#does it count as a fathers day fic if fathers day is mentioned one (1) time

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 1.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The Bridgerton girlies have got me. Congratulations to you all. So before you read this, please read: I Hate Accidents by @i-hate-accidents AND Over The Garden Wall by @homeofthepeculiar AND The Ultimate Deception by @maximoff-pan. These stories are some of my favorites and really inspired this fic.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: To those who have read my other works, you'll notice that the author Mercutio's stories are something special

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I am pleased to welcome you all to the start of another social season. Of course, people love and look for love all year round but each year the season just seems to invite love to blossom. I hope all of you find the match to your souls. Marriage is a business but can it not have love as well? A business built with love surely must be a business that tries to last. I ask our respectful citizens and subjects of the United Kingdom to make love a part of their search. 

I would also like to ask about businesses that do not involve marriage or love. How are you? In the business of health, is everyone safe from all sickness? In the business of finance, does everyone have enough to eat and clothe themselves without falling into poverty? Are businesses afloat even if only by a small margin? How are you? Truly, I want to know. If you would like to write to me, please do so. The royal mailboxes should still be in perfect condition. 

Of course, if you have something urgent then I am sorry but you must come to the palace and request an audience. My valets hold all letters for a day or a few out of safety for everyone. But rest assured, I read every letter once received. 

I would also like to say that I can feel the winds of the ton calling me to grace their presence and to stop being rude by ignoring them. Naturally, the wind is very rude to say this and then cut through my dress and chill my bones even when it is snowing. But I digress, the wind is right. The time for introduction must be soon. And a lovely time that will be. I cannot wait to meet you all. 

Yours truly, 

A Not So Young Anymore Youngest Princess Y/N Hanover (Truly, I need a proper surname and not just the name of my father’s house)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

Would you like to know what I have learned yesterday? I know the Americas are still a touchy subject for some but I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, just to share my studies. Philadelphia is the center of American debate. So many great men (and women that have probably gone unnamed but aided their counterparts in their quest of education) have lived and are currently still living there. 

Going to America simply for a debate sounds terribly dreadful. But what if we had one here that wasn’t relegated to just the universities. An entire city becoming a center of debate seems incredibly foolish, not to mention disruptive to its current residents, but buildings of debate do not seem like a bad idea. 

Even if some feel like they aren’t smart enough, they should participate. Ideas are nurtured by sharing them. May some debates lead to great compromise and understanding and maybe even propositions for laws. 

I, for one, debate with my father every day on which science is the most important to teach to young children and which science can wait until university should they like to pursue that path. He believes all of it. I believe that medicinal science is too much for a young mind and they only need to be taught how to mind their health until they can understand better. What do you think? I am delighted to hear your opinions. Maybe mine will be swayed. 

Yours Truly,

Youngest Princess Y/N Buckingham (I am trying out new surnames until one I like sticks)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I apologize if my stance may be radical but nothing in society ever got done if the start wasn’t a little radical. I believe that young women should be properly taught about relations… let me just say it, sex. Not when they are children, no, but when they are about to debut. Consider it. You all know that as a royal, despite being a woman, I have been taught all things. Everyone is aware that I know what sex is. But if I and my sisters were taught sex so that we may be aware of malicious advances and be able to protect our virtue first rather than waiting for our virtues to be saved by someone and risk them being too late, then others should as well. Therefore, I implore all mothers and governesses to teach their young ladies about to debut what sex is. And to fathers who may be without wives, please find any woman to teach your daughters.

I shall return with more radical ideas for a better and more prosperous United Kingdom. 

Yours truly, 

Youngest Princes Y/N Kew 

The printed letters delivered to London, had everyone enthralled in the early morning. Some people that lived close enough to the central town square didn’t bother with the prints and went straight to the wooden pin board there to look at the princess’ handwriting on the original letters. Whenever the Young Princess or the author Mercutio Quick wrote, people stopped and paid attention. 

Princess Y/N was the people’s princess. The one who listened to their complaints and wasn’t cheap on her charitable acts. She was so much like her father, Farmer George. Even with his illness he still ran a good country… when he was in charge. So much better than her eldest brother, George IV. Then again, any royal sibling was better than their eldest brother, even if only by a very small percentage. Everyday the public hoped another child would challenge George the Younger. They would rally their support behind them. 

They were hoping that any day George IV’s daughter, Charlotte, would have an heir. If she was pregnant then it would be so easy for the public to support her and convince either George IV to step down or convince Parliament to present a motion to King George. They would have a ruler and an heir. Charlotte the Younger would be the easiest transition for George IV to understand.

But neither her father nor husband seemed to care about the lack of heir. But the thought of succession and coups and duels was forgotten for a moment to read the Young Princess’ letters welcoming them to the new social season with new balls, debutantes, and drama. 

In the Bridgerton house, the family ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. They were trying to get ready to present Daphne to the Queen while also trying to read the Young Princess’ letters. Benedict laughed as he slapped his copy of the letters. 

“Mother would have a fit if she had to speak with Daphne about sex.” 

“I’m surprised she would even suggest such a thing,” Colin said as he returned to reading the first letter, thinking he might actually write to the Young Princess about his familial concerns and wanting to travel desperately but being unsure about leaving them. 

Eloise finally smiled as she came downstairs with the rest of her siblings. “I for one think it’s rather refreshing. She is right. Our mamas should be teaching us more than just how to meet the Queen… Daphne! You must make haste! Do you think she heard me?” 

Colin rolled his eyes. “She most certainly did. But on the matter of the princess, what is wrong with a woman’s husband teaching her about sex?” 

“Everything is wrong with that.” 

“Hmm.” 

He looked down to reread the paper, wondering if he could understand what the princess actually meant. Even though the letters were left at home, talk of the princess never ceased. How could it? The monarchy’s youngest princess might actually be joining them. Everyone wanted to know what she would look like, not in the face of course. Even her fourth brother didn’t take off his mask until after five months of being introduced to society and he was the shortest time it took to see the royal children’s face. 

“Do you think she will be tall like her eldest sister or short? Plump?” Eloise asked as their carriages started their way towards the palace. “I’d imagine I’d be very lovely and plump if I could be stuck in a palace all day with the most wonderful food imaginable. Not that anyone should ever value a woman based on her body but Penelope has stated that her sisters are terribly upset because all the dress makers have started saying that plump is going to be in fashion once again in only a few years time and by the time they become plump it’ll be out of fashion again.” 

Daphne looked out the window. “I wonder if she’ll look like the Queen or the King. Oh, what makeup do you think she’ll wear? What mask did she have created for herself? When do you think we’ll actually see her face?” 

Violet touched the knees of all her girls. “Whatever she is like, do not be rude and gawk. The poor thing will already have the vultures’ eyes on her all night. If she even comes out tonight. Perhaps it will be at a ball this week. That would be quite a fantastic introduction. I do hope she at least meets us this season.” 

Francesca smiled. “I imagine her dance card would be quite full.” 

“She’d have bracelets of dance cards going up to her arm,” Daphne agreed.  

“But she isn’t coming into society yet. She’s just introducing herself to us,” Eloise said. 

“She’s still a princess royal. A very well-known one at that. There’s no way the men would pass on an opportunity to dance with her. They’d want to start making their intentions known now, get ahead of everyone else.” 

The boys’ carriage was speaking of a different matter entirely. The princess and Mercutio had written to the ton at the same time. With the presentation to the Queen taking up so much of the day, most people wouldn’t be able to read his work until later that evening. Colin and Benedict simply couldn’t wait. Colin sat with his brother as he drove the carriage and read the story out loud: 

“Arsehole,” Cecilia muttered. 

Ignoring the sharp stinging of her backside, she hopped off the bed to find something to put on. All she needed to accomplish was getting back to her room, clothed. She knew there must have been some spare clothes in their dressers. It was just a matter of sorting through which garments were hers and which belonged to the others. She had been sorely mistaken to ignore the three members of nobility behind her, thinking they hadn’t heard her. 

Lovell scrunched up his face, resembling a rat. “Is receiving another punishment something you really care for? Because this attitude you’ve acquired is going to earn you one.” 

“Piss off.” 

“Is that any way to talk to your dominants?” Madison asked, adjusting herself in Tommy’s arms. 

Cecilia scoffed as she walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob. “Lavender.” 

The other three faces fell at the use of that forbidden word. Cecilia’s hand reached up ever so gently and wiped away tears. She wondered if the tears were for her former lovers or for finally realizing her mind was deluded to think she would be with anyone above her station such as Lovell. 

“I don’t want this anymore.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“You never believe that I don’t enjoy breaking our established rules. You only listen to Madison.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“It is clear you both like her more than you desire me. I am down.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“You shall see me around this manor, doing my job as I always have. But that is the extent of our relationship.” 

“Please, just give u—” 

“Good day, Lord Parham. Lord Newall, Lady Wilcher.” 

“Riveting,” Colin said as he finished reading. “Mr. Mercutio has done it again.” 

Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has. I was a bit worried when he announced that he wanted to dabble in the themes of erotic pleasures in his stories but this was just as enjoyable as all the others.”

“Agree… Oh, it says here that they have earned a publishing deal. The penny stories will still come out once a week, chapter by chapter but readers can also purchase a book if they would like to keep the story properly or are in a rush to read it. I for one will be buying the books.” 

“I second that.” 

“I wonder what his next story will be about. Actually, no, I wonder what our dear sisters and mothers can be talking about.” 

“The princess, no doubt.”

”Do you think any of our brothers will approach?” Eloise asked in the women’s carriage, more to herself than anything. 

That made Hyacinth’s face light up. “If one of them marries the princess does that mean we get to be princesses too?” 

“As if any of our brothers even could or want to.” Francesca pulled her face away from the window.

“If anyone is going to bring them to the marriage mart,” Daphne started as she fanned herself. “It would be the princess. Anthony would be a good match for her.” 

Violet laughed, thinking of the idea. “A viscount and a princess are a perfect match.” 

All talk of the princess stopped as they approached. The worst thing that could happen could be a footman overhearing them and mistaking their speech for malicious gossip rather than light-natured and report it to the princess or the queen or even worse, King George himself. They would forever be ostracized from society. 

From upstairs, you watched from a window where you knew no one could see you even if they looked up. How you desperately wanted to be down there. All the men were dressed up and looking like penguins. Handsome they were but still penguin-like in silhouette. And the women’s dresses. Some, while upper class, were of a lower social standing and wore older dresses that looked just as gorgeous as the empire and rather shapeless dresses of today. 

But today was not your day. You actually weren’t sure when your day would be. Your mother and father let their children choose when they would be introduced to society. Of course you all had to wait for a certain age and it had to be a date at the start of the social season but you could pick the day. And unlike your last sibling, you wanted it to be at a ball instead of the selection of the Diamonds. You didn’t even care which ball it would be. Perhaps it was selfish but you did want a day all to yourself or at least a day with you as the main focus. But that wasn’t this year. Or any year perhaps. 

You were excited to finally leave the walls of the palace if you were allowed, having proven yourself capable of not causing an incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say you had proven yourself without illness. You weren’t that lucky. You and all your siblings were locked inside until the royal physicians could observe and confirm that you weren’t sick with whatever madness your father had. They didn’t have to observe you. That was also why you picked a ball instead of today. You wanted to prove you didn’t need a chaperone literally holding your elbow. You wanted freedom like your siblings. Freedom to explore that you weren’t sure would get because of your illness. 

After a nearly fatal drowning in the lake — an event your siblings still get chewed out for at least once a month — you started showing symptoms like George did. For you it wasn’t about if you would be as sick like your father. It was about how bad and how quickly the illness would get. 

You didn’t get to see George as often as the others. The doctors thought you shouldn’t be around him for prolonged periods of time unless it was after an episode. They thought that too much exposure would make you more like him instead of better. They wanted to send him to Kew but you promised that you wouldn’t go to his quarters as long as he got to stay at Buckingham. 

Charlotte, silly as it may have been, had hope. They caught your sickness early. Nine was a very young age to almost go mad. Maybe you could be saved from a cruel fate unlike George. They were too late for him but not for you. Of course this only brought jealousy from your siblings who didn’t feel like they got as much affection anymore. Every time you even twitched, it became about you. They could never hate you. It wasn’t like you asked to be sick. But it was hard to be around you. Everyday visits became once a week. Still, you cherished those visits. Like the one yesterday. They expressed their sympathies and hopefulness that you would get to introduce yourself and maybe it could even be this year or maybe this month. 

You could have scoffed. After what you did just two days ago, you were unsure. The daylight came into your room before you were prepared for it and you had been convinced that Buckingham was on fire. You couldn’t be calmed down until you jumped into the water fully clothed. Immediately, you pulled yourself out of the trance but no one really cared. The royal physician had been called anyway and you had ruined all chances of attending the presentation to the Queen. 

“Your Highness!” a voice disturbed your thoughts and your eyes from looking at your siblings’ carriages leave in the morning. Your lady-in-waiting approached you with a paper, an entire pamphlet. “It’s already spread through the ton like a fire. We haven’t read it yet. We figured new literature would be a treat for you.” 

“Thank you, Pandora. Shall we read it in the kitchens this morning when we return home?” 

“Not your room?” 

“I’m so terribly sick of my room and the washroom and the balcony and the bedroom.” 

“You are getting restless.” 

“It’s only a matter of time. Maybe even tomorrow it’ll happen. And soon it will only be a couple of years at most before the mask is gone. By the way,” you said as the two started to leave. “Did you hear about the Feather girl that fainted? Is she alright?” 

“Oh yes, she’s fine.” 

“Good. Have someone send flowers to her tomorrow with an inquiry about her wellbeing after taking such a tumble. Oh and no flowers to the Diamond. I want to meet her myself one day. Now, let’s read about this… Lady Whistledown. She already sounds like an interesting woman.” 

Interesting it was indeed. The maids and kitchen staff hung onto your every word as you read the pamphlet. You weren’t exactly sure how you felt about the pamphlet yet but Pandora was right about one thing. It was literature. Lady Whistledown seemed bold enough to list subjects by name. By their entire name as if she wasn’t afraid of any repercussions. You supposed she wouldn’t be since Whistledown was obviously not her real name. 

It wasn’t the subject of what she published that bothered you. A lot of it was standard gossip that goes around during the social season but it was her personal opinion. She almost seemed to want the ladies she wrote about to have miserable ends like inquiring about Daphne Bridergton’s flame burning out quickly. The lady must know that what she published could ruin a reputation. Gossip is no longer gossip when publicly written down. It has the potential to become fact. 

You slapped the pamphlet against your hand. “Well, I suppose Mercutio Quick from York will no longer be the entertainment of the ton. Sad, and right as I earned a publishing deal too. Perhaps, I should take up a different art. Like making dresses for all my days or learning to play the harp and cello properly so it sounds better than a dying whale according to my brothers.” 

The cook shook his head. “Your stories are very entertaining. Even Lady Whistledown couldn’t stop that.” 

“Thank you for saying that. I am rather jealous that she is penning under a woman.” 

“But you have chosen a name based on your favorite characters, have you not?” 

“I have but maybe I should’ve chosen better. This Lady Whistledown might be making more change for women then I hope to accomplish.” 

At this, the staff scoffed. Pandora cleaned up your dishes from the kitchen island in front of you. 

“Your Highness, with the utmost respect, you are the one who is going to do more for women than this Whistledown. Everybody already wants someone other than your kind brother on the throne. They’re all praying your niece gives them any child so they may protest for her with the added benefit of an heir. They love her and what you write about in your letters make her seem even better. Hell, they love you and they don’t even know you. They listen to you. And with your words, Princess Charlotte the Younger will be on the throne and you will prove women are more than capable of whatever and we might have real change. Is she still on board?” 

“Yes. She hates her father as much as anyone else does. George is nice once you get to know him… sort of. But Lettie approves as long as I agree to be in her court. I said yes of course.” 

“Then it is settled. Thank God we might actually get change in our wretched lives. Now you must wash up and oversee the Bridgerton gowns before they are sent off. Shall we pick certain ones from your wardrobe?” 

“Give the Diamond the one with lace and her family’s colors. Pick whatever you want for the rest of them. Oh and patterns must be on the Feather mother’s dress. I noticed she wears the most ill-favored ornamented dresses but she seems to like them. And put in an order with the modiste, I should like to do this often if this first gesture goes well and the gift wardrobe will need more clothes than it has at present. Clothes for the lower classes as well, nothing that could get them attacked and the clothes stolen off their bodies.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.”  

“And, by the way, I already washed up.” 

“Yes, but now you’ve been sitting amongst smoke and smells.” 

You gave up your fight and nodded as you jumped down from your stool and began the walk to your room. No one was around today. They wouldn’t be for most of the social season as they had other duties, including watching your siblings. Despite your madness, you weren’t the biggest concern at all. It was your rakish brothers in brothels, your sisters constantly leaving their husbands or suitors, and all of them sneaking away. You paused for a moment before walking quicker until you reached your room. 

Why couldn’t you sneak out? Now would be the perfect opportunity. And no one was looking for you. It would be so easy to scale the vines up the garden wall and just have fun for a moment. You washed up quickly and put on a very simple dress — one more like the style of today rather than your father’s time. Grabbing a cloak and your mask, you put them down on the bed before sitting down at your writing desk to pen a letter. The slam of the door nearly made you jump out of your skin. You calmed as you realized it was just Pandora. 

“Oh, good. It is just you.” 

“I have the Bridgerton and Featherington dresses but what do you mean it is just me, Y/N?” 

You stood up, abandoning the letter now that someone was around. “I am going out to see the ton.” 

“What?” 

“It is still dark. I have a map, my cloak, and the mask. And I have a very clear destination with vehicles that will get me back in the most discreet of ways should I need to use them.” 

“Your Highness.” 

“Pandora. I am nearing my introduction to society. You will all have to let me go at some point. I know everyone cares for my wellbeing but my happiness is gone. I am seen as nothing but my illness. Before I have an episode in public like the king, let me meet the ton. Let me not be Farmer Y/N for a brief moment of my life before I am a farmer forever, before I stay in that garden just like Father.” 

Pandora’s mouth shut. She simply locked the door and unlocked the window. “You must return before your midmorning promenade and snack. Since you ate downstairs, I can convince them to overlook your absence of a breakfast request. And don’t take your mask. It’s better if they don’t know who you are at all.” 

She gasped as you hugged her. 

“Thank you, Pandora! Thank you! You are truly the bestest friend a woman could have.” 

“Just go so you can come back quickly and I can have my sanity back.” 

You closed the window, shocking Pandora as you pulled a picture frame off the wall to reveal a staircase that led outside. The door was hidden behind the trellis covered in vines and flowers. You pulled the hood over the cloak over you. The last thing you did was check for your bracelet and if your papers were inside. Until you were introduced to society, all the royal children had bracelets that couldn’t come off unless cut off. There were just in case measures with the eldest two but became necessary after so many nights sneaking out. The bracelet wasn’t going anywhere but you didn’t want to lose your birth certificate. It was your first safety measure. Even if you were kidnapped or harmed, you’d be returned to the palace for a pretty penny. You did pull your sleeves down so your bracelet wouldn’t be noticed.  

You couldn’t contain your smile at the excitement of being out. London was so different without all the noise. The brothels and pubs were starting to close down for their few hours of rest and relaxation. You stuck to streets where you could see all the action but wouldn’t be easily spotted. No one bothered you until you arrived at your destination. 

The footman stood to attention. “May I help you?” 

“Yes, hello. I bring a package from Buckingham House for the Bridgertons, courtesy of Princess Y/N.” You handed him a letter with your official stamp at the end of it. 

The footman’s eyes went wide as he handed you back the letter and ran inside. The Bridgertons looked up at the frantic knocking, pulling slips over Hyacinth and Daphne before telling the footman he could enter. The Bridgerton boys came upstairs after hearing the heavy pounding of their employee’s footsteps running up the multiple stairs. 

“Is there a problem, Marshall?” 

He panted before taking in a deep breath. “The Young Princess’ lady-in-waiting is here, bearing gifts.” 

“WHAT?!” 

The Bridgertons collectively yelled before the scramble happened. You tilted your head when you saw the windows open and a maid shake out some bedsheets. She squeaked when she looked down to see you. You laughed as she ran back inside. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you were escorted into the house by a very out of breath footman. The Bridgertons stood on the steps at the end of their entrance hall in chronological order with their mother starting the line at the very bottom step. Nervous smiles graced their faces when you finally reached them. You curtsied to which they curtsied or bowed back. 

You gave them a second to assess you before speaking. Even though it wasn’t true in the slightest, everyone thought the ladies-in-waiting and manservants were reflections of the royals themselves. Not in character or value but in appearance. They figured they could form some sort of picture as to what the young masked royals looked like. If you were ugly then surely the princess was too. You hoped they at least found you to be average looking in appearance. 

Anthony Bridgerton — the new head of house from what you remembered of your studies — stepped from behind his mother to greet you formally. He bowed once again, deeper, before offering up his hand. You settled yours in it to receive a chaste kiss. 

“To what do we owe this sudden pleasure, Mrs…” 

“Beckett,” you lied, just using Pandora’s last name. 

“Mrs. Beckett?” He didn’t recognize the name as one belonging to an upper class member of the ton. He wasn’t sure he recognized the name at all. 

“Apologies, I should explain. The princess doesn’t distinguish in her court, we are all there to work. All women are ladies-in-waitings, all men are valets. Regardless of station, regardless of marriage.” 

“So, I am to take it that my earlier statement was incorrect.” 

You nodded. “Simply Miss Beckett.” 

“Well that sounds like very forward thinking actually. All the same, it is our pleasure to meet anyone in her highness’ court.” 

Violet smiled as she watched the interaction. If her son was close to anyone in the princess’ court, especially someone that seemed so close to the princess as to be sent here, then he would be able to meet the princess with good graces. He’d be ahead of any man by leagues. 

“Princess Y/N has sent me on her behalf. She extends warm greetings to the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons whom I will meet after our encounter. The princess congratulates Miss Daphne Bridgerton for earning Diamond of the Season as well as congratulations to the Dowager Viscountess for raising such a fine woman and to Viscount Bridgerton for chaperoning and keeping the family together therefore allowing his sister to shine.” 

He cleared his throat and started to smile. “Please give the princess all of our thanks for the most kind of compliments.” 

“And she would like to assure Miss Bridgerton that I have not been sent on behalf of any princes. Her brothers will not be bothering you today.” 

They all chuckled when you laughed. 

You set the first box down on the table next to you and opened it. “The princess has brought new dresses for the ball. The Diamond and the rest of her family should have the opportunity to shine with the utmost and wholehearted respect and support of the Crown. Please, enjoy them.” 

The family ran to the table, picking out dresses and suits and matching them to the person’s name on the paper pinned to each garment. They kept singing praises and admiring the outfits. Violet turned back to you. 

“When are you planning on visiting the Featheringtons?” 

“In an hour or so, I must be back before the princess’ morning promenade. She has a very busy day afterwards.” 

“Will the princess be introducing herself this season?” 

“Hyacinth!” Anthony and Violet yelled at the same time. 

You laughed. “It is no trouble. I’m at liberty to answer as the princess’ head valet.” 

“Valet? I thought you said they were all men. They are usually all men.” 

“If the princess should become heir to the throne then she will receive a male valet alongside me. For now, it is just me. The Crown believes someone of the same gender should always be with her should she need to confide in someone about very personal matters.” You took a breath before testing the waters. “Such as affections of the heart.” 

It had dawned on you in that moment that you could spy on the ton. When the time came, you would still have to dance with all the bachelors of the United Kingdom but you at least you would have a better picture of them. You’d have to apologize to Pandora for the countless strokes she was about to earn from you but you couldn’t make this your only time sneaking out.  

Violet smiled, knowing she was right. “Well, would you like to stay for breakfast?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“It would be no trouble at all. We have more than enough room. Eloise, dear, if Penelope is to come over please request that she do so now.”

(part 2)

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[joonsytip]

Withering for You || Seungcheol - Part 1

Pairings: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, CEO! Seungcheol au, Husband! Seungcheol au, Wife! Reader au, Music Teacher! Reader au, Arranged Marriage au, College Sweetheart au, Exes to Lovers au

Synopsis: When you are arranged married to the man, whose heart you had broken years ago, even dreaming about mending things seems next to impossible when he has been holding grudge for all these only to return it to you tenfold.

Warnings (specific to this part): Seungcheol is the biggest meany, crying, profanities, everyone is hurt and sad, everything is on rocks, mentions of infidelity (doesn't happen to though)

Word Count: 6.5k

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao (idk how I'd survive without you) <3

A/N: I'm back after a break, thanks for being patient.

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

You see his face everywhere. He's on every billboard accross the city, on every magazine's cover page or the advertisements shown on giant LEDs.

Since the CEO of Choi Enterprise, unarguably the continent's best interior designing company, stepped down, the position was acquired by his son, Choi Seungcheol.

The enigmatic, quintessential, charismatic Choi Seungcheol. Who also happens to be your ex. Who's also the man you're on your way to meet. Make it make sense, you both have given a nod to your families to meet up for the prelim talks of marriage.

Your parents had been nagging you constantly to settle down and for every match they brought in, you wouldn't even blink an eye to reject the person. When asked the reason to their surprise, you always had some valid points to add in the books of rejection.

So when one afternoon you received a call from your father, surprisingly, requesting you to get home from earlier, you had never expected to see both of your parents distressed about a match that came in. When they slid the photo to you across the table you froze.

It was a picture of Seungcheol, his face wearing an expression everyone would take for being a lookup but somehow you felt his eyes were strained mockingly at you, as if he took that shot only for you.

"W-What does this mean?", the first question, when you are finally able to tear your eyes from the photo.

"Your matchmaking profile somehow got to the Choi's and they agreed to meet for talks--"

You're cutting off your mother, "No way Seungcheol would be agreeing to do this."

"It was Seungcheol.", your father's statement stuns you, "For what I've heard is it's only Seungcheol, who had agreed on this."

It took you a whole week to decide on it. A whole lot of contemplation and hesitation before you made up your mind to go for it. Roles reversed, your parents were hell bent on not letting you meet the Choi's because frankly they were no stranger to your past with Seungcheol's.

So now here you are, along with your parents standing in front of the 'Ritz Esplaza', one of the subsidiary hotels owned by the Choi's, the most exquisite one in the country as well.

When you had made up your mind, you had also mentally prepared yourself for all the attacks you knew you are going to face because no way Seungcheol is doing this with the motive of actually settling down with you happily. But since fate has given you another chance, you'd definitely try your best to hold in that man who holds onto your heart.

"Are you sure?", asks your father, concern evident in his voice. You give him a firm nod and walk into the building. Your anxious eyes watch you pass the floors one by one inside the elevator until it's your stop. When the door opens, you take a deep breath and walk out.

When was the last time you saw Seungcheol? Was it the day of graduation? Maybe it was at a party hosted by a common friend? Or was it the day you tore him apart? You couldn't remember clearly.

Seungcheol is people magnet. He's pleasant on eyes and he is the most sought after bachelor of the country.

As soon as you enter the lounge, you are lead into the executive room. And as soon as you step in, everything fades away except for the pair eyes on which your gaze locks.

Time has definitely done good to Seungcheol. The pictures don't do justice to how beautiful he actually is. You let your eyes linger on him. You notice the puffiness of his cheeks is now gone, his nose and jawline being sharper, his build strauter, physique drool worthy but what about him hasn't changed are his eyes. He has still those beautiful deep eyes those carry the entire universe in them.

But those eyes which had love filled in them for you once, are now looking at you condescendingly.

Awkward smiles and glances are exchanged before everyone takes their seat. As easy as to decipher it is, none of the parents are okay with this predicament. They can't comprehend why their children would put themselves into such a thing, a marriage without love but despise, hatred and pettiness.

No one makes an effort to initiate the conversation and as you sit anxious under Seungcheol's unwavering gaze which starts to creep onto your skin. When enough, you stand up, a loud screech of your chair erupting the air and look into his eyes as you say, "I want to have a talk with you in private."

Seungcheol smirks, eyes making a sumptuous roll as he gets up without a word and walks towards another room, having you follow him.

You enter, closing the door behind you. Seungcheol sits on the couch, unspeaking. As silence looms over again, you understand that Seungcheol doesn't have an ounce of interest in striking any kind of conversation with you.

Before unsettling thoughts could engulf you once more--

"Why did you agree to marry me, Seungcheol?"

The said man's lips curl up in a smirk as his snark respond comes to bite you, "I didn't agree. I chose to marry you, Y/N."

You shudder under his presence yet once more tonight.

"Why?", comes out your strained voice with a heavy question that you both know loomed since the beginning.

"Why are you here?", he questions back, "You could have said no. I believe no one has forced you to be here", he snides, "No one could ever force a manipulative woman like you."

There's an answer that's at the tip of your tongue which you don't want to let out because you know it would hold no value to Seungcheol.

"Let me guess?", he rubs his chin as if thinking, "For status or for money, maybe both? Habits die hard afterall."

Your ability to speak is snatched from you and it's a given that Seungcheol certainly won't stop degrading you anytime soon. But that's what, you know, you're mentally prepared but also you're not.

The same Seungcheol who'd have once fought the whole world for you, has become the person who'd slice you down with the thinnest thread mercilessly.

You agreed to marry Seungcheol because you think life has given you another chance to set things right.

Seungcheol agreed to marry you just to make your life miserable.

"Are you on IUD?", he asks off track and you gape at him shocked.

When you don't answer he continues, "I can book you an appointment whenever you're free this week to get it done."

Your whisper of a meek 'why' is met by another snarky response, "You surely know why. The major one accounts as your devotion to me as a wife."

Honestly, when his secretary who's also a close friend to him showed Seungcheol your profile on a matchmaking app, his mind squared on making a sick joke just to test your audacity. Never did he thought that you actually be willing to even meet him. Again, you are shameless and greedy, he knew that, so was he really surprised?

Seungcheol with every nerve in his body is trying to test your temper and patience. He wants you to admit defeat, wants you to scratch that ridiculous idea of marrying him because he knows how pathetic of a living being you are. He knows you for the real you.

You with every nerve in your body are, will try to make this work. To mends things, to love once again. You too know Seungcheol for the real him, so you're adamant to make this marriage work.

"Book me an appointment on Wednesday.", you say confidently, "And we're going to have the wedding, Seungcheol."

"Oh well, I'm aware of your determination", Seungcheol says with a tinge of annoyance, "But, take it as an warning, I'm not gonna let you have it smooth. I would be your husband only on the papers and in front of the cameras.", the smirk finds it's way back on his lips, "You'd just be a trophy wife for showcase, you'd only be someone to warm my bed. You get the status, fame and money but...", he stops all at once.

You finish it for him, "Love. I'll gain your trust. Consider it as my redemption, my repentance to the wrong I did you. I'll make it right, I hope you'll find it in yourself to love me again."

Seungcheol's face contorts as if he has heard the most ridiculous joke ever. As the memories of past continuous to become vivid in the back of his mind, he decides to leave the room, leave you behind.

He promises himself to never let you breathe peacefully, he promises he'd make you beg him for divorce within months of wedding. As the corner of his eyes gets wetter, he promises, he'd pay you back all the heartbreaks you had given him.

As soon as the wedding is finalized, a dedicated PR team of the Choi's releases the statement, rather an announcement of what everyone is calling as the 'wedding of the year'.

Your father too runs a company which was build solely by him, but on scale, your and Seungcheol's families nowhere collided in the terms of riches. Maybe the social circle would allow both the families to gather under a hall sometimes but that was rare and the Choi's had been entitled to the top tier.

So people are curious. Curious about who's the  country's most eligible bachelor getting married to. Who are you? How are you getting hitched to Seungcheol when there are the richest of heiresses lining up to getting linked to the Choi's? The whole nation is curious and everyone is trying to dig up information on you two.

However, the PR team is always a step ahead, so before the announcement was made, any source of information that could have caused any sense of discomfort or a scratch on either of you and anyone linked to you both was suppressed, rather buried.

"I can't believe she agreed to do this."

"She's basically digging her own grave."

You eyes move back and forth as the two of your best friends converse about you in your presence, also ignoring your presence.

"And to think Seungcheol wouldn't even allow us in the wedding... He'd kill us as soon as his eyes would land on us..."

"Imagine not being able to attend your best friend's wedding..."

"Mingyu, Eunsoo, stop.", you say calmly, "I'm already stressed enough, so please stop."

Mingyu gets up to take a seat beside you. He doesn't speak, just strokes your hair. You lean onto his shoulder closing your eyes.

"Does Chan knows about it yet?"

You jolt up and sit straight at Eunsoo's question.

"No. He's overseas for sealing a deal.", you tell them, "Also, mom & dad already raised their hands up, so I'll have to inform him myself."

"Well goodluck honey, knowing his temper... it's just worries me.", Eunsoo adds solemnly.

You three sit on silence for some moments before Eunsoo speaks up again, "I'm still skeptical about this whole thing. I mean you both met and made things clear with Mr. Choi but I don't trust that man, knowing what he's capable of doing."

"He is no threat, Eunsoo.", you affirm, "And that is why I agreed to this marriage."

Mingyu who has been listening to the conversation quietly, speaks up taking your hands into his, "Y/N, I can understand why you are doing this. But we know that he's gonna make it so hard for you, not his fault though, he's been scarred.", his hands now lifts up to caress your cheeks, "What I'm trying to say is, if you're going into it then go for it wholly. Don't be defeated, conquer it. Don't give up easily, like last time. Don't let the love of your life go when you got another chance."

You nod wordlessly hugging Mingyu and Eunsoo takes the chance to wrap herself around you both.

Seungcheol laughs in disbelief as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. He thinks that it's a dream, him being about to marry you, the woman he loathes the most. He's sure that it's a nightmare.

He's only doing this wedding with revenge on his mind. With the only motive to make you suffer, to humiliate you.

He's uninterested about the whole wedding thing, which shows. When you had the audacity to ask him to accompany you to the clinic for getting IUD on, he had blurted out a no before hanging up the call. When you had the audacity one more time to ask him to accompany you to meet the patisserie for finalizing on the wedding cake he had declined you then as well. Everytime you asked him to meet to decide on something, he would produce some snarky remarks while rejecting your proposal.

When you see Wonwoo waiting outside your house once again, you roll your eyes.

"I can do it all by myself.", you said unimpressed, crossing over your arms, standing infront of the man, "Just go. I'm tired of explaining people that you aren't the groom."

"Cheol doesn't trust you or your choices at all, neither do I.", Wonwoo says with all menace in his tone, "Plus being his secretary, I'm bound to follow his orders."

Wonwoo as said by the man himself, is Seungcheol's secretary as well as one of his closest friend since university. He was close to you as well once but now he, like his friend, loathes you equally.

You sigh when Wonwoo opens the car door. Another long day you think because Wonwoo has a habit of nitpicking and you're sure the two of friends scheme a strategy everyday to test your patience and defy you as much before stepping out for the day.

Another long day, you think.

The only time you manage to get Seungcheol rather it's Seungcheol informing that you both have a photoshoot together for a magazine. He meets you for an hour to go through over the script that you are supposed to lie through when asked about.

How did you both meet? Same University then lost contact at some point. Is it love marriage or an arranged marriage? Arranged turned love marriage. How did you both fell in love? You both met at a Gala and sparks reignited, then a whole lot of dates. Who proposed? You did, because during one cozy movie night when Seungcheol promptly danced with you on 'Somewhere we belong', you realised where exactly you belonged.

During the shoot, the proximity is what chokes you both. The lovely dovey act, flirty looks and touchy poses had you both, mostly Seungcheol feels suffocated.

Because you want it to be real but Seungcheol wants none of it.

You already know, so during the breaks and slot gaps for costume changes, you try not to be in the periphery of his vision. Which really doesn't work because the whole team is gushing how beautiful of a pair you are and keep on trying to push you two into proximity as much as they could. The shoot goes well, so does the interview because you believe everyone bought the lies you two fed.

When the magazine is released, you two instantly become the trending topic of the nation. You both are literally anywhere and everywhere. People are stanning, people are jealous, people are feeling the love.

It's new for you because your family have always tried to avoid the spotlight and for the Choi's, spotlight is almost an eternal part.

Your phone within your hand rings and you freeze. Taking a deep breath, you recieve the call. There's an ominous silence, no one speaks.

"Hello, Chan?", you speak, deciding to terminate the wait. You hear a shaky breathe then a sigh.

