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talesofstyles · 4 years ago

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fics #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #husband!harry #doctor!harry #surgeon!harry

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kpopinesss · 5 years ago

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[ateez] S A N ➱ baby daddy au

YOU HAVE TO RAISE HIS SON AFTER HE LEAVES. MAFIA SAN.

warnings: teen pregnancy

a/n: sorry ya’ll I accidentally posted this on my main lol - @atinybitofau

• raising a son on your own was hard.

• raising a son whose genes were on par to his notorious father was even harder—

• a hooligan. a mischievous troublemaker.

• an eyesore in morality.

• and yes, your son was just like him.

• cold. ruthless. blood thirsty.

• but unlike San, your son loved you enough never to leave you.

• appreciated the things you did for him enough to stay.

• “Eomma..”

• you turn on your side when your son interrupts your slumber,

• injuries blatant on his tethered arm.

• raising a child who’s now 13 since you were 16 never easy.

• “Where were you, Ari?”

• he sits at the edge of your bed and leans for the warmth only a mother could give. “I was trying to get your medicine.. but I ended up causing a scene and the store owner kicked me out.”

• you sigh letting him lay down beside you. “It’s just a little cold. You don’t need to go and risk your life to save mine.”

• he wants to ask you.

• he’s old enough..

• why hasn’t his father came back to be the one the take care of you?

• to take care of him.

• why do you have to suffer alone?

• “Ari, just do me a favor and take care of yourself the way you do for me.” you cuddle into your sons warmth too. “That’s all I need.”

• but you’re lying.

• you’re getting sicker.

• and he can’t take it anymore.

• he goes to lower than the low to find something to save you, his mother.

• eventually ending up tied up in San’s gang house.

• brutally beat for intervening a drug heist—

• “Alright you little shit,” San holds your son up by the collar, blood running down his face mixed with his tears. “I don’t care that you’re 13 years old. Hell you could’ve been 10 and I’ll still beat the living crap out of you. No one just comes barging into a drug heist for no reason. That’s not just a coincidence.”

• it is.

• it really is.

• and maybe god was just giving him a sign.

• because you were on the verge of dying—

• and his own son being dealt his life and in the hands of his own father,

• yet San still didn’t know what was going on.

• what sign god was trying to give him.

• “I have to admit.” San runs a finger down his son’s chiseled jaw and smirks. “You’ve got a nice face. But in a couple minutes, you might not even be able to recognize it anymore.”

• “I-I-I was just trying to get medicine for my mom! I swear.”

• San really needed to get a clue.

• not all drugs were recreational.

• and some—

• some can actually save lives not just make dirty money.

• “You think I’ll believe that sissy crap?”

• Ari shudders looking to his torn up jeans. “H-her pictures in my wallet. I swear, she’s the only thing I’ll do anything illegal for. I promise I wasn’t trying to fuck anything up. She’d kill me if I got involved. Kill herself if I pushed myself too far.”

• he’s convinced at the desperation in the poor kid’s voice.

• normally not as merciful but he digs through the kid’s pocket for the picture anyway.

• and he should be glad he did because shit—

• the picture of you made him go from 100 to 0 real quick.

• “Y/n?”

• “T-that’s her! That’s my mom.”

• San glances up at the beat up kid, horrified.

• horrified at the sight.

• that he was basically beating to death a walking replica of himself.

• an age far enough that fit the time he left you.

• “You’re telling me my high school sweetheart..” San’s bloody fingers curl around your picture. “The woman you’ve been trying to steal medication for is your mom? The woman in this picture.”

• he’s at first in denial.

• that the kid he almost beat to death was your son.

• but denial hits him even harder the chances he could also be the father.

• “M-my mom is everything to me.” Ari bawls his last tears out begging for his own father to spare his life. or anything to save yours. “She’s only got me. I’ve only got her. S-sir please. At least save her. If you wanna kill me sir, please save my mom first.”

• his jaw clenches,

• still knealt down on one knee propped in front of his pleading son.

• studying every feature of his face.

• how on par everything was to his own.

• San was beating up his son, he realized.

• holy shit he was about to kill his own son.

• “Why didn’t she tell me?”

• “W-what?” his son chokes. “What do you mean?”

• “Fucking hell— kid, I think I’m your dad.”

• the five days that your son was held captive was long enough for your body to grow cold and weaker.

• laying in a hospital bed nearly blacked out.

• your son cries over your body as you sleep.

• hoping he’s not too late.

• not too late to give you the one thing that might be able to keep you alive.

• a husband?

• finally a father to your child.

• “You’re the husband?” the doctor finds San watching from the doorway awkwardly glancing at the black dressed men who towered behind him. “You’ve got quite the entourage there, sir. But not even an army of soldiers would be able to save your wife right now. She’s hanging on a thin line. Barely holding on. That woman needs a miracle if she wants to live the next good years of her life.”

• San watches as his son that he never knew about cries over you.

• wishes you would’ve told him..

• he would’ve stayed.

• would’ve loved you.

• why were you always so selfish? always wanting to do things that pushed you too far even if there were another option available.

• “Eomma.”

• you hear everything.

• your son.

• San.

• “Ma, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get the medicine. I got into trouble again, ma. I’m sorry.” Ari folds his hand over your limp one’s. “B-but I have something even better. Someone who could help you and me. He can take care of us, ma.”

• it hurts.

• you want to wake up for your son because he deserves the world.

• he deserves a fight for the both of you but the option you chose came short.

• in the past, the option of never telling San in the first place of his own son.

• “Ma.. he’s gonna talk to you okay? I’m gonna let him talk to you.” Ari sniffles and suddenly your hand gets replaced with a different warmth. “He’s gonna tell you it’s gonna be okay. I love you, eomma. I love you. We’re gonna be okay.”

• it’s almost enough.

• your heart beats a little faster.

• burns a little more so you could breathe on your own.

• it’s definitely working.

• “You shoulda told me, bubba.”

• the nickname San had given you years ago,

• a nickname you thought you’d never hear again, rings in your ear and that light so far away,

• it gets further.

• “You shoulda told me about him. About you.” he lifts your hand against his trembling lips. “13 years? 13 years after I tell you to take care of yourself and now you’re almost dying. Come on now. My girl was a fighter. Pushed herself harder than she wanted to.”

• his voice is like a mantra—

• a dream that gives you a little bit more of life you we’re starting to lose.

• “Bubba, you were the love of my life. And I didn’t tell you enough how much I appreciated you. I know it may be too late and if god forbid I do lose you, I will make sure our baby stays safe okay?”

• you think if you were awake right now you’d be crying.

• as if a weight lifted off your shoulders.

• cause the one person who could save you right now—you and your son,

• was right here.

• ready to go merciless to keep you two safe.

• “I left loving you. And I’ll come back loving you. 13 years only kept us apart. But let me tell you, y/n, it never stopped me from loving you.”

• he’s unsure when he lets go of your hand.

• usually gets what he wants with one word—

• cause he’s a notorious mobster.

• but let’s just say you were the one thing he wanted he could’ve never gotten even with two words.

• 3?

• “I love you.” he continues. “And if I’m gonna have to love our son the way I should’ve loved you then so be it.”

• but life’s not like movies where you wake up right during a miracle.

• this miracle takes time.

• and after an EXPENSIVE deal of money and medicine to keep you alive,

• a year it takes for you to finally open your eyes.

• to a nice hospital bed room.

• filled with flowers and the reminiscent scent of old spice and San.

• your hair’s a bit longer.

• the sun’s definitely brighter.

• but not as bright as the smile you see once you turn to the side.

• “Good morning beautiful.” San reaches his forehead against yours. “How were your dreams?”

• you choke on a decent reply. “S-San?”

• “The one and only.”

• “Where’s— Where’s Ari? Where’s my—“

• “Our?” San chuckles softly. “You mean our son.”

• you kind of remember.

• it takes a while to remember the voices and the dreams in your head.

• how waking up to find them real was surreal on its own.

• “He’s at school, bubba.” San cradles your face in the palm of his hand staring at you like he was hypnotized. “I’ll have someone pick him up. Tell him mommy’s awake.”

• “San..” you shake your head in his hand. “How is this real?”

• “Our son might be a miracle worker. Brought us together the way we made him. Brought me so I could keep you alive.”

• cheesy as you remember.

• although this handsome and older version of your old flame you aren’t too sure.

• “So you just show up while I’m in a coma and play daddy while I sleep?” you hoarsely chuckle while he smiles against your lips. “Even after 13 years, you won’t grudge against me for not telling you?”

• “I can’t blame you for trying to save yourselves.” he admits with his lips still on yours. “I wasn’t good enough for you. I know still I’m not. But I’m gonna try this time. Even if I have to pretend I’m not who I am sometimes.”

• you two are interrupted by a crying teenager.

• one you remembered resembled San.

• but now them standing right next to each other,

• looking like two carbon copies and a surreal dream in your head.

• maybe you are dead...

• “Ma!” he shoves his father away abruptly. “Look ma! I brought dad! He helped pay your debt, pays for my school. Even finished the hospital bills.”

• you glare at your always boisterous ex boyfriend and long lost father to your son.

• “You did what?”

• “Did I mention this was my way of getting back at you for not telling me about my 14 year old son?”

• “San how the hell am I gonna pay you back?”

• you just woke up.

• and the doctor runs in ready to sedate to keep you stable for at least more than 24 hours.

• but the way San looks at you is enough.

• him being there like your life long medication itself.

• holding your hand while your son holds your other one proposing,

• “Marry me. And we can call it even.”

@atinybitofau

#ateez #ateez san #choi san #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez preferences #ateez oneshot #ateez x reader #san x reader #san imagines #san reactions #san scenarios #san oneshot #san mafia au #ateez mafia au #san baby daddy au #ateez dad au

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cherry-holland · 3 years ago

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The Lion, the Witch, & the Serpent (C.1 Preview)

Harry Potter x Latina!OC, Draco Malfoy x Latina!OC

Hello friends!!! I am so excited for y’all to finally see what I’ve been working on the past few weeks! This fic was largely inspired by an idea I had, and I honestly have never really seen much HP fics with Latinas involved (unless there’s some I’m unaware of 😅). So I hope y’all enjoy this chapter preview!!!

May 21st, 1993

There’s a lot of firsts that exist in the average teenager’s life: you experience your first major crush, your first love, your first breakup, your first no-curfew hangouts with your friends, and more. It’s almost a rite of passage for most teens, one that cannot be missed. For Valeria Lopez, her “rite of passage” included that, and a world famous wizard, a popular nepotism boy, and the imminent threat of a war… all within the Wizarding world she was born and raised into.

Valeria grew up in Adams, Massachusetts with her mother and father, who were professors at the prestigious Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her mother, Sarah Kowalski, was an extraordinarily gifted Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, whose likeable personality and bubbly demeanor mirrored Valeria’s grandmother so much that it offset the vigorous work that she did. Her father, Antonio Lopez, taught Potions at the wizarding school, mixing Puerto Rican brujeria with traditional methods well-known in the wizarding universe. He was a quiet, mild-tempered man, but was very passionate when it came to teaching students about the proper dosage of belladonna in a death potion.

Her parents met at Ilvermony when they were young, and have been together since. Because of her parents deep devotion to the school, Valeria was practically raised there, and loved everything about it - befriending Pukwudgies that roamed the halls, the sixth-years being part-time babysitters on weekends, and, most importantly, watching the Sorting Ceremony every year. Seeing the first years get sorted into their houses, as they would step nervously onto the Gordian Knot, in the middle of the Entrance hall, waiting to see which house they would be a part of for the remainder of their school career. It was such a cause for celebration seeing the houses cheer for their new recruits, but to Valeria, seeing the Wampus students celebrate was the best. Her mother and father were both Wampuses, and the pride they had for their house seeped into her own. Wampuses were the fearless leaders, always ready to go to bat for the greater good, and loyal to the end. They were everything she aspired to be, and where she hoped her fate laid in for the remainder of her wizarding school career.

As her first and second year came to a close, Valeria had well exceeded her classes, getting high marks on her exams, and even making her Wampus Quidditch team as the youngest beater in the school’s history in her first year. Things seemed to be going well for the young Lopez, until Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine sent for her to come into his office before the end of her second year.

The brunette anxiously walked down the long, wooden hall, seeing the faces of the co-founders, Isolt Sayre and James Steward (a No-Maj, aka “no-magic” person), their sons, and several other alumni decorating the walls. She stopped at her great aunt and grandmother’s pictures, Tina Scamander and Queenie Kowalski, and greeted them with a smile. Sarah always told Valeria such amazing stories about the two sisters, and how Aunt Tina would always sneak Valeria’s mom copies of her husband’s new books. Nanna Queenie would always scold her sister when she did, but rarely did anything to stop her. Sarah spoke so highly of them both, that it sometimes made Valeria wish she was around when they were, but she knew they were with her in spirit, at least that’s what her dad always instilled in her. They would always be watching over Valeria, protecting her and keeping her safe from harm, which comforted the young girl. And, boy, did she need that bit of comfort.

Headmaster Fontaine was a relatively new headmaster to Ilvermony, and he came with a lot of buzz surrounding him. Being a direct descendant of one of the original twelve Aurors in the US, he was highly regarded, even when he was the former Transfiguration professor at the school. Fontaine was a kind man, always taking the time out to check on the students, even moreso as Headmaster, but also was quite intimidating. He was fairly tall, well over 6’6”, and had the darkest blue eyes, which held both a carefree but hardened gaze most of the time. You could never really guess what was going on with Fontaine until he spoke, always showing a confusing face card to anyone he came into contact with. And Valeria barely knew anything about the chestnut-haired man besides all of that, and that made it absolutely nerve wracking when she approached his office, using the password given to the young teen via owl, and stepped into the indigo and cranberry-colored room.

Fontaine was buried deep in paperwork when Valeria arrived, and upon seeing the young witch, he peered up with a smile. “Oh, hello, Valeria! It is so good to see you again, how are you?”

“Oh, um, I’ve been great, thank you Professor,” Valeria replied, shocked at his cheery greeting. “What can I do for you?”

Fontaine stood up from behind his desk and made his way over to her. “Well, I see you’ve been doing wonderfully these past few years, and have been exceeding at all levels. That is quite unheard of, Miss Lopez.”

At this Valeria shrugged, a rosy tint spreading onto her cheeks. Fontaine continued on. “I’m not sure if you have heard of the Wizarding Exchange Program, but it is a program that we and other wizarding schools offer to students who show exemplary marks in all subjects, to have the opportunity to transfer to another wizarding school, to further their education on a ‘different playing field’, as the No-Maj’s say.”

Valeria stifled a giggle at Fontaine’s use of No-Maj slang, and nodded her head as she took in what her headmaster was explaining. “So, you’re telling me I got into the Wizarding Exchange Program? That’s still a thing after You-Know-Who?”

Fontaine’s denim-colored eyes nearly popped out of his socket at Valeria’s words. Everyone in the wizarding world knew about Lord Voldermort and how the fate of the entire world, No-Maj world included, was nearly on the brink of disaster when he rose to power. Of course, that was until a child, the infamous Harry Potter, stopped Voldermort from causing the whole world destruction, ending the First Wizarding War. Even though it wasn’t something that happened in the US, quite a few Ilvermony students lent a helping hand with the war efforts, some losing their lives to Voldermort and the Death Eaters, and it hit home for a lot of witches and wizards in America. “Yes, it has still remained, even after the war. Since… You-Know-Who is no longer around, it has been much safer to continue the program, and has been. So, Valeria, what do you say? Are you ready to accept?”

Valeria had so many thoughts racing in her head as Fontaine was explaining. Going away to another school, Godric-knows where, away from her parents? Her home, her friends that she made in Wampus, the place she’d always known? It was a huge step for her, and at nearly thirteen it was much to take in.

However, Valeria thought about the pros. She could go anywhere? And explore a new country, a new wizarding school? She had heard a lot about the different schools that were much like Ilvermony - Durmstrag, Beauxbatons, and the famous Hogwarts. She knew a lot about Hogwarts as a child from great uncle Newt, and how his experience there changed his life for the better, and having cousin Rolf talk about how much fun he’s having there, made the young witch eager to join her cousin at the prestigious British school. Not to mention, according to Rolf, the Harry Potter is there right now, same year as her, and that point alone was what made her say, “Yes! Yes, I’ll accept!”

#Harry potter #Harry Potter fic #Harry Potter fanfiction #draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fic

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swiftiesimonriley · 4 years ago

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hurts like heaven (divorced! frankie x lawyer! reader)

divorced! frankie x lawyer! reader, silver linings playbook! au

rating: teen (I guess), no explicit content except for drug use

warnings: depictions and descriptions of drug use (if this makes you uncomfortable you may want to skip this one), mentions of divorce and custody battles, mention of time spent in an inpatient behavioral health setting

word count: 3.9k (WHOOPS i got excited)

a/n: I am so excited for my first frankie oneshot!! thank you so much to @hailmary-yramliah for this request, I hope you like it!! here is my masterlist, and if you have any requests you can send me an ask! also credit to @hunterschafer for the beautiful frankie gif!!

"Mr. Morales, after a thorough review of the details of this case, including but not limited to testimonies of your close friends and NA sponsor, revision of your record, and speaking with the judge who oversaw the suspension of your pilot's license, I have come to the conclusion that you are currently unfit to have full custody of your daughter. I am hereby granting full custody of Eleanor Luciana Morales to her biological mother."

The minute Francisco Morales hears the words of the family court judge before him ruling in favor of his now ex-wife, he nearly passes out.

The former Delta Force soldier vaguely heard the protests of Pope, who is the only person sitting within the rows of seats on the side of the courtroom where he currently resides. He doesn't register his lawyer uttering a half-assed apology or even the cheers from his ex-wife and her family on the other side of the room.

All he hears is white noise as the judge bangs the gavel to settle the room, explaining that Ava now will have primary and sole custody and that Frankie will only be allowed supervised visits with a social worker, and that Ava can take her daughter home today.

Their daughter.

Frankie knows he isn't perfect - fuck, he is far from it but this just seems like a sick joke.

As soon as his license was officially stripped from him, he knew his marriage was over. The tension had started almost a year earlier when Ava suspected Frankie of using, to which he vehemently denied.

Of course, it was true, but how was he supposed to explain and admit to the love of his life that he needed the cocaine flowing through his body in order to feel anything anymore.

Things began to crumble soon after the initial suspicion by Ava.

The best way Frankie thought to deal with this problem was to put some space between himself and his wife. He didn't want her to see him when he was strung out and begging for one last hit - God forbid his daughter see him like that.

In a way, Frankie was grateful that Ellie was still an infant, and that she would have no memory of the fights he had with her mother over his addiction.

He began staying out late at bars and other places downtown where he knew he could meet his dealer and get more of his fix, trying to keep it as far away from his home as possible.

After a few drinks and a successful meeting with his dealer, he would make his way home where he eventually came down, the immediate rush of guilt and sorrow filling his heart as he would return home and see the bedroom door was locked, indicating he had to crash on the couch.

It was when he stepped through the threshold of his small cottage that he felt the shame bubble up from deep inside him, knowing that he couldn't just snuggle up next to his wife and pretend things were fine, or even cradle his daughter in his arms and rock her to sleep, as on these nights Ava made sure to keep Ellie in the bedroom with her.

Those were the nights that haunted him the most.

Breaking Ava's heart was something long in the past - and he knew she wouldn't be able to just forgive him for what he put her through. She was always the one to give people the benefit of the doubt - something he used to tease her about but now feels scorned by. She was the one who stood by him when he admitted he had a problem - giving him support and resources for healing all while lending a helping hand.

She knew he wouldn't try to harm their relationship on purpose.

But when his use began to impede more on their relationship, Ava put her foot down. She was getting tired of the cycle of hurt that came with each band of withdrawal and promises of this being the "last" time, only to see her husband relapse again and again. She tried her hardest to continue supporting him, her high school sweetheart, but she had reached her limit. She started spending more time with her parents, leaving Ellie in their care for most days so she didn't have to see her father stumble through the door after a night out.

Two weeks later she served him with the divorce papers.

Frankie knows that he fucked up, be he never meant to harm Ava or Ellie along the way, especially his baby daughter, whose brown eyes were almost carbon copies of his own. He can't even stomach the idea of Eleanor growing up without her father in her life - she is his whole world, and since the day she was born he promised her that he would always be there for her.

But now, his heart aches knowing he is going home to a semi-furnished one-bedroom apartment, no wife or daughter waiting up for him like when he returned from missions or deployment.

Francisco Morales was not one to take the easy way out.

He clutches his patient belongings bag tighly in his right hand as he walks out of the lobby of the inpatient rehabilitation center, scanning the outside pickup area for a familiar truck. After looking around for a moment a truck horn beep startles him, turning to see a familiar mop of black hair peeking out of his truck.

Chuckling to himself, Frankie jogs over to the passenger side and hops in, feeling Pope immediately wrap him tightly in a hug. "I missed you Cat," he murmurs into the pilot's shoulder, giving him a comforting pat on the back before releasing the brown-haired man from his arms.

"I missed you too Santi," Frankie sighs, placing his bag down on the floor at his feet, "I don't know how much longer I could stay there without seeing a familiar face."

Santi lets out a low laugh as he starts up the truck and pulls out of the patient drop-off area before turning onto the main road. The two sit in silence for a few moments as Frankie stretches out his limbs, turning his head to look out the window as they drive down through the city.

The black haired man knows better than to pry and quiz the pilot about his 2 month stay at the local inpatient rehabilitation center. After the fallout of the trial, things got rough really fast. Santi knew deep down there was a chance of relapse, even with Frankie left the courtroom promising that this would never happen again - but it was all too much.

At 3:11 am Santi got a call from Frankie.

By 6:30 the pair were at the very same doors that Frankie had just emerged, with Santi comfortingly rubbing his hand up and down the brunette's back and they waited to check him in and head over to intake.

But Santi doesn't pry.

He just drums a tune on the steering wheel as he continues driving down the main stretch of road in the city. He watches out of the corner of his eye as they get to a red light as Frankie fixes his hair, running his fingers through the brown fringe across his forehead and he lets out a chuckle.

"What's so funny Pope? I don't wanna look like I'm fresh out of the hospital." He huffs, looking over his hair again before closing the mirror.

To say Frankie was nervous was an understatement. He had been out of the hospital for less than ten minutes and he was already on his way to meet a new lawyer. His new lawyer.

The previous week Frankie received a call from Santi during his afternoon rec time. At first he couldn't make out what the other man was saying, he remembers huffing out something the lines of "are you fucking drunk?" but made sure to keep quiet as he knew some people in the rec area didn't take too kindly to brash language.

He then remembers the hearty chuckle on the other end. "No I'm not fucking drunk 'fish, I'm excited! I just ran into one of my old college buddies-"

"Do you mean fuck buddies?" Frankie teases, letting out a quiet laugh as he hears a scoff on the other end of the line.

"No you idiot! I didn't sleep with every girl I knew back then, I know it's hard to believe," Frankie lets out a loud laugh, "I ran into an old friend of mine who went to law school, and let's just say she owes me a favor and she agreed to take on your case! Fish? Frankie?"

The pilot drops the phone as soon as the words are processed.

He has another chance. Another chance to see Ava and his baby girl. A chance to get them both back into his life for good this time, now that he has detoxed and spent his time working on his coping strategies.

They could be back in his arms once again.

"Mr. Morales? Mr. Garcia? She's ready for you."

"It's go time." Santi nods, standing up out of his seat and motioning for the pilot to follow him.

The pair make their way down the white and bright hallways of the law offices, walking past several cubicles full of lawyers and other workers chatting away before coming to an office with a glass door at the end of the hallway.

Frankie nervously plays with his fingers as Santi knocks on the door, hearing a soft "come in" from the otherside.

He follows the black haired man into the office and freezes in his tracks when he sees you get up from your desk and rush to pull Santi into a hug. He tries to keep his eyes from widening like a cartoon character but he can't help it - Santi didn't mention how gorgeous you are.

He listens to you both talk for a few moments before you reach your hand out and introduce yourself, a light smile playing at your lips. Frankie nods and takes your smaller hand in his before watching you go back to your desk. You open your laptop and pull out the file your assistant gathered on the details of the previous case.

"Mr. Mora-"

"You can call me Frankie," the pilot interjects, his cheeks turning red as you nod and take a mental note of that. "Frankie, do you want to start off at the start of your story for me? I always find it more beneficial to ask from the client's perspective about the details of the case, it makes a stronger case," you say, picking up a pen and looking at the brunette sitting across from you.

Frankie lets out a small cough and takes a soft breath in before laying his cards out on the table.

Santi stays quiet in the seat next to him, nodding along at the details of the story and offering a comforting hand on the back as one of his closest friends speaks about some of the darkest points in his life with you as if you have known him as long as you have known him.

