#need to get her some new trinkets to add to her outfit at some point

[cry-ptidd]

Laura’s overall design is very well done. I enjoy the fact that she is on the wider set side because it relates back to her being a werewolf. The Hellsing estate is very reminiscent of the Victorian era so her dress seems like it would be something you’d see in the show. One thing I do wonder is since she is a werewolf, does she get bothered by tight clothing?

I do see the bonuses of the sleeves she has. It hides excess body hair which could be expensive to others and doesn’t look as awkward with her gloves.

Clothing that maids wore were also dependent on their status: what they did around the house, who they reported to, whether or not they appeared in front of guests.

Maid dresses don’t have any exact look for them. A lot of servants didn’t wear the exact black and white apron look unless they were facing guests. Which I doubt Laura would be doing because of her colourful personality. If she is, maybe lean more into decorating her apron with lace. Hellsing is a little more modern. In-home or maids in the city in the Victorian era had their own dresses with patterns. Darker or muted colours. Like any other woman in their class It might be nice to see Laura have some rotating outfits that show various aspects of her personality. Part of her character seems like it is learning to be gentle with others and herself. Another thing is vulnerability? It would be interesting for her to start to explore expressing herself through new ribbons in her hair, new hairstyles (maybe done by Walter like the cute father figure he is). She has had some run ins with being some ladies mysterious wolf mistresses. It might be funny and a little interesting if she wore any gifts she got from her girlfriends or even items she stole from the guys. Like how serial killers take trophies

Biggest thing I would want to see more if is her personality showing more through her design, unless you are more telling of a story of a werewolf that has a similar loyalty to the Hellsing family as Alucard does.

I like the idea of Integra complimenting Laura wearing her hair or having a certain colours on and so she continues to wear items of the same variety.

It depends on how modern or traditional you want to go. How you see your version of the Hellsing organization. My opinion on a design change isn’t towards the dress as much as it is to accessories.

I love Laura as she is tho so feel free to shoo this away.

By the gods are you aware how fucking helpful this ask is?? Not only the maid facts, but also all the things that could add onto and show her personality? Thank you so much. (Ranting below 👇)

I adore the idea of her keeping accessories from her previous mistresses and kills, that’s genius. Little hoarder goblin has a stash in her quarters full of random shit and trinkets she stole. Maybe wearing the suit of an unfaithful groom she ate (big talk coming from her after she fucked the bride) to wear on nice occasions.

Lace is a very interesting aspect! Especially since she is french, perhaps some traditional patterns from the 18th century. Lace is also delicate and ladylike, which adds onto her being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And more english maid than french i’d suppose, since Integra is quite patriotic.

I also really like the detail of the loose clothing you pointed out! Laura is also claustrophobic, so that is definitely a plus on her design, as well as that reflecting her personality not being strict about rules or morality. Maybe some more rips and tears here and there to reflect her more wild nature. Colors might not be her thing… but a darker palette would be interesting.

And indeed, Laura isn’t allowed near the guests lest it’s for serving things if the staff is low. She’s already all glares and no smile, no need to spook the invitees any more than they already are by this strange grumbly woman pouring them tea.

As for her loyalty to Hellsing… it is at the same time complex and simple: dogs are loyal, and Laura likes Integra as a person and sees her as a prime example of the virtues of humanity, contributed also by the fact she’s fed and clothed while not having to hide her lycanthropy (to Hellsing at least). Normally she would despise someone like Integra, as she would see her as someone who’s as all bark and no bite; but seeing Integra be not only unafraid of her and Alucard but be commanding? That’s new.

Also, part of her character is absolutely learning to handle gentler things. She is muzzled, she can’t kill just anyone, she must stay docile, she can’t hurt herself or others. Integra has a tight eye on her, and Laura definitely isn’t used to actually being cared for, or having fellow monsters that actually understand her. That’s also why she’s loyal to Integra.

I also need to post about her backstory, it’s been months since i’ve been talking about it. But i tried to fit SO much psychology explaining in there, it’s difficult to make it compact (and i don’t want to make you guys read a whole novel).

Again, i will absolutely keep this ask in mind as i redesign her. Thank you so much for it.

[aguardianscrown]

Beidha

the Chimera  •  the Lady

Queen of Swords Wizard, School of Illusion

When a young clan hears of the Hearth, it is likely from word of mouth, if at all. When an established clan hears of the Hearth, it is assuredly from Beidha. The caretaker of the few ties the Hearth maintains, and cultivator of the even fewer new ties, Beidha takes care in securing the Hearth’s security from without. Great care.

[bloominglifedyinglife]

Hey there! Sorry for the pause in art! Helping out with hay bailing doesn't exactly leaves the arms in a 'I-want-to-draw' state.

Anyways, I had wanted to upload some pictures for my TOH AU when I realized that I had nothing about Nicholas and Abigail beyond their initial face sketches!!!

So here's some for you guys!!

The first picture is Nicholas in his emperor's armor, as I haven't gotten around to drawing his outer garb yet. The diamonds adorning his outfit are not for decoration, rather they are the main 'source' of Nicholas's artificial magic. Unlike Philip, Nicholas does not have a love for machinery, (nor is he keen on inflicting self harm to try and use glyphs), so Nicholas would struggle a lot in learning to make his artificial magic work for him.

For a long time, Nicholas refused to even entertain the idea of creating artificial magic. It took him even longer to figure out how to make it work, not to mention learning to wield it. He eventually got the hang of working with his gadgets. He even tried making smaller trinkets to get the idea on how to make something work. Once he was down with them however, he would just have them tossed. Not even being useful enough to be scrapped as that point.

I would like to add it that Philip would then find these trinkets in the garbage dump and take them to improve them. Insulting whoever made them in the first place as the designs were horrible.

One of the reasons he has so many stabilizing crystals is because they help control his artificial magic when he has to use it on a large scale. They also help with keeping his curse in check from small outbursts. He still needs palisman for when the curse goes too far, but they have thus far prevented a repeat of the incident with his wife.

Abigail on the other hand, as a more modest outfit, following the ideals of 'women should always wear dresses' that she and her husband were born into. The outfit is about 17th century-ish, definitely not from the era they came from.

One thing that Abigail does not embrace about their cultural upbringing is her lack of control as a woman. Even centuries later she still has to fight her husband on the right to have any control. Especially once they both became Emperor and Empress of the Boiling Isles. Part of her duty as Empress is the management of the Isles, from creating the laws, to making sure that schools keep to the 'single-track' study to enforce the Coven System.

The only reason she has any say at all is because the people of the Isles expect her to.

Just like how despite us knowing how canon!Belos would have felt about same sex relationships, or gender change, or even sex before marriage, Belos DIDN'T DO anything about it. That was because it was a part of the Boiling Isles, the people never saw anything wrong with it. It would have been harder to convince the people that their way of life regarding their genders, sexuality, and acceptance of all of it was wrong compared to getting everyone to follow the Coven System. So Belos had no choice but to ignore it and act like he accepted it just like them.

It's the same thing here, despite the people of the Boiling Isles being new to the idea of having rulers over the Isles, they still expected them BOTH to have a say. Abigail keeps hold on this right with an iron fist.

And I will say this now, Abigail's chest gem is NOT like Eda's It serves a different purpose entirely.

I wanted to draw more of these two so I went ahead and drew them as chibis!! Don't they both look vicious?

[writer-ish]

the little things

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 3K words | rating: T (language)

summary: An exhausted and overworked Detective gets a sweet surprise. For Week 2, Day 6 of @wayhavensummer: Farmer's Market.

special note: After maybe a month or so of writing nothing (aside from 100-200 words here and there that, had they not been on a computer, I would have immediately crumpled them up and thrown them into a wastebasket), I sat down today and wrote this entire thing in a few hours. It is raw, unedited, and probably more reflective of my own personal state of mind than I'd like. That said, I am yeeting it into the tumblr void and then going out for the night - so uh, enjoy? be kind? and thank you for reading. ♥️

��Let’s go to the thing.”

Detective Grace Bennett looked up from her computer screen, her gaze blurry and unfocused, as she tried to parse together the words she’d just heard coming from the doorway to her office.

“The… thing?” she mumbled distractedly, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets in an attempt to violently will them to work properly. What time is it—? It must still be midnight or close to it—

Blinking rapidly, she watched as the numbers on the bottom of her computer screen came into a sort of unsettled, electric focus.

6:02 AM.

Fuck.

She had been working on her reports for seven fucking hours. All the way through the night. Once again, forgoing sleep in an attempt to pretend she had a grasp on all the things that she was responsible for - Detective of Wayhaven, Agency liaison, good friend, good daughter, good—

She looked up, remembering once more that she was no longer alone at the station.

Mason stood in the doorway, languidly leaning against its frame, arms crossed. To the casual observer, his posture was relaxed, his expression nondescript.

But Grace knew him well enough now to recognize the sharp keenness in his eyes. The way they took in every detail of her appearance, from the haphazardly tossed-up hair, to the rumpled blouse, to what she could only presume were lines of haggard exhaustion running through her features.

He could likely smell the day-old ice cold coffee by her side. The half-eaten ham sandwich crumpled beside it.

Again, his expression hardly belied a recognition of any of that. Instead, he appeared to simply be a person waiting patiently to hear the answer to a question he’d asked.

But somehow - she didn’t know how, and yet - Grace knew better.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh, pushing away from her desk. “What did you say again?”

“It’s Friday,” was his reply.

She inwardly groaned. Grace was not in the mood for riddles, and the enigmatic, indifferent phrasing of his response caused a surge of exhaustion-induced annoyance to flow through her body. Dropping her head into her hands, she took a deep breath.

Perhaps he took pity on her. Perhaps he realized that his typical reticent abruptness was not going to go over well this morning.

Whatever it was, Grace suddenly felt a hand on the back of her down-turned head. A light pat, then strong fingertips moving through the locks until they hit her scalp, kneading gently on contact.

She let out a soft groan, her shoulders wilting further, elbows almost giving out, as the painful yet pleasurable push of his fingers worked her sore and tired head and nape.

“The market thing,” he said softly after a moment, a moment in which she was certain she had become a barely-sentient pile of mush on top of her keyboard. “That they do in the square. It’s Friday. You like to go. I was going to take you.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the pleasure haze encompassing her weary brain, but when they did, she felt her body still.

He was offering to go to the Farmer’s Market with her?

It was true, she did enjoy going. Before the infiltration of Unit Bravo into their lives, her and Tina used to go together every week in the summer to peruse the wares and fresh produce of the local farmers—most coming from just outside the small city limits of Wayhaven, but others from even further away. There was always something delicious and fresh to purchase or some trinket that would catch their eye. Grace had lost count of the number of handmade soaps she’d impulsively bought, only to shove them under her bathroom sink and never use them.

But then, after the arrival of Unit Bravo, after Grace’s promotion, when things got busier - when things got more dangerous - she would find herself able to go less and less. If she did manage to make it out, she’d usually end up taking Nate with her for protection. It was the type of thing he enjoyed, too; just the concept of it, as well as the simple pleasure of a new experience. Plus, Mason had always refused to be caught dead anywhere near such a cacophonic plethora of different people, bright colours, and various smells.

So the fact that he was offering to take her today, now, was an incredibly unexpected development.

“Are you sure?” she asked, barely even trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice. She looked up at him, standing so closely to her, his hand still warm and comforting on the back of her neck. “You know it’s—the same, as it’s always been. Right?”

He snorted. “Yeah, I know. And yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright, well—” She was about to acquiesce, self consciously taking her hair out of its messy bun and running her fingers through it in an ineffectual attempt to make it look presentable, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the computer screen and groaned. Suddenly she felt a need to backtrack on her initial agreement.

“Honestly? I look wrecked, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, and I doubt I’d be very good company right now. Also, you hate the Farmer’s Market. Why torture us both?”

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was making excuses for his sake more than her own. The fact was, she’d gotten a surge of adrenaline at the idea of going now, on a quiet, cool summer morning, when things would just be opening up and most of the town was still sleeping—to get a nice hot coffee and a pastry. To pick up some strawberries and peaches. To look for a new candle or maybe another handmade tsotchke that she didn’t need to add to her already colourful and cheerfully cluttered space. And, most of all, to spend the time with Mason.

But still. She looked like shit and she knew he hated the thought of going - Why did he offer, then? her traitorous thoughts couldn’t help but wonder - so what was the point?

As though he could read her roiling thoughts - the fact that she wanted to go and the reasons why she thought they shouldn’t - he affected a frustrated sigh and leaned over her, bracing one hand on her desk and running the other from her neck down to her back.

“Get up, Detective.” With the one arm around her back, he hoisted her out of her seat. She found herself stumbling into the warm comfort of his chest, her cheek resting against the soft material of his black t-shirt.

Her hands grasped at the back of it as she steadied herself and she looked up at him, even closer now, chest to chest, their arms around each other. He leaned forward and her breath hitched slightly, but his lips only met the tip of her nose before he pulled back and held her at arm’s length.

“Change,” he commanded, pointedly looking at her wrinkled shirt and coffee-stained trousers, “and then meet me outside the station. You have three minutes.”

Still reeling from the playful kiss, she touched her nose lightly and watched him saunter out.

It took her a moment to snap back to reality and remember what she was supposed to be doing. “Right, clothes.”

In two-and-a-half minutes, she had stripped down, shoved her old clothes in her bag, and changed into the spare outfit she kept in the office: a winning combo of bicycle shorts and a light-grey oversized shirt with the words WAYHAVEN PD on it in large block letters. She’d ditched the heels, slipped on her spare runners, and did a quick rinse and spit into her old coffee cup with the mouthwash she kept in her desk “for emergencies” only, managing to meet Mason outside with thirty seconds to spare.

She caught him flick his cigarette to the ground before straightening up as she approached.

As she always did when she had the opportunity, she found herself admiring the view he provided - tall, broad-shouldered and sinewy, like a Hellenic sculpture come to life. His hair tumbled in dark waves towards his shoulders - he needed a cut, she thought to herself - his mouth naturally sullen, even when it was pulled to the side in a smirk, like it was in that moment. Hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, half-tucked into his standard black boots, which he still wore despite the heat that was already beginning to infiltrate the crisp morning air.

He looked like a goddamn supermodel, while she looked like she was taking her two-point-five children to soccer practice. She tugged self-consciously at her shorts.

“This is all I had—” she began apologetically as soon as she got close to him, but her words were cut off by his lips on hers.

All thoughts of self-consciousness vanished as she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. She felt her feet leave the ground as he held her closer to him, his mouth tasting faintly of cigarettes and entirely of Mason, a combination that always managed to make her feel lightheaded. She couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped from deep in her throat and he tightened his grip on her further, stroking her tongue with his, leaving her pulse racing in more places than one.

After a moment he set her down and pulled away, keeping one arm loosely wrapped around her shoulders.

“Better go now before we don’t go at all,” he said gruffly, leading her to her car.

By the time they got to the Farmer’s Market, the majority of the stands had opened, farmers and local merchants laying out their produce and wares.

All feelings of tiredness that had begun to seep into Grace’s consciousness on the drive over - Mason had generously offered to drive “this heap of crap”, as he’d put it, seeing how she was probably in no state to operate heavy machinery - vanished as they parked and approached the town square.

She looked up and watched as Mason appeared to brace himself, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.

“Hey.” He looked down at the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand resting gently on his chest. “Are you sure about this?”

She watched as his body appeared to physically drain of tension, his hitched-up shoulders gentling slowly downwards, his jaw unclenching, fists unfurling. His eyes closed briefly and he placed his hand over the one that still lay over his heart.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” His smirk came back to his lips slowly. “Let’s buy you some fruit.”

She laughed at the intentional absurdity of his remark, feeling something akin to joy bubble up in her chest. She knew better than to chalk it up to anything but sleep deprivation-induced delirium, but whatever it was, it was a high she was planning to ride for as long as she could before the inevitable crash.

They wandered through the colourful stalls, Mason waiting patiently as Grace felt for the good peaches, smelled the baskets of strawberries, picked through for the perfect cherries. He dutifully held the baskets and burlap bags she handed to him, shooing away her concerns about the smells or the feel of the scratchy material on his skin.

It was still early for Wayhaven and they were practically the only two there, aside from the people at their stands and Haley, as always, ready with her carafe of coffee and some fresh-baked pastries for selling.

Grace gratefully filled her cup with a smile, before noticing that Haley was gesturing her forward. Leaning in, she gave her friend a quizzical look.

“You guys are good now?” she whispered, nodding over Grace’s shoulder.

Grace turned in the direction Haley had gestured, her eyes catching on Mason. He was looking intently at a collection of wind chimes a few stalls down, his hands full of the fruits and goodies she’d acquired, a long baguette sticking out of one of the bags.

Her heart swelled at the sight of him, in that sharp, needful way it always did, a pleasure-pain that reminded her of the way he’d stroked her hair earlier. So necessary, so vital, so scary, so new: all these things that she held to be true about her feelings towards him. The knowledge that she needed him, perhaps—no, certainly more than he needed her, and the fear that it was all-too fleeting. Nothing more than just a memory, already half cooked.

“Yeah,” she said softly, feeling her mouth turn upwards into a smile she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s—we’re good.”

Haley nodded, pleased, before offering Grace a cherry danish that she refused to accept payment for. Grace took another bracing sip of hot coffee and turned back to Mason, only to find he’d disappeared.

She meandered a bit through the remaining stalls, debated the necessity of yet another vanilla sandalwood candle or birthstone necklace, and glanced up more than occasionally to see if she could spot where he’d gone or if he was going to return.

Right at the point where she was starting to worry, the weariness of her wakeful hours suddenly threatening to catch up to her in the kind of hysteria that only exhaustion could create, he appeared.

He still carried her two baskets of fruit and a large burlap reusable shopping bag with that telltale baguette and a few other things she couldn’t even remember now, but in his arms was—

In his arms, he was holding—

Okay, she was crying.

Goddamn lack of sleep, she was actually fucking crying in the middle of the Farmer’s Market.

As soon as he got close enough to see her tears, he came to a dead stop and threw his hands up in the air, weighted down as they were.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” His tone was a mix of fond exasperation and abject disbelief at the sight of Grace, coffee in hand, forgotten danish dripping cherry filling onto the ground, blubbering like a baby in the midst of all the produce and plants.

But she couldn’t help it, damn it, because he’d gotten her flowers.

Her grouchy, hundred-year-old, vampire non-boyfriend, who hated Farmer’s Markets and crowds and flowers themselves, had gone off on his own and come back with a bouquet of sunflowers, delphiniums, lilacs, and daisies and Detective Grace Bennett—

Could.

Not.

Handle.

It.

She pressed her lips together tightly, just for another sob to escape.

“Jesus Christ, Gracie.” He gently put down everything he was holding to approach her, likely exhibiting extra caution because of how incredibly unhinged she must have appeared in that moment, before bracing his hands on her shoulders. “What the hell is the matter?”

“Honestly—” Her calm, mostly unwavering tone probably leant her an even more psychotic air, as she could feel the tears continue to streak down her cheeks. “—I’m just really tired, but also I really, really love those flowers.” She hiccuped. “So much.”

His face cleared of its worry and instead he shook his head, affectionate exasperation back in his expression. “You’re nuts, you know that?” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She leaned into him, partly from weariness and partly because she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

He squeezed her tightly for a moment and then, bending over, he picked up her bags and the flowers as she scrubbed her face with her hands. He made to hand her the bouquet wrapped in plastic and newspaper, but when she reached for it, he suddenly pulled it back with a tsk-ing noise.

“No more crying, got it?” He pointed the flowers at her along with his warning.

She laughed, even as she felt the telltale tingle start in her nose once more.

“Yes, no more crying. I promise,” she added, making an X over her chest with her pointer finger. “Gimme.”

He passed her the bouquet, a soft smile on his lips as he watched her bury her face in the colourful blooms and take a big inhale.

“Magical,” she sighed happily, before looking up him. She could feel her eyes fill again and his own eyes narrowed, but she just smiled and shook her head. “Thank you.”

His expression softened and he gave her a nod. “Let’s go. Get you to bed.”

She made a teasing noise, a heckling gesture that acknowledged his innuendo, but he just snorted and shook his head.

“You, sweetheart, are sleeping for the next twelve hours. I don’t care how much you beg.”

“But you love it when I beg,” she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder, then giggled as he looked at her in surprise.

“Are you drunk?” he asked incredulously and she couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles again.

“Just delirious, I think,” she said, wiping more tears - these ones from mirth, rather than an overwhelming feeling of adoration over a thoughtful gesture from a sort-of boyfriend - from her eyes. “But yeah. We should go.”

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, transferring her Farmer’s Market treasures to his other hand and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders so he could guide her out of the town square.

She looked up at him, this big, grouchy vampire man, so reticent to talk about his feelings and yet so quick to show her how much he cared in a million little ways: his nose subtly wrinkling from the smell of the flowers that he’d gotten for her, his tight hold on her purchases, his arm protectively around her shoulders, shielding her from the growing crowd and guiding her back to her car.

The way he kept looking down at her, eyes scanning her face for further outbursts.

The fact that he’d brought her here in the first place, simply because he knew it was something she liked.

Was she going to be okay?

“Oh yeah,” she said, laughing at his groan upon seeing tears well up in her eyes again. She shook her head to try and get her emotions in check, before standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He shot her a disgruntled look that just made her laugh even harder.

A summer morning. The sights and sounds of the Wayhaven Farmer’s Market. Mason’s arm around her. All the tiredness, the endless work, the stress - it all just disappeared in that moment and Grace could only think of one word to describe how she felt.

“I’m perfect.”

- ☀️🍓💐 -

[sithsecrets]

exchange | din djarin x reader

the crest’s one and only crewmember buys mando a few shirts, and he gives her a gift in return.

---

2k words

mentions: none, this is fluff!

this is part 1 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

You take notice of it when you’re doing the laundry.

Mando’s got the Crest cruising through hyperspace, course set for Nevarro, and you’re catching on up on chores in the meantime. The baby’s three little outfits are clean and stain-free, you’ve set aside a pair of your own pants for mending, and Mando… Mando, you come to find out, has two shirts. Total. As in, two shirts including the one he’s currently wearing under his armor. You know he had more than that the last time you did the washing, but— but shit, he got cut by a quarry last week, and another one of his beat-up long-sleeves ripped and bit the dust shortly after that. So yep, Mando’s small wardrobe is now even smaller, and that makes you sigh. Even now, the brown cloth you have in your hands feels thin and worn, rough fibers catching your fingers every now and then. You think about telling Mando that he needs some new clothes, but you know he’ll just put it off or insist that whatever he has now is fine. And so you decide that you’ll resolve the issue yourself, knowing that something from the bazaar will probably do.

Sure enough, you find just what you need. The textile vendor says he can match Mando’s measurements without a problem after you show him Mando’s singular extra shirt, and a droid whips up the garments for you right there. You come away with two black and two brown, all long-sleeves and all made from the same material Mando seems to preder. Two are a bit thicker than the others— something for him to wear in the cold— and you decide that they’ll do nicely for his needs. Back on the Crest, you leave the stack of clothes on Mando’s bed and then promptly forget about them, distracted by the baby’s antics further back in the hull.

Mando asks you about the shirts later, holding the stack out to you like he’s looking for an explanation.

“What are these?” he asks, and you’re too busy with dinner to make a big deal of it.

“Those are for you,” you tell him, cutting the heat under the stew you’re making. The baby’s trying to get his hands in the pot, so you snatch him up, settling the little green boy on your hip as you add the finishing touches on tonight’s meal. “I realized you had like, two shirts when I was doing laundry on the way here.”

Mando sounds absolutely floored. “You bought these for me?”

That earns him a little laugh, and you hand him the baby. “No, Mando, I stole them off an Imperial transport vessel. Yes, I bought them for you! What kind of crewmember would I be if I let you run around looking ragged?”

“I…” Mando trails off, settling the Child in his arms. “Thank you.”

And then the two of you don’t talk about it again, the matter quickly forgotten in the midst of the evening ritual and your departure from Nevarro.

Week later, the Crest touches down on a distant planet, a place you’ve never been that Mando knows well. He tells you that the three of you will be spending some time here, and that makes you happy. It seems like a nice place, and the locals are kind.

Two days into this little excursion, you’re about to crawl in bed, only or stop short when you see a little satin pouch sitting on top of the covers. It’s pale blue, blue like the sky on your home planet, and no bigger than your palm. Curious, you pick it up gently, examining the little white embroidery on the edge, the way the drawstring pulls the fabric together just so. It pulls open easily, and you dump the contents into your palm without a second thought.

Scores of pale, pearly little beads glint in the light, strung neatly on a thin, delicate chain. Nothing about the trinket is particularly special, but it’s the simplicity that makes it stunning, in your eyes. You’ve had jewelry over the course of your lifetime, naturally, but never anything so dainty and pretty as this. The beads and the way they’re strung are styles unique to this planet, and you’ve seen countless people wearing necklaces similar to this one over the past few days.

There’s only one person that could have placed this here for you to find, and you go up to the cockpit to speak with him not five minutes after his gift falls in your hand.

Mando’s a bit busy when you go up there, fiddling with something on his vambrace in the pilot’s chair. You feel a little shy as you come to stand before him, the string of beads dangling from your fingers.

“Did you buy me this?” you ask softly, and that’s when Mando finally looks up at you.

“I—” The helmet tilts in the direction of your hand, and it’s like he’s a whole different person. Mando becomes nervous, back stiffening in his chair as he looks from you, to the necklace, and then back again. “I, um. Yeah, I did.”

Just hearing him say it makes you feel lightheaded, but you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. “What for?”

Mando stutters terribly, but he does manage to give you an explanation. “You— Well, you got me those shirts a few weeks ago, and you take good care of the baby. And the ship. And me. I just— I thought you’d like it, that’s all.”

You study the beads carefully for a moment, admiring the way they shimmer in your hand.

“I don’t just like it,” you declare, “I love it.”

And then you’re threading Mando’s give around your neck, reaching behind your head to do up the clasp. The jewelry is just as light as you thought it would be, sitting daintily against your collarbones. Mando watches you do all of this, and not the hundredth time do you wish you could see his face.

“Thank you, Mando, really.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

---

“Ah, so my suspicions were correct.”

The sound of the fruit vendors voice catches your attention, and you find yourself face-to-face with her satisfied smile when you lift your head up. You’ve been doing business with her every so often for almost a week now, always intrigued by the selection she has to offer. She also likes the baby, and he’s more than happy to coo at her for a free morsel or two.

“Excuse me?” you blurt, completely lost here. The old woman shakes her head at you, white braid swishing from side to side behind her back, and the smile on her face only deepens.

“Your necklace, child,” she says, pointing at the beads strung around your throat. You touch it on impulse, the baby wriggling in your other arm, and grow even more confused.

“I don’t understand,” you tell her, feeling stupid now, but the old woman just laughs. Her wrinkled fingers are soft on your cheek, the mirth in her eyes unmistakable.

“You don’t have to be secretive with me, my dear,” she chuckles, “I knew you were the Mandalorian’s woman from the minute I saw the both of you together. No man watches a woman that closely if he doesn’t care for her. And now he’s gotten you a necklace, so.”

She punctuates this with a shrug, behaving as if the meaning of your new accessory should be obvious, and you think you might actually pass out.

“I—” You huff, grasping for the right words. “I’m not— I don’t know the ways of this planet,” you say finally, mostly because it’s the truth and mostly because you don’t know how to so much as mention anything else the fruit vendor’s said.

It feels like you’ve been slapped across the face, like someone picked you up and shook you and until your brain rattled around too hard in your skull. Mando knows this place, he knows this city... Custom and culture are sacred to him, even if they have nothing to do with his own, and you find it difficult to believe that Mando gave you this gift without first considering its meaning. This is the man who speaks with the Tuskens, a man who has committed himself to a creed, a man who never wants to be rude or imposing unless he’s dealing with an enemy—

No. No, Mando definitely bought this for you on purpose.

In the thirty seconds it takes for you to form these thoughts, the fruit vendor comes to realize that your confusion was no act. You must look terrible, for she puts a hand on your arm as if to keep you upright.

“My dear, surely— I mean, the two of you care for this baby, and he is always watching over you. I simply thought there was something there, several people in this market did. Forgive me, please, I had no idea—”

“No, no, forgive me,” you blurt, rushing to reassure the woman that she has caused no offense. “I had no idea what these meant. I would have— Maker above, I should have—”

The old woman’s bewilderment matches your own, and you realize that you’re raving like a lunatic.

“I have to go!”

And then you are going, going and going until you’re back on the Crest. The baby seems content to laze about in his pram, thank the stars, and you put him down almost without a second thought, mind racing a thousand kilometers a second. You clamor up to the cockpit like a woman possessed, the noise movement drawing you there. Sure enough, Mando’s right where you thought he would be, parked in his pilot’s chair and fiddling with something on one of his blasters. He doesn’t even turn to look at you when you come up, completely calm despite your frantic movement.

“How was the—?”

“Why did you buy me this?” you cut, bisecting his question with one of your own. Mando’s hands still at once, and he tucks the gun back in the holster at his side.

“Someone told you,” he declares, finally turning to face you. All you can do is nod, heart beating so hard it almost hurts. You can almost taste it, this thing you’ve been wanting for months now, it’s right there on your tongue— but you don’t want to speak, don’t want to be the first one to suggest it. It’s never worked out for you in the past, and with a man like Mando thrown into the equation, you’re not sure what that kind of bravery might get you.

Mando sighs, heavy and tired. You watch him more closely than you’ve watched anyone before in your life as he stands, coming to face you. It’s cramped in this little room, and if you took even just half a step forward, the two of you would be pressed flush. He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there and stands there until you can’t take it anymore.

“If you didn’t mean it like that, Mando, it’s fine, but I just want to know—”

“I… I’m not good at talking.” These first words have you cutting yourself short, and Mando continues like you never spoke in the first place. “To people, I mean. I can do what I need to do to conduct business, but other than that, I’m useless when it comes to things like this.”

“You talk to the baby,” you offer, and Mando nods.

“I do talk to the baby. Sometimes I even talk to you, but not enough.” He takes in a deep breath, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. “That’s why I did this.”

Mando runs his fingers along the beads at your throat, and it takes all you have not to fall down.

“This… This said everything for me. Or it was supposed to, at least.”

You melt at that, shoulders sagging. “Mando, I didn’t know, not until today.”

“I know,” he says companionably. “It’s not your fault I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” you declare, shaking your head. Mando brings his hand up, pressing it to your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life.

“If I’m not a coward, what am I then?”

All you can do is smile. “You’re mine.”

