#and then i suffer the consequences of them acting like a couple in front of me

[na0koz]

To off set the happiness I wanted to ask what would happen if reader got together with someone else, or showed more interest in them than Jinx. Even with Jinx trying to stop it

Or another thought would be what if reader liked Vi more than Jinx 🏃

wait ur lowk a genius nonnie. reader liking vi more than her would actually like set her off to 10000%. kinda stole that scene from season 1 episode 9 with jinx’s tea party lol.

toxic!jinx masterlist

VERY DARK!! just block me if you don’t like it.

cw: jinx breaking in, implied kidnapping, use of guns, jinx is just insane, f!reader

since you met jinx’s family, you’ve been round the family home for dinner a couple more times. in one of those times, vi managed to get your instagram. probably while jinx was out of the room to save her ripping vi’s arms off.

ever since that day, you’ve been messaging vi a lot on instagram. however, you were very careful not to have jinx find out. you knew she wouldn’t like it, but you can’t help it when vi just gets you.

a month or two passes, and you’ve grown close to vi. it’s probably not the best idea you’ve had, given how jinx acts about you getting close to people she doesn’t know. somehow you think she’d be even worse if she found out how close you had gotten to her sister.

one day, you’re not answering the stream of texts jinx has sent you. she may have only sent them a few minutes ago but over time you’ve become the fastest replier in the game. something was up. she instinctively checks your location. a bar? you don’t drink, what could you possibly be doing there? cheating, jinx thinks.

it’s not that she doesn’t trust you, she’s just paranoid. she needs you all to herself, completely.

she grabs a jacket and starts to head to the bar almost immediately.

she glances around once she’s inside, looking for any sign of you. it was simple. she just had to grab you and act like there was some sort of emergency and you had to leave, while simultaneously taking note of whoever you were with.

she finally notices you, and to jinx’s absolute horror, you’re standing suspiciously close to her dickhead of a sister. she knew vi was a piece of shit, a sleaze at best, especially after her and her ex broke things off, but this really takes the cake.

a surprise to everyone, you especially if you knew she was there, jinx leaves. she’s too angry to think straight but she knows one thing, she needs to be alone when she’s like this. for the benefit of anyone who might cross her.

the night lingers on and you continue having fun with vi, unbeknownst to both of you, jinx was crafting her cruelest plan yet.

-

jinx manages to act normal for the following couple of weeks, despite her literally wanting to kill her sister and have you watch.

until finally, it was time to make the both of you suffer the consequences of your actions.

the first step was breaking into your apartment, that was easy. she had the key she made herself a few months into your relationship and she was no stranger to popping by when you were asleep to check on you. she didn’t really class it as ‘breaking in’ though, since she has a key that unlocks the door. sometimes jinx wonders to herself if she is actually sick in the head, but she chalks up her actions to her love for you.

next, jinx had to set up for her plan. she dragged a chair from your dining table into the middle of your apartment, the open space between the kitchen and the living room. she laid out a couple of other items by the chair, but she’ll get to those later.

what’s left was done in a haze of anger. of revenge. now all she had to do was wait for you to come home.

she was sat on the counter, swinging her legs when she hears the lock click in your front door. here goes.

you see jinx first, setting your bag down and kicking off your shoes. “oh, hey baby.” you notice the glint in her eye, the one you see when she’s angry.

“are.. you okay?”

jinx says nothing, just glancing behind her to the chair she had setup earlier. you follow her gaze and gasp when you finally see what she’s done.

vi bound to the chair by the same turquoise rope jinx had used on you so many times, in situations you could say were the complete opposite to the one you had just got into.

instinctively, you start to rush towards vi, until you feel something cold on your arm stopping you. you look to jinx and see her arm outstretched in front of you. clutched in her hand was a gun.

your eyes widened. you knew she had knives but not a gun. when you thought about it though, it wasn’t too surprising. you realise how you’ve kind of just ignored how fucked up she is.

“jinx. it’s.. you need to calm down,” you try your best to hide the tremble in your voice. anything to try and spare your, vi’s, all of your lives.

jinx lowers her arm and hops off the counter. she paces slowly between you, rooted to the spot, and vi, breathing heavily in the chair she was tied to.

“i am calm. you guys are the ones that need to calm down.” she definitely does not sound calm. her eyes are wide and hands trembling, she’s manic.

vi makes eye contact with you, you can see she’s just as surprised as you. i mean, it’s probably a good thing this hasn’t happened before, right?

jinx stops in front of you and gently takes her hand. her hands are warm, soft. feels strange given the situation. she pulls you closer to vi, closer, closer, until the three of you can feel each other’s breath on your faces.

you see the glint of the gun in between your faces. your breath shakes as it sways towards you, to vi, to jinx.

“i wonder.. who deserves this the most?” jinx mused, as if she was talking to herself.

“you see, there’s one bullet in here, and i don’t know who’s gonna get it.”

tears fall from your eyes now. you regret dismissing how crazy jinx is, and roping vi, her own sister, into this mess.

the gun swings back to you and you hear jinx click off the safety, the metal grinding. her hands are trembling, from adrenaline no doubt. she’s enjoying this. her finger crawls its way to the trigger, and she pulls back, agonisingly slow.

your eyes squeeze shut, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sob. after what feels like hours, the trigger ticks. silence. are you dead? you can’t even hear vi’s breathing.

“ah.” jinx’s voice pierces your eardrums. you’re alive.

your knees buckle, but jinx doesn’t let you fall. she catches you and holds you up with surprising force. you glance at her and through the blur of your tears, she’s smiling.

“looks like it’s either me or you, sis,” she laughs while tapping vi on the chest with the barrel.

she turns to you. “who should go first? whoever you like the most, up to you.”

so that’s what this is about. jinx has got jealous before, never to this extent though.

you beg her to stop over and over, barely able to get your words out as tears fall down your cheeks. pleading, you reach up to jinx’s face with violently shaking hands, trying anything to get her to stop.

she swats your hand away with the gun, causing you to gasp and cry harder. you have to use every cell in your body not to scream.

“choose one of us,” she orders.

you literally cannot speak now, you’re hyperventilating while looking between the two sisters. vi looks equally as scared as you do. she hasn’t said a word.

“mkay. we’ll go with violet here since you like her so much.” the gun moves to vi’s jaw. jinx’s finger flexes on the trigger. she flashes a grin at you, she’s not done yet though.

the sound of the trigger being pulled rings through your apartment. nothing. vi is alive, letting out a loud breath and she slumps down in the chair, as much as the rope restraining her will allow.

“uh ohh..” jinx practically sings. “my turn. we all know what that means.”

she brings the gun under her own jaw. the truth is, there aren’t any bullets in the gun. she knows that. she just needs to scare both of you as much as she can. of course she doesn’t actually want to hurt you.

she pulls the trigger faster than expected. you cry out, this time jinx lets you fall to your knees.

again, nothing.

jinx lets her head flop down, looking between you and vi with low eyes.

“i was just messin’ with you guys! there ain’t any bullets in here. wouldn’t actually kill ya,” she’s laughing. after all this she’s laughing.

“you,” she prods vi in the chest with one pale finger. “you can stay away from her.”

she crouches to your level on the floor. “and you can stop givin’ me reasons to do shit like this. mkay baby?”

you weakly nod. you just need this to be over.

“great! see you later, love ya.” she pecks your forehead before skipping out of your apartment.

she leaves everything behind. the gun, vi still in the chair, you sobbing.

what. the. fuck.

[milestonekestrel]

I want to hear more about your interpretation/ version of Addair because he is very interesting to me and for some reason I have grown attached to him........ I hate him so much and I want him to suffer because I like him a lot... ya know

OOH OK!!

Addair. I love this guy. I have a lot of thoughts about him lets see...

(cw for abuse)

Well, I´ve already talked about my family headcanons for the guy. But basically, his father and mother never really loved each other. They were kind of a ¨make each other worse¨ kind of couple. His father was an abusive prick and his mother a bystander. She was barely there, for Addair.. for life. They divorced after things got.. really bad (his mother was hospitalized), and his father got custody. His mother remained a bystander.

Addair grew up mostly underneath his father. He learned to follow orders or get hurt. He learned this from his father. He learned everything from his father. He didn’t get out of the situation until 17, and his father never really left him.

On the rig, you really don´t get a good introduction to the guy. There was an Addair post I remember, about how many people don´t spend long enough looking into him. They see the National Front poster (which is.. I mean yeah tbf it´s not great) and decide ¨well fuck this guy.¨ I don´t, by any means, think he´s a great guy. But, I do think he´s a human. You see, he has an interesting way of looking at his childhood trauma. in that he.. doesn´t. He just thinks that everything´s going to be fine now. Willful ignorance turns into blindness, and this is why he sits alone. There are parts of his father that never leave him. Seventeen years of conforming and following orders, seventeen years of conditioning don´t exactly just disappear. But Addair thinks it will. He thinks that making a vow to not be like his father is enough. and. boom. trauma solved.

and on some level he knows, he knows he has built a dam out of paper. This is why he acts the way he does. he can´t handle criticism of himself because its true. Because he wants to be right because going back to those seventeen years is painful. going back to those seventeen years is too painful. He has kids now. he has a family. he wants to be good for them. he wants to be a better man for them. and on some level, he is. He is a loving father. But it is almost like a disguise. it is the dam, and the dam is made of paper, and things are always getting through. So he lashes out, he can´t take jokes, and he is, frankly, a terribly mean person. On the rig, he has no family to be better for. He loses connection with that, a little bit. and he misses them and that makes it worse.

He´s been on the rig so long, isolated and angry. and it´s only getting worse, and he’s miserable and looking for someone to blame.

Enter Caz. Caz is an inexperienced man who manages to win the crew over quickly. Roy likes him, and most of the crew like Roy, so they like Caz too. Caz has never worked on a rig before, and Addair knows this. And yet, and yet he is so popular. With the crew. Even Rennick admits he respects him. So Addair takes it all out on him! He hates that man, so much, and not even for a good reason. He hates Caz so much that when he is in danger of drowning, actual, mortal danger, Addair can’t let it go. He can’t let that pettiness go. And he’s damn lucky Brodie and Douglas were there, because maybe he could tell himself he would be okay if Caz had died. Hell, maybe he can tell himself Caz should’ve died. But Caz didn’t. Addair doesn’t truly know what it would’ve been like if Caz had. If he came up dead, or worse, not at all. It's easy to say things, but the situation is not real to him, and thus he can´t accurately judge his reactions. It's easy to do things, like walk away, when you've no frame of reference for consequences or aftermath. Maybe he's a prick, and maybe he hates Caz, and maybe he wouldn't lose sleep over it or anything. But he's not going to feel right about it. 

But Caz lives. And Addair gets to keep being angry. And the anger is what makes him so violent. He's not just angry. As a human, he's confused, miserable, and he misses his family. (he misses them very much, and yet he works through the holidays. And yet he barely calls them. And in this way he is like his mother) But he's angry, too. And he´s fucking furious when he´s infected. And that's why he's so violent. 

And that’s why he throws himself in front of the flare at the stack. Because he’s so angry. Because he wants to hurt Caz. 

And that’s why he falls off the stack into the ocean. And that’s why no one saves him. 

[tanadrin]

As we age, it is almost as if we suffer a curse; every single thing in our body seems to work less well over time, and once we hit old age, it all seems to start breaking down rather quickly. Everything from how well we heal from injuries, to our immune system, to our senses seems to start falling apart at once.

As I understand it, the evolution of aging is the result of an almost accidental trade-off between reproductive fitness in the short term, and consequences for the individual member of the species in the long term. For instance, you have animals like octopuses and salmon who mate once then die, usually producing many hundreds of offspring. This is because lots of small cumulative adaptations that helped reproduction in the short term had negative consequences for the individual in the long term--but because these animals got so good at making that first reproductive opportunity really successful, the cost for fewer future opportunities to reproduce was (in terms of reproductive fitness) small. And over time their ancestors leaned harder and harder into this strategy.

Humans obviously aren't anywhere near that specialized. Our offspring are normally one at a time (and multiples are very high risk) and require a lot of care. Like all mammals, we nurse and look after our young. But there's still a degree of evolutionary tradeoff; base rates of disease and accident still make betting on reproductive opportunities too far in the future a losing proposition, and the act of giving birth is itself very dangerous for women, so it makes sense to still somewhat front-load our reproductive opportunities, and if we survive for a long time, to transition to a more supportive role for other members of the community (as indeed some hypothesize is the reason menopause evolved in the first place; but note male fertility also declines with age, even though there's no exact male equivalent to menopause).

So deleterious mutations that affect us mostly in our old age, or adaptations that come with a benefit in the short term, and with a high cost in the long term, probably built up in our genome for the same reasons that they did in that of octopuses and salmon, just in a less dramatic way. And so it makes sense that when we age, lots of things tend to go wrong. Aging isn't the product of a single process of system; it's the product of many systems in our bodies breaking down, because they have a degree of planned obsolescence built into them. This is why we shouldn't expect anti-aging interventions to be big dramatic breakthroughs that suddenly fix everything. We have lots of problems to deal with when it comes to "curing" aging, from shortening telomeres and waste products building up in our cells to UV damage to the eyes and loss of bone density, all from different sources.

Despite the image we may have absorbed from science fiction, longevity doesn't look like a single treatment that could easily be monopolized and sold at $100,000 a dose. It looks like hundreds of little things, many of which we're already working on quite diligently and making small-but-important breakthroughs in, and in areas where advances often go from "experimental and possibly very expensive" to "routinely available" in a couple of decades. And this makes sense too! Public health authorities and insurance companies have a vested interest in these advances--a treatment that improves the survival rate for a kind of cancer or helps to prevent heart disease means they have to pay less in more drastic, more expensive medical treatments down the line.

[stranger-stardustt]

hallo hallo! I am here to give you a writing request, because the only thing I love more than getting asks is sending them! I can’t remember if this was on the list of things you write for, but maybe some Stobin? Like them just being best friends and acting like an old married couple?

I know this isn’t really like…a lot to go off of, haha, sorry :)

i love stobin!!!! this is a lil short but i hope you enjoy the stobin scoops ahoy shenanigans with a little added Eddie because somehow he snuck in there for plot. i promise its mostly Stobin /p though!!! tysm for the ask <3

Steve’s least favorite thing about working at Scoops Ahoy was theme days. Every Saturday, arguably the busiest day of the week, there was a new sea-related theme, accompanied by a mascot and a specialty flavor or two.

That Saturday was pirate day, and Steve and Robin were in the backroom getting ready to open when they heard someone come through the employee entrance. Footsteps were joined by whistling as someone approached.

“Who do you think is our pirate?” Robin whispered, moving toward Steve. “I hope it’s a girl.”

Steve laughed. “You just want a girl so you can stare at her all shift,” he whispered back, and Robin shoved him gently.

“Not true!” Her voice was a little louder now. “I want a girl so I don’t have to deal with a bunch of gross, sweaty boys like you for hours.”

“I am not gross or sweaty!” Steve exclaimed, grabbing her by the waist. “Take it back!”

Robin giggled, squirming in his grasp. His arms were wrapped around his hips, lifting her a few inches off the ground. “Put me down, you heathen,” she hissed playfully, kicking her feet. “Come on, Steve, this isn’t fair!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” sang Steve, spinning her around. “You must now suffer the consequences of insulting the one and only Steve Harrington.”

Twisting around, Robin broke free from Steve’s embrace. She launched forward, crowding him against the counter and running her hands through his gelled-up hair. “Got you!” 

A cough pulled the two of them from their bickering. They turned, freezing as their eyes landed on a new yet oddly familiar face. “Uh, sorry for interrupting,” a man said, pushing his brown curls out of his face. “I’m Eddie? I’m the stupid mascot or whatever for today.” He glanced between the two of them, like he was sizing them up. “Do you want me to leave you two alone or something?”

Robin made a retching noise, bouncing away from Steve and toward Eddie. “Please, don’t leave me alone with him,” she cried dramatically, holding out a hand. “I’m Robin, that’s Steve. We’re nothing more than platonic. I gag just thinking about it, jeez.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Steve sighed, fixing his hair and walking toward Eddie. “I’ve seen you around at Hawkins High. You deal, don’t you?”

Smiling, Eddie nodded. “Yeah.” He looked at Steve with something in his eye that the other man couldn’t quite make out. “But Wayne said I needed a real gig, so I’m doing stuff like this until I find something permanent. Let me tell you, I do a hell of a pirate voice.”

“I’m sure you do,” Robin giggled. “Your outfit is in the leftmost locker, you can change in the bathroom.” 

Eddie gave a little thanks and a nod, heading out toward the bathroom to get ready. When he left, Robin elbowed Steve. 

“Ouch! What?”

“He was cute,” Robin said. 

Steve looked at her. “You’re a lesbian.”

“I didn’t mean for me,” she replied with an innocent whistle. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m looking at you like I usually look at you!” Steve exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. 

Robin grinned, teeth on display. “Exactly.” She raised a finger, pressing it gently to his nose before turning and skipping to the front. “Your face, it pains me.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Groaning, Steve leaned against the counter. “I really do,” he said, no hostility in his words at all.

[seasaltmemories]

Mars Review/Analysis

Mars was a series I had vaguely known about for a while. I've seen the iconic statue kissing scene, the male lead ranked as one of ppl's faves problematic love interests, and even had a mutual who talked about reading the series once a year. However it wasn't until a discussion on the portrayal of sex and other mature topics in shoujo that I figured it might be useful for me to read such a foundational work

Cue me reading the first chapter and breathlessly telling people it alone would count as the one of the best of shoujo. I binged the rest of the 15 volume series in a week, and through so many familiar ups and downs, it still felt like something special.

CW: Suicide, Sexual Abuse, Homophobia, Transphobia

Summary time:

Kira, a shy high school student, lives only for her art. Rei, An arrogant, rebellious and violent playboy, wears his delinquency like a badge of honor. They are exact opposites in every way, but when Kira sees Rei kissing a statue of Mars, she overcomes her fears and asks him to model for her. And, to everyone's surprise, Rei agrees.

On the surface it seems just like a typical good girl/bad boy story, and it is hard to say it isn't, but so much of what makes the story work is the details. Their meet cute is subdued, nothing but an excuse to get them talking again, but as they talk more and more, their chemistry just shines through. I don't know if it just fits my specific tastes, but it really is the stuff of girlhood dreams. Rei has this easy-going charm that is hard to look away from, and you can see Kira start to fall fast and hard despite herself, and by the end of volume 1, they've shared their first kiss and are more or less an item for the rest of the series

It is a pretty fast courtship for most romance stories, but the fact we skip the pining to get straight to an established relationship means we get this sort of easy physical affection that is so refreshing. Frankly I would enjoyed just watching them be absolutely adorable, but as we uncover both their dark pasts, they take on this young, restless "us vs. the world" love I can't resist

I mention before how a lot of Rei's appeal lies in his laid-back nature, rather than brood in a corner, he's outgoing and popular but the same carefree nature means he doesn't put much stock in social convention or consider the consequences his poor impulse control can get him in. It's a much more thought-out portrayal of a "bad boy" even as the dramatic details of his backstory build up. Considering his mother's early death, his estrangement from his father, and the fact he saw his twin brother commit suicide in front of him, it is clear his ease with everything is more bc of a general apathy, even towards his own wellbeing

Kira we learned started the series still recovering from the sexual abuse she suffered at the hands of her stepfather, as her relationship develops with Rei, she has to process a lot of trauma she still has surrounding her sexuality. It is clear her introverted, passive nature is not just a means of making her more relatable/easier to project onto, and that the real Kira has only started to come back out of her shell

I'd be lying if I acted like these issues were explored in nuanced, subtle ways, but even through the melodrama there was something real to it all that captured me. Like I usually struggle to latch onto most contemporary romances where the biggest obstacles couples face are their willingness to go ahead an make the first move. But these are real problems that real ppl face, even if it is heavily dramatized, and so their determination to stick together and make a place where they can be happy and safe just tugs at my heartstrings, even the breakneck pacing from one arc to the next, felt true to the whirlwind that is young adulthood. Did Fuyumi Souryo forget a plot thread when Rei's dream of becoming a pro racer fell away from the plot for like ten volumes? Maybe, but in life you're usually not really following a laid out plan and are more trying to survive from one crisis to the next while discovering patches of stability along the way

The melodrama really started to test my limits with the introduction of the antagonist, Masao. In contrast to Rei and Kira's detailed history of violence, Masao's just plain evil and attracted to the both of them for extra "creepiness" It's not just tasteless, it's boring, his entire arc nearly killed my interest in the series

Thankfully he only shows up for one arc in the middle and then briefly at the end to stir up more trouble. He's more bearable in those chapters thanks to the fact he's reflecting how much our main leads has grown, but his existence is painfully utilitarian, which applies to most of the rest of the cast, clearly only existing to highlight our main duo better. This also leads to some transphobia and insensitive portrayals of suicide.

Rei's mother and twin also suffer similar "secretly evil all along" reveals as Masao, which I do think cheapen Rei's struggle. Frankly we don't get enough time to unpack either character's history to really understand them, but even if the narrative doesn't suggest it outright, it is hard to ignore the feeling their deaths aren't so tragic bc of their flaws. Even so, they bothered me less than Masao for some reason. For all her violent tendencies, Rei's mother is still given sympathy that Masao never gets. And even though Sei's suicide note expresses a lot of misanthropy and sadism, to me there were enough lines almost suggesting he feared those tendencies within him and was also struggling in his own way. Perhaps their underdeveloped nature all helps keep either plot point form having to overstay their welcome

And that's the thing, despite all the dark and shocking plot twists I casually mentioned, what really stands out as I look back on the series, is the strong love Rei and Kira share. Going back to the plot summary, what you see is what you get. If you aren't on board with the series after volume 1, then it probably isn't for you. But few pieces of media have ever sold me on two character's love for each other as hard as this did. I mentioned before that I tend to need my media to acknowledge tragedy before I can accept their hope, but even when Mars isn't pulling out its soap opera cliffhangers, I always wanted to see how Rei and Kira would come together to support each other through their next stages of life.

