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petri808 · 3 years

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Nalu Yakuza Au *cover art by @jmoart214 💜

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This chapter came out a little longer than usual. lemony teasing

Natsu’s secretary called her boss from the front office. “Mr. Dragneel, Mr. Avatar is here.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kinana. Send him in.”

Because no one in the organization was a computer whiz, he contracted with an independent IT person who was recommended by Yura. The guy, Jerome Avatar wasn’t skittish, didn’t care who he worked for as long as it paid well, and generally had a pleasant demeanor. As the accountant, Yura was in contact with Jerome the most, but for any major issues or changes, those had to be cleared with Natsu first. It was mostly quick, in and out of the office dealings.

Jerome shook Natsu’s hand over the desk before taking a seat.

“So,” Natsu questioned, “what brings you here today? Is there something I need to approve?”

“No, nothing new. I asked for this meeting because I came across some intelligence you might be interested in.”

“Oh?”

“I learned that your rival Heartfilia had been in contact with a new cyber security client, Mikage Kaishā who’s into a lot of shady dealings with government contacts.”

Natsu shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds like just a typical client for her, probably has her launder money for them. I don’t really pay attention to her clients because we deal with different things. But I do appreciate you telling me.”

“Should I keep an eye on them?”

“That’s fine if you believe it’s worth it. And if you learn about anything that could hurt us let me know immediately. By the way, how did you find out this information?”

“A friend in the field told me about it, then I hacked into Heartfilia’s computers to authenticate the information.”

Natsu sat forward in his chair. “You hacked into her computer? I’m surprised her employee didn’t catch that, cause I know she’s good at this stuff too.”

The man grinned. “Well, not as good as me.” He pointed to Natsu’s laptop. “If you’d like, I can set it up so you can access her system from your computer too.”

“Oh, I don’t want to tamper with her company—”

Jerome waved a hand nonchalantly to stop him. “I wouldn’t advise it either, if you touch things, that’s what’ll get attention, but you can watch what’s going on. Keep an eye on her calendar, meeting dates, whatever you want.”

Natsu sat back, rubbing his chin. The offer was a very tempting one indeed. A chance to stalk his ex through cyberspace… someone must have mentioned to this Jerome guy their history. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but not something talked about either amongst lower ranking employees. This wasn’t the first time Jerome had brought them intelligence info, so maybe he was looking to increase his usefulness, climb the ladder so to speak? Being connected to a powerful Yakuza house was certainly handy, and what better way than to tap into such a personal subject.

“That could be interesting,” Natsu finally responded. “Alright, what do you have to do to set it up? And make sure it’s nothing I could screw up accidentally cause I really don’t want her to find out.”

Jerome looked at his watch as if calculating his options. “I could do it now. Might take me about an hour if you can go without the laptop for that amount of time.”

“You have to take it back to your office or something?”

“No,” the man shook his head. “I can do it right here, so I can explain along the way.”

“Perfect.” Natsu then called his secretary and requested she double his lunch order due to an extended meeting.

While the computer tech fiddled, Natsu just sat back with his meal, watching him work. Math wasn’t his strong suit— nor academics for that matter. Growing up, his father had always told him he would be next in line as boss, so he only learned what he needed to for that world. One needed strength, cunning, street smarts, not book smarts. Though he had to admit the things these hackers could do was scary when you thought about it. Lucy was lucky in that her best friend was just a wiz at language— including computer languages. It all looked like gibberish, but the woman interpreted it almost like a savant. According to Jerome, from what he’d seen so far, Levy was not yet at his skill level, but that could easily change with time and experience like he’d been through.

“Natsu you—” Gray paused his knock on the doorframe. “Sorry, I thought the meeting would be done by now.”

“It’s fine, Jerome is hacking Lucy’s system for me right now.” Natsu responded with a grin. “Now I’ll see what she’s up to in real time.”

Gray groaned and ran a hand down his face in disgust. “I’m not even gonna respond to that. But I will tell you I told you so when it blows up in your face later.”

“Tch. She won’t know, right Jerome?”

“She shouldn’t unless you touch something.” The man answered while continuing to type.

“See. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re an idiot. Anyway,” Gray waved a hand nonchalantly as he left, “call me when your free to go over the new orders.”

“It will be fine, right?” Natsu asked Jerome a second time with a bit of anxiety in his tone.

Jerome stopped typing. “As long as you just observe they shouldn’t see you, just don’t get excited and touch something.”

“I don’t plan to; not like I’ll know how to do that anyways.”

“I’m almost finished, but do you want me to turn on her web camera so you can see through it?”

“But she won’t see me?”

“No, for you it’ll just be like watching a one-way video feed with image and audio.”

After a momentary pause, Natsu’s eyes narrowed with a mischievous grin. “Do it.”

Being able to see Lucy every day and feed his addiction was just too tempting, ‘I’m turning into a junky.’ But Gray’s words entered his mind. What if the man was right, could this bite him in the ass later? Probably… Though how bad could it really be? He really had no plans to interfere with Lucy’s business, just her personal life— and yes, he knew it sounded horrible. What right did he have to stalk his ex? None. ‘I just worry about her, is that so wrong?’ Lucy’s tough, but she’s just a woman and their world didn’t always treat women fairly. His desire to protect her bordered neuroticism, but could anyone blame him considering the underworld they worked in. ‘I’m just doing it to protect her,’ Natsu justified it to himself. Guys like Gray who haven’t fallen in love yet, ‘they just don’t understand.’ If anything were to happen to Lucy, he didn’t know what he would do. Probably move Heaven and earth and kill any in his way for what they’d done.

It took just over an hour before Jerome finished installing the spyware and making sure the systems were still secured. Just a one-way mirror that Levy shouldn’t catch unless really digging for it. Another 20 minutes were spent explaining to Natsu how to do the accessing part, including pulling up the webcam whenever he wanted to. “Or just leave it running,” Jerome noted. “It’ll just show up in this window,” he pointed towards the screen, “and as long as you don’t log out completely from your computer it’ll stay open.”

“Who turns off their computers?”

“Actually, it’s a good idea to turn them off now and then so any software updates can be completed, but since I manage your systems, there’s not really a need to.”

“Great.” The two men stood up and shook hands. “Thanks, Jerome.”

“It was my pleasure.”

When Natsu arrived each day at headquarters, the first thing and last thing he did was check to see if there was anything new or interesting going on Lucy’s side. It was like being hooked on one of their products, because the high it gave sucked him right in. But so far, he also stayed away from the video feed. Looking through her calendar or emails were cold and impersonal, but maybe the video was too close, too real, too much of a moral dilemma in crossing that line of a peeping Tom. That didn’t mean his addiction may one day require more feeding…

October had rolled around, and the air outside grew crisp and cold. It was a beautiful time of the year with the color changing leaves, reminding that winter was soon upon them. How quickly the time sure flew. The Dragneel Yakuza clan had already started preparing for their end of year Bonenkai to happen in mid-December. This plus the Shinnenkai in January were the two biggest parties the clan threw for all their members. The first is to forget the stresses of the past year, while the other was to welcome a successful new year. Natsu spared no expense on the food and drinks to take care of the loyalty and hard work their members contributed. From the emails, he knew that Lucy’s group had also started preparing for theirs. ‘Maybe I’ll crash her party,’ he mused to himself. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ His eyes fell on a new email of an appointment reminder for the next day. It was for Lucy’s monthly massage at an upscale spa. Natsu checked his own calendar and noticed he had nothing booked, no meetings, no shipments arriving— a perfect opportunity.

The next day, Natsu went to the spa early and spoke directly to the owner, paying them a nice chunk of change to allow him access and to play along. Lucy was scheduled for 2pm and arrived right on time. So, as he waited behind the scenes, the receptionist acted like normal and directed her inside. She had a regular masseuse, something Natsu knew he couldn’t fake upfront, so that person stood inside the room to greet her.

“Welcome, Ms. Heartfilia. I’ll step out while you get ready. Please lie on your stomach like normal.”

“Thank you, Kenji,” Lucy smiled. She’d been coming here for a couple years and was aware of the routine. The male masseuse had strong, but gentle hands and knew her body well by now.

Natsu had to admit he wasn’t happy to find out Lucy’s regular masseuse was a guy but held back from lashing out. He didn’t want to do anything to mess up this adventure— and oh, he planned to have his own revenge. It wouldn’t be as sexual as the soapland incident but knowing many of her trigger points meant he could do a bit of damage well enough. Now, Natsu had noted that Kenji’s voice was a bit deeper than his own, which would be difficult to fake, but the man explained he didn’t do much talking while working and played relaxing music during the session. Perfect. Natsu could just hit play and not talk at all.

“Ready, Ms. Heartfilia?” Kenji called out through the closed door.

The muffled yes was heard, and the man stepped away, leaving Natsu to his business. He entered the room and immediately turned on the pre-set music, a light instrumental with Asian undertones. It was quite pleasing to listen to. And there Lucy was under a silk sheet to cover her naked body, with her arms up and crossed, head perched on the relaxed hands, and hair up in a loose bun, revealing her beautiful neck. Natsu almost shuddered at the sight and knowledge he would get to touch her skin… it was the one thing she didn’t allow him to do at Soapland— touch. His grin grew as he rubbed his hands together to warm them before making the first move.

He moved the sheet to uncover Lucy’s lower half, up to the thighs, then applied a film of scented massage oils to his hands with a few drops over the taut muscles along her long legs, chasing the dripping liquid along her skin to smooth them over. His hands glide through several passes to the swell of her ass, then back down again all the way to the ankles, fingers applying pressure against the tendons and ligaments to gently work out any tension it encountered. Lucy sighed wispily as his hands massaged each foot, squeezing, smoothing, paying attention to each digit and every curve. His thumbs applied pressure at the arches, kneading the tight knots there from wearing heels all day long. He stayed focused on the area, her toes curling and flexing as the mewls leaching from her show their pleasure, until Natsu felt the knots give and relax away.

“Mmm, you’re getting good at that Kenji,” Lucy purred with a little huskiness in her tone.

Natsu grinned to himself as he lowered the sheet back down, so she stayed warm and moved onto her supple ass. Using both hands, he took his time to knead each cheek through the silken fabric, using his fingers to follow the gluteus muscles, starting near the leg, and following the swell of her curve upwards, slowly riding the fibers looking for any knots or tense areas. One cheek, then the other paying loving attention to and listening to the sounds Lucy made to clue him in on where to go. Every sigh a notch in his belt, each mewling purr a win. Natsu grew bolder, fanning out his thumb each time it got closer to her thighs to touch…

“Oh, Kenji,” Lucy whined, “you’re being a naughty boy today— keep it up.”

‘What?!’ Natsu’s hands paused and tensed for a split second before catching himself. Does Kenji mess with her too?! He shook his head and finished up in the area quickly trying not to let such thoughts stop him. ‘Just focus…’ Natsu grumbled in his head.

After applying more oil to his hands, he moved the sheet down to reveal Lucy’s back and for a second time, Natsu paused on what it contained. Her tattoo… It symbolized… he took a deep breath and dropped more oil on to the skin, willing away the memories breaching his mind. He didn’t want to think about it, not now. It was too painful.

“You okay, Kenji?” Lucy questioned as if noticing the slight pause or tremble in the man’s hands.

Natsu mumbled a soft Mmhmm and dived into the massage so Lucy wouldn’t grow more concerned, missing the uptick in the corners of her lips. He slowly smoothed along the skin using the base of his palms for pressure, each hand following the muscles, moving out from the waist, up the center of her back, and flaring out towards the sides just below the shoulder blades, repeating the same movement, each time increasing the speed while lessening the pressure. Next, he targeted the upper back and shoulder blades, an area he knew Lucy held a lot of tension from carrying the weight of her voluptuous bosoms. With precise ministrations, Natsu applied careful pressure with his thumbs and follows the curve of the blades up and around to the top of the shoulder. He then searched with the pads of his fingers for any knots along her trap muscles, moving up along the spine and fanning out to the top of her shoulders.

“Oh, yeah, right there,” Lucy mewled when he reached a specific spot.

The area around her spine, between the shoulder blades held the most tension and knots from constantly holding the upright, flexed posture that wearing heels will create. Her wispy sighs signaled the release of her tense muscles, bringing another wave of pride swelling in him. Natsu continued onto her neck, his strong hands kneaded the supple flesh, fingers palpating and soothing all the knots. Her neck too, held a few tense areas, especially around the base of the head, so he did his best to melt them away. He worked through Lucy’s mewls and moaning sighs, almost sexual in nature, aroused and a little heated in the face knowing his handiwork brought forth such sounds. Ugh, how he wanted to hear more of it! Lucy putty in his hands and spread between his thighs, calling out his name…

“You’ve gotten better at this… Natsu,” the cocky teasing tone, snapped him out of his dream.

“Natsu?” He tried failingly to disguise his voice. “I’m Kenji, Ms. Heartfilia.”

“Uh-huh. You think I can’t tell the difference Natsu?” Lucy quipped back with a chuckle. “Kenji’s routine is very different. Plus, I knew the moment I smelled your cologne.”

Busted.

“Tch. Well, if you knew it was me all along, why’d you let me do this?”

“Making you work is my payback.” She settled back down, relaxed on her arms. “Now, chop, chop, finish the job.”

This little minx! He was the one supposed to be torturing her this time, not the other way around! “Fine, kitten.” Natsu gritted out a smile and took hold of her neck again to placate and lull Lucy back into thinking he would go along. He massaged the sides with the tips of his fingers Both hands wrapped around, and his thumbs pushing up through her hair against the muscles on the back of her head.

“If only you’d taken care of me like this before,” Lucy mumbled.

Natsu paused and leaned over her ear. “Why not let me take care of you now?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“No, I don’t know the answer, that’s part of the problem!”

Lucy sighed. “Natsu, I don’t want to fight right now. I’m here to relax, not fight. If you’re done, then leave and send Kenji back in.”

“Oh, yeah. Why? Because he’s another one of your boy toys? He gonna be naughty again with you once I leave?!”

“Pfft, I said that knowing it was you, idiot.”

“I think you live to torture me, Angel. But you’re right. I don’t wanna fight right now either, so—” Natsu leaned down quick and latched his mouth onto the area between her shoulder blades, sucking hard.

Lucy squealed and reached back frantically trying to claw at his face, but he grabbed her hands, knowing if she struggled any harder, she risked completely exposing herself. He held her for a few seconds, and once satisfied he’d achieved his goal, let go.

“Natsu! Did you put a hickey on me?!”

“This Angel,” he trailed his fingers over Lucy’s tattoo as he spoke, “belongs to me. Will always be mine,” he whispered close to her ear. “You know it, I know it, and your boy toys will know it too.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah,” Natsu stood up and covered her back up with the sheet. “You hate that you don’t hate me. It’s okay. I still love you too. See ya around kitten.”

Natsu heard the woman’s sigh as the door closed behind him and smiled to himself. He knew she didn’t actually hate him, their relationship was just complicated at the moment, never love the actual problem between them… Though, it had been a dick move to give her a hickey, but that’s what Lucy gets for leading him on like that. She could’ve just stopped the massage immediately if she knew it was him all along, so to let him go through the entire process, it was tit for tat— and hey, at least it’s only temporary.

‘It’s your move next kitten…’

#nalu #nalu au #nalu fan fiction #nalu yakuza au #nalu fan fic #natsu dragneel #lucy hearfilia #ch 7 #we'll take back heaven #petri808 #lemony scented

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alinastracker · 3 years

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hi, bonnie, my beloved!!! I don’t know if you’re still taking those college prompts but if you are, it think 21 is pretty cute <3 it’s definitely got malina vibes

ASK AND U SHALL RECEIVE MY LOVE<3

prompt: I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

it’s nice to have a friend

"And please everyone, actually read the assigned chapters for next week!" Professor Yerwei sighs as the class dismisses. "Miss Starkov can't continue to be the only one of you raising her hand."

Alina can't help her smug little smile as she packs up her things. At first, her classmates were quite happy to have someone else participating so they didn't have to. Their groans seem to indicate that won’t be working for them any longer. Pity.

Her smile fades, however, as she takes out her pepper spray, clutching it tight in her right hand. Slinging her backpack onto her shoulders, she files out with the rest of her classmates.

Alina loves her art history class. She's learned so much about Ravkan art throughout her years, which is fine, but this class actually focuses on the rest of the world, art from Kerch, Novyi Zem, and even Fjerda and Shu Han.

She just hates that the class is only offered at night.

It doesn't surprise her. The class itself isn't very large, mostly filled with students of mixed backgrounds like herself. But there's something cozy about the class. She feels safe there.

That is, until she steps outside and has to walk across campus to her dorm at nine in the evening. It's late September, which means the sky is nearly pitch black by the time class ends, and while the campus is fairly well lit up, there are a couple paths with burned out bulbs that need fixing, a few shadowy areas that give her cause to quicken her steps. Her roommate, Genya, has offered to make the trek just to walk with her, but she couldn't ask that of her friend. She would just have to grin and bear it.

Alina grips her pepper spray a little tighter and is about to step into the night when someone calls her name.

No, not someone. She knows the voice, even if he is new in her life. Malyen Oretsev. He sits in front of her and a little to the left, giving her the perfect angle to stare at the side of his beautiful face. Any time she's not answering questions, she's looking at Mal.

"Way to show us all up in class," he says, a teasing smile spread on his face. He moves with such ease, such surety, wearing an army style jacket that fits him in all the right places.

"Well, I can't help it you don't read the book," she teases back, momentarily forgetting her dreaded walk. She's made it three times now, but it has yet to get easier.

"Hey, who said I haven't read it? Maybe I'm just shy."

Alina laughs. "Good one, Oretsev."

He grins, and for a second, his eyes flash to where her hand rests at her side, locked around her pretty purple pepper spray. "Heading to your dorm?" When she nods, he says, "Mind if I walk with you?"

She's not sure if he's asking because he genuinely wants to walk with her or if he's just noticed how shaky she gets after class, holding her one line of defense close, but it makes her all warm inside regardless. "I'm not out of your way? I'm in Sankta Lizabeta Hall."

Mal shakes his head and drapes an arm over her like it's the most natural thing in the world, and oddly enough, it feels that way. "Not out of my way at all."

On the walk to her dorm, they talk about how refreshing it is to take a class taught by a professor from Shu Han, the plans they have for the upcoming weekend. Alina smiles the whole time, surprising herself with how at ease she feels. At some point, she stuffs her pepper spray in her coat pocket, forgetting all about it.

From that day on, Mal walks with her after class each Tuesday and Thursday night, with Alina almost always tucked under his arm. She tells herself she likes being close to him because the weather is getting colder and colder, but really, he just makes her feel safe and giddy and good.

One night in mid-October, they come out of class to a downpour. Groans pass between the two of them and the rest of their classmates as they make their way out, some of them going back inside to wait it out, others making a mad dash for their dorm or nearby car.

"Should we wait?" Alina asks.

Mal pulls out his phone and brings up a radar map. "Doesn't look like it's stopping anytime soon."

They share a look, and then, almost in unison, pull up the hoods of their coats and dash into the night, the storm swallowing the sounds of their laughter.

"My brother is always forgetting his things when he visits my room," Tamar is saying as she leads them up the stairs in Sankt Juris Hall. She has yet to meet Tamar's twin, Tolya, but from the pictures she's been shown, he appears to be a giant with absolutely gorgeous hair.

Once they're in her brother's dorm, she adds gentle to the front of giant, as they walk in on him in the middle of crocheting, a podcast playing from his phone.

"Ah, my book," he says, pausing his podcast and setting his work aside.

"Yes, yes, your book. Now stop leaving your shit in my dorm."

Alina laughs, and it brings Tolya's attention to her. "You must be Alina." He stands to his full height, and she has to look up to meet his eye. Saints, he seems tall enough to make two of her.

"That's me," she says, and lets out a soft oof when Tolya wraps his large arms around her. Admittedly, his size compared to her own makes for a pretty great hug.

"Good to meet you. Tamar says you're a very talented artist. You'll have to show me some time."

She beams and nods to his abandoned yarn. "You seem to be something of an artist yourself."

Tamar groans. "Don't encourage him. I have so many scarves from over the years. Thank the Saints he's finally moved on to making things for his roommate."

"At least my roommate appreciates my work."

As the twins bicker, Alina walks further into the room. Tolya's side is neat and orderly, bed made, a basket beside it for all his crocheting, not a piece of trash in sight. The other side of the room . . . not so much.

She's seen worse, especially when it comes to boys, but the contrast is hilarious. His roommate's bed is a mess, pillows strewn and blankets hanging off like he left in a hurry. There's a few empty wrappers and water bottles on his desk, a pile of books stacked haphazardly. Then there's the heap of clothes shoved in a corner on his bed — clean or dirty yet to be determined. Her eyes linger on the pile, and she's not sure why until her eyes zero in on the hoodie on top. A very familiar hoodie.

Alina grabs it and turns to Tolya. "Do you live with Malyen Oretsev?"

Tolya pauses mid-bickering, glancing over at her. "You know Mal?"

She nods. "We have art history together."

"Oh! You must be the little friend — his words, not mine — he walks with after class. Lina. Huh, I should have put two and two together."

Alina scoffs. "Little friend?"

Tolya shrugs, and Tamar says, "I mean, he's not wrong."

She huffs, throwing the hoodie back onto Mal's bed, but says nothing, knowing she doesn't have an argument.

Just before they leave, Alina ducks her head back in and says, "Hey, Tolya? Don't tell Mal I was here."

If he finds her request odd, he doesn't show it, already going back to his crocheting. "Sure thing, little friend."

"So then, after doing all that catchup, they practically let Jrue steal the ball, and he runs down the court and tosses it just high enough for Giannis to dunk it in. It was incredible!"

"Uh huh."

Mal sighs. "I get it, you don't care about American basketball."

"Or American football, or our football—"

"Hey!"

"Okay, I care about your games."

"Thank you," he says, looking proud. "Anyway, you're saved."

They've reached Sankta Lizabeta Hall. Alina sighs, fiddling absently with a loose thread on her gloved hand. She’s wearing only one, because at some point today she had lost her pair, so Mal had offered up one of his — a gesture her heart has still not recovered from. She looks up at the building, then back to Mal. Admittedly, even when he rambles on about sports, she's always sad when their walk to the dorms after class comes to an end. Even though it's near freezing most nights now, their walk seems to take longer and longer. If Mal has noticed her slowing her steps lately, he hasn't said anything.

"Saved indeed," she says. But there's one more thing she has to do tonight before parting ways. "Though, I was thinking. You always walk me to my dorm, but I never do the same."

"Oh," Mal says and shrugs. "It's fine. It's not much further, no sense for you to backtrack."

Oh the irony. "I know, but still." She takes his hand, somehow warm despite the frosty air around them. Her heart skips a beat as she realizes this is the first time she's held his hand. "It's really only fair."

"Alina," Mal grumbles, and she can almost see the wheels turning in his brain, trying to figure a way out of this.

"What? It's not like you live much farther."

He groans. "It's late, and cold. You should get inside."

"What's the matter, Malyen?" She's grinning now. "You think I can't survive another minute or so out here? It's not like you reside in, oh I don't know, Sankt Juris Hall or something far like that."

She sees on his face the moment it clicks. Mal curses under his breath and asks, "How did you find out?"

"Tamar took me to meet her brother, and I just so happened to notice some very familiar clothes on a very messy bed. You're not quite as tidy as your roommate, Malyen."