[salvador-daley]

Quarantine (Part 1)

Robert Sheehan x Reader

A young starlet finally lands what she hopes will be her big break. But first she has to endure two weeks locked up with her annoying co-star

CW: Smut, of course. Plus a lackadaisical attitude to airline safety protocols

The flight is a little delayed, so you wheel your Louis Vuitton case into the airport lounge and order a glass of champagne. You pick a table by the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the terminal concourse and pull out your book, trying to ignore that tight knot of nervous energy growing in your stomach. You hate flying and your anxiety only seems to get worse the more you do it. 

Is it too soon to take one of my pills? you think. Probably. The flight could be delayed even longer and then you’d only end up falling asleep in this armchair and missing it altogether. 

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you barely register the tall man entering the lounge and sauntering towards your table, only fully becoming aware of his presence when he drops his slightly tatty leather rucksack at your feet. 

“Hello there!” he says brightly in an Irish accent, slumping into the seat opposite uninvited. “I believe we’re going to be working together soon.” 

You look up and see the familiar face of your new co-star smiling back at you. He’s wearing a designer duffle coat that could just as easily be from a charity shop and a slightly see-through sweater that appears to have been purchased from the womenswear section. You note that it bears several holes around the neckline. 

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you,” you say, extending your hand and introducing yourself.

“We’ve met before actually, at Nancy’s New Year party last year,” he says, shaking your hand, his various beaded bracelets jangling.

You smile at him blankly. You spent that entire party sucking up to a producer who would later tell you that you were “a little too provincial” for a part you wanted, whatever the fuck that means.

“Anyway,” he says after an awkward beat, “I’ll bet you’re looking forward to being locked up in quarantine when we get to the other end.”

“Oh, I dunno,” you sigh, “I think maybe two weeks of peace and quiet sounds pretty nice. I’m quite good at entertaining myself and it’ll hopefully give me a chance to look over the scripts again. What about you?” you ask.

“I’ve come prepared,” he says, opening his coat to display a dog-eared copy of the Bhagavad Gita poking out of his inside pocket.

“Hindu scripture,” you say, raising your eyebrows. “That is some hardcore reading material.”

He leans forward: “Oh, I’m sure it’s no less hardcore than…” he lifts your book away from the table to look at the cover, “Jackie Collins! Now that is hardcore,” he says, giving you a devilish look.

“Don’t take the piss,” you say, snatching the book off the table and shoving it in your bag. “It relaxes me, I’m a bad flyer.”

You lean back and cross your legs, catching him as he steals a glance at the strip of flesh between your thigh-high boots and your leather miniskirt.

“You’ve dressed for comfort, I see,” he says, using his eyebrows to indicate your outfit.

“I’m not about to end up on the front page of TMZ in my jogging bottoms,” you scoff.

He sighs and leans back in the chair, shoving a hand into the pocket of his... jogging bottoms.

“Not everyone can pull them off,” you add quickly.

He smiles, perhaps at your accidental double entendre.

“Oh, I’m sure you could,” he says.

****

“Welcome aboard, sir, you are in seat 3A,” says the flight attendant, tearing off the stub of his boarding pass. “And you are in seat 3F, madam,” she adds, tearing off yours.

“Oh well, we can wave at each other across the plane,” he says, giving you a wink as he heads inside.

As he takes his seat he actually does wave at you from across the plane, wiggling his fingers impishly. You wave back and attempt to smile underneath your face mask, but your nerves are getting the better of you now. You slip one of your pills beneath the mask and try to concentrate on staying calm, every whirr and click of the aircraft setting your teeth on edge. At least the seat next to you is empty. You couldn’t cope with being sat next to a snoring stranger for the next eight hours.

As the plane takes off, you close your eyes, gripping the armrests and concentrating on taking deep breaths. After a while, you become vaguely aware of the seatbelt light turning off in the cabin.

He drops into the empty seat next to you: “How are you holding up?”

“Not great,” you say, opening one eye to look at him. “My therapist told me to take deep breaths, but that’s easier said than done.”

“Excuse me, my love,” he says, stopping a passing member of the flight crew. “Do we have to wear these for the whole flight?” he asks, indicating his face mask.

“I’m afraid so, but you can remove it if you’re eating or drinking,” she replies.

“I guess we should order some drinks then,” he says.

****

As he talks, you catch yourself watching his lips and you subconsciously run your hand through your hair. You’re both several drinks deep now and you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been sat like this, heads together, talking in confidential tones in the darkness.

Every now and then he leans a little closer and that playful look in his green eyes causes your stomach to flip. Although I suppose that could just be the turbulence, you think.

This close, you can smell his coconut shampoo and hear the chinking of his various beads and trinkets as he ruffles his hair. When it’s your turn to talk, you catch him snatching glances at your lips, his smile travelling to his eyes as you swap funny stories about shared acquaintances.

“So have you always been a nervous flyer?” he asks, sipping his drink.

“No, I used to enjoy flying, but it’s just got worse over the years,” you say, your face beginning to warm from the effects of the alcohol. “Actually,” you say, leaning your head closer to his conspiratorially, “I’ve always had this thing…” You stop yourself, suddenly aware of how unguarded you’re being: “No, I can’t say.”

“Oh, go on, tell me,” he says, in a low voice, shifting his body towards you in his seat.

“No, I can’t,” you say, shaking your head and half-covering your eyes shyly with your hand. You must be a bit drunk, otherwise you wouldn’t even consider telling him this.

“Come on,” he begs, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the plane.

“Ok, fine,” you say, whispering now, “I’ve always wanted to…,” you pause as the flight attendant passes your seats, “I’ve always kinda wanted to do it on an aeroplane,” you say eventually, cringing at yourself.

His thick eyebrows rise immediately at the revelation and his face breaks into a wide smile.

“Really?” he says, excitedly.

He looks around the plane for a second, then turns to you again.

“Well, in completely unrelated news,” he says quietly, trailing his fingers along the flesh above the cuff of your boot, “I’m going to head to the toilet. I’ll be using that one right there, just in case you need to know for any reason,” he adds, pointing to the bathroom at the head of the plane.

He rises now, giving you a wink.

“You’re not serious?” you ask, in a hushed voice. But he only bobs his eyebrows in response as he opens the door and shuts it behind him. The light comes on above, indicating that it is occupied, and you just sit there, your heart racing in your chest now, blood rushing to your face.

You look around the plane. Only a couple of reading lights illuminate the cabin and most of the occupants are now asleep.

Oh my God, this is madness. You’re not actually considering this? You’ll be caught. You’ll be arrested. Imagine what the press will say.

You undo your seatbelt and step into the aisle, the pounding in your chest travelling to your ears.

This is crazy, you think, walking up to the toilet door. You rap quietly on it and for a second you wonder if perhaps this is some cruel prank he’s playing on you. How will you react when you call his bluff? I was only kidding, I’m not really going to shag you in an aeroplane toilet, mate. Haha, so funny.

He opens the door and pulls you inside, locking the door behind you.

“Thank God, for a second there I thought you were going to leave me hanging,” he says, pulling you close and connecting his mouth with yours.

One of his hands wraps in your hair while the other pushes your skirt up over your ass. He grabs it and pulls you even closer, pressing his erection against you. His kiss is intense, frenzied even, devouring you while his hands press your body into his.

The tiny room fills with the sound of heavy breathing as his mouth explores yours, then moves to your neck.

“Wait,” you whisper, catching your breath, “what if we get caught.”

He pulls away and looks at you: “I know, right?” he says, flashing you a wicked smile.

And then his lips are on yours again, his hands travelling underneath your clothes. He tears your sweater off over your head, diving his face between the lacy cups of your bra, grabbing you, biting your breast through the thin material.

Now his hand is travelling down, hitching your skirt around your waist, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

His lips meet your ear as his fingers circle your clit: “I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since Nancy’s party,” he whispers, slipping his fingers inside you. He smiles: “Oh, you dirty bitch, you’re so fucking wet,” he says, finding your mouth again and wrapping his tongue around yours.

He lifts you up to perch you on the edge of the sink, fucking you with his fingers while his mouth roams around your neck, your collarbone, your chest.

It’s all happening so quickly you barely have time to find your breath, let alone think about what you’re doing.

You wrap one arm around him, plunging your hand into his soft curls, reaching down with your other hand to grasp his cock over his sweatpants. As you palpate him with your fingers, it only spurs him on.

“I can’t fucking wait to fuck you,” he says, pulling your head back by your hair and exposing your neck to his greedy mouth.

You place your foot on the lid of the toilet and drag his sweater over his head, pulling his torso close to yours.

“We have to be quick,” you hiss, conscious of the very real risk of being caught. Your heart pounds inside your chest, like a prisoner banging desperately against the bars of a cell.

You grab the waistband of his pants now, tugging them down roughly, freeing his cock. It springs into your hand, firm and eager.

He runs his hand up your leg: “I fucking love these boots,” he says into your ear, bringing his hand up your thigh and over your ass. With his other hand, he pulls your underwear to one side and enters you, filling you with his cock.

“Jesus, you feel so fucking good,” he growls in your ear, holding your body tightly to his as he begins to thrust inside you. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite your fist to silence yourself.

Fast, duelling breaths become the only sound inside the cubicle. You cling to his body and dig both fists into his hair, meanwhile his hands wrap around your ass, drawing you closer with every thrust.

You pull his face up and look into his eyes as you fuck each other, panting wordlessly. Then he kisses you again, his tongue searching for yours.

Your mind races: He’s fucking you in this bathroom and there’s dozens of people on the other side of the door. If you’re caught, you’ll be in so much trouble. The police will be called when you land, you’ll be handcuffed, everyone will know what you did��

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you gasp, through clenched teeth, trying your best not to scream.

He groans and you feel him coming too, his fingers digging into your ass as he deepens his thrusts.

“Don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” you plead pitifully.

You claw at his back as your orgasm peaks, white hot adrenaline filling your veins. Every nerve in your body snaps and fizzes and you float thousands of feet above the earth, coming back down gently, like a falling feather, aided now by the gentle rocking of his hips.

You hold each other for a second, trying hard to regain your breath. Then the silence of the bathroom is broken by your laughter, then his, your bodies shaking together with liberating vibrations.

****

“You go first, give me a second to fix myself up,” you say as he pulls up his pants and slips his sweater back on, giving you one last furtive kiss before he unlocks the door and slips back into the cabin.

When you leave a minute or so later, you meet eyes with a glamorous older woman sitting in the seat nearest the bathroom, her eyebrow curling in the direction of the sky as she looks you up and down. You avert your eyes, feeling the blood rush to your face as you retake your seat.

He leans his head into yours: “I think the woman in 1E is onto us,” he whispers as you sink down beside him.

****

You lift your eye mask and see him sitting under the reading light, his head in his book.

“I can’t sleep,” you whine, sitting up in the reclining seat.

“Yeah, me neither, I gave up trying,” he replies.

“Do you want to watch a film?” you ask, offering him one of your headphones and adjusting the seat.

“Yeah, ok,” he says, closing his book and snuggling down under the blanket next to you.

You pick something at random, some vapid romcom that will ideally allow you to drift off for the last few hours of the flight.

“I auditioned for this part,” you tell him, your head resting on his chest. “Didn’t get it, obviously.”

“Really?” he says, lifting his chin slightly to look at you.

“Yeah, apparently the girl who got it was dating the director at the time,” you say, yawning.

“Well, you know what it’s like. It’s not what you know, but who you know, and who you’re willing to sleep with,” he says.

You snap your head up: “What the fuck does that mean?” you hiss at him, trying hard not to raise your voice.

“I didn’t mean you, obviously,” he says, fumbling for his words.

“You think I fucked someone to get this job?” you ask him, your eyes narrowing.

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” he says defensively.

“You think I fucked you for some ulterior motive?” you ask, sitting up in the seat now and glaring at him angrily.

“Well, Jesus, I hope not...” he says, his brow furrowing.

“I think you should go back to your seat now,” you say.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean you,” he says, pleadingly. But you’re not listening. You throw two of your pills down your throat and pull your eye mask back over your face, rolling over in your seat with your back to him.

Stupid twat, you think.

He sighs loudly and rises from the seat.

“Touchy cow,” he mutters as he heads back to the other side of the plane.

****

“And here is the key to your suite. As you are spending the mandatory 14-day self-isolation period with us, please remember not to leave the room unless there is an emergency,” says the hotel receptionist as she scribbles quickly on your registration card.

“N-n-n-n-no,” you say, wagging your finger at the receptionist. “Not suite. Suites PLURAL. There should be two, one for him and one for me,” you say tetchily, indicating to him as he stands beside you at the desk.

The receptionist shrugs helplessly: “I don’t know what to tell you, madam. I’m only seeing a booking for one here on the system.”

“Well, check it again, there must be some mistake,” you say, irritation rising audibly in your voice.

“Madam, I don’t need to check it again, this is our last available room, I’m afraid,” she says.

You become aware of him turning towards you with a smirk, watching you with amusement as you feel your temper beginning to rise.

You plaster on a fake smile. You're not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your shit.

“No problem, I’ll just make a quick call and get this all straightened out,” you say through gritted teeth.

****

“I’m sorry, darling, but that’s the best the production company could come up with,” says Lynda, your agent, down the phone.

“Lynda, I’m a reasonable person, I can share a suite with someone, but why does it have to be with him?” you plead.

“What are you talking about? Everyone loves him, you’re the only person I know who has a problem with him.”

“He’s an arsehole, Lynda,” you say emphatically.

“Look, this job is a really big opportunity for you. I don’t want you to blow this by being… yourself.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you shriek down the phone.

“Darling, you know I love you, but you have to admit you can be a bit of a.. well, you know…”

“A bit of a what, Lynda?”

“A BIT OF A DIVA, ok? You can be a real spoiled brat sometimes and kind of a hothead. Just suck it up. It’s only two weeks. Just put on a smile and be nice.”

With that, she hangs up the phone, leaving you standing there in the hotel lobby, mouth agape, speechless, furious and frustrated.

****

“No luck?” he says with a smug grin, leaning against a pillar near the front desk.

“After careful consideration, I’ve decided that I am willing to let you share my suite, just to make things easier for everyone,” you say.

“How gracious of you,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I think so, yes,” you reply, snatching the key card from his hand and striding to the elevator.

“This is going to be a fun two weeks,” he mumbles, following you to the door.

Read Part 2 here | Read Part 3 here

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[vminity21]

Even in the Rain | knj [Part 1]

Pairing: friend!Namjoon X female!reader, exboyfriend!Jimin X bakeryreviewer!reader, friendshiptolovers!au, bakery!au, forbiddenlove!au

Word Count: 18,482

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Warning(s):  foul language use, angst involving an ex-boyfriend, mention of alcohol on multiple occasions, mention of infidelity, mention of smoking, eventual smut (potentially in part 2), slow burn, taehyung and jimin are jerks in the story, based on the kdrama, Something in the Rain, i do not own the rights or the show; Rated: pg 13

Summary: Namjoon has been in love with you for what seems like forever. Despite you being five years older, him being your best friend’s brother, on top of your brother, Kim Seokjin, being one of Namjoon’s best friends- nothing will stop him from getting you to notice him, and he also will not let your relentless ex-boyfriend stand in the way of him winning your heart. You, on the other hand, an observer of bakeries notices the feelings Namjoon is starting to etch upon your heart; amidst this budding love, your mind is also confused upon the strange incidents happening between the bakeries planning to franchise together. But, who would want to jeopardize the businesses?

Credit to: @suhdays​ for such a beautiful cover!

The dreary clouds serenade the atmosphere with panging rain droplets while a faint brush of a sigh escapes your lips. Shoving loose hair from your ponytail behind your ears, you steady the umbrella above you- knuckles white from the grip you have on the handle. Once again, you’re scheduled to observe Jeon’s Bakery in downtown Busan- a thriving shop owned by the richest couple ever known, soon being passed down to their eldest son, Jung-hyun, whom you’ve had the pleasure of knowing throughout the years.

Stepping into the bakery- the cozy atmosphere brings a warmth you’ve been needing since you woke up this morning- shaking your umbrella through the crack of the glass door onto the sidewalk, you then return to face the dimly lit décor, leaning your umbrella along the wall. Aromas of freshly baked pastries waft in your direction while you inhale a hint of strawberry. Glistening sweets line beneath the glass cases while heated lights keep them appealing; the other side holds numerous cakes, decked with different colors or flavors- your stomach growling at the desire to purchase a treat or two before leaving.

“Ah, welcome,” Jung-hyun greets with a brief handshake and bow, though the nervous tension crinkles at the edges of his eyes. You, being one of the top members of the corporation, who franchises with Jeon’s Bakery, your reviews are very important- and, with the plans of opening another bakery along with a competing bakery on the other side of town, Jung-hyun is aware of the pressure his family line has to maintain a clean, yet successful business. Of course, with the hopes of the competing bakery, Ji Woo’s Café, signing the contract to officially set the opening date.

“How do you do,” you nod, hearing the padding footsteps of the employees rushing to stand at your presence. One, you recognize to be the youngest brother, Jeon Jungkook, folding his hands in front of him, while his eyes remain cast downward- brown hair swooping over his forehead while he timorously chews at the corner of his mouth. “My, how he’s grown,” you smile, his wide stare greeting yours with a timid bow.

“Just turned eighteen nearly two months ago,” Jung-hyun nods at his brother with pride before returning his gaze to you, “Next thing I know, it’ll be me handing the business to him,”

You can’t help the feeling of dread at how many years you’ve been a part of your job- essentially instructing cleaning reviews or food violations that are still not being met- and you hardly ever admit the gray hairs that you’ve remained to consistently pluck since your twenty-eighth birthday not too long ago. With a long glance around the bakery, you bring your clipboard forward while the click of your heels gives some sort of sound other than the rain prodding the rooftop.

“It is a bit dusty in this section here,” you run a finger over a shelf dawning coffee mugs and other trinkets, rubbing your fingertips together while an employee sprints with a damp cloth to clean the area you pointed out, “And the floor needs to be swept more thoroughly, I can see some crumbs even from this distance,” you hate sounding so nitpicky, but your boss Kim Taehyung, can be, and he expects a lot out of these businesses, so you maintain your duty in making sure everything is spotless, especially since you don’t want anyone, especially the Jeons’, to have to deal with Taehyung’s wrath.

Reaching the cold foods section, you tamper through the packages to check expiration dates, noticing a few will be out of date within the next week, “And, also, Mr. Jeon, make sure to check the expiration dates often, we want customers to be given exactly what they’re paying for without the risk of stomach upset,”

“Yes ma’am,” he bows obediently, while you study the rest of the store before turning to face every employee. A young girl, one who has avoided eye contact nearly your entire visit, cuddles into her thin sweater, your eyes falling to notice her open-toed shoes, “I know accidents may happen from time to time, but with heavy machinery, we use in the back to create such desserts, closed-toed shoes are a must,” though when first starting the job, you used to be afraid to single individuals out, with so many years of experience, it has become immune. “Let this be a warning, okay?” The girl nods in shame, though you give her a look of understanding.

One more detailed sweep, you give Jung-hyun a copy of the notes you made with the direction to continue his work. Reaching for your umbrella, you notice the heavy rain has died down to a soft sprinkle, and once the smell of the rain fills your nostrils, you still open your umbrella in an attempt to protect your outfit since you will be returning to work to finish out the day.

The familiar ‘ding’ of a text tone distracts once your clicking heels round a street where Jeon’s Bakery officially disappears behind you- retrieving it from your pocket, you realize it’s a text from your almost year-long boyfriend, Park Jimin.

Jiminie: ‘Dinner tonight? I think we need to talk,’

Just the simple text, with just a simple intent, with a simple meaning- or what is supposed to be simple- brings a strange feeling the moment you read it. Hardly watching the direction you’re heading, you’re very thankful when the ringtone assigned to your best friend jingles, prompting you to answer immediately,

“How, did you know to call me, right at this exact moment?” Your fingers feel ice cold upon your cheek once the phone is at your ear- and the tiny pain in your stomach is hard to ignore mingled with the bundles of nerves fluttering within your system.

“Glad to know I’m number one on your mind,” your childhood best friend, Monica, teases while a knowing smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “I’m assuming something’s up?”

“Yeah,” you exhale, brushing past a few pedestrians while your eyes cautiously trail the sidewalk to prevent from tripping over something, “It’s Jimin,”

“Hm,” Monnie hums, the crunch of a carrot sounding through the staticky phone line, “Please tell me you two didn’t fight. Again,”

If the humiliation rising within your chest isn’t obvious enough, you squeeze your eyes shut momentarily, trying to suppress the memory of the past month or two within your conscious, “He’s been going on and on about that promotion,”

“And,” Monnie adds, “Let’s not forget you’ve made it clear that you’re not planning on leaving Busan.”

“I know, I know,” the solitude of the area you’re in seems silent, way too silent, and maybe it’s due to the budding sadness. Jimin’s job is wanting to take him to Seoul- nearly 325 kilometers away from where you’ve grown up- where you’ve held a successful job- and, where your family and friends reside. The two of you have been battling it out for what feels like too long, emotionally draining you just as evenly as the stress from your job, “I just wish he would just understand my side for once,” your voice is hushed as if he can hear you, Monica nodding on the other end though you cannot see it.

“Well, how about you change his mind,” a devious tone evident in her voice, “Give him something he wouldn’t want to miss out on if you catch my drift,”

“You are such a tease,” you shake your head incredulously, “But, you have a good point,”

“Uh-huh, when do I not?”

Sauntering minutes longer past the numerous rows of shops, you end the phone call with Monica before your eyes fall upon a small boutique with mannequins adorned in glimmering dresses poised behind the glass window. Maybe an ounce of hope decides to arise, especially the second it leads you into the shop, trying on a few dresses in the mirror until you’ve made your decision.

The dress hugs all the right curves while you run your hands over the fabric- loose curls tickle your shoulders, yet the dress is modest enough to leave mystery- leave eyes lingering whilst you walk by. Except, the moment Jimin takes a seat before you, across the table within your favorite restaurant, his eyes seem to pay more attention to his wine glass rather than sweeping you. His thick lips lay in an obvious grimace, disinterest in his expression to every word you say, yet you remain unaltered, showing him no sign of notice, until he interrupts you,

“I received news today,” he clears his throat, your mouth slightly agape while your eyes widen in anticipation for what he’s about to say next, “They’re promoting me. It’s official,”

“Oh, Jimin,” you breathe, though you’re happy his job is recognizing him for his outstanding work in his job field, you can’t help the sorrow plaguing you at what you know is considered the next step, “I’m so happy for you,” you feign enthusiasm, but he sees right through you, especially when his brown eyes nearly smother your gaze with disbelief, “When- when is the big day?”

“Two weeks,” He counters, eyes falling back to his drink, “Have to clean out my apartment, and leave within two weeks,”

“Two weeks?” You’re caught off guard by the sudden answer, not even giving you enough time to process, one- that your boyfriend of nearly a year will be leaving so soon whether you move with him or not, and two- the realization that maybe, no matter how hard you try to get him to understand you, he just simply won’t. “But that’s so sudden-”

“Just come with me,” he’s exasperated, waving a hand once in the air, “If you’re really as happy for me as you say you are, you’d come,”

“Excuse me?”

“What is it about Busan that you just can’t seem to let go? We will be able to visit family if that’s what you’re afraid of,”

“Jimin, we’ve already discussed this,” you run your hands over the bridge of your nose propping your elbows onto the table, while you try with all your might to calm the anger, “I have a steady job here, one I will not be able to transfer. I’m not ready to just give up my life like this, what part of that do you not understand?” You peer through your hands, “And, I mean, if there’s anything I don’t understand, is if you can visit as often as you say you can, then how come a long-distance relationship sounds so revolting to you?”

Frustration drips from him when he leans back into his chair, eyes scoping the side of the restaurant while his lips press into a firm line. A thought that failed to occur to you from previous arguments dawns,

“Wait,” you inhale, “Are you afraid… that you’ll start seeing someone else?” When he abruptly meets your gaze, your elbows fall to your sides, “Jimin?”

Shaking his head, “Forget it,”

“Then what is it?” You question, “If not that, then what is it?” Investigating his eyes, you’re nearly brought to your knees from the heartbreak wrenching within you, “If this is something that leaves such distaste in your mouth then why not just break up with me?” Without a second thought, you stand to your feet, not even sure how you’re able to with how your body is trembling, but you maintain your balance while you thrust your trench coat on, “You know what? I’ll do the honors,”

He follows you out the door in a mild panic, though he remembers to leave cash behind to pay for the meal. Declining the ride, he offers, you can’t even speak nor look in his direction, your heart-shattering in a million pieces especially when his presence leaves without even a speck of desire to fight for you. You’re rendered speechless the entire walk of the chilly night- shooting a text to Monnie to meet you at a local bar- her treating you to multiple drinks- gulping them down with the intention of drowning in your sorrows.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to stop,” she motions for the waiter to scatter any empty glasses he can before you down your final drops, “Besides, you’re the one who dumped him, so am I missing something?”

“No,” you drag out the word, your head dizzy from the heavy buzz you feel, “You and I both know this is something that’s not easily forgettable,”

“Maybe you’re right, but really, [Y/N], you’re going to make yourself sick,”

“And what if I do? What’s it going to change?” Your words slur, while you lean onto your knuckles- your eyelids squinted in a hazy glance. Mo’s concern is all you can envision while she lightly taps your arm.

“If he were worth it, he’d stay in a relationship with you despite any distance,” her voice softens, her turning to get you to rest on her shoulder, “Besides, if I were him, I wouldn’t have let you walk away, especially with how that dress snugs your ass,”

Cackles erupt from your throat while you lean more into her frame for comfort, “Shut up, no it doesn’t,”

Flabbergasted, she pulls away just enough to stare down at your glossy eyes, “Girl, you look like a twelve outta ten, would recommend, and any asshole would be stupid to let a dime piece like you go,”

“You mean it?”

“Of course,” she wraps an arm under your shoulders to help you steady on your feet, “Now, I’m going to take you home. Your brother is coming home tomorrow as well as mine, and the last thing I need is for them to smell alcohol on your breath,”

“But, but- I’m- I’m not done yet. Just one more,”

“No! Are you insane?”

“Monnie, please, just one more. Just one-”

“Drinking isn’t going to make Jimin’s absence any less painful, now come on, you need to get home,” Reluctantly, you obey, faltering into your home while your parents, who are retired, stare at you with mirrored worry, you immediately bowing in apology before stumbling to your bedroom. The following morning hits you like an ocean wave, your head thudding while you force yourself to sit up- the shower awakens you just enough for you to function, and the minute you’re dressed with a towel wrapped around your drenched hair- you open the door to be greeted by your younger brother, Kim Seokjin.

“You look like you’ve been trampled by ten elephants,” his arms outspread while you gasp,

“Seokjin! You’re home!” Crashing into his arms, he hugs you tight, the safety you feel with him finally returning home brings serenity to the household. You haven’t seen your brother in four years with him studying abroad in America, which reminds you that it must mean Monnie’s brother, Kim Namjoon, who studied the same program as Seokjin, is home, too- though you vaguely remember your best friend making that statement last night before taking you home.

Leaning back to playfully smack his shoulder, you tease, “Don’t think I forgot about what you just said a second ago! Remember, I am your elder,”

The familiar windshield wiper laugh sounds while his shoulders shake, “By what, a few years? And don’t think I didn’t hear about you coming home wasted last night,”

With a roll of the eyes, you hear your mother starting up food in the kitchen, “It’s complicated, but,” with a quick sweep, you notice, Seokjin is wearing an outfit as if he’s about to head out, a backpack still hanging off his shoulders, “But- wait, aren’t you staying?”

“Mom, didn’t tell you? I’m moving out with one of my past friends. Remember, Hoseok?” 

“Ah,” a lightbulb clicks, “The one whose parents own the competing bakery? The one we used to raid when we were children?”

“Yes, that’s the one,”

You remember Seokjin and Hoseok were thick as thieves growing up, so with a curt nod, you elbow your brother’s side, “Good idea rooming with him, but you better visit me. I literally haven’t seen you other than through a phone screen,”

“You know I will,” He promises, “No more phone screen,”

As much as the two of you love your mother, she can be overbearing at times- and, you can’t help with how hard it is to stifle laughter as you watch her pester Seokjin as he’s leaving, “Please eat once you get there since you won’t stay for the meal I cooked- and, please text me once you arrive- remain in good health for me okay- don’t do anything you will regret-”

Seokjin waves goodbye before your mother follows you to the kitchen. Of course, she isn’t going to ignore the incident of you rummaging to make a cup of coffee in an attempt to remedy the hangover you know you deserve after how much you chugged the night before. Unaware of the situation that caused your drunken state, your shoulders tense the moment you hear his name,

“I thought you were with Jimin last night? He’s never let you drink more than one glass. Very insolent of him if you ask me,”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that anymore,” you mumble against the rim of the coffee mug.

“I guess I can forgive him this one time, invite him over sometimes so I can cook you both some dinner. It’s about time for you to settle down and marry-”

At this point, you’re increasingly aware of how late you will be to work if you continue to listen to your mom banter about your ex-boyfriend, one you can’t bring yourself to reveal in fear of disappointing your mother. Although, your father offers to give you a ride, you politely decline, making your way to the nearest station before sprinting into the building of your job.

From the poker face, Taehyung has while everyone files in to their seats, your coworkers LenLen and Shai take a quick seat on either side of you- Yoongi, handy with the technological side of the business gets the screen to load to where everyone can see it. Chairs turned in the same direction, you swallow nervously when a picture of what looks to be bags of flour are revealed to have picked up pesky moths, and the horror you feel when it’s the same store your brother’s childhood friend has grown-up knowing: Ji Woo’s Cafe.

“This,” Taehyung’s voice booms while gesturing toward the screen, “Is unacceptable.”

With slumping shoulders, everyone knows he isn’t wrong, but it’s the embarrassment of knowing this has been missed.

“Who is in charge of keeping up with this particular franchise?”

LenLen hesitates beside you though you’re of knowledge that she is, in fact, the supervisor of the Jung’s shop. You don’t even hesitate to stick up for her, promising you will get to the bottom of this ordeal being that you know the Jungs’ personally. The bus ride over doesn’t take long, but you figure it’s from the trepidation of having to face a family you haven’t seen in so many years over something that wasn’t necessarily in their control. When arriving, the first face you see is Jung Hoseok, messy hair frilly across his forehead with your brother rounding the corner putting on his apron. It takes a prolonged second for everyone to register each other’s presence, and you factor in that maybe they hired a moving company to assist in helping them unpack their belongings. Or, perhaps, Seokjin is staying with Hoseok’s parents for the time being until the two can find a place of their own. Either way, your eyes flicker between the stunned pair prompting you to clear your throat- pressing the tip of your pen onto the pad of paper upon your clipboard.