[lyledebeast]

"Deserve's got nothing to do with it:" Violence and Change in Unforgiven and The Patriot

Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven (1990) and Roland Emmerich's The Patriot (2000) are two films I've wanted to compare for a very long time. To begin, their protagonists have surprisingly similar backgrounds. Both are middle-aged men who engaged in violent practices when they were younger, later married and fathered children, and claim in the present that they are no longer the men they were. Both speak of their deceased wives as angels who showed them the error of their ways and turned them to a more righteous path. And yet both turn back to violence over the course of these films for, they claim, the sake of their children. Did they change, or only their circumstances? The films not only answer these questions very differently but conceptualize both violence and change differently.

Benjamin Martin's initial choice of violence in The Patriot is presented as no choice at all. Just as he warned the rest of the Charlestown assembly in the film's first act, their choice to join in the war for independence has borne consequences. The British have burned his home, murdered one of his sons, and convicted another as a spy without evidence. William Munny's choice to revisit the violence of his younger years is made under somewhat less dire circumstances. He sees that taking up the Kid's offer to split the bounty may help him care for his children more effectively than continuing to struggle with his hog farm. Moreover, the men he will kill are not a threat to him or his family; he has to travel a great distance to even find them. At the outset, Ben's violence seems more justifiable than Will's, but the impact of this violence on them bears a closer look.

I would point out that The Patriot is more gruesome than Unforgiven, fitting given that it deals with 18th C warfare. However, the bloodiest violence in the former happens to Ben's fellow Patriots while Will and his fellow bounty hunters are responsible for most of the deaths in their story. The deaths of Ben's sons are drawn out, anguished affairs. The British soldiers he kills, with a couple of notable exceptions, simply drop like flies. In Unforgiven, it is the men the bounty hunters kill whose suffering is on display. One is shown sweaty and in agony as he asks for water; the other holds his hands in front of him, terrified, begging for his life. While British soldiers make similar pleas in The Patriot, the camera is positioned behind them; we only see the faces of their killers. Ben's emotional response to violence is uneven at best. While he claims to still hear the screams and see the faces of the men he killed in the last war, he shows no hesitation to kill the British soldiers who take his son into custody and only protests killing surrendering British soldiers when it is too late. He offers mercy to one British officer only to admit to General Cornwallis that he orders his men to target officers first in their engagements only a couple of scenes later.

The Kid, when he arrives at Will's farm, has nothing but romantic notions about violence, but the film undermines those quickly. Ned, a fellow outlaw from Will's past, cannot bring himself to shoot the young man who is their target. Will does, but is so disturbed in the aftermath that he orders the dying man's companions to give him water. After the Kid shoots the other target, all his bravado about killing disappears. He confesses that this is the first death for which he has been responsible and vows to never kill again. Unforgiven's position on violence is best captured by Will's words to the Kid in this scene. "It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take everything he's got and everything he's gonna have too."

Nowhere is killing another person treated with such gravity in The Patriot. Ben Martin shrugs off his violent past with a dismissive "I was intemperate in my youth." But when his oldest son is also killed by Tavington, he seeks reasons in the past rather than the present: "I have long feared that my sins would return to visit me, and the cost is more than I can bear." Will seems to share the same fear as he insists to Ned no less than four times in a single conversation that he "ain't like that no more," that Claudia has "cured" him of the drinking that always precipitated his past violence. When Ned offers no argument, it becomes clear he is not the intended audience of Will's pleas. He is trying to convince himself that he has changed permanently, and he is unsuccessful. It is difficult to say with any certainty whether Ben changes or not because the standard by which the film judges him changes like the tide, for the convenience of the moment. Will, however, changes quite dramatically by the end of the film from rejecting the notion that his past defines him to affirming it. "Yes, I've killed women and children. I've killed everything that walked or crawled at one point or another. And I'm gonna kill you, Little Bill, for what you did to Ned."

For all that Will kills his adversary for the same reason Ben kills his--vengeance for the death of a loved one--he shows Little Bill a surprising degree of grace. Ben agrees with Colonel Tavington, his sons' killer, that he (Ben) was "not the better man" because "my sons were better men." On the one hand, it is an assertion that both he and Tavington both fall short of the righteousness his sons represented, but it also underpins his own righteousness in that he is killing Tavington on their behalf. Then he stabs Tavington through the throat to assure that his words will be the last. Will, having defeated and disarmed Little Bill, gives him a chance to talk. He asserts that he does not deserve this fate because "I was building a house," and Will replies, "Deserve's got nothing to do with it." When he chose violence, downing a bottle of whiskey upon hearing of Ned's death, he also rejected any need to be the most righteous man in the room. He cannot judge Little Bill because they are are both violent men; Will is just better with guns.

Ben never accepts that his violence is a choice; perhaps that is why he finds the cost too much to bear. He wants the positive consequences it can bring about--land, independence--but also to retreat into domesticity to avoid the negative ones. In this, he has more in common with Unforgiven's antagonist than with Will. Little Bill's house, with its crooked angles and hole-riddled roof, is a metaphor for his failure to set himself above the "men of low character" that he terrorizes. The heap of failed rocking-chairs in Ben Martin's barn may be meant to both humanize him and hint at the temper that will come into play later, but I would argue it makes more sense to interpret it in the same way. These men attempt to set themselves up as judges of other violent men by building a home/raising a family, but the foundations are shaky at best. The quotation in this meta's original title came from one of Little Bill's deputies but could as easily be applied to Ben: "He may be tough, but he sure as hell ain't no carpenter."

Ben wants, and the narrative allows him, to have his cake and eat it too, a desire Unforgiven presents as ridiculous. Will knows that violence is not compatible with domesticity. That is why he chose to give up drinking for the sake of Claudia and continues to make that choice for their children after her death. But the view of change Unforgiven posits is bittersweet. It is possible for anyone to change, even someone guilty of all Will Munny's monstrous actions, if they choose to do so. But the change is never permanent; it is always possible to choose violence again. And once that choice is made, the consequences are inevitable.

[ask-serendipity-sky]

https://www.tumblr.com/serendipitous-sky/721240804890394624/httpswwwtumblrcomserendipitous-sky7212128858?source=share

exactly! they are grown men who still love each other, still are in a relationship but the relationship has matured, too, it's kept between them because of so many factors: homophobia in sk, their career and the other tannies also suffering consequences if they come out right now, military service (apparently it's not a crime anymore to be gay and in MS, but im sure they're still not lgbt friendly either). it's also because they want to keep their relationship private, they want to keep it to themselves and away from the media's grubby hands and homophobic eyes.

some of these antis really think they're going to be kissing and all over each other. these are grown men. they know how to act in front of the cameras, they know what's at stake. they know the impact they can cause both on their careers and their lives if they decide to come out. they're not ready, maybe they will be someday, but until then, you antis have to understand one thing: the world is not a fucking fairytale.

we don't have to agree with them keeping it on the low, (i do) but we have to understand and respect them.

also, for people saying "Jungkook was uncomfortable and he stepped back!", no, he didn't. if y'all stopped for a SECOND to watch the video a couple of times and analyze their bodies, you can see that jimin puts his hands on jk's face and moves forward, and jungkook goes with the movement. jimin is the one sort of walking them backwards. but y'all antis are so desperate to debunk the undebunkable (i just made up this word. It exists now.) that yall just refusing to see the truth. jungkook stood by Jimin's side countless of times, and yeah, he whispered something on Tae's ear, probably about the show, and that's normal friend behavior???? their friendship is adorable. "He was caging th in!"....bffr. caging someone in is when you touch your body to theirs. jungkook was just leaning on the chairs behind th and th was just standing there.

Hi anon,

Yes. There is more to it. Its not just ms when you think about it.

And whatever the reason are, they don't have to prove anyone anything to anyone.

The Jk was caging Tae in....sigh... have these people never been in a relationship? Never watched a romance movie, at least? Never interacted with a human? Especially with someone like Jk who has said that he has trouble focusing on things (so he always fidgets and moves around).

(I'm not going to link the clips anymore because they are engraved in my eyelids now lol I'm tired of watching them lol)

People just need to let Jikook be and stop hating when they don't act how we want them to act.

Thanks for sharing.

[namtanlovesfilm]

Unpopular opinions? Now it’s my time to shine lol

A lot of bl actors can’t act. They’re only cast because they’re handsome and/or nepo babies. Example: Win (grew up with money) and Luke (pretty but can’t act) imo

The fact that so many Thai actors have white fathers bugs the shit out of me and makes me hate men more. Its the whole passport bros thing before people really started talking about it. That could be because I’m a woc and I’ve had white men say some gross shit to me about making “beautiful light skinned babies” before so maybe it’s personal~ for me

I think Gun is mean to Off. I don’t like the hitting partner thing even if it’s supposed to be in a joking way. “Omg Gun is so cute when he’s mad.” No. It’s not cute to hit someone ever. Nanon is or was the same way with Ohm but I don’t know if he’s still hitting Ohm in the face as a joke because I stopped following Ohm because of the bullying controversy.

I don’t believe when any actor (from any country) apologizes. They’re sorry they were caught and they’re sorry their bank account is suffering the consequences of their actions.

I would tend to agree while also disagreeing bc I do think most thai dramas have a solid acting, which is always pleasant even for low budgets mediocre shows. but I definitely agree with your point that many actors are put in the spotlight without necessarily deserving it while others who are much more talented are kept as side roles (mond tanutchai & fluke pusit are great examples.) as for win & luke specifically, I would also tend to agree. I was heartbroken when I learned that win was a nepo baby bc I genuinely think he's a quite good actor, but I don't think he deserved to access this level fame after his first series ever when other actors have been working for practically a decade & are more talented. as for luke, I've only ever seen him in the 3 gentlebros where he deffo was over the top & not a great actor, but I still liked him bc he's charming. I think him being put in the spotlight immediately just bc he's hot is definitely unfair, and also puts a lot of pressure bc he did not have the 'growing' period that many early gmmtv actors had by having gradually harder & more front and center roles as they grew their acting (off is the perfect example of that.) so that's a lot of pressure for him, but also yeah he is unfairly profiting from favoritism bc of his appearance & it does suck.

bestie that is sooooo funny bc yeah. I mean, the fact that 99% of interracial couples in thailand are ALWAYS with a white man & a thai woman tells us everything we need to know. don't we love fetishization (:

to be fair I don't think I've ever seen gun hit off? or at least, like, a real hit? maybe I'm missing something, but I don't think gun is mean to off in the slightest. I think though that it does look like their relationship is unequal with off always being the jealous one, the one who buys stuff, the one who flirts, etc. but imo it's just for the cameras & we don't know offgun's real friendship outside of it. so personally I don't see what you're seeing, but oh well. as for ohmnanon I don't follow them & especially not now that ohm has been outed as a homophobic bully so I'll take your word for it lol

agreed, and tbh that goes on for any apology that takes place after people ask for it? like let's say I hurt my friend, but don't realize it & they tell me about it and ask me to apologize, which I do. did I even realize on my own what I did wrong? nope. am I apologizing bc I've reflected on that? nope. I'm apologizing to alleviate the situation & move on, which is exactly the same thing that celebrities do when they're "cancelled." imo apologies in general serve more the person apologizing than the one(s) they're apologizing to, and in general they just feel fake to me.

xxx

[allyear-lff]

Lady Chatterley's lover

Summary: the marriage between a man of aristocratic background and a free thinking woman from London collapses when he returns from the war disabled by his injuries, the woman takes solace in a relationship with a servant, also a war veteran, which leads to scandal and to all the lives involved changed forever.

Plot and musings: so most people know about the book and its travails not to be banned, I read it a long time ago and don't remember all the sordid details that so enraged (and continue to enrage) polite society and obtuse obscenity authorities in many places, the problem for a film retelling this tale (because goodness know how many adaptations there have been) is that it has to find a new take in the story, or it has to give us a different one, which in a way defeats the purpose of doing an adaptation, but anyway, people will try and this is one of such attempts.

The plot isn't very complicated, Clifford Chatterley is a young man from an aristocratic family, he is getting married to Connie (Constance) that throughout the film is presented as an independent free thinking woman more in tune with 20th century attitudes than with the 19th or even 18th century preoccupations of her handsome new husband, unfortunately for them they are getting married in times of war and Clifford departs to the war front only to return disabled by the horrific injuries he has suffered and wheel chair bound for life.

At this point they (he really) decide to move to a Chatterley family home where Clifford tries to start to run the affairs of the family as it would be expected of him, he manages to do so with the help of Connie but she is getting bored, a situation not helped by the refusal of Clifford to let her go to London where all her social and cultural life used to be. This tense situation is further worsened by Clifford's character hardening as a consequence of dealing with his disability and by the admission that they can't have heirs, Clifford suggests that Connie could conceive a heir with somebody else and nobody should know he wasn't the father.

This conversation and the longing of Connie for an intimate relationship she can't have with Clifford makes her fertile ground to become adventurous and by chance she gets friendly with the gamekeeper, Mellors, who is a good looking Scottish fellow, a handsome educated war veteran to whom Connie opens herself unreservedly, this all could have ended there, or could have continued as a secret affair, but they realise that they need each other more than they would have expected, so they get careless until they can't hide the affair at which point he is fired and she is ostracised, but Connie can't have any of this and just leaves Chatterley's home (with the help of her formidable proto feminist sister), she had endeared herself with the servants in the house and they manage to find where Mellors lives, Connie hurries there to find him in a farm in the Scottish countryside where they reunite to live their lives in dignified poverty.

Yeah, right.

So the positives of this unlikely scenario are the locations, all invariably period drama beautiful, the acting that one can't really fault, the characters which are constructed well enough.

So what is missing? Sex. Plain and simple. And foul language and all the things that made the book scandalous to some. To me it felt like an attempt to sanitise the story and to give it a middle class happy ending cottoned in all kind of justifications about why Connie would have a passionate affair with somebody so much below her social class. The poignancy of the book is its daring, this film feels like a declawed tiger, perfectly enjoyable but lacking in punch, Connie going after Mellors just because she can is missing here, she doesn't do it because she is a liberal goodie, she does it because she can plain and simple, and that disparity of power is never really felt, this couple is formed by equals in a world in which such a thing didn't really exist.

Rating: 3.5/5

71 of 168

Date: 6 December 2022

Venue: Curzon Camden

The list of films in the LFF 2022

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o��clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he���s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

[harveywritings92]

MHA/BNHA: They get severely injured and you heal them

You're recovery Girl's granddaughter you have a healing quirk called Angel's Glow, which requires skin on skin contact to work, small wounds, bruises and bone fractures are healed in seconds just by placing your hands on the injured area which will glow blue and repair damage, however wounds that are near fatal are different story. In that case, it’s kind of embarrassing, but you treat it how you would hypothermia, stripping down to your panties (or naked) and lay down holding that person close letting your healing aura cover them, of course you've never been in a situation where you've had to do that, pretty much keeping it reserved for your romantic partner, So when you got a call that your boyfriend was severely injured in a fight and his chances of survival aren't looking to good.

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Fatgum/Taishiro:

Reader's age 26.

The last thing Taishiro remembered was fighting this crazy strong villain with an equally strong quirk! So, one can imagine his confusion when the last thing he remembered before blacking out; was fighting as Fatgum and then waking up after who knows how long as Fitgum and in a stranger's bedroom hooked up to a very annoying heart monitor that would not. stop. beeping! Taishiro slowly sat up; with a grimace expecting to feel pain shooting all throughout his body the second he moved, but to his astonishment nothing happened... 

He was sure his left leg was broken during that fight! he cautiously wiggled his toes and jerk his left leg around, nothing no pain... in fact he felt great; giddy like he had just eaten an entire buffet of his favorite foods! But how did... His train thought was cut short when he felt an slender arm around his waist.

Taishiro suddenly became hyperaware of the other person, a woman. laying in the bed next to him! His heartrate spiked causing the monitor to start beeping rapidly!

The blond carefully reached over and gently pushed the woman's hair away from her face, the BMI hero felt a wave of relief wash over him upon seeing the calm sleeping face of his girlfriend Y/n starring back at him. But the relief quickly shifted to befuddlement, why was she here? he then noticed their apparent lack clothes, His yellow eyes widened and felt his face burn; Taishiro swallowed hard as he checked under blanket... why were they just wearing boxers and panties? 

Spotting a some of his spare clothes in Y/n's closet, Taishiro quietly and carefully got out of the bed; unplugged the Heart monitor before taking it off, and got dressed in his track pants and T-shirt, then careful got Y/n dressed in one of his hoodies before tucking her into bed, Just as Recovery-Girl popped her head in to check on them as she couldn't hear the monitor beeping anymore, and got worried she smiled seeing her *hopefully* soon to-be Grandson-law alive and healthy.  

"Oh thank goodness you're awake..."

"Yeah, I jus' woke up. Sorry for intruddin."

"It's nothing to be sorry for, though I'm sure you're confused how you aren't in a coma or dead."

"...What happened to me?"

Recovery-girl gave him the run down after he was put out of commission, Taishiro was in pretty bad shape, the out come was looking grim when Y/n ordered the ambulance be redirected to her private-practice which also doubled as her home, they got got one of her intern's to use their quirk which could burn off his fat, they cleaned his cuts and got him stitched up then the y/ht woman told everyone to go home; save for her grandmother and Kirishima who refused to leave his mentor until he was sure hew was going to be alright.

it was only when he saw Y/n taking her clothes off did the flustered teen ask about those guest rooms, she offered and recovery- Girl lead him out of the room, the y/ht woman slipped into bed next her her unconscious lover and activated her quirk, Tai's whole body was soon surrounded in veil of blue light that slowly started to repair and heal his broken body.

Taishiro smiled gently as he caressed Y/n's cheek making her wince in her sleep. "The poor thing must be exhausted over using her quirk for two days." the pride the tall man had felt to shifted into concern. "two days?!" he croaked he remembered Y/n telling him that her quirk can also transfer her patients pain onto her to the lessen their burdens, and if he was in really bad shape as recovery-girl described... "Is she gonna be okay?" he asked voice cracking, the old nurse frowned knowing that her granddaughter told him about her quirks pain absobtion. "Well, the next couple days won't be very pleasant for her, I may have to keep her sedated." the blond eyes started to burn as he watched Y/n sleeping soundly, vowing stay by her side and to take her on very nice vacation when this was all over, they could both use it.

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Shoto Todoroki:

Reader age 21, Shoto: 19

This poor touch-starved child was so confused and flustered when he woke up in a strange bed, wearing nothing but his boxers and y/n clinging to him very intimately, all while alarm-bells were going off in his head as part on his mind was still in fight or flight mode as he cautiously scanned his girlfriend expecting this to be a dream, and the villain that attacked him to pop-out at any moment...

After a few moments of waiting for the dream to end, Shoto cautiously used his fire to burn himself he winced feeling the pain burn his wrist, then the pain went numb the bi-colored haired man's brows furrowed before seeing the familiar blue aura from [y/wt] woman's quirk reverse the damage on his wrist, Shoto's stomach churred as realized what she had done, he carefully removed himself from the warm embrace of her bed and looked around the room for something to wear before spotting some a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt left out for him, he changed then carefully got his girlfriend dressed into her PJs and her tucked in.

Shoto was the picture of calm as he kept a silent vigil over the [y/hc] woman carefully playing with her hair, but internally he was freaking out! Wondering how long had he been out for? and how long had Y/n been healing him? was she going to be okay?! he grimaced at he saw her wince in her sleep; even a blind man could see she was already suffering from the effects of over using her quirk! "Why would you do something so foolish?" he sighed using his cold half to keep Y/n's forehead cool he felt her temperature spike. "Love makes you do very rash decisions." Shoto jumped to see Recovery-Girl behind him and the dual quirked boy immediate bowed his head to her in forgiveness.

"Don't do that Todoroki, you don't need to apologize."

"But because me Y/n is..."

"It's not you're fault dear, Y/n knew the risks as soon as she heard you were in critical condition."

"How long were we like that?" he asked asked dreading the answer Recovery-Girl frowned as she checked her granddaughter's vitals over. "Four days, I won't lie the next couple days won't be kind to my Granddaughter." She saw Shoto wince knowing the guilt eating at him. "But knowing she has a handsome young man looking after her, should help her make a speedy recovery.~" the room's temperature suddenly spikes as a blush adorned Shoto's cheeks Recovery-Girl giggled jubilantly as she left the room leaving Y/n in Shoto's care.

____________________

Touya/Dabi:

Reader age 25 (note you're quirk can't heal his scars (you've tried) you were childhood friends with him, he kidnapped you and keeps you in his safehouse!)

Dabi woke up that morning with a splitting headache, crap how much did he have to drink? he growled taking a sharp breath as his eyes adjusted to his dimly lit bedroom, trying to piece together what happened last night, when he caught something blue in the dim light at first he thought it was his quirk acting up, but then he noticed some of his staples were missing around his stomach...

The it all came flooding back to him one of the Nomus had gotten lose before it could be "trained" and went on a rampage the villains and a couple heroes on the league payroll stropped it, but not without consequences, the beast managed to take a bite out of Dabi's waist, the scarred man somehow managed to make it home... walking through the front door was the last thing he remembered before blacking out, then he felt his stomach drop when he realized that this blue glow wasn't his flames!

Dabi quickly turned the light on above his bed and found a sleeping Y/n hugging his waist her quirk overworking itself trying to fix his scars, which weren't healing because the tissue was to damaged to fix, "You idiot!" he barked getting out of bed, then paused when he felt a rush cold air on his everything, his teal eyes looked down... Yep, naked as the day he was born, he cussed and checked under the thin sheet Y/n had covered them in, same story.

He check her temperature she was freezing!  "Tch" Dabi quickly readjusted the sheet around his girlfriend's shivering body then went and put on some black sweat pants, he quickly went to drawers and grabbed a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and put those on his y/ht girlfriend, then grabbed the discarded blanket from off the floor covering the couple.

