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soo0hee · 3 months ago

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A Teachers Crush

Pairing — Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader

Summary — Falling for your coworker was never a good idea and it was no surprise that at one point things couldn't go on the way it was anymore...

Genre — fluff, angst, kindergarten!au

Warnings — kisses, some cursing

Word Count — 3.1k

Rating — pg-13

A/N — I got it done @tusswrites ! Have fun with teacher!hannie my luv✨️

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

Working with Yoon Jeonghan was delightful and a nightmare all at the same time.

For one, he was an amazing coworker. Reliable, loyal, funny, kind, helpful and so many more things you could name that would probably tale ages if you had to list them all.

He was wonderful with the kids you and him taught together and he was definitely one of their favorite teachers in the entire kindergarten! Watching him play with them left you feeling warm and fuzzy. Butterflies were flying wildly inside you’re your stomach every single time without fail.

On the other hand, you felt like your heart would explode if you stayed in his proximity for to long… What could you say? You were crushing hard on your coworker and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Handing you your favorite mug with little blue snowflakes covering the porcelain surface early in the morning send a small tired smile on your lips.

“Thank you.” You yawned, flipping mindlessly through the book you planned on reading with the kids later in the day.

“Is it time for The Gruffalo again, hm?” Jeonghan snickered at your sighes.

“Well unless you got something better planned for todays morning circle, then yes. It’s time for The Gruffalo.” You shrugged.

It was only 7:24 am, meaning the only teachers who were around were you and Jeonghan, at least for another half an hour and you were sure that the first kid would arrive soon. In fact, you could hear the happy babbling of the first boy with his mom in the hallway while hanging up his jacket and putting on his indoor shoes.

A little did you dread the encounter with the kids mom. Not because she was a rude person, no! But you knew that when this woman started talking, there was no way she would stop soon. Sometimes you really wondered how she got to work on time…

“Good morniiing, Miss y/n!” You almost jumped at the sudden voice of in front of you. You hadn’t even notice that the boy appeared in the group room until he stood right in front of you, waiting to greet you.

It was custom for you that once the kids were inside, they would greet you one by one so you knew that the child arrived and the child in return felt seen by you. It didn’t mean that it always worked, especially if there are a lot of kids arriving at the same time and someone slips past you into the room. But now you did notice.

“Good Morning, Chan! How do you want to say hello? Do you want to shake my hand, fist bump or high five?” you asked the boy who thought for a second about his options.

“High Five please!”

Holding up your hand so he could easily reach it you gave him a High Five and let him go to decide what he wanted to do next.

Chan walked to the small couch you had tucked away in a more quiet corner of the room where there were books on a shelf on the side and a well loved TonieBox with it’s storytime figurines. Soon the theme track of PawPatrol was heard as he calmly flipped through a book about the fire department. He did this every morning without fail, rather choosing to play by himself while waiting for the next kid to come that he could play with instead of playing a game with you or Jeonghan. Some kids simply had their routines they needed to follow to feel comfortable and that was fine with you. After all, you, Jeonghan and the other teachers did the same thing when arriving.

“Does he have his lunch in a box today, or will he be eating with us?” Jeonghan asked, standing behind you, now with his hand resting on your shoulder. It took a lot from you not to flinch in surprise, especially when you felt his thumb gently caressing the skin that wasn’t covered by your sweater.

Feeling significantly warmer by the second at his touch, you shut the book that was still open and set it aside for later.

“Channie has his lunch in his bagpack today and would it be possible to pick him up a bit eralier today? I know you have your pick up times bit we have a doctors appointment later today and it would be really stressful to be on time for that if I come later.”

You nodded. “Of course! Just ring the bell and someone will let you in then.”

The mother put her hands together as a thankful gesture and said goodbye to her son once more. Chan barely registered his mother talking to him as he was absorbed in the adventure of the firemen on his pages. He muttered a quiet, “Bye mommy!” without looking up and his mother was out the door just when as the next girl arrived and the entire spiel started anew.

However seeing the tears spill from Lily’s eyes at the prospect of having to let go of her dad you got up, missing the warmth of Jeonghans hand on you almost immediately, to approach them.

You wiped her tears with a tissue from the box to your left and held out your arms which she willingly fell into while hiding her face in your shoulder.

“She didn’t sleep that well tonight, so she’s a bit grouchy.” Her father sighed sadly.

“Oh, that’s okay. We all have nights like that, don’t we?” you coed at the girl in your arms while running your hand over her back to sooth her little sobs.

Lily nodded hesitantly but evidently calmer then just a moment before.

Knowing that his daughter was okay with you, he said goodbye eliciting a little whimper from the girl.

“Wanna wave…” She sniffeled loud enough so you and her father could hear her.

The famous “Waving Window” was something the kids loved to go to in the morning. It was a window that they could see their parents once more and wave to them while they walked out to their cars.

“Want me to come with you? Or do you want to wave alone?”

“With you...”

Her father nodded in understanding, told her goodbye and left you and Lily to go to the Waving Window.

Together you watched a woman walk by with her dogs, before pointing to the man waiting for his child to wave goodbye.

Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest Jeonghan couldn’t help but smile at the sight on the window. Lily was still snuggled into your side but now much calmer and conversing with you and another girl that had just come in about the dogs you had seen.

Ever since you had come to work with him few years ago, he had slowly gotten to know more about you and how you ticked.

To those you didn’t know and who didn’t know you, you could seem standoffish, quiet and desinterested in others, but not long into your partnership he found out just how delightful you really were. Soft, kind, funny, determined, loving. All words he would use to describe you and in quiet moments like this, it showed the most.

Free from the stress of the day you were able to take the time you needed with the girl to bond. Something that sometimes fell through with 25 kids per class who all needed or wanted your attention at the same time.

“Admiring your work wife again, huh?” Soyeon, the teacher from a different class came in and teased at witnessing his star struck face and the male felt his cheeks heat up.

“What? No! I was not-“

The woman raised her eyebrow and Jeonghan fell silent with a huff.

“Oh shut it.”

-----------

The day was surprisingly calm if you were being honest. With the cold weather the season brought with it, quite a few kids were sick and stayed at home and around lunch time, your group of 25 was reduced to 14 in total.

Calm.

While the kids ate their food with Jeonghan helping where he was needed, you went to the other room besides yours where you had a small library to put the book back where it belonged. The giant box on top of the shelf containing some paper you needed to prepare an activity for the next few days mocking you as it was to high for you to reach on your own.

“Jeonghan? Can you come over here?” You called and his face promptly appeared in view.

“Do you need something?”

“Yeah can you get the box down from there?” You pointed to the shelf, pouting that you couldn’t do it yourself.

The man laughed quietly and came in, dogging your weak slap to his shoulder.

“Stop laughing!”

“I’m not, I promise!”

Unimpressed you tilted your head.

“Just help me, you idiot.” You couldn’t stop the smile at his antics and stuck your tongue out at him.

Jeonghan came to a stop and your heart faltered when you realized that he was merely inches away from you, grabbing the box and took it down just to lean even closer.

“Here…”

The words suddenly seemed to be stuck in your throat and for a moment you were frozen as you felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin until-

“Are you going to kiss now?”

You jumped in shock. Riki, one of the older boys stood in the door giggling at the sight of his teachers being face to face like this.

Neither of you had noticed the door slowly closing behind the male teacher just like neither of you had noticed the boy opening it again.

“No!” you squeaked while Jeonghan almost dropped the box in his hands.

“Go back to your seat and eat, Riki Nishimura!” Your coworker rushed out, looking every bit as embarrassed as you felt.

Situations like this weren’t new, for neither of you. They happened all the time and at this point you should be used to it.

After all, for months your kids thought you and Jeonghan were married and it took a lot to convince them otherwise.

“But why aren’t you married?” Mari, one of the younger girls wanted to know, not understanding why you weren’t. You had stammered out a half hearted explanation which didn’t leave them satisfied but they also didn’t ask any further.

The worst however was when even the parents started making little comments here and there.

“You okay?”

“Yeah! Y-yeah, I’m good.” You swallowed and quickly left him standing there. Jeonghan stood there for a few moments longer. Rikis words had shifted something in him, something he had tried to bury deep down within him.

They echoed in his mind over and over again.

“Are you going to kiss now?”

No, but he wanted to.

And he had wanted to for so long already, he wasn’t quite sure when it had started.

Was it when he hot to know you? Or when he saw how much you loved what you did?

Or maybe when he realized just how much your eyes sparkled when he talked to you… how his heart sped up when he heard you laugh about something.

He shook his head to get rid of the thoughts and back to reality. A reality where you had run from him…

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You felt awfull.

After having run out on Jeonghan you had done everything you could so you didn’t have to talk with. Way to embarrassed by the realizations that had been kick started. So much so, that you didn’t know how to act around him going forward.

You fell silent every time Jeonghan stepped into the room, avoided looking at him and only spoke to him when you absolutely had too.

It irked the man to no end to see you so quiet. Dull almost.

Want to meet up tonight? Go out for drinks with me, Soyeon, Nayeon and Shua? – received 5:34 pm

Staring down your phone you considered not answering his text. You had done so before and if you had then with short answers only.

The prospect of meeting in private after having avoided him for almost 2 weeks and you missed him. Kind of.

I’ll be there – sent 5:46 pm

The bar was just a few minutes away from your apartment by bus and you were determent to have some fun tonight even if you had to play the game of faces and after a few to many drinks you were sure you could get through the night without to much drama.

It was a fun evening, laughing at what Joshua said, Soyeons dad jokes and Nayeons playful flirting with the waiter. That was until you watched Jeonghan chat with the barkeeper a little to smiley when getting their drinks.

Your eyes were glued to the scene at the bar, not able to look away as you suddenly felt tears filling your eyes.

“I have to go.” You suddenly said, cutting of the conversations your fellow teachers had been having, still staring.

“What? Why? Can’t you stay a bit longer?” Nayeon whined at the prospect of having to let you go already. Joshua on the other hand followed your eyes and understood why you wanted to leave. They weren’t blind. None of the were and all of the had seen the switch in you flip to what ever was happening.

“Will you be safe?” he asked ever the gentleman to which you just nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll text you when I’m home.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Joshua helped you up, catching you when you stumbled a bit before wrapping his arms around you for a quick hug.

“Tell him, I promise I won’t go bad.”

“Goodbye Shua…”

With that you were out, walking to the bus station closest to the bar just as Jeonghan came back to the table.

It was cold, only wearing a thin leather jacket over your dress and shivering when you saw the little 11 on the display next to your bus number. You took a deep breath, filling your lung with the cold air cleared your mind and made it fuzzy all at once.

Having seen the barkeeper you knew you couldn’t compare to that. She was pretty, thin, big boobs and a beautiful face and if Jeonghan was as attracted to her as it had seemed like, then you were no match with someone like that.

You didn’t know if you could keep working like that if you had to watch Jeonghan be happy.

Happy with someone that wasn’t you.

“You’re leaving already?” Jeonghans voice startled you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, I’m tired. Ready for bed and all…” you hummed out, looking down at your feet and tightening the hold around yourself.

He slowly came to stand by your side. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

“Y/n, please talk to me… what happened to us?”

You swallowed harshly, continuing to avoid his stares.

“Nothing happened. We just didn’t have time to talk much recently.”

The man scoffed.

“We did have time, you just chose not have any and I want- no, I need to know why!”

Turning around to face him you found him staring right into your eyes. Your knees threatened to buckle underneath you.

“Just let it go, Jeonghan. I just want to go home!” you sighed. You weren’t in the mood to talk and you sure as hell weren’t in the mood t look at his soft eyes longer then you had to.

“Not until we talk. Your bus as still a few minutes away and I need to know… Is this about what Riki said? If what he said made you uncomfortable, then I’m sorry. He’s a kid, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“It’s not about that!” you said now a bit louder, catching the attention of the people around.

“Then what is it about? Because ei don’t get it! One day we could talk about every thing and the next you wouldn’t look at me. Is the though of kissing me that disgusting to you? Is that it?”

“No! It’s not and that is the problem!”

Shocked by your admission you stepped back, trying to get away as fast as possible.

“What?” Jeonghan stood there, eyes blown wide and looking every bit as beautiful as always.

“Just go back inside. I’m sure the others are waiting for you.”

“I won’t, because when if I heard that right- if I understand what you just said, right… then that would mean that-“

“-I would actually love to kiss you…”

Jeonghan bridged the distance with a few quick steps, cupped your face with his hands and huffed, “Good.” Before his lips crashed into your’s. He knocked the breath out of your lungs and you pulled back only an inch before staring back up at him and surging forward to meet him again.

His soft lips moved smoothly against yours desperate and loving all at once and you knew you didn’t want this moment to end. Hands around his neck, you pressed your body against his, felt his right hand wander to the back of your neck to firmly rest there and his left falling to your waist.

The bus arrived, let passenger in and drove off again.

You couldn’t care less.

You were in absolute bliss at the moment. Kissing the man you had longed for so long like your life depended on it until you had to stop to gasp for air. His nose brushing against yours and his lips merely an inch away from your own.

“I hope what ever doubt has been manifesting in your mind is now gone.” Jeonghan whispered earnestly and all you could do was stare.

“And I want you to know that I would love to kiss you again… until you’re so tired of it that you really will run from me.” The smile he gave you made your heart beat 3 times faster.

“Brave of you to think that will be the case.” You teased back followed by a wink.

#the diamond life network #k-library #k-labels #k-vanity #seventeen #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan x y/n #yoon jeonghan imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #yoon jeonghan fluff #seventeen fluff #divider by cafekitsune

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qwimchii · 1 year ago

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 2) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 14.5𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘢 (nothing too graphic but please be warned!!), 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

note: it's here 🤲 header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

the next morning you woke, Ghost was gone again, much to your chagrin. you were beginning to pick up on a pattern—a strong tendency to disappear without a trace. his clothes were absent from your room and the kitchen table, where you haphazardly undressed him without thinking about the evidence left behind for an unsuspecting one-four-one and Kate to see.

the only trace of Ghost’s presence in your room last night was the neat pile of undergarments and clothes on the ottoman nestled in the corner of the room. after washing up, you slowly redressed that morning. in the mirror, your neck was covered in swollen purple patches—a parallel image to the softness of your bruised inner thighs. you were lucky enough to have been lent a high-collared blouse from Kate, mulling over everything with a bitter distaste in your mouth.

it only grew when you stepped into the back room, Soap looking positively smug and Gaz avoiding your eyes. John looked undisturbed as he paged through a book, sipping at his coffee mug with his boot neatly crossed over the other beneath the kitchen table.

“good morning,” Soap sang, practically skipping to you and handing you a sticky, cinnamon bun, rolled up in a sweet delight.

“thank you,” you said with a polite dip of your head, sitting beside John at the table.

“you know, Gaz,” Soap said suddenly, turning to his friend who only paled in response, his face looking sour. “i could’ve sworn i heard something last night—”

you withered with shame, but luckily, Gaz kicked him hard in the shin to shut him up. immediately they began to bicker, and John only gave a disapproving grunt.

“where’s Kate?” you asked, meek, and desperate to escape the three men in the room.

John jerked his head in the direction of the main store room, and you whispered a quick thank you to him, wiping the last crumbs on the back of your split skirt rudely before making a beeline out the room.

Kate was tending to the shop, lounging behind the counter as two customers perused the catalog. she was stitching together pieces of leather with a wax thread and needle.

you carefully noted the absence of Ghost in the store room as well, but didn’t comment on it when she shot you a fleeting, knowing look. it was gone as soon as it came and yet it made you burn with shame nonetheless.

“Ghost is out on business again,” she explained, sewing with a practiced hand, and you frowned.

“I wasn't…” the words died in your throat. instead, you implored, “let me join one-four-one today.”

she paused her ministrations and sent you a look of grief. “why? so you can run away?”

that irked you. “you know i won’t.” in a meek voice, you added, “where would i even run too?”

she shrugged, returning to her leather pieces. “i don’t know. maybe off into your own rich glory.”

you resisted rolling your eyes. smoothing the front of your split skirt, you folded your hands politely, posture straightening.

“are you really going to ransom me to my daddy?” you challenged, and her hands paused

“because if you are, i know your secret base of operations. i know all your names, one-four-one’s, and Simon’s. i know what one-four-one looks like and that you’re working with los vaqueros.”

her eyes narrowed, brow pinching.

you continued. “i think all that information would come very handy for Turner and my daddy.”

“so what are you going to do?” she snapped, “run straight to Turner and cry at your daddy’s feet?”

“no,” you said cooly, “i think you don’t plan on giving me back to my daddy at all.”

her eyes flashed and you contented with her glare, meeting it with the strongest one you could muster.

“because if you did plan on it, i’d tell them all that and more in a heartbeat. so why’d you let me in on all that information in the first place?”

taking a shaky inhale, you hoped to god you were right. “i know too much. i think you’re planning something else for me.”

she stared at you for a long moment before heaving a long sigh, screwing her eyes shut, surprising you when her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped grin, her blue eyes crinkled with a wild look.

“Ghost said you were a smart girl.”

she returned back to the leather work, finishing off the needlework by snapping the string with her teeth, pulling it taught with a knot.

“but no,” she said with finality, and you balked.

“no…?”

“let’s say that maybe Ghost is planning something for you. something big,” she dramatized with a mocking smirk. “you’re still our hostage. you stay here, the boys ride out. simple.”

she shot you a displeased look when she finished. “if you weren’t here, i’d be riding out too.”

you swallowed, shoulders falling slowly. all that pent up energy deflated from you like a balloon, defeat curling in your stomach. looking out the front store windows, you saw Sugar dozing at her fence post. you eyed her saddle on a rack behind the store counter.

nodding, like you were deep in thought, you stepped away from the counter. “right,” was all you offered and she gave you a mixed look of pity and irritation.

as if on queue, the one-four-one boys clambered from the back room, murmuring low words to Kate so that you couldn’t hear. Soap tipped his hat to you on the way out, and he began to turn away when you clutched at his elbow.

“where are you going?” you asked, casual, and his brows raised, looking from you to John to Kate.

after a long look, she just gave him a slight nod.

“five miles north. ‘nother nearby town,” he relented with a shrug, and the way his lips tightened let you know he was leaving something else out. you cocked his head at him, pressing with curious eyes, and his mouth fell open but Gaz grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him out the store, Soap shouting in protest.

“be back before sunset,” John said, gruff, closing the door behind them with a resounding thud.

you watched as they saddled up in the bright noon light. Kate sighed. the look on her face let you know she was lamenting just as much about their departing as you.

you lazed about the main store room, eyes flicking between the leather crafts items. belts, wallets, holsters, a few couple saddles. the clicking of the wooden clock suspended on the opposite wall served as your entertainment for the afternoon.

when Kate finally excused herself to close the shop for a lunch break, washing up first, you knew you had to make quick haste. sneaking down the hallway, you passed by the bathroom as quietly as you could, you were surprised to find the basement door unlocked.

maybe they did trust you, a small voice spoke in wonder, but you mentally swatted it away. your desire to find out what the hell was going on burned brighter than anything else.

you descended quickly down the stairs, wincing at every creak and thud, till your feet met cobblestone. sweeping around in the darkness, you pulled out the matches you pocketed last night. lighting one with a quick stroke, the room lit up in a warm orange glow and you scrutinized the place.

in one main room, preserves of fruits and veggies, miscellaneous barrels, and leather working stations littered with various tools and supplies crowded the room. you could only assume the doors branching from the main room were one-four-one’s bedrooms, and you confirmed as much when you tried turning the knob of each one, finding them all firmly locked.

cursing, you wished you could remember that lock picking trick Tommy used at the schoolhouse to prank teachers in your childhood. you clambered through the space, squeezing between a nook of filled shelves, pausing when an old bookcase caught your eye. by it was a small circlet of space, several chairs, and a desk sprawling with papers. you walked to it, hand smoothing over the map littered with marks, lines, needles shoved into the wood at certain locations.

the writings made no sense, all in their own code. a large portion was circled in red with a big T scribbled in the middle. you squinted. Turner, most likely.

it was north of the town you were currently in, or so you assumed by the small star bead shaped from an ivory bone pinned down on the map. like Ghost said, you were on the border of southern california, your mama and daddy most likely twenty miles to the east in Arizona. below southern california lay another red circled portion, dipping into mexico and southern texas. LV, it read, in a smaller, less menacing font. los vaqueros.

blue circles stretched from the west to the east, centered around towns and cities, big and small. one location in particular was familiar—jackson county, missouri. all that blue, stretching from california to louisiana, was one-four-one territory. you balked at the physical size of it.

the more passing seconds you took to study the map, the more you worried Kate may emerge from the restroom and find you snooping in their basement. if she did, you dreaded the thought of being locked up in your room for the remainder of your possibly indefinite stay.

a piece of paper caught your eye. it was a letter addressed to Turner from your… your daddy. you poured over the note, running over the quill grooves in your hands.

Mr. T,

my darling belle has been stolen by the devil. you promised me that working with you meant no harm to my family. i want her back. i don’t want no man getting the idea that they can steal my things from me.

you shuddered. his things, he had called you.

i want your men on every one of one-four-one’s outposts. none of their towns will be safe. i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

your eyes ran over the line again. social?

if Ghost won’t give me my daughter, i’ll make him.

your daddy didn’t sign off the letter. carefully, you put it back down in its place. how did the letter even get there in the first place? had Ghost intercepted its messenger during a shootout in a northern town?

you swallowed. did Ghost find it in your own daddy’s house? your house?

the thought of your daddy, keeled over his desk with a bullet wound in his temple, blood oozing out in a puddle as Ghost loomed overhead, pocketing Daddy’s letter in his trench coat, made you sick to your stomach.

you thought of what Ghost said the night prior. i searched half the plains for your horse.

did that include your daddy and mama’s house? your breath hitched. was your mama alright?

you steadied yourself against the nearby bookshelf, distracting yourself with its contents instead. fictional literature stared back at you, and you brushed your fingers down their spines in a slow descent until you met the very bottom row. a line of small journals, so small you could squeeze them into the extra space in your pocket, stared back at you. picking one on the very edge, your eyes widened at the title scrawled over it.

GHOST.

you opened it to its latest entry, dating back to the day you were taken by Ghost. in all capital letters it read:

PICKED UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.

beneath it was a sketch of your profile and… numbers. there wasn’t an exact order or sense of them but they littered the page.

despite the numerical mystery, you found your eyes lingering on the catch of light conveyed through Ghost’s drawing, the twinkle in your eyes and the barest smile on your lips. you admired the attention to detail before flipping through to earlier pages.

a familiar, blaring title stuck out to you that dated back several weeks ago.

PICK UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.

there was more writing below it.