“Hello, Gentlemen, you may have been aware, but it has been brought to corporate’s attention about flour bags being infested with moths?”

Hoseok wets his lips, frantically looking over at Seokjin who shrugs his shoulders, completely oblivious to the scenario that may have taken place prior to his hiring, “Uh, yes- yes ma’am,”

“And please tell me such a discovery was not, in fact, served to our consumers?” Palms clammy, you’re surprised at how intimidating you can be but with the way Hoseok’s panicky eyes scream innocence, you know that he didn’t do anything of the sort.

“Of course not,” he stammers, your brother glaring a look though he knows you’re merely doing your job.

“Good,” you scribble a few notes of areas you noticed may need to be tidied up before handing it to him, “Just remember to always, always, keep things clean, and to always store packaging in the correct areas. I agree sometimes we can’t prevent everything, but from what I could tell from the picture, the flour wasn’t stored properly.”

“I’m so-”

Gesturing a hand to stop him, you continue, “No need for apologies, just make sure staff is trained to follow protocols. And if I overheard correctly, Jeon’s Bakery may want to franchise along with Ji Woo’s Cafe for the opening of the new store. If that’s the case, then everyone must be on the same page in order for that contract to be signed. Do I make myself clear?”

Hoseok timidly nods, you being grateful that customers haven’t waltzed in especially with it being close to afternoon; glimpsing at your brother, he swallows, nodding once in understanding. In this circumstance, guilt wedges in the crevices of your mind, especially with it, now, involving a blood relative who works within one of the stores your company partly owns. Coming off harsh isn’t who you really are, but the job forces you to be this way, especially when stressing the importance of cleanliness and statistics of sales.

You’re nearly lost in thought- reminiscing on unwanted memories of Jimin, avoiding the ache in your soul when you can’t remember the last time, you’d seen him smile. Blisters form on your feet from your heels, the pain thudding to the point you hardly notice the tall figure inching closer to your frame. In fact, you choose to ignore whoever it is, keeping your eyes ahead with the goal of making it home.

“Is that how you treat a friend you haven’t seen in years?”

“Whoa!” You jolt, whirling in the direction of the deep voice- heart hammering against your sternum while your hand flies to your chest. Dimples immediately appear in your vision while hearty laughter escapes the handsome face of none other than your best friend’s brother, Kim Namjoon. “Namjoon?” Your voice raises in glee, his trench coat loose on his frame, while his wide smile remains on his face, “How long have you been following me?”

“Who said it was me who was doing the following,” he teases while you open your mouth in fake offense,

“Kim Namjoon, yes you were!” Your smile hasn’t been so genuine other than when your brother returned home and reaching forward to playfully smack Namjoon’s arm, he promenades around you while he dodges your every move. The view to outsiders looking in would appear to be a happy couple especially with the way you chase after him, with the contrived promise of embracing him, when really you plan on tackling him for following you for however long he did.

The teasing soon leads to the pair of you agreeing to drinks and dinner- planning to catch up over the four years lost between your friendship.

“So,” your voice is chirpy after taking a long sip of your beer, the waitress settles the entrees in front of you and Namjoon, your elbows resting on either side of the plate while you peer at him over your folded hands. Seeing his face brings a spindle of turning memories- laughter with him and Monnie alongside you, getting into mischievous spouts, causing both pairs of parents in continuous bouts of worry- and the way his brown hair is neatly styled to the way his brown eyes study your every move, you are thankful for his presence, along with your brother’s, being returned to you, “Meet anyone you’ve taken a liking, to?” Namjoon’s only five years younger than you, but with the pressure of marriage being a thought- you’re uncertain if he’s tied the knot- or, more so, your question is directed to if he’s fallen for an American girl, something you’re curious to know about your friend.

A breathy laugh escapes him while he sips his drink, grabbing his fork to play with a vegetable on his plate, “Unfortunately, you’ve remained at the top of my list,” reaching for his drink, he lifts it toward you while you mimic his gesture, clinking them together while you shake your head at him,

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in a lot of trouble, you know that?”

“Can’t remember a time it hasn’t,” he takes a bite of his pasta while you conjure up another question,

“Are you ever planning on going back? To America?” Honestly, you’re afraid of the answer, because if he says yes, then that could mean Seokjin will be following suit.

“Actually,” Namjoon carefully places his fork back on the napkin beside his plate, running the back of his hand at the corner of his mouth, “I hope to live there one day. But that’s only for when Korea gets too small for me,”

“Does Monnie know?” Crossing your arms, your appetite is suddenly lost, for the time being, the subject of anyone else disappearing from your life for a while making you feel a small wave of nausea. Namjoon’s eyes flicker to his plate before returning to your gaze which gives you an answer without any words, “You know she cares a lot for you. She’s been talking non-stop about your arrival since you left.”

“I know,” his voice trails, while he clenches his jaw, “I almost didn’t tell her Seokjin and I were coming back,”

“What? Why?”

“I just didn’t want her to worry,” his long fingers grip the handle of his mug while he swirls the contents within it, “She’s already busy enough with work, and my coworkers I’ve returned to have done enough for me, and I don’t want her to feel like she needs to contribute anything,”

“That’s her choice to make you know. You’re her brother,”

“And I care for her a lot, too. Hence, why I refuse to stress her out regardless of my arrival,”

He’s always had this aura about him that you’ve admired since knowing him. The way he refuses to let his burdens be known to the people he loves- he doesn’t want to put anyone through the trouble that he feels they shouldn’t go through. He’s so young with so much to learn, but yet, he is the one that you look up to the most, physically and figuratively, “You’re a good man, Kim Namjoon,” you coo, “Since when did you grow up so fast?”

Tilting his head, he leans forward with a taunting smirk, “And since when did you start getting gray hair?”

Gasping, you grasp a bundle of hair between your fingers while your eyes widen at him, “You take that back!” You threaten, “Are you asking for me to dig your grave?” The laughter that builds between you two is much-needed medicine that you’ve been longing for, and as the playful banter simmers, he takes a bite of his food, dapping the napkin onto his lips before speaking,

“How about you, by the way? Is there a man whose ass I need to kick?”

Squinting at him, you carefully chew your food, “Plenty.”

Offering to pay the bill, he objects, you mentioning how his sister may be upset if she were to hear that, but you make it clear that you will treat him to a meal the next time you two are to hang out. The night falls quickly, the city lights distracting visions of the stars, yet Namjoon leads you to the direction of your home, making jokes on how you never seem to break rules- or, at least, ever since you’ve gotten “old.”

When the city continues to disappear behind both of you, his large hand gently grabs yours, “Follow me,”

“Hm, what? Where?”

“Must you always question everything? Now, come on,”

Muttering under your breath, you squeeze his hand in a way to show your trust, him spreading a wired fence while you squeeze through the opening, him turning to tangle the brush along the fence as if nothing has been disturbed. “Now, can you tell me where the hell we are?”

“Behind the library. Beyond that, passing the bus station is your home,”

“How-?” You can’t help the surprise, especially when your voice carries just enough to interrupt a couple lip-locked in the distance. You’re nearly floored when you recognize the coworker being LenLen while the male, she’s clinging to happens to have strands of blonde hair revealing the face of Min Yoongi. “Holy shit,” you whisper, though it’s dark enough for the couple to not be able to see who has disrupted their peace. They jog away from the scene, while Namjoon chuckles, you wondering how long this has been going on without the corporate’s knowledge, “How did you know about this shortcut?” You change the subject, gulping at the lump in your throat.

“Do you really want me to answer that,”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you glare a suspicious look, “Oh?”

“Other than sneaking kisses to impress the ladies, I also taught Seokjin how to smoke cigarettes in high school,”

“Nam. Joon! You rascal!” You gape in surprise, “I’m telling Mom,”

“Aren’t you too old to tattle?”

“Oh, you smart ass-” He dodges your raising hand as you chase him down, “Come here you brute! Wait till I get my hands on you!” His joke brings you back to the exposed couple from earlier, which then gives you a steady reason on why you should keep your mouth shut- if anything, you are too old to dabble in drama- and if LenLen has finally found a lover who potentially will be her forever- then you will leave it as is, despite it being a work violation of dating someone within the workplace. When the jog slows to a steady pace, your home welcoming your sight, Namjoon speaks,

“Not sure if we ever get lunch breaks at the same time, but if so, you may need to remind me of all the restaurants around here,”

“Is that so?”

“Unless you want to avoid your promise on treating me,”

“How did you know?”

Eyes locking, chuckles reverberate into the breeze while he shakes his head at you, “I’m just kidding,” you finally say once you regain your senses, “Of course, I’d love to. Just text me every day when you start your lunch break. If there’s a time I happen to be heading to lunch too, then we will meet up. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he nods, watching you sprint to type in the security code, you whirling around to wave goodbye while he returns the same gesture.

It’s crazy how beautiful you were before he left for America, and how you’ve remained with the same beauty inside and out as if he never truly left. Other than his family, your face never left his mind the moment he stepped off the plane- some may say it’s because your brother sat right beside him on the plane ride home – but, that’s not exactly the only reason.

Entering your room, your mother bombards you repeatedly with the same conversation on why you reek of alcohol, and why Jimin would let you take it too far. Openly admitting, you happened to be with someone else, your mother continues to pester on how you and Jimin need to find a compromise in order for marriage; how his family are known for their efficacious jobs, how they’re made of money, and that you would be a fool not to marry into his family. Making the excuse that you’re tired and ready for bed, she mumbles that you’re always tired, before departing your room.

Work comes with the presence of Taehyung telling everyone to go to lunch with him, all your female coworkers throwing excuses from left to right about how they can’t make it; which he demands you to join, your coworker Shai promising to tag along, so you won’t feel so alone.

Namjoon: 11:49am- Starting lunch, want to join?

Though you wish you could say yes, you avoid the text message. Following your coworkers into an elevator, surprised to discover Namjoon standing in the corner, realizing his job happens to be within the same corporation but deals with different topics. It’s awkward when your coworkers ask what food you’d like, which you say you’re not particularly picky, Namjoon shooting you a text in a tease of how your taste has even aged. You retort with a text saying to ‘Shut your yapper.’

A few days pass when you’re scheduled to visit another bakery within the city where Monnie sends you screenshots of Jimin’s Facebook page exposing that he has found another girlfriend- one he’s apparently been spoiling before his supposed trip to start a new life in Seoul. The pain seers through every inch of your chest, and it’s hard to recollect yourself enough to return to your job- admitting to yourself you probably missed spots that needed to be cleaned, yet the only tornado jumbling your thoughts are the haunting ones involving Jimin’s face- and the feelings of love you once had for him, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

“According to one of the captions, she’s moving with him,” Monica exhales, “Because dating someone for a week means you should follow them all across Korea. Honestly, [Y/N], I bet this is all a show he’s putting on, or maybe he really has been cheating-”

It doesn’t take long until a recent post is made with the location of their current date- sneaking into the parking lot, you hastily find the valet, asking for the number matching the parking spot where Jimin’s flashy car glistens beneath the starry sky. You’re uncertain of this feeling you hold, but with the anger bubbling within your pounding heart, you know you can’t let this go. The way this girl on his page praises his every move, you even noticing how young she appears, and the lingering fact of him taking her to places you’d always begged him to take you. Nor the pictures he’s flaunting of her that he never once did when he was with you, nearly brings you into a stream of unwanted tears. With all you are, you know it’s not fair. And for that, he needs to pay.

The valet hands you the keys while you ploy your happiest smile. Stepping into Jimin’s car, you pull out the gooiest lip gloss you never use, planting it beneath the passenger side along with the tearing of black pantie hose you purchased from a convenience store on your way here; even laying out a semi-tattered bra you’ve been meaning to throw away, but instead relics beneath the back seat of Jimin’s car. Returning the keys to the valet, you thank them before hiding into the brush a distance away from Jimin’s car where you watch the whole scene play out before you. Watching the girl stampede away while confusion is etched in Jimin’s staggered expression, as his mouth remains agape, doesn’t leave you with the satisfaction you hoped to gain. Instead, you find yourself sitting across from your best friend, gulping down an alcoholic beverage, her moving the glass beside her when she sees the way your eyelids flutter.

“Shouldn’t you be rejoicing?” She questions, your chest feeling emptier than it had before you gained your buzz, “You got your revenge for goodness sakes!”

“Oomf,” you plop your head into your palms before rubbing them slowly along your face, “It’s not that. I mean, Jimin got what he deserved, but that’s not the reason I feel like shit,”

“Okay?” Mo shrugs, “Then, what is it? I know I’ve pestered about your needing of higher standards of men, but really, [Y/N], you deserve so much more than a player like that,”

“I just,” you lazily sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I really thought I knew what love was, you know?” You pause, “With Jimin, the way we met, and the way we clicked at first… I guess I just don’t understand where it all went wrong. Or, what made us fall apart… Maybe, we were never in love after all,”

“Let me ask you this,” your best friend leans forward, playing with a loose string from her sleeve, she tilts her head while she investigates your hazy stance, “What is true love?”

The question isn’t one to shock you; it’s one to make you think, really looking into the depths of your memories to a person you may have experienced love with, and as your eyes flicker upon her face, the answer becomes quite clear, especially when you lean back, the realization bringing the truth you never thought you’d find, “I… I-I don’t know,”

“Exactly,” Monnie points a quick index finger in your direction.

“I’ve never been in love,” you murmur, trying to make sense of this, and wishing you would have realized it sooner.

“If you were in love with Jimin, you would have left Busan behind in a heartbeat. And, if Jimin really had been in love with you, he would have settled for a distant relationship until you made your choice. So why couldn’t either of you find a compromise?”

“Because… we didn’t want to,”

“Because neither of you wanted to,” Monnie smiles deviously before sliding your glass back to your hand that curls around it instinctively, “Now, drink up,” she says, refilling your glass to the brim. Light giggling sounds for the next hour until Namjoon walks in with the intent of checking on his sister. It’s a surprise when he sees you occupying the seat across from her, and as he teases lightly at why Monnie let you get so wasted, she then asks him to give you a ride home.

His heart flutters at the thought of once again getting to spend time with you but he refuses to show it in the slightest; hugging onto Monnie tightly, you drunkenly plant numerous kisses upon her cheeks while she ushers you into the passenger side of Namjoon’s car- you uttering slurred words of songs you hope to karaoke to whenever you see your best friend again- her punching Namjoon’s shoulder for making a joke on who’s going to pay him for being your chauffeur which then prompts him to joke on how violent the two of you are.

Silence becomes too overwhelming while Namjoon keeps his focus on the road, yet all you can think about is how the alcohol hasn’t done its job in letting you forget about your breakup with Jimin. When tears stain your cheeks, Namjoon pulls over, leaving the car until your tears dry- not wanting you to feel embarrassed for crying in his company. Though he wishes nothing more than to hold you in his arms, he knows he can’t.

Your whines to why he stopped the car are what brings him back to the driver’s side, you falling asleep the rest of the way home while he lovingly stares at the peace on your slumbering face. The way your mouth hangs open, cuddled into the corner of the window, he can’t help how cute you look, pulling out his phone to snag a quick picture.

Forgetting his ringer happens to still be on, the sound of the camera jolts you awake, you groggily wiping at your mouth while glaring a hole through his head, “Did you just?”

“No,” Namjoon nearly drops his phone from being caught in the act, sliding lower into his seat as if to hide from you. Sitting up slowly, your eyes dazed from still overcoming your nap, you peer at him shadily,

“Yes, I did, I saw it,”

“Then, why did you ask?”

“I- Hand it over,” palm up, you reach over with the operation to delete the picture, chagrin flooding your features humorously of the thought of him using it against you by posting it on social media for all your mutuals to see.

Jumping out of the car, he can’t help but laugh at your tiny frame, yet again, chasing him down while he holds the phone high above his head. There’s no hope- you can’t reach it- but that doesn’t stop you from trying, “Namjoon, you better delete it, or-”

“Or what? If only you could reach it, then I’d let you win,”

“Oh,” you groan, pressing your forehead into his chest from the exhaustion of the exercise you didn’t plan on doing, “You do realize you are disparaging your elder, correct? My bones feel cracked now thanks to you, Legs,”

He can’t help the way he smiles at you, so wide, that he nearly catches himself, hoping that you will not notice the longing he has to tilt your chin up and plant a sweet kiss to your rosy lips. The rest of the walk to your home continues in spirited bickering- him refusing to delete the picture of you until you accept the fate- igniting the promise you will get him back eventually.

It’s hard for you to look away from him once you type in your security code- the strange jitters you have in your heart at the thought of parting from him- the feeling of missing him, though you know you will see him again. He smiles at you with the same dimpled grin he always gives when looking at you- waving goodbye, you trying to decipher these feelings you’ve never felt before.

The persistent thoughts soon leave, especially when greeted at work with the panic of finding out the contract has yet to be approved for the Jeons and the Jungs to open the new bakery together.

“I thought Taehyung said it would be taken care of?” Your eyes are frantic while you search LenLen’s- her hand running through her hair to then pressing her fingertips to her lips.

“He handed me the documents to give to Yoongi to sign for the approval. I don’t- I don’t understand how it wouldn’t have gotten signed- I highlighted the words for an immediate agreement.”

The tension you bury from the knowledge of LenLen and Yoongi’s relationship makes you think he would have gotten the papers considering it was a love interest who delivered them to him. Shaking your head, you briskly walk to his office, him immediately standing to his feet- numerous folders holding documents crowd his desk, “Hello, Mr. Min, I gather you’re doing well?”

His brown eyes seem alarmed, his shoulders tensing in your presence from the way you hold your stance, “Why, yes, yes I am,”

“And I’m assuming you know why I’m here?”

“Word- word gets around,”

“Mhm, I see,” you nod, though you refuse to cower, “So, did you or did you not receive a document regarding the franchise of the Jeons and the Jungs?”

When an ‘oh’ falls on his lips, his eyes enlarge in confusion which you can’t help, but furrow your eyebrows at the sudden shift in his expression, “Mr. Min?”

“I thought- I thought you were referring to the coffee stain in the break room,”

You wish you could feel a hint of laughter upon this misunderstanding, but instead, you clear your throat while you wave away the reply, “No, Mr. Min, I am addressing the documents of approval in order for the Jeons and the Jungs to be able to open up the new bakery on the other side of town. Now, it has come to my attention that LenLen brought you the documents to sign?”

“Not-not to my knowledge,” he stammers, scratching at the back of his neck while sweat beads form along his forehead. In the end, the discussion results in Taehyung’s office, him harshly accusing the ordeal to be your fault, though you callously want to reveal LenLen and Yoongi’s affair being you have a theory as to why he wasn’t aware of the document. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to do it. Ultimately, you hope everything will get taken care of with the promise that it won’t happen again, LenLen texting you an apology for not double checking on whether Yoongi received the papers or not.

When faced with Seokjin, who continues to ask you for updates, just to be let down again- you can’t help the frustration building to the point you want to explode. It’s when the next day comes, and lunch break finally rolls around, that there’s only one person you want to see. Sending a quick text, Namjoon meets you at a local restaurant, one he happens to pick out, the sight of him bringing a breath of fresh air you desperately needed.

Just a dull, thin sweatshirt and jeans, yet he shines more than anyone else bustling on the streets. When the waitress seats both of you- each ordering- Namjoon makes a joke on if you’d want wine, of course, you wanting to object since you are working today, yet he teases the thought of you needing to break a rule already.

“You are just out to get me, aren’t you?” You say between slurps of your noodles.

“The day that I’m not is the day you should be worried,” he counters with a side grin poised upon his thick lips. Sitting back, he moves his sleeves to rest mid-arm while he continues to watch you.

“Worried? I think I’d throw a party,”

“What?” He gapes, “A party without the main attraction?” He jabs a thumb at himself, “We will see how many will even show up,”

“Must you always have the last word?”

You’re grateful he was able to join you for lunch, especially when he listens to your vague rant on the stress your job holds, walking with you to the elevator of your work building before the two of you part ways. When night comes, you clocking out to head to the bus station, you make your way out into the warm breeze, when the figure of a familiar face nearly knocks you off your feet, yet you stand firm, swallowing the lump in your throat until his steps halt before you.

“[Y/N],” Jimin’s eyes hold worry while he stares into your hardened gaze.

“Jimin,” you grit your teeth, biting back the foul words wanting to tumble off your tongue. You’re not surprised when he asks why you haven’t returned his calls, because, with every message he sends, you delete it, refusing to let him get to you. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we- can we go somewhere with fewer people?” He pleads which you directly decline. Initiating an argument, both of you are unaware of the gathering audience, standing behind the glass doors, watching the flustered pair of you whispering frustrations that sail off with the wind. LenLen and Shai happens to be two witnesses, joining them Namjoon, whose heart nearly breaks from the man, he can tell, will not leave your side unless you comply.

The rage is unsettling, especially with the way he sees you trying to break free from the man’s grip- prompting Namjoon to come to your rescue, wrapping his arm around you to free you from Jimin’s relentless remarks.

“What- what are you doing?” You whisper in surprise, swiping your hair from your vision while your widened eyes sweep along Namjoon’s unreadable face.

“I’m your boyfriend, okay? Act natural,”

You can hardly process what he’s trying to do, especially when Jimin becomes an object in the path causing you and Namjoon to pause in place.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jimin gestures a stiff digit toward Namjoon, whose jaw clenches in return, “Who is this?”

“I- uh- I- yes, I-” You stutter, uncertain on if you even heard Namjoon right to begin with. Did he just call himself your boyfriend? And, how come that sounds like such wonderful music to your ears?

“Pretty sure that’s my question to ask,”

Jimin’s taken aback, waving off Namjoon’s statement as if it’s useless, “I’m [Y/N]’s boyfriend, so, therefore, it’s my right to ask, you bastard,”

“Mm, is that so?” The tension is smothering especially when Namjoon takes a small step forward, his arm guarding you while he holds an angered glance- not breaking eye contact with Jimin whose shoulders slump with the slightest fear he doesn’t want to show. “If I were you, I would fuck off,”

“Excuse me? What the hell did you just say?”

“I said to fuck. Off,” Namjoon’s voice is thick with vile, your hand tightening around his wrist while you gulp over the pounding of your heart.

“Who are you telling to-”

“Unless you want to be reported to the cops for harassment, I would advise you to walk away,” it doesn’t take but a millisecond for Namjoon to slip out his phone, immediately calling his sister, unbeknownst to you and Jimin, Monnie’s voice in a panic when Namjoon continues talking over her as if he is speaking to the authorities. Jimin, reluctantly, scampers off- Namjoon repudiating to leave your side when you lower your glance, gradually walking in the direction of your home.

“Hey…” His voice is soft after a few minutes of silence- you’re so lost in your thoughts, it’s hard to distinguish the fog wanting to encompass your mind. When you don’t hear him at first, he merely pauses, placing his fingers underneath your chin in a manner to get you to face him. Meeting his eyes, there’s a concern there that you’ve never seen a man hold for you, and it takes you a second to fully understand it. “Talk to me,” he murmurs- his frame so close to colliding with yours in a warm embrace, you nearly give in.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to look away, but Namjoon tilts his head until your eyes meet again,

“Why are you sorry, [Y/N]? There is not a thing you have done wrong here,”

You sigh in exhaustion, wishing nothing more than to slip underneath your covers where you long for Namjoon to hold you, though you continuously deny it.

“[Y/N],” the way he says your name in such an eloquent whisper brings you to hushed tears, “I don’t think you realize how lucky you are. You could have married the man for the rest of your life, but you didn’t,”

Never thinking of it in that way, relief floods your senses when Namjoon reminds you that indeed, you are lucky, “Maybe, I shouldn’t have such bad taste in men,” you mutter, him chuckling at you before ghosting his fingers from your chin, giving you space enough to back away.

“Monnie and I have been saying the same exact thing for years, it’s about time you join our side,”

You nudge his arm with your knuckles while you glimpse at him with a hearty smirk, “Why do you make everything so much better?”

“Because I’m the best,”

His gloating is typical Namjoon- humorous, yet charming- causing contagious laughter the rest of the walk, leaving your heart with the subtle longing even when his presence leaves to return to his own home- you wishing nothing more than to follow him instead. Because for once, after years and years of knowing him, you ponder: he always finds a way to make your world brighter, even if he is nearly falling apart- it’s you who in return molds the halves of his heart together- signifying that there is something special – something that flickers the hope that maybe you do have feelings for him you have yet to admit.

It’s the meeting your work holds that ends with Shai timidly glimpsing at you here and there; your shoulders tensing especially with the rumored whispers of theories as to what was witnessed from the previous night with Jimin. Scattering bodies heading in different directions to their office leaves a lingering Shai behind in your presence, still feeling her stare while you compile your things to carry,

“Shai, I appreciate the recognition of the makeup I actually put on today, but is there a reason why you’re acting strange?”

Caught off guard, her mouth becomes agape, her cheeks reddening while she keeps her eyes panning the table, “I just have a question, um, so you know the man from last night?”

“Yeah?” You drag out the word slowly, shoulders rigid as you’re uncertain as to which man she could be referring to.

“Not-not your ex, but-but the tall one,”

Nodding, you bite the corner of your lip, urging her to continue whatever point she’s trying to make,

“Are you interested in him?”

The question hasn’t been asked of you, though you’ve realized you have spent a lot of time with Namjoon ever since his return from America. Why you feel so cornered, you can’t quite pinpoint? Because is it wrong to say no when in fact, it’s possible?

“Well, if not, it’s okay for me to, you know, ask him out, right?” She proceeds to ask if he’s single- waiting for your confirmation as if that’s information you would happen to know. She offers to help carry your things to your office once you answer her question with a terse nod- giving her permission to talk to Namjoon, though it’s not really your place.

As if the day couldn’t get any ‘worse’, or in a better term, ‘annoying’, Taehyung invites the staff to another luncheon, this time involving alcoholic beverages, him getting tipsy enough to subtly make a rude joke toward you. Though you’ve grown used to him over the years, you’ve learned how to tolerate him despite the gossip from the women of the workplace who deem you his favorite due to the fact you handle his demises. After the gathering ends, he proceeds to invite everyone to a karaoke bar not far away- all the women making excuses, in which you make mention you have a lot of work to finish.

“It’s not like you have a man waiting on you at home, come on, let’s go,” he counters- Shai standing beside him helpless while she watches your expression harden in offense.

“I’m pretty sure I never refused to go even when I was in a relationship,” you retort, rendering him speechless, leading him to shove his hands in his pockets out of discomfort. Prancing away with your head held high, you stop to purchase a few of your favorite beers before entering the work building. Stunned the moment you recognize the slim legs of Namjoon who you figure has gotten out of work late.

“Namjoon? It’s late, what are you still doing here?” The happiness exuberating from your smile flickers a hope you can’t bring yourself to ignore.

“Boss had me doing a few extra things, but what are you doing back at the office? Isn’t today your half day?”

“Ah,” you shake your head, “I know, but I still have a few notes I must finish. Also, times I need to schedule to evaluate more bakeries… Are you doing anything later?” Wanting to be in his company is the first thing on your mind, yet your face falls in disappointment when he mentions he has plans.

“Yeah, actually I’m going to the club tonight. Seokjin called asking if I’d like to go with him and Hoseok,”

Curse you, Seokjin, you cringe mentally, but you put on your best smile in an effort to hide the pathetic hope you can’t believe you’re feeling.

“Oh, I see, planning to pick up a few ladies?” You say the word as if it’s a song, though you want to regurgitate at even saying out loud. Shrugging his shoulders, a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth,

“I have plenty of those, so no,”

In your mind, you know it’s just a light-hearted joke, so why does it hurt to think of him with another woman? Fresh out of a relationship, and yet, you’re upset about a childhood friend wanting to mingle with women with the possibility of finding the one, he will marry. When his phone begins to ring, he gives you an apologetic glance which you return with a nod of understanding, Parting ways, he stares after you while you power walk to the elevator, him unaware of your eyes turning to stare at his back while he heads out of the building.

When in the realm of safety, called your office, you switch on music from your favorite KPOP band letting the music flow through the room. A buzz forms after you gulp the first beer, swaying your body with the music. Namjoon, can’t bring himself to leave, and last minute, he texts your brother and Hoseok, canceling for the evening, not revealing the reason out loud that his heart wants to be planted right next to yours.

The elevator seems to be against him, especially with how slow it rises to your floor, him exiting the moment the doors open. Rounding a corner, his eyes scan the glass windows until he sees your silhouette- twirling around the room, flipping your hair from side to side, completely lost in your own little world- oblivious to the now smiling Namjoon whose heart dances with joy overcoming his countenance at seeing you frolic among the room.  

There’s the woman he’s fallen so deeply in love with, and there’s the woman, he one-day hopes, he will hold in his arms for the rest of his life. Besides, one would find it blatantly obvious, as an outsider looking in, especially with the shiny smile plastered upon Namjoon’s face that he is irrevocably entranced by the soul, being you, dancing from side to side unaware to his presence outside your office walls. There is no one like you- there has never been anyone like you in his eyes- someone who he’s secretly admired from afar for all these years but remains to bury his feelings for the fear of what you would say. What your family would say. What his sister would say.

While you continue sashaying to the rhythm of the song echoing in your office, Namjoon disappears out of sight from the glass windows to dial your number. When the screen lights up with his name, you have the inkling to answer, but deciding to ignore it, you whirl around to sway your hips to the beat wondering why he would be calling with the supposed plans he has with your brother. It doesn’t take but a second before you hear a voice overpower the pounding music,

“Why aren’t you taking my call?”

Your heart, as if on cue, thrums whilst a look of shock overwhelms your expression, prompting you to hide at first in embarrassment before rising gradually to face Namjoon who is stifling a laugh while waving slowly to greet you.

“Kim Namjoon! What the hell are you doing here?” You simulate as though you’re annoyed, but the joy of his arrival isn’t something you necessarily want to admit, for you too, have the uncertainty on how to explain the way he’s stirring such feelings you’ve never considered before. With his sly smile, he repeats the question that interrupted your distraction from “work”, but you won’t let him win this argument that easily, “Excuse me, sir, I was working until you decided to intrude on my vibe,”

“Vibe? Is that what the cool kids are saying these days?”

The offensive gape you glare amuses him that you can’t help but boop his smirk with your fingertips- chasing him down with the threat of catching him, yet he zigs zags through your office effortlessly without even an ounce of exhaustion. When the unexpected arrival of a drunken Shai echoes within the hallways, the panic that overwhelms you is enough to shove Namjoon to hide behind one of the bookcases aligning the wall far enough to where Shai may not notice. Namjoon, who is unaware of Shai’s attraction to him, you suppress the thought while you usher her to take a seat, swiping her hair out of her face while tears stream down her cheeks,

“Shai? What’s going on?” When you remember Taehyung, along with Min Yoongi, and other coworkers had an alcoholic planned evening, your heart pangs with guilt for leaving Shai alone. She silences the moment she recognizes the knowledge behind your almond eyes, “It’s Taehyung, isn’t it?”

