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lysmune · 3 years

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Promises of

A thousand things that she believes the Demon Prince to be, and a thousand times he proves her wrong.

(Diavolo/F!Reader)

Promises of a painful, slow death is what she believes he’ll give her, but a radiant smile dispels her fears. With liquid ambrosia for eyes and vermillion-struck hair, she’s never seen someone so intimidating, so contrary.

“I hope your year in the Devildom is a great one!” the stranger chirps, loud and booming, and friendly.

“Thank you,” is all she manages.

Promises of a scornful, prideful visage is what she believes is his flair, but he bears no ill-will towards the hubris of humanity. A thousand lights splayed below the balcony, a gaze set onto the distant future, graced by the soft glow of hope, he tells her that he wishes for peace, more than anything.

“Don’t all you demons despise us?” she piques and he laughs deeply, sonorous in the never ending darkness.

“Maybe, but I,” and he turns to look at her with a gentleness that she’s never thought to find in a hell-spawned man, “I find human souls, flawed as they are, beautiful.”

Promises of friendship is what she believes would be the farthest thing possible, but when he calls her in invitation to see the black roses blooming in his greenhouse, she finds that maybe, it isn’t the most far-fetched situation.

“Look!” he exclaims excitedly, pointing towards a small bird, tufted in crimson, its winding onyx tail fluttering as it perches itself on the flower’s stem. “It’s a black-tailed canary. It’s a bird native to the Devildom.”

“How pretty,” she comments, watching the bird fixate its beady eyes on her before it takes off into flight.

Lord Diavolo chuckles beside her. “Seeing such lovely things up close really does lift my spirits,” he murmurs in awe, in wonder, underscored by a melancholia she can’t quite fathom.

In response, she presses her hand on his shoulder, humming in agreement; he simply smiles.

Promises of gold is what she believes would catch his fancy, but his curiosity lies in the fleeting moments caught in polaroids. From swirling pink blossoms to the grin of an aquarium’s beluga, to the cascading reds of a maple autumn and a white winter’s falling snow; he finds joy in all these.

“This is my favourite,” he notes fondly and she leans over to look at the object of his attraction. It is the simple snapshot of a summer daybreak, the first light of dawn. “The sun never rises here in the Devildom, so I’ve always been curious about it. Your world’s truly blessed.”

How the Underworld’s Prince is so much of an optimist, she’d probably never know, but it warms her to see him so full of life.

When he passes the picture back to her, she shakes her head and, with more than a little uncertainty, presses her fingers against his hand.

“Keep it,” she insists. “Consider it a gift for the hospitality you’ve shown me.”

Promises of an uneventful night is a relatively easy feat, she believes, but the seven brothers prove her wrong when she’s crowned the guest of honour. They shower her with neatly wrapped gifts, words of gratitude and a group hug so earnest it moves her to tears.

They take turns dancing with her tonight, seven brothers gliding through seven different musical pieces. Mammon steps up into a bold, thrilling hustle; Leviathan sways with unusual confidence in a jazzy foxtrot; Satan twirls her into a fittingly passionate tango; Asmodeus sweeps her around in an excelsior schottische; Beelzebub rounds a blustering, grinning quickstep; Belphegor drifts into a draping, dreamy carousel and Lucifer, unsurprisingly, leads her gracefully into a viennese waltz.

What does surprise her, however, is when the Prince comes up to her, requesting her for a dance. “If you’re not too tired, of course.”

She smiles and places her hand atop his, letting his fingers curl around hers. “No, it would be my honour,” is all it takes for him to capture her breath in a slow, seamless waltz that lasts a beat longer than it should.

Promises of a shrinking distance isn’t what she foresaw, but he is insistent in having her company, which she, admittedly, isn’t too bothered about. He greets her jovially when he meets her in front of AkuDonald’s, dressed down in a maroon Oxford shirt and beige khakis, a pair of shades completing his look; she wonders if that’s his way of avoiding attention.

As they both stand in line, he strikes up polite conversation, questioning her how she’s been, how her classes are going, how she’s finding RAD and the seven brothers, and she is, quite frankly, genuinely surprised by how much she’s come to enjoy the entire affair. He’s about to answer when they hit the front of the line, a tired looking demon snippily asking for their order.

Like always, she goes for the fried shadow goose AkuBurger, the six-pack AkuGizzards and a blushberry slushie. He takes a little more time deciding, but eventually settles for the Hellfire DoubleAkuBurger and a Blackburn coffee before he insistently pays for their meal. Tipping her head down in thanks, she takes the tray and leads him towards a relatively private corner in the joint where he tucks into his lunch undisturbed.

“Do you come here often?” he prompts and she shrugs, swallowing her food down.

“Enough,” she responds. “The food here is generally safe for me to not die from.”

He chuckles. “Not a fan of Devildom cuisine?”

“Just not nearly as bold to eat something with ‘Double Poison’ tacked onto it,” she explains. Catching him eyeing her gizzards, she picks one up in between her fingers and offers it to him. “They’re good.”

Leaning forward, without so much of a warning, he takes it from her hand with his teeth and she stiffens, embarrassed, unsure if he’s being serious or just messing with her, or if he’s just dense.

“You’re right,” he answers, happily smiling as he licks his lips, “they are.”

She tries not to think about it too hard, simply nodding in agreement before they pass the rest of the time with small-talk, light banter and the never-ending cringe of dad jokes so terrible she has to laugh at each one. Once they’ve finished and exited the premises, he thanks her for her time today, smiling as he always does.

“I had a lot of fun,” she gladly admits, to which he hums, pleased.

“I did, too,” he reciprocates and then, a little less playfully, a little more seriously, “If it’s alright with you, let me walk you home.”

“You don’t -“

“I want to,” he assures, insists. “I enjoy your company and I’d like us to spend more time together.”

She warms at his boldness, more evident today than any other, at the way he tentatively reaches for her hand in consent, in invitation, and she accepts it with a nod. With a smile that crinkles his eyes and a careful hold, he leads her back to the House of Lamentation.

Promises of constant contact is something she’s sure he isn’t one to keep, especially given his consistently packed schedule, but when she’s back in the Human World, her D.D.D rings most often with his name.

He fills her days with updates on work, on Lucifer’s increasingly baggy eyes, lamenting at how much less bright the Devildom is without her.

“You’re being dramatic,” she chuckles as she picks up a carton of eggs. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, it is,” he implores with a huff. “The brothers miss you, including Lucifer, even if he denies it. Teasing him is no fun anymore,” he protests and she clicks her tongue at him. There’s a pause before a sigh, then, “I’m not being honest here.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats; “I miss spending my time with you, I miss being able to see you, I miss talking to you in person. I miss you; I miss you a lot.”

She runs her fingers through her hair and oh, fuck, he really shouldn’t spring these things onto her. She’s sure he can hear her heart over the phone when it’s this loud.

Tightening her grip on the trolley’s handle, she responds with an, “I miss you, too.”

Promises of staying away are best upheld because they’re the smarter option, the safer option, but when she’s back in the Devildom, she‘s compelled to see him again. Barbatos directs her to his study, knocking on the door before he leaves her by the room just as Lord Diavolo lets her in.

The wind is knocked right out of her chest when he scoops her into a tight hug and she eases into his arms, burying her face into his chest. He smells faintly of warm spice and agarwood, of a familiarity she’s sorely longed for.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers, the hint of a tremble in his voice.

“I am, too.”

Promises of subtlety is a given, she believes, but he hasn’t much thought for it when he clasps a golden bracelet onto her wrist. It is a simple chain, studded with tiny opals, and much too lavish for someone who’s come here as an exchange student.

“This is a little excessive, don’t you think?” she asks, raising a brow as she fiddles with the accessory, to which he frowns.

“Do you not like it?” he inquires and she shakes her head.

“No, I do,” she assures, and she really does. It’s a beautiful piece of jewellery, it’s just that, “I’m not quite sure if I’m so deserving of such things.”

At that, he takes her hand, pulling her a little closer. “You are,” he affirms softly, gently lacing his fingers with hers. “Let me be a little selfish.”

She chuckles. “You’re being selfish by giving me a gift?”

“No,” he replies as he levels her with a crackling, sparking gaze and her heart skips a beat. “I’m being selfish because I want you to myself.”

Promises of indulgence are what she believes to be a demon’s domain, but he simply holds her in his arms most nights, content with the simple pleasure of having her there with him, of talking to her, of hearing her say his name without the formalities.

“You’re not anything like I thought a demon would be,” she muses as he hugs her tighter from behind, letting her head rest on the line of his shoulder.

He chuckles, pressing his lips to hers sweetly, briefly. “No?”

“I expected them to be a little more ...” she trails off in search for a word, then, “churlish.”

“I can be,” he mumbles while he lazily nibbles at her ear, patterns kisses into her jaw and the exposed column of her neck. “I’m just being polite.”

She hums. “Maybe.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” she responds with a peck to his cheek, hand coming up to the side of his head, pulling him closer against her. “I think you’re just a touch holy.”

His skims her skin with tongue and teeth, breaths warm, chuckling as he does. “You’re bold to say that to the Prince of Hell.”

Promises of a Lord unshaken is what she believes the demons see, but behind all the closed doors, he bares his vulnerability to her against the starless, perpetual nights.

“Do you want to talk, Diavolo?” she asks. He’s silent for a moment before he offers his hand to her. She takes it and he pulls her to his side, letting his arm drape down to hold her at her waist.

Overlooking the city sprawled under him, he sighs. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing,” he confesses under his breath, the uncertainty wavering his voice. “I want peace between all the realms, but do they? Do my people?”

"You don’t think they want that?”

“We’re demons. War is within our very nature,” he states simply, pressing her a little closer to him. “A few of us are fallen angels, others human, but most demons were born here, and all of us are vengeful, resentful creatures,” he murmurs; she says nothing. “The fallen angels want nothing to do with the Celestial Realm, the human-turned-demons carry over their hate and the rest of us have just always had a taste for destruction.

“For most of us, we’ve always felt like the two worlds looked at us with nothing but contempt. When Heaven smites an angel unruly, they’re punished into being a devil; when humans talk about eternal torture, we’re the very picture of it. Demons are a proud folk, we give back the respect we’ve been shown, but when everyone has only ever hated us, what is there to be but bitter? And the cycle keeps going, it has for the last thousands of centuries.”

“I’m sorry,” is all she can offer and he chuckles.

“Please, it’s alright,” he assures with a smile, though it’s wearied with the burdens of a leader. “I’m just ... wondering.”

She isn’t sure what to say to him, if she can even comfort him. She’s no angel, or demon, and even as a human, she’s never been a particular occult; she’s just an exchange student who lacks understanding of the tension’s nuance.

“Look, hey,” she starts, “I know I’m not the best person to say it, but your people respect you. They might squabble with Heaven or us humans, but they’ve put their trust in you; otherwise, in all honesty, I think they’d have just eaten me and Solomon alive.”

He cracks a small, tiny smile at that.

“You needed mutual agreement between all the realms for this exchange program, and you did it. If that tells me anything, it’s that they’re probably tired of all the fighting, too,” she surmises. He laughs, just barely, before he bends down to kiss her forehead, letting it linger.

