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chimcess · 11 months

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A Picture’s Worth || jjk (I)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Ex-Art Thief!Reader, Ex-Assassin!Reader, Ex-Gang member!Reader, Gang member!Jungkook, Assassin!Jungkook, Hitman!Jungkook, Thief!Jungkook Genre: Strangers to lovers, gang AU, mafia AU, Fluff, Angst, Smut Word Count: 23.2k+ Summary: After pulling off the largest art heist of her career, Y/N has put that life behind her. However, after 4 years out of the business, she comes home to find a stranger in her house. Warnings: violence, blood, gang activity, mafia activity, mentions of death, actual death, crime, robberies, pickpocketing, graphic depictions of injuries, guns, knives, mentions of past torture, body branding (not too graphic), major character(s) injured, STRONG LANGUAGE, Gang tattoos, Abuse (not JK and Reader), JK is a bit of a himbo, but only with his friends, he’s actually quite scary, I’m not a gang member or anything so I could be wrong about that stuff, I tried my best, eventual smut, mutual pining, kissing (let me know if I missing anything) Author’s Note:Things were getting out of hand, so I made the executive decision to split this into two parts. This one is establishing plot so no smut (yet). Thanks so much for reading. She’s a big girl.

Listen to the Playlist || cross posted to ao3: here

Five years ago

There comes a point in a child’s life that they begin to ponder over what they will become. Some girls I knew dreamt of becoming lawyers, doctors, or astronauts. I remember there being a time when I had thought of more than the mountains I had lived in, possibly moving to California and starting my life over after I was finished with school. I had even played with the idea of owning a salon. I hoped that I would be pretty when I grew up with bright red hair just like Ariel. It was strange looking back on that time and how little had truly changed.

While I had, in some ways, deviated from the life my family had wanted for me, I was still lurking in the shadows and biding my time. Instead of hiring me for hits, the players I worked for enjoyed the finer things in life. Patrons of the arts if you will. Staring up at the Rembrandt painting, it was not a wonder as to why.

Looking over my shoulder, I was relieved to see Hoseok in position. Locking eyes momentarily, I gave him a small, polite smile and returned to the painting in front of me. To the security cameras, we were simply two strangers who had a small moment in time. I knew that we were trying to use signals as much as we could without looking suspicious. A smile normally meant that I was confident I could pull this off. Hoseok’s returning nod was his way of saying he was happy with his own assessments.

The heist would take a few more weeks to plan out. Our buyer wanted 18 different art pieces from this museum, something that was doable with our team, as well as 38 pieces of jewelry. Taehyung and Jimin would be in charge of the operation. Walking away from the Rambrandt, I looked over other pieces with the same intensity to not raise suspicions. While the cameras here were not of great quality, they could still see us and that alone was enough to bother me.

Stealing has always come naturally to me. Second nature. When I was young I pickpocketed, the artform far more refined now that I was much older, and my parents enjoyed how sneaky I could be when I wanted to be. We never stayed anywhere for too long, the last place I had seen them was Aspen six years ago, but my favorite years were London. The Underground was a perfect place to pickpocket. In a day I could swipe over 100 items and no one would be the wiser.

My tastes changed as I grew. There was a time when I hated the idea of being a criminal like my parents were. I disdain violence at the best of times, but there were very few ways of getting out unscathed. It was when I managed to steal jewels from a heavily secured store that I caught the eyes of The Saints. Hoseok was impressed by my attention to detail and offered me a way to get out of my family home. I was sixteen and impulsive. A little over ten years later I was still standing here, pickpocketing the wealthy and giving it to those just as fortunate. It had stopped bothering me years ago, the guilt, but there was always a piece of me that longed for those far away dreams of cutting hair. It almost made me laugh just thinking about it.

“It’s a beautiful painting, isn’t it?” A soft voice asked, suddenly beside me.

Turning, I was confronted with a familiar face. Yoongi hardly changed, his set lips and keen eyes unwavering. There was a long, jagged scar that ran down his forehead, over his eye, and down his cheek. He got the scar when he was still in the Irish Mob back in Boston. He was an earner with those boys and they gave him hell about leaving. Still, he had managed to walk away only to join a different side of organized crime.

“Yes, but not really to my taste,” I joked.

I had never been the biggest fan of abstract work. I liked it a great deal more than landscapes, it was at least interesting to look at, but the lack of effort had bothered me. It would never take off anyway. No one liked over priced paint splatters. Yoongi hummed.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

Taking the cue, I stood as he walked off and began counting back from 500 in my head. Everyone would be heading back to the command now. Everything had been squared away for now. Taking one more passing glance at the Rembrandt, I sighed. Hopefully, when this is all done, I could walk away.

With my head held high, I slowly drifted toward the exit. Taking the time to look over art was another great way to cover my tracks. In order to stay a nobody, I had to be a nobody, and only a nobody would stop to look at a still-life of a bowl of fruit. I never did understand why these things were popular. Then, finally, after five more minutes of “ooo”ing an “ahh”ing at pieces I’ve seen every week for the last month, I was out of the door.

Three years ago

Blinking, I stood motionless as I stared at the cracks in the little apartment’s ceilings. It had been a difficult find, something so cheap in San Diego was a steal even if it was only 300 square feet. Smiling, I threw my duffel bag of belongings onto the futon I had brought earlier that day. Finally, things were going to start looking up.

I had flown in from Kansas the week prior and had made the most of cheap motel rooms until I scored this place. I had always loved California and finally I had made it home. Looking around, I found I was not as upset by the lack of space or functioning stove. In fact, it had been the lightest I had felt in a very long time. Only second to when I graduated from Aveda last fall.

Deciding to pick up what little boxes I had with me, I broke them down and tore them into strips that were easily thrown away. I was lucky the place had come with a small, countertop fridge and microwave. The only sink was in the bathroom, a room that was floor-to-ceiling covered in tile with a toilet, small sink, and a shower head. I would have to wear flip flops just in case. The landlord had recommended using a bucket since the hot water only lasted for about 10 minutes.

I did not have much. I had gotten into the habit of packing light and living even lighter, but I was determined to try this differently. I’ve gotten what I have always wanted and I was going to let anyone, or anything, take it away from me. Going to my duffel bag, I began packing out my folded clothes and organizing them into different piles before putting them away. I had bought a tall, skinny wardrobe at the same GoodWill I had gotten the futon from.

Calling out to my phone, I asked Siri to play some music and got to work. I hated silence. Using the small drawers on the left side, I stuffed my underwear and pajamas on that side of the wardrobe. The right side was meant to hang nice things on, but I did not own nice things anymore. Instead hung were two pairs of jeans, a few dresses, and some shirts. I only owned black now. It was the dress code for every salon I had ever worked at- including the newest one. My shoes went on the shelves above the drawers and I made a mental note to buy a better pair of sneakers. I wanted to get outside more often.

Putting away the rest of my things was just as quick. My makeup was stored away on the desk that was attached to the wall beside the fridge. It was meant to be a dining area, but I doubted I would ever have company over to make use of it. My few skincare products were safely stored away in the bathroom mirror, and my kit was under my bed for safe keeping. I was suddenly acutely aware of just how sad everything truly was.

“Well,” I mumbled to myself. “Hopefully I can get enough clientele to get out of this shithole.”

At least, I thought to myself, at least I was free.

With that in mind, I grabbed my keys and headed out into the city. It had been hours since I last stopped for anything and I would have no luck here for the night. Slipping into the hallway, I realized that I was happy. For the first time in a while I felt unadulterated. Things were going to be fine.

Two years ago

Clutching the pizza box with one hand and balancing it on my hip, I cradle my phone with my shoulder as I open the door to my building.

“The earliest I’ll be available is Thursday,” I said, my voice sickeningly sweet.

The customer, Jules, cheerfully asked if I had any availability on Sunday instead. Rolling my eyes, I reminded her that the salon was closed on both Sunday and Monday. This would be the third time I had to repeat myself.

“What about Saturday?” She asked, still as clueless as she had been since I had picked up.

“I’m free from 2pm until 3pm, but if you want a haircut and balayage I will need longer than an hour.”

“How long do you need?” Finally, I heard a hint of frustration slipping through her otherwise cheery voice.

“If you want the full layered balayage it can take up to three hours for hair as long as yours is. It can be shorter if you just want a partial- between 45 minutes to an hour and a half.”

Huffing up the stairs, I struggled to open the door to my floor and used my foot to keep it open while I awkwardly hobbled. Rolling my eyes, I wanted to pull my hair out. This would be the fourth time now.

“I can put you in Thursday morning from 8am until noon. I can also do Friday from 5pm until 8pm. I’m not available again until the following Wednesday.”

Jules hummed, unable to stay silent I found. We had been on the phone for twenty five minutes and I was beginning to get a migraine. She was sweet, and I appreciated her never ending patience, but I was not blessed with the same superpower. I had never been known for my temperament or politeness. I only had patience when money was involved. Shoving my door open with my shoulder, I willed those thoughts away. That was the last thing I needed to think about right now.

Jules was going to make me go rob a fucking bank at this rate. Banks weren’t even my thing. That brought a smile to my face and I put the pizza down on the single counter I had in the kitchen.

“I guess Thursday will work then. I was just hoping to get it done before my birthday.”

Pausing, I sighed heavily. Wonderful. She was a guilt tripper. Little shit.

“What day is your birthday?” I asked.

“Oh! It’s Tuesday. My girls and I are going to the Cheesecake Factory to celebrate.”

And despite my better judgment, I opened my calendar and began looking at my schedule on Tuesday. Knowing I had taken the bait hook, line, and sinker, I just went right out with it.

“We can try something if you’re open to it.”

“Sure, what’s up?” Jules asked, voice perking up.

“I can give you a partial balayage Tuesday and then you can come back Thursday to finish the rest if you want to after seeing the results.”

Jules squealed and began talking very quickly, her excitement palpable. I cringed away from the speaker of my phone.

“That would be Ah-mazing! What time on Tuesday could you see me?”

“I had a cancellation first thing in the morning. I’m free from 8am until 9:45. We’ll get as much as we can during that time.”

“Oh! I can definitely make that. Can we do the haircut on Tuesday instead of Thursday?”

Biting my tongue, I had to stop the smart ass comment I wanted to make from coming out. She was obviously very young or had little experience going to a salon. Still, it’s common sense that we would cut first. I’m not wasting products like that.

“That’s what I was thinking, too,” I settled on.

“Thanks so much, Y/N! See you Tuesday!”

“See you then, Jules. Before you go, can I get some information from you so I can put you down properly?”

After getting her full name, phone number, and email address, I let her go and logged into the salon’s appointment system to add her in. Our receptionist had quit two months ago and we were having a hard time finding a replacement. I tried to tell Tony he needed to raise the pay but he was not budging. Right now we were all stuck keeping track of everything ourselves.

The pizza was not very hot anymore but was warm enough to not be too bothersome. Happy to have some extra money coming in, I went to the fridge and grabbed a soda from it. I bought a small cart to put my microwave on. The mini fridge just happened to fit perfectly below it. The small Keurig I bought myself for Black Friday was right beside the microwave. A snug fit but it worked. Taking a bite of the pizza, I leaned against the counter and groaned.

I was so happy to be home.

Home. It was a word I was still hesitant to say. It was hard to believe things were permanent even after all this time. Some nights I stared up at the ceiling and waited for a knock on my door. Even if Hoseok promised emergencies only it was difficult to know what the guys would consider an emergency. That world was so far removed from this new reality of mine that I feared I was losing my edge. Would I even be able to help them anymore?

With doubt and a recurring nightmare, I fell asleep and dreamt of casinos and Rembrandt.

One year later

Sweeping up the floor, I glanced around the room to find myself alone.

“Great,” I huffed. “I’m going to have to talk to Tony about this bullshit.”

It had been the third time the new hire, Sasha, had left without helping with cleanup. First he snuck out of the back when he was helping Tiesha, and the last two times had been with me. While we tried to keep the boss out of the personal issues we had at the shop, I was not about to let some 19-year-old walk around like he’s above it all. Angrily, I kept sweeping and hoped that the bastard got stuck in the worst traffic getting back on the I-5.

Walking over to Andrea’s station, I rolled my eyes. She always forgot to put her combs in the sterilizing solution. Making quick work of that, I went around checking everyone’s stations to be sure it was all in order. Even Sasha’s. His desk was immaculately cleaned and I gritted my teeth harder. Seems like he’s one of those people. Feeling petty, I skipped sweeping under his vanity and kept going. Not like it made much of a difference anyway. Maybe I should steal his wallet tomorrow and help him look for it.

Fucking idiot.

No, I scolded myself. I am not that person anymore. I would definitely not go back to that lifestyle for Alexander Ivanov. Reminding myself that he was just a spoiled little brat, I continued sweeping hoping it would calm me down long enough to clear my head. If I let any of those ideas foster that would be bad. I’d have every valuable item that boy owned by lunch.

Suddenly the front desk phone began to ring and I chose to ignore it. It was five minutes after closing time and I did not feel like dealing with anyone else today. Sasha had pissed me off enough. I did not want some snotty customer adding to it. The ringing stopped and I was satisfied that they simply left a voicemail.

Turning to go back to the staff room to gather the Swiffer, I was stopped in my tracks by the phone. A part of me wanted to answer it now. It had to be the same person. Still, I was off the clock and that was not a part of my job description. Destiny would handle it in the morning. The ringing stopped. I started walking. It started up again.

Peeved but resigned, I walked to the front desk and checked the number flashing on the screen. It was from out of state. Figures. Usually clients who wanted to come in on vacation called without realizing the time zone difference. Forcing a smile to my face, I picked up.

“Mane Street, this is Y/N speaking. How can I help you?”

“Ten minutes.” The line died.

I knew that voice from anywhere. Shaking, I placed the phone back on its modem and took a second to gather myself. Whatever the emergency was, I only had ten minutes to finish cleaning and get outside. Knowing Hoseok, he would be waiting for me near my car. Better yet, he’d already be in the passenger seat.

Scrambling, I began to mop the floors and Windex the mirrors. I refused to let this unexpected visit stop me from performing my job. I was happy Sasha had left. I probably looked like I’d seen a ghost. You have definitely heard one, my subconscious screamed.

I was locked up eight minutes later. I had been keeping count in my head just as I always had before. It was unsettling just how quickly I had transformed back into the person I had once been. Who was I fooling? I’ve been covering her up with scissors, a shitty studio apartment, and take out. That did not change the overseas accounts, fake names, and stolen jewelry I’ve kept. That doesn’t change the stolen art hanging on my walls.

Rounding the back of the store, I was not surprised to see my vehicle was the only one still there. Squinting, I could see the silhouette of a person’s head in the passenger side. The street light just in front of the pickup was facing the front, their side profile obscured by the light, but I would recognize Hoseok anywhere. He was hard but soft, jagged but gentle, and most importantly, his face was oval with a pointed chin. Anxiety bubbling in my stomach, I put on a brave face and marched forward. I would be right on time.

Hoseok did not say a word as I slid into the driver’s seat or when I closed the door. Not waiting for him to make a demand, I started the engine and turned on the AC. It was stuffy. Hoseok continued to look straight while I buckled my seatbelt and put the truck in reverse.

“Don’t go home,” He finally said.

Dread filled my stomach but I did as he said. Instead of turning left, I went right and headed for the little diner I enjoyed getting a late dinner at. It was the best place for steak and eggs. I was not sure if Hoseok would be hungry but I did not care. We never really thought about those things before.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing what you like,” He spoke again, his voice still gentle. “You look very nice, too. Like the new hair.”

I was always unnerved by this side of Hoseok. He was typically a very loud, energetic, and passionate man. Soft spoken and Hoseok had never gone together. Then again, it had been almost five years since I had seen him. A lot could change within that time. That, or whatever he was going to tell me would require softness. I hoped it was just a personality change from getting older.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m glad to see you’re healthy.”

Finally, he cracked a smile. “Hadn’t realized you thought about me at all.”

I scoffed, “Of course I think about you. I think about all of you very often.”

This seemed to throw him for a loop. It was weird to speak so openly about my feelings. We had always gone about life with coldness. Being sharp and intense was the only way to survive out there. If anyone saw you as weak or vulnerable then you were finished. That was why Yoongi usually acted as a middle man. He was the hardest, coldest, most impenetrable wall there ever was. Just looking into his eyes you could see that. Shivering, I recalled the time he killed a man with a set of chopsticks while we were in Korea.

“We think about you, too,” Hoseok said, sounding far away.

Turning into the diner’s parking lot, I turned off the engine and got out. Hoseok followed closely behind me and I asked him if he wanted anything.

“I hear the steak and eggs are nice,” He commented, eyes downcasted.

“Is Taehyung keeping tabs on me?” I sneered, anxiety turning into anger.

Taehyung was the tech guy when he wasn’t stealing jewels. He was also a royal pain in the ass who never knew when to cool it. He had been the most upset when he heard that I was leaving the crew and I would not put it past him. Taehyung was just that kind of guy. The gesture was kind, I was certain of that, and came from a place of love. Still, I had asked to be left alone. It seemed like no one really accepted that.

“I tried to stop it but it’s impossible to keep track of everything he does,” Hoseok admitted. “After a while we just accepted the fact that he wouldn’t give it up. He is trying to check in less and less, though. He’s just worried someone will come around and we won’t know about it.”

“And that’s how you knew where I worked?”

Holding the door open, Hoseok thanked me before going inside. Doris smiled at me when I walked inside. She was an elderly woman who liked to help me with my Sudoku puzzles on Sunday mornings. Eyeing Hoseok curiously, I waved at her before finding an open booth. I normally sat at the bar but I did not want prying eyes. Doris would not go away if we sat there and Hoseok was obviously wanting privacy.

“Hey sugar,” Dixie, a waitress from Alabama, greeted us.

She put down two menus and asked us what we wanted to drink. Hoseok ordered a coffee while I got a glass of chocolate milk. The man looked me up and down, amusement coloring every one of his features. I waved him off and looked at the menu. If he ordered steak and eggs I would order something else. Hoseok was a big fan of sharing food even if we both had our own portions.

Hoseok, like many of the guys from the crew, was South Korean. He was born in Gwangju, a city in the southern part of the country, and moved to the US with his friend Namjoon during university. Namjoon went on to become a campaign manager in New York City while Hoseok became an associate of the Gambino family after killing a few guys. Over time the two went their separate ways, but Hoseok always spoke fondly of him. Last he heard, Namjoon had moved to Seoul and was working at the Blue House.

“You all figured out what you want?” Dixie asked, reappearing with our drinks.

Hoseok ordered the steak and eggs while I got their “Rising Roadhouse'' meal. It came with waffles and I knew that would make Hoseok happy. When we were alone again, Hoseok sighed.

“It’s Jimin,” He said.

Bracing myself, I leaned in closer so we could speak quietly. The diner was almost empty at this time of night and I was nervous. This was shit no one needed to hear about. Hoseok got closer to me.

“What’s going on?” I demanded, whispering harshly.

“He’s gotten into some shit with Winter Hill again. Yoongi bailed him out but things are going to shit. They want us to get some things for them to make up for it. We weren’t sure where to go, and Georgie was very specific.”

I breathed through my nose. Jimin was my closest friend during my time with the crew. We thought the most alike, worked the best, and trusted one another. However, we were also hot heads. I had worked on myself tremendously over the years, but Jimin had the worst kind of anger. Talking out the mouth. And to talk to somebody in Winter Hill the way I assumed he had? Jimin was asking to lose a finger. That’s if he hadn’t already. Looking at Hoseok, he seemed to know what question I had on my mind.

“Yoongi made him cut the first joint off. I told him to write an apology letter in blood. I also sent the boss the piece in a medicine jar. Just to be sure.”

Grimacing, I rubbed my forehead. I had almost forgotten the way they do things in the mafia. The letter in blood, however, seemed more of a New York thing. I’d have to get clarification on that later. Leaning back in my chair, I shook my head.

“Unbelievable,” I mumbled absentmindedly.

On one hand, I was very angry that either of them would humiliate Jimin like that. On the other hand, I knew that the boy had put them in a very, very fucked up spot. Either they make amends and punish him or they lose the entire East Coast. If Boston doesn’t want anything to do with them, New York will become weary as well. Even if Hoseok was a Red Pull at one time, he is still an outsider. He was still just an associate.

“What is he looking for?” I finally asked, leaning back in.

“Jewelry. Said they wanted something ‘your old girl’ would like. Said you’d know what to do.”

I smirked. Georgie Boy had always been impressed with my taste. Still, I was not sure about getting involved with all of this. In order to do so would mean helping them stake out a place and I was not going there. I had made my peace. Still, I could not help the part of me that felt excited. I squashed it like a bug.

“I’m not helping you with anything,” I said.

“I’m not asking you to,” He replied. “Just tell us if you’ve seen anything noteworthy lately.”

Dixie came back with our food and I used it as a distraction. I needed time to think. Hoseok and I ate off of one another and I continued to sit and ponder over the new things I had seen at the museum in town. I had gone many times, I had always tried to desensitize myself to the feeling I got when I walked in, but each time I looked around. I knew where every single camera was, I knew how to get into the back, and I was familiar enough with the security system to work around it. Every detail of a heist had already formed in my head that I refused to act on. Just as I knew every museum all the way up to Orange County. There were quite a few jewelers that had caught my eye as well. Still, I knew my answer after a few minutes of silence.

“His daughter’s birthday is soon, isn’t it?” I clarified, making sure my memory serves me well.

“In a few weeks,” Hoseok nodded.

“There’s a pair of earrings at Beverly Hills Jewelers,” I started. “They’re 2 carat, T.W, diamonds. They’re heart shaped. Halo. They’re beautiful.”

“Price?”

“I believe $15,000. They have some nice tennis chains as well that could match.”

He hummed, “I don’t know if it’ll be enough.”

I nodded, “I’ll include a personalized letter as well as a ring from my own collection if that helps.”

Hoseok smiled brightly at me. I knew that had pleased him. Georgie Boy would also be happy. His little girl gets some nice gifts and he gets to wave his dick around like the narcissist is is. In my head, I was already trying to remember the layout of the store. I had only gone inside twice when I took a trip to Beverly Hills. I was having a rough day and I wanted to get back in my element for a while. Scoping out places was always a relaxing thing for me to do. I ended up buying a necklace while I was there so they wouldn’t become suspicious of me. Still, I would have to see it again and show the guys what I was talking about so they could do the hit. That place was heavily secured.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Hoseok said, pushing the last piece of steak closer to me.

Grinning at him I replied, “It was an emergency.”

And then I popped the steak in my mouth and savored the taste. Just for now I would have a little bit of chaos. It would just be Hoseok and I, so that made the guilt lessen. At least this wasn’t something I would have to actually perform. Still, I thought to myself, I was incredibly bored without the little bit of chaos I had before.

Present

Laughing, I cut another piece of brown hair off. Jules stared at me, her hands covering her mouth, while she shook. She was a regular now, always got the same treatment, but when she called about her appointment last week she asked for a bob. Well, giving it to her, it was difficult to imagine just how upset she would become.

Her mother had recently been diagnosed with cancer and she wanted to show her that she was standing with her. The chemo had made chunks fall out and her mother decided to buzz her head. I had been the person to do that and give her a pamphlet of local stores she could go to and buy nice wigs. Jules, however, had called me late and said she wanted to donate her own hair for her mom. Tony had recently registered the salon with Locks of Love and trained us all in it. Sasha had been the most excited about the prospect. His mother had died from cancer when he was in highschool.

Jules’s hair was thick, dark brown, and wavy. Everything about it was perfect and she was a dream to work with. She always took things in stride and tipped well. Today, I was worried if she would ever come back.

Her hair was long enough that we could keep it at her shoulders. She had always kept it past her butt, just barely grazing her upper thighs, and took pride in it. I was still planning to give her plenty of highlights and a blowout- on the house. I had nothing but love for the girl and I knew how difficult this would be for her. Glancing at Tiesha, she smiled.

“Girl, what are you crying for?” She joked, parting another section of her client’s hair.

I recognized her but was not sure of her name. She always came in for installations or silk presses. Tiesha was always happy to see her, at the very least, so I knew she was a nice enough person.

“I don’t know,” Jules whined back, sniffling and rubbing her reddening eyes.

“Now, you are too damn pretty to be looking like that,” She replied, braiding back another section. “Make an appointment with momma and I’ll hook you up.”

I scoffed, “I can do extensions, too.”

“Oh, I know. But you’re most definitely a colorist. Julie, baby, Ty will take good care of you, okay?”

“Your mom will be very happy,” Sasha chimed in, his Russian accent thick.

Jules nodded, “Yeah, she will.”

I smiled to myself. That was the best motivator to get through this. I kept as much length as I could and I was still going to try to make her feel pretty with the new style. She had said her friends were excited but her boyfriend was conflicted. He loved her hair. That made me frown. Who the fuck says that to their girlfriend? Especially one who’s doing it for their sick mother.

“I’ve never gone this short before,” Jules said, her composure coming back. “It’s scary.”

“Don’t worry,” Sasha soothed, cleaning up from his last client. “You’ve got the best in the house. Y/N’ll take care of you.”

I winked at the boy. Sasha had grown on me considerably since he was first hired. I had not gone to Tony about his skipping after all, instead I cornered him at work and told him if he ever ditched me again I would get him fired. We were rocky after that but I knew his respect for me had gone up. A friendship blossomed when he confessed he was clueless about doing color. Sasha was an amazing stylist and his precion was otherworldly, but Destiny was right to never give him color clients. I spent a few nights helping him practice on some mannequin heads and he followed me around like a puppy. He had even agreed to clean up alone for two nights while I was in Beverly Hills helping Hoseok scope out the place. We were thick as thieves after that.

“I know that,” Jules cracked a smile. “She always takes care of me.”

“I’m flattered,” I finally said. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plans for you.”

Her smile grew. Jules had been very excited about free coloring. I had told her I was giving myself free reign, and I wondered if she thought I was going to go manic pixie on her. Hopefully some lowlights and babylights would suffice. We had never gone darker before and I thought it would suit the new cut well.

Cutting in her layers, I was happy with how it looked. Her hair framed her face nicely and she would still have enough length to play around with it if she wanted. Jules was a fan of those half-up, half-down looks. Using my comb, I ran through her hair and cut. So far, she had not looked back at the mirror. She seemed nervous too.

“Do you want me to cut your bangs blunt or keep them split?” I asked.

Jules perked up, “Oh! I was actually thinking about trying a new bang style.”

I nodded, “Do you have a picture?”

She opened her gallery and pulled it up. I smiled to myself. Jameela Jamil really did pull off the schoolgirl bangs.

“So in between?” I walked around so she was facing me.

“Do you think it’ll look nice?” She asked, chewing her bottom lip.

I studied her face for a moment.

“You’ll look great, but it might take some time to get used to. They’re a bit more maintenance than blunt or curtain.”

She smiled, “I figured that.”

Working quietly, I began to trim her bangs into the correct shape. They will look their best after I finish styling the rest of her hair. Jules loved it when I straightened her hair after our visits. She never had the patience for it at home and it made her feel special when she got it done here. I would have to let her know that her bangs will look pretty if she curled the longer side pieces to blend them in with her natural waves. With the cutting done, it was time to start the lowlights.

“When is your next appointment?” I asked Sasha.

He was sitting in his chair and texting someone on his phone. He glanced at me before getting back to his screen.

“About twenty minutes. He’s new.”

“Oh, a man?” Tiesha dramatically emphasized the man part. It was not often that men booked with us. Sasha had gone to barber school and did amazing work, but for some reason the idea of going to a salon bothered most men. “He from out of town?”

“I think so,” The Russian nodded. “He definitely sounded foreign. I couldn’t tell where from. Maybe Asia?”

I froze for a moment. I took a breath. There was absolutely no way that any of them would do that. Then I thought of Taehyung. Absolutely not, I scolded myself. That boy feared me more than anybody else. I would ring him by his neck and then let Yoongi know about it. Besides, I said emergencies only. They would have scheduled with me if they were trying to talk. Walking back to my chair, I placed the dye and bleach down on the metal tray next to me. Opening one of the drawers at my desk, I grabbed some latex gloves and foil.

Getting started was simple. Getting the brown, I began painting sections of her hair and foiling them. The foil was not really necessary, but I always got nervous that the parts I did not want colored would get touched. Lowlights were more sparsely added, and unlike highlights, never layers. Making my way around her head, I was excited to see if she would like it. I only went a shade darker than her natural color, so the color contrast was not extremely stark. The highlights were the most important part of the look.

Foiling the last piece of hair, I took the bowl to the sink near the back as well as the brush I was using. Tossing them in and removing my gloves, I heard the bell chime and Sasha’s customer service voice begin. No one could beat Tiesha’s, that woman had client relationships like no one I had ever met. They adored her.

“Come sit and we can get started,” Sasha seemed more excited than usual.

I guessed the guy wanted something a bit different from his normal caseload.

“Alright,” I sighed, clapping my hands. “Let's get this bleach started.”

Walking back into the main room, I paid no mind to the customer sitting in Sasha’s chair. Jules was FaceTiming with someone and I grinned when I recognized her mom’s voice. She seemed very cheery today.

“Oh, I love that length on you,” Martha gushed, her accent only picking up on certain words.

“Gracias, mami,” Jules beamed. “Do you think Carlos will like it?”

Martha waved her hands around animatedly when she talked. I had learned that from the many times she came to the salon with Jules. Now, she was shaking them violently.

“Who cares?”

I laughed and got to work on her highlights.

“I said the same thing,” I chimed.

The three of us talked as I worked. Martha always enjoyed asking me about the craziest customer of the week, and I usually indulge her. This week it had been a very convoluted, pastel rainbow color job. She wanted the top half white and the bottom portion colored. She booked out my entire day, gave me hell about every insignificant detail, and then left a $2 tip. Sasha got to hear me rant and rave about it when we were cleaning that night.

