yours,” (f/n) mused, a small smile over her as she did the same with his own much longer strands of periwinkle, “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, her eyes on it as she watched it slip between her fingers, every strand that flowed over her hand being soft and feathery,

‘If we ever have a child,’ she silently mused, her (e/c) colored eyes rising to gaze up at him, ‘I’d want them to look just like you,’ She thought with certainty, having always perceived the man to be beautiful, far surpassing her in every sense.

‘Especially your eyes.' She added as she found herself locked with them, ‘ Of all things, I’d love for them to have your eyes rather than mine,’ She thought with certainty, having thought about it so many times before, because all in all, there wasn't anyone else she'd love to settle down with.

But it wasn't like she could openly tell him she had been ready to settle down and have a family, not when he didn't seem so ambient about being in an actual relationship to begin with.

Granted, they'd had their sweet moments, but she was well aware that truly, they meant nothing but one thing ;

He didn't want to be lonely,

not truly alone at least.

Meanwhile, during her inner musing, he let a placid smile overtake him, hidden, yet present as he played with her hair, not having had a mind to do anything else but lay with her and enjoy the end of the day together.

‘I guess we could have gone out somewhere,’ He thought with a little blue sigh, somewhat regretting not doing anything else but stay in, ‘But sometimes, I just don’t want to do anything but lay here with her,’ He mused, stopping his caresses altogether to enjoy her touch instead.

It was hard not to see part of himself in the image of the little girl, not when she looked like the spitting image of him,

"There is no mistaking it," he said lowly, knowing deep within his chest the truth.

There was another image set before him, placed on the same desk the first one had been and had just fallen back down on.

Swallowing down hard, he picked it up, seeing that within that specific photograph, the child was much younger, practically an infant, being incredibly small and wrapped by a soft, pink blanket,

' - She has his eyes, his hair, his smile, his everything.’ the back of it read, all written with the same hand from the first picture he saw.

“Abbacchio what was it you nee-” Bruno started, stopping as he entered his office, seeing his friend stilled as he read the written words on the printed image with hardened, darkened orbs.

“- Bucciarati,” Abbacchio started, his voice dropped down by a pitch as he turned to look back at his boss,

“What are these?” He asked, the hand holding both photographs shaken as he tightly gripped them, waving them before the dark-haired male, “Why do you have these?” Leone added, his eyes glazed, yet stern, “I want the truth!” he demanded, stepping forward,

"And don't give me any bullshit lies." He added with venom laced within his words as little pinpricks stabbed and stung his eyes, the man somehow holding it all in, letting not a single tear slip out of his eyes.

It was then that Bruno sighed softly, “Yes...of course,” he said with a silent nod, turning to close his door for privacy, being careful in doing so,

“ I’m sure you want to know,” He added, staying turned away to hide the pained expression fixed upon his own features, because he knew he’d inadvertently hurt his friend by obscuring the truth.

“....Just know that it hadn’t been my intention to harm you, nor for you to find out this way,” Bucciarati spoke earnestly, finally finding it in himself to gaze back at his friend and face the betrayal set over his features,

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Leone asked angrily, his tone rough as he addressed the other male, “ Why the hell did you never tell me I had a damn kid, huh?” The long-haired male urged on, “Why hadn’t it crossed your mind to tell me you knew where she was too,” he added as he referred to the woman who appeared in every photograph as well.

"Well?" He said anxiously, wanting to know, waiting for an answer.

“...By then we had already betrayed the organization and made it to Sardina,” Bruno started, his royal blue’s eyes looking forlorn as he mentioned the past,

“ A kid?” Abbacchio asked frustrated, holding his abdomen in pain because while he had been healed, he still had to endure the aftermath of the wretched assault,

“You’re asking me about a damn brat right now?” He asked (f/n) while sounding thoroughly annoyed, glaring at her hazardously, most of it being a front to try and mask the pain he felt.

He'd just barely survived getting cut through and she was asking about kids…

‘Of all things,’ He thought bitterly.

“I don't mean now,” she started, sounding rather small, “ but perhaps in the future...Maybe... later…” She drifted off, biting her lip anxiously as she finally forced out the last word.

“Have you ever just sat there and thought about it?” She asked him, swallowing hard, “ Has it ever come to mind?” she added.

‘Have you ever thought about it...with me,’ She wondered, wanting to ask him specifically, but afraid of the answer and what pain it would bring, because she was certain it would hurt.

“Yeah,” Leone huffed, “ Yeah, I've thought about it...About how much I don't want one.” He muttered before hanging his head, “And it should be the last thing on your mind right now too,” He added, abruptly standing, wincing as he did so,

“Right now, we’ve got to find the Boss,” he reminded her, walking away from her and the conversation altogether, brushing right past Bruno without even a word of address.

With a frown, Bucciarati approached the woman, sitting beside her on the couch, joining the notably downhearted woman with the expression slowly melting down into soft, open kindness,

“Are you alright?” he asked her, concerned over the little tears that had escaped her, and that were then slowly falling down her face.

“Not really,” she admitted to him, offering him a small, broken smile.

“He’s frustrated right now,” Bruno stated, “...He just narrowly escaped death not a few moments ago,” he reminded her, desperately trying to justify Abbacchio’s behavior while simultaneously attempting to comfort the young woman altogether.

“I’m sure that during another time he’d be much more amenable and open to the conversation,” he said with a growing smile, assuring her as he reached out for her hand, warmly holding it.

“I know,” she responded, “I know he’s still hurt,” she added.

“ And you know... I was actually worried sick,” she admitted, “ I thought… I thought that he wasn’t going to make it,” She added with a harsh shutter, having felt her world begin to crumble as she caught sight of his bloodied body back at the beach,

‘And I thought I wouldn’t get a chance to tell him,’ She thought to herself, absentmindedly placing a hand at her stomach, something that wasn’t overlooked by the blue-eyed male,

“(f/n)...” Bruno started, deflating at the small movement, slowly coming to a realization.

For just a moment he looked around, making certain no one else heard before he spoke, “ Are you pregnant?” he asked her, scooting closer.

- It had only been a small hunch, one that could have simply been squashed had it not been for the grim expression that overtook her at the mention.

Nodding somberly, she confirmed it, “ Yes, but I don’t know how far along.” She admitted, “I only just found out today." She added, not having known till after she boarded the boat and already made the decision to accompany them.

“ And now... I don’t know what to do,” she said while looking to him for guidance, “ I've wanted to tell him, but whenever I try, he shuts me down.” She informed Bucciarati.

“ Whenever I try to talk to him about a future together, he simply brushes me away,” she went on, having gone through the same dilemma even before then.

“He doesn't want children,” she said sadly, “ He expresses it with distrain each and every time it's brought up,” she informed him.

“And what's worse is that, perhaps, I’ve read us all wrong.

I’ve been together with the man for months now and not once has he mentioned the possibility of a life together.

During all this time...he’s also never told me he loves me.

He’s also never been one to publicly hold my hand.

...He’s never introduced me as anything but his partner; someone who works alongside him,” She explained, "Almost as though we aren't really anything." she added with a small, bitter chuckle.

“Maybe, all this time that’s all we’ve been, and he just doesn’t have the heart to tell me where we really stand...” She added with a small, wavering voice, continuing on before he could try and convince her otherwise,

"Bucciarati, I promised to help. I did so with not only the intention of following Abbacchio, but also to aid you and save Trish,

But in the state I am now…

Right now…

I’m only a burden.” she said with dejection, uncertain on how long the conflict will last.

“And as much as it hurts me to say this, we have to part ways,” She told him, apologetically gazing at him, “Because even if Leone has no intention to love this child, I do.

I have to keep them from harm's way.” She determinedly spoke, rising to stand, staring down at the dark-haired man with sorrow, “ I have to go. So, before the morning comes I’ll be gone,” She added, knowing it was best.

“And absolutely nothing will stop me,” She said with tightened fists.

“- As both my trusted friend, and my capo, I feel that at the very least I owe it to you to tell you upfront.” She informed him.

“I see,” Bruno said nodding, also standing up, “ Then take everything you need,” he told her, “ whatever you need to hide and stay away, take it. I will not spare a single resource of mine to assure your safety,” He vowed, offering her a lax, comforting smile.

“...Thank you,” she said softly, bowing her head to him to hide her tears.

She then leaned forward, her arms tightly wrapped around him, “Thank you for taking me in...As well as allowing me a way out.” she told him, truly grateful because, without him, she never would have stood a chance.

“- We will find a way back to each other,” He assured her. “ Once this is all over, I will make sure to let you know,” He said while beginning to part from her.

Nodding, she too pulled back, “Thank you, again. For everything,” She said once more, it being the last words she exchanged with him before she disappeared into the night, leaving the rest of their group baffled at her sudden departure, save for one member, because all but Bruno remained unknowing.

And rather than answer questions, he chose to play the fool. Instead, urging them to continue their hunt, forcing them to move forward without another member.

“And after that, as you know, our organization was left in shambles,” Bruno explained, “With A new boss there came new rules, as well as A new reform that many others didn’t agree with.

Only until recently have we been able to stabilize, but even then…

Even then it’s been a long, heavy struggle,” Bruno said with knitted brows, frustration showing.

“It wasn’t my intention to keep this from you for so long, but I couldn’t afford you searching for her, ultimately risking her location, and much worse, their lives,” Bruno explained, still feeling guilty nonetheless, regardless of his intentions being good or not.

“Right now, she’s doing well.

They both are actually, so there is no need to worry yourself. We’ve already agreed that in a month or two, they will make their way here, and then you can decide what you want to do." He said with a reassuring nod as he rounded his desk, walking over to his seat,

" If you want to be a part of their lives, or if you’d choose to sever your ties with them completely; It’s all up to you.” He went on, sitting down, his elbows placed on the surface of the desk as he lay his chin on his overlapped fingers,

“I just hope you understand that regardless of your decision, she is still a member of our familia. Whether or not you decide to take responsibility or be a part of their futures is your own choice.

All in all, it doesn't change my own final say:

Her home is here.

And I am her family, just as I am yours. ” Bruno said firmly, his voice low yet sharp.

“...Of course,” Abbacchio said back, his throat suddenly dry as he had a sudden question in mind, wanting to ask with unsettling desperation,

“Bucciarati…Did she really say that?" Leone said softly, regret settled over his features, " Did she really think I... That we weren't together?" He asked Bruno.

"From what I understood, that was her take on your relationship." He answered back, shaking his head, "Why? Was it otherwise?" He added as he tilted his head slightly, intrigued, because Abbacchio never shared anything that had to do with his relationship with her, making it all a mystery even to his closest confidante.

"Of course," Abbacchio said sadly, " And of course it hurt when she left... When she simply walked away.

But then again, how could she not?" He asked looking up at the ceiling, understanding how she could assume such a thing, having had too much time to maul over the mistakes he made with her,

" I was a complete bastard to her; An insensitive jerk.

Whenever she needed assurance I turned my back, all because I felt I didn't deserve her. I felt like she was asking for too much from someone that had too little to offer." Leone explained, shaking his head,

"And when she did leave... When she did what I assumed was best, I broke down," He went on, remembering just how he'd pretty much gone back to square one, falling back into his miserable pit of depression he’d barely scraped past the first time.

"But now…

Two months…

Two months in comparison to never is nothing," He said with a little itching grin, his eyes tired and sad, yet having a soft glow of joy to match the little twitching smile.

For just a moment he gazed down at his daughter, realizing that she didn't look just like him. There was plenty she took from her mother, being the perfect harmony between the two, something he’d only then realized he wanted,

‘A kid of my own... with (f/n) nonetheless...

With the woman I still love,’

Absentmindedly, his fingers went down to fall upon the image, caressing the sight of them softly, lovingly, as well as longingly,

' Until then, I have to make sure that I'm everything you two need.' He silently swore, promising to not repeat any mistakes, hoping that somehow (f/n) still loved him just as much as he did her.

“From her letters, she still thinks about you plenty.” Bruno nonchalantly informed him, growing surprised to see the level of enthusiasm that lifted the other man’s features to life,

“She does?” Leone said with hopefulness,

“ Certainly,” Bruno replied back, neatly gathering the pictures together, as well as pulling a small stack of letters within carefully opened envelopes to stack them all together,

“You should see so yourself,” He advised, handing him the collection, “Any fool could see that through it all, she still harbors the same feelings for you, holding no true resentment.

And speaking on a personal note;

If I were you, I wouldn’t ever throw away the opportunity to have something so precious within my grasp.” The don spoke with a little, longing look to his eye that made Abbacchio nod back knowingly.

“Don’t worry,” the long-haired male said back, “I won’t let it slip past me, not again,” he added with the utmost confidence, willing to do everything it took to give his girls the world.

Following parts :

The Reader Reunites With Leone

Leone Plays Teaparty with his little girl

(D/n) Meets Giorno

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lunarliza · 4 years ago

Text

JJ Maybank Must Die | Chapter 3: Fanny Packs

fuckboy!JJ x Reader

series masterlist | prev. chapter | chapter one

JJ Maybank is the island’s most infamous fuckboy- not that you ever cared. But when a group of tourist girls come to your surf shop crying to you about him, you agree to help them plot revenge. Sabotage is all fun and games, until you find that the playboy you were sworn to ruin happens to be falling head over heels for you.

Yes, this is based on John Tucker Must Die lol

For once, you finally felt like everything in life was falling into place.

Sophia dropped off your Venus Panic ticket last night, you booked a ferry to the city for September, you just earned another ‘employee of the month’ title which basically meant you were a shoo-in for the scholarship, and you noticed in the mirror that your ass was looking just a tad bigger.

You were sorting out the application clipboards one afternoon when you heard the ding of the front door opening. In came a cocky head of blonde hair looking as smug as ever. You dropped the stack on sight.

How did he know where you worked? Was he stalking you? Should you file a restraining order?

“Uh, can I help you?”

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding all this time, huh?” JJ crossed his large arms and surveyed the tiny shop.

“Yeah... how the fuck did you find me?” You bent down to hastily pick up the mess. After the incident at the Boneyard on Saturday, you weren’t expecting to run into him again for the rest of the summer. You didn’t think he’d be this relentless.

He casually shrugged. “Eh, I just asked around town for a y/n and they told me you worked here. Still amazes me how I haven’t seen you around.”

You rolled your eyes. As if you and JJ didn’t have English together just this past semester. Nevermind living on the same island for how many years.

“Anyways,” he continued, I came here to sign up for surfing lessons.”

You flinched your nose. “You’re telling me you’ve lived here all your life and you don’t know how to surf?”

This was coming from the boy that won ‘Most Likely to be a Famous Professional Surfer’ in your 5th grade yearbook.

“Hey, it’s been a while since I’ve hit the water. Maybe I need a refresher.” He flashed you a shit-eating grin- the kind girls around here would swoon over. But in that moment you were just plain uncomfortable.

“Sorry, we’re booked for the summer.”

He inched closer to the counter. “Well, at least let me take you out to dinner. Come on, when are you off?”

You glanced side to side in agitation, racking your brain for some witty remark.

“December.”

“I’m serious, y/n. I want to take you out! You know, get to know you better,” he prodded.

You weren’t born yesterday. But he sure was if he thought he was going to take you out anytime soon. Or ever.

“Yeah well, I think I’ll pass. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my last session of the day in ten minutes.”

Luckily, you were able to slip past him and out to the beach for your beginners’ class. It was a small group- an old couple and two boys around the age of nine.

You greeted them with you usual work-charm and had them set their boards around you. Just as you situated yourself, you hear a faint “Wait!” followed by JJ sputtering towards the pack with a board under his arm.

You wanted to rip your hair out.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you spat, startling the old couple with you vulgarity.

“I’m here for the lesson.”

“Like I said,” you sneered through gritted teeth, “We’re booked.” The glare on your face was very, very potent, and you knew this wouldn’t be good for the reviews.

“Yeah, your co-worker in there told me one of the guys that was supposed to be here said he couldn’t make it. So that leaves a spot open for me.”

Cody. That rat!

You sighed in defeat, motioning for him to situate next to the younger boys. “Fine, just take a seat and be quiet. You already missed the safety instructions!”

All throughout your session JJ was an absolute pest. He could have at least played the part of someone who’s never picked up a surfboard in their life. Instead, every time you went into detail about a specific step, he’d pitch in his own comments no one asked for.

“Well actually, it’s better if you add a jump when you stand up, you’ll go faster.”

“Well actually, if you try to pivot your board when they wave’s under you, you can ride it longer.”

“Well actually, if you attempt a big wave first, you’ll learn how to balance better.”

The next ‘well actually’ you heard, you were going to fling JJ to the sharks.

When it was time for the group to hit the water, you tried to guide them through the motions, but everyone was too busy listening to JJ ramble on and on about his personal tips.

For the remainder of the session, you sat on the shallow end, watching JJ have a rat-a-tat time with your customers. Blowing away a stray hair that fell on your face, you continued to glare at the light-haired boy cheering on the kids as they attempted the baby waves.

There was a point where one of them leaned over onto JJ’s board and threw their arms around him. You softened at bit at the scene. It was very cute.

Once the hour was over, you called everyone back to shore to give your closing remarks. JJ darted up behind the lot, sparklets flying everywhere as he shook his wet hair. He beamed at you, but you just averted your eyes.

While everyone headed back to the hut, you tucked the cash you were given into your fanny pack and gathered your items to leave. That was, until you felt the player boy grab onto your hand.

“Hey, the waves are absolutely insane out there. This is your last session today right? Come surf for a bit, you didn’t really get to do much earlier,” he offered, blinking down at you with his sky-blue eyes.