When he pulls away, he says, “Thank you, that helped.”

“Did it?”

He hums. “A little,” he responds, loosening his grip on her. “I need to be alone for a while, is that okay?”

“Take all the time,” she answers. Placing a quick kiss onto his cheek, she turns on her heel and walks away. Comforting demon royalty isn’t something she’s good at, and maybe she never will be, but space? Space is something she can give him.

Promises of ‘unto death do us part’ is tradition, the idea of a romance that spans the fire of life until it’s snuffed out by a swing of the scythe, but she believes that mortality is fickle to him. A being of a thousand years that will live on for a thousand more, and she fills in the mere potential century; a year for him is a decade for her.

Yet here he is, knotting the string of his life to her in promise. “Make a pact with me,” he declares, bringing her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles as though she were royalty.

Her breath hitches. “Diavolo.”

“Let me be yours,” the demon pleads, yearns, longs and she’s a little taken aback by the openness of it all.

“You don’t have to,” she says but he surges, drawing her in.

“I want to,” he asserts, unyielding, though she’s still unconvinced.

An act of binding. That’s what it means to be tied down to a contract, and she knows full well what the consequences are, for the both of them, should any of them trespass their terms. With the seven brothers, she did as the situation demanded, but with Diavolo, there’s absolutely nothing that warrants it.

He seems to sense her unease, because he squeezes her hand, brings her closer. “It’ll be fine,” he assures; “Let me show you what you mean to me.”

“I know where I stand with you,” she tells him as she raises a hand to cup his cheek.

“Do you?” he asks in rhetoric, pressing his lips against her pulse, eyes locking onto hers. “You needn’t ask and I’d gladly give a century of my life for you, freely offer you my soul, and even if you love me less, leave me for a human, I’d regret none of it.”

She swallows his words when he presses his lips to hers, wholly engulfed by the sincerity of it all. Gentle as always, tender as always, and none of the demon she’d thought he’d be, his hand coming up to caress her face. He leaves her lightheaded, breathless, forehead touching hers, the warmth between them near unbearable.

“I trust you, utterly and entirely; let me show you that I do,” he murmurs and she clasps her hands behind his neck, her lips hovering above his.

“Nothing I say will change your mind, will it?”

He chuckles. “I’m afraid not.”

Promises of sacrifice and loyalty, they aren’t taken lightly by the laws of a contract, but he pledges himself anyway, so readily and so staunchly she almost falters.

In reverence, he traces the mark - his mark - that runs from her shoulder and coils around her arm, marvelling at the sight of it. “Was it painful?” he asks as he glances to her, worry underscoring his words.

She shrugs and offers him a smile in hopes it’ll reassure him. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Leaning in to thumb a kiss to her clavicle, he chuckles low. “Sometimes I forget you’ve made pacts with the seven strongest demons here,” he says and the pride in his voice makes her chest swell.

“Eight,” she corrects while she cards her fingers through his hair, trailing the curl of his horns, eliciting a quiet, pleased hum from him.

“Eight,” he repeats in satisfaction before he lifts his head up to meet her and she, emboldened, enraptured, captures his lips in fervour.

Agarwood and warm spice, she drinks the taste of him, smoky lapsang and carbon ashen. He spills her name into her mouth, once more into the spellbound night when she punctures a soft bite into the juncture of his neck, a hymnic praise that makes her feel nothing less of otherworldly. He almost - almost - whines when she pulls away, chuckling as she does.

Under her, he’s nothing short of breathtaking, with topazes for eyes and vermillion hair, and dark skin marked by black, steeped in gold. Triangular patterns of red hiss around his throat, the newly formed pact pulsing with magic and she trails her fingers across them, enamoured.

“You’re beautiful,” she finds herself professing and he lets out a quiet laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing under her touch, the sound reverberating.

“I’m all yours,” he surrenders and she’s touched, honoured by the sincerity of his proclamation. “I will be until you say I no longer am.”

“And I, yours,” she promises before she laces her fingers with his and kisses him once more.

#swd obey me #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #munewrites #f: obey me #ch: diavolo #an: this took so much longer than expected #an: can you tell I have no idea where to take this #an: look i have a LOT OF FEELS for tiddy man diavolo #an: I feel like he'd be the only one out of all the demons to tell mc that hello yes i wanna be yours #an: idk it just seems fitting esp because he really can't spend much time with them #an: ALSO YES for Diavolo the pact is a show of complete loyalty and trust #an: also using holy or divine words to describe the demons is now my favourite thing to do because why nOT #an: Honestly though im p sure diavolo isn't this sweet #an: man probs has ulterior motives #an: gives me those vibes #an: thIS IS TERRIBLE ON THE PHONE #an: tumblr let me have line breaks

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aseioh · 3 years

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Of Stars and Moonlit walks pt.2/?

Notes: Some housekeeping first. Donna for the purpose of this story will be based partly on her unused content from the game as well as some canon info. This means that she has a darker background than the one that was used in the game proper as I would really like to incorporate those into this story.

Another thing is that as you’ve probably read from the previous chapter. The characters here are slightly out of character, I’m afraid this is entirely my problem as I’m not used to writing stories

----

Chapter 2: Dinner with a show

Dinner with the Dimitrescus’ was never a quiet affair, in fact it is the very definition of a happy family dinner. The three daughters vying for their Mother’s attention, retelling their afternoon adventures. Alcina sitting at the head of the table patiently listening to everything her daughters tell her, her smile so much different from the usual smirk or predatory grin she sports during the meetings with Mother Miranda and the other Lords.

It made her look softer; Motherhood seems to suite her like her gloves.

At the back of Donna mind, she remembers her childhood before things went bad. Sunday roast dinners made by Mother, Father sneaking from behind to leave a kiss on her Mother’s cheek. Yes, everything seems so simple back then.

The dining room itself is small and cozy, Donna guesses that this room is where the family usually dines compared to the cavernous dining hall that exits into their courtyard.

Across the table Bela has been silently studying their mysterious guest. Of course she has been joining her sisters retell their afternoon escapades in the garden and how they had manage to scare the new maids. But throughout dinner she has been subtly glancing at Donna.

The women certainly is interesting, so quiet compared to her doll that you would have imagined that the chatty doll is the Lord and the woman is the puppet. But she had listened to her Mother’s lesson unlike her two sisters. She knows who Donna Beneviento is, what the woman is capable of.

What an interesting study, I wonder what is behind that veil.

‘She must be pretty.’ She thought as she swirls the wine in her glass.

“So Angie, wanna play hide and seek? Bet you can’t find us! We’re very good at that game” Daniela challenges Angie. The moment that the youngest sister saw the moving doll she has become utterly fascinated by it.

It was obvious that Angie was the greatest doll Donna possesses, as she has mostly used the doll as an extension of her psyche. That said, the doll seems to be capable of autonomous actions based on the way she flitters around the room inspecting various stuff that catches her attention.

“Ha you’re talking to the greatest hide and seeker! Hehehe, alright. Let’s play” Angie exclaimed hopping up and down Donna’s side.

“she really is one of a kind huh?” Cassandra muses.

“Yes, my Father built and gifted her to me on my birthday, we’ve been inseparable since. When I’ve received my gift from Mother Miranda I’ve decide to share some of my psyche with her. In a way she is an extension of myself, albeit a rather excitable one at that.” Donna explains as she looks on fondly at Angie.

As Alcina stands up from her chair and offers her hand to Donna “Yes well enough of that melancholy dear, shall we retire or will you join me for a short night cap.”

“And girls if you are going to play with Angie make sure that you don’t cause too much noise. God knows we need some rest after today.”

“Yes Mother!” the three answers in unison

“You guys hide, and I’ll seek” Daniela announces as she grins predatorily. The ‘preys’ have already scattered before she even finished her sentence. After counting to ten she proudly bellows “READY or NOT, HERE I COMEEE!!” with that she disintegrates into hundreds of flies intent on ‘hunting’ her preys.

----

Adjourning to another room the two Lords sit in front of a roaring fire. Alcina casually cupping one of her finest vintages, while Donna content on sipping her tea.

“Donna when I asked you to join me for a night cap, I didn’t expect you to drink tea” Alcina chuckles at Donna’s preferred drink.

Donna having removed her veil as she was alone with Alcina responds by standing up and taking the crystal decanter by the table. She pours a fingers worth of aged whiskey into her cup. Smirking she raises her tea laced whiskey to Alcina and gulps down a mouthful.

Seeing this Alcina roars into laughter. “You really can surprise anyone” Wiping a stray tears from her eyes “and that is why anyone who underestimates you meets their end.”

“At that I can only blame them” Donna answers. The two fell into a companionable silence, the silence only broken by the occasional cracking of the fire.

“Tell me Donna, how is your project with Heisenberg. I do hope the man is not running you haggard. I know that it concerns Mother Miranda’s plan but you shouldn’t run yourself to hard. Let Heisenberg sweat a bit”

“Thank you for your concern Alcina, but you shouldn’t worry. Believe it or not Karl and I are very efficient with our work, and yes, I let him do all the heavy lifting. I’m just there when he needs a second opinion on the new ‘soldat’ hardware.” Donna levels Alcina with a grateful smile, who knew that the tallest and blood thirsty Lord of the village have a soft spot for her ‘siblings’.

“Yes, yes I’m just worried that Mother Miranda has been running you ragged. Lord knows she’s been going full tilt with her so called ‘plan’.

“Actually Alcina, may I ask you for a favor?”

“Depends, does it involve the depletion of our whiskey stores?” At that Alcina couldn’t help but give a short chuckle.

“Very funny. But no. I would never deprive Karl of his favorite drink.” Donna shakes her head, pin it to the back of her head ‘Alcina is a funny half-drunk.’

“No, I was wondering if you would allow me to tour your greenhouse. I would love to see your plants and roses.”

“Is that all? Of course, I’ll ask Bela to take you tomorrow. She’s usually the one to tend to my roses, she’s picked up the hobby after reading some books and my roses have never looked livelier.”

“Thank you.”

-----

A knock on the door alerts Donna that her companion for the day has arrived. From what Angie has relayed to her last night, the girls had fun with their game with Angie being declared the ultimate victor followed closely by Cassandra. Apparently being a small doll makes it near impossible to find her inside the huge castle.

“Good morning Donna, shall we go to the greenhouse?” Bela extends her arms towards the hallway as they make their way to the greenhouse.

“You look pretty today Bela! I love your dress, it suits you so much it brings out your eyes!” Angie says as she turns her head to face Bela. Donna who has been carrying Angie had to think hard on not dropping the doll or stop walking.

Bela for her part slightly blushes at the compliment. “You really think so Angie?” Angie enthusiastically nods her head, fearing that it might fall off Donna decides to intervene.

“Angie’s right Bela, you look really beautiful today.” At that Bela’s blush blossoms like one of her Mother’s roses. “Thank you, Angie, Donna”

“I must say though, your hands are beautiful Donna, they look so soft-“ Bela stops herself before she could say more and embarrass herself further. ‘Really Bela, her hands are pretty, Mother Miranda above what are you a child!?’ she chides herself.

