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angelaiswriting · 4 years ago

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Of Matches and Dates | Bandit x fem!reader

[video by rodnae productions from pexels]

✏️ Pairing: Bandit x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: with Valentine’s Day around the corner, Dominic’s friends have managed to convince him to download a dating app. (Not requested, but inspired by the lovely @kind-wolf as always)

✏️ A/N: this is just a lil something for Valentine’s day. I’m still working on my fluff skills :’) Domi’s dating profile is at the bottom of the fic: it took me forever to make but I’m so proud :’) enjoy 💛

✏️ Warnings: none :’)

✏️ Word-count: 5,274

OF MATCHES AND DATES

The club is packed — and Dominic is too tired to even care, for once. His back is burning, and there’s a nasty gash on his left thigh that a doctor has stitched up too tightly and that’s constantly making him ground his teeth every time the muscle tenses up.

He’s forgotten whose stupid idea it was to go out clubbing not even three hours after coming back from a mission on the other face of the Earth, but he does remember he’s there to be Eli’s wingman just in case his date dumps him last minute. It won’t happen, of course, but the kid still worries when it comes to a pretty lady he’s matched with on Matcher.

Matcher is the latest novelty at the base, or so that’s the impression he’s had ever since his jet landed not so long ago. Even Monika has signed up for an account — It’s great to pass time, Domi! You should download it, it’s free, or that’s what she said the second before tearing his phone from his hands to download it herself.

“Here, I brought you drink!” Alexsandr tears him from his musings — and the dull soreness still crawling underneath his skin — and unceremoniously slaps a shot of vodka on the small, high table he’s been leaning against. By the time the glass is halfway to his lips, Dominic has the time to notice half of its contents have sloshed out onto the metal surface of that dingy thing; he doesn’t care: he simply tilts his head back, lets the alcohol wash down his throat and prays it’ll numb everything to a low hum.

“Where is everyone else?” he asks, hissing when someone bumps into his back in passing. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt like every single muscle in his body felt so pulled and tight, but he’s already set up his mind to barge into Harry’s office the next morning and ask for — or demand — the longest leave he’s ever thought of asking.

Alex shrugs and quickly empties the shot he has in his right hand, for the one in his left is already empty. The bar is right behind them, though, so they both know they’ll be making back and forth more times than one would rather know. “Somewhere in there,” he replies, jutting his chin in the general direction of the mess of bodies behind Dominic’s back. “Adriano has a date, too, so he ditched us.”

“So did Elias, Monika and Seamus.” He turns around briefly, throws a look around to try and see if he can get a glimpse of the friends they’ve come here with, but miserably fails.

“Stupid dating apps, making men our age third-wheel like this.” Alexsandr groans something in Russian then, but it’s under his breath and Dominic would never be able to tell what that was with the noise in there — he also doesn’t speak Russian, he finds himself realizing a minute too late. “But I met the French at the bar, they rented out a VIP room for the night.”

“We should gatecrash it.”

Ten minutes later, eight of which spent downing one drink after the other in the vain attempt to outdrink each other, both men walk into the French’s VIP room behind Gustave Kateb, whose English has already started slurring into French when he doesn’t focus enough.

The French aren’t the only people there: Marius sends Dominic a pleading look as Lion fills his head with his usual bullshit, and a bunch of recruits who’ve somehow had the chance to hang around the more seasoned operators sit on the couch on the far left of the room and listen to what Y/N and Finka are enlightening them with. The two women turn around to greet them and although Dominic’s eyes trail down the plummeting neckline of Y/N’s shimmery top, he still has enough attention to spare to notice how the rookies hang from her lips as she keeps on talking.

Alexsandr’s exclamation of jubilee, however, tears him from the sight of the only one he’s had a crush on for a long time now and there’s nothing he can do to stop the other from dragging him towards the couch Montagne is sitting on with not one, not two, but three bottles of vodka on the low table in front of him.

“What do a Russian, a French and a German have in common?” Gilles asks, raising a shot glass and chuckling drunkenly as icy droplets of alcohol trail down the glass and onto the still-bruised skin between his right thumb and forefinger.

“Their hatred for this goddamn dating app?”

But Alex slaps him up the back of his head as he takes the shot their tipsy friend is handing him. “Alcohol!” he booms, making more than a couple of heads turn around before drinking his glass dry as though it didn’t contain but water.

They end up sitting together, Dominic to the right and Alexsandr to the left of Montagne, their knees pressing into each other’s as they joke and drink. They’re the only three in the room that have just come back from a mission abroad, and no one comes to bother them for a long time as they try to relax and let go. The topic of discussion, however, quickly shifts back to the fucking dating app.

Matcher seems to be all the rage, and it somehow manages to sneak its way into even the most unassuming conversations. Neither of them would by now be able to assert with utmost certainty if there truly is someone at the base that doesn’t use it — apart from the people that have spent the last two weeks on a mission, completely detached from the civilian world, that is.

“I’ve heard Blitz has already had something like fifteen dates so far, in less than three weeks at that!” Gilles’ English is softened and slurred out by his French, the same French that always comes back every time he goes beyond a certain threshold when it comes to drinking.

“Fifteen?!” Alexsandr almost cries out, comically counting on his fingers until he’s reached the right number, almost as though by doing that, he’ll be able to fully comprehend the extent of Elias’ adventures.

“He’s fucked with only seven of them, though,” adds Dominic, tipping down another shot before leaning back against his seat, spreading his arms on the backrest and letting his hands hang against the cool faux leather.

Yet again, Alex counts on his fingers — up to seven, and then up to fifteen, just to see how big the difference between the two is. “Christ,” is his only comment just before he takes a long sip straight from the bottle, long enough to finish the two fingers of liquid that remain in it.

“Monique made me download it,” and it takes them a minute to put two and two together and realize Gilles is talking about IQ in his frenchified English. “Snatched mon portable from my hands and gave it back with that fucking app on my home screen.”

Dominic scoffs, the French’s experience with his colleague hitting closer to home than he would have thought possible before today. “Did the same to me. If you had given her five minutes more, she would’ve created an account for you like she did mine.”

They’re curious, both the French and the Russian, and while Gilles is chill, Dominic knows Alexsandr is not going to let him live this down. So, their quick Show us! turns into some rearranging on their seats so that Dominic ends up finding himself trapped between his two friends, looming over him like some vultures.

“Since when do you like cooking dates?” asks Alex when the app opens on Dominic’s personal profile page.

“Monika chose everything, said ‘pussy’ isn’t respectable enough as an interest. Cooking dates apparently work better at getting women, or so she says.”

“You sure she didn’t want you to match up with her?”

“Don’t listen to Frenchie, show us who it makes you match with!” Alex’s hand is quick at shooting out, but Dominic is quicker, pulling his phone away so that his now pouting friend can’t get a hold of it.

“I’ll use it. I don’t want you messing up my app.”

“I thought you didn’t like the idea of having it.”

“And I don’t! I’m just bored!”

But he still touches the search icon, and the other two almost hold their breaths as they wait for the shitty reception inside the club to allow the page to fully load and replace the pulsating hearts of the logo to leave their place to profile pictures.

The first is a 37-year-old woman with curly ginger hair and eyes of two different colors — they’re both brown, but there’s some blue in the left one, as well.

“Pretty,” says Gilles just as Dominic reads what her profession is — florist. “Match with her.”

But Dom is good — and he tells them that, pushing their hands away from his phone to prevent them from doing things with his app. “Make your own account and stop bugging me about mine,” he replies as his fingers tap the bubble with the golden star icon — not a match, more like a ‘save for later’ and although he’s had plenty of one-night stands, ‘saving’ someone ‘for later’ makes him feel fifty different shades of dirty.

The second woman is South African, a bit too far away, but with his job, he could end up anywhere in the world. So, he saves Bea for later before Alex makes him change his search parameters so that the system would find people closer to his actual location.

There’s a barista he’s seen plenty of times at the pub he and Marius often go to. She’s pretty, on the tall side, with hair cut chin-level short and a tattoo that snakes its way up the side of her neck and that he now sees trails down deeper underneath the low-cut tank top she’s wearing in her profile picture. Matcher says her name is Andrea, so he can now put his curiosity to sleep and stop wondering how he should call her.

Alexsandr taps the two-heart button to match him up with her before he can stop him, and the three of them sit there for a long time — or so at least it seems, with the rest of the party blatantly ignoring them as operators come and go as they please — checking out women and deciding what to do with them. And really, it sounds so bad in Dom’s mind when he puts it into those words — they’re judging someone based on one picture and literally three other facts about them — but that’s still the truth of the thing. Some women end up in the starred ‘save for later’ section — which they’ve found out is much nicer than it seems and it’s just a way to still be able to chat without necessarily match yet —, some get skipped, and Andrea is still the only one in his matches — she still has to match back with him, and deep down Dominic can’t help but wonder how their next encounter at the pub is going to feel like.

It’s endless profiles later, when Montagne stands up to ‘go piss’ — or so he says, kicking finesse out of the window — that a familiar face pops up on the app.

Alex chuckles, almost choking on his hundredth vodka, taken by the surprise of such a sight. “Hey! But that’s —” He’s cut off when Dominic elbows him in his left side, where he knows Alex is bruised — there’s no need to yell Y/N’s name in a room full of people drinking, talking and — he notices when he quickly looks around to make sure no one is paying them any mind — making out in the love-seat in a corner.

Dominic should have expected it, really, Monika did tell him everyone and their mother has downloaded Matcher at the base, and that includes Y/N, but he’s still taken aback because he’s had a crush on her for the longest time now and while he has balls of steel and he’s known for it, he still has… problems approaching her when it doesn’t come to missions or training.

But by God, is she pretty! Both in-person and in that picture still floating on his screen. There’s a sunflower field behind her and she’s sporting trekking boots, camo shorts, and a white tank top on a dusty, Ukrainian road. He was there, when the picture was taken — seven months ago, during the last mission they had been deployed to together — with a bunch of other operators, of course. They had taken a couple of days off when things had been wrapped and some of them had stayed behind before finally coming back to Hereford.

And there she is, grinning at him from up close — technologically speaking, that is —, dog tags disappearing between her breasts under her tank top and her head tilted to the side, eyes almost squinting against the late-morning sun. There’s everything on her profile bubble — less than ten miles away, her age, her country of origin, and then that vague ‘police’ typed out next to the white icon of a briefcase, a description Monika’s put into his profile as well.

“So?” But Alex is distracted by Gilles coming back and sitting down once again next to Dominic, and he doesn’t continue.

“Found anyone interesting while I was gone?”

“Y/N,” is Alex’s unsolicited reply. “But this chicken won’t do shit about it.”

Dominic groans. “Why do you have to be so annoying? Jesus! There, matched her. You happy now?” he complains, tapping the match! bubble with the two hearts before he has much time to overthink. “It’ll make for a good laugh when she opens her app.”

They’re all bored anyway, and he’s known for — almost — always choosing the fun way of doing something. She will match him, send him a haha domi gotcha! great to see u on this app — all lowercase, often with that ‘u’ instead of ‘you’ — through the chat feature, and then they’ll be able to laugh it off during training. It could make for a nice sort of inside joke, he muses as he puts his phone away for the night and reaches for the bottle of vodka.

By the time his friends drag him back to the dance floor to try and loosen up their sore muscles, he’s received some matching requests and more than just ‘a few’ messages in his chat from so many different people that he feels his head is spinning.

It’s early morning already when he, Alex and Gilles wait for their Uber to come and pick them up, all of them with more drinks in their body than there is water. The other two have downloaded Matcher for shits and giggles and are now busy sorting through their recommended profiles.

They’ve all warmed up to it — they’ve all used other dating apps in the past, so one more is not a problem, even more when they’re easily bored and with fewer and fewer ideas on how to pass the time they spend between missions.

It’s only when Alexsandr complains that Why am I not getting hot operators too? with a comic pout on his face that Dominic’s phone goes off vibrating in the back pocket of his pants for the millionth time. He picks it out to finally delete the stupid app — too many notifications in too little time, and he’s too tired to be patient.

The notification message reads It’s a match! with an obnoxious sparkling heart emoji, though, and that suddenly turns his mood around and makes him curious. He hasn’t got a real, mutual match yet, just lots of stars that are probably enough to light up the night sky. So he unlocks his phone, opens the app, and after the rather-cheesy explosion of hearts going off on the screen, he finally sees who’s matched him back and the name both knocks the wind out of him and makes him laugh, all at the same time.

He brings it up to her the next day. It’s just after his training session, when he’s walking around the grounds of the Base to take his mind off of things and Y/N is leaving the armory facility. She waves at him, and he can’t but jog up to her to walk with her for a bit.

There’s some small talk, stuff about plans for this next stretch of time before a mission, catching up like friends or colleagues do, and then he drops it — Now that we’ve matched on that dating app, we should go on a date! He says it with a smile in his eyes and laughter in his voice, but it all fades into silence when he realizes that what he’s seeing on her face is confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

He frowns. Maybe she doesn’t remember it. “We matched on Matcher last night. I got your notification when I left the club.” It comes off as a question — what could have been an attempt at shooting his shot in a best-case scenario or something done out of fun in any other case, seems to be quickly turning around to bite him in the ass.

The look on her face is of utter mortification as she looks up at him, realization slowly and then quickly catching up on her like some avalanche. ‘Mortified’ is the last thing he would have thought to see on her face, and he’s taken aback, for once he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Maybe she doesn’t do older. Or she doesn’t do colleagues. Or maybe she sees him as a big brother — most of the recruits seem to somehow see him that way for the first months, despite him never doing anything to even remotely prompt that kind of behavior.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” she finally says, hiding her face behind her hands. “I was shit-faced last night. Lera and I were fucking around with my app since she says I always get the hot ones, I must’ve done it at that moment. I didn’t think I’d get people from the Base, I’m so sorry. Forget about that, please: I didn’t want to make things weird.”

He’s… bummed, there’s no other way to put it. It kind of stings his pride, in a way, but he sees where she’s coming from. He just… didn’t expect for her to not take it jokingly — after all, they are similar in that, and their sense of humor always makes them find the fun side in almost anything.

“Nah, don’t worry.”

But he’s still thinking about it three days later, and both Marius and Elias, and then Monika, Gilles and Alex as well, have tried to come up with a way to fix it — they don’t exactly know what needs fixing, it’s just a stupid dating app, but the look in Y/N’s eyes is still mortified every time Dominic crosses her path.

It’s only when he’s chilling with Lera and Elias on Wednesday night, discussing possible plans for Valentine’s day, coming up on Sunday, that the topic of Matcher and the apparently dramatic match with Y/N crawls its way into the conversation once more. It’s just the three of them in the lounge room, feet up on the coffee table or on the long part of the L-shaped couch, legs crossed at the ankles.

And for a moment it’s like going back to stupid high school crushes when Lera lets it slip that Y/N is simply too embarrassed to admit that she squealed and giggled like a teenager when she got Domi’s match request over the weekend. That that is the reason why she’s so mortified and she — Lera — is tired of trying to convince her that there’s nothing wrong in finding a colleague hot. Brunsmeier is a handsome man, I’d be surprised if the thought had never crossed your mind! — that’s how she recounts it, glancing at Dominic and shrugging her shoulders.

“She’s just afraid the truth might come out,” she says. “To which I’m not opposed, I’m tired of hearing her babble about it every time she starts doubting herself.”

At first, Dominic’s only reply is a pensive hum as he brings the almost-empty beer bottle to his lips for a sip. “I didn’t think she’d somehow take it personally. I would’ve expected her to joke about it, that’s why I was confused.”

They end up thinking of a plan — send her flowers and chocolates, with a note attached, and then show up at her and Lera’s shared dorm room to take her out on a Valentine’s date. His playful crush isn’t that much of a secret when it comes to his friends, after all: he does get drunk — eventually — and he does let his tongue loose — loose enough to hint at stuff he wouldn’t exactly boast while sober.

So, the next day, they put their plan into motion. A delivery man delivers Y/N the biggest bouquet of roses Dominic has managed to find on the website of a nearby flower shop at almost one in the morning, and it’s not only a surprise to her, but to all the operators and recruits that have stayed behind in the mess hall after breakfast as well.

They watch as she eyes the bouquet, lips parted, a frown of almost suspicion on her face — and from that table, Lera sends him a knowing smirk and a raise of an eyebrow that seems to tell him that she was not expecting such an obnoxious thing.

The exchange doesn’t miss Monika’s eye, and the operator is quick at putting two and two together. She slaps his bicep, and when he turns around to glare at her, almost intimidating her to shut her mouth, she smirks. “Look at you, who would’ve thought?” Her German is hushed, and it makes their fellow German colleagues chuckle, too. “Decided to make a move?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I told you that app wasn’t that bad!” she adds when Elias tells her how things have come to that.

The next day, Dominic makes sure Lera leaves his box of Swiss pralines on Y/N’s bed — and she promptly texts him back when her roommate and friend finds it after her monthly session in Harry’s office.

When Saturday comes around, Y/N’s confusion has taken the place of the mortified look in her eyes, and Lera has started trying to convince him to come forward before her friend would start thinking of some joke. Y/N’s not the type to get spooked out — a last-minute secret admirer just in time for Valentine’s day delivering gifts is the least dangerous thing she’s probably ever come across, but he knows it’s time to ask her out.

He finds her in the very lounge room Elias and Lera talked him into moving things forward. She’s sitting on the window bench, staring out at the park of the base and at the flour-like snowflakes coming down and twirling in the wind, before it turns into rain before nightfall.

“Hey,” she greets him before he has time to make a sound, seeing his reflection in the windowpane. “If you’re going to tease me for the ginormous bouquet I got the other day like everyone else did, please don’t.” She chuckles, though, and turns around when he sits at the other end of the bench.

“Nah, I won’t be childish this time.” There’s a grin on his face as he pulls his feet up and rests his arms on his bent knees, teasing her own leg with a foot for a moment just to make her laugh. “Have any clues on who the secret admirer is?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I’m quite sure Lera knows who this is, but I haven’t been able to tear it out of her yet.”

It’s quiet for a while before Dominic starts saying Look, there’s something I— before he stops mid-sentence and looks up at her. She’s staring back at him almost expectantly, when someone dashes through the hall and distracts them for a moment.

“I’m sorry that match made you feel the way it did,” he says, “but I’m still glad I sent my request. And I know deep down you are too, you’re just afraid of things going the wrong way.” When she frowns, her lips parting, he scoots closed and lays a hand on her knee. “A little bird told me.”

“Yeah, a Russian one, maybe?” She covers her face with her hands, much like she did at the beginning of the week, before she sighs. “Lera likes to babble.”

“I don’t mind.” His hand gives her knee a gentle squeeze, and he waits for her to look at him again. “It finally gave me the excuse to ask you out on Valentine’s day. If you’re down for it, that is.”

On Sunday, he shows up at her door at half-past six, wearing fucking tux pants for once in his life. He’s cleaned up nice — trimmed his beard a bit, combed his hair back with some cream, stole a few drops of Alex’s perfume when he and Gilles made themselves at home in his room while he was getting ready. She’s begged him to skip the roses next time, and so he’s standing there with a bunch of wildflowers in one hand, wondering why the fuck there’s butterflies in his stomach.

She’s just as beautiful as ever when she opens the door, and Lera is nowhere to be found when she invites him in so that she can put his flowers in some water. Red dress, black coat, killer heels, painted lips — she almost takes his breath away.

“You’re stunning.” The honesty in his voice makes her stutter for a moment before he lets her give him a hug.

“You’re not any less,” she grins, pecking his cheek before following him outside and then to the garage level.

He makes her ride behind him on his bike, and the dinner at the overpriced fancy restaurant he’s managed to book last-minute passes in a flash. But even despite that, he doesn’t miss the way she warms up — and opens up — the more they chat: long gone is the mortification he knows she’s felt at the idea of possibly having made things awkward or of having given her crush on him away, and they actually find themselves getting to know each other better through tales from both missions and their civilian lives and childhood.

When they’re forced to leave the restaurant to leave their place to the second turn of patrons on such a busy February night, they walk around the center of the city arm in arm, both wrapped up tightly in their jackets and with their helmets in hand. They talk and talk, and the more they do, the more that faint shadow of embarrassment they felt throughout the week evaporates from their shoulders much like the condensation leaving their lips.

Neither of them is in the mood to return to Hereford just yet. It’s nice to be out and about, doing normal things, falling for what Dominic considers a well-thought-out marketing strategy — although he won’t lie by saying he’d rather be doing something else tonight, or spend time with someone else.

“I’m glad you matched me,” she suddenly confesses, the both of them hurrying up to cross the street before the traffic light turns red. “I would’ve never had the guts to. And I’m glad you did what you did and that we’re now here.”

He grins at her, pulling her closer into his side by wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Vodka is the best remedy against bullshitting instead of taking action,” he jokes, and she laughs.

He stares at her as she does, unable to keep in that chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m sure, Sanya always says the same bullshit,” she laughs, shaking her head before pointing at the bowling alley with her helmet, her other arm wrapped securely around his waist. “I don’t wanna go back yet. What do you think about some bowling?”

When they get back at the Base at around three in the morning, Dominic has a rip in the crotch of his pants and they’re both still giggling like kids at the memory of how comically loud the ripping sound seemed when he bent to throw his ball. They were joking around, in the bowling track further from the entrance, when it happened and she had to stand right behind him as he walked back to their booth, both of them laughing loudly, his cheeks burning red in an uncharacteristic moment of embarrassment.

“Bring me your pants when you wake up, I’ll fix them for you,” she chuckles, her hand still wrapped tightly in his.

“We should go bowling again,” he replies instead, looking down at her, now a bit shorter since she’s walking barefoot, her heels in his other hand. “With a proper attire this time, though.”

“Sure, why not?” Her excitement makes him smile, and even in the night lights always on throughout the Base during the night, he can see how her eyes seem to grin up at him. “I’d be ecstatic to watch you lose miserably a second time.”

“You only had luck!” But it’s not a real complaint — after all, he is shit at bowling, but he’s loved spending tonight with her and he’d be happy to replicate it more than just once. “And I let you win.”

“Of course.” Her chuckle is low now that they’re in the sleeping quarters.

And although they should go to bed and get ready for the day of training and simulations awaiting for them when they wake up, they still seem to linger, standing there, in front of the door of her dorm, still hand in hand, smiling at each other.

“Thank you for tonight,” she says eventually, taking a step closer to give him a quick good-night hug, and she grabs her heels when he hands them to her.

“Likewise. I really enjoyed it. We should do it again.” He puts the idea out there, but when she smiles sweetly at him all his doubts seem to sizzle and evaporate.

“We should,” she nods, her fingers playing with his.

“Just ring me up when you’re free from your Matcher dates,” he grins, winking at her, hinting at the quite numerous dates she told him she had since downloading the app.

“Nah, I’m deleting it. I got the one match that matters most, so there’s no reason in keeping on looking.” She balances herself by putting both hands on his shoulders and pecks the corner of his mouth. “Good night, Domi.”

When he opens the door of his room, still grinning, the last thing he’s expecting to find is some of his friends waiting around for him just to know how his date has gone.

“So?” Monika asks, standing up from where she’s been sitting in his desk chair, eyes tired and hair tousled.

“We brought vodka,” Alex grins, raising an almost empty bottle while Gilles points at the empty glasses on the nightstand. “We’ve been waiting for this day for too long!”

“Sorry, man,” Marius says from his bed, both eyes closed and ankles crossed.

“We couldn’t stop them and shooting them dead wasn’t an option,” is what Elias aads, and Dominic knows it’s going to be a long night. But when he’s done talking, he knows he’s deleting that goddamn app, too.

[credits: psd (mine) | dominic | random guy #1 | random guy #2]

Feedback is always welcome if you want to drop old me a line 💛

#dominic brunsmeier #r6s bandit #dominic brunsmeier x reader #r6s bandit x reader #r6s imagine #dominic brunsmeier imagine #r6s bandit imagine #rainbow six siege imagine #angelaiswriting

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missfluffywriter · 4 years ago

Text

Purple Irises I Mafia Park Jimin x Reader

Author’s note: Oh my god this is the longest one yet! This was the one I was most excited abouttt I just have so much fun writing this. Honestly I’m writing characters that are smarter than me so.. Well, I guess that’s it for me. Happy readings!

Word count: 17k

Genre: Mafia AU, (slight) Doctor au, (slight) Florist au

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

(Series) Summary: You were supposed to be delivering flowers, how did you end up in an operation room digging out a bullet from a mafia boss’ shoulder?

Purple Irises: Royalty and wisdom

Warnings: Guns, language, mention of drugs, inconsistant grammar

Previous Chapter I Next chapter I Masterlist

The gleaming marble floor radiantly reflected the soft yellow glow pouring from the many wall lights lining the tall corridors of the mansion. The comforting golden hues gave the mansion a fairytale-like atmosphere. Marvelous paintings of landscapes and flora hung along the walls of the hallway, the beautiful artworks further extenuating the luxurious beige decor of the lavish home, additionally contributing to fanciful aura it held.