“She’s never allowed in my chair again,” I finished, setting a timer for everything.

The lowlights had been sitting for twenty minutes while the babylights would need about 15 in order to develop the way I want them to. Thinking, I was certain the lowlights would be fine going two minutes over the usual time. They would be hardly noticeable regardless.

“You’ve had worse,” Sasha pointed out.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “But those women tip well. I don’t care how rude you are- money is money. That chick is a pain in the ass without the benefits.”

“She has nothing on Kimberly,” Tiesha joked.

I groaned, “God, don’t even put that name into the universe. She’s due back soon.”

Sasha laughed. “She does pay very well. Don’t blame you.”

“Who’s Kimberly?” Jules asked.

I gave Tiesha a look before answering her.

“She’s a regular. Tony was her go-to guy, but he’s only in twice a week and it doesn’t line up with her schedule. He sent her over to me. Let’s just say she takes picky to a new level.”

Jules snickered, “What does she like to get?”

“Usually a platinum blonde, layered cut. On paper it’s not the most difficult thing in the world, but she makes it much more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Complicated?” Tiesha exclaimed. “That woman is super rude, always late, and acts like she knows everything. I’d tell that bitch to kick rocks.”

Her client laughed out loud.

“That might be true,” I reasoned, checking the foils. “But, she always tips well and shouts me out on her socials. So, can I really complain? Besides, I’m used to her.”

Checking the foils again, I was happy with the color they were and decided to take the foils off early. Stopping my timer, I asked Jules to walk over to the rinsing station. I was happy this was my last client. Sweeping up the hair, I left it in the dustpan until I was ready to begin the tedious task of preparing it for donation. Putting on a new pair of gloves, I willed this day to be over already.

I knew something was off when a new motorcycle was parked out front. Briefly checking the plates, I was even more weary when they were from Jersey. I knew far too many people in that corner of the US. Still, I told myself that it could be anybody. Perhaps one of my new neighbors was from Hobokan. That was highly unlikely, though. Eyeing the red leather jacket hanging from one of the handles, I only knew one person who owned something like that. I guess I will be seeing Jimin tonight. The thought bothered me far more than I thought it would.

Taking my time going up the stairs, I considered calling Hoseok and demanding to know why Park was sniffing around my apartment. I knew I should have moved out, should have tried something new, but the thought of leaving the only home I ever knew bothered me. Using the time climbing to my advantage, I slowly steeled myself. Jimin could smell weakness from a mile away. He was also one person who could convince me to do bad things.

The excitement that ran through me at the idea sickened me.

Starting at the 4 on the door, I braced myself. When I walked into that hallway all traces of the new me had to disappear. There can be no laughter, no crying, and no open hostility. I would have to be a blank slate. With one small breath, I pulled the door and went into the hall.

There wasn’t a body in sight, but I knew better than to go off of that. Jimin could get into my apartment with relative ease. No one would notice either. Everyone else that lived was too busy making ends meet to pay attention to the stranger sneaking into my house.

Taking my keys out of my purse, I unlocked the door and walked inside. I could smell him. It was, however, not Jimin. Jimin only wore Orange Blossom by Jo Malone. Whoever this was smelled like baby powder and flowers. My guard completely up now, I continued further into the studio and kicked the door closed behind me. Whoever it was, I knew had been standing behind the door. The smell was not as potent as it had been before.

Going into the kitchen, I shrugged my coat off before throwing it behind me. I heard it hit something and it was a blur after that. I quickly snatched a kitchen knife from the drying rack and threw myself to the ground. The man grabbed my hands. Kicking his inner thigh, I rolled from underneath him and shot up. He threw his arms up.

“Stop!”

Ignoring him, I threw the knife. The man reacted quickly, catching the blade in between his hands before throwing it down on the floor. While he was distracted, I slid on the floor and grabbed the pistol from under my bed. Pointing it at the man, he rolled his eyes dramatically.

“What are you going to do? Shoot me?”

Without saying anything, I aimed for his left shoulder and fired. The silencer muzzled the shot, though the pop was still nasty. It worked better with a pillow added to the equation. I doubted any of my neighbors would notice the sound, however. The man shouted, stumbled back, and leaned against the fridge.

“You shot me,” He exclaimed, shocked.

“Who the fuck are you?” I barked, aimed for his other shoulder.

“You wait to ask me after you-”

I shot again. He gritted his teeth and sank to the floor. The wounds were leaking blood but I tried to not let it bother me. This guy broke into my house. This time, I aimed for his right knee.

“Who are you?” I asked again.

“Jungkook,” The man, Jungkook, answered. “I’m with The Saints.”

Lowering the barrel of the gun, I stared at him for a second. He was with my crew? Since when?

“Who sent you?” I asked, aiming at his chest now.

If he was going to get found out, he might be more inclined to lunge before I could call anyone.

“Yoongi.”

Slowly, I reached into my back pocket and got my phone. I was relieved the screen hadn’t cracked during the outfall. Slowly, keeping my eyes on Jungkook, I started typing in the number I knew by heart. If he was lucky, Yoongi would pick up. If not, then we weren’t moving until someone did. After the second ring, a rough voice greeted me.

“August.”

Training my gun on his head, I spoke.

“There’s someone claiming they know you in my apartment.”

After a few seconds, Yoongi’s voice was hard when he replied.

“Who is it?”

“Says his name is Jungkook,” I replied evenly.

I was fully prepared to pull the trigger. Jungkook stared the barrel down without fear. I only hoped he would go down quickly and quietly.

Yoongi sighed harshly, “Fucking Jimin.”

Gripping the handle tightly, I placed my finger on the trigger. I only needed the okay now.

“He’s fine,” Yoongi was annoyed. “I sent Jimin but I guess he got the kid to go instead.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I put the gun down. Jungkook visibly relaxed then and moaned in pain. Raising a hand, he cradled his left shoulder and hissed in pain.

“Fucked him up,” I admitted. “He was in my apartment when I got home.”

Yoongi hummed, “Take care of him. He’ll let you know what’s going on. We have a problem.”

He hung up before I could respond.

I hated when he did that. I had no idea who Jungkook was, or what he was here to tell me, but we were on the same team. And I just shot him. Twice. Putting the gun back in its original spot, I reached a little further behind it and retrieved my first aid kit. Jungkook sagged in relief.

“Sorry,” I apologized, helping him take his shirt off. “Didn’t realize you were with us.”

Jungkook hissed when I applied alcohol to the wounds. It would take me a while to get his patched up, but I was capable of doing it. Years of friendship with The Saints would do that to you. Looking at Jungkook, I was taken aback by how attractive he was.

All of the Saints were good looking, but this guy had an aura about him. His hair was wild, pitch black, and down to his shoulders. His skin was gently tanned with small moles dotted sporadically across his body. What caught my attention the most was the shiny, silver lip ring he donned. That was an oddity in our world.

“My fault, shouldn’t have broken in without a warning,” He replied.

“I saw the bike outside and thought you were Jimin.”

He hummed then winced. I knew those bullets did not feel nice. Taking my time and trying to be gentle, I used a pair of tweezers to get them out. Jungkook bit his lip so hard he drew blood.

“Yeah,” He breathed out. “Let me borrow it for the ride.”

“Park,” We both knew what I meant by that.

For the next hour we sat in silence. He let me work and I listened to every sharp intake of breath, groan, and moan. I felt guilty about everything, but I also had a certain level of apathy. The guy was nobody to me. Not really. Same crew doesn’t mean we’re friends. Still, if they sent him here then that meant they trusted him enough to come. That told me a lot about him.

After I placed gauze over the stitches, Jungkook finally spoke again.

“Jin hyung said you were harmless,” He chuckled. “I’ll let him know he’s wrong.”

Ignoring his comment, I went to find him something to wear. I doubted he would be able to fit any of my things. He was huge, a tall man with big arms, but I could make something work. Grabbing a loose fitting dress, I threw it to him.

“I don’t have anything for a man, so that will have to do.”

He nodded and put the dress on without complaint.

“I’ll pick up something for you later,” I continued. “Did you come alone?”

Jungkook shook his head, “Hyung’s around. He was going to come but an old friend called so he sent me.”

“Kai?” I wondered, already knowing the answer.

Jimin and Kai were good friends. They had known one another since they were kids and got involved in crime together. I’d only met the guy in passing the few times he had visited Boston, but I was not very familiar with him. I knew he was a drug runner on the west coast but that was where my knowledge stopped.

“Yeah, said they had business or something.”

I hummed, “Would you like to lay down for a moment?”

Jungkook was very obviously in pain. He tried to deny it for a minute but ultimately took my offer. Going to the fridge, I pulled out a can of Ginger Ale and gave it to him. He accepted it readily.

“Sorry about the gun,” I offered, sitting on the floor. “Jin’s right. I’m usually pretty harmless. I didn’t even own a gun until I left The Saints.”

Jungkook shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. You weren’t expecting company.”

Opening my own drink, I eyed him. He was far too calm. My guess was this was not his first time being shot. Trying to find other wounds was pointless, however, he was too clothed. I hadn’t even thought to check when I was helping him earlier.

“Why’d you come inside anyway?” I asked.

Jungkook grinned ruefully.

“Hyung said he’d call you.”

That pulled a laugh out of me. Park probably forgot about it. For someone as dangerous as he was, he could be irresponsible. I remember when we were scoping a jewelry store together a few years back, Jimin had completely forgotten where the cameras were by the time we left. I had to go back myself a few days later to make sure his guesses were right. We had never let him live it down. Yoongi did not think it was very funny.

“Typical,” I said.

“Yeah.”

Jungkook’s eyes slipped closed. He was so completely at ease in my presence it was unnerving. Taking a sip of my drink, I looked at him in bewilderment. He was so much like Taehyung, trusting and easy going. It was difficult to imagine what role he played in the crew. He could have taken my place but I doubted he was as good. He had come here, hid behind my door, and then ambushed me. Then he was surprised when I acted like he was an enemy. Chuckling, I put my drink down. Yeah, just like Taehyung.

“What’s funny?” He asked, eyes still closed.

Wiping the smile off my face, I replied. “Just thinking.”

We did not talk again. I was sure Jungkook had dozed off, but he kept waking back up again. Getting up, I began looking for some pain medicine to no avail. I had not needed to put myself to sleep in a long time. Grabbing my keys from the floor, I told Jungkook I was heading out for a bit. I got no response. Patting myself down, I knew I did not have my phone and picked it up from beside the bed. Jungkook was lightly snoring.

Slipping from the room, I locked up and went downstairs. Typing in the last number I had for Jimin, I was not surprised that it was no longer in service. He changed phones like you change clothes. Deciding to call Taehyung, I went to my contacts to find him. He was the only person I saved.

“Hello?” His voice was deep and hoarse.

Glancing at the time, I realized it was much later than I thought.

“Sorry about the time,” I replied. “It’s Mouse.”

I heard shuffling on the other side. Taehyung had gotten himself a girlfriend, Jennie, and I was almost positive she was relatively clueless about his life. The last time I talked to Hoseok, he had said she thought he was a tech guy who was helping a start up. He must have been with her now if his silence was anything to go by.

“Sorry,” He said, voice low. “I’m not alone.”

“I just need Park’s number and you can get back to bed.”

Saying the numbers slowly, I typed them into my keypad as I made my way through the dark streets.

“Thanks,” I stopped walking once I got to the gas station around the corner. “Get some sleep.”

“It was good to hear your voice,” He replied, more awake than he had been. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Night, V.”

“Night, Mouse.”

Hanging up, I stuffed my phone into my back pocket and walked into the store. It was deserted except for the cashier. Giving me a stiff nod, I ignored the man before going to the back of the store and getting some bottled water. I never trusted the tap in the building. Afterwards, I got a bottle of Nyquil and Advil before going to the register.

“Let me get a pack of Marlboro Black Menthols,” I told the cashier.

Taking out my phone, I took my ID from the attached wallet as well as my debit card. The man held the pack of cigarettes and took my ID. Briefly looking it over, he scanned the barcode before scanning the cigarettes. Handing the ID back to me, he began scanning my other items before bagging them.

“Your total is $26.87.”

Nodding, I inserted my card and typed my pin. Putting my card back into the small wallet, I put my phone into my pocket and took the bag.

“Have a good night,” I said.

“You too,” He replied.

Leaving the store, I opened up my keypad and pressed the call button. Jimin picked up after four rings.

“Hello?” He answered, voice brightly and bubbly.

He always answered unknown numbers like that just in case. Jimin always prioritized having the upper hand over anything else. Anyone looking for Park would never connect him to the voice on the other side. I, however, was familiar enough with him to see through the facade.

“You got your boy hit,” I said, cutting right to the chase. “I had to give him a dress and Nyquil after popping two in him.”

Jimin laughed loudly, his fake voice gone. This was why we were friends. Our senses of humor were far too warped due to our upbringings. In another world we would have been enemies belonging to different clans, but I liked this timeline far more. Park was a great guy when you looked past the insecurities, anger issues, and tendency to seek violence.

“Jungkook’s wearing a dress?” He exclaimed, still laughing. “God, you have to take a picture for me.”

I rolled my eyes, “Explain why he’s here. I would ask him but I stepped out to get some medicine for him.”

Jimin’s laughter abruptly cut off. That feeling of dread returned. If Park was getting serious then that meant whatever the situation was must be more than I thought it would be. I was expecting them to need me to help them with a heist, but I was getting the feeling it might be more than that. Jimin sighed.

“I can’t get into specifics right now, but you need to get the fuck out of California.”

Going up the stairs of my complex, I paused.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not safe here anymore.”

Growing angry, I shouted. “Enough with the cryptic messages, Park!”

Continuing to go up, I kept looking around every corner I went to. This was the worst fucking timing I could have had. Things were finally going well for me, I had friends and a job that I actually liked, and I had to give it all up again. Tears filling my eyes, I shoved open my door and slammed it behind me.

“I told you I can’t get into specifics, but there’s a reason I’m with Kai right now. You and Jungkook need to get out of that apartment as soon as possible. I don’t care where you go but you need to leave.”

Jungkook sprung up when I kicked the edge of my bed. Pointing to my phone, I mouth ‘Jimin.’ Getting on my knees, I pulled out my duffle bag from underneath the bed and threw it at the other man. He looked at me when he stood up. I noticed the way he winced and held up the bag in my hand.

“Copy,” Was all I replied.

“Get to Boston. Don’t take the truck.”

“Give me something to work with,” I demanded, taking the Advil out of the bag and tossing it to Jungkook. “I can’t be blind.”

“Cмерть не за горами.”

My entire world stopped spinning. I could hear my heart beating, feel my lungs pushing the air out of my body, while my eyes were frozen. Every single inch of my skin shivered, goosebumps springing up, and I broke out into a cold sweat. This was no heist.

Hanging up on Jimin, I went to the window above my bed and opened it. Throwing the phone as far as I could, I turned to find Jungkook waiting for instructions. Staring at him, I decided to take a leap of faith.

“Ты один из нас?” I asked.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow at me. “What?”

Gritting my teeth, I snatched the duffle from him. Jungkook continued waiting for me to tell him what to do. I pointed to my bathroom.

“Take everything from the mirror cabinet and put it in the bag. After that, grab what you can from the wardrobe and stuff it. Only take one pair of shoes and a pair of heels. That’s all I’ll need.”

He got to work quickly. Going back to the bed, I took out my gun and the spare ammo I kept locked up at the very back corner. Placing the ammo in the duffle, I took my first aid kit from the kitchen floor and tossed it in as well.

“Do you have a gun?” I asked Jungkook.

“Yeah,” He replied. “It’s in the jacket downstairs. I thought you would feel more comfortable if I wasn’t armed.”

Packing my small makeup collection, I felt myself shutting down. Bad girls don’t have feelings, and I was fucking heartless. Yes, I told myself, heartless. It was harder to pretend now than it had been, I was rusty and in desperate need of a distraction. The thought of finding my old family in the shadows was always frightening, but the thought of them looking for me was far more unsettling.

“Done,” Jungkook announced.

Realizing I had zoned out, I quickly put my makeup in the duffle bag and closed it. I had no time to dwell or be afraid. Heartless, Mouse, Heartless. I hated that name. Shaking my head, I pulled myself together enough to sling the duffle over my shoulder. Jungkook went to take it but I held my hand up.

“You’re not carrying this with your injuries. Just take that bag and this-” I handed him my gun. “I don’t know how quick you are but it’s probably better than me. I’m rusty.”

He nodded and we made our way down the stairs. Thinking, I began to categorize the cars that were in the parking lot and on the street. My truck was near the front but the streets were shrouded in light at this time. Jungkook’s bike was also out front. The back had security cameras but was pitch black at this time. I decided the front was the risk I was more willing to take and went through the hallway door on the first floor. Passing the doors, I paid no mind to Jungkook. He was capable and stayed in step with me effortlessly.

We would drive for a few hours, probably stopping at a diner so I could get another car, and keep going until we hit Arizona or New Mexico. I had not decided yet. Going out the front doors, I waved Jungkook away while I walked down the street. He went to get his jacket but left the bike behind. He was back beside me in a few seconds.

Crossing the street, I had my eyes on a Honda Accord parked on the curb. It was definitely a ‘97 model. I could start her up in a heartbeat. Unzipping one of the side pockets of my bag, I pulled out a switchblade and zipped it back up. Going to the driver’s side, Jungkook stayed at my back while I tried the handle. To my surprise, it opened. Stepping to the side, I gently tapped Jungkook’s back. Turning, he quickly shoved the gun into the backseat as I opened the door. After seeing that the coast was clear, I motioned for him to go around the car while I popped the truck. He said it was fine.

Nodding at him, I got into the car. Kicking the steering wheel, I heard the column lock break before swapping the ECUs. Taking my knife, I ripped off the lower center cover. Getting back out of the car, I opened the backseat and threw my duffle inside. Putting my knife back in its pocket, I opened the long side pocket along the front and pulled out my old screwdriver. This was far from the first jacking I had done.

Getting back into the car, I began to pry the steel cover away. Asking Jungkook for a light, I waited while he pulled out his phone from the pocket of the red jacket. He was lucky no one had taken it. With the flashlight on, I turned the switch from off, past run, to start. The car came to life instantaneously. Waving the light away, I threw the screwdriver into the center console and placed the car in drive. Finally closing the driver’s side door, I peeled off into the night.

The radio came to life and Amy Winehouse sang loudly as I got onto the I-5.

“Til’ the chips were down

Know you were a gambling man.

Love is a losing hand.”

Jungkook was very quiet. I had just followed exit sounds and continued to drive toward Arizona. It was the least exciting state, and the people who lived there were far too judgemental outside of Phoenix, but it was the best way to get to the airport. That airport was far too big and strangely laid out that I knew we would be difficult to pick out in a crowd. Glazing over at Jungkook, he was holding the pack of cigarettes I had bought earlier.

“They’re for Jimin,” I suddenly said, switching lanes. “They were his favorite last time I saw him.”

“I think he’s smoking Camels now,” Jungkook replied.

“Can’t win them all.”

Sighing, I relaxed a bit more in my seat. So far, we have not been followed. Then again, I could be missing something. Tracking was not a strong suit of mine, and in my experience, the Russians were very, very evasive when they wanted to be. Still, I allowed myself a moment to breathe.

“How do you know the boys in Brighton?” Jungkook asked, voice quiet and soft.

I thought about it for a moment. It was a rather long story, but knowing that we were familiar with the same people made it feel easier. Deciding to probe him for information first, I formed a plan in my head on how to go about this conversation.

“Have you ever heard of the person called Pыбка?” I asked, my American accent showing through. It had been a very, very long time since I had spoken Russian, and even then it had always been a second language that I learned from my time with the Shulaya.

“Ivan’s girl, right? The one who was murdered a few years back? What about her?”

Sparing him a quick glance, I spoke.

“Do I look dead to you?”

Jimin and I had known one another longer than anyone else in The Saints. He had been the last person to join the crew, and was deep within the Shulaya before he went to Jersey to join Hoseok’s team. I would never forget the look on his face the first time he saw me, or the fact that it took him all of ten minutes to get fully committed to keeping me safe. Everyone called me Mouse. Jin had come up with it after joking about me being able to live in someone’s attic and they would never know. It caught on and it was the only name anyone on the streets knew about. The ‘Little Fish’ of Shulaya long forgotten after the first two years of hiding. However, it seemed like my face had been seen by somebody and Ivan was not happy about my disappearing act.

“Holy shit,” Jungkook said in awe. “We’re so fucked.”

I laughed, “Have some faith. Ivan is scary, but he’s also impulsive. I know him better than most and trust me- he doesn’t know how to keep his cool. Between Boston and NYC, I doubt he’ll get very far into their territory without raising hell.”

Jungkook made a strange noise.

“I’d be far more afraid of Yoongi than any of those Wiseguys.”

Scoffing, I saw the exit I needed to take in order to pull up at the last Holiday Inn before the long stretch of nothing at all. Jungkook seemed to see where my mind was going and began to look out of the window. After briefly going over what food options we had, we landed on Taco Bell.

Ordering our food was simple enough. Jungkook was a huge tomato hater and was very upset to find that his Crunch Wrap had been ‘ruined.’ The motel seemed to have a few quests and I hoped we could get a room. Jungkook offered to pay. The frontdesk lady was kind and found us a room within 5 minutes.

Using the elevator, I asked Jungkook if he still had the ‘thing’ with him. He nodded but said no more. It was probably better that way. Throwing my duffle bag onto my bed, I realized that Jungkook was still wearing a dress with the pants he had come inside in.

Digging through my bag, I found a pair of sweatpants that would fit him well enough as well as an oversized nightshirt I rarely ever wore. I usually slept naked. Tonight, I will try to make my partner feel comfortable.

Throwing the clothes on his bed, Jungkook perked up a bit and seemed to be fine with their sizes. I wondered if he had been wearing more uncomfortable clothes at one time and shook my head. He had walked into this motel wearing that. Yes, Y/N, he has definitely been far more uncomfortable than tightly sweats.

“You can take the bathroom first,” I pointed to the door. “You need it more than I do.”

Jungkook nodded, “Would you mind helping me get out of this thing? It still hurts to move my arms around too much.

Looking at him, I pinned him with an unimpressed look. We were not having one of those moments. Still looking at Jungkook, I unzipped the pouching with my switchblade in it and pulled the knife out. Walking to Jungkook, I quickly worked on the right side of the fabric. The left side was even quicker. Gently lifting his arm just enough to see his armpit, I cut the short sleeve from the bottom, following up with the top, and up the high neckline. Repeating it on the other side, the blood-soaked garment pooling to the floor.

Jungkook seemed frozen. Looking at his face, his eyes were wide and staring at the blade in my hand. Thinking he might be uncomfortable with me standing so close to him with a weapon, I walked back to my bed.

“If you need help getting the shirt on, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook replied.

Picking up the spare clothes, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The water was on a few seconds later. Fully alone in the room, I looked around and decided to throw out the dress. With the torn up dress safely put away in my duffle, I tried to figure out what to do while I waited.

Taking Jungkook’s phone off of his bed (he used a flip phone just like Yoongi did on the job), I quickly found my way to the contacts. Hovering over Jimin’s number, I paused. Not thinking about it for too long, I pressed it and placed my phone to my ear. He answered quickly.

“Where are you?” Jimin asked, voice very low.

“Are you safe to talk?” I replied, voice just as low.

I could hear the way Jimin rolled his eyes, a small groan leaving his lips.

“I’m fine,” His voice was still soft. “I’m at a casino right now. Did you steal his phone?”

My blood ran cold. Most of our guys loved gambling, but Jimin had always thought it was a dumb pastime. I knew Ivan had been trying to expand the Russian influence in Los Angeles, and I hoped that he knew what he was doing. Jimin tended to run into situations without contemplating everything. Instead of grilling him, I decided to ease his worries.

“We’re safe. Heading east.” I looked around the room distractedly. “And no. I’m using it while he’s taking a shower.”

Jimin sighed in relief, “Kook is a good guy. He’ll keep you safe long enough to make it back to Boston. I’ll be on my way back in a few hours.”

It was better to keep things vague. Just like I had not said where we were headed, Jimin’s answer could mean anything. I heard Jungkook cry out but he was quiet soon after. I hoped the work I had done was keeping. I had told him to keep the stitches covered.

“See you soon,” I forced a smile on my face. “I got you a pack of cigarettes.”

Jimin laughed, though it sounded more forced than normal.

“Stay safe. I have to go.”

I hung up without another word. If he had to go then he had to go. The shower was still running and I was bored again. Looking at the door, I was tempted to walk around for a while. I had a feeling I would get myself into trouble if I did, but I was curious to see if I could get some extra clothes for Jungkook. Possibly a set of car keys, too. Looking at the bathroom door, I figured he was going to be there for a while.

“Fuck it,” I said under my breath.

Getting my room key, I slipped out of the room quietly.

The hallway was deserted, not a body in sight, but I had a feeling I could get something if I looked hard enough. Going to the elevator, I spotted a young couple laughing. Slowing my walk, I was happy to see that they were getting on the elevator.

Angling my body, I was practically jumping up and down when my eye caught on their room key. This would be too easy. The elevator chimed signaling someone was getting off. Quickly moving my body, I relied on their clinginess to sneak into the corridor without a problem. A group of people pooled out of the elevator and I drifted into their numbers.

The couple stood to the side and waited for us to pass. Using my foot, I tripped a young woman in front of me. She stumbled while I placed myself in a position to trip over her. The both of us dropped. The woman fell into the man. Falling, I shuffled closer to the man’s hand while the woman began apologizing profusely.

Quickly snatching the card from him, I slipped it into my pocket while I stood up. Adjusting my clothes, I quickly apologized as well. The couple waved the both of us off, seemingly unbothered, before getting on the elevator. Nodding to the woman, I turned toward the way the couple had come from. Looking at the keycard, I made my way toward the door with the number on it. I was lucky the woman and I had similar hair styles, but I was aware of Holiday Inn well enough to say that most of their cameras did not work.

Glancing up at the camera in the middle of the hallway, I was positive it was not working. Typically there would be a small, red dot that showed it was recording. Today, it was off. Letting myself in, I knew I had to be quick and clean.

Tonight I would only get clothes. Car keys were something I would have to snatch in the morning over breakfast. Someone would notice their keys missing in the middle of the night. Locating a large, black suitcase on the floor by the foot of the bed, I pulled it up onto the bed and unzipped it.

Carefully sifting through the clothes, I only pulled out enough for two outfits before gently placing everything back smoothly. They would probably be a bit big on Jungkook, but I doubted he would mind very much. I swore he was wearing a belt, but I had not been paying enough attention to know for sure.

Going to the pockets of the bag, I was happy to find a container of hair pomade and hoped it might make Jungkook happy. He would be able to do his hair if he wanted. Grabbing a pack of hair bands and a pair of boxers, I was ready to leave. Going into the dresser, I pulled out the complimentary bag they gave every guest, I shoved the clothes in it before leaving the room. With the keycard in my hand, I dropped it in the spot the couple had been before making my way back to my own room.

Jungkook was sitting on his bed drying his hair when I came in. He was wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt I had given him. I was glad he was able to get it on alone, but I felt bad I had not been here to help him. Holding up the bag, I tossed it his way.

“The first robbery I’ve done in four years,” I shook my head. “You should feel special.”

Jungkook opened the bag and grinned at me. His hair went just past his shoulders when it was wet, his fluffy curls weighed down by the water. Sifting through the bag, he seemed the happiest about the hair ties.

Getting my own clothes, I let him know I was going to take a shower. Getting under the hot water was a healing experience, and for the first time today I let a few tears slip out.

I was terrified, frustrated, but mostly- pissed.

Twelve years ago

Hands bound, I let my body relax. Ivan’s eyes were blazing, his anger palpable, but I refused to look away. He would never think I was weak again. Walking closer, the Russian yanked me up roughly, one of the straps of my sundress breaking.

“What the fuck did you do?” He seethed, his accent thick and almost incoherent through gritted teeth. “You always ruin everything you touch.”

Slowly, and with great care, I pooled spit into my mouth. With a quick gurgle, I spit in Ivan’s eye. My rebellion had angered just as much as it had excited Ivan. The thought made me sick to my stomach. I wanted to be as far away from him as possible, his hands burning my skin. Slamming me down, Ivan roared in anger before delivering a swift kick to my stomach.

Gasping, I tried my hardest to keep the vomit down. I refused to give him the satisfaction. I wished I was with Alexei. He would never have treated me like this. As if the thought had transferred over to the man beside me, he kicked me again.

“Alexei is dead, Лох,” He shouted. “You’re mine now.”

With another swift kick, I cried out. Then, without warning my stomach twisted. Another kick. Finally, I threw up all over the concrete floor beneath me.

For now. I was yours for now.

Present

With a new set of car keys in my hand, I walked into the parking lot. Jungkook was on the phone, but quickly hung up when he saw me approaching. Raising an eyebrow at him, I waved him over and we began walking together. Clicking the unlock button, I smiled when I saw the yellow Porsche. The two of us placed our things inside without a care in the world and drove off quickly after.

I had found the targets for today the night before while walking around the hotel late last night. It was a young woman and her mother. The two of them had been a whirlwind and gave the staff hell. Unable to sleep, my head headaches from exhaustion, and their bickering only pissed me off more. Unfortunately for them, they had made a big show of their money and decided to brag about their car.

It took a few minutes to switch out license plates and even less time to steal her car keys this morning during breakfast. They were staying for another day and had not planned on leaving the hotel at all. Jungkook laughed once we were a safe distance away.

“I’m still in shock at that woman’s entitlement,” He shook his head. “Did you see the way she flipped out when they ran out of bacon before her ‘precious angel’ could get any?”

Chuckling, I kept my attention on the road.