It takes about 45 minutes of Frankie's explanations and your questioning to get all of the information you need for the initial meeting, making notes of the progress the pilot has made within the inpatient treatment center as well as Santi's testimony. You put your files away in the folder on your desk and stand up, making your way over to the two soldiers and giving them each a handshake, telling them both that you feel extremely confident in this case, and that you can't wait to help Frankie get his family back.

You can't miss the way he breaks out into a grin, probably one of the first genuine ones in a while, and you see Santi nod his head approvingly at you before giving you a quick "thanks" as the two begin to stand up and walk towards your door.

Before they leave you quickly call out to Frankie, who turns around quickly and his chocolate brown eyes lock with yours.

"What's your daughter's name?" You ask softly, watching as his posture relaxes at the mention of his pride and joy. He reaches into one of his back pockets of his jeans and pulls out a small photo from his wallet and hands it to you.

You look over the tiny photo - it must have been from the day she was born. Her big brown eyes are the same as her father's, a small smile on her face.

"Her name is Eleanor, Eleanor Luciana," he smiles, a small tear welling up in the corner of his right eye.

A smile plays at your lips as you see the absolute adoration in his eyes as he talks about her.

You know you have to win this case.

You spend the next 3 months prepping for the case.

You know this process is not an easy one, especially for Frankie. At first, he came to your office twice a week in the afternoon right after his NA meetings, most times with Santi in tow. It was awkward at first for sure - I mean it isn't fun working with a lawyer about the bad choices he had made or the fact of the matter that he feels like a piece of him has died since he has been away from his family.

Santi helped ease the tension.

When it got hard for Frankie to talk about some of the details of his drug use, or the fights he had with Ava, Santi was there to help ease the conversation and help Frankie get through it. It helped that the two knew each other like the back of their hands, with Santi being able to crack a joke at a moment's notice and bring the pilot back down to the ground.

It was when Santi brought up old memories of your time back in college that you heard real laughter from the brunette.

They weren't your proudest memories, but the way that Frankie laughed at you and Santi's old college stories brought a smile to your face and gave you a feeling of butterflies in your stomach that you didn't want to go away. You knew deep down you shouldn't feel those butterflies, especially when dealing with a client, but something about the pilot made your heart flutter.

But the minute you would feel the butterflies, like after Frankie gave you a compliment about your outfit, you would feel the guilt wash over you in waves. Frankie was a father, a former husband who was working with you in order to win back his ex. How could you feel this way about a man who was fighting through hell to get his family back.

You were just his lawyer.

Seeing him open up each time he came into your office was something that struck you deep down, knowing that being this vulnerable is something that he doesn't take lightly.

The two of you continue meeting twice a week after NA, with Frankie telling you about his feelings from his meeting and talking about his goals for this upcoming trial.

You continue preparing him with questions you know will be brought up by the family court judge, focusing on his plans for the future after his discharge from the inpatient center, focusing on the changes in behavior he has made of the past few months. His answers become more confident the harder you work, and you feel your heart start to swell as he talks about how excited he is to see his baby girl again.

But you also feel pain in your heart at the thought of the man before you leaving your life after this week.

It's the Friday night before the trial, a night you typically take off early on, but tonight is different.

Frankie was sitting here in your office earlier this week when he casually mentioned that he was getting his 6 month sober chip on Friday. Upon hearing this news you gasp and stand up from your desk, your feet carrying you over towards him before you could even register what you are doing - suddenly you realize that you have pulled him into your arms.

Frankie is shocked at first, a small "oof" escaping his lips as you held onto him, but he is grateful you cannot see the blush rising on his cheeks.

You quickly pull yourself back and subconsciously smoothing out your light green work pants before taking a step back. "I'm so proud of you 'Cat, that's so amazing!" You smile, brushing a piece of hair back behind your ear.

The pilot nods, a small smile playing at his lips.

"How about you come here on friday. You, me and Santi can have some pizza and a beer to celebrate," you suggest, watching as Frankie furrows his brow before letting out a chuckle.

"You don't ask all of your clients to have a pizza party in your office after hours do you?" He laughs, taking his hat off and fixing his brown locks before sliding it back on his head.

"I can't say that I do, but this is what Santi and I would do back in the day to celebrate, so why not celebrate this achievement before we get in the courtroom."

You chuckle, remembering the days spent in the shitty apartment Santi had off campus. "Alright I'm in." Frankie smiles, "I'll bring the beers."

That night the three of you sit on the floor of your office like kids and chuckle at old stories, both from college and from the boy's times spent overseas. You watch as Frankie laughs at something Santi says and you feel the pain in your heart return, knowing that in a few short days your client would be back to his old life, and you would be stuck here back in the real world at your job. You know it's wrong, but these past months have been different than any other case you have taken on.

You know Frankie is going to be able to go back to his family after all of this - he is stronger than when this whole ordeal started and he has the support to prevent another relapse.

Hell, you are proud of him outside of work, knowing this process wasn't easy - but the idea of this man walking out of your life brings you sadness. Knowing he won't be in your office twice a week for hours, cracking jokes and talking about nothing in particular towards the end.

Sometimes you wonder what things would be like if you met under other circumstances. Maybe you two would have a shot - walking hand in hand at the local farmer's market, singing karaoke at the bar with Santi, Benny and Will, or even going on a flight with him.

You even opened up to him, telling him things even Santi doesn't know. But you need to remember why you are here - to win this for your client.

"Mr. Morales, after going over the details of this case, I see the dedication you have made towards your rehabilitation and future. I have talked with the treatment team at Maple Grove rehabilitation as well as your NA sponsor, and based on all of the information I have gathered is that you are fit to have custody of your daughter. You will now have shared custody of Eleanor Luciana Morales."

Before you can properly process the words of the judge, you feel two strong arms wrap around your torso and lift you in the air. You feel a blush come over your cheeks as you hear Frankie saying "thank you" over and over again as he sets you back down on the ground.

You both simultaneously pull back and hide your blushes as you thank the judge for his discretion and you faintly hear the bang of the gavel in the background as the court is dismissed.

You don't miss the way Ava storms out of the courtroom with her family and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Santi walks over to the two of you and pulls you both into a hug, rubbing a hand comfortingly up and down your back and thanking you for everything you did.

You nod as Santi pulls back and turns to his brother in arms, chatting about something you can't quite hear as you begin to pack up your white briefcase, pausing when you see a photo of Ellie on the table.

Since the beginning of the trial Frankie felt the nerves wash over him as this suddenly felt so real. You had suggested that he bring in a picture of Eleanor to place on the table so that whenever he became nervous, he could look down and see who he was doing this all for. Seeing the photo now brings tears to the corners of your eyes and you close up your briefcase - turning around to see that Santi has left the courtroom, just leaving you and Frankie.

"I just wanted to say thank you, for everything," he says softly, nervously scratching at the hair at the nape of his neck.

You nod curtly, trying to ignore the sore feeling in your throat - a telltale sign that you were about to cry.

Frankie tilts his head in confusion and walks closer, reaching out and grabbing your smaller hands in his. "I mean it - you have helped me through this whole process, and you are the reason I get to see Eleanor again, and for that I cannot thank you enough."

His words cut through you like knives - you knew this was coming. Your job is over, and it's time for him to move on.

"All in a day's work," you chuckle quietly, having to look down at your shoes to avoid letting the tears fall.

You suddenly feel softy fingers tilt your head up. Blinking through your lashes you see the pilot looking at you with only adoration in his eyes. You lock onto his chocolate orbs and nod slightly as he moves closer, softly crashing your lips against his.

You feel his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling him flush against his chest in a soft yet comforting way. You find yourself getting lost in the moment, one of your hands tangling in his hair as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

A moment later you both pull away, leaning your forehead against his as he lets out a small chuckle.

"I've been wanting to do that forever," he smiles, locking eyes with you once again, "I had to wait until I wasn't your client anymore, I didn't want to make it awkward or unethical."

You smile at his confession, brushing a piece of his brunette locks out of his eyes.

"Well now that you are no longer my client, would you like to go grab a beer?" You ask, looking at the way his eyes light up at your question.

"I would love that."

He watches as you grab your briefcase and wraps an arm around your waist as the two of you head for the courtroom doors.

He feels his heart swell in his chest knowing he not only has Eleanor back in his life, but now he has you too.

taglist: @hailmary-yramliah @babyprim @shadowolf993 @jasterslegacy @collectorofexperiences

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish Morales x reader #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #my writing

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angelqueen04 · 4 years ago

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Hamliza Month, Day 15

@megpeggs @historysalt

Affection Summary: Out of the mouth of babes... Note: This entry is part of the arc that includes Reunion, Tryst, and Wedding, and is set in between Reunion and Tryst. Forgive me, I just couldn’t resist a bit more of Cornelia Schuyler being adorable.

Under normal circumstances, Cornelia usually did not put up much of a fuss about her bed time. Of course, normal circumstances included being under the stern eyes of their parents, and Cornelia, even as young as she was, was loathe to bring their wrath down upon her head. In this case, however, they were far from what was normal. Their parents, and Peggy too, had been gone for some weeks, overseeing the last of the reconstruction of their home at Saratoga, leaving Cornelia in Eliza’s care and that of her nurse. That alone had inspired Cornelia to push further at boundaries than she was normally wont to.

So, truly, the household was already in something of an upset. Add Alexander Hamilton into an already boiling pot, Eliza reflected with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, and you have a recipe for pure chaos. Her fiancé had well and thoroughly enchanted her four-year-old sister. The three of them had spent much of the afternoon together, and Alexander had showered Cornelia with stories of his childhood in the West Indies – though Eliza was fairly certain he left several less savory details out – and had even taught her a few simple games he had learned as a boy.

All of this served up the perfect situation where Eliza would have a fight on her hands in getting Cornelia up to bed.

Or so she thought.

About an hour after their evening meal, Eliza stood up from her seat in the parlor and announced that it was Cornelia’s bedtime, she could see the protest forming on her sister’s face. She braced herself, preparing to hear pleadings, demands, and outright fits, only to have Alexander speak up.

“I dare say it is my bedtime as well,” he said, a yawn forming on his lips.

Cornelia whirled back to him, her eyes wide. “You have a bedtime?!” she demanded, and then narrowed her eyes. “You’re a grown-up!”

Alexander smiled and shook his head. “Ah, but I am also a soldier, Miss Cornelia,” he reminded her, leaning forward to tap her nose. “When General Washington gives an order, he expects his soldiers to obey it.”

Cornelia continued to eye him suspiciously, but Eliza could have kissed him. He had successfully averted a tantrum. She swept forward and held out her hand to Cornelia, which she obligingly took. As the little girl stood up, Alexander followed suit and gave them both a deep, gallant bow. Her lips twitching into a smile, Eliza curtsied in return, and struggled to keep herself from chuckling when Cornelia copied the gesture, albeit much more clumsily.

Alexander accompanied them out of the parlor and then parted ways with them in the front hall, though not before catching Eliza’s free hand in his own and kissing it, winking at her as he did so. He then made his way to the bed chamber just off the front hall that was left for the use of guests, or for her parents, when they had guests whose exalted status merited them the finest room in the house – their own bedchamber. Eliza, meanwhile, led Cornelia down the length of the front hall and then up the stairs to the second floor.

Cornelia had only recently come to share the chamber that had been designated for the use of all of the daughters of the house, having before slept on a small bed in their parents’ chamber. It had only been these past few months that Cornelia – and her tiny bed – had joined Eliza and Peggy in the room the two of them had once shared with Angelica. It had been something of an adjustment, Eliza reflected, and one she realized that would be repeated soon enough, when Eliza left home as a married woman to live with her husband.

Upon entering the room, Eliza found that everything was laid out and waiting for Cornelia’s use, from nightgown to hairbrush to sleeping cap. It was thankfully not a difficult task to clean Cornelia’s face and dress her for bed. Once that was finished, Eliza ran the brush through Cornelia’s curls, marveling at how they were such a lighter color than her own. Like Eliza, Angelica and Peggy all had the darker hair of the Van Rensselaers, as did their three brothers. Cornelia alone had inherited the lighter tones of the Schuylers, something that never failed to make their father smile fondly.

“Betsey,” Cornelia suddenly spoke up, interrupting Eliza’s thoughts.

“Yes?” she responded, setting the brush down and moving to plait Cornelia’s hair.

“Are you really going to marry Colonel Hamilton?” the child asked her.

Eliza nodded, weaving the strands together with practiced ease. Even with Cornelia’s thick curls, she had more than enough skill to work the braid into existence. “Yes, I am.”

“Like Angelica’s married to Mr. Carter?”

That question gave her pause. Eliza knew very well that there was, in the minds of their parents and wider relations, a marked difference between Angelica’s marriage and Eliza’s own approaching nuptials. Her parents had approved of her suitor for one, and had given their blessing for the marriage for another. Eliza would not be sneaking off into the night to throw herself on the mercy of her grandfather and present the old man with no other option but to summon a pastor, but would instead be married from the home she had grown up in, with her family gathered around to witness it.

Still, that was all a bit much to lay before a five-year-old. So instead, she said, “If you mean that we will be say our vows before the good Lord and that we will live together as man and wife, then yes.”

“Oh.” Cornelia said, and Eliza could hear the pensive note in the child’s voice. “Does that mean you’ll go away?” The words ‘like Angelica’ hung in the air, but this time Cornelia did not say them. Despite her youth, even Cornelia knew to tread lightly where their oldest sister was concerned.

“That’s what girls do when they marry, Cornelia,” Eliza told her gently as she tied the braid off. She then reached for the child’s sleeping cap, and added, “But I imagine that we will visit here often.”

Cornelia nodded and followed Eliza over to her bed. Once she’d crawled under the covers, she declared, “I like Colonel Hamilton.”

Eliza smiled as she sat down on the edge of the tiny bed. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“So can I marry him too?” her little sister asked, the words coming out of her in a rush. “Then I could live with you and him and then you and I won’t be lonely!”

The idea was one only a child could come up with, and it took all of Eliza’s self-control not to bust into boisterous laughter. Cornelia was perfectly serious in her question, earnest in that way that only children could be.

Struggling to keep her voice from shaking with mirth, Eliza shook her head and said, “I’m afraid not, dear heart. Colonel Hamilton is just for me. But,” she added, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner, “one day, you will find someone you like even more than you like the Colonel, and he will be all yours. And Colonel Hamilton and I will visit you then as well.”

Cornelia cocked her head, considering her words. She didn’t look entirely appeased, but then she nodded. “That’d be all right then,” she said grudgingly. She then added, “So long as he doesn’t pull my hair like Renssy does!”

Eliza snorted. Their mischievous brother did like to tease Cornelia. “If he is at all worthy of you, sweetheart, he will not only not pull your hair, he will fight any man who dares do so! Now,” she said, standing up, “time to sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

There was no argument forthcoming and Cornelia settled down against her pillow. Just as Eliza went to blow out the candle, however, the girl murmured, “Hope the Colonel isn’t cold. Papa says that room’s always cold.”

Eliza paused a moment, considering the words, but then continued. The bedchamber fell dark, save for the glow emanating from the fireplace. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, thoughts swirling in her mind about Alexander.

Cornelia was correct. Papa thought that guest chamber far too drafty. Surely, it was only right that Eliza see to it that he had plenty of blankets to keep him warm? But, oh, to be in the same room with him, alone, and in a bedchamber at that...

Eliza could feel herself beginning to blush as an idea began to take shape.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #cornelia schuyler morton #alexander hamilton

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takonei · 4 years ago

Text

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 6, Investigation (Part 3)

Note of the author: jfc this investigation is long. But that’s to expect from chapter 6. Also: Updated the warning list. Please check before reading.

Also I apologize for the terrible formatting at a certain point in the chapter. Tumblr is a bitch. If it really bothers you, I suggest reading on AO3.

Chapter 6: My killing game, our killing game

...

Miu and Shuichi stared at each other.

"So... What is even left to investigate in this room?" Shuichi looked around.

The wall with Motherkuma was covered, Kokichi and Kirumi were taking care of the computer, and all that was left was, well, a kitchen. A simple trashcan, a fridge, and several cupboards.

Miu shrugged. "Well, I would hate myself if some clues were hidden in this section and we ignored them because we said 'who would hide major clues in the fridge?', if you know what I mean."

She started making her way there. Shuichi blinked, a bit confused by her statement. Who would even hide evidence in a fridge?!

But perhaps she was right. He could try to look up in those strange places.

He opened a cupboard to see packs of coffee and different types of food: Almonds, dry nuts, and other non-sugary snacks. Whoever owned this place clearly didn't have a sweet tooth.

"Why the hell are there hard drugs in the fridge??"

Shuichi immediately turned around to see Miu holding what looked like a blister of tablets. "What do you mean 'hard drugs'?!"

She looked just as confused. "I don't know, there are dozens of them in the fridge, that's the last thing I expected to see here."

He approached the fridge to see what she was talking about. And true to her words, dozens of blisters were placed there. He could only stare wide-eyed at the questionable sight.

Miu sighed. "I am seriously wondering what the hell is going on in the mastermind's head."

"For now let's just... Put it back where it was." Shuichi said.

Obtained truth bullet! Drugs in the fridge

He closed the fridge, then turned back to his friend.

Miu shook her head. "Anyway, let's just- let's just investigate somewhere else!"

It was clear she was asking herself as many questions as him.

Why would the mastermind need drugs…?

Shuichi eyed the trashcan on the side. It was ridiculous, but judging by what they found in the fridge, he wouldn't be surprised if something important was in there.

He lifted and shook the bin to empty it on the ground. And just as he thought, two items fell off. It was... a book and a USB key?

The book was heavy and old-looking, although that aspect looked like it was done on purpose. It didn't have anything written on the cover nor on the back, but instead, he could feel his eyes staring at the odd and mysterious decorations on the front. If anything, it looked like a dark magic grimoire.

He opened it and saw the title on the first page.

"'Necronomicon'...?"

Shuichi flipped through the pages. He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw a resurrection ritual being mentioned, but his hopes were cut short when he noticed that all the pages had tacky doodles of Monokuma everywhere. It was very hard to take this book seriously, and it probably didn't have any real value. No wonder it was thrown in a trashcan.

But where did it come from? That was another mystery...

He set the book down and took the USB key. Black and white with Monokuma's signature eye on it. But on a closer look, it didn't seem to be a USB key. Perhaps another storage system that didn't fit a normal computer.

Whatever these were for, they had a reason to be here. And he would have to find it.

Obtained truth bullet! Book and key

He took them both to show them to Miu. Perhaps she will know more about their uses than him.

"Hey... Did you find anything yet?" he asked.

The blonde woman closed the cupboard she was searching in. "Nope. What are these?" she pointed at the two objects.

He handed the book to her.

"I found them in the trashcan. It looks like Monokuma wrote the book, but... I don't really get it. What is it even for?"

Miu inspected the cover and back of the book. She opened it and looked at the inside cover.

"... I've seen this pattern before. I don't know where, but I've seen it."

Shuichi raised an eyebrow and his friend showed him.

However, it was a simple abstract mix of black and dark grey hues. There wasn't anything concrete, just monochrome splashes.

"Are you sure that's not just... a random pattern?"

"Hey! Don't doubt my-

She abruptly stopped herself. Shuichi felt guilty seeing her fierce expression deteriorate into sorrow. "Nevermind... Maybe I'm hallucinating as you say."

Miu gave back the book. "As for the key, I don't have a clue. Never seen anything like that before."

He glanced away. It wasn't his intention to make her doubt her abilities as an artist, but he did. But before he could apologize, she walked away to the next cupboard to inspect, clearly wanting this conversation to end.

… Perhaps he should do the same.

After putting the book and the key on the table next to the sink, the blue-eyed teen opened the next cupboard.

But just as he tried to reach inside, something heavy fell from the top of the shelf directly on his head. He heard the object hitting the ground as he rubbed the spot.

Of course, he would get karma for that with Kokichi a few meters away from him.

But what had hit him?

He looked on the ground to see a... hacking gun?

Shuichi inspected it. It was remarkably similar to the ones Ryoma had created, if not the same. But this one was painted differently and had started accumulating dust. It was black and white, and the symbol on the side was Monokuma's red eye instead of Ryoma's sigil.

With the dust, it looked like it was created before the actual hacking guns, but Ryoma hadn't built this one for sure.

Upon turning it on, his eyes widened as he looked at the number of shots left in the gun.

49.

It had been used once before, but... By whom?

Obtained truth bullet! Hacking gun

Shuichi set the gun on the table and sighed.

None of these ‘clues’ led to anything other than more questions. It was frustrating.

He turned to Miu, perhaps she would-

...

She was staring at a document with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Miu...?"

Her eyes shot up to his, and he instantly felt a chill down his spine.

She was filled with pure terror.

She swallowed and walked up to him, clenching the paper tightly.

"Shuichi, what the hell is this?!"

The blonde shoved the paper in his face.

He stumbled on his feet and took the paper, confused.

...

What...

What the hell was this?!

"Saihara... family contract...?"

Miu was silent as he was reading, the dread slowly settling on his face.

It was a contract between his family and an organization known as ‘Team Danganronpa’ to finance and advertise a killing game with himself as the ‘protagonist’.

"Did you or did you not sign that shit?!"

Her voice became louder, and his heart started racing in his chest.

"I-I don't remember any of this! I've never seen this paper in my life!!"

"Then whose signature is at the bottom?!"

...

He froze.

His gaze drifted right next to the scarlet red stamp that had the form of Monokuma's eye, on the three signatures written in dark blue ink.

Respectively his father, his mother... and himself.

He felt his throat tighten at the sight of his own handwriting.

Shuichi Saihara.

His hands were trembling as he kept staring at the paper.

Shuichi Saihara.

It was the truth, wasn't it?

His family was responsible for the killing game.

He was responsible for the killing game.

…

Everything became white noise. He could feel his senses leaving him.

All he could see was his own handwriting. Blue stains from a past he could not remember, taunting him endlessly. All he could hear were muffled voices clashing together, drowned in a constant dissonant ringing that didn’t want to stop. All he could feel between his fingers was the paper stained with his own mistakes, now wet with the warm, fat tears he didn't even feel falling.

...

What...

What had he done?

What kind of monster was he?!

The noise became louder and louder, until...

Shuichi felt the paper being taken from his hands, and everything instantly became clearer in his mind.

He raised his head to look at Kokichi and Kirumi, who had joined them supposedly because of the ruckus. The latter was reading the paper with an unreadable expression.

Her intense green eyes suddenly met his. The cold wave was another hit to the chest.

There was a long silence in the room.

"This is your signature, isn't it?"

Unable to mutter a word, he closed his eyes, breaking the painful eye contact. "... It is."

For some reason, he couldn't feel her judgmental gaze on him. What was she thinking about?

They had all the reasons to hate him, and he deserved it. He agreed to make them suffer, to let them die and decay miserably, away from their loved ones.

Rantaro's words kept playing in his head.

He may not remember it, but the evidence was here. He did sign this. He agreed to let them rot.

And he doesn't even remember it.

"I'm... I'm sorry I... I don’t…"

The three pairs of eyes were surely locked on him, but the words never came out of their mouths.

...

"Kirumi... What do you think of all of this?"

He couldn't bear looking at her.

"... Something about this contract doesn’t sit right with me."

Shuichi felt his heart skip a bit.

"I do not know what, though.” She brushed the paper with her fingers.

“I do not think this is the original but rather a copy. However, correct me if I’m wrong, Miu…” Kirumi gave the paper to the other girl. “… But the writing does give me the impression that this was not edited in any way.”

“I don't have any reason to think that this contract was faked, but... It's too easy."

He heard Kokichi shifting his feet to turn to her. "What do you mean?"

"Miu, you find this in a cupboard of all places." she said. "Not a safe, not in a drawer, but a cupboard anyone could open, in the middle of glasses and plates. Why would a contract that important be here, and not in a secured place, or at least a real drawer?"

Shuichi lifted his head.

"From what I remember, I have spent countless hours in mansions either stealing important documents, taking care of evidence that could expose me as the culprit, and sometimes placing fake evidence to incriminate another maid or worker."

"And never have I ever found a document that important in a cupboard nor have I ever placed fake evidence here."

Miu seemed to ponder for a moment. "And... What do you think that means?"

She sighed. "To me, there are no logical explanations. The mastermind is just making a fool out of us."

The blonde's eyes widened. "You're the one who said this thing couldn't have been faked! It has to come from somewhere!"

"It's… exactly like the Sanzu garden."

The three turned to Kokichi.

"Kiyo... He had made his plan because the mastermind knew Tsumugi's attitude was suspicious to him! They manipulated the academy for days to separate us! Maybe they're doing the same here to throw us off!"