"If you say my full name one more time, I'm going to bury myself into the ground."

Alina laughs and it’s just a little maniacal. "So what gives, Malyen? Juris Hall is like, a minute from class." Her own was around ten, longer if the sidewalks were icy or they took their time.

Mal's eyes turn downcast, and he kicks the pole of a streetlight. "I don't know. You just looked so uncomfortable leaving class each night, holding your pepper spray like your life depended on it, and I just — I didn't want you to be alone." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, it probably sounds weird and creepy and everything you're trying to avoid."

Her heart is thumping so loud she's afraid he might hear it. But he's still not even looking at her. "Mal," she says softly, and finally he looks up. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

He's unsure for a breath longer — the first time, she realizes, that she's seen him be anything but certain — before finally, he smiles. Shyly. "Really?"

She nods. "It’s ridiculously kind of you, especially since you barely knew me then. But I’m okay, really. I don’t want you to keep going so out of your way for me.”

Mal pauses, shuffling on his feet, and she can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “And if I said I wasn’t only doing it for you?” At her frown, he adds, “If I told you these walks are the best part of my week?”

She’s momentarily speechless as her brain scrambles for something to say, so she ends up blurting out, “Football practice is the best part of your week.”

His smile is sly as he says, “Football is the second best part of my week.”

“Oh, well.” Saints, she wants to jump his bones. She’s wanted to since the first time she laid eyes on him. But she hesitates still, needing to be sure before she can let herself leap. “Certainly there’s better places and times to go for a walk.”

Mal shakes his head, and there’s amusement in his tone. “Come on, Alina, are you really going to make me spell it out for you? It’s not the walk, it’s the company.”

“The company,” she echoes in a small, but pleased, voice. Her dark eyes are sparkling with something giddy — like she’s fifteen again, tripping over a smile from her crush.

He just shrugs as if to say, take it or leave it, and she knows her answer.

Alina grins and shrugs in return. “Well, then I guess you can keep accompanying me.”

He snorts. “Oh, you guess, huh?” Mal suddenly drops dramatically to one knee, and in that moment she can see his confidence has returned, the easy way he moves, like he’s singing his favorite song and knows every word, every beat. “How generous of you, oh honorable Alina Starkov, for granting me the privilege of walking on the same pavement your very feet grace!”

Alina’s laughing, she’s been laughing for the whole speech, but now she crosses the distance between them and tugs on his arm until he stands. “You’re the worst,” she says, and before she loses her nerve, she kisses him. She can tell he’s surprised, but he recovers fast. His arms wrap around her waist, tugging her closer. One of her hands is on his red scarf — one of Tolya’s making, she knows now — while the other dares to run through his hair, a fantasy she’s had all semester. Suddenly it’s not so cold out anymore.

They pull away breathless, sharing careful, sheepish smiles of two people exploring something new; something exciting, but fragile.

“I think we’ll have to find a new excuse to hang out once class ends in a couple weeks,” Alina says, looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks flushed.

“Agreed. Maybe something involving food, or drinks.” He pauses, then very delicately brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. It’s somehow more intimate than the actual kiss. “Maybe more of this.”

She bites down on the spot his thumb had just been. “Definitely more of this.”

Mal smiles, and this time, he’s the one to initiate the kiss, the one to tangle his fingers in her hair. They kiss until they’re dizzy and frozen — on the outside, anyway. On the inside, she’s all heat. They say their typical goodnights, but this time, they part with the promise of so much more than walking on the horizon.

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serendipityjxmn · 3 years

Text

Mr. President

Chapter 2

TW: Mentions of bruises, scars etc

Words Count: 1.3k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 3

The sun feels very blinding on your face. Trying to move your muscle one by one, pain suddenly rips through your body making you whimper.

“Careful.” A voice in the room says which you somehow immediately know belongs to Mr. Park.

Your eyes fling open to search for him and you find him in no time as he is seated on the bedside, watching you carefully. It’s almost unfair how illegally good looking he is.

You try to sit up but ends up groaning in pain. Your whole body hurt, every muscle is aching and screaming in pain.

“Your body’s still recovering. You need to take it slow.” He says impassively, not a hint of warmth.

“Where.. am I..?” Your voice hoarse.

“My house.” He simply says.

His house??? How- why-

Wincing and grunting, you eventually manage to sit up. You finally realize that you’re in a large and spacious bedroom with sleek beige furnitures and interiors decorating it.

You then allow yourself to stare at your saviour. Now that it’s morning, you can clearly see him and all his features. His gaze bores into you but you can’t deny how beautiful they are, his nose although not high but is sharp enough, his cheeks high and his lips.. he has a pair of very pretty pink plump lips, you note. Almost reluctantly, you drop your gaze to avoid being called lunatic or pervert for staring unashamedly.

Your gaze flickers back up when he stands, one hand in his pocket.

“I placed the painkillers there.” He juts his chin towards the bedside table and only now you notice the medicine and a glass of empty water there. “Feel free to leave once you’re capable enough to do so.” He frowns slightly, then turns.

You reach forward almost immediately, wincing at the throbbing pain on your ribs especially due to sudden movement. Without thinking, you reach for his free hand, gripping it desperately.

“Please-“ you croak and he turns, still frowning at your daringness to touch him. “Please- take me in. I’ll- I’ll.. do anything, I’ll work for you- anything. Just.. just please don’t-“ You trail off, because you don’t exactly know what you wish for.

For several moments, he just regards you. And for the briefest second, you think he would smile, takes your hand and mutters softly that he’s going to help you.

But nothing of the sort happens.

He just continues to stare at you impassively, clearly not impressed. The way he stares at you makes you feel small so you withdraw your hand, flustered and embarrassed for coming to this point in your life.

He sighs then. “Just rest.” Is all he says before he turns and leaves you alone, feeling even more helpless than ever.

Your shoulders slump back down and suddenly the realization that you really are going to be in the streets with no one to help brings fresh tears to your eyes. So you cry. For hours until you’re exhausted enough to fall asleep again.

The dark must’ve just set when you find yourself awake again, body aching even more now though there’s a lesser pain in your chest since you’ve let it all out from all the crying session.

You struggle to sit up when you feel your throat burning. You’re very thirsty. Letting out small squeaks with each muscle and limb you’re moving, you manage to sit yourself on the edge of the bed.

There’s a faint knock on the door that you think if you’re asleep you wouldn’t have heard them at all. Before you could react, the door opens and an elderly woman with her hair tied up in a bun appears. She smiles kindly as she calls your name.

“Miss..?” She hovers near the doorframe. “I brought you some fresh clothes, you can change into them. The bathroom is just beside you and if you’re done you can come outside and I’ll show you to Mr. Park’s study. He wants to see you.”

Your stomach lurches in response. He couldn’t possibly want to sue me.. or worse, kill me, right? Flashes of images of him beating your brother makes you shudder. One thing you know for sure is that he’s not someone to be messed with.

You stand though staggering slightly as your legs wobble. The elderly woman who introduces herself as Mrs. Lee immediately steps in and asks with a concern look whether you need help. You shake your head, telling you just need to take it slow and Mrs. Lee leaves you at your own devices after that.

Though not without numerous wincing and grunting, you somehow manage to shower as well, or more like wiping your body here and there. You briefly think that if you’re well enough, you’d be basking in the warm water the hot tub offers and appreciates the lavish interior of the bathroom.

You flinch when you see your own reflection in the mirror. You couldn’t have been in a worse state than this throughout your whole life. Bruises littering your body everywhere, it’s all marks of blue and purple, wounds and scratches from being thrown to the ground and your lips are slightly torn at the edge. There is also a cut above your right brow. You couldn’t really recognise yourself.

Sure, you had plenty experiences of being beaten by your abusive brother but last night, your brother seemed determine to beat you half dead. You sigh, tears almost threatening but you quickly brush it off. You have to be strong.

Outside the bathroom, there’s a white medium dress laid on the bed together with matching undergarments. You pick the dress up, eyes litting up at the beauty of it. You’ve never worn a dress before, simply because you can’t afford to be dressing up when you’re burdened with financial debts your whole life.

Still, you’re grateful since wearing a dress is still an easier task than having to fit through a jeans or leggings.

There’s a knock on the door again and Mrs. Lee appears again. Wow, she really has a knack of figuring your timing. She approaches you as you stand awkwardly on the dressing table.

“Would you sit down, Miss? Let me brush your hair.”

“Y- you don’t have to.” She doesn’t listen though, instead placing firm hands on your shoulder and putting slight pressure to make you sit in front of the dressing table. It somehow feels weird to be staring at your own reflection.

Mrs. Lee brushes your hair tenderly like a mother would her daughter. She then braids your hair slightly and tie it up in a bun, letting a few strands fall freely on each side of your head.

You feel weird. For once.. you think you look decent. Though bruises are still apparent on most of the surface of your skin and no makeup to cover your face, you don’t look so tired like always.

“Miss..?” Mrs. Lee interrupts your reverie as she taps your shoulder lightly. “I’ll show you to Mr. Park’s study. He’s waiting for you.”

And there goes your stomach churning again at the mention of Mr. Park. You’ve no idea what to expect and that makes your stomach churns further, anxiety almost swallowing you whole.

Mrs. Lee leads you out of the bedroom into the hall filled with arts and paintings on the wall and only coming to a stop when you almost reach the end of the hallway in front of a double mahogany door. She knocks on them and you don’t miss the escalating heart beat of yours as your anxiety heightens as she announces your arrival to whoever’s waiting on the other side of the door.

She doesn’t wait for an answer but opens the door and urges you to enter. Filled with trepidation as if you’re entering a lion’s den, you step inside.

If you thought the bedroom you were in just now was huge, it doesn’t compare to this study room. It’s vast, with bookshelves surrounding it and rows and rows of books, old or new filling it. Across the room, there’s a table by the window and you finally see the man sitting behind it. He doesn’t look up when you enter so you stand there awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

There’s also another man standing across the table, facing Mr. Park.

He turns at the sound of you entering and your jaw almost drop at the visual of this man. He’s tall, skin slightly tanned but above all, the features of his face are almost out of this world. Eyes sculpted to perfection, tall nose and sharp jaw, he stares at you making you stop short in your tracks. The corner of his lips tugs very lightly as he addresses your presence.

“Ah, Miss Y/N.” His voice is very, very low without him having to make the effort. “Please, come here and have a seat.”

He gestures towards your right and you notice a seating area with plush white sofa and modern table. You don’t move until the guy who was speaking just now moves towards the sofa followed by Mr. Park. You chance a glance at Mr. Park as he takes confident strikes across the room and you marvel at the way even his walking exudes charisma. He takes his seat gracefully, sitting cross legged and you miss the way he eyes you from top to bottom as you walk over while the tanner guy remains standing beside him and only now you notice he’s holding several papers in his hands.

He looks at you and gestures you to take a seat once more which you do. You almost buckle in nervousness as the two’s gaze land on you.

“So, Miss Y/N,” the guy standing starts. “My name is Kim Taehyung, nice to meet you.”

If your senses aren’t tingling all the time and you aren’t fidgeting so much in anxiety, you’d probably have half the brain to answer to his sentence but right now you’re trying very hard to do as much as breathing that you end up mumbling incoherent reply, much to the guy named Taehyung’s amusement though Mr. Park’s expression remains impassive.

“I understand that your family had been a tenant of one of Park Corporations housing area for more than twenty years now. You also have a history of late payment since five years ago and currently has a backlog of payment for one year, amounting 4 million KRW. Is that correct?”

You feel beads of sweat starting to appear on your forehead but you still nod nevertheless.

“You failed to pay for the past year which resulted to the house being seized and you’d be homeless but.. here you are..”

You try to hide the grimace as Taehyung addresses the obvious situation.

“And you still owe Mr. Park here 4 million KRW and may I ask if you have any means to settle them within this month?”

You swallow. You want to ask for another chance, to give more time but you know even if they do give you a chance, there’s no way you can rake millions just like that. Unless you sell yourself, perhaps. And that still might not make up the amount of money. So naturally, you just shake your head slightly.

“So, Miss Y/N, since you’re owing such huge amount to Mr. Park and you have no means to pay.. that means you’re technically..” Taehyung continues but was cut off by Mr. Park.

“Mine.” He says and the word echoes in your mind a million time. You’re.. what? You look up at him and see the corner of his mouth slightly quirks up like he’s smirking. Your gaze flickers to Taehyung too and he’s doing the same as well making a shiver run down your spine. Why do you feel like you’re being sold to the devil..

“So I have a proposition for you.” This time it’s Mr. Park speaking. “A marriage contract.”

A WHAT?

Link to Chapter 3

Posted on 210325 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #bts fic #jimin fic #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #jimin smut #smut #kpop #mafia #jimin mafia #ceo jimin #bts smut #bts au #bts mafia

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daebakinc · 3 years

Text

Ghost

Pairing: Sunggyu x Reader (G) Prompt: Ghost Word Count: 1.4K

~Admin V

You used to think of yourself as being good at math. In high school you were asked to tutor students before exams. You even got to skip finals because your average was above 90%. But now you were in university and you found out you were not good at math.

Maybe it was that you didn’t have class everyday like in high school or that you were expected to read the math textbook on your own and understand it. Whatever the case, where you used to bring home As you were now getting Cs, and that was only because you turned in homework and participated. When the homework was returned to you, it was full of mistakes and marked up.

You didn’t have any friends in class, so you couldn’t have a study buddy. It was also unfortunate that tutoring times were during your class and work schedule. You just hoped you’d be able to retain enough formulas to help you pass the final so you would never have to take math again.

You sat in your dorm’s common room with your book open, half hoping someone would see your pathetic attempt at studying and come save you. No one did.

You’d erased the problem you were working on so many times, that as your eraser skidded across the paper this round, it ripped it. Out of anger you balled up the paper and threw it at the wall.

A shower. That would give you some reprieve from this hideousness. Maybe after you would have a clearer mind. You left your book with notebook inside on the table. If someone wanted to steal it, at least you’d have an excuse for not doing it.

You took extra time, washing your hair, exfoliating, just standing under the hot water, anything to delay the inevitable.

You dragged your feet back to your room and put on pjs before going back to the common room. You took a deep breath to brace yourself for what would take you the next few hours.

When you opened your book, you were confused. On your notebook were all the problems set up. Then, the problems were mostly solved out. All that was missing was the final step and the answer.

You looked around. Who helped you? You looked at your notebook again. Whoever helped you was very smart. They broke down the problems in more steps than what the professor showed you. It made it so much easier to solve. You were able to complete the homework in no time.

“Thank you!” you called out when you finished. You skipped happily back to your room. You’d actually be able to get some sleep tonight.

The next week, math went smoother because you were able to use the new breakdown to solve the new problems given. The following week was a different story, however. Once again, your professor expected you to read and understand the textbook to know how to solve these new equations and memorize the different formulas.

You found yourself once again in the common room, waiting for someone to help, or at least the person who helped you last time to reveal themselves. No one came.

You sighed. You closed up your book and notebook and left them on the table again. You needed a break, so walked back to your room to make some ramen. Maybe food would help you focus and think.

Again, you took your time to savor every noodle. You even sipped the broth slowly. Too soon it was time to go back to your math homework.

You groaned as you sat down on the lumpy sofa. You opened up all your books ready to work. You gasped. Someone helped you once more! The formulas were written down clearer and equations broken down more simply. You just needed to finish solving them like last time.

This time when you finished, you took a leaf of paper from your note book and left a note on the table. Thank you, Mystery Math Wiz!

The next day you walked in the common room to see if anyone responded to your note. Unhelpfully, there were a few responses. You’re welcome. No problem, my good bitch. Fuck math. There were also a few uncreative penis drawings. You threw out the note then decided to try something different later that night.

After midnight you went back with your math book and notebook. You left them closed as you had previously then went back to you room and slept for the night. When you woke the next morning, you hurried to your math book. You pulled out your notebook and sat on the lumpy couch.

First on the note was the message you left:

Dear Mystery Math Wiz,

Thank you for helping me with the math homework. Do you like cookies? Tell me your favorite and I’ll make you some to return the favor!

Then, to your happy surprise, there was a response.

Dear Mathematically Impaired,

I just couldn’t take the torture of watching you countlessly butcher equation after equation. I don’t eat. Just leave your supplies next time you need help.

It wasn’t in the realm of what you expected. Couldn’t take the torture of watching you . . . Where were they watching you? It was normally empty in the commons when you did the homework. Now you were a little creeped out. And then the, I don’t eat. Everyone eats. Maybe they just meant no cookies. You didn’t dwell on it too long. Regardless of the strange response, they had helped you with the impossible. And at least they didn’t draw a penis.

A couple more weeks passed. You left your books in the common room with your notebook as suggested. You left another note as well. After working on art history homework you came out to see if MMW had been to help.

Success! They organized how to do the new assignments. You looked at the note you left.

Math Wiz,

I am infinitely grateful for your math help. Is there anything I can do to repay you? We have a big test coming up. Would you be open to meeting in person for some tutoring? I’m okay with meeting late since that seems to be when you have time.

The Response:

Math Impaired,

Really, just seeing the math done correctly is thanks enough. I don’t think meeting will be possible. Just leave tabs and circle the things you need help with. Think of it as me studying with you in spirit.

The notes and math help continued for the rest of the semester. All that was left now was the final exam. Because of the Mystery Math Wiz, you actually felt prepared.

You sat in the common room writing a farewell note to them.

Math Wiz,

The final is tomorrow. Wish me luck! Thanks to you I think I actually stand a change of pulling a decent grade. It’s funny though. I’m happy math is ending, but I’m sad I won’t have this fun communication with you anymore. Are you sure you can’t meet up? I’d like to think we could be great friends. . .

“Hi, are you okay?”

You looked up mid-sentence. A very handsome, but very pale guy stood in front of you. He had a kind of charm, despite his out of fashion clothes.

You closed your notebook. “Uh, hi. Yeah, I’m okay?”

The guy chuckled at your confusion. “Sorry. You just looked sad.” He sat down in the chair next to the couch.

“Ah. I guess I am. I’m sort of writing a goodbye letter.”

He looked at you curiously then looked at your math book. “A sad goodbye letter to math?” He smiled.

You smiled back. “No, that is a happy goodbye. There’s a friend who helped me study, but now that math is ending I don’t think we’ll be in contact anymore.”

“Ah. Well I’m sure it’s nothing to do with you. School life can be busy.”

You crinkled your forehead. “I guess. I just really wanted to show them how thankful I am. They were a real life saver. I just know we would’ve been great friends, if they’d given it a shot.”

“Maybe you would’ve if things were different.”

How vague. “Who did you say you were again?”

He smiled again. “I’m Sunggyu.”

You returned his grin and introduced yourself.

“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure your Mystery Math Wiz knows how much you appreciated the help. You don’t seem too mathematically impaired anymore.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Sunggyu nodded and got up.

“Hey,” you called after him. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

He turned and smiled once more. “Not likely.”

That threw you. You looked back to your notebook. What an odd response. But . . . did he say Mystery Math Wiz? Was he . . .

“Sunggyu!” You looked at where he just stood, but no one was there.

#31 Days of Halloween #sunggyu #infinite #kim sunggyu #sunggyu scenarios #infinite scenarios #sunggyu fics #infinite fics #kpop scenarios

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msoogabooga · 3 years

Text

Wasting Away (Tom Riddle x Reader)

Chp. I - A Sworn Enemy

Warnings- None

Word Count- 2146

Summary- You have singlehandedly decided that Tom Riddle is to be your sworn enemy until the end of time.

A/N- Hello! This is my first chaptered Tom Riddle fic. Hope you enjoy and tune in for more!

•••

Tom Riddle was the loneliest boy that had ever existed. You were certain of it whenever you witnessed him walk alone in the corridors or when he picked at his food in the great hall while everyone around him chattered amongst themselves, leaving him be. Ever so often you take a glance at his parchment paper in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he sits next to you, and you catch him writing lines of beauty. Words that flow together and create great works of art. That is until he catches you staring and covers his paper with his arm, not before cursing under his breath at you of course.

Oh yes, though you felt a sense of pity for the lonely boy, you swore to hate him until the day he died. It wasn’t always this way, of course. You wouldn’t be so cruel as to hate an innocent peer. In fact, you even thought to befriend him of course. The unforgivable day happened outside on the castle grounds. It had been raining quite heavily that day. You ran through the downpour of the storm as your house scarf floated behind you and your mary janes began to stain from the wet dirt. You had finally reached the shelter of an arched corridor and began drying yourself with your scarf. A sudden clatter startled you as you turned your head towards the direction of the noise. The black-haired Slytherin boy was crouched on the ground picking up a bundle of textbooks and parchment papers he had dropped. He began to grow more frustrated when he realized they had become soaked from the seeping rainwater that came through the window. With a pitiful frown, you rushed over to help him.

“Better the books than yourself,” You said with a smile, acknowledging your rained-out state as you began to pick up pieces of parchment. “The storm came so suddenly. I hardly had any time to rush to safety and, well, this happened. I was playing Quidditch you see. It was a bit cloudy, sure, but not even the greatest prophecies could’ve predicted this storm. You’re quite lucky, though. You don’t seem to have a drop on you, except on your schoolwork of course.” Tom Riddle snatches the parchment from your hands so fast that it leaves you with a papercut on your hand. You wince and take your hand back before shooting him a glare.

“Do you mock me?” He spat.

“I was just trying to help,” you explained with a grumble in your voice. “You didn’t have to be so harsh.”

“What makes you think you are allowed to talk to me?” Tom picks up the rest of his items and stands up. You stood up right after.

“Well excuse me all high and mighty. I didn’t know I needed to sign a prerequisite form before daring to stand in your presence. As I said, I was just trying to be of some assistance.”

“I never asked for any assistance. You’re making me seem pitiful.”

“Or maybe, get this, I was just trying to be nice!”

Tom scoffs. “Nice? Yeah, alright.” He makes a sharp turn and begins walking in the opposite direction of yours.

“What is wrong with you?” You shout. “I don’t even know who you are!”

Tom stops. He began walking towards you once more. You take a step back, unsure of what caused him to turn around. “Of course you don’t. I don’t expect you to. But I know everything I need to know about you. You’re the type of person to befriend a lonely kid because you feel it’s your moral obligation. Because you think that this will help boost your popularity points. Don’t think I don’t see right through you. I see the way your friends whisper and giggle at me in the corridors. You may not think I hear it but I do. So if you think you’re going to make a fool out of me for your own benefit then you’re clearly mistaken. So you can go back to your friends and tell them all about our interaction because I know you will. Now, goodbye.”

He walked away before you even had a chance to respond. You wanted to clarify. To say that you don’t approve of your friends gossiping. That you genuinely meant to help him out. But your saltiness took over and you only replied with, “AT LEAST I HAVE FRIENDS.”

You were unsure if he heard you or not because he had already disappeared from view. But you were satisfied. You knew who he was, obviously. That part was a lie. Tom Riddle was quite infamous for his knowledge in Defense Against the Dark Arts and is an acclaimed member of the Slug Club as well as yourself. You had even made eye contact with him a few times while you had dinner with Slughorn and the rest of the Slug Club. But you never expected this innocently kind looking boy to be so cruel at your act of kindness. You didn’t know much about him but you did know one thing: Tom Riddle was now your sworn enemy.

