#i have to essentially deep clean my room with my mom tomorrow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

periminkle · 4 years

Text

blazes of deceit

this fic is a part of the disney collab hosted by @btswritingcafe!! please go check out all the other talented writers and their works 💕

+ summary. When the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide.

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

+ warnings. threats against a baby’s life, unwarranted death, mom problems, trespassing, pan violence, hiding a (not dead) body, tying people up with hair, curse words, drinking, thievery, deadly chase, sword/pan fight, recklessly jumping from a great height, graphic descriptions of wounds and blood, general violence, dark family matters (it’s pretty twisted!), orchestrated infidelity.

+ author’s note. happy early birthday to golden baby jungkook!! this fic took me wAY too long to write but she’s finally here! HUGE thank you to my big brain frenemy @guklvr for beta reading and hyping me up by boosting my confidence level +2000 even tho she’s on vacation and should be relaxing LMAO i would’ve postponed this until next year if u didn’t push me so TY ILY LOADS CARL 💘 i also wanted to shoutout #1 jk ryder supporter @dewykth and wofe @yeojaa for encouraging me every step along the way, y’all are the best n ily both to pieces 💝💕

You are positively ravenous.

Flurries of people scurry past the towering bars of your crib, yet none spare a glance in your direction despite your boisterous wailing. Like moths to a flame, they’re all huddled in one corner, surrounding a panting woman that clutches her rotund abdomen in one hand while tightly clasping onto a bejewelled crown in the other.

“What are you waiting for?” she spits out, hardened orbs narrowed in on your pathetic form.

“Your Royal Majesty, it’s only been an hour since you have given birth, please reconsider—”

Her glower is redirected onto the younger woman’s trembling form. “Are you questioning your Queen? Shall we reconsider your life as well?”

“No,” she begs, her tone quivering with anguish, “please spare my ignorant self.”

Your facial muscles begin to cramp and the walls of your throat feel like sandpaper, which only serves to exacerbate your violent sobs. The insistent suckling on your thumb is doing nothing to quell your raging stomach.

Her lips peel back to reveal two rows of pearly white, dazzling teeth framed by a nasty snarl. “Somebody slit that brat’s throat!”

Another midwife adorned in the bloody rags of childbirth darts across the cramped space with a weeping bundle of rough canvas in her arms. As she scrambles to deliver the shuddering newborn into his counterfeit mother’s arms, the clumsy woman trips over thin air, flying across her enraged Queen’s lap. Without a second thought, her backside is pierced by a shiny steel sword, sullied in a crimson liquid when it reappears.

The introduction of another babe deters your cries for attention. Instead, you distract yourself with a dull glimmer that you catch in your peripheral. Your chubby fingers hopelessly extend toward the dingy stars dangling above your head, just out of reach, reflecting the bright orange tiger lily printed onto the high ceiling of your cage.

“Not a soul shall speak of today's treachery.”

You’re well aware that your short arms could never stretch the distance required to satiate your unending curiosity; but they stay aloft, searching for the reassuring warmth of your mother’s embrace.

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

Screams of agony overwhelm your developing eardrums as your tiny hands come to cradle your head, willing the pain to end.

Every inch of your walls is covered with abstract paintings, doodles of twisting branches snaking around the edges, dainty birds in every colour under the sun, and a joyous little girl dancing in her own brilliant freedom. No matter where you look, bespeckled tiger lilies are buried within the intricate linework like easter eggs, waiting to be found.

Your favourite by far is the uncanny depiction of the image stashed deep inside the crevices of your memory, a sight your heart desires to view most from up close. The miniature illustration captures your longing gaze pinned on the multitudinous lights ascending from a foreign location, golden hair streaming down your back and flowing over the fireplace in your determination to capture its vast length.

You attempt to steel your nerves for the umpteenth time, but you can’t help your nervous pacing across the minuscule length of your room. The entire tower is spotless as a result of your mindless cleaning—floors scrubbed twice, nonexistent dust wiped away, and trinkets set at the perfect angle to encourage your mother to comply with your outrageous request.

Today is the day, after all. The day that you’ll finally convince the stubborn woman to bring you out to watch the masses of floating lanterns disappear into the night sky.

The pitter-patter of your bare feet scuttling against the concrete floors nearly drown out the melodic appellations from outside your window.

“—down your hair!”

You dash over to the aperture, hastily gathering the ends of your mane to fling down while fixing the bulk of it onto the hook above your head. When the figure enshrouded in a black cloak snatches up your tresses, looping it around to create a foothold and carefully wedges one leg inside, you haul them up through the makeshift pulley.

By the time both of their feet are safely planted on the ground next to yours, sweat is beginning to form by your temples and the perpetual ache in your arms flares from consistently being forced to heave another grown adult up the stretch of the colossal tower.

“Welcome home, Mother.” You pull the rest of your hair inside and turn to face the stunning woman who lowers her excessively long hood, the extra length of fabric intentionally stitched on to keep her identity obscure as she travels.

Your mother sweeps you up into her comforting embrace and you allow yourself to relax in her arms, resting your cheek on her chest while your digits tightly clasp on to one another around her middle. Her chin settles onto the crown of your head.

“You would think that lifting me up all these years would give you some more upper body strength,” she says, her disappointment practically tangible. Placing both manicured hands upon each of your shoulders with a light squeeze, she pushes you back to examine your body from head to toe. “But look at you! My poor, delicate, little flower.”

Your forehead creases from your raised brows as a tense smile completes your agitated countenance.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong? Come, come with Mother.” The adamant woman latches onto your forearm, dragging you over to the rustic fireplace and pressing down on your shoulders. Ever the obedient child, you kneel down onto the thick rug below.

Your mother delicately takes a seat on the antique chair beside you, a weary sigh slipping past her lips before she starts sweeping a brush through your golden strands. As per tradition, you sing the incantation that’s essentially engraved in the back of your mind at this point.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

A gleaming shimmer races across your tresses at the verse and from the corner of your vision you watch the light creases marring your mother’s features fade in rapt attention. She hums along to the tune with a detached, distant look in her eyes.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

You allow your lids to slide closed, gathering all the courage you can muster for the following conversation.

“What once was mine.”

Once the last note fades and a deafening silence reigns, she gently urges, “Tell Mother everything.”

This is it, it’s now or never.

“Uh, well, as you know,” you mumble, clearing your throat, “my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.”

“Mhm, and I’ve already gotten your present as well,” she hums, steadily working her way down your mass of hair.

You falter at the information she casually reveals, guilt eating away at your conscience for preparing to ruin her good mood. “Yes, I know you’re always thinking of me, but, uh, well—”

“You can tell me, darling.” You register your mother’s heavy palm stroking your head, coaxing the words to tumble out of your mouth.

So you lay it on her. “I was just wondering if you would take me to see the lanterns this year.”

“What was that?” she questions, rightfully so when the garbled words blurt out quicker than you can process.

Before you can second guess yourself, you stammer, “C-can we please go see the lanterns?”

The brush suddenly halts in its path, suspended within the waves and dips of your many strands. Although you can’t see her, you know your mother well enough to feel her stiffen up, peeved at the topic you’ve brought up many times before.

“Petal—”

You interrupt, desperate to plead your case, “Mother, please, I’ve been waiting for—”

“Zip it.” You instantly clamp up at her hissing.

Your mother takes her time to stand, stalking over to halt directly in front of your hunched form. Her daunting figure looms above you, fierce orbs evoking a filthy shame that sinks its claws into your spine, and you lower your stare to her ankles from its intense weight. “Enough. I don’t understand why you keep asking this idiotic question when you already know what my answer is going to be.”

Her spontaneous refusal dampens your spirit, but you press on. “I just, uh, thought that I could see them once for my birthday a-and then I’d never ask to leave the tower again.”

With a scowl as cold as an executioner’s axe, her arms come to cross beneath her bust. “I’ve already told you time and time again that they’re to celebrate the healthy birth of the Prince, any special ‘connection’ you feel to these lights is simply misguided and naive.”

You scramble to gather the scraps of bravery she shredded in order to sputter out, “But it’s my b-birthday too. Even if it’s just a coincidence, I wanna see them with my own two eyes.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you how dangerous the world is outside these walls? Do you know how many people are jumping at the chance to use your magic for themselves?” She rolls her eyes, chiding at you as if you’re a petulant child who disobeyed their elders one too many times. “If your little heart wants some adventure, you can go downstairs and explore the living room, besides darling, you should be thankful that nothing has happened all these years.”

“How am I supposed to be thankful for anything when you keep coddling me like this!” you lash out, frustration bubbling over at her usual response and refusing to toe the line any longer. Any notion of gently swaying her judgement or prompting her to consider your point of view is thrown out the window.

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

“What?” Her words turn to ice—syllables forming razor-sharp blades that figuratively line your throat, poised to strike the second you step out of place. “Do you want to repeat that?”

Your breaths quicken, deathly afraid of the repercussions that will follow if you decide to continue your rebellious act. It wouldn’t be the first time that she punished you for begging to leave the tower.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, head hanging low and voice laced with resignation, “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Aw, my precious petal,” she coos, her mood drastically flipping one hundred and eighty degrees as the edges of her lips subtly point upwards at your obedience. “That’s why Mother is here, to guide you in the right direction. You know that I’m only looking out for you, right?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Evidently content with the outcome of the conversation, she turns back to continue brushing through your tresses.

By the time her ebony cloak rests upon her thin shoulders, hood draping over her face, your hair is already hanging by the hook above the window and she hops through the opening to lower herself to the ground below. You watch as her figure shrinks with the increasing distance, only turning back once to give a short wave before disappearing through the lush greenery.

And then you’re alone once again.

In the hours that pass after your mother’s departure, you become well acquainted with the five stages of grief. Of course, your requests to leave have been denied more times than you can count on both hands, but you foolishly believed that mentioning the eighteen years you spent cooped up in one place, fending off boredom, would hit a soft spot.

You forgot that your mother doesn’t have any of those.

Obviously, she anticipated your attempt to convince her by throwing yourself a pity party, as she deliberately mentioned purchasing a gift in advance. Out of all your celebrations, you couldn’t recall a single time where she prepared—much less remembered—your birthday.

Utterly absorbed within your final stage of acceptance, you lose yourself within your thoughts. That’s why the steady, rhythmic tapping on the cobblestone metres below makes you jump, mind wiped clean of everything except questioning the origin of the sound. Goosebumps manifest across the length of your arms, already slick with cold sweat.

Initially, you believe that your mother may have misplaced something, but your doubt accumulates when you don’t hear her usual jingle follow the rapping. You wonder if she is harbouring acrimony at your earlier outburst—even though she seemed quite pleased as she left.

Thus, like the loving daughter you are, you gather the ends of your hair, about to throw the lump over the aperture when you take notice of the stranger’s bulky frame and lack of disguise. Last time you checked, Mother certainly hadn’t chopped all her curls off either.

You can feel your heart thumping in your head, chest rising and falling expeditiously to compensate for the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. In your distress, her words come back to bite you, echoing within your mind that he must be after your magic.

Mother knows best, after all.

Discreetly glancing back down, you spot the man scaling the wall using two arrows, a feat which you’re sure he wouldn’t be capable of performing without those well-defined muscles, attractively outlined through his thin clothing. Realizing that you’re wasting time ogling at the intruder, you spin back to survey your room, scanning the area for any weapons you can use to defend yourself.

You disregard any prospect of overpowering him and decide to approach the confrontation by taking advantage of your ability to startle him. Before long, the sounds of the rigid arrowheads wedging into the spaces between the stones are no more than a couple of metres away, and you grab the nearest object in a blind panic.

All too soon, his large hands are gripping the window sill, and you scurry to press your body against the wall directly next to the opening. You grip the handle of metal tighter, struggling to keep your heavy breaths silent as you watch his fit form effortlessly raise himself up past the open window.

When he lands inside, you’re transfixed by the way his shirt hangs on his brawny body, the veins in his arms enlarged from the physical exertion of carrying his weight up the tower. Just for that moment, you let your eyes roam his lean figure in unadulterated fascination.

“Hah! Stupid guards, thinking they could catch me after—”

And then that moment ends.

A loud clang resounds throughout the cramped space as a result of the pan in your hand bashing into the back of his head. For a split second, you worry if the force behind your swing is enough to knock him out cold, but then he meets the floor headfirst. You wince for him.

With the substitute weapon in hand, you circle around his seemingly unconscious form up to his head, which is turned away from your prying stare. In order to decipher his level of cognizance, you crouch down and bow over him to get a better look at his face.

Long, dark locks that were perfectly mussed before his fall now cover nearly half his countenance, so you push them to the side to reveal his closed lids and strong brows. Following the curve of his cheekbones, you pass his cupid’s bow to gaze upon his thin lips, a tiny beauty mark laying directly underneath—an intimate detail that you feel uncomfortable knowing.

A faint blush colours your cheeks as you comprehend how utterly breathtaking the stranger is, drastically disparate to the stories your mother told you as a child, where men resembled ogres that lived under bridges, grotesque and unkempt.

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

He reminds you of the princes you read about in picture books—dashing and strong, willing to go to extreme lengths to find their Princess, their one true love. You know you’re taking it too far when you begin to fantasize about his personality purely based on his, admittedly, strikingly handsome appearance. With a vigorous shake of your head, you force yourself out of your reverie and get back to your task.

You stretch two fingers out to rest just beneath his nostrils, feeling the warm air that leaves his body at constant intervals, a good sign that he was not only alive but knocked out cold.

You prod at his shoulder, whispering, “Are you awake?”

No reaction.

With this confirmation, you take hold of one of his wrists with both hands and clench your jaw while leaning back, trying to use your body weight to help drag him. He proves to be much heavier than you initially believed, though you feel him moving inch by inch. Rather than another human being, you simply think of him as a heavy sack of potatoes for the sake of your conscience as you shuffle backwards, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room.

By the time you reach said armoire, you collapse on the ground next to him, gulping in as much air as you can. Now, there was simply the problem of shoving him inside. You turn your head to face the stranger, pouting at the prospect of having to lift his bulky self.

After much pushing and rearranging, the doors finally close behind him, although, as you predicted, stuffing him in there took much longer than you would like to admit. You aren’t sure how comfortable he is in the disfigured pretzel position you left him in, but his contentment is not at the top of your list of priorities right now.

Rubbing your palms together, you go to pick up the frying pan that lay discarded on the floor near the window when you take notice of the brown satchel that sat next to it. You have no use for any kind of travelling equipment, obviously, what with your whole life existing in this tall building, and your mother only carries a quaint, woven basket around. She is insistent on living as modestly as possible, and that includes whatever goodies she brings back from her adventures.

That rules out everyone but the stranger. The bag does look more masculine, anyway. Grabbing the strap, you raise the object in question up to have a closer inspection and find the leather to be heavier than expected. There are odd bumps protruding from its exterior, filling you with a tenuous curiosity.

Carefully, you lift the flap open to expose a heavily jewelled crown. Perplexity is written within the creases of your brows as you reach to grab the item within and drop the empty satchel. From your inexperienced eyes, the thing is as real as it gets, a shimmering gold decorated with the finest jewels in the kingdom. The different colours of each gem catch the light, reflecting the brilliant rays onto the walls of your room.

Your impromptu analysis concludes with an inexplicable pull towards the diadem, which you’re uncertain how to act upon until you involuntarily place the crown on your head. You turn to face the mirror leaning against the wall and it feels so right, as though two matching puzzle pieces have finally been brought together. The reflection staring back at you seems complete in ways you have never been before.

Yet, you can’t begin to fathom the reasoning behind all these strange epiphanies, unfamiliar with the tranquillity that quiets the constant buzzing in your head. Overwhelmed, you remove the crown and not a moment too soon, for a familiar, shrill shriek meets your ears.

“Petal!”

Your stomach lurches. Eyes darting to the wardrobe, you’re reminded of the man inside. You know if Mother saw him, she would definitely freak out, maybe even refuse to visit for the next week to drive you insane with solitude. But, then again, you could use him as an example to show that you could handle yourself out in that dangerous world she was always going on and on about.

“Let down your hair!”

You stuff the diadem back in the bag and stow it in an empty flower pot.

Giddy at the prospect of having a legitimate argument to reinforce your reasoning to leave the tower, you dash to the window sill and fling your hair over without a second glance outside. The rush of excitement blinds you from the sensitivity of your sore muscles as you haul her up.

“Petal,” your mother grits out, staggering inside due to your rushed actions, “what did I tell you about checking who’s calling before letting your hair down?”

“Hello, Mother!” you brush off her question, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I have something really important to show you!”

“Don’t change the subject.” She squints her eyes at you, lips pursed with frustration. “You're getting more and more reckless. One of these days, a crook will make their way up here and you’ll be foolish enough to invite them inside, maybe pour them a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

“I’m truly sorry.” You decide to humour her to prevent her temperament from flaring, throwing out a meaningless apology—one you’re used to blurting out left and right.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says, as smug and haughty as always. Your mother removes her coat, handing it off to you. “But today’s your lucky day! Just as I was about to visit, I remembered to bring your present!”

Your heart warms at your mother’s unusual thoughtfulness, although you’re much too eager to prove your strength first. “Ah, thank you, Mother. But I really want to show you—”

“Something more important than your mother’s present?”

“Of course not! I just wanted to get it out of the way so that I could enjoy your present later.” She seems unconvinced, so you add, “Y’know how they always say to leave the best for last?”

The older woman heaves an exasperated sigh, shoving you out of the way as she heads for the armchair in the corner. She slumps her tired form on the rickety seat as it creaks its refusal, then waves her hand, gesticulating that you get on with whatever it is you have up your sleeves.

Perspiration gathers within your palms and you fight to ward off the minuscule smile that plays on your lips while you gradually make your way back to the wooden armoire, “So, you’re always going on about how weak and fragile I am…”

“Yes.” She rests her chin in her hand, scrutinizing every hair on your head as though the answers to your ridiculous behaviour are buried within the multitudinous strands. “And what of it?”

“Well, I just thought that I should show you,” you start as your back hits the old furniture and your fingertips graze its rough texture. “That I’m more than capable of handling myself when we go out to—”

“When we go out?” she interrupts, irritation hardening her sharp features as she fixes you with an enraged scowl. “And where do you suppose we’re going exactly?”

You hesitate as your earlier confidence slips and you scramble to correct your word choice before she completely blows you off. “Uh, I just meant that this will show you how strong I am, and, uh…”

An eerie silence occupies the room when you find yourself at a loss for words. You know that your blabbering will get you absolutely nowhere, so you tighten your grip on the handles of the wardrobe, counting on your actions to speak louder than your words ever could.

“How old are you turning again, Y/N? It was eighteen, was it not?”

You shrink under her abrupt question, choosing to play along to pacify the shreds of annoyance flickering in her orbs. “Yes, Mother.”

“And for how long are we going to play this game?” she asks, standing with her basket in tow. Your mother rounds closer to you and your gaze automatically flies to the floor.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“What’re you hiding this time? Did you find another mouse? A rat?” she mocks, resting one hand on her hip. “Ooh, did a raccoon find its way inside?” Once her face is a mere couple of inches from your nose, you allow your eyes to meet her own, dreadfully empty ones. The sight sends a chill down your spine.

You release your hold on the furniture, dejection seeping from your tone. “Two mice this time.”

Her boisterous cackle echoes off the stone walls and she clutches her stomach in an attempt to quell the onslaught of laughter. The gesture reminds you of the countless other times you tried to ‘prove yourself’ through similar methods when you were younger, catching rodents that occasionally found their way into the nooks and crannies of the tower.

The first time you caught a mouse, you’d been ecstatic, rushing to show it off to the only person you knew. Although at that age, rather than a ticket to freedom, you were simply seeking your mother’s approval and perhaps a few praises here and there. You wanted to prove that despite your lonely upbringing—with your mother lounging around the tower for only a few hours every other day—you could handle yourself. She wouldn’t have to worry.

Evidently, you were too young to understand your mother’s rash nature, and she immediately assumed the worst—that you had somehow managed to sneak outside and wanted to prove your calibre by hunting down a nearby animal. The harsh scolding you received that day still lingers as a scar on your wrist, a painful reminder to never cross your mother.

“The outside world is not a simple matter of ‘two mice’ darling. You should know better than to think I’ll ever be impressed by these foolish displays of strength.” She swoops you up into her arms and you automatically bring your hands to circle her lithe waist. “That’s why you’ll always need Mother to protect you.”

Your chin rests on her shoulder, stare unfocused as you dismally state, “Yes, Mother.”

“Now, onto more exciting matters.” A couple of light, successive pats strike your back and you’re released from her hold. She is quick to open her wooden basket and rummage through the contents, reaching inside for what you assume to be your birthday present. The vegetables in her hand don’t excite you, but you put on a fake grin for her anyway. “I’m making your favourite soup!”

She scurries away from your static form to head past the doorway, but you stop her in her tracks with a low voice. “I’m not really feeling up for soup today.”

“You know how far the journey is to get some of these vegetables, let alone how expensive each one is!” she exclaims, waving said produce in her hand as she spins to face you.

“I’m really sorry, Mother,” you mumble, flashing her your best puppy-dog eyes. “But I ran out of paint recently and I’m feeling kind of down about it.”

She tuts. “That’s a three-day journey, Petal.”

“I know, it’s just that when I can’t distract myself with painting, I get these horrible thoughts of leaving the tower.” Doing your best to reason with her, you shift your weight to the other foot and fiddle around with your fingernails, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “And I think those paints are a much better idea than going out to see the lights.”

A few seconds pass before a groan escapes your mother’s lips. “You’re lucky Mother loves you dearly.”

You stumble into her torso, grateful that she is unintentionally following along with your plan—a tedious scheme that you were saving as a last resort. She strokes the crown of your head, allowing you to nuzzle your cheek into the comfort of your mother’s embrace before her immediate departure.

Goodbyes are exchanged with some more reprimands sprinkled into the conversation, then she scales down the building and is no longer in your line of sight. You rub the nape of your neck, inching towards the armoire as you ponder whether a trip to indulge in your greatest desires is worth it when weighed against the lifelong bond you have with your own blood.

While navigating through your moral dilemma, you twist open the knob and watch as the scruffy man’s body slumps down to the floor without the support of the door to hold him upright. You refrain from cringing at his reddened nose.

Prioritizing your safety first, you retrieve your trusty pan and manhandle his body onto a chair, the seat still warm from your mother’s presence. This time around, you won’t be able to attain the upper hand by catching him off guard, so you settle on tying him up.

The question is: with what? You have no reason to keep ropes casually lying around the tower and one glance at his bulging biceps assures you that sewing thread will not be enough either.

As you’re thinking about stuffing him back into the wardrobe until you come up with a better idea, the blond strands at the edge of your peripheral catch your eye. For the first time in your life, your excessively long hair proves to be of use.

When he is tightly restrained to the armchair, your tresses acting like a straitjacket around his torso and snaking around his legs, you step back to appreciate your work. Your eyes drift over his corded muscles and roam over his face once again.

Before you let yourself get lost in his model-like features, your free hand reaches out, palm outstretched, to slap him across the face.

You nurse the stinging pain ebbing atop your outermost layer of skin, cradling the appendage to your chest as you hiss out a low whine, although the sound is masked by the low timbre of a groan. Your body stiffens while you gawk at the stranger, watching him gather his surroundings, whipping his head back and forth before his chestnut orbs land on you.

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

“No! Uh, I mean, hush!” you exclaim, deepening your voice for a rather weak, intimidating effect. “I’m doing the talking here.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat before you can utter another word. His doe eyes bore into yours and you step back, instantly feeling threatened by the intensity of his gaze. He wriggles around in his restraints, testing his extremely limited range of motion.

A prolonged, slightly awkward, silence stretches in the air as you attempt to recall the interrogation questions you practiced while tying him up. Regrettably, you come up blank.

He rolls his eyes at your lack of speech, raising a single brow.

“Well?” he questions, seemingly accepting his lack of free movement and slouching comfortably against the back of the chair. “I thought you said you were gonna do the talking?”

You grit your teeth at his impertinence, shaking off the nerves of talking to another human being that was not your mother as you adorn a superficial, bold facade. Striving to exude the same persuading tone that all those mystery books depicted, you mimic the slow strides you’ve read detectives take around their suspects.

“How did you find me?” You round the corner to escape his unimpressed glare, circling around him.

In turn, he cranes his neck to peer over at you, bewilderment written in the slack of his jaw. “Find you? Who says I was looking for you?” He whistles lowly catching sight of your mane, “That’s some hair you got there. Is that what’ve you tied me up with?”

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, marching back to the front of the chair to dramatically slam your hands down onto his bound wrists, effectively halting his faint wriggling. “Then why did you come all the way up here, huh?”

The dashingly handsome stranger’s tongue prods at his cheek, serving to rile you up further. Taking his sweet time, he inspects the space around him before his focus comes back to you, and he leans in, smirking devilishly. “Sure as hell wasn’t for you, Princess.”

At the odd nickname combined with the close proximity, a flush tints your cheeks and you take a few steps back. He chuckles at his small victory—a deep, melodic sound that sends your flustered state into a muddled craze of butterflies, threatening to burst from within. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at the man, more so to collect yourself than to unnerve him.

“Got something in your eye?”

You tilt your head back and grumble, exasperated at his lack of cooperation followed by his audacity to tease you further. “For your information, my eyes are working perfectly fine.”

“Good for you. Now, if you’ll just untangle me and give me back my bag, I’ll be out of your hair. Literally.” He grins at his joke, which you don’t find quite as funny.

“Like I’ll believe that.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I’ll ask you again. How exactly did you find me?”

“As I said, Princess,” he jeers, his impatience made visible by the bulging veins lining his neck, “why would anybody be after your poor ass? I mean, just looking at the place, doesn’t look like you’ve got much else other than a bunch of hidden property and a shitty old tower.”

“Shitty?” You repeat, accosted at the stranger’s portrayal of the place you grew up.

He takes another look around the place as if to confirm his accusations before curtly nodding his head.

You glower at his blunt words, taking personal offence for the many hours you spent decorating, cleaning and doting over the building. “Well, I didn’t know we were expecting a rude guest. Then again, guests are invited inside, aren’t they?”

“Listen, you seem like the ditzy type, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. I got into a bit of a scuffle with some scoundrels and before I knew it, I was outnumbered!” he recounts slowly and melodramatically as if he is presenting a bedtime story to a child. “Then I stumble through some vines and find this gigantic tower!

“And to my surprise, rather than hidden treasure, this place has some naive, pan-wielding maniac at the top,” he concludes with a sigh, soundlessly implying that you should pity the unfortunate situation he stumbled upon—the unfortunate bit caused by your interference. All you feel is a burning itch to sock him across the face again, although that wouldn’t be too helpful in discovering his real objective.

His whole story sounds like pure bologna to you, but you feed into his obvious lies with a hum of acknowledgement. “Must’ve been so hard for you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he whines, a pout forming on his pink lips.

You flash a close-lipped smile and thrust the metal weapon centimetres from his nose with more force than intended, though it seems to do the job when you catch his eyes widen slightly before reverting to the same relaxed stare as before. His posture is evidently tenser than a few seconds ago, which builds your pliant determination.

“Either some truths are gonna come out of that smart mouth or you’re gonna take another nap,” You threaten, waving the pan back and forth.

“Okay, easy now.” The stranger bends his hands upwards by the wrists, waving his fingers down slowly, as though he were calming a raging bull. “There’s no violence needed in this okay? We can make a deal.”

The sound of his cooperation piques your interest, so you inquire, “What kind of deal?”

“First of all, can you lower that?” You comply with his request, although you keep the skillet in the air, ready to strike at a moment's notice if he tries anything funny. “Okay, Princess, how about you give me the satchel, let me go without any trouble and I won’t tell anyone about your little hideout here, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m the one with the upper hand here.” If you two are to come to a compromise, you’re going to need more from the stranger than his word to keep quiet. “And I need you to take me to see the lanterns at the capital.”

A hacking cough morphs into a distorted chuckle in his throat. “Hm, you see, that would be a bit difficult considering the rocky relationship I have with the royals.”

You cock your head to the side, raising the metal menacingly.

His fists curl into balls as a strained grin stretches across his face. “But I guess we could make it work.”

Pleased with his compliance, you continue with your conditions, “You take me to see the lanterns tomorrow night, bring me back home in one piece and I’ll give your bag back. Then you can jump out of the window for all I care, just keep your mouth shut about this place.”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?”

“Nope.” His lack of protest makes you giddy, and you allow yourself to credulously overestimate your influence over the man. It has to be that or your frightening frying pan, right?

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

A childlike wonder brightens your countenance as you speedily unravel your locks from around the stranger, whipping the bulk of it over the hook and out the window. With his newfound freedom, you catch him combing through miscellaneous trinkets and in fear of him identifying the location of his bag, you call out, “There’s no use, you could ransack the whole tower and never find your precious satchel. You’re better off fulfilling our agreement.”

Fitting your trusty skillet under your arm, you don’t spare him another glance and hope that your bluff is enough to deter his scouring. Thankfully, the clattering of objects ceases and he saunters past the vase with his dear bag inside. Your attention flits to the verdant scenery below.

You allow an exuberant screech to rip through your vocal cords while you effortlessly fly down, your body wrapped around your hair as though the strands have solidified into a firepole and land on the plush, vibrant grass with a bounce. The prickly sensation on your bare skin is not what you imagined the spindly plant to feel like, yet you revel in its oddities nonetheless.

Your companion follows along with less flair, steadily climbing down using the two arrows that were left between the stones. By the time he reaches the ground, you’re already feeling the consequences of sticking your bare feet in the mud by a river.

He rolls his eyes at your antics and darts off while you tread toward the water to wash off the muck between your toes. You swish your foot back and forth, watching the current run off with the dirt and avoiding the miniature fish that gather around you. Their bright orange bodies are stark against the rocks underneath, easy to spot due to the clear, crystalline stream that you’re splashing around in.

When one of them decides to start nipping at your ankles and the rest of his posse tag along, you wade deeper—searching for a grassy area to withdraw from their persistent suckling. As you’re scouring the landscape, enjoying the slight breeze blowing through your hair, you find yourself alone.

This doesn’t bother you at first, used to the notion of having only your own inner thoughts as company. You’re preoccupied with rinsing the brown stains that mark one section of your tresses and gather the clean, soaked mass into your arms before you realize that the tour guide you recruited has gone missing.

At first, you can’t believe he abandoned the precious crown that he appeared to cherish so greatly, but before you can think too deeply about it, a light smack meets the nape of your neck.

“Looking for me, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that,” you whip around, a glare directed at his triumphant smirk. “And where were you anyway? Not trying to run off already, are we?”

He raises his hands up as though he has been caught red-handed, although his digits are curled around what looks to be strips of tree bark and long strands of weeds. Just as you’re about to question him further, he crouches down and grabs one of your ankles, lifting your leg out of the water and closer to him. You yelp and shift your weight to rest on your other foot.

“What?” He secures a few layers of the rough wood to the sole of your foot, wrapping the flexible plants around the bark and expertly tying it at the top. “This is what I get for being considerate isn’t it?”

“Is considerate even part of your vocabulary?” you tease, the relief at his presence causing you to lower your guard.

He freezes halfway through fastening the second makeshift shoe onto your other foot when the orbs staring up at you light up with mischief. Changing position, he folds forwards then rocks back to stand up to his full height. “Ah, I see how it is. Then I would never do something so thoughtful, right?”

“I take it back! I take it back, just finish it up,” you beseech.

“That’s what I thought, Princess.” He bends over to complete the second knot then scampers off to the forest as soon as the job is complete.

As you test out the peculiar slippers—inwardly marvelling at the barrier they provide against the elements of nature—you vocalize your displeasure with the nickname he has taken to calling you, “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

His strides ease up from his hurried pace, shortening to compensate for your smaller steps. “Aw, does Princess dislike being reminded of who she is?”

“I’ve never heard of a Princess living outside of a castle before.”

He hums, tilting his head in wonder. “Is your tower not considered a castle?”

“Not when I’m the only one living there,” you mutter under your breath, although you’re not sure if he catches it or not based on his silence. Regardless, you change the subject before he has a chance to respond. “So are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Sneaking a peek at his side profile, you catch the endearing crinkle that appears by his eyes when he grins. “What’s with the sudden interest? I mean, I understand the enthusiasm but—”

You strike his elbow with the bottom of the skillet and he whines like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just thought we should be on a first-name basis if we’re going to be travelling all this way together.” You amuse yourself by twirling the skillet around in your grip, acting as though there’s a gigantic pancake that you professionally flip onto its other side. “I would prefer my name over ‘Princess.’”

“I kinda like the ring of it though.” He winks at you, but you’re too invested in your cooking charades to notice. “You can call me Geum.”

“Geum? Like ‘gold’? What kind of name is that?”

“Ooh, someone’s judgemental.” Snatching the pan, he brandishes it around like a deadly cutlass in a seasoned pirate’s hand, bounding around you. He ends his show with the tip aimed straight at your heart.

“Just saying. You’ve got to admit it’s a bit… unique.” You halfheartedly brush him off, fighting to keep your grin from showing. As a side note, you announce your name.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Before he can prance off, you pluck the skillet out of his grasp and tear through the dense bushes with your treasure. His war cry echoes throughout the expansive woodlands as he rushes after you, untangling your hair from lone branches as he goes.

To claim that your feet are about to fall off is a gross understatement.

You have been travelling alongside Geum for hours now without a single break. Despite the high spirits that you two kicked your trip off with, the elation from brushing against the silky plants, cooing at the wildlife that crossed your path, and inhaling the fresh scent of damp moss and wet tree trunks from yesterday’s showers wore off quickly.

You’re inclined to believe that your enthusiasm began to subside when Geum yanked you away from running your finger along one set of rich emerald leaves—narrowly avoiding what he explained to be poison ivy. Your curious hands have been cemented to your sides ever since that close encounter.

After your lively bickering dies down, rather than a peaceful, quiet walk, listening to the whispers of the wind and the pleasant chirping of the birds, the antsy man beside you puts you on edge. He can’t stop looking from side to side, trying to peer past the endless birches and elms that obscure your view.

Is Geum expecting someone?

Perhaps some parts of his story are true. Perhaps having a ruffian with other delinquents hunting him is not the best partner to accompany you on this journey—not that you have much of a choice in the matter, it’s either him or no one. You’re unsure which option is worse.

