#HOW DARE SHE HONESTLY. HOW DARE SHE MAKE A SIX YEAR OLD FEEL SUCH INTENSE SURVIVOURS GUILT FOR BEING HIT BY A BUS. THAT THEY CARRY IT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nationalharryleague · 3 years

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Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away)

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth @bfharry and @hardcandy-harry for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!!

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care. She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart.

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.”

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral. Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles #prince harry styles #Royal AU #Harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfiction

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nillabeam · 4 years

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thirst texts at 2 am

synopsis: ah the queen of the drunk text. that’s you. but what happens when the person on the receiving end of your drunken sexting is none other than bakugo katsuki himself??

pairings: bakugoxf!reader

warnings: 18+ for sure, alcohol mention, phone sex, mutual masturbation, lANGUAGE bc bakugo is in it so that a given 100%, reader being a little brat, slight age gap but both characters are aged up

a/n: hi it’s me again bringing you another thirst post but Bakugo’s a little tiny bit of a sub in this one and i’m probably making a part two which will probably be pure sin but we’ll see! thanks for reading as usual please ignore all my shitty grammar and spelling mistakes <333

You were more than lucky to score an internship straight out of UA, and even luckier to be scouted by Endeavor’s agency. And luckier still, to be able to work with Bakugo Katsuki, Ground Zero himself, the boy you had a school girl crush on since the day you watched him in the sports festival on TV. Feral and an obvious asshole, needless to say for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you were smitten. You even managed to get into UA, granted he had graduated the year before you actually attended UA, still it was hallowed ground to you since so many great heroes were a product of the prestigious high school. What started as a shallow reason for attending became the best decision of your life. You left UA a strong pro hero to be, and your quirk made you a perfect addition to the fiery ranks of your new agency.

You fit in quite nicely, most of your co-workers took a liking to you immediately. Except, of course, Bakugo, who always seemed to keep his distance from everyone. The loner rockstar of the agency, honestly it was very on brand for him. You could count on one hand how many times you’d interacted, and you only needed half the amount of fingers to count how many times you’d actually spoken to one another. Lucky for you your school girl crush had wavered a bit since graduation. After all, you were a full fledged hero now. That didn’t mean you steal a few peeks of the hero here and there on the rare occasion he would show up at the office. Honestly, you forgot he even worked there most of the time. Since you were a rookie and he was an established hero you two rarely crossed paths. You doubted he even knew who you were.

It had been a little over six months since you started at the agency so you were eager to oblige when some of your old classmates extended an invitation to get some drinks and go dancing. The night was great, but like usual you went a little overboard at the bar, but you figured you’d let loose for once. Besides, you had the next day off from work.

It was a little past 2 am when you fumbled out of your Uber, into your apartment, giggling to yourself as you kicked your heels off by the door. Clumsily, drunkenly, you drop the small purse you were carrying, effectively spilling everything out of it. “S-Shit--” you mumble and begin to shove the contents back into the bag. Your hands linger on your phone which is vibrating with texts from your friends asking if you made it home okay. You tap out a few replies to assure your friends you were safe just kinda drunk before you lazily stroll through your messages. Your eyes widen slightly as they rest on a name at the bottom of the list.

Bakugo Katsuki.

A single message he sent when you were lucky enough to work on one of his missions a few months back buried beneath all the other messages. You forgot you had saved it.

You shouldn't.

You wouldn't.

Fuck it.

Quickly you type out a text, deleting and retyping until you’re completely satisfied with it before you hit send.

A dull buzz against his nightstand stirs the blonde from his light slumber, his large hand smacking around in the dark before it finally lands on his phone. His eyes are heavy with sleep and it takes a second to read the screen properly. It’s from an unsaved number. He tosses the phone away with disinterest, rationalizing it as a wrong number. He starts to drift back to sleep when the phone buzzes again. “Fuck’s sake-” He opens the message to drill in a angry reply when his breath hitches in his throat.

hi! remember me??, the first message reads.

The second an expertly taken photo of you clad in matching lace bra and thong, posed in such a way that he could admire all of you.

how about now? The third message makes him throw his phone away from his face.

He definitely remembered you. You were a sidekick, he saw you around sometimes, that tight little body clad in your hero costume. Or sauntering around the office in that fucking pencil skirt/thigh high combo. He tried to remember your name but his mind came up blank.

His phone buzzed again and he rubbed his face with both hands before grabbing it and opening the message. Another goddamn picture. This time you were on your back, on your bed he assumed, because your hair was slightly messy, forming a halo around you. One hand holding the phone, the other at your lips a finger pressed against your perfect pink tongue lolled out of your mouth. Your eyes were glassy and half lidded. He let out groan at the sight of you.

does this help?

He could feel his prominent bulge straining against his sweatpants. His hand dipped beneath the waistband, his first instinct was to palm at his growing length. He chewed his bottom lip, going back to the first picture to inspect your assets more thoroughly this time. He groaned, his strokes long and languid. He closed his eyes, his mind about to wander when he was suddenly hit with a pang of guilt. Tearing his hand from his pants he tossed his phone away. No, no, no, no- he wasn't this fucking desperate. He was not going to get off on some lewd pictures of his coworker just because she was clearly thirsting over him. The thought made his cock twitch in disrespectful betrayal.

His phone began to buzz again. This time it didn't stop, it was rhythmic and slightly lower. Shit. A call. He stared intensely at the number on the screen. His ego got the best of him. He answered it, against his better judgement, promising himself to put this extra in her place. There was a long pause and he nearly hung up.

“Bakugo?” The sweet voice finally rang out of the speaker and his confidence faltered. “You know it’s rude to leave people on read.” There was an obvious teasing tone to your voice, which he swore had a slight slur to it.

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing you shitty extra but stop texting me that shit.” He growled into the phone.

“You didn’t like it-”

“I don’t even know your fucking name, asshole.”

“That’s okay, you’ll learn it soon enough.”

“I’m going to tell you one more goddamn time if you keep sending me that shit i’m going to-” A soft moan completely derailed his train of thought. Fuuuck. Another slightly louder groan followed. “W-What the fuck are you doing?” He barks into the phone, face flush with embarrassment.

“Don’t stop, aren’t you going to tell me what you’re going to do to me?” You mewl breathlessly, your fingers dancing along your wet folds as you imagined all the things he could do to ruin you.

He licked his lips, wetting them, he had to grip his bedsheets to keep his free hand from wandering back beneath his sweats. “Are you touching yourself right now?” He tried to sound disgusted, but it ended up sounding a little more desperate than he intended.

“I wish it was you touching me instead, Katsuki.” You ask, your tone breathless and dripping with lust. The way his name sounded coming out of your mouth had his eyes rolling back. He wondered how you knew it in the first place.

(Honestly, you saw it while you were helping Burnin’ with some paperwork one night at the office but that wasn’t really the point right now.)

He covered his mouth to stifle a groan that dared escape his lips. The way he saw it he had two options: let you continue and shove his hands down his pants the way he so, so desperately wanted to OR hang up the fucking phone.

“Mmm-! K-Katsuki-” He snapped out of his daze and scrambled to hang up the phone. He tossed it away and thew himself back onto the mattress shoving his hands into his messy blonde hair. “F-Fuck.” He mumbled, groaning at the thought of you getting off to only the sound of his voice.

It wasn’t fair. For you to look the way you did and sound the way you did. He figured you were drunk. The slight slur in your breathy voice, the dazed expression you wore in those sinful selfies you sent him, all idicating as such. That had to be it. There was no other rational explanation. He did the right thing, ending the call.

He wasn’t so pathetically desperate that he had to get off to some drunken extra throwing herself at him.

He was Bakugo Fucking Katsuki.

Ground Zero. Soon to be #1 he—

His phone buzzed again, louder now that it was pressing up against the headboard. Bakugo reluctantly checked the caller id. A fucking video call. No, no. He couldn’t. It would be too much. He was a man after all. With carnal, primal desire welling within him, and right now he was barely keeping those desires at bay. He ignored the call.

Another buzz.

He was fucking stupid.

“FUCK.”

His fingers greedily swiped to answer the call. He was immediately greeted by your beautiful face, you offered a sweet smile and wave. “That wasn't nice, Katsuki, hanging up like that when I was so close.” You were lying on your stomach, feet swaying back and forth in the air behind the curve of your ass. He drank in the sight of you, your face flushed, messy hair framing your face perfectly, your lips plush and slightly pouting.

He cursed himself internally. “So fucking desperate.” His voice was huskier than before, and his words were more akin to a growl.

“Only a little.”

You sat up and rested the phone on something so you no longer had to hold it but ensuring Bakugo still had a great view. You stared at him through the screen and he felt his cheeks heat up, even though you weren’t in the room with him he still felt a little intimidated by your boldness.

You dipped a finger to rub over your clothed entrance, “Now where was I?” You teased, your other hand trailing over your cleavage. Bakugo fumbled with his sweats, sliding his hand down them to palm his aching cock. His ruby orbs memorizing every movement you made. You stop suddenly and he stopped too, a little annoyed. “Something wrong?” He growls, his tone low and thick with want.

“I’m gonna need you to do something for me first.” You say your fingers hooking into the strappy waistband of your thong pulling it away from your full hips teasingly before releasing it, the material hitting your skin with a slight ‘snap’. He ponders it for a moment, but his desire gets the best of him.

“For fucks sake-”He rolls his eyes, “What now?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

“Turn a light on or something, this isn’t a free show-” There's yet another long pause and Bakugo weighs his options. You start to get a bit impatient when a sudden ‘click’ catches your attention. Finally. There he is in all his glory. Well, not all his glory but some of it. It’s still a little dark but those piercing red eyes of him are unmistakable. His gaze makes you flush two shades darker. His appearance is slightly disheveled, his hair is messier than normal, probably bedhead since you most likely woke him up, his cheeks are tinted pink and he looks a little fucked out already. Probably from all the teasing. He looks absolutely perfect.

“Fucking happy now, brat?” He growls.

“Yes! Much better.” You comment, feeling your heat drip from the mere image of him. “I guess I can reward your good behavior..” You trail off, reaching back to unhook your bra, you catch it before it can fall, teasingly biting your lip. You can hear him groan at your teasing, finally you let the lace fall away from your body, giving him a full view. The liquor in your system keeping the shame and embarrassment you would normally be feeling at bay.

“Fucking perfect.” Bakugo groans lowly at the sight. You’re caught off guard by the compliment and you feel your body heat up. He slides his sweats down enough to free his cock from its confines, he makes sure you can’t see him first, only visible from the chest up. He swipes his thumb over the tip spreading the pre cum along the length of his cock before starting slow, languid pumps.

You notice his eyes roll back slightly at the sensation and you almost threaten to stop again if he doesn't show you what he’s doing, but you’re afraid he’ll stop entertaining this foolish idea entirely so you fight the urge to call him out.

Instead you trail your hands along the top of your thighs, “Tell me what you want, Katsuki.” His breath hitches at your words, he smirks darkly before biting his bottom lip.

“Touch yourself.”

You feel a wave of lust wash over you and you pull your panties off eager to please. You spread your legs exposing your soaking folds, you rub a hand lazily along your slit. “Fuck-” You hear him groan at the sight of you.

“Such a dirty little, slut.” A bolt of electricity shoots through you at his words and you can't stop your fingers from dipping into your mess of a cunt.

“So fucking desperate for my attention.”

You are moving your fingers feverishly now, chasing the release you were denied earlier, his words pushing you closer to that blissful edge. Soft moans fall from your lips, your free hand moves to rub clumsy circles against your clit.

He’s keeping pace with you, his strokes matching your movements. “Fuck, Princess, you’re so beautiful like this.” He can’t help the moan that follows his praise. “K-Katsuki, i’m close-” You whimper, eyes watering from the building pleasure in your core. “Did I say you could cum?” He asks his breathing ragged as his own climax sneaks up on him, his strokes become more desperate.

“P-Please, I can’t help it-” You whimper, you can feel your orgasm about to crash down on you.

He can knows how close you are. He can see it.

“Beg for it.”

“K-Katsuki! Please let me—ahh!—cum! Please, K-Katsuki, p-please I really can’t—mnn help it.” You whine, trying your best to be good and hold back for him.

“Cum for me then, Princess.”

You manage a hurried nod and your ministrations become hurried and sloppy. Bakugo’s not doing much better as his shirt is now in between his teeth, the camera tilted slightly giving you a view of his perfect chest. His muffled groans push you closer and closer to your release, as he thrusts up into his hand imagining its you instead. Finally, it all becomes too much and the coil inside snaps, you whine, tossing your head back, “Fuck. Katsuki!” Your fingers move from your core to your clit, wanting to prolong the orgasm as long as possible.

Bakugo bites down even harder on the material between his teeth, desperate to stifle the whimpers falling from him, his face contorts and his eyes nearly roll all the way back. Thick, white ropes of cum make a mess of his exposed stomach. He lets the fabric of his shirt fall from his mouth, his jaw sore from how hard he was biting down. His body relaxes a bit too much as he comes down from his high and he accidentally drops the phone.

“Shit-” You refocus on your own screen, forgetting it was there for a second, you hear him cursing under his breath and fumbling around until you are graced by the view of his flushed, fucked out expression. You offer a sweet smile and he smirks a little in response. “That was great, but i’m a little disappointed it wasn't the real thing.” You admit, forcing a slight pout. You see him visibly stiffen, his pupils dilating at the thought.

“You couldn't handle the real thing, Princess.” He taunts.

“Prove it.”

Fuck now you’ve done it.

“Come over tomorrow.”

“Don’t play games with me, Princess, I don’t like to be teased.”

“I’m serious.” You disappear from the screen for a moment while you type out a text. His phone buzzes in his hand. “That’s my address. Tomorrow around 8 work for you?” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. Fucking bet.

“You’ll regret that. ” He offers a deliciously devilish smirk.

“We’ll see.” You tease back.

“I’m going to bed, it’s fucking—” He moves to look at the time, “-three in the morning—shit.”

“You’re right big day tomorrow! Goodnight, sleepy head!” You muse rolling onto your back. You move to end the call when his voice stops you.

“Wait-”

A pause.

“Tell me your name first.”

#bnha #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #nillabeamwrites #bakugo imagine #bakugou imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagines

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

matryoshka doll

— Momo is a modern day princess, so it makes sense as to why every single person she’s asked if they wanted to have sex reject her because they felt unworthy. But she’s a girl with carnal needs and if that means having anonymous sex is the only way to have them met, so be it.

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pairing: yaoyorozu momo x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, stuck in a wall, anal fisting (giving), fingering, marking, degradation, daddy kink!reader, princess!momo, praise, pwp, cursing, service top!reader, phat ass!momo

word count: 3,333

a/n: i stayed up until 4 am reading bkdk angst fanfic and im so, so tired...... momo has a phat ass that is full of stretch marks and cellulite and I drool at the thought of it. no I dont take any feedback on that.

kinktober day 9 main kink: anonymous sex | kinktober masterlist

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Momo has a secret.

A deep, dark, twisted secret.

It wasn’t so much that it was horrible, humiliating, or even a nuisance for all of humanity, but it definitely was a secret she was keen on keeping until she was six feet under.

Why was that?

Oh, well, you see, it involved one of the most taboo topics in the world: sex.

Yaoyorozu Momo lived a sheltered, elite life. At the tender age of four, she had managed to create an object by replicating a Matryoshka doll's exact molecular structure. She didn’t need to assume that most individuals couldn't compose the doll's molecular structure regardless of their intellect or education. Yet, with a determined gaze, her person and mind no much older than four years old, she succeeded in producing a single, lone, beautiful Matryoshka doll.

But, because of her natural-born intelligence and near-prodigious level thinking, the wealth that her parents held led her to a life where something such as a peck on the cheek was considered scandalous.

Kissing on the lips was considered a "marriage only" rule, and sex wasn’t even a word she knew.

Middle school for Yaoyorozu Momo consisted of her and her private tutors within her home. Her education was created just for her, and she had evening outings with her similar circles to ensure she had an appropriate social life. All in all, Momo didn’t know what sex was until she was sixteen, sitting in the common area of the dorm room with all her female friends who casually brought up the idea of what they could potentially be into, of who they would. Momo would quote: fuck, marry, or kill of three randomly generated boys within the class.

Of course, Momo’s eyes fluttered at the word fuck, having already known it as a curse word, and only as such as Bakugou always seemed to be yelling it. She had wrongfully spluttered when Mina had wiggled her eyebrows at Uraraka on why, oh why she had only chosen to ‘fuck Midoriya’ and not marry him. To Momo, who also at the time, was aware of her current blossoming feelings towards the smart but somewhat flutter tongued classmate of theirs, had been rather confused at the results Uraraka gave too.

“Kill… uh, Iida-kun,” Urakaka fidgeted, blushing harder under the intense stares of Mina and Hagakure (who had a mean glare despite not being able to see her). “Fuck Deku-kun, marry Todoroki-kun!”

Momo had assumed she would wish to marry her at the time crush, not choose the option to curse him out!

“Uraraka-san, you wish to cuss out Midoriya-san?” Momo had asked, saving the naturally rosy girl from their pink-skinned and invisible friend. “Why is that?”

“Hold on?” Jirou interrupted immediately, Momo’s undoubtedly closest friend rose from her slouched position next to her, her hand placed on her shoulder. “What was that?!”

“Well, isn’t the, ahem, please excuse my vulgar words, ‘fuck,’ option meaning to curse someone out? As Bakugou-san does to many people when he uses that word?” Momo had asked so innocently, so purely that the girls all almost felt horrible for popping the innocent bubble the modern-day princess was in -- keyword: almost.

For the first time in her life, Yaoyorozu Momo was not the most knowledgable in a subject; her cheeks stained red with embarrassing heat when Tsuyu took charge of explaining the alternate definition to what ‘fuck’ meant.

“You mean babies don’t come in storks?!” she had cried uncontrollably that night. She was utterly overwhelmed by this new level of information that would send her in a spiral of the need to acquire further details for the sake of education and, well, yes, the science of fucking.

From the moment she was sixteen until she was twenty, Momo’s knowledge of sex went from being the lowest in the class, to as it naturally should have been, the most knowledgable person on it. She knew of things, the different branches of sex, where to experience certain types of kinks, and theoretically, where the human body's best parts to touch when having sex. So, the moment she had turned of consenting legal age to have sex, Momo would be lying if she said she wasn’t ready to have sex.

But there was something in her way, something that not even years of studying could help her with, or could change the circumstances of which she found herself in. It seemed that though her friends enjoyed her sudden new-found genius towards the art and science behind sex, no one thought of her as a… sexual being.

“I c-can’t have sex with you!” Jirou had flushed red, her eyes scattering to every edge of the room, refusing to look at the wealthy heiress who had asked her best friend over during their last week of high school to do the deed. “You’re the modern-day royalty: Yaoyorozu Momo! I’m not… qualified enough!”

Momo frowned, “Oh?”

“Sex?” Todoroki had echoed, his eyes alarming wide despite his composed, neutral expression. Momo nodded her head, ignoring the small wisp of fire that emitted from his hair. “Oh, well, I don’t think I can do that for you, Yaoyorozu. It’s nothing against you, but I don’t think I’d like to have meaningless sex with you for the first time.”

Momo winced, “Oh, okay.”

“That sounded a lot meaner then intended, I apologize.”

…

And that’s how it seemed to go.

Aoyama hadn’t been interested in having sex at all with Momo. Mina said she was severely unworthy. Tsuyu simply rejected her because their relationship wasn’t one that had possibilities of sexual encounters. Iida said it would be irresponsible of him to take something of value of hers. Uraraka cried about how inferior scum like her had no right.

Ojiro apologized, having been in a relationship at the moment and wouldn’t. Kaminari said him sexually touching Momo would give the world every right to skin him where he lay. Kirishima had blushed brighter than his hair and stammered; he couldn’t without a proper relationship between the two of them. Kouda had run off crying. Sato had mumbled about how he enjoyed setting tea and pastries together but couldn’t imagine putting his tea in and on her pastry, or some weird allusion like that.

Shoji had bowed his head in apologies, saying she would regret sleeping with him. Sero had run away, crashing into a glass door explaining he wasn’t good enough. Tokoyami stated they weren’t a fated pair and rejected her kindly -- she thinks. Hagakure was in a relationship and politely declined her. Bakugou scoffed and told her to look elsewhere. Midoriya had stammered and suggested that he wasn’t the best option. Mineta just was never an option for her.

