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yoondoze · 5 years ago

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coin toss | jjk

you and jeongguk go way back, even before you were the menacing duo many knew you to be, even before he brought you into the mafia and left you there to join the city’s detective agency. a call for cooperation comes out of a common enemy, requiring the two of you to reconcile for one last mission.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 25.4k

genre: soft and hard angst, mafia/detective agency au, complicated exes (?)

warnings: language, violence, blood, character death, sexual implications, little bit of gore, jimin has a weird hatred of yoongi idk don’t take it seriously, mentions of torture, grief, too many italics

a/n: long time no see everyone, hope you’re doing well! this story was inspired by my favorite anime, bungou stray dogs (it’s got a soukoku type beat & you’ll recognize some structures). it’s my first back in a while, and it’s also the longest piece i’ve written, so i hope you all enjoy it! <3

To be called to the Boss’s office for a quick word is almost always a sealed exit ticket from this world. One, because regular meetings of necessity are always held in the boardroom and discussed amongst the executives. Two, one on one meetings mean no witnesses. You’ve been there once before and barely made it out alive. To make it out a second time? The chances are practically nonexistent.

The room feels less like an office and more like an 18th-century study, a dark academia dream with the coffee-toned furniture and ceiling-high shelves stacked with books. The only sign of modernity is the pristine silver laptop sitting perfectly on his desk. The guards to the side of the room look straight ahead, no indication of how this will end for you.

“My dear, good to see you,” The Boss purrs, eyelids falling into tender crescents as you place yourself gently on the cushion of his ornate bergère. Typically there are two of a kind that sit across from his dark oak bureau, but at this moment one has been removed from the space so yours could be positioned parallel to his own chair.

The Boss has an intimidating air about him. From the gentle yet feline-like movements that look like they mask something sinister, to his signature verbosity that’s almost professorial, he’s the perfect paradigm of a godfather.

“And you, Boss. It’s been a while.” You maintain a cool tone, not breaking his eye contact. He was a dog that could smell fear and would drag it out of you if he thought it could sate his twisted desire for control.

He sighs as his cheshire smile fades. “I don’t like beating around the bush, as I’m sure you know. You... must have heard the rumors of a third party organization stepping foot in this city, yes?”

The whispers started only days ago, and the most you heard was only an assumption from another underling at the bar. Considering how much people loved to gossip and how boring it got around here, you were just going to brush it off. However, if it was enough to bring you here, it had to be something worth your attention.

“Yes, it’s been floating around.” You clear your throat. “Is it something to be worried about?”

He puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together, sucking a breath through his teeth. “This has happened before, when a new group tries to disrupt our hold on the functioning of our territory, and we have always squashed them from the picture quietly. But unfortunately, those who call themselves the Syndicate play dirty.”

It seems as if things were not heading in the track you imagined when being escorted on the long walk here. But then he orders the guards at the sides of the room out, and your heart jumps to your throat.

As the large doors close behind them, he resumes talking.

“Last week, twenty-two of our men were killed and one taken during a weapons exchange with a western group...who we thought were a western group. All they left behind was a handful of playing cards.” His wrist flicks up suddenly, a black card tucked between his two fingers. The shine on the back glints under the dim lamplight. He stares in disdain.

The nervous habit of jumbling your fingers started up in your lap, asking, “Who was it?”

“Underlings of the Syndicate,” he brushes past, holding up a single finger before continuing, “The key is that the missing one was a trusted man in our central intelligence unit. He was carrying knowledge of our expansion plans within the next year. When backup came, he was gone. Intelligence then reported that the Syndicate was also responsible for the crisis of our allies in the Midwest, Fox Lodge, two years ago. And a year before, the Federacy in Europe. They crumbled in a matter of weeks.”

The man sweeps his dark hair from his forehead, an undetectable motive flaring in his eyes, the one person you could never read.

“Simply,” he shrugs, “this fish is too big to fry on our own.”

You couldn’t help but swallow. “And that means…?”

“I’ve spoken to the director of the Detective Agency. A temporary ceasefire has been agreed upon... Similar interests, a common enemy, you see.”

Existed an extensive list of things that did not have the capacity to surprise you anymore in this life. But a ceasefire? That was impossible; The Detective Agency and the Mafia had always been at odds like a fated grudge of the gods above. The fighting had been continuous for all your time spent in the organization.

“I know,” he nods, “It is a miraculous thought. But they have the resources and we have the manpower. While it would be great to let Syndicate take them out for us, we would ultimately be next on their list. Cooperation is our best bet.”

And the thought of what this conversation may be coming to strikes you like lightning on waiting sand. “I thought you didn’t approve of betting, Boss.”

“Hmm… I see you’ve caught on,” he says pensively, a smile rising on his face as fast as it disappears. “This gamble is one I have much faith in. It used to be our ace in the hole, you remember?”

Weakly, you mumble, “I do.”

“You must realize that our situation is grave. I would not suggest it if there was another way. In the kindest manner I can put it, dear, your willing partnership is required.”

And there’s the kicker, the whole reason why. A sick feeling seethes in the pit of your stomach, makes you want to gag or throw up or pass out. You have a choice, of course, but not a real choice. To clarify, it was agree, or be squashed out quietly, as Boss liked to say. On the off chance you would choose death over discomfort, he had to call you to his office for safe measure.

“I understand, Boss,” is all you could manage.

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Though we have all turned a bit sour since Jeon’s departure, I’m sure you are capable of uniting for the sake of our city. I wouldn’t mind if you killed him after the mission is complete, either, but I will leave that up to your judgment.”

The name is awkward coming off his tongue, even with the chuckle he throws in to lighten the mood, implying an air of distance and estrangement.

Jeon. That bastard. The thought of working with him… incredible. It was silly of you to think that you’d never see him again while fighting for control of the same city, but there you were, awestruck and in embarrassing shock. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll do what is needed.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be calling a meeting tomorrow with the other executives and we will talk about the plan. You are excused.”

With an obedient nod, you are lifting yourself from the chair and heading toward the door, the sound of your heels muted on his burgundy carpet.

“Oh, and dear?”

You pause, turning your head over your shoulder and clearing your throat. “Yes?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he traces his thumb along the blade of his knife, glinting in the dim glow of the moonlit window. “You know I trust you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without a falter in his expression, he makes a swift movement with his wrist. Before you can blink, the blade flies past your ear and lodges itself in the door in front of you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

A threat not to be taken lightly.

“Of course.”

As you tread down the hallway on your way out, you can't help but chastise yourself. How dumb could you be? Of course he would try to intimidate you like that. Any other day, you could have sensed it and caught it before it even parted with his palm. That was how it was supposed to be, as the renowned Scorpion, right? Was the thought of Jeon and having to see him again so debilitating that you let your guard flounder like that? Pathetic.

Hopefully he’d only take it as a slip-up. Take it as a respectful allowance and understanding as opposed to weakness. If you were losing your skills, your value was lost, as was your privilege to live.

The ride back to your apartment is the worst you had in years. Even the radio station you listen to regularly for mind-numbing background noise has you wanting to burst. The traffic lights make you want to scream, the sound of the air pushing past the open window has you bubbling with fury, the blinking advertisements circulating building perimeters driving your mind blank. Somewhere in a moment of clarity, you know it all starts with fear.

Truth was, you and Jeon were partners once. In crime, the trump card the Mafia put down to play dirty, no way to get around you. In tandem, a menacing duo, the bold and the lethal, the Lion and the Scorpion. In the sheets, from time to time, after a few too many drinks or a few too many flirty looks on a sober night. Two sides of the same coin. But that was then, in a different time and a different world, and in a way that you hated how your mind had retained him so perfectly in his bitter absence.

☆☆☆

To be honest, the atmosphere of the first meeting really couldn’t have been any better than expected. It’s the furthest thing from civil, of course, but it can be considered a blessing that everyone participating was still breathing.

For protective purposes, office space had been rented out for a few hours for the intents of the meeting. There were only eight of you gathered in the small space; From the Mafia, the four top executives and from the Agency, the VP and three head advisors. One of them, none other than Jeon himself. The president and the boss stayed out for this meeting in an attempt to lower the tension, which was certainly an effort taken. Personal affairs mixing in would have resulted in at least one dead body within the first thirty seconds.

While there is some sort of discussion occurring around you, you are only focusing on how pathetic you feel in that you’re actively avoiding Jeon, as well as the discomfort in the pit of your stomach that appeared as soon as he did. You always thought that you’d be strong and bold the next time you met, but now that the time has come, you’ve let yourself down. Seeing him face to face after all this time is a reminder of everything you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind for years.

Meanwhile, Jeongguk isn’t sure what the playing field looks like just yet. He’s resting his head on his fist, sneaking a glance at you when he can and wishing you’d speak up so he’d have a good reason to look at you for longer than a blink, but you’re awfully quiet. He hates to think it might be because of him.

“We received an anonymous tip this morning about an underground base in the Coral District. Supposedly, there are multiple entrances from bars in the surrounding area, creating a tunnel system.” Namjoon, the VP, pushes his glasses up and closes the manila folder in his hands he had been referencing. “As our only lead, I think it is in our best interest to take a look.”

Namjoon is by far the most uptight man you had ever met. A little pretentious, of course, but in a way that almost made him cute. His calculative nature made him a good asset, but you couldn’t imagine how much of a bore he must have been in his daily life. You could bet without a doubt that he had been the most opposed to collaboration - if not by the countless moments he had spent sighing in your past encounters, then surely by how his condescending tone went into overdrive the second he sat down.

Yoongi, one of your fellow executives, states plainly, “That means nothing.” He seems more focused in the dirt tucked beneath his fingernails than the meeting at hand.

“It’s anonymous. For all we know they’re trying to trick us,” adds Yeji, personality plagued with suspicion. She doesn’t want to be here as much as you do, but she’s trying. Yeji is scrutinizing and not impressed by the image of naivety that stems from such a simple deduction, and that’s on top of her personal problem with the righteous narrative of the detective agency. You don’t blame her.

“And for all we know, it could be useful. The people of this city are our eyes and ears.” Jimin shoots back, stare unwavering. “It’s not like we should just ignore it. Do you have anything better?”

The strain in the air is almost unbearable, pulling up the hairs on your arms with all the tense energy circulating. It’s as if lightning was about to strike any second. No one says another word, only dirty looks being exchanged between headstrong personalities until a defiant knock comes to the door, startling the aggression into temporary submission. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, the only movement he had made this entire time. You only shrug at him.

“Who is it?” Namjoon asks, standing from the table.

“Just clean up. I’m here to take out the trash.” Silence engulfs the space like a dense fog hanging in the air, until the man behind the door calls again, “It’ll only be a second.”

Hesitantly, Namjoon makes the call for him to come in. All eyes flick over to the man, who cautiously enters the room with a nervous laugh. He is clueless to what he’s walking into. He waves a hand of greeting before fetching the bin from the corner of the room, taking it to the main dump on wheels in the hallway. After a few shuffles and plunks, he comes back in to put it in its place.

Namjoon adjusts his tie and clears his throat as he sits down again, resuming the meeting.

“I don’t care what we do as long as we can be done with this,” Taehyung mumbles, resting his head on his palm with half-mast eyes. He’s practically falling asleep, like a cat resting in the sunbeams pouring through a window.

Wendy, another advisor, rolls her eyes at him, responding with a scoff, “Of course you don’t care…”

“Oh, like you’re such a saint.”

The boardroom erupts into yet another argument, different groups spitting words at their own personal targets. All you can do is sit and listen, your hope for this mission decreasing exponentially as the seconds tick by. At least if it didn’t work out, you won’t have to see Jeon again after this.

“Creep,” mutters Yeji under her breath from the chair next to you. She had been removing herself from the argument like you save for a few special dramatic sighs and trivial insults that you didn’t condone, but didn’t exactly scold her for either. After all, she is the closest thing you have to a best friend.

“Huh?” you inquire wisely. “Who?”

She tilts her head to the hallway. Your head whips around to see the janitor through the walls of windows walking away with a peculiar bounce in his step, one he most certainly did not arrive with.

“What’s his problem?” you whisper, leaning in.

“I don’t know, but he was laughing to himself while they were arguing. He’s probably just another weirdo,” she snubs with a sigh. “You know how people are in this city.”

Though you had a slight feeling of discomfort from the commencement of the meeting, since stepping foot in the lobby of the building even, you simply brushed it off as paranoia, or nervousness from who you were about to see. But it just seems too strange to ignore anymore. Wasn’t the building supposed to be completely empty today, aside from those in the conference taking place right now? Your instincts scream at you through a closed mouth, wariness freezing your limbs, but why?

You hold your hand up discreetly as you stare at the simply dark grey bin across the room. It’s the only thing that seemed out of place - besides the meeting table and chairs, the room is completely empty. The pristine board room, black and grey and sparkling clean. And then, the cheap plastic bin.

The argument settles when Yeji whistles, getting their attention.

“What’s wrong?” Wendy asks obliviously before you shush her with a raise of your pointer. All focus zeroes in on the bin… and that barely noticeable line trailing from it to the door handle.

One tick is all you need to hear.

“We gotta go, now,” you state, standing up hurriedly from your chair. Chatter and confusion ensue again as you drag it behind you over to the floor-length window. You pause, narrowing your eyes at the distance down from the second story. Considering there were no other exits from the room and you suspected that no one here was a part of the bomb squad, it was the only way to go. You drawback, hands gripping tightly around the armrests and hoist it up, swinging it around your side. it effectively shatters the glass, the piercing noise as shards clatter to the floor making you squint.

“Woah, woah, what are you doing? Do you know how much that’s gonna coast?” Namjoon shouts, becoming frantic as you further knock the glass out from the surrounding area.

“They knew where we were. Look at the bin,” you explain quickly. Their surveillance of you averts to where you had been looking moments before, realization dawning as their sight finds the transparent cord set tight.

“Taehyung, you first.” The boy trails to the make-shift exit without question, blond locks bouncing in front of his face as he hurries over. Carefully, with a hand on the frame, he peers out to see what he’s working with. He’s made do with worse before. He lowers himself out onto the ledge one foot at a time, cautious not to cut himself on the jagged glass poking out. With a deep breath, he commits to the jump and launches off, landing cleanly on the flower beds below.

He cranes his neck up to you with disgust written all over his features.

“It’s new still,” he complains with a frown, toeing the dark mulch which must be fresh and with a rotten stench. You don’t have the time to admonish his behavior as you usher the others out, keeping an eye on the bin and the hallway. Yeji is out next, hitting the ground lightly with Taehyung’s guiding arms.

You fish a compact walkie from your pocket, tossing it down to her. “Find the janitor. Evacuate anyone else you see. Channel Six.” She catches it with ease, only providing a nod before sprinting off around the corner, ponytail whooshing behind her. Namjoon, now on the ground with Jimin, spares a word with him before Jimin takes off after Yeji to catch up.

“You run a well-oiled machine, Y/N. I’m impressed.” Jeon’s voice from beside you grabs your attention, to which you can only hold his eyes for a moment before breaking it off. He stands smugly with his arms crossed in front of him.

He immediately cringes internally at the way it comes out. It was just supposed to be a compliment, genuinely, but the tinge of complacency in his voice took it all away. The way you don’t respond clamps his heart, but only pushes out more awful dialogue with an inappropriately playful tone.

“What, you’re just gonna ignore me?

Swallowing your nerves, you insist, “Get down.” Now, of all times, he chooses to chat you up? The chipper attitude had your nails imprinting half-moons to the base of your palm.

But he can’t stop himself. Even as he reads your growing impatience, he acts like a whiny toddler, emphasizing, “No, no, ladies first of course.”

“Get down.”

He’s trying not to let your firm edge get to him, playing it off with, “God, so cold. You’re hurting my feelings-” “Get down, Jeongguk!”

The once fluid movement of the world slows as you shout at him, your own voice becoming muted as you listen for it. A blinding light bursts from across the room, ripping through the walls and bursting the glass like balloons, growing brighter and brighter as you watch. In a split second you’re falling, tearing through open air while barely sensing your entanglement in something soft before hitting the ground with a blunt stop.

He had pulled you into him instinctively as the blow forced him off his feet, but the regret is instant in Jeon’s mind as he struggles to move. Not for grabbing you, but for the stupid words he couldn’t close the dam on as they poured out. The threat completely left his mind in the effort to get you to respond to him. He wants to smack himself, but his body hasn’t had the chance to recoup yet.

You groan, body practically frozen in ache. Rolling off of him, you rub your lids and scratch the hair out of your face, looking up to see smoke pouring out of where you just stood moments before. Jumping to your feet, you brush the small shards of glass from your clothes and ignore the dizziness, aiming to put as much distance between the building and you as you could, but not before pulling a disoriented Jeon to his feet to take him with you. He’s coughing and clutching at his rib, your weight hitting him as an extra beating once he had landed.

Collapsing on the curb out front, you try to catch your breath. That bastard. If it weren’t for his necessity to uphold such a jackass mentality, you wouldn’t have needed the extra painful push out of the building. Without even needing to look, the sound echoing alone let you know that the building was collapsing in on itself. While you can’t feel it now because of the adrenaline, you know you’ll be hurting later.

A muffled noise comes from the walkie in your back pocket. It’s Yeji, who is suspiciously breathing fine as her heavy footfalls transmit as loud as her voice, reporting, “Finally caught up to him. It looks like he’s heading to Coral District, we’re on his tail but we don’t know what we’re going into!”

The device jumbles in your shaky hand as you scramble to get back to her. “We’re on our way, don’t worry. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

You bring yourself to your feet, your fleeting moment of recovery already gone.

“Namjoon, can you stay behind for cleanup? Rest of us will catch up to Yeji. You heard her, right?”

He nods solemnly, and you suppose the blast to the building also was one to his ego. His notorious calculative nature had failed him this time around with that poisonous hatred in the way. Maybe he’ll reference it next time.

You think that Jeon is going to come up with another snarky comment to make, but all he does is pinch his nose bridge and massage his temples. He chooses to stay behind also as you, Wendy, Taehyung, and Yoongi follow in quick pursuit. It’s no surprise that Yoongi, one of the most sloth-like yet efficient strong suits of the Mafia, is already pulling over a civilian vehicle to take.

“Yeji, current location?” You ask into the radio, trying to keep up an acceptable trot behind the group.

It only takes a second for her voice to crackle back through. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. It’s weird though - he’s not just running away from us, he’s running to somewhere.”

Up ahead, Wendy is pushing Yoongi aside as she shows her ID to the astonished woman floundering for words, admirably commandeering the car rather than stealing. No surprise, but smart nonetheless. One less lawsuit to worry about.

It only takes a second to envision a mental map of the city. The Corner of Park and Third is heading toward an unfamiliar side of town. What was even over there? The subway station, a shopping center? No place plausible for a bar, and definitely not near the Coral district. There was no place you could think of he might be leading them to - unless, of course, he was leading them away from something.

In fact, his direction is almost exactly opposite from…

“Tae!” you shout, just as he’s getting into the car. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. Get on your walkie, I’m taking a detour!”

He tips his head back in understanding as he jogs backwards to the car, soon ducking in slamming the door shut behind him, the car speeding off with a squeal. The thought of being in that car with them makes you shudder, but it’s not like where you’re off to is any better.

The location is printed on the backs of your lids in vermilion red ink. You had to know it regardless of whether you were a frequent visitor or not, because being aware of your surroundings when doing the kind of work required for your job was just as necessary as the job itself. You couldn’t be making arms deals in the alleys behind the Detective Agency unless you were aiming to spend some time behind bars.

Your heart drops as you round the corner to see the building absolutely sacked, your sprinting pace coming to a standstill with disappointment. A small crowd of people have surrounded the area, phones out to snap pictures and take videos. The windows lining the building are smashed in violently, and small plumes of smoke wisp their way out of what remains, the alarms that alerted no one still ringing.

Light footsteps approach from behind you as your own step carefully over the glass to get a closer look. He’d been in his head for only a few minutes after you left, but when he saw you crossing back over to the other side of town, while he was stuck pathetically on the curb, it sparked his brain back up into working condition.

“Huh. Smart cookie,” states Jeon, seeming to finally be back to reality. Enough to make it here, anyway. In less than a second your blade is against his neck as a firm warning. All he does is smile cheekily, raising his palms up so you could see them.

“No need to be hostile,” he tries, hiding the way he gulps when you look away. “Just a compliment.”

“We are nothing more than work partners. I advise you to drop the act now,” you spit, sure you’d break your jaw with how hard your teeth were pressed against each other, hearing the sandpaper sound grinding in your ears. You lower the blade and tuck it away, exchanging it for your gun in hand as you approach the entrance.

It’s a mess inside. The walls are dented, desks broken, drawers and filing cabinets sprawled all over the floor. Random papers make a muddle of everything visible. The computer screens are cracked and wires mangled as if someone with a bad temper had taken a baseball bat to them. Even the potted plants had been bashed in, fragments of terracotta and clumps of dirt spread out everywhere.

“Was anyone working?” you ask, fingers tracing over the splintered edges of the welcome desk.

“No,” replies Jeon, in awe of the state of the office. “The President doesn’t come in, and two of our teams are off carrying out other tasks. We sent our office staff home to keep them out of danger.”

Not one thing untouched. Such great care was taken to ruin every piece of the space - but when no one was home. If the office staff were here, would they have hurt them? Or was it a purposeful decision in favor of the empty building?

Jeon’s shoulders slump, bottom lip jutting from his pout. Upon your questioning brow, he says, “They took my octopus pen.” He stares longingly down at what you assume is his desk, or what was his desk.

You squint in confusion, about to prompt further explanation, but Taehyung comes in through the radio. “We caught the janitor. Don’t know anything yet, but he’s being taken into police custody. We looked for the tunnels, but there’s nothing so far. I think it was a misdirect.”

“I think it was too,” you sigh. “The DA was ransacked.”

The waves flatten into grey static. You can picture the confusion that was rising among the group with Tae’s relay of information. When it comes back on, it is a different voice.

“Ransacked, you said? How bad?” It’s Wendy, the panic blatant on her tongue.

“Everything in it was destroyed…” you say, knowing this was just as much a loss for you as it was them. “They knew where we were and bombed us, and then led us on a chase so they could eliminate one of our bases. Let the others know and we’ll regroup later.”

“Copy that,” says Yoongi shortly, and that ends the exchange.

One of your strongest pieces was impressively knocked off the board. There was no way to get the building back in operating shape in the time span you had to eliminate the threat. While you still had their people and outside resources, the building was essential to the functioning of the agency, and the city along with it. If they had already taken down the home base of the detectives, wouldn’t the Mafia be next? Granted, there was no one set base, but things would surely get fishy if you didn’t act fast. Like Boss said, Fox Lodge crumbled in mere weeks. Whatever your opinion was, you couldn’t deny the Mafia was integral in monitoring the underground of the city, and letting control fall into the hands of such self-serving villains would be far worse than anything already occurring.

Jeon sighs loudly from across the room, spinning on his heels to catch your gaze. He tsks and sweeps a stray strand of hair behind his ear with a delicate hand. “What are you thinking?”

You hum in thought. “It’s a warning,” you conclude, observing the rows of overthrown furniture. “They wanted to show what they’re capable of. Intimidation.”

He purses his lips innocently. “...What next?”

“I don’t know everything, Gguk,” you snap, sending him a fierce glare. “The Agency has to figure out what’s missing, if anything, and then we’ll go from there. Try to figure out a motive or something.”

You’ve been asking for a challenge for years, always unsatisfied with the ease it took to get your way. Laying in bed wide awake all night wanting things to be different, wanting things to have meaning. But with the high stakes, with so much at risk, this was certainly not what you intended.

You have to reassure yourself that you’re capable regardless. Once you get in the rhythm, surely things will be fine. Surely you’d get yourself together and pull through for the sake of the town. When you’ve been biting your nails and staring blankly at a ripped magazine for who knows how long, Jeon interrupts you again.

“Y/N?” The way he speaks your name is gentle and soft, a fondness to it that never failed to pluck at your heartstrings. It’s that special quiet tone of his that you haven’t heard in so long yet could always recall so clearly. It’s a sign of candor coming your way. “It’s good to see you.”

And it boils your blood.

“The park by the marina. Tomorrow at five. Don’t be late.”

☆☆☆

Penny has already started making dinner when you step through the door, just about to slump against the hardwood floor and resign yourself to the eternal slumber. Though she’s only ten, her palate is more tasteful that yours was last year. In times like these, you are grateful for the way she takes care of you sometimes.

“You look tired,” she observes, sparing you a welcome look over her shoulder as she stirs the contents of her pot.

“That would be because I am,” you breathe a huff of laughter, slowly and carefully sliding off your jacket as to not irritate your sore muscles more than necessary. Taking a peek into the pot, your brain allows you a taste of serotonin that you welcome with open, starved arms. “Fettuccine alfredo? Pen, that’s my favorite.”

A small smirk appears on her face at your amazement. “I know.”

You plant a chaste kiss at the top of her head. “You need a trim soon, kiddo. Can barely see your eyes anymore.”

“That makes me look more mysterious though, doesn’t it?” She allows herself a giggle before turning off the heat, giving the pasta one last mix before transferring it to the two identical bowls on the counter. Her technique is a little awkward as her arms reach up to maneuver the tongs, but that’s to be expected of a kid who hasn’t fine tuned her motor skills just yet. Your mouth is absolutely watering as you fumble through the draws for two forks and some sort of napkin.

She hops up on the stool next to you and digs in, splattering sauce all over her chin nonetheless, but as long as she was fed and having fun.

Taking Penny in was by far the best decision you had made with what your life had come to. It was about two years ago when you stumbled upon her crying in a back alleyway during a job, her parents' lives the casualties suffered in a drug trade gone wrong. Further than that, you didn’t pry. You had those moments, too, the ones that felt better tucked inside a secret place in your heart.

Your only option was to take her with you. While he was incredibly beneficial to the Mafia, Yoongi was also hopelessly cold-blooded. He wanted to kill her to end the trail, to avoid suspicion directed at the organization. You ultimately made the call, because while what you did for a living was in no way guided by a moral compass, you still had your boundaries. Fortunately, it was just when you had gotten your current executive position and started making your fair share for the work you did - and while the both of you knew what went on outside of the apartment, inside was a safer space with more love than you could ever afford to show anywhere else.

Housing people was one of the organization’s biggest costs. Most who joined did so out of necessity, whether they were out of work or a place to feel welcome. As long as you took care of her, it was an unspoken rule that they’d go easy on her. Occasionally they made her run errands and do deliveries, as children were an easy way to escape qualms from authorities. More often they used her for bait and leverage over those they needed the upper hand on; There’s no better way to manipulate someone than pretending a little girl’s life depends on their next decision. Usually it worked out the way they wanted and she was sent home, but there were times when you noticed bruises or scrapes adorning her thin arms, or hidden beneath her bangs. At least you could provide her with hope.

“So what went wrong today?”

Were you too obvious, or could she just read you inside and out?

You twirl the pasta on your fork before downing a big bite.

“Got stuck in a pickle for the first time in a while. There’s a lot more on the table than I expected there to be.”

“Obviously,” she says, still shoveling her food down her throat. “I mean what happened?”

You sigh, letting yourself sink into your chair as you recount the order of events that unfolded today. Trying to simplify it as best as you can, you settle on, “I can’t say too much because I don’t want to get you in trouble, but it’s not just the Mafia and the Agency running things around here anymore, so there’s some collaboration going on right now that is getting tough to manage. And these new people moving in on the city… they’re smart. They led us on a goose chase today while they took out the DA.”

“Well, you’re smart too. You can manage it. You always do.”

“I know I’ll have to. It’s more the teamwork thing.” Mindless fingers tap at the countertop. “It was a little bit of a curveball they threw at me.”

“Is the curveball what caused all the bruises?” She looks at you slyly, a teasing simper just begging to make an appearance.

Your eyes roll breezily. “Yeah, it is.”

And all of a sudden the air turns quiet, her demeanor more timid. She looks to you for encouragement before she can even get the words out. With a small prompting nod, she asks, “Is… is it your old partner?”

An awkward chuckle bubbles its way out of your throat in surprise. “Um, yeah. How- how do you know about that?”

It’s a little bit of a shock. You don’t want to make her feel bad, but having this conversation is not one you are completely prepared for. Jeongguk, though his existence in your mind is stormy, is one of those things you always wish you could just keep to yourself, like a small love letter sealed in an envelope and tucked away under a mattress for you to pull out when you want to reminisce, but unfortunately everyone has read that letter and its contents seems to perpetuate underground gossip wherever you walk.

The atmosphere returns to normal when she shoots you a playful look, correcting it to the way it should have been. “I don’t just go to work and come back, you know, people talk to me. Especially some of the other kids my age. They sometimes mention how it’s so cool that I’m living with this legendary assassin, and they tell me supposed stories of… what was it, the Lion and the Scorpion? Yeah, and that he left.”

You bob your head along as she explains, somewhat in awe of her level of awareness of who you were outside of your relationship with her. The observant and lethal disposition you take on at work is a rude juxtaposition to the looser, lively personality you allow out at home. Above all, you wonder if she still thinks you’re cool.

“And what do you say?”

That she laughs at. “Well, it depends on the person who’s talking to me about it. Sometimes I say that you’re really scary and strict and sometimes if I like them I say that you’re really nice… I’m careful about it though, don’t worry. As long as you’re cool, I’m cool.”

Bingo!

“Hey, I trust your judgment,” you state through a mouthful of food, “I condone messing with people sometimes, and if it can harden my reputation around the place, I’ll take it.”

Lighthearted laughter ensues as you eat. The topic fades away and relief starts to take its place, but nothing good can ever last, can it?

“But Y/N…” she trails back, “Why is the Lion a curveball if you worked with him in the past?”

You click your tongue, tapping your fork at the bottom of your dish trying to stitch together the splinters of words floating around your mind into a cohesive answer.

“I’m sure some kids told you about the rumors,” you say, propping your elbow on the table to support your head as you looked at her. “But he and I… weren’t really just work partners.”

“You were dating?” She exclaims loudly, eyes widening.

“Shh! No, no… well, kind of. But not really. Things were just a little bit more than work-related, that’s all. Listen, it’s not all black and white, and you’ll understand what I mean by when you start to care for people like that.”

“Well did you love him?”

She says it casually and straightforward, as if it didn’t weigh the emotional turmoil of years spent heartbroken and yearning. As if it’s that easy.

Penny’s expression floods full of curiosity. She is so investigative and eager, you wish she could be going to school and learning from real teachers that could give her a real education, not just snippets from your memories that you pulled up for her from time to time. If this wasn’t her life, you can’t imagine what she’d be doing because there’d simply be too many possibilities.

“Yeah, I did.”

And yet, as the words spill, you can’t not remember the pain of his desertion. You can’t not remember the one morning you woke up and he was gone, panic floating through the hallways about him, confusion and worry swirling in your head. Just to find out he had defected without giving you a clue. Not considering what it could mean for you. Not even a goodbye.

“Do you still love him?”

You purse your lips, meeting her eyes softly. “That’s why I called him a curveball.”

Penny grasps on to the fact that that was the most she’d be getting from you today. It was a lot more than most days - you blame it on your tattered spirit from today’s tiring occurrences. She leads in the kitchen clean up, scooping the leftovers into tupperware for tomorrow’s meal and tossing her dishes in the outdated washer.

You pass behind her in the tight space, carrying your own empty dish with you. “You don’t repeat a word, got it?” you whisper.

She visibly sinks in vexation, head coming to a tilt as she stares at you. “C’mon, you just said you trusted my judgment! I’m almost insulted you feel the need to say that.”

You let yourself indulge in another laugh. The credit of her sharp vocabulary character no doubt belongs to your influence. “You know I have to.” Nuzzling the top of her hair, you add, “Don’t stay up too late. I love you.”

And for leading a life that was so cruel and devoid of light, crowded with guilt and regret, lacking most that makes you human, nothing ever felt more like home than when she says, “I love you too.”

☆☆☆

The next meeting is only better because of the fresh air separating both sides and the imminent fact that last time’s events have everyone so weary they can no longer think about arguing. It has started to sink in that this is no longer a piece of cake, or maybe that it never was to begin with. As well, a park full of citizens going on walks and taking their day slow is no place to expose yourself. It’s warm for spring, one of the nicest days you’ve had in a while, and you’d hate to ruin it.

There is a large circular expanse of white concrete with different pathways branching off into the park, green shrubbery lining each walkway. Pillars on both sides of each one hold up an awning providing much-appreciated shade. You no longer have to squint and can see everyone clearly.

Namjoon, sulking on a decorative cement bench, kicks off the meeting with a depressing statement on the Agency. “They didn’t take anything physical, but we traced their footsteps back through our computers. It looks like they downloaded a lot of our reports from the past few years and files on both our members and yours.”

“What do you mean?” Yeji’s eyebrows furrow deeply in confusion. “What kind of information was in the reports?”

“A lot of profiles. Skills, incidents you’ve been involved with, current standing position… things like that. On nearly every important person in the Agency and in the Mafia.”

“Why though?” asks Jimin, leaning back against one of the pillars beside Namjoon. “Can’t they find that information anywhere? A lot of it isn’t a secret. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you Min Yoongi is a lazy bastard that-” Jeon gives him a light punch on the shoulder, his disappointed grimace almost saying, “c’mon, man.” Yoongi looks like he couldn’t care less.

Taehyung, who has been pacing the narrow concrete walkways, speaks up. “Get to know your enemy better, I guess? Can’t hurt.”

“To be honest, I don’t think they really needed it either. It looked more like it was meant to be taken as a threat. They probably just did that because they could and they had the time,” You say, recalling the attentive wreckage of the Agency.

“Well, I don’t know about that. We know that they’re tricky, obviously, but they can’t know everything. I think they were also trying to get a better idea of what they were up against. Plus, it’s always intimidating when you come into contact with someone and it seems they know every detail about you when you don’t even know your name.”

Namjoon’s take makes sense. His frustrating attitude is an easier pill to swallow if he’s able to make conclusions like that. Not much could scare you off, but if a random person approached you in a fight and began talking about your past, or your personal life, or mistake you’d made, you’d definitely be unsettled, maybe just enough to slip up. With this group, you’re sure that a slip up is all it takes.

Wendy looks like she has something to add, but there’s a frog stuck in her voice box. She gives a shy look to Namjoon and then continues, something perhaps he was planning on leaving out. “To be specific, there were multiple traces of the words “Lion” and “Scorpion” in the information they stole... It makes me think they’ve heard of your, um, past reputation and wanted to see what they could dig up.”

“Oh, great.” You’re unable to help yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Wow,” Jeon muses, “Didn’t know we were so famous.” His playful regard meets your own, but you’re too down to react with anything else but a blank stare before flicking your eyes away as soon as they meet.

He looks good today. You hate how much your brain keeps begging you to take another experimental glance as if one wasn’t enough. His button-up drapes gently over his shoulders and is tucked loosely into his trousers, sleeves folded all the way up to his elbows. Not that you’re paying such close attention.

Namjoon clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to alarm you without any pretense, but…”

You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your front. “Well, I’m glad she spoke up. What if they target us because they think we’re a threat? They already know we’ve been working together.”

Wendy offers a small smile of appreciation, but it is not to ignore how the agents all share looks of hesitation toward each other, visibly uncomfortable with Namjoon’s secrecy.

“Yeah… that seemed kind of important,” Yoongi says, squinting into the sunlight as he tilts his head up. “You can’t keep things from us if we’re working together. I hate this just as much as you do, but we aren’t gonna win if we aren’t honest.”

Jimin sighs. “He’s right. If one side tries to get an upper hand it’ll just cause a rift that makes us easier to pull apart.”

“Okay. That’s fair. I... apologize.” Namjoon is stiff, refusing to look anyone in the eye. He wants to avoid further questioning, but for the time being, you won’t press it. There’s enough on your plate right now.

“Anyway… what’s our next move?”

Yeji’s question goes unanswered. It sits under the afternoon light, the peaceful chirps of birds and casual chatter and boat horns filling in the blank space that no one knows what to do with.

“We don’t have a lot to go off of. The investigation is still looking for identification factors, but it could take time, which, as I’m sure you know, we don’t have a lot of. The most we can do is conduct some interviews with witnesses and passersby, but…” the Vice President looks up at you, “we are counting on them slipping up somehow.”

The dejection in the air is hard to ignore. Everyone feels it. Regardless of how impossible it might be for the two sides to see eye to eye, they can see how hopeless the fight has gotten in a span of mere days.

With the DA out of the picture, all of their employees are either working from home or in last-minute rented offices with limited resources. Never in a million years did any of the executives think they’d see the building that represented their struggle go up in flames. Yet the day it did, they couldn’t be happy about it. It only struck fear.

“So there’s really nothing we can do?”

No one needs to answer for you to know.

“Okay. Let’s wrap this up then. Just be careful from here on out. You know, be cautious of what you say, where you say it. They might be monitoring radio waves, might have bugged places you think are safe.”

In times like these, you have good reason to be a little paranoid. They already knew where your office space was and the time it had been rented. The Syndicate was skilled and definitely had their reach online, and you didn’t doubt it extended to the personal world. There’s nothing money can’t bribe.

It’s disheartening to see how downcast the group is on a day so bright. Everyone begins to mobilize, though slowly, but they get a move on, going back to wherever they need to be or where they want to be. For now, you decide you want to be here.

Waving goodbye to Yeji and the others, you find a nice spot under some shade on a well maintained wooden bench. It faces the water, today clear and calm, and out in the distance is the gleaming modern drawbridge that closes off the port. To the right, the port terminal stretches out long into the river for the large ships that come in, the marina docked with boats of all shapes and sizes tucked in closer to the city behind it. The boats flood in and out, passing you by, the sails floating in the breeze so temptingly you can just see yourself hopping on one so easily and going along to wherever it may take you.

The dream is short-lived, because Jeon’s presence beside you tugs you from your imagination.

“What do you want?” You can feel him looking at you, but you can’t pull your eyes away from the ships drifting by.

It’s a hit to the confidence he strode over here with, but he continues. “What, we can’t make small talk? We’re partners for this, Y/N.”

Any opportunity he sees to make contact with you, he’ll take. He knows why you’re the opposite, but he’s dying to see you, and not just from across a meeting table or a park.

“Partners don’t need to make small talk, they just have to do the job they’ve been assigned and be done with it.”

He exhales tiredly, disappointed in your lack of engagement, like he expected at least a small something more. “Listen, I just wanted to talk to you. I know how things are, and-”

“No, Gguk, you don’t know how things are,” you snap, finally facing him. “You had the past three years to talk to me, but you didn’t. You don’t get to come and take care of things now while it’s convenient for you.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It sure looks like that.”

“Well it’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s me wanting to talk to you. Because it’s been a long time and I miss you.”

You make a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, feeling even more let down than you thought you could be. “Yeah, okay.”

It sounds like bull to you. Does he really think you’re that gullible? Does he really think you were going to see him again and run into his arms like a bride who's been tying yellow ribbons around an old oak tree? The anger you felt at the agency yesterday returns, for what happened in the past, for what’s happening now, for all of it. How he can say he missed you when he had all the time in the world, when he was clearly happy after running away from what he had with you, you can’t understand.

Meanwhile, Jeon feels his heart palpitating as he waits for a reply. The explanations want to roll right off his tongue, but he knows this is not the time and place to bring up the subject matter he’s really urging to talk to you about. That conversation will be held soon as he finds it possible. He thought it might be worth it to just start the build-up with trivial chatter, but it’s not working, and probably never will with you.

He picks at his nails, scraping the minimal dirt out. Should he say it? A part of him wants to go for it, and another wants to wait in fear of scaring you. Unfortunately, he thinks it will either way.

“I heard you’ve been taking care of a girl.”

Unbeknownst to you, he’s right.

It steals the breath from your lungs, that residing anger booking it to make room for fear. Though you try to conceal it, you’re sure he’s seen through it, already felt how the atmosphere has shifted. He shouldn’t know about Penny. In fact, no one outside the Mafia should. You can’t meet his eyes, taking more interest in trying to count every strand of fine hair on the space between your knuckles.

It feels just like what Namjoon had talked about, and though you’re sure deep down he wouldn’t try to hurt you like that, it plants a seed of dread in you. In any other world, it might be similar to someone asking, “How are the kids?” and there would be nothing out of the ordinary about it, just a friendly gesture. This instance, however, is layered with a cocktail of warning and concern.

Penny can fend for herself, she’s responsible, of course, but no one is invincible. It’s only up to a certain point, especially knowing that she’s only a child.

“How do you know about her?”

“I still get around,” he says, letting the pause marinate before adding faintly, “Don’t worry. No one that’s gonna try anything knows. I made sure of it.”

The way he still knows what you’re thinking makes you shiver. Or want to throw up. You pass over the slight relief of his last statement in favor of the bliss that comes with ignoring it.

When you don’t reply because you simply don’t know what to make of it, he continues. “It’s honorable. But that’s dangerous for you. To have someone important to you.”

“I know that,” you admit.

It wasn’t like you were stupid. Sure, you were an executive, but what did that mean when Penny made you so vulnerable? The same way they used her against their enemies could be used against you in a heartbeat for tenfold the amount they wanted. She was your weak spot.

“You have to be careful.”

“I know that.”

Jeon winces at your icy inflection. He’s like a child being scolded by his mother. His eyes squeeze shut, thoughts circling back to all the words that were just aching to pour out of him.

“Listen, Y/N, maybe we can go get some coffee? Or-”

You have to cut him off before he gets too out of hand, palms hitting your thighs. “I think that’s enough for today, Gguk.”

He wants to object to your leaving, but he doesn’t want to push you. Your deep sigh is proof of the distress he caused in the past and still continues to leave behind.

So much for some nice quiet time on your own, huh? You stand up and turn from him, heading down the exit path. Realistically, you’re glad he doesn’t call out after you, because you know it would just get you worked up and that was the last thing you needed. When you were around him, you felt the piercing image your reputation had created crumbling to ruins. It pains you to think of the consequences of an emotional err during times like these.

Yet still, it breaks your heart to leave.

☆☆☆

“He’s been really getting to you, huh?”

Yeji’s voice is quiet above the cacophony of clinking silverware and incoherent conversation, but intelligible enough for the both of you to hear in your own space.

You smear some whipped cream on your forkful of waffle, placing it in your mouth and letting both the fluffy texture and immaculate taste sweep you off your feet for a moment, as brunch is everything good and great in the world. Or at least in your world, at this very moment.

You swallow before answering, your usual temper tamed by the sedative of a certain portmanteau of breakfast and lunch. “Of course he has. He won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“Well, he does have to work with you.”

As you chew, you shake your head in wide, dramatic arcs. “No, I mean he keeps acting like we’re old friends. After the meeting he asked me If I wanted to get coffee with him!” you exclaimed, “Like no, I’m not getting fucking coffee with you, who do you think you are?”

Yeji flashes her pearly whites at your short fuse, the one she’s versed in remedying. Deft hands lift up her mug for a thoughtful sip.

“Maybe his intentions aren’t that bad. He’s always been happy-go-lucky like that and he’s probably just too oblivious to think about the consequences of what he did. Yeah, pretending like it didn’t happen hurts, but because of what’s going on right now... it might be a blessing in disguise.”

Despite her intimidating appearance, Yeji was an exceptional conversationalist and particularly thoughtful in her advice. It feels more like a talk between two childhood friends catching up over some food, gossiping about people from high school and boy drama. Though it’s not quite that simple, it lets you take a back seat for a little while. Yeji is one of the only people you’d consider a friend.

“What, like making it easier for the mission?”

“Yeah, 'cause if you can push that issue out of the picture temporarily, you can get the job done and either deal with it after or forget about it entirely. And hey, you’re the Scorpion!” Yeji leans across the table in an enthusiastic whisper. “Scorpions are badass and vicious and don’t spend their time getting worked up over men. In fact, Scorpions reel men in and then kill them, especially you.”

You know she’s trying to encourage you, but the thought is spectacularly unappealing. While she was right in what you did, it’s not like you enjoyed it or were proud of it. You hate to be described that way. Perhaps that is your character among the mafia and the image you spread to protect yourself, and perhaps it’s even true when you get in the work mindset, but is that really you? Talk about an identity crisis.

You reach for your water, the condensation slippery on the glass. “That’s just my reputation.”

She sighs, slumping back into her side of the booth. “Okay, scratch that then. What I mean is that, besides the people you’re close to like Penny and I, you’re this astute, intelligent, skilled executive. You’ve accomplished a lot to get where you are. Why are you letting him get under your skin and uproot that?”