Any conversation you strike is met with teasing remarks, so you give up on prodding him for any substantial information. But with the sky darkening and the breeze turning brisk, you’re about to mention camping out somewhere when Geum says, “We should settle down for the night.”

“I never thought I would agree with something that came out of your mouth.”

“That’s why you’re wrong most of the time.” And there it was, another snotty retort that practically begs you to deck him with the pan you keep tucked in your underarm.

The quibble ignites a fire under your skin, the flames licking at your sides and providing some warmth amidst the chill in the air. “Most of the time? So you’re saying that you’re wrong sometimes?”

“Yeah, nobody can always be right.” He flashes a lazy smirk your way, adjusting the bundle of your locks in his arms. “Like when I said that your hair isn’t an inconvenience.”

You take a second to process his snarky words. With your mind occupied, stuck in a whirlwind of potential reprisals, you unintentionally head towards the distant outline of the castle when you approach a crossroad branching in two opposite directions.

Just as you’re about to let loose a nasty quip, his warm hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from the faraway mansion. You overheat at the source of the touch, thoughts going haywire.

“Hey, hey!” In hopes of snapping him out of his reverie, you raise your voice. “You can’t blow off our deal now, don’t you want your precious satchel back?”

When he offers no explanation for his cryptic actions, you attempt to pry off his fingers with your other hand—making sure not to trip over your own two feet while you’re at it. Your wriggling is all for nought because Geum’s iron grip is too durable to be outmatched by your fumbling digits.

“Geum, please just,” you plead, ceasing your struggle when the delicate skin in his grasp begins to sting from his strength, “let’s talk about this, okay?”

You’re so preoccupied with regaining your freedom that you don’t notice the dingy sign you two pass; a rubber duck with the words The Snuggly Duckling etched onto the wood. “Shut up and hurry.”

Your jaw drops at his insolent tone, astounded at his change in demeanour. There’s no playful spirit behind his words this time, only a sharp annoyance accompanied by his sudden haste that you feel all too strongly in your wrist. You stumble after him and duck your head through a small doorway, your mind caught up in formulating a coherent response that consists of sounds other than your outraged sputtering.

“Don’t tell me to—”

You’re cut off by the ruckus inside the establishment. Burly men surround the two of you, drinking, howling in laughter, practicing their aim with throwing knives—there’s even a large group of people fighting in one corner. The amount of blood streaked across the walls, their clothes, and pouring out of their open wounds is concerning. You can smell the metallic tang from the entrance.

When the hand around your wrist disappears, you find yourself yearning for the physical connection, serving as some kind of reassurance that he is not leaving you to the metaphorical, and sort of literal, wolves before you. In order not to lose Geum as he wades through the crowds, you latch on to the thin hem of his shirt. He pays you no mind and continues onward.

Skillfully slipping through the giants while you bumble behind him, you two arrive at a row of vacant barstools. You loosen your grip at the unexpectedly tranquil space, such a drastic contrast to the commotion in the background that it’s like you’ve been transported to another place altogether.

You’re brought back to reality from the loud grunt that booms throughout the joint, although you tune out again when you hear a punch being thrown, then a crack that you can only hope isn’t a bone. Or two.

“Uh, Geum?” you ask, although he pays your appellation no mind. His attention is focused on the intimidating, tattooed man behind the counter.

“Joon.” Your unofficial tour guide takes a seat. “A mead?”

Determined to stick close to the only familiar face in the building, you slide onto the seat next to Geum. The overwhelming scent of liquor hits you hard, causing you to crinkle your nose the exact moment that your narrowed eyes spot the bartender, Joon, awkwardly cough into his fist, trying to stifle his snickers for your sake.

“Just a water for her.”

While Joon confirms Geum’s order with a slight nod, you cast your head down to stare at your twiddling fingers. Your mind is still reeling from the abrupt change in scenery, unsure how to carry yourself in this new setting. It was no problem in the dense forest, with only Geum to judge you—but it isn’t like you’re trying to impress him anyway.

In here where hordes of broad men are gathered, drunk out of their minds with crimson staining their attire, you’re scared. Everything is too raucous, too rancid, too overwhelming. You’re uncertain whether the trip to the capital will play out as you’ve imagined and you turn towards Geum to tell him as much when—

“Was this from me?” You instinctively flinch at his tug on your elbow, although regret rushes down your back, clawing against your spine like ice-cold water when hurt flashes across his shadowed orbs. Before you can blink, it’s gone.

As a feeble apology, you offer a tightlipped smile. Referring back to his words, you examine your arm and grimace when you spot the blooming scarlet streaks encircling your wrist, taking the shape of Geum’s slender digits. “Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’ll fade.”

It’s not a lie since the marks will eventually fade. You hope it doesn’t turn black and blue before that though.

A clear glass is thrust your way, which you’re overjoyed to snatch from Joon’s hand, noting Geum’s copper liquor from the corner of your eye. Hours of travelling without any form of hydration definitely took its toll on you, evident by your severely chapped lips that you can’t help but swipe your tongue over every minute—not that the dried saliva is doing you any favours.

Before you have a chance to sip from heaven in liquid form, you’re halted by a gentle finger tracing the length of your forearm. Thankfully, you’re not as skittish this time around, remaining frozen until Geums pulls back; the pale, discoloured scar he was following having tapered off into your natural skin. “Where’s that one from?”

His strange inquiry confuses you with its unusually intrusive nature considering his inability to chat seriously five minutes ago. You pause for a second to debate on revealing the truth or constructing a comical narrative for the sake of avoiding a sombre turn to the light conversation. Despite your decision, your lips rebel, taking on a mind of their own. “A punishment.”

Bronze orbs snap up to yours, boring into the deepest parts of your soul and uncovering each of your secrets one by one as if they’re gems, buried within the layers of your lonely childhood. You’re transfixed. “Mother said it would remind me to never leave the tower.”

The condensation running down the side of the chilled cup meets the edge of your palm, sliding down your index finger and becoming a stark reminder of your parched mouth. You lift the glass to take a sip, but a taste renders your control inoperative as you guzzle down the rest, leaving not a single drop inside.

Your famished stomach makes itself known with a growl when your thirst is quenched. Attracting the attention of the bartender with a small wave, you ask, “Is there any chance you’ve got some food here?”

“We’ve got anything as long as you’ve got the coin for it, blondie.”

You shudder in alarm at the introduction of another patron in the bar. Leaning away from the repulsive drawl to your left, you shift over to position yourself as far away as possible. Seeing your discomfort, the stranger takes a few steps forward to invade your personal space once more and you recoil back with a jerk of your torso.

The abrupt motion messes with your centre of gravity, tipping you over the edge of the barstool. Just as you’re about to have an unpleasant meeting with the floor, a palm darts out to the small of your waist and steadies you. You follow the arm up to Geum’s clenched jaw.

“She’s not looking for anything that you guys can offer.”

Your throat tightens at your companion’s harsh answer, wary of how the other men will react. The burly man to your other side bursts out in obnoxious laughter and a glint of light reflecting off of his silver teeth catches your eye, which you recognize from earlier. He’s one of the goons that was involved in the fistfight near the entrance.

“As if you’re packing anything better.” He nudges his lackeys behind them and they chuckle along like they’re all in on one big joke.

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

Panicked at his provocation, you glimpse at the challenging smirk plastered across Geum’s lips. You aren’t sure why he’s trying to pick a fight or if there’s any logical reasoning behind his actions at all, but you tap on the arm still attached to your torso, conveying your opinion on his moronic pride with your widened eyes.

Of course, men will be men, and the little posse arranged behind the silver toothed boss riles their leader up, encouraging him with disgruntled yells and unintelligible speech to prove their dominance. With you in between the two blockheads, you’re sure that you’re not going to like how this plays out.

Dismissing your distress, Geum takes a sip of his drink. He seems unbothered by the commotion surrounding him and you envy his nonchalant demeanour.

“You got any bite behind your bark, pretty boy?” His lackeys change tactics, switching over to goading Geum on. You assume their greater numbers spark their courage, reassured that they could overpower one man. “Or are we just trying to impress this little miss right here?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be very fair for you guys,” Geum says cockily, scrutinizing each member from head to toe then returning to his sweet mead. “I mean, just looking at you boys, doesn’t look too impressive if you ask me.”

If the atmosphere didn’t thicken with a fatal tension, you would have giggled at his smart mouth. But the other man’s nostrils flare in resentment, beginning to surge forward before he’s interrupted by a spindly boy who thrusts a paper below his nose. “Boss, you were right, it’s him.”

His unsightly features twist upwards in joy, displaying his horrendous set of chompers once more as he chuckles. That’s when you realize that a sinister smile can be much more frightening than any bellow of rage. “Looks like you’ve got quite the bounty on your head there, Geum.”

At the snarl of his name, your eyes dart to the wrinkled sheet in his hand which he graciously flips to face your direction. An uncanny depiction of Geum’s face is drawn, a sum containing many zeroes painted underneath his name. What appalls you the most is the red, bolded letters at the very top, distinctly spelling out wanted.

Geum is a wanted criminal.

While your mind is reeling, sight blurring and breath quickening from the influx of information, the man in question unabashedly finishes off the last of his alcoholic beverage and proceeds to slam the glass onto the counter. Through all of the clamour, you pick up Joon’s exasperated sigh in the background.

The door to the establishment flings open, hinges creaking as the wood bounces back from the sheer force of the blow. While everyone is distracted by the bustle, Geum stealthily hops off his seat, slipping an arm around your waist to soundlessly lead you to the other side of the counter. Although you’re reluctant to follow, you refrain from squabbling with him in order not to attract any unwanted attention.

“We’ve received a report that a well-known thief has been spotted in the premises—”

Geum kneels in front of the shelves lined with drinks of all shapes and colours, fiddling with something you can’t see from your position behind him. Following his lead, you crouch behind him, softly muttering in disbelief, “You really think they won’t find us hiding here?”

A click is heard as a few of the racks cave in on themselves, revealing a concealed passageway. Geum shakes his head towards the opening, silently directing you to enter first. You’re hesitant to accompany him any farther but you’re pushed forwards by Joon’s calf on your back and you understand that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter anymore.

If you’re caught now, you’ll be accused of being an accomplice to whatever crimes Geum committed.

You spare a thankful nod to Joon, stealing a glance at the guards blocking the entrance while you’re at it. Their white uniforms are decorated with accents of bright oranges and reds, a familiar flower fastened to the right side of their chest. One of them holds another copy of Geum’s wanted poster which you tear your gaze from, willing yourself to escape from this mess before thinking about anything else.

Geum shoves you through the opening, and you crawl through the underground passage as fast as you can in order to keep his pinching fingers away from your ankles. You two are far enough to safely whisper short phrases to one another, but he insists on being a nuisance as he urges you to pick up the pace.

It’s pitch black when the trapdoor shuts behind Geum, and you’re unable to make out your own hands in front of your face; with no other path in sight, you blindly head forward. As you continue, you pass torches burning with a bright fire that provide light, illuminating the stones around you and the shadows following you. You wonder how often this underground system is used to have fire running at all times.

Eventually, the tunnel’s height expands enough for the two of you to comfortably tread through on your feet. If you weren’t tired enough from walking for hours on end, the brutal jog which Geum sets is more than enough to tire you out within mere minutes.

“Geum,” you heave, unable to catch your breath with your chest fruitlessly rising and falling, never passing enough air for you to gather your senses. He’s too far to catch, effortlessly sprinting ahead, yet you still uselessly reach out to capture his attention. “Geum.”

You push yourself to the limit, another few minutes passing by before your powerless body can no longer handle the stress of the strenuous activity, and you slow down, coming to a full stop. One hand on the rocky wall steadies your dizzying sight as you hunch over, throat burning and stomach aching. Even though you try to remain standing, your legs involuntarily give out and you end up on the floor.

As you try to regain your breath, hands grasp your shoulders and gently shake you back to reality. Geum’s intense gaze is only centimetres away, torso bent to level with you. “You can do this, come on. We have to lose them.”

“I,” you huff, “I can’t… It’s… too much.”

Geum’s arms return to his sides, his brows furrowing as you watch the gears whirring in his head through your blurry vision. When he spins around to face the exit, you cry out in a hoarse voice, believing that he’s leaving your pathetic, crumpled form to fend for yourself—but instead of running off, he crouches to the ground with his backside to you. “Get on.”

In spite of your resolute will to arise from your folded position, your legs can’t seem to extend outwards in order to climb onto his back, which you convey by tapping his shoulder and pitifully shaking your head. Geum’s lips pry apart to respond, but his words are drowned out by the pounding footsteps that echo throughout the tunnel walls. He curses under his breath as he turns and scoops your fetal form into his arms.

All you can register is his natural woody scent enveloped in the sweaty musk that drenches his frame, your body clutched tightly to his torso as he races to the end of the tunnel. You grip his thin shirt in one fist, unfamiliar with the warmth fluttering in your chest, so you brush it off as another side effect from the arduous sprinting.

A bright light can be seen at the very end, but your eyes are locked on the well-defined jaw of the man carrying you as if you were as light as a feather, running as if your lives depended on it—which they kind of do.

You couldn’t differentiate the pounding of Geum’s shoes from the mob of guards pursuing you two. As you slowly recover from your exhausted state, the guilt of becoming a burden settles into the creases of your face, worrying lines etching onto your features from thinking about your impending fate.

Your thoughts wander to the reasoning behind this violent chase. By the fancier uniforms they sport, you suspect their position to be rather high, perhaps palace guards or ones belonging to the royal family. Reminded of the wanted poster clutched within one of their hands, the image stirs unease within the depths of your stomach that’s already stinging from the massive amounts of cardio you’ve done today.

Before you can connect any dots, you’re out in the wilderness again, although instead of the sun’s blazing rays on your face, the moon’s tender beams spill over your surroundings. The sort of serenity that accompanies the stillness of the later hours are interrupted by your rapidly beating heart, which is amplified by the pulse felt on your left side.

After a few more strides, Geum comes to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” You tilt your neck to look at his face in curiosity. Although he doesn’t appear fatigued, his cheeks only slightly flushed from exertion and a few sweat droplets racing down his temples, you ask anyway, “Are you tired?”

The grip under your legs lower you to the ground and you stand in front of Geum, beginning to worry about losing your advantage over your pursuers. He doesn’t provide a verbal response to your questions, simply shaking his head and causing the tips of his hair to sway back and forth with the motion. The strands cover his eyes when he stops, but he doesn’t bother to brush them aside.

Geum’s shoulders slouch, heavy from the weight of defeat. You’re unnerved at his strange actions, turning to look ahead at the obstacle that’s forcing him to give up all hope.

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

Your knees buckle at the length of the drop, which seems never ending from your viewpoint. The tenebrous shadows of the night obscure the bottom, painting the jagged walls with uncertainty at any chance for survival. Your heart constricts as the despondency emanating off of Geum slithers its way into your rapidly diminishing resolution.

“When they get here,” he announces, bravery shining through his firm tone, “I need you to run as fast as you can. I’ll distract them, just focus on getting back to the bar. Tell Joon to take you somewhere safe and trust no one but him.”

You’re baffled at his complete change in attitude as well as his idiotic plan. There’s no trace of humour in his piercing orbs though, simply an obstinate determination that implores you to obey his orders. But you aren’t about to abandon the first friend you’ve ever made. “Are you insane? What do you think you can do against trained soldiers?”

“There’s no other choice.” He nudges your torso to position yourself behind him, both your backs to the cliff, watching the guards get closer and closer. Dread weighs ponderously on your limbs, the adrenaline pumping in your veins with every footstep marching to surround you two. You’re cornered.

The soldier closest to Geum unsheathes his sword and steadily approaches. You slip the rusty pan into his hand and he inconspicuously reaches back to pat your thigh, reminding you of his reckless scheme.

Seeing your defensive stance, the guard rushes forward, thrusting his sword forward to slice through layers of skin. Instead, the clang of metal against metal resounds throughout the empty cliff and your apprehension increases tenfold with your front row seat to Geum’s doomed duel, fending off a glinting sword with your rickety skillet.

Although he’s fighting well considering his enormous handicap, you spot more soldiers creeping their way into the skirmish, unable to stand and watch one of their own be bested in battle. Overall, the odds weren’t looking too great for your pan-wielding knight.

You have to do something. With Geum’s plan off the table, you can’t think of anything other than taking your chances with the cliff. You gather all your faith in the landscape, Geum, and yourself while taking a deep breath. Waiting for an opening within the clash, you cautiously inch towards Geum and when one particularly hard blow jolts both men back a few steps, you snatch up the opportunity.

Before another guard can take his ally’s place, you rush over to snake an arm around Geum’s lithe waist, tugging his back to meet your chest. During this process, he nearly elbows you in the face, writhing around in your tight hold until he recognizes your delicate hands on his stomach.

With the enemy frozen in confusion at your ostensibly desultory actions, you take advantage of their shock to stumble backwards, proving harder than necessary due to Geum’s long legs tangling with your own as you head towards the edge. You’re nearly there when one of the guards pick up on your plan to escape, jumping into action with his razor-sharp sword and waving it in a deadly arc that nearly slices both of your heads off clean.

Thankfully, you lose your footing on a slippery rock and tip over.

While airborne, any air is momentarily robbed from the heavy drop in your gut and a terrified shriek rips past your mouth as you lose your tight grip on Geum, utterly absorbed in your fear. The distance between you two grows, but because of his quick reflexes, Geum is able to fist a clump of your clothes in his hands and pull you into his chest with one hand resting on the nape of your neck.

You don’t have enough time to react to the new position before both your bodies are enveloped in gelid water. All of your nerves fire off, enraged at the sudden change in temperature. A violent shiver overtakes your limbs in a weak attempt to warm yourself up.

Although Geum’s palm on your neck withdraws to wade your bodies back up to surface, the grip around your middle only tightens.

The stream parts as you two float back up to meet the chilly air, greedily filling your lungs as you unravel from one another in order to paddle your way to shore. The current sweeps you along, aiding your furious efforts to reach the ground again.

Geum arrives at the muddy grass before you, swiftly lifting himself out and turning to fish for your soaked form. White puffs of your breath escape your mouths because of the low temperature, yet they dissipate as quickly as they’re formed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

The fire crackles alongside the chirping crickets, forming a peculiar orchestra with the breeze blowing through the rustling leaves. You extend your frigid digits as close to the flames as you dare, desperate for its warmth, yet recoiling from the sting of its heat all the same.

“Might as well stick your whole hand in there while you’re at it.” Geum emerges from the tenebrous thickets of the forest, making his way into the dull glow of the bonfire with a bundle of skinny twigs in his arms.

You’re drained from the day’s events, but you flash him a smile brimming with gratitude, appreciative that he’s intent on keeping the fire alive despite his inevitably numb appendages. You insisted on swapping turns, allowing his body to warm up a bit while you scavenged for wood, although he dismissed your offer multiple times, claiming that moving around was much more effective for him than any flames.

You’d have to disagree with him there. The burning fire feels incredible heating up your skin from the outside in.

“If you take a second to come and enjoy the warmth, then maybe you wouldn’t be so moody,” You jest, rotating the fish skewers that Geum expertly caught in the river with a sharpened branch. By the slightly burnt edges, you suppose it’s ready. “C’mon, let’s eat before you head off again.”

He grunts his affirmation, depositing his findings on top of the ever-growing pile of wood and taking a seat on a fallen log located a couple of feet away from you. You allow the meat to cool down before separating the fish from the stick it’s impaled on and passing it to him.

“Is your hair dry yet?” He’s too preoccupied with forcibly ripping the fish in half to avoid scaling it, so he doesn’t catch your affectionate, lingering gaze.

You hum, grabbing a lock of your wet strands. “Not quite.”

He places his meal next to him on the log and leans over to take the bulk of your tresses in his grasp. You watch as he lays the blonde strands near the fire, quietly giggling at his strange logic.

“You think the heat is going to make it dry faster?” The appearance of his wide grin elicits the return of the bizarre tightening in your chest, a crushing pain that makes it difficult to breathe. You haven’t had a bite of the fish but nausea swirls in your stomach as your hands turn clammy and you rip your eyes away from Geum in hopes of collecting yourself.

Seeing your doubt towards his surely infallible rationale, his brows scrunch together and he pauses his movements in his perplexity, a distant look swirling in his eyes. He should be completely unaware of the turmoil raging within you, yet all your previous worries dissipate with the smoke of the fire as his face becomes increasingly wrinkled, flashing an expression more ludicrous than the last.

After you beg and plead with him to stop, cheeks aching from smiles and belly throbbing from laughter, he breaks out into his own set of snickers. More than satisfied, Geum grabs his fish again and begins to nibble on the meat inside. “You never considered getting a trim?” he asks between bites.

A few seconds pass as you calm yourself down from your hysterical state. “Never allowed to,” you answer, short and vague to keep the pleasant atmosphere.

“Allowed to?” His voice is laced with his astonishment. “Who’s telling you what to do at your age?”

Fidgeting with your own skewer, you ponder over an answer that’s precise enough to satisfy his curiosity, yet obscure enough to conceal your identity at the same time. Your eyes dart from side to side, following the light of the fire as it illuminates a wet, crimson stain on the sleeve of Geum’s jacket.

“What’s that?” you question, scuttling over to his log and sitting down next to him. To get a better look, you grab his elbow and pull it towards you.

“Nothing. Don’t change the subject.” He tries to shrug off both your concern and your hand that’s clutching onto his arm, which only makes you tighten your grip. At the increase in pressure, a low groan slips past his lips and you instantly release your hold at the sound.

“Does it hurt?” The memory of the guard wildly slashing his sword in the air comes to mind and you realize that although the blow didn’t cost either of your lives, his upper arm must have borne the brunt of the force instead.

“It’s fine.” He attempts to brush you off again, but you’re as clingy as a leech and refuse to budge from his side.

You latch on to the lapel of his jacket and tug. “Take it off.”

Despite your solemnity, his low chuckle sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Already asking me to strip? I’m not that easy, Princess. How about you take me on a date first and I’ll think about your offer?”

“You know what I mean,” you grumble, exasperated that he persists on maintaining his incessant teasing while injured.

When he finishes cleaning off one half of his meal, about to reach for the other, you move to stand in front of him. You dismiss the wild pounding of your heart to focus on slipping his jacket off of his opposite arm.

He puts forth no effort to stop you, although he’s definitely not helping much with his limp, bulky appendages that are a lot heavier than expected. Slowly but surely, you tenderly thread his injured arm out of his sleeve with careful hands.

The white, short-sleeved shirt he’s sporting underneath makes it easy to spot the splotches of crimson dyeing the hem of his sleeve through the dim, orange light. You approach his laceration delicately, treating him like a frightened animal. He snorts at your earnest actions.

Lifting the fabric covering the entirety of the gash, you gasp softly at the depth of the wound, grimacing as though it’s your own limb that’s been hurt. “You shouldn’t be moving around with this, you’re not letting it heal.”

“I’ll endure any pain to keep you close,” he whispers, sweet honey dripping from his words as he loops his other arm around your waist, effectively pulling you in between his open legs.

His chin is a mere few centimetres from your belly button, gazing up at you with a flirtatious wink as he perches his hand onto your lower back. You hold your breath, worried that he can hear the utter chaos erupting within your chest due to the close proximity.

Flustered, you push at his broad shoulders, desperate for some room to breathe. Geum flinches at your touch and you instantly regret your thoughtless behaviour. Your concern at the severity of his wound multiplies tenfold, feeding into a disquiet that nestles into every cell in your body. “I’m serious, it doesn’t look good.”

One hand falls into his lap while the other comes up to ruffle his damp locks. “Don’t get shy now, Princess.”

Taking in the defeated slouch to his back, the distant glaze that darkens his bronze orbs, you think about your hair. You think about how much younger your mother appears after she detangles each strand. You think about all the scars you’ve avoided throughout the years by singing a simple tune.

This man saved your life, and it’s time for you to repay the favour. You consider waiting until he’s asleep to heal his arm, plagued by the distress of being mistaken as a witch. Mother warned you about those kinds of people, who are ready to ruin your life in order to improve their own—anything ranging from taking advantage of your unworldly qualities to selling you for a pretty penny.

Mother always knows best. Right?

You peer into his expressionless eyes that stare holes into the dancing flames, the other uneaten half of the fish still laying untouched. From the limited time you’ve spent together, you shouldn’t feel this distraught at his pain, as though a chunk of your heart is bleeding out with him and leaving you in a puddle of your own misery.

But one look at Geum’s laceration and even a child could tell that the relentless stream would end his life before long. No matter how well he can conceal his shallow, rapid breathing, you begin to make sense of his sweaty, pallid countenance that shreds any remaining skepticism you hold against him—dismissing the wariness brought about by those wanted posters.

“Geum.”

His eyelids shut close at your grave tone. “I know. It’s fine.”

At your hesitant tone, he sluggishly spares you a placid, tame smile. You hate it.

The Geum you’ve come to know is exuberant, taking all his hardships in stride with a sly smirk to boot. He’s brilliant, craftier than any artist, and resourceful even in the face of despondency. He’s compassionate, extending his own neck to save yours, always sympathetic to your plight.

This Geum is hollow, a shell of the person you knew.

The crushed downturn of his doe eyes doesn’t belong to his captivating features. You yearn to watch that classic, mischievous glint sparkle in his irises as he taunts you endlessly, testing how high your pulse can spark when he invades your personal space yet again.

You take a seat next to him. “No, uh,” you stammer, “I got a solution. You just can’t scream or freak out or anything, okay? Most importantly, you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul.”

Before he can react to your cryptic warnings, you separate a lock of your hair, wrapping it around his wounded bicep. He raises a single brow at your strange antics but provides no further opposition. You’re pleased with the amount of trust he’s placed in you.

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine,”

Starting from your roots, a golden glimmer races across the tresses of your hair. Bewildered, Geum recoils in his state of shock but remains rooted in his spot nonetheless.

“Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

He follows the scintillating shimmer in your strands until he reaches the portion wrapped around his bicep. You absentmindedly wonder if he can feel his flesh reconstructing, cells dividing at a rapid rate to close the smooth gash.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

Your lids slide open to stare at his wide eyes, his jaw hanging ever so slightly. You’re glad to see that his previously pale complexion has given way to his natural, lively undertone.

“What once was mine.”

When the last notes fade out, eventually overpowered by the lone hoot of an owl, you gingerly untangle your hair from the shell-shocked man. Geum slaps his other hand over the healed skin, his head rapidly darting between examining his arm and making absurd facial expressions that convey his amazement. From his naturally cool composure, you treasure this rare moment of awe.

“Wha—”

Your stressed squeak halts him in his speech. “Please don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more so than you when he continues, “Not freaking out. What’s there to freak out about? I mean, magical healing hair? Completely normal.”

Your grin is filled with mirth at his nervous tone, and you lift his prodding digits from the site of the wound. Or at least where it used to be. “You feel okay?”

With all of your attention directed towards analyzing his healthy appendage, ensuring that your magic had not screwed up somewhere along the process, you miss Geum’s tender gaze roaming over every inch of your countenance. “Yeah, I guess I’m more than okay now.”

“I promise I’m not some kind of witch or anything like that. Just, uh, was just born with it,” you try to explain despite being in the dark about many of the nitty-gritty details yourself.

“Born with magical hair?”

You giggle at the absurdity of his question, although the validity remains true, it’s rather peculiar to hear it out loud. “Some of us are born with more talent than others. But that’s also why I can’t cut it,” you smile sheepishly, deciding to answer his earlier question now that your secret is out in the open.

“It turns brown and loses its magic.” You gather all your strands into one fist, pulling the mass to the side to expose the short, chestnut coloured strands underneath. You feel vulnerable and exposed with your neck out on display, sharing the fragility of your powers with a man you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.

But it’s Geum, and he doesn’t feel like a stranger to you. “An overbearing mother is also part of the reason, but that’s a story for another time. Carrying it around can be heavy and the tangles can be brutal, but I guess it has its perks.”

He hums, stretching his torso to throw some twigs into the fire in hopes of enlarging the dwindling flames. “Yeah, I, uh…”

You stay silent, neither dismissing nor pressuring him into voicing his thoughts.

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

A teasing smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you lean closer and nudge his arm. “You don’t say?”

He scoffs at your playful demeanour and pushes you back with one finger on your forehead. When your upper body is tilted away from him and your head is facing the starry night sky, he retracts his digit and speaks so softly that the noise is almost carried away by the wind. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you test it out, matching the syllables to the face. It’s a bit strange after getting accustomed to associating him with the name ‘Geum,’ but in a way, it complements him better.

“Yeah.” He pauses and you shift your body to study him, memorizing the slopes and angles of his side profile. His orbs reflect the flickering fire, engulfing the newly added branches in its blaze. “I just thought somebody should know.”

“Is Geum your alias... for when you’re being a criminal?” Although you’re hesitant to delve into the subject, especially right after he’s begun to unveil his true identity, your curiosity outweighs reason and you can’t contain yourself. You can’t say that you’ve never questioned the diadem hidden in his satchel.

Crowns don’t belong to convicts who run from justice.

You wait for his answer with bated breath, unintentionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation. Please, Jungkook.

“If you’re trying to ask what I did,” he hisses, knuckles turning white from his clenched fists, “Yeah, I stole it. Those assholes don’t deserve their riches.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his anger radiating off him in waves. You wish you could eat your previous words because of how furious he’s become, but you’re committed to finishing the job. “Are you talking about the King and Queen?” Your brows pinch together in your discomfort. “Was that their crown?”

“This is your first time out of that tower, right?” You confirm his inquiry with a quick nod of your head. “How much do you know about the kingdom?”

“Jungkook—”

He tuts, fixing you with a strict glare. “Answer the question.”

“Well…” While recalling all the knowledge you picked up from your mother and the few historical books within your collection, you fiddle with a strand of your hair and organize your thoughts. “The castle is located in the middle of the capital, said to loom over the entire kingdom with its height. After it was rebuilt to accommodate more space for the Prince, everyone, from poets to milliners, cried over the beauty carved within those walls.”

He expels a deep sigh, causing you to question the legitimacy written in those pages you recited. “I asked about the kingdom, not the castle.”

His question leaves you dumbfounded. The information you collected over the years is limited to everything inside that grandiose, opulent building. There was nothing about the land, animals or even the common folk.

A gust blows the smoke of your little bonfire towards you, and you blink rapidly to avoid any soot from lodging itself into your eyes. Jungkook plucks a large leaf from one of the plants nearby, lazily fanning the fumes away. “That cozy castle and the royal family sitting on top of it all couldn’t care less about their people. They rake their luxuries from our hard work when even one jewel off that crown could feed hundreds.”

You process the cold truth in silence, a shiver overtaking your limbs in spite of the heat in front of you. “Is that why you stole it?”

“I don’t care if they want to plaster my face all over the kingdom and put a bounty on my head, I’m not going to stand around and watch people die from their greedy hands,” he states, proud and resolute.

You’re torn between the anguish nipping at your heels and the relief washing over your head. Living sheltered in that tower, you had no clue about the perils outside your own stone walls, is this what Mother was trying to protect you from?

However, discovering the true nature behind Jungkook’s crimes restores your faith in him, and your shoulders relax as you crane your neck to peer at the stars again. With your curiosity quenched, you move on to another question. “So, how many people get to call you Jungkook?”

He follows your example, leaning back and revelling in the breathtaking sight. “Nobody knows my real name, everyone calls me Geum.”

Your jaw drops a fraction from the admittance, feeling rather privileged that he chose to share it with you. “Your family calls you that too?”

“Don’t have any,” he brushes off your sympathetic gaze with a shrug.

“Why the name Geum?”

You catch his tiny, forlorn smile in your peripheral. “I grew up hearing all about the royal family’s massive parties, overflowing with family, friends—people. They were never lonely. And since they were parading their money around, I thought that was it, that was the secret.”

The dejected tone in his voice clogs your airways and makes it difficult to breathe, stunning your motionless form into remaining as still as a statue, the magnitude of his sorrow sweeping over you in fatal waves.

“And I hoped that maybe naming myself ‘gold’ might give me some luck with that.” With his shoulders downcast, his eyes flicker over to you, gauging your reaction.

You desperately wish you could turn back time to console the young boy whose heart was too big to fit inside his tiny body. Although he’s grown into it now, you strive to ease his suffering by even the slightest fraction. “I think ‘Jungkook’ is even better for making friends.”

The edges of his lips flip upwards as he navigates his face to halt directly right in front of your own, pressing one hand to the other side of your farthest thigh and caging you in. “Would you be my friend, Princess?”

All your blood rushes to your head, warming your cheeks. In a futile attempt to preserve any of your remaining dignity, you shrink back to maintain some distance. But his smirk grows at the sight of your shy response to his advances, his orbs flitting down to your pink lips before returning to your eyes. He looks absolutely ecstatic over your flustered state.

His hot breath fans over your lips and you gather any rational sense you have left inside your muddled brain to push him back, missing the split second his confident facade cracks and a sliver of insecurity shines through. It’s instantly replaced by a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No matter what you decide to call yourself, I’ll always be your friend.”

Seconds seem like hours as the two of you stare at each other, seeking to uncover the words left unsaid. Jungkook’s palms press against his knees, pushing off of them to come to a standing position and effectively ending your little moment. “I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

You nod, staring at his retreating backside that ventures into the adumbral forest once more. Even though the perpetrator of all these complex emotions is no longer within sight, you feel unsettled from the mere thought of him, yet your heart yearns for him all the same.

“Oh, Petal, I thought he would never leave!” A distinctly high-pitched cry rings out in the empty space, a voice which you didn’t expect to hear until at least tomorrow night.

Your head whips to the side to confirm your suspicions. “Mother?” Her dark figure emerges from the shadows and your heart drops to your stomach. You fumble for the right words, at a loss from her unexpected appearance. “How did you—”

“The better question is how could you, Petal?” she corrects, continuing to step into the light provided by the fire. The once comforting flames turn harsh, sharp pops bursting forth from the aggressive combustion. She lowers her hood to reveal the disappointment etched into her youthful features—and without fail, the sting of upsetting her burns through your conscience. “Really, how could you betray your own mother like this?”