"I'm sorry you had to know this way.", you whisper into the phone sadly, "I didn't know how to tell you."

A beat of silence again before Chan speaks, "There's no way stopping this, ain't it?"

You shake your head knowing he won't be able to see it but Chan gets it nonetheless.

"I'm returning.", he informs, "Get me at the airport on Thursday? That's the earliest flight I could avail."

Concern washes over you, "You don't need to Channie. I know how much work is important--"

"Not more than you.", Chan cuts you off, "Nothing is more important than you. See you soon."

"See you.", you echo before hanging up.

Your chest becomes heavy, suddenly everything feels uncertain. There's a turmoil within that makes you wanna run. Runaway from everything.

But you can't. And you won't.

You call Seungcheol assuming he won't pick up as what he usually does. So after five rings when you're about to hang up, his voice reaches you from the other side.

"What?", he says and you could figure that he's tired.

"Are you free tomorrow?", you ask him hopefully, "Just to remind you, tomorrow's afternoon slot is booked for picking our wedding attires."

"I don't see why we need to go together. You go pick your dress, I'll go pick mine when I feel like.", Seungcheol reasons.

You expected exactly that, so you sort to pleading, "Please, it's my request. I haven't requested you the other times but please please just this once. I beg you.", you end up blurting out in a breath.

"No.", he flatly denies.

"Please, just for tomorrow. Promise I won't pester you again. Please Seungcheol."

He seems to contemplate for some moments before making up his mind.

"Fine.", he says and hangs up.

A wide smile splits on your lips, as you do little fists in air in pure joy. It's so important for you because you want Seungcheol to be the one choosing your wedding gown because once he wanted to do it.

"When we get married, please let me choose the wedding gown.", Seungcheol says with a fond smile, "You'd look so gorgeous in all of them, making it difficult for me."

You wrap your hands around his arm as you ask amused, "Why do you need to do it if it's so difficult?"

He looks at you with all the love in his eyes. He tucks the stray lock of hair behind your ear as he answers, "Because it'll be a privilege to fall for you again and again."

You bite your lips to stop the tears that pool in your eyes when he kisses you the next moment.

Next morning you wake up to Mingyu and Eunsoo both blowing up your phone, just to convince you to let them join you to the boutique and you angrily huffing out a 'that's a given! ofcourse you both would come!'

But the catch is they'd both come after Seungcheol leaves because they both have a fear of their dear lives.

It's afternoon and you're calling Seungcheol because you're in the botique waiting for him and he's late. Seungcheol is punctual, it's weird not having him present here already the moment you reached. He isn't picking up the calls or responding to your texts.

It's been half an hour already, you're anxious as you try to not let the ominous thoughts consume you. Suddenly you hear some commotion outside of the fitting room and expect that it's Seungcheol who'd walk in.

You're disappointed when you see Wonwoo. Your eyes search behind him though in anticipation but no one comes in.

"Where's Seungcheol?"

Wonwoo senses the distress in your voice and it should give him the satisfaction but this time it doesn't.

"He can't make it.", Wonwoo says as he avoids eyes contact.

"Why?"

"Something important came up."

"What exactly, Wonwoo?", you ask gritting your teeth, "What can be more important than this?"

Wonwoo clears his throat, looking everywhere but you, "Jiah is returning from Australia today and she wanted Cheol to pick her up."

Your heart drops. Ofcourse out of all days Jiah would return today and at this time. That trust fund woman would do anything in her will to stop this wedding. Jiah is Seungcheol's best friend who's in love with him and everyone knew except Seungcheol and it was tad obvious. You both never got along for obvious reasons.

And though you're aware but it still hurts to see Seungcheol choosing Jiah over you.

Wonwoo never got along with Jiah as well because she's plain irritating and judgemental and all other bad adjectives one could think of.

"You can go Wonwoo. I'll do it by myself.", you fail to say it firmly, your voice cracks.

He really feels bad as he sees you trying to compose yourself. He wants to console you, wants to say he won't be a pain in ass today but you beat him.

"Please go.", you sound so defeated that Wonwoo doesn't find it in himself to defy it and walks out quietly.

You sit on the couch for some moments. Too early to be heartbroken you think, it's only the beginning and you're prepared to go hell and back to win over Seungcheol again.

Not spoiling your mood further, you quickly call Mingyu & Eunsoo who are sad to hear about Seungcheol not making it but also more than happy to come over to choose your wedding gown.

You certainly aren't the one who needs comforting, not when both of your best friends are almost bawling their eyes out in happiness each time you try a gown and show them.

The wedding date closes in and you wonder if Seungcheol even remembers it because he's absent and his absense is loud.

Your parents are actively participating in the preps but with unwillingness because they want you to be happy and they aren't sure if Seungcheol is the key to that.

So is Chan. He's stressed, worried and in rage for you, because of you.

"Why him?", Chan asks, "How can you even think of linking yourself to that family?"

You sigh, a long discussion ahead you're sure of that, "First of all, Seungcheol had nothing to do with all that. Second, I love him Chan, do I really need another reason?"

Chan scoffs, "But he hates you. And knowing how petty he always has been, I'm scared for you."

His voices quietens when he says, "You won't deserve any of it. I don't wanna see you hurt."

Your eyes get teary and you're hugging Chan. When his arms wrap around tighter you whisper, "I need to try Chan. Let me be selfish this one time. When things get rough you'll be the one to know. I know I always got you, my baby brother.", you smile pulling away.

"Whom are you calling a baby?", Chan huffs, his nostrils flaring dramatically but he returns the smile, "You always have me. I'm just a call away."

You nod, "So what are you getting me as wedding gift?"

"What made you think I'm gonna get you a gift?", Chan retorts, "No gifts since you're marrying that jerk."

You slap arm and he groans, "That's not how you  address your brother in law!"

Chan gags at the mention and next he's getting his head locked between your arms.

"I go out of the country for two months and come back to you committing blunders.", Jiah scowls at Seungcheol.

The man in question doesn't seem to pay much attention as his eyes trace over the words in the document.

"Cheol, are you even listening?", Jiah hits the table surface with both her hands, demanding attention.

Seungcheol sighs and lifts his gaze to look at her. He then leans back and looks up at the ceiling as he speaks, "This is what is supposed to happen after all, isn't it?"

"Are you crazy?", Jiah howls in disbelief, "This was never supposed to happen, she was never the one for you as you claimed, which turned true and goodness it was such a great riddance unless you decided to bring that pathetic excuse of a human back into your life, nonetheless you're marrying her! You should--"

Seungcheol's glare practically shuts her up.

"I have work to do", he states plainly, "It's late, go home."

Jiah gets up and walks upto him. She places her on the handle of the chair and leans to run her hand over his chest.

"I could be such a good wife to you.", she whispers leaning in further, "Our statuses match, we've known each other since childhood. We compliment each other so well Cheol--"

Seungcheol holds her hands to remove them off his chest and turns his face to the other side.

"You're my best friend Jiah. I do love you but it has been always platonic."

Seungcheol was unaware of Jiah's feelings till late, until one night at the product launching party she had too many drinks which made her surprisingly courageous to confess her actually feelings for him. Seungcheol was shocked but being a gentleman he was, he had fully sobered up Jiah before rejecting her. Since then she has been open about her advances, never missing any chances.

Jiah fumes, her gaze is fiery, "So could marry a woman who cheated on you but you wouldn't marry your best friend?"

Seungcheol is ticked off at the mention of past, there's an instant burning in his chest as those painful memories flash at the back of his mind.

"We're done with the same discussion.", Seungcheol gets up and grabs his coat. He walks off and turns back when reaches the door, "I'm going to marry Y/N because I have some scores to settle with her and no one can stop the wedding from happening."

"I have been working on this piece for the last three months and almost got it done", Seungkwan pauses and looks at you with somewhat dull eyes, "But it's not giving me that satisfaction."

You could feel the hesitancy from your comrade and that worries you as well. Seungkwan is your friend from academy days. You had joined a music academy because of having a knack for musical instruments. That's when the realisation had gnawed on you that you'd rather do music and that's where you met Seungkwan who comes from a well established family as well. You had decided not to pursue the family business but rather pursue music. Though your parents were disappointed but they'd never compromise with your wishes so gradually they embraced it. Thanks to Seungkwan who had played a major role in convincing your parents as he had gone through that phase before you did.

Now you both are co-founders of the 'Melodease' music academy. You have always believed Seungkwan to be an prodigy, there are very less instruments that he doesn't knows of or can't play. But he masters in playing piano and your instrument, coin it as coincidence, is cello which goes best with Piano. You both complement each other well, the trophy cabinet in your academy says it all.

The academy is curated by the both of you with passion and care. The faculties, the students as well as the other staffs, all see you both with utter respect.

"You know you could directly ask me to dive in instead of saying these same lines everyday.", you roll eyes and hear a dramatic gasp.

"Stop over reacting, diva.", you speak out as soon as you see him open his mouth.

The diva in question just pulls a neutral expression like a switch flipped and gets straight to the point, "I need you to incorporate your part and well I'd suggest you to work towards the bridge. Just an opinion though, take your time and come up with something."

You nod and ask him, "Do you have to take anymore class today?"

"Nope but I do have to be somewhere today.", Seungkwan quickly adds, "So I'll be on my way now."

Your face falls and it doesn't go unnoticed by him. He steps closer and pays your head fondly, "Sorry Y/N, I'd have skipped it if I could but it's really important."

You squint eyes, "I didn't even say anything."

Seungkwan laughs and turns to collect his belongings, "And since when did you have to speak it out loud for me to get you?"

After Seungkwan bids you goodbye for the day, you pull out your phone and call Seungcheol knowing he won't pick up, unless you call him a minimum of five times. Still that isn't going to stop you so you're calling him and much to your surprise he picks up after a ring.

"I want to meet you.", that's the first thing you say.

"Why?", he asks monotonously.

"You'll know once we meet."

"Fine, meet me at my house in an hour.", he says and hangs up.

"So what did you want to talk about?", Seungcheol asks twirling the glass of wine between his fingers.

Your hands are laid flat on the door to ceiling windows, your eyes trace the busyness of the city that settles at the pit.

A long sigh escapes your lips before you speak, "We're getting married in two weeks."

Seungcheol doesn't respond.

Eyes still trained on the view infront, you say, "Do you really want this marriage, want it as much as I do?"

"I do want it and you very well know why.", Seungcheol scoffs, "And I very well know you want to marry me for my fame and status. You can feed people with all that you love me nonsense, I'll buy none of it."

You let out a bitter chuckle, "Marriages are not meant for revenge, Seungcheol. If we're gonna do it, let's do it right or not do it at all."

"Backing out was never an option, Y/N.", Seungcheol sets down the glass and walks up to you. Standing beside you now, his gaze strains on you. His octave drops as he speaks through gritted teeth, "I'll make you go through the hell that I have been through for all these years because of you. This marriage...", he snickers, "will never mean anything to me. I'll...", he closes you off between the window and himself, "I'll make you divorce me. You'll beg me to free yourself from this so called marriage."

You shudder under his presence as tears keep pooling at your eyes.

"Hope you'll have a change of heart.", you say through tears, "I hope you'd give us a chance."

Seungcheol infuriates upon hearing you, he punches the window glass but you don't flinch.

"Too bad, what you're hoping for would never be true because I know you too well.", and suddenly he backs up.

An ominous silence follows.

Too early to get heartbroken, you repeat again in your head as you grab your clutch and walk out his study, walk out of his house.

It's the big day and you know that nothing is alright but one thing that keeps you at bay is knowing how much Seungcheol wants this marriage to happen, the reason maybe completely different to yours, you can bet on not being left alone at the altar. Seungcheol won't bail out at least.

With all sorts of anything but pleasing thoughts, you are sitting in front of the vanity. Unarguably the wedding of the year, all the influential people of the country as well as from overseas would be gracing their presence. And that's where you are loosing it.

You have never liked the spotlight, always avoiding it. Still you were known well in the society not because of your family business, not as your parents daughter, rather as a musical genius and you are proud of it.

The thought of all those curious, envious and judging eyes that would target you as soon as you walk down the aisle is enough to make you sick.

There's a knock on the door and through the mirror you could see the source that would actually make you sick, Jiah walking in.

Before she could even speak, you cut her off saying, "Lend me a hand.", as you grab your beautiful wedding gown.

Jiah, though agitated, does as asked and when you're stood on your feet, you smirk at her.

"Oh you poor little thing, couldn't stop the wedding after all.", you tut, feigning sadness.

"Do you think your marriage would be relevant?", she fumes, "Seungcheol would never love you."

"Just because you got away with what you did years ago, don't assume you'd get away this time.", you threaten her, "Years ago your plan of breaking us up worked but for what?"

"You will--"

"Even after breathing on his neck for years, you couldn't do shit honey. Seungcheol is marrying me.", the smirk on your lips returns, "Oh and I have been wanting to do this for long since no one's here, I'll spare you some of your non existent prestige and do it now."

And before Jiah could comprehend you slap her hard across her face, strong enough that she stumbles to the side.

"How dare you!", Jiah screams holding her cheek.

"What are you gonna do?", you snicker, "complain to Seungcheol? Sure, go ahead and see if this could stop the wedding from happening."

You take your phone and walk to her, holding it up for a selfie which comes out nice, meaning you look beautiful.

"Get lost now.", you say going back on your seat, "I've wasted enough time on you my special day."

"You'll regret it, Y/N! Seungcheol would never be yours.", she snaps and utters some more nonsense but when you don't lend an ear to any of it and she stomps out.

Mingyu, Seungkwan and Eunsoo walk in some moments after Jiah walks out and you could see their comical expressions through the mirror.

"I have recorded all of it.", Seungkwan says proudly.

"Send it to us", Mingyu says and who is Seungkwan to deny it.

"I recorded what you did as well", Seungkwan says to Eunsoo.

"And what did you do?", you ask turning to look at her.

"Oh nothing she just tripped and fell down because I extended my leg when she was walking past me.", Eunsoo relays casually but you could see how proud she is.

You just smile and sit quietly. Your friends catch on to the mood shift and immediately aid you the comfort. Only after ensuring you're feeling better they leave to check on some arrangements.

It's almost time you think, the uneasiness that has settled at the pit of stomach never goes away.

"Aren't you marrying the love of your life? So what's with that long face?"

Your lips curl up instantly on hearing your brother's voice.

"You got Mom and Dad worried", Chan says lightly, "They sent me saying that it's looking like you're a moment away from breaking down."

"And what if I am?", you say looking down.

"Then cancel the wedding.", he says in a beat with utmost seriousness.

"But you won't do that. I know how strong willed you are.", he continues, "You'll get through all of it.", he caresses your back, "And you know if things get hard, you have us, always."

"Always.", you acknowledge and hug him.

"Let's get going lovely bride, it's time.", Chan says helping you get up and you hook your arm within his. He walks to the gigantic door where your father is standing.

When Chan tries to hand you over to your father for the walk, you don't unhook your arm and your father gets you so he's beside you, with your another arm hooked within his.

The door opens and the three of you walk in. People who know you, know that you are beautiful are taking in how breathtaking you appear to be. People who are seeing you for the first time are starry eyed. People who were unsure, envious are starting to accept that you do complement the nation's heartthrob, Seungcheol.

Your gaze grazes as you walk by. You shake your head at your mother softly when you see the tears falling from her eyes. Smile wide when Mingyu behaves like a puppy wagging his tail as he's beaming with Eunsoo trying her best to keep him at bay. You urge to roll eyes get stronger when Seungkwan mouths you something scandalous and in the next moment goes back to wiping his imaginary tears.

You had saved him for the last gaze because you knew once he's in your sight it, a gaze off from him would be impossible for you. And finally you look at him, your groom, the man who you'd call your husband, Seungcheol.

Not letting the disappointment get to you when you don't find him looking at you already, you reach the altar smiling.

There's an impeccable tension between Seungcheol and Chan and before any one of them could snap your father hands you over to Seungcheol and ushers off quickly with your brother.

It's nothing embarrassing you think, as you gape at Seungcheol. You never thought you'd get to see him this close, get to touch him again. He's close, so close that your heart is thumping. Your fingertips graze lightly as they are wrapped around his arm. You breathe in his scent that you have known so well.

Seungcheol is smiling as if he's so happy. That's enough to fool people but not you. You notice how all those smiles are not quite reaching his eyes, how he's tapping his foot, a habit of his when he's unmindful.

There's a strange vision in his eyes when he looks at you. He even suppresses the urge to roll his eyes when you take the vows. It irritates you but you have to have patience of a saint if you wanna conquer. It's not like you were not warned.

Once all the rituals are done and you are announced as husband and wife, the crowd chants for you both to kiss. You are so sure Seungcheol would find a way out and never kiss you--

Suddenly you're grabbed by your hips and before you can react, you are being kissed, kissed hard by Seungcheol.

You as in whole short circuit but the screaming crowd alerts you back to your senses and as you start to kiss him back he pulls away with smirk.

You cock your brow as you pull him forward by his bow tie and steal a quick kiss leaving him flabbergasted.

Seungcheol smiles leaning in and through gritted teeth he says,

"Welcome to hell, my wife."

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[katebishopsbow]

SOMEDAY IT WILL ALL BE OKAY • MAX VERSTAPPEN

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader (platonic)

summary: watching kevin and his daughter, laura, playing together at the paddock makes you emotional as you remember the love that you never get to receive growing up. max is here to remind you that your past doesn't define you, and one day you will be okay.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, daddy issues, mentions of absent parent

word count: 3.1k

author's notes: based on the real-life event of me tearing up when i saw that video of kmag's daughter playing with his visor. healing my own daddy issues one fic at a time :)

(image is not mine)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Kevin Magnussen is a great dad.

People can say whatever they want about his driving – aggressive and maybe a little dangerous sometimes – but there is no denying that he is an amazing father who puts his daughters above all else. The Dane is always joking about how his two little troublemakers have been giving him a constant headache, but the rest of the grid knows that he would do just about anything for his girls.

Occasionally, Louise likes bringing Laura and Agnes to the track to see their dad at work. Being a Formula 1 driver with all the hectic schedules and non-stop traveling means that family time together can often be difficult to come by, so Kevin cherishes all the time he gets to be as present in their lives as possible. 

The drivers all love it when the Magnussens visit the track, not only because Laura and Agnes are the sweetest little angels ever, but also because they get to witness the rare sight of Kevin “tough guy” Magnussen shedding his hard exterior and tease him about the heartwarmingly softer side he displays to his family. 

And while you would never admit this out loud, somewhere residing deep within you is envious – envious of this kind of love that you never got to receive. Sometimes when you look at Kevin interacting with his daughters – just sometimes – you find yourself wondering what it would be like to have a father who is present, who genuinely cares, who loves you with everything they have so much that you never have to doubt your worthiness.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You were standing with a few other drivers at the track, idly chatting about the upcoming race and your holiday plans now that the winter break is right around the corner when Kevin suddenly saunters nearby, holding the hand of the most adorable little girl. “Laura, come say hi!” he kneels down and says to her, sporting the biggest and most loving smile on his face as his daughter gives a shy little wave to the crowd of drivers before her.

“Hey there, Laura,” you wave at her, settling on a simple greeting since you have never been particularly great with children. “Hello, little one!” Lando greets with a wide grin as he offers Laura a fist bump, and the girl explodes into giggles when he pretends to yelp in pain at how hard Laura fist-bumped him. Classic Lando – always so good with kids.

“She’s got quite the punch, doesn’t she?” Kevin jokes while he chuckles at the sight, admiring the joyous smile on Laura’s face with the tenderest gaze he only reserves for his daughter. Becoming a father is the best thing that has happened to him, and he thanks the stars every day for being blessed with such precious gifts of life. Laura and Agnes – his biggest pride and joy.

“Here to be dad’s little assistant, Laura?” Max asks, his nose scrunching up in an adoring smile like the way it always does when he speaks to Penelope. The little girl nods bashfully before running to hide behind her dad, holding onto his hands as if he is her safe place, her rock.

Kevin laughs at his daughter’s endearing shyness, picks her up and envelops her in his embrace before placing a kiss on her rosy, chubby cheeks. “You’re the best assistant in the entire world,” he whispers softly, adoration swimming in his eyes while Laura lets out a giggle at her father’s words. The drivers around them cannot help but smile along with them – how can they not at such a heartwarming sight? 

Yet watching Kevin’s doting smiles and the way he looks at his daughter as if she is his entire universe, the initial warm fuzziness within you silently morphs into a dull ache that squeezes at your heart – an odd yet familiar feeling you know all too well. Despite your best efforts to push them away, your mind becomes clouded with hazy memories of the past – the painful past that has broken you and haunted you for years.

In the fogged-up memories of your childhood days, you were never at the receiving end of such an affectionate gaze. The only way your father has ever looked at you was indifference, annoyance, and a sense of uncaringness that tore your little heart up into pieces and left you wondering what you did wrong to be so undeserving of the fatherly love you yearned for. 

He never picked you up and hugged you as if you were a fragile treasure that he cherished. He never held your hand in a way that made you feel safe and certain that nothing could ever harm you because he would be your shield, protecting you from the world and its merciless cruelty. He never once made you feel loved and cared for, ignoring your attempts to gain his validation and approval because he loved himself and his ego more than he would ever love you. 

When you received good grades at school and showed him your report card with the rows of A’s, hoping that it would help you get his approval, he didn’t praise you. In fact, he didn’t bother saying anything. He simply gave you a half-hearted nod before shifting his attention back to the damned television screen in front of him, some uninteresting TV show that never should have mattered more than his daughter. So you stuffed the tear-stained report card back into your school bag, uncaring that it got crushed and crumpled, because in the end your hard work and effort didn’t matter. It never did.

When you had a rough day at school and came home with tears running down your cheeks, your father looked at you for a second, rolled his eyes and walked away. So that night you cried yourself to sleep as you soaked through your pillows with your wallowing tears, wishing that your dad could wrap you in his arms and tell you that everything would be okay. You knew that he could hear your sobs across the hallway, but chose to ignore you anyway. You wondered if he hated you that much, or was it simply because he never even cared to begin with?

And when he finally gathered all his belongings and disappeared from your life once and for all, you surprised yourself when you didn’t cry at the sight of the now-empty house. You had just felt empty and lonely – so painstakingly lonely. The kind of loneliness that seeped into your bones and slithered along your veins and consumed your soul. 

As you grew older, you became familiarized with that emptiness – comfortable with it even. You begin to find yourself pushing people away when they get too close, keeping most at arm's length because that seems like the safest option, breaking your own heart before others can do it because you never want to experience the same heartbreak your father has put you through.

Despite how painful it is, you hold onto that loneliness like a lifeline because how could you not when that’s the only thing you know? How could you love when you don’t even know what it feels like?

Even though it had been years since your dad had left, the emptiness he had left behind never seemed to fade away. They say time heals all wounds, but you call that bullshit, because then why does it still hurt like a fresh stab into the heart? 

Too deep in your storm of thoughts, you don’t realize the tears brimming in your glossy eyes and the way your lips quiver ever so slightly. “Hey… you okay there?” Charles, who is standing beside you, gives you an affectionate pat on the shoulders and whispers hushedly in your ear, worried at your sudden change in demeanor. Quickly nodding your head, you answer him with the best smile you can manage, “Yeah, just remembering some things.”

While most of the drivers still have their focus on Kevin and Laura, a few have also noticed your red-rimmed eyes and quietness. “What’s wrong?” Lando mouths the question silently toward you, eyes wide in concern as he tries not to shift everybody’s attention toward you. You shake your head and mouth “nothing” in reply to him as discreetly as possible, not wanting to ruin the group’s mood with your sudden sentiments. 

As much as you want to stay, you simply need to get away for a moment to recollect your thoughts. “Uh – There’s something I need from my driver’s room, so I’m gonna head off,” you hurriedly blink away the tears and put on the best smile – a skill you learned to master after years of being in the public’s eye. You hope that the excuse you just blurted out is somewhat believable, and you quickly disappear into the distance after your fellow drivers bid you goodbye. 

While making a beeline for your driver's room, you cannot help but feel so embarrassed, so guilty for the sudden burst of emotions that erupted in your chest moments ago. “What is wrong with me?” you mumble hushedly to yourself as you make your way to the garage – irritated and beyond annoyed at yourself that the mere sight of Kevin with his daughter is enough to bring you to tears. 

This isn’t something new to you. It isn’t the first time a good father-daughter relationship has made you tear up. Movies, TV shows, song lyrics – you always get so emotional when you allow yourself to get lost in your thoughts, thinking too deeply about the painful reminders of the love that you never have. 

It makes you feel stupid, because how broken do you have to be that trivial things like these are enough to make you cry? And it makes you feel scared, so utterly scared, because what if you were too broken to ever be capable of loving someone this much, too damaged to ever receive love despite yearning for it, and end up pushing away everyone who cares about you for the rest of your life.

When you arrive at your driver's room, you take a seat in the corner, breathing in and out while the self-blaming thoughts inside your head spiral in full force. This is so stupid, you are being stupid, and you hate yourself for being a fool and letting your past trauma affect you like this. Why were you even crying? There is nothing to be crying for. Stop. You need to stop.

Then you hear someone calling your name, voice faint and soft behind the door – Max. “You feeling okay?” he asks, and your delayed response and trembling voice as you answer him, “I’m fine.” are a clear enough indicator that you are far from okay. “Alright, I’m gonna come in now.” A sigh of mixed emotions falls from your lips – annoyance that you never seem to be able to lie to the man, and gratefulness that he always understands what you really need, and right now it is the company of your best friend.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says to you, eyebrows ceasing in sadness when he notices the expression on your face. Max hates seeing you like this, especially knowing the reason behind your tears is your absent father – someone who will never be worthy of having you cry over him. 

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your race suit, guilt weighing heavily on your chest as you apologize, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to ruin the mood back there. Did the other drivers notice?” Max shakes his head with a frown, refusing to let you blame yourself for something you should never feel guilty for. “You don’t have to be sorry, you did nothing wrong.”

“I don’t even know why I am crying, honestly. Why am I still so angry and sad after all these years? It’s like… am I always going to be like this, broken? Will the hurt ever go away?” you explain truthfully to him while trying to piece your muddle-up thoughts together, yet you struggle to put them into words. How can you begin to explain the years of trauma your dad has left behind? How can you describe the mess of emotions you have for him – the hatred, the resentment, and the fact that you still love and miss him so much even after everything he has done to you?

You don’t need to, because Max understands, he always does. One of the reasons why you two became close quickly is because you share a similar, troubled past – something that is rather unfortunate to bond over, you would argue, but it brings you a great friend nonetheless. Max’s father isn’t exactly absent like yours – Jos Verstappen is still quite prominent in his life, along with his abusive and manipulative ways of raising his kids which he would vehemently deny and claims to be “tough love” instead.

Even though he is there, it doesn’t change the painful truth that the presence of his father has ruined Max. For years, he thought being violent was the way to solve problems because his dad always seemed to be able to solve his with his fist. He used to believe that you had to be perfect to be deserving of good things in life because he grew up with the punishment of “no dinner” if he had performed poorly in a race. He didn’t know if he would ever be capable of loving someone, and then he met Kelly and Penelope.

“You know… when I first met Penelope, I was terrified. I was scared that I could never be a good enough father figure for her, that I was too ruined to show her the love she deserved to have. But then I saw her, and then I realized I love her more than anything,” he confesses as he places himself to sit beside you, a reminiscent smile dancing on his lips while he remembers his first time meeting Penelope, the little girl who has become his family.

He remembers the suffocating fear of ending up like his father when he first held the hands of little Penelope, mind plagued with all the horrible what-ifs. What if he was a terrible dad? What if he couldn’t ever love Penelope? What if he was just like Jos Verstappen and ended up destroying her childhood with his anger and temper the way his dad had with his?

Then Penelope gave him a sweet smile, her tiny hand holding onto his pinky as she looked into his eyes with such trust and comfort, as if she knew that Max would love her more than anything in the world. Max genuinely thought he was going to cry, his heart surging with an overwhelming amount of love and determination to protect the little girl in front of her and give her the home she and Kelly deserve to have, and that’s when he knew that he had nothing to be afraid of – that he was going to do better than his father.

“Listen, kiddo. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, it just makes the pain bearable. But there will be a day when your wound will still be there – it always will be there – but the pain and the hatred will no longer consume you. And you will realize that you can be better and stronger than your past, that you can break the cycle, that you are deserving of such unconditional love too.” You listen quietly to your best friend’s answer, exhaling a relieved sigh at the words you so desperately need to hear, giving you hope that despite all your trauma, one day you will be able to love with such certainty as well.

You are never too broken to love or be loved. You are not damaged goods that need repairing. You are not a monster for being intimidated by love and affection, for pushing people away even though you want more than anything for them to stay. You just need to allow yourself to heal from the hurtful past, to understand that your past trauma does not define you. You need to allow yourself to feel, to accept the depths of your emotions, to understand that your sadness and anger are always valid. You need to believe that you will be better than your father, that you will not follow in his footsteps, and that you deserve to be loved just as much as anyone else. 

Feeling sentimental over this doesn’t make you stupid or a fool, it just makes you human. It is okay to cry over it, to be sad over it, as long as you remember that one day – while things will never be perfect –  it will certainly get better. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Max tells you with a smile, reaching for your hand to give it a comforting squeeze, and you believe him. For once in a very long time, you genuinely believe that everything is going to be okay. The impact your father has on you will always be there. You can never wipe away the hurt and awful things he has done to you, nor can you simply erase the simultaneous love and hatred you hold for him, but one day you will learn to move on and find closure, and you are going to be okay, just like Max said.

There is a knock on the door, and you can hear your name being called again, this time in the soft and squeaky voice of a little girl. “I’m here,” you answer, and peeking behind the gap in the door is Laura with a cheeky grin on her face. Kevin leads her inside your driver's room with an apologetic smile, “Hey, sorry… Laura says she wants to play with you and insists that I bring her here.” 

You watch as Laura crawls up into the seat next to you and Max, looking at you with the brightest toothy little grin ever, and your lips begin pulling up into a huge smile as well. “Is it okay if she plays here for a while? I’ve got a team meeting in 5 and she never likes coming to those…” Kevin asks apologetically before relief floods his expression when you answer him, “It would be lovely to have a little playdate with Laura.”

“Alrighty, see you later little one,” Kevin leans down to place a kiss on his daughter’s head, reminding her to be a good kid when he is away for the meeting, and you smile at the sight. Not an envious one, or a reminiscent one, but one of contentment because you know that one day you will be able to receive and give such unconditional love to someone too.

Someday, it will be okay. You will be okay.

[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

A Second Chance, A Father's Curse - Part 1 (Ryomen Sukuna X Reader)

This is part of my Royal AU, the first I'm writing for it, there may be inconsistencies between each different fic set within the universe including but not limited to which damn clan does Sukuna belong to, but I'm sure it'll be fine :))

also i hope the family tree kinda makes sense, i can make a separate post showing the different clans and their family trees if needed

Warnings: mentions of an affair, brief mentions of abuse but nothing explicit

Word count: 3.1k

When the boy first showed up everything had been good, a new son had been born into the Itadori clan, the royal family was stronger than ever. This boy threatened to bring all of that down simply by existing. Jin Itadori was not known for his mercy, often ruthlessly leading swathes of knights into battles and leaving none alive, but this boy was no ordinary enemy. His own son, illegitimate, but still his flesh and blood. His wife said nothing when he brought the screaming baby into the nursery that was only meant for one, placing him beside Yuji in his large crib.

Kaori Itadori simply accepted what had been given to her and raised the boy as her own, despite the neglect and clear favoritism shown from Jin to his alleged twin sons. The two were almost identical despite the fact they had different mothers, which was how the lie was able to be carried so easily through their lives. Ryomen knew, he had always known, and he’d hated almost everyone for it. The only people he couldn’t truly even pretend to hate were his adopted brothers, and he let everyone know this vehemently, shirking his duties and often hiding away from elaborate dinner parties or balls he did not want to attend.

Yuji’s heart broke for his brother, and of the five Itadori boys, only the eldest Choso knew of the predicament underlying the twins. The youngest, Eso and Kechizu, were born one after the other, three years apart, with significant health complications and therefore rarely appeared in public. The elder three were fiercely protective, especially Ryomen who’d had a taste of his father’s neglect and despised that Jin had turned it on his youngest sons. None of the three wanted to burden their younger brothers, they’d been told that the pair might not live to become adults, so they had always made sure the boys were well fed and happy.

Ryomen suffered in silence. His teachers could not quell his anger, the best sorcerers warned of his growing cursed energy levels, but nothing was ever done. Nothing really could be done. By the time he turned nineteen he was undoubtedly the strongest of the Itadori boys, and his father was adamantly trying to wed him off to a different kingdom. Ryomen didn’t care, the faster he got out of Khoccadia the better in his opinion. He spent his days training in combat with the knights, including the captains of both the Shadow and Blood units, Megumi Fushiguro, and Takuma Ino.

Megumi Fushiguro interested him, the man was his age, his twin brother’s personal bodyguard, and he had the inherited cursed technique of the Zenin clan, the royal family of a neighbouring kingdom. His unit, aptly named the Shadows, were a small close knit group of Shikigami summoners, led by a wielder of the undisputed king of Shikigami techniques. This made him both an outsider and a refugee, having been forced to prove his loyalty a thousand times over, including regaining the trust of the royal family after his technique was revealed during an attack on the kingdom where he had to unleash his power to protect Yuji.

The other captain, Takuma Ino, wasn’t as interesting or close to him, but still a formidable ally and opponent, having first trained under the royal sorcerer Kento Nanami, before his technique proved to be more useful on a battlefield than overseeing curses. Ryomen often found himself sitting with the pair post-sparring, looking out over the training grounds within the castle walls, and asking himself where he would go if he decided to run. He knew he wouldn’t get far, his cursed energy was much too unique, Nanami would be able to find him with no trouble. His only way out would be this arranged marriage, and he had to be sure it was far far away from here.

This is what eventually lead to Jin Itadori hosting a ball and inviting many of the leaders of nearby nations to attend with their daughters, royal, political, and otherwise. Few invites were sent out past the neighbouring nations, but Ryomen had to be sure, so he had insisted under the cover of lies that his father’s orders had the invitations sent further. When the day of the ball arrived, Ryomen was reluctantly dolled up in a luxurious maroon suit, his hair styled with earrings and cufflinks to match. When he met up with Choso and Yuji, he saw they were dressed similarly to him, but Yuji’s suit is a deep pink and Choso’s a dark purple.

“Don’t we just look a treat,” Ryomen huffed, reaching up and adjusting Yuji’s collar slightly. “They were chosen by mother,” Choso looks away and Ryomen finds himself almost apologising. It wasn’t her fault, she was a victim of the system just as he was, but he shakes it off. “You okay?” Yuji mumbles, giving his brother the same outfit once over. The twins had always known what would make each other look the best, Ryomen let him fuss with his hair a little before swatting his hands away. “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay, I can’t wait to get the hell out of here so I never have to see him again,” He growls. Choso checks his watch as they approach the upstairs entry to the ballroom, the laughter and chatter behind it dying down as someone announces their arrival.

“I hope you find someone,” Yuji squeezes his hand for a brief moment before Ryomen can pull away or protest, dropping his hand before the door swings open and the three of them are revealed to the eyes below. Choso in the centre with his brothers flanking, there are smiles of all kinds as they descend the stairs. Some genuine, some scheming, others that don’t quite reach the eyes of their owners.

Ryomen Itadori doesn’t get nervous, but in this moment he finds his eyes searching for Kaori Itadori. She returns his gaze from her place on the ballroom throne and nods once. This party is for him, it’s his ticket out of here, and it almost feels to him like she’s lending him her strength. The strength to do what she never could. When the three of them reach the bottom of the stairs, his brothers disperse into the crowd to find dance partners, and Ryomen finds himself alone surveying what he can see. The only clan tattoos he recognises around the edges are those belonging to the Zenin clan, the Gojo clan, the Kamo clan and that of the Creyarean district, which is a political power and not run by a royal or empirical clan.

There are a few tattoos he does not recognise, he assumes from further out on the continent, and one in particular draws his gaze. A kindly looking couple, king and queen, with matching filagree tattoos over their facial features, most prominent on their jawline, cheeks, across the nose and in the centre of their foreheads. No other family has tattoos that bold, the closest in comparison is the Kamo clan with a jagged X over the right eye, and he finds himself curious as to their origins. “Brother! I’d like you to meet someone,” Yuji’s voice suddenly cuts into his wandering thoughts and he scoffs, “Leave me alone Yuji,” He grunts, but his brother barges into his space, his mouth right next to his ear as he utters the words that could be Ryomen’s salvation.