She nods quickly, keeping her head lowered, fiddling her fingers while her hazy eyes sweep along her tense lap, “He wouldn’t stop talking about my sister and how she broke his heart,”

“Damnit,” you whisper, knowing very well Namjoon is uninformed of the mean words Taehyung flaunts toward you every now and then due to his personal pent up anger. Though you decided not to attend the event tonight, you highly regret having Shai fend for herself. “Shai, I’m so sorry,”

“It’s not like anyone will stand up to him. He literally insults you about your break up with Jimin all the time, yet you let him,” you know she’s intoxicated, especially with the way her words slur, but despite her state of mind, you know what she’s saying is right. Namjoon’s chest fumes with anger at what he’s hearing- wishing nothing more than to approach your boss with the sheer intention of slamming his knuckles into his face; but, for the sake of your job, he knows you may be angry with him if he were to jeopardize that. “And,” Shai presses her fingers to her forehead, “LenLen apparently couldn’t come pick me up because she had some business to attend to. I asked Yoongi about it, but he was no use,”

“Yoongi?” From the way Shai talks, it seems as if she is aware about the relationship you accidentally stumbled upon. When she slowly meets your gaze, her eyes scream that she may have said too much, but you politely urge her to continue, “Yoongi would know about LenLen’s whereabouts?”

“Shit,” Shai sighs, “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,”

“Anyone what?”

It’s a strange way that she changes the subject, bringing up Jimin which you are not happy about, leading you to stand to your feet while frantically ushering her out of your office, “I know you were in love with him,” she whines, “So why do you let Taehyung make fun of you for it when my sister dumped him-”

“Let’s be clear,” your hands squeeze her shoulders, “I was not in love with Jimin,”

The tension that had consumed Namjoon’s shoulders from the mention of your ex-boyfriend’s name eases into relief at your words. The hope he has to one day tell you how he feels finally comes into view, which he dismisses for now. Once you finally force her into a taxi, her mumbling her adoration for you-you jog with as much speed that you can gather, return to your office to unlock Namjoon from the trap you didn’t mean to set. He watches you from the window at how adorable you look running across the parking lot- all with the excitement of returning to his rescue- he can’t help himself but throw subtle teases at you for ‘taking so long’ which you reiterate with comments saying ‘well if I would have known you were going to be that way, I would have strolled with the speed of a snail.’

He walks you home as he normally does, refusing to let you be alone at night. He can’t help but bring up the conversation he overheard about the knowledge of your coworkers.

“LenLen doesn’t know that I know,” you confess, running a cold hand through your hair. You cuddle further into your trench coat, wishing the breeze would bring warmth to your aching frame. “In the end, I don’t care if they’re dating, it’s just if the company were to find out, it may not end well for either of them,”

“Yet,” Namjoon tilts his head while his eyebrows furrow, “Taehyung can harass women on multiple occasions and get away with it?”

A sigh of shame escapes past your pouting lips, shaking your head at the truth you wish wasn’t real, but it very much is, and without realizing, you inch closer to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours, bringing a coziness you’ve needed. “He hasn’t touched anyone inappropriately whatsoever; he just has a mouth he can’t control when he’s angry,”

“Still doesn’t make it right,”

“I know,” you wince knowing that not any excuse will make this situation any better.

“I can call and file a complaint. I’m pretty sure it’s anonymous,”

“No!” You gasp, lowering your voice once you realize the volume you held for that split second, “I can- I can handle this on my own,”

“If that’s the case, then how long has this been going on?”

Pausing, you don’t really want to answer because you know how protective Namjoon can be- you’ve seen it with his sister, and with how he became at the presence of Jimin- you will not be surprised if his protective instincts arise if you were to admit it. Instead, you mildly change the subject, “I just- I tolerate it okay? And this whole ordeal at work has been strange anyway. With Yoongi and LenLen dating and not completing documents that Yoongi needed to sign- to the moth infestation at JiWoo’s Café. It just- it reminds me of the time a few years ago when Jeon’s Bakery went through similar instances… Taehyung almost lost his mind to the point he nearly fired the whole staff,”

“I remember Monnie telling me about it. She said she’s never seen you so stressed out in her life,”

“Yeah,” your laugh is breathy, but in an exasperated sense while you shake your head at the memory you have tried to forget about, “the Jeons’ nearly lost their business, but I refused to let it happen.”

“Did you ever consider foul play?”

The thought hadn’t necessarily occurred to you, it’s been years since everything happened, but the survival of Jeon’s Bakery thankfully lives on. When the conversation dies, leaving minds fogged with deep thoughts is the moment you realize you’re nearing your home- Namjoon respecting the fact of not pressing the subjects any further. Freshening up for the evening, the gentle recall of his face smears your mind while you press a plush towel to dry your face; you reach for your phone almost instantly to wish him a good night. If only you could see how giddy he becomes at receiving your message, cuddling into his covers with nothing but the anticipation of getting to see you the next day.

And, if only, he could tell you that.

The following morning, he arises in preparation for work, leaving his apartment to find his sister doing the same, “What are you doing up so early, you ham?”

With a swift roll of the eyes, he waltzes to her side, joining her with the offer of dropping her off at her job, “What do you think? I’m not dressed to impress for the hell of it,”

Eyeballing him, she punches his arm while he fakes pain, Monnie knowing good and well, her punch didn’t have as much impact as it could, “Watch your tone with me, Peasant.” Stepping into his car, she buckles into the passenger side, making herself comfortable before speaking up once more, “Besides, I’m surprised you’re even capable of awakening at such an ungodly hour. Didn’t you just party the night before?”

“Is that what you think I’ve been up to? Since when has your brother been deemed a slacker?”

“Oh, are you really gonna go there?”

The bickering transitions to the mention of Namjoon hardly ever being at home, which Monnie ponders the question on why he can’t just live with her, being the two can save on rent, “Can’t you just respect my privacy?”

Suspicion crosses his sister’s sneer while she raises an eyebrow, “Privacy. Since when does one avoid his sister like the plague without a reason to claim why they need privacy?” You appear on his mind because when is there a time that you’re not on Namjoon’s mind? A tender smile tugs at the corner of his lips which Monnie observes almost immediately, “There’s a girl isn’t there?”

“Which one?”

Grasping Namjoon’s earlobe, Monnie pulls at it, causing Namjoon to panic, “I’m driving! I am driving!”

“And?” She ultimately lets go, turning to face the windshield while droplets of rain become evident on the glass, “Speaking of a girl, do you know how freaked out I was when you called me pretending to be [Y/N]’s boyfriend? I seriously thought Jimin was going to kick your ass,”

“Hmph,” Namjoon switches his hold on the steering wheel, unintentionally pressing down on the gas pedal, “I’m pretty sure that was the least of my worries,”

“Jimin has a history of self-defense classes, I wouldn’t completely dismiss it,”

‘Yeah, but he doesn’t know what I’d do if it means protecting her,’

“And while we’re on the topic,” Monnie waves a quick index finger, “if you ever bring home a snotty thot, I will suffocate you both with my bare hands,”

Namjoon shakes his head at his relentless sister though he knows she has not an idea of his undying crush on her best friend, “But… What if she’s attractive?”

“Can’t be more attractive than I,” Monnie gloats, tracing a finger to place a strand of hair behind her ear.

“What did you say? I think my ears have gone deaf,”

Monnie captures his earlobe tightly within her grip once again, Namjoon pleading sorry until she lets go, “Mhm, about to mute that mouth of yours while I’m at it,”

Another meeting takes place the second your clicking heels sound within the workplace, you retrieve your notes before taking a seat before Taehyung whose lips close in a firm line. The rest of your coworkers file in, hardly making eye contact, and with this meeting not being on the schedule, you’re anxious to know what caused such a last-minute gathering. When pictures of Jiwoo’s Café appear on the monitor above, your mouth drops while your eyes scan each picture. Water has flooded every inch of the place, ruining some of the storage from what you can tell, and though your eyebrows crease with the thought that maybe pipes have busted- you notice in the corner of the photo that the sink had been left running all night. Worry consumes you, especially with the thought of your brother and Hoseok, whom you know were out clubbing last night without a care in the world.

“It would be one thing if this situation was not preventable,” Taehyung folds his hands before him in an ill manner, “But, clearly, it was. And the food cost on top of the cost to get everything cleaned? We’re talking thousands.”

LenLen doesn’t appear as nervous as she had before which you take a mental note of. With her in charge of the store, shouldn’t she at least show some concern? Taehyung continues with his angered rant, threatening to fire someone as he always likes to do, which you choose to ignore, happy to leave once the meeting is over when LenLen and Shai invite you to join them for lunch.  The conversation about the frustration with Taehyung is vague, but you assure the two that you will get to the bottom of this when you can, though you can’t help but wonder why your brother never contacted you about the scenario. Stepping into the restaurant, you’re taken by surprise when you notice Namjoon, who is sitting across none other than Jung Hoseok, who is leaned forward, pressing Namjoon to set him up with Shai which you are unbeknownst of. When greeting the gentlemen, you decide to not ask Hoseok about the mini flooding being you’re off the clock as well as he. Namjoon and Hoseok stand to their feet, telling all three of you to take a seat. An uneasy feeling settles at the bottom of your stomach, leaving a sour taste in your mouth once you notice Shai timidly flicking glimpses in Namjoon’s direction. And, not making it to your knowledge, Hoseok kicks at Namjoon’s foot under the table with the hopes of him conniving on gaining Shai’s attention.

“So,” Namjoon prepares his noodles with the goal of consuming them, but with Hoseok playing footsies, he decides to break the tension, “Where are you from?”

Shai pauses mid-chew, scouring for a napkin to dab her face, “Are you talking to me?”

She wasn’t the only one who stopped mid-chew at Namjoon’s sudden question- your eyes peering at the overly excited girl with the denial that you’re not sure how you feel about her. LenLen remains quiet- solely concentrating on her bowl of noodles in front of her.

“I’m from the city originally, but now, I reside in Busan of course. Alone,” Cringing at what Shai is trying to hint, you barely notice Hoseok immediately jumping at her answer, though she returns the question to Namjoon, “What about you?”

“Sangdo-dong, but moved to Busan with my family at a young age,” Namjoon’s mouth is full of food at this point, but Hoseok isn’t about to give up,

“I live across town in Busan,” his dimples show with his determined grin, “Alone,”

Choking on some broth you slurped, you bury your mouth into the crook of your arm while Namjoon pats your back in a way to calm you, “You alright, [Y/N]?” Taking a moment to recuperate, you nod toward a concerned Namjoon, clearing your throat in an attempt to suppress the tickle.

It’s later that evening when you approach your brother, anxiety apparent upon his face and frame as he paces back and forth within the living room, “So, do you want to explain what happened at work last night?”

Seokjin huffs, leaning his head back while slamming his eyes shut, “[Y/N], I swear to you, Hoseok and I always do a sweep of the store before leaving. I swear to God the sink was off,”

Crossing your arms, you carefully lean against the wall, not letting Seokjin get off so easily if he’s fibbing, “Were there a lot of dishes or something?”

With wide eyes, Seokjin whips his head to stare at you incredulously, “No, we’re not a restaurant, we’re a café, meaning we serve finger foods and desserts, why the hell would we have a lot of dishes?”

“I don’t know! For all I know, the café was busy yesterday! And we’ve already discussed protocol on storing items properly, so what gives, Jin!?”

“Look, I’m just as mind blown as you are. Also, the flour was stored correctly- Hoseok just didn’t have the balls to admit that he doesn’t know how they got moved,” Seokjin’s confession does pang surprise, your hands folding across your chest while trying to make sense of it, “I actually googled if there was a horror story that happened at JiWoo’s Café because how else can I explain to corporate about the sink randomly turning on in the middle of the night?”

Your fingers press against your lips that are pursed in concentration, “Because it didn’t,” you murmur.

The ring of the doorbell jolts you and Seokjin out of your conversation, him sharing a look with you before prodding to the guest bedroom. Overall, you know corporate is going to take care of the water issue regardless, so ultimately there isn’t much to worry about, but the gnawing feeling that something just doesn’t sit right with you seems to bring your suspicions back to light.

Upon opening the door, your eyes widen in sheer incredulity at a nervous Jimin, dressed in a snug tuxedo, who’s lips are quivering with what to say.

“What the hell are you doing here!?” Teeth clenched from the anger boiling within your system, Jimin’s eyes widen with panic as he raises a hand as if to stop you.

“Please [Y/N], hear me out,”

“Hear what out? Clearly, you do not understand the process of a breakup, do you?”

“Listen, just give me a chance to take you to dinner. Let me explain myself-”

“Good night,” his hand stops the door from shutting and with the strength you know he holds, you no longer feel the need to fight; and from the desperate way his eyes flicker between yours, the seriousness behind them unwillingly convinces you to join him, “I just want to make things right, again, just-just please,” Maybe for once he will indeed explain himself; maybe even apologize for making you feel so low all because of a long distance relationship he refused to try; or, maybe he will admit to cheating on you, although you’re highly confident he had been with how fast he seemed to move on. Lost in thoughts, the sight of a familiar restaurant peeks into view, your mouth falling open while your eyes widen disbelievingly.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you mouth, turning to face Jimin who’s eyes sweep outside the car and back,

“What? Do you not like it here?”

It’s not just a restaurant you know all too well; it’s the restaurant- the one specifically raising the memory of a tattered bra, red lipstick and black stocking used to the advantage of Jimin’s second breakup, “Have you been here before?”  It’s a trick question, one Jimin does not seem to pick up on, but he’s smart enough to not answer you with his most recent event regarding this restaurant.

“Yeah, with coworkers forever ago. The food here is pretty decent, but, I-I, we can go somewhere else if you’d li-”

“It’s whatever,” Fumbling with unbuckling your seatbelt, the anger is burning hot upon your chest- you could scream, you could cry, you could pull your own hair out with how inconsiderate a man can be. Bringing an ex-girlfriend to the same restaurant he recently brought another woman- how is that okay? Evidence continues to pile, especially when the waiter greets with a ‘Welcome back’, one Jimin awkwardly dismisses.

“Forever ago, huh?” Gulping, Jimin steps ahead of you while you follow him to the numerous tables- you precisely pick out the table Jimin had sat with the last woman a week ago, you ask the waiter if that’s okay which he nods. Settling down, you fold your arms across your chest once you hang your purse on the back of your chair- Jimin scrambling to unfold the menu which covers half of his face.

“Everything sounds good tonight. I wonder what we should order,” Jimin purposely keeps his attention on the menu to avoid the daggers you’re glaring into his skull. Tilting your head, you set your jaw, tightening your already folded arms in irritation,

“Cut to the chase, Jimin. Why did you come to my house? Aren’t you leaving for Seoul soon?”

His fingers grip tighter onto the menu, his eyes peek nervously at you before wetting his lips, “Uh, can we, uh, order first?”

“Okay then,” you lean forward, clasping your fingers together, eyes refusing to leave his tense frame, “Let’s have what you’ve ordered recently,”

“I-I haven’t been here recently,” Jimin still scanning the menu- the screech of your chair surprises him to the point the menu falls from his hands, you hovering above him with a taunting sneer, “I’m going to use the restroom,” Any excuse that leads you to dial your best friend’s phone number is the ultimate excuse. The moment you hear Monnie’s voice over the line, it soothes you enough while you force a long sigh,

“Are you kidding me right now? Jimin showed up again?” The muffled sound of a car is heard over the line which you assume to be a taxi, except it’s not a taxi, it’s Namjoon, who’s ears tune in when he overhears Jimin’s name.

“You won’t even believe where we are right now,”

“What I don’t understand is why you’re even wasting your time with him. Have you ordered wine yet?”

“…No?”

“Water will have to do. Pour it over his head and leave!” Namjoon’s smirk is hidden in the evening, Monica’s attention remaining ahead of her where the streetlights glisten beneath the moon, it’s what she says next, that nearly shatters Namjoon’s heart to smithereens, “Wait a minute, what did you just say? You’ll see how it goes? [Y/N], whatever he has to say is bull shit. Do you plan on seeing him again?” Eventually hanging up the phone, Namjoon’s knuckles are white from the grip upon the steering wheel, Monnie rambling about the news she has just received, “Jimin showed up again, I swear he needs to let her go,”

“Does she not see what he’s trying to do? Why does she keep giving in to him?” Jutting his jaw, his eyebrows furrow, his concentration on the road becoming hard with the irritation he withholds.

“Well, it’s not like she can help it. The asshole keeps showing up without her permission,”

“She just needs to learn to stand up for herself. She just lets men walk all over her like it’s nothing,”

“Calm down, Joon, I’m sure she’s not going to give him another chance,”

“Yeah, sure,”

Confused, she turns to face her brother, wondering why he’s getting so worked up over her best friend- though she wants to ask out loud, she decides against it, more worried about their safety with him driving more than anything.

Pained silence still has a hold at the dinner table, the waiter placing you and Jimin’s meals before each of you, yet your stiff digits can’t even fold suitably around the fork. Instead, you observe Jimin, who clears his throat before taking a sip of his wine- him mirroring the same rigidity. Shaking your head slowly, his shoulders slump, because he knows it’s now or never- and he knows the only reason you’re here is because of the promise of him explaining himself. When a few more minutes pass, the quiet is filled with a clinging fork against his plate before dropping it onto the napkin.

“I turned down the promotion. I’m not leaving Busan,”

“What!?” Gasping, that is the last thing you want to hear, in fact, you stand to your feet, shuffling for Jimin’s phone, “What do you mean you turned them down!? Call them back! Tell them you’re just kidding!”

“[Y/N], I can’t do that right now, they’re closed! Don’t you want to work things out? I thought this would be the best! For me, and for you!”

“Work things out?” Still handing his phone towards him, he stares up at you in apparent shock which shows he did not expect your reaction to be like this, “How come me not leaving Busan was such a sin when we were together? And working things out? You want to work things out in the same place you brought another woman?” Realization dawns his entire expression, his eyes glued to the table while his thick lips poise in surprise before his eyes trail to lock with yours- he’s speechless because he knows he’s been caught, and you’re not done with what you’ve kept buried within your heart, “Oh, what, you gonna press charges against me? Cause if so, I can do more to add to them,” your fingers curl around the shaft of the wine bottle, Jimin throwing his hands up in defense,

“[Y/N]!”

Fingers slipping to return to your side, you attempt to calm yourself for a moment, realizing maybe assault is not such a good idea, “Originally,” you sigh, “I wanted us to be civil. But you’re so deceitful. And,” you throw your purse over your shoulder, “I would take my advice and call your job back. Seoul has plenty of women for you to fish for,”

Stomping out of the restaurant, you’re taken aback when a strong hand whips you around- Jimin’s frantic, yet you stare at him- air escaping your agape mouth into the icy weather.

“It’s not entirely my fault!” His voice raises,

“Excuse me!?”

“Who was that guy you were with the other day?”

“Wow,” you look away, wishing with all your heart Namjoon was by your side, but that’s not something you will reveal, especially not in front of Jimin.

“See!? I’m not the only one who cheated! You were seeing someone else too! Can’t we just say we both are at fault and move past it? Why are you making me the bad guy!?”

“You know what?” You murmur- gathering your bearings, swallowing the lump in your throat while you cuddle more into your coat. He just admitted he cheated on you- something he’s lied about countless times before, and at this point, you’ve been given enough proof. You can’t do this anymore, and the truth is you don’t want to- he’s done enough, and you’ve had enough, “Jimin, it isn’t your fault. It’s mine,”

When his expression softens, he inches forward, but stops abruptly the moment you finish your statement,

“I’m the one to blame for dating you in the first place.”

Crying isn’t something you typically do, not in this case, and the march home seemed much longer than usual. Tossing and turning all night, you force yourself to get ready for work, going through the same routine of taking the bus, heels clicking into the work building to see Hoseok, coffee in hand, conversating with Namjoon along with a smiling Shai while they’re waiting for the elevator to be available. Hoseok must have picked up a temporary job for the time being until his parents’ café is back in business; and, little do you know, Namjoon’s heart still weighs heavy at the knowledge of you being with Jimin last night. He can’t stop himself, continuing to ask Shai questions upon where she resides, her mentioning a pizza place to which they should visit sometime.

Jealousy rears its ugly head when you grimace at Shai asking for Namjoon’s number, Hoseok immediately grabbing her phone to put his first before handing it to Namjoon. Your eyes remain focused on your cellular device the entire time to the point you almost miss Namjoon’s invite to come with them. He’s visibly hurt when you retort that you didn’t hear him, sauntering off the elevator with Shai trailing behind you. Taehyung isn’t in a good mood which you’ve expected, and he sends everyone on a wild goose chase about another bakery that apparently hasn’t been open for a few days, except he asks for LenLen and Yoongi to stay behind- something that catches you off guard. Shoving the questions subconsciously, you and Shai squeeze into one of the vans when the ring of her phone causes your ears to perk up.

Why are you so angry when you hear Namjoon’s name slip off Shai’s lips? And why do you feel so territorial when it comes to him? Shai cancels plans with him from what you’re gathering, apologizing to him repeatedly. If only you were aware of Hoseok’s ear is pressed to the back of Namjoon’s phone- fussing at him to tell Shai that the two have time this evening to accompany her- Namjoon shrugging off Hoseok’s desperation, wishing he could just be with you instead.

“What happened to the approval that was supposed to be signed?” Taehyung’s eyes steadily observe the employees before him- shoulders tensing while LenLen carefully chews her spoonful of rice. Yoongi raises his head slowly, turning to her with nervous eyes.

“They didn’t make it to Yoongi’s desk,” LenLen’s curt smile could fool anyone, yet she remains unphased, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kim.”

“Is there a reason why they didn’t make it to his desk?”

Yoongi’s heart thuds, wondering if Taehyung is suspicious upon his relationship with LenLen. Never in his life has he been so enchanted by a woman as much as he has her- and, he remembers, despite the confusion, of her saying not to worry about the papers- setting them aside before she distracted him with devious kisses. How he forgot about the documents is something he will take with him to his grave, yet he could have sworn they remained on his desk even after she left his office.

“I must have misplaced them,” LenLen’s voice lowers, digging another spoonful of her meal to distract herself from the way Taehyung’s eyes sweep her fidgety fingers.  

Exhaustion seeps through every bit of your limbs- offering to take the van back to work while your coworkers bid you a good night. The moment you park, you’ve fought to keep your eyelids open the entirety of the drive, slumping into your seat before slumber takes over. Namjoon has worked yet another late shift, ambling to his car to notice someone sleeping in one of the company vans. Recognizing it to be you, he watches while you’re leaned against the car door peacefully, mouth slightly ajar, and he longs for a day where he can wake up next to you- your pinned hair frilly from the touch of the pillow, while the bed covers bundle underneath your chin. Just the thought of your almond eyes fluttering to find him- corners crinkling from the smile that will fill your lips.

Waking up, you return loose strands of hair behind your ear before embarrassment knocks on your door at the discovery of Namjoon who is now giggling at your widening eyes. “Oh, no,” you moan, pressing your head onto the steering wheel, the honk of the horn causing Namjoon to lean back. Of course, his presence includes an evening out to dinner, the two of you ordering your meals- holiday lights dazzling outside the tiny restaurant.

Running his chopsticks along his food, Namjoon swallows in frustration at the memory of last night, Monnie later informing him that Jimin isn’t planning on leaving Busan. Wanting to ask you about it, he does- his tone sounding a tad bit harsh compared to what he was intending, “So, I hear that asshole isn’t leaving Busan after all,”

“That asshole?”

“Ah,” Namjoon lays his chopsticks onto the napkin next to his plate, leaning back in his chair, “Am I supposed to be respectful considering the way he treats you? Or the fact that he’s your boyfriend again,”

“What?” You murmur, though it’s hardly audible- your folded arms slipping from the table while you investigate Namjoon’s stern gape. “Is that what Monnie said? That I’m dating him again?”

“Well… No,”

“Okay, then what is the problem? I don’t understand why you just jumped to a conclusion like that,”

“Because maybe you have a hard time telling him to back off,”

“And is that any of your business?” Silence takes hold upon the tension while Namjoon lowers his head, biting the corner of his lip in culpability.

“I just heard about it all last night, okay?”

“Then that’s something you should have approached me about first before accusing that asshole of being my boyfriend,”

Namjoon finds joy in hearing you curse Jimin’s name, but he knows now that he did approach the subject inappropriately, “Hey,” his voice softens, your lips falling in a saddened frown before meeting his eyes, “I’m really sorry for upsetting you,”

Huffing quickly, you nod your forgiveness, Namjoon awkwardly taking a swig of his beer. The sound of water droplets on the rooftop of the joint prompts Namjoon to turn his head to face the window- eyes flickering around the atmosphere while you take in how handsome he is. Gentle brown eyes shiny against his tanned skin, his full lips parted with the amazement of nature outside, while the line of his jaw sends a desire that causes you to look away.

“It’s raining,” he murmurs, “You have an umbrella, right?”

Peering up at him, you shake your head leisurely, cringing when you remember that you left it at home, “It’s okay, I’ll just walk home in the rain. I’m used to it,”

“But why would you do that?”

The comment rolls off your tongue before you can stop yourself, “You upset me so much that maybe I need it to cool me off,” you take a shot of your beer, keeping your eyes peeled in a direction away from Namjoon’s jaw falling open.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“No,” you shrug, pouring some more beer into your glass, a smile of annoyance planted on your face, “I should be apologizing for you missing your date with Shai,”

“I invited you to join. You’ll come, correct?”

“And what makes you think I should? I don’t necessarily feel like being a third wheel,”

A subtle smirk pulls at the corner of Namjoon’s lips because seeing how you’re reacting to the idea of him being with Shai ignites a hope that maybe you do have feelings for him. Something he’s been dying to gain since returning home from America, “Why would you feel like a third wheel? Maybe I wanted you to be my date,”

“Oh, don’t start with your sarcasm. I’ve seen Shai, and you’re not the only guy who goes smitten over her. I get it, she’s pretty, but is appearance all that matters to the male population!? Goodness, men are-”

“You’re prettier,” Mid-sip of your alcohol, you nearly choke, especially when the words leave Namjoon’s mouth, making your heart flutter in a way you haven’t felt in such a long time. He timidly avoids further conversation while you pat at your loose strands, him paying for the meal before the two of you step outside. A storm brewed during the dinner to the point the rain is panging heavier than when it started.

“Shit,” you whisper, dreading the idea of walking in the rain though you made mention of being used to it. Namjoon doesn’t even hesitate, telling you to remain under the awning of the restaurant while he sprints to the nearest convenient shop. You gape after him, tilting your head wondering what he has up his sleeve. The ding of the door alerts the employees of yet another presence, Namjoon’s hands scrambling along the umbrella rack- originally picking out two just to return one to the rack, a tight-lipped grin planted upon his face. Once the purchase has been made, he returns to your side- your eyes showing the confusion that he’s holding only one open umbrella, “Why just one?” You laugh, Namjoon gesturing for you to step closer while he holds the umbrella higher, “Aren’t we going to get soaked?”

Both turning in the direction of your home, it’s unexpected the way Namjoon’s expression glows, “I think I have a way to fix that problem,” his arm drapes around your waist; he pulls you much closer to his side showing a perfect way to prevent rain from drenching the pair of you. You’re astonished, but in the most glorious way, you can even imagine, his warmth smothering your chest with giddiness- rain pouring on all sides, yet the smiles upon both of your faces light the world much brighter than even the orange streetlights decorating the paths.

“Want to call a cab?” He peers down at your tiny frame- something he made a joke about earlier where you fended for yourself claiming you’re of average height. His question stirs a mild panic, because for once, the walk in the rain isn’t so bad, especially with the way Namjoon’s arm remains planted around you, your head cuddling into the side of his chest after both of your steps cease.

“No,” you tenderly reply, “I think I want to keep walking… With you,”

There’s a magic in the air that outsiders could feel even a mile away from the couple embraced underneath the crying night. Even when you make it to your doorstep, Namjoon insists on watching until you’re safely inside- him gifting you the black umbrella that you reluctantly accept, thanking him for the evening. His trip home ponders him to settle onto his bed, gazing at the picture he never deleted from when he first watched you fall asleep.

A misunderstanding does fall into place the next evening- one where Shai receives a text from Namjoon in regards of the pizza plans that happened to be missed the day before. You, being informed of it by Shai, pauses, wondering how such a great night with Namjoon could shatter your heart in just 24 hours of time. Unaware, Namjoon has made plans with your brother, bailing out last minute with Shai who is walking alongside Hoseok- expression falling in disappointment at the knowledge that Namjoon will not be attending the pizza date as she hoped.

“He’s going clubbing,” Hoseok nods swiftly, her giggling that she enjoys clubbing as well in an attempt to win Namjoon’s interest. Namjoon politely declines, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat while he watches Hoseok, who came up with the plan this morning, joyfully dancing by Shai’s side while they disappear farther into the glistening city.

Heartbroken and confused, yet again, you make plans with LenLen who sees you’re not okay- the two of you enjoying your meals despite the hushed banter, “I can tell you still think about Jimin,”

“If I told you that I don’t, you wouldn’t believe me,”

“Maybe you should date around? Live a little,”

The conversation turns into LenLen giving dating advice- saying not to take men seriously- how they most likely flirt with every female in order to keep their options open- you biting your tongue about her secret she still has not an idea that you know about it. Doubting everything that has been happening with Namjoon, now the uncertainty of him having feelings for you plague your thoughts. Were you stupid to fall for another man’s tactics? But you’ve known Namjoon most of your life, and he’s never been one to cause toxicity amongst others, and you’ve always admired his maturity in situations. So, why can’t you come to terms that maybe he’s not like any other guy? But, then again… What if he is?

Namjoon bends onto the pool table while he squints his eyes at the ball, he’s planning on hitting. Seokjin waves the video games Namjoon surprised him with from America, thanking him once again while he awaits his turn.

“You know, I was going to invite you over to visit my parents with me, but apparently, Mom invited [Y/N]’s boyfriend over for dinner. And, of course, I’m aware of Hoseok ditching me for some girl my sister works with,”

Namjoon’s heart falls to his feet while he leans against the pool table, Seokjin’s focus remaining on his pool stick as he jabs it- the clacking of the balls sounding through the ringing in Namjoon’s ears. Jimin. Again?

“Boyfriend?” Namjoon tries to keep his emotions at bay to prevent any suspicion from your brother, straightening his back while his hands grip the wooden stick in frustration.

