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mr-cha-n · 1 month ago

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Glass Towers

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, architect AU

Warnings: Profanities, drinking, angst, sexual content, penetration, mouth stuff (f. receiving), tension, yearning

Word Count: 18.2k

Summary: City lights are beautiful, but they're nothing compared to the spark between a hopelessly optimistic architect and his no-nonsense boss. He hopes.

Mingyu's always had a thing for the city skyline. He stands there, staring up like a tourist in his own city, while the lights blink back at him. He's convinced that the twinkling stars work overtime in the winter to brighten up the world for busy employees, wonderstruck sightseers, and homebound natives alike.

And the people? Oh, don't get him started. City folk are like ants with a caffeine addiction, scurrying down streets wide enough to do doughnuts on (he's tempted), all on their own secret missions. Got places to be, people to bump into, lives to live. And every now and then, there's a stray tourist wandering around like they're decoding a map from a century-old pirate treasure hunt, or a food vendor desperately offering free samples and a good, if unique, conversation.

But, most of all, he's got a soft spot for buildings. Those skyscrapers that loom over everyone like friendly giants are his favourite. They're tall, dramatic, stoic - but also weirdly welcoming, like they're saying "Come on in, friend, there's an elevator with your name on it." Each one holds a mini-universe of people with no clue that they're all part of this giant city love affair. And honestly? That's what Mingyu loves most.

That is why he is practically vibrating with excitement as he makes his way to the towering glass-and-steel behemoth that houses his new firm. This building is the pinnacle of urban architecture. It has a shiny, almost reflective facade that makes every other building on the block look like they'd shown up to the party in sweatpants. Windows stretch floor to floor like a series of portals to success.

He's read about this building, of course. Brought it up in the interview for the position. Its architect was apparently a big deal who had once described it as "a dialogue between the earth and the sky." Which, as far as Mingyu is concerned, is just fancy architect-speak for, "Look at how absurdly tall I can make things."

Stepping inside, he is immediately hit with that professional smell - a mix of leather-bound sofas, artisanal coffee, and freshly printed documents. The lobby is decorated with minimalist sculptures that seem like they could either be priceless modern art or just very confusing coat ranks. Either way, Mingyu thinks they look amazing and decides that he'd probably best never trying to lean on one.

He stops at the reception desk, where a sharply dressed woman with an impressively unflappable expression sits.

"Good morning!" He says, a little too enthusiastically. "I'm Kim Mingyu. I'm starting as the new project architect, so you'll probably see a lot of confused-looking, lost-guy moments from me."

She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile quirking on the edge of her lips. "Good luck, Mr Kim. This building does tend to eat people up on their first day."

Mingyu lets out a small chuckle, unsure if she's joking or not, but he takes the smile on her face to signify that she is. After getting directions to his new office space, he makes a point of talking to every staff member he sees on the way, hoping to gain a little bit of familiarity with the new space. There's the security guard by the elevator, who gives him a quick nod of approval, the intern rushing by with a stack of blueprints precariously balanced like they are training for Cirque du Soleil, and the coffee cart guy, who looked positively thrilled to tell Mingyu that they're starting a 'Mocha Monday' deal, envisioning half-price mochas flying off the shelf to cure those start-of-week blues.

The elevator itself is sleek, fast, and almost comically over-engineered. Encased in glass and stainless steel, it features a control panel with buttons for every floor and amenities like a mini espresso machine, a retractable tablet and an adjustable lighting system for 'mood optimisation'. He barely has time to catch his breath before the elevator doors ding open, depositing him on the top floor.

Waiting for him is Mr Choi, the firm's head partner, a man so put-together than even his cufflinks look like they could close a business deal. Mingyu recognises him instantly - the same piercing gaze from his interview, though today softened by the faintest hint of a smile. Or, well, something that might one day consider becoming a smile.

"Good to see you again, Mingyu," Mr Choi greets, his voice as smooth as marble. He gestures down the hallway, as if guiding him into an architectural wonderland (which, for all intents and purposes, he is). "Shall we?"

They pass through a maze of glass-walled offices and open spaces dotted with architects, designers, and enough blueprint paper to wrap the world's largest birthday present. As they reach Mr Choi's office, Mingyu makes sure to hold the door open for his new boss.

The space is less of an office and more of an architectural shrine, humming with the wisdom of ten thousand blueprints. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, as if the whole skyline had been personally curated just to keep Mr Choi inspired. His desk - a sleek slab of dark walnut with edges so sharp they could probably slice bread - sits precisely in the centre of the room. On the walls sit framed sketches of the firm's most iconic projects, each one hung and lit like a small art gallery. The coffee table at the centre piles high with glossy architecture magazines and books with titles like The Future of Concrete and The Language of Buildings. It is as if every element in the room had been strategically selected to convey that Mr Choi is not just any architect.

And, most stunning of all, is you. Tall, poised, and commanding a presence that immediately silences whatever joke Mingyu has mentally queued up to break the ice. You're seated across from Mr Choi's desk, reading through a thick stack of documents with the intensity of someone evaluating world-changing data - or possibly planning the most efficient way to dismantle a skyscraper with your mind. You don't look up when he enters.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," Mr Choi says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "this is Kim Mingyu, our newest project architect. He'll be working under you, as we discussed."

Finally, you look up. There's a flash of something unreadable in your eyes as you meet his, and Mingyu's heart skips a beat. You're beautiful, of course, but not in the approachable way he'd normally charm his way though. There's a quiet sharpness to you, like the edge of a blade hidden under silk. You nod, polite but detached, and extend a hand across the desk. Mingyu's hand is halfway to yours before he realises he's probably grinning too wide.

"Mr Kim," You say, your tone flat and calm. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, Ms (Y/l/n)," he replies, fighting the urge to launch into an unnecessarily enthusiastic monologue about how honoured he is to work with someone as formidable as you. Instead, he forces himself to stick with, "It's a pleasure to be here."

Your handshake is brief, controlled, and you retract your hand almost before he's registered the contact. Then you sit back, folding your arms with a measured kind of grace that makes Mingyu feel like he's just been granted an audience with a queen.

"We'll be starting you off on the Langham project," you say, consulting your papers as if double-checking this fact - or maybe just avoiding his eyes. "I'll be overseeing your work and guiding you through our procedures here. We have high standards, and I'll expect you to meet them."

"Of course!" He nods vigorously, attempting his best I-won't-let-you-down smile. "I'm up for any challenge, Ms (Y/l/n). High standards are, uh, my middle name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking slightly perplexed, as though wondering if he might be serious. Mr Choi clears his throat, breaking the silence with a faint smirk that betrays a hint of secondhand amusement.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," he continues, "has been with us for nearly a decade. She's an invaluable asset to the firm. I trust you'll learn a great deal from her."

Mingyu nods earnestly, glancing at you, but you're already back to scanning the documents as if he's drifted into background noise. He's mildly disappointed, though he can't exactly blame you - after all, he is juts the latest recruit with probably a hundred questions, and you seem like the type who doesn't have time for aimless chatter.

"Any questions before we begin?" you ask, in a tone that suggests the answer you're really hoping for is 'no.'

But of course, Mingyu has questions. Too many, probably. He opens his mouth to ask one, but then catches the faintest glint of what he thinks might be impatience in your eyes and quickly changes gears.

"Actually, no," he says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good to go!"

You don’t seem particularly impressed by this, but there’s a flicker of something — amusement, maybe? — before you turn back to Mr. Choi. "Shall I take him to the Langham briefing room, then?"

Mr Choi waves you off with a nod, and you rise with a brisk elegance that makes Mingyu almost trip over himself in an effort to follow. You walk him through the halls with a calm, businesslike air, giving succinct, precise explanations as you go. Every step you take feels purposeful, every word perfectly chosen. Mingyu feels like an eager puppy trotting beside you, but he's determined to keep up.

As you reach the briefing room, he can't resist trying to break the ice one more time. "You know," he starts, grinning. "I really love the city skyline. It's kind of why I got into architecture."

You pause, giving him a look that manages to be both blank and withering at once. "Is that so?"Yeah!" He barrels on, encouraged by the fact that you responded at all. "It's like ... it's all a big love letter to everyone living here, you know? Every building, every floor, every light in the window - it's all just there, lighting up people's lives."

There's a moment of silence. Mingyu wonders if maybe he overdid it.

Finally, you nod, albeit with an expression he can't quite place. "That's an ... optimistic way of looking at it, Mr Kim."

Optimistic? Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he'll take it. He smiles, trying to hide his excitement at the fact that you actually acknowledged his point. "I guess that’s me — hopelessly optimistic."

You glance at him with what he might, just might, dare to interpret as the tiniest hint of a smirk. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by your usual professional demeanour.

"Well," you say crisply, gesturing to the plans spread out on the table. "Let’s see if that optimism translates to effective project execution."

By the time Mingyu finally steps out of the firm's towering glass sanctuary, the city has dipped into that golden hour where the skyline looks like it's been dipped in honey. The streets are packed with people still racing to meetings, or dinners, or late-night escapades, but Mingyu feels like he's in his own little bubble, still buzzing from the whirlwind of his first day.

He's not sure what's more overwhelming - the Langham project itself, which already feels like it's going to stretch every ounce of his architectural prowess and patience, or you. The way you carried yourself like you were born in this building, with all its sharp edges and polished surfaces. He isn't sure how to keep up with that level of composure.

But there was something there, wasn't there? A flicker of something. Maybe you were just humouring him, but there was that slight tilt of your lips when he said something slightly amusing. Or the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary when he spoke. Of course, he could just be imagining it. But Mingyu isn't about to let go of that feeling just yet.

The subway ride home does little to calm his excitement. He thinks about the massive pile of documents he's expected to digest tonight for the briefing tomorrow. As the train rumbles beneath the city, Mingyu cracks open his bag and pulls out the folder that was handed to him this morning - a mess of blueprints, floor plans and complicated notes that look like they were designed to break a person's will to live.

But he's not scared, not by this at least. The only thing that kind of scares him is the realisation that you are going to be watching him closely. Judging. Monitoring. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he’s ready for that sort of proximity.

The train screeches to a halt, and Mingyu exits at his stop, shaking off those thoughts. Tonight, he’ll just have to forget about all that for now and focus on getting some food in his stomach. Besides, he’s almost home.

Mingyu’s apartment building isn’t anything to write home about. It’s not a shiny, glass-covered marvel like the office, but it’s cozy and warm, with enough character to make him feel like he has a place to call his own. His apartment is on the fourth floor, up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. As he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door, the familiar smell of instant ramen and coffee hits him. His flatmate, Wonwoo, is already home.

Wonwoo’s there in the living room, sprawled across the couch with his laptop on his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee next to him. He’s the polar opposite of Mingyu in almost every way: quiet, reserved, and extremely not into architecture, but somehow they’ve been rooming together for the past few years without any major conflicts. Mingyu’s loud, chaotic energy and tendency to overshare perfectly balances Wonwoo’s brooding, half-mysterious vibe. It’s a friendship forged in caffeine and mutual understanding that sometimes, you need someone who won’t judge when you blast pop music at 2 AM, or when you eat cereal for dinner because you forgot to go grocery shopping.

"How’s the first day?" Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his screen, his voice cool and unbothered. But Mingyu can tell he’s asking out of a form of polite curiosity, like a scientist observing a very energetic specimen.

Mingyu drops his bag on the counter and flops onto the couch next to him. "It was ... intense," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "The project I'm gonna be working on is a beast. There's this whole ocean of details to sift through. And then there's Ms (Y/l/n)."

Wonwoo looks up, his brow slightly raised. "Your boss?"

"Yeah," Mingyu says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "She's something else. Like she doesn't seem interested in me at all, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. But she's got this, like, presence. Makes you want to impress her, y'know? Even when she's totally stone-faced - especially when, actually."

Wonwoo hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, you're in love with your boss already. Good to know."

Mingyu shoots him a mock glare, his cheeks ringing with a hint of pink. "I'm not in love with her, okay? It's more like ... fascination. She's just really intimidating."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, the picture of dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what's her deal, anyway? Too professional for your flirty smile?"

"She doesn't seem flattered by it." Mingyu dramatically drops his head into his hands, mimicking a tragic melodrama. "I might have to rethink my whole life strategy if I can’t get her to crack a smile at my jokes."

"But hey," Wonwoo adds with a smirk, "if you want to survive your first week, I suggest you do not mention the city skyline and your theories about how it’s a love letter to people. That’s a hard pass."

Mingyu groans, covering his face in embarrassment. "I’m never telling you anything ever again."

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "You love me and you know it."

Mingyu snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ve got work to do." He picks up the pile of documents, pulling them closer with a resigned sigh. "Gotta impress Ms (Y/l/n) somehow."

Gulping down a quick 'dinner' of left-over stir fry and a couple of eggs for good measure, Mingyu picks back up the Langham project folder, its content still a chaotic swirl of technical specs and words he can't read, and flips open the first few pages. The project itself is a massive undertaking - a luxury hotel and mixed-use complex nestled in the heart of the city, right by the river. The building is going to stretch twenty stories high, with glass facades that'll reflect the river's light like a prism. The design includes state-of-the-art amenities, with the goal of being the ultimate urban getaway - a haven for tourists, business moguls, and the occasional local who just wants to treat themselves to a little luxury.

Mingyu's eyes light up as he scans the proposed design. There's a grand atrium in the centre, stretching all the way up to the top floor, with cascading gardens and open-air terraces. "So fancy," he mutters to himself. His team is clearly trying to push boundaries here, blending modern steel and glass with organic elements - like a giant metallic tree-house hybrid for the city's elite.

He flips to a page filled with notes about sustainability and energy efficiency. They’re aiming for a platinum LEED certification — top-tier green building status. It’s all about using smart, eco-friendly tech to make the building as self-sustaining as possible. Mingyu groans inwardly, wondering if he’s about to become an expert on solar panels and rainwater harvesting.

As he continues reading, one particular detail catches his eye. The signature design element for the building is a series of “floating” glass bridges between the upper floors — a bold architectural statement meant to make the building appear less like a typical office block and more like something out of a futuristic movie. It sounds incredible, but Mingyu can already picture himself pulling his hair out over the engineering calculations required to make sure the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down in a windstorm.

By the time he reaches the end of the folder, his mind is spinning, and a mild panic starts to creep in. Your expectations are clear, and the project’s scope is enormous. But Mingyu can’t help the tiny spark of excitement that flickers in his chest. This is what he’s been working toward — to be a part of something that will change the city’s landscape, something that will make people stop and look up.

He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It's late, but he knows he'll need all the preparation he can get for tomorrow.

With one last long look at the papers, Mingyu closes the folder, shoving it aside with a resigned sigh. "I’m going to need a lot more coffee," he mutters, flopping back on the couch beside Wonwoo, who’s already half asleep with his laptop still glowing faintly in his lap.

Wonwoo snorts without opening his eyes. "You’re going to need more than coffee for this, buddy."

"Tell me about it," Mingyu grins, grabbing his phone to order another coffee, just in case he didn’t have enough already. Tonight, it looks like he’s going to be living on caffeine and architectural dreams.

A few weeks into the job, Mingyu has already made a significant number of mistakes. Well, significant is probably an understatement. More like a collection of blunders so impressive that, if anyone were to catalogue them, they might think Mingyu was trying to break some sort of world record in architectural mishaps.

It starts innocently enough, with a small miscalculation on the elevator shaft dimensions that nearly caused a minor freakout in the engineering department. Then there was that time he mixed up the load-bearing capacity for the glass facades and accidentally sent an email to the whole team saying, "We could use stronger glass" when technically, the existing plans were fine. And, of course, who could forget that time he got overzealous and rearranged the project's timeline, shaving an entire month off the construction schedule, only to realise later that it was a little bit too ambitious for anyone's taste?

He still hasn't lived down the elevator incident, which, for the record, wasn't even entirely his fault. But it's hard to explain that when your eyes are drilling into him from across the room, a careful blend of disappointment and 'I'm trying not to send you into an existential crisis right now.'

Today, he's perched at his desk watching the clock tick down the minutes until the inevitable meeting with you. His fingers drum nervously on the edge of his notepad. There's a fresh stack of papers in front of him, each one brimming with red-inked corrections, and he knows what's coming. He's almost perfected the art of nodding in silent shame during your critiques, hoping the earth might swallow him whole.

When the meeting finally comes, you walk into the room, as poised and unbothered as ever. He tries to stand up to greet you, but he stumbles into his chair instead, catching himself just in time.

"You've been busy," you say dryly, as you flip through the stack of appears, your eyes scanning the marked-up blueprints. Your tone is sharp, like an exam proctor giving him one last chance to pass without the lecture.

Mingyu forces a grin, wiping his palms against his pants. "Yep, learning a lot on the fly, you know?"

You don't smile. "You've certainly given us a lot to work with."

Mingyu winces, cracking for the inevitable storm of corrections. He can already feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him. He's been trying so hard to make a good impression, but it seems every time he tries, he only ends up making things more complicated.

But then, as if you've suddenly decided that maybe he hasn’t completely bungled everything, you pause, tapping your pen against the papers in front of you. “But there’s one thing...”

His heart stutters. "What's that?"

You flip to the last page in the folder, revealing a neatly detailed diagram of the building's eco-friendly water filtration system, a proposal Mingyu put together at the last minute after a rather inspiring lunch break (where he might have gotten just a little carried away talking to the environmental consultant). You tap the diagram. "This," you say, your voice softer than he's ever heard it, "This is well done. You identified a potential issue with the system that we hadn't accounted for in the original design. We'll need to revise a few things to integrate it fully, but this is exactly the kind of thinking we need."

Mingyu stares at you, completely caught off guard. His brain is still half-parked in panic mode from the earlier mistakes. and he can't quite process your words. Did you just ... praise him?

"Really?" He blinks, his surprise making his voice higher than usual. "You mean the, uh, water thing? I just thought it might be better if we-"

"I know," you interrupt, your gaze steady on him. "You found a solution we missed. We'll be able to integrate it without a massive redesign. Good work."

Mingyu blinks again, this time in pure disbelief. It's like someone just handed him a bag of cash and told him to keep it. "I - uh, wow. Thanks." He tries to act cool, but he's pretty sure he looks like a kid who's just been handed an extra cookie.

You don't break your composed demeanour, but there's a subtle shift in your expression - a quiet respect that wasn't there before. "You're capable, Mr Kim," you say, your voice calm but with a hint of approval. "Despite your tendency to make things a little more complicated than necessary, you're on the right track."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Mingyu feels an odd rush of pride — a mix of relief and the kind of warmth you get when you find out you didn’t totally mess everything up. For once, he’s not the guy who ruins everything in your eyes.

And, maybe, just maybe, he can keep that “capable” label for a while.

“I’ll expect the revised plans on my desk by Friday,” you say, your voice steady. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t!” Mingyu promises, his voice more confident than it’s been in weeks. “I’m on it.”

Mingyu throws himself into revising the plans with a fervour that borders on obsession. He’s got spreadsheets, CAD files, hand-drawn sketches, and a brand new stack of sticky notes covering his desk like a rainbow-coloured fortress of architectural ambition. The water filtration system has turned into his personal magnum opus, and he’s determined to make sure it’s nothing short of revolutionary.

He's started to stay later than usual, his desk lamp becoming a beacon in the dimmed office. At first, he doesn't pay much attention to who else is around, his mind so wrapped up in calculations and potential pitfalls that he barely notices his own hunger or fatigue. But after a few nights, he realises he's not the only one burning the midnight oil.

Your office light is always on. Sometimes he'll glance up, bleary-eyed and half delirious from staring at documents, and he'll catch a glimpse of you through the glass walls - hair pulled back, eyes locked on your laptop screen, fingers tapping briskly on the keys as if your thoughts are sprinting ahead of your hands. You're a constant fixture, as much a part of the office's architecture as the polished marble floors and unbreakable glass doors. And, he realises, you're usually there even later than he is.

One evening, after finally signing off on what feels like the hundredth draft of the plans, Mingyu yawns and stretches, feeling every vertebra pop like bubble wrap. He glances at the clock. It's nearly midnight. As he stands to grab his coat, he sees your office light flick off, and you appear, looking just as composed as you did this morning, as if working fifteen hours straight is just part of your weekly routine.

You both walk to the elevator in silence, the quiet stretch of the office settling around you like an unspoken truce. When the elevator doors close, you glance at him, breaking the silence with a casual, "You're still here, Mr Kim."

He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, still making sure I don't mess up the Langham project. You know how it is."

You don't smile, but your expression softens. "I do."

The elevator ride is quiet, filled with the low hum of machinery and the faintest scent of Mingyu's cologne - a last-ditch attempt this morning to feel professional. When you step out onto the ground floor, you hesitate by the door, glancing out at the street. The city is dark and quiet, the only lights the occasional passing car and the soft glow of streetlamps.

"Do you have a way home?" You ask, your voice so casual it takes him a second to realise you're actually offering him a ride.

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, well, I was going to take the subway. But if you're offering..." He trails off, grinning sheepishly.

You nod, motioning to the car parked just outside. It's as sleek and polished as you are - a dark sedan that looks like it would have absolutely no patience for speed bumps. He slides into the passenger seat, trying not to fumble with his seatbelt, and you start the engine, pulling into the quiet streets with a calm, practised ease.

For a while, you drive in silence. Mingyu glances out the window, his thoughts tangled between the day's work and the surreal feeling of sitting in the same car as you.

"You're ... very driven," you break the quiet, your tone almost contemplative. "I don't often see people put in that kind of effort, especially so early on."

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Guess I just don’t want to let you down. Or, you know, be known as the guy who destroyed the Langham project.”

You finally smile, a small, genuine expression that feels like a rare peek beyond the wall, and leaves Mingyu feeling a little breathless. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Mingyu hesitates, taken aback by the question. He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always loved buildings. Ever since I was a kid, I’d spend hours sketching skyscrapers in my notebooks. It’s kind of a dream come true, being here. Getting to work on something this big.”

You listen, your eyes fixed on the road but your expression soft, focusing now somewhere beyond just his words.

"This job can consume you, if you let it," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "It's a rare thing to see someone bring genuine excitement to it. Most people, they burn out or let it harden them." You glance at him, and for a brief moment, he sees a flicker of something almost vulnerable in your gaze. "It's good that you still ... care."

Your words hang in the air, and Mingyu feels a strange ache in his chest - a sudden realisation that beneath the cool professionalism, you had been through this same path yourself, fighting to keep that spark alive in an industry that seems determined to grind it out of you.

"Thanks," he says softly, the playful tone absent for once. "I mean it. And ... I think I get what you mean." He hesitates, then adds, "But I don't think I'll stop caring anytime soon."

You nod, a faint smile ghosting your lips. You drive on through the city, the lights casting soft, shifting patterns on the glass.

When you finally reach his building, he unbuckles his seatbelt, giving you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride. And, you know… for everything else.”

You nod, your expression back to usual, but there's a warmth in your eyes now. "Goodnight, Mr Kim."

"Goodnight," he says, stepping out and closing the door gently. He watches as you drive away, the taillights disappearing down the street, and feels a strange mixture of inspiration and relief, and a hunger to get back in the car and learn anything else he can about you.

It's a week before his presentation, and Mingyu is thrilled about his latest proposal for the Lagham project - a sleek, eco-friendly rooftop space designed to collect rainwater, enhance natural cooling, and serve as a green oasis in the middle of the city for all visitors to access. It's his baby, his architectural pièce de résistance. He’s already named the design “Green Above” in his head, but, apparently, the client is less than convinced.

The hesitation comes during a routine check-in meeting, when Mr. Choi casually drops the news that the client has “concerns.” The term is as vague as it is ominous, and Mingyu’s heart sinks. Apparently, they’re worried it’s too “experimental,” too “risky” for the firm’s conservative image. Mingyu tries to hide his disappointment, nodding as Mr. Choi politely recommends that he “polish up his pitch” before the big day.

By “polish,” of course, he means pull a miracle out of thin air.

Enter: you.

Later that afternoon, you call him into your office, the door clicking shut behind him as you gesture for him to sit. He braces himself, ready for another dissection of his work, but instead, you surprise him by pulling out his sketches and nodding. "The client might be wary," you say, your tone clinical and level, "but there's a strong case for this. You just need to learn how to show them the vision." You pause, looking at him. "I'll help you with that."

Mingyu blinks. "You'll help me present?"

"Yes, Mr Kim," you say. "We'll work on this every evening until you're confident enough to convince a room full of sceptics. You'll have to be better than good. Exceptional."

And so, every evening for the next week, Mingyu stays late in the conference room, rehearsing his proposal with you. The first night, he stumbles through the trial run, mumbling about sustainable design, only to have you stop him after two minutes, unimpressed.

"Start over," you say, tapping your pen against the table. "And this time, stop burying the lead. Walk in there and make me believe it's the best thing I've ever heard."

You're relentless but patient, correcting him when he gets too caught up in technical jargon, showing him how to highlight the benefits rather than the process. "This is a story," you tell him one evening. "Show that what it feels like. Make them see the vision before you go into how it works."

Somewhere around the fourth late night, you sit back into your chair after another dry run, watching him with an intensity that makes him nearly forget his lines.

“Stop talking like you’re trying to convince them you’re good enough,” you say, "You are. You have to believe it, or no one else will."

Mingyu blinks, the words landing with unexpected weight. You say it like it's a fact - as if there's no question about his abilities, just his confidence. Something in your gaze is softer than he's ever seen, and for the first time, he wonders how many long nights like these you've spent not just perfecting your work, but holding yourself up to impossible standards too.

He nods, taking a breath. “Right. Believe it.”

By the night before the presentation, he’d rehearsed the pitch so many times he could recite it in his sleep. You give him one last nod, a subtle flicker of approval in your eyes. "You're ready."

The day of the meeting dawns, and Mingyu arrives early, the faint taste of nerves tingling in his throat. When he enters the boardroom, the client representatives are all seated, an assortment of tailored suits and sceptical expressions. Mr. Choi offers a nod of encouragement from his place at the head of the table, and you stand nearby, arms folded, watching him with that same quiet intensity.