You stand, determined to explain yourself, “Mother, he’s different from the monsters you told me about. If you get to know him, he’s sweet and caring and kind an-and he isn’t after my magic!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, my naive, little Petal.” She tilts her chin up slightly, peering down at you. “Everyone is the same out here, all looking after themselves.”

You approach her within a few strides. “Mother, please listen to me, he’s different! Even though he puts on a tough front at times, he’s really considerate on the inside.” You fiddle with the tips of your fingers as you whisper the next part, “And I, uh, I think he might like me.”

The reaction you least expect is her startling outburst of laughter, powerful enough to fold her in half, and you wait for her giggles to quiet down before warily stepping forward. Your mother is acting awfully strange. “You think he likes you? And what makes you think that?”

You blanch at her ruthless words, wincing as though they assumed a physical form and punched you repeatedly in the gut.

Her maniacal snickers abruptly cease and a frown mars her lovely face once again, her expression one you recognized from previous reprimands, whether it was shattering a vase or begging to go outside. Your chin falls down to meet your chest, unable to muster up your faux bravery for any longer.

“I’m asking what gave you the idea that he would like some insolent, unsightly brat like you?”

You can’t open your mouth to respond, frozen in fear.

“Hm, what’s with the silence? You seemed so certain earlier, Petal. This is why you never should have left, look at this pitiful romance you’ve created,” she mocks, rounding your nervous form like a predator playing with their prey. “Let’s put him to the test then, shall we?”

Your head snaps up at her odd suggestion, eyes widening at the satchel she uncovers from behind her slim form. “You found it?”

She tosses the bag to you and you outstretch your arms—only to catch it a second too late. The bag drops to the floor and the flap flips open. You race to collect the sparkling crown that tumbles out, hastily shoving the diadem back inside before Jungkook wanders back, even turning towards the fire to ensure his continued absence.

“Why so scared?” your mother questions smugly, “I thought you said that he’s different from the rest of them?”

“He is!” you exclaim, rushing to defend him.

“Then give it to him, let’s see if he stays once he has the crown back in his hands. But don’t come crying back to Mother when he runs for the hills,” she snarls, lifting her hood over her short curls and withdrawing into the woods.

Your mind reels from your mother’s visit, but your concern lies with where to stash the leather satchel in your grasp. Dead leaves crunch under approaching footsteps and you examine your body, contemplating the best area for your idea.

Hiking the hem of your dress up to your stomach, you loop the strap of the bag through your left foot, twisting and repeating until it’s coiled around your ankle and the pouch snugly rests against your skin. You shimmy the satchel until the middle of your thigh where it refuses to go any higher.

Satisfied, you release your dress, smoothing the fabric down and confirming that nothing is suspiciously sticking out. You violently shake your leg back and forth to ensure there would be no future problems and sure enough, the straps tenaciously cling onto your thigh throughout all your testing.

“Hey, look what I found! He’ll definitely save us some travelling time tomorrow, but I don’t think he likes me much.”

Jungkook appears from the area your mother disappeared with an overwhelming pile of lumber in his arms. You stroll over to lessen the load, but he brushes you off and bypasses you to drop it beside the fire.

A white horse tromps along after him, trying to nip at the crown of his head while he shoos it away with a waving hand. The comical sight distracts you from the dreary thoughts of your mother, although the stiff strap wrapped around your leg forbids you from forgetting about it.

When you snap out of your reverie, Jungkook is cocking his head to the side at your unusually spacey behaviour.

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

Rather than sore feet, the next day your entire crotch is painfully numb from riding Maximus, the quirky horse who holds an obnoxious grudge against Jungkook for reasons unknown to you. While Max allows you to rub his cheeks, scratch his neck and run your fingers through his mane, he huffs if Jungkook so much as breathes too loudly.

Oddly enough, the stallion follows Jungkook around like a lost puppy despite his cold attitude. What is with males and their inability to show their appreciation for one another?

Jungkook insisted on being in front and taking hold of the reins even though Max refused to let him mount his back at first. After some caresses and loving words with the sweet animal, Max permitted you to hop on—which Jungkook was not pleased with. It was a nice change of pace to watch the ordinarily suave man lose his cool over a horse’s favouritism.

In the end, the only way Jungkook was allowed on was by sitting behind you, latching onto you for stability. The animosity growing between the two males adds to your amusement, so you remain unbothered by the hostile glares you can feel Jungkook throwing over your shoulder and the aggressive puffs of air that blow through Max’s nostrils every once in a while.

“Tell me how you found Max again?” Skepticism leaks into your tone, courtesy of Jungkook’s thieving habits.

You could practically feel his eyes roll back into his head as his arms tighten around your waist. His built torso is glued to your back, which repeatedly distracts you from the path ahead. “I told you that I was collecting some twigs off of the ground when this guy appeared out of nowhere! I was scared shitless.”

“You mean to say that someone accidentally lost their horse in the middle of the woods?” You glance sideways to peek at his chin, lodged into the crook of your neck. His face is merely a couple of millimetres from your own.

When he insisted on resting his head there, you had thoroughly embarrassed yourself with a flaming face, resembling a ripe tomato ready for the picking, coupled with your inability to enunciate any word properly. But after hours of his head smooshed against the side of your face or leaning against your upper back, you finally relax into his hold, finding comfort and safety in the appendages coiled tightly around you.

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

You scoff at the impish grin stretching across his cheeks at his own horrible excuse.

The castle comes into view in the ensuing half-hour, the imposing building no longer obstructed by the towering trees of the forest. Your spirits are dampened slightly by the cruel secrets Jungkook revealed yesterday night, although your giddiness at the prospect of living out your dreams makes you vibrate in excitement. You remind yourself that you’re here for the magical lights, not the castle.

The faint pounding against your back picks up speed for a reason drastically different to your own. He is essentially walking right into his own imprisonment—his wanted posters more than likely plastered across every flat surface inside the marketplace with soldiers littered around the premises. You gather the sturdy reins into one hand, freeing the other to hold Jungkook’s conjoined digits over your stomach.

Completely engrossed in Jungkook’s dilemma, neither of you notice Max racing into town until a screech pierces your ears. You apologize profusely for the spilled legumes that begin rolling away from the young woman, and you whip Max into trodding off before she curses you out.

Once you’re satisfied with the amount of space between yourselves and the unlucky woman, you tie Max’s reins to a nearby fence and race to join the festivities carrying on all around you. Spotting Jungkook’s unsure form lagging behind, you dart back to tug on his wrist, flashing him an encouraging smile before lugging him from one stall to another.

You don’t get far before you experience a sharp pain on your scalp. With the large amounts of people bustling around the tiny square, your hair is a tripping hazard that you try to quickly bunch up into your arms. Your hair is way too long to carry by yourself, so you turn to ask Jungkook for help, though he’s nowhere to be found.

Your mind races to the worst-case scenario. The guards must have caught sight of him, capturing him off guard while you were none the wiser and now he’s going to be hanged for his crimes all because you were too stupid to—

A couple of little girls with flowers decorating their braids physically yank you out of your trance, their tiny hands gathering your multitudinous strands and dragging you off to the side. You’re about to protest against their actions, more concerned over Jungkook’s whereabouts than anything, but after catching a glance of said man playfully waving at you from a few feet away, you allow yourself to be whisked away.

The three girls deftly move from left to right, taking locks of your hair with them as they knot it all into one humongous five strand braid. When you stand up to your full height, you’re amazed to see that none of your hair touches the ground. Considering the hefty weight that pulls at the back of your head, you know this solution can’t last too long.

They scatter various fresh flowers all over, the scent of the blossoms wafting around your figure. As you’re appreciating their handiwork, an arm wraps itself around the curve of your lower back, drawing you into a herculean chest while you blow air kisses filled with your gratitude to the snickering girls.

Jungkook maneuvers you into a narrow alleyway, and you get a chance to admire his glittering irises from up close.

“Guards?”

He only grins.

You’re certain to keep an eye out for any wandering soldiers from that point on, with you pulling Jungkook behind crowds or him dragging you into the gaps between small buildings. Despite the situation being rather stressful with your lives at stake, your escapade is thrilling nonetheless and you enjoy being pressed up against his lean frame, carelessly giggling to yourselves.

Although neither of you carries any silver, window shopping proves to be equally as amusing—browsing through homemade accessories, toys and masks that you play around with, flashing ridiculous faces at one another.

The delicious smell of baked goods drifts through the streets and prompts your mouths to fill with saliva. You appreciate the artistry behind their beautifully decorated exteriors, adorned with colourful frosting and sprinkles. One booth catches your attention and you latch onto Jungkook’s hand to drag him along.

Rows and rows of shiny green bottles are positioned in perfect rows on a table inside the booth and plushies hang from the sides, acting as bait to any passerby. You tug on the hem of Jungkook’s dark vest, gesticulating towards the game with awe.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few silver coins that glint in the sunlight. Your eyes widen into saucers at his mischievous grin and you smack his arm, chiding him for his wandering hands as he assures you that he found them on the ground. When he goes as far as to insist that he saved them from being trampled on, you can’t help your tinkling laughter from escaping.

Perhaps it’s karma that prevents your rings from landing on top of any bottle, but the exhilaration of watching the rings soar in midair with a flick of your wrist as Jungkook’s chants fill your ears is priceless. Certainly more precious than any stuffed animal.

You two amble about the streets again, side by side. Long fingers intertwine with your own and your heart flips in your chest, suppressing the raging flush that threatens to colour your cheeks whenever Jungkook is involved. You look around your surroundings, trying to conceal the cheeky grin on your face, resembling that of a toddler with their favourite candy.

Before long, your travelling gaze takes notice of the people hunched over on the ground, concentrated on the stones below them. With a closer look, you discover the sketches littered across the stone pathways—some spanning the entire street and some smaller than your palm.

You bolt over to join them with Jungkook in tow. This whole hand-holding business is proving to be more useful than you thought.

There are pieces of different coloured chalk dispersed throughout the streets, and you pick up an orange one, urging Jungkook to do the same. He searches around for a bit until he decides on a white coloured chalk.

By the time you’re finalizing the tiny drawing you sketched onto the uneven stones, the stub in your hand is half the size of your pinky. Your joints ache from kneeling for so long, but you’re more than satisfied with the bright tiger lily staring back at you.

You stand up, brushing off of any stray rocks that have embedded themselves onto the bare skin of your legs and nudge Jungkook’s arm with your foot. He grumbles under his breath that you ruined the white blob he claims to be a bunny, but you jest that it was doomed the moment he picked up the chalk.

The retort silences him and you stretch your hand out to help him stand, grinning sheepishly at the pout on his pink lips. He accepts your peace offering, although rather than using your aid to get up, he yanks you downwards and your unstable body lands right into his lap. You squeak at his retaliation and wriggle violently in his hold as he curls himself around you, his chin resting onto your shoulder and arms wrapping around your torso to quell your futile efforts of escape.

“You like the nation’s flower?” He questions, nuzzling his face into your upper back.

“Nation’s flower?”

He hums his confirmation and you feel the pleasant vibrations on your neck before he’s nodding towards the purple pennants that dangle off of thin strings, stretching between buildings. Now that you’re actively inspecting the marketplace for the flower, you notice the continuous motif of the orange lily sprouting everywhere from decorations to paintings.

Jungkook seems to have abandoned all hope on his own masterpiece, for he lifts you up by your underarms and leads you away.

As you venture through the rest of the market, grazing through the various stalls, you examine all the knick-knacks depicting the famous tiger lily. It soothes you slightly, recognizing the flower decorating your walls back at the tower.

Lost in your trance, you don’t catch Jungkook slinking away, disappearing into the crowds.

As you turn the corner to browse the next stall’s wares, a massive stained glass window depicting a family of three catches your eye. The man appears stern with his furrowed brows and deep-set frown, and the woman’s forced smile fits awkwardly onto her face. She’s holding a tight bundle of canvas, a tiny face peeking through the layers of fabric in her arms.

Rays of the setting sun pierce through the coloured, translucent material and surround the art piece with an ethereal glow. You’re transfixed by the woman, reminded of your own mother’s delicate features.

You shake off the unpleasant feeling of your last encounter with her and analyze the three squares dedicated to the child’s crumpled face. The only noticeable detail you can make out is his chubby cheeks.

“Interested in the Prince?” A warm breath whispers into your ear, “Am I not good enough for you anymore, Princess?”

You spin around to face Jungkook, barely able to contain your delight as you examine the playful glint in his eyes. “Bold of you to assume there was ever a point where you were good enough for me.”

He scoffs, hands automatically coming to loop around your middle. “I know you’re not suggesting that I’m anything less than stellar company.”

You hum aloud, feigning contemplation by rubbing at your chin and a wide grin breaks his irked performance. He tries to hide his little slip by burrowing his face into the crook of your neck.

His soft cheeks on your bare skin along with his large hands squeezing at your sides elicit all your muffled giggles to burst past your lips. Pure, unadulterated glee bounces around your stomach.

Some of the lilies lodged within your golden strands fall loose and flutter onto the ground with the movement. You intercept one that drops from near your temple, plucking it out of the air and slotting the stem just above Jungkook’s ear.

He pulls away from subjecting your clavicle with his tiny nips in order to rest his forehead against yours. Your head is cradled by one of his palms and you watch as his heated gaze roams down to your lips. Entranced by his overwhelming presence, your eyelids slide shut as he leans forward slightly, tilting his head to the side before a meaty hand encloses around the circumference of your upper arm, yanking you away from him.

Panic seizes your muscles. Your heart threatens to shatter your rib cage with its fierce pounding. The soldiers. You extend your other arm to reach out for Jungkook—the same alarm piercing your flesh is reflected in his blazing orbs. Before he has the chance to rush after you, a dainty woman clothed in a primrose dress sweeps him away as well.

Barely a whole day has passed since you began running away from the soldiers, yet you’re more than certain that the soldier’s attire solely consisted of their royal uniforms, which did not include any flowy, pink garments. You whip back to your own abductor; a stout, jolly man with a cheshire grin stretching from one ear to the other.

He releases you in the middle of a swarming mass of people, moving their bodies left and right to the beat being pounded out on tabors and the sweet melody spilling from a nearby flute.

The man spins you around, encouraging you to let loose and sway your hips to the upbeat song as you’re handed off from one partner to the next. Somewhere within the chaos, you spot Jungkook’s longing stare and you subconsciously inch closer to his side.

The second that you two are within reach of one another, you dart into his arms. Just as you’re about to slip into his comforting embrace, a scrawny boy takes your place while an older woman wraps her arms around your shoulders. She wastes no time before guiding you into a dip, her palms supporting your back.

Upside down, Jungkook’s annoyed countenance is an amusing sight that you gleefully chortle at. Knowing that he is similarly distraught at the prospect of being unable to dance together soothes your aching desire and you savour the thrilling experience of moving as one part of a greater whole.

You prance and twirl your heart out as if it’s your last time. And you’re sure that it will be.

Eventually, both of you are able to slither your way out of the dancing crowds, and the cheers die down the farther you get from the main square. The sun is rapidly falling past the horizon and the capital is shrouded in the deepening twilight. You assumed that he would lead you to see the lanterns about now, but you’re clueless as to why you two are heading away from the castle.

“Jungkook?”

He turns back to you with a breathtaking smile resting on his lips, the dwindling light casting an otherworldly radiance around him. Reaching for your hand, he intertwines your fingers with his own as he leans down to softly bump his forehead against yours. “You’ll see.”

Jungkook directs you towards the moat that surrounds the marketplace, ushering you into one of the many gondolas lined up against the dock. You narrow your eyes at him and he attempts to reassure you with a simple, “We’ll bring it back.”

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

But you’re so entranced in his spell that you follow along without more than a tiny squeeze at your interlaced digits. You release his hands before he jumps into the boat, the wood swaying back and forth under his weight, worrying you instead of the unbothered man a few feet away. As you take a sharp inhale, about to follow in his footsteps, Jungkook grips the sides of your hips and lifts you into the gondola with him.

You fix him with a reproachful glare at his unexpected actions yet the silent scolding doesn’t last long, for you’re hopeless to the sight of his elation, sticking to him like a second skin. Powerless against his charms, you sit on the thin wooden seat on the other side of the boat and watch him grab an oar, dipping it into the water and propelling you two forward.

You want to admire the unobstructed view of the sparkling night sky, but nothing can beat the galaxies hidden within Jungkook’s eyes, thus you try to seem as inconspicuous as possible in ogling him from your peripheral. However, your futile efforts are rather pointless considering your position, facing the handsome thief rowing the boat at the other end.

You think the title is fitting since he’s stolen your heart without a problem as well.

Once he deems your spot satisfactory, Jungkook strolls over to your side, taking a seat on the bench across from you. His legs slot in between the spaces of your own.

“Now that I think about it, it’s the Prince’s eighteenth birthday too,” he states. “He must be pretty excited, taking over the throne and everything.”

You perk up at the news. “He’s succeeding the King?”

“Mm,” he affirms, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “King announced an early retirement or something because they’d already found the Prince’s betrothed. His coronation is today.”

You nod your understanding, thinking about the responsibilities bearing down on the poor boy. “It’s kind of weird to think about, y’know, being the same age and even sharing the same birthday but leading completely different lives. He’s about to get married, lead a country and me...” you falter, pausing to string your thoughts into a coherent sentence. “Well, this is my entire dream. Seeing these lights is everything to me.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re living your own life, on your own journey. Comparing yourself to others does nothing but rob yourself of your own happiness.”

You hum with a teasing lilt to your tone. “Suddenly the boy who named himself ‘gold’ in the hopes of attracting some friends is giving me advice?”

He breaks out into a chuckle, doubling over and laying his forehead on your shoulder. His hands reach out for the locks of hair resting on your lap, plucking one of the flowers swimming in your strands. Like Hansel and his bread crumbs, many of the blossoms that fell off throughout your time in the marketplace left tracks of your whereabouts. Only a few flowers remain with you.

With the delicate daisy between his thumb and index finger, he rolls the pads of his fingers against each other, spinning the white petals so fast that they blur together into a splotchy circle surrounding the yellow centre. Once he becomes bored with the flower, he lifts his head and stretches his arm out with a classic smirk that heightens his flirtatious nature. “For you, my lady.”

You huff at the offering. “You act as if it wasn’t already mine in the first place.” Despite your sharp words, you gingerly pluck the stem out of his grasp, fingers brushing against his own. When you raise the daisy up to your nose, the invigorating floral scent startles your senses once more.

With not much else to occupy your time, you decide that now is a better time than ever to dislodge the wilting buds from your tresses. You face the side of the gondola overlooking the water, grabbing onto the ledge and leaning forward.

You muster all the grace you have within your bones to place the ivory daisy onto the water’s surface. The flower drifts along the calm current, painting the atmosphere with a tranquil serenity.

Despite your best efforts to suppress them, your clumsy tendencies shine through when you tip your torso over a smidge too far, losing your balance and diving headfirst for the water. Jungkook is quick to latch on to your wrist, steadying you before you accidentally throw yourself overboard.

You’re sheepish in both your apology and thanks. To avoid any further mishaps, one of his hands remain on your lower back and the other collects the remaining blossoms in your tresses, handing them off to you.

A slow rhythm develops between you two and your raging thoughts come to a standstill, a red light halting the traffic within your mind. In front of you, a garden of assorted blossoms assembles, floating gently towards the ornate castle. One sprout catches your eye.

A tiger lily.

Directly below its long petals, a flash of bright red catches your eye in the reflection of the water. Jungkook’s deep voice cleaves through the soft sloshing of the water. “The lanterns.”

“It’s…” You struggle to piece together proper words to describe the sight before you. One lantern lightens the dark sky, drifting alone in the expansive space before a bunch of others race to join the first. Their warm, yellow glow overpowers that of the moon, painting the landscape in an orange tint that seems to welcome you into its embrace.

“Beautiful.”

You’re too distracted by the enchanting sight before you to notice his eyes trained on your profile, and so you soundlessly agree with a nod of your head. It’s as if time has ceased in its endless ticking, halting in its tracks for another world to open where only you and Jungkook exist.

You don’t mind the idea as much as you think you would.

“I have a surprise.”

You turn over to face him, head tilting in curiosity. He carries a paper lantern in his open palms and your brows furrow at his attentive, considerate behaviour. “Jungkook?”

“We should join in on all the fun, right?” A genuine smile illuminates his soft features instead of the usual smirks he casually throws your way. Oddly enough, despite your inability to operate in front of his flirty personality, you adore both sides equally.

“Kook, wait.”

He perks up at the nickname, reminding you of a dog with its tail violently wagging back and forth—you can’t help but be enamoured by him. You raise the hem of your dress up to the middle of your left thigh and he sputters, looking away. “Hey, hey! I know I’m pretty irresistible but this boat is not the place to—”

“No, you idiot.” You snicker at his unexpected timidity, shimmying the coiled strap down your leg and covering your decency once again with the fabric. “I have something for you too.”

He peeks at you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently clothed before turning to face you. A cold sweat settles over the outer layer of your skin as you watch his brows raise at his satchel in your hands. Keeping the lantern in one hand, and his steady gaze focused on your eyes, he gently pushes the bag down to the floor of the boat, the metal of the crown banging against the wood.

“All I need is you,” he whispers the words into the empty space of the night, the syllables getting lost somewhere within the mellow breeze blowing by. Your heart constricts at the reassurance that this time, Mother is wrong. You fight back the tears gathering at your waterline and grab the other edge of the lantern after he lights the candle inside.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod and the two of you slowly lift your arms to release the lantern with the masses drifting above you. After a bit, you lose sight of your paper lantern and you glance back at Jungkook to ask whether he was able to keep track of its location, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when you become captivated with the childlike wonder buried within his orbs, roaming over the sky and examining every single lantern at once.

His scouring eventually leads him back to you. He catches you staring, but neither of you care enough to break the moment. His eyes soften and you two shuffle forward on your seats, being pulled toward one another like magnets. Your legs entangle with his in the cramped area and you lean forward until your lips are millimetres from one another.

From this close, you have a perfect view of your reflection within his brilliant irises, the shallow scar that runs along his cheek, the cute birthmark right under his mouth. His eyes are locked on your mouth and you take that as the go-ahead signal to close the gap and slot your lips against his soft ones.

With your evident lack of experience, Jungkook takes control immediately, a hand flying to the back of your head, threading through your hair to keep you in place as he sucks at your lower lip. His tongue swipes at the closed seam that blocks him from your mouth, and you instantly open up to clash tongues, although you shrink back soon after, letting him explore your hot cavern.

You sneak a peek at him every time you two separate for air, confirming that this is indeed reality and not some product of your wild imagination. He invades all your senses and keeps you locked to him like an addict desperate for their fix, his other palm searing through your clothing with its heat and burning a hole through the thin fabric of your dress.

When you finally pull away, you feel feverish and dizzy as a raging blush colours your cheeks. You can’t find it in yourself to look directly into his eyes, but he reaches for your chin and forces you to study the haze of passion in his gaze.

Every part of your body is lit aflame from his touch. Hooked on the feeling of his plush lips pressing against yours with your tongues swirling in tandem with one another, you’re about to lean in for more when his eyes dart off to the side and he abruptly jerks away as if you burned him with your embrace.

His startling jolt snaps you out of your dazed state. With your head out of the clouds, you notice that the lanterns have already moved onto the next town over, taking their warmth with them. The fire within you, kindled by Jungkook, dwindles with the uncertainty of your future together.

Without so much as another word, Jungkook snatches the oar from the bottom of the boat and jumps back to his position at the front of the gondola. He urgently paddles the two of you back to land and you fumble for words. “Jungkook, I—”

“It’s not you.” His statement is reassuring in writing, although his tone is detached, distant in a way that crushes the passages to your lungs. Lost in your dejection, you’re powerless to prod him for any more information than that.

Before the boat can hit the edge of the dock, Jungkook springs out with his leather satchel tucked under his arm, pausing to mutter, “I just—I have to take care of something. Please believe me when I say I’ll be back.” His anguish leaks into his voice and you will yourself to nod, a forced smile on your lips. “Wait for me.”

He dashes off with your heart in his hands. You steady your shaky breath and place your faith in him, the man you have come to trust with your life.

You spend the next half hour struggling to get out of the gondola, craving the flat land to ground yourself. By the time you manage to clamber out, there are a couple of discoloured blotches on the length of your dress that put your many failed attempts on full display. You fan one of the bigger spots to help it dry faster, but the fabric becomes chilly with the extra wind and a shiver slips down your spine from its icy temperature.

Languid footsteps approach your frigid frame and you brighten up, forgetting about the cold. “Took you long enough. Y’know, for a second there I was worried you’d actually lef—”

You pick up more than one pair of feet advancing on you and your eyes widen at the lanky, redheaded twins that stop in front of your path. Cursing your quivering limbs, you cringe at the tremor in your voice when you ask, “What did you do to him?”

They simultaneously snort at your question and the one on the left replies, “Sorry about this, lass, but you’re gonna have to come with us.”

The blood drains from your face and you repeat, louder, “What did you do to him?”

“Aw, don’t get all riled up now. But don’t worry your pretty little head, we’re going to take you right to him.” They corner you back to the dock and you scramble to locate a weapon to defend yourself with. At your wit’s end, you prepare to jump into the murky waters.

However, before you get the chance to move another muscle, an intense pain blooms at the back of your skull, wrapping around to your temples accompanied by a flash of light exploding behind your eyes. Then everything goes black.

Your head pounds as a dull ache nestles itself deep within your bones. Your vision is nothing but a blurry, indecipherable mess of colours, so you opt to keep your eyes closed instead. You’re kneeling on cold tiles that rub your knees raw when you subtly shift into a more comfortable position, discovering the existence of the shackles around your wrists and ankles.

“—nd the girl. We expect you to keep your end of the deal.” The rugged tone that speaks is one that you recognize from before your blackout—one of the redheads.

“Yes, yes, all the charges laid against you have been cleared,” a high-pitched voice meets your ears and you subconsciously grimace, physically recoiling from the sound. Thankfully, your sharp motions go unnoticed. “You’re free to go.”

“What?” You hear shuffling nearby, the rustling of clothes getting farther away from you. The distinct, metallic sheen of a couple of swords being unsheathed follow and the footsteps come to a sudden stop. “You promised us gold.”

The woman scoffs, “Now why would I give you crooked-nosed knaves anything more than a death sentence?”

Many polished boots clamber against the ground with such force that the vibrations can be felt through the flesh of your folded calves. The grunts and garbled screams that ensue are silenced within seconds and two hefty weights hit the floor with a limp, lifeless thud.

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

There’s more shuffling, then something is dragged past your crumpled form. The throbbing across your cranium worsens and you’re incapable of fending off the blissful oblivion of desolation any longer, thus you surrender to the darkness once more.

The next time you open your eyes a harsh light coats your surroundings and the blocks of colour are clearer, sharp enough to decipher the intricate detailing painted on the tiles beneath your knees. Someone chokes on a wet cough, and your eyelids snap shut once more. Your nose crinkles in disgust as well.

“Her tiny skull should have been rolling through these halls eighteen years ago.” The woman’s wretched tone fills your ears, words full of deadly poison.

You remain chained, kneeling against the ground with your head lowered. A numbing sensation lingers no matter how much you fidget in place, bearing down your limbs with the weight of your useless nerves that refuse to fire off.

Another, deeper, voice responds, “Tone it down. Her magic is powerful, the advantage we hold over the other kingdoms is colossal with this kind of sorcery on our side. If she falls, the whole empire will fall with her.”

Sorcery? Although you can count the number of people you met on one hand, you’ve studied heaps of books and drilled your mother with enough questions to know that your magic is unique and rare—a product of alchemy that occurs merely once every millennium.

“I see no point in keeping her around when we cannot access her magic at our will, she is as good as worthless to us. That halfwit of a sister was incapable of locking this churl in a tower for long enough, and look at her now, running around, wreaking havoc with a criminal.”

Your mind swirls with the sudden barrage of information, unsure as to why these two strangers hold deep insights into your life, as well as the knowledge about your unusual hair.

“There is nothing to worry about, Jimin is on the throne. We will simply send her away once again,” the gruff voice states, exasperation clear in his tone.

A deafening thud reverberates throughout the spacious room. Helpless to the dreadful fear swimming in your veins, your body shudders in response to the noise.

The woman shrieks, clearly at her wits’ end, “I want her dead! Guillotine, hang, drown, burn, I could care less. She poses a threat to Jimin’s throne with her existence, and we have gone through too much to have our plans foiled by this knave. We were merciful enough in having my imbecilic sister continue to meet with Jimin throughout the years.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh before the man answers, “Have some heart, darling, that is her son you speak of.”

“In the eyes of the people, he is my son and the King,” she seethes. Her enmity is strangely familiar, yet you fail to identify the woman through her voice. “Quit acting as if I am the only sinner here and remember how much we both sacrificed for our blood to inherit the King’s throne.”

“It is not your blood though, is it, dear wife?”

The tension within the room is thick, palpable in the dense air in the way that makes breathing difficult. “You must have enjoyed sleeping with my sister more than I believed. Do you want to call her back here? Play a good husband and wife for the counterfeit King?”

You couldn’t keep the tremours from breaking out over your body as your breaths quicken and an abundance of liquid races to your eyes. It was all beginning to come together, but you wait for the two to confirm your suspicions.

The man chuckles with hollow intent. “Do you fail to recall your own words, pleading with me to follow this foolish scheme of yours? I would have much rather preferred a foreigner rule the kingdom alongside our daughter.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said eighteen years ago.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to repress the sounds of anguish that tears at your skin to brutal shreds. Enraged rivulets stream down your cheeks, and you lift your torso to stare at your legitimate parents. They turn to you, the man distraught and the woman with pure disgust.

“How—” you stammer through your heavy wails, “how could you?”

“So the Princess found out.” Your biological mother raises from her royal seat, storming over the short distance to your trembling form. “Fine, we can strike an agreement.”

She reaches behind your head to grab a handful of your hair, yanking your head up to peer up at the exquisitely decorated ceiling. When you yelp in pain, she crouches down to your level, baring her pearly white teeth as she threatens, “Leave. Be a good little girl and go hole yourself back up in that tower. Don’t worry, Mommy will come get you if we ever need that magic of yours, hm?”

You desperately wriggle around to loosen her hold, but she only grips your strands tighter, pulling downwards to introduce more pain to your scalp. “That thief will stay right here to ensure you keep up your end of the deal, alright?”

At the mention of Jungkook, your heart stutters and your expression morphs to that of despair, momentarily forgetting about the strain to the sensitive skin of your head. “Where is he?”

She smirks and snaps her fingers. The door to the throne room is pulled open with a loud clack, and Jungkook’s weak, bloody form stumbles through the grand entrance, hanging upright with the help of two sturdy guards.

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

“Mopping all his blood off the floor would be terribly tiresome for the maids.” She jerks your head down to bear witness to the sneer stretching across her lips. “It’s all up to you, really.”

“Let me heal him!” you agonize, sobs ripping through your chest, burning through every tissue to the outermost layer of your skin. “Pl-please, please let me heal him. I’ll leave, I won’t say a word, I’ll do anything you want—I’m b-begging you, please.”

The wicked smirk playing on her lips grows wider at your pleading. She shoves your head away, the momentum of the push throwing your whole torso over to the side, bringing about a harsh meeting with the floor. With Jungkook occupying every crevice of your mind, there’s no space to register the pain pulsing through your groggy body.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You scramble to your hands and knees, disregarding the scrapes and bruises littering your limbs. Despite your tunnel vision directed towards reaching Jungkook, your movements are sluggish from the extended period of time spent kneeling in one position.

The guards supporting him release their hold on his arms, and you scramble to catch his limp frame in your arms, but your depleted muscles can only manage to soften his fall with your body. You detangle yourself from him and hurriedly begin wrapping your hair around his torso.

Your jaw trembles at his damp locks, sodden with sweat and stuck to the side of his head dripping in crimson. The vicious colour oozes out of the deep gashes you locate across his back, peeking through the tears in his shirt and stains the bloody spit drooling from the corners of his cracked lips. Great purple welts fill the rest of his exposed skin, completing the heart-wrenching picture before you.

You pick up the weak croak of your name, and you hiccup from your fierce laments at his red-rimmed eyes. “Guess I was right all along, Princess.”

Your mother’s cruel words follow the nasty glower she shoots his way. “Shut up or we’ll end your pitiful life now, you filthy criminal.”

“Jungkook, I’m here,” you reassure him, beginning to wrap your excess strands around his arms before he stops you with a stained hand. “Jungkook let me—”

“Stop,” he mutters, gripping his side in pain.

“No! I can’t—I can’t let you die.” You grit your teeth, disobeying his words and going to wrap your tresses around his broken body once more.

“If you go back there,” he coughs, an alarming amount of blood spurting out, “then you’ll—”

“It’s fine, everything will be alright, okay?” You press your palm over his hand and the icy bite that greets you hardens your resolve. “We’ll figure it out.”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to sing the incantation engraved into the back of your mind when Jungkook’s fingers graze your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch, examining every crimson stain marring his delicate features.

His doe eyes soften at your orbs roaming his face and when your gaze settles on his thin lips, he snatches the chance to land a peck against your mouth. The fleeting kiss fills you with greed, and your eyes flutter shut despite your rationale as you dip towards him for another.

You halt, gasping at the gut-wrenching sound of your tresses being severed from the base of your neck, the noise snapping you back to reality. Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s relieved countenance as his torso reclines to the ground, the sharp dagger in his hand rattling onto the tiles beside him. When you reach back to assess the damage, your hand grips onto the short strands that reach no further than your shoulder.

You glance back at the heaps of dead, brown hair sprawled across the palace floor and your mind wipes clean of any coherent thought. Instead, your chest caves in on itself, breathing made impossible because of your collapsed airways and you choke out, “Jungkook, what did you—”

“What an absolute halfwit, does he think he did anyone a favour with that little stunt of his? Without your hair, we have no need for either of you.” Your biological mother laughs, the notes turning ominously maniacal towards the end. “Kill them.”

Guards immediately surround you two, and in a weak attempt to protect him from their pointed swords, you cradle Jungkook’s powerless form to your chest. You prepare yourself to bear the end of their piercing blades.

“What do you roaches think you’re doing?” she seethes, blazing orbs flashing with white-hot fury. “I said, kill them!”