She had asked eighteen people who had all told her they would help her with anything, and the only thing that kept being thrown back into her face regarding something that she didn’t see to be anything that special was that she was royalty in their eyes. It was fine at first; honestly, it was! Momo had nodded her head, merely retreating to her home and creating an arrangement of sex toys most suited for her. And for a while, it had been enough.

But like the Matryoshka dolls, she was so fond of making, so good at making, she had several layers underneath that shouldn’t be ignored. And her sexual pleasures and gains had been a neglected part of her for too long.

From having the longest, thickest dildo she could make for herself, up her cunt, to the vibrator and fuck machines she should create (because she was not allowed anywhere near a sex shop), she had been blissful. Each orgasm ripping through her pleasantly, causing her sweaty chest to arch off her bed, her legs slamming closed as it burst from inside of her, causing her to bit harshly on her fist just in case. But just as even playing with your favorite game day after day, feeling alone, lonely, and unwanted, Momo found that even her toys weren’t enough.

She needed more.

No one would fuck her because of her status, because of her last name and the wealth that she brought, so she decided that if she was to do this, to gain the human touch she ever so desired and lusted over, she was going to have to erase her identity.

She had found a little place in the back alleys of Tokyo. They were hiring anyone who dared to visit and the only requirement to join was that you were willing to be fucked. Momo had shown up for the interview, face obscured by a hoodie she wore and was hired the moment she walked in with her spandex shorts hugging her tiny waist and fat ass. She had always seen places like this within her porn research but had never actually assumed fuck ho(l)es existed.

She certainly didn’t expect to be put in a wall where only her ass and cunt hanging out and the cold, wet tip of a sharpie marker to write against her clear virgin skin: FREE HOLE TO FUCK. VIRGIN LITTLE WHORE. She could feel that written on her skin, but she was unaware of the words that surrounded her placement on the wall: “put a tally and a review for every pump of cum you shove in me!”

There was no need for a picture by her whole because the people who frequented this place had no desires of that, and so, Momo found peace even as the starting alarm blared in her ear that customers were finally being let it.

To sum up the experience her first night at this joint, the first time experiencing a hot, living, throbbing cock in both her cunt and ass, Momo would have to blush. Her eyes shifting from yours onto the floor as she smiled. A chuckle on her face as she thought back to the end of that four hour fuck feast and remembered that there were nearly eighty-three tally marks on her bruised and blistered ass, of how her cum and all that cum continued to seep from her clenching holes for two days afterward… she loved it.

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You needed to blow off some steam.

Having just been entirely, horribly dumped by your ex and having precisely zero side pieces on the side to fuck, you went out of your way to secure a quick, easy fuck to get your mind off of things. There was no reason for you to simply not join Tinder and ask the first swipe to come over and fuck, but you didn’t want to see a face. You didn’t even want to know their face. As a matter of fact, you weren’t even so much as interested in your own orgasm at the moment than just making someone else cum. So when a pretty woman handed your glowering face a flyer as you were storming around the streets of Tokyo hoping for a sign from god, you almost cried at what the flyer informed you of.

A local... hole in the wall filled with glory holes and exposed asses, cunts, and cocks alike.

Was it destiny?

You sure believed so as you found yourself tailing to the obscure address, praying for the establishment to be open and, for the most part, empty because you had no plans on performing shit in front of watching eyes. Handing a thousand yen over to the admissions lady as your fee to the use of their prized cunts, cocks, and asses, you shoved the black ticket into your pocket and brisked in.

As you entered the back room, the tension in you back and pressure on your chest seemed to melt away immediately at the scent of sex, dried cum, and sweat. It was an altogether horrid stench, to be quite honest, but right now, it sent fire to your core, your lips licking at the walls and corners willed with awaiting to be attended to people. Twisted pleasure coursed through your veins as you walked around, your eyes taking note of the graffitied words around the individual holes, taking note of the black sharpie words on bruised and battered skin, and some cunts still dripping with someone else’s cum.

‘Loose cunt’ one person had.

‘Hasn’t been broken in yet,’ said another.

‘Loves it when you ‘accidentally’ fuck their ass,’ scrawled on another.

You couldn’t help but smile at the twisted humor, moving until finally, you saw one that exposed ass first to the world, eight tallies marked on her skin, and oh, the words painted on her smooth, perfect skin and the surrounding walls pulled you in.

‘Tightest fucking pussy.’ ‘100/10 recommended, been back multiple times for more.’ ‘Slip your fist up her ass, she LOVES it.’ ‘Favorite fucking whore here.’ ‘Would fuck again.’ ‘Slut likes it rough and mean.’ ‘Please fuck me!!!!’

You watched as the shiny slick of her cum slowly seep from her spread cheeks, not quite dripping, but definitely wet with her arousal. Something was calling you to her, your feet stumbling nearly tipsy with this outworld lust and drunkenness as you stopped behind her slapped pink ass. And without much need of thought to wonder where to stop, your hands found themselves grabbing her thick, supple ass and you moaned at the warmth emitting from her skin, of how her skin was so soft, so moveable, so bouncy. It was larger than your hands, your fingernails running against the cellulite, and stretch marks on her ass that made you want to kiss and run your tongue against even more. You couldn’t hear her, you couldn’t possibly know if she had liked the way your fingers dug into her ass, but her ass bounced, teetering with your grip as you could imagine a soft, juicy moan.

“I wonder if you can hear me?” you asked, most likely to no one, fingers spreading her ass, spanking the used whorish skin of hers so that small, tight, clenching pink asshole was on full display for you. “If you sit there for all these hours and listen to men fuck you with their ugly moaning and pathetic growling.”

Her ass rolled in your hands, and you smiled, taking that as a sign that yes, she heard everything, even you. Raising your hand to the bottle of lube, you saturated your fingers with the cold, transparent liquid, turning your fingers down over her still exposed, flush hole. You watched as the lube dripped down, splattering messily around her tight, rimmed muscle, watching her clench and unclench the muscle in alarming beauty.

“I must apologize, princess,” you sighed, looking at the names scrawled on the walls that this cunt and ass seemed to be most responsive to, and number one on that list was princess. “Your daddy isn’t feeling particularly rough today, so I hope you’ll behave with my softer movements.”

You're not quite sure where the reference to yourself as daddy had come from, but the way the ass muscles clenched between the lone hand that held her cheek made it worth it.

Your lube coated finger edged the pert opening of her ass, feeling the way the already used muscle expanded for your finger if a little stubbornly.

“Relax, princess, daddy sees you like being fisted, so I’m going to make sure you feel good.

You pressed your finger in until the knuckle disappeared beneath the muscle, your grin growing into a hazy, lustful gaze when you felt her ass bounce. This moan vibrated all the way to her anal cavity as you wasted no time in adding a second finger. Her ass was tight, the ribbed walls of the cavity bumping and gliding against your moving fingers, and you grinned when she loudly moaned. You didn’t need to be an expert to see that she had never been fucked softly or thoroughly before. She must have been used to the terrible, animalistic rage that the men here possessed when fucking these people behind the walls. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that she lost her virginity here.

Your fingers curled, stroking and persuading her body to ripple and twitch with your commanding movements, and another finger added in, and another finger added in. Soon enough, you had four fingers in, all save your thumb. The stretch of her ass around your nearly formed ass was incredible; she took you so well, not a sound of agonizing pain was heard through the wall, although you swore you heard sounds of elation. The damn slut did enjoy it.

Your thumb pressed to her cunt, rubbing the slick folds of her pussy, softly fucking the outermost part of her inner walls, much against her approval if the way he ass bounced heavily in need had anything to say about it.

“Ah, does the princess, not like this?” you asked, your hand that was currently not four fingers into her ass stretching out her cheeks even further as finally you retracted your hand out, made a fist, and sunk back in. Now there was a scream. But the way that it shot curling ravenous fires into your core, you knew it wasn’t one of horror or pain. No. It was one of absolute, slutty pleasure. You moaned at the sound, your arm beginning to thrust into her ass slowly, intentionally, and with burning passion and desire to hear her wail again. She sounded so pretty, sounded so slutty.

Your now free hand moved to her cunt, your mind trying to stimulate her more, trying to ignore the way her ass was hot and deliciously tight around your forearm as your pinched and rolled at her clit. Your thumb stayed on her clit, but your fingers stretched to enter her clenching cunt that seemed to be in synch with her ass. YOu moaned in content at the feeling of her inner walls suctioning against your intruding finger, and you laughed upon feeling your moving arm within her ass against her cunt. And that beautiful, pitchy whine resonated deeply again, and your mind melted.

Your fingers and fist doubled in speed, the growing sharp moans through the walls fueling you to move faster, to be rougher, to make her see stars. No wonder why no one fucked her with love here, you thought as leaned down, teeth tearing against her ass cheek that read: mark me, please. Who could stay composed when this fucking slut was this goddamn loud.

“Such a good fucking princess, so slutty, so nice for your daddy,” you grunted, against her skin, your hips snapping at air as the heat and wetness in your pants made you uncomfortable -- the need for more biting through your clothes. “You like my fist up your ass? You like everyone’s fist up your ass, don’t do? Doesn’t fucking surprise me with those stupid loud moans you make.”

Your words were hissed, your fingernails scraping against her pulsating, throbbing inner walls, and then it happened.

Her ass and her cunt clenched against your fingers and fist. And your jaw dropped as a rippling effect ran across your arm that was buried in her ass.

Was that a?

Holy fucking shit?!

“Princess, did your ass just orgasm?!”

A confirming, pathetic moan sent your mind to the moon.

Suddenly feeling as if this was too much for you, and with no way to relive yourself in this type of fuck room, you removed your hand quickly from her ass, your dominant hand grabbing the hanging sharpie on the wall and added two more tally marks on the number of times she’s cum.

You race out of there, the fire in between your legs too much to handle. Well, at least not before adding one more, important piece of information on her ass and on the wall: ‘if you fuck my ass like daddy did, maybe my ass will orgasm for you too.”

#momo x reader #momo smut #yaoyorozu x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

...surprise

um okay so here I am trying angst again. this is kind of intended to be open ended bcos might have a part two at some point. im also lazy and has a few time jumps. also if someone could pls explain if you just get pics for the top of these off internet or credit on like gifs or something that’d be appreciated.

Summary: Tom comes home and everything is most definitely not the way he left, nor is it healthy

Warnings: please read with caution esp relationship with food / weightloss, but just generally a person in a bad bad head space, lots of self blame - then next parts will carry different warnings too

************************

Tom had been away for months. Months and months away from his girlfriend, separated entirely by his filming locations in Europe and America; while you were busy slowly and steadily climbing the ranks of your law firm. Being an intense period for the pair, you hadn’t managed to see each other in 2 and a half months. Of course, both go you were used to this - 3 years deep into a relationship between an actor and a wanna-be lawyer- this was the name of the game.

But honestly? You both just kept falling deeper and deeper, making the separation harder to deal with - rather than getting used to it as one might hope.

That's why Tom felt such an incredibly overwhelming wave of relief as he dumped his bags just outside his front door. Even though he was exhausted from the travelling, just the mere act of finally phishing out his housekeys brought a massive grin to his face - caused particularly by the sight of his tacky little keyring from a Moroccan market that you’d bought him. That had been your first holiday. There’s that old saying that before you move in with someone go on holiday first - Tom understood it to mean you supposedly see all the bad and ugly stuff people can hide from each other, a prewiring before committing to living in the same space. However that holiday all he’d learned was incredible you are to him. To his dying day, Tom will never forget the moment he looked over to his left when the two of you were on this night time stargaze in the depth of the Moroccan desert. Y/n had never seen stars like it, the skies so incredibly clear and lit up with an array of magical blues and purples and whites on its sark background. The sight, for no unexplainable reason, had you completely opening up to Tom about things she’d never told a single soul. And in that moment he’d had this sort of realisation. Not about how much he loved her - because that is just the cliche thing everyone says… and also just wasn’t true.

In that moment he’d rather realised the potential. The sort of ‘I’m not there yet but I know you could become the centre of my universe’. The sort of ‘I’m not ready to say this yet, but I want to spend my life with you’. The sort of ‘at some point in my life I’m not sure my heart will be able to beat without yours’.

He still hadn’t quite got to explicitly saying all that yet, by asking you for the ultimate commitment. But he planned to now he was coming back to you.

Even with the chill of the early evening winter air, Tom was almost ecstatic as he unlocked the door and let himself in. He hadn’t told you that he was coming home, you thought he had another two weeks on the job, but Tom was a bit of an old romantic - he loved seeing your eyes fill with wonder as he surprised you in whatever way. Sometimes it was as simple as a note on the fridge, or a small bouquet from behind his back or as fancy as a surprise holiday.

However, this time, though it was only 6 in the evening, all the lights of their house were off making Tom raise an eyebrow as he quietly slipped off his shoes - not wanting to scare Y/n just in case.

Tom had sworn when he’d been on the phone with you the previous day, you didn’t have any plans tonight but perhaps maybe a spontaneous pub trip and been offered with work colleagues. The house felt a little cold as he padded through it, poking his head into every room just to check Y/n wasn’t there. His last port of call was the bedroom.

By this point, Tom was pretty resigned on the fact you were out and he’d maybe cook a meal for when you got back or hide about the house or something. But instead, when he poked his head around this door, he sighed in delight at the sight of a still mound under the plush white sheets. For a brief moment, Tom paused, before tiptoeing steadily round to her bedside. The light was still off but the hallway light illuminated the room enough so he could make out your soft features and the messy ball of hair that had been haphazardly thrown in a bun. Furthermore, he could also notice in the light the packet of painkillers and migraine tablets lying opened on the bedside - which made him freeze. Y/n didn’t get migraines often at all, but when she did Tom knew just how bad they could be. That explained the fact you were spark out at six o’clock, making Tom give a sympathetic smile. He crept back out the room with a little spring in his step, deciding that since he had had a long day travelling he'd grab a snack and join you. Unfortunately though, when he enthusiastically yanked the fridge open the sight was a rather depressing one. He didn’t really know what he was craving but the fridge contents were of almost no use to anyone. The place was bloody baron, apart from a tub of butter and of course his special beers that Y/n would never dare touch. With a small huff though, Tom resigned himself to some bread and butter, before getting ready for bed.

It was probably an hour later when Tom was carefully crawling under the duvet to settle in beside Y/n after the disappointing snack and maybe a solitary ‘welcome home beer’ - it would be rude not to. God was he excited to just have his girlfriend in his arms again though. So, Tom naturally reached over and powerfully yet gently pulled you back towards him - making your back flush with his as you mumbled something incoherent. Chuckling slightly at your apparent annoyance of being disturbed, Tom pressed a kiss to her temple before settling down momentarily.

But something wasn’t quite right, making Tom shuffle about a bit - ever adjusting huis grasp on your waist as he attempted to get comfy. With the migraine medications forcing you into a deep deep sleep you barely stirred and that just made the unease increase for Tom. Because you didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right. Ever so slowly Tom started to peel back the duvet from your body from his now sitting upright position. Typically, Y/n was wearing one of his hoodies, however more concerningly it seemed to pool and collect around your frame more than normal.

Now, Y/n was never the most petite person in the world - by no means overweight, instead of beautiful curves and muscle. To Tom now though, it was as if someone had literally shrunk you - like a picture on a word document you needed to make narrower to fit the margins. Even in the dim light of the bedroom he know realised you looked pale. Honestly, Tom didn’t know how long he just sat there staring at you, until you sighed a little and pulled the duvet back up to just under your chin.

He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew was you didn’t look well and that you hadn’t said a thing to him. Feeling so very uncomfortable within himself, Tom climbed out the bed and simultaneously grabbed his phone. He knew he had to call someone, to check that you hadn’t been ill - but then who to call? Someone that wouldn’t judge or instantly worry- your mum was completely off the cards. Also, he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yet, so really he knew there was only a couple of options who were close enough to him too.

“Hey what’s up?” “Um nothing much, back in the UK though so-“ “Oh shit really! Kept that one quite bro” “Yeh well came back to surprise Y/n” “Oh you're soooo whipped” “Fuck off Haz, have you um… have you seen her recently anyway?” “You're asking me if I’ve seen your girl while you’ve been away?” “I’m being serious. You’re pretty much brother and sister and I’m -I’m a bit worried.” “What? You know she wouldn’t cheat especially with me” Haz’s tone turned less serious, using a goofy accent “ I know too much.” Haz still attempted to lighten the mood, this conversation very unexpected and making him grow more and more concerned himself. “Haz quit it. I’m worried she’s been ill. I’ve come in and she’s asleep with a migraine but there’s no food in the fridge and she’s skinny as hell.” “Fuck er sorry I didn’t realise. But um no she’s been cancelling on us for the past like two weeks cos like…I don’t know said she was just snowed under at the firm so” “But before then?” “No yeh she was fine. Went to the pub a couple times and she always drove so didn’t drink but nothing weird - think she wanted to keep a clear head. What are you thinking?” “I don’t know to be honest mate. She seemed fine on the phone but I swear to god she looks half the size of what she was when I left.” “Just talk to her in the morning? She probably is just stressed if work has been mad busy.” Tom hummed in agreement, half trying to convince himself too. “Yeh yeh, sorry for bothering you.” “Oh shut up mate - I’ll see you both at your parents for the roast tomorrow? Sams got some new recipe I think, he’s been wittering on about it for days.” “Yeh we’ll be there, see you then mate.”

After signing off to Haz, Tom placed his phone on the little table on the upstairs hallway and sighed. He knew he was being over-protective but he couldn’t help it. Y/n was always the one to care for him, in fact to care for everybody int he room and then some.

He’d get to the bottom of whatever this was tomorrow, and so the rest of the evening Tom spent rather unhappily get ready before bed yet again before climbing back in next to you.

///////////////////////////

Tom woke before you, a combination of jet lag and the worry in the pit of his stomach meaning he stirred awake first. Instinctively he pulled you closer and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck as he slowly began to wake up properly - shrugging off the grogginess. Tom was still really excited for you to realise he was back, predicting you to excitedly hug him ever so tight and then spend the morning between the sheets. He knew you found the distance tough, especially when all your closest friends were coupled off, it meant you just didn’t have ‘your person’. It was almost as if you were single again and instead of pining over an ex, hopelessly and completely in love with someone across the globe. But that just made your time together even more invaluable and precious.

So even with his slight unease at your slimmer silhouette, Tom didn't have any control over the loopy grin that came to his face as you started to stir and mumble something incoherent, all the while (and subconsciously) inching closer towards him. By the slight fluttering under your eyelid, Tom knew you were waking up and so took the moment to tuck your frizzy bed hair behind your ear. Sighing contently Y/n’s eyes fluttered completely open and Tom met your gaze with the most gently of smiles.

However, he then watched moment by moment as your expression morphed for one of peacefulness and content, through confusion, and ending at pure terror. He had barely thought of asking you why, before you yelped, throwing yourself up into a sitting position and backing as far away on the bed as you could from Tom. “TOM... I-you can’t be here! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!” “Y/n hey what’s wrong-“ “GET OUT! G-GET THE FUCK OUT! YOU CAN’T BE HERE” you yanked the bedsheets to completely cover your huddled up body, as if trying to protect yourself. At this point, tears were streaming down your face and what truly terrified Tom was the expression of horror in your eyes. He threw his hands in the air and unsteadily stumbled to his feet. “O-okay I’m-“ “GET OUT!!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME GET OUT!” Completely bemused and shocked, Tom just nodded jerkily -already halfway out the door and accidentally slamming it in haste.

He had absolutely zero clue what that was about. But what he knew for a fact? He’d never ever seen you like that… you looked so completely terrified… of him? Tom couldn’t for the life of him work out what the hell was going on, as he paced from the shut door to the hallway wall and back again, running his hand through his hair throughout. He could hear you sobbing and whisper yelling - presumably at yourself. It felt as though his heart was being torn out, seeing you that upset and it appearing as his fault? He was acting on pure instinct and adrenalin because your pain hurt him too. He had no control of the physiological response in his body, making his hands shake and breathing increase in speed as it inversely got shallower too.