As he begins his pitch, Mingyu can feel his initial nerves settle, his voice steady as he moves through each point. He doesn’t just talk about “Green Above” like an idea on paper; he paints it as a vision, something meant to make the city’s skyline greener, bolder, better. He gestures to the architectural mockups, describing the rooftop garden as not just a feature but a destination, an asset that would be both functional and iconic.

He can tell, halfway through, that the room has shifted. The clients sit forward, nodding, leaning into his words, their initial scepticism melting as he lays out the plan. The numbers, the materials, the maintenance — it’s all there, practical but wrapped in the bigger picture he’s been rehearsing for nights on end.

When he finishes, the room is silent for a beat before the client’s lead representative nods, visibly impressed. “It’s… ambitious,” he says, almost smiling. “But I see what you mean. Let’s move forward.”

Mingyu grins, fighting the urge to fist pump as the clients exchange approving glances. He looks over at you, who gives him the slightest nod of approval. He can almost see a glimmer of pride in your expression, faint but undeniable.

As the room empties and the clients file out, Mingyu's heart is still racing, his whole body humming with triumph. He turns to you, grinning wide. "We did it," he says, his voice barely containing his excitement. "I mean ... I did it. But only because you..."

He trails off, realising just how close you're standing, the quiet of the empty room settling around you. Your gaze meets his, and for a moment, you don't look away. It's a long, lingering look, like you're seeing him not just as an employee or an eager architect but as… him. Someone who cares, who tries, who’s just won his first major victory and feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “For all of it. I don’t think I could have pulled it off without you.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering with something he can’t quite place. Your expression softens, your lips parting slightly as if your about to say something else. And in that moment, there’s a warmth between them, a shared understanding that words alone wouldn’t quite capture.

“Just… keep going,” you say finally, your voice so quiet it feels like a secret. “You’re more capable than you realize, Mingyu.”

The way you says his name — with that subtle, unfamiliar warmth — makes his heart skip. He nods, still holding your gaze, feeling the weight of everything you’ve shared in the past week in that single, electric second.

And then, as if the moment might disappear if you linger too long, you step back, your usual composure slipping back into place.

For the first time, Mingyu feels that maybe — just maybe — there’s more between them than late-night work sessions and professional boundaries. And as you walk side by side down the quiet hall, he can’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, you might be feeling it too.

Mingyu's gotten good at convincing himself he's not entirely losing it. So what if his boss, who barely blinks at a 15-hour day and thinks "weekends" are a suggestion, is suddenly occupying 90% of his mental bandwidth? That's just ... professional admiration. So when he finds himself thinking about you at odd times - like, mid-bite of his breakfast burrito, or what he's supposed to be learning zoning codes - he brushes it off. After all, it's normal to be totally absorbed by someone you admire.

One evening, after bringing home takeout and trying (again) to casually mention his most recent success, Wonwoo decides to drop a bomb. "I saw an article about your boss the other day, you know. Back when she first joined the firm. People in the comments kept talking about something called the Westbrook Project - ever heard of it?"

"Westbrook Project?" Mingyu repeats, a little too quickly, his brain scrambling. Nothing. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard the name before, but it’s his boss, so he’s probably supposed to know. After Wonwoo can't provide any more details, Mingyu does what any self-respecting architect does at 2 a.m. when faced with a mysterious professional tidbit: he Googles it. Expecting, like, a vague overview, maybe some old press releases. What he finds, though, are words like "abandoned," "budget issues," and, worst of all, "failure," with your name all over it. Ouch. Big, deep ouch.

The next day at work, Mingyu manages to strike up a casual conversation with the marketing guy who's practically the office encyclopedia. "Oh, the Westbrook Project?" he says with a knowing smirk. "I read the case files. It was supposed to be, like, revolutionary. Eco-forward, huge downtown build. A lot of drama when it got shut down. Man, Ms (Y/l/n) was obsessed with that thing. You've gotta respect someone who fights like that for their work." He laughs a little, but there's something almost pitying in his tone, like he doesn't quite know what to make of someone who has been through such a high-profile professional failure.

Mingyu's stomach drops as he realises that there's a whole side of you - this weight - he never saw before. He feels embarrassed for not knowing. But, maybe, it explains the way you hold yourself together, so careful with your words, so precise in every gesture. Because what happens when you give so much of yourself, and it still isn't enough?

Mingyu can't help but glance at you differently when you walk into the office. You're still the same, all business and poise, but there's a weight to you now that he hadn't noticed before. It's not his place to ask you about Westbrook, and he's not sure he could even bring it up without tripping over his own words.

So, Mingyu brings it up.

Not immediately, because he's not that much of a disaster. It's not the same day, or even the same week. It's one of those late nights when he's deep into pretending he's not panicking over math, and he's only going into your office to ask if you've seen the last-minute email from the client.

Except.

He sees the bottle of red on your desk.

It's sitting there, a little too casually, with half of it in a glass that's perched too close to your mouse.

It's not that Mingyu thought you didn't drink. But seeing it there, on your desk, is like catching a glimpse of a teacher's pet outside of school. His brain starts spiralling. Are you getting drunk? Are you able to get drunk?

Still standing in the doorway like he's caught in some sort of personal disaster movie, Mingyu clears his throat. "Uh," he starts, because his brain is still stuck on you drinking alcohol in the office, "What's the deal with the wine?"

You glance up from your computer, completely unfazed. "Oh, this?" You wave a hand, almost like it’s nothing. “A gift from a client. They thought I needed something to ‘relax’ after all the late nights." You flash a teasing grin. "I didn’t think anyone else would be in the office this late, though."

Mingyu freezes again. Seeing a smile on your face is unnerving him. "Uh, well, yeah ... just ... I thought you were busy, y'know? I didn't want to disturb you," he stammers, as if that makes any sense. Of course you know he's here. He's always here. He's practically a fixture at this point.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly not fooled. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway, now that you’re here," you say, looking at him with a glint of curiosity, "what’s been keeping you up lately? Besides zoning codes and whatever else you’ve been trying to memorise, that is."

Mingyu, caught completely off guard by the question, opens his mouth to respond, but his brain, still fighting the urge to melt into the floor, can't form a proper sentence. His gaze flicks back to the wine bottle like it holds all the answers to his life right now. Finally, he blurts out, "Uhh... I’ve been, uh, thinking about the Green Above project. You know, the one we’re working on?"

“Right,” you nod, leaning back in your chair. “Big, green rooftop. You’ve got your hands full with that one.” You take a sip from your glass, and Mingyu swears the way your lips wrap around the rim is completely unfair to his focus. “What else?”

Mingyu, not used to people asking him personal questions that aren’t about work or how he’s planning on saving the planet with his architectural genius, scratches the back of his neck. “Uh... I mean, well, I’ve been wondering about... you. I mean, your—" he pauses, shaking his head, "your work, of course. Like, how you got into all this. You’ve clearly been through a lot, right?”

You chuckle softly, eyes softening for a brief moment. "A lot? Yeah, I guess you could say that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now, is it?" You lean forward. "What's really going on, Mingyu?"

Mingyu’s mind is officially in crisis mode. He could barely form a sentence when talking about wine, and now you’ve flipped the tables. What is he even supposed to say?

“I—uh, well, it’s just... I’m curious,” he mutters, struggling to sound casual. He bites his lip, then his curiosity gets the best of him. “Wait, can I ask about something?”

You lean back again, clearly amused. “Go ahead.”

He takes a breath and gestures to the cabinet rested against the back wall of your office. "That picture there .. of a building, I think? It kind of looks like the Westbrook Project. Was it yours?” He winces as soon as he asks, knowing full well how awkward this must sound. But now he really wants to know, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending he hasn’t been thinking about it.

You blink, clearly not expecting him to ask, but then you just sigh and open your desk drawer, revealing an old architectural sketch, detailed and bold, with a city skyline in the background. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter now. “It was.”

Mingyu swallows hard, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone. “What happened to it? The project, I mean... why didn’t it go through?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another slow sip of your wine, letting the moment stretch out. When you finally speak, your voice is calm but laced with something unspoken. “It was a good idea, just... not the right time. But that’s how it goes sometimes in this field. Things get started, and then... they don’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, processing what you’ve shared. “I get that,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been there too. You know, not everything works out exactly the way you expect.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, there’s this quiet weight in your expression, something raw you don’t usually let slip. The smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness—more like... an understanding, an acceptance.

“The Westbrook Project was supposed to be everything I’ve worked for,” you begin, your voice softer now, like the walls are coming down just a little. “My goal has always been to help the community, to build things that people can actually enjoy, not just walk by and forget. I wanted something that would be a part of the city, something that people could use—a space that felt like it belonged to everyone.” You stop, looking at the picture in the drawer for a moment as if it’s not just a sketch, but a piece of your heart. "The Westbrook Project was supposed to be the culmination of all that. The perfect mix of green spaces, architecture, and public access. I wanted to create something people would look at and feel like they were part of it, you know? Not just bystanders."

You take another slow breath, running a hand through your hair, looking a bit less put-together than usual, but somehow even more... real. “I think that’s the hardest part. It wasn’t just a project to me—it was everything I believed in. And when it got shut down... it felt like a piece of that belief just... crumbled.” You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. “I know it sounds dramatic, but when you spend so much of your time fighting for something, putting everything into it... and it still isn’t enough... it makes you wonder what the point is.”

Mingyu watches you closely with a strange mix of admiration and empathy. For a second, he’s struck with the urge to reach out and say something comforting, but all he can manage is a quiet, "That... sounds incredible. You must have been really proud of it."

You nod, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was. Still am, in a way. But life moves on, right?” You glance back at the bottle of wine, then take another sip, before setting it down and meeting Mingyu’s gaze again, this time with a lighter, almost teasing glint. "You want some?"

“Uh... yeah?” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement, as if he's still trying to make sure this is actually happening.

You pour him a glass, your movements slow and deliberate. Mingyu watches every little gesture, thinking that maybe if he looks at the wine long enough, it might just turn into something less dangerous. It doesn't.

He takes the glass from you, trying to act casual, but honestly? It's a miracle he doesn’t spill it everywhere. "Thanks," he mutters.

You smirk at him as if you know exactly what’s going on in his head, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if you can hear it, too—the way his pulse skips whenever he looks at you. He takes a sip of the wine, hoping it will steady him. It doesn’t. It only makes him more aware of you, of the way your eyes glint in the dim light of the office, how close you’re sitting, how warm it feels in here all of a sudden.

“So,” you say, your voice dropping a little lower than before, “Now that we’ve gone through my failed projects, do you feel enlightened?”

Mingyu laughs, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard. He leans back, trying to appear cool, but it’s hard to be anything but a mess when you’re so close and everything feels a little off in the best possible way. “Enlightened? I’m still figuring out if you’re real,” he admits, voice cracking just a bit.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment as his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. “It’s just ... you’re different than what I expected. I mean, you’re still, like, boss mode, but there’s this whole other side to you. Like, I don't know ... I think I’ve been seeing you as this untouchable, perfect person, and now I’m realising maybe I’m not the only one who’s human.”

You blink at him for a moment, and then—before he can get too embarrassed—something flickers across your face. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe it’s something else. You lean in just slightly, the air between you thickening, but you don't break the distance just yet.

“I think,” you start slowly, “you might be onto something there, Mingyu.”

His breath hitches. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, the late hour, or the way your voice dropped that has him leaning forward a little. It’s all of it, really. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a knowing smile. “You might find I’m not so untouchable, after all. But—” You pause, the tension rising as your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his eyes. “We’ll see if you can handle the reality of that.”

Mingyu’s mind is going full tilt now, brain in overdrive, as his hand involuntarily moves closer to yours on the desk. He's this close to spilling all his thoughts and feelings—about work, about the project, about the way you make him feel—but instead, he blurts out, “I—uh, I’m pretty good with challenges.”

The words hang there, thick in the air between you. And then, before Mingyu can think any more about it, you break the tension—just slightly—by leaning even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you are.”

The space between you shrinks, just a little. And Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, finds himself absolutely certain that if things don’t shift soon, this office might just catch fire from how hot it’s gotten in the last few minutes. The tension in the air is thick, like static before a storm. Mingyu’s hand hovers just a fraction too close to yours on the desk, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He’s this close to losing all control, caught between wanting to say the right thing and just leaning in and kissing you. But what would that even mean? Would it be the worst decision of his life? Or the best?

His thoughts are a mess, but then—just like that—it’s like you’ve made up your mind for him. You close the space between you with a single, deliberate movement, your lips pressing softly against his.

Mingyu freezes for half a second, too stunned to process what’s happening. And then, without even thinking, he leans into the kiss, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It’s slow at first, soft, like neither of you can quite believe this is actually happening. Your lips are warm, and the taste of wine lingers on them—something sweet and intoxicating that has his head spinning.

You pull back just slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, and he feels his pulse race. You look at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're not regretting this, are you?" you murmur, voice low.

“No,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “Definitely not regretting this.”

And then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your hands moving to his collar as if you’re suddenly both starved for this closeness. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and all he can think about is how right this feels, how every inch of him seems to have been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grows more urgent, more heated. His body presses into yours, the desk suddenly feeling too small, too far away. He wants you closer, needs you closer, and the way you move against him makes him ache with desire. He’s so lost in you, in this kiss, that everything else fades away—the Westbrook Project, work deadlines, the office. There’s only you, only this.

You're mumbling something and Mingyu's not sure he has the brain capacity to listen when he can feel your hands on his chest and your body pressed against his.

"... couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, who looks like this?"

His brain practically short-circuits at that.

You’re grinning now, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. But before he can manage a reply, you reach up, your hand grazing the back of his neck as you lean in again. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly his brain clears—just long enough for him to close the remaining distance between you two.

The kiss this time is less hesitant, filled with a kind of urgency that makes the room feel smaller, more intense. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against him, and he feels your fingers twisting in his hair as if you can’t get enough either. Every brush of your lips sends another jolt through him, and he’s quickly losing any sense of professionalism or reason. He’s just Mingyu, in this moment, in this office, completely undone by you.

You’re mumbling again, half-laughing as he trails his lips down to the corner of your mouth and just slightly to your jawline. “I mean, really,” you manage between kisses, breathy but amused. “Did you even realise the effect you have?”

He lets out a breath of laughter against your skin, half a smirk forming. “I—I mean, maybe,” he says, but the words come out more as a gasp because you’ve got your hands back on him, your fingers trailing along his jaw in a way that has him melting. “I might have... kinda hoped, at least?”

“Oh?” Your voice is soft, teasing, and he catches a flash of that mischievous smile just before you lean in again, catching him in another kiss that’s more intense, more consuming than before.

Mingyu’s senses are a blur, but he manages to break away for just a second, eyes dark, a grin of his own tugging at his lips. “I think,” he says, his voice low, “I’d like to show you just how much I can handle.” His tone is playful but edged with a confidence he didn’t know he had until this very moment.

The moment is thick, like honey, everything moving slower and faster at once. Mingyu’s hands slip around your waist, and you’re tugging him closer, a little breathless, a little reckless. You’re both lost in the feeling of it, the thrill and warmth that seemed impossible just minutes ago.

But then—a sharp vibration echoes against the desk. The hum of your phone springs to life, startling you both. The screen lights up with an urgent notification, reminding you exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

You pull back, your lips just a whisper away from his, and a flicker of reality cuts through the haze of the moment. “Oh—” Your hands drop from his collar, fingertips brushing his chest as if the memory of the touch will fade otherwise. “Mingyu, I...”

His eyes meet yours, still dark and soft, a little dazed, a little too hopeful. But he pulls himself together, straightening and running a hand through his hair, somehow flustered and grinning at the same time. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he says, though it’s not clear who he’s apologising to.

You swallow, nodding as you try to steady yourself. “I—need to go,” you manage. “We both do, actually. It’s...late.”

Mingyu blinks, nodding, though he can't help the hint of disappointment beneath his expression. “Right. Of course. We probably... shouldn’t even be here right now.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if that could somehow erase the last few minutes. “Guess I should close up?”

You nod, and he watches your hand move to your chest, as if to catch your pulse before it runs off. “Yeah, let’s...do that.”

As you step out of the office, you glance back one last time, catching his eye in the dim light. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

His gaze is steady, his voice warm. “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mingyu stands there, staring at it as if it might magically swing back open. For a moment, he doesn’t move, too stunned to process the fact that you were just here, inches away, closer than he ever thought possible, and then—gone. The warmth of you, the softness of your touch, is still buzzing on his skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not replay every single second in his mind.

He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his face, laughing softly to himself. “Wow,” he mutters, barely believing it. Did that really just happen? His boss—the woman he’s spent months trying not to have a full-on crisis over every time she looks at him—just kissed him. And it wasn’t just a peck; it was real, and his head is still spinning.

He paces the office, catching his reflection in the dark window. His hair’s a mess, his shirt collar a little crumpled, and the look on his face is somewhere between ecstatic and completely lost. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff—excited but terrified, staring down into something he can’t quite see.

“Okay, pull it together, man,” he whispers, clutching the edge of his desk like it might hold him steady. But he can’t shake the lingering feeling of your hands against him, the way your voice softened as you spoke to him about your dreams, how for a moment, he felt like he’d glimpsed something real and vulnerable and human in you. It’s like he’s been handed the answer to a riddle he didn’t even know he was solving.

He glances back at the empty doorway and smiles, a little helplessly. Because he knows—there’s no going back from this.

On Monday, Mingyu is ready. He's had days to replay every single second of that kiss, dissecting the tiniest details: the way you'd smiled before leaning in, the way you'd pulled back just a bit only to close the gap even tighter the next time. He’s convinced there’s no way you could look at him the same after that. He’s barely looked at himself the same.

So when he walks into the office Monday morning, there's this nervous excitement buzzing in his chest. He expects maybe a shared look or even a subtle nod, something that says 'yeah, we're definitely not forgetting that happened'. But he doesn't get that. In fact, he doesn't get much of anything.

“Uh, good morning,” he finally says, attempting a smile, hoping to break whatever tension he’s imagining.

“Morning,” you say briskly, barely looking up. “Did you get the updated renderings for the Green Above project?”

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard by how quickly you’ve brushed him off. “Yeah, I—um, they should be in your inbox. I, uh, made some adjustments you might want to look at.”

“Great. I’ll check later,” you say, curtly, already turning back to your computer. It’s not even like you’re being rude, exactly; just… distant. Professional. Totally not how you’d looked at him last week when he’d practically melted into you against this very desk.

The day drags on with more of the same. Every time he tries to catch your eye, you’re looking somewhere else. Every attempt at a lighthearted comment, something to bridge the gap, lands with a dull thud. By mid-afternoon, Mingyu’s just staring at his computer screen, feeling completely lost. Did he imagine everything? Because suddenly, it feels like he’s reading way too much into every little thing, wondering if the smile you’d given him that night was all in his head.

By the end of the day, he can’t take it anymore. He decides to be subtle—or something like that—and casually leans into your office as you’re gathering your things.

“Hey, um… are we good?” He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge of worry there that he can’t quite hide. “It feels like—well, last week was—”

You glance up sharply, your expression guarded. “We’re fine, Mingyu,” you say, with a tone that’s just a little too even. “You’re doing great on the project. Keep up the good work.”

There’s that polished professional mask again, and this time it feels like a wall. Mingyu’s stomach twists, and he can’t help but feel a sting in his chest. He nods, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in. "Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that up.”

And just like that, you walk past him, your footsteps echoing down the hallway as you head out for the night, leaving him standing there, staring after you, wondering what just went wrong.

It’s Thursday, and Mingyu’s still thinking about every clipped interaction you’ve had all week. He’s convinced he’s somehow messed everything up, but he’s not sure how. By lunchtime, he’s already halfway through a takeout sandwich in the break room when some of the other junior architects drift in, plates and coffees in hand. He’s only half-listening to their conversation, until, like a magnet, he hears your name.

“Did you see how she restructured the timeline?” One of them—Hyun, a friend from Mingyu’s first week—says, rolling his eyes. “Feels like she’s trying to prove something to everyone.”

Another snorts. “Yeah, she’s always like that. Like she has to make everything harder just to remind us she’s the boss.”

Mingyu freezes mid-bite, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest. He’d learned more from working with you in the past few months than he could’ve in years of grad school. You didn’t ask anyone to work harder than you did yourself, and Mingyu’s certain no one stays later or puts in more effort than you do.

“Maybe she just actually cares about the projects,” Mingyu snaps, dropping his sandwich. The room goes a bit quiet, a few heads turning his way in surprise. “I mean, do you guys know how much time she’s spent on this? She’s doing half of our jobs for us so we don’t mess it up.”

Hyun raises an eyebrow. "Calm down, Mingyu. Everyone knows she's intense."

“‘Intense’ doesn’t mean you have to talk about her like that,” Mingyu says, his voice a bit sharper than he means it to be. “Maybe if people here actually appreciated all the work she does, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘intense’ to get things done.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, everyone looking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Hyun mutters, "That's easy to say when you're the one getting special favours from her."

Mingyu's jaw clenches, the insinuation making his blood boil. Special favours? He opens his mouth to snap back, but then catches himself. Getting defensive will only make things worse, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for the late nights or the extra hours you’ve spent on his work. The truth is, he’s learned more from those “extra” moments than he could ever explain to Hyun and the others.

“Look,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “If you guys actually put in half the effort she does, you’d see it’s not about favourites. It’s about getting things right. Maybe if you tried it sometime, you’d get the same attention.”

Hyun snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Must be nice, though, always getting her undivided attention. Pretty convenient, huh?”

The others chuckle, and Mingyu feels his face flush. He glances down, jaw set tight as he clenches his fists under the table. He can feel the weight of their stares and half-smirks, their words pressing in on him like a slow burn he can’t shake off.

The door swings open just then, and he catches sight of you standing there, eyes narrowed, a faint frown on your face. His heart drops, and suddenly he realizes you must have heard—possibly all of it.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mingyu?” Your tone is measured, calm, but he can tell there’s something icy underneath. The others exchange looks, clearly ready to gossip the second you both leave.

Mingyu follows you out of the room, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. As soon as you’re out of earshot, you turn to him, arms crossed.

“So is that how you’re spending your lunch breaks now?” you ask, a cool edge to your voice. “Defending me in the office cafeteria?”

Mingyu swallows, unsure how to respond. “I just… didn’t think they should be talking about you like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he can feel the intensity of your gaze. “It wasn’t right.”

You sigh, pressing your lips together, something almost unreadable flickering across your face. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mingyu,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to handle what people say behind my back. You’re here to do your job, not to play protector.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. He wants to argue, to tell you that maybe you don’t need anyone’s help, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be dragged through the mud behind your back. But something in your expression stops him. He nods, swallowing back whatever words were fighting their way to the surface. “Got it,” he says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but then you just shake your head, walking away with a tense set to your shoulders. He watches you go, the frustration and confusion still churning inside him, wondering just how much further away you both seem to get with every step.

Later that evening, Mingyu slumps into the apartment, looking so defeated that Wonwoo’s expression goes from mildly bored to instantly entertained. “Let me guess. It’s about your boss?” Wonwoo doesn’t even wait for confirmation before tossing him a soda. “You’re like a walking rom-com.”

Mingyu sighs, collapsing on the couch. “Wonwoo, I think she hates me. I mean, really hates me.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were practically having candlelit takeout dinners in her office.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, deflating. “Yeah, well, that was before I kissed her.”

Wonwoo’s phone slides out of his hand, falling onto the couch like a lead balloon. “You what?”

Mingyu nods slowly, a rueful look on his face. “We were working late. It just—happened, okay? And now she’s all distant. Like, avoid me at all costs distant.”

“You kissed your boss?” Wonwoo repeats, still processing. He’s looking at Mingyu like he’s a particularly unsolvable math problem. “As in, the one you worship and whose entire life story you’ve googled?”

“Yes, that one,” Mingyu mutters, covering his face with his hands. “And it was incredible. Like, the kind of kiss that makes you think about life and all your choices and, you know… stuff.” He trails off, his voice a bit dreamy despite himself. “But then, after that, she started acting all cold, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo stares at him, baffled. “Did you, uh, talk to her about it? You know, use words and stuff?”

Mingyu gives him a look. “Of course I tried talking to her. But she’s been all serious and professional and—ugh.” He sinks deeper into the couch. “And today, I may or may not have defended her in front of everyone. Like, really aggressively.”

Wonwoo groans. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?”

“Look, it just came out! They were acting like she’s some kind of boss robot or something. I just couldn’t listen to it.” Mingyu shakes his head. “And of course, she overheard it and was not happy. Told me she doesn’t need someone to protect her.”

Wonwoo considers this, eyebrows furrowed. “So basically, you kissed her, defended her honour, and now you think you ruined everything because she’s distant?”

“Exactly,” Mingyu sighs. “I feel like I messed it all up, and now she thinks I’m just some junior architect with a crush or something.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean, to be fair, you kind of are a junior architect with a crush.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo. Really needed that.” Mingyu glares at him, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Wonwoo nudges him, his tone a little lighter now. “Look, man, maybe she just needs to know it was more than a one-time, late-night thing for you. Like, a serious talk. But not at the office, where everything’s so formal. Just the two of you.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “A serious talk… outside of work. Like, maybe over coffee?”

“Or dinner. Or anything where you can show her that you’re interested in more than work. Just, you know, don’t do that thing where you panic and say something weird.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically. “So, no pressure.”

Wonwoo grins, giving him a slap on the back. “You’ve got this, Romeo. Go win her over.”

Mingyu stands in front of your office door, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves like he's preparing for a public execution. He’s been rehearsing this moment for the last twenty minutes—while staring at his desk like it could offer him some sort of guidance—and he still has no idea what he’s doing. He only knows that if he doesn't get his foot in the door right now, he's going to spend the rest of the day overthinking this until his brain short circuits.

So, he knocks.

And of course, you don’t answer immediately. He stands there like a complete idiot, holding his breath for about five seconds before taking the most awkward step inside. Your eyes flick up to him, and for a second, he’s sure his heart is going to stop.

“Oh. Mingyu.” You sound surprised. Great. That’s just what he needed. "What do you need?"