The blistering heat of the day had been replaced by the coolness of the night, paired with the quiet placidity brought by the moon rise further soothed your tired mind and aching body. A strange thing to say considering this was the household of a prominent mafia gang.

“Is it always this peaceful?” You muse, admiring the calmness of the ambiance of the scene around you.

“Not always,” Chuckling, Jeongguk answers your peculiar question. What a thing to ask a mafioso. “But, I guess it’s been pretty calm the past week.”

Giving only a soft hum as an acknowledgment of his words, you silently continue the trek to the second kitchen. A strange thing really, walking to the kitchen late at night with Jeongguk of all people. But the oddity didn’t end there, seeing as Yoongi was the one who had called for everyone to meet at the kitchen.

Hours ago, just as your training for the day had ended. Jeongguk received a text message from Yoongi, practically commanding the youngster to the kitchen. On top of that, he had been given explicit orders to bring you with him.

“I wonder why Yoongi wanted everyone together,” You wondered aloud. “And in the kitchen of all places,”

“Well, I guess we’re about to find out,” Smiling, he pushes past the white double doors. Sighing, you nod, stepping into the room your (e/c) orbs land on the six men scattered around the kitchen space. And with Jeongguk’s arrival, all of Bangtan’s core members were present.

“There you guys are,” Jin is the first to greet you at the entrance. “You guys were the last to show up,” He says, a hand on his hip as he leaned his weight on one of his legs.

At his loud greeting, someone else’s ears perk up, that certain someone’s nose prickling with a familiar scent, a scent she had memorized ages ago. And your seventy-pound barrels towards the direction she picked up the smell where she essentially tackled into you, excitedly covering your face in slobbery wet kisses. Although Shelty was very happy, she got to spend the majority of the day with Jimin. She still very much so needed your attention and affection.

“It’s called being fashionably late,” A soft chuckle leaves your lips as you return your puppy’s excitement, ruffling the furs of her neck and placing kisses on her soft head.

“Come on you two, get you asses in here already,” Yoongi’s voice flares from beyond the kitchen island. Where he stood with an assortment of alcohols, colors ranging from rich hickory to a clear liquid. ‘Vodka?’

“So...” Pausing, your gaze flickers to the alcohol then to Jimin, who had been leaning against the kitchen island. “Is this like another unofficial meeting? Or?” You question the group.

“Not exactly, no,” Namjoon answers, coming to stand beside Yoongi. “This is more of a test,”

Eyes widening, you feel your body stiffening at Namjoon’s words. ‘A test? What kind of test?’ A cold ice-like feeling spreads from the center of your chest, a wave of panic hitting you full force. Palms getting cold as sweat pools in them, you wrack your brain for any hint or they might have dropped of this test, or what this test might entail, but try as you might you end up empty. They hadn’t spoken of a test, was this a surprise test?

The alarm you were feeling within must have been written across your expression as Namjoon let out a light laugh, waving his hands. “No, no, not that kind of test,” He explains, but the confusion doesn’t leave your expression.

“When he said test. He meant we’re here to test your alcohol tolerance,” A mildly grumpy Yoongi clarifies.

And you release a deep breath of relief as you feel your soul return to your body. Before giving Jimin a ‘and you’re okay with this?’ look. To which he simply shrugs with a soundless laugh.

“You guys are horrible,” Placing a hand on your chest, you feel the rapid thudding of your heart. “I was so worried,” Shuffling towards Jimin, you rest your elbows on the island, your entire body relaxing after hearing Yoongi’s clarification.

“Sorry, I didn’t make it clear,” The older male chuckles.

“Isn’t the gala tomorrow? I don’t want a hangover on the day of the gala,” Folding your arms, you stare down the white-blond. “And just why the hell do we need to test my alcohol tolerance anyway?” Grumbling, you glare at the alcohol sitting on the white marble counter.

“The gala’s at night, you’ll have time to recover” Handing you a high-ball glass with some clear liquid, Yoongi explains, though you hear the sarcasm seeping through his voice. “Besides, this if for the gala, we need to know when you’ve had enough,”

“I think I’ll know when I’ve had enough,” Taking the glass from the older male, a retort flies from your lips.

“Just drink,” The white-blond haired mafioso waves his hands for you to drink.

“You just wanted an excuse to drink didn’t you?” You say, bringing the high-ball glass closer to your lips, not entirely sure why you were going through with this.

“I don’t need an excuse,” Scoffing, Yoongi turns his back to the group. His elbows move back and forth as he prepares another drink. A distraught look taking hold on your face as you watched his back.

“So just wanted to see me drunk?” The distraught expression folding into a scowl, chaffing at the older mafioso.

“Yeah pretty much,”

“And you’re going along with this?” Turning to face the leader of the band, you incredulously ask the silver-blond.

“I don’t see the harm,” Amusement dripped from his honey-brown orbs, Jimin shrugs. “Besides I can’t say I’m not a little curious,” A sly smile curling on his lips as equal parts curiosity and amusement tango in his eyes.

“You guys are crazy,” Drawing out he ‘crazy’ you whine leaves, finally bringing the glass to your lips.

“Yeah, whatever, just drink it,” Yoongi urges you.

And for reasons unknown you comply, gulping down a mouthful and regretting your decision the minute the liquid touches your tastebuds. You suppress your natural response to spit out and push the godawful drink down your throat as it burns your esophagus the entire way there. “Bleh, why is it so bitter?!” You splutter, placing the glass on the island counter, doing a double-take on the drink in your hand.“What is that?” Head snapping to Yoongi, you ask.

“Vodka, now drink,” Handing Jimin a glass filled with familiar shades of yellows, oranges, and reds.

“Did you just give me straight up vodka?” You exclaim.

“No, there’s water mixed in,” Yoongi saunters back to the alcohols on the counter, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“I want what Jimin has,” Demanding that you get a drink you actually like, instead of this bitter nightmare.

“No, that’s too light” You blanch at Yoongi’s nonchalance. “We need to get you drunk as soon as possible,”

“Why?” You lift an eyebrow at the male.

“Because,”

A quiet chuckle leaves Jimin’s lips as he watches the scene before him with interest. And though he was playing along for the moment, if you insisted you wanted a sunrise, he would have Yoongi prepare you a sunrise.

But, it doesn’t come to that as you down the rest of the clear liquid in a single go. Cringing at the bitter flavor of the drink. Jimin quietly observed as you scowled and grumbled while the white-blond poured.

In all honesty, he didn’t fully know himself as to why he was playing along, but he couldn’t resist the tug of curiosity when Yoongi had said he wanted to see what type of drunk you were.

His thoughts are interrupted with a soft ring and a vibration in his pocket, “I’m gonna take this outside,” He looks to you, waiting for you to give him a nod before looking to Namjoon then stepping outside the kitchen to the doors that led to the gardens.

“Park Jimin, how are things going?”A smile curved onto the mafia boss’ lips as he deep recognized the familiar deep voice that spoke through the phone.

“Matsuuru Tatsuya, things are going well,” He answered, placing a hand on his pocket as he leaned against the wall adjacent to the door. “What about on your end? Did the ship arrive in time?”

“That’s actually why I called you,”

Jimin alerted on Matsuuru’s words, pushing off the wall to a stand. “Did shipments not make it? Are you missing products?” He questioned.

“Oh, no, no,” Matsuuru assured with a chuckle, “I just wanted to personally tell you that not only have the ship and the goods arrived, but also thanks to the information so graciously provided by your hacker, we have begun the security system upgrades,”

“Is that right?” Posture relaxing, Jimin breathed out.

‘What?’ A strange confusion set in as his eyes fluttered, trying to process his own actions. Since when had he cared what happened to the goods after it left his hands? Never was the answer, he had never before cared what happened to products once out of his ownership, and yet when Matsuuru spoke of the shipment, his mind flew in a thousand different directions, thinking of what might have gone wrong. ‘Well damn,’ He cursed himself, ‘She’s rubbing off on me,’

“Yes, everything is moving much smoother than I expected,” Jimin’s body jerked when he heard the voice from the other line. He hadn’t realized when he had spaced out.

“That’s excellent,” He smoothly covered with only a vague idea of what the man had been saying.

“Yes, yes it is,” Matsuuru mused. “Tell me Park,” The man in question hummed in response.

“How do you feel about another deal?” Matsuuru asked.

“Another deal?”A questioning brow rose on Jimin’s soft features.

“Yes,” The yakuza affirms. “Tell me can you deliver goods with the same quality as Yeong’s shipment?”

“Of course, both the route and the factory now belong to us,” Bangtan’s Thai branches had bought out the dealers previously selling to Yeong. Additionally taking over the warehouse and docks, which resulted in the total take over of the safest route to and from Thailand.

“Then I would like to continue buying from you,”

“Well then, we can set a meeting date to discuss the details,” Jimin’s head bobbed in a nod as he spoke.

“In two months I will be making another round to the states, and I’ll be stopping by in Korea,” Matsuuru says. “How about then?”

“That sounds fine,”

“I’ll send the exact date to your right hand,’’

“Right,”

“And Jimin,” The silver-blonde hums at the call of his name. “Tell (Y/n) that business has been booming,”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” He responds, pressing the circular red button and ending the call. Pocketing his phone, he heaves himself off the wall he was leaning on, making his way back to the. What excellent news; should Matsuuru continue to buy from Bangtan, they could begin expansion into Japan.

Closing in on the kitchen doors, Jimin hears loud voices echoing from within. ‘Sounds like they’re having fun,’ The corners of his lips quirked up as he strode into the kitchen until he heard a series of ‘(Y/n), that’s dangerous!’; ‘(Y/n), be careful with that!’; ‘(Y/n), what are you doing?!’ Followed by a series of loud giggles and slurred words he couldn’t clearly make out.

Hearing those words Jimin rushed into the kitchen, an ice-like feeling flooding his system. But the sight that greeted him could only be described as comical. Well, maybe a little bizarre.

There you were standing on the kitchen island, face flushed, a shit-eating face splitting grin curving your lips, hands flailing above your head, holding a gun; surrounded by six men desperately trying to get the gun from your grasp.‘A gun?!’

“What the fuck is going on here?” He asks, eyes trained on you, specifically the gun in your hand.

“Jiminie!” You exclaim, stretching out the ‘ie’; eyes lighting up as he entered the room. The men shout for you to be careful with the gun, all cries falling to deaf ears. Hobbling on your wobbly legs you climb down from the kitchen island; with both hands above your head, you move to greet the silver-blond. “Hero, waecom back!”

“Jimin, watch out she had a gun,” Namjoon warns the other male.

“I can see that,” Jimin snaps.

“Jiminie, guess what? Guess what? Guess what?” Snickering, you repeatedly call for the silver-blond's attention bouncing on your feet.

“W一what is it (Y/n)?” He returns, trying to reach for the gun, but you pull the weapon close to your chest.

“I became a spy!” Shrieking those words, you break into another fit of giggles.

“What?” Confusion riddles the male’s face as your laughing fit calms.

“So earlier,” You begin, “I sneaky, sneaky and took his gun, hehe,”

Even more, confused he searches the men’s expression for a proper explanation.

“Well, uh, it happened so fast,”

“Guk,”

“One minute she was resting her head on the table, then she suddenly got up and asked me for a hug,” His voice became quieter as he explained. “I gave her one. And she got the gun before I could do anything,” Mumbling the last part, he rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“See! I became a spy,” Sniggering you say. “I sneaky, sneaky,” Waving around the weapon in your hand, you give the men around you a miniature heart attack.

Sighing, Jimin still not fully understanding as to how an experienced professional like Jeongguk lost his gun to a drunk civilian. The gun safeties were intact so the situation wasn’t that far gone, but they had to get that gun away from you before you either kill yourself, him, or his men. But how? If you wouldn’t listen to the other what were the chances of you listening to him? ‘Well it’s not like there is much of a choice,’

“(Y/n), come here,” He spread out his arms, inviting you in for a hug. And to the surprise of those who still retained their senses, you shuffled towards silver-blond, allowing him to envelop you in his warm embrace.

Instantly relaxing in his hold, you nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Jimin feels your body slack; using this as an opportunity he uses his left hand to keep you in place as he shimmed the gun out of your grasp with his right. Heaving a relieved breath once he was holding the gun.

Glaring at the crowd before him he throws the gun to its owner with you still in his safe embrace. “How the fuck did this happen?” Jimin growls, his arms tighten around you as you felt his voice rumble in his chest. He was angry. Was he angry at you? You didn’t mean to make him angry, you were just curious as to what they looked like when they were worried.

“Jiminie, are you mad at me?” Meekly, you ask the male. All your previous bravado had now poofed out of existence.

His heart melted into a puddle of mush when he met your wide, innocent doe eyes. “I’m not mad at you,” He sighed. He wasn’t angry with you, he was angry with the idiots who couldn’t take care of you. But now, even that had faded as he gently brushed your hip with his thumb.

“You promise?” Looking at him with impossible wide puppy dog eyes.

Blinking, Jimin owlishly stared at you before responding, “I promise,”

How strange, he never thought he’d be promising someone he wasn’t angry, especially as a mafia boss. And seemed like the rest of Bangtan’s core thought the same, as each man failed to suppress their laughter.

“(Y/n) you should probably let go now?” Hoseok called from behind where the youngest stood.

“I’m good thank you,” Tightening your hold around Jimin’s torso, you nuzzled further into Jimin’s chest.

The six men look to their leader, who simply shrugs as he fully wraps his arms around your form. Glancing at each other they let out soft chuckles, aside from Jeongguk, who mopes around having been outrun by a drunk (Y/n).

“Drunk (Y/n) is a sneaky troublemaker,” Yoongi speaks up. “Noted for future reference,” Chuckling, he leans onto the kitchen island.

“Hehe, uh-huh. That’s why sober (Y/n) doesn’t like me,” Your warm breath tickles Jimin’s neck as you speak.

“What?” Namjoon asks, expression muddled with confusion. A commonality shared amongst the men. “What did you just say?” He reiterates.

“Just as I said, sober me doesn’t like drunk me. Well, me一 she doesn't like me very much,”

“Why?” Jimin questions.

“Because I don’t have a filter,” Snickering, you push just away enough to meet his eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asks again.

“I mean whatever's in here goes straight out,” Pointing to your index finger to your head and making a swooping motion from your skull out your mouth “And I always get her in trouble,”

“Oh?” A questioning brow lifts in Jimin’s face as he asks for you to continue, “Give me an example. What are you thinking about now?”

“An example?” Tilting your head at the solver-blond you say, and he nods. “Well, for one, I think Taehyung should come to me if he’s really having so much trouble with it,” You hobble towards the brunette as you spoke. “I could give you nicotine patches or tips and tricks for when you get an urge,” Your hands on your hips, almost as if you were chiding a child for misbehaving.

‘How?’ The male in question stiffened at your words as his eyes blew wide open. ‘She couldn’t have known,’ It wasn’t as though he was actively trying to hide the fact that he was trying to lessen his smoking habits, neither was it a secret. Yet, not even his brothers had noticed, so how had you?

“What?” Jeongguk turns to his elder. “What is she talking about?”

“How do you people not see it? Are you blind or something?” Your eyes flutter in incredulousness. “His hand has been twitching towards the pocket with his cigarette pack or his expensive cigars or whatever. It’s so painfully obvious, it kind of hurts,” You explain, your voice sharper than you intended to be.

‘What the shit?’ Taehyung stared at you. Not even he had realized he had been doing that. But, twitching meant nothing, it could have simply been something he unconsciously did, then how had you connected that to his goal? He didn’t ever recall mentioning it to you in passing and he definitely did not bring it up in conversation or even hint at it. He had done nothing, yet you still somehow caught it.

The men are stunned into silence, not used to being spoken to by your harsh tone. A silent pause falls upon the group, and you finally realize what you had done.“See, no filter,” Shrugging, you move clumsily to rest your weight onto the kitchen island.

“Anything else?” Jimin exhorted, urging you to continue.

“Namjoon, Yoongi, you two should really get some rest,” Turning your attention to the two older males, accusingly pointing your index finger to their general direction. “Micromanaging all our own information or restlessly trying to search for Yeong’s next move isn’t going to help. They won’t be doing anything, not right now anyway. And if you’re so hell-bent on doing something, keep an eye out for foreign mercenaries and underground hospitals or doctors,”

“Mercenaries and doctors? Why?” Intrigue laced Jimin’s voice, and though he did not understand foreign mercenaries and underground hospitals had nothing to do with the situation. His eyes narrowed at the realization that you had already had a plan of action or somewhat of a plan and yet you were keeping this to yourself.

“Why do you think?” Scoffing, you lay your head on the counter. “That night Yeong lost like what? Twenty? Thirty of his best men, and he can’t just replace them overnight. Not if he wants trustworthy men anyway,”

“But why foreign mercenaries?” Namjoon questions, catching on to your intentions.

“If he didn’t already know about Bangtan’s network, he knows about it now. Which also means if he hires men from within the country we will absolutely know about it, not to mention we probably already have counter strategies for any of those groups and that is a problem,” You said. “And what’s the solution to that problem? Hire foreign hands, places our network doesn’t extend to, people we don’t know anything about,”

“Hospital, why a hospital?” Yoongi quips, whatever haze the alcohol may have brought gone as your words seemed to have sobered the men.

“Do you people like… not think?” Facing the white-blond, your face scrunches in disdain.

“(Y/n),” His voice warns.

Sighing, you spell out the situation, “The speaker, how far can you hear it?”

“Twenty一Thirty feet?” Namjoon answers.

“Good, now how close do you need to be to the mic for it to be able to pick up sounds?”

“Fifteen to twenty feet at least,” He answers again.

“And we all agree that we heard Yeong’s voice loud and clear? We all agree that he was at most twenty feet from the mic and the bomb?” Noises of agreement echo throughout the room, “Good, now how far is the blast radius of the bomb?”

The blast radius was at least twenty-five feet, and even if Meong wasn’t within the radius the pressure of the explosion alone would be enough to do some damage. In other words, Yeong Cheol Meong was injured. How had they not seen something that was right before their eyes?

“The traitor? Do you know how we can find the traitor?” Taehyung speaks up, if you already had an idea of Yeong’s next move, then it would be highly likely that you also had a way of dealing with the most perplexing matter at hand.

“Oh, them?” You say thoughtfully, “It would entirely depend on your preparedness… preparedness is that a word?” You question yourself, unsure whether it was a legitimate word or if you had just created a new word in your drunken haze.

“Well anyway,” Shrugging off your thoughts you continue, “I don’t think anyone expected you to keep them alive for long. Maybe a few days, a week at most.”

“Which meant they had to work fast. And going by what Jiyoung said, we can infer that the traitor hadn’t made contact with him,” You pause, before looking up to the chestnut-haired male. “But why? Why hadn’t they made contact with him? Was it because something came up? Did something happen? Were they sent away? Was it because we acted too quickly? Or maybe differently than predicted? Or could they just not get to them?” A string of questions leaves your mouth, guiding the men to the conclusion you had come to.

“Placement,” Namjoon jumps in realization.

“If we can figure out who was in the house or was supposed to be in the house in the span of his capture and even after that. If we can figure out who was supposed to be where before (Y/n)’s plan happened then…” Yoongi mutters, following your train of thought.

“Bingo,” Sitting up, you fire a finger gun at the white-blond with a wink of your eye. “I mean it may not completely work out, but it definitely narrows down the suspect list,”

“Now, the question is do you have such a record?” Glancing at Namjoon, you lay your head back on top of the countertop.

“I think so,” Forehead scrunching Namjoon rubs his index finger with his thumb. “We’ll have to look for it, but we should have something,” He says.

There is a moment of silence as you stare at the man in front of you. The men lost in their own thoughts, but the quiet is short as the chestnut-haired mafioso breaks the stillness.

“How did you catch all that?” Breathless, Taehyung asks you, a perplexed astonishment on his face.

“How did I catch all that?” You parroted the brunette. “There was nothing to catch, it was all there, it has all been there,” Scoffing, you straighten your body.

“You people have eyes yet you do not observe,” Your razor-sharp gaze met Taehyung’s. And he couldn’t help the cold chill that spread across his body. Almost as though your stinging gaze pierced right through him. Whatever softness you may have held had completely evaporated, like it never existed.

“If you knew all this then why didn’t you tell us any of this earlier?” Taehyung snaps, unsure of how else to react.

And with the look he received, it may have seemed like he had just asked the stupidest question in the world. Before your face splits into a cheshire grin as you answered his stupid question, “What kind of player would I be if I showed you all my cards?”

Player? Showed all your cards? What was this? A game?

The room fell silent, all that could be heard was your quiet drunk mumbling and their own rapid heartbeats. However, as it stood, their hearts did not beat in fear, not in the slightest. No, the thudding of their hearts accelerated in excitement, they looked forward to the things to come with you by their side. What did the future look like now that you had been added to the mix? Would you give way for their success? Or their downfall? And the thought dawned on them all at once, you belonged in this world. A world of treachery, cunning, and politics.

“And um, well, I mean who am I to tell you how to do your job?” Your soft words break the men from their thoughts as you mumbled on, adding to your previous statement. “You know about this stuff more than I do, so I don’t really have the right to tell you what to do. Besides, you never asked me. If you had asked me, well, sober me, I’m sure she would have answered any questions you had,”

Tentatively wetting his lips Jimin speaks up, “Is there anything else you have been thinking?”

Your gaze fell to your hands, that rested on the marble counter as you twiddled your thumbs. Wordlessly staring at them for a solid minute before raising your eyes to Jimin. “There’s one more thing, but…” Trailing off, you don’t finish your sentence.

“What is it?” The youngest whispers, “You can tell us,” He coaxes you to speak.

“If I tell you, you have to promise you must not tell sober me I said this,” Lunging to where Jeongguk stood you shook his shoulder, putting extreme emphasis on must. “You can never ever, ever tell her I said this,”

“Uh,” He shared a glance of agreement with his hyungs, “Alright, we promise, if you tell us, we won’t tell sober you,”

“DO YOU PROMISE?!” Exclaiming at the top of your lungs, you stare the younger down.

“I promise, I promise,” He assures you quickly.

What could it have been? What could have possibly been so important that you wouldn’t share with them unless you were drunk and off your senses?

“You see the thing is,” You start.

“Yes?” Jeongguk says as he and his elders lean in to hear you.

“You guys are hot,” ‘What?’ A collective thought that came to the seven men at once. “And, like it’s not even fair, none of you are fair. I mean how can each and every single one of you be so beautiful,” A deep fuschia climbed its way onto their cheeks at your compliment.

“Do you see this shit?” You ask, gesturing to the men standing before you. “How the hell are these humans fair? No one has the right to be so attractive,” Childishly stomping your feet on the ground, your cheeks puff into a pout.

“Wha一”

“And you especially don’t get to talk symmetry,” Glaring at Taehyung, you growl. ‘Symmetry?’ Said male thought in confusion.

“(Y/n)一”

“Or you, you angle” Bravely cutting off the young mafia boss, you scowl at him. “None of you get to talk. It’s like the seven of you just stole every bit of beauty in this world all for yourselves and it’s like I’m not even mad,”

“How can seven people be so pretty,” Sniffles escapes your lips as tears of frustration sting on your eyeballs. It wasn’t fair to be so attractive, what about the rest of humanity? They needed beauty too, these men couldn’t hog all the attractiveness.

Unsure of how they were to react to your words they look to each other in question.

“Uh, hey, it’s okay, (Y/n). Don’t cry,” The eldest steps forward to comfort you, opening his arms, inviting you into a hug. Which you happily jump into.

“Thank you, Mr. Shoulders,” Sniffling into his broad shoulders.

“Uh, there, there,” He awkwardly patted your back as your sniffles dissolved and you once again lost yourself in your drunken thoughts. Until your now hazy gaze lands on the fruit-filled basket sitting in the center of the island countertop.

Your jaws slack at your incredible idea. ‘I’m a genius,’ Gently pushing away from Jin’s grasp you reach for the basket of peaches.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing?” The eldest asks as he watches you stretch across the counter, reaching for the fruit basket.

“Hehehe, peaches,” A giddy giggle escapes your lips when you have the container in your hold. Immediately waddling to where Jimin stood before holding out a peach to him, “Jiminie, I a-peach-iate you,” You say with the brightest grin he had ever seen you wear.

His breath caught onto his throat, watching you with wide eyes as you laughed and snorted at your own joke. Your eyes scrunching in happiness, he could practically see the sparks of joy sparkling in (e/c) orbs. A dark flush of red coating your cheeks, lips a bright pinkish-red from you nibbling onto them, an idiotic grin spreading on your face as you giggled at your pun. But at that moment he couldn’t think of a prettier sight than the one before him. His hands twitched while this heart thundered away in his chest. He dazedly took in your elated form.

Seeing as Jimin wouldn’t accept the peach on his own, you placed the single peach on Jimin’s hand, giving him one last rosy smile before moving onto the next man of the seven.