Not knowing how to respond to such a compliment herself, Donna instead slows down her walk and whispers, “Thank you, Bela” Although Bela doesn’t seem to hear as she was busy chiding herself.

Thankfully the two arrive at the Castle’s greenhouse without any hitch.

Entering the great building Donna is surprised by the sheer number of plants that the building houses. Exotic plants that can only survive in tropical climates seem to thrive even in their Romanian climate. At the center of place is Alcina’s roses, the bushes so lush its as if each rose were painted there. Truly they were the main attraction of the greenhouse.

“They’re beautiful, and is it true that you yourself tended to these flowers?” Donna enquired as she caresses the petals of a rose amazed at the softness of it.

“Well, yes. I read in the library on the optimal way to care for the roses. I though that I could try my hands on caring for them. To ward off boredom of course, Mother said that we should look for hobbies and stop terrorizing the hired help” Bela explains as she tries not to blush on how Donna touches the plant.

“I don’t think it’s just that Bela. You have a big heart. You’ve managed to grow something from this barren and frozen place. You gave it your time and love and in return, they bloom for you.” Donna says quietly voice soft it’s as if the wind itself is talking.

Bela blushes furiously and is left speechless. ‘this is the third time she’s been made to blush! What the hell Bela get a hold of yourself’.

Donna sensing that she has said too much tries to back paddle. “I’m sorry it’s just how I see here. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

“No thank you Donna, really that’s the sweetest thing anyone has said to me.”

Thankfully the awkwardness of the place changes when Cassandra barrels through the greenhouse. “Lady Beneviento, may Angie play with us again? We want a rematch with her. This time we’ll definitely win” She says with fire in her voice.

And even though her sisters have said that she can sometimes gloss over and ‘cannot read the room’, Cassandra knew for certain that something has happened. It might be the blush her elder sister is sporting or the subtle twitch of Donna’s hands.

But there are more pressing matters at hand, a Champion needs to be dethroned. Therefore she filed the weird atmosphere around Donna and Bela for another time.

At the mention of the challenge Angie becomes animated and hops off to run into Cassandra. The three leaves Donna alone to ponder the situation inside the greenhouse.

Perhaps her stay at Castle Dimitrescu would be full of surprises after all.

----

Another note: I’ve also been made aware that Donna may suffer from Agoraphobia. I’m sorry that I haven’t taken that into consideration when writing this story, in this case Donna just suffers from a slight fear of unknown people and will not talk at all if she’s in front of new people (which won’t technically happen in this fic)

#resident evil village #re8 village BelaDonna #donna beneviento #bela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #Of Stars and Moonlit walks

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mimssides · 3 years

Text

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 16

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Remus had researched PTSD, ADHD, depression and anxiety. He had started doing so a few months after the car crash, when he had noticed the changes in Roman’s behaviour. And as he did so he had seen the changes within himself as well. He had noticed patterns which were new, feelings that started to disappear.

Quite honestly, Logan was impressed. Impressed by Remus’s sharp perception. By his own introspection and his findings. And the fact that he was critical of his own analysis and tried to not be too wrapped up in them.

What had Logan worried though was how often Remus mentioned his fear and worries about Roman. How much seemed to be focused on him and not on Remus himself. And while Remus’s worries might have been warranted, Logan knew that he could not only focus on Roman. That he needed to look after himself.

Carefully, Logan tried to steer the conversation in a direction, where he could talk about Remus’s fixation on Roman. As Remus mentioned once more how long it took Roman to even mention the accident after it had happened, Logan took his chance and said: “I understand Roman is important to you, but he is not the only person to worry about.”

“It’s hard not to worry about him… He – He struggles a lot and he doesn’t admit most of it. I know I’m not one to talk about my mental health either but he’s in deep denial and-” Remus said but was interrupted by Logan.

“I understand your concerns, Remus,” Logan reassured Remus not wanting to talk his worries down, “I truly do. And I know your brother is fighting with a lot as well but maybe you might need to stand back a bit from him. Not abandon or leave him. But you need to take care of yourself first and you cannot do so if you are constantly worrying and playing therapist for Roman as well. You can only do so much for him. And he is a grown-up too. You need to trust him and make the right decisions for himself.”

Logan watched Remus run his fingers through his hair. He was thinking of a fitting retort but Logan knew he was right and that Remus was indeed smart enough to know that too. He just had to admit it to himself.

“Yes, right but I don’t think he always makes the right decisions for himself…” Remus argued weakly.

“That might be true but it is not your responsibility to fix that. You cannot support him so much that it exhausts you, Remus. You need to learn to have boundaries and let other people take over.”

Logan knew that his advice was a lot harder to follow through than it sounded. He knew Remus would struggle. He knew he would not know what healthy boundaries felt like at the beginning of all of it. He knew he would not trust anybody to take care of his brother at first.

“… then would you help me get him into therapy, if I were to go to therapy?”

Not the offer Logan had expected. Not at all. But it was quite welcome.

“If you go, I certainly would try and help you convince him,” Logan said carefully watching Remus’s reaction.

He was tense. His shoulders stiff and his hands twitching minimally, almost too unremarkably to notice. But as he was breathing in and out his eyes began to focus. Began to focus on Logan he met Logan’s eyes evenly with a gulp. There was something so incredibly intense and real about him in that very moment. So much energy and force just peeking out for the fraction of a second and Logan did not know what to think of it.

“Thank you. You’re a really good man.”

Remus’s voice was warm and far more trusting than it was ought to be. But Logan did not get to muse about that. Remus was taking his phone and checked the time, making a surprised expression for a moment. Then he shot shy look to Logan.

“Would you mind us checking in on Ro and the J-man? We’ve been talking for a good hour or so and I think I want to make sure how they are doing. There’s only so much they can be doing in a greenhouse for so long and I don’t think they’ll start fucking anytime soon,” Remus finished with a shrug.

Logan let out a huff and answered with an eyeroll: “Don’t underestimate Janus’s ‘seducing’ skills.”

“Don’t underestimate my Roman’s need for a slow burn romance. This kind of fuckery isn’t up to his standards, trust me, bicho.”

Logan tried to overhear the nickname once more by steering the conversation into a new direction: “Where exactly do you have a greenhouse? I was not aware that you had one on the lot.”

“Backyard. It was already part of the building and we have a small collection of flowers there. Actually, do you think Patton would like to see that? Like, he loves colourful stuff, right? Do you think he would - would like to check it out with us?”

Adorable.

Wait. No. Remus was not adorable. The way he asked Logan if they should invite Patton to see the greenhouse was maybe a little endearing. But not cute. Decidedly not adorable.

Clearing his throat, Logan got up from his chair and said: “I think he would appreciate the invitation. I can text him and he might join us downstairs?”

Remus smiled wildly and nodded as he got up himself. Logan put on a forced smile and sent Patton a text, while he and Remus started to get out of the flat climbing down the stairs. Logan was lucky, for once in his life Patton had already seen his text and answered quickly that he would be outside in a minute. Logan told Remus so much and both men got outside to wait for the third one to join them.

___

Roman had not been kidding when he told Janus that he had a very low alcohol tolerance. The small amount of rest alcohol in one can of alcohol-free beer had been enough to get him tipsy. Which was why Janus now knew that Roman got giggly and rather affectionate while slightly inebriated. The tall man was laying to his feet, constantly reaching for the seams of Janus’s pants and mumbling little nothings to himself.

It was somehow endearing seeing him so soft and unapologetically warm hearted. At the same time Janus did not feel entitled to see him like this. To see him in such a moment of vulnerability despite Roman having chosen to drink in his presence. It just rubbed him the wrong way.

Janus’s phone buzzed and he quickly took it out to see a message from Virgil where he was at.

“Who’s it? You’re frowning.”

Janus looked down to Roman who was holding onto the bottom of his pant leg after having asked his question.

Janus couldn’t help himself but answered gently as he would to one of his younger nephews or nieces when they asked him things: “Virgil wants to know where I am. He probably wants me to come home soon.”

“Tell him he can come over. Wait, I’ll write him myself,” Roman promptly replied and took out his phone from one of his pockets.

Janus wanted to intervene when just then the backdoor to the store opened and Remus, Logan and Patton emerged. Both Logan and Patton were rather taken aback by the amazing visuals of the greenhouse while Remus obviously looked around for Roman. They entered the greenhouse and Janus waved at Patton, who waved back happily before his eyes fell down on Roman lying on the floor.

“Did you have to?” Remus moaned as he saw the beer cans and walked up to Roman.

Softly Remus kicked Roman into the side, to which Roman barely reacted as he was still focused on his phone.

“Roman!” Remus said with more emphasis and Roman finally put his phone down and looked up to Remus.

“I only had one. And I’m not taking more. Just one. I swear!” he defended himself and Remus rolled his eyes.

Begrudged Remus stretched his hand out to Roman, as offer to help him up. Yet Roman did not budge and Remus sighed. He could be such a little shit when he wanted to. Annoyed Remus turned away and threw his hands in the air while mumbling something under his breath.

Meanwhile Patton and Logan came further inside the greenhouse and Patton steered towards Janus. They exchanged a look and wordlessly Patton motioned towards Roman to which Janus only shrugged and then looked back down to Roman, who was putting away his phone.

“Virgil’s coming over by the way,” Roman declared and turned a little to face Remus more clearly.

Remus just groaned and scratched his forehead while Roman giggled a little. Janus was simply amazed. By the fact that Roman had managed to convince Virgil to come over and by the fact that he was so nonchalant and carefree about it. It was so strange seeing the otherwise so prideful man present himself so silly and undignified.

“Okay, please stand up because we have guests. Can we do that?” Remus tried once more to get Roman to stand up.

With a frown Roman finally sat up and looked over to Patton and Logan with a wide grin. Patton gave him a confused wave while Logan just furrowed his brows and looked over to Remus in slight confusion. Remus just massaged his temples and shot Janus a venomous look before suddenly a thought crossed his mind.

“I didn’t do anything to deserve that look!” Janus shortly interrupted Remus’s thought process.

Remus just shot him a look and waved him off with a quick: “Well, you don’t have to deal with him tonight when he needs to go to bed. Do you know how energized he’s now? He’s got the idiocy and determination to try and walk up walls! But that probably doesn’t matter to Jazz Daddy.”

Hearing the nick name Janus scrunched his nose in disgust to which Remus just retorted with a little giggle and shifted his attention back to Roman. Quickly Remus crouched down a bit to get on Roman’s eye level, who now suspiciously stared at him. Roman could almost sense his brother’s inpatient energy and felt himself starting to fumble with the seams of his pants.

“So, I need you to tire yourself out. Otherwise I’ll lose my mind trying to get you to bed tonight,” Remus started while watching his brother making the most offended pouty face he could. “So, I thought you might wanna sing? Disney?”

There was a visible shot of energy rushing through Roman’s eyes before something clouded the sudden excitement and the man looked down to the floor. Remus put his hand on Romans shoulder and he glanced up at him again.