Dabi used his quirk to boost up his body temp while rubbing Y/n’s arms trying warm her up. the last thing he needed was her getting sick, however he paused his ministrations and checked his burner phone... shit it been 2 days since the incident! He had a lot of messages from the league demanding to know where he was, He should probably get around to telling them he's alive... meh, maybe after Y/n recovered those f-ckers will live. 

[the141ghost]

“One time, that was, and I let you win,” Simon mumbled. No, he hadn’t let Johnny win and, quite frankly, he was still baffled as to how the smaller man had picked him up off the ground like he was some kind of oversized toddler. It was well fucking undignified, but at least he knew Johnny wouldn’t try it again with how he reacted. “Have to remind you how that particular scrap ended, Sergeant? You weren’t walking right for days.”

Johnny’s little comment and grin gave him more than enough strength to push himself up to his feet. His legs trembled a little beneath him and, for a split second, he swayed where he stood, but after that, he managed to completely steady himself and wipe the subdued look of pain from his face entirely.

“Callin’ me fat, MacTavish?” Simon asked teasingly, shooting him a faux-unimpressed look over his shoulder as he stood back up. “You can piss off, though. Tellin’ me not to push myself. Sounds an awful lot like what I’ve been telling you this whole bleedin’ time and you’ve been ignoring me.”

As he crossed the room, albeit reluctantly, Simon had to use all his focus on putting one foot in front of the other, taking careful paces until he’d safely returned to his own bed. If he had fallen in front of these people, in front of Johnny, he thought that he might have actually smacked his head on the ground a few extra times to ensure that he didn’t wake up to remember it.

And there wasn’t a chance in fucking hell that he would have let one of them help him up. If Johnny thought he was stubborn, not letting the nurses help him in and out of bed, he’d clearly never seen Simon in action. Johnny’s martyrdom would pale in comparison to his, and that was definitely saying something.

A soft grunt of pain slipped past his lips as he sat despite his best efforts to hide it, jarring his tender ribs and he quickly raised a hand to support them so he could take a decent-sized breath in. He really hoped that his small sounds of discomfort hadn’t alerted anyone else in the room, Johnny least of all. He had already apparently begun to feel guilty again, just from Simon crossing the room to see him.

He didn’t need to know that he was now suffering the consequences of his actions.

Luckily for Simon, if anyone was preparing to ask him if he was still whole, they didn’t have time before there was a sharpish knock at the door and Price entered, looking as tired and frustrated as ever with a thick stack of papers in one hand and a mug in the other.

His expression quickly changed upon realising that the boys still had company, Simon supposed that otherwise, he and Johnny would have just had to deal with the grumpy old man that he was.

“Ladies, they’re not acting up too much, I hope?” Price asked, far too playfully for Simon’s liking as he walked up to his bedside to speak to him. He very quickly noticed that, somehow, Simon had disconnected himself from his PCA device—he had to, he wouldn’t have been able to get to Johnny otherwise—and he tutted lightly. “I leave you for five bloody minutes,” he huffed, gently thwacking the papers down onto Simon’s legs.

“S’this?” he asked, poking at them cautiously even though, deep down, he already knew the answer. He just hoped he was wrong.

“Forms for leave.” And, he was right. “Filled out as much as I can for you, just need you to read through ‘em and then I’ll get you signed off. Doctor I spoke to said t’give you a month to let your head heal up, then he’ll get you back in for a physical, see how you’re coming along. Not as bad as you thought, ey?”

Worse, somehow. But, despite feeling downright miserable about the concept of having to take leave, Simon still managed to shake his head. As he sat, silently staring at the papers that felt as if they were burning right through his thighs, Price had turned his attention to Soap. 

“Gaz is just grabbing yours now, lad. You’re still gonna have to get those fractures set properly, but we’re pushing to have it done in the next couple of days. I’ve got you down for two months' leave, for now, but it could end up being more. Just all depends on how much the surgeons can do,” he explained calmly, seeming to completely understand that it was probably an information overload for him as he then slowed down and offered a kind smile. “Let you know as soon as I do, alright?”

Then, the next moment Simon had been dreading: Price’s focus was back on him.

“Bloody hell… Get you into a barber, then, too, yeah?” he mumbled, gently scratching his fingers over the undamaged side of Simon’s scalp, a teasing look of unease on his face. “S’like they did it with a bloody knife and fork, ain’t it?”

This did elicit a soft snort of laughter from Simon. Price always knew the right things to say.

“Sod off, old man,” he mumbled, idly swatting at Price’s hand to get him to stop feeling his rough head.

Price’s expression softened, then. His hand dropped down and his volume lowered. The room was fairly close quarters, it was still more than loud enough for everyone to hear him. Simon did appreciate the effort, however. “Give it a fortnight, lad. We’ll have a sit-down, check how you’re doing. See if I can’t stick you on admin for a while, yeah? Good havin’ you around.”

Simon gave a slow nod of relief. Price knew his aversion to leaving work, even if it was at the expense of his own health. He knew more about his… iffy past than anyone else on base, and never once had he let him feel lost over it.

He was more than happy to comfort Johnny, but unfortunately for the Scot, there was only so much he could comfort Simon right now. Price managed to just about fill the gap with his empty promises, though.

Simon managed a tight smile on his lips at the thought and nodded again, now outright refusing to make eye contact with anyone. The papers on his legs were very interesting. “Yeah. Cheers.”

Luckily for Simon, Johnny’s mother was not the root of his insecurities. At least not this one, anyway. She only called him an idiot as much as she called anyone else an idiot and Johnny never took it to heart. No, that particular insecurity was far deeper rooted and stemmed from more places than Simon would ever have the time to exact his revenge on.

It was one of the insults that was thrown at him quite often growing up, not necessarily always with any heat behind it but he heard it enough that it just sort of… became ingrained in him at some point along the way. That he was an idiot, stupid, talked too much and too loudly and he was always just a lot to deal with. He never purposefully tried to rein any of it in because he was also a stubborn bastard and proud of it, but after hearing things like that enough they eventually make their way into your subconscious, and by that point there’s nothing you can do about it.

So, no. Not his mother’s fault. At least no more her fault than it was anyone else’s.

As he stared up at Simon, Johnny could absolutely see that he was thinking the same thing. That mutual understanding there - knowing that if it was just the two of them, they would be making out right now - satisfied Johnny, for now. As soon as possible, though, he would be sure to make up for it.

Beth and Lorna had rather different reactions to Ghost’s ‘threat’ compared to their mother. They both understood that it came from a place of care (maybe even love) - mostly because it sounded like something Lorna would say. She, however, probably didn’t actually possess the ability to act on said loving threats, unlike Ghost. Still, though, if what John said about him was true, there was no way Ghost would do something like that to him. Because even just from John talking about Ghost, without being witness to any of it themselves, they could tell the feelings between them were probably mutual.

Johnny scoffed in indignation at Simon’s claim. In either implied situation, he would have absolutely been able to take him. Maybe he only had experience in one of them, but he certainly hoped that he could soon say the same for the other. And sure, Simon beat him in spars more often than not, but he had still won before. If he’d won when Simon was healthy, he could absolutely win now. And in the other context… he had no doubt he could take him. Zero.

“Don’t think I can’t overpower ye, I’ve done it before,” he reminded him, remembering one particular time he’d managed to fully lift Simon off the ground while sparring, to the surprise of both himself and anyone who’d been watching.

Elsie wasn’t best pleased to hear that Ghost had essentially beaten up her son multiple times, but she was also aware that it was part of their job, of course. She expected that fighting someone bigger than himself - because Ghost certainly was big - was probably quite good for training, but that didn’t mean she had to like the idea of it.

Johnny felt Simon gently squeeze his hand and knew that he was about to drop it, and even though he desperately wanted to grab on a keep holding Simon’s hand, not let him go yet, he allowed it. He was just feeling rather emotional right now and Simon’s contact and presence was doing wonders to keep him calm. He made up for it with his smile, though. Johnny got to see those dimples that he loved again, got to see Simon’s eyes light up a little. That was worth the loss of contact.

Simon then gave him the perfect opportunity to flirt, except with his mother still hovering over his shoulder and his sisters waiting to pounce on any hint of something to tease about on his other side, he didn’t exactly feel he was in a position to do so. Instead, he opted for the concerned route.

“Be careful, don’ want ye fallin’ over and crackin’ yer head open, they’ve already had to stitch it up once. Besides, it’ll have to be one of this lot that helps ye up, an’ I’m not sure they could all lift ye combined,” he said with a grin. Concerned, yes, but that didn’t mean he had to be serious about it. And sure, while Simon coming over to comfort him had admittedly been extremely effective, he still then added, “Ye shouldnae of got up in the first place, ye know. Don’ want ye pushin’ yerself.”

[girlmeetsliv3]

Prince of Nothing IV

~ Part Four of Five ~

Release Date: December 19,2020 @ 12 p.m. (GMT-4)

Word Count: 18K

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

“No.”

           YN’s eyes widen in shock before she tries to cover it up. “No?” What do you mean no? YN was so certain that Jungkook wouldn’t hesitate to jump at the chance - proving her point.

           Jungkook’s hands trailed up the side of her body, fingers gently dancing across her torso until they reached her neck where they settled on either side of her neck. The tense skin was massaged with such efficacy that YN couldn’t help the way her eyes rolled back. He observed this reaction with a smile on his face, then tentatively his lips brushed hers. From where his hands were placed, he could feel the racing of her heart. He could feel how the blood rushed through the veins - his blood, what little of it she had swallowed making its way home. Their kiss, if it could count as that, lasted only a few moments. Yet it was enough for Jungkook.

           “No, I won’t sleep with you.”

           In a second all hope leaves YN, if she couldn’t distract Jungkook with sex if it wasn’t truly all he wanted then what? Seeing her downtrodden expression Jungkook chuckled then he pulled YN in closer, hands sliding down towards the back of her dress. “I won’t sleep with you darling, but I will make love to you and fuck you if that’s what you want.” Before his words could even sink in, Jungkook used his strength to rip her dress open. Exposing all but her chest which lay pressed against the prince’s.

           “Your wager?” YN asked again, unwilling to let him have the upper hand. Not when so much was on the line.

           Jungkook chuckled, “Oh darling, how you never fail to amaze me.” Seeing her stone cold expression he acquiesced. “If I win you’ll be the mother of my child.” Aware of what would follow, Jungkook crashed his lips onto YN’s soft plump ones, not giving her a chance to change her opinion. What followed suit would cement their unspoken future and cause great suffering to many.

           “The prince?” Soojin’s lips were puckered, chin wrinkling in the way a child’s might when tasting something sour. The maids around her stood perfectly still barely breathing, they were too familiar with the expression on the princess’ face. Having been by her side for longer than she could remember they could recognize the pouty lips, furrowed brows, hooded eyes, and the pulsing vein in her temple. It signified a tantrum was incoming - surely to be the worst they had suffered as of yet. “Well?!” Soojin’s voice raised almost into a shrill. The typically refined Soojin had lost all of her demeanor in the past couple of days. Though the bruising around her neck had faded, the one around her heart had not and the ugly scarring it would leave was sure to affect not only her but everyone around her.

           Finally one of the maids stepped forward, bowing deeply demonstrating her submissiveness to the lioness in front of her. As if that ever spared prey from being eaten. “My apologies, my lady. The prince is still not out.”

           The scream that tore out of Soojin was guttural in nature, More like a growl than anything else. Though the tantrum lasted quite a while very few of the staff were harmed, and at that very minimally, the same could not be said for the princess’ chambers which were left in such shambles the entirety of the furniture had to be discarded. Yet it was not the thousands of dollars lost, nor the raging Seo striding down the hall that was to be a concern but rather her destination: the prince’s chambers - YN YLN inside them.

           Nothing spreads quicker than gossip in the palace and no one moves faster than the help, so Soojin wasn’t surprised to arrive at Jungkook’s door and see the usually present guards absent. They too would’ve been informed she was heading there and likely wanted to avoid facing the lionesses wrath. The heavy african blackwood doors had the Jeon sigils engrained in it - making it obvious who resided inside. Normally it would’ve taken a lot of effort to even open the door, it took two extremely muscular men to open it. Though in her rage, it only took a slight push from Soojin for them to slam open.

           Soojin expected a lot upon entering: to find her lover and his mistress entangled in the sheets putting on a show for anyone. Clothes scattered all around, champagne bottles, and wicked smiles placed on both their faces to taunt her. Instead the room was pristinely clean, bed made, and Jungkook was buttoning his shirt. “Can I help you with anything?” He asked, voice with a hint of roughness to it. They way it typically did after he had sex. The only thing that gave away his infidelity was the unkemptness of his hair and the slightest hint of a bruise around his neck. Soojin scoffs, incredulously that he would do this to her after everything - after all his promises.

           “Four days...I haven’t seen you in four fucking days!” Soojin no longer cared for maintaining appearances in front of Jungkook. Clearly he held no care for them.

           Jungkook sighed, leaning on the bed to put on his boots and tie them. “Frankly I don’t see what you’re so upset about. What I do with my lover has nothing to do with you.”

           “Your lover,” Soojin couldn’t help the sardonic smile that broke out on her face. “Have you no shame?! Parading your whore around in front of everyone while I look like a fool.”

           “You looking like a fool has nothing to do with me.” He chuckled, the vase Soojin threw his way was easily caught by Jungkook. The prince gently placed it beside him on the soft bed.

           Soojin’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, she could feel the rage growing inside her. If Jungkook was ice then she was fire. It was just like when she was younger - the fire would grow and spread consuming everything that stood in its path. In this instance, an insolent little girl who sought herself better than a princess queen. “I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall YN due to your reckless actions.” At that the prince stilled, the air in the room suddenly becoming frigid as goosebumps rose on Soojin’s skin.

           “And I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall you if anything were to happen to YN.”

             “So you see your majesty, it would be reckless to allow this liaison to continue. Though I understand the prince has needs and would never dare interfere in his private affairs, this isn’t just about him. It’s about the needs of the crown.” Soojin despised king Jeon the II, she found the old man unnerving. Everytime his coal black eyes met hers, she felt the king saw through every facade and deep inside her soul. She assumed that is what had allowed him to maintain power even when his commanders, alliances, and sanity slipped his hands. Jeon exuded power, but his was strong and sturdy like a stone. His son’s power though was like water: constant, changing, tranquil, and tempestuous. Even hard stone was no match for the power of the sea. Everyone was aware of it, even the king in his fleeting reason, knew the time for a shift was rapidly approaching. Soojin couldn’t wait to get rid of the old haggard. To get rid of his lingering glances. Still she knew when to play her cards right, the only person to force Jungkook to submit would be his dear old dad.

           “You are right my child. Jungkook is far too reckless to take a Kim for a whore. It's enough that I allow one Kim to remain in my court - but two and the people may believe I am beginning to slip.” His voice was harsh, the laugh sounding more like a croak. The kind an old toad might make.

Soojin had to resist the urge to grimace, “Nonsense your majesty. No one would ever believe that. Everyone is aware that your reign is far from its end.” Which is exactly why once YN was out of her way, Soojin would make sure to get rid of him. She could hardly be queen if her husband wasn’t on the throne. The king may be the head, but everyone knows the queen is the neck.

           “Oh my darling, I am well aware that you have always been on the side of the crown unlike many others that would use it for their own interests. Not to worry, I will make my son see reason. If he doesn’t well -”

           “I am sure he will sire. Jungkook cares for you very much and he would never disobey his father.” Soojin wondered how much venom she could spill into the world before she eventually poisoned herself. She consoled herself by remembering that she was surrounded by vipers ready to strike. No mamba can compare to the jaw of a lion. Unbeknownst to Seo Soojin, the Jeon’s were no ordinary snakes and unlike lions who massacred their preys before eating them snakes consumed their prey alive.

           “Very well.” King Jeon turned around waving over a guard, “Call my son, it is time we have a talk.” Before turning back to Soojin before him, “You are excused my child, take care of yourself.”

           “Of course your majesty, take care of yourself.”

           “Have you heard?”

           “It is the talk of the whole castle.”

           “Well do you think he’ll actually do it?”

           “He would be a fool not to, plus it isn’t like he has a choice.”

           “He’s the prince of the nation. Of course he has a choice.”

           “Not against the king he doesn’t.”

           Sana turned around, wet rag in her hand as she whipped it towards the two gossiping maids who screeched at the possibility of their garments being ruined by the dirty water. “What are the two of you yapping about?!” Sana had simply been trying to salvage what was left of YN’s garments that had been ripped to shreds by the prince. Not that it mattered, Jungkook would probably buy her even nicer dresses and it wasn’t like YN had asked her to. She had seemed so disgusted when she walked back into her rooms. Heading straight for the shower and barely even sparing Sana a glance. Not that she cared, the less she had to interact with the mistress, the better in Sana’s head. Still, appearances must be kept up for the sake of the prince. So she gritted her teeth and cheerfully declared that she would wash her clothes.

           “Wouldn’t you like to know Sana? Probably run back to your lady and tell her everything.” Irene sneered, smoothing down the front of her dress and fixing her strawberry blonde hair.

           “Please what good would that do me?” The bitch deserves everything that’s coming to her. YN had explained her side of the story to Sana long ago, but she saw through the innocent facade she played. Why would the prince ever be interested in a stupid commoner like her when he had every woman at his fingertips? No. She had seduced him, even if YN may never admit it. Sana knew she was a wolf in sheep's clothing - just like her.

           “Because without someone to report on, you’ll lose the prince’s favoritism. Or do you actually believe he cares for you?!” Irene laughed and the other maids around her began to laugh too. Sana rolled her eyes, returning to the soapy water in front of her.

           “I’m no fool. I use him just as he uses me.” But her tone wavered towards the end, which only caused others to chuckle beside her. It wasn’t until one of the girls beside her took pity and told her what was happening.

           “The prince and princess Soojin are to be wed in seven days' time.”

           YN had been pretty much left to her own devices after spending several days and nights locked up in Jungkook’s bedroom. YN wished she could say the whole experience had been unpleasant, but the disgust she felt was more towards herself than the prince. She had enjoyed it deeply - every single part of it - though she would never admit it to anyone. Not even herself. So YN bathed herself multiple times that day, scrubbing her skin until parts of it bled, then she nearly tore off her hair for every time she saw it all she could imagine was Jungkook’s hands tangled in it. Every time she viewed her hands, all she could remember was how they would entangle together. Her lips were dry and swollen from all the kissing and sucking the prince had imparted on them. YN had never felt more like a whore - never felt more like a toy. In a move that was meant to give her power over the prince, all she had done during their trysts was find herself thinking what if? What if we had met in another time? Different circumstances? Could I love him? Could he be different? What if he changed? Is he capable of change? Would I love him if he did?

           It was those thoughts that plagued YN deeply hours after she returned and she sat still in her bed. Vito curled resting on her decolletage as she envisioned a different world where Jungkook was kinder, where he hadn’t caused her so much pain. Where they had met the way one should. He would have met her brother, introduced himself and promised to care for her, Jungkook could have been perfect. YN found herself getting lost in that what if, until reality came tumbling through her door.

“I’ll fucking kill her!” The door to the bedroom had been slammed open so harshly, the entire room had shaken slightly. It had frightened Vito so much he raised defensively and even YN had been ripped away from her daydreams. Jungkook was livid pacing back and forth as Morte was coiled around his arm, perfectly still despite her master shaking violently. YN had only ever seen him like this once and even then, there hadn’t been a murderous gleam in his eyes. YN cautiously slipped down the bed, her bare feet landing on the carpet. The second she was on the ground, Jungkook swept her into his arms leaving barely any space among them. YN had no choice, but to push her palms against his chest trying to leave some space between them.

Jungkook’s arms tightened around her torso, as YN resisted, eventually Morte unwrapped herself from his arms and formed a link with Vito around both their necks. Tying them together in more ways then one. “Who are you going to kill?” YN knew, Sana had mentioned it when she had brought her clothes back up. YN hadn’t paid much attention, even in her dally she was aware the Jungkook of her dreams and the one in front of her were two distinct beings. Though a part of her longed for the other Jungkook - she wanted this one gone from her life. Jungkook leaned his head close to hers, their lips brushing and it took all of YN’s willpower not to grimace.

“My wife.”

“You can’t. You promised me you would marry her, you promised the king there’s no going back on your word.”

Jungkook chuckled, “I can’t very well marry a corpse can I? Plus, I already have a queen.”

YN shook her head, “You can’t get out of this. I only promised I’d carry your child, not that I would be your queen.”

“You don’t have a choice in this, my darling.” Jungkook smiled, his teeth snagging and softly pulling YN’s bottom one. In his eyes, YN could see the lust pooling and she found herself amazed at how quick his mood could shift.

“I would rather join my brother than wear the crown on my head.” YN whispered harshly, as her palms kept pushing against Jungkook’s torso.

“That’s funny considering your brother doesn’t have a head.” The prince’s cruel words cut straight through YN’s soul. Instantly she was brought back to the rain, her brother’s beaten body, the lifeless eyes that peered at her as his body hung from the gallows. “Oh didn’t you know. I had his head removed and stored in a box, it is my most prized possession. If it wasn’t for him, you and I would’ve never met.” All the fight left YN’s body instantly, if not for Jungkook’s arms around her, she would’ve crumbled to the ground. “I really should give him a proper burial as a thanks. Oh well, there isn’t really much left to bury anyway.” The king Jungkook faded from her memory, until all that remained was the cruel beast in front of her. He seemed to take glee in her soulless eyes for he kissed her with such frenzy that could only be imparted by the happiest of people. Meanwhile YN could feel herself fading, her last remnant of hope being extinguished.