“Jin, I a-peach-iate you too” You beam at the man, giving him a peach. Then moving down the line, presenting each man with your terribly adorable pun and the fruit that was the center of your pun. Each man gratefully accepted the fruit and your pun, which only seemed to double your happiness.

“I really do appreciate you guys,” Stumbling over your own feet, your body automatically returns you to your unconsciously designated safe zone. “Much more than you know,” Sleepily muttering the last part you crash into Jimin’s firm chest, wrapping your arms around him before falling into Jimin’s embrace, the alcohol and exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you.

Jimin effortlessly catches you, leaving the peach you had given him on the marble countertop, he gently brings your body to the floor, then hooking his arms underneath your knees and around your back, he efficiently picks you up in a bridal carry.

“Did she just make a pun about peaches, give us peaches then pass out?” Jeongguk questioned, brain still processing the events passed.

“I like her, she gets the pun culture,” Jin comments, a soft grin curling on his lips. Perhaps he liked you more than he initially thought.

“Oh, please,” Yoongi scoffs.

“I’m closest to her room, I’ll take her back,” Jimin declares as he steps towards the kitchen doors. “Shelty come,” He orders the already half asleep wolf-dog. Who slowly and sleepily makes her way to the male.

“Namjoon,” A call of his name from his boss is enough for him to understand Jimin’s silent command. Your words were to be put into action, Namjoon and Yoongi would shift from managing Bangtan’s information to instead gathering the intel you had spoken of. And though you hadn’t explicitly said it, following the direction of all that you had said, conflict was on the horizon. Meong wasn’t done, he was coming. And they needed to prepare for when he did.

Gently, Jimin lowers your body into the plush mattress of your bed. Although you made it no easier for him to be gentle as you shifted and squirmed in his hold, especially considering the fact that he had to carefully remove a pile of pillows while holding you and making sure you didn’t get hurt or wake up. Incoherent mumbles falling from your lips as he tightly tucks you into the bed. Your seventy-pound puppy finding her spot at your feet.

Stepping back Jimin admires his handy work, nodding to himself, he turns to leave for his own room. But his movements are stopped when he feels a soft tug on the back of his shirt.

“Don’t go,” You whisper, you hold on his shirt tightening as you tug him closer to the bed. The alcohol in your system had made you braver than you would have ever thought possible.

“(Y/n), I can’t stay,” He whispers back, trying to loosen your grip on his shirt.

“Stay,” Your voice is quiet but demanding as you yank him to you

“(Y/n),” He called your name as a warning, which you blatantly ignored as you proceeded to beg him to stay.

“Jiminie, please,” Stretching out the ‘e’ of the please, you plead for the male to stay. “Pretty please,” Your cheeks puffing into a pout.

“(Y/n) I can’t一” The silver-blond felt his eye twitch when his gaze landed on your face.

Wide-eyed, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted ever so slightly, tugging downwards, looking like a kicked puppy. How was he supposed to say no to that?

With a deep sigh, he relents, gesturing you to scoot.

“Hehe, yay,” A lazy victorious smile curved onto your mouth as you shifted away from the man, giving him room beside you.

“Shush, go to sleep,” Laying down, he quiets you. Only for another fit of giggles to leave your reddened lips as you cozy yourself into Jimin’s side. Your form curls around him, your head on his arm you squish yourself into the silver-blond’s chest; head tucked underneath his chin. As the haze of sleep and exhaustion returns you unknowingly place a chaste kiss on the juncture of his neck.

“Goodnight Jiminie,” You whisper, sleep finally claiming your consciousness.

‘Oh thank god,’ The mafioso thought to himself, glad you wouldn’t be able to hear the loud drumming of his rapidly beating heart. He releases a shaky breath recalling the feathery light feeling of your lips on his skin.

For many minutes he sat as still as a statue, replaying the events in his head, from the way you called him ‘Jiminie’, which was barely settling in, to your sweet words for him every one, then to the kiss. His mind raced, buzzing with thought before relaxing into your hold, his fatigue setting in, he pushed away those thoughts, deciding to save the mulling over for another time, he shifted away from you, untucking your head from underneath his chin and taking in your form. Even through the dim lighting, he could see the peaceful expression that rested on your face, mouth partly open as you take slow even breaths. Your soft locks messily framing your face most perfectly.

Tentatively, he brushed the strands of hair that fell onto your face, running his thumb across your plump cheeks. ‘Beautiful,’ Was the only word he could think of, an unknown knot twisting and tightening in his chest in the best way possible. A tender smile danced on his lips as he once again pulled you closer, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, a strange warmth filling him as his own consciousness faded. Not realizing the weight of his own words.

“Oow,” Groaning, your face contorts in pain, your head hammering in your skull. A headache you wouldn’t wish even to your enemies attacking you. A whine escapes your lips, your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert, however far too lazy to actually get up for a drink, you nuzzle further into the warmth before you.

Snuggling into the comfortingly familiar warmth. An extremely recognizable scent fills your senses. ‘Hmm, smells just like Jimin,’ A masculine yet feminine smell, smoldering yet delicate, a scent unique to Jimin and Jimin alone. Your eyes fly open at the thought, but regret opening your eyes so suddenly as your sleep sodden eyes burn the moment you open them. A drawn-out groan leaves your throat as you rub your eyes open.

And there he was in all his sleepy glory, a lethargic smile on his lips as he watched you scowl at the world. “Good morning,” he groggily whispered as to not agitate your headache he could see you had. “How’re you feeling?”

After blankly staring at the godly beautiful male, having given up on logic and reason you simply sigh returning to snuggling into his neck. Making yourself comfortable in his heat, the rhythmic thudding of his heart somewhat soothing your pounding head. Though it did nothing for the dryness in your mouth.

A content sigh escaped your lips, a sense of completion flooded your systems as you were consoled by the domestic warmth of Jimin’s presence. A warmness that always blossomed in your chest every time you were close to Jimin. It was a homey sort feeling, in the most natural way, like you’d always belonged there. And a warm, gushy sensation blooms in your chest, a sensation that turns your insides to mush but also sends tingles down to the tips of your fingers. A sensation that made your palms clammy and made your heart beats just a tad faster.

All is silent, and you try to fall back into the comfort of sleep and you almost did, before Jimin’s voice snaps you from your haze.

“My arm’s numb,” He says flatly.

“I don’t care,” Clutching tightly onto his shirt, you mumble, determined to get your way.

“Get off,” He whines, half-heartedly nudging you away, only for you to cling onto him. Moments pass and you relax your clutches ever so slightly, only to feel the rumbling in Jimin’s chest as he chuckles.

“What’re you laughing at?” Untucking your head from under his chin, you scoff with a laugh.

Immediately his nose scrunches, eyes crinkling in disdain, “You’ve got bad breath,”

“Oh my god, do I really?”

“Yeah,” He nods.

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,”

A beat of silence passes before you both burst into a loud fit of laughter. Though you almost immediately regret that as the pounding in your head worsens. Groaning in discomfort, burrow back into Jimin’s embrace.

“Alright, get up,” He directs, supporting you to a sitting position as you grumbled and whined on your way up. You had never before wished more to become a rock and spend the rest of your life resting and existing. “Here, drink this,” He hands you a glass of water. But you don’t recall having water in your room. Whatever the case, you gratefully accepted the glass, downing the liquid in three gulps. Jimin holds his hand out, offering to take the glass. Returning the glass you mumble a thank you, leaning against the headboard.

Jimin carefully places the glass onto the side table, before pulling out his phone. His eyes ran over whatever he was reading, and you were left to wander your thoughts.

What a bizarre exchange. Nothing of this sort had ever happened to you, and you never expected to experience such things with anyone, let alone a mafia don.

Getting drunk, passing out, waking up next to someone that wasn’t Shelty, then laughing with that person while they take care of you. These days nothing you ever expected happened, which was a new experience. Usually, you were pretty spot on with your predictions, though your life wasn’t exactly the most exciting for unpredictable things to just pop up. But still.

‘Oh my god I was drunk,’ Your eyes widened, head twisting to look at Jimin. Per usual you didn’t have any recollection of the night prior. It wasn’t as though there was nothing, but everything was a blur, nothing you could make sense out of. What had you done while you were drunk? Had you done anything weird? You were known to be brutally honest while under the influence. You hoped and prayed you hadn’t offended anyone last night.

“Uh, hey, Jimin,” He hums at the quiet call of his name. “Did I do anything… weird last night?”

And a wide grin breaks onto his perfect face. ‘Oh god,’ So you had done something embarrassing. “What did I do?” You squeak, pulling your fuzzy blanket halfway up your face.

“Oh nothing much,” He muses, “Just helped us start our search for the traitor, figured out Yeong’s next possible move, gave Taehyung some advice. Nothing too big,” He lists off the topics you had covered, and as per word, leaving out the compliments you had showered them with.

“So she strikes again,” Grumbling in embarrassment you bring your hands to cover your face.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” His voice is gentle as he questions you.

“What was I supposed to do?” You drop your hands to your lap. “Tell you how to do your job when I know little to nothing about this world, about how things work? If anything I’d probably just get in the way,”

“Nonsense,” He interjects. “If there is ever something on your mind I want you to say it out loud. If there is ever you notice something that we don’t I want you to tell me. Besides, everything you said last night really did helped us.”

His eyes narrow at the silence that follows. “(Y/n),” There’s a warning in his voice, but you don’t feel threatened nor do you feel fear. Strangely, it warmed your heart that he cared about your opinion even though you were a novice when it came to things about this world.

You give a tentative nod, raising your gaze to meet Jimin’s. You see him relax as he returned to lean against the headboard.

As you observe him your eyes fall onto his shoulder. ‘His wound!’

“Jimin your bandages! Did I change them? Did anyone change them?” You ask you're frantically sitting up, flinging off your blanket as you did.

“Calm down,” He waves his hands in downwards motions as he speaks. “No, no one changed my bandages last night. But,” He cuts you off before you had the chance to say anything. “It was just yesterday, and I don’t really think one night will hurt,”

“No, it can definitely hurt, what if it gets infected?” Ignoring the throbbing in your skull, you crawl off the bed. “I need to change your bandages now! I’m gonna go get the first-aid box,”

“Wait!” Jimin grips onto your shoulder, gently tugging you to look at him.

“I had a feeling you might do something like that,” He sighs. “So I had it brought in here,” He gestures to the box sitting on the floor beside the bedside table.

“Oh?” Pausing for a brief moment before continuing on your way towards the first-aid box. “Well I still need to change your bandages,” Your vision blurs ever so slightly as you try to find your balance as you stand, however you shook off the short bout of dizziness, slowly waddling your way to the box, grabbing it and returning to the bed.

Jimin releases another deep sigh as he concedes defeat, removing his t-shirt to give you access to the bandages. “I thought you were hungover?” He laughs scooching to give you space on the edge of the bed.

“I am,” Chuckling you answer him as you unclipped the bandage clip and unwinding his cream-colored bandages.

“Then shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I will,” You say, cleaning the suture using an alcohol pad, then applying antibiotic ointment onto the wound before wrapping the wound in a fresh set of gauze and bandages.

“One of the maids will come by. Order what you want for breakfast, then rest. I need you at full capacity tonight,” He instructs as you clip on the bandage clip. “One of the girls should be coming in for your hair and makeup. After you’re done dressing, come to my room.”

“You’re room? Why?”

“Because I said so,” A soft smile curves onto his plump lips as he slips on his shirt.

Puffing your cheeks into a pout, unsatisfied with the explanation, but nod regardless.

“Good,” He bobs his head in approval. “See ya later,” Standing, he briefly runs his fingers through Shelty’s fur, lovingly petting her before giving her head a soft pat.

“Hey Jimin, can you take Shelty with you?” You ask the male. Seeing as you would be stuck indoors all day, and your puppy needed her daily dose of exercise, it would be better for her to be with Jimin. At the very least she wouldn’t be trapped in one room.

“Hmm? Sure,” He says looking at the wolf-dog in question. “Do you wanna come with me?” Shelty jumps at the offer, more than ready to be out of the room.

“Alright, let’s go,” Opening the door of the room, the pair exit, Jimin shutting the door behind him as they left.

And just as the silver had said, Eui arrived knocking at your door just as you had dresses after your shower. Still recovering from a bitch of a hangover that had somehow worsened after Jimin had left, you ordered for a light breakfast of toast with jam and butter, accompanied with fresh fruits.

After gobbling down your breakfast and placing the trolley outside of your bedroom, you immediately dive into your nest of blankets and pillows for a long nap.

“Miss (Y/n), Miss (Y/n),” A soft voice calls your name, and you jolt awake when you feel your body being shaken.

“Huh? Wha?” Vision blurry from sleep, you jump to sit up.

“Oh, I’m sorry miss!” Shoulders slumping when you recognized this meek voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you!” Eui wildly waves her hands, apologizing profusely.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Rubbing your eyes, you assure as a long yawn leaves your lips.

“So what’s up? Did you need something?” Groggily, you ask the girl, resting your weight on your hands.

“Um, I’m here for your hair and makeup,” She answers as her gaze falls to a silver box she was holding.

You blink once, then twice, processing the information just handed to you. Your gaze shifts to the windows in your room. Deep orange hues of dusk flooded from the clear glass windows. Which meant you would be leaving for the gala shortly. Which also meant you had slept for the majority of the day. Had you truly been asleep for the entirety of the daylight? Though now the hangover from the morning was right about nonexistent.

“Miss (Y/n)?” Eui’s soft voice breaks you from your thoughts.

“Right, sorry,” With a smile, you apologize to the girl, “So what’s first?”

“I’ll be starting with your makeup,” She responds quietly.

“Okay, should we move to the bathroom? Or a chair? Or?”

“Um, can we move to the desk?” Her gaze glued to the floor, she asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Removing the blankets from your legs, you walk to the office area of your room.

There is no exchange after those short words as he wordlessly works on your face. Massaging, what you assumed was moisturizer into your skin. You sat in silence as she applied some light makeup, nothing much, just enough to show off your natural features.

“Um, so, I was wondering, do you know who arranged my books?” You question while she was brushing the mascara spoolie through your lashes. However, you sense her body stiffen after your words leave your mouth.

“It一 it was me miss,” You hear the hesitation and fear lacing her voice as she answers your question. “Did一did I organize them incorrectly?” He

“Oh no, no,” Quick to reassure her, you shake your head. “I actually wanted to thank the person that did,” Facing her you explain.

“You organized them perfectly, thank you Eui,” A gentle smile curls onto your lips, but you couldn’t help wondering why she was so afraid of you? Or afraid in general? However, as it stood now, it was none of your business.

“Thank you, miss,” A small smile graces her pink lips as she bows, a slight flush on her cheeks.

“I guess it’s dress time now,” Heaving yourself off the office chair, you make your way to your walk-in closet. But pause when you see Eui following you. “Uh, so is there a reason why you’re following me?”

“Aren’t I going to help you dress?” Her head tilts in question, a confused expression forming on her face.

“No, no, I’m good, I can do it myself,” Waving your hands, you assure her. “Why don’t you wait here while I go put it on and then help me with hair?” Moving close towards the closet you suggest to the brunette. And though her face forms a light frown, she nods.

Hurrying into the closet, you quickly slip on the dress you had chosen. A deep wine red off-shoulder neckline came together in a v-shape at the chest. With a high split in the ball gown skirt that gracefully flowed behind you, making a sort of train. The smooth satin material that gently kissed your skin as the dress elegantly hung on your form, as soft and as pleasant as ever.

Reaching for your ‘Louis Vuitton’ shoebox that sat with your other shoes, you carefully undid the packaging before sliding your feet into the heels, then fastening the buckles on the adjustable straps around the ankle.

After a short glance admiring your outfit, you exit the closet, taking slow steps towards Eui, not that you had much of a choice.

“So what do you think?” You ask the girl, who had been standing by the desk.

“You look, wonderful miss!” She exclaims, her hands coming to her chest.

You thank her for the compliment as you slunk towards her.

Eui gestured to you to sit on the plush office chair while she fussed over your hair. You smiled as you saw the girl relax around you. Surprisingly she didn’t do much with your hair, she shifted your hair to better frame your face. And she was done.

Taking a few steps back she admires her handy work, nodding to herself. “All done,” She smiles.

“Thank you,” Standing you express your gratitude.

“Oh no, it was nothing at all,” Furiously shaking her head, then bowing as he excused herself, scurrying out the door.

Chuckling you glided across your room and out the door. As promised, you make your way to Jimin’s room. Though you weren’t exactly sure whether he was in his room or not, you were still asked to meet him there.

‘I wonder what he wanted?’ Musing to yourself, you knock on the tall double doors.

“Come in,” His voice comes through the door.

Pushing open one of the doors, you enter Jimin’s room. And the sight that greeted you truly warmed your heart. There he was, a suit-clad mafia don, on the floor cuddling a cloud of floof.

Was he really rolling around the floor wearing the suit

“Well, aren’t you two getting along?” Mockingly, you laugh, making your way towards the pair.

“Yes, we’re getting along perfectly,” He scoffs, before his eyes land on your form. His eyes trailed your body, his gaze drinks in your form. The red satin elegantly hangs from your body, as your hair naturally farms your face, further enhancing your raw beauty. Eui had done her job well. You looked just as gorgeous as the day you picked your dress, only you were still missing something. Your neck was far too bare for a party they were about to attend.

So he would fix that.

“So, what’s up? What did you want to talk about?” You ask, playing with your fingers.

“Right, follow me,” Standing from his position he leads you to his massive closet. You follow wordlessly.

Jimin pulls open one of the long drawers. And you see it filled with expensive watches and a navy blue velvet box. Most likely a jewelry box.

Your eye twitches as you realize that drawer probably costs more than everything you’ve owned put together, your apartment included.

“I wanted you to wear these,” Jimin’s voice brings you back from your thoughts as you see him open the velvet box.

The mafia boss’ eyes were trained on your expression as you gasp when you see the precious contents of the box.

There rested a white-gold necklace beautifully encrusted with diamonds. The centerpiece of the necklace was elegant curves with a diamond where they came together, another diamond hanging from the middle figure. More diamonds hung from the wing-like shapes that flowed away from the centerpiece, making the body of the necklace. The necklace itself sat beneath a pair of matching earrings. All of them encrusted with the same shimmering jewel. The exquisite piece was more art than jewelry. And was probably worth more than your life. (Picture is at the end [please go look at it, it’s really pretty])

A gentle smile curls on Jimin’s lips as he watches your awed expression before speaking up. “This used to be my mother’s,” He whispers.

“Ji一Jimin, I couldn’t. I can’t wear something so precious” Shaking your head, you step away from the box.

“Oh, I think you can,” Chuckling he lifts the necklace from his container.

“Jimin, no,” Distancing yourself from the male you deny his request. You would indulge him most to everything, you would follow almost any command he would give, but this was something you couldn’t do. This was something you didn’t deserve to do.

Sighing, he speaks, “Ever since my mother passed away, this has been sitting here, doing nothing,” His gaze rises to meet yours, and you felt your heart accelerate from the amount of warmth and affection they held. “I don’t think that’s what she would have wanted,”

“I think,” He inches closer, “She would have wanted someone to wear this. To show off this wonderful piece of art. To love this necklace just as she had,” Taking another step, he had you cornered you against the full body mirror in his closet.

Your eyes were glued to the floor as he tentatively pushed your hair away from the nape of your neck. Breath ragged, heart beating a mile a minute, you felt paralyzed as Jimin turned you to face the mirror. You couldn’t move, you wanted to stop him, to tell him you didn’t deserve to wear such a treasure. But you couldn’t, your body wouldn’t move as though under some spell

Your gaze remained plastered to your feet as Jimin unscrewed the necklace, placing it around your delicate neck, before screwing it on. The necklace was heavy, you felt the weight of the value, the importance of the necklace that hung from your neck as it rested on your chest.

“There, now it’s complete,” Appreciating the treasure that sat on your chest, Jimin says, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You look magnificent,” He murmurs in your ear.

Minutes passed and you had finally gained some sort of control over your body. Slowly, you turn to face the silver-blond, ready to express your disagreement, but your words die in your throat when your eyes meet his. His heart was beating just as fast as yours

Your mouth hung open but no words would come out. He was so close. Close enough for you to feel his shaky breath and his thundering heart.

You felt lost as you stared into his rich honey-brown orbs, each holding so much emotion, an emotion you recognized. Emotions similar to yours, but what exactly were your emotions. And as if on autopilot, your hands moved to rest on his suit-clad chest, clutching at the fine fabric.

Letting out a shaky breath your vision falls to his plump, cherry-pink lips. Taking in the wonderfully sculpted and so kissable. Your head twitched forward as you wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

An almost identical thought ran through Jimin’s head as he watched you nibble on your lower lip. And his body moved before he could think.

His lips crashing into your, perfectly melding together as they move in sync. Your eyes slip shut as Jimin’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into his silvery locks.

Groaning into the kiss, Jimin swipes his tongue across your lower lip, asking for entrance. A request eagerly entertain. A soft whimper resounding in your throat as his muscle dominated your mouth. Stumbling backwards, he pushes you against the mirror as a quiet moan leaves your lips, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his tongue roam every crevice of your mouth.

An electrifying feeling jolt throughout your body and everything made sense. The comfort you felt just being in his presence, the fluttering feeling that always flourished within you were with him. This strange sense of trust you had in him even though you had met him less than two weeks ago. Why his words held so much value to you, the jitters you got when he spoke sweet words to you. The emotion was so natural, so familiar, you never noticed your own budding feelings.

Minutes felt like hours as the kiss continued, but you didn’t want it to stop. Not now, not ever, slowly but surely becoming addicted to the sensation of Park Jimin’s kiss. And though unwillingly, you gently part from his lips when the need for oxygen burned your lungs.

His plump, cherry lips remained flush against yours, panting as your lungs take in as much air as it could.

Moments pass and you finally gather the courage to look up to him, and that would be one decision you would never regret.

He wore the softest expression you had ever seen, filled with warmth, care, and love. But almost defeated? Relented? Like he had happily given up. Head involuntarily tilting when you didn’t understand his expression.

“The things you do to me,” He whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, which you gladly return.

Your frown deepens at his words. The thing you do to him? What about the thing he does to you? And you intended to make sure he knew and took responsibility for feelings.

“And what about you?” Puffing your cheeks into a pout, you say. “What about the things you did to me?” An amused smile tugged at the corners of Jimin’s mouth.

“Trapping me into your too comfortable to be real cuddles and attacking me with your attractiveness that you unfairly stole from the world,” A half-hearted scowl makes its way onto your face.

“You think I’m unfairly attractive?” An overly amused eyebrow lifts as he questions you.

“That's not what I一yes, but一 uuwgh” You groan, leaning your head on his chest, you wrap your arms around his wait when you realized he had a complete advantage.

Chuckling, he runs his fingers through your hair. Letting out a laugh of your own when you knew he completely and utterly had you.

“You are so unfair,” You chuckle, softly hitting his shoulder. He, in turn, pulls you against his body.

“You’re crazy,” You giggle.

“For you,” He smoothly returns, he gambles his luck, testing your reaction. This would be his way of asking you to be his. As he finally figured out what had been going on in his head. His heart twisted in realization as he could finally name the inexplicable happiness he felt every time you smiled, the heated rage when you got hurt, the ice-cold fear he felt when you were in danger. And the incredible amount of adoration and warmth he felt just having you close by. The love he felt when you looked at him and beamed a smile that put the brightest stars to shame.

Your eyes widen, understanding the true meaning behind his words. And try as you might you couldn’t stop the face-splitting grin that made itself a home on your face. You’d already known your answer.

“Eww, you’re so cheesy,” Leaning into him, you murmur against his lips, pecking his lips before squirming away from him.

And you got exactly three steps in before you were pulled back by a strong yank.

“Be mine,” His eyes meet yours, all playfulness gone as he speaks seriously, though his words were more of a declaration than a request.

Mirth swimming in your eyes, you shimmy out his hold, giving him an innocent grin, you say. “I’ll think about it,” With that make you a break for the door. Though you don’t make it very far before you’re back in his grasp.

“Minx,” He growls, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. A gesture you gladly returned.

“We have to get going,” Giggling, you move away from the lip lock. A loud sigh leaves his lips and a pout puffs onto his cheeks as Jimin allows you to break the kiss.

“And you called me unfair,” He huffs out, his arms still locked around your waist.

“We have to go,” You repeat yourself.

“I know,” Mumbling, his eyes rake over your features.

“What are you looking at?” Poking his chest, you grumble.

“Am I not allowed to look at you?” He whispers, kissing the area behest your ear.

“Oh, whatever,” Burying your face into his neck, you pray you didn’t smudge your makeup.

Chuckling, he speaks quietly. “The earrings, you forgot the earrings,”

His words sober you from the giddy feeling you were drowning in just moments ago. Jimin notices your change in demeanor right away, and he knew the thoughts that were running through your head.