The gigantic doors burst open again, but this time, a lean man strides forward. His blond strands are neatly styled away from his forehead and the regal red robe hanging upon his shoulders elegantly sway after him. The soldiers part ways to make room for the intimidating man and one of his retainers at the door announces, “The King is here!”

You struggle to even out your frantic breaths, thankful for the distraction that grants you a break to rack your brain for a method to escape the dreadful situation you two have found yourselves in. Debating whether you should fight back, sneak away or plead for forgiveness, your eyes dart wildly around the room. A woman donned in a black cloak lingers slightly behind the King, gazing at you with a murderous glare that sends pin needles into the thin lining of your stomach.

“That’s enough,” the King states.

“Jimin.” The former Queen races up to him but is stopped by the retainers that encircle the King. “What business do you have here? There are more important matters for you to attend to.” Her eyes narrow at the sight of the woman behind him.

“No, I think this has gone on long enough.” He sweeps his gaze over to the two of you, Jungkook barely clinging onto life, nestled within your protective embrace. The woman latches onto his bicep, her head vigorously shaking back and forth, yet you’re uncertain whether her disagreement will relieve your anguish or worsen it.

Despite her insistence, his head nods in your direction and the woman that raised you begrudgingly marches up to you, barely acknowledging your presence in favour of pressing her palms against Jungkook’s open lacerations. He winces at the pressure and just as you’re about to tell her off, you discern the thick gauze that rests between her hand and Jungkook’s side, the sterile white shade expeditiously being replaced by a bloody crimson.

“What are you talking about, dear?” the former Queen asks, a hard edge to her tone. “These two are hedge-born lowlives, simply not worth your time.”

He crinkles his nose in disgust, flicking his hand towards the former King and Queen. “Lock them up in the dungeons.”

Both their eyes widen comically, jaws dropping to the floor. However, you can’t find joy within their despair when Jungkook’s survival is still up in the air.

The woman sputters, recklessly thrashing her body to escape the soldiers’ grip. The man simply lowers his head, seemingly having accepted his fate as he follows the guards without another word.

“Did you forget who put you in that throne, Park Jimin?” the woman screeches, the blood vessels lining her neck about to implode. “How dare you disrespect your pare—”

“How could I ever forget your treacherous actions?” he spits out, disgust lacing his voice, “How could I ever forget how many lives you’ve ruined, dear aunt.”

“We did it all for you!”

“You did it for yourselves,” he hisses. Relief trickles through the tips of your fingers, spreading across your body like wildfire from the King’s aid. “Get them out of my sight.”

“You worthless—” Her shrieks echo throughout the halls, though you’ve long lost focus in their conversation after watching the two wretched souls being punished and put in their rightful place.

Your aunt passes some thick bandages from inside the bell sleeve of her cloak. You gratefully accept the offering, pressing it against his lower back—wishing that it’s not too late, that Jungkook has not lost too much blood yet. The passive stare that your aunt fixes you with crams your head with doubt and you begin to panic, bringing one of your hands up to cradle his face.

Although you’re convinced that you wailed through an entire year’s worth of sobs, the tears sliding down your face refuse to stop, dripping down and landing onto the dirtied skin of Jungkook’s cheek. You press your forehead against his, hoping against hope that some magic remains within your body, that the tiniest bit will reveal itself like a bag trick and heal his wounds.

But your magical hair was extraordinary enough, and this is no fairytale.

“Get those two to the physician’s,” the King orders.

Guards scramble to action, ripping you apart from Jungkook as you unsuccessfully attempt to resist being separated again. You’re absolutely spent from the tiring events of the past couple of days and your weary legs give out as the soldiers lift your drained form into a standing position.

Jungkook is moved onto a sturdy sheet, then carried away past the double doors and out of sight. Your flimsy arms wrap around the shoulders of two guards as they assist you in following Jungkook to the physician, passing the King on your way.

His plush lips stretch into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, but the adrenaline from earlier wears off and the sting of your own wounds drains you of your manners, uncaring that you’re facing the King. Thankfully, he dismisses your discourtesy instead of beheading you, and you’re hauled away from the gracious man.

On the way, you’re close enough to overhear what he mutters under his breath. A garbled scream rips through your throat in protest, and you shoot the King the deadliest glare you can muster. He releases a deep sigh at your childish antics, waving as you turn the corner.

“Poor guy doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

You spend the next few, rather tedious, days in a luxurious bed, being fretted over by everyone from the maids to the chefs. It was difficult to indulge in the extravagance that the castle had to offer when you were anxiously awaiting news regarding Jungkook, which they refused to disclose until your own condition improved.

After all the pampering, you were permitted access past the confines of the expansive room you were forced to recover in. Your injuries were minor in comparison to Jungkook, thus you were granted freedom much earlier than him.

Not like he was capable of stepping outside of his room anyway.

Although his body is repairing his torn flesh incrementally, he shows no signs of consciousness—not the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, nothing. Doubt claws a bit higher up your torso each day, waiting for the moment that the disquiet slithers up your esophagus and suffocates you.

Despite the crushing news of his coma-like state, you work diligently to ensure that neither you nor Jungkook becomes a burden to the castle by picking up various duties. Jimin continuously waves off your attempts to help, but you’re restless and desperate for a distraction from wondering about Jungkook’s condition all the time.

Jimin banned you from performing some of the maid’s tasks once, then sorely regretted it when he had to tend to your nervous breakdown in the afternoon. Since then he has kept his comments on your excessive working habits to himself.

Today you’re in Jungkook’s room, dusting off the spotless shelves that house the many herbs being grounded into powders and rubbed as a salve onto his injuries daily. You organize the rolled bandages for the second time in the past hour and mop every inch of the floor.

You can’t devote yourself to lingering by the unconscious man’s side for too long, otherwise your mind gradually begins to spiral into every possible worst-case scenario and you simply can’t handle the reality of a future without him. It sounds overly dramatic—many of the maids you have grown close to over the months claimed as much when you brought up your journey together.

But they didn’t hear his melodic laughter that followed his teasing smirks when he said something flirtatious, effectively making your heart skip a beat. They didn’t feel his hand always reaching out to make contact with you in some way, craving your touch to ground him to reality. They didn’t see his eyes softening when he gazed at you as though you were holding his entire world in your eyes.

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

You strain the mop of its excess dirtied water before stowing the tool away in the storage room. When you return, a draft filters in through the open window and you race over to close it, worried that Jungkook may catch a bothersome cold that will delay his healing process.

You take a seat on the lavish mattress adjacent from his thighs as you stare out the window in front of you. The air remains stale in spite of the fresh breeze that blew into the room seconds prior, and the dull atmosphere persists due to the lifeless man inhabiting its space.

You’re uncertain how many more times you can handle walking into this room with his weak body lying motionless on these pristine sheets, but you will endure it all without complaint for him. A knock at the door catches your attention, and you twist around to meet Jimin’s friendly beam. “How is he?”

“Same as he always is,” you state, allowing yourself to take in Jungkook’s sunken cheeks and pale face. “Unresponsive.”

“You wanna join me in the gardens for some fresh air?” At your unsure raise of a brow, he convinces you with, “You’ve been cooped up in the castle the whole day.”

The both of you head out to view the lush scenery outside, seated amongst the blooming tulips, although your eyes are drawn to the lilies that border the lilac cosmos. You trace the familiar shape of the orange flower with your pupils, reminiscing on the doodles decorating your room’s walls back at the tower. That seems like forever ago now.

Other than his lack of consciousness, Jungkook’s condition remains relatively stable and yet you still find it burdensome to stray too far from his side. The staff is under orders to instantly notify you should he arise while you’re away, but that doesn’t ease the disquiet that rouses whenever you leave the castle walls.

You’re convinced that the second you wander off, he will wake up without you there; a thought too unbearable to consider. You crave to lose yourself within his molten ember orbs once more, exploring the undiscovered galaxies in his gaze.

“These past few months must seem unfathomable,” he starts, pressing his lips together to ponder over his next words before continuing. “I don’t know how my mom treated you in the tower but, knowing her, I’m guessing it wasn’t too great.”

His casual mention of the affectionate term you pleaded to call your mother for ages—the topic she despised almost as much as you begging to venture outside the tower—stung the slightest bit. From her actions, it was evident that she never cared for you as much as her own, biological son, but it was difficult to dismiss the joyful memories you shared with her, no matter how few and far between they were.

“She started visiting me a few years back, explaining all their horrendous crimes and insisting that she was the only one I could trust. She told me about you, too. Your mother ordered her to lock you away in that tower and ensure that nobody ever found out the truth in exchange for my seat on the throne. ”

Your head lowers at the information, brows furrowing as you contemplate your true relationship with the woman that raised you from birth.

“When my mom caught word of you travelling with the thief, she returned the crown in hopes that Jungkook would run for the hills, and you would be left to come back with her. Her goal was to overtake the kingdom from your mother.” His eyes gloss over with a distant sheen and you sympathize with him; the boy was used as a tool, just like you.

“It’s reassuring in a way.” His strange admittance prompts you to glance up at him, confusion swirling within your orbs. “At least we’re both suffering from our family’s despicable actions.”

Our family.

His optimistic viewpoint hits you like a wave crashing against the shore, sharing his vast fortitude and washing away a fraction of the sombre agony tormenting your heart. Although Jimin’s life was no doubt disparate from your own, you two are connected through the blood running through your veins. Even if those same bonds brought you to a tragic meeting with your own wicked parents, at least you could rely on one person within your family.

The edges of your lips curl into a tiny smile aimed at the blond man across from you, your own short, chestnut coloured hair providing a stark contrast. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jimin.”

He readjusts his weight on the green, iron chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on the metal table between the two of you. “I think this is the first time you’ve called me by my name without me having to remind you.”

You quietly giggle at the memories flooding your mind, from the hostile attitude you first approached him with, then the days he comforted you over Jungkook’s motionless form, to Jimin demanding that you call him by his first name. You consider yourself extremely lucky to have someone as gracious and compassionate as Jimin to be your half-brother.

“I know we’ve already gone over this,” he starts with a serious edge to his tone, “but this is your last chance.”

You rip your gaze away from the plants to lay a couple of light pats to his hand. Despite the lack of context, the topic is familiar to you, as he has gone over this with you many times. “No, I don’t want the throne. You trained for this position your whole life, so I’m entrusting the kingdom to your capable hands. All I ask is for you to fulfill my request.”

Jimin releases a heavy sigh. “If you really want him free of all his crimes, there’s no way you two can live within the capital.”

“That’s fine with me.” You shrug your shoulders, unconcerned about the prospect of having to leave the busy city. “I don’t think I could live somewhere like this anyway.”

You don’t expand on your reasoning, and he doesn’t question you further, simply sparing you a solemn, understanding gaze. Supposedly, you aren’t supposed to pick favourites within your family, but Jimin is definitely golden in your eyes.

“Deeply sorry to intrude, Your Royal Majesty, but your betrothed is at the door and wishes to meet with you.” A guard inches his way towards your table with his head bowed, hands respectfully gathered behind his back.

Jimin looks to you with an apology on his tongue, but you wave him off before any explanations can spill from his plump lips. “Go get your girl.”

A bright smile enlightens his features as he springs up from his seat, dusting off his uniform before bounding after the guard. When he quirks his head back, you demonstrate your encouragement through a thumbs-up that you wave from side to side until he is satisfied, facing forward with a gleeful snicker.

You inhale the outdoor air, about to head inside yourself to rearrange Jungkook’s bandages again when your eyes wander back to the tiger lilies that caught your eye earlier. Within a few strides, you reach the vibrant buds, stretching your hand out to pluck a few stems. The sweet smell invades your senses.

With a tiny bouquet in hand, you make your way back inside, the metaphorical load on your shoulders a bit lighter than it was before. You expertly maneuver your way through the halls towards Jungkook’s room with the dwindling hope that today will be the day that his honey orbs reflect the sun’s light filtering in the window, filled with the mischief and tenderness that you remember.

When you’re met with his unmoving form instead, another sliver of that faith shatters into tiny shards.

You shake it off and head back to the windowsill, where an empty flower vase rests. The lilies within your grasp are carefully inserted inside and you place the bouquet back onto the tiny platform. Their floral scent wafts throughout the space as you take your place beside his legs.

As part of your usual routine, you use this time to relax. Just for a moment, you give yourself the room to breathe, giving your brain free rein to feel the emotions raging within you and fantasize about your future with Jungkook. You imagine yourself in a tiny cottage, craving a quaint place to live after the immense tower you were raised in.

The two of you would settle down there, adopting a pet to keep you company before you inevitably brought a few children into the world. Their genders didn’t matter, as long as you could raise them with Jungkook, forming a tight-knit family that shared all the love the both of you lacked growing up.

A warm hand wraps around your wrist. Your head snaps to follow the direction of his arm, curving into his broad shoulders, and past his sharp jaw with your heart in your throat. Tears gather at your waterline, spilling over onto your cheeks as you hiccup from the sudden sobs that overtake your body.

The doe eyes that stare back at you carry your whole world in their weight.

+ epilogue.

Tiny footsteps scuttle around the wooden floors, screaming in delight from being chased by a much larger, yet still very childlike, man. “Betchya can’t catch me, daddy!”

Your husband playfully roars at the taunt, speeding up his strides to snatch the little girl up into his arms. She shrieks at the hand that comes up to tickle her little torso.

“Okay, okay, enough playing you two,” you command, calming the baby boy in your arms that becomes far too excited from the chaotic energy erupting within your cottage. “It’s dinnertime!”

“Dinnertime!” your oldest repeats, violently wriggling around in her father’s grip to force him in lowering her back to the ground so that she can run to her spot at the table. She looks from side to side, doe eyes flitting back to you with a pout on her lips. “But where’s Pascal, Mommy?”

You pass the baby to Jungkook, freeing your hands in order to bring the steaming hot food from the stove to the table. The beige chameleon fades back into his natural emerald colour once you grab him by his scaly torso, dropping him into your daughter’s awaiting hands.

Her squeaky voice chides, “You can’t hide from Mommy.”

A boisterous, yet melodic neigh notifies you of Max’s presence in your backyard, and you shamble past the wooden door to hand the carrots you prepared for him. He snorts in delight as he lowers his head to the floor and begins chomping away. At the sight of his dirtied mane, you take a mental note to give him a thorough wash and brush later on.

Before you head inside, you catch sight of a blond man making his way towards you. “Jimin!”

His eyes reduce to two crescents from the wide grin that occupies his face. He swapped out his imposing robe for a commoner’s shirt and slacks, and they strangely suit his lithe form better than his bulky uniform.

“And where’s our lovely Queen?” You tease, elbowing him when he reaches out to ruffle the top of your head.

“Taking care of things that I don’t want to do.” You two snicker, ecstatic to see one another, and you step aside to let him coddle your children. The slight breeze in the air gingerly kisses your face, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding your tiny house, and you close your lids to relish in the tranquillity of nature.

A pair of familiar arms curl around the shape of your waist and a smile creeps onto your lips as you open your eyes to examine Jungkook’s face, inches away from your own. He brushes your brown strands over your shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck as a loud chorus of disgust is vocalized behind you.

Both of you break out into giggles at your daughter’s behaviour and turn to face your family waiting for you inside. With your hand tangled with his, you walk to a brighter future together.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #btswritingcafe #heartsforbts #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts au #bangtanscenery #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #cypherwritersnet #bangtanhq

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raiiningforever2ice · 4 years

Text

Victor Nikiforov x Reader [Cinderella AU]

Requested on Quotev https://www.quotev.com/story/12466031/Oneshot-book

Gender Neutral, can be easily read by anyone!

(Y/N)= Your Name

(Y/L/N)= Your Last Name

Everything in bold is your thoughts!

Disclaimer: In this, the reader is a young adult in their 20s. They never left their stepmother's house since she did everything to make sure to never let them study or find a job that would let the reader stand on their own.

Scrubbing the floor with a wet rug sure was taking its toll on your knees. It didn't matter that you did this every day, your body won't get used to it. Why couldn't you just use a mop? Poor-poor Y/N scrubbing your life away at your stepmother's house to get it squeaky clean! So squeaky it would over-squeak her spawns' voices. Oh, and here they come, pointy noses making their appearances before they did.

"(Y/N)! Is my breakfast not ready yet? Hurry it up!"

"Yes, Anya."

"(Y/N)! Wash my dress! Be careful with it, it's for an upcoming contest!"

"Yes, Isabella." A sigh fell from your lips as you barely caught the dress your stepsister threw at you.

That would be very bad if it fell inside the bucket with the dirty water!

"Come on I'm starving here!"

"Right away-"

"(Y/N)?"

"Yes stepmother?" You turned around, dress hanging from your shoulder and two eggs on your hands, ready to be cracked.

Your stepmother, Lilia, stood there with a condescending frown on her face, arms crossed in front of her chest as she picked at her red, freshly painted nails.

"You have to do all the housework, prepare lunch, do the washing up... and give a bath to the cat! Oh, you also have to clean the carpet by hand! The girls and I are going shopping!"

Another sigh left you, and you placed the eggs back inside the fridge.

"Yes, stepmother."

Poor-poor (Y/N), never able to take some rest.

The two girls you were so sure came from the depths of hell, laughed their evil laughs as they followed their mother outside.

...

Dusting the living room had become so boring. You would just sweep and sweep and sweep and then someone would knock on the door-

Somebody's knocking on the door!

Placing the duster on the little table next to the couch, you rushed over, patting down your clothes, before opening the door. A short, chubby mailman, stood there with one arm resting on his bag, the other up to his chest and an envelope clutched in it.

"Good morning (Y/N)! This is all you have today." The man said and handed you the letter.

"Thank you sir." You took the envelope in your hands and waved him goodbye as he took off.

Closing the door, you carefully open up the letter, curious of its contents. After all, it was addressed to the Baranovskaya household, you could read it too.

Congratulations!

You have been invited to the greatest ice-skating contest of the century!

Yakov Feltsman and Victor Nikiforov ask YOU to show off your skills!

Put on your blades and come compete for the amazing prize of Victor Nikiforov himself, coaching you to your dazzling future of skating on ice!

We will be waiting for you!

"Give me that!" The letter was ripped off of your hands and your stepmother started reading it, her creations peering over her shoulders.

"Victor Nikiforov?" Anya gasped.

"The Russian hottie?" Isabella cupped her red cheeks in her hands.

"The legend of ice-skating himself!" Your stepmother adds with wide eyes.

"When is it-WHEN?" The two sisters screeched in sync and your ears almost started bleeding from their shrill voices.

Lilia's eyes searched the paper in frantic, quick moves. So frantic in fact, you still wonder how they didn't end up falling out.

"Five days... we have five days to make you the best ice-skaters you can be! You, (Y/N)! Better star preparing their outfits and make sure you take their ice skates to be checked! They need to be perfect!"

You looked down to the ground and nodded.

If I start now I'll be able to finish all three outfits in time! What color should I go fo-

"Are you listening to me (Y/N)?! Where's your mind travelling to?"

"Oh! I was just trying to think of what I should do for my outfit for the contest!"

All three of them busted out laughing, pushing each other over and slapping their knees. You looked at them, jaw slacked open. Lilia noticed you and quickly collected herself, urging the others to do the same. They all stood up straight, arms crossed in front of their chests, eyebrows raised up to the gods.

"Ahem, you really think you will be attending too? Just because you have basic knowledge of ice-skating passed down to you by your late parents, doesn't mean I will allow you to come."

"But, why not? I will have everything ready! The house will be perfectly cleaned and the outfits will be ready in time and amazing!"

"We can't bring a mere housemaid to such a huge event. Besides, you have no chance at winning!" Isabella cackled.

"Exactly! And can you imagine Victor's face when he sees you? He will be absolutely disgusted!" They started laughing again as you fought the tears threatening to flow down your cheeks.

The trio left you alone, standing in front of the door with your fists tight at your sides.

I will go! They won't stop me!

...

It has been three days since the news about the contest, and you were almost done will all three -yes, three- outfits! Tomorrow morning you were to go get the skates checked to make sure your stepsisters don't fall on their faces.

"For now, let's just add a little bit of sparkle here." you murmured to yourself as you placed a few details on your sister's clothes.

Both outfits turned out amazing! Both girls would look truly beautiful in them. Anya and Isabella are actually both very pretty, too bad their personalities had to be so ugly.

Anya's dress was a sugar-white base color with deep red details sewed on by you, wrapping around the whole length of the cloth diagonally in tiny spirals and branch like shapes.

Isabella's dress was exactly the same, a request by the two sisters, but hers was a midnight blue with black details.

Your own outfit was already done. You just needed to make sure there were no tears anywhere. You didn't need to do much you never had a chance to wear it after your kind parents gifted it to you in hopes that they would see you in it.

Letting out a little sigh at the memory of your parent's smiling faces, you took the pink and white cloth and checked it all over.

Perfect condition!

You hid it back at the darkest part of the closet and took out the shoebox sitting on the bottom. Glancing at the clock, you stuffed the ice skates and all other essential items in your backpack and went off to 'The library'. They would never check there anyways.

Opening the large glass doors, you walked inside and greeted the young woman stand in behind the desk.

"Hello Yuko!" You gave her a tiny wave as she smiled wide at you.

"Oh hi (Y/N)! I was worried you wouldn't come today! You are just in time, the rink is all yours!" She went over to the door turning the hanging sign 'open' to 'close'.

Yuko, looked at you again and threw the keys in your direction. With a grateful grin, you took off and unlocked the door leading to the ice rink.

"Have you told Lilia you'll join the contest yet?" Your friend asked you and sat next to you while you were getting ready.

"No, not yet. I will tell them last second. What will they do then?" You scoffed and tightened the laces.

"Yeah, seems like a good strategy." She sighed "You know, I don't understand why they don't want you there! Your parents were both champions, and they passed all their knowledge and skill to you! Hell, you were probably already a great skater when you were still in your mom's belly!"

"They don't want to be embarrassed by their housemaid."

"They still call you that? Tch! Embarrassed how?! You will make jaws drop with your ice skating! Trust me, I know!" Yuko was now standing, flailing her arms around in frustration.

You chuckled at her antics and pushed her back down on her seat.

"If I am as great as you say, they probably don't want to lose by me then!" You both laughed and you stepped inside the rink.

"No music today?"

"No, I prefer chatting, you know that!" With that, you started gliding across the ice giggling at the stories Yuko told you, about her three daughters.

...

Today is the day. You look at your outfit one last time and place it gently in your bag. You hear your stepmother yelling at Anya and Isabella to hurry up. Taking a deep breath, you go outside and meet up with Lilia.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm coming with you. I finished all of my chores as you said. Look, we can pretend we don't know each other. I won't embarrass you this way!"

Lilia with a scowl on her face, looked at you from top to bottom. After what felt like a year, she let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine. But you're not allowed to talk to us at all. We don't know you, you don't know us."

The sisters came down the stairs, hair and makeup already done -just like you- and they both rose a questioning brow.

"(Y/N) will come too. We will pretend we don't know each other. Now (Y/N), you go first, we will leave separately."

With a nod you left the house, a bounce on your step.

"Girls, make sure to destroy (Y/N)'s night... We're leaving in five minutes." Lilia went to find her purse as Anya and Isabella shared an evil smirk.

"Yes mother dear!"

...

The place was huge. People were roaming around, some warming up, some already dressed. Looking around and seeing so many beautiful costumes brought a warmth to your chest and a little bit of nostalgia.

The last time you saw something like that was when your mother won her last contest and she came running to you, held in your father's arms for a group hug full of happy tears.

"(Y/N)? (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" A voice piped up behind you, snapping you out of your little daydream.

You turn around and your knees almost gave out at the presence standing there. the Victor Nikiforov towered above you with a huge, somehow heart shaped grin on his face. And, he knew your name?

"Um... Yes that's me m-mister Nikiforov!" You said and bowed at the waist. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir!"

He let out a beautiful laugh and waved his arms, motioning you to stand up.

"Don't tell me you forgot about me! We used to skate together all the time when you came to Russia with your parents for their performances! Oh, I heard about the accident, I'm so sorry for your loss!" His mouth now formed a pout as tears hanged at the corner of his eyes.

You kept looking at him dumbfounded. The little boy, your childhood crush was him? The boy who's name you never asked-

"Surprised right?! I am too! After all that happened and your name stopped popping up, I though I would never see you again! I didn't know if you had anyone to take you in and I was worried about you! You didn't end up alone, right?" He grabbed your hands in his and looked at you in worry.

You looked around you and notice everyone had their eyes on you, due to the little scene the gray haired man caused. At the entrance stood your 'family' and they were glaring at you. Flustered, you pulled away from him, ignoring the hurt puppy dog eyes he gave you and bowed once again.

"I'm really happy to see you are well and thank you for everything! But I have to go change now!"

"I can't wait to see you competing then!" His tone was now softer as he looked at you running off.

You finally reached the changing rooms. Your knees bent as you panted. Your heart was racing and you didn't know if it was because of running, the embarrassment or his pretty blue eyes staring into your very soul.

"Snap out of it!" You scolded yourself and went in to get into your outfit.

Checking it out on the mirror, you felt a rush of excitement bubble up and conjured your parent's happy smiles into your mind.

I will make you guys proud!

You walked out, skates in hand only to crush onto someone and nearly fall to the ground. There stood your two stepsisters, wicked grins plastered on their faces. You gulped down the nervousness and give them a tiny smile, turning around to leave.

"No, no little (Y/N). You're not leaving us now!" Anya said

"We agreed that we do not know each other while we're in here." You whispered to them and took a step back.

"Change of plans!" Isabella exclaimed.

Then, they both grabbed each of your arms and dragged you back inside the changing rooms which were completely empty.

"You see our little (Y/N), we would never let you get any chance at winning this competition!"

"Much less, participate in it."

Everything went in slow motion as one grabbed your arms and held them behind your back, as the other produce a pair of scissors from her bag and started snipping away at your outfit, pink and white peaces falling helplessly to the floor.

You kicked and whined and cried at them to stop from cutting away the gift, your mother and father gave you the same day they passed.

With one last push, you broke away from them as they his the scissors again and left you alone, surrounded by the scraps of hopes and dreams. You collected the pieces scattered on the floor and tugged them close to you, asking for a miracle to happen and for the outfit to sew itself back together. You cried and sobbed and cried some more. Who knows how much time had passed?

Trying to collect yourself, you changed back into your clothes and left the place quietly. You glanced back and saw that the competition had just started, Anya and Isabella were to compete soon. You glanced at Lilia and saw the grin she was giving them. You rushed out. You wanted to go home.

"(Y/N)? Where are you going?" There in front of you, stood Yuko with a large backpack hanging from her shoulder.

You clutched onto her, sobbing in her arms as she tried to comfort you.

"What happend? Was it the sisters?" She asked in a hushed tone and closed her eyes in annoyance once you nodded in confirmation.

"They destroyed my outfit! They destroyed the last piece of my parents I had!"

"Hey, no don't say that. Alright okay, here. Let's go back in." She started pushing you back inside, checking around.

After she saw the evil trio, she hurried you both to the changing room. She took the bag off her and pushed it to your hands.

"Do you still have your skates? Did they get them too?" She asked and you shook your head 'no'.

"Good... Take this and go change. I wanted to give to you as a gift after you won. Go wear it and I'll come get you, okay? You haven't registered yet, have you? Of course not. Now shoo, go! Don't take too long! I have makeup wipes too in there so clean your face a bit!" She rushed off and was out of sight in the blink of an eye.

...

Looking yourself in the mirror once again you admired the new outfit. It was a baby blue color with silver little diamonds here and there making it simple and eye catching at the same time. You threw in the trash bin the last makeup wipe you used and took a deep breath. A knock on the door caught your attention. It was time.

You opened the door and there stood Yuko with flushed cheeks, panting like a dog.

"You didn't tell me Victor Nikiforov is your friend!"

"Oh, that's... A long story." You rubbed at the back of your neck awkwardly as she stared at you.

"Well, thank that long story cause he pulled some strings for you! Wear this mask, that way the 'high nosed trio' won't recognize you." She handed you a nice, black laced mask.

You placed it on your face and she helped tie it securely at the back. You both made your way closer to the rink. You found a place to sit and put on your skates, Yuko making sure they were tied correctly.

"He was there and when he heard me say your name while arguing that they should let you participate even if you were late, he jumped in and convinced the guy to let you in. He pulled me aside to ask if you were okay and I told him you had a bit of an accident. I explained that there was someone here you didn't want to recognize you and he asked if he should change the name registered." Yuko informed you and loud cheers erupted as the current participant landed a very difficult jump.

You clapped along with the others, as his performance came to an end. Next up was Anya. She strutted in with confidence and posed in the center of the rink, waiting for the music to start. You watched carefully while she danced on the ice, landing a few jumps and misstepping on a few others. As talented as she was, here performance had no emotions whatsoever and was overfilled with jumps. The same goes for Isabella's routine, who went right after her sister.

After she was done, they both went up to their mother who looked at them disappointed but still gave them a smirk. The next participant went in. He was pretty good and made you nervous. As his routine came to a close, you leaned towards Yuko.

"So, how was I registered as?"

"Next up we have Cinderella!"

"That's you, go! I'm cheering for you!" She gave you a hug and pushed you towards the rink.

You gulped the lump in your throat and went to the center, posing the way you had so many times during practice, and closed your eyes as you waited for the music to start playing.

The first notes sounded and you started your routine, gracefully sliding around. You started thinking of the first time your parents took to the ice rink. The first time you skated without falling. The first jump. The first competition. Your parents proud smiles as your mother held up a camera to capture it all. The times spent with Victor• two children sharing their love of ice skating without understanding each other's language.

You were flying to the rhythm of the music and slowly came to a stop as the song did too. The crowd went crazy and you lowered your arms to bow. You stood back straight and made direct eye contact with the silver haired man, who had tears running down his face.

You hurried off and went next to Yuko, who hanged onto you, sobbing about how beautiful your performance was. You hugged her tight, and watched on the rest of the competition.

...

"And the winner of the 1st place is... Cinderella!"

The crowd once again cheered loudly as a medal was placed around your neck. Victor came up to you and shook your hand, a soft smile on his face.

"I knew you would win. Congratulations, Cinderella!"

"Thank you, Victor." You said and grinned at him.

All excitement left your body as you saw Lilia and the sisters glaring in your direction, as the mother ushered them to go change. Looking around and seeing that the attention was now off you, you went to change too, silently thanking Yuko and Victor for their help.

Now back into your normal clothes, makeup and hair un-done, you shot Yuko a quick message explaining your situation. You quickly found the back exit, choosing to go this way and avoid bumping into Lilia and the others.

"(Y/N) wait! Wait please!"

You skid to a stop and turn around to see Victor running towards you, his hair bouncing making him look all princey.

His hair is definitely a paid actor.

You stare at him as he stops in front of you. You tug your bag closer as you glance at the huge clock in the distance.

"I wanted to congratulate you. For real this time, (Y/N). Your routine was amazing. Whatever you were thinking of, made your performance all the more beautiful. I felt the passion you were feeling at the time!" He took your hands in his gently as he did before and brought you closer to him, his bright eyes hypnotizing you.

"I'm really proud I get to be your coach (Y/N)."

The big clock started chiming signaling the midnight hour. The others would be home soon.

"Victor." You grabbed his wrists "Thank you for everything. Really! But I have to go now. I don't have much time. Goodnight." You gave him a quick hug and ran off, hopping to reach the house before they did.

"Wait no! You didn't leave any contact information!"

But you had already left.

Glancing down in exasperation, he saw one of your skates laying on the ground. He took it and went back inside, thinking of a way to find you again.

...

It has already been two days since then and you mostly hid away in your room, only coming out to do the house chores and eat.

You stared up at the ceiling thinking back to that night. The glimmer in Victor's eyes as he talked about your routine. Your heart started racing as the childish crush you had on him, came back hitting you like a truck.

A notification on your phone caught your attention. It was Yuko, asking you to go over to her, asap.

I should go and thank her again for her help.

You got dressed and left quickly. You opened the glass doors and went up to the desk. Yuko jumped up and hugged you.

"Yuko thank-"

"Yeah yeah, later! Now, go in, there's someone there for you!"

"What? Okay okay I'm going!" You laughed at her as she kept pushing you.

You slowly walked to the doors you were so used to unlocking and going to the ice world by yourself. This time, the silver haired prince stood there, beaming at you and holding out the shoe you had lost in your rush that night. You grab it and sit down after you see he has his skates on.

"I remember that woman that registered you for the competition. She seemed like someone you trust a lot. So I searched around for her hopping she would give me your contact information. It was her idea to call you over." He offered you his hand and you made your way to the rink.

You dance together in circles, his arm firm on your waist as he dipped you down. Placing your arm around his neck, you brought yourself back up and he placed his forehead against yours, looking lovingly into your eyes.

Neither of you noticed Yuko, hiding away in a corner, clapping silently to herself, and trying to keep her happy tears contained.

#yuri on ice #victor nikirofov #reader insert #victor nikiforov x reader #anime #fanfic #gender neutral imagine

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pizza-soup · 3 years

Text

Been busy with winter prep all week and I'm so tired, even a bit sore. Because winter is coming early, a trend I noticed way back in 2012, there's a mass buy out of essentials everywhere, namely wood, gas, and generators. My 7 year old generator finally bit the dust but I couldn't find any at my local store so I had to order one online, it should be coming tomorrow. Throughout the week we've been deep cleaning the house, the reason being that the house is usually open for much of the summer so dust accumulates, cooking smells build up, and the places that get touched often like door handles, light switches and counter edges can get accidentally neglicted during normal cleaning. We checked the chalking and seals on the doors and window, inside the fireplace chimney, and cleared the firepit outside to prepare it for bonfire season. I brought a metal pail from Caroline's and I plan on using it as a second grill for anything from seafood to sweet potatoes. Anything that cooks better with ashes instead of direct fire.

We also took out our entire stock of food, getting rid of anything stale and expired, things we didn't eat or like, and making lists of what we need to buy more of before the blizzards come. Anything unopened that we don't eat gets put in a donation box, or in our case, three boxes, and gets sent to the local reservation, which we made a trip to by that evening. We do this so often people already know us by name in the office. Lol. They had a surplus of corn, rice and squash this year, so we were welcome to take a box with us. Our box had three butternut squash, blue corn, and three bags of wild rice. To add to this, we bought two spaghetti squash in front of a house that was also selling fry bread. All this felt like had done some grocery shopping coming back home.