After a while of no response the prince finally seemed to notice that state of his beloved. “YN?” His hands grabbed a hold of her cheeks and forced her to look at him, only she didn’t. Though their eyes met Jungkook knew that she wasn’t viewing him, her mind in a far away place. “YN.” His grip tightened on her, as he hoped the pain would cause any sort of reaction from her. Even if it meant she would recoil, scream, hit him, it was better than having her empty gaze pierce into him. “Answer me YN!” His fingers were digging deeply into her cheekbones, his nails leaving indents into her face. Jungkook knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t care. React damn it! Do something! Finally someone did. Vito uncoiled himself and struck Jungkook’s hand, digging his fangs deeply into the prince’s palm. It shocked him so much, he jumped away letting go of YN completely. YN fell to her feet and fell back onto the bed, she had yet to react but Vito had placed himself on his owner’s neck, hissing and ready to strike once more.

Jungkook was in such shock, he didn’t even consider the fact that the snake had attacked him. Didn’t even think about commanding Morte to reproach. Instead he cradled his hand and looked at YN in a mixture of shock and fear. The way a child would when they had just broken their favorite toy. “I-I’m -” but he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. He wouldn’t mean them because he truly wasn’t sorry. Jungkook only regretted having gone too far and hurting YN in a way which might be irreparable. Instead of attempting to make amends, Jungkook took a deep breath and turned around leaving YN truly alone for the first time since they’d crossed paths. As he closed the bedroom doors, he waved the guards away stating the “lady needed some time alone to herself.” Certain that when he returned in the morning, YN would be back to her usual self. She had to be.

The sun would set and rise three times before YN spoke again.

On the dawn of Wednesday morning, Sana knocked on the bedroom door bringing with her a plate of food which would be left uneaten like the others before. She didn’t know what exactly had caused her mistress to regress to such a state, but figured the news of the wedding must have done so. Her heart filled with bitter jealousy at the thought, but she coaxed another perfect smile on her face. “My lady, pardon the intrusion but I have brought you food and news from the crown.” YN didn’t really acknowledge Sana’s presence, only Vito seemed to be aware of her. His red beady eyes glaring at her as his tongue sniffed the air, as if entirely sentient the snake moved its head towards the bedside table. Tentatively Sana placed the platter there before, smoothing over the front of her dress.

“The King has requested an audience in private with you, my lady.” Sana glanced over, YN had been bathed and dressed every day at the prince’s insistence much to the maid’s annoyance. Particularly because YN didn’t seem to react no matter what she was subjected to: on various occasions Sana had ‘accidentally’ placed the water too hot only to make it too cold in an attempt to find warmth. She had tugged her hair too harshly, pinched her skin whilst dressing her, and even stepped on her. Yet YN had not so much as flinched, the woman finding herself in a deep dissociative state. The only indication of reasoning Sana could see was Vito that in the past couple of days had become far more active. Hissing and bearing his fangs everytime Sana imposed any type of miniscule harm on his owner.

She must be a witch. Probably enchanted the prince as well. Sana casts a glance towards the book laying upon the vanity: the black and red book taunting her. Perhaps the book offered some insight into her, Sana had never seen such a book in her life but it looked too opulent to begin to someone as poor as YN. It could be a gift from the prince. That only infuriated her more, all Sana ever received was pats on the back and harsh love making only to be tossed aside the second he had satisfied himself.

“We must get you ready, my lady. The king must not be kept waiting.”

YN had only entered the throne room on two other instances, both signifying further entrapment, but they had been at the hands of Jungkook and Soojin. Perhaps this would go differently, though something deep inside warned her that this meeting with King Jeon wasn’t a cause for celebration. Not when he had been plotting on murdering his son and accusing her. Not when she was technically his son’s mistress and the cause of all the turmoil in court. When she entered, the King laid sitting on his throne. It stood out harshly compared to the rest of the room, being made from a rare gemstone that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. The crown perched upon his head was dark in nature too, making it all too obvious that he was the dominant one in this conversation.

“Welcome, I’ve heard a lot about you Kim YN.” King Jeon stared down at the girl before him, trying to assess who she was, what she wanted, and how he could best use her to his needs.

Bowing deeply YN spoke, her voice soft yet clear. “You summoned me, your majesty?” There was a slight tremble in her hands she tried to hide by gripping her skirt tightly.

“Ah I did. There is something I wished to speak to you about.” The King waved his hand, indicating she could rise and YN did, slowly, as to demonstrate she was no threat.

“Yes sire?” If speaking to the prince was like walking on eggshells, then speaking to Jeon was walking on the edge of an active volcano. One which could go off at any second.

“I want you to murder my son.” The King’s voice was clear, no stutter whatsoever as if he were commenting on the weather and not the assassination of his own kin.

YN struggled to speak, unsure of how to react. She was a cornered prey, with no possible way of escape. “I-I’m sorry your majesty. I d-don’t understand.” YN couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, all the stories she’d heard as a child coming back to her. How the King was cold and callous but his eyes were even colder. Dark black pools that would make the devil shiver, yet so clear they reflected whoever he was staring at - reflected their true intentions.

“Look at me Kim.”

YN obeyed, but he was too far away for her to make out the exact color of his eyes. Even then, it was quite difficult to see with the tears threatening to spill.

“You know what you must do, yes? Or what the consequences will be…”

As YN stared at him, all she could see was a cruel man that would do anything to remain in power, even spill the blood of his own son. The apple never falls far from the tree. The King’s hand tightened around the seat and YN was certain that in the next few moments he would force her to agree to     something she could never envision herself doing. Even if he was the object of her loathing and tormentor - YN could never kill Jungkook. She had to cling to the last bit of her soul that still remained.

Please someone save me.

A harsh knock was heard and the doors opened to Kim Namjoon. “Pardon the intrusion, your highness. You asked me to inform you if anything happened in the outer lands.” YN almost cried tears of joy upon being interrupted, it could have even been Jungkook and she would’ve thanked him. “Ah yes, you’re dismissed.” The King waved her away as of nothing and YN couldn’t be more glad to have his eyes off her. She bowed deeply once more before hurrying out the door, managing not to break down until the doors behind her were entirely closed.

YN didn’t know how long she spent there sat on the floor as tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t until the door creaked open once more that she wiped her face and stood up rapidly. In her haste, she stumbled somewhat but was steadied by a hand grabbing hers. “Pardon my lady.” Namjoon’s smile was soft, reassuring and YN couldn’t help reciprocating it. “Nonsense, my lord.”

           Namjoon’s other hand came to lay upon hers, encapsulating hers in a warmth YN hadn’t felt in a long time. “Have you had time to read the novel?” His brow raised inquisitively.

           “I must admit I haven’t. Things have been busy as of late.”

           His chestnut eyes were warm, “I can relate. The castle has been in such a hectic state the gardens have been left unattended.”

           Now YN was left to be confused, “Pardon?”

           Namjoon looked around as if to ensure no one was listening in, he looked so childlike at that moment YN couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, they’ve not taken care of their blossoming flower.”

           YN rolled her eyes though the smile, and the rosey dust that spread across her cheeks revealed her true feelings, “Do you have a tendency to be so brazen, my lord?”

           “Hm,” his fingers tapped gently on her hand. “Only when with an intriguing companion, my lady. Only then.”

           “I don’t see anyone like that around here.” YN stated as she casted a glance around, in the corner of her eye she caught sight of a figure lingering behind a column but they quickly vanished.

           “You must give yourself more credit my lady. Though you are right, you aren’t intriguing as of yet only queer.” It was the shift in his tone that brought YN’s attention back towards him.

           “Oh? When shall I be intriguing then?” She tilted her head coyly.

           “After you blossom of course.”  Namjoon seemed so serious, all humour vanishing from his tone. “Though whether you will be a lily or an ivy has yet to be determined.”

           “It is entirely possible I will be both.”

           “Ah, that is true.”

           The two of them simply stared at each other, before distant voices could be heard echoing through the halls. Namjoon raised her palm towards his lips, placing a tender kiss. “Excuse me, my lady. I must be going.” YN nodded before allowing Lord Kim to walk away as his words and warmth lingered with her far into the night.

           “What’s this?” Jungkook looked at the large book in Sana’s chipped hands, he never understood why she manicured them considering they would only get ruined. Still it was better than the old weathered hands most maids had, hers were soft yet bony. They lacked the thinness yet sharpness of Soojin’s but didn’t possess the roundness and frailty of YN’s. “It is lady YN’s.” Sana hated attaching the prefix. It put YN above her, yet the last time she hadn’t the prince had severely punished her. It was as Jungkook’s hands traced the letters in the front cover that he identified what was written: The Golden Ones. A sinister smile spread across his lips, perhaps I should give YN more credit. “And how exactly did lady YN come to possess such a book?” His mouth twisted, full of mirth. It was the exact same as Jungkook’s copy. Ironic that he had spent his entire life searching for it only to have been right under his nose the whole time. Perhaps assigning Sana to be a double-agent hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.

           “Lord Kim Namjoon gave it to her as a present.”

           “Did he?!” Jungkook tried to hide his disdain, though the imprint of his fingerprints was left on the wood of his desk from gripping it too harshly. Placating his growing vexation, the prince smiled. “Very well Sana. You’ve done well.” The pat he placed on her head was patronizing - it was meant to be. People like Sana only obeyed if they thought it would prove how useful they were. So long as Jungkook fed her scraps of affection and not a full course meal, she would keep coming back. “Is that all?” She asked, before quickly following it up with. “Have I not satisfied you, your highness?”

Jungkook nodded, “Oh yes. But a story book is hardly evidence.” He let his fingers tap against the wood rhythmically as if in deep thought. “I need something concrete that proves your theory.”

Sana’s smile was forced, but she nodded and bowed nonetheless head touching the ground. “Of course, I shall deliver you concrete evidence of lady YN’s betrayal.”

      “You’re being reckless Namjoon. There is no point in pursuing the girl.” Seokjin rested his head against the cherry desk. It was old yet prominent standing as the centerpiece in their strategy room. Namjoon casted a glance at the people beyond the manor walls, those rallying in clear protest against the Jeon’s and their rule. They remained both aware and unaware of his existence. Even if they were to peer at him directly, they wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Namjoon wasn’t entirely sure they could recognize Seokjin, and he was the entire face of their operation. “It would be reckless not to pursue the girl.” He refuted as he let the curtain fall back into its rightful place, walking towards Seokjin and massaging the back of his neck. Seokjin groaned, swatting Namjoon’s attempts to distract him away. This was not a matter Seokjin would simply be dissuaded on.

“There must be a reason why Jeon is so willing to risk everything for her.”

Seokjin laughed incredulously, “When has madness ever made sense?” Seokjin simply couldn’t see what the big deal was. “She is nothing but a poor child that got caught up with the Jeon’s. She’ll probably be made to bear an heir and be tossed aside like all the Jeon women are.”

Namjoon shook his head, “No, Jin. It isn’t like that. She isn’t a pawn, Jungkook is planning on making her his queen. A king is nothing without a powerful queen.” Everyone knew it. It was the reason why the Jeon empire was failing. It was the reason why Seokjin’s claim to the throne didn’t stand a chance. As Namjoon’s father had always said: men are trees but women are seeds. If Namjoon was correct about YN, then she was the final piece needed to guarantee them a checkmate. If not, win the whole game.

Namjoon had to be smart though, for if the prince caught wind of his plan it would all be over.

On the evening of Thursday, just three days until the wedding between Prince Jeon Jungkook and Princess Seo Soojin, YN laid sleeping peacefully in her bed. It was a calm evening, barely a breeze could be felt in the night sky. It was also unnaturally warm, so much so Sana had suggested to her mistress, cracking the balcony doors and windows open. But YN politely refused, afraid something would crawl in or she would grow cold. Her sleep was pleasant, it was the first time in a long time YN was not plagued by nightmares filled with her brother’s lifeless body or Jungkook’s mental games created just to  torture her. She was resting comfortably, until a slight creak caused Vito beside her to rise from his slumber and hiss suddenly. When YN’s eyes shot open, she saw two masked figures staring at her.

Her screams were quickly muffled as a cloth was forced into her throat and her body was grabbed by the two men. YN struggled against them, limbs flailing in an attempt to land any sort of blow on them. Vito too sprang to her aid, but was grabbed and thrown against the head board. Unwillingly YN was lifted and dragged off the bed. She managed to wretch an arm free and attempted  to grab onto the sheets - onto Vito - but the snake was too far away and the men were far too strong. Capturing her in their grip once again, they managed to pull her into the bathroom where YN saw that bathtub full of water, finally understanding what was happening. YN fought like never before: kicking, scratching, she even managed to get the gag out of her mouth and began biting them. If the grunts of the men were anything to go by - and the harsh way one of them yanked her hair - she had inflicted some pain on them.

“Please! Help! Someone! He -” As if she weighed nothing, YN was grabbed and dumped into the ceramic tub. Her head knocked harshly against the back and YN felt something warm trailing down her head, as she gazed up dizzily. “Please, y-you d-don’t have t-to d-do t-this.” YN begged and pleaded, tried to reason with them but they wouldn’t listen. After everything she had endured, it couldn’t end like this. After all her suffering as a child, the loss of her parents, her brother, everything she ever held true. It couldn’t possibly end like this. I don’t want to die.

Strong arms grabbed a hold on her head, pushing it under the water. YN tried to hold her breath for as long as she could, trying to get her body to calm down so as to not consume more oxygen than necessary. Even then the seconds ticked on, YN could feel her chest begin to tighten the pressure beginning to mount the second she was about to breathe in water. YN was wretched out of the water, allowed to breathe only to be shoved in once again. With little air now, YN began to panic. Eyes anxiously looking around for anything to grasp onto. Anything that would serve as a life jacket - there was nothing. Her captors moved the moonlight now reflecting their golden armor.

YN was retched upwards one final time before being plunged back in, held down there longer. YN’s vision began to become blurry, chest tightening and lungs burning as her body forced her to breathe, only instead of air water rushed in. She was burning. She could feel herself burning from the inside out. Her mouth opened as she choked on the pain, only for more water to rush in. YN felt the last pounds of her heart as her senses faded, all her memories flashed before her eyes. The last was unfamiliar to her: a lily entangled by a snake its color changing from black to white. Vito? Eventually that faded too, as YN felt herself slipping into nothingness...slipping into death.

           Baekhyung’s hands disentangled from YN’s head as he lifted her hand from the water and checked her pulse. “She’s dead.” He stated, looking at the Seo guardsman. The man raised an eyebrow before checking for himself, seemingly content. “Thank you for your help. I’m sure your aunt will compensate you greatly.” Baekhyung rolled his eyes, “Didn’t do it for her. She’s simply an eyesore.” It wasn’t necessarily true, but with YN out of the way it would certainly facilitate things. The men walked out of the bathroom and then the door, not sparing a glance towards their surroundings. For if they had, they would have found the most peculiar sight, a bloated ball python struggling for its life, water droplets escaping its mouth. It took several minutes for the ball python to give up the fight. The second Vito took his last breath, YN took her first heaving, herself out of the water and breathing in air for the first time in twenty minutes.

           YN cast a glance toward the bed where her pet snake now laid dead, before pulling herself out of the bathtub and running straight for Jeon Jungkook’s room.

             YN’s knuckles rasped harshly on the blackwood of the prince’s bedroom door. When the prince didn’t answer the first time, her knocks became more incessant until YN was pounding so harshly the wood was beginning to bend under her force. She should have cared more about drawing attention to herself, but YN had just survived an assassination attempt and knew murderers didn’t linger long enough to be caught. Finally, the door creaked open, barely a sliver but enough that YN knew Jungkook was acknowledging her, inviting her in. A part of her hesitated, unsure whether this was all another elaborate scheme done by the sadistic prince in order to have her bend to him. No, this doesn’t seem like him. The Jeon’s weren’t fond of hiding in the shadows and hiring assassins. All of their ploys were done recklessly and with an audience. Since YN hadn’t stepped in, it seems Jungkook had decided to come out. He was still in his evening wear - his eyes took in YN’s disheveled appearance and a tear streamed face. He crossed his ankles together, leaning against the door frame.

           “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you come banging on my door at this late hour?” His dark eyes met hers, “Have you finally decided to speak to me or are you going to continue this ridiculous charade?” It isn’t until he noticed the blood on her head that worry crosses over his features, raising his hand to caress her.

           YN ignored him, instead choosing to answer a different question. “Yes.”  

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

   Seo Soojin’s room, when cleaned up, was actually quite beautiful. The reds and velvets mixed nicely with the fine gold accents. Normally guests would be a cause for celebration, as very few visited Soojin these days. Soojin would have been elated to have the prince himself in her chambers any night - but not tonight. Tonight Soojin sat seated on her bed, hair laid over her shoulders in nice neat waves. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, voice hesitant as she looked around the room for anything that could serve as a weapon for Jungkook or herself. Jungkook stood in the center of the room, though he had never been in her room he held no interest in all the trinkets she had decided to adorn it with. That wasn’t why Jungkook had suddenly decided to visit, not after YN had barged into his own bedroom and clung onto him. Not after Jungkook had to persuade his beloved that she would be safe in his bed with Morte guarding her.

“Can’t a husband visit his wife in the middle of the night?”

“We are not yet wed.” Soojin was unsure of what game Jungkook was playing, her eyes sneakily stared at her door. She couldn’t see the shadow of her guard's feet.

“I would hardly think that matters when the ceremony is in a few days' time.”

Jungkook approached Soojin’s bed slowly, his footsteps careful and calculated each one of them measured to ensure the tamed lioness would see exactly where he was at any given time. As he reached the edge of her bed, Soojin leaned back to rest on the headboard allowing Jungkook to crawl onto the bed until the prince was mere inches from her. Soojin swallowed thickly, nerves eating her alive. “Plus you’ll get everything you have ever wanted…” His hand caressed Soojin’s cheek tenderly. “To be queen and bear my heir.” His soft touch turned harsh as he pulled her towards his lips. “I thought we’d get a head start.” With little hesitation their lips crashed against each other, full of hatred and passion.

In those moments of pure unadulterated lust, Soojin swore Jungkook had never looked more beautiful. His sweat caused his hair to curl towards the ends, framing his face perfectly. Despite how badly she clinged to him, his arms, his back, chest, legs, his every breath - Jungkook barely touches her. He kisses her, but it feels empty. Even when he finally does enter her, it lacked intimacy and felt robotic. The prince was harsh, demanding, and entirely selfish in his needs. Though Soojin did enjoy it thoroughly, it was clear to her that Jungkook was only searching for his own high rather than hers. Eventually the two reach their peaks, climaxing together as Jungkook fills Soojin to the brim.

Then as quickly and quietly as he arrived the prince untangled himself from Soojin. Redressing himself before leaving her room, not sparing the young princess a glance. Seo Soojin cried that night for the first time in years, memories of her youth plaguing her as she recalled the fateful day that set in motion the rest of her life.

 Thirteen year old Soojin was already a beauty to behold, even at such a young age. Despite being born a woman, she was exceptionally bright and cunning. Under different circumstances, she would’ve surely become a great inventor or even a great ruler. Sadly she was born a woman to a noble family who had long ago set their eyes on the prize of the land - a prize their only daughter could help them get. While Soojin had never met prince Jungkook, they had been engaged since she could remember. Having been raised with tales of the great Jeons and how Jungkook was the kindest and fairest prince in the land. Soojin could hardly contain her excitement at what her future might hold. The following week, she would embark to court and finally meet her beloved. Still, even at such a young age Soojin possessed little patience and great ambition. Seven days was far too long a wait.

“Come on Soojin, it is this way.” Kim Yoona yelled from far ahead, Soojin jumped over the rocks that were littered across the ravine, careful to watch her steps so as to not slip. They were deep in the forest, far from the watchful eyes of maids and guards, Soojin wasn’t afraid though. She knew the fate that would befall anyone who attempted to cause harm to a Seo. Much less the soon to be princess. Yoona had told her of a fortune teller that had apparently predicted the Jeons rise to power and the birth of the prince. She was notable throughout all the land and since hearing her tenacity for telling the future of those destined to be great, Soojin wanted hers read.

After crossing the water they trudged through more forest ground before finding a small clearing. The two girls abruptly stopped as they came face to face with an old cottage resembling something out of the fairy tales they'd read. “This must be it.” Soojin stated, marching forward once the shock wore off. There was nothing to be afraid of; she was certain of what her future would entail, she just needed the confirmation. Before Soojin could knock on the door, it was opened by a middle aged woman dressed in rags.

“Are you the witch?” Was the first thing out of Soojin’s mouth. She lay unimpressed as Yoona soon joined her side, stunned into silence.

“Are you the Seo girl?” The fortune-teller reproached, causing both young girls' eyes to widen, before the fortune-teller allowed them in. “It’s two hundred to have your fortunes read - each.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Yoona protested, but Soojin fisted the money out of her wallet before throwing it on the nearest table she found. “There, now tell me my future.”

“How about I tell you a story instead?”

Soojin rolled her eyes dramatically, “I don’t want a story. I want my future, tell it now.”

The fortune teller smiled, taking long steps before reaching a chair. She took her time sitting and making herself comfortable before finally turning towards Soojin. “Tell me child, have you ever seen a lion and snake play together?”

Soojin frowned, “What?”

“They are opposite beings in nature. Warm-blooded and cold-blooded. A union between them would never work.” The witch grabbed the pile of money and began to count it, “A lion takes several mates but always stays within his pride. A snake lives a solitary life, its only companions the flowers it lives alongside.”

“You’re making no sense!” Soojin’s hands balled into fists, as she began to raise her voice in frustration. “You’re speaking in riddles, talk clearly.”

“She means that the match won’t last.” Yoona, who had remained quiet until then, finally spoke up.

“That isn’t true!” Soojin screamed, head whipping back and forth between her friend and the witch. “Who will marry the prince if not me?! I am to be a queen. I will bear a son and become a Jeon. Our marriage will unite the kingdom and ensure prosperity for the kingdom.” The words were not her own, but those she had been raised hearing.