Yeji wouldn’t let someone make her feel like that, and she wishes you wouldn’t either. As much as she secretly admires you - for both that reputation and the real you - she cares about you all the same. Maybe one of the only people that does.

“I guess you have a point.”

“You know I have a point.”

“It’s not that easy though, Yeji,” you say weakly, staring down into your glass. “Every time I see him, I don’t know whether I want to kiss him or beat his ass.”

She laughs at your comment, making you crack a smile too. “It happens, Y/N. Love and hurt go hand in hand.” When you look up at her, she reaches a slender hand over the table and interlocks her fingers with your own with a squeeze. “Just tolerate it for now.”

A troubled exhale leaves you at the prospect, but you squeeze back nonetheless.

“I can do that.”

☆☆☆

It's two days later when you get a call from none other than the Lion himself. The time has been passing unbearably, slower than a soul train passing an ambulance. You and Penny relaxed by bingeing an ungodly amount of shows and movies, even delving into your weekly budget for a stockpile of snacks and drinks. But with every laugh that tumbled out of you and blended into the live audiences’, the nervous thoughts of the situation lingered in the back of your mind.

But hopefully, this call will have some good news.

“What’s up?”

“Good news.”

Eureka! For once, you’re happy to be speaking to Jeon.

“Like Namjoon said, they slipped up. Someone wasn’t wearing gloves and left a fingerprint in the DA. Intelligence was able to track it down to a random guy living in the Gambling District. I’ll tell you more about him, but I’m coming to pick you up now.”

You to your feet from your seat on the couch, wedging the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could throw your stuff together. Penny pauses the show for you, sending a raised brow. In silent conversation, you shrug.

God, it’s too early. You’re rummaging around the room for your wallet and trying to process cohesive thoughts simultaneously, and it’s not working out.

You stop to let your hands rub at your eyes. “Okay, but how do we know this was an actual slip up? We don’t have footage to check… it might have been on purpose to lead us somewhere.”

The one thing you had learned in all your time was to play like your opponent. Never underestimate them - especially the Syndicate, who clearly wanted that message to reach you. But if you were trying to get the upper hand on the people you were trying to eliminate, it wouldn’t be far fetched to give them a false lead the same way you had before.

“It’s all we got. And if we are led somewhere, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Talk to you in a bit. I’ll meet you in the parking garage?”

“No need. Already walking up.” In the background, you hear Jeon’s keys jingling as he strides. “Also, we’re stopping for food first. Bye.” A blunt click signals the end of the call.

Shit. He’s coming to your apartment? The current state is an indescribable mess - hopefully he wouldn’t call CPS on you. More importantly, you are still in your pajamas, and there is no way he can see you like this.

“Was that the curveball?” Penny asks with an impish interest.

Your eyes squint. “Take a guess.”

Hurrying down the cramped hallway to your shared bedroom with Penny, you trade your sweats for some comfortable jeans and, with the time ticking down, throw a moto jacket over your hoodie. As the knock on the door sounds, you’re gathering your hair into a ponytail.

When you reach the living room, Penny is already pulling the door open. You hear a greeting, and then Jeon’s head appears around it comically, peeking into the apartment.

“There you are,” he says, looking at your current state with confusion. Not exactly what you might wear to base, but it got the job done. He snickers. “What, did I catch you off guard?”

Trying to hold back your minor pants from running around so much, all you can muster is, “Yeah, a little bit.” You turn to the mirror and pluck a bobby pin from your lips, tucking it into your hair to keep the flyaways down.

“Okay, let’s hit it. Penny, super sorry about this, I’ll finish watching with you later when I get home. There’s food in the fridge, you know where the money is, and I’ll call Yeji to check in on you if it gets late, okay?”

She pouts. “Okay.”

“Hey, you remember the safe word?”

Penny nods dramatically, her dark bangs bouncing, standing on her tippy toes to whisper in your ear, “Cherry-cola… also, he’s really cute.”

You pull away laughing, giving her a light noogie with your fist as her nose scrunches up. She wasn’t wrong, of course. Your time apart did him well, and you assume he must have gotten tips on how to dress because of how effortlessly put together he looked these days. But that's beside the point.

“Love you, Pen. Bye. And make sure your ringer is on.” With a small peck on the top of her head and bidding goodbye with a promise to return, you’re pulling away and leading Jeon out the door, being careful in locking it behind you.

“What’s with the safeword?” He asks, starting down the hall to the elevator. An uncomfortable tilt to his lips fixes on his face. “Isn’t that… kinda inappropriate?”

You roll your eyes, swatting at his shoulder. “Ew. Not that kind of safeword, dumbass. It’s so she knows who she can trust and let inside. There’s a lot of people that I trust that she doesn’t know, so if I have someone swinging by I tell them so she knows she can trust them too.”

He makes a sound of understanding, slipping his hands into his pockets. The way he ambles is spirited yet composed, shoulders relaxed with purposeful steps. Jeon always came and went like low tide in the morning, a calmer view of his personality considering his notorious “devil may care” attitude.

“Can you tell me?” Once he sees the disapproving expression on your face, he continues, “Listen, I already know about her. What if something happens and you need me to get her and you’re too busy dying to tell me?”

Crossing your arms in front of you, you shake your head. “Hopefully that will never happen in the first place, but god forbid…” you cautiously lower your voice, “Cherry-cola.”

“Cherry-cola?” he repeats casually.

You shush him loudly, glaring and speaking through gritted teeth. “The point of a safeword is that not everyone knows it!”

“Sorry,” his lips purse as you press the button and begin waiting for the elevator. “Why that one?”

“It’s our favorite drink. Goes with anything.”

“Well...”

You cut him off with a hand as the thick metal doors slide open and the two of you step inside. “Not a matter of opinion. I don’t want to hear it.”

He raises his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I will respect that, but you know...”

It’s then that you see him giving you a look, an impish smile adorning his cheeks. The dimples that gently poke his skin are the kind that make you feel lucky.

“What?”

His eyes avert, head shaking as he turns away and exchanges his view for his sly reflection in the metal. “Oh, nothing.”

“Gguk.”

A teasing tone coats his tongue as he speaks. “Well, I don’t know, it just reminded me, you know, just pulled the thought from the deep recess of my brain, that.... we used to have one too.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, even considering asking him to repeat himself. The arch look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. “Yeah, we did,” you agree. “Not like I ever had to use it...”

He faces you with a disbelieving breath of laughter leaving his open mouth, astonished. “What, did you want to have to say it?”

You shrug nonchalantly, raising your voice to say, “No, no… you were always just a little soft about it, that’s all.”

You can’t help the grin growing on your face as his lips part in offense, one corner slowly turning up in a knowing open-mouthed smile. His lids drop in the slightest manner, barely noticeable if you didn’t pay such close attention, and you have to turn away before your face starts to blaze too unbearably. “Oh, you know I was not soft.”

Both of you are thinking the same thing, no doubt about it. Memories roll back like pristine tapes on a projector, ones that most definitely prove his point.

You clear your throat, unsure of where the conversation is going and not bold enough to let it brew. “Anyway, about the guy…?”

He’s disappointed in your choice to change the subject, the tell in the way his head drops and chews at his lower lip for a split second, but abides nonetheless. “Twenty-six years old, been working at lots of casinos around as a dealer but his most recent job was three months ago at King’s Crown. After that, no record. Unfortunately, we have to take him alive since the investigation has the police involved.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Well, kind of. It’s just limiting when there’s a stipulation.”

“Okay. I will respect that.”

Your callback is the cause of a smile taking over his face. You’re glad he doesn’t mention your attitude - if he did, your dignity wouldn’t let you continue. Maybe it’s your good mood paired with his unexpectedness, maybe it’s Yeji’s advice telling you to tolerate him, but regardless, you won’t deny that it feels better than the anger. With hope of a lead comes hope that this could work out.

“By the way, what’re you in the mood for?” Jeon asks casually, turning to you. “We can do fast food, we can do Firehouse...”

As soon as he says the word, memories from long ago that almost don’t even feel like yours resurface. Firehouse was always your and Jeon’s go-to pizza place on lunch break or for celebration after a job well done. Though you haven’t been there in years, the delectable taste of their pies is still fresh in your mind. It’s tempting, but you don’t want to make the decision. You weren’t that hungry, anyway. Jeon stares, awaiting an answer.

At your shrug, his patience runs out and he fishes his hand into his pocket. “Okay, I’m flipping a coin. Firehouse is heads, tails is the nearest drive-thru.”

He says it naturally, but you know he’s testing the water by the way his gaze lingers, measuring your reaction to see if you’ll be angry with him. Not one, but two fond tokens from the past, all in the span of thirty seconds? At one point, flipping a coin was an everyday occurrence to settle disagreements, whether it be where to eat, what time to close up shop, or whose plan to follow. You know he’s trying to jog your good memories, but maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

The metal flings from his thumb and lands with a muted tap in his opposite palm. He slaps it over to the backside of his hand.

“Heads. Firehouse it is.” His eyes flick up to yours, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

You grin. “Sure. Wanted that anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. A shy smile crawls up his face, the faint hallmark scar at the edge of his cheekbone shifting. “Yeah, alright. Tell me next time before it lands on something you don’t want.”

The elevator doors open with a ding, freeing you into the open world. If you let the resentment subside for a few minutes, it feels just like it used to when things were okay - you and Jeon against the world.

☆☆☆

“So this is it?”

You’re staring up a beat down brick building four stories high. It’s dilapidated and nearly falling apart, in contrast to the virgin casinos, modern and flawless with intricate architecture and an ambiance of expense just half a mile away. Supposedly, your guy was somewhere in there, and it was your best bet that he had something of value to give you.

Jeon slams his side of the car door, still licking at pizza grease on his forearm, and comes around to stand next to you. “Yeah. Floor two, apartment two.” You laugh to yourself incredulously at his casual antics, but he doesn’t seem to care as he walks right up to the door.

He finds that no buzzer is needed for entry, so with your guns at the ready, you take slow steps inside. Jeon leads, you trailing to the side of him. It’s eerily quiet, not a single person out to encounter, none of the hustle and bustle a usual apartment would contain, not even the sounds of footsteps or moving furniture. Did anyone actually live here?

The floors of the hallways are decorated with faded forest green carpet, stains and dust covering the washed-out fabric. There is an ugly floral strip of wallpaper at the top of the beige walls that are dented and scraped in random places.

You’re careful to keep down the volume of the creaking stairs as you shift your weight over them, but it’s nearly impossible. Upon further inspection, the door frame of apartment two was covered in scratches and markings, thin cobwebs joined in the corners. The door itself looks cheap and it has what seems to be a few drops of blood splattered near the knob. You and Jeon share a look of uncertainty, those gut instincts kicking in to let you know that something was off.

He begins to count down, and on three, you’re pushing in the door. He rushes in first with you on his tail to scope out the sides. The apartment is empty, except…

“Well, that’s fucking fantastic.”

There’s a dead body occupying the chair in front of the television. It’s the man, alright, but his throat has been slit, red coating his neck and clothes, head hanging back over the seat. There’s no smell, though - it couldn’t have been that long since others were here, especially due to the slight glisten of blood not yet dry on his skin.

They didn’t bury him, either. Just left the body out in the open for you to find. One alarming step ahead, just like last time.

“Covering their tracks. They knew he fucked up and took care of him before we could,” says Jeon, scouring the rest of the beaten-down unit. No signs of a struggle, no mess, no nothing. A dead end.

When you pat the body down, reach into his pockets, there’s nothing. When you move to his bedroom and start to search through his nightstand, it strikes you that there might be something invasive about rustling through a dead man’s belongings, but you’ve done it too many times to still be sensitive to it. You peer around his closet, look under the mattress, filter through his drawers, until a certain glint of light catches your eye.

On the side of his bed closest to the window, a small card lies on the carpet beneath, hidden by the frame if it weren’t for the shiny sticker on the back. You bring it up for a closer look in the light.

It’s got his name, picture, and contact information as well as a barcode at the bottom. Not a driver’s license, but an ID card for the Belvedere Casino. The sticker in the top corner makes out a small icon of a spread of playing cards.

You’re about to shout out to Jeon, but stop yourself as soon as you open your mouth. You take a slow once over around the room. Namjoon’s words echo in between your thoughts - Could the place be bugged? They were here not so long ago, and considering how they kept seeming to be a step in front of you at all times, it wasn’t a far stretch. There was no way to be sure, but you had a hunch.

Walking back to the main room, you catch his attention from where he is snooping around the shelves.

“Didn’t find anything. I think we’re out of luck.” When he turns to look at you, you widen your eyes and make an intense gesture with your finger to your lips before pointing a finger from your ear to the ceiling and directing your eyes around the room. You’re grateful when he understands immediately.

“Seriously? Nothing?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah. They got us. We should head back and call for cleanup, see if they can find anything.” You start for the door, pulling it open.

He hums, eyeing the item in your hand as he walks out behind you. “Good idea… I don’t really want to be here anymore anyway. Feels too weird.”

It’s silent all the way down. Was it too obvious? Was the dialogue too strange, too choppy? The two of you reach the street, careful of your surroundings, before getting back in his car.

“What was that about?” he asks, shutting the door as he slides into the driver’s seat.

You hold out the card for him to take. “Look. You know how you said there was no recent record of employment besides at King’s Crown? He’s been working at the Belvedere the past three months.”

He looks at you incredulously. “And?”

For whatever reason, he makes you doubt yourself. Suddenly, that solid idea you had in mind that made you split from the apartment is no longer so solid.

“The Belvedere has to have something. That’s our new lead!” Pulling your seatbelt over your body, you reach for your phone to give the Boss an update.

“He could have just been working off-record and gotten involved with the Syndicate some other way.”

You turn to him seriously. “Jeon. If it’s separate, why bother? Why would he be working for the Syndicate when he has a stable source of income as a dealer unless the two come hand in hand? They have to be hiding in plain sight.”

“And you’re willing to bet all your cards on that?” You almost find the doubt in his voice offensive.

You exhale deeply, trying to push down your temper. “The people in the Syndicate who killed him made sure there was nothing left on him to tell us who he was. No wallet, no keys, no license, no nothing, because they wanted his identity hidden. If he was working for them separately, why would they bother to do that? They would have just killed him and left. But it was about who he was and what he did. Which was dealing at The Belvedere.”

The car goes silent, and Jeon doesn’t reply. He only looks at you blankly, his poker face hard to break through, but not impossible. You know when he lets a hand slip up to tug at the strands at the nape of his neck.

“Good job,” he grins, hooking the key in the ignition and rumbling the car to life. He pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road casually.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You cross your arms in front of you protectively, glaring at him from the side.

“Oh, come on. I never actually doubted you, I was just messing around.”

You scoff loudly, turning to the window. “You’re such a fucking liar, Gguk. You didn’t get the connection until I explained it and the fact that you can’t even admit that you’re wrong, the fact that you have to act like you always knew, blows my fucking mind!”

He makes a left turn, looking out at the road, clearly avoiding you even though you’re stuck in the same damn car a foot away. “Calm down, Y/N. It’s not that serious.”

“But it is that serious! It was going so well, Gguk. We were finally acting like regular partners on a job. You always have to ruin everything, don’t you? It always has to be about you, and how much of a hero you are-”

“I never said I was a hero.”

“But you sure act like it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Comes from the guy who claims he was ‘just joking around’ during a serious case like this when you know it’s not like what it used to be.”

“Okay, fine!” He shouts, hands slamming down on the steering wheel. “I did doubt you. I thought it was far fetched.” Jeon's voice booms as he rambles quickly in aggravation. “And then you explained it and I remembered that you’re really fucking smart and I wouldn’t have made that connection myself. And I lied because I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry, okay? Are you happy?”

Jeon’s free hand, which had been jerking around as he yelled, finds itself gripping the wheel again regretfully. Silence fills the car, hanging in the air as heavy and solid as concrete. You’re almost scared to breathe in face of all the tension. He looks like he’s about to say something else but stops himself before the words fall out.

The way you were fuming brings tears to your eyes. When your parents died, all you had was Jeongguk. But Jeongguk’s heart had been rooted in the mafia since he was young. The two were mutually exclusive, and your best option was following after him. It was hard to believe the boy you put your trust in so blindly all those years ago had grown into the man sitting next to you now, bringing you to tears with the way he infuriated you. Where did it all go wrong?

“No. I’m not.”

☆☆☆

You’re tired when you go to bed that night, and you’re tired when you wake up. Though you’re barely awake, you can feel Penny nestled into your side, body rising and falling as she breathes. It’s a small comfort, especially after the rough day you had. Last night had been a mess as you tried to hold it together for her, but simply couldn’t.

Today, you’ll be heading over to a motel in the Gambling District to stay at indefinitely with Jeon while you work on the case. You have no clue how long it will take - you’ll be taking a look at the Belvedere, but what comes after that, you don’t know.

It was important to note that somehow, the two of you had moved up to the faces of the mission, even though both sides were working tirelessly in the search.

The last thing you want to do right now is see him, but you have no choice. The sooner you start working and get it done, the sooner you can get home. But for now, you have to start packing. You take another moment to lay with Penny, because when you’ll next feel this safety and comfort again, you can’t be sure of. Then, you carefully unlink her from you and begin laying things out.

Something nice to wear for the casino, clothes to sleep in, essentials for hygiene, an extra pair of socks…

Eventually, Penny stretches out and groans to inform you of her awakening while you roam around the room. Her feet shifting under the comforter push a t-shirt off the bed.

“Sleep okay?” She rubs her eyes. “Yeah, you?”

“Eh. Could have been better.”

While you are away, Penny will be home by herself. The Boss said that she wouldn’t be required for work while you were gone - she could stay home and safe, for your reassurance. It still makes you nervous, of course, but bringing her with you isn’t an option. Yeji promised she would stop in from time to time, and you would be leaving her with a sum of money in case she needs it to order food or something of the sort.

“When are you leaving?”

“I have to be there by one, so probably in an hour or so.”

“Can we make waffles then?”

You sigh, letting your arms go limp at your side. Waffles were a hassle, and the cleanup could be a nightmare, but… something told you it was worth it over the potential mess.

“Sure, go get the machine set up and I’ll come out in a sec.”

It takes a few more minutes to get everything packed, take a few extra bottles of soaps and gels just in case, quickly zipping up your duffle bag and tossing it down onto the bed for when you return later.

Out in the kitchen, Penny has gotten more of a move on. She has already retrieved the ingredients from the pantry, even started measuring amounts out accordingly with the instructions on the back of the box.

You let her have a little fun and crack the eggs this time - though some shell gets in there, it’s nothing you can’t pick out. She makes jokes and you can’t help but laugh, and something about it has its way of calming you down. It reminds you of how precious moments spent together are. Something about the girl just makes you let go of the burdens you carry.

But it’s much too soon that you’re cleaning up. A small ending for a small fragment of your day bound to be filled with things much larger than you’re ready to handle.

The rain falls like feathers when you pull into the lot, plunking consistently on your windshield. You turn the key and take it out, shutting down the vehicle’s rumbling engine, the lights dimming out all around you. You should get inside sooner than later, before the weather worsens, but you can’t seem to bring yourself out of the car. Jeon’s is already parked, meaning he’s inside waiting. But there’s no other choice you have. You’ll have to see him at some point, anyway. Postponing will only anger you further.

You push open the car door quickly, grabbing your bag and darting up the stairs as they clang under your shoes. The droplets smack against your skin and drip down relentlessly. It could be worse, but it is certainly not pleasant. Once you find shelter under the awning, you raise your hand in preparation to knock, but Jeon is already yanking open the door and stepping aside to make way for your entrance.

Inside, you dab at your hair with your sleeve carefully, fixing it in the mirror opposite to you. As clued in by the backpack and laptop already set up on the right side of the singular bed in the room, you deduced he had already claimed it. Therefore, you take the initiative to place your own bag on the left side, closest to the wall.

“So… how are you?”

“I’m fine.” You reach into your bag to begin unpacking a few of your essentials, feeling his eyes glued to you as you move around the room. Even as you plug in your charger, toss your computer on the bed, you could sense his firm yet uneasy presence behind you.

“Have you started yet?” you ask, brushing back the hair that had fallen forward onto your face. You’d prefer to start your work instead of floating around the elephant in the room awkwardly.

He tucks his hands into his pockets. “No, I was waiting for you.” Jeon has been stuck to the same spot near the dim lamp beside the door since you stepped through the threshold. It inclined you to think that maybe he’s as nervous as you are, but you’re sure it’ll pass over in a matter of minutes once he gathers himself.

“Okay.” You exhale in thought, sweeping yourself into a comfortable position on the bed. “I’ll start doing background on the casino and it’s ownership records. You can look into workers or people associated with the man who was killed. Or call the agency, I don’t know. You do you.”

He makes a small noise of agreement, flipping open his laptop. However, with the slow movement of his fingers across the keyboard, the air void of purposeful clicking, you can tell he’s not getting much done. In fact, you can see in your peripheral his stillness, as if he’s waiting to make a move.

When you spare a glimpse over to him, he offers an expression of deep thought, only to say, “There are snacks, too. In case you get hungry.”

Your scampering flow of typing pauses. “Okay.” All you can offer is a brief, tight pull of your lips, what you could barely define as a smile.

Luckily, he seems to receive your message loud and clear, turning back around in his chair to start up whatever he was planning on. You know what you want to get - the information most valuable to doing what you needed to do and confirming what you already suspected, which was in the past records of the proprietorship. It would also be helpful if you could find current workers and see what they were doing; Maybe even more helpful if you could find nothing at all.

The records you stumble upon are nothing short of interesting once you finally break down that barrier. Ownership of the casino had been consistent up until three months ago, when the deed holder - a healthy man of only fifty-six years old - made a business deal and swiftly moved out of the country, only to be found dead in his home a month later. The new owner’s background appeared without even the slightest scratch. The lack of suspicion is suspicious in itself - you don’t think the Falcon would have the place under his own name, but having it under someone who is pristine as a newly minted coin is dubious all the same.

It’s the shut of Jeon’s laptop that sucks you back into the reality of the motel room from your online sanctuary. He stands up to stretch and makes a move for the bathroom. The room is shrouded in the darkness of nighttime, save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows and the sorry excuse for a lamp on your night table. It wouldn’t kill you to call it a night either.

When he emerges, you take your turn, bringing a change of clothes with you so you won’t have to face the tension that might arise if you came back out in just a towel. The shower is pleasant; For a second, if you close your eyes, you’re no longer in the same space with him and can enjoy the time for yourself.

Your heavy heart can’t be kept at bay for too long. Outside the bathroom is a surprisingly accurate reminder of old times, when scenes just like this were the regular, and the feeling was the same. But at this moment, the way you’re avoiding his eyes while you braid your hair in the mirror is a show of just how much things have changed.

“Why are you looking at me?” you pipe quietly over the steady padding of your feet on the carpet, his watch following you hesitantly.

Jeon sits back at the head of the bed, not sure where to direct his gaze anymore now that you’ve verbally interrupted it. His constant attention, and especially the way he doesn’t deny it even in the face of your attitude towards him, leaves you with a weary ache that you’re quickly getting tired of feeling all the time.

A charming, shy smile fixes on his face as his head tilts endearingly, testing the waters. “What, I can’t look at you?”

“Not like that,” you mumble, barely above a whisper, lifting up the sheets to crawl in, leaving as much space as possible between the two of you. When you turn your back to him to look at the wall, you think he might make another teasing comment, but he doesn’t.

“It’s the braid,” he elaborates, as if it’s some sort of excuse sufficient enough to play flirty and cool with you when the situation is anything but. “It reminds me of when we were kids… you used to wear it like that every day.”

It’s almost as if to say, do you remember? But of course you remember. Afternoons spent at the playground, your hair in a loose braid thrown over the front of your shoulder. Mornings spent in the courtyard, scribbling down answers to work that was due in ten minutes. Evenings spent wandering around town, laughing and joking together as kids should. But nothing offered by the times of the past could dismiss the times of the present.

You lean over and tug the chain on the lamp, darkness enclosing your small room.

“Go to bed, Gguk.”

He doesn’t make another sound that night.

☆☆☆

The storm has proven its resilience yet continues to torrent, horribly testing the aging logs of trees and endlessly splattering your windows. Even still, it has something to say, residing anger it wants to make you feel, trapping you inside your room and limiting your options. It’s a deep pain, but perhaps if you were a storm, you’d let yourself drain out every ounce of deplorable wrath until there was nothing leftover, too.

Jeon sits at the small table near the door. He’s been there for who knows how long, flipping through pages, making phone calls that connect no dots, wasting his time. There is nothing that can be done at the moment, not with the state of the weather at least. Weather, a trivial matter, the most popular topic choice for insignificant conversation, heeds your course of action without a known resumption.

In the meantime, you enjoy yourself as much as you can. You make popcorn in the less than appealing microwave and settle in to watch whatever piques your interest in the slightest, meaning there is not a wide selection. Right now, you’ve got on a show about the aliens who have supposedly visited ancient Egypt and other societies bygone, and have been consistently present throughout the timeline of human history.

“Y/N. Let me ask you a question.” Jeon rubs his forehead, slumping over in his chair. “Did you come here with the intention of helping this case, or just to vacation?”

You nod in thought, humming. “Good question. I’d say the former, but I don’t think your question was intended to have an answer. Let me ask you a question then.”

His tired face turns to you expectantly.

You take a pensive breath before raising your hand and asking slowly, “Do you think that aliens provided advanced technologies to the Germans to build new weapons for the Third Reich?”

He stares at you blankly, meeting your still and inquisitive expression for just a moment until he cracks, shaking his head and looking away toward the window, as if he’ll find something better to say out there.

“No, I’m serious,” you insist as you toss another kernel into your mouth, hoping he takes your biting satire to heart. “Because, this guy is saying that the Germans built a flying saucer. A whole fucking flying saucer, called the Haunebu, and no, wait, listen, it was said to use mythical technology from old Indian texts.”

You stare, intent on waiting for a response. Jeon pinches the bridge of his nose, the way his fuse was quickly shortening keeping you bitterly entertained. “You have to work with me, Y/N. Can you please just work with me?”

The joke dissolves and you blankly turn to flip through the channels. “I am working with you. There’s just nothing to work on.”

He puts his head in his hands. “For God’s sake, can you stop? I know you don’t care for me, but if you could just cooperate-”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Care for you?” you repeat, your smile fueled with gallons of flammable offense, sitting upright on the bed. He spins in his chair to face you again, eyebrows knitting together before confirming, “Yeah, care for me!”

A sour laugh escapes you, arms folding over your front. “I don’t care for you? That’s rich, Gguk.”

“No, you don’t! And I don’t think you ever have, quite frankly, because you’re acting like such a bitch to me and can’t even give me a chance!” Jeon stands now, leaning into his words as his hands stretch out in dramatic gestures.

You jump to your feet. ”Why should I give you a chance? What good has that ever done me?”

Jeon’s jaw visibly clenches, his hand shooting up to meet his chin as he eschews your scrutinizing eye. You feel your nails digging into your palms as your fists clench, but you’re sure you’ll swing at something if you stop.

Your throat begins to sting, masking your cracking voice with a low tone. “I almost died for you, Gguk. And a week later, you left me.”

The room collapses under the weight of the elephant. It’s everything you’ve wanted to say for years bubbling to the top.

As soon as the venom leaves your mouth, you know he remembers. The guilt washing over his features says it all, awful clips of the last mission you ever went on together passing through his vision.

It was supposed to be an easy interception of a deal, but Jeon’s inability to differentiate between necessary risk and recklessness cost you your covers. He got away. You were captured.

It was torture at the expense of his safety. Excruciating pain in order to protect him from his own mistake. Your blood spilled, your tears cried, your body hurt. Yet at the end of every video, every call, every threat, your only message to him was that it was okay.

They were the worst you had ever encountered. They wanted leverage over the Boss; They wanted Jeon. And the only way to him was to you. At the time, it was worth it. You wouldn’t give him up, you wouldn’t let yourself become a part of an exchange for his life. You put his over your own in a heartbeat.

And where had that gotten you?

Your depth of a breaking point had provided that desperately needed time to organize a plan of attack, and even though you hadn’t been there quite yet, even though you had been trained and it was far from your first rodeo, it wasn’t anything less than scarring.

Even though the mafia infiltrated and rescued you successfully, the inner turmoil never fully recovered. Though you moved past the nightmares and the flashbacks that hid in your damaged subconscious, the memory never stopped hurting. Especially when he up and left you to deal with it on your own.

“I know,” is all he can muster.

A thrilling laugh of spite rips from your throat. He hates it.

“What? That’s all you can say? You can’t even give me an explanation?”

“I… I was out of options for us, Y/N. After the mission, I knew it was me making you vulnerable. People were hurting you over me, and I didn’t want that for us anymore. I made a plan to leave, and I thought that you could come with me… but I was stupid and in a rush and the deal was only for my cooperation if the Agency helped me out. They wouldn’t let me take you.”

Your usual crisp verbosity fails you now, everything you need to say stuck in your throat. A stabbing anguish falls like bullets in a downpour, a storm born only in the bitterest winter.

“I know I fucked up, Y/N, I know I did. And I’ll always be sorry and I’ll always regret it. And I’ll spend every second of my life trying to make up for it.” Jeon’s lip quivers through his shaky breaths, his eyes now soaked, the ache in his heart unforgiving. “And I know I can’t ever take it back, but you hate me so bad…”

A pained upturn of your lips feeling the grudge of a thousand wrongdoings phases over your expression, for him, for you, for everyone you’d ever known in this sickening lifetime.

“I don’t hate you, Gguk,” you sob through your teeth, wiping furiously at your eyes, “I hate… I hate that I love you regardless of what you do.”

He winces. “Please don’t do that to me.” “Do what?”

Hot streams of tears trickled down his supple cheeks, voice cracking as he whispers, “Say that you love me when you know how I feel.”

“Oh shut up, Jeongguk!” you yell, wet rage prickling your veins as it courses through you. Your cheeks are now just vessels for a dam breaking loose. “I have always loved you!”

And it hurts so bad to say it. The way he makes your stomach flutter feels like a betrayal to yourself. But that smile he wears like a medallion, those eyes that are always searching for you, that golden heart that loved you so well - everything you hate is everything you love. Even when you want to ignore the truth for everything it’s worth and all the weight it heaves on its shoulders, it’s impossible to escape the way you love him even when you wish you could just hate him.

You calm yourself with a shaky breath. “I loved you before, and I loved you after, even when you left and I knew you weren’t coming back.”

“That’s not true,” he sputters, taking a step toward you. “I was always going to come back. Every day, I begged for help to get you out. But the deal I made with the agency was only my rescue for my cooperation, and it didn’t include you, no matter what I tried to do.”

It stings your chest. You have to turn away when your head drops to your palms, but he’s quick to reach a hand to your shoulder for your attention.

“It’s been over three years, Gguk,” you whisper, sniffling as you wipe your running nose with your sleeve. Your voice is clogged in disappointed acceptance. “Don’t lie. Just say my relevance to you faded and you forgot.”

He grasps your arm gently, beckoning your eyes to meet his. While your tears are slowing from tire, his are an endless faucet left on in negligence.

“No,” his tone softens, “No, I was waiting until it was safe.”

You shake your head, the soreness in your chest present as ever as you try to hold it all in. “It was never going to be safe.”

“Maybe. And maybe it won’t ever be. But you have to let me make it right.”

“How do you intend on doing that? Putting snacks in the fridge doesn’t do shit, Gguk.”

He inhales deeply as his lips press together. Jeon takes a careful glance around the room, eyebrows furrowing as he silently pleads with you.

“I made a plan to get you out after the mission is completed. The higher-ups at the Agency agreed just in exchange for you to give a private report with as much as you know for future reference. From there, it’s you going wherever you want, no strings attached, no extra deal you have to make.”

“That won’t work,” you scoff.

“Yes, it will! I promise it will! Listen, everything is already planned. My friends are taking extra care because they trust me. You’ll have new records, a new passport and a license, new everything, and even…”

“Gguk...” You whisper as he continues rambling. “Gguk. Jeongguk!”

He takes in a sharp breath as his words are cut off mid-stream, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.

In a quiet, calm whisper, you explain, “I can’t. I have Penny and other people here that I care about. For god sake, I have money I've been saving for years in that apartment, all our stuff is there, I can’t just leave and not come back.”

The desperation in his voice is now out in the open. “I know. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m working on her now, too. You just have to trust me.”

For a second, he lets himself swell with hope, but your deep, despondent sigh crumbles him right back down to where he started.

“Gguk…” you start, but he can’t bear to hear it, leaning down to meet your hesitant eyes straight on. Distress clouds his watery pupils as he implores you with every ounce of sincerity he can muster to the surface for you. He doesn’t know how else he can make you see he’s being more honest now than he ever has been in his life.

“It’s okay if you can’t forgive me. I understand, and I’ll never stop being sorry. And, and I’m sorry for how I acted when I saw you again, but I was just so scared.” His lip trembles as he searches for eyes for something, anything. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do because I was so scared of what you’d say and how you’d feel and I thought if I acted like it was fine, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.”

He swallows on a dry mouth, trying not to stammer but his heart denying him that ability.

“I, I thought about you every day. Every day. And I knew it was complicated and everyone told me I should just let go and, and I just couldn’t! I just knew it was you. It was always you. And I am so, so sorry I made you feel it wasn’t.”

By now, you can’t restrain your tears, no matter how hard you clench your teeth or comfort your face. In a moment of deep affliction, there’s no other place to turn but him. The second you pull him to you is relief synonymous with the feeling of when a battered castaway finally spots a plane coming for their rescue; it is joint.

“I wish I could trust you, Jeongguk,” Sobs muffled by his comforting chest, you cry, ”But I don’t know if I can do that. I want to believe you so bad, but I… I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

The comforting warmth of his body is a mean juxtaposition against the harsh sobs that rack through it. Jeongguk smells of something sweet and nostalgically familiar, like sunny beach days spent down by the salty water, plucking seashells from the sand and digging for hermit crabs once the waves pull away from the shore. Light sunscreen and grainy memories that flash by as your brain slides through like film.

“That’s okay,” he mumbles into your hair. Your will splinters in his arms. “Just think about it. That’s all. Just think about it.”

Though you nod against him in shaky assent, it’s not a promise.

☆☆☆

Not the next day, but the day after, is when you decide to make your move.

The casino is a home base, hidden in plain sight. Not even that - crowded by the public eye, and yet not a suspicion raised despite its astronomical numbers being reported over the past few months. Sure, it was bustling full of rich men in need of something to spend their money on, but not enough to sustain those incredible reports.

And under that brittle, flimsy assumption comes your similarly brittle, flimsy plan. Go in, see what you can see. Scout for suspicious activity, chat up drunk patrons and loosen their lips, explore the building a bit. See what you see.

Your fingers are nimble, but your prickling nerves make them fumble as you try the clasp on your necklace. The nail on your pointer can’t seem to hold the small lever down for long enough, even when you twist the chain around so you can lean forward to do it in the mirror. You even consider just tossing it to the side and going without the necklace.

Jeon, standing awkwardly to the side and already having fixed his sleeves in place countless times, glances over to you in the mirror briefly. You sigh when you catch his hesitant watch in the reflection - his shy offer goes unspoken, just a reminder that it’s there if you want to take it. All it takes is a minuscule top of your head to give in.

Resisting Jeongguk is like resisting gravity. It pulls you down sooner or later, no matter how high or far you push yourself off. But at the end of the day, it keeps you grounded.

His footsteps are barely audible on the carpet as he approaches timidly. Light on his feet, as always. You surrender the ends of the necklace to him and tug the pendant back around to the front. The pads of his fingertips are rough as they drag lightly across your skin in the exchange, igniting a flaming feeling in their path. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as he pushes them out of the way with the back of his hand. Considering his extensive training and incredible eye, you’re sure he notices it, but you’re grateful he doesn’t say anything.

You try not to let your eyes wander in the mirror for too long. For your excursion tonight, your dress is one of the best you own - a simple, dark satin gown with a generous leg slit to steal some eyes, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. The deep cowl neck is flattering in its pristine v-shape, especially with the way the pendant hangs itself just above.

Jeon is sporting all black. His shirt is ironed smoothly, fitting well over his shoulders and tucked with care into his trousers and secured with a sturdy belt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal his skin, tattoos peeking out in a shamelessly appealing way, and the collar…

Okay, too much. You’ll go into sensory overload if you look any longer. He’s caught onto it, the way a smirk creeps onto his face. He lingers a second longer after he’s clasped the jewelry in place. The Gguk you know flicks his eyes up quickly and throws a small, short smile your way, hands reluctant to pull away as they take the time to drift over your bare shoulders.

You clear your throat, taking the initiative to get on your way. He hides the way his spirit dips at the rejection, but he knows he can’t expect more. Once you’re outside and have locked the door behind you, the night air hits you, cool and fresh and promising. But for what exactly, you can’t be sure.

☆☆☆

The Belvedere is one of the most expensive-looking places in the city - in the months since you’d last worked a case around the gambling district, it had certainly been renovated. At the very front, the casino’s name glows light blue in a thin font while large ivory columns hold up a wide intricate ceiling to shade the pavilion. A wall of luxe glass doors lines the entrance, so sparkly and reflecting you think it can’t be just glass.

As inviting as the front entrance seems, it is not your way in. Too many scrutinizing eyes, too many cautious cameras, too much security for your type of job. That leads you to the side of the building, a small alley between buildings with one side entrance. The agency already looped the footage twenty minutes ago just to be safe.

But of course when you try it, it’s locked.

“And… what now? They’ll notice if we just break in.”

Jeon shrugs. “Maybe not until a little while. Besides, we’re covered.” His pointer finds the camera up above the two of your for reference.

“I’d rather hold off on the damage we do.”

As he racks his brain for another option, your brain tunes in to the muted sound of shoes on linoleum. He raises a question just as you put your ear to the door but your shush quiets him immediately. The footsteps are coming your way.

Just as you feel the door about to open, you tug Jeon to the side next to the door’s hinge, pulling him down by his collar into a kiss. The door opens loudly and his hands, after his initial shock dissipates, find themselves on your waist as your own snake their way around his neck. You make sure one hand covers the side of his face generously and that your hair masks your own, meanwhile Jeon can’t help himself from getting swept up in you.

A guard, you think it is, halts when he sees the two of you, but takes it off his radar when he can no longer stand to watch your shamelessness. Or rather, Jeon’s shamelessness. His lips persistently press themselves to yours, nipping and pulling all the while his large hands push into your waist. Something about it makes you think it’s not just for a distraction.

The man shakes his head and turns the opposite direction, walking out toward the street. Before the heavy door falls closed behind him, you reach an arm out to grab the handle. Jeon pulls back slowly, blinking dumbfoundedly. He never thought you’d do such a thing - but clearly, it wasn’t such a thing to you by the way you were grinning like you’d only told a joke. He swallows, mentally slapping himself in a note to get himself together. You’re already stepping inside, and he picks up to follow suit.

You follow the hallway down the main room, and no one raises any concern, probably unable to sense suspicion in their state of inebriation. The two of you weave your way through crowds of people with too much money to spend, quietly thinking of how easy it would be to pickpocket them - but that’s for another time.

A quick scan of the room provides you with the bar, rows of slot machines, pool tables, and a large lounge area filled with the sounds of mindless chatter and glasses clinking. You order drinks to blend in, nothing alcoholic, because as much as you wish you could get drunk and have fun in a casino, that wasn’t the reason you were here. Jeon hands you your coke with a practiced movement.

In a cheesy sort of cheers, he says, “To… the Lion and the Scorpion? Or is that too soon?” He purses his lips, half scared you’ll agree its too soon. It’s relief when he hears the laugh he missed so dearly.

“Not too soon, just a little embarrassing.” You clink your glass to his and take a sip. Jeon leads you over to the dartboards in excitement, one of his favorites to partake in. He chooses the one at the end of the row so you can stand beside him, supposedly to be impressed by his skills and praise him.

“God, this reminds me of Macau,” he sighs out contently. His coffee eyes roam around the large expanse of the hall, seeming to glitter under the crystal chandeliers hanging above you as he walks back from the controls, darts in hand. He gets into position and throws his first, landing for two points in the ring of red. As if you didn’t already know, he adds, “I loved Macau.”

You scoff. “What, because of the way our covers were blown and we had to massacre the lobby, or the sex?”

“Why not both?” He shrugs, smirk creeping onto his face. Another dart leaves his grip, expert aim leading right to the bullseye.

You take another sip of your drink. “Careful,” you warn, “Can’t be too good at this. It comes with questions.”

He hums, and you wonder if he’s even listening. “And you still had blood on your chest. Weirdly sexy.” His eyes narrow jokingly as he speaks just low enough so only you can hear it, and the reaction it pulls from you is exactly what he wanted when he starts to laugh. He lets go of his last dart with a shake of his head, either at the memory or his bad throw that says he’s going fishing.

He turns back to you. At your annoyed expression, he takes another swig of his drink and leans down to your ear. “Seriously though. That was hot.”

You roll your eyes before sending a scowl his way. “I’ll make sure to be extra messy tonight, just for you.” Your eyes crinkle peevishly. The sarcastic tone doesn’t escape him, but he does look hopeful.

“Hey, speaking of, this could be my New Macau. If you’re feeling frisky after the mission.” He throws you a flirtatious wink. While your poker face implies disinterest, your stomach is somersaulting head over heels, and you have a feeling he knows it by the way his eyes linger on you when you raise your glass to your lips.

The phone in your purse vibrates. It’s a text from Yeji - need to get a move on. Jeon already has your gaze when you look back to meet him, but he knows it’s time from your expression alone. With a small nod, he goes up to end the game on the machine’s screen. Instead of coming back to you, though, he subtly taps your arm as he walks past and heads off to the door of the main floor, disappearing from your sight. You wait for a good thirty seconds, let people pass across the camera view at random, before hopping down from the barstool to follow in his footsteps.

You find him waiting in a secluded hallway, away from crowds or casino-regulars. He looks solemn, back pressed against the wall, and you have a feeling that what he has to say might upset you. He thinks so, too.

“Listen, you have to make a decision now. Before we split up, because there’s a chance I might not see you after this.”

You shrug. “I haven’t decided yet.” His eyebrows draw together as he gives you a pleading expression. His eyes flick to both sides of the hall before coming back to you, releasing a deep breath before pushing his hair from his eyes.

“I gave you the time, Y/N. You have to before it’s too late.” Jeon gulps, fumbling for the words. “Just come with me, please. I know it’s a lot to ask and I know you’re scared but you can trust me. I can help you.”

“No, Gguk. You don’t get it - It’s not possible. It’s not an option.” You sigh in resignation. A depleted smile surfaces as you shake your head. “Not in this life.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You did it once, you can do it again.”

“I’m not… I- I won’t. Y/N, please…” His lip quivers, his eyes glossing over.

He can’t accept the answer your silence provides. It’s not enough, not something he’s willing to endure. If it’s going to be a no, he has to hear it loud and clear.

He purses his lips tight. “I’ll flip a coin then.”

“...What?”

“I’ll flip a coin. Heads, you come with me. Tails, I’ll go,” he says shakily, swallowing, “...and I’ll never speak to you again.”

Before you can stop him, he’s wiping away the tears that have not yet had the chance to escape and aggressively fishing a quarter from his pocket, placing it on the tip of his thumb. Desperation burns in him, but you’re paralyzed. All you can do is stare, a fish out of water being held in the grip of an angler who just can’t let go. Or maybe one that’s urging you back out to sea.

His thumb flicks and the coin flies, the sound barely audible in this corner of the building but piercing to your ears. It flips in the air, every rotation executed with purpose - in that moment, as its arc nearly completes, the thought strikes you like lightning and without a second thought, you hand reaches up and snatches it midair.

Jeon is awestruck. He searches for something to say as his fountain of hope runs dry.

Weakly, you mutter, “Okay.” Its compliance, but a strange relief that makes you feel guilty the second it washes over you.

“Okay?”

“I’ll come.”

A tight-lipped smile spreads on his face - it’s the best he can do after such stress. In a heartbeat, he embraces you tightly, broad shoulders enveloping your form. His grip is familiar and only full of good things, even if it might suffocate you. His long, wavy locks brush lightly against your jaw as he buries his face in your neck. For once, you let yourself have that rare moment of comfort.