Yesterday the gas company came to fill our tank though it took a bit longer than usual to get to us, my shipment of firewood is always preordered by September so no issues there but my bro and I still have to unload it ourselves which can take awhile, plus we had to unload my mom's shipment at Caroline's and by then we were both exhausted. I actually felt a bit sick afterward. I forget that my blood pressure drops after a lot of activity. Usually chilled water and a seaweed cracker helps get me back to normal. I'm relaxing today, just doing light cleaning of my room, really airing it out, and bringing out my winter clothes. Tonight I might do some crafts, not sure what exactly, I'm leaning toward beadwork or making more beeswax wraps for food prep. Not sure what I want to eat for dinner yet, but I'm feeling like mushroom and wild rice soup? Eh.

There's still a few things I need to do, but the major ones are out of the way now. We still have a month before we start getting real snow, a lot of the mountains here are already snowcapped but there's nothing in the valley yet. This worries me. Normally our summers and autumns are long but they've been gradually shortening, last year the winter did not want to let us go well into May! Climate change is all I think of. It hasn't been all bad though, our rivers and lakes have never been so full, the forest and even parts of the desert have never been so lush, and the summer was actually comfortable for many people. I'm grateful to that. Don't know what winter will bring, hopefully we don't get too buried out here.

#daily updates

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aries-writingblog · 3 years

Text

Stay With Me (2)

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes had never looked at himself as a family guy. He never even thought of it until she came around, flipping his world inside out. Bucky likes trouble and this girl? Well, she seems to invite chaos to dinner.

Pairing: Mob! Bucky Barnes x OC! Alex Grant

Chapter Word Count: 1898

Chapter Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, actual violence (one little hit, nothing big)

A/N: This is an OC story but I try to make them with the least amount of physical description as necessary. The pronouns used are feminine for the character.

“Hey, Alex- you’ve got another package on the front porch.” Wanda announced, walking through the door with Peter and Pietro in tow. The woman groaned, pressing her head to the kitchen island countertop.

“Again?” Alex asked, she looked over to Peter. “It’s the third time in two weeks- are you telling your boss the supplies we need?” Peter’s eyes widened and he shook his head. For the past two weeks, three unmarked packages arrived on Alex’s doorstep. The first just had some essentials for wood working- stain, paint, putty, a couple of new carving knives. The second had been similar- then she read back over a receipt as she was balancing her cheque book, noting the exact same products were present in the boxes. She could only imagine what was in the next one.

And she absolutely refused to change hardware stores- the workers were always so kind to her and the youth that typically dropped by- most of them attending the annual auctions to show support. More than once, they banded together and presented the group with a donation- which prompted Alex to make holiday cookies for the store employees every year. So, no- she would not give up on her family simply because of one idiotic, stupid rich criminal, who seemed hell bent on forcing his way into her life.

“What makes you think they’re from Bucky?” He asked, snatching a drink from her fridge. Pietro grunted, jumping up and sitting on the island, leaning over to Alex.

“If he’s giving you free shit, I wouldn’t complain.” He commented, tugging at her hair gently. Alex looked up, cocking an eyebrow at the teen. “Wring that fucker dry.”

“Pietro.” Wanda scolded, slapping her brother’s arm. “I don’t blame you, Alex. He’s a shady character, with even shadier money.”

“Okay, why are two teens giving me advice, right now? Shouldn’t you be... I don’t know, cleaning your rooms or something?” She snipped, pushing Pietro off the countertop. “People eat here, get your ass off.”

“I’m serious, Alex.” Pietro stopped her, gazing at her. She stopped pushing, meeting his electric blue eyes. “It would help with some of the expenses here. You know that.”

“We aren’t broke. You are, dickhead.” Alex shoved him down the hallway. “Now go- I need laundry in five minutes or your ass is grass.”

Wanda laughed, following her brother down the hallway. The two had been orphaned kids when Alex found them. They were on the streets, trying to survive. Pietro had been caught stealing from a grocery store, Alex stepped in and apologized for his behavior. The, at the time, nine year old played along and then told Alex their situation. She immediately offered them a place in her home. Pietro had accepted, trusting her fully. Wanda had been suspicious but eventually warmed up to her. They’d lived together for six years, the teens would have their sixteenth birthday in a few months. Every time Pietro or Wanda offered to help out and get a job, she turned them down.

“I make plenty of money at the hospital. You’re only kids now, enjoy your time as kids.” She’d tell them.

“They’re right, you know.” Peter supplied, tossing his backpack to the floor. “He may make dirty money but he has plenty of it. If he’s blowing it on you- what’s the problem?” Alex scoffed, swallowing her last bite of cookie.

“The problem is that you don’t live here, Pete. Why are you always here?” She passed the last of the dessert over to Peter.

“Aunt May is working night shift again and I told her I would stay with you so she wouldn’t worry.” He explained, trying to talk around a mouthful of cookie. He swallowed, taking another swig of his drink. “Plus, Pietro and I have a science report due tomorrow and we haven’t started it yet.” Alex took a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes.

“That’s great, Peter. But I’m also working night shift this week. So, you’ll be here by yourselves.” Alex stood up, stretching her back out. “Don’t burn my house down.”

“Sure thing.” He beamed at her, a chuckle falling from her lips as she started up the stairs.

Alex quickly got dressed for work, pulling on her scrubs. She made sure she had her ID badge, clipping it to her pocket. She then stopped by Pietro and Wanda’s rooms to double check if the clothes were picked up. On her way down the stairs, she heard quiet whispering from the teens.

“- what’s the harm in a date with the guy?” Pietro asked. Wanda sighed, Alex could almost picture her pressing her fingers to her temples in annoyance.

“So what she doesn’t want to date anyone? Just let it go, Pietro. And no one said anything about her dating Bucky, Peter just said that he has an interest in her. And sending random gifts isn’t gonna win that woman over, trust me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, do you know something?” Peter asked. Alex stopped on the steps, curious to hear what Wanda was going to spill to the group.

“Well... here’s the thing. In the back of Alex’s closet, there’s a-“ Wanda stopped, turning around and greeting Alex with a sheepish grin. “Oh, hi Alex.”

“Kids...” she narrowed her eyes, skirting around the group and going into the laundry room. There was a pause before three pairs of feet scurried after her.

“Can we order pizza tonight?” Pietro batted his eyelashes at her, giving his signature pouting smile. She returned the smile, mocking him.

“Pizza in the freezer. And stop going into my closet, Wanda.”

“In my defense, you told me I could borrow that top a few weeks ago and it fell off the hanger. So, was I really in your closet?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. Alex cocked an eyebrow and continued the laundry.

“What would you do, if hypothetically Mr. Barnes was like really interested in you?” Peter asked her, leaning over the washing machine.

“Peter.” She sighed. “I’m not dating your boss. End of story.” She started the machine before turning to Wanda. “Pizza’s in the freezer, keep an eye on it while it’s baking. Don’t let strangers into the house and keep an eye on your brother and Peter. Keep the laundry going and don’t work with any of the auction stuff until I get home. I don’t want any of you showing up at the hospital, wounded. Got it?”