This is made extremely evident at his increasing side glare while you two sit together in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not by choice, of course. Assigned seating was never more painful than this moment right here. Still, the most you can do is glare back while everyone silently reads. You open your textbook as a way to distract yourself and flip to the unit you are currently on. Iguanas, iguanas, iguanas. Though you are puzzled as to how they were linked to dark magic, you took down notes anyway. You follow the pattern of dipping your quill in ink and writing line after line. All while you feel the hot glare of Tom’s eyes on the back of your neck. The bell signifying the end of class rings and you take a sigh of relief. Enthusiastically to get out of there, you begin gathering your materials, scooping your textbook in your arms all at once. Tom clears his throat quite obnoxiously enough to gain your attention.

“You miswrote something.” Tom states. You shoot him a dazzled look. “In your notes. I couldn’t help but look at your sorry excuse for parchment paper. It just reeked of misinformation. Sure enough, you wrote down that iguanas were omnivores when they are in fact herbivores.”

“Since when do you care so much about iguanas?” You ask, raising your eyebrow at him. “And why do you even care about what I write in the first place?”

“Well, one, I don’t. And two, I would just rather not be sitting next to the girl who got low marks on the iguanas exam. It would be quite embarrassing to witness.”

“Oh go suck an egg,” You retaliate. Tom Riddle scoffs and leaves without responding to your comment and your best friend, Wendy Slinkhard, replaces him.

You had met Wendy in the Slug Club. She was top of the Ravenclaw class, earning high marks that introduced her into the Slughorn's group. The first thing you noticed about her was the way her doe-eyes lit up every time someone mentioned writing. It was all she ever talked about. Her grand aspiration to become a famous author in the wizarding world. She had quite a euphonious voice when describing her life, casually mentioning the fact that she is indeed muggleborn and unafraid of any criticism. How her entire family is made up of writers and she is thrilled to follow the legacy. She had the most elegant way of describing things you had ever seen, almost like works of poetry roll off her tongue. When you ask how she comes up with these unique words she just responds with, The wizarding world seems to give a great muse to the imagination. Whatever that means, you are unsure, but it seems important enough.

“Well hello there,” Wendy says in her wispy voice. “Seems you have quite a charmer for a partner.” She looks over to Tom Riddle who has just left the room.

“Right.” You reply, getting ready to leave alongside Wendy. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard every time he speaks. I’m telling you, Wendy. You couldn’t bear sitting next to him for an hour.”

“Oh, I am sure of it. I’m not sure if I feel too keen about my partner as well. He is, to put it shortly, not quite attentive. Constantly asking me for notes or an extra quill, it’s quite annoying really! But overall, nothing compared to who you have to deal with. Tom Riddle. I always knew there was something off about that lad. Merlin knows why Professor Slughorn chose him of all pupils for the Slug Club.”

“Well he is exceptional at the Dark Arts, I’ll give him that. He has such a crude way of showing it as well. Constantly showing me up. Making me seem as inferior in knowledge as opposed to himself. A real nightmare.”

“Well, if it means anything to you, nothing good can ever come from being exceptional at the Dark Arts.” Wendy gives a slim smile and nods.

You and Wendy walk alongside each other on your way to your next class. Coincidentally, both of your classes are right next to each other. Though you really do miss having her in the same class. You speak to no one in History of Magic. You just sit alone with your face in your hands, hearing your professor go on and on about some troll war you don’t care too much about. Your quill picks up every once in a while to jot down scribbles of information. Something, something... Troll War. Not the most exciting subject if you were to be honest. But it sure beats suffering another hour with Tom Riddle constantly pointing out every minor flaw in your notes. Something about your professor’s voice sends you into a bit of a drowsy state. The way his words flowed so slowly and sterile. Slowly bringing you closer and closer into a…

“Wow. You look bloody awful.” You jolt awake at the sound of Dahlia Ferdinand looking down on you. She is dressed in her Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper and stands with arms crossed and a smirk spread across her face. You lift your head from the desk and detach a piece of parchment that had stuck on your face.

“How long has class been over?” You ask groggily.

“For about an hour, give or take.”

“She’s joking!” Wendy calls out, running into the room and standing beside Dahlia. She adjusts her giant red glasses and flattens her skirt. “Only a few minutes. No need to be so childish, Dahlia.”

“Oh come on. You never appreciate any of my jokes.”

“Dahlia, you know I hate your immature remarks. They are plain and unfunny.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes. “You must be real fun at parties.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been invited to one.”

“Don’t worry. We can tell.”

You let out a snicker before covering it up with a cough. Wendy, seeing right through you, shoots you a glare before adjusting her glasses once more.

“Speaking of parties…” Dahlia continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a green envelope. “Marcella Rosier invited me to the Slytherin common room party tomorrow night. From what I gather it’s going to be a grand event. Her uncle supposedly is bringing in firewhisky from Hog’s Head. Naturally, I expect you two to come with me.”

“Firewhisky, Dahlia?!” Wendy interjects before you can respond. “You know that is very much against the school rules. Not only that but against the law as well. And don’t even get me started on the policy of dorm-hopping in the middle of the night. I don’t even trust that Rosier girl to begin with. I’ve heard a load of terrible things involving her. Why are you even friends with such a person?”

“You know, Wendy, you sound like nails on a chalkboard sometimes. A simple no could do. What about you?” Dahlia responds, now addresses you.

“Oh,” You say suddenly. “Well if you’re going then I guess I’ll go as well.”

“So will I,” Wendy adds on, much to both you and Dahlia’s surprise. “Only to drag Dahlia out and scold her when she gets carried away with the firewhisky which I know she will.”

Wendy and Dahlia glare at each other and you cough. “I promise you, Wendy, that I will keep Dahlia outside range of the firewhisky.”

Wendy nods, satisfied. The three of you go your separate ways. You head straight to your dormitory, ignoring all work assigned for this weekend and your rude encounters with Tom Riddle. You raid your closet and begin the hunt for an acceptable outfit to wear to the biggest party of the semester.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle angst #tom riddle x you

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imaginariumpod · 3 years

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Studio Ghibli; and the aesthetic of comfort and the mundane.

When it comes to animation movies, Studio Ghibli movies are still some of the long standing staples of the genre, and for a good reason. A lot has been said about these films, their thematics, their characters, their stories and the studio that made them, as well as one of their elusive and yet most well known creators : Hayao Miyazaki. I will try to focus on the ways Studio Ghibli views comfort as well the coziness in these little slower moments that fill the universe of Ghibli films. These movies are generally universally loved by the public, despite the fact that they are aimed toward a younger audience. These movies are definitely created with the goal of showing it to a public of children and families, and yet they still are very complex and layered pieces of art and animation that all audiences can appreciate. These movies also do not look down on their audiences, they do not shy away from touching upon more difficult themes such as war, loss, and fear, in a manner that’s adequate for the public it is targeting. With this article, I want to write an extension on the article I have already written on the subject of slowness in cinema and that has been asked by one of my subscribers on patreon. If you haven’t read that article yet, you can read it HERE on my blog.

The films that have been created by Studio Ghibli, are, and with reason, a cornerstone of the animated movie industry. Despite the fact that these movies are definitely intended and made for a younger audience, I think we can all agree that these particular movies can be appreciated by everyone, at any age, and that anyone can find meaning and solace within these movies. Studio Ghibli movies are truly an excellent example of filmmaking that manages to capture a slower pace in media, slowing down the action to just offer a moment to breathe. Between all of the grand adventures and events that are happening in those movies, there are always moments of slowness to be found. Of calm. Of quietness. The characters of the Ghibli universe are permitted to simply exist sometimes.

The concept of slowing down in media is one that I deeply appreciate for the way it brings depth and serenity in stories. This is a very personal point of view of course, I find the modern pace of capitalist life deeply alienating at times, and sometimes I think we just need a moment to slow down and enjoy simply being. Doing nothing is a very anti-capitalist thing, in my opinion, and I greatly appreciate seeing this concept in books and movies. While being productive is always a nice feeling, and god knows I always enjoy being busy and having things to do, it is always in these moments where I feel submerged by everything I have to do that I yearn for some peace and quiet. While it is not always possible to have this, it is always possible for me to simply … start a movie, and try to escape a bit the weight of the world.

I personally think having these moments to be able to just breathe and be truly enriches a movie. Those moments of simple mundanity and ordinariness ground the story in reality even when the story is about a wizard living in a moving castle. Studio Ghibli movies are the epitome of films that can focus on fantasy and the imaginary and telling incredibly original stories, while also including this measure of the mundane, the routine and the ordinary in between the louder and more action-packed parts of the film. This way of constructing these films, makes it so that the universe feels more lived-in, real and comforting, the characters feel more grounded and rooted in reality.

Studio Ghibli: a brief history

Even though Hayao Miyazaki started working as an animator in the 1960s, working in TOEI animation and learning the tricks of the trade, it is only later in 1985 that he established Studio Ghibli as we now know it, with the partnership of Isao Takahata and Toshio Suzuki. It is with that previous working experience that he got to truly construct an identity as the type of animator he wanted to become, and the type of movies he wanted to produce. Before Ghibli, Miyazaki got involved with different animation projects such as Heidi (1974) , and Anne of Green Gables (1979) and a project that would never see the day : Pippi Longstocking. This project is quite interesting in how it simply … never got made, its a bit like a lost part of history, a what-if. Despite the fact that Hayao Miyazaki had drawn a lot of concept arts as well as storyboards for this project, they never got the green light from the swedish author Astrid Lindgren.

Nonetheless, it is obvious how all of these projects forecast how Miyazaki and his business partner Isao Takahata will more often than not try to center young girls as the main protagonists of their movies. A trend that will continue on for the most of their careers to this day. They will continue to focus on young girls and women as the main characters of the stories they are telling in such a complex and intricate way, all of their female characters are different from each other, with their own complicated inner lives, dreams and goals. It seems like such a basic requirement to request from our media, and yet even now, it is still not something that… will be guaranteed in the stories we consume. It is not to say that ghibli’s portrayals of women is perfect, but I do appreciate their very complex heroines and their adventures.

I will not try to pretend that I can totally understand the type of person that Miyazaki is, he’s a complicated figure at the helm of Studio Ghibli, the man behind the curtain. He is definitely a hardworking and self-critical person, but also deeply critical of others as well, wanting to set up very high standards of work that can be extremely difficult to achieve in a very high pressure environment. Thus is the complex personality of Miyazaki. I do not want to pretend he is a perfect man, and I do think some of his choices are things i don't quite agree with. There are some very valid and legitimate criticisms to be made about him, some by the closest people he works with as well as his own sons, especially Goro Miyazaki, who say that his father was always very distant, working long hours even by the era’s standards, and whose heart was obviously more into his work than his home life. Hayao Miyazaki valued work and putting in the time and effort into his art and job, pushing for very unhealthy job practices and work culture.

He is far from perfect, and seek perfection in his work, both from himself and the people he works with. There’s a lot to be said on that aspect, and yet I still very much think that he is that he is still a very fascinating person to reckon with, someone who brought very important and beautiful stories and revolutionized the world of animation in a really significant way. The universes he created are some I keep coming back to times and times again. I also highly recommend the documentary A Kingdom of Dreams and Madness (2013) if you have not seen it, as to have a glimpse of the way this animation studio functions on a daily basis. I find it always so very inspiring personally, each time I watch this documentary, I feel hugely motivated to create and to make something, no matter how small. Sometimes, it is simple about the sheer act of creating something, of spending some time away on the roof, looking at the skies while a cat is sleeping next to you.

His involvement with the Union during his early animator years left him with a leftist tendency that will continue on during his career and seep through the themes of his movies.From the very firmly anti-war stances to the pro-environmentalist and anti-capitalist and anti-consumerist themes, Ghibli movies are a proof that you can tackle these subject matters in a very conscientious way even in children’s media. It can be seen in the movie Grave of the Fireflies (1988), a heart-wrenching movie about two children trying to survive the last months of World War II. Even though Isao Takahata, who directed this movie, says the movie was not made out to be an anti-war movie, this stance is still very much woven in the very fabric of the movie, from its beginning to its ending.

This specific theme is very important here in terms of the experience of the mundane and the ordinary in Ghibli movies. Even within the most devastating of events, smaller moments of slowness can be found, and appreciated. Quiet moments of peace that feel even more poignant in the midst of struggle. Despite everything, I think we have all come to the conclusion that even when world-shattering events are happening, life truly must go on. And it does find a way to go on, and it feels mind-boggling that we all have to do our groceries, cook dinner, wash our laundry while terrible events keep happening, and yet, these mundane moments still occur. It is still possible to find a moment of respite and peace in the midst of uncertain times and terrible events.

But also, as Marco says it in Porco Rosso, « I’d much rather be a pig than a fascist » and I think this really does say it all.

The aesthetic of comfort

Despite being usually an animated movie set in a very obviously fantastical universe, Studio Ghibli movies tend to be very realistic in the way they portray the characters, their complexity, and also what are the real underlying conflicts. For example, in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989) «The primary conflict isn’t about magic—it’s internal and invisible and wholly human: Kiki’s brief period of lost motivation and artist’s block. She gets it back when she wants to help Tombo, whom she loves. Simple as that. She doesn’t have to wage an epic battle to prove her worth» The stakes might seem lower in this movie compared to other stories, very mundane and ordinary, there is no war, there is no significant conflict, but I think this is what makes it so special in the end.

One of the particularities of Ghibli movies is how they deal with the notion of childhood, a notion that few animation movies have approached with such delicateness and seriousness. One of the things I really appreciate from Ghibli movies is that it does not shy away from treating children as complex beings. It does acknowledge the fact that children are also able of complexities and of understanding more than we think they do, and yet creating media that is easy for them to comprehend and appreciate, which I think is no small feat.

There is definitely also a definite focus on working class characters instead of the more “prestigious” ones in Ghibli movies, there is a desire to center normal people, whatever that means, in their stories. Most of the characters have to work for a living, earn their lives, and the value of hard work is definitely something that is highlighted in the Ghibli universe. In Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), the baker’s wife tells the young witch that work is work no matter how small and insignificant you might think it is, and all work should be paid, and it is a truth that should be remembered.

In that movie, here is no world shattering events, no wars or massive destruction, only a young witch trying to make something out of herself, losing her will and creativity and gaining it again. That particular theme is one that resonates a lot with people on a very basic level, especially in this current day and age where so many of us are trying to monetize our creative work. So often, trying to capitalize off a hobby and enduring the bone deep dreary weight of capitalism is what will make artists lose their original inspiration and will to create, when a hobby turns into labor, and this is, at its core, the journey that Kiki went through.

As Robert Ebert told Miyazaki, during an interview with him « I told Miyazaki I love the "gratuitous motion" in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.»

And he was right, Ghibli movies have these moments where the action is not something that is strictly essential to the plot of the movie, and yet it is essential to the essence of what Ghibli movies do. Miyazaki then explained what this concept for him meant for him :

«"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said. "It's called ma. Emptiness. It's there intentionally."»

Those slow moments between the actions are thus very deliberate, they mean to slow down the story and to slow down the pace. Unlike the generally accepted school of thought in modern Hollywood cinema, where every single scene and dialogue needs to move the story forward, Miyazaki lets his story and movies breathe and exist. This way of building a story does give it an added sense of calm and soothingness, but also it gives it a sense of realism. Instead of following a strict narrative outline, this fluidity makes the story feel more real and relatable.

These quiet moments and details that might seem innocuous and useless at first glance, and maybe look like they would slow and hinder the pace of the movie in itself, are ultimately what gives it this feeling of genuineness, of sincerity. It lets the characters as well as the plot have the space to breathe, evolve and grow.

« Although these scenes may seem slow or unimportant, they give space to develop the characters and to heighten dreams or feelings the characters are having such as feelings of isolation, wonder, or anxiety. It is in these moments of stillness that the audience can contemplate with the characters and feel what the characters are feeling. These moments remind the audience the importance of stillness in such a fast paced world and highlights the beauty of a slower paced life»

Studio Ghibli movies insert those slo

wer moments in between their more faster paced and action packed scenes, but also in the midst of world-changing events such as wars, as shown in Howl’s Moving Castle (2004). This demonstrates how people still live on during those crises, even with the danger looming over their heads. This kind of media gives me hope that we can live through this, that moments of happiness and peace are still to be found even within the madness of our very fast capitalistic and hyper consumerist life.

From visibly established routines to a focus on the mundane, the daily. the ordinary, Ghibli movies will definitely bring these seemingly unimportant acts and integrate them as essential to the general experience of the movie. You see the characters inhabiting the Ghibli universe working, studying, sleeping, eating, in a way, you see them being alive. In a manner of speaking, of course, these are fictional characters in fictional universes, but it is obvious that the universe and the lives these characters lead extend beyond what we’re seeing on the screen. They have whole lives and experiences that we might not be privy to, as the audience, but it is apparent that these characters are fully formed. They are going on and about with their lives, and it is this emphasis on the ordinary that makes them appear so realistic.

Falling and getting up again. Jumping and stumbling. So often, Ghibli’s characters are not perfectly graceful beacons of dexterity and elegance, quite the opposite even, their demeanor and posture will inform the character and their place in that world, and yet it is not always perfect and flawless. Sometimes, the characters will run and stumble and trip and fall and this mundanity of being.

This representation of the realness of what it is to be a person, that sometimes we trip and stumble, that we fall and get up again and yet, we continue to walk or run. It’s also a way of defining the different characters, of imbuing them with their own personality and mannerisms and be able to distinguish them even with such small details as the way they walk and carry themselves. This is definitely not exclusive to Studio Ghibli, animation as a whole uses movement and mannerisms as an essential tenet of character, but it is still very rare to see this sort of flailing included voluntarily in the films. Since the medium that these movies are created in is two-dimensional animation, it means that every single frame had to be carefully planned and executed, before being drawn and painted frame by frame. These movements could have been easily not included in the final cut of the movie, they could have been considered superfluous to the film, and yet they were. These imperfect moments are what ultimately makes it better.

Ghibli movies do that, not only in terms of physicality and concrete elements, but also when it comes to feelings and emotions. Emotions that we all feel and experience, from the feeling of restlessness to loss and fear, to love and courage. Ghibli movies really do showcase all of these feelings that we all feel, even though in a manner that is easy to understand for all audiences.

“Only Yesterday does not hit the dramatic highs of Miyazaki’s work, but that’s partly the point. It’s less concerned with presenting a grand thesis about the nature of being human than it is navigating the heartbreaks, triumphs and regrets that make us. But it’s still comforting for a film about the relentless march of time, the title even invoking both the speed with which childhood can pass us by and how close those memories stay with us.

It’s immensely relatable in how it evokes these little tragedies: the feeling of being a fraud; of missing out’ of wondering if you’ve left your childhood self behind; idealism; dreams and all. It asks us not to mourn what might or might not have happened, but to keep those memories close, and use them to move forward. That Only Yesterday makes this feel as wondrous as a castle in the sky or a land of spirits is nothing short of miraculous, and why it ranks among Ghibli’s best.”

The act of eating is one that is heavily emphasized in Ghibli movies, one only needs to read all of the articles dedicated to the mouth-watering food that fills its universe to understand that this simple act, of eating and of preparing food, is one that is very important. Countless of people have made videos on how to recreate some of the most iconic dishes and meals of the Ghibli universe, from Howl’s Moving Castle’s tempting breakfast to Spirited Away’s feasts, both the one that Chihiro’s parents eat at the beginning of the movie and the ones served to the bathhouse’s guests, and the simple snacks that are eaten throughout the movie, from the onigiri Haku gives Chihiro or the food she shares with Lin. Ghibli movies are very well known for how pretty and appealing its food looks, and simply taking the time to showcase the act of preparing and eating food, thus slowing down the pace and creating a break during the plot of the movie. There’s a certain type of media that does put a lot of importance on the act of slowing down, taking the time to cook, such movies such as Little Forest : Summer & Autumn and Little forest : winter and spring, for example. A lot of media that’s just about not doing much and preparing some food, which somehow has a very soothing effect. The act of eating and cooking is part of the greater character narrative and storyline when it comes to Ghibli movies, but also the act of sharing a meal and of eating together.

Food, the preparing of food as well as the sharing of a meal, is a love language in itself, in my very humble opinion, taking the time to prepare all of the ingredients and then a dish for someone else or for one self is an act of care. And it is definitely one of the ways it is used in Ghibli movies, from My Neighbor Totoro (1988) in which the eldest daughter is often seen having to prepare lunch and food for her younger sister and her father, since her mother is sick and hospitalized. I will not be talking here about eldest daughter syndrome here, but it is very much a Real Thing™️. It is simply in this representation of the act of cooking, and the care she puts in it, that we can understand not only the love she has for her younger sister and father, but also the very real responsibilities that she has to shoulder as such a young age.

In every single Studio Ghibli movie, this pattern appears, someone will make food, and it will be obvious how much time, effort and love it takes to prepare this dish, or someone will simply take a break from whatever they were doing and take a bite of a small but tasty snack. Somehow, the usage of food in the Ghibli universe is central to the way the characters will experience and move through the world.

It is in these small moments of respite and calm that the characters, and by extension, us, are allowed to breathe. Moments that are quiet, where two people will share a meal and just be. I always terribly appreciate whenever a movie, or any piece of media really, simply takes the time to let the story expand and move at its own pace. Studio Ghibli movies are always ones I love to go back to whenever the world feels overwhelming and slightly unbearable. I hope that we can all have more moments of peace and quiet, that things can slow down enough for us to catch our breath.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

Hayao Miyazaki interview | Interviews

The Magic and Artistry of Studio Ghibli's Films

The Low-Stakes Pleasure of KIKI’S DELIVERY SERVICE

Wings and Freedom, Spirit and Self: How the Filmography of Hayao Miyazaki Subverts Nation Branding and Soft Power Shadow

Miyazaki’s Magical Food: An Ode to Anime’s Best Cooking Scenes

Food in Spirited Away: Consuming with Intent

Grave of the Fireflies: The haunting relevance of Studio Ghibli's darkest film

NAPIER, Susan. Miyazakiworld : a life in art. Yale University Press, 2018.

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closer-stars · 3 years

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Heart of Depth (2)

Member: Yeosang Genre: Action, Slice of Life, Fantasy, Fluff, a little tension. Genshin Inspired AU Word Count: ~12k Requested: Sort of yeah Content: Yeosang x MC development. More world building. Food stuff. A little bit of crime stuff, some history, some art info dump, some typical genshin shenanigans Note: this was done way before, I’m already 90% done with part 3 but I kinda got bored while focusing on IRL things that i decided to post this. Enjoy folks. Network: @ateezlovenet Tag list: @barsformars @miniyeo @jeongyunhoed @yeekies @yeotlny @frankenstein852 @shinyddeonghwa @prodbyteez @yeochikin @yeocult @harubirus

Part 1

It’s been a few weeks since Wooyoung finally met Yeosang. While Wooyoung was mostly impressed with his background, there were a lot of mixed feelings from your end. For starters, he doesn’t stop talking about Yeosang and his job to you.

“Listen, he’s loaded.” Wooyoung tells you back in your apartment. It’s not that you didn’t believe him, in fact you did. It’s just the way Wooyoung is processing the entire thing made it seem unrealistic. Since Wooyoung found out he works at one of the most popular art museums in the region, he’s been pestering you about it nonstop.

“Wooyoung, I’m not saying that I don’t believe you but really, with the clothes he wears and how he carries himself, it’s not unbelievable that he’d be rich…” You say as you make yourself a cup of instant coffee. To most, they’d be surprised with how you choose to make instant coffee when you know how to make other types of coffee with ease. It’s just more convenient and less work for your head. It won’t give you the same caffeine boost as the coffee you make in your work but it’ll do for now.