“I won’t let you down,” he says, a vocal assurance for himself maybe more than for you. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t say it, but he has to. “I promise.”

It’s his first small triumph tonight. If nothing else, it is a debt repaid. He won’t push for more. He pulls back, lets you fix your hair and readjust your dress.

“Let’s get a move on. I’ll search the main floor, you take a look around the building. Keep in touch.”

You’re about to turn away from him, but his arm catches your wrist at the last second. When you look back to see what he has to say, he has trouble finding the right words.

“Listen… Y/N, I don’t know what it is, but I have this awful feeling. And I’m trying to ignore it, I know I’m probably just nervous, but I just want you to know in case. You don’t have to say anything…”

The hair framing your face bounces as your head begins to shake, trying to deny him before he can even say it. “No, Gguk, I know-”

“No. I...I love you. And you gotta know that, no matter what happens.” His thumb traces small circles on the patch of skin where yours meets your index. Before you have a chance to respond, he gives your hand a tight squeeze and plants a chaste kiss to your cheek, lips plush and sweet against your dimple, his last action as your token of remembrance.

He doesn’t know why he feels so frail as he walks away, wiping away the wetness leaking from his eyes as he tries to calm himself down. Maybe it’s the lack of information, maybe it’s you possibly being in danger again. He tries to push it down as he struggles to resist the urge to look back at you; He’s just all up in his head, right? You can defend yourself, you’ll be fine without him, he reassures himself. You can make rope from kitchen twine.

You’re stuck on your own as the distance between you grows, heart racing as your time to say it back runs out like sand in an hourglass. In less than seconds, his figure has already disappeared around the corner.

A delicate finger reaches up to press the small button on the spyware piece tucked behind your ear. The whisper is low but you mean every syllable, regardless of the leftover turmoil that has consistently tempted you into anger the past few years - “I love you, Jeongguk.”

It’s a shot in the dark for you without his physical presence, but he hears it. It’s barely audible, but he hears it, and rings in his mind for moments after. It makes him feel right, like the moment when everything sifts into the bowl perfectly, no clumps of doubt left behind in the minuscule metal crosshatches. Even if just for a few seconds, the feeling of relief stays frozen in time.

You’re on your way back to the main hall when a buzz from your purse alerts you to an unknown number calling your phone. Typically you’d let it ring, thinking it was spam - but considering this was an agency phone, that wouldn’t make much sense. Your finger hovers over the green accept button, hesitantly pressing down and lifting it to your ear.

The response is immediate. “The Scorpion,” a man on the other end addresses you, sounding much too enthusiastic for your taste. His voice is masked with a changer, the tone fluctuating as he speaks. “I’m glad you could make it tonight. I’ve spent a lot to make this place nice.”

The theatrics elicit an impatient eye roll from you. “Who is this?”

“Who do you think? You’re a smart cookie. There’s a reason they call you the Scorpion, isn’t there?”

He lets the pause marinate and continues, “I actually wanted to meet with you. I need to discuss something vital to you in person, but you’ll have to do some things for me first.”

You begin to turn around, spinning on your heels and intent on heading to Jeongguk downstairs, but the voice on the phone stops you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You freeze, an eyebrow raising at the voice’s inquiry. Keen eyes scan quickly, landing on the faceless lens of a security camera -

“It’s my casino. Of course I can see what you’re doing.”

A skeptical breath escapes you, squinting at the camera focused on your position. “...What do you want?”

“I just want to talk.” It’s casual.

“How do I know it’s not a trap?” “You don’t. But you don’t have any other option, really. If you need convincing… why don’t you check your home security?”

The dubious persona falters as your heart stops. It couldn’t be. You exit the call and open the app on your phone right away, and a sinking feeling hits you like a truck on the freeway, full speed and with reckless abandon. The view from the camera, grey and grainy, displays the apartment in pieces, furniture overthrown and papers scattered. The dread crawls up your spine as your worst nightmare, the one thing you always prayed for despite the lack of faith, comes to life; Penny is gone.

You call the number back.

“What now?” you say, jaw clenched. trying to calm your breathing.

“Take out your earpiece, toss it to the floor, and crush it. I need to protect my location somehow, right? Just a precaution.”

You slowly remove the receiver from its spot nestled in around your ear, thumbing the tiny matte black tech. It’s your connection to the outside, to safety. It’s your connection to Jeongguk. But the Falcon has played his cards right, leaving you with no other option. It falls from your fingertips, clatters to the linoleum, and you crush it underneath your heel.

“Now, your weapons. My guards will come to escort you - hand over your gun and any knives you may have on you. I know you’re sneaky, but now… really isn’t the time. I’ll see you in a bit.” A cold click ends the call and he’s gone.

On cue, two masked men dressed in all black emerge. They don’t frighten you, you know you could take them if you needed to. However, the priority is Penny, so you have to. You surrender your weapons and phone to them, and then they begin to shuffle you away to wherever the Falcon had made his nest.

Despite the nerves prickling like electric shocks, uneasiness itches in the back of your mind. Something about the phone call - was it the strange familiarity that made you feel so nauseous? You couldn’t quite place your finger on what was so off, on what about it pulled the alarm, but something besides the obvious situation at hand was wrong.

☆☆☆

Jeongguk doesn’t have much to go off of. He’s looking for something, anything, that can clue him in. He finds a creepy looking stairwell and decides to take it down. That’s how you find everything in need of being found, right? By following what feels off?

He comes to a storage room full of dusty metal shelves, all lined with boxes upon boxes. He takes a quick sweep of the room, shrugging to himself before delving into one. It’s just piles of text he doesn’t understand, pages and pages of orders and receipts dating back years and years. Maps of the building, information of repairs and inventory and renovations. It doesn’t mean anything useful, until he sees orders under names that ring a bell.

But from where? People he went to school with, maybe? For the life of him, he can’t remember where he knows them from.

He’s frantically flipping through pages, pulling boxes from the shelves and trying his best to read under the dim light. It’s not making any sense, until he lands on orders filed under the name… Jeon?

He freezes, all alone in the middle of a storage room full of thousands of documents, a sickly feeling washing over him.

A trembling hand reaches up to press the button on his earpiece.

“Y/N? I think I just found something.”

He waits, and no response from you.

“...Y/N?”

☆☆☆

The penthouse is in the heart of the city, just a few blocks away from the Belvedere. The view is enough to tell it to you - it overlooks miles of blinking lights and busy streets with which you have an archetypal love-hate relationship with.

You’ve stepped fresh off the elevator into an open room that is in dire need of an interior decorator, or at the very least some basic furnishing. It’s basically empty, the dark hardwood floors even coated with a light layer of dust. Nothing except the moon and the fireplace at the other end of the room illuminate the space.

There’s shuffling, and the guards on either side of you are grabbing firmly onto your arms.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You struggle against them, fighting to get out of their grip, but one of them mutters how it’ll be better for you if you cooperate. You strain against the instinct to escape, every bone in your body screaming disgusted by the forced submission. Handcuffs click into place, and pressure on your shoulders pushes you to your knees. Then, they resign themselves to the back corners of the room.

A door creaks open at the far side of the room. The man sports a dark coat that obscures his figure, and long, dark hair hangs over the man’s face. His steps are slow and calculated on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the fire. Slender, practiced fingers grab onto the poker and stir the fire, glowing orange embers soaring in a blizzard of an inferno. A silver ring glints in the moonlight - one you’d recognize anywhere.

The details flood back, chains of connections like dominoes tipping over the edge of gut-wrenching betrayal -

“...Boss?”

The man pauses, followed by a sudden clasp of his hands in… delight?

He spins on the heel of his oxfords to face you, hair sweeping back as he smiles at you.

“Keen as ever, my dear. You truly are the Scorpion. I know how you feel about your title, but you’re deserving of it.”

A shaky breath leaves your throat, eyes stinging as you make out a low, “What is this?”

At the sight of your panic, the boss hurries over to you, making a show of how he takes your jaw in his hands. Though you flinch, he wipes the escaping tear with a calloused thumb.

“No, dear, no need to cry! This doesn’t have to be difficult. You are just leverage - you won’t be hurt as long as what needs to happen, happens.” The way he shakes his head, the twisted compassion in his eyes, makes you sick.

“Then where’s Penny?”

His sigh is accompanied by a sad smile. “Penny is the leverage over you. In case you get any funny ideas.”

“For what? What is this about?” you press, “What about the Syndicate, huh? Aren’t you gonna tell me what this is for?”

A rush of air, and then a sharp pressure on your throat. The Boss’s blade creeping up your throat - a small burn as he nicks your skin.

“I’d watch my mouth if I were you. You should remember where your loyalties lie.”

You swallow thickly, and he continues.

“The Syndicate is real. Their presence in this city is real - but we are on good terms with them. I help them, they help me. They sacrifice a few men because they do what’s needed for the terms of the agreement, just like us.”

He blew up a building, ransacked the agency, led you on a wild goose chase in search of a threat that didn’t exist? There was always something psychotic about the Boss, that’s why he instilled so much fear in you - his lack of empathy, the lengths he’d go just for a show of power, but a ploy like this?

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

He scoffs. “It’s not about you, my dear. It never was. It’s about your connection to who it is about…”

His grin grows inverse to your pained frown, lips quivering as the realization dawns on you. “Jeongguk.”

“You’re the link, Y/N. I know how much you hate to love him. Only if you were forced to for the sake of the city. The reconnection wouldn’t be easy, but that boy is persistent, and the moment he heard you say those words back, it was sealed.”

You’re choked by the weight of his words crashing down on your throat. It’s horrifying, the way the tears well up and spill recklessly, finding it hard to breathe with your arms restrained. You focus your hardest on the effort to stay conscious, but the nausea is eating away at you.

“He was honest, too. He’s tried multiple times to fish you out of here. And it always rubbed me the wrong way. He’ll leave me behind, but not you? You’re my best, Y/N, but I despise you simply because of what your existence means.”

“You’re going to kill him?” you bite your lip to hold back the sob trying to crawl its way from your chest.

The Boss blinks, tilting his head in a faked compassion. “Only if he makes the same mistake again.”

An alert sounds out from his pocket. He fishes out his phone and holds it up to show you a map with a green dot steady on a location, seemingly yours.

“And it looks like we’ll find out right about… now.”

The elevator behind you opens, and the guards point their guns straight at the figure stepping off. His gun is held up protectively, but he has nowhere to go, face falling as he reads the situation - reads the pain on your face as you stare back at him on the floor.

He lowers his pistol, glaring at the man waiting smugly in front of him.

“Nice to see you again, Jeongguk.”

His lip turns down in disgust, spitting rancor -

“Can’t say the same for myself, Dad.”

☆☆☆

The tension in the air is tight, like a thousand strings of yarn pinned wall to wall and floor to ceiling and impossible to maneuver. The Boss tsks at the cold reunion, more bitter than he had hoped.

“What, you didn’t miss me all these years? I raised you, after all.”

“Raised me?” Jeongguk scoffs incredulously. “Try training me into your personal pawn, like some fucked up trophy for you to flaunt.”

“It was only so you could someday take my spot, son. I treated you the same way my father did me.”

The bitter timbre of his voice is laced with venom, so uncharacteristic of the Jeongguk you know. “Well, I worked out my daddy issues with a therapist. Maybe you should give it a shot. You should also probably mention how fucked up you are to plan a scheme like this just to bring me here.”

“You left, Jeongguk. I’d do anything for my son.”

“Oh, please-”

A loud click, and cool metal pressed against your forehead. Jeongguk freezes, and he knows the stakes. His blood boils from the blatant manipulation. There was a reason he left - he hated feeling this exact moment, and he hated reliving it even more. It was a place he thought he’d never be in again.

The Boss rolls his eyes again. “Always with something to say, forgetting I’m your elder, your father no less. Plan on letting me speak soon?”

His eyes are as cool as Jeongguk’s now. Dark, disappeared from dramatic frills or drawn-out tones. The resemblance is stunning, strikes fear in your heart, both physical and the mannerisms long-buried by time now resurfaced by each other.

When you meet the Boss’s eyes, they show no remorse for someone he claimed thinks of as his best.

Jeongguk’s eyes flick down and back up. Cooperation.

“Thank you.” He pulls the gun away, letting you catch a breath. “It’s simple, son. You agree to come back, and everything goes smoothly. If not, you won’t be leaving this room alive, and neither will she. Can’t have my trump cards playing against me.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“She’s the reason you’re here, how could I leave her out of this?”

“This is you and me. Not her.”

His father muses the idea, chews it up, spits it out. “Okay,” he grins. “Just us. I’d say go until one surrenders, but that’s not how us Jeons do it. If you can kill me, you’re free to do what you want.”

The guards lower their weapons, leaving the room at a snap of the Boss’s fingers, and Jeongguk’s grip on his tightens, knuckles turning white as he nods sharply in agreement. He’s been caught, a three-year-long game of cat and mouse finally come to a standstill. The man he looks at is just another cruel, cold-hearted crook on a power trip. The last thing he wants to do is fight him, because as skilled as Jeongguk might be, his father is equally such. He also has the upper hand: No feelings of remorse.

But he sees you on the floor, and when it comes to your life on the line, he knows he’d do anything. No matter the risk or the cost, he’d play a losing hand if he had to, if just to keep the fear from your mind. He steps past you, eyes speaking of reassurance when they meet yours, but it’s not a promise.

Once Jeongguk has made his way around you to the center of the room, the Boss’s attention falls to you.

“Hear that, dear? This is a family issue. But in case you need any more convincing…”

The same door he creaked through minutes ago flies open, and in shuffles two people. Penny’s figure mirrors your own, arms tied behind her back. Her eyes are red and puffy, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. There’s no blood or bruising visible, but it kills you the second you lay eyes on her. Your chest heaves silently, panic rising as she is brought in front of the fireplace, led by… Yeji?

The sleek, dark ponytail is unmistakable, and her cat eyes flick over to you in guilt as your words confirm her presence.

“I’m sorry,” she mouths, tears clouding her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

It was impossible to believe how easily everything was collapsing. Maybe your foundations were not as strong as you once thought. Wasn’t it just a week ago you had last spoken to her, taken her advice on working with Jeongguk?

“Again. No need for anyone to get hurt as long as you don’t interfere.”

But would Yeji hurt Penny, even at the Boss’s command? Was she that scared of him? Penny finds you, and you try your best to communicate reassurance, but you fall short. She trembles in fear the same as you.

Without warning, the Boss’s blade flies across the room. Jeongguk side steps, but the red gash sliced along his cheek taunts him for being a second too late. He reaches up a finger to dab at the blood in awe.

His anger fuels him forward. He raises his gun, ringing out shots that bury themselves in the drywall as he closes the gap. The Boss dodges each one. Slender fingers pull the gun from its holster, firing back immediately, glass shattering behind the younger.

Jeongguk zig zags on his feet, blade swinging up viciously at his father while he pulls the trigger in his left hand. The Boss is quick despite his age, no hesitation to his wide, ruthless swings. Jeongguk ducks and spins, changing their positions, knocking a knife from his grasp.

The man laughs. “That was good, but you can do better!” he yells, evading Jeongguk’s relentless swipes. As he taunts, a shard of glass reaches your vicinity. “Or are you too scared to hurt your old man?”

Your fingers bleed hot as you force the shard into the keylock, lifting up the metal lever.

It only fuels Jeongguk’s fire. A firm kick to the chest sends the Boss stumbling back. Jeongguk progresses, his knife dropping around in his grip, taking the slim moment to drive a sharp ice pick stab to his father's shoulder.

His eyes flick to you, and he doesn’t have the time to pull it back out. His father parries his left wrist outward and the gun is knocked from his fingertips, skidding to the floor, arriving kindly right in front of you. A single shot blasts out and Jeongguk lets out a clipped yelp. Your wrists free from the lock and reach for the solution just inches away.

But it’s already checkmate. The Boss’ blade is pressed up against Jeongguk’s throat, who is on his knees as he clutches at his thigh, crimson seeping through his fingers.

“Has the Lion been tamed since I last saw him?” The Boss mocks. There is nowhere for Jeongguk to go. “I’m disappointed, son. Love has made you weak.”

It steals the breath from your lungs. His eyes dart to your figure, mirroring his son’s actions just moments ago. He dares you to make a move. With his play, you can’t.

But that’s where the Boss is wrong. The man void of love sees it as a shot with a predetermined course from point A to point B, easily interfered with by the right tools, by the right move. However, love should not be mistaken for something meager. It’s an ever-weaving thread, crossing and connecting each and every way. Love does not have to be star-crossed and dire, it is not always a fated, tragic romance. There is no one love to outlast all others - not when it can be one you choose.

Yeji meets your eyes from across the room. The Boss has only a bluff catcher against her, the mistake of expecting loyalty before knowing for sure. It’s a twisted collusion that you never would have chosen, but it’s not your hand to play anymore.

Her vision is blurry through her tears. Yeji takes a breath she’s sure will be her last and releases it shakily. She has to do it now. She thinks of every other woman roped into his scheme, every future Penny that will be taken if it doesn’t end here, and she knows you can do it, because she was never strong enough to.

“Forgive me,” she croaks.

An enraged bellow leaves the Boss, but all too late. She has already fired, breaking the lock that has held you captive all these years. A scream rips from your throat as Penny’s body falls forward and collapses to the hardwood.

Yeji is shredded by the entourage of bullets ripping from the Boss’s gun. She stumbles back, hits the wall, sinks to the floor.

Your hands instinctively reach for the weapon in front of you, hands fumbling as you pull the trigger with the weight of a thousand lives behind your index alone. The Boss falls, knife slipping from his fleeting grip, the third and final seal to the game.

The silence is stunning. Nothing feels real. It’s all shock before the pain rushes in, the inability to breath, the feeling of drowning. It’s utter anguish as you fight to the other side of the room, but Jeongguk holds you back. Pushing past him, only for him to spin you around and make you look him in the eye.

“We have to go,” he says through gritted teeth, voice cracking. His eyes plead with you as they blink away tears. Blood coats his hands, urgently dripping down his wrists as they grip yours. “Y/N, we have to go.”

It dawns just as the day on the glowing horizon behind him that it’s over, but there is no victory in sight.

☆☆☆

The coming days are a whirlwind. Most of the time you’re numb, finding yourself stuck in your mind replaying memories over and over, and wincing to pull yourself out of them to the real world that is not much better. The funerals are a blur, long and tiring processions of black and sympathies you are not capable of accepting that leave your head pounding by the time you finally can sleep. But the dream world is not as kind to you as you would have hoped.

It isn’t the memory of her death. It’s the memory of her smile, bright and tender, that could not see another day to shine. You haven’t stepped foot in the apartment yet. You will at some point, but not yet.

Yeji is another story. It’s a moral dilemma of what your inner compass tells you is wrong and your love for the only friend you ever had. Yeji was not bad, you know that. But it was murder, and perhaps that was why it did not go unpunished. Were her actions the results of weakness, or strength? Of personal desire, or wide-scale consideration? You could spend hours wondering whether things might have been different if she hadn’t done it, but at the end of the day, you would never get the chance to know.

In the meantime, the mafia is collapsing. Those who wanted to leave took their chance the second the news of the Boss’s death came in. Ran away to other cities, shelters, anywhere they could to get away from the struggle of the organization. Others who had nothing else are stranded picking up the pieces. They won’t be able to make a comeback, you know that. They’ll turn to other forms of crime, maybe even those that you’ll have to face again in the future.

You can get away from it all for a few moments of peace, but not much more.

Jeongguk’s apartment is close to the marina. He’s lucky for such a beautiful view. This early in the morning, the world is silent, relaxing without the mindless bustling of life. Boats float calmly across the harbor, sails reaching up to the sky streaked with blossoming pinks and clement oranges. Daybreak’s retiring light glitters as it touches the surface of the water with a gentle hand.

The glass door slides open slowly behind you, and Jeongguk’s presence enters to calm your thoughts. The slight limp in his step is barely visible, and he’s lucky that his father’s bullet avoided his femoral artery. If it did, he’d probably be in a much more dire situation than he has now. Since that night, rumors have surfaced that the Boss missed due to nervousness, or fear. Jeongguk knows that his father’s aim was too sharp to miss, and also that he was a hypocrite.

He takes a seat in the chair beside yours. His hair is mussed from a long night of tossing and turning, the same as yours.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you mutter, tongue coated with exhaust.

He hums. “Me neither.”

The flux of air from his sturdy chest is a comfort that relieves the pain for just a little while. Lifts it away like a fog being cleared, and the weight falls off your shoulders so you can breathe again. His eyes swim with affection, and you’re sure that a thousand particles of stardust must be locked away behind his irises.

It never fails to amaze you how Jeongguk always seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

“I know.” It’s weak, barely a whisper. Your head drops to your palms despite your claim. “But it really feels like it.”

He takes a deep breath, atmosphere placid and unassuming. “You did everything you could. Some things are just out of your control, no matter what you do. It’s not fair, but just because you couldn’t stop something bad from happening doesn’t mean you caused it.”

You swallow blearily. “I just don’t even know where to go from here. It’s never going to be the same. So what do I do now?”

“I don’t know,” he speaks gingerly, “Maybe you should get out of here. Start again, somewhere else. I’ll probably do the same eventually.”

Your head begins to shake at the thought.

“I don’t want you to go,” you pause. “I told you that.”

Jeongguk softens. “Oh… okay. I, I won’t then.”

Finally, your head raises to see him properly. His calm guise masks the need of reassurance beneath. “I mean it. Do you remember when you said to tell you the next time so it didn’t land on what I didn’t want?”

He nods slowly.

“When it was in the air, there was just this split second watching it that it hit me. I knew what I wanted. Despite everything,” the corners of your mouth upturn, but not all that happily, “I wanted to choose you.”

Dark, wavy hair falls in front of his eyes, brushing at the healing cut that will certainly leave a scar. His gaze is tender and soft and all that’s good in this world. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And if you asked him, he wouldn’t hesitate to agree.

“I forgive you, Jeongguk. For everything, I don’t care. I’d go through it again and again if I had to.” A fleeting smile pushes the tears from their deep wells. “‘Cause I need you.”

Jeongguk suffered the subtle heartbreak of unknowing for years on end. He’d sit on his balcony just like this, mild evenings under the setting sun, knowing you were out there living under the same sky as him, yet so far apart. He thought of you crossing city streets, breathing the air of the home you loved and hated simultaneously, maybe even sitting out on the fire escape of your own apartment. You were within a radius of just miles, which sounds like nothing compared to how far he’d go for you.

He saw you everywhere. Saw you in every crevice and crack of the city. When the sun was shining brightly, when rain poured like bullets. From the window of the train, from the coffee shop. Retracing his routine steps was hard when he always saw your footprints right beside his own.

It was the feeling he’d been waiting on. At last, he feels contentment in his chest. It’s all he’s ever wanted. His pulse stutters as he thinks that he might just be dreaming, but when he reaches out to touch your clasped hands, steady fingers curling over yours, he knows it’s real. You’re real. It’s pure, unadulterated sunshine splintering over his soul.

Jeongguk stands, holding out his hand for you to take. He pulls you up with care and tugs you into his embrace, warm and kind. His arms around you are safe and sound, and the gentle beat of his heart eases the noise in your mind. It’s the heart that wouldn’t quit on you, the one the angels must either admire or envy. It’s the only thing that feels okay.

One day, things will be better. It’s far away and hard to grasp, but it’s there, waiting for you. Things that are meant to be will find a way, no matter how long it takes, just as Jeongguk and you found your way to this very balcony. But for now, sharing the weight of a heavy heart soothes the lonesome burden of loss, and what it means to love.

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moonflower-31 · 4 years ago

Text

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Part 27

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Words: 5.2k!

Please comment what you think of this, I'm proud of this one. 😊

Warnings: Severe degrading language, description of violence, talk of rights and misogyny

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @serendipity-imagines, @kaelyn-lobrutto24 , @thatsonezesty13, @bihoeofmanyfandoms, @rewindlr

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And when he smiles. I find a reason to live a little more" - Nehwish

Spencer’s knee bounced as he felt the turbulence of the plane getting ready to land. He'd never had trouble with planes in the past. Especially the landing. He supposed it was his nerves.

Spencer bit at his nails nervously and looked out the window of the jet, catching the interest of Rossi and Emily.

"Don't worry, there's a bathroom." Rossi jokes, smirking at the young genius when he finally turned his head towards the voice.

Spencer sighed, deciding not to add fuel to the flame and shut his mouth. They all knew at this point that he wanted desperately to get back to you. His feet were itching to break into a run to head back to his apartment, but unfortunately he did not have the ability to glide on air.

Emily smiled and leaned closer to Spencer. "Come on, Reid. It's okay to be worried." She assures, shrugging softly. Spencer looked away, thinking her words over.

"I-I… I know I can be worried." He exhaled. "But the probability of Peter getting back to her before I do increases by each minute I'm away from her." Spencer felt an urgency welling up inside of his chest, and he couldn't get rid of it.

Garcia popped up on the screen and sighed. "Hey, tell you what. How about I call Morgan and have him bring her to the BAU? So you can see her when you guys get unloaded?" Garcia suggests.

Hotch nods. "That's a good idea, Garcia. I need to speak with Morgan as well so this will be convenient for the both of us."

Garcia nods and clicks off her computer with some random farewell. Spencer felt a bit of his apprehension fall away at the idea of being able to see you sooner than originally planned. He could finally be in your presence and hold you when you wanted him to. He could comfort you. He could be there physically. For you.

Reid looked down at his hands, noticing how diminished his fingernails were with how much he'd been biting. He knew it was just a nervous tick, but it wasn't good for him.

"Try pinching the skin on the back of your hand instead. It gives the same effect." Rossi spoke up, moving over to sit across from Spencer.

Spencer looked up at Rossi in interest, confused as to how that would be any better. "Pinching the taut skin of the back of the hand would cause more injury than biting nails. Did you know that our nails are made up of the same material in our hair? It's actually quite interesting-"

Rossi raised a hand. "I took anatomy in highschool. I think I know what makes up my greying hair." He smirked, making one appear on Spencer’s face as well.

Spencer smiled and began to look around, then back at his watch to check the time. Rossi adjusted his posture before he began to speak again.

"Kid, let me tell you something about what I learned with all three of my ex wives. Don't wait to say it."

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, confused as to what Rossi meant. "I-I don't think I follow, Rossi. Don't wait to say what?"

"Don't keep her waiting on those three little words. If you keep pushing it off, she may move on without you." Rossi advised. "Tell her how you feel. Most women love hearing how you truly feel about them. They love honesty. That's why we're often the ones doing the asking."

Prentiss looked back at Rossi with a teasing look. "'Most women'? Hell, I enjoy honesty. Who really appreciates lies? My exes maybe." She shrugged, making JJ laugh.

Spencer exhaled a tired sigh before running a hand through his messy hair. "I suppose that makes sense. B-but she's still recovering Rossi. What kind of person would I be to try and tell her now? I'd be taking advantage of her. That's the furthest from what I want."

Rossi shrugged, sitting back into his seat as the jet began to touch down. "Whatever you say."

Spencer looks out the jet's windows, thinking of you. And of Morgan.

A few moments later, two agents opened the jet's door and stairs, allowing them all to unload from inside. Spencer was the first to his feet and out the door.

JJ and Emily shook their heads, smiling knowingly. Rossi sighed as he got himself up from the jet seats. "Kids these days." He grumbled to Hotch, who smiled softly.

Spencer tried not to make it obvious how hurried he was to get to you, his pace a fast walk instead of a run. It was hard not to race towards the back entrance to the BAU where he knew you'd be waiting for him in the bullpen. But he could do this. You were okay. He was going to see you.

"Geez, excited much? You'd think a limited time showing of the original Doctor Who was playing in theaters." Emily teased beside him, hurrying in front of him to unlock the entry.

"Forgive me for wanting to ascertain the safety of (Y/N)." Spencer expressed, the words coming out colder than he meant.

Spencer hurried into the building once the door was open, rushing to the stairwell; the elevator was just too slow.

All he could think of was seeing you. Once he did, then maybe he'd consider doing his reports.

Thinking about it now, he most definitely had it bad for you. 100.00% There wasn't a moment where he was near you that he didn't feel his heart beating a little faster. That he didn't feel a squeeze on his heart and his words got stuck in his throat. There was never a time that he wasn't thinking about what you might say if he were to kiss you in that moment.

Finally, after three minutes and five flights of stairs, he burst through the door and hurried into the bullpen, slowing himself down once he saw you.

You smiled happily once Spencer entered your field of vision, putting the bag of food you had in your hands on the nearest desk to your right. It wasn't long after that you felt Spencer’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulling you tightly against him.

"Spence," you smiled, hugging him back just as tight. Spencer put his face in the crook of your neck, reminding himself that you were indeed safe and not in danger.

"Thank God you're safe," he exhaled, beginning to calm further as your hand met his hair.

"Yeah, I'm okay Spence. Why would you think otherwise?" You were confused as to what was making him so worried over you, but even then you were glad he cared.

"It… it doesn't matter right now. Just-" Spencer once again exhaled sharply, releasing you from his hold as the rest of the team entered the bullpen.

Morgan smirked as he returned with a drink tray from the other room with Garcia in tow. "Was the case really that bad, Lover boy? Couldn't wait to get back to your pretty lady?" Derek teased, his eyebrows wiggling as he smiled his signature smile.

Reid rolled his eyes, not as annoyed as he usually was with Derek's antics.

"Hey, I bought food for everyone. Hope fast-food is good enough." You spoke up, picking up the paper bag to lift up for everyone to see.

Hotch nodded, while Rossi and Emily smiled thankfully. "Sounds perfect. I didn't feel like cooking anyway." Rossi joked, walking over to take his share of the food.

"It's a nice offer, but Will's got something at home for me. We rarely ever get home in time for dinner anymore, so when we get the chance we take it." JJ says, grabbing her go bag once it was dropped off.

"Alright. Just send me your reports in the morning." Hotch says, getting a nod in return from JJ.

"Junior G Man," Garcia spoke up. Spencer turned around, facing the eccentric hacker. "Don't you have something you wanna tell (Y/N)?" She asked,

Spencer’s face lit up in a bright blush, thinking Garcia meant something else entirely. This blush also effectively caught Morgan and Emily's attention. "Well? Do you pretty boy?" Morgan teased.

You sighed. "Leave him alone guys. If he's not ready to tell me what happened that's fine." You settle. Truthfully, of course you wanted to know. But if it was something business related or something about the case you knew it could wait.

Spencer sighed with relief. He'd tell you once the two of you were home. Maybe then, you'd be able to react without fear of judgement.

Garcia sighed. "Well, still. I've got something to announce." She insisted, her smile returning bright and bubbly as ever.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, pausing his conversation with Derek. "What is it, Garcia?"

"Well, since we all didn't get a chance to celebrate her rescue, I'm inviting everyone out to have drinks in a couple days in (Y/N)'s honor!" Garcia smiled, cheering to herself.

You smiled happily, reaching into the paper fast food bag and pulling out a few fries. "Thank you Pen. You don't have to though." You insist, putting the fries into your mouth.

Garcia waved you off. "Nonsense! We're gonna celebrate finding you! And we'll all have to get taxis cause we'll be too drunk!" Garcia insisted, hurrying over and giving you a hug.

You hug her back, smiling at her happily. "Okay, okay, I give. Will you be letting us know the place soon?"

"Why of course my fine furry friend!!" Garcia giggles. "Of course I'm gonna let JJ know too. Everybody's gonna be there." She says before she waves goodbye to everyone, scurrying back to her den.

Spencer laughs and shakes his head. "I guess we just made plans?" He asks out loud.

Hotch, Rossi, Emily, and Morgan all laugh along with you. Hotch even cracked a smile. "I guess we did. I'll see if I can get free for that night. She was right, you deserve to be celebrated whether your case was a priority for the BAU or not." Hotch explained, giving you a genuine look. You couldn't fight the blush that slipped onto your face, but you did smile at him.

"Thanks, Hotch." You answer. Then your attention shifted to Spencer. "I'm going to head to the bathroom real quick then we can head home." You then began walking away from him towards the bathrooms, unbeknownst to you being checked out by Spencer himself. Hey, he's got eyes.

"Reid."

Spencer jumped and looked to Hotch, blinking a few times. "Yeah, Hotch?" He asked.

Aaron walked over, clearing Morgan to go ahead and head to his office for them to continue their conversation. "Garcia sent me a message saying you both had information on Peter Calvin. What do you have?" He asked, his tone and volume lowered.

Spencer sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck again, finding it worrying that he was developing it as a nervous tick. "Garcia and I saw him on some nearby traffic cams. I spoke to JJ and Emily about it. I assumed they would have told you by now."

Hotch sighed, taking his mental notes. "Which direction was he headed?" He asked.

"Southwest, towards Quantico." Spencer replied.

"I'll let the police know to keep an eye out for the license plate number and the car Garcia got on the footage. For now, keep (Y/N) safe. We cannot afford him getting his hands on her again. He may not stay nearby this time. And she may not be as lucky." Hotch warned before he stepped away from Spencer and then began walking up towards his office.

Spencer let out an exhausted sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, you were standing near him, smiling gently at him. "Hey stranger."

He smiled at you, his mood immediately improved by your presence. "Hey."

"You wanna head home or get some dinner first? I know you probably don't want fast food. When I was getting this I was thinking about what you'd say. 'Eating junk-food has a-'"

"A link to higher rates of obesity, depression, type 2 diabetes, cancer, and in some cases early death." Spencer finished, his smile wide as he looked to you. You giggled playfully and nodded.

"Yep. Exactly." You smiled. "So I made sure to buy some extra healthy food to make at home."

Spencer smiled back even wider. "That sounds great. But I think eating something healthy we can already buy ready-made will be good for tonight. This last case wasn't an easy one."

You smirked and nudged his arm. "Is that so?" You teased. Spencer smiled and looked down somewhat bashfully.

You smiled and looked up triumphantly. "Well, then you'll have to tell me about it on the way home."

Spencer chuckled as he gave into your teasing, nodding his head a little. "Yes, I suppose I will." He replied, a bright smile on his face.

○●♡●○

"Okay, you have got to tell me how you narrowed that hunting zone parameter down. I don't think I could've done it even if you were paying me-" you expressed gleefully, dropping the soup kitchen bag on the dining room table with two neatly placed chairs on either side. Spencer then walked in past you, dropping his go bag behind the couch as he turned back to face you. His face was brighter than a string of christmas lights and his smile whiter than a cloud. If he wasn't so focused on your beauty he'd notice the pain in his cheeks.

"I'm sure you could've. I could help you if you'd like. It's actually quite simple." Spencer nodded his head and smiled at you teasingly, earning a playful and teasing glare in response.

"Yeah, and I went to school for Geometry instead of Psychology." You joke, digging into the bag for one of the styrofoam containers of soup and placing them on the table.

"Which makes me wonder why you didn't take Geometry. I know it wasn't for a lack of smarts, you're very skilled with that aspect-" Spencer began to ramble on, walking over to the table and putting napkins under the soup containers as you put them down to act as coasters.

"I just suck at shapes, okay? Sure I can remember the damn perimeter formula and the area but give me variables and a word problem? I can't figure out how to do shit." You expressed, handing Spencer the plastic spoon that came with the food. Instead, he handed it back to you.

"I prefer using my own cutlery. Reduces the chance of any chemicals remaining on or inside the plastic being used to make the spoons." He explained, pulling out a drawer and selecting two intricate spoons before closing the drawer with his hip casually.

You smirk and giggle. "I never thought I'd see you do that."

Spencer raised an eyebrow as he began to hand you a spoon. "Do what? I don't see what I was doing that was unusual behavior for my personality-"

"Closing the drawer with your hips, Spence!" You expressed in a loud, happy laughter. "Seriously, you never seemed to me like the kind of guy who'd do that."

Spencer raised an eyebrow and smiled happily at your cheerful face. "Well I guess surprises do happen on a day to day basis. Even in our line of work."

You smiled brighter as you finally opened your soup and took a first spoonful. "Amen to that." You giggled, grabbing another napkin to wipe your chin from the stray soup that leaked onto it.

"Guess I'm still a clutz. Not even being kidnapped and raped is gonna change that I guess…" you mutter, causing Spencer to half choke on his soup. His eyes widen as he looks to you, his eyebrows furrowed after a moment.

"(Y/N), do you… wanna talk?" Spencer asks, slowly approaching you as he places his soup down on the table. He didn't even care where. You were more important.

You sniffle and shake your head. "No… no I'll be okay. I just wanna eat and go to bed. And… and hope that I don't see his face again tonight-" you choke on a sob, lifting a hand to your face and wiping desperately at rapid tears.

Spencer rushed over and hugged you tightly, cradling your head softly as he held you. He whispered gently into your ear, letting you deal with your emotions while he was there to listen. He was good at that, he thought.

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, your hands clutching at his vest. "S-spencer I-" you hiccuped. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't-"

Spencer shook his head. "No, you should. You're allowed to express how you feel, (Y/N). I will always be here for you. No matter how many times you need me to be."

You sniffled, sucking in your bottom lip anxiously as you looked up at him. "Promise..?"

Spencer smiled down at you, caressing your cheek. "Promise."

You let your lips curl into a hesitant smile as an idea crosses your mind. "Do… do you think…" your bottom lip quivers as you ponder your own question.

Spencer’s head tilts and his face softens as he looks down at you, being patient with your feelings. "Yeah?"

You take in a sigh and grunt at your pathetic-ness. "Do you think maybe I could share a bed with you tonight? Just in case?" You asked, a bright blush accompanying the slight voice crack that added to your awkwardness.

Spencer’s eyes widened at your question and his cheeks blew up a firey red as he began to fluster. "U-uh-uh…" Spencer scrambled to reply in a timely and polite manner, but he was so caught off guard.

You bit the inside of your cheek and grunted. "Forget it, I knew it was a long shot…" you let go of Spencer’s vest and began to move away to go back to eating.

What surprised you was the sudden grasp of your hand once it fell to your side. You swear your head swung towards Spencer as soon as you felt his touch, almost as quick as a sword.

Spencer looked down into your glossy eyes, red rimmed from crying. He saw beauty in them. He saw a genius, a comedian, a model, and saw perfection. All in the oceans of color that were you're irises.

He would be a fool to reject your proposal.

"Of course, you just shocked me a little." Spencer insisted, squeezing your hand. He wanted nothing more than to see your lips curl into their familiar smile and see you laugh again. At least he'd see one thing tonight.

You smiled gently at Spencer’s reply, blushing softly in response. "You… you mean it? It's… not too terribly weird?" You brushed a strand of stray hair behind your ear, trying not to freak out.

Spencer tried to make a face that said 'don't worry about it' but instead managed to make an altogether new look instead. One that gave him a chance to see the other expression he loved on you.

You snorted at his expression and began to laugh. Your eyes were full of joy as you laughed, even with a care in the world. Spencer couldn't be more in love.

You laid your head on his chest for a moment, sighing as you began to calm down from your laughter. You looked up at Spencer, who's face somehow had managed to grow even redder from your placement.

"What?" You ask, moving back as you assumed you'd done something wrong.

"It's nothing, (Y/N). Promise. W-why don't we just eat and then we can head to bed?" Spencer suggested, not knowing if he'd be able to handle another moment without kissing you.

You took in a heavy, but relieved sigh. "Yeah… yeah…"

Spencer then took his seat, moving the chair closer to your side. He picked up his now lukewarm soup and began eating it anyway. You watch him for a few moments before you begin to do the same.

And it was just like that, just you two.

○●♡●○

"You done in there yet? I still gotta brush my teeth. Studies have shown that if you don't brush your teeth it can lead to erectile disfunction, inflammation, head and neck cancer-" Spencer began to ramble, knocking against the bathroom door gently.

You swing the door open with a toothbrush in your mouth. "I know, Spence. You just gave me that speech 10 minutes ago." You tease, a smile pulling onto your toothpaste stained cheeks. "Come on, get in here and brush those damn teeth."

Spencer chuckled to himself and walked in beside you. "I don't believe that kind of language is supposed to be used when talking about the bones inside our mouth." He teases, raising an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes and elbow his arm. "Shut up!" You smile playfully. "Compared to you, I'm a cranky old grandma, you old sailor."

Spencer laughed as he put the toothbrush in his mouth and began brushing. You finished up and washed your toothbrush in the running water before heading into Spencer’s room to get into the covers.

Spencer finished up a few minutes after and washed his toothbrush. "I am not a swearing sailor. If anything-" he starts, walking into his room to find you falling asleep under the covers with a pillow in your arms.

Spencer softly chuckled and turned off the bathroom light, closing the door behind him and closing the bedroom door as well.

He walked over and sat down on his usual side of the bed. He looked over at you again, smiling at your peaceful form. If he could give you eternal reassurance that you'd be okay, he would. Even if he had to do time for manslaughter.

He sighed and turned back towards his lamp and turned it off once he plugged in his work phone. See, he knew technology. He just didn't prefer it to paper copies of things.

He then adjusted the covers and climbed into them, trying not to convince himself that staring at you sleeping for a whole night was a good idea.

A sudden crash echoed into the apartment and startled Spencer awake. It didn't sound like glass, more like wood breaking. He took heavy breaths and looked beside him, finding you stirring awake.

Spencer reached into his nightstand and picked up his spare work pistol. He didn't know who or what it was that just broke in, but he wasn't going to let it get to you.

"Spence…"

Spencer looked back over to you, seeing your eyes opening slightly. "Shh… hey, I'll be right back. I'm just going to check what happened. Stay here, okay? No matter what you hear." Spencer whispered, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You murmured a few inaudible sounds but nodded. That was good enough for Spencer.

He then got up from the mattress and began to fumble with his gun. Once he had it aimed, he snuck out into the main area of his apartment.

The windows provided plenty of moonlight to see, so Spencer wasn't worried about seeing the intruder. He didn't want to let them know he was awake. That would cause violence that didn't need to happen yet. He had the element of surprise. And he needed to keep it that way.

Rustling of pages, and of books echoed into the room as Spencer slowly looked around the corner to see who was the invader of his home.

The intruder was bent over the couch, looking through the books that laid there as if looking for something. Proof of something. The intruder was definitely a man. He was definitely at least 6'2, and his voice was a little deeper.

"Dammit, how can she hide so damn well?!" The man cursed, letting the book hit the couch with a dulled thud.

Spencer looked a little farther past the corner, swearing he'd heard this voice before, if not had heard it described to him before. He had an idea of who this was, a damn good one. But he needed proof before he decided to make his presence known to this devil of a man.

Spencer’s foot made the wood beneath him creak for a moment, causing the intruder to look his way. And that's when Spencer knew. The man had green, piercing eyes. Ones he'd definitely seen on one Peter Calvin.

He had enough evidence to do what he planned. Spencer hid behind the bookshelf for a few more moments, hearing Peter's footsteps approach his position.

Then, just before Spencer knew he'd be in him, he turned and faced Peter with his gun facing him and his finger dancing with the trigger.

"Give me one good reason not to shoot, you son of a bitch?" Spencer glared, his aim never wavering as his anger swirled around his head.

Peter grinned. "You…" he began to laugh maniacally. Spencer’s composure wavered only a smidge. Why was he laughing?

"You-!" Peter cackled, his face turning into one of victory. "Out of all the men in the world she could choose to protect her whore-ass--" Peter sneered, reaching behind him. "She chose you."

Spencer refocused his aim, his eyebrows furrowing. "What does that have to do with how you treated her? How badly wounded she was when we found her?" Spencer retorted, spitting out the words like they were poison.

Peter rolled his eyes, putting his hands in the air as Spencer refocused his aim. "Please, she's my damn property. I can do with her as I wish-"

"She's no one's property-!"

"Why do you say that? Have you been inside her yet? If you had you'd never want to let another man have her." Peter taunted, his smirk ever so large on his face.

Spencer’s face and sneer never shifted, even as Peter was determined to get under his skin. "It doesn't matter. She doesn't belong to anyone. She's a human being. She has thoughts, feelings--things you can't take away from her. "

"We'll work on that. Once she has my first child she'll have no feelings of her own. It'll all be about our little boy."

"I don't care how much money you fucking paid for her--" Spencer’s voice raised as his finger fiddled with the trigger. "She is not yours! I will never, ever let you get your filthy hands on her again!"

Peter rolled his eyes as Spencer roared his declaration. "Men like you disgust me. You let the women walk all over you. You give them rights to shut them up and then suddenly you start giving them the freedom to take power. Then we're suddenly the ones being undermined. We're the men! We should be in power while the women give us children-"

"No!" Spencer yelled. "You’re wrong." He breathed, hoping that you would stay where you were until he could be sure you were safe.