RANSOM: $25,000 REFUSAL → PHASE TWO

you flipped to the page after it to find another entry on a typical grocery list. you thumbed through more pages with a frustrated huff, finding nothing more on phase two or a ransom. just more sketches of wildlife, horses, and scribbled dull paragraphs on irrelevant business investments.

you mulled over the strange entry and its date from weeks prior. the night Ghost had taken you had been an arranged dinner out of the blue with only a few days of notice. but the date of this entry suggested that Ghost had been arranging the dinner for much longer.

more than that, Ghost had forced your daddy to make a decision at the dinner table—pay up or let Ghost steal his daughter as collateral.

Ghost didn’t necessarily know that your daddy would go with the latter. but the entry already had a resolute ransom for your safe return, and a phase two plan for when your daddy refused the ransom. which, to your knowledge, has not happened yet.

in spite of your confusion, there was a relief knowing that your suspicions from the conversation with Kate earlier had been confirmed. they wouldn’t be giving you back to your daddy.

right?

quickly, you pocketed it, hoping no one noticed its absence as you weaved out the basement and up the stairs. the door was still shut as you left it, and you blew out the match, slowly opening the door, your heart hammering. there was a silence on the upper floor, a warm draft passing through the narrow hallway, blinding light streaming in through the windows.

you noticed movement beneath the bathroom door, and let out a shaky breath. what felt like hours in the basement was only minutes.

but you knew you didn’t have much time left.

you made your way down the hallway and into the main store room. hooking Sugar’s saddle over your forearm, you made a quick haste to your horse who lazily drank at the water basin by the fence. patting her shoulder, you saddled her up in record time, hitching the cinch tightly with the grind of your teeth. untying the reins, you grabbed the horn, hoisting yourself up by the stirrup.

as you backed Sugar away from the leather crafts store, you heard Kate shout, your head whipping to see her already moving with a terrifying speed to her own horse, a burly and strong looking thoroughbred that snorted heavily.

with a slap of your reigns against Sugar’s shoulder, and your heel digging into her flank, she took off with a pitched whiny. you always thought she was a crazy wild thing, but you were more glad for it now than ever.

the rush of the wind at your face didn’t help the scramble through your mind for the mental image of the town. the bell tower pointed to the north—head on a swivel, you pressed a hand on your stetson to keep it from flying away. conveniently, the thing chimed, making it known it was two hours past noon to the town

you pulled sharp on Sugar’s reigns, spurring her on through the sparse crowd that scurried out of your way as you headed straight for the tower, and out the town. the cobblestone path underfoot quickly fell into a dusty dirt and you headed dead on into the forest.

weaving between the sparse trees, ducking beneath them, and wincing when some prickly pines brushed at the exposed skin on your cheeks, you steadied on for a gallop for as long as you could muster before you were sure Sugar needed a break.

when you slowed to a standstill, listening for the breaking of a horse through bushes and leaves, met only with chirping and the rush of the forest, you nudged Sugar to walk on.

she hung her head low, winded, and you rubbed at her neck in comfort.

Soap had said the town was five miles north. your eyes sweeping across the barren terrain, you hoped that you wouldn’t come across a different town five miles north of one-four-one’s hidden base.

after another thirty minutes of short gallops, followed by slower canters and trots, you eventually wandered far enough to spot a town on the distance of the horizon.

you startled when a big boom resounded across the land, shaking the earth beneath you. something—a building maybe—that spearheaded the sky fell with a crash. Sugar whinied wildly, stuttering backwards with jerky movements, but you urged her on ahead with clucks and a heeled boot at her flank.

you rode fast to the town, swerving around the masses of people running around it. a woman, tugging on her floral, broad brimmed hat, carried two children under her arms and ran into the woods with next to nothing. some men rode out on horses, charging ahead without a glance back.

as you neared the outer wall of the town, you could hear the ricocheting gunshots, loud shouting, screaming, crying, the beating of horse hooves.

you cursed yourself for not thinking to grab a firearm. trotting along the wall, between a stretch of two buildings a man rode past in a flying gallop, twisted back to shoot at something—someone riding after him. you recognized his raucous, wild laughter.

Soap.

you spurred Sugar forward, creeping through a break in the walls where more townspeople leaked out in a panic. on the main dirt pathway, a horse tied to its fencepost tossed its head wildly. a revolver flashed in its saddlebag.

riding around the building, narrowly avoiding running people underfoot, you flanked the horse and pulled the revolver from the horse, then leaned down to untie the poor, squirming thing so it wasn’t in the line of fire. you grit your teeth, trying to mentally will your own horse from wriggling so much. once its reins were pulled loose, the horse bucked and made a beeline for the woods.

“hey!” an older man, beard flecked with gray, ran at your horse with a wobbling, drunk ire. the owner, you presumed, by the gun he was loading in his hand.

pressing hard into Sugar’s flank, she sidestepped him and you took the butt of your newfound revolver, jamming it into his jaw hard. he slumped to the ground ungraciously.

turning your horse in a fast pan, you rode from street to street, revolver swinging as you searched for familiar faces. it was a dizzying panic. you didn’t know who was who, or what was what, in the mass alarm.

“that’s her!” whipping your head over your shoulder, a group of men sharply turned their horses in your direction. Turner’s men.

cursing, you spurred Sugar on in a wild gallop as they pursued you.

you checked the cylinder of it—it was only half full. three bullets. cursing yourself over and over again, you gave them a wild chase, weaving between buildings and people into a marketplace. a cart of vegetables went flying as Sugar lurched, last second, to leap over it.

the movement jerked you, and you slipped to the side, world turning over as you fell to the dirt and skidded a good ten feet, knocking back into another cart. your revolver lay discarded a short length away, stetson thrown somewhere else.

Sugar galloped off without a second to look back.

scrambling to pick up the revolver as the group of Turner’s men approached fast on horseback, you gasped when your ankle completely gave out on you, falling once more to the ground. the adrenaline pumping through your veins didn’t give you a second to hesitate, crawling forward to grab the gun.

you shot into the group blindly, satisfied when one man shrieked, holding his arm where crimson poured, and slipped off the side of his horse. picking yourself up, you limp as fast your could leg could let you move down a branching dirt path, thunderous hooves coming from behind you.

you checked over your shoulder. they were dangerously close now.

the closest man’s hand—a turquoise bracelet glinting on his wrist—came down and swooped for your hair, missing when you ducked. but he groped for a hold on your clothes, when suddenly, he crumpled into the dirt behind you. blood splattered across your back, and you bit back a scream when a strong arm hefted you up onto their moving horse.

“i got you, darlin’,” John gritted out, and you clambered into the front of his saddle, clutching desperately at the mane of his chestnut mare as he spurred his horse on faster through the streets with one arm around your waist.

a rider approached your right flank, trying to maneuver close enough to shoot John and not you, but John was too fast and blew his head clean off. you couldn’t suppress the scream that tore from your throat.

John barked over the roar of the wind. “i’m gonna need you to cover my blindspots, eh?”

you nodded rapidly, panning your revolver over your shoulder as another rider neared.

“deep breath,” he commanded, swerving his mare to get out of range, bullets whizzing past your head.

you took a deep breath, watching the rider edge closer to your left as he slapped the reins against his horse’s shoulder, willing it to go faster. his eyes blew wide when you caught a glimpse of his gaze under the brim of his stetson, mouth parting in shock when you fired.

the bullet hit his chest dead on, and you watched in horror as his eyes went cold and empty, whole body slack as his shoulder crumbled forward in the saddle of his horse, before slowly slipping off the side and falling to the ground with a crash. his horse thundered on without him, blood soaking the dirt in a crimson halo around the corpse.

“good bloody shot!” John roared in your ear, and you turned your attention front again. the roads were emptier now with the stragglers having evacuated the town.

John slowed as he neared the town’s center square, and one man on a grulla and the other on a bay circled the fountain square in a pan, shooting at the men who came barreling down each pathway. each one dropped like a fly.

you counted about a dozen bodies on the floor of the square.

the man on the grulla laughed maniacally, who you instantly recognized as Soap. the other rode with a tight rein with a mechanic movement.

John pulled his horse to a sliding halt, almost making you fly over the shoulder of his chestnut if it weren’t for the arm around your waist.

“picked up a straggler!” he shouted, turning into the fray as another trio of Turner’s men came down an alleyway on horseback.

Soap flanked your horse, shooting two of Turner’s men down as John finished off the other. flies were whirling around the dead bodies on the ground. you wanted to puke.

“first time gunslingin’?” Soap asked, a poisonous glint in his steel eyes.

you didn’t have time to respond because Gaz was shouting— “your left!”

John was whirled, but not in enough time before two bullets hit his chestnut with sickening thuds. she whinied, rearing, and for a second time, you were sliding to the dirt, ungracefully landing on top of John in a winded pile.

you scrambled off him and he crawled to his knees as he reloaded his revolver. your own was thrown somewhere away—obscured from view as a couple of Turner’s men slid off their horses, striding towards you at a dangerous pace.

head on a swivel, you scurried backwards, a low throb in your ankle blooming. the adrenaline was wearing off as a thickening dread seized you. Gaz and Soap were occupied, grappling a thickening trickle of Turner’s men into the town square.

a man with a gold tooth, you recognized as an affiliate of the man with the turquoise bracelet from a few minutes prior, swung his leg back and kicked John straight across his cheek.

two other men seized you by the front of your blouse to hoist you up, but you kicked and screamed, biting down hard on a hand that came to pull on your hair. he cursed, throwing you back down into the dirt, and you skidded till your back struck something hard.

eyes widening, you twised your arm behind you to feel a familiar, cool handle. this time, you let them yank you up, letting the revolver fall into the loose cuff of your loose sleeve and holding it there.

the man with the gold tooth gripped your cheeks tightly and spat at your feet. his breath was grimy, alcoholic, and made your skin crawl.

“you’ve been giving us a hell of a time, angel.” his other hand stroked down your chest.

you twisted to bite his fingers and he slapped you, the strong sting bringing tears to your eyes. the two men were holding your arms back in a bind, one pressing his front into your shoulder, mouth almost to your ear.

“he’ll kill you,” you seethed, dead serious. the man with the gold tooth laughed.

“so you really are the devil’s angel?” he leaned back, hands on his holster, a menacing look twisting his lips. “thought Mr. Tuner was bein’ dramatic. looks like Ghost’s got a pretty missy now.”

the man by your ear chuckled, hot breath down your neck and you reeled, fighting against him.

“i’ll kill you myself if i have to,” you hissed, both to the man in front of you and to the one digging his hand into your backside, squeezing.

the third man sounded considerably younger, more nervous. “whadda’ we do with her, Charles?”

your eyes went wide. you remembered the man at the cabin, the one who said—

let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.

that’s what he had said.

a coiling fear seized your chest, your breath trapped and lungs stuttering. you looked to John, flattened and forgotten by Charles’s feet. you internally begged him to get up. when he didn’t move, you looked up behind Charles to Gaz and Soap, bloodied and firing round after round.

when the men hefted you to your feet, half-dragging you down the dirt road, you struggled, tears welling in your eyes. “no—” Charles tried to cover your mouth but you bit his hand hard and he snarled.

“no!” you screamed, fighting even when they yanked you into an empty saloon and threw you against the bar top.

Charles held you down with an iron grip, and other man unbuckled himself with a malicious grin. you felt overcome with an intense fear, trying to squirm up the side of the bar counter, but Charles held you steady.

you should’ve never come here. this was your fault. this was your fault.

the third man was just a boy, shaking as he stared at you splayed across the counter.

help me, you mouthed, but he just turned away so his back was to you.

this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault.

soon, your struggling subsided, and your mind drifted to a far, far, far off place.

the cool gun tight in your grip kept you tethered to your sanity when Charles kissed your now exposed calf. you tightened around the handle, feeling its silver embroidery, the men too distracted to notice the click of the safety.

an eerie calm drifted up in you as they continued their movements, Charles’s hand slipping underneath your skirt and drawers. you noted the glass bottle half full of beer abandoned right above your head.

you waited for the second man to float upwards, till his mouth was on your neck, and you shoved your sleeve right under his chin.

his eyes widened in surprise at your compliant behavior, humming something like approval before you pulled the trigger and blew clean through his face. he fell to the floor with a thud, half of his face gone, and Charles shrieked, looking down at his body in horror. that’s when you snatched the glass bottle of beer over your head and lurched off the counter to strike him in the head—over and over and over again.

your body was a machine, moving mechanically. the bottle shattered and alcohol pooled into blood. you didn’t stop until you couldn’t see the gold shine in his gaping mouth, until two arms gripped at your wrists, pulling your back into a broad, strong chest.

the musk of bourbon, smoke, and earth cleared your mind.

“Simon?” you squeaked, returning to yourself.

the familiar cold of his mask against your neck brought you back down to the ground.

he slowly pried the shattered bottle from your hand, only the neck and jagged shoulder left behind. he folded your hands into his gloved ones, crossing over your chest in a tight bind, crushing you to him.

you should’ve felt like you were debilitated, or trapped even, but you never felt more safe in his arms as you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. he was the only thing holding together the pieces of you right now.

he shushed you, smoothing a big hand over your chest as he rocked your entwined bodies.

“it’s alright, lovely.”

“it’s my fault,” you chanted, voice raw with effort. “it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

Ghost didn’t respond to that, and instead began explaining with a calculated, low murmur into your ear. “i told the boys that there would be some Turner boys in this town. nothing they couldn’t handle. but there was an ambush.”

your breath hitched at that, cries dying in your throat.

“i was stationed with Alejandro and a lot of his boys in a town two miles west of this. we thought Turner would tear through there.” his thumb smoothed over your exposed neck. “he didn’t.”

it fell into pieces now. one-four-one stationed here, expecting less than a dozen of Turner’s men, when instead, they crawled through this town like ants. an ambush.

“Kate rode into town like a wild animal. i thought someone died.” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “i thought you died.”

you remembered the lashing tendrils of panic you felt in pressed against the wall in the back room, Ghost bleeding out a couple feet in front of you, the billiard parlor up in flames across the street.

had he felt the same?

“the boys,” you began instead, pushing the memory away, “how are they?”

he gripped your chin, turning your face to his and pressing his forehead to yours. the swirling darkness of his eyes was more comforting than anything you had ever known.

“they’ll live.”

you shivered at that and he soothed you with a shush, gently pulling you to your feet. wincing, he caught your wobbling body immediately.

“hurt?” he asked cooly, but you could hear a sharp edge in it.

you gave him a sheepish look. “my ankle.”

he just nodded, sweeping you into his arms like you were his bride. even if it was so improper, the exhaustion that furled around you like a fog had you curled into his chest as he stepped over pools of blood.

over his shoulder, your stomach curdled at the sight of Charles, his face a gaping wound of pink, mangled flesh. he was half-beaten into the ground, and his associate was sprawled near his shoulder. the boy was nowhere to be seen.

you closed your eyes against Ghost’s neck, pressing your nose to its steady pulse. you barely registered the light that enveloped you when he stepped outside, the light crunching of dusty dirt under his boots a mile away. there was murmuring, new and foreign voices coupled with old ones. no more gunshots. no more shouting.

you let the foggy undertow pull you somewhere softer and sweeter—right into the roughness of your mama’s hands brushing your hair by the fireplace, Daddy reading an old book aloud behind your shoulder.

it was the rhythmic clatter of steel tracks against steel rail that stirred you from a light slumber. your sweet dreams had stretched into grotesque, bloody depictions the further they ran on, replaying scenes over and over in your head.

Charles’s face split open on the floor. red running from Daddy’s temple. a knife through your mama’s heart. Turner’s wrinkly hand on your thigh as he shoots three bullets through Ghost’s heart—his eyes wide as blood poured down his maskless face. but beneath the blood, he was faceless, skin smoothed over and pale, till his face morphed into Charles's deformed flesh and it replayed again.

a soft stroking along your thigh brought you further from the murky haze, and you pushed up against a solid form. you opened your eyes to find Ghost’s, blinking down at you.

there was an endless, crushing relief to see his mask still firmly clasped to his face.

you tried to push away any lingering curious voices in your head, but they pushed through the weak pockets of your mental blockade, whispering out, what’s under it?

you prayed that you wouldn’t find a faceless form beneath the red gleam of it.

his arm was wrapped around your shoulders and back, fingers digging into your waist and thigh. you were practically half in his lap, cheek pressed to his chest, his big trench coat slung over your curled up body.

for the first time, you realized, you awoke to Ghost’s presence by your side. you would’ve happily nuzzled back into his warmth and fallen back into the nightmares that clutched at you, if you didn’t realize that you had an audience.

eyes snapping open, and sitting up straighter, you blearily tried to shake the sleep away as you met the stares of several foreign faces sitting in chairs opposing you. save for the weary one-four-one—John dozing lightly, a new splint in bandage over his nose, Soap’s face a remote grim shade, Gaz’s and Kate’s attention trained on you.

you noticed Soap’s arm in a sling with a bitterness.

shifting, you looked out the train compartment window moving through the arid, weedy forest, sun dipping far into the horizon in a crimson-purple hue.

“good morning,” Ghost greeted, pressing the nose of his mask to your hair. muffling a squeak, you tried to shift away because it was improper, but his strength held you close, hot gaze burning into your cheek.

you cleared your throat, looking to the man nearest to you. his hair was slicked back in dark curls, a toothpick between his teeth. he gave you a wild grin.

“we finally meet, chica,” he said in a beautifully lilted accent. he stood to offer his hand politely, and you would’ve stood to curtsy if Ghost’s hold on you wasn't so… possessive.

instead you put your hand in his and he kissed the back of it with a sly look.

Ghost tutted, muttering an impatient, “Alejandro.”

your brows rose when Alejandro released your hand with a laugh. he gestured to a clean-shaven, handsome man beside him.

“this is my most trusted right hand—Rodolfo.”

he smiled at you politely with a slight nod but made no move to shake your hand.

you nodded back. “pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Alejandro gestured to the other men littered around the room, leaning back in their plush seats. “and these are my men. los vaqueros.”

your breath hitched, looking around the room in a slight awe. these men were legends you heard of in childhood—iron fists of justice in the south that grappled with corrupt conglomerates and drug-dealing cartels. they also dabbled in their own bouts of illegal trouble. their hard-lined faces stared back at you.

instead you croaked, “where are we? and where are we going?”

you jumped a little when Ghost thumbed at your cheek, almost forgetting he was there. “we’re mid-way through southern california, bound for san francisco.”

your eyes ran over the los vaqueros, donned with bandoliers and sombreros, then one-four-one, looking much smaller and more meager. you couldn’t help but give them a weary smile, a warmth spreading in you when Soap perked up a smile of his own.

“why?”

Kate leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. you were eternally grateful for the comfort in at least one other female presence.

“we’re going to war.”

you stiffened. “what?”

Soap quickly followed. “against the Turner boys.” his eyes darkened. “they’re wreckin’ all our towns. they won’t stop and we don’t have enough boys to get ‘em.”

Ghost’s grip on your hip tightened. Gaz pushed on. “we’re going straight to the source.”

in san francisco?

you remembered the map in the basement, the large red circle over midwest california that included the bustling hub that was san francisco, with a scribbled T in the middle. a feeling of dread gripped your stomach. this was going to develop into a gang war—or something like it at least.

“does it really have to come to that?”

you grimaced when a terse silence followed.

“this is more than about money, lovely,” Ghost said with a thickness to his accent. “this is about revenge.”

you summed that much up from the dangerous flicker in Soap’s eyes, but you worried more about where you fit into the equation. you thought back to Ghost’s journal, a sudden apprehension for the arm coiled around you tightly.

did phase two include you? were you of use once your daddy refused Ghost’s proposed ransom? and if you weren’t?

Ghost’s journal burned a hole through the pocket of your split skirt—maybe it was selfish, maybe it was childish, but a flurrying panic rose in you at the thought of going back home. you just couldn’t.

you bit back your tongue as Kate and a half-awake John moved to discuss with Alejandro in quiet murmurs that you couldn’t hear. they circled around a table, Soap and Gaz leaning into the conversation behind them.

you felt Ghost’s hand twitch on your hip as he shifted, gaze still trained on you.

sighing, you inclined your head in their direction. “go.”

he pressed his masked lips to your cheek in, what you deciphered as, a silent thank you.

you just swatted at him with a blush as he helped you to your feet, drawing his trench coat tighter around your shoulders. Rodolfo lended you a gracious arm to lean on as Ghost neared the table, your ankle an irritable throb in the back of your mind. the crowd split, his broad form pushing through, and merged again, Ghost’s stetson half-obscured from view.

you wanted to join their circle, or lean in at least, and absorb their low murmurs, but instead Rodolfo helped you limp out of the train compartment into a plush hall.

you must’ve been in a first class sleeping car because you had not seen something so lush—springy green carpet beneath your boots and a ruby red wallpaper that crawled with patterns of roses and prickly vines. the lights overhead were gilded in gold.

Rodolfo must’ve caught your gaze because he gave you a half-smile, clarifying, “Kate pulled some strings.”

you just nodded weakly. the thought of one-four-one’s influence spreading to big railway conglomerates was staggering, but at this point, didn’t sweep you into shock.

he led you to a door with a carved brass knob and chiseled key hole, fumbling with a circlet of keys in his hand. you looked down the hall and startled when, at the end of the hallway compartment, you spotted a man staring straight back at you. he wore a fashionable black jacket with silver buttons and embellishments, a cap on his head that read pullman porter on a brass plating.

his eyes flickered from you to the door Rodolfo opened with a soft click, before he drew the hallway compartment door shut with a slam. you watched him stride away fast through the window, other first class passengers lounging lazily in the opposite compartment.

“senorita?”

Rodolfo held the door open for you and you thanked him quickly, pulling yourself together and stepping into the luscious, but cramped, bedroom. politely, he closed the door, and you were left in a relief crushing silence.

the bed bowed beneath your weight as you sunk into it, kicking off your boots and laying out Ghost’s trench coat, falling back on it. you itched to loosen the strings of your corset but it was buried beneath too many layers of clothes for you to care about that now.

instead, you emptied the pockets of your fraying split skirt. you lined up Ghost’s journal, the matches, bunch of rope, and extra ammo on the bed. at the sight of it, you couldn’t help but lament the continuous absence of a revolver in your inventory.

you wondered if it was one-four-one’s intention to keep it that way as you picked through the room. there was an oil lamp on the nightstand—a carved cherry wood piece you took a moment to admire before moving to the equally exquisite armoire. opening it with a gasp, a bright bunch of fabric spilling into your face and almost knocking you back.

the thing was stuffed full of dresses and fancy garments—dresses, skirts, blouses in silk and chiffon with lacey embellishments. for a moment, you panicked. was this your designated room?

from outside the door, you heard someone taking slow steps down the hall. the knob was hallway turned when you swept up the stolen items you had laid out on the bed and shoved them back into your pockets.

Ghost slinked into the room without so much as a word and a tired look. your heart was still beating out of your chest.