“Her family comes from miles away, three kingdoms over!” Yuji hisses. His gaze flits to the girl who stands holding Yuji’s hand, looking like she’s just been dragged at a brisk Itadori walk across half the ballroom (Which she had been). His brother drops her hand as he steps back and presents her, “Allow me to introduce Y/n L/n, of the Iqorian Empire,” Unmarried, she does not bear her parents tattoos, but there are two thick black bands around both her wrists which could be a hint at early clan tattoos that don’t decorate the face.

She curtseys and he feels his demeanour soften slightly, taking her hand which still hovers unsure before her to press a light kiss to the back of it. He keeps his face painfully neutral as he studies her features, her e/c eyes traveling back up to meet his. “Lovely to meet you, Miss L/n, Ryomen Itadori,” He introduces himself politely, though he knows that she must already know who he is, given his brother has a tendency to babble. She uses her free hand to fix her h/c hair before giving him a polite smile, “Some party your parents cooked up, is the potential marriage for diplomatic purposes?” She asks. He clenches his jaw slightly, his gaze scanning the crowd as he instinctively pulls her slightly closer.

His father’s face is dark and sinister, his eyes locked on Ryomen but his mind elsewhere, “You could say that,” He replies, “But I would say it’s freedom,” Her eyes widen and he steels himself, she must be able to sense the years of neglect and abuse on him, he knows he reeks of it, but if she does she doesn’t mention it, “I see,” She murmurs, “Well, would you like to dance?” He looks at her like she’s grown an extra head for a moment, but Yuji punches his side and he blinks, “Yes yes, of course, that would be nice,” His words drift away and he becomes eternally grateful for the dancing lessons Kaori forced him to endure as he leads the girl out into the centre of the dance floor.

The night passes by quicker than he would have liked it to, despite stepping into the ballroom like a caged wolf with the taste of freedom on his tongue. He comes to learn from the girl his brother introduced to him that the royal couple he didn’t recognise, with the outlandish filagree tattoos, are her parents, and he is hooked from that moment on. You of course know there is something he is hiding, but his sudden interest in your clan tattoos brings a soft smile to your face as you look over to your parents. They seem to be overjoyed that you’ve caught the attention of the Itadori son up for grabs, but you know there’s more to it considering the fact that he should be the second in line, and yet is being married out of his family into another.

“I am certain we will be seeing one another again, Miss Y/n,” He murmurs as he presses one last kiss to the back of your hand, his fingers tracing one of the black lines on your wrist. You grab his arm before he can turn away, “Ryomen,” You murmur in response, “Sir, are you in trouble here?” He does not reply, his gaze is hard, but you feel a lack of response is enough for you to fill in the gaps.

He’s not welcome in his family, and you’re determined to get him out and then find out why, even if it means ruining any diplomatic relationship Iqoria could have with Khoccadia. You omit the fears you hold close to your chest when your parents demand to know how your night went, they were watching and already knew you were the only one Ryomen Itadori spent his night with. This is a golden opportunity, he is already well known throughout the continent as the strongest Itadori son, he would be a priceless addition to any family, and nobody else seems to be questioning the fact his father doesn’t seem to want him to stay.

A foolish decision, considering the fact his cursed energy swamped the entire ball from the moment he entered the room, just barely discernible from that of your parent’s royal sorcerer, Satoru Gojo, who came to meet with other royal sorcerers in attendance. You are reunited with Suguru Geto, your personal guard and the Captain of the Iqorian Guards, after conversing with your parents. He escorts you back to the room provided to you within the Itadori’s castle for the night, “I take it the night went well, your highness?” He asks as he follows you in.

You find yourself unable to respond, chewing on your thumbnail as you sit at the dresser, leaning your head on your free hand. Lost in thought you don’t hear him approach until his hand is on your shoulder, “What ails you my lady?” “He’s tormented,” You murmur, “Prince Ryomen, he’s trapped, and something is very wrong with this family,” His face reflected in the mirror is one of soft confusion, and you find you can’t hide anything from him. He’s trained you your whole life, and you trust him sometimes more than you trust your parents, he’s like a second brother to you, “I asked if he was in trouble, and I fear a lack of response or denial is enough to ascertain the danger, I must marry him if he is to survive with his humanity intact,”

Geto frowns and grips your shoulder slightly, “I will call for your maids, this stays between us,” He announces, “Sleep well your highness,” “Where are you going?” “To let your parents know I am in full support of this marriage, he’s incredibly strong after all,” His face is sly as a fox and you find yourself speechless, “He’ll be a great asset if we give him the chance,” Once he is gone you find comfort in the knowledge of his support, thus allowing you to slumber in peace.

When the morning arrives, you find yourself swept up in preparations for the wedding, which you find after questioning the closest maid is to be held that very day. His father must be desperate to get rid of him before he becomes a problem, and you’re more than willing to let Kaori Itadori and her maids along with yours fawn over you and dress you in the finest white dress you’ve ever seen. You’re understandably nervous, your parents dropped by only once that morning to tell you what you already knew about the conversation they shared with Ryomen’s parents, but they also said once the wedding was over you’d be leaving for home almost immediately.

This was, surprisingly, not the most shocking thing you’d heard all morning. It fell just behind the fact that it would be Geto and not your father who would be walking you down the aisle, a few of your closest maids acting as bridesmaids. This is to go along with a Khoccadian custom involving the parents of both spouses, while also incorporating the ‘giving away’ portion from Iqorian marriages. Ryomen’s mother wraps her arms around you quickly outside the throne room before she pushes a bouquet of red roses into your hands, tears in her eyes, “Take care of him,” She whispers, her eyes intense and so full of sadness you think you may cry too. You nod, words escaping you as you turn to the throne room, the music floating out at you different to the wedding music back home.

It dawns on you as the doors open to reveal you to the crowd that you don’t know Ryomen Itadori. You don’t know his favourite food, you don’t know his favourite hobbies, you don’t know what he likes in a partner, you don’t even know what his relationship with his brothers is like. It’s too late to wonder, as you clutch the bouquet in your hand and link your other arm with Geto who has just appeared at your side. His presence helps to calm your nerves, but you’re still antsy as you approach the front of the room where Ryomen waits for you, looking equally antsy but for a different reason.

You know he wants out, and you’re his ticket, you just have to get through the next hour of formalities. The crowd is never truly silent during your ceremony, there’s always a low hum of chatter, but it doesn’t disturb or deter the continuance of the ceremony. You can feel Jin Itadori’s eyes on you almost the entire time and you endeavour to ignore him as best you can, focusing on the feeling of Ryomen’s hands in yours. You take the time before and during vows to study his face, the way he scrunches his nose sometimes or crosses his eyes to make you smile. It works, and he squeezes your hands to add reassurance to the moment, until finally you’re pronounced as husband and wife, and without even a second thought or hesitation he pulls you into him, pressing his lips to yours.

You’re breathless, your hands clutching his biceps, barely hanging onto the threads of your discipline before he pulls you into him for a hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” He mutters against your ear, kissing the side of your head as the crowd cheers and his words are lost in the cacophony of sounds. You let your eyes speak a thousand words as you meet his gaze, smiling softly before finally speaking, “You’re safe now,” His shoulders relax as the two of you turn to walk back down the aisle. Once out of the throne room, his brothers are there to greet him, and Yuji hugs him tightly, “Brother…” He murmurs, “Don’t forget us, you understand?” He grips the back of Ryomen’s head and presses his forehead to his twins, “Promise me?”

Ryomen blinks sadly, “I’ll come back for you,” He whispers. The two younger boys crowd between the twins and Ryomen holds them, the taller one seems quite physically weak, and the shorter one has not opened his eyes, but he holds them close. “How does Ryomen L/n sound?” He asks softly, “Fitting?” Yuji smiles, “For you? It’s perfect,” Just before the two of you can be whisked away by your maids, he grabs his elder brother’s hand, “Choso,” He forces the man to look him in the eyes, “Look after them, don’t let them end up like him, or me for that matter,” He growls, “Swear on your life,”

Choso nods, “I swear on my life,” Ryomen nods one final time, “I hope we’re all better people when we see each other again,” He says, words meant only for his brothers that you catch while ushering your maids away from the moment. His hand on your back is the only warning you get before he’s nudging you along the tidal wave of people who head to the main entrance.

A grand exit, the staircase long, carriages await at the bottom, and Ryomen’s freedom. A price paid a thousand times over, a dream finally allowed to come true, and a man desperately clinging to the bare threads of his humanity. The world gives him a lifeline in the form of a girl second in line to her kingdom’s throne, and he finds he remembers why he endured staying alive all those years. His real family, his only family, his brothers - and maybe even revenge.

twins sukuna/itadori lives rent free in my head because of this app so here's my royal spin on it :) I hope you enjoyed

part 2 here!

[sissylittlefeather]

A House That Has Everything: Chapter 1

A/N: New series! This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.

This is an AU set in regency England where Elvis is a gentleman with a large estate. Also introducing a new OC: Annabelle Martin. I hope you love their story! It's a looooong one, so settle in, friends.

Warnings: NONE YET, this will get smutty (obvi, have ya met me?), but it'll be a slow burn with lots of tension, so no real warnings other than I guess the mention of parents dying

Word count: ~1.9k

Annabelle takes a deep breath and arranges herself to knock on the large servant's door at the back of the great house. This is to be her first day at her new place of employment and to say she is nervous would be an understatement. She has undergone training as a maid, but this is her first real job. Her hope was to be married to some sweet farm boy before she needed to use these skills, but the death of her mother two years ago and her father last month has resulted in her current predicament. She is an orphan of no consequence with no one left to look after her and no marriage prospects. Thankfully, her aunt, a barmaid at the inn with some hidden connection to the family, secured this position for her at Graceland Manor. The letter she has clutched in her fist states she should report directly to the master himself. This is certainly unique as it is typically the housekeeper who would have hired her, but her aunt's connection is to Colonel Presley himself and not the staff. This is beyond unique, but she has learned not to question affairs of the heart when they happen to other people.

She lifts her trembling hand and raps her knuckles on the door. Nothing happens immediately, so she waits a few seconds and knocks again. Finally, the door swings open and a handsome young footman with sandy blonde hair and brown eyes greets her. He manages his initial shock when he realizes how pretty she is, her dark hair curled perfectly and blue eyes rimmed with feathery black lashes. His smile is genuine as he opens his mouth to speak.

"May I help you, miss?"

"I am Annabelle Martin. I'm here to see Colonel Presley about a position as a maid." His smile falls and he looks down at his feet, clearing his throat.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, miss." Her heart flutters with nervousness. She has nowhere else to go.

"I must, sir. Please."

"As much as I would love to take you to him, Colonel Presley died a week ago." She swallows hard.

"He... died?"

"Unfortunately so. A fever took him swiftly in less than a fortnight." Annabelle searches her mind for her next step. If this does not work out, she will be on the streets.

"May I see the housekeeper?"

"Mrs. Davenport?"

"Yes, I suppose. Please." He can read the desperation in her face.

"Alright then, come along." She follows as he opens the door wider and beckons her inside. He leads her to a small office and introduces her to Mrs. Davenport. Rather than trying to explain herself, Annabelle thrusts the letter forward for her to read. She watches as the older lady's eyes skim the words.

"Report directly to Colonel Presley himself?! Where did you get this?"

"My aunt delivered it. She said it was from Colonel Presley and that I should bring it and arrive on this date. Is it not in his handwriting?" Mrs. Davenport raises her eyebrows.

"It is." Annabelle breathes shakily as she watches the housekeeper try to come to a decision about what to do. "I will have to take you to the young master. I cannot make this decision when it is so clear what his father wanted, though for what reason I cannot understand. Come."

With that, Mrs. Davenport walks hastily out of the room through the kitchen and up the back stairs to the main level of the house. Annabelle does her best to keep her mouth closed as she takes in the overt splendor of the rooms. She's never been in a place like this with so much to see in every corner. She's so busy taking in the walls and furniture that she doesn't notice him at first. In fact, she hears him before she sees him, his smooth baritone echoing in the great hall.

"My father wanted what exactly?" When she does finally turn to look at him, her eyes widen. If she thought the home was stunning, it is nothing compared to the undeniable beauty of the man himself. His dark hair is windswept and falls perfectly on his forehead, just above eyes of the deepest cerulean. He has the bone structure of a Greek statue with thick brown lashes and heart-shaped lips that could be made of storm clouds. Eventually it dawns on her that he's speaking to her.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"What was it my father wanted with you?" He says it slowly like he thinks she might have difficulty comprehending.

"To offer me a position as a housemaid. He told my aunt there was an opening-"

"There is not. Not one that I am aware of. Molly and Sarah are still here?" He turns to the housekeeper and she responds affirmatively. "We have no need of you."

He turns dismissively, but Annabelle has no other option. She must appeal to him somehow.

"Please! Sir, I am an orphan. I have nowhere else to go." Initially, her impertinence catches him off guard, but when she mentions that her parents are dead, he turns back to her abruptly. He's all too familiar with that feeling now, his mother having died 25 years ago giving birth to him. His eyes rake over her face, seemingly searching for something.

"Fine. We will have a third maid. Give her the kitchen maid's room, since Mrs. Hall insists she doesn't need one." With that, he turns and walks from the room.

Mrs. Davenport turns back to Annabelle and huffs. It's clear she doesn't approve of the decision, but she cannot contradict the Master, even if he doesn't seem to know what he's doing in his new position. She begins the journey back down to the servants' quarters with Annabelle close behind her. When they reach their destination in the kitchen downstairs, she turns to Annabelle with her lips pursed.

"I suppose you have experience as a maid. Where else have you worked?" Annabelle swallows hard.

"No, ma'am. This is to be my first job."

"No experience?! How old are you?!"

"I'm 18, ma'am."

"How is this possible?"

"My father was a farmer. I worked with him there until he died last month. But I have trained." Mrs. Davenport scoffs. Just then, a young girl in a maid uniform with red hair and freckles bounces into the room.

"Molly! Come here and meet Annabelle, the new maid. You will be responsible for teaching her the role." Molly nods and walks over to Annabelle. She looks to be about fifteen.

"You haven't worked before?" Her eyes widen and Annabelle sighs.

"No, I haven't. But I'm a good worker. I'll learn quickly." Mrs. Davenport's eyes narrow.

"You had better. Now, go with Molly and put your things away. She will get you a uniform and you can begin after lunch." Annabelle nods and follows Molly up to the sleeping quarters, pausing at a closet to fetch two uniforms.

"Did she say which room will be yours? Surely she doesn't expect you to share with us." Molly says nervously.

"No, Mr. Presley said I should have the kitchen maid's room."

"You will have your own room?! Hm. I wonder what you've done to earn that privilege." Annabelle shrugs. She didn't choose this. Molly continues down the hallway to a room at the end of the corridor.

"This is you. We're right next door. And that-" she gestures to the door at the end of the hall next to Annabelle's door. "-leads to the house. It's locked from their side, so they can enter our quarters but we cannot go to theirs. Now put your things away, get changed, and come back down." Molly turns to walk away.

"Thank you." Annabelle calls out to her back. Molly nods curtly and takes off down the hallway again.

Annabelle goes into her room and begins to get settled. She looks around at the barren white walls, the simple frame bed, and small wardrobe. A sob threatens to choke her as she remembers her cozy little house on the farm with so many books and warm fires and comfortable furniture. She was only able to bring what she could carry in a small package, which means she had to leave all the books behind. Her heart aches thinking about them and the fact that she'll have nothing to read here. Perhaps she could ask Mr. Presley if she could use the library.

Mr. Presley. She doubts that he will say yes to anything she has to say. He spoke to her as if she were a child and treated her like she was less than that. He didn't even ask her name. It's true he softened a bit when she mentioned being an orphan, but it's not enough to counteract his rudeness. Maybe she's just not used to interacting with members of his social class and this is what she should expect from now on. Either way, she has no intentions of interacting with him again, if she can help it.

Then, she remembers that she's supposed to be changing and hastily dresses in the uniform Molly gave her. It's a little big, so she'll have to do some alterations tonight after dinner, assuming she's allowed a candle in her room and a needle and thread. She looks around the room and sighs, checking her reflection in the small round glass by the chamber pot. Finally, she makes her way back down the stairs to begin.

******

Mr. Presley stands at the window in the study, looking out over the grounds. How did this happen? He was not supposed to take over the estate for at least another decade. By then he should've been married with children, ready for this kind of responsibility. But now? At 25? He is nowhere near prepared.

Thankfully, the army granted him a leave to take care of things, but he still has two more years to serve before his term is complete and he can sell his commission. He might've liked to rise in the ranks, like his father had, to become a Colonel before this, but now he has no choice but to come home and manage the estate.

And then there's the matter of getting married. A house like this needs a lady to keep everything running smoothly. Besides that, the prospect of living in all these rooms completely alone is a daunting one. Of course the servants are there, but it's not like when he was a child and the strict lines between them were blurred behind the walls of the home. He cannot rely on them for companionship.

For some reason, thinking of companionship brings to his mind the new maid. She is painfully pretty, with her soft white skin and full pink lips. And there is an elegance about her that transcends her station, almost like she was born to be a lady but circumstance had other plans. He hadn't intended to hire her, but the knowledge that she has nowhere else to go made it impossible for him not to. Oh well. Obviously, it's what his father wanted and the estate can afford it. He tries to recall if he asked her name, but if he did he doesn't remember it.

He's shaken from his reverie about the maid when the butler interrupts and announces his lawyer, Mr. Crawford, come to discuss more details of the estate. Mr. Presley sighs and turns from the window. Will the responsibility of this new life never end?

******

To be continued...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity

[ughgoaway]

secret santa // day 1

content warnings; swearing, mention of boners, drinking?, pining and stressed matty lol

a/n; day 1 wooooo!!! For some reason, this is my longest fic i have for the 12 days, so we are starting with a bang, i guess?? I'm not totally sure how I feel about this fic... but tbh I never like anything I post, so that's not really new lol

word count; 4.2k

(this fic takes place pre-relationship)

12 days masterlist

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“Daddy!” is the first thing Matty hears when his daughter comes bounding into the house after school that day. Adam follows behind her with an exasperated look on his face, and her bright pink unicorn backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Hi mate, Annie has some very exciting news that she just can not stop talking about,” he says, stressing the fact that she just will not stop talking. Matty gives his friend an understanding nod as he takes his daughter's bag.

“Ah wow, how exciting! I can't wait to hear all about it,” Annie opens her mouth to talk, but Maty quickly cuts in before she can start, “After Uncle Adam leaves, okay? Say, thank you for picking me up to Uncle Adam!” 

Annie comes bounding up to Adam and hugs his legs. He can't help the smile that breaks out on his face. “Thank you, Uncle Adam!!” Annie says, looking up at him with that cheeky face he loves so much. Adam pats her head and waves to Matty before swiftly leaving to hang out with his much more peaceful son.

Matty manages to corral his daughter to sit at the kitchen table to share her very thrilling news, Annie is practically vibrating in her seat with excitement. Despite her palpable eagerness, Annie waited until Matty had sat down and given her a nod to start talking, something they had been working on.

As soon as she got the nod, words started vomiting out of Annie's mouth at a speed most people wouldn't be able to decipher. But if anyone was an expert on little Annie Healy, it was her dad.

“I get to do the Secret Santa!!” Annie eventually says, grinning so wide that Matty isn't sure her cheeks won't split. He pauses for a second, trying to process his daughter's words. How does she even know what secret Santa is?

“Oh wow, darling!” he says, fieigning happiness for his daughter, but his face tells another story, “That's great, sweetheart, but what does that mean exactly? Secret Santa with your friends? I thought we already got them presents?” Matty distinctly remembers about 2 hours in the Tesco toy aisle choosing out the perfect toy for each of her friends.

“Not for my friends silly,” Annie says sighing, as if her father's obliviousness was just so ridiculous, “for Miss y/n!!!” she smacks her hands on the table with a flourish, acting like this was an obvious piece of information.

Well, it certainly piqued Matty's interest. As did anything that involved your name, really. He remembers last month when someone got hired at Dirty Hit with the same name as you. Matty nearly got whiplash with how fast he turned when he first heard someone say “Y/n is here to see you!” The disappointment on his face must have scared the poor intern half to death. He quickly fixed his expression and was polite, but he felt his pulse racing under his skin.

“Ooh wow, munchkin, that's awesome! Did they give you a note or anything for me to have a look at?” Matty asks. He's sure they wouldn't trust a 6-year-old to relay this information.

Annie perked up at his words, “Oh yeah!” She says, jumping off her chair and scurrying over to her backpack. She unzips her bag and starts furiously pulling out different objects. Matty isn't sure how it all fits in. It's like Mary Poppins bag. She pulls out 5 books, 2 jumpers, 6 pieces of mystery paper, 2 toys (that she is not allowed to bring to school) and one of mayhems toys before she shrieks out an “Aha!” and in her hand is a crumpled pink slip of paper.

she brings it over to Matty excitedly and shoves it into his hand before straightening her back and puffing her chest out, clearly proud to have been chosen. Matty laughs at his daughter's infallible confidence before trying to straighten out the paper enough to read what's written.

“Okay let's see…” Matty says to himself, “Congratulations! If you have received this note, you have been chosen for our teacher's Secret Santa program! We at bridgeside school believe that our amazing teachers also deserve gifts this holiday season, so we choose one student from each teacher's class to be their Secret Santa. Don't worry, parents, there's a £10 limit so no need to go too wild! Students are picked based on enthusiasm and progress in school, so you should be proud to be picked! Please ensure all gifts are given to reception by Monday next week to allow time to distribute them. Thank you!” Matty finishes reading the note under his breath, and he can't help but grin to himself at the fact Annie was specially chosen.

He puts the paper down on the table and turns around to Annie, who is standing beside him with a nervous look on her face. Matty pauses for a few seconds before jumping and grabbing her, Annie shrieks at the sudden attack. He pulls her onto his lap and begins tickling all over her, revelling in her roaring laughter and infectious smile.

“Specially chosen, huh!” Matty says loudly to his daughter, still squeezing her tight in his arms and tickling where he can reach. Annie nods as best she can whilst being attacked with tickles, and Matty laughs at her gappy grin.

He soon lets up and leaves Annie sitting in his lap, looking happy as can be, “I know, Daddy!! The headmistress came to me today and said it because I've been trying so hard at my spelling!” she says, the look of pride on her face made mattys heart swell.

He remembers the late nights of practising her spelling. At the last parent’s evening, you had brought up Annie was falling behind a small bit in the weekly spelling tests. Not too much, but enough where some work at home would be beneficial. So Matty dedicated every Monday night as spelling night, and he and Annie sat and worked on it. He couldn't be happier that their hard work was recognised or that she's making such good progress.

It's then that the gravity of the situation at hand hits Matty. He has to buy a gift for you. For YOU. For the woman he… cares a great deal about. What does he buy? And for only £10! What good can he get with that? He didn't want to give you a shitty bottle of wine, this is his first opportunity to give you a gift and he wasn't about to fuck it up with a bad pinot.

Knowing he was about to spiral, Matty sent Annie off with a genuine smile and a quick hug. Annie being Annie, ran off oblivious to her dad's growing stress and began trolling around the house looking for mayhem. She had got some new hairclips in a magazine and was determined to give him a makeover.

Before he could go completely insane, Matty ran into the kitchen for his phone and just dialled the most recent number he called. Anyone would help right now, Matty was just sick of his own mind. 

“Hey Matty, you alright?” Ah, Adam, perfect. He was level-headed, a good dad, and knows how to deal with Matty’s hysteria. 

“Adam.” Matty starts in a disturbingly calm voice, “How could you just LEAVE when you knew what Annie was going to say?!?!” Matty scolded his best friend and was just met with the sound of laughter over the phone. 

“Why would I stay? It's no big deal, right? You have said on many occasions you feel totally neutral about Miss y/n, so I felt no need to stay” Adam teased, having had many conversations with Matty about his clear crush on you.

He first saw it at the school parent's day, he and Matty were casually chatting when you walked over and he saw his friend change in front of his eyes, suddenly becoming a lovesick 16-year-old. But Matty insisted he didn't have feelings for you, according to Matty he was “remarkably and totally neutral towards you”. 

Adam decided this news was a great way to test this theory. As soon as he heard Annie chattering on, he knew Matty would freak out, grab his phone, and call him. So when he got home, Adam simply made a cup of tea and sat down with his phone in his hand, waiting for a call. And 20 minutes later, his phone rang.

Silence is all Adam heard over the phone for a good few seconds, and he could almost see Matty weighing up his options with that scrunched-up face he does. He picked up his tea and loudly took a sip, reminding Matty of his presence.

On the other end of the line, Matty was doing exactly that. Does he embarrass himself and admit his feelings in exchange for help? Or does he fight to keep the last shred of dignity he had?

“Fine. I really really like her. Are you happy now?” Matty sighed, deciding that any dignity he might have had in the eyes of Adam died when he found him passed out in a bin with George at 19.

Adam grinned teasingly on the other side of the phone but decided to leave any real teasing for in person. It's just no fun when you can't see Matty's cheeks gradually turning more pink. “Okay. now that we've got that out of the way, what the fuck are you gonna get her?”

Matty scoffed at his friend's question, “Mate. Why the fuck do you think I'm calling? I have no idea!! I don't want to be boring and just get a candle and a bottle of wine.” Matty pauses thoughtfully for a moment before returning to his ramble, “although she does like candles. I remember her saying her apartment is covered in them, she even set off the smoke detector once. And she is always smelling like Jasmine so maybe that is her favourite scent? God she smells so good, you know I think her shampoo is apple and that mixed with-”

Adam cut Matty off before he started giving him your home address and national insurance number, “Dude how do you know what scent shampoo she uses? God, you're such a stalker. Don't go full Dahmer on this girl, yeah?” Adam jokes.

“It's not my fault she has nice hair! Anyway, shut up. You are not being helpful right now” Matty whines petulantly, and Adam realises he's actually freaking out about this. He decided it was time to go full dad mode and be supportive.

“Right, it's clear you know a lot about her, so why don't we focus on that? Do you know her favourite perfume or something? Maybe some jewellery she wants? I’m assuming you are not sticking to the £10 limit”

Matty simply scoffs, confirming Adam’s suspicion. Before he can continue throwing ideas at Matty, he hears him gasp, “I know what to get her!” Matty says excitedly.

Once again, silence falls over the two men, and Adam sighs, knowing what Matty wants, “and what is that, Matthew?” he says with sarcastic excitement filling his voice. 

Adam can hear the grin over the phone as Matty speaks, “I'm going to get her a copy of “The Little Prince” but a proper nice one, first edition in the original French and everything” he puffed out his chest in pride as he finished, despite no one being around to see him.

“A kid's book? Matty shes a teacher. I'm sure she's sick of kid’s books, why would you get her that? Does she even know French?” Adam can't help but think Matty saw a copy on her desk and just assumed she liked it. Maybe she was just teaching with it, and Matty took the idea and ran.

“No no, you don't get it,” Matty starts, “it was her favourite book as a kid. She was obsessed and read it cover to cover so many times the spine fell apart. She told me that this book is what made her want to teach. As soon as she read it, she went into her class the next day and did a whole presentation on it, read it to her whole class, and answered questions." Matty envisioned an 8-year-old you buzzing with excitement talking about the book, your teacher smiling and encouraging as you were blabbering on.

"She had a copy from her grandmother that she treasured, but it got lost in the jumble when she moved. It was in the original French, and she learnt French just to be able to read it. Nothing means more to her than this book.” As he finished, Matty noticed the massive grin on his face, something that was inevitable whenever he spoke about you.

He decided not to talk about the one time he actually heard you speak French, not wanting to share the experience of trying to hide a boner during a school-wide meeting and sneaking off to his car pretty quickly after it wrapped up.

Adam was taken aback by Matty's words. Who was this person, and what did he do to his best mate? He's pretty sure for his last situation-ships birthday, Matty got her a card with a bouquet of lilies. And she was allergic to lilies.

But here he was, considering things you loved in childhood, things that actually mean something to you. He had never seen Matty so infatuated with someone, remembering every little thing they ever said.

Matty was in love with you. 

“Fuck man you are whipped” is what Adam decided to say, not sure whether Matty had come to the whole “love” realisation by himself yet.

“Ha ha ha, Adam you're so funny.” Matty said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “So do you think it is okay? She’ll like it?” he anxiously chewed on his nails as he spoke, desperate not to fuck this up.

“It's perfect. She's gonna love it, if you can find one that is” came Adam's response, he decided to lay off the comedic responses for a little bit, just to stop Matty from having a mental breakdown. 

“Oh I'll find one. Otherwise, I'll have to get her a candle, and that's just shite” his confidence was clear through the phone. And a determined Matty is someone who gets something done, whether you like it or not.

As soon as he knew what to get, he practically hung up on Hann mid-sentence, but he stayed long enough to give him a rushed goodbye. Not quite long enough to say thank you, however, but Adam got a text a few seconds later simply saying, “Thank you, I needed that”

Adam, being a middle-aged man, simply sent back a thumbs-up emoji, ‘an image that speaks a thousand words’ he thought.

////

After a week of calling every rare bookshop in the area, Matty managed to get his hands on a first edition of “The Little Prince”, for substantially more than £10 but that secret was between him, god and his wallet. 

He explained to the school that Annie wanted to give her gift to you personally, so he asked if he could bring it directly to you on Friday. By some grace of god, the school agreed, and here Matty was standing outside your door gift bag in hand and pulling anxiously at his shirt.

“Matty!” You say in shock as you open the door, a beaming smile on your face. Matty took in your dress and almost had to grip the door frame to steady himself. It was the staff Christmas party that night, and it was clear you were all dressed up and ready. You stood in a sleek black dress, nothing glittery or fancy, but the way it looked on you had Matty's hands itching to touch you.

“I'm here too miss y/n” came a little voice from below. You were too busy staring into Matty’s eyes and watching them skirt over your body. 

“Oh, Annie! I'm so sorry, sweetheart, your daddy is so tall I almost missed you!” You laugh out and pat Annie's head in apology. Matty couldn't help but preen at the mention of his height.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt you. You look amazing, by the way. Well, not like - not amazing in a creepy way - I mean-” Matty stuttered, trying to get back to his point. You simply nod along with his words and bit the inside of your cheek to hide the smirk threatening to break across your face.

“Anyway,” Matty said after he pulled himself together with a shake of his head, “we're here to give you your Secret Santa present! Annie, do you want to pass it to miss y/n?” he patted his daughter on the back and passed her the gift.

With flushed cheeks and a pink nose from the cold, Annie grinned up to you and passed the bag over. Matty had added a few filler presents, a candle and a bottle of perfume Annie chose, and that he thought you'd like. Just the book felt… odd. A little too personal, maybe, he didn't want to scare you off with his slightly stalker-like tendencies.

“Wow! Thank you, Annie! I didn't think I was even in this year's Secret Santa!” You lie, you knew Annie was your gift giver the day she got chosen. That cheesy smile wouldn't leave her face all day.

Annie giggled clung to her dad's leg, suddenly feeling shy at the attention. Matty simply smiled at his daughter and began to fiddle with her curls.

“Okay well, we will leave you to go to your party now. I hope you have a good time! Say bye to miss y/n Annie,” Matty prompts his daughter, who gives you a wave and runs away. Matty spins on his heels and begins to follow before turning around to say one last thing. 

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way. You look beautiful” he said with a bashful smile, acting almost as shy as his daughter just had. 

Words escaped you at that moment. You wanted to run and give him a hug for the present and a kiss for the compliment, but you simply whispered, “Thank you, Matty.”

The door had barely clicked shut, and you had already all but ran to your desk to open your present, your heart in your mouth at the prospect of a gift from Matty. Well, technically from Annie, but you're pretty sure if Matty gave her £10 and let her loose in Tesco, the present would end up being something totally random like a bag of celery.

But maybe you were reading too much into this. Your silly schoolgirl crush has just been growing and growing over the passing months. Your heart aches for Matty. It has gotten to the point where you sit in bed late at night and perform autopsies on conversations you had months ago. Desperate to find something said in the unsaid, something new.

You won't see him for a week, and you'll convince yourself it's just a physical attraction thing, a casual crush. But then you see him swooping in at pick up with his rockstar sunglasses and beautiful curls, and you feel your heart stutter and pause. Every time you speak with him, butterflies hammer at your ribs, and your brain seems to just stop around him. Much to your embarrassment. 

Recently, you vowed to be more natural around him, totally normal. However, trying to play it cool and casual is a great plan in theory, but attempting to do that whilst looking into his eyes is an almost impossible task.

But tonight, you managed to at least play it off like Matty's comment didn't knock the wind out of you. His calling you beautiful was going to go around and around in your head for weeks. You wish you could have memorised the moment better. You should focus on his shy smile or the way he wrung his hands together anxiously. Maybe even the look of pure love in his eyes.

But you were too busy internally repeating to yourself “Don't fall over. Don't act like a twat. Make sure to smile and not freeze.” so all of those small things got lost in the jumble of thoughts.

As you pulled the tissue out of the paper, a waft of matty hit your nostrils. god, were you that desperate that even tissue paper smells like him now? You could swear it has that same musk and warmth that follows him around.

Little did you know Matty had to actively choose not to constantly think about you. He has to try not to think about the way you bite your lip when you're focusing on something. Or the way you fiddle with your hair when you're nervous, twisting it around your fingers absentmindedly. Or even the way your cheeks flush when someone compliments you, the way it spreads from your cheeks to over your nose and down to your neck. He has to really try not to think about your neck, to not obsess over the thought of pressing kisses up and down it as you giggle into him. But alas, he had actual adult responsibilities, much to his dismay, so he couldn't just sit and analyse you every waking moment.

You stick your hand in and grab something that feels like a candle, and it is… oh. It's a candle. Huh.

You're not disappointed. It smells good and has a beautiful jar, but you can't help but feel slightly odd at the lack of warmth. But whatever, you were expecting too much anyway. A candle and a bottle of wine are perfectly normal Secret Santa presents, and why should you expect anything other than that? Just because you were lusting after Matty doesn't mean he thought about you any longer than he had to.

You shake off any disappointment you had and resign yourself to the idea that this is a totally normal parent present. There won't be anything amazing or showstopping. The budget was £10 and you're sure not even world famous rock star Matty Healy could get anything good with that.

You pull out the perfume next, immediately smiling as you notice it's your favourite scent, jasmine. What a lucky guess. It's a nice bottle, too. It had you immediately thinking of a use for it afterwards, the same way any nice bottle or jar does. You must have a collection of 20 candle jars on your mantle at home filled with knickknacks, little things from the kids, or strange porcelain figures you didn't have the heart to leave in a charity shop.

The bag is still heavy in your hands, but you scrunch your face in confusion. Surely there's no budget left? Tentatively, you reach in and feel a book, which is even more confusing to you, but you pull it out anyway, interested to see what Matty thought you read.

Oh. fuck. 

There in your hands was your childhood in physical form, the curly script reading “le petit prince.” Your eyes skirt over the cover as they well up. Slowly, you spin the book around and audibly gasp as you look it over, admiring its worn spine and somehow pristine cover. 

Your vision is foggy, tears gathering at your lash line and you're intent on not letting them fall, but as soon as you open the book and a small certificate of authenticity falls out you can't help but wetly laugh in shock as tears stream down your cheeks.

The first edition of your favourite book of all time. The book that meant everything to you, everything to your grandmother. You never thought you'd see a first edition in real life, let alone own one.

With shaky hands, you carefully pull apart the pages and begin to read, muttering the french under your breath. Tears drip onto the desk and blow you. You sniffle and bring a shaky hand up to wipe them away, but it's futile. They continue to find their way down your cheeks.

With a pounding heart, you place down the book with the care of handling a newborn baby, and as you do so a small white slip of paper under the certificate catches your eye. You slide it out from under and try and read it despite your wet eyes.

“To y/n,

I know this is over the limit, but I also know what this book means to you. I still remember talking about it in depth on World Book Day. Us two huddled in a corner, trying to escape the other parents. Your vulnerability and honesty that day meant so much to me. Thank you for sharing. also, thank you for being the very best teacher to my little girl. I don't know where either of us would be without you. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now, Let's keep this gift between us, though, huh? I wouldn't want Mr. Johnson from the year 5 class to find out his nice cheese platter isn't the best gift of the year.