He smiles, too big, too eager. This is fine. “Hey! So, um, I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as if you already know where this is going.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says quickly, forcing himself to sound more convincing than he feels. “I just, you know… you’ve been working super hard, and I was thinking, you deserve a break. So, what do you say? Dinner? You and me, tonight.”

You blink at him like he just asked if you wanted to run through the streets naked.

“Dinner? With you?” You tilt your head, looking him up and down, clearly trying to figure out if he’s joking or if his brain’s just melted from exhaustion.

"Yup!" Mingyu says, definitely a little too loud and way too enthusiastic. “Yeah, just dinner. No work talk, no presentations, just a chance to unwind, you know?” He grins like he's already won, but there’s something in your gaze that makes him freeze up.

You raise an eyebrow, studying him carefully. The air between you two is thick with that awkward tension, like you’re both trying to figure out if this is a professional gesture or something else entirely. Mingyu can feel the temperature in the room rise, and his stomach does a somersault as he waits for you to respond.

“Are you… serious right now?” You finally ask, your tone a mix of confusion and cautious curiosity.

Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest. “Of course, I’m serious,” he says quickly, voice cracking slightly as his nerves get the best of him. “I mean, it’s not like—uh, it’s not like I want anything weird to happen. It’s just dinner. With two people who both happen to work in the same office. Completely normal, right?” He laughs a little too loudly, and it sounds forced, like someone desperately trying to convince themselves of something they don’t believe.

You’re silent for a moment, and Mingyu’s brain spins with overthinking. Should he apologise? Should he leave before this gets even more awkward? Why did he even think this was a good idea? His palms are sweating, his throat dry, and he feels like he might pass out from sheer mortification.

You lean back in your chair, still watching him, and for a second, Mingyu is sure you’re about to shut him down completely. But then, something shifts in your expression—just the faintest flicker of amusement, like you’re trying not to let it show.

“Dinner,” you repeat, almost like you’re testing the word, as though it’s foreign or absurd coming from him. “No work talk?”

“No work talk,” Mingyu confirms, nodding so hard he might give himself whiplash. “I promise. Just good food and maybe a chance to, you know, talk about literally anything else.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smirks, and Mingyu swears the room feels a little less tense. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

He grins, a spark of hope lighting up his chest. “I like to think of it as... enthusiastic.”

You shake your head, clearly amused now, though you’re doing your best to hide it. “Fine,” you say, leaning forward to jot something on a sticky note. “Dinner."

Mingyu’s heart leaps, and he barely resists the urge to fist pump right there in your office. “Deal!” he says, grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t hurt. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” you agree, handing him the sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Don’t be late, Mingyu.”

He takes the note like it’s a golden ticket, clutching it in his hand as if it might disappear. “I won’t. I’ll see you there.”

As he walks out of your office, he can’t help the goofy smile plastered across his face.

By the time the evening rolls around, Mingyu is pacing outside the restaurant like a man on the edge. He’s checked his watch twice, his phone four times, and stared at the sidewalk so long he’s convinced it’s going to start judging him soon. Late. You're late. Or maybe he’s just early. Impossible to say when your nerves feel like they’re hosting a small rave in your chest.

After all, there’s something about you that makes him want to try harder. Maybe too hard, but he’s finally learned that no one gets anywhere by waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. So, here he is, standing outside the restaurant, pacing like a nervous wreck while waiting for you to arrive.

He’s tried to stay calm, really. Spent the entire afternoon mentally drafting this… whatever this dinner is supposed to be. Not a date (probably). Not a work meeting (definitely). Just dinner. Dinner with the one person who’s managed to turn him into a bundle of energy and chaos masquerading as a fully functional adult.

And then, right as he’s about to dial his mom and ask for advice (because that’s clearly what any reasonable person would do), he sees you.

You walk up with that confident stride, the one that always makes his heart skip a beat, and Mingyu feels himself freeze for a moment, completely forgetting everything he’s planned to say. You've changed and you look good. Too good for a casual dinner, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey,” you greet him with a smile, your eyes soft, but not quite soft enough for him to completely relax. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up on time.”

Mingyu laughs, awkwardly tugging at his shirt. “I like to be punctual. It’s kind of a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment on the obvious lie, allowing the small banter to settle between you like a cushion. Instead, you let him open the restaurant door for you, falling into that casual rhythm that somehow feels more natural than the air he’s been breathing all day.

The dinner itself is nice. Too nice. No weird silences, no work talk, just good food and easy conversation. And yet, there’s a weight in the room that Mingyu can’t shake. It’s been lingering ever since the kiss—the kiss—and he knows he can’t keep tiptoeing around it forever. So as the plates are cleared and the server drops off the check, he reaches into his bag, pulling out the rolled-up plans he’s been carrying like a talisman.

He sets them on the table, his hands a little too careful, his heart racing like it’s bracing for impact.

“Okay, now you’re being mysterious,” you say, the smallest hint of amusement curling your lips.

Mingyu’s throat goes dry, but he pushes forward, unrolling the designs and smoothing them out between the two of you. “I know I said no work talk,” he starts, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, “but… I’ve been working on this. And I thought you should see it.”

Your eyes drop to the papers, and he watches as your expression shifts. At first, there’s curiosity, then recognition, and finally… something deeper. Something he can’t quite name but feels in the way your fingers tremble slightly as they trace the edges of the designs with a reverence he didn’t know he could envy. Your fingers are delicate but deliberate, the way you touch the plans like they might vanish under too much pressure. Mingyu’s heart is pounding so loudly he's surprised you can’t hear it across the table.

“Where did you get these?” Your voice comes out hoarse, more vulnerable than you mean it to be.

“I’ve been working on them for a while,” Mingyu admits, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table. “After you talked about the Westbrook Project that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much it mattered to you. I wanted to do something with it. Something for you.”

You blink, unsure how to process this. “But how did you know?”

“I just—” Mingyu hesitates, then shrugs. “I listened. I saw it. The way you talked about it that night, the passion you put into your projects. I wanted to give it the respect it deserves. I couldn’t let it just end with a ‘no’.”

You stare at the designs again, looking like you've been hit by a wave of nostalgia and shock. "You really... did this for me?”

“I did,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I think it could be something we could do together. If you’re interested.”

You pause, the space between you thick with emotion, something unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, you swallow and look at him, searching his face as if trying to make sure this is real.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Mingyu.” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite hide the emotion that’s flooding through you. “You’ve—this is everything I’ve been trying to do. But I didn’t think anyone else could see it.”

He sits up straighter, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I just didn't want you to let go of something so important," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "It deserves another chance. You deserve another chance."

He doesn't know where he finds the courage to say those words. They sound so earnest. Almost embarrassingly so. But, it's the truth, and if there's one thing he's learned from you, it's that honesty - no matter how uncomfortable - is the foundation of anything worth building.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away—the low hum of conversation, the soft clink of silverware, all of it. It's just you and Mingyu, sitting across from each other, separated by a stack of papers and an ocean of unspoken feelings.

"Mingyu..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat.

You look down, the faintest hint of a tremble in your hands. And Mingyu, who had been prepared for you to shut him down, to dismiss this moment as anything but professional, has to fight the urge to reach across the table and take your hand. He doesn't, of course. He can't. Not yet.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He's not used to this - seeing you so vulnerable - and he just wants to take some of that pressure off your back. "Look, I know I’m not perfect. I mess up, I talk too much, and I probably drive you crazy most of the time. But I see you, (Y/n). I see how much you care, how much you put into everything you do. And I don’t just admire that—I... I want to be part of it. To be there for you."

Your lips part in surprise. "I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve spent so long trying to keep everything together. To keep people at a distance. And now—"

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Mingyu says softly, sensing the spiral of doubt you appear to be descending into. "We can take it slow. One step at a time. I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

For a long moment, you don’t move. But then, slowly, you let your hand inch toward his, your fingertips brushing against his palm.

It’s small. Tentative. But it’s enough.

Mingyu barely breathes as your fingers brush his. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt straight through him, grounding him in this moment that feels impossibly fragile. He wraps his hand gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. It’s all he can do to keep himself steady when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance completely.

You don’t pull away, and that feels like a victory in itself. But when you look up at him again, your eyes are brimming with something he can’t quite name—fear, maybe, or hesitation—but also something softer, warmer, that gives him just enough hope to hold on.

“Mingyu,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance down at your joined hands, your brows furrowing slightly as though you’re gathering the courage to say something that’s been weighing on you. “After the kiss... I didn't know what to do.”

His heart skips a beat at the mention of it, the memory still fresh in his mind—the way your lips had felt against his, the way the world had seemed to tilt on its axis for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything, though, afraid that if he interrupts, you’ll stop.

“I started acting cold because...” You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Mingyu blinks, his chest tightening at your words. “Me?” His voice is soft, cautious. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he needs to understand.

You nod, your gaze flickering back to his, vulnerable but resolute. “You scare me, Mingyu. Not in a bad way, but... in a way I’ve never felt before. You’re so open, so sincere. You make everything seem so easy, like it’s natural to just—feel. And for me, that’s... terrifying.”

He watches you, his heart breaking a little with every word. He wants to say something, to tell you that you don’t have to be scared, but he knows this isn’t the time. He needs to let you finish.

“I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s just easier that way. I don’t get hurt, and I don’t hurt anyone else. But then you came along, with your ridiculous optimism and your... your kindness, and suddenly I didn’t know how to keep you out. And that kiss—it made me realise I can’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say to match the weight of what you’re giving him. So he squeezes your hand, letting his touch say what his words can’t.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you continue, your voice soft but unsteady. “But I thought if I could convince myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it all fell apart.”

Mingyu shakes his head slowly, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere."

You look at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because your shoulders relax just a fraction, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeat, your voice barely audible. “But I think... I think I want to try.”

And that’s it. That’s all Mingyu needs. His chest swells with something that feels suspiciously like hope, and he leans in just enough. "I don't need perfect. I just need you, the way you are, right here, right now."

For a moment, there’s silence. Not the awkward kind—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath just for you. Mingyu’s words hang in the air, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he stops. His heart is doing that thing again, where it feels way too big for his chest, and honestly, he’s not sure if that’s romantic or just a pending medical emergency.

You glance down, exhaling softly, and then look back up at him with that small, tentative smile that could single-handedly knock him off his chair. “Do you...” You pause, biting your lip like you’re still deciding if this is a terrible idea or just a regular bad one. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Mingyu’s brain short-circuits.

Like, fully shuts down. There’s no reboot happening here. Just static, a faint buzzing sound, and a very unfortunate replay of every romantic comedy scene he’s ever watched where the male lead trips over his own words and ruins everything.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Great. Perfect. Ideal response.

“Mingyu?” you ask, your tone softer now, like you’re worried you might’ve just set his brain on fire.

“I—uh—yes? I mean, yes!” He blurts it out, too loud, and the couple at the next table glance over like they’re wondering if he’s okay. He’s not, but that’s beside the point.

You laugh, and the sound feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure?” you ask, your tone teasing but warm.

“Absolutely,” he says, sitting up straighter, like he’s about to sign an unbreakable contract. “I am very sure. Extremely sure. Couldn’t be more sure.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his spiral. “Okay, then.”

You stand, and Mingyu scrambles to follow, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Smooth. So smooth. He rushes to grab his coat, fumbling with the sleeve as he tries to put it on without dislocating a shoulder. When he finally gets it together and turns back to you, you’re just standing there, watching him with an amused smile.

“You good?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good?” Mingyu repeats, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m great. Amazing. Let’s, uh, go.”

He follows you out of the restaurant, trying to act like a normal, functional human being. Except his palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure he almost tripped on absolutely nothing as you walked to the curb. When you glance back at him, your expression softens, and suddenly, it feels like the world’s gone quiet again.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the chaos in his head. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mingyu lies, his grin wide and unconvincing. “This is just how I always look when I’m—uh—happy.”

You laugh again, shaking your head, and link your arm with his, pulling him gently along. “Come on, let’s go before you combust.”

The walk to your apartment is a blur for Mingyu. His brain is bouncing between, Wow, I can't believe this is happening and What am I supposed to do when we get there? Sit? Stand? Compliment her interior design choices? He's overthinking so hard he barely notices when you nudge him gently and gesture toward the building in front of you.

“This is me,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips like you know exactly how fried his brain is right now.

“Cool,” Mingyu replies, because apparently that’s the only word left in his vocabulary. Cool. Not “nice place” or “wow, it suits you,” just cool. He could punch himself, but then you’re already unlocking the door, and the reality of the moment hits him like a freight train.

The inside of your apartment is warm. Not literally warm—though the temperature is pleasant—but warm in the way it feels lived-in and completely, unmistakably you. It’s smaller than he imagined, but cozy, like every piece of furniture and every object has been chosen for a reason. There’s a soft throw blanket draped over the arm of your couch, a mug on the coffee table with a faint ring from earlier that day, and a half-finished book on the shelf that he knows he’s seen you reading during breaks.

Mingyu steps inside, toeing off his shoes at the door because it feels like the kind of place where shoes on indoors would be a crime. “Your apartment is really nice,” he says, his voice a little too high-pitched because he’s still desperately trying not to think about why he’s here.

“It suits you,” Mingyu says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out too soft, too sincere. When you glance at him, your cheeks warm, he knows he’s said the right thing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and Mingyu is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to spiral. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two people hanging out in a perfectly platonic and definitely not emotionally loaded way. Except it’s not fine, and his brain is racing faster than he can catch up.

He sits down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he looks around again. It’s impossible not to take everything in, to let the space tell him little things about you he didn’t know before. Like how there’s a stack of notebooks on the side table, their covers worn like they’ve been flipped through a thousand times. Or how there’s a candle sitting on the shelf labelled something ridiculous like “Cinnamon Forest Dreams,” and now all he can think about is you lighting it during one of your late-night brainstorming sessions.

When you come back, two glasses of water in hand (because you’re practical like that, of course), Mingyu straightens up, his heart pounding in his chest. You sit down beside him, closer than he expected but not close enough to touch, and he’s suddenly very aware of how small the couch feels.

“So,” you say, handing him a glass, your voice light but your eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness. “What do you think?”

“Of the apartment?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water because it’s something to do with his hands. “I think it’s great. Like... really great. It’s very... you.”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the compliment,” he replies, his grin a little sheepish. “It’s perfect. Just like—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks flushing as he looks down at his glass. Don’t say it. Don’t overdo it.

But you’re looking at him now, your expression softening. “Just like what?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his brain screaming at him to play it cool. “Just like I imagined,” he finally says, his voice quiet but steady. “Like... a space that feels like you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s completely ruined everything. But then you smile—really smile—and his chest feels like it might explode.

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy. “That means a lot.”

He smiles back, trying to ignore the way his heart is doing somersaults. This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing to freak out about. But then your knee bumps against his, and suddenly, he’s not so sure.

Mingyu swallows. A cough almost escapes his throat, but he manages to catch it, instead clearing his throat like he's trying to shake off the sudden, very real butterflies in his stomach.

You, on the other hand, seem perfectly at ease, sipping your water, your eyes not quite meeting his, but still playful, still warm. Your knee stays lightly resting against his.

He looks at you, his mind racing, and wonders if maybe this is one of those moments where he should just say it. Say what’s been sitting heavy on his mind, almost screaming to come out ever since that night—the kiss, the awkwardness, the moments of quiet when he almost wished he could reach out and grab the truth like it was some kind of lifeline.

“Y'know," he begins, his voice coming out a little more nervously than he meant, "I’ve spent most of my life messing up in the most spectacular ways possible. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to making things right."

You tilt your head at him, a playful smile on your lips, but your gaze is intense in a way that makes his breath catch. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mingyu,” you say, your tone teasing, but there’s something beneath it—a quiet, steady assurance that has him clinging to every word.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, his hand tightening slightly around his glass. “Like, when it comes to this—" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, "I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He bites his lip, willing himself not to spill everything at once. “But, I think… I think I really want to try. With you.”

The silence that follows is thick. Mingyu mentally runs through every scenario, and none of them seem to be as perfectly awkward and fragile as this one. He starts to second-guess himself, but before he can say something stupid to cover it all up, you do something that catches him completely off-guard.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his again, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the way you move. Your hand reaches out, fingers gently resting on his forearm, warm and soft. He can feel your pulse, steady and strong, as if somehow in this small gesture, you’re grounding him.

“Mingyu,” you say quietly, and he’s not sure if it’s his name or the way you say it that knocks all the air out of him. “I’m not asking for perfection. I don’t even know what that looks like.”

Mingyu’s breath hitches as he watches you, his heart skipping a beat at the honesty in your eyes. It feels like you're both on the edge of something, teetering between what is and what could be, and yet all Mingyu can think about in this moment is how simple it is to be here with you—how uncomplicated it feels to just let go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” you continue, your voice soft but clear. “But I want to find out. With you."

It’s then that Mingyu realizes how quiet it’s gotten, how still the air is around the two of you. The world outside your apartment could be spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and in this small space, with your hand on his arm, time feels like it’s standing still.

You’re sitting so close now. The space between you is smaller than the gap in his thoughts. His hand, which had been fidgeting with the glass of water, starts to move on its own. He places it gently on the cushion beside you, just a few inches from your own. His palm is open, but he waits.

And then—he takes a breath.

"Can I?" he asks, voice low, almost a whisper, as though he's afraid you'll pull away, as though he's asking permission for something he should have done a hundred times before.

Your eyes lock with his. They're soft, vulnerable, like you're weighing his words against everything that's happened before. For a moment, the world feels like it’s paused, like there’s no room for doubts or what-ifs. There’s just you and him, and something that’s undeniable between you.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you let your gaze drift to his lips, and then, almost imperceptibly, you lean in.

Mingyu doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hand slides from the couch to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek as he moves closer. He feels the heat radiating off you, and his breath catches when your lips are just a breath away.

And then, before he can even think, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the sensation of everything falling into place. The kiss is slow, tender, almost like he’s savouring it, wanting to memorise the moment because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly how it should be.

Your lips move against his in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, and he feels the tension that had been building between the two of you melt away. He’s no longer nervous, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. He just wants to be here with you—now, in this perfect moment.

When you pull away, it’s not with distance, but with the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips, your eyes full of something that makes Mingyu's chest tighten. Your breath is still coming fast, like you’re just as shaken as he is.

He doesn’t say anything at first. There’s no need. His heart is still racing, but now, he’s not afraid of what comes next. He feels like he’s finally stepped into something real, something that might not be easy but is worth every bit of effort.

"I think..." he starts, his voice a little hushed, "I really wanted to do that again."

You laugh softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you tilt your head just enough for your forehead to rest against his. "Yeah?" you murmur, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Mingyu can't help but smile, his hand, still resting gently on your waist, pulls you just a little closer, as if to remind himself that this is real. That you're really here, and this is really happening. You don’t pull away. Instead, your hand moves from his jaw to his collar, gently tugging at the fabric like it’s an invitation he can’t refuse.

And Mingyu? He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips finding yours with more urgency this time. His free hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, all his self-control falling away the moment you’re close enough to feel.

You gasp softly against his lips as his hand slides down to your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip, and he feels you shiver. His pulse is racing in his ears, but it's the warmth of your body against his that completely consumes him. He can't stop. Can't pull away. You taste like the promise of something more, and the way your fingers grip his collar tightens the knot in his stomach until it’s a full-on spiral of heat.

Your mouth moves with his now, more desperate, more demanding, and Mingyu’s heart does that weird, annoying thing again—where it leaps in his chest, and all his thoughts vanish like mist under the sun. He kisses you harder, taking a moment to pull away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting as if you’ve run miles, even though you’ve hardly moved.

“Mingyu...” you whisper, voice breathless, a little unsteady. He feels the sound vibrating through him as much as he hears it.

"Yeah?" he responds, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth despite how utterly wrecked he feels in the best possible way. "You’re not gonna suddenly tell me this is all a huge mistake, right?"

You laugh—a low, playful sound that makes his chest tighten, and then you kiss him again. This time, it's slow, deliberate, like you’re savouring each second, each touch. And Mingyu’s mind short-circuits all over again, as if he's trying to figure out how it's possible for something so simple to make him feel so—so—alive.

Your hands are everywhere now—on his chest, around his neck, tugging him closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. And that’s when he feels it, that surge of want, a physical ache deep in his chest that spreads out to his limbs, making him burn.

He presses you back gently against the armrest of the couch, his lips trailing down to your neck, his breath hitching when you arch into him. The way you melt under his touch is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he even realised he craved. The warmth of your skin, the way your fingers dig into his back, all of it pulls him in, deeper, until he’s lost in the sensation of just being with you.

“Mingyu, we—” you start, but the words cut off when his lips meet the curve of your neck, and the way you shudder against him makes his pulse stutter in his veins. You can’t even finish the sentence, and he’s so close to being past the point of caring.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We what?” he asks, his voice rough. "I won't let you talk if you're going to tell me you changed your mind."

Your gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes, a playful challenge in your expression. "I’m just saying," you murmur, your hands shifting down to his shirt as you slowly begin to unbutton it. "You're going to have to transfer to a different team after Langham is done."

Mingyu grins, a breathless huff of laughter leaving his lips. "As long as I still get to see you every day."

"I'd say you're probably going to get to see a lot more of me." Your words are said innocently enough, but the implication mixed with the feeling of your heaving chest against his is making his head spin again.

And just like that, you have him, every inch of him. Mingyu can’t keep his hands from wandering, can’t keep his lips from pressing harder against yours, can’t keep from falling deeper into this beautiful mess of passion and want. The last shred of his self-control slips away, leaving only you—right here, right now.

Your clothes go quickly, his quicker, until you're both laid bare before the other, entirely vulnerable and at peace at the same time. He's drowning in you, his head nested between your legs, feeling as eager to please as he did the first day he met you. You're gasping his name, hands curling into his hair, head falling back onto your couch in utter bliss.

And then your fingers are wrapping around his shoulders, digging into the muscles and pulling him back up towards you. He almost falls off the couch he moves so fast, but you don't seem to notice. You're too busy looking positively angelic in front of him, with those large, sparkling eyes staring at him and dirty words pouring out of your mouth.

Mingyu has to hold himself together as you tell him, point blank, to "hurry up, and make love to me."

This isn't Mingyu's first rollercoaster. He's a good-looking guy, and he knows it. He's been with others before, but when you speak to him like that, he feels like he's eighteen again and a girl's just sat on his lap for the first time.

And it feels so good, you feel so good around him. You might not have to worry about transferring teams, because he's not sure he's going to make it. The noises you're making, the warmth of your body, the scraping of your nails against his chest - it's enough to finish him off (or at least allow him to ignore the ungodly sounds pouring out of his own mouth).

He makes sure you've finished as well before pulling out (because he wants to, not because he feels embarrassed that he came first). A blissful look falls over your face and Mingyu has to mentally take a photo of the image to make sure he never forgets it. He's staring at you; he knows it and you know it, and you're giggling a little and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Wait here," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment by speaking too loudly. He leans down to peck your lips, before running into your bathroom to dispose of the condom and get some towels and blankets.

The night fades softly into a comfortable quiet as you and Mingyu lay there, nestled on your couch, your bodies half-melted into the cushions, the air between you warm and thick with the lingering feeling of everything now spoken.

Mingyu is still processing it all. This. This feeling of being here, with you. He’s supposed to be good at this—the whole dating thing, at least. But everything about tonight has been different. And, if he’s being honest with himself, much better than he expected. He expected the awkwardness, the second-guessing, the inevitable when do I leave? moment, but none of that happened. Instead, all that’s left is you. And him. And the soft rhythm of your breathing in the stillness of your apartment.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to act casual, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. This is fine, he thinks, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming that nothing this nice is ever fine. But the voice is quieter now. A lot quieter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt absently, as though you’re trying to figure out the material, the way it fits him, the way it feels beneath your touch.

Mingyu chuckles softly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound. “I guess I’m just... trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Well,” you reply, shifting just enough to lift your head, your eyes soft but amused, “if this is a dream, I’m okay with it. I think I’ll stick around.”

Mingyu's heart skips a beat at the words, but he keeps his voice steady, even if the teasing smile he wears is bordering on ridiculous. “Good, because if this is a dream, I’m not waking up."

As the night deepens and the city lights paint soft patterns on the walls of your apartment, Mingyu finds himself drawn to your window. The skyline stretches before him, a tapestry of glowing spires and shimmering reflections, alive with the energy of the place he loves most. He smiles, realising for the first time how much this view has changed for him. It isn't just buildings and lights anymore - it's connection, collaboration, and the quiet promise of something new. A reminder of what you are going to build together, layer by layer, one light at a time.

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #mingyu #kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu fic #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut

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joelslastofus · 3 months ago

Text

[SUMMARY: Joel sleeps with Marlene’s daughter and leaves without saying a word to her only for her to find out she’s pregnant a month later.]

You froze at the doorway as Joel looked in your direction and instantly noticed your visible baby bump. His jaw clenching as he thought about the last time he saw you..

Smut unprotected sex angst

Everyday felt like a strict rule book you had to follow. Chore after chore, rule after rule, your mother Marlene didn’t play any games and you sure as hell didn’t get a special pass just because you were her daughter.

If anything she expected the most from you.

You hated it.

Today was a little bit easier, she had left to do God knows what. All you cared about was that you finally had a break from her.

Sitting in a room by yourself organizing extra food that was found and placing them in boxes you were startled when Joel Miller practically ran into the room a sweaty mess.

“Where is she?!”

It wasn’t often when you would see Joel but you’d be lying if you didn’t enjoy the times you did.

“My mom? She’s not here, are you ok?” You walked around the table towards him to see there was blood on his shirt. Something was obviously wrong, Joel wasn’t expected back for another few days.

“I’m fine” he responded in frustration.

“You’re bleeding” he looked down at where you looked and noticed he had been cut down his forearm.

“It’s nothin-“

“Let me take a look” you insisted. He watched as you gently lifted up his arm taking a better look at his wound.

“Where’s your mother?”

“She should be back any minute” you reached over for the first aid kit.

“That ain’t gonna be necessary darlin’ I’m in a rush”

“It is absolutely necessary unless you want an infection” you proceeded to clean up his wound as your mother walked in.