And so he took a short inhalation, biting his bottom lip as he knocked on the door. “Y/n?….” He got no response after waiting a couple of seconds so tried again - because he could hear you trying to stifle your sobs. After another two failed attempts he opted for a different approach. “Y/n… I’m worried about you… look, I know your upset right now but I need you to let me know your okay… or I’ll have to come in and…and I don’t want to spook you” “Don’t come in.” It was a sharp reply, with a voice that was cracked and clearly trying to keep It together. “Okay… I-I’m sorry if my surprise of coming home was a dumb idea…I-I’ve missed you.” Tom tried speaking softly, as he knelt down and sat with this back against the wall while nervously fiddling with his watch strap that he’d forgot to take off last night. Again he waited for a response but got nothing, again having to warn you he needed to know you were okay. He heard movements from the other side of the door, making him turn his head to the left, pressing his ear on the cool gloss paint. “I-I’m sorry” You barely were whispering, but Tom could sense you were now sitting in a position mirroring his “You don’t meed to apologise love” Returning her tone, Tom sighed at the end - trying to get his brain to process what was going on.

Y/n wasn’t one to overreact and Tom could count on one hand the number of serious fights they’d had in the three year romance. And even then, he was the one to raise his voice - when she argued it was more reasoned, slow and controlled. Actually it was one of the things that in those moments infuriated him even more - you were just so level headed and sensible. Scratch that, sensible purely in this context - everywhere else you were just as loopy as him. So this situation felt so very alien. He didn’t know how to help you and he bloody hated feeling useless.

After a few moments, you replied to apologise once again, for shouting specifically, and Tom nodded - not that you could see. But that was one of the things Y/n had taught him, sometimes you just have accept things - no matter the context. Accept he wasn’t actually a superhero and couldn’t do everything, accept that sometimes he could be a dick and out of line or accept an apology.

“Can you.. can you try and tell me why your upset? I want to help.” He was trying to be gentle, non-confrontational. But he knew something was so wrong. He needed to know so he could try and help out. “I…”Y/n began, but quickly trailed off, as if trying to formulate the words properly. “I’ve just been ill and” again another pause “and I haven’t been looking after myself very well. I just planned to be umm- to be better when you got back.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t really the truth either, at least not the whole truth. But it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m not sure I understand why your so worried about what I think though?” Tom inquired, as he started to fiddle with the door handle in his left hand - as if easing the idea of coming into his girlfriend without scaring you. In reply, you sighed again trying to put the words together without explicitly spelling it out to him. “I don’t- I thought you’d just be disappointed or-or think I’m reliant on you. I’m not and I can handle myself I just…. I don’t know.” “I love you, you idiot.”Tom chuckled at that, while standing up. “Can I come in now please? I promise I’m not disappointed just want to help you feel better.”

The door opened and no sooner could Tom take a step forward than Y/n ran into his chest, wrapping herself tightly around him in apology. He knew that he didn’t have the full story but really didn’t want to push her, more preferring to just love her. So that’s what they spent the rest of the morning doing, in their pyjamas and watching TV. Quite obviously, she wasn’t really making a lot of conversation, Tom filled some gaps with talking about filming - to which she’d hum in agreement or chuckle along. But for the most part Y/n was concentrating on something else.

The all-consuming guilt. That was what was eating away at her.

part 2?

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #Tom Holland angst

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chainofclovers · 3 years

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This Way Up season 2 thoughts and feelings

We finished watching the second season of This Way Up last night (watched it in two sittings over Friday and Saturday) and I liked it a lot more than I thought I would though the season did feel uneven at times. The story also made me feel incredibly, incredibly sad, and my brain is so cluttered with thoughts that I'm not sure I'll be able to actually make sense of the show if I don't just go on and share my impressions, as scattered, self-indulgent, and based on the limited memory of a single viewing as they are.

Where was I when I was watching this season of television?

Physically, I was on the couch with my wife, repeatedly remembering and forgetting that the Olympics were happening. And so, interspersed with this deep dive into the mental health and personal and professional challenges of London-based Irish sisters Áine and Shona, I experienced some archery, skateboarding (those bros honestly seem tooooo cool to even want to come to something as embarrassingly earnest as the Olympics, but good for them!), and men's gymnastics.

Mentally, I was contemplating some significant professional (and, yes, personal in their way) life events that are neither here nor there for tumblr dot com. I was also considering the season two premiere of Ted Lasso and my fannish relationship to that show. For it is true--the person I was while watching season 1 of This Way Up is not the same person who watched season 2 this weekend, because in the meantime a 45-year old white man from Kansas (and every person he knows) managed to become my primary media preoccupation, and I am surprisingly chill about how not chill I am about this anxiety-ridden ray of sunshine/football coach (both footballs). But as we all know, being chill does not mean feeling chill. That make sense?

Anyway. This Way Up. It's about to become a mess of spoilers and feelings in here, so venture behind the cut if you dare!

For Obvious Queer Reasons I was extremely curious to find out what happens between Shona and Charlotte and Shona and Vish. As such, while it was uncomfortable to watch, I think my favorite scene in the whole season is when Shona and Vish have video chat sex and Shona has this intrusive memory of sleeping with Charlotte that feels like the ONLY moment in the entire season that she isn't performing or editing herself in some way.

My other favorite moment is when Charlotte talks about how upsetting it is to feel like a "lesson learned" chapter in Shona's autobiography.

I cannot believe I'm about to type these words, but I think the writing on this show might actually put too much trust in viewers to pick up on things. I know, this never happens! This is my dream! Why am I typing this? But hear me out. I think there are a lot of interesting parallels in terms of whether Shona and Vish (established, engaged, committed) and Áine and Richard (new, taboo [but is it really that crazy that she ends up dating the dad of someone she tutors?], exploratory) are truly able to listen to each other and accept each other's needs. It's about honesty or lack thereof, and it's also about what's really happening inside someone's mind. It's such an incredible moment when Richard tells Áine he likes that she's always so "up" and she has this private moment where you can see this heartbreak in her eyes because of course we know that she really struggles with her mental health and with depression. And I like that the show has both Bradley and Charlotte in the position of being on the overlapping outside of those relationships, offering their own wisdom from a place of really, really caring about Áine and Shona. But I just wanted MORE of that. This episodes are so short, and I needed there to be more of a tight story about those parallels, more of a sense that we'd hurtle towards some kind of revelation by episode 6.

I realize this is a thing about UK shows, but these seasons are just too short. The episodes are like 24 minutes long and there are only six of them and I felt that while you could create an effective season of TV with those constraints, this season jumped between scenes too frequently. I wanted to live in the scenes for longer. I didn't want to feel like I was watching the editing and decisions about what to show happen before my eyes.

If season 3 happens, my second biggest dream is that Bradley and Áine can have a conversation following up from the observation that it would be nice to be with someone they're just comfortable with (spoken while they're slumped on the couch together having one of the warmest conversations two characters share all season). My biggest dream is that Shona and Charlotte can have a respectful conversation about how Shona defines her sexuality. I want Shona to be safe explaining if she'd want to use the term bisexual or queer or pan or even lesbian or some combination of those terms. Not because the labels are the most useful thing, but because in this case it would be incredibly useful for her to force herself to choose some words, not in the context of feeling Vish-related pressure. To be brave enough to describe herself, and to be safe enough to know that Charlotte isn't going to make some snide comment about men. It's totally fair that Charlotte is so hurt, but she needs to be able to listen, too.

I do think this season does an incredible job capturing Shona's intense ambivalence about herself, and how she is SCRAMBLING to deflect from that by focusing on her sister, work, family, wedding-planning, the hen do, basically anything but dealing with her own little brain and heart. I mean, when COVID starts to arrive in their lives, it feels like she really wants Vish's asthmatic uncle to be the golden ticket they need to call off the wedding.

I have mixed feelings about how frequently Áine references the feeling of being an actor or the feeling of experiencing things as someone might in a movie or show or the feeling that someone else is treating her as an actor or character rather than as a real person. I think it's an interesting thing to write about, but upon first watch I struggled to figure out if it was a commentary on the other parts of the story or an additional thread Aisling Bea wanted to weave into an already incredibly short season of TV.

It was very jarring to have a COVID plot. The only mainstream media I've seen so far with a COVID plot is--LOL (to quote Áine, who says LOL so many times this season)--the final scene of the Saved By the Bell remake. Again I say LOL!!! I didn't hate it or love it, necessarily, I just thought it felt strange because we're still in the pandemic and everything is strange.

Everything with Tom was so, so, so painful. I don't know if I can even get into it. I just felt visceral devastation and was hurtled into strong memories about people in my own life who died prematurely. (Suicide but not only suicide.) The way the last scene ended felt like--immediate tears just pulled from my eyes without me even realizing what was happening. And God, the way Tom-in-the-flashback calls her a "soppy cunt" (I think?) and we realize Áine used those exact words to jokingly refer to Richard's previous girlfriend who was a human rights lawyer? GOD.

While Áine and Shona don't really engage with each other in the same way my sister and I do, my sister and I are also really, really close and I'm the older sister and watching this show always gives me a lot of emotions about siblings. This is actually part of why the rapid scene cuts and feeling that they both were leaving so much unarticulated stressed me out. Áine nails it at the end when Shona has finally told her about Charlotte and she says Shona needs to tell her more, but I wanted to SEE that conversation happen. I wanted to FEEL Áine's reaction, because Áine's reaction matters more than Vish's or their mother's or anyone else's. It was frustrating!

I dunno, y'all. I really love this show. I think it is exactly what it wants to be. I could not tell you today if I will ever rewatch it even though I (think I) still consider it a favorite. I honor and respect the fundamental messiness and pain and hilarity of this show. What a wild experience.

#this way up #this way up spoilers #meta by me #cw suicide #about me #this is all over the place but then again I am all over the place

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shield-agent78 · 3 years

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Winter’s Lessons: Crashed Into You~ Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Clint x Reader (platonic), Clint x Bucky (platonic), Steve x Bucky (platonic), Reader x Steve (platonic), OOC x Reader (platonic) Sam x Bucky (platonic)

Warnings: language, mentions of sex, anguish, fluff, children with disabilities, mentions of autism, a little sass, cocky Bucky

Rating: R

Summary: You’re a school teacher for students with special needs who is passionate about her job but has neglected taking time out for herself. He is handsome, cocky and an Avenger. What happens when a newfound relationship just might turn out to be exactly what you both need?

Word Count: 3238

Square Filled: holding hands Marvel Fluff Bingo @marvelfluffbingo

A/N: Thank you to my beta @mindingmyownbusiness Dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Dedicated to: @one-crazy-writer @averyrogers83

Since childhood, you had always wanted to be a teacher. You adored your students and they seemed to respond well to you. However, because of budget cuts, you had not been given a contract for the next school year. You stood in your classroom packing up the few personal items you had left off of your desk as your teacher’s aid walked into the room.

“So what are you planning to do y/n?” Laura sighed, as she helped you place your last remaining items into your box.

“I’m not too sure yet. I’m just thankful that I have a little time to think it over. Bucky said he wants me to come and visit him for a while so I think I might just take him up on his offer.” You grab your box as you and Laura walk down the hall of the school to the parking lot.

“How long have you two been dating?”

“8 months now," you respond happily. "He is something else.”

“I’m sure he is.” You give her a wink with a small giggle as you loaded your box into the trunk of your car. She gives you a supporting hug before leaving you to make the two-hour drive to the compound.

(Fall-8 Months Ago)

“Miss Y/L/N, does this look ok?” Darius asks as he looks up at you from his desk. His little eight-year-old hands hold up the card he made for his very favorite Avenger, the Winter Soldier. On the outside, it is a crude picture of himself with Bucky Barnes playing on swings. You beam with pride. He is doing so well in class. You had taught Darius, for over a year and a half with a special curriculum designed for students with autism. He now knows his numbers and letters and can read some basic sight words. "Miss Y/L/N do you really think that he will like it? You know he is my very favorite Avenger." You stoop down and examine his card closer as you take his little hand in yours and help him sign his name.

“I think he will love it, Darius.” The little boy looks up at you with his large chocolate eyes and smiles. His large smile could touch his eyes without even trying. Suddenly there is a knock at the door. You stand up as you run your hands down your black pencil skirt. Look professional, breathe, and they will have fun. Secretly you are as excited as your students and thankful that you had chosen your favorite black skirt with black and white blouse for today. “Ok, guys let’s give them a warm welcome,” you announce to the class. Seven little faces beam up at you as they all smile and look excitedly at the door. The kids have waited so long for this day and they can’t wait to meet their favorite superheroes.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself and open the door where you are presently surprised to have three of them visit with your students. Clint, Steve, and Bucky stroll into your classroom with a round of cheers from your students. They take turns introducing themselves and shaking hands with you as well as each student. As they mingle and talk to the students you look upon them in awe. Especially one Mr. Bucky Barnes. He seems to take a liking to the students immediately. His Greek god-like features make you nervous. You watch him intensely and notice he spends a lot of time hanging out with Darius. Bucky’s eyes find you as he gives you a slight smirk. You blush knowing that you just got caught checking him out.

“So what do you think of him?” Laura, your paraprofessional, asks as she bumps down the temperature in your classroom. You eye her suspiciously as she just shrugs. “It’s 100 degrees out today and we have three very hot guys in this room….Besides, you asked me to…”

“Keep me from saying anything stupid, and keep me in check,” you mutter as you tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear eyeing the men as they visit your students.

“And?”

“I think I said, I was hoping the Greek god would cool me down not heat me up!” Laura throws back her head in laughter which in turn catches the ears of Bucky. He excuses himself from Darius and begins walking toward you two.

“Here comes the Greek god,” Laura mumbles playfully.

You look up with a wide-eyed expression. “Who has a great sense of hearing, remember?” you retort through a gritted smile. She gives you a wicked smile as her green eyes shine brightly. “Don’t you dare…”

“Me? Now would I ever do anything that would embarrass you Miss Y/L/N?”

“Every chance you get,” you giggle “but I’ve known you for how long? And outside of work you would any chance you get. Don’t you remember when…” Your words trail off as you come face to face with a set of bright blue eyes. His hair pulled back loosely, scruff, stonewashed jeans, and a black polo with the Avengers symbol on the left breast. Oh god, help me. Breathe y/n, breathe. “Augh, hi Mr. Barnes.” Laura turns and lets out a small giggle walking toward Clint who is asking about your curriculum and teaching style. You both know your job here will be might be ending this year due to budget cuts so she is determined to put a good word in with whoever on your behalf no matter when or where.

“Bucky, please.”

“Bucky.” The name tastes like sweet honey on your lips and you know right then you could get drunk on his name with just one taste.

“I was just wondering who is in the photo behind you?” He motions to the shelf behind you with his right hand as your heart stops for a moment.

“Pic…picture? Oh,” you spin around and look at it for a moment. It is a young man in a Class A Army uniform. You turn back around and smile. “My grandfather. He, ugh, he served during World War II in the South Pacific.” You beam up looking into his eyes. He smiles at you and your heart skips a beat again.

“Where are you from?”

“Y/H/S (your home state).”

“So how did you end up here? I mean in New York?”

“I wanted an adventure,” you answer honestly, “and a change of scenery so here I am. It gives me a chance to make a difference and experience the world I guess. My family thinks I’m crazy for it but you know… .” Bucky stuffs his hands in his pockets looking at you intensely for a moment.

“I think it’s very brave of you and shows that you are willing to do whatever it takes to make a difference for kids especially these here.”

“Th..thank you,” you stammer as you make your way beside him for a moment stooping down to hand Sara her card she made for Captain America. She reaches her little hand out as she rolls her wheelchair closer to Steve. She is a huge Captain America fan. You can’t help but laugh for a moment as she reaches out with her small hand and grabs hold of Steve’s right arm.

“Do you have a girlpen? Can I be et? I wike you avot.” She asks dead serious-looking up at his face. Steve smiles, stoops down and takes Sara’s small six-year-old hand in his large one.

“I think I may be a little too old for you, Doll, but you can be my best little friend until you find a boyfriend.” Sara ponders his response for a moment and then smiles widely as she hugs Steve content with his answer.

“Sorry, you were saying?” You turn and face Bucky for a moment. He shifts nervously from one foot to another for a moment while stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“How about you? You have a boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Well, in that case, can I get your number or better yet “On fait quoi ce soir?” (What are we doing tonight?) He raises his eyebrow in question with a smirk. You process his words quickly thanks to the little bit of French class you had in college. You give him a stern look; the one you give your students sometimes, and he knows immediately his cocky play won’t work with you. He opens his mouth to try again as you raise your eyes in question. This stops his next cocky remark dead in its tracks. You're not like the other modern-day girls he has dated. Just because he is an Avenger that is great eye candy doesn’t mean you are going to run into his open arms begging him to take you in more ways than you can imagine. “Coffee date?” he chuckles.

“Coffee sounds nice. Here,” you take your blue pen and scribble your number down onto a pink sticky note handing it to him. “Call me Bucky and we’ll go from there. Please.”

“It’s a date doll,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease, “ I mean y/n.” You feel your cheeks pink up as you return his smile.

By the end of their visit that afternoon, Bucky found a small friend in Darius and had your successfully scored number stored in his phone.

(October)

“I can’t believe you gave him the teacher look,” Laura states, pouring you a cup of coffee. You are sitting at a small table overlooking Central Park. The fall leaves of golds and oranges rushing in the trees make the park lovely this time of year.

“And I can’t believe you are working here where I am about to have a date with Bucky.” You sigh looking nervously down at your phone twisting it loosely in your hands. “He should be here in ten minutes. What if he doesn’t show Laura? What if he really doesn’t like me. He is an Avenger and damn good looking. Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into?” You ask staring out the window with a sigh.

“Y/N. Stop it,” she snaps. You turn your attention back to her as you hear the bell of the quiet shop doorbell ring as it is pushed open. In steps Bucky Barnes. His hair is framing his face, the right amount of scruff on his face, maroon Henley with a pair of dark jeans. A small smile creeps onto his face as he sees you sitting at the table. Your breath hitches and you don’t know whether it is him or not but right now you have to will your body to breathe. Laura looks up to see what has caught your glare as she whispers “breathe and smile,” before walking away as Bucky approaches you.

“Hi. Wow, you look beautiful doll.” He stares truthfully moving to sit down on the cushioned chair in front of you. You can’t help but smile. You had only changed ten times looking for the right dress to wear before deciding on a light mingled fall color hauteur dress. The matching blue sweater discarded around the back of your chair for ten minutes now. Yes, you had been early but Laura had calmed your nerves, well at least some of them.

“Thank you.” You shake your head in disbelief. No man has ever got you feeling this way and now you nervously fidget with the corner of your flowing skirt. Bucky gives you a smirk reading you perfectly. Of course, he does.

He clears his throat before speaking snapping you out of your trance. “I’m glad you agreed to meet me. I really had my doubts you would.” You cock your head at him in question.

“Why?” You ask while taking a swig of your coffee.

“Just because you're not like the typical dames, I mean, women I date. You’re, well, you’re not impressed because of my job nor care to bang me just because of it.” You almost choke in your drink and have to cough to cover up a slight giggle. Bucky gives you a wide-eyed look for a moment as you gain your composure. Boy, he is a cocky son of a bitch, you think.

“No, I’ve never been the type of wham bam thank you ma’am type of woman I guess. It’s fine for others but not me.” Secretly you're hoping that he's not that type of guy. Bucky shakes his head yes in understanding. His jaw set firm for a moment before speaking.

“Good to know because I’m tired of girls like those.” You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. He takes a sip of his coffee Laura has just put down in front of him. “Hey, don’t you work with her?” His eyes knit together in question.

“Yes, she’s my teacher’s aide. Laura works here part-time to help pay her bills; it’s hard for her to make a living on a small salary.” You give him a small smile as you take another sip. “Why did it take you forever to call me?” You ponder out loud. It’s been a month since you have given him your number.

“I was on a mission,” Bucky answers bluntly. You feel your body tense up from his tone. You didn’t mean to sound so bitchy. Great, you are blowing this big time. He eyes you as you glance down nervously at your cup then back up. Bucky can’t help but notice your embarrassment and he now regrets his tone as well.

“Oh, I augh…I’m glad you are ok. Sorry I didn’t mean to sound, I don’t know, like a bitch about it really…” Bucky shakes his head no and it stops you dead in your tracks.

“No, no please don’t apologize,” he says quietly as his eyes soften. He reaches out and rests his large hand on top of yours sending calming vibes throughout your body. “You would have no idea.” Your body immediately relaxes from his touch, causing him to give you a small smile. “Trust me, I wasn’t blowing you off I promise it’s not like that because when I see something I want I generally go after it.” Your face becomes flushed at his words as you give him a small smile.

“Good to know.”