“Her attitude was the only reason I swiped this thing. I would never get into something so obvious.”

“It was as easy as stealing candy from a baby.”

Feeling confident from the jacking, I decided to play along.

“Do you steal from babies often?”

Jungkook giggled cutely, “I’ve cut down to twice a year.”

“Oh?”

“Halloween-” He counted with one finger, and lifted another, “-and Easter.”

“Easter?” My eyebrows pulled in as I laughed incredulously.

Jungkook grinned lazily.

“Stockings are so last year.”

It was becoming increasingly more difficult to think of him as a member of the mafia. While my age had made others test my abilities far more often than the others I never believed anyone doubted who I was. There was a look in your eye, this coldness, that separated you from the rest. I could pick out a killer in a line up- we were one in the same. However, Jungkook was impossible to get a read on. His boyish charms and good looks were not uncommon, but the innocence in his smile and the brightness that remained in his eyes were unsettling. Everything about him was unnerving. He was disarming and that alone was frightening.

Realizing the car had become quiet, I turned the radio on. It was a habit of mine. I did not like the silence. I hated it. Some trashy pop song blasted but I did not care. Jungkook did and began to look for something he liked more.

“What do you like?” He asked, pressing the screen to change the stations.

“Pick whatever,” I replied, flipping off the guy who cut me off.

Arizona was the worst state I had ever been to. The drive was not as awful as Texas, nothing will ever beat the twelve hours of hell to still be in that damned state, but it was not much better. Outside of Phoenix the towns were not as grand. Tucson gave her a run for her money, but never came close to the busy city. Driving through the desert, I asked Jungkook to pull up the directions to the airport. I no longer knew my way.

“How did you meet the guys?” I asked, eyes on the road.

Jungkook picked a pop station and leaned back in his seat.

“Through Jimin,” He replied. “They needed help dealing with someone. I had just left New York and we ran into each other in Vegas. I liked everyone so I decided to join.”

Raising an eyebrow, I quickly turned my head so he could see my expression.

“Ivan let you leave?”

“I wasn’t a member,” Jungkook mumbled. “Just an acquaintance. I was for hire.”

That was not what I had expected. Jungkook did not seem like a killer, but I had been proven wrong many times. When I lived with my parents I had met many assassins I would have never guessed who they were just looking at them. Even talking with them it was impossible to detect. Looking at the man, I found it hard to believe that we were from the same background. While I had ran from that life, Jungkook ran toward it with open arms. In fact, he seemed to pay it little mind.

“What family are you from?” I asked. “My family was under The Table.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’re from the Underground?”

I nodded, “I never really wanted that life. I’m a much better thief anyway.”

Jungkook rubbed his bottom lip. I forced myself to focus on the road. Even if we were the only people out here, I did not want to risk anything. I had stolen the car and the plate and getting stuck out here would be hell.

“I’m with Sacarii.”

The Sacarii was the sister organization to The Table. While my family had mostly dealt with members of gangs and high profile families, members of the Sacarii were the people who went after other assassins. Stealing another look at Jungkook, I looked at the tattoos on his arm and tried to find his symbol. All of us got one, mine was a tiger on my right side, but the ink was too difficult to look at while driving.

“I have a tiger lily,” Jungkook said, noticing my assessment. “I have a few of them, actually.”

Lilies are from Japan, but I knew Jungkook was Korean. His name alone gave him away. Waving my hand, I asked him to explain when he got it.

“My family moved to Japan when I was fifteen. I had my first kill there so we decided that I would get something to represent that. The prayer hands on my back were done by the organization after the ordainment.”

Ordainments were very common. It was the process an assassin went through to become an official member of their organization. Their families were no longer defined by blood but the common experiences each one shared. The Table and the Sacarii were one big family, but oftentimes we did not get along with one another. Civil at best and competition at worst. Prayer hands with a rosary were the tattoos everyone got. It was large, covering the entire center of the back, with the family oath written above and below it.

“I never got mine,” I admitted. “I ran off before my ceremony. That’s when I met Alexei.”

“How old were you?”

Smiling sadly, I replied. “Thirteen.”

“Oh,” He said. “I didn’t know they got people that young.”

“Well, he saw me kill someone and wanted to keep me. I doubt you knew him- he died a few years ago.”

Jungkook nodded, “Yeah. What was he like?”

Laughing, I spotted a gas station and decided to stop. We were at half a tank, but I wanted to be safe. Jungkook took out his wallet and handed me a twenty.

“He was a better man than his brother,” I answered, taking the money. “He knew how to stay calm and respect other people. Alexei always kept good relationships with the other families. Ivan is an idiot who can’t handle criticisms of any kind.”

“He’s that awful? I mean, I only know him through brief meetings.”

“I’d rather be dead than serve him again,” I opened my door. “But you already know that.”

Settling in my seat, I glanced over at Jungkook. He looked tired and I let him know it was fine to sleep. He nodded and slipped his eyes closed shortly after. Taking my new phone out of my pocket, I decided to make a quick phone call before we took off. Jungkook and I had picked up a flip phone from Walmart on our way to the airport. It was more secure than any smartphone. Dialing the number, I waited.

“Hello?” Hoseok picked up.

“I’m landing in Massachusetts,” I replied, knowing he was aware of the situation by now. It had been a day and a half. “Pick me up at our spot.”

“Jin will be there.”

“Copy.”

Hoseok sighed heavily, “Is the kid okay? Heard you shook him up.”

Glancing at Jungkook, I was shocked he was snoring.

“He’s fine,” I replied. “He’s definitely in pain, and tries to keep his movement to a minimum, but hides it from me. Attempts to, I should say. I took care of him as best I could but Agust should get his hands on his ASAP.”

Hoseok hummed and I knew he was nodding. He was a very animated, lively person and could not sit still for long. He got into a fist fight with a Russian who took offense to his hand movements.

“See you when I see you.”

“Three o’clock,” I said before hanging up.

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I finally buckled my seat. Shaking Jungkook awake, I told him to put his belt on. He grinned at me lazily before doing it. He fell asleep again quickly.

Happy to have a window seat, I watched as we began to take off. It had been a while since I was on a plane. The last time was when I was running to California as quickly as I could. Kansas had been nice when I had first left The Saints, but it quickly became suffocating. The silence and mundane town life made my skin crawl. California had seemed like it would be better, more fun, but it had become just as mundane after a while.

I had always gotten bored easily. It was why I enjoyed pickpocketing. As a kid, my little hands and unassuming looks had made it easy. I never planned on getting good at it. At the time it felt less damning in comparison to what the people in my life wanted me to do.

There was a time when I was happy killing, pleasing my family had always felt good, but that faded when my teenage years approached. Running away to New York was a quick, impulsive decision I had made when I was afraid of my future. Staring at the clear, blue sky, I scoffed.

I had run away from one hell into another. I went from that one into another. The Saints were my family, but I would be lying if I said I felt they were any different from what I had always done. Kansas had been my first attempt at normalcy, and San Diego had been me living in that world.

And I loved it, in my own way. It was nice to have a routine. It felt good to have friends, even if they were the most surface level friendships I could allow myself to have, and I owned my own things. I had earned what I had.

Now I was flying back to a place I was not sure I belonged anymore. I felt two halves of myself fighting one another. One half wanted to run again, to disappear, and get as far away from this place as possible. Then there was the other side of me, the twisted, dark, nasty side of myself that was reveling in all of this. My excitement was hard for me to figure out, and I began to doubt myself.

Had I ever really wanted this life? Has it all been a dream? A fantasy of a perfectly serene, normal, and legal lifestyle I had never known? Finding a cloud, I rubbed my temples and sighed.

I doubted I would ever have an answer to that question.

Five years ago

Standing around the table, all of us went over the plan again. They were doing construction on the roof, so that would be the quickest, and easiest, point of entrance. I would go first while Hoseok and Jin dressed as police officers to take out the security guards in the back. Taehyung would take care of the cameras before this. Yoongi would follow behind me along with Jimin. I would lead the team after we had taken over the museum.

Looking over at Jimin, he was already looking at me. Everyone knew that this would be my last mission, and he had taken it the worst. We hardly spoke and he actively ignored me. I was surprised he was acknowledging me at all. Breaking eye contact, I went back to explaining the pieces we would be taking.

“Don was very specific about these three pieces,” I said, pointing to the Rembrandt and two pieces of jewelry. “These are our high payouts. Get these first. After that we can make quick work of the rest.”

“Who did you say the others were going to?” Yoongi asked.

“The rest are split up between some vendors I know,” I replied. “Freddie Newman, Diane Pollack, and Dwayne Smith. The jewels are for Georgie Boy, Archie, and two others. Park’s handling that.”

“This is a big job,” Hoseok mumbled. “Will the six of us be able to get it done?”

I nodded easily.

“Yes, we’ll have all the time in the world once those guards are taken care of. I’m planning on this being an hour- two at most.”

Looking back at Jimin, I was happy to see he was grinning at me. We would be fine. Deciding we had gone over everything, I walked away from the table.

“We’ll leave at midnight.”

“Copy,” Jimin replied.

Smiling to myself, I left the room and went to the kitchen to find something to eat.

Getting off the plane, I kept Jungkook close as we made our way to baggage claim. Being on the East Coast again was uncomfortable. I knew this airport like the back of my hand, knew every nook and cranny of these streets, but I still felt out of place. I was even more unsettled knowing there were people looking for me.

Standing by the conveyor belt, we waited for my duffle bag to come out. Jungkook looked around, his scouting looking natural, and I kept my eyes on the bags. It came out a few minutes later, and I slung it over my shoulder. Jungkook wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into him.

“They’re here,” He whispered, a soft smile on his face. Lips brushing the top of my head, he started walking and kept me close. “They don’t know me, so we’ll be fine.”

Forcing a smile on my face, I wrapped my arm around his waist. My heartbeat quickened, and I found myself enjoying the way his body pressed into mine. Allowing myself a small glance around us, I saw two familiar faces near the escalators. Dimitri and Anton. As we neared the escalators, I knew they would notice me unless I acted very differently than what they remembered.

Deciding to commit to our charade, I lifted my head up towards Jungkook. Kissing his cheek, I was able to hide my face from the two men. Jungkook stepped onto the elevator first. Turning him to face me, I grabbed his face and pressed our lips together. He was soft, gentle, and tasted like the licorice he’d gotten on the plane. He wrapped his arms around my waist and melted into the kiss. Pulling away, head pressed against his, I looked at the steps.

“We’re almost at the top,” I mumbled.

Jungkook nodded and slowly moved away from me. Angling his body towards the front, he kept an arm firmly around my waist as we got to the top. Sparing a single glance behind me, the two men were none the wiser. Smirking, I ran my hand up and down Jungkook’s back in silent praise.

Walking further and further away from the others, Jungkook’s arm did not move. I stayed close to his side, happy to have someone to lean on. It made sense now. Jimin sent him because he was less known to the others. Ivan would know him, and the people closest to him, but someone like Anton would be blindsided by his presence. They were expecting one of my boys. Stepping into the sun, the two of us were quick to hail down a taxi and slip inside.

“We’re running a bit late,” I announced, buckling in. “Can you take us to the Hood Milk Bottle?”

“No problem,” The cab driver replied.

It was barely a 10 minute drive, but airport traffic made it feel like forever. Jungkook and I did not talk. Our closeness from earlier was officially stopped, and I felt silly for missing his warmth. Looking at him out of the corner of my eye, I grew shy. Just moments ago, his arms were wrapped around me. Catching sight of the tiger lily on his elbow, I had to quickly look back out of the window.

God, he was fucking hot.

Pulling out my phone, I found a new message on it.

Unknown: Eating a lobster roll outside

Rolling my eyes, I replied.

Y/N: Of course you are. Two minutes.

Unknown: Lunch on me

Flipping the phone closed, I shoved it back in my back pocket. Looking out of the window, I did feel nostalgic. It had been such a long time and yet things stayed the same. There were a few new shops where old ones used to be, but the places I remembered the most fondly were still around. The mixed feelings I had were beginning to weigh down on me.

Pulling up, I smiled. Hood was such an iconic, fun place. Looking back at Jungkook, I was touched to see him paying the cabby. Saying goodbye, the two of us got out of the car. The duffle had been in my lap. Jungkook stared up at the giant milk bottle in awe.

“Jin said he'll buy us lunch.”

Jungkook smirked, “What do you recommend?”

Walking toward the snack stand, I shrugged my shoulders.

“I’m getting a lobster roll, but if you’re not into that, the soft serve is great.”

Walking around the side, I saw Jin sitting on one of the picnic benches eating. I was more surprised to see he was still enjoying his food than the purple hair. Jimin must have convinced him to do that. Whistling, I smirked at Jin and waved.

Jin was the oldest out of all of us, and spoke the least amount of English, but we were close. Standing, he offered me a hug which I happily accepted. Clearing my throat, I began speaking in Korean.

“You look nice,” I ruffled his hair. “This color looks really good on you.”

“Thanks,” He shoved my hand away. “Lobster roll? Thought you might have missed the New England taste.”

Nodded, I turned to Jungkook.

“What do you want?” I asked in English.

He shook his head at me, “Chocolate ice cream.”

When he spoke Korean, his voice was much deeper. Grinning at him, I looked back at Jin.

“One lobster roll and one chocolate soft serve.”

Going to order our food, Jin told us to sit and wait. Jungkook sat down next to me, his elbow on the table with his head resting on his fist. I was unsure of what to make of the look on his face. He seemed so… fond of me. No one had ever really looked at me like that before. I was used to anger, annoyance, or fear, but fondness was uncharted territory. The closest person I could think of had been Alexi, but even then he had always looked at me as a child. Jungkook did not.

“I didn’t know you spoke Korean,” He said, speaking the language.

“I know a lot of languages,” I replied. “I’m mostly fluent in English and Russian. My Korean is good, but I’m not fluent by any stretch of the imagination. I speak a decent amount of Spanish as well.”

“That’s so cool. Mine are Korean, Japanese, and English.”

Jin was back with our food.

“Eat it in the car,” He said, “Everyone is waiting for us.”

“Is Park back in town?” Jungkook asked.

Jin shook his head, “Not yet. We haven’t heard from since yesterday.”

I knew we would talk more once we were out of the public eye. There was only so much we could say out here. Taking my roll, I followed Jin. Jungkook ate his ice cream happily, his eyes sparkling with joy. It was my turn to smile fondly.

Pulling into a small driveway, I was confused. I did not recognize the house. Painted a calming sky blue with black shutters, a well-groomed lawn, and a small flower garden, it was unassuming and plain. Looking over at Jungkook, he seemed happy to be here.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Jungkook smiled at me, “Yoongi’s.”

Taken aback, I froze. That had been the last person I had thought of. The last time I had seen everyone, Yoongi and Hoseok were living in a shitty condo in South End. While I was confused, and even unsettled, by the changes I was also pleased. It felt good to see Yoongi living more civilly. I wondered what had changed.

Hopping out of the Jeep, I met up with Jin and Jungkook at the hood before following behind them. The house was pristine and the small cul de sac was quiet. Eyes bulging out of my head, I fought back the urge to laugh out loud at the sight of a bird feeder on the edge of the lawn.

Standing on the small porch, the three of us huddled close together. Jungkook gently moved my body in front of his, successfully shielding my body from the street. Leaning back slightly, I brushed my back against his chest quickly before straightening my back. I was beginning to lean into my growing attraction, but knew better than to take it any further than small touches. The airport had been for survival- nothing more.

Jin knocked, the rhythm the only familiar thing about this place, before the door swung open. On the other side, a woman peered out at us. Her hair was short, wildly frizzy with unkempt curls, and bright red. Her eyes were brown and skin alabaster. The green dress she wore looked nice on her full figure. She smiled brightly at Jin, saying hello with joy. Her voice had hints of an accent but it was too faint for me to pick up.

“It’s nice to see you Johanna,” Jin greeted, kissing the woman’s cheek before gesturing towards me. “Johanna, Mouse. Mouse, Johanna.”

The red head gave me a polite smile before offering her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mouse.”

“Y/N,” I corrected, glaring at Jin. “Y/N is fine outside of business.”

“This is business though, isn’t it?” Johanna tilted her head at me, a mischievous glint in her eye. I decided right away that I liked her. “Come in. Hello Kookie.”

“Hey Jo,” The man replied.

Stepping inside, I looked around. The inside was just as perfect as the outside. Brightly colored walls with pops of color scattered around, mostly in the art hanging on the walls, with plants everywhere. It smelled like apple cinnamon and Pinesol. The hardwood floors were loud as we walked along them. The size of the living room was bigger than my entire apartment. Catching sight of a collage of photos, I looked over them the best I could as I walked.

All of them were nice photos, family photos, but one caught my eye. Yoongi was smiling, a rare sight, and his eyes were shining brightly. He was on the beach, arms wrapped around Johanna tenderly, while she had a large bouquet of flowers in her hand. She wore a white dress that hit her just at the ankle, a long, thin veil clipped onto the back of her head. The Saints were there along with a few people I did not recognize. Belatedly, I realized that I was looking at a wedding picture. A wedding I had missed. A wedding I had never been invited to. A wedding I had never even knew. Eyes glued to the photo, I cause a glimpse of Jungkook in a far-off corner, almost completely cut out, but he had been there.

I knew my hurt feelings were unjustified. I had been the one who told them to leave me out of their affairs. I had said emergencies only. Still, I found myself growing increasingly alienated. I truly had no place here anymore. The only purpose I had ever served was monetary gain. The friendships I had built along the way were as fickle as the ones I had in New York.

Arguing with myself, I struggled to stay present. As we walked deeper into the house, the need to run presented itself all over again. Everything I had known was gone. Everyone was different. Everything was different. Sparing a glance over at Jungkook, a seed of resentment began to grow in my chest.

No one had ever referred to me as affectionately as they had Jungkook. No one had ever seemed endeared by my failures. Hell, none of these guys even acknowledged my feelings half the time. Staring at the back of Johanna’s head, I found that I didn't really like her that much anymore. She was loved. I was tolerated.

Still, I told myself that they had come for me. They had wanted to keep me safe. And yet, the insecurities that had always lived in my head reared their ugly head and reminded me that it was for their own good. I was useful. As long as I would be of use to them, then I would be protected. It would never be the same reasons they would fight for Johanna. They would fight for her because they wanted to keep her safe.

I could feel eyes on me, but I ignored them. I did not want comfort from Jungkook. I just wanted to get this over with so I could go back to San Diego. Even if they were surface level, those friendships were still more loving than whatever the fuck I had here. I hated Boston. I hated New York. I hated the entire East Coast.

“Y/N?” Johanna called out, looking back at me with concern. “Are you alright?”

Nodding, I replied.

“I’m fine. Just lost in my head.”

I hated the edge my voice had taken on. I hated just how much I had to control myself around these people. I wanted to scream, shout, cry; whatever. I just wanted to feel myself lose control for a little while. The woman did not believe me but offered me a smile regardless.

“I asked if you would like a drink.”

“Water’s fine,” I replied.

Jin seemed suspicious of me but said nothing at all. He had always known I liked my space. Still, I could tell he was worried. I knew my thoughts were out of line, I knew that I was over thinking and attempting to overcompensate, but it was impossible to stop it from happening. The downward spiral was difficult to manage.

Suddenly, an arm was wrapped around my shoulder. Jumping, I whipped my head around to see Jungkook smiling at me. It was a goofy smile, one that he pulled when he was feeling playful, before he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“What happens when you get water on a table?” He asked.

Taken aback, I opened and closed my mouth several times.

“What?”

“It becomes a pool table.”

Mouth agape, I blinked in disbelief before shoving him away. I let out a small laugh and shook my head at him. Where in the world had that come from?

Seokjin was laughing, hands clapping, and praising the younger man for the joke. Jin was a big fan of dad jokes and enjoyed making them up whenever he could. Typically, you would have to know enough Korean for them to make sense, but they never failed to get a few chuckles out of me. The ridiculousness of the jokes coupled with the corny delivery was always funny. Johanna placed a glass in front of me smiling fondly at Jungkook.

“He’s a mess,” She said, looking at me in faux exasperation. “I don’t know how you survived the trip here. He talks too much.”

Shaking my head, I took a large sip of the water.

“It’s better than the awkward silence Yoongi brings along.”

She laughed, knocking her head back.

“Touche,” She giggled. “He is a bit intense sometimes.”

“You’ve been in Boston for an hour and you’re already turning my wife against me.”

The voice had come from behind me. Spinning around dumbly, I was face-to-face with Yoongi. The scar on his face was just as prominent as it had always been, taking up his entire left cheek into forehead, but his eyes seemed lighter than I remembered. He was skinnier than the last time I saw him, too. He was wearing a simple black shirt with a pair of jeans. He seemed completely at ease.

“Hey kid,” He greeted Jungkook with a grin. “Heard Mouse got you good.”

Jungkook flushed, ducking his head while rubbing his neck.

“Oh?” Jin chimed, his voice mocking. “The great Sacarii taken down by a little mouse?”

Rolling my eyes, I sighed heavily.

“He didn’t even try anything,” I admitted. “I was the aggressive one.”

“He was just an idiot,” Jin teased.

Yoongi tsked, “Park was the bigger idiot of the two. He’s going to give me an aneurysm.”

“You’re too hard on him,” Johanna gently scolded. “You know Jimin has a roundabout way of being right.”

Jungkook laughed, “A broken clock’s right twice a day.”

A silence fell over our group. It felt unnatural to be standing in a nice kitchen talking over mundane topics with everyone. It was a long ways away from the roach infested alleyways and closed off apartment complexes. I lived with Jin, Jimin, and Taehyung when I was in Boston. Our small one bedroom was always cluttered, overcrowded, and was the main spot for our meetups. The conference room had been stuffed between two twin-sized mattresses with a large, round table in the middle of it all. I slept on the pull-out sofa in the front.

“I guess we should talk,” Yoongi said, looking me up and down.

“I guess so,” I replied.

Walking over to him, I realized that no one else was following. Looking back at the other three, they simply looked back. Sighing, I let it go. Being alone with Yoongi was not an unwelcome thing, but it had always made me feel like I was in trouble. Laughing at myself, I followed the man out of the kitchen and into the dining room. This time I was the one who was in trouble.

Walking out of the dining room, we were now in a small reading room with a staircase. A green, stand-up piano was tucked away between tall bookshelves and more plants. Following Yoongi upstairs, I refrained from looking too closely at things. The house was much bigger than it looked. Walking past a few doors, we stopped before Yoongi opened one.

Gesturing me to follow, I smiled at the sight of the old table. It was far too large, held six chairs, and was cheaply made. Someone had refurbished it and I wondered if it had been Johanna. She seemed to like everything to be nice and neat. It was an aesthetically pleasing layout, but this room was all Yoongi. The dark colored walls and furniture were in stark contrast to the otherwise white house. Taking a seat at the table, I pulled out the chair directly across from him.

There was a line up of photos scattered on the desk along with a few letters. I recognized two of the women but the others were unfamiliar to me. Looking around, I scowled when I saw a picture of Ivan. I would be lying if I said he was physically unattractive. Ivan had always had this air around him and coupled with his angular features and blue eyes it was no wonder why women chased him. I knew him, however, and the slope of his cheekbones and the perfectly groomed dirty-blonde hair did nothing but repulse me. He looked everything like his brother. He looked nothing like his brother.

Picking the photo up, I looked closely. It was candid. Someone had been hiding when they took it since the man seemed to be unaware of the camera. He was smoking a cigarette and behind him was a beach. Trying to figure out where he could be was hard, but it was nowhere near New York. It was too sunny, the waves too high, and I could see a surfer in the background.

“Johanna took that,” Yoongi suddenly said. “We were in California. It’s where we got married.”

Mind racing, I kept looking at the picture. Ivan had been close to me. Very close, in fact. Trying to figure out how I could have been traced, I thought of Kimberly and winced. It would take no time at all to figure out if it really was me. He could just send some random into the salon after seeing a post. I looked different but I was still me. He could have scouted out the place for months without me being any wiser. Closing my eyes, I dropped the photo.

“He’s known where you are for a while,” He continued. “He had asked Jungkook to take care of you a few weeks ago, but the kid refused. He knew your face. Ivan’s been trying to figure out the best plan of getting to you without pissing us off.”

“So he thought forcing me back to New York was the best option?” I spat.

Yoongi nodded, “In his mind, you’d be under his claim again so we’d have no authority. Either he’s crazy or stupid.”

“Both,” I replied. “Always both.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Eyes searching the pictures for more signs, I grew angry.

“Why are you only just now telling me?” I demanded, picking apart each detail of the photographs. “I should have known from the very beginning.”

“I thought so, too,” Yoongi defended. “It was Jimin telling us to cool it. He thought he could get it under control since he’s known Ivan for so long. It didn’t work out and Jimin was kicked out of the family.”

“What?” I shouted.

Ivan was losing his damn mind. Jimin was the closest thing to Alexi those boy had after Ivan took over. They loved him, I loved him, and to watch him get kicked out over me would have been a massive blow to Ivan’s credibility. Loyalty was gone from New York it seemed, and it would only be a matter of time before Ivan came to the same conclusion. They don’t make them like Jimin anymore. He was only trying to keep the peace. Thinking of my friend, I willed back my tears. He had wanted me to stay in California. He didn’t want me to come back.

“They’re not doing well,” Yoongi admitted. “Georgie Boy and I talked and he’s with us regardless. The Italians haven’t been appreciating Ivan’s ways either. Hoseok spoke with the Gambinos and they said they’ll light up the Russians if they get into their territory again.”

“Again?”

Yoongi smiled without humor.

“Ivan’s boys were selling in the Gambino’s turf. Didn’t end well for them. They aren’t going to tolerate that shit again, and the other families are on the lookout as well. Have to say, the boy has lost his fucking mind.”

Going over the information, I felt more confident than I had before. Ivan was hoping to get me back into his arms first. Then he’d kill me. Or keep me. It was impossible to know for sure. Either way, he had a rude awakening if he thought my boys were going to let it happen without consequences. Thinking back to my thoughts when I first came inside, I reminded myself that we were connected. I meant more to them than property. They weren’t Ivan.

They weren’t Alexei either.

Shoving that thought down, I refocused on the photo of Ivan. He looked worse than I had last seen him. His age was beginning to show, and I sneered at the sight of the family tattoo. I had been claimed by many groups in my life. The tiger for my family, the slope-edged star on my collar bone for Alexei, the clerk on my ribs for my skill with a blade, and St. Anthony for The Saints. Ivan’s name had been cut into my skin by the man himself after I killed a rival without permission. The scars were faded now, but I never liked to show my stomach anymore. You could still see the carving and I would always know they were there.

Eyes zeroing in on Ivan’s calf, I saw red as I caught sight of the dagger entwined by a snake. It was in the same spot as mine. They all represented something.

The star was commonplace for all Russians while my clerk was far more specialized. I got it after I helped Alexei take care of a snitch. I hated thinking about that night, but it earned me my stripes. I got my dagger a few months later. The dagger was rare, only given out to a leader of a “suit” of thieves. Alexi had promoted me, and I controlled my own section of New York alongside him. Ivan did not deserve that tattoo even if he was the boss.

“Can I ask you something?” Yoongi said.

I nodded.

“Why would he want you back so badly? He hates you.”

I smiled ruefully, looking up from the picture.

“I’m Alexei’s girl and he finds great pleasure in keeping me around just to spite him. Even if he’s dead, it’ll never be enough. Breaking me down was always the goal.”

“Were you and Alexei…��

Yoongi did not need to finish the sentence. It was a fair question and one that everyone asked at some point. The Saints never liked picking into my past too much. They knew it had been rough, they knew what Ivan and I’s relationship was like, so they put it to rest. Yoongi had seen my stomach once, said he was going to kill him one day, and never brought it up again. Latching onto the memory, I further reinforced that they cared for me. This was not a dangerous place. These are my friends.

“No, Alexei would never. I was only 13 when we met. He was 19. We were like siblings more than anything. More than he and Ivan ever were.”

“Ivan was jealous?” I nodded. “Typical.”

“He’s the one who killed him, you know,” I leaned back in the chair. “I was there that night. That’s why Ivan hates me. I know too much.”

Yoongi shook his head in disbelief. It was a completely different world than he was used to. The Irish took care of their own. While it may have involved violence and punishments being handed out from time to time, there had always been unwavering loyalty to one another. For Hoseok it was the same. Snitches were snitches but you always had people you knew were on your corner. When Ivan saw an in he took it, even if it meant killing his older brother, and everyone suffered for it. I had not said anything out of the code of ethics we built, but that never stopped word from spreading. Everyone knew Ivan killed Alexei but no one could prove it.

Yoongi sucked his teeth, “They know you came home. Jimin let us know about that. He and Kai have been all over this shit.”

I hummed, “They had a couple guys at the airport. Jungkook and I got past them easily, though.”

Yoongi looked at me strangely now. It was in between concern and pride, but I figured it was the closest thing to friendly I would get from him. It was not his fault his face looked the way it did. Wanting to lighten the mood, I decided to ask him about his wife.

“So, who’s Johanna?”

Yoongi actually cracked a smile.

“She’s a nuclear engineer. Works at BU and moved to America seven years ago.”

“How’d that even happen?”

Yoongi shrugged, “I don’t even know. We met at a restaurant Georgie took me to. She was there with some friends. We bumped into one another and she gave me her number. I didn’t call but we ran into each other again at a bar. Stuck like glue ever since.”

Gently smiling I replied, “Sounds nice. I’m glad you found someone.”

Yoongi looked down bashfully. He was like an entirely new person now. Yoongi had never been one to show emotions outside of anger and annoyance. Even with us he had been a hardass. It was strange but nice at the same time. I liked it more than the robot I was used to.

“She’s a good person,” He whispered, suddenly serious. “Sometimes I wonder if I should have left her alone. She deserves better than a life of crime and being entangled in my bullshit.”