“Well I would have if someone wasn’t running my class.”

JJ let out a soft chuckle. “Look, everyone was happy with the way it went. And I’ll even tell your boss that you’re an amazing instructor. Which, to tell you the truth, you are.”

You huffed and picked up your board to tread back into the water. You had to give it to him, though. The waves were indeed on fire that afternoon.

You were able practice a few moves you were working on, executing them perfectly. JJ, too, was flexing his tricks and you made a few mental notes to try a few of them later when he wasn’t around.

When a pipeline wave began rolling your way, JJ tossed you a devilish grin, looking like a kid ready to break something. It was supposed to be one of the hardest ones to surf on.

“Bet you won’t get this one!” he hollered. You flipped him off with a smile.

“Bet I will.”

You both eyed the target, determination evident, as you paddled. JJ quickly bounced up once it tumbled in while you waited a couple seconds after.

Immediately, he plunged from his board while you expertly pivoted and glided along the tide. Poking his head from the water, he yelped seeing you nail it.

Afterwards, you plowed back up the sand with him while he raved about what just happened. “That was so sick y/n! It was a pipeline! A fucking pipeline! I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”

You blushed and tucked your hair behind your ear. “Well, it’s kinda my job.”

As you reached the shop, he turned to face you. “Yeah, speaking of, when do they give you a break around here again?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “JJ, I had fun out there, but I’m still not going out with you.”

“Alright! Alright! I get it. Can’t hate a guy for trying.” He held his hands up in defeat.

You bid him goodbye and started getting ready to close the store.

Later that evening, you met Sophia and the others at Annalise’s condo, spilling the beans on what happened. They all collectively gasped and hung onto their seltzers.

“He actually came back?” Maia repeated as Arabella anxious gulped her drink.

“Yup! Bothered me for my entire session and everything. God, he’s so delusional thinking I’d actually go on a date with him.”

All the girls giggled except for Annalise who stared at the ground in deep thought. “But what if... you did?” she finally spoke.

You grimaced. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“No, like, fake date him,” she re-emphasized, “Think about it- you can fake-date him and we’ll go on your dates and sabotage the fuck out of him! Then, for the cherry on top, you can dump him before he even gets the chance to run! It’s the perfect ploy guys! We need to make sure he never messes with any girl ever again.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” you scratched your head, “Can we really pull it off? It sounds so messy don’t you think?”

“Relax, we’re not killing him,” Annalise assured, “Also, it’s what he deserves! He’s broken practically every heart on this island. It’s time we take a stand in the name of our womanhood!”

“That, I agree with,” Sophia added and the other two nodded.

You were kind of shocked that Soph would be on board with such a preposterous plan. But, then again, this wasn’t the worst thing she’s ever agreed to.

“You know,” your best friend continued, “I heard after you ditched him at the Boneyard, he hooked up with Emma Cohen the same night and ghosted her too. The boy just won’t stop!”

Arabella gasped. “See! Rejecting him just isn’t enough! We need to kick him straight in the balls!”

They did have a point. A twisted, ridiculous point. But you weren’t all gung ho about being the one to beat JJ at his own game. You- the girl who couldn’t even get Pope Heyward to take her to a dance.

“All you’d have to do is bear him for a few dates. I’m sure we can take care of the rest,” Maia noted.

Reluctance was still evident on your face. You could tell Annalise was getting desperate. “You know, y/n, I saw all the UVA gear on your locker at the shop. My dad’s best friends with the chancellor. He owes my family a lot of favors. How about I make a deal with you. If you do this for us, I’ll have my dad write you a rec letter and talk to his friend. You’ll be pretty much guaranteed a spot at UVA when you apply.”

You let out an exasperated breath. Now that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. You wanted to put up more of a fight, but you didn’t want to let an opportunity like that slip from your fingers.

“Alright,” you sighed, “Fine. You sold me with UVA. Count me in your little scheming game again.”

Your friends cheered and clinked their drinks, eyes hungry for revenge. You sat back meekly and sipped yours, knowing the next few weeks were going to be an absolute train-wreck.

“But wait!” you raised in the midst of the group’s plotting , “I shooed him away today. What makes you think he’ll be back to ask me again?”

“You rejected him twice today?” Arabella questioned. You gave her a quick nod.

“Oh girl, he’ll definitely be back.”

-----------------------------------

Sure enough, JJ was back at the hut bright and early the next morning when you started your shift.

“It’s you again,” you greeted as he leaned his arms against the counter, flashing you a smirk.

He had on black aviators and a gray crewneck. For a second he seemed like a cute, innocent little puppy. Until he opened his mouth.

“Don’t act so coy, babe, you know you’re happy to see me.”

Oh God. This was the guy making half the island bawl in tears? You really couldn’t wrap your head around it.

You sighed, ignoring his corny-ness. “What do you want? We’re booked for the day.”

“Ouch, is that any way to treat a customer?” He pretended to have gotten shot in the heart.

As if on cue, Cody’s stocky legs strolled out of the back room, acting like he owned the place. He slid behind the counter to face you, disregarding JJ. You scowled and rolled your eyes.

“Y/n one of my customers had a complaint yesterday,” Cody stated.

“What? They had a shitty instructor? I could’ve told them that,” you shot back nonchalantly, inspecting your bare nails in disinterest.

From the corner of your eye, you could see JJ snort in amusement.

“Actually,” he prevailed, “They were complaining that their board was wobbly because someone let their customers take all the new ones.”

You remained emotionless at his petty grievance. “What? It’s not my fault I don’t make my students do a hundred push ups at the start of the session. Maybe quit the crossfit and then they’ll actually leave better reviews.”

Cody narrowed his eyes. “My students are grateful for my complimentary body-weight routine! They need to be fit for the waters. Whatever, stop fucking taking all the good boards! You’re taking away my customer experience, my good reviews, and my scholarship!”

He proceeded to storm out the front door to his first set of victims for the day. You shot daggers at his back before JJ’s giggling snapped you back to reality.

“Done,” JJ said, lifting his eyes from his phone.

“What are you talking about?”

“I just left a bad review for that guy on your website.”

Your eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

JJ flipped his screen to you with the post pulled up. You read it out loud.

“Do not recommend having Cody as your instructor. Made me do a hundred push ups before I got in the water, voice was too demanding, and shorts were uncomfortably short.” You erupted in laughter and playfully swiped his arm. “No way JJ!”

“What?” he grinned and pocketed his phone. “Dude was being a real asshole to you.”

You lightened up a bit at his kind gesture. Well, kind to you.

“Anyways, look,” he went on, “I know we might’ve started off on the wrong foot yesterday, but I wanted to come here and ask you out again. Properly.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he persisted with his rehearsed spiel.

“And before you say no, I just want to say that it won’t be nothing grimey or weird. Just dinner. Tonight. It’s not gonna be the best night of your life or the worst, I just wanna get to know you.”

You sighed and cocked your head to the side. “If I say yes will you leave and stop bothering me while I’m at work?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You blinked in disinterest. “Pick me up at seven. And don’t be late.”

--------------------------------

note: dUN DUN DUN!!!

chapter four

tags: @obxlife @rudyypankow @yeehaw87 @ilymarkchan @jellyfishbeansontoast @tangledinsparkles @toloveortobeinlove @pixelated-pogues @normatural @teamnick @drizzlethatfalls @hazelgirl355 @wicked-laugh @jjmaybankswife @ponyboys-sunsets @5am-cigarette @everydayimfangirling @angvelics @poguecollins @xealia @floridabornandraised

#outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks #outerbanks #john b obx #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx #jj obx #jj x y/n #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine

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luvdsc · 5 years ago

Text

ellipsism.

gold is a bluer color than blue.

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: angst / soulmate + high school au word count :: 1,734 words warnings :: gang, blood, violence, death song :: you were good to me (jeremy zucker & chelsea cutler)

You order a chocolate milkshake.

You never had one before, but they were his favorite.

The boy with blue hair drank them so often that they were all you could taste when your lips pressed against his. He would place one hand on your cheek with the other gently grasping you by the curve of your waist, pulling you closer until he kissed you dizzy. The slightest hints of chocolate stained his breath as he whispered sweet nothings that meant everything to you. He mumbled i love you’s between each breath, sang you lullabies before every exchange of good night’s, and called you endearments sweeter than the sugary concoction he found so much delight in.

The drink is placed in front of you. Fingers curling around the base of the glass, you take a small sip, reveling in the nostalgic taste. You smile.

Chocolate milkshakes might be your favorite, too.

The boy with blue hair was a heartbreakingly beautiful enigma wrapped in a well worn leather jacket and a false bravado that fell apart easily beneath your fingertips once you had found yourself occupying every crevice of his heart. He was blue skies turning into cotton candy pink, whispered wishes slipped between birthday candles, vibrantly yellow dandelions peeking out between cracked pavement, the last wisps of dusk settling into twilight, and the nostalgic song that nestled itself within your years of adolescence and yet, you couldn’t remember the title of for the life of you. He was quiet laughter hidden between the dusty bookshelves of a library, kept promises that were sealed with looped pinkies, stolen kisses as the sunset spilled across the sky, and chilled chocolate milkshakes on a warm day.

Falling in love with the boy with blue hair and a heart wrenching smile was never on your list of things to do in high school, and you didn’t think falling in love with you was on his list either, but love had a funny way of working itself out. A chance encounter on your walk home, an innocent offer of tissues towards your usually absent classmate with a bloody nose, and one glance at this vibrant boy who seemed to hold entire galaxies in his eyes were all it took for you to go head over heels for Na Jaemin.

But you’d also have to thank your soulmate—whoever they were—because if Jaemin hadn’t noticed the odd words stating “Save me a milkshake?” tattooed across your wrist in ebony ink, he wouldn’t have offered to buy you a milkshake in return for the tissues. While sitting in the diner on the corner of Camellia Boulevard and Arcadia Street for the very first time, you found out he was much luckier than you as he showed off a neatly written “I promise” on his wrist.

In a world where soulmate signs came in all different shapes and forms, you were fortunate that yours was straightforward and easy-to-hide. It was supposed to be a simple transition of black into gold as your indicator. It was certainly better than Donghyuck’s sign whose hair color changed every few days courtesy of his soulmate. When you told the boy with blue hair about the day your friend was sporting rainbow streaks, the genuine grin gracing his face as he laughed loudly made him look like an angel, and well, angels never hurt anyone, right?

The boy with blue hair never told you why he was sporting a bruised lip and carmine stains at your very first shared interaction, but you were no stranger to all the swirling rumors at school about the wrong crowd he ran with and the affiliations he had with the darker side of the city. However, you never pried, accepting that he would tell you when the time came and he was ready.

And today, he was finally ready. He was ready to leave that part of his past behind, ready to move on, ready to take charge of his life with you by his side. He was going to tell you today.

Friday afternoons were always reserved for you, but unfortunately, he had to meet with someone from his past one final time. He secretly texted you in class, asking you to meet up a little later than usual at your and his favorite diner where the two of you like to argue over the superior milkshake flavor (you adamantly insist that vanilla is better). When he received your affirmative reply a few minutes later along with a slew of pretty heart emojis, he beamed brightly before sending back a generous amount of cute emojis in response.

He was excited to show you the A he got on his English paper: the one that you helped him outline and that he stayed up all night perfecting. This was the first time he had put so much time and effort into an assignment, and his teacher was more than thrilled when she received the carefully stapled papers with his name proudly stamped across the cover page. His grades were slowly, but steadily improving, and it was all because of you. He even discovered that he really liked his computer science class and began to research potential classes at nearby community colleges.

Clutching his prized paper in hand, Jaemin stood at the intended meeting spot, enjoying the light drizzle of the rain overhead. The sun barely peeked out from behind the darkening clouds, causing the water droplets to glimmer and gleam as they fell. The gentle pattering of tiny raindrops against his face felt refreshing, almost like a new beginning, a quiet reminder of the rainbow that came afterwards.

Jaemin heard the awful squelching noise before he felt it.

It was an uncomfortable pressure at first until it increased in pain and spread across his abdomen, a cold feeling worming its way up and wrapping around his figure. He had found himself dropping onto the damp concrete, curling in on himself as the papers fluttered loosely from his hand, stained in dark shades of cerise that made its way across the ground.

The blurry figure standing above him stood still for a minute before darting off. No loose ends, he could hear his former boss’s voice echoing in his head. It was what he was told the first time he stepped foot on their territory. How naive of him to believe that they would let him go so easily.

Dragging himself towards the wall behind several empty dumpsters, he propped himself up, pressing down on the wound as best he could but the rivulets of carmine spilled much too quickly and easily, slipping between his fingers. It’s futile, and he knew it, the increasingly harsher waves of pain washing over him with every ticking second. He absentmindedly stared at the A and smiley face adorning his paper in red ink, now barely distinguishable from the other glaring hues of vermilion. The rain poured down, turning the paper translucent as it began to tear around the edges.

Mind going numb from everything but the thought of you—you who was still waiting patiently for someone who would never come—he painstakingly pulled out his phone from his jacket, the device almost falling from his grasp. He clumsily fumbled with it for a few moments before he managed to hit the right buttons. You answered on the first ring, and he smiled, small tendrils of warmth blooming from his heart at the sound of your voice. You were the rose among his garden of thorns, the green light on the other side of the shore, and the beacon of light in the midst of a storm.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, taking a deep breath. He hoped that you didn’t notice the way his voice wavered nor the way his breath quickened with every passing second. He hoped that you knew he tried so hard to not fall in love with you, so that you wouldn’t get hurt because of him. He hoped that you could forgive him for falling in love with you anyways. He hoped that you could forgive him for being selfish for the one last time.

“Hey, where are you? Are you alright?” Your worried tone was evident, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt tired, his eyelids drooping slowly, yet he still forced himself to stay awake. He’s sorry for lying to you. “Yeah, I’m fine, just running a little late. Are you already there?”

“Yeah, I just ordered a vanilla milkshake for myself. You know, the best flavor,” you teased him, and he relaxed against the bricks, phone held loosely in his hand.

“Oh, really? I think you’re wrong.”

You scoffed, and he could easily picture the way the corners of your lips tug up into a smile that you desperately try to hide. “ You know what? I’m gonna get you a vanilla one right now instead of chocolate. This is what happens when you’re late.”

“You sure you’re not just buying a second one for yourself?” he laughed softly, and you gasped indignantly. “What do you take me for? A milkshake thief? Maybe I should just drink it myself.”

“No!” He weakly protested, breath growing shallower and weaker. He shakily held up his phone, desperately pressing it against his ear. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if you were right here, talking to him. He could pretend that he was sitting next to you on vinyl covered seats as you share a plate of fries over vanilla and chocolate milkshakes and his fingers shyly brush against yours as he picks up a fry. He could vividly see how your eyes sparkle as you tell him about your day, and he’ll stare at you, enamored and starry eyed, as some retro love song plays from the jukebox in the corner.

“Can you promise me something?” he said quietly. The pauses between each heart palpitation grew wider and further apart, and he could faintly hear you answer yes over his slowing heartbeats. He inhaled sharply, his breath stuttering, as he forced the words through his teeth, clenching tightly onto the phone like a lifeline.

“Save me a milkshake?”

On the other side of town, in a tiny booth tucked in a corner of a 1950s themed restaurant, four little words started to shimmer in gold.

“I promise.”

The boy with blue hair smiled.

As the sky wept, a splash of gold twinkled innocently against the darkening asphalt.

#jaemin scenarios #jaemin angst #jaemin imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #jaemin x reader #nct angst #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #jaemin fanfic #nct scenario #nct dream fic #na jaemin #jaemin #nct #nct dream

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izzyaro · 3 years ago

Text

Yet another Clyde and Emily thing, because the idea would not leave me alone. It got quite a bit longer than expected.

It was meant to be a quiet evening out.

It was the end of a tough mission. They’d made the profile, caught the UnSubs, and saved a lot of lives. They definitely deserved a break. The locals had recommended a nice little pub, which turned out to be lively and half full of students, and Clyde had offered to get the first round. Sean had gone outside to call his wife, Jeremy was chatting up a young lady on the table next to them, and Emily and Tsia found a quiet corner where no one was paying attention to them.

“We needed this,” said Emily with a sigh.

Her muscles ached from hours of being on the alert, and she couldn’t help a moan when Tsia rubbed gentle circles into her shoulders. “Oh, that feels good.”

Tsia’s answering grin was wicked. “Later I’ll show you what else I can do with my hands.”

Emily shivered. Tsia glanced round, and leaned in for a quick kiss. Emily’s eyes fluttered shut, but as Tsia drew back there was a sudden commotion from behind them. Both of them spun round, and Tsia sat bolt upright.

“What the hell is he doing?”

Clyde stood by the bar, but he wasn’t collecting their drinks. He had a yelling skinhead in a wristlock, and the ice cold fury on his face was enough to have Emily lurching to her feet.

“Clyde!”

Clyde didn’t so much as glance at her. His whole attention was on the young man he had pinned. Emily swore and started to shoving her way through the crowd, but the bartender was already there, a frown on his face.

“Sir, let go of him-”

“I’ll let go,” Clyde growled, “when he tells me what he put in this girl’s drink.”

The mood changed in an instant. A young woman standing nearby went pale. The bartender immediately zeroed in on the now-silent skinhead. “What’s this?”

The man glared, and Clyde spoke up, blue eyes sparking with barely-controlled rage. “He dropped a tablet in that drink a she looked away. I’d be surprised if it was the only one.”