Happy holidays darling, 

Matty x”

Well, safe to say any hope of that crush faltering had just died and gone to hell. 

[strawbeerossi]

Daydreaming || 1/3 ||

Part two || Part three

Pairing: Fem!reader x Aaron Hotchner

Description: When Jack makes a new friend at school, Aaron is happy to listen to all the stories his son shares about their days together. At another child's birthday party, Aaron gets to meet him as well as his mother.

Content Warnings: Fluffy fluff fluff with a pinch of angst, Jack and Finn are happy to tell all of their parents' business, the two boys try to play matchmaker, reader is a widow, mention of parental death, mention of unspecified illness, mentions of guilt, smiley Aaron (!!!)

Word Count: 1.6K

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My first Aaron fic! Y'all let me know what you think! I'm considering making this a series depending on y'all's thoughts!

Aaron had heard enough about Jack’s new little friend Finn Y/L/N to write a book, it seemed. He liked dinosaurs, liked to read picture books, and he was great at making pretend food. The father loved hearing the tales his son would come home with from a busy day at school. It started with him talking about his day, giving his father all his graded papers for the day, and he had to read for twenty minutes for his reading log.

After that, he was more than happy to gush about his day with all his friends, Finn being the newest and most exciting. It seemed like they got along well, lord knows he got enough notes from Jack’s teacher about his talking and joking while he was supposed to be paying attention.

Aaron hadn’t met the little boy until Jack was playing with him on the school playground when he was coming to surprise him by picking him up early after a gruelling case.

The cases with children always made him hug his son a little tighter, so this wasn’t too out of left field. He could remember a little blonde boy hurrying behind Jack to the fence, the little boy already seeing his father from the parking lot that was next to the playground. 

“That’s my daddy!” Jack gushed, the seven-year-old letting his small hand poke through the fence to point Aaron out. Finn looked like a cheerful kid, waving quickly at the black-haired man who couldn’t help but smile as he noticed his son’s excitement. “Hi, Jack’s daddy.” The blonde greeted, his hand opening and closing in the sweet form of a smaller child’s wave.

“My name is Finn.” He spoke confidently, a beaming smile on his face with dimples making their grand appearance. “Are you really a superhero? My mommy says that my daddy was one too!” He spoke, head tilting to the side.

Was.

Before he could answer, the boys’ teacher had already caught notice of the familiar father. “Hello, Mr. Hotchner!” She spoke, greeting the father. The older woman offered a content smile. “Nice to see you. Jack, buddy, go get your things. Finn, come play, honey. Your mom should be here soon.” She mused, watching the blonde wave at Aaron again before he was rushing off.

That afternoon, he was taking Jack to get ice cream while sitting across from him. “Hey, buddy..” Aaron began, now curiosity taking over him. “What does Finn’s dad do?” The words came out a little softer. Jack knew about death, being familiar after losing his own mother at such a young age.

“Well, he said that his daddy used to drive a firetruck.” Jack responded, dipping his spoon in his ice cream before putting it in his mouth. “But he got sick one day, and he died.” The bluntness of children was something to behold. “He was a little baby so he can’t remember.” He added soon after. 

After the encounter with the older male, Finn was opening up to Jack more in school about his own father, telling him stories that he’d heard from his mother at some point.

Talking about the death of his father also prompted Jack to open up about his deceased mother as well. They spent a lot of time sharing stories from either their surviving parents, or even sneaking pictures to show one another on the playground.

As the days turned into weeks, it wasn’t long until the first child in their class was having a birthday party. Aaron made it a point to take the day off for that, mainly because his son was over the moon since Finn had already told him at school that he was going. Jack had dragged Aaron around the store for what felt like hours, the two looking at suitable gifts for the birthday girl and even a nice card that they signed. 

Jack was holding the gift bag in his hand, proudly walking alongside his father up the driveway while his other hand was safely held by Aaron. “Come on, daddy.” He began, quickly hurrying to the front door, having to stand on the tips of his toes so he could ring the doorbell. The father behind the door looked cheerful enough, despite the house being full of children who were already excited enough, the sugar later going to make them bounce off the walls more. 

As the party was moving to the backyard, it wasn’t long until quite a few parents were already talking amongst each other. Aaron felt strange, if he was honest. He couldn’t put his finger on why exactly. “Sorry we’re late.” There was a woman’s voice sounding through the other side of the fence, unlatching it before making her way inside with a smile, Finn by her side as he was quickly running to join the party.

The woman in question was captivating, a smile on her face as she was carrying a gift bag on one arm, leaning down to hug the birthday girl with the other. So she was a parent who was involved. Aaron wished that he could have the luxury of knowing everyone in the class, already being familiar with his son’s friends.

“Daddy!” The word pulled Aaron from his thoughts as he was turning to look at his son, a smile on his face. “What’s up, Jack?” He asked, now kneeling down to get on his son’s level. “That’s Finn’s mommy.” The child whispered, stating what Aaron had already pieced together. “We should go say hi.” He spoke, which Finn had already gotten his mother’s attention as his hand was tightly holding onto hers as he was happily tugging her behind him. 

The minute that the two parents were finally brought face to face, both of their son’s looked more than satisfied. “Hi, you must be Mr. Hotchner. I’m Y/N, Finn’s mom. It’s very nice to meet you.” The woman offered a smile as she was holding her hand out for him to shake.

“He’s a superhero.” Jack spoke up, making the two parents laugh. “Is that so? Well, are you Spider-Man or Batman?” Y/N asked, a wide smile gracing her features while Aaron just couldn’t help but match that smile.

She was beautiful. 

“She has a crush on Spider-Man.” Finn cut in, looking up at Aaron as if to signal for him to say that. 

Were these two little shits trying to play matchmaker?

“Unfortunately, I’m only an agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Aaron responded with a chuckle, much to their sons’ dismay. “Oh, with the FBI.” Y/N recognized the name while offering a smile. “I write for the paper. I’ve written so many articles about your team and the good that you all do.” She confirmed, a smile on her face.

“I’ve spoken to Jennifer Jareau on several occasions as well when it comes to pushing out stories in order to help you all catch the local people you catch.”

She was surprised she didn’t recognize who he was, however it made sense considering she didn’t come face to face with the team too much, only speaking with the communications liaison when she was needed. 

The two boys were facing one another before shrugging, slowly growing bored of the adult conversation before they were heading off to go play with their friends. “I’ve heard a lot about Jack. He’s such a sweet boy.” Y/N smiled. “I was worried about Finn starting at this new school. He was going to a smaller, more private institution last year but.. He just wasn’t happy there any longer and I know I’d hate to be stuck somewhere that I don’t like.” 

Aaron smiled while nodding along with her words, giving her his full attention since their children were off playing. “Yeah, Jack was telling me about that. He told me something about a teacher there who wasn’t so nice.” Aaron added on to the conversation, making the mother nod. “You’ve got no idea. I don’t know why she bullied a six-year-old but.. Mama put an end to that fast.” Y/N shook her head as her hands were in her pockets.

“I don’t mean to come across as rude for putting my nose in things that aren’t my business,” Aaron spoke while he was looking at the woman in front of him. “But how do you do it? How do you make being a single parent look so easy?” He asked, making Y/N offer a small smile.

“I’ve been a single parent for a long time. To be honest with you, I used to feel selfish for getting pregnant even though I knew my husband at the time wasn’t going to survive what he was going through.” She admitted. “I make it look easy but I can promise, it never gets easier.” She said softly.

“I um.. I heard about your wife from Finn. I truly am sorry, even if it was a while ago. I know it’s hard losing the one person who you thought would be around much longer.” Her words were soft, a small smile on her face. “And I hope you know that you are doing a really good job. I know your life is busy and your career can be a headache but that little boy loves you. He looks at you like you’ve hung the moon.” 

It was something he needed to hear, something that Aaron appreciated. They had a deep understanding of one another in that aspect, the knowledge that there is hope of moving forward after tragedy. It was a long road but they both handled it like pros. 

“After the party, me and Finn were going to go get some lunch and have a little picnic in the park, if you and Jack want to join us. I think that he would be absolutely over the moon to invite you both.” Y/N spoke, which there was now a smile gracing Aaron’s features once more as he was looking back to his son.

“We’d love to.”

[mendessi]

I see you haven't been active in a while but I'm asking a million people if you could please write a Javi Pena fic where the reader gets injured while they're on a job and he like feels something is wrong or something like that thanks

bambi | javier peña

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

summary: you assist peña and carillo in tulo to bring gacha down but end up getting hit before the job is finished

word count: 4.4k

warnings: canon-typical violence, season 1 narcos spoilers (go watch it already wyd), kind of established relationship already, angst?, mention of death (reader does not die), tender!javi, maybe more am not sure yet, there is def a little backstory before jumping into the main part

minors dni

You had been in Colombia for almost two years and had fought your way into the position you were in. Tooth and nail, one might add. Being a woman in this line of work, in this day and age was not easy in the slightest bit. You busted your ass in school and in training just to earn a spot in the DEA, even harder to get the approval to be sent to Colombia. Even with your father having a higher up position in the DOJ, it still wasn't easy and you didn't expect it to be.

The introduction of narcotics into the United States wasn't easy on you considering one of your closest childhood friends had overdosed on their birthday trip to Miami that you were on. There was no indication that she had even consumed any drugs let alone enough to OD on, but it happened anyways and when you found her the next morning it destroyed nearly everything in you.

You were always destined to work for the Department of Justice, but something in you shifted after the death of your friend. Once the war on drugs had been declared you knew exactly where you needed to be.

Your bags were packed within an hour of receiving the call of your relocation assignment and exactly twenty four hours later you were on a flight to Bogota, Colombia to meet your new bosses at the embassy.

There was barely any time for you to set your bags down before you were asked to meet Noonan at the embassy. You weren't set to begin work for another week so you could officially move to Medellín and settle down, but there were a few papers you needed to sign to solidify your acceptance of the job.

He remembers it clear as day, the second he saw you walking into the embassy. Hair tied into a ponytail, curly pieces framing your face sweetly. A powder blue button up was tied into a knot paired with light wash jeans that weren't too tight, but were just the right amount of loose, white sneakers on your feet. His eyes followed your every step as you shook Noonan's hand outside her office door, the smile on your face brightening the room. His stomach twisted at the thought of someone like you in the war torn country you were in, wondering what even brought you here in the first place. You looked out of place, like you didn't belong here and that made him nervous. As he watched you disappear behind the ambassador's door, he decided quickly that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.

About thirty minutes later, Noonan was at his desk with you by his side. He and Steve both rose from their seats at the sudden presence of the ambassador and the short guest standing next to her.

"Boys, this is your new partner. She'll join you next week in Medellín until further notice." Noonan said before turning on her heel and leaving you there standing in front of the two men that towered over you.

You had heard plenty about them and their work thus far into the hunt for Pablo Escobar and always admired their bravery for what they do.

"Right, hello. Steve." He held his hand out to you and Javier did the same, his name coming out more as a mumble.

"Sorry?" You asked.

"Javier. Peña." He repeated a bit louder and shook your hand, your name barely making it to his ears because how focused he was on taking in all of your facial features.

"I look forward to working with you both. I have to get to Medellín but, I'll see you guys next week." You spared yourself the awkward small talk and removed yourself from the situation. You could tell they were just like any other male in this line of work that were immediately doubting you upon first impressions.

What they didn't know was that you were top of your class at Quantico and could take down a man that was three times your size. You were used to people doubting you and didn't expect this to be any different.

Steve and Javier both were sharing the same thoughts and that was how someone your size could've been approved to join the DEA in Colombia. They kept that to themselves til after you had left the building.

"She's gonna get torn apart." Steve sighed gathering his things. He and Javi were only meant to be in Bogota for the day for a briefing before heading back to Medellín.

About 30 miles from home, they came across you standing on the side of the road, blood drenching your clothes and splattered across your face and your government loaned car completely totaled. The tires screeched as Javi pulled off the road behind you, he and Steve out of the car in seconds with their guns in their hands.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" Javi asked, reaching a hand out to you. "Is there anyone near? Who did this?"

You were in tears, barely able to speak as Steve slowly moved around the vehicle a wave of relief washing over him when he saw the deer plunged through the windshield of your car.

"I'm sorry- I'm not- I don't ever cry like this, I swear. I'm jet lagged and covered in-" You barely could finish the sentence you just let out a frustrated groan.

"Javi," Steve called him over and he hesitated before stepping around you.

"Deer." Javi said before walking back towards you. He rested his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him, "Are you hurt?"

"No, it's his blood not mine. Fucking disgusting." You sighed, almost gagging at the sticky feeling of it drying to your skin. He almost smiled at the bad word leaving your lips, almost as if it didn't belong there.

"Here's what we'll do. We'll get your things, you can ride with us and we'll sort out the vehicle situation tomorrow." Steve said to you.

"I have a shirt in the car you can change into. It'll do til we get to your place." Javi said.

You sat in the back seat on the ride home after the boys loaded your belongings into the trunk and resumed the drive home, Javier's sweatshirt engulfing you. They weren't thinking it, but being so used to having to defend your every action to get to where you are now you felt the need to say it.

"I'm not like this usually. It's just been a rough first day." You fiddled with the sleeves of the sweater that Javier had lent you.

"You don't have to explain anything to us." Javier said.

"I do, though." Your replied in a small voice, loud enough for them to both hear and they understood it. You wanted to feel inferior to them, your two new coworkers seeing you so vulnerable before you first official day, but you knew better. They brought your things into your apartment for you once arriving and you thanked them one more time before they were gone.

When you went in on your first day, brand new desk was pushed against the two that were so used to being a duo. You even already had a nickname. You went through stacks and stacks of files catching up on the details of the hunt so far and listening to Javier and Steve tell you stories of what they'd been through so far.

Javier was slowly becoming obsessed with the way you gave whoever you were speaking to your undivided attention, how your eyebrows furrowed in concentration or even how you used your pointer finger to scan the lines of a file. The tiniest things you did were intoxicating to him and he hated it. You caught him staring at you a few times and figured he was just once again, doubting your right to be sat at that desk.

The boys both became obsessed with you in their own way. Steve obsessed with the way you carried yourself in the field. You took charge and never took any ounce of shit from any man that would look down on you. He learned quickly that you were not one to be messed with. Javier was just obsessed.

Obsessed with how your hair framed your face, how you quite literally would stop and smell the flowers while on a job, how you said his name, or how he sometimes caught you stealing glances at him from your desk that was right next to his. How your hand looked as you scribbled down notes from the day, or how you sounded when speaking over the walkies, the look on your face when you were connecting dots. He obsessed over he way you laughed at the things he said and got jealous when you'd laugh at something Steve said. He loved how easily you fell into place between him and his partner Steve, like the two of them were missing you the entire time. He loved how quickly you picked up Spanish as a second language and how intelligent you were. How you embraced to culture of Colombia as your own and were able to so easily connect with the residents of Medellín. He was obsessed with your smile, your hands, the way your waist curved, he was fucking obsessed with the way you smelled. Even after sprinting across rooftops, he still loved your scent, it's like nothing to him about you was not worth obsessing over.

It was almost your one year anniversary of moving to Colombia when he kissed you for the first time. He drove you home after a long day at the office since your car was in the shop and was nice enough to walk you to the door. You knew he was into you, he was the worst at hiding it, even Steve would tell him to which Javier would reply, "I'm not into her and even if I was, I'm smooth, okay? She'd never know."

You did know. And you were into him too, but you wanted him to make the first move. He was so caught up with his informants half the time you didn't know if that would ever happen, so whenever he was ready, you'd be there. It irked you to say the least, that somebody else was getting those parts of him but there was nothing you could do.

But that night you two stood outside your front door, talking about your childhood homes and what you loved most about them, you dangling the keys between your fingers as he leaned against the frame and kissed you. His fingers were soft against your cheek and his lips sweet against yours and you didn't know he could be so gentle. You'd seen him kill people before yet here was kissing you as if you'd break under his touch.

"Good night, Javi." You said to him, as you stood on your tiptoes for one last kiss before disappearing into your home, the biggest smile on your face.

Your relationship was what some would call a slow burn. You took things slow, mostly because between the war on drugs neither of you had time to focus on and nurture a relationship. So you remained best friends and coworkers, alongside Steve who sometimes felt like a third wheel. When the two of you did finally find some spare time, things blossomed so quickly and beautifully and the man was head over heels. Steve had a hard time believing it, but he always knew that once Javi found the right one, he'd be 150% all in. Steve loved that it was you that brought out that side of him.

"Bambi, we're rolling out." Carillo said to you. Hearing the nickname is nothing new after all these years, but it still almost makes you laugh sometimes. Who knew having a deer sprint in front of you on your first day in Colombia would get you a call sign that stuck with you for the rest of your career.

"Yes sir." You nodded and stood up from your desk and gathered your things.

"No, no, you're not coming." Javier said.

"Excuse me?" There were very few things Javi did that pissed you off, but the one that did it most was when he tried keeping you from certain jobs.

"This is gonna get ugly and I don't want you there." He rested his hand on your elbow gently.

"You don't get to make that decision. I'm going and I'm monitoring the Search Bloc. This is the one thing I ask you not to do." You lowered your voice, looking up at him.

"And I don't do ever do this, but I don't like the feeling of this." He lowered his tone to match yours. "Por favor, mi sol." (Please, my sun.)

"Javier, don't ask me again." You pulled away from him and followed behind Carillo as you and the rest of the Search Bloc loaded into vehicles and began the journey to Tolú. He knew there was nothing he could say once you called him by his full name.

You and Javi barely spoke the entire ride to Tolú and it should be known that it was a long drive from Medellín. Even though you sat in silence, he still rested his hand on your leg, his thumb rubbing circles onto the fabric of your jeans.

When you stepped out of the vehicles upon your arrival you watched and counted the men that loaded into boats to cross the bay. The plan was to catch them from a direction they wouldn't expect. Javi was going with the aerial team which meant you were splitting up.

"Hey," he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him. "Be careful."

"You too."

He would've said the right words if he knew what would happen once you parted ways. He would've said them a long time ago if he had known. He knew it in his gut as he watched you walk away and board the boat alongside Carillo and yet he still let you go. He should've kissed you one more time. It wasn't his right to stop you from going on a job and he knew that. He let you go because of those words that he didn't say.

You and the rest of the Search Bloc trekked through the sand and the thick trees of the jungle quietly, nobody speaking a sound, guns up and ready to fire. You surely looked out of place being the only woman amongst them. A few inches larger and the gun you were holding would've been too big for you to hold comfortably.

You came across two men and the gun fire started almost immediately. This was something you were used to and certainly planned for long before you even landed in Colombia. You knew that once the first shots were fired that Gacha would try to flee.

You held your ground until enough of his men had dropped and it felt safe to start moving in. Half of those men had probably never even fired a gun before this moment. You stayed next to Carillo, taking the first steps out from the treeline only for your body to be thrown through the air as a shot from a rocket launcher hit the ground near you causing a big explosion. Your gun slammed into your face sending a piercing pain through your nose. Your ears were ringing and your vision blurred when you opened your eyes, looking at your surroundings. You felt the blood trickling down the side of your head and tasted it as it leaked from your nose.

"Bambi, are you okay? Hey! Bambi!" You looked up at one of the Search Bloc members attempting to reach you. He pulled you up to which you groaned in pain, and looked to Carillo who also looked to have a head wound. The sound of the voices and gunfire were in and out as your ears kept ringing but you racked your brain trying to focus on what was happening.

"Sí. I'm okay." You sat up and watched Gacha and his son rush down the stairs and into a red chevy parked under the house while Carillo screamed for a radio. You only allowed your body to be in shock from the blow for only a split second more before the shock was filled with anger.

"Wait, Bambi. Wait!" You clenched your teeth together and stood up, repositioning your gun as you shot down multiple men running under the house screaming in frustration as the red chevy pulled off. You fired at the truck, no bullets hitting anywhere that would help stop them.

You fell forward to your knees feeling two shots fly through your shoulder and one through your abdomen from behind. You turned and fired your gun sending three bullets into his chest, falling onto your back once he hit the ground. Multiple men ran past your body, most likely trying to flee like their boss and eventually the gun fire stopped.

You felt somebody's arms hook under yours as they dragged you back to where Carillo was with the radio. He said something along the lines of Bambi... down... tell Javier... it was all a blur.

"He's down. We'll put the bird down and recoup." You heard Javi's voice over the radio, a small smile creeping on your lips. "What's the situation there, is it safe to land?"

Carillo hesitated as he looked down at you drenched in blood he wasn't sure was your own. He knew the blood coming from your head and ears were from the rocket launcher and he could tell you had been shot, he just didn't know where or how many times. Your vest clearly didn't do its job or somehow so unluckily each bullet managed to hit you in a place you weren't protected in.

"Safe to land. Make it quick." Carillo said cupping your cheeks, forcing your eyes to focus on him. The drowsy and somehow slightly smiley look on your face told him all he needed to know. "I need medics."

"They're already on the way. Where's Bambi, put her on." Javier's chest tightened immediately as if he knew. He felt it the second Carillo got on the radio instead of you, he knew it before you even made it into Tulo. His worst nightmare was becoming a reality. "Put Bambi on."

"Hey, stay with me." Carillo slapped your cheeks once your eyes started to close. "Talk to him." He tossed the walkie to Trujillo who began describing everything to Javi except for what state you were in. You could hear Javier's panicked voice flooding the speakers of the walkie sounding angrier than you had ever heard in the entire time you've known him.

"Put her on the fucking radio!" Javi yelled at Trujillo, he had tears brimming his eyes but he didn't dare let a single one spill. Anxiety was flooding his chest at the idea that you weren't okay, but he knew it from the second it happened. "Please tell me she's okay. Please." He begged.

"Trujillo, tell me she's alive. Tell me she's not dead. Please." Javi pleaded.

Everything was in and out of focus, men shuffling around you, Carillo and Trujillo saying your name over and over again, Carillo constantly slapping your cheeks to keep you awake. You hardly noticed that your vest had been pulled off and Carillo was working to keep pressure to your wounds, but you couldn't even tell where the wounds were at that point. You felt numb. Words weren't words anymore and instead just loads of gibberish filling your ears.

"Where are the god damn medics?" You heard Carillo curse. "We're not losing her."

When your surrounding came into focus once again, Javi was running towards you, taking Carillo's place, holding your body close to his.

"Hey, hey." He said with a shaky voice. "Hey, stay with me. Where are the fucking medics!"

"My love," you looked up at him, those words leaving your mouth for the first and maybe the last time, struggling to keep him focus. His brown eyes were filled with fear and that's when it became apparent to you how bad it was. You were shot three times. Everyone was panicking and it clicked that you were possibly dying.

It clicked for Javi that you were possibly dying. That this may be the last time he look into your eyes, or the last time he heard your voice. That when he woke up this morning could've been the last time he'd wake up to your beautiful sleeping face. Or that today would be the last day you two shared coffee from the same mug at work. Or even that Steve and Connie wouldn't have you for dinner this weekend like they promised. He began shaking his head, trying to rid these thoughts. You were drenched in blood like the night he found you on the side of the road, but this time it was yours and that made him feel physically sick.

Carillo was the only one at your sides now as Javi held you in his arms, tears still refusing to fall from his eyes. Everyone moved away to give space to the normally mean man who's love of his life was dying in his arms.

"Don't do this to me, please. Please, baby." He whispered into your hair. "Please, don't leave me."

"It doesn't hurt." You said to him, your hand barely finding his, squeezing it as tightly as you could manage.

"What?" He asked, bringing your fingers to his lips. He didn't care that they were covered in blood.

"It doesn't hurt." You repeated and all he could do was release a shaky breath.

"I love you," You whispered. Your thoughts were barely thoughts anymore but as you approached what seemed to be death, the only thing you thought about what how he needed to hear it from you before you died. You weren't even sure if he heard it and the last thing you thought of before shaking hands with death himself was that you never got to hear him say it to you.

"They're here." Carillo sighed in relief as the sirens from the ambulances sounded. "Peña."

Javi looked at Carillo who was staring at you, so he followed his gaze and it felt like his heart completely stopped beating. Your eyes were shut and there was blood dripping from the side of your mouth, joining the streams that had left your nose and side of your head.

"I love you." He said to you. "I love you." He said it again and then once more after that for good measure, praying to whoever would listen that you heard it at least once before you died because he was sure you were going to die and he hated himself for not saying it sooner.

He watched as they cut your shirt off of you and began working hastily simultaneously lifting you onto a stretcher and rolling you away into an ambulance.

Carillo put his hand on Peña's shoulder and looked at him. Despite the love his life being sent away, and not knowing if you'd survive this, there was still a job to finish. Carillo, Javi and the remaining men filed into trucks and drove to the scene up the road where Gacha and his son had died. Javi felt some sense of relief knowing that this was a big hit to the Medellín Cartel.

As soon as the scene was cleared Javier and Carillo went to the hospital you were being treated in and Javier called into Medellín and Bogota to let them know that you had been injured in the line of duty. Steve and Connie were on the next flight to Tolu from Medellín and there within hours. Carillo was talking to the doctors because Javier couldn't bear to hear the news that you were dead. It would kill him.

"She's out of surgery, in recovery. She's going to be okay. She's strong, they say. You can see her soon." Carillo said to Javier and he nodded, finally taking a seat in the waiting room chair.

"Good." He nodded again, finally covering his face with his hands as the tears he fought so hard to hold back finally spilled from his eyes.

Carillo sat next to him, patting him on the back as he cried silent tears of relief knowing that you had survived.

A few hours passed and Carillo had left to make his way back to Medellín so Javier was alone in the waiting room when the nurse called for him to see you.

"Hey," You said to him, your throat scratchy from the tube they had shoved down it. His heart hurt at the sight of you. Your arm in a sling, stitches in your temple, two small stitches in your nose, and a bruised face to prove that it was in fact broken. And somehow you still made all of that look beautiful.

"Mi sol," Javi whispered as he sat down next to your bed, taking your hand into both of his, kissing each of your fingertips. "I'm so sorry I let this happen."

"It's part of the job." You told him. "I made a mistake out of rage. It's my fault."

He stared at you, "I thought I lost you. They told me you died twice. Twice."

"I had something to fight for." You said, squeezing his hand.

"I am so sorry I didn't say it before and I'm not saying it now just because of the situation pero mi amor, I love you. So fucking much that it makes my chest hurt so bad that I feel like I can't breathe and when I lost you today I regretted not ever saying it to you before." He rambled on and you could subconsciously hear the monitor beeping faster as your heart rate went up. "I love you, mi amor. Mi Bambi. Mi sol."

"I love you too." You said to him and you never meant it more than in that moment after almost losing your life, accepting the idea you'd never see him again. Now that you'd been given a second chance you'd never miss the opportunity to say it again.

He leaned forward, brushing the hair from your face with the gentlest touch, and leaning in for the gentlest kiss being so careful not to hurt your nose or any other part of your body. His thumb rested on your chin as he held it so softly kissing you with such delicacy as if not to break you and it was the most favorite kiss you had shared to date.

Javier stayed with you and a week and a half later you were on a flight home to Medellín for the rest of your recovery period. Not long after that Javier moved in officially where he helped you recover and still stay sane in the midst of not being able to go out in the field. Your dad even came to visit after hearing the news where he met Javi for the first time.

When you were finally cleared to return and leave strictly desk work to re-enter the field, Javi kept you at his side more than usual to which you had to scold him sometimes but could he really help feeling so worried all the time? Nearly losing you was scariest thing he ever experienced in your life and gave him PTSD to which he still had nightmares about.

It took navigating and discussing and finding time between being work husband and wife to actually taking care of and paying attention to your very real and personal relationship, but you finally found the well deserved balance.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for the request! This was kind of fun to write and it was nice to write something after so long away

[lady-of-the-puddle]

Hello hello, it is time once again for, you guessed it!

Rating Clu's

Homoerotically tense

Relationships

I thought long and hard about this because I only had about 2 in my head when I mistakenly threw it out there in another post but like, here you go 😎

Have a picture in case you forgot what cgi Jeff Bridges looks like:

Behold, a guy. Anyway

1. Kevin

He is the most obvious so I'll get this one out of the way

You are me and I am you but you are the darkest parts of me but I love you anyway

This begs the question:

Would you fuck your darker self/clone

Idk about u but my heart tells me that Kevin sure would

7/10 it's about the man vs self of it all

2. Jarvis (why is this photo so fuckin big??)

I know I said Kevin is the most obvious

But this guy has the biggest crush on Clu

He is simp supreme

Like the way he turns to Clu for approval after everything he says makes me feel like I should leave the room

He loses a point for being a dork coward but Sam's mascara is very pretty and he's also a Flynn so I can't blame him too much

9/10 go henchboy go

3. Rinzler

Fellas, is it gay to brainwash god's most specialest boyfriend and make him loyal to only you all while knowing god is still out there and can see what you've done to everything he loves? All while knowing he's nothing more than a pet and will never love you and wouldn't even if he could

Like talk about the ultimate rebound

No notes honestly, I don't even need to go on with this one

11/10 not even one girl(Quorra) could make this all seem a little less gay

4. Dyson

Another case of yoinking your exes boy but this time it was consensual

He literally just agrees with Clu and helped him take over

If that's not a basis for a strong relationship then idk what is

He really seems so desperate to stay in Clu's favor like he must know that tron is the real prize here, his bitter ex. Has there ever been so much dating drama between programs?

5/10 replaceable.

5. Sammy

It occurs to me now that he hasn't made it on these lists yet so everyone clap for him

I feel brave for even acknowledging this one

Is Clu his dad? Is he an entity separate but still containing qualities of his father at a certain point in time that forever diverged from the moment of conception? Idk he's a computer man

So like the part where he's just kinda circling Sam looking him up and down like he's a prized pig? Yeah.

CAUTION THIS IS A JOKE please for the love of Kevin don't cancel me over this

2/10 why the 2? Cause there's fics out there man I know it

6. Zuse

He's so babygirl

Clu even mixed him a drink before he blew him up

I love their dynamic I get the feeling if Clu had to spend more than 5 minutes around him he'd strangle him much sooner

Stoic asshole with the silly asshole

Honestly they're perfect for each other

10/10 what can I say? I'm a simple program I see two men interact and I rate them

Special mention:

7. Quorra

Now some of you might say, hey Puddle Girl, this isn't homoerotic at all she's a girl

Well they're programs so gender isn't real and also they're bi so it counts

Anyway I thought about this one cause there was this weird tense moment towards the end of the movie where Quorra is captured and Clu's just like, talking to her and touches her hair and it was uncomfortable but it also made me feel some type of way

Like I understand that it's 100% a power play BUT

😏

3/10 he was gonna add her to the boyfriend collection cause all he does is steal from Kevin

Hi in honor of my Tron themed birthday I finally finished this. I was really reaching for some of these as you can see but I can't take it too seriously anyway. I'm always here for the gay of it all but is it homoerotic or do they just need to put more people who aren't men in this franchise? We'll literally never know! 🙃

Hey @soihadthisdreamonce I'm sorry 5-10 business days turned into 5-10 business weeks I was moving and time got away from me but I didn't forget you

[raplinesmoon]

Après Moi, Le Deluge (JHS x F!Reader)

pairing: Hoseok x afab!reader genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, mafia au, sort of arranged marriage au, exes au, 18+ summary: It was one night. One night where Hoseok sought refuge from the storm outside, from the life he led, from the past that haunted him. And where else does fate lead him but back into your arms?

word count: 8.2k

warnings: the mafia, mentions minor character death, cursing, smoking, alcohol use, use of weapons, strained relationships with parents, mental health issues, mentions threats against people Hoseok cares about, brief, non-graphic depiction of blood and injuries, breakups, makeups, a cameo by one Xu Minghao, Hoseok and OC are both very closed off and bad at communicating, Hoseok is lowkey an asshole for most of this, happy-ish ending, smut warnings: making out, fingering (fem receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, marking, teeny bit of cockwarming

a/n: Hello it is me, profusely apologising because there is no reason this should have taken this long to write, other than I had the worst case of writer's block ever, but I missed Hoseok and I needed to see this through. This fic is set in the same universe as Doom Boy, my Namjoon mafia fic! You don't necessarily have to read Doom Boy to read this, but it may help some of the moments mentioned here make sense! The title is a reference to a famous saying by King Louis XV of France, or if you're me, season 1 episode 11 of The Originals. I hope you all enjoy &lt;3

listen to the playlist here!

The rain slams down on the pavement, rendering the soles of Hoseok’s shoes even more sodden than they’d previously been. A cold, sticky feeling settles across his spine, and he heaves for breath, wishing he could just stop and take a break. But he can’t. He has to keep moving. Resisting the urge to shiver and warm himself up, he rounds the corner.

The day had started off normal enough. Hoseok had been assigned patrol duty for the day by Namjoon, a task he was more than familiar with. After the collapse of the Kim empire and his father’s death, Namjoon had returned to clean up the family business. And he was doing a damn good job at it, training the younger ones like Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook in how to run a business.

But there was more to this than a business, and Namjoon knew that well enough. Someone had to be around to air out the dirty laundry, to clean up the streets. And who better for the job than Hoseok? 

He was used to it anyway, more comfortable around knives and guns than he’d ever been around people who weren’t Namjoon, Yoongi, or Seokjin. It was partly the reason he’d been sent out tonight, to monitor the slimy activities that took place under the cover of night. 

Yet sometimes, the downpour got the best of Hoseok. He hadn’t been expecting the Choi cronies to spot him, much less for them to be armed. Luckily they were as thick-skulled as Hoseok expected them to be, and he’d been able to craft a quick escape. For the time being.

But it wouldn’t last for long. Hoseok knew the men would be on his tail all night, and as much as he wanted to call for backup, he didn’t feel like bothering Namjoon, Yoongi, or their families, at this time of night. He wouldn’t have had a problem bothering Seokjin, but that fucker had run the moment he’d shot up Namjoon’s father. 

Looking around, he falters. The buildings around him loom ominously, stretching much taller than he’s used to, the lights from the highest floors creating artificial stars against the cloudy backdrop of the sky. Hoseok gathers that he must be in the swanky part of town. He scoffs, knowing from personal experience the rich were no better than the mobs and gangs they pretended to look down upon, licking at their bootstraps whenever the necessity arose.

Still, he decides it’s better to take cover. He spots the sleeping security guard from outside one of the buildings, and slips in, shaking the raindrops from his hair. Making his way to the elevators at the end of the lobby, his mind ran with plans of how he’d clean up the mess with the Choi men in a way that Namjoon would approve of. 

Which is why he misses the other person entering the elevator at the same time as him, instead collapsing against the railing and letting out a loud sigh, rubbing at his eyes.

“H-Hoseok?” the voice that calls out to him is quiet, barely above a whisper. But its familiarity sends a chill down Hoseok’s spine. It’s a voice he thought he’d never hear again.

His eyes open slowly, and he sees his shocked reflection mirrored in the ones directly across from him, eyes that he’d never been able to forget. The way they look at him now is the same way they’d been the last time he saw you, on a similarly cloudy day.

The eyes of his former fiancée.

The doors of the elevator screech shut, the sound doing nothing to drown out the pounding of your heart. The soft tiny plops of raindrops echo on the grey floor, falling from Hoseok’s hair as he freezes at the sound of your voice.

You suck in a breath, lungs desperately searching for air, unable to squeak out anything beyond his name. Brows furrowing, you check him for any signs of injury, relieved when you find nothing but his blank eyes blinking back at you. You didn’t have to ask him where he’d been tonight. Both of you already knew.

It infuriates you that even after everything, after all this time, he still manages to have this effect on you. You hate how you can’t take your eyes off the lean curve of his neck, or the tiny mole above his heart-shaped smile.

A chill runs down your spine, despite having never stepped foot out in the rain. 

“Why are you…” your throat feels heavy, struggling to get the words out, to ask him why he ended up here of all places. Especially when you made it clear you never wanted to see him again after the last time.

“Choi’s men were tailing me, I had to get them off my back,” he barks, immediately regretting his harsh tone when he looks into your weary eyes, on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry,” he adds on, more gently this time. “If I’d have known, I would never…”

Never what? Never managed to infiltrate the one place you thought you could be free of him, from the past the two of you shared?