“The hell are you doing back so soon?” She instantly raised a brow watching as you wrapped up his wrist.

“You, you sent me to the wrong place. Ain’t no damn car where I went to-“

“Can’t be” she responded confused pulling out a map she had in her back pocket to go over the route.

“Shit” she whispered realizing she indeed did send Joel the wrong route.

“Okay, all done” you pulled his sleeve back down as he looked down at you and gave you a nod.

“This has to be it” Marlene circled an area with a marker.

“Ya sure, I ain’t got time to be playin’ games. It’s either there or it ain’t” Joel responded clearly frustrated making you look down. Your mother never responded too well with someone speaking down to her. Marlene snatched the map off the table and turned to Joel slamming the paper to his chest.

“I’m sure” she spoke with a threatening tone.

“Mom-“ you whispered before she turned back to you with a threatening glare.

“Y/n don’t you have more things to do than to patch up a cut. Let’s go, things aren’t gonna get done themselves.” Joel watched as you silently nodded. Just as you attempted to walk past them your mother stopped you by your arm.

“You don’t stop working unless I say, you understand?”

“She was just helpin’ me” Joel attempted to defend you. No one had ever attempted to stand up against your mother.

“She is my daughter and she does as I say” she responded without bothering to look back at him. Silently you nodded and left the room.

You hated how controlling your mother could be, you hated what little freedom you had. She treated you like you were twelve although you were twenty-one. She never had respect for your ideas or opinions and simply looked at you as another worker.

Working in another room you carried heavy boxes to the top shelf, you hadn’t noticed Joel stood in the doorway. Making sure your mother was nowhere near he looked back before stepping inside.

“Thanks for before” you gasped at the sudden sound of his voice before turning to him.

“Oh. It was nothing” you smiled at him as you picked up another box from the floor, this one seemed much heavier. Tip toeing to place it on the shelf Joel unexpectedly grabbed the box standing behind you and put it on the shelf you were attempting to reach.

“Thank you” you turned back to see him grabbing the last two boxes making you quickly look to see if your mother was around.

“Um, it’s ok. I can get those” you assured him.

“What she gonna do? Stop me from helpin’ ya?” He placed each box in its place as you silently watched.

“Thank you, Joel” you smiled as he turned to you.

“Listen, I know it ain’t none of my business but I’ve seen you around long enough to see enough of it. She’s your mother but that don’t give her the right to down talk you like that, honey. It ain’t right” you nodded looking down.

“I know but I have no choice but to deal with it now” you shrugged.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it at this point”

Joel pressed his lips together before silently placing his hand on your shoulder and leaving the room. You watched as he walked out wondering if you’d ever see him again. You knew how much Joel couldn’t stand being there, only came by because he knew it was his only chance to getting a car that would lead him to his brother.

Going on about your regular routine as days went by you continued your work when you heard a man tell your mother Joel had returned and this time with his brother, Tommy.

You smiled with happiness for him, he must’ve been so relieved to find his brother, you wondered what made him come back.

A little while later your mother returned, she remained silent as she wrote something in a book. Curiosity killing you to know why Joel had returned, you hesitantly looked up at her before deciding to speak.

“Joel’s back?”

“Mhm” her tone had a hint of frustration.

“Did he leave already?”

“Unfortunately he won’t until tomorrow”

“But he found his brother, so that’s good news isn’t it?” She looked up at you with a raised brow.

“You know we don’t trust the Millers. Not here��

“Yes but-“

“But nothing- he’s staying until the morning and that’s it. As a matter of fact take them that small box of supplies. Leave it at there door, they are next to Leo’s room” she explained before looking back down at her book. Doing as she said you grabbed the box and made your way to their room.

The door was closed when you arrived, quietly you placed the box in front of their door when suddenly someone opened it. Looking up you looked directly at Joel unexpectedly.

“Hi” you quickly stood up.

“My mom wanted me to leave this for you”

“God that woman is such a bitch, I’d rather be without the damn car and out in the night if it meant I didn’t have to be stuck with her” you heard another man’s voice in the background as he appeared beside Joel.

“This is Tommy” he looked at his brother as he took a deep breath.

“Sorry” Tommy apologized not realizing anyone was around.

“It’s fine, I know how my mother is. Well, this is for the both of you. If you need anything, you know where to find me” you looked at Joel with a polite smile before walking off.

“Sheesh, maybe staying here won’t be too bad after all” Tommy whispered watching you walk as he stood beside Joel who quickly shut the door.

“Damn man, could’ve left it open a little bit longer-“

“Don’t” Joel narrowed his eyes on him.

“What?” Tommy asked before an expression of realization came to him.

“Oh you like her?” Joel quickly turned with irritation ignoring his brother’s question.

“You do, don’t you? Ohhh man and you say I’m always after the younger ones huh” Tommy laughed as Joel opened the box continuing to ignore him.

“Shut up and get some damn sleep” he mumbled under his breath.

After a few hours, Joel was laying down staring at the ceiling. His brother across from him asleep when he heard something just outside his door.

When Joel opened the door he was surprised to find you walking down the hall, he furrowed his brows realizing you were wiping away tears.

“You alright?”

Joel’s voice startling you, you quickly stood up straight and wiped away any other evidence of tears.

“Yes, I’m sorry if I woke you-“

“Ya didn’t” he began to walk towards you.

“Everything ok?” He asked once more.

“Yeah-“ you chuckled slightly embarrassed.

“It’s just, your brother is right, my mother really can be such a bitch-“

“Somethin’ happen?”

“No, just every day usual things.” You sighed.

“I never get a chance to just let it out and I didn’t want her to find me in my room like this so-“ you waved your hands up as you looked up at him. That’s when you noticed the way he was looking at you, intrigued by the way you moved your lips. The look he had making you feel butterflies in your stomach. Why the hell did you have to find Joel attractive of all men?

“For what’s it worth, you’re doin’ a great job here” his response only pulling you to like him more. Maybe it was you being caught up in your emotions, maybe it was your loneliness, but suddenly you did the unthinkable. Grabbing Joel by his shirt you pulled him towards you, you tip toed and planted your lips delicately on his.

Caught off guard, his hands still immediately took hold of your waist before you quickly pulled away.

“I’m sorry-“ you whispered as he looked at your lips in a daze. Too distracted by your embarrassment you brushed your hand through your hair as you took a step back.

“I shouldn’t have done that” you whispered, the man was old enough to be your father, what the hell were you thinking? He didn’t hear your apology, it was as if you had awoken an animal in him and he abruptly pulled you back against him. His tongue pushing through your lips and moving along with yours, you moaned softly against him when you heard a door open. Quickly he pulled you into his room and closed the door. Joel continued kissing you until you felt yourself run into his bed.

It was dark in the room but you knew his brother was there, the thought making you nervous as you pulled your lips away.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Your brother”

“He’s a heavy sleeper” he kissed your cheek softly, kisses leading down to your neck quickly distracting any thoughts you had. Rolling your eyes back you brushed your fingers through his thick hair feeling him push your pants down. Unbuttoning his shirt you threw his flannel to the side as he quickly pulled his under shirt over his head. Taking your hand he placed it on his bare chest. The tingly sensation you felt in your stomach traveling down to your womanhood was something you had never felt before…not this way at least.

Joel kissed you as he lifted you up on to the bed. Laying yourself back you felt him crawl over you and gently kiss you over your shirt till he reached your collar bone.

“What if-“

“Shh” he whispered as you heard the sound of him unzipping his pants before he placed himself between your legs and pressed himself against your opening. Your lips parting as your hand found his face and brushed along his facial hair. This was the same man you had seen come by for the past two years, the same man who would steal subtle glances at you whenever he could without you realizing. And now he was on top of you, feeling how ready you were for him. Joel eased his way inside you slowly as you felt his body press against yours.

“Oh my god” you whispered.

Never had you had sex with a man without a condom before. The feel of his bare cock thrusting inside you was something new and you didn’t want it to stop. The silhouette of his body above you as he took your legs and placed them on his shoulders. His arms holding him up as he slammed himself into you, grunting loud enough for you to hear. You moaned grabbing onto whatever part of him you could hold as he pushed deeper making sure you felt every inch.

“Joel-“ you whimpered

“Get on top of me” he whispered against your ear. Without giving you a chance to respond Joel let your legs loose and flipped you over. You gasped, your hands falling onto his chest as you felt him prop his legs up. Slowly you began to ride him, his breathing was heavy and deep as you found your rhythm.

“Atta girl” he whispered out of breath. You bounced on him as a moan escaped your lips louder than you meant it to. The sound you made making him grab your hips and ride him harder. The bed squeaking as you both moved as one when he cursed at himself and held himself still.

“Get up-get up-“ his body tensed up as you felt him quickly pull you up with one arm while relieving himself with his free hand.

“Ahh-“ his cum poured out of him by your thighs as he struggled to remain as quiet as he could. Your hand brushing up his chest only sent more shock waves through his body. Joel fell flat back on the bed as you slowly lay beside him. He lay with his eyes closed when he felt you get up from the bed.

“Where ya goin’?” He sat up facing you.

“I can’t stay here” you whispered as you quickly looked for your clothes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” you assured him as you dressed yourself when Tommy began to groan in his sleep, you quickly kissed Joel and ran out of the room.

Your heart pounding hard in your chest as you tried to look as normal as you could walking down the hall. You couldn’t believe what had just happened. Sleeping with Joel Miller wasn’t something you ever thought would actually happen. Lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed your mother walking in your direction down the hall, until she stopped you.

“Where have you been at this time of the night?” She placed her hands on her hips looking down at you.

“I um- I was just making sure all exits were covered. Couldn’t sleep” she looked at you strangely noticing how sweaty you were but didn’t say a word. Silently she nodded her head and walked past you.

Joel sat at the edge of his bed half dressed. Leaning forward he brushed his hand over his face thinking about what he had just done. He knew it wasn’t a smart move, he knew it was best for him to leave in the morning without seeing you, without speaking a word of it although he knew damn well he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The next morning you woke up eager to see Joel. You knew he was leaving but still you wanted to see him before he left.

Early in the day your mother caught you walking down the hall and stopped you as she usually did to go over the days work.

“I need you to count how many antibiotics we have and organize them.”

“Ok, no problem” you nodded.

“Oh and make sure the Millers didn’t leave anything behind-“ her words making your heart drop.

“What do you mean?” You asked with a puzzled expression.

“Check the room they stayed in, make sure it’s clear”

“They left?” You asked with a little more emotion in your tone than you meant to.

“Mhm, earlier than I expected them to. Get to work, I have a few things to take care of” your mother walked off as you stood there with an ache in your chest you weren’t familiar with.

You felt gutted.

Sure, you knew nothing would come from what happened, yet still you didn’t expect him to take off the way he did.

Organizing the room as your mother asked, you looked at the bed Joel and you had sex on.

You found yourself feeling angry at his sudden absence. Anger that he never said a word.

“Are you finished?” Victor, your mother’s current boy toy stood at the door distracting you from your thoughts.

“Uh yes, I’ll be right there.”

Days turned to weeks and Joel had never returned, not that you really expected him to. He only came by when he and your mother needed to work together on something that would work for them equally.

It had been four days now and you found yourself still with a horrible stomach virus. Throwing up at the most random times of the day, you could barely keep anything down.

All you could do was stay in bed.

“Get up” your mother abruptly walked in pulling the covers off you.

“Mom, I really can’t. I know I’ve been in bed for a few days but I’m so dizzy and-“

“Have you gotten your period?” She asked with a raised brow.

“What? Of course I have-“

“When?”

“It was um- a little over 3 weeks ago” you sat up realizing you couldn’t really remember.

“Get up. Now”

“What are we doing?” You asked as you slowly stood up.

“You’re going to take a pregnancy test”

You sighed rubbing your forehead.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary-“

“Let’s go” she responded in a threatening tone.

Standing in the bathroom with your mother you stood anxiously waiting to look at the stick.

“Ok, times up” your mother crossed her arms patting her elbow nervously as she leaned forward and saw the clear positive sign.

“God dammit!” She yelled making you jump.

“It can’t be” you whispered.

“Who was it? Who the hell did you sleep with?!” Your mother cornered you as you panicked backing into the wall.

“How could you be so stupid?!”

“Mom I-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” She walked out slamming the door shut, leaving you in tears.

Feeling completely alone and terrified you sat on the floor and cried..

Laying in bed you stared at the wall, here you were pregnant with Joel Millers child and you couldn’t even tell him. It was his fault you couldn’t tell him, never appearing again after he slept with you. How convenient that he suddenly no longer needed your mother. This only made you more angry, and ashamed. You regretted so deeply sleeping with him that night…

Five long, lonely months went by as your belly began to show. Your mother as cold as she could be towards you while she made you continue to work around the area. A young girl named Ellie had now joined where you lived, you didn’t know much about her other than the fact that your mother seemed very occupied with her. Your mother never knew this child belonged to Joel Miller and you didn’t want her to know.

Today was like any other day, you went over supplies, writing down inventory and what was needed. Finishing up writing in the book you finally closed it with a deep breath and went off to leave it with your mother.

“Mom, I finished writing the-“ just as you walked in you were met with the last thing you ever expected to see.

Joel Miller speaking with your mother.

You froze at the doorway as Joel looked in your direction and instantly noticed your visible baby bump. His jaw clenching as he thought about the last time he saw you.

“The what?” Your mother caught your attention making you look up at her.

“I finished writing all of our inventory…..may I lay down. I don’t feel too well” you asked your mother without looking at Joel yet you could feel his eyes burning into you.

“Go ahead” she responded as she took the book from you. Quickly you walked out as you felt your heart racing practically beating out of your chest.

Joel didn’t take his eyes off the doorway as you walked out. Your mother distracted going over the information you wrote in the book until she looked up and noticed Joel’s expression.

“I know, shocking isn’t it? Damn girl got pregnant and she doesn’t tell me who the hell knocked her up” Joel quickly turned to her as she laughed sarcastically.

“How far long is she?”

“About six months” Marlene sighed.

Joel gulped looking away, just around the

time he was last here.

“Marlene, they need you down the hall” Victor suddenly appeared at the door making Joel and her look up.

“What is it now?” Marlene walked out leaving Joel to himself. For a moment he stood wondering what his next move should be before he stepped out and looked behind him to see Marlene disappearing into the distance. Slowly he began to walk down the hall, checking each door as he passed when you unexpectedly walked out almost running into him. Softly you gasped before quickly walking away from him as he followed.

“Hey!” He called out to you as you walked faster, opening the door to your room you attempted to let yourself in and close the door shut but before you could, Joel blocked it with his boot.

“What do you want?” You whispered in clear frustration. Joel narrowed his eyes down to your belly then back to your eyes, he knew you were pissed that he left without saying a word.

He knew you were pissed that he suddenly wasn’t coming around as often as he used to.

“Im sorry that I left the way I did”

“You can keep your stupid apology” you snapped.

“Look I know you’re pissed” he leaned in towards you.

“And I know you’re scared, shit ya must’ve been terrified when you first found out and I’m sorry I wasn’t there-“ you chuckled sarcastically looking away.

“I didn’t need you there” you lied through your teeth. Joel tightened his lips together as he took a deep breath, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy trying to get through to you.

“Look, I’m gonna stay here now-“

“Oh no you’re not!”

“Oh yes I am” he took another step towards you.

“No,for what? To make my mother suspicious-“

“I won’t go near you, I’ll just make sure you’re alright. I ain’t leaving knowing you’re pregnant.” Hearing him say it only made it more real for you. You hated how persistent he was, the last thing you needed was your mother wondering why Joel was suddenly so concerned about you. How was he supposed to hide it? Would your mother even allow him to stay?

“My mother might not even want you here”

“Let me worry about that.” He seemed to always have an answer for something.

“How do you even know it’s yours?” Of course you knew it was his, he knew it was his. Yet, you tried to say anything to piss him off enough to leave. Joel stood silent, clearly he didn’t like even the thought of it.

“Why do you have to make this harder than it has to be-“

“Because I don’t need you here, I’ve gone six months perfectly fine without you knowing anything. Leave me alone” you slammed the door in his face holding in your tears. You were angry at him but part of you still wanted him to stay, you needed him to.

Joel walked out angrily towards Tommy who waited for him by the car.

“Change of plans” his words making Tommy raise a brow.

“What cha mean”

“I’m gonna stay here, you go back to Jackson and-“

“Stayin’ here? Why?” Tommy didn’t like the sound of it.

“I got some things I need to take care of-“ just as he spoke Marlene appeared behind him with her arms crossed.

“Where exactly are you staying?” She asked curiously.

“I want to stay here, I can help with whatever it is you need me to do. I won’t be trouble” Marlene squinted her eyes at him as she thought over his offer.

“You know, it might be good having a Miller here. Help keep these boys on track” Joel showed relief that she didn’t give him a problem to stay. Tommy couldn’t help but wonder what the hell would make his brother want to stay here.

A few hours later you came out to see Joel helping some of the guys move boxes from the truck. Your mother coming up beside you as you watched.

“Joel will be here for now, I don’t know what the hell made him want to stay but we could use his skill”

“I thought you didn’t trust him.” You responded softly.

“I don’t. I will keep a close eye on him” your mother walked off as you stood silently thinking how any of this would play out until Joel looked up directly at you. Quickly you turned away as he watched you walk inside.

Sitting in the room alone you could feel your baby kicking, tears rolling down your cheek as you thought about the reality of your situation. You had no idea the kind of man you were dealing with, Joel was going to make sure you and the baby would be taken care of properly even if it meant risking his life.

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fan fic #joel miller x f!reader

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lilis-palace · 2 months ago

Text

INTARSIA : WAINSCOT WONDERLAND | DX11 Update & Overhaul | 2024. Oct. 🔴 PLEASE REDPLACE THE ENTIRE FOLDER!! 🔴

✅ ALL ITEMS - Textures were made compatible with DX11 - Tags were updated

✅ Coffered Ceiling One Tile - Texture made less crunchy - Updated Bump map & Thumbnail images - Updated mesh to better fit ceilings

✅ Coffered Ceiling Half Tile [New object] - New .package file. Made for diagonal walls.

✅ Coffered Ceiling 3x3 Tiles [New object] - New .package file. Makes building quicker.

✅ Coffered Ceiling 2x2 Curved Tiles [New object] - New .package file. Makes building quicker.

✅ Panelling [Replacement] - New .package file - Previously existing files were combined for easier use - Removed the footprints, so won't block paths - Removed occluders so won't cast shadows

✅ Curved Panelling [New object] - New .package file, made to fit small curved interior walls

✅ All doors - File names were changed - Textures were updated to look much better - Door wings are centered and made thicker

✅ Polished Marble Floor - Swatches were updated (I added some darker ones) - Normal & Specular maps were updated

✅ Florence Frescoe Add-ons - Added a single swatch

🔴 NOTE - REPLACE THE WHOLE FOLDER 🔴 File names were updates. Previously all the panelling meshes were standalone files. Now that I combined them, the old ones are no longer useful. PLS DELETE THEM, or delete the entire folder, and replace it with the new one!

#ts4 buy cc #ts4 historical #ts4 historical cc #ts4 update #update #dx11 update

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annievrse · 20 days ago

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It Only Feels This Raw Right Now / Act II

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader Summary: When your captain, Luffy, tells you to run from Bartholomew Kuma on the Sabaody Archipelago instead of fighting, you end up on a submarine. Takes place during the time skip. W/C: 18.3k C/W: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Dressrosa spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content: descriptions of injuries, blood, passing out, guns + getting shot.

Labyrinth Series Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

In the two months that followed, you learned to draw maps. It wasn’t that you were disappointed; working with Bepo was fun, but when Luffy said Law would be training you, you expected more.

Luffy had gone through with the plan he vaguely mentioned to you, and seeing him in the newspaper with 3D2Y on his arm made you queasy—he neglected to tell you the part where he went back to Marineford—but you were so insanely proud of him. Since then, you’d heard nothing about him or your crew mates. However, you kept the newspaper folded in your room like your own personal treasure, along with a wanted poster of Law you found in the streets of Sabaody.

After Amazon Lily, the Heart Pirates returned to Sabaody for a few days to prepare for a journey to another island. You refrained from visiting the Sunny—Law warned you that there’d be heavy Marine presence around it, so you kept away from your beloved ship. It wasn’t until you were walking back to the Polar Tang that you saw Law’s poster and thought the photo they used for it was hilarious. It brought back some of the humour you’d been missing from Usopp and Luffy.

You giggle to yourself.

“What’s funny?” Bepo asks, his paw paused over the map he is currently working on. “Please don’t tell me you’re laughing at this.”

“No! No, Bepo,” You laugh. “No, I’m just thinking about something else.”

“You better be,” He says, dropping the brush on the table. “I’m done.”

You peer over at the map. A large pawprint smudges the edge of the page, and the handwriting is a little scribbly, but his measurements are accurate, and you nod. “Perfect.”

Nami’s face flashes through your mind, and instead of feeling upset, like you have been, you smile. “Add the cardinal points to the top corner.”

“Oh!” Bepo blushes, picking up the paintbrush. “Thanks.”

“You done?”

You turn, seeing Law in the doorway of the boiler room. He raises an eyebrow when neither of you answer.

“Yep,” Bepo holds up the still-drying map. “Look, captain.”

“It’s a blob,” Law criticises, squinting at it.

“It’s Amazon Lily.”

Law shrugs. “I guess that’s as good as it’ll get, yes?”

Bepo nods, glancing at you nervously.

“Considering you’re not allowed on the island, I think it's decent,” You say, smiling at Law.

He doesn’t give you the same reaction. “I need you in the infirmary.”

You shoot Bepo a glance, and he nods in encouragement. “I’ll be fine.”

Wiping your hands on your pants, you follow him out and up the stairs. The submarine is on its way to a new island in Paradise, and the engine muffles any voices on other floors.

“What’s wrong?”

Law doesn’t turn to talk to you. “I want to try something.”

His words make your stomach drop. Try something?

You’re almost jogging to keep up with his long strides. “Okay, well, can I know now?”

He sighs, giving you a sidelong glance. You smile widely at him, trying to persuade him, and Law knows he’ll give in. He always does.

“I want to try your sewing technique on someone.”

“Like an injury?”

Law nods. “Shachi slipped and split his eyebrow open on the kitchen counter, and I figured it was about time you showed me how you do it. I have yet to see your powers used for that instead of strangling me.”

Your hand brushes your side where your wound was. It took a while, but the gash Kuma gave you has healed nicely. All that’s left is a level scar.

Scoffing, you bump his bicep with your shoulder. “Dick.”

Law exhales sharply, a humourless laugh that makes you grin with satisfaction.

“At least I didn’t take your heart. That was fucked up.”

Law shrugs lazily, taking a sharp left into the infirmary. “I said I was sorry.”

“You said what?” Shachi exclaims, his eyes wide. There’s a white bandage wrapped around his head, protruding above his left eye where a thicker gauze sits. “I’ve never heard you say sorry, Cap.”

“First time for everything, Shachi.” Law mumbles, pulling on white latex gloves. He approaches his crew member and removes the bandage.

You stand to the side, watching with interest as the injury is revealed. It’s a nasty cut, and you cringe when Shachi merely blinks.

“Not as bad as it looks,” He says when he sees you scrunch your face up. “Doesn’t hurt.”

You nod, not believing him.

“She’s going to stitch you up,” Law comments, gesturing to you. “That okay?”

Shachi tries to raise his other eyebrow, but to no avail. “That’s fine. Just don’t stab my eye out.”

“I won’t,” You say, walking up to him. Law stands back, eyeing how you position your hands over Shachi’s face. “Ready?”

He nods, wiping his palms on his boiler suit. “Go for it.”

“Sew.”

Concentrating, you aim for the first stitch at the end of the cut, your power taking over the rest of the way. It’s easy like this when you have a set path to follow. You glance at Law, who watches you work attentively. His dark eyebrows are furrowed, and you wonder what he’s thinking.

“I have done this on someone before,” You say. “When Zoro went up against Mihawk, I had to stitch his torso back together.”

“Zoro…” Shachi eyes widen. “As in Roronoa Zoro?”

“Yes, dumbass. How’d that go?”

You shrug. “Procedure was fine.”

Law hums, and you know he knows you’re keeping the aftermath quiet.

It takes no time for you to finish the stitches, and with a flick of your finger, the open cut has been reduced to a single line, small sutures tied every four millimetres. It’s clean, and you smile at your handiwork.

“Done,” You exhale, your hands trembling with energy. “Are you okay?”

Shachi beams up at you. “That didn’t hurt one bit. Are you a witch or something?”

You laugh, balling your hands into fists at your sides. Law’s attention has moved to your hands, and you move to hide them.

“Shachi, get out of here,” Law demands, his gaze focused on you.

“Yes, captain.”

You stand idly, anxiety brewing in your stomach as the door clicks shut.

“You okay?”

You consider him for a moment. His timbre is far more concerned than you expected, and you nod.

He squints at you with suspicion. “You’re not. Your hands are still clenched.”

You release them immediately, dried blood smeared on your palms. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” He says. “You need to release your power.”

Shrugging, you sigh and bring your hands up. “I don’t know why it happens.”

Law swallows thickly, studying your palms. “Is that what happened with Zoro?”

You knew he was going to ask. “It was killing me.”

He nods, mulling something over. “We’re docking at the next island.”

“What? Why?”

“You need to get rid of that energy. Otherwise, it’ll keep building up, and you’ll pass out like you did on Amazon Lily, or worse.”

You think back—you did use your power to prevent the rocks from falling on both you and Luffy, and there was a copious amount of blood on your hands when you ran back. The blood. When you finished Zoro’s surgery, the blood on your hands was terrifying, yet you hadn’t touched Zoro at all. The blood.

“You think the blood on my hands comes from me?”

“There’s a possibility,” Law nods. “We’d need to see your power in full force. But I think you’re power is so immense that when you use it in small doses, like stitching someone up, the built-up power that you don’t use has nowhere to go, so it pricks your skin so much that you bleed.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them. “You’re brilliant.”

Law clears his throat. “I just did more study on Paramica fruits. It’s nothing.”