“Fuck off,” the skinhead snarled, only to yelp as Clyde tightened his grip. “Oi, you’re breaking my arm!”

“Then stop moving,” Clyde snapped back.

The skinhead swore, and Emily finally managed to push through to them. “Clyde! I think he’s got the message.”

Clyde finally looked up, and Emily had to suppress a flinch at the expression on his face. It took all her years of training to keep her voice steady, “He’s not going anywhere.”

Clyde held her gaze for a long moment, then finally shoved the man away from him. The skinhead lurched up, swearing like a sailor, but Tsia planted herself in his path.

“Take one more step, and I’ll show you what a broken arm really feels like.”

“What is going on here?”

Emily had never been so glad to hear Sean’s voice. Their boss took in the situation, Clyde shaking with anger and the gawping crowd, and set his jaw. “Clyde, get some air.”

Clyde glared at him for a moment, then jerked his head in a nod. The crowds parted for him without a word, and Sean took a deep breath.

“I trust someone’s called the police?”

“I did,” said another bartender, holding up her mobile. She was glaring at the skinhead. “I saw it too. We don’t tolerate that here.”

Emily let out a long breath. She hadn’t doubted Clyde, but another witness was always helpful. She crossed over to the trembling young woman.

“Are you all right?”

The girl’s eyes shifted from her spiked drink to Emily. “I…He would have…”

Her shivering intensified. Emily wrapped an arm around her. “I know, but you’re okay. You’re safe now, I promise.”

The girl gave a strangled sob, and Emily pulled her into a proper hug and let her cry. Tsia caught her eye, eyes flashing with anger and sympathy, and Emily rubbed gentle circles into the girl’s back.

“It’s okay. It will all be okay.”

After a long minute, the girl gave a shuddering sob and drew back. “How…How do I know he didn’t do it earlier?”

Emily’s stomach lurched, but the bartender who had called the police was already there, “An ambulance is on the way too. I didn’t see anything, but it’s better safe than sorry.” She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

The girl sniffed. She was silent for a moment, hands fiddling with a loose thread from her shirt, before she looked back at Emily. “That other man, the one who stopped him, is he your friend?”

“Clyde?” Emily asked. “Yeah, he is.”

“Will you thank him for me? Please?”

“Sure,” said Emily gently.

She glanced round, but though she could see Jeremy and Sean talking with the newly-arrived police, there was no sign of Clyde. Alarm spiked through her chest, and the bartender coughed. “I can stay with her, if you want to find him?”

Emily glanced at the girl, who sniffed and nodded. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything, okay?”

Both of them nodded, and Emily caught Tsia’s eye. Her girlfriend hesitated, then sighed. “You’ll get more out of him by yourself,” she murmured. “I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

Emily squeezed her hand, grateful for her understanding, and headed out of the pub.

The November wind bit at her cheeks, and she pulled the sleeves of her sweater down to cover her hands as she squinted round. She ignored the skinhead being guided into the waiting police cars, instead scanning the passersby. There were a fair few spectators, but there was no sign of Clyde.

Emily bit her lip. Clyde could take care of himself, but the only time she had seen him that furious was when Tsia had been attacked by a particularly stupid racist. She had never seen him lose control of himself like that before, and it had scared her.

Now, she was becoming increasingly scared for him.

There was only an unbroken line of shops to the left, but there was an alleyway round the other side, and instinct had Emily moving towards it.

The only light came from the streetlight on the other side of the road, but it was enough. Emily let out a shaky breath, and made her way past a pair of bins to crouch in front of her friend.

“There are nicer places to get some air, you know.”

She was expecting a reply, even a sharp one, but Clyde said nothing. His knees were drawn up to his chest, and he continued to stare blankly at the opposite wall, and Emily’s stomach twisted.

“Clyde? Can you hear me?”

Clyde blinked, but the shudders running through his body had intensified, and Emily bit her lip. She touched his arm, and when he blinked again she gripped his hands.

“Clyde, listen to me. You are safe. I’m here. There’s no danger.”

Clyde’s breathing hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, breath coming in ragged gasps, and when Emily shifted her grip she found his pulse fast and thready under her fingers.

“Damn it,” she whispered.

It had been a while since he had a panic attack, and she didn’t want to think about what might have triggered it, but she couldn’t stand by and let her friend suffer.

“Clyde, look at me.”

Clyde’s jaw clenched, but Emily kept talking, “Clyde, I’m here. You know me. You know I won’t let anyone touch you. Look at me, Clyde.”

Clyde finally blinked up at her, eyes wide with panic, and Emily squeezed his hands. “Good. That’s really good. Now, I need you to list every Queen album in order for me, all right?”

For a moment she thought Clyde was too far gone to hear her, but then he sucked in a shuddering breath. His lips moved silently, too quietly for Emily to hear, but she could feel his shivering easing a little, and when he finished he no longer felt like he would fly apart. Emily managed a smile.

“Good. That’s really good. Now do every song that appears on ‘A Night at the Opera’.”

Clyde swallowed. “‘Death on Two Legs’,” he rasped. “‘Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon. I’m in Love with My Car. You’re My Best Friend'…”

He went through both sides of the record, and then did it backwards, and when he finally sagged back against the wall his shivering had eased so much it was almost unnoticeable. Emily sat back on her heels.

“Are you all right?”

Clyde nodded. His face was very pale, and he didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for,” said Emily firmly.

Clyde didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t seem like he had the energy to argue. Emily kept hold of his hands. She didn’t want to pry, but she couldn’t leave this alone.

“The girl at the bar told me to say thank you.”

If she wasn’t watching so closely she would have missed his flinch. It took him a moment to reply, “I did what anyone would have.”

Emily eyed him. Clyde was the most private person she had ever met, but she did know him. The last time she had seen him like this had been when a bad case had triggered memories from Bosnia. If this was something similar…

“Go on and ask.”

Startled, Emily blinked up. Clyde still wasn’t looking at her, and his shaking had worsened again. “Clyde-”

“I know you won’t let it go. Just ask so we can go back to pretending everything is fine.”

Emily chewed on her lip for a second, but he was right. She couldn’t not ask. Not if there was any chance that she might be able to help.

She still had to take a deep breath first.

“What happened?”

Clyde was quiet for so long that she began to think he had changed his mind, but just when she was on the verge of suggesting they head back to the hotel he took a deep breath.

“I was in my first year of uni.”

His voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear it, and then it was all she could do to keep herself steady. Clyde continued, eyes fixed on the floor, “First week actually. Went out with my new classmates. I had one drink.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I remember nothing of the rest of the night.”

Bile rose in Emily’s mouth. She had to swallow hard before she could speak, “Did you report it?”

Clyde gave a weak huff. “You think anyone would have believed a student was forced to take drugs? Back then?” He shook his head. “And…Cambridge wasn’t exactly accepting.”

It took a moment for Emily’s brain to process that, and then she could only stare at him. “You…Clyde…” She stopped, and tried again. “Did they…?”

“I don’t know,” Clyde whispered. He scrubbed his hands over his face, and finally looked her in the eye. “I had bruises and I hurt, but I don’t know what happened, Emily. I don’t know.”

His voice was rising and the panic was threading back into his voice, and Emily threw caution to the wind and pulled him for a hug. Clyde sagged against, trembling like a leaf, and Emily hugged him tight.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Clyde made an incoherent noise in the back of his throat, and Emily caught the nape of his neck. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She brushed her fingers through his hair, and felt him slowly relax against her. Tears burned at her eyes, and she blinked them away before they could fall. Clyde needed her right now.

“What do you need?”

Clyde gave a brittle laugh. “The ability to travel back in time and tell my younger self not to be a bloody idiot?”

Emily flinched. “You cannot blame yourself for that!”

“Of course I can,” Clyde muttered. “I was stupid.”

Emily drew back to look him in the eye. She could tolerate a lot of things, but she couldn’t listen to that. She was opening her mouth to argue when she had a better idea.

“Was that girl in there stupid?”

“What?” Clyde demanded. “Of course not.” Then his eyes narrowed. “That’s different.”

“How?” Emily asked, and somehow she managed to keep her voice calm. “She’s roughly the same age you were. She hasn’t had any training, just like you hadn’t. What makes her situation so different from yours?”

Clyde opened his mouth, then closed it again and looked away. Emily sighed. That wasn’t a battle she was going to win any time soon.

“Okay,” she said. “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

Clyde met her eyes for a split-second before ducking his head again. “You’re already doing it.”

A flicker of warmth pierced through the shock and fear, and Emily took both his hands in hers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The corner of Clyde’s mouth twitched into a weak smile. Emily chewed on her lip, then glanced up as a shadow fell across them.

“There you are,” Tsia said. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost…”

Her voice trailed off as she took in the scene, and her eyes hardened. She crouched next to Clyde. “I really will go and break his arm, if you want.”

Clyde choked out a startled laugh, but shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but he’ll get what’s coming to him.” His amusement faded as quickly as it had come. “Is that girl all right?”

“She’s fine,” Tsia assured him. “She’s on her way to the hospital, but she wasn’t showing any symptoms.”

“Good,” said Clyde quietly.

Tsia quirked an eyebrow at Emily, who grimaced. She squeezed Clyde’s hands. “How about we get back to the hotel?”

Tsia nodded, but Clyde frowned. “I need to give a statement.”

“Tomorrow,” said Tsia. “There was a room full of witnesses,” she continued, when Clyde’s frown deepened. “Yours can wait ’til you’re not about to pass out.”

It was a mark of how rough he was feeling that Clyde didn’t even try to protest. He accepted the hand up Tsia offered him, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

Emily glanced at Tsia, and saw her own concern mirrored on her girlfriend’s face, but she just nodded. “Okay, but if you ever want to talk-”

“I know,” said Clyde. He managed a faint smile. “Thank you, Emily.”

“Any time,” said Emily softly.

He was still pale and shaky. Emily couldn’t help pulling him into another hug, and Clyde clung to her like a lifeline. There was so much she wanted to say, but she had to swallow down the lump in her throat first.

“You know, that girl is safe because of you,” she said softly. Clyde stiffened, but Emily kept talking, “That guy won’t be hurting anyone else, because of you.”

“She’s right,” said Tsia. Emily smelled her perfume as she drew closer. “That girl will be okay.” She paused, and added more softly, “You will be too.”

Clyde was silent for a minute, then gently disentangled himself from them. He turned aside, and when he looked back his eyes were clear.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

Emily shook her head, and Tsia elbowed him very gently. “Stop that. We’ve got you.”

Clyde looked at the two of them, and for the first time in what seemed like hours a small but completely genuine smile touched his lips. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I believe you do.”

“Finally,” said Tsia, but her expression was very fond and very soft as she looked at him. She wrapped her arm around Emily’s waist, and held out her free hand to Clyde. “Let’s get back. You look like you could sleep for a week.”

Clyde gave a faint huff, but he took her hand and something in Emily’s chest settled. They would be okay. She would make sure of it.

#jtf12 #emily prentiss #clyde easter #tsia mosely #sean mcallister #non con drug use #attempted date rape #referenced non con drug use #panic attack #ptsd #referenced date rape #background prosely

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jjaeong · 4 years ago

Text

The Heiress, & The Twelve. Act I.

Episode III: From, Eden.

Series: KPOP Girl Group: 이달의 소녀 (LOONA).

Pairing: OT12 & Mafia Heiress Female Reader.

Summary: After the weekend came closing in, the members took Y/N to Eden—a run-down castle in the middle of the woods that served as the hideout of the Twelve—where Haseul met up with them to deliver grave news about a Family from another city stirring a reputation in their own. As if things couldn't get any worse—the members made a mistake of taking their eyes off the Heiress for a moment, leaving Y/N faced with a stranger whom she couldn't identify if they were a friend, or foe.

You stirred awake at the sudden series of knocks that pounded aggressively against your door, making you groan against your pillow before turning to your side, expecting the sight of Heejin laying on her back with her mouth wide open as she slept peacefully next to you—or even Hyunjin sitting in the middle of their supposed-to-be shared bed meditating—only to be met by the complete absence of your two roommates, left with a tidied bed and “Jeon Stitchie” laid down next you instead. The sight was already odd enough as is, knowing that the two had barely given you enough room to breathe by yourself since the start of the week and for them to suddenly break the ongoing pattern had piqued your interest even at your drowsed state.

And how Jeon Stitchie was perfectly tucked under your blanket next to you, laying on his back just like how Heejin always did before Hyunjin walks through the doors—already in her uniform—to pull the blankets off of your sleeping figures with a roaring “Jeon Heejin, Y/L/N Y/N, stand by!” as if her life had depended on it.

You barely had time to reach the door before the lock clicked open—completely catching you off guard—and the door almost hitting you as it swung aggressively to hit the wall beside it, making you stumble back and grab ahold of your closet to stare at the familiar figure with a hand on the door handle that scanned your room with sharp eyes.

“Jiwoo-unnie, did you just—how did you even—you picked the lock on my door!” Jiwoo’s razor-sharp gaze landed on yours, the serious look on her face completely disappearing into a radiant smile that had seemed almost too ecstatic for such an early morning.

But it was Kim Jiwoo, there was never a day since you’ve met her that she was never not beaming.

“And it only took me ten seconds! I usually go for fifteen but I was worried because you didn’t sound like you were breathing—”

“You can hear me breathing from.. Behind my door..?” Jiwoo stared at you, completely puzzled for a moment before she smiled brightly yet again—as if what she said was completely normal, after all.

“Well, we’ll be downstairs once you’re done getting ready. We’re going somewhere really special, so.. Just get to it!” Jiwoo waved her hands dismissively, walking backwards as she continued to face you on the way to leave the room—and when she did, you could faintly hear her start mumbling to herself just before she shut the door behind her.

“Is it just me? I thought everyone can feel if someone’s not as responsive as they’re supposed to be behind a door?”

Standing there, as bewildered as you can get from the sudden events at such an early timeframe—you started to get ready to face the first weekend with the members. As you prepared yourself for the day, your mind recalled the notebook you’ve filled out since Heejin had told you to ask her whenever you had any questions about the family—so you did, staying up every single night with the older girl since then, resulting into Heejin completely dozing off in your bed so she just decided to invite herself over to just sleep in your bed ever since—with only minor details written in the pages about the family. Most of the notes written in them weren’t even about the family itself, but the role of each member in the group—their numbers, colors, animals—it was almost confusing why they had to be categorized in such a way but the more you learnt about them, with Heejin’s insight as well, you learnt just as much as the girl could provide.

But the main idea as to what exactly The Twelve stood for, and how they were hand picked by your Grandfather and raised under the same roof as he did awfully made sense. The reason for why he picked them was to form some sort of decoy system, in which if ever anyone would’ve have had any idea about the future boss of your family—the suspected child would’ve been within the Twelve, which would further conceal your identity and not have you connected with them until the day of his passing. Apparently that wasn’t all, because though the members were raised to play as an impostor—they were heavily trained in numerous trials in order to become full aces as individuals, where each girl can hold their own with almost no effort needed. You remembered how Heejin’s pondering look turned to face your stunned expression, to which the girl couldn’t help but laugh at before pointing back down to where you had stopped writing—stating that there was more to it but you’ll get to it after the class had finished.

And even as you slipped on a pair of jeans and a large sweater, with your eyes stuck on the blue stuffed alien on under your blankets—your mind wandered towards the sudden change in your reality at the unexpected impact of the Twelve girls whom were strategically planned to keep you safe since they were even barely of age.

The thought of taking away the members’ childhood just to cover up for your own, however..

You could almost hear Jiwoo’s furious voice piercing through your dejected state and all the other members trying brush off the emotion that had suddenly seemed to have come over you.

Sighing to yourself, you reached over to grab your phone from the dresser to find the notebook neatly placed on the surface next to it. You didn’t have to guess which one of the two had been the one to place it when you pulled the first page open—finding several pink sticky notes and a few yellow sticky notes that seemed to be arguing points throughout your notes, something that never seemed to have ended even in real life when Heejin would try her best to tell the story in the best way she could only for Hyunjin to completely dismiss it and retell the entire thing in the most suspenseful manner. If you could remember correctly, Jiwoo had called them “2jin” every time they pass by the three of you at the halls—spelling it out for you just before Heejin started to whine and Hyunjin telling the two of them to shut up.

“Y/N! Hurry up!” you heard Jungeun shout from downstairs, making you just grab your phone and walk out of your room to make your way down the stairs. You’ve managed to reach the kitchen just as Jungeun leaned back from the kitchen counter after handing Jinsol some sort of document, a stern expression set on the younger girl’s features before she looked up at you to only frown.

“About time, go eat and then we’ll leave.”

“Where are Heejin and Hyunjin?” you asked just as Jiwoo came skipping past you from the front door, holding a bunch of other documents to place in front of Jungeun and Jinsol with a small smile which stretched into a full beaming one when she watched you silently take the plastic wrapped plate of omelet fried rice that Sooyoung had prepared for you before she left in the morning—not bothering to heat it up in the over because Sooyoung’s cooking was just that good, warm or not.

“Ran some errands for Haseul-unnie, they’re most likely in Eden by now.” Jungeun answered, eyes continuing to scan the documents with Jinsol sipping on her mug as she peered over the girl’s shoulder. However, your eyes caught the sight of the older girl’s eyes lingering every few seconds on Jungeun’s side-profile which also didn’t seem to pass by easily from Jiwoo’s vision as she made eye contact with you, a huge grin set on her lips.