Peter sneered and looked to the ground. "You seriously are gonna take the side of a woman? A walking pussy?" Peter asks, getting threateningly close to Spencer.

Spencer re-aims his gun, making sure his first shot would be the only one he'd have to fire. "Yes. Because she's a person."

Peter smirked and briefly laughed. "You wanna die? Or are you gonna step aside so I can reclaim what's mine?" He asks, his hand gripping Spencer’s gun tightly.

Spencer scowled as he looked slightly up at Peter. "I'd rather lose my life than give you what was never yours." He growled, not daring to instigate the conflict.

Peter then forced Spencer to the ground with a roar of anger, slamming his head into the floor. Spencer scrambled and pushed against Peter’s shoulders, managing to bite his shoulder.

Peter let go of Spencer briefly to gasp in pain. He was strong, but not as strong as Morgan. Why else did he need to injure Morgan to abduct him then?

"Damn it-! You string-bean bastard!" Peter spat as he began to charge at Spencer again. Spencer narrowly dodged and grabbed Peter’s arm and shoulder, forcing him into the floor.

"String Bean? That's the best you've got-?" He asked as Peter rolled him back around and held his shoulders down against the floor.

"Why must you be so damn difficult-!? She's mine you cunt-!" Peter spat into Spencer’s face. Sending a punch into his face. Spencer spits up at Peter the blood from the impact, only earning him a second punch in return.

Spencer grunted as Peter raised his fist to give a third punch. Spencer leaned his head back just far enough that he could headbutt Peter hard.

The impact sounded throughout the small apartment as Peter staggered off of Spencer from the onset of the pain. Spencer scrambled to his feet and tried to race towards his gun. Peter unfortunately managed to regain his control and grabbed Spencer’s arms and spun him around.

"You really thought you could win that easily?" Peter hissed, slamming Spencer’s face into the corner he'd previously been hiding behind. Spencer let out a cry of pain before he was spun right back around and thrown across the room from a shove.

Spencer landed onto his back onto the go bag you had placed behind the couch. He winced at something hard hitting him in the back. Peter was slowly moving towards the bedroom now, a smirk on his face.

No, Spencer grunted, reaching behind him through his blurring vision. He wasn't going to lose this. He wasn't going to lose you again.

When he reached behind him, he found what he'd needed. It was his usual pistol. He must have mispacked it when he was getting ready to head onto the jet.

"Hey Peter," Spencer called, surprising himself with how loud he still could be.

Peter scoffed and turned back towards Spencer, who was managing to stand up on two feet. "What now? You can barely hold your own-"

Spencer smirked. "You know what?" He asked, pulling out the pistol from behind him. Peter widened his eyes, glancing from the second pistol to the one he had knocked away.

He was speechless as he listened to Spencer’s next and final words.

"I can't say it was a pleasure to meet you." Spencer replied eerily before he fired his pistol, shooting Peter in the chest and shattering the glass of the bookcase behind him.

Spencer exhaled a long sigh of relief once Peter fell against the floor, blood beginning to pool around him. With Spencer’s injuries, he'd be able to convince any judge that he'd only killed Peter in an act of defence.

You were safe now.

Suddenly footsteps raced out into the living room. Your figure entered the room and turned on the lights. What followed was a shriek of terror from you at both Peter and at Spencer’s condition.

Spencer hurried over to you and wrapped his arms around you, not caring whether or not the two of you were together at this point.

"S-spencer… W-what d-d-did-" you began to stutter, still breathing heavily and beginning to panic.

Spencer instead cradled your head and softly shushed your worries. "Shh… it's okay now, I promise." He breathed, kissing your forehead protectively.

You stayed silent, still in shock and horror of who laid dead at your feet. Instead you let him hold you, and you breathed in his cologne and his natural scent. It still managed to calm you, even after that night's events.

"I promise, he's never going to hurt you again my darling…"

And you believed him.

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rebelhan · 4 years ago

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nights like these

pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (no y/n)

word count: 3.5k

warnings: 18+, explicit sex, unprotected sex, cursing, angst (if you squint), thigh riding (if you squint), oral f receiving, barely any plot...

a/n: A long week with no new leads has you and Javier falling back into familiar patterns. This is my first post on this blog and also my first time writing for Javi!

masterlist

It’s nights like these when he needs you the most. When the sun has set hours ago and the embassy is empty save for the three of you, the warm glow of the desk lamps, and the dwindling bottle of whiskey passed around your desks. The words on the page were swimming in front of his eyes even before Javier took a single sip of alcohol, the strain from days on end of staring at files catching up to him.

A glance at the clock tells him he should call it a night, but his eyes fall to Steve across from him. One hand seems to be permanently fixed in his blond hair in frustration and his eyes squint down at the photographs as if he can will them to give him an answer. Javier turns to your desk and your eyes are moving back and forth across the page with a speed he didn’t think you could muster this late at night, but the empty whiskey glass held idly in one hand tells him that you’re feeling the fatigue, too.

Nights like this are when you are furthest from catching Pablo Escobar. It’s the end of a week with no field action, flicking through file after file after file, listening to every communication, even at the lowest levels of the cartel, desperate for some kind of lead.

Though there are nights when it’s the chase that keeps the three of you at the office this late. Where you feel so close that there isn’t time to waste on sleep because a win is at the tip of your fingers and all you need is to reach out. The adrenaline of having these criminals within your grasp fueling you through the night. Not this time though. This time it’s the fear that every waking moment you spend not working on this, Escobar slips further and further away.

But even that fear isn’t enough to stop the exhaustion as the small hand of the clock slides past one. Javier clears his throat as he looks back down at his file and the small sound is enough to interrupt the silence and break Steve’s concentration.

“Shit. I gotta get home to Connie,” he says, finally registering the late hour. Steve’s chair scrapes the ground as he stands up and gulps down the rest of the whiskey in his glass. You glance up at him and nod in farewell as he grabs his keys from the desk and his jacket from the back of the chair and drapes it over one arm. He claps a hand on Javier’s shoulder as he leaves. “You guys should head home, too.”

You grab the bottle of amber liquid from where it sits on Javier’s desk and he follows the movement as you tip a generous amount into your empty glass. He takes that as a sign that you’re sticking around for a while. Neither of you have someone you need to get home to anyway. There isn’t much for either of you outside of this work, and sad as it seems, it makes putting in the long hours a lot easier.

Despite being the only two people in the embassy at such a late hour, the silence is warm rather than eerie. Minutes pass by, punctuated by the sound of your pen scratching your notebook, Javier turning a page on the lengthy dossier he’s squinting at, the liquid sloshing around in the glass that doesn’t leave your hand.

You move to bring the glass to your lips and the motion distracts Javier for a moment. Your face is cast in a yellow light from the lamp illuminating your desk, the shadows behind you seeming darker, or maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, but Javier swears you’re glowing. He’d say he was zoned out if you asked, but really he’s intently studying the features of your face as your eyes are trained on your notebook and your glass is still pressed to your lips, as if you got distracted from drinking by something you read. His eyes follow your hand as you tip the glass and take a sip, tracing the planes of your neck as you swallow the liquid, glancing back up to watch your tongue dart out and swipe across your lips for the lingering taste. Then all at once, he looks back down, forcefully turning a page, though he’s not sure he really understood what was written on the previous one.

He knew this pattern all too well. You guys get stuck in a rut, Escobar evading you for a while. The two of you stay late after Steve goes home. You both drive home separately, but he catches you at your door, across from his. He invites you over, desperate to take his mind off of feeling like a failure. He fucks you. It’s rough, messy, quick, but it’s enough to distract him. He doesn’t feel guilty at first, not until you’re tugging on your clothes in the middle of the night and he watches you slip out the door without looking back. He feels worse the next day when he sees you again, though you never bring it up. He knows he’s using you to ease his emotional burdens, but he imagines you wouldn’t say yes on these nights if you weren’t doing the same. It’s an unspoken agreement that it’s just stress relief, but he’s determined not to follow the pattern tonight. Especially not when the lamplight reflected on your face is tugging at his heart and that is something entirely new that he isn’t quite ready to think about.

The sound of your empty glass hitting the desk pulls him out of his thoughts and a glance at the clock tells him that he’s spent the better part of the last hour thinking about you instead of reading his file. Your chair scrapes the ground as you stand up before gathering your things. Javier watches your face as you pause for a moment, eyes scanning the surface of your desk, searching for something. Something seems to click as you shut your eyes and groan, rubbing a hand over your tired face.

“Fuck.”

You meet Javier’s eyes and he raises an eyebrow. “Steve drove me here this morning. My engine needed to be replaced after getting shot at last week.” A fact both you and Steve seemed to have forgotten as he was leaving. You huff in frustration. “I can wait until you’re ready to head out,” you say.

For a moment, Javier contemplates his earlier decision. He told himself he wasn’t going to fall into bed with you tonight. But the moment the words slip out of his mouth, he knows where the night is headed. “I’m ready to go now.”

It only takes a minute for him to get his things together. You wait in the doorway of the office for him and he shuts off the lamps on your desks before following you out. The hallway is dark, save for the light of the moon filtering in through the windows, guiding you towards the exit. Javier’s hand falls to your lower back as he pushes open the door to the outside. It feels like it’s burning straight through your shirt and imprinting your skin against the cold of the night. It remains there while you cross the parking lot until you reach his car and he has to step around to the driver’s side.

The ride to your apartment building is silent. Neither of you have the mental capacity to hold a conversation after such a fruitless week. The radio plays a quiet tune from whatever station Javier had been listening to when he drove to work that morning. You train your eyes on the familiar landmarks outside your window, pointedly avoiding looking at Javier. His car is filled with the scent of him, so strong, so intoxicating, that you feel like a single glance at his face would tip you over the edge. By the time he parks in your building, you are overwhelmed by his presence. Rationally, you know that it’s the stress of the week catching up to you and your body anticipating what it has come to expect after such weeks, but that thought does nothing to slow the thumping of your heart.

This time Javier doesn’t need to ask. You don’t part with him to stand at your door and perform the charade of fumbling with your keys, waiting for him to call your name as an invitation. Instead, you’re right behind him as he unlocks his door. If he’s surprised by the change, he makes no indication, holding the door open for you and closing it behind you.

As soon as you hear the telltale click of the lock, you waste no time, tugging him down by the collar of his shirt and slotting your lips against his. He makes a sound that comes from deep in his chest and lights a fire in your belly. He nips gently at your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from you. With a quick motion, he turns you and pushes you against the door, one hand cradling your head to soften the impact, the other holding tight to your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll slip out of his grasp.

Javier’s knee presses insistently between your thighs against your clothed center and the contact has electricity jolting up your spine. Your breath is short and ragged as he drags his lips along the column of your throat, stopping to tug your flesh between his teeth and lick over the bruised skin. One of your hands finds purchase in his hair, another on his shoulder, giving you leverage to grind against his thigh as he continues his assault on your neck.

A particularly sharp bite at your pulse point has your head tipping back against the door and his name falling from your lips in a breathy moan. “Javi.” He shudders at the utterance. His grip on your waist tightens impossibly and you feel his shoulders tense under your palm. He pulls back to meet your eyes. His expression is unreadable to you, unusually so, but you think nothing of it, distracted by the sight of his swollen lips. He shifts, flexing his thigh against you, his eyes never leaving yours, and when his name escapes your lungs this time, he presses his face back into the crook of your neck, the groan he lets out muffled against your skin.

Javier pulls back, and your hand falls from him, only for his grip to encircle your wrist and tug you impatiently towards his bedroom. He pushes you backwards towards his bed, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You pull the article of clothing off and toss it aside. He stops when the backs of your knees knock against the frame of his bed, reaching a hand behind your back to unclasp your bra and slide the straps down your arms. His lips find yours again as his thumbs brush over your hardened buds. You suddenly become conscious of the fact that he hasn’t shed a single piece of clothing and you fumble with the buttons of his shirt, unsuccessful in your attempt to remove it as his lips move down your neck again distracting you from the task.

He pushes you onto the bed and you land with a bounce, pulling yourself up the mattress while he unbuttons his shirt. His eyes catch yours again and there is that unfamiliar look that you can’t quite place. If you didn’t know this to be what it was, a quick fuck to distract from work, you’d think the look was something almost tender, but you knew better than to let your mind wander down that road and even consider the possibility.

When his shirt falls away, Javier finds his place above you, hands on either side of you. He lowers his head to your chest, pressing his lips to the flesh there. He moves along your sternum, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso until he’s impeded by your jeans. With a flick of his hand, the button is undone and he tugs at the material in a silent request. You raise your hips and he shimmies your jeans and panties down together, leaving you laying bare in front of him.

It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been laid out in front of him, but the sight of Javier on his knees between your legs goes straight to your core. His eyes drag slowly down your body like he wants to memorize every detail of the sight and you hold your breath until he leans down to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. The air releases from your lungs in a shaky sigh.

Each bite to the skin of your thighs has your breath catching in your throat and leaving your mouth in a quiet whimper as his tongue soothes the reddening skin. His lips get closer and closer to your center and you can feel your arousal coating your thighs as he stays just shy of where you want him. With each nip at your skin, the sounds leaving your mouth rise in pitch, but Javier seems content to take his time. Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, it registers that this is far slower than the two of you usually take it. It’s like he’s not looking for relief, instead he’s savoring it. The thought is fleeting though and you lose your grasp of it when Javier presses his lips just above your clit.

Your thighs tense in anticipation. On instinct, one of your hands moves to grip his hair and the other clings to his sheets.

“Javi, please.”

“Patience, hermosa,” he mutters against your skin, but he relents, finally, finally, pulling your knees to sit over his shoulders. The endearment is new, but you can’t find it in you to hold on to that thought, your mind foggy with arousal. He places one hand flat on your lower stomach and grips your thigh with the other, hard enough that you’re sure deep purple imprints of his fingers will litter your skin in the morning. He lays his tongue flat against your core, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit and collecting your arousal. Your hips buck against the hand that holds you down and it takes every bit of control left in you not to pull his head down against your core.

He draws another moan of his name out of you when he suckles your clit between his lips, alternating his tongue between swirling around and flicking the bundle of nerves. Your heels press into his back, an unconscious desperate attempt to pull him closer. The hand on your thigh finds its way between your legs and you feel his fingers at your entrance. He pushes two digits past your entrance and scissors them. This time when he sucks particularly hard on your clit and curls his fingers, you can’t stop your back from arching, pressing your core further against his face. The moan he lets out is obscene, like he’s enjoying this more than you are. The sound vibrates against you and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. He adds a third finger and his assault on your clit is relentless. With a few more pumps, you explode, the waves of pleasure radiating through every inch of your body. Your toes curl at his back and he lets you ride out the orgasm against his mouth and chin, his tongue still moving against you until it’s suddenly all too much and you push him away.

When he sits back, he slides his fingers out of you and your walls clench around the emptiness. His chin shines with your release. Your chest rises and falls quickly as you come down from the high. He meets your eyes as he places his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean. The action is enough to have another wave of arousal coursing through you. You pull him into a bruising kiss and you taste yourself when you slide your tongue past his lips. His erection is painfully hard against your thigh and your fingers reach for him, undoing the zipper of his jeans. He takes the hint and moves back to remove the material along with his boxers.

As he leans back down, you take the opportunity to flip him onto his back so you’re straddling his thighs. You spit into your hand and grip his hard length. He lets out a hiss at the contact and you pump your hand up and down. His hands grip your thighs bruisingly as clipped grunts escape his lips. You brush your thumb over the head, spreading his arousal, and stroke him until his hand catches your wrist, stopping you abruptly.

His eyes are pleading. “I need to be inside you.”

You raise your hips and position yourself above him. With a shaky breath, you lower yourself onto him. The delicious stretch has your head falling back. Javier lets out a slow groan as the feeling of you surrounds him. A guttural “fuck” leaves him as you bottom out. His hands leave your thighs and grope at the soft flesh of your hips as you begin to rock back and forth on him. The rhythm you set isn’t enough for him, and it’s not long before he’s raising your hips with his hands, meeting your thrusts with his own. The pleasure builds slowly inside you with each thrust.

As the pace quickens, he stops you, shifting onto his knees so you sit in his lap, one hand on your back to hold you close. The new angle gives him more control and he slams your hips against his over and over again, biting at the skin of your collarbone. The sound of your skin slapping against his is so salacious, you might have been embarrassed if he wasn’t hitting a spot inside of you so perfect that the feeling cleared your mind of any other thought besides the way he stretched you out.

He snakes a hand between your bodies and his thumb finds your clit. A couple quick circles has you clenching around him. You tip over the edge for the second time that night, your vision going blank for a moment as every muscle in your body tenses. Your head falls back and you cry out as he continues to thrust into you through your orgasm, his face pressed to your chest. His thrusts falter and he spills into you with your name groaned against your skin followed by a string of curses. He keeps moving slowly until he’s soft inside you and the feeling is too much.

He doesn’t slip out of you then, like you expect. Instead he holds you in his lap, panting deeply. His head is cradled in your arms and your chest heaves, matching his. You let yourself enjoy the haze of pleasure until you feel him pressing kisses to your chest. Your heart drops to your stomach in a feeling you can’t quite name and you stiffen for a moment. He keeps moving his lips against you as if he doesn’t notice and you force yourself to relax in his arms, though now you can’t ignore the thought that’s flashing red in your brain. This is new. And much softer than what the unspoken agreement between the two of you entailed.

He finally lays back and you roll off him, feeling an emptiness where he once was. You let yourself pause for a couple seconds to try and pull yourself back together. It’s not enough time to process what just happened, but you know you just need to get your clothes and get to the apartment across the hall and you can deal with everything soon enough. But as you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed, ready to begin the search for your clothes that are no doubt spread around the room, Javier’s hand yet again encircles your wrist.

“Wait,” he says. You turn your head to catch his gaze. You’re met with that unfamiliar look in his eyes, again.

“Stay,” he says. It’s a request, spoken quietly into the dark room, and you know that if you agree, you’re throwing away the delicate balance that the two of you have woven. Whatever this is will cease to simply be relief from a terrible work week, and you don’t know if you’re ready for that. And neither does Javier, but he knows he can’t stand to see you leave his apartment without a glance back on another night like this.

Wordlessly, you move back onto the bed and you lay your head on his shoulder, the hand he holds placed gently on his chest. There’s a silent understanding that this is what you both need right now, even if neither of you can admit it, the fallout tomorrow morning be damned.

-------

thanks for reading! feedback is appreciated

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña smut #narcos #narcos fic #narcos smut #honestly idk what this is it is my first time writing smut sklfjdf #im too embarrased to like heavily proofread so take that as u will lol #nlt

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aggieharkness · 4 years ago

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Lily of the valley (Part 2) (Wanda x Pietro x Agatha)

Summary: Now that they are all back home Agatha must strike a friendship and gain the kids trust, both for their sake and hers.

a/n: A user asked me to add something, so I hope you liked the bit that I added for you @andshewillrecover . Hope you all enjoy it, and if you want other stories, just ask. Please, share and comment if you like it. Here you can find the first part Lily of the Valley

Words: 4k

Lily of the Valley (Part 2)

Tapping on the soil with her small hand shovel she looked at her work, the lilies now planted next to her pink petunias and her 150 years old salvia, Wanda, and Pietro standing beside her watching her almost without blinking. Tapping the dirt off her pants she stood up and placed a hand on their shoulders as they watched the plant blooming in a matter of just a few seconds, making them gasp in surprise. If she had been one of those ordinary women that lived in one of those big houses she would say her garden was her pride and joy, but in her witchy life, her normal life, her garden was more than just something to be proud of, it was a big part of her witchcraft. Carefully she turned them both around and took them inside, it was beginning to get a bit chilly, a soft breeze picking up, and she didn’t want them to get cold. It was past midday in Salem, nigh time in Sokovia, but it was colder than usual in the forest where she lived, probably because of the storm that was brewing just a few miles away. She suspected the children would be tired, she was sure it was past their bedtime, but she knew better than to let them go to bed, they wouldn’t be able to stay still and quiet once they had rested, not caring if it was three o’clock or five.

-Sit here, I want to talk with you both. – guiding them to the couch she sat on the floor in front of them, noticing how they were holding hands. They were relaying on each other now that their parents were gone, she would have to make sure they didn’t stay inside all day, that they made friends, it was always good to have one or two, at least for little children. Four bulging open wide eyes stared at her, waiting. – Are you alright? Does any part of you hurt? Do you have scratches, bruises… anything at all? – both shook their heads, a sigh of relief leaving Agatha’s lips.

-Are you a good or a bad witch? Are you like Samantha? – it surprised Agatha the knowledge the little witch seemed to have about sitcoms, mainly because she had watched them when they were being broadcasted for the first time and it had been close to thirty years since she had watched Bewitched. At least she knew she could compare herself to things that the kids would be able to understand.

-I’m a bit like Samantha, a bit like Endora… In real life, witches are a bit more complicated, but I will teach you, don’t worry.

-Do you have a black cat?

-I once had one, but now I have a rabbit. He’s my familiar.

-What’s a… familiar?

-It’s a spirit that lives inside an animal Pietro, and he helps me and takes care of me. His name is Señor Scratchy, do you want to see him? – the bright smiles and nods gave her a warm feeling in her chest, but she still was nervous and worried. Walking over to her basement door she opened it, her fluffy bunny rushing out into the hall. Agatha chuckled before she turned and pointed at the living room, the rabbit hopping quickly inside the room. Both kids stared at the pet, not sure whether they were allowed to touch him as Agatha scooped him up into her arms, sitting back down in front of them. She had expected them to jump into her arms, petting him like crazy, but they sat there as if they were restraining their impulses, probably because they still didn’t know how she worked if she would scold them or get mad at them. She would have to work on that as well, gain their trust. – Do you want to pet him? He won’t bite.

Wanda stretched her arm, placing her hand doubtfully over the soft fur that covered the rabbit. As soon as she touched him, she felt a wave of comfort, her nerves calming down as she petted the animal.

-Come on Pietro, he’s very soft.

-Are you sure he won’t bite? – Agatha tried not to smile at the worried face the little boy had, his sister scratching the bunny as if she had just seen the animal for the first time. Maybe she had actually never seen a rabbit before in her life.

-Quite sure Pietro. Your sister doesn’t seem worried, are you? – determination settled in his eyes as he placed his hand over the white fur, softening his features as he realized he wasn’t going to get bitten by the little rabbit. – I’ve had him for years; we have an understanding.

-You had a cat, you said it. What was its name?

-Her name was Ebony. I had to leave her somewhere dangerous to protect someone. Sometimes I miss her, but Señor Scratchy has helped me a lot, and I’m sure he’ll help you as well, Wanda. Do you want to take him, Pietro? – the boy hesitated but soon he had the little rabbit nestling in his arms, his nose twitching happily. – I have a few rooms that I don’t use, why don’t we go upstairs so you can choose one.

-We get a room for ourselves?

-Of course. Or do you want to sleep together?

-No! Pietro snores.

-And you talk in your sleep! – Wanda stuck her tongue out, mocking her brother as he turned his head as if he had been offended.

-Okay, then one for each. Come on, follow me.

-Was your son really bad? – the question took her a bit by surprise as she made her way to the staircase. It was her fault, she had mentioned him, but she really didn’t feel like talking about Nicholas. The silence that followed Wanda’s question almost answered it, Agatha’s form still with one of her feet on the first stair, the other one still firmly on the floor. – Sorry, I didn’t want to make you sad.

-It’s not your fault Wanda, you are just curious. – Agatha turned her head to give her a warm smile, she didn’t want to upset the child. - I just don’t want to talk about him, okay? Not today, I don’t want to make you both sad. Pietro, tell me, what things do you like?

-I like… cars. And cartoons.

-Very generic, but tell me, is there anything that you really love? I don’t know, maybe… sports? Science?

-I like physics. I’m very good at it, in school, I go to classes that are for older students.

-Is that so? Well, then you must be very smart. Maybe I can get you some books about physics.

-He doesn’t like books. He says they are boring. He prefers to play pranks on people.

-I don’t do that!

-Well, there won’t be any pranking in this house, I have very delicate objects that could do very bad things if you broke them, so all the pranks out in the garden, understood?

-Yes, ma’am. But I don’t do that. – Wanda smirked when he saw the frown on her brother’s face.

-Do you like anything else? – they made it to the top of the stairs into a hallway that communicated with six doors. The one closest to the stairs was ajar, and they could see that it was a bathroom, the one next to it, which was wide open, was Agatha’s bedroom, white pristine walls making a beautiful contrast with her dark purple carpet and duvet. The other three were closed, but the furthest from them had a lock on it.

-I like running, I’m the fastest in my class.

-There’s a school here in Salem that I’ve heard has a very good sports club, maybe we could look into it if you want.

-Salem? That’s in America, right?

-Yes, Wanda, we are in America.

-Mum and dad wanted to bring us here. They say that we will have a better life. – Wanda’s words gave Agatha a stabbing sensation in her chest. She didn’t think she could turn around without feeling that they had been robbed of a lifetime of happiness. They just wanted a better life for their babies. Reaching the third door she twisted the doorknob, opening it for the two little ones to go inside.

-We’ll honour that. I’ll make sure you have the best life you could imagine. We’ll make them proud, children.

Pietro looked around the empty room, the big windows covered in dust as he roamed it, but Wanda didn’t seem interested in seeing if she liked it or not. She took Agatha’s hand in hers, holding onto the older woman almost as if she were afraid, she would disappear into thin air. Squeezing her little hand, Agatha watched the boy as he stared at the walls, Señor Scratchy peacefully sleeping in his arms, reassuring Wanda that they were all there.

-Do you like it?

-It’s very big. What am I supposed to do with all this space?

-Whatever you want. You can have toys, maybe some drums, or a piano, or just a pile of dirty laundry.

-But that means a lot of money.

-We don’t have to spend money, not while I’m here. – with a questioning look the boy turned around, Wanda staring intensely at her as Agatha moved her long fingers skilfully while muttering words none of them understood. Out of thin air, a purple cloud seemed to form, making itself bigger and bigger, enfolding the room. Pietro screamed and run outside, placing himself behind Agatha’s back, the rabbit hopping off his arms, startled, which gave the boy the opportunity to place his arms around Agatha’s waist, which caused a chuckle to escape from the older woman as she worked. The once empty walls were now painted in a very soft blue with a white ceiling, posters of famous runners and sports players hanging from the now deep blue closet and walls, a ginormous bed filling up the empty space in the right side of the room, the print of a black Lamborghini over the thick duvet. The floor was now covered in a baby blue carpet, on the other side of the room she placed a wooden white grey desk with a matching chair. The purple cloud vanished with a snap of her fingers, Agatha smiling at her work. – What do you think Pietro?

-I… I like it.

-But there’s something you want me to change?

-I want… I’ve always wanted a car as a bed. Like you see in the television.

-On television Pietro. We can fix it. – With a wave of her wrist the bed changed into a super-realistic Lamborghini, the wheel still at the foot of the mattress, but the entire inside was nothing like the car that you would usually see on the road. The boy went inside the room again, looking around before he jumped onto the bed, kicking his shoes off as he kept on going over and over again from the floor onto the bed, laughing. – Now, let’s give it a Pietro touch, shall we?

Agatha twirled her fingers around, comics and books filling the empty desk, a radio and Cd’s making the shelves that were now gracing the previous semi-empty walls, a set of drums in the corner of the room, toys, teddy bears, anything a kid could imagine, filling an empty trunk that was underneath the window, which was now covered by blue curtains. Pietro’s eyes sparkled with joy as he looked around his new bedroom. Agatha had never seen a child this happy in her life, the ones she had met over the years had behaved like little brats, who she hated endlessly, but these two could be happy with just a bed and some food as long as they were together. It brought her so much joy to be able to give them what they had never expected to get, not even in their best dreams.

-We’ll leave you to enjoy your new things while we make your sister’s bedroom, okay? – he seemed to have forgotten they existed as he dove into his toy trunk, pulling out dolls and robots, laughing giddily. Leaving the door ajar the two girls walked over to the fourth door. They stood in front of it, Agatha waiting for Wanda to open it with her free little hand. Nervously she twisted the knob, pushing the wooden door to see a room more or less the same size as Pietro’s, but the windows were broken, the glass shattered, lying on the floor along with fist-size rocks. – Sorry about that, I had a few teenagers the other day trying to play a prank on me.

-What did you do?

-I think they are still being chased by the ducks I conjured. – that brought a small laugh from Wanda. At least she was still capable of laughter, maybe the shock would come later in the day, she would have to make sure to look out for any signs. Walking inside the room she sat on the floor, making Wanda sit over her crossed legs, taking her hands and hugging her. – Okay, Wanda, what do you like?

-I don’t know.

-You like sitcoms, do you not? You were watching a show when… when I found you.

-Yes. I also like cartoons.

-Alright, let’s do this slowly because I want you to help me, okay? – Wanda’s big green eyes stared at Agatha’s blue ones as she nodded, a questioning look over them. – I felt something from you, Wanda, and I think you might have a little bit of… magic, just like I do.

-I’m… I’m a witch?

-That is what I’m going to find out. Try to lift one of the rocks.

-How?

-Look at it and concentrate on moving it. Imagine it lifting from the floor and going out the window, okay? – with Agatha’s hands still holding onto her arms, Wanda held out both of her hands, staring intensely at one of the rocks. A surge of red magic made it rise from the floor and fly out the window. – That was amazing!

-I did that? I really did?

-You sure did, sweetheart. You are a very powerful witch.

-Like you?

-Maybe, we shall see. Let’s work on your room. – Agatha vanished the shattered glass and rocks, fixing the window in just a few seconds while the redhead still looked down at her hands, amazed by what she had done. – Imagine the colour you want on your walls, and I’ll help you if you cannot do the entire room, okay?

-I want it to be the colour of straw… straw… the fruit. I can’t remember the name.

-Strawberries?

-Yes, but I don’t want pictures of people running like Pietro has in his room.

-Okay, let’s work on the colour first. – the red magic poured out of her hands fast, bathing the walls, tinting them slowly. After several minutes she felt Wanda losing control, the red cloud spreading over the ceiling and floor as well. Grabbing her hands, she interrupted the stream of magic, Wanda panting, a worried look on her face as Agatha looked at her to see if she was okay.

-I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.

-You just lost control, it’s okay, happens to the best of us when we are little. We’ll work on it, but look, you did a very good job, you almost finished the walls.

-But I painted the ceiling.

-It’s alright, we’ll fix it. You rest and I’ll wrap up this bit, then, you can tell me a bit more about yourself. – Agatha whirled her fingers, a white coat of paint covering the ceiling while the walls that Wanda had not been able to finish wrapped themselves up, her hands topping it all off by putting a light pink carpet on the floor. With that done she looked down at the little girl, smiling to make sure she understood she had done nothing wrong. She was powerful, far more than anyone she had ever met, maybe even more powerful than her, but she couldn’t scare the girl by screaming at her for not being able to control her magic, Agatha’s mum had not wanted to help her learn how to do it, she had managed to teach herself after many years, but she would help Wanda, she would teach her and guide her just as her mother should have done when they were in the coven before everything had happened. – You like sitcoms. Maybe you would like pictures of Lucy and Ricky or the Addams family?

-I like the Dick Van Dyke show. It’s my favourite.

-Then we’ll put up a poster of them. – from a cloud of purple magic appeared a big poster of the show, which by Wanda’s huge smile, she noticed she liked. – You tell me where I hang it.

-There, next to the window.

-Perfect. Any other series you want? I really liked the Munsters. I went out with a vampire when I was young, but he wasn’t really into walks around the woods and by the river, so I had to leave him. He also smelt like rotten cheese.

-Vampires exist?

-Yes, but I have garlic all over the house, no one will suck your blood, don’t worry. Maybe we could hang a poster of Lily and Herman? Maybe you prefer Eddie?

-I like Grandpa and Eddie.

-Alright, let’s set it up. – close to the door she placed a big picture of both characters. When she looked down, she saw a small doll in Wanda’s hands, one she had not been holding before. She had unconsciously conjured this little toy, probably to make herself feel more secure, she couldn’t blame her, she was only ten – What’s her name, dear?

-What? – Wanda stared surprised at her own hands, where a little duck with a pink dress and bow laid. – I don’t know. It’s not mine.

-It sure is Wanda, dear. You created it, it’s yours. Name her, come on.

-I don’t know… maybe…Webby? Like in Ducktales.

-You like those cartoons? – small stickers of the characters appeared all over the walls, a white trunk underneath the windows filling with cuddly toys from the series. Agatha could feel that Wanda was tired, probably because she was trying to control her magic although she couldn’t, afraid she might hurt the older woman. She didn’t want the girl to do that, it wasn’t worth it. – You are tired, I’ll finish your room and then we can have something to eat.

From another wave of purple magic came a big bed with a white veil, the print of Sabrina’s cat on the duvet, a soft pink desk on the other side, just like she had done in Pietro’s room, and a similar chair to accompany it. She didn’t want to push Wanda into telling her more about herself, what she liked, what she loved, what she was good at, she felt how tired she was. It would take her more time than what she had previously expected to get to know this little girl. Picking her up in her arms, she walked out of the room, the girl resting her head on Agatha’s shoulder, little Webby nestled in her chest as they entered Pietro’s room.

-Sweet Lord, you’ve already left your room a wreck Pietro. Tidy up and come downstairs, I’ll have lunch ready in just a bit, and I do mean tidy up.

-Is my sister okay?

-She’s just tired. You can use the bathroom to wash your hands before coming down.

He began to pick up all the toys he had managed to spread all over the floor as Agatha walked down the stairs, finding Señor Scratchy at the end, twitching his nose hurriedly, as if he was upset with her. Rolling her eyes at the rabbit she made her way to the kitchen and was about to leave Wanda in one of the chairs when she realized the girl had fallen asleep. She couldn’t bring her heart to let her go, so after pressing a sweet kiss on top of her head she began to take pots and pans out of the cupboards with quick movements of her free hand, potatoes, and vegetables coming inside through the window, leaving a trail of dirt on her clean floor.

She was so caught up in her work that she didn’t seem to hear Wanda’s whimpers as she nestled her face a little bit more into Agatha’s neck, the sound of water boiling and knives chopping covering them up. It was only after she felt a sharp pain in her head that she stopped in her tracks. She felt a mind-breaking through her barriers, sporadic images filling her brain, images that didn’t belong to her, a pain she could understand but that wasn’t hers rising in her chest. That’s when she felt the tears on her skin, the vibrations of Wanda’s whimpers on her neck. The little girl grabbed the older woman’s sweater in her sleep, her whimpers turning into sobs and words filled with hurt and worry. Placing a new set of barriers around her mind as strongly as Agatha could she sat on a chair, petting the girl’s hair. There were things in her mind she had to make sure the girl never saw, they were painful and dangerous, and she was far too young to understand them, they would scare her, prevent her from trusting her. They were forbidden for those who she could protect them from. Pietro almost flew down the stairs as he sensed Wanda’s distress, forgetting to dry his hands or turn the light out, worried the woman might have done something to upset his sister, but when he entered the kitchen he found her sitting on a chair, her sister in her arms.

-Shhhhhh. It’s okay Wanda, it’s fine. – the whimpers continued, words in another language spoken from the girl’s lips, and although Agatha knew around thirty languages, dead ones, and magical ones not included, this one wasn’t one of them. To her dismay, she couldn’t understand what poor Wanda was saying. – I’m here Wanda, wake up. Wake up, darling. – Her eyes fluttered open, tears still running down her cheeks as she held onto Agatha, trying to remember where she was.

-Mama. Papa.

-Shhhhh, it’s okay. You are safe. It was just a nightmare. There are no bombs, nothing here that can hurt you.

-It wasn’t nice.

-I know darling, nightmares never are, but it’s alright, it was just that. Whatever you saw, It’s not true. You are safe. Both you and your brother are fine with me. I would die before I let anything, or anyone lay a hand on you.

-Mama? – Agatha stared at Wanda’s eyes, an emotion on them she hadn’t seen in a person in over a hundred years. She didn’t deserve the title that the little girl was offering her, or at least not yet. She had spent less than eight hours with them, she couldn’t bring herself to accept it, she could take care of them, of course, but that was one thing and another completely different was to become someone’s mum. She couldn’t do that to these kids, erase the memory of their own parents in her favour, she was a stranger to them, but Wanda trusted her, an unconditional trust that Agatha herself could not fully understand.

-Sis? – Wanda’s eyes wandered to the kitchen door where Pietro stood, looking at them. There was a conversation happening between them, Agatha knew it, their eyes changing emotions so fast it was hard to follow since there were no words to match them. After a few minutes, he walked over to them, nodding at his sister, placing a hand on Agatha’s shoulder, a sad expression on his face, a sorrowful smile gracing his lips.

-Mama? – this time it was Pietro who spoke making Agatha’s chest swell with pride and love.

-Alright sweetheart. I’ll be both your mums if that’s what you need me to be. You are here with me, and I won’t let any nightmares haunt you. – brushing a few strands of red hair off Wanda’s face she smiled at the girl, stroking her cheek lovingly before looking at Pietro, who seemed to have agreed with his sister this was what they needed. – We need to talk about what you saw, but not today. I’ll get lunch and then you both can go to sleep; I’ll give you something, so you won’t have any nightmares. Just a small touch of magic and when you wake up, we can get to know each other, okay?

#agatha harkness #wanda x agatha #wanda x agnes #wanda and pietro #agatha x wanda x pietro #wandavision #kathryn hahn #marvel #agnes

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heyiwrotesomethings · 4 years ago

Text

Drawn to You

Nejire Hado x Fem Reader A/N: Hello again! I’ve had this done in August so it’s kind of old. I guess one possible warning for this oneshot is mention/ flashback of a bad relationship where the ex was dismissive and cruel with their words. It’s in italics if you want to skip that part. Other than that, I hope you enjoy, Nejire is such a sweetheart!

Quirk: Art-senal (like arsenal but art lol) draws something and makes it come right out of whatever surface that was drawn on! The drawback (hehe) is that carpal tunnel and general nerve pain and numbness of the hands will occur, causing your hands to become immobile after a certain point. ***

When rumors of a transfer student started floating through the class of 3-A, Nejire could not have been more excited. Mirio happily chatted with her, sharing guesses about what their new classmate would be like while Tamaki listened quietly. When their teacher appeared, everyone shot back into their desks and waited for them to introduce the prophesied new student. “Good morning class,” their Sensei greeted warmly. “You are all looking rather excited this morning, so I see that word has moved down the grape vine about the new student joining us,” they directed their attention to the door. “You may come in now.” The rumbling sound of hushed conversation began as the student entered the classroom and Nejire was at the edge of her seat with a billion questions already burning at the tip of her tongue as her eyes took in the new girl as she stood beside the teacher in front of the class. “Introduce yourself to your classmates, please,” the teacher asked, after a few moments of silence. “I’m (Y/n), it’s nice to meet all of you,” (Y/n) answered softly. So softly, Nejire almost didn’t hear her, and she was in the second row closest to the front. “Uh, some people like to say a little about themselves too. Have anything you want to share for the class to get to know you better?” The teacher asked. After a moment's pause, Nejire heard a very quiet “no” fall from (Y/n)’s lips as the girl kept her gaze trained to the floor. “A kindred spirit,” Tamaki mumbled from Nejire’s side.