“ever heard of knocking?” you frowned deeply. “what if i was indecent?”

he huffed an amused sound at that, eyes twinkling as he sat on the bed. “i’ve seen you indecent before.”

your stomach curled at the memory. suddenly, being in such close proximity alone with Ghost felt like a sinful thing, and a heat snaked under your skin, traveling up to your cheeks till it burned in your ears.

he cocked his head at you but not unkindly. “we need to talk, lovely.”

you nodded. “yes.” then, curiosity overtook you. “but what’s this?” you gestured to the open doors of the armoire behind you.

he cleared his throat and avoided your eyes, shifting on the bed. “they’re for you.”

your brows shot up. that’s what this was?

you looked from Ghost twitching on the bed to the stuffed armoire. you could imagine him picking out dresses and blouses and skirts at a tailor shop with Kate by his shoulder as you slept away the afternoon’s traumatizing events, then boarding the luxurious train with you curled into his arms.

a romantic gesture?

before you let your thoughts run away from you, sitting beside him on the bed, you had wanted to thank him in that polite manner your mama has always taught you, but you find yourself wanting to tease the apprehensive tenseness in his shoulders instead.

“it’s going to take a lot more than money to charm me, Simon,” you called softly, leaning into his side.

even if he had plenty of it, you thought dreamily, eyes running over the expensive fabric of his black suit.

he just scoffed, turning his head completely from you, but didn’t lean away. you inched behind him to smooth your hands over his shoulders which seemed to impossibly tighten even more.

“so tense,” you said in his ear, massaging your thumbs into the fleshy parts of his back. head tipping back slightly, his slow, deflating exhale didn’t go unnoticed.

“we need to talk,” he repeated, voice gruff. you leaned over his shoulder to peer at his face, but his eyes had already slid shut beneath his mask.

humming, you rubbed circles into the back of his neck, then inching back down between his shoulder blades and along his spine. one hand on his back, you slid the other to the front, watching the way his shoulders laxed with wonder.

when your fingers fiddled with the button of his vest, his gloved hand caught your wrist, heavy eyes looking over his shoulder at you with a warning that dripped with something darker. you squirmed under his gaze, skin feeling impossibly hot, a familiar clench in your stomach.

“you minx,” he said, voice a low rumble that coaxed a whine from your throat and only darkened the look in Ghost’s eyes.

he began to push you over to the bed with a hand on your chest, towering over you with a glint in his eye, but you yelped, squirming away from his hold. the movement tipped you over the edge of the bed and you crashed into the nightstand, almost knocking over the oil lamp. your ankle screamed in protest, but the images flashing through your head cut right through the pain.

the man unbuckling his belt. Charles’s hand holding you down in an iron vice, rough lips against your skin. his hand digging into your naked flesh beneath your undergarments. both of them looming over you with black eyes, and the glint of gold—

“lovely?” Ghost steadied you with an arm around your waist—but not in a way that constricted you. his eyes searched your own.

“what is it?” he demanded, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

“nothing.” you laxed, curling over him and instead pressed him down so his back hit the bed with a thud. “it’s nothing.”

you clambered over him clumsily, allowing his hands to guide you to a comfortable position, legs hooked around his waist and hands braced against his chest. it was solid and warm beneath you, like a rock that swelled slowly. you bit down on your lower lip, trying to the best of your ability to ignore the sharp stabbing of your ankle.

“you sure?” from his warm grip on your hips, and the narrow of his eyes, you knew he didn’t believe you for a second. you didn’t think he was stupid enough to not know why.

but you nodded with a stuttering breath anyway. “just let me…” you searched for the words, finding your head back in the place where you laid with him only a night ago. “take care of you.”

you unbuttoned his vest as he worked on your blouse, pulling it off with an ease that sent chills down your spine. you squeaked with surprise when he pulled you flush to his chest, sitting up to throw his vest to the floor and strip off his dress shirt. untangling yourself from him, you stood to undo your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles.

you looked up to Ghost who watched you from the bed, eyes a hungry, smoky glare. you studied the muscled gleam of his torso, breath hitching at the sight of his stitches. the wound was a raw pink and dangerously loose.

huffing an impatient noise, you yelped when he pulled you back onto his lap, pressing his mask into your neck and hair. it screamed such a Simon gesture that it had you melting into him, clutching at the fabric on the back of his head.

this was Simon. any dread furling at the edges of your mind dissipated. but still, you couldn’t hold yourself back from worrying—

“your stitches?” you gasped, feeling him pull up the fabric of his mask and press his hot lips to your neck, tongue sliding out.

a breathy noise left your lips and you squirmed, bracing your hands against the brawn of his shoulders to push him back down to the bed again. he gave way easily, to your surprise.

in the low light of the day, his lips looked pretty and full as he licked them. “they’re fine.”

you ran your hands over his chest, gasping when he pressed his hips up gently into you. there was a hardness in his pants that felt delicious against that painful ache of your core.

you muffled a sigh, allowing his hands to drag you over that hardness once more, then you gasped again. your eyes snapped up to his and he smirked, teeth glinting in the light.

“feel good?”

your head tipped back, hands scrambling for purchase. you gripped tightly at his forearms.

“i’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you whined out as he rocked you back and forth.

“you are,” he grunted through gritted teeth, head lolling back against the pillows, his muscled neck bobbing with a heavy swallow. your eyes followed the movement with a hunger, feeling a strange desire to lick over it.

even through your drawers, the friction felt like heaven, and as his movements grew faster, the tightness of your corset felt constricting around the heavy pants of your breast.

noticing this, Ghost moved to quickly unstring it, your hips endlessly canting against him. you felt a wonderful burn in your core, traveling up to your chest, throat, and tingling behind your eyes that were screwed shut.

you gasped when the corset fell away, a coolness enveloping your bare skin, jolting when you felt something hot and wet at your nipples. looking down, you moaned at the sight of his tongue swirling around the hardened buds of your breast, suckling one into his mouth. it left your chest tingling, the feeling raw and sensitive and foreign, but you only wanted more.

“that’s it. moan for me, princess,” he purred, one hand trailing down your bare spine and stopping at your backside, massaging it down into his hardness, spurring your hips forward.

you barely registered his words, biting down hard on your lip to keep the growing noises at bay as Ghost led you closer and closer to an inevitable precipice. he drew away his tongue from your chest, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. you whimpered in its absence.

“louder, pretty thing.” he tugged back a bit on your hair, so your head tilted back and your lax jaw fell open, releasing a slew of pretty sighs that had him humming approvingly.

“good girl.”

his husky words sent you hurtling over the edge, and your body shook with pleasured delight, vibrating across your skin in seizing spams. you would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for the strong arms that circled your middle.

“Simon…” you whined, clutching weakly at his arms as he scattered kisses all across your jaw, neck, chest, breasts till the murky colors exploding in your vision faded.

he lowered you back down to the bed, and you collapsed beside him, panting. he stroked at your hair, turning onto his side with a warm fullness in his gaze. your lips stretched into a weak smile and you craned up to kiss his neck softly, licking over that swollen appendage in its center like you had wanted to earlier.

you relished in the way his breath hitched. eyeing over his body, there was still a bulge in his dress pants that stirred your curiosity.

sending him a silent question with your gaze, his knuckles dragged over your exposed arm. he cocked his head. “i’m alright, lovely.”

“but…” your face heated up. “i want to see.”

he shifted on the bed, black eyes darting over your face. for the first time since you’d known him, Ghost looked… nervous.

“why do you want to see?”

“because…” the words died in your throat. his lips stretched into a wry grin.

“you don’t need to. i like you like this,” he sighed, twirling your loose hair between his fingers.

your brow furrowed. “like what?��

his grin grew fuller. “innocent.”

you mustered your most bitter look and threw it at him, mood plummeting when he let out a throaty laugh.

“you really want to see that bad?” his eyes went dark again, and you nodded eagerly.

with a long look, a hand twitching at his side, he just sighed and willed you closer with a beckoning hand. you sat up with a sharp clarity to your mind, inching forward towards his pants. he remained leaned back against the pillows, one arm stretched over his body and cradling the back of his head as he unbuckled his pants with one hand.

he pulled himself out of his undergarments, the flesh heavy, swollen, firm, and drooling a thick fluid at the flushed tip. your whole body heated up with something—shame, embarrassment, longing, or something even deeper.

“oh,” you squeaked, avoiding his gaze entirely, though you knew it was burning into your cheek. he grabbed your chin, turning your head to meet it.

“we can stop here, but i don’t know if i can hold back if you just—” he swallowed hard, “watch me like that.”

“like what?” you asked, lips parting and eyes growing doe-like.

he cursed, and you watched in amazement when his hand flexed around his length, abdominal muscles flexing in time with it, tip oozing out more fluid. weirdly, saliva pooled in your mouth, and you resisted the urge to swallow it back.

you wanted to put your tongue on it.

“like that,” he rasped, throat strained with effort.

you gazed at him wordlessly, hands feeling restless. you wanted to touch him.

he cocked his head. “what’s wrong?”

when you said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line, starting to tuck himself back into his pants, and you felt a growing panic in you. “i told you i’m alright pretty girl—”

“no!” you lurched forward to snatch his wrist away, his length straining against his stomach. his eyes snapped up in surprise and you felt your entire face go red with embarrassment. “i mean,” you inhaled deep, “no. i… i want to…”

you swallowed hard. Ghost lips twitched, a very amused expression stretching his face.

“can i…?”

his hand rubbed over your thigh, squeezing. “can you what, pretty thing?”

you whimpered, clutching at his hand. “want to put my mouth on it.”

the growl from the back of his throat should’ve scared you but it only spurred you forward, settling closer to the side of him, your thigh firmly pressed against his as you sat your backside over your ankles. one experienced a stabbing pain, but the sight in front of you cut right through the nagging sensation.

Ghost’s gaze was intense, heavier than you ever felt before, even with his body laxed back into the pillows, one arm hooked behind his head.

“go ahead, lovely.”

tentatively, you reached out, brushing your fingertips over the very tip of it where all the fluids were spilling out in rolls down his length. the hiss he let out made your core shiver, vibrating back to life in slow, hot pulses.

“what does it feel like?” you whispered, and his eyes closed.

“good.”

“how good?” you pressed, dragging your fingertips down the underside and back up again. his breath hitched when you brushed over a sensitive spot nestled beneath the tip. massaging at it with your thumb experimentally, his eyes snapped open again, snatching up your wrist.

your heart skipped a beat, a new worry clouding your mind. had you done something wrong?

on the verge of apology, you stopped short when he pressed a kiss to your inner wrist.

“you have to tell me if you want to keep going or not.” his eyes flashed. “if we do, i won’t want to stop, and i don’t want to scare you.”

even beneath the layers of his mask, the way his jaw was set in a grim clench, you could see the sincerity in his face.

“i want to make you feel good,” you said with finality, and his lips twitched up.

“i know you do.” he rubbed your cheek with affection. “such a polite girl.”

“tell me what to do,” you almost begged, squirming in his hold, and he guided your hand back down to his swollen length, gasping when he wrapped your entire hand around it.

it was wet, sticky, warm, throbbing.

“feels good when you squeeze tighter,” he said softly, eyes going hazy when you immediately obeyed. slowly, he dragged your hand up and down its length, going completely lax against the bed.

you watched in amazement, clenching your thighs together as your entire hand went up and down it in a rhythmic grind, the swells of his chest rising faster with every ministration. his eyes fluttered close periodically, sometimes tightening his hold on your hand, then going loose, altering speeds between painstaking slowness and a quick jerking movement.

“doin’ good, princess,” he panted, and you flushed at the praise because you really weren’t doing anything.

scanning over his body, you remembered the way his breath stopped short when your tongue was on his skin.

you wanted to hear those sounds again.

leaning down, you shyly mouthed over the skin at his neck, sucking there, and you were immediately spurred on with the low groan that left his lips.

your lips traveled down past his collarbones, to the plush muscle of his chest, tongue circling his nipples now, and he jolted in beneath you, hand stuttering almost to a stop.

“christ,” he gritted out as you sucked there, thighs squirming together for an ounce of relief.

you found it when Ghost snaked a hand beneath your drawers, seeking out your puffy clit and eagerly discovering it, rubbing firm circles against you.

your lips fell away from his chest, and you almost crumpled onto him, grinding down into his hand with a greediness that bloomed through your whole body. he hummed approvingly in your ear, kissing the shell of it gently, when you jerked your hand over his length on your own—matching the movements of his fingers on your clit.

“fuck, just like that,” he rasped, sounding a bit desperate now.

his hand fell away from yours around his length, gripping at your hip instead to steady you. when he sped up, so did your hand, sparks flying beneath your eyelids as you keened loud. his lips were on your neck, and your whole body went numb, but your gaze was intent on his own length that throbbed deliciously strong in your hand.

it twitched, then shuddered, and you felt Ghost muffle a groan against your neck as his hips stuttered up, watching in amazement as fluids spurted out from the tip in rhythmic pulses, rolling down over your hand in a milky substance.

you both shuddered through mutual pleasure, and once the last of the wracking waves struck you, you crashed forward into his chest, a sticky and sweaty mess.

you caught his eye, tired and half-lidded, a bead of sweat going down his neck as his chest rose rapidly, and you couldn’t help but laugh—feeling giddy from the open display of his own pleasure that Ghost had just revealed to you.

his lax face shifted into one of amusement, craning down to kiss your nose. that’s when you remembered—

“i didn’t put my mouth on it,” you realized with a cracking disappointment.

looking down to his length, now softer and still covered in the fluids, you leaned down to press your tongue to it, but were pulled back suddenly by a soft hiss.

“don’t,” Ghost rasped, and you gave him a wide-eyed apologetic look.

he just shook his head. “it’s different than this—” he smoothed a hand over your clothed cunt, and you gasped with embarrassment at the blunt movement, “—s’more sensitive after i orgasm.”

you tilted your head. “orgasm?”

he brushed the hair from your sweaty forehead. “your climax,” he elaborated in a seductively smooth voice and you blushed, pushing his hand away as he smirked. you knew what he meant.

your gaze traveled back to the pool of fluid on his stomach, a curiosity brewing in you. “is that what this is?”

he followed your gaze. “mhmm. it’s what this is, too.”

he snaked his hand back into your undergarments, and you jolted with a gasp, squirming when he pressed two fingers against your entrance. when he pulled them back to show you, there was a sticky wetness on them—similar to the one on his pelvis.

“oh,” you said, flushed with embarrassment at such blunt displays of education.

you mentally chided your mama for teaching you absolutely nothing about this. though, you assumed she would’ve told you before your marriage about… lovemaking.

before a crashing guilt could consume you, the view of Ghost wrapping his tongue around his fingers that were sticky with your orgasm startled you back to reality.

“Ghost!” you exclaimed, pulling his fingers out of his mouth.

his brow furrowed as he huffed with frustration. “what?”

“that’s improper!” you slapped at his chest. “very improper! and…” your face screwed up. “unsanitary.”

that face-consuming smirk of his stretched his pretty lips. “don’t forget i was drinking it straight from the source last night.”

with your hand to your mouth, you gasped, pushing yourself completely off the bed as he shook with quiet laughter, delirious with it, even.

“i’m done with you,” you said with a roll of your eyes as he beseeched you to come back, but you refused to comply, clasping your corset back around you.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched him mop up the wetness on his body with his balled up dress shirt before he padded over, swiping your hair over your shoulder.

“let me help.”

you felt him lace the thing back up, and tug it close loosely. you sent him a look over your shoulder, instructing him to tighten it more, but he just grumbled, barely tugging it tight and you ended up shooing him away to do it yourself.

he gave you a grumpy, reproachful look and you had to bite back a grin at his behavior—that intimidating stoicism returned as promised as a rising ocean tide.

from the armoire, you picked out a loose nightgown, bodice embroidered with small bows and lace, sleeves pulling into a wide bell shape at your elbow. Ghost was still half-naked, leaning back on your bed with a sleepy gaze. he gave you a highly approving hum when you pulled it on before excusing yourself to wash up in the lavatory.

drawing Ghost’s trench coat back around your shoulders, and stepping into the hall, you muffled a shout when the same pullman porter was stationed at the end of the hallway, eyes boring into you. in the darkness of the night, shadows were cast strangely across his face, and his eyes looked like they were a pure black.

resisting the urge to step back into your room, where a very dangerous and strong outlaw lay, you just gave the porter a polite nod to move to a lavatory in the opposite direction. the porter stood stock still in the dark, not even moving to acknowledge you.

bitten with fear, you sighed in relief when you pushed into the private lavatory, locking the door behind you. inspecting your appearance in the mirror, you cringed at the disheveledness of it. there was a dark, purpling circle of exhaustion under your eyes and a swollen pink hue to your face—not to mention the frizzy circlets of hair defying gravity on your crown.

you took your own washcloth and dipped it in the basin, turning the faucet, praying for hot water. when none came after you stripped yourself of your nightgown, you grimaced as you scrubbed the cold washcloth over yourself. you wet your hair and brushed it back, splashing your face with the icy water, toweling off, then redressing yourself in the nightgown.

a hand on the lavatory knob, you worried about the porter at the end of the hallway. what if he had moved? what if, when you opened the door, you’d open it to his face—the all-encompassing black of his eyes?

suddenly, events just hours prior came crashing down on you. men looming over you. the sickening thud of the bullet hitting that man on his horse, face going black, before falling to the ground with a crunch. the clink of a belt.

gunshots were in your ears, an intense ringing after each click, trigger, pull, boom and smoke.

“no,” your hands shook as you slid down the lavatory wall, covering your ears.

the banging became louder. with each boom another body dropped dead, blood unfurling around it like a bad omen, its tendrils snaking. snaking towards you.

“no, no.” you couldn’t stop shaking.

this was your fault.

you had killed three men today. one, on the horse, second, bullet through the face, third, beat him to death in the ground. beat him to death.

this was your fault. this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault—

“HEY!” you jolted back to reality, breath in a dizzying flurry. really dizzying flurry. when you stood, you felt nauseous, almost keeling over and throwing up. you pressed your forehead to the cool of the wall, swallowing back the bile hard.

there was a banging knock on the door.

“how much fockin’ longer are ye going to take’n there?” you tried to work out your voice but all that came out was a scraping rasp.

“sweet mother of mary and jesus, what does a man need to do to piss ‘round here—”

you swung the door open suddenly and Soap jumped back with a yelp, pressed flat against the opposite of the narrow hallway. the soft, yellow lighting poured out into the dark hallway and bruises you didn’t notice before littered Soap’s cheeks, his right eye a pocket of swollen, purple flesh.

his anger dissipated in a second at the sight of you, giving you a nervous, wry smile.

“sorry, lassie, didn’t know it was you—” he paused suddenly, face contorting. “are ye cryin’, lassie?”

you touched your fingers to your numb face, pulling back to find a wetness on your fingertips. you just stared at him as he fumbled awkwardly, mouth opening and closing.

you spoke for him. “i killed three men.”

he didn’t even react, expression deflating as he nodded. “it happens, lass.”

he reached out a hand tentatively, just barely brushing his good hand over your shoulder, the other still hanging limp by his chest in a white sling.

how can murder be normal?

“no, i killed them. on purpose.” something in you broke. “i wanted them to die.”

he just shook his head again, gripping your shoulder tightly now. “they would’ve done worst te you if you didn’t, bonnie.”

you chewed that, finding it indigestible no matter how you looked at it.

Soap continued quickly, “i enlisted when i was sixteen. saw things in a war i shouldn't've. luckily one-four-one and Laswell had my back…”

he smiled fondly before shrugging. “war happens. death happens, lassie, whether you wish it on someone or not. those men had it comin’ for ‘em.”

nodding slowly, you barely mustered a tight-lipped smile when he patted your shoulder brazenly, beaming with a grin. behind him, a grumpy looking blonde materialized in the hallway, her hair tousled and still in full riding attire, grip tight at her holster. Soap’s grip dropped immediately.

“what’s goin’ on here?” Kate demanded, looking from you to Soap.

you jolted, the roughness of her expression pulling you back to reality. a creeping shame rose in you—crying in front of a man you barely knew, confessing your sins to him in your lacey nightgown in the middle of the dark, narrow hallway. Kate’s gaze hardened, and you balked, struggling to find an explanation when Soap interjected.

“i was just waitin’ to use the loo!” he tossed you a smile, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that told you to play along. “funny meetin’ you here in the hallway, princess!”

like ice water dumped over your head, you were strung back into your body.

you rolled your eyes. “don’t call me that.”

“right,” Soap sang, “only Ghost can say it. apologies, lass.”

you stepped out of the lavatory with Ghost’s coat around you and Soap slid in after you, shutting the door. looking into Kate’s furrowed face, you could see the red-rimmed bloodshot of her eyes and the bags beneath them. she looked exhausted.

beyond her, down the hall in the compartment where you ventured from earlier, John, Alejandro, and Rodolfo were still engrossed in conversation.

Kate followed your gaze with a sigh. “don’t even ask, missy,” she warned with a warm hand at your back and you suppressed a smile.

you were grateful as she led you back down the narrow hallway to your room, the porter still in the same spot from earlier, eyes dead on you. eyes looking dead as well.

you tried your best to ignore him but his head jerked, cracking it, rolling back his shoulders from the stiff position. rushing a bit faster, you could feel Kate’s hand tighten against your spine as you fumbled with the room key.

you jolted when she called down the hall.

“what the hell’re you lookin’ at?” she griped at the porter, who finally turned his head to the window beside him.

her eyes narrowed, and she grumbled low into your ear, “don’t go venturing off in this train alone at night, as much as i know you love to explore.”

there was a dripping sarcasm in her voice that you chose to ignore as you swung the door open, bidding her a soft goodnight as she gave you a tight-lipped smile before it dropped from her face into a scowl. but the full look in her eyes made you feel as though you may have grown closer than you thought over just the past three days.

shutting the door behind you, you leaned against it, sighing out, before turning to find Ghost in a sprawled out position like before. your spent clothes for the day were folded in the corner on a plush chair as well as his own. you couldn’t help but smile at that seemingly persistent habit of neatness he had as you laid down his coat over the back of the chair.

you neared him but he didn’t turn to look at you, just leaned his head against the wall.

you crawled onto the bed and brushed your knuckles over the red mask. you were disappointed to see the black fabric beneath it pulled down over his jaw again.

“have a good wash?”

he blinked owlishly out the window on the opposing wall, desert passing by serenely, washed in a cool blue tone by the sweep of the moonlight. the rattling of the train clinked through the room.

you opened your mouth before swallowing down hard.

no one has to know about your episode.

Soap had made sure of that in front of Kate, and you felt endlessly indebted to him. how would Ghost react if he knew you were having… mental struggles? you could only pray under your breath that it wouldn’t persist, but you doubted god was listening to your meek voice after the sins you’ve committed today.

shivering, you just nodded with a smile. “refreshing.”