“Eden is your hideout, right? Exclusively The Twelve’s?” the three were left speechless, staring at you as you eyed each one of them from one girl to the other while shoving a spoonful of fried rice into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

“Who.. It was Heejin, wasn’t it?” Jinsol was the first to break the silence, to which caught you off guard at how the girl had even found it in herself to speak to you as you thought she despised her the entire time. The girl speaking to you was enough for you to know that it indeed wasn’t anything that had concerned you—her outburst from the first day—but only was her panic settling in. But the initiative wasn’t entirely enough confirmation that she couldn’t dislike you further if you replied with too much enthusiasm, so you only replied with a hum and a nod—shoving another spoonful in your mouth as you swallowed down the mouthful from earlier, “called it, that kid—really..”

“This saves us the trouble of having to explain everything to Y/N on our own though! Can you believe that my animal is a Penguin—Y/N? Oh—and that I became part of The Twelve because one of the goons cornered me while I was on the way home from school? I was so scared! But it was so fun because once I reached Mobius—they told me I was going to be part of something huge! I was nine!” you choked on your fried rice, making Jinsol instinctively hand you the mug in her hand to which you took gratefully, not minding that the contents were just milk as you gulped down the drink slowly.

“I don’t think Heejin told her how we became part of The Twelve though..” Jinsol pieced from your shaken state before she looked back at Jiwoo who just looked at you in confusion.

“Why not? I think my story was fun.”

“Jiwoo-unnie.. No. Just—no.” Jungeun finally fixed the documents in her hands, slipping them into the file folder before looking up at the three of you and breathing in deeply before shooting you a small smile.

“Let’s go? Jinsol-unnie’s driving us today.”

“Ooh! I’m so excited to see the kids—Hyejoo! Yerim! Yeojin!” Jiwoo started chanting as she left the kitchen with Jungeun tailing her with an already tired look on her face. Quickly wrapping the plastic cover over you half-finished meal, you placed it in the fridge before turning to also follow after them when you spotted Jinsol standing by the hallway with her eyes trained on her shoes—keeping her eyes on them as you passed by the dark haired girl with your head hung low, avoiding the downcast expression on the girl’s face as she followed behind you to her car.

Another time, perhaps.

It wasn’t as far as you’ve expected, in full honesty you didn’t expect to have seen a sudden clearing from the city as it connected with a highway that was surrounded by tall trees from the sides—a completely different scene from the usual tall skyscrapers, you were almost certain that you’ve been in most of the places in town but you’ve never been through this part of it at all. But as Jinsol continued to speed through the highway, with Jungeun’s eyes stuck on the scenery by her window and Jiwoo’s wiggling feet as she kept looking through everyone’s windows from her seat like an excited child—Jinsol turned the car off the road and past a clearing that seemed to well placed for it to even stand out as an entry point of some sort. The dark haired girl that had owned the blue muscle car stopped just in front of a tall, rustic black gate that was supported by a two chipped pillars that looked just about as ancient as it could get had you sitting up from your seat to stare out your window—your eyes making eye contact with a small-scale CCTV camera at the end of one of the pillars, something you could’ve easily missed if the lens didn’t move for a split-second for you to find it zooming right back at you.

“It’s Hyejoo, Y/N. I got out of Jungie’s car to do cartwheels for her once—but she opened the gate before I can even step out of the car ever since. She grows up so fast, it’s actually breaking my heart but,” Jiwoo leaned over to your console, scrambling to lower your window and practically get on top of you as you yelped, not having enough time to react when the girl smiled brightly at the camera and waved aggressively to it’s direction, “Son Hyejoo! We’re—” the older girl didn’t even have to speak further as the gates automatically pushed open, making Jinsol automatically drive through them and make Jiwoo stagger in your hold but not before the girl managed to throw a heart at the camera one last time before sitting back down on her seat with a contented smile as you shut your window through your state of shock.

“She’s never letting you even get a few feet closer to her once we get to the house.” Jungeun turned from her seat to tease the girl whom was beaming to herself just before her best friend’s comment, the animated girl’s eye twitched before she leaned over to the girl’s chair to menacingly threaten the girl into repeating what she just had said.

Jinsol pulled over at the front of the establishment—as much as a run-down castle as Heejin had explained to you about—and was the first to get out of the car to walk over to Kahei’s awaiting figure by the beginning of the steps with a bouncy Yerim running over to the dark haired girl to embrace the girl in greeting. You had stepped out of the vehicle to study the area that could almost indeed pass as a deserted location that was unkempt by the owner of the land with leaves on the pathway, the paint from the castle walls chipping off it’s frame, everything looked just as untouched as a hidden landmark that almost looked as if it were thousands of years old. The only thing that showed any signs of recent activity around the area were the light tire tracks on the pavement, warm-toned lights that peeked through the dark blue curtains, the perfectly trimmed bushes that were set around the front of the castle—and the fountain in the middle of the arrangement of bushes that oddly seemed to be clean, as if someone had took great care to not let it become a breeding ground for mosquitos or any other harmful insects.

“Y/N, stop ogling around and get inside. It’s getting cold out!” Jungeun called for you yet again, making you turn to look at the girls whom had seemed to have waited for you by the steps as you stood there next to Jinsol’s car in daze. Your face flushed as the five girls stared at you expectantly, and so you rushed to get meet them at the top of the stairs—with Yerim giggling and Kahei smiling warmly at you and your members before she pushed the doors open, for you to only gape at the thousands of paintings that had decorated the lobby luxuriously.

“It’s pretty cool, right?” a soft-spoken voice cut through the Opera music that had played through the halls, Park Chaewon whom had now seemed to have a faded shade of her mint colored hair from the last week smiled kindly at you. Greeting her members with a smile as well just as the girl with the dark aura who had always seemed to be by her side, Son Hyejoo, didn’t even dare hide the exasperated expression on her features as her eyes set on Jiwoo.

But you could tell she was just teasing when a smile broke through her irritated features as Jiwoo tackled her in her spot—the older girl squealed, squeezing the life out of the supposed “fed up” girl as she was caught in the tightest embrace that the older girl had always given her.

“Let’s get to the meeting hall, Haseul-unnie has an announcement to make.”

“What is it about?” Jinsol asked, turning to Kahei who had furrowed her brows in thought, looking up to your expectant look to only shrug.

“She never mentioned having any announcements until Sooyoungie came..” Chaewon led your group through the hallway, with Jiwoo and Yerim clinging onto Hyejoo's arms in front of you. Jinsol, Jungeun and Kahei followed silently from behind as your eyes scanned what seemed to be a never ending arrangement of paintings that hung on the walls—and to your right revealing an open glass-ceiling garden through the glass doors, a large apple tree rooted in the middle of the field with several sofa chairs by the corners and a few training equipment such as dummies here and there. You couldn't have missed the string lights that circled over the tree and its branches to spread over the ceiling—which had your mind reeling at how cozy the certain part of the castle would look like in the evening.

"Unnie, we're home!" Jiwoo announced just as you entered the meeting hall, finding two figures standing next to each other with a dark blue velvet chair between them as they leaned over several photographs on the black-tinted glass table with golden-painted legs. Haseul stood hunched over the documents with a calculating look on her face, with Sooyoung towering over the images with a distressed expression on her face as Heejin, Hyunjin, and Yeojin sat on their respective seats—all seemed to be arranged on each side of the long table by odds and evens, with the silhouette of their animal representatives delicately embroidered on the back of each chair, their colored gems playing as it's eyes for each one.

Haseul was the first to look up at you, a troubled yet small smile settling on her lips as she leaned back to eye your members whom had eased on their own seats, with you scanning the few chairs that had obviously belonged to a specific member.

"Y/N, this is your seat." Haseul placed a hand on the top of the seat next to her, looking over to Sooyoung who gathered the papers in her hand to flash you an apologetic smile—as if revealing that the announcement that Haseul was about to make would be yet another turning point for you. However, you decided to suck it up by swallowing the hesitation down your throat to make your way towards their end of the table, your eyes glancing over to the two members that would've sat closest to you—Hyunjin, whom had a distant look on her face and Heejin, who kept her eyes locked on the desk without any word—before nearing Haseul who had pulled the chair back for you as Sooyoung started to make her way over to her own chair with her head down.

"The boss has.. Arrived." Haseul dragged slowly once you've stood in front of the chair, your eyes snapping over to your members that had stood up from their seats as Haseul reached hers—seated right next to Heejin—just before the members bowed in sync, panic quickly settling inside of you at the sight of the Twelve suddenly aligned perfectly right in front of your eyes.

"Welcome to Eden, Twelfth Boss of the Y/L/N Family." the members greeted in chorus as you stood there with wide eyes, opening your mouth to say something but when nothing came out—Heejin slightly tilted her head to lock eyes with you, and with an encouraging look, you managed to face the awaiting members with a slightly determined look.

"Thank you, I—Um.. At.. Ease..?" your words seemed to have done its job when the members eased themselves back down on their seats, making you scramble to sit in yours but not before making direct eye contact with Jiwoo that seemed to be stifling a laugh—with Yerim in your view as well, who shot you an encouraging smile. Haseul then stood up from her seat, almost everyone's eyes looking up to the girl—with the exclusion of Hyunjin and Heejin—to listen to what the woman had called the meeting for, Haseul turning to scan all the members as if counting them before she nodded, turning to Sooyoung who had quickly walked over to he leader to hand her the documents from earlier.

"I've called for a meeting today—for this one announcement, something that.. We haven't encountered since the passing of Y/N's parents," Haseul laid out several photographs of young men in black suits, the images seemingly caught around town as a different man was seen holding a picture in hand, asking civilians if they could identify whatever—or whoever—it was they were looking for, "these were taken just three days ago, by our people. The idea was that these mystery men wanted nothing but to simply look for someone in the city but.." Haseul bit the inside of her cheek to eye Heejin carefully, looking up at you before pointing at one specific picture of a slim figure with sharp eyes and blank features.

"This man has been identified to be Jeon Wonwoo of the Lee Family, the same family that is subsidiary to.. The Jeon Family," it didn't take you a minute to figure out that it wasn't entirely coincidental that the last name was from one of your own, but finding Heejin's fists clenched from under the tinted glass was already proof enough of her ties to the mentioned Family, "We've only observed their patterns for the past three days, they've always sent different men each time but—I didn't think they'd send someone high-profile.."

"But we don't know that yet, Unnie! They could just be looking for a runaway member for all we know! Right..?" Yerim countered, looking over to Kahei who had now leaned back against her seat to tilt her head in thought. Haseul stared down at the photographs on the table before looking back to Kahei as well, eyes hesitant as she did.

"Vivi."

"I doubt that they're here for anything other than finding out how exactly we're running the Family without a real boss, they're here for Y/N and her alone. Heejin, however.." Kahei trailed off to glance at the rigid younger girl beside the Leader, her sharp gaze moving to you before she hummed as if she had finally come to a conclusion, "they wouldn't have banished her for them to start looking everywhere after, but the chances of it aren't high—not entirely non-existent as well."

Kahei turned back to stare at you again for a moment before nodding and looking up at Haseul’s calculating gaze, a firm expression set on the eldest girl’s features.

“They’re here for Y/N, but the plan goes with keeping Heejin and Hyunjin at the Mansion with you once they finally decide on a proper visit. Three days at most, they won’t stay here long unless.. They want something else.” your eyes kept moving from one member to another, your thumb brushing against the ring on your finger as you assessed the situation slowly.

“And that something else being..?” the members’ eyes snapped over to troubled look as Haseul slowly settled down on her seat, eyes stuck on the images on the desk with a pained expression as Jungeun tore her eyes away from you to rest her chin on her prepped knuckles on the glass—a pensive look on her face.

“They want to test us.” the members all sat in silence for a moment, avoiding each other’s gaze as they contemplated the sudden strained atmosphere at the announcement. However, the members looked composed as if they knew exactly which steps to take next if ever it had come down to it—but that didn’t entirely seem to reassure them, they’ve decided on what their move would be and now it was the opposing family’s turn.

It was then you realized that your arrival at Eden would be only kept brief for the moment, and after the meeting everyone would return back to their usual posts and continue as planned.

“I have suspicions that tomorrow would be the day their Family would pay us a visit, what I need from the six of you,” Haseul turned to look at Jungeun, Jiwoo, Chaewon, Yerim, Hyejoo, and Yeojin with a wary eyes, “is to double the security. Y/N is our main priority—but you are all suspects of their search as well.”

“Let Heejin stay with you, I can protect Y/N better if—”

“No, if they take Jeon with them.. They wouldn’t think our Heiress is there at all, the more uncertainty the better. You are staying with us, Hyunjin.” Hyunjin clenched her jaw at the finality of Haseul’s decision as the Leader then looked back to meet your distressed expression.

“Y/N, you’ll be left with the six and Jinsol nearby, you’ll be just as safe as you were since their arrival. Your job is to find the closest member you can if things get out of hand—if the members don’t find you first.”

“Worst case scenario..?” you questioned with a small voice as Haseul leaned back on her seat to stare at a dispirited Yeojin in front of her.

“Casualties, mostly civilians. We’ll be notified to evacuate you before anyone else.”

“Okay.” you answered shortly, staring down at the ring in your hand—slightly feeling the burn that had come with the title of your name. The members started to converse with themselves about how exactly they’d approach the situation, who had their schedules aligned with you—and if no one was close enough to you a member or two would lay down their class hours to make sure that you were within their sight. You spaced out for the rest of the meeting, only being snapped out of your daze when it was time for you to leave with Sooyoung as Haseul asked Jinsol to stay for a while longer. Sooyoung had an arm wrapped over your shoulders as soon as you had reached her by the entrance of the hall, your eyes locked with the image of Yeojin standing next to Haseul's chair as she spoke with her older sister.

As Sooyoung pulled out of the drive way with radio playing in the background as you rested your head against the window—something you've always done since Sooyoung had gotten the vehicle from her "part-time job" that had now been revealed to be a Mafia member—you reached over to jab a finger on Sooyoung’s shoulder without even looking at her. The older girl glanced at you from her seat, swatting your hand away before shaking her head and sighing at the realization that you were trying to grab her attention because this was actually the first time it's only been the two of you since the members had appeared in your living room.

"You're annoying." Sooyoung told you when you slipped your shoes off to pull your knees up to your chest, still leaning against your door as you kept your eyes locked on the scenery in front of you—with the comfortable silence taking over the car yet again.

"Since when?" your question broke through the silence, making her straighten on her back to glance at you before facing the road ahead of her. She took a few seconds before comprehending what exactly you meant by the question.

"Nine. I first heard your name when I was nine," Sooyoung started, drumming her fingers lightly against the wheel as she thought carefully at the speech she had planned since the beginning, letting out a heavy breath before continuing, "our parents were close—with my parents serving under your Family, just as my family did before them—but they were really close. It was your Mom that asked my parents to take you in if ever something happened." the older girl could feel your perceptive eyes locked on the side of her face as she kept her own locked on the view of the sun that had slowly set in front of you two.

“And when I reached the age of ten I was initiated into the Twelve, you’ve only been my sister for about four months since then.”

“You just accepted? Just like that?” you asked the older girl who’s lips broke into a small smile.

“It was hard not to say I didn’t want a little sister when you stood there by the boss—with my family and I standing in the middle of fifty-thousand men—looking so lost and completely unaware of where you’d be in a couple of years,” Sooyoung glanced over to you with a pained look on her face, “you were six, Y/N. Do you even remember what the Mansion even looked like?” you pursed your lips before shaking your head, finding it oddly concerning about not having any memories connected to the Family.

“I can vaguely remember their voices—my parents, but other than that.. I just brushed it off thinking that your parents were my own so..”

“Well technically, they are but.. They’re still your parents too, Y/N.” Sooyoung reassured you, something that tugged on your heartstrings before you snorted at the older girl but nodded in reply.

“But, Unnie,” the older girl hummed as you nibbled on your bottom lip in thought, eyeing the view from the windshield to collect your thoughts before looking back at Sooyoung, “I didn’t just.. Take away your childhood, right? The girls—Jiwoo-unnie was from that orphanage, Mobius, I didn’t—”

“Oh, no—Y/N, it’s nothing like that. The Y/L/N Family had been in partnership with their foundation for as long as I can remember, we don’t just take kids from that place. It just serves as an option for those kids who weren’t able to be adopted or—in Jiwoo’s case—if they were was exceptional. She knew what she was getting into, so she had matching last names with Jungeun.”

“But she said she was cornered?” Sooyoung broke into a short laugh, shaking her head before facing you with a full smile.

“She out-smarted fifteen goons on the way home from school, yes that was real. And like I said—she’s exceptional.” you tilted your head at the amused expression that remained on Sooyoung’s face as she turned back to the road ahead of you two. The image of a young Jiwoo swiftly sprinting through several alleys with fifteen goons scrambling to catch up to her was stuck in your mind, making you lean back on your chair with your eyes set on the ceiling of the car as you wondered about how the other girls had come to become a part of the Twelve.

And Sooyoung had just mentioned Jungeun—could it be that she was also from Mobius?

“Y/N,” Sooyoung called for you, making you tear your eyes away from the ceiling to look up at your older sister whom looked back at you with a somber expression on her features—the complete opposite of what she had just looked for only but a few moments ago, “I know there would be a time where you’d start to think that this is your fault—maybe you’ve already thought this through but I just want you to know that it isn’t. The boss—as selfish as his intentions may be—had always treated us more than children he’d pick up to hide his only grandchild, he treated us like an actual member of the family, Y/N. Your Grandfather was a great man, and.. Your parents were, as well.” you tore your eyes away from the older girl for her to only reach over and place a hand on top of your hand, where your ring sat as a reminder of who exactly you were.