You two spend the next two hours getting to know one another. He asks you questions about your family and grandparents. You ask him about him and what he enjoys most in this modern time. The conversation comes easy and by the time the sun is starting to set all you want is for him to ask you out again. Bucky takes your hand softly in his and walks you out of the coffee shop down the street. You shiver slightly in the cool autumn air and pull your sweater close around your body.

Bucky stops and moves in front of you. He removes his black bomber jacket and drapes it around your shoulders.the coolness of his left hand sends delightful shivers down your spine. He gives you a cocky smile and pulls you closer to him. You stand there frozen for a moment trying to make a comprehensive sentence, however you are lost in his sapphire eyes. His eyes flicker to your lips and back up almost asking for permission to kiss you. Your lips part for a moment to speak but nothing comes out. He cups your face with his right hand stroking your pink lips slightly with his thumb. He bends down and softly tastes your lips. His kiss sends shock waves through your body. Your lips move in sync with his almost like they have been waiting for his plump lips since the beginning of time.

After a moment Bucky breaks the kiss.“Go out with me again. In fact, date only me. What do you say, Doll?”

“Ye-Yes," you stammer as your heart races so fast that you know he can hear it. Bucky looks down at you and smirks.

“So,” he drapes his arm around your shoulders as you both continue to walk down the sidewalk “you know I’m at the compound now upstate.” You hum in agreement still coming down from your high. “We have to work out the distance thing.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing that I have my cottage in upstate New York.” You snuggle closer to him enjoying his warmth.

“Cottage?” He gives you a sideways glance. “How can you pay the rent in two places?”

“The cottage I inherited from my grandparents. I’m up there almost every weekend and especially on breaks. Why?”

“Like I said when I see something I want Doll, I usually go for it hard,” he answers cockily while giving you a smirk. You stop walking and look up at him. His cocky soldier ways work great on the battlefield but that is something he doesn’t need to do in order to impress you and you hate the name Doll he keeps using. What are you? Plastic or something. Might as well address that now.

“Are you always this cocky Winter?” You tease. Buck cocks his eyebrow at you giving you an amused puzzled look that you can’t help but giggle at.

“Winter?” He draws the word out slowly as to be testing it on his lips.

“Yep just figured if you were calling me Doll I needed to call you something as well.” You say with sass.

“So I gather you don’t like Doll. Hmm how about honey?” He takes his large hand in yours. You shake your head no as you scrunch up your nose.

“That’s even worse. Sounds like I’m Winnie the Pooh or something,” you answer giving him a teasing smile that Bucky returns.

“Ok, how about Darlin’?” He questions with an eyebrow raised. You smile widely and he knows right away that is what you like.

“So Darlin’ it is.” Bucky chuckles causing a small blush to creep up onto your cheeks. He pulls you closer to his side as he walks you to your black Accord. You click the unlock button on your remote and he opens the door for you as you slide into the driver's seat. Bucky leans down and kisses you again softly. “I’ll call you tonight Darlin’.”

“You better Winter.” He beams down at you as you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Oh, your jacket!” You hand it to him. Bucky pulls it on now having it smell like your perfume. He knows Sam will probably rag him about it but he could care less. You kiss him on the cheek and drive away as every fiber in your body is calling out to you to stay.

(Later)

“How did the date go with Y/N?” Steve asks as he plops down beside Bucky at the kitchen table.

“Yah man,” Sam joins in, “You haven’t told us anything. She’s not like the typical girls you bring home.”

“Whatcha mean by that Bird Brain?” Bucky growls glancing up at Sam as he takes a bite of his burger.

“Nothin’ man, just that she’s smart, attractive and seems to really like you.” He notes each one my checking them off on his fingers. “Damn you must have done something to impress her.”

“Guess so,” Bucky grumbles. “Or, maybe I’m just damn lucky.”

#marvel #bucky barnes #avengers #robin writes #steverogers #clintbarton #sam willson #marvel fluff bingo #winter’s lessons #nicolasfam #bucky x reader #darlin' writes #mcu fanfic #avenger fanfiction #marvel fanfic series

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athrialuxegna · 3 years

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Stronger than she thinks Part 4

Triggers warning: mental and physical abuse, violence, swearing

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Fanfiction | Archiveofourown | Wattpad

The warm sun rising woke me up. My body felt sore, I have fallen asleep on the roof. My watch indicated that it was 4 a.m. I growled and get up. I needed a shower. My walk back to my apartment was silent, no one was up. I jumped into the bathroom and came out only an hour later. I needed to take care of myself. I dressed nicely in black shorts and a sleeveless top opened in the back, revealing my sports bra. I spent some time doing my hair so that my brown curls would bounce on my shoulders. When I look at my reflection in the glass, I felt fake. My appearance didn't match my inside.

I changed the broken string of my guitar and played for hours. Music kept my demons away. A knock at my door stopped my daydreaming. I put my guitar aside and look at the clock, it was already ten a.m. Time has passed by in a blur. I sighed and opened the door carefully. Harrison was on the other side. He seemed tense, his grey hair outlining his striking blue eyes as well as the dark rings under them.

"Hey, Chris," A small smile grazed his lips.

"Harri' come in," I ushered him, opening the door fully.

He stepped in and sat on the couch as he usually does. We had a sort of father-daughter relationship because of the age gap between us. He neared his fifties as I was going on my twenty-six. I tried to smile in a poor attempt to ease the atmosphere.

"Want something to drink?" I offered.

He declined silently, avoiding my eyes by staring into space. I knew what bothered him. I have kept my rape from him although he could have helped me. Harrison always had my back. Five years of working together had forged a strong bond. I have ruined it by confessing to another person, one of his fellow leaders.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to process the whole thing before letting anyone know." I apologized, it was no use to beat around the bush.

"Why Eric? I'm not jealous but I'm wondering how it happened to be him." He stated, sincere curiosity twinkling in his eyes.

"Eric cornered me. I had no choice but to tell him." I explained plainly.

"Interesting. I've never seen him so concern. I think taking care of children had rubbed on him after all. It's not a bad thing I guess." He remarked while laughing.

His joyful persona had returned, his bright smile adorning his face. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Eric becoming soft. I had witnessed this side of the young leader lately, just glimpses that confirmed that he was not as heartless as everyone depicted him.

"I hope he will not be watching me from now on," I replied dryly.

Memories of the night before rushed back to me. Eric's body against mine, his hands on my hips. Our bodies moving in sync to the blasting music. I swallowed thickly. I didn't know how to interact with Eric anymore. We were so close then I broke the spell by singing my feelings before disappearing. It sounded so cheesy although it had been intense.

"I heard you made a show last night. I wish I was here to hear from you." He confessed tenderly.

"Maybe you'll have some other occasion to hear me. I think I need this to get better." I said truthfully.

"You can count on me, you know that Chris. I'm here for you no matter what." He assured, his eyes plunging into mine.

"I know Harri. Thank you."

I sat on the couch next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. Harrison would never hurt me in any way. He was the only man I trusted most in the faction. He had proved more times than I can count that he was reliable on all levels.

"How is it going?" I asked finally.

"Well, we had a meeting early this morning to discuss the situation. The investigation is pretty much finished. All proofs are against Brent. He will be judged within a few days."

"Had Max told you anything about my suspension, yet?"

"No, he might extend it for a few more days to make a point. Don't worry, honey, your job is safe. You know we need you." He smiled down at me.

"You need me because you'll be lost in your papers in no time," I remarked, teasingly.

"Touché!" He exclaimed, putting a hand on his heart.

I couldn't help but laugh at his antics. My face dropped at the knock on my door. I hadn't expected any visitors and now I had two. I excused myself and get up to open the door to... Eric. My surprise was long-short as I heard Harrison coming behind my back.

"Hey, Eric! I was just on my way out." He said with an overly enthusiastic tone. "See you, Chris." He shot at me before making his way into the hallway.

I stood still a second, processing the situation. Eric was staring at me with an unreadable expression. I shifted to the side and made a sign to invite him in. He entered and shut the door behind him. I felt small and ridiculous. I should have known that he wanted an explanation about what happened last night. I didn't even know what to say to ease the awkward tension between us.

"Look, Chris, we danced that's all. We had a good time that's what matters." He stated, his deep voice as cold as ice. "Max wants to see you, that's why I'm here."

I opened my mouth then shut it multiple times like a fish out of water. Stunned by his words. I didn't expect things to go so fast. I wasn't ready to share this horrible night with anyone. Let alone, Max. And I was oddly bothered by the way he acted. The leader's façade returned, crushing my chances to guess what was going on in his mind.

"I'm not ready." I blurted out finally.

Eric turned deadly serious, he crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes fixated on my own. I couldn't look away, even if I wanted to.

"You have to Christine, that is an order." He said in a dark tone.

I shivered uncontrollably and adverted my eyes to the floor. I hated him for doing that.

"Don't do this ever again. My trust is limited." I huffed in irritation, taking my jacket from the counter kitchen.

"So is mine." He hissed in response, body tensing.

"What's your problem today?" I muttered under my breath while lacing my boots.

"Stop questioning and hurry up." He retorted with an annoyed sigh.

I kept quiet, even when we walked to Max's office. I didn't dare look at Eric. Dread crept upon me as we neared the door's office. I was ready to bolt away, but Eric caught my wrist before I could make a move.

"Don't even think about it." He growled. "You only have to do this once then it's over." His voice strained.

I gulped down the lump in my throat and took a deep breath. Eric opened the door and dragged me inside. I almost lose my footing as I stumbled into the chair in front of Max's messy desk. Mountains of papers and piles of folders covered the wooden furniture. Back straight, head held high, I fought against the urge to puke all over my shoes. I hated to be the center of attention.

"Christine, I'd say it's good to see you if it was under other circumstances." Greeted Max. "I know it's hard for you, but we need your testimony for the investigation. You can take all the time you need." His smooth voice could have eased my nerves if Eric wasn't standing in the corner of the room, gawking like a hawk.

"Hi Max, I agree. It would be better for other reasons." I answered, careful to not let my voice falter. "Hm, it was last Monday night. Brent found me in the Pit. He wanted my help for something, or so I thought at the moment, I don't really remember what it was about... I think he claimed that members were organizing fighting sessions there, making bets and exchanging points or something like that."

It was difficult to walk down memory lane. Images came rushing through my mind, poisoning my every thought. I took a deep breath, eyes fixated on the pen Max was holding. I couldn't look at him while I was picturing Brent right in front of me.

"Anyway, he dragged me in the old quarters to check it out. I didn't know something was off until he pushed me into a dark room. I..." I swallowed thickly. "I didn't have time to react because he hit me behind the head with his gun then he... He began to take my pants off... I... I was too knocked out to fight him. He... He took advantage of me and I couldn't..." My throat got tighter at every word. "I couldn't do anything while he... he raped me. Then, he threatened me, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone or he... He was going to make me factionless."

I didn't see their reactions, I didn't need to. The tension filling the room was enough to know what was crossing their minds. Before any of them could utter a word, I added:

"I don't want anyone to know about this aside from the people already involved. If that's even possible."

"I'm afraid that's not, my dear. Dauntless law demands a vote from all members to establish a punishment. But we can keep your name out of the victims' list if you want to."

I only nodded in response. My nails were digging in the armrest of the chair, my knuckles turning white under the pressure. My heart lumped in my chest when Eric took a step forward. I could see his black combat boots in my peripheral vision.

"Did he use a condom?"

Heat rose in my cheeks and my breath caught up in my throat. I didn't expect that question. I lowered my head a little more to avoid their pointed stares. Recollecting this night was harder than anything that I have ever done. I felt everything all over again. The pain coming from his bites on my skin, his fingers digging in my hips, his pantings in my ear, the pain between my legs as I was begging for him to stop. Brent overwhelmed all my senses. I wasn't in the office anymore but in that dark room with him.

"Chris? Christine?" Eric's voice forced me out of my memories. "Did he use a condom?" He repeated, his voice smoother than silk.

I closed my eyes for a brief second. If he didn't use one, there was a possibility that I was pregnant. How didn't I think about it? When was my last period? Not a clue. My mouth felt dry.

"I honestly don't know," I whispered in disbelief.

"You should go see Marlene check this out, it's better to do it sooner than later." Advised Max. "We'll announce Brent's trial tonight, the vote will be held in five days from now on. You're suspended until the end of the week."

My head shot up instantly. Harrison told me that he would extend my suspension, but it still hurt. I loved my job because I felt useful, purposeful. I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest to prevent both men from seeing them shaking.

"Look, I know this is about me beating the shit out of Brent. I won't apologize because he deserved it, but I'm sorry for breaking the rules of 'no fighting outside rings'. I get it, I messed up and it's not tolerable for someone close to leadership but give me some lack. I've never broken any rule before, I've been obedient and followed orders my whole life, you can't do this to me. I need my job, Max, please." My voice wavered at the end.

Max get up and walked around his desk, hands clasped behind his back. He spared a long look at Eric who nodded in response. Their silent conversation put me on edge. I should have shut it. I just proved that I was unstable. Great move, dumbass. Max stand right in front of me, careful to keep a decent distance between us. His sympathetic look gave me the urge to slap him across the face. I didn't need his pity, but I needed my job to keep me from going insane. If I didn't have anything to focus on, I might lose my mind and do something really stupid.

"It is not really a suspension as you understand it." His thin lips stretched into a comforting smile. "Think of it as vacations. You need to recover and take care of yourself first, Chris. My decision is not to be discussed."

I huffed in response but didn't push any further, Max was not someone to disagree with. I stole a glance at Eric. He nodded slightly his head as to ushered me to keep a low profile. Well, at least someone was on my side. One that I would not have imagined.

"So, what am I supposed to do until then a part of taking care of me?"

"I've heard that the Child Care Service needed someone from time to time to watch the kids."

"I'll think about it," I answered while looking at Eric, an eyebrow raised in question. "If that's all, am I free to go?" I asked, already out of the chair.

Max dismissed me by pointing the door with his head with a small smile. I turned on my heels before doing or saying something I might regret. One question lingered in my head, did Eric asked for me to work at the Child Care Service, or was it, Max?

#ericxoc #ericcoulter #eric coulter #eric divergent #divergent #divergentfanfiction #fanfiction #four #max

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fangirlingincamouflage · 4 years

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Blind Hope Chapter Six

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: ??? (I can’t remember) Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer: I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals. I make no money from this fanfiction. TW/CW: Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

You Are Here

Chapter 7

Looking back, it was easy to ignore his messages for the first two weeks. You had work to get lost in and pain meds to dull everything. Between your cracked ribs, the stitches in your head, and fielding calls from people who meant well but took up too much energy to talk to, it was pretty easy to act like you had every intention of responding to Nick, without ever actually getting around to doing it.

"I'm awake," his first message said. "They said you already were released. What happened? Are you okay?"

It hurt. It hurt to read. It hurt even more not to respond. But you did it. You told yourself it was for the best. Being with you is what got him hurt in the first place. Sure, you could blame bigotry, and you'd be right, but that doesn't erase what happened, and that you were at the core.

"I know what happened was scary. Please, just talk to me." Another message says. "I just want to know you are safe."

You don't respond to that one either. You know what you'll say. You will tell him that you are perfectly okay. That it's fine. Just a scratch. Sure, your head got busted open and you are on some impressive pain killers. And yeah, you have to change the bandage twice a day because stitches are no joke, especially those on the head. And sure a chunk of hair is missing from where they shaved it to put said stitches in place. But does any of that really compare to what he went through?

"I'm okay if that's what you're worried about. It looked worse than it was."

You know exactly how bad it was. It wasn't like you just gathered your stuff and left after Nick's mother stopped in and delivered her bomb of truth. In fact, once the shock of her words had worn off you'd gotten yourself pretty riled up with a lot of thoughts that centered on how-dare-she. You'd gathered up[ all of your things, and stormed up to the Intensive Care Unit, you'd argued with a nurse, you'd begged and pleaded until they let you in to see him. And, if you are being honest, compared to Nick all you had was a scratch. Tubes were shoved up his nose, forcing him to keep breathing while needles fed him medication and hydration. The natural blue splotches on his skin did their best to hide the bruising, but it was too easy to see that the damage had been done. Gone was the coppery vest, all he wore was an ugly hospital gown and medical tape. One eye was swollen shut, one hand looked like it had seen the wrong side of a hammer. Or, more likely, a boot. He'd whimpered when you'd touched him, in pain despite being pumped full of who knew what.

That's when you had decided that Elizabeth Jakoby had been right. Being with Nick would have been selfish. Yes, he made you happy. Yes, his kisses made you light up. But was any of that worth the pain it put him through? No. Of course not. You needed to leave. And you needed to cut the relationship off. He'd get over you. He'd find a nice orc woman to settle down with. He'd be happy with his garden and his badge. He didn't need you. And he certainly didn't need another trip to the hospital.

So you called June and let her mother you into bed, and promised yourself that no matter what messages Nick Jakoby sent, you'd just ignore them. Sure, you knew it was bad form to ghost him. But you also knew that if you tried to actually break it off, it would kill something inside of you. Some tiny glimmer of hope that there were still good people in the world.

Those first two weeks were easy. They came before the new flower delivery, and the card that only had "I'm sorry," written in his hasty, blocky script. And then came the uber eats driver delivering from the Indian place you'd had your very first date. And then came the movie tickets and a little notecard saying "I'll be here, at seven this Friday. I hope you will be too."

You made yourself sick throwing the ticket in the garbage. You'd even poured week-old leftovers on top of it to keep yourself from digging it out. That night you invited June and her wife over and the three of you watched cheesy movies until dawn, if only to keep you from dwelling on where you rather would have been.

You got your stitches out. You were given a clean bill of health. Your hair grew back. Two weeks turned into two months, and then into half a year.

You went on dates. Some weren't too bad. Somewhere horrible. But no matter how nice the date was, or where you went, all you could think about was sharing a loaded waffle with a guy who saw the greatness in the universe. All you could do was reach up and feel that scar on your forehead and wonder 'what if?'.

"This is ridiculous." June flopped herself down on the couch. She was wearing her favorite orange and yellow pajama set. She had a plate of chocolate cake in one hand, and a fork in the other. She was eating her feeling since the love of her life was out to sea again. It made for a good excuse to buy a cake and have a sleepover. You are pretty glad that you have a best friend who still likes sleepovers. "You should call him."

"Listen, June, I know you thought we were perfect for each other but-"

June's demielf eyes narrow to cat-like slits. "Oh please."

"June, it was just two dates."

"And?"

"How much can you really know about a person in two dates?"

"You know when I decided I was gonna marry Em?" she asks.

"Well, you proposed on-"

"Date one."

You pause. "What?"

"I knew before the end of date one that she was the person I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. I knew it like I know the sky is blue and Versace does bold prints." She waves her hand through the air.

"That's not possible."

"Oh, it is. I realized I was doing everything I could to make her laugh because the sound of it was the best music I'd ever heard."

You can't help but remember Nick's laugh, and the way it came out too loud and honest. Your heart sinks into your stomach.

"And I wanted to keep ordering food, just so we could stay there longer," June continues.

After your first date, you and Nick just walked, walked until the only place you could go was home. You'd never wanted the night to end.

"But what really sealed the deal was how bad I wanted to see her again, even when we'd just said goodnight."

"But," you say, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest. "Couldn't it have just been an infatuation? Wasn't it just potential? Time and effort are what made it love, not your first date."

June shrugs. "Sounds to me like you are trying to convince someone in this room, and I'm pretty sure it's not me."

You lapse into silence as the words ring in your ears. Who are you trying to convince? You know that you had an amazing time with Nick. You know exactly what it felt like to laugh with him, run your hands across his shoulders, kiss him. You know that it was the exact mix of easy and heart tingling. You know that if ever there had been potential for something great, it existed in those two nights with Nick Jakoby.

"It doesn't matter," you say. "I wont get him hurt again."

June sets her plate aside and takes your hand in hers. "Sweetie, I get that. I do. But..." She takes a deep breath. "Listen, I don't know if you are ready to hear this but I'm going to go ahead and say it anyway."

She shifts her place on the couch until she is facing you, your hands cupped gently in her own. The look she gives you is one of kindness, but no-nonsense. It's a mother's look.

"I feel like you are about to ground me for doing something dumb," you say, trying to be light-hearted.

"Kind of. I mean, I do think you did something stupid."

You start to pull away. "June-"

She takes your hands again, more firmly. "You did. You did do something dumb. I love you, hun. I really do but this time? This time I think you screwed up."

"How? By protecting him? By making sure he never has to be in that hospital bed again? June, you didn't see him it was...it was-" You can't even bring yourself to say how bad it was.