“Ah, a queen you will be and a son you will bear. A Jeon though is not a name that is given but granted. Read up on your history child, this union will only breed destruction.”

Soojin didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. The witch was lying to her. She simply wanted to embarrass Soojin, that's why she was making up all those lies.

Yoona excitedly pounced on the opportunity, now that Soojin was out of the picture perhaps she had a shot. “If not her then who? Who will marry the prince?”

Soojin turns to glare at her supposed friend, furious at the hope that had filled the young Yoona now that she believed Soojin to be out of the picture.

The fortune-teller looked out the window at the trees that surrounded them, “This winter has been long, but spring will come again. When it does, the flowers are always the first to bloom.”

“Flowers?” Soojin asked, at the same time that her friend drew her conclusions.

“A Kim?! I’m a Kim. Does that mean I will marry the prince?” Yoona asked excitedly, unaware of the glare now being cast her way by Soojin. Poor Kim Yoona misunderstood, her family though they held the last name, held very little power and had only managed to amass their fortune through their loyalty to the Seo’s. Something the young child, unbeknownst to her, ruined that very afternoon. Still much like young Yoona, Soojin too did not know the difference between Kims - they were those who simply possessed the name while others who were blessed with it.  When they were walking back towards their homes and Yoona accidentally slipped on the rocks and dove head first into the ravine, Soojin couldn’t bring herself to care much. If fate wants her to be with the prince, then she will surely not drown. The princess thought as she walked away and headed home preparing for her upcoming trip.

           “This winter has been long but spring will come again. When it does, meet me where the flower’s bloom.” YN had awoken alone in her bed in the morning, surprised that neither Sana nor Jungkook were around. She supposed it was a blessing in disguise for the note left on her pillow would have surely been the subject of questioning. It had taken her a while to decipher what exactly Namjoon had meant by the note, but figured that overthinking would be exactly what would be expected of her to do. So, YN headed towards her vanity but stopped cold when she realized the book was not there. I could’ve sworn… YN searched high and low through her bedroom in a manner that was discrete yet thorough. She felt eyes on her and didn’t know if they were guarding or threatening.

           Sana must’ve placed it elsewhere. It would be strange considering the maid never moved any of her stuff without explicit permission, but it certainly was a possibility. YN sighed, looking at the note once again tracing it with her finger as she pondered on what the lord’s intentions might have been in sending her that message. If it had been something unimportant, he surely would have communicated through his staff. It was the way of the palace. If it was urgent, Kim Namjoon would have come himself. No, this was something different. YN’s eyes danced once more on the small piece of paper, observing carefully as if the paper would suddenly reveal a secret to her, that was for her eyes only.

           “Where the flowers bloom…” What flowers? YN’s eyes widened as she recalled something her late mother had taught her. YN had been too young to remember much of her parents, even the few memories she did have were obscured. She did remember her mother always plotting lilies though, it was the only thing that she had been able to cultivate while they lived in the harsh areas of the city. Their garden, if it could be called that, had been barely a meter long. Though their father insisted that she try to grow vegetables, because they were always so expensive at the market, she only grew lilies. Even if they always died. Lilies were delicate beings and required extreme care and stable environments - something YN hadn’t known much of growing up. There was another thing about YN’s mother’s garden: she always complained about the ivy weed that threatened to consume it.

Where flower’s bloom? Lilies required care, attention, and warmth. It needed round the clock observation. An ivy, on the contrary, could potentially grow in any type of environment even the most inhospitable ones. The passage ways!

 It seems Jungkook had kept his promise of locking up the passageway, but YN had figured it couldn’t be the only one. Certainly a castle this old and large must have various entries and exits privy only to those who reside in them. So YN looked in the most obvious place she could think of. It wasn’t difficult to gain access to Jungkook’s bedroom, and the palace had been fairly empty as of late so there weren’t many lingering around. It was rather difficult though to escape the eyes she felt. Jungkook had promised her a brand new security detail, though she had assumed he meant guards. Now she was uncertain. Everywhere YN went she felt eyes and as she peered around the prince’s room, it was no different. Morte was nowhere to be seen but YN couldn’t be sure the snake was hiding or if she was accompanying her master.

“Psst.”

It came from behind her. YN spun around only to face the wall behind the bed. Then she heard it again, “Psst.” This time louder, as she drew nearer her eyes focused on the pattern of the dark brick wall. It was perfectly layered and symmetrical, likely thousands of years old, as the stone had long faded yet somehow kept its state. One last time the “psst” rang out and YN finally noticed that one of the bricks was slightly more pushed in than the others. It was something only noticeable since she was barely a breath away from the wall. Hesitantly, YN reached out and pressed at a large section of the wall sliding back by a few feet. Then she walked forward into the corridors making sure to close it behind, her unaware of the viper observing.

 “I was afraid you might not join me.” Kim Namjoon was not dressed in his usual attire of extravagant clothes. In fact, the old wash of his bottoms and creases on his shirt made it seem like another person when YN had first laid eyes on him, after discovering him deep in the corridors. “I have walked long and have yet to see any Ivies growing. Your clue wasn’t easy to decipher. Had I misinterpreted it, I would have headed to the gardens.” YN answered, there was something off about the lord today but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He seemed desperate to YN. “Ah, but we are at the gardens.” Namjoon replied, finger taping the wall to his left. The passageway they found themselves did in fact run alongside the palace gardens. To his left grew lilies, once planted by the great Kim when the palace was first constructed. To his right, inside the castle, ivies: tall, wild, and lethal. All planted by Jeon the I without intent.

“What is it you want my lord?” Though YN normally enjoyed conversing with Namjoon, something inside her stomach warned her that being hidden away with him would have consequences.

“Have you read the book, my lady?”

“Ah,” YN didn’t exactly know how to break it to him without possibly upsetting him. “I seem to have misplaced it.”

“Someone took it you mean.”

“Why would someone steal a book?” It was a genuine question, as Namjoon had come to that conclusion far too quickly.

“Why would someone steal you?”

So that is what he was trying to get at. YN had long grown tired of having to explain her situation and felt a bit disappointed that Namjoon would even ask. He seemed different. She should have known better. “That is the question I’ve been asking myself since I arrived.” Her tone was apathetic, as she glanced around trying to figure out how to end the conversation.

           “Surely you are not that oblivious my lady. You hold value - a true value that is rare to come by these days.”

           Now she was confused, “You make no sense.”

           Namjoon stepped closer. Even though it was just two steps, YN felt he was trying to bridge the space between them. Either to get her attention or establish dominance, she wasn’t too sure. YN held her ground. “I’m afraid I never do.” Namjoon caresses her cheek, leaning in to whisper. “You smell divine, like flowers...a Sharon rose, perhaps?” YN eyes widened. Her mind traveled to Soojin’s confrontation. “It is simply a name my lord.” Namjoon chuckled, “Yes, I suppose so. That is why there are only two true Kim’s in court.” He turned sharply on his feet and walked away, but not before spinning back just as quickly. “The help is sorted into two fields - Seo’s and Jeon’s - Sana is a Jeon, not by name but it is where her alliances lie - besides the crown.”

           The phone rang inside Min Yoongi’s study and he ignored it. Fully aware of who it was and the consequences it may bring, but the Duke couldn’t bring himself to care. Jimin was in a good mood today, splendid even, and Yoongi didn’t want to do anything that would risk that. So the phone rang for hours upon hours, jiggling harshly upon his desk much to his annoyance. He had instructed the staff to ignore it - let the man think he was out of town. Though it was a dangerous game, now far from the castle Min Yoongi found the courage he so often lacked. He was prepared to play the long game and ignore the brat, demonstrating that Yoongi was not a puppet or a butler he could have at his beck and call. When the phone finally stopped, Yoongi assumed he had won. Until the phone started ringing elsewhere: the master bedroom - Jimin’s room. Yoongi bolted out the door leaving his chair turned over and a few papers scattered. The duke ran through the hallway and burst past the doors just as Jimin put the phone to his ear. Yoongi ripped it out of his hand as gently as he could, not missing the questioning gaze of his beloved. “Hello,” his gruff voice sounding slightly out of breath from the run.

           “Hello Yoongi, I’ve been trying to reach you but it seems you’ve been too busy to pick up the phone. So I figured I would ask your darling for a favor, it’s been so long since I’ve heard from him.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened and his hands balled into a fist. “There’s been some problems with the phone lines lately, it looks like there’s a storm coming.”

           “Oh a storm is coming all right, but that is not why I contacted you Yoongi. I’m sure you’ve received the invitation by now.” He meant the wedding invitation. Yoongi had in fact received the invitation earlier that morning, to say he was surprised when he saw ‘Jeon Jungkook and Seo Soojin’ on the piece of paper would be an understatement. What of the girl? “You see there is the matter of my bachelor party.” Oh no. “While my soon to be wife is busy readying herself, I see no point in not enjoying my last night of an unwed life. So my beloved and I are headed towards your estate as we speak. I hope it isn’t too late for a party.”

             Jungkook had yet to tell her where they were headed, but he seemed in a pleasant mood something which caused YN quite a lot of concern. She was aware that the wedding was tomorrow and hadn’t found it to be a good sign that the groom was effectively leaving a day before. Though Jungkook had sworn he would marry Soojin, there had to be something else at play. A hidden pawn or move that he hadn’t yet exposed - it wouldn’t be out of character for him to somehow weasel his way out of a promise. Then again… The King was involved in this affair and Jungkook had yet to disobey his father. At least in front of her.

           “What has you so entertained?” Jungkook reached over and delicately massaged the frown between her brows. His other hand entwined in hers, fingers gently tracing over her knuckles. “Penny for your thoughts.”

           YN forced a polite smile on her face, “Simply wondering where we are going.” There was nothing to gain from speaking the truth. If her time in the castle had taught her anything it was that.

           “Hm,” the prince nodded, clearly not entirely believing her but choosing not to press the matter. “We are headed to an old friend’s place. Duke Min has agreed to host us for the evening as a farewell gift to my bachelor status.”

           The name rang a bell and the longer she dwelled on it, the clearer the person he was speaking about became. “Duke Min? As in Lady Eun’s lover?” As in the man she had begged to spare her brother’s life? To be fair, all the charges against her brother had been dropped. It wasn't the Duke’s fault that Jungkook had manipulated everything to kill her brother regardless. You killed his lover.

Sensing the clear discomfort in her tone, Jungkook smiled. “Don’t worry my love.” He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning her ear. “Yoongi engages in various liaisons, but only one truly holds his heart. He and I are a lot alike in that sense.”

     The Min estate was a sight to behold, though it did not compare to the grandiose nature of the palace, YN found herself enjoying it more. It was brighter, a light sky color that matched the lush greenery that surrounded it. It was much smaller than a duke’s home should be, but that was to be expected of a secondary residence - even if it was where Min mainly stayed. In front stood Min Yoongi, as well as multiple staff, all different levels of anxiousness. Most thoughts revolved around the prince and what a pleasure it would be to serve his royal highness when they were so used to serving the duke and his lover. All of Yoongi’s thoughts, though, were on the girl. He longed to see her, only if to ease his curiosity. It had been so long since they had last met and Yoongi wanted to know if she had changed, what she had become. if she remained the same desperate child begging to be saved - or had transformed herself into a vicious snake.

As the carrier arrived, the driver quickly exited to open the door. Jungkook exited first with a sly smile on his face that caused most of the staff to swoon, and right behind him, wearing a simple satin high collared blue dress with a grey coat, exited YN. Her eyes cast around before they immediately dropped down. It wasn’t until Jungkook took her hand in his that she looked up, sending a blank look to the prince - which upon further inspection by the duke was filled with a mixture of contempt yet reluctance. Jungkook whispered something to her that caused her eyes to widen and she quickly looked up at Yoongi with fear in her eyes. The look mirroring one Jimin had given him the first time they had met.

It was gone rather quickly, replaced with a gentle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Yoongi wondered if that sort of training had been cemented by Jungkook or if much like his songbird YN had learned that adapting meant surviving.

      After a brief tour of the home, the three of them had lunch though YN did not miss the fourth table set that went unused, much to the Duke’s apartments annoyance, the three then spoke in the patio for hours about politics, music, art, philosophy. Though it was more like YN was an observer than an active participant, Jungkook seemed fine about her lack of enthusiasm so long as she was draped on his lap or holding his hand. It was like she was a prize to be admired, but not engaged with. Any time she did wish to join the conversation, she would look up and meet Min Yoongi’s dark feline eyes and immediately sink back into silence. There was something about the duke that holy unnerved her, he seemed fine enough at first glance but the prince’s words kept bouncing around her head. Dinner then came and went, followed by drinks and finally it was time to retire.

“We have prepared two rooms like you asked.” Yoongi states, after waving away an approaching maid. “We hope they are to your enjoyment.” YN can’t help but feel a sense of relief at not having to share a room with Jungkook. They both excuse themselves and are guided up the stairs. Once the maid leaves, YN goes to enter the room but a hold on her wrist stops her. She turns back to look at Jungkook quizzically.

“Oh come on now darling, the rooms are for show.” He says amused. “It’s best not to cause an uproar the night before the wedding.” Jungkook doesn’t even give her time to respond, before he pulls her into his room and shuts the door. It is when he goes in for the kiss that YN rushes out a question that has been plaguing her all day. “Are you actually going to marry Soojin?” Jungkook stops, tilting his head to the side as if thinking over what she says. “Why? Are you jealous?” His tone is teasing, as he goes in for another kiss only to be stopped by YN once more. “You promised her you would. Promised me as well. Do you intend to keep it?”

Jungkook sighed, walking towards the bed and stripping off his clothes layer by layer. “Soojin has been my fiancé since we were children. I was always meant to wed her.” This causes YN’s chest to swell with excitement, only for it to be shattered seconds afterwards. “Still it is you who will be my queen. You did promise to wed me too recall? In exchange for protection from any more assassination attempts. Everyone always knows that first marriages are for gains and the second is for love.” He beckoned her closer, for some reason YN obeyed. Standing nearly nude in the moonlight YN once again was blinded by his beauty. He looked so much like an angel, but she knew devils could shapeshift to enticing forms.

Once again she wondered if things had been different would Jungkook have wooed her too. In another life, would she have come to love him? Would he even be interested in her? No use in thinking of what ifs. Nothing would change who Jungkook was now, just like it appeared nothing would save YN. Not as long as the prince was alive.

When YN awoke the next morning the prince was gone, the spot beside her in bed now cold. Though she couldn’t be certain it had ever been warm. She dressed and headed down stairs, surprised to find barely any staff and the duke gone as well. It’s a royal wedding of course they would all be gone. YN eyed the door and approached it, seeking an opportunity for escape. The place couldn’t possibly be as heavily guarded as the castle. YN hadn’t seen any guards or anything of the sort the day before. Just as her hand was about to grip the handle, a butler appeared startling her.

“Pardon the interruption my lady, but breakfast has been served outside in the garden.” YN smiles politely nodding before heading out towards the gardens. The gardens aren’t likely to be guarded. She could always escape into the forestry surrounding the house. As she exited the house, she caught sight of a man sitting at the table where breakfast was served. He was stunning, that was the first thing she noticed. With soft yet angled features, large lips, and delicate eyes. She must’ve been staring a long time because the man finally turned to look at her and in his eyes, YN could see a deep melancholy not dissimilar to her own.

“So you’re the prince’s whore?”

YN was taken aback by his bluntness, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She wouldn’t be disrespected by someone who seemed to be in the same boat as her. So that’s what Jungkook meant. “Are you the Duke’s?”

He smiled, she could tell it wasn’t fake as humor filled his eyes. Only to quickly be replaced with sadness yet again. “I am his lover, his songbird, his whore.” The man looked forward towards the violets, “It all depends on his mood.” Then filled with mirth, “It all depends on the sex.” It was once he turned back towards her, his smile a mix of innocence and seduction that he finally stated his name. “You can call me Jimin though.” YN couldn’t help the slight smile that spread across her face, for even though she did not know what Jimin had gone through he was still surviving and that inspired her a bit.

The two of them ate in silence and merely observed the garden, breathing in the fresh air and taking in nature. YN thought this might be the first time she has ever been at peace after meeting Jungkook. It isn’t until the sun is higher in the sky, past midday or a bit before, that Jimin speaks again.

“They’re both gone. Off to the wedding it seems.” He says it with such resentment, YN can’t help but wonder if it's because he isn’t with them or Jimin dislikes weddings in general. When YN questions him, he chuckles. “No, I’m not mad. A whore isn’t welcome in a church after all.” The sly wink he sends her lets her know that she too is included in the joke. Even then, she wonders if Jimin even gets to leave at all. Suddenly Jungkook’s words when they were approaching the house pop into her head, “The Duke is fond of keeping treasures too so be sure not to catch his attention.”

“Perhaps we should have our own fun.” She says suddenly, little thought given to the consequences said action may hold for both of them.

Jimin turns to YN, eyes widened before his lips pucker into a pout. “I’m not allowed to leave and no one can go against the Duke’s wishes.”

“I outrank the Duke.” A bit of silence followed before the two of them broke out into wicked grins.

 YN had never really been in the city, the area she used to reside in where the slums were, and even then she went out so little that her memories of it were vague. Jimin seemed to have a better idea of where they were going, dragging her from fashion boutique to cafes to bars and anywhere else he could think of. He seemed so jovial as if he were a bird able to fly after so long, when he looked it at YN it was with a mixture of glee and gratitude. Even if she didn’t enjoy all the attention garnered every time Jimin pulled out Yoongi’s money, she didn’t want to break what little happiness had returned to Jimin. Especially when he had seemed so starved of it.

“Here this is for you. If you’re forced and resigned to being the prince’s whore might as well dress the part.” Jimin often called her that instead of her name, but given the lack of malice in his voice whenever he did YN couldn’t bring herself to care. He handed her a velvet box, which upon opening it possessed a silver necklace with a black gemstone and matching ring. “Jimin I can’t take this.” It was certainly expensive judging by the look of it and she felt this was his way of saying thanks. “I appreciate it but -”

Jimin rolled his eyes and took the ring out of the box and forced it onto her finger. “Don’t make this a big deal. If you look like a victim people will treat you like one, but if you look like a queen...well no one goes against a queen.” He had maneuvered his way around her and placed the necklace on her neck tying it delicately on the back. “There now you look like a queen.” His fingers brushed comfortingly on the side of her neck. YN smiled and thanked him silently. They were towards the back of a store, it was a smaller boutique, likely only being able to contain no more than twenty people inside yet it was relatively empty. The stylist had stepped into the back after offering them beverages and hadn’t returned since.

As the two new friends continued their conversation, a car pulled up to the front of the store. It was a large suburban with thick windows that were blacked out. Since Jimin had his back to the front it was YN who first noticed it, finding it peculiar. It wasn’t until the car doors opened and she saw the sigil on the driver’s side that she recognized who it belonged to. Resistance. It didn’t take her too long to grasp at why they were there. Rather quickly she gripped Jimin’s arms, “Go to the back of the store and don’t come back out until it's safe.” Rather forcefully she shoved him towards the back and Jimin spared her a glance before running to the back of the store.

Please please please. YN didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but it was the only thing that occurred to her. Five burly men entered the store all setting their sights on her immediately. “Hello, Kim YN. Our leader would like to speak with you.”

“I’m Kim Seokjin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words couldn’t be any more of a farce, but Seokjin was nothing if not civil and polite. The smile forced onto his face was entirely charismatic and swayed anyone that looked it at. While being a good leader was important, good looks also aided Seokjin in staking his claim on the throne. Though people swore loyalty to the Kim’s and claimed to despise the Jeon’s, no one would rally behind an ugly person not when their prince looked like a fallen angel. “I’ve been told quite a lot about you. I am sorry that we have had to meet under these circumstances, but it isn’t very often the prince lets his most prized possession out of his sights.”

Truth was he could have waited, but Seokjin wanted to see her. Wanted to know what had captured not just the prince’s attention, but Namjoon’s as well. Now that YN was in front of him he saw nothing that could explain it. She’s rather plain looking. Not only that but she sat perfectly straight in her chair refusing to engage in any conversation at all. Her lips were pursed, face stoic, and eyes observed everything at a clinical distance. She acts like a Jeon that’s for sure. Well if she wasn’t going to reply might as well continue, “I am sure you have first hand experience of how cruel the Jeon’s can be. They are cold, cunning, and utilize dark arts to keep their power. They took what was once a great country, with wealth and happiness to go around and have hogged it all to the point were most of the population lives in extreme hunger and despair.”

“Have you ever gone hungry?” YN’s soft voice spoke out, barely above a whisper yet it captured all of Seokjin’s attention. “It seems strange to me to hear about hunger and despair from a man who has never experienced it in his life.”

Seokjin was taken aback, but kept his calm. “I have faced much despair in my life, but it would take too long to go into detail about it. Plus I am not fond of comparing traumas.”

“What dark arts do you speak of? I’ve never heard of the Jeon’s performing dark arts.” That was a lie, but YN was baiting him. Plus if Seokjin had useful information that could help her escape Jungkook then she was willing to do anything.

Seokjin smiled, “A group of less than a hundred men stormed a castle full of guards, nobility, and the royal family and within an hour had slaughtered them all and taken control. Of course, it was magic.”

So he knows nothing. YN remained quiet, she observed Kim Seokjin the way one might a potential threat. Even if he had yet to attack or make his intentions clear, the only person YN had met that hadn’t attempted to coerce her or hurt her had been Jimin. The odds weren’t in her favor. Even Namjoon whom she had thought of as a friend had acted strange the last time they met. “Unless there is something you know. Which may help us restore the imbalance of power and return things back to their harmonious state.”

It was clear neither were buying what the other was selling and it was only a matter of time before that truth became obvious to the two of them.

“What I am trying to get at my lady is, it would not only benefit the kingdom but you as well if you -” Before Seokjin could finish his pitch, the doors of his office slammed open and in strolled Kim Namjoon decked in a royal blue blazer with matching top and cream pants, he looked like a leader and with the way he regarded Seokjin it was clear which one of them truly called the shots. “I learned you kidnapped Lady Kim when I specifically asked you not to. Now we have both an angry prince and Duke on our hands.”