“Will you wear it for me, angel?” He pleads, leading you into his ginormous closet. Your eyes widen at the affectionate nickname, wordlessly following him.

“Jimin…” A soft murmur of his name leaves your mouth as you are once again standing before the full body mirror.

“You have some gall, making a mafia boss beg,” He chuckles, holding the marvelous pair of earrings.

“Fine, I’ll wear it, but just this once,” Your gaze meets his through the mirror, and you see amusement flood into those honey-brown orbs.

“Hm, sure,” Eyes narrowing at his reaction, you take the earrings from him, sliding them on, fastening them to your ear with the earring backs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Letting out a playful growl, you exit the closet, crossing the room to the door.

“You look beautiful,” He compliments, opening the door for you.

“Don’t change the subject,”

“Shelty come, let’s go,” Ignoring you, he calls for the jet-black wolf-dogs. Who enthusiastically trots towards you, brushing her head against the palm you held out, inviting her for pets.

“Shelty’s going with us?” Coasting down the hall, you eye the silver-blond.

“Of course,” Pocketing his fists in his suit pocket

“Is she allowed at the party?” A questioning brow rose on your face as you descended the spiraling staircase.

“Yeah, dogs are allowed,” Shrugging, he walks beside you as you step outside the house.

Huffing out a chuckle, you cruise to the limousine waiting for you down the front steps.

“Took you guys long enough,” An upset Jeongguk expresses the shared sentiment of Bangtan’s core six of them anyway, leaning his weight on the luxurious vehicle. “What were you even doing?” He gruffs out.

“Completing her outfit,” Jimin swiftly answers, coming to stand beside his younger brother.

“Is that?” Jin moves closer, his eyes landing on the precious treasures hanging from your neck and ears.

“It is,” Grinning, Jimin arm snakes around your waist, nudging you into the vehicle.

Questioningly, you look at the mafia don. Were you going in first? You assumed he always entered group vehicles first. So why wasn’t he entering first?

With a tilt of his head, he gestures you into the limousine, ignoring the query in your orbs. ‘Well okay then,’ Carefully lifting your dress, you crawl into the limo, dismissing Jimin’s behavior as a transparent change of heart.

To you the action may have not meant much, however to the men standing outside the vehicle, this was a silent proclamation. You were officially off-limits.

“Oh?” A knowing grin spreads onto Taehyung’s lips as he watches his boss enter the car.

“What?” Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you ask the seven men who each were miserably failing at suppressing their smiles.

But once again, Jimin is quick to change topics, “If all possible we’ll try to avoid talking about your position in Bangtan. But if we absolutely cannot avoid the subject then you’ll be recognized as a core member,” You blink once, then twice as the engines of the limousine hum to life as you feel the vibration of the vehicle moving. You thought you were attending as someone’s plus one or something of the sort, not as a core member. Just being called part of the core was a responsibility on its own, were they really trusting you with that?

“So remember to hold yourself in that regard, regardless if you have to identify yourself or not” Namjoon cleared his throat.

“Don’t let anyone disrespect you,” Yoongi adds. “It’ll reflect on us too,”

Bobbing your head in understanding, you soak in all the information, before adding a few points of your own.

“Uh, guys,” You call for their attention. “If anyone brings up the Yeong incident, just know I didn’t come up with the plan,”

Confusion pools in their eyes before realization strikes and they understand your cryptic words. Should anyone mention the incident they were to divert attention from you, obviously, you will attract some attention, however, the intention was to keep you hidden, to keep you harmless, at least your image anyway.

Everyone falls to their own thoughts as a calm silence takes over. But the quiet remained longer than you would have liked. So you did the only right thing to do in such a situation.

“Did you know your eyeballs are three and a half percent salt?” You throw the first medical fact that comes to mind.

“What?” Yoongi ganders at you like you were the stupidest life form in existence.

“Just a fun fact,” Jimin chuckles as your shoulders lifted into a shrug.

“Hey, (Y/n),” The youngest calls for your attention. “Can you dance?”

‘Well shit,’ Over the week, you were entirely focused on improving your combat skills, you had completely overlooked the fact that you couldn’t dance. Sure you could flail to a rhythm but you didn’t know proper ballroom dancing. “No,” Lowering your head, you answer.

And the limousine jerked to a stop just as you did. “Uh, that's okay, you can skip the dancing. The event is more of a banquet-style anyway,” The chocolate brunette assures you, as the dark door smoothly opened.

“Right,” Mumbling, you delicately scooch out of the vehicle and beside Jimin, who had his hand out for you.

And the sight before you was grand, to say the least. Bright yellow ground lights illuminate the two large pillars that stood on either side of the main entrance. You could see the lobby through the glass doors, marble floor, lush green plants decorated corners of the room, and a mahogany desk sat to the side of the space, giving the room an open feel.

Speckles of gold from the indoor lights sprinkled the length of the tall building. You had to strain your neck to see the whole building, you almost assumed it went on forever.

Ladies in extravagant gowns and dresses poured in alongside men dressed in perfectly tailored suits. One would think you were attending a royal ball by the way these people dressed, not a mafia party.

Cars you had only seen in movies and magazines passed by you as the crowd grew. And you feel a subtle tug on your hand, which you guessed was Jimin.

“Wait, Jeongguk!” You gasp, body jolting when you remember the gift you meant to give a certain lady if you could call her that. “Did you bring everything I told you?” You ask the male.

“Oh, yeah!” He exclaims, remembrance flooding his hazel orbs. “Hold on let me get it,” He rushes to the end of the elongated body of the limousine. And your expression falls into a blank look.

“Did you really put flowers in the trunk?” Your deadpan stare pierces through him as his shoulder rises high in a shrug.

“Well, I got them didn’t I?” He hands you the bouquet, stuffing his hands into his suit pockets.

Sighing, you shake your head. Although he was right, he had gotten all the flowers you had asked for.. And a mischievous grin splits on your face as you fuss with the flower petals adjusting and arranging them.

“What are those for?” Jimin comes up behind you, one of his arms wrapping around your waist. Your grin melts into a soft smile at the warmth of his touch.

“Don’t worry about it,” You assure him as he leads you up the front steps. Though still curious, he drops the topic, humming at your words.

You walk down the first corridor by the main entrance, your eyes fell to the floor as a sudden bout of nervousness hit you. Only it wasn’t only nervousness that had made itself known, you could feel the excitement pulse through your veins as you walked down the carpeted hallway.

“Alright here we go,” Jeongguk blasts his bunny smile as you turn one last corner and you see the humongous double door, you were sure you could fit an elephant through.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the room. Three enormous rectangular low ceiling chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. It looked as though it was raining gold; a clean white light poured from the large chandeliers. Neatly lighting the room in a soft enchanting glow.

Round tables dotted the great hall, as people mingled, greeting each other.

A soft smile plastered to your face you eyed the people you passed, taking note of their movements and expressions. Though you had to admit you were enjoying the shocked, almost scared glances you received from the many attendees when their eyes landed on your wolf-dog. You felt a surge of power run through you as you glide through the crowd with Shelty walking a naturally regal strut by your hip. And you knew the core of Bangtan was also enjoying that feeling.

As you walked, you carefully studied your surroundings, and before you even had a chance to really go through the information, you had already seen distinct characteristics in both men and women.

There were three kinds of women, ones that clung to men, ones that huddled together, and ones that sat alone, poise and prestige rolling off of them as they coyly sat and observed the fray. The quiet ones were the most dangerous, you will never truly know how much they understand.

Silently you sit in the chair Jimin had directed you to, still holding onto the bouquet. The men break into their own conversations and a few men approach Jimin, inviting him into conversations, which he somewhat reluctantly obliged. And you vaguely hear the men ask the silver-blond about your identity.

Minutes passed of you quietly watching the crowd, and Hae Seulgi was still nowhere to be found. From what you heard from the chocolate haired mafioso, she seemed like a fly drawn to honey, and yet she was still missing.

‘Oh? Ask and you shall receive, is what they say?’ You suppress your grin into a docile smile, calming your rapidly thumping heart. Jeongguk had shown you a picture of the girl, and you had to say, she was quite attractive, in fact, she was beautiful. And from everything you had been told about her, it would seem as though the jewels she wore were brighter than she would ever be. Plus as the spoiled younger sister of Hae Jae-sang, you were almost certain money had jammed her cerebral functions. But, a healthy dose of caution keeps you safe. You recite to yourself as a woman in a deep raisin-purple mermaid dress that flowed outward at the feet stalked towards the now seated beside you Jimin.

“Waiters will be going around with food, but if you want anything just tell one of us, okay?” He places a hand on your knee cap. And your plastered smile thaws into a genuine one as you nod to him.

“Well, well,” Hae Seulgi makes her appearance. “What’s this? Park got himself a new bitch?” She scoffs, her eyes trailing your form. Though her confidence all but evaporates when a deep snarl rips from beside you. She jumps back, her gaze finally finding the wolf-dog beside you.

“Shelty,” Camly you call her name, combing your fingers through the fur of her head.

In all honesty, you too were surprised at Shelty’s actions. Hae Seulgi had done nothing threatening, yet she released a powerful growl of warning.

“What the fuck?!” She yelps. “What is that thing?!”

“A goat,” Jimin snaps. “What the hell does it look like?”

“You know the rules,” She spits back. “No exotic pets,”

“She’s a dog Seulgi,” Jimin massages his forehead.

“No she’s not that’s clearly a fucking wolf,” She barks, stepping back awkwardly after Shelty bares her teeth at the girl when she tried to approach Jimin. And from what you could see the men seated around the table were equally amused at the sight before them.

A placid smile blossoms on your lips as you had got exactly what you had hoped for.

“Oh, I assure she’s just a dog,” Quickly coming to a stand, you rapidly explain to her that Shelty was a dog. “Please forgive her,” You give her a deep bow.

“And just the hell are you?” She scoffs, arms folded. You bit back a grin as you raised your head, your wide innocent eyes met her sharp catty ones. The seven men freeze at her words, would they really have to introduce you as part of the core so early on?

‘Pathetic,’ Her keen dark brown orbs appraised you. She could tell just from the way you spoke and reacted, you wouldn’t last more than a week in this world. She may have been spoiled by her elder brother, but she was raised in this chaos. Something as weak as you couldn’t handle this… If only she had known.

“A doctor,” You answer simply, your right hand covered by your right as they hung in front of you.

“What?” She sneers.

“Please, as an apology for Shelty’s behaviour一” You held up the bouquet, “一would you accept this bouquet?”

Her eyes scrutinize your form. “I’ve been here less than an hour, I wouldn’t want to start any trouble,”

‘How adorably pitiful, just this once,’ She hums, holding out her hand as she accepts the flowers.

“Seulgi,” Your attention is shifted to the man at the table across the room. A man in a navy-blue striped suit. His hard gaze commands for her presence.

“Well, I guess our meeting will have to be postponed,” She turned away from the table. “See you later Jimin,” She struts away with the bouquet, towards the male at the other table.

“Oh I think I will,” He says out loud, before muttering his next words, “In my nightmare,”

Giggling, you sit back on your chair. And a feeble smile forms on Jimin lips at the sound of your laugh.

“What was all that about?” Yoongi questions, but you keep your silence.

“By the way (Y/n), why did you give her flowers?” Jeongguk asks. “I thought we were offhandedly insulting her,”

You remained silent, you would explain your action to them once you were in the safety of your home. Right now, there were too many ears close by. Or at least that was your intention.

“Oh she did,” A voice comes from the right. During your little exchange, you hadn’t realized you had attracted the attention of a certain woman with the striking bouquet you were holding. And there stood Seoung Hei-ryung, wife of Seoung Seungri, co-head of the largest mafia gang in Seoul

“A foxy little thing aren’t you?” She smiles, confidently stepping closer to you, unafraid of the wolf-dog sitting beside you. Shelty does not react, as she comes to stand beside you.

So she caught your encrypted message. You’d have to be careful with her.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” There was no point in pretending in front of her.

“Geraniums, foxglove, meadowsweet, yellow carnations, and orange lilies. Quite the striking collection,” She muses.

“Hm, an interest in flowers I see,” You hum. “Do you perhaps have a garden?” An innocent question, but your eyes screamed a wicked loftiness.

“Yes, I do actually,” A mischievousness pools in her eyes.

“I happen to like flowers as well,” Smiling, you return.

“I can see that,” You laugh at her words, her sharp gaze trailing your form before she continues. “When an excellent find you’ve made Park Jimin,” She praised.

Jimin hum, unsure of what exactly Hei-ryung was speaking of.

“Here,” She hands you a card, a business card to be precise. “I’d like to get to know you better, and perhaps make a deal or two while we’re at it,”

“I’d like that too, Seoung-ssi,” You gratefully accept the card, and she lets out a loud laugh hearing your formality.

“Please, call me Hei-ryung…” She trails off, asking for your name.

“(L/n) (Y/n), but please me (Y/n),”

“Well then (Y/n), if I call you by your first name you must call me by mine,”

“I would be honored, Hei-ryung-ssi,” You answer.

“Suppose that’ll have to do for now,” She chuckles

The men around the table watch owlishly as you casually chatted and even scored a meeting with essentially the royal family of the mafia world. It was true that they had made a few deals in the past, but those were strictly business. This, on the other hand, the queen had just invited you to tea.

“But what exactly do the flowers have anything to do with this?” Jeongguk's face scrunches in confusion.

“Oh? You didn’t know,” A surprised brow raises on her face. “Well then let me tell you,” She grins.

It would have been most preferable to explain this in the safety of the meeting room, but you weren't exactly about to cut off the queen of the Korean mafia world.

“Geraniums signify stupidity, foxgloves represent insincerity, meadowsweets mean uselessness, yellow carnations mean “You have dissapointed me”, and finally orange lilies symbolizes hatred. Quite striking and full of loathing,” Chuckling, she elucidates the men. Their heads snapped to you as you held onto your coy smile.

“No. Way,” Jeongguk annunciates each syllable as excitement rushes onto his expression.

“Holy shit,” Yoongi runs a hand through his white-blond locks, a chuckle leaving his lips.

“So you cussed her out in flower,” Taehyunh wears a stupefied grin as he holds his forehead with both his hands.

“You are amazing,” Jin heaves out a laugh as he slapped the table.

“Isn’t she?” Another voice interjects from behind you.

And your face visibly falls, you feel a cold chill spread throughout your body. You recognized that voice. You jump off your seat, turning to meet the girl you hadn’t seen for nearly two weeks. The girl you never thought you would ever see again, the girl that shouldn’t be here.

“Soomin?” Meekly, you speak the familiar name as you take in the sight before you. She wore a burgundy, silk A-Line halter, sleeveless dress with a sweep train. And she looked gorgeous, you had never really seen the sweet girl outside of hoodies and leggings, but she certainly seemed to be killing that dress.

“It’s been a while. How have you been (Y/n)?” A hand on her hip, with a cheshire grin curves on her lips as she greets you. Before bending to pet your puppy’s head. “Hey, Shelty girl,” Cooing at the wolf-dog, she runs her fingers through Shelty’s silky fur.

“Wait, you know her?” The youngest articulates the thoughts of all seven men.

Did you know her? Of course, you knew Soomin. Why wouldn’t you? She was your boss. But what was your boss, from the flower shop you worked at doing here? She’s not supposed to be here? She’s supposed to be happily running a successful business you knew she loved. So what was she doing here, in a mafia party? Your thoughts fly in thousands of different directions as you try to make sense of the situation, but were cut off when the girl you thought you knew spoke.

“Hm, follow me, Ji-Eun Duri wants to chat,” She gestures to the door with her head.

You may have been distracted by the revelation before you, but you had regained your composure. And you didn’t miss the way Hei-ryung’s eyes widened ever so slightly before returning to their original position. Though the others were not as inconspicuous as the lady.

“Then, I will be taking my leave,” She turns to you. “Contact me when you can and we’ll set a proper meeting date,” She offers you a gentle smile before excusing herself from the group.

“Well then, come on,” Gesturing with her head, she commands.

“Why?” Jimin’s voice is deep, serious as he speaks.

“Why what?” A questioning brow raises on her brow.

“Why does she want to talk?” He asks.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Soomin’s eyes and her words spoke different meanings.

“Let’s go,” Your voice is final, as you meet Soomin’s gaze head-on.

Though surprised with your initial assertiveness, he stands with him followed the rest of the core. Pushing back their seats they stood.

“Right this way,” A grin breaks into Soomin’s lips as she leads you out the grand banquet hall. You hear soft murmurs around you while crossing the room, you bit your lower lip as you may have attracted more attention than comfortable. But that can come later, for now, you needed answers, you needed to talk to Soomin. And if talking to this Ji-Eun Duri was the only way, then so be it.

“I brought them,” She hollers, entering the room a few twists and turns from the main banquet hall.

The room is dimly lit, a large conference table sat in the center of the room. With a figure sitting at the far end of the table.

“Oh?” A female voice speaks, you notice the voice sounds that of an elder or at least older than anyone else in this room.

“Come, sit,” Ji-Eun Duri invites.

Stepping close, you get a better look at the figure before you. She had jet-black hair, her hair matching the color of the dress she wore. It was a simple design similar to yours. You could feel all your senses alert at her presence, your gaze studying her, trying to understand something, anything.

You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring at the figure until Jimin pulled you to sit beside him, as per usual you take a seat on his left side. And you finally allow your eyes to wander, that is when you finally notice the tense expressions the mafiosos wore. And you knew it was caused by the woman sitting on the other end of the table.

Moments passed, no one spoke, so you decided to ask the question that had been ringing in your head.

“Soomin, what are you doing here?” You ask, surprising even yourself at the calmness it held.

“What do you mean (Y/n)?” Soomin doesn’t sit, instead, standing to the right of Ji-Eun Duri. “I’ve always been here, you’ve just never known.”

“You knew her?” Jimin asks you, and even with the minimal lighting, you could see the frown line setting on his handsome face.

“She was my boss,” You answered. “The flower shop, she’s the owner of the flower shop I worked at,” Your voice steadier than you thought it would be.

“Hmm, honestly, one would think you bunch would show a little gratitude,” Soomin tuts, shaking her head. You could see their gaze flicker form each other then to the standing female.

“What are you talking about?” Sitting up straighter, Yoongi’s eyes narrowed as he spoke.

“You know, if I hadn’t sent (Y/n) to you when I did, your boss would be six feet under right now,” She states matter of factly.

Your eyes widen at her words. She had sent you to them? She had meant to send you straight into that fray? She had sent you to Bangtan's manor knowing there was conflict. She knowingly brought you into this world. ‘This was all on purpose,’

“You what?” Your voice falters ever so slightly.

“You heard me?” Her words are sharp, but dripping in amusement.

And that was all you needed to fully regain your steely composure. You could panic and mull over this late at home, for now, you need to figure out why you were brought into this, and the true intentions behind Duri’s summoning.

Glancing to Jimin, you nod. A silent reassurance that you were fine, and to continue the meeting.

“What do you want, Ji-Eun Duri?” He speaks curtly.

“Oh nothing really,” She responds. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the victory over Yeong Cheol Meong,”

“Honestly, it was like a breath of fresh air to see someone finally use their brain,” She lets out a breath of relief.

“What?” Jimin scowls, the gazes of the men around you darkening with it.

“All you people use is brute force and violence to solve all your problems,” She explains. “So it was nice seeing someone use what they had to their maximum advantage.”

“So well done Park,” Duri praises the male. “Gaining monopoly over the Thailand routes, making connections in foreign lands, and the profit That was one good plan.”

“Though I have a feeling the praise is falling to the person,” Soomin muses, her index finger brushing her lower lip.

“Hm, tell me Park what do you intend to do from here? What do you think would be the best course from here on out?” Duri questioned, leaning her head on her hand.

“We’re not obligated to tell you anything,” The silver-blond bites, his fists clenching. You gently nudge his feet, giving him a soft smile when he turns to you.

“What do you think (Y/n)?” The older woman shifts her attention to you.

You could have given the same reply as Jimin had, completely dodging the question. But you knew they wouldn’t let you off so easily, not with Soomin watching you like a hawk. Your former boss was well aware of your capabilities. And you knew she wouldn’t accept your roundabout answer.

The fact that they knew so much about the plan and things that came after the plan meant they knew, they knew everything. So these questions were more of a test, but a test for what? What were they really after? Going by the fact they brought you to another room, they didn’t want anyone interrupting, anyone listening. They wanted something, but what?

‘Fine, I’ll play along,’ Your gaze shifts to where the mafia don had been seated, meeting his honey-brown orbs. Your eyes spoke silent words, quietly asking him permission to answer the question.

What were you thinking? If you decide to truthfully answer this question then the future movements of the gang would be out in the open. More likely than not they follow whatever strategies you thought of. However, the fact stood that your decisions had yet to lead them astray. And though he didn't understand as to why you wanted to do this, he decided to trust your decision, on the accounts of all the benefits Bangtan had reaped from them.

“(Y/n)?” The ravenette calls your name, amusement, and interest pooling within her dark black orbs.

“It doesn’t matter what world it is, every world has it’s wars. Including this one,” You begin, “And with every war come politics, those two go together hand in hand”

Soomin wears a satisfied smile as she listens with the same interest as Duri.

“Just as politics can cause wars, it can also quell wars,” You meet the older woman’s gaze.

“And? What would’ve been your plan?” She questions. You knew she was following your thoughts, but you play her game.

“It’s simple really, trustworthy allies," Holding back a scoff you continue. “The more, the better,”

“Oh, so you intend to force Yeong into a corner?” A brow raises on her face as she reiterates your words.

“It’s not a bad plan, if you have strong allies backing you, then he can’t move as carelessly as he could if he were dealing with Bangtan alone,” Soomin hums, analyzing your suggestion.

“There's no point in having weapons if there isn’t anyone to use them, and there isn’t any use in having many allies if they’re only going to betray you,” Fingers toying with your hair, you ponder out loud. “But,”

“But?” Duri urges you on.

“If all possible I would want make Bangtan essential for Yeong’s gang survival,” Crossing your right leg over your left, your gaze lifts to meet Duri’s. “No matter how much someone may hate water, their body can’t survive without it.”

“And how do you intend to become Yeong’s water?” The ravenette eyes your form.

“I don’t know,” Shrugging, you answer honestly.

Ji-Eun Duri eyelids open then close, blinking once then twice before she bursts into a loud fit of laughter, her shoulders shaking with her laughs.

Your own eyes run over her form as you dissect her movements as you try to decipher the meaning behind her reaction.

“A curious little thing aren’t you?” Huffing as her laughter subsided, she ran her finger under her lower lip. Your line of sight shifts to Soomin, gauging her expression, only to find it drowning in amusement and a devilish pleasure.

“Well then, (Y/n),” The older woman begins. “Tell me, will you allow me to be the first to join your little alliance?” Pure joy danced in her charcoal-black orbs.

“I offer my full support and backing,” She proposes. “In any country, I have branches in, you will receive full support and cooperation from all my operatives. I’m more than willing to introduce you to any of my contact in whatever country you ask, I’ll even help you make connections or even expand,”

“What do you want?” Expression hardening, you feel your muscles tense. She wanted something, there was no giving in this world, everything was an exchange. So what did she want? And there was no guarantee she wouldn’t betray you, she has no real incentive to stay loyal. Even if she wanted something, that was not enough reason to keep someone loyal, especially people as crafty as her.

At first glance, it would seem like her words drip in narcissism, but that was exactly it, her supposed narcissism makes her easy to underestimate. An extremely dangerous weapon on its own. However, that wasn’t it, you did not know for certain but your gut said she had more than enough power to back whatever words she may speak.

“What do you want in return?” Repeating your question, you twitch your crossed legs.

“Something very simple really,” Humming, she toys with her manicured fingernails. Cocking a brow, you rest your elbow on the conference table.

“Loyalty, I want Bangtan’s loyalty.” She says simply. .

Your mouth gapes, at her words. And though the core members of Bangatn shared a similar reaction, your surprise was caused by two very different sentiments.

‘We’d be sitting pretty if we had one of Seoul's largest drug lords behind us,’ Yoongi thought, picking at the skin of his lips. As the head behind one of the most powerful drug rings, her control reaches much farther than the boundaries of Seoul or even Asia. With her by Bangtan’s side they could expand globally. And she was offering just that, expansion and in return all she wanted was Bangtan’s loyalty, a small price to pay for what Duri was offering. You’d be a fool not to take it, but would you?

Yoongi’s gaze flickers to you then to the older woman sitting at the other end. ‘Come on, (Y/n), we can't pass this up,’

Though you had heard the same words you had understood different meanings. This was why words were dangerous, if you don’t listen carefully, you will only hear what you want to hear, not what the speaker was truly articulating. Like in this instance Duri was asking for the gang’s loyalty, was she? Then your hunch about the woman was proven correct, she was smart and cunningly so, sharp as a knife and just as she had said earlier she took maximum advantage from anything and everything. This time she took advantage with her purposely vague words.