“Ah, well then, feel free to take that open space in the back and welcome to class 3-A,” the teacher smiled sheepishly. (Y/n) brushed passed Nejire on her way to the back of the class and Nejire smiled sweetly and offered an excited wave. (Y/n) gave a smile in return, though it looked more like a grimace as she made it to the window seat in the back of the room about three more rows directly behind Nejire. As class began, Nejire wished she had a quirk that would give her eyes on the back of her head so she could stare back at (Y/n) and try to learn more about her. Like with any other student she came in close proximity to, she wanted to know everything. Her quirk, her favorite color, where she transferred from, what her family was like, what she likes to eat... really just anything and everything. When the bell finally rang after their fourth class, Nejire practically leapt from her seat and walked over to (Y/n)’s desk. “Hi there! I’m Nejire, nice to meet you,” Nejire greeted the girl as (Y/n) hastily closed her notebook. “Hi,” (Y/n) replied, quietly. “Where did you come from? What’s your quirk? Why did you come to UA? What’s-“ “Whoa there, Nejire!” Mirio laughed. “I think you came on a bit too strong there.” “What do you mean?” Nejire asked, giving him a puzzled look before turning back to the now empty desk. She turned back to the door just in time to see a flash of (h/c) hair disappear around the corner. “Wow, that was fast! Maybe some kind of speed quirk? I need to follow her and ask!” “I think she needs some space Nejire. She’s probably overwhelmed being in a new school with new people and being far away from home... I can only imagine how terrible that would be,” Tamaki shuddered. “Sounds like she could use a few friendly faces to make the transition easier,” Mirio grinned. “She probably went to the cafeteria to get lunch. Let’s see if we can get her to sit with us.” “Great idea, Mirio!” Nejire clapped. “Let’s get going, no time to waste!” The Big Three scanned the cafeteria, but (Y/n) was nowhere to be found. Nejire tried to quell her disappointment as she, Mirio, and Tamaki started eating. She soon regained her usual cheer, offering some food for Tamaki to try with his quirk as Mirio marveled at the possible applications a ramen noodle arm. When they returned to the classroom, (Y/n) was already back in her seat, looking out the window with a dazed look on her face. “Hey, (Y/n)!” Nejire greeted, startling the girl by kneeling in front of her with her arms folded over (Y/n)’s desk. “We were looking for you at lunch. You should totally sit with us tomorrow, it’ll be a lot of fun!” “Um, I don’t know,” (Y/n) mumbled, shifting her eyes nervously. “Hado, get in your seat please, class is starting,” “You got it, Sensei!” Nejire beamed. “Next period is quirk training and we’re sparring today. You should partner up with me,” she quietly told (Y/n) before making her way back to her desk. Nejire couldn’t help but glance back every now and then, flashing the new girl a dazzling smile every time their eyes met. When they made eye contact, (Y/n) would quickly jerk her head down toward her desk and nervously scratch her pencil into her notebook. Nejire wished she could see what she was doing, the movements didn’t seem to match routine note taking and it was fueling her curiosity even further. She just couldn’t wait until quirk training! “Hado! Face forward, please. You are being very distracting,” Sensei chided. “Sorry!” Nejire laughed sheepishly along with most of the class as she faced forward in her chair. She briefly wondered if (Y/n) had laughed too and thought about what it would sound like. Her own smile grew at the thought and she added it to her growing mental list of inquisitions. When class was over, she was held back by her Sensei for a minute for a light scolding. “Just because you are one of the top three students, doesn’t mean that you should be slacking off or distracting others, Hado. Please try to focus during your lessons.” “Sorry, Sensei! I’ll work harder,” Nejire smiled. “I better get to quirk training now or someone will snatch up my partner, bye!” Before her Sensei could object, Nejire darted out of the room and headed towards the locker rooms. She quickly navigated the space and weaved through the other girls changing their clothes to where (Y/n) was changing in the furthest corner. “There you are!” She cheered, causing (Y/n) to jump and quickly finish pulling her workout uniform top over her head. “I’m so excited to see your quirk! This is going to be so much fun!” Nejire continued to speak as she began changing into her own workout sweats. When she finished pulling her shirt over her head, (Y/n) was no longer in front of her. She swiveled her head and watched her scurry toward the exit. “Wait for me, (Y/n)!” Nejire called, adjusting her sweatpants as she skipped over to the fleeing girl. “You sure move fast. Is it part of your quirk?” She asked, poking (Y/n) in the back. “No, it’s not,” (Y/n) mumbled as they walked into the gym, thumbing over the pages of her notebook anxiously. “Hm? Why did you bring a notebook? Taking notes? How will you find time to do that while sparring? Are you sure you don’t have a speed quirk?” She asked tugging at (Y/n)’s sleeve. “I... the notebook is for my quirk-“ (Y/n) answered before Nejire invaded her personal space further, getting very close to her face. “Really? What do you use it for? Tell me!” Nejire demanded, bouncing on her heels and nearly knocking heads with (Y/n)’s. “I draw things,” the girl squeaked, taking several steps back from Nejire to no avail as the girl simply closed the distance without a second thought, her eyes blazing with an inquisitive fire that longed to be fed more fuel. “You draw and then what happens?” Nejire continued, matching each step (Y/n) took back with one of her own going forward until (Y/n) hit a wall on the other side of the training grounds and was quite effectively pinned. “I, um, swipe at the drawing and, uh, it’s like a replica of whatever I drew,”(Y/n) replied, her eyes shifting to look anywhere but the eyes of Nejire boring into her face, absorbing every word that left her lips. “Sounds neat! Will you show me? Like, before we spar? I want to see!” (Y/n)’s voice seemed to give out from all the attention Nejire was giving her so she simply nodded. Her hands shook as she flipped to a clean page and penciled in a quick sketch of an oak tree with a practiced hand. Nejire watched with rapt attention as (Y/n)’s fingers ran over the drawing and swiped outward, launching the sketch off of the page. Nejire grinned, watching the tree take shape and tower over them. It almost looked real, but there was a sculpted look to it that made it look like something right out of a fantasy novel. She looked back to (Y/n) and tugged on her sleeve. “That’s beautiful, (Y/n)! What a fun quirk! My quirk is Wave Motion, it looks like this,” Nejire released a spiral wave of energy from her hand and they watched it flow forward until it eventually died out. “Pretty cool, right? My waves may be slow, but they’re super strong,” Nejire explained. “Girls, please, I don’t mind a little constructive discussion, but do some actual sparring as well,” “We’ll get started now, sorry!” Nejire waved off the disgruntled teacher before turning back to (Y/n) with renewed vigor. “Okay (Y/n), time to show me what you’ve got!” (Y/n)’s hands shook a bit as she brought her battered notebook to her chest. A nervous sweat gathered at her brow as she watched Nejire drop into a fighting stance. Luckily, her previous training didn’t fail her and she quickly dodged Nejire’s kick in her direction. (Y/n) drew a brick wall to hide herself momentarily from Nejire’s sight. It was quickly destroyed however, by Nejire’s spiraling energy quirk. (Y/n) tumbled out of the way, quickly sketching a barrage of sparrows, the lack of detail causing them to look more like flying scribbles as they broke apart upon impact with Nejire’s swinging arms. It was enough of a distraction to allow (Y/n) to take cover behind the tree she had made only minutes before and she quickly got to work on a clone to further distract Nejire. (Y/n) could already feel her fingers begin to numb from so many consecutive drawings so she needed a bit of time to recoup. She sent out her self-portrait and watched as the mindless double ran awkwardly away. The “people” were always weird, sure they looked human enough, but the mannerisms were always off and any attempt at speech sounded like a garbled mess of nonsense. They were best suited as decoys more than anything. The clone did its job, Nejire ran after it, aiming a few wave blasts at it as she trailed behind and quickly started gaining ground. (Y/n) took the time she bought herself to stretch her wrists and fingers, trying to combat the numbness and aching settling in her hands. She was so preoccupied that she failed to notice the figure hovering over her with the help of swirls of energy gathered at their feet. “Boo!” “Ah!” (Y/n) was tackled to the ground by Nejire. Her notebook was knocked from her hands as Nejire’s hands forced her arms up over her head and Nejire laughed victoriously. “I got you! Nice try with that clone deception but it got kind of droopy and fell apart quickly. You need to be pretty quick and stealthy to use your quirk, huh? Can you make drawings in advance or do they need to be fresh? I think if you had things queued up it would be very useful!” Nejire spoke excitedly, her body still straddled over (Y/n)’s as she chattered away. “Can you get off, please?” (Y/n) mumbled, trying to create some semblance of space between herself and Nejire. “Oh right, I should do that shouldn’t I? Wouldn’t want Sensei to think we’re slacking off,” Nejire smiled. She stood and pulled (Y/n) up with her before kneeling momentarily to retrieve (Y/n)’s notebook from the ground. (Y/n) almost had a heart attack when Nejire began casually flipping through the pages. “Please don’t look in there,” (Y/n) quickly asked, pulling the pages out of Nejire’s hands so fast the other girl almost didn’t register it leaving her grasp. “Hm? Come on (Y/n), let me see!” Nejire giggled, playfully pawing at (Y/n)’s hands that tightly gripped her notebook. By the grace of All Might, the bell rang and (Y/n) ran to the locker room, but with Nejire hot on her heels. “Hey, wait up, (Y/n)! Tell me more about the intricacies of your quirk!” (Y/n) ignored her and made her way into the locker room, changing quickly back into her uniform as Nejire babbled beside her completely unaware of the affect she was having on the transfer student. “Hey, hey, (Y/n)? Are you doing anything after school? I have today off from my work study and we could totally hang out and I’ll show you around!” Nejire asked, casually threading her arm through one of (Y/n)’s as they exited the locker room dressed in their uniforms. “Mirio won’t be able to come, but I bet I could convince Tamaki to come along. What do you think, (Y/n)?” (Y/n) shuddered and tried to discreetly pull herself out of Nejire’s grip but the girl with the powder blue hair persisted with her hold. (Y/n)’s gaze shifted uncomfortably between Nejire and the ground beneath their feet as they made their way back to their classroom. “I don’t know, I was going to continue to unpack and settle into my room,” she finally answered after a bit of deliberation. “Oh! Well, I could help with that,” Nejire said, unperturbed. “Tamaki would probably prefer staying in the dorms anyway. Besides, it’ll be easier to talk without any added distractions,” “You really don’t need to help me,” (Y/n) added. “I usually work better by myself.” “It would be no trouble at all! We could order some take out too. I know a great place that does delivery,” (Y/n) felt her eye twitch. She had only been at UA a day. What had she even done to garner such attention? The only reason she transferred was to get some space after breaking up with her ex and with this girl, space seemed like the last thing she was going to get. It also didn’t help that (Y/n) found the girl to be extremely attractive and left her absolutely tongue tied. (Y/n) was honestly surprised Nejire hadn’t given up on her yet, she hadn’t exactly been friendly or sociable. “So?” (Y/n) was jolted from her thoughts as Nejire gently nudged her elbow into (Y/n)’s side. “What do you think?” Ah, what the hell? “Alright,” (Y/n) sighed, flinching when Nejire cheered and hugged her tightly. “We are going to have so much fun! I can’t wait!” Nejire hummed, pulling (Y/n) back into the classroom. “Yeah, can’t wait...” *** (Y/n) couldn’t escape Nejire even if she tried, and she did try. At the end of the day, Nejire practically flew to her side with her bag packed and ready to head to the dorms. “Lead the way, (Y/n). Ready for the most awesome sleepover ever?” Nejire grinned. “Sleepover?” (Y/n) questioned. “Oh! Good luck with Nighteye’s patrol tonight, Mirio!” Nejire waved, seemingly too distracted to answer to (Y/n)’s confusion. “Say hi to Fat Gum for me, Tamaki!” “I wasn’t even supposed to be in today,” Tamaki sighed. “Something serious must have come up, nothing good can come from this.” “Don’t worry, Tamaki! You’ll do great like always!” Mirio smiled, patting his friend warmly on the back, making a small smile form on Tamaki’s lips. “See ya tomorrow Nejire, (Y/n), have fun tonight!” “Will do!” Nejire cheered, flashing a thumbs up before dragging (Y/n) out of the school and veered off into the direction of the third year dorms. “Oh yeah, I was going to let you lead, wasn’t I?” Nejire giggled. “You did say that. You also said something about a sleepover?” (Y/n) reminded, hoping to gain some clarity into the situation. “Mhmm, it just makes sense. The boys are at their work studies so it’s a great time for a girl’s night,” “But, don’t you think we need to know each other a bit better before having a sleepover?” “But that’s what the sleepover is for, (Y/n), to get to know you better! Now come on, we’re wasting daylight!” “But it’s a school night,” (Y/n) whined, grasping at yet another excuse to give her a moment of peace. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay up too late. A good night’s sleep is important after all,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes and rubbed one of her temples, watching Nejire skip ahead to open the main door and usher her inside. She hadn’t transferred here to make friends, she transferred to be alone, to be left in peace in a place where no one knew her. To try to get over her breakup and move on with her life and with it all still fresh in her mind, she really didn’t want to be with this intrusive, albeit sweet, girl. “(Y/n)! Our rooms are in the same hallway,“ Nejire clapped. “How convenient!” She smiled, tapping a door a few meters away on the other side of the hall from where (Y/n) was standing. “I suppose it is,” (Y/n) grimaced, unlocking her own door and flicking on the light. “Oooo,” Nejire rested her chin on (Y/n)’s shoulder, causing the girl to freeze up a bit. “A bit cluttered, isn’t it? You didn’t have much time to get settled in after all. Good thing I’m here to help!” “Mhmm,” (Y/n) hummed distractedly, moving over to the closet to finish hanging up her clothes that she had left on the bed earlier that morning. She quickly fell into a rhythm, listening to each clack of the hangers as they hit the metal bar. “So, where should this go?” Nejire asked, suddenly appearing beside (Y/n) with a folded wooden structure in her hands. “Oh, be careful with that, it belonged to my grandmother. Just put it in the corner closest to the window please,” “What is it?” “An easel. You know, for holding up canvases for painting and such,” (Y/n) replied, gesturing with one hand as her mind tried to put her thoughts in a coherent sentence. “Neat! I couldn’t tell with it all folded up like this,” Nejire said, placing the wooden structure in the corner. “How about these plastic bins, wow! Is this all paint!?” (Y/n) turned and scratched sheepishly at the nape of her neck. “Yeah, I kind of have a bad habit of buying art supplies when...” I’m sad “When I don’t necessarily need them,” she finished after a brief pause. “Do you paint a lot? Did you bring any of your paintings here? Can you show me?” Nejire bounced, scanning around the pile of belongings hopefully. “I brought a couple small ones to hang, they’re in that blue portfolio case,” (Y/n) informed. Nejire scooped up the case and carefully slid out the first thin canvas. The painting was a lovely fall scene where the trees were alight with fiery orange and red leaves with dashes of yellow. The earth below the trees was a rich brown dashed with occasional bursts of color from fallen leaves. Winding through the wood was a babbling stream, water was twisting and weaving with the rocks that were caked in wet leaves and highlighted where the sun peeked through the trees, the beautiful blue water contrasted the scenery in a way that Nejire found absolutely enchanting. “This is amazing, (Y/n)!” Nejire praised, causing (Y/n) to turn and continue to fidget with the clothes she was hanging. “Can your quirk work on these?” She asked as she pulled the other canvases out of the portfolio and appraised every detail. “Mmm, possibly. I can use any medium with my quirk, but I’ve not quite gotten the hang of putting such detailed works into reality. They usually melt away and leave a big mess,” “Do you think I could watch you paint sometime?” (Y/n) was rather surprised that Nejire had asked. “You would really be interested in that? It’s kind of a long process... I’ve been told it’s actually pretty boring,” “Hm? No way, I’d totally be down to watch! I know I may seem a bit antsy, but I know how to entertain myself,” Nejire said, setting up some command strips to hang the art from. “Who told you that painting was boring anyway?” (Y/n) fumbled with her bed sheets as an image of her ex flashed in her mind. She remembered the way their nose would crinkle at the smell of fresh paint. She used to think it was cute, but the memory now left bitter taste in her mouth.

~~~ ‘Just because you have an artsy quirk, it doesn’t mean you need to waste your life on this junk. Come on, let’s actually do something worth our time,’ they smiled as if they hadn’t just said something hurtful. ‘Oh, well, we’ve been going out a lot lately. I actually haven’t been able to paint or draw outside of training for a couple of weeks so I was hoping maybe we could have a night in and we could make dinner or order in, talk, have a show on while I paint-‘ (Y/n) was cut off by a groan as their then partner flopped onto the couch. ‘You know, when I first asked you out I thought I’d find more,’ ‘...What do you mean?’ ‘You’re just so plain, if I had known before that what I see is what I’d get, I probably wouldn’t have bothered,’ (Y/n) felt like hot needles were crawling inside her throat and she gripped her paintbrush tightly. ‘But we’re stuck with each other now, can’t help looking back on the past I suppose,’ they sighed. ‘Guess I’ll text the gang to tell them you flaked again,’ ‘Don’t bother,’ They looked up from their phone, slight surprise morphed into a cocky smugness that made (Y/n)’s head pulse. ‘Ah, I knew you’d come around, babe-“ ‘Tell them I flaked yourself, because I’m not going and I don’t want you here anymore,’ ‘What are you saying?’ They scoffed, rising from the couch. ‘Just a minute ago you were begging for me to stay, now you want me to leave?’ They laughed humorlessly. ‘Is this because I jabbed at you for being boring and predictable? Nice one, you got me. Now put on some shoes, we’ll be late,’ ‘It’s not a joke, take your stuff and leave. I’m done. I’m not going to stand here and let you belittle me anymore!’ (Y/n) proclaimed. ‘You wish you could find something more in me, well, I wish I knew what I was getting into upfront with you so I would have never agreed to go out with you!’ She snapped. ‘Don’t say anything you can’t take back, you’re being crazy-‘ ‘Go!’ (Y/n) threw the brush in her hand, green paint streaked down the ex’s shocked face before the brush slid to the floor. ‘Fine! Have fun being alone the rest of your life, I was the only shot you had and you just blew it!’ They screeched, before turning and stomping out of the room. A few moments later, (Y/n) heard the front door slam shut and she felt like all her energy had been drained from her as she threw herself on the couch. When her guardian got home later that day she asked them where that transfer scholarship for UA was and filled it out with no preamble. Managing to send it out mere hours before the deadline. ~~~ “(Y/n)?” (Y/n) gasped at the sudden pressure of Nejire’s hand on her back. “Yes? Sorry, I was somewhere else I guess,” “No problem, what were you thinking about?” She asked curiously. “Nothing really,” (Y/n) shook her head, “Want to help me set up the tv?” “Are you kidding? Did you forget that I’m here to help you? Of course I’ll help!” *** At some point Nejire found the time to order the take out and the two ate while making a few finishing touches to the room. Light music weaves through the space, often broken by Nejire making comments or asking questions and (Y/n) found herself not minding at all, answering all of the inquiries honestly. Once everything was in place, Nejire darted out of the room to change clothes for the night while (Y/n) tried to find something to watch on tv. “I’m baaaaaack!” Nejire sang, jumping into the bed and causing a ripple effect that nearly caused (Y/n) to slip off of her perch on the edge of the bed. “Ooo! How it’s Made is on, can we watch How it’s Made?” “Sure,” (Y/n) affirmed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. They settled in under the covers and Nejire talked over the show, adding her own commentary and questions she longed to be answered about the intricacies of making ketchup. (Y/n) found herself not minding, however. In fact, she found it rather entertaining, endearing even. She never expected to share her space with a virtual stranger, much less her bed. (Y/n) had to commend Nejire for her persistence as she wondered to herself just how long Nejire would stick around. Just as her eyes drifted shut, they opened in a flash as her cellphone began to ring on the bedside table. “Who’s calling you? Family? Friend?” Nejire asked through a yawn, apparently she was only moments from sleep as well. The way she was curled up in her own hair at (Y/n)’s side practically in a cocoon of her own design was incredibly cute. “Sorry, I’ll take care of it,” (Y/n) sighed and reached for the phone. All sense of tiredness left as soon as she registered who was calling her and in a panic she declined the call and tossed her phone back on the bedside table. “Why didn’t you answer it? Who was it, wrong number?” Nejire asked, shifting closer. “Wrong number,” (Y/n) answered quickly before laying back down. It could have almost been left at that, except the phone started ringing again. “They don’t seem to think so,” Nejire observed. (Y/n) turned on her side and reached for the phone and once more declined the call, only to immediately receive a third call. This time, Nejire reached over (Y/n) and took the phone herself. “Hello, may I ask who is calling?” Nejire yawned again, resting her head on (Y/n)’s shoulder. (Y/n) laid there absolutely dumbstruck, listening to Nejire’s side of the conversation she was having with (Y/n)’s ex. “Who am I? I’m Hado. It’s rather late, (Y/n) and I are trying to sleep. You want to talk to (Y/n)? Well, she doesn’t seem to want to talk to you. Do you know why that may be?” “I don’t know, I’ve only known (Y/n) for a day, but I’m sure she has perfectly acceptable reasons for not wanting to speak with you,” “No need to be so rude. If this is how you conduct yourself it’s no wonder (Y/n) broke up with you,” “Hey, do us a favor and don’t call back, okay?” Nejire replied sweetly to whatever retort the ex fired at her before hanging up and putting the phone back down. Then she snuggled back into (Y/n) and sighed pleasantly, seemingly content even after the phone call. “G’ night, (Y/n),” Nejire mumbled, her voice muffled from where her face was buried into (Y/n)’s shoulder. “That’s all you have to say? Good night?” (Y/n) found that hard to believe. “I’m sorry that you had a partner like that. I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, much better,” came the sleepy reply. “What are you even saying?” (Y/n) pushed, her neck and cheeks growing warmer with each passing moment. The only reply she received was the sound of faint snoring. *** Over the next few months, Nejire and (Y/n) seemed to be attached at the hip. Quite literally in some cases as Nejire loved to cling to (Y/n)’s arms or hang off her back. (Y/n) got acquainted with Tamaki and Mirio and quickly stepped in a rhythm with The Big Three that made it look like they had all been friends for years. Before long, (Y/n) was feeling much better in her new environment and Nejire was beyond pleased to see (Y/n) smile and laugh so freely. “Hey, hey, (Y/n), I’m going to be patrolling with Ryuko but do you want to hang out when I get back?” Nejire asked after class one day. “Sure, come by whenever,” (Y/n) smiled. She found it rather exhilarating how effortless her relationship friendship! with Nejire seemed to be. Of course communication was key, once (Y/n) came out of her shell, Nejire’s endless chatter became a lot less one sided. They learned a lot about each other’s likes, dislikes, and general attitudes and behaviors and sometimes even seemed to know what the other was thinking without speaking. A talent that that kind of freaked Tamaki out. “Great! See you later then, bye!” Nejire swooped in for a quick hug before gliding off to catch a transit Ryuko’s agency. “Bye!” (Y/n) waved back before heading towards the dorms. Despite how well they were communicating, they never did discuss that phone call awhile back which (Y/n) thought was odd. However, she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. She’d be happy never to talk about her ex ever again and since they hadn’t tried calling back since that night, (Y/n) felt lighter than she felt in a long time. She smiled to herself before heading towards the dorms, deciding to paint while she waited for Nejire to return. *** It was getting late, though (Y/n) wasn’t too worried. Being a hero in training is often unpredictable and being worked overtime, even for work study, was not an unusual occurrence. It just gave (Y/n) more time to finish up her latest painting, a close up look into a lively tide pool. She was making this particular scene to commemorate the day she had gone out to the ocean with Nejire, Tamaki, and Mirio a week prior and she was planning on giving the finished product to Nejire as thanks for, well, everything. (Y/n) continued to hum along to the light music as she continued to stroke more detail into the piece before her, striving to make it one of her best works yet. Her fingers faltered before she reached the canvas again, a loud thump sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a heavy sliding noise. (Y/n) paused her humming and set her brush and paint down carefully before cautiously approaching the door. Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion as she looked out of the peep hole to find no one standing there. She was about to head back to her canvas when she heard a weak knock coming from a lower position on the door. With a bit of apprehension, (Y/n) unlocked the door and opened it, causing Nejire to fall half into the room as her balance was disrupted. Nejire groaned but smiled all the same, looking dead tired in her scuffed up hero outfit. “Hey (Y/n), work sure was crazy today,” Nejire coughed, looking up at (Y/n) from her spot in the ground. “Nejire!” (Y/n) gasped. “You look hurt. Did Ryuko really let you come back to the dorms like this? Come on, let’s get you to Recovery Girl at least!” (Y/n) said with mild panic before beginning to tug the other girl into a sitting position. “No need to worry, (Y/n). I’m just tired from over exhausting my quirk. I’ll be back one hundred percent after some rest,” Nejire assured, however, the wince she made when (Y/n) helped tug her up did not go unnoticed. “Come on then, I’ll do what I can,” (Y/n) guided Nejire over to her bed and helped her sit. “What injuries do you have?” “Injuries? What injuries?” Nejire laughed, running her fingers nervously through her hair. “Nejire,” (Y/n) warned causing the other girl to pout before peeling off the top half of her hero costume so it fell around her hips, displaying the bruises that were littered across her arms. “Nejire!” (Y/n) exclaimed loudly. “Those look awful, you should really have gone to Recovery Girl or had Ryuko take you somewhere,” “But I was excited to see you,” Nejire whined. “I-“ (Y/n) took a moment to clear her throat and tried to fight back the warmth that flooded through her chest at her friend’s admission. “I’m not going anywhere, you can take your time to take care of yourself first in the future. I don’t like seeing you hurt and what if you had passed out somewhere trying to get back?” “I’m sorry, (Y/n),” Nejire frowned. “You don’t need to apologize, I was just worried, okay? Now, let me whip something up quick for those bruises,” (Y/n) grabbed a sketchbook off of her nightstand and flipped to a blank page as she took a seat next to Nejire. She was so focused on accurately drawing the medicine that she barely registered Nejire leaning into her side to watch her with sleepy eyes. When (Y/n) was happy with the details she swiped over the page and gabbed the newly formed jar of salve before it hit the ground. “You’re quirk is so useful, (Y/n),” Nejire complimented, pushing herself in a straighter position to accept the medicinal salve that was being held out to her. “Ah, thanks,” (Y/n) shrugged, suddenly hyper aware of how close she and Nejire were. “Anyway, rub that into your arms and it should help you from being too sore tomorrow. Then I’ll help you get in your room,” “Aww, but I want to stay with you,” Nejire yawned, rubbing the slave into her arms. “Ooo, chilly,” “Nejire-“ “Please, (Y/n)?” Nejire pleaded. “I require hugs to heal. Also, could you look at my back? I think it might be bruised too,” “First, you do not need hugs to heal and second, yes, I’ll give it a look,” (Y/n) stared in disbelief as Nejire turned, revealing a large bruise right below her sports bra. “Nejire, that’s a huge bruise! What even happened during patrol?” “Just a ragtag group of common villains, really. Nothing much apart but very distracting to fight them all at once,” “Still, this is a deep bruise, I wouldn’t be surprised if you fractured a rib. We are going to Recovery Girl tomorrow,” (Y/n) said, leaving no room for argument as she gently rubbed the salve over Nejire’s back. “Aww, you care about me,” Nejire giggled, craning her head back to rest it against (Y/n)’s chest. “Yes, I do,” (Y/n) replied, turning her face away to hide her probably beyond obvious heart eyes. “I care about you too,” Nejire replied, candidly. She turned over to hug (Y/n) tightly around the shoulders, her eyes catching the swirling blue, white, and green on the easel in the corner. “(Y/n)! Are you painting tide pools? So cool!” She got up and stumbled over to the painting. “Careful, Nejire! You really should be resting,” (Y/n) scolded, following close behind. “It’s beautiful, (Y/n).” Nejire praised. “I’m glad you think so. I was planning on giving it to you when I was finished,” (Y/n) smiled shyly. “Aw, really? (Y/n), you’re too sweet! Whoa, little woozy still,” Nejire stumbled backwards, but (Y/n) managed to still her. “Come on, you need to lay down,” (Y/n) said, half dragging Nejire back to the bed. “Woooo, the room is spinning!” Nejire laughed, flopping onto the bed and taking (Y/n) down with her. “Nejire!” (Y/n) admonished, face blazing as Nejire continued to giggle and hold her close. After a bit of struggling, (Y/n) finally gave in with a huff and allowed Nejire to snuggle to her heart’s content. Music was still played in the background and Nejire’s breathing had slowed to a point that (Y/n) believed her to be sleeping. (Y/n) sighed under Nerije’s weight, absently running her fingers through Nejire’s hair before remembering she had just been painting. “Shoot!” She hissed, raising her hand to her face. A bead of sweat glossed over her cheek as she observed the partially dried colors that were smeared over her fingers. “Hmm why did you stop? That felt nice,” Nejire softly complained. “Um, sorry! My hands are full of paint,” (Y/n) sheepishly replied. “Mm yeah, you also have some on your face,” Nejire informed nonchalantly. “Wha-“ (Y/n) raised her arm and rubbed at her cheek, finding a bit of blue and white paint on her wrist that hadn’t been there prior. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” “It's cute,” came the simple reply. “Even so,” (Y/n) cleared her throat, “You should have said something! I got paint in your hair and who knows where else,” “That’s okay, we can clean up in the morning.” Nejire adjusted herself a bit to swipe her fingers over the last of the wet paint smear on (Y/n)’s cheek and transferred it to her own. “Look, now we match!” She cheered before snuggling back into (Y/n)’s arms. (Y/n) smiled, her fingers once more taking roost in Nejire’s hair. She never knew she could be so lucky as to have such a wonderful person in her life. “I really like you a lot,” (Y/n) sighed, the words falling from her lips full of love without her permission and immediately making her tense. “I mean-“ “You do? I’m soooo glad you said something! I was actually really nervous to tell you that I really like you too!” Nejire admitted. “I just think about you a lot, you know? I feel like I can’t ever get enough of you, but it hasn’t been very long since your break up so I didn’t want to push you,” “You can’t get enough of me? You don’t find me... dull?” (Y/n) asked timidly. “Never,” Nejire replied with uncharacteristic seriousness. “You are as vibrant as the colors you paint with, (Y/n). Don’t let anyone try to tell you differently,” “Thank you, Nejire,” (Y/n) simpered, a prickly heat crawled up her neck as she prepared herself for what she would say next. “So, would you want to go to the museum with me this weekend? There’s going to be a special exhibit-“ A soft snore broke (Y/n)’s flow and she realized that Nejire had finally fallen asleep. “I’ll ask you about it tomorrow,” (Y/n) smiled and reached for the throw blanket to cover them both, sinking further into the bed and with the comfortable weight over her, her eyes drifted shut and she soon joined Nejire in blissful sleep.

#bnha oneshots #mha oneshots #Nejire Hado #Nejire Hadou #Nejire Hado x reader #Nejire Hadou x reader

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romiithebirdie · 4 years ago

Text

From the Furthest Tether: Part Four

Sirens wailed through the streets, upturned cars and shattered glass from broken windows littered the pavements of many quiet areas all over Japan. Criminals, petty and major, ran amok with little care of the panicked civilians around them.

Watching from a temporary stronghold, one of the main members of Shigaraki's minions, Dabi, was nursing a scorched arm while biting back a hiss of pain at the back of his throat. Their resident blood-sucking ally, Himiko Toga was still missing while Spinner and Shigaraki had left on an "important" mission of some kind…

A loud scream of terror erupted from outside and Dabi's lips twisted into a gleeful smirk at the sound of complete despair.

With the glorious choir of the uprising below them, the eldest Todoroki child could barely contain his joy and excitement to witness the corrupt hero society's slow decline into becoming nothing more than an absolute failure to the public...

"They did what?" Toshinori yelled, slamming his hands across the desk of Principal Nedzu. The fluffy school principal cocked his head to the side, button-like eyes blinking up at the tall male like he'd just beamed into the room from thin air.

"Tartarus was breached, All Might. Getting angry won't do any good-"

"That bastard is free!" The retired Pro spat angrily, not caring that his dominating voice was currently causing the small creature's ears to twitch and lower, almost as if it physically hurt Nedzu with each bellow.

Did the Principal not see how dangerous the situation was becoming?

Everybody got to see the devastating power that All for One wielded back at the Kamino Ward incident and now he was walking free with Nana Shimura's grandson after leaving a pile of dead bodies and thousands of criminals to run rampant through the facility.

The majority of heroes were sparse at this moment in time...Endeavor was heavily injured, Eraserhead had survived after severing his own leg and losing an eye in battle. Not to mention the many heroes that had died in battle which included Nemuri Kayama, whom was known by the public as the R-Rated Hero: Midnight.

Present Mic had barely left Eraserhead's side in his hospital ward, many young heroes-in-training had been injured or mentally scarred during the battle. Toshinori didn't even want to think about the damage that Gran Torino had sustained alongside Young Bakugou and Young Midoriya…

Toshinori's knuckles trembled with the tightness that he was clenching them and his own fury at the trauma and loss that had occurred during Tomura Shigaraki's discovery and subsequent-awakening which had led to the utter devastation of Jaku City.

Bakugou had attempted to burst into Midoriya's private ward while he was unconscious while furiously screaming nonsensical phrases. Whether they were aimed at his classmates, the staff or even Midoriya himself, Toshinori had no clue. Thankfully with the help of the aforementioned medical staff and Bakugou's classmates, they were able to wrangle the explosive teen back into his own bed. Non-too-quietly, of course and Toshinori soon found himself wincing at the stream of curses that had spewed out of Bakugou's mouth as he was dragged back to his own room.

Bakugou's temper was nothing compared to the tear-soaked face of Inko Midoriya who had cornered Toshinori during one of his many visits while Izuku was still in a coma. If he had to be completely honest with himself, the fact that the woman had said barely anything to him was more painful than being physically struck. It was something that she had looked tempted to do when he had walked into Izuku's ward, her self-restraint was something truly amazing to the retired hero.

"The doctor told me that the surgeons did the best they could for Izuku," the woman had told him, voice tight as if she was struggling to keep it steady. The elder Midoriya looked on the verge of breaking down the second her eyes had drifted towards Izuku's bed, her eyes landing on the slow motion of her son's broken breathing movements and his bandaged body.

Toshinori remembered the way the mother had seized hold of her cardigan before tearing her gaze away from both the mentor and student, "Can you imagine returning home from an errand to two police officers knocking at your door?"

Jade eyes bore into icy-blue, "Then having them sit you down and explain that my son; a child," she emphasised, digging her fingers harder into the material, "involved in the raid at Jaku City? Children, All Might."

"Mrs Midoriya-"

"I thought my baby had died, All Might," the ferocity in her eyes and tone instantly faded into nothing as her shoulders slumped, body deflating like the wind had been completely knocked out of her. For one split second, her fierce instinct to protect her son was akin to a lioness defending her cubs however, it quickly shifted into an exhausted woman who looked like she needed comforting from the entire world.

Frankly, Toshinori had no idea how to respond to that. At this moment in time, what could he even say to make the woman feel better?

"You don't have to say anything," she had whispered, before gathering her handbag and moving away from Izuku's bedside. "Right now, there isn't anything else that I can say either."

For Toshinori, even thinking back to that scene several days later made his stomach drop like a feeling of a heavy weight crushing his body. If Izuku's mother had screamed her head off and made a huge scene, he could have dealt with that easily.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, he had to watch her slowly lose her stoic composure over the sight of her son who had almost lost his life in a battle that he shouldn't have been a part of in the first place. That was the most painful part. Knowing how broken the woman was and not having a clue on how to try and reach out. Did he even have a right to try…?

Also, did she even know about Izuku's jaunt up to the rooftop the other night? Toshinori wagered strongly that the boy probably wanted to keep it a secret…

And who's fault is that?

Toshinori squeezed his eyes shut, his gaunt cheeks clenched tightly as he let out a small, shaky exhale from his nostrils. Sometimes, he really hated his own mind…

"A PHONE CALL IS HERE. A PHONE CALL IS HERE!"

"Uh, All Might…"

Oh, right. Nedzu. He'd forgotten about his fluffy little boss sitting across the room…

"Sorry," Toshinori winced, reaching into his trouser pocket, "is it alright to take this? It may be-"

YOU ARE GETTING A CALL FROM: YOUNG MIDORIYA

"-Young Midoriya?"

"Didn't you just finish speaking with the lad not long ago?" Nedzu piped up, only to be ignored by the golden-haired male. Had something else happened? Toshinori hoped not…

"Hello?"

"All Might, I've just seen the news!"

"The...news?" he repeated dumbly.

"Shigaraki broke into Tartarus," Midoriya stressed from the other side of the line.

The sound of sheets shuffling snapped Toshinori back into the world of living and he found himself frowning. "Young man, you best be staying in that bed."

Midoriya muttered something about trying to get comfortable before speaking up again, "They said thousands of villains were able to escape the island, All Might," his voice suddenly grew quiet. "What are we...What's going to happen now?"

Without Endeavor and the other injured heroes, went unsaid.

"My boy…"

"Shigaraki wanted One for All, All Might. What if he targets another city again?"

Izuku didn’t even try to mask the worry in his voice.

"He won't."

Not for a moment, at least. For now, Tomura Shigaraki would most likely stay hidden and lick his wounds like the previous encounters before. Even if this wasn't the case, Toshinori would die before letting any of those evil bastards anywhere near his successor again.

"But… What about Eri?"

Wait.

What?

"I don't understand what you're trying to say, Young Midoriya."

Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it.

"Eri's Quirk. It's got the power to rewind anything, right?"

"I think I'm following you..."

"Couldn't that also possibly work on healing all of All for One's injuries?"

Toshinori's grip tightened on the phone, "Stay in your bed. I'm coming over now."

#bnha fanfiction #ao3 bnha #izuku midoriya #dad for one #my hero academia fanfiction #tomura shigaraki #dadmight #my writing

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bubblesuga · 5 years ago

Text

Counting Stars

Summary|| Min Yoongi is a well versed piano player and musical prodigy. His passion lies in song-writing, but he had yet to tell anyone that until you showed up one day, giving him the confidence he needs to prove himself to the world.

Word Count: 8,006

Warnings: smut, cock warming(?), oral (both m and f receiving), slight exhibitionism

Part 2 of my college!au

Melodic piano music played through out the hall, a spotlight shone directly on center stage. A gorgeous white piano with a teal-haired man dancing across the keys echoed off the empty concert hall walls.

“No!” The piano was suddenly cut off and Yoongi groaned, slamming his fingers onto the keys in a mess of stark contrast to the earlier pretty sounds. “A-flat Major, Yoongi. A-flat Major.” He spoke to himself, repositioning himself at the beginning of the song. He squinted at the sheet music, shaking his head and cracking his fingers.

Again, he repeated the beautiful song. And again. And again.

“Fuck!” He tossed his sheet music, groaning in the process when he realized it wasn’t stapled. Every time, without fail, his fingers stuttered at the crescendo. It was like they suddenly stopped working, and every thing he had studied through out his entire life was left in a puddled mess on the floor while a frustrated tear slipped carelessly down his cheek.

“Chopin.” He heard a voice say, breaking him out of his frustration. In the front row, you sat carefully listening to every note he played. When you were walking passed the music hall, you couldn’t help yourself but come in and listen to the gorgeous song. You recognized it immediately, and although you were a violinist, you always had an affinity for for the piano.

“Uh, yeah,” Yoongi responded, swallowing and wiping away the lone tear, “h- how did you get in here?”

He watched you smile, “Through that door.”

Your body turned and pointed to the back door, one people would use for sound booth entrance. You turned back to him, spotting him in casual clothing. It was rare to see a music major in anything other than a tux or dress, but he sat clad in a beanie and white t-shirt, blue torn jeans snaking their way down his long legs.

“Play again.” You encouraged him, standing from your chair and flattening your dress. You set your violin case down and took the large steps up to the stage. Yoongi watched for a moment in awe while you quickly refiled the sheet music and set it perfectly in front of Yoongi.

“I can’t get it right, I’m gonna fail the end of semester assessment.” Yoongi stated in a low voice, his disappointment dragging out in his words. He cleared his throat, watching you while you sat beside him. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly relayed this information on a stranger, yet you seemed so open. So, welcoming. He couldn’t help himself.

“If you relax your palms,” you reached forward and lined his fingers up with the correct keys, “but keep your wrist firm, your fingers won’t shake. You’re holding your palm flat and not allowing the music to flow through you.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but scoff, “Let the music flow through me?”

You nodded, your face falling serious, “You can’t get it right if you don’t feel the emotion of the song.”

Yoongi sighed, adjusting his beanie. For a moment, he was hesitant to keep playing again. He needed to feel the emotion of the song, but Nocturne was so difficult. He felt lonely, almost. The perfect mix of happy and sad, as if Chopin couldn’t pick an emotion for the day. You sat so close to him, watching his fingers carefully. Finally, he began moving across the keys yet again.

“There ya go,” you encouraged, “you’re getting it.”

Yoongi felt his wrist falter for a moment, but fixing his stance quickly and building up the crescendo. Nervously, he watched his fingers hit the first notes successfully. A small smile stretched across his face when he realized this was the furthest he had gotten without messing up. “Yes!” You cheered, turning the page for him.

The crescendo ended, and the end was just like the beginning. Yoongi easily played the outro, his shoulders visibly more relaxed than before. You closed your eyes, inhaling and listening to the beautiful melody. Yoongi took his foot off the pedal, the piano drowning out softly into the ending.

“Nocturne is a classic.” You stood, your heels clacking against the wooden stairs while you made your way back down to your violin and book bag.

“Hey where are you going?” Yoongi called after you once he realized you were already halfway up to the sound booth. You turned back to him, “I have to get to a lecture, I’m already late. Thanks for playing for me!”

Yoongi confusedly watch you walk out of the door, turning back to the piano with his brows furrowed. “Did I just dream that?”

He checked his watch and sighed, picking up the sheet music and shoving it haphazardly into his bag. He walked his way backstage and out of the auditorium, into the bustling hallway of his college.

“Yoongi! Wait up!” Jungkook called Yoongi’s name, rushing through the crowd and throwing his arm around his older friend. Yoongi gave the younger a small smile, “What’s going on?”

“How’s your song thingy coming along?” Jungkook’s eyes were bright, so full of youth that made Yoongi jealous of when he used to be like that. Yoongi couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever feel like he was young again, or if he would enjoy life as much as he did as a freshman.

“It’s going okay, I finally managed to play through without messing up,” He shrugged, guiding Jungkook out of the building, down the large steps and towards the literature building, “how’s your adventure of living the college lifestyle going?”

“I’ve successfully been to three frat parties and only got kicked out of two.” He gave Yoongi a wide grin, not quite meeting his eyes.

Yoongi stopped in front of the doors of the literature building, a small chuckle bubbling in his throat, “Go to class, you can’t throw away your tuition just yet.”

“No plans to,” Jungkook hugs Yoongi firmly, “see you later.”

Yoongi shook his head with a smile, adjusting his back pack and making his way to his car.

~*~*~

The following week, Yoongi carried his tired body through the halls of the music building to once again listen to a professor yell at students for the same things every day. He rubbed his eyes, sucking in a breath of air and walking passed an empty classroom.

Almost empty.

As Yoongi’s ears perked at the sound of a girl’s voice, he stopped and listened carefully.

“I’m begging you, just this one extension.” He recognized your voice from last week, the same cadence echoing through out the room. Except this time, you seemed distressed.

“I can’t give you an extension. That would be unfair to the rest of the students.” Professor Coogan. Yoongi recognized his voice anywhere, he had him last year for his music theory class. Either way, he knew that he was a bitch of a teacher and you were definitely not getting him to budge.

“Deem it special circumstances.” You argued, your voice almost in a whine. Yoongi couldn’t help but peak into the window.

Coogan sighed, finally looking away from his papers, “And what exactly are those special circumstances?”

“I’m. . . uhm. . .” Yoongi chuckled quietly your stutter, “I’m your favorite student?” You tried, your voice unsure but your stance somewhat confident.

Coogan stuck his tongue in his cheek, throwing off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’ll give you another week. I need that report on my desk by next Monday otherwise you fail my class and I won’t allow you to retake it next semester.”

Harsh, Yoongi thought.

You let out a sigh, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Get out of my classroom, you’re taking up my only freetime today.” Coogan groaned, then you turned on your heel and towards the door. Your face was victorious and Yoongi pulled away quickly to avoid getting seen, tripping in the process and dropping his papers everywhere.

The door opened and Yoongi sighed, looking down with a red face and beginning to pick up various papers.

You leaned down beside him, grabbing papers, “Ah, so we meet again.”

You flattened and organized the papers to the best of your ability, “You know, you don’t have to throw papers to talk to me.”

“I didn’t throw them, I tripped.” Yoongi explained, taking some of the papers from your hands while avoiding your eyes.

You leaned lower, reading some of the words written across the page in scrawly handwriting. You picked the paper out from under a textbook, sitting down against the wall of the empty hallway. Yoongi was too anxious to notice your paused movements, your eyes reading down the page while you took in some of the words.

“Were the petty arguments the start, the moment I became heavier than you,” you read aloud, finally catching Yoongi’s attention. He lurched forward to rip the paper from your hands but you turned away, “maybe it was greed trying to match myself to you.”

Yoongi held his hand out expectantly, it shaking slightly, “Please, that’s private.”

You turned back to him, “These are gorgeous, what class are you writing these for?”

He was finally able to snatch the paper from your hands, shoving the paper into his bag. “Not for a class.”

He stood quickly, turning to walk away but you were quick to follow. His speed increased while you called for him to wait. As he rounded the corner, he spotted his classroom’s door shutting.

“Fuck.” He groaned, turning to a bench and plopping down. He rubbed his eyes, tossing his head back. You finally caught up to him, sliding beside him on the bench. You rested your hands on your knees, watching his fingers anxiously tap on his thigh.

“What’s got you down, bub?” You question, his hand stretching out once he realized you were next to him.

“Bub?” He turned to you with a raised eyebrow. He was trying to ignore the embarrassment he felt at you reading his lyrics. He hadn’t yet had anyone read them, and the fact that the first person to do so was a fluke with a stranger had him nervous.

“Well I don’t know your name, what else am I supposed to call you?”

“Yoongi.”

“Okay, Yoongi. I’m (Y/N). What’s got you down?” Your face was too kind for this to be a joke. He wasn’t sure what made you so interested in him, or why you followed him, yet you weren’t going away.

Of course, Yoongi had to admit he didn’t necessarily want you to go away.

“I’m missing class right now. My teacher locks the door at a certain point.” Yoongi explained, suddenly being a touch bit more okay with it than previously once he met your pretty eyes.

You giggled, “That’s dumb. Come get breakfast with me then.”

You stood quickly, reaching your hand out towards Yoongi. He studied your hand for a moment, glancing between his classroom down the hall and you. Initially, once he saw the door closed he was going to head back to his apartment and give up for the day. Sure, he only had a couple morning classes and an afternoon lecture but he suddenly felt drained.

“I don’t know, I think I’m-”

“I didn’t ask,” you stated, grabbing his hand and pulling him up to the best of your ability, “besides, who wouldn’t want an excuse to eat too many carbs right in the morning?”

Yoongi looked at your interlocked hands, knowing he was sweating at your touch. He pulled away and played it off like he needed to scratch his arm. He liked the way you stood so tall despite not being very tall at all, confidence radiating off of you. You were certainly different from most music students, especially violinists. “I’ll go, but only if we don’t go somewhere on campus.”

“Penny Anne’s it is, then.” You grinned, gesturing for him to follow you out the front doors.