“My voice is shitty right now. After crying and all,” Roman meekly said while holding his hand against his throat.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“Look at me and tell me that you actually care enough to not sing right now.”

“… I kinda don’t care…”

Remus nodded and stood back up with a grin. He chuckled a bit and said to Roman: “That’s what I thought. Go and let Virgil inside, while I get the speaker.”

Just a second after Roman agilely jumped onto his feet and patted down his pants before marching outside the greenhouse into to the store to open the door for Virgil when he came. Remus just shook his head and then walked to the other side of the greenhouse where they had a different gardening tools stored in a wooden box.

Quietly Remus began to rummage through the box and turned back to the three other men after a while. He held a little green Bluetooth speaker in his hands and turned it on to connect it with his phone. Staring down on the screen he sighed and walked over them.

“Sorry, for the accusation Jan,” Remus said at once while the speaker beeped signalling it had connected to the phone. “I know you’re not responsible, he’s his own man and all. I’m just. I’m very exhausted.”

Remus lifted his gaze from the phone and shot Janus a look before he sat down on the chair next to Janus. Quickly he waved for Logan and Patton to take a seat as well, Logan taking the last chair while Patton sat down on a wooden crate. All three watched Remus and when he sat his elbow down on the little table and laid his head in his hand Patton leaned over to him and softly patted his back.

A shudder ran down Remus’s spine and he hastily looked up to Patton. Patton looked like he wanted to pull back but Remus held onto his arm before he could do so and looked back down to the floor. Patton watched him and continued to draw circles on Remus’s back. It was a little concerning how stiff he felt and how much he leaned into the contact. But Patton was considerate enough to not mention it.

“He just gets a little much when he’s drunk,” Remus said suddenly and looked straight forward not focusing on anyone next to him. “And loud. And it’s nothing bad or horrible but I’m just worn out. By – by feeling so much. So fucking much. I don’t know how he can do it all day everyday…”

What to say to a statement like that? What to say to a man like Remus after such a long day? Neither knew and somehow, they all felt relieved when he exhaled and straightened his back, lips slowly forming a smirk. Mischievously, he glanced over to Janus who felt a sense of threat overcome him.

“You didn’t hear him sing before, right?”

Janus furrowed his brows and said cautiously: “No, when would I have had the chance?”

Remus chuckled and rolled his shoulders amused.

“Boy you’re in for a ride then!” Remus laughed and before the others could ask what he meant Roman came back with Virgil in tow.

The two came inside the greenhouse and a few words were exchanged before Virgil settled down on the box beside Patton and Remus and Roman had a small dispute about which Disney playlist Remus should put on, after which the discussion about which language Roman should sing them in followed. The choice fell on the Happy-Go-Lucky playlist in English and Roman walked a little away from the table to have more room to move around. Then looked back to the group and shot Janus a short glance before he batted his lashes and gave Remus the thumbs up for him to press the play button.

And with that the music began to play. A soft melody started and just a few moments in Roman began to beam. A second after he began to sing:

“I have often dreamed, of a far-off place Where a hero's welcome, would be waiting for me Where the crowds will cheer, when they see my face And a voice keeps saying, ‘This is where I'm meant to be’”

Roman continued, eyes closed, feet moving softly to the words and hands following the picture he painted with his voice flawlessly. It wasn’t perfect by any means, on some notes he let himself linger a little too long, some of the higher notes scratched a little as he sang them but watching him perform, watching Roman engulf himself completely in this song was quite spectacular. Spectacular in a way that one forgot that they sat in a greenhouse. Spectacular in a way that one forgot that the singer was florist. Spectacular in a way that one forgot that their nephew had a phone with which he could make pictures to bribe one later on.

Remus leaned back enjoying his brother’s little show. He watched how Logan’s surprise slowly ebbed away and how he watched his brother quite interested. Patton was bobbing his head along with a big smile and Virgil did so as well after he had taken a picture of Janus.

Janus who was completely thrown off guard by Roman’s flair and stage presence. Well, greenhouse presence but Remus believed that Janus didn’t care that much about it, not when he sometimes got to look at Romans wide grin and almost glowing eyes from all the excitement and joy just to be able to performing in front of a few people.

The song ended and Roman gave a little bow to which Patton clapped enthusiastically, making the others join him out of amusement. The next song started just right after and after a few beats the all recognized “A Spoonful of Sugar”. With just as much enthusiasm Roman began to sing the song, while his mimic and movements adjusted to the mood of the song.

Halfway in, Remus heard a second voice slightly humming and mouthing the words. Unsure where it came from, he looked into the round and found that it was Patton who slowly began to join Roman in his singing to the amusement of Virgil next to him. Remus couldn’t help himself but smiled at Patton’s happy face while more and more joining the song despite missing a few words then and when.

Remus found himself admiring the small singing attempts and didn’t notice how Roman as well caught onto Patton’s singing and walked towards him before the song ended. As it did Roman stretched his hand out for Patton and asked with a wide smile: “Wanna join me? You seem to have fun.”

“Oh gosh,” Patton said flustered and rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m by far not as good as you. I don’t want to ruin your singing.”

“Not good? How does that matter now! This is just for us and singing with people is awesome! Just join me!”

Roman was energetic and optimistic and despite Patton’s reservations he got up and joined Roman reluctantly beginning to sing as “Bare Necessities” began to play.

Remus was amazed. Patton was not one for showmanship but he adapted and matched Roman’s energy with seemingly no effort. His voice was raspier than Roman’s, some notes he sang sounded scruffy but the joy he found after getting over the first inhibitions was mesmerizing to him. The way he giggled over the words he missed or when he forgot to join Roman in a line because he got distracted watching him, was just too admirable to not smile at.

The next song that came was “Under the Sea”. And it was the song where Roman decided Patton should dance with him. After a short-lived protest of Patton Roman took him by the hands and began leading Patton a little. It took them a moment to figure out what worked with the music and their skills but then they somehow fell into a rhythm and Roman even managed to spin Patton around once, which led to the latter having a laughing fit.

Logan smiled at Patton’s blush and Roman’s childish excitement. Patton was not one to move around often and his dancing was a little stiff while Roman made quite a good figure in the whole process. He moved in steady flow, quick, charming and joyful. And in a way Patton’s clumsiness but genuine effort complimented the impromptu dancing session.

They continued dancing when the next song began, “Be Our Guest”, and Logan thought about the chubby boy, always wearing light blue polo shirts and trying to not stand out too much back from high school. Young Patton would never have dared to stand out like this. To dance and sing like this. To have cyan hair and colourful tattoos. To be amongst other queer people and be proud of it.

Roman might have had similar fears and reservations, Logan assumed concluding from what Remus had told him, but right in this setting it seemed as if they did not matter to him that much. It seemed he was quite content and happy with himself and this kind of confidence helped Patton relax as well.

It truly was endearing, Logan admitted to himself and looked to the others. Remus and Janus were very obviously love-struck by Patton and Roman respectively and Logan just rolled his eyes at that. What was to expect from two dramatic queer men in love? Lastly his look landed on Virgil, who amused raised his eyebrows at his uncle to which Logan responded with a mocking eye roll.

More songs came; “Almost There”, “Friend Like Me”, “Hakuna Matata” and “You’re Welcome”. The mood was light but the evening got older and they had to get to bed for tomorrow. To open their respective stores and a Goodbyes were exchanged.

It wasn’t lost on Logan how reluctantly Janus parted from Roman, how soft his otherwise ever so cool look was. Neither was it lost on him how surprised Remus was when Patton hugged him as a goodbye, and how grateful he looked at Logan when he wished him a good night.

It had been a heavy evening but the end was rather sweet. Especially considering why everything had started so solemnly. Nevertheless, Logan found himself cautiously optimistic when he wished Patton a good night as he walked up the stairs into his own apartment. Hopefully, Remus could take the advice he had given him and hopefully this would not be the last night they had had fun together.

___

It was almost an hour later, Roman had showered while Remus would do so in the morning. Both had put on their pyjamas and were now laying in Remus’s bed. Roman had offered to leave him alone, had said that his ask from before was not fair and that he trusted Remus enough to stay in his bed alone overnight. But Remus let him come into his room and sleep beside him. It was less lonely and somehow, he felt saver with Roman around. And he knew that Roman shared the sentiment.

They turned of the light and Remus laid there between the wall and Roman’s back staring at the ceiling. He was unsure what today had been. He was unsure how he should sleep.

The light was flicked on and Remus blinked against the sudden brightness. Roman moved and turned to face him already signing.

“So, why are you not sleeping?” Roman signed

With a sigh Remus retorted: “Why are you not sleeping is the better question. You can always sleep.”

I can. But I’m keeping myself awake to figure out why you’re not sleeping yet. ‘Cause I’m a good brother.”

“Sure-” Remus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest – “You won’t turn off the light until I answer right?”

“Correct,” Roman signed with a fat smile on his face.

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed. What is it?”

After a moment of hesitation Remus said: “You know Pat.”

“In fact, I do. I sang and danced with him like not even an hour ago.”

“Yeah. Right. You were doing that.”

Remus noisily gulped and felt himself already getting flustered.

Roman sat up and wiggled his eyebrows teasingly while signing: “Oh?”

Desperately Remus buried his face in his hands and moaned: “Yes, oh. Like fuck-me-he-is-so-adorable-and-wonderful-and-in-need-to-fucking-hold-him-in-my-arms-in-this-very-instance oh. The kind of oh like, like in the stupid love-on-the-first-sight looks! The ultimate fucking I’ve fallen far too quickly for this adorable, kind, wonderful and stupidly caring pastel punk oh!”

Roman shook him at the arm and Remus glanced through his fingers to see him smiling widely while once again sighing: “Oh!”

“And to make it even worse-” Remus gave up trying to protect his dignity – “The nerd is just as bad! Like, he is very awkward but I totally get it and know what he means and now I have the feeling that he’s, he’s kinda impressed with the things I know and fucking- fucking cares about what I say? And it’s confusing and stupid and so freaking HOt, Roman! He’s so hot and I don’t know what to do with that!”

Roman laughed a bit and then laid back down.

Gently he signed then: “Well, I don’t know either but for the first time in ages I think your crushes are not the shadiest people I’ve ever met in my life so you have my blessing! I’ve you’re in need of a wingman, or best man, I’ll be your man!”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, oh most gracious Roman.”

“You’re welcome my trashy brother dearest,” Roman retorted with a triumphant smile.

At once Remus had a thought and began to grin. That might be a good way to get a payback from his far too cocky brother.

“Talking of shady people though…” Remus began and watched the unsuspecting face of Roman.

“Yeah?”

“Janus is possibly the shadiest man you’ve ever fallen for, you know?”

Now it was Roman’s time to fluster. Defensively he sat up again and signed agitatedly: “Hey! He’s not that shady! He just – just looks a little shady. But he’s, he’s very cute. And patient. And being around him is very easy, you know? Like he just accepts what I throw at him and goes with it. Just. Just takes me as I come. It’s nice. Really nice.”

Remus smiled a little and let out a soft laugh as he glanced at Roman smiling and clearly thinking about the Jazz man.

“… You know what?” Remus said eventually.