“You’re kidding? You’re kidding right?” Scoffing you push away from the table.

“Oh no, not at all, your loyalty is all I want,” Duri misunderstands the reason behind your disbelief.

“Words are just as lethal as weapons,” Voice sharp, you hiss out.

“I don’t see what’s wrong? All I ask in return for my backing and connection is loyalty,” She knows exactly what’s wrong, and so do you.

“So let me get this straight,” Scoffing, you decide you reiterate Duri’s word in simpler, clearer terms. “You’re offering connection and backing in other countries in exchange for control over the most extensive and most accurate network in Seoul?”

The seven men freeze when they hear those words leave your lips. Their bodies are rigid as they fully comprehend your words, or rather comprehend Ji-Eun Duri’s artful deceit.

Adjusting his cuffs, Jimin sat straighter. Focused on the things Bangtan would gain from the woman, he had overlooked what they would be giving up. But how could he not? Her words were molded in such an inciting trap. And these were the moments he was especially grateful that you were sitting beside him.

And though you had said plenty, you still had more to say, much more.

“The words “I want your loyalty,” is as clear as my skin swamp water. Of course, being aligned with you would mean none of the information collected on you would be shared, but using the term “loyal” loosely then if you asked us not to, we wouldn’t be able to gather intel on you or you could even ask that for people associated with you,” You explain. “And along the lines of information, going by your ambiguous descriptions of the deal, being “loyal” to you would also mean we wouldn’t be able to keep information from you whether it’d be about us and our own affairs or others. You would have not only full access to our networks but also almost full control over them,”

Puffing out a breath, you fold your arms leaning against the office chair. And the men around you visibly gulp as they were now able to see the finely laid trap.

“Did I miss anything?” You ask calmly, your briefly lost composure returning to you. “If so, please feel free to as the list,”

“I think she got all of them,” Soomin quips, nodding her head, thoroughly impressed with your understanding. “What do you think?” She asks Duri.

“Yeah, I think she did,” Sh chuckles. “It’s been some time since anyone has caught my words,” Her eyes form crescents from the wide grin she wears.

“I’d forgotten what it feels like to match wits,” She muses. “Alright, how about I make a better deal?” You watch her with incredulous eyes. Unbelieving of every word that left her mouth.

“I offer Bangtan my loyalty,” Her charcoal orbs land on yours. “In exchange for yours,”

“Again with th一”

“Not theirs,” Duri cuts you off. “Just yours, I want your loyalty (L/n) (Y/n),”

“Mine?” Forehead folding into a confused frown, you try to search for any hidden meaning in her words, any advantage she would gain from having only your loyalty. And you saw none. What was going on?

“Why?” Eyes narrowing, you question her.

“Because I want your loyalty,” Effortlessly dodging the question, she continues. “So do we have a deal or not?”

“What does the term loyalty include?”

“Anything you want it to,” She answers simply, she flicks her wrist.

If there were any advantages of having your loyalty then you couldn’t see it, however, if she were to pledge loyalty to Bangtan the gang would be able to benefit from all her resources. But what were the extent of her resources, was this really worth it?

Shifting your gaze to the men around you, and it dawned on you. No one was speaking, as a matter of fact, they had barely spoken at all. You were discussing the possible future of the gang, and none of the actual gang members were talking. Even Jimin had kept his silence, but why?

Your eyes find Jimin’s, silently asking him for guidance. His expression softens when he sees you looking at him. ‘What should I do?’ Your eyes asked. ‘Let’s take it,’ His answered, nodding, you scan the faces of the rest of Bangtan and their expressions said the same. So it was decided.

“We’ll take it,” The smile on Duri’s face remains the same as you answered. So she had predicted this.

“But,” You add. “Your word isn’t good enough, I want papers, contracts, a physical embodiment of your promise,”

“Oh?” She hums, her eyebrows raising in mild surprise.

“Make no mistake, you’re a threat just as much as you’re an opportunity,” You warn, uncrossing your legs, your hands falling to the armrests of the office chair you were sitting on.

A grin spreads on Soomin’s lips as she watches the interaction.

“Fine,” She says, her eyes closed. “Let’s meet three days from now, we can get everything down on paper, then,” Her gaze flickers to you then to Jimin.

“What do you say, boss?” Mockingly, she asks the silver-blond.

“Send the location of the meeting to Namjoon,” Standing he stares daggers into the older woman, he answers sharply.

“Alright, see you at the meeting, then,” She waves, lightheartedly.

“See ya later (Y/n),” Soomin called from her place beside Duri.

You stand just with the other core members, as your eyes flicker to Soomin’s catty ones then to Duri before you turn to leave the room.

“What the hell just happened in there?” Taehyung breathed out as you walked down the carpeted corridors.

What the hell had happened? Everything felt like a blur, one moment you are reuniting with Soomin in a place you never imagined you would. Then Ji-Eun Duri happened, just who the hell was she? And why did she want your loyalty? Was it some kind of scheme, a ploy? You’d have to ask Namjoon for proper information on her.

“I know right?” Jeongguk exclaims, his tone brimming with excitement.

“Did we really just strike a deal with Ji-Eun Duri? Like the Ji-Eun Duri?” Hoseok mutters still in soft shock.

“First Seoung Hei-ryung, then Ji-Eun Duri. Just one power woman after another,” Jin chuckles in disbelief, that you had just arranged meetings with not just one but two of the most powerful women in the mafia world.

“I know right,’’ The youngest joins in.

“I don’t think you understand the weight of your accomplishment (Y/n),” Namjoon says, impressed with what you had done.

“Yes, you did an amazing job,” Jimin praises, bringing you closer to him by your waist.

Sighing, you stopped in your tracks, staying in place. You were glad that they were happy, you really were, but seeing Soomin, the deal, you just needed time to process everything. And a party was not the place you wanted to do that.

“Jimin,” You whisper, wrapping your arms around the silver-blonde, you bury your face into Jimin’s neck. “Can we go home?” Mumbling, you nuzzle further into his neck.

A soft smile curved onto his lips as he curls his arms around you. “Of course, love,”

But your stomach twists and grumbles, making a very loud rumbling noise, a signal that your empty stomach was and crying to be filled.

“Can we go to McDonald's first?” You ask, looking up to him.

The silence continues for a solid minute before all seven men burst into laughter. Your eyes flutter at the sight before you join in on the laughing.

“Anything you want,” The mafia don chuckles, “Are any of you staying?”

“What?” Taehyung spits, eyebrows furring in anger. “And miss out on McDonald's? Fuck that,” He says.

“Let’s go to McDonald's!” Hoseok exclaims, his fists pumping into the air.

Laughing, you leave the grand gala in favor of a fast-food restaurant together.

“So this is the girl you chose?” Duri observes the swirl of the wine as she twirls her glass.

“Yes,” Soomin spoke softly, leaning against the wall behind the onyx haired woman.

“Did you see the confused look on her face when I said I want her loyalty?” Duri chuckles airily.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how someone could be so sharp and so dull at the same time,” Soomin sighs, her soft-blond hair falling onto her face.

“Why did I want your loyalty?” Duri says as though speaking to you. “It’s simple my child, when you take over the world I want to stand at your side.”

“In the first three days of her arrival, Bangtan took over the Thai weapons routes. In a mere three days, so imagine what she could do in three months or three years,” The older woman asserts.

“The game board just shifted my daughter,” Sipping her wine, the older woman stands. “Things are changing, whether it be for the better or for worse,”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” The younger woman hums thoughtfully.

“Well, I see every situation as both an opportunity and a threat,” You muse, watering the sunflowers. “O一of course that doesn’t apply to every situation,” You stammer out, realizing you had just said something people would normally classify as strange.

‘Seeing every situation as an opportunity and a threat, huh? I look forward to seeing what you become (Y/n),’

#Purple Irises #Mafia au #Mafia Boss Jimin x reader #Mafia jimin #mafia jungkook #Mafia Yoongi #mafia jin #Mafia Namjoon #Mafia Hoseok #Mafia Taehyung #Mafia BTS #Doctor reader kind of #Jimin x reader #Park Jimin x reader #Park Jimin

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oliveiraveiro · 4 years ago

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Drunken Nights and Unspoken Words

Open Heart, Rafael Aveiro x F!MC (Estelle Valentine)

In which Estelle recalls a few memorable drunk conversations she had with Rafael. While there is one that made her smile again, the rest give more pain to her already broken heart. But what happens when unspoken words and feelings are finally spoken?

w // some fluff (in flashbacks), overall angst, curse word, happy open ending

word count: 2660

ao3 link

note: what is it with me and drunk, breakup prompts?? idk either please just bear with me. I have some ideas for a second part but not entirely sure about writing it, so let me know what you think or if you have suggestions

+ I know it’s been forever but I dedicate this to @violentinenow <3 still just attempting to write sksk but I hope you like it

Rafael is a cute type of drunk.

Not the giggly one. Rather, he was the drunk whose musings are, as said, cute.

As Estelle drank her vodka cocktail alone in her apartment, she can’t help but to think about her ex-lover, and a few of his drunk ramblings.

“You... do you know Estelle means star?” he asked her sleepily.

As they laid together in her bed after a karaoke night with their friends, it was obvious he was already trying his best to stay awake.

“Mm, I do,” She ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, while she had a small smile on her own.

Technically, the Latin name Stella meant star, and Estelle is only the French version of it, but she did not need to get into that now. She was a little tipsy herself, but it was obvious the other was more drunk, and sleepier.

“Good. And you know... Valentine’s Day is basically... uh... Heart’s day, right? So Valentine is heart?” Rafael continued, and Estelle let out a soft chuckle.

“Basically, yes.” she agreed.

“You always call me Superman, don’t you? And so I thought, I should also give you your own superhero name. It’s Star-Heart.”

Estelle smiled even more, and she realized she had been smiling for too long already when her cheeks started to hurt. “That’s adorable, Superman. That is officially my superhero name starting tonight. Star-Heart reporting for duty.”

Rafael couldn’t help his wide grin. “I’m glad you like it. It’s just so fitting, you know? Not just... not only with the- with...your names. Star because you’re so bright, Estelle. And you- you light up any room you walk into. And heart... you’re so, so kind. I love that you still have a kind heart no matter how brilliant you are. I...”

He was clearly about to say something more, and she could almost see the gears in his head turning as he frowned, debating in his head whether he should continue or not.

Obviously deciding against it, Rafael gave her another sheepish grin. “Boa noite, meu amor.”

Estelle smiled at him, despite her heart going crazy. She wanted to finally hear the words he’s always hinted. Hell, she wanted to tell him that herself. But if even drunk him was still not ready, then she figured she should continue biting on her tongue.

“It’s Star-Heart to you, senhor.” she just said, continuing to humor him.

That was a nickname that never really stuck between the two of them, but there were a few weeks that Rafael received texts from Star-Heart instead of favorite doctor. Estelle remembered the first time she changed her contact name on his phone, teasing him about that night. Whenever she noticed he changed it back she’d change it again, and it went on for a few weeks.

It stopped after a particular Friday night and they went out for drinks again.

They sat together in a booth, their friends scattered around the bar doing their own thing, and as soon as Estelle got her hands on Rafael’s phone she decided to check her name yet again then change it. However, instead of seeing favorite doctor, like always, the name read meu amor.

She recalls almost having the guts to actually say the three words.

“My love?” She gave him a playful grin, this time more intoxicated than she usually lets herself be. “You always call me that.”

Estelle was somehow able to grin wider as she watched Rafael blush.

“You don’t like it? I can–”

She was quick to interrupt him. “No! I like it,” she promised. “But do you mean it?” She set his phone back down on the table, resting her hand atop his, lightly squeezing.

“Of course I do, Estelle. You know, I do.”

“Then say it,” she dared, heart hammering in her chest. Rafael smiled wide, just about to, but Estelle interrupted him again.

“Actually, no, let me say it.” She almost giggled as they both blushed, staring at each other’s eyes, and she also took his other hand in hers. “Rafael Aveiro, my Superman–”

“GO! KARTS! GO! KARTS! GO! KARTS!” their friends started chanting back to their booth before she could continue.

They were sober enough to agree to go racing but still with alcohol in their systems to drag the two of them with the rest of the gang.

They slept in the same bed again that night, but her short moment of courage was over. And neither of the two had it in them to bring it up again.

Estelle takes three gulps of her drink. They were both really stupid. She was stupid.

How hard was it to tell the person you love that you love them? She screams in her mind that it literally only took three words, and once again she feels angry at herself for being a coward. If she had been brave, maybe she wouldn’t be drinking herself to sleep in her room right now. Or maybe she’d still be drunk, but so would Rafael be, and they’d cuddle up in her bed like they used to and sleep comfortably in each other’s arms.

The what ifs are quick to invade Estelle’s mind.

What if she said ‘I love you’ that night? What if he did? Would he still leave her for Sora, or those three unspoken words would have been enough to make him stay?

The last time she let herself think about him, she already promised she won’t blame herself anymore. It was important she knew that it wasn’t her fault, and that Rafael left because he wanted to. He simply made a choice: his own.

But with the earlier events of tonight, she wasn’t sure about that anymore.

Right after her shift and she got time to freshen up, she made her way to Donahue’s. She headed straight to the bar to get herself a drink, not even waiting for her friends anymore. She waited to get the attention of the bartender who was currently talking to a drunk customer, refusing them another drink.

With a singular focus to get a shot, she realized about a minute too late who the said customer was, now broadcasting not only to the bartender but to the people around him that he probably needs someone to call him a car.

“Rafael?” She walked towards him, simply giving the bartender an apologetic smile and they share a nod.

Before she can fully wrap her head around the situation, Estelle finds herself in a booth with Rafael. It is painfully familiar to how they used to spend the end of their work week. Although instead of having a few bottles and glasses and an assortment of finger foods in front of them, Rafael is drinking water and Estelle had yet to take the first swig of her beer.

They still hang out, sure. They never really stopped even after they ‘broke up’, but nowadays only with Bryce and her other roommates. Being in this scenario now, it feels like crossing a line.

“How’s your week?” Rafael asks, but quickly catches himself. “Or…uh, I’m– should I not ask?”

“It’s okay,” she gives him a small smile. “Work is…work. I guess just the usual.”

She takes a moment to take him in, staring up into his brown eyes and swallowing the lump in her throat. “Should I ask about how the suspension’s going?”

He grins, and she isn’t sure if it’s just the alcohol or the smile really doesn’t reach up his eyes. “It sure is going.”

“Somehow I just perfectly understand that,” she gives him another smile. Estelle thinks to herself that so far this was going well. What they had was pretty special: maybe they can truly get past the awkwardness and be normal friends.

But what he says next makes her forget that thought in less than a second. “We broke up.”

“You and…Sora?” she asks. She instantly realized it was a useless response, but she was too surprised. Why? And is he telling this to her as his friend or his ex-lover?

Thankfully being a smartass isn’t really Rafael’s style. “Yeah, Sora and I.”

“What happened?” About a hundred emotions floods her chest, but she chooses to focus on genuine concern for her obviously upset friend. She realizes only now just how deep his frown was, and that there was hurt and longing behind his eyes.

“She said she was disappointed that it took me this long to open up about…us.”

She found it hard to find her next words, cheeks burning upon hearing his words. “And she broke up with you because of that?”

“No, not exactly. I…I told her I loved her.” At this point Rafael’s eyes can’t meet hers, his finger tracing circles on his glass.

“So she broke up with you because she doesn’t feel the same way? Oh, that sucks, Raf. I’m so sorry...” Estelle feels for him and wishes he didn’t have to go through this. Yes, she vividly felt the pain clenching her heart which extended all the way to her fingertips as her mind repeated that fact that the person she loves just told her he loved someone else. But Rafael is such a genuine, sweet person. No matter what happened between them he only deserves happiness.

He smiles, but she sees just how empty it was. “She said she does. She broke up with me because according to her I don’t feel the same way.”

“That… doesn’t make sense. You just told her you loved her, didn’t you?”

“Sometimes we say things we don’t really mean,” he quotes Sora’s words. “It just… yeah, it sucks. You’d think at our age I’d be better at relationships already but here I am.”

Estelle responds with silence and looks down at his free hand resting on the table. She wants to take it, to let him know she’s right here with him despite not having the right words. But everything he’s said so far, she is yet to absorb. So she decides against it– biting onto her lip softly as she waited for him to continue.

“Do you think I shouldn’t have said it?” he asks after a long moment. “Not tell her I loved her?”

She fights back the tears that threatened to form in her eyes. “Raf, I’m sure–”

“It’s not like I don’t love her, you know? I guess maybe… maybe it’s too early to say it. And she’s right, I do have complicated feelings. But I know we can have something– special.” Rafael interrupts. “I just thought, with the two of us, I waited far too long to tell you how I really felt. And we… I mean I– I ruined it and I… we, didn’t work out. So I thought getting it out there early, telling her I love her, would… make it work.”

Estelle takes a moment to let that sink in, but ultimately fails. The only thing her brain processed was about him not telling her the truth. “You waited too long to tell me what?”

He sighs softly. “You know what I’m talking about, Estelle.”

“No, I actually don’t, Raf. And I think you should just be straight with me right now because you broke up with me. And now it seems you’re implying that you didn’t get the chance, like I didn’t give you a chance, to tell me that–” she stops herself, realizing her raising tone.

Her cheeks flushes in anger, fist clenching under the table. She’s thought about this happening countless of times, but not like this. Not only he was drunk, but he didn’t even plan the confession.

Rafael’s eyes widen as he slowly understood what she said, and he quickly looks at her apologetically. “I’m sorry, Estelle. I know that. But what I’m saying this time is true, I loved you. And fuck, it’s stupid and a complication, and might be the actual reason why Sora ended things with me last week, but I still do, Estelle. It’s...”

He swallows the lump in his throat, biting on his lip, his words and emotions currently all over the place and obviously so. He’s starting to realize that he’s being insensitive, that he shouldn’t be saying all these to her. He’s aware he might be hurting her right now, but God, he’s kept this for so long and he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he keeps it for one more night. He’d already wasted plenty of chances. Tonight’s stolen chance, this is finally going to be the one he takes.

“Before anything else, we’re friends, Estelle. So I owe it to you to be honest, and because I’ll go crazy if I don’t let you know. I’m still in love with you.”

Not like this. Tears pool in her eyes, making her vision blurry. She instinctively blinks, only making it stream through her cheeks. Rafael looks extremely guilty upon seeing her crying, but he’s unable to move nor speak again.

She knew he’s not doing this to be cruel. He’s probably barely registering his confessions in his mind, and only more oblivious to the fact that what he’s saying is not pleasant and is hurting her. She’s mad at the situation. She’s mad at what’s happening, very, but she blames the alcohol and not him. But even so, she just couldn’t take any more.

By the time a full minute passes, she is already out of the bar. She spends a few moments in the back alley crying as she spammed Bryce with texts, telling him to take care of their drunk friend. As soon as he assures her he will, she leaves and makes her way home, but only after buying drinks from the nearest convenience store.

And so now, she is laid on a blanket on her floor, finishing her third-or-maybe-fourth bottle, thinking about her ex-lover. Or is it just lover now, with his admission? God, tonight was messy.

Where was the drunk Rafael who gave her a superhero name? The one who goes on and on about how amazing she was. The one who argued to her unprovoked that homemade cooking is always better, and actually made some good points. What horrible thing did she do that she had to cross paths with Rafael tonight when he’s too honest and far from having cute ramblings?

I love you. Oh, this godawful phrase. When she’s kept up awake at night, it’s almost always because of these three words. The irony that she’s just as restless even after finally hearing it from him.

She loves him, that was still a fact, yes. Perhaps that’s what makes everything more complicated.

Does it mean they’ll get back together? Does he even want them to? Does she?

Fortunately, she didn’t have to come to a conclusion tonight. And soon enough she falls asleep with even more thoughts about Rafael.

The hangover next morning isn’t so bad. The universe is probably making it up to her after last night’s events. She starts to think that today would be good. It’s her day off, after all. But, soft knocks at her door already interrupts her.

She sits up, swallowing the lump in her throat. Somehow she already knows exactly who it is right outside her room.

“Estelle?” Rafael calls. “It’s me. I brought you coffee and pancakes.”

I love you. She immediately thinks as she starts to get up. She realizes just what she thought a few seconds later, and she stops for a moment, but goddammit, she does love him, even without food involved. They’ll figure it out, like real adults this time. Hopefully.

Estelle opens the door and greets him with a smile. “Hey. You don’t look too bad for someone hungover.”

He smiles sheepishly, holding out his takeout. “How’s this for starting my apology?”

“Happy to let you know you’re off to a great start. Come on in, Superman.”

#choices open heart #open heart #open heart fanfiction #rafael aveiro #rafael aveiro x mc #rafael x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices

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ranjxtul · 5 years ago

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Live Like Tomorrow Doesn’t Exist

Ah here we are, back with regularly scheduled Aragon angst! S/o to @footprintsinthefallingsnow for being a sounding board for ideas on this one, love ya wifey. This piece though, is absolutely dedicated to @the-quiet-winds as a slightly late b-day present! Thank you for being the Jane to my Aragon and overall such a lovely person! Hope you had the best day, and as always love you so much! Anyway, TW for drugging someone. Enjoy!

Aragon wasn’t much for clubs, she learned that quickly. The noise, thrumming music, and masses of people seldom did anything but make her uncomfortable at best or anxious at the worst. That being said, she could move past the uncomfortableness with a few drinks in her system if the others insisted on dragging her out.

She’d agree to go for Anne’s sake usually. She preferred a quiet bar over a loud club anyday, if she had to go out, but Anne and the others sometimes wanted more. She didn’t exactly have it in her to deny their requests every single time they asked her, so, occasionally, she’d find herself in a club. She spent those nights either dancing with Anne (after a few drinks) or sipping on a drink slowly with Jane back at a table while Cleves and Anne tore up the dance floor.

One particular night, after she’d had an especially good show, she found herself indulging her whims a bit more. She allowed herself to drink a bit more, dance more freely with Anne and succumb to her tipsy state just a bit more. It was nice, just for once. Even if she had a bit of a hangover the next day, she could at least vouch for the fact that she’d let herself have fun.

Anne and Cleves seemed to enjoy this freer Aragon. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to get her to the club and only a bit more to get her to dance. Parr, Jane, and Kitty all sat at a corner table, watching over the other three on the dance floor.

“I’m going to take a break and grab a drink at the bar,” Aragon leaned back a bit more against Anne to get a bit closer to her ear. She hoped she’d been heard over the music.

“M’kay babes,” Anne mumbled, landing a kiss on Aragon’s cheek just before the other woman slid away and out of her grasp. Anne was already a couple drinks in with Aragon not far behind. Truth be told, Aragon didn’t need the extra alcohol, for some reason, she just felt good. She wanted to relish in it though, and indulge herself.

“Can I have a vodka soda?” Catherine ordered, taking a seat at the bar. The man behind the bar gave her a nod and turned to prepare her drink. While she waited, Aragon found herself drumming her manicured nails on the bar, and humming along to whatever song played. The alcohol already running through her veins burned a pleasant warm haze in her mind, as thoughts of the show, Anne, and her family flitted through her head.

“You here alone?” asked a voice, breaking her out of her haze. She glanced over toward the sound with a hum. A tall olive skinned man with dark brown hair and green eyes stood at her side now.

“No, my girlfriend’s back on the dance floor,” she shrugged, an apologetic smile flashing across her face.

His eyes swept quickly over Catherine’s tall frame and gentle curves obvious in her attire, “She’s a lucky woman then. Mind if I sit though?” He asked.

“Not at all,” Aragon shook her head. In retrospect, she should’ve been more cautious of the abundant kindness this stranger showed, but the pleasant buzz in her brain drowned out any voice of caution.

The man took a seat beside her, “I’m Sam Michelson, by the way,” he nodded, flashing a smile her way.

“Catherine Aragon,” Catherine responded just as the bartender brought her new drink over. She murmured a quiet thanks to him before the bartender moved to take Sam’s order.

“Nice to meet you,” he turned back to Catherine as the bartender turned away.

“You too,” she gave a nod as she lifted her drink to take a sip. She let the alcohol run down her throat, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips quietly.

“Oh, I love this song,” Sam commented as the music switched over.

Catherine listened for a moment, attempting to discern what song was playing. After a moment, she figured out it was a remix of a song Anne had shown her before. “It’s a good song, though I don’t really know it. My girlfriend probably does though, she likes this type of music,” she shrugged, thinking of how Anne was probably enjoying herself greatly.

“Not your type of music, eh?” He mused with a raised brow.

“Not particularly. This music’s always a bit too loud and abrasive for me, I suppose.”

“What kind of music do you like then?”

“My favorite artist is Fleetwood Mac, or something in that vein. It’s just really calming,” she explained briefly, raising the glass to her lips again.

“Oh they’re incredible!” Sam nodded enthusiastically. “Saw em’ in concert last time they were in London.”