I understood where he was coming from.

“You could always leave. Runaway to Iceland and never look back.”

Yoongi grinned, “I thought about it but I don’t have any skills outside of this. What would I do? Unlike you, some of us have never thought past our horizons. Besides, I have other people to think about.”

I also understood that as well. I had been afraid of change for a long time, and I had known I wanted it for a while. I was unsure how long they had known one another, or had been together, but Yoongi had always said he’d die in Boston. I doubted he thought that way now.

“It’s okay to be selfish,” I mumbled. “Things haven’t been easy and there were times when I missed the craziness, but I can say it’s an experience everyone should have. I love both of my lives, but I’d be lying if I said I’d choose this over California.”

Yoongi nodded in thought. We would drop this conversation and likely never pick it back up again, so I knew I should say my peace now. Whatever he decided to do would ultimately be on his shoulders, but I thought it would be okay to push him to follow his heart’s desires. I was a dreamer and I hoped the others would find a dream to hold onto as well.

Walking downstairs, I was tired. The traveling had finally caught up to me and I wanted to get some rest while I could. Walking into the kitchen, the three of them were still talking. Johanna had started to cook something. It smelled nice but my stomach churned at the thought of food. Making my presence known, I yawned loudly and stretched my arms above my head.

“Sleepy?” Jungkook asked, completely at ease.

He looked right at home here. Briefly I wondered if he stayed here often enough for that to be the case. Yoongi hated other people in his space, but he had changed since I last saw him. Jungkook, however, did not seem like someone who would like living with other people. He was mostly quiet, sweet, but standoffish at times. Jin grinned at me.

“Sorry to say I’m full,” The older man took a sip from a glass. I could not tell what it was and did not care to know. I rubbed my eyes dramatically and yawned again. “Jimin and I are rooming together. I doubt you want to take the sofa. Let’s just say I’ve been taking advantage of his absence.”

“I’ll take what I can get at this point,” I replied with another yawn. Shaking my head, I groaned. “God, I hate it when that happens.”

“Jungkook can keep you,” Johanna offered. “I’d let you stay here but my niece is spending the weekend. I don’t want to put her in a bad position.”

I knew what she meant. I would not want to put a child in the middle of this bullshit either. Looking over at Jungkook, I raised my eyebrow in silent questioning. He nodded back at me with a grin. I smiled back at him.

“We should go while we have daylight,” Jungkook said, a pair of keys in his hands.

I had no idea where they had come from.

“I can wait,” I protested. “You should eat first.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be fine. You haven’t slept since yesterday.”

“Y/N!” Jin scolded.

I non committedly waved him off. Scrunching my face up at Jin, I mumbled something close to ‘leave me alone,’ but I was doubtful it came out properly. Fighting to keep my eyes open, I leaned into Jungkook’s side as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. Guiding me away from the kitchen, I knew I heard Jin make a comment about how close we were.

“You’re just jealous she likes me more than you,” Jungkook snapped back.

“Does not,” Jin replied, childishly whining.

Johanna laughed and I could hear Yoongi coming down the stairs. Jungkook lead me back into the reading room and turned left. Going down two steps we were in front of a door.

“Be safe!” Johanna called out.

“Always, noona,” Jungkook replied.

Leading me to the room, I realized we were in a garage. I was again surprised. There were two cars, both of them very nice and sleek, surrounded by expensive tools and equipment. Back in the day, I would have swiped everything in this room and stole one of the cars. Now, I was being led toward the black Marcedes on the farthest side of the room.

“This one’s mine,” Jungkook said, attempting to fill the space.

“First one we haven’t stolen,” I joked.

Sliding into the passenger seat, I melted into the seat before Jungkook was in the vehicle. Opening the glovebox, I moved my legs out of the way as the man dug around the compartment. Finally he pulled a smartphone out and quickly turned it on. A few minutes later, the garage door was opening and we were pulling out of the large driveway. We passed Jin’s Jeep on the way out and Jungkook could not help but make a snide comment about the ugly car. I felt comfortable enough to try and fall asleep.

“You know,” Jungkook announced, making my eyes snap open. “You’re the coolest person I’ve ever worked with.”

I chuckled, my drowsiness making it difficult to focus.

“Thanks. You’re not that bad.”

“I’ve been useless for the entire trip,” Jungkook argued. “You stole the cars, got me clothes, made sure we were able to get flights without getting into some shit for it, and you always tried to make me feel more comfortable.”

Snorting, I looked over at the man.

“I shot you.”

Jungkook burst out laughing.

“I broke into your house.”

“Eye for an eye,” I offered, laughing.

Jungkook spared me a look in order to flash one of his blinding smiles. I noticed now that his front teeth were slightly bigger than they should be.

“Really,” Jungkook was serious again. “I feel bad for being dead weight. I’ll make it up to you, though. I’m not really known for stealing cars or running off into the night, but I know how to kill someone.”

Looking at me again, Jungkook’s boyish smile and light eyes were on. In their place were hard lines, a slightly down-turned pout, and a coldness that surrounded him I was unaccustomed to. While earnest, his expression felt wrong. Jungkook was sunshine and this felt like an eclipse.

“No one is going to touch you. I’ll cut their fucking hands off finger-by-finger if need be to get my point across.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked, confused.

We did not know one another. Hell, I shot this fucking guy. And yet here he was devoting his life to keeping me safe. It was crazy. Then again, this life was like that. Putting myself in Jungkook’s shoes, I thought about it the other way around. Would I kill for him?

“Because you’re my friend,” He answered without hesitation. “You’re my friend and I would like to get to know you better.”

Yes, I thought, I would kill for this kid.

Humming, I decided against saying anything else. I was far too tired for this conversation. Letting my body win, I closed my eyes and leaned against the car window. I fell asleep quickly, but I found no peace. Ivan’s face flashed through my mind, his eyes alight with anger, and my blood was all over his hands. My screams echoed in the background. He placed his knife against my skin again and drew a “V” right next to the “I.”

Eleven years ago

Standing beside Hoseok, I stared up at the apartment complex wearily. It was small, bricked, and disgusting. I could smell trash and smoke everywhere and people were yelling. I did not like it here. Not at all.

Looking over at the older boy, I made sure to show him my discontent. I could admit that South End was nicer than my old place in Brooklyn, but only for the quieter atmosphere. Everything else was just as nasty. Hoseok shoved me forward and scolded me for acting like a “freak.”

“People are going to know you’re new,” Hoseok complained. “Then I’m going to have to break their fucking head open for stepping out of line. Then Yoongi is going to dislike you. So, just fucking walk and keep your head down.”

Anger flaring, I stopped. Hoseok bumped into my back. Groaning loudly, he went to yell at me again. Scowling, I elbowed him in the stomach harshly. When he groaned and grabbed his stomach, I turned around and punched him in the face. While he barely moved, eating the hit easily, it seemed to get the message across.

“Don’t talk to me like that, bitch,” I seethed. “You’re not my dad.”

Waiting for Hoseok to hit me back, I stood there with my fists balled up. He looked at me intensely, his hands still clutching his stomach. His eyes went from my face to the small patch of exposed skin on my stomach. Knowing exactly what he was looking at, I pulled down the too-short shirt and yelled at him again to hit me.

Instead of violence, Hoseok simply took up straight. Breathing through his nostrils, he seemed to be calming himself down. I could see the start of a blackeye forming where I had hit him. My regret began eating away at me instantly, but I refused to back down. He deserved that hit. He needed to know I was not going to be his little plaything.

Hoseok just continued to walk, telling me to follow, and I could tell he was trying to be nicer this time around. Confused and more uneasy than before, I kept my hands ready for a fight. I was not sure when this nice-guy act would stop.

Being shaken awake, I realized we were at Jungkook’s. Glancing at the time, I was shocked we had driven almost two hours. We were parked in a small lot with a large brick building to the right. Jungkook turned the car off and got out. Quickly following him, I wondered where we were.

It was a nice place. They looked like townhomes and I could smell someone barbecuing. Jungkook looked back at me, a few paces ahead, and continued to walk around to the front. Every house had large bushes in the front yards. Hydrangeas grew vibrantly along the walkway with spaces to make way for the entryway to homes. Jungkook turned and I followed.

The front was identical to the others. The only difference I could see was Jungkook’s ‘no shoes’ sign right out front. Rubbing my eyes, I continued to wake up and get the crust off of my skin.

“It’s small,” Jungkook suddenly said, “But it’s nice.”

“Where are we?” I asked, stepping into the house and kicking off my shoes.

“Chatham,” He replied, shrugging his jacket off. “It’s out of the way but I like the beach.”

The first thing I noticed was the large, beige sectional in the living room. On the wall was a large television above a faux fireplace. The entire house smelled like wood polish and oranges. I liked the carpeted floors and was pleasantly surprised by how clean everything was. There were no photos or personalized art hanging on the walls, but I guessed Jungkook never really liked those sorts of things. He was personable but in the moment. Jimin was a photo monster.

Thinking of my friend, I hoped he was alright. It was unlike him to go full radio silent. At the very least he would have called and checked in. Perhaps he had and no one bothered to tell me. Catching a glimpse of myself in the large, gold framed mirror hanging above the dining table, I flinched.

I looked just as bad as I had begun to feel. I was tired, my eyes puffy, and I was embarrassed by the drool dried at the corner of my lip. My shoulder was stiff and uncomfortable from sleeping in the car and my clothes looked a mess. Jungkook had my duffle bag on his shoulder and I belatedly realized I have never even thought to grab it. I had not even brought it inside.

“Thank you,” I said.

Jungkook smiled at me.

“It’s no problem. The room’s not being used anyway.”

“No,” I shook my head and walked up to him. Carefully taking the bag, I slug it over my shoulder with a knowing look. “Thanks for grabbing my shit. And for the room. I appreciate it.”

Jungkook scratched the back of his neck and turned red. He was not good with compliments no matter how much he seemed to enjoy them.

“Friends, right?”

I nodded, “Yeah.”

Walking past him, I distracted myself from my racing heart by figuring out where his washing machine was.

After taking a shower, I tip-toed my way back to the room Jungkook had given me. I had been on edge since I got here. He was kind, caring, and attentive. I had never really seen someone show all three at the same time, and never toward me. My friends and I were subtle types, so to have someone so open and honest with their feelings was a hard pill to swallow. In California it was safe, in California it was expected, in California it was sacred; in Boston it was nerve wracking.

I could never be sure of how genuine Jungkook really was. When I was in his presence, it was easy to say that he was just that simple. Once I got alone it took all of me not to sneak out of a window and run. Hoseok had always said I needed to work on trusting people, so I would try.

I knew my behavior was only heightened by my attraction to him. Attractive people were the worst. Liking Jungkook would not do any favors for either one of us. I would get swallowed up by the life I so desperately wanted to leave, and Jungkook would be stuck in an awkward situation with the rest of the crew if it came to the light. No one would win and the outcome would be the same if I said anything or not. I was leaving Boston as soon as the situation was handled.

Luck was not on my side. As I turned the corner to reach the door of my bedroom, Jungkook was coming up the stairs. Carrying two cups, he flashed me a small smile and walked the rest of the way up. I froze in my spot. Caught red handed, I tried to play off my unsuccessful sneaking and took the cup with a smile. Jungkook did not seem to buy it but looked more amused than anything.

“What’s this?” I asked, smelling it.

“Cocoa,” He replied. “It’s not winter but still chilly.”

I nodded and took a generous sip. It was warm and silky. Humming in satisfaction, I took another sip and licked my top lip. Cocoa was one of my favorite things when I was a child. It was one of the few fond memories I had. Jungkook looked happy.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He asked. “To get your mind off things?”

It was funny that he thought Ivan was what had been plaguing my mind. I may not be a very violent person now, but there was a time I was ruthless. The Russians did not scare me as much as they once had either. My initial response had been mostly shock, anger, and most of all, frustration. I had not been scared in a very long time. I doubted I ever would be.

“Sure,” I said, keeping my thoughts out of the conversation. What Jungkook did not know will not hurt him. He was only trying to help. “I’m not picky.”

Going down the stairs, I felt the same nervous butterflies growing in my stomach again. We were going to be closer than I would like to be. I was afraid of what that might do to the both of us. I did not know where Jungkook’s head was, but I was not foolish enough to believe that I was immune to any advances. The ball would stay in his court. I had enough self control to let that be a rule.

Sitting on the couch, I curled up on the end and waited. Netflix was already pulled up and waiting. Jungkook sat two cushions away. Picking up the remote from the coffee table, he began scrolling as we talked about possible movies to watch. We ended up on a random Jason Statham film. I watched mindlessly since every one of his movies were practically the same.

“Are you hungry?” Jungkook asked me fifteen minutes in, clearly bored and disinterested in the action sequence. I could not blame him. There was no way anyone could use a gun like that in real life, and I was becoming annoyed by the plot armor. “I have ramen.”

I nodded, “That’s fine.”

Moving to stand up, Jungkook waved me off and went to the kitchen himself. Not arguing, I got more comfortable and zoned out once more. It was hard not to feel the pull towards him. All I kept thinking about was the way his lips felt at the airport. Refocusing on the movie, I rolled my eyes at the bomb scene. There was no way in hell you were getting up and walking away from something that big.

Of course, Jason Statham had done just that.

Jungkook came back a few minutes later, two large cups of ramen in hand, and sat down at the sofa. We ate in silence, neither one of us interrupting the bad movie again. When I went up to bed I could only think about how his hands would feel on me.

Taglist: @ippid @jkslaugh97 @destructive-memories @ash07128 @heartjiminie @adventures-in-bookland @canyon-lwt

713 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 2 years

Text

neglect

harrys in an unhappy marriage and didn't realize he was missing so much sunlight until y/n came in

cw: toxic relationship? idk harry's wife isn't nice:(

wordcount: 13.5k+

—————

"Bye, honey. Love you."

Harry didn't realize he had his hopes up for a reciprocated response until nothing came. Minerva left though the door with nothing more than a wave tossed over her shoulder, eyes glued to her phone with a smile that wasn't for him on her lips. He didn't know the last time she said I love you back.

Heaving a sigh that lifted his shoulders before deflating into a slump, Harry locked the front door after his wife as the start of his day alone.

It'd been two weeks since he lost his job in the third round of layoffs his office (ex-office?) was going through. It had been heartbreaking for Harry, having given almost a decade of his life—he was just months short of his ten year anniversary, actually—to this job; having given up on his dreams, and sacrificing time with his family all throughout those years. It all had been thrown away after one bad investor's meeting, leaving him with a measly severance package and a generic goodbye card left on his desk on his last day. As if that day couldn't get any lower, when Minerva finally came home and Harry sat her down to tell her the news, she barely looked up from the ping that lit up her phone screen.

"That's what happens when you stay with a failing company, Harry. You should have been paying more attention."

With that, she had left him to sit alone at the dining room table, his head in his hands as he tried not to let tears fall from his eyes. She always said he was too sensitive, crying would only serve to make her more annoyed with him.

Since then, he had all day long to shop around his resume online and through networking channels, only to field rejection emails by the end of the day. Minerva offered no support, only giving small hums or "I told you so" when she bothered to answer at all when he told her about his day over dinner. It broke his heart.

While their marriage hadn't been anything close to perfect for a very long time (Harry didn't think it really ever had been, the more he thought about it), this was the worst it'd ever been. Minerva was always the harder one out of the two of them, which worked for a long time. It was all about balance, Harry remembered thinking back when they first moved in together after getting engaged. He was the soft one that cried watching romantic movies, and she was the one that would scoff at the logistics and talk about how unrealistic the stories were. She preferred horror with unhappy endings.

It worked, until it didn't.

Something changed after those first months of living together. Since then, Harry had been trying to play catch-up to get on the same page as her, but she seemed to be chapters ahead by the time he was even going in the right direction. His degree was never good enough, his dreams of being a songwriter or music producer were too silly to even entertain, and his family didn't support them enough. By the time he realized Minerva didn't even like him much anymore, let alone love him, he was left with a broken heart.

But, even when he suggested counseling or even one of those couple's retreats that offered hands-on help, she shut him down immediately. That was all hippie shit he should have grown out of after they graduated college, she told him. It was her that brought up divorce, the word that had all but split Harry in half when it hung in the air between them, only for her to shut it down and tell him it wasn't an option as far as she was concerned—it would look bad for her to be a divorcee while she was still trying to climb the corporate ladder. Maybe after she made it to the executive level, she mused, if he still felt this way anyway.

Harry did the only thing he felt he could: pretend everything was normal. If he wanted any chance of not losing his mind, sinking into a depression that he feared he would be unable to climb out of, he had to fall into the motions of loving her. He woke her up with breakfast ready before they'd leave for work—before he lost his job, of course—, telling her goodbye with a kiss to the cheek and hollow declaration of love that he still felt hurt by every time he didn't hear her say it back. When he made it home before her, he'd clean up the house, sorting through bills and mail, and get dinner ready, giving himself just enough time to slip back into his steeled character by the time she came through the front door and ignored him.

But, Harry had always told himself it could be much worse—he was still lucky in some senses of the word, even if some nights he had to search hard for those moments—, and right he was about that. He was currently living through the worst it had ever been, moping around the house and feeling more down on himself than he knew was healthy for the fragile grip he had on his composure.

As anxiety inducing as it all was (was finding a job always this hard or was he really as unimpressive as Minerva said he was?), the free time did allow him to work on projects he'd pushed to the side in favor of his nine-to-five. The attic had been successfully cleaned out and reorganized for the first time since moving in, the walls in the basement finally painted the eggshell blue Minerva picked out years ago, and the garage was spic-and-span. The last couple of days, he'd dedicated his time to maintaining the garden out front as well as the backyard, something he'd found himself enjoying more than any of the previous items on the honey-do list he was working through. His mom had always loved gardening, so he felt a lot closer to home when he plodded through the soil with fresh sprouts.

After spending the first hour of the morning sending out his resume to a fleet of job postings and rifling through his email in hopes of getting anything back about a possible interview, he got changed for his day in the sun. He picked a white tank top with red stitching on the side declaring him as loved (though he didn't always feel that way) to adorn his torso with a pair of black shorts covering his thighs though his knee tattoos were left on display. Pulling his hair back with a tiny clip that left a sprout of hair fluffed on the top of his head, Harry slipped on a pair of large burgundy sunglasses before heading out the front door.

Headphones plugged in his ears, he grabbed his supplies he'd left on the porch, fitting his hands into the pair of sturdy gloves he'd dug out when he cleaned the garage. Along the porch railing was the row of flowers he planned on shoveling into the soil, their planters barely containing the rich blooms rooted inside. The furling petals brought a smile to his face as he got to his knees near the plot of yard that had previously been nothing other than mulch and dandelions. Maybe having a garden out front might sweeten Minerva's sour mood if he did it just right.

Tucking into the soil with the tools he had to reach out to his mom to verify were the right ones for the job, Harry started planting his rose garden. Green bushes with barely there blooms began to line the porch, making the tiny, white picket railing seem that might brighter against the rich hues of the buds. He was lost in his head, humming along to the music playing through his headphones as he built his garden, lavender and candy floss pinks joining his roses as the perfect growing companions.

He didn't know how long he'd been out under the sun until he heard the faint sound of a car running behind him, the thrumming earning a glance over his shoulder. For a split second, he'd worried it was Minerva, home early. He had a feeling she wouldn't be happy to see him tending to the garden, tending to something they could have just hired someone to take care of if he'd been smarter about his career path. Instead, it was the car of the not-so-new neighbor that had moved in next door less than a year ago.

A smile stretched across his face as he peered at her concentrated face through the tint of her window, a furrow to her brow as she navigated parking in the driveway. A breath of relief slumped her shoulders when she did so without incident; Harry understood, he'd seen her patching dings on her car too many times to count since she'd moved in. A clumsy driver, she was.

Harry plucked out his earbud as he sat back on his heels while she rifled through her car for a moment longer before stepping out onto the driveway. A bright smile covered her features as soon as she matched Harry's gaze, lifting his spirits higher than they'd been all day. A bubbly wave tinkled her fingers.

"Hi, Harry!" she chattered out, hiking her bag up her shoulder as she lingered on the concrete.

"Hi, (Y/N)," he reciprocated, his voice coming out a lot dreamier than he anticipated.

"Your garden looks really nice," she beamed at him, toeing the ground with her teeth sinking into the plush of her bottom lip.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, knowing his entire face lit up at the praise, "'M not done yet, but 'm really liking how it's turning out."

"I'm excited to see what it looks like when you have it all together, then," she offered, edging towards the open garage to head inside, "I'll see you around, Harry."

"Bye," he told her, his voice carrying along with her as she went out of view.

His gaze lingered in the spot he swore he saw a phantom of her form still. Even at the sound of the garage door closing signaling he was well and truly alone, Harry could still feel the effects of her presence, no matter how minute the interaction was. Plugging his headphone back in his ear, he went back to his work though he barely made note of anything he was doing.

He liked (Y/N). Probably more than he should.

She was just so sweet, enough so that her attention could make Harry blush. Even the first time they met, he remembered wishing he could have spent more time with her as she flitted about the neighborhood block party. She was a wonderful neighbor, always so considerate even though her roommate was very partial to a late night party now that they'd finally moved into an actual house after a spread of dodgy apartments through their college and some post-grad years (he'd overheard that during the block party). Minerva never seemed to like her much, though. She called her nosy, always talking to their neighbors, and attention-seeking with the way she supposedly paraded around the subdivision in her workout gear while taking her roommate's dog for a walk.

Harry couldn't disagree more when his wife went off on her dislike for their neighbor, but it was something he had to keep to himself. Minerva would have his head if he defended (Y/N) the way he wanted to—with more than a shrug and "she's not like that, honey". Besides, he worried that if he truthfully spoke about how good he felt she was, that his little crush on her would turn into something more troublesome. He already had too many things going on inside his house, he didn't need to add the guilt of something more than a small crush on a nice girl worming it's way into his head.

And, he cared for Minerva, still. Right? If he didn't, he would have insisted on getting a divorce and wouldn't worry so hard about what would make her happy with him. (Y/N) was a constant, happy presence in his life, even if their interactions were spread apart and only lasting some minutes here and there. Of course, he would get attached to the pretty girl who spared him attention and gave him praise without a second-thought. That didn't mean anything, though.

Even with the way his heart skipped a beat at the thought of his neighbor, Harry reminded himself of his reality. He was a married man, someone who cared for his wife and would continue to be a good husband to her until he signed his name on the dotted line. (Y/N) would always be nothing more than a nice friend. That's all.

—————

Harry sighed as he sank to his knees in his garden. Looking at all of his hardwork, he felt his heart break when he recalled Minerva's attitude the night before.

She hated it.

A waste of his time, she'd said. How was he supposed to find a respectable job when he was too busy with dirt up to his elbows doing a job fit for 'the help'? He had been floored when he heard her, but snapped his mouth shut as soon as she rolled her eyes and stomped upstairs, disregarding the dinner he had set out on the table.

Looking at the bushel of lavender that still needed to be planted as well as the border that needed to be filled with his candy floss pinks, Harry didn't feel the same joy he had the day before. He probably could be a lot more useful browsing the job sites, checking in on his network connections again. If he tried hard enough, dedicated himself enough, he would get a response, right?

His only saving grace was the music playing through his headphones, pushing him out of his head and into whatever the writer was urging him to feel with every beat and sprawled lyric. Music was everything to Harry. Way back when, he even had dreams of becoming a songwriter, or producing tracks and working in a studio—anything to put him in the industry. But that was years ago, before he was married and had to stop being so selfish with his dreams. Minerva wanted something better for him, so he had to let that go.

Concentrating on the notes that filtered through his headphones, Harry was finally pushed out of his head and back into the moment. He would finish the garden, then go inside and job hunt some more, he decided.

The sun was especially warm on his back today, soaking into the black fabric of his t-shirt (a bad choice in hindsight, he realized as soon as he checked the high temperature on his phone). Sweat dripped from his hairline as he dug into the soft soil lining his front porch, following the line of his nose before dropping into the dirt. If he was lucky, he would beat out a sunburn and leave with a tan coloring his skin, but the more he soaked in the heat, Harry didn't feel good about his chances.

By the time only a half of the candy floss had been planted along the border, the neckline of his top was drenched in sweat and Harry was running out of the motivation to finish his project. It wasn't until he felt a soft hand nudge at his shoulder did he look up from the flowers he was plotting in the ground. That definitely wasn't Minerva, he knew that much before looking over his shoulder. She never touched him that gently anymore.

Sitting back on his heels, pushing his sunglasses into the mass of hair on the top of his head, Harry turned onto only to see (Y/N) clad in her workout gear with her arms cradling snacks.

He was quick to pull his earbud from his ear, looking to her with a shaky smile he hoped didn't embarrass him any more than the sweaty state she'd caught him in. "H-Hi, (Y/N)."

"Hey," she greeted him with a bubbly smile, warmer than the heat clouding the air, "Looking really good, Harry."

His mouth went dry as he processed her words. "Wh-What?"

"Your garden," she clarified, nudging her chin in the direction behind him, "It's looking really good. Almost done?"

"Oh, yeah. Thank you," he blinked, rolling his lips between his teeth as he granted himself a reprieve of following her line of sight to his blooms. She made him so nervous it was hard to look at her. "Only a little more to go, so I should be finishing up today."

"You've been at it all morning, I'm surprised you haven't passed out with how hot it is," (Y/N) continued, huffing out a laugh through a soft smile, "I just came back from walking my roommate's dog and made some snacks and lemonade, so I thought I'd come over and share, if you wanted any?"

Dropping his gaze to her hands, he found a paper plate with a bagel covered in cream cheese, and a handful of dried cranberries. In the crook of her elbow, a small, chilled water bottle was cradled.

A smile crooked his lips as he gazed at her.

Cute.

"Thank you, (Y/N)," he said, twisting in his spot so he could properly face her, "Y'didn't have to."

"It's alright," she beamed, offering him the refreshments with an outstretched hand, "I was already making my own, so I thought I'd make some for you, too."

It was simple, what she brought out for him, but even just a single sip of the sugary lemonade was enough to have Harry's heart bloating. He couldn't remember the last time someone thought about him so considerately.

"No, this is really kind of you, (Y/N)," he cemented, looking up at her from where he sat in his yard, trying his best to keep his gaze from going too soft, "Please, let me know if there's anything I can do for you, ever. You've been so nice to me ever since y'moved in, I want to pay y'back somehow."

"Harry, really, it's alri—"

"Humor me? Please?" She was giving him undeserved kindness, and he didn't want to take advantage of her.

The way her features softened as she looked down at him, hair messy on the top of her head and face glowing with the dew of a fresh workout, had Harry's heart clawing at his chest. She was looking at him like that. How lucky was he?

"Alright, I'll let you know, okay? I'm sure something will come up soon enough; I don't know if you've noticed with the amount of times I've accidentally backed into my garage door, but I'm not great about not breaking things. Be prepared with the amount of help I'll be needing now that you've offered, Harry." Faux seriousness covered her features as she pointed an accusing finger at him, thought her facade was cracking with the curl of her lips and the soft set of her eyes.

"I'll be ready, promise," he beamed up at her, pleased with the way she bit back her smile like she was afraid of how big it would grow if she didn't.

She lingered for a moment longer, her tender gaze dropping for her feet before she matched his gaze again. "I should probably get back to the dog—he doesn't like to be alone for long—, but, I'll come by if I need anything, Harry."

"O-okay," he breathed out, catching a flutter in his heart at the sound of his name wrapped in her voice, "I'll be here."

Her grin widened at his small joke as she edged back towards her home. With a little wave, she was on her way, Harry watching her the entire time.

When he saw her twist to look over her shoulder, he felt silly for a moment to have been caught staring, but then she spoke: "Tell Minerva I said hi, too, please! I haven't seen her in so long!"

It was the genuine smile on her face that had his heart dropping to his stomach. He kept quiet as he gave a confirming nod, waiting for her to disappear back inside her home before he dropped his gaze.

She was a sweet, sweet, sweet girl who wanted him to say hello to his wife for her—the same woman that would smear mud across (Y/N)'s name at any given chance. She saw the best in everyone, even people who didn't deserve that rose-tinted view. She was much too good for him, he knew that much. Much too good to have a married man become infatuated with the idea of her.

—————

Clicking out of his email, Harry ran a heavy hand through his hair.

Nothing. Not a single response to all of his cover letters, tailored resumes, and followups.

He knew in the grand scheme of things that four weeks really wasn't that long to be unemployed, but sitting in this house all day long, waiting for his wife to come home with whatever jeering remarks she stewed over all day, felt like years of torture. There wasn't anything else to fix up in the house that could distract him for hours on end; the gardens in both the front and back were planted and well maintained now, the garage still tidy, attic still clean and clear, and he'd even fixed that leaky faucet in the guest bathroom Minerva had been complaining about since they moved in. What else was there to do but marinate in his own short-comings and make himself go mad until it was time to make dinner?

Slumping into the couch cushions, Harry tried to distract himself by flicking on the television, hoping to find something to take his mind off of the replay of last night's silent dinner with Minerva. Sometimes he couldn't figure out what hurt more: her silence or her deprecating words that broke him down?

Just as he found a daytime soap he remembered his mother tuning into, a quiet knock rang at the front door. He didn't make a move to answer it, assuming it was some delivery service dropping off something Minerva had ordered or a door-to-door solicitor that would be smart to get out of this neighborhood before one of the more haughty neighbors reamed him for doing his job. But, when another round of the soft rapping came, he dared to peek his head through the gauzy curtains and glimpse at the visitor.

It was (Y/N).

From the limited view he had, he could see the way she was glancing back and forth from his front door and to her house, toeing anxiously at the ground with her phone clutched in her hand. Today was her day off, he remembered that (don't ask him how, he knew it wasn't something he needed to remember but he couldn't help his memory), only emphasized by the comfy shorts she had on her legs and the large t-shirt that was much too cold to be wearing so early in the morning without a sweater.