“What?”

“He has my blessing. If you wanna fuck him you might continue. I won’t threaten him or cockblock you again.”

“You’re stupid,” Roman said and shoved him with a half-hearted offence.

“You’re welcome.”

“… Thank you. I really like him.”

“I get it. He’s classy.”

“Yeah, and Pat’s fun. And Lo might actually be able to match your fucking intellect. He’s smart.”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah… Ready to sleep now?”

“I’ll try. Te quiero.”

“También te quiero. Sleep well.”

Remus made an agreeing noise and Roman turned the light back off. After a few minutes Remus felt how Roman put his arm around him and how the weight and warmth slowly lulled him to sleep. Surprisingly he would have a rather regenerating nights rest for once.

___

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

Tagged for this fic:

@frawkeye

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@croftersjam15

#sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #Life on Crow Avenue #mim writes #please reblog

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 years

Text

A Change of Heart

A/N: Written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club Spring Forward Drunk Drabble prompt by Anon. Thank you lovely ladies for the challenges and prompts <3

This is the first TJ Hammond thing I’ve written, I hope he’s in character, kind of ;) I wrote him and bi/discovering he’s bi. I also know didly squat about The White House and all that jazz so in this story my word is law ;)

Warnings: unrequited feelings (or are they?), sneaking around, hinted at depression, first kiss, hinted at very light smut.

Being a guest in the White House was like being held prisoner. All the security, the cameras, never being allowed out, never being alone. You hated it. Why did your father have to come visit the President?

The most interesting thing about your stay, by far, was the President’s youngest son, T.J. He was an enigma. Smiling and chipper on the outside but broken and brooding when his smile failed him. He was gorgeous, of course. Charismatic. Talented. Funny. And he was gay.

There was no chance for you with him, even if it had been permitted, but he was still the highlight of your days spent in the residence of the First Family of the United States. And now, he was the highlight of your nights, too.

“Where are we going?” You hissed as T.J. hurried you down a corridor deep in the servants quarters.

“Shhh,” he chastised, pulling you along in his wake.

Excitement filled your veins with ice, hands cold and clammy and breaths held in the shadows as T.J. followed what seemed to be a well-timed and much-practiced route that lead outside. Only once did he shove you into an alcove in the building’s exterior, clamping his hand over your mouth and pressing you against the stonework with his body, to avoid a security patrol.

Whispered warnings turned to quiet giggles as you ran with him towards the greenhouses where the chief gardener grew plants for the gardens. Some of the most beautiful flowers were grown there.

“You said you’d kill to pick flowers down by the river,” he said when you looked puzzled, “and this is the best I could do.”

His warm smile sent butterflies spiralling around in your tummy. Even in the low light cast from the illuminated exterior of The White House, his eyes gleamed with something other than mischief.

“Won’t we get in trouble for being here?” You bit your lip nervously, earning you an amused smirk.

“Only if we get caught.” T.J. winked at you cockily as he bust the lock on the door of the oldest of the greenhouses and invited you in.

Roses of various colours filled the space. The reds were deep and the whites brilliant, but it was the peach roses that drew your attention, blushing red at the base of the petals like peach melba.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” He mused after a while, snipping one from the bush with some clippers he produced from somewhere nearby. “So vibrant and full of life.”

He was so close, and you jumped a little in surprise.

“They remind me of what’s fresh and pure in this world,” he inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of the rose. “You remind me of those things.”

The rose tickled your blushing cheek as he trailed the soft petals over your jaw and down your neck. His hand captured your face, fingers sliding into the hair at your nape, and his eyes locked onto yours. There in that forbidden place, in that unexpected moment, you froze, rapt by the plush pinkness of his lips and the unevenness of his breath.

“But-”

His kiss silenced you, lips sealing in your protest, tongue wiping it away. You forgot breath and better judgement, lost in the warm play of his mouth on yours, lost in him.

It was almost experimental the way his drank you in, slow and savouring in his method; thorough. By the time you parted he had you panting and wanting, pining for his touch.

He grinned, Adam’s apple bobbing with a light chuckle. “You thought I was gay?”

You nodded. It was common knowledge that T.J. Hammond was fully into men.

“I thought I was too,” he rested his forehead against yours, “but it seems like the right girl also does it for me.” T.J. shamelessly guided your hand down to the bulge in his trousers and you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

The whole thing felt like a dream. T.J. cut roses with you, and for every rose he stole a kiss, until neither of you could hold back. Overwhelmed and burning with need, you succumbed to your desire. And on the filthy floor of the greenhouse, with the scent of roses and the soft sighs of new-found love around you, you thanked the gods for whatever reason your father had come to visit The President.

#hbc drunk drabbles #hbc drunk drabbles spring ahead edition #tj hammond x reader #tj hammond fanfic #tj Hammond fan fiction #first kiss #bi tj hammond #cloudy's writing

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

lizard kiss time thank you

The Rite of Movement (Chapter 2)

[Ch 1] [ao3] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep, Original Monster Character(s), Sir Marc, Sir Talfryn, Sir Angelo, Quanyii, Sir Caroline

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Engagement, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Poetry, Presents, Monster Customs, Dancing

Fic Summary: Arum has a surprising revelation about his own feelings, and then decides to take matters into his own claws since his humans don’t seem to realize what they are denying themselves.

Chapter Summary: A conversation over breakfast. Hashing out the details, as it were.

Notes: Sorry for the long delay between chapters, I don't have as much of a well-defined plot for this one as I did for Reckoning, so Reckoning took precedence until it was done. Hopefully, this story will just keep going until we hit the actual wedding. Will I be able to actually WRITE said wedding, as an unmarried enby who hasn't been to a wedding since I was maybe eight years old? WE SHALL SEE.]

It isn’t until the next morning that Rilla remembers to question the technicalities, and Damien starts to worry again in the general sense.

“It’s one thing to be engaged,” Rilla says gently as Damien scoops out scrambled eggs and a vegetable hash onto their plates for breakfast. “There’s no law against engagement, regardless of how many people are involved or whether any of them happen to be monsters. But actually getting married… I don’t know if there’s a priest in the world who would-”

“I told you not to worry about what is possible, Amaryllis,” Arum says, voice warm and content and a little bit smug. “You are thinking too small. A human priest? Admittedly, you would be hard pressed to find one amenable to our situation. But your world is larger than just the realm of humanity now, is it not?”

“You are suggesting a- a monster priest?” Damien says, his voice lilting up in disbelief as he sets the skillet back on the counter and comes to join them at the table.

“Probably not a priest as you would recognize. But- there are monsters who oversee such ceremonies.” When they stare at him, doubtful, he scoffs, but he’s still smiling. “What, did you think that committing to each other was a strictly human desire? Not every monster wishes to, and some who desire commitment simply decide that they are married without the pomp and circumstance. But still others have a fondness for attention, ritual, the involvement of friends and rivals and underlings- you understand my meaning.”

“It wouldn’t matter that there are three of us?” Damien asks curiously. “I know that two in unity is a very human concept, but-”

“Monster unions are often complex, and often even more complex than three. Sometimes unions are more practical than romantic, sometimes they are mergers of families, sometimes a commitment of monsters will fall out of love and hold an extravagant ceremony of parting. Three instead of two in the human way is an unchallenging thought, honeysuckle. There is only one rule, for monsters.”

“And marrying you off to a couple of humans…” Rilla trails off.

Arum shrugs. “I know one or two powerful monsters who live far from the Citadel, who hold no specific grudge towards humanity, and if I asked them to oversee the ceremony for me… I think I could convince them.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I… may have already opened a correspondence or two… to test the waters.”

“Wow,” Rilla says. “You’ve really been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“… yes,” Arum admits, his tail curling around her ankle gently. “Yes I have.”

“A monster wedding,” Damien murmurs. “Saints, how my life has changed…”

“Does the idea bother you?” Arum asks, tone carefully blank.

“Once upon a time it would have,” he says with a wry smile. “Now I’m merely considering how to go about telling Sir Angelo about this without him accidentally revealing to the entire Citadel the event we are planning.”

“Oh, damn,” Rilla says with a sigh. “Working out the invitations for this is going to be interesting, huh?”

Arum gives a long-suffering sigh. “Marrying a knight, I suppose I shall have to endure a limited number of other knights in attendance,” he grouses. “I shall not be inviting many guests myself. The Keep shall be my most important witness.”

The Keep gives a joyous trill at that, and Arum hides a smile as he takes a bite of his food.

“Hm.” Rilla taps her fork against her plate absently. “Angelo obviously, and Tal and Marc and Dampierre…” she sighs. “We can’t invite Sir Caroline, even if we did kind of reach an understanding. She’ll still walk in and behead the monster that’s supposed to marry us in a heartbeat, no doubt. And I would invite Quanyii, but I have no idea how to get in touch with her, and, well-”

“You think she’ll start asking for my thumbs again, Amaryllis?”

“Oh hush, I was desperate and I never promised anything.” She pauses. “But I really don’t want her to bring it up again, yeah.”

“I am amused that you should wish such a chaotic creature attend our ceremony at all,” Arum says with a laugh.

“She was instrumental in the saving of our Citadel,” Damien muses. “I’m sure if we are determined, we can find a way to contact her.”

“Maybe,” Rilla says. “Either way, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves a bit. Saints… I can’t believe we’re going to have to plan a wedding. I had resigned myself to perpetual engagement, to be honest.”

“It can be done however you want it to be, Amaryllis,” Arum reminds her, trying not to sound too eager. “You need not adhere to any human traditions that you do not find appealing. And the Keep will help make any arrangements with the space that we need, of course.”

“Will we hold the actual ceremony outside?” Rilla asks, tilting her head. “I don’t imagine that you would want any knights and critters running around the inside of the Keep at will, wedding or no.”

“I had-” Arum pauses. “I hadn’t thought of that. I had been imagining-” a new song filling the greenhouse, hopeful and content instead of yearning, this time. Arum clears his throat, continues, “imagining it in the greenhouse. But outside, yes, I suppose that makes more sense-”

“The greenhouse,” Rilla sighs. “It is the most incredible room in the Keep, I think.”

The Keep sings a soft pleased note at that, and Arum scowls but does not mean it in the least.

“And we could have the Keep seal it off,” Damien suggests, “and only have the guests come in through portals, limit access to the rest of the structure, if only to keep things simple and contained…”

“Yes,” Arum says, fiercely glad that they appear as enthusiastic about the idea as he is. “Yes, I think that will work quite well.”

“How soon were you thinking that we would hold the actual- ceremony?” Rilla asks, watching with amusement as Arum clenches and unclenches his fists, not meeting her eyes.

“I… a month, perhaps?” he suggests, his heart thudding, not sure if that time frame is at all reasonable by human standards. “Small ceremony, shouldn’t require too much planning, just- need to see if our ‘priest’ is willing, make sure those we want will be able to attend- and-” he sighs. “I am due to molt soon, and I had wanted to wait until after that unpleasantness for this.”

“M-molt?” Damien asks, voice tilting up.

“Lizard,” Rilla chimes, and Arum scowls.