Your shoulders slump against the panel, and you realize you’d never pressed the button to go up, too consumed by his presence. Finally managing to muster up the focus, you turn away, hearing the elevator creak to life.

“You’re always sorry. How can I be sure that this time, you mean it?”

Hoseok is annoyed. First of all, this damn elevator is taking nearly too long to go anywhere, and he longs for escape from this metallic box that’s imprisoning you both. Second of all, your words cut at him, sharper than any knife and hotter than any bullet any of Choi’s men could have sent his way tonight.

As far as he remembers, you’d been the one to end it. You’d been the one to walk away from your arrangement.

He doesn’t know why he grits his teeth, biting down to combat the throbbing pain in his temples. You were supposed to be gone, your goodbye delivered in the same way the designer bags and packages piled up at your doorstep - neat, polished, shallow, the ties that had brought you together unraveling before they’d even had a chance to be joined properly. 

Unfinished business. That’s what you were. And Hoseok hated unfinished business. But somehow, he’d never managed to hate you. You’d never given him a fair chance.

. . .

Hoseok shrugged the wife beater over his head with a grunt, immediately turning around to see if he’d woken up his sleeping companion, but she remained unfazed, her soft snores echoing into the pillow. 

He lets his eyes linger over her body appreciatively one last time before he slips on his leather jacket and is out the door. For a brief moment, his hand twitches, yearning to reach into his pocket and call Namjoon for old times’ sake, detailing every last detail of his lascivious romp. The thought is abandoned immediately, Hoseok’s mood souring at the thought of his former best friend. Namjoon had no trouble leaving all of them behind, so why should he even bother? Instead, he reaches into his other pocket, his frenzied emotions finally calming down when he pulls out the lighter. Ducking under an awning, he checks his surroundings for anything suspicious before affirming that the coast is clear, lighting up and taking a drag. The smoke drifts away on the nighttime breeze, and Hoseok follows, roaming the city streets. 

It’s lonely at this hour, not another soul in sight, but Hoseok prefers it that way. Gone are the days when he and his friends would run through the city, stealing cars and honking horns at everyone for fun. Now, shit had hit the fan big time, and there was no room for fun anymore. With Namjoon gone, Hoseok, along with Seokjin and Yoongi, had been sucked into the tangled web of duties he’d left behind, each stepping up in their own way.

Holding a gun in his hands for the first time had been a sobering experience for Hoseok. It rattled him that if he pressed down on the trigger, so many things could change in a split second. He’d heard the higher-ups in the organization rave with glee about how much fun it was putting the city’s other families in line, Namjoon’s father at the head of them. And for a brief moment, Hoseok understood what it was that Namjoon had run away from. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still pissed off about it though. 

His lips turn up in a smile when he takes in the graffiti on the building in front of him, thinking back to his younger, more rebellious self, before faltering. Someone else was there. 

He wonders if you’re cold, the thin satin gown doing nothing to protect you from the chill, and he wants to laugh at the contrast between his well-worn leather jacket and the jewels dripping from your ears. They must cost a few thousands of dollars, money he’d never had in his pocket. His eyes scan around for someone, anyone – a boyfriend, or a husband maybe. But you’re alone.

Nobility has never been Hoseok’s forte - Namjoon and Seokjin had always been the womanizers, and poor Yoongi had been in love with the same woman for over ten years, but he clears his throat, prompting you to turn around, eyes widening at your company.

If he catches a glimpse of unshed tears in your eyes, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Kids these days, huh? They’ll do anything to cause a little chaos,” he quips, a sinking feeling building up in his chest when you don’t respond.

“Ma’am,” he grapples with whether he should ask for your name, “do you need me to walk you home?”

“Did you read it?” your voice is quieter than he expects, yet he draws closer, wanting to hear more of it. Coming to stand beside you, he takes in the captivating features of your face, made all the more alluring by the shadows cast across them.

Following your gaze, he looks at the mural on the wall. A giant wave, Hosukai-style, crashing into a set of words. “After me, the flood,” your voice whispers, and Hoseok feels a rush of emotion at the way you say it, his mind circling back to everything that had happened in the past few years - the dark cloud that had settled over all their lives with Namjoon leaving, the city’s underbelly coming to life, crawling out of the woodwork. 

“I have to go,” you interrupt him, heels clacking against the pavement, before Hoseok’s gaze turns sharply on you, the desperation in his eyes begging you not to go. Come sunrise, he’d be forced back into the same grim routine, but right now, it felt nice, standing here with you.

“Will you be okay getting home alone?” he asks, grappling for any chance to prolong the moment.

“My driver is around the corner,” you tell him. “Thank you for keeping me company, –”

“Hoseok,” he fills you in, his chest aching with the desire to ask for your own name, but you’re already gone.

. . .

Hoseok wakes up the next morning to the rattling of the blinds, the sunlight causing him to immediately shut his eyes and bite back a groan. There was only one person who’d have access to his apartment at this hour – and exploit it.

“Eomma?” he rasps, burrowing his head further into the sheets. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you forget Hoseok-ah? Hurry up and get dressed, everyone’s waiting! You have five minutes.”

Forget what? His mother’s fussing continues in the background as she leafs through his closet, no doubt trying to find him a suitable outfit amongst the many pairs of ripped denim and oversized shirts he prefers on a day-to-day basis. Hoseok wracks his brain, trying to remember what could have called for such an occasion, but comes up empty, his mother’s stern warning echoing in his ears. 

As per usual, if it had anything to do with the organization, he’d do best not to ignore it.

Slipping on the stark white shirt and tie she’d chosen, the fabric itches against his skin, and he rakes his fingers through his hair, attempting to comb the mess into something somewhat presentable. He’s sure there was little to be done about the bags under his eyes, and the faint smell of tobacco emanating from him, and hoped that whoever these important guests were, they wouldn’t catch onto his late-night activities from the previous day. 

Stumbling into the hallway, Hoseok hears the faint chatter of voices, his father’s bellowing laugh a stark contrast to his mother’s delicate titter, and is immediately confused. Conversations with the bosses of the organization weren’t usually so… enthusiastic. 

When he rounds the corner to his living room, he stops in his tracks. Sitting next to his mother and father is another older couple he doesn’t recognize. They reek of wealth that his family could never even imagine, he notes, the polished Italian leather of the man’s shoes and the older woman’s massive diamond ring speaking for themselves. But he could honestly care less. Because to their left side, sitting on his favorite armchair, is you. The woman from in front of the mural. You’re clad in a simple sundress today, but you still manage to be nothing short of breathtaking against the backdrop of the sun’s rays. 

“There you are, Hoseok!” his father beckons him over jovially, but Hoseok remains frozen. “This is Mr. and Mrs. ____, and their daughter ____.”

Hoseok’s turns his gaze to his father, watching him recoil at the sharpness present in his son’s expression, a thousand unspoken questions lingering on his lips as to why these people were here, what purpose they had in his home, his space.

“We’d like for the two of you to get to know each other,” your mother speaks up with a smile so wide, he’d assume it’d been plastered onto her face. 

“Why?” he finally manages to whistle out in between grit teeth, looking only at you. But you don’t meet his eyes. Instead, your gaze is looking out his window, at the city beyond, the same loneliness from last night ever present in your eyes. 

“Because,” his father continues uncertainly, fidgeting the glass of wine in his hands, “___ is going to be your wife.”

You can feel Hoseok’s eyes glaring into the back of your head as he follows you wordlessly down the hallway. Moments pass before you come to a stop outside your apartment, and you hear the faint stumble of Hoseok’s boots as he stops unexpectedly in his tracks. His warm breath fans against the back of your neck for a brief moment before he straightens with a grunt, and you resist the urge to shiver, despite having never stepped foot into the rain.

The lock clicks, and he follows you inside. You can hear him rustle behind you as he struggles to remove his coat and boots, but you look straight ahead, hoping the darkness can hide how your fingernails are digging into your palm. 

“I won’t stay long,” his low voice breaks the silence. “Just until the storm passes.”

“Please,” you manage to muster up your most polite sounding voice. “Have a seat. I can get you something, maybe some water, o-or a cup of tea…” 

You want to curse your voice for wobbling in his presence, hating the way he still affected you even after all this time apart. Your brain bades you to walk away instinctively, and so you pad into the kitchen, wanting to put distance in between you and Hoseok so he can’t hear the rapid fluttering of your heart. The noise pounds in your ears as you rattle around in the cupboards, cursing when you realized you’d forgotten to turn on the light. It seemed embarrassing to do it now, and so you reach aimlessly, looking for some coffee. 

The pot bubbles, and in mere moments, you’re clutching two steaming mugs, finding your way back onto the living room. Hoseok has settled himself onto your couch, taking extra care not to rest his soaked shirt against the back of it, instead hunched over and dangling an unlit cigarette from his fingertips.

“Sorry, I didn’t know if you’d be okay with me…” he gestures to it, twirling it around in his fingers. “I know you don’t like the smell.”

You’re unsure whether to be touched that he remembers, or uneasy at the way he says it so monotonously, as if you’d still judge him for something so mundane when so much else had happened in between you.

“Here,” you set down the coffee in front of him, taking the seat directly opposite. “It’ll help take the edge off.”

The warm liquid burns your throat as you rush to take a sip, and you nearly sputter trying to keep it down. Over the rim of your cup, Hoseok remains frozen, his own mug steaming and untouched. His dark eyes bore into you, studying your face, and you feel your cheeks begin to burn.

If he notices the bags under your eyes, he says nothing. The same way he says nothing when he probably remarks at your simplistic clothes and lack of jewelry, a far cry from the expensive dresses and diamonds he’d been used to seeing you in. 

“Were you about to go out?” Hoseok asks, and the question catches you off guard. “I’m sorry if I stopped you from going somewhere.”

“Or meeting someone.” The last part is a hushed whisper, mumbled underneath his breath, in the hopes that you wouldn’t catch him. But you had. You wish he’d stop apologizing. It makes you feel guilty when you shouldn’t be, like he’s trying and you’re shutting him out, when in reality it’d been the exact opposite. 

All of a sudden, your phone buzzes to life, a text message lighting up the screen. You freeze when you see who it’s from, quickly snatching your phone and cursing in your head. Minghao was a friend of a friend, the two of you running into each other a number of times over the past couple of weeks, before he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask you for a coffee date.

You’d told him you’d think about it, and now here he was, lighting up your phone to ask you about your decision. Of course, how was he supposed to know that the reason you’d been holding off was the very man sitting in your living room, whom you’d almost married, and still couldn’t seem to let go?

Clutching your phone to your chest, you turn it to silent, setting it down beside you. Hoseok’s eyes are alight with curiosity, his lips turned up in a faint smirk, as though he’s remembering his statement from earlier. 

You take another sip, willing the caffeine to give you some strength, to rein in the bare threads of this conversation back to your control.

“How are your parents?”

Hoseok is taken aback by the question. He hadn’t expected it from you. There had once been a time where you’d been bright eyed and eager, wanting to know everything about him, bombarding him with question after question every time you were together. And yet somehow, he’d never managed to give you the time of day, always giving brusque answers and half-hearted excuses that there were other things that needed his attention.

He knew it was just a poor attempt to fill the silence, but his heart lurches at the thought that there’s so much you don’t know anymore. Namjoon coming back, Seokjin running away, the life that Hoseok knew being turned inside out. What’s more unsettling is the fact that he yearns to tell you, despite knowing he’d lost the privilege to do so.

“They’re okay. Doing well,” he lies through his teeth. “We all are. How about yours?”

He thinks it’s an innocent question, but he watches your fingers blanch as you grip the mug so tight, he thinks it’ll break. 

“I wouldn’t know,” you whisper out softly, and his heart stops. “I haven’t spoken to them since– you know.”

Hoseok feels dizzy at your confession. What do you mean you hadn’t spoken to them? Suddenly, it all begins to make sense in his head. The fact that he hadn’t expected to run into you tonight, because he hadn’t expected you to live alone, with your austere clothes and hair tossed up into a messy bun. It was so different from the woman he’d known, the dazzling one he’d written off as hollow in his mind, the one he was incapable of forming a real relationship with. 

And here you were, living the exact opposite of the cozy life he’d painted for you in his head. He thought you’d be fine, that you’d move on, your family offering you up to the next prospect that came along. And you’d accept them, like you’d accepted Hoseok with all his flaws, not caring that he could barely give you what you deserved.

His thoughts flash back to the last conversation you had, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed.

I can’t live like this anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and he watches annoyance flash across your face. He knows he’s done nothing but apologize this entire time, but it probably isn’t even worth a damn. No consolation would ever make up for losing someone that meant everything to you. He’d known that when Namjoon had run away.

“Hey,” you set the mug down, leaning over the table. For a brief second, he sees your hand reach out blindly in the darkness, almost as if it’s searching for his, but you withdraw just as quickly. “I’m okay. I really am.”

“I wish you’d stop pretending,” Hoseok blurts out, and he watches you jolt in surprise. “Why do you always have to pretend like everything’s okay, like nothing affects you? Is it the society training? Or do you really just not care about what happened at all?”

You chew the inside of your cheek, mulling over Hoseok’s words in your head.

“The same way you can pull the trigger on someone and be able to lie in your bed and fall asleep,” you seethe, a venom that Hoseok has never heard in your voice. 

“I knew who you were Hoseok. I knew what kind of man I was marrying. You think it didn’t affect me? You think I wasn’t scared out of my wits because of what you did, what other people could do to you?” 

You rise up, palms quivering as you open and close them, strolling over to the window. Hoseok watches your shoulders shake before they slump completely, and he knows that you’re crying.

He’s up before he can stop himself, feet ready to walk out the door. He’d fucked up the moment he’d stayed in the elevator with you, all the ugly feelings between you coming to a head, ones he’d struggled so hard to keep buried. 

But his body betrays him, instead leading him right behind. He pauses until he’s just close enough that if he reaches out, he’d be able to grab your arm and turn you around to face him. But he waits instead.

“I did what I did because I realized I was chasing a ghost,” you huff out, resignation in your tone. “I wanted you to be someone you weren’t. I wanted you to care so badly. But you didn’t. I don’t want any part in whatever you’re caught up in, Hoseok. Whatever has a hold on you so badly that you couldn’t even look beyond your cynicism to give me a chance.”

“I just want to survive.”

Hoseok grips the bathroom sink, knuckles turning white. His cell phone clatters on the counter beside him and he has to keep from heaving. This whole thing was a mess – no one had counted on Namjoon coming back. Even less so on him refusing to take up his father’s mantle. And so the threats continued – the words from the anonymous phone call still ringing in his ear, your name echoing across the line.

While he didn’t know what he felt for you, or whether he could even marry you, Hoseok knew you were an innocent person. You didn’t deserve to be the victim of your parents’ greed, them using you to bury their secrets in the hands of even more powerful people. You deserved gardens full of flowers and meals together every night, not coming home to an empty bed. Or a fiancé who couldn’t spare a moment during the entire night to even dance with you. 

He’s so lost in his brooding that he doesn’t hear the door the click behind him, the soft tapping of heels on the floor coming up behind him. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask him gently, and he feels the bristle of your hand on his jacket. 

So much was wrong. You couldn’t even begin to understand. 

“It’s fine,” he clears his throat, straightening up to adjust his jacket. “I’ll need to leave soon. I can have the car stay behind for you.”

The farther away he got from you, the better. That way no one could hurt you – or him. 

“I can go with you,” your voice echoes from beside him, “I was getting tired anyway.”

Hoseok turns to face you, watching you recoil at the red rimming his eyes, the bags underneath them becoming even more prominent in the dim lighting of the bathroom.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to reach for the single strand of hair that has managed to escape your polished bun, but he watches you suck in a breath, lips parting in surprise.

Before he knows it, your face is drawing in closer, and he can smell the rosé on your breath. Your lips barely ghost against his, and he has to fight every nerve ending not to grab your hand and run away from here, somewhere where he wasn’t Hoseok, and you weren’t ____, and you didn’t need protecting from everything around you – most of all him. 

His paralysis slowly melts away and he’s pushing you away without realizing, the door to the bathroom suddenly materialising in front of him. 

“Like I said,” he doesn’t bother turning around, knowing his heart would twist at whatever expression he found on your face. “I’ll have the car stay behind for you.”

Before you can wrestle with the weight of your confession to Hoseok, a hand is clamping over your mouth. Caught in a silent scream, you turn your eyes to see Hoseok lifting a finger to his lips, willing you to stay quiet. And that’s when you hear them. The voices.

Raucous laughter echoes through the hallway, tinged with malevolent glee. The air around you feels cold, a breeze at the base of your spine, and you instinctively curl into Hoseok.

“Come out, come out,” the disembodied voice cackles from the hallway. “Are you hiding from us, Jung? Found some poor rich girl to use as a body shield?”

Your hand seizes Hoseok’s wrist clamped against your mouth, nails digging into his arm, the fear taking over. Slowly, his wrist lowers, slipping to take your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?” 

He’s so quiet you almost can’t tell he’s said it at all. You nod reluctantly, eyes continuing to dart to the door.

“Go hide underneath the bed. Lock the door. I may or may not come back but please stay inside. Don’t come looking for me.”

His voice is clipped, the faint hint of nerves colouring his tone, but his eyes are filled with a resoluteness you know all too well. You’d spent the better part of over a year staring into them, hoping they’d look back. And now they finally were. 

“Be safe.” Your voice comes out louder than you’d intended, but there’s no anger in Hoseok’s expression. All he does is nod, and then you turn, stumbling down the hallway to your room, never bothering to look back until you hear the door click behind you.

. . .

Hoseok’s heart pounds in his chest, a strange pain settling in his ribs – he never expected to be in this position again. His sense of duty had always been his biggest downfall – and while you were no longer his, he owed it to you to make sure he gave you exactly what you’d asked him for – the chance to survive, to come out on the other side of this. That’s why he had to settle this once and for all.

Choi’s cronies linger at the other end of the hallway, too dumb to notice Hoseok slipping out of your door, reaching for the revolver he’d kept hidden in his coat pocket. A chill settles in his bones as he runs his fingers over the metal.

The brief events of the night play over in his head – the rain pounding against the pavement, the ding of the elevator, the now-cold mug of coffee that sat on your coffee table. And then there was you – your eyes, the softness of your skin, the faint smell of gardenias that lingered on your skin.

And it hits Hoseok that while he was very much alive – he’d been in mourning. Mourning for the friendships he’d never be able to recover, for the youth that had been taken away from him. But most of all, Hoseok’s heart mourns for the relationship he’d never gotten to have with you. The glass walls he’d so carefully put up around himself shatter, making way for a torrential deluge. 

After me, the flood.

He remembers the first night you’d met, how he’d been drawn to you without even trying, the portrait of the wave. He remembers the months that passed afterwards, where you drew closer to him and he drew back. He remembers the regret he’d buried deep in his heart for not kissing you back the night of the gala, not knowing he’d never get another chance.

But most of all, he remembers the somber expression on your face the day you’d ended things, pressing the engagement ring back into his hands, the very same ring that was still sitting in the first drawer of his nightstand. 

Choi’s men finally perk up, noticing Hoseok’s solitary figure lingering at the end of the hallway, smirks twisting on their grotesque faces. A shot rings out, and Hoseok thinks of you now, hiding under your bed. And then he charges.

The alleyway was grim at this time of day, the sunlight barely able to reach beyond the towering skyscrapers, the clouds casting everything in grey. Rain fell softly from the sky. You clutch your coat tighter around you, unable to stop looking at the mural of the wave.

So much had changed since you’d first seen it. And yet it was still the same.

You know Hoseok from the thud of his boots against the pavement, coming up beside you. His head turns, an eyebrow raised in your direction, wondering why you’d asked to meet him here of all places.

You avoid his eyes, fingers clasping around the blue velvet in your pocket. His eyes widen with surprise when he sees the box, confusion marring his handsome face. 

A knot forms in your chest when you watch the confusion turn into alarm as you press the box into his hand, the dazzling diamond no longer on your left finger.

“I don’t understand,” he grunts, breath visible in the cold air.

“We can’t do this anymore, Hoseok. I can’t do this. I can’t live like this.”

“Was it something that I did?” he questions you, desperation creeping into his voice.

You scoff, watching him flinch, pain on his face. 

“No, it’s the opposite. It’s what you haven’t ever been able to do. It’s been an entire year, Hoseok. I’ve watched you answer every phone call that comes your way, disappear into the night to do god knows what, run whenever your friends call. And in that entire time, have you ever thought about us? About the future?”

You take a deep breath.

“I know that neither of us chose this, but Hoseok, we were engaged. Did that mean anything to you?”

He squares his shoulders, fists clenching at his sides, a tick in his jaw.

“You don’t understand. I-I’m not good for you, ___. I dont think I’ll ever be. There’s too much that’s happened, too much I’ve lost. But please don’t walk away like this.

“I thought it’d be enough,” you whisper, and Hoseok freezes. You didn’t know he’d heard you.

“I thought me loving you would be enough for the both of us. But it’s not. I need more. I need someone who I know will come home to me every night. But what I need even more than that, is for you to let me walk away so I can breathe again. So I can be myself.”

Your eyes are just as sad as the first time Hoseok saw them, and all of a sudden, you remark at how stagnant the two of you had been together.

“Hoseok please, I know I can’t ask you to do it if you love me, but if you’ve ever cared about me, even the tiniest bit, let me go.”

You watch him open the box, gazing at the ring. Moments pass by before he slips it into his own pocket, his eyes flitting to the wave as he gives you a small smile, the most genuine one you’d ever seen.

“Goodbye, ____. 

Hoseok’s fist rattles against the door, before he slumps over, heaving for breath. The pain in his side licks at him like the flames of a fire. He hisses when he presses a hand to it, eyes widening when it comes away covered in blood. Those fuckers had managed to get him. Shit.

His eyes are about to close when the door springs open, the wide eyes of Kim Namjoon taking in his battered figure. 

“Hobi, what the fuck?” Namjoon seethes, offering him an arm and pulling him inside. Slinging an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder, the two of them hobble to Namjoon’s kitchen, the burning in Hoseok chest causing him to let out a loud groan.

“Hyun is sleeping,” Namjoon chastises him, and Hoseok bites his tongue, remembering that this Namjoon was dealing with a pregnant wife and a toddler. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened, or do I have to force it out of you?”

“I made a mistake, Namjoon. I went somewhere I shouldn’t have tonight. I fucked up, but I-I didn’t mean to I swear…”

Hoseok feels himself shake as the words pour out, the ruined mission the furthest thing from his mind. He tells Namjoon everything – from being tailed to running into to you, to how he’d left, not knowing whether you were okay or not. 

“That was a dick move,” Namjoon huffs.

“Excuse me?” Hoseok looks up at his best friend, who looks more pissed off than he’s ever seen him. 

“I said what I said. That was a dick move, just leaving her like that.”

“I don’t need a lecture on running away from you, Namjoon-ah.”

Namjoon wipes away the blood on his side, and Hoseok bites his tongue at the sting of the alcohol, before slumping into the chair next to him. 

“You’re an idiot, Jung Hoseok. You’ve been so afraid of letting yourself feel things for so long, and I know it’s because you think that everyone around you is going to leave, or that you’ll lose them. But I’m telling you right now, that’s the stupidest thing you could ever do.”

“You have to let yourself just be, Hobi. Just let go. Enjoy things - life, your friends, your family. Be open to the possibility of love. It’s the only thing that can keep the darkness away.”

Namjoon’s voice shrinks when he says the last line, and Hoseok knows his friend is far off in his own mind, battling the demons that plague him. 

“I think I’m too far gone for that, Namjoon,” Hoseok tells him. “Maybe some of us weren’t meant for happiness. Maybe some of us needed to make sacrifices so others could live the lives they wanted to.”

“That’s a damn lie if I’ve ever heard one, Hoseok.” Namjoon striaghtens, rising up from the chair. “I know you’ve been angry at me for leaving, for keeping you all in the dark. I know how much it hurts to not be able to share your happiest moments with people you love. And I’m sorry for that. But you have a chance to change things.”

“Listen Hobi,” Namjoon crouches down to his level. “I want to be the best man at your wedding – I want to be there for you in all the ways you didn’t get to do for me. This is my way of making amends, but you need to fix whatever this is between you two.”

“What makes you think she’ll even take me back? I was awful to her… god, she didn’t deserve that Joon. She deserves so much better.”

“Do you love her?” Namjoon asks him, and Hoseok is shocked when he doesn’t even have to pause to think about it. He wants to start over, to be by your side, to have a chance to love you properly this time around. 

“Second chances come when you least expect them, Hobi. Think about what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped out into the rain last night. And don’t let it happen again.”

The knock at the door startles you, your phone clattering to the floor. Swearing under your breath, you pick it up, perusing the message from Minghao once again. He was nothing if not persistent. And Hoseok was never coming back. You’d convinced yourself of that.

It’d been over a week since he’d left you that night - the promise to keep you safe burrowing its way into your heart. And then radio silence. You’d heard the gunshots in the hallway, but when you’d opened the door, no one was there, the only evidence of the showdown being the faint splatters of blood on the wall. When the police had questioned you, you’d left Hoseok’s name out of it – those words echoing in your mind, instilling a false sense of loyalty in you.

Why did you think things would be different this time around? It’d been foolish to assume that Hoseok thought anything more of you. But you couldn’t forget the look in his eyes, the gentle touches, the way he’d promise he would never let anything happen to you, and you fell for him all over again.

Throwing your phone aside, you grumble as you make your way to the door, making a mental note to respond to Minghao later, agreeing to the date.

Swinging it open, you freeze when you see who’s on the other end. Hoseok, looking worse for wear with bruises on his jaw and a nasty cut on his forehead, nervously twirling a tiny bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You’re dumbfounded - unable to speak as you take him in, his dark, inquisitive eyes gazing into your shocked ones. 

“You better let me in, ____,” he says with a grin. “Or the neighbours are gonna think I did something really bad this time.”

Wordlessly, you open the door to allow him to enter, watching as he slips off his coat and shoes, an exact repeat of a week ago. You watch him, trying to open your mouth and say something, ask him anything, but nothing will come out. 

“These are for you,” Hoseok nearly shoves the bouquet in your hands and you watch him rub at the back of his neck, his ears reddening.

“Are you okay Hoseok?” you finally manage to ask him, setting the flowers on your coffee table. Your concern wins out over your confusion once again, but the whole scene is odd – him, smiling in your apartment, the late afternoon sunlight casting half his angular face in a mysterious shadow.

“Just a little nick to my side,” he lifts his shirt up, your eyes widening at the bandages on his abdomen. “But actually, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay since the day I let you walk away, and I can’t live with it anymore.”

You take a step back, unable to breathe. The space in between you seems to have lessened considerably, and you can make out every delicate detail of his face. Dizzy, you put some distance in between the two of you.

“Everything hurts, ___. It hurts because I look at you and I feel like I can’t breathe anymore, knowing how much pain I put you through. It hurts knowing that you’re so kind, so understanding of someone like me, when I don’t deserve it at all. And what hurts the most is knowing that I love you, and I’ve been lying to myself this entire time because I’m afraid you’ll leave just like everyone else, but I lost you anyway.”

Hoseok’s voice cracks on the last words, and you watch him sway, gripping onto your counter for support.

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” you finally manage to look him in the eyes, tears spilling out of your own. “I thought I was crazy, because ever since you walked out that door a week ago, all I’ve been doing is waiting for you to come back.”

“I’m here,” Hoseok closes the gap between you, arms wrapping around you. You breathe in the faint scent of tobacco on his leather jacket, mixed with the spice of his cologne. “And I’m not leaving. Not this time.”

You grip his lapels, before your arms come up to wrap around his neck, running your fingers through the soft hair at his nape. 

“What if it’s not different this time around?” you whisper into his neck. “What if nothing changes?”

“What if it is?” his low voice rumbles into your hair. “Can you trust me, ___? One more time?”

You take his hand in yours, bringing it to your chest, his lips parting in awe at the fluttering of your heartbeat.

“Only you can do that to me,” you say softly, a smile gracing your lips. 

Before you know it, Hoseok’s lips are crashing against yours, and you can feel him release a euphoric sigh, groaning into your mouth. It’s slow, tentative in the way he waits for your body to respond, never pushing more than you’re comfortable with. Eventually, even the small bit of distance in between you becomes too much to bear. You card your fingers into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in your chest.

It feels too short when he pulls away all too soon, lips tinged with red and eyes dark with something that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since the night of the gala,” he rasps, warmth blooming in your chest at his confession. “You were—, I mean you still are, breathtaking.”

You can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand, watching his entire body soften at your touch. 

“Come with me,” you ask him, eyes turning down the hallway to your bedroom. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for. 

Hoseok tries to ignore the rapid rushing of blood in his ears, his focus narrowing to your head resting on his shoulder, the two of you looking out at the city together for the last little while from your bed. It’s somewhere he never imagined he’d be, but he’d felt the ice around his heart melt the moment he’d finally kissed you for real, warmth filling his veins.

And despite relishing in your presence, it was spiking to a fever pitch. He’d tasted you, and now he couldn’t get enough. All it takes is a brief moment for you to look in his eyes, and he’s pulling you into him once again, mouth hard on yours, unable to resist the desire for more, more, more. 

You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He uses one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to hike your dress up to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in. 

He kisses you again, his lean body hovering over yours, hands roaming everywhere – your arms, up your neck, and on your thighs. He inches higher and higher, fingers ghosting over your core.

“Hoseok please,” you whimper, digging your nails into his shoulder blades. “I can’t wait anymore.”

You part your thighs for him, and he wastes no time, pulling your soaked underwear to the side and dipping his fingers into your arousal. He presses another hard kiss to your lips, catching your moans in his mouth while he works you open, leaving you trembling underneath him.

You whine when his fingers leave you, clenching around nothing, coming up to cup your exposed breasts in both hands while he licks and sucks at your nipples.

“Fuck,” he groans against your chest. “How are you so perfect? How are you even mine?”

His voice breaks, and you mouth at his jaw, mirroring his actions until purple bruises begin to bloom in the spots where your lips previously were.

“I’m yours,” you nip at his bottom lip. “Whether you like it or not.”

“Believe me,” he smirks. “I like it. I like it a lot actually. Let me show you how much.”

With adept skill, he manages to remove your panties in seconds, throwing them to the wall. The clinking sound of his belt drives you mad, and your hands join his, the two of you awkwardly fumbling to remove it.

You feel your mouth go dry when his cock springs free, and he chuckles at the depraved look in your eyes.

“Some other time, love,” he whispers, voice lowering a few octaves. “Right now, I need to feel you.”

You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Move, please,” you beg him, and he obliges, hiking one leg up over his shoulder to open you up for him, the wet sounds of your pussy accompanying the fluid snap of his hips. His knuckles grip the headboard, turning white while he pins you underneath him, unable to take his eyes off the way your tits bounce with every thrust. His hands grip at your ass, every jerk of his hips an excuse to hold you tighter, until he can see your skin redden underneath his fingers. 

“Oh my god, Hoseok, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the sparks underneath your skin, lighting you up like a livewire.

“Come for me,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Hoseok speeds up his thrusts to join you, roaring when he feels himself explode, before slumping against you, chest heaving with the weight of his breaths. 

Moments pass like this, him remaining inside you while he burrows into the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning your damp skin. Eventually he pulls out of you with a soft whine, brushing away the sweat-soaked strands of hair at your temple, before rising. 

You trap his wrist in your hand, panic settling in. He watches your expression change and immediately stiffens, cradling you against his chest.

“That expression you always talk about, the flood. I-, I looked it up. And I know the life I have isn’t ideal, and maybe things will only get harder, but I promise I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. I don’t want to live out the rest of my life not caring anymore.”

“Do you know what I was thinking of that night, looking at the wave?” you mumble in his ear, and he gazes at you inquisitively, watching the way your skin glows under the moonlight as you take a breath.

“My whole life, people have forced me into this box, this image, of someone they want me to be – the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. It’s been suffocating. All I wanted that night was a taste of freedom - that feeling of happiness you have on a beach, feeling the waves crash at your feet. And then I saw you.”

Hoseok leaves a kiss in your hair, his fingers intertwining with yours. Briefly, his heart drops at the absence of the ring he’d given you on your finger, but he knows when you’re ready, it’ll be waiting for you. He’ll be waiting for you. And the two of you will step into the flood, together. 

a/n pt. 2:  Okay long ending note here. First, please visualize this Hoseok with the undercut ;) Second, I don't normally say this but the writer's block really got me good with this one, so I apologize if it's not up to my usual standards (pls be kind tho). And third and last, this fic definitely would never exist if it weren't for the wonderful Guarded series by Ana (@xjoonchildx). I think about it more than is necessary and this is definitely my tribute to the impeccable Captain Jung.

As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi &lt;3

taglist (pls let me know if you want to be removed): @jalexad @secfir @hobi-love @back2bluesidex @temptingempress

[dreamerwasntfound]

Kpop Writers and Fic Recs

List of Kpop Fanfic writers I follow and the fic I found them with (if there is one)!!

Warning: Very Long List :)

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With Specific Post

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✎ @remedyx > Boyfriend for Hire (Series) ♡ BTS OT7 x Reader # N/A ➤ n/a 🗨 Unsatisfied with your life was an understatement. Being under the thumb of your father can have that effect. He wanted someone capable of running the company, but you wanted to pursue your passion. Countless unwanted blind dates and the threat of losing your freedom drives you to seek help from a group of individuals you’d least expected.

✎ @bebejungkook > Gym Bunny (Series) ♡ Jungkook x Reader # N/A ➤ Toxic friends, reader learns to love herself, cuss words, accidental boners, some mean comments about reader from her friends and Kooks bestie who hates YN. 🗨 After being tired of feeling insecure you decided to take your friends advice and hit the gym. The only problem is you don’t know what to do, but luckily the very muscular and scary guy next to you offered to teach you a couple things. He just also happens to be the sweetest man you’ve ever met and not scary at all. You catch yourself falling in love with him on your journey of self love, but old insecurities stop you from doing anything about it.

✎@your-daily-biaswrecking > You sit on his lap in the car and he cums in his pants + but, check out their m.list ♡ Kim Namjoon x Reader # Drabble ➤ n/a 🗨 Like the title says ;)

✎ @m-yg93 > Solace ♡ Kim Namjoon x Reader # 13.5k ➤ Brief blood mention from a cut, mention of minor character death (sickness), fingering, hand job, big dick joon, belly bulge, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, creampie, dirty talk, inconsistent POV 🗨 Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

✎ @joonsytip > Anonymously Yours ♡ Hong Joshua x Fem!Reader # 18.6k ➤ Fluff, Angst, Humour (broken coz mine), high school au, enemies to lovers au, strangers to lovers au, anonymously yours au. 🗨 After an accidental text message turns into a digital friendship, you and Joshua start crushing on each other without realizing you both see each other frequently in real life.

✎ @peekaboongi > Snake Kisses (& Defense Against the Dark Farts) ♡ Yoongi x Reader # 8.5k (& 2.2k+) ➤ Licking kink? masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism (kinda?), slight? biting kink, dom!yoongi, sort of aphrodisiac? idk his spit makes you kinda sorta sensitive does that count as a spit kink? fingering, oral (female receiving), orgasm denial, degradation, name calling, spanking, pet names (he calls her princess), cumplay,  unprotected sex, humiliation, handjobs, choking, creampie, like mild cum inflation? overstimulation. oh dear god this is more than I thought it was. (& dom yoongi but also soft yoongi, one tiny possible spoiler for the very last harry potter movie, sad danger noodle yoongle, oral (male), handjobs, yoongi has two dicks, one (1) spank, yoongi spits on her hand, unprotected sex, degradation, name calling, pet names (he calls he princess), tiny bit of begging not really, i think that’s it) 🗨 You are grossly unprepared for the snake hybrid that enters your life. Yoongi is quiet and sneaks around you but eventually, even the cold reptile warms up to you. (& While trying to get Yoongi to take the full Pottermore sorting quiz, you discover something that he’s self-conscious about. Lucky for him, you love every part of him, snake bits and everything. ↳ defensive snake farts are a thing, apparently)

✎ @whatifyoulivelikethat > (seven) days a week ♡ jungkook x reader # N/A ➤ rated M (18+) for language (reader swears a lot); strangers-to-lovers; vague allusions to a loveless childhood and bad parenting (no specifics); JK might be insane and you do tell him that he is; slight crack; fluff; smut (fem reader, fucking with clothes on and off, m and f-receiving oral, light hair pulling, fingering, nipple play, choking, penetrative sex, handjob); non-idol!BTS – persistent!Jungkook x noona, def tsundere!reader lol ft instigator-cupid!Park Jimin setting them up 🗨 It only takes seven days (a week) for Jeon Jungkook to get you in his bed to fuck you right. And showing up in weird places. And kissing in the rain. He’s crazy. Okay, it’s kinda complicated.