Shuichi's eyes widened. "You... You think so? But-

"You might be right. That's the most plausible theory in my eyes." Kirumi interrupted him.

"With the proof that our memories could have been altered, I decided to only trust the memories we made in this killing game, and nothing else."

"And perhaps you guys should do too."

"So you think... Shuichi doesn't have anything to do with the creation of the killing game?" Miu hesitantly asked.

...

Silence.

"Maybe, maybe not. Because our memories may have been altered doesn't ultimately prove his innocence. This contract looks real, after all." she said.

"But Kokichi is right. Letting our emotions get the best of us would be our greatest mistake, and that's exactly what the mastermind wants right now."

His other two friends nodded in understanding.

... But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to feel relieved by her words.

After all, he might be more of a monster than he remembers.

And that terrified him.

Obtained truth bullet! Saihara family contract

Shuichi still had trouble looking at any of his friends.

"Should we... go back to the computer?" Kokichi broke the silence.

"Of course."

Miu, Kokichi, and Kirumi started walking towards the engine. But Shuichi still had a word to say.

"Kirumi..." he muttered.

She stopped in her tracks.

"Why did you defend me?"

The young woman said nothing, then side-eyed him.

“First of all, learn when it is appropriate to start conflicts between us.”

He winced at the remark.

"I don't know what you did before we all met. I don't know why you supposedly agreed to finance this killing game.”

“You could even be faking your emotions and try to create unnecessary conflicts to make sure we don’t find enough hints to end this killing game for all I know."

"You may have signed this contract, but I could be worse than you in every way imaginable, rotten to the core and deserving hell more than anyone else on this wretched planet. I remember being a mercenary, I might as well be the devil."

"To blame you for everything that happened to me, knowing there is a possibility that I am a monster viler and more vicious than you could ever be... would make me a hypocrite."

Shuichi pondered to himself, eyes low.

"Kirumi! You coming?" Miu's voice took them out of their thoughts.

"I'm here."

The sound of her heels resonated in his ears. He followed them, and his eyes landed on the computer screen.

The long-haired girl started typing again. "I don't know what I can do at this point. As I said, I'm not an expert hack-

Kirumi was interrupted by a sudden explosion that blew up the door that was right next to them, scattering debris and... burned books?

He had forgotten about the door leading to the library. And standing there, a cannon pointed at the room, was Monoshi.

"SECRET-ENTRANCE-UNLOCKED: LIBRARY. NO-SECRET-ENTRANCES-REMAINING."

The modified bear left as suddenly as he came, leaving a gaping hole replacing the sealed door between the two rooms.

"Guys! Look!"

Shuichi suddenly turned to Miu.

"We finally got access to the computer!"

Kirumi raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. "How...? I didn't even enter anything."

Shuichi hummed. "Maybe... Karma did the job?"

"Whatever happened, it worked. We shouldn't waste time wondering about that right now." Miu scanned the screen with her eyes.

There were several applications and files, it was hard to choose what to click first.

"Look, there's a file called 'flashback light list', maybe we should start with that?" Shuichi suggested.

Miu clicked on the file.

Sixteen files, all named with... Two letters.

"Okay... What are we choosing first?" the blue-eyed teen asked.

"The first, duh."

The blonde clicked on the file named "AY".

Anterior_AY.cmr Chapter_2_AY.cmr Chapter_3_AY.cmr Chapter_4_AY.cmr Chapter_5_AY.cmr Character_AY.ccr Motive_05_AY.ccr Motive_05_END_AY.cmr Talent_AY.cpr

Miu frowned. "... I have several questions."

"The ‘character’ file matches what we saw in the flashback lights guide." Kirumi noted.

"But what about the 'chapter' ones?" Shuichi asked.

Kokichi blinked. "I don't even know what I'm looking at."

He couldn’t deny things were very confusing, whether they knew what was in the guide or not.

"Maybe we should check the others...?" the other boy suggested.

Miu went back and clicked on the second file: "GG". It was the exact same list, with the 'AY' replaced by 'GG' except...

The 'Motive_05' files were missing.

"Could you go back for a second, Miu?" Kirumi frowned.

The girl did as told.

The other stared at the screen for a moment. "... Those are our initials. Each of those files is about us."

Shuichi's eyes widened. But just as she said, he noticed the file named 'SS'. And indeed, the list was about them.

AY, GG, HY, KA, KM, KT, KO, KS, MH, MI, RA, RH, SS, TC, TI and TS.

Miu immediately clicked on her file. It had all the same files as the others, without the 'Motive_05' ones.

"What the hell...?" she muttered.

They checked each of the files to spot the differences.

Angie had the 'Motive_05_AY.ccr' and the 'Motive_05_END_AY.cmr' files.

Ryoma had 'Motive_05_RH.ccr' and 'Motive_05_END_HR.cmr'.

Tsumugi had 'Motive_05_TS.cmr' and 'Motive_05_END_TS.cmr'.

However...

Kokichi was missing the 'Talent' file.

Shuichi was missing the 'Character' file.

Kirumi was missing the 'Anterior' file.

And Tatsuya was missing those exact three files.

Shuichi swallowed. Should he be happy that he didn't have a 'character' file? Should he be mad? Worried?

He didn't know.

All those files were the same for everyone, except the initials at the end of each of them, unique to each participant.

But Kirumi, Kokichi and Tatsuya... Why were they missing files?

Especially Tatsuya. He would understand if he was a robot like they all thought until tonight, but Tatsuya was a human just like them before being transferred into K1-B0.

...

When were those flashback lights even created?

Obtained truth bullet! Flashback light list

Miu turned to the others- those with the missing files.

"I don't get it... I know I should be mad that I have those flashback light files but what about you guys? Why are you missing some of those files?"

Shuichi nervously looked away. "I wish I knew..."

Kokichi was still staring at the screen. "I think we skipped a file..."

Miu froze. "I-I don't know what you're talking about?"

She was clearly lying.

Shuichi scanned the screen, until...

"... It's Rantaro's file, isn't it?"

Her shoulders dropped, her hands clenching into fists.

"I... I don't know what it's gonna be and I'm scared."

Kirumi crossed her arms. "Unfortunately, he could be like us, missing a file. We have to know if there is a difference.”

She swallowed and clicked.

And indeed, his file was different. But not in the way they expected.

Anterior_RA.cmr Chapter_2_RA.cmr Chapter_3_RA.cmr Chapter_4_RA.cmr Chapter_5_RA.cmr Character_RA.ccr EmergencyTherapyRantaro.ccr Talent_RA.cpr

Shuichi's eyes widened.

What the hell was this new file?!

Miu jumped from her seat. "Emergency therapy...?"

She didn't think and immediately clicked on the odd file to open it. But...

... An error message popped up, indicating that the file was corrupted and thus impossible to recover.

They stared at it, defeated. They didn't even do anything, but it still felt like they failed at keeping one person safe.

Seeing a file named 'Emergency Therapy' exclusively for Rantaro corrupted and beyond repair gave him a sick feeling in his stomach.

If there was one file that they had needed, it was this one. And yet, it was completely ruined.

This message reeked irony, and Shuichi hated it.

Obtained truth bullet! Corrupted file

Miu slammed her hands on the table. "Why?! This isn't fucking fair! Why is this file even here if it's just to stand there and taunt us?!"

...

No response.

Indeed, why did this file even exist? Why would the mastermind even create this?

The more they searched through this room, the less he understood their intentions. It was getting harder and harder to look at the hints and clues that were ‘offered’ to them.

But was there really something to understand?

The mastermind was a monster. Someone who would make them suffer for their own amusement no matter what. But...

'The 'mastermind' is only a pawn in the greater scheme that this killing game is.'

If they were merely a pawn, then how disgusting were the people above them...?

... This was terrifying to think about.

Kirumi leaned forward and closed the error window. At least they wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

The girl next to her stared at the file's name. She seemed to ponder to herself.

"Hey, is it me or..." she trailed off. "... Nevermind."

She closed the tab. No one wanted to see those files anymore- this grotesque mockery of their despair.

Shuichi couldn't find the courage to look at the screen anymore.

Kokichi broke the silence. "Was this icon here before?"

He pointed at a logo that looked like Monokuma's eye. Titled 'FLIBD - SRD subjects'.

Kirumi frowned. "No... It definitely wasn't there."

Miu got the message and clicked on it.

What appeared before them looked like an information sheet. A picture of a young girl their age, and some data about her.

She had incredibly beautiful traits, the bright blue eyes of a doll, and voluminous blond hair attached in two pigtails. She wore a thin black necklace that contrasted a lot with her fair skin.

But something caught his attention. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes landed on the hairpins.

Two Monokuma heads, one fully white on the left and one fully black on the right.

"W-Who the hell is she?!"

"She's wearing Monokuma like a fucking trophy. Whoever she is, I already don't trust her." Miu hissed.

Only an ally of Monokuma would wear such a gross accessory.

"Her name is Junko Enoshima, according to the info on the profile." Kirumi noted.

Junko Enoshima...

He has never heard this name before in his life.

At least, from what he remembers.

Was she part of those behind the killing game as a whole?

Obtained truth bullet! Junko Enoshima

They decided to look into the written details about her.

Junko Enoshima - #01-006 Ultimate analytical prowess - Type primary: O Type secondary: M Intensity: A- High Beginning: / Conflict status: Tame Keyword: Despair Status: Dead - 6M - 1/26

"Wait, she's dead?" Miu raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently so." Kirumi said. "Although I do not know what the '6M' means."

Shuichi neither. But what did those 'types' even mean? And all the other info given here?

"Wait, look at the keyword!" Kokichi said. "Isn't Monokuma always babbling about despair?"

"So you do think she has some kind of relationship with Monokuma, right?" Shuichi asked.

"She has Monokuma hairpins, so there's no questioning that." Miu turned to her friends. "She does give me the impression that she’s like… The creator or something."

The creator of Monokuma...?

"But she's dead! Does that mean the mastermind was her, but she was actually dead all along?" Shuichi exclaimed.

"I don't think the mastermind is dead. Someone has to take care of Monokuma and the killing game somehow." Kirumi pondered. "Though I don't deny she must have a connection with him."

Shuichi stared at the screen. "Wait, there's a '1/26' at the bottom of the screen... Are there other people like her?"

Miu span around to face the screen. "That's what we'll find out."

She tapped the right arrow on the keyboard, and another information sheet appeared. But the person on the screen looked... Completely unrelated.

It was a boy this time. His face gave Shuichi chills. He looked like he was a ghost. Messy hair white as snow with weak scarlet ends, and skin almost as pale as a corpse. His grey eyes looked empty, devoid of life. He seemed to be wearing a green hoodie, but he could only guess. However...

... He did not wear a single accessory related to Monokuma.

Nagito Komaeda - #02-028 Ultimate lucky student - Type primary: O Type secondary: / Intensity: A- High Beginning: / Conflict status: Tame Keyword: Hope Status: Dead - 5V/S – Terminated - 2/26

"Dead too?!" Miu yelled. "Are all of these people dead?!"

"This one indicates 'terminated'. That was not on the first one." Kirumi pointed out.

Whatever that meant, it was not a good sign.

"But look... The keyword..." Kokichi said.

Hope.

The exact opposite of Junko Enoshima.

"Do they or do they not work for Monokuma?" Miu raised an eyebrow. "It's confusing as hell."

"I don't think we were right when we assumed this was a list of those who worked for the game." Kirumi explained. "This is something else. The icon said 'subjects' with two acronyms. But if we don't know what the acronyms mean, we are not going to get far."

Subjects...?

It sounded like an experiment. This was... worrying, to say the least.

"So what? Do we look at the other info sheets to see what is actually going on?" Miu suggested.

"We can only try."

And so, they did. Each of those info sheets contained the same kind of info, although the parameters changed.

There didn't seem to be a pattern in the talents- they were at random, from art, to knowledge, and sometimes even murder related. Ultimate vocalist, assassin, poet, anthropologist, psychiatrist… How many ultimate students even existed in the world?

The ‘types’ changed letters. Some had both primary and secondary filled, some had only the primary.

The intensity part was generally either low or moderate. Sometimes it was marked as 'high', but only on rare occasions. The letter 'A' also seemed to have turned to an 'N' around the 5th person.

But he also noticed that for some, unlike the two first, the 'beginning' part was filled. Sometimes it was a person's death, a day, a random event, and sometimes... A trial? They did wonder if other ultimates had been in a killing game just like them.

The fact that they were probably not the first victims made Shuichi want to puke.

They then noted that the 'beginning' part was only filled for those with the letter N in the ‘intensity’ part.

The 'conflict status' part was completely random, with no apparent pattern. This was probably the part he understood the less.

On the keyword part was often noted notions or concepts, but he had seen a name or two on these info sheets.

As the status...

All dead.

Not a single one was noted 'alive'. One or two had the 'terminated' note, but all of them were dead, for some reason or another.

It was painful to look at, even though none of them recognized any of the people in the pictures, or even the names.

On the 25th info sheet, Miu clicked on the keyboard to see the last person, and...

It was like time had stopped.

They recognized this face all too well.

Messy green hair, an intense emerald gaze powerful enough to petrify someone, and young, slightly feminine traits on a male teenager they had all known as...

"R-Rantaro...?" Miu muttered, her voice shaking.

This was him. There was no doubt about it. But... Why...?

Rantaro Amami - #53-844 Ultimate medic - Type primary: T Type secondary: P Intensity: N- High Beginning: Tsumugi Shirogane's death ~ Ch4 trial ~ Night 16 Conflict status: Very aggressive Keyword: Save Status: Dead - 5E - 26/26

"W-What does Rantaro have to do with these people?!" Kokichi exclaimed with his feeble voice.

Kirumi approached the screen and narrowed her eyes at the picture that was in front of them. "As much as I hate to say this, we will probably get a better understanding of this list with him there."

Unfortunately, she was right.

However, something immediately bugged him. "Hey, is it me or are those '53' everywhere? This is the third time in a row I've seen the number written.”

Kokichi turned to him. "Wasn't it also written on Keebo's plans?"

Shuichi's eyes widened. "It was! I don't get what it means, though."

"Can we talk about like, everything else?" Miu frowned with a mix of both confusion and annoyance.

Perhaps it was nervousness that made him focus on the less important details. Whatever the reason, he hated it. The rest of the information was much more primordial to their investigation and understanding of the situation, after all.

"'Tsumugi's death’, ‘Ch4 trial’, and a certain night…“ Shuichi muttered to himself, low enough so he wouldn’t be heard by anyone.

He did have an idea of what had happened during that time, but… He didn’t have the courage to say it out loud.

Kirumi was reading the info sheet. She seemed to be focused on trying to get a clue out of this.

“Did you… figure out anything?”

She only narrowed her eyes. “I do have a theory, but it lacks evidence, so I suggest you take what I say with a grain of salt.”

“I do believe this has something to do with his mental state.”

Bingo.

“What do you mean?” Miu raised an eyebrow. “I mean… We all figured out something wasn’t right, but… What does this have to do with that?” she gestured to the info sheet.

Kirumi seemed to be choosing her words, then sighed.

“It’s after Tsumugi’s death that he… started acting strange, to put it lightly. And as much as I tried to talk to him about it during the last few days, it was useless.”

Shuichi felt his heart sting as those moments started invading his mind again. The fourth trial was a nightmare. Four hours of figuring out who had orchestrated Tsumugi’s execution, and a quarter of it was spent deciding if it was Rantaro’s most trusted friend or the beloved therapist who was the culprit.

And the fifth trial… He didn’t even want to think about it.

“Hold on, you knew he was in this state and you didn’t say anything?” Miu frowned.

… He didn’t like where this was going.

“Look, some things happened that you probably don’t want to know. This group was already fragile to begin with. To tell you the truth would have been like smashing an already collapsing vase with a baseball bat.”

“And you just left him alone thinking telling us would have made things worse than they already were?!” she yelled.

“I severely fucked up, I know that already!! Don’t you think I realized by now?!” Kirumi’s voice was growing louder, filled with rage.

Her eyes, bright green, and a glare as powerful as…

Shuichi instinctively took a step back.

“Why didn’t you tell us?!” the other girl stood up. “What did you have to gain by doing your little thing alone on your side?!”

“Miu-“ he approached her.

“Shut it! It’s between me and her!”

“No! I’m just as much at fault for this if not more!”

She stopped. Everyone turned to him.

Oh no.

“You… What?”

He turned away. “I… I knew about this as much as Kirumi. I’m the one who told her in the first place. I tried to investigate with her but… We were never successful. He always turned us away.”

Kirumi looked at him, silently.

“And what’s your excuse? Why did you decide to hide all of this from m- from us?”

He could tell Miu was mad. But her anger was not his biggest concern.

Why was this moment still intact in his mind, replaying itself over and over again?

The cold blade against his throat, steady and ready to slice through it like a vulgar piece of meat.

A gaze… His gaze…

“I-I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Please.”

He felt his voice cracking at the last word. He probably looked miserable, which was something that happened way too often for his liking.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. He couldn’t blame Miu for wanting to know, but that was not something he wanted to even think about right now.

Kirumi sighed. “Look, Miu. I know we messed up. You have every right to be mad. But this-“ she vaguely gestured at the group. “-is exactly what I wanted to avoid at a time like this. If you want, you can take a small break while we continue to investigate.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… a lot to take in. All of this.”

While he knew she could not even begin to understand how he felt back there, to learn that two of your friends hid such important things about the person you cared about the most…

Miu rubbed her eyes. “I’m fine. Let’s just- let’s just keep going. Sorry for the outburst.”

Kirumi put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen. I might have been too harsh and I’m sorry. When I say take a break, I mean it.”

She lowered her gaze. “… Alright, I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

Miu walked to the back of the room. She needed time for herself, and Shuichi respected that.

Kokichi glanced at them both. He looked like he wanted to ask about what had happened but didn’t dare to.

“It’s… It’s complicated.” Shuichi muttered.

“I wasn’t going to ask… I’m just wondering if you at least talked about it properly to someone.” He replied. “When I talked to Miu, I felt a bit more… refreshed, I don’t know how to explain it.”

Shuichi weakly smiled. “Thanks. I talked a bit to Kirumi about this already, but it- it’s still not something I want to share. At least not now.”

The white-haired boy turned to the picture of Rantaro. “Save…”

An obsession he developed, to the point of ending his own life in some twisted plan.

“I don’t think I will ever understand him…” the boy muttered.

Shuichi swallowed. “Maybe we could have been true friends… If only we met differently, then things would have been better.”

Kirumi had her eyes on him. “… That’s nothing but a distant dream, now.”

She looked at Miu, then back at the computer, deciding to close the haunting file.

They would have to figure out what it all meant, but right now they were drained. Whenever Rantaro was mentioned, things did not end up well.

Obtained truth bullet! Subject list

Shuichi glanced at the ground for a moment. He was the one to start the meaningless investigation, despite himself.

He thought it had been completely useless in the end, since Rantaro ended up achieving his wretched goals, but perhaps... Not all of it was for nothing. There was still more to this, and this list was the proof.

Miu came back to them. “Alright, we done with this file?”

It was obvious she was still shaken.

Kokichi hummed. “We… figured we could go onto something else.”

She went back to the chair and thought for a moment. "… What are we checking next?"

Shuichi approached her to look at what could be useful, pushing his thoughts to the back of his head. "Hey, doesn't this look like a chat device?" he pointed at an icon. "Maybe the mastermind was talking to an ally, or someone they're working with."

The girl cracked her fingers. "Let's see what this bitch was up to."

After clicking the icon, one single conversation appeared on the screen.

"We might need to read all of this, maybe try to scroll up to see where it starts?" Shuichi suggested.

And so she did. Unfortunately, they didn't seem very talkative, and they did not know when those conversations really happened.

But now, they could read actual conversations from the mastermind and their accomplices, and that was more than enough.

Or superiors, if Rantaro was right.

=====

I request an alternate motive. This is urgent. <

> Which one?

Number 05. <

> Understood. Please give me the details in a voice call.

(Voice call lasted 19 min 47 sec)

=====

"Alternate motive...?" Kokichi tilted his head. "We were supposed to have another motive at some point?"

Shuichi slammed his hands on the table. "Wait! Motive 05! It's the flashback lights file!"

"The flashback lights for Ryoma, Angie, and Tsumugi only." Kirumi noted.

Miu frowned. "Wait, if this is about the despair disease, why didn’t Kokichi have a file? You had the disease, right?"

He stiffened. "Y-yes? I had the disease!!"

And yet... Nothing was proving it. Neither the files, nor the attitude back then.

"That's... odd, don't you think?" Shuichi raised an eyebrow. "Kokichi did not change attitude and did not have his memories of that period erased..."

The young boy looked panicked, to say the least. "I don't know! But I... I had the disease, Monokuma said it and I know I had it..." he trailed off.

The three looked at each other. After what had just happened with the contract and the file, preying on it would only make things worse.

Instead, Rantaro's words ringed in his head.

'No existing disease infects people that differently.'

And he was right. This was no disease, but instead flashback lights. Which made a lot more sense than whatever explanation the bears came up with.

... And with how much Angie changed because of 'the disease', he started wondering what the flashback lights were truly capable of.

Pure terror, and nothing else. he thought to himself.

Miu scrolled down to look at the next conversation.

=====

The next motive will be an alternate one as well. This is an important demand.<

> I expected that. Which one?

Number 13. <

> Are you sure? This is not an easy motive to handle.

Yes. I believe it is the best way to continue the game. <

> Understood. Shall we make a voice call for the details?

Yes. <

(Voice call lasted 1h 49 min 04 sec)

=====

"Wait, the Sanzu garden was not planned from the start either?" Shuichi raised an eyebrow.

"Forget about that, look at the voice call!" Miu exclaimed. "Two hours of babbling about how to make us suffer?!"

"No, Shuichi is right." Kirumi frowned. "The motive was planned after the despair disease to an extent. This means that the mastermind somehow managed to put all of that into place in a few days at most."

He didn't think about that. "That's... how?!"

"Shuichi, I think at this point we should stop asking 'how is this possible' and more 'what is going on’. This entire bullshit sounds like science fiction, but here we are." Miu sighed.

And she was right, unfortunately. He didn't expect science to be able to transfer a human soul into a robotic body nor to be able to mess with memories in such a way, but he had to accept that this was real.

"Still... They planned and prepared all of this way too quickly..." Kokichi muttered.

If the mastermind worked alone, that would have been impossible. But as Rantaro said, they don't know how many people are behind the scenes.

It was terrifying.

They kept scrolling to see what happened after that.

=====

> This trial was a wonderful success. You have made an excellent job handling this motive.

> Rare are those who can make it work correctly.

Thank you. <

> However, we will once again need you to keep an eye on someone for tonight. You might already know who I'm talking about.

Yes, I do. And understood. <

=====

"Wonderful success my ass." Miu hissed. "As long as we get hurt, they’re happy. Fucking bastards."

"I think we should talk about the 'Rare are those who can make it work correctly.'" Kirumi noted. "Did other people have to do this in the past?"

That was more of a rhetorical question. This conversation was just blatant proof that...

... This was not the first killing game. And enough of them had the Sanzu garden as a motive for this to be said. How many had to be trapped in those chambers, or were hurt by the countless traps placed to terrorize them?

It was sickening.

"Um... Why are they talking about 'keeping an eye on someone' though?" Kokichi asked. "And 'once again'? Did the mastermind already have to do that?"

"It does seem normal that they are tasked to keep an eye on us, but that message seems to hold more importance." Kirumi said.

But for what, though...? What is so important that the mastermind needed to be reminded to do that?

Whatever the reason, he already hated it.

He glanced at the screen and saw that Miu had scrolled down a bit.

=====

We need to talk. Right now. <

> What is it about?

Don't feign ignorance. <

> We are already working on this. You do not need to intervene.

Understood. <

=====

"What the hell?" Miu raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

It was odd to see the mastermind be mad at whoever their colleague was. Whatever they did must not have pleased them.

But was it a good or a bad sign?

"It must have happened after the fourth trial, but not on the same day as the other conversation." Kirumi pondered. "Although I doubt this has anything to do with the fifth trial."

He nodded. Judging by how they talked, the chances were low.

But unfortunately, there wasn't much they could deduce from this conversation.

Miu scrolled down and they realized this would be the last conversation the mastermind and their accomplice had.

======

> This entire trial was a full-blown disaster. How did you mess up that badly?

> Do you realize we might have executed Mr. Amami for nothing? We don't even know if he was indeed guilty.

I didn't ask for him to be executed, as far as I know. You did. <

Also, don't act like you didn't want him to die. I do have a part of responsibility < in this, but do not put 100% of the blame on me.

There are things and people I simply cannot control, you should know that.<

> You do know executing someone without concrete proof of the crime is not something we can do out of the blue.

> Someone like you shouldn't be in this position. You knew him better than everyone else and there is no excuse for your failure.