June's hands tighten ever so slightly. "I know, sweetie. I know. It sucked. I know how seeing you hurt made me feel, and I can only imagine that it was worse seeing Nick like that. And I can only imagine how guilty it made you feel. But honestly? None of that matters."

"Why not?"

She blows out a soft breath. You can see a hard line of tension in her shoulders. She closes her eyes and when she opens them they are filled with a steady resolve. "Because you didn't even give him a choice. And hun, that was shitty." Since you rarely ever hear June curse, you know exactly how much she must mean this. "I know why you did it. I get it, but I don't really agree with it. You hurt yourself, which was your choice. But you hurt him too. You didn't give him an explanation, and you didn't give him closure." She holds up a hand before you can interrupt. "I'm not saying every person you go on a date with deserves a point by point explanation for why you don't want to see them again. But we both know that Nick wasn't just some date."

"I knew he'd try to talk me out of it."

June shrugs. "Maybe. Probably. But after getting hurt the way that he did, don't you think that he deserved the chance to try?"

Guilt drags at your stomach. You shake your head and pull your hands out of her grip. She lets you.

"I don't know that I'd have been strong enough to tell him no."

June shrugs. "Maybe because you shouldn't have."

You make a sound in the back of your throat and reach for the remote. "Come on, the show is-"

The words you were going to say die in your throat. The screen is filled with a news broadcast. A pretty woman you barely notice is talking about a fire downtown. The words Bright, officers down, possible magical terrorism hang like an ugly miasma in your ears. A picture of Nick superimposes itself over the fire.

You don't even remember getting up. You don't remember grabbing your coat. All you hear is the jingle of keys as you head to the hospital you ought never to have left him at.

#nick jakoby fanfiction #fanfiction #bright 2017 #nick jakoby #nick jakoby x reader

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wordsfromthesol · 4 years

Text

You’re a what...(3/4)

Author: @wordsfromthesol Taglist: @zalladane @ghost-brocolli Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Summary: Your life is turned upside down when you suddenly land in Gotham. Thankfully Dick is nearby and knows way more than he lets on. Warnings: Language, violence Word Count: 2.1k

Part One Part Two Part Four

You thought Dick was just dropping you off with Diana, you had no idea that he was coming with you. That was until Dick motioned for you to follow him. You watched as an old grandfather clock moved away to reveal a dark staircase.

“Are you trying to murder me?”

“Oh, just come on. I have a surprise for you.”

“Who even has a secret lair in their house?” You questioned as you descended the staircase. The concept of vigilantes was known to you, but you didn’t dwell on it. Humans did unexplainable things all the time.

Dick led you over to a case, with a costume in it. He threw his arms up, as if to reveal some great treasure. “I had it made for you. Some armor, some gadgets, lightning proof. It may help you in this supposed fight.”

“You make superhero costumes?”

“Well…I didn’t make it. But I know a guy. He, uhm, made mine.” Dick ran his hand through his hair.

“You’re one of those nutcases that runs around the city! Oh man, it all makes sense now. Tell me, I’ve looked down on so many of you…but I could never figure out why they…you…do it.”

Dick just shrugged, “It was a way to cope. And then I realized I could help people, help people who couldn’t help themselves. I could save people.”

“I guess the gods aren’t known for their charity work. The concept has always baffled me.”

“You mean you’ve never seen someone in danger and just wanted to help them?”

“Not much I could do from up there. Guess I just became desensitized to it. Humans are all sorts of fucked.”

“Yeah, well now you’re a part of the club.”

“Joy,” you said accompanied with a dramatic eyeroll, “So where’s Diana?”

“Her and Bruce should be here any minute. Let’s suit up.”

“Let’s?! I’m sorry. What? You’re not coming.”

“Well I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“I won’t be alone, Diana will be there.”

“But you don’t know Diana or trust her. So now I’m going.”

“You can’t just GO to Tartarus!”

Just as Dick was about to refute your statement, Diana and Bruce waltzed in, clad in their costumes. “What, you two change your minds? Come on, get dressed!” Diana urged you along, ignoring the intensity of the situation she just interrupted. As the two of you stalked away, she turned to Bruce, “You should have told her.”

“Why? So she could throw a fit about Dick going? Then just try to go on her own, so none of us went along? I recognized the type. This way was better.”

“And you still want to go? Have you forgotten that few mortal men get back out of Tartarus?”

“I trust you to get me out…and I trust her to get Dick out.”

There it lay in front of you. The entrance to Tartarus. The beginning of your journey. The answers to your growing list of questions.

“I sent Hermes ahead. Persephone should be expecting us, though it will still be no picnic getting to her. Lost and tortured souls will be swarming around us until we get to the ferryman. Don’t worry, they cannot hurt you…physically.”

“I didn’t even think about that…” you mumbled, thinking no one heard you until Dick grasped your hand and gave it a light squeeze before the two of you trailed behind Diana and Bruce.

No one had a mental breakdown on the way, so things were looking in your favor as you approached a large chamber room. Guess the gods don’t like change. You chuckled to yourself as you noticed the similarities to the Olympus architecture. Both Persephone and Hades emerged from a nearby door.

“Y/N! I was wondering when you would find your way here!” Persephone exclaimed in delight.

“Well, you were my first guess as to how I was transported out of Olympus. Really good timing to, dad was berating me with marriage again.”

“Honestly, I don’t know why my brother thinks marriage will solve all your problems. It’s not like he treats his own with any respect.” Hades eyed both the Amazon and you, as the evidence was right in front of him.

You really didn’t want to talk about this in front of…well any of your compatriots, but you had no other option. “Uncle…the world won’t be thrown out of balance if I chose not to marry…right?”

“Is THAT what that asshole told you? Pft, he acts so all-knowing. Y/N/N, honestly, I don’t know. But that’s because no one knows! We are stumbling around in this universe as much as them.” He gestures towards the mortals in his presence. “You can’t base your decision on anything he says. Zeus just wants to keep you in Olympus. There are…repercussions…for staying on earth.”

“Oh don’t sound so dramatic, dear. The ‘repercussions’ are you won’t be immortal. You’ll age similarly to the half-Amazon you brought with you, oh and your powers will not be as great. As you have probably noticed…your dad just doesn’t want to be stuck alone with Hera forever.” She could barely choke out the last sentence as her words were laced with laughter.

“Well, I wouldn’t either. She has made my one thousand two hundred and six years up there miserable.” You let out a fake laugh, as if the torture meant nothing. “So, you did pull me out then?”

“I did. But it was at the request of your mother. She hated that you were brought to Olympus in the first place. She wanted a human life for you.”

“But…why now?”

“Well, souls get lost here. Maybe something, or someone,” she eyed her husband, “reminded her of you.”

“Can I…uhm…can I see her?”

“Afraid not, my sweet niece. Inside these chambers, you are safe, outside your mind can become easily corrupted and twisted.” Hades went over to embrace you. “Oh I have missed you. And it seems our visits will become more infrequent.” He watched as your face twisted, processing all the new information.

You were always closest with Hades, even though you lived at separate ends, he always seemed more like a father than Zeus. “Uncle, I just…you are so willing to let me live my life. To try and be happy. Why can my father not do the same?”

“Because your father is what he’s always been. Selfish, childish, and power-hungry.”

At this point you had nearly forgotten you were in the company of others, telling your uncle all the secrets and experiences you had had over the past few weeks. It was inevitable, after you let out the good memories, you knew it was time for the bad. You needed more answers.

“He’s been in my dreams…” The room instantly grew warmer, and your three companions exchanged worried glances. Dick went as far as to slide next to you and take your hand in his. The small comfort allowed you to continue. “Uncle, Hypnos hates my father. Why would he let him into my mind?” You shook your head and forced back tears as the memories resurfaced. “He showed me horrible things. He made me fell horrible…the most pain I’ve ever felt…it was all so real.”

“Hypnos is in my domain! How did my brother get passed me?!” Hades temper had surfaced, yelling for answers where he would receive none. The room was silent as he came down to a simmer. “Persephone, check all the entrances, place more hell hounds at the gates, do whatever it takes. We are going to see Hypnos.” He turned and finally noticed your fingers interlaced with the mortals. “You two come with me. Amazon, mortal, stay here.”

“Uncle, he really doesn’t need to come.”

At this, Hades anger relinquished, and a knowing smirk now graced his lips. “For some reason, I think he does.”

The three of you entered a small chamber, where a stout figure sat clad in an array of glittering jewels.

“Oh! Visitors! Well I haven’t had visitors…well, it’s been a very long time!”

“Hypnos, I think you know why we are here.” Hades pointed towards you.

“I was wondering how long it would take.” Hypnos stood, playing with their fingers, not daring to look you in the face. They remembered the dreams that Zeus had been plaguing you with. “I…er…he.”

“It was your children, wasn’t it?” You asked solemnly, finally realizing the only thing Zeus could hold over them.

“I didn’t…and those things…what you felt…saw. I’m sorry.”

“Was there any truth to it?” You looked up towards Dick.

“Truth? It came from Zeus’ twisted mind. He only wants you to suffer.” Hypnos glanced down at your hand, now clasped with Dick’s, “Though angering the gods, when you have a loved one to lose, is never wise.” You untangled your fingers from his at Hypnos’ words.

“Is there anything we…I can do to stop him from invading my mind?”

“Well, for now, I can make it so you won’t remember the dreams. But you will still feel them, in the moment.”

You waved off the idea, “No. That won’t work. Guess I’ll just have to go to the source directly.”

“Y/N…if I may…bring Zeus to earth. He will be more vulnerable. Especially if you can convince Poseidon to either join you, or to stay on the sidelines.”

“Hypnos, has my dear brother come to you each night? Has he entered MY realm each night?”

“He does.”

“If he does not come, do not plague my niece with dreams.”

“Of course not,” as the three of you began to leave Hypnos chirped after you, “He was quite angry when you went three nights without sleep!”

Good.

You met up with Diana and Bruce, but as you began to call the ferryman, Hades pulled you aside.

“My dear niece, do not let what Hypnos said deter you from love. I know without my dear Persephone, I would not have been able to endure half of tribulations that have come my way. Yes, it gives you a weakness to be exploited, but it allows you to exploit it as well. To be willing to do anything and everything to hold it close…Your father does not know this. He does not know true love.”

You nodded, but it was clear your mind did not comprehend the levity of his words just yet. All you could see was Dick’s lifeless body in your arms. Walking back over to the group, Persephone called the ferryman, and turned towards you, whispering.

“I did not place you on that pier by accident, Y/N.”

Everyone made it back to Themyscria, and then the Batcave without any hitches, much to your surprise. Mortals were not just allowed to enter Tartarus alive and leave alive. You noticed the confused look on Diana’s face as well. You turned towards her.

“That was weird, right?”

“Which part?”

“Well Bruce and Dick just being allowed to leave...”

“Oh yes, that was…unexpected.”

“What else did you think was weird?” At this point, you were even more confused. What happened while you were with Hypnos? Before Diana could answer, Dick’s bewilderment overtook him.

“I’m sorry, Hades is nice? Like he was acting…well like a father? To you? He didn’t try to kill us? I’ve been lied to!”

You chuckled, “Stop going off of Hercules, Hades is not ‘evil’. He has been more like a father to me than my own. He didn’t choose to rule the Underworld and he didn’t choose to be cast out by the rest of the gods.” You finally understood Diana’s confusion as well. The Amazons were told stories from Zeus. They never truly knew either. Hell, you were born way after the fact, the only reason you knew is because children ask too many questions. And it just so happened to be to Hades, one of the few times he came to Olympus.

“Though a history lesson would be riveting, we need a plan.” You could always count on Bruce to keep things on track.

“Well, step one is to get my dear old dad here on earth.”

“Any idea how?” Dick looked at you with a worried expression. He knew this would not bode well for you.

“I think I can persuade him. I’ll summon Hermes when we have an actual plan. I also prefer sooner than later, since we couldn’t get the dream thing worked out. Who knows if my uncle can actually keep Zeus from the Underworld.”

“Are we trying to kill Zeus? I’m afraid that would not bode well for humanity.” Diana chimed in.

“No,” you blatantly stated, trying not only to convince everyone else in the room, but also yourself. “Unfortunately, we can’t kill my father.”

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

01 | Over the Moon

→ next chapter

→ summary: You feel isolated in the vast American country with no one but your older brother and your six rowdy friends to keep you company. But when they disappear without a trace, you're left with nothing. Nothing until you become dragged into the world of the mob. The mafia world promises glory, fame and big bucks. But that comes with backstabbing, pain, regret and vengeance behind the veils. You're not ready for that alone. Are you?

→ genre: 85% angst, 15% fluff | mafia!au

→ warnings: profanity, death, graphic depictions of murder/torture, mourning, drinking

→ wordcount: 11.6k

The whiteness of the room is blinding. The lights above are almost excruciating. But most of all, the silence is deafening. As if there's nothing alive and breathing in the room.

But there is.

The only visible signs of life are six men dressed clad in shades ranging from deep blue to black. They are standing completely motionless, but their faces are contorted with all kinds of emotions. Their expressions speak in anger, frustration and exasperation.

Some of them are panting quietly for breath—sounds that can only be heard if you have a sharp hearing. Others have perspiration dripping down their brows—none of them make a move to wipe it off. All are stiff in stance, glaring at one another through their cold, unnerving eyes.

There's no doubt about it—tension is in the air.

One man shifts his weight from his left foot to right. He clears his throat, straightening out his crisp, black suit in the process. "That's enough."

The tension is sliced in half. Chaos chases out the silence.

"What do you mean it's enough? I stand by my original opinion, and I'm not allowing the rest of you to distort it in any way."

"But it is enough, Namjoon. Sit down, will you? All of you."

There's the loud rustling of the men's slacks as they obediently take their seats. One man stays standing; he radiates power and dominance in his aura, staring down at those seated below him.

"I still don't think it's right, Boss," Namjoon tries again. "He wouldn't have wanted this at all." Namjoon wipes the excess sweat off his brow, shaking his head in disdain. He's in the spotlight, daring to voice his thoughts. "Granted, he wouldn't have wanted to die either, but look how things turned out."

"You're wrong, Namjoon," another man scoffs. He crosses his legs and glares at Namjoon. "He did want it. He said it in his goddamn will! Stop arguing with Jin, because frankly, he's the boss, not you!"

"Calm down, Hoseok," Seokjin sighs, shifting his weight on his other foot. "You are to address your superiors by their titles..." he trails off, brows furrowing as he becomes immersed in his thoughts.

"Fine," Hoseok huffs. "Underboss, I frankly think it's right to follow the exact words of his will. Why would he bother to write a will if we don't even heed to it?"

"Hoseok," Namjoon groans in frustration, "we need to interpret the will accordingly. I just don't think taking things too literally will help us. Yoongi? Some help here."

The man who had been leaning back casually in his chair coughs in surprise. "You were doing just fine," he mutters. "I think the underboss is right," Yoongi sighs. "We need to be pragmatic about this—"

"You and your fucking pragmatics," Hoseok spits out. "Let's face it. You two are the only ones with different opinions. Majority rules."

Yoongi doesn't answer. He suddenly takes a disinterest in the conversation and sinks back into his seat, refusing to speak. Namjoon takes the action as a sign to start his defense. "Jungkook and Taehyung barely count," he scoffs. "Jungkook follows everything Taehyung does and Taehyung follows everything the boss says—"

"Hey!" Taehyung yells, suddenly standing up from his seat. "You trying to call me and JK fucking backboneless?"

"I still think our opinions matter..." Jungkook frowns. "Boss?" He looks toward Seokjin for help, but Jin doesn't answer, lost in his own thoughts.

"I'm just saying what we're trying to do is obviously wrong," Namjoon argues.

"And you call yourself a lawyer?" Taehyung laughs scornfully. "Don't you think it's too fucking late to say what's right or wrong?"

"Show some respect to your underboss," Yoongi scolds. "And it's funny you're trying to talk morals, Taehyung. Need I remind you of your own sadistic antics?"

"Fuck you!"

"Let's not be so vulgar," Yoongi retorts.

"You know what? In the end, it's up to the boss to make the executive decision," Namjoon says, quirking his brow at an obviously fuming Hoseok and Taehyung. "So I suggest we all shut up and listen."

All eyes are on Seokjin, now, waiting for him to say something, anything. The man sighs, finally sitting down at his seat. He scans the eyes of the other men in the room, his own eyes cold and calculating.

"I say majority's right, this time," Seokjin declares. "We're down one man, morale is low and we need to fill the gap. If she's smart enough... as smart as him, we'll be in good hands."

"And if she isn't? We're putting a lot at risk," Namjoon says.

"The only risk we're putting in is the detrimental effect it'll have on your mentality," Jin replies. "You don't want her here because she'll remind you of him. You can't bear to have anyone that reminds you of him walking around our halls. I understand and respect that, Joon—" he takes a small breath "—but we need her help... As much as she needs our help."

"And how do you know she needs our help?" Yoongi challenges.

"Her brother's dead, and she doesn't even know."

Unemployment is the best and worst thing that's ever happened to you. Sure, you have no idea how you're going to spark the start of your career or how you're going to explain to your parents why your economics degree isn't paying off student debt. But you also have all the time in the world. All the time in the world to binge-watch your favorite TV shows, that is.

If your parents were here, you'd probably hear an earful from them. The "why can't you be more like your older brother?" type of shit. But the thing is, jokes on them, your brother's literally been MIA for a good six years now.

In fact, you've been covering for his poor ass ever since he decided to drop out of his prestigious college. (Which your parents still have yet to find out about.)

But you suspect they might never find out. First off, your parents are more than 6,000 miles away from you and your brother, so the only earful you get from them is on the phone. Second, they're calling less and less these days. Ever since you and your brother turned eighteen, they've been more lenient, suspecting both of you were CEO's of prospering law firms or hospitals. Third, you're a nasty good liar, something your brother had taught you very well.

You kind of miss him. He's the only blood relative you have in this country, anyway. Your parents are 6,563 miles away in South Korea, while you're stuck in the oh-so-jolly United States of America with your brother.

Then again, he was supposed to protect you, to care for you, ever since he and you had moved to California with your parent's best wishes for both of you to strive for a spectacular education. But to give him a bit of credit, your brother had been by your side since you were in seventh grade to your senior year in high school. And to give him even more (possibly undeserving) credit, he'd helpfully guided your hormonal thirteen-year-old self into the delights of American society when he was only fourteen, himself.

But he ditched you nevertheless, and you're all alone.

Well, you weren't completely alone, you suppose. Sure, your host family was okay, but they had never understood the perils of your teenage angst like your brother had. And besides, it's nearly been six years since you've moved out of your host family's home. You're truly alone now. With no one but sweet Netflix to solace you and coax you to wake up to a new day.

You and your brother are probably the biggest disappointments to your parents, ever. Technically, this time, your brother's the bigger disappointment (for once) because at least you got your master's degree in economics. Your brother never even showed up to his first college class.

God knows where the fuck that man is.

Sure, he always sends you ungodly amounts of money every month—you suspect he's made himself a goddamn CEO of some obscure company—but you would very much rather have his presence than his money.

As much as you're bitter from his unexplained absence in your life, you still desperately want to be in contact again. And he did help you find your passion for economics in the first place.

It's funny because you always thought your brother would hit it big and become some world-wide famous brain surgeon; he'd always been the smarter one of the two of you. Well, your brother was smart, but he definitely wasn't smart enough to control his stupid infatuation with the mafia. And once your brother becomes passionate, there's no fucking way out.

The last you remember, he had been conducting intense research about the most notorious mafia bosses of the 1900s. One time, he'd made you memorize all the positions in the original Italian mafia—you'd given up after he tried to make you spell out 'consigliere.' Another time, between the summer of his high school junior year and senior year, he'd tried to convince your host family to fund his “educational, enlightening and beneficial' trip to Sicily, where 'the original mafia was founded.' ” His words, not yours.

He was insane, that brother of yours.

The worst part was that somehow he'd managed to find friends that would help fuel his idiotic passion for the mafia. Damn his excellent social skills (that you very much lack). Honestly, if you had his brain, you would've definitely not wasted it on researching deadly gangs.

But his friends became your friends and that was that. Except they had all left you in pursuit of something that definitely wasn't education.

At this point, you wouldn't be surprised if your brother disappeared only to continue his crazed mafia research with his best friends. Maybe he's lying undercover somewhere like the total goof that he is, trying to sniff out LA's most notorious criminal gangs. It's a thought that makes you scoff every time.