✎ @httpjeon > lovebug ♡ jimin/reader # 12k ➤ spider hybrid!jimin, hybrid mistreatment/bullying, love self esteem/self-worth, arguments, crying, physical altercation between jimin & reader, name-calling, attachment anxiety, possessiveness, kissing, scenting, dom!jimin, manhandling, size kink/difference, fingering, dirty talk, cunnilingus, sensitivity kink, wet & messy, lots of cum, cumflation, jimins duality 🗨 hybrids are lovable companions for humans. unfortunately, most people simply want a cat or dog with which they can cuddle and love on. while looking for one to adopt, a lonesome hybrid of an unusual breed catches your eye.

✎ @solemnreads > Way Back Home (Series) ♡ jungkook x reader # N/A ➤ parents au, single parent, coparenting, chaebol, ceo jungkook, assistant reader, jeon twins, one of the babies has a weak heart, smut 🗨 "please tell me this isn't what i think it is" he asks you with tears in his eyes. you look down at the sight of your son with an oxygen mask on his face while your daughter is sleeping on the couch near the wall. you look into his eyes, broken and sad. you've dreamt of this day for years, wondering how he would react. but here you are, hoping he could've meet the twins under different circumstances. "yes...they're your children."

✎ @dovechim > the singularity theory (m) (Series) ♡ yoongi x reader # N/A ➤ posted on each chapter 🗨 in your last year of undergrad, you find out what a gloryhole is at the expense of your final year thesis. it’s a classic example of a psychology experiment that went way, way wrong. but how were you to know that a certain min yoongi would be sticking his dick into your life?

✎ @jeonstudios > drown for you (Series) ♡ siren!jk x f reader # N/A ➤ posted on each chapter 🗨 there was something in that enormous tank, hidden in the murky water. all you knew was that you weren’t allowed inside the room and that it used to hold something dangerous.

✎ @barbika1508 > Lacuna (Series) + M.List ♡ Hybrid!Jeongguk x reader # N/A ➤ posted on each chapter 🗨 posted on each chapter

✎ @btssmutgalore > Nude (Series) ♡ Taehyung x reader # N/A ➤ smut 🗨 You accidentally send a nude to Taehyung, a fuckboy you definitely shouldn't have been thinking about, despite already kissing him. The fact that he's your roommate's best friend doesn't help your situation at all.

✎ @joonberriess > Jock!JK (Series) + M.List ♡ jock!jungkook x reader # N/A ➤ posted on each chapter

✎ @dreamescapeswriting > BTS Reactions + M.List

✎ @taesbetch > To Own A Hybrid (Series) + M.List ♡ Jungkook x Reader # N/A ➤ posted on each chapter 🗨 the hybrid world was one y/n never really involved herself in; however, after certain events, she is tossed into a world of uncertainty in the company of a particularly rude hybrid. 

✎ @gothvkth > sensitive ♡ Jeon Jeongguk x GN!Reader # 2k+ ➤ self conscious jk, sensitive jk, nipple play, pussy pocket, vibrator, dirty talk, whiny jk, orgasm denial, sub jk, dom reader, pre-discussed kinks and wtv, safe sane and consensual, jk hugs a pillow to his chest like a cutie, a hint of dacryphilia, jk cries but he loves it. 🗨 you two have been friends since the beginning of time. after finally getting together, you guys had a miscommunication problem regarding your sex life in concern that jeongguk didn't want you but truth is, he's just a sensitive boy, too sensitive.

✎ @taleasnewastime > Purr-haps I like you ♡ Yoongi x Reader # 11.6k ➤ An abandoned cat; the cat gets ill at one point. 🗨 You have a no pets policy where you live, but when you find a tiny kitten in a box on the side of the road, what can you do but bring it home with you? The only problem? The landlord who made the no pets rule, also happens to be your flatmate.

✎ @kookslastbutton > Too Late to Dream (Series) ♡ professor!jungkook x fem!artist!Reader # 16.5k (TBA) ➤ 8-year age gap, professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), lots of family drama, fighting, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, therapy, sexual content + more specific warnings per chapter 🗨 You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

✎ @stylesluxx > Eight Years (Series) ♡ poly!ceo!bts x reader # N/A ➤ angst (and more, posted on each part) 🗨 in which they fall out of love

✎ @jcwriting > There's A First Time For Everything ♡ idol!namjoon x reader # 2.8k ➤ swearing, oral (m receiving), face fucking, choking, reader has a painful thigh kink (don’t we all), overuse of the word thigh 🗨 namjoon has never had a blowjob before. you’re about to change that.

✎ @minnochu > Lustrous (Series) ♡ Hybrid!Kook x Reader

✎ @appreciatethefoolishness > Bunny Trouble (Series) ♡ jeongguk x reader

✎ @numinousher > Combined Beings (Series) + M.List ♡ mafia/ceo!bts x chubby!reader # N/A ➤ cursing, a bit of mature content ( English isn’t my first language so just to warn you all 😭),  deep conversations based on beauty standards, body dysmorphia, mental health issues, harassment/bullying, gore/violence 🗨 You are bullied on a constant because korea’s beauty standards do not fit girls on the heavier side. The bullying gets worse once a ceo is attracted to you and he mentions you to the other 6.

✎ @secretbangtnn > Until I bleed out (Series) ♡ poly!BTS x hybrid!reader # N/A ➤ mentions of sexual assault and sex trafficing, violence, mentions of homelessness, mental problems, panic attacks, reader is scared of everything, bts just wants to help, smut later, mentions of abo, to be added… 🗨 Hybrids always were discriminated against, the laws passing over years changed nothing, collars still needed to be seen on those innocent necks like some kind of label. Cruelty was something the hybrids faced on daily basis, sex trafficing or illegal fighting it still felt as if those humans treated everything like pets. Situation you however found yourself in, was kind of different - not worse not better but still so bad you did not know if the next day would be yours, and when the winter started coming with big steps it was only a matter of time when the freezing cold would eat you alive. Unless one silent night a little too loud striped tiger decides to break your calm nap with a clumsy package of long limbs after him who just could not leave your tired and scared self alone…

✎ @20moonchild21 > Sehncucht - Discontinued? ♡ Hybrid!BTS x human!female!oc # N/A ➤ fluff, angst, humor, smut (later), mentioning of sexual assaultment, abuse, violence, friendship, love, dark themes 🗨 Hope is your average New York college girl, who is only one step away from reaching her big dream and becoming a lawyer for Hybrid rights. Never would she have thought, that one night, where she heard a whimpering coming from a dark alley, could turn her whole word upside down.

✎ @strlstlvr > skz finding your old fan tweet for them (hyung line linked, also maknae line version available) ♡ skz x reader # N/A ➤ smau, crack, a wee bit suggestive in changbins🫣 🗨 of course you were always their biggest fan, too bad they took a deep dive and found out how obsessed you actually were

✎ @alternateafterthought > Golden Time (Series) + M.List ♡ hybrid!jungkook x reader # 30k+ ➤ posted on each chapter 🗨 Y/N has been rescuing and recovering hybrids her entire life. Now she has inherited her grandparent’s hybrid sanctuary. It was a normal rescue, get the hybrid, recover him and give him a choice, stay on the sanctuary or find a life for himself. Why was this one so different?

✎ @idkcantthinkofaname > It takes time (Series) ♡ bts x reader # N/A ➤ posted on each chapter 🗨 after finally getting the house y/n always wanted, she find a hybrid hiding in an old shed. Unlike most people who find strays, y/n doesn’t turn him into h.c mainly because there was a lot of shady things that happened with the hybrid control in the area.

✎ @jiminrings > 4-7-8 (Series) ♡ jungkook x reader # N/A ➤ semi-heavy angst (pls take a break when necessary!!), emotional constipation, no cheating happens here btw (neither physical nor emotional), self-loathing, miscommunication, based on the moral dilemma of whether or not it's okay to be friends with ur ex, intense yearning + specified tags in each installment! 🗨 you're secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren't so secure about is his first love - someone who isn't you. alternatively, jungkook's married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

✎ @ya9amicide > Redamancy (Series) ♡ ot7 x ot7, ot7 x oc # N/A ➤ posted on each chapter 🗨 Hybrids were accepted in society to a certain degree. To some, they are for entertainment. Used as sex and money tools. To lock up and abuse whenever and however they please. Something to have control over. To others, they are companions. Just like regular animals are used for therapy or simply companionship, hybrids are too. To the rest, they are just like everyone else. Someone with their own life who deserves the same freedoms as your everyday John or Jane Doe. Wren is one of these people. She hates the idea of owning a hybrid. She has nothing against those who own them for medical or companionship reasons. Just the rest. But, when a ragtag pack of seven mismatched hybrids somehow ends up in the woods behind her home, she takes them in and does the one thing she never thought she would do. Own them. But, she also does something she didn't even think was possible. She fell in love with each and every one of them.

✎ @sue-bts > Teething ♡ Bunny!Jungkook x Reader # N/A ➤ much smut very sin wow, biting, pet/owner (he is of age, hybrid stuff makes the developmental process- i.e. teething- a bit slowed but he’s 19) 🗨 (Requested) Can you do one where hybrid Jungkook is going through his heat and he just needs dom!y/n so bad, but she just loves to see him beg and practically dry hump her leg. Can you add dirty talk in there too. I don’t care what he’s mixed with.

✎ @eternal-mikrokosmos > Stubborn Hugs (Series) ♡ Hybrid Namjoon x Reader, occasional ot7 x reader, ot7 x ot7 # N/A ➤ posted in each chapter 🗨 After helping out a koala and bunny hybrid, your bring them home with your other hybrids to adjust. But a certain koala doesn’t seem tho get the concept of being cared for without a catch. Having your own set of secrets, it already proves difficult to gain their trust and getting them to stay with you at the same time. Your hybrids already know everything about you and are willing to sacrifice whatever it takes to keep you safe.

✎ @arrianna21 > Hybrid!Taegi Masterlist + M.List ♡ cathybrid!yoongi/doghybrid!taehyung/reader # N/A ➤ posted in each chapter

✎ @gimmesumsuga > Pink Panther ♡ Jin x reader # 13k ➤ Graphic descriptions of sex, oral sex (female receiving), impregnation kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk 🗨 ‘The one where your boss, Kim Seokjin, tries to show you how beautiful you are’ - Hybrid!AU

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[ficsilike-reblogged]

Of Monsters & Mistletoe

A/N: Yet another holiday fic? Already? Yes, because I am extra sappy this year and Steve deserves a smooch or two. Reader does celebrate Christmas in this and she and Steve both have shitty parents. It also makes mention of all events of seasons 1-4. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Steve Harrington/F!Reader

Rating: PG-A soft little thing

Word Count: 8.2k

Summary: The five times Steve almost kissed you beneath the mistletoe and the one time he finally did.

The first time Steve almost kissed you beneath the mistletoe, your family had just moved to Hawkins and had been invited to the holiday party at the country club. Just like his parents, yours were more interested in being seen than having an actual holiday-themed good time. You were dressed up in a stuffy red dress with fluffy white detailing and were told to sit still at a table near the back of the banquet hall with a steaming cup of hot chocolate as your only company.

Steve was seated a few tables away, his own hot chocolate long since drained. His parents were…somewhere. He could hear his mom’s laugh just barely over the Christmas music—she’d been practicing it in the mirror before leaving the house. His father was probably at her side, speaking with someone “important.”

“And you need to be on your best behavior, Steve,” he said, for the fourth time that night before the car door shut.

But ‘best behavior’ didn’t mean he couldn’t talk to the sad-looking girl, right? He could have friends, too. Steve hopped out of his designated seat and walked to your side. “Hi. I’m Steve.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of your mouth and you shyly gave him your name, too. You offered to split your hot chocolate with him and he learned that you were a grade below him, about to start school at Hawkins Elementary the next week. You were nice and kind and a little strange, Steve would admit, with your interests revolving around books and bugs, but you were nice. And it had been your idea to sneak away from your table to see the rest of the pretty decorations strung up around the country club. Your little hand curled around his as you darted around dancing couples and between schmoozing groups to look at the intricately decorated trees, the miniature porcelain towns, the light displays all over the sprawling building. It was beautiful. Really. But Steve just liked holding your hand. You were out of breath by the time you slowed to a stop near one of the exits, a bright smile on your face. “Everything is so pretty,” you said, still holding his hand.

“Yep,” Steve said with a smile of his own. He’d never had this much fun at one of these parties. “Do you want to help me build a snow fort tomor-”

Someone behind you cooed and you both turned to see his father’s secretary looking at you, pointing at something above your heads. You looked up and saw a small sprig of…something. Green leaves with tiny berries tied up in a red ribbon. “It is mistletoe, little man,” the woman said, hands on her hips.

Steve felt the blood drain from his face at the realization. Mistletoe. He knew what was supposed to happen but you were his friend. His first friend he made in a long time. And friends don’t kiss each other.

“You have to do it!” She prodded with another coo.

Following directions was something pressed onto Steve from his parents since day one. Telling him to do as he was told (and to be seen not heard) came out of their mouths more often than “I love you.” So, Steve frowned but leaned forward, intent on pressing his lips to yours when your hand came up to his face and you none-too-gently pushed him back. “Germs. You have germs.”

**

The second time Steve almost kissed you beneath the mistletoe came a few years later. Steve was on the cusp of entering high school and you were still more interested in books than most everything else, aside from the archery hobby you picked up at your father’s insistence. (Thankfully, your fascination with bugs and fear of germs had subsided.) And, despite both sets of parents’ hopes, you two didn’t exactly run in the same social circles at school. He had settled into the sporty, popular crowd. And you? Well…you had one friend: Jonathan Byers. The resident weird kid who was “lightyears away” from your family’s position, according to the whispers Steve heard between the Harringtons and your parents. And Steve tried to understand why he didn’t like Jonathan. He saw you smile and laugh with the Byers kid more than you ever did at these ridiculous country club “parties.” You were still kind to Steve, though. In your own strange way. And it really shouldn’t matter,

right

? It wasn’t like you were actually friends. More like you were each other’s only confidante in these circumstances, the only kids in your age range.

Sure. That was it.

You weaved through the crowd with your chin tucked to your chest (expertly dodging an underpaid assistant dressed as an elf who had a bit of mistletoe tied to a long pole that he’d dangle over people regardless of marital status) with two cups of hot chocolate in your hands, topped with an excessive amount of whipped cream and sprinkles. Steve took the proffered cup as you slid into the chair beside him and resumed your game of people watching from the sidelines.

“That woman,” you whispered from behind your hot chocolate, pointing a mostly inconspicuous finger at a woman with an outrageously tasseled sweater near the pyramid of champagne, “is apparently sleeping with one of the bigshot’s at her husband’s firm.”

“Does the husband know?” Steve asked, hiding a smile of his own.

“Yes. But he won’t say anything because he’s apparently getting a large raise to let it keep happening.” You took a large sip of your hot chocolate, earning a smear of whipped cream on the end of your nose. You tried to lick it away without success and Steve eventually tossed a bright red napkin at your face with a laugh as you continued to fill him in on the gossip you had overheard. There were, unsurprisingly, a large amount of affairs. Someone was probably (definitely) stealing from their boss. And someone else was caught doing coke at their office after Thanksgiving.

“How do you know all this?” Steve asked.

You shrugged. “Um, my parents are always telling me to keep my mouth shut and my head down. Maybe people think that since I’m not talking, I’m not listening.”

He winced. The old “be seen and not heard” song and dance was his father’s favorite, too. But while Steve still wanted to at least gain his parents’ attention, you seemed to revel in being forgotten most days. It looked…freeing. At least from the outside looking in.

“Aren’t you two adorable?” The sudden question had both you and Steve looking up from the table to see the assistant standing near the edge, a broad smile on his face. “Childhood sweethearts? How cute!” Then, without waiting for an answer, swung the mistletoe toward you, dangling it over your heads.

Dread immediately washed over Steve as he looked at the little berries and green leaves. Did you want to kiss him? Plenty of other girls as school did—and he usually took them up on the offer. But this was you. And this was the Christmas party. If his parents caught him making a scene-

“We’re just friends, actually,” you answered with a smile.

The elf-assistant did have the tact to blush and mutter an apology before trudging away, promptly swinging the mistletoe between another pair who quickly kissed. The crowd around them cheered, tipsy on eggnog and champagne.

“That was creepy,” you muttered. Your fingers trailed around and around on the edge of your mug of hot chocolate.

“You said we were friends.” The words were out of Steve’s mouth before he could stop them. Before he could understand what he was trying to say. Were you friends? Did you think of him as a friend?

But you just smiled and finished off your hot chocolate before speaking again. “It’s okay, Steve. I know I’m only your friend at these parties.”

Steve felt his face fall as he watched you smile and shake your head. Would that be so bad? To be friends with the weird girl? But, just as he opened his mouth to say something, anything, you were standing and walking away toward the door where your parents were waiting.

He watched you go, a little helplessly, and tried to smile at you as you glanced back at him, pulling your thick coat on. It didn’t work.

**

The third time Steve nearly kissed you under the mistletoe came years later. It had taken a monster from a different dimension nearly killing him and getting his face nearly caved in by Jonathan Byers for Steve to truly see you as a friend. You were funny and smart and brave. And you cared so much for other people. Steve had caught you sobbing in the hallway after helping Jonathan put up posters for Will and you had stood in front of Steve, armed with just your bow, and had earned yourself nearly thirty stitches and a scolding from your mother when she’d picked you up from the hospital for ruining the designer sweatshirt you had been wearing. Both Joyce and Hopper had looked furious but you’d waved them off as you let your mother lead the way out of the hospital.

“I’ll see you at school on Monday,”

you murmured with a lackadaisical smile as you passed him.

“Might want to put a bit of ice on that shiner, though.”

Yeah, you were his friend. He didn’t even mind the whispers that came when he would talk to you in the hallways. (The rumors he’d heard about your injuries ranged from plausible to ridiculous and he tried to shield you from them as much as possible.) He should have been hanging out with you this entire time. Steve had never felt so at ease with Tommy H. or Carol or any of the other bullshit hangers-on he’d been surrounded with for years. You were just…you. And Steve liked you. When you’d excitedly hugged him after he told you he passed the economics exam you’d helped him study for, it felt like his entire chest fluttered. So, when you invited him to a Christmas party at your house, muttering something about your mom not trusting your dad around a certain waitress at the country club, he leapt at it. His parents were probably already invited, too, and he didn’t want to leave you alone to face that monotony.

He and his parents arrived “fashionably late” to your parents’ large house. Everything was perfectly in its place; from the oversized and ornately decorated tree to the lighted garland wrapped around the carved banisters and railings. People were muttering about how much the decorations and food must’ve cost behind their cups of mulled wine as they waited their turn to speak to your parents. A string octet was set up near the stairs, filling the entire house with subdued versions of popular Christmas songs.

But Steve wasn’t here for that. He was here for you. Your movements were still a bit stilted, favoring your right side even though your stitches came out yesterday. The Santa hat on your head was crooked, too, but you didn’t seem to mind as you sucked on the curve of a candy cane. And why did his stomach twist at the sight of it?

After seeing that his parents were already preoccupied, Steve slipped through the crowd and to your side, snagging a candy cane of his own on the way. You smiled around the sweet treat as you spotted him, patting the bar stool at your side. He took it with a smile, fumbling with the candy cane’s plastic wrap for a moment before you grabbed it and deftly unwrapped it before handing it over. “Thanks for coming. People watching isn’t as fun without my usual partner in crime.” The smile you gave him made it impossible to not reciprocate.

“Yeah, yeah, anytime,” he said even though he’d missed the last handful of Christmas parties. Now Steve wished he hadn’t come up with a flimsy excuse to get out of them.

You settled onto the stool beside you before swiveling around to look out at the large crowd milling about your house. The conversation quickly fell back into your old habits of people watching and you regaling him about the gossip you’d learned as the adults around you steadily got drunker and drunker on the expensive wine your parents had brought in by the case. Steve added a few things here and there that he had overheard, too. But, eventually, with the taste of spiked eggnog on your tongues, you asked about classes and told him about yours, too. You shook your head when Steve asked about the book you were writing for your creative writing class and tried to hide your smile behind your cup. “It is so nerdy. You’d hate me.”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

The answering smile you gave him was near blinding and Steve wanted to make you smile like that again. All the time. Even if he didn’t really understand the “lore” (as you called it) of your story and didn’t really understand the appeal of elves and monsters and dragons, he liked your smile. Even if it did twist at something in his chest. The strange sensation he’d felt the night he saw you and Nancy with Jonathan returned like a sledgehammer to his ribs when you mentioned you’d be spending the holidays with the Byers family since your parents were taking a cruise to “work through things.” You didn’t believe it.

“You and Nancy are spending Christmas Eve together, right?” You asked as you finished. You’d snuck him another cup of eggnog and then pulled your Santa hat off to plop it right onto his hair. For a moment, he could smell your rose and mint perfume and he wondered if you wore it all the time. Not that it mattered, right?

“Yeah, her parents do a big dinner that night.”

“Nervous?” You asked with a quirked brow. “Quite a time to make a first impression, yeah?”

“Why would I be nervous?” Steve asked with a scoff. “Parents love me.”

And you laughed. Laughed and patted his knee. “Sure they do.”

Before he could ask what the hell you meant, his dad was saying his name. The prominent red across his face let Steve know that his father was either drunk or angry. Or both. His mother was at his side and they both said a few words to your parents before leaving with broad, fake smiles. Great. Just great. That was never a good sign.

You slipped off your barstool with a grimace. “I’ll walk you out. C’mon.” You led him to the door, weaving between people with ease and slowed to a stop beside the door. “Get home safe, okay?”

No one had told him that before. And wasn’t that just pathetic? “Of course-”

“Pucker up, kiddos!”

In a twisted sense of Deja vu, Steve looked up to see the sprig of mistletoe above the doorway. There was a small crowd near the door, and everyone’s drunken gazes were focused on the pair of you. He heart leapt as he looked at you, seeing the Christmas lights wash you in their gentle glow. He could kiss you right now and try to see what those twists and flutters in his chest were trying to tell him.

He could.

But he didn’t. He was a lot of things but he wasn’t his father. There was an apology on the tip of his tongue, for embarrassing you in front of all these people, for not kissing you, for-

But you beat him to it. Feeling the eyes on you, you hooked your thumb under Steve’s chin and gently pushed his head to the side. You made a show of pressing a loud peck to his cheek before stepping away from his side as a few of the more intoxicated partygoers booed in your direction.

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

**

Maybe winding up under the mistletoe with you was just a strange yearly tradition. At least that was what Steve told himself the fourth time he nearly kissed you. It would be a better tradition than the return of the demogorgons and the Upside Down.

This year had…sucked. His parents had continued their usual disinterest but now it was coupled by grating disapproval, too. His prospects of getting into a good university were dwindling by the week despite your best efforts to help him raise his grades, and Nancy had basically left him for Jonathan. But he had you.

Right?

That’s what he told himself when he had been invited to Tina’s Christmas party. He could go with you instead of feeling like a complete loser. You accepted his invitation with an unsure smile, not entirely comfortable with that crowd, but Steve had tried to soothe your worries with a promise to not leave your side. It was the same promise you had given him before you and the kids had jumped down into the tunnels to set “the hub” on fire to help Eleven.

“I am not letting them do this on their own, Steve. And I won’t leave you behind. I promise.”

Despite the absolute beating Billy had bestowed on him, Steve had followed you in. You’d been hurt, too, caught up in the slaughter at the Lab, trying to keep Mike and Joyce safe. But you hadn’t stopped. Steve found himself realizing you never did. You were often the first to arrive and the last to leave whenever anyone needed help with something. He’d found himself parking next to your car, more often than not, whenever the kids needed a ride home from the arcade or the Wheeler’s house. You hadn’t batted an eye when Steve rang your house at some god-awful hour to ask you to come over after he saw how happy Nancy was with Jonathan; you had arrived at his house with a thermos filled with hot chocolate and a sleepy smile. You’d listened to Steve pour his heart out and you reciprocated, telling him how you had felt a little betrayed that Jonathan had gone to Nancy instead of you when they had wanted to bring down the lab.

“But they’re happy, right?” you asked, licking at the remnants of cocoa on your lip. “We just want them to be happy. Even if it isn’t with us.”

You were always there. Ready to listen. Ready to try and make him smile. Just there. Always.

The party was in full swing by the time Steve parked his Beamer on Tina’s lawn beside the dozen other haphazardly parked cars. You slowly got out of the passenger side and gave him a thin smile and Steve was quick to smooth his hands down your arms to squeeze at your mitten-covered fingers. “We can leave right now. I don’t mind.”

But you shook your head. “You wanted to go and…and it’s about time I actually start going to parties, right? Maybe I’ll have fun.”

“If you’re not having fun in fifteen minutes, I’m getting you out of here and we can go to the movies or something.”

Your mouth twisted to the side and you ducked your head to look at the snow beneath your boots. “Can we go look at Christmas lights instead?”

And Steve just about melted. “Yeah, sweetheart. We can look at Christmas lights.”

You nodded and he watched a bit of tension fall from your shoulders before he led you into the party. Spinal Tap’s ridiculous Christmas song was playing over busted speakers but hardly anyone cared, already a few cups deep into the trashcan drink that Tina had sworn tasted like candy canes. You winced as you took a drink and Steve quickly switched it out for a can of Pepsi he snagged from the fridge.

You were content to sit in the kitchen and sip on your pop while Steve was called from one end of the house to the other by one acquaintance and then another. But every time he turned to make sure you were still okay, you smiled at him. Maybe it was the Christmas lights Tina had strung up across every wall. Maybe it was the snow starting to fall just outside. Maybe it was the second cup of that candy cane drink.

But you were beautiful.

Fuck. But this was fine, right? Friends could find one another attractive and still be friends. Before he could stop himself or realize what he was doing, Steve was walking toward you, discarding his drink on the nearest flat surface. “Wanna get out of here?”

Your nose scrunched as you looked down at the watch on your wrist. “You still have seven minutes of your allotted fifteen.”

Of course you would know that. Of course you were keeping track. “Doesn’t matter. I think I promised you Christmas lights.” He stole the can of pop from your hand and set it down before curling his arm around your shoulders after righting your evergreen scarf over your neck. Your laugh had his heart clawing its way up his throat but his stomach gave an answering drop as soon as you reached the door and someone behind him yelled for him to stop. Steve turned, hauling you with him, and saw Tommy H. pointing at something above your heads.

Mistletoe.

“Let’s see if Harrington still has any sway with the ladies!” He sneered. The crowd around him cheered. He wanted to humiliate Steve. “C’mon, Stevie-boy! Can’t you even get into the nerd’s pants?”

You tensed. Steve felt the muscles of your back and shoulders coil like a snake waiting to strike. “What’s your problem, Tommy?” You bit out. “Did Carol cuck you again so you need to take it out on someone else to feel like a ‘man’ again? Or did you finish too early—again—and she kicked you out of bed?”

The crowd around them cheered, again, too drunk to truly pick a side.

“That isn’t true-”

“Are you sure? Because I’ve heard about your lackluster skills too many times.” The red lights from Tina’s tree were bleeding across your face, making you look like some vengeful warrior. “I wonder why she puts up with you; it surely isn’t your looks or your limp dick.” Tommy’s face was an impressive shade of red and he opened his mouth to say something else but now you were the one pulling Steve outside, bypassing the mistletoe entirely with a firm hand in his. “C’mon. I hear the lights in Loch Nora are really good this year.”

He could have kissed you. Maybe he should have. But he didn’t.

**

“I swear to god, Steve. If you don’t actually do something-”

“Shut up, Robin!”

It had been two years (again) since Steve had been beneath a bit of mistletoe with you. Two years of confusing feelings and nearly dying. Two years of more monsters from the Upside Down and lingering looks that Steve hoped meant what he thought they did. Two years of changes and moving forward.

The biggest change, in a weird way, for Steve was that you had moved out of state to start university, rooming with Robin. Sure, there’d been the “mall fire” and the “earthquakes” but you leaving had been…different. It wasn’t Hawkins anymore if you weren’t in it.

But for right now, you were here. He spotted you across the large room as Joyce whispered something in your ear that had you giggling before Will tugged on your hand. Your bridesmaid dress was made of silky dark green fabric and you looked…beautiful. Of course, Joyce looked nice in her simple white dress with snowflake lace at her wrists, but Steve couldn’t stop looking at you. Joyce and Hopper had (finally) pulled the trigger and got married, waiting until all the kids were back in town for the holidays so everyone could attend the celebration with a few dozen other guests. It was a perfect little party and it had been so good to see everyone. The small venue was filled with Christmas trees and an overabundance of tinsel and extra lights stung up across the ceiling. (There was a few sprigs of mistletoe, too, but Steve was definitely not staring at those.) Christmas music was interspersed with cheesy love songs from decades past and snow was slowly falling outside. It was a perfect late December evening. You were dancing to The Ramones’ strange Christmas song, mostly jumping around with Jonathan and Will with an infectious smile on your face.

“Dude. Staring.”

Steve’s entire face felt hot and he turned away to face Eddie with a frown. “I’m not staring at her.”

And Eddie smirked. The faint scarring stretching across his cheek puckered the slightest bit. “I never said anything about her.” He then turned to look at you, too, watching as you let El tug you into another dance so you could messily dance with the kids, laughter on your tongue. “She does look good, by the way.”

“I know she does,” Steve grumbled. You had been self-conscious about the thin shoulder straps and cut of the dress and had fretted all morning after helping Joyce get ready, saying that your scars were too visible. And yes, he could see them. He could see the jagged thing twisting down your arm from the Soviet guard’s best attempt to break you in the underground base. (You hadn’t broken, but Steve’s heart nearly did when you screamed for him.) He could see the small scar on your knee from where you’d fallen off Max’s skateboard, an unofficial end to your skateboard lessons with the younger girl. You’d traded archery lessons with her, but Max had taken to archery as well as you had to skateboarding—but Steve knew that your steady presence in Max’s life had been a comfort to the redhead, even if she was slow to admit it to anyone aside from you. You’d bailed on the country club’s party last year to spend it with her since Susan needed to work a double.

“So, since you’re definitely not staring at her, would you mind if I danced with her?”

The grip Steve had on his cup of eggnog almost hurt before he pushed out a slow breath. “Yeah, man. Go for it. She loves to dance.”

Eddie groaned. “That is not what you were supposed to say!”

The outburst drew your attention, even over Wham’s Last Christmas starting to boom over the speakers Jonathan had set up. Your brows furrowed as you looked at both of them before Steve waved you on and El grabbed at your hands again, pulling you back into the dance. “Shut up, man. Jesus.”

Eddie clapped him on the shoulder. “Remember what I told you in the Upside Down? She saw you about to jump into the lake and did it first because she didn’t want you hurt. She is it for you, Harrington. Just like you are it for her. Would you have let anyone else take you to the eye doctor?” Eddie didn’t wait for an answer and bulldozed right on. “Would you have listened to anyone else if they’d suggested community college to get out of this shitty town?” Eddie dropped his voice the slightest bit, a low drawl in his ear. “Would you look at anyone else like you’re looking at her right now?”

The party all knew. The older kids did, too. They all knew that Steve was probably in love with you.

Possibly.

Definitely.

At least they were encouraging, in their strange, sometimes mean way.

He watched you jump and laugh with Lucas and Max as the song changed to Mellencamp’s version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” as Mike and Dustin pretended to score your dancing. It was zeroes across the board. But you still laughed and raised your hands over your head as you spun again, letting the scar that started on your back and bloomed above your chest truly be seen. Steve’s gut twisted at the sight of it. It wasn’t ugly. No part of you could ever be ugly. But the memory it brought was still fresh. You’d stayed with Lucas, Erica, and Max as the Creel House while the others went back into the Upside Down to kill Vecna. The plan had gone…about as well as any of the other plans regarding the Upside Down had gone (not well). But when Steve and Dustin were dragging a barely conscious Eddie back through the gate, you had been fending of Jason and scream-singing Kate Bush to Max after her Walkman was destroyed. It had worked—Max woke up after breaking one of her knees and an arm, but she was awake. You’d earned a bullet to your back from Jason Carver who thought you were part of the “Satanic cult” he was sure was residing in Hawkins. But you had survived. Jason was blamed for the murders after you spun quite the tale from your hospital bed. His insistence that there was something supernatural at play definitely didn’t help him, but the town was saved from a trial and Eddie was cleared, walking out of the hospital a free man. Vecna was killed from the inside out by El, aided by Nancy’s sharp shooting. It was over.

And Steve would never forget watching Lucas and Erica drag you out of the house and into the camper, covered in blood and near delirious.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. Okay? You gotta stay with me.”

He had nearly lost you.

“Yeah,” Eddie continued, taking Steve’s silence for an answer. “That’s what I thought.” He clapped him on the shoulder with a long sigh. “Just give it a shot, Harrington. It’s the holidays. We’re at a wedding. Everything about this screams romance.” Before he could say anything else, Eddie was called away by Will and Erica, waving him over to a table across the room.

The song finished and you gave a clumsy curtsey to the “judges” as Max booed the final results. You pressed the back of your hands to your cheeks, trying to cool yourself down as you turned away, your eyes immediately finding Steve. A smile bloomed across your face and Steve’s poor heart shot up to his throat. He took a giant gulp of his eggnog and nearly choked on it immediately. As luck would have it, you were at his side as he started to cough and patted his back with a soft laugh. “Had too much already?”

Steve wiped at his mouth with a wince but felt himself relax as you reached out to right his gold-rimmed glasses again. “Thank you.”

You hummed and leaned against him with another smile. “I’m really happy for them,” you said, looking as Hopper led Joyce out onto the dance floor.

Dean Martin was starting to croon about his love keeping him warm and Eddie’s words (along with Robin’s) were suddenly echoing in his head. “Wanna dance?”

And you beamed. “I’d love that.” You tangled your hands together and let Steve lead you out onto the floor after he dropped his glass onto the nearest table. Steve twirled you around twice, just to hear you laugh, and you hopefully missed how both Joyce and Hopper gave him a thumbs up when they spotted him. You spoke with him easily, telling him about your classes and professors, and Steve reciprocated with stories about his first few classes at Hawkins Community College between shifts at Family Video. You both commiserated over trying to avoid your parents for most of the holiday and he made you laugh when he suggested cracking open a gate as a “distraction.”

“I’ve missed that sound,” Steve murmured, hoping you didn’t notice how his hand was starting to sweat as he held yours.

“My laugh?” You looked at him, Christmas lights reflecting in your pretty eyes. “You hear it at least twice every week when I call.”

And Steve treasured those calls. Made sure his shifts and classes lined up so he could always be near the phone when you rang. “But it sounds better in person.”

You shook your head with another smile. “What am I going to do with you, Steve Harrington?”

“Keep me forever?” Steve winced. Stupid. So stupid.

“You’re stuck with me forever, Steve. Hate to break it to you.” And you said it with such simple honesty, making it sound like of course you would always be in his life, that Steve had to stop himself from pulling you closer, from wrapping his arms around you tight and spilling his ridiculous feelings in a jumble of words that would never make sense.

Instead, he just smiled and shook his head. “What a burden.”

“Aren’t I just the worst? How do you put up with me?” You teased, adding a wink.

“I dunno, you might have a few redeeming qualities.”

“Oh?” You hummed. He twirled you around again just to hear you giggle, your smile infectious as he pulled you close. “And what might those be?”

This was it. This was an opening. And, judging by the way Nancy and Robin were frantically pointing at the mistletoe you’d just stepped beneath, this was the moment. Right? “Well, you’re stubborn. Like, the most stubborn person I know.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a list of my good qualities.” You snickered and earned a quick poke to your side because he knew you’d jump and squeal.