Catherine opened her mouth to respond, only to turn at a gentle tap on her shoulder. Parr stood beside her, “Hey, I was going to head home with Kat and I know you have the keys in your bag, but I couldn’t find them,” she shrugged, an apologetic look at having interrupted her godmother’s conversation, sitting on her slim features.

Aragon frowned, attempting to remember if she’d put them anywhere else, and ineffectively coming up with no answer. “I’ll look, yeah?” she raised a brow before turning back to Sam. “Excuse me for a moment,” she gave a small smile and set her glass back on the counter before she stood.

“Course’, I’ll make sure no one takes your seat and then we can get back to music,” he nodded.

Catherine made her way back to the booth with Parr and grabbed her bag to search for the car keys.

“Who were you talking to?” Parr inquired as she waited for Aragon to produce the keys.

“Oh, his name’s Sam. He tried to pick me up, but he didn’t push really, when I said I was dating someone. We were just talking about music,” she explained. A non-inebriated Catherine might have picked up on suspicion of the man’s behaviour, but now it flew straight over her head.

“Oh, uh, be careful,” Parr warned tilting her head as she observed Aragon. “He seems okay, just be careful, alright?” she requested biting the edge of her lip.

“I will dear, don’t worry,” Aragon assured with a smile as she handed Catherine the car keys. “Now to turn that back on you, be safe getting home.”

“I didn’t have anything to drink tonight, I should be okay, but noted,” Parr said with a short nod.

“Good.” Once she was satisfied that Parr and Katherine would get home safe, she turned back to head toward the bar. “Sorry about that,” she apologized sitting back down beside Sam.

“It’s all good,” he smiled.

“Now what were we talking about?” she asked picking up her drink once more and raising it to her lips.

About an hour later, Catherine had finished her drink, and she was a fourth of the way through another. She and Sam had continued to talk about music and then as the conversation progressed, it had blurred for Catherine.

The bartender had seemed hesitant about giving her another drink, though she claimed (truthfully) it only would have been her third over a span of a few hours. Her spine it seemed was beginning to weaken, at least that’s how it felt. Her head spun, but a lack of impulse control told her to ignore it and keep drinking and talking to Sam.

“Hey, babe come dance with me!” Anne said, tapping Catherine on the shoulder from behind. “You’ve talked for so long,” she playfully pouted.

Catherine turned her head, only for a dizzying wave of nausea to course through her veins. Perhaps the bartender had been right and she had had too much. “Sure!” she shrugged, the consonants beginning to slur in her speech.

“Ah, you must be the girlfriend,” Sam spoke up, his pleasant tone having dimmed just enough to display an edge of frustration to perhaps a sober onlooker. And at this point, Anne was sober enough to pick up on the edge.

“Yeah, and I’d really like to steal my girl back for a dance,” she said, forcing her voice to stay playful and cheeky. Something immediately seemed off about this guy. While Anne’s original intention had been to simply get Catherine back out for another dance, now a rush of protective energy washed over her.

Before either Catherine or the man could say anything, she gently dragged Catherine from the bar. Unexpectedly, Catherine almost pitched over onto her. “S-sorry,” she slurred. “Musta’ h-had too much t’ drink,” she glanced at Anne.

“How many did you have? Normally this isn’t like you to drink a lot, especially when we do have a show tomorrow,” Anne bit her lip. It only had been an hour and a half since she’d seen Catherine and for her to have gone from tipsy to slurring drunk, raised some red flags.

“Uh? Three? I think?” Catherine furrowed her brow as she tried to focus on figuring out how much she’d actually had. The more she attempted to focus though, the more her thoughts blurred.

Three, and that was one before she’d left Anne. “Okay, let’s go sit down then. I’m not sure dancing’s a great idea,” she suggested carefully leading Aragon to the booth where Jane sat.

“Everything okay?” the blonde asked. She quickly realized the answer to that when Anne had to help Aragon sit down. “How many drinks have you had, love?” Jane asked glancing at the curly haired woman.

“Three?” Aragon slurred out questioningly as Anne sat beside her. The brunette wrapped an arm around her girlfriend who leaned into the touch, unable to hold herself up anymore.

Jane raised a questioning brow at Anne who could only hope the glance she spared Jane conveyed her worry and confusion. “Can you get her some water and maybe find Anna? It might be best if we head home,” Anne suggested.

“Yeah,” Jane nodded, standing up. First order of business, find Anna. Luckily, the German wasn’t too hard to find. She was dancing toward the outer edge of the cluster of people at this point.

“Anna!” Jane called, attempting to get her attention. “Anna!” she called again, putting a hand on her shoulder. This time, the woman spun around.

“What’s up?!”

“I think we’re going to leave. Catherine’s really drunk, and Anne told me to come find you and get her some water.”

Anna’s gleeful face sobered, “We have a show tomorrow. She’s never drunk on a show night. Is everything okay?” she asked as she started to weave her way out of the crowd, Jane beside her.

“I don’t know. Something was really off, she said she’s only had three drinks, and one of those was about two hours ago. She could barely hold herself up, and she was slurring her words.”

After a moment’s silence from Anna, a flicker of recognition passed through her eyes, “Boleyn said she was sitting at the bar with that guy. Did she leave her drink alone, ever?”

Jane furrowed her brow, “I’m not sure? Why’d you-” she stopped as the implications of Anna’s question hit her. “You don’t think he…?”

“I’d like to hope not, but alcohol does not hit her that heavily,” she said grimly. “If he did though, that son of a bitch doesn’t know what’s coming,” Anna added under her breath.

“Let’s get her that water, then, and try to figure it out?” Jane suggested, leading Anna toward the bar to order a water. She hadn’t been able to discern what exactly the taller woman had mumbled, but she could imagine it wasn’t anything good.

When the pair returned to the table, they sat across from Aragon and Anne. Catherine looked, much to their dismay, worse for wear. Her eyes stared blankly ahead bit dim and unfocused. “Catherine,” Jane started gently. She figured she’d be best at getting her to recount it all, considering how riled up Anna was about the situation, “do you remember if you left your drink alone with the guy you were talking to?”

Anne’s eyes widened in alarm; she processed the questions and its connotations more quickly than Catherine. “You don’t think?” She asked quietly so as not to startle Catherine. It all made sense though, and meant Anne’s intuition had been right.

“With Sam?” Aragon slurred, her brown eyes dimly focusing in an effort to concentrate. “Maybe? I think? Cathy asked to help find the keys and I left it there,” she finally answered, vaguely wondering why Jane had asked.

It all fell into place in the other three queens’ minds. This ‘Sam’ had put something in her drink. It accounted for the overly drunk air and the lethargic behaviour and cognitive processes. They could only imagine what might have happened had Anne not gotten to Catherine sooner.

“I’m going to murder him,” Anne muttered, one fist clenching by her side.

Jane shot her a look, “Now’s not the time we need to-”

Aragon cut her off, “Wait, did he? Did he put something in my drink?” even in her hazy state, she’d managed to put together all the pieces. She tried to sit up from her place leaning against Anne, only to be met with a head splitting wave of nausea. “That’s why you all were asking me if I left it alone.”

Catherine’s mind spun as it tried to fight its way out of the haze, only to be entrapped by another haze of anxiety. The irony of it though,was that her mind could not physically keep up with how quickly her synapses attempted to fire. Intrusive thoughts of what could have happened fired off at a whirlwind speed, only to be impaired by the effect of drugs in her brain. Thoughts of her own carelessness followed in a disoriented fashion that made her want to scream.

The anxiety only made the nausea worse. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to make it stop, and she clung tightly to Anne again, grounding herself while she could. Fuck. How could she have been that careless and naive? So many things could have happened, and she was playing right into his game the whole time. God, she was stupid. Why hadn’t she questioned it more, or been aware? She was supposed to be aware of things like that.

Amidst the mental fight, she neglected to pay attention to the fact that she was no heaving for breath. “Catherine,” Anne said quietly, hoping to bring her back from the ledge before she could completely spiral. “Catherine,” she said again, pulling the other woman closer into her side. “It’s okay. You’re here.”

“Love, it’s not your fault,” Jane added. She had enough experience with Katherine to know what kind of thoughts could have been running through Aragon’s head in a situation like this. “He was trying to take advantage of you.”

Vaguely, Catherine heard Anne and Jane. In her inebriated state, she focused on them as hard as she could, forcing her eyes open to look at Jane.

“Breathe,” Anna added from beside Jane. “In, out. Then we’ll get you out of here.” As much as she wanted to maim the one responsible for hurting her best friend, Aragon’s safety was the primary concern.

“Like this,” Anne demonstrated, exaggerating her breathing. Aragon closed her eyes again, due to the nausea and still dizzying rate of thoughts. She had to try though, for Anne and the others.

“You can do it,” Jane encouraged as she watched Catherine struggle to heave in a few breaths. “That’s it,” she added after the woman managed a few more breaths.

“I’m sorry,” Aragon heaved out when she had enough air.

“For what?” Anne asked quietly.

“For being s-stupid and playing into his games,” she still slurred.

“Hon, it isn’t your fault, I promise,” Anna said attempting to make eye contact with Aragon.

“But it is. Cathy warned me and told me to be careful but I didn’t. I should know his type but I still let him fool me,” she shook her head, feeling tears start to brim in her eyes. In any other circumstances, she would have pushed them back but now she was so out of it and disgusting feeling, any emotional control she once had, had long since gone out the window.

“Your inhibitions were lowered, and you were just letting yourself be. Maybe you could have been more cautious, but that gave him no right,” Jane shook her head. Her heart broke to see her friend like this, and now see the tears silently streaming down her face as her chest rose and fell at a still uneven rate.

“Jane’s right babe… can we try and get you out of here? It might help even if we’re just waiting outside for an Uber,” Anne added, moving one hand to wipe away the falling tears.

Catherine only shrugged numbly. Her heart pounded in her ears at an all too slow rhythm, contrasting how she her breaths came at shallow intervals.

“Anna, can you help me take her weight?” Boleyn asked, raising a brow at the German. Despite a lack of definitive answer, she knew Catherine needed to get out of this situation as soon as possible.

“Of course,” the German nodded, moving to help Anne support Catherine as she ‘stood.’ Jane moved out ahead of the pair to call an Uber. “M’ sorry,” Catherine apologized as they started toward the exit.

“Sh, it’s okay,” Anne reassured her. It absolutely broke her heart to see Catherine drugged out and so clearly in pain both physically and mentally. The woman seldom cried in front of anyone, and the silent tears streaming down her face had attested to the power of the drug and the emotional state of the woman in her grasp.

Luckily, the Uber came quickly so Anne and Anna didn’t have to support Catherine’s weight for too long. The minute Aragon got out of the noise and chaos of the club, something in her haze clicked. A fog of even greater power started to spread through her brain as the others helped her into the car. “Just wanna sleep now,” she mumbled, carelessly wiping at her tears. The tug of the unconscious suddenly overrode every confused and self deprecating thought pacing through her brain.

“You can, I gotcha, babe,” Anne promised softly as she settled into the car beside Catherine. Aragon barely nodded before she let herself succumb to what ultimately was the pull of the drug and lapse into unconsciousness.

“You know,” Anne commented as Catherine’s eyes fell shut, “I’m glad I got to her when I did. I don’t want to imagine what could have happened if I hadn’t,” she shuttered.

“Me neither,” Anna muttered darkly with a shake of her head.

Anne nodded in agreement, glancing at Catherine’s now sleeping form leaned up against her chest. In that moment, she said a silent prayer that Catherine would be okay, and that this drug wouldn’t hurt her in the long term. She also thanked God she’d made it in time, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she begged for the bastard who’d done this to face consequences.

#catherine of aragon #six the musical #catherine parr #anne boleyn #anne of cleves #katherine howard #jane seymour

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goddamnitdazai · 6 years ago

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After Midnight | Dazai

{ thank you to my patron who allowed me to upload their gift to my blog <3 } There was something attractive and endearing about the sour expression left on Dazai’s features. Brows knit together beneath the line of wrinkles forming in his skin, bottom of his left eye twitching rapidly. Thin steam wavering from the leftover noodles hanging limply on the chopsticks held tightly in his grip. The pink dusting his cheeks adding a drop of innocence as his tongue flops out in disgust. “_____!” He chokes out dropping the chopsticks and dramatically waving his hand in front of his tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this spicy!” He wails, grabbing your ice water and chugging it without a second thought. You snort into your palm. “I wasn’t aware you didn’t like spicy food. Besides, it’s bright red how did you not realize that meant it was spicy?” You smile and take another big bite savoring the spices mixing in with the pork belly and noodles moaning just as dramatically after swallowing a big bite. Dazai sticks his tongue out before pouting your direction. Shoving a posticker whole in his mouth as he watches you eat the ramen with an expression painted in antipathy. “I didn’t think you liked eating volcanic sulfur. Such bad taste in food. Good thing you have amazingly good taste in men~” Dazai winks; your eyes roll.

“What makes you think that?” He gasps at your words arms flying to his chest as he cries loudly about your words shredding his heart like a dagger. You laugh into your glass of iced tea crossing one leg over the other foot running up his shin beneath the table. Somehow, he’d managed to find you without much prompting. A night at the bar led him to your bed. Expecting him to leave once the sheets were stained and you both were satisfied but a conversation about something ridiculous led to another hour spent in bed together. A few days went by and now he was sitting in front of you stealing your food at two am in one of the very few, very secretive gems of Yokohama that served food all night when the city slept peacefully beneath the moonlight. “You said yes to me didn’t you? And I’m the best there is! You remember don’t you?” Despite the sultry drop in his voice the playful edges made it hard to take seriously. His chin rests in his palm free hand drawing circles over your knuckles as you take another sip of tea and order two shots of sweet sake. His brow arcs. “How’d you know I like that kind of sake? Following me~?” “Everyone likes that sake. It tastes fucking good without burning your throat.” You retort, taking another bite of ramen to settle the butterflies in your stomach. Tingling trail burning through your skin following the movement of his fingers on your knuckles. Simple figure eights that make you shiver. Dazai’s fingers slow. Middle applying more pressure than the rest as they roll over the dips between your knuckles then up the center to trace a line back and forth between the expanse of your wrist. Honey brown eyes darkening a fragment and flickering with hints of gold as he watches you with a lopsided smirk. “Can’t you just admit we have similar tastes?” He teases, pout returning. A lump forms in your throat when his leg moves closer letting the edge of your shoe run up the inside of his leg. “Other than the ramen. It’s terrible!” Your laugh resonates around the small table. Sake set in front of both of you while you take another bite staring Dazai dead in the eye purposely chewing slowly, methodically. He gags and yanks your free hand up to bury his face in your open palm wailing about taste bud betrayal. After a few minutes of his theatrics you set your chopsticks down and hold the sake cup up. He mimics your actions smirk returning as he leans in closer. “What should we toast to?” He asks hand setting yours back down to continue drawing patterns along the inside of your wrist. Your heart skips a beat. “After midnight. When the city belongs to people with terrible sleeping habits.” Dazai smiles at your words holding the small white cup up to cheers. You both down it in unison flavors mixing perfectly and settling like a ball of fire in your stomach. Dazai’s fingers continue to play your body like a violin despite him merely touching the skin on your wrist. An addiction beginning to form in slow motion right in front of your eyes. But, you didn’t want to stop it. You’d been fighting the ghost of his touch for days like his hands had implanted their memory all over your body just to tease you until your very last breath. From his teeth red marks had blossomed like roses in the summer on the inside of your thighs. The rest so strategically placed you’d only found a few by running your fingers up the side of your neck in places normally hidden by your hair. “A lot of good things happen around this time don’t they _____?” He wiggles his eyebrows making you snort again into your closed palm. Dazai drags his finger down your middle finger while ordering a whisky neat along with a second plate of potstickers. He’d inhaled most of them when he sat down uninvited in the booth not wanting to admit it had been a day or two since he’d eaten. The rain that had been pounding the sidewalk since he’d arrived disheveled and wet begins to let up as the night ticks on. Hard raindrops becoming light patterings against the window. “We made it home around this time.” He muses, voice lowering to a soft wave of silk rather than the elevated playful tone he’d been using before. This happened the night you two met. Voice soaked in a cheery disposition that descended to a quiet, gentle tone when his mind would wander off to another world for a few seconds. It was mesmerizing really, but it made you all too curious. Too curious for a one night stand. “We did. You’re very charming when I’ve drank my weight in vodka.” You joke. He chuckles lightly and pushes the fresh plate of potstickers your direction. “You’re not the first lady to claim alcohol made them fall for me~” He says leaning back in his chair to stretch out his arms. “Have you had that much yet or should we get more sake?” He winks. You grab a potsticker and lean over the table shoving it into his mouth. Brown eyes widening in surprise before he chews quickly. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” “I don’t need alcohol to want to go home with you, but I wasn’t planning on going home yet.” You muse ignoring the initial question. In truth the man seemed hungry and exhausted despite how he was acting. He practically inhaled half the food on the table when he sat down. You take another bite and tilt your head slightly Dazai mimicking you immediately like a cat in a mirror. “How’d you find me? I don’t geotag on Instagram.” Dazai smiles. Another chuckle falling as soft as snow from his lips before they enclose around a warm potsticker. “I’m a detective.” He replies. Your brow arcs a bit. The man looked nothing like a police officer. Some of his antics pointed to the type of person that would be running from the police not running on the same side. Though, it would explain his ability to find you so quickly without much information. Dazai watches you intently eyes gleaming beneath the overhead lights. City beginning to fall in to a rhythmic slumber outside the small diner tucked in the basement of a dress shop. Neon noodle sign glowing red and green outside mid autumn wind knocking dried leaves up against it. “Like a cop? Homicide shit?” You ask eyes unable to focus on anything but the warm pools of honey radiating back your direction. Dazai shakes his head catching his chin beneath his curved fingers elbow propped on the table. “I’m not a cop.” He says with a smirk, as if some inside joke had been laced in those four words. “Where are you planning on going? A lovely lady shouldn’t be out so late at night by herself.” A waitress with a sweet smile takes your empty bowl and refills the water glass untouched now since Dazai ordered the sake. He takes another shot before offering to pour you second. It was too late to play it safe. You take another; he smiles behind his glass. “Somewhere dark.” Dazai’s brows rise in curiosity. Before you can get your wallet out he tells the girl to put it on his tab hand extended to help you up. “How exciting~.” ____ Last time it hadn't been this gorey but Dazai didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the screams of the undead didn’t faze him in the least and his eyes tended to wander off the massive projector to the people around him before landing back on you. No matter how in depth you fell into the movie it was hard to ignore the heat from Dazai’s gaze lingering on every curve and dip. Spending a moment or two longer scanning the column of your throat up to the angle of your jawline. Long legs sprawled out and tangled in yours a top the comforter you’d left stuffed in the trunk of your car for nights like this. Screams blare from the speakers other couples around you knotting in to each other. Dazai’s palm remains flat behind your back on the ground to hold himself up, free hand tracing more unknown patterns and shapes up and down your arm. His chin suddenly plops on your shoulder causing you to jolt up. He smirks and whispers an apology in your ear the hand at your arm slinking over your middle to rest on your hip heart beginning to race as he drops a gentle kiss beneath your earlobe. A shiver trails down your spine as Dazai’s teeth nibble playfully up the shell until you can’t remember how to breathe. “Dazai.” You whisper tapping his cheek with your fingertips. “Shhh, the movie.” He says with a smile, turning his attention back to the screen. “Oh she shouldn’t hide there.” He mocks quietly fingertips drumming against your hip bone. A woman’s scream echoes throughout the warehouse making you gasp louder than intended. Dazai’s eyes flit your direction hand squeezing you gently. “Are you scared?” He inquires scooting closer and tugging you in simultaneously. “You can sit between my legs if you want I’ll protect you from the flesh eating zombies~”. His voice is gentle, smooth, but the playful tone is more subtle than before. Serious, in a way. The shock factor is more what startled you, but you’d be lying if you said sitting in a warehouse watching a horror movie closer to four am didn’t give you the chills one way or the other. Quietly you scoot up and over Dazai’s leg plopping down against the worn tatami mat beneath the blanket. Long bandaged arms immediately encircling your waist to bring your back flush with his chest. Heartbeat strong against the center of your shoulders even through his clothes and yours. Beating a little too fast to be normal; your stomach flutters. Your squirming becomes less about the movie and more of a reaction to Dazai’s hands on you. Subtle squeezes to your ribcage when a jumpscare is about to happen. A little roll of his fingertips down to your hip bone then back up again during dialogue.The scent of his shampoo mixed with the remaining aroma of sweet sake glues itself to the air you breathe. Dazai’s warm breath coasts down the back of your neck drawing chills on your arms. Before he can comment low in your ear you blame it on the wind. “What wind?” He asks dumbly. You bite the inside of your cheek and tuck your knees up feigning apprehension when the camera begins to pan down a dark hallway. One of Dazai’s hands had always been roaming the expanse of your torso or hip. Now, with your knees scrunched up his fingers splay up your thigh pulling at a loose string in the denim unwilling to share even the slightest bit of attention with the movie, or he just enjoyed fucking with you. Instinct tells you it’s both. The movie ends at a quarter till five with a hint of sunlight barely peeking over the water’s edge. Most moviegoers getting up to leave immediately yawning and sprouting love poems to the bed that awaits them when they get home. Dazai doesn’t move. Eyes flickering from left to right watching the environment as the old warehouse begins to empty. Slivers of coral peeking through turning navy blue to violet strips through the high windows. “Watch the sunrise with me?” You ask, tilting your head back slightly to catch his gaze. “How romantic ____.” The teasing is back. But, it was starting to become more endearing than factory. Even if he spoke to all the women he wanted another round with in the same fashion. “Not in here though its musty and gross. Why would you ever want to sit on cold concrete? Can’t they spring for a chair or a bench!” He sighs, the back of one hand coming to rest on his forehead as he speaks. “Maybe if your ass wasn’t as flat as a pancake you wouldn’t be in so much pain.” You retort with a smile, poking his nose with your forefinger. Dazai frowns. Refusing to stand until you admit it didn’t matter what is ass looked like because the talent was all in his hands, and elsewhere. You stick your tongue out as he grabs your hand rising to his feet and dusting his pants off. Coat left unbuttoned despite the cold he complained about just a minute before. Dazai opens the warehouse door allowing you out first. Slight autumn chill biting at your shoulders. Wordlessly he sheds his coat and wraps it over your shoulders eyes softening for a brief moment before returning to their normal state. He could charm and coax you back home without all of this nonsense. Sunsets were repetitive for the most part. Deemed romantic by some artistic asshole centuries ago giving notion that the sunrise was more than just the natural rhythm of the universe. But, it was rare that he felt able to sit in silence without much of a need to play the part of entertainer, not completely. A feeling adjacent to comfort. The docks were relatively empty for a Thursday morning. Only a few ships idling in the calm ocean emptied of their cargo and crew for the time being. Dazai walks beside you holding the folded blanket draped over his forearm. “There’s a bench over there.” You mention with a yawn pointing to it with your forefinger. Dazai nods and follows you watching the approaching sunlight drop diamonds over the still water and shed more light to your features. The supple pout of your bottom lip and the curve of your nose, miniscule scar on the bridge that looked old. Childhood accident of some sort. “Sorry your pancake ass is going to be cold again.” Dazai rolls his eyes and scoffs through a smile as he plops down next to you throwing the blanket over your shoulders. “____ this blanket is too small I’m going to freeze.” He pouts, encircling your waist to pull you back on to his lap shifting your body so your back lies inside the crook of his elbow feet planted on the other side of his thigh. You duck into his grasp leaning against him as your head falls to his shoulder. Feather light wind rippling over the dark ocean. Stirring the galaxy mirrored in its water from the sky above. His mind wanders in the silence but his attention remains centered on the little movements happening beneath the blanket. How you slowly inch closer until the tip of your nose rests against his neck. His pulsepoint, to be exact. The first few tries weren’t successful but you remained still once the comfort of his heartbeat reached your skin. Intimate, he thinks, for strangers. Instinct makes him question it out of habit but the longer he stays absolutely motionless the more it becomes...enjoyable. Warmth from another outside the actions of sex and release was not something Dazai tended to enjoy nor seek. He found you to fuck you out of his system, out of his head. Not this. Intimacy; Kouyou once called him touch-starved. Peach strips of light begin to crest the horizon adding a sheen over the water far off in the distance. Dazai’s hands reset themselves around your waist hands crossed over one another on your hip. He still couldn’t see the romance in this, but a silenced world was rare. Often he found himself staring into emptiness until the sunlight began to rise just like this. Slow motion. Blurry. He’d douse himself in alcohol before the clock hit four am just so he could sleep a few hours without dreams or nightmares. Sobriety made it less appealing in a sense of entertainment. Maybe it wasn’t the sight itself people found sentimental. “Why do you stay up so late?” Dazai inquires chin resting on the top of your head. You didn’t seem the type to get lost in the emptiness and dark corners of your mind alone. From the few hints around your apartment you both shared a fondness for drinking off the monsters at times, whatever yours happened to be, but riding out the emptiness alone didn’t fit. You were surrounded by people at the bar and the pictures decorating the small apartment enlarged the initial social circle he’d seen before he whisked you away. But, you were lonely. He recognized the mask in the way you laughed and spoke to who you were with. The connection mostly surface rather than deep and meaningful. Maybe you really cared for them and vice versa, but how much of it was based upon the person you created to take those happy pictures? “I can’t ever fall asleep.” You admit quietly, turning more into his throat as you speak. “Not without pushing myself to stay awake then I just..pass out I guess.” You shrug against him. “I like the nighttime though its...calming. Which sounds cliche as hell but its comfortable and just..better. I guess.” Words spew out without much of a second thought. Talking to Dazai felt less synthetic. Perhaps the detachment in not fully having a strong connection outside of sex made it easier for the hidden spots to seep through. Or, his charm managed to break through more than necessary. More than he wanted or intended. Perhaps both. Dazai’s eyes fall to the water fingertips dancing patterns beneath your shirt along your stomach and hips as your words soak in to his brain. The night, in his mind, had been when he spent the most time with Odasaku at the bar. Now, most of his nights were spent by himself in his apartment. He didn’t mind the emptiness. Not all the time. Tonight, though, he couldn’t find amusement elsewhere and you’d managed to keep him well past the physical act without trying. He couldn’t even remember where the conversation had landed, something about constellations and star signs trickling into ridiculous theories on aliens. Trivial conversation that led to a well executed trick on Kunikida to keep his partner from blowing a gasket over a recent job and it’s lengthy extradition. Trivial bored him; most things did. Perhaps it’s why he found himself straying to you for a second time. A surprise relief. Lighter--that was the word. The world was less heavy in your presence despite the shared sentiment of isolation buried deep in both of you. “You’re surprisingly comfortable.” You say, breaking the silence. Dazai blinks and tilts his head down as yours arcs back. Gazes locking beneath warm violet and leftover stars losing their glow. He can’t help it. You smile as he kisses you, not soft, but a kiss that toes the line between intimate and greedy. Dazai’s tongue darts out running over your bottom lip before slipping in your mouth to trail over the back of your teeth. His kiss saps the air from your lungs leaving you dizzy until he breaks apart to satiate his own need to breathe. “You taste like sake.” A smirk rides up the side of Dazai’s face as he exhales. “So do you.” He ignores the tingling in his stomach. Instead, his arms retrace their previous position to hold you closer to his chest pulling you down with him once he lays fully on the park bench head facing the water. Orange and pink swirling higher and higher as the red glow of the morning sun breaks the surface dancing idly on the edge of the ocean. Thin arms wrapped tightly over your middle to keep your back flush with his chest, legs tangled as one mess at the end of the bench. “Still comfortable?” You yawn and nod. “Mhm.” Dazai catches the hint of sleepiness trickling in to your voice. His own following after a few minutes of undisturbed peace. Just the sound of your breathing and the ocean water rippling beneath gentle, nearly untraceable wind carrying the scent of salt water through the park. His lips find their way to the back of your throat without his permission, but he keeps them there anyway after a few light kisses down the curve of your neck. “We can..go back to my apartment. There’s a view..kind of.” You murmur, tracing patterns on the top of his hand. Dazai’s chest flutters. “Finally! I’ve been waiting all night for you to take me home!” Dazai’s voice hits that playful tenor that makes you laugh. He lets you sit up first to keep the blanket draped over your shoulders before he rises and follows you back. Cold air prickling his skin with goosebumps the deeper into the city you both walk. Quiet sidewalks greeting you as Yokohama remains asleep under the peaceful lighting. By the time Dazai flops on to your bed his skin feels like ice. “Why didn’t you take your coat back?” You ask, shedding the blanket and throwing it over his head as you hang the aforementioned coat on the back of a chair. “I’m a gentleman!” “You are not.” Dazai frowns and tosses his vest somewhere in the corner after setting his bolo tie down on the nightstand. You yawn and flick the lights off remembering his weird necessity for having the room nearly blackout the last time he was in your bed. Sunlight filters through the blinds in soft stripes weaving a pattern over the bed and up the walls etching a golden glow through the small space as you crawl beneath the covers. Dazai yawns loudly and stretches his arms over your stomach pulling you against him. Your hands fall flat on his chest one finger playing with the button on his shirt mindlessly legs sliding between his to seek warmth against the cold apartment air. You wait for him to tear at your clothes -- a repeat of the night you met. There were still buttons from his shirt somewhere under the dresser. Not that you would mind nor saw a hint of anything different. Dazai was transparent when he wanted to be, or at least when it came to things of this nature. Yet, the gentle touch of his hands on your lower back felt sensual and comforting in the same stroke. Heat from your skin warming up his hands as his lips fall to yours before trailing down your chin and across your jaw. Then right back up again. A yawn breaks up his motions. “Shit sorry.” You murmur, groaning in to your pillow. Dazai chuckles laying his cheek back on the pillow hair fanning out in stark contrast against the white. You scoot closer hesitantly and kiss him hand moving up from his chest to tangle in his hair. He can’t stop it quick enough. The soft, almost pathetic sigh that comes from his mouth as you kiss him. You smile. “You’re sleepy.” He whispers. “So are you.” He shrugs, but doesn’t press for more kisses nor move. You stay near him one hand draped over his rib the other tucked beneath your pillow as your eyes flutter shut. Dazai lies utterly still beside you. Watching the rise and fall of your chest until he can no longer fight the exhaustion pulling him down. Arm slung lazily over your hip head tilting forward until his nose reaches yours. The familiar sounds of Yokohama beginning to wake fill his ears; cars gliding through rain puddles, the smell of coffee from the apartment across the hall. A normal soundtrack to doze off too, except, the warmth radiating from your body dulled the ache in his head that kept him from sleeping peacefully. That was different. Intimate.