He should be twenty-four right now, just a year older than you. He should still be in school, getting the proper education you and your parents expected him to get. But noooo, he just had to go off to do his own thing. And now you're left to make excuses for him on the phone.

Last week was your mother's birthday, and when she asked you where the hell your brother was, you had to make up some intricate lie that he had to attend a doctor conference.

Whatever. At least that dumb bastard sends you a generous monthly allowance. You have better problems than to scrounge around looking for your brother—who, you may politely add, is a grown-ass man.

You're twenty-three, unemployed, single as fuck and lost in this vast nation of supposed opportunity. You need to find out what to do with yourself first before looking for your brother. In fact, you should probably stop watching Netflix this instant.

You should probably get dressed and get out there to greet the world with your unemployed status in hopes of landing a stable job your parents would approve of.

And so, as a woman of your word, you do just that.

You're in the middle of looking for your purse when someone knocks on the flimsy door to your apartment.

Weird. You don't usually get visitors.

Ditching the effort to find your purse, you stumble over to the door, trying to peek out of a small hole you've been telling yourself you had to fix for the past three months. But that attempt is futile. The hole that you had always convinced yourself was noticeably large was obviously not large enough for you to discern anything on the other side of that damn door.

You sigh. If it's some murderer out in the middle of the day ready to stab me to death, at least I won't have to pay off my damned student debt.

But you digress. When you open the door, to your slight disappointment, you don't see a murderer. In fact, you see two people—two vaguely familiar people.

"Jungkook? Taehyung?"

"Hey, Y/N," Taehyung smiles.

"Hi." Jungkook waves shyly from behind his friend.

You stare at them, shellshocked and frozen. You haven't seen Jungkook and Taehyung since your brother decided to jump out of your life. They are the subject of vague memories of laughter and good times shared that you'd pushed to the back of your mind as time passed.

You figured Jimin's decision to quit college had something to do with his friends. And now here they were.

"Is Jimin with you?" you ask, unamused and definitely not returning the friendly smiles.

"Ah, that would be a no... Well, as of now, no, at least." Taehyung shrugs. "We've actually been looking for you."

"Oh?" You raise your eyebrows. "Really? Because I've been looking for you. Well, not you, but um my brother actually. Park Jimin? I hope you've heard of him."

Jungkook chuckles softly. "Haven't changed much, huh?"

"I guess." You cock your head, brows furrowing as you think. "So... do you want to come in?"

"Sure!" Taehyung grins, marching right into your humble abode with Jungkook right by his heels. "Nice place, by the way," he comments, looking around at your rather neatly organized living room.

"Thanks," you mutter, closing the door. Taehyung and Jungkook have already made themselves at home on your couch. "So... did my brother set you up to do this? He usually sends letters when he mails me the monthly allowance, but that lazy ass hasn't even been doing that these days... Is he busy?"

Taehyung chuckles, shaking his head. "Jumping right to the chase, huh? Not even a hello? Or a 'how are you doing, Taehyung?' C'mon, don't you miss us? We hung out a lot as kids, remember? The whole lot of us. Right, JK?"

"Right, Tae."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "All of you left me."

"We're sorry," Jungkook replies almost immediately. "We didn't mean to ditch you or anything..."

"Yeah? Well, that's exactly what you did," you say. "Just... Where the fuck is Jimin?"

"Damn since when did you fucking cuss?" Taehyung snorts and not to mention totally ignores your question. "Has it really been that long?"

"Answer my question, Kim Taehyung."

The man raises his eyebrows but speaks. "He's not here, Y/N," Taehyung sighs. "Um... but, it looks like you're doing fine without him, you know? Lookin' good." He grins goofily, saluting to you, but you're unamused yet again.

"Why are you guys even here? I honestly could've sworn you were dead just by how MIA you were."

"Ah... that's..." Jungkook looks down at his feet.

"It's about Jimin, actually," Taehyung blurts out, standing up.

"Oh, lord," you mumble. "What kind of trouble is he in, this time? Do I need to bail him out of jail?"

"Listen," Taehyung says. He stands up, his previous silly demeanor replaced with a serious one. "We... Well, you have to come with us."

You raise an eyebrow. "Just because I was friends with you six years prior doesn't mean I'll spontaneously follow you to wherever."

"But Jimin's waiting for you!" Taehyung exclaims. "Don't you want to see your brother?"

"Well, of course... but—"

"Listen, sweetheart," Taehyung sighs. "You—"

"No, YOU, listen," you interject, raising up your hand. "You can't just expect me to waltz back into my brother's life again. He... well, all of you, ditched me for a reason. I don't know what happened for all of you to change your minds but..." You sigh. "Besides, if Jimin's waiting for me, why didn't he come himself?"

"He's not in the best condition, you know? He's gone down with some cold, and we don't want him to get worse now, do we?" Taehyung says. "We know it's been six years, Y/N. Don't you think that's all the more reason to come visit us? We've missed you, after all."

"Just one, small, quick trip to our house," Jungkook says, fidgeting with his hands. "You'll meet everyone else there! It'll be like a reunion."

You blow air out through your nose. "Like the old days," you mumble.

"Like the old days!" Taehyung exclaims.

"Jimin's not in the best condition, huh? He was always so susceptible to the weakest of viruses," you shake your head. "And you guys have been living together without me? Some kind of family."

"We didn't want to bother your studies," Jungkook says. "Jimin, Taehyung and I all dropped out of college, and Jimin didn't want to become a bad influence on you."

"Right..." you say, eyebrows crinkling in thought.

"But you've graduated, right?" Taehyung asks.

"Right."

"So come and visit us!"

You tilt your head sideways, staring into Jungkook and Taehyung's eyes until Jungkook looks away. You and Taehyung have the longest staring contest before you blink first. "I'm not going to contract whatever Jimin has, right?"

Taehyung grins. "I hope not."

"Fine." You sigh, rubbing your forehead. It can't hurt to visit your long lost brother. Maybe you can give him an earful and convince him to contact your parents. Maybe you can convince him to stop pushing you away? "I'll go."

Jungkook and Taehyung look as genuine as they did back when you had been close friends with them. And besides, if they wanted to murder you for whatever reason, they would've already done it. So you shrug and walk towards the front door. The purse you'd been looking for catches your eye; it had been wedged between some dirty old shoes. Picking it up, you turn to Jungkook and Taehyung. "We're not going to walk, are we?"

"Of course not," Taehyung snorts, catching up to you and opening the door for you as you walk out. "See that car over there? The nice, red sports car?"

"Yeah, is yours the minivan behind it?" you genuinely ask.

Jungkook giggles. "Actually, the red sports car is ours."

"What?" you deadpan. Dropped out of college, my ass.

"Well..." Taehyung snorts, helping you down your own steps. You protest by swatting his hand away, but he insists and persists. "Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok and Yoongi make the big bucks."

"Really?"

Jungkook opens the shotgun car door for you. "Yeah! Here, you can take the shotgun seat while Taehyung drives it responsibly back. No speeding, there's a lady present."

You snort, sliding into the nice leather seat. "Thanks."

"No problem," Taehyung grins, making himself comfortable in his own driver's seat as Jungkook takes the back for himself. "It'll be a forty-minute drive, so we better get all comfortable here."

"Um, yeah. I can think of several questions on the spot," you say, strapping yourself in just in time before Taehyung speeds off.

"Ask away!" Taehyung chirps.

"First off, what on earth do you guys do to afford this kind of car? Shouldn't some of you be drowning in student debt?"

"Namjoon's a lawyer," Jungkook pipes in. "Hoseok's a surgeon, Yoongi's an anesthesiologist and Jin's a head chef at some famous place he owns."

"Talk about successful..." you trail off. "What about everyone else?"

"Eh, school's disgusting," Taehyung chuckles. "I'm a waiter at Seokjin's restaurant and JK here's a cop."

"But that's better than being unemployed, though," you sigh. "What's Jimin been up to?"

"He's a bartender," Taehyung says. "Got pretty damn good at it too."

"Bartending, huh? Never really thought he'd be into that. Last time I saw him, he was obsessed with the mafia. Guess it's bartending now, huh?"

Jungkook laughs. "Yeah, I guess."

The conversation flows nicely after that. You ask question after question and Jungkook and Taehyung give you answer after answer. And by the end of the forty-minute drive, it's as if they never left you. You had been the closest to them in your childhood, anyway. You almost forgot how good it feels to have quality talks with your childhood friends. In fact, you kinda forgot what it's like to have a friend, so this was a nice change.

"Hey, we're here," Taehyung smiles. "Home sweet home."

"We're in front of a wall," you deadpan as Jungkook snickers in the backseat.

"It's a gate, silly," Taehyung snorts. "Just gotta punch in a code..." His fingers move lightning fast across a keypad, and suddenly the wall is separating, creating a small space for the fancy car to drive right through.

Your mouth drops open when you see the house, er, mansion, that's before you. "That's your house?"

"Home sweet home," Taehyung chuckles. He parks the car in front of the elaborate steps that lead to a large, white door. "Hold on," he tells you as he hurriedly gets out only to open the car door for you on the other side.

"Thanks." You get out of the car, unable to take your eyes off of the beautiful mansion. "I've been missing out..."

"You have," Jungkook grins teasingly.

"C'mon, everyone's waiting inside!" Taehyung calls from the top step. God knows when he'd sprinted up those stairs.

A sudden wave of relief crashes over you. It's been six years. Six fucking years. Now you can finally see your brother. You don't like to admit it. You rarely end up admitting it. In fact, you don't think you've ever admitted it.

But you look up to your older brother with all your heart. And you're more than elated to see him again for the first time in half a dozen years.

The moment Taehyung opens the grand, wide doors to the even more grandiose mansion, you sprint in without a moment of hesitation.

You're greeted by white marble floors, a crystal chandelier and an occupied glass dining table. Four familiar faces stare at your excited self. They've grown. The boys you practically grew up with, that is. Their faces becoming sharper, highlighting their features and their once wide, childish eyes, squinted and emotionless... Something about the way they sit elegantly on the dining chairs sets you off. And you can't really pinpoint what.

There's Seokjin with a new hairstyle that makes him look like a rich billionaire (and judging by the mansion you might even be right on your judgment). Then there's Namjoon who's lost all of his baby fat, his eyebrows creased slightly and his legs crossed casually. Hoseok's dressed to the nines, gold rings encompassing his fingers. Even Yoongi too... The kid who had used to be shy and awkward looks like he could murder a man with his gaze alone.

Your smile drops as you realize the person you wanted to see the most is missing from the mix.

"Where's Jimin? Is he in bed?"

Hoseok gives you a strange look before turning to Taehyung. "What did you tell her?"

That one little question makes your heart drop. You should've known Taehyung spits out lies easier than he blinks. You should've called him out on his bullshit the moment you had doubts.

Jungkook gives you a nervous look before he pushes out one of the dining chairs for you. You frown, looking between Jungkook and the chair incredulously.

"Please, Y/N, it's been a while. Sit down, make yourself comfortable," Seokjin soothes. "Everything will make sense soon." He gestures for you to take the empty chair, which was conveniently placed between his seat and Namjoon's.

You raise your eyebrows. "Jin? What...? What's going on? Joon?" you question, turning your eyes to the man who had known your brother the best. Namjoon averts his eyes, leaving you stranded in your own confusion.

"You didn't tell her anything?" Yoongi sighs. "The truth, I mean?"

"Why would we?" Taehyung defends sharply. But when Hoseok glares daggers into his head, Taehyung looks down at his feet.

It chills your blood to see your old-time friends like this. Cold, distant... serious. When you were younger, there wasn't a hint of tension at all between the eight of you. Now tension is all you see.

"Jungkook, fetch the document, please," Jin sighs, running a hand through his otherwise well-combed hair. "How have you been, Y/N? Getting by? Jimin always made sure to send you some money..." he trails off, giving you a small smile.

You watch as Jungkook scampers off, like a dog with his tail between his legs. Something just wasn't right.

"Y/N?" Jin asks, softly.

"Taehyung said Jimin's sick," you stupidly say. "I hope you guys haven't been condoning him to get in trouble."

"Not even a 'hello,'" Jin chuckles.

"Where is he?" you demand. You're getting a bad gut feeling and your eyes fleetingly glance at the doors behind you.

Jin notices your hesitation, smiling at you warmly. "Hey... hey, I'm still the same Seokjin you knew... You're safe here, Y/N."

"What do you mean, safe?" you accuse. "Are you implying that I wasn't safe before?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions," Hoseok snorts.

"Let the girl ask. She's confused, can't you see?" Namjoon bites back. "Things will make sense in a bit, all right?"

"Why doesn't it make sense now?"

Jin smiles patiently. "You see... it's a bit... complicated, Y/N. But we promise you, you'll be safe."

"Safe from what? Is Jimin that sick? Is he in the hospital? Shouldn't we go there right n—"

A document falls on the table, right in front of your seat, shutting you up. You freeze when you catch sight of the text.

"What is this?" you ask in a tiny voice as your body suddenly becomes cold. You laugh nervously and with shaky hands, you bring the document closer to you to inspect it. To see if your eyes weren't fooling you. "You're pulling my leg. This isn't what I think it is."

"Oh but it is," Hoseok sighs.

"Shut up," Namjoon commands. "Y/N... I'm sorry."

"W-What do you mean?" you breathe. "You expect me to believe this? This is bullshit. What do you mean you're sorry?"

Deny it. That's it. Be in denial. There can't be one single reason that that's true.

But the letters don't lie. You can't look away from the writing in a large, clear font, scrawled across the very top of the document. Last Will & Testament of Park Jimin.

Someone puts a warm hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you. "Please, read the will first," Jin says. "We'll explain everything. I'm sorry, Y/N. We all are..."

You clear your obviously dry throat. "No," you say as clearly as you can though you notice the hesitation and inconsistency in your voice. "You can't expect me to believe this. If you're going to play games with me, I'll get going. I didn't come here for a prank. I actually came here to see my brother."

You're about to push your chair away to stand up, but someone places a hand on the back of it, obstructing you from leaving. You look up to glare at this rude someone only to see Jungkook. He gives you an apologetic glance before moving to block your view to the entrance entirely.

"Let me go," you say through gritted teeth.

Seokjin shakes his head before looking you dead in the eyes. "Y/N... We're sorry."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Sorry that you don't know where my brother is too? You didn't have to cover it with his fake death."

"Are you stupid? You must be an idiot!" Hoseok sighs in exasperation. He taps his fingers impatiently on the table. "I'm done playing with your denial game. Face it. Your brother's dead, Y/N. Read his goddamn will before I lose my patience and read it out for you."

You stare blankly at Hoseok. "Dead?"

"Hoseok," Seokjin warns. "Y/N... I know you may have your doubts, but you have to trust us. That document... Jimin would've wanted you to read it."

"Stop," you command. The room spins and frankly, you feel a bit sick. "Stop acting like he's already dead. There's just... there's no way. He's twenty-four! He can't be dead now." You run your hands through your hair, feeling distressed and out of your mind. "He never even said goodbye to me..." you mutter. "He would've said goodbye." You shake your head. Tears that you didn't even know were there start to drip down your face. "I don't believe any of this."

"We can show you the body if you'd like," Hoseok shrugs. "But we don't want to do that now, do we?"

"You're serious."

"We wish we weren't, Y/N... We're sorry," Jin says. And he does look really apologetic. "Please... just read the will, and I promise I'll explain the rest to the best of my ability."

You're completely shell-shocked to silence.

There's no way he's dead. If he had been terminal or something, he would've said... He should've said something in his letters. It's not possible. I haven't seen him in person for six years. It can't end like that. And to hear this from his best friends?

Taehyung puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, tugging the will closer to you. He slowly picks it up, helping you grip onto the single piece of paper. At that moment, you come so close to ripping it apart to shreds. That damn will was the only solid proof you had of your brother's death. No will? No death.

But you know things don't work as linearly as that.

"You might have doubts, Y/N. And I understand," Seokjin soothes. "I know how hard it is to be on the receiving end of news like this. And I get that you haven't seen Jimin in years. You might even feel like you can't feel a difference when he was alive and when he's gone... I know that might scare you at the moment. And I know that's pushing you into denial, Y/N. But we brought you here for a reason... So, please. Give us another chance and read the will. Your brother would've wanted that. Most of what's on there is for you, anyway."

You feel numb. And you hate it. You hate that Seokjin's right. Jimin could've died a year ago, and you wouldn't have known; you wouldn't have felt a difference. Apparently, Jimin's dead now, and you still can't seem to bring yourself to fall to the floor and grieve like you mean it. You just feel twisted inside. Like you drank a glass of spoiled milk. But you can't seem to grasp the concept of your brother's apparent death. How can you when he was basically dead to you for six years? What difference did it make? He never contacted you anyway. If he really was dead, you wouldn't feel a difference at all.

God. You hate yourself for thinking about these things.

At this point, the sad, confused, frustrated and angry tears blind your vision, but you're able to make out the image of someone reaching across the table to hand you a tissue. You accept it gladly, wiping the tears with the best of your ability. Looking up, you see Yoongi, his stare completely blank and his hands holding out the tissue box for you. "Thank you..." you whisper, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

Then you finally let your eyes gravitate to the document. You've been gripping it so hard with your sweaty, shaky hands that the once clean, straight paper is slightly crumpled and damp. But that's the least of your problems.

Besides the printed title, the rest of the will is even in his handwriting. The scrawl is neat and in slight cursive—you can recognize Jimin's writing anywhere.

Your wet eyes take in every word your brother etched onto the paper with black ink. It's strange to read something so solemn, so straightforward from your lively, passionate brother. The will isn't long, but you take the time to reread every sentence, mulling over every word.

It isn't much, actually. Just states who gets what... And it seems like you've inherited everything he owned. Which, contrary to the mansion he lived in, wasn't much.

Unreal. This whole situation feels like a nightmare. And maybe you are asleep, and your mind is playing your greatest worries against you? You're praying to wake up any second.

But you never wake up, and the nightmare drowns you deeper as you come across the next line in the will:

If, by somewhat likely chances, I was murdered, I trust that Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook will take care of Park Y/N in their home; if my death was through natural causes, the following men should quietly send Y/N her inheritance.

You reread the sentence again. Then again. And again. You pull the paper closer to your eyes, hands shaking as you do so.

Maybe I misread it. Maybe I...

But you hadn't misread it. The line stays the same as your eyes painfully cross it every time, a part of you breaking off and withering away by each glance.

You feel dull. Shocked, yes, but already numb. Your thoughts are a jumbled up mess. There are so many questions, but you can't make out coherent words. Such a shame... You usually always know what to say.

If... If my brother had died through 'natural causes,' which I'm guessing pertains to illnesses... then I wouldn't be here. I would've gotten my inheritance with no strings attached. The fact that I'm here... Murder? My brother thought it was a somewhat likely chance that he would be murdered??

It's so crazy that there's no way anyone would be making it up. You can feel the shadow of doubt limping away. And what's left makes you feel more vulnerable than ever. Being able to read that will too... It was like an eye-opener. A call to you that Jimin was really dead. Whether you believe it or not.

"You need explanations, huh?" Seokjin sighs, nodding. He puts a warm, comforting hand on top of yours, but you're so cold, so far gone, you can barely even feel it. "Hey, hey..." he says softly. "Y/N?"

You're nodding through tears. "I don't know what to believe," you finally admit in defeat. "I don't even know why I'm crying. I'm just confused."

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I understand. It's a lot to take in. And..." he hesitates. "It's going to be a lot more to take in as well..." He looks at you cautiously to see how you're coping. And you seem to be doing better than he had expected because he continues on. "I need you to listen to me very closely and not let doubt or denial of any sort to block me out, alright?"

Seokjin rubs soft circles into the back of your hand as you nod very slowly. Yoongi hands you another tissue. (Almost as if he was preparing you for a huge breakdown.)

"Listen, I'm going to be very frank," Jin says.

He's treading water, you notice.

"You've heard of the gangs around LA, right?"

You frown. "What?" That was the last thing you expected to come out of Seokjin's mouth. Though a bit bewildered, you nod. "Of course I have. The brutal murders, the shootings, the stupid territory fist fights..." You trail off when the realization hits you. "J-Jimin... He... He didn't mess with them, did he?"

Your heart sinks in your chest when Jin doesn't answer right away.

"He was always so obsessed with the mafia. He didn't just follow them and get in trouble, did he? He's not that stupid, right? Please, Jin, please say something. Tell me that isn't true." You sound pathetic even to yourself, but you can't help it.