“I am a magical construct-”

“Who just so happens to closely resemble a bunch of lizards and shares many biological similarities with them,” Rilla says with a shrug and a grin. “You haven’t noticed, Damien? The Keep’s been trying to keep him all moisturized and cared for, but poor Arum’s scales have been all dry and pale lately.”

“It isn’t exactly a pleasant process,” Arum grouses.

“But I bet you’ll look pretty incredible when it’s over.” She pauses, eying him. “Shiny new husband,” she muses, mostly to watch the way his posture freezes, the way his eyes go wide, and then narrow.

“Shameless tormentor,” he mutters, fondly, leaning so he can nudge an arm against hers. “So. After I molt at least.”

“Let’s wait until we hear from your monster officiant, and when we know they’ll be available we can start inviting the rest of the little group.”

“You are being remarkably quiet, honeysuckle,” Arum says after a moment, and Rilla feigns a wince.

“Oh, don’t get him started,” she teases.

“It’s only-” Damien laughs, possibly at himself. “I’m so happy,” he says wonderingly. “It’s quite overwhelming, actually. Distracting, even- I keep thinking about-” he glances towards Arum, then gives another pleased little laugh. “I keep half expecting to wake from a dream. This seemed impossible only a day ago, and yet-”

“The impossible is my business, honeysuckle,” Arum says mildly.

“I am overwhelmed by my love for the both of you,” he says, and Rilla smiles and sighs and reaches out to grip his wrist.

“You know we love you too,” she says gently. “No need to get worked up this early in the morning. Besides, you might wanna start saving up your speeches for the wedding itself, don’t you think?”

“I am going to preemptively set a time limit on any speechifying or poetry-reading during the ceremony,” Arum barks quickly.

“At the reception, then,” Rilla concedes with a smile.

“The what?”

Rilla blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Okay- I am asking this completely seriously, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Have you ever actually been to a wedding, Arum?”

“Of-” he snaps his mouth shut, his snout wrinkling in irritation. “I-” he bares his teeth, and then his shoulders sink in defeat. “Of course not. When would I have ever? Who do you think would have invited me?”

Damien is making a face like he’s about to declare that he would, of course, he would invite Arum anywhere, for the rest of his life, anywhere and everywhere, all the most beautiful places- but Rilla steers the conversation before the poet can make Arum any more uncomfortable.

“It’s not a big deal, Arum. I just- didn’t want there to be any big surprises for you if you didn’t know what to expect. Usually after the whole actual ceremony, there’s a reception. A party, really. With food, and dancing, presents, and stuff like that. We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, though.”

“… dancing?” Arum echoes.

“Dancing,” Damien agrees in a dreamy tone, his head tilted and eyes looking somewhere distant.

“I… enjoy…” Arum pauses, frill flaring enough to reveal his embarrassment. “I enjoy dancing,” he says quietly, and then he coughs and sticks his nose in the air just a bit. “Of course, I’m sure your human dancing customs are just like all of your other customs: rigid and ridiculous and if you put one claw out of line someone will mock you for it.”

Damien, affronted, opens his mouth to retort, but Rilla gets there first with a laugh.

“Some dancing is like that,” she admits. “But obviously if you wouldn’t like that sort of lock-step, organized dancing, we just wouldn’t do it. I mean, I don’t really like that kind of dancing either, so that’s fine with me.”

Damien ducks his head slightly, almost pouting, but then he sighs and admits, “Most of that choreography is designed for… groupings of two, anyway.”

Arum wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. So invariably dull. You creatures cannot even cavort without putting restraints on every little step and turn.”

Damien frowns in earnest, now. “You don’t seem to mind terribly the restraint on my every little step and turn when I go through my exercises each morning, when you so often conveniently happen to be nearby and observing.”

“I-” Arum’s eyes dart to the side in a way that fails entirely to be stealthy. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I mean, I do,” Rilla says with a shrug. “Watching Damien stretch is my favorite part of my morning routine, just barely beating out coffee.”

Arum laughs. “Fine, fine. I suppose restraint can have its place.”

“What I’m getting from this is that you do want to dance, though,” Rilla says slyly.

“Dancing, food,” he deflects with a shrug, “none of that sounds… disagreeable.”

“How coy your phrasing,” Damien says, voice lilting. “Who would have suspected that a monster could be so very meek about the simple matter of a dance?”

“Meek,” Arum growls. He clearly knows that Damien is goading him, but he narrows his eyes and stands regardless. “I will show you meek, little knight. Keep?”

The Keep sings, then, but not in the usual way, not in its harmonious vagueness, but with rhythm and purpose. A full song, not a phrase of notes. Arum lifts Damien out of his chair with a hand on each side of his waist, and the movement glides easily into a waltzing turn. Arum is substantially taller than Damien, and Damien is less used to following than he is to leading, but he adjusts quickly with a laugh on his breath as Arum guides him through a series of steps that manage to be both unpredictable and elegant at the same time. Monstrous, but controlled. He turns Damien in a tight circle, and his movements to the music are measured and slow compared to his typical blurring speed. Finally he dips the knight back, leaning in close to nip at his jaw as if he just can’t help himself, and when that startles a more enthusiastic laugh out of Damien, Arum pulls him back to stand again, looking equal parts smug and smitten.

“Wedding ceremony planning, version two, entry one,” Rilla chimes into her recorder with a grin, and both of her breathless fiances pause to look at her. “Dancing at the reception is non-negotiable.”

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #links will be added in a second because i want to see if this will actually show up in the tag if i don't put them in #it's actually a couple hours BEFORE #lizard kissin' tuesday #by my time but i'm UNWILLING TO WAIT #okay cool even with NO links this still didn't show up in the tags #hey thanks tumblr you dipshit #the rite of movement

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morningsmead-blog · 5 years

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Who is that Girl I See?

Date: January 24, 2019 Location: Ashbourne Word Count: 1650 Triggers: Blood Summary: Allison goes shopping and brings home an unexpected guest

Dust particles hung in the air, twinkling like glitter bits in the sun. It was quiet, the air in the shop stale and as her fingers skimmed the shelves, they came away grey. The weather was abnormally warm for this time of year and Allison was taking full advantage of the bright sun and clear skies. Wearing her usual boots and jeans, she had forgone her heavy winter coat of late and had instead donned a mustard yellow sweater, sleeves pushed up around her elbows.

She absently wandered the shop, every so often picking up an object that caught her eye. There seemed to be many dolls, some normal, some wearing expressions of pure horror, as if they’d been frozen that way. By far the worst were the dolls that were disfigured, faces half melted or eyes coloured in black. They gave Allison the creeps and she avoided making eye contact with them as she turned down the next aisle.

The shelves here were filled with little knickknacks; sewing kits that were missing needles, a mug that was overflowing with buttons, old sports awards with scratched out names. It felt like she had wandered into a pocket dimension, a place where all lost things went. Examining a faded mug, Allison chuckled. It was fitting that she had ended up in this aisle, standing amongst the rest of the misplaced items.

There wasn’t much in the shop that had caught her interest and she replaced the mug before moving quickly down the aisle. Maybe I’ll go grab a bite to eat at the Common Ground, she thought, her hand still trailing along the worn shelves. Just as she turned the corner, her fingers caught the edge of a heavy object and it shifted, falling to the ground with a loud clatter. “Oh shit,” she muttered, turning back to find an ornate mirror laying on the ground.

It was oval in shape, with a beautiful gold filigree border around the glass. Picking it up, she ran her fingers gently over the sculpted border, her mouth dropping open in shock as she realised there were carvings in the frame. Foxes leapt through the forest floor, long fluttering ribbons wrapped around their necks. There were ravens and crows near the top, their eyes closed. It was beautiful. An intense need to have it in her home filled the earth fae and she clutched it tightly to her chest, heedless of the fact that it was leaving a grey film on her sweater.

Hurrying up to the counter, Allison reluctantly presented it to the cashier. He was young, maybe twenty and looked bored out of him mind. “We don’t do consignment here. If you want to get rid of that, you’re better off taking it to the junkyard.” It was clear that this was a common problem as his eyes barely gave the mirror a cursory glance before returning back to his computer.

Allison frowned. “No, I don’t want to sell it. I want to buy it. I found it down that aisle over there.” She gestured vaguely in the direction she’d come from, one hand still grasping the mirror’s edge.

Bored eyes slid over the mirror, taking in the gold frame. And then they slid over Allison’s form and he suddenly straightened, an uncomfortable smile sliding onto his face. She didn’t like the look in his eyes at all. “Huh, I don’t think I’ve seen that before. And I don’t think I’ve seen you before either. Are you new in town? I’m off in an hour. I could…show you around, if you’d like.” Fingers flew over his keyboard as he searched the data base. “Ashbourne isn’t exactly safe for pretty women like yourself.”

Taking in his unwashed hair and the awkward way he kept trying to stare at her chest when she wasn’t looking, Allison rolled her eyes and kept herself from reawakening the wooden stool he was sitting on. It looked old, like everything else in this shop, and fragile. One quick pulse of energy and she could have it turning into a small sapling, with the added bonus of thorns and nettle growing right on the seat.

“Thanks,” she answered through tight lips. “But I’ll be fine. Have you found the price yet?” She was impatient to go home. It would hang beautifully in her hallway, next to the front door.

A sullen look replaced his forced smile and he glanced back down at the screen, clearly put out by her rejection. “Here it is.”

Allison raised both eyebrows at the price – it seemed a lot to be asking for a shop like this. But something about it called to her and she couldn’t ignore it. Handing over the money, she got out of the shop fast as she could, ignoring the eyes she could feel on her backside.

She practically ran home, clutching the mirror as if at any moment, someone was going to take it away. Ignoring the odd looks she received, she didn’t stop until her door was closed and locked behind her, the woods merging until it looked like a solid wall.

Grabbing a cloth and some warm water, Allison spent the next hour gently wiping away the dirt from the crevices and the sticky film on the glass until it shone like new. The carvings were extremely detailed, and her fingers found new images with each pass. On her third pass, the pads of her fingers caught on a symbol she hadn’t noticed before. It looked to be a rune of some sort, one she’d never seen before. Tracing it, she was surprised to see it recess and then disappear into the gold, as if it had never been there before. She flipped the mirror over but there was nothing on the back, just a simple wire to hang it.

“How odd,” she mused, turning the mirror back over. “What are you?” There was of course no answer and she shrugged, before standing to hang it.

***

The mirror glittered in the sunlight and Allison was enraptured. She was by no means vain but every time she passed by the glass, the fae would pause to admire a new detail she hadn’t noticed until then. So engrossed in the frame she didn’t notice as her reflection shifted, moving a second slower than she did. And when its eyes flashed black and its features sharpened into a gruesome face, she dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. She already knew she spent too much time at the shop – maybe it was time she hired on a few more people.

***

A loud crash sounded through her house and Allison woke with a jolt, instinctively pulling two large thorned vines to her side. When nothing immediately attacked her, she cautiously got out of bed and crept down the hall, bare feet padding silently on the hardwood. Flipping on the living room light, a puzzled look crossed her face as she scanned the empty room. There was no way anyone could have gotten through her front door without a significant amount of fire or a heavy axe and hours of free time. Still, it would be worth checking it out.