“And you didn’t tell me this because…?” He trails off, dumbfounded at how you were so nonchalant about this. Well, maybe nonchalant isn’t the right word but you were a little too unaffected about this. He has a feeling that there’s more to this man, he just can’t place what it is exactly. Wooyoung does find the guy trustworthy, but there’s still something beneath the surface and that’s what bothers him.

You raise your shoulders at his question. “I just.. Didn’t see any point in telling you? Like, Wooyoung let’s be real,” you say as you write down how much you’ve made today. “What’s him being rich got to do with us? He’s a good person yeah but at least his money keeps my shop afloat with his daily purchases. If he wants me to make bulk orders then I’ll gladly consider it.”

He had to give that to you, your business was doing great too, judging by the money on the table. But he can’t help it, there’s something about Yeosang that tells him he’s not as regular as he makes himself out to be. There’s only so much that research and studying can tell you but to be able to talk about history as if he’s been there to experience it firsthand? Sounds fishy. He drops the topic though, seeing how you’re starting to struggle with the money. “So slow.” Wooyoung teases as he gets the cash box from you, as he starts to flip through the bills.

You roll your eyes at his teasing, kicking his shin under the table. “Even if I was slow, you enjoy my food and drinks so either way, we’re even.” You shoot back. You count the stacks he makes on the table and do the basic math that your brain can comprehend. Despite how infuriating he can get, you have to admit he’s really someone you can depend on.

Something in Wooyoung’s head clicks when he realizes that this was your closing routine every night. “You’re closing up early today?.” He asks, looking up at you from the stacks of coins. “Yeah uh,” You stammer out. “I’m uh, meeting up with someone..” You mumble. Even to you, it feels unreal that you’re catching feelings for someone. Someone who honestly just feels way too out of your league. Yet, here he is, sharing the same interest towards you and he’s about to see you in two hours time.

The mention of the date makes Wooyoung’s eyebrow quirk upwards, a lopsided smile on his features growing. “Oh, with Yeosang?” He asks, crossing his arms across his chest. If he could take a photo of you sulking at him, he would for future blackmail purposes-- he’d also send it to Yeosang.

The mention of the man that has been making your heart race a little more than it should makes you hit his calf with the tip of your shoe. He doesn’t yelp so you coat the tips of your fingers with ice and tap the back of his neck, giving you the reaction you wanted. “Yes, it’s with him and please…” you already know what he was about to say, so you beat him to it. “I doubt it would blossom into something more..” Even to you, you don’t sound that convincing. You hope for something more but you know better.

At how flustered you look, he can’t help but chuckle lightly. It’s nice to see you show interest in someone in that light. Even if he’s still a little hesitant about Yeosang’s energy, he wants to trust your judgement. If anything happens, you know how to defend yourself. “I won’t push. You know what I’ll say anyways.” Once everything’s been accounted for, the two of you close up the shop for the night then head home.

The entire walk home, you let Wooyoung recount the conversation he had with Yeosang when they met. You wondered too how Yeosang and San found your best friend. The two of you were opposites but somehow it made sense. At one point, you kind of zone out of his stories, thinking of what to wear for tonight.

Wooyoung doesn’t really mind you zoning out. The two of you appreciate the alone time, you more than him sometimes. In a sense, it also helps Wooyoung to make sense of his thoughts when he thinks out loud.

The two of you arrive at your apartment and already you make a beeline to your room. You got roughly an hour to prepare now.

“Just wear something comfortable.” Yeosang reassures.

“Yeosang, comfortable can mean sweats or just jeans.” You point out, while you also had slacks, those were usually set aside for more formal stuff.

“Fine, not sweats.” He laughs softly only to stop at the look of mild panic in your face. “I promise, it’s nothing expensive.”

You mutter as you change out of your work clothes and into something more appropriate. You wiggle around your room, trying to find something appropriate and it’s a little unfortunate that you room has become a little messy from all the clothes you’ve been trying on. It took a little while to look presentable but you think you did well once you give yourself a once over on the mirror.

Wooyoung already barged into your room, already nagging you for taking so long. “You got less than an hour to get to your--- oh my god your room.” He says, his features dropping into one of horror as he takes in how your room looks.

“I’ll clean it up when I get back.” You beat him to it as you grabbed your bag. “What do you think?” You ask, shifting his attention from your room to you. His eyes scan your look closely then eyes your accessories. Without even saying anything else, he goes through the mess and picks up another bag.

“This goes better with your outfit.”

“Isn’t it a bit too big?”

“Who are you going on a date with tonight?”

“It’s not a date--”

“Who?”

You sigh. “Yeosang, so?”

“Use it. I’m telling you, that guy has a lot of money on him. You might bring home more things than expected.” He points out. “Also, make sure you wear your boots.” It made sense that Wooyoung would have more fashion sense than you. It just did.

“I’m not bringing him home!” You take the bag regardless and put your belongings in it.

He snorts at how you understood his words. “Not like that! I do trust you’d do it responsibly! But, that’s not my point. Just have fun okay?” He walks you towards the door. “If anything happens, call me.”

At his shift from insufferable to endearing, you decide to spoil him with a peck to his cheek. “I know. I brought a spare key also in case you get too tired from staying up.”

He scoffs at your words. “Go, have fun.”

---------

It was short sighted of you to forget to bring a jacket. The area Yeosang told you to meet him at was rather chilly especially at night. As you wait for him, you look around, the shops that lined up across you looked expensive. Did you bring enough money? Well you had a credit card but you only used it for emergencies. You doubt you could even buy one item from any of these shops. Maybe one day.

[ Yeosang to You ] Are you there?

[ You to Yeosang ] Yes! Are you here already? curious_ryan

You don’t know why you added an emoji to your message but you did. Once sent, you look around for the familiar black haired male.

[ Yeosang to You ] 2 minutes.

You lean against the wall, eyes still roaming around for the tall man. Truthfully, you wondered where he could be and what he was wearing since this was his idea after all. It’s up to what he wears that could decide if you wore too much or too little. You spot the raven-haired man from a few feet away; in a striped pull over and slacks as well. Though it looked just as casual as he said it would, his shoes seemed to make his outfit look more put together. You hope you looked okay. Once he gets a little closer, you wave your hand a bit to get his attention and it does.

“There you are.” He says softly, tipping his head politely to you. You take a few steps forward, greeting him warmly. It felt a little weird to meet him outside work but that’s the reason why the two of you are here.

“How was work?” You ask him, just like how you would back in your shop.

He gestures for you to walk with him, wherever it will be. “Same as per usual; scheduling field trips for high school students, collections from other countries and collectors coming in, restoring a few pieces and the like.” He returns with what you could assume was an exasperated sigh.

“It sounds like it was more than just the usual.” You point out as you look at the stores. “Where are we going exactly?”

“It’s the usual for me I suppose, maybe except for the field trips. Other than that, it’s routine for me.” You remember how he would talk about art restoration along with art collections coming in from foreign partners. It wasn’t an easy task for sure, maybe that’s why he didn’t mind staying for hours in the shop. “As for your question, there’s a small night market outside this mall. Nothing too flashy, just a lot of unique things that you might like as well.” You genuinely didn’t take him to be someone who would be into markets, based on his outfit that he feels your surprised gaze on him. “Is something wrong?” He asks. You shake your head at his concern.

“I just didn’t take you to be the type to like markets.” Well, for one, you know he’s rich and he’s wearing clothes that you can only assume are made to order. Two, even if you don’t really listen to Wooyoung’s insistent ‘He’s Rich and here’s Why’ tirades, you picked up a thing or two from it.

He takes no insult from your words and actually laughs behind a loose fist. “I’ve received those words a lot in the past. To be honest, it’s thanks to San and his lover that I’m more open to things now.” Back then, he was still in the dark about what the people like, intellectualizing everything to the point of disconnect. It took them having to explain things to him over and over until he understood things. “Though, old habits do die hard.” He continues, referring to his clothes. “But I have learned a lot.”

There’s something in his words that tells you there’s more. Your attention shifts to his clothes as he gestures to his pullover. You catch a glimpse of the brand name and in doing so, your heart drops. You know that name. An outfit there can cover two months worth of rent for your shop. Maybe even the bills.

That’s how the rest of the night goes: Yeosang showing you around the market, showing you various treats to the senses. There were various stalls that you fell for, buying a few of their products but you stopped yourself from over indulging in the purchases-- some merely out of impulse, some for the mere fact it just looked pretty. “Why don’t you buy it?” Yeosang asks as he catches you eyeing a small bottle of perfume.

“Hm?” You aren’t startled by his strange ability to slip in and out of your sight every so often now. This market has such a vast amount of products, that one would easily lose sight of their companions if they didn’t pay attention. Thankfully, he was tall enough for you to find him when needed. “Oh, well, I still have a bottle I use back at home. I don’t think I need another one just yet.” You shift your gaze to him, and you see he has bought quite a number of items. “Do you want to eat dinner already?”

“I was about to ask you. It is rather late.” He notes with a glance at his watch.

“Let’s go? I’m kind of hungry now as well.”

“Any preference?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold to which you don’t turn down.

“As long as it isn’t anything expensive.”

--------

Now why did this restaurant look expensive?

You were seated a little further inside the establishment. The seats were comfortable, privacy was assured and the music playing overhead wasn't Today’s Top 40. You were certain it was jazz. “I thought I said anything that isn’t expensive..” You say, unknowingly pouting at the man across you.

“Consider this as thanks.” He says simply, not even looking up from the menu. The in-house steak sounds lovely, especially at this time.

You look up from the menu, confused at his words. “For what?” You don’t remember what you did to result in such a lavish meal-- you don’t even remember what you ate for breakfast today. A small part of you wishes Wooyoung could be here too, he would’ve loved to try out the dishes here.

“Putting trust in me to be considered a good friend of yours.” Yeosang says, it’s only then that he looks up from his menu. “Have you decided on what to eat?” He shifts the conversation to you upon noticing the confusion still etched on your face.

“Uh, well. I’m not sure what I should order” Also known as, everything’s expensive but also they sound good. You were bouncing between the pasta, beef and the fish, unsure of which one would be better for you.

“Anything that you were eyeing?” He presses. Odd enough, he can tell when you’re holding your tongue now. While he doesn’t force you to say what’s really in your mind at times, you’re human, your body has limits as well. An empty stomach carries repercussions that would probably have Wooyoung on his head.

At his question, you tell him your options. He asks about your diet preferences and your appetite for the night until he finds a good dish for you for tonight. Once all that is over, the two of you are left alone once again. “So, my dear, what did you get in the market?” He asks you, leaning a little forward, hoping for a bit of a peek into what fancied your interests.

You look at the small bags that came with your purchases, wondering which one first to show him. “Oh I just got those small perfume bottles,” you start, pulling the box out of the bag. “It’s not much but it was such a lovely scent.” You start to gush over the purchase. It took you some time to decide on purchasing it, as it was your last purchase for the night.

He picks up the box, looking at the details of the perfume, noting all the things about it. Truthfully, he didn’t think you were into this but he’s up for surprises from you. Also, San’s into this brand as well, he didn’t think they made perfume bottles in such small sizes. He hands back the perfume to you, a pleasant hum leaving his curved lips. There’s always something for him to learn.

“What about you?” You ask him as you keep your purchase away. “What did you buy?”

Yeosang looks at the small bag he had by his side. He lets you bring it out of the bag. You peek inside first, confused to see a few envelopes of varying sizes. “What are these? Are you sure I can open these?” You ask, picking a small envelope, the length just roughly around the same as your hand. When you see him nod, you carefully pull up the flap. Being greeted by a strip of colored paper behind a cream colored paper confused you, so you carefully pull it out of its confines only to gasp at the quality.

It’s a watercolor painting. It looks like a flower, something you’ve never seen before. The color was soft against the cream paper yet it was so lively, as if you could tell how the petals could feel under your fingertips. He sees the shock on your face, smiling a little at the sight of how wide your eyes get. “They’re all paintings, you can look through whatever fancies your curiosity.” His words make you feel like a deer in the headlights.

“Where did you get these? I didn’t see an artist in the market…” You mumble in thought. You’d like to get one for your shop too. “What flower is this?” You ask Yeosang, holding up the painting you initially chose. Finding entertainment in watching how you look at art results in his eyes taking a while to adjust to the art in front of him.

“Ah this, it’s called a Névé Jewel. It’s rare to find them now but the artist, a good friend of mine in the market knows of the flower and managed to create this painting. No one else seemed to want it so I got it for myself along with a few other works.” He explains. “If you wish to have work made by him, I can easily arrange that should he leave the market after we’re done with dinner.” As he was about to continue his explanation, the food started to arrive. As you return his purchases, you check the time, it didn’t take as long as you would’ve thought. The flash of warm light from your phone catches his attention. Even at an angle, he can kind of depict what the photo is. “Apologies for the question but is that your family?”

After thanking the staff for serving your meals, you let him see your wallpaper, though you cover the image of a child you from his view. “Yeah, it’s an old photo of my parents, and I.”

“How are they now?” He asks, studying the photo like he would with artwork. The sunlight casting shadows over your mother’s hat, your father squinting through the glare, probably done at high noon. The wall definitely was a product of its time, bricks but covered over with a huge mural. He’s unsure if this was shot here or in another country, regardless, it’s evident it came from a much simpler time.

“Well…” There’s something in your voice that makes Yeosang quiet. The wistful tone is something he knows too well and not something he wants to bring at the first dinner with you. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked such a question.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we can change the subject.” He immediately adds after the gap. He gestures at your meal, not wanting it to go cold.

You shake your head at his concern. “It’s okay, it’s been roughly a decade now.” You explain as you pick up your utensils. “They’ve passed on now, it’s why I live with Wooyoung.” After your family’s passing, Wooyoung’s family took you in as one of theirs. It’s why you and Wooyoung can pass off as siblings now.

As he takes makes sure he gets a spoonful of the pasta, he smiles a little at your words. “If you didn’t tell me that the two of you weren’t related, I would’ve thought otherwise.” Yeosang’s voice takes on a teasing tone, a subtle attempt to bring back a smile of joy on your features.

You make a face, carrying no malice but rather fake annoyance. “Oh dear, that means he’s rubbed off on me.” You carefully cool off your meal before tasting it. It really was a good idea to bring a few extra in your wallet. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

“Well,” He takes a moment or two to eat before continuing. “I suppose, just like you, they’ve passed on when I was younger. It’s been just San and I since then.” People he considered to be his family have passed on, or have retired from the outside world. Regardless, it has left him in a rather lonely state at times. While there are memories he is fond of, who else is there to share these memories?

The two of you share stories, at least the happier ones, about each other’s families. How it was your dad who instilled in you an affinity for art, your mom teaching you history a little more entertaining than your teachers did. Yeosang shares his stories as well, his brother being a reason for his inquisitive nature that eventually grew into his work. He also talks of how his older teacher taught him the tricks and trades of business. Despite living well off, it was really his siblings who had more or less raised him as his parents were often or rather always, working. Eventually the business of art rested on his shoulders, as he was the only one who had an interest in it. You wondered if he was aware of how much money the business gave him before he signed into this. Come to think of it, there’s only two families that have a hold on the art business. Surely he’s from one of them?

Come to think of it, you still don’t know his last name.

“Are you alright? Is the food okay?” He asks you after the stories have ended. That’s when you realized that you had spaced out in your thoughts in the middle of the meal. “Huh? Oh! Yes, i’m fine. Sorry I was thinking...” You continue to eat what’s left of your meal. “Because you said you took over the art business in the museum right? There’s only two families I can think of that has a hold on the art business industry here: Kang and Song.”

He chuckles lightheartedly, a little pleased to know that even until now his family is this impactful. “Ah, the Song. They’re a lovely bunch, the next in line is rather clumsy outside of formalities, it’s rather cute to see.” His comment makes you stare at him in disbelief. That leaves the option left is Kang. Kang Yeosang.

You’re eating with The Kang Yeosang.

The Kang family has been a pioneer in art restoration especially in works prior to the 1400s. Their own art collection were always pieces hard to find anywhere else-- either due to human’s hubris or due to nature, the way they’re able to keep them in pristine condition as much as possible. You don’t know how they’re able to find some of the artifacts, or how they have the rarest pieces but it’s one of the reasons why they’ve amassed such wealth. Curating in a popular museum, restoring old pieces, tours from not only students but also from diplomats, scholars while being funded to keep security at its peak by the government. It makes sense. It’s been a dream of yours to work in the National Museum and here you are, eating dinner with the owner of what could be more than 60% of the collection in the museum.

He watches the gears in your head click and the realization set in your eyes. He says nothing but flash a bright smile once he knows you know the answer. “I hope this doesn’t complicate our friendship.” He admits earnestly.

You reassure him, with much fervor that it doesn’t. It just makes you respect him a lot more. It’s not easy to keep a bit of a low profile and privacy yet he’s able to do so. Shit, Wooyoung’s right then, a mental note to make up for your lack of reaction and doubt was stored away. So the rest of the meal goes by with you asking Yeosang how it is to handle a museum, knowing how things have been lately.

He sighs a little, the recent rise in art theft has been the bane of his existence since day 1. The amount of artworks he had to keep from sticky fingers, the security of those works is where a good portion of his money goes. He fears the day more works end up in the wrong hands. “We do what we can. It’s not easy but we’ve upped the security in and out of the premises.” He reassures you. There’s comfort in meeting someone who loves art just as much as he and the staff outside of work. “Maybe in the near future, I can give you a private tour.” He casually passes his credit card to a staff member, as both of you are now finished with the meal.

If he was asking you on a date, it’s already a yes in your book.

“I’d like that.” You admit, unable to hide the excited grin on your lips. “Though, as thanks for the meal. If you want dessert, can I pay for it this time?” He didn’t give you enough time to react to the fact he had just paid for your meal. Might as well make up for it, somehow.

On the way to a dessert spot, the two of you decide to stop by the market in hopes of seeing his friend. “Oh hey!” Yeosang’s friend greets him upon realizing who’s right in front of him as he puts away some of his earnings from a recent sale.

“Hey Seonghwa, so my friend here discovered your works and wanted to see them so I brought them here.” The man next to you explains. You see some of his works on display, all of them were in various sizes, some bigger than the pieces Yeosang had bought. Yeosang catches the curious gaze of his friend on you then at him to which Yeosang shakes his head, not wanting to keep anyone's hopes up.

“They’re so pretty…” You say softly as you gaze at the larger pieces in awe. Seonghwa has created watercolor pieces of scenery, places you have yet to see, some look dreamlike. The smaller pieces are of various plant life, one of them looks similar to the flower piece you peeked at from Yeosang’s purchases earlier. “How much are the small works?”

Seonghwa looks at the general direction of your gaze. “The flowers are fifty thousand while the terrain’s at sixty thousand.” You weren’t so surprised at the prices but you had to pick one or the other.

Your lips press into a thin line in thought. “What do you think, Yeosang?” You ask. “I’m thinking of hanging one of them up in my shop.” Truthfully, the flowers would look good considering the plants you’ve cared for in your shop. The terrain on the other hand would stand out in all the good ways.

“Perhaps the floral one would suffice. It suits the ambiance of your shop as well.” Yeosang notes. You trust his judgement with this-- he handles a museum after all, and you fish out your wallet.

“That’s a lovely bracelet you got there.” Seonghwa gasps, awed by the beauty. He knows what that is, eyes flitting to the archon a little too quickly before shifting again to you. His words bring you flattery that you accept.

“It’s from my mom.” You simply explain, ears a little pink from the sudden attention on you. The blond male doesn’t miss your bashful ears that he chuckles lightly behind his hand and drops the topic.

“Your mother has quite an eye.” He simply says as he hands you your change. “Thank you for buying a work from me.” With that said, the two of you make your way to an ice cream parlor.

You let Yeosang look at the various flavors on display. “Before anything, I’m paying.” You remind him. It’s how determined you are to repay his kindness that produces a light laugh from him.

“Very well.” He returns his attention to the display, pondering on his options for the moment. “I’ll get the injeolmi and red bean in a cup. Two scoops please?” He asks. He stays by your side as you order, curious by the other flavors. If he remembers right, San loves the mint chocolate with the popping candy.

As you wait for your turn, your phone buzzes with a message.

[ Wooyoung to You ] How are you?

You smile at his worry.

[ You to Wooyoung ] Cheeky_ryan.emoji

[ You to Wooyoung ] One of these days, you need to go here with me. It’s so pretty here.

[ You to Wooyoung ] Also buying ice cream right now hehe.

You pay for your orders, and let Yeosang choose a spot to sit for the next hour or so. You put your purchases right next to you as your lips widen into a giddy smile. It’s been a while since you last had ice cream too.

“Oh yeah. Now that we’ve settled in a good spot in this shop.” He hands you the same envelope that had the terrain you were in turmoil over earlier. “Consider it a gift.” He reasons when he sees how you were about to turn down such an offer. A smile of triumph brightens his entire face when he sees you give in to his request. You look cute sulking at him when you know you can’t turn down his offers. “The thing Seonghwa noticed, he’s got a good eye for jewelry.” It took eons for him to have such specialized sight but it’s been an asset since he could remember. “It’s something your mother gave you, yes?”

You show him the bracelet from your seat. “It’s an ancestral piece,” You admit. It’s the most watered down way you can explain without showing too much of yourself to someone. Since their death, you’ve become a lot more private about your family life when it pertains to them, but when it comes to your family life with Wooyoung you can easily talk about it. Here’s the kicker though, why were you so willing to share things with him?

Honestly, you didn’t know the whole name of the bracelet. You only vaguely remember it being called Aurora so that stuck with you until now. At night, the pearl shines brighter, when you use your cryo vision for whatever reason, the light inside the pearl pulsates. In a well lit room like where you are, it looks like an average pearl. It was one of the things your mother told you to hold dear before seeing them for the last time.

The male senses your inability to remember clearly along with your discomfort. A part of him reprimands himself for letting his desire to know get the better of him. You are your own person. He has to remind himself of this over and over. “You don’t have to tell me everything, I do respect your privacy.” He says softly.

“Yeosang?” You ask. The tone makes him stiffen, worried for having hurt you in such a short span of time.

“Yes?”

You prod at your ice cream for a moment, trying to find the words. “I mean, considering how historical the museum is. Has there been times where artworks have been stolen?” It was a valid question, most museums you know through the years have attempted thievery one way or another. Some works never find their way back home; you wondered if the same has happened to his museum.

“Oh of course.” There’s a bit of relief in hearing you shift the conversation. A little bit of dread since this is a difficult thing to deal with. “Before I became the head, a group did an art heist. Around ten works were stolen, until now we don’t know where they are.”

This somehow surprises you. You know how tight the security is in that museum even without knowing Yeosang’s hand in the museum, the security there was rather strict too. “What?”

“Yes, a number of works that are considered rarities were stolen. Not a lot of people know that these artists did such works either.” Under the jurisdiction of his predecessor, they kept the frames of the missing works up, hoping that one day they’ll get them back. Yeosang knows otherwise at this point. “Truthfully speaking, I have my doubts they’ll return in one piece if at all.” Yeosang continues. “It’s been decades, if I remember right, since those works were stolen.” Artworks gone for decades usually end up in the same place one way or another. If they’re lucky, they know where it is. The only problem is revealing how they know and why they know, usually.

As he tells you about the works, you search them up on your phone. These are works centuries before you were born only to be stolen decades before your birth. Despite the time difference, the impact it left on the art world seems to be immense. It explains the growing levels of security in museums around the world, among many other things.