“The prince is getting married, he is far too concerned with his future bride to care where his mistress is.”

“Ah, well since you clearly know Jeon Jungkook so well explain to me then why fourteen of our allies had their families raided and imprisoned not ten minutes after you took her.”

Both Seokjin and YN froze in shock, unable to believe what they had just heard. Ten minutes? It took ten minutes for Jungkook to find out she was missing and exact his revenge when he was more than a hundred miles away. “Don’t play with me Namjoon.” Seokjin’s voice had lost all its charm and was not monotone, “This isn’t funny.” Namjoon scoffed, “They’re awaiting their sentencing and everyone knows it's the gallows for traitors.” An image of her brother’s dead body flashed before YN and she struggled to not heave. “Now go fix it.” Namjoon demanded, pointing his finger out the door. Seokjin marched out not sparing YN a look, but she could tell by the look on his face he would surely blame her for this. It’s always my fault.

YN sat stunned in silence as Namjoon ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends with frustration. She glanced towards her lap trying not to make eye contact, her hands were shaking and YN gripped her skirt in order to steady them. “I can talk him out of it.” YN wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Namjoon or herself. “He wouldn’t -”

“Yes, he would YN. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re dead already.” He muttered, before sighing and gazing at her sympathetically. “Don’t blame yourself my lady. This isn’t your fault.”

YN chuckled humorlessly, “All of this is my fault. Every death that has occurred since the prince and I crossed paths has been my fault.” Or by my hand. Lady Eun and Vito flashed before her eyes.

“Well then I shall have to start referring to you as Lady Death or Lady D for short.”

YN smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood, “Very funny my lord.” The two stared into each other's eyes for a while before YN finally broke the calm silence that had settled between them. “Is Kim Seokjin an ivy or a lily?” The smile on the lord’s face melts away before he quickly replaces it with one that doesn’t reach his eyes. There is a mask on his face that YN has only seen him wear around others before and she smurmises what it must mean - Namjoon finally sees her as a threat.

“He is a Kim with a stake to the throne, one of the last remaining ones.” He walks towards a leather seat right across from where she is. Namjoon sits the way a gentleman would, reclining yet keeping his back straight and shoulders square. Head held high as his height caused him to look down at her ever so slightly. YN found herself imagining what he would look like with a crown on his head. “So what is your plan? To use Seokjin and let him die in his quest for the throne?” Her eyebrow raises as she questions whether Namjoon would be as cruel to use someone for their own personal gains, then again that seems to be the norm among the nobility.

“Seokjin won’t die.” Namjoon spoke as if this were a fact and not an optimistic delusion.

“Please don’t be foolish, my lord. The Jeons and Seo’s will wipe out any possible threat that exists to them.” YN had experienced it first hand.

“The Seo’s believe where all lunatics clinging to the past and the Jeons would never attack without solid reasoning.”

YN laughed, “The prince just executed four families without solid reasoning.”

“No,” Namjoon shook his head as disappointed she didn’t understand. “The prince executed conspirators that may have played a role in the kidnapping of a court lady and his lover.”

YN fixed him with a pointed stare, “You know the truth.”

Namjoon leans forward in his seat, “The truth doesn’t matter, tell a lie enough times it becomes the truth. People don’t want to believe the reality, they want to hear what is most convenient to them.”

“What is this truth that you are trying to tell? That Seokjin is the true heir when the Kim line has been so mixed that’s nearly impossible. Or is that little speech all you have?” YN was frustrated. Tired of being treated like a pawn in a larger game of thrones. “You seem to be under the illusion that I am completely unaware of what having a Kim king was like. I don’t like the Jeons nor the Kims, both patriarchy’s have set about ruining the kingdom each in their own way.”

“Good thing we aren’t going to have a patriarch on the throne.” He smirked.

YN’s words died on her tongue as the statement caused her to pause. It unsettled, then it all began to click. Jungkook’s intense desire to make her queen, Soojin questioning her family name, Namjoon’s insistence, even her brother’s untimely death. At that moment YN longed to be anywhere else but there to be far away: back in the store with her brother, back in their childhood home with her parents, even locked back inside the palace bedrooms. At least there she knew what to expect, what future awaited her. There her status as a sister, daughter, prisoner were clear. Inside the rebel grounds  they were not, she was about as certain of her fate as she had been that night in the dungeon. “What do you mean?” The look Namjoon gave her spoke for itself. You know what he means, don’t deny it any longer. “YN,” he rose from his chair cautiously, his eyes hesitant as if unsure how she would react. For a split second, YN could see what looked like trepidation in his eyes but what would the great Lord Kim have to be afraid of? “You were never merely a pawn and it was never nearly a name.”

Soojin sat restlessly on the marriage bed, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. She was certain there were ears glued to the chamber doors and could feel eyes on her figure, yet she couldn’t tell where they came from. The wedding had been a spectacle if a little small, but she supposed it would help cement her image as a humble princess. It wasn’t a good look to waste millions on a wedding when the country’s poor were starving. Her knees were tucked into her chamise as the cold air in the room nipped at her skin, the lit fire was too far away to offer anything besides light. Though she longed to go near it, she had been told it was bad luck for the bride to step foot off the bed before the marriage had been consummated. Even if it already had been days before.

She isn’t exactly sure how long passes, but knows that it must have been a while since the cold nipping at her had long seeped into her bones and was now causing her to shiver. The silk bedding offered little protection. More time passed and Soojin found herself dozing off, the new moon high in the sky before she was awoken by the ringing of a bell. It announced that someone wished to enter the room and Soojin gave her permission. A young maid entered, hair tucked tightly into a bun as she bowed deeply. She looked familiar to the princess and she racked her brain trying to find her name before finally recalling, Ah yes, Sana. The whore’s maid. Soojin didn’t think much of it, since YN was no longer in the castle and posed no threat to her. She regarded the maid civilly.

“What is it?”

“I apologize, your highness, the prince has left the castle for the city and it seems he will not be returning before tomorrow.”

Soojin laughed, to her it must have been a joke. Surely Jungkook would not leave on their wedding night to be with his mistress when his wife was right there. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth and realized she was not only laughing, but crying as well. Finally Sana looked up at her, eyes filled with pity and any sadness in Soojin turned to rage. I see. YN had sent her maid to taunt her, to show that even though Soojin was queen Jungkook still belonged to her. Soojin raised her hand to strike the maid, when a sudden sharp pain from her abdomen caused her to fall over.

“Princess?!” Sana rushed to her help, only to be pushed away by Soojin. “Leave! Lock the doors! I don’t want anyone to see me!” She roared like a lioness and Sana backed away, bowed in submission. It was once she heard the small ‘click’ of the locked door that Soojin allowed the sobs to wreck through her body as the pain in her stomach worsened. What is happening to me? She raises her hand and sees small drops of water that have stuck. Soojin could not remember the last time she had cried. Perhaps it had been her sixth birthday when her father had died or perhaps it had been when her mother scolded her for crying after his death.

Nonetheless she did not have time to dwell on it for the pain she felt forced her up and had her heaving. She could feel something crawling up her throat and she tried desperately not to choke on it. I won’t give up this fight. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed. The pain was harsher than ever and it burned so much that Soojin swore it would tear itself from the inside out. She had no choice but to open her mouth and let it out. Soojin expected a lot of things to exit her: bile, the wedding cake, even flowers if she were to be honest. What she did not expect was the small baby snake in the pool of blood; which upon closer inspection by the princess was dead.

           When YN arrived at the Min house it looked deserted as if not a soul resided in it, but she knew Jungkook was waiting inside. Even far away, YN could sense the danger radiating from inside - Jungkook was sure to be infuriated and she hoped it wasn’t too late to talk him down from his anger before more innocent people lost their lives. She pushed through the front doors, not surprised to find them open, and saw Jungkook waiting for her sat upon the stairs. What did come as a shock to her was that he was still wearing his wedding clothes. Did he really come straight after? His long hair is styled back to show off his undercut, the tight fit of his suit - a grey and white jacket with matching pants and the Jeon symbol embroidered on the left breast - show off his figure nicely. When the prince catches her staring he smirks, but it does little to subdue the fire present in his eyes.

           “Oh and did the rebellion help you find your way back darling? How nice of them. Not to worry, I’ve already sent them my thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from every word, but it stoked YN’s own fury how casually he spoke about killing people. How little he cared.

           “Haven’t you killed enough?! Those poor people have nothing to do with it and you know it. Stop murdering people as a show of power.” She was seething, not being able to bear the guilt of anymore blood on her hands.

           “A display of power?” Jungkook raised his eyebrow, “If I wanted to display my power, I would have murdered every single person in that little so called rebellion. No what I did was a display of my love for you.” Even through his insanity, she could see he was being honest and that terrified her even more.

           “How do you think it looks to your people that on your wedding day, you’re more concerned with your mistress's disappearance than your own wife?” Though Jungkook didn’t care about appearances, the crown still had an image to uphold.

           Jungkook opened his mouth, letting it form a small ‘o.’ “I see you’ve been under the impression this whole time that the public knows who you are.” He smiled at her confused expression, “You see while the public is aware that I have taken a mistress, all they know is that she is a lady of the court. But the murders that occurred tonight were due to the aiding of a wanted criminal.”

           “A what?” It was not the first time that day that YN had found herself as the centerpiece in a chessboard. Except that while she had just been told she was the strongest piece - this conversation would serve as a reminder of who truly controlled the game. “Your brother was an enemy of the state, one that conspired to overthrow the throne. While normally I allow Kim Seokjin to play diliances since everyone is aware his claim is less than weak, him reaching out to you demonstrates that he is a far more threatening player than I had originally anticipated.” He shrugs, “If you ever do manage to escape you will be persecuted for your crimes against the crown.” He would throw me in a cell and let me rot to prove a point. No, it’s more than that. Jungkook is not only cornering her, but the Kims in general. A criminal can’t be a ruler.

           YN walks toward Jungkook, her stride strong and determined as she crossed the space between them to come kneel in front of him. Once they were at eye level, she tenderly cupped his cheek. Whispering softly, “Are you afraid he sought me out to get to you? Is that what this is?” Jungkook leans into her embrace, trying to steal a kiss. YN avoids him by instead brushing her lips over the shell of his ear, “After everything you have done to me I do not need outside forces to compel me to hate you.” When she pulled back, she saw something unexpected. There were tears in Jungkook’s eyes, not dissimilar to the ones that had been there when she had told him of his father’s plan. For a split second, YN found herself wondering once again what might have happened if the two of them had met in a different time. If Jungkook were not the cruel prince that he is and had not hurt her, could she love him? Or were they doomed to repeat the same brutal love story for all of eternity.

           Jungkook’s hand snapped up to grab a hold of YN’s neck and he flipped them around, caging her between the marble stairs and his own body. “It is not his interest in me or my crown that fills me with bloodlust, but rather his interest in you.” The prince’s grip was so tight, she could feel the indents of his fingers being left behind.

           Perhaps she should have waited for a better time. Perhaps YN should not have taken the bait so clearly laid out by the prince, but it had been a long day and the only person who could truly give her answers stood right in front of her. “How long?” She questions in a broken whisper. “When did you know?” Had he known this whole time and that’s why he had been stringing her along? People in the kingdom longed to go back to a time before the Jeons, but their hatred did not extend towards the prince. In their eyes he was nothing like his cruel bloodline. Jungkook drew her closer, his lips trailing up her nose bridge until he planted a kiss on her forehead. “If you're afraid my interest in you is solely due to your bloodline, don’t be afraid. Something as measly as a name wouldn’t sway my affection.” He lowered his head, to make sure they were at eye level, “besides you’ll be a Jeon soon. Whether or not you are of royal bloodline will not matter once you are queen. If anything it will legitimize your place beside me.” The smile he gave her was saccharine, full of nothing but love and adoration. As if his words were meant to comfort her, when they were only a display of how carefully he had orchestrated everything.

           “When?” YN repeated, glaring at him with so much fury Jungkook swore he should be beneath the ground.

           “After our conversation in your cell. I had Yoongi and Jimin find information about you and deliver it to me.” He drew away, leaving space between them in case his words evoked a physical reaction. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being fooled. Then I read about your parents, what a strange accident that seemed to be.” His finger tapped his chin mockingly. “Especially so soon after your adoption had been finalized. Then I traced your lineage only to find it didn’t exist. Since my grandfather took the throne every single person born with the surname Kim has been documented, yet you don’t exist.” His pitch raised, dramatizing his words. “Seems like someone went a long way to make a little girl from nowhere completely disappear.” The prince shrugged, as if his words had not completely shattered everything YN once knew to be true.

“That is how I knew.”

           YN lunged at him, she didn’t exactly know what had compelled her to, but she did. The strength behind said attack seemed to surprise even Jungkook. Still he looked entirely serene when she straddled and wrapped her hands around his throat, deciding to repay him for what he had done seconds before. YN squeezed with all her might. Instead of being afraid Jungkook began to laugh, maniacally so, “Honestly darling, first stabbing and now choking. What’s next, are you going to try to poison me?”

           “Morte isn’t here.” YN spat out, “There’s nothing to ensure you survive.” The prince was beginning to turn red, face swelling at the constriction of air flow, yet he kept laughing. She had begun to understand the type of power Jungkook wielded, if Morte was his lifeline like Vito was hers. Then not having the snake around made him vulnerable.

           “I don’t need a snake to keep me alive because you won’t kill me.”

           “Who says I won’t?!”

           By now hints of purple had started to seep through, he was gasping for air. “B-because i-if you d-do I’ll k-kill i-it. I’ll k-kill s-Soojin’s unborn child.”

YN stilled, but did not relinquish her grip. “You’ll be dead. You won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

           “I’m the only thing keeping her alive,” he smiled sadistically. “The second I die, Seokjin will take power and he won’t hesitate to slaughter. Or maybe it’ll be your precious Namjoon. Perhaps even Sana, she’ll be so filled with envy and rage that I didn’t impregnate her that she will poison Soojin.” He leaned forward, licking his lips. “Then it will not only be my blood on your hands, but that of an innocent child.” As his words set in, YN’s fingers slacked and Jungkook took advantage, wrapping his arms around her torso. YN stared up at him, “How could you be so cruel?” It wasn’t until she tasted the salt on her lips that she even realized she was crying.

           “I will do anything to keep us together. Whether alive or dead, you cannot escape me.”

_6 Months Later_

           “Princess, are you ready? The prince and King are waiting for you.”

           Soojin sighed, standing up from the chair she had decided to rest on and allowed the maid to guide her towards the front of the palace. There was to be a tour today, charity work where the royal family went out and pretended to care about their people. The last tour, before Soojin had known about her pregnancy had been a success, even if it had been cut short by the King’s health suddenly declining once more. Still today’s trip towards the city’s slums was sure to not be too troublesome. Just smile and nod. Her hand brushed tenderly over her large bump, it was quite big for the stage she was at and had been the cause of much speculation and rumors. Still Jungkook played the role of doting husband and soon-to-be father so well, no one would ever suspect Soojin had only seen him a handful of times since the wedding. Even less since the engagements.

           Whom Soojin had not seen at all was YN. Though it caused her nothing but glee to think the wedding and pregnancy had hurt her in some way. The princess also knew that enemies should be kept closest of all, even more than her own son. “Did YN receive my gift?” She whispered lowly, so as not to be heard. The maid nodded, “Yes, princess. It was delivered at dawn by a neutral party.” Good, then she’ll be out of our hands soon. If YN was smart she would take the chance offered by Soojin, even if it was a trap that was sure to leave her permanently out of the picture. When she arrived at the main entrance, she noted all the guards and nobility lined up to bid them farewell yet - “My son will not be joining us. He has received word of the rebellion planning an attack and I have ordered him to stay.” King Jeon barely spared her a glance before adjusting his crown and entering the car.

           Soojin grimaced, but put on a smile when entering. It’ll be fine. Just smile, nod, and make them love their future queen. The King’s days were numbered, anyone could see, that is why the rebellion was getting bolder. Staging public protests, spreading propaganda, and small planned attacks. They were building to something. Rumor had it they had infiltrated the castle and though  Kim Seokjin had always been the face, Soojin had heard through the grapevine someone else truly pulled the strings. It's ridiculous. Just a little boy playing dress up. So the princess pushed it from her mind, cradling her stomach as the car drove away into the road to embark on the journey, unaware it would be the one that would lead her straight to death.

             YN didn’t know exactly how long she had been walking, but considering the sun had just risen when she had sneaked out of the castle and was now about to set she must’ve walked a significant distance. She hadn’t brought much with her, wanting to leave before Sana brought her breakfast or Jungkook stopped by. Only a jacket, a change of shoes, some money, a map, and Jimin’s gift tucked away in case the worst happened. The blisters on her feet were surely bleeding by now, but stopping to rest was a risk YN wasn’t willing to take. Cliche as it might be, YN heard the snapping of a branch before she realized she had company. “Lady YN.” When she turned around she was greeted with Park Jinyoung and Lee Baekhyung. “The King has requested you return to the palace as soon as possible.” The guard’s faces were as stoic as YN remembered considering she had not seen them in a long time.

           He sent his lap dogs after me...wait, the king? “I believe you’re mistaken, surely the King has greater concerns than me.”

           Baekhyung smiled, “Nonsense, nothing is more important to the King than you right now. And we’ve been sent to escort you back.”

           “Or retrieve you by force if necessary.” Jinyoung added.

           YN didn’t need to look to know she was surrounded by guards, still the trip had not been useless. She had gotten what she was after and the men were none the wiser.

           “The vehicle transporting the King and princess was attacked by the rebellion. Not all made it out alive.”

           YN gasped, No. That can’t be. Before YN could dwell on it any longer, the guards grabbed her and dragged her to the car. She didn’t put up a fight, too many thoughts running through her head, but one stood out above all. Soojin can’t be dead.

             “Get it out of me!” Soojin screamed, pain wrecking her body as she contorted every which way. Several maids held her down as they tried to save her son. “Get him out of me! He’s dying! He’s killing me!” Truth is with every contraction felt, Soojin found herself becoming weaker. Her muscles ached yet felt tender, bones brittle as if made of stone, every time she breathed it felt like she was inhaling smoke. What is this?! What is going on?! “Please princess. Just push. Breathe and push.” Soojin tried to do what she said, but instead of easing the pain it only made it worse. The knife had long been discarded and the maids were now attempting to help take the baby out, but it didn’t explain the pain. “Stop it hurts! It hurts!” She cried out, feeling like she was being torn from the inside out.

           The second she realized that, Soojin swore she felt claws trace the lining of her stomach from the inside. “Get that fucking thing out of me!” He isn’t human. It isn’t human. She had long been warned of the dangers of a Jeon pregnancy, but Soojin hadn’t listened. She never listened and it would finally cause her death. I should have killed it. By now the blood spilled all over the sheets, floors, and clothes was turning a dark red. I should have killed the girl before he met her. Soojin felt her heart begin to beat slower. I should have killed the witch. Her senses weakening  as spots filled her vision. I should have killed him when I had the chance. A flash of memory came to mind: the night she had told Jungkook of her pregnancy, how delighted he seemed to have been, yet when he spoke of ‘we’ she had somehow known it wasn’t about her. He knew, he knew all this time...and all to be with her.

           “Just one final push princess and that’s it.” Soojin's smile was filled with melancholy as she gave one final push, bringing the new prince into this earth. When the child took his first breath, she took her last.

             YN stood in front of the giant throne room, she hadn’t bothered changing knowing the King would look at her with disgust no matter what she wore. Tentatively she knocked, before the doors were slammed open and YN entered her eyes to the ground displaying submission. “You requested me, your highness.” Instead of a response, she heard a babble. When her eyes snapped up YN saw what to others might be the stuff of dreams, but to her, it was her worst nightmare come true. Jungkook sat upon the throne, a heavily jeweled crown resting on his head - the Kings crown. His entire focus was on the newborn in his arm. He gazed lovingly at the small boy and even cooed at it. Jungkook was so entranced a goofy grin adorned his face as he coddled his son.

           Eventually the prince King did look up and what you saw in his eyes was an amalgamation of pure love, obsession, and insanity. “Look Mommy’s here.”

[joonkorre]

(love) is a heartache

@drarrymicrofic prompt: hope is a heartache - léon

let it be known that harry goes through life purely on vibes. half of his reasons why for every decision at his big age are “idk imma just hope for the best”

ao3

People’s hearts twinge sometimes. For Draco, he can barely remember the last time he doesn’t have these twinges. It’s pretty normal at this point.

“No, it’s not,” Pansy says. She’s a Healer, so she’s probably right. But Draco prefers to ignore that.

“Leave it be,” Draco murmurs, lips against her scalp, “I’m fine. Say, are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah. You want to go somewhere?”

“Mm. Sleep.”

They go out the next morning, Pansy in thick makeup and Draco practically drunk under nine layers of Charms. The air is a bit humid, which seems to get worse when the bustling street intensifies in volume into a roaring din. Pansy pulls him under an awning, yanking at his sleeve a bit to try out her disgusting sugary coffee. She always does this whenever she wants to take his attention away from something, which means he just has to look at exactly where she’s doesn’t want him to. As his lips wrap around her lipstick-stained straw, he glances up.

Across the street, a couple strolls through a gushing crowd. Fiery red hair, airy laughter, a pale arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. Curls of black, sleek spectacles, a protective palm on his fiancee’s shoulder. They make the perfect picture, a vibrant oil painting. Their existence is formed from bold strokes of sunlight and starburst kisses, with the focal point being a shock of phthalo green and cadmium lemon, two minute specks that make all the difference. As all good paintings do, they pin the viewer on the spot, as if the viewer himself is a thing to behold. Then they shift away.

The exhibit moves forward and out of sight. It’s closing time, the viewer has overstayed his welcome.