You feel your heart skip a beat. “But, you did more study because you noticed the blood on my hands. I would’ve never thought it’d be about the power I don’t use.”

“It’s my job.”

“You’re stupidly smart, Law,” You laugh, stepping toward the door. “Just take the compliment.”

Law sighs and turns his back to you. He busies himself with attempting to rearrange the shiny equipment trolley. There’s nothing on it.

“See you at dinner?” You call from just outside the doorway, a smirk playing on your lips. It’s fun to embarrass him, though he’d never admit it as such. Trafalgar Law doesn’t get embarrassed.

Law nods before he realises you can’t see him. God, you make him foolish. “Unfortunately.”

— Scene 2 —

“We’re docking!”

“Everybody off. This place reeks.”

The first breath of fresh air after being in the submarine for five days is something you’ll never get used to. You took such a thing for granted on the Sunny, smelling the fresh salty air daily. Now, you treasure it.

The Heart Pirates file off the sub, passing you as they do.

“Where are we?” Penguin asks, coming up behind you to stand beside you.

You shrug. “No idea. I’ve never been in this part of the Grand Line before.”

As far as you can see, it's barren. There’s a cluster of trees in the distance, all tall and menacing, and you can’t help the sense of dread that creeps in.

“I have to make a map.” You and Penguin turn to see Bepo holding a scroll of parchment and a pot of black paint.

“Yeah, have fun with that,” Penguin mumbles, leaving the two of you.

“You want to come with me?” Bepo asks.

“She can’t.”

Bepo visibly deflates. “Captain, you’re gonna make me go on my lonesome? With nobody? What if I fall down a ravine and break my leg?”

“You’ll be fine, Bepo. Now, go.”

“Yes, captain,” He says solemnly, trudging toward the plank.

“I’m happy to go with him, you know.”

Law clicks his tongue. “You’re coming with me. We need to train.”

“Train? Where?” You have a feeling you know the answer.

“There.” He gestures with his chin to the forest.

You sigh harshly and begin walking. “Come on, then. It’ll take a while to get there.”

Law quirks his eyebrow at you.

“What?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“This’ll be tough, okay?” He says lowly. “I need to understand why your power makes your hands bleed. Then, we can work from there.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Law continues like he can sense your unease, “But—”

You grimace. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

You nod and wave him over. “Yes, it’s fine. Now, let’s go, I’ve been waiting to kick your ass all week.”

“I won’t go easy on you, sweetheart,” Law steps on the plank behind you.

You hum, jumping onto the grass. “I don’t expect you to. Besides, my bounty isn’t high for no reason.”

Law pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Guess we’ll see, yeah?”

“Lead the way, Captain.”

—

“Is this necessary?”

Law ignores you and continues using shambles to transport various logs and rocks into the clearing you found. The trees are taller than you thought, and you tilt your head to see the canopy.

You understand why he’s doing it, moving obstacles into the area, but for your first time sparring with him, you figured it was a little overkill.

It's silent, except for the leaves rustling in the breeze and insects humming. You've noticed that no birds inhabit the island, making the forest eerie and your hair stand on end.

You turn, feeling like someone’s watching you, before Law reappears, making a beeline for you.

He pulls the hat off his head and tosses it to the side. “Ready?”

You blink, spinning to face him. “Now?”

You ignored the layout of the obstacles.

“Your opponent would’ve attacked you already,” Law deadpans, lifting his hand. “Room.”

You squeak in surprise, leaping back when the blue dome approaches you. “Hey! I have fought before, you know. I know how it works.”

Collecting your thoughts, you throw your hands up, almost tripping on a stray branch. You watch Law across the area; his gaze burns you, and you shiver.

“Sew.”

Threads materialise before you, and you aim for Law’s arms, deflating when he cuts them away easily with his katana.

“You’re gonna need to do a lot better than that.”

You clench your jaw. Oh, so he’s cocky. “Sew.”

“Shambles.”

And then he disappears, a branch hanging in the air and dropping to the ground where he once was. With your head on a swivel, you try to place him. Your threads vanish when they have nowhere to go, and you listen for him.

“Too slow…”

You freeze at the feeling of cool metal across your throat.

“That’s not fair,” You whisper, inhaling sharply and keeping your chest still. You didn’t even hear him.

“How would you get out of this?” He asks, breath hot on your ear. His forearm is firm around your stomach, and his chest is pressed against your back.

You roll your eyes as you slowly weave threads around Law’s ankles. He doesn't make it easy for you, especially with his body flush on yours. Sighing, you lean your head back on his shoulder. You don’t realise just how close Law is until you feel his lips brush the shell of your ear. The sensation sends shivers down your spine.

Law makes a sound of surprise. “What are you doing?”

You use his shock to your advantage, grabbing his right wrist with your left and pulling down. His katana falls forward, and you use needles to pierce his skin with minuscule pricks until he retracts the arm around your torso.

He lets out a grunt of discomfort as you lunge forward, pushing his stomach with your hand. You glance back to see Law fall backwards, the threads around his ankles doing their job. A large needle takes shape in your fist, and you lean over him, the tip against his jugular. Your legs are on either side of his hips, and your free hand is on his chest.

Law smirks, his breathing ragged and eyes dark as he watches you. “Good.”

You lean back, the needle dissipating. “I—”

And then you’re on the ground, looking up at where you just sat, where Law sits on top of you.

You feel your face heat up.

“Never let your guard down,” He says, pinning your arms above your head. “Dead.”

You wiggle your wrists to avert his attention from your bashful expression. “Get off.”

His grip only tightens. “Fight.”

You smirk, noticing his eyes widen when he feels a sharp point at his back. You hold a large needle, the tip scratching his spine. If this were a real-life situation, the needle as thick as a branch would be through his chest. So, you aim your threads at the trees behind Law, tying them to two thick trunks.

“Well, sweetheart?” His voice is low. “What’re you gonna do besides threaten me with an oversized needle?”

“Sew.”

The threads fly toward him, wrap under his armpits and over his shoulders, and pull. Law flies back. Before he hits the tree, he appears next to it, a twig breaking to pieces against the trunk instead.

“Shambles.”

Trusting your instincts, you know he will swap you with the rock in front of him. Lifting your fist, your body is doused with tingles, and then you’re throwing your arm, your fist connecting with his jaw. His head snaps to the side.

“Fuck,” Law spits blood onto the dirt.

You bounce back on your toes. “Not so tough now, huh, big boy?”

Law meets your glare with his own, and you feel the tendrils of your power purring against your skin. The sun pours through the canopy, the shadows dancing under your feet. You choose to use them to your advantage.

Threads snake along the forest floor, and you keep your eyes on Law to distract him. He pants, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, and you’re sure you look the same. You stand there, staring at each other, your threads slinking around him. Law’s tongue darts out to catch the blood on his lip before it drips onto his shirt, and he smiles, blood painting his teeth. The sight is unholy, and a shiver goes down your spine.

“Well?”

You continue to say nothing, your eyes trailing down his face to his lips and then further. Law stands there as you blatantly check him out. You never quite realised how tall he is; being in a cramped submarine makes everyone look tall, and maybe it's his terrible posture, too, because when you look at him now, he’s menacing.

You want to climb him like a tree.

You shake your head, remembering where you are. “Sew.”

And then your threads wrap around his body, tightening. You approach him slowly, like a predator with its prey.

“If you wanted to tie me up so bad, you should’ve just asked.”

His comment has you gaping, and then he’s gone, swapping himself with another rock. You sigh and turn around, ducking before he can knock you over.

Your palm shoots out, knocking him in the sternum. Law gasps and grabs your wrist, flipping your body so your chest is against a tree trunk. He stands flush against you. You pant with exhaustion, sweat dripping down the side of your face.

“Go again,” Law growls, stepping back and letting you off the tree. “Room.”

Your face hardens, and you run to put distance between you. “Needles.”

Giant metal needles materialise before you, pointing directly at Law. You see his eyes widen slightly at their speed, but once your needles enter his room, he cuts them down like they’re cooked noodles.

“Again.”

“Fuck you.”

Law’s eyebrow quirks up, a cocky smirk making your skin burn. “Again.”

“Needles.”

“Room.”

A familiar blue dome approaches, and you throw everything you can at him, but he’s quick. Law dodges and weaves through your attacks, slicing through all threads and slashing all needles you send him.

You want to scream with frustration. Law retracts his room, opening his mouth to call out something. But blood slides down your forearms, and something snaps inside you.

You know what’s happening, but you won’t stop it. You won’t use your full potential. Your grip on your ability slips, and your available power runs out, making the needles spin in the air and aim for Law.

“No,” You whisper, trying to pull the needles away from him with the fumes of power you have left in your reserve, but it’s not enough.

Law readies his katana, swiping at the needles as they race towards him like missiles. Usually, you’d see objects fly in different directions after being sliced by him. But, like he didn’t even brush them, the needles continue their path toward Law, and he pauses. “Shambles.”

“Law!” You scream, watching him stumble to the forest floor in a different spot completely.

Sprinting over to him, you put your hands on his chest. That’s when you notice the blood on your hands, and you run your hands over his torso to check for injuries.

“Law?” You murmur, seeing his eyes squeezed shut. “Law.”

“You shouldn’t care for your opponent,” He groans and sits up, his hand rubbing his sternum. “But that was strong. Good.”

Shaking your head, you ignore his stupid comment, your bloody palm over your mouth. “I hurt you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You fell.”

“That was from shambles. Lost my balance.”

You stand on shaky legs. “What if I hit you?”

“You didn’t,” Law follows you up, noticing the blood on your hands. His breath catches in his throat, and he double-checks his body. He’s uninjured.

Law is behind you when you turn, circling to stand before you. “Look at me.”

He speaks your name lowly.

“Look at me,” He repeats, tone coaxing.

You can’t, eyes focused on the blood dripping from your fingers. His hand brushes your cheek, and then his fingers are on your chin, tilting your face to his.

“I’m fine, see,” Law pulls away from you, lifting his arms out to the sides. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“But, the blood,” You say, bringing your hands closer to your face. “There’s so much of it.”

Law closes his palms around your fingers, the blood smearing. “I’m okay, sweetheart, and so are you. We just need to work on using all of your available power, that’s all.”

You look into his eyes, the steel grey of them comforting. A shadow of a smile finds its way to his cheeks, and you exhale shakily.

You won’t be using your full power in front of him.

“You promise?”

Law nods, squeezing your hands tighter. “Promise.”

You breathe in and out, focusing on trying to stop the tears from collecting on your waterline.

Law lowers your hands, releasing them before he steps back and clears his throat, his usual hard exterior like a mask. “Do you want to go back to the sub?”

You shake your head, trying to rub your palms on your pants. “I just want to stay here a bit longer. Don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m out of control.”

Law sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. He’s thinking, you know that much. And the more you look at him, the more injuries you see. There’s a nasty bruise forming on the side of his jaw where you punched him, as well as dried blood on the corner of his lips, and there’s a little rope burn on the side of his neck. You don’t want to know what you look like.

“C’mon,” Law says, turning and walking away from you.

“Where’re we going?”

“I think there’s a creek down here,” He nods in the direction he’s walking. “We’ll get the blood off you.”

You nod but don’t say anything. Law glances over his shoulder.

“Is that okay?”

“Oh,” You look up. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Law stops to wait for you to catch up. When you do, he leans his head down. “You were holding back.”

Your shoulders tense. “Why do you say that?”

Law snorts. “Look at how much blood’s on your hands. It’s like a massacre.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” You shrug. “Is that a problem?”

“I can handle myself.”

You finally hear the creek he was talking about and ignore him. You haven’t heard the running water in a while despite being underwater. There’s something comforting about gurgling water flowing over rocks.

“Next time we spar,” Law keeps his voice low. “I want to see why your bounty’s so high, okay? Because right now, you’re at 70 million berries.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but he continues.

“There’s clearly more to your power than just throwing around needles and thread. I want to see it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “My body will need to rest before I can do that.”

Law nods curtly. “And I respect that. Just don’t go easy on me next time.”

You look at him to see a smirk playing on his lips. Scoffing, you bump him with your shoulder.

The creek comes into view, and you rush to it, dipping your hands in the freezing water to clean your hands. As you scrub, Law sits beside you.

The urge to tell him everything eats at you. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t tell him. He’s a rival pirate. But when you give him a sidelong glance and see the content glint in his eye, you break. You hope you don’t regret it.

“I don’t use my true power,” You mumble, hoping he can’t hear you.

Law blinks but leans toward you. You kick yourself when you realise he does. “Why?”

“I’m scared of it.”

He doesn’t say anything, letting you continue.

“My bounty’s so high and has been for years because of the few times I used it.”

“And you’d never use it again?”

You ponder his question. “If the situation calls for it, then I would. But with Luffy, I never have to. We always find a way out of things.”

Law tilts his head, and you can tell there’s something he wants to ask.

“Just say it,” You wave your hand. You’re sure you know what he’s going to ask anyway, so you may as well get it over with.

“Can you use it on me?”

You still. That was not what you were expecting.

“The Sew-Sew Fruit,” Law sits up straighter. “If what I’ve gathered from the abilities you’ve shown me and my research, I can guess that your true power is a mindscape where you can cut objects, people, from this world and sew them into your own. A sort of alternate reality.”

You curse his brilliant mind. “Maybe you’re too smart for your own good.”

“Am I right?”

You keep washing your hands to busy yourself. “I don’t take entire people, only their souls. Why would you want me to use it on you?”

“So I can help you.”

Something tugs on your subconscious, and you try your best to pinpoint it. “Are you crazy?”

“Maybe.” Law puts his hands on your wrists, stopping your rough scrubbing—your hands are clean.

His fingers are rough against yours, and you try your best to think of another topic because you sure as hell aren’t thinking about your power right now.

“What do your tattoos mean?”

Law looks at you surprised. He’s silent momentarily, swallowing thickly before pulling his hands away from yours and running his fingers over his knuckles. You can tell he doesn’t talk about himself much because he mulls over the words he wants to say in his mouth before he does.

“These remind me of what’s at stake when treating patients. Helps keep me calm.”

You stare at the letters, reflecting on what Shakuyaku told you when you were on Sabaody. Trafalgar Law, the Surgeon of Death.

When he doesn’t go on about the others, you don’t ask.

“Cool,” You say, picking a loose thread on your pants.

Law hums, watching your fingers fidget.

You wipe your hands dry on your t-shirt. “Anyway, why do you want me to use Seam on you?”

“Seam,” Law mutters. “Straw Hat said you need to become stronger. I told him I’d help, so I will with the only way I know how.”

“Which is?”

“A hands-on approach.”

You scratch your hairline in an attempt to hide from him. It’s true what Luffy told him because he also told you and your crew. Get stronger.

You cough. “What do you get out of this?”

“Now you’re thinking like a pirate,” Law teases before he shrugs. “Nothing but the satisfaction of helping a friend.”

Friend.

Your stomach churns with discomfort, and you’re unsure why the word burns you so much. It sounds foreign on Law’s tongue. But despite his joking manner, the words he spoke when you first met scolds you from the inside out.

“But I’m just useful to you, right?” You poke your finger into his chest. “What did you call me? Leverage?”

Law sighs, running his hand through his hair. “That was before. It’s different now.”

“Before what?” You ask, standing from the bed of the creek. Law follows, and he towers over you. He swallows, and you can tell he’s deciding whether to tell you. His cheeks go ruddy, and you squint at him in confusion.

“It’s not important.”

“Law.”

It’s hurting him to say it.

“Before—”

“Captain! Quick!”

Law’s head snaps to the side, concern changing his features. You watch him, mind racing at what he could possibly mean about before.

“Bepo?” Law yells. “What’s wrong?”

“We gotta go!” The bear calls from the forest. “The island’s full of giant lizards, and they’re attacking us!”

Law looks unamused but moves anyway, running in the direction of Bepo’s voice and leaving you next to the water.

You stare at the place he just was, your chest tight. You wipe your nose and return to the sub, watching for the giant lizards Bepo warned you about.

—

It turns out that giant lizards were the codename for Ikkaku’s return. You haven’t bothered to ask why, but you're more anxious about meeting the woman responsible for the maintenance of the submarine.

In the distance, Law stands beside the Polar Tang, his hand on his forehead to shade his eyes from the sun's harsh glare. Above him, a large seagull descends, and on the back of it, a woman.

When you make it to the sub, the bird is gone, and all that remains is Ikkaku. Her dark curly hair is covered with a yellow and orange striped beanie, and she still dons the white Heart Pirates boiler suit. She speaks animately to Penguin as you look around for Law. He must’ve returned to the submarine when you put your head down to watch for sparse rocks.

Penguin calls your name, and you smile. “Hi!”

Ikkaku eyes you up and down, her expression sour. “A Straw Hat, huh? I don’t know what you’re still doing here, but Captain is more than capable of handling whatever it is alone.”

You come up short, watching as she bumps Penguin’s shoulder and walks away. You purse your lips, emotion lodged in your throat. The moment is over before it even begins, and there’s a surge of awkward tension in the air. Penguin clears his throat.

“You didn’t do anything,” He reassures, his hat-shrouded eyes darkening. “Ikkaku doesn't trust you guys. A-And by you guys, I mean the Straw Hats. Her, Uni, and Clione have a thing... I’m sure they'll get over it.”

You hum and pretend the words don’t hurt you the way they do. Shrugging, you fake a laugh. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. I wouldn't trust me either.”

He calls your name as you leave, not sparing a glance in the direction of the group that whispers as you pass by.

Bepo stands idly on the deck, twisting the map in his paws. You raise an eyebrow when he gives you a pitiful look.

"I don't need sympathy, Bepo."

He squeaks and almost rips the paper. "No, no sympathy here."

You give him a tight-lipped smile and pat his arm.

"I'm sorry," He murmurs, hanging his head.

"Wanna go inside?"

Bepo nods and turns, shuffling his feet to the door. His movements make a laugh tumble from your lips, and when he hears, Bepo's eyes are full of hope.

You reluctantly smile and shove him, though it does nothing to sway the tall mink.

"At least you've got me," Bepo says. "I know I'm not much, but—"

"Quit the self-deprecating jokes, Bepo," Shachi coughs from behind you. Penguin stands beside him and laughs. You can tell they're trying to lighten your mood.

You won't admit it, but it works.

"Yeah, you're gonna make the Tang flood with your pathetic tears," Penguin quips, brushing past you and down the stairs to the common area.

Bepo's jaw goes slack, and he pauses mid-step. "I'm sorry."

Chatter from the rest of the crew fills the stairwell, and you grab Bepo's paw to drag him down.

"Don't listen to them," You say, side-eyeing Penguin and Shachi when you pass them on the way to the couch. "They're just jealous that I like you more than them."

"Woah! Rude!"

"That's too far and NOT true!"

Bepo sticks out his tongue, and his two best friends pout.

You shake your head at their antics and wonder how you got so lucky to end up with them as your friends—you'd never say it out loud, but they fill the Straw Hat crew-sized void inside you.

— Scene 3 —

He’s watching you.

If it were anyone else, it’d be unsettling. But Law’s steely grey eyes, usually reserved and cold, turn different when they’re on you. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

It’s a night off that hasn’t happened while you’ve been aboard, but Penguin and Shachi tell you they're the best nights of the year, and who are you to be doubtful?

So, you are sitting on a couch in the common area, half-focused on the poker game before you. You’re not playing; instead, you choose to observe Bepo struggling to keep the cards in his paws and Shachi sneaking peeks at the ones that slip. A glass of who knows what, courtesy of Penguin, sits between your fingers, but you don’t drink any more of it—he’s very heavy-handed.

Across the room, Law sits on a stray dining chair, his legs spread. He also has a near-full glass, holding it between his open knees as he leans his forearms on his thighs. His hat is lopsided on his head, and his katana is propped against the wall beside him. Jean-Bart talks animately, but you know Law isn’t listening. He’s focused on you, after all.

He asked if you could use Seam on him a week and a half ago, and since then, he’s kept to himself. It’s annoying you.

Your eyes flicker to his, and he doesn’t react. You raise an eyebrow at him, to which he mirrors. Law’s expression remains cold, and you tilt your head in a silent question. You hope he understands you.

Law looks away, and you deflate.

“You want to take my place?” Shachi asks, throwing his cards on the table as his crewmates laugh. Uni, Clione, and Ikkaku remain silent, and you shake your head, disappointed.

“I think I’ll go to bed.”

Penguin boos you from the other side of the table, and Bepo pouts. “You can’t!”

“Sorry, boys,” You force a laugh, setting your glass on the side table beside the couch. “Have fun.”

They all groan and make excuses why you can’t leave while you walk from the room. The stairwell is silent, and you take the stairs quickly. You risk a glance over your shoulder as you rush to your room.

The thought of finally having another woman on board used to make you excited; you were so keen to make another friend, but now it makes you bitter. It seems your reputation precedes you and not in the way you wish. From her comment last week, you guess Ikkaku thinks you’re using Law, but she could be further from the truth. You’ve grown fond of the man, and if you’re reading the signals right, he, you.

An almost inaudible zip and boots clicking behind you make your heart skip; you’re certain Law used Shambles to follow you.

“Yes?”

Law doesn’t speak. Instead, there’s another zip right next to you and another, and then you stumble into his office.

“Why,” You hunch over, panting, “would you do that?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You sigh. “Give me a minute.”

Law makes a sound of indignation. “You were fine when we were sparring.”

“I hadn’t been drinking then,” You say, stretching back up.

He looks at you unimpressed. “Are you done?”

You level him with a glare, and when you don’t respond, Law circles his desk.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ikkaku doesn’t like me.”

Law hums and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah, she’s made her dislike known.”

You put your hands out. “What do I do? I’m not staying here if I drive a wedge between you and your crew…”

“You’re staying. I want you here. They can deal with it.”

The underlying desperation in his tone catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond when he cuts you off with a different topic entirely.

“When will you be ready to use Seam?”

“Huh?” You blink.

“Will you be ready tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” You ask, still grasping the fact that he wants you here. “Where’re we going tomorrow?”

“Bepo said there’s an island ahead,” He says. “I thought it’d be a good opportunity to start your training.”

“We did start.”

“Not with Seam.”

You regret telling him its name. “Fine, yeah, I’ll be ready tomorrow.”

“Repeat it back to me.”

You furrow your brows. “What?”

Law sighs. “Repeat the plan, so I know we’re on the same page.”

“You’ve got issues.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

You gape at him and scoff. You can’t believe him right now, especially after the momentary display of vulnerability.

Rolling your eyes, you groan. “Fine.”

Law tilts his head.

“We’ll train at the next island,” You rehash. “And there I’ll use Seam. Okay?”

“Great,” He smiles.

You narrow your eyes when you see it’s fake. That son of a— “Great.”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect!”

And then you leave, wanting nothing more than to wipe that pretty, cocky smirk off his face.

— Scene 4 —

The Polar Tang docked at the island not twelve hours later.

Your stomach flips with anxiety, your throat thick with nerves. You barely speak, choosing to keep your jaw set to prevent yourself from throwing up.

You know you can pull out at any time, but the thought of holding yourself back any longer makes you seethe. If Luffy wants you to get stronger, then you will.

“You good?”

You let out a shaky breath, looking to your right. The coast of the island is calm, and the sun barely rocks where you stand on the deck. “Should be. Just gotta get the nerves out.”

Law looks over the uninhabited island. “You can say no.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Law,” You sigh, turning toward him. His eyes are wide with apprehension, but he relaxes when you rest your fingers on his bicep. “I want to. This needs to happen if I’m to survive in the New World.”

Law raises an eyebrow, still unsure, but nods. “Okay.”

And then he’s gone, appearing 30 feet away on the grass. “Room.”

You jump down from the deck onto the ground, walking into his Room. You’d discussed the entire plan earlier today, hunched over his desk with a pen and paper. You were to summon Seam inside Law’s Room in case the island decides to surprise you with giant lizards (you laughed when Law brought it up) or if something goes wrong. You’re not sure how it would work considering his consciousness inside your mindscape, but if it makes him feel safer, you’re happy to comply.

Law stands there, waiting for you to approach. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You nod, resting your hand on his arm. You inhale sharply and deeply, closing your eyes and calming the nerves, reaping havoc within your stomach.

Law watches you, and somehow, that slows your racing heart. You’re sure it’s something he can do inside Room, but you put that thought aside, focusing on honing your power.

“Seam.”

Law makes a startled sound, and you know he sees the scene before you. Your eyes flicker open, and for the first time in years, you see fragments of the world mending together with your own—the one created by the Sew-Sew Fruit. You’re still in the real world, but you’ve taken Law’s soul in your hands.

You feel him stiffen as his heart slows and his breathing weakens. You hate having someone’s life in your hands like this—maybe you should get Law’s death tattoos inked on your fingers, too.

You transport yourself into Seam, seeing Law walking around aimlessly. His eyes widen as he curses silently, watching the ocean hang from the sky, the Polar Tang floating mid-air.

Seam is a mixture of the current place and all the others you’ve seen. And since becoming a pirate, Seam has grown exponentially. To the right, you see the Going Merry docked in Skypeia, the clouds from the sky island hanging around it. Behind you, there’s a combination of the snowy mountains of Drum Island and the dunes of Alabasta, and to your left sits the Baratie. On the horizon before you, bats fly around, and the mansion on Thriller Bark sits ominously in the distance.

With the ocean above you, it’s easy to see where things are. And beneath your feet is grass. It’s always been grass.

It’s a collection of your memories, you realise. And you tear up at the sight of everything around you. It’s been a long time since you’ve been here.

He whispers your name in disbelief. “This is incredible.”

You shrug one shoulder, not used to Law using such words.

Law spins around and walks toward you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, are you?”

“I feel weightless,” Law huffs a laugh. “What’s going on outside?”

“You’re dead.”

Law’s look of incredulity drops. “What?”

“Not really, but it seems like you are. When someone’s inside Seam, their soul transfers over, and their body doesn’t. So we’re still on the island, but your body is frozen in a dreamlike state.”

“Can you use this to fight? Can you simply touch someone, and their soul comes here? How many souls can transfer?”