“good.” his face swung to you, a hardness to his eyes. your brow furrowed but you buried it with another smile. “we need to talk.”

blinking, you slinked away from him and sat on the far edge of the bed, which wasn’t very far at all in the cramped room, his outstretched foot resting against your hip. you leaned back against the window, the moonlight casting his mask in a blue gleam.

“we do,” you agreed, though about what—you didn’t know where to begin.

what exactly would happen once you reached san francisco? would you be included in their business, or would they shut you out like before? a stranger and a hostage?

you one-overed Ghost’s relaxed form, to the muscles of his torso, the veins spidering up his arms, and the distant look in his eyes.

what was going on between you and Ghost?

what exactly was phase two?

you thought back to this afternoon in the basement and what you had found—the intercepted letter from your daddy and Ghost’s journal. your eyes darted to the pile of clothes in the room.

“looking for this?”

you jolted when he tossed something onto the open space of the bed beside you, stomach dropping at the words scrawled over it.

GHOST.

a snaking dread sized you, any lingering warm feelings of your shared night sliding off your body like icy water.

your eyes snapped up to his—cold and dark.

like the porter’s, a traitorous voice in you called out, but you immediately willed it away, because this was Simon.

“you can’t blame me for snooping.” your jaw clenched when he didn’t respond. “you took me and confined me to the shop. no one told me what would happen to me. i needed to know if…”

you swallowed around your next words. “...if you were going to ransom me back to my daddy.”

Ghost made no move, didn’t even blink, hand twitching on his bare chest.

“you want the truth?” holding your breath, you gave him a curt nod.

“i was going to,” he chewed out, and you blinked. “last night i was still deciding.”

last night. when you were curled up in his arms and he had taken your first bout of innocence from you. a spark of something dark lit within you. as of recent, it seems he’s taken a lot from you in general.

your gun, your innocence, your parents. your home.

“did you go see my daddy that day?”

that day when you said you were searching for Sugar, you wanted to challenge, was it all a lie?

you thought back to the intercepted letter—your daddy’s anger seething through the note, and his promise to wrung one-four-one of everything until he got you back. maybe the proper term was rescue.

Ghost’s jaw clenched. “yes.”

you sucked in a breath, a spiraling panic coming back to you like the one in the lavatory before. you willed it away best you could, pressing cool knuckles to your temple as you closed your eyes. images flashed—your daddy dead, blood everywhere, all over his papers, letters, clothes, a bullet in his temple and Ghost with a revolver to his head. was he dead?

did Ghost kill your daddy?

“is he alive?”

you waited for the answer with bated breath.

“‘course. even if he tried to kill me.”

a whoosh of air left you, and you leaned your head back against the cool window, taking in Ghost. his head was tilted, a curious glint in them that you ignored.

his voice was cold. “anymore questions?”

you gave him a hard stare. “what changed your mind?”

“about?”

you scoffed. “not selling me away after…” last night. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

his foot pressed into your hip but you ignored it. he sighed out.

“i went to your father to offer a ransom.” your brow raised. “$25,000.”

this sounded familiar.

“but he refused.”

you flinched at that, somewhere between a crushing weight of disappointment and embarrassment falling on you. you wiped away a brewing wetness in your eyes. Ghost couldn’t return you if your daddy didn’t want you in the first place.

“so?”

his foot dug deeper into your side.

“he told me something else.”

you finally met Ghost’s gaze, his head tipped forward and brows furrowed. you could tell from the way his eyes pinched with a haunted glare.

after a long silence ensued, you poked at his foot. “what was it?”

the void bluntness of his voice told you it wasn’t anything good.

“he refused the ransom because of his pride, but also because he didn’t want to ransom you when…” Ghost sucked in a breath, “when you already belonged to someone else.”

your mind reeled at that.

“what?”

“he thought it wasn’t fair he had to pay. he was already working with a businessman to make you his mistress.”

your stomach curdled, heart beating out your throat. “no, that’s…” you choked down some tears, “that’s not true.”

the end of your words turned up in a weak tremble that you desperately wanted to hide but Ghost pinned you down with his eyes.

“he was going to make you Turner’s mistress. that was part of their deal.”

your blood chilled at that, body going impossibly numb. what did this mean for you now? you scrambled to find purchase in your mind, in anything that would slow the spinning of the room. what did this mean for you now?

were you still of use to one-four-one? would they abandon you in san francisco to fight a war, leaving you to the streets? and if they did, would your daddy accept you back in his home, or turn you right over to Turner as his personal whore?

you shook, vision clouded over.

even if you didn’t choose your daddy, you still wish he chose you over everything.

you were his only daughter after all.

“that doesn’t make sense,” you said thickly, “why would he do that?”

Ghost was as still as a rock, his only sign of life was the hand that came down to play with the hem of your nightgown.

“bigger investment and more money, ” he said, voice eerily empty, and an iciness passed through you.

just another one of Daddy’s business transactions.

you remember what Ghost called out at the dinner table that night.

you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?

your eyes flickered to Ghost again. had he known all along? or had he just taken a great guess from doing so many years of business with your daddy—who you really didn’t seem to know at all?

a weak, strangled noise came from the back of your throat.

“but in that letter,” you groped, clawing for anything, “he said he would do anything to get me back. he said that.”

your voice rose and Ghost’s eyes slid away from you to the window behind you.

you felt like a whining, whimpering child. a mile long chasm was being torn straight through the room, and when you looked to the other side, Ghost was the older, war-torn man he always was and you were just… you.

hopeful, naive, innocent.

you.

you balled up into your chest and let the tears stream from your eyes in the most silent sobs you could muster, only the gentle clinking of glass on metal in the room, train chugging on relentlessly, dragging you in tow.

had you really thought, only five days ago, that you could become a gunslinger alongside Ghost? a cowgirl with a great shot and a tough spirit?

you felt so far from all of it that you dug your nails into the soreness of your ankle, relishing the way the sharp waves of pain brought you back down to earth.

there was a sigh in your ear, and two strong arms that wrapped you up, but you twisted in them immediately, your nails digging into the flesh of Ghost’s arms as you shoved him away.

“don’t you dare,” you hissed, pressing yourself as far as you could from him in the diminishing room. your eyes flickered to the ceiling above his head. it really looked like the room was getting smaller—the ceiling shrinking by the second.

he only watched you with an eerie calm, a nauseous feeling climbing in you.

“you did this,” you spat through tears. “a couple days ago i was with my mama and daddy and everything was fine until you showed up.”

your breath shook. “you devil.”

whether Ghost was hurt by it, you couldn’t tell, because he only blinked harshly, but you regretted the words anyways. because you knew that Ghost was telling the truth. even if you did stay with your mama and daddy, and Ghost had never taken you, you would’ve been swept away to Turner’s big estate in san francisco anyway.

but the bile poured from you like a sweltering, infected wound. “i would’ve been married,” you cried out, tears dripping from your trembling chin onto the breast of your nightgown. of Ghost’s nightgown.

liar, a voice in you hissed, but you pushed it to the furthest corner of your mind.

“you stole me from my parents, took my honor, and you’re a liar!”

Ghost cocked his head at you, eyes glazed over and mask glinting. you hated that stupid mask. you just wanted to rip it off his face.

you jolted when he spoke, grumbling out, “i didn’t mean to.”

if there was a revolver slung in your holster, you would’ve shot him dead three times in the heart by now, just like your mama said.

Mama, a little girl in you cried, i’m sorry. i should’ve listened to you that first night in the cabin when he fell asleep.

he continued with gritted teeth. “i wanted revenge against your father for betraying me and i wanted revenge on Turner.” he wouldn’t look at you now. “i wanted to steal something of theirs and make it mine.”

of all the things he could’ve said, nothing in the world prepared you then. you lurched for him, vision red and wrapped your hands around his neck, wanting to see a flicker of fear in his eyes—or something other than the cold, dead wall you were talking to.

but he just flipped you easily in a calculated movement, weight keeping you pinned as you mindlessly struggled, arms in a bind above your head.

he talked over your cries and shouts now, voice in your ear— “i knew your daddy had a daughter. but i didn’t know she was so young and full of spirit and…” your struggling subsided. the look in his eyes seemed something like defeat. “...lovely.”

you spat right onto his mask but he didn’t even flinch.

“liar,” you hissed, working up into a frenzy again, squirming against his bone-crushing hold. “liar, liar, liar, liar—”

“i thought his daughter would be some rich, prissy girl who didn’t want anything to do with outlaws. then she told me she hated her happy, small town life, and her two parents that loved her.”

“liar, liar, liar, liar—”

“she told me that she could be a gunslinger if she wanted to be. she rode like one, too.”

you tried to scream and shout over his words and block it out of your brain, but his low murmur against your ear cut right through it all.

“when i realized what’d i’d done, that i’d stolen a girl who was a thief, it was too late. you saved my life when i got shot. i thought you would’ve ran away and left me for dead.”

his voice dropped even lower, the forehead of his cool mask pressing against your jaw. “i wanted you to leave me for dead.”

at that, your struggling subsided, confusion welling up in you like a stormy cloud.

“i wanted you to leave me for dead.”

he pulled back to press your arms to your chest and loomed over you.

“i wanted to be dead for what i was doing.”

you kicked out under his legs, knee connecting with something soft, and he dropped his hips with a hiss to pin you down.

“what were you doing?”

his voice was deceptively soft. “i was using you for revenge.”

more tears ran from the sides of your face like fleeing raindrops.

then a fast anger cooked in you, a slower simmer turning to a hot boil.

“i hate you,” you seethed, staring right into the wall of his mask. there wasn’t a human being beneath there.

just a calculated animal.

“i hate you,” you said again, voice breaking.

“good,” he nodded, though his tone was broken. “honest to god, i didn’t know your father was going to give you to Turner.”

you hissed, “how can you be honest to god?”

he ignored you. “i would’ve returned you to your family if they paid the ransom. even if they didn’t, i would’ve given you back eventually. but they didn’t want you and you didn’t want to go. it was always about Turner—we didn’t care about the money. your father happened to betray us and we found the perfect bloody outlet to Turner.”

you dug the side of your face into the side of the bed, refusing to look at him as he held you there. a pool of your tears formed beneath the swollen fleshiness of your cheek.

“i needed Turner to take the first step in this war. and he did. i got lucky when i happened to steal his future mistress.” his eyes flashed. “Turner hates it when his things are taken.”

“since, you’ve gotten what you want,” you cried, voice raw “what do you still need me for?”

he closed his eyes. “i don’t know.”

“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”

his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”

you fell limp at that, feeling every ounce of energy drain from you—like the devil was sucking away your life force.

you wanted that poisonous, gurgling voice inside you to breathe out another liar, to call Ghost’s bluff for what it was, but it fell silent the moment you needed it most.

closing your eyes, Ghost’s body draped over your own, warm and solid and flushed together. he pressed his mask into your hair.

bourbon, cigarettes, and the musk of wood and dirt and sweet spruce.

you couldn’t even fight it. you don’t even think you wanted to—because even if no one wanted you in the world, not even your daddy, Ghost did want you for something. one thing.

revenge.

“get out,” you whispered, and he didn’t move, a big, swelling rock above you.

“get out!” you shouted, straight into his ear, but he didn’t even flinch. after another long pause he slid off you with a gentleness, a fleeting caress of his hand against your swollen ankle before he slinked away. there was a soft click of the door closing, Ghost’s boots thumping against the floor in the hallway.

you stayed in that position for a long time, pressed to the mattress right where he had left you.

it was like, if you moved, the invisible imprint of him against your skin would disappear like his physical form, lost into the night.

maybe this is what you needed, you decided. maybe, if you could convince one-four-one of your usefulness, that you were important to them, even beyond Ghost’s revenge ploys, you would become a permanent member and carve out a space in their lives. but not Ghost’s. never Ghost’s.

a withering, squirming dread in your stomach made it known that it would be impossible. at this point, you were too tired to even try and convince them to let you stay.

so you turned over and forced yourself into a relentless, exhausting sleep.

ok that was kinda crazy. but i promise the angst will not last forever. chapter 3 coming soon.........

i hope you guys enjoyed!! <;33

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @warenai @saturnknows @tomiesdiet @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @havoc973 @mr-sol

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affableramen · 2 months ago

Text

Arranged marriage!Pantalone x reader Ch. 1

no smut wedding night angst+comfort (in some ways)

there’s one suggestive joke pantalone makes in the end but the fic itself remains completely sfw pantalone is not 375 y.o. here

note: one person said that she gets strong virgin vibes from Pantalone, so… you get what you asked for xD

Genshin impact masterlist

divider by @anitalenia

Ch. 1

“What will you give me as a collateral?”

The clinking sound of mugs filled the room. There was intense scent of black tea in his private office, though, the lingering smell of cigarettes was much stronger and obvious than the hot drink.

Two men were sharing somewhat a tea ceremony, one that was taller and rather emaciated had his clothes indicate he’s not at all poor. He held his cup of tea in a relaxed but dry manner, his expression didn't really express anything but contempt and his overall look screamed big ego. The other man, shorter and less sophisticatedly dressed who was sitting in front of him, held his cup with a trembling hand. As soon as the first man noticed the hint of anxiety in his motions, he placed his other hand on top to provide support.

“My lord—”, his voice was no less trembling than his hands.

“My lord!” The richer man parodied him. “Seriously, get a grip of yourself”, he took a sip of his tea, sighed, pleased with the taste, and put the mug back on the small plate. There was no behaviour more rude and cold than his current. As if the person were not sensible at all, he could only sadistically smile, addicted to the sense of power in his grasp. “I shall ask once again—what will you provide me with as a collateral?”

The man abandoned his tea and leaned forward hastily to grasp the richer man’s blazer in his calloused old hands.

“I used to be wealthy—just like you sir—please have mercy on me! We are very much alike! Don’t swallow me and my family—oh, I beg of you!”

It took a few seconds for the magnate to process the unwanted physical contact that he used to receive from his customers or debtors frequently, especially when they were borderline begging him. “Get your hands off me!”

Magnate’s aura was extremely condescending, if not disgusting, but the debtor knew he had to be obedient and less repulsive in order to get what he wanted.

“You’re not easy to please, Mr. Pantalone”, he stepped back and ruffled his hair, clueless what he should do.

“That I am.”

The audacity he had should have been quite natural for the man of rich fortune however from the customer’s perspective it looked like the problem was not entirely in his wealth but rather something inside this man, something he was made of that made you feel shivers run down your spine. He had such aura that could be described not only frightening but exhausting too. The poor, defensless man had become so desperate that he started pitying himself, although he knew that the banker evidently felt the same for him. It was horrible! He never felt so looked down on in his life ever. But that man did not leave him a chance, he was relentless and cruel. Oh, how cruel he was - to drive a poor father to such despicable crimes!

“I might have something—someone—as a collateral.”

Pantalone’s lips from had shifted from the sullen thin line into an eerie smirk. The poor man had already made his choice, alas, he couldn't avoid the contract now! But was it right? Was it all right to give his eldest daughter… to this man?

“This man! What is he like—I hope he doesn't beat ladies?”

You roll your eyes at the back of your head and let out a groan.

“I don’t know, little one, guess we’ll have to learn that won’t we?” You touch the cold marble of your bed table, the two of you sitting on your big, king-sized bed in the room for guests. The room looks not less than one assorted for a princess. You continue with a softer tone, sharing your sister’s worries.

“I only met him once. I couldn't even see his face properly - he gave me a short, rather dissatisfied stare and ran out of the room, the heels of his court shoes were louder than the words he uttered.”

“He doesn't sound like he’s interested at all in his marriage, Y/N…”

“Well, he better not be—as I’m never going to fall for him! I hate rich people!”

“But we are rich people, Y/N. Are we not?”

You comb your sister’s hair, putting some of the flowers, dead flowers, into the braids of her hair.

“We were. Now we’re just like everyone else—average if not less—and we’re going to be looked down upon. You have to remember that.”

There is a sigh that escapes from your lips as you run your hands through the ‘gifts to the bride’: various jewellery items and other marvellous accessories which have not yet grabbed your attention for some reason, as the bigger underlying problem is occupying your mind.

“This man won't go easy on us, we’re just ants for him.”

The dress sits tightly but rather conveniently on you. At least they got something right - your body measurements. Your check yourself, the feeling of fabrics convinces you of their high quality, though it does not make you feel any less anxious. Your sister shouldn't know of your worries and how your heart shrinks at the thought your wedding in a half an hour. And the thought of the wedding night, which is more dreadful than anything else. But you can't let her know it, it’s still a child, she must not lose hope, otherwise there will be two depressed daughters in the family which is not exactly your dream plan.

“His mansion is rather big, isn't it?” you ask unexpectedly, staring at the window. So many people have gathered already, as if the whole city wants to watch your wedding, or, rather, your embarrassment. You think back: you could escape this outcome and run from your house as soon as you heard what your father did, but you did not. Perhaps you didn't want? You feel confused with yourself. It must be the natural desire to help your family that has made you stay and witness yourself being scooped by the unexpected wedding circumstances.

“Big…and cold”, she adds.

“Well that’s because you’re not wearing a scarf, my darling. We’re in Snezhnaya, it never has warmth in it. Will you wear a scarf when we’re outside? Promise me.”

The stubborn child wastes a few moments thinking before she rolls her eyes (just like you did before) and utters not eagerly:

“I promise, I will put on a scarf.”

You boop her nose gently and turn around to see your cousin enter the room. He is not the most sociable person, in fact he’s rather shy, that’s why upon seeing you in your wedding dress he only whispers:

“Nice.”

“Why, thank you. I didn't expect you to visit me—I mean, not that I am unhappy.”

“I just thought…” he stands there not making an attempt to step closer. He is always like this - and he never gives out hugs. “That you might need some support.”

“Thank you, really, I appreciate it, especially from you who is not exactly extraverted.”

Your cousin clenches and unclenches his hand a couple of times apart from biting his lips with obvious nervousness. It seems he’s not sure at all what to say as he has never before express his affection, hardly to his mother, by the way.

“I just wanted you to know, if that man—I mean, your future husband—hurts you in some way—you can rely on me. I..I will protect you.”

His voice appears to be slightly trembling but he finishes his sentence, filled with sincerity, successfully. You and your sister are both stunned for a couple of seconds before you finally manage to thank him once again.

“Well, if he does, I will not hesitate to grab a frying pan and smack him properly.”

Your little sister encourages you with a burst of giggle. The cousin gives out a soft smile and shares a few moments united with family. Not long after he nods to you briefly and leaves you to prepare for a few last minutes.

“Y/N, are we going to live together? All in this big mansion?”

“I don’t know, honey. That is if he decides so.”

The wedding ceremony starts and the day remains unapologetically cold. You mentally thank the tailors for providing you with a fur outerwear on top of your wedding dress, otherwise you would simply turn into an icicle yourself. When you start walking towards the altar you pray to the archons that you won’t twist your feet. You are not wearing the highest of heels, but if there was one person who’d argue that it was not a hassle to walk over the ice in the heeled shoes… well, they’d be a fool.

You pictured him in your head many times, especially given the slight knowledge of his features that you memorised from your first meeting. But they are not enough, of course. What could you possibly comprehend about a man you saw only poor thirty seconds of your life? What was his core, his dreams? Does he beat women? - as your sister inquired. There was nothing. And your parents did not seem to be eager sharing a bunch of words on him. There was no praise, but no criticism whatsoever. What was he? What does he hide from the world? And why, by the name of Tsaritsa did he evn agree to this arranged marriage at all? Is he even worthy of—

He.

Is extremely handsome and radiates pure self righteous aura. Wavy blue-black locks neatly combed and styled into a middle parting, a bow on his little ponytail swung languidly on his shoulder. One streak of hair grey, either for style purposes or age - you couldn't know. He wears eyeglasses, the occassional sun light gleams on the glass, hiding his eyes.

You step closer and closer to the altar before the both of you are just as supposed to be. Your eyes meet and you ought to judge him for his acceptance of such hideous collateral, but his whole appearance prevents you from being aggressive, at least right now.

“We’ve never been acquainted properly”, you say, but the words appear slightly softer than expected, almost as if you are being polite with him. No, that sucks, that’s not what you wanted.

“It was for the good of our further relationship. I would dislike unnecessary drama”, he responds, his lips periodically moving from your face to your wedding dress before he turns to the crows and listens to the priest’s speech.

His answer confuses you. “Some things are better left unsaid”, you think. Given the closeness you two share right now, you get a proper understanding of his appearance - the man looks not younger than five-and-thirty, yet there is hardly a single wrinkle on his face. There are, however, dark circles under his eyes, signalling that his sleeping schedule might not be the best. It’s also not difficult to guess that he is an office worker and, to your opinion, a very polished one. His looks are refined, distinguished and so far he seems very well-mannered, knowing the process of wedding all too well. It’s a good sign, after all, it feels much easier to go through this process with someone experienced and not shaking unlike yourself.

“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?" The priest asks.

You get the familiar feeling of your heart shrinking and you cannot stop yourself from being overwhelmed with thoughts rushing into your head, begging you to say ‘no’, but you do not really have a choice anymore. You could have escaped, earlier, but now? No, you should proceed to this path. There is nothing you won’t handle, even if it is an arranged marriage to the richest man in the world.

“Okay—I mean—yes, of course. I do. I am.”

“And so do I”, the rich man responds.

His cologne is subtle and not irritating which cannot help but revoke some of your stress. But once you get a grasp of yourself, pulling out of your thoughts, you realise that the lot is staring at you.

The man beside you clears his throat.

“Put the ring onto my finger”, he says gently, and he does not need to repeat that as you take the ring in your sweaty hands, feeling so lightheaded that you fear you might collapse just here and now. Your groom senses your anxiety, it is evident in his eyes, but for some reason he only stares at you, not rushing you into the action, instead carefully waiting for you to do as supposed.

You take his hand in yours and start slowly pushing the ring. Finally you manage, but upon letting his hand loose you notice how, despite of him escaping the age signs on his face, he has incredibly dry hands. You take a notice of it even firmer when he puts the ring on your finger after. Though, you are not given much time to comtemplate your observation when the most important question is raised:

“Exchange the kiss that will confirm your bond.”

You feel like fainting, but before you do, he raises your chin and delivers a kiss to your lips. The touch so brief, it was but a peck — nothing more, nothing less. And so, the bond becomes official.

You’re led by his staff to wait in the bedroom. Strangely, there is no maids here, but a butler - a considerable old, but wise-looking man from whom you get no ill vibes at all. He politely asks you to wait in your husband’s bedroom, apologising from on behalf of his master that he has some finishing business to attend. You walk to the bed and caress the silky sheets with your hand. And there you are, in his bedroom, waiting for your wedding night, but Pantalone is still not here. You try to reassure yourself, a weak attempt to negotiate it all inside you, to convince you that nothing bad will happen. It’s just marital activities - all newlyweds have to perform it. But the fact that you’re just given to him as a part of the contract stings somewhere deep in your soul.