“Haseul wasn’t lying about the Family’s values, your Family’s values. The only reason why we’re the strongest out there at this moment is because our people believe in us, they believe in the vision that your name brought and they would do anything to keep it alive. We’ll do everything to keep you alive to carry it on, Y/N,” Sooyoung’s hand tightened around yours as you kept your eyes locked on the window beside you, feeling her burning gaze as the car pulled into a halt by a stop light, “because you’re the only one that can maintain that peace, you’re the only person our people will willingly listen to because you have the blood of the bosses running in your veins. I know you’re a good kid too, Y/N. You’ll become just as great as they were, I just know it.”

“Everything still just—feels so new to me. I don’t know what to tell you, Unnie” you breathed, feeling Sooyoung’s hand loosen for a second before she sighed on her seat to pat your hand gently, pulling them away just as the light turned green. You then basked at the silence that had settled in the car yet again, but it was easily cut short when Sooyoung had reached over to pinch your arm and started to ask you how you’ve been since the members had acquainted themselves with you. The entire car ride consisted of you and Sooyoung catching up with the heavy details and the light ones as well, with the night quickly setting in and for the first time for an entire week you had your room all to yourself—with the bed next to you empty, but Jeon Stitchie still remained laying under the covers next to you.

“Ugh, I’m beat. See you later, Y/N!”

One of your classmates waved over to you as you jogged out of the field to find the nearest vending machine which stood by the entrance of the school. You groaned once you spotted the taped “out of order” sign on the glass, turning to make a beeline for the vending machine by the parking lot by the shed in front of the school—with only the idea of having a cold drink in hand after a strenuous day in PE. Pumping your fists to yourself when you’ve reached the machine, you dug through the pockets of your pants to find just about enough money to shove into the slot and acquire a cold beverage. Twisting the cap open and quickly taking in a few mouthfuls of the cold drink, you sighed to yourself as you stared at the machine in front of you gratefully before looking down at your drink in hand and sitting down on the empty bench next to the machine.

“Hello.”

Hey,

I took a break from writing since it was my brother’s birthday a few days ago, and I’ve experienced a short “writer’s block” which was honestly.. Infuriating. And for that, I am writing again and will be uploading Episode IV shortly because.. I can still see the imagery.

By the way, while I was gone we’ve hit 30..ish plus followers? I’d love to interact with you guys and ask you guys what you think but honestly, it’s just not my thing —interacting with my readers, I mean. The last time I had a writing account was back in 2014 if I remember correctly, and let’s just say a close friend of mine thought that it was alright to share it to everyone we meet lmao.

I’ve realized that the reason I find such things uncomfortable was because writing is something I hold close to me, it’s personal because I created this in my head—and for it to fall into the wrong hands is upsetting. And so I keep these things to myself, but I guess it’s just LOONA’s effect that got me back into this head space. But I love this group so much, it’s hard to keep everything at arms length when these girls make you want to reach out and open yourself up to the world.

Honestly the type of people you could only dream to be surrounded with, right?

Alright, this is Episode III’s author’s note. I guess if I were to start interacting with you all—the first thing I would ask is who’s your bias in this group.

Mine is Aeongie.

Laters,

JJ.

>ovc: loonatheworld (180613)

https://youtu.be/P7THoYMANxc

youtube

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anika-ann · 5 years ago

Text

Of Muffins, Coffee and Other Miracles - Pt.2

Of Coffee, Brownies and-- Frack

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader Word count: 2210

Type: Two-shot, reader insert

Warnings: swearing, tons of fluff and cheeky/cute Daredevil/Matt

Summary: You’re a secretary at Landman and Zack, having an office on the same floor as the interns. You notice one of them (which you might and might not have a crush on) seems down lately, so you decide to cheer him up the only way you can come up with. You bake muffins; right after your life is saved by a cheeky vigilante.

Part 1

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“Wild night out?” a male voice made you snap from your dozing and you straightened in your chair with a startle.

Oh shit. Oh fuck, you were so fired.

You look up to the man who addressed you, relieved it was only Foggy – one of the interns. He wouldn’t report you, right?

“Uhm… not sure I would call it wild, but… strange for sure.” Not every night you get to be kissed by a vigilante, even if only on your temple.

“It wasn’t drugs, right? Because drugs are bad,” he whispered, looking around for anyone who could hear. You smiled at him tiredly.

“I know. Not… that kind of strange. What can I do for you… Foggy, right?”

“Yes!” he confirmed cheerfully, until his smile fell. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we were introduced. You’re…” he eyed the name on your desk, repeating it dutifully.

“That’s me,” you confirmed with a nod. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh! Right. My friend, Matt, he’s interning with me here, I’m sure you saw him around. He’s… well, blind.” Oh, I did see him around. “Usually, he gets the copies of the files in braille, but today… whoever is the good soul doing it for him forgot or something and… I have no idea where to find a braille printer here and you seem to know your way around…? And you also look like you’re not gonna fire me for asking.”

You found yourself smiling in the presence of the cheerful man. “Only if you promise not to tell anyone that I was basically sleeping.”

“Deal.”

“Thanks. You have the file? I can print it. Honestly, anyone who knows where to find that printer or how to use it wouldn’t have the authority to fire you. Just send it to me and I’ll drop it in your… your…” you stuttered, unsure how to finish that sentence.

“You can say it. It’s a closet.”

“It is, isn’t it? But which one?” you played dumb, because… reasons. You shouldn’t have known where they were, you didn’t need it. Why would you? Yeah, I’m sooo subtle…

“Oh, the one down the hall.”

“Okay. Just e-mail me the file number and I’ll deliver.”

“Really? You’re amazing.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you laughed nervously. Amazing. You didn’t think – scratch that, you were sure your boss never called you that, and you were saving his life on daily basis; he wouldn’t even sign a paper unless you handed him the pen.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong…” Foggy pronounced, pointing at you. Then he seemed to realize something. “You said not many people know where to find that printer?”

You shrugged. “Not really, I guess. It’s on the fourth floor, but it’s next to impossible to go there unnoticed by people guarding printers and they are bitch to talk to, so if you ever need anything just tell me, I’ll do it for you. I’m sure your life is enough depressing in that… cubicle.”

“Hm… okay, thanks a lot!” He spun on his heels, walking out.

Weird.

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Dropping off the files in the right closet, you were confronted with… your crush. You might have not realized it before, but… yeah. You were confronted by Matt Murdock himself and you were suddenly very sure you had a crush on this man. Crap.

The thing was… he was his typical self, which meant… really charming. He stood up from his desk when thanking you, learning your name, shaking your hand. He gave you one of the nicest smile you had ever seen, his grip firm, but gentle; you just stuttered when saying ‘nice to meet you’, stumbling out as quickly as possible, shaking your head over your own inability to communicate like a normal person.

One thing you noticed about Matt that day though was that he had a rather angrily looking gash next to his right eyebrow – whether he ran into a door or something else happened, you didn’t know. But you were glad you had baked the previous night, secretly leaving your backup lunch to ease the blind’s man pain.

You were stuck hungry because of that; you couldn’t make yourself regret it.

You were a hopeless case.

And a liar on top of that, because you had said it wasn’t ‘like that’ just few nights before. Perfect.

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It was raining that night, so you didn’t leave a snack for the vigilante who apparently kissed crime victim’s temples. Maybe the next night.

Or never, because he would avoid you forever, realizing that you were as far from his Lois Lane as you could be. Which was probably a good thing.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

You looked up from the screen at the sound of someone knocking. It was unusual – the door was always open, so people normally just waltzed in.

Matt freaking Murdock was standing in that open door, holding his walking cane and a cup holder in one hand, his other hand on the glassy door. You blinked in surprise at the sight. And god, he was such a sight for your sore eyes…

“Anyone in?” he asked carefully and you fought the urge to face-palm. He couldn’t see you watching him – which might be a good thing, considering you were shamelessly staring.

“Yes! Hi, Matt. What can I do for you? Someone forgot to print case files again?” you wondered when you gathered yourself.

He smiled, turning your direction, walking towards your desk.

“Uhm, no. No, I came to… say thank you.”

Did you hit your head in the shower this morning?

“Uhm. You’re welcome, it really wasn’t a big deal.“ You mentally praised yourself for so many coherent sentences. His smile only grew wider.

“Here. Uhm, I was told you were a bit tired yesterday, so I figured you might appreciate a coffee. One’s black with sugar, which should have ‘B’ on the cup, and the other one is vanilla latté with ‘V’. I had no idea which you might like.” He held out the holder for you to choose.

You had definitely hit your head. What the hell? Or rather… what the heaven?

“I… you really didn’t have to do that, Matt. That’s… thank you, but… it was just a file. Anyone would do that.”

You found the V cup, taking it hesitantly as if it could explode in your hand.

“Well, for one, that’s not true, especially here, and… it’s not just for the file,” he offered with a cute smile.

It wasn’t the smile that sent your heart racing. Well, it was, but also the thing he was implying— did he somehow figure out you were his… secret muffin-maker? Well, shit.

“I’m not sure-“

“People by the printers on the fourth floor are next to impossible to sneak by – that’s your words, not mine. Next to impossible, but not completely. That suggests you know how to do it. I imagine the bosses wouldn’t be happy finding out you’re using the printer to write notes for miserable blind interns, so sneaking under radar it is.”

You pressed your lips together, squeezing your eyes shut, cursing mentally. And out loud. “Frack.”

“So, you know. Thank you. The muffins were delicious. They did make my day much better,” Matt assured you and an unfairly warm feeling spread in your chest. Maybe it wasn’t such a disaster he found out.

“There’s no way I’m finding a way to prove you wrong, is there?” you sighed. “You should reconsider your career choices, you would make a great detective. Glad it worked. I know that muffins can’t fix all the problems of the world, but occasionally, they can save the mood.”

“Not wrong there. I... uhm… the coffee is the best thank you I’m capable of. I hope my debt is paid.”

Well. That made more sense. “You didn’t have to-“

“That came out wrong. I wanted to say thank you, to erase a potential debt, because I was…”

You tilted your head to side, waiting what brilliant end that sentence would have. For once you weren’t the one who apparently didn’t know what to say.

“I was wondering if you would want to go for a coffee sometime? Or a dinner, maybe? Not as a thank you.”

Throw the incapability to speak up back on me, why don’t you. You blinked in utter shock, your knees buckling a little. Come again? “Not… not as thank you. You’re… you’re sure of that?”

“Hundred percent positive.”

You were certain you heard wrong. Which was easily possible given how loud your pulse was in your ears.

“Oh. Uhm… yeah. Okay. Sure. Just… just to be clear, since it’s not a thank you-“

“It’s a date. If you want it to be,” he added quickly, his confidence slightly shaken.

“If I want it to be…” you muttered under your breath incredulously. “Is the sky blue?”

“You tell me, it’s been a while since I’ve seen it last time,” he replied, grinning. He was so not supposed to hear that. Dammit.

“Oh my—… yeah, last time I checked it was still blue.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out a phone, holding in out for you. “Would you enter your number in it, please? First name’s enough. I’ll call you.”

You finally set your cup down and took the phone from his hand, still not quite believing this was happening. Your fingers brushed his lightly when doing so, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest. Jesus.

“Sure. You don’t have a distaste for black coffee right? Because I can totally switch the cups, I haven’t even sipped mine yet,” you mumbled as you were entering your number.

He laughed. “I like black coffee.”

“Noted. And number saved.”

You returned the phone to his extended hand. “Thanks. Dinner or coffee? I would offer a lunch, but the muffins appeared during lunch-breaks, which suggests you’re not leaving the office.”

“Detective, seriously. Dinner?” you asked, unsure.

“Dinner it is.”

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Dinner it was. And an amazing one. Matt picked the restaurant wisely – nice, but not too expensive, because neither of you were exactly rich (not that it mattered, because Matt was a gentleman who wouldn’t let the woman pay for the food, definitely not on the first date) and that way you could have a dessert without remorse; financial one anyway.

Matt saying that your muffins were better after eating a chocolate brownie was just the icing on the cake of how… sweet he was. He was even more wonderful than you had thought, but despite becoming a lawyer and working between the sharks, he was a down-to-earth person. Not playing any… leagues. And you had fun. His sense of humour was refreshing and he was apparently more than capable of smiling and laughing as cheerfully as his friend. He was a freaking sunshine and you found yourself drawn to the warmth and light like to a magnet.

He walked you home, looking almost disappointed that the night was ending, which was a sentiment you shared wholeheartedly.

“If I wasn’t so full, I would invite you upstairs. I have muffins,” you whispered as his hand travelled up your arm, wavering in the crook of your neck and he leaned closer to you.

The corners of his lips rose a little higher at your note and you were honestly regretting he was still wearing his dark red-tinged glasses. You would like to see his eyes to complete the picture.

“Well, I would say I’m sorry, but I’m actually glad. I… I really enjoyed tonight. I wouldn’t want to screw up.”

You could tell he hesitated, his thumb caressing your neck in silent question. You leaned in as well. ”I can’t really imagine you screwing it up, Matt, no matter what you would do. Unless you‘d wake me up now.”

“Is that a permission?” he breathed out an inch from your lips.

“It’s a plea.”

He met your lips softly, retreating too soon.

“Please, don’t wake me up,” you mumbled, not sure you wanted him to hear it.

“This is a goodnight kiss,” he reassured you lowly, kissing you again, caressing your lower lip and making your knees unfairly weak. “We’ll work our way up to a good morning one. If you’d like.”

You brought your hand to the back of his neck, keeping him close just in case he was getting any ideas and you returned the kiss, nibbling on his lips just a little. He let out a content sigh, his fingers tangling in your hair, his body shifting closer to yours.

“Probably sooner than later,” he mumbled against your mouth, making you smile and hum in agreement. You added ‘excellent kisser’ to the mental list you were making about him. Hot. Sweet. Gentle. Funny. Smart. Ray of sunshine. Gorgeous smile. Likes black coffee and my muffins. Never should stop kissing me.

He met your lips for the last time, withdrawing with a smile, his thumb running over your jaw.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, licking your lips to savour the taste of his own.

He pecked your temple lightly, wishing you the same.

‘Familiar,’ you added to your mental list and your heart, fluttering until the moment, started hammering in your chest wildly. Familiar voice, familiar smile, familiar gestures-

No, no, no, no, no. That was ridiculous. You were projecting again, you were-

“Clark?” you chocked out, perfectly aware of how stupid it was, expecting Matt to shoot you a puzzled look and ask you about your possible ex or something.

Except Matt did no such thing. Instead, he froze and said just one word that meant you were somehow, in some impossible way, right.

“Frack.”

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Matt Murdock Masterlist

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It’s silly and I’m grinning when writing it and posting it and I’m most definitely sure that this cliff-hanger is the end and it’s all up to you to wonder what happened next ;)

Thank you for reading :-*

#marvel #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil imagine #mcu #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock #of muffins coffee and other miracles #anika ann

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bcbdrums · 4 years ago

Text

Five Kisses Under the Mistletoe

This fic is exactly as the title says. Please enjoy this glimpse at five Christmases shared by Drakken and Shego, from the first year they worked together to their first Christmas post-canon. This fanfic contains MAJOR SPOILERS for my long fic, There’s Christmas—and Christmas. If you've not read that fic, I highly recommend doing so first, because literally everything from that fic is spoiled in this one.

Recall from canon that Drakken pretends to be a radio psychiatrist to hide his villainy from his mother. This fic also answers @drakgoprompts prompt for mistletoe. Enjoy!

FFn AO3

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Five Kisses Under the Mistletoe

Christmas, 2003 — The Caribbean Lair

Drakken stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans with a satisfied grin, stepping back to view the newly trimmed tree from every angle. The fresh scent of the Douglas fir permeated his being, and he sighed happily as he nodded at what was looking to be a perfect Christmas tree. He stepped back to the pile of boughs he had made and began to assess where to place them to further decorate the den for the coming holiday festivities.

He was startled suddenly at the sound of footfalls that were finally becoming familiar, and he turned just as his new side-kick walked through the door. She halted with wide eyes and took in the changes to the den as he grinned with nervous excitement and approached her. After scrutinizing the decor her eyes finally fell to him, starting at his black boots and traveling up the casual jeans and shirt-sleeves he had donned as he had declared the holidays would be a break from villainy.

He slowed his approach as something in her eyes made him suddenly nervous. Her face had colored slightly and she looked....put off, somehow. He opened his mouth to wish her a Merry Christmas, but as he drew breath she cut him off.

"Dr. Drakken...what's all this?" she asked with an air of disdain.

"I..." He was further confused by her growing unease and he cleared his throat and blinked several times to refocus. "I'm decorating for Christmas."

Shego stared at him, her expression having gone blank. "You mean you're...staying here for Christmas? All alone?"

Drakken suddenly realized...he had assumed Shego would be staying too. He opened his mouth again, but she continued.

"Or are the henchmen staying for some kind of...evil get together, like that picnic you attempted?"

Drakken frowned lightly. The picnic had been fine...until Williams had thrown up on Brooks.

"No," he said with a slight pout, "they've all gone home to their families. But—"

"Wait... Did you...did you think I was staying here for Christmas?" Shego asked.

Drakken bit his lip and physically took a step back at her affront. He didn't think it was so horrible a thought, and he had assumed that she, like himself, would not have any family to go home to, villains that they were. She may only be a side-kick, but her impressive resume suggested she was in a similar situation to his own.