“You’re full of questions today,” You joke, the feeling of being in Seam alleviating the heaviness on your chest. It surprises you. “But to put it simply, yes, yes, and as many as I want, but the more there are, the more it drains me.”

“Wow,” Law breathes, his face to the sky as he studies his submarine. “You seal souls in here.”

The initial relief of being here and nothing bad happening dissipates, and you nod solemnly.

“Yes.”

“You’re incredible.”

You whip your head toward him, the movement quick. “What?”

Law laughs unguarded. It’s a sound you’ve never heard, and you want to bottle it up and keep it forever. “This—you are extraordinary. ”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Your cheeks are hot.

Who is this man, and what has he done with Law?

“And you don’t use it? Why?”

It’s a loaded question, but Law doesn’t seem to notice your wary expression.

“I—uh, there was an incident.”

Law gives you a quizzical look. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No,” You nod. “I want to.”

He remains silent, giving you time to collect your thoughts.

“A girl from my island was killed when she was in Seam.”

Law listens intently, pulling you to the floor. You sit across from him, your legs crossed and your knees touching his. The grass underneath you is plush and never itchy. Your fingertips play with the blades of green, but they never rip.

“It was years ago, so don’t pity me, okay?”

He says nothing.

“Pirates attacked my island while I was using Seam on my friend, and because I know what’s going on on the outside, I ran, thinking my friend was following me. I didn’t know that a person’s physical body was unresponsive while they were in there. But because she was basically dead on her feet, and her soul was still in Seam, when the pirate killed her, her soul had nowhere to return to.”

Law’s thinking, you can tell. His eyebrows triangulate, and then realisation overcomes his expression.

“She’s still here.”

You nod and turn, pointing to a small house in the distance. It looks ragged now, but it still fills your heart with grief. It is your old home. “She lives in there. It’s protected against the other souls I bring here, but she remains the age she died.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

You shrug. “It is what it is. No use dwelling on the past.”

“Can I use my powers in here?”

“Your Devil Fruit soul is in here, isn’t it?”

He nods. “So, if I use Room…”

“Its power and effectiveness will be depleted, but it will work.”

“So you can fight people with Devil Fruits here. Their power is just weak.”

“Yeah…” You trail off. “But I can also move between worlds and kill them outside when their soul’s in here, trapping them forever. It’s the same here. If I kill the soul, the body dies. Either way, it’s like cutting down someone already dead.”

Law exhales. You know the look in his eye, and your chest tightens.

“You want to use me.”

He sighs. “It’s not like that. I would never force you—I’d need your permission beforehand, of course.”

“What is it?”

Law scratches his forehead. “I’ve had this plan to become a Warlord.”

You freeze with your heart in your throat. A Warlord? “Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

You can tell he’s never told anyone this piece of information before by how he stutters it out—you’ve never seen Law stutter in the few months you’ve lived with his crew.

“If you’re going to use me to get there, I need to know why.”

Law takes your hand. “I’d only bring you with me if you wanted to, okay? There’s no ulterior motive. You’re powerful enough to kill me. This place is proof of that.”

“Prove it to me,” You chew on your lip. “And then tell me your plan.”

He levels you with a wary look that cracks his face open. You’ve known Law to be emotionally constipated; it's a fact, but the face he wears now is one that makes him look younger, one that he’s never shown anyone in a long time.

Law carefully brings his hands to his chest. He whispers something, scalpel. The technique is weak here, but you watch as his chest opens and his heart slides from a square slot. You stare at it in awe.

“I’ve never done this before, given this willingly to someone else, okay?” His voice is wobbly. “Be careful with it.”

And when he places the blue cube in your hands, your eyes fill with tears. His heart sits in your palms; it throbs softly and is warm. So warm.

Then you realise your position: A pirate of a rival crew, holding the heart of a captain who’s powerful enough to become a Warlord. You could easily crush it between your hands, and being inside Seam, you could do it without him interfering. You could save yourself the trouble in the future when you’re back with the Straw Hats. It’s so easy.

You peer up at Law, who remains still, his eyes on yours. You have control of his heart, and he’s staring at you. It’s then you know what this means. What he means to you. You’ve known him for two and a half months, but you would trust him with your life, and it’s obvious he would you, too.

The throbbing of his heart increases, and you giggle in shock at the phenomenon.

It's a monumental moment, you know this, though you feel nothing but anticipation in your chest. Anticipation for the sole reason that Law knows you're powerful enough to help him, and that makes him excited, which in turn, makes you excited.

You love him.

The realisation hits you all at once, and silent tears slide down your cheeks, and when your eyes focus back on him, everything you’ve ever wanted is sitting right before you.

The moment is etching itself into your brain as you sit there, arms shaking with anxiety.

You swallow and exhale deeply. “I trust you.”

“I want to kill the four emperors.”

—

So much for training, you think as you get back inside the Polar Tang.

After you returned Law’s soul to his body, he asked endless questions. And who are you to turn down someone as eager to learn as he is?

You’ve never seen Law so animated, and judging by the looks on Bepo’s face, neither has he. Law leads you down to his office, the door opposite your bedroom, and clicks it shut behind him.

You sit on a chair facing his desk, fingernails picking the worn leather. “So, what's the plan?”

Law pokes around the bookshelf on the room's far wall, picking out different books. He puts the stack on his desk and sits in his chair. Law grabs the first book on the pile. There’s an air about him that makes your heart swell tenfold—he has a child-like wonder etched into his expression and a giddy dance in his fingers as he flips to a predetermined page.

“I’m going to give the World Government one hundred hearts.”

You're taken aback, leaning forward in the armchair. The way he says it with such an innocent flicker to his tone makes you question if he really just said what he did. “Whose?”

“Pirates,” He pours over the page, using his finger to find the line he’s looking for.

“Isn’t that unethical?”

Law snorts, glancing up at you. “I’m not killing them.”

You purse your lips with slight amusement. “Okay…” Like that makes it better.

“The Marines can decide what to do with the hearts.”

“And how are you doing this?”

Law observes you for a second. “Ever heard of Poneglyphs?”

“Robin told me.”

“Nico Robin?”

You hum. “What about them?”

“I’ve got intel that there's one on an island called Hachinosu in the New World, and we’re going to infiltrate it.”

“Okay, I get that, but why steal the hearts?”

“To get the government’s attention.”

“There’s more to this you’re not telling me,” You say.

Law nods. “Of course there is. But this is a stepping stone in the grand scheme.”

“And what’s the grand scheme?”

“I need to kill someone,” Law mutters. That was easy.

“You don’t mean…”

“Say it.”

“Another Warlord?”

You get your response when he doesn’t answer, and decide to take a different approach.

“What’s this got to do with the Four Emperors of the Sea?”

Law exhales deeply. “Kaido wants to monopolise on SMILE to create a pirate crew solely of Devil Fruit users. Donquioxte Doflamingo runs the factory that produces them on Dressrosa, another island in the New World.”

“Wait,” You close your eyes, mind puzzled. “You’re gonna need to explain the whole thing to me.”

Law turns the book in front of him to show you the page. There’s an illustration of a giant building, in front of it stands a group of people in white coats.

“Twenty years ago, there were scientists on this island, Punk Hazard, who artificially created ancient giants,” He points to an island on the map on the opposite page. “Kaido purchased these giants for his crew at the time.”

Law looks at you expectantly to make sure you’re following. When you nod, exhaling, he continues.

“Two years ago, when the island was being used by Vegapunk, the island exploded when one of his scientists threw a fit with his Devil Fruit, rendering it uninhabitable.

“This year, the poison gas that was on the island as a result of that scientist’s rage dispersed. After Marineford, it was the site of Aokiji and Akainu’s battle. But, if I’ve heard correctly, there are plans to restore Vegapunk’s laboratory and start producing a substance called SAD, which can be used to make SMILE or man-made Devil Fruits. Kaido is the mastermind behind this since he took the original giants from the scientists before Vegapunk. Therefore, I need to become a Warlord to have unrestricted access to and destroy the site.”

He’s got this all figured out.

“So, who's the Warlord you want to kill?”

“Donquixote Doflamingo.”

You ponder it. “Why?”

“Revenge.”

“And what do I get out of this?”

Law runs his eyes over you. “Think of it as helping a friend. We help each other reach our goals. Me, killing Doflamingo, and you, stronger than you’ve ever been.”

You consider his proposition, pursing your lips when he rehashes what he said on Lizard Island.

Helping a friend. You wonder if it’s something he says to every pirate he makes an alliance with, but you doubt it. You’ve been on his submarine long enough to know that that word isn’t in this man’s vocabulary—you wonder what it means to him.

It’s a huge plan, one that could fail at any time, and sure, there are things he’s not telling you—like how the Poneglyphs and Doflamingo are correlated, perhaps they’re not—but you know your answer. You’ve always been a sucker for revenge plans.

Before you tell him, you ponder how your crew is going, if they’d be scared that you’re even considering helping someone become a Warlord. You think about the ones you’ve defeated or fought before: Crocodile, Blackbeard, Moria, Bartholomew Kuma. But there’s a few that helped you. Boa Hancock is the main woman on your mind, and you smile. You hope Luffy’s okay.

So, your decision is an easy one. You smile. “When do we start?”

— Scene 5 —

Bepo knows something’s going on. He sees the silent conversations between you and his captain and the meetings in Law’s office. At first, he thinks nothing of it since Law’s training you, But when he watches you and Law whisper in a crowded room, his poor little heart can’t take it any longer.

“So, you and Law…”

You don’t look up from the map Bepo has you outlining. “What about me and Law?”

“Are you… you know…”

When you glance at him, the fur on his cheeks is tinted red. “What are you talking about?”

Bepo squeaks. “Is there something going on?”

Your hand pauses on the page. “Like what?”

“Something… you know,” Bepo whines. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Bepo, I couldn’t make you say anything. I don’t even know what you’re referring to.”

“Are you kissing?” He slaps his paw over his mouth.

You gape at him, your face heating up. “What? No!”

“I’m sorry!” Bepo cries.

You sit awkwardly with your face in your hands, having dropped the pencil at his question.

“Talk to Law if you’re so concerned about it,” You say, dropping your hands to your lap. “But never ask that again.”

Bepo stands from the table, his chair scraping. “I’m sorry!”

And then he runs from the room. You stare at where he just sat, contemplating if you and Law looked like that from an outsider’s perspective. Surely, you have countless meetings about the mission and training at almost every possible island the submarine encounters, but that’s all business. Your body warms like it's trying to rid itself of a virus.

You rest your forehead on the table. If the Heart Pirates think something like that is happening, the alliance between you and Law will never work. He can’t have his crew distrusting him.

There’s a crackling through the speakers.

“Meeting in the common area in 5. I won’t tell you again.”

When you get there, the crew is packed inside. You spot Bepo near the front of the room and push through pirates to get there; all of them are happy to let you through. You wonder if they think you’re only here for one reason. The thought disgusts you.

“We have a new objective,” Law announces. “To kill Domflamingo, a Warlord status must be achieved.”

The Heart Pirates gasp and start murmuring. A few pirates, namely Uni, Ikkaku, and Clione, who you’ve yet to have a proper conversation with, eye you with disdain. They clearly have a problem with you, a Straw Hat, being here, but you give them a tight-lipped smile and look back to Law.

He looks at you and says your name. “We’re forming an alliance. She has Devil Fruit powers that could make the process quicker. Therefore, we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future. We leave for the New World now.”

Your smile is still a thin line, but you know why he had to tell him—they’re his crew, after all.

“So get your shit together,” He glares at the three pirates who regard you with contempt. “Back to work.”

A collective yes, captain rumbles through the room before they go back to their tasks.

“And Bepo,” Law says, his voice low. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

Bepo whines and then sulks as he leaves, his head down. Penguin and Shachi bump his shoulders, snickering. You shadow them down to the boiler room, your steps light and calculated.

It was a technique Law taught you, how to keep your steps silent. Your training has been more beneficial than you imagined—Zoro will be so proud of your stealth skills—and you still have much to learn.

Seam has been easier each time you summon it, and the thought of doing so now brings little to no negative emotions. You’ve learnt to embrace the technique instead of fearing it—as you said, there’s no use dwelling on the past.

Two weeks isn’t a lot of time, but you reiterate the plan in your mind every available moment Bepo has you watching him work instead of making you outline islands. It’s all you think about before you sleep and when you wake up. That and Law.

You shake your head. There’s no time to think about him when the most important year of your life is about to begin.

Your mother always told you that if you risk nothing, you’re risking everything. And if you and Law are to stop Doflamingo and whatever he has over Law’s head, it’s only a matter of time before you must decide what is worth risking for the sake of humanity.

— Scene 6 —

“Docking!”

The submarine surfaces at a random island in the New World. You’re the first to emerge from the entrance, and people stare at the submarine with suspicious glares. You pay no mind.

It’s been three months since Law told you his plan and three months since your hands last bled. The Heart Pirates are on their way to Hachinosu Pirate Island, where the Poneglyph is, and Law recommended a trial for the heart-stealing scheme. The victim is some lowly pirate named Seamus Wells.

Since you’ve entered the New World, you’ve used Seam far more than you ever thought you would, no longer holding back your true power. The mere thought of showing your crew what you’ve become fills you with such anticipation that you can barely contain it nowadays.

Bepo runs past you, the plank of wood in his paws. He slams it down on the concrete, causing a few civilians to flee in terror. “Oops.”

“Seamus Wells should be staying on the island's east side,” Law announces as his crew files onto the deck. “Keep away from there, understand?”

Yes, captain.

“We’ve got five hours to kill before we need to be there,” He says, adjusting the katana on his shoulder. “Do whatever you want.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You’re not coming?”

“I’d rather stay here than be recognised and jeopardise our plan. Here,” He fishes a baby transponder snail from his coat. “Take this. I’ll let you know if the plan changes.”

You take it from him, noticing the patterned hat on its head, which is similar to the one that sits on Law’s. “That’s so cute.”

“Shut it,” Law snaps, his cold exterior never wavering. “Bepo, accompany her.”

“Doubt she needs an escort, but okay,” Bepo jokes, pulling you with him off the sub.

Law turns, pausing to scan the rear of the submarine with his sharp eyes before he goes inside.

Guess he’s all business today.

“Come on, are you hungry?”

You smile at the polar bear, dragging your gaze away from Law’s retreating figure. “I could eat.”

Penguin cuts in, his steps aligning with yours. “I’m starving.”

“Me, too,” Shachi groans.

Bepo shakes his head. “Why’re you two here?”

“Captain told you to accompany her, and we’re accompanying you.”

Bepo opens to mouth to reply, most likely a complaint, but you point to a restaurant in the distance and a line of people outside. “Let's go there.”

Penguin and Shachi’s steps increase, and then they are running toward the building. There are a few stray screams, but most people disappear when you join the end of the line.

“What’s their problem?” Bepo stills beside you, and you look up at him. “What?”

“Look.”

Your face and Law’s hang on the wall of the restaurant entrance, and an obscene number of berries are listed below your names. Wanted posters.

“They know you’re working together.”

“I got that,” You snap, the mere presence of the posters souring your mood. Cursing under your breath, you feel your chest tighten. “But the Straw Hats are meant to be dead.”

“We should go back to the sub,” Penguin mumbles, his eyes darting in every direction. When you turn to see where he’s looking, you glare at the civilians approaching slowly with firearms. There aren’t many; you count fifteen minimum, but the fact that you’ve been here less than twenty minutes has irritation morphing your features.

“They’re not meant to know I’m alive.”

Bepo whines beside you. “We gotta go.”

“Okay, in a second.” You take a second to inspect yours. 400 million berries.

You pout in confusion. When did that increase?

And then you slide your eyes to Law’s. 450 million berries.

You smirk before you notice the whispering occurring around you. Perhaps if you saw them in your own time and not in front of a large group of civilians, you’d taken them down and show Law. There is only a 50 million berry difference.

The others are already down the road when you decide to leave the line, your nerves simmering.

If the world knows a Straw Hat is alive, you may as well embrace it.

“Hurry up!”

You twist your lips, stopping in the middle of the street to observe the civilians.

“Get outta here, pirate!” “Yeah! Unless you want your head on a stick.”

You feel a pang of regret in your chest at the fear on their faces but continue toward the Polar Tang.

There are quick, heavy footfalls behind you. In the distance, you see Law standing on the deck, watching you. His face remains emotionless, but you see a familiar glint in his eye.

When the person swings their weapon, you dodge swiftly, moving your head slightly to the left. You have yet to face them, but you can imagine the gobsmacked look on their face.

You refuse to fight a civilian, instead choosing to break out into a sprint toward the submarine.

“Took you a while,” Law teases. “I was starting to get worried.”

You stick your tongue out, crossing the wood plank to jump onto the deck. “Awww, you care about me?”

“Tsk,” Law turns around, cheeks warming. “We’re going to dock elsewhere.”

You hop down the stairs, preparing yourself for the jolt of the entrance closing. The sub immediately submerges, and Law touches your shoulder to keep you steady.

“Guess what I saw,” You bite back your smile.

“Enlighten me.”

“My bounty’s gone up.”

Law smirks, glancing at the barely contained smile on your face. “Oh, yeah?”

“400 million.”

He whistles lowly. “Soon, you’ll be in the big league, sweetheart.”

You knock his bicep with your shoulder. “Okay, Mr 450 million.”

“Captain! The east side of the island is approaching.”

“Surface there,” Law replies without taking his eyes off you.

His voice lowers. “We’re moving the mission forward. The island’s already aware of our presence. May as well get it over with now.”

“Docking!”

“Let’s go.”

—

Seamus Wells works in a fish factory. The sun sets behind you as you step through discarded fish guts and bones, the floor slathered with sticky blood. You hold your hand over your nose and mouth, the smell enough to make you gag.

Law strides ahead of you, the scabbard that holds his katana reflecting the deep gold of the sun. How he’s walking through here fine is unknown to you, but you try to catch up with him, the soles of your boots slipping slightly.

“You’d think they’d have a better way of managing this,” You murmur. “Poor fish.”

“Quiet.”

You frown, mocking him. A crack from the floor above makes your face drop.

Law stops ahead of you, his hand out, his index finger pointed. You know the gesture. Shut the fuck up, and don’t move.

His head turns slowly until you see his sidelong glance on you. There are no further sounds, and you hold your breath.

You realise the sun goes down fairly quickly on San Faldo, and the night air wafts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It’s suddenly dark, and the waves against the wharf outside have settled.

Unease stews in your stomach, and you resist the urge to run. You don’t dare look behind you in fear of what you may see, focusing your eyes on the staircase in the corner. Across from you, Law senses your discomfort, and his steps are light and calculated as he makes his way over to you.

You grasp his hand, chills going down your spine as the wind whistles through a crack in the broken window on the far wall. The scene reminds you of Thriller Bark, and you set your jaw in an attempt to stop shivering.

Law’s hand is big and warm in yours, his skin calloused. His head is on a swivel, monitoring for any danger. You grip harder, moving your other hand to the crook of his elbow.

And despite the terror coursing through your veins, you can’t help but take note of the hard muscle. It’s a good distraction but not important right now, and you almost laugh at your ridiculousness. Law looks down at you, a quizzical twinkle in his eye, but he doesn’t move an inch.

You shake against him, the breeze finding its way under your clothes, and notice that you can see it when you breathe. When did the temperature drop so drastically?

Law points upstairs, to which you do nothing. If he was expecting a response, he didn’t get one. Then, he raises his hand.

“Shambles,” He whispers, and you almost lose your balance as you land at the foot of the stairs.

“Don’t make any unnecessary noise,” Law leans to whisper in your ear, and you shiver.

You silently salute, choosing to lighten the mood with a silly gesture that he blinks at. Law makes to go up the stairs, ignoring your gesture. Panic takes hold of your chest, and you tug him back into you.

“What’re you doing?”

Law scrunches his face. “Me? What’re you doing?”

You squeak when there’s a scuffle. Clearly, over it, Law sighs and takes the stairs two at a time. And since he knows you won’t stay downstairs alone, he isn’t surprised when you chase after him, your hand returning to his forearm.

What you see is nothing short of disgusting.

“What the fuck.”

The man, who you know is Seamus, sits on a wooden chair, fish blood soaking his clothes.

“Keep away from me!”

“Seriously?” Law utters, unimpressed.

“Stay back!”

You scowl. “And to think I was scared shitless.”

Law steps away from you. “Room.”

A familiar blue dome covers you. Law draws his katana from its scabbard, its sleek design glinting in the moonlight. He slices the air, and Seamus is dismembered, his head floating a few feet above his body.

Seamus screams, noticing his body sitting in the chair headless. “Don’t kill me!”

Law makes quick work of the fish blood, using his power to remove it from Seamus’ clothes. You watch in awe as the white of the t-shirt turns pristine.

You’ve told Law of your admiration for his Devil Fruit powers. He usually waves it off with pink-tinted cheeks and an unamused expression. But watching something like this in action, you want to know just how deep his power goes.

“Please! I’ll do anything,” Seamus sobs, tears and snot coating his face. “Please don’t kill me.”

“As you’ve said, asshole,” Law steps back and retracts room. “Your turn.”

You feel your icy cheeks defrost at the realisation of his actions. You give him a smile of appreciation and approach Seamus.

But when he looks at you, his crying ceases. “What’re you gonna do, huh? Slap me with those little hands? You should let your boyfriend do the work.”

Law grunts behind you, but you cock your head, pointedly ignoring the boyfriend call.

Seamus chokes out a laugh between his hiccups. “You don’t scare me.”

You shrug and place your hand on his greasy hair. “Seam.”

He goes limp in the chair, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Can I have fun with him while you’re in there?”

“Go ahead,” You joke before transporting into Seam.

Seamus’ wails echo through your mindscape when you get there. It’s changed, and you give the scene a look of disgust. Thanks to Seamus, the walls of Seam are painted red, fish blood dripping from the Sunny, coagulating on the sands of Alabasta, and staining the seas of the East Blue. You curse him for tainting your memories.

He’s running toward the house, and you claw your hand. “Sew.”

He’s yanked back, a thick thread wrapped around his neck. He struggles against it as you pull him toward you, and when he gets a glimpse of you, he screams.

Needles materialise in your hands, and you slam one of them down just in front of his crotch, to which his eyes bulge out of his head.

“You were talking such a tough game out there, Seamus. What happened?” You'd surely crack a few teeth if you clenched your jaw any harder. “You even said I wasn’t scary, yet you screamed when you saw me.”

He says nothing, but his throat is starting to become raw.

“You’ve ruined Seam with your stupid, fishy blood tactic,” You complain, sinking the second needle into the grass beside his foot, just knicking the edge of his shoe. “Now, it's all I’m gonna see for the next few weeks.”

Sighing, you consider him again, groaning when you see that the front of his pants is darker than the rest.

“Ergh,” You scrunch your nose. “I’m gonna leave now. My job’s done.”

“Don’t kill me!”

When you transport out of Seam, you see Law position his hand for scalpel, and you immediately remove your fingers from the strands of hair.

“Oh,” You roll your lips between your teeth when you circle the chair. You told Law to make a masterpiece, and he did, albeit a little psychotically.

Law has a callous smile playing on his lips, and the sight is utterly intoxicating. The first time you saw the expression and vacant silver gaze, you understood why they call him the Surgeon of Death—the man is simply brutal. When you first met him, you thought his blood ran cold, but you hadn’t met the man Shakky spoke of until he took the first heart of one hundred. Initially, he scared you, but now, you’re terribly and irrevocably fascinated by him. If only those people knew the side of him that you did.

“Have fun in there?”

“Looks like your fun puts mine to shame.”

Seamus’s chest is raw, his skin in strips. That’s all you see before you look away.

“Do it,” You say. “And make it painful.”

Law coughs a laugh. “Feeling a little sadistic, are we?”

You arch an eyebrow. “People like him deserve it.”

He hums and turns his attention back to Seamus, and you watch as a cube emerges from his chest. It floats into Law’s palm, and he gives it a little squeeze. He observes the body before him writhe in pain, but no noise escapes—Seamus’ soul is still in Seam after all.

Law hums. “Not as satisfying.”

Clicking your tongue, you remove Seamus from your mindscape, and the room fills with shrieks. You wince, your shoulders raising to your ears.

“Okay, we’re done,” You say, spinning and making a beeline for the stairs. “C’mon, Hachinosu is waiting for us.”

Law shoves the heart into his coat and pries his eyes from his victim.

— Scene 7 —

Your eye twitches as you watch a pirate sock Bepo in the face. You’ve been put on rest before the mission in Hachinosu. Law told you to save energy for it, so you follow his professional instructions.

On the way to the drop-off point, a ship started bombing the submarine, hence why you’re cringing as Bepo takes another hit.

You stand on the deck of the Polar Tang while the Heart Pirates fight. They looked to be rookies when they attacked the Polar Tang, but you know not to underestimate rookies, especially since you’re a Straw Hat, so when Penguin joked that it was going to be an easy battle, you arched an eyebrow and shook your head. Oh, how wrong he was.

Now, Penguin lays on the ground holding his arm. You’re sure it's broken.

“Get up, Penguin!” You yell. “Thought this was gonna be easy! We’re in the New World!”

He whines, rolling on the dirt. “Shut up!”

An explosion rocks the submarine, and you teeter, making a sound of surprise. Your feet slide on the salty deck, waves from the impact crashing over the left side. Another cannonball lands not 20 feet away, and you start to panic. “Guys!”

Law gave you strict orders to not use your power—ever the responsible doctor. But with how things are going, you’ll be breaking his rules.

“Fire!” The voice is muffled by the waves, but you hear it.

“Sew.”

Threads weave together before you until they form a giant sheet, into which the airborne cannonball falls. Using one of Luffy’s offensive techniques, you fling the bomb back toward the ship it came from. Cries and screams echo before it turns the deck to splinters.

“Hey!” Law calls, his voice gruff. “I thought I told you not to use that.”

You turn to see him on the ground beneath the sub. “Sorry, my life was in danger.”

“You’re never in danger,” Law quips. “Not with me around. Now, go inside.”

“Inside?” Your heart skips a beat. Not with me around.