“How do you know of these artworks? I haven’t heard of them.”

“With the people I work with, I have to know information like this.” Well that makes sense but why does he talk of these works as if he’s seen them?

“But, it’s been...what.. Decades? Since it’s been seen, how is your memory that clear?” The way he describes it as you look at the painting on your phone, you pick up on details you would have missed but there’s something in his words that tells you something more.

He stares at you, sweat already forming at the back of his neck as he tries to come up with a logical excuse. “I have the records, also the internet gives us the nearest accurate rendering of the paintings.” He explains, gesturing to your phone screen that displays one of the mentioned works.

He’s got a point and you drop the topic. After a few more minutes of looking at the painting, you turn away from your phone, shifting your attention to your ice cream and to him.

“The Ninth Wave by Ivan Aivazovksy”

“Judith Beheading Holofornes by Artemisia.. I don’t know how to pronounce her last name..” It was a little embarrassing that you didn’t know how to pronounce these names but you couldn’t really help but love the work.

That was something he didn’t expect. He looks up the work you mentioned, along with the artist’s name, wanting to avoid possible confusion. “Ah, this work?” He asks, as he shows you his phone. At the sight of the work, you nod shyly but the spark in your eyes overpowers the bashful nature on your cheeks. He gives it a good look for a moment or two, studying what he can from such a small screen. The blood in the work’s dynamic, actively spurting out from the male’s neck while the women wrestle to keep him down to finish the act. The women don’t look disgusted by the action at all, rather they look determined. “Why so?” It’s uncommon but not rare, for people to like works that were rather morbid. He just didn’t take you to be someone to appreciate works like this.

You gnaw on your spoon for a moment, trying to find the right words to say. Truthfully, you find it a little embarrassing to admit that this is your favorite work, not things like The Milkmaid by Vermeer or something more calming. “Uh, well,” you start off. “It’s not everyday really, that I see works made by women. Especially with the subject being someone who’s determined even in doing something morbid.” The reason behind the painting was just as violent, but could’ve been cathartic to the artist herself. To you, you want to do the same to those who have hurt you and your family. But hey, who would talk about that the first time they hang out right? “What about you?” You shift the topic almost immediately. “Why The Ninth Wave?”

Yeosang takes this moment to think for a moment or two, wondering what he should say. “Well,” he starts before scooping a small mouthful of the ice cream. “Seeing the ocean be so dynamic isn’t an everyday thing.” He lets the ice cream melt in his mouth for a moment before continuing. “People tend to forget that the ocean while giving, can take. We’re at its mercy, whether we like it or not. It’s a good reminder I suppose, that we’re not as invincible as we think we are.”

You look closer at the artwork. It’s a handful of men, clinging onto what looks like planks of wood as they face a wave that looks tamed. You wonder why it’s called the Ninth Wave, seeing that the painting was washed with soft pinks, warm bright yellows and various shades of blues and greens. It looks much more peaceful than the description Yeosang gave.

“A little ironic isn’t it?” He muses. A sheen of blue glowing softly in his eyes as he watches you study the painting with confusion. “You see, it’s an old sailing expression that means that another wave is coming. After the previous eight that were already big, the ninth one coming, much bigger than the last eight. The worst has yet to come but storm through it and then there will be peace.” He gestures to the faint wave just by the line of horizon. Indeed there’s still one more but the skies promise peace should they get through it.

You jolt in your chair when you see what time it is. You’re hoping Wooyoung’s already asleep back in the apartment. “I’m sorry, but I have to head home. It’s already late and I usually open the shop early.” You explain as you stand up. Yeosang looks at you with alarm as you nearly stumble from the rush.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“What?”

“It’s late isn’t it? Going home alone isn’t safe, I’ll drive you home.”

--------

That’s how you ended up in his car, breezing through the wide streets as you direct him to where you live. “You don’t have the app?” You ask him as your eyes dart from building to building. You’ve been so used to using the trains and walking that you don’t really spend time looking up to see the bright signages and other restaurants. More things to explore in the future, perhaps.

“What app?” Yeosang asks as he weaves through corners and light traffic. You take that as a cue to explain to him that there’s this app that tells you where to go when traffic in the main roads are too heavy or when an accident has happened to be aware of and the like. All of this while you eat what’s left of your ice cream. Though you did have to explain as well that while you don’t see any use for the app, Wooyoung’s workmate, Yunho, uses it and it’s been helpful for him when he oversleeps.

Yeosang chortles at the reasoning. “Well, I might use that app then despite not being the type to oversleep.” He spots your apartment building, based on your descriptions earlier. “I suppose that is your place?” He looks around. This seems to be a few stops away from your coffee shop. The more he learns, he supposes.

You sent Wooyoung a quick text saying you’d be home in five minutes should he still be awake. “Yes! That’s the building, you can just drop me off here.” You say as you look out the window to make sure there weren't any cars coming so you could hop off.

“I’ll drive you there, just sit tight.” He reassures. The drive was smooth, stopping just by the entrance of the apartment complex with a pleasant smile. “At least I can tell San that I can still make a drive be pleasant.” At his words, you raise a questioning eyebrow at him. “Another story for another time, I’ll see you again soon I hope?” He asks.

“Of course.” You return as you hop off the car. “Stay safe please?” You ask, as you wave at him. He shoots you this smile, and it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat. Too much that you have to remind yourself that the two of you are just friends, that regretting not having given him a kiss is not very friend-like. You watch him drive off until you can’t see the car anymore, by then you head inside back to the safety of your own abode.

--------

He arrives home, his mind still replaying the way you looked so flustered before he left. You were lovely in his eyes, that much he can admit. He tosses the keys on to the table. His coat shrugged off and hung somewhere. Coming home to an empty apartment after being with company and bright lights is a little disorienting. Maybe he should really invest in softer lighting for his home. He switches the lights on, and heaves a tired sigh. It’s been a long day but it was a fun one. Should he consider having you and Wooyoung room with him here? Granted, he already has a room for San whenever he’s in the mood for company as well. It’s been a ritual for him as well to let his place become a haven for those who have been injured through out the years. Perhaps that’s another thought for another day.

As he prepares himself a cup of tea, he goes through the current happenings around him. It was a little alarming that reports of crime were shooting up, some of which bearing certain similarities that he hopes the officials catch soon. The crimes reported haven’t changed regardless of the presence of a god’s protection. He’ll also have to talk to the security in the museum to keep anything from being stolen.

This reminds him to check on any emails concerning the museum and their upcoming events. Most of them were updates of planned exhibitions with other museums outside the country, along with events in partnership with brands in the country. It was rather tiresome really, same routine with every museum, every shop, anything to keep the museum running in ethical ways. Though he wonders how the gardens in the museum are coming along, the seasons are slowly changing and this means that some plants will have to be changed in order to keep up with appearances and health.

His cup of tea was finally ready when he remembered to send you a message.

[ Yeosang to You ] Hey, I’m finally home. I had fun today :)

No less than five minutes did you manage to return the text.

[ You to Yeosang ] I’m glad, I had fun too~ Sleep well!

He finds himself smiling at your reply as he takes a sip. He had a feeling that tonight, he’ll be able to sleep well.

Unknown to him and the rest of the staff, a small bud was already growing.

--------

“I got a proposition for you.”

Whenever Wooyoung has those words come out of his mouth, you were sure it wasn’t a good idea. Regardless of the fear, you entertain his thoughts. “And what is it?” You ask, your focus on the ceramic mug that you dry in your hands.

“What if I work with you here?” You were thankful for your reflexes for not falling lax at such an offer. The idea of Wooyoung working with you was okay to put it nicely but there was an important question you had to raise.

“Why?” You ask him as you keep the clean mug away. It was a Wednesday, which meant business runs slow. This is also the reason as to why Wooyoung was in your shop and not at home catching up on sleep.

“For starters, you work alone.” He says, raising his pointer finger. “Two, you’re practically dating Yeosang by now.” He raises his middle finger and it takes all your will power to not freeze his fingers off his hand. “Three, I want to help you with your work.” You admit, he’s got a good heart but you still want to freeze his hand off.

“Do I have time to think about this?” You ask, keeping an eye on the students who seem to be preparing for a final just a few tables away from you.

“Well, yeah you do cause you pretty much call the shots in this place.” Wooyoung returns with a shrug. “It’s just an offer.” he reminds you. “Oh yeah, is Yeosang coming today?”

You eye him in confusion. “I hope so..? Why?”

“Hope so, huh.” He repeats, a smug grin on his lips.

At his teasings, you let a rush of icy wind brush past the back of his neck, cold enough that snowflakes appear when he touches the skin. “We’re not dating! And yes, i do hope he comes in today or at least I think he will?” He didn’t really send you any message that says he won’t be able to make it today so you were rather confused. Then again, he and Yeosang have started to become good friends as well. San, though impressed, was just as alarmed considering how mischievous Wooyoung could get.

“It’s nice to see Yeosang make friends outside his work. I’m glad you and Wooyoung came along.” San said as he watches Yeosang fall for Wooyoung’s jokes and tricks.

You on the other hand, were behind the counter, cleaning up the coffee machines. The high pitched laughter echoing in the room countered by embarrassed chuckles and feeble attempts to defend themselves. “You think so?” You ask.

San catches onto your light hearted sarcasm and giggles. “Yeah. Guess you can say, you kind of opened him up to a world beyond what he knew. He’s been insistent in learning trends.” He continues. “Oh and don’t tell him i told you but he also wants to learn how you make your coffee. He can never get it like you do. Don’t be surprised if he ends his work early just to ask you to teach him how to make coffee.”

By then the two of you knew it was Yeosang’s way of spending time with you whenever work allowed the two of you to do so.

“Not dating yet.” He takes the extra effort to emphasize the ‘yet’. “Kid, I’m telling you,” he continues, not paying any mind to the lasers that shoot out of your eyes due to being called a Kid. “The two of you are going to date sooner or later.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, San enters the premises. You stand up straight to welcome him just like any other customer but by now you also know his usual order. “Usual order?” You ask him, already ready to write his order on his cup.

He shoots the two of you a cheeky smile. “Yeah, for me and Yeosang.'' The cheeky smile turns a little bashful now as he eyes the treats on display. “Can I also get the lavender blueberry sponge cake, two slices, to go? Yeosang’s been stressed with meetings today.”

Hearing this, your eyebrows furrow in concern. “Would tea be better for him then?”

The male shakes his head. “Coffee might do him better for his work. If we got time to come by later, then yeah give him tea.” You and Wooyoung look at each other, slightly alarmed and worried for him but the explanation will come for another time.

“Sure thing. “ With the payments out of the way, San and Wooyoung catch up as you prepare his orders.

“Something up?” Wooyoung asks, rather worried to see San be this concerned for Yeosang and also look just as stressed.

San takes this moment to take a deep breath and deflate in his seat. “Some of the sponsors are being illogical along with some logistical problems for upcoming exhibitions so all of us are pressed for time and resources.” He runs his fingers through his hair, already tousled by the amount of times he’s been doing the same motion since this morning. “On top of that, a break in just happened near the museum so security measures have been heightened.” San says under his breath, not wanting anyone to overhear that statement.

Wooyoung looks at him in alarm, then looks at his phone for any updates on their area. He wonders if leaving you alone would be a good idea at this rate. “There’s nothing yet on social media..” He mutters, still concerned for you.

“The media’s on their way to cover the situation so give it around ten minutes.” San explains, by then you arrive at the table with his orders packed up for him to pick up and go.

“Tell Yeosang, I said hi?” You say as you watch the two of them, sensing the tension in the air. “Something wrong?”

San shakes his head for now. “Just the usual work stuff, thanks for the food, I have to get going now.” He picks up the bag and bids the two of you farewell. “I’ll send your regards as well.” He says before running out the door.

You glance at Wooyoung and he shows his phone to you. “Besides stressful work issues, a break in happened nearby so their stress hasn’t been anything nice.” You read through the news article: nothing valuable was taken but everything’s in disarray. Though the museum’s a little further down the road from the break in, and further away from your shop, you’re a little worried for your own shop’s security as well. You also know how protective Wooyoung is of you.

“Fine, you can work with me in this shop, your shift’s gonna depend on your availability as well since I know you have to create choreographies and teach them.” You state. He smiles a little too triumphantly this time, mostly due to the relief of knowing you’re safe and because he can keep you company as well. “This also means I have to teach you how to work these machines…” You note with a sigh, you were never confident in your teaching skills.

“Hey don’t lose faith in me. I pick up quickly, don’t I?” Wooyoung croons with a proud smile.

“Do you have a shift today in the studio?” You ask as you look through the cabinets.

“No why?” The answer to his question is an apron tossed in his direction.

“Good, I’m teaching you today then, get your butt over here,”

--------

The two of you crash onto the chairs after a long day of working. Wooyoung glances over at you as he rubs his sore muscles, wondering how you’re able to do this day in and day out, all alone. You don’t seem to be as fazed as he is, as all you do is stretch in your seat. “How do you do this on your own?” Wooyoung asks, now that it’s only the two of you in the shop.

“I have to.” You say simply. It’s rare for Wooyoung to hear you complain as well. This was something you wanted after all. The only complaints he hears from you are usually just muscle pain that he helps ease, and the occasional horror customer. Besides the occasional pet discussion, he never hears you complain over how hard your job is. Meanwhile, he always complains about his. Not that you minded them, some of them are rather valid. He was simply the type to externally process what happened before being able to move on.

He catches you often looking towards the door, in hopes of seeing Yeosang. “He hasn’t said anything yet huh?” He asks, a little sad for you as well. He knows how much you look forward to seeing him, even if you don’t say anything about it.

You shake your head, your phone’s been silent the entire day and with San’s explanation, it makes sense why he’d be busy. Maybe you can send him a message? But wouldn’t that disrupt his work?

“Just send it.” Wooyoung says, hanging his legs over the arm rest. Well, at least it’s not his shoes against the arm rest. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Were you that transparent in his eyes?

You shoot him a pout but take out your phone. You didn’t think he’d send you a message now.

[ Yeosang to You ] Still in the shop?

“He just messaged me, asking if I’m still in the shop.” You say, blinking at the message, slightly surprised.

“Well, you are so let him in.” Wooyoung says, eyeing the door. The mentioned guy was standing outside the shop, clearly exhausted from a long day. His words confuse you as you still gaze at the phone screen so he takes the honor to unlock the door to let the man in, then lock it once more. “Didn’t think you’d be able to drop by after what San told us.” Your friend notes, noting the loosened tie. He wonders just how much he had to go through today.

It’s only by the time the wind chimes chirp of someone’s entrance that you look up from your phone. The man responsible for the weird heart racing you’ve been getting is in front of you but instead of letting out your frustrations, you heave a sigh of relief to see him alive in one piece. “You’re lucky we haven’t closed the place for the day.”

“Not like they could until they saw you.” Your best friend cuts in much to Yeosang’s delight.

“I see Wooyoung’s now working for you?” Yeosang says, as he takes a seat on the stool next to your table. A soft groan slips from his lips as he finally feels peace after a tiring day.

“Do you want anything?” Wooyoung offers, as you watch the two of them banter in front of you. You let Wooyoung take the lead for his order this time, wanting to see just how much he has picked up today.

“Earl grey tea-- do you guys still have a vanilla macaron?” Yeosang throws back as he removes his blazer, folding it over his arms.

“Gotcha.” He says simply, already getting to work.

“It’s on me.” You tell him as you slip towards the stool across him. He takes the chance to hold your hand, holding it close to his lips.

“I apologize for the late arrival, my dear. Work was not merciful today.” He mumbles softly against your skin. “I was looking forward to seeing you today at a preferably earlier time.” His voice clearly carried the stress of unexpected problems that you wonder what else went wrong after San’s visit. Wooyoung comes back with his order, already pulling up another stool to listen to Yeosang’s woes. “I won’t stay too long today, it’s been a long day and I’m sure the two of you had a busy day.” It was a little worrisome to see him try to keep his stress to a minimum when it’s already clearly nearing the limits. You wonder how much he kept from you the past few weeks.

You don’t notice the look Wooyoung gives you at how intimate you and Yeosang look. Your eyes are on Yeosang the entire time, his free hand taking a sip of the tea, tension in his shoulders easing at the warmth of the tea spreads around him. “Do you want to talk about it?” You ask carefully.

He shakes his head. “For another time, I promise I will fill you in on them.” He says. He opens his eyes after a while, and it shocks you how vividly blue his eyes are. They weren’t the striking ice blue the foreigners have, rather it’s a deep blue. The blue that reminds you of how vast and deep the world you live in is, you don’t know why that came into your mind but it did. But, why does it feel so familiar? “Are the two of you done cleaning for today?” He asks all of a sudden. The two of you look around and the only thing left was to take out the trash.

“Just need to take the trash out then we’re done for the day.”

“How will the two of you head home?”

Wooyoung and you look at each other, surprised by the question. “Well, we just take the train.” His eyes darken just a bit and you want to ask Wooyoung so badly if you’re seeing things. He shakes his head.

“That won’t do. The two of you can ride with me on the way home tonight.”

“I’m sorry?” The two friends ask at the same time, much to Yeosang’s amusement.

“It’s late, though I trust and know that the two of you can protect yourselves.” He starts, gesturing at the visions the two of you carry. “But it is late, the recent crimes have been spiking. Let me pay back your kindness through this at least.” He wasn’t leaving any room to sway his decision so the two of you take his offer. This time you take the responsibility to throw out the trash, the two of them waiting for you by the door.

You wonder what has been going on nowadays for them to be this worried. Frankly, while you were touched by such concern, you were also frustrated. You know how to protect yourself with or without your vision. You’re not the same helpless child that saw the atrocities of this world. Busy in your thoughts, you don’t see a figure keeping an eye on you from a distance. Just as you look at their direction, it disappears. The familiar feeling of dread doesn’t leave, it lingers and it makes your skin crawl. Quietly, you coat your hands with a thin sheet of ice as you make your way back to the two.

“You okay?” Wooyoung asks, noticing how alert you’ve become. He sees the ice around your fists and already he’s on high alert, looking around. Yeosang too notices the frost forming around your skin and wonders what you have encountered.

“Let’s go.” He simply states, making sure that you were walking next to him and Wooyoung. The way your features became so cloudy was a concern but he’ll have to ask Wooyoung for more information for another day. What matters now is your safety.

--------

It’s only in the safety of his car that Wooyoung starts to freak out again over how loaded Yeosang is. Maintenance for this car model isn’t easily affordable, especially for its size. Did you understand anything of what Wooyoung has been talking about? Vaguely. Yet Yeosang manages to answer everything with ease that you wonder just how much he knows beyond art, and history.

On the other hand, The ice around your fists has melted into puddles at your feet. “Sorry for the mess..” You say under your breath. Yeosang doesn’t miss a beat about it, saying that they’re rubber so it’s nothing that can be easily cleaned. His tea was already finished by the time the three of you were near your apartment.

Honestly, if his work hadn’t let him off so late, he could’ve already asked the question already but he’ll have to wait until he arrives outside your apartment. “He knows where we live?” Wooyoung asks, realizing that you didn’t have to give him directions.

“Yeah, he brought me home after our hangout last time, so I just directed him.”

He takes pride in his clear memory, smiling to himself as he can already picture the bashful smile of yours as Wooyoung looks at the two of you incredulously. “So when are you guys going to be officially dating?”

The question causes your heart to race once more, despite your calm exterior. Yeosang as well, appears composed. Yet, the shock of Wooyoung’s honesty can be felt in the car. “Well.” Yeosang speaks up. “That depends on our dear, here, if they would be okay with it.” Just in time, the car slows down to a stop outside your apartment complex.

You face Yeosang, with your heart beating fast, your hands feel cold even without the frost. “I-I’d like that.” You manage to sputter out.

“Thank heavens.” Wooyoung exclaims, eyeing the two of you like the relief of an impatient sibling.

“Can I fancy you to a date soon?” Yeosang says as he unlocks the car, giving Wooyoung the chance to look away from such an exchange.

Ever the cheeky guy, he stays and waits for your answer.

“I’d like that.” You repeat softly, you couldn’t believe yourself for being able to speak up after such a shocking twist of events.

“Lovely, I’ll update you then.” Yeosang promises, waving the two of you a good night.

Wooyoung then hooks his arm around your shoulder as the two of you head back into the safety of your apartment. “About time, the two of you became a thing, he keeps asking me how to properly court you.” He says much to your flustered state.

Will you be able to sleep tonight?

--------

On the way home, Yeosang’s phone rings. It’s San.

“Hello? I’m driving. Can this wait?”

“Depends, are you at a red light or not?” San asks. When San’s voice goes that deep, it’s serious. He eyes the stop light.

“53 seconds.”

“The officials found a symbol on the break in. They don’t know what it is yet but gave us a copy in case we see it somewhere.”

49.

“What is it?” Already, Yeosang feels his blood rush to his ears.

“It’s a severed triquetra symbol.” San doesn’t have to say anything else anymore after that as Yeosang lets out a growl.

It seems they’ve returned. The question is why. “I’ll be home by 5 minutes. 20 seconds on the red light. I’ll call you.” WIth that he hangs up, in time for the red light to turn green. While people forget the events, he doesn’t.

It’s been so long since the Abyss has acted up. The last being a few thousand years back. The last few immortals like him and San remember their deeds. The Abyss was responsible for a battle he had to fight that wiped out a huge land mass in the region he now resides in.

The question that disturbs him: Who or what are they looking for? Because as far as his memory remembers, they stop at nothing to get what they want.

--------

A field.

This is the second time you’ve been here. Around you were plants that you don’t see everyday, in fact some of these look very odd to you. As you look around, hoping to make sense of this dream, you see someone dipping their feet into the clear water.

Just as you approach them, they stand up. It was hard to make out what gender they were: the clothes hang onto them like water slowly freezing, nor did they carry any feature that could separate a man from a woman. They smile at you, as if they’ve been expecting you this entire time. “It’s nice to see you.” They say, voice soft and calming.

“Apologies for not introducing myself, I’m Aos. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself known a little sooner.” They say. The apology doesn’t make any sense to you as you continue to gaze at them.

Despite them having introduced themselves to you, the name still doesn’t ring a bell. They don’t seem fazed at all to see your questioning eyes on them, in fact, they chuckle lightly at how confused you look. You manage to get a better look of their eyes and it reminds you of the sky when the sun is barely above the horizon. “What’s happening?” You manage to ask after getting yourself out of your trance.

“Nothing really. This is just me reaching out to you and giving you my blessing.” Again, the figure speaks in riddles. The last time they did was when Wooyoung’s family took you in, shortly after you were given your vision. You wonder what was going to happen this time.

The world around you loses its color for a split second and neither of you miss this slip up. “It seems that you’ll wake soon. I won’t make this any longer then, this might be our last meeting. Take care of yourself” The color around you fades into greys and whites, yet they don’t. The way they bid you farewell, reminds you too much of your mother and it makes your eyes hot.

“When you get the chance, tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

Before you could make some sort of sense, you feel someone shaking you awake. “Hey.” Wooyoung’s voice rouses you awake, and you don’t miss the concern in his voice. “You were crying in your sleep.” He states, seeing how dazed your eyes are as you try to look around, startled.

That’s when you notice that you were holding onto your bracelet while sleeping, and he was right. Your pillow felt damp with your tears. “Weird dream.” You groan out as you wake yourself up for another day.