Something leaps in Draco’s chest and splatters on the floor of his stomach. Placing her hand over his heart, Pansy frowns at him. She doesn’t ask why Potter stared at someone who looked like a stranger to him. Only tells him to start finding answers.

Months later, on the most awaited day in recent Wizarding history, there’s a knock on Draco’s door.

He throws on a sweater, and a throw, too, for good measure. Ambling to the door, he checks the mail slot before peeking through the peephole. Nobody but a package is outside. Draco hums and unlocks his door, crouching down the moment it opens. What feels like soft satin brushes against his cheek, cool and smooth. With a flash, a pair of shiny dress shoes appear before him.

“Draco.”

Draco peers up as he rises, hands around the package. Potter has his maddening Invisibility Cloak slung over his arm, his roguish charm heightened by a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. A tiny posy is pinned on his left lapel, muted green hellebores with a few sprigs of privet berries. He’s dressed like a man in love.

Draco feels something he hasn’t felt in months at the sight. He’s trained himself to suppress it the moment it showed itself and has been relatively successful until now. The sting, without warning, bursts from within his chest, calling forth a slight wince. Potter’s brows furrow.

"How do you know where I live?"

“How long has this been going on?”

Draco frowns. “Pardon?”

“That,” Potter gestures at Draco’s chest. “The heartache.”

He rears back. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? At Potter’s unchanging expression, Draco shoves his hair out of his face with a quiet huff and puts a hand on the doorknob.

“It’s none of your business. Please leave.”

“It is, actually,” Potter stops the closing door with one arm.

“Excuse me? We haven't had a proper conversation in more than a decade and suddenly you want to act like we're friends? Leave, now.”

“Listen to me. How can it not be my business when I feel it, too?”

“Check with a Healer, then. If you can put past grudges aside, I can hand you Pansy Parkinson’s business card,” Draco grits through his teeth, pushing against the door with his entire body, his throw slipping to the ground.

“Draco, stop, I already know, stop.”

“Know what? No, I don't care. Leave at once, else I’d alert the Aurors.”

A rough slam sends Draco staggering back. Potter pants, hard lines on his face. His chest heaves under his crisp white shirt, its top two buttons unclasped, and he steps over the threshold, closing the door.

“You think they’d believe you?”

The pain shoots from his chest to the rest of his body, and for several seconds, his lungs wouldn’t work. He whips his head away from Potter, who groans and sags against the wall.

“I told you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, that was a shitty thing to say,” Potter says immediately, sweat dotting his temples.

After an uncomfortable pause, clearing his throat, he picks up the near-forgotten package from the carpet. His hand feels around the outline of the object within, rectangular and heavy. Glancing at Draco, he says hoarsely. “I know why you bought this book.”

“Know this, know that, you know nothing,” Draco lunges forward, only for Potter to twist out of the way and raise the package out of his reach.

“The Life-long Burden of Dark Curses: A Caution by Elise Arrowlane, limited edition,” he says, unbothered by Draco’s slackened jaw. “You ordered it from the new bookstore on Diagon months ago. You were small and old and grey, but I recognized you. I always could.”

“Okay,” Draco sneers, “so you’re a stalker. Old news. Anything else?”

“There’s no need to order one. I would’ve borrowed it from Hermione if you had only asked,” Potter says. “Instead, I got curious and read it for myself. That’s how I connected the dots about the heartache, how I realized we’ve both had it since that day years ago.”

“Oh, the day you slashed me into ribbons and almost cut through my heart?” Draco clenches his jaw.

Being able to shout this ugly kind of truth into the perpetrator’s face feels oddly liberating. That is, if liberation also comes with a specific kind of agony that makes Draco want to fall to his knees.

“Dark Magic leaves a mark on both the wizard and their victim, doesn’t it? No need for a book to tell us that,” Potter says, the harsh afternoon glow of him gentled by the soft lamplight in Draco’s hallway. “In certain cases, it even leaves a link. A connection.”

Draco bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. The only consequence from that horrid night was his fucked up heart and nothing else, nothing at all. Whatever Potter is insinuating, he hates it. He hates this. He hates him.

“How are you so sure there’s a connection.”

“I wasn’t,” Potter says. “The Healers said it’s a health thing I developed after the War and I just needed to avoid strenuous activity. I didn’t think much of it, but then I read the book and realized that it usually flared up whenever you watched me.”

Scoffing, Draco turns and stalks into the kitchen. Walking past the boiling kettle, he throws a cabinet door open and grabs a mug, his hand trembling.

“Interesting how my health suffers when I see the bastard who quite literally carved me open.”

“I was eating dinner when I thought I was going to die of a heart attack at 23,” Potter continues. Draco pulls the drawers out, unable to find a single bag of tea for several excruciating moments. “The next day, I was reading about your mother’s death on the Daily Prophet. That was the first sign.”

Grabbing a rag and wetting it, Draco wipes the countertop even as he’s just done so last night.

“When Ginny saw you on the street during our date and extended her hand toward you, you shook it. But your heart ached.

“I saw you looking at the picture of Ginny and I kissing on the front page of Witch Weekly. Your hair was brown and your back was curved, but I saw you. Your heart ached.

“When I announced my engagement to her on the Battle of Hogwarts’s 10th Anniversary, you were clapping along with everyone else. But your heart ached.”

Draco throws the rag on the counter. The kettle whistles, a piercing sound. “What’s your point? Are you here purely to flaunt your relationship and imply that I’m in love with Ginevra Weasley? If so, I got it. Thank you so very much, it’s been enlightening. Now get out.”

“The point is,” Potter says, lifting the kettle off the burner to pour it into Draco’s mug, placing his tea bag in, “unless the article about you being gay was wrong, Ginny isn’t the one you’re in love with.”

“What arti—” Draco stops. “That was years ago.”

His sexuality was leaked to some irrelevant gossip rag, not even making the front page. Nobody noticed, nothing changed, and it hasn’t entered his mind in what feels like forever until Potter reminds him.

“I remember.”

“You—” Draco frowns. His eyes strain on the cup of tea until they hurt. He squeezes them shut, sighing. “It doesn’t prove anything. Perhaps I’m jealous of my childhood nemesis having a better life than me, ever thought of that?”

“Yeah,” Potter says, “I’ve thought about this a lot. Which is why I’m here. To make sure.”

Draco takes it in, then, unable to help himself, curls his lips at Potter and his attire. At his artfully gelled hair, his hanging bow tie, the elegant boutonniere on the lapel of his dark blue suit. His empty ring finger.

“Couldn’t you have chosen a better date to make sure? Preferably before your wedding day?”

Potter steps closer. A respectable distance away, but closer.

“I could’ve, but I spent most of those days in denial. Then the dots connected and I couldn’t deny it anymore, so I decided to just go through with the wedding regardless, be with the woman I loved. Hoped that maybe the odd emotions I had would go away,” he shrugs, raising his eyes to meet Draco’s. “Saw Ginny at the end of the aisle and, well, I couldn’t stop thinking that it should’ve been someone else. All this time, I’ve thought that she didn’t feel… right in my arms, but I pushed it down. And there she was in that white dress.

“Seeing that today was the last straw. I had to leave.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat. Swallowing it down, he grabs his mug, scooping out the tea bag just to have something to do. He takes a sip without blowing, ignoring its scalding heat.

“That was stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Draco can feel a headache building. “That was a horrible decision. I never imagined you—you!—out of all people, could be this irresponsible. What the fuck.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Merlin, that poor fucking woman. If your purpose here is to make me feel bad for Ginevra and all 300 of her relatives for once in my life, you’ve succeeded, congratulations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that to me, say that to—oh, you’d do what you want no matter what I say, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends on the situation.”

“‘Depends on the situation,’ he says,” Draco mocks, getting a carton of milk from the fridge to save his bitter, bitter tea. Potter doesn’t reply. Stirring the milk in, Draco lets out a heavy sigh.

“What do you want me to do about this?” He says. “I didn’t make you run out of your own wedding. If you expect me to take the blame for your inane decisions, the first person I Floo wouldn’t be the Aurors, but Ginevra Weasley herself.”

A small smile graces Potter’s lips. “I don’t expect anything from you but honesty.”

Draco squints.

“And how will you know if what I say is a lie? Will you reject my genuine answer if it’s not what you want to hear?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Potter says. “I trust your heart will speak the truth for us both.”

There’s a pang in Draco’s chest, and judging from the twitch of Potter’s brow, he can feel it too. Not another word is said, the two men merely facing each other from across a tiny kitchen, considering. Draco can feel the warmth of sunlight beaming through the little window and coating his nape as he leans against the sink, earl grey on his tongue. Lovely citric notes of bergamot drift up his nose. He closes his eyes. What to do, what to do.

Weightless oxfords clack against the yellowed tiles, clear and bright in Draco’s ears. Fabric rustles as Potter slips a hand into his pocket only to retrieve it a second later. Draco lets himself be cornered, barely glancing at the wool-clad arms caging either side of his waist. A clink catches his attention, however, and he tilts his head to the left.

Millimeters beside Draco’s hand on the counter, glinting in the sun, is a wedding band. Draco knows Potter and Ginevra’s in and out, has examined the picture on that day’s issue of the Daily Prophet more times than he should have. He knows the marquise droplets of Ginevra’s gems and the chevron curve of her ring, the blankness of Potter’s own band a dream and a question in his mind.

The band that’s resting on the counter is different. Rustic gold and a fissure in the middle, the fertile earth splitting open to reveal a stream of diamonds, a sparkling river. Draco sets his mug to the side and holds the ring up close, his finger smoothing over the grooves of its texture.

“Did you make a stop at a jewelry store before breaking into my home?” He asks.

“No,” Harry murmurs. Draco looks at him in surprise. “I’ve had this with me for months.”

A pause.

“I thought you said you were in denial.”

“I was, but I knew, somewhat, that I wanted someone else,” Harry’s head lowers, slow and careful, until his forehead rests against Draco’s shoulder. “I told myself that I just liked the way it looked, had to get it in case I didn’t want the other ring anymore. But I got it a size smaller. Been carrying it in my pocket ever since.”

Draco’s heart throbs and throbs. Large hands circle his waist, bunching up the back of his sweater and pressing him close, chest to chest. A blanket of pure heat envelops his body as he breathes in the timeless saffron and neroli of cologne, half-lidded eyes pinned on the band he’s given. Oh, dear, he thinks, and again when it settles at the base of his ring finger with ease, as if it belongs there and never left. Oh, dear.

[dextraicarus1994]

This drawing is now one of the keys for that AU with Sam and Marcus finding the Rabbids that I been doing🥺🥺🥺... Here is a little story about how Sam found this little three cute Rabbids and how connects with this fanart showing Sam covered in blood. Hope You like it. This could be considered as my first Captain Laserhawk fic of all time. Hope to have more inspiration for this little AU. 😁😁😁😁💚🖤💚🖤💚 Beware the is scenes that describe discrimination and some violent killing.

In his errands in helping Holloway to survive his escape from prison, Sam went outside to find supplies to replenish his inventory. The Wastelands suburbs weren't the nicest place to walk during the night, but to his nature, Fisher always felt more comfortable with the shadows, bringing a safe sensation and the best ally he could bring, peaceful, quiet, helping to organize his thoughts from all this recent years. His life taking a big chance after the DecSec incident, being thrown to jail for a little while and then being free after some couple of years thanks to a high mandatory from Eden that help to bring him out from a hell that not many were so lucky.

He remembered the last conversation he got with his daugther, the things she said, being grateful with Eden for his recent state... deep down on his mind, he knew she was right, without Eden, he would had suffered the same fate as Holloway, or even worse since he used to work for the former Eden during his spy days, his fate would had been different.

It didn't matter.

Eden would not be controlling him, not by their rules, not by their ideals, he always fought for what was right, for the greatest good and freedom against masters who decided who live and who die for their convenience.

He was not a puppet... not to the system, not to them...

No more.

Suddenly a noise returned him to reality, some voices of agony, some voices laughing... something was happening in one corner from this place. With a lot of precaution, Sam direct his wheelchair to the noise. The voices became more and more louder and then a smell that he was very familiar:

Blood.

He only shake his head in full disappointment. The everyday discrimination that hybrids had to endured, Eden always taking their words and twisted into an excuse to bring them to their knees just for the pleasure to see their pain and to show that they were scum.

It was hell for anyone who stands against them, not matter who was, human, hybrids, no one couldn't escape the cruelty of this guys.

That was about to change.

He got closer to the commotion, seeing how some Eden guards was beating into a pulp a bull and his partner, a hybrid low, shouting them with obscenities that were to much to handle.

It got worse when people that surrounded couldn't do anything to help them, fearing of the consequences.

Not for him.

His wheelchair got closer to the place, making the guards turn their head to him

"Step aside, old man. This is not of your fucking concern." Said one of the guards with full arrogance, keeping hitting the olw citizen with more force.

Sam only stared with a silent expression, his green eyes flaring up with a hidden fury, but also defiance against this joke of authorities

"Protect and serve... just how Eden like to do it" he said with sarcasm.

The other guard stop his act, and approach him with an smirk on his lips

"You have a problem with that, old timer? We are Eden and this fuckers are only scum that dirt our city and perfect society" said with a proud face.

Sam only chuckle, making both guys get triggered.

"Do you mean it, or you say that everytime to lick Eden balls?" said Sam, shaking his head in amusement. Youths. Always thinking they had the upper hand because they work for Eden and wouldn't be touch by anyone.

Both guards step in front of Sam, trying to seem threatening, but for the veteran, they were nothing, just kids trying to sound like adults.

They were the real scum.

"It looks like you want to be charge as an accomplice for disrupting a police operation. Let's give you something to made you respect the law of Eden" said one of the guys cracking his knuckles and bringing a electric staff from his belt.

Sam only chuckle. Typical Eden guards, always underestimating people.

One guard tried to punch him in the face with the staff, unfortunately for him, he was sloppy in his movement, making Sam to hold the weapon and taking it with a quick move and shove it into the guy's neck. In an instant, the other guard tried to hit him back in the head as an advantage meanwhile he was distract.

Naive move.

He took his arm and throw him into the floor with a simple Krav maga move.

Both guards were left surprised for the moves the disabled man did to them. But they wouldn't leave this unpunished, the old man would pay. They will show him who was in charge, who was Eden and to show that no one should mess with them.

They recovered quickly, once again charged against Sam trying to hit him, but in no avail, they were sloppy and their armor were heavy for them to move with rapid speed, something that Sam took in consideration.

The guys didn't quit, he must give credit to that. Something that Eden always had love when getting new recruits, that brainwashed spirit into making them believe their disgusting delusional ideals.

He stopped both hands of the guards who were about to connect into his face and with a agressive twist, broke their wrists, making them scream in pure agony.

The people that were surrounding the place run for their life's after hearing those horrible screams, knowing well that in any minute more Eden police would come to end the fight in a violent way.

Sam knew that every minute was precious before everything went out of hand.

Still the guards refuse to give in. They didn't wanted to be known as the dudes who lost against an disabled old man.

Pride before their own well-being.

Idiots.

A guard took his knife and cut against Sam skin, making him to turn his wheelchair back a little to get together from the little pain, he damned for not bringing his own kunai to face the guy in this occasion, seeing it will be a dirty fight once again. Blood was emanating from the wounds, didn't mattered in the moment, part of this job like all his life. Of course his partner would not stop and took his gun from its belt, pointing blank into Sam's direction

"Let's see how you handle this, asshole" threat the guy with a smirk on his face.

Suddenly a feral growls surrounded the dark corners, distracting the guard in shooting against Sam.

The last thing he could see was blood spatting in the air and an agonizing scream erupt from his lips and then silence.

His partner only saw horrified the situation, bringing his gun, and shooting like a trigger happy guy, trying to kill the thing that killed his partner.

He couldn't do anything, there were more feral growls and as a quick as a light, his throat was slaughter by a feral bite, blood surging like threads of a river.

Sam could only watched the situation as a complete mess, if things weren't worse, it would be getting much worse.

Ignoring for a moment the dead bodies of both Eden guards, he got close to both hybrids that were on the floor, gradually falling unconscious. He tried his best to help them thanks to his technological wheelchair, carry them as far away as possible from the "crime" scene, hiding their unconscious bodies into an abandoned warehouse, they got enough to handle and to be blamed by the murdered of some Eden guards was something that they will not be able to survive.

Once both hybrids were safe from view. He returned to the corner where the dead Eden guards bodies remain. He took detail of what happened, how was possible they were killed with such ferocity, bite marks around throat and some little claws marks where around the some parts of their flesh.

This was done by some wild animal than anything.

A little symphony of purrs sound in the darkness in a corner. Sam open a little compartment that was on the side of his wheelchair and took out his NV goggles and put on on his head and activated them.

His expression show a big surprise when he saw who was in the dark watching him:

Three alien rabbits were there together, trembling scared and wanting to get away from the place, their eyes showing innocence until he saw blood erupting from their mouths and his tiny paws.

So this creatures saved him from the dirty guards.

They were from the Dimensión X, the world where Rayman, the pretty boy of Eden, were from. Still for Sam was a big mystery how this three creatures where able to escape that world and be here in this one.

Fate has many ways to manifest in his way.

He turn his head to both sides, making sure no one was around. He got closer to the creatures who at first growl trying to scare him.

He understood their reaction, like any hurt animal, they were trying to protect themselves from enemies and he perhaps was looked like a predator to them

"You saved me..." He said, expressing a warm smile to them.

"This is not a good place for you to be here. You are in danger if you stay here. The guys who you took out, more will come to hunt you" he said turning his wheelchair to a side in a expression in bringing some encouragement to follow his advice.

Sam was about to leave when he hear the sound of paws following him. He turn his head to a side to see that the three alien rabbits... Rabbids he corrected were following him like little puppies. At first he didn't knew what to say or think, It's not every day that he find a trio of alien rabbits following him around like good puppies.

This night was becoming more interesting.

Leaving the "crime scene". Sam returned to his hiding place where Holloway would be expecting him. A smile form on his lips, thinking about the expression he would have when he sees him with this creatures who decided to be with him for mystery reasons

"Since it looks like you will stay here with me for a while. I should give you some names"

The creatures climb to Sam's wheelchair and accomodate like tiny cats and listen to him with full attention.

Returning to his hiding place, Sam open the door and was received by a paranoid Marcus who was holding his gun, a shock expression was on his face after seeing Sam condition

"Sam!!! What the hell happened to you?!"

The ex Splinter Cell only smile

"Nothing to worry about kid... I'm used to it..."

And then three pair of eyes look to Marcus with a pure innocence. Marcus reaction was priceless for Sam to not wanting to laugh, but he contain the surge

"What the fuck are those things?!" He said with a horrific yet hilarious reaction

"Holloway, meet Vic, Lambert and Will..." Sam said revealing the trio of Rabbids.

Here is a new fanart of Sam Fisher in his Captain Laserhawk version. Yeah, even a great super spy like him got bad days... But nice that Holloway is around to help him.☺️💚🖤

[matthewtkachuk]

how to be a heartbreaker: rule two - rafe cameron

Rafe Cameron’s privileged upbringing has let him get away with far too much, for far too long. Between his tormenting of the pogues, running his mouth without consequence, and arrogant attitude, it’s time someone knocked him down a peg. Breaking his bones didn’t work, but maybe you can break his heart.

co-authored with my love, freya @rekrappeter

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader, unrequited!JJ x reader

warnings: angst, starting a relationship under false pretences, drinking and drug use

word count: 5.2k (sorry not sorry there’s a lot of plot here my dudes)

a/n: here’s rule two, let us now what you think!! low key we finished writing this badboy this morning (freya’s evening lol)

“Okay, that seems relatively easy…” you hummed, your elbows rested on your knees as you held onto every word JJ spoke. An underlying unsureness hung over your voice, and judging the expressions on Kiara and Pope’s face, you knew you weren’t alone in thinking that this wouldn’t work. John B backed everything that JJ said up with an example, somethings made sense but the majority of what they brought up was lightyears away from real life. They were living in their own fantasy world.

“And that’s just rule one,” JJ announced, causing you to cover a groan with a fake cough, “It’s almost the most important rule, you have to make a good impression. You need to be seductive, sexy-”

Kie interrupted JJ, “What’s the most important rule?”

“Rule number five,” he smirked.

If you weren’t confused beforehand, you definitely were now. “Which is?”

“We’ll get to that one later, be patient.” You huffed at JJ’s dismissal.

Pope stood up from the couch, stretching his arms above his head. “Are you actually going to take part in this?” His eyes were focused on you, ignoring JJ’s arguments.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the heavy stare of your friends on you. “What do I have to lose?” JJ praised you for your answer, earning a glare from Pope but that didn’t shut him up. “Pope, it’ll be exciting. It’ll be something for us all to do together and focus on.”

“We’re not the ones that are going to have to be alone with Rafe Cameron,” your friend muttered, you gave him a soft smile, appreciating how caring he was towards you. Despite always being associated with JJ and being his best friend, you and Pope had a relationship like none of the other pogues. He wasn’t just one of your closest friends, you would classify him as a ‘brother from another mother’. He cared immensely about you, and you cared for him just as much. You both pushed each other to thrive and be the best possible version of you, he had your back through thick and thin.

He was also the only one that knew about your hidden feelings towards JJ. He picked up on them one night, when you were giggling at a stupid joke the blonde had said and how the carefree and outgoing version of you disappeared when you noticed JJ getting intimate with some random girl later on that night. But he promised to keep it a secret, and so he did, he constantly supported you and let you rant and rave about it whenever you needed to. He was a breath of fresh air.

“Rafe Cameron never did anything to me personally, he leaves me alone when y’all aren’t with me,” you said, leaning back on the couch.

“Can we stop calling him Rafe Cameron? We only know one Rafe,” Kie chuckled, running her fingers through her tangled dark hair.

“Can we move on please? It’s getting late,” JJ informed the group, everyone’s attention leaving you and turning to the tall boy.