#dazai #dazai osamu #bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai imagines #my writing #my writing dazai #scenario:fluff/dazai #reader x dazai #bsd fanfic #dazai fanfic

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silverfootstepswrites · 7 years ago

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title Devoted summary It’s the unspoken promises that matter most. pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

“I’m going to get breakfast.”

Sakura only stirred when she felt a kiss press to the back of her neck. And then her shoulder blade. The bed shifted. She listened to Itachi’s belt buckle clink. The shift of fabric as he dressed. She cracked open one eye. Her phone sat on the nightstand where she had left it.

“I’ll be back soon,” Itachi said.

When Itachi returned, she was sitting on the bed. Gold Desert Eagle aimed at him as soon as he walked into the studio apartment. When she saw that it was just him, she lowered the firearm. Tossed it back on the mattress. She had thrown on a robe hanging in the wardrobe. The light purple fabric was dotted with flowers at the ends of the sleeves.

“Good morning to you too,” he greeted her, wholly unperturbed. He set the bag down on the counter as he added, “I’m not wearing kevlar at the moment. So it would ruin my day if you shot me.” Sakura huffed, trying not to laugh. Running her hand through her hair, she slipped into the bathroom. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. And when she emerged, he was leaning against the counter, reading the back label on a carton of milk tea.

“I’m afraid it’s convenience store food,” Itachi said as he unpacked the bag.

“Reminds me of my twenties,” Sakura remarked. She pulled herself up on the counter. He unwrapped and dropped one of the onigiri into her waiting hand. Salty cod roe filling in the middle.

Itachi leaned his elbow on the counter as he bit into his own onigiri. It looked like his had a stewed seaweed filling. They ate in silence. Even when Sakura found a grain of rice on his face, she flicked it off without a word before she resumed eating.

It was only while Sakura gulped down her milk tea that Itachi spoke.

“You seem...annoyed? Worried? It’s hard to tell, honestly.”

Sakura took her time finishing her drink. She set the empty carton down on the counter. Licking the backs of her teeth before she spoke.

“Both.”

“Both?” repeated Itachi.

“Annoyed because I’m sore,” she began. And Itachi looked a little chagrined. “But worried too. For... business purposes.”

Itachi’s hand rested on her forearm. Thumb stroking over her skin. “Is there anything I can do to ease your burdens?” he offered.

Sakura sighed as she eased her body into the hot water. She wasn’t particularly picky about the apartments she bought. But a soaking tub was always a must. She stretched her neck this way and that. Listening to her bones crack as she moved. Her head drooped to rest against Itachi’s shoulder. Back nestled against his chest.

“You know,” he said, lifting her left hand out of the water to inspect it, “You’re surprisingly easy to please.” His thumbs trailed over the two circular scars on her knuckles. Cigarette burns. Faded by the years.

“What are these?” he asked. Rubbing the strange circles. Sakura opened one eye. Closed it again.

“Ah, that? From when I used to be a karaoke hostess. A customer got mad at me,” she answered. Itachi said nothing.

“He was actually going for my face, but I-” Sakura clapped her hand over her eyes. And Itachi could imagine the sizzle against her skin. The blisters that would have formed over the hurts. He took her hand again. Pressed it to his temple. She traced her pointer finger over the back of the dragon twisting up his right arm. It had taken hours and hours of painstaking work to get each scale right. To shade it crimson and gold. Like the undulating body was really reflecting light.

“I’m meeting with Madara tonight,” she told him.

His voice was sharp. Like she had expected.

“What?”

She was glad that he couldn’t see her face. She was sure that her smile wouldn’t help his irritation.

Grasping his wrists, she pulled his arms over her shoulders. He begrudgingly folded them across her chest. Hands resting against her collarbones.

“I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t go alone. I’ll have Tenten with me,” Sakura assured him. He grunted. Only sounding fractionally less unhappy.

“And normally, I wouldn’t invite you along. But I feel like this might be a meeting you want to sit in on,” she then added. His fingers twitched.

“Does this have anything to do with why I’ve suddenly noticed the Sarutobi’s and the Inuzuka’s getting along?” he queried.

“Probably,” she sighed.

“Yamanaka Inoichi is dead, by the way,” he told her.

“Oh?” she replied, genuinely surprised. She hadn’t heard anything about that.

“He was going behind my back and dealing drugs to the Inuzuka’s to make extra money on the side. And I hear he was trying to get into my uncle’s good graces so that he would exchange sake with him,” explained Itachi.

“Ah. I always forget. You yakuza are so strict with all of that stuff,” she muttered. She rolled her shoulders a little. And Itachi released her so that he could knead his fingers into the tense muscles there instead. She let out a sigh, head lolling forward so that he could reach her neck better.

“Is it different for you?” asked Itachi.

“Hm...it is. For example, the 24K doesn’t really get along with the Huang Group right now. Which, by the way, should be ‘Wong’ if they’re trying to fit in in Hong Kong,” she went off on a tangent. Itachi’s fingers slowed. And she could tell that she had lost him. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I speak Cantonese, right? Well, they mostly speak Mandarin on the mainland. So the same last name might be pronounced differently depending on whichever you’re speaking,” she explained. “So ‘Huang’ should have become ‘Wong’. ‘Zhao’ becomes ‘Chiu’. By not changing their names, they’re basically advertising that they’re outsiders.”

“Do they not get along because the Huang’s are from the mainland?” Itachi asked.

“Initially, I suppose. But the Huang’s are vicious and they made a lot of enemies along the way. I’ve got a good relationship with their Dragon Head at the moment, but who knows when he’ll turn on me,” Sakura mused. Because while Fatboy Huang did like her, she never forgot that he was the same kind of animal she was. Wild.

“At any rate, Hashirama despises Fatboy Huang. But I can do business with the Huang’s as long as I make money. Our biggest rival is currently the Suns. I can’t fucking stand them, but I’ve made a few deals with some of their less idiotic Red Poles,” she stated.

“Sounds like there’s a lot of flexibility within the ranks,” observed Itachi. Sakura nodded. “As long as you don’t piss off the Dragon Head, you’re fine, in theory.” She winced when he dug into a particularly stubborn knot . He rubbed his thumbs into it.

"The only thing is that since it’s sort of a free-for-all, you sometimes get in-fighting from people squabbling over territory or dealers. So we establish a pecking order,” she added.

Itachi’s hands slid off her shoulders. While it wasn’t perfect, a lot of the pain that had twisted up in there was gone. Her hand rested on his knee as she stretched.

“Where are you in this pecking order, Jing-Mei?” Itachi queried.

“Well, leng zai, let’s just say that the people who peck at me often lose their beaks.”

After the bath, Sakura saw Itachi to the door. His hair still just a little damp, even after she had dried it for him. He wrapped his scarf around his throat. Caught her staring at him. His gloved hand touched her cheek.

“When you look at me like that, it makes it hard to leave,” he told her.

“Like what?” she retorted, frowning.

“Ah. There she is. Although, I wonder what everyone would say if they knew how cute Haruno Sakura can be in private,” he teased. Just a bit. But her expression darkened. She grabbed the front of his coat. Yanking him down to meet her eyes.

“If you do, I’ll kill you.” No laughter there. Her gaze glacial.

Itachi kissed her forehead. “Relax. Because if everyone else knew, I’d have to kill them. And that seems like too much work.”

While she was unguarded, he pressed a kiss to her lips too. The touch soft and brief before he pulled out of her grasp.

“I’ll be by the club tonight. Around 10, you said?”

Sakura nodded. And Itachi slipped into the hallway without another word. She bolted and chained the door after him.

That night, Sakura sat at the bar. Sai had flown in from Hong Kong on a red-eye flight. And with some espresso and eye drops, he worked behind the bar. Flipping bottles of vodka and chatting up the hostesses with that easy smile. Tenten stood at the opposite end of the bar organizing the beers in the refrigerated drawer under the counter.

Sai reached for Sakura’s empty glass but she pulled it away.

“You’ve been in a good mood lately, Mama. Something nice happen?” he asked. One of the waiters dropped off an order, passing the paper slip to Sai before he hurried off.

Sakura ran her fingers through her hair. The ruby ring on her pointer finger glittering, just like the snake necklace wrapped around the base of her throat. And then she adjusted the black blazer over her shoulders. Although it was cold outside, the inside of Twilight Dreams was toasty. The blazer was more to cover her tattoos. Although everyone knew that Twilight Dreams received some unusual guests, rumors were much different from the mama running around with tattoos bared for the world to see.

“Have I, Sai? I hadn’t noticed,” replied Sakura. A half-smile lingering on her lips.

The bell attached to the front door jingled. With the cold air came Charlie Lau. The tip of his nose bright red. He was freezing as he paused to greet her.

“Good evening, Mama. It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” he huffed, rubbing his hands together. His glasses fogged up as the warm air clashed with the frozen glass. Sakura laughed as he pulled his glasses off. Shoving them into his pocket.

“It really has been a while, Chojuro-kun. How have things been?” she asked.

“Ah. Same old. It’s been so quiet without you, you know,” he responded. Slipped between the lines of their banter, Sakura received the message. Nothing unusual to report. She nodded. And he went off, searching for his favorite hostess.

Not long after, Tommy arrived. His teeth and hair both gleaming. He paused to press a cool kiss to Sakura’s cheek but said nothing. He didn’t have to. The tight line his jaw made said everything. He squeezed her hand, slipping something inside as he moved past.

“Deidara-kun!” Moegi exclaimed when she spotted him.

“Moegi-chan! I brought daifuku!” he matched her tone, holding up the box in his hand.

Sakura turned her hand just enough to peer through her fingers. It was a tiny plastic bag. Inside were a few powdery white pellets. Sodium cyanide, just like she had asked. But that’s what she liked about Tommy. He always delivered. She pretended to adjust the front of her dress, dropping the bag into her cleavage.

A few more customers trickled in. Their suits wrinkled after a long day of work. Some of them came in groups with their coworkers. They dipped their heads to her as they walked past. The cool air whisking over her until the door shut again.

Sakura closed her eyes. She liked listening to the hum of conversation. The women’s voices rising and falling, dissolving into giggles. The men laughing too. The occasional swell of guffaws as someone told a particularly good joke. The pop of a cork squeezing from the mouth of a champagne bottle.

The bell above the door tinkled.

“Ah. Mama, your special guest,” Ayu called.

Sakura opened her eyes.

“Should we set up your table in the back?” Ayu went on.

“No need, Ayu,” Sakura replied, waving the hostess off. And before Ayu could ask why, the door opened again and one of her regular customers walked in.

Itachi took off his hat. Plastic crinkled. He placed a bouquet of carnations onto the bar. The petals were pale pink, almost white. But the edges were dark purple. A striking combination. She touched one of the soft petals with her pointer finger. He leaned against the bar.

“Good evening, Mama,” he greeted her.

And only then did she tilt her head to look at him.

“Good evening,” she replied.

“Am I too early?” asked Itachi, glancing down at his gold watch. Sakura shook her head.

“He’s always late,” she corrected. Itachi pulled his card out of his wallet. Handed it to Tenten.

“Dom Peri for Mama. And a vodka tonic for me,” he said. Tenten paused, arching an eyebrow. Sakura’s expression didn’t change, but her gaze flickered to him. Uchiha Itachi wasn’t known for his love of hard liquor.

“Rough night?” Tenten asked. She reached to pull out two clean cups- a skinny flute and a highball glass. Itachi leaned his forearm against the bar.

“It’s about to be. I can’t stand my uncle,” he sighed.

“Hm. That makes two of us,” Sakura mused.

They said nothing else. Only clinking glasses together when Tenten pushed the drinks to them.

When Madara finally arrived, it was through the front door. Thankfully.

One of the newer girls went to go greet him, but Sakura grabbed her hand. Stopping her. She shook her head, not looking up from her drink.

“Go see if Moegi needs any help,” Sakura directed. Her voice calm, but firm. The girl blinked a few times and then she went off. It was rare for Mama to give absolute orders like that.

Sakura set her glass down on the bar. In the center of the coaster. Watching the little bubbles fizz to the top of the drink. She heard Itachi let out a sigh.

And she she felt Madara’s arm slip around her shoulder. Something nudged against her lower back. From the shape of it, it felt like maybe a revolver.

“Where’s my brother?” he hissed into her ear.

Sakura knocked him away with an impatient noise. She drained the rest of the champagne.

“He’s upstairs. Which is where we’re going,” she replied.

Tommy had ordered a champagne tower the moment Madara walked in. Amid all the cheering and the staff carting out bottles and glasses, it was easy to slip away unnoticed. Further into the club. Up the wooden stairs. Tenten following a few moments later.

In the middle of Sakura’s office sat Obito. Zip-tied to a chair. Madara eyed his brother’s fine clothing. He chuckled.

“Did you dress him up?” he asked. Sakura sat on the edge of her desk, shedding her blazer. Underneath, she wore a cream-colored dress. The fabric glittering when she moved.

“I also paid for the surgery to fix the hole in his gut. So pay up,” she retorted.

Itachi took off his coat, hung it neatly by the door, along with his hat. He stared Obito in the eyes as he walked past but said nothing. And then he sat in one of the black sofas by the window. His face glowing pink from the neon signs blinking outside.

Madara walked over to Obito. Rubbing a rough hand through his hair.

“Looking pretty good,” he chuckled. Obito glared up at him.

“I also fed him. So you have absolutely no reason to bitch at me tonight, Madara,” Sakura then added. She gestured to Tenten who pulled a box of cigarettes out of her pocket. She offered one to Sakura, who placed it in her mouth. Sakura’s thumb flicked over the wheel of the lighter a few times before the flame caught. The paper sizzling quietly as smoke curled around her lips.

Their eyes met. Tenten’s upper lip curling. Sakura almost snorted.

Madara pointed at Itachi, his smile as insincere as could be.

“Well, one reason to bitch,” he corrected her.

Sakura’s gaze flickered to Itachi, then back to Madara.

“None. He’s here because he needs to be,” she stated. Enunciating each syllable. Precise. Crisp.

She blew a ring of smoke out. Watching it drift up toward the ceiling.

Sakura slid off the desk, heels tapping. She settled into the leather armchair facing away from the window. One leg crossing over the other. Her eyes gleaming.

“Have a seat, Madara. Let’s have a nice chat.”

#eastern suns #writing #itasaku #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #tobisaku #triad!au

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rickq178 · 7 years ago

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Happy Birthday, Miami Rick!

So, like a total dork, I wanted to do something special for my muse’s birthday, which happened on Friday. x3 Guess I dropped the ball a bit. Even though it’s belated, I’m going to post this birthday drabble I just wrote. Enjoy!

Rick stepped through the portal and into the living room. A sweet scent wafted from the kitchen that caught him off guard. Surely, Diane was baking cookies for Beth. She hadn’t been happy the last time he bailed, but his memory was spotty. He’d been on the bender to end all benders. After all, he had turned thirty today. He could kiss his youth goodbye. Dying young would have suited him, but apparently snorting line after line and drinking enough vodka to fill a liquor store shelf couldn’t do that for him. Maybe if he’d dipped into the Fractal Dust as a sleep aid he wouldn’t be here.

The multiverse had a sick sense of humor.

The horribly hungover man stumbled into the kitchen.

“Daddy!” Beth chimed, a big smile lighting up her face. She sat at the kitchen table with her mother decorating a cake. Her little legs swung from her booster seat. “Daddy’s back! I told you, Mommy! I told you he would be.”

Diane forced a smile only for Beth. She rose from the table and walked over to Rick, heels clicking enough across the linoleum to make his headache worse. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss.

But her kisses were never kisses anymore. She used them sparingly as means to detect the liquor on his breath. “Welcome back.”

“Good to be—URRRP—back, sweetie.”

She didn’t linger long enough for Rick to get a chance to hug her. Instead, she broke away and retreated to Beth and the cake.

“Uh, you girls didn’t have to do this.”

“Beth wanted to.”

The little girl wiggled happily in her seat. “It’s Stir‘n Frost! When a big cake’s more than you need, you need Stir‘n Frost!”

Rick sauntered over and mussed up his little girl’s hair after a moment’s hesitation, mindful to steer clear of the stitches on her forehead. “Huh. Look—Look at you. Could be the next spokesperson for Betty Crocker. You—You’re cuter than those mule twins and that mom from the ad.”

Beth giggled but Diane rolled her eyes. She lifted her daughter from the booster seat and set her down. “Sweetie, why don’t you go play outside for a minute?” She opened the sliding glass door to the backyard.

“Okay! Can I pick the flowers from the garden?”

“Of course.” Diane watched Beth toddle out before closing the door. She turned her eyes to Rick, narrowing them. “Why do you go home to him?”

“What?” Rick asked, confused. The room seemed to get darker.

“Him. Why do you go home to him every night?”

Suddenly, he was a sixty-one-year-old man and backing into a corner. His heart raced. “Diane, baby, you—you—you can’t bring Ricky into this.” He swallowed hard. “You’re dead.”

His wife corned him, slamming his back into the wall and pinning his shoulders. Her manicured nails sunk into his pink jacket. “Who do you think put me in that grave?”

Rick grimaced, the little color he had draining from his face. “Th-That wasn’t my fault!”

“Don’t you think we could’ve had a life?” Her nails dug in deeper. “If you’d just come home every night?”

“You—You know I don’t do apologies, baby. I-It’s not really my thing.”

“Oh, is that so?” Diane wore a cruel smirk. Her nails were like knives. They tore his layers of clothes, piercing his skin and drawing blood. “Then why did you used to say ‘sorry’ for every little thing when you were back in high school? You think you can reinvent yourself? Fool me? I know you, Rick Sanchez. The real you. Not this sad eighties cookie cutter version of you.”

“D-Diane…” His eyes moistened with unspilled tears. “You—You’re hurting me.”

“I guess you could never grow out of that speech impediment. Or being a crybaby.” She pulled away only to push him to his hands and knees, the cold linoleum making him ache upon impact. “Grovel. Beg for forgiveness.”

“D-D-Diane, D-Diane… Diane, I—I’m—”

Rick sat up and gasped, naked body soaked in cold sweat. His eyes darted around blurred surroundings. He breathed laboredly, chest heaving up and down. It took a few minutes to realize he was in the master bedroom of his Miami mansion. The sound of the ocean from the opened window registered belatedly over the hammering of his heart.

He fumbled, eventually locating and grabbing the flask off his nightstand and downing all of what remained.

He looked at the spot beside him. Ricky was gone. He checked the clock. Already late afternoon. Made sense. He had little Morty to look after and a life of his own.

“Th-The nightmare begins,” he mumbled to himself humorlessly. The real one, anyway. Diane had never hurt him in like that in reality. Or known Ricky. It had been a memory mixed with a recurring nightmare and a slightly varying script.

He knew what day it was. And he had to meet Miami, Beth, and the rest of them in a couple hours.

He forced himself out of bed.

Steeled with liquor and just one bump to get himself going, Rick stepped into the upscale steakhouse near Paul’s hotel. The hostess at the counter informed him of how his party was already waiting for him.