The walk wasn’t long, and when you arrived you were pretty much seated right away. Yoongi spotted Hoseok in his uniform, helping a table nearby. He wondered if he would be sat in his section, and sure enough in moments Hoseok was nearby to take your order.

“Hi welcome to Penny Anne’s- Yoongi? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Hoseok was cut off by the surprise of seeing his friend. He looked between you and Yoongi, confusion evident in his face.

Yoongi sighed, Hoseok has always had such an expressive face. Sometimes it wasn’t such a good thing. “Uh, yeah. I decided to skip today.”

“Oh?” Hoseok slid next to Yoongi and stuck his hand out to you. You shook it, “I’m his music buddy.”

“And I’m his favorite buddy,” Hoseok teased, earning a small pinch on his knee from Yoongi under the table and a soft ‘ow’ from his lips, “what can I get you guys to drink?”

“I’ll have water.” You answered.

“Usual.” Yoongi grumbled, now embarrassed by his friend. There was no doubt that Yoongi thought you were cute, and the fact that every little thing made his cheeks a deep crimson red cemented his thoughts in place.

Ugh. Who were you to show up out of nowhere and help him perfect a song he had been trying to get for down for days? Or compliment his lyrical ability out of nowhere? Of course he would like the first woman to see his work. Even if it was an accident. Conflicted, he soldiered through his thoughts and tried to ignore the fact that you even looking at him made his knees weak.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Hoseok said, taking Yoongi’s short answer as a means to leave.

You tilted your head, watching Yoongi stare out the window at the water dripping down on the window pane. His ability to look almost like a model even with tousled hair and a frown on his face fascinated you.

When you first saw him playing piano, your mouth became dry immediately. You’d never seen someone like him play so elegantly, even when he made a mistake. Hearing his music from the hall seemed like he was beckoning you, it made you late to class but you didn’t care because you had to know who was playing.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” You finally speak, watching Yoongi tear his eyes away from the parking lot. He swallowed, “Not with people I’ve just met.”

“Well how are we supposed to get to know each other then?” you leaned on your elbows, Yoongi’s eyes flickering down to the V cut in your dress, “So would you want to show me those lyrics of yours? You know, the whole song?”

Yoongi shook his head, gnawing at the inside of his lip.

Hoseok to the rescue, he plopped down your water and Yoongi’s coffee on the table. “Alright I’m just going out on a whim here, Yoongi- do you want the usual?”

Yoongi looked up to his friend, giving him a straight smile and a nod. You told Hoseok what you wanted and he was quick to get away.

You sniffled, clearing your throat and trying to wade through the awkwardness. “So why music?”

He turned to you, and for the first time since you sat down, you saw his lips turn up in a genuine smile. He uncrossed his arms, leaning onto the table, “Music is versatile. It makes you feel emotions you never thought you would be able to comprehend. That, and my mother insisted I learn piano from a very young age.”

You were happy you were finally getting somewhere with him. You felt like you had whiplash from his sudden ability to talk, but you weren’t complaining.

“Music is very versatile, and with talents like yours, you could go far.” His face was red again at your compliment, “That’s my hope as well.”

The conversation continued to flow easily, and finally you were getting somewhere with him.

Yoongi felt odd, opening up to someone he’s barely talked to. However, your ability to snake your way around his thoughts was impressive to say the least. The two of you talked even through your food, staying for a while after, both forgetting about your respective classes.

When Yoongi spotted Hoseok tapping his foot impatiently, he pulled out his wallet to pay for the bill. Hoseok snatched the check from the table and rang him up, and Yoongi decided it was probably time to head out.

He walked you out, and the two of you split ways after exchanging phone numbers. He spotted your small smile while you headed towards your car, Yoongi having a significant pep in his step as opposed to a few hours earlier.

When he made it back to his apartment, he checked his phone to see he already had a text from you.

‘coffee tomorrow? meet me at the brew house x’

Giddy, Yoongi bit his lip and responded.

‘see you there’

~*~*~

It was unspoken at this point, every other day you two would meet for coffee then walk into the music building together. Your conversations consisted mostly of current musical artists you listened to, or random things you had seen through out campus the day prior.

Conversation came easy, and for that you were grateful.

A few times, rarely, Yoongi would talk about his home life. Say he misses his parents and brother, but wouldn’t delve too much into it. You didn’t pry either, because you knew Yoongi wasn’t the type to exactly spill all of his emotions everywhere. You had always been more upfront with your emotions which was a driving force for passed relationships, but Yoongi was a different story.

It was no secret that you had a crush on him. You had an inkling that he liked you as well, seeing as he had yet to get sick of your coffee ritual. He was always happy to see you even though he wasn’t much of a morning person which you learned on your second coffee date.

You learned of his friends, one being his roommate and the others he had become close to very quickly. He said they were his brothers, in a sense, and he felt almost protective over all of them despite not being the oldest.

Slowly, you were learning just who Min Yoongi was, and with every word you felt yourself falling just a bit further into the deep abyss that was his dark brown eyes.

When you walked into the coffee shop, Yoongi was already sat at the booth in the corner. In front of him were two coffees, his phone in hand.

You walked up to him, covering his eyes and taking his phone from his hand.

Yoongi protested but you slipped on the opposite side of the booth. Once he saw you he let out an uneasy breath.

“No phones at coffee time.” You scolded playfully, setting both his and your phones upside down in the center. Your lips wrapped around the straw sucking in the iced coffee and giving a happy sigh, “there’s nothing like iced coffee on a cold spring day.”

Yoongi gave you his famous gummy smile, looking down while you stirred in the caramel on the sides of the cup. You both sat in a comfortable silence. Having seen each other yesterday, the only thing he had to talk about was the new song he had been working on.

Of course, every time he brought up his lyrics, you insisted on reading them. Yoongi never let you though, because despite your praise he was still... nervous. Way beyond nervous, as he hadn’t even shared his lyrics with his close friends.

His fingers tapped on the side of his coffee cup, before finally pulling his bag from the floor and pulling out a binder.

“Ah, no more loose papers?” You teased, seeing the sleek black binder sitting in the center of the table.

Yoongi chuckled, flipping open and pulling out a paper that was tucked neatly in the pocket on the side. You looked down, your eyes widening as you saw ‘First Love’ scrawled across across the top, a strong underline with a question mark to the side.

Yoongi looked down, “I, uhm... I figured since you liked what you read before that maybe you’d like to see something new. Even if you read the first one without my permission.”

You bit your lip, reaching your hand out expectantly. Yoongi gave you the paper, still unsure whether he actually wanted to show you the song. It was already too late, and soon he was watching you warily while your eyes scanned the paper to a fully written song.

I remember that moment Way taller than my height The brown piano that guided me I looked up to you, I yearned for you When I touched you with my small finger

You bit your thumbnail while you read over the words, soaking in every syllable.

Yoongi wasn’t sure at what point you started to tear up, but when he finally had the guts to look you in the eyes he saw tears collecting so slightly in the corners. He bit his lip, watching you look up and down from the paper to him. He was tempted to reach forward, to wipe the single tear that had managed to slip down your cheek.

You beat him to it though, setting the paper down and sniffling while gently wiping away your tear, “Wow.”

“That bad, huh?” He bit his lip, avoiding your eyes yet again.

Yoongi debated for a few weeks whether or not to show you. Ever since you walked into the music hall, he hasn’t been able to get you off his mind. He wanted to impress you but he didn’t know how to take you crying into your coffee over some words on a page.

You reached forward, gripping his chin in your hand and forcing him to look up, “You are the most talented song-write I have ever met.”

“Really?” He tried to ignore the feeling your fingers on his skin gave him. Much like when you held his hand in the music hall, he felt his palms begin to sweat.

You nodded, reading the song once again, “Your sixth verse is beyond amazing and the emotion I felt just reading these should tell you how much of an impact this gorgeous, gorgeous song could have. When can I hear you sing it?”

“One adventure at a time,” Yoongi pleaded, grabbing the paper and sticking it back into the binder, “you’re lucky you even read this today.”

“Hmm,” you hummed in response, “well I love it. Thank you for letting me read it.”

“You’re welcome.” He picked up his coffee, taking a sip as he felt his mouth go dry at the sound of your thanks.

After a little bit more, the alarm on your phone when off, signaling you had about 20 minutes before your first lecture. Both of you stood up, walking out of the doors. Normally you’d split in separate ways, but Yoongi was surprised to feel your hand grip his and pull him with you.

“Wait (Y/N) my car-”

“I’ll drive you, don’t worry.” You grinned, pulling him towards your car. Given, the drive wasn’t long and the two of you could have walked but you wanted to spend as much time with Yoongi as you could.

He opened the passenger door of your car, watching you toss a jacket towards the backseat before slipping in beside you. As you drove down the road, you felt your left leg begin to shake. At a red light, you saw his hand sitting on the arm rest in the center. His fingers gripped the end of it, tapping melodically to the song on the radio.

You wanted so badly to hold his hand, you felt so comfortable around him that you felt like you were together, just without the physicality portion of the relationship. You wanted that physicality, and you wanted to be able to feel his hand rest on your thigh while he stroked your skin distractedly and held a conversation with his friends.

A silent scoff fell from your lips while you pressed on the gas again, how could you be envisioning such a detailed relationship with Yoongi when you could barely get him to look into your eyes.

Yoongi looked over at you with a raised brow, “Everything okay?”

“Do you like me?” As the words came out of your mouth you desperately tried to swallow them again.

Yoongi didn’t think much of the question, “Of course I do, I wouldn’t hang out with you if I didn’t.”

“No, not like that,” fuck. You were too deep into it now, “like, like-like me?”

It was Yoongi’s turn to scoff, “What are we, 12?”

“Please don’t make me feel stupider than I already sound.” You pleaded, pulling into the parking lot in front of the music building. You turned off the car and saw the sun beginning to peak through the trees. “It was stupid, just ignore me.”

You hopped out of your car quickly, grabbing your bag from the back seat and slamming the door before beginning your ascent up the stairs. Yoongi was quick to follow, calling after you much like you did when he was running to class.

“Of course I fucking like you,” He stopped at the bottom of the steps, “why else would I show you my song?”

You turned around, squinting down at him and trying to ignore the looks Yoongi and you received from passerby.

“I mean, fuck (Y/N), my knees tremble when I look at you,” Yoongi began to step up, “you make me so nervous and I’m never nervous. I wrote First Love and the first person I thought of showing was you.”

Sheepishly, you looked down when he made it to the step you were on. His hand slid down your arm until it tugged your hand out of your pockets, holding it tightly in his, “Now the question is, how did you not know?”

“You’re a bit of a walled off man, you can’t blame me for not picking up on it.” You sighed, feeling his thumb stroke your knuckles.

“I’m a walled off man who likes the girl in front of him very, very much.” Yoongi finally grinned, that gummy grin that you came to know so well under the dim lights in the morning coffee shop.

“Listen, uh...” there was that Yoongi again, the one who didn’t know how to phrase what he wanted to say unless it was in a song, “my friends and I are going to a bar this Saturday. Would be cool if you came along.”

Again you found yourself tilting his chin to look up at you, “I’ll see you there big guy.”

Then you walked into class, finally allowing the butterflies in your stomach to run wild.

~*~*~

This was the first time you had gotten dressed up in a while, and for Yoongi. Sure it was nice to look nice for yourself but tonight, you wanted Yoongi to see you and not be able to talk his eyes off of you.

So, the black smokey eye and short skirt was the look you envisioned the moment he asked you. He really had only seen you in your school clothes, and the fact that you found the perfect shirt to go along with your skirt meant that this night was going to be perfect.

You hadn’t even kissed the man yet but you wanted his hands all over you. You stared into the floor length mirror, tilting your head at your reflection. The shirt was low cut, just enough to show off the right amount of cleavage to get Yoongi’s attention but not enough to be over doing it. You decided against a bra, and you were proud at how perky your boobs looked under the thin black material.

The fishnet tights and mid-calf boots were the icing on the cake and soon you were out the door.

The drive to the bar was short, your uber driver tried to make casual conversation but you were quick to shut him down by saying you were meeting a guy.

The bar was loud, music blasting from the jukebox and you didn’t take long to realize you were the first one there. You rolled your eyes at your ability to be early to everything. You ordered a shot, downing it quickly and sitting on one of the bar stools. Quickly, you sent a text his way.

‘you almost here?’

‘be there soon, can’t find my keys and my roommate is going to the arcade’

You let out a small breath, deciding it best to order another drink to loosen you up. You hadn’t seen him since the beginning of the week, he insisted that he had to practice for his end of year test and you finished up the report that was due. You secretly hoped he hadn’t been scared off at the sudden confession of your feelings for each other.

“Hey there pretty lady.” A man said from behind you, touching your shoulder. You whipped around in the chair, expecting to see Yoongi but instead spotting an older man with way too much facial hair.

“Not interested.” You said, turning back around and sipping your drink.

He leaned forward, “Good thing I didn’t ask if you were interested.”

Abruptly, you saw Yoongi forcing his way through the crowd and slipping seamlessly in between you and the man. He snaked his arms around your waist, a feeling that was new but also welcoming. You had never hugged him before, so that in of itself was a pleasant surprise. So when he laid a soft, chaste kiss on your cheek, you know you would have collapsed had you not been sitting down. With his arms around you, you suddenly felt like nothing could harm you. That he wouldn’t let anything harm you.”

“Hey baby,” he gave you a look before turning to the man, “I suggest you fuck off before this has to escalate.”

The tone Yoongi used, speaking down to the man even though he was a good few inches shorter than him, caused electricity to jolt through your entire body. The man, defeated, turned away and began talking to another woman across the bar.

Yoongi’s arms dropped from your waist which caused that earlier sense of protection to dissipate along with it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t sure how else to get him to go away.” Yoongi’s face was red, his hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“No, it’s okay,” you decided to grab his hands, placing them on on your hips while you slipped out of the chair, “I liked it.”

His face was slightly surprised, making no effort to remove his hands. It was in that moment that he noticed your outfit, your usual mid-length skirts and nice blouses were nowhere to be found and his eyes scanned up and down your body. When he finally met your eyes again, “You’re killing me.”

The smirk on your face was evident, “Oh? How so?”

He hummed, “Very funny, you know what you’re doing.”

“Little old me? I would never do anything of the sort.” You teased, Yoongi’s fingertips rubbing gently against your hot skin. You forgot you were in public, the fire in Yoongi’s eyes evident when you two began swaying softly to the music.

You two continued to dance for a while, taking a few shots in between certain songs and talking easily. It was much more touchy than your previous ‘dates’. His hand was pretty much always on you in one way or another. Whether his hands grip your hips as you danced for his fingers trailing up and down your spine while he ordered you two more drinks, he was always on you.

The alcohol was certainly beginning to show it’s presence, the look of lips becoming more and more tempting as his face became flushed with the multiple tequila shots the two of you took together.

Without thinking too much about it, you leaned forward and pressed a hard kiss against his lips. Yoongi took a moment to respond, surprise taking over his body. He took a moment to respond, and you were tempted to pull away, embarrassed. Just as you were about to take your lips away, Yoongi finally began to kiss back.

His lips moved against yours perfectly. When your hands held the back of his his neck, desperately pulling him in for more, he obliged. His tongue licked the seam of your lips, your mouth falling open without a second thought. Again, you two were the only ones in the bar as far as you were concerned.

Yoongi pulled away at the call of his name, breaking you out of your trance when you spotted a few people walking towards a table in the center of the bar. He gave you a small, lazy grin, his eyes clouded over with a mixture of alcohol and what you thought to be lust. Yoongi grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd, sitting you down beside him.

“Alright we have Jimin, Jungkook, Hoseok, and Taehyung.” Yoongi introduced you to everyone, each boy taking your hand gratefully. You noticed Jimin staring off for a bit, your eyes trailing towards the jukebox where a girl resided.

“I’m-”

“We know your name,” Jungkook said, a beer in hand, “Yoongi won’t shut up about you.”

Yoongi shot Jungkook a deathly glare, but you only smiled, grabbing his hand and stroking your thumb across the back. He looked at you, relaxing at your touch.

You found it endearing, that despite the fact his tongue has explored every inch of your mouth mere moments ago, he was still embarrassed by his friend’s teasing. You also recognized Hoseok as your waiter at Penny Anne’s.

Hoseok gave you a knowing smile, sending a wink your way while starting a conversation with everyone else at the table.

Yoongi was finally in his element, surrounded by people he was comfortable around. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol that upped his confidence but he was loud, ecstatic at jokes being thrown around and his laughter bringing joy to your ears.

“I could kick your ass at Mario Kart.” Yoongi said, about an hour into drinking with his hand never leaving your thigh.

“Coming from a man who said video games are a waste of time! Please, you couldn’t use a joystick if you tried to.” Jungkook yelled back, the teasing nature of their relationship causing you to giggle. Everyone laughed together while Yoongi shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Jungkook’s insult.

You leaned your head on Yoongi’s shoulder, feeling yourself become more and more light and deciding it was best to cut yourself off before you started to take your top off in front of everyone.

Even though you cut yourself off, you knew alcohol had always been a bit of an aphrodisiac for you. With Yoongi’s hand absentmindedly inching further and further up your thigh, you felt like you were going insane.

“And they’ve arrived!” Yoongi shouted from beside you, staring at the doorway where two tall men entered.

They both made their way to the table and Jimin rushed to the side of one of them. Yoongi had a lot of friend’s which surprised you as you knew he took schooling more seriously than socializing.

You hadn’t contributed much to the conversations, as you felt yourself growing more hot and bothered as the night went on. Your legs tightened, Yoongi taking notice and slipping his hand a few inches further up. Resting at the top of your thigh and underneath your skirt, the tip of his middle finger stopped dangerously close to your inner thigh.

You managed to lean to his ear, “Y- your hand is-”

“Do you want me to stop?” He cut you off, whispering back to you and sending chills down your spine once again.

Breathlessly, you glanced around and noticed nobody seemed to take notice to your lusty eyes. Yoongi was composed, a complete 180 from when you first met him. He liked this. He liked watching you struggle back a moan even though he had yet to touch you.

To say he hadn’t thought about touching you from the moment he first met you would be a lie. After your hands rested on top of his in the music hall, he couldn’t help but imagine your hands wrapped delicately around his cock. When he kissed you earlier, it took everything in him to not take you on top of the bar in front of everyone.

“No.” You finally said, and his fingers moved to your inner thigh. You bit your lip, seeing Namjoon turn to you to ask you how you met Yoongi.

Yoongi’s fingers were not so close to your heat, the table blocking the view from everyone and finally you felt your legs spread instinctively and his middle and ring finger were quick to rub your heat over your the think material covering you.

“U-uhm- I heard him playing piano and just decided to talk to him.” You tried not to let your words come out strangled, swallowing as Namjoon nodded.

“Well that’s good, this guy doesn’t smile much but I haven’t seen it leave his face since I got here.” Namjoon replied, right as Yoongi increased the pressure on your clit. You bit your lip again, biting back a moan and nodding at Namjoon’s words.

Still, Yoongi seemed not to be phased by what he was doing to. You squirmed so slightly in your chair that finally he looked over to you and gave you that same lazy grin.

You’d never been touched like this in public before. The look in his blown out pupils told you he enjoyed this and in some sick kind of way, you enjoyed it as well. Something about having to keep your pleasure hidden while he went to work on your now soaked slit had you rolling.

At one point, your hand moved to grip his wrist to pull him away as you felt your lower half begin to heat with electric shocks. You were not about to have an orgasm under the table at a bar.

“If you want to continue, you have to take me home.” You whispered, your teeth nibbling at his earlobe. He whipped his head towards you, almost as if he didn’t expect that. What could he be thinking, though? That you weren’t going to allow him to fuck you into oblivion after doing that to you?

Yoongi stood without saying goodbye to everyone at the table, the same hand that was buried between your legs moments ago was now pulling you out of the bar and into a taxi sitting just outside.

The car ride was short and even in the taxi his hand was rubbing up and down your thigh. You were worried the seat would become soaked at your arousal, even checking when you stood out of the taxi and was lead up to an apartment.

Yoongi opened the door to his apartment, walking a few feet in and flipping on the light. When he turned around, you were on your knees.

“This is a sight I like to see.” Yoongi said, half surprised to see you just as eager as him.

“It’s my turn.” You grinned, looking up at him through your lashes. He walked towards you, grabbing your chin and pulling you up to his level, “As much as I want those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, I’d prefer if you let me fuck your face in the bedroom.”

The sultry tone to his words only turned you on more. Dripping you allowed him to lead you to the bedroom furthest from the front door. He started by sitting you down on the bed, unzipping your boots and pulling them off of your feet. He was so gentle with his movements, your mouth watered while his hands carefully tugged your shirt over your head.

Now just in your skirt and tights, Yoongi stared shamelessly at your chest, your nipples hard, sensitive to every touch on your body.

He leaned forward, unable to help himself as he latches onto your nipple and sucks.

Finally, moans filled the room while you struggled to keep yourself sitting up, Yoongi’s other hand kneaded your breast and again that electricity was back.

Once he felt you were just enough of a mess to continue, pulled your skirt and tights off, and the air exposure caused your pussy to clench. Sure enough, Yoongi saw that you were completely soaked.

It was then that you noticed the wet spot on his white wash jeans while his erection strained against the zipper. You reached forward, unzipping his jeans then sliding them down his legs. Then his boxers.

Stepping out of the mesh of cloth, he practically tore his shirt off and was on top of you, his lips attacking yours viciously. All teeth in the kiss, his cock tutted against your lower stomach and moans filled the room from both of you.

“I want to ride your tongue.” You finally said after a minute, your pussy quivering at the thought.

“Please.” Yoongi said, practically throwing himself onto the other side of his bed. Alcohol made you much more bold than you ever thought you could be, your thighs straddling Yoongi’s face.

His hands gripped your thighs, gently lowering you down onto his mouth.

His tongue began working on you, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of pleasure coursing through your veins. You looked down, seeing his cock twitching and, almost breathlessly, you lowered your torso and grabbed him in your hands.

His member dwarfed the size of your hand, a nice surprise as you didn’t expect him to be so big. As you stroked up and down, Yoongi let out whines at your touch which only egged you on and on.

Your thumb collected the dripping precum, smearing it around the sensitive tip. You kept your focus on him the best that you could, his tongue working magic against your sensitive slit.

As you suck your mouth around him, taking him as deep as you possibly could, you felt Yoongi’s fingers spread your labia and attack your clit. With both of your mouths occupied, muted vibrations came from both of your throats.

You pulled away with a pop, “Fuck, Yoongi!” You were up again, circling your hips on his tongue while you felt your high approaching.

Yoongi worked his tongue onto you, your sweet taste filling his mouth while his lips sucked on your swollen clit.

In seconds, with your thighs sore and your hands gripping your breasts, you were coming undone above him, collapsing on top of his body.

Yoongi didn’t stop though, his lips continuing to suck while your body twitched at the over stimulation. You slid from off of him, giving him a teasing glare. You couldn’t help but notice the shine around your mouth, signaling that you were much wetter than you initially thought.

Seductively, his finger collected the wetness from around his mouth, dipping it into his mouth and sucking it off.

You gasped quietly at him, his chest heaving just as the sight of you coming above him.

“Now get on your back, baby.” Yoongi demanded softly, pushing you so your head resting on the pillow. He spread your legs in front of him, reaching into his nightstand and pulling out a condom. You leaned onto your elbows, watching him slide the condom over his cock.

“Are you ready?” He questioned, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Yes.”

And he slipped in, so easily. Your warmth encased him and he stilled, unable to move at the sheer amount of pleasure he was in. “Oh god.” was the only thing he found himself able to say.

You felt him twitch inside you, his arm moving to raise your leg to his shoulder. Still he made no effort to move, his eyes shut and sweat shining on his neck and chest.

“You feel so good, princess.” He moaned, and you felt another twitch. Finally, he began to move. He stretched you out, his cock filling you in the best way possible.

Low moans fell from his lips and you watched him in awe as his thrusts picked up speed. With one long stroke out, Yoongi slammed back into you roughly.

Something took him over, and he was faster than ever. He reached a point inside of you that had you reeling beneath him. He leaned down, capturing your lips in his while you felt him in your stomach, in and out at such a rhythmic pace. Your hands held his lower back, guiding him with his thrusts.

“I’m already so close.” You said, feeling him nibble on your neck.

His hand dipped in between you, thumb stroking across your clit. Your back arched into him and with a call of his name, you were releasing once again. Yoongi’s thrusts picked up even more than they already were, feeling you tense around him.

Your wreck expression made Yoongi so close to the edge that he felt himself beginning to melt away, but it wasn’t until he heard your voice was he able to let himself go. “Cum for me, please Yoongi.”

Then it was all over, releasing in spurts into the condom he finally came. He thrusted a few more times, both of you sensitive as he pulled out with that same lazy grin from earlier. He fell beside you, the bed bouncing.

“Wow.” Yoongi laughed, pulling you close to him and wrapping his arms around your torso.

“Yeah. Who knew you had that in you, piano man?” You giggled, your hand reaching up to push his bangs off of his forehead. Such a small touch warmed Yoongi’s heart, pulling you closer and kissing your cheeks.

“I certainly didn’t.” He replied honestly while your head moved to rest on his chest. Yoongi took off the condom, tying the end and throwing it into the garbage can. He stood and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water and walked back to you.

He pushed your legs apart, wiping your down gently. He watched your torso jolt at the feeling of the towel brushing lightly against you, his smile unable to be contained. He knew he did good but he didn’t know he did that good.

Your face felt warm while he cleaned you up. Yoongi took care of you so gently, bringing you a glass of water when he was done. Never in your life had you experienced something like that, making you fall deeper for Yoongi.

He grabbed the remote, flipping on the television and patting his chest so you can lay your head above his heart. He silently hoped you didn’t plan on fucking and leaving, but by the looks of it, you planned on staying the night and he wanted nothing more.

“What would you like to watch?” He said, the smell of your hair evident as coconut filled his nostrils. Yet another thing he found himself loving about you.

Surprised, you shrugged, “You put on whatever you’d like, I just enjoy spending time with you.”

He decided on some commentary show, watching contestants compete for a cash prize. You hardly watched the show, instead keeping yourself tuned in to Yoongi. His slight chuckles were easy to miss but you watched him so carefully.

Eyes flickering from the TV to him, you fully relaxed into him. His arm around you, thumb stroking your shoulder was a stark contrast to what you had been doing to each other moments ago. You loved ever second of it.

You leaned up, turning his face to yours and pressing a small, short kiss to his lips. His smile was large when he pulled away, butterflies swarming your tummy.

You could get used to this.

#well this was super fun to write #i hope you guys enjoy it!#thank you for reading #catch my fall part 2 #min yoongi #yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader smut #min yoongi x reader fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader fluff #yoongi x reader smut #bts #bts smut

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waywardnerd67 · 4 years ago

Text

Spiraling

Summary: If something could go wrong in (Y/N)’s life then it did. Now she is on the verge of spiraling out of control. In her darkest moment, a hero will come to save her and set her on the path she was always meant to be on. Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Self-hate Talk/Talk of Suicide Word Count: 5040 A/N: The last couple of months have been hard so this is my way of dealing with it. A lot of the details are from actual things going on in my life, but I’ve changed the specifics for storytelling purposes.

“Your cat needs emergency surgery to save her life. In order for us to proceed we need a down payment of $1500 and then the remaining $600 once she can go home.”

“Your starter is bad. You have a battery cable that is carotid. Plus we found that there is a leak in your head gasket and it will need to be replaced immediately. All together parts, labor and tax it will total $4976.”

“Effective Immediately: New Management. Your apartment complex is now under the management of Lindchest LLC. Your rent will go up starting November 2020 to $750 per month. There will be an additional pet deposit of $200 per pet and pet rent of $25 per pet. You will need to log on to our Tenant Portal to sign your lease within twenty-four hours or vacate your unit.”

I read the flyer that was haphazardly tape to my door once more. Looking down to Serenity, my cat with the $2100 bladder sighing, “Looks like you need to get a job.”

I unpacked my laptop letting it wake up only to discover that my internet was not working. I picked up my phone calling the all too familiar number.

“I’m sorry Ms. (Y/L/N), but it looks like there is a major outage in your area due to construction. We don’t have a timeframe of when it will be back up.”

I ended the call flopping down onto my couch, “I would love for one, just one, thing to go my way.”

The last month has been challenging between vet bills, my car being an oversized paper weight and my rent going up one hundred and seventy-five dollars plus two hundred dollar deposit. I did not think anything else could possibly go wrong until I arrived at work the next morning.

“Hey (Y/N), can we meet in my office?” my boss waved his hand for me to follow him.

A sinking feeling settled onto my chest as he asked me to close the door behind him, “I know we’ve had this conversation before, but your attendance.”

Tears welled up beneath my eyelids, but I held them back as he continued, “I know we’re trying to be cautious with COVID, but you’ve already been out sick quite a bit already.”

“I know I was, but my doctor recommended for me to stay out since I had more than half the symptoms of COVID.” My voice quivered at the end as my protective wall was crumbling.

He leant forward on his desk, “I know, but then it was your car issues and now you have a dentist appointment tomorrow morning that you just came to me about this morning. I just want to set up some firm guidelines for you using your time off from here on out. I would also like to see you come in for ninety days straight. (Y/N), you do a great job here, but you actually have to be here to do the job.”

“I know. I can reschedule my appointment for tomorrow and I will work with any guidelines you give me. I’m sorry about my attendance. I love my job and I love coming to work.” I was pleading as a wayward tear slipped down my cheek.

“I never once questioned that. We will work through this together. No need to reschedule your appointment since I approved it already. Going forward I will need at least one week's notice for you to use vacation days, forty-eight hours notice to use your personal days and twenty-four hours notice for your sick days.”

I nodded my agreement not trusting that I could hold the burning sob in my chest from bursting through. I left his office and spent the rest of my day in a complete daze. I drove home in the same daze only to have another flyer on my door from the new management.

“We Missed You! Dear Tenant, we entered your apartment today to make an assessment of it. We have found the following things broken, worn and in need of repair. Since this was not properly taken care of, you will be responsible for all repairs and they will need to be scheduled for completion within one week’s time. Please log on to your Tenant Portal to schedule this as soon as possible. Thank you, Lindchest, LLC”

I caught the edge of my kitchen counter as my legs gave out. The list of repairs was more than what I was renting the place for. I managed to get myself to my bedroom and landed face first on the mattress. Freely the tears flowed down my face and my body shook as overwhelming sorrow ran through her.

Serenity butted her head up against mine, “Hi baby. I’m sorry your mommy is a screw up. Would you want to go live with you grandma?”

She snuggled against my arm purring. My body relaxed as I continued to pet her and listen to her purring until finally I drifted off to sleep. Dreams of a better life tormented me throughout the night. The next morning, would solidify my darkest thoughts into a plan of action as the last bit of bad news I could take happened.

“We will need to extract two molars and all four wisdom teeth. I will refer you to an oral surgeon who can get you scheduled right away. After insurance, you’re probably looking at $1500 to $2000 for everything. You will have to provide fifty percent of the total at the time of service and then I’m sure they could work payments out for you.”

I took a deep breath, “Okay. If you could give me the information I will schedule it. I also need a note for my employer for today’s appointment.”

As I sat in the chair waiting for the dental assistant to come back my inner self yelled loudly.

“You are nothing in this world. You are providing nothing and only taking resources away from everyone. Serenity would be taken care of by your mom. Work will find someone to replace you in a snap. You have no friends. You have no place you can afford to live. I think it’s a sign from up above that now is your time to take matters in your own hands. It’s time to free up your space for someone more deserving. More functional. More worthy.”

“Everything okay?” I looked up to see the assistant holding my papers and I nodded.

I went through the motions of work as my mind was preoccupied of my choices for the evening. Texting my mom, I asked her to watch over Serenity for a while so I could find a new place for us. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary and I as I said goodbye to my co-workers for the evening, I felt peace come over me. Dropping off my cat to my mom, I told her I could not stay since I had plans. On my kitchen table there was one letter addressed to her that would be found when she would come get my things.

I walked a half a mile down to a bridge that was over the river I lived by. The sun had gone down hours ago and now all that was left was for me to finally do something right.

***

Dean Winchester parked his car near the Jefferson Bridge watching as people came and went over it. His brother Sam was flirting with the local librarian, so Dean decided to give him the motel room for the night. He deserved it after all the crap they had gone through. He looked down at his watch, seeing it was coming up at midnight when something caught his eye.

A woman was looking over the wall down to the water. Suddenly he became antsy as he continued to watch her. He got out of his car casually walking towards her so as to not spook her. The cool night breeze blew through her beautiful (Y/C/H) hair. Her body was like a country dirt road with curves for days. His eyes were drifting down her body when she hopped up onto the wall and his heart leaped into his throat.

“Oh no pretty girl, don’t do what I think you’re trying to do.” He whispered as her eyes stayed focused on the water below.

Dean picked up his pace just in time reaching for her as she leapt from the bridge. His hands grasping underneath her arm and at her wrist.

“No! Let me go! Please let me go!” She yelled as I tried to pull her up.

“Sweetheart, trust me, life is not so bad that you should jump off a bridge. Let me help you, please.” He pleaded feeling something deep within him stirring.

She tried to fight against him, but he could feel her losing strength. With one swift move he had her sitting back up on the wall of the bridge. His arm tightly wrapped around her waist as she began to weep.

“No, this is meant to be. I’m not meant to be here. I’m nothing.” She tried to get out of his grasp unsuccessfully.

He pulled her off the wall and carried her to his car, “I’m positive that’s not true. Come on, why don’t I buy you some food and a drink then we can talk about it.”

Her body went rigid, “Why are you being nice to me? You don’t even know me.”

“It’s what I do, sweetheart. I help people who need it no matter what, but if it makes you feel better I’m Dean. Now how about some food and a drink because I’m starving.” He slowly let go of her as she looked down towards the ground.

“(Y/N).” she whispered as she reluctantly, she got in his car sliding across to the passenger side.

Dean drove to the bar nearby his motel glancing over to her every once in a while. Closer now, she was even more beautiful than he originally thought. (Y/N)’s eyes were soft (Y/C/E) and perfect pouty lips. Her body was turned towards her door as she looked out the window but he could imagine himself curling up next to her.

“Let me guess, you’re staying at the Chippewa Motel.” (Y/N) had turned towards him as they pulled into the bar parking lot.

He chuckled, “Yeah, why?”

She let out a soft laugh, “Because those are the only people who go to Sunset Bar.”

For a moment as they got out of the car, Dean’s chest tightened afraid that she would take off. He relaxed when she started walking towards the door and looked behind her to see if he was following. Walking inside, (Y/N) went to the furthest booth in the building. Dean took it upon himself to order them a couple of burgers and beers.

Waiting for their beers, he noticed quite a few men taking an interest in (Y/N). Even red and puffy eyed, she was still catching every man’s eye in the place. Quickly grabbing their beers, he made his way to her staring down every man on the way. He bumped the bottle on her arm motioning for her to move over.

“Thanks.” She muttered, taking a sip and curling herself up on the far end of the bench.

“I wouldn’t normally sit like this with a total stranger, but I think it’s safer for you if I do.” He watched as her eyes followed his widening.

She moved a little closer to him just enough for his fingers to brush against her shoulder, “As much as I don’t want to be a part of this world anymore that is not the way I want to go out.” She waved her bottle out towards the dispersing crowd of men.

“Why do you want to end it all?” His curiosity was getting the best of him.

A beautiful woman like (Y/N) should have everything the world could offer her. Happiness, money, love. His heart skipped at the very word. He pushed it from his mind refocusing on her.

“Have you ever wondered if God was punishing you for something you had no idea you did wrong?” She took a long drag from her bottle and Dean found himself swallowing hard.

“All the freaking time.” He chuckled remembering the recent bombshell that he and Sam were destined to kill one another because of God’s need for a good ending to his story.

She sighed looking up as the bartender brought their food to them. For the first time, (Y/N) genuinely smiled, “Bacon cheeseburgers are my favorite.”

“Mine too.” He smiled back at her before they each took a large bite.

For the next half an hour explaining everything that had gone wrong in her life up until today. From bad decisions, divorce, mental breakdown one and two, loss of jobs, unemployment, her cat, her car, her current job and her tooth. He had to admit the string of bad luck was hard to deny. None of which was a good enough reason to end her life.

When the waitress came for our plates, (Y/N) asked for a glass of water finishing off her beer. I placed my large hand on top hers covering it completely.

“I’m sorry you’ve been through so much and nearly all of it is out of your control. If you could do anything except end your life, what would you do?”

“Well if money was no option then I would grab Serenity and start a new life somewhere far away. Of course, I would keep in contact with my mom, but she would understand me leaving.” She stared off for a moment her face softening at the very thought of leaving.

Before he could stop to think about the words coming from his mouth they were already hitting her delicate ears, “I think I could help you with that.”

“W-What?” Her piercing eyes bore into his with hope, “How could you help me?”

“That is a conversation for a more private place and whiskey.” He chuckled and down the rest of his beer.

Dean started laughing as she practically pushed him out of the booth, “Well come on hero, I know a place that is private enough to talk.”

He threw a few bills down on the table for a tip and allowed (Y/N) to drag him from the bar. She directed him back towards the bridge except this time she pointed to a small, run down apartment complex. He parked next to the car (Y/N) pointed out to be hers, a newer SUV.

“I will deal with you tomorrow.” He pointed to the vehicle giving it a stern look.

Following (Y/N) up the stairs to her little studio apartment, “This is where the hiked up the rent?”

She nodded, “Yeah. At the time, it was the cheapest place to live. You just happen to be in luck that I have a bottle of whiskey stashed away. It’s in the cabinet above the fridge. I’m going to change out of my clothes and freshen up a little.”

Dean watched her disappear behind a room divider and made himself tear his eyes away from watching her gorgeous silhouette. Easily grabbing the bottle and two cups from a local Mexican restaurant he noticed a letter on the table.

“Mom, I know you’re upset. No, I know you’re pissed. I gave up. I didn’t come to you like I promised I would. I couldn’t come to you again with all my problems. I truly believe I was not meant to be in this world and that is why my life has been one shit show after another. I’m taking resources away from this world and not contributing to it. Honestly, everything will move on and you will live out the rest of your life not having to worry about me anymore.

Please take care of Serenity for me. Give her all the hugs and snuggle her extra for me. Mom, this was never your fault and there was nothing you could have done to save me. My mind is made up. The decision was made. I want you to remember what good times there were. I’m sorry for being selfish. I’m sorry for leaving you. Please know I love you very, very much. Goodbye. Love, (Y/N)”

“That wasn’t for you to read.” A small voice brought his eyes from the page but not before a few teardrops could fall onto the page, “You’re crying, why?”

He wiped away the tears falling down his cheeks, “I-I don’t know. I guess reading a suicide note brings out my inner Mr. Sensitivity.”

He tried to give her a sad smile chuckling, but his heart shattering into pieces made it hard too. She took the bottle and cups leading him to the small loveseat. They sat down before downing their first pours of whiskey. The amber liquor burning down his throat and warming his chest. He poured them both another drink before going into his own story.

“My brother and I travel across the country hunting all kinds of… things that go bump in the night.” Dean completely opened up about everything in his life. Carefully watching her every reaction as he spoke and only felt that there was once she wanted to bolt for the door.

“Wait…” she took the bottle and drank from it, “monsters are real?”

He nodded grabbing the bottle for himself, “Yep. Vampires, werewolves, chupacabras.”

Taking a drink, he handed it back to her allowing it all to sink in, “Okay so how does that help me? I’m not interested in hunting monsters or being a monster.”

“Well that’s good because I wouldn’t allow a beautiful woman to become either of those things. I was thinking more along the lines of teaching you how we manage to get unlimited money and then you could move wherever your heart desires. Is that more your speed?”

She nodded, “Now you’re speaking my language. God, it would be amazing to live somewhere remote where I could just write all day long.”

“Well, Sam and I can make that happen for you. We’re probably going to be leaving to head back home in a couple of days. You could travel with us then we could get you all set up and on a plane to all points nowhere, USA.”

Suddenly, (Y/N) launched herself into his arms hugging him tightly, “I can’t thank you enough, Dean.”

His arms wrapped around her and everything felt complete with her, it was strange for him to feel that way. Never once had he ever felt whole but a never ending void deep in his soul that was closing being near her. She pulled away slightly then pressed her lips to his cheek.

***

The next day, Dean had a heated conversation with his brother Sam. Once he was off the phone, he confirmed that I would follow them back to Lebanon, Kansas in my car once he fixed it. He dropped me off at work where everyone noticed the one hundred eighty degree mood change in me. I spent my last hour typing a resignation letter to my boss leaving it on his desk and packing up the few personal items I had.

Dean was waiting for me in the parking lot with his beloved car, “How was work?”

“It was… good. I’m happy to never have to go back to it again though.” He opened the door for me to slide in.

“Dean, would it be okay to stop by my mom’s to get Serenity?” His piercing emerald eyes narrowed for a split second before he smirked.

“Yeah, we can go get the furball.” He chuckled pulling out of the parking lot and leaving that part of me behind us.

I found out that Dean was an amazing liar, but also charming. He won my mom over in a few short minutes as Serenity jumped up onto my lap. I petted her a few times before resting my cheek against the top of her head.

I whispered to her, “Go check him and let me know what you think.”

I watched the shorthair tabby jump off her lap and up onto Dean’s. She sniffed him as he held his hand out to her. His nose began to twitch and she jumped down with a huff before he sneezed.

“Sorry furball, I’m allergic to you.” He sniffled before excusing himself to the bathroom.

Serenity meowed up at me before getting in her crate. The fact she did not hiss was a good sign and I closed her crate up after one last pet.

“So, how did you really meet Dean?” I knew my mom could see right through his story, so I told her the truth, “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), you should have come to me.”

“I know, but I just couldn’t. I was tired of being a screw up. I gave up.” The last few words were a whisper as my mom got up to sit next to me.

Her arms were around me as tears fell from both of our eyes, “Well I’m glad he saved you. Did you find a place to live?”

I pulled away from her, “Kind of. Dean and his brother are going to help me settle into a new spot. I will call you with all the details.”

I looked up to see Dean standing behind us, “I promise to take care of her.”

“Sounds like you already have. Thank you for saving my daughter.” In a rare moment, I watched as my mom got up hugging someone other than me. Dean was tense for a moment before hugging her back.

The rest of the evening and into the night, Dean spent working on my car. I sat outside with him on the green cooler from his car handing him tools. Grease covered his arms, hands and clothes.

“Hey tiny fingers, come here and get this bolt off.” He called out from under the engine.

I stepped on top of the cooler reaching over looking down to see his beautiful eyes staring back at me. Reaching down my fingers brushed against his as I loosened the bolt in question. Getting down off the cooler I found myself straddling over Dean’s chest as he slid out from underneath the car.

“Hey there pretty girl.” He smirked as I moved back from him.

“Ha. Ha. So, what’s the verdict?” I watched as he stood up seemingly towering over me.

I tried hard to concentrate on him, but between the leather musk on his skin and engine grease was making me dizzy, “Hello? Earth to (Y/N)?”

“What? Sorry, what did you say?” I felt my face burning as he stepped closer to me.

“Am I distracting you from paying attention?” Backing up until my butt was against his car, his hands rested on either side of me caging me in.

“I have n-no idea what you’re talking about. So, tell me is my car a goner?” I swallowed the large lump knotted in my throat.

Dean leaned in closer until their noses were almost touching tilting his head slightly, “Your car is fine. The mechanic was trying to get more money out of you. The head gasket is in great shape.”

He stepped back with a smug grin on his face and my body seemingly followed along with him before I stopped it, “That’s great news! The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

The next morning, I woke up to low murmuring voices. One was distinctively Dean’s voice, “Sammy, I don’t know how else to say it clearer.”

His brother spoke in a concerned hushed tone, “I think you need to come up with another way because you’re sounding ridiculous right now.”

“All I know is that I have never felt this way in my life. Cassie, Jo, Lisa, none of them made me feel complete. None of them took away the gaping, endless void inside of me. I didn’t even think it was possible to feel this way, but here I am.”

Dean sounded distressed and that made my chest ache. I knew exactly how he was feeling since I had felt it since the moment we met. I had been trying to ignore the comfort and hope swelling inside me, but it was getting harder.

“Sounds like you’re talking about love at first sight or even soulmates.” Sam seemed more curious now than frustrated.