“You’d make a great teacher, JJ,” you hummed, your heart jumping at the smirk he sent you.

“Rule number two: have fun, but be the first to run.”

Three days pass by since you spoke to Rafe at the boneyard and if it weren’t for JJ pestering you every chance he got about it, you wouldn’t have noticed how many days went by. But your best friend was adamant on putting this plan into motion quickly, you tried to argue with him that you didn’t want to come across as desperate but he wouldn’t listen. The ending events of that night were history; you woke up the next morning and JJ acted like nothing happened, treating you how he usually would.

There was no point in arguing with him or holding a grudge, it was something you were used to at this stage in your friendship. JJ Maybank never did know how to express his feelings properly, unless it was with his fist. When you fought, he would mutter a quick apology and move on from it, never dwelling on the aftermath his words or actions made you feel. You pushed those feelings to the back of your mind, putting a smile on your face and moving on. It’s what you were best at.

A quick knock on the changing room door interrupted your thoughts, rolling your eyes as JJ opened the door anyways, not even waiting for you to answer. “Please tell me what’s the point in knocking?” you snapped playfully, buttoning up your white blouse, ignoring the flushed feeling you felt when his eyes lingered on your exposed breast.

JJ shrugged, throwing his bowtie at you and leaning against the wall, he waited patiently for you to finish getting ready. He was dressed similarly to you; your work outfits clashing except instead of the black, tight skirt you were wearing, his legs were covered with crinkled slacks. You were the one that managed to get JJ a job at the island club, your boss was reluctant to hire a known thief but you pleaded and begged, promising to keep him in line. So far, JJ has behaved himself, only missing one or two shifts.

When you finished getting ready, ensuring that your makeup was touched up and your hair was neat, you picked JJ’s bowtie off the floor and gestured to him to come over to you. You lifted it over his head, ignoring the butterflies that swarmed your stomach when he stepped into your personal space and placed his hands on your hips. “Tell me why I took this extra shift,” you cried, trying to separate your mind from your body.

JJ’s blue eyes scanned your face and you avoided looking into them, your focus solely on your fingers trying the material around his neck. “Because we need the money, plus you love working shifts with me.” JJ grinned exposing his slightly crooked teeth.

You pucker your lips, pretending to be deep in thought, “You’re right, I do need the money.”

JJ swatted your hands away from him, turning to look in the floor length mirror in the female changing room. You couldn’t help but look at your figures next to one another, you suited each other. JJ’s eyes connected with yours through the mirror, “I also peeked at the guest list, we’ll be able to work on the plan tonight.”

“Rafe will be here?” you asked.

“Rafe and his goons, so if I’m missing for more than ten minutes, come look for me.” He winked, running his fingers through his blonde locks to try tame it to some extent.

“JJ,” you sighed, reaching for his arm but he took a step back, out of your reach.

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, but the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes, “I’ll be fine, I can handle myself.”

“But it’s always three on one, and it never works in your benefit.”

This time JJ did smile, his blue eyes twinkling and he stepped closer to you, placing his hands on either of your shoulders. “But we have a secret weapon this time around, they’re not going to see this coming, y/n.” JJ referring to you as his secret weapon sent an unwanted chill through your skin, making you look away from his intense eyes. “Come on, let’s get the party started.”

Precariously balancing four whiskey neat on a flimsy tray while also balancing on your unsteady feet strapped into four inch heels was not an easy feat. It was even more difficult when coupled with the harassment you received as a pogue in kook territory. The only thing that kept the polite smile on your face as you suffered through backhanded compliment after backhanded compliment was the knowledge that a sweet payday was waiting for you at the end of the shift. You hated the Island Club and every stupid, perfect, spoiled person in it, but you made more in one shift than you did your other two jobs combined.

The spoiled Island Club member you hated the most though, hands down, was Rafe Cameron. Despite never targeting you personally, you couldn’t forgive the numerous times your boys had suffered at the hands of Rafe and his cronies. Unfortunately, you also found him attractive, discreetly staring at the way his golf shirt accentuated the muscles in his arms, and the way his tight pants accentuated his ass, every time you passed by. Some baser instinct within you had you considering what it would be like to squeeze his ass, and the distracting, intrusive thought made you miss the step leading to the greens. Your heart fell into your throat as you felt yourself lose your balance, your other hand rising to attempt to steady the tray but it was hopeless as you started to tumble to the ground. As you braced for impact, the tray was lifted from your arms and a steadying hand on your waist kept you from eating dirt.

Your heart pounding in your chest, you looked up to thank your rescuer, the words dying on your lips before you could utter them as Rafe Cameron himself stood there staring back at you. For a moment you were lost in his blue orbs, every intrusive thought you had washing over you until his mouth opened and he spoke, “You alright there?”

Staring at him for a moment longer, you blinked twice and shook your head in confirmation, “Yeah, thanks for that.” You smoothed down the front of your shirt, Rafe’s eyes following the movement of your hands, before you reached for your tray again, “Sorry, duty calls.”

As you went to move past him, heart pounding in your throat, he called out, “Wait,”. You spun around to stare at him, confusion in your eyes. He scanned the crowd for a split second, his eyes landing on your figure again. “Do you maybe want to get out of here?”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes, “I’m working Rafe, I can’t just ‘get out of here’. I really need this job.”

Rafe closed the gap between your bodies, leaving just inches keeping you apart. He reached for the tray in your grasp, taking it and turning his back to you. “Hey, you,” he called to someone dressed in the exact same clothes as you, “Take this to table number…” He glanced over his shoulder at you, waiting for you to finish his sentence.

“Five,” you mumbled, shrugging your shoulders and shooting an apologetic smile to your colleague.

“Perfect, now you’re free,” Rafe smirked, dismissing the girl.

“No, Rafe, now I’m not free. I have other tables to serve.”

Rafe exhaled loudly, his chest heaving, “Look, y/n, I know people, I can keep you out of trouble.”

“Yeah, and how do you propose to do that?”

Rafe sent you a cheeky grin, spreading his arms out wide as if he was going to hug you but his thumbs turned inwards, pointing to themselves, “I’m a Cameron.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought over his words. The Camerons did practically own the club, and the stupid outfit you were wearing was beginning to feel tight and uncomfortable. Not to mention, it was exactly the kind of opportunity that JJ had been hounding you to take in order to further the plan. Plus, the little voice in your head whispered, maybe taking off with Rafe would stir up some reaction from JJ, maybe the one you’ve been searching for.

Looking up at him, you shrugged with one shoulder and replied, “alright.”

“Alright?” He asked, a little shocked as he clearly expected to have to fight you a little harder. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have been able to convince you at all if it wasn’t for the plan. Despite your intrusive thoughts, and boy were they intrusive, you didn’t have a particular want or need to spend any time alone with the privileged kook.

“Alright,” you repeated, “What’s the plan?”

“Get out of that stupid waiter get up, and I’ll tell you,” he laughed, causing you to glare at him. He wasn’t wrong though, the outfit was stupid and you hated wearing it, but dresscode was dresscode. You quickly snuck back inside and changed back into your short little jean shorts and top, quickly running past JJ’s confused facial expression. You returned to Rafe, satisfied when you saw the way his eyes trailed your body taking in the change of clothes.

“Have you ever been to a driving range?” He smirked when you looked at him like he had suddenly grown a second head.

“Do I look like the type of person who goes to a driving range?” You asked drily, causing his smirk to widen. He grabbed your hand and all but dragged you to another part of the club, where an out of use driving range sat.

“Are we going to get in trouble for using this?” You asked nervously, all thoughts of Camerons and bets aside you did actually need this job.

“Don’t you trust me?” He asked, rolling his eyes when you gave him a look that screamed ‘hell no’, “Okay well, trust me this once, we’re fine.”

Your eyes land on the golf bag with his initials embroidered on the front and you look at him confusedly, “Did you plan this?”

“Did I plan on sneaking away to use the driving range? Yes. Did I plan on you joining me? No, never in my wildest dreams would I think that you would be here right now with me.” He admits.

Remembering the bet, you smile flirtatiously at him and remark, “So you have wild dreams about me?”

His split second hesitation before rolling his eyes and telling you off has you wondering what role you played when you starred in his dreams. Gulping, you turn back toward him and clear your throat, “So we’re here to what exactly? Hit balls around all day, real fun.” you state sarcastically.

“You can go back to your shitty bowtie and silver tray if you want,” he offered back sassily, causing you to bite your lip. JJ would be pissed if you let this opportunity go to waste. But little did you know, JJ was going to be pissed either way

“Alright, let’s hit some balls I guess,” you replied back half-heartedly and motioning to the golf bag, “I don’t even know what each of these clubs are for,”

“Watch and learn,” Rafe smirked, running his hands through his perfectly slicked back hair, allowing for some hairs to become loose. He reached for the largest club in the bag, ripping the glove off and stepping up to the box. He placed a ball on the standing tee, doing his rituals before swinging and belting the ball nearly two hundred yards.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” You asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Here, you give it a go then,” Rafe replied, handing you the driver. You gladly accepted, an aura of confidence washing over you as you recited exactly what he did, he placed the ball on the tee for you and stepped back, allowing you to prep.

You felt his stare on your ass as you lined up the club to take a swing, causing you to pause your motions and glare at him over your shoulder. “Stop staring at my ass, Cameron.”

“Caught you staring at mine first, babe.” He smirked, and you felt the colour drain from your face at the knowledge that you got caught.

Swallowing nervously, you quipped back, “Yeah well I was just wondering why you bought your pants a size too small, thought they were going to split at the seams.”

He threw his head back and laughed, genuinely laughed, the sound booming around you. You couldn’t help but join in, soft giggles mixing with the timbre of his voice. As his laughter faded, he stared at you intensely, calling your bluff, “that’s not why you were staring, and we both know it.”

Coughing slightly to hide your reaction, you turned back toward the little ball on the tee and took a swing, missing by a long shot. “Shit, that’s harder than it looks,” you admit, having wrongly assumed golf to be a simple game of hitting balls with sticks.

Rafe chuckles shaking his head at your poor stature, and you suddenly feel a presence behind you, jumping slightly as his hands rest on your forearms. “Trick is to keep your eyes on the ball, okay?” he hums into your ear, the sensation running down your spine. You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat, eyes focusing on the ball. He places his arms on your wrist, bringing your arms up, “now keep your front arm straight, tilt your wrist, like this,” he gestures the club up, “and then just swing, keep that arm straight,” he reminds you.

You glance over your shoulder, your orbs connecting with his blue ones that were glistening under the afternoon sun, you offer a small smile and feel yourself getting lost in them, “eyes on the ball,” he reminded you, smirking.

“Is this just a way to get close to my ass?” you retaliate, sucking in your bottom lip to hide the smirk that wanted to erupt on your face.

“This is just me helping a shit golfer,” he replied, stepping back and out of your swinging range. “Try again,” he urged you. He watched you take another shot, cringing when you miss it again. “Keep your eyes on the ball, front arm straight,” he repeated.

“Okay, okay, I got this,” you mumbled mostly to yourself but Rafe nodded at you, hyping you up silently. You focused on the little white ball, following the steps that Rafe told you before swinging the club and successfully hitting the ball, you watched it bounce along the grass about fifty yards in front of you. “Yes!” You cheered, grinning at Rafe.

Rafe placed another ball on the tee, urging you to go again and you did, each swing getting better and each time the ball went further. “But how come it isn’t coming off the ground like yours?” You pouted, leaning on the club and looking at him.

“Come back to me when you’ve been playing golf for ten years,” he smirked, taking the driver off you and replaced it with a five iron. You watched him hit ball after ball, and you wouldn’t admit it but you were impressed, especially at his back muscles that flexed with every shot he took. You made small talk in between the shots, filling the silences which surprisingly weren’t awkward, you expected them to be uncomfortable and that you’d be pulling blood out of a stone to find something in common but the conversation flowed easily.

It was your turn to take a swing again, and you decided you weren’t going to walk away from the driving range without hitting it at least one hundred yards. You reached for the driver again, stepping up to the tee with a face of determination. “See you, you are going through the air this time,” you muttered to the ball, Rafe had to bite on his bottom lip to stop from tumbling over with laughter. You grasped the handle tight, swinging the club with all the strength you had in you and the sound of the ball hitting the face of the club echoed around the empty driving range.

You watched open-mouthed as the ball soared across the air, pass the fifty marker, pass the one hundred marker and landed midway, bouncing until it halted just by the two hundred yard marker. You gasped, dropping the club, and tossing yourself into Rafe’s arms in your excitement. He grunted softly, clearly not expecting it, stumbling back slightly as his hands gripped your hips. “I did it!” you cheered, “I fuckin’ did it!”

Rafe doesn’t protest with having you in his arms, he matches your excitement but he notices the thrill vanish from your eyes as you scramble out of his grasp, “sorry about that,” you mumble, hiding the embarrassment.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he mumbles back, and you think you see a flash of disappointment behind his blue eyes but it’s gone as quick as it arrived.

“Uhm, anyway,” you wrack your brain for something to say to ease the awkwardness that had come between you for the first time that afternoon, an image of the chalkboard that JJ brought into the chateau living room crosses your mind, making you remember rule number two, “I better actually head back,” you mumbled.

“So soon?” Rafe can’t stop the words from slipping past his lips, and he cringes inwardly at sounding so desperate wanting you to stay. He doesn’t even know where this sudden interest for you came from, of course he knew who you were and he had spoken to you during some events, but he never paid little mind to you until last week. When he and Kelce were joking about drunk one night, you came up in conversation.

Kelce spoke vulgarly about you, painting pictures in Rafe’s mind and it was like after that night, he saw you everywhere he went. He paid more attention to you, he resisted the urge to go and talk to you in the street, and when he caught you staring at him at the boneyard, he made the decision to approach you. It wasn’t like him to turn to a pogue of all people, but there was something about you that drew him in.

“I had fun today, but like I’m sure you should be getting back to the event, your dad’s probably looking for you,” you said, leaning against the railing that separates the tee boxes.  

“Nah, as long as Sarah’s around, he doesn’t have a lot to do with me,” He pauses seeing your face fall the slightest bit, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, like that,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair again.

“Okay, sorry” you reply defensively, not sure what his problem is, “I won’t look at you at all then.”

He laughs at that, a smirk gracing his face once again, “Sure, I’d like to see you try. You can’t help but look.”

You scoff, “Oh yeah, I just can’t help myself. Oh my god, Rafe Cameron you’re sooo hot,”

“Relax, babe, you don’t have to throw yourself at me,” He laughed.

“Shut up!” You gasp, pushing yourself off the railing, stalking over to him and smacking his hard chest.

“Wait,” he muttered, grasping at your wrist, stopping you from stepping away from him. His tongue runs across his bottom lip and you hated yourself for allowing your eyes to follow the pink tip. You looked up to his eyes, watching the smirk flicker across his face. The rule flashes through your mind again, and you know you should be running, but... something about the look in his eye as he leans in has you locked in place waiting for his mouth to meet yours. His hand comes up to cup your face, and you suck in a breath, holding it as his thumb gently brushes under your eye before he pulls away from you entirely. “Eyelash,” he mutters quietly and you feel your heart reactivate again.

“R-right,” you stutter, moving to step back from him. Maybe this was a bad idea agreeing with this stupid plan that JJ and John B claimed they put so much thought into it, maybe they underestimated the effect that Rafe would have on you. You most definitely did.

Something else was still bothering you, though. “I have to ask,” you took in a deep breath, suddenly nervous of what you were asking, especially considering the fact that you were just about to let Rafe Cameron kiss you, “Why take an interest in me now?”

“Why have you suddenly taken an interest in me?” Rafe countered, causing you to gulp. “Two weeks ago you wouldn’t take a second glance at me.”

Glancing up at Rafe, you plastered a cunning smile on your lips and shrugged your shoulder, “I asked you first.”

“We’re not in kindergarten, y/n, those rules don’t apply here.”

“Who said I wasn’t taking a second glance when you weren’t looking.”

“I knew you liked my ass,”

You roll your eyes, “Well it’s not your humble personality. Now answer my question.”

“Thought it would piss Maybank off,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but you can tell he’s trying to appear that way. Besides, JJ isn’t even here right now and you tell him so. He just shrugs again.

“What don’t you want to tell me?” You asked, hoping you weren’t projecting your own nerves.

Rafe sucked in a deep breath, running his hand over his face as if he was trying to make you forget about everything, but when your eyes gave him a pointed look, he let all walls crash around him. “Honestly, y/n, I don’t know why. I-I just see you on the beach, you’re always laughing, always smiling, nothing ever seems to bother you and it’s what I need. I need someone to make me feel happy again, make me feel alive.”

You listened intently to his words, holding onto every gasp of breath he realised, the aching in your heart making your palms sweat. “A-and that person is me?” your voice was merely a whisper, your mouth gaping open at the honesty in Rafe Cameron’s voice.

“I don’t know if it is, but what I do know is that I had a good time today, and wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again,”

Your heart aches in your chest for someone you once considered an enemy. He wasn’t a friend now, but something had changed in the dynamic somewhere between him saving you from an embarrassing fall and showing you the right way to swing a golf club. You couldn’t help but think to yourself that Rafe Cameron might not actually be that bad, and you might have actually enjoyed yourself this afternoon. Against all odds, spending the afternoon ditching not only your shift and JJ in order to ‘hit balls around’ as you so eloquently put it earlier had been a lot more fun than you gave Rafe credit for.

Your nose scrunches up as you consider your thoughts, what is wrong with you? He is the enemy. One afternoon where he’s not being a complete dick and you forget the bruised and battered state of your best friends only a few days ago? The vulgar words that dripped so easily from his mouth like venom, where he had treated you like some possession to be won, all for the sake of getting a rise out of JJ?

Biting your lip and swallowing, you tell him briefly, “I have to go,” before fleeing back to the club. You hear him calling out to you from behind, but you keep your head down and make the trip back, trying to slip into the Club undetected.

“And where have you been?” JJ is standing on the other side of the door you’ve just successfully snuck through. You gasp, hand flying up to cover your now fast beating heart.

“Jesus, J. You scared the shit out of me,” you harshly whisper, “I was with Rafe working on your big plan.”

“You could have warned me, I had to cover for you!” JJ snapped. “Rafe said he would handle it,” you tell him.

Rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation, he turns on you, “Oh Rafe said?”

“Yes, Rafe said,” you repeat, “What’s crawled up your ass, I’m working on your stupid plan.”

You couldn’t help but feel angry towards your best friend, and you weren’t sure if it was because he was getting annoyed with you or if it was what Rafe had disclosed to you previously, but there was definitely an underlying feeling of frustration.

“What’s crawled up my ass is you left me hanging, we’re meant to be in this together.”

“No, JJ, I’m the one doing it all. You came up with some rules, I’m the one that’s putting my feelings on the line,” you snapped, watching his face contort to confusion.

“Your feelings? What feelings?” He’s taken aback by your words, head jutting as if you had just slapped him across the face.

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter. I’ll keep playing this stupid game for you, but don’t come and attack me just because you had to wash a few extra dishes.” Frustration seeps from your voice, unsure of why exactly he’s coming at you sideways. This was his plan, and you’re just doing your part to make it happen. At least, that’s what you told yourself this afternoon with Rafe had been for.

“I-I wasn’t attacking you, y/n, I was worried about you,” his voice softened, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way his bottom lip jutted out, he knew you had a weakness for his puppy dog face. But with the simmering of frustration and anger growing within you, you wouldn’t back down right now.

“Well it didn’t feel like that.” You tell him harshly, hoping you’re properly conveying the swirling mix of negative emotions you’re currently experiencing.

Truthfully, JJ isn’t mad about washing a few extra dishes. He batted his eyelashes at your coworker who was more than happy to take on his dishwashing duties. He was mad that you weren’t keeping him in the loop, the two of you told each other everything. Well, everything except your feelings for him. He knew you found him attractive, and he honestly did love you with his whole heart. It just probably wasn’t the way you really wanted him to. JJ was mad because the girl he thought he had on lock, the one that would always be there waiting for him, just told him that her feelings were on the line for a plan to take down his most hated adversary.

JJ sighed, pushing away all his bravado and looking intently at you, “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, I’m sorry I make you feel a lot of things, but please just keep me in the loop, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“JJ, I feel like we’re going around in circles at this point, and if I’m being honest, the only person hurting me right now is you,” you ignored the painful look on JJ’s face and continue, “Every evening you have to apologise for something, whether it’s something you say or something you do, we argue, we make up and then it happens again-”

“It’s not every evening,” you groan at his interruption, throwing your hands in the air.

“If you’re not ready to have a serious conversation, I’m not ready to continue speaking with you.” You tell him harshly and push past him, ignoring his weak attempts to get you to stop.

“Wait, you’re still coming over to John B’s tonight, right?” he asks, and you turn and glare at him over your shoulder.

Maybe Pope was right, this was a bad, bad idea and you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

Tag list:

htbah taglist (link to add yourself to the google form on the series masterlist!): 

@solllaris @drewswannabegirl @starrystarkey93 @httpstarkey @sweetlysilent @drewstarkey @dontjinx-it @ultranikilove @spencereidbasis @meaganjm @starlightstarkey @thortheestallion @jiaraendgame @idocarealot-not @tempestuousjj @pink-meringues @dpaccione @arianabrashierstuff @softstarkey @loveylangdon @xenagzb @teenwaywardasgardian @prejudic3 @nxsmss @canibeoneofthepogues @nqbmf @outerbanksbro @obx-direction-sos @digniteas @annedub @colorful-queen-of-the-roses @yesp0ny @loveniallandharryonedirection @fantasticpsychicfanfish @girls-breaking-hearts @beautyandthebleh @casper17 @parkershoco @unfortunatekiwitrash @loverofmineluke @slutforjjmaybank @skiesofthesketchy @sugarcoatedcalum @amorisxx​

(the rest of the taglist will be in a reblog to hopefully not piss tumblr off this time!!)