Now it seems believable. It's entirely conceivable that your brother had been murdered by some malicious gang members for sticking his nose in their business. And you don't know what to make of this new information.

"Well," Jin sighs. He softly grabs your hand, and his warmth makes you feel just a little bit calmer. "It's partly true..."

"God," you groan, pulling your hands away from his and burying your face into them.

"We're in a gang, actually."

The spoken sentence shatters you. "Come again?"

"We're the mafia, Y/N. Your brother... all of us."

It sounds so preposterous, you almost scoff. But you don't. Jin had told you to trust him, and insanely enough, you were instinctively doing just that. Besides, the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. God, it explains so much. And the color drains from your face as everything clicks. That would explain the ungodly amounts of money Jimin had sent every month. That would explain the mansion. The crazy good jobs half of them are holding despite being so young. It would explain why your seven best friends had left you—probably on Jimin's account because he definitely wouldn't have wanted you to be affected. It even explains why these six men in front of you aren't anything like the six boys you had spent your childhood with. Why they look so cold, ruthless... intimidating.

And you thought you were dragged here to see your brother. Ironic.

"How seriously are you involved?" you ask carefully.

"Seriously enough," Namjoon answers. "Seriously enough for it to kill your brother, that is."

You frown at that. "I feel obligated to believe all of this," you sigh. "I don't want to believe any of it too—"

"Do you really think we'd be lying?" Hoseok sighs.

"What else would you think?" you bite back. "I think I have every right to be incredulous at the moment."

"Of course you have every right to be 'incredulous,'" Hoseok says. "But you'd better save it for later. See, honey, we're the mafia. One of the many affluent gangs in this city, you understand? Two and a half days ago, your brother was murdered by an enemy gang member or two, and we have yet to figure out which gang and who in the gang..." He sighs deeply, raising an eyebrow at you. "We've recovered the body, but I don't think you'll recognize it anyway... That doesn't matter. What does is that your brother wants you to join us now that he's dead. Living in this house would mean your blood is with us."

You feel tipsy again. Dizzy. Nauseous. Numb.

"You ruined everything," Namjoon accuses, glaring at Hoseok.

You steady yourself by gripping the edge of your chair. "I think I need to leave," you finally say after a long pause.

Just walk away. Pretend as if nothing happened. Maybe in due time, you'll forget everything that had just unfolded in this room.

"Ohh, you wouldn't want to do that, sweetheart," Taehyung murmurs.

You raise a challenging eyebrow at him. "I can do what I want. Need I remind you that all of you kept me in the dark for years. And the moment you need me, you decide to call me over for whatever reason despite the fact that I don't want to be involved at all. And if all of this is true, that also means you let Jimin get murdered. I'm not going to join your gang—if it even exists. I'm out."

You force your chair back, nearly stepping on Jungkook's toes as you stumble away from the crystal table. Muttering a quick apology to the sad-looking man, you quickly turn on your heels before making a dash to the exit.

Just as you're about to heave the large doors open, a loud voice commands you to stop. And you do, just for a little while, meeting Hoseok's eyes. "I'm going to walk away like this never happened. I'd appreciate it if I'm never contacted again."

Hoseok scoffs. "Not a good choice. The moment you leave those doors and walk out of our territory, you're in danger. Do you really want to die as painfully as he did?"

"Hoseok..." Seokjin warns.

But Hoseok pays no mind, rolling his eyes. "It looks like they jumped him while he was unsuspecting."

You freeze.

"He had no weapons on him. We checked. Completely defenseless. They duct-taped his arms and legs together like a helpless animal so he couldn't move. Then, they beat him, crumpled up his body until bruises blossomed and bones broke. Pulled out a few fingernails and teeth. But slowly. One at a time. Managed to damage a few organs as well... Internal bleeding was pretty bad," Hoseok pauses, staring at you with a cold, hard look in his eyes. "Then they forced rubbing alcohol down his throat... and duct-taped his mouth shut."

Your legs shake so hard, they give out. Your body hits the cold, marble floor, but you don't feel the impact in your bones.

"And do you know how he died?" Hoseok says. "You would think from blood loss... or a concussion." He stares at you as if he were expecting you to nod your head and answer to a degree. When he realizes you're shocked frozen, he sighs. "Your brother asphyxiated in his own vomit. Had to examine it myself, actually. And Yoongi would tell you the exact same thing."

Now it seems too real.

The last image you have of your brother was when he was eighteen. And that's the image of Jimin you played in your head when Hoseok had painted the vivid pictures of your brother's murder. The innocent, passionate, caring person you'd known. Gone. Just like that. And in such a cruel, inhumane way.

It hurts in a way you've never hurt before.

"Y/N, you see?" Taehyung sighs. He walks over to you, holding out his hand to help you up. When you make no move to take it, he forces you up himself, carrying your frozen, shell-shocked body back to the dining table. He carefully places you back on the chair like you're a fragile doll and speaks, "Whoever killed him might be after you. Jimin's made quite a lot of enemies who would do anything to kill him and his family. And you're the only family he has in America."

"Your brother wants... wanted you to be safe. We want to respect that, Y/N..." Jin soothes. "For Jimin, don't you think?"

"For Jimin?" you whisper, shaking with fear, grief, anger. "For Jimin?!" The tears are drowning your face again. "You're going to use that against me? None of us knew what Jimin wanted! You can't just assume what anyone wants! He's dead! He's... dead. Only he would know what he wanted, but he's gone..." You sob, your fists shaking with overwhelming emotion. "I just miss him," you whisper. "Ah, thanks," you mutter quietly when Yoongi hands you the third tissue of the day.

"We all miss him," Jin says. "We also understand your grief, Y/N. We're not your enemies, alright? We're on your side, and we're here to help you. I know things seem dubious at the moment. I apologize but I'd like to stay true to Jimin's last wishes. The will speaks what he wants, and we're merely acting on that. But we won't force you to join our little gang...

"We want to give you time to make your final decisions while also keeping you safe in the meantime. You're welcome to stay while you decide. We're not horrible men, Y/N. We wouldn't force a resolution out of you if you're not in the right mental state."

"A-And if I walk out right now?" you challenge.

"That'll be beyond what we can handle. We can't promise your safety outside of our territory, Y/N... But yes, you may walk out right this second. No judgment, no troubles... from us, that is."

"I... I need time, Jin. I can't do this right now." Even to yourself, you sound defeated.

"Hey... It's alright. Here, I'll guide you to the room you'll stay in..."

God, they had it all planned out, didn't they?

You look at the magnificent doors behind you. And for just a split second, you contemplate leaving. But you can't. Not when these people are the only people left. With your brother gone, your parents, oh god, your parents, thousands of miles away... The only people you have left are your childhood friends.

Childhood friends that are apparently associated with the mafia. And you were incredulous in the beginning, but the more you watch how the six of them acted, how they carried themselves... You would be crazy not to believe they were in the mafia.

And as Jin places a comforting hand on the small of your back as he leads you to the room you'll be staying in for who knows how long, you can't help but wonder if Jimin, the sweet, caring and enthusiastic person you knew had changed like his friends.

The Jimin you knew wouldn't hurt a fly.

Now, you're not so sure.

The hallways of the mansion are elaborately decorated with aureate designs and classic paintings. The expensiveness of your surroundings makes you feel even more at unease. Are you making the right choice? Can you trust these six men? Is it too late to back away? Would your brother have wanted this?

A stranger to your panicked thoughts, Jin steadily guides you further into the mansion. Though the twists and turns of the hallways are confusing to you, he seems to know them quite well. Finally, he comes to a stop in front of a white door.

"Your room's on the other side, Y/N," Jin says, giving you a small smile. "There's no pressure at all deciding where you want to go. But in the meantime, I hope you can be comfortable here. If you need anything, ask Jungkook or Taehyung, alright?"

You nod, dumbly. "I can stay here as long as I want?"

"Until you make your decision," Jin says. "So, in a way, yes. You can stay here as long as it takes to make your decision."

You nod again, unable to come up with an answer of any sort. Jin notices your slight hesitation and puts a comforting arm on your shoulder.

"I know it's been a lot to take in, Y/N... And I'm personally sorry we didn't reach out to you beforehand... But it'll be like the old times, I promise."

"In the old times, we were a family," you mutter.

"We still are."

You make an unsatisfied grunt, shaking your head. "I don't think I was ever part of that family."

Gingerly, Jin turns you around to face him. Though you admit you're being a bit difficult at the moment (and rightfully so), he doesn't look frustrated at all. He crouches down, putting his hands on your shoulders, shaking his head and giving you a kind smile.

"You were always a part of the family, Y/N," Jin soothes. "But think of your alienation from us as an act of safety precaution. Believe me, the rest of us did want to tell you about our... involvement, but Jimin didn't want to put you in any danger. Especially when you were busy trying to follow the path to your career. And eventually, we all agreed with that reasoning. It's dangerous work as you may understand. You have to be completely set on involvement if you want to be a part of it. I know you're probably thinking why we would ask you to join if it's so hazardous... But at this point, it'd be more hazardous to let you go, and Jimin wouldn't have wanted that..." He trails off, checking your face as if to check your emotions. But you've managed to keep a stoic look, though internally, your emotions are a mess.

"I want to apologize for dragging you into this mess, Y/N," Jin sighs. "But back when we were teenagers... Lost and confused in a new country... Feeling and looking like aliens, we were together. We were a family. And now's the chance for us to reunite, don't you think? Jimin would be happy..."

You flinch at the mention of your brother's name. "I... I just..." You're at a loss of words, eyes turning wet with emotion. "Give me time, please," you manage to mutter. "I need time."

"Yeah," Jin says, softly. "Of course."

He lets go of your shoulders, giving you space as he steps back. "Jungkook will come later to escort you to dinner, but other than that, we'll try not to bother you..."

"I don't think I'll be hungry," you say. How could you? It'd be wrong to have an appetite at a moment like this. Your skin still crawls at the vivid descriptions of your brother's demise by Hoseok. With a final sympathetic look from Jin, you enter the room, closing the door behind you.

You take a few, uncertain steps in. The room has sort of a musty smell to it, though it looks well-cleaned and organized. Without a second thought, you push the light gray drapes aside to reveal a large window. You open it to breathe in the fresh air. It calms your insides much more than you expected it would.

With a newly rejuvenated mind, you take a few steps backward until you're situated in the middle of the rather commodious room, taking in your surroundings. But upon closer examination, your heart plummets.

This room...

You slowly slide to your knees, looking helplessly at the decorations on the walls, the pictures in the frames, the drawings, the polaroid photos...

A familiar face looks back at you, grinning happily. Inside that pictured photograph is a younger version of yourself. It's you and Jimin arm in arm. You remember that moment exactly. It had been on your fourteenth birthday. Jimin had gifted you a polaroid camera, which you had forced Seokjin to take a photo with.

Next to the wall of polaroid photos capturing sweet moments you shared with your brother and his six friends is a familiar drawing. It's the piece of artwork you drew when you were very young. Before you and Jimin had moved to America. It's a colorful marker drawing of the Park family. You had falsely drawn your older brother shorter than you because he had been annoying you that day. And at the time, Jimin had gotten pissed with your petty antics... But as years passed, you remember he cherished that piece of artwork. And now it had ended up in this place...

A broken sob escapes your trembling lips when you realize this is his room.

How cruel that they have placed you here. In a room that would bring back memories of him.

Or maybe they thought this would help. Maybe they thought you could connect with your dead brother again.

All you can feel is cold inside. The Park Jimin you had used to love and look up to might not be the same man who had lived in this room. He'd changed. And so had his friends.

But you still find yourself staring at the decorated walls—too afraid to go and touch the photographs and paintings that hold so much memory—yet not afraid enough to ignore them completely.

Recalling your childhood wasn't too bad. It'd been pretty great, actually. Well, aside from the fact that you didn't exactly have parents to guide you in your teenage years. It's scary how much of a presence Jimin and his friends have in your past. You'd celebrated every birthday with them. Went to every high school party with them. Had Sunday night movie marathons with them. You'd known them all almost like the back of your hand (maybe even better because you don't like to look at your hands).

Indulging in the past is therapeutic. Until you arrive at the present, that is. And the future becomes a mystery.

What the hell will you do without your brother? And if what Seokjin was saying was true... and you're actually at the risk of being brutally murdered, then wouldn't it be better to stay behind the safety of the walls that your 'friends' offered to provide you?

Your mind is jumbled up with all kinds of thoughts. When everything happens too fast, you have a hard time getting back on your feet. You need time. Time to think. Time to mull over the pros and cons. To dissect your thoughts completely before acting recklessly on them.

You're not too sure of what to think. But you are sure of a couple of things. Your brother really was dead. There was no lie behind that. You'd seen the will... his last wishes... his handwriting... heard of the graphic way he was killed... And some deep feeling inside you knows. Two and a half days ago, you'd felt shitty for no reason. Then, you had thought it was something you ate. But now, you realize maybe that had been the universe's fucked up way of signaling to you that your brother was struggling to hang on to his last seconds of life.

You're also sure that you're angry. Angry at whatever bastard that murdered Jimin. And if it had happened in a way that Hoseok had so vividly colored in your imagination, you wish his murderer would die as painfully as he did. Revenge. Maybe that's what you want.

But you can't take vengeance all by yourself. You're just some average Korean-American young adult who's trying to please her parents who are back in her home country. You need help. And Jin had offered you help...

Those six boys are all you have left in this vast country.

But they're dangerous, another part of you argues. They're actually part of the mafia.

Your mind takes you back to the moment when Hoseok had so blatantly told you how your brother had been killed. He hadn't even flinched as he spoke such gruesome details that had made your skin crawl and breaths quicken. In fact, none of the boys had looked truly sad about your brother's death.

You fist your hair in frustration. I don't know what to do. You stare blankly at the portrait photo of you and Jimin with the other boys. Maybe staring at the inanimate Jimin will give you answers...?

You have no idea how long you've been staring and thinking when there's a soft knock on your door. Though the sound is nothing close to a disturbing racket, it is still a rude awakening to your thoughts.

You clear your throat before answering, "Yes?"

"May I come in?"

You recognize that voice as Jungkook's. Soft, curious and intuitive. "Yeah, sure," you say, making sure to wipe the residue of your tears away.

You can feel his presence, though your back is turned to him. He seems cautious, watchful as he slowly walks towards you. Finally, you turn around to face him. "What are you here for?"

Jungkook laughs quietly. He takes his leisure as he closes the window, and the room suddenly feels warm again. "Don't want you catching a cold," he mumbles, glancing at you before smiling cordially. "I'm here to escort you to dinner."

Right. Jin had told you about this.

It looks like Jungkook had changed his clothes. A more casual wear consisting of gray sweatpants and a hoodie. He looks like any normal guy you could find in America. It chills you that he's involved in a gang. Looks deceive.

"I don't have much of an appetite. Sorry," you say unapologetically. "I haven't made a decision either if that's what you want me to mention." Jungkook seems taken aback by your candidness, but you shrug. "May I please be alone? I need time..."

"I wasn't going to mention your decision," Jungkook says. He looks a bit sad you turned him down, but he begins to leave the room. "Just thought you'd be hungry... It's been more than six hours since you've come here."

"I know," you say. "I'm not hungry, though. I'm fine."

Jungkook nods dejectedly, "Alright. Have a nice night." He gives you a semi-worried look before he saunters away, closing your door lightly.

You breathe a sigh of relief when he's gone, releasing the tension you hadn't even known had built up in your shoulders. Sighing, you slump onto the ground, staring up at the high ceiling of the room. Maybe if you just think in silence, you'll know what to do.

You lose yourself in your mind until another knock on the door startles you.

"Y/N?"

God. That's Seokjin, this time.

"I told you I'm not hungry, Jin. If that's what you're here for."

You hear the door open, but you continue to stare up at the ceiling.

"Oh, Y/N..." you hear Jin sigh. He crouches down next to you, and you can suddenly feel his warmth by your side. "You're not hungry because of shock. But you should eat. Skipping meals shouldn't become a habit."

"I dunno," you mumble, turning your head over to look at Seokjin. "There's a part of me that doesn't want to leave this room. You knew it was Jimin's, and you gave it to me."

"I thought it would help with your thoughts..." Jin says. He puts a reassuring hand on top of yours. "Remember those days when we were younger? I just hope recalling the memories helped a little."

"Can't say it didn't."

"Good, good..." Jin trails off.

You finally sit up, staring curiously at the man. "Don't you miss him? Why is everyone acting like they don't? Aren't you guys the ones that had spent the six years I couldn't with him?" You're not angry, just confused.

"Of course I miss him, Y/N. We all do. We're all grieving inside, though we choose not to show it to those around us," Jin sighs. "I think we've all cried about Jimin's passing, Y/N. Some are more open about it than others..." He pauses. "We'd... Well, we'd like to share a meal with you. You know, make your time here worthwhile. A small dinner might not help the bad feelings go away completely, but it can help temporarily. All you need is a nice, refreshing drink and a hot, savory meal, Y/N. We'll be by your side. No one here is against you."

The way he says it makes everything sound so tantalizing, so believable, so obtainable. You should've known better. But then again, they're all you have.

You hesitate. Then: "I'll... I'll go to dinner."

Jin smiles, helping you up. "You won't regret it."

You're not in much of an ecstatic mood, obviously. You were beginning to regret agreeing to Jin's talented convincing until you see the dining room and momentarily forget half of your day's unfortunate events. Your jaw drops as you enter it and your eyes latch onto the shining chandeliers and crystal decorations.

"Wait 'til you see our kitchen," Seokjin chuckles.

You nod just to agree. It makes you just a tiny bit happier to think that your brother had lived in such a lavish place. At least he got to experience the good stuff...

You see the rest of your brother's friends standing around the large crystal dining table, each holding a glass of wine of their choice. It's a strange contrast between the luxuries of the room and the casual wear of the people in it. You'd expect to see them dressed in gold-trimmed tuxes and suits, but they're all in sweats—expensive sweats, granted, but sweats nevertheless. Seven dainty chairs surround the table, on which the food's already steaming on silver plates.

"Just in time!" Taehyung announces. "We were worried the food would get cold!"

"Oh," you mumble, nodding awkwardly before pulling out a random chair to sink into when—

"Excuse me, that happens to be Namjoon's seat."

Startled, you look up to see Jung Hoseok sighing and shaking his head. "Assigned seats, Y/N."

"Cut her some slack, Jung," Namjoon says. "She had no way of knowing. And if you can't tell, she needed convincing to be here, so you better play nice." He turns to you, smiling, though the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You're welcome to sit in that spot if you'd like."

Already feeling quite out of place, you pause before replying, "No... Uh, I'll just... um, sit where my brother sat then..."

"Oh, that's next to me," Jungkook says, pulling your chair out for you as you sink in it gratefully. Looks like you're sandwiched between Namjoon and Jungkook. In front of you is Yoongi, across from you on the left is Taehyung, across on the right, Hoseok. And smack dab in the power seat of the table is Seokjin. It occurs to you that you're the only one sitting.

Awkwardly, you look over to Jin, who gives you another reassuring smile. "You may be seated."

Your eyes bulge slightly as the five other men take their seats as if they're heeding to Jin's commands.

What is this? A monarchy?

When Jin takes his seat, no one makes a move, you note. Your throat itches, begging for a drink of water or a sip of wine to calm your nerves, but you are not going to be the one who moves first. There's obviously some sort of crazy shit going on here, and you're going to tread lightly until you figure out what it really is.

Finally, finally, when Jin reaches forward to take a sip of his blood-red wine, conversations resume, breathing resumes and the eating and drinking commences.

You're shell-shocked. That's what you are. You're unable to move until Jungkook slides you a piece of filet mignon steak onto your plate.

"I remembered you loved that particularly," he says, before returning to his friendly conversation with Taehyung.

But your favorite meal—in all of its glorious scent—doesn't appeal to you today. So, you keep your ears open to listen to the conversations around you. Wondering how they can have conversations at a time like this...

Taehyung seems to be telling Jungkook about the cute chicks he saw while he was working at his restaurant. Your eyes widen as Taehyung makes a quite inappropriate gesture with his hands. And you nearly choke when you see Jungkook playing along with it.

"Get a hold of yourselves," Yoongi says disgustedly at them. "Y/N isn't blind or deaf, you know. Keep your sexual fantasies in your bedrooms."

Hoseok snorts. And even Seokjin seems to chuckle.