“Oh, I figured Monica may have mentioned him, but he’s some guy my mom won’t shut up about. He comes from a rich background. I could care less about the bastard, but I would never tell [Y/N] that. You know how she is about reminding us she’s our elder,”

“Yeah…” Namjoon takes his turn, head spinning from the news he’s receiving, “He comes over a lot?”

“Unfortunately,” Seokjin murmurs, “Just glad I’ve moved out with Hoseok so I don’t have to deal with any of it,”

“We can still go by there,” Namjoon says it without thinking, Seokjin nodding in agreement while they finish up their game. Why he feels the urge that you may need him he doesn’t know. Maybe if he sees Jimin in person again, he can feel some type of closure in letting you go. If Jimin is who you want, then maybe you should be with him in the long run.

Waltzing through your door after spending the evening with LenLen, your auditory senses are greeted by the familiar clinking of silverware mingled with the voices of your parents. At first, you assume that they’re talking to each other until a third voice makes an entrance, your body rigid from the rage rising within your chest. You’re relentless as you stomp to the living room- Jimin’s blonde hair glistens beneath the chandelier, while he sits at the table before your parents. He nods at you when your eyes lock, him timidly looking away when he sees the pure anger resonating from your stance. Your mother joyfully sprints to you, shoving you towards your room to change into something ‘better’ as she proclaims- spinning around dramatically to tell Jimin to continue with his meal.

When ten minutes pass, you haven’t budged from where you’re frozen before your mirror, the black umbrella Namjoon had given you just the night before leans against your desk. Your mother doesn’t even bother to knock, carefully shutting the door behind her while you immediately tilt your head up, “Why the hell is Jimin here!?” You raise your voice, her shushing you abruptly as her hands' fan in front of your face.

“First of all, I asked you to get ready! And I don’t understand why you’re being so damn selfish! Jimin is perfect for you in every way, and you should be very grateful to have found a man like him,” at some point, during your mother’s pointless banter, it all goes in one ear and out the other, and the relief of her leaving your room sends a frustrated exhale from your lips. You did all that you could when you were dating Jimin; you’ve even dressed up to the point of winning his affection in the bedroom which failed miserably as you recall the night of the breakup. And, you know what? Why not flaunt yourself like you did that night? You’ll show him. You’ll show all of them who is really missing out on who.

The smear of blood red lipstick decorates your lips while dangling pearl earrings match the lacey dress that now hugs your figure. Cleavage prominent, you swiftly straighten your hair, making the last task on your list to be a fresh pair of stockings- the intent of the article of clothing to remind Jimin of the night he was with another woman- the numerous nights he had been with other women.

Head held high, you gradually step into the living room, your father gulping at the sight of your bold choice of an outfit, while your mother gasps in disgust. Jimin doesn’t know where to look- trying to keep his gaze away from the tops of your bosoms squeezing together in the nicest bra you could find in your closet.

“Well?” You spread your arms while you sway to your side, “Is there a reason why you all seem appalled?” You gloat, “I’m sure I’ve put every woman in Busan to shame with this dress, isn’t that right Jiminie?” you’re acting obnoxiously, yet you don’t care, seductively tilting your head while you glare at the back of Jimin’s head, “Why are you sitting away from me, Honey? Look at me,” when Jimin glances at your wide-eyed parents, he cautiously turns to face you, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, “What? Do you not like it?” You bend slightly, showing the size of your ass to remind Jimin of the nights he turned you down, muttering on how your sex life was boring due to the lingerie you refused to buy, “Should I have worn an even tighter dress? How about the stockings? Remind you of anything?”

“[Y/N]!” Your mother snaps, you straighten your frame whilst an exasperated giggle escapes your shiny smile,

“Oh, I forgot my parents were here. Oops,” you slur- your dad gesturing for you to take a seat which you do, Jimin having a hard time processing whatever you are doing. Beer is crowding the table with the many different plates of food your mother prepared, yet you turn to Jimin with a whiny request for wine.

Namjoon rests the side of his head on the window of the passenger’s side while Seokjin keeps his attention on the road, “So, have you been seeing anyone since we’ve been home?” He glimpses over to see his friend- distance in his expression which brings a concern to Seokjin.

“No,” Namjoon says after a moment.

“Okay,” Seokjin says slowly, “What about interest? Anyone, that you’re interested in?” He notices the hint of a smile on Namjoon’s face from the corner of his eyes, “Ah, there’s a smile. So, you do have an interest in someone,”

“You caught me,” Namjoon raises his hands in self-defense, “Ask away,”

“Tell me about her. What’s her name? How old is she? Is she from Busan?”

Namjoon contemplates his answers since he doesn’t want to reveal to Seokjin that it’s you, Seokjin’s sister, that Namjoon is hopelessly in love with, “She’s 28,”

“Dude,” Seokjin is shocked from the obvious tone of his voice, “That’s five years older than you, have you gone mad? That’s our sisters’ age. That’s like you dating my sister,” Namjoon glances at Seokjin while he proclaims on how creepy it is to date an older woman- Namjoon remaining silent for the rest of the drive, pain evident on his face now knowing your brother would disapprove if Namjoon’s feelings for you were to be made known.  

Chugging half of your second beer, since Jimin failed at bringing wine, you wait for the perfect opportunity of Jimin’s lips molding to take a sip of his beer when you face your mother, “So, mom did dad ever cheat on you at any point in your relationship?”

Coughing, Jimin buries his mouth into his hand that curled into a fist, sliding his beer further from him while your mom’s eyebrows furrow at your random question, “No. No, your father’s been faithful. Wh-”

“What would you do if he wasn’t?”

Your father stares at you in distraught, yet he seems to catch where your conversation is headed.

“I’d smack him upside his head-”

Hesitation is not part of your vocabulary in this section of time, for your palm, with all the strength you can muster, slaps the back of Jimin’s head while he cringes beneath your touch. The burn of the hit lingers within your palm, while your parents freeze in realization- your dad raising his voice to ask what you’re trying to get at.

“Wait a minute,” your mother counters, while Jimin rubs the back of his head, “Did you… Were you seeing another woman while courting my daughter?”

Jimin drops his gaze to the table, running the tip of his tongue over his lips in panic.

“I’m- I’m- I don’t know what to say,” your mother says in obvious disappointment. Your father rises slowly while he glowers at Jimin who raises his arm in a plea to your father, but it’s too late, he attacks Jimin, slamming him onto the table while bowls of food hit the floor- your mother getting in between the men while Jimin begs for your father to let him go.

“When is everyone going to start acting like adults in here!?” She bellows whilst scampering for cloths to clean the food stains off your father’s sweater.

“Look,” Jimin’s hands fly before him, “I messed up, okay? But I am not the only one to blame here! [Y/N] cheated, too! She’s seeing someone now!”

“Jimin!”

“Oh, are you going to deny it!? Do you think that it’s simple for me to come here? Your parents practically begged me to-”

“Then why the fuck did you not say no!?” Gasps escape from both of your parents at the choice of words you have chosen. But you are so livid, you could care less. “For heaven fucking sakes, Jimin, where is the respect? If only I had a few more drinks in me, I’d smack the shit out of you even more!”

“You know what?” Jimin clenches his jaw, settling to his knees before you, “Hit me then. Put me out of my misery. Do what you need to feel better, I just want to fix things here.”

“Like you’ve had such luck with patching things up before,” you mutter, “It’s not happening, Jimin,”

“Why?” Jimin taunts, standing back to his feet, “How about you tell your parents why you no longer want to be with me, huh? Who’s the man who told me to fuck off at your work? You dodge the question because you’re just as guilty as I am!”

Crossing your arms, you inch closer, a sneer present on your red lips, “Accusing me makes you feel so much better, doesn’t it,”

“Then why can’t you admit who he is? I’m going out of my mind about it, just fucking tell us already-”

“I like him, okay! But that was after my relationship with you!” Your voice is loud- so loud it carries throughout the house, stunning your parents as well as Jimin as they gape at you, “I really like him, you have an issue with that Jimin? Huh?”

“Oh no,” your mother groans as she collapses on the couch, “No, no, no, no-”

Seokjin bursting through the door makes matters worse to your mother as she clambers to tidy the table with whatever she can salvage while everyone’s attention turns to see not one, but two men, joining everyone in the living room. When Namjoon trails behind a wide-eyed Seokjin- Jimin’s expression shows astonishment as he points a shaky index finger toward Namjoon, whose eyes are too busy looking at the ensemble he has never seen on you before. A look that’s distracting him from the tension smothering the vicinity.

“That’s- that’s him! That’s the guy!” Jimin’s desperate- desperate to clear his name of any negativity, though he truly is the only one at fault for infidelity. Grasping your arm tightly, he drags you an inch forward while you struggle to get out of his grip, “You need to explain to everyone!”

Your parents are jumbled with who Jimin is exclaiming about at first, but when they realize his crazed eyes have yet to leave Namjoon’s, they know exactly who he’s referring to- but, Namjoon is more focused on the tightening grip Jimin has on your arm, Namjoon grits his teeth while he swallows slowly, “Let go of her.” Stepping forward, nobody has time to blink when Namjoon clutches the front of Jimin’s suit, dragging him roughly toward the outside of the house while Seokjin hysterically chases after them. Panicked voices of your parents scream towards what seems to be the start of a feud.

You can’t move. You just remain speechless while your hero intervenes once again. 

[prince-toffee]

Villains

Part Two

The room was empty and bare. The room was very plain, no paintings or pictures hung or framed, no personalised items, no trinkets or mementos. The space was devoid of any personality or warmth. This partially due to the fact that everything personal was moved out of the room, and also the fact that the person whom once occupied these living quarters wasn’t one for forming close personal attachments. Shadow Weaver sat on a beautiful ornate wooden chair at the centre of the sterile room. She watched the blank dark green wall as she took a long sip from her glass of red wine.

That room was once hers. When she officially aligned with The Horde, she was given her own bed chamber as she had to live in The Fright Zone as an unspoken rule. Where else would have she been accepted? She had no where else to go. She was pleased with what she was given, the room was quite large, she had a queen sized bed, her own side bathroom, with a toilet, shower, sink, and bath all included. The bath in particular became a favourite location, useful in relaxation after a long day of dealing with cadets that made her blood boil and her blood pressure rise. Over time she did personalise the room, add various scented shampoos and what not, some artistic and yet horrifying paintings, and a study with all her work - reports, cadet exams, notices, and request forms over which she lost her mind too many times.

Her quiet pleasant contemplation was cut short as Force-Captain Cobalt’s voice invaded the room through the data-pad which leaned against one of the wooden legs of the chair she sat on. The blue porcupine man cleared his throat, “Umm, Sha- uh, Lord Shadow Weaver.”

“Speak.”

“All your personal belongings have been moved to Lor- to Hordak’s old Sanctum. But there’s another emergence that requires your attention.” Weaver sighed, she responded by saying she would be there in a few minutes. She downed the glass of wine in seconds, it was a good year, shame she couldn’t have savoured the taste, she had saved that bottle for a victorious occasion. And she couldn’t have thought of a better occasion.

The witch just discarded the glass by simply throwing it away, it shattered on impact, of course. But the brand new leader didn’t care. Not anymore. She was in charge, no consequences, it felt so freeing. The scarred woman shifted her mask over her grey face and moved out. She did not admit to another soul the fact that she was ashamed of her physical appearance, she never betrayed a weakness, she was distant therefore safe. There was logic and reason to her outfit - a frightening mask to deflect any questions about her face, a high collar to hide her neck, and then a layered robe to allow no part of her scarred, wounded, burned body to be seen. She implemented the opposite tactic to Hordak, he choose to show some flesh, some key areas of his body that were healthy and strong to deflect any suspicion or conspiracy of him being otherwise. Anyone who saw Hordak, as rare as it was, they all thought the dark Lord was a modern Adonis. Nobody suspected he was in fact a sick frail man who was slowly falling apart.

Shadow Weaver knew about Hordak’s ‘sickness’, and vis versa. There was a deal between them, both knew each other’s weakness, and so they formed a partnership to support one another. Hordak had the Black Garnet in his possession after acquiring the Scorpion Hill Kingdom, and so he handed the magical artefact to Shadow Weaver, he knew the Garnet was useless in his hands, he had no knowledge therefore no ability to utilise the Garnet. But Shadow Weaver could. She was brought in as his Minister of Magicks to advice the Horde in the magical ways, how to defend against magic, and how to weaponise magic in offense.

The rune stone gave her sufficient life force for her to leech off of, never again was she hungry. And she wielded the awesome power of the elemental mineral. In return Shadow Weaver took the spotlight off of Hordak, the duty of truly commanding the Horde’s forces, leaving Hordak free to do... whatever he did. Weaver never knew what Hordak did in his ‘Sanctum’, all she ever managed to get out of him was the fact he was working on a secret ‘experiment’, and she knew that much was a slip up. It didn’t matter now anyhow, all of Hordak’s secrets were going to be hers and if not, then they don’t matter anyway.

She waltzed through the corridors and hallways of red and green metal, pipes, and cables, at a leisurely pace. Unlike Hordak, who’s heavy metallic footsteps always alerted the soldiers ahead of time in the corridor, Shadow Weaver made no sound, didn’t allow any trooper to get ready, they had no idea she was coming. She scared the hellfire out of everyone she passed. They always jumped in shock, straightened themselves out and stiffened. Weaver liked that.

The noise of double doors sliding open marked her entrance into the throne room, her throne room. Her commanders turned to her and bowed. She liked that too. “Speak.”

“Lord Weaver, while we were breaching Hordak’s Sanctum, which was harder than we thought it would be, a lot of booby traps, we got around a dozen treating wounds in the infirmary. But anyway when we got in we acquired all of his personal belongings mostly just tech. One of his personal data-pads gave off a ping, some sort of automatic notification. It was a signal sent from an outpost in the Northern Reach in the frozen wastes, apparently the computers there have detected some new First Ones tech.”

“Ah perfect! That’s exactly what we need!” Shadow Weaver heard the vent being kicked open, only then when she lifted her head up to the high ceiling did she see the short purple woman descend to her to the floor. This. of course, was Entrapta the Princess of Dryl. Shadow Weaver didn’t like her much, she was the one to whom Hordak was going to give the Black Garnet. They didn’t see, but her face soured as her arms folded. “Have you briefed her about the power grid?”

Cobalt sighed, “I was about to.” It seemed that the Princess had interjected herself into Horde matters and into the command structure. She swung around like she owned the place. And Hordak would’ve probably let her walk all over him too.

“Well, since I’m here already I’ll explain. The Fright Zone’s power grid, a surprising intricate system that transfers power all around The Fright Zone keeping everything running, over heated. Meaning it’s stopped working, coolant systems have failed and ruptured expelling scolding steam through the corridors, a powerful and dangerous feedback surge has been created leading to the destruction through explosion of the main power-generators. Multiple floors are on fire. In Layman’s terms: It’s bad.”

“We are not imbeciles, Princess, do not treat us as such. You are not in command here, so I would watch your tone with me! You are only here, but I permit it.” Weaver pointed her finger at the hovering woman.

Entrapta looked down at the grey finger of the sorceress and then turned around, “Mmm, no, I am here because I want to be.” She began to stride across the throne room using her hair. Shadow Weaver still didn’t know if the purple tentacle hair was a magical ability or a technological aspect. Either way she followed the Princess. With a simple wave of her hand she dismissed her Force-Captains, its not like they wanted to stay around her so Cobalt, Grizzlor, and Octavia left without any further convincing. The witch kept up with the Princess. She made no sound when she walked, but the purple woman somehow knew she was close enough behind her to hear her, “As I was saying, the power grid can’t hold the amount of power it transmits, so we need a strong conductor, maybe a regulator too. That’s why the signal from the Northern Reach is a mighty convenient occasion. First Ones tech is ideal for the job. My recommendation: Send an excursion to the outpost, excavate the tech, transport it back here and install it in, solving the issue.”

“I didn’t ask for your ‘recommendation’... but that is a decent solution.” They passed the throne and moved forward through a thin hallway of pipes, as they reached its end a door slide open. Past it they entered a sort of  a corridor round-about, another door in front of them. The corridor curved around to multiple doors, opposite the doors were windows of one way glass looking over the landscape of The Fright Zone.

Shadow Weaver noted the burn marks and metallic plating torn and shredded, signs of damage caused by an explosion. The booby traps the Force-Captains spoke of. All disarmed, she hoped. The Sanctum doors opened, Entrapta entered first, Shadow Weaver followed close behind. Hordak’s Sanctum was a dimly lit tall box, computers all around it with data Entrapta couldn’t wait to get into. Various tech scattered around. To contrast all that were Shadow Weaver’s own belongings moved from her old room to her new one. “I like the paintings, good taste. I’ve got paintings too, back at home. But I prefer little cute big eyed kitties, rather than abstract horrific rorschach-like depictions of inner turmoil of anxieties. Hm, perhaps representing repressed and or traumatic memories. Interesting.”

Weaver raised a brow as she narrowed her eyes, “Uh huh. Thank you.” She was spot on. Her eyes could barely keep up with the Princess. She seemed very excited. She finally stopped dashing across the room madly and stood still at the centre of the room. Her pigtails split into multiple ends each tendril plugging into a different computer or any other data-holding devices, her hair fuzzed and the ends of each tendril lit up in a bright purple, on the boarder of being pink. The light moved inward towards her head in pulse-like motion. Weaver guessed, correctly, that Entrapta was downloading the information into herself.

“Oh, that’s fascinating.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” Before Shadow Weaver could ask any follow up questions from the corner of her eye she noticed a grey blur dashed across a higher scaffolding, accompanied by sounds of small footsteps scuttling about. She looked up to see a pair of small yellow luminous eyes.

It was Hordak’s tiny bat creature, Hordak seemed to have been close and appreciative of the creature. Whether it was a pet to him or like a child she did not know. All she knew was it was an annoying tattletale - spying, recording, and telling on people, completely loyal to Hordak in the way a child tells their parent on a sibling in return for candy, or chin scratches in this instance. The creature hissed. It clearly did not like Shadow Weaver, she did get rid of its creator.

“Cute.”

“What?”

“The hybrid, I think it’s named Imp. Fascinating little miracle of science.”

“Ugh, it’s as useful as a rodent. And twice as infuriating.” She said that like Imp wasn’t there in the room with them, he heard that and launched at the sorceress, biting her in her finger. The dark magician yelped and shook her hand in a cartoony comedic manner, a few seconds of the motion and Imp’s grip loosened and he flew through the air and landed in Entrapta’s hair where she brought him closer to her and gave him some soft scratches under his chin. He softened in her arms and pressed his cheeks against her shoulder. He stock his tongue out, and mouth farted at Shadow Weaver. Weaver growled and sighed.

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me.”

“What inclination makes you say that?”

“Oh just about anything and everything you do.” Entrapta unplugged from the tech and finally turned to face Shadow Weaver. She gave her a genuine smile, warm and well-meaning, “How about a dinner?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re clearly not a fan of mine, and this might be a beneficial social experiment to let us know each other better, since we’ll be working closely together for the foreseeable future.”

“Heh, what makes you think we’ll be ‘working closely together’?”

“You do want to know what this Hordak had been working on, don’t you? Do you know anyone else who can comprehend this sort of stuff?”

“I... I suppose not.” It was true, she didn’t, so Entrapta was important. But she wouldn’t admit that, and she would certainly not go to a dinner with a Princess. Before she could scoff any further, she heard a shy voice clear its throat. Weaver turned around to face it. It was Scorpia. Princess Scorpia.

“Umm, Ms Weaver, the uh, the excursion transport is ready. What are our next orders, ma’am, sir, m’Lord, Lady, Shadow Weaver... sir.” The Scorpion Princess awkwardly informed, her large red claw raised up to her temple, saluting. Two or three drips of sweat rolled down her face. For being so huge and muscular walking-rectangle she was very shy and small.

“What transport?!”

“Oh I was the one who requested it.” Entrapta replied. Entrapta moved through the room past the new Lord and moved to Scorpia. She handed the bat baby to the Scorpion Force-Captain, the hybrid boy kept attempting to chomp on Entrapta’s hair. Scorpia cradled the batling, whom now moved onto biting the hard claws. “We should solve the problem as soon as possible, so I gave a go-ahead.”

Shadow Weaver’s hand instinctly went up to her face, her muscle memory told her to rub her nose in exhausted irritation, but of course her mask blocked her hand. “Fine. Go. Fix my fortress.” She waved her hand to dismiss them, Scorpia and Imp moved out swiftly, only once she moved out of frame did Weaver notice that Catra stood behind her. The cat was sweating, clearly very nervous, she didn’t say anything, and followed Scorpia out. Entrapta hanged behind.

“Dinner. When I get back. We’ll talk. Takes around four hours to get to the outpost, four back, and a day in-between for excavation. So in three days, at 7, The Fright Zone cafeteria. I’ll cook.”

[hoodwinkd1]

the stars that shine Ch 2

Ch 1 here.

Chapter 2: woke up to find that summer gone

Evangeline sat at the dark cherry desk in her bedroom, staring down at the piece of parchment which seemed to be staring right back at her. She had picked up a pen almost half an hour ago and had successfully written one line.

Dear Lys,

“Damn this!” Tossing the pen to the side, she stood and began pacing around the bed. Normally, her letters back to Caraverre were pages and pages of stories, filled with every minute detail and every silly joke that Lysandra and Aedion might enjoy. Tonight, she could barely get her thoughts in order enough to discuss what she’d eaten for dinner two hours ago.

Evangeline knew exactly who to blame for this conundrum. Hollin Havilliard.

Her first two weeks in Rifthold were amazing. Ever the social butterfly and lacking peer friendships back in Terrasen, Evangeline absolutely loved getting to know the other students in her lessons.

“You should come shopping with us next week,” Regina suggested, her smile genuine. As the third eldest daughter of the Callot family, the largest noble support of Adarlan’s fashion industry, Regina would certainly have good taste. “Anya and I are looking for springtime outfits.”

The other girl had jumped in then. “How long will you be staying? My parents always plan a trip to the country house right after the Spring Solstice and I can bring a few friends.”

So yes, Evangeline had no problem making friends. She was downright delightful and ready to try anything, go on any adventure.

Her lessons were equally wonderful. Part of the reason she came to Rifthold was to expand her education, filling in gaps that Darrow had no expertise in, and she enjoyed the challenge immensely.

Point being, she should have plenty to write home about. The shopping trip, the mathematics concept she finally mastered, even the amazing duck stew she tried two nights ago.

Unfortunately, the fond memory of her duck stew faded when she remembered what had immediately followed.

Dear Lys,

I had the most awkward night of my life. I’m relatively confident I’ve made my first enemy and I may never go back to the ballet after this traumatizing experience.

No, she couldn’t possibly send that. Aedion would charge into the palace and demand revenge at the mere thought of anyone disliking Evangeline, if he didn’t laugh himself to death trying to imagine the concept first.

Her popularity aside, she was still in disbelief. Hollin had approached her first, offering to escort her to the royal box at the Rifthold Theater for a travelling dance troupe that evening. Evangeline accepted (delightfully and more than ready for an adventure). She even dug through her closet for the stunning cerulean gown Aelin had gifted for her fourteenth birthday.

And then the prince proceeded to ignore her. All night.

“Who goes two entire hours without speaking one word?” Evangeline grumbled, moving towards her closet to grab a nightgown. The letter could wait until tomorrow. “Why bother inviting me in the first place?”

Whatever. She would be just fine with her new friends, who’s families also owned boxes at the theater.

----

“It’s been two days.” Dorian dropped into the chair next to Hollin. “Two whole days, and I haven’t heard a word from either of you. Quite rude, if you ask me, considering it was my idea to take her to the ballet.”

Hollin kept his eyes on the book in front of him. “Some people think it’s rude to speak in a library. And yet, here we are.”

The king sighed, as if his little brother’s social life was as draining as running a nation. “At least tell me if you enjoyed yourself. Or if you think Eva enjoyed herself.”

“The dancers were talented.” Hollin turned a page. “I can’t speak for someone else’s opinion.”

Dorian huffed. “I meant, did you enjoy spending time with her?”

Hollin shut the book with a bit more force than needed. “Do you have nothing better to do than force me to go on dates with your friends’ wards? I’m working on something here.”

“It wasn’t meant to be a date!” Dorian protested. “Just...Evangeline is so delightful. And friendly. I thought she could, you know, be a friend?” His words trailed off at the end.

He heard the unspoken words. Hollin was not delightful and not friendly. Dorian probably hoped this picture-perfect girl could change him, mold him into a better prince.

“She has friends. And I have work to do.” He looked pointedly at the book strewn across his lap.

Dorian, finally, took the hint. “Fine. Enjoy your suspicious research.” He stood up, fixing his tunic. “I expect to see you at the merchant’s council dinner tomorrow night.”

Hollin waved him off. “See you then.” He’d been searching for some excuse to get out of that event, some way to avoid all the grouchy, greedy men that tried to grab the king’s attention.

Maybe if he fell off a horse, he could avoid politics for a few days.

----

The two months passed quite quickly. Evangeline was expected home in time for Aedion’s birthday celebration, so she took the last day in Rifthold to search for a gift. He might grumble about her spending money on him, letting his annoyance over aging take over his usual good mood, but Eva knew he would secretly cherish something special.

Anya had offered to join her, commandeering her family’s carriage for the trip. The two of them, along with Regina, had become inseparable during Evangeline’s stay.

She had never had friendships that were entirely her own before, outside of her family’s vast and unyielding legacy. Spending the day shopping tasted like freedom and youth.

“Where are we heading first?” Anya asked, shifting her long skirt to make room for Evangeline to sit on the bench next to her. “What does one even buy for the most infamous General in the world?”

So maybe she never could fully escape that legacy. Evangeline chose to ignore the honorific. “Aedion? He can be quite the sentimental type. I was imagining some sort of calendar he could use; one that I’d add drawings and photos and secret notes to. Something useful, but still personalized.”

“Oh, thank the Gods. I was terrified you would drag me to some boring weapons shop.” Anya fanned herself in mock horror. “Minsky’s has the best stationery.”

Once they arrived, Evangeline lost herself in the rows of parchment. She adored the smell of the shop, somewhere between a library and perfumery, thanks to the variety of candles that lined the walls.

She wandered for a while, enjoying the feel of books, journals, scrolls, and other trinkets underneath her fingertips. Anya struck up a conversation with Minsky, the elderly owner who apparently had very strong opinions about what time of day one should light lavender candles.

Evangeline stopped in front of the rack she’d been looking for, eyeing the different color choices. Each calendar looked sturdy and durable, perfect for Aedion’s regular travels, but only a few had carrier cases. She selected the emerald one, to match Lysandra’s eyes.

“Oh that’s lovely!” Anya beamed as Evangeline joined them at the counter. “Very practical.”

Minksy nodded solemnly as they checked the price. “Smart child, finding a way to stay organized.”

“It’s actually a gift,” Evangeline corrected. “Would you have any wrapping supplies?”

They pulled out a few choices of paper, and the girls left the shop with the package securely tucked under Evangeline’s arm.

Anya opened the door of the carriage to let her enter first. “Do we have any other errands - Gods!” Her question was cut off with a curse. “Galen, you scared the life out of me.”

Evangeline found herself face first with Anya’s older brother. He shot her an apologetic look.

“I spotted the carriage and didn’t fancy a walk back to the house,” he explained, musing at his dark locks with one hand. “Any change you two lovely ladies want to go out for lunch?”

“You are unbelievably annoying,” Anya sighed. She moved to sit next to him, glancing at Evangeline. “What do you think? One last meal before you go?”

Galen turned to face her as well. “Leaving so soon?”

Evangeline hadn’t had many interactions with the older boy. Galen had danced with her at one of their parents’ parties, and had teased her a couple times when she joined them for dinner. But all of a sudden, Evangeline found herself wishing for some more time in Rifthold for an entirely new reason.

“I have to return to Caraverre tomorrow,” she informed him. “It’s my....it’s Aedion’s birthday.” Explaining their relationship was difficult enough, and easily avoided since everyone knew exactly who he was.

“Pity,” Galen replied. “But that just means I have to treat you to the best sandwiches Rifthold has to offer before you go.”

Anya groaned. “He always drags us to this tiny little place, when there are plenty of nice restaurants around.”

“A tiny little place sounds perfect,” Evangeline reassured. The carriage jolted forward, carrying them away from the main streets.

An hour later, she wasn’t lying in the slightest when she praised her meal. The sandwiches were really quite good. And the twinkle in Galen’s eyes when she stole one of his chips was even better.

“Oh goodness,” Anya interrupted as they stepped outside into the twilight hour. “I left my pouch at the table. Be right back.” She strode back into the restaurant, leaving Galen and Evangeline alone by the doorway.

Galen leaned against the stone. “Do you have plans to return to Adarlan?”

“Not in the next half-year,” Evangeline admitted. Her thumb rubbed the edge of her pointer finger, a nervous tick despite her calm tone. Was there meaning behind his question? “I’m due to spend two months with one of my mentors in Arran after some time at home.”

“Pity.” He offered her a light smile. She prayed to the former Gods to keep her face from turning pink. “Next time you come around, I’ll have to move faster. Ask you on a date at the beginning of your stay, instead of the end.”

Evangeline couldn’t hold back a wide grin. “Yes, I suppose you will.”

---

Hollin threw himself onto his bed, head spinning a bit from the wine he snuck during dinner. Evangeline was leaving tomorrow, a fact that wouldn’t affect his life much since Dorian had stopped forcing a friendship between them.

Maybe the wine was a mistake. The prince didn’t like alcohol much, knew he was far too young to start drinking, but insomnia had plagued him for weeks now. Hollin tried so many home remedies, from herbal teas to meditation, before attempting to drink himself to sleep that night.

It wasn’t working.

He still couldn’t force his mind to relax. Ideas for new experiments and inventions swirled around, mixed with memories of his most recent failures that stabbed him with self-doubt. Then came the childhood memories, the horror of being raised by the devil without noticing and the shame of past cruelties keeping him far from relaxation.

Hollin groaned into his pillow. He wanted someone to talk to. It was such a simple solution, one that most people would find easy. Dorian had even hired a specialist, a healer who worked with minds as well as bodies, for palace staff who needed help after a traumatizing war. Hollin had paced by their office more times than he could count, never entering.

Somehow, he fell asleep before sunrise. A sharp knock at the door yanked him out of restless dreams.

“Hollin?” He recognized Herina’s voice, one of his personal servants who was years past using formalities. Changing a baby's diaper gave one that privilege. “I have your schedule for the day.”

Hollin stood up, blindly feeling for the robe hanging next to his dresser. “Come in, thank you.”