It’s not really a long wait when the man finally enters the room, the doors swung wide open and he shuts them gently. He turns his head to look at you, you exchange glances before he removes his thin, frail-looking hands from the door and walks up to the bed very, very slowly. You immediately rise and rush to him, though your feet feel like they’re glued to the carpets. You stop in front of him, the white wine stain still on his shirt. Luckily it is not as visible as if it would be, were it for the red wine, you think.

“I’m once again sorry. My hand slipped, I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of everyone. Let me—” you do what an obedient wife should do, gripping the edges of his shirt and attempting to relieve him of it. But once your finger touches the first button, he catches your hand and slowly but assertively pushes it back.

“I’d rather you not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not touch me.”

“Oh—I though we—”

“You don't say.”

Your hand is frozen in place and you wait until Pantalone says something. What is the meaning of this? Is this some sort of his mind game? This damn businessman, for archon’s sake, he’s perfectly shady and possibly one hell of a manipulator.

“They are not going to live here”, he suddenly says, breaking the tense silence.

“What?”

“The question you asked before.”

“Ah, right…” It’s the question you discussed with your little sister. How did he evem learn about it?

Your expression falters. You would rather prefer you all together in one place, but perhaps… perhaps it was for the best. Pantalone turns away, he starts rummaging in his wardrobe in search of something but still conscious of your questions.

“But they will be welcomed guests, right?”

He stops in his tracks, pulling something from the wardrobe and closing it tightly.

“Any time.”

Pantalone places a wrapped gift onto the bed, seems to be neatly wrapped clothes. Right, your wedding night…

“So we won’t…” you lower your voice, and then your eyebrows raise in confusion but it was for a good reason. What a relief.

“Spend the night? No, there won’t be anything like that. It’s just that we’re going to share this bed for one night until your family is perfectly convinced that we consummated.”

“But—what are we going to do then?”

“Sleep. Change (into your silk night robe I gave you) and don't ask me questions”, he walks to the further part of the room, his hand clenching around the handle. “I’ll be changing in the bathroom. Let me know when you’re finished dressing and I may come out.” He disappears in the bathroom with the soft click.

Really?!

You look at the wrapped gift: it’s not a lace lingerie, not even a seductive set of nightwear - it’s a dark burgundy night robe, perfectly covered and silky. You start easing yourself of the wedding dress - thank Archons yours was not of complicated designs, it was rather simply-looking, but obviously made of luxurious fabric, tailored privately for your body only.

Strange, but he has no maids in the mansion. Otherwise you’d be already served and helped.

After some suffering you manage to escape the wedding dress and put it neatly onto the chair. The gems sewn onto the dress were still shimmering with cold, moonlight-like twinkles.

“May I come out?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

The man slowly opens the door, he himself wearing a tightly wrapped black night robe and a pair of trousers, his clothes showing not at inch of his skin except for the small area down his neck. But even witnessing him covered so properly, you cannot deny that his physique is rather bony.

“You have been sweating”, he walks up to the windowsill where a tall glass bottle is stood, and fills a cup with it.

“Sorry?” He offers you the cup before you can get even more confused.

“At the altar. I suspect you might be dehydrated.”

“Oh, I was nervous.”

“It’s a natural response to stress. Drink this.” You waver, and seeing your reluctant self Pantalone sighs with clear dissatisfaction. “It’s just water, not poison.”

You nod to him and gulp it all in one go. Yes, you were clearly dehydrated…

“Are you afraid?”

“Not of you, but of the consequence”, trying to make the conversation up you switch to another topic artlessly. “Why don’t you have female staff?”

Pantalone seems a bit sensitive to your question at first but he covers it pretty well, putting on a solemn smile.

“I have a cook who is a woman.”

“Thank God”, you say and immediately mentally scold yourself. Perhaps it’s the alcohol talking in you, loosing up you tongue and… senses. “I didn’t mean—”

“You seem relieved, or reassured, so I don't mind.”

The empty glass is soon rejected and you face the bed, contemplating. He did say he wants your family to believe the two of you had performed marital duties, which gives you an itchy feeling.

“There were so many people during our ceremony. I thought it was supposed to be humble.”

“They were fangirls. I wish it were humble, though, I am lacking the blessing of such desirable peacefulness.”

“Do women… often act like this in front of you?”

He responds subtly, but his answer is enough to make you an understanding.

“I wouldn't say it’s not uncommon.”

“I don't know if I should feel sorry or happy for you.”

“Oh yes, women throwing themselves at me, it must be such a terrible life”, the corner of his lip twitches in a strange way.

At last the both of you sit on the bed. Pantalone takes his place on the edge of the bed, almost at its tail, as if making a futile attempt to not be a source of your distress.

“When you said ‘until your family is perfectly convinced we consummated’, could you enlighten me what you meant by that phrase?”

His response to you is brief and dry.

“Your mother was most worried about me producing children with you. Her, and your father have two children, so she expressed to me her earnest concern for you to have heir with me. She is a smart woman and knowing that I do not come from an elite background myself she had not a single qualm to ask of me such audacious thing.”

“And… what did you say?”

Isn’t it laughable? Her daughter has just been given to an unknown man (well, actually a very famous man of high standing, but you do not know anything about him!) and instead of worrying wildly over your wellbeing in relationship with this man, she pushes him into consummation? At that moment you did not know if you harbour more disrespect and disappointment to your dad or mom.

“I said that she does not have a single reason to worry.”

“But how will anyone know that me and you slept together if technically we did not? Did not you say you wish me not to touch you?”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Your mother shall be convinced for now, and then… Well, I cannot speak for the future”, Pantalone leans closer, but not in a predatory way, in fact you feel like he eyes everything around you, except for you.

“Grab the headboard.”

“What?”

“Grip. The. Headboard.”

You submit to his harsh demand and do as he says. What the hell is he trying to make you do?

“Now shake it like you mean it.”

You shake it, and the wood makes a… suggestive sound.

Pantalone nods, his voice gets quieter, much quieter.

“Good. That will do it. Now, let me try something…”

The man grips the tail of the bed and with a sudden tug the bed moves in place, making the same creaking noise that you just pulled out from it. Your eyes widen. Oh my god, so that’s what he’s trying to do. He wants your parents, who are staying the night, to be aware of—

“Your mother expects me to properly court you, and the marital activities are of course a part of it. Now, please shake it a few times more.”

You do that, but mentally you lack the focus on the wood shaking in your arms. You think about something else. The mysteries take a toll on you.

“You’re not going to actually make children with me, I presume?”

Pantalone stops his act, his hand clenching the wooden tails. There is something about his look that speaks of innocence, though it’s not exactly on the nose.

“No… I’m not interested”, he stops your hand, with unknown tenderness in his touch. “Oh dear, don’t shake it so violently - they might think I’m being rough with you.”

“Right, sorry.” You shake the headboard, lightweightly. Wait, do people even talk during such activities? You doubt it. But Pantalone speaks quietly, almost whispering to you things, so you pray the two of you won’t be heard blabbering.

“I think they’ve heard enough. We should stop.”

“Hm. That should suffice.”

The performance turns out to be full of fun and upon finishing it you realise how your worries have gone away. You almost feel at ease, and to think that the two of you did not partake in consummation but instead played a little game is almost endearing… almost…

“Fine”, you pull yourself away from dreaming. Your voice a bit firmer than usual, and Pantalone’s attention is grabbed instantly. “Honestly, I’m tired. And I assume, we can't leave our bedroom tonight? Even for a cup of tea?”

“Can’t risk being spotted. Do you have any problem?”

“No… May I use the toilet?”

“To your left.”

“Thank you.”

Just when you leave the bed you feel a soft yawn and request following:

“But please, make it quick. I want to sleep too.”

You return soon, just as he kindly asked you to, and find yourself reluctant to join him in the bed. You don't even know him well, how could you just slip under the same blanket with him?

Pantalone senses your worries almost immediately, and you become even more flustered upon realisation how evident your fear is. But keeping in mind that the man has not touched you except for the ceremony, you let out a long pent up breath and pull the cover to tuck yourself in. The bed part was quite fun from your perspective.

“I’m a very light sleeper. Please, try to not kick me with those long legs.”

“I will behave.”

Pantalone sighs too, he pulls a cover a bit to his side and faces you with his back. Rude or just cautious?

“You don’t seem to be a very sociable person.”

“I find social interaction rather tedious.”

That said a person who was so effortlessly easy-going in public! Or maybe it was simply just a façade that you failed to wrap your head around.

“I thought differently. The way you carried yourself in public… I thought you were wholeheartedly enjoying those interactions.”

“They are but a part of my job. I am a businessman, I have to be able to, basically, talk.”

“I wouldn't dare to doubt you in this aspect.”

“Thank you.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Make it quick.”

“If you do not use me for… heir…. then what do you need me for, I wonder?”

After this tingling question is raised, Pantalone takes a long moment to think. You even suspect he considers you too audacious and unworthy to ask that, but instead he just responds in his usual dry manner:

“I might have my reasons, but that’s enough information for you today. I don't wish to overwhelm you. Sleep tight.”

“Good night, Pantalone.”

“Good night.”

You now face your back to him. Well, all’s settled, whatever tomorrow brings you got to survive it. The worst has happened, there are only a few shallow uncertainties left.

#pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #pantalone x female reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #tsundere pantalone #reader x character #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #arranged marriage au #arranged marriage

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itstheghostofmypast · 8 months ago

Text

13.01

Corporate worker Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: Even Mr.Choi can be jealous. He is but a man after all, one who loves her just a bit more than his brew.

Genre: Fluff (slight angst)

Word Count: 1.5K

Est. Read Time: 7 min

Warnings: coffee pickup lines (they're cringe as hell)

Rating: PG-13

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

@san-network

Banner: @cafekitsune

Master List- Corporate Brew

Bidding another customer goodbye, she smiled before placing the money in the cash register and closing the drawer with a sigh.

"Stop that."

"Hmm?" Turning to face the rude man, she raised a brow, "Stop what?" She asked, walking over to the glass cupboard, deciding to rearrange the pastries, knowing Yunho, her new assistant manager, already had a lot on his plate, ever since summer break began. The crowd was good, good traffic with youngsters and college students, it was nice that her overall presence in the market was reputable-

"Stop sighing like a love sick teen and call him."

With a huff she turned around to face him, controlling the urge to toss the brownie in at the man's face, he had no right to be taking sides, especially when he's known her longer then that; rude, arrogant, obnoxious, stupid, good-looking, sweet, caring- no! Moron! HE WAS A MORON!

"You don't know anything." Slamming the cupboard door a bit too hard, she jerked, gripping onto the vibrating glass, praying to God the compressed glassed doesn't shatter because of her temper tantrum.

"No, and I don't want to, but the two of you usually argue about nonsense things all the time, but it doesn't go on for more than an hour- it's been 2 days." Jongho sighed, taking off his apron as he noticed Yunho wiping a table, "Maybe just text him?"

She shook her head in return, though her heart ached at the realisation of Jongho being right, her stupid fiancé would never go to bed upset, he'd make sure she didn't either- but it had been two days. They'd be laying in bed, facing the opposite sides, she'd barely even feel him slip away in the morning, only to jerk awake when she'd feel the faint brush of his lips against her forehead, but by the time she'd open her eyes he'd be gone.

"Why? He can text me if he wants to-"

The chime of the doorbell caused the two to stop their argument. Yunho picked up the tray and turned to the door with a heart stopping smile, only for his smile to falter, the atmosphere turning thicker as the seconds ticked by, he turned to look at Wooyoung, only to find him frozen with a broom in hand, staring at the entrance.

Jongho eyed her, watching her stiffen as the footsteps of the suited man echoed in the almost empty cafe. Deciding to go to the cash counter, so he'd deal with him, in case the two were still too upset to think clearly - honestly, he wasn't even sure what the fight was about.

Adjusting his tie, the feline eyed man walked over to the counter, he could feel various many pairs of eyes on him, some of his friends, some strangers who were gawking at him, but he was too busy looking at the person who was staring elsewhere, trying her best to not even look in his general direction- that stung so bad, he felt his heart clench at the disappointed look on her face.

"Hey," Jongho began, "You want the usua-"

"We're out of everything." She cut him off, her tone sharp, as his eyes flickered from his friend's face to his fiance's face, a snarky reply at the tip of his tongue, ready to pounce at her, though the sombre look that she wore, still not looking at him, stopped him. She really was still mad at him, so upset that she was not even looking at him.

"Okay..." he whispered, turning to leave until he paused, and turned back around, slapping his hand on the counter causing everyone to flinch- Wooyoung almost dropping a mug- she looked up at him, frowning at him, sure he was the "man" of the relationship but he had no right to be rude- hell- this was her cafe, and no matter how much she loved him, she's not going to let him do and say whatever he wants, especially if that meant being an obnoxious prick, forcing her-

"If you were ground coffee, you'd be an Espresso, 'cause you're so fine!"

What?

She blinked at the man, taking in his graceful sharp features, his broad, well-defined shoulders, his stupid Windsor knotted tie-

"No amount of coffee keeps me awake like you!"

"What!?"

Jongho had never felt the urge to smack himself, he turned to look at his bestfriend who looked back at him as bewildered and confused as he did, before turning back to the corporate worker who was practically shivering, twitching as he continued.

"Bean thinking about you latte!"

"I think I like you a latte."

"I love the way you espresso yourself!"

"If you were a coffee bean, I'd grind-" his voice cracked, head dipping down a momenent as he let out a shaky breath, both his palms flat on the counter as he hunched forward, clenching his eyes as he took a deep breath before and looking up at her with a flushed face and teary eyes, "I'd grind for you every-"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP HIM!" Wooyoung screeched, causing everyone to sprint into action, Yunho slapped his hand on Wooyoung's mouth to shut him up, Jongho turning to the woman who was the reason why the poor grown man in a suit was in tears, she ran out from behind the counter, grabbing San's hand in the process as she dragged him out, him stumbling after her, trying to ignore the curious gazes of the few customers that were present.

Letting go of his hand she whipped in his direction, ready to ask him what was that but was cut off when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him, squeezing her as he began to mumble something, which she couldn't make out, considering was she was being smothered in his embrace and while she loves her big boy and his warm embraces- she'd like to live to see tomorrow.

Gently tapping his arm she sighed in relief when he loosed his grip, tilting her head back to look up at him, not surprised when she met his gaze, with him already looking down at her, his signature pout making an appearance.

"I'm sorry...for...feeling jealous" he mumbled, scanning her face for any form of anger or disappointment.

"Jealous- what?" She asked, slowly pulling back, blinking up at him as she tried to think of why and who he could be jealous of, her hands instinctively gripping onto the lapels of his blazer, thumbs stroking the cotton, "I- no, aren't you mad at me because Byeol likes me more?"

His eyebrows rose in surprise, eyes widening for a split second before he sighed, shaking his head, though this time he was too afraid (?) to look at her in the eye, mumbling a, "No...I was...jealous that you like Byeol more than you like me."

"Choi San."

"Yes?"

"Byeol's... a cat."

"I know, okay!"

"You idiot!" Stomping her foot she gently shoved him away causing him to whine and latch onto her again, knowing very well what was about to come next when she slapped his hand away, causing him to whimper and pull his hand back.

With a huff she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at the man who looked like a guilty kitten, twiddling his thumbs, rocking back and forth at the ball of his feet, a complete contrast to the usual Mr.Choi. She was more confused if she should be mad at him for being jealous of his own cat, whom he had brought from Namhae so they could become 'friends' or find it cute how he- wait.

"The coffee pick up lines?"

"Yeosang said that'll melt your heart."

"Sannie, they almost gave me a stroke." She sighed, shaking her head in defeat. Sometimes, she really didn't know how she ended up with someone as dumb as her. Moving closer, she cupped his face, "I like Byeol, and I'm glad she liked me because she's an important part of your life."

His heart swooned at the sentiment, nuzzling into her palm before gently gripping her wrist, turning his head to press a small kiss against her palm, then pulling it away from his face, only to lace their fingers together as he smiled down at her like an idiot.

"You're so annoying Mr.Choi."

"What can I say? You're the caffeine to my addi-"

"I'll ban you from the cafe." She cut him off before dragging him back inside, to feed his lover, giving him the proper lunch that he rightfully deserved - that and she wanted to make up for the past two days they had spent giving each other the silent treatment.

He let out a sheepish chuckle, following his little lover back inside. The way his lips stretched into a smile hurt his cheek a bit, but what could he do? He had finally got her to pay attention to him, as much as he loved his feline little princess, he needed his queen to pay attention to him, which was why he had asked his sister to pick up Byeol from their place tonight, so he could help her come with a brew just for- okay San, no more coffee innuendos. Shaking his head in disbelief he watched her come back with a tray of his usual, sitting beside him as she pulled her seat closer to him, smiling up at him as he smiled down at her, ready to take a few shots of her espresso- perhaps for the rest of his life.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky

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aureatchi · 1 year ago

Text

⛇₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ SANTA TELL ME IF HE REALLY CARES ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo, fyodor, nikolai, sigma

the pm is hosting a christmas party for yokohama! everyone is encouraged to bring a gift for the people they love…so what do the bsd men get you?

info. fem!reader. sm fluff. profanities from chuuya ofc LOL, them trying to outdo each other for you. pm hq has a rooftop floor here. implied reader is in the ada. wc. 3.1k

You walked inside the lavish lobby of the port mafia headquarters to be greeted by DAZAI, who immediately embraced you in his arms.

“Bella! You made it!” he exclaimed, pulling you in. You could feel the heat of his body warming you up, relieving you of the chilly weather outside.

“Of course, Osamu,” you giggled. “Wouldn’t want to miss something super special as this.”

Still trapping you in his hug, he led you down the hallway, one hand moving to playfully pat your head. Security guards parted to let the two of you through, entering the room where everyone was.

“So many people!” you exclaimed when you entered the headquarters’ formal dining hall decorated in Christmas festivities. Everyone was either chatting about or gathering by a table to get sweet desserts or hot chocolate.

“Want some hot chocolate to warm up, angel?” Dazai asked, looking towards the line.

“No thanks,” you replied. “You’ve warmed my heart up already.”

He gave you a smug smile in response, but you didn’t miss the light pink that also flushed his cheeks.

“Come over here.”

You followed Dazai as he made his way to a different table filled with wrapped presents and bags alike.

Dazai took one of them—the gift bag in your favorite color and handed it to you.

“For the gift exchange,” he smiled. “Merry Christmas, bella. I hope you like it.”

Your eyes lit up in joy, grateful and excited to see what he had gotten you. “Thank you!”

The first thing you pulled out of the bag was a custom heart pendant in your preferred metal—Dazai knew whether you liked silver or gold better. When you unclasped the locket, you saw matching pictures of you and Dazai inside, both bundled up in the snow. It was a good memory to look back at.

“This is so cute, Osamu.” You closed the locket and let the brunette place the jewelry around your neck.

“It looks even better on you.”

The second thing inside the bag was a box. Pulling it out, you saw that it was a Lego flower set.

“As much as you love flowers, they don’t last forever. However, these do!” You grinned widely at the thought and matching gift—Dazai always easily recalled your favorite things.

“We can build them together, too,” he continued, and you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love them. You’re amazing at getting gifts.”

“I wouldn’t expect that at all.” Your attention was brought to the ginger-haired who had his arms crossed beside the both of you, a cheeky grin on his face. CHUUYA had a mug of eggnog in his hand, though you knew for sure he’d rather have a glass of red wine reserved for the evening party instead.

“Chuuya!”

“What’s up, doll?” he smiled, a different, sweeter tone entirely, as he strode towards you.

“What do you mean by that?” Dazai asked, referring to Chuuya’s earlier comment.

“Thought your taste in gifts would be shitty, just like you,” he chuckled as you greeted him with a hug.

“Hey, that’s a bit rude,” you whispered.

“Oh really?” Dazai responded with his own sarcastic laugh. “I’m not sure you could do any better.”

“You really underestimate me! Come with me, baby…we’re going to prove to the-thing-that-comes-with-the-discounted-bandages who really knows what to get a lady for Christmas!”

Dazai stood, jaw dropped, dramatically offended as Chuuya pulled you away.

You two walked to the other side of the room, where there were even more gifts under one of the many Christmas trees in the hall.

“Bastard,” Chuuya sulked under a scowl, picking up a box wrapped in crimson red, his statement color.

You chuckled in amusement. He riled up so easily, over something so trivial. “Don’t worry about him, Chuu. I already know I’m going to like what you got.”

“Ya better,” he replied, but cheered up from your words. “Are you able to hold it?”

He handed you the box, hovering his arms below for support in case you dropped it. Though it was a larger package, it was still a bit heavier than you expected.

“Yeah, I got it.” You then raised an eyebrow. What could be inside this gift?

You set it down on the nearest table, undoing the pretty bow of ribbon and wrapping paper that kept the mystery intact.

Inside, you were received with a record player.

“Oh, wow!”

You loved music, and you’d always wanted to start collecting vinyls as it looked cool, but everyone knew it was an expensive hobby.

Not only had Chuuya gotten that—a very nice one, too—he also got the records of your top ten favorite albums.

You looked through the covers, smiling with each new one you saw.

Chuuya explained a few things—how he was setting you up for good because he made sure you got a turntable player instead of a suitcase one, how you should replace the black slip mat with the white one he bought instead so your vinyls look prettier, how to not damage the records…you could hardly pay attention to him though because you were overjoyed at how thoughtful he was for that.

“You seem passionate. Do you collect them too?” you asked.

“No, I just wanted to research to find something good enough for you.”

You could feel your heart melt. He had really spent time picking this out after you’d only mentioned you finding record players vintage and cool twice, and you’d never even pointed out you’d want it as a gift.

“Thank you, Chuuya,” you said, leaning towards him, burying your face in his neck. “I love it…especially how you recall my favorite albums, too.”

“Of course doll,” he replied, running his hands through your hair. “Merry Christmas.”

You could’ve stayed like that, but your little moment with the port mafia executive was ruined when Chuuya glanced over at one of the snack tables to find all the food had just disappeared.

“Now what the fuck?”

You followed, looking at what he was looking at. Then, you realized the man standing by the table with a piece of cake—the last piece of cake.

RANPO caught your gaze and jumped, hyper from all the sugar he consumed. “There you are!” He ran towards you and shoved you on the ground, away from Chuuya.

“Hey man, what the hell is wrong with you?!” he shouted in annoyance.

Ranpo acknowledged the ginger-haired only then, looking up from where he had you suffocating in his arms. “Huh? Oh, sorry, didn’t see ya there.”

Chuuya grew even more infuriated at the provoke.

“You tryna pick a fight?”

“You still want to after knowing how last time turned out?”

Ranpo was referring to their last encounter, where Chuuya had embarrassingly lost against him from a single blow. But you didn’t need to know that.