Once again, you are also to blame. I warned you about him. I specifically told < you he was a force to be reckoned with, someone to never underestimate.

Why do you think I chose him of all people? <

> You could have made the job easier for yourself and for us, and you didn't.

What is done is done. This game will come to an end very soon, and I have < no choice but to take another route for the finale.

> You know we cannot afford to end the killing game like this.

It is too late for that. We underestimated him, and we must pay the price. <

I'll let you handle the preparations. You might need to hurry up, though. I have < a feeling he prepared more than we first expected.

> Understood.

======

The four of them stared at the screen with wide eyes.

Shuichi had his eyes locked on one single sentence.

'I didn't ask for him to be executed.'

Rantaro...

"Rantaro was supposed to live?!" he yelled.

"Hold the fuck up! If the mastermind didn't want him dead, then why was he executed?!" Miu turned back, panicked.

Shuichi paused, then glanced at her. "W-

"He was right."

He suddenly turned to Kirumi.

"Rantaro mentioned Monokuma possibly getting new orders during the trial, when he suddenly turned against him and gave us a very explicit reason to vote for him."

"So that wasn't the mastermind?!" Kokichi exclaimed.

Then... The mastermind was actually not in total control of the trial...?

What on earth had happened back there?!

"So they fucked up, the mastermind wanted to let him go but whoever the fuck was actually behind the scenes wanted him dead?!"

This was almost exactly what Rantaro had predicted.

His foresight was one of the greatest qualities he had, to their dismay.

But...

"Who are we even calling the mastermind if they don't even have full power over the game?!"

"A pawn." Kirumi bluntly said. "The 'mastermind' has a certain amount of power, but they’re at the lowest level of the hierarchy."

He swallowed. "Still... The fact that the one we considered our greatest enemy for so long might be nothing next to whoever was behind them..."

A graveyard silence settled among them.

He couldn't even bring himself to fear the mastermind anymore.

Rantaro had told them. He had told them that there were more people behind this horror, but... He never imagined anything like that.

"But... Look at this..." Kokichi pointed at the screen. "The other person says they can't kill us out of the blue... Are they still bound by the rules? I thought the mastermind was doing this game for them?"

"Then there must be more layers to this." Kirumi crossed her arms. She raised a finger, pointing at nothing in particular, then raised it up as she talked. "The 'mastermind' is at the bottom, then it's the second layer- this person, whatever their role is, and finally someone else at the top, who has given them the instructions and is only watching."

"That's my understanding of the situation."

Shuichi pondered. This looked like a decent explanation.

But still, whoever is at the top...

... What kind of power did they even possess for multiple killing games to be organized?

Miu stared at the screen, still reading the messages. "The mastermind knows Rantaro more than anyone else... What does that mean? Do they know us as well?"

"That does seem logical. They have 'chosen’ Rantaro, whatever that means, so they probably ‘chose’ us as well. Though I don't know how they could know us enough to the point of creating the Sanzu Garden." Kirumi said.

"That doesn't surprise me at this point, to be honest. What I'm worried about is the last message the mastermind sent. They seemed to know Rantaro had prepared something, so Monoshi must have not been that much of a surprise for them."

If they knew something was going to happen, then... Why didn't they do anything? Was it because the game was already supposed to end?

Was the game successfully ended by Rantaro, or was it already supposed to end, making his sacrifice utterly useless?

"Does that mean they knew we were going to end up in this room?" Kokichi asked.

That... was actually a good question. They didn't seem to have tried to hide major clues like the flashback light guide and the computer, but at the same time, the contract with his family was here. And they were actually able to go past the computer security.

"Maybe... I wouldn't be surprised if they did, but here we are, looking at their conversation with their boss, so who knows." Miu sighed.

Obtained truth bullet! Conversation with the mastermind

The group stopped talking for a moment. They needed to process this. Not just this part of the conversation, but the rest of the investigation. From Tatsuya Idabashi and his corpse, Keebo, the contract with his own family, the subject list to this...

What did he get himself into?!

Kirumi let her shoulders drop. "We should go back to investigating the academy while we still can. I think we’ve seen enough from this computer."

Shuichi turned to her. "Wait, there might still be info on this…"

As much as he hated it, he knew he was right. This computer was a gold mine, despite all the nuggets being coated in poison.

Miu pondered. "But she's right on one thing. We’ve all been on this computer for a while instead of the usual two-by-two. We should get back to that strategy."

Just as she finished her sentence, the sound of another explosion from the outside was heard.

"I... I think I'll stay here…" Shuichi nervously said.

"Fine. I'll go outside." Kirumi took a step back. "I'll try to investigate alone."

"I might also need some time to process all of this bullshit or I think I'll have an aneurysm." She muttered to herself, although Shuichi did hear her.

The sound of her heels faded away as she passed through the destroyed entrance in the library.

Miu crossed her arms, gaze to the ground. "I'll go to the surface too. Can I leave you two with the computer?" she asked.

"C-Count on us."

Shuichi muttered this unconsciously, but he didn't even know if he was ready to see more.

Miu gave him a weak smile and walked away, leaving him with Kokichi.

Once she was out of sight, Shuichi sighed, putting his face in his hands. “What are we even doing…?”

Kokichi put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

It was impossible to keep calm.

“I’m sorry, I- I just don’t know what to think anymore…” he mumbled.

The other boy let his hand drop. “It’s fine… I know this is dumb coming from me, but… Please talk if you need to.”

He paused.

“I just… I feel guilty about Rantaro. I should have said something to Miu… I know I shouldn’t have stayed silent but h- he…”

His throat tightened.

“I don’t know what happened to you exactly, but… He did something bad to you, didn’t he?”

His silence provided him the answer.

“I can’t blame you for reacting the way you did… I know I shouldn’t talk behind people’s backs, but I know Miu is biased, and I can’t blame her either.”

“What I’m trying to say is, you shouldn’t feel bad about keeping it a secret. Maybe things would have gone differently if you talked about your worry, but… You are not the one who is responsible for his death.”

Shuichi stayed silent, a bit surprised by his words.

“Kokichi…”

“If anyone is at fault, it’s whoever organized the killing game, right? So the only thing we can do is to stop them.”

He felt a smile form on his lips, despite the tears threatening to fall at any moment.

“… Thank you.”

“No problem, that’s the least I can do now.”

Shuichi glanced back at the conversation.

"Do you think we should try communicating with them?" he asked. "I don't even know what we'll get out of it, but we could try."

Kokichi frowned. "It feels weird talking to the people who did all of this to us... But we don't have anything to lose, right?"

"I don't think so..."

Shuichi approached the keyboard and took a deep breath.

I managed to get back to the room. What's the next step of the plan? <

"Wait... Aren't they watching us with the cameras?" Kokichi asked. "Don't they know it's us?"

Shit.

Shuichi slowly turned to him. "W-What do we do now?"

They stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity.

"I don't think they'll answer..." Shuichi mumbled.

He reduced the window size to look at what was available on the computer. Unfortunately, there weren't many icons, but one stood out to him.

"Mastermind rules...?"

He clicked on the icon. It looked like a set of rules they had to follow.

Overall, nothing was alarming or too out of place. Check the room and give updates as often as possible, always keep an eye on the participants, interact as little as possible with the environment not to disturb the game...

... But then, his eyes landed on one specific rule.

#10. Prevent suicides

There is always a possibility a participant will try to end their life at some point in the game, and at a time it is not welcome (i.e.: less than 24 hours after a trial, a participant's death -unless chapter 3- or at any moment the death will be too obvious for a proper trial to be done). In that case, make sure the participant stays alive for the sake of the game by whatever means necessary. Keep an eye on them until the situation is suitable enough for them to do so, or if they simply don't want to commit the act anymore.

Shuichi's eyes widened.

"That's... That's what we're worth to them?" Kokichi's voice was shaking.

The blue-eyed teen swallowed, taking a step back. "This… This is..."

…

If he had truly wished to end it all... The mastermind themselves would have come to his rescue, for the sole purpose of continuing the game...?

How was he supposed to feel about this?!

Obtained truth bullet! Mastermind's rules

He instinctively closed the window.

Thankfully, there wasn't much they could search in this computer anymore, aside from one icon Kokichi pointed out.

"Hey, look at this, maybe... Maybe this is about the cameras?"

Shuichi clicked on it, and to their surprise, all the screens lit up, showing different cameras around the academy. But the cameras looked like they were... flying? They were at the very least not attached to a wall, the ground, or a ceiling, and they were moving.

He spotted Kaito's exisal and Monoshi still hardly fighting against the other bears, Miu running around the main building and Kirumi walking towards the dorms' building.

Another screen showed their faces, staring at the camera. And yet, there was nothing in their field of vision aside from the screen of the computer.

Very disturbing, to say the least.

On the main laptop was a gigantic list of... 'nanokumas'?

There seemed to be hundreds of them, each marked as active, aside from a small portion of them, marked as destroyed.

Were they the cameras? Cameras small enough not to be noticed by anyone?

Rantaro was right on many more guesses than he thought.

Obtained truth bullet! Nanokumas

Since there wasn't much to see here, he closed the window.

"So... What do we do now?" Kokichi asked before glancing at the table. “Hm?”

Shuichi turned to him. “What is it?”

“Kirumi and I found a key next to the computer, that she guessed was a master key, something that could unlock all rooms. But it’s gone now, she might have taken it.”

A very useful item that he despised the existence of.

He looked at the entrance in the library. "There is nothing left to check in this room, so we might as well get out. I hate this place."

His friend nodded. "Yeah…”

And so they did. Once they were out, they decided to split up to check places they might have missed.

There was one place Shuichi needed to go to.

He glanced at the dorms building where Kirumi had supposedly gone to.

He needed to get there. He ran as fast as he could to avoid any possible damage.

Shuichi immediately closed the door behind him, and the ruckus outside became less loud. But the silence of the dorms was not that much more reassuring.

His eyes drifted to the different rooms, now all empty, as their owners were either dead or investigating. However...

... He noticed one door was slightly opened.

Rantaro's.

He swallowed and approached the room.

...

After what felt like an eternity, he found the courage to quietly open the door.

He felt himself gag right after stepping into his room.

There was a strange mix of unpleasant smells- nothing like Tatsuya's lab, though. A mix of sweat, chemicals and medicine drowned in a sea of heavy enclosed air. The room itself was incredibly messy and disorganized. He noticed a needle on the bedside table with a bottle of liquid medicine, a half-emptied bottle of water, and pills.

The bed was not even made. The pillow was thrown away and the blanket had fallen on the floor next to the bed.

His eyes glanced towards the wardrobe. It was supposed to have a mirror, but... The shattered shiny pieces of aluminum on the ground told enough for him to understand what had happened.

Looking at this scene made his heart ache. Everything he had seen in the mastermind's room had been messed up, but...

Seeing the madness in the most intimate place they had for themselves was something else. It felt like he wasn't entering a simple room, but rather getting a glimpse of the fragmented mind of his former friend. The one who laid down his life for them- for their safety and out of spite.

His head turned to the bathroom, and that's when he noticed the other person in the room- who hadn't noticed him yet.

Kirumi was staring in front of her, an unreadable expression on her face.

She placed a hand on the mirror, gently brushing it with her long, thin fingers.

After swallowing, he stepped forward.

Kirumi suddenly turned around, just noticing him.

"... It's you."

Shuichi looked down for a moment. "Sorry if I surprised you."

Her shoulders dropped as she turned back to her reflection. "It's fine."

It’s only then that he noticed the state of the mirror, which had been out of his sight until now.

Shattered.

Three strikes that left crackles all over the piece of furniture. The mirror was barely keeping it together. One move too brutal and everything would fall apart, breaking into a million more pieces. Their reflections were distorted by the splits, one of the strikes ironically placed around Shuichi's head.

He could only stare, a hand clenching his heart and his mind drowning in never-ending dread.

(BGM)

They stared at themselves, not even daring to look at the other’s reflection, in a silence that he would have enjoyed at any other moment, but right now, he couldn’t describe it as anything other than suffocating.

His eyes drifted to the glass shards in the sink and the opened tubes of painkillers. The unpleasant smell was stronger, it was impossible to ignore it.

"..."

"Kirumi..."

She glanced at his reflection. "Yes?"

"Can we even stop them?"

She stayed silent for a moment, looking at herself.

"I don't know."

"The mastermind and their allies are powerful, and they seem to have total control over us."

"I would be lying if I said I truly believed everyone would get a happy ending."

Shuichi looked down.

"What even is a happy ending? One where we at least survive? Do we escape the academy? Will we able to go home?"

"What's... What's your happy ending, Kirumi?"

Her eyes widened a bit. Was she… caught off guard?

"..."

"... My happy ending, huh?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"It’s not like I can choose my destiny. The moment this game started, the possibilities for my future narrowed down to very few thin lines.”

“I do not care what happens to me in the end. I know my purpose was to stay alive at all costs, but… There’s no point believing in that anymore.”

“Perhaps I will die, perhaps I will live, and it doesn’t matter. What I truly wish for is to stay true to my morals.”

She paused.

“I know this might sound nonsensical, but I despise cruelty. I’ve seen many flaunting its greatness, but I always believed those people were the weakest humans to ever live.”

“Being cruel is admitting you are unable to suppress a mere urge, that you are nothing but an animal.”

“A simple proof of inhumanity.”

Her eyes hadn’t moved from her own reflection.

“I don’t want to die as a beast, a slave taking orders without second thought, nor as a killer.”

“My happy ending… is to die as Kirumi Tojo.”

…

Shuichi looked down.

“And you?”

His eyes darted up.

“What is yours?”

He looked back at himself.

... What was his happy ending?

"You don't have to answer me. All that matters is that you know what you want and what you believe in."

"Believe me, it takes a lot of mental strength to bring yourself to question all of this, but once you do, it's a new path that opens to you."

"One that you won't regret, even if things may not go exactly as you wanted."

She walked out of the bathroom.

"This killing game changed us all. It's our job to gather the misery and despair we felt for so long and throw it back in the faces of the wretched monsters who ruined our lives."

The sound of her heels faded away.

He stared at where she was standing for a minute before turning to the mirror again.

He wished to say his happy ending is one where they all escape and go home, but…

That was dream out of his reach, and he had to accept it.

Perhaps they would never stop those behind the scenes. Perhaps they would never find peace.

Perhaps they were all going to die.

But…

He couldn’t wallow in what-if’s.

He was going to fight until the end, for those who died, and those by his side.

He may never achieve a true happy ending, but to die trying to get it would be better than to let everyone’s sacrifices be in vain.

And he had just the right idea for a way to end this game.

After sharing one last glance with his shattered reflection, he left Rantaro's room.

He opened the door of the dorms building to see the long-haired woman standing there.

Kaito's exisal was down, surrounded by the four others.

The mecha opened to reveal their friend coughing. He lifted his head to look at them both. He was...

Defeated.

"Kaito!!"

Miu's voice echoed in the courtyard as she sprinted with Kokichi towards them.

"Puhuhu! My, my! You put up quite a fight! I'm impressed!"

Monokuma's laughter ringed in their ears.

"Unfortunately for you, it looks like your little temper tantrum is over!"

Kaito tried to get himself out of the exisal but was struggling to do so with only one functioning leg. Miu ran up to help him, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"So... How was your little period of free time without your beloved headmaster? Did you have fun running around? Going into my super-ultra-mega private rooms?"

"Fuck you." Kaito spat.

"I will take that as a yes!~" the robot laughed. "Now, now. Since this unwanted chaos is finally over, shall we-

"I demand a trial!!"

Everyone turned to the source of the voice.

Shuichi had taken a step forward. That might be the dumbest idea ever, but if this game had to end, it had to be like this.

He stared at the bear in the eyes.

“I want one last trial to end all of this.”

Kaito looked at him with eyes that screamed ‘what are you doing?’. But… That was the only way.

“Rantaro said it himself, this game is over. We have seen what was behind the scenes and we will not partake in this madness anymore!"

He pointed a finger at him. "This is your trial! Your trial as the culprit of everyone's murders in this killing game! And if you don’t want to accept this reason…”

“… Then think of this trial as the one for Keebo’s murderer, since you lied about Kaito being the culprit of the case.”

...

Monokuma looked surprised, although it was hard to read his mechanical face.

"Puhuhu... You do have some guts! Can’t say the same about my sweet monokubs… and myself, but that’s not the point.”

His glare did not falter.

“Very well! I accept the deal!”

"Everyone, please gather at the shrine of judgment!"

The bear and his cubs jumped away to their destination.

Once alone, everyone turned to him.

"Shuichi... Do you really think this is a good idea?"

He wanted to say he wasn't sure, but now wasn't the time to doubt.

"This is our only choice if we want to end the game. I don’t think Monokuma would have accepted to do anything else."

Kirumi crossed her arms. “Monokuma has already accepted the deal. I can’t say I had better ideas, though.”

Kokichi nodded in agreement.

Shuichi looked at his friends with a weak smile. "Let's end this, everyone."

Miu put a hand on his shoulder. "Then let's go. Together."

"You guys are going to have to sum up the situation for me, because I have zero clue how your investigation went." Kaito sighed.

The four others glanced at each other. He was lucky not to have seen the horrors of the mastermind’s room, but they would have to tell him at some point.

"We'll... We'll do that in due time, don't worry." Miu mumbled.

Kaito sensed her worry and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, I know you guys did well. We'll talk about it during the trial, alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

They arrived at the shrine, which had been slightly damaged by the exisals. The elevator opened, and the five survivors stepped in.

This was it.

The final trial where everything would end.

He could feel his heart racing in his chest as they got closer and closer to the courtroom.

He glanced at each of his friends, the ones who were still alive with him.

Kokichi, who, despite the hardships he went through before and during the game, gathered the strength to surpass them all, with the help of the kind hearts of the group.

Kaito, who, despite his disability as well as the false accusations thrown against him during the third trial, was someone one could count on, a great friend who wouldn’t let you down.

Miu, who, despite her willingness to kill for her cherished son at the beginning of the game, turned her sorrow into determination to end the game and to fight against their captor, and used her compassion to help whoever needed her.

Kirumi, who, despite her title, was one of his greatest allies, helped him through the hardest times, as well as the rest of them with a great strength, intelligence, as well as the double-edged sword that her condition is.

Friends that he would never, ever forget.

…

The elevator ride was even longer than last time- were they in yet another room?

His question was quickly answered when the door opened.

The courtroom did not even look like one anymore. The decoration was as futuristic looking as the podiums, with bright neon colors vibrating in the dark. And yet, the room was illuminated well enough for them to be able to see each other clearly.

They went to their podiums. And now, eleven of them were occupied by portraits stained by pink crosses.

They looked at each other, all uncertain about the outcome.

But they had to do this.

This killing game was going to end, right here and there, at last.

#ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 au #beta au #main story

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nctsoftskz · 5 years ago

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Forbidden love | w. kunhang

Word count: 4.9k Pairing: nursemaid! reader x prince! Hendery Genre: fluff, angst (if you squint), royalty au Synopsis: due to your different social status, being with Hendery is impossible. However, he’ll try everything to make it work. A/N: sorry for being so inactive, I’ve been extremely busy stressing out and overthinking my entire life and decisions. I hope y’all like this piece of trash writing! ❣

Even if it’s forbidden, Hendery couldn’t help but love you. He’s a prince, you’re a nursemaid, the difference between your two social status would never allow your union, if it were to happen. You knew Hendery (I mean, how couldn’t you. You worked for his parents), but you never really talked to him. You had exchanged a few words with him by the past since you were taking care of his younger sibling. He had tried to help you out, but you always denied, not wanting to get him or you in trouble.

You owed his parents a lot. Twenty years ago, his father, the king, rescued you from the piercing cold of winter. He had found you abandoned in a thin knitted dress; a cotton cloth loosely wrapped around your tiny figure. When he brought you back to the castle, the other maid looked after you and brought you up. You were now 20 years old and grateful for the king. His wife, the queen, never liked you, still believing that you were the daughter of an unacceptable union between her husband and a woman, a whore from the plebs. The king had tried to explain – you once heard that he even vowed it - that he had found you in the snow, but she always rejected his version of the story. You avoided her as much as possible and so did you with Hendery. He had strong facial traits of his mother, that’s why you avoided him. Every time he talked to you, even if he has the humanity and the kindness of his father, his face reminded you too much of his mother and you couldn’t look at him in the eyes without feeling uneasy.

“Hi, Y/N,” you heard someone say and you froze, picking the child in your arms before turning around. “Good afternoon, your Highness,” you bowed your head. Jiaying, his younger sister that you had in your arms copied you, making Hendery chuckle. “Please call me Hendery, it’s more practical and you’re around my age,” he said with a smile and you shrugged. “You have a higher social status, your Highness, I shall use the proper vocabulary when I meet you,” you try to stay as polite as possible, always on your guard. The women who brought you up always told you that the walls had ears and you could get in serious trouble if you said something wrong. You didn’t want to take the risk of losing your job, so you stayed polite, even if the prince asked you to drop the formalities. Working in the castle was exhausting but at least you had a home and food when it was cold. “I know, but we are alone now, you can call me by my name, no one is here.” Hendery smiled at your shyness and laughed as you try to prevent his little sister from untying the yellow ribbon tightly wrapped in your hair. As Hendery wasn’t saying anything else, you excused yourself and went to put the young princess to bed. You washed her face, brushed her teeth, put on her nightgown, and told her a story. You were like her older sister to her, since the king and the queen never really took care of her. She loved her elder brother, but you noticed that she had separation anxiety when you or Hendery left her unattended for a while.

That day, in the middle of the night, you got woken up by repetitive loud bangs on your wooden door. Quickly putting on a long cardigan around your shoulders and securely tied it around your waist, you hugged the material close to your chest. When you opened the door, your head spun when you found the one and only prince of this castle. “Y-your Highness?” you asked, hesitant on why he’s here. “I’m so sorry to wake you up at this hour Y/N, but Jiaying has been crying for the past hour and nobody can calm her down.” Hearing his words, you ignored the coldness biting at your bare feet and you hastily walked to her room, the prince on your heels. As you got closer and closer from her room, you could hear the screeching cries of Jiaying, and you burst through the door. Servants, other nursemaids, the king, and his wife were there, the latter sending you a dark glare as you walked past everyone to make your way to the bed. You bowed at everyone before touching Jiaying’s rosy cheeks.

“She's running a temperature,” you said, and you noticed from the corner of your eye the queen’s jaw clenching. You gulped and focused on the young girl, whose sobs calmed down since you were by her side. The queen dragged her husband out of the room without a word, followed by a few other people, leaving you and Hendery in the room. “Tell me if I can help,” he whispered as he caressed his sister’s hand with his thumb. “Your Highness, it would be unfortunate if you caught her fever. You may go back to sleep.” Hendery frowned at your words and you got surprised as his voice went an octave deeper. “Y/N, this is my sister, I want to help to make her feel better.” “Your Highness, you’re the prince, this is not your job to--” “I know,” he cut you, jaw clenched, and you looked away, his mother’s features strongly making their way on his face. Noticing your change of behaviour, Hendery’s tone softened and sat deeper on the king-sized bed. “But I still want to help. it’s my sister.” “Let us switch roles, then,” your voice didn’t mean to come out trembling, but you couldn’t control your emotions very well, which surprised Hendery. “You can stay here while I go grab the things your sister needs.”

As soon as you stood up from your spot next to Jiaying, she started crying again, forcing you to sit down. You turned your head to the prince but didn’t look at him in the eyes, feeling his gaze on your face. “Let me help you Y/N.” you sighed, defeated as you timidly but politely enumerated the things you needed to heal the princess. Hendery dashed out of the room and came back around 10 minutes later with everything in hand, only to find you caressing his sister’s cheek. You quickly got up and helped him unload his arms and started taking care of Jiaying.

You stayed awake the entire night to take care of the princess, only to have her falling asleep when the sun was rising. You discreetly stifled a yawn as you noticed Hendery asleep next to his sister. Her cheeks were still bright red and you were praying that she’d heal soon. You preferred running without any sleep than struggling to wake up after only 10 minutes of rest, so you went on with your day as if nothing happened. Walking in the kitchens, you started preparing breakfast for the two siblings, eating a banana and an apple during the process. Feeling your head spinning from your lack of sleep, you slapped your cheeks to shake you awake, earning a weird glance from the cooks. You awkwardly smiled and greeted them, only to be left without an answer. You bitterly chuckled to yourself as you poured the chicken soup in a bowl, putting it on a tray and made your way towards the room.