Your phone flashes at 6:30AM, why did Wooyoung wake you up earlier than usual? It’s only then that you realize that it was raining once more. Couldn’t you get a few more minutes of shut eye after such a weird dream? The groggy feeling takes a little longer to shake off but you eventually get yourself out of bed.

--------

“What’s your plan today?” At least you are finally looking a little more presentable as you enter the living room.

“Choreography teaching for an idol group this morning until afternoon. I can close up the shop for you if you got plans today.” Wooyoung says, teasing you a little now that you’re more awake.

It’s not hard to miss out on what he insinuates with such that you roll your eyes at him. “It’s not today yet,” referring to your date, “but I need to visit a few shops to buy some ingredients and other stuff by 5PM.” You had plans of opening the shop a little later the following day, wanting to change the interiors even by just a bit. That and having to stay up later than usual to bake and experiment with new recipes was starting to catch up with you.

“Yeah I can take over by then. I’ll be at the shop by 4:30.” Wooyoung promises. He might have to be a little stricter today to get things finished quickly but the group he’s teaching today are quick learners. He can see so much potential in them too.

You flash a grateful smile as you eat. “Your overtime’s covered, I promise.” From this, Wooyoung hops around in glee. Of course, he was eyeing a new clothing line.

A glance at the time and you figured you should get moving. “I’ll see you later then. I need to start moving.” You say standing up from your seat.

“Lunch is by the counter!” He calls out from his seat as he watches you get your things and shoot out the door. With him now on his own, he lets out a sigh. He heard your mumblings earlier and those were the same words you muttered after you were gifted with your vision. Even when you looked put together for the day, there was still a hint of confusion in your eyes that you can’t quite hide from him. Whatever it is, he hopes things will turn out a little better this time.

--------

“Can we do three more runs after a five minute water break?” Wooyoung asks, sympathizing with the boys as they’re now drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. After the chorus of agreements, he lets the boys off for a few minutes and decides to check on you and Yeosang.

[ Wooyoung to You ] How’s work?

[ Wooyoung to Yeosang ] What’s up? Are you gonna drop by later?

It’s only Yeosang who manages to reply immediately.

[ Yeosang to Wooyoung ] There have been better days, but I will be alright. Yes I will be there later.

Seeing that you haven’t replied yet, he just chalks it up to rush hour. The boys enter the room and he puts his phone down. “Ready?” He asks just as he’s about to press play, he sees Yunho peeking into the studio. “Uh, give me a moment. Hyunjae, can you clean the choreo slowly while I’m gone? I’ll make it quick.” The male excuses himself to check on his peer, quietly leaving the studio. “What’s up?”

“Did their manager tell you of the changes to the schedule?” Yunho asks and by the way Wooyoung looks at him with wide eyes and that already tells him what he needs to know.

“Tomorrow or the day after will be the shooting day.” With such information being told to him, he panics a little, unsure if he has clothes that could fit a recording for this. He probably does but he’ll need your help assembling it.

“Okay, uh, forward the email to me and cc it to Popsicle.” Somehow the nickname doesn’t faze Yunho, already knowing well that he meant you. It’s not like there were a lot of cryo vision holders anyway. Yunho shoots him an okay signal and Wooyoung takes this as a sign to head back to his work. “Okay, let’s take it to the top? 3 runs at 100% energy then we can eat lunch.” He says as he enters the studio once more. The proposed plan instills a little bit of fear on the boys but he continues on. “No worries, there’ll be a break in between before going at it again.”

Beneath the calm demeanor he had for the boys right now, he was slightly panicking for his schedule in the next few days. He hopes you wouldn’t mind him being MIA for a day or two.

Wooyoung’s schedule has turned a little more hectic now thanks to the sudden update of the shooting. Not that he minds since at least he’s not at home whenever he’s not needed in the studio. If it means helping lessen the stress on you and keeping you safe then he doesn’t really mind it.

Though, he doesn’t know if you’ve been keeping an eye on the news lately. You still carry on with your day like normal. If he has a shift in the dance studio, he asks Yeosang or San to accompany you to the studio, no matter how many times you reassure that it’s okay for you to walk alone, either one of them is adamant about it.

He spares a glance at the clock as he watches the boys dance. The four hours will fly by quickly.

--------

“Yeosang, you might have to skip on meeting with them today.” Part 3

#yeosang fanfiction #my writings #ateez fanfiction #ateez scenarios #yeosang scenarios #yeosang x reader #ateez x reader

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natexarnoult · 3 years

Photo

hey all!! my name is mads and i’m 23, use she/her pronouns, and live in mst! i’m so excited for y’all to meet nathan - he’s a char i’ve had in mind for a while and i’m stoked to finally bring him to life! i’ve included some main points about him under the cut, along with his bio and a couple extras for him - please message me if you’d like to plot :D

Nathan comes from a single-mother household... at least, until he was in high school.

Nate knows who his father is and is trying to build a relationship w/ the man but is still hurt from his mother hiding his father’s identity & not hiding the truth.

He is very much a ‘trust-fund’ kid but is working hard to distant himself from his parents’ wealth and build a name that isn’t connected to his parents.

Nathan truly is a sweetheart but has a hard time expressing this to those he cares about - he grew up in a home that wasn’t welcoming to affection and is still trying to break this habit.

He’s been in Heartsdale for several years and I’m so open to creating some pre-existing connections with him! Friends, ex friends, exes, enemies - anything! Please just message me so we can chat :)

He graduated from UCLA with an art history degree but is more interested in actually making art than learning about it - he travels a lot as he likes to make his show room diverse and brings in pieces from all around the country.

Nathan lives above his gallery but spends most of his time outside of both his gallery and his apartment - it’s either a midlife crisis and he regrets his choices or he’s just trying to meet new friends, who knows?

His pinterest is here and is constantly being update; please follow me if you feel so inclined!

Annnnnd: bio here as well:

Nate’s parents met while his father was on a school trip. A senior studying art history at Harvard, he’d taken the trip as an excuse to ‘see the world’ - if that world meant England, sure. His mother was the manager at a museum they visited on the trip & his father found himself returning to her canvas filled institute daily. They spent hours talking, sharing their love of paintings and critiquing some of the pieces her museum had chosen to display. Neither of them wanted to admit that their time together would be coming to a close - his trip was only for 3 weeks over the winter holidays - but on his last day in the country, Nathan’s father left a note within her bedside drawer, his address and phone number scrawled sloppily across a spare receipt & he snuck out before the sun was up. Saying goodbye would be too hard.

He returned to the States. He graduated. He got a job. He went years without hearing from the woman he’d met. One day, when his father was leaving The Met - he’d become a director of programs - his eye landed on a woman who looked so familiar, her hand clutched by a child, no older than 10. That moment was Nate’s first memory of his dad.

He remembers sitting in his dad’s house, a wide and bright space that was 20 minutes from where they’d met on those huge steps. This man had given them a ride and was now setting tea in front of his mother, but Nate was playing with his dog. He remembers snippets of the conversation - his mom was apologizing a lot. Apparently she hadn’t wanted to see him. They were in the States to visit her sister, Nate’s aunt. He remembers that this man kept looking between his mom and him & he looked so confused. Finally, he remembers a silence falling over the room and the man asked a question. Nate couldn’t make it out but his mother’s response was clear, definite; “Yes. He’s yours.”

At the time, Nate had no idea what that meant. He hadn’t yet been given the talk and his mother didn’t explain her relationship to this man. She introduced him - Nathan couldn’t remember his name - and said that he was an old friend from college. But soon, he found himself with this man more often. His mother invited him to join them at his aunt’s birthday party. When they flew back home to England, his mother would often be stuck on the phone with her old friend from college. One day, a year or so after their New York trip, his mother was picking him up from school, nervously pressing her thumb nail into the steering wheel. She asked if he remembered her friend from college, the one they’d seen while in New York. Nate did. She asked if he’d like to take another trip to New York to see his aunt, to see her old friend from college & maybe stay longer this time - like maybe the whole summer holidays?

They stayed the whole summer and when fall came around and it was time for Nathan and his mother to return home, he was sad - he was going to miss his aunt, he was going to miss the excitement of living Stateside. The rest of his year was almost a blur - his school year went by relatively painlessly, though he had begun to feel the hurt of being one of the only brown kids in school - and eventually spring had returned. His mom, again, sat him down and began asking questions. Eventually, and now Nate was smart enough to see where this was going from the start, she asked Nate how he would feel about moving to the States, about living with his aunt for a while. The move itself was quick and before he knew it, Nate and his mother settled in the States. He spent his days at school and his afternoons in extracurriculars - his new school had an art program that Nate was excelling in. They spent nights hanging out with his aunt or his mom’s college friend and for the first time in his young life, Nate felt comfortable. His mom’s friend had begun taking him to the museums, explaining the complexities of the canvas hanging on the walls and asking for his opinion on the work.

When Nate was about halfway through his junior year of high school, his mother and her college friend were both in the car when he was picked up from school. It wasn’t entirely all that weird - he wasn’t dumb enough to think that they weren’t dating, but Nate did always wonder why his mother never broached the subject with him. It’s not like he was a little kid anymore, for fuck’s sake - if your kid is old enough to date, they’re old enough to know who you’re dating. Nate probably couldn’t tell you the rest of what happened that day. He remembered getting home and grabbing a snack, as he always does, and he remembered getting told to sit down by his mother, that she had something important to tell him.

Nate’s life split into the before and the now - before Stephen was his father & now. While typically a rather well-mannered teenager, Nate was furious. Sure, his mom didn’t have to disclose her love life if she didn’t want to, but to know that Stephen was his That they’d known since the start and never told him? He thought back to their first visit to New York, when they ran into Stephen on the steps of the Met - he remembered his mom was surprised, thrown off her guard, but never uncomfortable, never not wanting to be around this man.

He slammed the door on his way out of the house, hopping on his bike and riding off. That night was the first night he ever acted out - Nate made it to his friend’s place out in the suburbs and snuck in their basement window. The rest of his friends, along with a couple girls he knew from his English Lit class, were circled around a small table, upon which sat a small tray & a bong. Nate welcomed the small act of rebellion, in the face of such shocking news, & spent his night testing his limits.

His parents, as he now so affectionately referred to them as, soon regretted telling Nate at such a volatile age. He soon spent all his evenings with his friends, sneaking into the house after midnight (if he’s early) and going straight up to his room. They tried not to push it and Nate was torn between appreciating being left alone and pissed that no one cared how he felt. His mom had tried to address it a couple times but Nate always shut down, refusing to give her more than a two word response.

It went on like that for 2 years, silence, short answers, tension. At 18, Nathan found himself going off to college, moving across the country to attend UCLA. He lived off his parents money, figuring the least they could do after years of absconding from the truth. And he lived lavishly - drinks on him every time his friends went to the bars, new clothes, new shoes, everything he could want.

He graduated with minimal rule infractions, an MIP here, possession of controlled substance there. But his parents always paid for a lawyer, flew out for the week and handled everything for him. After college, Nathan bounced around for a year, spent a couple months in LA, three in New York, and another 6 or so in a van his parents had financed, driving around the US.

Six months on the road proved to be exhausting, however, and Nathan found himself back in one of his first stops at the start of his trip, Heartsdale. It wasn’t long before he signed a lease on an apartment downtown and spent his days as a barista at Legal Grounds. He didn’t necessarily need the job - his parents still financed his whole life - but it was nice to have something to meet people in town. After a while, however, being a barista became boring. Nate spent his time admiring the local work they had pinned for sale on their walls, admiring the fine line work and critiquing in the way he’d spent four year training to do. On a walk, he found himself fantasizing about owning his own gallery, having his space to curate an experience. Nate’s eyes caught on every single ‘For Lease’ sign downtown, pausing and forcing himself not to take a peek inside. It wasn’t reasonable, he told himself. Irrational, at best. He had no experience managing anything, no experience building something from nothing.

And yet… he couldn’t help. One brisk morning, the sun was bright against a For Lease sign, practically screaming the numbers at him. His fingers were typing the numbers into his phone before he even realized what he was doing. It was 4:23am, the downside of an opening shift at a coffee shop, and he wasn’t expecting anyone to pick up anyway. “Morning, uh,” he paused - was he really doing this? “My name is Nate Arnoult and I’m interested in the space you’ve got on 1st and..”

Moving in was quick, it only took 6 months before Nathan settled in the space above the retail spot. He spent his first night with his friends, drinking and dancing. His friends, just as ecstatic as he, commended him - Nate had been hemming & hawing about opening a gallery space for months and to finally have a space, a place to start… Nathan was on cloud nine. And it went better than he thought it did. The art scene extended out of his small town and he was able to show pieces from all over Georgia. He even flew out to other states, offered small artists a space in his show room. The rest, he supposed, is history. He’s been living a comfortable life and still maintains contact with his parents, despite their rocky past - not friendly, but not fatal either.

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a-duck-with-a-book · 3 years

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REVIEW // Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle, #1) by Jay Kristoff

★☆☆☆☆

So I’m very late to the party, but I just finished reading Nevernight by Jay Kristoff I had such high hopes for this series based off of what people recommending it had told me and what I read about it before picking up. Dark fantasy? Check. Strong leading lady? I’m here for it. Gays? It’s literally my only personality trait. Sign me up. Unfortunately, this book fell flat in all those categories. It reminded me a lot of Sarah J. Maas’s Throne of Glass, which made me take one point off of to begin with simply for making me think of Maas’s writing. Overall, I just found the book to be too predictable, with bad writing, exposition, and pacing, and too many parts that just made me ~uncomfortable~.

In case you are not familiar with this novel, Nevernight tells the story of Mia Corvere, a girl who lost her family when she was a child after her father was convicted of treason. When the book begins, she is 16 years old and embarking on a journey to join the Red Church, a school for assassins, so that she may one day be able to avenge her father’s death. Along the way she meets a bunch of forgettable characters whose names I can’t be bothered to remember and is taught by the most fearsome killers in the Republic. Here she gains many valuable skills, like how to survive being poisoned, how to fight, and how to get big boobs.

+ Side note: by chapter 3 three I started picturing Mia as the crow guy from RWBY and I could not shake that for the rest of the book

I had many issues with this novel that I will try to summarize in some sort of coherent fashion, but to be honest this book sucked the will to live out of me so I don’t know how much energy I can put into this review.

// image: official cover art by Jason Chan //

FOOTNOTES

The footnotes were probably the most jarring element of the book for me, and, unfortunately, there’s a lot of them. Their function seems to be twofold:

they are the form of most of the world-building, explaining several customs, the history of the institutions and peoples Mia meets, and the mythology followed by the people of the Republic.

they allow for the narrator of our story to interrupt with comical one-liners or cryptic foreshadowing

In my humble opinion, both of these are unnecessary and stupid. The interruptions come off as crass and immature and make the other more textbook, boring exposition come off as a joke, especially when it is dealing with sensitive or serious topics. There is one that explains this brothel called the Seven Flavors, which the footnote explains refer to “Boy, Girl, Man, Woman, Pig, Horse, and, if sufficient notice and coin was given, Corpse.” Now, on its own, this passing mention of pedophilia, bestiality, and necrophilia could very well contribute to the world building and tone of the novel, but when placed side by side with the childish, joking tone of the “cue the violiiiiiiiins” or, regarding the acoustics of a room, “…they were, as it happens, exceptional. Falalalalalalaaaaaaaa”, come off as way too light-hearted for the topic at hand. Maybe I’m being way too sensitive, but I’m pretty tired of authors using serious topics as off-hand remarks as a lazy way to make their world daker and grittier. Plus, these footnotes were just so incredibly cringy that I would recoil from second-hand embarrassment every time. They resemble the things I wrote when I was 14 and trying (and miserably failing) to be funny. Also… there are way too many of them. While at first I appreciated the attempt to deepen the lore of the story (I’m a sucker for world-building), after a while it became evident that the author was just forcing information down our throats without taking the time to actually weave the lore and background into the story itself. It came off as a very lazy way to force exposition.

OVERLY FLOWERY LANGUAGE

This story is BRIMMING with similes and metaphors, like every other sentence is some overly complicated way to describe something that could have been presented in three words. When you include so many metaphors/similes/etc., they begin to lose power. They should allow the reader to extrapolate more meaning and emotion from a sentence, but if the book is bursting at the seams with them, they become increasingly ordinary, to the point of losing all of their luster. One prime example appears on page 30:

“It was a bucktoothed little shithole, and no mistake. Not the most miserable building in all creation. [here there is a footnote about some other inn/brothel] But if the inn were a man and you stumbled into him in a bar, you’d be forgiven for assuming he had—after agreeing enthusiastically to his wife’s request to bring another woman into their marriage bed—discovered his bride making up a pallet for him in the guest room.”

So first of all what the fuck is that supposed to mean? That whole paragraph is a fever dream. Let’s begin with “bucktoothed little shithole”. Bucktoothed? Really? What does that mean. Please, someone explain to be right now what a bucktoothed building is. Is it uneven? Is it awkward? Is it half-finished? Is one side longer than the other? Did they do a bad paint job that only covers on side? Are the windows askew? Is the door too big for its frame? We already know from the paragraph above that it is “disheveled” as well, so why the need for another weird phrasing of its appearance? We then move on to that whole JOURNEY of a sentence, where the inn is compared to a man being cuckolded. That is the most insane tale-can you imagine running into someone in a bar and that story being the VERY FIRST thing that runs through your mind??? I know I’m focusing way too much on this stupid paragraph, but basically what I am trying to get at is that even though we spend half a page talking about how bucktoothed and disheveled and cuckolded this building is, we get no actual physical description of it. Imagine if Kristoff had just written that it was a run-down, ill-kept building that looked as worse for wear as its owner did. Done, one sentence. Great. Let’s move on. Instead, we spend so long reading these absolutely batshit descriptions that ultimately tell us next to nothing. Flowery language is placed over actual context. You may think that a description this long and complex means that this inn is a significant or recurring setting in the novel. Nope. It’s not. Mia leaves and that’s that. The reason that I’m focusing so much on this objectively irrelevant paragraph is because it is so representative of the biggest issue I have with the writing in this book. There are so many unnecessary comparisons that function only to make the author feel clever rather than add anything to the story at all. It’s very à la 2010s Tumblr.

THE (IN MY OPINION, BAD) WRITING

For the first half of the book, we are constantly being TOLD things rather than being SHOWN things. With the exception of one of the teachers cutting off Mia’s arm, we rarely see the ruthlessness that the assassins are so feared for, but we hear about it in nearly every other sentence Where are the consequences? I think this book would have been way more enjoyable if there were actually consequences to the characters’ actions. The inclusion of the weaver and the weird vampire guy completely remove any tension regarding the fate of the central cast. When Mia had her arm chopped off, I was shocked, and pleasantly surprised. How was she going to overcome this unexpected obstacle in her training? Then a couple pages later, its reattached with absolutely no lasting consequences. All of the initial tension and shock value of the loss of Mia’s arm is entirely removed because of the two incest-y siblings. Their entire purpose for existing is just to undo all damage to the main characters. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Mia is willing to take on a ton of consequences and completely throw away her chance at becoming initiated in order to avenge her family just to save Tric from receiving like one punishment??? Like why?? As an aside, the only moment I truly enjoyed was when Ash fucking stabbed Tric to death. I assume that when the reader’s favorite moment is one of the central characters’ death, it does not bode well for their reception of the book.

THE THEMES

TW: rape-y subjects

The author seemed a little too keen to include rape and sexual assault in his story. Mia withdrew her consent in the sex scene in the very first chapter, and even if you read it as consensual (which I do not), it is described as incredibly unpleasant on her end. Tric is the result of a rape, which is brought up several times throughout the story. Further, Mia is constantly facing harassment from men. I understand that this is frames the idea that the world she lives in is misogynistic and ruthless, but there are other ways to push that idea through other than constantly putting in her in those situations. As in, this didn’t need to be the ONLY way we explored this subject. Beyond the uncomfortable propensity for sexual assault, I also very much disliked the sexualization of the 16-year-old main character. Oh. My. Gosh. Mia is CONSTANTLY sexualized. Every single damn character makes comments about her body, how hot she is, how much sex she potentially has. It is so weird and uncomfortable. I feel the need to reiterate that she is SIXTEEN. There is, however, a focus placed on the power Mia can gain from seducing her targets. Girl power? Not to me, really. The issue I have with this is the idea that a woman has to be overtly sexual in order to be considered powerful. This is something that we can see in many female assassins and supposedly powerful female characters in fiction (like Black Widow) especially those written by men. Now, there is nothing wrong with using one’s sexuality as a weapon, and I’m certainly not saying that a strong female character cannot be sexual, but the idea that a sixteen-year-old girl is shown having her body painfully modified tp be more desirable, and in a graphic sex scene with another character, in order to for the reader to read her as liberated and powerful does not sit well with me. I don’t really feel like this aspect of her training should be relevant to the overall story. I wish the time that Kristoff had dedicated to hammering into our heads that Mia is a femme fatale to developing her Darkin powers instead. The way she is written now feels more like she is a faux strong female character written for a male audience.

Secondly, Mia is fully written as “the plain-girl-who-is-actually-pretty”. This whole trope bothers me IMMENSELY. YA is full of girls who are described as plain, forgettable, or ugly while their physical descriptions are just the dictionary definition of conventionally attractive. It seems like a way to market off of girls’ self-consciousness while still being able to market the main character as a hot heroine in official art. And there is, of course, the issue of Mia’s boob job Readwithcindy (just “withcindy” now!) did a whole video about this so I won’t get into it much just to repeat what she already said, but I agree that the idea of a 30-something year old man including this completely unnecessary detail regarding the sexualization of teenage girl, who we have ALREADY seen in a rape and being sexualized by other men in the story, made me really, really, uncomfortable. I highly recommend you go watch her video, as she touches on this in way more detail. [Cindy's video

RATINGS

Worldbuilding: ★★☆☆☆

A lot of thought obviously went into the world-the mythology, society, and politics are well-thought out. But the way they are introduced is annoying and bland. It seems like the author put a lot of effort into constructing this world but realized a lot of it would be left out of the book, so he crammed it into footnotes instead.

Tone and writing style: ★☆☆☆☆ for first half, ★★★☆☆ for second half

The tone of the first half is all over the place, like it doesn’t know if it should be dark and gritty or comical and immature. Footnotes and character dialogue ranges from lighthearted and crass to seeped with themes of torture and sexual assault. It is jarring, to say the least, and often feels like the author doesn’t take these ideas of rape or violence seriously. There are so many instances where the scene is tense or gritty, and Kristoff is actually writing it pretty well, I’m enthralled and on the edge of my seat, and then Mia or some other character (or the footnotes) throw in some stupid comment or make the same “Mia is such an asshole lol” joke for the billionth time and completely ruin the mood of that scene. The second half of the book moved much faster and was helped with way better writing, but it really did not do enough to make up for the horrendous structure of the first half of the book.

Pacing and structure: ★☆☆☆☆

The first half of the book really drags on. Once we arrive at the school, there are constant jumps in timeline, marked with periods when a thousand things happen all at once and the plot moves forward at a dizzying rate, and others when the characters just seem to be going about their daily lessons.

Concept: ★★★☆☆

I found the overall idea of the books to be very interesting, even though it is certainly not the most original or unique concept for a YA fantasy book. The issue is that the potential is squandered with a poor execution.

Characters: ★☆☆☆☆

I truly did not care about any of the characters. The token mean girl, the bumbling nice-guy-who-is-definitely-the-love-interest. too many of the characters just sat nicely within their tropes, doing nothing much to pique my interests. I think my favorite overall was Mister Kindly.