She was looking up and so, when her foot came down on a large shard of glass, she wasn’t expecting the sudden sharp pain that radiated up her leg. “Holy shit. Motherfucking balls on a stick!” Hobbling over to the wall, she slid down to the floor once she was sure there was no more glass around her and examined her foot, grimacing at the large piece of glass sticking out. Blood was already running down her sole and she knew if she pulled out the glass now, it would only bleed that much more. “Suck it up Allie. You’ve had worse.” With a groan she shifted onto her knees and carefully shuffled forward until she came to the source of the crash.

Yellow eyes widened in shock – she hadn’t had the forethought to re-glamour herself – at the sight of her new mirror smashed to pieces. “No, no, no, no, no.” Grabbing a nearby scarf, she tried to sweep up the shards, ignoring the slivers of pain, until she had a neat little pile of red-stained glass. The frame itself was dented slightly but it was the mirror that was shattered beyond repair. Despair welled up inside her, completely unexpected, and completely overwhelming. In the morning she would wonder why she’d been so broken up over a mirror but for now, she sat next to the shattered glass, heel still freely bleeding, and wept.

***

As quickly as the mirror had come into her life, it left. The uncomfortable and almost unnatural despair that had overwhelmed her at the sight of shattered glass had gone away and she was back to her bubbly self. Not that it would last for long.

The first time it happened, Allison was in the back of her shop, crushing up tea leaves into small sachets. She glanced up at a noise and let out a shriek. In the window was a horrific face, her face, all melted and bubbly. She blinked twice and it was gone. Hands trembling, Allison went back to her mortar and pestle, looking up anxiously at the window every few minutes only to be met with her own, normal reflection.

And then it happened again. And again. Soon she began to dread passing by cars, passing by shops, passing by literally anything that could show her reflection. All the mirrors in her house had been taken down and covered with sheets and she hadn’t visited her greenhouse in days. It was the same each time: her reflection would be normal one minute and then the next it would distort, eyes turning black while her face twisted until it was no longer her face but the face of someone else.

#self para 003 #she cuts herself on glass by accident #idk how to tag that #but if that squicks you out #don't read

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orchidyoonkook · 1 year

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[TWWWBAATTA 3]:

not chapter 3 being 10.4k after this editing session....

#somehow managed to add 4 pages and 1000 words...#who knows what round 4 will do?#yoon on writing #yoon writes #TWWWBAATTA #greenhouse muses and surprise guests #TWWWBAATTA updates

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hellas-himself · 6 years

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Where There Are Shadows pt 32

so. two things.

I am absolute Elriel trash. But I am also here for Elucien, but since this is Feyrhycien, we’re going with Elriel.

I’m on and off with Nessian. I eat it up when I read fics on here, but when I read the books I remember how she treats everyone and it irks my soul. But I love her in my own way.

So with that being said, happy hump day.

-Feyre-

Elain was a giggling mess as I buttoned up the back of her dress. It was perhaps as Night Court as I would ever see my sister. It was similar to the dress I’d worn the night Rhys and I had invited Lucien to dinner at the House all those months ago, except hers was not backless and wherever there was skin exposed, she’d had it altered to at least a sheer panel of fabric which somehow made it that more alluring.

“You might just give Azriel a heart attack,” I said when I finished and we stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“If he didn’t pass out yesterday, I think he’ll be fine,” she said as she began to fret over her hair. “You’d think they’d announce themselves when they arrive.”

I snorted. Elain and I had been up on the patio sunbathing yesterday morning and when I realized all three males had finally come back from the Steppes, we’d run inside in our towels. Rhys could not have been happier, but Az…

“I can’t believe you walked right up to him and said hello before disappearing into your room.”

“It’s not like he was going to!”

I helped her pin some of her hair back.

“Elain Archeron, where is your modesty!”

She laughed.

“I must have lost it outside in the garden.”

“Maybe Az found it and has it in his pocket.”

“I’ll have to ask him for it, then.”

Gods, this ease in which Elain and I could talk to one another… We had never had this. I hated that Nesta was missing out on it. On seeing Elain break free of her shell and doing things solely because they made her happy, not because they were expected of her. And my goal was to give Elain a night she would never forget.

All eyes were on Elain when we made it downstairs, Cassian whistling as she walked by. Amren was quick to come admire the gold bracelet inlaid with pink stones while Rhys showered us both with compliments. Varian raised his glass at her from where he sat.

When we sat down, Cassian was kind enough to bring us some wine.

“Shame Az isn’t here for dinner,” Cas said with a sigh, making Rhys roll his eyes.

“Feyre and I are going out today,” Elain declared. I noticed that she searched the room but did not find who she was looking for. If she was disappointed she didn’t say anything.

“You’re all dressed up like that and you’re not even having dinner with us?” Cassian asked, genuinely surprised. Elain blushed.

“No,” I said. Cassian looked disappointed.

“But you and Rhys could walk us to where we’re going,” Elain kindly offered to which Cassian happily accepted.

“Have you ever been here before?” Rhys asked, looking at Elain as she shook her head.

Cas had his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to him.

“I’ve never been here before either,” he whispered.

“Mor suggested it,” I replied and he sighed.

“That explains it.”

I poked his side as we approached the two fae standing before a set of double doors. Arm in arm, Rhys led Elain inside, Cas and I following. The owner of the venue greeted us personally before guiding us upstairs to the private area I had requested.

“Feyre!” Elain exclaimed, letting go of Rhys to pull me away from Cas. She led me to a painting that hung on the wall.

“So that’s where Mor put it,” I muttered, feeling my face get warm. It was a painting of Velaris from my point of view up at the House of Wind.

“It is an honor to have your work here, my Lady,” the owner said.

“Thank you,” was all I could manage to say. Elain laughed at me for it.

Rhysand went to speak with the owner and soon, we were left to our own devices. We walked its gilded halls hand in hand, admiring the paintings and the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. We’d had this once, even if I did not remember much of it. But what little good I’d had as a child, Elain was there.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked as I held out my hand to continue on.

“I like seeing you happy.”

The sound of music grew louder the closer we got to the doors at the end of the hall.

“It sounds like a ball,” Elain mused, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Cassian and Rhys did us the honors of opening the doors for us.

And it was better than I had imagined.

Standing beneath a canopy of flowers and fae light was Azriel, who looked as if he had just finished decorating the room. My sister gasped, eyes wide. There were two long tables covered in trays of food, and a table solely for drinks. The quartet played from the dais on the far end of the room which was as large as a ball room. It was just as grand as the rest of the building, boasting a large chandelier and floor to ceiling windows that gave us a beautiful view of Velaris.

“Feyre… What did you do?”

“I may have let slip that tonight was very important.”

Her eyes widened.

“Just go to him,” I whispered, giving her a gentle nudge. As she made her way over, a smile blossomed on Azriel’s face that was so devastatingly beautiful I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to capture it perfectly.

“What is all this?” she asked Azriel, bringing her hands to his chest as she admired the detail on his waist coat. He took her hands in his and kissed them.

“Happy birthday,” he said softly.

Her laughter was melodious. ��

“Azriel… It’s beautiful.”

Whatever he said to her was lost on me as everyone walked in, complimenting the room and how both Elain and Azriel were dressed.

“Am I the only one who didn’t know about this?”

Cassian wrapped an arm around me.

“Elain didn’t know.”

“I resent that.”

I leaned into him.

“You’ll forgive me.”

“Really?”

I nodded, watching Elain admire the flowers with Az. Mor looked in awe of the room and was chatting away with Amren while Varian approached them with drinks. Guests from all over arrived, those who had come to know Elain and wanted to share this night with us.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to Cas. “Rhys is looking a little lonely.”

Cassian laughed as I walked off to where Rhysand was standing, taking everything in.

“You pulled it off,” he said with a smile.

“With a lot of help.”

“You look exquisite, Feyre.”

I blushed. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

His laughter warmed my heart. The way he looked at me never ceased to give me butterflies, to make me feel altogether vulnerable and safe.

Elain danced with nearly everyone, even Rhysand. Those two did nothing but laugh the entire time, especially when they saw me watching. When Azriel swept her off her feet, quite literally, we all tried to pretend we weren’t watching them dance. But I had the feeling they saw no one else but each other.

As the party began to wind down, we found Cassian handing Elain a small glass. She eyed him with a determination that reminded me of Nesta, of me. And she drank the whole thing and held the glass out for more.

And so began their game.

They tried racing one another back to the townhouse, but that ended with Cassian slipping and Elain stopping to laugh at him. Cassian goaded the rest of us into his little game, until we were all drunk. When Elain beat Cas in finishing her drink, we all applauded. Az was watching her with a little smile on his face, not as drunk as the rest of us, but enough to not care that we saw him smiling as he looked at her.

When the time came for presents, she thanked us all individually as we passed them to her. A pair of earrings from Rhys, a set of gardening tools from Cas. Amren and Varian had given her flowers from the Summer Court to be sent to the greenhouse, which left her beaming.

The room went still as Elain opened Azriel’s gift.

“Azriel, this is too much.” She held up the little gold necklace by the blue stone that hung from it. Her eyes met his and then she was smiling as she rose to her feet. “Put it on for me.”

Azriel went to stand behind her, and the way his fingers brushed across her skin reminded me of how Rhys used to be with me, in the beginning. I wasn’t sure why I remembered the first time he’d helped me into fighting leathers but when I looked at Rhys, he was grinning like the insufferable prick that he was. I rolled my eyes, before looking away to find the Elain hugging Az, leaving him blushing.

And then came my gift.

“Just once, Elain. If you hate it, I’ll give you the back up present.”

“A back up present?” she asked, lifting the little top I’d had made for her. It was like every other Night Court outfit Rhys had ever given me, but hers was a deep blue, almost black. Little silver beads hung from the hem of the top. The pants had a silver chain that hung loose on the hips, both pant legs made of the sheer fabric I’d come to cherish in this summer heat. With a giggle, she took Cassian’s drink from his hand and finished it, excusing herself from the room.

When she walked back, I think we all held our breath. These clothes, they were made for a figure like hers. She was blushing as she went to sit between Cassian and Mor again. She’d never shown this much skin before, but I suppose after our little incident yesterday, this was nothing.

And then, Mor passed her a little pink bag, a bag I knew far too well thanks to Rhysand and Lucien. My sister peeked inside and turned red in the face.

“I think I sent Az the matching set when we got here, but honestly, any of these three might have it on their dresser,” Mor said with a hiccup, pointing to Cassian and Rhys. “Whoever has it, make sure it makes its way to Azriel.”

But Az didn’t even seem bothered, even as we all laughed. If anything, there was a light in his eyes that I had never seen before.

“Az,” Elain said as she held up the scraps of lace long enough that I knew he was able to discern what they were, before she returned them to their bag. “I think I dropped my modesty outside in the garden. Feyre said you may have found it.”

The room went quiet as their eyes met and if this was how Rhys and I made everyone else feel, I almost felt bad.