Rick found the table. It consisted of Paul, Beth, Jerry, Summer, Miami, and a vacant spot for him. Jerry’s attendance was bullshit since he never lived in Florida. Must have been for the free meal and spring break and a desperate attempt to win back his wife despite her being married to her new husband for a few years now.

“The nightmare continues,” Rick muttered under his breath.

Jerry nudged Beth. “Is he talking to himself now? Could be the beginning of early dementia.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Jerry, please.” Paul took her hand from under the table, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

Miami rose from his seat. Even though that stupid school made him cut his hair and almost look like any other Morty during the week, he still maintained his tan and dressed how he pleased on the weekends. He currently sported an eighties style floral print dress, a platinum blond wig, and a full face of makeup. He pranced over and draped his arms over Rick’s shoulders.

“Hey, Rick. Way to keep in touch.”

“Oh, Miami, baby… I-I know.” His lanky arms looped around his grandson’s waist.

Miami stood on his tiptoes and pecked his grandpa on the cheek, leaving a lip print. “Happy birthday.”

Rick pulled him into a fierce hug. “You look bitchin’. Wish I could take you back to the club right now.”

“What’s stopping you?” Miami whispered into his ear.

Jerry cleared his throat. When that got no reaction, he spoke loud enough for the entire restaurant. “See, this isn’t normal. I thought that school you sent him to was gonna make him into a real man. People probably think Morty’s Rick’s hooker.”

Rick only broke the hug to storm over to the table and draw is laser gun from his belt. He grabbed Jerry by the collar of his wrinkled shirt and pointed it at his head. “What’d you say?! Wh-Wh-What would you know about real men since all you are is a real piece of shit?!”

Paul stood, putting a hand on Rick’s wrist in an effort to make him lower the gun. “Rick, be sensible! It’d be foolish to act like an animal and get kicked out of this fine establishment. Beth made the reservation a month in advanced.”

Rick’s blood boiled, but Paul’s comment was enough to make him look at his daughter. Instead of seeing her as a thirty-four-year-old woman, he saw the sweet, little cherub sitting in the booster seat. Even with her makeup on, he remembered exactly where the scar on her forehead would be from the airplane accident. He swallowed hard, recollecting how he’d been holding the girl in his arms one minute and seeing her in a hospital bed in what felt like the next. Diane told him he’d thrown her.

Rick put the gun away and let go of Jerry, who cowered at this point. The sack of shit probably wet himself. “Yeah, whatever.” He clipped his sunglasses to the front of his shirt and sat down. “You—You didn’t have to do this, Beth.”

Beth smiled. “I wanted to, Dad. Have some wine.”

Miami took his seat and giggled despite the recent scene. “Yeah, Rick. You’re gonna need it.”

“Totally,” Summer said, also smiling. “Happy birthday, Grandpa Rick.”

The evening was still young. Even after dining on steak and lobster, he still drank enough to get tipsy at the restaurant. And now he was totally shit-faced in a booth at his club. Like every night. Instead of having a glass of water after each cocktail, he did a line, purple powder dusted under his nose. As flamboyant of a Rick as he was, most would have expected him to make a scene and throw an even bigger party on his birthday. Instead, it was old hat, the club playing out the same way it did every night, eighties dance songs blasting over the sound system, shuffled but the same.

He danced the night away until his body felt too heavy and could no longer stand. The alien bartender politely helped Rick steady himself. She encouraged him to take the party back home and promised how she’d lock up for the night. She playfully said how maybe Rick could catch his young boyfriend if the stars were in alignment.

Rick just barely stumbled through the portal back into the bedroom, a bottle of vodka in his hand. He collapsed onto the bed and took a swig, though the majority of it made it onto his shirt. And he coughed like an amateur, though it stemmed from choking a bit rather than from the burning sensation his throat had grown numb to long ago.

“H-H-Here’s to you, you old bastard,” he slurred upon regaining his breath, watching as the room spun around him. “Happy fucking goddamn birthday.”

He started snoring then, the bottle falling out of his hand and rolling onto the floor.

#drabble #Miami Rick #happy birthday #tw: suicide mention #rickq178 #( hcs ) ʙᴀʙʏ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ sᴏᴄɪᴏᴘᴀᴛʜ

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bowlingrowlands · 6 months ago

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It’s getting worse.

The gnawing feels like it’s creeping closer and closer, and no matter what I do it never stops.

I’ve tried satiating it like it’s the beast, but that doesn’t work. I’ve tried indulging my weird new cravings, but that doesn’t work either.

My mind is going on overdrive trying to understand what’s happening to me.. maybe I need another break.

#eddsworld tom #ew tom #tom eddsworld #tom ew #musings of late nights and the burn of vodka down my throat

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coffeeandcas · 7 years ago

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The Art of Love

Part II of my SPN Summer Trope Party is up! AO3 Link.

Despite his outward appearance, Dean Winchester has always been a romantic at heart. At 22 he met the love of his life and married him three years later. Two months after their wedding, Benny was taken from him under tragic circumstances and Dean resigned himself to the idea that he would never find love again.

Then he meets corporate litigation lawyer Cas Collins, and his whole world tilts on its axis.

Tropes: opposites attract/love at first sight feat. punk!Dean and corporate!Cas.

Rating: E for Explicit.

***

They had met at San Francisco Pride. Benny had been with his friends, smiling and drinking and looking divine in leather pants and a black chest harness, and Dean had instantly been taken with him. He had been young then, only 22, fresh-faced and eager, and Benny had wandered over to him a few minutes later, pressed a bottle of beer into his hands and kissed him. And that, as they say, was that.

Now, years on, on the anniversary of his late husband’s death, Dean is dressing to go out and do what he always does on his least favourite day of the year. Drink.

He doesn't drink to forget, because he knows Benny would hate that. He goes to the bar they always hung out at, and downs a few Jacks in memory of his faded relationship. One shot for the first day they met. One for the day Benny proposed and Dean was so shocked he said no. One for the day they married, hot and sweaty and laughing under the California sun. And one last one, for the day Benny walked into into a burning condo to save a family pet and never walked back out again. Sometimes people from the fire department will show up to drink with him. Sometimes not. He doesn't mind either way.

Today, nobody comes. Dean sits at the bar and stares at his own reflection in the mirror backing bottles of gin, whiskey, vodka and schnapps. His hair is a faded pink at the moment, the front styled into a vintage quiff and the sides buzzed pretty short. He eyes his neck tattoos with mild interest, wondering if he has room for another, in between the feathers of the wings that curve up his back and wrap around his throat and collarbone and the Enochian script detailing a spell for immortality. He's been interested in celestial mythology for years, and his skin is marked in a variety of places with the language of the angels. He sighs. Benny had loved his ink. The sprawling patterns and artistry that cover his shoulders, both arms and most of his chest have taken him years to perfect, and he's still working on them. He has a piece in mind for his stomach and upper thigh, which he's already booked in for. After Benny’s sudden death, a life insurance policy had allowed Dean to quit the garage he hated working at and instead enabled him to pursue his passion in life: the arts. It had taken him a while to work up to using Benny’s money on himself, but had eventually been coaxed into it by his younger brother who insisted Benny would want his happiness. He had apprenticed at a tattoo parlour, worked at a record shop, and now works as a curator at a modern art gallery deep in the underground heart of the city he loves so much. He sighs, touches his fingers to an unmarked space just between his collar bone and Adam's apple. What could he put here?

His thoughts are rudely interrupted by the start of a bar brawl and he makes a sharp exit out into the balmy night. In the past, he would cheerfully have joined the fray but not now. Now he doesn't see the point. Why fight and scrap and claw your way through life when your mere existence is so fragile? He heads instead to an indie bar across the street, painfully cool and packed full of hipsters, because he doesn't fancy going home just yet. He normally has one last drink after his shot to honour Benny’s death: one for himself, to signify his continued life after such a loss. Life after death.

He pushes open the door to the bar and fights his way over to order a drink. As suspected, everything is expensive and too cool for him, and he stands out a mile in his leather jacket and lip stud. Oh, and the pink hair never fails to draw attention. He runs a hand through it, scrunching it up at the front then smoothing it back, musing. Perhaps green next, to match his eyes. Or maybe…

He turns, walks smack into someone standing too close behind him, and they both spill their drinks on each other. Fuck.

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry.” The other man is immediately babbling his apologies in a low, rich voice that sends shivers down Dean’s spine. “My fault. Utterly. Please, let me buy you another…”

And he looks up from wiping beer from his suit and tie, his eyes lock on to Dean’s, and time comes to a halt. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, hear the hiss of his breath as he inhales and exhales, but all he can see are the blue eyes of the stranger; all he can smell is his cologne; all he can feel is longing. Like the pull of gravity altering the path of a comet. And by the way the other man’s lips part and his eyes widen just a touch, he feels it too. Dean is sure time is passing, seconds, maybe even minutes, but they just stare at each other, mesmerised. The guy is gorgeous, there's no doubt about it, but Dean barely even notices. All he knows is that he's staring deep into the eyes of someone he was meant to meet. The blue eyes are dark and layered, and could contain galaxies of their own if they glittered just a little more. Dean hears himself take a deep breath in, then on the exhale he just about manages, “hi”.

Blue... he should dye his hair blue... definitely blue...

“Hello.” That voice again, like warm melting caramel, and for some reason an innate hunger sweeps through Dean. Hunger for what he hasn't a clue, but whatever it is he wants it. The other man is smiling now, his hand on Dean's arm to steady him even though he's standing up perfectly fine on his own. Neither of them hear the exasperated voice until the speaker is right beside them, hissing dramatically and waving a hand in front of the man’s face and just like that the spell is broken.

“Cas! Heaven’s above, I've been calling you for an entire minute.” The man, British and stuck-up looking, eyes Dean with disinterest. “It's my round. What shall I get you?”

“The same again, please, Bal.” The man, Cas, hasn't broken Dean’s gaze for even a second. “And the same for…”

The pause extends just long enough to become awkward before Dean realises he's supposed to speak. “Oh! Winchester. Dean, I mean. Dean Winchester. That's… my name. Hi.”

“Hello.” Cas says again, this time with a drop of amusement in his voice. “Dean.”

And fuck if that didn't go right through him like a bolt of lightning. Damn. Who the hell is this guy and why is every cell Dean possesses itching to launch itself at him? Body, mind, heart and soul?

“Here.” Another long, long minute passes with them both just watching each other, studying the lines of each other's faces, and soon the bitchy Brit is back and is shoving drinks at them. “Jesus. Get a room, for all our sakes!”

And like that Dean realises where they are. In a crowded bar, and they certainly aren't alone. Cas appears to be with friends, if a quick glance over his shoulder at the snickering group is anything to go by, and Dean’s entire upper body flushes with embarrassment. What were they just doing? Staring at each other like two lovesick puppies?! What the hell, man?

He starts stammering his thanks for the drink whilst simultaneously trying to press it into Cas’ hands, but warm fingers wrap around his wrist and he finds himself being tugged through the throng of people to the door, where it's quieter and they're shielded from gawking onlookers. Cas looks him up and down, a once-over but not the type Dean is familiar with. He's used to disdain, judgement, surprise, even distaste. But this look is different. It seems… awed.

“I'm Cas,” The guy says, and he leans in close to Dean as he says it, his cologne thick and spicy and so good. It seems to envelop them both in a pleasant haze and they both move just a bit closer. “It's nice to meet you, Dean. I apologise for spilling your drink.”

“I think you already said that.” Dean’s mouth is drier than the Gobi desert. “But it's OK. It's fine. You're fine.”

“I am?” Cas raises a perfect eyebrow and Dean groans internally. Get it together, Winchester. You never seen a hot guy before?

“No, no, you're not fine. It's fine. I'm fine. You're not. I mean, maybe you are I don't know… are you? Fine?” For fuck’s sake. Dean normally has a silver tongue and charm for days. What on earth has happened to him since stepping into this bar? He's turned into a gibbering wreck akin to his teenage years.

“I'm much better now that I've met you.” Oh, damn. It's a line, naturally, but Dean loves it all the same. He waits to see if there's more. “Maybe this is too forward…” The air surely crackles around them where Cas’ fingers come up to brush his shoulder. “But… are you seeing anyone?”

Dean shakes his head, his lips part to speak but nothing comes out. Cas smiles. “Good. Then, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” His right hand slides down to clasp Dean’s left, and a second later his gaze follows it and he frowns. Dean looks too, puzzled, then he realises. Damn. His wedding ring. It's pressing into Cas’ finger.

“I'm not married,” he says quickly, too quickly. He's always hated this part, and luckily hasn't had to do it very often. The men he's been with since Benny have been quick flings, no dinner dates mentioned, and only a couple have asked. “I mean, I was. Before. Uhm.”

“You're separated?” Cas’ eyes look a little wary now, but he hasn't let go of Dean’s hand. A good sign.

“No.” He's calm, calmer than he normally is when discussing Benny. Weird. “He passed away. A few years ago. Firefighter. I'm OK with it.” Stop talking, Deano.

“I'm so sorry,” Cas says and, oddly enough, it looks like he really is. He isn't just saying it to be polite. He grips Dean’s hand just a little tighter and is shyer when he next speaks. “If you don't want to go out together, I’d understand.”

“No. I do.” His heart is racing once more, this time with nervous excitement. A date, his first date since he was 22. And with the most incredible guy he's seen since he was 25. How could he not want to?

“I'm glad.” Cas smiles and pulls him a bit closer. Suddenly the bar seems to melt away, the lights around them blurring and expanding to encase them in their own private moment. His breathing accelerates. Is Cas going to…

Cas kisses him, softly, on the cheek and presses a card into his hand.

“Text me in the morning and we’ll make plans.” Then he steps away, looking full of regret. Before he lets go of Dean’s hand he lifts it and presses a kiss to his tattooed knuckles. “See you tomorrow, Dean Winchester.”

He walks away and Dean is left staring after him, wondering how everyone else is just carrying on as normal when it feels like his whole world is transforming around him.

Cas looks drop-dead gorgeous when he meets Dean outside his building the following evening. He's in much more casual attire - dark, fitted, expensive jeans paired with a soft, luxurious t-shirt and a pale grey jacket slung over the top. His hair is artfully disheveled and his eyes almost glow softly in the early evening light. Dark hair, blue eyes, layered muscle under his clothes… Dean definitely has a type and Cas is hitting every mark. He's barely slept for thinking about the other man and that chaste, fleeting kiss on the cheek, and had spent an anxious day torn between worry and excitement about their upcoming date. But as Cas walks towards him, Dean forgets it all. Forgets that he's a little tired, a little nervous, and all he sees is Cas. The wind messes Cas’ hair as he reaches Dean and comes to a stop, smiling like he's just laid eyes on the most beautiful thing in creation. Dean almost checks behind himself to see what he's looking at, then blushed as he realises: Cas has eyes only for him.

They eat at a small pizzeria down a side-street, and talk for hours. Three courses, two bottles of wine, and eventually the waiters have to subtly ask them to leave because they need to close the doors, and they both laugh in shocked surprise as they realise it's well past midnight. Hand-in-hand, they walk through the busy city streets and carry on talking, with no destination in mind, just the desire for it not to end yet. Dean learns about Cas. He's a corporate litigation lawyer, one of the best, and he enjoys his job. He has siblings, has no pets, enjoys to read spy novels and watch foreign films. He shares his own passions with Cas and the man listens avidly, his hand leaving Dean’s to come to rest on his hip, his arm firm and possessive across his back. Dean leans towards him a little more with each step and soon they're walking pressed together. Cas takes Dean’s other hand in his, and when they reach the glossy revolving doors of a hotel Cas stops them and just looks at Dean.

“This is me.”

“Oh.” Dean is lost, swept away in ocean-blue eyes.

“My apartment is being refurbished. I'm staying here for a week.”

“Oh.” Nothing more intelligent comes to mind.

“Should I walk you home?” Cas is so close now, his arm snug and tight around Dean’s waist and they're sharing a breath. “Or…?”

Dean tilts his head. Cas gets it, and takes the invitation, lowering his lips to the tender skin of his beautifully tattooed throats to press gentle kisses there. Dean sighs, and his decision is signed and sealed.

“I like the sound of or.”

“Top or bottom?” Cas murmurs into Dean’s hair, so gruffly and quietly that Dean almost misses the words. He's occupied, cut him some slack: he's pinned against a wall, his legs wrapped around Cas’ waist, one hand on the other man’s neck and the other in his hair, and he's being kissed to within an inch of his life. Cas keeps locking their mouths together, lapping at Dean’s tongue, then pulls back to attack his neck with nips and bites and soothing licks. It's heaven.

“I, uh, dunno… Both… whatever you want, you decide…” Dean is being kissed again and it's so passionate and intense that he's breathless and panting with it all. The heat between them has built to a staggering level already, and Cas shifts him against the wall, pressing closer.

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas actually growls this time. He captures Dean’s los again, crushing their mouth together and breathes, “Tell me. I want to know.”

“I… mmm, that's so good…” Cas has pulled Dean’s v-neck t-shirt to one side and is sucking a deep red mark into the hollow of his collarbone. He struggles to focus: what do I want? I want him. I want control. I want to be controlled. I want him to take me. I want to see his face as I take him. I want his hands, his mouth, I want him on top of me, underneath me, I just want him so much… “Everything, Cas, I want it all. Whatever you wanna do to me, I'm yours.”

“Nuh-uh.” Cas nips him, hard enough to mark, and Dean groans, gripping his hair and pulling him closer. It's a silent request for him to do that again. “If you can't decide then I guess we’ll just have to do more of this until you do.”

Then Cas’ hands come under his thighs and he turns them away from the wall, displaying surprising strength as he carries Dean across the hotel room with ease, depositing him on the bed and falling on top of him to continue their make-out session. Hands pull and drag at clothes, yanking t-shirts off and fumbling with belt buckles. Shoes are kicked off and hit the floor with a thud, and throughout it all Cas keeps kissing Dean. Kissing him like he's something precious and someone to be worshipped, but at the same time it's heated and dirty and they both pant with lust, worked up.

“You,” Dean gasps as Cas rakes his nails down his sides. “I want you. I want you inside my body.”

He groans as warm, wet lips move to suck at his nipple, then gasps as he's bitten gently. His legs fall apart and Cas settles between them, both of them blissfully nude, hot between their thighs and he can already feel dampness between them. One or both of them is dripping with need already, and he's sure it's him. He's never felt so turned on in his life from nothing more than making-out, and lets his head fall back and just enjoys as Cas works him over. His throat, his chest, his sensitive nipples, the cut of his abs and lower: Cas licks and kisses him everywhere. Everywhere. He opens Dean up using his mouth and thumbs, and Dean comes with a helpless moan, thighs pressed to up his own chest and completely exposed to the endless pleasure the older man is unleashing on him.

Then they're fucking, and Dean is brought close to a second climax by nothing but the feel of Cas’ cock pumping in and out of him at an agonisingly slow pace. Deep, sensual thrusts make him whine and gasp, and soon he's rocking his hips down and impaling himself even deeper, gasping out and sobbing with need, want, desperation, and something else. Something that frightens and intrigues him, and it's something he sees mirrored in Cas’ eyes as the other man looks down at him, driving himself into Dean’s body over and over and kissing every part of skin he can reach. They fuck for hours, Dean on his back, then his hands and knees, then pinned against the wall with his legs around Cas’ waist (he loves this, he screams Cas’ name and arches on his cock, hands tight in dark hair and lips biting a caress into his neck), then on his back again, exposed and desperate and falling.

As he comes again, crying out helplessly, there are words on his lips that should terrify him. He doesn't know if he says them: the pleasure than crests and breaks over him ignites his whole body and he arches, his muscles contracting and spasming deliciously as Cas pushes into him one final time and comes, hard, deep inside Dean. He doesn't need to verbalise the thought that drifts through his hazy, post-orgasm mind: he wishes they hadn't used a condom. He wants to feel Cas, wants to be connected to him in every way.

Next time. Next time…

“You're incredible, Dean.” Cas is braced on his forearms, lying in the V of Dean’s hips, and is kissing him with slow desire, panting just a little and skin shining with sweat. “You're… I feel like… yeah. You… I…”

“Me too.” Dean stares up and runs his fingers through Cas’ hair. “Me too, Cas. Me too.”

They don't sleep. They're afraid of missing even a single second in the other’s presence. Dean lies sprawled on his back while Cas explores his body from the top down, tracing the lines of each tattoo and listening avidly as Dean talks about them. His touch is feather-light and sends tingles rippling across Dean’s skin in its wake.

“What does this say?” Cas traces a line of words in beautiful script that arcs across Dean’s ribs and Dean smiles bashfully.

“It's a charm, for infinite happiness. It's in Enochian. The language of-”

“The angels.” Cas’ voice is soft and almost awed. “And this?” He traces Dean’s left collarbone.

“An Enochian prayer.” Dean studies Cas’ eyes, dark and focused in the dim light of the bedroom. His lashes are so long they cast shadows on his cheeks as he blinks slowly, studying the art on Dean’s tanned skin. “You've heard of the language? Not many people have.”

“Oh, yes.” Cas smiles, lifting his gaze to Dean’s. “I have.” There's a pause. “My full name is Castiel. It means…”

“The angel of Thursday.” Now its Dean’s turn to sound awed. Cas nods, tracing the words with a fingertip and Dean shivers pleasantly.

“I was born at a minute past one on a rainy Thursday morning. Apparently, I didn't wish to breathe on my own for a while. I'm told it gave my parents quite a scare.” Cas smirks up at Dean, then his smile softens a little. “One of the nurses who looked after me told my mother she was sure I'd been touched by an angel, and that's why I'd lived. I don't know if there's any truth to that, but my mother believed it and named me accordingly.”

“Castiel.” Dean tries the name out; it feels good rolling off his tongue. “It suits you. It's beautiful.”

“I've never felt worthy of it really.” Cas shrugs, matter-of-fact. “I've never even met another person interested in angels before, let alone a person who knows what it means. But then you showed up…”

“Do you have any favourites?” Dean gestures to himself, referring to his ink. He's curious. He loves every design equally, but he wants to know which one speaks to Cas the most. Cas considers, then nudges at his hip for him to turn on his side.

“This one.” He traces the feathers of one wing, sounding lovestruck. It's the curved wing, the one that comes up to wrap around Dean’s shoulder in a mimic of an embrace, and Cas takes his time to trace every feather. “I've never seen such beauty.”

“My artist is incredible.” Dean has his head pillowed on his crooked elbow, and is staring out of the window at the lights of the city, letting Cas explore. From behind him comes a low sigh.

“I wasn't just talking about your ink, Dean.”

They trade soft, sweet smiles that turn into soft, sweet kisses with the potential to turn passionate. But Cas isn't done with his exploration of Dean’s skin just yet. He traces the Enochian words with his tongue then pulls away, and Dean’s heart pounds. Cas is looking right at the base of his sternum, where a red heart is inked in the centre, and suddenly his face is unreadable.

“Is this him?” He traces the outline of the heart then, with a touch so soft Dean can barely feel it, follows the lines of two letters, B.L., inked on the inside of the heart. Dean can only nod.

“It doesn't bother you, does it?” His voice sounds oddly choked up all of a sudden.

“Bother me?” Cas doesn't look up. He's studying the tattoo intimately, tracing the lines over and over. “No. Absolutely not. You had someone in your life who loved you and kept you safe. How could that bother me?” He glances up, and his eyes are so intense Dean has to blink a few times in order to feel stable enough to hold his gaze. “It's a privilege to lie here with you, Dean. I only wish he hadn't been ripped from you so viciously.”

“But it led me to you…” Dean hears himself say into the long silence following Castiel’s words, and a smile touches the other man’s lips.

“It did.” He kisses the apex of the heart. “It led me to you.”

Dean takes Cas to get tattooed for the first time, months later. Cas is oddly secretive about the design, sending Dean from the room despite looking pale and nervous, and comes out an hour later looking shaky and even more pale but satisfied.

“Let me see!” Dean grins eagerly at him, his fingers already itching to pull back Cas’ sleeve to see his wrist. “Cas, show me!”

“Just a minute, let me pay.”

Outside, Dean can't wait any longer. He takes Cas’ hand - gently, mindful of the tender skin - and pulls his sleeve up, then the words he was already preparing get lost somewhere between his mind and his lips. Cas has two small, beautiful, intricate angel wings tattooed onto the inside of his left wrist. They look like a miniature version of Dean’s, and he's left speechless and so touched he feels himself start to well up.

“They remind me of you,” Cas says quietly. “I hope you like them.”

“Like them…? Cas, they're…” Dean can't find the words. He swallows around a lump of emotion and tugs Cas’ hand to bring him close for a kiss. “Perfect. Just like you.”

“Just like us.” Cas adds, tapping Dean gently on the nose and following his touch with a kiss. Dean doesn't stop smiling the whole way home, and spends most of the evening with his hand linked with Cas’, just staring at the tiny, beautiful angel wings. And thinking.

It turns out Dean does have space on his neck for just one more tattoo. The initials C.C., followed by a small pink heart, fit perfectly.

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