So, Chuuya used all his willpower to keep silent under an outraged glare as he watched Ranpo drag you away to make sure he didn’t bring up any details about it.

“I got you a gift too!” Ranpo exclaimed as you walked back towards where the other agency members were hanging out. “Wanna guess what it is?”

“Hm…some sort of treat, that’s for sure,” you replied.

“Partly correct!” he replied. “That’s not all that I got you though.”

“Oh? How generous!”

“No!” his response was stern. “A princess like you deserves more…as the world’s greatest detective, noone would know that better than me.”

You smiled. “You’re right, Ranpo.”

With that, he handed you one of the cutest gift baskets you’ve seen. The actual basket was snowman-themed, and inside was everything you wanted that could fit in it—that pajama set you had in your online shopping cart, the new skincare products you’ve wanted to try, your favorite candle—you hadn’t even ever mentioned it to him before. And, of course, a lot of chocolate. Of course, Ranpo would also be the best gift-buyer, using his knowledge to his advantage.

The one thing that really stood out to you, though, was a jar of Hershey kisses, with a note on it that said:

KISSES WHEN I’M NOT AROUND.

It even had a chibi-fied face of the cute brunette on it.

“This is my favorite thing in this gift,” you said.

“Of course, because I know you always miss me when I’m not there to kiss,” Ranpo confidently stated. “Which is why I came up with a solution! They’ll never be as sweet as me, but it works.”

You laughed in delight. It was a very creative idea. “This is amazing; thank you, Ranpo!”

Never knowing how to respond to thankfulness directly, he answered it with something else. “Hey, there’s something on your nose.”

“Really?” You moved a hand to feel what was on there, but Ranpo grabbed your wrist to prevent you. Instead, he bopped your nose with his lips.

“There was frosting,” he said, probably from when he excitedly greeted you earlier.

“You enjoyed those desserts, huh?” you asked, glancing at the depleted table once again.

“Yup! It was just lying there, and noone said anything about how much you could take, so…!” He paused, trying to remember something.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

…

You chatted with agency and port mafia members alike a while after. Everyone was having a good time, even when Chuuya started bickering with Dazai and challenged him to a duel.

“Shithead!

“Mackerel!”

“How about you talk once you grow another two inches?”

As everyone was being entertained by Chuuya breaking an entire wall by throwing Dazai through it, your eyes were distracted by an elaborate bouquet of roses and baby breaths that you hadn’t noticed before.

Curious because it wasn’t by any other gifts, you left the crowd to inspect it.

You were surprised when you picked the arrangement up and saw that it was addressed to your name on a note. However, there was no name to say who it was from.

You looked around to see if anyone was nearby that could’ve placed the flowers there. But everyone else was watching the fight.

You flipped the note over, seeing a sketch of an elevator and a four-number code on the back.

An elevator?

You scanned the hall once again. The only elevator there was the one at the corner, restricted to the port mafia. The guests weren’t allowed to use it, and a security pad was guarding it.

You hesitated but then decided to approach the door. If someone gave you the code they wanted and were permitting you to use it, right?

Once again, no one protested because they were all distracted watching Chuuya on the ceiling, making sure Dazai couldn’t touch him. You pressed the four numbers into the pinpad and were congratulated with a correct ding! sound and the elevator sliding open.

You stepped inside and realized there was only one button—to go up. You pressed it, and the doors closed, moving you up.

Luxurious as always, the elevator had a glass window, the entire city of Yokohama coming into view as you went higher. A few seconds in, you realized that the elevator wasn’t going to stop until you reached the top.

You still weren’t sure who had mysteriously invited you to meet them. You hoped it wasn’t the boss—the doctor in charge creeped you out, if you were being honest. But you figured it couldn’t be him because he was also downstairs, chilling with the agency’s president.

Your heartbeat raced as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, adrenaline surging in anticipation of the surprise, coupling with the chilly breeze outside. You had reached the rooftop.

“You’re so easy to tempt; those flowers drew you in faster than a blind mouse to a piece of cheese laid in a trap.”

You smiled as you heard the foreign accent of the person near the edge riddle you while admiring the entire city below. “Hi, Fedya.”

FYODOR turned around, violet eyes meeting yours.

“I should’ve known.” Of course, the enigma was him—conundra was the Russian’s signature.

“How in the world did you even get here?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. He always had his ways to infiltrate anywhere—through deception, through hacking, anything goes.

“I invited ourselves,” he smirked, and only then did you notice his two subordinates on the other side, one in fear as the other tried to trip him over the ledge. “Didn’t want to miss out on the gift-giving either.”

Fyodor took out a jewelry box. “I hardly get to see you. So I thought to get you something that you could wear everyday.

“And this one is special, to remind you of my presence even more.” He opened it, revealing a bracelet, and like Dazai, he also knew what color jewelry suited you best. It was nothing too showy—it was simple, but it was classy, timeless, just like him.

And you noticed what made it special. There was no clasp. It was made to be welded on the person’s wrist—a forever bracelet.

“Choose wisely,” Fyodor said as you looked in awe. “Which wrist, milaya?”

You quickly contemplated and held out one of your wrists towards him as he took out tweezers and a small laser. You watched as he delicately fastened the bracelet around your arm, making sure it sat on your wrist perfectly.

“Finished, fine with it?” he asked when he was done, and you lifted your hand toward the horizon.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” you responded candidly. Then, Fyodor lifted up his own sleeve under his coat, revealing a matching one. You were almost stunned, because you didn’t think he would be the type to wear anything other than a necklace.

“Merry Christmas, dorogaya,” he softly said, pressing you against his chest in a hug.

“WAIT, WAIT! Dove, there’s still me! Don’t seal away your heart just yet!”

“Huh?” You both turned towards NIKOLAI, who kindly but quickly moved Fyodor away from you.

The next thing you knew, there were foil snowman and reindeer balloons in your hand, white confetti popped over you, acting as snow, and the jester standing in front of you presenting a large gift.

“To be honest, I’m scared,” you admitted, knowing his chaotic, playful nature.

“Why?” he giggled. “Think I’m going to scare ya, baby? You can take my word, there’s no jumpscares in this one.”

“You better not be lying,” you said and removed the lid of the black box that reminded you of a magician’s top hat.

And he was being truthful because you were greeted with the exact opposite of remarkable. He had gifted you plain, white socks.

“Wow, Kolya. I never even knew you were capable of being mundane.”

He laughed once again as he just set the box in front of you, not saying anything more as you stared at him in confusion.

You took the socks out. Surely, there was a catch. He was acting too suspicious. And the entire gift was odd. You found nothing tampered with on the socks, though. And there was nothing else in the box. So why was it so big? And why did it look deeper than where the bottom stopped?

You nervously looked at Nikolai before sticking both hands in. You felt your way around the level until you realized the entire package floor felt like paper machete, something used in piñatas and things like that.

By instinct, you lifted a fist and punched through the box. You immediately punctured through the false bottom, uncovering your true gift.

He celebrated. “Smart girl!”

There was an assortment of plushies—many of them. You always asked Nikolai to help you get some whenever you found claw machines at amusement parks, so he knew you loved stuffed animals.

Then, there was a large, fluffy throw blanket, perfect for winter.

“I got that because I know you’re probably so cold when I’m not hugging you.” True. Nikolai encapsulated you like a blanket whenever he came over.

“The thought of having this didn’t even cross my mind,” you said. “Well, that goes for everything you do,” you chuckled.

“That was really creative; I love it, thank you!”

Nikolai popped more confetti, this time in pink hearts. “She loves it! Happy, happy Christmas!”

He swung you off the ground, spinning you with ease until your own head started spinning the opposite way.

“Gogol! I think she’s dizzy!”

The two-tone-haired casino owner had a concerned look on his face, and you couldn’t tell if it was because your eyes were unfocusing or because Nikolai was throwing you around so easily. Strong guy.

Nikolai stopped, realizing he had gotten too excited. “Sorry, dove! Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you responded, unable to keep your balance as you tripped over yourself. You landed on SIGMA’s torso, and he helped guide you to stand up properly again.

“Thanks, Sigma,” you replied. “How are you?”

“Good, now that I get to see you again.” He lightly blushed, breaking eye contact as you smiled. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“I got you something as well,” he replied, showing his own present. “I’m not sure what the people downstairs got you, and mine isn’t as fancy as Dostoevsky’s nor as extraordinary as Gogol’s, but I hope you like it.”

You felt warm, even in the icy weather. “Awh, just hearing that you got something for me is more than enough,” you replied. “I am so grateful no matter what.”

You took the present and opened it, first greeted by a new set of poker cards. However, this one was different because when you sifted through them, you realized it was the Decay of Angel’s custom set. You had been wowed by Nikolai’s Joker and Fyodor’s Jack when you first saw them, always using the set when you played a game with others.

But there was also a new addition to this stack. You were on it, taking your place as the queen.

“What? Sigma, this is so cool!”

There was one more thing inside. Your favorite lipstick in your favorite shade.

Sigma loved the color and even more how it looked on you. He loved how his cheeks would stain whenever you kissed him there—the pigmented contrast to his paler skin. You hardly needed restocking as you loved the lipstick yourself, but it was always good to have another extra.

“Merry Christmas,” Sigma said as you opened the container and swatched it on your face. You looked as beautiful as ever.

“Merry Christmas, Sigma,” you responded, kissing his forehead. Then, you pulled a cookie wrapped in a napkin from inside your coat and placed it in his mouth.

“Saved it for you,” you giggled. “There’s a lot downstairs. Maybe they’ll let you guys in if I say I invited you. Well, at least you.”

i heard if u rb, u will receive x2 gifts this xmas from ur favs! reblogs are appreciated; they are your christmas gift to me! <3

tags : @kissesmellow21

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sourpatchys · 8 months ago

Text

•Shigaraki Falling for You•

A series of events following Shigaraki Tomura falling for you. (Reader is not in the league of villains)

Warning: protective/stalker behavior (potentially Soft Yandere?) and Self deprecating thoughts (nothing major)

Reader: written with a female reader in mind, but can be read as gender neutral

It’s going to be a slow process

The most slow burn of all slow burns

Truly he wishes he could just kill you, your stupid face and equally as stupid personality could fuck right off into dust.

He thought it was a fluke— any male his age would get a little flustered at the sight of someone as attractive as you are.

But then the feeling never stopped and he completely lost sight of himself

He’s never had the desire to get to know someone— you can’t really blame him for being so confused

For awhile he completely locks himself away from you, refusing to look at you or acknowledge you whatsoever (though he still found himself lurking around in your vicinity)

Once that fazes out he’s just angry.

Angry at himself, angry at you and angry at the world

You’re stuck to his brain in such an alarming way— he honestly thought it was someone’s quirk being used against him, like it was some sick joke

He hated it. He hated the way you made him feel, and he hated himself for feeling

No matter how hard he tried to fight it (albeit not very hard) he couldn’t find it in himself to hate you

His anger quickly turned to infatuation

He needed to know more about you, he needed to understand why your presence kept pulling him in

You were nice to him when he would come by the coffee shop you worked at

You gave him a smile so genuine it made him want to smile back

He found himself following you home some nights, just too see what route you would follow on certain days

This little routine of his made him wonder how you stayed so upbeat

Your customers were rude and entitled

Some of them would let their hands linger on you when you gave them change

Some of them gave you a hard time just to see you get upset

One guy in particular had tried to get you fired, making up more lies than shigaraki had ever heard.

He saw you cry for the first time in months in your apartment that night

Without really thinking about it, he tracked that guy down and killed him so you’d never have to see his face again

He didn’t know that killing that one guy would start a frenzy in himself

Now whenever someone got angry with you, whenever they couldn’t see that you were just doing your job—

He took it into his own hands to shut them up.

It wasn’t his most calculated idea, it wasn’t long before the police started to watch the area, and soon after more hero’s were out on patrol

He couldn’t really find it in himself to care though

One off handed comment from Dabi changed his whole ideals around in an instant

“If you keep going to her she’s just going to get in trouble”

It was a joke, he was making fun of him for taking so much time out of his day just to watch you exist

But it flipped a switch in his head

You had to come to him instead.

The more he thought about it the more he didn’t want you working at that crusty old coffee shop at the corner of town.

He didn’t want you dealing with those disgusting civilian creeps anymore

The only safe place for you to be was with him

At this point he still hadn’t put the pieces together, he still wasn’t sure why you made him feel the way that he did.

That didn’t stop him from stumbling on your doorstep pretending he got mugged though

You were surprised to see him, he could see it in the gleam of your eyes

He wasn’t even sure if you knew who he was. Which he supposed would make things easier

And you didn’t know who he was— all you knew is that he was one of your regulars and that he needed your help

He had asked you not to call the police, he claimed he didn’t want any trouble with law enforcement— that he just wanted some water and a place to sit down

You were obviously on edge, scared, confused— all things he expected. But you let him in.

He had walked to your house on his own, letting himself get soaked in the storm outside. He wanted to seem believable, he wanted you to give him the attention he craved so badly

Your apartment smelled like coffee and sugar cookies, a pleasant smell he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget. It was the smell of you— a smell you carried with you wherever you went.

In the back of his mind he made sure to note that he needed to get you a wax warmer, he never wanted to go without this scent. He was starting to crave it.

You were patient with him, getting him water, checking his head for bumps and his body for bruises

You were like his own personal guardian angel

He took you that night

Not a trace of your life left behind, empty floors and bare walls. Not even your scent remained.

#tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tomura shigiraki x reader #tomura headcanons #tomura x reader #tomura imagine #tomura shiragaki #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki headcanon #shigaraki mha #shigaraki imagine #my hero academia shigaraki #shigaraki bnha #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki tomura

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kyufessions · 1 year ago

Text

customer service

synopsis: you get into a small argument with your boyfriend over facetime

pairings: idol, boyfriend! jaemin x g.n. reader

genre: angst w/ a happy ending, drabble(?)

word count: 1.1k

general taglist: @jwnghyuns @eaudenana @soobin-chois

jaemin smiles to himself as he listens to you telling him about your day at work, the corner of his lips turning downward as you tell him about a rude customer you encountered today.

“you didn’t deserve that baby, i’m sorry.” he responded, propping his phone up against the extra pillow on his hotel bed as he laid against the other.

on the screen you dismissed his apology, chuckling at it, even. “don’t apologize, it’s not your fault people can’t respect customer service workers.” he watches you smile as you take a sip of your hot chocolate, taking note of the colorful marshmallows you used that he specifically filled up in the cupboard before he left home three weeks ago. “how’s tour? are you taking care of yourself? please say yes.”

nodding, he adjusts himself on the bed so his elbow is propping up his head to properly face the phone. as he lays on his side, he hates how you’re on a screen and not directly across from him or better yet: next to him. “tour is good, i just wish you were with me to experience it with me.”

you knew where this conversation was headed. you’ve had this same exact argument many times before that ultimately led nowhere but into space, never to be heard of again until months or weeks later. “jaemin-“

he grips some of his hair in his fist, not tightly but enough to grab onto it to feel a little something. as he sighs, he sits up a little more to come across more serious. “i don’t know why you don’t just quit your job.” he starts talking with his hands as he speaks, the phone moving as he continues to speak. you put down your mug on the coaster and hug a pillow to your chest to brace yourself for the same exact talk you’ve had before. “you don’t exactly love your job, you complain about it a lot. you don’t even make a lot yet you still stay there.” he lets out a deep sigh before continuing on, both of his hands taking a quick break to run through his locks and landing on top of his pillow. “i make enough for the both of us to live comfortably. lavishly even, if we wanted. you wouldn’t have to work, just stay home and do whatever you want. i don’t get-“

“because jaemin, how would that look if i just stayed home all day not contributing to the household at all while you do all the work and bring in all the money?” he stares at you blankly through the screen, waiting for you to continue. “lazy, jaemin. it would make me look lazy. and spoiled. and look like a good-for-nothing partner that doesn’t do anything but clean around the house, cook, look pretty and use their hard earned boyfriend's money. i’m not going to be that person.”

“but that’s not how you’d look!” he protests, rolling his eyes before continuing to speak. “i want you to live comfortably doing whatever you want to do-“

“then let me work, jaemin! i’m tired of having to work a stupid retail job, yes. but i also enjoy this stupid retail job, it’s annoying but it’s the same type of annoying that your job is.” you begin slouching deeper into the couch with a huff, your bottom lip pursing out slightly. “plus my job has good benefits. i don’t mind working. if you want me to cut back on my hours, fine. just say that, use your words; we’re both adults. but stop pestering me to leave my job.”

“i just want to take care of you without worry, that’s all. i don’t want you to have to worry about a roof over your head, about your next meal or clothes or-“

“as much as i appreciate that jaemin, and i really do, trust me, i feel a sense of accomplishment when i have a job. if i did not have a job, i would feel lost and out of control. and spending your money would make me feel bad because it’s your hard earned money, not mine. besides, my compact has great insurance and my coworkers are wonderful to work with- it’s a fun environment. just- please stop asking me about it, okay? i’m sick and tired of the same old discussion.”

jaemin nods, taking everything you say with consideration. you’ve told him every time how much you enjoy your job despite the complaints, but he never believed you- or maybe just refused to believe you. jaemin was a firm believer in doing things that made you happy, and if you weren’t happy then find something that did. so that’s all he was trying to do- but he sees now that he was wrong about that. he didn’t take into consideration the amount of time you’d have to spend alone while he was at practice, out at schedules, or even touring if you didn’t have a job. if all you did was stay home, at first he thought you would love the idea until he realized that that isn’t the type of person you are. you’ve been working since you were a teenager and have loved it ever since. so who was he to think your stop now?

he lays his head on the pillow, his eyes never leaving yours from the phone screen. “i’m sorry, baby. i just want the best for you, and only you know what’s best for you. so i’m sorry my baby.” you start to reassure him how it’s fine until he says it’s not. “you’re a hard worker and i love you for that, okay? i love that so much, and so much more. im sorry. i’ll make it up to you when we get back.”

you just laugh at how soft he’s become, picking back up your mug and holding it in your hands for warmth as it gets colder during the ungodly hour. “thank you for apologizing jaem, i appreciate it.” you pause for a brief moment, smiling at him. you admire the look on his face. the way his eyes are looking at you through the screen, the corner of his lips, and the way his skin is glowing so effortlessly. and all he’s doing is just laying there, freshly woken up and ready to take on the day in another random city. “i love you.”

the words bring butterflies to his stomach, the joy hard to hide as he refuses to disguise itself behind a tired facade. “i love you more, my royalty.”

“you’re a liar.” ensues an argument that goes on for another fifteen minutes before jaemin has to leave for schedules. but not before allowing you to win the ‘i love you’ game you two always play.

#kyufessions nct #nct #nct imagines #nct angst #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #nct dream #nct jaemin #jaemin #jaemin na #jaemin angst #na jaemin #jaemin fluff #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst

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doodle-pops · 4 months ago

Text

Cinnamon Love

Maglor x reader

Warnings: none, fluff

Words: 1.5k

Synopsis: “Oh really? Apple bobbing, apple picking, caramel apples, apple cider, apple pie—apple is clearly the best autumn flavour?” “You’re just saying that because I’m drinking a pumpkin spice latte and I didn’t get you one.” — Autumn Prompts

The low sun cast its golden light over the fields of Valinor, softening the edges of the world into a warm, hazy glow. The rolling hills of the Blessed Realm were adorned with patches of trees, their branches heavy with the ripened fruit of the season. Apple trees, to be precise, whose fragrance filled the air like a sweet promise of autumn.

Maglor had a basket in one hand and was reaching for a particularly large apple with the other, a small frown of concentration wrinkling his forehead. His long, dark hair, now free of the braids he usually wore, shimmered in the sunlight as he stretched upward. The sight of him like that—barefoot, relaxed, and so different from the fabled Kinslayer—was almost too much to bear.

You watched from a little distance, leaning against the trunk of another tree, a mug of pumpkin spice latte cradled between your hands. The warmth seeped through the ceramic into your fingers, contrasting with the crisp bite of the autumn air.

Maglor finally plucked the apple from its branch and turned towards you with a grin. “You’re just standing there, aren’t you?”

“Observing,” you corrected with a smirk. “Someone’s got to keep you humble.”

He gave you a mock-wounded look before he dropped the apple into the basket with a satisfying thunk. “I thought I had perfected the art of apple picking,” he said, moving towards you, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes flickered down to the mug in your hands, a slight quirk of his eyebrow betraying his curiosity. Maglor had only recently taken to the odd custom of ‘lattes’—an influence of the returnees from the mortal lands—but of course, he’d effortlessly made it look as though he'd been doing it for centuries.

“Pumpkin spice latte, again?” he questioned.

“It’s autumn, Maglor,” you said, lifting the mug to your lips for a slow sip. “The season of all things pumpkin, cinnamon, and nutmeg.”

“You say that,” he replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the tree next to you, “but let’s be honest here—apple is clearly the superior autumn flavour.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, feeling the corner of your mouth twitch upwards. “Oh really? Apple bobbing, apple picking, caramel apples, apple cider, apple pie—apple is clearly the best autumn flavour?” you teased, echoing his words with a raised brow.

His eyes sparkled with amusement, the laugh already forming on his lips. “Precisely.”

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “You’re just saying that because I’m drinking a pumpkin spice latte and I didn’t get you one.”

His eyes narrowed, though the playfulness in his tone remained. “How could you not get me one?”

You took a deliberate sip of the latte, your lips barely touching the edge of the cup before setting it aside on the nearby table and folding your arms across your chest. “You didn’t ask for one.”

“Rude.” Shooting you a look, though the humour in his eyes mirrored yours. Gracefully, he set down the basket and moved closer, brushing your hand against his in a way that felt entirely natural, his fingers lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. “Besides, you don’t even like pumpkin spice.”

“I never said I didn’t,” you replied with a faint smirk playing on your lips as you turned slightly towards him. “You’re assuming.”

“You always complain about it.” He gave you a pointed look, folding his arms to mirror your stance, though his posture was far more elegant.

He laughed then, a sound so rare that it felt like music in itself, and you couldn’t help but smile in response. There was something about the way he laughed that made the world seem lighter, as if for that moment, the shadows of his past were forgotten.

“Perhaps I’ve acquired new tastes,” you mused. “Or perhaps,” you added, leaning in slightly, your voice dropping to a near whisper, “I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

“See how I’d react?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow as he took a step closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth of him, his presence enveloping you in that way that always made you feel both giddy and safe. “My sweet love, you should know by now that I’m not easily impressed.”

As he stepped closer to you, the scent of him—earth, wind, and something distinctly Maglor—mingled with the crisp air. “Perhaps,” you murmured lowly. “But it doesn’t make me wrong.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“I try,” you replied. He reached out and gently tugged at the end of your scarf, wrapping it more snugly around your neck. The action was so domestic, so casual, that for a second you almost forgot this was the same Maglor who once roamed the wilds of Middle-earth, the same Maglor who sang lamentations of sorrow and loss.