It was that one peek at her that had him rising from his spot on the couch and rushing towards the front door. By the time he twisted the locks and pulled the door open, (Y/N) was reluctantly stepping off the porch with her phone pressed to her ear. As soon as she saw Harry in the threshold, she ended her call with a sigh of relief.

"Harry," she breathed, hands falling to her sides, "I was so worried you were at work, or something."

"Is everything alright? Are y'okay?" He didn't even realize he was scanning over her form for injuries until he met her gaze from where it had drawn down to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah," she nodded, toeing at the ground as she glanced towards her house, "I just... You said you would be willing to help me if I needed anything, right?"

"Yes, of course," he affirmed, a furrow pinching at his brows.

"So," she started, looking guilty already, "I was about to go take a shower, but I think I broke it."

"Broke what?"

"The shower."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Its..." she started again, scrunching her nose as she tried to find the words, "I don't know, it's just not working and I don't know what happened."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, passing a hand through his hair as he stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind him, "I'll take a look and see if I can help."

"Thank you so much, Harry," (Y/N) babbled, relief touching at her features, "My roommate is going to kill me if I break one more thing in the house."

"Yeah?" he pressed, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips with a dimple pressing into his cheek, "Have y'been breaking a lot of stuff then?"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes as she started across the lawn with Harry following after. "I don't think so, but Mitch swears that I broke the panini press, the wifi-thing, the ice maker, and I somehow, apparently, fucked up the coffee table, or something. I think he's just dramatic and doesn't pay attention when he's using things, but whatever."

A smile bloomed across his features as he listened to her list off every appliance and piece of furniture that could be in a house. Now, including a shower (whatever that exactly meant) on that list.

Humming, he nodded his head, "Do y'think he breaks it and tries to blame it on you, or something?" Harry wouldn't like that. (Y/N) didn't deserve a roommate like that.

"No," she waved off, pushing open the unlocked front door before letting Harry in ahead of her, "he's not like that. I just think some of the things we have are old, so of course they stop working or break, and he knows he didn't do it so he thinks it's me. But, I think it's just the universe."

"I see," Harry smiled, stepping into her home.

While it was a shared space, he could still spot the (Y/N)-esque touches littered throughout the living room; a soft knitted blanket in creamy tones thrown across the back of the deep green couch, a bookcase spotted with novels he'd heard her reference to her friends in the neighborhood along with little crystals and delicate trinkets, and photos framed on the wall with her beaming smile lighting up the setting. Everything looked worn and loved, handed down from relatives or second-hand shops—nothing at all like the stiff decor and furniture that Minerva had picked out from a catalogue exactly as it was. It looked like a home.

"It's the upstairs bathroom, if you wanted to follow me," (Y/N) explained, stopping him from wandering out into the space to see what it would feel like to wrap himself in things that were (Y/N).

"Right, the shower," he murmured under his breath, trailing behind her, "What exactly happened?"

An exasperated shrug of (Y/N)'s shoulders was the view he was granted a couple of steps behind, "I don't know. I got all my stuff ready to take my shower, and I was waiting for the water to warm up and when I pulled the thing to make it come out of the shower head and not the faucet, it just... didn't work."

She took him to the bathroom in question, opening the door to the brightly lit and femininely decorated bathroom (her own personal one, he'd assume) with the remnants of steam still touching the top of the mirror.

"Watch this." She beckoned to him, settling on her knees on the tiled floor. Twisting the knob on the temperature control, water started streaming through the faucet and splashing across the tub. She paused for a moment as if to ensure Harry was properly watching before she reached across and pulled the pin at the top of the faucet, the same one that should redirect the water flow up to the shower head. The second it was pulled, there was a sputtering of water flowing for a moment longer before only a single bead fell from the shower head. The faucet stopped leaking, leaving the water to go down the drain before the shower was dry, none of the outlets dispensing.

"Huh," Harry breathed, gaze drifting back and forth between the faucet and the shower head as if either one would explode at a moment's notice with all the water pent up.

"Right?"

"It just started acting weird today?" he asked, reaching into the bathtub and pulling on the pin again. The same result: silence and dryness.

"Yeah, it was perfectly fine last night. And everything else like the sink, and the kitchen, and Mitch's bathroom are all working. It's just the shower."

Harry tested it out for a few minutes, (Y/N)'s eyes following him as he tinkered with the knob controlling the pressure and temperature, the pin, and the shower head itself. Nothing changed as he poked and prodded, a furrow pinching his brow.

"Do you know where your water heater is?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to her as he twisted the knob to off.

Pausing when he saw the way she was sat so prettily behind him, Harry suddenly felt flush under her attention. He had felt the warmth of her gaze the whole time as he worked and messed around with the appliance, but it was different seeing her with wide eyes looking up at him with her legs tucked carefully under her body. Even with her messy hair and ill-fitting clothes, Harry swore for a moment she was surrounded by starlight and puffs of cotton candy clouds—a dream on earth.

His heart skipped a beat with butterflies filling his tummy. Since when was he this far gone?

A loud thud sounded from the floors below, the only thing that shook Harry from whatever was running through his head that only jumbled the second he remembered this was (Y/N) who was gazing up at him like that.

"(Y/N)?" he stuttered over her name, his arms dropping limply at his sides.

The call of her name brought focus to her eyes. "Hm?" she hummed, with with a flutter of her lashes.

"D-Do you know where your water heater is?" he tried again, running a nervous finger under the tip of his nose.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," she breathed out on a laugh, rising to her shaky legs, "It's in the basement."

They were quiet as Harry followed her on an impromptu tour of the house, down the two floors to the chilled basement. It was when she reached the landing did she stop in her tracks with a gasp. It took him only a second to peer around her shoulder and find the cause of her widened eyes and fists clutched to her chest.

The concrete floor of the space was covered in a shallow pool of water. Some spaces the level was lower than others, but there was definitely enough water covering the floor to account for what hadn't been streaming through the shower upstairs.

"Shit," Harry whispered, spotting the pack of boxes pushed into the very corner of the basement, the bottom row slowly taking on water.

"Those are Mitch's things," she rushed out, following his line of sight, "I need to get them upstairs before anything gets messed up."

(Y/N) didn't falter after that, splashing through the water with her bare feet. Harry went to follow her, only to have to step out of the way as she was on her way back with a box stacked in her arms.

"D-Do y'want help?" The question felt a little dumb leaving Harry's mouth, but he didn't want to start rummaging around if she would prefer he stand back.

"Would you, please?" (Y/N) asked from halfway up the stairs, "Thank you so much, Harry."

Hearing that strain in her voice was all he needed before he was setting off to help her pick up the boxes, trudge through the water and up the steep stairs. By the time there was nothing more than the last few boxes, the bottoms all soaked in the leaked water, he was out of breath but (Y/N) looked a little less stressed. Only a little.

"Thanks," she panted out again once all of her roommates things were safely tucked away on dry land. Her eyes fluttered closed before she ran a heavy hand over her features, the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes. "I think Mitch is really going to kill me for this one. I don't even know what happened."

Hands on his hips, Harry remembered the shimmering lake that had taken over the level below. "I don't either, love, but you're going to need to call someone to fix it. 'M sure something is blocked."

"Probably," she sighed, eyes focusing on a random spot by her feet as she pinched at her lips, "H-How do I get the water out of the basement, though?"

"Jus' gonna have to mop it up, and use some towels, I think. 'S not a lot, so it shouldn't be too bad."

"Yeah," she breathed out again, focus coming back to her gaze as it flitted up to return Harry's. "I'm so sorry to ask, but would you be able to help? Even just for a lit—"

"Yeah, of course I can help." A heat touched at his cheeks as he realized just how eagerly he had offered up his help. But, with the way (Y/N) lit up at his agreement to help, he didn't really mind how silly he sounded.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you. So much, Harry," she beamed at him, already seeming to have more life in her as she toed towards the stairs leading her up a level, "I'll go grab some towels, but the mop is in the kitchen, over there, if you can get that. I'll be right back. Thank you so much!"

It was with a scuttle of her feet and a twist of her hair fluttering behind her that she disappeared up the staircase. Harry's gaze followed after her for a moment longer, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he felt a smile coming on.

—————

"Did you always want to do accounting?"

(Y/N)'s question echoed in the empty basement, sounding over the slopping sound of the mop in Harry's hands sopping up the water that didn't seem to have an end. He shrugged, having expected this question when they started talking about their career-paths (apparently, (Y/N) wanted to be a writer, but she was currently working retail so she could pay the bills in the meantime).

"Not really," he answered honestly, wringing out the mop into the accompanying bucket that was just under half full at this point, "I actually wanted to get into music, but this seemed more practical."

"Music?" (Y/N) perked up, wringing out a soaked towel before opting for the slightly drier ones as she worked on her hands and knees, "Like as a singer?"

A smile plucked at Harry's features at the enthusiasm in her voice. He couldn't remember the last time someone sounded genuinely excited at the idea of learning more about him.

"Maybe if I felt right, but mostly songwriting and producing. I liked the idea of being in one of those big studios, you know?" The images he'd had of his life when he was young flashed through his head. His heart almost broke at how easily it was to conjure up those pictures despite how long it'd been since he allowed himself to indulge in those what-ifs.

"Did you write a lot of songs then? Anything I might have heard?" (Y/N) wasn't even working anymore, that much Harry could tell when he peeked at her through his lashes. She was sitting back on her heels listening to him, attention rapt and unwavering.

"No, I never really made music. Everything I've ever written is packed away in some journal in m'attic. I haven't seen it since university, I think." That was a little bit of a lie, if he was being honest. He'd seen it when he was reorganizing the attic space and moving things around. He just didn't have the guts to open it.

He could hear the pout in her voice as she humphed. "That's a bummer. I would have loved to read what you wanted to put to music," she mused, "If you ever find it, would you let me read some of it?"

Against his will, a memory of him shoving his book into Minerva's hands, asking her to read his latest work—one that was inspired by her—before she refused, not wanting to read any of what his silly hobby spawned. It was a waste, she had told him in her own way; music wasn't a stable job and he needed to wake up before it was too late and he'd sung them into living in a cardboard box.

Harry made quick work of shoving that thought to the side, inserting himself into the moment with (Y/N) once more. It was the glimmer in her eyes, the smile on her lips, and the fact she asked to read his art that had him answering in a heartbeat. "Of course. You'll be the first person I call."

The creases that lined her face as her smile grew was enough to wipe those awful moments with Minerva away like the water he was sopping off the floor. Speaking around her smile, she dropped her gaze to the towel in her hands, "So—um—if you wanted to be a songwriter, why did you end up going into accounting? That's a huge field change."

"Yeah," he sighed, plucking at his bottom lip for a moment of comfort, "Um, she—sorry, Minerva, she thought it would be a better idea to go into something like finance. More stable and real than music."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, voice neutral though he could see her features scrunch up some, "I can see that a little, I guess. Did she ever help you write or anything like that?"

"Not really. It wasn't something she thought was..." Harry floundered as he remembered all the things she called his songwriting (not worth her time, stupid, an excuse to not find a real job, ect.). Those probably weren't the kind of things to dump on his neighbor. "It was jus' hard for her to get into it the way I did. I usually did all of it alone."

"Well," she started, a slight pinch lingering in her brows as she crawled to the next section of floor, "I'm sure if she could have helped, she would have."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

"Yeah, but what about you, hm?" he switched, wringing out the mop once more, "What kind best-seller are y'drafting?"

It seemed that was the perfect question to ask her as she shot into an explantation of the creative writing class she had taken in college and the idea of a narrative that never quite left her (of course only after she rolled her eyes at his best-seller comment. I haven't even finished a single chapter, Harry, she told him though the smile she was biting back still bled into her features). He was wrapped up solidly in the world she was painting for him, even when she shyly brought up the romantic aspects as she was most excited about adding.

Despite the water seeping through his Vans and chilling him from his toes up, Harry swore he could have stayed in that basement all day long hearing her talk about the things she loved.

What a privilege that would be.

—————

Minerva didn't even bother to wake Harry up before she was off to work this morning, only leaving a note tacked to the fridge about the shopping that needed to be done today and that she would be home late due to after-work drinks with some of her colleagues. He wasn't all that surprised at that. She seemed to prefer to spend any time she could away from him, no matter where it was.

At least, he had a task that would take up some of the morning and direct his mind off of the sourness that was filling his lungs every time he thought about Minerva.

Taking his time to clean up after the breakfast his wife made for herself before her day at work, Harry didn't leave for grocery shopping until late in the morning. Armed with Minerva's list as well as the mental one he'd developed after spending so much time at home and in charge of meals, he plucked a trolley and started off through the shelves.

The store was luckily fairly empty given the time of day he was waltzing through the aisles, and Harry couldn't be more grateful for the chance to move at his own pace. He was feeling particularly slothly today, sluggish limbs and tired eyes, so at least he wasn't being pushed around and feeling rushed to get out of there as soon as he could. He marked off every item he grabbed from the shelves as he went, putting together a menu for the rest of the week.

It wasn't until he was armed with the ingredients to Minerva's favorite pad Thai recipe—one she probably wasn't even going to eat, he pessimistically decided—that he ran into another's cart.

"Oh gosh—"

"I'm sorry—"

The second he saw who he had accidentally bumped into, every bit of exhaustion evaporated from his limbs.

(Y/N)'s expression cleared up just the same, the apology on her lips falling away in favor of wrapping her voice around his name. "Hi," she greeted him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he told her, sounding much too chipper for an apology, "Wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's alright, I'm happy it was you," she cemented, parking her cart on the other side of the aisle from him, settling in, "How are you?"

"'M good, thank you," he smiled, "How's your shower and everything? Did that guy end up making it out there?"

"Yeah, he came a little after you left," she sighed, shaking her head as if recalling the memory made her just as exasperated as she was in real time, "It was so stupid. I don't even know what it was that was blocking my shower, but something was blocking that specific channel so every time I turned it on and tried to get water to come out, I was breaking something else and flooding the basement. I feel like he was being a jerk, but Mitch says that I was probably just in a bad mood."

Harry shrugged, biting back a smile though he was sure his dimple still poked through. Maybe she was in a bad mood—he wouldn't blame her—, but she hadn't been in one by the time he left. If he really let his heart run away from him, he'd let himself imagine he had been the one to keep her happy.

"At least he got it fixed, right?" he tried, leaning his forearms into the seat of the trolley, chin resting on his fist.

"Yeah," she smiled, apparently forgetting the supposed attitude she was given, "I got to wash my hair afterwards, so that was nice." He watched as her gaze dropped to the contents of his cart, eyes lighting up when she caught sight of something to pique her interest. "Where did you find that pizza dough? Mitch and I keep ordering out for pizza so I was trying to get stuff to make it ourselves instead."

An apologetic smile curled his lips before she even finished speaking. "It's over by the cheese counter, but I did grab the last couple. 'M sorry, (Y/N)."

The second he watched her deflate, the makings of a pout itching at her lips, Harry couldn't help himself. He just wanted to see her smile again.

"I was planning on using them for lunch today, but, if y'want, y'can come over and-and try it with me? I haven't tried this one before either, so if y'like it, y'can take some home."

He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of his heartbeat as he allowed his mouth to run ahead of him.

(Y/N) hesitated from where she stood in front of him, the blunt edges of her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. With a flutter of her lashes, she returned his gaze. "Are you sure? I can just get some next time, it's alright."

Swallowing, he saw the way out she was giving him, but he found himself wanting to stay just where he'd put himself.

"'M sure," he cemented, surprised by how lightweight the words felt, "I was going to eat by myself anyway, so at least we could talk a little."

A beat passed before she offered him a sweet smile and a nod of her head. "Alright. I still have some more shopping to do, but when I'm home, I could come by? As long as you're alright with waiting for me."

Harry didn't need to think before he was nodding his head.

Of course he would wait for her.

—————

Was this cheating?

Harry's chest constricted at the thought.

He wasn't a cheater, was he?

All he'd done was invite a friend over for lunch and to talk, just as they'd done before. He'd ran into her at the supermarket and asked if she wanted to share some of the food he was planning on making anyway, especially as she was only a door down. That's not cheating, right?

No, he told himself. They hadn't even touched outside of passing each other when they were lugging up her roommate's belongings upstairs, let alone kiss or go further. And nothing they'd talked about had verged into romantic territory, not even for a second. He talked to her like he would talk to a friend. He'd had female friends before—before Minerva, of course—and this was how he would treat any of them. He would even argue he's held her at a larger distance away, especially since he was married.

Just because he thought his friend was pretty, didn't mean he was cheating.

Minerva even knew about he extra time here and there he was spending with (Y/N), though she definitely scoffed and made faces whenever he spoke her name. If he was doing something wrong, he wouldn't have told Minerva anything, right?

Harry couldn't calm his spinning mind as he put away his groceries, spiraling out of control as he contemplated turning (Y/N) away when she came to the door—with all the ingredients for a pizza to make at her own home. But, as much as he was worried about the blurry line he was approaching, he didn't want to say no to her and make her leave. He didn't want the sunshine that was leaking into his life courtesy of his neighbor to become shrouded by clouds once again.

It was an innocent friendship, and if Harry couldn't handle himself, he would stop it. He vowed to himself that if he came to a point where he was worried he wouldn't be able to not cross into the shades of grey safely, then he would end it. Because he was someone's husband before he was someone's friend.

It wasn't until he heard a knock on the front door that Harry's frantic hands came to a sputtering halt. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter where he stood in front of the ingredients for his pizza project, he took a steadying breath. He centered himself for one more moment before going to the door to let his friend in.

(Y/N) greeted him with a bright smile when he swung the door open. "Hi, stranger," she bubbled, hands folded in front of her dressed in the same comfy set he'd found her in at the grocery.

"Hi," he greeted her, feeling the stretch of his grin as he took her in.

Even as he widened the berth of the door, clearing way for her to pass through, (Y/N) nervously toed the porch, eyes giving way to a tinge of anxiety he'd never seen there before. A pinch drew his brows together as he watched her.

"You're still hungry, right?" he prodded, giving her an out if she decided she would rather be at home.

His question seemed to shake her from wherever she had crawled to in her head. "Y-Yeah, sorry," she brushed off with a smile, stepping over the threshold and into his home, "I just realized I've never been inside your house before."

"That's right, huh," he said, smile going lopsided with only a single dimple in his cheek, "Busy couple of weeks for us, then, right? Packing a whole lot of basic friendship things into a few days."

Harry knew he uttered the word friendship for his benefit only, feeling stiff as it passed his lips. Because this was what this all was. Friends went to each other's houses, and got to know each other through quality time. Nothing nefarious or wrong about that.

"We've been neighbors for almost a year, and I think I just learned your last name," (Y/N) laughed, waiting for him as he locked the front door before starting off towards the kitchen with her behind him.

"That's what happens when y'wait to break your shower so y'can invite me over," Harry shrugged, looking over his shoulder with a smug smile on his lips.

(Y/N) only rolled her eyes, and shook her head as they entered the kitchen. Harry's set up was just as he'd left it: dough rolled out and floured, his favorite pizza sauce set off to the side with every fix-in delegated to different bowls and packages for easing picking. She followed after him with a light to her eyes, taking in the station he'd set up for them.

"I didn't know what y'might want to put on it, so I jus' got everything out," he explained, starting to feel a little sheepish over the amount of effort he put into his friend's meal.

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled at him, standing in front of one of the two slabs of rolled out dough, "This is perfect. You're so nice."

He had to pretend that his heart didn't flutter some at the gentle compliment she gave him.

Smiling down at his hands, Harry turned towards the sink to wash up before starting to assemble the food so she didn't see the flush he was sure was pricking the tip of his nose.

Once she'd followed the same procedure before returning to her station, Harry finally chanced a look at her where she stood with expecting eyes. Yeah, she was still pretty.

"Ready?" he murmured, swallowing around the word.

"Ready."

—————

"So, you didn't even actually work in the bakery? You did that on purpose, didn't you? So I would be lulled into a sense of trust even though you were only winging it on the bake time for the pizza."

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he listened to (Y/N)'s very true accusations. There had been something of a squabble over the bake time and temperature, as (Y/N) had supposedly googled the best combination of how long to let them sit under the heat and just how high the dial needed to be twisted while Harry swore by his own method. A wicked smile had curled his lips when he brought out the best end to the argument: his so-called experience.

"You're the worst," she challenged, shaking her head when she saw the quirking of his lips, "You just didn't want me to be right."

"They turned out jus' fine, didn't they?" Harry countered, jutting his chin out in playful defiance.

(Y/N) muttered out a muted whatever, though the flutter of her lashes and sparkle in her eyes didn't diminish to go along with her faux-attitude.

A warm silence settled within the dining room as they each took bites of their food, Harry unable to stop himself from looking at her through his lashes. He swore he even caught her drawing her eyes away at the last second during one of his peeks.

"I hope this doesn't come out wrong," (Y/N) broke the silence, wiping her mouth of the pizza sauce that had collected on the corner, "but, I'm kind of happy you're not working right now. We've actually gotten to get to know each other now that you've been home."

Looking at her, moony eyes with fluttery lashes and dewy skin glimmering in the sunlight leaking through the windows, Harry wanted to kiss her. That scared him.

While it might not have been the first time he thought about what it would be like to kiss (Y/N), it had previously always been in the abstract, someone in his place before the fleeting thought was out of his head in a blink. But, this time... this time was it's own beast that has Harry's heart rattling against his ribcage like a criminal in a jail cell.

This time, he had a solid vision of himself, reaching across the dining table he had dinner with his wife at, fitting his hand around the back of (Y/N)'s neck—wedding band and all—before slotting his lips against hers. She was happy she'd had a chance to get to know him, and that was something he hadn't realized he'd ever wanted to hear.

And, that scared him. This was cheating, wasn't it? Married men don't think about kissing other women like that. They don't look across the table and try to pick out the glimmers in their neighbor's eyes, or wonder how soft her lips would be, or wish they could tuck their face into her neck and see if she really smelled like strawberry poundcake like the lotion on her bathroom counter suggested. Married men shouldn't do that.

Harry swallowed thickly, dropping his gaze to his unfinished slice of misshapen pizza.

"Is everything okay?" (Y/N) broached, speaking to him as if he were an injured animal, "I didn't mean to make you upset about work. I shouldn't have said it lik—"

"No, no," Harry shook his head, a stray curl landing across his forehead, "'S not that, don't worry. I know what y'were trying to say."

"Okay," (Y/N) sounded, the syllables coming out quietly as she placed her pizza down, "Is something else wrong then?"

How was he supposed to explain to her that he crossed into territory that was too blurry to be safe for him—the one with the wedding band on his finger? She had no idea of what was running through his head as she spoke, the way his heart skipped a beat when she gave him attention he hadn't even known he'd been craving since she approached him in the garden weeks ago. At this pace, he was ruining two relationships at once: his marriage to Minerva and his friendship with (Y/N).

"(Y/N), I..." he started, unable to think clearly with the way his heart crawled up into his throat. Was there an eloquent way to tell someone you can't see them anymore because you fear you might cheat on your spouse if you became any closer? Was there ever a good time to confess to having feelings for another woman while also cutting them off?

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured, "you're worrying me. Can you at least tell me if you're alright?"

"I d-don't know, (Y/N)," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands that were propped up on elbows pinned to the table, "I don't—It might—... I think I might need to take a step back from you."

Silence fell over the room once more, this time lacking the warmth that it had been filled with less than ten minutes prior.

"I... don't think I understand," she responded, sounding stiff.

Harry shook his head in his hands, his hair fluffing around his face. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other anymore, es-especially alone like this."

Heat crawled up his features, starting at the base of his neck as he choked out the words. He couldn't even look at her, but he could fantasize about cheating on his wife with her?

"Um, okay," (Y/N) said after a beat, words stilted, "I understand. May I ask why, though? Because if it was something I did, I want to apologize at least."

He shook his head as she spoke. None of this was her fault. Never was an apology from her lips needed over this situation. He dared to peek up at her through the cage of his fingers, finding her with her gaze downcast and shoulders deflated.

His tongue felt thick as he tried to speak around it, dry throat not helping any. He floundered over the honesty he knew he owed her. "It's jus'... 'M married and all, you know?"

The pieces seemingly clicked together for (Y/N) without any extra explanation. She gave a slow nod of her head. "Right. I'm sorry if I crossed any boundaries, or anything. I didn't mean to."

Before he could offer any consolation, tell her that the fault was all his own and she'd been nothing more than the sunshine he'd been aching for since he found himself on a clouded shore, but she was quick to pushed away from the dining table. She offered a polite thank you for lunch, before she was out of the house in record time; the sound of the door shutting behind her lingered longer than she did.

Scrunching his eyes tightly, Harry couldn't help but dig the pads of his fingers into the soft skin of his eyelids. "Fuck," he whispered to himself in the empty house. In a burst of frustration at the feeling of tears filling his eyes as if he had earned the right to be upset over the entire situation, he slammed his fists onto the table. The china rattled on the surface, only joining in with the ruckus of the loud Fuck! he screamed into the void of his home.

Slumping back into his chair, Harry stared up at the ceiling for who knows how long until he felt a nerve in the muscles pinch over the position. A labored breath was all he managed to pull into his lungs as he looked over the state of his home.

He needed to clean up before Minerva came home.

—————

Harry pushed the pad Thai around in his bowl, chopsticks making a dull scraping sound against the porcelain. Minerva—surprisingly home for dinner, which he hadn't been anticipating—had her eyes glued to her phone with a curl to her lips. The house was filled with silence just the way it had been for the last week and a half since Harry brought on his own heartache.

Since (Y/N) walked out, Harry hadn't been able to get her off his mind.

Nothing had been the same since the sound of the door slamming after her reverberated through the house. He swore that a part of his heart walked right out after her, trailing behind the home it had been trying to make in the warmth of her. He lied awake that night, wallowing in the mistake he'd made on two women in his life he was supposed to care about and protect. He'd failed on both fronts.

But, even after he cut himself off from the wallowing—he determined he didn't deserve more than a couple of days since this was all his doing—he found an ache lingering in his bones and a fog clouding his brain. He didn't want to eat, barely made sure he drank some water each day, and wanted nothing more than to hole himself up in the master bedroom though he never managed to actually sleep. If he wasn't distracted enough, his mind would wander too far away, waking up things he'd rather stay asleep.

He could only recall feeling like this once before: when Minerva had changed, making it very clear she was no longer invested in him or their relationship.

He was broken-hearted. Over losing (Y/N).

Maybe he had more than a silly crush on her like he had thought. He found himself wondering in the aftermath if she was alright. Was she blaming herself? Was she keeping busy with her roommate? Was she taking care of herself? It only worried him when he saw her roommate walking the dog around the neighborhood, something that seemed to be (Y/N) job exclusively before this. When he told Minerva that (Y/N) wouldn't be hanging around much anymore, he remembered how angry he became when she laughed, the noise cruel, and said something about how it was about time she'd run off.

How dare she? he recalled thinking. (Y/N) had never once said a single bad word about her, and yet Minerva couldn't even spare a question on why she wouldn't be over anymore or if something had happened. He'd shared the fact he'd made a real friend for the first time in years, and she didn't bother to ask what would be the cause of the separation, even going so far as to rub it in his face with an I-told-you-so-esque comment? Who was this person he had married?

But, in the end, (Y/N) sat at the forefront of his mind, stealing any selfish thought and reminding him of the real innocent in this situation. She deserved better.

His feelings for her had been a lot more real than he even realized. If he had known, he liked to think things would have turned out differently for them.

Holding back a sigh, Harry pinched a bean sprout between his chopsticks as he slumped over the table with his chin in his hands.

"I heard back from that auto-body place I told you about," Harry offered, filling the silence with his raw voice. Minerva didn't even look up.

"Hm?"

"That job I applied for—bookkeeping at that auto-body place just out of town. They emailed me back; I have a phone interview with them tomorrow," he shared, hoping the good news would at least make her happy. Maybe, that would be enough to get him out of his head, the static of the house surely not helping him feel normal.

"Oh," Minerva sounded, a sour expression pinching her features, "You actually applied there? I thought I told you it sounded gross."

Rolling his neck, he swallowed. "I know, but work is work and that's what I need right now. I can keep looking even if they hire me, I jus' need something right now."

A roll of her hazel eyes was granted in response to his words. "It's like you don't even listen to me. Sure, you're unemployed, but do you not think it would look worse for you to work at some greasy mechanic? Harry, it's gross, and you would know that if you ever actually listened to me."

Her biting words touched a nerve Harry didn't even know had been exposed.

"I listen to you all the time, Minerva," he grumbled, voice low and controlled. His heart pounded in his ears, the sound rising from his chest.

She scoffed at his retort, her phone finally dropping from her hand as she sat up straight in her seat. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he breathed, tempering himself before he raised his voice, "I always listen to you. Jus' like how I listened to you when y'said I wasn't trying hard enough and thinking too much of myself and not applying to jobs on my level. So, I broadened my search—like you asked—and found this place that would pay nicely and might appreciate what I could bring."

"Oh, now you're just blaming me, like it's my fault you couldn't find anything other than some slum to hire you. Stop being a dick, and just listen to wh—"

"I am listening! I have listened for the last seven years! And, I don't want to listen anymore, Minerva!"

It was like the universe knew about the changing tide, a sudden clash of thunder echoing outside that ramped up the storm that had been brewing in the clouds. The second the sky settled, Harry realized the tone and volume of his words and the fact Minerva hadn't said a single thing back, already feeling guilt in his system.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you, 'm sorry, M—"

"This is about her, isn't it?

Harry was taken aback at the accusing tone of voice she used on him. Flicking his gaze between her eyes, he found the anger that had been brewing in her silence. She hadn't been scared or upset that he'd raised his voice—no, she was trying to find the best way to one-up him.