After closing the bedroom door behind you, you put the tray down on the bedside table and carefully shook Hendery awake. “Your Highness, you need to wake up, it’s 8 am,” you whispered, and he grumbled, his head sinking deeper in the pillow. His behaviour made you smile but you had to wake him up, he needed to eat and get ready before his library session. “Your Highness,” you shook his shoulder a bit harder this time, but he didn’t answer, and you sighed. You had heard that he was a heavy sleeper, but you never thought that it would be so hard to wake him up. Making sure that you were the only one in the room, you got closer to the prince and resisted the urge to push his hair away from his eyes.

“Hendery,” you murmured and shook him one last time. He groaned again, louder this time, but his eyes started fluttering. “You need to wake up, you have your library-” “Shht, Y/N, please. Five more minutes,” he mumbled and grabbed your forearm, making you gasp. You stood there, not knowing what to do. You wanted to shake him off as quickly as possible, but you found him quite endearing hugging your forearm like he currently was. “I can’t let you sleep more; your father and counsellor will be angry if you’re late.” “Don’t care,” he protested, his voice way lower than usual, laced with sleep. You stifled a smile as you managed to place the plate filled with scrambled eggs under his nose. His eyes opened and you caught him inhaling the food you had prepared for him. He let go of your arm, suddenly wide awake and sat down in the bed, hastily grabbing the cutlery you were handing him with a smile. Starting to take care of his sister, you saw him putting the now empty glass of orange juice on the bedside table before resting his head against the wall behind him. “My sister told me that your cooking skills were good, but I didn’t expect them to be this wonderful.” He stated and you shyly beamed, covering Jiaying’s forehead with a cold piece of cloth. “This breakfast is the simplest thing in the world, you know,” you said, softly feeding Jiaying with a spoon. “You’re going to get late, you shall find your servant so she can style your hair.” Hendery touched his hair as a reflex and chuckled as he felt the nest under his touch. “Do you think you can you do it? I can’t be seen like this...” his voice trailed, and you put the bowl down, Jiaying avoiding the spoon every time you neared it around her mouth. “Please keep an eye on your sister while I go grab everything.” He nodded and thanked you as you got out of the door, only to find his servant with the things needed to style his hair. “Ah Y/N, have you seen the prince? I went to your room but none of you was in there.” She said and you frowned. “What- why would he be in my room?” you questioned, and the elder woman shrugged. “He’s in the princess’ room but give me all of that, I’ll do it myself.”

You grabbed her basket and hurried back in the room, only to find Hendery on the balcony, admiring the view. “Your Highness, I’m back,” you said as you put the basket down on the bed, still a bit angry and confused about what his servant told you. He closed the window and sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for you. His sister was less red than this morning, but when you touched her forehead, it was still burning. You softly stroked her cheek before bringing your attention back on the prince. “Y/N, are you okay?” He said after moments of silence, noticing the frown on your face. Looking at him with eyebrows raised, you nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” you questioned and kept on styling his hair. “I don’t know, you look angry since you came back.” Hendery’s gaze never left you and you sighed. “Well, your servant was looking for you and she said that she went to check my room and she expected us both to be in there. I don’t know who told her that or who started this rumour, but I want it to stop as quickly as possible.” You uttered in one breath, trying to stay as polite as possible. With this rumour, your job was already at risk so you wouldn’t want to get in even more trouble by breaking another law. If the queen were to hear about this rumour, she wouldn’t hesitate to fire you straight away.

“Do you despise me that much that you can't stand hearing rumours about us or what’s the problem?” the young prince eyes you from his spot on the bed while your hands worked in his hair. “I don’t despise you, your Highness,” “I told you to stop calling me like that,” he huffed but you kept going. “I’m not like you, you know. I know your mother hates me, she thinks I’m an illegitimate child and I’m sure that she wouldn’t think twice before firing me if she has the smallest opportunity. Do you imagine, her son, the prince, the royal heir, to be rumoured to have spent the night with a servant, a peasant like me? I’m far from being a princess, I don’t have royal blood flooding through my veins, I’m just a maid. I’m only here to take care of your sister, nothing else. I can be easily replaced, a lot of women are dying to work for the royal family. I’m only meant to get married to someone from my social status and your mother won’t hesitate to remind me that. So no, I don’t despise you, I’m simply scared. Not only for me but for you as well.” It was the first time that you spoke so openly and informally to Hendery and you immediately started regretting it, feeling your cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger. Being too tired to think of an apology, you remained quiet, and so did he. He was shocked that you were so terrified of his mother. He knew that people found her scary, but he had never imagined you being so frightened of her. “I didn’t know she terrorised you this much,” Hendery mumbled but you didn’t say a word. If you could have, you would have given him a piece of your mind about his mother, but you didn’t dare. Even if she terrifies the shit out of you, Hendery wouldn’t like to hear your words about his mother. You wouldn’t like to have someone complaining about your mother, even if you didn’t have one.

Suddenly remembering all the nights you spent crying because you missed the family you’ve never had, your eyes welled up with tears and you sniffled, alerting the prince. You sighed again because it was the last thing you needed. His pity. “Y/N-” Hendery rose his hand to touch your forearm but it stood mid-air at your words. “Hend- your Highness, please no.” You harshly said and backed off to the basket, putting all the stuff back inside. “I’ve finished styling your hair, your Highness, I wish you a lovely day.” You put everything away in the basket, tears blurring your vision. You bowed before dashing out of the room, looking for the hairdresser, never looking back. Hendery stood there, puzzled of what just happened. He didn’t expect you to burst into tears in front of him, and you rejecting his comfort slightly broke his heart. He knew that his mother wasn’t very keen on having you around the castle, leave alone around him. During his entire lesson, he couldn’t focus, you occupied his mind too much. His father looked exasperated but didn’t say a word, whereas his counsellor yelled at him for not remembering the things he learnt last week, but he didn’t care. You were more important to him than any of those lessons.

During the following days, you avoided the royal family like the plague, except for Jiaying, who you were assigned to. She needed your help and attention to heal and your determination to make her feel better paid off. Within a week and a half, she was back on her feet and you were exhausted. You made sure to stay awake most of the nights to be there for her, resting your head against the bed frame or reading while she was sleeping. You had been avoiding Hendery, not wanting to confront him since that time when you styled his hair. He had tried several times to talk to you, but you always managed to get busy or meet someone in the castle that needed him, allowing you to escape. One morning, you woke up with the strongest headache you’ve ever had in your life, preventing you from even sitting up in your bed. You groaned and tried anyway, only to be seized by dizziness. You saw stars, your bedroom was spinning, you truly felt like you were going to die. Since your room was at the very end of a long corridor, no one could hear you, even if you yelled. You started to panic, already hearing your superiors barking at you for being late, which increased your pain. After a few minutes sunk in silence trying to get a grip on your discomfort, you managed to stand up and made your way to your kitchenette, boiling water in a small pot. You started getting ready for the day, way slower than you usually were. Before correctly buttoning up your maid apron, you poured the warm liquid in a cup and let your tea sink in. You hoped that it would give you the strength to make it alive until tonight.

It didn’t help, you felt like it aggravated everything. Maids asked you if you were okay when they saw you and you pretended that you were only a little tired. You didn’t have any other choices, you had to take care of Jiaying, you couldn't skip work, even if you were at your worst. The princess was kind enough to be calm this morning, allowing your pain to diminish a little. You read her stories, played with her, and tried to teach her how to knit. She paid close attention and she was patient, managing to get the strings to work on her little fingers. When it was time for her to eat, you left her room and went to cook her lunch. However, as soon as you got out, your pain hit you straight in the head, making the castle completely spin, forcing you to lean against the granite wall. After earning a few side glances from people walking past you, your body was too exhausted to move and you gave in, completely blacking out against the cold wall.

Jiaying stared at you making your way out the door, your walk was slightly dizzy and uncertain. The young princess frowned but focused on her knitting. She wanted to impress you by making a few rows alone, showing you that she carefully listened and was able to succeed. She stuck her tongue out as she made a stitch on one side, then on the other, carefully passing the needles through the thread. Her stomach grumbled after a few rows, not understanding why you were taking so long to come back. “Where is Y/N?” she mumbled as she opened the door, but no one answered her, people passing by completely ignoring her. She wandered a bit in the castle, looking out for you, getting progressively lost in the winding corridors of the castle. She was getting scared and started running, regularly yelling your name, tears forming in her small eyes.

Arriving in front of the kitchens, she noticed a figure on the floor and she carefully approached it. She gasped when she recognised the yellow ribbon in your hair, the one she always wanted to untie since she was younger. She tried to bring people to a halt to help you, they all looked at her weirdly, wondering what the princess was doing alone in the castle. She was about to cry when an idea popped in her head. She carefully untied the yellow ribbon that secured your bun, your hair falling down your shoulders and she ran, jostling other children or adults on her way. She noticed her brother in the distance and she yelled his name, panting. Hendery recognised her frail voice and saw her running towards him. He immediately started getting worried when he caught the tears running down her face. “Meimei, what are you doing here alone? Why are you crying?” He crouched down and picked her up, only to have her burying her face in his neck. “Y-Y/N,” at the mention of your name, Hendery grabbed Jiaying’s nape to make her look at him. He spotted the yellow ribbon in her hand and his heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong with Y/N?” He was getting extremely worried, scared that something bad happened to you. Seeing that she didn’t answer, he slightly shook his sister and asked again. “Hm? Where is she?” “She- she’s gone.” Jiaying cries increased, leaving Hendery with nothing but a pounding heart. Hendery carried his sister as she guided him through the castle to you. When he reached the corridor, you were still on the floor, but a few maids were surrounding you. He caught the first maid and handed her his little sister and kneeled next to you. The other servants immediately backed off, leaving him space. “Go get the doctor and tell him it’s an emergency, prepare a room with new sheets and assign someone to temporarily take care of the princess,” Hendery ordered, his tone authoritative and harsh. People started to move, leaving in every direction to follow his orders. He slid a hand under your head and cupped your cheek with the other, his gaze never leaving your face, ready to catch a small hint of you waking up. But you never did. His face fell when he noticed how pale and exhausted you looked, eyebags falling to the middle of your cheeks and your lips turning purple. He checked the pulse on your neck and fortunately, it was still beating, but it was awfully slow. He took off his uniform jacket and handed it to the last maid, Wenling, who stayed behind, and he recognised her as one of your closest friends. The young prince passed his arms under your knees and neck, lifting you from the ground. He gestured to your friend to follow him and she compelled, looking extremely pale. She was so scared for you, she closely followed Hendery after putting the jacket on you.

When you regained consciousness, your entire body felt numb but at least warmth surrounded you, unlike when you fainted. The bed was way more comfortable than the one you had in your room, making you wonder where you were. It felt like you were sleeping on clouds, wrapped in delicate rays of sunshine. As your eyes fluttered open, you slowly recognised the Chinese tapestry decorating the ceiling. The last time you had seen this tapestry was when Hendery and his maid were sick, and you had to take care of him. Your eyes started to water from being open for so long and you closed them as you heard voices coming from the door.

“Your Highness, do you think Y/N will wake up soon?” “I don’t know, Wenling, even the doctor doesn’t know. He said that she was overworked and exhausted, she needs to rest. It’s already been a week, so it can take her more days, or even weeks to recover, we don’t know. We can only hope that she’ll eventually come back to us. I’ll make sure to warn you when she wakes up.” “Thank you, your Highness.” You heard as the door closed, steps coming closer to you. The bed dipped under the weight and you felt a finger softly caressing your cheek. This gesture sent a wave of chills down your spine, his warm touch contrasting with the coldness of your body.

Hendery stopped stroking your cheek and moved a bit, feeling his hand now on your bare forearm, his head resting on your shoulder. “I can’t wait for you to wake up,” he mumbled as he knew that you were the only two in the room. “I can’t wait to see your pretty eyes and smile again,” you felt his breath against the side of your neck, and you waited a bit before opening your eyes, wanting to hear more of those sweet words. But you didn’t, your body fell asleep before you could hear anything else. When you emerged again, Hendery hadn’t left his spot next to you. He sounded asleep, and the darkness of the room confirmed your thought. You tried to move your head and it dropped on his shoulder, the faint smell of him on his nightclothes made you sleepy again, but it was different this time. You knew that you’d wake up tomorrow.

And you did. When Hendery’s eyes opened due to the rays of sunshine coming through the poorly closed curtains, he felt your head on his shoulder and smiled. It was a sign that you were awake. He slept next to you every night since you fainted, and you never moved your head. He wrapped his arm around your waist and carefully brought you closer to him, having you this close making him happy. You woke up to someone repeatedly sliding fingers through your hair, a chin resting against your forehead. It took you a few minutes to realise in what posture you were in and you froze.

“H-Hendery…” you mumbled, your voice coming out raspy as you weakly tried to get out of the prince’s arms. His stomach happily churned when he heard his name coming out of your mouth and he kept you close to his chest as he felt you move. “Shht, it’s alright, I’m here. I won’t let you slip out this time,” he mumbled, and you opened your eyes, only to be met with the brown orbits of the man who held you “captive”. “Have you thought about what your mom—” “My mom is the one who sent me there when she heard that you passed out.” Hendery calmly explained and you stopped rubbing your eyes.

What?

“Yes, as surprising as it might sound, she allowed me to keep you company and even sleep next to you.” Maybe she wasn’t as terrible as she looked and sounded. Maybe, it was her facial traits that made her look mad and angry all the time. “So, if she enters now, she won’t fire you or yell at you as you were scared of her doing so. Sometimes, you just need a bit of communication to clear things out.”

You nodded at his words, staring at the ceiling. Hendery cupped your cheek and made you look at him. His stare was intense, but it never made you feel awkward. He had reassuring and tender eyes, two brown orbits that charmed everyone, including you. They quickly travelled to your lips, only to back up a second later, as if he were scared that you’d catch his intention. He crawled closer to you, as if it were possible, his lips almost touching yours. You closed your eyes, the staring getting too intense for you, and that’s when you felt his lips crashing onto yours. His arm sneaked from your waist to your back, his other hand resting against the back of your head, hugging you with quite some force.

You managed to lift your arms and wrap them around the prince’s neck, playing with his fluffy hair. Dizziness made its way in your head again, but this time, you knew that you weren’t the only one who felt like that. He deepened the kiss, tangling his limbs with yours, passing his hand under the sleeve of your white nightgown to soothingly rub his hand against your skin. You slightly pushed his chest when you felt your lack of oxygen growing and he broke the kiss, only to rest his forehead against yours. “I don’t care about what people or my family say, I love you and no one can change that. Do you understand that?” He said, kissing your cheek. “I don’t love you for your reputation or your social status, I don’t care about this, I only love you for who you are and who you help me be.” “How do I help you, though?” You questioned, cheeks becoming red at his sudden confession. “The way you take care of me and my sister, your smile and your perseverance make me want to keep going, to work and study hard to make you proud.” “You don’t have to do all of this to make me proud, I’m already proud of the person you have become. I love you for what you are already, and that’s more than enough.” “That’s what I needed to hear.” He smirked and you frowned, not understanding what he meant. “I needed to hear those three words. I’ve been waiting for years to hear them.” He kissed your temple as you realised what you said, earning a small from him. “Do you want me to say them again?” You teased and he chuckled but vividly nodded. You hoisted yourself higher, cradling his face and looked at him deep in the eyes. “I love you, my prince,” you kissed his nose and he grinned, stifling a squeal. You giggled and exchanged a kiss again, not caring about the world outside of his bedroom. You were the most important thing to each other, and no one could prevent you from loving each other. Not the queen, nor your different social status. Nothing.

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nightbts · 5 years ago

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it’s time (park jimin + bts)

pairing: father! jimin + mother! reader

genre: tooth-rotting fluff, humor + parent! au + olf! au

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none

author’s note: I was rereading mess and found a request by @jojo-suga and thought it would be absolutely adorable to write, so here it is :)

Eighteen-year old Park Jieun got asked out on a date and appa Jimin doesn’t know how to handle it.

“A what?!” Jimin exclaimed. Putting the book he was reading down on his lap, he removed his reading glasses and pushed them over his head.

“A d-date...” Jieun trailed off softly as she stared down at the ground, glancing up occasionally to catch a look at her dad’s reaction.

Sitting beside Jimin on the couch, you peered over your laptop screen, eyes carefully watching the exchange happen in front of you as an amused smile graced your face. After all, this wasn’t news to you. The both of you already had a discussion about this days ago, and you couldn’t have been happier. Of course, convincing Jimin was a whole other story.

“What do you mean a date? Someone asked you out?!” Jimin asked incredulously, to which earned him a smack on the arm.

“What does that mean? Why would someone not ask Jieunnie on a date?” you scowled, giving him a soft glare.

Jieun smiled softly, her gaze falling back onto the ground as she shyly teetered back and forth in front of you and Jimin.

“That’s not what I meant! Who wouldn’t like Jieun? People would be stupid for not liking my baby girl.” Jimin huffed, crossing his arms across his chest as he fell against the back of the couch.

“Does that mean I can go?” a small voice asked, making you and Jimin look back up at Jieun as she stared at Jimin with expectant eyes.

Scowling, Jimin narrowed his eyes at Jieun, wagging his finger at her, “Don’t look at me like that, I know what you’re doing.”

Pouting, Jieun blinked innocently, “Doing what?”

Letting out a strangled cry of frustration, Jimin fell dramatically into your side as you stifled a laugh.

“Is the thought of her going on a date that horrifying for you?” you whispered, as you felt him nod against your side. Looking up at you, his own lips in a pout, mimicking Jieun, he protested, “No boy is worth our Jieun.”

Carefully removing his glasses from the top of his head, you smoothed down his hair before replying softly, “You don’t know that, you have to give him a chance first. After all, you might end up liking him more than you know.”

At that, Jimin lept up from the couch, pointing an accused finger at you, “What does that mean? Y-You know who it is, don’t you?! That’s why you’re so calm about this!”

Motioning Jieun to come sit down next to you, she snuggled up to you as you held your daughter close to your side. With a slight shrug, you replied, “Well, you’re not wrong. Jieun told me, like, last week.”

Placing his hand over his heart, he balled his shirt up into his fist as Jimin feigned a hurt expression on his face, “I can’t believe this betrayal.”

“Come on, Appa. Even I knew about it.” a voice piped up from across the room, as Jaehyun leaned against the door frame, a smirk on his face.

Throwing his hands up in the air, Jimin exclaimed, “Are all of you serious right now?!”

Grumbling to himself, Jimin looked up at the clock.

“He’s still not here,” he muttered with a slight edge to his voice, causing you to shoot him an annoyed look.

Glancing over at Jieun, you noticed how nervous your daughter looked, both for her first date but also getting over the obstacle of having him meet her dad. Dressed in a plain white tee and a flowy midi skirt, she repeatedly meddled with the buttons on the sleeves of her denim jacket.

Pulling her phone out of her purse, checking it for any texts, Jieun let out a nervous chuckle as she pulled at the bottom of her loose curls, “H-He’s probably stuck in traffic—”

Eyes narrowing at her, Jimin questioned, “I thought you said he lived down the street?”

“Foot traffic?” Jieun tried reasoning, yet the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her; even she realized that wasn't a logical excuse.

“Right.” Jimin deadpanned, still sporting a grouchy look on his face as his eyes remained focused on the front door.

“Will you just get the act over with already?” you said in a hushed voice to your husband, making sure Jieun couldn’t here you.

“What act?!” Jimin retorted. “I’m still mad that the both of you hid this from me for so long, and on top of that wouldn’t tell me who the boy even was.”

Pressing a hand on his chest, you chuckled softly, a twinkle in your eye, “Trust me, you’re going to love him.”

“Doubt it.”

Just then you heard the sound of someone knocking on your front door, catching all of your attention. Eyes flickering from her dad to the door, Jieun started to make her way to open it when Jimin cleared his throat, motioning her to step away.

Rolling your eyes, you followed your husband to the front of the house, standing beside Jieun who looked like she was about to pass out any second.

Rubbing her back in reassurance, you watched as Jimin peered through the peephole, before muttering under his breath, “I can’t even see him because his whole head is covered by all the flowers in his hands.”

“Flowers?” Jieun squeaked, eyes widening in surprise as her cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink.

Finally, Jimin unlocked the front door, swinging it open revealing a boy, whose eyes peered nervously over the bouquet he held in his hand. Looking up, Jimin immediately frowned as he noticed that the boy before him was taller than him.

This was unacceptable.

However, it didn’t take long for Jimin to see a sense of familiarity in the boy’s eyes. As he moved the flowers away from his face, the boy grinned at Jimin, his deep brown eyes sparkling as a box-shaped smile appeared on his face.

Blinking at him in surprise, Jimin felt his shoulders automatically relax at the sight. Shaking his head in amusement, he chuckled, “Kim Taewoo, you brat. I should’ve known.”

“Good Evening Mr. Park. I hope you're doing well." he grinned widely. His gaze slowly wandered past Jimin's shoulders, searching until they fell on Jieun, his gaze softening at the sight of her.

She looked beautiful.

"May I come inside?" Taewoo asked Jimin, although his eyes refused to leave Jieun's. Stepping aside, Jimin motioned for Taewoo to come in. As he followed him in and closed the front door, Jimin caught you gazing at him before you shot him a cheeky smile, one that he merely rolled his eyes at.

"Don't tell me your dad put you up to this, Kim Taewoo," Jimin asked as he walked up to stand beside you. He attempted to sound serious, however, nobody failed to notice the genuine smile that graced Jimin's face.

Kim Taewoo. With deep brown eyes that held a hint of mischief in them and a box-shaped smile that resembled his father too well, Taewoo was an exact copy of Kim Taehyung, Jimin’s closest friend in the entire world.

Surrendering his hands up in the air, bouquet still in one hand, Taewoo shook his head, "Definitely not." Opening his mouth again, a gentle blush appearing on his cheeks, he added softly, "I'm afraid, this was all me."

Turning to look at Jieun, he scratched the back of his head before handing her the bouquet, his lips tilting upwards into a shy smile, "This is for you. I'm sorry I was a bit late."

Shaking her head, she averted her gaze from his before mumbling a soft thank you, but loud enough for Taewoo to hear.

Walking over to Jieun, you gently grabbed the flowers from her hand and held them up to your nose, the scent of the fresh flowers reminding you of the very ones Jimin got you on your first date. “These are beautiful, Taewoo.” Gesturing over to the kitchen, you added, “I’ll keep then in a vase for you Jieun.”

At that, Jimin cleared his throat, immediately catching the attention of both Taewoo and Jieun as they turned to face him, bodies stiff and backs straight.

Holding Taewoo’s gaze with his own, Jimin hummed lightly until he finally spoke, “Alright, 10 pm. No later than that, or else I’m calling your father.”

Taewoo’s nervous smile shifted into a wide grin, eyes lighting up almost immediately, “You got it! I’ll bring her back safe and sound, Mr. Park.”

Nodding, Jimin quickly shooed them away with his hands, motioning for them to head on out before he could have any second regrets.

Standing next to Jimin at the door, you felt your husband wrap his arms around your waist as he pulled you close to him, your head automatically resting on his chest.

As you watched Taewoo slowly grab Jieun’s hand in his own, their fingers interlacing together, you felt your heart swell at the sight. The two of them made their way towards Taewoo's car, sharing looks and small smiles on their way there. Reaching the side of the passenger seat, Taewoo opened the car door for Jieun and as she started to make her way in, you noticed a slight hesitation. A pause.

Turning around, Jieun looked at both you and Jimin before raising her hand and giving you a small wave, her lips forming a wide smile, as her face shined with joy.

"I told ya you'd have nothing to worry about," you said softly, waving back at your daughter. Letting out a small but content sigh, Jimin smiled as he waved too, "Yea, you were right."

Going back inside the house, you gushed out loud, "This is so exciting, isn't it?!"

Walking past you, Jimin plopped down on the couch before letting out a big yawn, "Easy for you to say. I was so worried about who the boy even was before I could even feel excited for my baby."

Laughing, you admitted, "I guess that's true. Imagine my face when she told me it was Taewoo. I was simultaneously shocked but relieved." Sighing in content, you continued, "After all, we all guessed it would happen sooner or later."

Humming in acceptance, Jimin's eyes fluttered close when you suddenly noticed his lips tilt downwards into a frown.

And then he yelled, "Jaehyun!"

Startled, you blinked at him in surprise at the sudden outburst that came out of Jimin, who had appeared calm just seconds ago.

Poking his head out of his doorway, his headphones dangling from his neck, Jaehyun replied, "What?!"

Narrowing his eyes at the boy, Jimin pointed at him, "What about you huh? Got a crush or girlfriend I should know about mister?"

Eyes going wide, you saw Jaehyun gulp slowly before he quickly shook his head, laughing nervously, "W-Why would you ask that? You're crazy, girls are, like, gross. Ew!" And with that, he shut his door close, disappearing back into his room.

Raising a brow, Jimin turned to look at you, a mischievous look in his eyes.

Smirking in return, both of you got up from the couch giving each other a quick high-five before walking towards your new mission of the day.