Wanda nodded, repeating everything back to her. Alex grabbed her phone and keys, tucking them into her pockets. She hugged Wanda goodbye, ruffling Pietro‘s hair, before going out. She passed by the large box on the porch, groaning. She pushed it over to the edge of the porch, kicking it for good measure. Then, she got into her car and started to the hospital.

~~~~~~

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Bucky.” Steve advised, crossing his arms. He’d been slightly pissed all day, as soon as Bucky told him of the plan. Sam laughed, watching the buildings out of the window. Bucky groaned, throwing his head back onto the headrest.

“I’m just gonna ask if she got the deliveries. That’s it. No flirting, no banter, nothing. Zilch. Just a question.” Bucky reviewed, once again.

“But in practice, the deliveries are flirting tactics.” Steve pointed out, rolling his eyes. “She threatened to shoot you if you came back, Bucky. Leave it alone.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Bucky griped, cutting his eyes over to Steve. “You never give me shit for anything- girls in clubs, you’ve seen me beat guys senseless, shoot people, more questionable things than being interested in a woman.”

“She’s a woman who has her life together, man. Don’t pull her into this life.” Steve sighed, causing Bucky to shut his mouth. The SUV pulled to a stop in front of the house. Bucky unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out, slamming the door behind him. He jaunted up the steps and rapped his knuckles against the door. When it opened, he saw a teenaged boy with bleach white hair behind it.

“Can I help you?” He asked. He didn’t let the door open further than his shoulders. It was excusable. A strange, tattooed man at seven thirty standing on the porch of a woman who threatened to kill him. Bucky flashed a bright smile.

“Is Alex around, kid?” He asked, glancing over and spying the box still sitting unopened on the porch. “Ah... she hasn’t opened them?”

“You’re Bucky Barnes?” He asked, ticking an eyebrow up. Bucky nodded, reaching a hand out to shake hands. Pietro didn’t reciprocate, keeping the door tucked to him. Alex trained these kids well. “Well, thanks for the shit but Alex said she didn’t really want it.”

“Pietro, you left the oven-“ A girl with red hair stopped in her tracks. “What’s going on?”

“This is Barnes.” Pietro looked back at her.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Barnes!” Peter peeked his head around Pietro, opening the door wider. Pietro grumbled something but stood back a little to accommodate for the other boy. “What are you doing here?” Bucky silently sent a thanks to any deity currently listening in. Peter he could work with, the other two kids weren’t gonna give him the time of day. Much like Alex.

“Alex around?” He asked, trying to peek into the house further. Pietro shifted, blocking his view. He crossed his arms, scowling at the bulky mass of a man standing on their porch.

“No- she’s at work-“

“Peter!” The girl hissed, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Shut up!” She turned to Bucky again. “Listen, mister, we don’t want your gifts or you loitering on our porch. We’ve found Jesus, don’t need your depression pamphlet, and we don’t want any of your fucking cookies. Our mom doesn’t condone talking to strangers. Good day, sir.” She slammed the door in his face, the audible sound of several locks clicking.

“Wanda- what the fuck! He could kill you, you know that right?” One of the boys shrilled on the opposite side of the door. Bucky stood in shock- mom? Alex definitely did not look old enough to have two fifteen year olds.

“Oh please, as if. That’ll look real good to Alex, wouldn’t it? He won’t touch either of us.”

Bucky turned and jogged down the steps back to the car. When he opened the door, Sam was doubled over, laughing so hard he was crying. Steve was watching with a ‘I told you so’ smile.

“Alright, you’ve had your laughs.” He grumbled. Shoving his way into the car. Sam snickered, straightening up and looking over at the man.

“That little girl kicked your ass!” He burst out laughing again, pounding his fist on his knee. Bucky mimicked Sam’s words mockingly as he began a search on his phone.

“Whatever.” He breathed out, looking up to the driver. “Saint Quincy’s Hospital, Davis.” The driver nodded, starting the car.

“Why are we going to a hospital?” Steve asked, mirth in his voice. Sam began wiping the laughter from his face, sniffling. Bucky turned to Steve, unbuckling his seat belt.

“Punch me in the face.” He instructed, unbuttoning the top buttons on his shirt. Steve raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. Sam turned, serious again.

“Now, wait a minute-“ Sam was interrupted by Steve throwing a punch directly into Bucky’s nose. Bucky doubled over, holding his now bleeding nose. His eyes watered, stomach rolling.

“Shit!”

#bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fic #bucky x oc

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shhh-no-ones-home · 3 years

Text

party planning committee marcus moreno x reader

+++++++++

this is a story in four parts, youll see what i mean when you read it but i wasnt exactly sure how i wanted to do this at first and thats just sort of what i landed on. but i think it kind of works.

He asks for your help to plan missy's birthday party since he still really has no idea how to do the whole girl party thing

Song: island in the sun by weezer

tag list: @cynic-spirit

+++++++++

i moved to knock on the door when i heard a loud crashing sound, startling me. i knocked quickly and loudly after that, waiting for a moment before opening the door.

"marcus?!"

i yelled, looking around the living room.

"missy?"

i asked, stepping further into the house. when i made it to the kitchen i sighed in relief, my hand going to my chest as i saw marcus stood over the sink with a mixing bowl in his hand, a few other stainless steel appliances strewn about.

"marcus?"

i asked lightly and he jumped, looking to me and breathing deeply.

"jesus y/n, you scared me."

he said shaking his head. i walked closer to the counter.

"i knocked but i heard a loud noise and got worried. im just glad to see youre not hurt."

i stated, turning one of the bowls upright. he shook his head.

"well my pride is a little hurt but im glad youre looking out for me."

he said, looking from me to the paper sat on the counter. i furrowed my brows, looking over the island to see what it was. i laughed when i realized he was trying to make a cake.

"marcus what are you doing?"

i asked, picking it up and shaking the flower off of it. he sent me a bashful smile.

"well, i was trying to make a cake for missy's birthday but i guess that ship sailed a while ago."

he said, looking around to the mess he had worked so hard on. i shook my head, waving my hand in the air and everything picking itself back upright, the empty bowls stacking together and the powders on the counter making their way into a pile.

"here, let me help."

°°°°°°°°°

"Okay, now that the cake is done, what else did you need help with?"

I asked, wiping my hands on the kitchen towel and looking to him expectantly. He sighed.

"All of it actually."

He said, shaking his head and walking to the table. I raised a brow and followed him.

"Marcus you make it sound like you've never had a birthday party for missy before."

I said with a laugh and he sent me a look, turning his datapad on.

"I know but I never did any of this, it was always her mom. And last year be both just agreed on no party, just take time to be together instead."

I nodded as I sat beside him.

"I know how much you both miss her, hell I find myself missing her sometimes too. She really was the best part of the team, even without powers."

I lamented, looking to my hands now folded in front of me on the table.

"I just wish things were easier."

He said and I nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure they'll get there, one day at a time. But you gotta work at it, like today. You've already successfully made a cake."

I pointed out and he laughed.

"Yeah, and without your help that probably would've ended very badly."

I laughed too, shaking my head.

"Baking really isn't for everyone."

I said and he side nodded, opening a planning sheet in his tablet.

"You can say that again."

He mumbled, turning it to show me.

"This is what I have so far, and everything she wanted."

He said and I nodded, reading through it.

"This is her twelfth birthday, and she's finally made more friends, thanks to the heroics program. I just want this to be a special one for her."

He said and I sent him a small smile.

"So, did she give you this invite list, or did you make it yourself?"

I asked and he looked at me funny.

"Both?"

He asked and I laughed a little bit.

"Okay, that's good, I guess. Cause it's her party so you want to make sure you're inviting people she likes to talk to and hang out with."

He nodded in understanding.

"Right. I did run it by her but i sent the cards out already, time wasnt really on my side for this one."

He said bashfully and I nodded once.

"thats Okay, it looks like you at least have a theme done. That's good. List of essentials. Oh okay. now let's look at what you have planned."

I scrolled down and stopped, sending him a look. So far he just had 'sleepover?' he let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

"A sleepover?"

I asked and he shrugged, slouching a little defeated.

"Yeah I don't know. It just seemed like a good idea. She used to have them all the time. But again, I never really did any of that stuff."

I nodded, tapping the screen and deleting his idea.

"Here, how about this: a pool party. I know you're a master of the grill, you could invite all the heroic kids and their parents over and have a barbeque. The kids can swim. It'll be a good time."

I suggested and he nodded, a wide smile on his face.

"That actually sounds like a really good idea y/n."

He said and I sent him a knowing smile.

"we can run that by missy too, just to make sure, we only have a few days after all and we need time to notify the guests that weve changed things."

°°°°°°°°°

when the big day finally came i was awoken from my spot on the couch to missy jumping down the stairs excitedly, a wide smile across her face as she dug in the fridge for something for breakfast. i had spent the night to help marcus decorate and was definitely regretting staying up as late as we did.

"morning."

she said in a chipper tone and i offered her a smile as i sat up.

"morning."

i said a little groggy, looking back over to the stairs as marcus trudged down them too, a tired look on his face.

"morning."

he groaned, going straight to the coffee pot and pouring a cup. i laughed a little at him as i stood up, stretching out.

"ready to get cooking?"

i asked, pulling my sweater on. i hadnt expected to sleep over so i was still in the clothes i had worn over. he just sent me a look, missy eating at the table now and nodding quickly.

"why did we make this thing for one oclock again?"

he asked playfully and missy sent him a look.

"youre the one who agreed to the pool party."

she pointed out and he made an 'o' shape with his mouth, making missy and i both laugh as i joined her at the table.

"alright, let me go get dressed and then we will start cooking."

°°°°°°°°°

when the party was finally over and everything was cleaned up i looked to marcus, drying the last of the dishes and putting them away quietly.

"what ya thinking about?"

i asked, leaning into the island and watching him intently. he frowned at me for a second.

"do you think she really had fun today?"

he said, looking over to the couch. after all the guests had left missy had showered and changed, and after having aloe applied generously to her sunburnt face, fell into a deep sleep sitting on the couch. i smiled, remembering what she had said to me earlier when she came in to get a drink.

"well considering she thanked earlier for making her birthday a special one for both of you im gonna go with yes."

i said, him finally smiling back at me as he put the last dish away.

"she really said that?"

he asked and i nodded.

"it was mentioned."

he sent me a look.

"she had said that not only was she having fun, but she was just happy to see you enjoying yourself again too. all the heroics laughing and having a good time next to their kids also having a good time; you really made a difference today."

he shook his head.

"okay, and what about you?"

i raised a brow.

"what about me?"

"did you have a good time today?"

he asked pointedly and i sighed out a laugh.

"yes Marcus, i had a very good time today."

i confirmed and he nodded once.

"good, because i would feel so bad if you hadnt. youve helped me so much here lately, i think you deserve it the most out of all of us."

i shook my head at him amused.

"thanks, but i doubt that."

he swallowed hard, furrowing his brows.

"no no don't say that, you work twice as hard as the rest of us. i just wish you could see that."

i looked to the ceiling for a moment before standing up and stretching.

"well if thats true then i think i deserve some sleep. though it has been fun, it has been one long day."

he nodded once.

"want to stay the night again? you can sleep upstairs in my room tonight if you want, i think missy has kind of taken over your spot."

he said with a laugh.

"i probably shouldnt, i need to get home, i gotta get my mail water my plants, all that jazz."

he watched me with a light gaze as i gathered up my things.

"well, im glad you could come over. and if you want to come back tomorrow for lunch-"

"id love that marcus."

i said and he smiled at me, a small blush visibly rising to his face.

"its a date?"

he asked, walking to the door with me. i thought for a second and nodded.

"yeah, its a date."

i said, his smile getting wider as i stepped outside.

"ill text you what time ill be over."

"ill be waiting."

#wattpad #x reader #marcus moreno #we can be heros #heroics #imagines #one shots #319

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softboywriting · 5 years

Text

Building Affection

Summary: Shawn is a successful architect with his own company and at twenty five he’s been called a prodigy in the architecture world but not all is as it seems, and with his skill comes a great deal of inner turmoil. Enter you, an assistant hired by Shawn’s mother to help keep him on track, but you’ll take on much more than just scheduling a few meetings as the two of you get closer day by day and build something even he couldn’t have planned out.

Word Count: 15.6k

|Masterlist In Bio|

The sound of your heels clicking frantically across the marble floor is deafening. Your legs won't carry you any faster and you're already late. Your interview was at 9am and it's 9:08am.

“Third door on the right,” you mutter to yourself, passing the second door.

The third door is ajar and you take a deep breath, straighten your skirt and push it open with one delicately manicured hand. To your horror you realize that your ring finger nail is broken. Quite literally ripped off across the top. A victim of your piece of shit car, having gotten snagged when you were attempting to free your skirt of the spring that sticks out of the driver's seat.

There is no time to panic now. Your interviewer is sitting before you on a lavish sofa that you could only hope to afford in two of your life times.

“Hello, you must be Mrs. Mendes?”

The well dressed woman stands, extending her hand politely. “Yes, and you're my new client,” she says in a lovely British accent that throws you for a bit of a loop. You hadn't expected it considering where you were.

“I do hope to be.”

Mrs. Mendes smiles and drops your hand in favor of picking up your resume folder on the coffee table beside her. “Oh no, the job is absolutely yours. No other applicants were nearly as qualified.”

“Oh,” you laugh softly “Thank you, I suppose the other applicants must be complete morons then.”

Mrs. Mendes raises her eyebrows.

“No no no, I just mean, this isn't a degree level job or anything. It's fairly straightforward...I-I am making an ass of myself oh my God I’ll shut up.”

You turn away toward the open door, your cheeks bright pink, nearly matching your blouse. Honestly, could you stick your foot any father into your mouth? You were about to reach your knees for Christ's sake.

Mrs. Mendes clears her throat delicately to get your attention. “You can start tomorrow. I'll show you the house and the grounds. My son won't be home for another few days so you will have to meet him on your own unfortunately.”

“Your son? He lives with you?”

“No, no this is his home. I just manage his accounts.”

“Oh, gotcha.” You look around a bit. Never did you think you would be cleaning a home this large, but here you were. “I did have one question for you. In the application it said additional skills required. What exactly are those?”

Mrs. Mendes’ heels click across the hardwood floor of the study you're currently in. “You can cook yes?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“And you can make appointments and schedule meetings?”

“I have done a little bit of that sort of stuff for a friend.”

She smiles and folds her hands in front of her dress. “Perfect, you're going to do great. Now come with me, I'll show you out and give you a copy of Shawn's schedule for the next month.”

“Why would I need-”

“You'll need to travel with him, the schedule is for you to make arrangements to do so.”

“What I-”

Mrs. Mendes walks out of the room and calls out behind her, “Come on, we haven't got all day!”

You hurry after her. Cooking and appointment making? Traveling? What kind of housekeeper were you supposed to be? Were you an assistant now? Whatever. You don't care. This job paid three times more than your last one and with it you could make your rent and help out your parents and little sister. _______________________

The next day goes by in a whirlwind. Karen, Mrs. Mendes, shows you the house and surrounding property. She explains that her son is often too involved in his work to remember to clean and cook and remember appointments. She essentially tells you that you're going be his assistant. Not exactly what you signed up for but again, the pay was too good to turn down and the job seemed easy enough. Keep this guy alive and on time. Easy.

You head home after the first day with a binder of information about the mansion. Everything is in it from lock codes, cleaning supply locations, emergency numbers, Shawn's allergies, and more. It was insane.

Three days. It's three days of familiarizing yourself with the spacious mansion before you meet Shawn. And meeting him was not exactly what you expected.

You unlock the door that goes into the kitchen from the courtyard. It's your preferred entrance as the key didn't stick as badly as the front door did. You walk in, crisp cool air meeting your flushed face. It had been a warm spring, and you are thankful your job allows you to be in a well temperature controlled home.

You set your purse on the counter and turn around to find a young man about your age, leaning against the kitchen island. He's in a stark white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark slacks and wearing a slightly annoyed expression on his gorgeous face. The expression was all too familiar and you know immediately that this is Karen's son, Shawn. They have the same eyes and mouth, and currently he's got it pinched into the same irritated expression that Karen had given you when you locked yourself out on your first day alone.

“Hello.” You smile politely and he frowns, looking down right peeved. Karen warned you about this. She said he would probably be annoyed at your presence, but she insisted that you stay and only she could dismiss you unless you quit.

“Who are you?” Shawn asks curtly.

“I'm your housekeeper? Assistant?”

Shawn's eyebrows go up at that and he leans forward, forearms on the cool marble countertop before him. “A housekeeping assistant huh? And who hired you?”

“Karen Mendes.”

“My mother,” he scoffs, hanging his head and shaking it. “She hired me a damn babysitter.”

You step forward and put your hands on the counter. “I am not a babysitter for your information. I'm here to make your life easier and smoother because apparently you can’t manage it alone.”

“Yeah, uh huh.” Shawn grins in an annoying way. It makes you feel like you aren't worth his time. You can already see he's going to be one of those people.

“Don't get comfortable,” he says sharply and stands to his full height, pulling a sleek black phone from his back pocket. He turns away, striding toward the dining area as he puts the phone to his ear.

You narrow your eyes. If he called the cops you were actually going to have to shiv him or something. You move around the island and grab a glass, filling it with ice from the ice maker on the fridge. Shawn turns and looks at the noise, pointing at you warningly. You raise your eyebrows and cock your head to the side, daring him to stop you.

“Yeah Mom?” Shawn says and turns away from your challenge. “Who is this little girl in my house?”

“I can hear you, and I'm twenty three, almost the same age as you, thanks!” You call out from the island where you've parked yourself on a stool to sip your ice water.

Shawn stalks back into the kitchen area and glares you down. “I don't need an assistant, Mom. No, no I only do that when I'm working on a big project.”

You raise your eyebrows curiously, wondering what he was referring to. He narrows his eyes at you.

“Mom /you're/ my manager. I don't understand why I need her. No. Mom. No. I know you're busy, no I know, but-” Shawn closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Fine, alright. I understand. Okay. I know. Bye Mom. Love you too.”

“Let me guess, she won't let you fire me?” You smirk and he slips his phone into his back pocket.

“Don't bother me and we'll be golden.”

You hop off your seat and stand before him, trying to look threatening and serious but he towers over you. He steps forward, shoulders pulled back, eyes hard set on you.

“I'll bother you if my job requires it.”

Shawn scoff, rolling his eyes and reaching past you to grab a rolled up paper on the counter. “I bet you'll bother me for more than just that. Just stay out of my way,” he says and turns away to stalk down the hall toward the study you'd had your interview in.

As soon as he's out of sight, you turn and lay your head in your arms on the countertop. How could someone so gorgeous be so...so bitter? He had already made up his mind that he hated you the second he saw you. If he was this awful all the time you don't know if this job was worth the pay. Whatever fine. He would come around or you would find a new job. Simple as that.

_______________________

“Shawn!” You call out, fist pounding on the door to his bedroom. It was locked, you had already tried to get in once this morning. “Your flight leaves at noon! Get up!”

There is silence on the other side of the door. You're annoyed. He really was going to make your life hell. As if the last week wasn't enough to make you want to strangle him. He had done everything he could to piss you off. Refused to eat your food. Left a mess everywhere. Wouldn't answer any of your questions. You could be just as obnoxious in return.

You walk down to the kitchen and get the spare set of keys that Karen left for you. It had the exterior door keys as well as the key that opened most all the doors inside. Shawn may think he's being real cute locking you out of his room but he was sorely mistaken. You go back to his bedroom and unlock the door.

Shawn's room is the biggest, no surprise there, and it's very clean despite him not wanting you in there ever. It's all very modernized, sleek but cozy and warm. And right in the middle of the room is Shawn himself, curled up in his bed. He doesn't look like he's awake and you almost wonder if he had been intentionally ignoring you or if he really hadn't woken up.

You circle the bed and look down at him. His face is so soft, a light dusting of stubble on his chin and cheeks, nose and forehead kind of oily with sleep. His hair is a mess, separated and sticking up weird. Nothing like you'd seen it before, always so styled and perfect. He actually looks like someone you would date, someone you could fall in love with. God he was a such a jerk.

“Shawn, you have to get up,” you mutter, shaking his bed, afraid to touch him. “Your flight leaves at noon.”

“Mmm, not yet,” he groans, voice rough with sleep. It sends something though you. A strange thrill. “Ten minutes.”

“No, you're going to be late. Get up.” You tug his blanket away to reveal his bare chest. Gorgeous. Absolutely perfect. You're fucked for him physically but Gods he was annoying socially.

Shawn opens his eyes and glares at you in the cutest and most irritating way. “I don't want to fly today. Cancel my meeting.”

“No. We're going to London. Get up.”

“No.”

You close your eyes and clench your jaw. “Shawn, I'm not doing this today. Get up or I'll pour cold water on you.”

“You don't even have-”

You grab his water bottle and unscrew the cap, holding it over him. He just stares, challenging you to actually do it. You tip the bottle and dribble out water on to his chest. “Get up.”

“For fucks sake!” He yells, scrambling back as the water drips off his chest and onto his bed. “Just go away!”

You pour more, this time on his face. “Up!”

Shawn throws the blankets back and snatches the bottle, placing it aside before crawling off the bed to stands before you. His eyes meet yours and he stands close enough you feel the heat of his body radiating on top you. You're silent, challenging him to do something. He just looks away and crosses the room to his bathroom. You can't help but notice how good his ass looks in his red boxers as your heart beats out of it's chest from the interaction. This job was going to be a mess.

_______________________

The airport is hell but when are airports not hell? Shawn tasks you with carrying all the bags. You're the assistant after all. He was making this even more awful, but you didn't expect any less. Honestly you think he's trying to get you to quit, but you won't.

At the check in desk you hand over the passports and tickets. The clerk checks them and looks up from her computer. “Mr. Mendes you're in first class row A, and you dear are in economy, row F. Correct?”

“What? No, she should be in first class with me.”

“Oh, I'll just check the ticket again...”

You sigh. “No, I booked myself in economy. I figured why waste money on putting me in first class.”

“So you are economy?” The clerk asks, looking confused.

“Yes.”

“No. Is there any seats available for first class?”

“Let me look.” The clerk types away on her computer and after a moment shakes her head. “No, they are all taken sir.”

“It's fine Shawn. I'll fly economy. It's not a big deal. We're both going to be landing in the same place.”

Shawn grumbles and leans on the counter. “Is there another flight leaving soon for London? With two first class seats?”

The clerk types away again and pulls up another flight schedule. “It looks like there is a flight at one this after noon with English Air, boarding in fifteen minutes and there are plenty of first class seats available.”

“Perfect. We'll exchange tickets and I'll cover the difference ” Shawn pulls his wallet out and hands over his credit card.

“What is your problem?”

“What?”

“Your meeting is at six, we will have to literally run from the airport to the building. I don't even know how far it is from the airport. Why can't I fly economy?”

Shawn tucks his card back in his wallet and takes the tickets with a smile before answering you as you head to a gate opposite the one you're near. “Fortunately for you, my mother likes you a great deal. I honestly don't know why, but whatever. If she found out you flew economy she'd wring my neck. Besides, I'd look like a dick if I made my assistant fly economy.”

“Oh, I'm the assistant now? No longer “the pest” who annoys you?”

“Whatever. Hurry up, I want to check in early at the gate.” Shawn says elbowing you to get a move on. It seemed he cared a little bit, maybe just a shred, and he definitely said assistant. Which was unexpected, since he usually just pretended you didn't exist or called you a pest. Progress was small. You would get there. Eventually.

_______________________

The last thing you expect from Shawn is a streak of protectiveness, and directed at you nonetheless. You're at the gate and it's crowded. People are pushy, annoying and hot. They wanna get home or go on vacation. You get it. But what you don't get is how pushy the guy behind you is. He's being a real asshole about your bags, granted they are pretty large, but you don't want to say something and get him riled up then get thrown out of the airport.

Shawn isn't afraid to say something though. After about ten minutes of the guys bitching and moaning, Shawn turns around and says “Listen, if you have a problem with my assistant doing her job then you can fuck off.”

The guy shoves the bags, causing you to stumble back and bit. “Your assistant's bags are all over the fuckin place. Tell her to keep her shit together and maybe I won't have a problem.”

Shawn catches you, arm around your back to steady you. His hand is warm, comfortable on your waist. “You okay hon?” He asks softly and you nod, a bit overwhelmed with the tenderness and slip of the tongue pet name.

“Move! The line is moving!” The guy yells, pointing to the line that has just moved up a foot amid the disagreement.

You look to your left and see security walking over. Two guys in uniform who have noticed the commotion. Great. Now you were probably going to get thrown out and miss your flight.

“Sir, please don't raise your voice,” the officer says to the pushy guy. “What seems to be the issue?”

“Officer, this man is harassing my assistant about our bags. We are just standing in line like everyone else and he seems to think we're somehow holding things up with our luggage,” Shawn explains calmly.

The officer looks to the pushy guy with the most mundane expression. He was clearly tired of petty arguments like this. “Sir, if you can't keep your cool then we'll move you to the back of the line.”

“Well that's bullshit! Why does this guy and his assistant get to stay up here?! They're backing up the line!”

“Sir, everyone in line will get to board the plane. Now please lower your voice since I said to you that-”

“Fuck you mall cop! I ain't movin’ to the back!”

Shawn puts his arm around you and guides you forward with the bags closer to the security gate. “Let's stay out of this now.”

You grip the luggage handles with white knuckles, heart racing with anxiety. People yelling made you nervous. You gladly would have let that guy go in front of you but Shawn had to open his mouth. “What is his problem?”

“No idea. Let the security deal with it.” Shawn looks back and you do too as the security officers walk the pushy guy away from the line. “You'll get used to it. People are going to be assholes everywhere you go.”

“Right...” You step forward and Shawn steadies you with a hand on your back and a quick “Careful now” as you enter the security gate. You push down the butterfly feeling in your stomach. He doesn't like you. He doesn't. He's a jerk remember? Don't fall for a moment of kindness. You're totally misreading this. Yeah. That's it.

_______________________

An hour into the flight and Shawn is out like a light. You were never one to sleep on a plane, though you've only flown a few times. The whole pressure change, being surrounded by strangers and just being in a hunk of metal in the sky put you on edge. First class was different though, much nicer, far cleaner and world's more spacious than economy. That didn't ease the fear of falling out of the sky. At least you'd be falling in style. You snicker at your own joke. If only Shawn would appreciate it.

The attendant comes by and you take a juice and some crackers. She offers a warm blanket for Shawn and you glance over at him. Did he deserve a warm blanket? He was pretty tolerable earlier, and maybe you'd need one some day. Fine. You ask for one and when the attendant brings it, it's like it's dryer fresh. What a luxury.

Shawn stirs, his weird orange glasses shifting on his face as he wedges his cheek into the wall. You hadn't asked what they were for, and honestly you don't think you want to know. At least he didn't pack up the damn breathing machine he used at home. The first time you peeked in his room one morning and saw the glasses and breather combo, you about pissed yourself laughing.

You shake out the small blue blanket and lay it over his lap and chest. He's so big it seems smaller than it should. Maybe you should have asked for two. Oh well. He shifts a bit, mouth falling open and a soft snore comes out. Wow. Millionaire architect at his finest.

You close your eyes and try to rest. There wasn't much else to do. You don't care for the in flight movie and the wifi is working okay but your phone is dying and the charger is in your checked bag. It's fine. A little rest will do you good. After all, as soon as you land the two of you will be rushing to a place called the Calgary Building for Shawn to meet with a client. Hopefully you'll make it on time.

Shawn wakes you up with a hand in your shoulder after what feels like just a few minutes. You hadn't realized you'd fallen asleep. “Hey, we're landing.”

“Oh. Wow, I was out cold.”

“Yeah.” He puts the blanket over the back of his seat and you look away. He knows you gave it to him, the attendant wouldn't have given it without approval.

The flight lands and the two of you head for baggage claim. Time is ticking and your eyes are glued to your watch. Only an hour until the meeting. Not much time. Finally the bags start coming around the carousel and you grab yours and Shawn's right away. You had thought ahead of time and tied two thin scarves around the handles before you left the mansion.

Ten minutes until meeting time. The back of the cab smells like sour milk. You want to vomit. Shawn is nearly leaned out the window. There is no amount of apologies you can make that will suffice. This cab was closest. You guys had to go fast. Disgusting.

Five minutes. You're clamoring out of the cab, already having slid Shawn's card to pay for the fare. Shawn leaves you, heading into the building while you pull the bags from the too small trunk.

So here you are, like a damn fool, standing in the middle of the Calgary lobby with two suitcases and no clue of your boss’s location. The lobby is huge, sprawling and themed with train memorabilia. It appears Calgary is a train company.

“Ma'am? Can I help you? Are you lost?”

You look to a well dressed young lady who's come around the counter to help you. Obviously you must look like an idiot tourist or something. “Ah, well actually I am looking for my boss. Shawn Mendes?”

“Oh! I see, you must have come from the airport. Right, here. Come store your things behind the desk. I'll show you to the meeting hall.”

“Thank you so much.”

She waves you off with a chuckle. So far the locals were sweet. Lord knows how long that will last though.

_______________________

The meeting was monotonous. Shawn literally just talked and talked and talked about stuff you don't understand. You think maybe you should educate yourself a little on architecture, at least just some basic terms. What you do gather is that the guy he's speaking with is the president of the Calgary company and he wants Shawn to design a massive new train station in south London. After what felt like hours, the men agreed upon something, you had nearly nodded off.

Now you're in a hotel room with Shawn and he's unpacking his bags. You are about to head to your own room next door to lay down and just be alone when Shawn stops you.

“Don't get too comfortable. Mr. Snow invited me to a party at his house tonight. It'll be a great business opportunity here.”

“But...I didn't bring clothes for a party.”

Shawn looks at you with the blankest expression ever. “What did you pack?”

“Work clothes? Pajamas?”

“Oh for fucks sake. Here,” he digs his wallet out of his pocket and hands you his black credit card. “Go get a dress and some accessories. We've got a few hours.”

You look down at your blouse and slacks. Perfectly nice and professional. “What's wrong with this?”

“You look like you're about to bring me coffee and ask if I need anything else.”

“That's basically my job though?”

Shawn presses his card into your hand. “I'm not taking you to this party as a coffee girl in Target special slack and button downs. I have to keep up appearances and you're an extension of me as my guest...as my assistant. So please, get yourself something nice and wear it tonight.”

Your hand closes around the card and you tug it away, glaring at him. Without another word you leave his room and go to yours next door, purposely letting the door close harshly. If he thought that your clothes weren't good enough then he could fuck himself. Coffee girl? You dressed like an assistant. Like a professional woman. Gods he was insufferable.

_______________________

You wait for Shawn in the hall of the hotel, dressed in a black lacy sleeved knee length dress that you found in a consignment shop. You hadn't wanted to spend a bunch, lest he turn it around and take it out of your check or something. You're sure he wouldn't go that far but honestly you wouldn't be surprised.

Shawn opens his door and you're sure he's blown away just as much as you are. He's dressed in a black suit with a royal blue shirt underneath. His hair is extra curly and perfectly tousled. He just...he looks like a model. He's breathtaking and you almost forget how annoying he is.

“You look gorgeous.”

You look down, smoothing your dress down a bit, trying not to freak out externally. “You do too.”

Shawn clears his throat and holds his hand out for you. “Let's go. I've got a car while we're here, I picked it up at the rental place earlier.”

The drive is quiet, Shawn glancing at you every few minutes. You're not sure what the problem is. He just looks over for no reason and then looks back. It's weird.

The party is in full swing when you arrive. Wealthy men and women everywhere. The kind of people you know are rotten to the core, and many who you're sure are not, but definitely looked the part. The moment you're inside, you lose Shawn to a older man in a pink suit. Deciding not to stick around, you head for the bar in what looks to be a parlor or dining room.

An hour later and you've had a glass of rosé and a half a glass of some sort of strawberry vodka and sprite. You're keeping to yourself, mostly just going through stuff on your phone and setting reminders for stuff. That's when Caleb arrives.

Caleb Johnson. Some rich guy who never worked a day in his life and had everything handed to him by his daddy. He slides up to the bar and eyes you up. He looks to be at least five or six years older than you. Honestly you learn everything you need to know when he introduces himself by name followed with, “future president of the Johnson and Johnson company.”

Shawn appears over his shoulder, looking to you, and not paying attention to the woman who is probably discussing something uninteresting. You can't help but feel like he is bothered by the fact Caleb is attempting to chat you up.

You smile and nod, not having heard a single word out of Caleb's mouth, but taking his social cues as he chuckles too. Your eyes stray to Shawn again and this time he is walking toward the bar.

“Can I get you a fresh drink?” Shawn asks, stepping up to your side, hand on your back.

Caleb looks annoyed. “Mendes.”

“Johnson.”

You can feel the tension. You're in the middle and it is practically suffocating you. After the airport incident this morning, you really can't handle anymore conflict. Your emotions had already been jerked around plenty today. “I'm good, thank you though.”

“Are you sure?” Shawn whispers lowly against your ear. “I can make him disappear for you.”

“Mendes, not cool. I was clearly chatting with-”

“My assistant?” Shawn asks with a snarky little chuckle. “Yes, I noticed. However I actually did come over to tell you that Nadine Fitz, the vice president of Calgary, is looking for you. She's in the lounge, I think.”

Caleb grabs his drink and makes himself scarce immediately. Shawn takes his spot and orders half a whiskey on the rocks.

“Thanks? I could have handled it.”

“Yeah well, Caleb is a god damned excuse of a human being. Say one wrong word to that snake and he spreads rumors like wildfire on dry grass. I couldn't have you talk to him.”

You raise your eyebrows. Shawn is clearly lying, his hands are fidgeting with his tumbler, eyes never meeting yours as he explains himself. He was jealous? Of what, you have no idea. Well, you have an idea but it's a far fetched one. Maybe he liked you more than he let on.

“Whatever, anyway, we can leave. I'm not getting any vibes off anyone, and I want to sleep.” Shawn tosses his drink back and looks to you, finally meeting your eyes. “Should I drive?”

“Um...yeah. I've had two drinks.”

“This is all I've had.” He shakes the empty tumbler. “I'll be fine. Let's go.”

_______________________

The rest of the stay in London is fairly uneventful. There's another meeting with Mr. Snow the morning after the party that lasts for a few hours. Shawn had told you that you can just go sight seeing since he won't need you for anything while negotiating the deal. You're more than happy to get away for awhile. Unfortunately you don't know your way around London, you have no idea how long Shawn is going to take, and you don't want to risk getting lost. Sight seeing sounds good in theory but it's just not in the cards for you. Damn. Can't even enjoy your time away because of him.

You end up walking to a park not too far from the Calgary building and taking a seat. It's a lovely day, not too hot and not too chilly. The sun is shining, people are out with their dogs and kids. It's perfect. Fresh air and relaxation.

You have lunch at a cafe, a sandwich and some chips. Which you learn quickly, and honestly you should have known from years of media consumption, that chips are fries here. It didn't matter that much but the moment of surprise when you got french fries and not potato chips was a little amusing. You literally caught yourself in your own ridiculous tourist moment.

Mid lunch you receive a text from Shawn. “Where are you” and for a moment you don't want to respond. It was nice getting paid just to do whatever you liked for a while.

“Cafe around the corner. Red umbrellas out front” you reply and turn your phone on its face.

Sure enough Shawn appears, walking up the sidewalk, rolling his sleeves up as he goes. He sees you at the outdoor table you're sat at and in a surprisingly fluid motion, jumps the low fence that marked off the patio area.

“Thank god you're here.” He sighs, sinking into a chair and tilting his head up to the sun. Those are words you never expected to hear out of him, yet here you are. “I thought I'd never escape that old man.”

“Mr. Snow?”

“Yes.”

“But you were doing business.”

Shawn looks at you and leans on the table, waving to a server to come over. “Yeah, and I told him my ideas, the costs of his project and my cut. I'm firm on my offers, but he just had to keep debating. He even called me stubborn, talking like I was a child at one point because I wouldn't budge on my cut.”

You take a sip of your tea and raise your eyebrows. “You are pretty stubborn.”

He cuts you a glare.

“How'd you get away?”

“I said my assistant was in trouble.” He shrugs and the server takes his order of black tea with sugar and thanks her. “I said I had to leave immediately.”

“Really? So you didn't close on the deal?”

“Oh no, we closed. I rushed him to a decision and left to rescue you.”

“You're the worst.”

Shawn grins and your heart flutters. Why did he look so unfairly handsome? Why was he just...so infuriating? “So, did you enjoy London?”

“Not really. It's been all business.” You finish off your sandwich and dust the crumbs off your hands. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” He takes his tea in it's little brown to go cup and smiles at the server. “We should get back to the hotel. I have plans to draw up and get on paper as soon as we're home tomorrow.”

_______________________

Two weeks later. You're home, have been since London, and Shawn's been working day and night drawing up plans and sketching the new Calgary train station on massive drawing boards. He has his computer and digital boards too but he says he prefers to do it by hand first. You weren't going to argue, hell, you didn't even ask. He just said it one day when you brought him a glass of water.

Monday, the start of the third week at home and you arrive a little later than usual. You go about your usual morning routine, cleaning up the kitchen, making coffee and putting on a pot of tea for Shawn. You head to his bedroom, since he finally started letting you in there to gather up his laundry, and that's when you run smack into him when you open the door.

He's in just a towel and you quickly realize he has just gotten out of the shower. You hadn't knocked, assuming he was already working in his office. Oh boy, one second later and he would have been butt naked.

“You really should knock.” He chuckles and you try to look everywhere but at his wet chest and...hips and...Gods he looks so fucking good. “I could have been busy in here.”

“Oh my God.” You avert your eyes and tilt your head up. “I do not want to think about that!”

Shawn walks past you to go toward his closet, the smell of his body wash fills your nose and it is just so damn good. “Somehow I think you already have,” he says playfully.

“Absolutely not!” You turn and head back out into the hall. Nope. This was not happening. Flirting was not happening. “I'll be scrubbing my brain of that image in the kitchen!”

“Dirty minds think alike!”

“No they don't!”

Shawn just laughs and that makes your stomach ache with butterflies. He rarely laughed, and laughing and flirting? One two punch for you right there.

_______________________

The days following that flirty run in, Shawn is quiet. He hasn't been making you miserable or even talking to you much really. He's been eating whatever you cook, letting you know when he needed tea, and even thanked you once. You can't help but wonder if the flirting put him in a weird mood, a weird headspace. It surely got you feeling some type of way. Whatever it is, there is something off about Shawn. You notice sometimes he's up before you arrive in the morning, and he's still up when you leave at night. He paces a lot. Talks to himself. You're sure it's just part of his process, but still it seemed a little off. You really hope it isn't your fault somehow.

Friday afternoon you hear him on the phone to someone in the office. He's borderline yelling, seriously upset and you can't help but feel anxious. You wait it out, not daring to approach him until he had remained quiet for at least an hour. It's then you decide to creep in with a cup of hot tea for him.

“I made tea Shawn,” you whisper, setting it at the end of his drawing table. “Earl grey, your favorite.”

He remains silent, pen tapping against the table rapidly, head in his hand.

“I'm going to start lunch, or I can pick something up if you wa-”

“Just go away.”

You step back and he glares up from his work. God he could freeze the entire world with that look. “If you get hungry just-”

“Get out! I don't want any food! Just go do whatever the fuck it is you do when you're not harassing me all the time! You're the exact kind of person I didn't want in my life! Leave me alone!”

You heart stops, stomach sinking as he lays into you wrongfully. You've done nothing but the job his mother hired you for. Tears sting the corners of your eyes. “Fuck you!” you cry out, chest seizing up as your emotions best you. “I've done nothing but my job! I make your appointments, book your flights, schedule your meetings, take your phone calls, clean your house and make you food! Could you for once, just once, not be an insufferable jerk when I'm just doing my job!”

“If you don't like me then quit! I don't want you here anyway!”

“I can't!” Your hands ball up the fabric of your skirt and your shoulders fall, arms shaking. “God I can't! I need the money....I really need the money.”

Shawn falls silent. The two of you stare at each other a moment before you turn and leave, making a beeline straight for the front door. If he wanted you to leave for the day, fine, but you would be back bright and early tomorrow morning. By Gods you would be back. This job paid far more than any you've ever taken and without it you wouldn't be making rent and utilities.

You stomp across the yard to the gates. Your car died last week, motor blew out, so you're heading for the bus stop. Your phone buzzes and you pull it from your pocket and see your sister's name pop up. Not now. You couldn't be reminded of why you needed this job even more, but you are. She had gone into the hospital almost six months ago for a gallbladder attack. They found out her pancreas was failing as well due to a back up of fluid, essentially consuming itself and creating a pouch that burst and caused damage to her stomach and muscle tissue. It's been hell. She's only thirteen and quite literally fighting for her life. Your parents applied for assistance immediately but getting it in this day and age was a struggle. So you send part of your check to them every two weeks to keep them in the tiny apartment they moved into to close to the hospital.

You collapse onto the bus bench at the bottom of the hill that leads up to Shawn's place. Everything sucks. No car. Sick sister. Struggling parents. Boss with weird mood swings. Life fucking sucks.

_______________________

The next day you don't even want to go to work. Your sister had called and talked to you for a little while the night before. She was doing alot better, feeling pretty good lately and her pancreas was healing as well as her damaged tissues. Things were looking really good. You wish you could visit her more often but it was just so hard when you worked six days a week and usually later into the evening and she was so far away. Though Shawn's blow up yesterday was almost the straw that broke the camel's back and you almost wanted to quit. Almost.

You walk up to the house, bag in hand, ready to face down a pissy Shawn. You no sooner get the kitchen door unlocked than you are met with the sight a woman walking out of the front door to your right. You don't recognize her, and she's carrying her shoes in her hand and her clothes are pretty disheveled. She looks over, eyes meeting yours for just a second before she gets into her car.

“Wow Shawn,” you mutter under your breath at the obvious booty call who is pulling out of the driveway in her car. You'd be lying if you said it didn't make you feel just a twinge of jealousy, or perhaps it was just annoyance. Not that you and Shawn were a thing obviously, and really you shouldn't give any fucks after how he acted yesterday. But you still feel uneasy.

You walk into the kitchen and set down your stuff. The coffee pot clicks on right as you get down a couple of mugs. Perfect timing. A noise to your left gets your attention and you see Shawn in his boxers at the fridge. His hair is wet, likely he's just gotten out of the shower. So that's how it was. He has a girl over for a stress fuck, gets up and showers, she sneaks out while he is in there. Or did he tell her to leave and then he showered?

“What?” Shawn asks defensively.

“What? I didn't say anything?”

Shawn closes the fridge and leans against it. “I'm allowed to have people over.”

You let out a chuckle of disbelief. You haven’t said a word to him and he's already trying to lay into you over nothing. “Nobody said you couldn't?”

“I know you're judging me. I can just see it.”

“Shawn.” You fold your arms over your chest. “You're the only one who has a problem with this. I don't care if you have someone over. I don't.” A little bit of a lie but whatever. “It's your business. You're an adult.”

He tries to say something and you hold up your hand to stop him.

“I don't know why you feel the need to defend yourself when I said nothing about it. It seems you feel guilty, but again, not my business. If you want to start shit, start it somewhere else. I have work to do.”

Shawn just stares at you. He doesn't say another word because you're right. You know you're right. He won't admit it though. He grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and walks off. He's more of a mess than you ever guessed.

_______________________

Shawn hasn't spoken to you since the blow up and one night stand. You go to work, clean, cook and make him tea. You say nothing to him either. Silence was better than yelling. You wouldn't apologize, not that you had anything to apologize for.