"Well..."

Anything he might have said next was interrupted by Shego's laughter. Drakken looked down at his boots and began twiddling his thumbs, his side-kick beginning what was becoming familiar mocking in between her roars of laughter.

"What, you thought we would...sit around the fire, and...drink hot chocolate and exchange gifts, and... Wait, is that mistletoe?"

She had turned her gaze upward to where the green sprig with white berries hung above the doorway that the pair now stood on either side of. Her face flushed again, and anger entered her eyes.

"So the henchmen are all gone, and you thought what exactly?" she asked, leveling her fiery green gaze at him.

Drakken took another step back and waved his hands in innocence. "I didn't— I wasn't— It's only because—"

"What, so does working for you have additional expectations that weren't in the contract or something?"

"No! I—"

"Ugh, I cannot believe you! It's not just that you think I don't have something better to do than spend Christmas with my boss, but the fact that you actually hung mistletoe!? What, did you think somehow someone like me would actually—"

Drakken cut her off quickly by closing the distance between them in two large steps and grabbing her shoulders. Her words ended in a choked gasp, and her face flushed again as she stared up at his frustrated visage. He felt a sudden rush of panic as he realized what he'd done, but his impulsive act had effectively limited his choices to more severe mocking, probable pain, and the potential loss of his side-kick...or...

Drakken brought his lips down to Shego's and kissed her powerfully, his heart racing. And then, for a moment...bliss. Her lips were like heaven against his, until suddenly they were left cold and his chest felt like he'd just been hit by a truck. Of course, it was the green blast Shego had hit him with, knocking him back against a chair where he crumpled to the floor.

He didn't get to see her face as she retreated, she'd spun around so fast. But as he lay on the floor in shock and listened to her departing steps until they went silent, he couldn't help the feeling of warmth that flooded his chest.

Things might not have gone as he'd planned...but he decided, as long as Shego didn't quit...it was a good Christmas after all.

------------------------------

Christmas, 2004 — The North Pole

Shego sat staring down at the remains of a very watery, formerly hot chocolate while seated inside what she had learned was the garbage container (impact-resistant, of course) from the failed Drak-Force One. That explained the smell... Having learned this fact after what had passed for 'Christmas dinner,' she had decided it was best not to ask where the food and drinks had come from.

She had foregone most of the singing, which the Possibles happily joined in on as Stoppable was co-leading the festivities with Drakken. But the twin boys had lost interest fairly quickly and were watching highlight reels of that extreme snow sports event on Possible's little hand-held device. Shego wondered idly if the two gave Possible as much trouble as her own twin brothers had growing up.

Drakken and Stoppable were still arm in arm as they sang, Possible seeming content to sing with them, while her parents were half-participating and half-seeming to be attempting to find a way out of the situation. Shego could think of a number of ways to end the extremely awkward truce that had been struck, but the first several on the list began with violence... She felt strangely obligated to keep the peace for Drakken's sake, all of the day's events considered. He had paid for her vacation after all...

As she was contemplating the few options she could think of that lacked violence, she noticed Possible suddenly narrow her eyes in mischief and begin staring at Stoppable. Shego looked between the pair and tried to figure out their silent communication. What on Earth could the teenaged thorn in her side be thinking? Surely she wasn't planning some trick to escape the awkward festivities...

Suddenly Stoppable's singing ceased, and Shego caught sight of his wily grin just before he elbowed Drakken a few times to get his attention and then pushed him in her direction.

"Oh, look who's under the mistletoe now!" the blond boy sang out giddily.

Shego's eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she looked up at the piece of parsley that she was inexplicably seated directly beneath. She stood up in alarm, but then she caught sight of Drakken's horrified face and something in her relaxed. He wasn't going to do it...

The memory of the prior year's unexpected kiss had rushed back to her, but with the fear of a repeat having faded at his terror-stricken expression she recalled...just how good a kisser her boss actually was. She bit the inside of her cheek as part of her mind told her that a mutual innocent and totally platonic kiss wouldn't be such a horrible thing after all. She took a breath and was about to voice the thought, when...

"Go on Drew," the voice of James Possible sounded, and Shego turned back to where Drakken's old schoolmate stood next to his wife, his arm around her waist and a devilish look on his face. "Let's see you kiss a girl under the mistletoe."

Shego's brow furrowed slightly. She didn't really know the history between the two former friends, but she did know it wasn't a good one. She set her jaw and turned with resolve, but she had barely made eye contact with Drakken before he was all but sprinting through the exit hatch.

"Well this has been lovely, we must do it again sometime!" he called without even a backwards glance. And with that, he was gone.

Shego blinked as she realized all eyes in the dimly-lit container had turned to her. She scowled and tossed her drink on the fire as she stalked out after Drakken. Knowing him, he would get lost in the snow and run into that polar bear... And she had parked her hover-car a fair ways away.

"Shego, what—"

Shego cut Possible off with a cold glance over her shoulder.

"Merry Christmas," she bit out more harshly than was probably warranted. "Truce ends tomorrow, unless you want it to end now."

She lit up her hands in warning, but didn't wait to see the teen's reaction as she left the compartment and began following her boss's footprints through the snow. As the wind whipped against her face the spell of the evening was broken, and her thoughts drifted back to the beach and all the things she would do the next day when she got back after depositing Drakken at the lair. And yet, creeping through her thoughts was the memory of Drakken's frightened reaction when she had turned intending to kiss him. And disturbingly, her own reaction of disappointment.

------------------------------

Christmas, 2005 — The Spider Lair (Steal Wheels; Rappin' Drakken)

"But Drewbie, I don't understand why you aren't decorating this year."

Shego eyed her blue-skinned boss as he skulked around the lab equipment, trying to evade his mother who had showed up unexpectedly—again—and was following her son around with numerous questions about his lack of holiday decor. As it was still a week until Christmas, Shego didn't see the big deal. Unless of course, Drakken came from the type of family that treated the entire month like one long holiday... She herself had never had such an experience.

"I'm going to be working through Christmas this year, Mother. That's all," Drakken explained, continuing to try to avoid the woman.

"Oh but surely you can do a few things to make it more festive around here. There's more than enough room for a tree, a nice wreath on the door..."

Shego watched the changing expressions on Drakken's face that indicated both his internal struggle and his frustration with his mother's presence. For her part, the green-skinned villainess was enjoying the display. It had been some time since Drakken's mother had showed up, and the only chaos she had brought with her this time seemed to be her very loud opinions about how her son spent the season.

"Nyeghn... Mother, how about I just hang a wreath on the door? And, look, lights!" he said, pushing a button on one of the lab control consoles. Various red, green, and white lights began flashing in sequence. Shego pursed her lips and nodded approvingly at the coincidence.

"Oh, but dear..."

Shego watched as the woman turned away from her son for a moment, to his relief—his entire being seemed to decompress—and stepped over to the large carpet bag she had brought in the way of luggage.

"You really should have a tree, and some mistletoe..."

Shego blanched and she swallowed nervously, not daring to glance at Drakken. She wondered what on Earth the odds were as the older woman began producing holiday decor from her bag. Words were exchanged between Drakken and his mother, but Shego didn't hear them as she watched a wreath, a box of glass icicles, a mass of candy canes with a large spool of ribbon, and indeed...mistletoe...being laid out across Drakken's work-bench.

She turned and left the great room of the lab, crossing her arms as she walked down the curved hallway of the lair toward her bedroom. It crossed her mind that it was probably time to move lairs, since Drakken's mother had visited that one twice now in less than six months. But more central to her thoughts was wondering whether or not she would return later to find the lab decorated as she had the first year she had worked for Drakken.

In all likelihood it would be even more festive, given the way he had decorated the garbage container at the North Pole the prior year. And considering the importance his mother seemed to put on appearance...Shego wasn't sure she wanted to return to the lab later at all.

After reaching her room, she changed into a bathing suit and flopped onto her tanning bed. She put her sunglasses on and flipped the switch to turn on her heat lamp. It was only December eighteenth... She realized that decorations aside, the higher priority was going to be making sure Drakken's mother didn't decide to make herself at home in the lair. Or else, she would be starting her beach vacation early that year.

-------------------------

When Shego decided to brave the lab hours later there was ample evidence of the two Lipskys' presence, though they weren't there at the moment. A modest tree took up one bare corner, decorated with red glass baubles, candy canes tied with red ribbon, glass icicles, and what appeared to be glittery plastic snowflakes. An actual string of Christmas lights was now wrapped around a fake garland and hung up around the focusing laser. Shego shook her head, not even bothering to take in the rest of the decor that had somehow appeared.

She was turning to go back to her room to pack, when the front door of the lair slid open.

"...Yes Mother, it's all very festive now. So...w-when does your flight leave?"

"Why Drew, it sounds like you want me to go away, Son!"

"N-No, o-...of course not Mother! But I still have a lot of work to do and as I said...I'll be very busy this holiday season."

Shego smirked as she watched the pair descend the stairs, Drakken's arms laden with brown shopping bags and his mother holding only one small plastic one.

"Oh but Drew, you have to take time off! It's not healthy."

Shego shifted her weight to the side and recrossed her arms as she watched Drakken's discomfort. She did feel for him, but there was just too much opportunity for entertainment in the present circumstance.

"Yeah Dr. D. Some time off might do something about that bulging vein in your forehead. Get out of the...office, and take a vacation."

Both Lipskys stared at her, Drakken's face morphing from confusion into a scowl while his mother's bloomed into an excited grin. Her bag was dropped on the work-bench as her hands balled into excited fists beneath her chin.

"Oh Drewbie, you could come home for the holidays!"

"N-N-Now, Mother..."

"Oh, it will be just like old times!"

"No I, I'm afraid it's impossible!" Drakken insisted probably too harshly. His mother's face fell, and he adopted an obviously fake but gentle smile. "I have too many patients in...very critical condition who cannot be left alone for that length of time."

Mrs. Lipsky's brows knitted as she considered. "Since you treat them over the phone, couldn't you work from home?"

"No, Mother! I...I need everything I have here at the office, and I need Shego's assistance," he said, moving to stand slightly behind Shego as soon as his bags had been deposited on the floor.

Shego glanced back at him with a smirk, and his eyes darkened briefly in annoyance before he was nodding at his mother with greater assurance now. Shego's grin broadened.

"But Dr. D., I'm going to the Bahamas for the holidays, remember?" she reminded him.

Drakken visibly startled and looked at her with such a rapid flurry of emotions that she couldn't keep up with them. Her smirk grew, and she was about to encourage the trip to his mother's when the woman spoke up.

"Oh! Look who's under the mistletoe!"

It was Shego's turn to startle as she peered upward and saw that in fact, the mistletoe had been hung and she and Drakken were directly beneath it. Her eyes narrowed and Drakken recoiled a step, but at his reaction she forced away her scowl and smirked at him in challenge. If anything was to get his mother out of the lair, and probably earn her an earlier start to her tropical vacation, it was this very threat. She raised her brow in anticipation and stared directly at Drakken.

For his part, his face had fallen to total confusion and he seemed to want to speak for the way his lips trembled but was unable to find the words.

"Drewbie!" Mama Lipsky's loud whisper called across the short distance toward her son. "What are you waiting for?"

Drakken looked anxiously between his mother and and Shego, his uncertainty growing.

"I... But..."

"You told me she was single. Now's your chance!"

Shego wanted to question the conversation that had clearly been had about her while the small family was out shopping, but she was more interested in seeing whether or not Drakken would run like the last time, or simply make an excuse. Her smirk broadened as she watched him begin to sweat and his brow begin to darken.

"M-Mother..."

"Be a man and make a move!" his mother said in her loud whisper.

Shego closed her eyes as she struggled to suppress her laughter. She could see the golden sands of the resort already as she listened to Drakken's frustrated growl. And then...

The softest of pecks caused her eyes to shoot open just as Drakken's lips left her cheek. She vaguely took in his mother's delighted expression, but her face was flushing too quickly. She couldn't help but glance at Drakken and saw he was equally flustered, his eyes deep pools of worry. Unable to blink away her own unease, she turned and strode rapidly out of the lab, needing an escape.

"See, Drewbie? She likes you!"

"N-No, Mother..." Drakken's voice was weary and disturbed.

"Didn't you see the way she blushed?"

"I'm lucky she didn't blast me."

"Blast you? What do you mean?"

Their voices faded as Shego quickened her pace, the flush on her face having become a warmth spreading to every nerve ending. Why hadn't she blasted him?

The sunny beaches suddenly didn't appeal to her, and she in fact wished for a colder climate and the stereotypical 'white Christmas' to cool the fire that was swirling disturbingly within her. Lacking that, she decided a cool shower would have to do.

----------------------------------

Christmas 2006 — The Caribbean

Drakken hung back slightly as he nervously surveyed the scene in the private living area he and Shego shared in the lair. It was far from private that evening with nearly every henchman he employed being in attendance at the Christmas party before departing to spend the holidays with their families. Considering how many months of that year had been lost, spent between jail, rebuilding his favored lair, recovering his health, and finding a new relational balance with his side-kick—something he would forever be a bit concerned about—it had in fact been a decent year. Nearly all of his former henchmen had returned to work for him, and while evil had been slow, profits had still been high. He wondered how many of the men had chosen to attend the party due to the Christmas bonuses he had paid them all at the beginning of that week.

"Hey Dr. D., why don't we have a piano in here?" Shego called drunkenly across the room.

Drakken grimaced. Shego was far from the only person inebriated, but he didn't like seeing her that way. Especially considering that it was less than half a year ago that she hadn't wanted anything to do with him. She was still a wild card in his mind, and the thought made his chest ache as there was no one he had trusted more in the past. And no one he wanted to trust more, now...

About five of the henchmen had begun a rousing rendition of 'Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,' leaving Drakken wondering how many of his employees might be religious and also just how much eggnog and other spirits they had consumed to be swaying near the Christmas tree, arms wrapped around one another, and veritably pouring emotion from their souls.

'We. She said we...' Drakken mused to himself, replaying Shego's question to him in his mind. Was it a slip of the tongue? Or was she really through being angry with him over the events of the first half of the year? Did she really view them as a 'we' again, pursuing evil together... He hadn't even realized at what point he had begun to think of them that way, but it was abundantly clear that he had... And something deep inside of him desperately wanted to again.

Lacking a piano, one of the henchmen had taken matters into his own hands and grabbed the small radio Drakken kept near the TV. The staticky sounds were turned up loud, and for several seconds, strains of 'Let It Snow' from the FM conflicted with the traditional hymn the henchmen were still crooning together out of tune. Before long most of the crowd had switched over to sing along with the accompanied song, while three still clung to one another and belted out the majestic proclamation next to the tree.

Shego's cackle suddenly arrested Drakken's attention, and he watched uneasily as she downed another glass of eggnog and then perched up atop the old TV that was playing some black-and-white special. She had a good voice, he noted, as she sang along loudly... But Drakken couldn't really listen as he cast his eyes over the rest of the room to where the majority of the men, not intoxicated in the slightest, were watching her with a mixture of amusement and intrigue.

He grimaced. He knew none of them would dare act upon any secret thought in the moment... If they did they'd be blasted by Shego faster than he could terminate their contracts. But he was more concerned about the gossip that would come after the night's festivities. He took a small sip from his own brandy-laced eggnog and began mentally calculating how much he could afford to pay each of them in yet another bonus just to buy their silence over the evening.

His concentration was broken as Henchman Welch, a man who didn't drink, sidled up to him then, his eyes locked on the green-skinned woman.

"Now, Dr. Drakken..." The man's voice was sly, and Drakken frowned. "I have my limits on evil, as most of us do. But my missus always wants to know about all the goings-on here at work... And she's got a lot of friends in influential places..."

"Two-hundred," Drakken said, cutting the man off. He forced himself to breathe evenly as he stared the man down.

Welch smirked. "And can I spread that around to the rest of the boys?"

Drakken sighed internally as he nodded. "You can also tell them that the trans-dimensional vortex inducer is the alternative, if anyone thinks about asking for more."

The cold gaze he leveled at the man seemed to do the trick as Welch visibly recoiled. The henchman nodded in understanding before walking away to speak to another man leaning against the back of the sofa.

Drakken's eyes drifted back to Shego and widened suddenly as he realized she was approaching him. Henchmen parted the way for her as she moved with purpose, stepping over the coffee table only to bump into the sofa. She caught herself with her hands on its back and then beckoned him forward with one finger, a mischievous grin on her face. He felt a nervous twist in his gut as he pushed off the wall and started slowly toward her.

"Sing with me, Dr. D.!" she said merrily, reaching a hand out toward him, fingers grasping repeatedly at the air. He anxiously took in her blood-shot eyes beneath drooping eyelids, and the sway of her frame as she attempted to stand up straight. As he reached the back of the sofa he reached a hand out tentatively in response, but she ignored it as she lunged forward and took his eggnog from his other hand.

He only managed a mild sputter of protest as she downed the beverage in two quick gulps and spun around to set the empty glass on the coffee table. The henchman sitting on the sofa had backed into one corner and was smirking up devilishly at Drakken. He grimaced and wondered how quickly the word would spread of the extra incentive to keep quiet about the night...or else.

"'Should auld acquaintance be forgot~'" Shego was singing along with the radio, facing him and reaching forward with both hands this time. Drakken kept his stubbornly at his sides, but cleared his throat and sang along, to her apparent delight as she leaned across the sofa again to smile into his face as the song continued. Around them, most of the henchmen were singing too. Drakken hoped the drunken caroling would be the end limit on how far the party had escalated past the White Elephant gifts and cookies he had baked.