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justathoughtfulangel · 5 years ago

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The One Who Was Lost (Draco Malfoy Mini Series, Part One)

Hiya! This is the first part of my Draco Malfoy mini series, The One. If you’d like to see more details about the series as a whole and a summary of this part or the parts to come, you can do so here. If you’d like to read more about my OC, Amara Grimaldi, you can do so here.

Word count: 6,868

People who would like to be tagged: @proxyeccoslytherin

Please don’t hesitate to message me if you have any questions/comments/concerns or if you’d like to be tagged whenever I post a new part :)

Whenever you see “~~~”, I’m transitioning to a different scene. If you see “~” instead, we’re in the same scene but different characters are being shown.

It was midwinter, but Amara wasn’t very cold. She was rather lost in her thoughts to care about the cold anyhow. She didn’t realize how quickly her life had changed. Just a few years ago, the castle was her home away from home, filling her life with light and hope for her future. Now, Hogwarts was dark, lonely, and… no longer welcoming like home. The cool air began to sting Amara’s face, bringing her back to the real world. Her hands came up from the balcony to hug her cloak around her body tightly. As she turned to leave, she saw she wasn’t alone. “Draco?”

Draco couldn’t find it in him to sneer at her, not this time. No matter his cruelty or harshness, Amara seemed to see right through him. They hadn’t exchanged many words in their time at this school, but Amara knew how he was feeling without him saying anything at all. Perhaps it was a gift of hers, or perhaps the past they shared had created an unbreakable bond between them.

“Hello, Amara.” Amara smiled as she stepped away from the balcony of the Astronomy Tower; Draco’s face remained passive, but the kindness radiating from Amara was something he desperately needed. Amara could sense how much Draco had changed. He no longer took the time to tease younger students, make comments about the blood status of others, or even to joke around with his friends. As they grew up, Amara was one of the first to realize that Draco only did these things out of his loneliness, out of his desire to be loved and wanted like Harry was everywhere he went. Other things he said or did was simply because he hadn’t learned any better. He had the views of his father shoved down his throat, and they changed him from the inside out.

Draco was just born on the wrong side of it all. Come to think of it, Amara’s childhood environment couldn’t have differed too greatly from Draco’s. They were both from pureblood, wealthy families whose ancestry could be traced back for eons. They were both the only child their parents had. They knew each other before Hogwarts, having been thrown into the same social settings on countless occasions. They may have been different on the outside, but Amara knew Draco when he was much younger, sweeter, and kinder. She knew that Draco, the real Draco, was hiding. He was too afraid of being himself. Draco feared that he wouldn’t survive in this world, especially without Amara by his side.

Having sensed that they had settled into an uncomfortable silence, Amara stepped aside and began to make her way back to Ravenclaw Tower. “I was just leaving. Goodnight, Draco.” Brushing some snow off of her cloak, she began to step past Draco and down the staircase, but he very gently grabbed her wrist as she did. His face was anyone but Amara wouldn’t have been able to read. Except for his eyes: they always gave him away. Somewhat perplexed and also intrigued, Amara questioned him. “What is it?”

Draco hastily dropped her wrist. He, too, remembered the days when they spent hours together... when everything was easier. Once upon a time, Draco couldn’t imagine a life where Amara wasn’t his dearest friend. She hadn’t been in years, and Draco knew it was his fault. Yet, she was the only one he could trust entirely, even after all this time. “You should have given up on me a while ago. I’ve been horrible to you. To Potter, Granger, and Weasley. Why haven’t you stopped being so kind to me?”

Amara smiled sadly, reaching for Draco’s hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “Because I know you.” Without saying anything else, she turned away and began descending the winding staircase. She had to turn away before he saw the tears welling in her eyes. She did know him. She saw how he no longer ate well, his suits began to fall loosely around him, and the bags under his eyes were like bruises. Amara wanted to be there for him, but he had made it clear he didn’t want her to be long ago. That didn’t mean she would stop caring about him. Not now, not ever.

Draco watched her walk away, her steps echoing in the silence around him. He cursed his childish decision to push her away and hit the balcony in frustration once Amara was out of earshot. His envy of Harry Potter and the pressures his father put on him had driven him to make the worst decision of his life. Draco’s eyes stared blankly out into the frigid night, ignoring the snowflakes as they settled on his dark suit. Nothing could compare to the cold building inside him, the cold that was threatening to destroy him...

~~~

Amara and Hermione stood in Slughorn’s classroom. It seemed to let in more light than Snape’s did, and Slughorn seemed welcoming, albeit a tad strange. He lifted the lid of one of his pots gingerly, waving his hand toward the class to let the pink fumes waft towards them.

Draco stood lazily, not quite paying attention. Granger answered the professor’s questions as usual, and Amara added on to those responses. Before he could zone out any further, he straightened up and his eyes moved over to Amara. She was still across the room from him, but he could smell the light, floral scent of her perfume. He could smell a crackling fireplace, not unlike the one they sat by in the Grimaldi Manor. Above all, he smelled hot chocolate with cinnamon, something Amara adored even on blistering summer nights. He remembered opting for ice creams instead, and they ended up making a concoction of the two every time.

“That’s a perfect answer, Miss. Grimaldi and Miss. Granger. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Enlighten us, Amara. What do you smell in this potion?” Amara closed her eyes and took a deep breath, more so to steady herself. She had brewed Amortentia whilst practicing over the summer; she knew exactly what it smelled like to her long before now.

“I smell a warm, spicy cologne… like ginger and sandalwood. I smell a hearth and its smoke…. I smell vanilla ice cream, caramel, and chocolate…” Letting herself get lost in the scent once more, Amara opened her eyes and shook her head clear soon enough. Draco swallowed hard, his eyes falling to the floor. Amara also avoided his gaze. Did he smell their memories in the potion like she did?

“How unique, Miss. Grimaldi. Today, I’ll have you brewing the Draught of Living Death. It’s desperately tricky and disastrous should you make a mistake. In all my years, I’ve only had one student brew it successfully. Whoever can make the best batch shall win this… Felix Felicis.”

The small golden vial glimmered in Slughorn’s fingers. “One sip, and you shall find that you’ll succeed in any endeavor.” Out of the corner of her eye, Amara saw Draco glance up, his eyes transfixed on the vial. “You have one hour.”

~~~

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Amara were lounging in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. “Amara,” Ron began, “ you spend most of your time here with us. Are you sure you don’t want to ask Dumbledore to transfer you to Gryffindor?” She laughed and shook her head no. “I’m quite content with being in Ravenclaw, Ron. You three just need me around, so I stay here.” Hermione smiled and came up to the couch where Amara was sitting to lean against her; Amara quickly wrapped her arms around Hermione’s shoulders. “That we do, Amara. That we do.”

“Besides… being in Ravenclaw, having Potions be my best subject… Those are things that connect me to my mother. I wouldn’t want to ever let go of them.” At this, Harry glanced up. Amara was the only one who understood the pain of losing a parent; she was the only one Harry could talk to about it. He gave her a soft smile, finally tearing his eyes away from the ratty Potions textbook.

“Merlin, Harry. How DID you manage to brew a potion better than Amara’s today?” Amara raised her eyebrows at this. “I’ve been curious about that as well. The instructions said to use the juice of twelve Sopophorous beans. How did you know to use thirteen instead?”

At this, Harry began to fidget in place. Amara lunged forward from the couch and grabbed the old copy of Advanced Potions Making out of his hands, flipping through it and reading all of the edits and notes. “This book belongs to the Half-Blood Prince. Who’s the Half-Blood Prince?”

~~~

“Why is it that whenever anything happens, it’s always you four?” Professor McGonagall questioned. Amara almost laughed. “Believe me, Professor. I’ve been asking myself the same question for six years.” Ron was silenced by Professor Snape entering. He levitated the necklace and they all watched it turn in the air. “I think… Miss. Bell is very lucky to be alive.”

Harry blurted, “It was Malfoy,” without thinking. Snape lowered the necklace back to the case and turned towards him. “That is a very serious accusation. Do you have any proof?” Amara sighed internally and waited for Harry to try to get out of this one. “I just know.” Hermione glanced at Amara from the corner of her eye and both girls were very obviously biting their tongues. “You just… know? How wonderful it must be to be you, Potter… The Chosen One.”

~~~

Amara was glad that Harry had asked her to accompany him to Slughorn’s Christmas celebration. Both of them were dreading asking others until Harry suggested they attend together as friends. They were greatly amused by Hermione’s attempts to dodge Cormac McLaggen and were having a genuinely wonderful time. When Professor Snape relayed Professor Dumbledore’s message of absence to Harry, she lingered close by, conversing with Neville and making sure he wasn’t feeling lonely either.

Harry and Amara were considering calling it a night and heading back to their dormitories when Filch dragged Draco Malfoy in by the collar. “Found this one lurking nearby. He claims he was invited.” Before Draco could say anything, Amara immediately stepped forward. “There you are, Draco! He’s my date Professor Slughorn, he’s just running VERY late.” Professor Slughorn looks at Harry, shifts to look lingeringly at Draco, and then settles his gaze on Amara. “Very well Amara. Happy Christmas, my boy.”

Draco manages a smile that much more resembles a grimace, while Harry glares towards Draco and questions Amara with his eyes from across the room. She mouths, “I’ll explain later” to Harry before grabbing Draco’s hand and pulling him to the side. Inside of expressing the hint of gratitude he was feeling, he stifled it. It was easier to hide under the false sanctuary harsh words provided. “Why did you do that? I didn’t need your help, Grimaldi.”

Amara winces internally but only smiles externally, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I just wanted you to stay out of detention, Draco. My mistake. Anyhow…” Her voice trails off as Draco’s voice rings in her mind. He had never called Amara by her last name, not even in the six years since their relationship had become strained. “Do whatever you need to do here. I was just about to leave. Goodnight.”

Draco doesn’t stop her this time. He watches her walk over to Potter who leaves the party along with her, not before glancing back to glare in his direction though. Before Draco can beat himself up over how awful he was to the only person he trusted besides his mother, Professor Snape grabs Draco by the arm and pulls him out into the hallway roughly...

By the time Amara and Harry reach the corridor where they part ways to go to their separate common rooms, Amara walks with Harry. “I think I’ll wait for Hermione in her room. I want to talk to her about this.” Harry opens his mouth and closes it again. “Spit it out, Harry.”

Harry sighs softly, stopping in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Amara… why? You know as well as I do that Draco Malfoy is most likely a Death Eater. Then why would you help him? Why would you help someone who would kill without flinching?”

This time, Amara winces visibly. “Harry, trust me. Draco is not like that. You may not trust him… but you trust me, don’t you?” Her breath hitches in her throat as it threatens to close up with emotions, making it harder to keep speaking. “Has it ever occurred to you that Draco may not have had a choice in these things? Have you considered that Draco is paying for the sins and mistakes of his father?

“I knew who Draco was before all of this. Before everything went to hell. I know the true Draco is in there somewhere… One day, Harry, you’ll see the same Draco I do.” With that, Amara mutters the Gryffindor common room’s password and enters, wordlessly making her way to the girl’s dormitories.

Harry stands outside the door for a moment longer, thinking over Amara’s words before somewhat ignoring them. Amara was too kind; she couldn’t recognize the darkness in people because she saw good in even the most despicable human beings. It annoyed him (along with Ron and Hermione) at times. Yet… there had never been one time when Amara had misjudged someone in their lives. Was it possible that she was right again?

~~~

Amara had a splitting headache. Ron and Hermione were no longer talking to each other since Lavender jumped on Ron after the Quidditch match. Harry was trying to prove Draco was a Death Eater. She just wanted to sleep. Amara and Harry hadn’t discussed Draco any further; she no longer had the energy to dissuade him. She didn’t exactly know how she would react if Draco was truly a Death Eater, all she knew is that she would still love him the same.

She had always known she loved him. Even when he began ignoring her letters in first year. Even after they spent months without seeing each other across the crowded corridors of the castle. Amara had loved Draco since they were children; the way Amara loved… it would never go away. Draco probably didn’t remember his childhood promise to marry Amara one day, but she did. It had been reduced to a memory and nothing more, but it was a memory she’d cherish forever.

Hermione was the one who understood Amara the most, despite Draco’s cruelty to her. She saw reason before being carried away by emotions, and Amara appreciated that greatly. Hermione saw Draco through Amara’s eyes simply because she stopped to listen to the truth about Draco’s past.

As Amara excused herself, Hermione asked if she wanted her to come with. Amara smiled gratefully and shook her head, giving Hermione a quick hug before heading to the Room of Requirement. She was planning on having it take the form of her bedroom at home, needing its comforts. Hogwarts didn’t feel like home… not like this.

As she turned the corner, she made out a head of platinum blond hair entering the Room of Requirement. Draco had paused momentarily before he entered, the doors promptly disappearing behind him.

Amara stopped where she stood, weighing the options before her. She knew she needed to help Draco, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t even know if she should. This was a decision she couldn’t make on her own. She was going to write to her most trusted confidant above her friends… her father.

Dear Dad,

I hope you’re safe. I know I’m not home to make sure you’re taking care of your health, so please do so on my behalf. Things must be immensely hectic with the Order these days, Daddy; I’m so proud of you. I hope whatever you’re doing isn’t too dangerous.

While I’m always worried for you, I’m also worried for Draco. Since his father was imprisoned… he’s changed. This change is different from the ones I’ve mentioned before. When he stopped being my friend, I knew that was his front: the facade he had up. Now… even that has vanished. I can see that Draco doesn’t sleep or eat properly, and he won’t let me or anyone help him.

You know I care for him, Daddy. I can’t watch him like this and let him suffer alone. I want to help him, but how? I don’t want to become the catalyst to the storm brewing inside him… I don’t want to bring about his destruction.

Please tell me what I should do. I love you and trust only your opinion on this. You know me and you know Draco so well… help me, please.

Your loving daughter,

Amara

Amara didn’t comprehend just how strongly she was feeling about this until she wrote it out in the letter to her father. The tip of her quill nearly snapped in her grip and the parchment crinkled harshly as she clutched it. As she signed her name and let go of her letter, Amara’s body slumped forward onto the desk. Her father’s response would bring her peace; his wisdom always did.

Ambrosi Grimaldi had just returned home after a few days. He, along with other members of the Order, were bringing families in danger of persecution to safehouses. As Ambrosi sat down with a cup of tea, his daughter’s owl, Artemis, swooped in and dropped a letter onto his lap.

He soothingly stroked Artemis with one hand as he held Amara’s letter with the other. As he read it, a smile formed on his face. The similarities between Amara and Lucianna were astounding. She was just like her. Ambrosi could tell how Amara was feeling and by the telltale crinkles in the parchment. Quickly getting some leftover bread for Artemis to munch on, Ambrosi wrote back to her, encouraging her as much as he could.

A few days passed before Amara received his response. As soon as Artemis dropped the letter near her plate at breakfast, she opened it eagerly, reading its contents within seconds.

My dear daughter,

I’m taking care of myself, darling girl. I promise. One day, you won’t have to worry about my safety. We’ll be safe, and this will all be over. Unfortunately, just this once, I cannot tell you what my current mission is (in case this letter falls into the wrong hands). Trust me when I say that I am safe. No harm will befall me. I’m working with Moony and we’re looking out for each other.

I often think of Draco too, Amara. His life must have turned to utter chaos after Voldemort’s return. Now, with Lucius in Azkaban… he’s become the man of the house at 16. I would not be surprised if he has been forced to become a Death Eater. However, I believe you can save him. Dumbledore can keep him safe. Convince him to go to Dumbledore for help. I don’t think he’ll listen to anyone but you.

Angel, you could never bring about someone’s destruction. If anything, you may be what he needs. As you’ve told me before, you know him better than anyone. Trust yourself and believe in your goodness as I do. He may push you away at first, but he needs you. You are the light he needs in these dark times. You will be his light just like you are mine.

Above all, take pride in the love you give. Before you were born, I was a simple man who loved his wife. After you were born and we lost your mother, I was a hero in your eyes but felt like a failure myself. No one taught you how to love, yet you did so wholly… so purely. This ability of yours is one you inherited from your mother. Your love saved me in the darkest time of my life, as hers did once. Your love can save all. Remember that.

Always here for you,

Dad

Her father knew exactly what to say, exactly what she needed to hear. Running her fingers over the words “Always here for you” once, Amara folded up the letter and headed to the Room of Requirement. If Draco wanted to put walls up, she would bring them down.

~~~

Draco held the bird in his hand gently, running the tip of his finger across its feathers. He had managed to get an apple to return whole, but he didn’t know if a living thing would fare just as well. He set the bird into the cabinet, closing the door and ignoring its chirps as they became more frantic. “Harmonia Nectere Passus.” He barely whispered the incantation but opened the door to find it was gone.

Amara was in front of Room of Requirement, pacing past the entrance a few times. “I want to enter the room that Draco Malfoy is in.” She whispered these words both out loud and in her mind, pausing when the doors revealed themselves. She took a deep breath before she walked in, searching for Draco and not paying attention to the doors disappearing behind her.

When Draco called the bird back, he heard no chirping. His hands shook as he reached for the door. When he opened it, he inhaled sharply. The bird lay on the dark wood lifelessly, its neck snapped and resting at an unnatural angle. He picked it up, seeing it laying on the palm of his hand. One of Draco’s tears slid down his cheek and fell onto the bird’s tiny body.

He broke. It was too much. Draco had killed this precious thing. How many more would he have to destroy? How long before this absolute cold consumed him? He was lost. He didn’t know who he was anymore.

Amara heard soft sobs coming from her left and rushed over to them, pausing when she saw Draco and the dead bird in his palm. Amara caught Draco before he fell to his knees. The cabinet loomed above them threateningly. Draco set the bird down before throwing his arms around Amara and clinging to her for dear life. Her heart thudded painfully as his anguish echoed against every object around them. “Amara... I can’t… I don’t… I’m so sorry…”

She held Draco close and let him cry into her neck. Her hand came up to smooth his hair comfortingly. “Shhh, I know. It’ll be okay Draco. I promise.” As she said these words, Amara knew maintaining such a promise would bring her to hell and back; it may be the one promise she made that she wouldn’t be able to uphold. She would try her hardest though. For him, always.

~~~

“Stop it, Ron, you’re making it snow!” Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Amara sat at the Ravenclaw table. Ron repeatedly looked up to glance at Lavender, who seemed to be digging a fork into the table. “How did I break up with her?” Harry, Amara, and Hermione shared a look. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be rid of her. It’s just… she seems a bit put out.” Hermione cleared her throat. “When you were in the hospital wing, you… talked. I don’t believe it was a particularly long conversation.”

Ron pondered over it and laughed awkwardly. “I do remember something. But it can’t be… I must’ve been completely boggled.” Hermione barely veiled the disappointment in her voice. “Right…. Boggled.” As Amara reached into her bookbag, her eyes fell to the doors of the Great Hall. “Harry… it’s Katie Bell.” Harry immediately shot up and went to go talk to her. Amara began gathering her things and was about to leave when she saw Draco enter. His face went white as he saw Katie speaking with Harry.

The air seemed to have thinned around him. Draco immediately turned around and all but ran out of the Great Hall, his hand anxiously tugging at his tie.

He tried to breathe evenly but he couldn’t. Bursting into the deserted bathroom, he stared into the mirror in front of him. Draco couldn’t recognize his reflection. The tears wracked through his body. He clung to the cool porcelain sinks, letting them support weight entirely.

Harry had followed Draco, but he didn’t realize Amara had followed him from a distance. The sound of Malfoy’s pained whimpers momentarily rooted Harry to the ground. “You hexed her, didn’t you? Katie.” Something in Draco snapped. All of the guilt, anger, dread, and frustration he was feeling bubbled up and boiled over. Without thinking about it, Draco whipped around and cast “Stupefy!” in Harry’s direction, which Harry blocked and countered seamlessly.

Amara stayed outside of the bathroom, but she could hear the fighting. She didn’t want to go in. If she did she’d be forced to side with one of them. She couldn’t betray Harry’s trust in their friendship; she couldn’t betray the love she felt for Draco. Yet, she didn’t have to make a decision. It was made for her. When Harry shouted, “SECTUMSEMPRA!” she burst into the bathroom to see deep gashes forming on Draco’s body, the clear water being overtaken by maroon.

Rushing to his side, Amara had her wand in her hand, though it was of no use to her. She didn’t know how to save him. “Amara…” Draco looked up into her frantic but loving eyes. “I-I lo-” Before he could tell her, Professor Snape entered to see what had happened just as Draco’s airway closed up with a rush of blood; his eyes drifted close from the blood loss. Amara stood up wordlessly. She didn’t trust her voice right now. Professor Snape ordered them to leave as he muttered a song-like incantation that drew the blood back into Draco’s body, the wounds closing up one by one.

Harry felt guilty above all. He knew the spell was labeled for use on enemies, but he had no idea just how powerful it was. It was Harry’s first time using such dark magic. Amara’s reaction made things so much worse. They exited the bathroom silently, neither knowing what to say. “Amara, I-”

Amara closed her eyes in pain. The image of Draco lying in a pool of his blood was not leaving her mind. “Get rid of it, Harry. The book. Today.” She walked towards the Hospital Wing, wanting to be there when Draco was brought up. “I’ll be in the Hospital Wing.” Harry watched Amara walk away, not knowing of anything he could say to make it better. “I’m sorry.”

Amara froze in her steps. An apology seemed so unbelievably inconsequential. Draco almost lost his life. Yet, Amara knew Harry as well as she knew herself; Harry would not have used such a spell if he knew what it truly did. She turned around to smile as reassuringly as she could. “I know you are, Harry. I’m not angry with you. I just… someone should be by his side right now.”

Harry didn’t know what to think. Just a few weeks ago, Harry had considered Amara’s kindness to be her naivety. Today, he realized it wasn’t that. Not at all. Harry admired Amara’s ability to be able to calm others around her even when she may have been breaking on the inside. Whenever he lashed out, Amara was the one who wouldn’t leave him alone, no matter how much he wanted to be rid of her at that moment. It took immense strength to love someone when they did not return that love. Harry knew Draco and Amara had been friends in their childhood; he knew Amara couldn’t walk away from him.

“Oh, and Harry.” Amara came back towards him, making sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. “To get the memory from Slughorn, it sounds like you need some luck. Exactly like the luck Ron thought he had his first match as Keeper.” With that, Amara turned to head up to the Hospital Wing, waiting by Draco’s bedside until he woke.

~~~

Draco didn’t wake until the next day, and Amara had sat by his bedside. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, but she had dozed off by the time Draco woke up. It must have been around one in the afternoon when Draco’s open eyes fell to Amara sleeping in a chair beside his bed, her knees hugged to her chest and her disheveled hair framing her beautiful face. He didn’t want to wake her, but when Draco sat up and groaned softly to reach for some water, Amara’s eyes fluttered open.

She was fully awake within seconds and very gently brought Draco back to the bed, pouring him a glass of water and handing it to him silently. Draco took a deep drink, his eyes not leaving her. Amara sat back down, neither of them saying anything, just looking at each other. So much was being said in the silence. They didn’t need words to speak volumes.

“How are you feeling, Draco?” It was the first question that came to Amara’s mind, but it was possibly the most complicated for Draco to answer. Physically, he was a little achy but alright otherwise. Mentally, his mind was racing with thoughts of Amara and the thoughts he didn’t want to pay any attention to: the thoughts reminding him of the task he had to complete tonight. Emotionally, the numbness he had been feeling had been assuaged momentarily, but he knew it was waiting to take over him the second Amara walked away.

Draco didn’t know how to answer, so he asked her a question instead. “How long have you been here?” Amara took his glass from him and set it on the table, sitting on the bed next to him. “Since yesterday. You’ve been sleeping for around 20 hours.” While Amara had noticed Draco’s health deteriorating weeks ago, Draco saw Amara clearly for the first time tonight. She, too, had bags under her eyes that mirrored Draco’s. She had also lost some weight, not being able to eat well while being anxious about Draco.

“And did you sleep?” Amara shook her head, extremely grateful to the curtains surrounding Draco’s bed, courtesy of Professor Snape. “Just a bit. I wanted to stay up in case you woke up.” Draco clenched his fist by his side, wanting to embrace her but holding himself back. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” It was the first time Amara had said the words aloud in a long time. It was the first time Draco heard those words from anyone besides his mother. He hardened, his face turning to stone. “Don’t.” He couldn’t feel. It would ruin him. He would fail, and he couldn’t fail. Too much was at stake.

When Draco felt the blood draining from his body, he would have welcomed death. He saw Amara and wanted to tell her he loved her before he was gone forever, but he was saved. If her face was the last he saw, he would have left this world happily.