“You're going to be in trouble, you know,” you said, looking down at the apples he’d already picked. “Caramel apples, apple pie—you’re going to have to make all of it.”

He paused, a look of mock horror crossing his face. “All of it?”

“All of it,” you confirmed, nodding solemnly. “And I expect nothing less than perfection from the renowned son of Fëanor.”

He sighed dramatically, his hand covering his heart. “Ah, the burdens of being a legend. Fine. But if I make the apple pie, you’re making the cider.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Deal,” you said, holding out your hand to shake it, but Maglor just chuckled, catching your hand in his and pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your knuckles. The gesture sent a little thrill through you, though you tried to play it off with a casual laugh.

“Now, come on,” you said, trying to distract yourself from the way his lips felt against your skin. “We’ve got work to do.”

The two of you spent the next hour picking the best apples from the trees, Maglor quickly proving to be far more efficient than you at climbing up into the branches to reach the ones hanging just out of reach. He moved with an easy grace, his lithe form blending so naturally into the peaceful surroundings that it felt like Valinor itself had been waiting for him to come home.

“I’m beginning to suspect,” you called up to him as he tossed another apple down into your basket, “that you’ve done this before.”

“Only in my wildest dreams,” he replied, his voice muffled slightly by the leaves. He dropped down from the tree in one fluid movement, landing lightly beside you. “Though I’ll admit, it’s nice to finally pick apples without worrying about, you know, armies of orcs.”

“That does tend to put a damper on the whole experience,” you said dryly, passing him another basket as he leaned down to collect the scattered apples at his feet.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground, you both made your way back to the cottage, baskets brimming with apples and laughter lingering in the air between you. The kitchen was soon filled with the warm, rich scent of baking apples and cinnamon, Maglor humming softly to himself as he prepared the pie crust with an elegance you wouldn’t have expected from someone with his storied past.

“You’ve got a bit of flour on your nose,” you teased, leaning against the counter as you watched him expertly peel and slice the apples. He paused, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand before realising he’d only spread it further. “You're making it worse,” you laughed, walking over to him and brushing the flour from his face with your fingers.

He caught your wrist gently, holding it still as he looked at you, his expression softening. For a moment, the playful banter fell away, and the world outside the kitchen seemed to fade into nothing. His thumb stroked over your skin, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“For what?” you asked, your voice equally soft, caught in the unexpected tenderness of the moment.

“For being here,” he replied, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to convey something deeper, something he wasn’t sure he could put into words. “For reminding me what it feels like to...live.”

You blinked, taken aback by the raw honesty in his voice. There was no grand speech, no flowery declaration—just a simple truth, laid bare between you. You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the baking pie.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, stepping closer and resting your head against his chest. His arms came around you, holding you close as the scent of apples and cinnamon filled the air around you, mingling with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For the first time in a long while, it felt like the world was at peace. And in that quiet moment, as you stood there in the soft glow of the hearth with Maglor’s arms wrapped around you, you realised that this—this—was what home truly felt like.

Masterlist

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#「 ✦ mina’s flufftober ✦ 」#maglor x reader #maglor fluff #maglor imagine #maglor scenario #maglor #makalaurë #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion fic #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fic #x reader fluff #x reader insert #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

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harrysmimi · 2 years ago

Text

Princess Jasmine

Coffee And Pancakes series P12

Synopsis: Harry hangs out at the cafe his fiance works at by the closing time

Series Masterlist | More of my work

Harry never usually hangs out at his Fiance's work place, it is invasion of her work privacy, plus it's very distracting.

But today he went to see her after he'd just got back to London after his last show, all well rested. He slept all day at home. Came back after YN had already gone to work, so he went to see her. Maybe take her out on a quiet dinner date. He hadn't taken her out in a while now.

So he got ready in casual outfit and left as his hair air dried. He ordered himself a hot chocolate and sat at a table.

The cafe recently made changes, where more seating arrangements were made and self service was an option. Harry sat at ome of the new tables in a corner.

"Here you go." YN placed the mug of hot chocolate in front of him. "You want anything else, Hazza?"

"Yeah, a kiss would be nice." He smiled cheekily.

"Cheeky!" YN gave him a quick kiss on the mouth, "just an hour an half, then we'll leave."

"I'm right here." He assured her.

He sat there replying to all the pending emails he haven't checked since the last leg of his tour began. They were just random written interviews which had longer deadlines so he was good with later replies. Usually it's his team handling the emails for him, but these he preferred to answer himself.

There were not many people just a man with a little boy who'd just entered the cafe, went up straight to the register where YN was now cleaning up the coffee machines. The boy was wearing his Disney princesses shirt and Cars pants, had long brown curly hair. Harry knew YN is going to gush over how adorable that little human was.

She's just so nice around kids. He knows for sure she's going to be amazing mother to their kids.

"Hello, what can I get for you?" YN asked.

"Hi, can I, can I pwease have this muffin?" The little boy pointed to the two last blueberry muffins.

"Of course you can." YN beamed, "anything else you want, love?"

"Oh, and one for my wittle sister too!" He clapped his hand in excitement.

"She's too young, lad, you want anything else?" The man with the boy said laughing at his son's adorable excitement.

Harry paused doing what he was doing as he watched the interaction. He knows YN loves little kids, just the other day she bullied her friend to bring her twins over. Bummer that Harry was still on tour, he loves those twins too. He was bombarded with loads of videos and pictures from her that day.

The boy looked at his dad with a cheeky smile and looked back at YN, "can I have a chocowate milkshake too?"

YN giggled, "of course you can." She added to the bill.

"That's it, fank you!"

"You're welcome," YN found the boy real adorable. "I'll bring it right up to you."

YN quickly packed both of the muffins in a box and fixed a chocolate milkshake. It was a little too late for that in her opinion but his dad was letting him have it.

The boy was very talkative, as he talked his very tired dad's ears off waiting for his muffins and milkshake. YN was quick enough to fix the order and take it over to the table.

"Fank you!" The boy sang in excitement, "I'm going to share this wif mummy!"

"You are? That's so sweet of you!" YN gasped, impresses that he really thinks of his sister and mum.

"Yes." He nodded now looking up at YN as a revolutionary realisation seemed to hit him, "you look like princess Jasmine! Are you princess Jasmine?"

YN's heart was a puddle in that moment, "you're so cute, but no, I am not princess."

"You're very pwetty."

"Thank you, you're very handsome too!" YN shuffled his hair slightly. "You have a great night, okay?"

"You too, fanks!" He held onto the paper bags with the muffins with one hand and with other he held onto his dad's hand. He waved her bye as he walked out of the cafe. YN went flipped the sign to Closed.

That really made her day after a long shift dealing with some rude customers. She got to finishing up her work.

"Harry?" She called for him, "I'm done let's go." She went back to grab her bag and phone and lock up back doors.

Harry waited for her as she switched all of the lights off and locked the front door. It hit him.

She must have done all of this alone the night he asked her out the first time, after bumping into her as she closed the door. He remembered how nervous he was, and now here he is almost three years later, so close to being her husband.

And she really did looked like Princess Jasmine. With the blue shirt she wore, she was gushing over it when she found it at a thrift store it had her favourite cuss word written onit with sparkles. Good thing the boy didn't see it because of her apron.

"Ready to go, Princess Jasmine?" He held out his hand for her. They're going to walk home as both of their cars were at the garage getting fixed.

"Stop it," YN blushed as she grabbed onto his hand, "he was very cute, wasn't he?" She hugged his arm as they walked, with her head on his shoulder-- or you can say his bicep given she's shorter than him.

"Mhmm." He agreed.

"I want one too!"

"We can't just go and buy a kid from a store." He teased her, acting nonchalant about it.

"We can make one." She looked up at him with puppy eyes.

"I bet we'd make pretty good looking babies, eh!" He wondered.

"Hmm, especially if all them look like you." She said, "we already have one who looks like you, and he isn't even the same species."

"Stop!" He scoffed defeated.

Their cat, Milo, is morphing into a feline version of Harry. In everyway. He sleeps like Harry, eats like him, does weird things like his dad. It's a running joke by YN, she loves to tease him like that.

"I am serious, we should talk about it." YN brought up the topic again, she seems very serious about it.

"We will when we're home, yeah?" He assured her, "now I want to take you out on a date."

He walked her to this small Japanese restaurant one of his friend recommended him ages ago. It was small and cosy, perfect for a night he hoped to spend with his love.

And the night went as he imagined it would.

They went home and talked about all things about having a baby planning. It was just a vet domestic evening for Harry, and his fiance.

......................................................................

N O T E :

Are we getting somewhere with this book??? 👀

Leme know what you think of this! I love you xx

......................................................................

Tag list:

@vrittivsanghavi @buckymydarlingangel @sweetwritingfanficfriend @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @sleutherclaw @melllinaa @michellekstyles @sunshinemoonsposts @marialikescherries @japanchrry @onlyangelrain @supersanelyromantic @tenaciousperfectionunknown @haarrrys @originalsoulcollector @harrysgirl-1d @lomlhstyles @im-an-overthinker @moonys-star @blackbookwhore @tenaciousperfectionunknown @stilesissaved @allthelovehes @novalunosising @sunshinemoonsposts @harryssky1 @dear-mylove @sofia-faustina

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xiaojunsmintchoco · 2 years ago

Text

Cold brew - Na Jaemin

pairing: barista!jaemin x barista!reader

genre: fluff, angst; enemies to lovers, coffee shop au

synopsis: at the coffee shop you work at, there's always this regular who comes and orders the same cup of cold brew coffee every morning without fail. you end up having a rather rude interaction with him one morning when you accidentally spill his coffee on him before his job interview – which turns out to be for the very same coffee shop you're working at. it doesn't matter to you that he got the job, but the fact that he's always on the same shift as you never fails to get on your nerves. Will the two of you sort out your feud, or will the both of you continue to brew these cold feelings towards each other?

a/n: this is a very VERY long overdue fic for @hcsarchive ! i’m really really sorry for the long hiatus y’all, and for the decline in quality of writing and banner design :”) but to star, i genuinely hope you enjoy this fic that i churned up at 2 in the morning, and that your life will be filled with joy and many many good things! it’s been great having you as my friend, though we haven’t interacted much </3 I promise i’ll try to be more active here <3

"One venti cold brew for Na Jaemin!" you call, voice ringing out through the coffee shop amid the clinking of mugs and cutlery and cool jazz music playing in the background. As expected, a young man clad in a mint green hoodie and jeans rushes up to the counter. His soft, ebony-black bangs fall over his coffee-brown eyes as he claims his drink from you with a muffled "thanks" before scurrying off again, black backpack hanging from his back and laptop case in hand.

"He came again?" Lia asks, popping a pastry into the oven and setting the timer.

You nod in response. “Na Jaemin. Here every morning, at the exact same time ordering the exact same thing”.

"Aren't many of our customers like this too?" Lia questions, uncertain as to why you suddenly brought up this particular customer.

"Yeah, but they're not always here at the exact same time every day – sometimes they come a few minutes earlier or later. And even if they have regular orders, they sometimes order different things. This guy is here at 7 am on the dot every day without fail, and he always, always orders a venti size cold brew. I don't recall him having ordered anything different," you explain to Lia as the timer on the oven goes off, and you take the croissant out.

"Wow, how are you so observant towards these details outside of his regular drink order? It's as if you're specifically keeping your eye out for his arrival. Are you?" Lia questions, raising her eyebrows at you.

"What the hell, no!" You hurriedly deny.

"But he's your ideal type, is he not? Brown eyes, black hair, pretty cute," Lia replies with a smirk as she gets to preparing a latte, and in that moment you regret the day you'd spoken about your ideal types to each other.

"I mean yes, but we don’t even know each other! We’ve barely exchanged any words apart from him mumbling his thanks to me when I pass him his drink,” you protest.

“So? He comes here every day, you’ll sure have a chance to get to know him better,” Lia insists.

“One grande caffe latte for Kai!” you call out, placing the drink on the counter and flashing a smile at the customer, who says a “thank you”, picks up the drink and casually saunters off, in contrast to how Jaemin had practically flown out the door after collecting his order from you earlier. “I don’t know. Compared to all our other customers, he seems to be in a constant rush. He’s like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland!”

Still, Lia remains adamant. “Trust me, if he’s your destined soulmate, there will be a way for you both to get to know each other. Really”.

You shrug, getting to work making a java chip frappuccino. “Nah, I don’t think he is. He’s probably just the eye candy who comes into our shop every morning for his daily cold brew”.

Lia simply hums and turns around to take the next customer’s order, while a mild pang of longing settles in your heart. Yes, you knew he was really just eye candy to you, but a part of you wished that you’d at least be able to interact with him a little and get to know him as an acquaintance at least.

»»————-　☕️　————-««

Your wish comes true the next day — or at least the first part of it. You finally get to properly interact with him, past the muffled “thank yous” he would give you whenever you passed him his cold brew every morning.

But was it pleasant?

Far from that.

It’s about 2:30 pm in the afternoon, and the cafe is way more hectic than it should be at this time. Throngs of people flood the cafe, leaving all of the baristas overwhelmed, yourself included.

“I thought people drink morning coffee, not afternoon coffee!” Lia complains, practically sprinting to the other end of the counter, carrying a customer’s order on a black tray. “One blueberry muffin and one vanilla sweet cream cold brew for Shanice!”

“I know right. Suddenly everyone’s ordering their coffee in the afternoon for some weird reason!” you exclaim, hurrying to save the pastries in the oven before they burned to a crisp.

Your already-divided attention is briefly stolen by the sight of a familiar face coming in through the door — it’s none other than Na Jaemin. Weird, he already came in the morning, you think to yourself, already moving towards the cold brew machine out of instinct. You can’t help but notice he’s changed out of his usual hoodie and jeans into slacks, a white long-sleeved collared shirt and a blazer, more formal than the casual attire he normally dons, which leads you to think that he has something important on. As soon as you place the pastries on the counter, you head over to the register where Jaemin is to take his order. “Hi, what can I get for you?” you recite the standard phrase.

“One venti cold brew, please,” he states.

“Alright, I’ll get that for you. Na Jaemin, right?” you ask, picking up a venti-size cup and a marker, scribbling the name on as he nods.

You put some ice in the cup, and then stride over to where the brewed coffee is stored before dispensing enough to fill the cup. Just as you’re bringing it to the collection point, a voice calls for you. “Y/n! Hurry, there’s more orders!” one of your colleagues yells.

“Okay, coming soon!” you reply back, calling out Jaemin’s name and order, passing the drink to him and preparing to hurry off.

Only, you’d been too fast in handing the drink to him and had let go before his hands were properly around the cup, resulting in the cup falling from your hands and spilling coffee all over his shirt. Your jaw falls to the floor along with the cup as you watch his white shirt turn coffee-brown and prepare to offer multiple sincere apologies, maybe even offer to pay for his shirt to be cleaned.

But before you can do that, he hits the roof. “Ugh! I have a job interview, you idiot! Why are you so careless?” he exclaims, clearly livid. Veins bulge out visibly from his forehead, a clear sign of his fury. Heads snap in your direction as the commotion distracts customers from whatever they were doing previously.

Annoyance at how Jaemin had unnecessarily blown up at you, coupled with stress from the already overwhelming shift began to take over you, and you had to use every fiber in your being to maintain your professionalism and not hurl the best insult you could think of back at him. “Sir, I’m extremely sorry”. You murmur repeated apologies as you get several wet tissues for him. “I’ll be willing to pay for the cleaning costs, just let me know how much it costs when you next visit us”.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to appease Jaemin. “That’s not the point. I don’t have spare clothes, you know! Now I might not get my job!” Jaemin exclaims, eyes boring into you accusingly. Unsure of what to say, you remain silent, your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s. “Thanks a lot, I suppose,” he spits, making sure his sarcasm came across clearly. With that, he takes his half-empty drink cup and stalks off.

Meanwhile, you’re left with a taste that's even more bitter than the cold brew in your mouth from the encounter. “Wow, that was pretty rude of him,” Lia comments, coming up beside you. “Maybe you should have ensured that he was actually holding the cup before letting go, but that was still out of line on his end”.

You sigh, shaking your head and turning back to the cash register, preparing to serve the next customer. “Whatever. Let’s forget that this happened”.

»»————-　☕️　————-««

A week has passed since the incident, and you’ve all but forgotten about it, the incident almost having been cleared from your memory completely.

Until you see a familiar face coming in at 2:30 pm — none other than Na Jaemin, the customer who’d yelled at you rather rudely that day when you’d made an honest mistake. “Lia? Can you take this next customer? I’d rather not interact with him again,” you whisper to your co-worker while glaring daggers at him.

To your surprise, Lia shakes her head. “I don’t think he’s here to order, actually. I think he’s here for his first day on the job”.

You narrow your eyes at her as a sense of foreboding comes over you. “What do you mean?”

“He’s our new barista, and he’ll be working here part-time. Did no one tell you?” Lia explains, wiping the counter top. “The job interview he mentioned last week — it was for a position here as a barista”.

“No way. Please tell me you’re lying”. You feel your eyes grow to the size of the saucers in your hands.

She shakes her head. “I’m being for real here”.

You watch as your supervisor comes out to meet Jaemin and they exchange greetings, before she passes him a set of uniform and he heads to the restrooms. “Oh, my gosh”. Your hand comes up to your forehead, and your lips form a thin line as you feel your annoyance levels peak again. “No way I’m sharing shifts with this guy”.

Lia shrugs. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think. Hopefully he forgot that it was you who spilled coffee on him last week,” she says while placing a hand on your shoulder, in an effort to appease you.

At that moment, your supervisor comes out of the store room with Jaemin in tow and approaches you and the other baristas. “Everyone, this is our new employee, Na Jaemin,” she says, introducing him to all of you. “Some of you may know him, as he’s a regular at our cafe. He’ll be working the afternoon shift from Monday to Wednesday. I hope all of you look after him well, and show him the ropes”. She then takes her leave as Jaemin comes to join all of you behind the counter.

“Hello everyone,” Jaemin greets, his pearly whites appearing as he gives all of you a small bow. So cute! You internally squeal as you greet him back. It was the first time you’d seen him properly smile, as every time he ordered coffee from you, his face had this permanently exhausted look on it thanks to what you can only assume to be the university student life. You return his greeting, relaxing as you realise that maybe Lia was right and he’d forgotten about the incident.

Or…maybe not.

“Aren’t you the barista who spilled my drink on me last week?” Jaemin questions as he pours milk into a blender, eyes narrowing into slits as he stares at you. “How do you still have a job? You can’t even serve a drink properly”.

Okay, that does it for you. First day on the job and he’s already being so rude?

“Can you just forget about it? You got the job in the end, didn’t you?” you snap, making your annoyance clear as you somewhat aggressively spray whipped cream onto a customer’s drink. “Also why are you showing disrespect to colleagues on your first day here? How did you even get hired?”

Jaemin shrugs, and you feel a vexation prick at the back of your neck at his nonchalant attitude. “Bold of you to talk about respect, considering you were pretty disrespectful to me last week by spilling my own drink order on me”.

"Shut the fuck up, will you?" you hiss, trying to keep your voice from rising to fever pitch, in order to not attract unpleasant attention to the both of you.

Jaemin opens his mouth to retort, but Lia steps in. “Enough, you two. Let’s just move on from the incident, shall we? I’m sure she didn’t mean to do that”.

Shooting her a grateful look, you move over to the shelf to grab a tea bag to prepare a customer’s order. “Not quite your ideal type anymore, huh?” Lia whispers from next to you as she washes a mug.

Cringing, you shake your head furiously. “Appearance wise, still yes. Personality-wise, definitely not”.

»»————-　☕️　————-««

Ever since Jaemin joined the team, it was almost like you couldn’t have a peaceful day at work, especially since you and Jaemin always shared the same shifts. Both of you were constantly at each other's throats now, even over small things, and today wasn't any different.

“Y/n! You didn’t heat this up long enough!” Jaemin hollers, gesturing to the chocolate chip cookie on the counter top.

Rolling your eyes, you turn around to address him. “You didn’t serve it on time and it’s cooled down, you idiot. Also, Seungkwan asked for an extra espresso shot, which you didn’t add in. Who’s the one who can’t do his job properly now, huh? I hope the boss fires you one of these days”.

As a look of hurt flashes across Jaemin’s face for a fleeting moment, you feel a small pang of guilt hit you. Jaemin covers it up by rolling his eyes at you and muttering “piece of shit”, before moving over to add the extra espresso shot as you shove the plate with the cookie on it into the oven again. At that moment, his ringtone sounds out, and he takes his phone out of his apron pocket. Colour drains from his face at the sight of the caller ID, and he hurriedly excuses himself to the storeroom, leaving you to man the counter yourself since both Lia and the other barista weren’t able to make it to work today. “Hi, what can I get for you?” you inquire, plastering a smile on your face and turning to face the customer, who asks for a cappuccino.

You open up the mini-fridge below the counter, only to find that there’s no more milk left. No big deal, you could always get more from the bigger fridge in the store room. Heading over to the store room, you push the door open and prepare to step inside when Jaemin’s voice stops you in your tracks. “…what? The surgery costs that much? I thought it was cheaper…”

Peeking through the door slightly, you’re greeted by the sight of Jaemin pacing around the small room and clutching onto a handful of his black hair. From his tone and demeanour, it was evident that he was in a clear state of stress. "Yes, I got the job, but I don't think my earnings from the shifts I'm working currently can cover the costs". Another pause. "It's alright. I'll just ask the supervisor if I can work more shifts. It's more important that grandma gets well. Okay, bye. Send my well-wishes to her".

Jaemin turns around and you dart back out of the room to avoid being seen, but you still catch a glimpse of the tear drops falling from his eyes, sending a pang to your heart. Sure, you both argued all the time at work, but it didn't mean that you had no empathy for him at all, now that you had an idea of his circumstances — even if it was a vague one. You recall when he lashed out at you for spilling coffee on him just before his interview, and now you're able to better understand his reaction, thanks to the newly learned information about his grandmother’s situation. Yes, his reaction was still rude and unnecessarily harsh, but he was going through a stressful time himself. Guilt floods you suddenly as you think of all the times you'd flung harsh words at him for no reason.

As Jaemin emerges from the store room, you enter and get the milk and start preparing the customer's drink, all while this question replayed in your head: what could you do to help him?

"Y/n!" a clear voice sounds from the cash register, and you recognise it to be your regular customer and best friend from junior college – Chaewon.

Enthusiastically returning her greeting, you inquire about her order. "Chae! What would you like today?"

Chaewon scans the menu and makes her decision. "I'll get a tall strawberry frappuccino, no whipped, takeaway".