As the song ended Shego flopped down on the couch with an uncharacteristic giggle, her head dropping to the back of the sofa as she continued to look up at Drakken. Suddenly her eyes widened, and Drakken felt another swirl of unease as she rolled over in a very feline way that reminded him of incidents precipitated by a certain moodulator more than a year prior. Her expression was devious as she rose up to her knees on the sofa, running her fingers back through her hair to push it out of her face.

"Guess who's under the mistletoe," she said in a low voice that absolutely terrified him. Drakken barely had the chance to glance up to see the truth of it before her hands were digging into his shoulders. He gasped, and then her lips were on his in a way he had only ever felt in his wildest dreams. He stumbled and caught himself on the back of the sofa, staring without focus at her closed eyes as her arms wrapped around his neck, effectively trapping him in the surprise embrace.

The cheers and jeers of the henchmen kept him grounded to reality, and he could just see some of their faces beyond Shego's volume of hair. He rolled his eyes and felt an internal twist as he realized his bank account was about to get significantly smaller.

Shego's tongue seeking purchase between his lips suddenly set off every remaining alarm in his head, and with a great effort he pried her arms from around him and was able to push her off. He held her arms for fear of another attack as she smirked at him seductively, and for a moment he stared in stupefaction at the unexpected turn of events. Did Shego...did Shego...actually want him?

He wasn't able to go any further with that line of thought as the continued catcalls and lewd remarks from the henchmen surrounding them reminded him of the necessity to focus. He thought quickly, and as Shego began to lunge forward for another kiss, he dodged and leaned close to her ear, bringing his voice down to a whisper.

"Wait for me in my bedroom," he said.

He felt Shego tense within his grip, and then relax. He didn't dare look at her face as she slowly leaned out of his grasp, and he released her as she began walking around the sofa, stumbling slightly as she turned back toward him. Drakken stiffened as she leaned up against his side, keeping his gaze forward on the television as her gloved hand slid up the front of his lab coat.

"Don't be long," she said in a low voice. Every nerve in his body reacted in a mixture of heat and cold terror, and then she giggled again as she tripped lightly on her walk away, seemingly oblivious to the crowd around them. He glanced after her to make sure she was gone, and then looking back he jumped at the sight of too many eyes staring at him.

"F-Five hundred dollars for each of you to forget this entire night ever happened," he declared loudly, hoping his voice sounded stronger than it felt.

"Do we still get the other extra two hundred?" Welch called out.

"Yes," Drakken said with a scowl in the man's direction. "So an additional seven-hundred dollar bonus to what I already gave you, if you forget everything that occurred this evening."

A loud hum of agreement rose from the henchmen, but casting his eyes around he could see that many of the men were considering possible alternatives. He frowned.

"And if anyone gets any ideas...remember I can show Shego the security tape," he said, pointing to the camera up in the corner. The murmurs around him quieted. "She'll have very different ideas about how to ensure your silence."

The hush that fell over the room told Drakken that the threat had convinced them.

"When do we get the cash?" a man asked.

"Nnghn...I'll transfer it to each of your accounts tonight. G-Go on now, party's over!" Drakken declared.

The henchmen began filing out of the room, muttering various comments and questions amongst themselves as they went. As they left Drakken could see just how much physical damage they had done in the lair, with the amount plastic cups and empty bottles strewn about the room. Some of the decor had been disrupted as well, and he crossed the room with the intent to fix a fallen garland.

"Hey, Boss?"

Drakken glanced back to see Henchman Garth lingering in the doorway, the rest of the men having exited.

"Yes?" he ground out.

"Merry Christmas."

"...Merry Christmas."

When the man had vanished, Drakken looked back at the garland. He sighed as a great weariness suddenly hit him, and he snatched up the radio and turned it off in a hurry, slamming the device down too hard and then pressing the power button the TV with equally undue force.

He stalked back to the sofa, kicking a liquor bottle and some tinsel as he went, and after picking up one of the decorative pillows from the floor he fluffed it ineffectively and lay down. He didn't know how long it would take for the alcohol to knock Shego out, but he had no intention of being anywhere near her again until she was sober.

After a few minutes of discomfort and wondering how long he could rest before taking care of the henchmen's bribe, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes which he realized he'd been holding tightly shut. It proved to be a mistake as he found himself staring up at the mistletoe, and the memory of Shego's passionate kiss flooded back to him in a rush.

Suddenly, he was assaulted with panic as all of his mistakes in that moment became eminently clear. Why hadn't he tried to push her away immediately? Why had he told her to go to his room? If he'd said hers, he could be sleeping comfortably in his own bed that night.

As his eyes lingered on the mistletoe, his thoughts fell to the kiss again, and he replayed the events a second time. He grimaced as he thought of the words he'd used to get her out of the situation, but then...his tired and slightly-tipsy mind leapt ahead to the state she might be in, waiting for him in his bed with the thoughts he had deliberately planted.

He rolled over again, pinching his eyes tightly shut as nausea swept through him. Every year, somehow, his attempt to celebrate Christmas ended in disaster.

'Never again,' he silently vowed as he forced away all thoughts of the soft, heavenly touch of green lips.

------------------------------

Christmas 2007 — The Caribbean

Shego sat at the kitchen table, leaned back in her chair and watching Drakken's furrowed brow as he finished packing away the few pieces of Christmas decor that had survived the fire. His dog, Admiral Cuddles, was happily wagging its tail while standing at Drakken's ankles, having moved on from the disaster Shego had escalated for no reason other than her own enjoyment. And given the stress of the days that had followed the fire, she felt entirely justified in the impulsive act.

Drakken sighed as he began wrapping tape around the cardboard box of knick-knacks, his brow still furrowed as it had been for the entire two weeks it had taken to get his mother to accept his chosen lifestyle and finally depart. Shego wondered at the logic in keeping any of the decorations at all, considering most of them had been bought for farce to convince Mama Lipsky during her visit that Drakken had embraced the hero persona that the media had saddled him with after the Lorwardian incident.

As Drakken finished taping the box, Shego's own brow furrowed as she realized something.

"Drakken..."

He looked up at her and his expression cleared slightly.

"You didn't hang any mistletoe this year," she stated, a hint of question in her tone.

Drakken's brow furrowed further. "It's always been a problem..." he muttered. "Although I...don't know how it could have made things any worse this year."

Shego smirked even as her brow twisted in concern. It had been a near-solid month of chaos and crisis, the joys countered with a new disaster at nearly every turn.

Admiral Cuddles, unable to get his master's attention, turned his focus to Shego. He jumped up on her legs where they were crossed, and she glanced at the dog thoughtfully. A small push with her foot got him down, but he remained at her side with a curious expression, tail wagging expectantly.

Her eyes lingered on the dog as she considered Drakken's words. In a flash, understanding came, and her expression fell to sympathy for a moment before she peered at Drakken again.

Shego pushed herself to her feet, the nausea that had been mild that morning suddenly sweeping over her along with a wash of dizziness. She leaned against the table, and Drakken, noticing her plight, abandoned his efforts to tape the box and hurried to her side. One of his hands held her elbow for support as his other found her hip. Shego grimaced against the waves of queasiness and tried to smile as she leaned gratefully into his touch, slight though it was. She held his arm tightly with one hand while her other moved to cover her abdomen in what was starting to become a habit.

"I wanted you to kiss me," she said plainly, her gaze resting unfocused on his chest.

"What?"

"Under the mistletoe... Every Christmas. I wanted you to kiss me," she admitted, looking up at him.

Drakken's brow furrowed ever-further. "You blasted me when I kissed you that first time."

Shego shifted her weight and her smile faded slightly. "You deserved it. As my boss...you had no business kissing me like that, mistletoe or not."

Drakken looked confused. "But then...the next two years..."

"You ran away when we were at the North Pole," she accused. "And then we had to fly all night in the snow to get back here. You should have just sucked it up and kissed me. I still don't get why you didn't."

Drakken's face morphed to anger and he snarled. "Because James Possible was just out to mock me! He wanted me to try to steal a kiss and then get blasted, just like what happened back in college when...when I got punched for trying it."

Shego's brow rose, and her expression became thoughtful.

"So...the next year when your mother was at the lair, and you kissed my cheek..."

"I just wanted to appease her, I— Wait... You...wanted me to kiss you?"

His eyes had grown wide with incredulity. Shego shrugged.

"Yeah. After seeing what a good kisser you were that first time... If I was ready for it, it could have been fun. But when your mother showed up uninvited...I was kind of just trying to make you uncomfortable."

Drakken frowned. "Why?"

Shego glanced away. "Little bit of revenge for running away the year before... And also for not kissing me back when Bortel's device was affecting me."

Drakken gawped at her. "That— You... But that would have been unethical!"

"Says the man who just spent two weeks convincing his mother why he's going to keep on being a villain," she said with a smirk.

Drakken growled slightly and looked away, his fingers pressing into her hip.

Shego took a step, guiding him to lean back against the kitchen counter where she leaned into him. Her arms rested around his neck as his settled around her waist, and she relished in the familiar feel of his fingers pressing gently into her flesh.

"I know you hung mistletoe last year but... I guess me getting drunk ruined that," she said, her face falling slightly. "I'd been thinking about a kiss ever since you decorated that week."

Drakken glanced away nervously. "Actually, ah..."

Shego raised a curious brow.

"We did kiss last year."

"We did...?" Shego asked. "But you said...I just passed out," she recalled, her brow furrowing even as her cheeks colored at the memory. Despite the very rational explanation he'd given her at the time, she would never forget how disturbing it had been to wake up naked and alone in her boss's bed with a hangover.

"B-Before that..." Drakken admitted. "You kissed me...in front of all the henchmen. I...sent you to my room to get you out of there, and then paid them for their silence."

Shego tried to remember, but her memories of that Christmas aside from waking up consisted only of a lot of alcohol and bad singing.

"The whole thing...kind of put me off of mistletoe," Drakken concluded, his voice having tensed as he clearly recalled events from the past Christmas differently than she did.

Shego leaned into Drakken more heavily as another wave of nausea hit her. His face fell to worry as he held her closer, but she looked up at him with a soft smile.

"Wish you'd hung it again this year..." she said thoughtfully. "We could have redeemed the past four years."

Drakken's brow furrowed in regret, but then he suddenly gasped and jumped slightly, forcing Shego to step out of his embrace. She understood soon enough as she saw the typically-suppressed vine mutation slither out from behind his neck. At their feet, Admiral Cuddles barked threateningly at the invader whilst backing away under the table in confusion.

"We haven't been doing your injections," Shego stated the obvious, one hand still on her abdomen as she braced herself against the table with the other.

"What's the point..." Drakken said with a heavy sigh. "It's never going to go away. It's too strong."

The discussion was halted before it could begin as they both stared in curiosity at the vine. The pink flower that guided it had pulled open the door of the refrigerator and was presently snaking inside.

"What, now it needs food too instead of just water and sunlight?" Shego quipped, though her brow had begun to twist in worry.

They were both left astonished when the pink flower emerged, a piece of parsley wrapped between a small coil of the vine, and then it moved to hover and dangle the parsley a couple of feet above Drakken's head. Shego looked between the plant and her husband-to-be's face as he peered up at the herb. His expression was unreadable. Shego pushed off the table and approached him again.

"So...you say this thing operates off of what your subconscious wants?" she asked with a smirk.

Drakken's only response was to roll his eyes and grumble, but his hands moved around her waist again as she snuggled against his chest. She struggled to withhold a hiss as greater nausea struck her, and Drakken held her tighter as his brow furrowed briefly in worry. But he shifted and she leaned away slightly to let one of his hands cover her abdomen. His expression had fallen into a soft smile, his eyes brimming with joy. Despite herself, she still blushed as she set one of her hands over his. She wondered when the awe over their baby growing inside her would fade, or if it ever would.

She smiled up at him and then glanced higher to where the vine was holding the parsley a bit lower. She smirked even as the flush in her cheeks intensified.

"Merry Christmas, Drakken," she whispered.

He brought his forehead down to rest lightly on hers, and the happiness in his eyes caused her entire being to flood with warmth.

"Merry Christmas, Shego," he answered softly. And they moved slowly in unison until finally their lips met in a long-awaited, loving, and picture-perfect kiss.

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96harmony96 · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 6

Hey, Dad. I caught you.” I adjusted my grip on the phone receiver and pulled up a stool at the breakfast bar. I missed my father. For the last four years we’d lived close enough to see each other at least once a week. Now his home in Oceanside was the entire country away. “How are you?”

He lowered the volume on the television. “Better, now that you’ve called. How was your first week at work?”

I went over my days from Monday through Friday, skipping over all the Lauren parts. “I really like my boss, Mark,” I finished. “And the vibe of the agency is very energetic and kind of quirky. I’m happy going to work every day, and I’m bummed when it’s time to go home.”

“I hope it stays that way. But you need to make sure you have some downtime, too. Go out, be young, have fun. But not too much fun.”

“Yeah, I had a little too much last night. Cary and I went clubbing, and I woke up with a mean hangover.”

“Shit, don’t tell me that.” He groaned. “Some nights I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about you in New York. I get through it by telling myself you’re too smart to take chances, thanks to two parents who’ve drilled safety rules into your DNA.”

“Which is true,” I said, laughing. “That reminds me…I’m going to start Krav Maga training.”

“Really?” There was a thoughtful pause. “One of the guys on the force is big on it. Maybe I’ll check it out and we can compare notes when I come out to visit you.”

“You’re coming to New York?” I couldn’t hide my excitement. “Oh, Dad, I’d love it if you would. As much as I miss SoCal, Manhattan is really awesome. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’d like anyplace in the world as long as you’re there.” He waited a beat, then asked, “How’s your mom?”

“Well…she’s Mom. Beautiful, charming, and obsessive-compulsive.”

My chest hurt and I rubbed at it. I thought my dad might still love my mom. He’d never married. That was one of the reasons I never told him about what happened to me. As a cop, he would’ve insisted on pressing charges and the scandal would have destroyed my mother. I also worried that he’d lose respect for her or even blame her, and it hadn’t been her fault. As soon as she’d found out what her stepson was doing to me, she’d left a husband she was happy with and filed for divorce.

I kept talking, waving at Cary as he came rushing in with a little blue Tiffany & Co. bag. “We had a spa day today. It was a fun way to cap off the week.”

I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I’m glad you two are managing to spend time together. What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?”

I hedged on the subject of the charity event, knowing the whole red carpet business and astronomically-priced dinner seats would just highlight the gap between my parents’ lives. “Cary and I are going out to eat, and then I plan on staying in tomorrow. Sleeping in late, hanging out in my pajamas all day, maybe some movies and food delivery of some sort. A little vegetating before a new work week kicks off.”

“Sounds like heaven to me. I may copy you when my next day off rolls around.”

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was creeping past six. “I have to get ready now. Be careful at work, okay? I worry about you, too.”

“Will do. Bye, baby.”

The familiar sign-off had me missing him so much my throat hurt. “Oh, wait! I’m getting a new cell phone. I’ll text you the number as soon as I have it.”

“Again? You just got a new one when you moved.”

“Long, boring story.”

“Hmm…Don’t put it off. They’re good for safety as well as playing Angry Birds.”

“I’m over that game!” I laughed and warmth spread through me to hear him laughing, too. “I’ll call you in a few days. Be good.”

“That’s my line.”

We hung up. I sat for a few moments in the ensuing silence, feeling like everything was right in my world, which never lasted long. I brooded on that for minute; then Cary cranked up Hinder on his bedroom stereo and that kicked my butt into gear.

I hurried to my room to get ready for a night with Lauren.

“Necklace or no necklace?” I asked Cary, when he came into my bedroom looking seriously amazing. Dressed in his new Brioni tux, he was both debonair and dashing, and certain to attract attention.

“Hmm.” His head tilted to the side as he studied me. “Hold it up again.”

I lifted the choker of gold coins to my throat. The dress my mom had sent was fire engine red and styled for a Grecian goddess. It hung on one shoulder, cut diagonally across my cleavage, had ruching to the hip, and then split at my right upper thigh all the way down my leg. There was no back to speak of, aside from a slender strip of rhinestones that connected one side to the other to keep the front from falling off. Otherwise, the back was bared to just above the crack of my buttocks in a racy V-cut.

“Forget the necklace,” he said. “I was leaning toward gold chandeliers, but now I’m thinking diamond hoops. The biggest ones you’ve got.”

“What? Really?” I frowned at our reflections in my cheval mirror, watching as he moved to my jewelry box and dug through it.

“These.” He brought them to me and I eyed the two-inch hoops my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday. “Trust me, Camila. Try ’em on.”

I did and found he was right. It was a very different look from the gold choker, less glam and more edgy sensuality. And the earrings went well with the diamond anklet on my right leg that I’d never think of the same way again after Lauren’s comment. With my hair swept off my face into a cascade of thick, deliberately messy curls, I had a just-screwed look that was complemented by smoky eye shadow and glossy nude lips.

“What would I do without you, Cary Taylor?”

“Baby girl”—he set his hands on my shoulders and pressed his cheek to mine—“you’ll never find out.”

“You look awesome, by the way.”

“Don’t I?” He winked and stepped back, showing off.

In his own way, Cary could give Lauren a run for her money…er, looks. Cary was more finely featured, almost pretty compared to Lauren’s savage beauty, but both were striking people that made you look twice, and then stare in greedy delight.