18 notes · View notes

lassluna · 3 years

Text

CS January Joy Day 31: A Happy Ending (well, that depends on where you stop the story)

Emma Swan was a criminal. A thief. A forger sentenced to four years for bond forgery. Killian Jones was the agent sent to catch her. And catch her he did, but after an escape attempt, an exploded PO Box and a deal an unusual partnership is formed, one that will give them both all that they ever wanted or lead to mutual destruction. White Collar AU

Ao3 FFN

AN:I am very thankful to @csjanuaryjoy for finally getting me to write this. It's been a wild year and hopefully this next one will bring a bit more joy. Thank you @teamhook and @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading for me.

“How did it start?”

It started like most stories if she’s being honest, which she rarely is.

It started with a stolen car, stolen watches, so much stealing, so much theft, so many lies that she had forgotten where Emma, the lost orphan girl, ended and where ‘The Swan’, grifter, forger, liar, thief began. Her reputation grew, as did her steady collection of wealth.

It started with a boy and a girl, lost and alone and unwanted in the world and turned into some wannabe Bonnie and Clyde duo who just wanted to be seen, to be heard, and to take back what the world took for them.

They lied, cheated, and stole for the sake of it. And they were good at it. There’s something about being alone and unwanted that just made it easier to pretend. Sometimes a lawyer, other times a high profile gambler rubbing elbows with mobsters and politicians alike. One time she pretended to be Leila Lucas, princess of a far off land in order to get close to some crown jewels. They pretended that these lives, these rich, luxurious important lives were theirs. They pretended that they deserved these things because they could take them.

And take them they did. The car, the watches, the bonds, the jewels, the paintings, they took them all.

Emma loved the paintings, the art, the beauty. She loved looking at things that gave people feelings. It made her feel a little less alone.

Neal loved the money, the thrill, the ways the world bent to their will, the way it rushed through their veins.

It started with young love. It started good, and they were happy.

“How did it end?”

It ended like most stories, or at least it seemed like that to him.

He was a simple FBI agent, chasing her, tracking her, trying to prove to the world the crimes she commited. Part of him always thought that was what she’d wanted. She wanted her crimes to be seen, noticed. She wanted to be known, not disappear into the shadows.

He understood that, he was trying to prove himself too. Killian was a good FBI agent with a shitty childhood and an even worse family history. But he wanted to be great. He wanted to escape the shadows and prove that he was better than those who came before.

He just wanted to do his job. He wanted to catch her. He wanted to catch 'The Swan'. He spent years hunting her. He was supposed to be just one more FBI agent who tried to catch a break and then went on to the easier, flasher cases.

But not Killian. He had no intention of giving up. Because The Swan was special. She was as elusive as they come, never staying in one place too long, always running, running, running.

There were two of them he knew, but it was always her. She was the one planning things out, making the big moves, making the forgeries, being seen. Never him. He knew that once they got her, his crime spree would end. She was the one that they had proof for. She was the brains and the brawns behind their every operation.

But the problem was that as the years went by, as he got closer to catching her, he learned a lot about Swan. He learned how she likes her hot chocolate: with cinnamon. He learned she also had a shitty childhood; an orphan at birth, bounced around to one foster home after another. He learned she hated violence. Her jobs were smart and with little to no chance of anyone ever getting hurt.

And she got to know him too, if the gifts and the birthday cards proved anything. ‘Know thy enemy’ as they say. But no one ever said to send your enemy flirty postcards, uber eat deliveries of your favorite take out places on stake outs, or gifts to your younger sister on her birthday.

He doesn’t remember when it happened, but they had an appreciation for each other.

Smart, his little sister said once when he was home for a few days before he had to go back out to chase her. You always liked smart.

It ended like most stories, a betrayal and a trap. He knew it was a trap and let her fall right into it. Neal Cassidy, her partner in crime traded away ‘The Swan’ like she was nothing. Honor among thieves seemed to have skipped him in that lesson.

The look on her face when she was caught, trapped, was painful to him. Her eyes were green fury as the truth became obvious to her. Her eyes looked at Neal who was leaving out the back, and then on him.

"It's about time we met properly," he told her as the uniform officer arrested her. “Agent Jones of the New York FBI White Collar division.” She didn't respond to him. He never expected her to.

It ended with a defeated bird who flew too close to the sun.

“Then what happened?”

Then began nearly four years later with Killian Jones, being pulled away from his current case for a jailbreak. ‘The Swan’ had escaped 3 weeks short of her 4 year sentence. It had been years since he even heard her name. Her capture had been his shining moment, it had made his career.

Her escape had been flawless. Her long hair, chopped off, a guard uniform ordered with the warden’s own credit card.

She was in the wind with no hope of being found.

“Road blocks, wanted posters, people posted at the train stations and airports,” the marshals told him, but Killian knew her, knew Emma.

They wouldn’t catch her with the traditional methods.

She didn’t escape for the traditional reasons.

She had been a model prisoner, kept her head down and out of trouble, so why leave now? It had taken months of planning. So he went back, when did she start planning her escape? When did things change?

She got visits from him, from Neal. The vile excuse of a man who got her caught in the first place. He knew better than to judge someone for going back to familiar patterns. Especially trapped in prison.

But his visits stopped nearly a month ago. The man went from visiting weekly with a smile and a magazine to nothing.

So Killian looked at that tape, the final visit from the conman who got away with it. He wasn't surprised by what he saw. His last visit was final. He had all the body language of it. A pained smile, looking shifty and nervous. Emma had stood, slamming her fist on the glass; he'd seen tears on her cheeks when the guards dragged her back, back towards her cell. She’d screamed and pleaded.

But Neal left anyway.

“Ariel,” he said to the younger agent. She was a bright new recruit, his favorite of the probies. “Get me anything you have on Neal Cassidy and all his known aliases.” Ariel was very good at finding exactly what he needed in moments like this. A cold blooded shark in a sea of misinformation.

They find her in an empty apartment, cradling a dreamcatcher in her hand. She looks the same as the last time he’d seen her. Heartbroken. They were in Neal's apartment. The one he rented a few weeks after her trial.

(Killian remembered seeing him there, full of sorries and excuses. Word on the street was that no one wanted to work with him after that. Honor among thieves was apparently much more important than the man thought.)

“How many are here?” she asks as he enters. Her back towards a pillar in the middle of the room.

“Between the FBI, the Marshals, NYPD...everyone,” he chuckled. He’d told them they hadn’t needed to corner off the streets like this. Emma had never been violent. “They’re going to give you another four years for this, you know that right?”

Emma laughed a humorless laugh. “I was two days late,” she admits, obviously not caring one bit about what he said.

“And that’s all he left you?”

“It means goodbye,” Emma admitted. He gave her a small smile, knowing nothing he can say will help. “I can’t believe they dragged you here for this after all this time.” He wasn’t that surprised. Catching her the first time had been his defining moment; if he failed the second time, they could write it off as a fluke.

“It’s been a long time, Swan.” She smirked at the name. “But can’t blame them. I was the only one who caught you, none of the others even got close.” She looked at him quizzically.

He was dusty, fresh from an exploded PO box that his latest case--nicknamed The Dutchman-- had left specifically for him. There were strange threads left on his clothing that none of the Harvard grad FBI agents could tell him anything about. It was something that had agitated him greatly before he’d been pulled here, to find her.

“This guy’s good,” he told her, watching her look him over. “Maybe even better than you. I’ve been hunting him for a few months now and-” She moved quickly, standing and plucking one of the threads off his jacket blazer. It shined strangely as it caught the light. Killian could hear the marshals, or maybe S.W.A.T. pounding through the doors a few floors beneath them.

“What’s it worth if I can tell you what this is?” she asked, handing it to him.

“What-”

“I can tell you what these are right now in exchange,” she said quickly. He could practically see the thoughts and plans race in her mind. Time was running out. “In exchange for a meeting,” she concluded.

“A meeting?” he asked.

“A meeting in one week. Deal?” she asked. They were coming. Killian nodded. Despite his misgivings, it was only a meeting.

“That’s the new security fiber to the Canadian $100 bill,” she said, just in time for the other agents to drag her away. Her smile is bright and mischievous as she refuses to break their gaze until the last possible moment. “I’ll see you in a week!”

“And I was right. It was. According to Agent Jones, it nearly created an international incident.”

“Did you catch him?”

“We did.”

It hadn’t been easy, not for Emma now wearing an ankle monitor to keep her in check--a fact that made her insides squirm at the thought of being tethered-- where anything going bad meant she had to go back to prison with no hope of finding Neal.

It made her heart race in that familiar way of when she was a child and got placed. When one wrong move meant they'd send her back.

“He did a good job disappearing,” Ruby told her in the shadows of Granny’s guest house. Because her friend knew that her first priority was finding Neal.

(She’d run into the old woman at a thrift store looking for some new clothes to wear after seeing the seedy motel Killian had tried to put her in.

She’d met a kindred spirit in the older woman, a thief after her own heart so to speak. Emma would never forget the look on Killian’s face when he saw her new view. He’d turned to the older woman, “You know she has a criminal record right?” he’d asked her.

Granny had taken it in stride, leaning forward with a smirk. ��So did my wife.” she said with a wink.)

"Keep looking, Ruby. I need to find him," she told her friend, her oldest friend. She’d been her partner in crime once, when working with Neal had come with extra stress and baggage. With Ruby things were simpler, easier. Ruby was in the information business. She knew what was being run and where. She knew all the local fences, all the local forgers. If Neal was in the city, Ruby would be able to find him.

Ruby nodded, but she looked worried. She glanced at the anklet in apprehension. Then back at her. All the tell tale signs that Ruby wanted to say something but worried for her reaction.

“You know you don’t need him right?” she blurted out. “You’re so much better than him Emma, more talent for this stuff in your pinky then he has in his whole body. He was nothing without you and everyone knew it,” she said, practically bristling with every word. “He betrayed you, why go through so much to find him?” Emma felt her fists clench, along with anger, fury, loss.

Neal Cassidy was a loaded question where she didn’t have an answer.

But she pushed it down. She pushed it down deep. A smile appeared on her face. There was so much. So much she didn’t know, so much no one knew.

Emma couldn’t risk it.

“It’s complicated Ruby,” she said finally. “But in the meantime, what do you know about The Dutchman?”

It had been difficult, Emma had noticed a particular signature in some forged Canadian bond. It was one that Emma recognized. Lilly Prescott. She was a well known forger that was very good at staying well under the radar. The FBI had never even heard of her which was a testament to her ability.

Emma had tried to work with her once. Her work was good and her planning was even better. But the woman couldn’t help but take things that didn’t belong to her, couldn’t help but press Emma’s buttons in all the worse ways.

It had taken seeing her tongue down Neal’s throat to learn two things: that they couldn’t work together and that it was time to grow up.

And grow up she did when they walked into a church Lilly had been restoring. The little wench had leered at her and Killian. “Emma Swan,” she’d said with a cheeky grin when she caught them comparing her work with that of the signature. “I don’t exactly feel comfortable having a known art thief around my work.”

“Allegedly,” Emma corrected her. She’d never been caught for her art theft. A point of pride if she’s being honest. Just a few forged bonds.

She says glancing at Killian. “Who’s your friend.”

“Just a friend,” Killian assured Lilly as they shook hands.

“Emma doesn’t have any friends,” Lilly pointed out. “Unless you count Neal of course. But with friends like that, who needs enemies?” she laughed.

The name turned in her stomach, like something good that turned rotten, like a vice grip on her that she still couldn’t shake.

Not until she found him.

“Of course,” Killian agreed, glancing her way. I know she’s trying to get under your skin, his gaze told her as she pushed her walls firmer in place. If Killian could see that this woman could affect her, it worried her what else he could see.

“You wouldn’t know anything about a thief known as The Dutchman would you?” Emma asked innocently. Because if there was one thing Emma knew, it was that Lilly hated being outdone. “I hear his work is second only to...oh you know.” She smirked at her. “Allegedly of course.”

“Of course,” Lilly said, an edge to her words. It’s all Emma needed to hear. Because she knows she did it. That’s what she tells Killian after they’re asked to leave the church.

“I know she did it Killian.” his hand on her arm halted her pacing. “Did you see the look on her face?”

He did, she knew he did. “I believe you Swan, but we need proof,” Killian insisted. “That’s how this works.”

Proof came with Emma breaking into Lily’s warehouse and Killian coming and arresting them both. She’d cut her anklet after all, seizing all Lily’s things that were in plain sight.

It turned out reading all those law books in prison counted for something.

“And then your partnership was born.”

And it was good, if Killian was honest, it was better than he ever expected when Emma had proposed this deal. She showed up every day for work. She often showed up in ridiculously expensive suits with a fedora on her head. He’d groaned when he first saw it, earning an elbow in his side and a “You just don’t understand fashion.”

(Trouble, like the woman who occasionally gave Emma tips about the criminals they were hunting, the woman who introduced herself rather reluctantly as a Missy Wolfe when Killian had showed up unannounced, who looked him over with a predatory glare and called him a ‘suit’.

“She doesn’t trust cops.” Emma had explained later. “She’s harmless, I promise.”

But she sure did know how to drink all Killian’s beer that’s for sure.)

Every day they would use her knowledge of the criminal underworld to find white collar criminals. After several weeks, they had a 92% closure rate and an even higher recovery rate.

But there was still this thing hanging above them. Between them. A secret they both knew about but refused to talk about.

And his name was Neal Cassidy.

Killian could tell she was looking for him no matter how many times he told her not to. Neal was her weakness, the one thing that caused the normally level headed woman to lose her bloody mind. This was a good thing for her. Emma Swan would rot behind bars and this way at least she was doing good.

Emma Swan liked doing good. He could tell, even when she refused to admit it.

She brought him his picture one day while they’re on their way to speak to a witness, the picture was from an atm in Tallahassee. “Please.” She begged. “I need to find him, to see him. Come with me please, send an agent, the marshals, send me in full shackles and prison oranges I don’t care.”

He had never seen her so desperate, not when he caught her, not when she asked him for this...arrangement. “Swan...what we have here...it’s good. It’s a second chance for you, why risk it for him? He put you here. Why risk it all for him?”

She didn’t respond, hands tightened into fists as she looked down. Killian swore he saw something in her expression something that would explain how this intelligent woman being so infatuated with-

“You’re right.” She says, her voice level. Eyes hard like steel. “There is no reason for me to be chasing Neal Cassidy.” She hissed the words.

Killian doesn’t have her super power, but he knows there’s more to the story than she’s letting on. “If there’s something you’re not telling me-” But she shook her head.

“You said it’s not happening, and what does it matter what I want.” She says shifting on her feet, shifting the anklet like she always does when she feels particularly trapped. “I’m just your CI. A convict without a choice in any of this.”

He stops her right there. “Swan, when have I ever treated you like you don’t have a choice in this? If you don’t like what we ask of you, if you think it’s too riky all you have to do is say the word and-”

“-And I go to prison.” She snapped. “I go back there and rot.” Her temper was flaring and Killian stepped back, fearing getting burned.

“When have I ever threatened you with that?” He asked sincerely. “When have I ever told you that unless you go undercover with this mobster, or that corporate trader that you’d be shipped back?” He says.

Emma doesn’t respond, head dipping slightly. “What about the other agents? That’s what they said would happen.” She admitted in a small voice. “And really, the jobs we do, they’re fine. I don’t feel endangered.” She assured him simply.

“Emma, I swear to you, your safety and happiness is just as important as these jobs. You are not just a criminal.” He says sternly. He steps closer to her, wanting her to look at him and hear him. Seeing her cowed and unnerved unsettled him. “Try something new darling, it’s called trust.”

“Trust doesn’t exactly come easy to me.” Emma admitted. “There’s really no way I can get to Tallahassee?” She asked once more.

Killian sighed.

The moment they finished the job, he sent a message to Ariel.

“Get me anything you can on Neal Cassidy’s recent activity and do it discreetly.” He says.

“Why?” She asked. It was why he valued the younger agent as much as he does, she knows when to put her head down and do as he asks, but she also knows when to press him for details.

“Emma’s not going to stop pursuing Neal.” He told her. “I want to know what she finds out, finding Neal ourselves is the best way to know what she’s up to.”

She handed him a file on the man the next morning, a file Killian took back home with him at the end of the night. He couldn’t risk Emma catching him snooping on her ex. He felt silly hiding it, but the thought of her knowing he was doing so filled him with dread.

“Maybe you should tell her you’re jealous.” Belle informed him as she came home from class, seeing him consumed with the file at their kitchen table. His little sister always seemed to come home from her classes at just the right moment to see him when he’s consumed with a case.

“I’m not jealous Belle.” He says quickly, closing the file. “I’m being thorough.”

He is. There was something there, his gut feels it. There’s something about this man that Emma was hiding from him.

“After all the cat and mouse you’ve done with her, I bet she’d tell you if you asked.” Belle informs him. But Killian disagreed, he knows she won't be truthful with him if he asked. It’ll be an evasive answer framed to have him pointed in the opposite direction. It was how she worked while on the run. This is the only way.

“How do you know?” Killian asked. “You’ve never even met her.” He reminded her.

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Then the Diamond heist.”

“Then the Diamond heist”

It had happened quickly. A diamond heist that had been done with such perfection Emma was generally impressed. They had video surveillance in the vault and nowhere else. It was as if they just vanished, and considering that New York had extensive video surveillance it was impressive.

It was a job she would do once upon a time. Just the kind of take that was exciting enough to catch her attention. But that was in the past.

Emma was determined to keep her head down when it came to jobs. She had a bigger problem on her hands. Someone had Neal, or at least was putting pressure on him. He’d signaled her from an ATM camera in Tallahassee.

Their plan had always been Tallahassee, a city in the middle of Florida of all places. No one would expect anyone who had stolen millions of dollars of artifacts to retire there of all places. It was perfect. They were going to have the life they always wanted growing up.

(It just so happened that Emma had told him that’s where she had her stash at.

A lie. A trap. Bait he had fallen for now after all this time. Never once did he leave his apartment in New York, only now did that stone come loose. It had to mean something.)

But not everyone knew that Emma was done with that life. Not even her most trusted confidant --and partner in more than one crime--Ruby believed her.

“Of course I didn’t do it.” She’d hissed into the phone when the brunette asked her excitedly. “But do you know who did?”

“None of my contacts know anything, sorry Em. I’ll keep an ear out.” She answered. Emma can hear the sounds of birds on the other end. She knew better than to ask. “That’s why I thought it was you.”

It wasn’t long after that that the forged diamond is shown to have a small swan etched into it. One that matched the ones she left in her forged bonds. It became very clear very fast that she was being framed.

“Killian, you need to know I didn’t do this.” She insisted, backing away from them in the parking lot after having been confronted. “You have to believe me.” Her eyes looked for him. She needed to know he believed her.

It didn’t matter who else did, just him. Because if Killian didn’t have her back then who would?

“Killian?” She asked when he didn't meet her gaze. He did eventually. He looked saddened. “You know I was set up right?”

Killian didn’t respond. It made her furious. It reminded her of the real situation here. She was just the criminal and he was just her handler. Any semblance of a partnership was just a figment of her imagination.

“Swan...” He said softly. “If what you’re saying is true, I swear to you I will get to the bottom of it.” I believe you. “But until then...Emma Swan you are under arrest...”

Back to prison. Back to the cell. Back to being helpless while Neal is off with-

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not when someone was trying to frame her. The same person who was holding Neal, she was sure of it.

So Emma did what she did best. She ran.

She ran and ran and ran. She’d spent every day on her walks to the office coming up with escape routes through a city she knows too well. The agents depend too much on the anklet to catch her.

The tracker is tamper proof but no one ever said it was foolproof. All it takes is a sharp knife and a toss over the edge of one of the many footbridges in Manhattan for it to be a useless blinking distraction.

Every bone in her body tells her to run as fast and as far as she can. It wouldn’t take much to get out of the city, some cash from one of Ruby’s stashes and a visit to some supplies for a new ID. All she would have to do is say the word and Ruby would run with her. She was good like that, always ready to get into all sorts of trouble for her.

But if she did, if she ran then she would be as good as guilty of this crime. She would never get a chance to prove her innocence. She would never get her chance to find Neal.

She had to find Neal.

I believe you. Killian had tried to tell her that. Maybe it was time to try that thing called trust...

It’s how she meets Belle because while Killian is off coordinating with the Marshals, she’s drinking tea with the sweet brunette she had sent an 18th birthday gift to a few years back.

Killian Jones’s little sister was as fierce as her brother. Belle asked her if she’d done the crime she’d been accused of.

No.

And she had leveled her with a steel glare. “Then Killian will prove it.” She’d said with such certainty, such conviction that she understood a bit about Killian’s stubbornness. It was genetic. “You just need to trust him.”

Emma did. Emma really did, more than she trusted anyone. He was honest, a good man. He was fierce keeping her out of the line of danger when at all possible and he cared for her. Moments like this reminded Emma of why everything had gone so wrong.

I’m tired of running.

“I’m going to call him.” Belle says, not a question. “If you don’t think you can, if you really think Killian won’t have your back after everything, you have until then to leave.” Emma doesn’t move. Not when Belle is talking to Killian about her classes, about having found a stray bird in their patio. (Code for her she assumes)

That’s when she sees the blinking in the cable box and she knows. She knows that this is all a lot bigger than the two of them.

Killian was positively furious when he arrived, all red faced and fuming. “Bloody hell Swan!” Killian hisses when he storms in. “Why did you come here?” Emma didn’t know, not really. Just an instinct and her instinct was telling her to come here. That he would know what to do. “If you were going to run, why come here?! You involved my sister!”

Emma swallows back her words, fear taking a hold in her chest.

“Killian. Give her a chance.” Belle said, taking a place inbetween. “Just listen.” He did.

“I’ve been tracking Neal.” Emma admitted. “Someone...someone has him.“ she takes out the photo she’d shown him. The whole photo, she had been too afraid to show it to him earlier, the hand on his arm, the shine of something pressed against his ribs. Something that looked very similar to a revolver. “They want something I stole but I can’t-I don’t know what it is. I had a friend of mine poke around and I think I got too close.” She explains. “Because they framed me. It has to be connected, Killian.”

There was no other explanation, stirring this fight or flight instinct in her bones. But she has to hold firm, she has to trust in Killian. Because here she was, all her cards on the table.

“Maybe, but this is not how to do things.” He says sternly. “Running isn’t going to get you anywhere but caught or-” Killian swallows back his words. “That marshal really has it in for you Swan.”

(The marshall in question was one Walshe Greene, appearing the moment they returned to the office wanting to speak to her about the fact that some of her anklet’s tracking data had gotten corrupted.

Data that just so happened to coincide with the robbery. He’d been dickish and entitled, coming into her space when she didn’t crumble under his thinly veiled threats.

Threats she didn’t tell Killian about.)

She pointed over to his deconstructed cable box. “Not just me.” She hissed his way. A bug was in his house, in his home. The home he shared with his sister. “Both of us.”

She sees his barely concealed furry, the shock and fear on Belle’s face. “Whatever is coming, it’s coming for both of us.”

“She was cleared of that.”

“She was. Then you seemed to find her rather quickly, despite telling Marshal Greene that he would catch her with wanted posters and roadblocks.”

“I have exceptional luck.”

Things shifted from there. Instead of working this case on one end and Emma from another, Killian felt her walls fracture ever so slightly, and perhaps the guard he put up around her also came down ever so slightly. Perhaps too much.