Amara was more hurt than she would admit by this reaction, but she didn’t let it show. “Draco, you get to decide whether you love me or not, not if I love you.” She stood up, running a hand through her long locks. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, Draco. It may mean nothing to you, but you should know.” Draco didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t exactly surprised by this; he knew she loved with unwavering resilience. How she did it was a mystery, but it was her greatest strength.

Draco was lost, and he didn’t want her to get lost with him. She just couldn’t love a monster like him. His greatest strength was pushing people away, and that’s what he tried to do. He placed a fake sneer on his face and spit venomous lies out through his teeth. “That’s pathetic, Amara. I haven’t wanted you in my life for years. Get out, and leave me be. I don’t love you, not even a bit.” Amara smiled sadly, infuriating Draco.

“You’re lying, Draco Malfoy. To me and to yourself.” His eyes had grown dull and almost lifeless, but when he looked at Amara, she saw a spark in them. It was the smallest of flames, desperate to shine… desperate to be saved. Draco scoffed, but his act was slipping through his fingers. He resorted to telling Amara one thing he wished she never found out. Draco’s pale fingers curled around his dark sleeve and tugged it up harshly, revealing the Dark Mark imprinted into his skin.

“Do you still love me, Amara?” Bringing his voice to a whisper and casting Muffliato quickly, he covered the Mark and growled angrily. He wasn’t angry at her; he was angry with himself. “I cursed Katie Bell. I was the one who poisoned the bottle of mead which put Weasley in the Hospital Wing. I’ve been mending the cabinet to… do something much worse.” Here, his voice faltered. Even when he was trying to push Amara away, he couldn’t tell her he had to murder a man she looked up to. He couldn’t tell her that he would be bringing Death Eaters into the castle, not the castle that was like home to her.

“So, I ask again. Do you still love me?” Amara took a long, deep breath. “Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you because you have no choice in these matters, Draco. Something is forcing you to do this, likely the love you have for your mother. I love you because even though you bear Voldemort’s mark, it is not one you would have willingly taken.” She stood up to leave. “I will always love you, Draco. Because I know you. You deserve to be loved.”

With that, Amara headed out of the Hospital Wing, tears streaming down her face unabashedly. She broke out into a run, barely avoiding people in the halls. Her feet thudded to a halt in front of the Gryffindor common room and she entered quickly. “Where’s Harry?” Ron and Hermione shot up from the couch. “Amara?” “What’s wrong?” “Are you hurt?” “Why are you crying?” They both asked her question after question; Amara wasn’t sure who asked what.

“Harry’s gone to search for a Horcrux with Professor Dumbledore.” Hermione whispered to her, bringing Amara to the couch. Amara dried her tears. “Something will be happening. I don’t know what… but something terrible will happen. And it’ll be soon.”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other wordlessly while Amara hugged her knees to her chest once more, resting her forehead on them. She felt like a failure. She hadn’t been able to convince Draco to go to Dumbledore for help. She never had the chance to. Even if she had… Draco wouldn’t have listened to her. His self-loathing had grown so unbelievably much. It killed her from the inside out. How could he hate himself so?

“What do we need to do, Amara?” Ron shifted his weight awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. “I don’t know, Ron. I don’t know.”

Meanwhile, Draco stared up at the ceiling of the Hospital Wing. Amara’s last words to him ran through his mind like a song on repeat. She loved him when she shouldn’t have. It would have been easier if she hated him, if she yelled at him. Her acceptance was threatening to save him. But he wasn’t worth saving. He wasn’t deserving of her love, no matter what she thought.

~~~

“Harry, no matter what happens or what you see tonight, promise me that you will stay below. Promise me that you’ll stay hidden.” Professor Dumbledore’s voice was calm as always, but this time there was a slight edge to it. What it was, Harry didn’t understand.

Harry was about to hesitate but he heard the sound of a door shutting closed. “Trust me.” Harry nodded and hid below just as Professor Dumbledore asked. He watched Malfoy walk in. Within moments, Harry’s suspicions were confirmed; Malfoy had disarmed Professor Dumbledore. He admitted to everything.

“Draco… Years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please let me help you.” Malfoy was crying, his hand visibly shaking. “I don’t want your help! Don’t you understand? I have to do this. I have to kill you. Or he’s going to kill my mother. He’s going to kill…” Draco couldn’t finish his sentence. Dumbledore was the second person wanting to save him, and it was too much for him. Tears streamed down his face relentlessly, his voice nearly garbled by the emotions.

“Amara.” Draco’s wand almost slipped from his hand at the mention of her name. He made no move to confirm it, but both Dumbledore and Harry understood. “She would want you to hide, Draco. She would want you to save yourself.” Draco began to lower his wand. “I know that! But I can’t. Saving myself would only bring destruction to her. To my mother.” Before Draco could say anything else, other Death Eaters burst into the Astronomy Tower, forcing Draco to straighten his wand again.

Harry was tempted to go up and to protect Dumbledore, but he had promised. He couldn’t break that promise. From behind him, Snape showed up and pressed a finger to his lips, gesturing for him to be silent....

Amara was worried. She began to make her way to Dumbledore’s office but heard a commotion from within the Great Hall. She froze in her steps when she heard Bellatrix’s cackle. “You coward!”

Harry’s voice broke through even the shattering glass as he ran after Snape. Amara followed it to see Harry casting curses at him, which Snape only deflected. “He trusted you! He trusted you, and you killed him!” The true meaning of Harry’s words didn’t register in Amara’s mind until she saw the tear stains on Draco’s face from a distance, illuminated by the fire on Hagrid’s hut.

Dumbledore was dead. Amara joined Harry in throwing random spells at Snape, faltering slightly. Even in the darkness, the pain in Draco’s eyes shone brightly. Snape ordered him to run, but Draco looked at Amara for just a bit longer before listening to him, wanting to show her he wasn’t the one who killed Dumbledore. He couldn’t do it. Amara nodded very slightly, before wrapping her arms around Harry, trying to pull him back. When she looked up again, Draco was gone.

“Sectumsempra!” Snape deflected one last spell before he finally snapped. “You dare use my OWN spell against me?” Amara stepped in front of Harry, making sure Snape couldn’t hurt him. He ignored her, glaring directly at him. “I am the Half-Blood Prince.”

~~~

The Dark Mark loomed above them all while Harry fell to his knees in front of Dumbledore’s body. Ginny went to hold him while he sobbed. Amara took a silent moment to look around. Hogwarts had stopped feeling like a home to her a few years ago, but it had never felt unsafe. Hellfire was coming, and it was going to consume all.

Amara stood near her father, who had arrived with some other members from the Order. He had his arm around her and had silent tears streaming down his face. Ambrosi Grimaldi was not one who shed tears often; in fact, Amara couldn’t remember the last time she saw her father cry. Yet, as Ambrosi’s deep blue eyes swam in oceans of grief, Amara’s throat welled up with emotions and they too spilled from her eyes.

Professor McGonagall’s wand was the first to rise. She sent a light towards the Dark Mark, and many others followed suit. Soon enough, every student, Professor, and Order member had their want raised, aiming to destroy the darkness encroaching over them.