Cary hadn’t been quite so perfect when I met him. He’d been strung out and gaunt, his emerald eyes cloudy and lost. But I’d been drawn to him, going out of my way to sit next to him in group therapy. He’d finally propositioned me crudely, having come to believe the only reason people associated with him was because they wanted to fuck him. It was when I declined, firmly and irrevocably, that we finally connected and became best friends. He was the brother I’d never had.

The intercom buzzed and I jumped, making me realize how nervous I was. I looked at Cary. “I forgot to tell the front desk she was coming back.”

“I’ll get her.”

“Are you going to be okay riding over with Stanton and my mom?”

“Are you kidding? They love me.” His smile dimmed. “Having second thoughts about going with Jauregui?”

I took a deep breath, remembering where I’d been earlier—on my back in a multi-orgasmic daze. “Not really, no. It’s just that everything’s happening so fast and going better than I expected or realized I wanted…”

“You’re wondering what the catch is.” Reaching out, he tapped my nose with his fingertip. “she’s the catch, Camila. And you landed her. Enjoy yourself.”

“I’m trying.” I was grateful that Cary understood me and the way my mind worked. It was just so easy being with him, knowing he could fill in the blanks when I couldn’t explain something.

“I researched the hell out of her this morning and printed out the interesting recent stuff. It’s on your desk, if you decide you want to check it out.”

I remembered him printing something before we got ready for the spa. Pushing onto my tiptoes, I kissed his cheek. “You’re the best. I love you.”

“Back atcha, baby girl.” He headed out. “I’ll head down to the front desk and bring her up. Take your time. she’s ten minutes early.”

Smiling, I watched him saunter into the hallway. The door had closed behind him when I moved into the small sitting room attached to my bedroom. On the very impractical escritoire my mother had picked out, I found a folder filled with articles and printed images. I settled into the chair and got lost in Lauren Jauregui's history.

It was like watching a train wreck to read that she was the Daughter of Geoffrey Jauregui, former chairman of an investment securities firm later found to be a front for a massive Ponzi scheme. Lauren was just five years old when her dad committed suicide with a gunshot to the head rather than face prison time.

Oh, Lauren. I tried to picture her that young and imagined a handsome dark-haired girl with beautiful green eyes filled with terrible confusion and sadness. The image broke my heart. How devastating her father’s suicide—and the circumstances around it—must have been, for both her and her mother. The stress and strain at such a difficult time would’ve been enormous, especially for a child of that age.

Her mother went on to marry Christopher Vidal, a music executive, and had two more children, Christopher Vidal Jr. and Ireland Vidal, but it seemed a larger family and financial security had come too late to help Lauren stabilize after such a huge shakeup. she was too closed off not to bear some painful emotional scars.

With a critical and curious eye, I studied the women who’d been photographed with Lauren and thought about her approach to dating, socializing, and sex. I saw that my mom had been right—they were all blondes. The woman who appeared with her most often bore the hallmarks of a KaKasian heritage. she was taller than me, willowy rather than curvy.

“Magdalene Perez,” I murmured, grudgingly admitting that she was a stunner. Her posture had the kind of flamboyant confidence that I admired.

“Okay, it’s been long enough,” Cary interrupted with a soft note of amusement. He filled the doorway to my sitting room, leaning insolently into the doorjamb.

“Really?” I’d been so absorbed; I hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

“I would guess you’re about a minute away from her coming to find you. she’s barely restraining herself.”

I shut the folder and stood.

“Interesting reading, isn’t it?”

“Very.” How had lauren’s father—or more specifically, her father’s suicide—influenced her life?

I knew all the answers I wanted were waiting for me in the next room.

Leaving my bedroom, I took the hallway to the living room. I paused on the threshold, my gaze riveted to lauren’s back as she stood in front of the windows and looked out at the city. My heart rate kicked up. Her reflection revealed a contemplative mood. Her gaze was unfocused and her mouth grim. Her crossed arms betrayed an inherent unease, as if she was out of her element. she looked remote and removed, a woman who was inherently alone.

she sensed my presence or maybe he felt my yearning. she pivoted; then went very still. I took the opportunity to drink her in, my gaze sliding all over her. she looked every inch the powerful magnate. So sensually handsome my eyes burned just from looking at her. The rakish fall of black hair around her face made my fingers flex with the urge to touch it. And the way she looked at me…my pulse leaped.

“Camila.” she came toward me, her stride graceful and strong. she caught up my hand and lifted it to her mouth. Her gaze was intense—intensely hot, intensely focused.

The feel of her lips against my skin sent goose bumps racing up my arm and stirred memories of that sinful mouth on other parts of my body. I was instantly aroused. “Hi.”

Amusement warmed her eyes. “Hi, yourself. You look amazing. I can’t wait to show you off.”

I breathed through the delight I felt at the compliment. “Let’s hope I can do you justice.”

A slight frown knit the space between her brows. “Do you have everything you need?”

Cary appeared beside me, carrying my black velvet shawl and opera length gloves. “Here you go. I tucked your gloss into your clutch.”

“You’re the best, Cary.”

He winked at me—which told me he’d seen the condoms I had tucked into the small interior pocket. “I’ll head down with you two.”

Lauren took the shawl from Cary and draped it over my shoulders. she pulled my hair out from underneath it and the feel of her hands at my neck so distracted me, I barely paid attention when Cary pushed my gloves into my hands.

The elevator ride to the lobby was an exercise in surviving acute sexual tension. Not that Cary seemed to notice. He was on my left with both hands in his pockets, whistling. Lauren, on the other hand, was a tremendous force on the other side of me. Although ahe didn’t move or make a sound, I could feel the edgy energy radiating from her. My skin tingled from the magnetic pull between us, and my breath came short and fast. I was relieved when the doors opened and freed us from the enclosed space.

Two women stood waiting to get on. Their jaws dropped when they saw Lauren and Cary, and that lightened my mood and made me smile.

“Ladies,” Cary greeted them, with a smile that really wasn’t fair. I could almost see their brain cells misfiring.

In contrast, Lauren gave a curt nod and led me out with a hand at the small of my back, skin to skin. The contact was electric, sending heat pouring through me.

I squeezed Cary’s hand. “Save a dance for me.”

“Always. See you in a bit.”

A limousine was waiting at the curb, and the driver opened the door when Lauren and I stepped outside. I slid across the bench seat to the opposite side and adjusted my gown. When Lauren settled beside me and the door shut, I became highly conscious of how good she smelled. I breathed her in, telling myself to relax and enjoy her company. she took my hand and ran her fingertips over the palm, the simple touch sparking a fierce lust. I shrugged off my shawl, feeling too hot to wear it.

“Camila.” she hit a button and the privacy glass behind the driver began to slide up. The next moment I was tugged across her lap and her mouth was on mine, kissing me fiercely.

I did what I’d wanted to do since I saw hee in my living room: I shoved my hands in her hair and kissed her back. I loved the way she kissed me, as if she had to, as if she’d go crazy if she didn’t and had nearly waited too long. I sucked on her tongue, having learned how much she liked it, having learned how much I liked it, how much it made me want to suck her elsewhere with the same eagerness.

Her hands were sliding over my bare back and I moaned, feeling the prod of her erection against my hip. I shifted, moving to straddle her, shoving the skirt of my gown out of the way and making a mental note to thank my mom for the dress—which had such a convenient slit. With my knees on either side of her hips, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and deepened the kiss. I licked into her mouth, nibbled on her lower lip, stroked my tongue along her…

Lauren gripped my waist and pushed me away. she leaned into the seat back, her neck arched to look up at my face, her chest heaving. “What are you doing to me?”

I ran my hands down her chest through her dress shirt, feeling the unforgiving hardness of her muscles. My fingers traced the ridges of her abdomen, my mind forming a picture of how she might look naked. “I’m touching you. Enjoying the hell out of you. I want you, Lauren.”

she caught my wrists, stilling my movements. “Later. We’re in the middle of Manhattan.”

“No one can see us.”

“That’s not the point. It’s not the time or place to start something we can’t finish for hours. I’m losing my mind already from this afternoon.”

“So let’s make sure we finish it now.”

Her grip tightened painfully. “We can’t do that here.”

“Why not?” Then a surprising thought struck me. “Haven’t you ever had sex in a limo?”

“No.” Her jaw hardened. “Have you?”

Looking away without answering, I saw the traffic and pedestrians surging around us. We were only inches away from hundreds of people, but the dark glass concealed us and made me feel reckless. I wanted to please her. I wanted to know I was capable of reaching into Lauren Jauregui, and there was nothing to stop me but her.

I rocked my hips against her, stroking myself with the hard length of her cock. Her breath hissed out between clenched teeth.

“I need you, Lauren,” I said breathlessly, inhaling her scent, which was richer now that she was aroused. I thought I might be slightly intoxicated, just from the enticing smell of her skin. “You drive me crazy.”

she released my wrists and cupped my face, her lips pressing hard against mine. I reached for the fly of her slacks, freeing the two buttons to access the concealed zipper. she tensed.

“I need this,” I whispered against her lips. “Give me this.”

she didn’t relax, but she made no further attempts to stop me either. When she fell heavily into my palms, she groaned, the sound both pained and erotic. I squeezed her gently, my touch deliberately tender as I sized her with my hands. she was so hard, like stone, and hot. I slid both of my fists up her length from root to tip, my breath catching when she quivered beneath me.

Lauren gripped my thighs, her hands sliding upward beneath the edges of my dress until her thumbs found the red lace of my thong. “Your cunt is so sweet,” she murmured into my mouth. “I want to spread you out and lick you ’til you beg for my cock.”

“I’ll beg now, if you want.” I stroked her with one hand and reached for my clutch with the other, snapping it open to grab a condom.

One of her thumbs slid beneath the edge of my panties, the pad sliding through the slickness of my desire. “I’ve barely touched you,” she whispered, her eyes glittering up at me in the shadows of the backseat, “and you’re ready for me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I don’t want you to help it.” she pushed her thumb inside me, biting her lower lip when I clenched helplessly around her. “It wouldn’t be fair when I can’t stop what you do to me.”

I ripped the foil packet open with my teeth and held it out to her with the ring of the condom protruding from the tear. “I’m not good with these.”

Her hand curled around mine. “I’m breaking all my rules with you.”

The seriousness of her low tone sent a burst of warmth and confidence through me. “Rules are made to be broken.”

I saw her teeth flash white; then she hit a button on the panel beside him and said, “Drive until I say otherwise.”

My cheeks heated. Another car’s headlights pierced the dark tinted glass and slid over my face, betraying my embarrassment.

“Why, Camila,” she purred, rolling the condom on deftly. “You’ve seduced me into having sex in my limousine, but blush when I tell my driver I don’t want to be interrupted while you do it to me?”

Her sudden playfulness made me desperate to have her. Setting my hands on her shoulders for balance, I lifted onto my knees, rising to gain the height I needed to hover over the crown of Laurens thick cock. Her hands fisted at my hips and I heard a snap as she tore my panties away. The abrupt sound and the violent action behind it spurred my desire to a fever pitch.

“Go slow,” she ordered hoarsely, lifting her hips to push her pants down farther.

Her erection brushed between my legs as she moved and I whimpered, so aching and empty, as if the orgasms she’d given me earlier had only deepened my craving rather than appeased it.

she tensed when I wrapped my fingers around her and positioned her, tucking the wide crest against the saturated folds of my cleft. The scent of our lust was heavy and humid in the air, a seductive mix of need and pheromones that awakened every cell in my body. My skin was flushed and tingling, my breasts heavy and tender.

This is what I’d wanted from the moment I first saw her—to possess her, to climb up her magnificent body and take her deep inside me.

“God. Camila,” she gasped as I lowered onto her, her hands flexing restlessly on my thighs.

I closed my eyes, feeling too exposed. I’d wanted intimacy with her and yet this seemed too intimate. We were eye-to-eye, only inches apart, cocooned in a small space with the rest of the world streaming by around us. I could sense his agitation, knew she was feeling as off-center as I was.

“You’re so tight.” Her gasped words were threaded with a hint of delicious agony.

I took more of her, letting her slide deeper. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling exquisitely stretched. “You’re so big.”

Pressing her palm flat to my lower belly, she touched my throbbing clit with the pad of her thumb and began to massage it in slow, expertly soft circles. Everything in my core tightened and clenched, sucking her deeper. Opening my eyes, I looked at her from under heavy eyelids. she was so beautiful sprawled beneath me in her elegant tuxedo, her powerful body straining with the primal need to mate.

Her neck arched, her head pressing hard into the seatback as if she was struggling against invisible bonds. “Ah, Christ,” she bit out, her teeth grinding. “I’m going to come so hard.”

The dark promise excited me. Sweat misted my skin. I became so wet and hot that I slid smoothly down the length of her cock until I’d nearly sheathed her. A breathless cry escaped me before I’d taken her to the root. she was so deep I could hardly stand it, forcing me to shift from side to side, trying to ease the unexpected bite of discomfort. But my body didn’t seem to care that she was too big. It was rippling around her, squeezing, trembling on the verge of orgasm.

Lauren cursed and gripped my hip with her free hand, urging me to lean backward as her chest heaved with frantic breaths. The position altered my descent and I opened, accepting all of her. Immediately her body temperature rose, her torso radiating sultry heat through her clothes. Sweat dotted her upper lip.

Leaning forward, I slid my tongue along the sculpted curve, collecting the saltiness with a low murmur of delight. Her hips churned impatiently. I lifted carefully, sliding up a few inches before she stopped me with that ferocious grasp on my hip.

“Slow,” she warned again, with an authoritative bite that sent lust pulsing through me.

I lowered, taking her into me again, feeling an oddly luscious soreness as she pushed just past my limits. Our eyes locked on each other as the pleasure spread from the place where we connected. It struck me then that we were both fully clothed except for the most private and intimate parts of our bodies. I found that excruciatingly carnal, as were the sounds she made, as if the pleasure was as extreme for her as it was for me.

Wild for her, I pressed my mouth to her, my fingers gripping the sweat-damp roots of her hair. I kissed her as I rocked my hips, riding the maddening circling of her thumb, feeling the orgasm building with every slide of her long, thick penis into my melting core.

I lost my mind somewhere along the way, primitive instinct taking over until my body was completely in charge. I could focus on nothing but the driving urge to fuck, the ferocious need to ride her cock until the tension burst and set me free of this grinding hunger.

“It’s so good,” I sobbed, lost to her. “You feel…Ah, God, it’s too good.”

Using both hands, Lauren commanded my rhythm, tilting me into an angle that had the big crown of her cock rubbing a tender, aching spot inside me. As I tightened and shook, I realized I was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of her inside me. “Lauren.”

she captured me by the nape as the orgasm exploded through me, starting with the ecstatic spasms of my core and radiating outward until I was trembling all over. she watched me fall apart, holding my gaze when I would’ve closed my eyes. Possessed by her stare, I moaned and came harder than I ever had, my body jerking with every pulse of pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she growled, pounding her hips up at me, yanking my hips down to meet her punishing lunges. she hit the end of me with every deep thrust, battering into me. I could feel her growing harder and thicker.

I watched her avidly, needing to see it when she went over the edge for me. Her eyes were wild with her need, losing their focus as her control frayed, her gorgeous face ravaged by the brutal race to climax.

“Camila!” she came with an animal sound of feral ecstasy, a snarling release that riveted me with its ferocity. she shook as the orgasm tore into her, her features softening for an instant with an unexpected vulnerability.

Cupping her face, I brushed my lips across her, comforting her as the forceful bursts of her gasping breaths struck my cheeks.

“Camila.” she wrapped her arms around me and crushed me to her, pressing her damp face into the curve of my neck.

I knew just how she felt. Stripped. Laid bare.

We stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, absorbing the aftershocks. she turned her head and kissed me softly, the strokes of her tongue into my mouth soothing my ragged emotions.

“Wow,” I breathed, shaken.

Her mouth twitched. “Yeah.”

I smiled, feeling dazed and high.

Lauren brushed the damp tendrils of hair off my temples, her fingertips gliding almost reverently across my face. The way she studied me made my chest hurt. she looked stunned and…grateful, her eyes warm and tender. “I don’t want to break this moment.”

Because I could hear it hanging in the air, I filled it in. “But…?”

“But I can’t blow off this dinner. I have a speech to give.”

“Oh.” The moment was effectively broken.

I lifted gingerly off of her, biting my lip at the feel of her slipping wetly out of me. The friction was enough to make me want more. she’d barely softened.

“Damn it,” she said roughly. “I want you again.”

she caught me before I moved away, pulling a handkerchief out from somewhere and running it gently between my legs. It was a deeply intimate act, on par with the sex we’d just had.

When I was dry, I settled on the seat beside her and dug my lip gloss out of my clutch. I watched Lauren over the edge of my mirrored compact as she removed the condom and tied it off. she wrapped it in a cocktail napkin; then tossed it in a cleverly hidden trash receptacle. After restoring her appearance, she told the driver to head to our destination. Then she settled into the seat and stared out the window.

With every second that passed, I felt her withdrawing, the connection between us slipping further and further away. I found myself shrinking into the corner of the seat, away from her, mimicking the distance I felt building between us. All the warmth I’d felt receded into a marked chill, cooling me enough that I pulled my shawl around me again. she didn’t move a muscle as I shifted beside her and put my compact away, as if she wasn’t even aware I was there.

Abruptly, Lauren opened the bar and pulled out a bottle. Without looking at me, she asked, “Brandy?”

“No, thank you.” My voice was small, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she didn’t care. she poured a drink and tossed it back.

Confused and stung, I pulled on my gloves and tried to figure out what went wrong.

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