I took this opportunity to walk out from behind the wall divider, “Good morning.”

Dean’s eyes met me first bringing a warm smile to his handsome face, “Hey (Y/N), good morning. We didn’t wake you up?”

I shook my head feeling Sam’s gaze on me as I looked down at Dean’s Zeppelin t-shirt covering me, “Um I spilled spaghetti sauce on my last clean shirt. Dean was nice enough to let me borrow one of his.” I felt my face heating up as Sam nodded.

“Uh-huh.” He stood up walking towards me. Sam loomed over me pulling a flask from his jacket pocket, “Could you stick out your arm for me, please?”

I looked over to Dean who was rolling his eyes, “Sam it’s not necessary.”

“It is for me,” He looked at me as I brought my arm out and he poured what seemed to be water on my arm, “Okay, just a few more tests to go.”

I held a bandana from Dean over the small cut on my arm wincing, “What was that for?”

Sam wiped the blade on his jacket as Dean pushed him back gently. His vibrant olive eyes focused on tying the bandana, “Silver blade to make sure you’re not a werewolf or shapeshifter.”

“I’m sorry to be this way, but this whole situation is weird and I have to protect my brother,” Sam held his hand out to me, “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

I shook his hand, “Yeah, nice to meet you too. Look, as strange as you both think this is, I feel the same way.”

I made sure to look at Dean when I spoke and his eyes widened, “Really?”

I nodded, “There’s a connection here that I can’t explain. Frankly, I don’t care if it’s ever explained to me. All I know is that being with you feels right.”

Sam's disapproving grunt had us both looking to him, “I think we should do a little more research into this. We should definitely get back to the Bunker and maybe ask Rowena for some help.”

A soft meow came from the ground below as Serenity rubbed against Sam’s legs affectionately. He knelt down petting her and I was surprised to see her go belly up.

“Wow, you must be an animal lover because Serenity has never done that with anyone but me.” I knelt down as well petting her soft fur.

For the first time, I watched Sam let down his guard and chuckled, “I’m usually a dog person but hard to say no to a cat who accepts you.”

“Wonderful, you and the furball can take (Y/N)’s car while she and I ride in Baby.” Dean slipped his arm around my shoulders bringing me into his side.

Sam nodded silently as his eyes never left me. It felt as if he were trying to read me, but there was nothing to reveal. By late morning, we were on the road to Lebanon, Kansas. It would be at least a day’s travel to get there, which Dean reassured me that they had done longer trips than this before. We filled the time by talking about everything from childhoods to Winchester's most interesting hunts. When I would get sleepy, Dean would pull me into his side and turn on his favorite mixtape. Being with him was as easy as breathing to me.

After a few stops for food and gas, we finally hit the city limits of Lebanon. The small town looked straight out of a 50’s sitcom. As we drove out of the rustic town, we drove down a long paved drive behind what looked to be an abandoned building of some kind. I was shocked when we came upon a large set of doors that opened into a full stocked garage.

“Welcome home.” Dean said as he parked his car with Sam pulling up next to him.

The Men of Letters Bunker, as the brother called it, was massive. Sam happily told me the history of the secretive group and how their family tied into it. Dean walked by my side with his fingers laced with mine holding my hand. We came to a door with the number eleven on it and Dean pulled her inside.

“This is my room. Of course, it’s the coolest room here except for maybe the Fortress of Deanitude.”

I looked around at all the weapons displayed on the walls. His massive record collection was set up in bins. His desk contained a computer, a small lamp and a tiny picture. I picked it up seeing Dean who was a young child with a woman he looked familiar too.

He gently took the picture from my hand, “My mom and I. It’s the last picture of us together before she was killed,” he placed the picture back in its spot.

After getting Serenity and I settled into our new room, I found myself overcome with exhaustion. Laying down on my new bed with Serenity lying next to me, I feel into the most peaceful night of sleep I have had in awhile. Dreams of adventures with Dean filling my head.

***

Dean sat with Sam in the Library, a soft smile permanent etched onto his face. Sam’s nose was nearly pressed against his computer screen looking into (Y/N). He was waiting for Rowena to call him back when a familiar voice came from near the Bunker door.

“You would have to go find your soulmate and end the world, Winchester.”

Sam and Dean looked up to see Billie standing tall holding her scythe, her hard eyes glaring down at them.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @ladywinchester1967 @akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @deans-baby-momma @spnbaby-67 @dean-winchesters-bacon @carryonmywaywardcaptain @-lovepeacenhope- @destiel745 @carribear31 @srsllydunnodoncare @whimsicalrobots @thisismysecrethappyplace @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @adoptdontshoppets @mrswhozeewhatsis @bella-ca @drakelover78 @imascio08 @pisces-cutie @dwgrl1903-blog @mannls @the-salty-asian @winchesterprincessbride @xostephanie @superromijn @witch-of-letters @time-travel-bouqet @screechingartisancashbailiff @myinconnelly1 @sister-winchesters99 @thekatherinewinchester @maddiepants @tumbler-tidbits @sandlee44 @destielhoneybee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @thefaithfulwriter @stoneyggirl @supernaturalginger @emoryhemsworth @wednesdayismyfunday @team-free-will-you-idjiot @atc74 @cosicas-cuquis @casseythebee

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #READ THE WARNINGS #angst #mentions of self hate #talk of suicide #fluff

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love101imagines · 5 years ago

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Give your heart a break

(osman | imagine)

request: Hi, it's me again! I was wondering that can you do and osman x reader image, with 7 ("you are jealous, aren't you), 8 ("he kissed you?"), 22 ("you're not my friend anymore, remember?") prompts — also i'm a sucker for angsts with fluffy ending! If you write, please let me know.

tags: @disney-lied @imtoolazytothinkofacoolname @girl-looking-out-window

You were too drunk to care that your friends had already left you behind. You were in a party, it was someone’s 18 birthday in a nightclub and you weren’t sure how you got invited but it was someone from school, so you didn’t mind. As you spun around and saw your friend making out with someone, you bumped into the person you least wanted to.

You didn’t even try to hide your frown when you saw Osman looking at you and moved away from him. You heard him call your name but the music muffled the sound, and as you made a bee line straight to the bathroom, you felt a pair of hands grabbing you by your waist.

You turned around and found Boran, an older guy by two years who went to your school. You had talked before, even flirted to your friends amusements. He was handsome, not that smart like Osman but...

Why were you thinking about Osman? You hadn’t talked to him for three weeks when he gave you a shitty excuse saying you two couldn’t be friends anymore. He never told you why, so you were trying your best to hate him, even if you couldn’t.

When he said that, you couldn’t believe. You spend the first week without him going to school without really understanding what was going on and the minute you arrived back home the tears would start as well as some romantic film which made you feel worse.

It was a bit dramatic but you hadn’t only lost your best friend. You had lost the boy you secretly had a crush on:

So, after spending some time moping around while he only skipped class and pretended not to see you, you decided to go back to your old friendships, the ones who had insisted you on going to the party and ended up leaving you. You were too intoxicated to care and as your words stumbled a greeting to Boran, he was already kissing you.

Once he pulled back, you gently pushed him off you fixing the strap of your top.

“Sorry, I’m not really in the mood. I have to go to the bathroom.” You said chuckling doing your best to keep you balance.

He rolled his eyes with a smile on his face. “I think we should somewhere else and...talk.”

You shook your head and kept walking towards the girl’s bathroom when he grabbed you by your arm. You were about to tell him to leave you alone when someone else was already ahead of you.

“Is everything alright here?” Osman asked with a fake smile as he placed a hand on Boran’s shoulder.

Boran seemed angry that he had been interrupted but he did his best not to show it. “Everything’s perfect. We were just talking.”

“Didn’t seem like it.”

You rolled your eyes and mumbled something along the lines of “toxic masculinity” and finally went to the bathroom, where a group of girls were gossiping and fixing their makeups.

Once you washed and hands and your face to feel less dizzy, you went back outside and found Osman waiting for you against the wall. As soon as you were outside, he was already by your side.

“Are you okay?”

You scoffed and turned to him. It was the first time in three weeks you were this close and he had acknowledged your presence. “Why do you care? I don’t need you to defend me.”

He looked at you with raised brows as the other kids surrounding you continued dancing and almost spilled their drinks. “You didn’t seem that comfortable with him.”

You moved towards another part of the nightclub where the bar was, Osman close on your trail.

“I think you already drank too much.”

“Can you stop?” You snapped at him. He looked hurt, but you didn’t care. He had already done the same to you before. “I’m not stupid. I wasn’t going to do anything with Boran, we only kissed and...”

“He kissed you?” He interrupted you all of a sudden.

The look of surprise he had gave you everything you needed to know. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

You didn’t wait for him to answer, your friends already calling you to leave since your taxi had already arrived. You looked at him for a last time, hoping he would tell you to stay.

He didn’t, so you sighed. “You’re not my friend anymore, remember?” You said using the same words he had used before.

You left the nightclub, your friends laughing about some gossip they had heard and you did your best not to think about the boy who was giving you a killing headache.

Your tie was done poorly and your hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, but most students looked like shit too after partying all night. As you wandered around the halls in recess, trying to avoid you so called friends who couldn’t believe you had turned down Boran, you felt someone calling your name.

“(Y/N), I have to speak to you.” One of the “nerds” who worked for Osman called you.

You rubbed your eyes, probably spreading even more your smudged mascara but you would fix it later. You waited for him to start talking but he only lead the way to an empty classroom.

“You gotta be kidding.” You mumbled once you noticed Osman sitting near the teacher’s desk. “Are you going to lock us here to talk?”

He shook his head and the guy who had brought you there left, leaving the two of you alone. You crossed your arms and stood the furthest away from him near the door.

“I know that I’ve been ignoring you...” He started until you interrupted him.

“Fuck you.”

You knew that you were being maybe a bit too harsh but he couldn’t just walk and pretend you hadn’t talked only for a day.

“You can’t just drag me here like you didn’t snap at me for literally doing nothing and breaking off our friendship. You were completely irrational and I don’t know why you did that.”

You huffed and looked at the floor. It had been exhausting to finally let that out of your chest, so you sat down in a chair still maintaining your distance.

He looked at you, but you still wouldn’t look at you, scared that you would forget everything and go back to him.

“I’m sorry. I...I got scared.”

You frowned your brows. “Scared of what?”

Osman sighed and now he was the one looking away from you. “One day I had to arrrange a few deals and new bets but the only thing I could think about was that one of your friends told me that you had a crush on me.”

You stopped picking at your nail polish. “That’s bullshit.” You quickly lied. “You should have talked to me about it, not stopping to talk to me because of some rumor.”

“I stopped talking to you because when they told me that, I was relieved because I like you too.”

Before you could say anything, even though you still were processing everything, he continued. “But I couldn’t let you be with me. You deserve better, and this was never in my plans. I never thought about love, everything for me is only money.” Osman finally admitted looking at the floor.

“It doesn’t have to be like it.” You softly said. “I don’t believe that you only think about yourself, and the money is a shitty excuse. To be honest, I don’t care about it, I only cared about you.”

He looked up from the floor to you. “Really?”

You bit down your lip to hide your smile. “You’re emotionally draining. You don’t know what I’ve been through these last weeks.”

“You didn’t seem like that last night.” He said back as the bell rang and you two starting walking towards your class.

You smirked. “You were so jealous I should have kissed him in front of you to see what you would do.”

He bumped into your shoulder lightly while you laughed. As class started, you sat down on your desk and him next to you, everything seemed like usual. Except that now, his arm was wrapped around your waist and your heart seemed to almost explode.

#love 101 #love101 #ask 101 #burcu #eda #kerem #osman #sinan #aşk 101 imagine #aşk101imagine #aşk 101 #aşk101 #osmanxreader #osmanimagine #isik #işık

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kaetastic · 5 years ago

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HISTORY UNFOLDS. 3/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 17.4k

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note)

note: finally! it is the last part and I can finally finish my other works! thank you for reading! finn is 18, the reader is 37

Part 1 | Part 2

It had been nearly five weeks, some would call it few which passed by in a blink of an eye; however, it was not the same case for Y/N as she was forced to sit in the bed, tucked with puddling sweat in the sheets of her bed while she was being nurtured by her own employees. Even though the poor quivering doctors who had been ‘kidnapped’ (Dante liked to call it guiding) had said that it would be good to walk, she has to keep in mind to not push herself. The woman was not having any of it.

There were so many things to listen to, so many mouths babbling, so many feet dashing in and out of her room while she was in the bed, forever to be plastered over the surface by suffocating tight bandages. With that, she was caught scribbling in her book after three weeks. Dante had steam gushing out of his ears when he stumbled upon the sight, knowing the book resided in the living room. The only reason he was furious was due to the fact that the furthest distance he had strictly ordered to her was the only window in the bedroom, which was ten steps away from her bed. Three days after his hour-long lecture, she was found smoking and sipping on whiskey in the open kitchen, a newspaper splayed out on her lap.

Despite the words from other advisors, she waved it all off as if she was flipping away from the sports’ section of the newspaper. What made matters worse were she had been counting the days she had last seen or met up with Finn. Every time she would try to focus on the work that laid in front of her, to blind herself from the tremoring pain muffled by the bandage, much to her men’s dismay, her mind would revert to him and the night he had stayed with her. The oozing ink in the pen would dry off like clothing hung up in the snoring wind for the never-ending counting days.

The very unfortunate time Connor had barged through the front door he was met with a very bare man. It didn’t go so well with his boss. During her venting, three minutes in and Y/N was clutching on her waist. The woman insisted stubbornly that she was fine, however, the men knew better than to believe the lies she sputtered. In all honesty, she felt fine. Halfway through week four, she had tried to relieve the frustration of being strapped to the bed and pain from the wound by meeting other men. Some she had met while prancing down the street or strolling around the nearby park. To only end up alone in her room, sipping on whatever liquor was strong enough to haze the thought of Finn. None of them was like him. Their touches didn’t feel like his. Had she gone through all the trouble for a cuddling session?

So for days, she has been desperate for anything. Any chance or luck for someone to fall on her platter; she was starving, her mouth drooling to devour a meal, heck, she can even shove down a whole horse right at it. When she wasn’t scribbling on her books or worrying about her business in America, she had enough time to ponder. Even though she had these time to leisure, she wasted it all on trying to relieve the pent up frustration by going to places.

“Is there anything on my schedule today, Dante?” The woman quirked up, shaking her feet that were perched up on her wooden desk, a hair’s breadth away from her container of pens. One wrong kick and the floor would be an exercise to clean (not to her, of course). Her windows were cranked open, the wind blew whistles into the hotel room, breezing an infant tornado. However, the space between its frame and the window was minuscule. A faint odour of smoke and factories danced in the air, all the way from the industry side of Birmingham. With her body slouching lazily on her rotating chair, the seat let out a desperate squeak as she shifted sharply. Although it was the long-awaited day for the removal of the bandage, she had done what she was told not to do as soon as the bandage was removed, which was sitting in a manner that could make the wound worst. While her chin laid on her chest, a burgundy glass of wine swirled in her cup, dancing in a regular choreography. The surface of her tongue was coated with the sweet, intoxicating flavour.

The man lifted up the leather book, his raven hair swept down to curtain his eyes. As his fingers descended down the dates, the caress halted when it landed on the current date.

The Italian shook his head, “Today’s free day. Tomorrow, get ready to buy a bottle of whiskey. So… can I go to the pub?” Shooting a glinting smile, Dante hugged the book to his chest as if a little kid, pleading to his mother for a lemon sweet. Y/N let out a huff, her head was thrown back into the back of her chair.

“When have I stopped you?” He nodded, agreeing to her point.

Even though she had tried her hardest to get over with the work that had been piling on her desk, towering above her and nearly grazing over the ceiling, the thought of Finn somehow made way into her head- even when her task had nothing to do with the boy. To say the least, it frustrated her, especially with the fact that her efficiency in completing work has been declining. No matter how many papers she stuffed in her ears, nothing stopped his appearances in her head.

An exhale fell off her lips, slightly heavier than she thought it would’ve been.

“Anyways, good. I want to visit a friend today.” She mumbled, kicking her feet off before placing her cup on the table. Dante watched his boss as she paced around the room, a compass hovered over her head while she dashed left to the right. Her dress that rested below her knees danced in the air, slicing it in half with every sprint. After yanking her coat from the hanger with a swift tug, the clothing that was made for frigid weather let out a huff as it was thrown over the wooden table.

It was possible for her to visit Finn, entirely possible. There really was nothing stopping her from visiting him, except for the extensive list she had concocted for herself. It had killed her to why she hadn’t done so, a thought of her reverting the direction of the car to pay him a visit popped out in her head before it was poked with a pin. No, it was harder than it sounded.

Polly’s words swirled in her head, hovering around her mind as she would scribble against paper all day. Women like us. What had the lady meant? Every time she would dismiss that thought and not worry about the age gap since Finn was technically considered a man, she remembered that he was the younger brother of the man that had saved her. Heck, Finn was fresh out of the womb born when she was nineteen. That was a lot to digest. But a part of her clung onto the moments where it seemed he had returned back the same kind of affection.

If she could not fall asleep, all she had to think of was the night he pulled her out of her bedroom during the sobbing incident. He didn’t even ask after the night, leaving it in the past. Although a part of her had been slightly grateful since she wouldn’t be able to conjugate sentences if he were to ask, another part of her believed that he truly didn’t care, a faded idea was that she was just his host after all- he was just repaying back that deed. However, she had been slightly upset that he hadn’t bothered to prod in, he hadn’t insisted for her to open up. The woman herself was a frustrating mess. The road split into two, could she not go through the middle? Maybe it was for the best.

There were so many reasons that should’ve already been embedded into her head to why being around Finn wasn’t good for her or for the boy himself; however, looking back, she liked the aura he radiated when she was around him, she felt different. A good different.

“Where you goin’?” Dante inquired. He watched as his boss smoothly slides into her shoulder holster before stabbing her metal key into the lock, yanking open the drawers which sent quivering tremors throughout the container. Whatever had been chucked in the drawer had danced to the earthquake-like beat.

Bending, Y/N squinted her eyes for any sign of her pistol. Her fingers rapidly wrapped around the gun. She twirled it around, her eyes ran over the firearm for a quick inspection. When she made sure the safety pin was still intact, she tucked it safely in her holster, “Near the bridge.”

Dante bopped his head even though a part of him had been driven to confusion. Normally, she would either go to the club alone or at fortunate times, she would call the day off for everybody. He still remembered the joy radiated from Connor when he had heard the news. Only because Y/N had thrown one of the clients she could not tolerate due to his irritating voice. Everyone agreed with her opinion, the nasal tone was no different than rubbing a squeaky cloth on a window. His eyes followed her as he watched her slide into her coat in one swift, “Do you need me to fetch Connor to drive?”

Y/N shook her head, “There is no need.”

“You should take at least one of the boys, I’ll come.”

While she struggled to pick up the car key from her desk, she threw a glare at the man, “You stay here and watch over the boys. I know that last slice of pie was eaten by one of you. You keep your eyes out and tell them I’ll shoot a bullet through their forehead if they touch my last piece of cake, I’m sure they do not wish for a third eye to be a permanent tattoo.”

Without waiting for his response, she had left her room. The carpet caused her heels to sink into the bedding, she let out a huff at the factor that would slow her speed down.

Although it was a risky move to leave the hotel or leave the city overall, she knew that it would be impossible for the opposing side to know that she was involved in the situation. If they had found out, though, she would just applaud. She hoped that they hadn’t thought about inspecting each and every one of the garages since it was random and out of the blue. There, she would run into some trouble. No target had hovered above her forehead just yet. Tommy didn’t save her so she could prance on the street or take a tour around England while his family was held on strings by the mafia.

Inserting the keys in her car, she let it rest in place while she leaned back into the seat; her fingers subconsciously already ready with the flaming stick of cancer. While going down the elevator, she had noted the unrelenting eyes thrown at her as if she was a mere museum display. They weren’t even bothered to hide behind a cloth. Disgust prickled against her skin when it didn’t stop there. There were an abundant amount of judgmental people who would elevate their eyes to look run their eyes on her figure.

Sauntering down the street were white-haired men who waved their golden canes and women with their head held up so high that the flap of their head might just flip open. It was not quite like America. However, the amount of times eyes had gazed at her while she sat in the car alone had multiplied tenfold. They were probably wondering where the real owner of the car was. She chuckled, shaking her head before starting the heavy journey.

The ink from his pen smeared the paper, seeping into the sheet as he scribbled with confidence after he had read the line for the second time. Strokes of black lines finally set into the sheet of paper once he had given it time to rest. Raising it in the air, Tommy narrowed his eyes, squinting as he ran his orbs over the lines once again. Nothing wrong with rechecking. The man clicked his tongue when he spotted the unsatisfactory word.

As soon as the paper glided back down onto the wooden table, his fingers were agile to scribble over. The sheet was organized, neat and professional. That was until the intended marking he wanted to be a sophisticated dot was dragged to draw a line across the paper.

“Fucking hell, Finn,” Thomas let out a huff, creaking back into his seat as his eyes gazed at his youngest brother. Was his office a barging room now? Slight aggravation roared in the boss’s gut at the paper which seemed his son had plucked out for a quick drawing session. “What do you want?”

Resting the pen onto the table, Thomas pulled his glasses off. Finn gazed around the room before he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a creak, “I heard you were going to send Arthur to tell Y/N of the party.”

“So this’s about Y/N then?”

Thomas saw right through him like a beam through a badly-woven sheet of wool, cutting through the pores with an exhale. Finn cowered his true intention by a blush, although, he felt like Thomas already knew. Watching people be read by Thomas was amusing since they tried hard to stack bricks around them, thinking they had him on the other side. However, all Finn wanted was his older brother to lose that ability or power of doing so.

“Well, what do you want to know about it?” Yanking a fresh cig out of the metal case, Thomas rubbed the stick over his lips before flicking his lighter.

Finn pursed his lips before he made way towards his older brother, his strands of hair had curled out in peculiar angles, almost as if he was in a haste to meet Thomas. His fingers brushed over the bulging strands of cloth from his flat cap, “Could I be the one to tell her?”

Narrowing his eyes, Thomas leaned back against the back of his creaking chair. A swirl of smoke danced from his cigarette while he stared at the youngest Shelby. Just a little bit of digging and he might be able to find a treasure chest, “Is there any particular reason to why you would want to do such a simple task?”

The youngest chewed his bottom lip, eyes darted to the shadowy corner, “Not exactly… Could I just tell her?”

With the dangling stick resting between his fingers, Thomas raised the cup of whiskey. He took a quick sip before he tried to read his brother once again, “I was planning to just ring her a call, simple as that.”

“Well, I’ll do it, I’ll go meet her.”

A moment of silence squeezed in between the brothers before Thomas rapped the air with his huffing cig, “Shagged her yet?”

“Huh?” Eyes shooting wide open, Finn’s ajar mouth suddenly became parched, lost at words from his brother’s words.

“You stayed at her lodge, defended her against Polly and Ada. Now you want to be the one to invite her, personally, might I add. So, have you shagged her yet?”

Finn’s cheeks tainted red before he shook his head. The vapour swirled into his nose, warming his lungs, “Good, she was close to John,” Noticing the confused stare from the youngest of the Shelby, Thomas quirked his eyebrows. “Well then? Why you still here?”

Never had Finn sprint out of Thomas’ office as fast as he ever did.

As the breeze kissed her skin, she sported a smile that had not faltered or quivered. Nothing was there to threaten the curved line. When her eyes darted towards her left after she made sure that no objects were obstructing her way; that the vehicle was on the right path, she took in the view of the gentle and young stream of pure, nearly crystal-clear water. Beheaded flowers glided over the smooth stream as if a basket-worth of the unfortunate greeneries had been dumped, its white petals gave the flower equilibrium, floating. No matter how hard of an effort the flowers tried their best to close their arms, luck was not on their side. The sweet pollen was bare in the open as if it called for the blade ends of bees to suckle onto its treasury. While it floated over the water, it sang in falsetto. Amusing infant-like curls of waves nudged against the odd land, which curled and twirled in an almost peculiar way that mother nature herself would never act upon.

Even if one was to be shackled in gold chains towards their banks, their money would never be adequate; it wasn’t possible to have such an astonishing view in the cluster of bar-like buildings. Here, in the middle of nowhere, was a sea of colourless diamonds, with a tint of hazy blue which had labelled a price tag that would cause ones’ eyes to bulge out of its socket, and a tranquil melody, a song sung by no one, yet, clearer than the freshest record player on the market. In the midst of a city, weaving canals were the bloodstreams of death and feculent odours. It was humorous, a plot of land, ruled by the dominating creature was nothing to an open area- where there was no crown, no king. Just survival. Without a doubt, the only thing that could stand against the clarity of the stream in the fields would be the new batch of glass cups that would sooner or later be the wives of countless of lips; home for attentive liquor. The wind was a monitored road, heavily watching the children pass the street towards their school for education, the empty bags they had brought sacked the heaviness that sat on her shoulder for weeks on end. Not even liqueur, a close friend she had opened up to, can relief of the lively thoughts in her head.

There were no other disturbing noises, no other exhausts that had tainted the air (even though she wished she had just chosen to walk, the distance would’ve caused her to collapse like an emaciated horse), no yelling and no other reminder of the city life, other than her car which was her sole accompany. A smear of bleeding red jam against the white toast was the extensive field of bristles of grass whose heads stood erected like swords. Despite the bedding of blades, there were elegant heads of flowers that protruded in between the warriors. Her fingers drummed over the steering wheel, she began to hum, which was muffled by her throat as she imagined the life she had desired in the past.

A life in the forest, a family in a humble, little cottage in the middle of nowhere. Was it even possible? A man whose hands had been dipped in blood? It was forever to be stained. No matter the barrels of cleaning agent, no matter the intense concentration. How had she expected him to drop the empire he had ruled over for a fairy tale? Even though he was a speckle of dirt in the past, her broom swishing technique was not yet solid, despite it already being two years. Her mind swatted the thought away. It left her at awe how a sauntering thought could ruin her mood. That was until she had to force upon her head to ponder of joyful memories she had actually enjoyed.

Once a blur of what would normally be claustrophobic and grey, trickled in the corner of her eyes, her lips faltered to a tight line. The tree that hovered above the plot of land, protected the buried bodies under it like a parasol. Y/N let out a staggering exhale at what she was about to do. Was she even ready? It might’ve taken eight years for her to overcome, was it enough? While her brain chattered amongst its belief of how she had succeeded to wipe that part of her memory, her heart, in piercing shackles, disagreed. Although she wanted to turn the vehicle back into the deadly fumes of the city, the time had ticked short. The graveyard waited patiently as if it had expected her visit. Various shapes of standing blocks of stone stood out from the breathless view of nature which she’ll never be able to get tired of. A calm resting place for inanimate bodies. If she had the chance to choose where her body would be buried, it would be here.

After halting the exhaust, she hopped out of the vehicle, trying her hardest to fend off the hefty thoughts that would only chain her to the car, her only escape. Inhaling in the air, she noted that it was light, a twinge of sweetness swirled in the batch as if dripping honey. While her eyes were shut tight, she sucked it in as if she had been starved of it. Cleansing the fumes of city life in her lungs, the crisp strands made home in the warm organ, she made sure to cover every nook and crevice. The woman who wore a coat that was the colour a tone down of cigarette ashes lingered near the ton of metal before taking a hefty step. It reminded her of the unforgettable war, the heavy sludge of mud she had to trek into, to drag a wounded soldier to safety.

The air was truly one of a kind, it would be considered as an extinct species in the bustling life in the city with all its deadly vapours and feculent odours. If it was to be bottled up and released into the tainted air of the city, the existence of humans alone would cause it to shrink to death. Every step she took towards the location felt like it had been inching down, engulfed by the starving ground. The strings that held her beating heart snapped, after all the years it had to endure while she wore her heart low- the line was bound to wear off, it plunged the organ into the gurgling acid of her gut. The holster that she had been wearing daily ever since she had entered the risky business, suddenly felt like a hefty cargo hook. The feeling was uncanny to that of when she had been given her first shoulder holster, given by someone who had engraved ‘L’ on the front of the strap.

Finally, after what felt like ages, she stood in front of the tomb. The engraved letters that spelt out his name blared into her eyes. Seeing his name in her head was different than seeing it in reality. Her hands curled into a faint fist as thoughts bounced off the walls of her head. The woman squatted down, her knees brushed against the poking heads of the grass. The soft caress of flowers and the breezy wind was the only anchor wrapped around her ankles that kept her from floating away from reality.

Her mouth stood, gaped open, there were so many words she wanted to regurgitate out of her chest, yet, it had clogged in her throat, obstructing the path of air. The coat that draped over her shoulder felt like an awful whole load of weight sitting on her. Reluctantly, she pondered if removing her coat and her defence was a good idea, especially since she was out in the open, where she was vulnerable. Was she to risk her life in the field of grass over buried bodies? Yes, all in the name of respect and trust in those who watched over her. Tugging off her navy swing coat, her fingers brushed over the warm leather straps of her shoulder holster. A second passed; she hesitated before she slid them off. The ground muffled the thud of the metal with its thick layer of soil, the pair of her favourite firearms accompanied each other onto the grassy ground.

Fiddling with the hem of her sand-coloured skirt that stooped below her knees, she sat, pondering with lively thoughts in her head that milled around, the tranquillity of the air gave her the opportunity to think, which might not be pleasant since there was a chance for her to overthink. An offer the city could never be able to provide unless she had downed at least two rock glass worth of vodka, neat. Even though she was enjoying the memories that were played in her head, she had finally spoken up, “Wished I got here earlier, you could’ve shown me around Birmingham,” Y/N sent a smile at the carved name as her fingers brushed the blades of grass. The woman could imagine his face, his voice and his reaction. Eight years of nothing. “You wouldn’t have been underground.”

The smile she wore flew off her face, the wind fled from the scene with the joy it had just stolen. Wincing from the pinching ache in her leg muscles, she let out a huff before making herself a place on the ground, somewhat reluctantly, indenting the field; it took a long second to get used to as the blades pierced into her, mercilessly. Even shifting to find a more comfortable position was painful. After succeeding, her fingers played with the neck of the flowers. “Finally met your brother, saved him too,” She grinned at the thought of the youngest Shelby as she patted the head of the flower who let out an uncomfortable groan. Before it snapped its face away from her, not wanting to be assaulted, once she had let it go from her suffocating grip. “I remembered when I saved you.”

Her fingers halted, hovering above a neighbouring quivering daisy who danced to the tune of the air, “Blood covered you from head to toe, thought you were a mental man before Tommy came to me,” The poor flower was caressed by her finger. “Not a mental man,” Her eyes flickered towards the tombstone. “A good man.”

An ache twanged in her chest as she laid out the heavy words that had been piling up for eight torturous years, “What happened during the war was a mistake, I’m only quoting whatever you said,” She chuckled when she could practically hear his voice trickle in her ears, his chuckle felt nostalgic. The clarity was as if it was just a faint whisper from the night before. “It must’ve been rough after hearing the news that Martha had passed, she was a strong woman. I wouldn’t know how it’d feel if my husband left to fight for the country while I stay at home, a babe in me,” Y/N sent a glance at her belly before she darted her eyes towards the carved name. “Even though what we did was a mere… moment, I can’t forget about it,” She mumbled. “When I left for America, all I could think about was you, though for a period of time… it was suppressed. You said you were the kids will be looked after you, all by yourself, I remembered asking if you needed help… you said no. If only I had stayed... if only I had insisted.”

Beads of tears rested to glaze her eyes, a haze coated her vision, “I’d assume they’re doing fine with your new wife.”

“They are,” Her eyes snapped wide, the tears she held on her eyes splattered into the air, breezing through the wind to splash upon thirsty greeneries. As she hastily yanked her pistol from the holster, there were a series of tremors pulsing in her fingers. Y/N stared at the figure, elbow pierced into the ground while her lip quivered from her oppressed tears that sat behind a thin sheet of a dam. “Woah, woah, there’s no need for guns, hey...”

Behind her layer of salty tears, she could make out that it was Finn. His lanky height, his cut of a hair and the way his voice smeared against her ears. Squatting down to her level, he rested his hand above hers that gripped on the firearm. He pushed it down to point it at the ground, away from him. Although he had not experienced such a situation where a gun was so closely held for his head, his reaction was calm and collected. While staring deep in her glossy eyes, he swam through the endless barriers. Finn managed to gently remove the gun from her grip before he placed it back on her coat.

His face hovered over hers by a hair’s breadth, their eyes lingered as if locked. Y/N couldn’t believe this was the second time he would get to see her like this, frail and weak like a quivering doe. Before she had the chance to wipe the tears off, his hand rested on her cheeks as he took a casual seat, pulling her to do the same. As soon as his thumb pressed softly against her eyes, she let out a sob. His heart drummed against his ribs, had he poked her by accident? He had been extremely meticulous. What he didn’t expect was for her to bawl in his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a desperate hug. Without a thought, he shifted closer towards her, his hand laid behind her head as she let out bursts of tears.

It felt longer than it should’ve, but Finn was not complaining. The view of her against the atrocious field was a sight. The memories of her and John had overflowed her head, it was seeping out of the bucket to flood and concoct a puddle. The soothing caress of Finn’s fingers against her hair had placed her in a tranquil mood. When her sobbing had died down, a melody worth dancing to was sung by the stream of water and the rustling of the sole, lonely tree. Not a sorrowful tune. There was peace the place engulfed them in, more comforting than any blanket she had slept in. Although a thought flew by for Finn to pull away, the boy hadn’t bothered. Growing up in a family of violence and harm, the Peaky Blinder boy found the warmth of the place to be just like when he was a mere boy, cared for. Weaving through the locks of her hair, his fingers were wrapped as he prodded his digits into her roots. Finn sprung into the spotlight when he found the beats of the song to be catchy. The humming of a lullaby echoed from his throat, the muffled noise resounded down his chest and into the woman’s ears.

“I’m not a baby, I’m a man,” Fingers brushing over the drenched puddle of salty tears, which was worth a scandalous rumour, she chewed the bottom of her lips as she waited for his reaction. A loud cackle hurled into the air, a booming noise that awakened the slumbering flocks of birds. There was no doubt, it was not difficult to find his laughter pleasing and almost like a strum of an ethereal strum. It was contagious. The disease jumped into her before she knew it, she joined by letting out a chuckle. Although she would’ve liked for her head to remain on him, the cloth had become damp- slapped onto her face, a favourite method of Dante’s to wake the woman up from her sleep. Finally pulling away from his chest, the weight placed on his chest had been removed. “I’m sorry, I don’t easily cry… I don’t know what’s with me lately, it’s just…”

Finn gawked mockingly, “What? I make you sad?”

“No! no!” Y/N shouted, smacking his chest which caused him to let out an amused chuckle. “It’s just, I just let it all out when I’m with you.”

Finn watched the way the strands of her hair flew in the sky as she sprung her gaze towards the field. Taking note of the way her fingers were fiddling quite nervously, he dragged the mood up, “So I’m your doctor now, huh?”

Throwing her head back in laughter, the grin on her face hadn’t been wiped off as the moment felt surreal. A glint of sparkle twinkled in his eyes, “Yeah, you fix me.”

“Then, I must’ve done a good job.” A chuckle bounced off his cocky statement.

Gesturing her head towards his flooded stain on his suit, she mumbled under her breath, “I’m sorry about that.” The boy glanced down, words sprinted around his head as he tried to find the correct method of replying. Never had he had to deal with a woman bawling her eyes out on him.

Even though he hadn’t found the perfect way to reassure her, he threw the coin into the canal with fingers crossed, “Just a few hours in the wind and it’ll not even be there,” She nodded, the back of her palm swiped over the line of tears obstructing her vision from the gorgeous view. Although a part of him had brought up the idea of raising his voice to ask her what had been causing her such sorrow, in hopes of maybe lifting the weight off of her shoulders to ease her from the pain, he decided to revert the topic.

“Wait, how did you know I was here?”

“Oh, right, Tommy sent me to your hotel,” The half-lie and half-truth echoed into her ears. It was more truth than a lie, although, he had not bothered to interject the part where he had insisted, forced, his brother to send him, to deliver the message to the lady. How great of an actor the boy was. Y/N hummed at his reply, fingers rummaging through the pocket of her dress before pulling out a compact metal case. The engraved lines on the silver cigarette case were intricate as if a show plane had carved peculiar swirls in the air. “Asked around and Dante told me, so here I am, inviting you to a party.”

Finn gazed down at the open case, it had been full except for two, the lid clanked as she waited for him to take one, his nimble fingers accepted. As her stick rested on her lips, she flicked her lighter for him. While his cigarette was dying to flaking ashes, she lit hers, “Party?”

Finn hummed, body leaning back as he perched upon his hands, face coating by the warm rays of the sun, “Tommy decided to play truce before the war, called the guy and now we gonna have a drink with them.”

Driving herself to the brink of death by bottles of English liquor didn’t sound like a bad idea. Sadly, if she had known this activity was to happen during the vacation, she would’ve brought flasks of the finest her tongue had ever laid upon, all the way from home. Blinking from the most pathetic and ridiculous idea she had ever heard, she stared at him in disbelief, “You’re gonna drink with the man who murdered your brother?”

Finn let out a heavy sigh as he still could not figure out his brother, who was the leader of the business. Tommy was always like assembling a gun from the base, complex and evasive, “No one knows what’s going on in Tommy’s head, not sure why he’s doing this… It’s Tommy.”

“That’s Tommy, alright. When?”

“Next Friday, dusk.”

She let out another hum while she scribbled a not in her head, hoping that she would be able to remember to tell Dante to jot it down in her book. Finn chewed his bottom, lively words scurried around in his mind. Although he had wanted to propose the idea of her going to the party with him, doubts engulfed him, wholly, as if it had waited to starve itself. Surely she could’ve found someone else? Someone older? Someone who didn’t look like a babe? Cloudy vapour swirled out of her lips like that coming out of a chimney, the deadly fume was ready to sprint, dash out of the cave of her mouth, ready to evaporate into the free air. Except, only a strand fled with the breezy wind while the rest stirred into her nostrils.

“Michael can do that,” Yanked back into reality, she stared at him to continue. Someone had mentioned that name. “My cousin, Aunt Pol’s son, can do that smoke…thing.”

Her eyebrows clashed for a second as she tried to piece together what he was trying to inform. Realization kicked in when his finger wiggled at her cigarette.

“Didn’t see him at the meeting.”

“He’s recovering. Was shot at John’s house.”

Silence emitted from her lips. Another drag to cloud her thoughts, another pull to loosen her head and another inhale so she could meet the reaper who had taunted her. Specks of dirt crawled into his nails as if it found solace in the tight crevices, clumps and clusters chained their arms together to form brown streaks. As he took a drag of his cigarette, the other hand was occupied with another method of relieving the roaring nervousness. The lines of the Earth concocted a painting, a barrier formed when his fingers dug into the bedding of the grass, “Was wondering if you would like to… uh… maybe go with me?”

With high hopes, his fingers buried dead in the soil crossed, “Of course.”

Finn wore a goofy smile.

“Wear blue. Dark blue, you would look dashing in it,” Redness crept onto his pale cheeks at her compliment before he frowned, trying to recall the clothing in his closet. When the woman noticed his change in demeanour, an idea sprung into her head after she inhaled the smoke in. Ah, the wonders of cigarettes. “Alright then, upcoming Monday, come to my hotel and I’ll bring my finest tailor all the way from Paris.”

Finn’s eyes widened. Was she really willing to do all that for a party?

“Y/N, that’s like… grands.”

A chuckle fell off her lips at his reaction, “Isn’t that the point? We’ll be matching. Unless, of course, you don’t want that.”

It was as if he had been trapped in a corner, the clock above his head had sung a limited tone. He glanced at her quirked eyebrow, “No, no, I’d love that.”

When she glanced at the sky, the once blue became an ombre of yellow and purple, stirred in the middle of the two warm colours was a faint line of grey. The gradient was like an astounding backdrop of a painting, worth three grands at least. However, it wasn’t enough for a painter to take a glance before smearing his paint against the bleached canvas. The corners of her lips curled down as it was a sign of the approaching night, they would have to split up. The rustling of the surrounding trees indicated the pair that the flocks of birds have arrived at their homes, ready to slumber during the breezy night.

“Well then, that’s it for the day.” Y/N mumbled, pushing herself up before muttering a thanks to the Peaky Blinder for dusting her coat up, strands of grass sprung off the cloth. Taking a final drag, the stick let out a desperate cry as the fire began to deteriorate its top portion of its body. With a flick of her thumb, the stick met with the grass blades. Its death was painless and quick. To not disrespect the resting dead, she made sure to discard it elsewhere. Not to taint nature. As she put her shoulder holster back on, tucking the pistol she had used at Finn, back in, her arms slid into the cooling sleeves of her swing coat.

“Sadly.”

A minute of their eyes lingered onto one another when Y/N leaned in to place a chaste peck on his cheek. Oh, how Finn wished it would’ve lasted longer than a second. Pulling back, she grinned, “Thank you for staying, not a lot of men do that.”

Finn stood astonished, he watched as she got into her car. His eyes glued onto her, she waved him a soft bye before driving into the distance. His hand rested on his cheeks, a smile crept on his face as he played the memory on repeat. If only he had it recorded, he could play it on the pictures endlessly. The cigarette in his fingers rolled its eyes, the boy who seemed to be struck with love stared at the street she had faded away into. She had called him a man, Finn was a man.

As the familiar door swung open, the scent of perfume that reeked of money rammed into his nose. It had been a battle of floral against liquor. Finn’s lungs had been assaulted the Peaky Blinder was met with a man, who was dressed so freely, Finn was sure he would have been the walking-gawking figure if he was to step outside of the house. The two hooks at the end of his pointy moustache prodded in the air. Although Finn had tried his best to ignore the fact that the man had ran his eyes on his figure, judging him, the man’s eyes flickered back to the woman who stood on a circular wooden platform that rested in the middle of the living room, obstructing the path towards the kitchen. Well, if one could squeeze through the narrow alleys between the table and its wall.

The boy allowed his eyes to be fascinated by the beauty of the nude-coloured dress that sat perfectly on her. However, his cheeks flushed red when he was caught gazing upon her exposed arm, sleeveless with lace ending up to her shoulders. “Finn!” After a stretched out week, Y/N had been waiting for the time the Peaky Blinder would pay her a visit. It had finally approached. The woman sported a wide smile that ran from one cheek to another, her joyful mood had been lifted higher. “Glad you could make it, Finn, this’s my finest tailor from Paris.”

Victor rolled his eyes while he paced back towards his client. Finn who had been stranded made way to sit on the couch that possessed an unspoken memory. The word fine was of low standard, the compliment served no justice to his splendid talent, “Baby, I’m more than fine,” Y/N let out a giggle. Though, it was cut short when the French man had accidentally tugged a string a bit too tight. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Victor,” Roaming his eyes up and down the figure, Victor’s eyebrows clashed before he stood on his tiptoes so his mouth hovered over the lady’s ears. The additional height added from the platform caused her to be taller than him. “’Tis one looks young, is he underage?”

Y/N let out a scoff as she rolled her eyes. Finn, who had been the statue pointed at, threw perplexed glances at the figures. Were they talking about him? He was only right to assume as they kept darting rapidly towards him. Victor, who had been Y/N’s tailor for some time had been there for most of the guys she had gone through. Only those she had been serious with. As a tailor, a worker of art, he had remembered all of their faces as if it was just yesterday they had walked through his door for an outfit.

Although Victor was pleased with her way of enchanting customers towards his shop, Y/N wasn’t doing charity for the men. It was something he had yet to unfold. All of their faces had a streak of wrinkle, the person that had entered the room was a boy. No line of age. The French man recalled her visit to his shop with a Greek man. Victor’s heart was at ease when he had heard they pulled away, mutually. The chiselled jaw and the Adonis’ figure screamed for Victor.

“Come on, Finn, after this is your turn.” The guest nodded, his eyes attached to the woman’s figure, nothing can peel his eyes away from the ethereal sight.

“So, Mr Shelby, what’re your true intentions with our Y/N ‘ere?” Noting the awkward silence, the question buttered by Victor’s thick French accent smeared over Finn’s confused face. The corner of his lips curled up. Oh, the boy made the teasing so easy.

“Huh?” Finn blinked his eyes at the man.

“Victor!” Y/N threw a smack on his chest while he yanked a square piece of cloth from his blue-grey waistcoat. Letting out an entertained giggle, the 37-year-old man hovered the material over her skin, pondering if the tone was spectacular enough.