They raised their wands in unity, in memory of their beloved teacher, friend, mentor, and so much more….

~~~

“Do you think he would have done it? Draco?” Amara swallowed hard, resting her head against Ron’s shoulder, who wrapped an arm around her comfortingly. Harry glanced back at Amara, remembering Malfoy’s hesitation and why he was standing in front of Dumbledore that night. “No. No, he was lowering his wand.”

Amara felt a flicker of relief. She got up with Ron and the two of them joined Harry and Hermione at the balcony. “Next year, I won’t be back. I’ve got to finish what Dumbledore started. This Horcrux is a fake… but I won’t let it be for nothing. It’ll be tough, but I’ll let you guys know where I am when I can.”

Hermione nudged Harry and spoke up. “Harry, you really can be quite thick sometimes. We’ll be coming with you. All of us.” Harry’s eyes glanced at Ron who nodded solemnly and then shifted to Amara, who managed a small encouraging smile.

“Of course, Harry. From Quirrel to the basilisk, from the second task last year to forming Dumbledore’s Army, we’ve done everything together. And that’s how we’ll end this. Together.”

The four stood side by side, staring out onto the Black Lake. Above them, Fawkes sang mournfully, soaring the skies in its grief…

With that, 6th year has come to a close for Amara, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco.

If you made it all the way here (that was a lot to read, I know!), I’d love your feedback/comments/reactions/constructive criticisms :)

Until next time, JustAThoughtfulAngel <3

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years ago

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dirty souls {Nikki Sixx}

Summary: Soulmate AU // Some people are born with a tattoo that represents their soulmate, in the place their soulmate will first touch them. You would think this makes life easier, but it just makes those with soulmarks into spectacles.

A/N: @misscharlottelee i love these kids. ALSO WARNING FOR CHILD ABUSE, physical and psychological, as well as the loss of a parent. it talks about lola’s childhood nd its not a positive time. / unedited and written in 4 hours. if you like it, please leave feedback! xx

{Run To Paradise AU}

In a world where having a soulmark is about as rare as winning the lottery, Lola - then Katie -, much to her parents surprise, was born with a broken record on her shoulder. At first they thought it was a birth mark, but it was too dark to be any ordinary birth make, and it grew as she did, solidifying it’s shape and colour by her fourth birthday. The image itself was raised, unlike a normal tattoo, and the vinyl image was thick and dark, and the label was bright red, but unreadable, and she loved it; it was the size of a hand, stretching from her shoulder blade all the way to her shoulder, with a single crack breaking the perfect circle.

“Whoever that’s for, is either gonna love or hate music,” her father, Leo, had told her once, grinning as Katie, on her tiptoes, watched a copy of Elton John’s Honky Chateau spin on the record player, bopping to Honky Cat. She was five then, still not quite understanding just what it meant to have the record on her shoulder. It didn’t matter, Leo was more than happy to go through his entire record collection with her.

Her parents hadn’t been soulmates, no-one she knew had a soulmate, she was the only kid in her entire school district with a soulmark. Of course she knew soulmates existed, she’d been logged into the American Soulmate Registry since her parents had confirmed that it wasn’t just a regular birthmark. As of 1975, there were 1032 people with soulmarks in America, 230 of whom had found each other, which left 801 potential soulmates in America, and 17 in Massachusetts with her. There’s countless others all over the world, should anyone wish to investigate, each country with their own Registry of sorts.

Later, when she was older and angrier, she’d be mad at the system, at the invasive nature of it all, would be glad she changed her name and ran away, to avoid anyone looking for her, hoping she means something to them. Destiny was just a new excuse to stalk someone. But now, it was just a sort of abstract concept, a mark that would mean something eventually, but didn’t right now.

What it meant for her now was questions from everyone, teachers and parents more than students, people eager to know what it was like to be destined for someone else.

Weird.

That was always her answer. Everyone else felt so entitled to her life that she felt like a spectacle; she couldn’t imagine the pressure the few celebrity soulmate couples would be under. When everyone had been excited over the news that there had been a new listing added to the registry, Katie had always pittied them.

Despite all the pressure on her from the world around her, her father was always a calming force, always told her ‘you’re in no rush, it’ll happen when it happens, I promise Lola, don’t let that stop you from being yourself and enjoying your life’. He had always called her Lola, a nickname derived from her birth name Keola, which he prefer to her mother-given nickname of Katie. Soon, Katie would prefer Lola too.

Everyone else, her mother included, was so ready for her to find the one that it was a little overwhelming.

“Where did you get these?” Leo asks, eyes tired as he sees the papers in her mother’s hand, having just tucked Lola in for the night. “This is stalking, Irene, just because you found them in the phonebook doesn’t make it right; it’s destiny, it’ll happen when it happens.”

“She’ll be happier with them!” Her mother would argue, voice raised loud enough for Lola to hear, to be intrigued, to be lured downstairs in the shadow of the handrail.

“She’s eight, let her be a damn child,” Leo snapped. It would be the first and only time Lola would ever hear anger in her father’s voice. He took the papers Irene was holding, and threw them in the trash. The next day, Lola finds it, sees a print-out of the registry, and addresses written in Irene’s unmistakable, perfect handwriting.

Leo was Lola’s hero, and losing him was like losing a limb.

Lola was inconsolable for months, could barely stand to leave the house, even as her mother grew weary and irrational.

“Why would he leave? Why would he just leave?” Lola tried to reason with her mother, who insisted that he was still alive, still out there somewhere, just refusing to come home.

“Because you’re here!” Irene had snapped at her daughter, only a few months shy of ten, “you’re meant to be someone else’s problem,” and she shoves Lola’s soulmarked shoulder, and Lola feels cold betrayal pool in her stomach. Her father had always insisted that the soulmark didn’t change her, but he wasn’t here to defend himself, and she was already so fragile.

There was a strange, jagged dichotomy in play in their house after that, with Irene insisting she’s too busy to ferry Lola around to her potential soulmates, while also insisting that Lola’s too young to be vising stranger on her own, however she still should be someone else’s problem, so her father can finally come back. All Lola knew was that she was a burden, and for the next six years, that’s all she knew how to feel.

Everything comes to a head the night Lola packs a bag and tells her mother she’s heading for the bus station, a list of addresses for the soulmarked in her state.

“No.” Irene blocks her way to the foyer.

“No? I’m almost sixteen, I can take care of myself -”

“You’re a child, Katie, you’re being delusional.”

“I thought you’d rather I was someone else’s problem?” Lola’s lip curled, and Irene glared at her.

“Not if it’s going to make your father think I’m a bad mother.” And her gaze flicks to the photo of Leo kept on the foyer table, next to the candle she always kept lit for him.

Lola’s mouth gaped open as tears pricked her eyes, and she tries to shoulder past.

“I’m going!” Lola tried to insist, but Irene was stronger, and held her back, “you know what? You are!” She shouted, stumbling back, and Irene looked at her, confused, a little hurt, “you’re a terrible fucking mother, you know that? Maybe the reason dad never came back was because you’re a fucking psycho who keeps pushing your problems onto me!” Lola snarled, tears dripping down her cheeks.

For a moment, there’s quiet, and Lola thinks she’s won. Trying to pass Irene again, however, she’s barred when Irene sticks her arm out.

“Take it back.” Irene’s voice is cold as ice, and Lola feels fear curl around her heart, “Katie, you take that back,” and Irene turns to her, but something’s snapped inside her mother’s head, and she shoves Lola back, against the table, against the wall, against the candle. Demanding louder and louder as Lola starts screaming, with flames curling up her back, Irene’s only focused on Lola taking her words back, rather than the pain she’s putting her daughter through.

Only when Irene’s hands start burning, and Lola’s whole back and backpack is alight, does she let go, and Lola collapses. The walls and the curtain are already catching, and it’s only moments before the fire department arrives since one of the neighbors calling them, followed by the police, alerted to the young girl’s screaming.

The trial was nation-wide news, and Lola’s face was printed in newspapers alongside the headline ‘I Was Punished For Having A Soulmark’; even if it was a half-truth, it sold out papers in mere hours. Irene was demonized, and everyone in America loved Lola for all of five minutes. A few other soulmarked people found her through the news, asked her where her soulmark was, and Lola, whose soulmark now was a twisted mess of scarring, along with the rest of her back, offered her hand.

“If you’re my soulmate, it doesn’t matter where you touch me, the mark will be there,” and then she prompted them to shake her hand. They did, but none of them were ever her soulmate.

Frank Ferrana, however, doesn’t watch the news.

He’s seventeen when Lola meets him, covered in tattoos already, along his arms and legs, and a few on his chest, and he’s probably the coolest person she’s ever seen. They’re put into the same group home together, but she can’t bring herself to talk to him at first, too intimidating by him, his tattoos, his leather jackets, the way he smells like smoke and freedom. The ladies at the group home coddle her, and all but wrap her in bubble wrap, and want to know all about her soulmark, and if she’s ever found her soulmate.

“If I had, do you think I’d be here?” Lola asks them over breakfast, voice deadpan. The ladies all look a little guilty, but Frank snorts into his coffee at the other end of the table. He and Lola share a grin, and he gets a little less intimidating in that moment.

He seems to go see bands every other night, and Lola finds herself staying up, waiting for him. Usually she doesn’t make it, falls asleep on the community sofa at about two in the morning, but this time she brings a book.

When he gets back, he gives her an indecipherable look that turns into a smirk, as he makes his unsteady way to the sofa, and collapses down beside her. When he reaches up, his hand gripping her shoulder for support, she thinks more about the pain of tugging at her newly-healed scars, and not of his hand on the exact spot her mark would be, and shrugs him off, readjusting where the shoulder of her shirt had fallen down.

She asks him where he goes, and he’s terribly evasive,

He calls her Katie, like the ladies do, like her mother did, and it grates on her like nails on a chalk board. No-one used her real name apart from her dad, but he was gone. So that’s the night she decides to take back the one thing her father had left her, the nickname only he used. If he ever came back, he’d be coming back to his Lola.

That night, before she gets in bed, she’ll feel her shoulder stinging, and usually after being touched, the stinging goes away after a few moments, but it’s still there. Looking in the mirror, despite the awkward angle, she sees something strange; the record on her shoulder, despite how it’s been disfigured by her scars, is still almost completely the same. Apart from one thing. The record is no longer broken. It’s a complete, black disk with a red label.

Holy shit.

And she remembers Frank’s hand on her shoulder and the burning sensation and -

The next morning, she introduces herself to him as Lola, wearing a grin that’s all teeth, with butterflies in her stomach. She thinks she remembers seeing a Frank on the registry when she’d checked it a few years ago, and this must be him. He must feel it too. In the face of her early morning excitement, he rolls his eyes, and immediately acts like an asshole about her new name; even so, she likes the way he says her name. But he’s still definitely an asshole, acting like nothing happened and nothing changed, so she kicks his bare shin, right in his tacky, little unlit candle tattoo, and storms away, missing the way he immediately yelped like she’d burned him.

If he’s going to act like nothing happened, then so will she. Frank Ferrana isn’t her damn soulmate and that’s fine by her.

More than likely, he doesn’t even have a soulmate.

Even so, he seems to have taken a liking to her.

He seems to want to be around her more often than not, and finally acquiesces and starts taking her to gigs. They get ready at his friend’s house, Nadine, and from the first moment she opens the door, Nadine also takes a shine to her.

“You’re Miss Lola I’ve heard so much about,” Nadine also does not watch the news, as it turns out, and Frank turns bright at her knowing smile in the face of Lola’s confusion. Everyone knew Katie, but no-one knew Lola. Until now.

Nadine explained that a few years ago, Frank and her brother Joe had been in a band together in Seattle, and Nikki explained the band was the only escape he had from his mother. Nadine and Joe had moved to Boston a year before Frank, and he knew when he ran away from his mom, they’d help him out. Which they did.

Lola makes a name for herself alongside Frank, as his roadie, slowly becoming his best friend, and much to her own guilt, developing feelings for him. If he wasn’t her soulmate, then it was unfair to her real soulmate if she fell in love with someone else. But Frank’s actually kind of nice to her, and doesn’t treat her like a kid, and yeah, they fool around together, but that’s because they’re young. When one of them is spotted, the other one is never far behind.

Occasionally she catches him giving her a much gentler look than she’d expect, or he’ll gently trace the edge of her soulmark when it peeks out from the top of her shirt, and she wants to ask him, but can’t find the words. He’s the only person she knows who hasn’t asked about it, apart from Nadine.

But they leave Nadine, and all of Boston behind, heading for sunny LA, and the first night in the back of the van they now call home, Lola, high as hell, traces the tattoos down his arms.

“You have a lot,” Lola says quietly, and Frank makes an indecipherable noise, but turns and plants a gentle kiss on her soulmarked shoulder. Lola has no idea what to read into that.

They lie and cheat and steal their way into a barely-livable apartment, but it’s home, and Lola’s thrilled, until Frank brings a girl home and Lola’s left on the sofa, her heart aching and traitorous tears in her eyes. She shouldn’t feel betrayed, he’s not hers, and she’s not his; she’s got someone waiting for her, so getting heartbroken doesn’t even make sense.

The next day, she’s awake before either of them, up at the crack of dawn since they don’t exactly have curtains to stop the light hitting her on the sofa as it rises. If she sees either of them, she’s pretty sure she’s going to scream, so instead, she decides to speed up destiny, and heads to the public library.

The American Soulmate Registry is publicly accessible, incase people like Lola want to find each other, and each entry lists the person’s full name, year of birth, and state where they were born. It’s far too easy to sort by year of birth, and pick everyone within three years of her. Usually soulmates are close in age, though there are few exceptions, the universe seems to know what’s best. As the list is printing, Lola’s at the front desk asking for a directory. The man at the desk is skeptical, people looking like Lola usually only use the directories to start fires. But then Lola’s pulling at the shoulder of her shirt and batting her eyes.

“Please, I’m looking for my soulmate; you wouldn’t stand in the way of destiny, would you?” She asks, and he’s all but bending over backwards to help her out. Lola thanks him sweetly, and heads to the printer where the list is taking an age to print out.

One by one, she reads the names, mulling over them; there’s about 59 in her age range, and a few of them sound kind of exciting. Charlotte Lee, 1961, CA; probably not too far away -

Frank Ferrana Jr. 1959. CA.

She rips the paper out of the printer before it can finish the rest of the list, running back to the apartment.

The woman from the night before is in her kitchen, drinking coffee, and she gives a sleepy smile, but Lola ignores her, heading for the bathroom where she heard the shower running. Kicking in the door, she’s unsurprised by Frank’s angry yell, but she just pulls the curtain to the side and holds up the paper.

“Fucking knock!” Frank tries to pull the curtain back around, but Lola forces it open.

“You have a fucking soulmark?” Lola all but yells, and his expression drops. He blinks slowly. “Why the fuck are you hanging around me if you know you’ve got someone else out there for you?” She asked, “this’ll only end badly!”

“Why are you with me?” He demanded in return, stark naked, glaring, and Lola drops her gaze, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

“Because I-” looking furtively around, Lola spots the girl in the door frame, gawking at the pair of them, “can you fuck off?” The girl’s eyebrows rise, and Lola stalks towards the door, slamming it closed in the girl’s face. Turning back, Frank is still looking at her with an expectant, half-angry expression.

“I’m a masochist, okay? I’m half convinced you’re my soulmate and even if you’re not, I kind of... kind of... I love you, or whatever.”

“You think I’m your soulmate?” Frank’s voice is soft, and Lola finally looks him in the eyes, nervous and raw and vulnerable. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you acted like nothing happened -”

“You acted like nothing happened!” Frank fires back, stepping out of the shower to put his leg up on the sink. Dripping wet, naked, and not exactly in a flattering pose, he gestures to the flame tattooed on his shin. She’d never paid much attention to it amid all the others, but she remembers thinking it was tacky that it was unlit; why would anyone want an unlit candle? But there, a little, orange flame lights the wick at the top of the candle, and when Lola reaches out, she feels how it’s raised, like hers was.

“Right where you kicked me,” he told her, and Lola’s mouth opened in shock, before scrambling to take off her shirt, to show her tattoo.

“This used to be broken, but you -! The night we first talking, you -” he presses a kiss to the tattoo, kissing his way up her neck to her lips, but she pulls back, eyes wide; “we’re the dumbest people I know.” She whispers, and he snorts a laugh.

“Almost like we’re made for each other.”

And that’s enough for her to kiss him, and now she knows why it feels like it makes sense.

Things don’t change much after that, not on the surface. Soon, Frank becomes Nikki, and Lola finds herself music that the registry might never know what happened to them, and that she really doesn’t care. Lola gets new tattoos at Nikki’s suggestion. As it turns out, he’d gotten tattoos to distract from his soulmark, so people would stop asking questions, and it works.

People can’t tell anymore, and Lola’s not the little girl from the news that everyone knew, and she’s so glad to no longer be recognized. All anyone knows is that Nikki and Lola are a package deal, and that if you mess with one, you’re going to bring on the wrath of the other.

“Did your mom really set you on fire because of this?” Nikki asks, tracing the warped ridges of her tattoo one night. Lola huffed a laugh, pressing her face into her pillow for a moment.

“Not because of it, because of my dad, and... her own delusions, I think,” she mused, “she wanted so badly for me to be someone else’s problem, and growing up, dad would always be taking care of me, but then he died, and she was stuck with this kid who, looking back on it, I think she resented me for taking dad’s attention, but now she couldn’t just ship me off to some stranger, even if they were my soulmate, because everyone would think she’s an awful mother.”

“She sounds awful already-”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, she was atrocious,” Lola agrees, “but the mark was an out for when I was too old for dad to look after, but then he was gone and I was still there.”

“That sucks,” Nikki muttered, wrapping an arm around her, and Lola snuggled up to him, humming in agreement, “my mom always hoped my mark was something she could use, like my soulmate would be some billionaire, and I’d make her rich because she found them or whatever.” He snickers, rolling his eyes.

“She put adds in papers across the country, basically selling me; people wanted to meet their soulmate so badly that they’d pay her fifty bucks to have me touch them. It sounds a lot worse in hindsight,” his expression sours, and Lola runs her nails in a gentle rhythm up and down his arm.

“What if my mom had seen one of those ads, and we met back then?” Lola asks softly, smiling gently. Nikki blinks for a few moments, coming out of his memories, before looking back at Lola.

“Was your family rich?”

“Not especially; dad owned a little burger joint, but mom ran it into the ground out of spite after he left,” Lola admitted, and Nikki shrugged.

“Then my mom would probably act like nothing happened, even if it did -”

“And my mom would probably insist that I was her problem now.”

“It’s why I ran,” Nikki admitted, “I didn’t want anyone else to be trapped with her, least of all the person who was supposed to love me for the rest of my life, you know?” And Lola sighs, and gives him a nod and a squeeze of support, “I’m glad we met how we did.” He admits.

“Me too,” Lola tells him gently.

When they start to form Motley Crue, only Mick seems to recognize her a little, though he drops it when she asks him to. Looking from Nikki to Lola, he gets a strangely fond, knowing glint in his eye, and looks to Lola with a question in his eyes. Tentatively, Lola gives the slightest smile and nod. Mick blinks a few times, surprised, but can’t help his own smile as he processes the information.

He doesn’t say anything, and it takes a while for the others to catch on.

It’s almost a full year after the band forms, and they’ve gained considerable traction on The Strip, when Vince and Tommy are clued in.

“I didn’t know tattoos looked so good even after scarring,” Tommy noted during practice, seeing Lola’s record on her shoulder as she moves about the kitchen in a singlet. “Where’d you get it?”

Lola and Nikki share a look.

“Born with it,” Lola tells him, pulling a cup from the counter and filling it with water. Tommy is dead silent, considering, the cogs in his mind ticking over, frowning with concentration. Lola swallows some pills and follows it with a gulp of water.

“Are you serious?” Vince asks, catching on much faster than Tommy.

“As a heart attack,” Lola tells him with a slight smile. Nikki makes a noise in the back of his throat and Mick picks out a melody on his guitar.

“So you’re- you’ve got a -?” Vince asks, eyes wide.

“Holy shit, Lols, you’re soulmarked?” Tommy crows, and Lola gives a toothy grin, inclining her head to agree with him. “I’ve never met one in person,” he says, starry-eyed, and Nikki huffs a laugh, “I mean, I have, my cousin’s soulmarked, but like... dude, what are the odds?!”

“What are the odds?” Lola says gently, looking directly at Nikki, who hides his laugh with a cough, trying not to ruin the bit.

“Have you met them?” Vince asks, he and Tommy looking like eager little puppies to hear more when Lola looks back at them, “your soulmate, I mean.” Mick stops his strumming, giving Lola a long suffering look. Lola, however, looks at Nikki, kinder this time.

“Yeah,” Lola says softly, and Vince and Tommy look like they’re about to explode, “I’m one of the really lucky ones.”

“You’re killing us here, Lols,” Tommy groans, and Nikki can’t help himself, “who is it? Where are they -?”

“You really think she’d leave her soulmate?” Nikki asked with an amused snort, and the boys turn, eyes wide as saucers. “It’s me, dumbasses.” He confirms, smugly, and there’s silence as the other two process the revelation.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Vince all but yells, but he’s excited, beaming from ear to ear, “of course you assholes seem like you were made for each other, you literally are!” He crows, and is immediately pestering Nikki to see his tattoo.

“This makes so much sense!” Tommy’s still looking at Lola with wide eyes, before his expression turns sunny. “You guys are so fucking lucky, holy shit!” And Lola grins; yeah, every moment with Nikki, she does tend to feel pretty lucky.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x oc #the dirt #the dirt imagine #tommy lee #Mick Mars #Vince Neil #the angry lizard writes

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ton-e · 4 years ago

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OKAY but I kind of love the thought of Stark and Potts being old acquaintances in college?? Just a small idea I've thought about but-

They meet in Harvard. She remembers, but he doesn't seem to. It's not a good time for either of them, so Potts doesn't blame him entirely.

LOOK I'm just gonna say it

It's very obvious Potts has a thing with work. Where she let's her job work her over instead of the other way around. She's a self-made woman, she's on her own, and she's deathly terrified of disappointing her parents even if they let her know that's all she ever did.

Her father doesn't believe in her, of course. He doesn't hit her, he's never hit her, but he never had to. His words hurt more. He gives her a condescending smile that feels sharper than her mother's backhand.

Her mother, who did hit her. Her mother's weak like that.

" I give you one week."

Her mother married in riches. When Potts tells her she wants to go to university, she gets a laugh in the face and cigarette smoke in her eyes. "Why be a CEO when you can just marry one, dummy?"

Then, the money come. And she's suddenly worthy of the scraps of attention they dangled in her face for so long. It hurts, and it's terrible, because she knows without the money from college they wouldn't even spit on her if she was on fire.

She's not the boy they wanted, after all.

The circumstance of their meeting is less than savory, and it makes bile prickle at her tongue when she remembers.

Potts is pressured by her mother to attend some college party that she doesn't find enticing, because getting blackout wasted and high may be fun for some, but it's not her scene. Really, she'd rather break her leg than go on that scene. But her mother's friend happens to have a spoiled brat of a daughter whose mother will implode if her precious baby girl is not worshipped and guarded by EVERYONE

"Spent time with the girl, Virginia. Maybe you'll learn a thing from her. " She looks at the girl, Sunset's her name, ironically, who helps some washed-up quarterback roofie a freshman and thinks, "I'd rather fucking die. " The "ship of their friendship" sinks with her report to the police and dean. Potts sneers 'Good riddance.'

She finds the guy they were trying to roofie is Stark. Tony Stark. The heir of the Stark conglomerate, the Titan's son, the poster child for everything wrong with college but hopeful for the youth. She helps him to the dorms because Stark's sweet, more sensitive than people realize, and its heartbreaking that her kindness is such a marvelous but foreign concept for him.

He's a kid, it's the detail that truly pierces her heart to acknowledge, a kid theusted in a territory where he's defenseless, with no one to guard or protect him. He's less than 19, a bit younger than her, but he falls heavy on Pott's much smaller body, shaking with effort as she carries him to his door room.

"I miss my mamma, " something warm simmers in her chest at hearing that. Perhaps something so endearing shouldn't be said with that deep, rich voice, warm and molten and a tad bit scratchy, yet Potts can't help but find it adorable. "And my dad. Voglio andare a casa. "

"I'm sure Mr. Stark misses you too." Potts, in truth, thinks Howard Stark is more of an asshole than the anatomical term, but she keeps that in. But it seemed like the more compassionate, - more appropriate, really, thing to say.

Stark either snorts, scoffs, or makes a combination of the two noises. "Was talkin' 'bout Nick."

She doesn't know who that is, but she'd like to meet him one day. Stark's soft, muddled ramblings following them to the dorm rooms, make him sound like a good man, and she needs more of those in her life.

For a moment, her body freezes, when Stark atops and croaches down to her level, thinking he's aiming for her lips. Stark leans in to kiss her on the cheek and thanks her for not hurting him.

Potts wants to fight the world.

Later that week, a rumor that she slept with Tony Stark breaks in the university and the girls give her HELL. Suddenly, her clothes go burning, her food goes missing, her homework and assignments are victims of "Accidents". Nothing is to be done because the girls cry almost immediately in presence of authority and Pott's the bad guy at the end. (Pepper always strikes me as the person who got bullied in High School strangely???)

She's locked out of the dorm room one night, when it's cold as all hell, she's hungry, and she has her big breakout economic paper to work on. Her key doesn't work because it's a junk copy they replaced without her knowledge. The giggles bleeding through the door fill her with red blinding and she stomps off in the science lab to sleep.

She calls her father about it and gets an exhausted sigh. " Virginia. Don't call me for little girl problems. " Then hangs up without hesitancy, not a drop of concern, and Potts hates herself for it when tears roll on her cheeks because as her mother puts it, "Big Girls don't cry. We only cry when we break our necks, or if someone's dying." She's pretty close on the latter, so she thinks it's fair.

Stark finds her like that, shivering and sobbing on a dirty lab floor and hugs her like shes his lifeline. He apologizes like a mantra, promises that it'll be okay, and Potts nods, but her mind says ' I don't believe you.'

He brings Potts to his dorm, and decides to solve the problem no one else would.

Rhodes, Stark's friend from MIT, who does not care he's from an entire different college than them, instantly loves her and is furious on her behalf. He reminds Potts of the knight in shining armor breaking free from the fantasy books she would read as a child when no one else would, which makes him flush at the praise, and elbows Stark in the ribcage when he gushes about him.

She mistook Happy for a security guard at first, which makes both Rhodes and Stark howl, but the senior just laughs and doesn't let her go to sleep without eating. Stark helps her on her project with only mild shouting at Rhodes when he warns that they'll go into a coffee addiction at this point.

It's nice. They're nice. Their kindness keeps her going even if she knows it's more guilt.

The thing is, it's not just guilt.

They start to hang around her more, start to keep her company, invite her over to their dormroom which quickly becomes her favorite spot to be. They make her so happy she doesn't notice her parents haven't called her once, and, in her glee, she realizes she doesn't care.

Friendship is like honey. It tends to attract some flies.

Potts is pushed into the wall and she grinds her teeth together so she wouldn't wince because she isn't gonna give them the satisfaction. Push came to shove and she wants to shove back, - if she knew that fighting back meant all her progress would be gone because college is okay with harassment but not necessary violence.

The sorority girls call her everything under the sun and she fights back with words until she gives up once she realizes that it only entertains them and adds fuel to fire.

When she looks up finally, she sees the familiar shade of red of a MIT hoodie and Rhodes nonchalantly standing in front of her. Happy's not too many feet away, eyebrow arched comically high, hand prompted on his hip, and holding a camera in the other.

"Hit her again," Rhodes challanges them, stony faced, fearless and bold and DARING. He doesn't sound angry, that's the scariest part. He sounds gravely calm. "Call her what you did a minute ago. Have at it. I dare you. Bitch."

Her bullies break into something weak, something teary-eyed and fearful, pathetic and small. Rhodes says "that's what I thought " and helps her away.

All of the girls lose their scholarships the next day and Stark won't say anything, but he can't stop smiling.

Their roads meet crossed ends at the end of her graduation, - He goes back to MIT after Howard, the only reason Stark attends what the "smartest man in America" considers a low level school, cracks and gives him funding again.

They're her boys, - she remembers them as such, and they still stay that way, be it because they're phantoms in the snapshots of her life or standing just a few pinches of distant from her.

Years flow like a river in the course of time, she realizes, not at all slow, because they're not touched by aging. Happy may have less hair, but his smile is as blinding as ever and his snarky comments stay playful on the tip of his tongue. "He may be the smartest man in the world, but let me tell you, he's got the shittiest memory. Public bathroom level."

It takes exactly a week before Rhodes recognizes her. His surprise doesn't show, but his happiness does, and that's all that Potts needs. She smiles wider than normal when they banter like they used, regaining the footing of two teenagers with bright futures and too much sarcasm for safety.

"Dum-E! Come meet your mama. I can't wait to tell you how much he's gushed about you for the past decade. It's so embarrassing, I can't wait-"

She loves Maria the minute they meet. She's the mother Potts never had, the parent she should have gotten, because everyone deserves a Maria Stark in their life and she'll put that in stone. "Thank you for caring about my boy, '' she smiles gently at Potts as she wraps a blanket around her shoulders in a late all-nighter at SI, where she's droppy, and all she wants to do is dream. "You're a strong one. It can be rotten work."

Potts hums. "Not for me."

It's a random day, when the coin drops for Stark. He just freezes after Potts drops some documents on his desk with a small smile and a "Do you still play D&D on Saturday's?"

Long minutes pass as Potts walks off. She hears a "WAIT A FUCKING SECOND" sneaking through the half-closed door of Stark's office and she can't help but cackle.

#❤❤❤#ideas tag #stark #rhodes #happy #maria #potts #ironfam #these two give me cavities sksksksk #team stark #earth 518 #nick

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withyounct · 6 years ago

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What’s wrong kid? (2)

Reader x Single dad!Jaehyun

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2.6k

Prompt: You notice a child crying at a school playground. You decide to see what’s up and meet an extremely stressed/extremely handsome father.

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A/n: There is a slight Reader X Jaemin moment for like 12 seconds. Enjoy!

Watching Hyunjin was not only the easiest job ever it was also the funniest. She had such a ray of youthful exuberance mixed with an odd amount of maturity for her age. It was Friday night and you were putting her to bed when she hit you with a comment that completely threw you off.

“I hate this.” Hyunjin pouted, eyes brimming with tears. You immediately panicked. You were reading her favorite bedtime story. She was surrounded by her favorite plushies, her favorite star nightlight was on. Everything was downright perfect.

“You hate what Hyunjin?” You treaded cautiously while pulling her closer to you on the bed.

“You’re always gone when I wake up.” She admitted sadly, holding onto your side. You thought about it for a minute. For the past week you two spent every late afternoon and evening together. You would put her to bed and, in her mind, disappear until the next afternoon.

“I'm sorry. But you get to see your dad in the morning.” You reminded her hoping it would make her feel better. She just pouted more.

“Why can’t I see you both in the morning?” She asked innocently. The implication of staying over made your face hot, so you ruffled her hair in hopes to distract her from your slight panic expression.

“Well I don’t live here.” You laughed. You reminded her that you guys get to spend all of Sunday together. She accepted this begrudgingly and fell asleep after two more books.

You wandered into the living room to find Jaehyun on the couch reading through some documents. He looked up upon your arrival and sent you his signature smile, dimples and all. You stared at him questionably. How long has he been home? Why didn’t he say goodnight to Hyunjin?

“I didn’t want to interrupt. She would have been too hyper if I came in and its really late.” He answered before you could ask. You nodded understandingly and took a seat by him.

“It’s your house and daughter. You wouldn’t be “interrupting” anything. Plus, I wish you would have.” You added letting your head lean on the back of the couch. Jaehyun placed down the stack of papers and copied your movements.

“Why?” He turned his head in your direction and for the second time that night you had to hide your panicked expression. This close up you could see just how handsome he really was. You scanned his face and couldn’t find a single flaw. The raise of one of his eyebrows brought you back.

“She’s upset because I disappear before the morning. I sucked at explaining it to her; your input would have been helpful.” You blushed being caught staring dumbly. He smiled and turned his head back forward.

“You probably did a good job, but I’ll talk to her in the morning.” He reassured. You hummed and silence fell between you. After a few minutes he let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ve been so busy; I'm starting to feel like a shitty father.” He confessed. You were taken aback. In the week that you’ve know him he was anything but a ‘shitty father’. You sat up and nudged his leg.

“A shitty father wouldn’t wake up at the ass crack of dawn to prepare his daughter’s lunch and make breakfast. He wouldn’t take his time out of his already busy day to make sure her hair was done nicely, and her uniform was ironed. He wouldn’t care if she’s with someone that she actually liked watching her. He wouldn’t bust his ass day to day to make sure she has a happy and secure life. Jaehyun you’re nowhere near being a shitty father.” You ranted more concerned than you need to be.

There was a silence that engulfed you two unlike the first and you felt that you might have overstepped your boundaries. But, you weren’t going to apologize for being right. He looked at the leg that you nudged then at you. You saw a smile make its way across his face and he laughed.

“Has anyone told you your kind of amazing?” He asked while in a laughing fit. If your face wasn’t hot before it was then.

“Several times a day.” You lied, slightly turning away from him.

“Thanks.” A calm smile replaced its former. “I really needed that.”

“Anytime.” You softly smiled.

Since it was Friday you stayed longer than usual. You talked Jaehyun into putting his work away and to watch a movie with you. You, being the horror fan that you were, suggested The Conjuring. Jaehyun told you that he didn’t believe in ghost, which you thought was funny given how many times he got startled by a jump-scare.

Saturday rolled around and you were hanging out at Mark and Haechan’s apartment. Haechan had called you over to help him pick out and outfit for the party that night; the party you had no interest in going to.

“Mark ‘I never leave the music building’ Lee is going, and you can’t because?” Haechan grilled, throwing clothes on you while you laid on his bed. Mark shot a “I can hear you’ from the kitchen, but neither of you paid him mind.

“I got other shit to do.” You picked up a plaid shirt and threw it in the ‘no’ pile.

“Being what? You disappear more than I do nowadays. Which is fine, but we would like to know who you’re ditching us for.” Mark asked walking into Haechan’s room. You looked between your friends and saw a hint of concern in their expression. You asked if this was a common concern across everyone, including Kun and Ten, and they nodded.

“I've been babysitting this really cute girl.” You stated simply. They looked at each other then back at you.

“You like children?” They asked in unison.

“Meh, but she’s really adorable and fun to be around.” You confessed. They looked at each other once more and shrugged, accepting your explanation. Mark pulled out his phone to text the rest of your friends and Haechan went back to throwing clothes at you.

About 30 minutes later you felt your phone vibrate.

“I’ll be right back.” You announced to the two.

“Jaehyun, what’s up?”

“Y/n, hey. My friends and I are taking Hyunjin to the aquarium, so you have the day off.” He informed happily. You could hear Hyunjin screaming in the background about fishes with another male voice; you guessed it was Johnny’s.

“Okay have fun.” You smiled.

“We will.” You heard Hyunjin and Johnny? scream ‘dolphins!’ before Jaehyun hung up. You chuckled to yourself and turned to walk back into the room. There you were greeted by a nosy Haechan leaning on the door.

“Oh man what a bummer, it looks like your plans are cancelled. So, you’re going to this fucking party.” He let out a cheshire smile. You always had a hard time saying no to him so after an hour of begging you gave in.

“I'm gonna go home and change.” You rolled off his bed and attempted to grab your keys. Mark got to it first and shoved it in his pocket.

“As if. We let you leave, and you’ll just lock yourself in your room till tomorrow.” He smirked. You squinted at him, but said nothing because he was right. Haechan pulled out his phone and dialed Ten.

“Hey, can you do me a favor and pick Y/n out and outfit for a party? Yeah and can you bring it and her makeup bag here too. Thanks.” You heard Ten yell “fuck yeah’ on the other end before it went dead.

Ten and Kun brought over the stuff and took your car back to the apartment. You begrudgingly got ready. The outfit screamed ‘Ten picked me out’ a red crop top with a lace bralette under, high waisted ripped black jeans with fishnets, and black boots. You finished up your makeup and stole a few of Haechan’s accessories when Mark announced it was time to go.

Since you had no intention of going you had no idea whose party it was. When you pulled up at Hendery and Xiaojun’s house you were surprised. They were friends of Yangyang and acquaintances of yours. They both came from fairly wealthy families, so they rented out the biggest and nicest house off campus.

“Holy fuck you look hot.” Jaemin greeted when you entered the house.

“Thank Ten.” You blushed at the sudden compliment.

You were suddenly dragged by Lucas and Xiaojun who demanded you do shots with them. Somewhere between the jello shots and real shots you were pulled to the dance floor by Hendery. To say you were having fun would be an understatement. You had a comfortable amount of alcohol in your system and you felt light as a feather.

More partying and shots later, you found yourself in an intense make out session with Jaemin. It was a mutual thing. After dancing for what it felt like hours, you drifted to his side on the sofa. The two of you were talking about nothing when lips met. He pulled you onto his lap and you carded your hands through his hair. You guys were going at each other for a good 5 minutes when you were interrupted.

“Umm.” Renjun’s voice broke you two apart. You looked down at Jaemin then back at Renjun and Jeno. You slid off of his lap and opened your mouth to say something, anything, when they both just walked away. Jaemin glanced down at you and the two of you squinted at each other. You were the first to break into laughter. Jaemin soon followed suit. He grabbed your hand and pulled you into the kitchen to do more shots with your friend group.

It was nearing 3am and you were beyond tired. You found space on one of the couches upstairs and was leaning on Lucas’s side when Jeno appeared.

“Y/n you okay?” He asked sweetly.

“Mm tired.” You pouted.

“Where’s Mark and Haechan?” Lucas asked while petting your head.

“Fucking it up on the dance floor. Y/n, here let me take you home.” Jeno, being the angel he was, pulled you up. You waved bye to Lucas and was gently place in the passenger seat. The drive was mostly silent since Jeno was the comfortable silence type.

“You don’t have to answer this, but do you by chance like Jaemin?” He asked suddenly at a red light. You weakly turned your head from the window to him. You could see the worry on his face.

“Not like that.” You answered, way to tired to elaborate. You rolled your head back to the window and sighed at the coldness on your warm face. When you arrived at your apartment you dreaded the walk up the stairs. While you were complaining in your head, Jeno got out the car and opened your side.

“Here.” He unbuckled the seat and scooped you up bridal style. You could have protested, but you were happy you didn’t have to make the walk and possibly trip and die. You informed him that Kun had your keys, so you both waited until they answered the door. Jeno passed you on and left. The last thing you remembered was Ten and Kun taking off your make up and putting you to bed.

Waking up the next morning sucked. Jaehyun had a full day so you had to be there by noon. You slammed your alarm off and sat up. You had a few sitting minutes so you pondered if you should text Jaemin, but decided to give your brain time to process what to say. So, you texted Jeno thanks instead. On your way out the door, Kun handed you coffee and Ten sunglasses.

“Did someone party to hard last night?” Jaehyun joked when he opened the door.

“You have no idea.” You muttered taking off your sunglasses.

“You can tell me over coffee. You look like you need more.” He said leading you to the kitchen. You smiled at his offer and tried to forget about his hands on your shoulders.

He placed a mug of coffee in front of you and you laughed at how much cream he put in it.

“So, spill.”

“I made out with one of my friends and had way too many shots.” You sighed. You noticed the shock spread across his face and another expression you couldn’t quite place.

“Oh, um well. Do you like this friend?” He asked awkwardly and you were a bit thrown off, but kept your face neutral.

“No. Not like that, but what if he likes me and it makes shit awkward.” You worried. Jaehyun’s face looked, what you would consider, relieved. But again, you kept your face neutral because there was no way. Right?

“You should talk to him. You guys are friends, so I'm sure it’ll be fine.” He ruffled your hair in reassurance.

“Wise words from a wise guy.” You joked. He cringed at how lame it was and you two talked until he had to go.

Hyunjin was taking her afternoon nap when you decided to suck it up and call Jaemin. Before you could get anything out, he spoke.

“Fam. You’re one of my best friends and I love you, but not like that. You just looked really hot, not to say you don’t look hot all the time I pride myself on having the hottest group of friends and I don’t know what happened, but I'm sorry. Are we cool?” Jaemin pleaded. You laughed because he was also lowkey freaking out.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. We’re good.” You smiled.

The day with Hyunjin was filled with its usual fun and adventures. You two spent some time in the garden and had an intense hide and seek battle. You got done putting her to sleep when you heard the door open. You looked up from your spot on the bed and saw Jaehyun smiling holding up a box. You carefully snuck out the room and followed him to the kitchen.

“Hyunjin told me your favorite dessert is cheesecake.” He smiled holding up the box proudly. You went to retrieve plates and told him about your conversation with Jaemin.

“Wise guy is always right.” He noted, placing a piece of cake on your plate.

“You can’t use my lame joke against me.” You laughed poking him with your fork. He smiled softly at you laughing and went into his pocket.

“Here. You can use this freely.” He placed down a key. You glanced down at it and picked it up. You were happy that he trusted you this much, but it seemed a bit fast. He must have picked up on your hesitation because he closed your fist with the key in hand. Your pulse jumped by a thousand at the sudden touch.

“Hyunjin is really good at sensing people to the point where it’s kind of scary. She trusts you as much as she trusts me even though she hasn’t known you for long. Please take this key for emergency and non-emergency purposes.” You saw the pure sincerity in his eyes and hooked the key to your keychain.

“You’ll regret this when I eat all your food.” You murmured trying to hide your growing blush.

“I doubt that.” He smiled.

Jaehyun slowly opened Hyunjin’s door and made his way over to her. He smiled down at the dolphin plushie that Doyoung bought her squished between her and the bed. Carefully, he petted her head. Despite his efforts, her eyes slowly opened.

“Did I wake you? I'm sorry.” He spoke softly.

“Daddy.” She smiled. “Y/n’s gone?” She asked. He nodded and noticed her sad expression.

“You really like her?” He asked more than stated. She sat up and nodded quickly. She proceeded to tell him everything she thought was amazing about you.

For the first time in a long time, Jaehyun wasn’t sure if his heart was swelling because of his daughter or you. But he did agree, he thought you were amazing too.

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aleteia-ff · 5 years ago

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A Decade To Find You - 2