"Sorry," Jungkook mutters as Taehyung just rolls his eyes.

"It's hard when soo many hot, rich girls come to Seokjin's restaurant, you know?" Taehyung grins. "Even harder when they slip their numbers into your tip."

Jungkook giggles. "That's real smooth of them."

"I know! I can't help that I'm so hot," Taehyung laughs. He laughs even harder when he sees Namjoon's disgusted face. "Face it Joon. Being a lawyer sucks, doesn't it? No girls to hit on... Just old farts in court."

Namjoon just sighs, sipping his wine. "You know what? Taehyung? It is quite a shitty job. My stress levels strike the roof whenever the topic of my career emerges. Go get me some vodka."

Taehyung looks offended that his joke had turned into a chore for him to do. He sighs, shaking his head, muttering something on the lines of "can't take a fucking joke." Before he leaves, he calls out, "Anyone else wants another drink?"

"Coke and rum for me," Hoseok quickly answers.

"Tonic and gin," Yoongi says.

"The usual," Seokjin calls. When Taehyung scrunches his face in confusion, he sighs. "Grapefruit soda and tequila."

"Right," Taehyung replies. "Y/N?" he asks. "Pick your poison if you'd like."

You jump at the sudden mention of your name. "I dunno..."

"Maybe something strong?" Taehyung suggests. "You know, to help..."

"Right... Something strong."

Taehyung grins. "I'll see what I can do."

"Get me some gin and lemonade, pretty please," Jungkook laughs.

Taehyung gives him a disdainful look. "If you want it, come help me in the kitchen, bitch."

Jungkook grumbles but he complies, following Taehyung and disappearing behind a corner in which you assume the kitchen lies.

"They might 'accidentally' poison our drinks for all we know," Namjoon sighs, shaking his head. "I trusted Jimin more when he handled our drinks. He is... was the best bartender in the city," Namjoon smiles. "God, his concoctions were literally unmatched."

For some reason, what he says makes you feel even more empty inside. "I can imagine," you force out.

You hate this. You shouldn't have come. You're uncomfortable, placed in the middle of a group of friends that have no respect for your grief. Now there's an awkward silence at the table with Taehyung and Jungkook gone, but you make no move to fix it.

"So, Y/N! I saw you looking at our interior design, earlier!" Namjoon says, clapping his hands together.

God, not the small talk, again.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," you say, half-heartedly. Maybe you should come up with an excuse to leave. Maybe you should feign sickness—you already feel queasy, anyway.

"Eh, I don't really like it," Hoseok says. "It was like this when we bought it. I never liked all this bright crystal action going on, but it'll have to do."

"Right?" Yoongi agrees. "I wanted a more modern home. This seems so regal."

"It's not like we can move, though," Namjoon sighs. He hastily adds, "It'd take too long, and we wouldn't appreciate the hassle."

"We should be thankful for what we have," Seokjin says kindly. "Not many young adults are able to live in such luxury."

"Of course. If it's a good year, our total legal annual income in this household well surpasses four million."

You cock your head. Legal? Had you heard that right? Did that mean they had an illegal income? You speak before you can stop yourself. "Wait—"

"Here come the drinks!" Taehyung enthusiastically sings as he sashays in the dining room with a silver platter full of pretty glasses. Straight away he hands Jin his tequila concoction, then Namjoon his vodka, Yoongi his gin and Hoseok his rum. Jungkook slides into his seat with his gin and lemonade in hand.

Taehyung slides up next to you, holding up a tall glass of—

"Water?" You scrunch your eyebrows, looking wearily at the clear glass.

"Everclear," Taehyung answers. "It's illegal in California, but we've got some connections." He winks at you.

"Careful. That's 95 percent alcohol," Yoongi says. "You don't want to wake up in the hospital now, do we?"

"I'm sure one glass will be fine," Taehyung says, handing you the glass before sliding into his seat. "I trust Y/N is able to drink responsibly. Isn't that right, Y/N?"

You hum quietly, staring at the clear liquid blankly. Would too much of it kill you? But if you did die, it wouldn't matter at this point, right?

Taehyung laughs and he reads your mind as he replies, "I'd be killed if I gave you something that could kill you."

Right. A hard dose of alcohol is what you need especially after today.

One second you're semi-complaining that you're unemployed and single. Then suddenly karma bitches at you and your brother's dead, joined a gang and made enemies that had decided to brutally murder him. And now you have to decide whether you want to join the mafia or be left alone to be killed by the same entity that killed your brother. All in one day.

Even the thought makes you scoff.

So when Seokjin proposes a toast to you and talks off in tangents of what comprises of a short speech, you can't help but tune out. After the clink of glasses, you down the eponymous liquid that's actually ever so clear.

It burns your throat in all the wrong ways, but bottoms up, you finish it all.

After that, everything is hazy. The itch in your throat does not go away, and the room seems to spin around. Damn that drink is strong.

"Someone have her back before she collapses," you hear Yoongi say.

But you're able to stomach it in, head lolling uselessly to the side as you stare dumbly into oblivion. Your thoughts are muddled, thank god, which is all that mattered.

"Taehyung, I swear. Everclear shouldn't be taken plain. It's supposed to be drunk with a mixer for god's sake," Namjoon sighs. "Now it's your responsibility to get her to her room."

"That's going to be hard, considering she can probably barely walk right now," Hoseok says. "Jungkook should go too."

"Don't try anything on her," Namjoon sighs.

Taehyung looks offended. "What? Why would we? She's halfway gone. We wouldn't stoop that low."

"Yeah..." Jungkook says. "That's too low."

"You guys should get going while she's conscious..." Yoongi says. "She looks like she's going to pass out any second now."

"Why did you even think of giving her Everclear?" Namjoon rolls his eyes.

"She asked for it! She wanted a strong drink! I only did what she asked," Taehyung says, raising his voice.

"Let's not argue," Seokjin cuts in. "The hangover will definitely be bad... But her worries aren't with her at this moment. Don't give her a headache by yelling over each other. We'll have to cut dinner short. Taehyung, Jungkook, get Y/N to her room. Give her a few glasses of water before she blacks out. Hoseok, Yoongi? Looks like you two are on kitchen duty tonight."

"What?" Hoseok whines. "That's never our job!"

But one look from Jin has him quiet.

"I just hope she doesn't wake up with a giant hangover..." someone says. You can't tell who. You're mixing voices up in your head and your vision is blurry.

"You're kidding right?" another voice counters. "Everclear hangovers are the fucking worst."

It's the last thing you hear before everything becomes black.

—next chapter

—masterpost

—masterlist

#bts #bts fanfiction #ot7 #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #mafia au #over the moon #otm

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ohshitmyship · 4 years

Text

Happy Dannypocalypse 2020 – Danny Phantom deserves a dark and gritty rewrite bc it has really good potential so I wrote the first chapter

Danny was used to weird shit in his life.

It came with the territory of professional ghost hunting parents. Danny had grown up moving from place to place, his family following the strongest haunting, always in search of potential for a doorway to the other side.

Five years ago, the Fentons settled down in a small city named Amity Park, declaring that the ectoenergies surrounding the area were exactly what they needed to finally punch a hole through time and space to reach the Ghost Zone.

Danny and his sister Jazz finally settled into their new school, made new friends. The hauntings, oddly enough, kind of stopped aside from the occasional poltergeist. Their parents came up with some explanation, but neither of them listened. They were used to weird shit.

Enough so, that when their parents finally built their dream portal to the Ghost Zone and it failed, Danny brought his friends over.

It made sense, honestly. He only had the two friends; Tucker, who was a tech genius; and Sam, who was a self-proclaimed gothic witch and loved all things ghost.

“This is so cool,” Sam gushed, snapping pictures with a vintage black polaroid, “There’s so much weird energy here.”

“There’s no energy,” Tucker scoffed, poking carefully at the large round tunnel that sat in the basement, which Danny’s parents had converted to a lab.

“There is too,” Sam shot back, “You just don’t feel it.”

“I don’t feel it because nothing’s here. This thing is broken.”

“It’s still dangerous though,” Danny warned, zipping into an ectosuit his parents made for their ghost adventures.

“You told us it doesn’t work?” Sam asked, moving towards the mouth of the portal.

“Yeah,I don’t know specifics,” Danny admitted, “Apparently they said they did everything right, calculations and all, but it just...didn’t work. They’ve been troubleshooting all week.”

“This is some complicated stuff,” Tucker said, moving to stand beside Sam at the entrance, “Even I don’t know how they did it.”

“Mom said that it was a combination between ectobiology, computer science, and physics.” Danny stood between the two, everything from the neck down covered in a tight white and black ectosuit.

“Why do you have that in your exact size?” Sam teased.

Tucker scoffed, “You’ve met Danny’s parents, right? They have an ectosuit for each of their kids. Probably have some for us too.”

“We should put them on and go in too!” Sam suggested.

“No,” Danny said, quite firm, “I shouldn’t even really have you guys down here. If we all go in and something happens, my parents are going to kill me.”

“Yeah I don’t really wanna go in all that bad,” Tucker admitted, “I know your parents have like, seven PhDs between them, but this does not look safe at all.”

Danny sighed, tugging on the edges of the gloves nervously, “Okay so I get in there, you take a couple of pictures, and we’re done.”

“Why are you using that thing anyways?” Tucker asked, gesturing to Sam’s polaroid, “It doesn’t even take good photos.”

“Everyone knows that polaroids are better for ghost activity,” Sam replied.

“Yeah, Tuck,” Danny added, “Everyone knows that.”

“Shut up and get in,” Sam said, smacking his arm playfully.

“That’s what she said.”

“Tucker!”

“Sorry.”

Danny sighed and stepped forward, his foot hitting the metal panelling.

Nothing happened.

He stepped inside fully, turning around to smile at the two as Sam snapped a photo.

“So far so good.”

Danny turned back around and made his way through the tunnel. It was about ten feet long and seven feet in diameter, all shimmery steel and green wires. There were some buttons but Danny didn’t really think about them too much, his parents had already spent countless hours inside the thing.

It was strange, being inside of the tunnel. It felt as though everything was muted, he felt lighter, his strides perhaps a bit longer than they had been before.

When he finally reached the end, he turned around again. The tunnel seems far longer somehow, Sam and Tucker too small to only be ten feet away. His head was heavy and he heard a light rushing sound in his ears, like someone was playing ocean noises in another room.

“This is so cool!” Sam’s voice called, echoing slightly through the tunnel. Danny could see her camera flash.

Danny stood there for a little, looking around him at the panelled walls. He knew a decent amount about physics, but aside from that he was lost – he was a space sorta guy, not a ghost hunter.

When Danny’s head started to hurt, he decided to make his way back out. His parents didn’t mind them checking out the ghost portal, so long as they didn’t mess around too much. Jack and Maddie Fenton had put them all in ectosuits and walked them through the portal, explaining what each button did. Danny didn’t pay any attention. He rarely did, to be quite honest.

The tunnel seemed to be playing tricks on his mind, because it seemed to get longer with each step he took. He dragged his right hand along the wall, using it for support as his headache began to worsen. He wondered what the hell was going on, he had never felt like this in the portal before, why now was he suddenly feeling so strange?

Maybe he was coming down with a cold – that might explain it.

And then everything happened at once, but it happened in slow motion.

Danny saw Sam’s camera flash go off, but it lasted far too long. His hand brushed against a button – green, some small part of his brain registered – and pushed it by accident. Sam’s eternal flash was suddenly lost in a wave of green as he felt a shock lace through his body, starting at his hand and travelling throughout his whole body.

It was...strange.

A memory was brought to Danny’s mind, a rather old memory. He was maybe five or six and they were playing around on their aunt’s farm. One of the farm hands, Danny forgot his name, had jokingly dared him to touch the electric fence. He had, and of course he’d been met with a sharp jolt of pain.

This sensation was similar to that, but a thousand times stronger, and it didn’t stop. When Danny removed his hand from the fence, the pain had gone away immediately, leaving only a small tingling sensation.

His whole body felt like that, as if each vein was filled with electricity rather than blood.

He had never been in so much pain in his entire life, which was probably about to end.

Danny could only see green, feel pain, taste metal, smell the scent of something burning, hear a distant scream. Was it him, or his friends? He couldn’t tell.

“It is time.”

The voice seems to be coming from deep inside him, but all around him at once. It is a low voice, a baritone. Through the intense and never ending pain, Danny felt something cold in his gut.

I don’t want to die.

“Few ever do. But you are not going to die just yet, Danny Phantom. This is not the end, but the beginning.”

And then everything went black and the pain finally, finally stopped.

“Danny! Danny! Tuck, I think he’s waking up!”

“Danny, c’mon man, open your eyes!”

As if obeying the command, Danny’s eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, gasping for air.

“Danny!”

He looked up to see Sam and Tucker on either side of him, tears staining both of their faces, Sam’s eyeliner has made little trails down her face.

“Wha–what happened?”

His voice cracked and his throat was dry, as if he hadn’t spoken in years.

“We don’t know,” Sam babbled, not bothering to wipe her eyes, “Danny you were just in there and suddenly there was this bright green light and the portal turned on and, and –”

“And then you just stumbled out!” Tucker continued, in no better shape, “You were smoking and glowing.”

“Glowing?” Danny brought a hand to his head, rubbing at his forehead. He noticed that the glove was white, not black like it used to be.

Then the sinking feeling is back and he struggles to his feet.

“Danny, no!” Sam argued, trying to pull him back down.

“You were in there when it was activated!” Tucker grabs his other hand.

His hands tingle for a moment and then his hands are free.

He stumbles his way to the basement bathroom, for the mirror that he knows is above the sink.

Danny doesn’t recognize the person in front of him.

Well, the face itself was the same, but everything else seemed to be reversed. His hair, which used to be inky black like his dad’s, was now a pure white, even his eyebrows had changed. His skin used to be somewhat tanned, but he was pale enough to look like a corpse.

His ectosuit was reversed too – the body of it used to be white with the boots, gloves, and neck black. Now, it was the opposite. But that wasn’t the weirdest – no, the weirdest was his eyes. They used to be a soft blue, like his mom’s, but now they were bright neon green, they even glowed in the dark light of the bathroom.

“I’m...a ghost.”

Danny felt his knees buckle and he slid down, his back hitting the door as he slumped on the floor.

“Danny….”

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Sam kneeling next to him, Tucker beside her.

He could tell that they wanted to say something, but he knew that no one had any idea as to what to say. What did you tell your best friend who just died and returned as a ghost before your very eyes?

Instead, Danny began to cry. How could he not? He died.

He died.

Sam and Tucker weren’t far behind him. They both dropped to their knees to hug Danny on the bathroom floor, tears flowing freely from their cheeks. The only sounds to fill the basement were soft sobs and sniffling.

Danny didn’t know how long they were sitting there, sobbing on the bathroom floor. But eventually, Danny began to calm down. Maybe this isn’t so bad, a small part of him tried, Maybe we can work with this. Mom and Dad will have a field day. Jazz will get to learn the psychology of a ghost, that’s kinda cool I guess.

As the tears began to slow and Danny was able to catch his breath, something strange happened. Danny had his eyes closed, but the flash of light turned his eyelids red and he heard Sam and Tucker gasp.

He felt...warmer. Danny suddenly noticed how cold the bathroom floor was, how sore he felt.

When he opened his eyes, Sam and Tucker were staring at him in awe. He looked at his hands. They were no longer pale. He took a breath and felt it fill his longs. He raised a hand to his neck and felt his pulse. Slowly, he stood up to see his reflection back to normal. Maybe a little paler than before, his hair wild, but he looked like his old self. He looked alive.

Sam and Tucker still knelt on the floor, staring up at him silently. He knew they were all thinking the same thing: had they imagined the whole thing?

Danny poked his head out of the bathroom. The entrance of the portal was a bright neon green, shimmering like water in sunlight. He went back into the bathroom, holding his hands out for Sam and Tucker.

They both took them, or at least tried to. Their hands passed right through Danny’s, as if he were a hologram.

“Okay,” Tucker finally spoke, “This is getting weird.”

“Getting?” Danny scoffed, trying for some light humour, “We’re way past weird.”

Sam and Tucker stood up on their own, and Danny unzipped the ectosuit covering his regular clothes.

The three of them walked out of the bathroom, Sam and Tucker sitting on the old couch in the corner while Danny paced in front of them.

“What happened after I… passed out?”

“Well there was a great big flash,” Tucker began, “Then the portal turned on and you stumbled out, then you collapsed.”

“We checked your pulse but we couldn’t find it,” Sam added nervously, “You were so cold.”

“Did you call anyone?”

Sam and Tucker glanced at each other nervously.

“We didn’t know who to call,” Sam finally said, “We thought about calling an ambulance, but it was pretty obvious something ghost-like had happened.”

“We were about to call your parents, but then you woke up.”

“So we’re the only ones that know this happened?”

Sam and Tucker nodded.

“Okay.”

“What….happened?” Tucker asked after a minute.

“Tuck!” Sam hissed.

“What?” Tucker demanded, “We saw it! Why shouldn’t we ask about it?”

“It’s alright,” Danny assured, stopping his pacing and sighing, “It all happened pretty fast. I just remember Sam taking a photo, then pressing a button by accident, I think I was electrocuted, everything went green, I heard a voice then...then everything went black.”

“A voice?” Tucker asked.

“Like, the Grim Reaper?” Sam asked.

“I don’t think so,” Danny said, trying to remember, “I think it was a man’s voice, it was really deep. He said something like ‘you’re not going to die just yet, Danny Phantom. This is just the beginning’.”

“Wait, Danny Phantom?” Tucker asked, “You sure he didn’t say Fenton?”

“No, I’m sure,” Danny said, “He definitely said Phantom.”

“But he said it was the beginning of something?” Sam asked.

Danny nodded, “Yeah, not the end, but the beginning. No idea what he meant though.”

“Maybe it’s like the tarot card, Death,” Sam suggested, “Like, it means a transformation. Something ends so that something else can begin.”

“That’s all well and good,” Tucker said, “But what does it mean?”

“I wish I knew.” Danny sighed again and rubbed his eyes, “I’m sorry guys, I’m really tired.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sam said, standing up to lay a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Tucker added, “I mean, you did get electrocuted in a portal to the afterlife, so I think you’re allowed to be a little tired out.”

The three of them laughed, but the laughs were preceded by so many tears that they sounded almost forced.

Danny led his friends out and they promised to call him once they got home. He waved to them as they walked away and sighed when he closed the door.

He was glad no one was home, because he was sure that someone would’ve heard him scream. Danny wandered back downstairs to put everything.

“Wonder what I’ll tell my parents,” he said to himself as he folded up the ectosuit to put back in the wardrobe, “Maybe I’ll tell them it just...came on.” Danny groaned, “That’s no good. Maybe I’ll say there was an electrical surge and it turned on. Yeah, that makes sense.”

He put the ectosuit away and began to pick up the photos littered across the lab floor. Sam would probably want them so he didn’t throw them out, but he didn’t look too closely at them.

Until he found the last photo that Sam took.

It was the same one that had flashed just as he pressed the button and it was...kind of haunting.

The photo was all kinds of distorted, even the white edges tinged a sickly green. In the centre was Danny, his arm touching the edge, his body looking to be in the middle of a convulsion. It was hard to tell with the distortion, but it looked as though there was a ring of white light around his chest and waist. He looked like he had as a ghost, but in the middle part, in between the two lights, his suit looked like it had before.

Danny was about to put the photo away, slightly disturbed that Sam had managed to catch the exact moment of his not-death, but something else caught his eye.

There were two shadows in the background, blurry and pixelated at the same time. One shadow looked humanoid, while the other looked like a blob with a head and arms holding onto something long. He wondered if the shadows belonged to whatever had spoken to him while he was in the portal.

Danny shook his head. There was nothing he could do at the moment, and he was too exhausted to think properly. The only thing he wanted to think about was his warm bed – he wanted to get in it and sleep for a very, very long time.

Danny gathered all of the photos and took them upstairs. Mechanically, he got ready for bed. He didn’t remember brushing his teeth or putting his pajamas on, but when he climbed into bed, his breath was minty and he was changed.

Danny was worried that sleep wouldn’t take him, but he could already feel the darkness settling in, far calmer than the darkness before.

As he drifted off to sleep, Danny mulled over the words from the mysterious figure. Two words in particular held firm in his mind.

Danny Phantom.

#danny phantom #dannypocalypse #dannypocalypse 2020 #danny phantom fic

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