She pushed the door open, pulling a cart of food behind her. “I didn’t see you eat nearly enough at dinner last night, certainly not enough to be stealing drinks of wine like you did.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but shut it quickly. “I - thank you,” he said again, too tired to form a better sentence.

Herina left the cart by the entrance and walked further into the chamber. “You have a couple lessons scheduled, one before lunch and one in the evening. Light day.”

“Not too terrible.” Hollin took the parchment from her. “Herina..” He trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Could you - do you know how to add things to my schedule?” he asked.

She nodded. “Of course. What grabbed your interest?”

He pushed past his discomfort at the idea. If he didn’t sleep well after, that would be the end of it. “Training. Physical, that is. I’d like to learn how to fight.”

Herina eyed him warily, no doubt taking in the lanky and awkward features that haunted most fourteen year old boys. “You know the king would never expect you to fight. He knows that isn’t where your interests lie.”

“I know.” Gods, he was blushing now. “It’s for myself, just a new hobby.”

Thankfully she moved on. “Well, alright then. Don’t be late today.”

With a final meaningful look at the breakfast, she left. Hollin thought about ignoring the food and falling immediately back to sleep, but his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. He would need the calories if he planned to actually follow through with his new training idea.

If getting knocked on his ass for two hours a day didn’t help him fall asleep, then nothing would,

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 75 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Everyone had a pretty chill Christmas Eve.

This Chapter: Christmas Day. Let’s see how long the fun lasts...

***

It was stupid. Very stupid. Bianca knew it was stupid, and yet she couldn’t help her mind from spinning, from torturing her with weird little anxieties, vague feelings that she couldn’t properly pinpoint. She’d been dating younger women for years, and never given so much as a second thought to their parents. But somehow, something about seeing Courtney’s mom tonight had caused her to obsess…

Here they were, together in a gorgeous place, Courtney warm and soft in her arms, the scent of her familiar and comforting, and yet Bianca was anything but relaxed.

She really needed to chill. But the more she squirmed, the more her restless mind spun out, the more she realized that she wouldn’t be able to calm down until they talked about it.

“Court…” she whispered, moving aside her hair to press a kiss to the back of her neck.

“Mmm,” Courtney sighed, snuggling backwards, clearly content, and Bianca felt a stab of guilt. Should she really be waking her? She’d had such an awful week, and she was finally resting.

Bianca bit her lip, holding her tighter. Maybe it would be better to just deal. After all, they could talk tomorrow. She swallowed, resigned to let it go for now, until Courtney spoke again, voice sleepy.

“Are you okay, baby?” Courtney asked, shifting.

“Yeah, I just...I have a question about your mother.”

“What?” Courtney’s eyes opened and she turned towards Bianca. “What about her?”

“Well…” The truth was, Bianca wasn’t totally sure why it had popped into her head. She’s only spoken to Courtney’s mother twice before. The first time was a few weeks before, after Courtney had told her about their relationship. It had been a bizarrely casual conversation, considering the circumstances, Courtney’s mom kneeling in the garden harvesting vegetables while they chatted.

And then there was tonight. Perfectly sweet, perfectly pleasant. Something didn’t add up.

“She was just really friendly. Really...nice.”

“Well, she is nice.” Courtney still looked slightly puzzled, her brow furrowed.

“I just kind of...was expecting her to hate me a little bit.”

Courtney laughed, wrapping an arm around Bianca’s waist. “How could she hate you? You’re so lovable.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird that she like...approves? I mean, I want her to approve. But I kind of figured I’d have to work for it.”

“Yeah. I mean, I get what you’re saying. But, that’s just her, I guess...” Courtney shrugged, resigned. “She and Dad have always just kind of let me do my thing. They’re not really big...disapprovers.”

“Okay. If you say so. I was kind of worried that she might just be like...faking the whole nice thing while planning my murder.”

“Nah,” Courtney chuckled. “They have their own age gap, you know.”

“They do? As big as ours?” It was hard for Bianca to tell how old Courtney’s parents actually were; her whole family looked like they belonged in a J.Crew catalogue.

“Well, no, it’s like 10 years. But in a way it’s worse, because they met when Mum was like 15.”

“Yikes...”

“Exactly. So it would be hypocritical for them to disapprove of us.”

“Being hypocritical would never stop my mom from disapproving,” Bianca told her.

Courtney laughed, curling up against Bianca and pulling her close.

“I promise they’ll be cool. And once they meet you...they’re gonna love you.”

Bianca smiled, pressing a cheek to the top of Courtney’s head. It was nice that Courtney could be so sure about her family’s support. Bianca still had her doubts, but she supposed for now she could let them go.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” she murmured. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. With presents.”

“You better,” Courtney giggled, snuggling in closer.

***

“Hey, not so fast!”

Kelly rolled her eyes, pulling her robe closer around her body as she watched her dad snatch her little brother up, putting him on his hip so he couldn’t race down the hall.

“But-” Owen pointed towards the living room, but Detox covered his little hand with his own.

“I know champ,” her dad smiled, “But Auntie Fame’s things are expensive.”

“And ours aren’t?” Juju was holding Julia’s hand, her mom waddling along. She looked exhausted, even more so than she usually did on Christmas mornings after staying up all night wrapping presents.

It was early, way too early if you asked Kelly, but her siblings had refused to stay in bed for another second.

“Darlings!” Fame smiled brightly as they rounded the corner. She was wearing a white sweater and white lounge pants, an outfit like that the most casual Kelly ever saw her. “Come quick, or we’ll simply drown in presents!”

Kelly saw Julia’s eyes widen, her mom releasing her as Detox put Owen down, and the twins ran over to the tree, a regular mountain of gifts underneath it. They began to tear into them like wild animals, shrieking and squealing over every gift.

Kelly rolled her eyes once again, saying, “You know, teaching them to worship at the altar of commercialism and become good little corporate consumers is really bad parenting. You’re totally giving them warped values.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Juju turned towards her, a look of irritation with just a hint of amusement on her face. “I didn’t realize that you were so against material things. I guess you don’t want this…”

She pointed towards a box wrapped in red and white striped paper. Kelly shrugged, pretending not to care, as she knelt down and slowly peeled the paper off, revealing a brand-new MacBook Pro. Exactly the one she wanted. She turned towards her parents with a big grin.

“I mean, I’m not against all material things…”

“Right.”

“Thanks,” she laughed, smiling wryly and giving her dad a hug then reaching towards her mom.

Juju smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before settling down on the sofa.

Fame leaned over Kelly’s shoulder and handed her a purple gift bag. “I agree with you about the material culture, dear one. So here’s something that’s...more of an experience. From me and Uncle Patrick.”

Kelly moved the tissue paper aside to look in the bag. When she saw, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Six VIP tickets plus backstage passes to see One Direction at Madison Square Garden. She leapt up and flung her arms around Fame’s neck.

“Thank you thank you thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, my love. I hope you have a wonderful time.”

“Kelly?”

Kelly looked down then to see her little sister tugging gently on her pajama pants.

“Yeah?”

“This is for you.”

She handed over a small, clumsily-wrapped present--she’s clearly done it herself, which was pretty cute. Kelly unwrapped it slowly for extra drama, prepared to ooh and ahh over whatever trinket her sister had gotten for her. Inside the paper was a small clay heart, glazed with purple.

“It’s purple because that’s your favorite color and a heart because I love you,” Julia said, her brown eyes earnest. Kelly scooped her up into her arms.

It had been a hard adjustment, when the twins were first born. Going from being an only child for the first 13 years of her life to suddenly dealing with babies who constantly needed attention was a huge pain in the butt. And now with this new baby coming, plus the pressures of high school, Kelly had been fairly checked out where her family was concerned. However, sometimes it was good to remember that the twins weren’t all bad.

“I love you too, and this is beautiful. Thank you,” Kelly told her, and got a big, beaming smile on Julia’s face in return.

“What was that about bad parenting and the wrong values?” Juju asked from the coach, smirking deeply as Owen climbed into her lap to show her his new sandbox dump truck.

“Uhhh...you know, you guys aren’t the worst parents,” Kelly admitted with a laugh. “I guess the new one can stay.”

***

There were few things in the world that made Bianca happier than giving presents to the people she loved. Even when she was a kid, when there was no money, she used to leave tissue paper flowers and scrunchies made from fabric scraps on her sisters’ pillows, and she never came home from 7-11 without a 100 Grand bar for her mom.

It was easier now, of, course, when she could turn every passing whim into a present, a chance to show her love. She laid a wrapped box on the pillow beside Courtney’s peacefully sleeping face and began to gently rouse her by trailing her fingers up and down her arm and whispering in her ear.

“Mmm…” Courtney made a wonderfully contented little sigh as she stirred.

“Merry Christmas, my love…”

Courtney turned toward her, a sleepy smile on her face as she held out her arms.

“Kiss me.”

“Don’t you want to open a present?”

“Kiss first,” Courtney pouted, and Bianca happily obliged, kissing her deeply as she hoisted herself up into a seated position beside Bianca, the sheets falling away to reveal her bare chest.

“So...is tits out the rule this vacation? Because I could get behind that.”

Courtney laughed. “I mean, if you agree to the rule, then…” She let her gaze drift downwards, landing on Bianca’s satin bra, then looked back up pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“Mine need support. But I'll give you a peek whenever you want.”

“Okay, fine,” Courtney giggled, pulling her in for some more lazy kisses. Once she was properly loved up, she leaned back on the pillows with a sigh.

Bianca grinned down at her, dimples deep in her cheeks as she turned her attention to the presents, ready to spoil her silly.

First, there was the sparkling silver star-shaped clutch bag, positively stuffed with jewelry.

“I had to be strategic about packing,” Bianca explained, when Courtney peered inside the clutch and gasped with delight. She pulled every item out individually, exclaiming over how utterly perfect everything was. (And Bianca had to admit to herself, she’d done an excellent job picking things that were exactly to her taste--the multicolored sapphires were a big hit.) Once she’d gone through that bag, Bianca brought over the rest of the gifts: extravagant shoes, clothes that were tailored to perfection, a faux-fur wrap that would be perfect for evenings out back in New York. The best part was Courtney’s reaction, watching her eyes get bigger and bigger with every new item, seeing her happy face shining happily.

“I have presents for you, too!” Courtney exclaimed at one point, jumping up from their bed, which by then was covered with unwrapped gifts, to grab a few items from her new suitcase. She turned back towards Bianca, the expression on her face a bit shy, saying, “They’re not...um…very big, but-”

“Come here.” Bianca gestured to the spot beside her on the bed, then held her close as she slowly unwrapped the gifts that Courtney had clearly so lovingly chosen for her. A stunning, out of print book on 1960s fashion, a vintage Hermès scarf in the bold red that Bianca wore all the time, and a pair of truly perfect art deco-style earrings.

“Do you like them?”

“I love them,” Bianca told her honestly, truly touched by the obvious care that must have gone into picking them out, and only a little concerned about how much she must have spent. “Thank you so much, angel.”

Courtney grinned, lifting a hand to cup Bianca’s cheek as she kissed her hungrily.

“I have one more for you,” Bianca said, once they separated, getting up to find the little Tiffany’s bag in her carry-on. “Well, two more, actually, but one of them isn’t really something you can wrap. And it’s not exactly...finished. So we can save that for another day.”

She retrieved the bag and headed back to the bed.

“Is it the fact that you’re taking me on this dream vacation?” Courtney said, “Because I think this counts.”

Bianca shook her head, sitting down beside her, chewing on her lip, unsure why she suddenly felt so anxious.

“So...um, this was kind of a late addition. I just thought, that maybe...um...here.” She finally just handed over the bag with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle.

Courtney’s face looked curious as she carefully pulled off the ribbon from the small Tiffany’s box and opened it, gasping when she saw what was inside.

“B, is this…” Courtney touched the little sterling silver heart, then the black key fob attached to it.

“It’s keys to my place,” Bianca clarified. “Because I really...I would really like it if you moved in with me.”

Courtney’s eyes were wide, and Bianca couldn’t tell at first if she was happy or horrified. It was soon, of course Bianca knew that, but she felt strongly that this was the right thing to do, for both of them. She continued, heart in her throat.

“I love you so much, Court. And I don’t want you to go back to that place. I...I want you with me…” She reached out to softly caress Courtney’s cheek. “What do you think?”

*

“What do you think?”

Move in with Bianca? Move in to a fucking Upper East Side penthouse? Courtney’s brain felt scrambled, like a cartoon character who’d been hit over the head with a frying pan, as she tried to figure out all the reasons the universe would just not let something like this happen to someone like her.

“But...what about my lease?”

“Please,” Bianca scoffed. “That place is violating about 27 different rental codes. You can get out of it easily...if that’s what you want. Is it...what you want?”

Courtney gazed at Bianca, disbelief turning to breathless excitement and then sheer joy as she lunged forward, face buried in Bianca’s hair.

She was hit with a visceral memory, of watching Bianca from afar at the Halloween party less than two months ago, the stabbing pain in her chest as she watched her flirt with someone else, the inexplicable desire that had caught her completely off-guard, made her worry that she could never be worthy.

The fantasies that started out so small...the feel of Bianca’s fingers on her skin, what her lips would taste like, soon spiraling out of control and making Courtney feel crazy.

And now, Bianca was hers. Not only loving her, but loving her so much that she wanted to live together. It was almost too much to comprehend. Courtney was absolutely beside herself, nearly dizzy with happiness as she clung to her tightly.

“Is that a yes?” Bianca asked softly.

“Yes!” Courtney exclaimed, squeezing her eyes shut. “Yes, yes yes!”

“Perfect…”

***

Murni was watching everyone unwrap their gifts, her house filled with chatter and laughter, a smile on her face.

Her children had arrived just before lunch, she and Raja deciding years ago that one of Sutan’s presents was that he didn’t have to wake up before 8 to make the drive out to Long Island, since her son was born with a sleeper’s heart.

[Ah!] Raja grinned, pulling the last of the wrapping paper off of her present. [Mom, you didn’t have to-]

[I did,] Murni smiled, watching as Raja held her new cookbook to her chest. It was the exact same one she had in her own kitchen, the pages even a little wrinkled too, the text entirely in Indonesian.

While Raja and Sutan didn’t have that much contact with their cousins, aunties and uncles back in Indonesia, Murni was emailing with them every single day, one of Raja’s aunties stumbling over the cookbook at a friend's house and offering to send it over.

She hadn’t had the time to keep so closely in touch with her relatives when her kids were little, when both she and her husband had to work full time to help support everyone, but now, that was a different story, Raja and Sutan coming together to pay her mortgage, utilities and basic bills every month.

[Thanks mom,] Raja pressed a kiss against her cheek, her lips incredibly soft.

Murni Amrull had never expected to end up in America. When she was younger, she and her husband had both worked in Jakarta, Raja and Sutan watched after by their grandparents in the small village they came from outside of the city, mainly seeing their parents on the weekends.

They were happy enough, but her husband had always wanted more for them. He had suggested that they try the America visa “lottery” game, and Murni had agreed, not even her wildest imagination allowing her to believe that they’d succeed.

And then. They had.

She had been hesitant, scared of the changes and scared for how their children would handle something turning their world upside down, to be taken from everything they knew. They were just kids after all, but her husband had kissed her forehead and told her that it would all be okay, and she had believed him.

They had found their home in a tiny house in a suburb in Iowa, a cousin of a cousin knowing someone they had worked with that was looking for hardworking people, and that had always been her husband.

[Open one of your presents mom,] Sutan smiled, putting a small, neatly wrapped box on her lap.

[Sutan,] Murni raised an eyebrow, but Sutan just grinned, her kids always showering her with presents even when she told them not to.

Murni had never thought she would celebrate Christmas, her faith in Islam a cornerstone in her life even after their move to a brand new country.

Everything she believed in, however, changed one day when her children had come home from school, their small faces looking so very different. Sutan was crying, his whole body moving with desperate sobs as he clung to her, while Raja looked like a thundercloud, her rage ready to tear everything and even herself apart.

They had been made fun of and bullied for not celebrating Christmas, and Murni had felt true heartbreak that day.

She could still remember how outraged she had been, how her husband had called their school, his broken English not even getting him past the secretary. The shame from those desperate days still crept up on her sometimes.

She remembered how it felt like they had tried everything, but everywhere they turned they had been sent away, no one interested in helping the weird new family that all smelled of spices they didn’t know, and had a skin tone they had never seen.

That year Murni had bought a small tree and presents for her family, cooking up everyone's favorite meal to eat together around the table. The presents they had given had been almost embarrassingly small, a tie for her husband, a denim jacket for Raja and a comic book for Sutan, but she had seen the pride on her children’s faces as they walked off to school in January, both of them glowing, and knew she had made the right decision.

In a storm, even the proudest oak could break, but a reef always survived.

“The next one is for you, Violet!” Raven grinned, getting up on her knees to hand it to her. She was sitting on the floor, already wearing the brand new diamond earrings Raja had given her.

“Thanks,” Violet smiled, leaning forward on the couch so she could take the present, her lip between her teeth as she looked for a card.

When Sutan had called and told her he was bringing someone to Thanksgiving, Murni had thought he was joking, but she was so glad he hadn’t been.

Violet was quiet, shy and painfully polite, so unlike Kahmora who Murni had never liked, and even Jinkx who was overflowing with positivity but whom she had only met briefly, the relationship and engagement ending before it had begun.

It had taken her a while to get used to Raven, to see what her daughter so clearly adored in the dark haired beauty, but she had come to love her in time, and was happy that they had decided to get married.

“There’s no name on it.” Violet looked around the room, clearly a little unsure on what she was supposed to do.

“It’s from me.”

Murni watched as Sutan raised a hand, a smile on his lips as he watched her opening the box, her jaw dropping as she pulled the wrapping paper aside.

“Sutan, another?” Violet looked up, her eyes wide, a tan box with Louboutin on the lid on her lap. “You didn’t have to- You already gave me-”

“Open it.” Sutan got up from where he had been sitting on the floor, walking over to Violet to sit down next to her on the couch, watching as she slowly peeled the red tissue paper.

“Wow…” Violet seemed speechless as she slowly turned her new shoe in her hand. Murni didn’t know much about fashion, but it was gorgeous with lilac suede, golden details and a pointed toe, the heel impossible long.

“I saw the lilac, and knew you had to have them. They’re from this year's fall collection, and I’d like to add that I found them all by myself.” Sutan smirked, looking mighty proud of himself and so like his dad. “You can’t wear them yet, of course, but you only have a few weeks left with your cast, and I figured-”

“They’re beautiful.” Violet looked up at him, gratitude clear on her face. “Thank you.” She leaned in, pressing a sweet kiss against his lips, Murni only just getting the camera out in time to catch the two of them grinning at each other.

***

“No, Katya!”

“Why not?! They’re so cute!” Katya pushed the open box of flannel pajamas towards Pearl.

“Because! There’s little bunnies in Santa hats! I have a reputation,” Pearl crossed her arms.

Katya was already wearing the matching pajamas, and so was Trixie, as he set up the tripod and camera for a family photo. But Pearl was part of their family, and so Katya wanted her included.

“What, you’re too good for bunnies?” Trixie asked with a smirk.

“No, I just...you guys…”

“Pleeeease, Pearlie-Pearl? Pleeeeeease?” Katya batted her lashes, giving Pearl her very best puppy eyes. “One little tiny picture...for Killer?”

“Ugh, fine! But you have to stop using Killer to get your way. It’s emotional manipulation.” Pearl took the pajama top out of the box, slipping it on over her white tank top.

“Oh, I know. Never again,” Katya lied, grinning.

***

Violet couldn’t wait for the blessed day when she wouldn’t need her crutches anymore. She was making her way back from the bathroom, being as careful as she could not to knock anything over.

Murni’s house was filled with trinkets; flower pots, small figurines, bowls and vases and even crystals taking up every available surface.

It was homey, and lived-in, the house clearly cared for and beloved in a way that made Violet feel safe, the scent of incense and home cooked food engulfing her in it’s comfort.

Violet made her way down the hall towards the living room, the entire wall filled from top to bottom of pictures in golden frames. The first time Violet had visited, she hadn’t stopped to look at it, too preoccupied with the pain of her ankle and all the new impressions, but today, she paused when she spotted a picture of her boyfriend as a child.

It was taken outside, what looked like wild jungle in the background. Sutan was wearing a red t-shirt and holding a large fruit Violet didn’t recognise. He was smiling at the camera, beaming with pride, both of his front teeth missing as he presented his treasure. She could just about make out the date in the right corner, 1978, the picture taken with one of those old cameras that time stamped it.

“Ah, there you are.”

Violet turned her head to see Sutan peak down the hallway. He was smiling, his expression so like the one on the photo, even though his hair had grayed and he had his two front teeth.

“I told Bunda to put this stuff in an album like a normal mom,” Sutan stopped next to Violet, looking at the wall, “but she’s always done it this way.”

“It’s nice.” Violet hadn’t meant to take such a thorough look, but with Sutan at her side, it was hard not to get swept up in this obvious display of how much his mother loved him.

There were more photos of Raja and Sutan than Violet could count, showing their growth from tiny toddlers to full adults. As she looked, Violet spotted photos of a much younger Raven with short hair, of Juju with bleached blonde weaves, of Fame in an orange jumpsuit she’d never wear today and even Bianca with so much kohl around her eyes you could barely see them.

“Oh,” Violet’s eyes widened, as her gaze landed on a photo of Sutan and Raja. “Is that… Did you have pink hair?”

Sutan and Raja were standing side by side, Sutan’s arms around Raja’s waist, a gigantic grin on both of their lips. Sutan’s short hair was dyed pink, while Raja was wearing denim on denim on denim.

“It was 2004, and I haven’t listened to Detox since.” Sutan grinned. “That’s the problem with the wall. Once something goes up. It never comes down.” Sutan tapped a photo, and Violet looked at it, the bottom of her stomach falling out.

It was a photo of Sutan and a woman Violet didn’t recognize. She had caramel colored hair and golden skin, her brown eyes looking directly at Sutan, her smile as big as if he had hung every star in the sky.

It didn’t make sense, but it was clearly a wedding day photo, Sutan wearing a suit, the woman in what had to be a designer dress, a gigantic seven tier cake behind them, plates in their hands.

“Violet?” Raja opened the door to the hallway, Raven right behind her. “Bunda is asking how you want your coffee?”

“Ah!” Raven grinned. “Are we going down memory lane?” She skipped over, coming to stand right behind them. “Which one’s your favorite, Violet? Wait. Ew.” Raven made a disgusted sound. “Are you really looking at those ones?” Raven pointed to the wedding photo, and Violet realized with a sense of horror that there were several more, the woman popping up again and again in pictures that were collected in a little cluster.

“I…” Violet felt her head spinning. She had no idea Sutan had ever been married, and she had no idea who the woman was.

“Can you believe I wore that suit?” Sutan tapped the photo again. “And here I was, thinking you could never do wrong with a Dolce.”

Violet couldn’t see anything wrong with what he was wearing, but it was typical Sutan to be bothered by what he considered an outdated cufflink or a wrong shaped lapel, her boyfriend vain over things that were rarely ever noticed by anyone else.

It wasn’t like she didn’t understand those feelings, but it was amusing to see him fret, the delight cutting through her anxiety for a second.

“Look on the bright side,” Raja smiled, “Divorce means that you get to try again.”

“And hopefully have your bride make better choices,” Raven smirked, nudging Violet with her elbow like they were on the same team, like this was some big joke they were all in on.

“Please,” Sutan rolled his eyes. “Your wedding dresses are going to look the exact same in 6 years time.”

“No they won’t,” Raven huffed, throwing some of her hair over her shoulder, “because we have style.”

“Tell me again how ear cuffs still look great, Rave?” Sutan smirked.

“Fuck off, Tan.” Raja, Raven and Sutan all laughed, heading back to the living room together.

Violet knew she should probably follow, but she shot one last look at the picture, watching the stranger who was apparently her boyfriend's ex wife.

[god7072therescue]

Mysme Fluff Week 2020 Day 3/ Household Chores

Hello everyone!! I know its been a loooong while, but I am wanting to dip my toes back into writing and reviving this blog! I thought the perfect way to do this is to contribute to the amazing fluff of @mmfluffweek. We all need this right now, right? So here is one of my contributions to this hella cool project! 

The fic is about Zen cleaning his apartment when MC is about to move in. Hope You guys like it! 

You can find my master list here! 

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Zen wore a large grin on his face as he stared at the time on his cell phone. It was almost midnight, early in the evening for him. A picture of MC and himself holding one another in a playful embrace let out a bright light among the dark space around him. He watched a minute pass before he turned his phone off and leaned back into his chair with a content sigh. 

Tomorrow was finally the day MC would be moving into his apartment. Not just staying the night, nor staying for a weekend, but actually living with him. She would never have to pry herself away from his too tight hugs when she would have to return home again. The thought made Zen feel giddy, almost like he was back in high school reading through theater scripts for the first time. 

His eyes scanned over the apartment, trying to imagine the little touches she would add as she made herself at home. How many of her paintings would she hang on the walls? How much of his and her stuff would have to be put in storage so the two could live in a harmonious space? Whatever the answer was, he knew it would be the best because MC would finally be living with him. This would become their home. 

However, the longer Zen inspected the apartment, he began to notice some aspects that would need to change when MC arrived. Has his place always been this messy? There were empty beer cans laying on the ground along with sheet mask wrappers from the nights before. Were those crumbs on the carpet always there when MC stayed over? Dust was on almost every surface, especially on his dinosaur of a computer. Would he finally be able to get rid of his outdated computer? MC had jokingly mentioned that she would be bringing her PC with her to replace Zen’s relic of a computer. He pouted playfully at the time but was secretly relieved because damn the thing was terribly slow. 

A rising feeling of urgency began to rush through him. Did he expect his jagiya to come live in this? This environment was no place for MC! MC deserved to arrive to a spotless apartment to create her new home with him. He called her his princess on a daily basis, but this new palace is definitely not worthy of her. As he pondered the thought longer, he came to wonder how in the hell MC dealt with this constantly cluttered space. He could use his busy lifestyle as an excuse, but MC was just as busy as he was and still managed to keep her apartment decent at least. 

Zen sprung to his feet in a slight panic as he realized just how little time he had to clean the apartment before her early morning arrival. If he worked efficiently and effectively, he could manage to make the apartment bearable. This meant Zen could not afford to find items he thought were lost and stand around to reminisce about them. He threw his ivory hair into a ponytail as he began to make a mental list of what to focus on first.

Thus, began the long evening of Zen’s cleaning journey. His journey consisted of and is not limited to: 

Making a valiant effort to avoid nostalgia but failing miserably every time he would find a lost photo or ticket stub 

Wondering how one man could consume so much beer in a short amount of time

Quickly throwing out cigarette boxes found in mysterious places

Being amazed at how much of his and MC’s hair was found lying around 

Throwing out all of his sauces because they were expired

Hastily washing, drying, and folding laundry 

Putting the dinosaur computer out of its misery 

Creating a coin jar for all of the loose change he found

Cursing Yoosung for the amount of potato chip bags and crumbs under the cushion of the couch

Sweeping, mopping, and vacuuming in a near sprint

Tripping over the vacuum cord multiple times 

The bathroom

By the time Zen considered his cleaning activities dealt with, he collapsed into clean bedsheets at 5:00 AM. He was startled awake by a loud knock on his apartment door. The sudden, loud noise caused him to jolt out of bed with a loud curse. “Hyun? Are you awake?” The familiar voice soothed the panic in Zen’s chest. It was his MC at the door, waiting to be let in one last time before she had a key of her very own. Just the thought of it brought a lopsided smile to Zen’s face. “Give me a moment, jagiya!” He had his teeth brushed, deodorant on, and a baseball cap on his head in record time before he greeted his jagiya. He laughed lightly when he heard the light pings of a mobile rhythm game MC had played around him a good bit. When he opened the door, he reveled in the sight of her angelic face scrunched up in determination. “Now you give me a moment, “She muttered in sheer concentration, “I’m about to beat this level.” He leaned against the doorway as he watched her. She looked ready to put in some work based on the outfit she chose for the day. Her hair was thrown under a baseball cap, an old paint stained T-shirt he’d seen her take naps in, and a pair of his old grey sweatpants she took from him early in their relationship had never looked so beautiful on her. MC let out a soft “yes” in victory then quickly put her phone in her pocket. Her eyes looked joyous when she lifted her head to speak with him, but they quickly turned concerned when she saw the dark circles under Zen’s eyes. “Zenny, did you get any sleep last night?” She brought her hand up to softly cup his cheek, “You look exhausted.” Zen was caught up peering deeply into the depths of her warm eyes before giving MC a sheepish smile, “I was too excited to sleep.” That was not a lie. He just didn’t want to tell her he spent the entire night frantically cleaning. Her face was slightly flushed in worry, but all of the cleaning he had done the night before was all worth it. Her being happy and comfortable was what mattered most to him. Losing a few hours of sleep was a small price to pay.

His eyes roamed over her face to memorize exactly how she looked before him. This was an important milestone for the two of them, he wanted to make sure he captured the moment. Maybe they could take a picture as a memento if she was not too tired after this.

Over the course of their relationship, Zen wondered if she could get anymore beautiful with each passing day. Today was not an exception. Her face was bare, probably because she knew she would be sweating during the day. She had always been self-conscious without make up, but he could not understand why. She was stunning regardless. He had always told her he would find his jagiya gorgeous whether she wore makeup or not. She looked at him with a glowering expression before standing on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the lips. The feeling of her soft lips caused him to lose his train of thought for a moment, so much so, he missed the bill of her baseball cap forcing his own to fall off of his head. She giggled as she leaned back to see his bed head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” The timbre of her voice was playful as she picked up his hat for him. She handed it back with a content sigh. The look on her face was one he recognized from their time together. This relaxed expression was what she wore when she was curled up on the couch reading her favorite book with a lit candle on the nightstand beside her. This expression meant she felt comfortable. At home. 

He took the hat from her gently and placed it back on his head. A newfound energy was flowing through him as he looked down at her serene, beautiful face. He was ready to experience the scenarios he had imagined of her making a place in his home and it looked like she was too. “You ready to start our little adventure, jagiya?” He held out his hand to her as he pushed himself from the doorframe. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it lightly, almost in an unspoken promise. “I’ve been looking forward to this for months, Hyun.” 

Hearing his name from her lips filled his chest with pride as he began to lead them down the hallway. “Then let’s make it happen, jagiya.” 

With the combined determination of the couple, they were able to move all of her belongings into the apartment by late afternoon. Zen made a point to carry as many boxes as he could to show MC how strong her prince is. He also didn’t want her to overexert herself; his princess deserved to be taken care of. 