“I’ve seen all sorts of eyes on ‘er, what’s it you want from ‘er?”

Stammering, Finn squeezed out an answer, “Well, I want to go to the party with her.” The older man let out a huff from the disappointing reply even though he enjoyed the teasing game.

“Obviously. What is it? Money? Sex?” The blood vessels in the boy’s cheeks dilated, smearing crimson red across his face. He did not see that coming.

“What? I have to ask because I’ve seen those eyes before,” Although she was better at suppressing her tinting of cheeks, Finn could see a twinge of red. It was a less vibrant shade than his, though. “So what’s it, kid?”

“I’m not a kid.” Victor hummed, flicking out his measuring tape. The string of cloth sprung out of his chest pocket to bounce in the air, ready to be yanked for measurement.

Slow-paced days sauntered past, not by a blink of an eye, though. The countdown until the party had caused everyone to be pushed to the edge of their seat with tense shoulders. Well, Thomas especially since he had wanted everything to be top-notch. If he could describe the party in a phrase, it would surely be, without a doubt be reeked with gold. And reeked with gold it was. After overseeing the lavish bar, he had hurled the stacks of money for the place to be drowned with stacks of money that were once in his bank. He still hadn’t figured out why he had done so (wasting money that caused Polly to stumble); although, a part of him believed that he wanted to leave a mark on the Italian to the power that bled in him. The consequences of any side of the party to oppose the set punishments had been secured and agreed by both sides. Though, the Italian believed that the English should finally consume the right liquor, so, he had shipped his preferred liquor (that of his own company) to the social gathering.

Y/N let out the air she didn’t know she was even holding in. The dark blue flapper dress sparkled even under the faint light of the distant moon. It was embedded with slinking strands of jewels which draped down as if sagging curtain lines. Stars decorated and embellished her dress, it felt ethereal to have the whole galaxy plastered against the skirt, priceless. Twirling in front of the golden mirror, she wore a grin that peaked from one cheek to the other.

Lost in the specks of glitters, the knock on her hotel door peeled her attention from the enchanting sight. Victor had made dozens of her outfits if she was lucky to visit Paris. However, his style had always left her astounded.

On the other side of the door stood an incredibly nervous Finn. Drowning in sticky sweat from head to toe, Finn wondered how many more litres of the liquid his body could secrete despite the chilly night from the recent showering of rain. The palms of his hands were drenched with beads of sweat, the tie he wore was suddenly too tight despite the incessant amount of times he had adjusted it. Finn’s fingers unfurled over the tie as he remembered the conversation with his eldest brother.

“Whose petrol did you suck, huh, Finn?” Arthur cackled, hand smacking over the youngest back. Under the hazy light of their house in Watery Lane, Finn’s suit was a blur of rich blue. After running his fingers down the lavish-looking suit, the eldest couldn’t believe Finn was capable to enchant someone.

While Arthur was rummaging through the table of clanking glass bottles, Finn mumbled with a smile he couldn’t help but sport, “Y/N got it for me.”

The scavenger hunt for the whiskey bottle halted. Arthur’s calloused fingers hovered over the packed alcohol glass containers that called for him, “Y/N?”

Despite the buzzing in his ears, Finn’s hum as a reply made way to the eldest ears, “We’re going to the party together.”

Taking a second to realize his words, Arthur poured himself a cup of the liquor, “You and her close?”

The smooth cloth caressed against his fingers as he straightened the waistcoat for the hundredth time. Clicking his tongue, Finn replied, “Sure.”

Arthur nodded, chugging down the whiskey in a gulp. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the blur of the younger man, fondling with the pocket watch. Finn could not stay still. The youngest Shelby was rocking on his feet, fingers in and out of his pocket, hands straightening his waistcoat. There was only one viable solution to his nervousness.

Finn’s eyes brushed over the blue bottle. Relief engulfed his body at the sight. While tapping out a line of the white powder onto the wooden table, making sure it didn’t seep into the cracks, Arthur inquired, “D’you know their history?”

Midway of the line, Finn’s neck craned up to glance at his brother. Although Finn did not know the pair his eldest brother was talking about, he shook his head. Arthur proceeded, “We always thought John had the ring ready. Even Thomas heard bells singing in his sleep. The war was horror and yet, the two of them made it worth fighting for.”

The bottle in Finn’s hands shook, glass dancing to the tighter grip he held. His dead brother was in love with Y/N? Steadying the heaving of his chest, Finn breathed in the line. Finn shot up, shoulders rolling to pick up his date for the night. There were questions blaring in his mind that were in need of answers, desperately. But tonight, the drugs were his leash.

Before he had the chance to yank his tie and alter it, the door creaked open. His jaw grazed over the carpet floor. The dress she wore glittered under the hallway lighting, the hem had been sliced into dangling strands, brushing over her knees. Maybe Y/N should’ve taken a breather before opening the door, maybe then she had the time to compose herself.

“Y/N..,” Finn mumbled, still in awe. “You look fantastic.”

The woman pressed her lips at his compliment, her cheeks flushed crimson red, “Thank you, Finn, you don’t look bad yourself.”

The cheeky smile played on the boy before he extended his arm, to which she gladly took. During the car ride, Finn had made countless glances towards the woman who sat next to him. It was a miracle he did not crash the vehicle.

Once the car had stopped in front of the golden building, Finn mumbled a ‘wait’ before zooming out of the car, opening the door for her. A pleased smile crept onto the woman’s lips. While the pair sauntered towards the smeared light of the bar, a trio trailed behind them. Silently following their boss, the three men were dressed in uniform clothing, an oversized coat hung on their shoulders.

As they approached the elegant green door, the moonlight bounced off the golden doorknobs to shimmer the iridescent sparkles. The air outside of the club was hefty and still. There weren’t a lot of people capering on the street. There were only half a dozen men who had been moving about.

“So, when do you plan to visit me in America?” With her fingers caressing over his velvet suit, she hadn’t bothered to throw a glance at where she was even walking, placing all her trust in him to guide the two.

Finn chuckled. Although her face was hovering a hair’s breadth away from his, he didn’t muster the courage to change his gaze. If what had left him astonished and speechless, how could he react to her up close? The closeness between the two allowed him to sniff the strong yet chill scent of vanilla.

They were closer towards the bar, now. Their glass panes of the French door was hazy, it was smeared with a blur of plastered yellow paint, obstructing the passer-by’s ability to take a glance on who partook a glass of whiskey. However, the crying of the trumpet and chill jazz seeped out the crevices of the door, to play in the silent cry of the night. On the empty street, wandering mice could dance as they scour for food for the night.

Halting in front of the door, Finn turned his shoulders to face the woman. His fingers trailed from her arm that had wrapped around his to her bare fingers. Tingles trickled on the skin he had run over, despite the occasional singing of the wind.

Y/N’s eyes watched him in interest, where had he gain all this confidence? The question was hurled through the window as her head gone blurry. His warm lips pressed against her evening glove-covered knuckles. Flickering his eyes to meet hers’, Finn couldn’t help but sport a satisfied smirk once he spotted her cheeks flushing.

While his thumb brushed over the bumps of her knuckles, he mumbled, moving his body closer towards hers, “When this war’s over and I get to convince Tommy, I’ll go to America.”

“You need permission from your older brother?” An amused chuckle fell off her lips.

Nothing fell off Finn’s lips while the carefree song trickled into his ears, “Yes, he needs to know I won’t be coming back to Birmingham.”

Bloodshot up to her cheeks, before she had the chance to react, Finn interlaced his fingers with hers. Their digits weaved through one another as they stepped closer towards the bar. While Finn tried to suppress the smirk that had curled up on his lips, Y/N’s eyes never found the convenience to blink, had he meant what he said?

As soon as the door creaked, cracking a gap between its frame and the slab of wood, boisterous chatter and jazz fled into the night air. Gold sparkled into her eyes. It was an overwhelming amount of the precious metal. If the marble counter and silver sparkles weren’t enough to blind her, bodies that passed her blared their sparkling gold into her eyes. The incessant amount of gold prickling her vision made her ponder, was the night holding something grand?

They made only three steps into the bar when they were stopped.

“Weapons? We’ll have to pat you down,” Y/N’s eyebrows clashed in confusion. “Both of the parties ban weaponry.”

Finn nodded when he had recalled a smear of memory in the family meeting, though, he couldn’t remember it vividly because he had snoozed off. His fingers slithered into the inner pockets of his jacket, the frigid material caressed his skin before he had brushed against a freezing metal that clunk with his nail. Tugging the pistol out, it was soon out of his grasp. The doorman turned his gaze to the woman, although he was to walk away, Y/N let out a sigh.

“Finn, one second,” The Peaky Blinder’s eyebrows furrowed before he extended his arm which she graciously took. A tint of red was smeared against his and the doorman’s cheeks when her hand crept under her dress. “Here.”

The blushing doorman reluctantly grasped the firearm, “Oh, one second, just one more.”

Finn couldn’t even lay a glance on her, his crimson red cheeks had not yet cooled down when he had turned his gaze away to give respect to the woman. The air was sliced with a sharp blade. His mouth gaped open when his eyes landed on the weapon gripped in her hand.

“Take care of her, or else you won’t ever hear another trumpet.” The doorman vigorously nodded at the order before he paced away with the weapons.

Poking his inner cheek with his tongue, Finn looked at her, impressed to how she had brought two weapons, “What else you got under there?”

“Finn!” With a smack against his chest, the pair let out a series of laughter as they descended down the red carpet, their heads turned to gaze at the extravagant bar. Thomas had outdone himself. It must’ve cost stacks.

“Tommy booked the place, it’s only us,” Bopping her head, Y/N didn’t bother to inquire what was lingering behind the, ‘us’. “Thank you.”

The figure that weaved through bodies passed on flutes of champagne while a silver tray rested on his palm. Finn handed one to the woman of the night. After a nod of gratitude, the employee paced away to serve the customers.

“Y/N, this is my cousin that I told you about, Michael.”

Clasping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, Michael wore a large grin, “Talked about me? I’m honoured,” Finn’s smile dropped down when the Grey mussed his hair. Despite him being recently discharged out of the hospital, Michael’s strength would never abandon him, no matter the dose of morphine, “Glad to meet you.”

Once they shook their hands as a greeting, Michael’s figure faded into the crowd, either returning back to his mother or to tangle with a woman, “You’ve caught yourself a big fish there, Mr Shelby.”

The pair’s neck turned to face the voice, to be greeted by the father and son duo, “Mr Aberama Gold, Bonnie, this’s Y/N, she’s the ally providing us the guns.”

“Indeed, with that face of yours, no one’ll suspect a thing.” She didn’t know if she was to smile at his words. Soon, their figures were diluted in the crowd.

Her fingers dug deeper into Finn’s arm when her eyes landed on a familiar, too familiar man. Y/N’s eyes blinked rapidly, not knowing if she was hallucinating or if her champagne had been spiked. The caterpillar of a moustache that sat below his nose was just like it was three years ago. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Matteo’s eyes narrowed at the familiar group of men trailing behind the couple, which was met with the opposing Italians’. Then, it all clashed once a booming voice echoed through the bar, “Y/N!”

The woman’s eyes didn’t mean to graze upon the heads rotating to face who the eldest Shelby had called for… but, she did. As if he had been pulled away from an amusing conversation, the matchstick that rested on his lips nearly clashed against the marble floor. Arthur’s figure sprung out of his seat when he saw the lady of the night entered the bar.

Her gaze with her ex-fiancé remained. His aquiline nose pointed at her as if it had been surprised by her abrupt appearance. Surprised was an understatement for the Italian gangster. The red streak on his cheek had remained, a forever scar he would have to bear. As his hand descended to place the glass of liquor onto the table, the black ink flashed a smile towards the woman. The same tattoo artist had painted the same tattoo on the same spot for the two. What a fool she was, to think they would end up together. The memory of her nagging about his hairstyle seeped through her head. He stuck with the horrible slick back?

“Why’s he here?” Y/N whispered under her breath, too quiet as the band’s bustling noise filled the room.

“Hm?” Finn hummed, however, noticing her gaze towards the man who had killed his brother, Finn’s jaw clenched before replying, “Luca Changretta sent men to kill John.”

Just like that, the idea that the night would be one for her to enjoy had demolished into a rubble of bricks and dust. She tried her best to digest the new information, but it was too much. Her ex-fiancé had killed the first man she had loved?

Eyes watched as the Italian gangster rise from his seat, chattering died down with the suspenseful pace of the Italian towards the middle of the bar. Two pairs of eyes set upon his unexpected action like starving vultures, in need of the hidden truth. Even though Arthur had not seen his brother’s murderer stand up behind him, he gleefully sauntered towards the girl, to only be halted by Johnny.

“Y/N.” Luca breathed out, the name falling off his lips like the silk sheets they used to drape over their shoulders while their bodies connected as one. He had said the name multiple of times when she had not played a figure in his life anymore; it was nothing like her standing in the same room as him. Although his eyes flickered towards her arm wrapped around the youngest Shelby’s, his chest finally felt free. It wasn’t the same for her. Her chest tightened with every step they both took towards the middle of the bar. Finn’s hands were occupied with two cups, focus lingered on the pair. While Luca wore a faint smile, Y/N bore an unpleased frown.

Luca’s tongue raised from his bottom teeth, ready to mumble her name again. Silence weaved through the bar. His hand rested on his sizzling cheek, the spot she had slapped him was now throbbing with pain. A series of gasps echoed in the air once the noise of her hand meeting with his cheek trickled into their ears.

“Not as painful at the last one.” Luca chuckled it off as if to give a sense of clarity towards the prominent watchers, cracking his neck.

“What’re you doing here?” The venom dripped from her lips, her eyes narrowing on his dark eyes. Was he the mafia the Peaky Blinders were against?

Luca huffed, not liking that he was being watched while he was having a long-awaited conversation with her, “I could ask the same to you.”

“You lost that privilege years ago.” At the mention of why they had split apart, Luca’s jaw clenched. In the middle of a party, set by Thomas Shelby, the murderer of his father, his ex-lover was to converse to him about his mistaking past while they were being watched by strangers?

“We should talk in private, away from wandering eyes,” Luca mumbled, deeper as if he had not wanted any eavesdropping ears to hear him. “Amore.”

A scoff fell off her lips when he dared to call her the nickname he had given her when they were in love.

“Don’t call me that.” The Italian couldn’t help but pace back a couple of steps when her pointing finger prodded his chest, fingernails stabbing his sternum. His hands raised in surrender, gesturing to everyone he would not dare to lay a finger on the woman.

“Parliamo altrove.” (let’s talk elsewhere) The Italian words fell off his lips like a sharp dagger, embedding into her skin. The tone and words would’ve sent her knees to quiver, it used to but not now.

She rolled her eyes at his attempt to fade away from the crowd, was he trying to protect his reputation? “Fanculo!” (fuck that) She stomped closer, forcing his neck to crane down at her. “fuck you!”

Luca let out an exhausted huff, hand dragged upon his face at the uncooperative woman, “Se sei ancora arrabbiato-“ (If you’re still mad) He was cut off by her disbelief scoff.

“If I’m still mad? If I’m still mad?” The tone of her voice raised, she finally realized the silence from the band. “I saw my fiance in bed che abbiamo condiviso with another woman and you expect me to be fine?” (we shared)

“Tesoro-“ She cut him off again

“No!” Her index finger pointed at him, fumes of anger burst from her ears. “You go back to the whore you fucked e tu la chiami Tesoro,” (and you call her treasure). “Because Luca,” His name fell off her tongue like silk, he gazed at the beads of tears threatening to gush out. Her finger quivered at the amount of anger she had suppressed. “You love your treasures, not throw them away.”

He bit his inner cheeks at the remembrance of how the names he would call her fell off his tongue in a series of moans. Having had enough, Y/N spun back to face Finn who had watched the dispute with mouth hung open.

“Let’s go, Finn.” Without a thought, the Peaky Blinder placed the barely drunk cups onto the counter before trailing behind her out of the bar.

“Y/N!” Luca yelled at the fading figure, to only be halted behind the wall of the trio.

Cold air engulfed her. It was no longer still but the presence of the strong wind caused her exposed shoulders to shiver, quivering at the breeze. Finn who saw that she was quivering, not sure if it was because of the sudden drop of temperature or what had happened in the bar, moved his nimble fingers to tug off his coat, draping it over her wavering shoulders. Bitterness lingered on her tongue, a stir of emotions had been provoked out of her throat, tugged from the deepest over her chest. All she could hear was the coat singing as it lands on her shoulder, the rapid clicking of her heels and a pair of feet shuffling behind her, trying his hardest to keep up with her pace. Although she wanted to mumble a ‘thanks’ to the one who had gifted her warmth, she was afraid a sob would echo into the air. Two times she had allowed Finn to see her in such a broken state which was two more than enough.

A waver from the fire well confined in the walls of the gas lamp played a peculiar puppet show against the dark night. With her head craned downwards, her eyes had lingered on her fast-shuffling feet that wanted to flee away. The tightness of her ribs suffocated her lungs, holding the organ as a hostage. Before she could take another step, the familiar scent of cigarette filled her nose. Finn’s eyes faltered close as his chin rested on her head, his fingers weaved through the locks of her curled hair. Her fingers clutched on his jacket, nails digging into the lapels of his jacket as if to hold her body up. Blocked by the lingering odour of cigarette and salty tears, Y/N let out a sob once she had realized she was crying. Once the realization kicked in, the streams down her cheeks splashed onto the concrete as if a drizzle.

Finn’s arms wrapped around her head, covering all angels of her sobbing face. Had she digested it all? Doubts rammed in when she replayed what Finn had said about the Italian. An ugly cry echoed out of her throat. All she could see was the scatter of clothing, haphazardly thrown across the wooden-floored hallway. None of the female apparel was owned by her. Not the blue laced brassiere, not the drenched knickers. Was it easy? The question she had grown to live with ever since he had dragged a whore into the bed she and him had made love for countless of times. The question she had wanted to ask but feared her tears would be seen by him. Was it easy to fuck another woman who wasn’t her? Because Y/N could vividly see the first few months she had tried to get into a bed with someone who wasn’t him. It took four years for her to only want him.

She could hear the wanton sounds trickling into her ears as if to taunt her. Staggering moans stirred with groans. Not hers, it wasn’t her. Three years of their relationship and a year into their engagement. That was all it took for him to fuck another woman.

Footsteps approached Finn from his back. Although the man had wanted to twirl around to take a glance at who snuck up on him, he had a sobbing girl in his arms.

“We’re leaving, Tommy called for a meeting.” Arthur patted his youngest brother’s shoulders, glancing at the locks of the woman before sauntering away into the fading darkness.

The Peaky Blinder didn’t want to do it, but he pulled away, fingers trailed from the back of her head to her drenched cheeks. As his thumb wiped the stream away, her eyes were glossed with a layer of haze that sparkled under the moonlight. He mumbled in a tone as if he had a newly born kitten his grasp, “Never had I have to hold a beautiful lady cry in my arms three times.”

That was enough to pull a chuckle from her. Craning her neck back down to view the petite puddle of her bitter tears that would soon be engulfed by the occasional rain of England, Y/N bit the bottom of her lips at his jest. The corner of Finn’s lips curled up as he succeeded before gently pulling her face up by his hooked index finger, “He’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve a jewel.”

His eyes flickered to her pursed lips. Before they knew it, their lips moulded into one another, fit into each other like a perfect puzzle piece. His hands trailed down towards her waist, softly pulling her to his body before one laid on her cheek. Her fingers were soon laid flat on his chest as their eyes shut tight. Y/N pulled back, inhaling the fresh air as the ones in her lung had been used up.

“So you deserve a jewel?” Finn threw his head back before pulling her into a long-awaited kiss. “Let’s see what shit Tommy has to say, eh?”

With his hand weighed on her shoulder, her fingers brushed over the bumpy hills of his knuckles. Finn and Y/N’s eyes watched as a ruckus spiralled out from the family. Arthur’s clenched jaw caused his neck veins to pop out (nearing to explosion), his body was seething with anger while a series of never-ending words hurl from his lips as if it was a catapult, all inclusively directed towards his only younger sister. The room was suffocating, particles of fury and red were stuffed in the walls that seemed to inch inwards, ready to strangle the irritating war. Scoffs and slamming of hands on the wooden table was the irregular tune made by the refuting family. It was prominent on who was on which side, it was clearly separated by the extensive table; splitting the two groups apart. Although the topic of the argument had started with Y/N’s connection that was correctly presumed by none other than Ada, it had somehow lead to their past mistakes as children. It went from ‘passing information to the enemy’ to ‘you sold my favourite hairclip for bread!’.

Fluttering petals of rosy red crawled up Ada’s neck, smearing her face. The woman was educated, intelligent and smart; however, her patience and will to live while arguing with her stubborn eldest brother was short. Arthur would mock her witted reply which enraged her. If she didn’t have the speck of maturity in her (and the reminder that she was a mother), Ada would’ve sprung onto the table and smack the man. It was like a bloodbath with the two, on the other hand, it wasn’t the same for the aunt and the nephew. They took casual puffs of their preferred cigarette, although, it seemed that Polly was the one who would spark a comment after lingering her eyes on her only niece.

Rummaging her fingers through the pockets of Finn’s single-breasted overcoat that was still draped over her shoulders, she pulled out the clanking chain of the pocket watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. In the line of firearm business, late nights was an aspect she had to learn to adapt to. However, late nights was also the time she had had enough which is why doing business with the woman so late could only end up with a disastrous ending. Connor copied his boss’s actions before he pressed his lips, ready to watch the scene unfold before him. The three men threw knowing glances at each other as they have seen it first-hand, experienced to what a late hour can result in. Dante tried his best to not let the laugh fell off his lips when he recalled the time one of her clients ended up on his knees. Late nights call for a catastrophic boss.

In the corner of her eyes, puffs of migrating clouds peeked into her view. Although the room had practically reeked of the deadly fumes, the nearby scent provoked her to snatch one for herself. If she was to go through another minute of their hurling words, a cigarette would be the first good cause. However, it didn’t have the same promising results a bottle of good ol’ whiskey provided.

Craning her head as if she had been enchanted to, the mist called for her, whispering her name in a blurry yet choral tone. Dante’s orbs that were once set upon the family that seemed to be cracking like a fine China piece, darted towards the pair of eyes who had been ogling his cigarette. Although there was a slight argument to the presence of the Italian in the room, he was glad Thomas had won with a swerve just like that of a politician. As he passed her a cigarette, the Italian could feel a pair of eyes pierce onto his cheeks. The corners of his lips curl up like a mischievous serpent. Hovering his lips over her ears, blocking the boy’s view of the woman, Dante mumbled in a raspy voice he would use for whores, “Il ragazzo.” (the boy)

There was no need for her to inquire when she felt a tighter clench on her shoulder. Finn’s eyes seethed anger, a red coat of paint over the glass pane of vision. Y/N hummed, picking up the hints of what the Italian implied. Slightly amused by herself participating in the scheme, Y/N swam in the stream, ready to flow with the boat’s rocking. Dante wore the devil’s smile as he pulled one cigarette for his boss. A sigh of relief fell off Finn’s lips once he noticed she had just wanted a cig. The sense of jealousy gushed out of his skin.

Dante’s cigarette was dying alone in his other hand, its flaking ashes pierced into the carpet with a sizzle. So why was he rubbing another one over his lips? The Italian did not quiver his eyes away from the gawking Shelby as he dampened the unfiltered cigarette over his lips. Dante placed the cig on her lips, a colossal smirk sported on his lips. While her cigarette waited for the fire to burn its head, Y/N’s eyes batted like a curtain in a windy summer’s breeze as she gazed at Dante, the stick was now on fire with a flick of a lighter. There was a shimmer in her eyes, a plaster of sparkle. It was something Finn had wanted, all to himself.

Connor shook his head, slightly entertained by Dante’s wit and ability to piss people off with his sharp green eyes. Once her lungs were warmed by the intoxicating bonfire of fumes, she shot up from her seat, startling the pissed off Finn.

“Alright, listen, I’m going to make it short and simple. After I left England, I went to America. Met Luca, got engaged to him. He helped me build what I have today. Four years in our relationship, he was in bed with another woman. Now, it’s incredibly late at night and I’m sure your children are very much missing you at home. Goodnight.”

With a bop of appreciation for their understanding, her three men trailed behind their boss. Finn darted his eyes at the creaking door; impulsively, he dashed to run outside of the building. The wind whistled, breeze swirling around his body that was not protected by his coat.

“Finn… what’re you doing? It’s late. You should be getting some rest.” Patting her gloved hand over his red cheeks, she entered the car.

Noting her men was not around, he quirked up, “Where’re your men?”

Once she started the car, she turned to face him, “They needed to finish something.”

He gnawed on his shivering lips, contemplating on the idea, “Take me with you,” Before she had the chance to give a reaction, he proceeded. “I can protect you.”

Patting the indent of a pistol that was tucked in his trousers, Y/N narrowed her eyes if it was a good idea. Because the last time it was the two of them, the night had not gone so well; she could defend herself just fine. However, there were times you say fuck it, “Fine, get in.” Without a word, he hopped in.

“Have you ever touched a woman?” Heavy puffs of air grazed over her skin as her fingers brushed over the fuzz of his face. Finn’s eyes flickered to hers, away from the smeared paints of her lips. The grip he held on her waist loosened as the words began to swirl in his head. Was she going to walk away if he had said no?

Running his tongue to moisten his lips, the Peaky Blinder reluctantly shook his head. Strands of hair poked down to curtain his face, his brown locks blocking his eyes. With a finger hooked on his chin, Y/N gently pushed his face to meet hers. He gulped before saying the words, “No, I haven’t... touched a woman.”

It was a blurry haze. One second they were swimming deep in each other’s gazes, the next Y/N’s body hovered over his. Finn tugged her body as he laid down on the loveseat, her body laid in between his legs. A hair’s breadth away from his lips, she mumbled, “Then I’ll be your first.”

Finn nodded, fingers trailing from her arm to her cheeks, “I want you to be the first.”

As she urged him to stand, her fingers trailed to his forearms, pushing it to wrap around her waist. The tremoring pain in her toes had pinched as she tried to reach his lips. Their tongues danced with one another, puffs of heavy air gushing into each other.

“You can go lower.” A twitch played in his pants as the trousers began to feel tight and clamouring with heat. The breeze of her words brushed against his ears. With slight reluctance, his hands splayed down to rest lower. Although the corners of her lips had quirked up once he had listened to her words obediently, she let out a squeak when his fingers began to knead it.

“I know,” Finn mumbled on her lips as he tapped his fingers. “Overheard Arthur.”

Y/N let out a groan. Throwing her head back at his horrible interruption, she glared at him, “Finn, lesson one, you do not talk about family when you’re going to fuck.”

He giggled, pushing his face into her the crook of her neck, lips running over her collarbone with a brush of his skin. The scent of lingering vanilla trickled on her skin, swirling into his lungs as if an enchanting spell.

Her fingers trickled down his exposed chest, finger tugging his boxers. A wince slipped through his teeth at the smacking pain. Lost in the caress of her tongue, Finn didn’t bat an eye at her fingers that slipped through his boxers. An audible groan echoed, his thighs clenched at the hand around his tightness. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as she caressed his length in a languid pace. With a smirk, she watched as he couldn’t find stability to stand properly. Breathless exhales fell off his lips, the puffs of air caressing her shoulders.

“Y/N…” Her staggering name stammered into her ears once her palm met with his dripping slit. Frustrated at her slow pace, his hips thrust into her hands, followed by a guttural groan from the man. Although she wanted to tease him, she guided him into the bedroom. Not without a whine echoing from his lips, though.

Nudging him onto the bed, Y/N’s bottom lip let out a cry when her teeth bit down onto it. Finn’s body bounced on the mattress before he pushed his back to lay on the wooden headboard. Although he still had his boxers on, Y/N could feel the rush of heat spurt through her veins. His eyes wavered on her running fingers. A twitch in the only layer left which covered the tent growing, caught Y/N’s eyes once her garter has snapped open. Without quivering from his eye contact, she hurled the lace bra to the side. It screeched on the wooden ground before halting. Finn gulped, his throat suddenly parched at the sight.

In a blink of an eye, his boxers were thrown without care; she was on him. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, whites covering the area that was once placed for her coloured iris. Pants and moans trickled between the two scorching hot bodies. Finn’s grip on her waist tightened once she had accidentally clenched around him tightly like a vice.

“Fuck…” Finn growled, heavy breathing coated over her pebbly nipples that bounced with her pace. The night dragged towards the bright morning, filled with relief.

Glistening light poked at her hefty eyelashes with a temper of an untrained dog who waited for his breakfast. Even though the sun was already hung high in the sky with warm rays radiating upon the city, the two slumbering bodies could not be bothered to pace with the world’s set speed nor did they bat an eye at the world’s attempt to yank them out of their comfort. Honks seeped into the crack of the window which was stuffed with the yelling of people. People who were sauntering side by side, however, the volume of their voices was as if the other had stood all the way on the other side of the road.

Lingering in the air was a barely traceable scent. The twinge residual of the perfume she sprayed the night before toned down. The overpowering scent of whiskey and cigarette springing off their coats fought an easy battle with the perfume. It was the first time she had slept without the excessive amount of perfume spraying.

Craning her neck up, the corners of her lips curled at the ethereal sight. With his eyes shut tight, chest heaving at a casual pace, Finn had looked peaceful, tranquil in his own sleep. As her eyes grazed upon the smearing of her kisses against his pale skin, her fingers brushed upon the red marks of her lipstick, tracing imaginary outlines along the marks, up to his jawline. Nuzzling her head into his arm, the drumming of his heart echoed into her ears. A song she could fall asleep to.

“Good morning.” Finn croaked out, body aching which urged him to stretch. Hands caressing the headboard, he dropped his arm to drape over her shoulders, pulling her closer to his warm body. Their bare legs weaved with one another. They scurried from the chilly edges of the bed to find solace in each other’s presence and warmth. With the addition of them slumbering late at night and their exhausting activity, the two had not bothered to cover themselves.

“Good morning to you, too.” The pair giggled, lips meeting. Bodies finally facing each other, Finn’s fingers caressed her cheeks; he swirled the loose strand of hair while their lips moulded into one another. Back arched for his teasing-paced fingers to plunge into her, a knock slashed the tension air. A huff fell off her lips; a giggle echoed from his at her disappointed in the interruption.

“I’ll get it.”

Toes already poking out of the sheets to be engulfed by the frigid breeze, a shiver crawled up his spine once the warmth of the covers was no longer defending him. Faint rustling from the door seeped through the cracks as if the person could not find a casual position.

“No, stay here. I’ll get it.” Although Finn was slightly reluctant, he nodded at the hand gripped around his wrist. Once his body submerged back into the pad of heat, his eyes lingered on her figure as she sauntered towards a robe, body bare for him to gaze upon. Running his tongue across his lips, he gnawed on the flesh until she was out of his sight. With a frigid weapon in her hands, Y/N moved like a cat, sneaking upon without producing a quiver of sound.

The pistol was useless. After a mumbling of ‘Room Service’, followed by haste shuffling of feet against the carpet, Y/N waited until the shadow faded; no presence of the person. Jumping quick on her feet, the woman yanked the trolley in before slamming the door shut as if she was being watched with a target hovered over hers. What was she to fear? She knew Luca was the enemy, what would he do? Stacked upon each other as if building blocks, pieces of freshly cut fruits sat as a tower, somehow still balanced. Surrounding the tower were plucked out leaves, thrown around it for decoration. An uneaten part. Almost as if hidden, a piercing corner of a card poked out from the plate, the rays of light bouncing off the material to shimmer in her eyes. A sigh brushed her lips.

‘Six-thirty. Inkberrow Hotel. Stratford-upon-Avon. Henley Street. Do not bring any of the fucking Shelbys. –L.C’

A noise that was midway of a scoff and a huff echoed in the air. The familiar handwriting was smeared with frantic scribbles, almost as if he had left to write the note last minute. A few more months and she would’ve had the same last name.

“Bed’s getting colder.” Her eyes faltered shut, hands raised to tangle her fingers with his hair after placing the gun on the tray. A pair of slithering arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her back to press against him. Pressing a chaste kiss on her exposed neck, a smacking noise played in the air, causing a giggle to trickle out of her. Although her fingers were nudging the paper into the pocket of her robe discreetly with invisible movements, Finn’s eyes brushed over it. However, he didn’t bother to prod as he had other ideas in mind.

Craning her neck to the side, her lips hovering a hair’s breadth distance away from his, Finn could feel the warm breeze when she mumbled, “Yeah? Let’s make it warm.”

A twitch stammered and she let out a squeal once his arms raised her in the air.

Even though Y/N held onto the hope that Finn would remain longer in her sheets, there was a minuscule part of her that knew he was to leave anyway. So, it did. A ring from Thomas and the youngest Shelby would obey without any refute. However, it didn’t mean she would give in without a fight. So while he suggested for them to shower, she had grounded him into the bed for a short while before he had trekked to the bathroom with her on his back, clinging onto him like a monkey. With the first phase of her plan gone to waste, she proceeded with the second phase, which was in the bathroom.

Although she had tried to linger the moment by brushing over his chest, it had only worked until he recalled the urgent call. Once they were out of the bath, Finn had only gawked at her before his bare body had been covered with his suit. How had she been infatuated by him? Finn was a spell, a dangerous one. A part of her had tugged on the time for him to leave because she had wanted him to stay longer, but she knew, underneath the bubbling surface was her tight chest had not been ready to meet the long-awaiting appointment. Despite three whole years. Were three years even enough?

Once Finn had left the hotel after countless of sights that urged him to stay, to which he had yanked away from, she was left on the edge of the bed with the crumpled note arched on the tips of her fingers.

As the door cried in the still air, Luca’s wrist halted, hovering over the sheets of paper with a pen whose ink had begun to dry. Although he was in the midst of scribbling vital information, the blaring lines had only smeared against his eyes, his brain was not able to process the moment he had been waiting for, for far too long. The air he had enjoyed with a twirl of breeze and a stitch of his whiskey had suddenly felt hefty on his shoulders. The pressure tightened around his chest like a whip. Fragments of his ribs cracked like china dinnerware that met the ground with a clash, floating in his chest cavity to pierce against his muscles. Once the door met with its frame; the shuffling of the maid had faded, Luca’s tongue swept over his pearly white teeth.

Y/N noticed there were no overpowering sounds trickling in the background. As his eyes grazed over the ink one more time, he pushed his back against the chair, shoulders squaring up. With a caress, the sleek, luxurious pen which must’ve cost more than an average one since it was embellished with gold and jewel of diamonds, the pen rolled over the wooden table to play a suspenseful tune. Finally, his eyes met hers. It felt like the night before. A voice in his head shook in disbelief as it implied its opinion. This is just his imagination, he had too much. Although he took years to compose himself, build himself back up, sometimes, time is not what one needs to start a decent conversation. Without a thought in his head, he blurted out, “You fucking the Shelby boy?”

The frog leapt out of the crevice of his mouth; the creature hopped onto the hovering lily pads in the air. Her eyebrows clashed in confusion at the brash accusation, “Three years and that’s the first thing you say? Be grateful that I’m giving you the privilege to even speak.”

A staggering breath sang out of Luca’s lips. With a gesture towards the guest seat on the desk, he popped in a matchstick into his mouth. Noting bad habits were pulled out, Y/N lit a cigarette, reluctantly plopping on the seat. Luca watched with furrowed eyebrows at the smoke dancing into her lungs. The Italian man hated the horrible habit she had during their relationship, always bugging her on how it would be the death of her. While his tongue danced with the wooden stick, his eyes lingered on her casually dragging the cig, “You still smoke that shit?”

“You still biting matchsticks?” Without a word, he nodded, tongue poking on his cheeks. There were countless thoughts in his head, yet, time felt so restricted. As he ran his eyes over her dress, he pushed himself off the table.

“What’re you doing here?” The air was an ocean. Sunk at the lowest level of water, the pressure sat on her shoulders. She was a fish roped to an abandoned ship, struggling to flee away from the sauntering sharks. Silence. Her fingers brushed over one another as she watched him pace towards the alcohol cart.

“Whiskey?” A hum played in his ears. His square back faced her as he refilled his own cup since what was about to happen clearly needs whiskey, and another cup for the guest. Placing a cup in front of her, he plopped back into his seat. “What’ve you heard?”

“A vendetta.”

Luca hummed, his eyes glued onto the swirling tornado in his cup just like when he had been told of the heart-breaking news by none other than his distraught mother, “They killed Angel and Father.”

Digging a grave in the shrivelled velvet purse, her fingers were engulfed by the warm stitching. Although the history between the pair was rough over rugged waves, memories will linger. Y/N will never forget the high admiration the Italian held for his father. To be groomed as the heir and the successor of the empire that Vicente has yanked out from the deepest of American soil, words murmured about Luca had been hurled around, an inevitable future everyone could see. Y/N remembered word-to-word. Feared for their quivering loyalty, the people who had even the minimal of ties with the Italian syndicate, had to learn their consequences first-hand if they were to step out of the boundary.

Despite him being portrayed as this painting of the devil in a cloth of black, there was an underlying layer, beneath the one he had coated himself in. Y/N got the privilege to meet that part of him. The Italian did not hover the façade of a mask in front of his family; in fact, the belief of blood being thicker than water was the reason they all had gotten along. Uplifting when surrounded by his blood relatives, Luca had been an excellent older brother. Everyone could claim so even with a glance. Y/N’s throat suddenly became parched in realization. Luca had lost the only brother he had, “Luca…”

Not tearing his eyes away from the cup of whiskey, he mumbled under his breath, “Mother misses you, wished you were home.” Before she even opened her mouth, he gulped down the whole drink.

Ever since Luca had courted the woman, it was definite for Y/N to be interrogated by the Italian. During the course of befriending his family, Audrey had taken a liking to the girl. Seeing the effects Y/N held on Luca, Vicente had peeled his wife’s overprotective layer, which soon caused her arms to wrap around the woman. The feeling of acceptance by the Italian mafia had been a foreign emotion. To be seen as one and not a threat built a tie with each member of the syndicate. Chewing on her inner cheek as if a stress-reliever, she took a sip to ease the pain, “Have you told her?”

“What do you take of me? Of course I told her,” Luca’s gnawing teeth sawed on the matchstick as if a blunt saw. Though, he was more of a beaver who had migrated elsewhere. Painfully recalling the moment he had cracked the reason to why his ex-fiancé had fled away, to his mother, a sorrow scowl sported on his lips. “Didn’t talk to me for two weeks. She heard that I was drowning in a bar, then she cooked up those pasta you liked.”

“Go home, Luca. Staying here is no good for you.”

Hurt layered his eyes as the strain his voice staggered down the steps, “Why should I? You won’t be there.” Luca’s head darted away. The sentence clogged in his throat. You won’t be at home. Deep down, Luca knew, no matter what he would do, nothing would bring back the scorching love the two had. Had, the past he should’ve already moved on from.

“No, I won’t be at home. But I know that Capone is singing in victory while you’re here.” The Italian let out a scoff while his towering figure shot up from the seat. The chair let out an ear-pitching screech, no different than that of a triggered explosive.

“It’s for Angel and Father!” Pain weaved through his words. With a slam on the table, flying sheets of paper danced in the air as the empty glass swung in place.

To be courted by the Italian had taught Y/N countless of things not many knew about him. After four years of being with the man himself, Y/N had concluded that he was as persistent and stubborn, “It is for Angel and your father, but you have to go back. Here, you’re vulnerable. Capone is King in your absence.”

“I was vulnerable when they died!”

Scoffing at his words, she too, shot up from her seat, her purse was slapped against the surface, letting out an echo, full of frustration, “I was vulnerable when I found my husband was fucking a whore!”

Taking a second to digest her words, Luca mumbled with a clench in his jaw, eyes narrowing, “So I leave their deaths in vain?”

“Going back to New York and staying there is not leaving their deaths in vain. You know I’m right, when have I ever been wrong? Go back Luca,” Splaying on his large hands that were once a source of warmth on her cheeks, Y/N’s hands pushed his palm onto his beating heart. “And remember them here. Their deaths will never be in vain.”

Eyes trailing from her hand to her eyes, Luca mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

A haze of misty smoke drowned the room. Dangling between his fingers was a huffing cigarette whose head has been flicked to a pile of cremated ashes. The faint sizzling echoed from the crystal ashtray, accompanying the only other present sound of paper turning. While his fingers glided over the sleek sheet, Thomas took a drag of his cig, pondering to the typed lines. Although it was nearing noon, he felt he needed a haste nap in his bed. Terribly. The lines of words squeezed into one another, clumping up into balls of black ink just like the period of time when he had not owned a pair of glasses. Except, this time he did (all to blame the immeasurable volumes of liquor he had chugged down). An unreadable tragedy. Letting out a frustrated sigh after his head could not digest the word, the warm vapour of his cig wrapped around his head as if a blanket. No matter how many cups of liquor he had refilled, the droopiness in his eyes was impeccably heavy.

Finally over with the uncooperative feeling, Thomas shifted the stick to his non-dominant hands. The frigid kiss of the pen bit into his palm, sending shivers up his arms. Even though he wanted this to be over; he wanted the day to end, the papers must be read thoroughly as any slipped lines could be the end of his empire. But, honestly, Thomas was nudged. Fuck it. Gliding over the surface in one swift movement, Thomas scribbled his signature. Somehow, the black strokes seemed as if he had pondered with great thought. The loop of contemplation between the ‘o’s concocted a circle, an orifice to the hole he was forever to be stuck in.

Boisterously, the crying door let out a pleading creak. Thomas’s eyes snapped away from the dozen sheets of paper he had gone through that sat on the top corner of his desk, even though a hefty stack rested on the left side, the glistening crown it wore blared into his eyes for hours. A slight furrow in his eyebrows played before he clicked back his pen, taking a sip of his drink, ready for what news the woman came in for, “Call it off.”

Without a word uttered, Thomas quirked his eyebrows at her statement. Shutting the door behind her, Y/N made way to lean against a wall, swirls flaming from her cig created a hazy mist around her. The battling of two cigarettes trickled in the air while the lingering odour of whiskey cowered in the corner, “I know when you’re planning and you’re planning something right now. So, call it off.”

Thomas blinked his eyes. The rays of sun danced through the cracks of the blinders, blaring into his eyes. Placing the vision-helper onto the surface, his fingers made way to massage the clenching that rested behind his eyes. If only he could pluck the orbs out to satisfy the itch. Glowing a minuscule orb, the light source sitting on his desk smeared a flickering green onto his face (a contribution to his sleepiness), “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Luca’s leaving.”

With a sweep against his ears, the clenching muscles in his lungs halted. The gears and spanners in his body did not creak a limb as his brain processed her words. Thomas wasn’t sure what to feel. A can of petrol regurgitating its contents into the bonfire he made from the vain death of his brother. It was a bitter scorch of fire, swirled in a cooling mint. Despite the refreshing drinks he had consumed, all of its effects wiped off once the words were stuffed into his throat, “What?”

“He’s going back to New York.” Y/N mumbled, fingers running over the velvet spines of books stuffed onto the bookshelves.

“And why the sudden change of mind?” There were so many ways he could react; Thomas Shelby didn’t know which one was appropriate with his current mood.

“Gave him an offer.” Quirking an eyebrow, the corners of Thomas’ lips curled up.

“Will I be invited to the wedding this time?”

“I’m not marrying him,” Y/N almost huffed out. “Said that I’d work with him.” Thomas hummed, fingers lacing into one another as the back of his mind began to calculate a plan. Well, plans. To kill or not to kill. Pondering to himself, Thomas branched out in the countless of ways of response. Was he to leave his brother’s death in vain?

“Good. Cause Finn would not shut up about how good you were.”

The smoke seeping down the column of her throat screeched to a halt, clogging the airway at his words. A tint of red smeared her cheeks at the prominent smirk the man wore. Oh, was the boy done for.

A layer of light glazed over the green-tint of water, grazing over the horizon in smears of blurs. The island her foot once rested upon faded in the distant, it became nothing but a haze of grey. Orbs of yellow embedded the vertically-placed cuboid buildings while a stroke of gold plastered across the city. Sinking into the vast, never-ending horizon of cerulean blue, the arms of the sun widened, radiating rays of warmth upon the night before it slumbered.

Crashing of waves sang into her ears, the overlapping of the warm grumble from the ships’ horn and the hasty shuffling of feet against the deck created a sense of adventure. With a lot of memories and experience in spending countless of days entrapped in the cabin over the migrating waves, Y/N had found herself accustomed to the smell which some people would found sickly. The twinge of salt and smeared breeze of the pure ocean trickled in the air, not an odour that a new traveller would find pleasant.

Chattering of overflying birds who wouldn’t find the need to rest their vocal cords played from above, raining upon the travellers as if series of bullets. With the kissing of wind engulfing her figure, Y/N stuffed her hands in the warmth of her coat pocket. The corners of her lips curled down at the memories she decided to reminiscent. People she won’t be seeing for quite some time; a grave she won’t be able to visit.

Other presence of people ebbed. Nauseated by the overpowering pungent of blocks of salts, the onlookers who had exited from the boat to the wooden deck to embrace the view shuffled back in. Only one remained. Y/N’s eyes never left the sacrificed, infant waves who rammed into the rusted metal sheets of the boat. Too lost in thought to realize the temperature of the air faltered, zipping down to bites of frost. Echoing from a great distance, which trickled closer to her proximity, a pair of feet rubbed against the beads of rain decorating the deck.

Seeping through the barrier of salt with a muffled slithering, the odour of freshly smoked cigarette battled with the ocean’s musk, “Let’s go back in, it’s cold out here.” Once the words fell off his chilling lips, her body tingled up the new change in temperature. Finn placed a chaste kiss of heat on her cheeks, despite frost cracking on his lips. Their gloved fingers tangled with one another, weaving like irritating locks of hair. Making their way to their designated cabin, warmth gushed through their pores. A heart can be mended back, you just need to find the right string.

Part 1 | Part 2

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