Your phone rings while you're at the island in the kitchen going over flight plans for Shawn and yourself. A medical research building is opening in Tokyo that he designed last year.

“Hello?” You ask, unsure who was calling.

The voice on the other end is familiar, it's your landlord, Terry. “I'm just calling to let you know that as of the end of this month the rent will be going up by fifty dollars for everyone. An email and letter will be sent out soon but I thought I'd give you the heads up.”

“What? I can barely afford it now. This is ridiculous. Why wasn't I told earlier?”

“Listen, I don't make the rules. The building is under new ownership. I just found out today too. It's bullshit.”

“I-I can't find a new place in less than a month! Terry, what am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno kid. I'm wondering the same thing myself. I'm a retired teacher, I haven't got it any easier than you.”

“Yeah...thanks.” You hang up and lay your head on your folded arms. Life can't get worse. It just can't. Soon you'll be homeless, or moving into your parents apartment across town. Great. Perfect.

Shawn walks into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. He glances over at you and says nothing. You just ignore him, not daring to make things worse by saying something wrong.

_______________________

Three days later, it is late Sunday night, and you're in Tokyo. Shawn is finally talking to you again but hasn't apologized. Things feel almost normal, in fact Shawn is even being a little more tolerable. He isn't rolling his eyes at everything, eats when you have food for him, he even actually thanked you for making his bed the other day. It seems maybe his blow up gave his conscious a good kick in the pants.

“Two for Mendes.” Shawn says at the hotel counter and the clerk nods.

“Mendes? We tried to contact you. One of your rooms was double booked and since you were the second booking, it was given to the first.”

Your eyes widen and you check your phone for missed calls. Nothing. “I didn't get any messages?”

“I'm so sorry. Would you like to keep the suite that is booked and available?”

Shawn groans, hand going to his hair. “Do you have any other rooms available?”

“No sir. We are by reservation only. Our hotel is exclusive and we cannot open up a room without a cancellation.”

“But your company double booked us. How is that our fault? Shouldn't you take care of us?”

The clerk sighs softly. “Sir, the rooms are full. We can offer a complimentary room for the future and return your deposit for the inconvenience.”

“Shawn, it's okay. I'll just stay at another hotel.”

“No, you won't.” Shawn takes the keycard on the counter for his suite. “We'll share a suite. It's big enough for two people.”

“Alright, your suite is room 250 on the top floor. We’ll credit your account for the other room. Have a wonderful stay.”

“Thank you,” you say softly to the clerk as Shawn moves around you, dragging his suitcase behind him toward the elevators. “Why can't I get another hotel?”

“Because I need you to be where I can get to you at any time if I need something.”

“Really? Because nine out of ten times you have no interest in my help.”

Shawn leans his head against the elevator wall. “I just... I'm adjusting to this still. Please, I don't want to argue.”

“Uh huh.”

“So anyway. You can stay with me in the suite.”

“Gonna bring any girls to the room?”

He cuts you a glare and you pretend not to notice.

“I won't be a third wheel. And I'm not into threesomes.”

“Believe me, that is never going to happen. The only girl in the suite will be you.”

The doors open and you make your way to the end of the hall. Shawn opens the door and inside is a massive sprawling suite that's more like a penthouse than a hotel room. It's definitely worth the cost, absolutely stunning with a breathtaking view of the city. There is a big bed in the center, attached full kitchen, bathroom, closets, lounge area with two sofas. Complete luxury.

Two hours later and you're curled up on the couch, staring at the digital clock on the stove in the kitchen. Nearly four in the morning. You can't sleep. Shawn is snoring and the couch, while fairly soft, is killing your back. You're also cold but you don't want to mess with the thermostat because Shawn likes to sleep cold and he is also hogging the majority of the blankets.

You get up and go to the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab some water so you can go sit on the couch and flip through your social media. You try not to think about the grand opening tomorrow, it's at noon and you're grateful because you would be dead on your feet if it was early morning.

“What're you doing?” Shawn groans and you look over to the bed where he's sat up. The light of the city below illuminates his bare chest in soft blue and pink lights. “Why aren't you asleep?”

“I can't sleep. The couch sucks. It's fine, I'll pass out eventually.”

Shawn pulls the blankets back on the side opposite him. “This bed is big enough for two. It's a king. Just sleep with me.”

“I don't think I should. I'll probably keep you awake.”

“Come on, it's just a bed. I'm not going to bite your head off. Besides, I'm a heavy sleeper and I won't notice you're there.”

You get up and go to the side of the bed. It is quite large. You could stick to the very edge and never touch Shawn. It's tempting. There's just something so very intimate about sharing a bed with someone, specially someone you're familiar with. You needed sleep though, and that couch was not going to give it to you. But this is Shawn. Your boss whom you already have conflicting feelings for, who may or may not have similarly conflicting feelings.

“Yes or no?” he asks softly, looking over at you with the pink and blue lights casting shadows on his face that highlight every angle. He's beautiful, even in the darkened room.

“Yes, fine.” Your resolve crumbles and you sink into the bed on one knee as you crawl under the blankets. It's super soft and plush, a pillow top no doubt. “Good night Shawn.”

“Yeah. Good night.” He sinks back down, turning his back to you as he goes to sleep on his side.

Morning. Sunshine streams through the picture windows behind you. The bed is warm, soft and clean smelling. There is a comfortable weight around your chest and warmth along your back. It feels so good to be held just like a dream. Wait. This isn't a dream.

Shawn's breath tickles your neck and you feel a chill run down your spine. He's wrapped around you, arm under your arm and across your stomach. Legs tangled with yours, chest and waist to your back. His breathing is soft, shallow and sleepy.

“Don't go,” he murmurs when you try to slide from his grasp. “Not yet. I need you.”

“Shawn, you can't be cuddling me. You're not awake. You...you can’t.”

Shawn strirs, body shifting against yours and his dick presses against your lower back through his boxers. Before you can process how to react, he freezes, the situation going from sleepy cuddling to tense. “Fuck,” he whispers and rolls away. He gets up on his side and goes to the bathroom, not once looking back to you.

You're left there wondering what was going through his head. Hell, you don't know what's going through yours. He's so wishy washy you can't figure him out. One minute he loathes your existence. The next he's somewhat caring and interested in talking to you, even defending you. Then he's flirting, quiet, sleeping with a booty call. Then flip back to him losing his temper and saying how annoying you are then giving you silent treatment for days. And now, he was offering up his bed, sharing his suite, cuddling you like it was no big deal. What did he want from you? Why couldn't he just treat you like his friend or even just his assistant? The two of you were obviously stuck together, it's been a two and a half months now. You're not going anywhere, and neither was your relationship with him. Not without a discussion about how you felt, professional or personally.

_______________________

Shawn refuses to acknowledge the morning cuddling. He absolutely refuses and it's so annoying. You tried to casually bring it up over breakfast. You tried to slip it in on the car ride to the grand opening of the Tokyo Children's Hospital Cancer Research Building. He won't talk about it. You're pissed.

The grand opening goes off without a hitch. You find out Shawn donated most of his profits on this project back to the hospital that has made groundbreaking achievements in child specific cancers. You're by his side at the ribbon cutting, the photos for the press, everything. You had tried to leave and go take a seat off to the side but Shawn just kept touching your back every time you tried to get too far, encouraging you to stay, muttering that he needs you. It is too weird. You want answers.

The grand opening ends and the party for donors, hospital CEOs, doctors, and other people of importance follows immediately. You find yourself in your usual spot now at these sort of functions. The bar. Sitting alone and staying out of the way until Shawn was ready to leave.

“Hey, you're Mr. Mendes’ assistant right?” A young lady about your age asks as she takes a seat next to you.

“Yeah?”

“How's it going? Like, I've heard his Mom tried getting him an assistant before and he ran her off.”

You chuckle. Someone else in the world had been in the same boat as you. Comforting but also unnerving. “He's...alright. He has his days, but we all do.”

“He's handsome as hell, I'll give him that. Obviously generous with how he donated almost everything to this project. But his attitude leaves something to be desired. I've heard he's a real piece of work, like a real asshole. What is it about having status that makes people such jerks?”

“I don't know but you're awfully bold to be talking bad about my boss to my face. Take your petty drama else where.” You grab your purse and stand up, leaving your drink at the bar. You have no idea why you're defending Shawn. Sure, you could call him a jerk and think he was a pain in the ass. But other people, people who don't know him, that made you feel a little irritated. Maybe it was the cuddling this morning. Maybe it was finding out he donated his profits to the hospital. Whatever it was, you felt soft for him and you just...can't.

Shawn grabs your arm as you pass him to go sit elsewhere. “Hey, I need to ask you a favor.”

“What? Do you want to leave?”

“No, not yet. But there's someone here who I cannot stand. That woman over there,” he points out a tall blonde lady with the ugliest pantsuit on that you have ever seen. “Is my ex girlfriend.”

“Oh. Great. And as your assistant what am I supposed to do? Make her leave you alone?”

The lady breaks away from the group she is talking to and heads for the two of you. You can tell she sees Shawn, and that's who she's headed for. She looks mean. You wonder what on earth Shawn ever saw in her.

“Do you trust me?” Shawn asks suddenly.

“I don't kn-”

Shawn grabs your face and kisses you softly. “Trust me. Please. Pretend to be my girlfriend.” He leans in for another kiss and you put your arms around his back, melting into him, your brain going to absolute mush. The kiss is heated, far too real and you bite at his lip. He moans into your mouth and you find yourself getting seriously turned on.

“Shawn?”

You open your eyes and look over, reluctant to break away. His ex is standing there, arms crossed watching you like a hawk. What a weirdo.

Shawn draws out the kiss, taking his time breaking away and when he does he gives you a look for a moment, just a split second, his eyes locked on yours. It's such a loaded look that you can't begin to decipher what it meant. Was he acting? Did he feel what you felt?

“Wendy.” Shawn says, eyes cutting to his ex, voice laced with anger that his spur of the moment plan didn't pan out. “How nice to see you.”

Wendy smiles venomously. “You must be pretty drunk already if you're making out with your assistant.”

“Assistant?” Shawn chuckles coolly. “No, this is my fiance.”

Your heart stops and you feel Shawn's hand on your back, gripping onto your side. He wants you to play along. There was only so much playing along you could do before it felt too real. Shit. It was already tearing you up inside. “I don't believe we've met,” you get out, offering a hand to Wendy.

Wendy takes your hand limply and resumes her crossed arm position. “I'm Wendy Bast, Shawn's ex girlfriend. Frankly I'm shocked you're his fiance. Shawn was always so busy with work to give any time to our relationship. How's his anxiety by the way? Is he still too in his head to focus on anything but work? Freaking out over tiny things? Does he eat these days? He must, he looks good.”

“Wendy.” Shawn all but growls her name. “It was great seeing you.” He pulls you away, leading you towards the exit.

You pull away from Shawn once you're outside. “What is she talking about?”

“Who? Wendy?”

“Yes, Wendy. Why didn't you tell me you have anxiety?”

Shawn rolls his eyes. “Its none of your business that's why.”

“It is! If I had known...”

“What? You were going to fix it? No one is going to fix it. It is what it is. If you can't deal with it then quit.”

You open your mouth to argue but decide against it. You just turn and walk down the steps toward the valet. There he goes again, turning back into a jerk. You need a new job. This is too much. Too personal, too stressful, too emotional. You're getting feelings for him but you shouldn't. Everything says you shouldn't, and yet here you are angry at him again but feeling sorry for him because you had no idea he suffered with anxiety and it would explain so much since you met him. So much.

_______________________

“Karen? Yeah it's me, I'd like to put my two weeks in.”

“What's happened? I thought things were going well. Did Shawn do something?”

You stare up at the ceiling of what is your temporary bedroom. You had moved into your parents apartment nearly an hour away from Shawn's house. It was the only place you had to go with the rent going up at your apartment building. “Shawn is just too much for me to handle. He doesn't want me around and it's too...” Too personal? Too emotionally involved? Do you dare tell her that? “It’s too hard to keep going like this. I'm so sorry Karen.”

“I'm a little confused. I thought Shawn liked you. He has never said a bad word about you, in fact he always seems to say how much he needs and likes you. Are you sure?”

“Are we talking about the same person?”

“Yes?”

You get up and grab your laptop, suddenly remembering that Shawn has a video call meeting tomorrow with Mr. Snow. You want to make sure you know the exact time so you can take the bus route accordingly. “Shawn must be telling you what you want to hear because he is... difficult around me usually.”

Karen chuckles. “That wouldn't surprise me. He learned to sweet talk me very early in life. So, tell me what's been going on. I can talk to him.”

You explain the blow up a week ago, his behaviors that make you feel like you aren't doing well enough and making your job difficult. You tell her how he is up and down and sometimes he doesn't seem to mind that you're around, and other times it's like he wants you gone forever. And when you get to the recap of the grand opening party, you leave out the kiss but mention his ex and how you found out about his anxiety and how he reacted to that.

“I've been trying to get him to go to therapy and see a doctor for years. It seems he's gotten worse. I'll talk to him. I'm so sorry for his behavior, if you can please stay a bit longer I'll begin looking for another assistant for him. I'll even recommend you to a few friends who are looking for extra help.”

Your heart aches. Yes, you had just said you want to put in your two weeks, but that meant actually leaving Shawn there. That meant someone else trying to work with him and his anxiety, someone new who would make it worse. It wasn't fair for you to want to quit on him like this, you don't think this should be the end. Maybe he would see a therapist, maybe this could be a better relationship. Maybe...you could get to know the real Shawn, and if you just gave up on him, you might never know.

“Karen?”

“Yes?”

“I revoke my two weeks. If you can get him to agree to see someone about the anxiety I think it will help. I know that Shawn isn't always a jerk. I know he is good, deep down in there somewhere. I want to give it a chance.”

“Thank you, and really, I think he does like you. Honestly he talks about you very kindly when he calls me.”

“Yeah...thank you. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

_______________________

The bus is late. Delayed due weather. There's a storm thrashing against the walls of the bus stop, water rushing down the sidewalk and soaking your feet. You're going to be late. The ride was an hour and half with stops. You've already lost twenty minutes. You have to be at Shawn's to make sure he's awake and get him set up on the laptop for his meeting with Mr. Snow. Sure you can contact him but he doesn't always get up when you call or text.

The bus arrives half an hour late. You text Shawn, call twice, but he doesn't call back. You don't have Mr. Snow's number and it's not like he would reschedule an hour and a half before the meeting. Every second that inches by as you creep toward the next town over takes a piece of your soul.

The bus arrives at the bottom of Shawn's street and you run up the road, sloshing through the river of water streaming down it. The meeting is in five minutes.

You fight your key into the sticky door lock of the front door, drop your bag and grab Shawn's laptop off the charger in the living room. You make a beeline for his bedroom, praying you end up seeing him on the way. You don't.

His room is open, unlocked thankfully, and you barrel in, wet footsteps squelching all over the place. “Shawn wake up!”

He startles, looking around for something to be wrong. He's wearing a shirt so you won't have to dress him before you throw the laptop on his legs. “What? What happened?”

“You have a meeting with Mr. Snow right now.” You open the laptop and bring up Skype. There is one missed call and you already know it was Mr. Snow. You select the contact and call back.

“What the fuck?” Shawn grumbles as he sits up and the computer chimes until Mr. Snow appears on screen.

“Mr. Mendes, good morning!”

Shawn's eyes widen and he runs a hand over his hair, glaring to where you're standing and soaking his floor with your wet clothes. “Good afternoon to you right?”

The older man chuckles. “Yes. It's not too early is it? Your assistant said this would be a fine time to go over your plans so far.”

“Of course. I apologize if I seem I've just woken up. It was a long night of drafting.”

You mouth an apology and slink out of the room to go change clothes. You hadn't packed any extra so you'll have to scour Shawn's laundry for something to borrow and hope he doesn't notice. Except he totally would because you always dress fairly professionally and a t-shirt and whatever bottoms you can find will be out of the ordinary. If you're lucky, you can get your clothes into the dryer and out before he finishes his call.

Twenty minutes and one dry outfit later, and it's like the rain never happened. You go to the kitchen to start some food when Shawn comes in, still in his pajamas and lays the laptop on the kitchen island with more force than necessary.

“You think waking me up with zero notice to Skype call my client is a good idea?”

Here it comes. Hurricane Mendes. “I didn't intend to do it that way. I was late and in a hurry. I didn't want you to miss the call and-”

“And seem completely unprofessional? But waking me up and shoving the laptop at me while I'm in my pajamas isn't?”

“Shawn, I'm sorry. Like I said I was late because the bus-”

“The bus?” Shawn crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at you. “You take the bus?”

“Well, yeah. My car died a while back. I wouldn't have been late but it's an hour and a half ride from my parents apartment.”

“Hold on, what? You're living with your parents? What happened to your place?”

You sigh heavily. “I couldn’t afford the rent anymore, and I don't have a car to sleep in so yeah, I went to my parents okay?”

“But I raised your pay, I don't-”

“What?”

Shawn rubs the back of his neck and looks down. You don't think you've ever seen him this vulnerable, well, not since the kiss. “I overheard your conversation with someone about your rent a few weeks ago. I discussed raising your salary with my mom to help you out. You didn't notice?”

You lean against the counter and stare at him dumbfounded. “I...didn't. I was probably already out of the apartment by the time I got my next paycheck.” You shake your head. “Why Shawn? Why would you do that for me?”

He shrugs. “You're my assistant. I...I thought it would be appropriate since you do so much for me.”

“I just do my job.”

“Yeah well...just don't wake me up for anymore surprise meetings please.”

“Promise I won't.”

Shawn chuckles and walks around to get a cup of coffee from the pot beside you. “Thanks...and you look good today. Your skirt is nice.”

Such a small compliment but it held so much power. You can't help but smile just a tiny bit when he turns his back to go to his office. It was your favorite skirt after all.

_______________________

Three weeks later and you are in an apartment close to Shawn's place with his help. He knows the owner and negotiated a deal with him to lease you a condo. It's less than the rent of your last building and you know it's only because of Shawn's connections. You're grateful though because you actually have a little extra left over at the end of the pay week and soon you'll get another car. It's nice. Things are looking up. You even receive an offer for another job, an assistant for a lady in town who owns a hotel chain, you had met her at a party with Shawn a while back. She was a friend of his mom's. She offers you a car for work, rent free housing at one of her hotels, medical benefits, and a pay raise. It's an amazing offer but you aren't sure it feels right.

You walk in the kitchen door to find Shawn with his head on the counter one morning. It's unlike him to be up when you get there. “Shawn? What's up?”

“I haven't slept.”

“What? Why?” You go over to him and set your bag on the counter. He looks up, eyes red with dark circles to compliment them.

“I went to therapy yesterday, remember?” You nod. “Well, I got to thinking about what she said. I think...I think being alone makes it worse. Because when you're here, I don't feel so anxious and down anymore.”

“Oh. Well, I'm here now. Do you want to sleep? I can change your bedding if you want.”

Shawn slides off his stool and stands before you. “Can you...can you lay with me?”

Your heart aches at his plea. Therapy must really be helping. It's only his fifth session, but he was already opening up to you like this. “Are you sure? I won't be bothering you?”

“My therapist said that contact could help, and meditation since I don't want to do the medicine yet. I tried meditating but...anyway I don't really trust or have anyone else and I...I trust you. I want you to lay with me. Please?”

You nod and follow Shawn to his room and he gets on his bed, pushing the blankets back for you. This would definitely be a first. Well. Not the first time you've been in a bed together but the first time he has asked for your company. You kick off your shoes and get in, laying right beside him and he settles himself down too.

“Thank you.” He bumps his hand against you and you let him slide his fingers between yours. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

Your heart is racing, brain trying to comprehend what is going on here. Who was this? Where did the Shawn you knew go? What was this soft pile of flushed cheeks and messy curls beside you? Surely it couldn't be your Shawn, or was it the real Shawn?

“You should have told me about the anxiety sooner. I know it's not that big of a deal to you but it is.”

“You're right. I was mean to you because I didn't want you to find out about it. I didn't want anyone to know I struggled with it. But it got so bad that I wasn't sleeping, I was constantly in my head and so freaked out about my work that I couldn't focus.” He squeezes your hand. “I'm sorry that I lashed out on you that day about lunch. And I'm sorry I tried to start a fight over the woman I had over that night. I shouldn't have had her come by but I did. I know it's been a while, but it's been haunting me ever since. I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you. That's all I ever wanted to hear.”

Shawn rolls on to his side and looks at you softly. “I'd like to start over. I know the last few months can't be erased, but I'd like to make it up to you. I want to show you that I'm not always a jerk.”

“I know you aren't always a jerk.” You roll to face him on your side as well. “But we can still start over if you like. I'd love to meet the real Shawn.”

He smiles, big and sleepily. He puts his hand up, palm flat for you and you put your hand against his. “Hi, I'm Shawn, and you have pretty hair,” he chuckles and you giggle.

“Thank you. It's nice to meet you Shawn. You have beautiful eyes.”

Shawn threads his fingers between yours once more and just smiles at you like you are the whole world.

_______________________

Getting to know Shawn is incredible. He's funny, smart, and just flat out goofy. He's nothing like he had let on. Yes he takes his work seriously, and with you there to take off some of the stress by distracting him when he gets overwhelmed, he's doing better than ever. His therapist recommended that he open up to you, that he chooses someone close to trust and be completely honest with about how he was feeling, and he chose you. So far it has been great and he even asks you to stay later sometimes, just to talk with him. He usually falls asleep but that's okay, you don't mind one bit.

“When is our flight to London?” Shawn asks, looking up from his drawing board as you walk in with some lunch one day. The ground breaking ceremony for the new Calgary station is next week.

“Thursday next week.”

“Can we make it Monday?”

You set the plate of food down and pull out your phone. “I'm sure I can change flights. What's wrong with Thursday?”

“I want to spend a little extra time there before the groundbreaking.” He looks back down and sketches something out real quick. “I just want to relax a little.”

“In London?”

“Yeah.” He looks back up with a smile. “I want to show you around the city. We always go somewhere and it's just business. You should get to experience places.”

“That's not necessary. I'm just your assistant, business trips are exactly that, business. I don't expect to get to see the sites at the places we go.”

Shawn stands and comes around the table. He grabs your upper arms and squeezes gently. It's his version of a hug lately. His therapist has been challenging him to be more physically open with those he cares about and he's definitely taken a liking to it. “I know you don't expect it. I want you to experience the places we go. I want you to have a good time.”

“Alright, alright. You're the boss. Monday it is. Bright and early.”

“Perfect.” He grabs his lunch plate and gestures to the door. “Let's eat lunch outside, together.”

_______________________

Panic sets in when you get separated from Shawn at the airport. He was going to wait for you while you got your overhead bag repacked. It had burst it's zipper during the flight and several things went all over when you opened the compartment. You told Shawn to go ahead, you would meet him at the baggage claim.

Now you're at the baggage claim and he's nowhere in sight. Your first thought was that he had already collected his bag and headed to the pick up lane outside. That is quickly ruled out when you see your bag go by and his following close after. You gather both and do a quick walk up and down the baggage lanes for your terminal. No luck.

You try your phone but the service in the airport sucks. You have no idea where he could have gotten off to. Finally you decide to head to the security office to see if they can page him or something.

You lug your huge suitcases down the main strip of the airport, passing every shop on the way just to get to the security office. The whole time keeping your eyes peeled for the giant man you traveled with. Seriously. It'd be hard to miss Shawn here. He was so much bigger than almost everyone.

Just as you pass the baggage claim for the second terminal you see him. He's leaned against the wall, eyes glued to his phone.

“Shawn!” You call out, jumping a little to get his attention. “Shawn Mendes!”

He looks up, eyes snapping to you and even at a distance you can see him relax. He walks toward you briskly and when he gets to you, his arms are wrapped around you.

“I thought you were gone.” He mumbles into your hair. “I thought the worst possible thing happened and you got taken or something.”

You wrap your arms around his back. He's a little shaky and you rub up and down a bit. “I said meet me at the baggage claim? Why did you come down here?”

“I thought the board said claim 19. I wanted to ask for help but I couldn't remember the fight number or anything after I realized it was the wrong place. God I'm so sorry.” He pulls back and runs a hand over his hair. He doesn't look fully settled down yet.

You touch his arm, guiding your fingers up the back gently and he takes a deep breath. “It's okay. I was going to have security page you, we would have found each other.”

“I know. I just got freaked out and you know...my brain started jumping to conclusions.”

“It's okay. No problem. It's all good now. Let's go get a taxi and check in at our hotel.”

He nods. “Yeah. I wanna take you to a really good place for lunch. There's one not too far from the hotel I think.”

_______________________

For three days you and Shawn explore London together. He takes you everywhere, showing you everything. The two of you take pictures at the royal palace. You ride a double decker bus. You walk around and shop a bit, trying on dresses you could never dream of affording. He actually buys you two of them that he really likes. You had no idea until you were walking out and the cashier brought you your bags.

Your favorite part of the three days is when he takes you to a park and the two of you run the length of it in a race. He had challenged you, saying that your little legs could never out run him. Of course you had to take him on. You lost. No surprise, his legs are miles longer than yours. But it was fun. Seeing him laughing, flushed and happy was something you would never get tired of. It was the moment you let him roll you over in the grass, the sun shining in his hazel eyes, you realized that you were gone for him. Completely in love with the man he's become.

It's Friday night and you're getting ready in your room. Tonight is the ground breaking ceremony on the new train station and you know Shawn is anxious, having taken one of the medications that his doctor prescribed for just such occasions. Someone knocks on your door, startling you as you step into your dress that Shawn bought.

“Yeah? What do you need?” You call through the door.

“What dress are you wearing?” It's Shawn.

“The blue one.”

There's a pause. “Can you wear the red one?”

“Why?”

“I don't have anything to match the blue.”

“Oh.” You turn and go over to the bed where you have a red and black dress laid. You step out of the blue and pull the red one on.

You go to the door and open it to find Shawn in his black suit with a red undershirt that's the same color as your dress. “Can you zip me?” You ask, turning your back to him.

Shawn lays one shaky hand on your shoulder to hold the top of the dress as he zips up your back. He slides his hands down your back and over your sides, smoothing the dress over your hips slowly. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” You turn, heat burning over your cheeks as you straighten his collar a bit. “You aren't too bad yourself.”

“You're too sweet.”

“Yeah well...” You fluff his curls a bit, fingers in his hair and wiggling gently against his scalp. “One of us has to be.”

Shawn looks at you softly, eyes locked on yours like they had been after the kiss a while back. He takes a deep breath and smiles. “I'm glad it's you.”

You pat his chest. “Let's get going. We don't want to be late.”

_______________________

Parties. You're sick of them. It seemed every time you had to travel there was some event that included a party or an after party. The groundbreaking is no exception. But this time, it is a bit different. Shawn doesn't leave your side. He keeps his arm around you, as if he's afraid you'll drift away. You wonder if he is feeling okay. He doesn't seem to be acting strange or anything.

“Well well well. If it isn't Shawn Mendes.”

You turn and look behind you where the voice had come from. Sure enough it's Wendy Bast. You never caught exactly what she did for a living, and you can't help but wonder why she is there.

Shawn turns as well and smiles at her. “Wendy, hello. What brings you to this party?”

“Oh you know, Mr. Snow is in need of a financial advisor. Rodger Tate is retiring soon and I'd love to make Calgary a client.”

“So you're here to snake your way into another company. Lovely.”

Wendy frowns, well, more of sneers. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Please. I know you tried to get in with my mother to control my finances. You think she didn't tell me about all the shit you spewed to her?”

“That's rich, coming from a man who is fucking his assistant.” Wendy looks to you. “What do you get out of it honey? A little extra money? Gifts?”

“Leave her out of this. You have no room to talk about anyone's relationship. You've done nothing but sleep your way to the top. You tried to play me for my money, don't act like you didn't. You had no interest in a real relationship with me so I can't fathom why you keep sticking your nose into my life.”

Wendy rolls her eyes, looking to you again. “Can't speak for yourself? Going to let Shawn defend you forever?”

“Oh I can speak. I just don't like talking to people who are irrelevant and I don't generally associate with yesterday's news.” You smile oh so sweetly and Wendy looks like she's ready to kill.

“Cute.” Wendy smiles at the both of you. “You’re just like him.”

“An honest hard working person who works towards being a better version of myself every day? Of course I'm just like him. I can see you probably haven't changed a bit from when you were with him though...how many years ago?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows and just gawks at you.

Wendy dismisses you with a wave of her hand as she turns away and wanders off to the other side of the ballroom.

“I don't think I've ever seen someone stand up to her like that. I mean I have always served her shit right back to her but wow.” Shawn beams at you.

“I don't get what her issue is. Whether we are together or not, if I am your assistant or fiance, it doesn't matter. It's none of her business.” You cup his face and he flushes. “She doesn't even know this Shawn right here, and she never will.”

Shawn puts his hands on your waist and pulls you against him with a gentle tug. Your arms go slack, hands sliding down to lay on his chest. He's beautiful. His eyes are so soft and bright, not tired like they had always been. He looks healthy, glowing even. He had made a total 180 with himself and you couldn't be happier. You knew he had it in him.

“I'm proud of you,” you whisper as he begins swaying to the soft music playing from the small band set up with a piano in the corner of the ballroom. “You’re making incredible progress.”

“It's all thanks to you. If you had never stayed, I never would have gotten to know you. I wouldn't have wanted to change.” He strokes his thumb back and forth across your hip. “I've never wanted anyone in my life more than I've wanted you.”

“Shawn,” you duck your head, looking down to the shoes of the woman next to you. Heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks. “That's something pretty deep to say to your assistant.”

He tilts your head back up, fingers guiding your chin to look at him. “What if you weren't just my assistant?”

“I-I would have to think about that.”

“I understand.” He hums softly. “Business and pleasure don't always mix. I don't guarantee it will, but I'd like to give it a try if you're up for it one day. I think we've already started building something beautiful.”

“We'll see.” You smile, butterflies in your stomach. Of course you'd like to be more than his assistant. He's incredible. The two of you got off to a rough start, but even then you couldn't deny your attraction, though before it was more physical. But mixing business with pleasure could prove to be a problem. You would have to see how it panned out, but you're sure it was going to end up being a good mix.

_______________________

A few days later and you're back home. Things have become more familiar between you and Shawn. He'll lay his hand on your back when he's nearby and he cooks with you. You'll find yourself lingering as you leave, almost wanting him to ask you to stay over. He stares at you when he thinks you aren't looking, as if he is completely perplexed by everything you do. You find yourself doing the same. Watching him work is exciting, the way his brain just sees designs intrigues you. You are comfortable, happy exploring what could possibly be with him.

But just as things begin to look up, you get a phone call. Shawn is away at therapy and you are cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast. Your phone rings and you don't recognize the number but decide to answer anyways.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Mary Risinger,” the lady on the other end says as she explains she had sent you the email about hiring you as her assistant. It's then you realize you never sent one back declining or accepting.

“Yes, I did review your offer. I'm currently pretty happy with Shawn. Thank you so much.”

You set the phone down and put it on speaker so you can shut off the water you're running in the sink to wash a few dishes. “Are you sure? I can offer free housing for you and your family if you like. I'll even provide a car for your business and personal use.”

“Can I ask why you are so interested in me?”

“Karen Mendes recommended you. She says you've been amazing for Shawn but you were possibly looking to find another client.”

The phone call about your two weeks notice. You rescinded it but she must have mentioned it to Mary in passing. “Oh. Things have changed, I'm no longer looking for a new job. I'm so sorry.”

“Alright, but my offer is on the table. I'll hold up to my word in the email. Housing, car, medical insurance and competitive pay.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“You have my number, keep me in mind. Have a great day!”

“You too.” You turn around to grab your phone and Shawn is standing there. Your heart sinks, stomach churning. “Shawn, you're home early.”

“You're not leaving are you?”

“What do you mean?”

Shawn looks to your phone. “The call. That was a job offer. I'll double it, I'll match anything they're offering you.”

“Shawn, listen I'm-”

He steps forward, eyes locked on yours. “Please, I can't lose you. I'll do whatever I have to. I need you, I love you, please!”

You fall silent, staring at him over the island. The sound of birds outside can be heard through the open window. You aren't sure where to start unpacking that last bit.

“Say something.”

“You love me?”

Shawn turns bright red. He walks around the island to stand before you. “I-” he clears his throat and looks away, to something behind you, as if looking straight at you was too difficult. “I didn't...I... I'm sorry. Therapy was hard today and I just-”

“Shawn.” You hold his face between your hands and make him look at you. “Do you love me?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” He puts his hands on your waist. “You've been here for me since day one. You've helped me more than you'll ever know. You're patient and understanding and I'm so incredibly lucky to have you in my life. I need you, I want you.” He leans his cheek into your hand. “Please don't leave. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

You can't help the tears that spill over and down your cheeks. “I'm not leaving. I told her I'm happy with you. I don't want to work for anyone else. I've become completely attached to you and I can't imagine being anywhere but here with you every day.”

Shawn leans in, pressing his forehead to yours and you let your hand drop to his chest. “I have fallen so completely in love with you. You stole my heart the day you walked in.”

“You grew on me, and when you showed me you were willing to change, to get better, I knew you were going to be someone I would like to get to know. When you began opening up to me, I think that's what sealed the deal. The day at the park in London...I...I realized I never wanted to be anywhere but by your side.”

Shawn tilts his head forward and kisses you softly. You wrap your arms around his neck and he hums against your lips. The two of you remain close as he walks you back toward the hall. He's headed for his room and you just let him lead the way.

_______________________

One year later

“Shawn,” you call out from the bed. He pokes his head around the corner of the attached bathroom. “When was your last appointment with Dr. Giles?”

“Wednesday? Why?” He asks around a mouth full of toothpaste.

You scroll through his schedule to last Wednesday. There is nothing there. You noticed a trend in this happening lately. He says he has a therapy appointment on days he isn't scheduled. It makes you worry. What was he doing? Why was he lying?

“Baby?” Shawn asks, walking in, towel drying his face. “What's wrong?”

“You don't have Wednesday appointments with Dr. Giles. Where have you been going?”

“To therapy.” He sinks in his side of the bed as he gets under the covers. “I've asked her to put me on for a few more days.”

“Why? You're doing great. You even went to one appointment every two weeks. I don't understand why you are going back to weekly.”

Shawn closes your laptop and takes it, placing it on his nightstand. “I've been feeling extra anxious lately. It's probably just because the grand opening of the train station is coming up. I promise I'm not doing anything illegal.”

You lay down, turn to your side and face him. “I don't think you're doing anything illegal. But saying that makes me think you definitely aren't going to therapy.”

“Baby.” He lays his hand on your cheek. “I'm going to therapy. I can get Dr. Giles to print a check in report for me if you like.”

“Why are you being so weird about it?”

“I'm not being weird. You are being weird.”

You huff and turn over.

“Oh come on. Don't ice me out.”

“Don’t forget our flight is early in the morning tomorrow. Good night Shawn.”

He loops his arm over your middle and pulls you back against him. You don't fight it, loving his embrace too much to deny it. “Goodnight my love.” He kisses your neck and you close your eyes to sleep.

_______________________

The new Calgary train station stands before you. A gorgeous testament to Shawn's ability. You're standing beside him with Mr. Snow on his right as he makes a speech about the design he went with on the station.

“And finally I'd like to thank Mr. Snow for giving me this amazing opportunity to design for his company. And I'd like to thank my assistant, for being there every step of the way, even when I was at my lowest point. Without her I don't think any of this would have been possible.” He turns and smiles at you and you flush.

The event coordinator walks the two of you off stage and through the doors of the building to the entrance. It's a beautiful grand lobby that was reminiscent of central station in New York but smaller and done in a very modern fashion. It's honestly breathtaking.

“Will you stand just over there Mr. Mendes?” A photographer asks, pointing to the center of the room. “We'd like some photos for the Calgary photo gallery.”

Shawn walks over, hand in yours, leading you alongside him. “My assistant should be in the photos too.”

“Of course sir.”

You get into position, posing with your hands folded in front of you and your chin up a bit. It's your standard pose for photos these days. The photographer is taking his time and you glance over to see if Shawn is doing something to make him wait, and that's when you realize what's going on.

Shawn is beside you on one knee. There's a box in his hand opened and revealing the most beautiful ring that has a silver band with diamond accents. Your heart stops and he bites his lips.

“I told you I was anxious lately,” he says softly.

“Shawn...oh my god.”

“I've been working up the courage to do this for a month. And I have been working with a friend to make the perfect ring to be worn by the most beautiful person to ever enter my life and try to keep it secret.” He takes a deep breath and chuckles nervously. “It's literally killing me. So here I am, about to pass out. Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You let out a laugh that quickly turns into a sob. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”

Shawn takes the ring out and slips it over your finger. It fits perfectly and it's absolutely stunning. He stands and wraps his arms around you, leaning his forehead against yours, noses touching. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” you whisper back and he kisses you right as the photographer's camera clicks, immortalizing this moment forever for the two of you.

The end.

_________________________

Thank you so much to everyone who has patiently waited for this fic. I’m very thankful to @shawnm521 because if we hadn't started chatting about it one day it never would have been possible.

Thank you so much for reading! Please please please REBLOG and leave a comment, send me an ask, a message or even reply with your feedback on this fic. Every little thing encourages me. Thank you so so much!

#stories #building affection

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tefanfics · 4 years

Photo

Changes

Chapter 25

“You did what?” My eyes were wide, my hand covering my mouth and the other holding a slip of paper. “I-I can’t accept this, Taron.”

“You can and you will,” he answered firmly.

I shut my eyes for a second, trying to compose myself. When I felt like I could open my eyes again, I let myself read over the paper again. It was two tickets for a plane in which the destination was my home town. “I really can’t…”

Taron took the tickets from my hand and placed them on his kitchen counter before taking my hands. “I know how much you miss them, love. The holidays deserved to be spent with your family.”

I fought hard to keep my eyes dry but it was hard not to. I figured it’d be another six months or so before I’d be able to see my family but now I was just a couple days away. “They have no clue, do they? Oh man. Mom’s totally going to cry,” I finally managed to say, a grin forming. “Hell, I’ll cry.”

“Babe, you’re crying now,” Taron laughed, wiping the wet streams on my cheeks.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “God, I have to pack. Wait. Work! I-I need to call Matthew.”

“Take a deep breath!” Taron urged. He was smiling at me as he cupped my cheeks now. “I’ve already talked to Matthew. We’ve got time off with Christmas around the corner. I took care of everything, okay?”

I nodded, forcing myself out of his hands on my face by wrapping my arms around him. “Thank you so much,” I whispered, shutting my eyes and taking a deep breath. “But you better not have gotten me anything for Christmas after this.”

Taron chuckled. “No promises.”

I sighed and let go of him, looking around. “I’d better go home and pack then,” I frowned.

“Could wait till tomorrow,” he suggested. “I can cook us dinner and we can curl up with a movie, if you’d like.”

I contemplated, looking at him. I couldn’t help but to smile. He was so handsome. His sandy blonde hair and his blue-green eyes, that sharp jawline. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“I ask myself that all the time.”

I kissed him before disappearing to the kitchen. “Dinner and cuddles sound great,” I agreed.

Our usual routine took place. I sat on the kitchen counter as Taron cooked. We ate and talked, mostly me as I went on about how excited I was to get home. Taron listened, seeming just as excited to meet my family. I cleaned up as he picked out a movie and we curled up in bed together like always.

The next morning I headed back to my studio apartment and dug out a suitcase from the closet. I packed some clothes and essentials, though I had a lot of this at my parents’ house still. I wanted to call my parents and tell them that I’d be seeing them soon but surprising them sounded so much better.

So that’s what I did. I tried to sleep on the plane but I struggled, even with Taron holding my hand. I knew I was going to be exhausted by time we landed but between the anxiety of being on a plane and being excited to get home, I couldn’t rest.

We caught our layover and boarded. Taron took the window seat again, for which I was grateful. I played on my phone for the most part. I mostly just wanted to be distracted. I hated flying.

When we finally landed in my hometown, I was so happy I could’ve cried. Taron and I retrieved our luggage before getting a rental car to head to a hotel. We ordered pizza and used the hot tub, though I could hardly keep my eyes open after a full day of travelling. Once I was in bed, it took no time for me to fall asleep.

The next morning was a blur. I was a mess. Trying to figure out what to wear, if I should put on makeup, how to do my hair. And of course, none of it truly mattered. It was my family I was about to see.

In the car with Taron, my hands were shaking. “I’m nervous to see them,” I said quietly.

Taron looked up from his phone, taking ahold of my hand. “I’m the nervous one,” he answered. “I’m about to meet your parents for the first time.”

A smile erupted as I looked at him. “My dad might look scary but he’s a big softie.” I took a deep breath, realizing we were growing closer and closer to their house. Thankfully it was a Sunday morning, which meant my parents and my younger brother would be home. We came to a stop and I reluctantly took off my seatbelt. “Ready?” I asked.

Taron nodded and shut off the car. We climbed out and walked through the front gate of my parent’s house. I took out my phone and called my dad. It rang twice before he answered.

“Hi, Rose. What’re you doing sweetheart?”

“Hey Dad. Just was checking in. I sent a package out to you guys for Christmas but it just gave me a notification that it was delivered. I thought that was a bit strange since it’s Sunday.”

“Weird. Guess I’d better check,” my father answered.

“Well get Mom and Sean. I don’t think I selected the gift wrapped option and it is a present after all.”

My dad chuckled on the other end of the phone. I heard him call for my mom and brother. A moment later, the front door swung open. “Well, Rose… I don’t see a package on the porch.”

“That’s really odd. I’m looking at the screen that says delivered. Maybe it’s in the yard.”

“This is a lot of work for a present,” my dad laughed. He stepped onto the porch with the rest of the family on his heels before he finally looked up. His eyes landed on me and Taron before he started smiling. He hung up the call and pocketed his phone as the three of them hurried down the downs and walkway to me.

I don’t know who hugged me first and I don’t know who was crying harder but the four of us were a bumbling mess as we stood there embracing. When I finally caught my breath, I wiped my eyes and reached for Taron and introduced everyone.

“Let’s get inside,” my mom said, her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s cold out here.” She led the way inside. My dad walked to the fireplace and started a fire as I fell into the leather sofa and let out a happy sigh. “Welcome back, sweetheart.”

“I thought you weren’t going to be back for a while,” my brother spoke up, standing there with his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“I thought so too,” I answered then gestured to Taron. “But someone wouldn’t let that happen.”

“She kept talking about how much she loved the holidays and all of the family traditions. I couldn’t let her miss it,” Taron spoke up as he reached for my hand.

“Thanks for bringing her home for a little while.” My dad gave his signature thin lipped smile before disappearing into the other room. He came back with a couple strands of Christmas lights. “Go get the ladder, please, Sean.” My brother nodded and retrieved the ladder before they came back.