Now thoroughly exhausted, Zen sat on the couch as he watched MC unpack her belongings while humming to herself. Little trinkets she had collected over the years were piling up on Zen’s coffee table as she organized them by which room they would be in. She looked as if she was already at home. The domestic aura was enough for him to let his mind wander towards the future. Is this what having a family meant?

MC had always had this effect on him, no matter where they were or what they were doing. He didn’t feel the constant need to defend and fight for the right to be loved as he did when he lived with his parents. Since the beginning, MC had always supported Zen and made him feel valued. Hell, after one week she had made him feel more loved than he had ever felt in his life.

This milestone felt like a second chance at finding and building his own family with her. 

He was pulled from his thoughts when MC plopped on the couch beside him, pulled her legs underneath her, and leaned into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder as he immediately placed his arm around her. 

“Did you clean the apartment for me, Hyun?” Her voice was laced with appreciation as she lifted her head slightly so she could study his face. 

His cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment as he pulled her closer to him. “Well of course, jagiya, my princess deserves the absolute best.” She kissed his cheek before nestling her head back on his shoulder. “It looks wonderful, Hyun. Thank you.” He felt her relax into his side as she looked around the apartment herself. There were still many boxes that needed to be unpacked and almost all of the rooms needed to be rearranged, but they both knew it would all be worth it in the end. 

She took his hand in hers and began to idly stroke the inside of his palm. The feeling of her fingers grazing against his skin brought him a sense of peace. He made a soft noise of approval and placed a small kiss on the top of her head. This was exactly what Zen imagined every day since the two had started dating. Just the two of them enjoying each other’s presence, not thinking of when one would have to leave the other. 

“Let’s have a relaxing night tonight, Hyun,” MC said in a tranquil voice, “The boxes will be here tomorrow.” Zen’s heart melted at her suggestion. “That sounds absolutely perfect, MC.” The evening consisted of face masks, take out, massages, and a movie marathon before the two dozed off in the each other’s arms on the couch. Just as Zen was dozing off, thoughts of MC feeling like home drifted through his mind.

[arysafics]

you remind me of where i come from

Summary:  Clarke takes Bellamy to her hometown to meet her family for the first time.

Prompt:  Bellamy using a vibrator on Clarke, preferably in an established relationship but whatever I just love the idea of him being so happy and excited about having a new way to make her come.

Rated E, ~4.9k words

Clarke isn’t freaking out at all. At least, she doesn’t think her freaking out is noticeable to Bellamy. She hopes it isn’t, because if he thinks she’s freaking out, then he might freak out too and there’s nothing to freak out about. Probably. It’s just, she hasn’t brought anyone home to meet her parents since Lexa, and that hadn’t turned out so well. For anyone.

“Dad is going to make us sleep in separate bedrooms, just so you know,” Clarke says. They’ve been driving for four hours, and Clarke has only now realised what she needs to prepare Bellamy for. She’d been calm until five minutes ago, when she started recognising the familiar landmarks that indicate they’re close to her hometown. Now she’s a mix of excitement and nerves, knowing her parents are going to love Bellamy, desperate to show him this part of her he’s heard about but not seen. And yet there’s also a little ball of anxiety in her stomach that she can’t quite shake.

“And he’ll probably get all weird and protective, but that means he likes you. And if Mom cooks, you don’t have to pretend to like it. She likes to experiment, but she’s not very good at it. And she might get all weirdly emotional when she meets you. But don’t worry—”

“Clarke,” Bellamy interrupts, gently. “Stop.”

“Sorry,” she grimaces. “I’m scaring you off.”

Bellamy laughs. “You’re not scaring me off,” he assures her. “You’re just freaking out. It’s going to be fine.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Clarke lies. Okay, so maybe she’s not being as subtle about her emotional state as she thought.

“Then why are you gripping the steering wheel so tightly?” Bellamy points out. Clarke loosens her grip, and Bellamy reaches out to grab her hand.

“Sorry,” Clarke sighs. “It’s not that I don’t think they’re going to love you. I know they’re going to love you. And I’m really excited to show you where I’m from, but—”

“You’re nervous.”

“Yeah,” Clarke whispers.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he says. “It’s a big step.”

Clarke looks over at him, swallowing. It’s not just that it’s a big step. It doesn’t even really feel like a big step. It feels completely natural, bringing him home to meet her parents. But there’s this part of her that knows that if she fucks things up somehow, or if he leaves her, then this is all for nothing. She’s letting him into her life, really letting him in. Trusting him not to break her heart.

He knows about Lexa, of course. He knows about all her exes. Knows so much more about her than almost anyone else, and they’ve only been dating six months. How anyone could learn her so fast, she doesn’t know. Only knows that with him, everything feels right. And that’s why she desperately needs this to work out.

He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb, and she feels some semblance of relief. She’s so lucky to have him.

“Thank you,” she whispers. I love you, she thinks. She hasn’t quite got to saying it out loud yet, but she thinks he knows. Just as she knows he loves her too. But he won’t say it until she does. He doesn’t want to pressure her.

Still, this trip is a pretty big clue to how she feels about him. She’s been imagining him meeting her parents since day one, like some part of her just knew he was it. She’s probably been in love with him that long too. She’s pretty sure the words are going to slip off her tongue at any moment. Her feelings are too tremendous, too forceful to be able to hold back much longer. It’s terrifying.

They pass a sign that reads Welcome to Franklin, and Clarke feels Bellamy squeeze her hand. She knows these roads like the back of her hand, used to drive around with Wells in the passenger seat, acting like they were so fucking cool. Every little detail of this town is a familiar, comforting sight.

“That’s where I went to high school,” Clarke points out as they drive past.

“I’m imagining you walking around in your little cheerleading outfit,” Bellamy says, giving her a wink.

“Stop it,” Clarke says affectionately. “You’re not allowed to get horny, because I can’t do anything about it while we’re here.”

“Right, separate bedrooms,” Bellamy remembers. “We’re going to have a lot of catching up to do when we get home.”

Clarke grins. “That can be arranged.”

She idles around the streets a little more, pointing out places of interest, thrilled with Bellamy’s rapt attention as he drinks in every little piece of information about her.

She’s more relaxed when she finally pulls up in her parents’ driveway. She glances at Bellamy, and he’s gazing up at the house. He swallows. Now he seems nervous.

“Are you okay?” Clarke asks.

“Uh huh,” Bellamy says. “Just—seems a lot more real than it did five minutes ago. I don’t think I’ve ever been so worried about someone’s opinion of me.” He looks to Clarke. “Apart from you.”

“They’re a lot easier to please than I am,” Clarke assures him.

They get out of the car, and Clarke takes Bellamy’s hand as they ascend the front steps. Clarke turns the front door handle.

“Shouldn’t we ring the doorbell?” Bellamy whispers. Clarke raises an eyebrow at him, amused, and he grimaces, realising he’s being ridiculous.

“Mom!” Clarke calls, as they step inside. “Dad! I’m home!”

They appear, seemingly out of nowhere. Clarke has no doubt they’ve been lurking, waiting for her to arrive.

“You made it,” Abby says, pulling her daughter into a hug, forcing her to let go of Bellamy’s hand.

“I was just showing Bellamy around town a bit,” Clarke says as Abby pulls away. “Hi, Dad,” she says, turning to her father, who also gives her a hug.

“Hey, Sweetie,” says Jake.

“And this must be the famous Bellamy,” Abby says, and both parents turn to him, standing a little awkwardly in their front foyer. Clarke stifles a laugh at Bellamy’s bemused expression as Abby pulls him into a hug as well. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Griffin,” Bellamy says. Clarke has already told him a hundred times to call her parents by their first names, but he stubbornly disagreed. “Mr Griffin.” Jake holds out his hand and Bellamy shakes it firmly. Jake gives him a nod, and Clarke supposes her dad approves of her boyfriend’s handshake.

“You too, Bellamy.”

“And it’s Abby and Jake, please,” Abby adds.

Clarke gives Bellamy a triumphant I told you so look, and he rolls his eyes.

“Jake, why don’t you go and grab their bags, and I’ll show Bellamy his room?”

Jake gives Bellamy a grin. “Be careful, these Griffin women only marry so they can use their husbands for manual labour.”

Abby gives Jake a playful slap, while Clarke feels her face turning the colour of beetroot. Leave it to her father to bring up marriage at the first opportunity. Bellamy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Trust me, I know,” Bellamy grins back. “Clarke bought all her new furniture from Ikea, then conveniently wasn’t around to build it herself.”

Clarke pouts, looking at her mom for back up, but Abby just shrugs. “Shall we go upstairs?”

She leads them to the guest bedroom, well, one of them. The bigger of the two.

“Bellamy, this is your room,” Abby says, opening the door. She glances at him. “Sorry you and Clarke can’t share. Jake just feels weird about it. It’s not that he’s against sex before marriage or anything, I think he just doesn’t like the idea of his daughter doing it.”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says. He’s taking all this remarkably well. In fact, Clarke thinks he finds the whole thing amusing.

“Jake will be up in a minute with your bags. We thought we’d go out for dinner tonight, is that alright?”

“Fine, Mom,” Clarke says. She’s just thankful they won’t be subjected to one of her mother’s weird concoctions.

“I was asking Bellamy.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Sounds great,” he agrees. Abby nods, pleased, then leaves them to it.

“Come on, I’ll show you my room,” Clarke says, as soon as her mother is out of earshot. It’s the room next to his.

Her room hasn’t changed at all since she was a teenager. Almost everything in it is pink, and Clarke can tell Bellamy thinks it’s hilarious from the grin on his face. He wanders around, studying the trinkets on the vanity, the books on the shelves, the posters and photos on the walls. He stops by the fourposter bed, fingering the gauzy pink curtains.

“Your bedroom looks like a princess’s bedroom,” he says. “A ten-year-old princess.”

“I liked pink,” Clarke says defensively.

“I can see that.” He eyes her, and Clarke tilts her head, wondering what’s going through his mind. “You know what would be really fun?” he says, reaching for her. Clarke takes his hand, and he pulls her close.

“What?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy presses his lips to her ear. “Fucking you in this princess bed. In your childhood bedroom.”

Clarke’s breath hitches, and she instinctively presses herself closer to him. Bellamy’s lips trails down her ear and across her jawline, until he reaches her mouth. His grips her in his arms tightly.

“We can’t,” Clarke whispers against his kiss, though her pussy is telling her they can, and should, right now.

Bellamy pulls his lips away from hers. “Does your dad seriously think you’re still a virgin?”

“I don’t think he wants to think about it.”

“Do you think we’ll be allowed to sleep in the same bed once we’re married?” Bellamy jokes. Clarke’s eyes widen, and she gapes at him. Bellamy’s grin drops as he realises what he’s said. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean—I meant, you know. If—”

“Here’s your bag, pumpkin,” Jake’s voice interrupts. Clarke whips her head around. Her heart is beating even faster than when Bellamy was whispering in her ear how he’d like to fuck her in her childhood bed. He wants to marry her. He’s thought about it. Clarke can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Bellamy, I put your bag in your room,” Jake continues. “You guys can freshen up and get changed before we go out, if you like.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

Jake leaves the room, but Clarke notices he keeps the door wide open. She can only be glad he hadn’t walked in thirty seconds earlier.

“Clarke, what I said before—” Bellamy says, anxious.

“It’s okay,” Clarke cuts him off. She beams up at his wary expression.

“It is?”

Clarke nods. She surges up to kiss him, feeling giddy. When she pulls away, Bellamy looks a little dazed.

“Go get ready to go out,” Clarke says, pushing him towards the door.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, he looks back at her, a bewildered smile on his face as he shuts the door behind him.

 -

 When they arrive at the restaurant, a server leads them to their table, and sitting there already are Wells and Thelonius Jaha.

“Wells!” Clarke exclaims, as her best friend stands up to hug her. “Mom didn’t say you guys were coming.”

“We wanted it to be a surprise,” Wells grins, pulling away. He glances over her shoulder at Bellamy. “This is the boyfriend, huh?”

“Bellamy,” Bellamy offers, holding out his hand. Wells ignores Bellamy’s outstretched arm and pulls him into a hug instead.

“This is Wells,” Clarke tells Bellamy. “My best friend.”

“I’ve heard all about you,” Wells teases.

Bellamy glances at Clarke, amused, before looking back to Wells. “And I’ve heard all about you.”

“Sit down, you three,” Abby scolds.

The three of them take their places, and the waiter brings them water and tells them about the specials. Thelonius launches into some long, boring anecdote, and Clarke takes the opportunity to peruse the menu. Out the corner of her eye, she sees Bellamy slip his hand under the table, holding his palm open, and she does the same without a second thought, taking his hand in hers.

When Thelonius is finally finished his tale, the entire table takes to questioning Bellamy. It’s not mean-spirited, it’s genuine questions about his life, about wanting to get to know him better. But at the same time, it’s a lot. Clarke squeezes his hand, letting him know he’s handling the onslaught well. He smiles at her, glancing down at their joined hands. Wells notices.

“Are you guys holding hands?” he says. “Cute.”

They both blush, as Wells laughs at them, but neither of them let go until the food comes and they have to.

After dinner, Jake drags Bellamy to the bar, and Wells tags along, leaving Abby, Clarke and Thelonius at the table. Clarke watches the men at the bar nervously, though Bellamy doesn’t look like he’s in any trouble. He glances over at her and gives her a smile to show he’s okay.

“What do you think they’re saying to him?” Clarke asks her mom.

“They’re probably trying to determine if his taste in whiskey is adequate,” Abby says. “I wouldn’t worry. They aren’t going to do anything to try and sabotage your relationship.”

“Hold on to that one,” Thelonius advises. “You’re lucky to have him. What you two have is rare.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, and Abby bites back a laugh. Thelonius and his sage advice to the rescue as usual.

Bellamy, Jake, and Wells eventually return to the table, and Bellamy is grinning from ear to ear. Which is a good sign, Clarke supposes. She wants to grill him about what her Dad and her best friend said to him, but it will probably have to wait until the drive home. They’re unlikely to get a proper moment alone together while they’re here.

Abby, Jake, and Thelonius argue about who is going to pay for dinner, and Abby ends up winning. Wells grabs Clarke by the arm as they exit the restaurant, while Bellamy is distracted by another of Thelonius’s pieces of wisdom.

“I think you got a good one this time,” Wells whispers.

Clarke glances at Bellamy. “I know.”

“Okay, we really should get going, Thelonius,” Abby hints, and Wells drops Clarke’s arm.

“I’m really happy for you,” he says, stepping over to stand by his father.

“Of course,” Thelonius says in response to Abby. “Goodnight all. Good to see you all again. Nice to meet you, Bellamy.”

In the car on the way home, Clarke leans up against Bellamy in the backseat, his hand on her knee. She feels like she could doze off on his shoulder, her eyelids are so heavy. The long drive, the big dinner, and all the excitement of introducing Bellamy to her parents has finally gotten to her.

Jake pulls the car into the driveway, and Bellamy presses a kiss to the top of Clarke’s head.

“You want me to carry you inside?” he whispers.

Clarke shakes her head. She does want him to carry her inside, but not in front of her parents. They’ve already been affectionate enough with each other, much more so than Clarke ever was with Lexa in public. In private, even. But Clarke just can’t seem to stop herself with Bellamy. It’s like she just needs to be touching him in some way at all times. Not necessarily in a sexual way, but his touch always makes her feel better, more at ease.

He helps her out of the car, and they follow Abby and Jake into the house. It’s late, and Abby and Jake head straight to their room after a quick goodnight. Clarke hovers outside Bellamy’s room. She hates having to leave him. She wants to whisper in the dark with him about her family, and Wells, and how ridiculous Thelonius is. She wants to ask him what Wells and her dad said to him at the bar. And most of all she wants him to fuck her nice and slow, then spoon her until they fall asleep.

Instead she says, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Bellamy returns. He crowds her against the wall next to the guestroom door, takes her face in his hands, then slips his tongue into her mouth, kissing her until her head spins with desire. He pulls away, and Clarke rubs a finger across her bottom lip subconsciously. “Something to think about,” he winks, then retreats into his bedroom.

Clarke slinks off to her own room, lips still swollen from his kiss. She gets into her pyjamas, brushes her teeth, then slides into bed. Though she’d been seconds from sleep only twenty minutes earlier, now she feels wide awake. She can’t stop thinking about the kiss Bellamy just gave her, and how she wishes they could have kept going. Her thoughts stray to the things he’d said earlier, about fucking her in this bed, in her childhood bedroom. She’s never had sex in here before, hadn’t lost her virginity until her first year of college.

Her cunt throbs, and she pushes her hand into her pyjama shorts, then slips a finger into her slit. Fuck, she’s soaking wet. She groans, burying her head into her pillow. Stupid Bellamy, making her all horny at the worst possible times. Part of her wants to sneak into his room and beg him to fuck her, screw what her Dad says. Her parents never have to know.

Instead, she rolls out of bed and rummages around in her overnight bag, pulling out her little bullet vibrator that she’d brought with her, just in case. She’s had plenty of practice keeping quiet in this house while she masturbates. It won’t take her long, and then she’ll be able to sleep.

She hops back into bed, and just as she does, the door to her bedroom opens. Instinctively, her hand curls around the vibrator under the covers. It’s small enough that it’s hidden in her fist.

Bellamy closes the door behind him, and pads over to her bed, getting in beside her. He has the look of a naughty schoolboy on his face.

“What are you doing?” Clarke asks him. “I told you, we can’t have sex.”

“I just want to talk to you,” he says. “I missed you. We haven’t talked properly since we got here.”

Clarke smiles. Her heart swells at the knowledge that he feels the same way she does.

They lie face to face in the dark, Clarke still hiding the vibrator in her palm. If he finds out she brought it, and was about to use it, he’ll tease her about it until the end of eternity.

“Do you like my parents?” Clarke asks.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “And I think they like me, right?”

“Yes,” Clarke grins. Their voices are hushed, their face lit only by the moonlight streaming in through Clarke’s bedroom window.

“They kind of feel like family already. Like I’ve known them forever. Wells too.”

“Not Thelonius?”

“He’s, uh—”

Clarke bursts into laughter and Bellamy snorts. It goes without saying that Thelonius is one of the weirdest guys on the planet.

“What did Dad and Wells say to you? When they dragged you off to the bar?”

“That’s top-secret men’s business.”

“Bellamy! I’m your girlfriend. Your loyalty is to me.”

“What about the bro code?”

“I know you don’t believe in the bro code.”

Bellamy smiles. “They basically told me if I ever broke your heart, they would hunt me down and kill me, if you didn’t do it first.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Talk about toxic masculinity.”

Bellamy pauses, brushing her hair from her face. “They also said they’d never seen you so happy,” he says, his voice dropping even lower. “And your dad was crying a bit.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m not.”

Clarke bites her lip. “They’re right, you know,” she admits. “I’ve never been so happy.”

“Me too,” Bellamy murmurs. He leans forward to press a kiss on the bridge of her nose. “I love you,” he says quietly, brushing his nose against hers.

Clarke’s stomach flips over, and her heart skitters. She swallows. “I thought you were waiting for me to say it first.”

“I was,” he says. “But I couldn’t help it any longer. It’s okay if you don’t say it back. I just wanted you to know that.”

Tears brim in her eyes. She’s been in love before, of course. But not like this. Not in a way that feels so hopeful, so good, so pure. She thought her love for Lexa would drown her, but Bellamy’s love is her fucking lifeboat. Lexa was like the moon, dark, and mysterious and captivating. Bellamy is the sun, and she wants to bask in his glow forever.

“I love you too,” she says, and it’s so much easier to say than she thought it would be.

“Yeah?” Bellamy grins.

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “I love you so much, it terrified me. That’s why I didn’t say it. But I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“I’m not scared either,” Bellamy says. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”  He kisses her, and Clarke is pretty sure she’s crying, or maybe the tears she can taste are his. Bellamy reaches for her, and he grabs her hand in his, forcing her to open her fist. He pauses and pulls away from her.

“What’s this?” he asks, taking the vibrator from her hand and pulling it out from under the covers. “Did you bring a toy?” he asks, teasing.

“Maybe.”

“So much for not getting horny, huh?”

“Shut up, it’s your fault,” Clarke says, slapping him playfully.

“Oh yeah?” he teases. “You’ve been thinking about me, have you? You all wet for me?”

Clarke nods. “Can’t stop thinking about you fucking me in this bed.”

Bellamy rolls over so he’s on top of her, and he kisses her, making her forget for a moment why he’s not supposed to be in here, why they’re not supposed to do this. “Bellamy, we can’t,” she whimpers against his mouth. It’s one thing to be quiet when she’s only pleasuring herself, but if Bellamy is involved, she knows she’ll have no control over what comes out of her mouth.

“We’re not going to,” Bellamy whispers back. “It doesn’t count if I just use this,” he says with a wolfish grin, holding up her vibrator. He slips his hand into her pyjama shorts and slides the vibrator between her wet folds, slicking it up with her arousal, before her presses the button on the end to turn it on. Clarke jumps at the sudden buzz between her legs.

Bellamy throws back the covers and shimmies down, so he’s eye-level with her crotch, edging her shorts down as he goes, keeping the vibrator softly buzzing just inside her pussy lips. It’s not enough to make her feel much yet, other than anticipation for what’s to come.

“How many settings does this thing have?” Bellamy asks.

“I think six.”

“You think?”

“Definitely six.”

Bellamy presses the button again, and the buzzing gets a little more intense. The vibrator glides between her folds as he drags it up towards her clit. He circles the sensitive bud, and Clarke squirms as the vibration pulses through her. He presses the tip of the vibrator to her clit, just for a moment and she gasps. He pulls away again, chuckling.

He holds the vibrator up in his hand, clicking the button, testing each of the settings. The first three just get more intense, while the next three change it up a little, alternating pulsing and buzzing in three different ways.

“This is fun, why haven’t we done this before?” Bellamy says, putting it back on the second highest setting, then sinking it into her cunt. It’s too small to do much, but she moans anyway. “Shh,” he hushes her. “You have to be quiet. Or your parents will hear you.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I can’t.” Bellamy turns the vibrator up, then edges it back up her slit towards her clit. She whimpers. He holds the vibrator to her clit, and her orgasm builds fast. She pants as she gets close, right to the edge, then he pulls away again. She whines, and he laughs.

“You’re such an asshole,” Clarke says, on the verge of tears. Her cunt is throbbing, her thighs and his fingers coated in her arousal.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Bellamy coos. “I’m only teasing.”

“I need to come, Bell. Please.”

“Only if you’re quiet.”

Clarke nods. “I’ll try.”

Bellamy circles her clit with the vibrator again, once, twice, then a third time, winding her up again. She already knows she’s failing at being quiet. It feels too good, and she’s too desperate. The vibrator hits her clit again.

“Bellamy,” she moans. “Please. Oh my god. I’m so close. Don’t stop, Bell, please don’t stop.”

“Shh,” he says, half laughing. He puts his big hand over her mouth, covering half her face, just as she comes, muffling the cry that escapes her mouth. He keeps the vibrator against her clit as she comes, until she shoves his hand away, the sensation too much for her sensitive clit.

“You okay?” he whispers.

Clarke nods. “Do you think they heard?” she asks. God, she doesn’t know if she could bear it if her parents heard her screaming her boyfriend’s name in pleasure.

“No,” Bellamy says. “I would have been chased out of here with a pitchfork by now.”

Clarke laughs, and Bellamy kisses her, swallowing her laugh. “You have to get out of here and go back to your own room.”

“I seriously need to jerk off after that,” he mutters.

“No masturbating in my parents’ house.”

“Oh, but you’re allowed to?”

“I can’t risk you getting come all over the guest bedroom sheets.”

“Fuck,” Bellamy groans. “I’m so fucking hard.”

“I know,” Clarke whispers, stroking his cock through his boxers. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. On the way home. I’ll suck you off while you drive.”

Bellamy groans again. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke laughs, only a tiny bit apologetic.

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says, kissing her again. “It was worth it.”

Clarke smiles. “Get out of here before my dad catches you.”

Bellamy scrambles to his feet, and tucks her back into bed. He kisses her on the head.

“I love you,” Clarke whispers as he leaves.

“I love you too.”

 -

 Clarke creeps into Bellamy’s room the next morning, knowing her parents are probably already up. Bellamy is awake already, reading the book he brought with him.

“Good morning,” Clarke says, crawling onto the bed beside him. She gives him a quick peck.

“Morning,” Bellamy murmurs back.

“We better get up or Mom will come looking for us.”

Bellamy puts on a shirt and some pants before heading downstairs, but Clarke doesn’t bother to change out of her pyjamas. Abby is in the kitchen, an array of breads, spreads, and cereals on the counter in front of her.

“Good morning, you two,” she says. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“She’s just doing this for your benefit, you know,” Clarke says to Bellamy. “Even as a teenager if I asked what was for breakfast, she would just tell me it was whatever I made for myself.”

“I’ll enjoy in while it lasts then,” Bellamy grins.

“Where’s Dad?” Clarke asks, looking around the kitchen like he might appear at any minute.

“Uh—” Abby hesitates. She glances between Clarke and Bellamy, as if deciding whether to tell them or not. “I think he just needs—a little time.”

“A little time?” Clarke swallows, dread pooling in her stomach. She had thought her dad loved Bellamy. And now he doesn’t want to be in the same room as him? “What happened? Doesn’t Dad like Bellamy?”

“Oh no, sweetie, it’s not that,” Abby hurries to explain. “Jake thinks Bellamy is great. It’s just—well—” she grimaces. “We heard you last night. He’s very embarrassed. I don’t think he knows how to act around you at the moment.”

“Oh my god,” Clarke says, cringing. She can feel her face growing hot.

Bellamy just laughs, and Abby joins in, while Clarke gives them dirty looks. Obviously she got her sense of shame from her father.

“Stop it, this is so embarrassing,” Clarke huffs.

“Well, now he definitely won’t want us sleeping in the same bed,” Bellamy says, still grinning like the whole thing is hilarious.

“I think the illusion is shattered now,” Abby says. “He’ll get over it.”  

“But will I?” Clarke groans. How is she ever going to look her dad in the eye again?

“Just have some breakfast, Clarke,” Abby sighs. “It’s not the end of the world.” She leaves the room after that, probably to give them some space while Clarke comes to terms with the fact that her parents heard her orgasm.

They make their own breakfasts, Clarke replaying last night over in her mind, wondering exactly what her dad heard. She can see Bellamy smirking to himself out the corner of her eye, and she bumps her hip against his.

“Seriously, what is so funny?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he says. He glances at her, still smirking. “I was just thinking. Now your dad knows why you’re happier than he’s ever seen you.”

[chaniters]

Psycopathor’s Murder Games, Part 1

After enhancing his powers, Cyrus joins Psycopathor’s games, hoping to defeat the rangers and gain the piece of technology he needs. But Psycopathor has something up his sleeve, as usual. 

(Post-retribution AU part 5)

_____________________________________

You try to push the people away. Both Physically and mentally.

Their thoughts are so loud... It almost hurts.

Your shields are weaker now. Regina explained. Shields are necessary to protect others from your powers as much as to protect others from your own mind.

With her procedure, she can increase your mind's signal strength, but your shields get broken down in turn.

You felt like you were dying as she had her machines work on you. Wanted to break free, escape.. Get out...But she was just doing what you asked. It’s you in control, not her. The thought was strangely comforting as you sank deeper into her manipulations. Let her slowly tear you apart... willingly. 

It's so hard to block their thoughts right now… And you feel strange. Almost like you were drunk. Like you’re not yourself anymore. Humans. They all look so insignificant… so meaningless… you could just…

No. Do not get distracted!

You raise what's left of your shields and take some painkillers from your pocket to stop the headache. That'll have to do for now.

The crowd is huge. A long drive out of town, then a dangerous stroll through the ruins, and you're here.

Apocalyptica Fest.

You heard about it but never visited yourself. Ortega and Anathema did a few times and told you it was an experience.

They weren't exaggerating.

Doom Cults celebrating the anniversary of the destruction caused by the big one, that destroyed old Los Angeles.

Outsider subcultures, on full display.

Criminals, selling drugs and specially hero-drugs freely.

No police force whatsoever.

Several bands are playing in the "End of the world" section. An infernal party like no other.

THere's no formal announcement for Psycopathor, he's not that careless. But you can see the monster-fuckers wearing his memorabilia wherever you look.

They're here for the Murder games.

You're all wearing dark outfits with hoods, hiding your costumes. No masks yet.

Cybra and Aegis. You wish Cestus was here, but he turned against you after the stunt you pulled. He’s too angry for you to manipulate. Cellex and the others voted against it as well.

You should consider yourself lucky though.

You and Cybra are two heaviest hitters on your side. And Aegis has a history of being almost undefeated against other powered individuals.

She can handle Steel if it comes to it.

And your powers... It's hard to even control them now.

You can sense humans having a soft headache around you. Aegis complained a bit about it but told you her mind-defense training would hold.

You smile. Good for her because you've got no way to stop it.

It was extremely painful. But Regina told you she's not done. She's preparing to go all the way next time, once you're ready.

She said you’re not a Cuckoo anymore. You're way beyond infiltration. You're a weapon now.

Cybra points at a large tent in the distance.

The Monster-fucker stand. It's huge You're told to wait there.

"Right. Let's go" you say.

................................................................

Two pints of Monster-Fucker beer and one Apocalypse Sandwich later, Psycopathor makes his entrance from the back, in full costume.

You've already spotted the rangers, wearing equally concealing outfits, on the other side of the closed tent. Herald is there.

It's hard to read his thoughts around the crowd. But he seems to be all over the place.

Psycopathor gives a signal, and the Monster-Fucker tent collapses, revealing a huge stage.

Fireworks fly off, making everyone turn to look in his direction.

A tall woman takes a mic and stands in the center of the stage, lights focusing on her.

LADIES, AND GENTLEMEN AND EVERYONE CAUGHT IN BETWEEN! I GIVE YOU...." Drumrolls start somewhere "PSYCOPATHOR!"

The presenter moves out of the spotlight, letting the tall figure take the mic. He's added some decorated with skulls to his shoulder pads. They look so real you're have to wonder where he got them.  

He isn't wearing his largest skull helm, but he has "Dia de Los Muertos" makeup this time. Nice detail.

He looks badass, you have to admit.   How will your own suit, slender and tall measure up?

"WELCOME! Heroes! Villains!" He starts, sections of the crowd cheering as he mentions them.

"MONSTER FUCKERS!" he adds, addressing a small sector of people dressed elegantly and wearing masks, taking seats in the spot with the best view of the stage.