“You’re less likely to use your power,” He dodges an attack, his katana in his hands as he swipes at them. “Please, go.”

Sighing, you follow his orders—but only because he said please.

It’s not long before the rest of the crew piles inside. But you see Law holding something white and mangled instead of his proud smirk. You tug your eyebrows together and draw closer to him.

“What’s that?” You ask warily, having a feeling you know. Considering his head is bare, his black tendrils standing on end, your heart drops. “Oh, Law.”

He sniffs. “Nothing to worry about. Just a hat.”

You know he’s lying, but nod anyway and leave him.

Bepo’s solemn face haunts you. He follows you around, not knowing what to do when his captain is heartbroken.

“How’s your jaw?” You ask, remembering the punch.

“Oh, I'm fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

You look over at Ikkaku, who still holds a grudge against you, but her gaze is softer than usual this time.

You give her a smile—an olive branch, despite not doing anything to offend her other than being on the submarine, and bearing the values of your crew. She gives you one back, and you take it as an appreciation for using your power to save the Polar Tang from the cannonballs. Uni and Clione sit beside her with the same reluctant gratitude. You take it as a win.

The more you think about it, the more the whole ship seems on edge. The crew’s footsteps are light, and the common area is not nearly as rowdy as usual. One wrong move and Law will crack.

So, you take it upon yourself to be the first one to disturb him in his office. He’s been locked in there for hours, and since your bedroom is directly opposite, it only makes sense—at least that’s what you're telling yourself.

You rap your knuckles on the door three times, slowly opening it after. “Law.”

The room is dark, and you hold your tongue when a joke surfaces in your mind.

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

You step further in. “Are you okay?”

Law makes no sound.

“If this is about your hat—”

“Leave me alone.” His voice is so broken that it hurts your chest.

“I could fix it.”

He says your name softly. “Please, leave.”

You swallow and nod once. “Of course… sorry for bothering you.”

On your way out, you spot the cause of his distress sitting on the table. You clench your fists to resist the urge to take it, but the voice in your mind wins, and you snatch it.

You rush from the room, and if Law sees you, he says nothing.

When you get to your room, you lock the door behind you. The fur hat in your hands is covered in dirt and specks of blood, and it's utterly ruined. You curse at the state of it.

You lay the pieces on your bed, figuring out how to piece them back together. It takes a few tries, but once you’ve got a design that works, you put your hand over the material.

Immediately, the sections come together, forming a brim at the front instead of around the bottom like the original hat. It’s different, but you work with what you’ve got.

You hold it in your hands once it’s formed and smile. Deep in your stomach, there’s an inkling of doubt that Law won’t accept it, but you hope he can appreciate the effort.

—

You keep the hat to yourself for the night, not wanting to impose Law anymore. When the first sounds of the crew rising from their slumber wakes you, you’re quick to dash to the infirmary. Law’s in here every morning, and when you open the door, you’re not shocked to see him. What is jarring is the lack of his signature hat in the room—the one you’ve got under your arm.

“Morning,” You greet, hiding the garment from his view. Law grunts, not bothering to look up from the paper he scribbles on. “I’ve got something for you.”

“If it’s one of Shachi’s new breakfast foods, I don’t want it.”

You roll your eyes. “I’d never subject you to that.”

Law exhales a laugh.

“This is far more important than that, anyway,” You walk up behind him. “Turn around.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, sweetheart. Can it wait?”

“Nope,” Smiling, you put your hand on his shoulder. Law sighs and glances at you.

The look on his face is one you’ll never forget.

“Wha–”

You suppress a giggle and shove the hat in his face. “I fixed it for you.”

Law turns, his eyes wide. He takes the hat from your hands, the soft material delicate in his grip. He’s speechless.

“I took it from your office last night, and I know I shouldn’t have, but you were so upset.”

He shakes his head in disbelief.

This lack of speech makes you nervous. “I know it’s not the same as it was before. There was no way I could salvage enough of it to do that, so now you have a brim. I think it looks cute, but—”

“Shut up.”

You come up short, immediately closing your mouth. The infirmary falls silent, with you no longer rambling and Law standing there in shock, hearts in his eyes.

“Law—”

“Thank you.”

His words have an underlying connotation; you just know it, and how he looks at you confirms it.

You make a sound of surprise, your body freezing. You swear he can hear your heartbeat from how loud it is in your ears. “What?”

His gaze of adoration quickly fades when he sees your shock. He drops the hat on the trolley and turns back to his desk. “Are you hungry? I’m sure breakfast is ready.”

You don’t know what he’s saying. You’re not listening. I love you, I love you.

The tension between you is suffocating, weighing heavily on your chest. “Law.”

He lets out an awkward laugh, unsure what to say.

“Look at me, Law.”

“I can’t,” He whispers.

You tilt your head. “Why?”

“Because you don’t need to see me like this.”

“Like what?” Your tone grows hard. “Like you have feelings?”

He glares you.

“You have a heart, Law. I see it every day,” You say. “So don’t pretend like you’re some cold, heartless man because you’re not.”

When he doesn’t answer, you go on. “Do you need proof? I used to think you only picked me up in Sabaody because I was useful to you—”

“—you were—”

“—you wanted to help me, and you did. Because you’re kind, Law. You want to help people; otherwise, you wouldn’t try to kill the four emperors.”

“And if I said it was purely selfish?”

“I’d say you’re lying. Because despite this revenge plan you have for Doflamingo, you don’t want him hurting anyone else. You care for people.”

“Of course, I care for people,” Law snaps. “I wouldn’t be a doctor if I didn’t want to help others.”

You shrug. “Need I say anymore?”

“I’ve work to do.” Law murmurs, his eyes downcast and tongue in his cheek.

You know when you’re being dismissed, so you hum and turn to leave, but not without noticing the tight grip he has on the fur hat.

— Scene 8 —

Hijacking a ship is out of your expertise, especially a smuggling vessel.

When you and Bepo spot the ship in the distance from the deck of the Polar Tang, its lights bright in the darkness, you immediately notify Law.

“Are you sure it's the one?”

“Yes,” You groan. “Who else is out this far? Besides, there are no other ships around.”

Then, Hakugan directs the submarine toward the ship.

Law shambles you and Bepo onto the vessel, where the pair of you are to distract someone and take control. It takes a while for you to remember what Law said as you and Bepo wander the ship. Somehow, you find yourself in the same place you started. The deck is empty, though there are lights on inside.

“Where and to whom are we meant to do this again?”

Bepo shrugs. “I was too scared to listen.”

“Oh my g—”

“This way, Sir.”

You jump behind a pillar, pulling Bepo with you, though you doubt he's hidden.

Behind you, several more footsteps approach, but this time, it's Shachi and Penguin with Uni, Clione, and Hakugan.

“Captain and Hakugan have seized the control room,” Penguin says. “No thanks to you two.”

You gape. “Not my fault his instructions were shit.”

“This way, we have to protect Captain.”

This way. You look back in the direction of the man who passed you before. Why would you call someone Sir on a smuggling vessel?

You keep your mouth shut for the moment, following Penguin to the control room. When you get there, there’s an unconscious man on the floor, and when you look at Law, he’s pressing buttons, ignoring the looks from Hakugan, who steers the ship.

“Are we on course?”

Law side-eyes you as Hakugan answers. “Yes.”

“I, uh,” You start, averting your eyes. “Had a question.”

“Out with it,” Law mumbles.

The pirates around you listen in, curious.

“Are there meant to be this many people on a smuggling vessel? Especially noble-like people?”

Law’s head spins around, his eyes dark. “What?”

“This guy was leading another guy somewhere, and he called him Sir,” You bite your lip. “I was just wondering if that’s normal for a —”

“Fuck,” Law curses loudly. “You imbeciles, this is a passenger ship.”

Bepo gasps, looking faint. “Oh, we really messed up.”

Your jaw falls open, and Bepo grabs you, wrapping his arms around you. “Take me to your dreamland. I can’t be here.”

“Where did you see these people?”

“Umm, back down on the main deck.”

Law grits his teeth. “You said this was the ship.”

“To be fair, it’s dark, and this ship was far—”

He pushes past you and out the door. The control room is quiet, save for Bepo’s whimpers. The familiar zip of shambles sounds outside before Law reenters.

“We’re heading for Hachinosu already.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yes, Bepo,” Law mumbles, leaning over the control panel. “We’ll be there much earlier than expected.”

“Why don’t you sound happy about that?” You are hesitant to ask.

“Because,” He turns to look at you directly. “The king and nobles of Hachinosu are on this ship.”

Bepo almost drops to the ground, Penguin shoving himself under the mink’s arm. “You’re kidding me.”

“We’ll have to lay low,” Law addresses his crew. “Draw no attention to yourself, and don’t tell anyone who you are. Understood?”

Yes, captain.

Law rubs his forehead, mumbling curse words to himself.

He says your name. “I know this is a big favour to ask, but is there any way you could create casual clothes for the crew? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t absolutely necessary, but knowing this crew…”

“How long until we reach the island?”

“One day.”

You purse your lips. “Give me two hours.”

—

Two hours is enough time for you but too much for the rest of the crew. As you finish the last garment, Penguin’s pants, there’s a sudden scream from below the main deck.

Law inhales sharply, his jaw set. “If that’s—”

“Shachi, this is your fault,” You hear Penguin through the door of the control room. You glance at Law, whose eyes narrow. “Fuck, run.”

Hakugan, Uni, and Clione burst through the door, Penguin, Jean-Bart, and Shachi close behind them. Law holds his tongue, anger simmering in his gaze.

The door slams shut, and the rumbling of voices outside increases.

“Don’t tell me you did what I told you not to do.”

Shachi grimaces. “We didn’t do it on purpose, Captain…”

“Morons, the lot of you,” Law snaps. “If the King of Hachinosu knows we’re here, he knows why we’re here, and he won’t stop until all of us are dead, got it?”

Penguin gulps. “What do we do?”

“Pirates!”

Law groans with frustration. “Room and Shambles.”

You hit the deck, literally. You’re outside, and the chaos of the passengers is on the other side of the ship. Bepo moans in pain beside you, and Law stands in the middle of his crew.

“Stay here, and don’t make a sound.” He flicks his fingers again, and then he’s gone.

Penguin sighs, rubbing his head. “He made that hurt on purpose.”

Shachi hums in agreement, and you roll your eyes.

“Maybe if you two weren’t so loud, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Bepo mumbles, glaring at his best friends.

“Says you! We can’t go a day without hearing you whine,” Shachi quips.

Bepo makes a sound of indignation. “That really hurts me, you know that?”

“Yeah, well—”

“Stop,” You whisper, noticing a presence nearby. The crew freezes, and Bepo turns to you, terror morphing his features.

“Sew.”

“Argh!”

You push yourself up, walking directly to where your threads caught someone. A man in his late 30s resists Sew's hold on him.

“You dirty pirate! Get this off me!”

You stare at him. He’s dressed fairly well, with a white suit and gold accents. A noble.

“Hey! I see you! Get away from me!”

Pursing your lips, you decide what to do. In his hand, obscured by the long train of his jacket tail, is a handgun.

“Hey—” You throw your hand up, wrapping threads around his mouth in case he draws attention.

He screams against the cotton, his finger squeezing the trigger of his gun. You duck, and the bullet flies off the metal railing. Still, you remain silent.

You hear Bepo call your name and wince. Now, this guy knows who you are.

The man’s eyes widen, and he starts tugging his arms, his gun tumbling to the deck in his struggle. He cries out when he sees it close to your feet.

You tilt your head, considering him and your plan of action. He did just try to shoot you.

He knows your name, who you are, and what you’re doing on the ship (if he knows about the Poneglyph on Hachinosu).

You toss up your options. On one hand, he is a civilian. On the other, he knows that it were you on the ship tonight, subduing him. Who knows what the newspaper will write about you if that gets out. You hurt innocent civilians?

Nothing about this man is innocent, that’s a fact, but standing here, staring at him, you don’t know what to do.

It isn’t until you hear Law ask where you are back with the crew that you release a breath. Law comes over, his eyebrows tugged together.

“What’s up with this guy?”

“I don’t know what to do with him.”

The man cries, tears running down his cheeks and over the threads covering his mouth. Law frowns.

“Why don’t I just take his heart and be done with it? He’s a pirate himself.”

You give the man a once over, still processing what just happened. “He shot at me.”

Law eyes go cold as he cocks his head, regarding the noble with indifference. “This will only hurt a little.”

You watch as he uses Scalpel, the man’s heart sliding from his chest. He passes out.

Law turns back to you, shoving the heart into his coat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” You nod. “Just didn’t know what to do.”

“That’s okay. You did good nonetheless.” And then he wraps his fingers around your hand to whisk you away.

“Wait,” You exhale, looking back at the man’s unconscious body. “There.”

A piece of paper sticks out of his pants pocket. It’s small, only half the size of a normal map, but you rush over to it. Unfolding it, you recognise the style.

“Law.”

As he approaches, his boots click on the deck, peering over your shoulder. “What is that?”

“A map,” You whisper, turning it around to get a better angle of the island it represents. “If this is Hachinosu…”

“It could be where the Poneglyph is,” Law mumbles, pointing to the skull in the middle of the paper. “But why would a noble have access to this?”

You shrug. “Maybe it’s a part of their plan. I mean, he did come out here alone…”

Law hums with consideration, his gaze flickering to yours. There’s a glimmer of something behind his usual icy front, and you’re lucky you’re close enough to see it.

“You’re right. We’ll take it anyway, but be careful tomorrow. Who knows what they’ve got planned for when we arrive.”

— Scene 9 —

The crick in your back flares, as you hurry off the ship—sleeping upright in the control room is taking its toll on you. After Law took the noble’s heart, you and the crew were sent to the control room to sleep. Law said he took care of the remainder of the passengers… whatever that meant.

Law isn’t far behind you, but the rest of the crew is already on the island, fighting off pirates.

Now, you’re to find the site of the rumoured Poneglyph in the middle of the island. You take a different route to everyone else in case anyone is seized. With the map from the noble clutched in your fist, you run.

“Go left! I’ll take the right.”

Nodding, you veer toward the large building on the port, hand out to summon threads to restrain the men running at you. Their swords slash at the strings, but you’re gone before they free themselves.

An explosion makes you stumble as you enter a warehouse, men with guns pointed at you the moment you step inside. “Seam.”

The eyes of the gunmen immediately go dazed, and they lower their guns involuntarily—you can feel the addition of them to your mindscape. Fifteen. You gasp at the fact that it actually works.

Seam has evolved. You’ve only used it once, summoned the ability without physically touching someone, and it was shoddy at best. What you did now was a shot in the dark. There’s no way you knew it would work.

But you don’t dwell on it when you run through the building and out the other side into an alleyway. Someone screams at the sight of you before gunshots ring through the street.

You duck, taking a sharp right into another warehouse, this one empty. The outside sounds: bombs ticking and exploding, cannonballs, yells and cries, and swords on swords are muffled inside here. You tiptoe through, checking behind doors and peering around corners before advancing.

There’s no missing the giant pirate skull in the island's centre, your target when you emerge. The map in your hand becomes useless when you notice the behemoth landmark. Who needs a map when you can see the thing everywhere in the city?

Stepping out of the warehouse, the area before you is full of Heart Pirates on resident pirates, fighting mercilessly with swords, fists, and guns. Swallowing your nervous pants, you aim a thread around a pirate sneaking up behind Clione, who’s already engaged in a fight. The man gags as you pull him backward, your face becoming a scowl when you look at him.

“Going for a man’s back is cowardly,” You say, ignoring how the man spits at you.

“You stupid bitch, get off me.”

Clenching your jaw, you throw him against the wall and string him up. His knife clatters to the cobblestones, and you leave him there—Law’s crew is important to him, like hell you’re going to let someone hurt them.

You turn, dodging a fist flying at your face. Making a sound of surprise, you sweep your leg out, catching the man off guard. He goes down, groaning in pain.

“Marines!”

You feel your heart drop into your stomach. Whipping around, you don’t see the familiar white and blue uniform, and you’re not going to. You run away from the port, many resident pirates scattering into the side streets and yelling the same warning.

Why are the Marines here? And how’d they get here so quickly?

You hear your name being called, the sound echoing. Bepo stands there, his arms full of beige woven bags—the stolen hearts. Your eyes widen at the number he carries already.

“Go right! There’s a road that leads straight there.”

Smiling, you thank Bepo and follow his directions. Your eyebrows tug together when you recall the hearts. There had to be at least thirty, and who knows how many trips Bepo has already made to the passenger vessel.

Shaking your head, you direct your brain to your target—the Poneglyph. You can’t read them; only one person can, and you miss her like crazy. She’d be able to understand it and relay the knowledge to you because there’s no way she’d tell Law about it at this point in time.

You wish Robin could hear you now, wherever she is.

Your path to the middle is easy after transporting twenty-eight more pirate souls into Seam. You manage to dodge all but one nasty punch to the cheek but get shot in the shoulder after purposefully instigating a pirate (not your best idea, but he was insulting the very existence of Luffy, something you’d never stand for).

You know Law will give you an earful when he sees you next.

The lead bullet is lodged in your muscle, and the bleeding is staunched thanks to the ripped hem of your t-shirt. You could have made a bandage using Sew, but your Devil Fruit powers dwindle with every passing second—if a pirate were to attack you now, you couldn’t fight them off.

The dizziness and ringing in your ears are almost unbearable, though you’re unsure if the ringing is from the punch or the way you hit your head when you fell from the impact of the bullet—you’re positive Law won’t care where it came from, just the fact that both of those things happened to you.

You blink away the stars in your vision and cough. The wound is itchy, and you resist the urge to dig your fingers into the hole and rip the bullet out yourself. The injury, paired with the pirate souls in Seam, is taking a toll on you.

“Fuck,” You pant, pausing to lean against a palm tree. Peering down at your shoulder, you almost faint at the amount of blood that has soaked through your makeshift bandage. When you inhale, your head gets lighter, so you choose to keep your breaths short.

You can feel your head drooping, but push off the tree to continue. Gone are the cobblestones, and in their place is dirt. Pressing your palm on your wound, you wince and think against doing it again. You remember Law telling you to put pressure on injuries like this, but you don’t think you can—you’re going to pass out from the pain.

Blood drips onto the sandy dirt beneath your feet, and the scorching sun strengthens the metallic scent. Your skin burns under the same heat, and you fear you won’t make it to the Poneglyph at this rate.

Up ahead, you hear the clang of swords. You whine, knowing that you won’t be able to fight someone with a weapon in this condition. So, you hurry down a barren alleyway, the cool air of the shadows allowing you some relief. You stumble but catch yourself on the wall.

Sure, you’ve had bullet wounds in the past, namely in Alabasta, but it felt nothing like this. With a few deep breaths, you feel no different. If only Chopper were here, with his panicked assessments and swift procedures, you would be scolded but fixed up quickly. Usopp’s chaotic, anxiety-ridden laughter echoes in your ears, and you shake your head to rid your mind of memories.

Another person’s presence, one not far away, weighs heavily on you.

“Law…” There’s no use calling for him. He’s on the other side of the island. You know this, yet do it again. You wish you had the baby transponder snail he gave you on that island, the one with the fur hat like Law’s. An involuntary giggle escapes your lips.

You can die without telling him— The souls in Seam wage war inside your mind, and all the yelling and screaming causes a sharp pain to throb behind your eye. “Shut up.”

Going into your mindscape now would be foolish. You’d waste your available energy and pass out right here without fulfilling Law’s request—check the giant skull for the Poneglyph. It would kill you to disappoint him.

You stagger out of the street; the sound of metal clanging and scraping is gone. Panting, you walk up the main road, the denser trees making it difficult to locate the entrance of the skull.

With bloody hands, you push back stray hairs that stick to your forehead with sweat. The world around you gets fuzzy, but Law’s averted eyes and fake smile force you to go on. You knew the plan going into this, and if you were to disappoint him—you’ve already thought about this.

You rub your eyes with your knuckles, squeezing your cheeks after to feel something in your face. When did your face start getting numb?

Faces pop into your head: Luffy, Zoro, Usopp, Sanji, Nami, Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook… and you cry at the thought that you could leave them wondering what happened to you. Your stomach churns at the mere inkling that, at a time like this, a time when death rears his ugly head inside you, you have failed your family. You failed to stay alive.

“I’m sorry,” You slur, your face sticky with tears and blood. “I love you.”

An explosion rattles the ground, and your mind is back on the situation. Your tongue moves around your mouth hopelessly, trying to form the one name you need, the one that will help you without a second thought, the one you—

Slurring Law’s name, you no longer feel your feet beneath you, but instead the ground on your cheek. You didn’t feel the impact. Dirt clumps with sticky blood, and you feel your body relax. It’s nice to finally lie down.

You’ll wait here for Law. He’ll come and find you. He has to.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, but you wear a smile. Law, Law, Law.

— Scene 10 —

You wake, though you don’t open your eyes.

Law knows you’re awake, and you know he knows this, yet neither of you says a word.

There’s no pain in your shoulder when you shift, finding yourself on your back, and you could cry at the mere thought that he found you.

It isn’t until a tear drips from the corner of your eye into your ear that Law speaks up.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” His voice is soft, but you sense the malice in this timbre.

One drips into your other ear. It’s a steady stream of salty water that soon turns into sobs, ones that rack your shoulders and burn your chest. A sensation you haven’t felt since you found Luffy in the forest on Amazon Lily.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, your voice breaking. Law makes no sound. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no sense of self-preservation.”

He’s mad.

“Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you? If I hadn’t returned to the ship and realised you were taking much longer than planned? Fuck, you were minutes away from death.”

You sniffle, hiccuping. “I’m sorry.”

Law sighs hashly. “I know you are. Stop saying it.”

Opening your eyes, you’re met with the ceiling. The same ceiling you woke up to on your first time here, and the one that keeps seeing you fall apart.

“Law…” You peer over at him, your tears increasing when you see him sitting so close to the bed. You’re so happy to see him. “I was so scared.”

You can hear him swallow from where you lay, his jaw set and gaze averted. You smile when you see his expression—you called it.

“I knew you’d look like this.” The laugh you let out is rough, your throat raw. “You were the last thing I thought of.”

Law shakes his head and stands, giving you his back. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“I kept thinking about how disappointed you’d be that I didn’t get to the skull, that I didn’t find the Poneglyph—”

“I don’t care about the Poneglyph!” He spins around so quickly you barely see it. “I care about you!”

Your bottom lip quivers and more tears roll down your cheeks. You wait for him to continue, too shocked to speak.

“Do you know how close I was to losing it when I had to take that bullet out of you?” He yells. “When I found out it was poisoned? When I had to extract the poison from your body?”

“I didn’t know it was poisoned.”

“Of course you didn't,” He laughs bitterly. “You were too busy dying to know.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been in that bed, unconscious for eight days,” Law says your name with such pain that when your eyes focus on his face again, you see his glassy eyes. “You had ninety-four souls in Seam. How did you do that?”

Ninety-four…

“What?” You ask before realising what he’s saying, not even comprehending the fact you were unconscious for eight days. “How can you see inside Seam?”

“That’s not important—”

“It is! Tell me.”

Law sighs. “I can move incorporeal things, like souls; it’s how I switch people between bodies,” He explains. You store that little morsel of information for later, but now, you’re more fascinated with the fact that he can see your mindscape. “You had a lot of souls inside you. I can’t see into Seam, just the presence of these souls. But are you crazy? Ninety-four? That wouldn’t have helped with your injury. I’m surprised you didn’t pass out before you got shot.”

Law’s rambling and you fear he may start to spiral if he hasn’t already.

You let out a weak sound. “Law…”

“Fuck,” He curses. “I’ve never prayed to a god until I saw you on the ground, bleeding out. You terrified me.”

You’re going to be sick. You forget about Seam and try to push yourself up but quickly collapse when you lean on the wrong arm because what does he mean by that?

He’s at war with himself as runs his hands through his hair. “Why would you not come back to the ship when you got shot?”

“Because I had to get to the Poneglyph for you.”

Law scoffs, though the sound is not nearly as daunting as it normally is; instead, it’s sad. “Don’t you dare put your life in danger for me.”

It’s your turn to scoff, and you finally get the strength to sit up. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“When it’s for my sake, then yes, I can. I’m not worth your pain or your death.”

You swing your legs out of the bed, standing on shaky knees.

Law’s eyes widen slightly. “Lay back down; you’re going to fall.”

“No,” You say, pointing your finger into his chest. “Don’t tell me what to do. Listen to me.”

Law purses his lips, his eyes flickering down to where you jab him with your index finger.

“You’re my crew, okay?” You know it sounds pathetic, but Law makes no move to ridicule you. “And I’d do anything for the people I love, even if that requires me to put my life in danger. So don’t stand there and tell me you’re not worth it when you mean more to me than you can imagine.”

“That’s foolish,” Law whispers. Your thumping heart stops, and when you look up at him, a single tear runs down his cheek. You reach up to wipe it away, your thumb soft on his skin. You keep your hand on his cheek.

“I’d do it a hundred times if it would help you reach your goal.”

Law swallows thickly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t found you one time, let alone a hundred times.”

“You would’ve gone on with your crew and defeated all four Emperors and Doflamingo. I’m just someone you picked up on a whim.”

You know it’s a lie.

Law chokes on a laugh, though there’s no humour.

“You know that’s not true,” He spits. “I can’t do this without you knowing I know what it feels like with you. I hope you know that.”

“Law…”

“I care for you,” Law mumbles, his tone harsh while he presses your palm to his cheek. “I can’t lose you, too, which is why you can’t keep putting yourself in these positions.”

There’s far more to this than you know, and it breaks your heart to find out he’s been through this before.

“You’ve made this hell worth it. Everything I’ve done until now has brought me to you, and I’ll be damned if I let you hurt yourself to keep me happy, okay?”

You curse yourself when you start crying again. You can’t pinpoint when the ringing in your ears started, but it makes the world tilt. Laughter spills out of you unwillingly.

Law scowls, his vulnerable expression turning cold. He’s about to push you away. “I’m not talking to you if you’re going to mock me. I know I’m a heartless bastard, but I’m not joking.”