"Who?"

"The fucking neighbor you're so obsessed with. This is about her, isn't it? She's been telling you I'm the bad guy for wanting you to get a good job, is that it?"

Stinging offense touched at Harry's chest. "This has nothing to do with (Y/N), leave her out of this, Minerva. She's never said a bad thing about you, you know that? When all you do is shit on her for no other reason than the fact she exists."

"I have reason, Harry," she spat, leaning over the table as he voice grew, "Like the fact that my husband eye-fucks her every time she's around! Did you really think I didn't fucking notice?!"

"'S not like that, Minerva, and you know it." Harry slid his hands into his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. "Why would you even care, anyway? 'S not like you even like me anymore."

"Because you're my husband. You are mine, until I decide otherwise. Then you can sleep around with every girl you see—but until then, you have to listen to me."

Harry didn't even realize a sheen had collected over his eyes, tears in his waterline as he just realized just how trapped he was in that moment, not until Minerva pointed it out to him.

"Are you really about to cry, right now?"

"I know you're cheating on me."

The words slipped past his lips before he even realized they were on the tip of his tongue. He'd barely let himself think about what Minerva was really up to those nights she was getting drinks, or staying late to finish a project, let alone speak them aloud. But now, there they were. In the static silence of the dining room, he was tired of pretending and listening and hoping.

Minerva seemed to be floored for a second, floundering over her words. "Don't try to turn this on me, Harry—"

"I do your laundry, you know" he sighed, exhausted now that the biggest weight had left his chest, "I've seen what you wear those nights you're supposedly at the office until one in the morning."

"Oh, so now I can't wear sexy underwear without your permission—"

"And, remember when you insisted I share my location with you? Even went through my phone and did it all when I was in the bathroom." Harry swallowed at the memory, but he felt numb to the panic that began to rise in Minerva's eyes. "But, I can see your location, too. I know you're not at the office or whatever bar you pretend to get drinks at when you don't come home."

She was stock still for a moment before Minerva crossed her arms heavily over her chest, slumping back into her chair. "Okay, and?" she spat, rolling her eyes as if this were another petty argument, "It's not like we haven't been over for years—sorry I wanted to feel loved for once."

Harry didn't even pay her jabs any mind. None of this mattered anymore to his battered heart.

"I want a divorce."

"Harry, we've talked about this. It's no—"

"I don't care about your job. I want a divorce."

Venom filled her eyes as she locked her gaze on him.

"You only want this now that you have your little whore next door, isn't it? Yo—"

"Minerva, please," he heaved, exasperated as his hands fell limp into his lap his neck rolling back to pin his gaze to the ceiling, "Why can't we just be happy? That's all I want. We get a divorce, and you can feel loved by whoever you want and I can get the fuck out of this house."

Harry didn't look at her even as he heard the sound of her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "Fucking fine, Harry," she spat his name out like bile, "Get the papers and I'll sign them—no contest, or whatever makes this fastest. But if you want to get out of this fucking house so bad, you can start tonight. Find somewhere else to sleep, asshole."

With that, his soon-to-be ex-wife stomped upstairs, slamming the master bedroom door hard enough he was sure that his wedding photos would have fallen from the walls had this been a movie. The sickly silent house was filled with the sound of the pelting rain from outside, the interior lit up by lightning strikes and shook by the pounds of thunder.

He needed to get out of here.

It was as if he was on autopilot as he moved through the kitchen and out the front door with nothing more than his phone and keys. He didn't even realize where he was going until he was dripping wet with rain soaking him to the bone on (Y/N)'s door step.

He must have missed knocking on her door because he was surprised when he saw the door open wide with (Y/N) standing in her pajamas, concerned etched all over her face with his name forming on her lips.

"I'm getting a divorce."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened as he cut her off, taking in the rain-sodden man. The water dripping from his hair onto the stained wood of her porch mimicked the watery gaze he stared at her with.

"Harry, you didn't because of m—"

"No, no," he swallowed, his mouth working faster than his brain, "No, it's not-not because of you. I should have done this a long time ago, I just let her decide everything for me even if I hated it. You-You made me re-real again. I couldn't stay with her knowing I could be happy again somewhere—somewhere that wasn't with her."

He watched through bleary eyes as her shoulders raised with a deep breath before she reached out to him.

"Come inside, you're going to get sick," she murmured, a sad smile on her features that shouldn't have tugged at his heartstrings.

Taking wooden steps, the cold finally registering on his skin now that the option of warmth was presented in her home as he crossed the threshold. Water dripped onto the hardwood that was identical to what was next door, but felt completely different in a space that actually knew happiness. A man was sat on the couch, long dark hair falling over his shoulder with a pinched mouth and wide eyes taking in the new visitor.

"Harry," (Y/N) said, stepping around him once the door was locked and closed, "this is my roommate, Mitch. Mitch, this is Harry... our neighbor."

Mitch nodded his head, rolling his lips between his teeth before he straightened up from his slumped position. "Nice to meet you," he smiled politely before his eyes slid to (Y/N), "I'm gonna go to my room, so if you need anything, just let me know."

Harry stood with his arms crossed over his chest as they stood, seemingly waiting for the click of Mitch's bedroom door before (Y/N) unfroze. "Um," she mumbled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she met Harry's gaze, "I'm gonna go grab you some clothes to wear while we wash your stuff. Just... wait right here, but I'll be right back."

(Y/N) lingered for a moment longer, placing a gentle hand on his arm to go along with her softened features before she was padding up the stairs. It could have been two minutes or two years that it took (Y/N) to return from her search, but Harry had no idea about the difference. He only took note of her soft hands urging him towards the bathroom, a set of oversized clothing tucked into his arms she told him was her brother's. He wouldn't mind if Harry borrowed them, she assured him.

Maybe it was the cold or the shock that lingered in his system that kept his joints stiff as he dressed. Once his wet clothes were nothing more than a puddle on the titled floor, heavy and thick with the new set cozied to his form, a hair too big, Harry stopped. With his hands braced on the lip of the counter, he spared himself a glance in the mirror.

Bloodshot, glistening eyes. Wet, dark hair that lost its curl to the weight of the water. Ruddy cheeks. Swollen lips. He looked a mess.

But, Harry couldn't remember himself ever looking so relieved.

He carefully gathered his clothes into his arms, ensuring he didn't dampen his borrowed clothing as he exited the bathroom. (Y/N) was there in an instant, having been waiting just outside the door with a softened smile on her features as she offered to take his clothes, already grabbing for them before he'd even relinquished them.

It wasn't until she returned from the laundry room, telling him something about the detergent, that Harry realized he was crying. Only because (Y/N) had pointed it out with a short gasp, hands instinctively reaching for him before she bundled them together at her chest.

"Oh, Harry," she cooed, "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what you're going through—"

"C-Can I hug you?"

(Y/N) didn't even hesitate before she was gathering him into her arms, Harry's head dropping to her neck with his body pressed flush against hers for no other reason than he hadn't been hugged like this in years. His breathing came in pants against her neck, fanning across her skin while his tears dripped over the curve. (Y/N) settled him as best she could, running a gentle hand over his back while the other swirled through his curls as best she could with their dampened state.

"'M so relieved," Harry whispered to her when he found his voice, "'M so relieved. Thank you."

Harry didn't know what he was thanking her for, and he was sure (Y/N) didn't either, but that didn't stop her from holding him tighter.

—————

"Bye, Harry!"

The delighted shouts that were called through the parking lot at the end of his work day brought a smile to Harry's face. He twisted on his heels, walking backwards for a moment as he waved for all the guys at the mechanic's yard to see.

"See you all on Monday!"

Harry couldn't remember ever loving his job the way he loved this one.

The mechanic was full of some of the nicest people he'd ever met in his life; some grumpy and a bit rambunctious—something he was sure they played up around their quiet accountant, as they called him—but none of them were anything less than welcoming since the day he was brought onto the team. He was excited on the days he worked in office solely because he got to see his friends. There were even nights they went out for drinks or went to a local venue to watch live music, something to relax into the weekend they always told him, and Harry was invited each time. How he worked in an office for almost ten years when this was out there waiting for him, he'd never understand.

But, Harry didn't like to think about the before years. Thinking about all he missed out on wasn't going to bring back the wasted time, that's what his therapist had told him.

It had only taken one night at (Y/N)'s and another week and a half at a hotel before Harry had another place lined up—how he was able to manage that, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to say no. It took him one weekend to get his things out of Minerva's house, have her sign the divorce papers he filed the days before, and it was over. His wasted time was up.

As difficult as Minerva liked to be, when she was done with something, she wiped her hands clean. Just as she did with Harry. She was quick to come to agreements about their assets and belongings, staying true to her word about wanting to take whatever route would be the fastest out of the marriage.

He didn't mind that she got the house and a sizable chunk of their savings. He could get all of that back, and nothing could compare to the relief and freedom he felt now that he was out of that oppressive house.

Plus, it was cheaper to go grocery shopping for one.

(Y/N) had been so encouraging through the first few weeks that Harry was trying to make sense of the new world he had called upon for himself. Never interfering or pushing him to do anything he didn't want to. Everything she told him was about his happiness—putting his happiness first. It was her idea that he reach out to someone to talk to about what happened during his marriage, and how to navigate making his own choices without heavy amounts of doubt pushing him back.

He hadn't seen her much since the night he crashed at her place, knowing that he needed to spend some time with himself, clear headed and heart in his own hands, before he could be in her distracting presence again. He needed to be the best version of himself first before he could be anyone else's. But, she never backed away from him, always there when he needed her, even if just to talk to someone.

Harry didn't worry about the dirt on his feet as he opened up the door to his apartment, only shucking off his shoes messily by the threshold. He'd get to them later.

It'd been three months since he moved in, so the place was a little sparse, but it was perfect in Harry's eyes. He'd never lived by himself before. Everywhere he looked, it was him—his things, his family photos, his memories. He loved his little apartment, no matter if it was a downgrade from a two-story, three bedroom house. This was his first home.

His clothes were left in the hamper as he changed into a comfy set of clothing. He could do laundry tomorrow, no worries, he reminded himself. He had more important things to do.

Reaching under his bed, Harry grabbed the final unpacked box he had taken from the attic of the old house. Nothing more was written on the cardboard than Harry's Stuff in Minerva's handwriting. Flipping open the top, he found his university gear (really just a pair of sweatpants he swore got him through exams seasons without any complete failures), a set of messily colored pictures gifted to him from when his niece was only a baby, random items from his childhood, and a leather bound journal.

The journal was wrapped tightly closed with a matching length of string. The cover was doodled upon with stars and quotes, Harry's name scrawled across the front of the book. It mimicked him, he realized; covered in sketchbook like drawings, but it was all him.

Inside, he knew there were songs from years ago he probably didn't even remember writing. A smile touched at his features as he untied the string holding the journal together.

But, before he could flip through the pages again, he knew he had to make a call.

With his phone to his ear, the ringing echoed in his ears until he heard the telltale click.

"Harry!" (Y/N) happily chirped on the other side, "How are you?

Hearing her voice, he swore it was easier to breathe. "Hi, 'm doing good," he greeted her, voice dreamy and mellow, "Are y'doing anything tonight?"

A beat passed before she spoke again, the smile he could hear in her voice easy to imagine. "I don't think so, why?"

He promised (Y/N) she would be the first he called when he found his music again.

"I want to show y'something."

He was happy to wait for her.

—————

this is....very different for me ngl HUSHFUSHF I had a very different direction I was thinking about when I started this and then completely went off the rails and turned into something sadder than anything else ive written so...thanks for sticking through it I guess shfushfush thank you sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes (and the fact they don't even kiss ???)! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

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cowpokeomens · 6 months

Text

Dress

Pairing: Will Ramos x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+ this is straight up self-serving porn!!!!!!! Minors go away!!!! Anyways this has got everything: Biting, p-in-v, blowjobs, fingering (female receiving), breeding kink, big ole praise kink, me projecting how badly I want to swallow William's load, I think that's it but by all means DM me or reply if you think I should add something!

Literally no one hmu unless it's to talk about this photo. It has nothing to do with the story but I wanna fuck him so bad so I'm putting it here. It's my blog I do what I want.

Yes I was listening to Dress by Taylor Swift as I wrote this!!!! Yes it's one of the horniest songs in her discography!!!! Leave me alone!!!!

Anyways.

This is straight up porn, no plot in sight, no beta because I'm insane, no fucks given because I'm a whore! Enjoy.

____________________________________________

Will was about to vibrate out of his fucking skin.

He’s irritable, too- a far cry from his usual “Sunshine and Rainbows” disposition. People kept trying to make conversation, ask him about the tour, compliment the new album. It would end with a curt, “Yeah, it was a lot of fun,” as his eyes would be dragged from whoever he was talking to back to you.

The dress was unfair. It was diabolical, even. He searched his memory, trying to come up with a reason you’d put him under such physical and emotional duress. He did the dishes last night, made breakfast this morning- he even folded the laundry! In terms of “deserving of death by nefarious garments,” his conscience was clear.

Yet there you were, clad in the slinkiest little black dress that he never knew you owned. You had spent hours in front of the mirror, perfecting your makeup, carefully styling your hair. It had been fun for him to watch; Fun to listen to your “Ultimate Emo” playlist and jam out while you painstakingly applied a swipe of lipstick, a striking mark of eyeliner. It was fun.

He stopped having fun the moment you stepped out in the goddamned thing.

“Zip me up?” You had asked, batting mascara-ed lashes at him sweetly. His brain had short circuited for a second, rebooting completely when it started overheating. Zip you up? He wanted to eat you up, toss you over his shoulder like a caveman and keep you in bed for hours.

“Where are you going in that?” He asked incredulously. Your breasts were about to fall out, fabric clinging to the small of your waist. There were other details- lace and ribbons and shit he didn’t have the vocabulary for when his head was running on all cylinders, much less now. You turned around so he could reach the zipper better, and he genuinely wondered if the anime nosebleeds were onto something with how quickly the blood rushed to his cock at the sight of your ass stretching the fabric.

“Um, to the jamboree your label is hosting?” You retort with a giggle. “C’mon, we’re going to be late to this shindig if we don’t leave soon.”

He had complied, after some whining, zipping you up and kissing you softly on your shoulder, willing his cock to miraculously soften.

Then you had arrived, and he was swept away by record executives, you saw a group of gal-pals, and he had to keep his hands to himself.

For hours.

Will’s hands itched with the urge to reach out and touch you, twitching at his sides. Someone said something that must have been fucking hilarious, because you were laughing, head thrown back, chest heaving-

I can’t do this. He thinks to himself. This is a task for men stronger than me.

Quickly downing the last dregs of his cocktail, he impolitely excuses himself from the group he was speaking with, maneuvering through the mass of people to where you stood.

“Hi baby!” You call when he enters your line of sight, smiling brightly. You’re in a small group of people who also greet Will upon his arrival, immediately asking about the tour.

“It was a lot of fun, thanks for asking.” Will mumbles distractedly, eyes never leaving you. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand, love bug?”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Oh, sure.” You quickly excuse yourself from the group, leaving with warm goodbyes and tight hugs. Will thinks he’ll catch on fire before the two of you make it out of the building, but then you’re walking over to join him, the two of you quickly working through the crowd.

“Is everything okay, Will?” You ask when you’re both out of earshot. Concern is evident in your tone, and Will fights the urge to smooth the crease between your eyebrows with a kiss.

“Yeah, just itchy is all.” He murmurs to you, placing a kiss on the top of your head as you both exit the building. Itchy was a good word; He was practically crawling out of his skin with the urge to get you undressed, underneath him.

Guilt overtook your pretty features. “Oh baby, was the party too much? If you felt overstimulated, we could have left earlier-”

“No, I’m fine, pretty girl, really. It’s just-” He sighs, stopping in the parking lot to dig his keys out of his pocket.

“Did I do something?” You sound so sad, eyes widening. Will could practically see your mind sifting through the evening, trying to find some misstep.

“No, no baby- stop. I can see you overthinking, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just-” He sighs again, pausing by the car now. He glance around the two of you, making sure you were alone, before guiding your hand to his groin.

Your eyes went dark at what you found there. “Holy shit, you’re- how long?” You stammer, sounding hoarse.

“Ever since you put on that fucking dress.” He admits sheepishly.

“C’mon.” You nod towards the car, motioning for him to get inside.

You made quick work of shutting your door, Will about to start the car when you stop him.

“Leave it off.” You command, making his eyebrows shoot up in question. “Less conspicuous.”

“Less conspicuous for wha-” Will’s question was cut off as your lips locked with his in a searing kiss. You gripped his shirt in your hands, dragging him closer to you.

“All hard for me, huh?” You whisper against his lips.

He’s nodding before he realizes it. “So hard, baby, all fucking night, all for you.”

You’re nodding with him, already drunk off of the power you have over him. “Let’s get you taken care of then, yeah?”

You tear your lips away from his to better unbutton and unzip his pants, tugging the fabric down the best you could in the cramped space. He hisses as you pull his briefs down so that his cock can spring free.

“Holy shit.” You breathed, taking him in.

He’s always been big- you were familiar with that part- but you’d never seen him after being hard for hours. The veins on his cock were bulging angrily, the tip shiny with precum and deliciously red.

“Poor thing,” you say in a saccharine voice, leaning in to kiss the cherry-red tip.

He outright keens at that, hips barely jerking up, like it was taking everything to hold himself down. “Don’t be mean, pretty girl.”

You give him one last grin before you’re swallowing him down, stopping three-quarters of the way down to soothe your gag reflex.

“Fuck-“ Will gasps into the air, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. His grip tightens, and you feel your control over the situation slipping away. “Fucking tease tonight, huh? Not enough to wear your slutty little dress, couldn’t wait to get my cock in your mouth either, could you?”

You whimper almost silently at his words, but he feels the vibrations of it on his cock. “Little slut likes that? Does she want me to use her pretty mouth?” He continues, pulling you up by your hair just enough for you to be able to speak.

You relinquish any semblance of control you had when you manage a small, “Please.”

He grins at you, so far from his regular, cheerful smile, and pulls you in for one last kiss. It’s sloppy and wet and wonderful, and you’re almost sad when he yanks you away by your hair again to guide you down to his cock.

“Open.” He commands, the gruffness of his voice making you quickly do as you were told. His cock is in your throat immediately, but before you can gag, he’s pulling you back up roughly. You manage half a gasp of air before you’re being shoved back down, swallowing him again. He continues fucking your face at a brutal pace; Soon spit is covering your chin, and you can feel you mascara running down your cheeks in the form of tears.

“So fucking good for me.” Will grunts, hips thrusting up to meet your face. “Such a good girl, taking what she’s given.”

The praise makes you moan- or at least, as much as you could with him fucking your mouth so thoroughly. You’re lost in the sensation of him so deep in your mouth, breathing deeply through your nose as he uses you. His thrusts start becoming irregular, a chant of your name and “fuck” falling from his lips as his movements grew shorter and shorter.

Oh, you think. He’s so close, you can see it in the tension of his body, in the drawn-up expression on his face. You want nothing more than for him to finish in your mouth, to make you swallow it down, but he pulls out abruptly, chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Is something wrong?” You’re pouting, you can feel yourself pouting.

He sees your face and huffs a laugh, still panting. “Pretty girl wants my cum that bad?”

His words- the vulgarity of them- color your cheeks pink. Although… Yeah. That was exactly what you wanted. You nod, the smallest movement.

You think you hear him stop breathing, but then he speaks again. “C’mere, honey, I’ll give you what you need.” He motions to his lap, where his cock is beckoning you like a siren at sea. You hastily go to unzip your dress, but he stops you. “Leave it on.” His gaze drags down your form, back up to your throat, where his eyes linger for a moment before he’s looking into your eyes again. “Leave all of it on.”

His words make you shiver, but you obey, crawling over to straddle his lap. He yanks your panties to the side in record time, immediately thrusting two fingers into you. You mewl at the sensation, eyes squeezing shut as your hand comes up to slap over your mouth to muffle the sound.

“Nuh uh, let me hear.” His voice is in your ear, nose rubbing against the lobe of it. “Let me hear your pretty sounds- God, you’re so fucking wet.”

You could hear him moving his fingers inside you, even over your own noises. You grind down into his hand without consciously realizing you’re doing so, chasing the pleasure his fingers brought you. You open your eyes blearily, wanting to see him, only to find that he’s studying that same spot again, right at the base of your neck. Jutting your chin up so that your throat is completely vulnerable, you give him a meaningful look.

He accepts the offer, teeth coming down to bite at your pulse point. The moan that escapes you is profane, dwindling to the pathetic whimper of an injured animal as he sucks at the skin where he bit, soothing it with his tongue. Your chest is next, ample cleavage on display for his lips to lock onto, sucking a hickey into the sensitive skin with ease. The hand that’s not fucking into you grips onto your waist to leave another bruise, pulling you impossibly closer.

You know what he’s doing- Marking what’s his, letting everyone know who you belong to. And you couldn’t care less about the perception of it, lost in the pleasure of his lips and the sensation of being owned. Arching into his mouth, your hands tangle in his hair as your legs start to quiver with unadulterated want.

“‘M close, Will I’m-” You pant, tugging at his hair desperately.

“I know, pretty girl, be good and come for me so I can fuck you properly.” He whispers into your neck, and that’s all it takes to hurtle you over the edge, shaking with your orgasm even as he replaces his fingers with his cock.

It’s so much more- more girth, more length. It stretches you, fills you up to the brim. You’re still in the aftershocks of coming as he starts fucking you in earnest, yanking you into his chest until you feel like you can’t get a breath in. You’re practically wailing, the sensitivity of getting fucked so quickly after orgasming overwhelming, but it’s perfect.

“You’re my girl, right?” He’s grunting, holding you stationary while his hips rock up into you at break-neck speed. “My pretty girl, all mine.”

You nod, incoherently babbling, “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours-”

“Want my cum?” He pulls back just enough to look in your eyes. It’s all love there- an all-consuming love that illuminates his gaze like a flame. “Want me to fill you up? Put a baby in you- Keep a baby in you?”

You’re nodding again, unintelligible sounds falling from your lips in response. “Please.” You finally manage to stammer out.

He’s almost smiling, a joyous kind of pleasure overtaking his features as his thrusts grow erratic for the second time that evening. Your grip on him tightens as you feel yourself get closer and closer, tears springing in your eyes from the overstimulation.

It hits you like a fucking train, face curled into his neck in a silent scream, legs spasming in every direction. He fucks you through it, coming in hot spurts inside you, thrusts growing sloppier until he finally nestles himself deep within you, setting you down gently in his lap again.

You’re panting and trembling, completely collapsed against his chest. The both of you sit like that a few long minutes, his hand rubbing at the exposed part of your back soothingly. When you feel an iota of strength return to your body, you’re craning your neck up to kiss his cheek.

He’s grinning, turning to look down at you. “Well shucks, thanks for the kiss, honey.”

You’re giggling with him, pushing yourself up so that your back is straight. You hiss as the movement moves him inside your sore hole, a shudder passing through your body.

“You better cut that out, I’ll fuck you again if you’re not careful.” He warns teasingly, hands gripping your hips lightly.

You flash him a grin, and then ready yourself for the chore of him pulling out. You know it’s going to be tender, but you still yelp as he slips out of you. Flopping into your seat, you give yourself another minute to collect your breath. He tucks his cock away, zipping up his pants carefully and starting the car.

You zone out for a moment, only recognizing the long silence that has stretched between the two of you after a few minutes more have passed. You look over at him, a question on your lips, when the look on his face makes you pause.

He’s staring in between your legs, a small pout on his face. “It’s leaking out.”

You throw your head back, barking a laugh at his distress. “I have an IUD as well, my love, I don’t think it’ll work no matter how hard you try.”

His eyes go dark at your words. “Then I’ll just try harder next time.”

Before you can respond, the car is in drive, and you’re headed home. You quickly buckle your seat belt, pulling down the passenger mirror to clean yourself up, stopping when you catch the first glimpse of your reflection.

Your makeup has smeared everywhere. Black streaks run down your cheeks in rivulets, your lipstick smudged around your mouth. Your tits are littered with bruises, lovebites of various colors decorating your skin. You look like a slutty fucking mess, You think to yourself. You’re searching for a napkin to wipe your face when Will speaks up again.

“Leave it.” He flips on his turn signal, pulling onto your street. His jaw is tight, and you swear you can see a bulge in his trousers. He turns to look at you as he puts the car in park in front of your house, eyes already glossed over again. “Leave all of it.”

#will ramos x reader #will ramos smut #will ramos fanfiction #will ramos fanfic #cowpokeomens

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blue-slxt · 11 months

Text

Truth or Dare

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: Okay so I've had this idea for a while, but I just had no idea how to really execute it. So huge thanks to the anon that suggested the truth or dare premise. I love you! I hope you guys enjoy this one. This is also my first time really writing Ao'nung where he's involved in the story so go easy on me lol. All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Metkayina!Reader x Lo'ak x Ao'nung

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT, P in V, Oral (F receiving), Train, Squirting, Intense Orgasms, Creampie, Alcohol, (kinda) Manipulation, I think that's it

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: A game of truth or dare takes a turn when Ao'nung confronts you about a rumor he heard.

When the Sully family first arrived on your shores, everybody was weary of them and their presence. While Jake was basically a living legend with his status as toruk makto, everybody knew that him being here meant that the sky people wouldn’t be far behind. Nevertheless, Tonowari granted them uturu. Ao’nung and Tsireya were in charge of teaching the kids everything they needed to know to live here and you would tag along since Tsireya was your best friend.

The early days were rocky to put it lightly. The Sully boys and Ao’nung had a hard time getting along, which was entirely Ao’nung’s fault with his constant and unprompted teasing. You hated that part of him.

Even though Tsireya was like a sister to you, your feelings for Ao’nung were…more complicated. You had a crush on him for years, but you couldn’t deny that he had some irritating qualities about him. Usually, he only acted like that when he was with his friends. It was like he felt the need to show off for them. It was exhausting. And right around that time was when you started to actually take notice of the Sully brothers. They were so different from everything that you had grown up with. Their skin was a darker shade of blue, their frames were much more slim to help them maneuver through the forest more efficiently, thin tails, amber eyes, completely braided hair instead of any loose curls, and no tattoos to be seen.

Your curiosity had been piqued already by just their physical appearance. But as you got to know them, your interest grew. Neteyam was charming and traditional. He took training very seriously and you would often try to get him to loosen up and have a little fun. Lo’ak on the other hand was full of surprises. He was funny and adventurous. You enjoyed spending time with them.

Over the last couple of years that they’ve lived here, you’ve all grown close, even with Ao’nung. The Sully kids adapted to your ways quickly and they’ve become upstanding, respected members of the clan.

Tonight, you are all sitting around a fire on the beach drinking like you would do often when you all had some free time. You all laugh and joke and talk for hours under the night sky. Eventually Kiri announces that she’s ready to turn in for the night and Tsireya follows suit behind her leaving you alone with Ao’nung, Neteyam, and Lo’ak. The precarious position you’re in right now is lost on you, but not Ao’nung. He sees this as the perfect opportunity to have a little fun with you.

“How about we play a game?” he suggests with a sly grin.

You raise an eyebrow at him since suggesting games wasn’t usually his thing, but you were curious to see where this was going. “What game?” “Truth or Dare.”

“Alright, who wants to go first?” you ask.

You all shift your gazes around at each other for a second before Lo’ak decides to raise his hand and volunteer.

“Okay, Lo’ak, truth or dare?”

“Truth, hit me with your best shot.” He turns his nose up showing off his confidence in his choice.

You try to think of a good question to ask him, “Are you a virgin?” You’re not sure why that was the question that came to mind, but you put it out there now so you have to stand by it.

“Nope.” He winks at you when he answers and Neteyam swats his arm to tell him to behave.

“No real surprise there, I guess” you say about to take another sip of your drink.

“Guess you would know, huh?” you hear Ao’nung mumble next to you.

You turn to look at him with a questioning look, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I mean, guys talk. And I’ve heard a thing or two about you is all.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly while Neteyam and Lo’ak watch on.

“Alright, my turn to ask. Truth or dare?” Lo’ak asks you.

“Truth.” “So is it true? What all the guys say about you?” Neteyam hits Lo’ak again. He can’t believe that Lo’ak would actually ask you such a thing.

You don’t take any offence to the question, though. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?” you laugh a little to yourself taking another swig of your drink.

“I would, actually.” Ao’nung speaks up. “See, I think you’re all talk. And the stories I’ve heard? I think they’re just that, stories. There’s no way you’d be able to handle a real pounding.” Ao’nung knew exactly what he was doing. He was challenging you. Testing you to see how far you’d go to prove him wrong. He’s always known how to manipulate you into doing what he wanted. And you weren’t stupid. You could recognize the manipulation from a mile away. But you could never stop yourself from playing right into his schemes. And this time would be no different.

“Please, I could take all 3 of you if I wanted.” You scoff. You’re mostly bluffing, but you’re feeling emboldened by the alcohol. Your words make Neteyam choke a little on his drink across from you.

Ao’nung leans closer to your face with a devilish look, “Prove it, then. I dare you.”

Your jaw clenches while you mentally wrestle with yourself. Were you really about to do this? Just to prove a point? What point were you even trying to actually prove? But you didn’t want to back out now. Fuck it.

“Fine. Who wants to go first?” You look between the three of them and each of them have a different expression on their faces. Neteyam looks borderline horrified at the suggestion. Lo’ak is in disbelief. And Ao’nung looks smug as hell. “I’ll do it. Doubt you’ll actually see it through though” he taunts. He stands to undo his loincloth while you do the same.

Neteyam and Lo’ak are wide-eyed at the scene unfolding front of them. “Bro, is this for real?” Neteyam leans over and asks Lo’ak not fully believing what he’s witnessing. “Bro, I sure hope it is.”