"AND EVERYONE FUCKING ELSE!" Now everyone cheers. “THIS IS THE EVENT OF THE YEAR, THAT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING SINCE BEFORE YOU WERE BORN!” Ok maybe that’s exaggerating a bit.

"TONIGHT, I'VE ARRANGED MURDER GAMES LIKE NEVER BEFORE!" He goes on "LET US PRESENT OUR CONTESTANTS"

A large screen lighted up behind him.

"LEADING THE HEROES TEAM, A MAN WHO'S GOT MORE METAL THAN FLESH! THE UNFLOORABLE MARSHALL STEEL!"

The screen goes on a trailer of Steel fighting various enemies. At one point you can't help but smile seeing him kick Psycopathor himself out of a building's window.

Steel himself walks on the stage, as the crowd cheers... some of them boo as well. He isn't clapping, and he hates every moment of this. And the crowd knows, and that makes them cheer and boo even harder. Typical Chen.

"SECOND. OUR KILLER LADY EVERYONE LOVES!  A RANGER WHO ALWAYS GETS HER MAN, DEAD OR ALIVE, BUT LET's BE HONEST, SHE GENERALLY BRINGS COFFINS... LADY ARGENT!"

Another trailer. Argent stabbing enemies... And then she's fighting you, atop the heights of that bridge her claws and your fists moving almost faster than the camera can follow.

That footage never ceases to amaze you, that you could keep up against her.

She walks to the stage with a bright smile. Someone screams for her to have his babies. Usual stuff. She isn't always close to her fans, but she loves to have them in this sickening gladiatorial setting. Reminds everyone she's the real thing.

"THIRD! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? IS IT AN UNDERWEAR MODEL, OR A HERO?! OH WAIT IT'S BOTH! MAKE NOISE FOR... HERALD!"

Herald's trailer makes people lose it. The crowd goes insane as he walks on the stage... No smile. No bow to the crowd... He turns and gives you the coldest murderous glare you've seen in some time.

His mind is different. Cold. Focused. And that's not all. He's been under some sort of... change. Argent and Chen feel it too. Chen is... concerned? Herald must have unlocked some new power. And he thinks he can destroy you with it.

You clap for him, which only infuriates him more.

"Come at me with everything you got Daniel" you speak to his mind, without words "I fear no one".

Several people turn around. Wow. You wanted only Daniel to hear it, but apparently half the audience did. Your powers are just beyond right now.

The outburst of rage within his mind is phenomenal. For a moment you think he's going to glide for your throat right there... but then he controls himself, and gives the crowd the smile and bow they've been waiting for.  

So... a transformed Herald... What's next?

"AND NOW... LET US PRESENT... THE POD PEOPLE!" You smile. Pod people isn't the worst thing they're calling you these days, and it's actually accurate, you all come from large tubes.

"THE MASTER MINDFUCKER HIMSELF, THE CAUSE OF ALL THIS RANDOM DESTRUCTION... " He begins. You start to stand, trying to make sure your short cape looks presentable.

"RETRIBUTION" he goes on, the spotlight following you as you come down to the stage. A trailer begins, showing you fight all of the rangers, and many, many other heroes. And it ends with you on giants screens threatening the populace, and the Helios blowing up the City Hall with its lasers as your laughter goes over the loudspeakers.

Fuck. You wish you could have done that trailer yourself. Psycopathor's already bested you twice today.

You stand on a threatening pose. There is overwhelming booing from the audience. But a lot of cheers too.

This baffles you. Of course, many of the people in the audience are anarchists with anty-system views. But many of them just came for the show. Why are they still cheering?

You've been preventing casualties, that's why. They still don't get where your rebellion is heading for...

They still think you're going to be old news in a few years.

You just smile behind your helm. Too much irony. You pose. You threaten the ones booing at you.  You bow to the fans that start cheering on a corner.

Let them have this.

Your mind begins considering what's next, as the announcements go for the rest of your team.

Aegis. She's probably the strongest single combatant at close quarters. She's ideal for this match. And Cybra. She might be vulnerable in your mind, but there's no escaping the fact that she's one of the deadliest members of your rebellion hands down.  

"Now let us announce our WONDERFUL PRIZES"

The woman comes back, with a second mic.

"The prizes for these Murder Games are...."

The displays change to show the tacky Hourglass armor. You know you're not good with style choices, but that thing is just hideous.

"The Hourglass Armor! Designed by the Time-Bender, it can freeze anyone in a large radius for a whole minute!"

It does seem like a second-rate trinket given your powers. You smile. Good. Let them think i'ts just a joke.

"And the second prize... Giving a new definition to the damsel in distress... The man everyone wants to rescue...It's Los Diablos's beloved hero... CHARGE!"

He is shown spread-eagled, in full costume, arms and legs restrained by a strengthened plastic device. Psycopathor made some cuts on his costume to give him a "Beaten and recently captured look".

He is struggling with the restraints, actually making it sexier. Of course, he does. You wonder if he knows he's being watched. He probably does, the idiot.

The crowd loses it, cheering. You close your eyes, trying to hold your weak shields together. It's deafening.

Someone squeezes your hand.

Cybra?

You look at her. She's expressionless as usual. But she knows what's going on. It's so hard to tell with her. You can't rely on scanning her mind, and she has no body-language or speech that you can study.

After announcing they'll be having a lottery for everyone attending and where to buy tickets, she hands the Mic to Psycopathor again.

About time.

“ALRIGHT. FIRST RULE OF THE MURDER GAMES! NO OUTSIDE HELP! IF ANYONE HELPS YOU, YOU’RE DISQUALIFIED. ”

“SECOND RULE…. PUT ON A FUCKING SHOW! DONT MAKE ME LOOK BAD, YOU FUCKERS!”

“THAT'S ALL FOR THE RULES. NOW THE GOAL OF THE GAME…”

“FOR YEARS MY MONSTER FUCKERS HAVE BEEN DEMANDING THIS, AND NOW, FINALLY, AGAINST ALL ODDS I’M DELIVERING! THE TARGET OF THESE MURDER GAMES… IS NO OTHER THAN LOS DIABLOS’S VERY OWN… “

“CATASTROFIEND!!!!!!”

A final trailer begins, as your jaw drops to the floor.

Catastrofiend during the Phoenix Massacre. Catastrofiend during the West Covina battle.

Catastrofiend during the Beverly Hills Rampage. It goes on and on. Santa Monica. Santa Clarita. Destroying the Zoo. Catastrofiend killing Whirlwind. Catastrofiend beheading Sunstroke. Catastrofiend stabbing Mantis. Catastrofiend slashing Ortega, as you shoot him and drag both of you away. And then there are the movie posters. “A nightmare on the 13th”. I… II… III… He’s the original slasher villain after all.

Fuck.

The trailer ends with Catastrofiend’s broken voice roaring with that insect chirp he does, chilling your bones.

“I HAVE CAPTURED THE CATASTROFIEND MONSTER FUCKERS!” He yells. “I DONE IT! AND WE ARE GOING TO RELEASE HIM TONIGHT, JUST FOR THESE MURDER GAMES!”

Steel is discussing with his team. He steps up.

“You never said you would endanger civilians!!”

“OH? I GUESS I DIDN’T… WELL, NO ONE SHOULD BE IN DANGER… IF YOU WIN THESE GAMES, THAT IS! “

“THE TARGET OF THESE MURDER GAMES IS CATASTROFIEND! FIRST TEAM TO TAKE IT’S HEAD AND BRING IT HERE GETS EVERYTHING! THE NEWS WILL PROVIDE FOOTAGE OF IT ALL, AND WE’LL BE HERE, SHOWING IT LIVE ON THESE WONDERFUL SCREENS!”

“THE MONSTER IS BEING RELEASED IN 5 MINUTES, AT THE LOCATION! ON SCREEN! IF YOU HAVE ANY LOVED ONES, MONSTER FUCKERS, NOW’S THE TIME TO TELL THEM TO GET THE FUCK AWAY!”

Many on the crowd take out their cellphones. Others just cheer. A 3d projector shows up a map.

Cybra’s eyes flicker as she records it.

Steel looks like he wants to complain some more.

You and your team head run off the stage without a word. You and Cybra each take one of Aegis’ hands, and activate your jump-thrusters, carrying her upwards and gliding over the crowd.  

No time to waste.

“LET THE GAMES BEGIN!” He goes on in the distance. “ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?” he asks. Obviously, he had to ask that question. The crowd explodes.

Fucking Psycopathor.

______________________________

My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero    DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[maliwarm]

Dirigiboob

A belated birthday gift for Elfy!!

I know little of Jestera, since nothing aside from her powers and the fact she plays a more important role than she seems in Elfy’s setting (Devil’s Yakuza) has been mentioned. So this is probably not canon, no toes as all hell tbh. But I had a lot of fun playing around with how I imagine (some of) her powers may manifest!

De’ronja was going to be replaced with main man Kazuo initially for a completely different interaction, but this came far easier and was, well, more fun anyhow. :,)

🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈

For all that the Demon World had been his home for millennia, De’ronja of the Daunting Sun never ceased to be amazed by the denizens that comprised it. There certainly were some oddballs amongst his fellow demons, be that in terms of their appearance, powers, or both. And whilst there was a need to be wary of those powers (djinn like himself, in particular, possessed the ability to create and destroy realities at their own whims), his fascination vastly outweighed his caution more often than not.

This hellspawn woman was one of those fascinating oddballs.

Her garb was, in a word, poofy. A mix of bright and monochromatic tones, it was reminiscent of something from some bygone Western era. All its frills and patterning seemed to add stock to this and even, dare he say it, added a distant element of royalty to her?

Dark face paint made the milkiness of a (presumably, though that could very well be wrong) unseeing eye pop out more, whilst adding a sense of eeriness and mystery to her. A set of long, spindly, claws tapped at her chin faintly as she made a meandering approach towards him. Her other, darker eye roamed up and down his body in assessment. It was difficult to determine what she might be thinking. That said, he couldn’t detect any sort of malice, and her smile - featuring a prominent toothy underbite - was mild, so De’ronja figured she was merely as curious as he himself, rather than intent on causing harm. Furthermore there was an odd swagger to her steps, every one exaggerated to the point of goofiness, rather than purposeful and aggressive strides. It seemed as though she were intentionally making as much noise as possible, the star shaped trinkets hanging off the pointed tips of her toes jingling merrily. Though the silliness of her movements certainly didn’t detract from an ample set of assets.

Her hips rolled playfully with every step, pale flesh winking cheekily through the sizeable cuts in her suit. And the bountiful swell of her breasts continued to swell. And swell. And swell before his eyes, until there were a pair of veritable beach balls jutting from her body. De’ronja was honestly more impressed her outfit didn’t malfunction and nip slip than with the sheer size she’d expanded them. Then again, demon-made clothing was durable as hell, made to accomodate all sorts of manifestations of power.

A softly uttered “hup!” as she hopped into the air on one foot, accompanied by the pleasant jingle of all the trinkets adorning her person from headpiece to shoetips, and then she was floating higher and higher off the ground until she was eye level with him. Her breasts, having started to defy gravity and tug upwards and obscure her face during her ascent, were forcefully wrangled down via crossed arms over the tops of them. Though they continued to strain for the sky at the sides, the new weight pressing atop them didn’t cause her to sink any lower. Nor did she rise any higher.

A contented hum was released, the hellspawn woman resting her chin on her arms to regard him. The fangs jutting from her lower jaw gleamed like beautiful pearly white daggers as she graced him with a wider, more sincere, smile. The tiny stars on strings jingled as she languidly kicked her feet to and fro. Her singular milky eye seemed to bore right through him, even as the black iris of her other glittered with mirth. Her tail rose, the fluffy end wiggling at him in some semblance of a wave.

“Does that hurt?” De’ronja asked, genuinely curious. He motioned at her engorged chest, the flesh dimpled inwards from the weight of her sleeved arms pressing down on it.

Perhaps that was too forward of him, especially considering he’d skipped any semblance of pleasantry... but she’d intrigued him greatly. Thankfully, she seemed to take it in stride, grin splitting her face even further.

“Nah. Pretzeling my fingers into balloon animals can feel uncomfortable though.”

By way of demonstration, she held out a hand. Three of the fingers swelled rapidly, plumping and lengthening; even the lengthy nails were altered, expanding and edges softening until where they ended and her actual fingers began was indistinguishable. Like her breasts, they floated for the sky. They also seemed to be boneless, for as she took hold of them with her unaltered hand, twisting them together with expert ease, there were no unpleasant crunches to be heard. Instead, there were a series of peculiar groaning rubber noises every time those fingers rubbed against each other or were pinched inwards. It looked as uncomfortable as she’d mentioned it was, though the woman’s face remained relaxed throughout the entire process. She even hummed some merry tune under her breath.

It was over faster than expected, even with the use of only one of her hands to make all those twists and knots. And by the end, punctuated with a theatric flourish, she’d produced a deceptively simple looking flower.

“Ta-daaa!” she exclaimed, gently tapping one of the petals against his nose. The contorted flesh felt oddly rubbery but was about as warm as standard skin temperature.

“That’s incredible,” De’ronja praised, hands clapping together. The light in his eyes and bubbliness of his tone spoke volumes of his sincerity; truly, this woman was quite the marvel to behold. Behind him his tail wiggled, the spiked end pulsing luminescent gold. “Can you do that to any part of your body?”

The hellspawn woman titled her chin up proudly. “Eyes to ass, nail to bone, my balloon manipulation can’t be outclassed.”

Faint shuddering was the precursor for her fingers to start shrinking and violently unravelling from their pretzeled state. Fat roundness gave way to slender razor-ripped points once again, the blackened appendages flexing experimentally. They appeared to function as fingers should again, bending at every joint, and solid enough to not squeeze and twist segments of them to ridiculous thinness.

“Ah, but only your first show is free, Mr Daunting Sun.” A finger was waggled. One corner of her painted lips twitched upwards in a crooked smirk; the expression was rather endearing with that prominent underbite of hers. “You want another taste, you’ll need to pay like any other customer.”

“Show?” De’ronja repeated, head tilting. “So you’re a performer of some sort?” That actually added some sense to most of her actions until this point.

She hummed an affirmative. A sharp flick of the wrist summoned what looked to be a playing card from thin air. Nestled snugly between two taloned fingers, it was held out to him. A shadowy caricature of a man in similar attire to her own grinned widely from the glossy surface. The illustration’s smile seemed to grow as De’ronja accepted the offering, holding it up for inspection. Flipping it revealed an upside down mirror of the same shadowy figure. Elaborate red J’s adorned every corner of both sides of the card; the only spots of colour to be found on it.

“The Big Top comes and goes as it pleases - it’s quite the fickle thing, see - but so long as you have that, you should be able to find it.” Idly, the woman glanced at a cuffed wrist, even more of the tiny star charms attached to it tinkling faintly with the movement. Whatever she saw (or imagined she saw) elicited a sigh of disappointment. “Ah phooey, looks like my break’s over. Mayhaps we’ll cross paths again sometime, Sunshine.”

“Wait... you’re leaving already?” His disappoint was palpable, ears and tail drooping.

“Not forever. Just for now.” The woman poised the sharp tips of her index nails near the bare portions of her chest. “Until then... be well, De’ronja of the Daunting Sun.”

He startled, jaw flapping open to gape. That was twice now she’d used his title. And the first she’d used his name. Yet they’d never exchanged names once during this encounter.

Whilst he was still caught in his stupor, the hellspawn woman jabbed both nails into her own flesh. They slid through as easily as a hot knife through butter, burying halfway before she pulled them back out again. De’ronja got the briefest impression of empty black holes - no blood, no nothing - in her pale skin before she was violently flung backwards.

Twin puffs of air ruffled his sideburns; one second she was in front of him, the next, some thirty feet away in an uncontrollable backwards journey. An ecstatic squeal tore from her throat, pealing high and giddy through the otherwise silent air.

“Ah, wait!” He began to chase after her, hand outstretched with the intent to grab her by the wrist in order to gain more answers. “How did you know-?!”

But she was already out of earshot and reach, madly zipping about in erratic corkscrews as her breasts deflated with a comical PBBBBT that was almost entirely drowned out by her gleeful hooting and cackling. At this point, she’d already steadily shrunk into a more and more indistinguishable figure.

So much for getting answers...

Sighing in defeat, De’ronja glanced from the faint dot in the sky to the card in his hand. The shadowy figure continued to grin back cheekily, as if rubbing in the fact it knew something he did not.

“Balloon manipulation, huh....”

[dyketectivecomics]

Book Ends

bc i kinda cant wait, but also don't wanna put it on ao3 yet bc i think this needs some fine tuning. so have this babsrae ficlet that’ll be the start to a ridiculously long slow burn bc i said i’d work on this for like half a year now & rlly should’ve started it sooner

...

Barbara wasn't normally one to try new book shops. She definitely wasn't one to linger in ill-lit ones in what was considered one of Gotham's poorer districts. But seeing as she had some time to kill before she was meeting with an old friend, and that it was one of the few shops on the street that held any of her interest, she decided to take a gamble on Write Around the Corner.

The old oak door swung open slowly, creaking to a halt as the patron crossed the threshold, a soft bell chiming her arrival. It only took but a glance, and Barbara could not keep her distaste for the shop hidden on her face. She pushed her glasses up her nose, and sniffed in disdain at her surroundings.

Everything in it had been set up with a very clear aesthetic over function in mind. Sure, the books on the shelves were ordered by genre, but then by color and size. Trinkets and oddities were sprinkled throughout the store, likely to add an air of mysticism, but it only came off as cluttered to the redhead. Chairs, couches and coffee tables were spread out at regular intervals between rows of shelves, and lamps with dim lighting stood nearby these spaces, providing what was meant to be a cozy atmosphere. With no proper overhead lighting, however, she wondered how any patron was meant to be able to make out the titles, much less to choose among countless summaries among paperbacks and hardcovers alike.

Barbara began taking off her coat, noting the warm temperature that was the only relief against the frigid temperatures of Gotham City in the winter. At least one thing to be grateful for. She turned her head slightly to the side, picking up the familiar weave and flow of Stevie Nicks drifting through the shop. An interesting, but not all unpredictable, choice.

'Heinous organization aside, seems like a nice enough refuge,' Babs decided as she strode down between aisles.

It was much bigger on the inside than its storefront would have pedestrians believe. She took a few more glances to the signs separating each section as she made her way to the counter in the back. New Releases were kept towards the front, on display in the windows, and young adult fiction and romance sections were easily marked and made into neat and inviting spaces. All of the usual, popular genres were covered within the first few rows of shelves.

As one traveled further on, however, the signs became smaller, and more refined. Sections on religion slowly devolved into ever more specific subcategories of philosophy. Opposite of that, sections labeled for gardening in turn took off into more specific branches delving into herbology and... 'Are those books on-'

Barbara nearly jumped out of her skin as a young woman turned around the corner of the shelves and flashed a welcoming smile at her as she walked by. Her black hair was done up in pigtails, and she pulled a black trenchcoat tightly over her outfit as she made a beeline for the door. It chimed softly as she exited, throwing a wordless wave behind her at the woman who seemed to materialize at the back counter.

"Need some help?" she asked, looking up from a stack of books. She began scanning them into the ancient register that sat to her right as she continued without missing a beat, "You're not one of my regulars."

Her black hair was pulled back into a messy bun, which was held together by what looked to Barbara almost like silver twine. What Barbara assumed to be reading glasses sat atop her head, an odd juxtaposition for someone who's face seemed much too young to need their aid. Her make-up was light, blue eyes lined loosely with liner and mascara, and her lips glistened with barest hint of pink lipgloss. The redhead glanced down as she noticed a distinct tattoo on the shopkeeper's bare right shoulder, intricate lines and swirls that looked like a sigil. She wore a dark tank top that dipped almost too low on the chest, and would have been severely out of season, were it not for the hellish temperature that had Barbara pulling at the hem on her own turtleneck sweater. The shopkeep leaned back on her stool then, and Babs could see a blue flannel jacket resting comfortably on her hips.

She pointed her hand, adorned with a few rings, towards the front. "We have a few bestsellers up front. But if you're looking for something more obscure, it doesn't get any better than when you reach that second aisle there." She jerked her thumb off to her left side at a set of stairs, "Unless you're here for the Witches Gathering, which is-"

"I'm meeting a friend soon," Barbara explained in a rush. She knew her eyes must have betrayed her nervousness, because the shopkeep began chuckling. It was a low, throaty laugh that had Babs' face turning flush with embarrassment.

"I'm messing with you, freckles. No witches here. We host monthly book clubs upstairs. Though," her eyes traveled up and down the redhead's body, surveying her outfit as she gave a cocky grin, "I don't know if they'd be your kind of fare." Barbara scowled in disapproval.

She'd met these types before. Goth jerks and hipsters with superiority complexes. She'd seen enough of them come into her library time and again to know how to put them in their place.

It was just too bad she felt all too out of her element, in this musky old shop with the smell of mildewing pages mixed with herbal tea mingling in the air. So unlike the gracefully aging pages and fresh coffee that wafted in from the students who made camp in her hallowed halls.

She'd stand her ground, at least, but not stir up too much of a fuss. One fight, with one small-time shopkeeper wasn't worth that effort.

"What ever happened to not judging books by covers?"

"What makes you think I haven't read this one before?" the raven-haired woman fired back within a beat.

The tone in her voice made Barbara stop short of giving her usual follow-up comeback. Partly because she hadn't quite been expecting it, but all the more because something about her seemed all too familiar now.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to shoot back, though she wasn't absolutely sure of what she had to say, the book club from upstairs adjourned, and began making their way down into the main shop. Many stopped to greet the woman behind the counter, and as familiar small-talk and in-jokes abounded, Barbara began to feel displaced and outnumbered.

Witches or not, these certainly weren't the kind of people she made the habit of associating with.

She checked her phone for an escape, seeing a missed call from Dick and a few worried texts.

And now Barbara Gordon, notorious for arriving much too early for most functions and gatherings, was about to be running just a minute late when meeting up with her childhood friend.

She donned her coat once more, stealing a glance back to the counter and the shopkeep chatting idly with her patrons. The woman gave a wave of her hand, something Babs thought could almost be called a mock salute, and called playfully after her, "See you soon. And remember if you have trouble finding us, we're right around the corner." An indian woman with a shock of pink hair punched her playfully in the shoulder for the lame farewell. A couple other patrons were snickering or shaking their heads.

Barbara pulled the coat tighter around her body before stepping back into the cold.

She'd have to attend to this little mystery another time.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Shooting Star (Ao3 link) - Chapter 3: Doomworld

Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

For Coldwave Week: Doomworld - @coldwaveevents

Summary: “So, Mr. Rory,” Sara Lance, leader of the Legends, asks, leaning across the desk. “Tell me. Why do you want to join the Legends and be a hero?”

Mick really hopes he doesn’t screw up this interview - it could be his last chance of becoming a real superhero.

(You see, he has this little complication involving this one supervillain…)

———————————————————————————————–

"So," Ray says. "Uh. What now?"

Everyone turns to look at Mick.

"I have no idea," he says crossly. "Leave me alone."

"You usually have the most insight into what Len's up to," Zari points out.

"I'm also still a hero," Mick says, more than a little testily. "So no. I have no idea what he's up to. Or what he was thinking. Or how every single hero group on the planet still managed to absolutely fail at stopping the Legion of Doom from getting their hands on the Spear of Destiny and re-writing reality into a dystopic Doomworld where they're in charge of everything. And absolutely none of that lack of knowledge is going to keep me from strangling him about it when I find him!"

"Probably why he hasn't shown his face since the change," Sara says wisely. "Waiting for you to cool down."

"It's not exactly like him, though," Amaya demurs. "Len's usually a really down-to-earth sort of villain, flair for the dramatic aside. This is really out of character."

"I know it's not like him," Mick says through gritted teeth. "That's why I'm gonna strangle him."

"Domestic violence is wrong, Mick," Sara says.

"In this instance?!"

"Hmm. Point. I will totally let you get in a few punches as long as I get one too," she offers.

Mick grumbles but agrees. Len doesn't actually take being beaten up by heroes when he deserves it personally, after all. "I really don't know what he's thinking this time," he adds gloomily. "He hates world-conquering plans, he thinks all-powerful magical trinkets are cheat codes for losers, and he's normally the first guy to tip off the good guys that something like this is going down."

"Maybe he didn't know about it?" Ray suggests.

Mick snorts. "His membership in the Henchmen and Minion League hasn't been revoked, as far as I'm aware. No way anyone got this far without him knowing."

"Then why..?"

"I don't know! He won't answer any of the usual numbers, and it's been over twelve hours of Alternate World and he hasn't so much as shown his face yet!"

Zari nudges Mick's shoulder gently with her own. "Hey," she says, immediately getting the real problem he's been having, which is not exactly the same problem everyone else has been having. "Don't worry about him, okay?"

"I'm not worried," Mick grumbles.

That's a lie.

He's worried.

Normally, anytime any big battle goes down that the Legends are even remotely involved in, Len can be guaranteed to show up within six hours, usually less, to check on his favorite team.

"He's fine," Zari insists. "He's Leonard Snart, Mick. One of the five co-rulers of Doomworld. He literally helped create this world."

"Yeah, sure. All the more reasons for one of his co-rulers to want to knock him off so they can be the only ones in charge..."

"Go back to being angry," Amaya suggests. "We haven't seen any indication that anything has happened to him, and you know the other villains wouldn't be able to keep from boasting about it if they did do something."

"Hm. Point.

"That means he's fine. And that, in turn, means that he'll have to show his face sometime."

"Does he?" Mick asks glumly. "He owns a fifth of the world now; I'm sure that'll keep him busy."

"Too busy for you, Mick?" Sara says skeptically. "Not really likely."

"More like 'never'," Ray agrees.

Mick shrugs. He admits it's unlikely, given Len's track record, but then again, so is Doomworld itself.

He doesn't like it when Len goes out of character.

Certainly not without some justification like mind-control or new-villain pheromones, and there's been no indication of anything like that.

"Personally, I'm just really happy we're immune to all the Doomworld changes," Nate says.

"Nate," Amaya says gently. "We're not immune."

"Wait. We're not?"

"Nope," Zari says. "Len just let us keep our memories of the original timeline. Possibly without telling any of his co-rulers about it."

"He did? Huh. One point in the 'he has a secret plan' column."

Ray obediently adds a point to the chart they have going on the whiteboard Gideon created for them when they first realized that the Waverider was grounded until repairs could be made. The time drive is totally dead, without any hope of recovery, so at this point they just want to have the air support. Not to mention wanting to avoid notice from the other people in Doomworld any more than they already have...

The other columns in the chart (titled "Why Would Leonard Snart Do?") are "he's gone crazy", "he was tricked into it", and "he's going to literally give the world to Mick on a platter because he couldn't think of a good enough gift to pay him back for that Diana thing".

(Mick objected strenuously to the inclusion of that last one, but got overruled.)

"Wait, if we're not immune," Nate says, "what are we?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, what do we do? Is there an evil Wikipedia saying what our jobs are in this universe?"

"Good question," Sara says. "Zari, could you -"

"Already checked," Zari says. "We're officially part of the Enforcers of the New Regime, actually."

"We are?!"

"Officially. Unofficially, we're Len's pet superhero team."

"That doesn't actually seem all that different from how it normally is," Ray says thoughtfully. "In our regular universe, I mean. Without the whole 'Enforcer' bit, but still."

"It's - actually not, sad to say, except for the part where we're all part of the ruling class of a dystopia and have absolute control over about 99% of the population, which has to fulfill our every request."

Silence for a few long minutes.

"Which we will not be exploiting," Sara says, sounding very tempted. "Because we're heroes and that would be bad."

"So much free coffee," Ray says, his eyes dreamy. "So much."

"...not what I was thinking, but you know what, sure, we can demand free coffee."

"Sara!"

"We have to exploit the system somehow or they might get suspicious of us," Sara sniffs.

"They'll be suspicious anyway," Amaya mutters.

"Hey, if we're Enforcers, why don't we get the sexy leather get-ups the rest of them have?" Nate wants to know.

"Because unlike the rest of them, we haven't been brainwashed," Sara points out. "Which I for one approve of."

"We should still get cool outfits."

"I'll have Gideon make you a leather outfit, okay? We'll probably need it to infiltrate somewhere eventually anyway."

"Good," Nate says, pleased. "I volunteer for that mission."

"Of course you do."

"Wait," Ray says, "are all of the other superhero teams incapacitated?"

"Uh, yeah, as far as I can tell," Zari says. "The only ones still at large are deliberately weakened so that they can be hunted down at the leisure of their respective villains. Why?"

"So what you're telling me is that the Legends are the only hero team left available to fight a world-destroying event? Like, this is our big chance," Ray says, rocking up and down in excitement. "This is our save-the-day, enter-the-big-hero-leagues moment!"

"Huh, yeah," Sara says, already looking vaguely haunted by the responsibility. "Hadn't thought of it that way, but I guess you're right."

"That bastard!" Mick suddenly roars.

They all look at him.

Mick, scowling, grabs the pen from Ray and puts a check in the "world to Mick on a platter" column.

Then he crosses out the word "world" and adds in "opportunity to be a real hero" instead.

Silence for a few long moments.

"You have got to be kidding me," Sara says flatly.

"It is the one thing he's always wanted to be able to give Mick," Amaya muses.

"I'm going to find him," Mick says. "And when I find him..."

"Never mind that," Ray says. "Let's go save the world!"

When reality is returned to normal, Len is given a very long talk about not using reality-altering devices to create what is essentially an Escape Room-style puzzle for the pleasure and glory of his significant other and his friends (from Mick and the other Legends), not playing with his fellow villains' dreams of world-conquering like that (from Lex), and about the fact that this whole gift-escalating thing really needs to stop (Sara called Diana in for that one).

Len responds by proposing marriage to Mick, being as that's the only way he can think of to permanently one-up him.

(He claims that once they're a single unit and Mick is permanently locked down, Mick's amazing gift-giving ability won't make him so frantic to pay him back.)

Mick says yes, but claims loudly that he's only doing it in order to write a pre-emptive restriction of crazy plans clause into their marriage vows.

(No one believes him.)

Their marriage is the biggest social event of the year for heroes and villains both. It goes remarkably well, or at least it does after they all end up teaming up to take down the locust-aliens horde from Earth-ABC.

After all, if there's one thing heroes and villains can agree on, it's that it's one thing to crash a wedding and a totally different thing to try to eat all the food.

Len swears he didn't set it up deliberately so that everyone would have a nice, entertaining fight to get out their hostility before the reception, the food for which was stashed in a totally different place.

Mick, having seen the early drafts of the program for the wedding, doesn't even pretend to believe him.

(Neither does anyone else.)