You pull him back to you with your good arm. “Why would I mock you? Come here, you idiot.”

He stares at you a little longer, his hand resting on your cheek. Law’s gorgeous; you’ve known this since you first laid eyes on him. But seeing him so vulnerable flips a switch inside you. It’s gentle, the kiss you press to his cheek, and it’s pink, the blush high on his cheekbones.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You say. “I’ll remain with you until you want me gone.”

“I’ll never want you gone,” He whispers, and your heart breaks. You smile, tears rolling into your mouth.

“Kiss me,” You say, reaching for him. Law meets you halfway, his other hand on your cheek as he brings his lips to yours.

The first peck is cautious, and Law runs his tongue along his bottom lip while you wrap your hands around his neck, pulling his chest flush against yours. Your shoulder is numb, and it’s probably for the best that Law forgets about your injury when, with red cheeks and a hell of a lot more confidence, he kisses you again.

“You know what this means?” Law whispers against your mouth, your salty tears mixing together.

You exhale through your nose, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck before they slide higher, your hands gripping larger chunks. “What?”

He leans in for another kiss, this one lasting longer than the previous, and when you pull away, he chases after you. Law looks at you, his eyes smiling and half-lidded with desire.

He brings you closer to him, his fingers brushing stray hairs away from your face. You giggle, pressing your lips to his cheeks and chin as he admires you.

“It means,” Another peck. “That you’re my crew, too.”

“Shut up.” You exhale a laugh and shake your head.

Your lips glide over his, and both of your lips slightly chapped. You smile with giddiness, your teeth lightly knocking Law’s.

“Quit smiling so much,” He mumbles, kissing the corner of your mouth.

You don’t apologise. “I’m so happy.”

Law drops his head to lean his forehead against yours. “Yeah, me too.”

“I’m sorry about what I did,” You say, pushing the hair on his forehead back. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“I’ll always worry about you,” Law presses his mouth to your forehead before moving his hands down to the sides of your neck. “No use telling me not to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.”

You catch yourself before you do it again.

Law wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You close your eyes, tightening your hold. His heart pounds underneath your ear, and he trembles softly.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

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k4marina · 6 months ago

Text

— iii. Stormborn || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: as plans to conqour westeros begin, daenerys and i are met with an unknown visitor

warnings: got cannon violence, war, battle nothing super graphic. this chapter follows the storylime of Stormborn (S7 Ep2) so spoiler warning ig

a/n: all dialogue italicized is in Valyrian & important note at the end!!

series masterlist || next part

4.9k word count

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

“Your Grace summons you to the Painted Table.” The servant had said after I had gotten back to my room from my morning training. Daenerys had gotten busier in the last few weeks as she planned ahead for the upcoming war.

I found her standing by the fireplace with her back turned towards me and the table that was in the shape of the Seven Kingdoms. A few figurines of different houses of Westeros were laid out in their appropriate places.

“You called?”

She takes a moment to turn, collecting her thoughts.

“In a few days Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, and Yara Greyjoy will be here to pledge their allegiance to me and further discuss our plans to take the Iron Throne.” She rounded the table, walking closer to me. “But before they arrive is there anything I must know?”

I furrowed my brows, thinking back or ahead in the future? Nonetheless, I wracked my brain for anything that would be useful.

“Oh,” I remembered. “An ambush. There’s going to be an ambush.”

A flash of concern comes across her face. “Who?”

“Euron Greyjoy. After your meeting you ordered Yara to escort Ellaria and their troops to Sunspear. But along the way Euron ambushes them.” The whole ordeal was hard to read. Daenerys’ campaign was going so well until that point.

“It was catastrophic. So many died and so many ships destroyed they were still finding wreckage when I was born.” I turned towards the map, thinking back to where we were told the ambush had taken place.

“Here. 50 miles north of Sharp Point in Blackwater Bay.” I pointed out. “That’s where they were ambushed.”

“The damage?”

“Significant. Euron, Yara’s uncle, takes her and Ellaria Sand and her daughter as hostages for Cersie and imprisons them in King's Landing. And, his ships are equipped with Scorpions.”

She takes in a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. Her eyes look down at where I’ve pointed just a moment ago, weighing her options and thinking of a new plan.

“So what do we do?”

I smile. “I have a plan.”

—

Rain had been pouring down for the past three days and it showed no signs of letting up all while the entire castle prepared for the arrival of Houses Greyjoy, Martel, and Tyrell. I sighed, walking away from the floor to ceiling windows of the library and back to the roundtable full of books. With the rain getting heavier Grey Worm had decided to postpone my lessons which left me in the library of the castle, hunched over a mountain of books.

“Not very fond of the rain?” Missandei asks from the table, peering over a book. “I am. Just not very fond of the dreariness of it.” I reply, sitting down across from her. “It’s interesting how something as simple as the weather can change a person's entire mood.”

She nodded, setting the book aside. “In Essos it barely rained. Whenever it did, the sky would be clear and the temperature hot. Here, the rain is so…”

“Heavy.” I finished off. “Whenever the weather gets like this all I want to do is sleep.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Missandei beams. “I just want to curl up under the hearth with a cup of tea and a good book.”

I laughed, “after all the reading I’ve done, it’s the last thing I’d want to do when I’m relaxing.”

We both shared a laugh before falling into a pregnant pause. I could tell that she was still apprehensive about me. When she came to me this morning, asking to join me in the library, I was shocked. Out of council meetings and occasionally bumping into each other we had barely talked.

“You don’t trust me,” I said.

She watched my expression as she replied. “Can you blame me?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m glad that you are, though. I’d be more concerned if you’d blindly trust me. Especially with my.. sudden appearance.”

Out of everyone in Daenerys’ council I knew from the start that Missandei would be the hardest to build a relationship with. She’d been with Dany for years. She’d seen her at her lowest and highest. Which is why she would be one of my most important allies, other than Daenerys.

“You also don’t trust us,” Missandei says.

“Wrong,” I correct. “I trust Daenerys. You. Grey Worm, and Tyrion.”

“Not Lord Varys?” She asks.

“No. Varys is… different, in a lot of ways.” I needed to tread carefully. I couldn’t just outwardly say that he would betray Daenerys and be the reason why Misssandei would die. But, I could sew in the seeds of doubt.

“He’s.. somewhat unpredictable.” I pursed my lips. “His origin and journey is admirable, don’t get me wrong. It’s just his methods and means and history that are a bit questionable.”

Everyone knows that Varys has his “little birds” but they don’t know the truth behind them. Missandei didn’t say much after that, letting my words sit in her mind for the rest of the day. I knew what I had said had left her stumped and that she would tell Daenerys of our conversation. I just hoped that the seed had been planted deep enough.

—

The storm had raged on into the night. I was getting ready to turn into the night when a servant informed me of a small council meeting at the Painted Table. Quickly, I made my way over, seeing that everyone else was already there.

“I hope I’m not late.” I say to no one in particular. Missandei and Grey Worm give me a few nods while Tyrion and Varys watch Daenerys who had her back towards us, deep in thought.

“On a night like this, you were born,” Tyrion remarks.

“I remember that storm. All the dogs in King’s Landing howled through the night.” Varys adds.

“I wish I could remember it.” Daenerys says, finally turning around. Her face was somewhat stoic as she walked over to the table. “I always thought this would be a homecoming, this doesn't feel like home.”

She’s upset, I noted. Did Missandei and I’s conversation work?

“We won’t stay at Dragonstone for long.” Tyrion reassures.

“Good.” She says, looking at the figurine on the table. “Not many lions.”

“Cersie controls fewer than half of the Seven Kingdoms. The lords of Westeros despise her. Even before your arrival, they plotted against her. Now…” Varys says. I don’t know why but the tone of his voice makes me want to jump into the sea.

“They cry out for their true queen? They drink secret toasts to my health?” Daenerys walks closer to Varys, almost as if she were sizing him up. “People used to tell my brother that sort of thing, and he was stupid enough to believe them.”

Everyone in the room watches carefully as she picks up a dragon figurine from the table. “If Viserys had three dragons and an army at his back he’d have invaded King’s Landing already.”

“Conquering Westeros would be easy for you. But you’re not here to be the queen of the ashes.” Tyrion interjects.

“No,” Daenerys puts down the dragon figure.

“We can take the Seven Kingdoms without turning it into a slaughterhouse,” I say. “We already have three great houses supporting your claim.”

“I agree,” Tyrion nods my way. “With the Tyrell army and the Dornish on our side, we have powerful allies in the south.”

Daenerys looks at Varys. “I never properly thanked you for that.” Though, her voice lacked any bit of gratitude.

“They joined our side, my queen, because they believe in you.” Vays says.

“You served my father, didn’t you, Lord Varys?”

“I did,” He replies.

“And then you served the man who overthrew him?” Her tone shifted.

“I had a choice, Your Grace– serve Robert Baratheon or face the headsman's axe.” Varys says defensively.

“But you didn’t serve him long. You turned against him.”

“Robert was an improvement on your father, to be sure. There have been few rulers in history as cruel as the Mad King. Robert was neither mad nor cruel. He simply had no interest in being king.” Varys countered.

“So you took it upon yourself to find yourself a better one.” She pressed further.

Tyrion, feeling the tension in the room, comes to Varys’ defense. “Your Grace,” Daenerys turns towards Tyrion. “When I was ready to drink myself into a small coffin, Lord Varys told me about a queen in the east who–”

“Before I came to power,” Daenerys turned back to Varys, “you favored my brother. All your spies, your little birds, did they tell you Viserys was cruel, stupid, and weak? Would those qualities have made for a good king in your learned opinion?”

“Until your marriage to Khal Drogo, Your Grace. I knew nothing about you, save your existence and that you were said to be beautiful.” Varys deflects. Daenerys looks past and towards me.

“Are you sure?” I hummed, catching everyone’s attention. Varys’ face hardened and he glared towards me. “Because from what I remember, you’ve always known about Daenerys.”

I stepped forward, standing behind Daenerys. “Matter of fact, you were the one who planned Daenerys’ marriage to Khal Drogo with Illyrio.”

Varys opened his mouth to speak, but Daenerys beat him to it.

“You and your friends traded me like a prized horse to the Dothraki.”

“Which you turned to your advantage.” He was starting to panic. It was clear the Varys didn’t like to have his back against the wall.

“Who gave the order to kill me?”

“King Robert.” He replies quickly.

“Who hired the assassins?” She steps closer to Varys. “Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?”

“Your Grace,” you could hear panic set in his voice. “I did what had to be done–”

“To keep yourself alive.” Daenerys says firmly.

“Lord Varys has proven himself a loyal servant.” Tyrion says, trying to calm the situation.

“Proven himself loyal?” I scoffed.

“Quite the opposite.” Daenerys, turned towards her hand. “If he dislikes one monarch. He conspires to crown the next one. What kind of a servant is that?”

“The kind the realm needs.” Varys says firmly. “Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. As long as I have my eyes, I’ll use them. I wasn’t born into a great house. I come from nothing. I was sold as a slave and carved up as an offering. When I was a child, I lived in alleys, gutters, abandoned houses. You wish to know where my true loyalties lie? Not with any king or queen, but with the people. The people who suffer under despots and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts you aim to win. If you demand blind allegiance, I respect your wishes. Grey Worm can behead me or your dragons can devour me. But if you let me live, I will serve you well. I will dedicate myself to seeing you on the Iron Throne because I choose you. Because I know the people have no better chance than you.”

Silence lingers in the air as Varys’ words settle into the room. The rest watched the three of us carefully, holding their breaths.

“Swear this to me, Varys.” Daenerys’ voice is calm, and no longer holds any edge. “If you ever think I’m failing the people, you won’t conspire behind my back. You’ll look me in the eye as you have done today, and you’ll tell me how I’m failing them.”

Feeling satisfied that he’s in the clear, Varys stands straight. “I swear it, my queen.”

“And I swear this– if you even betray me, I’ll burn you alive.” She quickly warns.

Varys smiles. “I would expect nothing less from the Mother of Dragons.”

Amidst back and forth a servant had entered the room, informing Grey Worm of a visitor.

“Forgive me, my queen. A red priestess from As’shai has some to see you.”

––––

The doors to the throne room open, revealing a woman in red standing alone. She had red hair and dark red-ish eyes. Could this be?

The woman bows, her eyes linger on me before addressing Daenerys in Valyrian. “Queen Daeneys, I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honor to meet the Breaker of Chains.”

“The Red Priests helped bring peace to Meereen. You are very welcome here. What is your name?” Daenerys replies.

“I am called Melisandre.”

“She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne.” Varys says from behind us. “It didn’t end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?”

“No, it didn’t” Melisandre replies with no emotions.

Not only did it not end well for Stannis, but it also didn’t end well for his daughter who he burned alive under Melisandre’s orders, but if you ask her it was the “Lords” doing.

“You chose an auspicious day to arrive at Dragonstone.” Daenerys turns to look at Varys. “We’ve decided to pardon those who served the wrong king.”

Varys doesn’t reply and just bows his head, thankful that Daenerys hadn’t fed him to Drogon.

Daenerys turns back to Melisandre. “The Lord of Light doesn’t have many followers in Westeros, does he?”

“Not yet. But even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause.”

“What does your Lord expect from me?” Daenerys questions.

“The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.”

I sucked in a breath through my nose. We were getting closer to Jon’s arrival and everything else that would follow suit.

“The prince who was promised will bring the dawn.” Daenerys repeats. “I'm afraid I'm not a prince.”

“Your Grace, forgive me, but your translation is not quite accurate.” Missandei corrects from the side. “That noun has no gender in High Valyrian, so the proper translation for that prophecy would be the prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn.”

“Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?” Tyrion comments.

“No, but I like it better.” Daenerys turns back to Melisandre. “And you believe this prophecy refers to me?”

“Prophecies are dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play, as does another. The King in the North, Jon Snow.” Melisandre explains.

“Jon Snow?” Tyrion says, shocked. “Ned Stark's bastard?”

“You know him?” Daenerys asks.

Tyrion nods. “I traveled with him to the Wall when he joined the Night's Watch.”

“And why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this Jon Snow aside from the visions you’ve seen in the flames, that is?” Varys inquired.

“As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch he allowed the Wildlings south of the Wall to protect them from great danger. As King in the North he has united those Wildlings with the northern houses so together they may face their common enemy.”

Even after hundreds of years after the events of this time, Jon’s heroism is still marveled upon. The North still remembers the King in the North.

“He sounds like quite a man.” I say.

“Summon Jon Snow. Let him stand before you and tell you things that have happened to him, the things that he has seen with his own eyes.” Melisandre urged Daenerys.

Tyrion nodded, “I can’t speak to prophecies or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow and I trusted him, and I am an excellent judge of character.”

“If he does rule the north, he would make a valuable ally. The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. Jon Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.” Tyrion added.

She glanced up from Tyrion to me, asking if it were true. I gave her a subtle nod and she turned back to Tyrion, smiling.

“Very well. Send a raven north.” She says. “Tell Jon Snow that his Queen invites him to come to Dragonstone… and bend the knee.”

–––

Our new allies arrived early in the morning, just as the sun rose over the horizon. I wore a black dress with a wool outer layer with silver clasps running from my collarbone to above my navel. The shoulders, forearms, and collar had a dragon scale pattern. It was simple, but still full of detail, but most importantly it kept me warm in this dreaded weather.The rain had stopped overnight, but the clouds had stayed, blocking any sunlight.

Everyone was gathered at the Painted Table, all ready and waiting for Daenerys to make her entrance. As I entered the room, conversation between our guests dulled down as they couldn’t look away. I didn’t have to look to know what they were thinking.

Another Targaryen?

The room was cold from the night's rain and the cold sea so I threw more wood into the hearth and stood by Missandei as we waited for Daenerys. I glanced around the room, watching as Yara, Ellaria, and Olenna talked but occasionally glanced towards me.

“They seem to be interested in you.” Missandei comments.

“I thought they’d have a bigger reaction,” I say. “Maybe a few jaw’s on the floor, or a few gasps of shock.”

Missandei chuckled. “I’m afraid all you’ll get is a few stares and gossip.”

“I guess I can take that.” I hummed.

The doors swung open as Daenerys entered. Everyone stood at attention as she made her way to the front of the room.

“I want to thank you all for making the journey to Dragonstone. Now, let us begin.”

Yara was the first to speak. “If you want the Iron Throne, take it. We have an army, a fleet, and three dragons. We should hit King's Landing now. Hard. With everything we have. The city will fall within a day.”

“If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorms.” Tyrion shook his head.

Ellaria looked towards him with disgust, which was noticed by all. “It's called war. You don't have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding.”

“I know how you wage war. We don't poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent.” Tyrion bit back.

Ellaria scoffed. “She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannisters. My greatest regret is that Oberyn died fighting for you.”

“Oberyn was a grown man. He made his choice, no one can change that. Myrcella was a child, she didn’t do anything. I think we all here know that a child isn’t responsible for their fathers sins.” I said from the sidelines, giving her a pointed look.

“That's enough. Tyrion is the Hand of the Queen. You will treat him with respect.” Daenerys reminded. Both Tyrion and Ellaria backed down, Ellaria giving me one last look. “I am not here to be the Queen of Ashes.”

“That's very nice to hear.” Olenna said from across the table. “Of course, I can't remember a queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her, the nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they're all just children really. They won't obey you unless they fear you.”

“I'm grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your council. I'm grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me. I will not attack King's Landing. We will not attack King's Landing.” Daenerys says, genuinely.

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne? By asking nicely?” Olenna asks. I smiled at the older womens sass.

Daenerys looked towards me and I stepped forward. “We will lay siege to the capital, surrounding it on all sides. Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her army or the people.”

“But we won’t use Dothraki and Unsullied.” Tyrion adds. He walks around the carved table, “Cersie will try to rally the lords of Westeros by appealing to their loyalty, their love for their country. If we besiege the city with foreigners, we prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi.”

“And I suppose we’re providing the Westerosi?” Ellaria clarifies.

“You are.” Tyrion reached down, picking up a figurine that resembled a Kraken in a longship. “Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear and her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army back up to King’s Landing.” He walked over to the south of the map and picked up a figurine that resembled a sun. Taking both figurines, Tyrion places them at King’s Landing. “The Dornish will lay siege to the capital alongside the Tyrell army. Two great kingdoms united against Cersie.”

“So your master plan is to use our armies? Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?” Olenna asks Daenerys.

Tyrion reached down, picking up a figurine that looked like an Unsullied helmet. He walked around the map. “The Unsullied will have another objective. For decades House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros. And the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Grey Worm and the Unsullied will sail for the Rock and take it.”

He stops in front of Casterly Rock, a lion figurine sitting on the Rock. Tyrion takes a moment before knocking over the lion with the Unsullied figurine to everyone's pleasure.

A clam settles and Daenerys addresses the room. “There is another matter to discuss.” Everyone looks at her, caught off guard. “I’ve come to learn that there will be an ambush in Blackwater Bay led by Euron Greyjoy under Cerseis’ order.”

“What?” Someone says.

“Your Grace,” Varys steps forward. “Forgive me, but I’ve heard no such thing to take place.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Perhaps you’re mistaken.”

“There have been no mistakes, Lord Varys.” Daenerys says. I moved to stand on Daenerys' side.

“Euron will strike at night.” I explain. “His ships are equipped with Scorpions, they’re deadly and will tare your ships to shreads.”

Yara’s face drops. “What the hell do we do? Our ships aren’t fully equipped to take on his.” Theon, behind her, is equally terrified.

“We know,” I say, calmly. “That is why I’ll be escorting you.”

“Forgive me, my dear, but what can you do?” Olenna asks.

“I’ll be on dragonback. I’ll be flying high enough to go unnoticed, but close by to help when the attack happens. There will be casualties on our end, that's certain, but this is war.” The others look at Daenerys and I in shock as they try to find the words to speak.

“But you’ve never flown into battle.” Tyrion says.

“So?” I shrug. “I’ll have to fight at one point, might as well start now.”

“My Lady, you’ve never flown out that far, you’ll be all alone.” Missandei says.

“No I won’t. I’ll have my dragon and I’ll have our new allies besides me.” I say, nodding towards Yara and Ellaria. “When I bent the knee to Daenerys and promised to get her the Iron Throne, I meant it. This is what I have to do.”

Daenerys gives me a reassuring look. She turned towards the room. “Do I have your support?”

Yara glances between Daenerys and I. “You have mine.”

“Dorne is with you, Your Grace.” Ellaria says.

Lady Olenna nods her head in agreement.

“Thank you all.” Daenerys says, somewhat relieved. “Lady Olenna, may I speak with you alone?”

Everyone bows and leaves the room. Before leaving I turned towards Daenerys, “I’ll go get ready for my departure.”

She nods. “Stay safe, sister.”

I smiled. “I will. When I’m back I’ll let you put a braid in my hair.” I say, leaving.

I stepped out into the hall and down to where my room was where everything was already ready for me. When I first had my conversation with Daenerys about the ambush I had also asked for some armor to be made for me. And with the help of the servants I was able to get into it quickly. It was simple but protective and it allowed me to ride my dragon without hurting either of us. I took two daggers that I’d also had made and placed them into their places on my hip.

Afterwards I headed to where the ships were docked and where Viserion was waiting for me. I stepped outside and saw everyone getting ready to leave. I spotted Yara and Theon were still on the docks giving orders to their crew.

“Is everything ready?” I ask.

“It is, My Lady. We’ll be leaving shortly.” Yara says.

“Good. You’ll leave first and I’ll be behind you not far off. We need to make it look like you’re alone and unsuspecting.” I explained. I glanced back at Theon who still hadn’t said anything, but had something on his mind. “Is something bothering you, My Lord?”

Theon looked taken aback, surprised that I was talking to him. “I’m not a lord.”

“You’re not?” I repeat. “You are Balon Greyjoy’s son, are you?”

He nods, not fully looking up at me.

“That makes you Lady Yara Greyjoy's brother, yes?”

He nods again, still not looking up.

“Then that makes you a Greyjoy, an Ironborn. You are every bit of a lord you are now and when you were born on Pyke, do not forget that. What’s happened has happened, no one can change that. All we can do is move forward. We Do Not Sow, yes?”

He nods, finally looking up at me.

––––

The ships had cleared out of the docks and were making their way into Blackwater Bay. I stood near the cliffs, ready to leave, when Tyrion came to stand beside me.

“What you’re doing is heroic, My Lady.” He says.

“I guess it is. I’ve never done anything like this.” I flexed my fingers. “My entire body’s buzzing. Was this what you felt before the Battle of the Blackwater and defeated Stannis’ army?”

Tyrion nodded. “It did. I felt like throwing up and shitting the floor at the same time.” We both laughed. “I had to drink a few glasses of wine to calm myself down. Perhaps it would help you, My Lady.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine. I need a clear head. But, you can save me that glass for when I get back. Then we can talk about everything that needs to be talked about. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.”

––––

It was pitch black and cold. The heat from Viserion’s body was still keeping me warm, but the cold wind blowing past my face was getting to me. Even from up there I could hear the waves crashing down which meant that I’d be able to hear when Euron’s fleet attacked.

“How you feeling, big guy? Good?” I asked Viserion. He let out a small purr, his entire body vibrating. I sighed, looking up at the sky above. The stars and the mood were my only light as we flew further out.

“Okay,” I say out loud. “Let's go over our plan. When they attack our ships we fly down and torch them, but we have to be careful not to get too close or else we’ll be caught and we have to watch out for the Scorpions. One hit with that and we’ll be recreating Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes. And keep your eye out for Euron, we need him alive.”

Viserion purrs again and I take that as a sign that he agrees with the plan. The last few weeks I’ve flown with him were good, we’d stay around Dragonstone, the furthest we’ve been was Driftmark, so this was a huge risk.

When I had explained to Daenerys my plan she was apprehensive. It was clear that she didn’t want either Viserion or I to get hurt, but she knew that we also couldn’t risk our fleet and our army.

A loud crash brought me out of my thoughts, and a glow erupted from below. The steady waves of the ocean now clashed against one another as Euron began his assault.

This was it.

“Now.” I command.

In an instant Viserion flies down past the clouds and we’re met with Eurons fleet fighting against Yara’s. Almost instantaneously my body and mind knew what to do. Without a word Viserion flew down and prepared himself.

“Dracarys.”

Fire erupts out of his mouth and lights the enemy ships below us ablaze. He lets out a loud scratch, gathering everyone's attention below before striking again. It takes them a minute before they aim their Scorpions up towards us. The massive arrows fly past us as Viserion weaves between them while burning Eurons fleet.

It doesn’t take long for the battle to die down, the air filled with the smell of burnt wood and flesh. Our fleet was damaged but Eurons was completely destroyed. Anyone who could have survived the dragonfire were either killed or taken hostage. Like planned, a Targaryen flag is flown under the Greyjoy’s on Yara’s ship, Black Wind.

–––––

Once I’d landed back on Dragonstone I quickly said goodbye to Viserion, letting him rest, and made my way down to the docks where everyone, minus Grey Worm, would be waiting for me.

Daenerys was first to see me, giving me a tight hug while the others nodded my way, smiling.

“Well done, My Lady. You’ve done well.” Tyrion says.

“Thank you, but we’ve still got work to do.”

Right on que, a ship comes into the docks. The crew works quickly to anchor down and disembark. The Ironborn and a few Dornish step off before Theon and a few of his men step off. He’s a little bruised, and he’s got dirt and ash on his face, but overall well. He bow’s towards Daenerys and I, giving me a small smile before he steps aside and allows his men in front who are dragging a beaten up Euron Greyjoy.

“We’ve got him, Your Grace.” Says Theon.

“Good,” Daenerys’ eyes never left the unconscious Euron. “Bring him to the dungeons.”

The men hull him off and everyone makes their way back into the castle. I turn over to Tyrion.

“Let’s have that drink.”

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!! A/N: I will be going on a hiatus for a few months. I've got some personal stuff going on so I won't be updating any of my series including this one. I don't know when I'll be back, but when I am I'll get you guys a new chapter so hang on tight. Thank you for all the support you've given so far. I know thing are only just getting started story wise but I have a lot to do and I'll make it up to you all when I'm back.

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