You lie on your back and let your knees fall open to expose your glistening cunt. Ao’nung has a quick flash of amazement run across his face before he replaces it with his signature sly grin. “So wet already. Is that all for me?” he teases while rubbing his tip through your slick.

“You wish. This is for our audience.” You retort and shoot a wink to the two brothers watching in disbelief. Both of their faces are flushed, but Lo’ak’s eyes are already staring at you full of lust. Your eyes snap back to Ao’nung when he starts to sink into you.

Your mouth falls open feeling the way he stretches you. Truth was, you had only had sex once before. It was stupid and didn’t last that long and you both agreed to not tell anybody about it. Clearly, you were the only one that held up your end of the agreement and that’s part of the reason you’re even in this situation right now.

Ao’nung was much bigger than the other guy and the fullness makes tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you fight to hold them back. By the time he bottoms out inside of you, your fingers are digging into the sand beneath you trying to steady yourself while you adjust to his intruding size.

“Damn, so fucking tight. You sure you’re not a virgin?” he’s trying to tease you, but you can see how his breathing starts to stagger. He sets a slow pace steadily thrusting into your heat. Your eyes close feeling his hips roll into yours. The pain quickly subsided and left only pleasure in its wake. Soft moans leave your lips feeling how he grazes your sweet spot. You lock your legs around his waist pulling him impossibly closer to you. “Oh fuck, right there.”

Ao’nung can’t take the sound of your voice. It’s driving him crazy to watch the way his cock sinks into you over and over again. He had secretly wanted this for so long. To have you right now, hair splayed out, eyes rolling back, and sweet moans leaving your mouth, it’s more than he can bear. He buries his face in your neck breathing in your scent and letting it cloud his senses.

You look over at Neteyam and Lo’ak relishing in the feeling of being watched. Neteyam has a hard time holding his eyes on you, but Lo’ak is completely tuned in and stroking himself through his loincloth. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. Something about knowing that he’s watching you be used and knowing that he’s touching himself just dying to be inside of you turns you on even more. It makes the growing knot in your stomach tighten even more, just seconds away from snapping. “Oh shit…I’m gonna cum.”

Ao’nung sits up on his knees and throws your legs on his shoulders to angle your hips up and drill directly into your sweet spot. “Ah!..Ao’nung ha-ah….I’m cumming!” your head falls back and your hands desperately search for something to grab onto while your first orgasm washes over you. Ao’nung grunts above you feeling how your walls clench him even tighter and now he’s nearing his own high.

Once you ride out your high, he pulls out of you and strokes himself over you until he cums on your stomach. It’s hot and thick, but the feeling grounds you back into reality. Both of your chests are heaving trying to catch your breath.

You look up at him while he’s composing himself, “Told you.”

He chuckles lowly, “Don’t start talking shit just yet. You still have 2 more to go.” He grabs his loincloth and starts to redo it.

Lo’ak practically jumps from his place in the sand. He’s been eager to get his turn since you first agreed. It was almost painful how hard he was. He unties his loincloth and even you can notice how big your eyes get. His cock springs to life already rock hard and oozing precum. The length and girth are completely different from Metkayina men. Suddenly one of your friends’ words make sense to you now. ‘It’s always the skinny ones that surprise you.’ Guess she wasn’t joking.

He watches your face in amusement. He knew he was blessed and he had no intention of being humble about it.

“Alright, how do you want m—”

Before you can finish your thought, Lo’ak had already flipped you over and hoisted your hips up into the air. “Just like that.” His hands slide up and down your thick thighs and his calloused fingers grip the plush of your ass. He grips and spreads and smacks just relishing in the view of your arousal dripping down your legs. He feels like his head is spinning.

You prepare yourself for him to enter you, but instead, he uses his tongue and licks one long stripe from your clit up to your dripping hole and tongue fucks you. Now, this was a completely new sensation. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before and it was like heaven. “Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined.”

Little squeals and mewls fall from your mouth while his tongue pokes and prods inside of you. His hands continue exploring your ass and spreading you open even more for easier access.

Once he’s had his fill, he sits up on his knees and aligns himself with your hole. You feel the tip poke at your entrance and suddenly there’s lightning shooting through you as he rams his entire length into you at once.

He gives you no real time to adjust as he starts pounding into you. “Shit, man you weren’t kidding. She is fucking tight.” He’s pulled into a trance watching the way your ass bounces back against his hips. Your moans are loud and shameless. He reaches a new depth that feels like he’s poking into your stomach. It’s almost too much, but when you look over at Ao’nung and Neteyam, the way Neteyam starts to bite his lip listening to you and Ao’nung is casually stroking himself watching you, you can’t even be bothered to think about anything else but how much you want them to watch you more.

“Haah…more! More Lo’ak!” you breathlessly plead. Your body starts to move on its own throwing your hips back into him to meet his thrusts. You’re trying to push him even deeper into you which would normally hurt, but in the fog of your desire, it gives you nothing but satisfaction.

Lo’ak leans forward and reaches around to start rubbing messy circles on your clit. “Ah! Fuck!” The stimulation makes your whole lower body feel like electricity.

“Yeah, cum on that dick. Just like that.” His breath is hot against the shell of your ear and your body starts to shake under the force of your second orgasm. It’s too much to contain and you can feel an even more intense feeling taking over you right at the very peak. “Shit shit shit!” You have no time to get any more words out before you squirt all over Lo’ak’s lower body and hand. His fingers on your clit rub back and forth spraying your juices everywhere while he still pounds into you chasing his own high. “Ah! Lo-ak! Fuck!” Hearing how your voice calls out his name pushes him over the edge. He quickly pulls out of you at the last second and pumps his fist up and down his shaft until his hot cum spills onto your back.

Your legs finally give way and you fall into the sand. Lo’ak stands and pulls his loincloth back on. A dull ache starts to settle in your core from all the abuse it’s taken, but you harden your resolve knowing that there was still one more. You all turn to look at Neteyam and his face flushes feeling put on the spot. If you were being totally transparent, Neteyam was the one you were most curious about. Unlike most men his age, he didn’t go around bragging about his size or his sexual conquests. He has always been more reserved when it came to that kind of stuff. He was a wild card. You didn’t really know what to expect from him.

“Come on, bro. You’ve got to. Swear you won’t regret it.” Lo’ak says lightly slapping his shoulder.

He hesitates and stumbles over his words trying to pick whatever he feels like is the right answer. While he speaks, you notice the huge bulge under his loincloth. You muster all the strength you can find in your body and crawl over to him slow and sensually. His eyes lock on you and he watches as you get right between his legs and play with the knot on the waistband of his cloth. “Come on ‘Teyam. Come play with me.”

He swallows hard while you untie his loincloth and free his throbbing cock. His size may be the most impressive. It’s similar to Lo’ak, but slightly skinnier and about an inch longer. Your subconscious panics a little thinking about how it was going to fit inside of you. Lo’ak was already crowding your cervix when he was inside of you, but your conscious mind has already decided that you’re just going to have to make it fit.

Your hand strokes his dick experimentally watching his expression intently. He holds your gaze while his breathing gets quicker. The two of you don’t say a word, but your eyes say everything. You silently ask him if he’s okay with this and tell him it’s fine if he’s not. But he gives you the go ahead to continue finally giving in.

You carefully straddle his lap and grind your cunt against him and coat him in your slick and the remnants of your last orgasm. His hands rest on your hips while you grind on him. “We’ll just take it easy, okay?” you say gently to him and he nods.

You lift your hips and catch his tip right on your entrance. You lower yourself down on him slowly to help ease him into it, but also because your hole is so worn out from the previous beatings and you need to take his size slowly. Inch by inch he reaches deeper and deeper into you until you could swear he’s knocking on the bottom of your lungs. It’s almost hard to even breathe by the time you make it all the way down. He watches your face trying to make sure that you’re okay and he’s not hurting you. You have to bite your lip to hold back the soft sobs that want to escape from the twinge of pain. You just have to push past this discomfort and then it’ll be fine. That’s how it goes. Slowly, you start to rock your hips back and forth on top of him. From the way Neteyam’s eyebrows knit together, you can tell he feels good and that helps you to relax and start to feel good too. You guide his hands to grip your ass, “It’s okay” you whisper to him. You let his hands grip you and lead your hips to where it feels best for him. Soon, he starts to let his hips buck up into you and it’s overwhelming. “Haah…oh fuck Neteyam…” your head feels dizzy while he strokes up into you. He’s much more gentle than Ao’nung or Lo’ak and, for now, you thank Eywa for that. Your hands grip his braids and hold his head close to your chest where Neteyam kisses and licks and sucks on every single inch of skin he can see. His big arms completely wrap around your waist to hold you in place while he ruts into you faster and harder.

“Shit, just look at how good she takes it. Maybe those rumors are true.” Lo’ak says to Ao’nung somewhere behind you. You almost forgot you had an audience and the thought of them watching as your ass bounces up and down on Neteyam’s dick sends you into a frenzy. Moans and curses weave together as they leave your mouth losing yourself on top of Neteyam. He lets out low, guttural groans feeling your heat hugging around him perfectly. Even in his best dreams, he hasn’t imagined you feeling this good. And he dreamed about it a lot.

That knot is growing in your stomach again and it’s back with a vengeance. “’Teyam, I-I’m gonna cum!”

“Shit, me too.”

You cling onto him for dear life trying to chase that high. You don’t bother to get off of him when he says he’s going to cum. All that matters is reaching that euphoria. When the knot snaps, it breaks with the force of a typhoon. Your mind goes completely blank and your vision spots with white dots, but your body moves on autopilot still rising and sinking on his cock. “Hng..shit..” Neteyam can’t hold off his own release anymore with the way your walls are squeezing him and he spills everything he has inside of you.

The fire in your core damn near sends you over the edge again, but you finally feel yourself fall back into your body as you come down.

Both of you are sweaty and clinging onto one another while your minds clear the lustful stupor you both got caught up in.

Neteyam helps lift your hips up just high enough so that he can pull out of you. The emptiness makes you wince, but you’re relieved. You fall back into the sand and stare up at the sky while the night’s events race through your head.

Ao’nung slow claps off to the side of you. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d be able to do it, but I’ll concede. You proved me wrong.”

Bullshit. He never cared about being proven wrong or right. And you knew that, but you couldn’t find it in you to give a damn.

A wide smile split your face and you turn your head to look at him.

“We should play this again some time.”

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ronearoundblindly · 9 months

Note

Feel free to ignore this… but any further (descriptive) thots on what the first time Ari calling reader Mrs Levinson would be like?!

I just can’t get the thot of tender love making out of my brain after reading the 3+1!

Please no pressure at all! Just wanted to let you know how much this Ari lives rent free in my brain 😵‍💫💙

Ari Levinson x bestfriend!Reader (now wife) from Bedrock and Blueprints series

woah. so. good lawd, i got all up in my own feels for a while and shrank my world down to just reader and this guy:

An expansion of the the last part of this. Warning for sexy times in the most loving way. MINORS DNI. WC 1.3k

A/N: holy sh*t. don't @ me if you hate this and hate terrible puns because 🙈 idk what happened...

Your relationship keeps evolving.

You started as distant acquaintances, sharing a friend but not much else. Soon, though, you and Ari found common ground and mutual respect. Slowly, the two of you learned more about each other and grew comfortable, playfully jabbing at each other's bad habits and blind spots.

You only ever wanted the best for one another.

It took a long time--many people would say too long--to WANT one another, and old habits die hard.

The strangest part of your wedding day is how easy it is to fall into the 'friend' pattern again. You're executing a planned day, hosting guests in your home, coordinating care of your baby. Ari's helping. He always does.

The ceremony is short and sweet, the party after a simple barbecue. It hardly feels...special.

On the other side of the lawn, Ari shows a few of your coworkers Rachel's favorite face he makes, and your daughter howls in joy, grabbing at Daddy from her perch your cubicle-mate's arms.

They're too far away to hear, but you can read Ari's body language pretty well after a decade.

What's wrong, honey? You love looking out at a crowd.

See? See all these people? They're here for you. For us. For...

Ari's eyes meet yours, his bottle of beer becoming an anchor in his outstretched hand. He beams.

...mommy.

You give a tiny little wave just as he gets ambushed by a few more guests cooing over Rachel. Ari is tall enough that you can see his gaze never leaves you, even when he's surrounded, even when he mutters an answer to a question, even as he pats shoulders and backs until he's out of the throng.

His radiant smile washes over you like the warm breeze on this perfect day. His feet land in time with thuds of Boyd and Dimitri battling it out on the cornhole boards, and the women flanking you twitter appreciative giggles as if putting voice to your heart's fluttering.

Ari is, well, damn fine to look at.

"Hey," he breathes heavily once making his way to you. "You wanna--" he gestures behind you to the house "--for a sec?"

"Oh, sure." You scramble to think what more could be missing from outside. Are the drinks running low? Is the grill ready for the next round of food? Does Rachel need a toy or maybe a hat?

He leads the way to open the door for you, and that's when you notice Ari's starting to sweat through the t-shirt he changed into after the ceremony. He's never been a fan of the penguin suits. As he puts it, "they rent them for a reason. Nobody wants to own one of these."

Whether for the entertainment or just to cool himself off, you assume Ari's heading for the kitchen and turn accordingly before an arm snaking around your waist hauls you backward.

"Not so fast, gorgeous," he snips in your ear, a familiar playfulness in the words warming down your spine.

"What are you doing, Ari?" you laugh, letting him man-handle you down the hall to the bedroom.

He touches you down gently beside the door and shuts it behind him quietly. Those pearly white teeth and bright blue eyes keep shining.

"Just taking a minute," he whispers, stepping closer, dragging his finger around your ear to move a bit of stray hair, "just for us."

His focus holds yours for a long time. The rough pad of his thumb traces the height of your cheekbone. A sheen of perspiration glistens on his temple. His flush glows pink even on the skin between beard hairs. Ari's tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip.

Mixed with the muffled sound of your party outside, it's hard to tell his breathing has changed, but when your own eyes stop roaming the rest of his face, you see welling tears.

"Sorry, I don't know why..." Ari's cracking voice trails off. He sniffs and plants his hands against your hips to steady himself.

It makes your head spin.

"Sorry I took so lo--" but you don't let him get the words out.

Friends don't let friends cry over wasted time, no, because none of it was wasted. Learning about each other is necessary. Respecting one another is crucial. Laughing at the little things and the stupid things is essential. Everything happened just as it should.

You pour your approval into the kiss, tossing your arms around his neck and climbing him like the steadfast, rooted tree he's become, the centerpiece he is in the forest of your life, and Ari weathers the assault with gusto.

He sways with that changing wind of desire to lay you on the bed, shading you with his broad body and dangling hair, cocooning you both in your own little world, hot and heavy and light as a feather.

"I love you," he says as his wide palm explores up your skirt. "I love you," he says as two fingers move your panties out of the way. "I love you," he says as he discovers just how long you've been waiting for this touch.

"I love you," you repeat, undoing the fastening of his shorts. "I love you," you repeat, pushing them to the ground. "I love you," you repeat, taking his length in your hand.

"Please, Ari."

He hisses in tortured excitement. "Yeah?" In a flurry of fabrics, he's yanking your skirt around, tucking your leg up high over his waist as he climbs on the bed, too. "You want me, gorgeous?"

You like how much he leans into your new nickname; he's tried to ween himself off calling you 'kid' now that Rachel exists.

"Need you." Your words sound whiny and desperate because they are. "Need my husband."

The groan Ari lets out would wake the neighbors. Thank g-d there's a party outside...

He's so careful entering you, giving you time to stretch for him, giving him time to listen to every sated breath you both take. He pulls down the zipper at your side and peels your dress back, further exposing you. He loves how sensitive your nipples are since having a baby, but he also knows how much you hate these bras. He takes a moment to unhook you and fling that shit across the room, relishing your happy sigh of freedom.

"There's my wife," he chokes out, propped on his hands above you, surveying the bare beauty before him. His shirt is loose and wrinkled from where you've been gripping it for dear life. The shimmer of tears is back in his eyes--just for a second--until you bring him down to kiss again.

Once fully sheathed inside you, Ari sets a rhythm to mirror your whole relationship: slow and playful. He works to make you laugh, to make you fight him just a little bit because he's being silly. He flicks at your nipples and mouths at your shoulder. He only has one care in the whole world and for all time until--

Ari growls into your neck when there's a knock at the door.

"Just took the last bottle out of the fridge for Rachel, dearie. Thought you should know," Momma Joe's sweet old voice vibrates through, but you hear her footsteps fade quickly.

"'Spose that means I need to pump..." You toss your arms out in defeated frustration.

"Nah-uh," Ari shoots back, gathering you into a firm hold, pressing himself that much deeper inside you. He drapes that bubble of attention over you again, intent and adoring. "Right now? Right now you're mine, Misses Levinson."

He rolls his hips back, cock inching out of you, covered in your slippery arousal.

"And I need to pump--" he thrusts forward, the heft of him making your head loll back on the sheets "--again...and again...and again..."

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @royalwriteroftheuniverse @jamneuromain

#ro answers #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson smut #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x y/n #best friends to lovers #bedrock and blueprints #ari levinson fluff #ari levinson imagine

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catherinetheprincessofwales · 2 months

Text

Kate is not your drama queen Her self-possession drives people wild - Jenny McCartney UnHerd.

Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage. In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies”, which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge. The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished”. Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character”.

At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar. The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive”. Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at. That was true, but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait: which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?

Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes. Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate. That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline. The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides. Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews. Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class. She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.

After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously. The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job: to turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner. This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art. A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.

Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality. Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite. Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted? The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up

The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty. The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged. When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist. In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit. In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect. Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.

Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character”, meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others. In recent years the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health. The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy, but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story: “People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’sTom McTague. In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.

Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers. Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it. There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser”, but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends. Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children. Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood; she seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide. Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox. Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.

In Jean Rhys’s Good Morning, Midnight,a middle-aged English woman called Sasha Jansen, mourning an unhappy marriage and a dead child, finds herself in Paris, a vulnerable drifter seeking solace from stray men. Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations. As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it: “Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her. When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”

In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”. Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends. The dramatic collided with the dutiful, and was kept alive by it.

From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys. Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic. She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution: hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon. The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem. In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.

With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations. What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency. It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery, and was taking time to recover. And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed. According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions. Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.

Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty. Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.” The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks. Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”

In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice: her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama. With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.

#ktd #kate middleton #british royal family #brf #princess of wales

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ashdreams2023 · 1 year

Text

Detention

Summary: So the student reader gets detention by Snape and she has to go to Umbridge for it. The next day, Snape steals a glance at her hand and takes a look at it, not knowing it was Umbridge who did that to her. He then feels guilty because he was the one to have send her to Umbridge. He does go and confronts Umbridge about it, protecting the reader. Something like that?

Requested by: @inner-sparkle-inner-writings

Severus snape x reader

Detentions weren’t something new to you, everyone got them, you’ll have to be a perfect teacher’s pet to avoid them completely, and that was the furthest thing from you.

To be fair you didn’t go looking for trouble, you just happened to find yourself in the middle of it, you tried to avoid it as best as you could but you weren’t that slick.

But this year it was different, you had to avoid them, you’ve seen how some of your friends got punished and it was starting to stress you out, you’ve tried to follow every dumb rule that pink woman threw at you but your patience could only run so far, your breaking point was when Draco pointed out that you were too close to one of your male friends and you just snapped.

After a few cuss words and multiple hexes Professor snape came to end that ruckus and gave you detention with the pink demon herself.

“Sir, can’t I have my detention scrubbing the dungeon floors?”

Professor snape raised a brow at that “as much as that sounds appealing young lady, I have more important things to deal with so off you go” you honestly wanted to cry right then and there, it was unfair, especially since Malfoy got nothing but being sent to help in the greenhouse.

You dreaded that upcoming detention like it was your execution day, your friends couldn’t even comfort you because they knew it was gonna be awful.

And it was, your hand ached for hours afterward, and writing made it even worse, you weren’t a little first year but that thing stung like hell.

By the next day, you were more than grumpy, you didn’t talk to anybody and kept scratching at your wound in frustration.

It was lunchtime when professor snape came by your table strolling, he didn’t say anything at first then his eyes fell on the engraved words on the back of your hand, he was confused, to say the least, you wouldn’t do this to yourself…

“I would like a word with you young lady if you would” he took you to one of the empty halls and demanded you tell him what that was about, and you already had enough of everybody that morning and just threw it at him.

“It’s my detention professor, the same one everyone was getting, the one every adult in this facility seems to find acceptable, even on first-year students!”

Snape paused, he felt his blood run cold, this was the lines that Umbridge claimed to be giving the students! He might be strict and unfair at times but that was straight-up abuse and you had to go through that because he didn’t want to deal with stupid detentions.

“I…I need to speak with professor umbridge and here” he handed you a small bottle “it will help not get it infected” you blinked at him then nodded while taking the bottle.

“Professor…what are you planning to do?”

Snape huffed “what I should’ve done a long time ago” that pink toad has something coming to her if she thinks she can continue doing this while he breathes.

#imagine #severus snape #severus x reader #pro severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape fanfiction #platonic severus snape x reader #severus snape headcanon #severus snape x you #severus snape fluff #severussnape #harry potter requests #harry potter fandom

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thepastisalreadywritten · 2 months

Text

Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel (6 July 1952 – 22 September 2022) delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage.

In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies,” which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge.

The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished."

Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character.”

At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar.

The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive.”

Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at.

That was true but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait:

Which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?

Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes.

Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate.

That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline.

The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides.

Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews.

Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class.

She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.

After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously.

The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job:

To turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner.

This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art.

A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.

Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality.

Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite.

Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted?

The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up.

The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty.

The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema, or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged.

When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character,” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist.

In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit.

In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect.

Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.

Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character,” meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others.

In recent years, the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health.

The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story:

“People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’s Tom McTague.

In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.

Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers.

Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it.

There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser,” but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends.

Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children.

Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood.

She seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide.

Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox.

Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.

Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations.

As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it:

“Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her.

When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”

In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee,” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”

Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends.

The dramatic collided with the dutiful and was kept alive by it.

From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys.

Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage, and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic.

She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution:

Hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon.

The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem.

In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.

With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations.

What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency.

It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery and was taking time to recover.

And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed.

According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions.

Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.

Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty.

Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.”

The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks.

Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”

In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice:

Her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama.

With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #cancer #chemotherapy #preventative chemotherapy #disinformation #misinformation #fake news #trolls #bots #click farms #targeted attack #malicious gossips

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chrollohearttags · 11 months

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𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛 • 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

synopsis: after spending all of his time and nearly a week in Houston with (y/n), EJ must return home and to reality. But he isn’t pleased to find that his manager has been making moves behind his back. Ones that may sever their longtime bond and jeopardize her relationship after a heated altercation results in legal troubles for the rapper .It's also there that he reveals a secret to his best friend and what it may mean for his future as an artist. Could EJ the Don really be done with music as the media claimed? Meanwhile, (y/n)’s starpower continues ascending as she receives offers from tons of companies to do business. With the concerns of her friends lurking over her head; worrying that she may have been distracted by her recent fling, she proves to be more determined than ever to make things happen, especially when a part of her past is unearthed, serving as a reminder why she started in the first place and with news of EJ’s recent run in with the law, it’s one more reason to stay the course and keep distance. But will it really be that easy? The head executives of AMG are finally introduced, and with plans to host one of the world’s largest musical festivals for the first time in history, they meet to discuss the state of their current roster and how they plan to proceed.

content warning: mentions of violence, fighting/arguing, drug mentions, angst, mental health, mentions of death and grief, toxicity, implied sex, legal stuff and mentions of jail

word count: 8.8K

📝: just wanna tell you all thank you so very much being patient with these very sporadic and inconsistent uploads. I promise it is not due to lack of inspiration, these chapters just take a hell of a long time to write! If I could have them out in a week, I would. But I hope that everyone is enjoying this story so far and I can’t for y’all to see what’s next! 🫶🏾

previous chapter >>> next chapter

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“Listen, Mr. Jaeger..I assure you. There’s nothing to worry about, alright? In all fairness, and in the eyes of the law, they were trespassing onto your property. Which gave you grounds to defend yourself. We’ll beat this case, trust me. And if they press their luck, we’ll crush them..you’ll own their entire company by the time I’m finished.”

“Shit, I hope so. My manager’s gonna be on my ass when she finds out. I don’t even wanna know what story those grimy ass journalists cooked up and put out..but that’s why I pay you. Do your thing and make this headache go away, please. I have full faith in you.”

It was a rather interesting Monday morning for the jaded Eren, who had been mid-conversation with his lawyer. A defense attorney to the stars who had beaten some of the most harrowing allegations and cases. Yelena Pithikos, a woman as intimidating as she was intelligent..and boy, did she live up to her reputation! A perfect track record with not one single lost case. She really was the greatest of all time in the legal world. With her on his side, there was no way he’d lose. The two would converse for a little longer; the rapper facing a half smoked blunt and blowing smoke before ending the call. To say he was stressed would be the biggest understatement of the century. Having been a free man for a little over twenty four hours, he had not only been hit with a barrage of text messages from concerned friends but knew that a media shitstorm was headed his way. All of it seemed so exhausting! Floch, who came and posted bail on his behalf, was worried that he’d be irate but if anything, he was just worried. Worried that he had caused yet another issue for Mika and how she’d have to spend the next week trying to clean up his mess. Little did he know though, that this wasn’t a result of his own actions..

“Come in.”

Uttering tirelessly over his shoulder as he mashed away at the keys on his mixing board. Suddenly, the door would creak open..followed by the faint footsteps of clacking heels hitting the tile. “No snarky comments today?” That old statement about speaking of the devil and they shall appear had never rang so true before. Just then, a visibly tired Mikasa came walking in; hands folded over her chest and cell phone in hand. Truthfully, he didn’t even want to look at her. Not out of embarrassment but fear that he had angered her or upset her. He sometimes worried the people around him with his careless actions. He did things without taking into account how they may affect everyone else. However, this wasn’t a matter that he should or could apologize for. Not when his home, his safe haven was invaded.

“..look, I know what you’re gonna say. And I’m sorry, but I really don’t feel like listening to any lectures right now. Already got an earful of the damn cops and a bunch of crazy bastards in a holding cell getting on my last good nerve. Also, I forgot how much of a pain in the ass handcuffs are..I’m just not in the mood right now.”

blurting out before proceeding to focus on his current task..avoiding eye contact with her if at all possible. But surprisingly, she wasn’t as talkative or angry as she normally would have been. Which he didn’t even notice at first. But as the conversation progressed, he’d soon come to realize that he wasn’t so much at fault as he initially figured and in truth, the one to blame was standing in front of him. Even so, she’d glare down at him as a disappointed mother would her unruly child. For a split second, he even thought about how his own mom had called him not too long ago to check on..and scolded him about the incident and he was drained! The last thing he needed was another chewing out.

“Why did you skip out on our meeting last week?”

the question caught him off guard and confused EJ even more. What exactly did that have to do with this situation in particular? Was she not ready to rip his head off for creating yet another mess for her to mull over with the execs and the media? What was going on?! Leaning back in his chair, he’d blink profusely to really make sure he heard correctly but she’d give him that glare she’d done many times before and await his answer. “Don’t stare at me like I’m speaking another language. What was so goddamn important that you couldn’t even give me a phone call to let me know you weren’t showing up? That meeting was booked out months ago and you made me look like a complete dumbass in front of the board members. Your album deadline keeps getting pushed back and I keep having to make excuses. You don’t find that a little fucked up?”

he understood exactly where she was coming from..Mikasa worked tirelessly to ensure that all of her talents received equal attention and that they were being given opportunities to showcase their talents. As well as being backed by the top brass at AMG. It was her job as the median between the two to ensure that things went smoothly. It wasn’t easy to get a room full of stiffs in suits to fund projects sometimes but Eren’s reputation and record sales had always spoken for themselves. But with a four year time lapse between his last album and now, it was becoming difficult to do so. She was just irritated that once again, his selfishness had put her in a bad spot. It was hard enough that she had to work to prove she wasn’t just some byproduct of nepotism and family favors. But she had earned her spot as the executive PR and internal affairs manager. One she held proudly. But he’d try to explain as best he could without detonating the ticking time bomb.

“Look, Mika. I’m sorry, alright? I was busy, kinda needed to duck off and clear my head for a lil’ bit, that’s all. I didn’t realize that the damn meeting was so soon. I wasn’t trying to stand you up, I promise. I had other things to tend to, that’s all. Just schedule another one and I’ll be there, promise. Hell, tell Floch and I’m sure he’ll remind me.” Once again, there was that nonchalant attitude. It ground her gears to a halt, really. It was as if he had no real concept of reality..

“I wish I had an excuse but I don’t. Truth is, leaving town was some shit I decided last minute. I can’t even tell you why I went. I was out drinking and the next, I was in Houston. Doing shit I hadn’t in a long time...enjoying myself. That I won’t apologize for. I didn’t expect to come home to a bunch of paps at my door, interrogating me about some fuck ass article I knew nothing about. Saying I was retiring and a lot of other bullshit. Respectfully, the last thing I wanna deal with is your uncle and the rest of the firing squad questioning me about an album rollout. I need some time to think.” It seemed that he was truly agitated by all of this. As if he were confused as to how he could have a perfect weekend, pillow talking and fucking on (y/n) to now being in the midst of a media frenzy. It just seemed so sudden and now, he was trying to figure out how to deal with it. But Mika’s next comment would not only catch him off guard but eventually, send him into a tailspin.

“Damn, I knew something like this would happen.”

“What do you mean?”