“And being stubborn,” Steve continued, ignoring you, “means you are one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met. Loyal and stubborn to the point of getting yourself hurt. And you are kind, one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” Your steps started to slow as you listened to Steve, eyes shining. “And you’re so smart. I could have never been able to come up with a story like the one you gave the cops to keep Eddie out of jail—especially not if I was high on, like, six different pain killers.” He pulled you a little closer as he pushed on, even as other couples danced around you. Steve took both your hands in his and curled them close to his chest, hoping you wouldn’t feel how hard his heart was pounding beneath his ribs. “Just, you know, overall, you are a good person. You give good hugs and you’re so patient with the kids, with me. And I’m pretty sure your smile could light up a damn Christmas tree.”

You sniffled, blinking rapidly to stop the tears Steve saw starting to line your lashes and you laughed, again. “Wow, tell me how you really feel.” Your fingers drummed against his scarlet silk tie as your mouth twisted to the side, a sign Steve knew meant you were trying not to cry. “We’d be here for ages if I listed off all the good things about you, you know.”

Glancing up, you spotted the mistletoe, too. “How many times have we been caught beneath mistletoe? Five?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Something like that.” Slowly, hands steadier than his heart, his fingers smoothed down your arms and up to cradle your head in his grasp. He could do it. He could smell the peppermint on your breath. He could see the bits of glitter Nancy had dabbed on your cheeks. You were so beautiful. He whispered your name and-

Jonathan shouted your name and you all but leapt out of Steve’s grasp with an embarrassed huff. You both turned and saw Jonathan frantically trying to mop up spilled red wine that had started to pool near the dessert table. You were quick to dart away, grabbing a handful of napkins to help. And Steve could just stand there, wondering what he must have done in a past life to have this happen. Five times.

Jonathan caught his eye over your shoulder and mouthed ‘sorry’ but the look Nancy was giving the other man let Steve know that she was more than ready to throttle him.

**

It had been years since the last time Steve caught you beneath the mistletoe. He’d given up hope on ever doing it again, on ever kissing you

at all

. The kids had all but given up, too. Their teasing slowly dying because… “It isn’t fun anymore,” Max said through a mouthful of popcorn. “Now, it’s just pathetic.”

He wasn’t ever taking her to the movies again. (He knew this was a lie.)

But as the years trickled by, you had remained a presence in his life. You arrived on his doorstep one day and all but shoved him into your car, saying you’d called off work for him for a week, and that you were kidnapping him for spring break. You had screamed and clapped and cried together as you watched ‘your’ kids cross the stage for their high school graduation. He sat next to Joyce and Jonathan and Will and watched you graduate from university, too, and didn’t mind waiting his turn to murmur his congratulations into your ear as he held you close.

You’d attended his graduation, too, two years later. After getting everything he could at Hawkins Community, he transferred to a bigger university to finish his degree just outside Chicago. You had hollered like a soccer mom when they announced his name and Steve had nearly tripped when you broke out an air-horn in celebration.

His parents hadn’t attended. But that didn’t matter because you did—and Robin and the kids were right beside you, being equally obnoxious. He’d found his path. It took him a few hits to the head and a weird, zig-zagging track, but he’d settled on elementary education. If he could handle the snark and the vibrating chaos that was the group of his favorite people, he could handle kids. Being a kindergarten teacher wasn’t flashy or well-paid but Steve liked it. He liked what he did. He liked helping kids learn the alphabet and spell their names and count to ten. And he was good at it. Within the first two years of settling into his new career at a school in the suburbs of Chicago, he’d been named teacher of the year out of the entire district.

The kids had found the newspaper clipping and had framed it for him for his birthday. (He cried.)

You had settled into a routine, too. Your book, a not-at-all autobiographical science fiction horror story about monsters from another dimension and a group of tenacious kids, had become an international bestseller and you, despite living in New York, swung by his house with a bottle champagne to celebrate. The book had earned you a seven-book deal with a huge publisher and an “insane” royalties cut. “I want Will to illustrate all of them,” you had said, lounging on Steve’s couch. “I think that’s what made this one a best-seller, you know. He’s so talented, my baby Will.”

Every year, everyone got together for a weekend around the holidays. It had become a tradition by accident but everyone had come to expect it to happen and there was usually a bit of bickering about who got to host. It was Steve’s turn this year and with every ornament he hung on his tree, hope returned. By the time he was putting the little star at the top, Steve swore that this year—this year, really, he meant it this time—would be the year he finally made a move. He wouldn’t get interrupted. He would tell you how he felt and maybe (hopefully) be able to kiss you under the mistletoe.

Dustin arrived first, fresh off (another) breakup with Suzie and ranting about his physics final at MIT, he froze like a deer in headlights when he saw all of the decorations. There was the tree, of course, and then stockings for each of them on the mantle. There were fake candles flickering in each of the windows and Steve had strung up plastic snowflakes around each of the overhead lights. “Jesus Christ, it looks like Christmas threw up in here.”

“Thank you, Dustin,” Steve hissed. “This didn’t take me hours at all.”

The younger man waved his hands. “I didn’t say it was bad! It’s just… Did your students make these ornaments?” He poked at one of the messily but earnestly made reindeer on the tree’s nearest branch.

Steve swiftly smacked at Dustin’s fingers, earning a smack on his arm in return. “Don’t touch them! They worked hard!” His students had each made an extra ornament for him during craft time and had bashfully given him the gift before winter break had started, having heard Steve talk about his friends coming into town for the holiday.

“They’re cute!”

The door burst open and Max and Lucas shoved their way in, swinging their bags around as they argued about the practicality of the Home Alone booby traps. “Watch the tree!” Steve hollered as Max’s bag nearly took out his lamp.

Ignoring him, Max turned, dropping her duffle at her feet. “You’ve been hit in the head enough, right? You think a paint can would knock you out?”

“Of course it would knock Steve out!” Lucas argued.

“Thank you for that, Sinclair. And, just for that, you’re sleeping on the couch! El can share with Max.”

By the time the Wheelers and the Byers-Hoppers show up, pizza had been ordered and the house was filled with good-natured (mostly) arguing while Gremlins played in the background. The sound of car doors slamming had Steve’s head snapping to the side so fast Lucas laughed at him until Nancy threw a pillow in his direction.

“Calm down, man. She’s here for the whole weekend.”

The door opened again and Eddie led the charge inside, Robin quickly following, with you picking up the rear. All three of you were arguing over if it was hygienic or not to string popcorn as garland for the tree. Steve managed to greet all of you between your squabble, wrapping each of you in a hug, and herding you toward the living room. But, just as you were about to cross the threshold, you hung back and grasped at his wrist with a familiar smile. Without a word, you pulled him close and hugged him again.

“It is so good to see you, Steve.”

His poor heart felt like it was trying to leap out from between his ribs and nestle in your hands.

As the night wore on and Gremlins turned into Home Alone which turned into Black Christmas, the pizza was eventually demolished, as was the gingerbread. The younger kids eventually turned in, tired from the trip and bellies full. His house was big enough to accommodate everyone, but sleeping bags were still needed and straws were drawn as to who had to sleep on the floor for the night. It was ridiculous and only started more fights and Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.

Steve took a seat beside Jonathan as they all nursed the last dregs of the Hot Toddies Nancy had made for the older crowd. Eddie was finishing up his story about opening for Metallica—“you should come, guys! I’ll get you tickets!”—as Robin, you, and Nancy all disappeared upstairs to get into your pajamas. As soon as they heard the door click shut, both Eddie and Jonathan rounded on Steve. “What is your game plan?”

“What?”

“You have to do it. C’mon, man. This is the year. I can’t take another Christmas of her sighing wistfully and you looking like a kicked puppy. I can’t do it.” Eddie always had a flare for the dramatic. The years hadn’t dulled his edge.

“She was talking about this trip nonstop the last time she called,” Jonathan added. “And Eddie said she asked-”

“Three times!” Eddie hissed.

“-if you had a girlfriend on the way over from the airport.”

And while that had been encouraging, Nancy and Robin had cornered him, too, while you were distracted by Jonathan and Eddie, talking about possibly going taking everyone ice skating tomorrow (it was a disaster waiting to happen and all of you knew it). You caught Steve looking and smiled, bright and beautiful.

Robin snapped her fingers, grabbing Steve’s attention. “Listen, Dingus, I am going to break out the dry erase board again if you don’t kiss her by the end of this weekend. With how much you’ve been staring at her mouth, I wouldn’t be surprised you already know what chapstick she’s wearing.”

“It’s cherry, today.”

Nancy smacked his arm, fighting a smile. “You are hopeless. Both of you. Please just tell her how you feel. We can distract the kids for a few hours tomorrow and you need to just tell her, god dammit.”

Comforting.

Steve thought about what his friends had said, turning their words over and over in his head, wishing for sleep and a good plan on how to tell you how he felt. But, hours later, he gave up on both and quietly stepped out of his room, trying not to wake Eddie and Dustin, and walked down toward his kitchen in hopes of getting a glass of water. And there you were, swinging your legs as you sat on the counter, humming along to Dolly Parton singing about hard candies at Christmas on the radio. The slowly blinking lights of the Christmas tree washed you in green then red then green again, making you glow.

“Hey,” Steve whispered.

Your head whipped to the side and you let out a soft laugh as you pressed a hand over your heart before hopping down. “Sorry, you scared me a bit.”

He waved off your unnecessary apology and cracked open the fridge to grab two bottles of cider before handing you one. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shook your head as you twisted the cap off and took a small sip. “Yeah. Robin kicks in her sleep, you know.”

Steve laughed and took a drink, too. “I do know.” As always, the conversation was easy, speaking about anything and everything, and Steve was happy to hear you ramble about your ideas for your next books even though he was still learning the difference between an Orc and a Lich but he knew you’d be patient with him.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmured, reaching out to him as soon as Judy Garland started singing, wishing everyone a Merry Little Christmas. “I know we talk every week but I just miss…” your words trailed off as your hands curled around his arms. “I just miss you.”

Steve moved just enough to wrap his arms around you, resting his cheek against yours. “I missed you, too.” Then, knowing you’d laugh, he started swaying you side to side in time with the song and earned his promised laugh within a few moments and made him smile into your hair.

The winter winds were whistling outside with the promise of snow and you snuggled a little closer, nose digging into Steve’s chest but he didn’t mind. This felt right. This felt…perfect. He wanted this, quiet, perfect moments like this with you forever. He didn’t want to wait anymore.

“So, I’m looking at houses in Chicago,” you murmured into the soft fabric of his red and white sleep shirt. “My publisher says I don’t have to live in New York if I don’t want to.”

If you heard how his heart sped up, you thankfully didn’t mention it. “Chicago, huh? You’d just be a quick train ride away from me.” And he could feel your smile as it pressed over his heart.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that. Eddie’s got his thing going on in LA, Robin’s finishing up her PhD at Northwestern, and Nancy and Jonathan live out of their suitcases mostly because of their jobs so they can be anywhere. The kids are scattered, but…but, yeah, I’m thinking Chicago.”

“Well,” Steve started, attempting to keep his voice steady, “I think that’s the best present you could give me.”

You laughed against his chest again and wriggled out of his grip for a moment before grabbing at something on the counter. You pressed it over his heart and he tried not to hope at the sight of your nervous smile. “I actually got you a little something. I know it isn’t quite Christmas yet but…I didn’t want to wait.”

The small package was wrapped in crinkled white paper, patterned with gold snowflakes. You’d carefully wrapped a bit of silver string around it, too. Steve was careful to unwrap it as you kept your arms looped around his waist. He could feel your thumbs brushing nervous circles into his spine. When he finally saw what was inside, his heart leapt and skipped and sang.

Wrapped in a tiny bit of white twine, was a single sprig of mistletoe.

“I was…hoping that sixth time might be our charm.” Your voice was low and soft. Almost shy.

Feeling like the luckiest man on the planet, he held the mistletoe over your head and finally, finally, finally kissed you. You were worth the wait.

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!

[annestie]

What Do You Mean Betrothed to Him? - Chapter 1

Summary: For as long as Neteyam could remember, he had been betrothed to the eldest son of the Metkayina Olo’eyktan. A boy about his age. The agreement had come through their fathers, many years before either boy could remember.

So when, Jake announced that they would be hiding in Awa’atlu, Neteyam isn't that surprised. Though, what he does find strange was the confusion of his siblings. They ask why Awa’atlu, why not another clan or island or village. To Neteyam, Awa’atlu seems like the obvious choice, especially with their connection there and Neteyam has talked to them about who his betrothed is.

Neteyam wouldn’t have forgotten to mention that part. Right?

Pairing: Ao'nung x Neteyam

Word Count So Far: 3349

Notes: I haven't really mentioned it but my Ao3 is now locked to users only due to AI scalping but I will be posting this fic here for everyone to read. This was a fun write.

Also thank you @crystalskies42 for helping. I know we're still iffy on the "does it count as being a beta reader?" but you helped so you get credit. She have some AMAZINGLY angsty fics that will destroy you. 10/10 would recommend :D

Growing up betrothed is a strange ordeal. You know that one day you will wed; but, unlike those around, you know who. There’s no real question to it. Your fate already decided from the moment the agreement made. And sure while no betrothal is without Eywa’s blessing it’s still hard not having the choice.

Neteyam doesn’t even remember a time where his betrothal hadn’t loomed over his life. A constant thought in his mind that his future had already been decided for him. He used to be jealous—a terrible, fiery emotion—of those around him that could choose. That they had a choice and he did not, simply because of who he was born to.

However, along that path of jealousy, it changes. At some point, a point that Neteyam no longer quite remembers, his feelings of jealousy transform into something else. Something that definitely couldn’t be called jealously.

Maybe it’s Ao’nung’s stupid charm or Eywa, herself, intervening, but at some point Neteyam falls and he falls hard. If he had actually fallen, it would have been flat on his face from a tree.

Really, Ao’nung insist it was his charm that had done it. Neteyam is less so convinced by that; though, does let his betrothed continue believing whatever he wishes in the pure act of wanting to see the other happy.

Such a weird thing, love that is. Such a light emotion at the face; a simple care for someone yet it controls so much of life. Like the way Ao’nung sacrifices all his clams to Neteyam when he visits as he knows those are Neteyam’s favorite. Or how Neteyam takes Ao’nung on his ikran, as the latter doesn’t know how to ride a tsurak yet; though still loves that feeling of flight.

So after everything, when the decision is announced that they would be hiding within Awa’atlu, Neteyam’s happy even despite the circumstances. When you’ve lived the way he has you learn to find the best in the worst. In this case, getting to live with the betrothed he had accidentally fallen for.

Neteyam carefully packs the last of his things that he would be bringing. The most of what he’s packing are his jewelry and other accessories. He would be leaving most of his clothing as the weaving is simply too heavy for the water. They would weigh him down and drag, making it even harder to swim and keep up. Something he had learned firsthand.

Besides, he could always steal some of Ao’nung’s clothes while making new ones. Sure, Ao’nung might have some protests; however, it would certainly be rude for Ao’nung to deny his betrothed like that. So very rude.

As Neteyam packs the last few straggling things, he wonders if he even needs this much. Ao’nung had things. Things that Neteyam likes. Does Ao’nung really need all those brushes and clothes and whatnot just for himself?

They were getting married in a year or two, and the announcement would have been this year if it wasn’t for… Well you know. The formal announcement that is. The one where they would officially announce it to the clans. Currently the knowledge their betrothal is sort of limited, not that they try very hard—if at all— to keep it secret.

So soon, they’d probably have a marui built for them, seeing as Neteyam would be moving to Awa’atlu. They would be sharing much of their things as well. Which brings back the question, does Neteyam even need to pack this many things if they are soon to be wed?

“I guess you must be happy, I mean, you can finally choose for yourself,” Lo’ak comments as he walks into the pod and crouches down beside Neteyam.

Distracted, Neteyam looks up confused. Not having caught any word of it, too busy thinking of marriage. A few years ago, he would have thought himself gone insane if he heard that. “Sorry, wasn’t listening,” he quickly tells Lo’ak, looking away from his things.

“You must be happy with your betrothal and all,” Lo’ak says with a smile.

“Yeah. I am,” Neteyam replies back, blissfully unaware as his attention is on finishing the last of his packing and figuring out what to actually bring.

“You’ve been there before, haven’t you? With dad? What was it like?” Lo’ak asks. Out of everyone, he and Spider had been the most nervous of the move. Understandably, of course.

“Yeah, every year. It’s beautiful,” Neteyam says. That’s really the only way he could describe the waves that hit against the shore and the soft, warm sands that draw you in. The way the sun lights up the beach in the most stunning way. And how it all just mesmerizes as the eclipse is setting.  “You can even finally-” Neteyam’s cuts himself off as Neytiri enters the pod.

“We leave soon, are you both done packing?” Neytiri asks as she picks up more of their things to bring out to the ikrans.

Neteyam nods gesturing to the few bags he has on the ground. Most of them were already at the ikrans.

Neytiri nods then turns her attention to Lo’ak. “And you?” she asks with a look that you certainly don’t want to challenge.

“Uh, almost,” Lo’ak lies with a nervous smile.

Neytiri huffs, tossing the bag she has in her hand over her shoulder. “Finish it now,” she commands him before leaving.

Neteyam laughs slightly to himself. “Come on, I’ll help you,” he tells Lo’ak as soon as Neytiri is out of earshot. The topic of Neteyam’s own betrothal lost to the chaos of packing.

It isn’t long before after that they’re in the air.

Neteyam has completed this exact flight so many times that he allows Paysyul, his ikran, to simply fly the way. She knows exactly how. She had always loved trips, especially ones to Awa’atlu. Though, Neteyam suspects that the love is out of the extra treats Ao’nung gives rather than anything else.

This trip is like any of the other ones they’ve flown. Well, besides the extra company. It’s a little different flying with five ikrans rather than two. Also the many more breaks they need to take because of the extra people and stuff.

Tuk and Spider don’t have ikrans, so their stuff got distributed to everyone else’s’. Which is fine; though, to not overwork the ikrans they do need more frequent break.

Tuk and Spider spend the trip bouncing around between the different ikrans. At each break, going with someone else. To keep it fair. However, Neteyam suspects it’s more likely to keep everyone from getting on each other’s nerves.

They arrive in Awa’atlu a little after midday, close to the eclipse. The time of day where darkness hasn’t started yet but still the rush and energy of earlier is gone. A time of winding down where the last tasks of the day are completed. The sun still shines in the sky; but it’s the start of the end of the day.

The familiar sounds of a conch alerts the village of their presence. Neteyam can’t help the smile that forms at the thought of seeing Ao’nung. Even if their actual reunion would probably have to wait until later. Perhaps that’s only for the better. Eclipse has always been Neteyam favorite time of day in Awa’atlu.

They need to get uturu first before anything else, which may only prove harder with Spider. Hopefully their betrothal and arrangement have softened the Olo’eyktan and, specifically, Tsahìk to the idea of good sky people.

They end up landing on a sand bank that Neteyam has never seen having any specific use in the years he’s visited. Almost immediately, a crowd forms around them.

They should be used to Omatikaya; though Neteyam supposes that it’s more to do with the amount of people and the fact they haven’t seen a sky person. There’s murmurs and mumbles about the crowd as Spider walks past which only confirm Neteyam’s suspicions.

Neteyam carefully places himself between crowd and Spider. He knows most of those know, or at least know of, him and he can only pray that the respect they hold for him translates to Spider. Although, perhaps that is second in need, the first being to get the permission to stay.

Just before the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk can appear, Neteyam watches as a certain Metkayina pushes his way through the crowd. Their eyes lock almost immediately and Neteyam can’t help the way his face lights up at seeing the other.

It takes everything within Neteyam to not run to Ao’nung. All he wants is to sit with the other and relax in each other’s company as they tell of the year, they’ve been apart. Of the things they’ve done. Of the parts they’ve missed. And of the things they wish for.

Ao’nung grins as well, it brightens his face in the best way. It’s a smile that Neteyam has surely missed seeing. How he’s missed the other, Neteyam thinks as he looks Ao’nung over.

It’s been longer than when the trip would normally be. A few months. So little time looking back; but they seemed so lonely in the moment.

However, their moment is interrupted by the Olo’eyktan calling out to them­­­­—specifically Jake. “Jake Sully, what are you here for?” Tonowari asks, stepping towards the other. “Especially at a time like such.”

The two of them have a fairly good relationship from what Neteyam’s seen. Certainly better than the one Ronal and Neytiri hold, even with their children’s betrothal there’s just something about the two that doesn’t mesh quite right.

“I wish we were here on better circumstances,” Jake says. He goes on going into as little detail as possible to explaining it. Telling Tonowari only what they need. Uturu. Sanctuary.

Slowly, Neteyam’s eyes drift back Ao’nung. Something that’s become a bit of a habit from a few trips ago. The rest seems to tune out as Neteyam watches Ao’nung secretly sign, “I missed you.” Neteyam’s smile widens.

Neteyam’s thoughts grace the idea of signing something back; though, he’s quickly pulled back to the actual problem at hand. They could talk later, he reminds himself. Once, Neteyam and his family weren’t possibly getting kicked out of the clan.

The Tsahìk walks out from the crowd, her eyes immediately set the family. “This was not the agreement,” Ronal says, circling the family. “And you even bring the thing you are running from.”

“No,” Neteyam protests, hopeful that his standing and somewhat good relationship with the Tsahìk will ensure he isn’t kicked out. “He—Spider—is one of us. He is na’vi.”

Ronal looks unconvinced as she stares more intently at Spider. “He is like them.”

“In body but not spirit. He was born here and has lived just as we have.” Neteyam protectively puts himself between Ronal and Spider. “Please, he is just as na’vi as the rest of us.”

For a moment everything stills, Ronal looking Spider up and down in scrutiny. In that moment, all that Neteyam can think of what will happen. Would Neteyam stay and his family leave? Would they send Spider back with one of them as an escort? Would they all leave?

“I trust him as yours then,” Ronal finally says before stepping away. Which isn’t the best, though not the worst either.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Neteyam smiles. “Thank you,” he says. All he had to do now is pray that Spider be on his best behavior for anything he does will reflect fully on Neteyam. Though, he’s not even sure if Eywa can stop Spider and Lo’ak. Great Mother have mercy.

Once Ronal makes her way to Tonowari, the two share a look of contemplation. An unspoken conversation as they both make their final decisions. Neteyam has seen the two do it before; with many of their decisions they had done the same.

Until, Tonowari sighs and looks back to them. “With all that you have done, your presence is always welcome. However, in order to stay, you must learn the way of water,” Tonowari announces, gesturing around them. “You must all learn the way of water,” he then says. more pointedly in Spider’s direction.

To Spider’s credit, he doesn’t back down at the Olo’eyktan. Rather he puffs his chest out and nods, holding himself with as much confidence as he can muster.

“My son and daughter will help teach your children,” Tonowari says as he waves Ao’nung and Tsireya over. “For now, we will show you to your marui. You all must be tired from your journey.”

They’re led through the village by Tsireya to their new home—a marui as it’s called.

Neteyam had met Tsireya a few times, then again with her being the tsakarem and their trips only being a week or so he never spent much time with her. There was always something to be done, a dinner to attend, responsibilities to care for. It seemed almost as if their schedules were made for the two to avoid one another.  

Another reason Neteyam prefers the eclipsed nights to the days. Not only was the island absolutely stunning but most of his day responsibilities were also done. Besides the dreadful dinners that is.

The marui they’re led to is much bigger than the one that Neteyam and Jake had usually stayed in. It does makes sense though. They barely even spent any time there during their visits, only using it to sleep really, perhaps eat or meal two but that was often a rarity.

Trailing behind the rest of his family, Neteyam watches as they all gladly enter the marui and begin throwing their things down. The day had been long and the trip tiring. He is not happily awaiting the tedious unpacking he knows will soon ensue. Their mother is not one to let the things go unpacked.

Sighing, Neteyam looks around again. Hoping that Ao’nung had stuck by. Quickly, he catches the other’s eyes and walks over.

Neteyam grabs Ao’nung’s hand and pulls him off to the side. Just out of the way of the Metkayina carrying things to the marui and, maybe coincidentally, out of the view of his family. “Meet me later?” Neteyam asks with a smile.

“By that cove?” Ao’nung says back with a grin. Neteyam could happily stare at his betrothed’s face the entire day.

“Of course. I’ll come by at the eclipse start.” Neteyam squeezes Ao’nung’s hand once more before leaving to help the unpacking.

It takes much strength to walk away after but Neteyam does so gracefully. The only reason being that he knows that they will much time later. Time that they usually did not have. Such a luxury.

“That’s mine!” is the first thing Neteyam hears as he enters their new home, followed by an irritated, “Nuh uh!” He could already feel the headache.

It’s just after the eclipse when Neteyam quietly slips out from their almost completely unpacked marui. He casts a quick goodbye to his family and smiles at the knowing looks his parents give. Then, ventures out going towards what—or rather who—he truly seeks.

The cove Neteyam’s headed to has been their ‘spot’ for years after discovering it together by accident. It’s beautiful to say the least.

It’s hidden. With you having to hike almost to the center of the island then swim all the way through a tunnel simply to get there. The trek is worth it though.

The cove itself is stunning. The ceiling of it is covered in many small gaps where light filters in and casts beautiful rays onto the pool of water below. The rays dance in the water, even in the dimly eclipsed light. During the day the light rays are charming; but once the sun is covered it’s breathtaking. Illuminating the closed space in the most mystifying way.

The hardest part is finding the opening of the tunnel with it being so small and covered with foliage. Though, with how many times Neteyam’s made the trek, it isn’t hard to let his legs lead him the way. The path through the forest is winding and confusing with many turns seeming wrong or backwards. But, no matter how wrong the path seems, it always leads there.

The tunnel has many air pockets along the way. Air pockets that Neteyam used to need frequently when they first found the cove. Neteyam truly thanks finding the spot for the reason his breath is so well trained.

It’s not long before Neteyam’s already reaching the end of the tunnel. Already praying for Ao’nung to be there. Immediately as Neteyam surfaces, he finds a certain na’vi awaiting him just as he had hoped.

“’Teyam,” Ao’nung says softly as he helps the other up onto the rocky shore of the cove. “It’s been too long,” he muses

Gladly taking the other’s hand, Neteyam grips it tight. Almost as if he fears that if he were to let go, it would disappear. “It’s only been a few months more than usual,” Neteyam says even knowing those few months had been filled with the most longing he’s ever experienced.

“Torture is what it was,” Ao’nung supplies, almost reading Neteyam’s mind.

Neteyam pulls himself the rest of way onto the shore. Then, quickly, the two wrap their arms around each other in an embrace. An embrace that seems so fulfilling yet too little. After so long, it’s welcome but not enough.

“Torture, huh?” Neteyam asks, leaning his head back slightly to look at the other.

“The worst.”

Neteyam leans in again, capturing the other’s lips with his own. A kiss that he had wished for from the moment their hiding had been announced. A kiss that Ao’nung had obviously longed for as well.

They aren’t quite that open to such displays of affection in public. Which is why it’s even more of a blessing that they had found this secret cove of sorts. A quiet, beautiful, hidden paradise to themselves.

They do eventually have to break apart though. Rather unfortunately, they both do need to breathe. A terrible thing really. However, it does give the chance for them to talk, another thing that Neteyam delights in. That they both delight in.

Many times their conversations have spanned hours into the night. Where their parents almost decide to send out search parties in their absence, only for the two to return just in time.

It’s happened so much though that they hardly ever worry anymore. Simply glad that the two betrotheds are so happy with one another.

There is much to catch up on. Much to tell and explain. So Neteyam soon finds himself sitting with his back against a rock as Ao’nung uses his legs a pillow. Simply talking of the missing time.

“Tell me of it,” Ao’nung says, looking up towards Neteyam. Grinning at the other, Ao’nung takes hold of Neteyam’s hand.

“Of what?” Neteyam questions with a small chuckle as he gently runs the fingers of his free hand through Ao’nung’s—now loose—hair.

“All of it,” Ao’nung says, squeezing Neteyam’s hand.

“There is too much to tell,” Neteyam says. “We would be here for hours, maybe days,” he jokes though he isn’t that opposed to the idea once speaking it aloud.

“Fine. Tell me of your brother then. The sky person.”

“He’s just that. A brother. He grew alongside us. Spent most of his days, and even nights, with us,” Neteyam explains with a smile. He’s told Ao’nung a little of his siblings before; though with the limited time they usually have, it doesn’t come up as much. “He is very stubborn; I think you two will get along fine.”

“Hey!” Ao’nung protests. “How dare you? You wound me. Your own betrothed,” he says dramatically.

Neteyam doesn’t feel any remorse though does bend and place a kiss atop Ao’nung’s forehead which seems to quiet him. “I’m so deeply sorry for that,” he says. “But I don’t hear you denying it.”

The two laugh. Their laughs echoing against the walls of the cove. How they’ve both missed this in the time they’ve been apart.

[ateezlibrary]

what it takes. (chapter 1/?)

summary: following your mother's passing, the king scrambles to retain power in the kingdom of goseon by ensuring that you are arranged a suitor and wed within a week's time. little does he know, your heart belongs to another that is considered unworthy. how will you navigate a broken heart, an immense loss, and a newfound … friendship, is it?

members: wooyoungxreade, with mentions of past yunhoxreader

word count: 2,030

genre: ateez royalty/fantasy au, angst, unrequited love, forbidden love, unexpected enemies to lovers

notes: also cross-posted on ao3 (babysnooby). kicking off with the prologue of a chaptered fic! will be more wooyoung-centric as we go, but an angsty yunho moment. :-(

prologue.

“Your Highness, which of the fabrics are you most drawn to?”

“Hm—?” You raise your nose from the book nestled between your fingertips, pages tattered and turned at the edges. Handmaidens bustled around you, hurriedly scurrying from one end of the grand hall to the next as they joined the palace staff in arranging the decorations for the next day.

Your eyes gloss over the decadent draping that slides down slick marble walls, the florals being hauled in bucket after bucket to crawl the pillars alongside vines. It was a beautiful sight, more than you could have ever dreamed for your wedding to be.

“Your Highness?” the handmaiden repeats gingerly, nudging both fabrics in her hands towards you in emphasis.

You look between the soft sage and the ivory, barely registering the colors before gesturing to her left hand.

“The ivory,” you reply simply, setting aside your book with a sigh before feigning a smile. “I think it would look lovely in the afternoon sun.”

As she returns to her duties, you glide across the polished marble floors to the far end of the hall where late afternoon sun billowed through grand windows. Lavender and gold trail behind you, the fabrics coming to a halt far beyond your ankles in a long trail of silk. In the gardens below, you chuckle at the young stable boys running through hedge mazes with gleeful threats of catching one another.

A handmaiden runs after them, losing her own footing in the maze and tumbling into a nearby shrub. The sight makes you burst into a fit of laughter, the first that’s left you since you’d found out about … well, about the arrangement.

* * *

“You asked to see me, Father?” you call as you enter the throne room, royal guards posted at each end of its perimeter.

The elder man sits in his gilded throne, fingers clasped around the velvet and oak arms as he peers down at you. An equally opulent crown sits atop his head, the gems embedded in the center nearly blinding you in the morning sun as you shuffle down the rugs at the center of the room.

“Hello, my dear,” he chirps back, though there is a noticeable weariness in his voice that slows your pace. “Thank you for joining me.” You come to a stop at his throne’s feet, a customary curtsy following soon after. You look at him with bright eyes, failing to understand why his mirror yours with an immense dread.

“What’s wrong?” you ask immediately, wasting no time in calling upon his iffy demeanor.

“I—Why must something be wrong for me to call you?” he stammers, tripping over his words.

“Because you never summon me to the throne room unless someone is dead. Or dying,” you add, crossing arms over your chest with an arched brow.

“I—” The king pauses, choosing his next words carefully as his voice lowers. His gaze shifts to the men stationed around the room, a silent order for them to leave you two in privacy as they shut the grand oak doors behind them.

“My dear, I have a grave favor to ask of you.” You nod once, ignoring the quickening of your heart in anticipation.

“Do you love this kingdom?”

“Of course I do,” you answer nearly instantly, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“And you understand that with loving a kingdom comes a great sense of responsibility towards your kingdom.”

“Of course I do,” you repeat.

“I am not getting younger,” your father begins, sinking into the velvet of his chair with a weary sigh. “And after your mother’s death, I fear for this kingdom’s lack of an heir.”

You glower but remain silent. The Kingdom of Goseon held a longstanding patriarchal tradition and refused you a claim to the monarchy without a rightful husband. You fought tooth and nail against the custom, even before your mother’s passing, to no avail. It took years of accepting the defeat and a great deal of mental preparation, yet the expectation still hit you like deadweight.

“I wish to have you wed in a week’s time.”

“A week?” you scoff, anger pricking beneath your skin. “I’ve spent longer time deciding what to wear to balls than I am to choose a husband.”

“No matter,” he replies coolly. “That’s why I’ve taken the liberty alongside the royal council to choose a suitor for you.”

“You must be joking.” Your father was a stickler for tradition, but allowed you even the most limited freedom.

At least, until now.

“This is a duty to your country,” the king orders. “Goseon requires a strong lineage to advance into the next century with the type of power we have in these lands. I cannot wait longer.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Your voice is barely a whisper, yet it still cracks as you look up to your father with tear-brimmed eyes. “A vessel to bear your next heir?”

“I cannot fight tradition. And I cannot let our people suffer.”

“Yet, you can let me suffer.” The king calls your name with a sigh before you cut him off, turning away from him and heading for the doors at the far end.

“I will do what it takes for our people. Not for you, but for our people.” * * * Seven hours.

From the pocket watch that dangled off of the string of pearls nestled at your waist, you could tell it had been seven hours since the life-altering conversation with your father. With your king.

Seven hours since you had escaped to the neighboring woods at the edge of the palace grounds, your horse neatly tied to a tall pine tree as your sobs dissolved into the forest air. You watched as the sun slowly crept towards the lands in the west, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you sobbed and sinked further into the soil.

“My love.”

You gasp at the familiar voice, grappling with the fabrics settled around you as you ran into your lover’s arms. His familiar scent of cypress and sandalwood envelop you as you sob into his chest, his grip tightening around your waist.

“You received my note,” you sob in between gasps of air. His hand creeps to the small of your back, rubbing in soft, gentle circles. “Yunho, I am so sorry.”

You pull away just enough to meet his gaze. Though his features were unusually rigid, you could see the heartbreak in his eyes as he looked down at you in silence. The tailored fabrics of his noble robes whipped behind him in the wind, intertwining ever-so-often with the lavender of your gowns.

“You did absolutely nothing wrong,” he replies softly, the weight of defeat injecting his tone. “You are doing what this kingdom needs. You are going to be a remarkable queen.”

“But who am I, if not with you?” you sob, burying your face into his chest once more.

His warmth continued to cloak you as you sunk back onto the earth, his long legs folding as he found a seat beside you. For just over a year, you’d found solace in Yunho. He was one of your mother’s closest royal guards, young but remarkable enough to protect the kingdom’s most precious jewel. After her passing, Yunho’s duties had transitioned from the queen to safeguarding the princess.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to nearly a year. What began as customary oversight of your every move turned into a confidante for escapades to the kitchen at night, a secret-keeper for your trips to the neighboring woods and bubbling brooks. Yunho was strict, unwavering in his duties to the crown and his sworn oath to protect you.

All it took was one night of too much mulled wine and confinement to your chambers after a heated argument with your father for your confessions to Yunho to spill over. Ever the gentleman, he still ensured you made it to bed safely and had plenty of water and dried fruit the next morning to nurse your headache. But, something shifted that day.

Yunho became more forward in his time with you. The occasional compliment, the sheepish glances when he was at attention in the throne room beside your father for court sessions.

“Have you ever been in love?” he’d asked one day, his question out of genuine curiosity.

“I don’t think so,” you’d confessed, mulling over the question intently. “You may be the closest thing I’ve ever had to someone I truly love that isn’t my family.”

“But you have so many friends, so many allies,” Yunho had remarked, pointing out your royal crowd from neighboring kingdoms and the like.

“They are wonderful,” you’d remarked. “But they are not here when I am crying myself to sleep. They are not here when I am running through these forests, free to breathe in fresh air and feel the earth between my toes. They are not here to—” You’d stopped yourself, your cheeks flushed before continuing with your suggestion.

“To…?” Yunho had teased, closing in on you against the bark of a towering cypress tree with a gentle laugh. Your cheeks grew rosier, your gaze meeting the ground before he lifted your chin with a finger. “Tell me, princess.”

And now, in the same forest he’d held you and kissed you and danced with you, he was nursing your heartbreak. For you, for him.