(Once they found one bug in his home, Belle was insistent that someone come over and deep clean their place of any form of listening devices. It wasn’t long after the case got wrapped up that Emma called over an ‘exterminator’.

“Missy Wolfe.” She introduced herself to Belle, a smirk on her face. “But you sweetie can call me Red.” Belle had raised an eyebrow at her.

“When Emma mentioned she knew someone, I expected you to be...”

“Less gorgeous?” She’d said with a grin. “And when our mutual friend had said the suit had a cute sister I definitely imagined someone like you.” A surge of protectiveness surged within him at the way that Red was looking at his sister.

“I think you’re here to do a job” He reminded her.

“I am quite a skilled multitasker.” )

She showed him her lead to whoever was after them. A message in the video surveillance, of their breakup and Neal messaging her in morse code by tapping at his side. Dream It meant the dream catcher which led her to a meeting in Grand Central Terminal at the end of the week.

Killian had been there when he called her. Seen her panicked face when she heard his voice. “Give him what he wants.” Neal had said.

“What is it he wants?” She’d asked.

“Give him everything. It’s the only way I can come home, the only way for us to be together.” He said. Killian could feel her heart break when she said the words.

“I can’t Neal. It’s the only leverage I have.” She looked up and Emma ran. She ran because she saw him. She saw her lover that she can’t reach, can’t catch, can’t have. Killian makes him out for a moment but he’s gone. He’s gone by the time they get to where he was, a roof of a building looking down at them.

Emma collapsed in a sob and he was barely in time to catch her. Barely in time for him to hold her. She cried into his chest, something rare and primal and aching.

“I just want him back.” she sobbed and his heart ached for her. He understood the feeling of losing someone you love, of not being able to be with them. He holds her, hand running through her hair, her blonde locks that are growing in from the cut she’d done months before. His head finds a place on the top of her head as he tries his best to comfort her.

Emma came back to herself after a moment, pulling away, rubbing her sadness from her face as easily as putting on a mask.

“We are late for a case aren’t we?”

They are. But there’s something about the vulnerability of Emma in that moment that conflicted with the flirty beautiful woman in front of him that distressed him. Perhaps it’s the ease that her walls come back up.

Or maybe, they aren’t walls, maybe it’s a loosely fitted cork, because their next case involves a kidnapped child and a pair of parents so obsessed with the reading of their dead aunt’s will to even know when the little girl had been taken.

Questions like if the will had been forged, or if the inheritance was filled with counterfeits had become meaningless without the child. A fact that exploded out of Emma at the father who was planning on leaving the country with ‘his’ inheritance before the FBI could interfere. The man had crumbled before her blunt display of emotions, her fury and her grief.

“She deserves better than to be just another pawn in whatever game the two of you are playing.” She hissed. “It’s not about money, take it for someone who’s had a hell of a lot. There’s more to life than numbers on a check and if anything happens to that kid you’re going to learn that the hard way too.”

He understood. He understood then, and he understood later.

“Case hit home for you didn’t it?” He asked afterwards over a beer once the child was reunited with parents that may have learned a thing about family from Emma. An old bookie of the husband had tried to pressure him into complying.

“Little kids are cute, what can I say.” She said evasively while taking the offered beer. That was another sign Emma was still hurting, she hated beer. “She deserves better.” That she did. “You did too.” He smirks, knowing that she knew him better than most. Yet he wondered exactly how much she did know.

“And how much exactly do you know about my childhood?”

“I know that you loved your father, you idolized him. You had his knack for numbers.” She said. “I know he used you as a diversion when the feds came in and busted down your door. He left you and your mom with nothing.” She swallowed and he could see her picking her words carefully. That meant she knew more than most. “I know you learned that he had at least two other families, an elder brother in DC. and a younger sister in Georgia who appeared at your door when you had just lost your mom. You took her in no questions asked.” Killian remembers the day he met his elder brother. The man had been older and took one look at him and wanted nothing to do with him. Killian was just another reminder of what Brennan Jones had done. He also remembers the day several years later when a teenaged Belle had knocked on his door. He took one look at her and remembered what Brennan had done, but he swore to accept her no matter how much the reminder hurt.

“So you know quite a bit, Swan.” He responded. “I also know a bit myself.” He countered.

“Of course you do.” She laughed, “I bet you even know my shoe size.”

“8.5 or sometimes 9 if the shoe runs small.” He said with a smirk. “You left a pair in that hotel in Rio.” A pair of bright red pumps that matched a bright red dress. “Why do you care so much?” Or maybe it’s the beer talking, talking too much if he’s honest. “Neal betrayed you, he left you, why do you care so much about saving him?”

The laughter dies from her face, something heavy takes its place. “Seeing my position a little too similar to your own?” She deflected. “Someone who got left behind just like you?”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you deserve so much better Swan.”

“What exactly do I deserve Agent Jones.” She said, leaning forward. “I’m a criminal.” That she is. But he doesn’t think about that when he leans forward and cups her cheek. He doesn’t think about that when he brushes strands of blonde hair out of her face, nor when he smiles and-

"Has Agent Jones ever behaved unprofessionally?"

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional.

He had to be, with a family history like his. Even Emma’s heard of it through her underground contacts. She’s heard of the legendary Brennan Jones who masterminded a theft like no other, millions of dollars gone in a blink of an eye.

She’d heard through the office gossip about him. About how no one trusted him when he was recruited right out of college, his superiors always made things difficult. Never trusting that he wasn’t just like his father.

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional, that’s what made Emma enjoy the chase so much. Because she knew it was a true battle of wits, not like the muscle head marshals. Killian was smart and honorable. If he was going to catch her, it would be done the right way.He was just like her.

But the way he looks at her sometimes is so not professional in all of the best ways.

Sometimes he looks fuming, mostly when she’s pushed the limits a bit too far, gets in over her head, and just makes it out by the skin of her teeth. But always looks relieved when she makes it out.

Sometimes he looks like she holds the sun and the moon because she’s figured out some con or trick someone pulls. It always comes with a “You’re brilliant Swan.” when no one else is listening. She always shoots back a knowing smirk, tucks a loose strand of blonde behind her ear and replies with “I know.” It always makes him roll his eyes but his expression never wavers.

And that one time, after a particularly draining case, after that little girl with parents who didn’t give a damn about her had been rescued and she thought...she thought he was going to kiss her and...

And Emma may have to admit to herself that she wanted him to.

But with Neal, and the FBI frowning upon CI handler relationships, not that a kiss meant a relationship...God Emma was confused. They hadn’t kissed and perhaps she had misread the situation completely. Because he’d practically scrambled away when it happened.

He’d ran out the door with some made up excuse on his lips, a deep blush on his face.

Maybe it was all in her head, maybe she was the one being unprofessional. But she can’t help the way he makes her feel more than her past, more than what she can do.

With Neal it had always felt like it was them against the world.

With Killian she thinks maybe they can just exist in the world, maye make it a little better in the process.

What makes it worse was a conversation she hears between Ariel and Killian days after their almost kiss. Days after she spends a night dreaming of what could be.

Emma hadn’t meant to be eavesdropping, but she had a lead on their new case and was heading into his open office when she heard them talking in tense low voices.

“What was your talk with Neal like?” The younger agent asked him. It makes her stop in her tracks, makes her heartbeat wildly.

He shot Ariel a glare and told her to keep her voice down. But he hadn’t refuted her claim.

He doesn’t tell her about it later when she finds a more convenient time to talk to her about the case.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Emma asked Ruby later in her apartment over a tall glass of wine. Because she desperately needs the alcohol to calm down her racing thoughts.

“Emma...Does it ever occur to you that maybe...maybe Killian is involved?” She contemplated, sitting across from Emma with her own equally tall glass of wine.

“Involved?”

“Killian is in the prime position if you think about it.” She muses. “You under his thumb, maybe Neal in his back pocket. Maybe it was him all along.” Emma shook her head because no. It couldn’t be.

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional.

“Then why is he keeping his meeting with Neal a secret when you’ve been upfront with him? After all, his own father is a master of crime, maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

“So she trusted you?”

“Yes.”

Emma Swan does trust him.

Killian remembered that case they had a few months back, Emma had gone and broken into a shady hospital without backup or a warrant. The case had involved Granny’s granddaughter not getting a kidney and she’d gone rouge.

Something he warned her against a half dozen times by this point.

She’d broken in and gotten caught and drugged up to the gills. Killian had had to get in and break her out without anyone realizing. He’d even stolen the security tapes.

“I trust you Killian...out of everyone in my life, Neal, Ruby...you are the only one I truly trust.”

Emma did trust him. She trusted him with her free smile when she was feeling particularly excited out on a job. She trusted him with her fury when things were hard and she felt truly trapped by their arrangement. She trusted him with her tears when she thought about Neal. She didn’t often say much but he just knows.

He knows her.

Emma trusted him to know her and Killian knew it’s not something freely given.

But then out of nowhere that guarded expression on her face returns. Any move he made seems to be met with passive aggressive responses and half truths. She had her barely contained fury back beneath her eyes.

It reminded him of a young agent who was furious when he learned that all the older agents were laughing behind his back. When he learned that they would never take him seriously because he was damaged. He was a joke.

Emma Swan was no joke.

It unsettled him, he can’t figure out what changed.

Or perhaps he was reading too much into her responses, after all, he was keeping a rather large secret from her. Because despite not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to break her trust, he feared this new information would be too much for her. Too much temptation.

Because there was nothing more tempting to Emma than information about Neal Cassidy.

It had taken some favors and a considerable amount of FBI weight throwing to secure the meeting, but he’d had it. Killian had had a meeting with Neal Cassidy.

He knew what they wanted from Emma.

(“A music box, she stole it in Germany just before...about a year before you caught her. They won’t let me go...they won’t let us be together without it.” He’d assured him.

“How do we know any of this is real?” He asked him. “How do we know this isn’t some game to get in her head?”

Neal gave him a disbelieving smirk. “I guess you don’t know. But considering you don’t know the whole story, I have to say that I have the advantage.”

“I find that whenever the supposed hostage talks about having the advantage they are rarely telling the truth.” He replies firmly.

“Ask Emma about the job we ran in October. If she tells you the truth then you’ll know exactly why Emma has to hand over the music box”)

He knew what they wanted from Emma, but he wasn’t sure if telling her would be smart. He honestly wasn’t sure if she could handle it.

That is, until in the middle of a job, a sting operation Emma had snapped. She’d nearly turned him in, her eyes had turned steely and she hissed that she knew.

“I know you have Neal, that this whole thing is a game, a trap, a trick.” she seethed. It had completely caught him off guard.

“What?!” He’d demanded, but the mark was listening, hell all his agents were listening. They couldn’t do this here. “If you have ever trusted me, you’ll give me a chance to explain myself otherwise get back to the case.” He’d said sharply. He met her steely glare with her own and nodded once.

I trust you.

She’d proven it later that day when their mark had locked in an airlock and they only had one canister of air. She’d shoved it into his grasp. “I trust you.” She’d whispered out loud this time. Please don’t play me for a fool.

He hadn’t, of course. They’d found their way out and sitting there in front of a multimillion dollar mansion swarmed with agents and bundled in shock blankets, he’d told her.

“I met Neal.” He admitted her. Her eyes are wide, but she’s not surprised. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think you could handle it.” But he was wrong, so wrong.

“You had no right to keep that from me.” She replied sharply. “But I understand why you did.” her expression softened. “I know how I must look to you: a love sick fool chasing after a man who hurt me. Risking everything for him...”She trailed off before fixing him a firm gaze. “What did he tell you?”

“He told me what he wanted. A music box.”

“A music box.” Emma repeated. She laughed at her words. Laughed like he’d told her the most ridiculous joke in the world. “Then let’s go get the music box.”

“And where was the music box?”

“Under our noses the whole time.”

“Bloody hell Swan!” He’d cursed. “How?”

It had been one of her most daring moves. She’s not sure why she decided to do it, but after she thought of it...the idea was just too intoxicating. It was a challenge, a dare and perfect. So perfect.

Getting the music box had been difficult, a job that didn’t really interest Neal. It was a little too flashy without enough reward. Thankfully a fence of hers had been able to take his place on the job.

(A fact that Neal was not happy about.)

Graham had been good, and it had gone off nearly flawlessly. She’d given him a cut of the profit she would make when she sold the music box--and a slap for a stolen kiss that Neal still doesn’t know about--except she never did get around to selling the damn thing.

She’d meant to, really. But this was right in the beginning of Agent Jones pursuit of her and she’d thought he was cute and enjoyed teasing him with her gifts.

So Emma had set to work. A good forger can make something worthless look real, but only a great forger could make a priceless artifact seem like a fake knock off.

So that’s what she did. No one ever knew, they didn’t even suspect it.

“My sister!” Killian exclaims again. “What did I tell you about involving her?” Emma shrugs.

“To be fair I had already long sent it to her by the time you gave me that warning.” She told him simply, picking up the item. “I assume it came back clean when you sent it to the lab?” It was smaller than she remembered, a fake gloss painted on to mask it’s trace components.

“They traced it to a manufacturer in China and Belle liked how it sounded. Bloody hell, what would we have done if she had tossed it like I wanted to do?” She’d found a similar looking one and stole the packaging. Emma shrugged.

“I didn’t exactly anticipate for some rogue agent to kidnap Neal for this thing. I didn’t even steal it for anything other than morbid curiosity.” She admitted. “Now that we have it, when can we get the meeting?” She asks.

Killian sighs. “I’ve put word out, hopefully Neal will contact me and we can set a time.”

“Or.” Emma adds. “We can contact the person pulling the strings behind this, behind everything.” She snaps.

“We don’t know for sure.” Killian says with a calming gesture.

“You really think Walshe has nothing to do with this?” Emma snaps. “After coming into town just in time to frame me for the diamond heist?”

Killian doesn’t respond. Emma takes the music box tightly in her hands. “This has to end. It has to end now.”

“Swan-” But she steps out of his grip. “We need to do this the right way, catch him red handed, not just hand him what he wants, when will it end?”

Oh it’ll end. The stakes were too high for Emma not to see to it that this cat and mouse game end now.

Plans circulated in her head, how to get out with the music box, how to make the exchange before Killian could talk her into a more by the book plan. Sometimes things couldn’t go by the book. Sometimes the ugly gritty way was the only way.

Killian’s phone rang loudly at his side. He picks it up, giving Emma a look. We’ll figure this out, you just need to trust me.

But something on the other end was clearly very wrong. His eyes narrowed and she could see something darker and fiercer just below the surface. “Stay there Belle.”

He could hear the younger girl talking quickly on the phone, Killian’s hand clenched. She was clearly very upset.“I’ll be right there. Do not say a single word until I get there.” He glanced at her. “We need to go now. Belle’s just been arrested.”

“She was arrested because the Marshalls believed a phone call she received from an unfamiliar number was our father.”

“Was it?”

“Just a spam caller”

The marshalls had wanted him out of the way, and they got it. It hadn’t taken much. They had Belle in handcuffs, her eyes were red as her classmates looked on, Walshe’s grip on her was rough and his words had been rude and vial and then he’d had the balls to mention Emma. So he’d swung and decked Walshe Green in the face.

It felt good. But it ended with him in cuffs besides Belle. He’d watched a wide eyed Emma leave with Ariel, considering her handler was about to be put on suspension he was glad she wasn’t being taken into custody next. She’d been strangely silent through the whole ordeal.

Emma had tried to deescalate the situation at first, but a comment Walshe had made left her frozen. Emma Swan never froze up.

“You never know, a parent’s greatest desire is to see their kid, wouldn’t you agree Emma?”

It wasn’t until afterwards. After he was back home missing his badge and gun, he realized two things.

The Music box was gone.

This had never been about Neal.

“When we were originally tackling The Swan, Emma took a year gap where we couldn’t find a single hint of a job she was running. The working theory was that she was waiting for the heat of her last job to die down.”

“And now?”

“Now I realize that she went underground for a different reason.”

They met at the drop point.

Emma felt bad for having Ruby steal the music box from Killian’s house, but it was the only way. No one was supposed to know about him. No one was ever supposed to connect her to the little boy that was born in New York Hospital in October of that year.

They were supposed to disappear and start a new life together, Tallahassee.

Neal and her called it Tallahassee. It was the end game plan, retire and move to Florida or some island in the tropics. But Neal had never wanted to go clean, so Emma took her son and ran.

So Neal set a trap for her. She set a trap so she couldn’t disappear with their kid.

“When you get out.” He said, holding one of his toys, one of her son’s toys “We can be a family. It was only four years.”

Emma had hated him for four years, for robbing her of that time together, of wanting to be a father and changing his mind and then changing his mind again.

It wasn’t until now, until Neal was faced with losing their kid, of him being abducted and held above their heads that he truly cared. Maybe, maybe it’s not too late for them.

They met at the drop point, except there was no Neal, only Walshe. But she doesn't let that shake her resolve.

“Where is he?” She demanded.

“Neal is around.” Walshe said cryptically. “I hear you have my box.” She didn’t deny it.

“I’m not talking about Neal.” She said. “You’re not getting a damn thing unless I can see my son.” The man smirked wider than he had any reason to.

“Don’t trust me?”

Emma didn’t dignify his words with a response. He gave a large sigh and opened his car door. There in the backseat, passed out in his car seat is Henry. She hadn’t seen him since he was an infant, but she knew. It was her son. Her four year old little boy looked positively exhausted but in good health. It made her gasp in relief, tears gathering in her eyes.

He’s gotten so big.

“Where’s my music box?”

She gave it to him without a moment’s hesitation. Her only focus was pulling that boy into her arms and never letting go. She was never letting him go again. “Neal said to give you these.” Walshe added after the box is placed securely in his car. It was an envelope. She takes it with the hand not around the boy.

Papers...She realized a whole new identity and not just for her. Neal, Emma and Henry Nolan. A normal happy little family. It was good, extensive.

A happy ending after all. Four years ago this is all she’d ever wanted.

“There’s a jet waiting for you, it’ll take you wherever you want. The three of you can disappear.” Walshe explained.

“Why?” Emma asks. “Why go through all of this? Kidnapping my son, using him to get to Neal to get to me? Just for that.” Because it wasn’t worth that much, not enough for all this.

“Because my employer wants it.” Walshe said cryptically. But he doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t need to. It says all she needs to know.

There’s someone behind the curtain.

“You better get going. Neal is waiting for you.” The address was written in the envelope, so she settled Henry in his car seat in her car and then she headed out.

But not before she sent Belle the most expensive collection of sketch books and paints money can buy, art school wasn’t cheap and she had talent. Real talent.

Not before she called Granny and thanked her for everything.

Not before she called Ruby and told her about Henry. The papers...

(“I don’t know why you didn’t trust me to tell me the truth Emma.” She’d said. “But for what it’s worth I’m glad you are finally getting the life that you want. But you know what I always say-”

“A happy ending.” Emma breathed. “Is all about where you stop the story.”

She could feel Ruby’s grin through the phone. “From the moment we met, I knew your story was going to be exciting, but my question is, is this where you want to stop the story?” )

But Emma didn’t have time to contemplate her words. She needed to go. They had to get out, they needed to run. This is what she always wanted.

She was 50 feet from the plane when she heard her name being called out in the terminal.

“Swan!” It makes her stop in her tracks. She can’t help but feel her chest tighten at the sound of her name. She turned to see him. His suit is rumpled, tie missing. He looks like he ran all the way here. “Swan wait.” She did. She had to.

“You can’t stop me Killian.” She said. “You can’t.”

He nodded. “I know, all of this was sanctioned. It’s all an op as far as anyone can tell.” He agreed. “Legally I can’t interfere.”

Legally.

“Why are you here Killian?” Sha asked.

“I’m here to remind you of what you’re walking away from if you get on that plane. I know what you want Swan, I’ve always known. You want to be a part of something. You are here.” She bit her lip, he was smiling at her, something delicate and desperate. He wanted her to stay so badly.

“Neal once said that we run. We run until when we run from something we just miss it.” She recalled.

“You don’t need to run anymore Emma. You can stay. You and your son. You can stay.” He promised. “You don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore.”

“Why are you here Killian?” She asked again. Because it can’t be for her. It didn’t make sense. She’s a criminal, a convict, a fraud. She didn’t deserve for him to look at her like that.

“Because you sent Belle art supplies. You called Ruby and Granny. You said goodbye to everyone except for me.” He reminded her “Why?”

Why hadn’t she?

“Because...” she trailed off. “You’re the only person who could change my mind.”

He smiled at her, close enough to cup her cheek. “Did I?” She doesn't speak. She can’t. She leans in and kisses him. Something she never dared to want. Never dared to even consider.

It was better than she ever imagined. It was something that she would surely miss if she got on that plane.

But is it enough? Is it enough to turn away from a definite happy ending? Or is she walking away from it? “Killian...

Emma didn’t get a chance to contemplate the issue further.

Because when she looks back at the plane, at Neal’s face in the window of the plane, before she has a chance the plane explodes.

“And you know the rest.” Killian says. “They immediately took Emma into custody. Investigators descended on the terminal, Walshe went underground and you’re here to determine if my actions warrant you taking my badge.”

The investigators glare at him, clearly not believing some of what he’s saying. But they’ve been glaring at him since he stepped into the room. It was probably a side effect of having just interviewed Emma.

But it doesn’t matter what they believe. All that matters is what they choose to do. They can choose to give him back his badge and gun and let him do his job. Or they won’t.

“Do you believe Ms.Swan set the bomb that killed Mr. Cassidy?”

He looks them dead in the eye. “No.” He says pointedly. “She would never do that.” Not just because she was supposed to be on that plane, not just because her son was supposed to be on that plane but because Emma wasn’t a killer.

They don’t ask him any more questions.

He walks out the door with his badge, his gun and a warning. But there’s time to worry about that later. Right now all Killian wants to do is see her. He wants to see if she’s there. If she had left before he was done or if she was waiting for him.

And she is. She’s leaning against his door of his car a smile on her face and a-

“Another hat Swan?” He asks. Emma smirks, removing the hat and placing it on his head.

“I think it looks pretty good.” Emma says with a smirk and a subtle bite of her lip. “What do you think?” Now it’s Killian’s turn to smirk. She looks brilliant with that hat, so he places it back on her blonde head of hair. It does little to distract from the brand new tracker on her ankle, but he appreciated the attempt. Its slimmer chases less according to the memo Emma had emailed him..

“How’s Henry?” He asks. It had been a few weeks since she met the boy, since he’d caught him and his mother from the explosive blast of the plane that killed his father.

“Adjusting.” She says, her grin fading.

Emma wasn’t allowed to keep him, social workers didn’t feel comfortable given that she was a current convict with an unusual situation. Thankfully Ariel was a registered foster parent with a spare bedroom. Henry had immediately taken a shine to Ariel and her husband and their current foster, a six year old girl named Melody.

It wasn’t perfect, but Emma could see him as often as she wanted while she applied to earn back rights she never should have lost.

“What now?” Emma asks. Her hand drifts to his. Her hands are softer than he’d thought. He leans in close, not too close but closer than he should. Closer than a handler should be with his charge. But he was close enough to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s smiling.

“Now? We have another case.” He tells her.

“And later?” She adds. “What do you plan to do about Walshe, and Neal and-”

“I don’t know.” He says honestly. “But whatever we do, know that we’ll figure it out together.”

#cs january joy #csjj 2021 #Captain Swan #once upon a time #White Collar AU

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