Before she could recant though, Mikasa’s expression gave it away and she knew that he had definitely peeped that statement. Just what exactly did she know about this situation that he was clueless on? One thing was for certain though, he was going to find out. Glaring up at her with a rather peeved look, Eren began to press the issue..wondering if he’d get a straight answer or some calculated shit she’d orchestrated. What was this all about?

“Mikasa..I asked you a question. What do you mean ‘you knew?’ Answer me.”

normally, the banter between them was nothing more than playful, joking discourse but there wasn’t the slightest hint of happiness in his tone at the moment. But rather, complete and utter irritation and quite frankly, a hint of anger as well. He wasn’t much for the games and she figured it best not to test him either. So, against her better judgment and her own interests, she decided to come clean. Releasing a heavy sigh, Mikasa began to confess and tell him how the entire situation came about. From the fact that she was fed up with him ducking and evading meetings from the phone call with Annie and even putting the bug in her ear about writing the article. She told him that she knew he was with (Y/N) for the weekend and that she was furious about being stood up yet again..and that his inconsistency was affecting her own standing within the company. Admitting that she knew him well enough to know that he would’ve never moved for some one off blog post about him hooking up with an Instagram model but the second they mentioned news of him retiring or perhaps becoming stagnant, he’d definitely respond by clapping back from the booth. It seemed like such a sure fire way to give him that extra push to put out a new track or maybe even a full project..what she didn’t count on was him being swarmed and the whole plan backfiring.

“Look, Eren..I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t know they’d take it this far. It was a last minute, brash decision I made out of anger and I put you in a bad situation. I apologize.”

But he wasn’t hearing a word. Honestly, he had blanked from the moment she admitted that she had all but set the catalyst for this entire ordeal. Now, he had to attend court, pay legal fees and deal with a dumb ass judge..all because she wanted him to produce another record to improve her status quo?! It was infuriating but the worst part was that she was willing to exploit her own best friend and things that he had and were still struggling with for clout. He had known Mikasa for the majority of his life and she was one of, if not the most logical and intelligent person he knew. Out of all his friends, she was the one that always made the smart decisions, even in the most high stress of situations. Always thinking things through and ensured that her emotions never got in the way of her thought process. However.. “..how fucking stupid can you be?” That wasn’t the case and Eren was more than happy to let her hear about it!

For a moment, she stood still..gasping as she had never heard him speak to her in that manor. Granted, she was full and well aware of how irate he could truly become but not once in the entirety of their friendship did she think she’d become the subject of his anger. But this was coming from a place of pure hysteria. Hurt and betrayal that she would do something like this..standing to his feet, EJ tried his hardest to practice restraint to avoid saying anything extremely hurtful but he wasn’t much in the way of exercising such resolve at the moment. Especially when not only had she gotten him in this mess and offered no real solution to help repair his reputation but also, he hadn’t heard from the one person who was keeping him happy and this may have very well been the reason. So he didn’t feel compelled to hold back in expressing his feelings.

“Look, I said I’m sorry, alright? We’ll get this sorted out. Just calm down–”

“Calm down? Are you serious? Mika, I just spent the past twenty four hours in a fucking holding cell. One more fuckup and they’re gonna send me away for a long time. I had to fight a bunch of psychos off of my car and property over a story I knew nothing about. Not to mention everything in it was a lie. I take a few days off for myself, for once and you jump the gun all because you and the rest of those slave driving maniacs at AMG want me to make another album? To hell with calming down and honestly, to hell with you too for even pulling something like this! I’m your friend and you sold me out like I was nothing..”

The frustration was visible all over his face..the emotions coming through clear as day and radiating all throughout his body. Even causing tears to well in his eyes. He was furious, enraged and if it were anyone else..moreso a man, he would’ve slid them across the floor by now. But this stung more than anything. He knew how hard she worked and the lengths she went to ensure her clients’ success; not only for them but to prove that she was capable of one day becoming the heiress and figurehead of Ackerman Management Group but never in a million years did he think she’d become so obsessed with proving herself that she’d lose sight of what really mattered. Now, the damage had been done and he didn’t know if he could forgive such an act. Even so, she wanted to at least try to defend her actions!..

“Only because you never listen to me. Hell, you won’t listen to anyone!..you never think about how the things you do affects anyone else. It took three months..three months to get that goddamn meeting and you couldn’t give me so much as a phone call to let me know you wouldn’t be there. Out of every client I have, you’re the most difficult. I get it, you’ve been working since you were sixteen. Harder than anyone I know but hell, this has been my life for as long as I could remember. I’ve got a whole line of old bastards who’d do anything to remove me from the equation because once my uncle steps down, they don’t want to execute decisions made by the same little girl that used to play in the lobby. None of them truly believe I deserve that spot, no matter how hard I work. How many success stories I create…I’ll never be good enough in their eyes. The least you could do is not make it hard on me to do my job..Jesus! You’re getting a little too old for the rebellious bad boy act. In and out of jail, long before this..doing whatever the hell you wanted! You have obligations and you won’t even stand on your word but you want to preach about friendship and loyalty? Spare me, Eren. Please..this is business, remember that.”

The entire time that she was speaking, he felt himself becoming even more sated with rage. His blood boiling at her deflection. But his face had completely gone blank from a few minutes ago. Not even making eye contact as he rolled yet another blunt. As if she weren't even there but little did she know, he had a hell of a response for her little tangent and he promised she wouldn’t like it. That nonchalant, brutal honesty was one of his most horrible character traits and she was about to be on the receiving end. Uncrossing his feet, letting the sole of his Nike Dunks hit the floor, Eren began to smirk and eventually..laugh. That’s when he was at his most dangerous and the words about to leave his mouth were far more painful than any punch could ever be.

“You know Mika, you make it sound as if it’s my fault you’re not up for the task. Don’t try to take the piss out on me because Uncle Levi and his lackies are second guessing if you should take his crown. But aye, I’m not surprised. I mean, shit..it’s not the first time they’ve had to intervene because you lost control.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?..”

By now, the two of them were only inches apart. Her face screwed up and was riddled with hostility. Eren on the other hand was sporting the snarkiest, smuggest smirk he could muster. Blowing that cloud of smoke, he’d run a finger underneath her chin and look directly in her eyes:

“Exactly as I said, sweetheart. That little bullshit essay from your friend? I wonder just how much of it is true and how much of it is you projecting..let’s not pretend that you’ve always been..this. Little Miss Perfect. If anyone on this earth can’t tell me shit about obligations and integrity, it’s you Mika. You were on those stages and in the same dressing rooms I was. Getting high out of your fucking mind just to get through one set. Snorting coke off of a bathroom counter because you hated it so much. Sleeping with a bunch of assholes you couldn’t even stand looking at but hey, they made you feel better, told you you were pretty after mommy put you on another diet because the blogs were making fun of you. How many times did me, Armin and everybody else have to come pick you up off of the floor because you’d get so damned drunk after your shows, you couldn’t even remember where you were the next morning. And please, let’s not forget how many times you cried in my arms because you didn’t have the heart to tell your family to fuck off and stop forcing you to make music. It took that stupid ass fiancé of yours outshining you at your own show for you to finally realize that you hated being an artist. And you think you can actually lead that company? Don’t make me laugh. You’d probably snort your body weight if you had to handle that type of pressure. Hell, I’ve done some fucked up shit since I started making music. Taking drugs I had no business touching, just to stay awake and getting in trouble when I probably should’ve walked away but I never once tried to run from my mistakes either and I damn sure never stopped loving my craft..especially not enough to half ass a performance. No matter how bad I felt..how sick I was, even when I didn’t think anyone would even give me a chance or listen, I always showed up. Everything I do is for my fans. Losing sleep over a song because I wanted it to be perfect. You couldn’t even make it to a single album before cracking under pressure. This isn’t some money grab for me, music is my entire life and the only thing I’ve ever loved. And I’ll be damned if you or anyone else backs me into a corner over it. Tell that bitch Leonhart to put that on her website..and if you don’t like it, you and AMG can kiss my ass.”

Every single word he spoke sliced through Mikasa like a hot, searing knife through butter. Her face had become beet red and flush with tears. Huffing and breathing heavily as if she were going to explode at any second. She wanted to scream at him but couldn’t even find the words. Instead, she’d raise her open palm and smack him across the cheek with the hardest slap she could muster..so much so, it left a crimson colored mark on his face.

“Fuck you, Eren. Fuck you!..you’ve gone too far. I came here to apologize for what I did but the only mistake I’ve made is befriending an asshole like you. Burn in hell for all I care and find a new manager while you’re at it because I quit. Do whatever you want.”

furiously tugging her purse strap back up on her shoulder, Mikasa turned on her heel and proceeded to storm out. Not looking over her shoulder once because she wouldn’t be able to control herself if she did. As for EJ, he didn’t bother to stop her or even remotely show remorse for that long winded read. Rather, he’d listen as she slammed the door behind her and left. He was still pissed off but that may have been a little harsh.

“Damn..maybe I should think before I speak.” But it was too late now. There was no turning back or apologizing. For either of them..all that remained now was for him to put his focus where it always was: into his craft. Drown out all the noise and distractions and get back to what he truly loved. Because truth be told, she wasn’t the only one losing her grip on reality and goals. As he sat back in the chair, hands folded underneath his chin, all EJ could think to himself was one single thing:

“I think it might be time to call it quits. Maybe music isn’t for me anymore..”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .*°•|☆•° .*°•|☆•l

meanwhile, as Eren felt that his time in the spotlight was beginning to dwindle, (y/n) on the other hand felt that your star was only about to ascend. Having just concluded the very last show in your cross country tour, you were already plotting on your next lucrative business opportunity.

“That sounds perfect. I’ll be back in Miami tomorrow so we can meet up and hash out the details. Thank you again, Mr. Smith. I appreciate your time.”

you’d find yourself on the opposite end with one of AMG’s elite directors and the man who had approached you back at Rolling Loud about starring in Connie’s video. You found it a bit strange that Mikasa wasn’t the intermediary for this particular deal but you just chocked it up to her being busy but you knew if Erwin Smith; the nine time Grammy Winner and music legend was contacting you personally then it must’ve been a huge deal. Either way, you were excited to see what was in store. Once you ended the call, you’d turn your attention back to the rest of the group, who were preparing to board their respective flights as you all paraded through the airport. Dressed in cute yet casual outfits, hair put up and bags stacked on one another. The final leg of the Pole Assassins Cross Country Tour had come to its end last night; concluded by a performance with a real rap legend performing. You all were excited to be going home…getting to see your families and most importantly, getting some much needed rest. But for the fearless leader, things never stopped. You were on your grind twenty four hours a day. Even counting up checks while you slept from brand deals and your namesake. It wasn’t all too bad. But for the ones that knew you best, they also knew that once you touched down back in Miami, you’d more than likely be closed off to everyone. That the reason you were working so hard was to keep yourself distracted from your impending grief. Even the passage of time never made it easier to get over the tragedy you suffered at seventeen years old and as a child in general. Affecting your life now even as a grown woman..living the way only few could dream of. Because of that, not one person in this world had access to (y/n) this time of year and it was very obvious by the very nonchalant reaction to the news of your sneaky link getting arrested, that the sullen mood had already set in. You didn’t even so much as gasp or even shrug it off as you had done countless other men that fucked up while in your life. And that’s what worried your girls.

“Aye, you sure she’s gonna be good while we’re on vacation? She already seems spaced out.” a concerned Kelley questioned whilst scrolling through her phone. Luckily though, Niesha wouldn’t be too far away, as you guys grew up only blocks away and not much had changed since becoming famous. You guys’ luxury apartments were within walking distance so if you needed anything, she could always pop in and check on you. “Yeah, she’ll be alright. She just needs her space right now. Listen, I’ll call y’all when we make it and keep you updated.” With that, the four girls would make their way over to (y/n), who had been standing near the gate for your flight, becoming visibly anxious. Suddenly, you’d feel a pair of comforting arms wrapping your shoulders. “Hey, pookah. You ready to go?” That warm and loving smile that could only come from your best friend and sister. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Returning the glance, you’d nod and turn to bid the rest of your crew farewell for now. Embracing in a giant group hug, the five of you exchanged laughs and even playful kisses to the cheek. Just then, your procession of being bid adieu was interrupted by a voice of the intercom, announcing departure of the Miami and Atlanta flights. “Y’all be good now. See y’all later, love you guys!” Kelley, Brianne and Syrai waved and you and Niesha would do the same as you clenched hands. Much like you had done as little girls when walking to the corner store. You were each other’s safety nets and truthfully, Niesha was all you had right now. So she’d do whatever to make you comfortable. To let you know that you weren’t alone at this time, no matter what it may have felt like. She loved you more than anything and you could feel the energy brimming from your bestie, even if there wasn’t a single word exchanged during the walk from baggage check to boarding the plane. As the two of you made it to your seats and got acclimated..you’d stay close to Niesha. Clinging to her like moths to a flame. Coiling an arm around hers and eventually, laying your head on her shoulder. Even in the dead of silence, the sentiment was loud and clear to Niesha:

“You know I always got you, pookah. You my girl and I love you…take all the time you need. You know your granny would be proud, just like I am, (Y/N). You've been working hard so now it’s time to go tell her all about it..forget EJ, forget working. This is time between you and her..”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Page Break and Time Skip: Thursday Night, The Jaeger Residence, Miami Florida; 10:55PM

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

darkness had well set over the bustling city..a thunderstorm showering the bustling streets and ruining the evening plans of would be partygoers and club hoppers. But there was an even darker cloud looming over the head of Eren, who was currently holed up in his home studio, flug lazily across the couch with his electric guitar lying across his bare torso and an open bottle of brown liquor next to him. He had been drinking and doing whatever he could to rid himself of any feelings and emotions. Having all but become a recluse..which wasn’t out of character for the hard shelled rapper to begin with but where as label mates and friends could find him working up until the early morning hours on a new song, he hadn’t even touched his work equipment. And instead, was instead getting inebriated with every substance he could tolerate so that guilt, anger or sadness stood no chance of plaguing his mind. Right now, he had his guitar lying across his bare torso and an open bottle of brown liquor in his hand. He was trying to find his spark..that extra push to drum up something to shut both his manager and his hating ass critics up. But nothing was coming through. He had no desire to make a beat, write lyrics…he just wanted to lie there and rot. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in ages. That creative slump and depression that had plagued many of his peers..the point of no return. Where artists could no longer achieve that sense of gratification when putting out music. They’d resort to making a few radio safe tracks to appease the masses before disappearing from the scene altogether and fading into obscurity. The last thing he wanted was to become an afterthought..but he was tired of grasping at straws. But luckily, a much needed distraction would be arriving in the form of his best friend, Armin. Who for some odd reason, couldn’t rid himself of the nagging suspicion that something was amiss with his homeboy. That would’ve been putting it lightly…

“Mr. Jaeger? You have company..” one of his loyal housekeepers and truthfully, someone he considered family, had been staying in one of the designated bedrooms for staff and was still tending to some chores when she got a knock at the door. Once getting the approval from security and seeing who it was pulling into the driveway, she breathed a sigh of relief. Because she knew if anyone could pull her gloomy employer from this week long slump fest he seemed to be trapped in, it was Armin. Whether EJ would welcome the thought or not. Before he even had the opportunity to attest and decline, the door would burst open and in would come a rather perturbed Armin, who was glancing around the dimly lit room; halting dead in his tracks at the sad sight before him. Turning to the housekeeper, he’d warmly assure her that he could take things from here and thanked the woman. It seemed to be a lot worse than what she had portrayed. He was hardly leaving his room nowadays, less known eating or anything else. Normally, she would’ve been sent home and still given a full day’s pay because Eren would insist on cleaning the mess for her, so as not to overexert herself. But when the head of the house was in a less than jovial mood, the energy was blatantly obvious to everyone.

“Alright, get your ass up. Enough of this. It’s pathetic..” the brash words leaving Armin’s mouth as he slammed the door behind him, which elicited quite the reaction from the hotheaded artist. “Watch your fucking mouth and don’t slam my fucking door either, bitch.” But alas, Armin didn’t give the slightest care. Because an angry reaction was better than none at all. Laughing as he took a seat in Eren’s chair, just to rub a bit more salt in the already festering wound. “And here I was thinking you had really lost it. You only look and smell like you’ve reached rock bottom. The proverbial clawing under his skin had seemed to work in Armin’s favor because he was at least sitting upright now and wiping his eyes so they’d adjust to the light. Releasing a loud yawn, Eren shot his best friend the middle finger and proceeded to ask exactly why the hell he was in his house this late in the evening. Armin would shrug it off as he’d always done, kicking back with a bottle of water he had confiscated from his fridge on the way up. Even going as far to take his shoes off and get mighty comfortable. “Oh, Eren. You silly goose..you can’t escape me that easily. Besides…I’m here on official business.” the response piquing his very dulled interest. Raising a furrowed eyebrow, Eren hoisted the bottle to his lips for yet another swig of the Hennessy. “Official business? At ten PM? What the hell are you talking about?” of course, he wanted to stay here another minute without being tossed from the second story, he’d elaborate. Although, EJ had quite the nagging suspicion of what this was pertaining to. Since he and Mikasa’s giant quarrel last week, word had gotten around the entirety of AMG..including the higher ups. Who had been in talks of what to do. On one hand, Mikasa was the best PR manager to come out of the firm, not to mention the fact she was the boss’ niece and next in line. On the other hand, EJ the Don was their highest earning artist. Regardless of Grammys or accolades, his name was still holding weight after all this time. And with the two of them at odds, who knew what would become of the team? However, for Armin..it was much more than that. He could care less about AMG’s record sales or a damn article. What he cared about was seeing his best friends at odds and hurting. Unbeknownst to Eren, this fight hadn’t just affected him.

It seemed that his harsh words had hurt Mikasa far worse than anyone had anticipated. The remarks about her younger days on stage and turning to drugs to cope with the pressures of being in the limelight had driven her back to some of those nasty old habits. She was trying to keep a brave face but it reminded her of how imperfect she truly was. Regardless of that front..and him. Sitting here wasting away, all because some fucked up article said he was washed. Enough was enough!

“Look, dude. I’m not gonna bullshit with you, alright? I’m not exactly sure of what happened between you and Mika. It’s honestly none of my business but what I do know is that both of you stubborn assholes need to fix this. She won’t even tell Jean..she just says it’s the stress of work before closing up in her room for hours. The other day, she blanked on one of the coordinators because he got the wrong number of napkins for an event. Whatever you said to her, you need to apologize before that bitch kills all of us.” And he wasn’t bluffing, sadly. Mikasa had been known to be quite the pistol. They had seen her beat grown men who tried to make passes at her so they knew she could be the Tasmanian devil when she wanted to. But there was one person with a hotter head than she had..

“I’m not apologizing for a damn thing. Should’ve thought about that before running to the blogs and trying to lie about it. She wants to use cheap tactics and dumb shit then she can stand on that. Just don’t expect me to feel sorry for telling the truth.” Honestly, it was pointless to get through to either of them and he knew he’d only exhaust himself trying to argue. Maybe what they needed most was not to be lectured but for someone to listen and once he began to open up..it all made sense. Talking back another swig of that dark liquor, Eren began to confess what was truly bothering him.

“I worked myself like crazy..for years, all I wanted was to be the best. To make music that transcended the charts. Hell, I didn’t care if I ever touched a Grammy or even got my flowers. I just wanted to make shit that people could relate to. Everybody told me how stupid I was for leaving home..a cushy life just to chase this so called dream of mine. But I loved it. I loved sitting in front of my laptop..pen and paper just coming up with verse after verse. After a while, it felt like second nature. I could do that shit in my sleep, y’know?” As he continued to speak, Armin listened attentively. In all the years that they had known one another, pretty much for the entirety of their young lives, Eren had never once been this vulnerable or open with him. They joked around and sometimes went at each other’s throats but this was a completely different side that no one had seen. It could’ve been the liquor or just the lack of having someone to talk to but either way, he was pouring his heart out. And a few tears too, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Masking it behind his smirking and laughter..

“Lately, I’ve just been feeling like I don’t have a place anymore. I kept telling myself ‘maybe if I help them with this project’ or ‘if I produce this track’, my inspiration for my own shit would find me again. But nothing…I didn’t feel the same way I did a couple years ago. Less known, ten. I spent all this time trying to build this empire and now I feel like I don’t have shit to show for it..these labels, they decide you’re no longer useful, and you’re out the fucking door. It’s frustrating, I ain’t gon’ lie.” interrupting his rant only to wipe away his tears and take another sip. “I can’t even keep a girl. Finally find one worth a damn and I go and fuck it up. I’m sure she saw I got arrested and ran for the hills. Can’t say I blame her though–” it was at that moment, Armin had heard more than enough. Listening to all he could take of this pity fest and self wallowing. Unbending his knees, he planted his feet to the ground, snatching that bottle out of his hand. “First of all, if you think for one second and I’m gonna sit here and let you cry like a lil’ bitch, you’re sadly mistaken. Dude, do you know how many people you’ve inspired with this music shit? Including me? Ony, Connie, even Jean, loves your work and he can’t stand your ass. I’ve never seen anything like it. Ten years..ten years you’ve been doing and dude, you’re only getting started. If you quit now, that’s the only way it’ll be in vain. You gotta keep going..not just for your fans or even to prove a bunch of losers on the internet wrong. You gotta do it for sixteen year old EJ who chose sleeping in a bus station over the country club because he wanted to put the industry on its head. You gotta do this because no one else can. So what if you don’t feel like it right now? You have so much left in you and I’ll be damned if I watch you quit.” It were those exact words that had seemed to have brought forth a spark in him..bringing life back into those dull jade eyes. Finally getting himself together, he’d sniffle and begin to laugh. Wholeheartedly for the first time in days..it felt good. But that wasn’t it for the encouragement Armin had in store for him. There was one more bit of uplifting news he had.

“And about (y/n)? She’s not mad at you, dude. Promise. Niesha told me everything and honestly…she just needs space right now.” Armin found himself swallowing a lump in his throat as he uttered the sentence. “It’s not personal. I’m sure she’d be happy to link…when the time is right. But she’d hate to see you like this.” Taking another breath, he’d ask another request of his best friend while he seemed to be in a much better mood. “Listen, I know it’s not your thing and trust me, I already know what you’re gonna say. But I’m hosting a yacht party next week. I invited everyone else too..including (y/n)..so I was hoping you’d come too.” never had Armin been so soft spoken. Truthfully, all he wanted was to see his homeboy happy and the only person who had managed to do that in recent history was the gorgeous influencer who had obviously more than well caught his eye. Maybe the thing you two needed most was each other. Even so, it wouldn’t be that simple and EJ just wasn’t going to agree that easily.

“I’ll think about it, dude..” but before Armin could leave with a less than savory answer, Eren would avert his eyes towards the door, where Armin was close to opening it. “Aye..thanks, bro. I appreciate you.” reciprocating a toothy smile in return. Seeing him in a better mood than when he arrived was all the thanks he needed.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Doing their signature handshake they’ve had since childhood but alas the sweet, heartwarming camaraderie wouldn’t last long..as Armin had a bad habit of being as annoying as possible! “By the way, I’m gonna go get a shower and when I get back, we can work on some of these beats. I have a couple ideas.” at first, what he said didn’t exactly register to Eren but then he realized–

“I’m gonna take one of your spare beds too! The room with the mirror on the ceiling. I might have a little something coming over.”

“Yeah, man. No problem–wait a minute. You’re at my house, you jackass! What do you mean you’re gonna go shower?! Don’t you have a whole ass mansion?”

“Yeah, but I like a change of scenery.”

Before he even had the chance to respond, Armin was already headed back downstairs. “Love you, Eren!”

leaving the befuddled rapper shaking his head and in shock of just how tactless he was. One thing he could do was thank him for getting his mind right. Now..it was time to do something with that new found motivation.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

the next day…

“All in favor of moving forward with the second decision, say I”

“I”

Meanwhile, the top brass at the renowned talent agency was in the midst of a very important meeting. One with a lot of dire topics being voted on and currently, this may have been the most pertinent of them all..

“That settles it, six to four. We’re getting Italian. Have the kitchen make enough carbonara to feed the National Guard. We’re gonna be here for a while.” earning a collective sigh from the roundtable. Seated on the top floor of the eighteen story building were some of the most powerful and brilliant minds in the entertainment industry..from multi-platinum recording artists to Grammy winning producers, any and everyone who had helped shape several as they were today were running AMG and making it the largest talent agency and label with over one hundred and fifty talents signed and billions in revenue every year. “Goddamnit, Levi. You know I’m trying to watch my figure right now and you’re not helping.” “I’m trying to watch it too and I think it looks just fine.” Seated at the head was chairman and former recording artist, Levi Ackerman. Second generation rockstar who hailed from a long line of talented musicians..best known for being the lead singer of notorious band, Paradis. Who had won over twenty Grammys and seven number ones during their tenure. The man across from him, Erwin Smith was his best friend and bandmate. The COO. Along with Miche Zacharius, who was also at the table. The lead drummer turned director of marketing. He was a genius when it came to advertising for these artists. He could take any budget and make it look as if it were worth millions. Perhaps, the most inquisitive mind there was the woman next to him and perhaps, his favorite person in the entire company. Vivian James-Ackerman. The Queen of Neo-Soul, five time Grammy winner and his beautiful wife of ten years..she was not only a generational talent with a sound inspiring many songs today; a creative director working on the set of many videos but a mentor to AMG’s biggest star, EJ the Don.

“You two are a mess..so, what are we gonna do about this little situation? We have PalmFest right around the corner and two of our biggest stars are currently out of commission. Think we can convince them to perform?”

“Not to worry, lovebug. I’m sure they’ll come around. Right, Levi?”

Next to Erwin was his beautiful wife of twenty years, Deanna Smith. She was a renowned R&B singer with a powerhouse voice for many years before trading in her sultry lyrics and silky vocals for the title of vice director of marketing. Her and Erwin had collabed on many tracks. Including one that was the talk of the tabloids, saying that it was far too ‘provocative’ for their time. But innovative, as it was the first time rock and R&B had meshed together and topped the charts.

“They damn well better or they’ll all find themselves out of a job. This is the first time in AMG history we’ll be hosting something of this caliber. Three days of music, entertainment..hell, if we pull this off, we might surpass Rolling Loud or Coachella in a couple years. Not to mention the cash it’ll bring in. Whatever those brats have going on, they better sort it out and quick.” When the president spoke, his word was absolute and everyone had done their part to make his vision come to life. Glancing around the table, they all nodded in agreement but among the tribe, there was always one person going against the grain. “Speaking of…” pressing his glass back to the table, Miche chimed in and added to the conversation; addressing the elephant in the room.. “..you know that niece of yours is one hell of a manager, Levi. She’s recruited some real heavy hitters in the past couple years. It’s hard to believe that someone so young has done the work she has..” as he continued talking, no one could attest to that. Mikasa was the top of her peer class in many areas. She was super talented. However, Director Zacharius had his reservations. “Even so, I’m a little concerned about her after news of her little outburst the other day. I mean, with something as huge as this on the line..how can we be certain she’s equipped to handle it? Are you sure we can leave her in charge of such a huge event?” His inquiry caused eyebrows to rise on each side. But as always, Levi remained steadfast, stoic and calm..twirling a pen between his fingers, he’d merely smirk and lean up before speaking.

“I’ll admit, she is quite the firecracker when she wants to be. Even as a little girl, she was a force and I’ll admit…the kid’s had her moments. Ones that have me doubtful of how well she could handle all of this pressure. The last thing I’d ever want is to see her or AMG collapse under the weight. Running a business is hard work..overseeing so many different people and ensuring that things run smoothly. CEO, chief operator, directors or managers. Nobody comes by these titles easily. All of it is a group effort and requires a lot of skill.”

as he continued with his speech, he’d clasp his hands together and take a stern look around the table..making one thing abundantly clear:

“With that being said, there’s no one more qualified to not only oversee this festival but one day, this company as well. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t take it easy on her, never have and I damn sure won’t now. I also won’t coddle her. This is the test to prove she’s worth her salt and that she’s capable of being a true leader. She screws up then she’s out the door but I believe as always, she’ll pull through for us and make the best of her talents. I trust that you all will place the same amount of faith I have in her and assist as much as possible.” and that was enough for everyone else! Of course, the co-sign would come from the one person who housed enthusiasm in their veins as if they needed it to breathe. “Well I think Mikasa is more than capable and I’m sure she’s gonna do amazing things. Let’s just help her with whatever we need to make this a success.”

Zoe Hange, nightclub owner and interim data analyst; in charge of ensuring that the budgets were in order. As they all reached that consensus, they felt confident in proceeding with the fun part and that was planning the festival. Getting all the acts, deciding the staff and of course, who would be performing! But as they all flipped through their files and scrolled their iPads with presentations on the screen, Vivian would lean over and ask her husband about one more burning question on her mind..

“You know, Eren would make a great addition to this lineup. I think we should make one more effort to get him on board.”

“If you want to go grovel to that brat, be my guest. As far as I’m concerned, he has one more strike before I drop his ass for good. Money and sales aside.” Levi uttered without so much as even lifting his head. But Vivian wasn’t as ready to give up on her protege. And instead, proposed something else..

“I’ll go pay him a visit. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my little mentee anyways. I miss him.” And all Levi could do was laugh because she knew that Vivian looked at EJ as more than just a former backup singer or pianist, she thought of him like her own son and treated him as such so if he were in any type of distress, she’d do whatever to solve it. He also knew there was no arguing with her when she got her mind set on something! Snickering, the president would just scribble down his signature on a few documents as the rest of the table conversed among themselves.

“Well, I trust your judgment, sweetheart. Whatever you think is best. But remember, we only have a month so we don’t have any time to waste on him or anyone else.” With that, she knew she had all the time she needed to make this work. Tomorrow, she’d be heading to his Miami Beach mansion to not only convince him to headline PalmFest.

but ensure his well being above all else.

.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*: .･*:｡.･*:｡.･

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