“I am so sorry,” you wail, the sound carrying through the forest as the sun continued to creep below the earth. Yunho sighed, his hands unmoving from around your waist as he pressed a gentle kiss to your hair.

“It’s not your fault I was not born noble enough,” he scolds softly, a painful smile gracing his lips as he brushes a thumb across your cheeks to wipe the tears that cascaded down your face. “Else, these may have been tears of joy.”

“I am so sorry,” you whisper, unsure of what else to say to convey the absolute gut-wrenching pain that settled in your core. You look up at Yunho, his own eyes glittering with tears that refused to fall. He gives you another smile that sends you into another fit of sobbing, knowing that he was struggling to stay strong to console you.

“I wish it could have been you.”

“Hey, look at me,” he chides, pressing a palm to your cheek. “It will always be you. In this lifetime and the next. No matter who is beside you when you ascend that throne. I am sworn to protect you. Love just happened to become a part of the deal that I was unaware of.”

You shake your head silently, blinking through the tears settled at your waterline.

“I am sure that whoever is expected to be our next king, will be an incredible gentleman that will make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world. Only, he won’t have to hide it from the world.” Yunho presses a despondent kiss to your lips, cradling your face between his hands.

The warmth that thrums against your veins pushes you further into his embrace. You wrap your arms around the neck of the man you love, the man that saved you from solitude. His hands tighten at your waist, fabric cinched between his fingertips as he brings you closer to him. It’s not a moment later that he pulls himself away, sorrow dripping from his words as he looks down at your obvious dejection.

“We should return.”

* * *

“Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Your eyes bore into Yunho’s beside the wedding party seated at the front of the attendees. He was dressed in emerald and gold, the kingdom’s colors, in the finest royal guard garb. His dark hair swept just above his brow, his eyes darkened as they met yours in utter defeat.

You barely register any of the guests and the man standing beside you at the front of the hall.

Looking at Yunho, you utter a final, “I will.”

[nessinborderland]

V-E-N-U-S (03)

Pairing: Rafe x plus size!Reader

Genre: smut, dark-ish fic

Word Count: 6 ,2k

Warnings ⚠️ Mildly Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, more like Enemies to Enemies That Fuck tbh, Rafe Cameron Being an Asshole, mentions of bullying, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Rough Sex, Mentions of death of a parent, Drinking, Drug Use, Rafe needs therapy asap, fatphobia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: The nickname he had given you in 8th grade was supposed to be ironic. In Rafe’s defense, he used to be a pretty stupid and cruel fourteen-year-old, as most kids that age are. So yeah, nicknaming the fat and nerdy chick Venus – like the goddess of sex and beauty – had been pretty hilarious in young Rafe's opinion.

What he would've never guessed was how much that name would fit you now as a grown woman.

Notes: Here is part 3! Enjoy 💖

AO3 | Masterlist | Part 1

You felt like you could finally breathe when you set foot inside your house, the familiar scent of beef strogonoff making your stomach grumble as you realized you were starving. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but you rarely got hungry while working, doing a shift without much more than a granola bar and yogurt in your stomach.

But you were home now, and your body knew it, muscles relaxing and mouth salivating at the prospect of finally sitting down and having a nice meal. Maybe then you would forget about your shitty day – in particular your last conversation with Rafe. That had really soured your mood, a tension in your shoulders and neck that was starting to give you headaches.

Locking the door behind you, you dropped your backpack on a chair and sat on the floor with a tired exhale, taking off your shoes before fully laying down on the wooden surface, dust and dog fur in your hair be damned. Your whole body needed a break, your feet in particular; they always hurt like a bitch after a long shift of standing up and walking around.

The noise of loud indie rock came somewhere from the back of the house, and you could hear kid music and cartoons coming from the living room, just to your right. A tip-tapping sound from the hallway made you look up, and a smile stretched your lips as you were approached by the only family member to always greet you at the front door.

“Hey old man, how was your day?” you cooed as you sat up to pet K-Nine behind the ears, just how he liked it.

The old German Shepard mix wagged his tail from side to side as he excitedly tip-tapped his nails on the floor, trying to welcome you with a lick to the face that you promptly dodged with a chuckle. Your dad had let you pick K-Nine on your 10th birthday, and, in a way, this dog was like a part of your father that was still with you. It hurt watching him get older and start to prefer naps instead of long walks outside.

After a quick cuddle and a pet to his graying muzzle, you stood up and walked into the living room together, where your younger brother sat on the couch with his full attention on the TV.

“Hello, Kev,” you greeted when you passed by the couch, being completely ignored even when you ruffled his hair as you walked towards the open kitchen. “Bluey is that good huh?...” you muttered under your breath before smiling at your mother. “Hey, Mom, smells good!”

“Hey, sweets, you got home just in time,” greeted your mother, sending you a tired smile as she set the table. You hurried to help her, knowing that – no matter how tired you were – your mother would be ten times worse. “How was work today?”

“Work was okay, got some good tips,” you said as you took out the orange juice from the fridge and set it on the table. “How was your day?”

“Exhausting,” She said as she sat at the table with a tired sigh, a smile still on her lips. “But cleaning rich people’s houses does have its perks – Mrs. Lockwood gave me some good clothes her son doesn’t use anymore, so that’s one less thing I have to worry about – I swear that your brothers are growing like weeds.”

“That’s nice of her,” you said with a forced smile; your mom was always thankful for the things her employers at Figure 8 gave her, didn’t matter if they were second-hand or not – but you still remembered how kids used to bully you over it. You just hoped your brothers didn’t go through the same. “Have you been taking your new medication? Doctor Marsh said you weren’t supposed to feel this tired after a few weeks of taking it, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s working,” she muttered with a shake of her head, eyes down on the napkin she was folding. “They help a bit with the pain, but I still feel so drained…”

“Maybe you should do some more exams?” you asked as you grabbed the plates and started serving the still piping hot food, the smell making your stomach grumble again. “We can go early tomorrow if you want, I only start work at five.”

“And mess even more with your college savings?” she asked in what you knew was a rhetorical tone. “I’m not doing that.” Then she turned to your younger brother, still watching his cartoons like they were the only thing in the room. “Kev, honey, go call your brother for dinner, please – Kevin, now.” Then she turned to you again. “Fibromyalgia won’t kill me, I can manage. Let’s just focus on getting you into college for now, I’m not having you stuck on this island waiting tables for the rest of your life.”

You gave her a resigned nod, setting the plates on the table before sitting down at your usual place in front of her, noticing the bags under her eyes and the silver in her hair – she had aged so much since being diagnosed two years ago. You didn’t like the fact that your mother refused to get all the help she needed; yes, there was no cure for her condition, but there were treatments to alleviate the symptoms, which she just refused to do if it involved touching your savings.

At times, it frustrated you more than just a little. You would rather your mother enjoyed her life comfortably with no pain than go to college; it was not like your major of choice was going anywhere, anyway.

The arrival of your brothers stopped you from pressing on the matter again, and dinner went by as it always went, with silly conversations that made you laugh and your worries disappear, allowing you to enjoy these little moments when everything was fine.

No work, no stress, no drama.

It was now almost ten-thirty in the evening, and your mother and Kevin were already long asleep while you relaxed on the couch with K-Nine sprawled belly up between you and David. Mom had only recently allowed him to watch scary movies, and the kid was obsessed, to say the least. So, it had become tradition, for the past few months, to watch a horror movie every Friday and Saturday night after dinner, which you were happy to oblige.

David was very noticeably going through puberty right now, and sometimes the only way to get him out of his room was to convince him to either go to the movies or watch something on the TV. Netflix was a luxury you were willing to pay for if it allowed you these special moments with him.

“Do you believe in demons?” David murmured as you watched the final shot of Annabelle in a glass enclosure fade to black before the credits rolled.

“Sure do,” you snorted as you stretched your stiff muscles with a yawn. “See them all the time at my job.”

The boy tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing.

“Uh, do you mean Kooks?”

“Kooks. Demons. They’re pretty much the same thing,” you replied with a specific person in mind. “Why? You scared?”

“I’m thirteen, of course I’m not scared,” he said with an eye roll that could match your own, helping you fold the blanket you had used before adding with a small shrug, “Just wondering…”

“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about demons, so you’re good.”

“Hmm…” He looked lost in thought as he hesitantly asked, “And what about ghosts? Do you think they’re real?”

“Not really.” Something sounded off, you could see it in his faraway gaze, the way he chewed on his bottom lip, shoulders sagged. “Why do you ask, Davie?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he uttered, his bottom lip trembling, “I- I can’t remember Dad’s voice anymore… I think I’m forgetting Dad.”

“Aw, Davie.”

You pulled him against you, arms going around him as you held him in a tight embrace, kissing the top of his head when he hugged you back just as tight, his shoulders lightly shaking as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. He was growing up so fast; another year and he would be taller than you.

You said nothing as you let him cry, hugging him while rubbing his back, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. Even though you could cry, you wouldn’t do it now; he had seen you cry so much in the past, seen you sob and lose yourself as you grieved, not old enough to quite process everything that had happened, but old enough to hold you like you were holding him now.

It was your turn to support him through this.

He had been eight years old when your father died, just a little boy – which, in a way, made it so much worse for him. You had been fifteen and had almost died yourself, too deep in your own despair at the time to notice anyone else’s misery. But now you felt his pain as if it was your own. You were sure that if there were no pictures of your father around the house, his face would also start to blur from your memories.

“I think Mom might have some videos of Dad in a hard drive somewhere,” you said after some time in silence. “Why don’t we look for them tomorrow and watch them together?”

You heard him sniffle as he nodded, and you broke the embrace before gently guiding him out of the living room and saying goodnight to each other.

You watched as your brother opened the door of the room he shared with Kevin before getting inside, leaving it slightly ajar as he did every night, the shine of the night light (he still had nightmares sometimes) giving you some visual aid as you walked the dark hallway towards your own bedroom.

A sudden knock at the front door made you jump in place.

“Shh, boy, it’s okay,” you hushed your dog as he let out a bark from the living room, rushing after you as you hurried to check the peephole. Your brows furrowed, lips pursing as you noticed who was on the other side of the door.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door to face none other than your cousin.

“Hey,” he said in a hushed tone before you could utter a word, looking at you with his hands in his pockets and a nervous expression on his face. “I know it’s late, but can we talk?”

You hesitated before giving him a nod and stepping outside, leaving the door unlocked behind you as you walked towards the front steps. You had a good guess as to why he was at your doorstep at this hour, and your shoulders tensed at the prospect of having this specific discussion right now.

“Fine,” you muttered as you moved to sit on the front step. “What do you wanna talk about?”

John B followed your lead and sat beside you, absently petting K-Nine behind the ears as the old dog lay down on the porch with a huff.

“JJ told me about you and Rafe.”

He was going straight to the subject. Good. The sooner you finished this, the sooner you could go to bed and pretend it never happened.

“What about me and Rafe?”

John B stopped petting the dog, fingers fidgeting as he started picking the old scraps of paint from the wooden step beneath him.

“Please don’t lie to me, V. Not about this.” You didn’t think you had ever heard John B say anything in such a serious tone, jaw clenched and mouth set in a straight line as his gaze locked on yours, eyes shining in the moonlight with something akin to concern. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you would never have something with him even if he was the last man on earth, but I heard the rumors, so what the hell happened between you two?”

Your brows furrowed, his tone not lost to you as you tried to understand exactly the meaning behind his words.

“Wait, what- what are you talking about?” you asked after a moment of only staring at him, unsure of what to say. “What the hell did JJ tell you?”

“Last Saturday, at that Kook party, Rafe did something to you.” You looked at him in total confusion as he took your hands in his, his grip a little tighter than you would find comfortable. “He forced you, didn’t he? I saw the bruises, I saw the marks but I just thought…” he shook his head, tone turning frantic as you let out a nervous chuckle, at a complete loss for words as you realized what he was implying. He couldn’t be serious. “Did he drug you? Whatever he did, you have to tell me, tell the police. We can get him arrested. If- If you don’t want to do that maybe we can try to- to, I don’t know, but we can make him pay somehow.”

This was madness. This whole situation was ridiculous. Absolute insanity.

“John B, no, please stop–”

“No, no, no, you don’t have to be scared of him–”

“Johnathan, stop!” you snapped, tears stinging your eyes as you finally managed to pull your hands from his grip. “Whatever JJ told you, it’s not true. Rafe didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do, so stop whatever this is!”

He stared at you, eyes wide and mouth agape as understanding finally settled.

“What?”

“Rafe didn’t hurt me.”

His eyes flashed with anger, and an intrusive thought crossed your mind; it was almost like he preferred you had been assaulted.

“You actually willingly slept with him?”

The disgust was as clear in his voice as it was in his face, and you couldn’t stop yourself from recoiling in a sudden burst of shame. You were quick to push that emotion aside; you had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Even if I did, whatever my deal is with Rafe is between me and him. Not you and not JJ, so you can just stop getting in my business like I’m your responsibility. I’ve been dealing with Cameron for years now, he’s not your problem.”

“That’s the thing though, he is my problem!” he shouted, and you looked back at your house, afraid your family would be alerted by the ruckus. This was not a subject they needed to get involved in. “He’s always picking fights with us and treats Sarah like shit! Have you seen what he and Topper did to Pope the other day? He’s not a good guy and you know that so why the hell would you willingly spread your legs for him?”

“Hey, watch it!” your tone raised to match his own, index finger pointed at his chest as you pinned him down in a glare. K-Nine barked, sensing the rise in emotions. “You don’t get to talk to me like that!”

“What, am I lying?” his tone quieted, but the expression of anger on his face didn’t falter, hand raising to roughly push your own away. “Didn’t you go from hating him one minute to letting him fuck you the next? Like a–”

You felt the heat in your palm before you could even register what you had done. Tears stung in your eyes as you stared down at John B, who was cradling his cheek and looking at you with a mixture of shock, anger, and sadness in his hazel eyes.

“Get. Out. Of my house,” you commanded in between shaking breaths.

You stared down at each other for what felt like hours, neither of your saying a thing. You forced yourself to stop your lower lip from trembling, hiding your shaking hands behind your back as you finally broke eye contact, sure that you would erupt into tears if you stared at the disappointment in his eyes for one more second.

“Just leave,” you whispered as you made your way to the front door, not caring anymore if he left or not.

“He’ll hurt you.”

You halted, hand on the doorknob, glancing at him over his shoulder. Waiting.

“He’ll hurt you,” John B repeated, firmly this time, avoiding your eyes. Then he added, his tone so soft you barely understood the words “And when he does, you can count on me. Until then…”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he was already walking away before you could utter a single sound.

«»«»«»«»«»

You rolled in bed for the hundredth time that night, your cousin’s words repeating themselves in your mind over and over and over, like a broken record that never stopped.

Didn’t you go from hating him one minute to letting him fuck you the next?

You had… hadn’t you? Against your better judgment, against your own principles, you had let Rafe touch you and kiss you in ways you never even thought he would want to. Rafe Cameron was an awful person, and that wasn’t a matter of opinion. He was entitled, cruel, temperamental, and prone to violence. You knew that. He had terrorized you for years and made your life a living hell; laughed at you, hurt you, made you cry more times than you could count, and still…that hadn’t stopped you from riding him and moaning for him as if your life depended on it, had it?

And now here you were, unable to sleep, with a tightness in your chest and a churning stomach that was starting to make you nauseous. You were exhausted from all the muffled crying you had done as soon as you got to your bedroom, your pillow stained with tears.

John B’s words hurt, making you feel even worse than you already felt. Part of you hated him a little, insulted and beyond upset by everything he had said. He had no right to act like that. Still, the other side of you cried in shame, wondering if he was right and if you really were being the stupid and undeniably wrong person in all of this mess.

I slapped him, for God’s sake!

That alone was enough reason to at least text him an apology, but you quickly stopped yourself from doing it. You were still too furious, wounds too fresh.

Your thoughts started spiraling out of control, and that tightness in your chest grew worse.

What if your mom found out?

What if your boss found out?

What if you lost your job and your family because of it?

What if you and John B’s relationship never recovered?

What if this stupid fucking mistake stopped you from going to college and making a better life for yourself and your family so you would be forced to work as a waitress for the rest of your life until you died alone on this island with no family and friends, only the police to discover your cat-eaten corpse?

What if, what if, what if?

You buried your face in your pillow with a grunt of frustration, wishing you could go back in time and murder Rafe Cameron in his sleep, just for good measure. Then none of this would’ve happened, and you could continue living your life without this particular storm hanging over your head.

Groaning at how stuffy your room felt, you kicked your sheets off of you before getting out of bed and walking straight to the chair in the corner of your room. Grabbing the pair of shorts and the hoodie laying on it, you hurriedly got dressed before making your way out of the house, phone and keys safely stored in your hoodie’s pocket.

You hesitated as you walked down the stairs of your front porch, unsure of where to go.

It was at times like this that you wished you had more friends; Nina had been abroad for two years (It would be four in the morning in Portugal, so it was not like you could call her now) and you doubted that JJ, Kie, Pope, or Sarah would want to hear anything you had to say, after what happened. A couple of other people came to mind, but you never contacted them unless sex was involved, and that was not what you wanted right now.

Sex was what got me into this mess in the first place.

The sounds of waves in the distance crashing against the shoreline caught your attention. You listened for a moment, taking a deep breath of the salty breeze, mind going blank for a blessed moment. Living this close to the ocean could be a curse some days, unwanted memories rushing to your mind if you let them take over; right now, however, you would like to think of it as a blessing.

You were strolling towards the Boneyard before you could give it much thought, hands stuffed in your pockets and hoodie over your head as the chilly coastline wind made you shiver despite the warm island weather.

Your ears perked as the sound of loud music and voices alerted you to a party nearby, right on the other side of the dunes. You could smell burning wood the closer you got, and it didn’t take you long to catch the sight of a bonfire, people laughing and dancing and drinking without a care in the world.

Exactly what you needed.

You approached the gathering with your eyes on the crackling fire, enjoying the way the dancing flames cast a glow over the sand, making it look the color of melted caramel under the moonlit sky. The sand under your naked feet was cool to the touch, and the seawater was thankfully far enough away for you to be able to relax.

Most people around you were familiar in one way or another, a fair mix of Kooks, Pogues, and Tourons that just wanted to enjoy their Friday night as much as you did. You walked through the party crowd, being mostly ignored besides the occasional wave or nod of recognition that you made sure to retribute.

Fortunately, you saw no unwanted faces that would make you instantly turn around and leave.

That made you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding; no one seemed to be talking about you or looking at you weirdly, and there was no one to ruin your night more than John B already had. Perfect.

Coming here was a good decision, you thought as you approached the kegs of beer, smiling as you recognized one of the guys handing out drinks.

“Hey, V.” Eli, a tall young man with short curly hair smiled at you as he handed you a full cup of beer before you even had to ask. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrugged as you took the cup from his hand, sipping the bitter drink, “just working and binge-watching shows on my days off. All very thrilling. You?”

“Same,” he chuckled, warm brown eyes looking almost golden in the light of the fire. “Just helping out at the cafe and surfing when I can. By the way, when are you passing by? My Mama keeps telling me to bring you over again, says she has some new books you might like.”

“Aw, she misses me?”

“C’mon, V, you know we all do,” he said, sending you a wink that made the corners of your lips twitch and a familiar heat take over your cheeks, the suggestion in his tone not being lost on you.

You really liked Eli, with his pretty smile and easy-going nature.

He had graduated two years before you, and you had gotten closer when you started spending your free time at his family’s cafe, staying whole afternoons reading or writing in their quaint little book corner. It didn’t take you long to develop a friendship, and before you knew it you were having your first kiss and experiencing your first time in his bed, in the apartment right above his shop. He had been kind and patient, and you really couldn’t have imagined a better way to lose your virginity.

But – even though you were aware that he liked you – you had never let your relationship evolve into something more than friends with benefits. Why ruin something that worked just fine?

“Maybe I’ll pass by on my next day off,” you said, and his eyes glinted. “Are you working on Monday?”

“I’m not, but I’ll be waiting there for you. Wanna go out and have lunch too? This new place just opened and–”

Your smile faltered, and he was quick to notice.

“No, no, I mean, just as friends,” Eli quickly clarified with an awkward chuckle. “I know you don’t want to change what we have and that’s fine by me. But, you know… we can hang out if you want and have a good time. We’re chill, right?”

Sometimes you wondered what was stopping you from getting into a relationship with a guy that was handsome, kind, shared so many of your interests, and knew how to please you in the best way. The problem wasn’t him, you were well aware of that. The problem was you and your fear of commitment.

Fuck that. You deserved something good in your life. And, right now, you really needed it.

“We are,” you answered, and you noticed relief softening his brow. “You know what, yeah, let’s plan something fun for Monday. How about–”

A heavy hand on your shoulder made you jump, and you stopped mid-sentence to look behind you, heart almost jolting out of your chest as you faced the last person you wanted to see at that moment.

“Rafe,” you muttered, glaring at his blue eyes before looking down at his hand, still on your shoulder. “Take your hand off me.”

“You’re in the way,” he simply said while dropping his hand to his side, nodding past you at the kegs of beer.

You said nothing, moving to stand next to Eli as Rafe passed by you and refilled his own cup. With a strange look at you and a glare sent in your friend’s direction, the blond left, and you followed him with your eyes as he walked away to the other side of the crowd, where he stood with his little gang of friends.

Of course he would be here, you thought as your hand reflexively squeezed the plastic cup in your hand. Luck was rarely on your side.

Maybe coming to this party hadn’t been a good idea, after all.

“That was weird,” uttered Eli, also looking in Rafe’s direction. “He could’ve gotten more beer right there.” He nodded in the direction of the other kegs, where no one stood in the way.

“Yeah, he just wanted to piss me off.”

“You’re still at each other’s throats then?”

“Yup.”

He hummed in response, and a weird moment passed where neither of you said a thing. You, for once, were too preoccupied with weighing the pros and cons of staying at a party with Rafe Cameron in your vicinity. The smart move right now would be to leave; you had no idea what would happen if both of you stayed. Then Eli spoke again, words coming out deliberately and slowly like he was thinking them carefully.

“You know that he’s not a good guy, right?”

You scoffed.

“You’re telling me that, of all people?”

“Just making sure…”

You let out a sigh, hand raising to brush over your face with a tired grunt.

“So, you heard about it too, huh?” you asked, hoping the irritation in your voice scared Eli enough so he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’, eyes down as he kicked a tiny hill of sand. “Don’t know if it’s true and I don’t understand you if it is, but it’s none of my business so… just be careful, okay? He hangs around the wrong crowd sometimes, and, well,” he shrugged, “you know how he is.”

You glanced at Eli, taking in the way he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking his words through. Whatever he was implying, was said out of concern for your well-being, nothing more.

“Okay…” you started, unsure of what else to say. “Thanks for letting me know, but there’s no reason to worry. I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” He nodded once, and a pretty smile graced his lips again as he looked at you. “Now, about Monday…”

«»«»«»«»«»

You were more than just a little tipsy.

You stumbled over your own feet as you walked past the dunes, giggling to yourself as you remembered a joke you had said early in the evening, already so plastered that you had struggled to get the words out without laughing. You hadn’t really meant to get as drunk as you were, but before you knew it you were six cups past sobriety, dancing and singing at the top of your lungs with Eli and his friend group.

You felt amazing in your intoxicated high, barely remembering what had soured your mood in the first place. Eli had helped you forget, with his easy conversation and sense of humor, and his friends had welcomed you into their group without unwanted questions or weird looks sent your way.

Was exactly what you had been needing; and a long time overdue if you were being honest with yourself.

Not even Rafe had been able to smother your euphoria, despite the very noticeable glares sent your way throughout the night. After some time, you had even forgotten he was there, completely focused on enjoying the party to its fullest.

And damn you if you hadn’t succeeded.

It was now somewhere past two in the morning, and the exhaustion of your workday had gotten to you despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and your high spirits. So, you had said goodbye to Eli – with the promise to meet on Monday – and were currently making your way out of the Boneyard. A tiny voice in your brain warned you about the massive hangover that you would without a doubt suffer in the morning, but you lazily brushed it off; now was not the time to think about tomorrow.

Now all you wanted to do was lay down.

Lay down…

You fell to the sand with the grace of a newborn foal, giggling as you laid face up, eyes wandering lazily on the clear sky. It was spotted with shiny stars, one constellation more beautiful than another, and your eyes watered; looking at the night sky had always made you feel emotional.

I’ll sleep here tonight, you thought as you curled in on yourself, face towards the stars, fingers tapping on the sand out of rhythm with the music still playing from the party just on the other side of the dunes.

“‘Cause everytime we touch, I get this feeling,” you drunkenly sang off-key as Cascada’s ‘Everytime We Touch’ played loudly. “And every time we kiss I swear I could fly.” You could still hear people sing and laugh from your spot in the middle of the sandbanks, and it almost made you want to go back there and stay until the sun rose.

But you really had to go to bed; or sleep right there, one of the two. Your head spun as you tried to sit up, so you let yourself lay down again with a huff.

That’s when you noticed someone approaching.

“You’re so fucking drunk.”

“Oh, pardon me, your Royal Highness,” you mocked with a snort, turning towards the voice to see Rafe Cameron standing just a few feet from you, hands in his pockets, “but this peasant doesn’t give a shit about what you think.” You couldn’t see his face well in the darkness – only the moon as a light source – but he was most likely looking down at you with a frown, as per usual. “Leave me alone, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Here?”

“I’m homeless, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Venus.”

“Rafe,” you laughed as you tried to imitate his baritone. “Oh, Venus, you’re so fucking drunk. Oh Venus, let me fuck you again.”

“You’re fucking annoying, that’s what you are.”

You didn’t even notice Rafe approaching you, letting out a yelp of surprise as you felt him pull you up before stumbling against his chest as dizziness took over you. You made a whiny noise as he started to half-push you, half-drag you away, a strong arm around your waist while the other grabbed you by the elbow.

“No, I don’t wanna leave!” you cried out as you tried to turn away from him and back to your spot on the sand.

“I’m not leaving you to sleep on the fucking beach, you moron.”

Now you were close enough to see the annoyed glare that he pinned you under, giggling at his pinched expression as you slapped his chest in a weak attempt to have him release you.

“Ugh, you’re so boring,” you whined, letting yourself fall in his arms when you realized he was not letting you go. “Okay okay, I know, let’s tell each other secrets!” You clapped your palms against his chest, pulling his shirt when he groaned. “C’mon I’ll go first: I hate you. Like really hate you. But-” you lowered your tone to a conspiratorial whisper, “having sex with you was really good – I still hate you, though.”

“Venus–”

“Shh, it’s a secret,” you giggled, putting a finger against his lips. “Now you.”

“I–”

“You have really pretty eyes, you know that?” you mumbled as you looked into his blue eyes, forgetting the game you had been one-sided playing. “It’s so unfair…”

Rafe let out a long sigh.

“Anything more you want to tell me?” he asked, hands steadying by your shoulders as you swayed in place.

“Hmm… nope.”

“Good, then let’s get you home.”

“Wait!” you exclaimed, pulling at his hand as you let yourself fall to the sand again, laughing as he fell on his knees beside you. “Let’s watch the stars.”

He sighed again.

“I’m so close to just leaving you here.”

“Good, then go, goodbye,” you said as you frowned at him, slapping his hand away when he tried to lift you again.

You heard him sigh a third time, followed by a sound of resignation before you watched him sit down beside you. With a grunt, you used his arm to pull yourself into a sitting position, leaning against his shoulder for support as you turned your neck to look up.

“Aren’t the stars so pretty?” you whispered, shaking his arm when a moment passed without an answer.

“Yeah, guess they are.”

You kept staring up, feeling your lids drop the more you looked at the mess of gold, red, and silver dots that painted the dark blue sky. It was all so beautiful. You felt… content, even with Rafe beside you. He was still an asshole and you still couldn’t stand him, but he wasn’t being himself right now, for some weird reason your intoxicated brain couldn’t even wonder about.

Rafe cleared his throat beside you, snapping you out of your stupor.

“Can we go now?”

“Wait…” you murmured, closing your eyes for a moment as you took a deep breath of the clean ocean breeze. “Okay, we can go now.”

“Finally.”

He pulled you up and you yelped as you tripped over your own feet, allowing him to hold you straight against his chest. You looked up at his face, and a sudden thought made you bite your bottom lip.

No, don’t do it, warned a voice in the back of your mind that you promptly ignored.

Kissing Rafe felt… nice. Better than nice. You had thought so too when you had been naked under him just a week prior, moaning against his soft lips as he fucked you in a way you had never been fucked before.

Now felt no different.

You moaned into the kiss, intertwining your arms behind his neck as you pulled him closer, fingers tangling in his soft blond locks. One of his arms went around your waist, pulling you flat against his body as a hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to deepen the kiss. You did so gladly, enjoying the feel of his tongue against yours, shivering as his teeth swiftly pulled at your bottom lip.

You let yourself enjoy it, the possible outcome of it all pushed to the back of your mind. All you wanted right now was to kiss him, consequences be damned. You would deal with those when you were sober.

Rafe was the one breaking the kiss, and you almost cried as he lightly pushed you away. You wanted more than just one kiss, at this point, an insisting heat making you squeeze your thighs together.

“C’mon, you little tease,” he said, chuckling as you whined and tried to chase after his mouth. “Let’s get you home.”

«»«»«»«»«»

Part 4 ->

[hughiecampbelle]

Waves Pt. 2 (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Kendall, Logan mention

Word Count: 1,447

Inspired By: All Things End by Hozier

Requested: Kendall Roy one shot pls 😩🙏🏼🙏🏼 I’m begging on my knees. My heart wants some major break up angst with Kendall. Prompt : “this isn’t working” - anon

Requested: Part 2 of waves with Kendall ? I don’t even have a prompt but I need to know what happens next? Like if there’s a reconciliation or break up😭🙏🏼 does Kendall find reader and make up or does it end in permanent heart break? I have so many questions ❤️🙏🏼 - anon

A/N: My loves!!!! I can only hope this is as good as part one, I'm a little nervous I used up all my writing ability on that fic lol. I also hope I've made it angsty enough!!! My absolute favorite thing is to write the crumbling of a relationship. It's real and raw and idk, I just love how complicated it can all get :) Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

REQUESTS ARE OPEN 🔮 / Waves Pt. 1

His hair is still damp and sticking to the pillow when he feels your body beside his. It’s been hours. The city lights glitter against the vast darkness of the night sky. You’re high enough to touch the stars. He must’ve fallen asleep: he hadn’t heard you come in. He is still, though, frozen against the sheets, holding his breath. It is an eternity before you say something. In these moments he has no idea what you’re thinking, only that your thoughts are howling in a language he can’t decipher. Your mother tongue, one long dead to men like him. Back to back, your spines kissing. He hopes, foolishly, the vertebrae will become knotted, intertwined, and he will never have to fear another moment without you. You will live as a singular monstrous creature. People will laugh and stare, but it will be the fullest extent of devotion. He wants to turn to you, express this innate want, but he understands even the smallest touch will leave you wounded. Flinching. There is little left of him that can stomach you becoming repelled by him, disgusted even. He is laying on thin ice. One wrong word, move, one false breath, and he will fall through. Perhaps it’ll be a welcomed feeling: the frozen sensation is all-encompassing. It will cradle him, swaddle him. It will pool in his lungs. He will gasp and choke until he is too weak too fight. He will reach for you, but your back is to him. You never heard the ice crack. 

Your bed, the mattress, has become home to something bleak and starving: it is eager to tear you apart, limb by limb, until there is nothing left. It sleeps soundly in moments like this. It has for a long time. He has tried not to think about it, give it attention. He has tried ignoring it, but it is harsh and spiky and it presses into him. Rips his skin open. A barrier between you, a wall, a gap. Another body keeping him from you. His father. If not his father, his siblings. If not them, then this creature. If not it, then himself. He has no one else to blame. It certainly isn’t your fault. This, at least, he can admit to. Delicately, he maneuvers himself so that he is facing the back of you. Your outline illuminated by the moon. How easy it would be to wrap his arms around you. How easy it would be to nuzzle his face into your neck. How easy it would be to fall back into place. He refrains from doing so. Heat radiates from your skin. Your warmth, physically and emotionally, had always drawn him close. You are the sun and by god, he will be your Icarus. It leaves him melted, a puddle of himself. He watches as your breathe, body rising and falling. They are not deep. You’re still awake. He opens his mouth only to close it. The silence he can live with. It’s what you’ll say next that might kill him. 

Kendall is reminded of all the nights you have survived together. Like tonight, they are wordless. Undressing easily, thoughtlessly. It’s the time of day you loved most. He’d come home to you, he would finally belong to you. He’d see you before a shower, smelling of cologne and sweat and fabric softener. Kiss your head before disappearing, not for long, and reappear clean. The soap scent would embed itself into your sheets, into you. One of you would make the journey across the bed, rest their head on the others chest, listen to a heartbeat they swore was their own. He’d go on about his day, his blood, but all you could hear was the steady beat of his heart. A series of sounds. A song, perhaps. You’d make all the right noises, all the right movements, but none of it could compete. Now his heart pulses out of his chest, rapid, fluttery, scared. It pounds and screams and there is little can do to tame it. Tame himself. The realization that he has ruined everything is neither new nor astounding. It seems this feeling has lasted a lifetime. Beyond that. It will out live him. His words fall feverishly from his mouth. He’s always saying the wrong thing, the worst thing, and he cannot stop himself. He has tried. So he doesn’t talk. He doesn’t say anything now. Is it better to speak or to die? To die, he decides, and he knows he could never take it back. To die. 

There is too much to repair. His words, his actions, there is too much bleeding. There is too much gore. You are hemorrhaging out before him and he can do nothing but lay very still and pretend it isn’t happening. You’re holding your insides, wrapping them in your arms like a child. These moments are becoming more frequent: the internal gratitude you have not brought children into this. You wanted them, many, and he did, too. But where was the time? The patience? Where was the love you could show them so that they might one day go on and find their person? It’s easier this way: the disintegration of a partner hood, a couple, than a family. You’re not sure you would. You’re not sure you could. You’d always imagined your child, children, with his eyes. Facing them, a second time, saying what you’re thinking, hazel and rich and so ashamed, would devastate you. Your perfect white carpet will be stained. So will your hands, under your fingernails. It drips from your mouth, the red, and it is all you can taste. Iron. Platelets. Plasma. Cell by cell, the seams fall apart. 

Your thoughts are strung together, knotted. There is so much to say and so little time. Soon, the sun will make her way across your skyline. You will have to look at him. You will have to face him. Quietly, though loud enough for him to hear, to understand, you let out three words. Behind you, he stops breathing. This is it, you think. To call it. A small piece of you fights back, kicking and screaming. It is desperate. It is in agony. Take it back! Take it all back! Please! It sobs into you, a bloom of despair spreading out from the middle of your chest. You have no one to hold you and so, you must do it yourself. This act is not lost on him. You pull further away from him, your arms tight around you. Once, not long ago, it would have been his skin you would have felt instead of your own. Sometime between then and now he regains the ability to mechanically gasp for air. In and out, exhale, inhale. It shouldn’t be, but it is: a slap to the face, stinging, his skin red. Something innate in him knows this is it. Shallow versions of himself laugh, they become hysterical. After all these years, your marriage ends one insignificant Wednesday morning. It’s not insignificant, though. He knows you would point this out, he knows you would be right. It’s not just now. It was your entire relationship. A begging, a cry, he had grown so used to he no longer heard it. This isn’t working. There is no fight left in him. Okay.  Time of death: 4:39. There are no monitors, there is nothing left keeping this relationship alive. Okay, he says again, and you understand what he means. Everything he’s ever needed to say, to apologize for, encased in that single word. He is not accepting it because he wants to. He wants to perform CPR, break a few ribs. He wants to revive this marriage, keep it alive by tube. But he loves you. He loves you and he cannot do that you. Trap you like that. So he lets it go. He lets you go. You should find someone better than him, his family. You will. That love will not be as painful as this love was. It will be easier. They will cherish you like he should have. For now though, he is thankful for your warmth. Your body beside his. The sun will rise and you will leave and he will be all alone, but now, while the stars sing, he can pretend for a little while longer. Everything will be okay. It will be okay and you’ll find happiness and he will too, knowing he can’t hurt you anymore. He can be content with this. Without you. You have already given him so much of your time. It’s selfish of him to ask for a second more.