"No problem!" You answer, and prepare the drink for her as she goes to the side to wait. "One tall strawberry frappuccino for Chaewon!" you announce, and your friend skips up to collect her drink.

"Thank you! Here's a tip for you – you deserve it," Chaewon adds with a wink as she stuffs a wad of notes into your hand before sauntering away. "See you in class tomorrow!"

"See you Chae!" you call back. You head into the store room, intending to keep the money in your wallet, until the sight of Jaemin's wallet peeking out of his backpack catches your attention. A thought then hits you: why not give the tips I get to Jaemin? He needs it more than I do, anyway.

Without a second thought, your hands are already pulling the wallet out of his bag and stashing the tip Chaewon gave you into the wallet. Putting the wallet back where it was, you stride out of the room again as if nothing happened. Yeah, I'll keep doing this. Hopefully it helps to ease Jaemin's financial burden, you think to yourself.

Thankfully, the rest of the day goes by without a hitch. “Y/n! Good job today, just finish the last order and then you can go,” your supervisor comments, giving you a small smile. “Here’s today’s pay. See you tomorrow!” she finishes, passing you an envelope which contained your day’s earnings.

“Thank you so much ma’am! See you tomorrow!” You reply, calling for the last customer and then heading off to the store room to collect your bag. Peeking inside, you catch Jaemin gawking at his open wallet, prompting you to just stay outside and observe his reaction for a while. "No way. I don't remember receiving any tips. So how did this cash appear?" he asks himself, opening and closing his wallet repeatedly – even slapping himself at one point. "Oh my goodness. Whichever supernatural power provided me with this, thank you," he whispers, putting his cash into his wallet before shutting it again and placing it in his bag. His stressed expression melts away, and is replaced by a smile – one of relief and hope. The sight makes your heart rate increase faster than you'd like to admit, but you ignore it and exit the coffee shop, glad that you were able to do something to brighten up Jaemin's day.

»»————-　☕️　————-««

Jaemin had gotten the green light from your supervisor to work extra shifts, so over the next few weeks you both see each other more often as all his shifts coincide with yours. Though both of you are still rather cold towards each other, you argue less with him as you force yourself to hold your tongue whenever you're tempted to spew unkind things at him, knowing that he was going through a rough time.

And of course, you continue with your plan of secretly giving him all the tips that customers leave you – whether it was sixty cents or fifty bucks.

Today's just another day at work, and you overhear Jaemin on the phone as you're busy whipping up drinks for customers again. "Oh my gosh, no way".

Though you know it’s technically wrong, the saying “eavesdroppers never hear any good about themselves” leaves your memory momentarily as you prick up your ears to listen to the conversation, hoping that it was news about his grandmother. As his voice raises in pitch and grows increasingly excited, you feel your heart begin to beat faster as well, like the wings of a bird about to take off. "We only need $50 more and she can get surgery? That's fantastic news!"

Your heart swelled with joy, so much so that you thought it would burst right there and then in the cafe. Jaemin's grandmother would be saved! Though you didn't know the elderly woman, hearing the news still made you nearly melt in relief.

"Thank you, see you again!" you flash a bright smile to a customer as you hand them their order.

"Thank you! Here's a tip for you!" the customer replies and hands you some cash. Accepting it gratefully, you take a peek at it, and your heart leaps even higher than before at the sight. It's a fifty dollar note!

"Just what Jaemin needs!" you whisper to yourself, stashing the note in your pocket and making a mental note to put the money in his wallet when the day was over, since it was a very busy time at the cafe right now.

As promised, you secretly stash the note in his wallet again after your shift is over. Hopefully, this covers the costs of the surgery, you think to yourself as you pull the wallet out, unclasp it and stuff the money in.

“Wait, it’s you?” A familiar voice sounds from behind you, making you jump and whip your head around at breakneck speed as his wallet falls out of your grip and onto the floor with a clatter.

“Jaemin?” you blurt out dumbly, stunned by your colleague’s sudden appearance.

“Y/n? It’s you who’s been giving me the extra money?” Jaemin responds, seemingly even more astonished by the whole situation than you were.

It’s at this moment you realise there’s no point hiding it from him any further — he’d already discovered the "culprit" behind the extra money appearing in his wallet. “Yes, it’s me,” you sigh, handing his wallet back to him. “Look, I'm really sorry about this, but I happened to overhear your phone converstion with someone one day, and you were saying something about there not being enough money to send your grandmother for some kind of surgery or something like that. You seemed so sad and I just couldn’t bear to see it because I know it must be so stressful, having a family member who’s severely ill and not having financial means to get them treatment. So I thought I’d just quietly help you by giving you whatever tips customers left for me — I don’t really need the extra money right now. I did all this secretly, because I was worried you’d accuse me of purposefully eavesdropping or pitying you if you knew what I was doing. Also, it’d be awkward if I were to suddenly start intervening in your family matters since we’re both not really on good terms right now,” you explain, attempting to clear the air of confusion by explaining your intentions.

For a few moments, the only sound in the store room is the drone of whatever machinery is keeping the old fridge running as Jaemin slowly processes what you'd just told him. Finally, he speaks up. "Y/n, you have absolutely no idea how much that means to me. I was so, so worried when I found out the actual cost of the surgery, and that we might not be able to pay for it on time for my grandmother to survive. For so many nights, I couldn't sleep for so long because I was so worried," he explains. "But thanks to your kind donations, we'll be able to pay for it before she gets it today. Words alone can't express my gratitude to you. Really". He looks up and meets your gaze, and his eyes are moist with emotion.

Your lips curve into a gentle smile. "I'm glad I could help, Jaemin. I hope your grandmother's surgery goes well, and for her to have a speedy and stable recovery," you answer.

"I'm going to the hospital to visit her now, so I'll convey your well wishes to her. See you tomorrow, y/n". As he leaves the store room, he shows you a genuine smile, the first one he'd shown you ever since you both became coworkers.

Your heart melts at the sight, like the marshmallows you used to top orders of hot chocolate. "See you tomorrow, Jaemin". You return his smile, and continue to pack your own things as well before you leave the cafe. As much as you don't want to admit, for some reason this much more pleasant interaction has you using every single ounce of your willpower to stop yourself from squealing out in joy.

»»————-　☕️　————-««

"Y/n!" A familiar voice calls out to you as you start up the coffee machine next Monday morning.

"Oh hey, Jaemin!" You reply calmly as said boy comes up to you, looking much more relaxed and confident, compared to the usual worried and downcast expression etched on his face that had been the norm for the past few weeks.

"Excuse me," he murmurs, reaching out for the coffee machine and dispensing some into the plastic cup in his hand that was half-filled with ice, before calmly sipping on the beverage. "By the way, my grandmother's surgery was a success, and the doctor's prognosis for her looks good," Jaemin reveals, officially putting your worries about his grandmother to rest.

"Really? That's awesome!" you exclaim, sharing your coworker's joy over the good news.

Jaemin nods, a radiant smile forming on his face as he continues. "On behalf of the rest of my family, thank you so much. I know this probably isn't much, but please, let me treat you to a meal one day".

Though you initially refute his suggestion and say it's not necessary, arguing that you were simply helping him out in his time of need, you eventually give in to his insistence. "How is she now? Is she recovering from surgery well?" you inquire as you pile marshmallows onto a cup of hot chocolate.

"Yes, when I visited her yesterday, she had regained some of her appetite, and though she still seemed quite tired, she had slightly more energy than before, which are good signs," Jaemin replies, blending a matcha frappuccino. "Actually, do you want to come with me to visit her after work today?"

"Why not? I don't have anything on today, so I should be able to come," you reply.

"Alright then!" Jaemin grins, before turning and calling for the customer to pick up their order.

You return your attention to the drink you were making, totally surprised by your exchange with Jaemin earlier — much more pleasant compared to the interactions you’d had prior to this day. Maybe the saying your teachers had drilled into your head since elementary school was true. A small act of kindness could turn a situation around — in this case, it helped Jaemin’s family afford a life-saving surgery for his grandmother, and helped you and Jaemin warm up to each other.

»»————-　☕️　————-««

Before you both go to visit his grandmother, Jaemin insists on treating you to a sumptuous burger dinner. Which is how you both end up at a restaurant, with the juiciest chicken burger you've ever seen in your life, along with fries that have been fried to crisp golden brown perfection and a cup of iced lemon tea.

“How’s life been?” Jaemin asks, tucking into his own burger.

“Oh, it’s been quite chill. I just finished my graduating exam not long ago and am waiting for my results to come out, so I don’t really have much to do. That’s why I took on this job — to earn some money and pass my time,” you explain, picking up a few fries and popping them into your mouth, savouring the crunch that followed. “What about you?”

“University’s been kicking my ass,” Jaemin groans. “The professors have gone ham on my class — who gives their students freaking five essays to finish in a week? On top of that, I’ve got frisbee practices after school and also this job. Luckily my grandmother’s condition has stabilised, or else I’d have even more stress to deal with,” he adds.

“Oh my, that sounds tough. All the best,” you grunt empathetically, knowing exactly how he felt. Though you had never studied in a university, you’d just finished junior college, and had experienced days where the onslaught of homework seemed never ending, leaving you feeling as if you were going to suffocate to death under the workload that only seemed to get heavier and heavier each day. “Oh yeah — speaking of your grandmother, what exactly happened to her? If you’re not comfortable sharing this with me, please don’t feel obligated to do so,” you hurriedly add at the end. You were aware that this was a very sensitive topic, and that Jaemin might wish to keep such matters to himself.

“About that…” Jaemin’s voice trails off, and he scratches his head as he contemplates whether to tell you or not. “Okay. I’ll tell you, since you’re the one who basically saved her life,” he decides, before beginning his story. “It was cancer. Stomach cancer. She lost her appetite, and often complained of stomach pain. Initially, we thought that it was simply a stomach bug, and we took her to the doctor who just prescribed her some medication. But she didn’t improve — if anything, she got worse. The day she began vomiting blood, we knew that something was terribly wrong. A check up at the hospital revealed that she had stage 3 stomach cancer”.

“Oh gosh, that’s horrible,” you muse, brows forming a furrow in the center of your forehead.

“It was. Our whole family was devastated, especially knowing that she wouldn’t have any chance of survival unless she went for surgery. But at that point of time, my dad had just been laid off, meaning that we weren’t able to afford to pay for the operation. Hence we began scrimping and saving, with my dad taking on three jobs in order to try to earn some money. My mother took on two odd jobs, while also having to look after my younger siblings at home. I was really anxious about my grandmother, and I felt terrible seeing how exhausted my parents were. So, I decided to do whatever I can to help, which is why I took on this job, thinking that the salary I’d earn would be sufficient. But the hospital called back to say that the cost of the surgery would actually be more expensive than we initially thought, since my grandmother’s case was extra complicated, and it sent me back into a panic because I knew that even with extra shifts, the money I earned might not even be able to cover the costs. Gosh, I’m so glad it’s over,” Jaemin finishes, breathing out a sigh. The tears that had welled up in his eyes, now pouring out like rain, spoke volumes just how bleak that period had been for Jaemin.

The sight of him tearing up made your heart ache. “I’m so sorry you guys went through that,” you murmur, reaching over to rub his shoulder to comfort him. “That must have been so tough. Fortunately, you guys were able to afford the procedure in the end. You're so strong".

Jaemin nods. “And it’s all thanks to you”.

“Now I know why you were so worked up that day,” you add, thinking back to the day when you’d had your first proper interaction with Jaemin.

A quizzical look comes upon Jaemin’s face. “Which day?”

“The day you came to the cafe for your job interview. I spilled your drink on you, remember?” you remind him, a sheepish smile gracing your features.

Jaemin's brows furrow as he searches his brain, trying to recall the moment you had mentioned. His eyes widen, and he snaps his fingers as the memory returns to him. "Oh! Right! Oh my, I still feel so bad about it, jeez," he exclaims, his palm meeting his forehead. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that over such a small thing. I think that's why our relationship has been so sour".

"No, no, it's fine. That was in the past, was it not?" you say, reassuring Jaemin that you don't hold any grudges against him over past events. “I’m sorry too, for saying that I hoped the boss would fire you, when it was a time when you needed this job most”.

“It’s alright. Honestly, I don’t even have any memory of that incident, anyway,” Jaemin chuckles, popping the last of his fries into his mouth. “You done? Let’s go, then,” he decides as you nod.

At the hospital, you get to know Jaemin’s grandmother. She took the chance to express her thanks towards you for donating the money that went towards her life-saving surgery. "Jaemin told me all about it," she mentions. "Thank you so much. Make sure to treat her to something nice," she adds, directing her comment towards Jaemin.

"He already has, and besides, there's no need for it," you chuckle. "I’m just happy that I could help".

Your evening ends with you and Jaemin spending an hour chatting with the affable elderly lady over the happenings in your lives, who was a pleasure to talk to. "Thank you for coming over to visit! I hope to see you again, y/n. You're coming again tomorrow, right?" she confirms with Jaemin.

"Yep, that's right. See you tomorrow, grandma. Have a good rest," he replies, giving his grandmother a hug before leading you out of the ward and shutting the door.

The walk out of the hospital is silent, but this time it's a comfortable silence and not one that's permeated by a frosty, cold atmosphere. "So…coming tomorrow?" Jaemin asks, breaking the silence.

"I think I can come," you reply. "I should be free. If you and your grandmother are okay with that, of course," you hastily add.

Jaemin snorts and chortles at your answer. "Of course I'm alright with it! Why would I ask you if I wasn't? And plus my grandmother literally just said she hopes to see you again," he replies.

"Alright then, I'll come," you confirm, laughs pouring out of your mouth as well. From relentlessly firing abrasive remarks at each other to being able to laugh together, you and Jaemin's relationship sure had come a long way.

»»————-　☕️　————-««

In the days that follow, you find yourself tagging along with Jaemin to visit his grandmother more often whenever you're free after work, and having dinner with him after. Through these interactions, both of you grow closer, and the fluttering in your heart whenever he cracks a joke or pulls a silly antic increases in frequency, which you often try to suppress. As much as you try to deny it, you’ve grown fonder of him as the days go by, as he shows more and more of his true self to you.

It's also no surprise that now the old lady sees you as her own granddaughter, and often treats you as such. You came to trust her with whatever was on your mind as well, sharing with her deeper things that were on your heart and mind and taking the sensible advice she offered. She would also humour you with many different stories, from both her own and Jaemin's childhood.

Today, however, was slightly different. You had gone to visit Jaemin's grandmother by yourself, since Jaemin had to attend a project meeting with his group mates after work. So here you were, seated in a chair beside her bed and laughing out loud as she let you in on some of the embarrassing things Jaemin had done in his childhood.

"You know, Jaemin used to be so shy to talk to girls when he was a child. Last time, he'd come and hide behind me whenever girls tried to talk to him. I would have to coax him out just to say hi!" she explains, chortling as she relates the memory to you and your eyes go wide. Jaemin seemed so comfortable around you, you'd never have known that he was so shy as a kid.

"Really?" you ask, letting the surprise sink in.

"Yes, really," his grandmother confirms. "And whenever he liked any girl he never ever made any move to confess. He simply kept his feelings to himself and only ever spoke to me about them".

"Wow, I didn't know," you laugh.

"Yeah, Jaemin was terribly shy as a child. Come to think of it, you're the only girl he's been this comfortable with," she adds. "I actually think he feels a certain way towards you, but he doesn't want to say anything," she adds.

"How would you know?" You inquire, brows furrowing in surprise. Surely she was wrong?

"He's always bringing you along on his visits, if you're available. And when you're not, it seems to make him feel a bit sad," the old lady begins explaining. "Every visit, he has to mention at least one thing about you – even if it's as small as the smile you gave him when he arrived at work".

"Oh…I see". You falter in your reply, unsure of how to process what his grandmother had just told you.

"And when I tried asking him about it, he tried so hard to deny his own feelings for you. But I can read my grandson, you know. He likes you more than a friend, but he doesn't want to say anything. He's too shy, and he’s scared that he’ll spoil the friendship between you two," his grandmother adds, before shooting you a question that catches you off guard. "Do you feel the same towards him too?"

"Well I- I…" you stutter even more, unsure of your response. "Okay, maybe I do. At first it was purely due to his looks, because I always saw him order from us during my shifts and found him really handsome. But as I got to know him better, I found things about his personality attractive too. Like how he loves his family so much, he'd willingly sacrifice more of his limited time to work extra shifts to provide the money they need. And how gentle he is towards the people he cares about. There's more, but if I were to list them all I'll be here past visiting hours," you joke, while at the same time voicing your true thoughts and feelings about Jaemin.

His grandmother nods, processing your answer. "I see. From my previous interactions with you, I can tell that you're a sensible, compassionate young lady as well, and I think you'd be a good match for my grandson. Now that you know he feels the same way towards you, will you be bold and take the first step to tell him your feelings?" she asks, looking up at you with hope in her eyes.

“I…” you trail off, not knowing if you should accede to her request. On one hand, you had come to terms with the fact that you fancied Jaemin more than a friend, and what you felt was probably not just a fleeting crush, and you badly wished to get these feelings off your chest. On the other hand, you were immensely worried about what would happen if you told Jaemin these things.

That he would see you differently.

That he’d reject you, and you’d have to deal with the sting that would come after.

That the friendship between both of you would be affected.

There was just so much to worry about!

“Y/n, I know what you’re thinking. I know you’re worried about his reaction,” Jaemin’s grandmother drawls understandingly. “But trust me, he’s thinking the exact same things as you, and because of that he’s not willing to make the first move. So, now the ball is in your court. Are you willing to take that risk?” She asks, her gaze on you unmoving.

“I…I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it,” you answer honestly.

His grandmother nods, grunting in understanding. “Alright then, if you wish. There’s no pressure on you to do anything, really. The choice is really yours. But believe me — it would make his day”.

That day, you left the hospital in the biggest dilemma you’ve been in for a long while.

»»————-　☕️　————-««

It doesn’t take too long for you to make up your mind.

“I’m gonna do it”. You declare, striding out of the store room as you tie up your apron. It’s a monday morning, and you’re back at work again.

“Do what?” Lia asks, a quizzical expression coming over her.

“I’m gonna shoot my shot”.

At this, Lia lets the plastic cups in her hand clatter to the floor. “You’re what?”

You move quickly to help her pick up the cups. “I said what I said. I’m shooting my shot today”.

“Yes, yes, I heard you, but with who?” Lia speaks quickly, looking as if she’s just heard the most ridiculous new in her life.

“Na Jaemin, duh,” you answer, stacking the plastic cups up where they should be.

“You’re- no way.”

“Yes way. I’ve decided I’m gonna take my chances today, and if it doesn’t go as planned- oh well, what’s the worst that could happen? At most, I get rejected and I lose a friend,” you reason, explaining your thought process — though more so to try and calm your nerves than to appease Lia’s curiosity. Truth be told, you were becoming extremely jumpy, and you felt like you were going to begin bouncing off the walls any moment.

“Are you insane? There is no way on earth he’s going to reject you!” Lia exclaims, staring at you incredulously. “If he rejects you, it means the sky’s gonna fall down tomorrow”.

“How are you so sure?” you question, narrowing your eyes into slits as you stare at her.

“It’s so obvious, duh. I can practically see hearts in his eyes whenever he looks at you!” she answers as she gives the countertop a quick wipedown with a cloth. “Bet he’s too shy to speak his mind, though”.

You shrug in response, arranging a few more mugs on the countertop. “I don’t know. But I’ll see how everything goes”.

“It’ll be more than fine. Trust me,” Lia declares. “But anyway, what’s your plan?”

You whisper your plan into her ear, and her brows furrow disapprovingly. “That’s it? That’s so basic, y/n!” she groans.

“Hey, basic isn’t always bad!” you exclaim, shoving her playfully. “If it works, it works, okay!”

“Whatever”. Lia rolls her eyes jokingly. “But just know I’m rooting for the both of you”.

Fortunately, Jaemin shows up to work punctually, meaning that your plan can be put into action.

“Psst, Jaemin,” you whisper, waving your hand in front of his face. “Earth to Jaemin”.

“Sorry, what?” Jaemin responds, snapping out of his momentary trance.

You can’t help but laugh at his stunned response. “Looks like the mid-afternoon coma is hitting us both — I feel it too. So, I was thinking we make each other a coffee of our choice, just to perk ourselves up. What do you say?”

“Why not? I need the caffeine fix real bad right now anyway,” he reasons, standing up from his chair and moving to where the cups and mugs were placed. “Hot, iced, or ice blended?” he asks.

“Surprise me”. You simply respond, flashing him a grin. “And I’ll surprise you too”.

With that, you both begin whipping up drinks for each other.

You decide to make him a venti vanilla sweet cream cold brew, since his usual order is a cold brew, but you also know that he’s been obsessed with iced vanilla lattes recently — so why not combine the best of both worlds? Being aware that he enjoys having a stronger coffee taste in his drinks, you make his drink a little less sweet.

This is where your plan comes to life. Picking up a marker, you write this on the cup, taking care to write where the vanilla cream is visible:

Be mine?

▢ yes

▢ no

Now, all that’s left to do is to wait for Jaemin to finish with yours, pass him the drink, and then wait for his response.

It sounds so simple in theory, so why do my hands feel heavy as lead now? You question mentally as Jaemin reappears, looking slightly sheepish. “Y/n? I’m done with yours, are you finished with mine?” he asks softly.

“Yes, of course! Here you go,” you exclaim, pass him the cup of cold brew and take your drink, trying to hide how your hands are shaking as if a 9.2 magnitude earthquake is taking place on them.

The sight of your drink sends a new wave of butterflies flying right through you, while at the same time causing a laugh to bubble up in you, which you fight to keep down.

Jaemin had made you a classic latte, but with a hilarious yet heartwarming twist. He’d clearly given his best shot at latte art, as shown from the words on the drink which have now almost dissolved into illegible, messy foam streaks. Fortunately for you, you’re still able to comprehend it.

It’s the exact same thing that you wrote on his cup.

You peek in Jaemin’s direction and catch sight of him gawking at the writing on his cup. “Y/n…” he trails off, his facial expression a clear giveaway of the shock he’s feeling. “I can’t believe we were thinking the exact same thing!” he exclaims, before bursting into guffaws.

“I can’t believe it either,” you respond, now laughing your head off along with him. “Gosh, and to think I was so afraid to do this!”

“So was I!” Jaemin chuckles, sipping on the drink. “If only I knew you had almost the exact same plans as I had”.

“Well…I guess our answers to each other are obvious then,” you giggle. By now, you’re smiling so widely, the corners of your mouth could reach your ears, and you feel as if your whole chest is going to explode with how fast and hard your heart is pounding.

“Well then, cheers to our newfound love for each other,” Jaemin declares, raising his cup and pulling you in for a side hug, all while gazing at you lovingly.

“Cheers,” you respond, bringing your cup to his as you lean closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you soak up the warmth of his embrace.

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