“The lights go on the ceiling,” I explained to Taron as we watched. The ceiling had a high arch and a beam down the middle. It had small hooks on the beams that my dad was looping the strands of lights in. While they were busy, my mom and I gave Taron a small tour of the house.

“Where’s your room?” Taron asked as my mom disappeared from our sides.

“I never actually lived at this house,” I answered, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. “After my parents moved out of my childhood home was right around the same time me and what’s-his-name got our first apartment.”

Taron gave a small nod before moving past me and looking at photos on the wall. I stood and watched as his eyes travelled over each photo frame.

“There’s a million more where those came from,” I spoke up.

“I want to see them all.”

I laughed and shook my head. We found the living room again and sat with my family. I told them all about London and the night at Abbey Road, then about the movie and how we were in Norway now. I told them about the Northern Lights and the locket, sparing no detail anywhere in my stories. Then listened as my family explained the last few months to me, giving me updates on extended family and everything else.

It was growing late and I was starving. I followed my dad into the kitchen, leaving Taron with my mom and brother. Dad got his phone out and started playing music as he started dinner. It was always one of my favorite things about going over for dinner. Dad always turned on classic rock and we talked about it as we cooked. We’d share favorite songs that we had heard a million times but never got tired of.

Once dinner was ready, we all took spots at the dining room table. My dad asked question after question to Taron, who answered all of them with ease. I had been nervous about my family meeting him but there was absolutely nothing to be worried about. They got along better than I could have ever expected.

I cleaned up dinner before finding everyone in the living room. Mom had plugged in the Christmas tree and Dad was starting some Christmas music. I knew what was happening next. Sean hit the light switch and the room was dark except for the sparkling Christmas tree and the gleaming lights overheard.

I urged Taron to move down to the floor with me, grabbing pillows from the couch. I laid on my back and soaked in the lights and smiled as Please Come Home for Christmas by the Eagles started playing. This was by far my favorite tradition. Being here with my family and Taron, enjoying the pure happiness that was Christmas felt like bliss.

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daybreak-delusion · 4 years

Text

Chapter 9

Introduction: Whitney Goodwinson was planning on inheriting one of her deceased grandmother's properties, but not a little house off the coast of North Carolina. As she struggles to meet new people, fix up her new property, deal with troublemaker JJ Maybank, and perfect her grandmother's infamous lemonade, she might just find that the Outer Banks has more to offer than it seems.

Series Masterlist

Previous chapter

I want to say that on Sunday I was totally independent and was totally not missing the presence of a certain golden boy at all, but I’d be lying to myself. It wasn't a complete waste of the day though. I did manage to drive the Bee (my new nickname for the Volkswagen) to the hardware store that I saw yesterday and picked up some essentials for fixing up the house. Blue tape, a bunch of paintbrushes and rollers, a couple of gallons of primer and white paint, drop cloths, this anti-rust spray for the garage, about a million trash bags, and some other items that I had to pre-order. The store had limited options for paint so I had to order some from a manual and it would be coming later this week. I figured I would stick to the yellow/lemon theme that she had going on and picked a shade of light yellow. Since the paint should be arriving in a week I had time to get everything situated. Somehow I managed to shove everything into the Bee and make it home. I mean back to the Lemon House. Back at the house, I placed all of my new equipment on the back porch and then headed to the garage. My task for today was going to be cleaning out the garage. I parked the Bee closer to the house so I could have more space and started to realize the trouble I was in. There was just so much junk and the last thing I wanted to do was find the pests that had made a mess of the place. I decided to change into a more suitable outfit for the deep cleaning I was about to do. After switching my sandals for some sneakers and putting on some leggings I made my way back to the garage with a trash can, recycling bin, and a box of trash bags. It was gonna be a long day.

The boxes were filled with all kinds of things. There were old suitcases filled with clothes, rusty pans with ancient stains on them, old fashioned jewelry, and a bunch of old photographs that were in good shape. I was really conflicted about what to get rid of and what to keep. I decided to ditch the pans and pots seeing that they were out of shape. I kept the clothes in case there was a thrift store I could donate them too. Most of the stuff could also be given to thrift stores or antique shops, but there was one box underneath this ancient-looking blanket that seemed different from the others. First of all, it was an actual wooden box, not like the cardboard boxes that had held all of the other items. Unfortunately, there was a lock on the box and it wouldn't open. I didn’t want to break it in case I broke something in the box. Then I remembered the bulletin board where I found the car keys. Walking over to it there were a bunch of different labels for different keys, but one of them didn’t have a label. I figured it was my best bet. Thankfully it was a pretty good bet. When I opened it, a disgusting spider the size of one of Grandmother's lemons crawled out and I bolted out of the garage screaming, knocking over a few boxes in the process. It took me a couple of minutes to calm down and I reluctantly walked back into the garage with a baseball bat I found in my hands. I was shaking as I started to open the box again until I was sure the spider had disappeared. In the box were a bunch of misshapen things covered in old linen cloth and unfortunately spiderwebs. Not wanting to be in the pest infested room anymore I decided to take a break and bring the chest on to the porch. It was a lot lighter than I expected and stained my gray shirt with dust. I placed it on the porch and went inside to grab a damp cloth to clean off the dust. Sitting on the porch I cleaned the box and opened it again. The first misshapen item was a gold locket in good condition, I was excited to see what was in the compartment only to find it empty. The next item was a silver ring with a crop of wheat engraved on it. It was a bit bulky for my taste and definitely had belonged to a man at one point. I slipped it onto my thumb and thought it looked nice with the rest of the rings that I had on. Then at the bottom of the box was an old cracked leather journal with yellow pages. On the bottom right-hand corner the name Elenora Stanton was engraved in gold letters. I instantly knew this stuff belonged in a museum or something the date on the first page was from April 1843.

“Holy shit,” I whispered to myself stroking my hand across the faded ink. The writing was in a small cursive that I could barely make out. It would be easier to read with a magnifying glass. I carefully wrapped the leather-bound book in the white cloth and placed it back into the box. Walking inside I cleared a space for it on the table and set the box down. Thankfully from my knife search when I was making lemonade I got an idea of where everything was in the kitchen and I remembered seeing a magnifying glass in a drawer with a bunch of other random items. I brought it over to the table and opened the old book again. Thank god Mother made me practice writing in cursive or this would have been a nightmare.

23 April 1843

Dear friend as of today, I am eighteen years of age and now get to embark on the responsibilities of an adult. I had received many good wishes of health and good tidings for my birthday and my dearest younger sister Juliana gifted me my most favored gift, this diary. I was also gifted a new church dress from Mother and Father and Aunt Alice promised to take me into town to buy a new corset. She said that all adult women should own a suitable corset and if I am to live with her and Uncle Harry this summer it would be an absolute necessity for me to own one. Mother wishes I would stay home and help care for my younger siblings, but I find it absurd that she puts the task of looking after them on me. If Mother feels too overwhelmed with her offspring then she should simply just hire a nanny. I pray that whoever she hires will be able to keep her sanity after a week of working with my siblings or perhaps Juliana will have to bear my burdens. No matter I mustn’t worry about my family anymore. I am an adult as of today and now am able to focus on the wishes of my own heart. In all truthfulness, my wishes are few in number, but this summer I hope to make more. Aunt Alice says that Outer Banks is a marvelous island and I count the days until we depart. Nonetheless, I still have time to prepare for my departure, till next time dear friend!

30 April 1843

Dear friend this week has been excruciating. Father is beginning to go back on his promise to let me live with Aunt Alice this upcoming summer. He is skeptical of the owner of the island being a colored man and all, but Aunt Alice says that to be truly Christian we must see and treat all people as the children of God and that my father is little-minded. I would never speak to Father with such forwardness so to help my case I have been taking on extra tasks and duties around our home. Juliana has been accompanying me in my tasks as she will be taking over my responsibilities as I predicted. She is quite a quick learner and I’m sure she will be able to manage all of my duties when I leave for the summer. Today we-

The rest of this entry was just explaining all of the chores that Elenora and Juliana had to do on a daily basis. I was incredibly fascinated with the diary and was confused as to why it was in Grandmother's garage? I am interrupted from my thoughts by a buzz coming from my phone on the table. I placed a stray piece of paper where I left off and reached for my phone. Checking my phone I noticed a text from an unknown number.

U/N: Hey Whitney it’s Sarah! My friends and I are going to the beach tomorrow afternoon! I remember you said your board was coming in tomorrow, but if you don’t have it yet John B has an extra one you could borrow! BTW this is nonnegotiable you are coming! We’ll be by at 1. See ya then!

Oh thank god, I was so scared it was going to be Rose Cameron inviting me over for brunch or something.

Also, my mom wants to know if you can do brunch sometime.

Great. Oh well, I guess there could be worse things than free food.

Me: Tell your mother that brunch this Saturday will be fine and I would love to go to the beach with you guys! About the board, I’ll be sure to let you know if I need it or not.

Sarah: Sounds like a plan and be by your dock at 1

Me: Got it see you then!

I was excited to finally have plans that didn't involve me having to wear a dress. I just hope that my board would get in before the afternoon, I’d hate to have to be a bother. I eyed the journal and decided to continue reading. What else did I have to do?

The next few entries were about Elenora’s daily life. Taking care of her siblings, washing the laundry, having tea with her mother’s sewing group, and walking through town with her friends. It was starting to become boring until an entry from June 3rd.

3 June 1843

Dear friend today is the day! I am finally leaving this simple town and am leaving with Aunt Alice and Uncle Harry to The Outer Banks of North Carolina. My soul has reached happiness beyond my comprehension. All of those days of labor around the house finally served a purpose in my measly life. Now I will be embarking to a new place where hopefully anything can happen. Nonetheless, I will not be staying there without a purpose, I am to work in Uncle Harry’s tailor shop mending minor rips and sewing on buttons and such. Mother and father are still reluctant for me to leave our household, but Aunt Alice is most persuasive especially when her favorite niece is involved. We will leave today at noon and then will stay in a tavern closer to the ferry we will take tomorrow. I am just jittery with excitement, this will be a new area for me to explore and I cannot wait to see where it takes me! Till next time dear friend!

It was so strange that this lady, Elenora, was so excited to come to Outer Banks, and just two days ago this was the last place I wanted to be. Maybe I was being a bit ungrateful, maybe this place had more to offer than it seemed. I was absolutely fascinated with the diary, but for real why did Grandmother have it? Maybe she bought it in an auction or it was a gift or something. Looking at my phone for the time I realize it’s a quarter past 1 and I still need to clean out the rest of the garage. Sighing, I closed the diary with a makeshift bookmark and left the house. Bagging up the clothes took the longest, but with the music playing, I didn’t really mind it that much. I had also gotten used to the heat, kind of, so it wasn't completely unbearable. After cleaning everything out and dusting some of the hard to reach corners I decided to power wash the garage. It was disgusting, but it had to be done. The garage was still wet so I decided to bring the remaining boxes to the porch. I was definitely done cleaning for the night and needed some relaxation time. So I cooked up some pasta and steamed vegetables and sat down for dinner. As I was eating my lonely feelings were coming back to me. I was craving company and turned to the diary for something to do.

10 June 1843

Dear friend, I have been staying with Aunt Alice and Uncle Harry for a week now and it has been a thrilling experience. On the ferry ride to the island Uncle Harry let us sit on the top deck and it was exhilarating leaning over the edge to see the water. The shop that Uncle Harry owns is the only tailor shop on the island so they are always busy. We stay in the apartment space above the shop and one of the windows in the parlor gives the most breathtaking view of the ocean. It is so vast and wide that I feel as if I am a small button on a white collared shirt. The apartment is quaint, but I have my very own quarters! There is so much space that I felt quite foolish when I only had my small bag to fill up the drawers. However, Aunt Alice says that if customers are satisfied with their work they sometimes pay extra and that I can keep the excess money for myself! Me owning my own money! It will truly be thrilling I know it. I pray that my skills will be adequate for the shop and that I will exceed my skills. There is still more work to be done, so until next time dear friend!

19 June 1843

Dear friend, I thought that my experiences here on this island could not have been better, but I was proven wrong! This week has been most eventful. It all began on Monday the 13th in the tailor shop. Denmark Tanny, the owner of practically the whole island, came into the shop. He was accompanied by his eldest son Robert Tanny and as they were discussing business with Uncle they mentioned the expertise work on the stitching of a new suit and it was my own work! Thankfully Uncle gave me the credit and I had the pleasure to make their acquaintances. They were truly delightful people and invited us to tea that coming Wednesday at their residence at Tannyhill. Their home was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen in my existence. It was a mansion. I felt so quaint in my three-year-old Easter dress compared to the lavish home. The Tanny family was most welcoming and tea went by too fast. The conversation was most interesting, although I did not speak much. They talked of the economy and politics and I was too mature on the subject. However what was most interesting was during the conversation I prayed my mind was not presuming it, but Robert kept looking in my direction. Looking back on the occasion I should not be assuming such things, but one cannot help themselves when the presence of an attractive male is in the room. When he smiles I feel nothing, but sunshine and complete bliss. The feeling magnifies when he smiles in my direction. I was anticipating our next meeting, however, Mr. Tanny did not come into Uncle’s shop for the rest of the week. Not all hope was lost however because today after our church services Robert Tanny asked to accompany me on my walk home. I almost fainted with excitement, however, I kept up my studious facade and accepted. On the pathway home, we talked of nature and the ocean. To my disappointment we arrived at the shop rather quickly however, Robert promised to take me to the beach to search for shells so that I may decorate my quarters. I am counting the second until this Thursday comes along. Until next time dear friend!

I wanted to keep reading, but I noticed it was past midnight and I still had a lot to do tomorrow. JJ would be by and I had a list of things for him to get done. I also needed to get enough rest if I was going to go surfing and I didn’t want to be the one lagging behind. Elenora’s diary was just gonna have to wait. As I fell asleep I tried to imagine myself in Elenoras place, wonderstruck about Outer Banks, and starting a relationship with a true gentleman. Oh, how things have changed. Still, the name Tanny sounded really familiar to me, especially their house, Tannyhill. This all did take place on Outer Banks, so maybe some of the places Elenora was talking about still exist. I would have to save it for another day because for now, I needed as much beauty sleep as I could get.

a/n: Hey guys sorry I haven’t updated in a while I am on vacation and have been going through a bit of writers block. But I am revived and am so excited to finish this story. Also like PLOT TWIST can’t wait for you guys to read what’s next! I’m still on vacation so I’ll try to update when I can.

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crescentmoon223 · 4 years

Text

When This is Over

As promised, my Stella/Scully quarantine fic. Heads up, it’s SUPER SMUTTY - you’ve been warned lol.

Tensions run high when Stella and Scully are forced to self-isolate together at home during a global pandemic. How far will Scully go to convince Stella to take her on a belated honeymoon once this is over? (Hint: bedroom hijinks!)

Read it on AO3 Note: This is set in present day (spring 2020), post Two Worlds Collide and after their wedding. When I write the sequel to TWC, it will be set during the summer and fall of 2019, directly after the epilogue (and yes, it will include their wedding!) Sorry if this is confusing, but it’s the only way the timeline made sense in my head lol. Obviously, I would rather write the TWC sequel first (and I do hope to write it next month!) but the idea for this quarantine fic hit last weekend, and I decided to go for it while it was relevant. I hope you enjoy! xx

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There were certain sounds that Scully associated with this new chapter in their lives. The clatter of fingers on a keyboard. The murmur of newscasters from the television in the kitchen. The flute music Stella listened to while she did yoga. And currently, the bump and clatter of her obsessively cleaning their flat. Scully looked up from her laptop with a smile as Stella entered her line of vision. She wore gray yoga pants with a black tank top, her hair tied back with a red polka-dot bandana. She wiped down their already sparkling countertops, spraying and scrubbing at spots only she could see. Everyday Stella was a neat freak and a bit of a germophobe. Stella during a viral pandemic was next level. “Nice ass,” Scully called as Stella bent to wipe down the front of one of the cabinets. Stella shot her an exasperated look, but she turned, leaning over the sink to rinse her cleaning cloth in a way that pressed her breasts together, emphasizing her cleavage beneath the snug-fitting tank top, and it certainly wasn’t accidental.

Read the rest on AO3

Scully closed out of the software the university was using for its virtual classroom. She’d been teaching forensics online for a week now, and it had gone relatively smoothly, although she missed the face-to-face interaction with her students. Setting her laptop on the table, she returned her attention to her wife. “Planning to stop cleaning anytime soon?” Another sharp look from Stella. “I’ll stop when it’s clean.” Scully knew better than to argue with her. She fought a smile as she remembered the abject horror on Stella’s face after she’d been told that as Detective Chief Superintendent, a position which required little to no field work, she was one of the non-essential Met personnel who would be expected to work from home until the self-isolation period had passed. In the days since, she had quickly demonstrated why she was not a good candidate to work from home. Unable to go to the office—or the pool—she’d covered the living room table with Met paperwork, file folders and notebooks filled with her ingenious musings. When she wasn’t working, she alternated between cleaning fits, ill-fated yoga sessions that tended to end in a lot of swearing and whiskey drinking, and watching entirely too much news BBC coverage on COVID-19. In short, she was driving Scully crazy. For her part, Scully had a more pragmatic approach. She’d suffered through many less pleasant quarantine situations than this one during her time on the X Files, and she’d already faced the potential end of the world as she knew it…more than once. She was perfectly content now to teach from her home office, run her own data on the progression of the virus, and spend plenty of time with her wife. If only she could get Stella to settle. “I need to check on my mom, and then we should start thinking about dinner,” Scully told her. “There are steaks in the freezer,” Stella said. “I’ll put them in the sink to thaw.” “Perfect.” Scully picked up her laptop and opened FaceTime to dial her mom. Maggie’s face appeared on the screen, and Scully felt something deep inside her relax. Probably the hardest part of this mandatory self-isolation was being trapped an ocean away from her mom, who was in a high-risk category due to her age. Thankfully, Maggie had lots of people checking on her. “Dana, I was just thinking about you,” she said with a smile. “How are you today, Mom?” “Oh, I’m just fine. Fox dropped by earlier. He brought me groceries, that sweet man.” Scully’s heart clenched. Mulder was a sweet man to check on her mom for her, not that she’d ever doubted this about him. They were family, in every way that mattered. She made a mental note to call him in the morning to thank him, and to make sure he was taking care of himself too. “He didn’t come in, did he?” “No. He left the groceries on the porch and then sat and talked with me for a while through the window.” Scully smiled. “That was nice of him.” “He talked a lot about increased UFO sightings, particularly in areas with the highest rate of infection.” Maggie’s eyes widened. “Mom.” Scully shook her head in exasperation. “It’s not an alien virus. In fact, it originated from bats.” “Well, he was very convincing, is all I’m saying,” Maggie told her. “He always is,” Scully agreed. “You’re still feeling fine? No symptoms?” “I’m as healthy as a seventy-six-year-old woman could expect to be,” Maggie said. “I even went for a walk around the neighborhood earlier, and before you ask, yes, I kept my distance from everyone else.” “Good,” Scully said, wishing more than anything that she could reach through the screen and give her mom a hug. “Remember, there’s no reason to panic if you do develop symptoms, but it’s extremely important that you get tested right away. Tests are hard to come by in the US, but I know people who can pull strings for you.” “I know, I know,” Maggie said, waving her hands impatiently. “How are you and Stella?” “We’re fine,” Scully told her, glancing toward the kitchen, but Stella was nowhere in sight. “Just a bit stir crazy, but who isn’t?” “I imagine this is very difficult for Stella,” Maggie said with a knowing smile. Scully grinned. “You got that right.” “Did I hear my name?” Stella emerged from the hallway, having changed into a white T-shirt and drawstring pants, her hair loose over her shoulders. She sat on the couch beside Scully, waving politely at Maggie. “Hi, Stella,” Maggie said warmly. “How are you?” “I’m fine, despite what Dana may be telling you,” she said, giving Scully a look. “And how are you, Maggie?” “The very same,” Maggie said with a laugh. Stella joined the conversation for a few minutes before excusing herself to the kitchen to check on the steaks. “I’ll talk to you again tomorrow, Mom,” Scully said. “And call me anytime, for any reason, no matter the hour. Promise?” “Will do,” Maggie said. “Good night, Dana. I love you.” “Love you too, Mom.” She ended the call and closed her laptop. Her gaze caught on the gold band glinting on her left ring finger. She was thankful for it for so many reasons, but right now, it symbolized a vitally important connection between her and Stella. If the worst were to happen and one of them became sick, they would have spousal privileges at the hospital. Stella was her next of kin, with visitation rights and the power to make any difficult decisions that might need to be made. And Scully would do the same for Stella. Both of them had living wills and all their wishes already clearly defined, but it gave her an extra sense of peace knowing they had each other. She touched the ring with a smile. “What do you want to do until dinner?” Stella asked, rejoining her on the couch. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.” She smiled as Stella’s fingers traced the seam of Scully’s jeans from her knee slowly up her thigh. They’d always enjoyed an active sex life, but being stuck at home together had made them even more insatiable than usual. She reached for Stella, sliding one hand into her hair as she pulled her in for a kiss. Stella smelled like lemons and soap, her lips soft and pliant against Scully’s. She stared into the azure depths of Stella’s eyes as her mind flipped all the way back to their first kiss against the side of Stella’s car over twenty years ago. They’d shared a lifetime of kisses since, two continents worth, from London to Maryland to Wyoming. Lately, she’d been wanting to add someplace new to that list. She pressed her lips against a sensitive spot on Stella’s jaw, feeling the shudder that ran through her. “You still owe me a honeymoon, you know.” “This isn’t enough for you?” Stella quipped, hands roaming beneath Scully’s shirt. “Endless weeks trapped here at home, fucking each other senseless?” She shook her head, gasping as Stella sucked at the spot beneath her ear that had always been her undoing. “I’m serious. If we survive this pandemic—” “If?” Stella interrupted, her tone sharp. “When,” Scully corrected. “When this is over, we owe it to ourselves to take a real vacation, one that has nothing to do with work or family. Just you and me, celebrating our marriage somewhere special.” Stella said nothing, instead swirling her tongue over Scully’s neck while she teased her through her jeans. But despite her already-wet panties, Scully persisted, because seduction as a form of distraction was the oldest rule in Stella’s book. “Paris,” she said, sliding into Stella’s lap. “There are so many museums we could explore, so much art. The Mona Lisa…” Stella arched her hips so Scully could move against her, friction building through their clothes. “I’ve seen the Mona Lisa.” “But I haven’t.” She slipped a hand between them, touching Stella through her pants, pleased as Stella’s breath hitched, nipples hardening beneath her T-shirt. “Take me, Stel.” “Yes,” Stella said throatily. “Take me to Paris,” she clarified, fingers moving over the soft cotton of Stella’s pants, already damp with her arousal. “We’ll see,” Stella hedged. She thought vacations were a waste of time and money, an extravagance that could be better indulged in fine liquors, fabrics, and other luxuries right here at home. Scully was generally inclined to agree with her. They both worked hard and traveled often enough for work or to visit family that a separate vacation just for the two of them sometimes felt like too much effort. But this was different. She’d already lost too many years to unpredictable viruses and quarantine protocols. She deserved a trip to Paris, at the very least. They both did. But if sex was Stella’s preferred means of communication at the moment, maybe she could use that to her advantage. Scully bent her head and kissed Stella, hands sliding behind her back to hold her close. Her tongue slid into the welcome heat of Stella’s mouth, tasting whiskey. “Picture it, Stella,” she murmured against her lips. “Sidewalk cafés, wine and cheese and melt-in-your-mouth pastries on our balcony.” “Mm,” Stella said noncommittally, hands gripping Scully’s ass. “Versailles,” Scully whispered against the pulse point on Stella’s neck, watching as goose bumps rose on her skin. “Gardens. Flowers. So many beautiful churches.” “I hate church,” Stella said breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to sit through a service with me, just admire the architecture and the stained glass.” She swirled her tongue over Stella’s collarbone, rewarded by a sharp inhale. “Let’s go, when this is over.” “Dana…” Stella’s body stilled beneath Scully’s. “We don’t know when that will be or what the world will look like.” “I know that.” She sat up, taking Stella’s chin in her hand to force her to meet her eyes. “I know that better than almost anyone.” “Then why are you pushing me for a trip right now of all times?” There was a fragility to the fierceness in Stella’s gaze. She was afraid. Scully softened at the realization. “The world will look different when this is over, and it will be a while before we can go to Paris, but it’s good for morale to have something to look forward to, and I would imagine the economy will need a boost from tourism when all is said and done.” “I can find you plenty of architecture and stained glass right here in London.” Stella popped the button on Scully’s jeans, pushing down the zipper with a soft metallic hiss. Scully pressed closer. “Not the point.” “Agree to disagree?” Stella’s fingers dove down the front of Scully’s underwear. Her hips rolled against Stella’s hand as a soft whimper escaped her throat, and a wicked idea took hold in her mind. “I’ll play you for it.” “What?” An adorable wrinkle appeared in Stella’s brow. Scully sat up straighter, grinning. “Sex games are your specialty, are they not?” Stella’s eyebrows lifted. “What kind of game?” “If I can make you come first, we go to Paris. If you make me come first, we stay home.” She dangled the bait, knowing Stella would be unable to refuse, even as she also knew her chances of winning were slim. Stella’s self-control was legendary, after all. But it would be fun to try, and it might even distract Stella from the reality of their situation for a little while. Sure enough, the flame in Stella’s eyes lit. “You’re on.” * * * Stella pushed Scully onto the bed and climbed on top of her, both of them still fully clothed. Now that Scully had made this a game with their honeymoon as the prize, they were both eager to take things slow. Frankly, Stella couldn’t imagine a better way to spend what remained of the afternoon than to slowly and relentlessly tease Scully right over the edge…repeatedly. “You smell good,” Scully murmured, shifting beneath her so that Stella’s right thigh slid between her own. “I took a quick shower while you were talking to your mother.” Stella pressed her thigh more firmly against Scully, rewarded by a little moan. She liked this position, being on top, in control, a feeling that had been in short supply since she’d been sent home from work. Stella hated laying low, waiting the threat to pass. Her every instinct screamed for her to get out there on the frontlines and fight this thing. She’d fearlessly stared down every kind of evil imaginable over the years, but this one was different. There was no bravery in going outside now, nothing but her own stupidity to blame if she allowed the virus to catch her. There was a helplessness to being trapped at home that was slowly eating her alive. She’d cleaned everything she could get her hands on, the only way she knew to fight this faceless threat. She’d checked on Fran nearly as often as Scully called her mother. She’d watched while Scully analyzed articles and data, showing her graphs that scared the fuck out of her, while Scully herself faced their uncertain future with a kind of serenity that made Stella want to scream. Distantly, she wondered if Scully knew all of this, if she’d manufactured this sex game to get Stella out of her head for a little while, to give her a sense of power here that she couldn’t find elsewhere right now. It wouldn’t surprise her, but she wasn’t going to let it ruin this moment either. She slid a hand beneath Scully’s top—a crisp black button-down she’d worn for her online teaching earlier that day—and cupped her over her bra. She brushed her thumb back and forth, feeling Scully’s nipples harden beneath her touch. Scully deftly untied the drawstring on Stella’s pants, slipping a hand inside. “Stella,” she said in a scandalized tone. “Did you FaceTime my mother without underwear?” “Easier to get undressed afterward.” She swallowed a whimper as Scully’s fingers slid over her bare skin before retreating to palm her equally bare breasts. “I’ll say.” Scully pushed Stella’s shirt up, helping her slide it over her head. Stella straightened, tits bouncing as she rocked her hips against Scully’s. The coronavirus was outside her control, but this—her body, her pleasure—this she controlled. That she would win was already a forgone conclusion. She could hardly believe Scully had even offered the challenge. “This might be a better view than anything I would find in the Louvre,” Scully said, gaze locked on Stella’s tits. “All the more reason not to go.” Stella began unbuttoning Scully’s blouse, pausing after each button to kiss the newly exposed skin, leaving a wet trail down the center of her chest and over the clasp of her bra. She continued all the way to the waistband of Scully’s jeans, her shirt now hanging open at her sides. Scully looked down at her, chest heaving, bottom lip pinched between her teeth. “Well, don’t stop there.” “Wasn’t planning to.” Stella eased the shirt down Scully’s left arm and then the right before tossing it to the floor. She helped Scully wiggle out of her jeans, dipping her head to kiss her through her underwear before she stripped those away too, followed by her own pants. Once they were both naked, Stella turned her attention to worshipping every inch of Scully’s bare skin. She kissed her breasts, teasing Scully’s nipples until they had tightened into tight rosy buds, which she flicked with her tongue until Scully moaned. Stella looked up and caught her gaze as she began to kiss her way down Scully’s stomach, making sure to pay special attention to all of her most sensitive spots, like that little patch of skin just below her left hipbone, the one that made her whimper and squirm as Stella’s tongue swirled over it. “God, Stella,” Scully groaned, hands fisted in the sheet. “Mm,” she murmured as she flicked her tongue against Scully’s clit, causing her hips to buck upward with a gasp of surprise. Stella was torn between the desire to drive Scully straight over the edge or to hold herself back a bit and at least give Scully a fighting chance. In the end, she wanted this to last as long as possible. Power games in bed were a huge fucking turn on. Just thinking about what was to come had her throbbing in anticipation. She teased Scully with her tongue, licking and sucking but never giving her as much pressure as she knew Scully preferred. She pushed a single finger inside her, thrusting in time with her tongue, toying with her. Scully’s gasping breaths became increasingly labored, her hips shifting restlessly, her arousal fueling Stella’s. She reached between her own thighs, pressing two fingers against her aching clit. She stroked herself once, twice, just enough to give herself momentary relief from the tension building there before returning her hand to Scully’s body, letting her own need drive her as she focused on her wife. She nipped Scully’s clit, drawing a strangled cry from her lips, before trailing a string of wet, open-mouthed kisses down her inner thighs until Scully was writhing beneath her. “Stop,” she mumbled, pushing at Stella’s shoulders. Stella smiled as she complied, sliding up Scully’s body to kiss her on the mouth, tongues tangling, bodies pressed together from head to toe, spreading heat with every movement. They kissed for what felt like hours, and Stella was lost in the sensations, the warmth of Scully’s breath on her cheeks, the weight of Scully’s breasts against her own, the teasing rub of her skin against the parts of Stella that ached for release. And then Scully was moving, shimmying down to position herself between Stella’s thighs. She inhaled sharply, everything inside her tensing in anticipation. Scully was talented in too many ways to name, but the wicked pleasure of her mouth was something that still overwhelmed Stella in the best possible way. She began with one long, slow lick, and Stella felt herself arching off the bed, her body instinctively seeking more. Scully centered the heat of her mouth over Stella’s clit, swirling there until Stella was dizzy with desire, unaware of anything but the hot press of Scully’s tongue and the powerful need coiling inside her. She moved her hips, rocking against Scully’s mouth, allowing herself this moment of surrender before she slid sideways, rolling to face Scully. Need pulsed wickedly inside her, invigorating her, burning away the ugly things that had built in her chest during the day. “Touch yourself,” she demanded, feeling a shiver of excitement as she watched Scully push a hand between her thighs in response. Scully stroked herself, slowly at first, gradually picking up speed. Her lips parted in silent pleasure, and Stella watched, entranced. Scully stared straight into her eyes as she moved, pleasure apparent in the flush on her cheeks and the slightly dazed expression on her face. “You too,” Scully said breathlessly. “Touch yourself.” Stella did, bringing a hand between her thighs, which were already slick with a combination of her own arousal and Scully’s recent attention. She kept her touch light, careful not to give herself too much stimulation, not when Scully had already brought her so close to the edge. She skimmed her fingers over herself as her core clenched, seeking the release she so relentlessly denied herself. “How close are you?” Scully asked, gaze dropping to Stella’s hand, watching as she touched herself. “Not very,” Stella told her, which was technically true, although she could get herself there quickly enough if she allowed it. “On a scale of one to ten,” Scully persisted, her own fingers still moving, stroking. “One being barely aroused, and ten being the point of no return.” Stella smirked. “Six.” “Oh.” Scully slowed her fingers, looking pained to do so. “And you?” Stella couldn’t help asking. “Eight.” She whimpered slightly. “Maybe a nine.” “Interesting.” Stella reached for her, drawing her close. She pushed Scully’s hand aside, replacing it with her own, and fuck, Scully was so wet. It sent a hot thrill through Stella’s body, shooting straight to her clit. Swiftly, she rolled, sliding a thigh between Scully’s in a move streamlined by years of practice, intimate knowledge of exactly how to position herself so that their pussies pressed together for optimal pleasure. Immediately, Scully began to move, grinding vigorously against Stella. “Nine,” Scully gasped. “Definitely a nine.” Stella was headed there pretty quickly herself, her clit thrumming with need beneath the hot, wet slide of Scully’s body. She watched as Scully surrendered, shuddering in her arms, her pussy pulsing against Stella’s as she came, whimpering, hips jerking, and it was so powerful, she nearly took Stella over the edge with her. She began to move against Scully in earnest now, chasing her own release. She arched her hips so that her clit rubbed against Scully’s pelvic bone with each thrust, and yes, this was it. This was perfect. So fucking perfect. Need coiled hot and tight in her core. Scully rolled away with a wicked grin. “I demand a rematch.” “Well, that’s hardly fair,” Stella said, attempting to steady her voice as her thighs pressed together uncomfortably. “Not exactly a level playing field now, is it?” “It’s perfectly fair,” Scully told her. “You deserved to start with a handicap.” And well, she had a point. Even in her current state, Stella could probably still win their bet. She blew out a long, slow breath. Strike that. She could definitely still win their bet. She could win it three times over if she had to. The game was all part of the thrill for her, and as long as it lasted, she didn’t have to think about what was happening outside their flat, the invisible threat she didn’t know how to fight. “All right.” Scully gave her a smug smile, but Stella kissed it right off her face as she moved in, getting right down to business this time. She fucked Scully hard and fast with her fingers, not letting up until Scully was writhing against her all over again. Once she had her sufficiently worked up, Stella withdrew her hand, trailing her glistening fingers over Scully’s stomach, thrilled with the way she trembled beneath Stella’s touch. “And now?” she asked. “Where are you on your little scale?” “At least a seven.” She pressed a thigh between Stella’s legs, angling her hips to give them both some much-needed friction. “You?” “Same.” Stella pressed herself firmly against Scully’s thigh, attempting to hold still, but Scully stymied her with her own movements, causing her thigh to rub rhythmically against Stella’s already hyper-sensitive clit. She gripped tighter with her thighs, allowing it…for now. “You’re so gorgeous when you’re this turned on,” Scully said reverently, tracing a hand over the contour of Stella’s face. “Makes me want to tease you like this forever.” Stella exhaled, hearing the hitch in her breath. Her thighs, still clamped around Scully’s, began to shake. Scully’s hips stilled, bringing them both to a gasping halt. Stella unthreaded their legs, channeling the energy inside her into a blistering kiss, her lips devouring Scully’s, tongues thrusting in an imitation of the act their bodies craved. This kiss was deep and ravenous, feeding a hunger that only grew with each passing moment. Stella could lose herself here, every cell in her body achingly, breathtakingly alive, adrenaline coursing through her veins, all centered in the pulsing ache between her thighs. They moved together, never quite allowing their bodies to touch the way they needed, instead letting the whisper soft brush of skin against skin stoke the fire blazing between them. “Stella,” Scully gasped, fingernails biting into Stella’s back, causing her to exhale sharply in pleasure. “Do that again,” Stella demanded, her voice low and hoarse. Scully’s nails bit into her skin, dragging slowly down her back to dig into her ass, hauling her up against the welcome heat of Scully’s body. Their hips pressed together more firmly now, and Stella couldn’t help but gasp as Scully thrust against her. “Fuck,” Scully mumbled, and Stella grinned against her lips. Despite her best intentions, Scully had very little willpower when it came to postponing her pleasure. “Nine again, hm?” Stella asked. “Yes.” Scully’s movements became increasingly frantic. Stella arched her back, separating their hips, causing Scully to swear. But Stella wasn’t quite ready for this to be over. Not to mention, Scully was also incredibly, impossibly beautiful when she was this turned on. Her blue eyes gleamed with desire, cheeks flushed, breath coming in irregular gasps. Stella slid down to lavish her breasts, licking and sucking as Scully writhed beneath her. And then, Scully rose, flipping Stella beneath her and pinning her to the bed before she’d realized what was happening. “Time to get you to a nine,” Scully panted, and Stella shifted restlessly against the bed. Truthfully, she’d already been there a few times, and it wouldn’t take much to bring her back…or to carry her over the edge. She held herself still as Scully crawled down her body, giving her a heated look before she closed her mouth directly over Stella’s clit, sucking hard. Stella’s hips bucked, and she held her breath against the urge to beg for more. Scully was on a mission, her tongue licking, flicking, swirling with such an intensity that for several long moments, Stella completely lost her wits, grinding shamelessly against Scully’s mouth. Scully pushed two fingers inside her, expertly stroking her upper wall, and just like that… “Nine,” Stella gasped, pushing Scully away as her core clenched desperately against the emptiness left behind. “Oh, I definitely like you like this,” Scully said, eyes burning hot as they raked over Stella’s body, scorching her everywhere they touched. It was all she could do not to bring her hand between her thighs and let Scully watch as she fucked herself right over the edge. Instead, she pounced, hands gripping Scully’s hips as she evened the score. She held nothing back, nipping and sucking at Scully’s clit as she pushed two fingers inside her, followed quickly by a third. She showed no mercy, working Scully hard and fast, dimly aware that she wasn’t even trying to slow Stella down this time. Scully came in a wet rush, her pussy clenching around Stella’s fingers as her body shook and her hips bucked, followed by a long, low cry of relief. Stella rolled to the side, one hand already between her legs, fucking herself as hard as she’d just fucked Scully. “Wait,” Scully gasped, rising unsteadily as a smile stretched her cheeks. “No,” Stella protested, even as her hand stilled. She could wait. She could keep this up as long as Scully wanted to play. But she was ready to come. Her body shook with the effort not to. “I won fair and square. Twice.” “Yes, you did.” Scully planted a hot kiss against her lips. “And you deserve to be rewarded properly for your efforts.” “Do I?” she asked, one hand still pressed firmly between her legs but not moving, holding herself on the brink of release. “Yes,” Scully said with a brisk nod. “Hands off.” Stella complied, desperately curious as to what Scully had in mind. She steadied her breathing, trying to relax, pushing back her need so that she’d last long enough to properly enjoy her reward, whatever it was. Scully scooted to the edge of the bed and opened the drawer where they kept their toys. A fresh wave of arousal rushed through Stella, and she pressed her thighs together. As she watched, Scully took out the hot pink strap-on that was possibly Stella’s favorite possession. Scully slipped into the harness before turning to face Stella, pink cock jutting in her direction, and she couldn’t help it. She moaned. If it was possible to come from anticipation alone, this would be the moment. Scully squirted lube onto one palm and slicked it over the cock, warming it beneath her palms with long, sweeping strokes while Stella clenched her fists in the sheet to keep from touching herself. She ached to be filled, desperation making her weak. “Ready?” Scully asked as she crawled onto the bed, and Stella nodded, thighs parting in anticipation. “You’re so wet for me, Stella,” Scully said as she allowed the head of the cock to brush against Stella’s entrance. “Mm,” she agreed, gripping Scully’s ass, pulling her closer. “Impatient, are we?” Scully quipped, rocking her hips so that the head of the cock slipped inside Stella. She whimpered, too far gone to argue. Scully pressed forward, testing Stella as her body adjusted to the toy before she drew back and slid home, filling Stella completely. She moaned in relief, falling back against the mattress as Scully straddled her, thrusting into her hard and fast, just the way Stella liked. Scully reached between them, stroking Stella’s clit in time with the movement of her hips, and Stella was done for. Her eyes fell shut as she rocked up to meet Scully, barely able to breathe past the need rising inside her, throbbing in her core, building hotter and stronger with each thrust until she thought she might burst from the power of it. “More,” she gasped. Scully picked up the pace, pounding into her as her fingers circled Stella’s clit, harder, faster, and then she was coming, arching off the bed with a moan as the orgasm rushed through her, leaving her hot and tingly in its wake. She lay there, gasping for breath, still impossibly aroused by the feel of the cock inside her and the woman on top of her. Scully paused, allowing Stella a moment to catch her breath before she resumed her movements, this time tilting her hips so that the head of the cock rubbed against Stella’s G-spot on every stroke. She swore as need rose inside her again, impossible stronger and more urgent than before, so intense she could only writhe and swear beneath Scully as she carried Stella swiftly toward a second orgasm. “Come for me,” Scully whispered, and Stella did. Her core ignited with release, pulsing through her with such an intensity, she almost thought she was having an out of body experience. A high, keening cry tore from her throat as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. It kept coming, she kept coming, as her body released all the tension she’d built up during their game. When she regained her senses, she was limp and shaky, her body covered in sweat, her pussy still tingling with aftershocks of pleasure. “Wow,” Scully whispered. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you come that hard.” Rather than answering, Stella pulled her in for a deep, drunken kiss. She wasn’t entirely sure she could form words just yet, let alone move, so she just lay there, panting for breath, as Scully climbed off the bed and went into the bathroom to clean their toy. She returned a few minutes later and tucked the dildo back into its drawer before sliding into bed, a pink cloth in her hands. She pressed it against Stella’s flushed face. The cloth was warm and damp, and it felt so good as Scully gently wiped the sweat from her skin. She worked her way down Stella’s body, washing away sweat and sex. When she’d finished, she tossed the cloth toward the bathroom and crawled in beside Stella, one arm thrown over her stomach. They lay like that for a while, both of them calm and sated. Scully’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Stella’s skin. “We’ll have a lovely honeymoon here in London when this is over,” she said softly without a trace of disappointment in her tone, true to her word. Stella looked down at the gold band on her finger. She tightened her arms protectively around Scully as teared pooled in her eyes. Despite their self-isolation, what if the virus managed to penetrate their home? What if something happened to Scully? Stella couldn’t bear the thought. Scully closed her eyes, resting peacefully in Stella’s arms. Was she daydreaming about their honeymoon? Stella tried to imagine it, but she found herself picturing Scully sipping champagne on the Eiffel Tower, eating pastries at a sidewalk café, spouting scientific details as Stella showed her magnificent stained glass in Saint Chappelle and Notre Dame, so much stained glass it would take her breath away. If they survived this—when they survived this—how could Stella possibly deny her the honeymoon of her dreams? How could she deny either of them that chance? She held Scully tightly, burying her face in the floral-scented depths of Scully’s hair. “But not as lovely as Paris.” Scully pulled back to give her a baffled look. “You were right,” Stella whispered. “We should go to Paris.” Scully beamed at her with a joy so pure, it warmed even the darkest, most fearful parts of Stella’s heart. “Really?” “Really.” She drew in a breath. “But it will be a while before we can go, Dana, and I don’t—” “I know.” Scully brought their lips together for a gentle kiss. “It took us twenty years to get married. However long we have to wait for our honeymoon, it will be worth it.” Stella nodded as a tear slipped over her cheek, knowing in her heart that it was true.

#fanfic #Two Worlds Collide #scullyxstella #stella and scully #scully/stella #Stella Gibson #Dana Scully #quarantine #quarantine fic

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