“You left it on the desk in my office. I’d been waiting for you to come back so that I might return it,” he said so seriously that we all stared at him until he and Elain burst into laughter.

By the end of the night, Az was passed out on the sofa, Elain curled up beside him. Mor was snoring and Rhys was stuck beneath his cousin who had rested her head on his lap.

“I have to do one more thing, then I’ll come save you,” I whispered to him. He smiled, waving me off. He alone had helped me with this last part of the night. But he had felt his brother would not have accepted it from anyone else.

I had expected to find Cassian passed out on the bed, but he was wide awake, eyeing me from where he stood, tying up his hair.

“You finally get the room to yourself,” I said softly. He chuckled.

“He’ll wake up and come push me off.”

I walked in the room and made my way towards him. I knew I looked suspicious, especially with my hands behind my back.

“I doubt it.”

He raised a brow. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I discovered something I felt that the Lord Commander needed to know.”

His sudden seriousness nearly made me laugh.

“I need you to know, Cassian, that you are by far one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had. And I need you to know that I love you.”

I held out the little box to him. He looked too stunned for words.

“I can’t go back in time and grace your life with my presence every year,” I said, which finally made him laugh. “But I’m here now. And no one gets away with hiding their birthday from me. Ever.”

“Feyre…”

“I know it was a few days ago, but I hadn’t found anything that screamed your name at me.”

“It’s usually a female doing that,” he said as he took the box from my hand.

“Now you know why I never visit your house.”

We both laughed. He undid the ribbon and set the lid aside.

“What’s this?”

“I’m not sure if it fits, but we can fix that if it doesn’t.”

He held up the gold band, the obsidian stone glimmering in the fae light. It was simple, but there was something about it that told me he needed to have it.

“No one’s ever given me anything like this.” His voice was nearly a whisper. Was he going to cry?

“Try it on.”

He let me slide the ring on his finger. It fit perfectly.

“Thank you, Feyre. I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that it matters. That you matter. That every year that we get to have you in our lives, is something worth celebrating.”

I wasn’t expecting to see tears in his eyes. But there they were. I pulled him into a hug which made him laugh.

“I love you, Feyre.”

“I know,” I said with a laugh. “I love you, too.”

“I forgive you, by the way.”

I giggled. “Told you.”

By the time I went downstairs to get Rhys, he was already asleep. He didn’t stir until I’d managed to move Mor to the other side.

His eyes fell on me, red and glassy.

“There you are,” he said. “My salvation.”

Rhys got to his feet and chuckled when he almost lost his footing. Once he was ready to walk, I led him up the stairs, but he missed a step and pulled me down with him. We tried not to laugh, but then when I tried to stand up, Rhys pulled me to his lap. His kiss was greedy, and his wandering hands were going to get us in trouble.

“Rhys,” I whispered. “We can’t have sex on the stairs.”

“Why?” he asked as he kissed my neck.

“Everyone is here.” He stopped, and I felt this sudden panic down the bond.

“Not everyone,” he said quietly, looking at me with such sadness, I would have winnowed us right to the Day Court if I knew we’d make it there in one piece. “Lucien isn’t here.”

I kissed Rhysand with as much fervor as he’d kissed me.

“Lucien wouldn’t fuck you on the stairs in front of everyone. He’d wait till everyone was in their room.”

“He would,” Rhys said with a big smile as I pulled him to his feet.

“When he comes back home, we’ll have plenty of new stairwells you two can make use of. For now, we have the bed. Now walk.”

Being hungover was never enjoyable. It was even less so, walking into a small bar in the early hours of morning, wishing that I hadn’t made this arrangement. But I’d already walked out here and I had to get it over with.

Nesta was sitting in the back, as she always did. She looked as bad as I felt. And yet, her eyes still held nothing but resentment when she saw me approach. I knew I probably still had Rhys’ scent all over me, but Lucien’s too, as I was wearing his shirt that I’d found at the bottom of the drawer. And when she sniffed at me when I neared the table, I almost saw red. I would never judge her for the males I knew left her apartment, the one I could scent on her now. It was none of my business, as long as no one hurt her, just like who I slept with was none of her business. Even if her gaze told me exactly what she thought of that.

“I was beginning to think you’d make me walk to your house.”

I sat down, reaching into my pocket to hand her the folded note for the rent. There might have been surprise in her eyes as she took it.

“For this, you could have sent it with the courier.”

“For what? So you could send it back without even bothering to read it?”

I saw the anger in her eyes but I was too tired to let it unsettle me. I was hungry. And I wanted to go back home to be there when Elain woke up to find herself in Azriel’s arms on the sofa beneath the blanket Cassian had so kindly draped over them.

“I don’t see how that was any of your concern.”

“You missed her birthday.”

“I had no reason to be there.”

“You could have gone to the townhouse to see her.” I knew my voice was harsher than I had meant it to be. “You could have written a note. She misses you, Nesta.”

“Your little party was all anyone talked about last night, I’m sure that her evening was perfect without me.”

“You could not be more wrong.”

She glared at me for a time.

“Are we done?”

“No,” I said. “The house is almost finished. We’re inviting everyone over once we’re settled in. I want you to be there.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my sister. What other reason do I need to want you around?”

She rose to her feet. She was wearing someone else’s shirt and a pair of pants that might have been mine once but it was stained with wine and Mother knew what else.

“Forgive me for not wanting to be subject to the judgement of your family.”

“You are my family, Nesta.”

“Yes. The way mother was.”

@readingismycopingmechanism @fuzdog @gently-say-aha @highladyofherondale @alxanxah @city-of-fae @myfeyrelady @nuggets-and-mouthwash @feysanddotacotar @daeniran @szatti1001 @rhysandshighlady

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know!!

#I stan elain and feyre as absolute besties tbh #and I stan feyre and cas as ultimate bros #although they'd make a good crack ship #since i'm trying to follow along with what we got in acofas #i'm going to be trying to make more sense of the nesta situation we were left with #but honestly elain and cas are bros #and elain not being a shy meek little thing is also something I stan #not that theres anything wrong with that but I like to think elain comes into her own and isn't as shy around those she loves #where there are shadows #acofas spoilers #where there are shadows pt 32 #feyrhycien fic #feyre x rhys x lucien #feyrhycien #elriel

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real-fakedoors · 6 years

Text

under leaves so green - CHPT 9 - Miraculous Ladybug

After the Dupain-Cheng family purchases a flower shop around the block from the Agreste mansion, Chat Noir frequents the spot in search of company from the manager-but-not-really Marinette. Beneath the mask, Adrien starts to struggle with how cute she looks in that green apron. (AKA: the not-really flower shop AU where basically everything is the same, but Marinette is extra stressed by her job and Adrien tries to be supportive)

Crossposted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 9: The Hummingbird Flower

In which, Adrien and Marinette are both very excited for their date, and Chat Noir decides he can't wait until tomorrow to see her.

We apologize: your regularly scheduled Marichat programming has been interrupted by a surprise guest appearance.

Marinette had never enjoyed her work so completely.

Sure, it was hard and laborious as ever, but she could practically feel the happiness seeping into her pores with the light of the sun. Every breath came easy, every customer seemed pleasant, each order was seamless, and all of her plants smiled brightly back at her. Her brash Banks’ roses were a magnet of attention, lustrous rubies beneath a cloudless sky. Subtly even seemed a quiet grace in the form of her painter’s paradise of hydrangeas or by her terracotta beheld boxwoods. Within, Marinette’s heart was a hummingbird, and the greenhouse seeped with the lush overgrowth of peaceful fullness.

It felt like she had forgotten how to frown.

Her phone had been buzzing all day, and Adrien’s name was a frequent one that came across the screen. In fairness, he hadn’t been the one to text her originally; their group text was blowing up with Alya’s planning, only to be derailed almost immediately by Nino and Adrien. As it happened, Marinette didn’t a bit. Heck, her phone could fall into a bag of topsoil and be crushed by the delivery truck, and she was certain her mood still would not be hampered.

With respect to the conversation, Marinette wasn’t able to contribute much. She was constantly busy with the demands of her job, but she appreciated that her friends didn’t fault her for her radio silence. It was simple and nice, to peek at the screen occasionally when a customer headed out the door or between restocking the shelves. Alya had been the one to initiate the four-way chat today by sending a picture of the Louve from the street - why she was around that part of town, Marinette hadn’t a clue - and pushing the La Nuit des musées idea onto all of them, but since then the conversation had degraded to mostly dumb humor and well-meaning goading between the boys.

Alya was by no means absent, though. She and Nino poked plenty of fun at the both of them for their date plans tomorrow night. Adrien had been quick to try to shut it down (for what he said was Marinette’s sake, to not make her feel uncomfortable) but they were persistent. Still, through dodging plentiful innuendos and frequent sarcasm, Marinette thought Adrien seemed rather excited to talk about it.

Proud, even.

That thought sent her running towards the back with rose-tinted cheeks more times than she was willing to admit.

The reporter-to-be eventually looped them back to a proper topic, about spending that Saturday night at the La Nuit des musées. It was an annual event in Paris that only happened one night of the year where all of the big museums remained open from dusk ‘til dawn. There was a modest upfront charge for a wristband that allowed unlimited access to all of the participating venues. Any of the Paris museums worth their salt were included on the list, so it would have felt foolish if she were to not go: the Louvre, Musée d'Orsay, the Centre Pompidou, the Arts and Metiers Museum, the Decorative Arts Museum, and the Palais de la Découverte were all possibilities.

Marinette was excited by the prospect of attending, although that would be with a post-date Adrien... so the possibilities for what that night might turn into was like dividing by zero. At least until Tuesday passed, Marinette could whip between gooseflesh and stomach cramps at the possibilities for Saturday night quicker than she could sew a seam.

Between watering planters and wrapping bouquets, Marinette noticed an uncharacteristically serious text from Adrien directed towards a tag-team of Alya and Nino insisting he give them a firm answer on La Nuit.

Adrien (1:56 PM):

Um, idk if I can. I want to, but Nathalie says there’s something on my schedule I don’t think I can get out of.

And now that it was on her mind, she did recall Adrien saying he wasn’t going to be available on Saturday. It explained why he kept getting off-topic, probably trying to avoid disappointing everyone. Marinette couldn’t blame him for that, even if she was saddened to think on it. She would probably still attend if Alya and Nino wanted to, since it was a one-night-opportunity, but she would definitely skip out on the reception and deal with the minor annoyance of third-wheeling.

After another thirty minutes, Marinette ate her lunch in the back office while going over her next purchase order. Tikki played the part of sympathetic audience.

“Ugh, these prices… How’s a girl supposed to eat?” She said, taking an entirely ironic bit from the lunch Maman had prepared for her. It was some sort of curried potatoes and rice creation.

Tikki frowned and settled into her shoulder, nibbling on her favorite variety of macron.

“Well, at least the need to order plenty means you’re doing good business, right?”

Marinette sighed and retrieved the “company” checkbook (it was just her parents, linked to the business account with their bank) and wrote out a figure with so many 0’s she actually had to double-check to make sure she hadn’t made an error.

“Yeah, I suppose… Maybe it’s a seasonal thing, but all of this?” Marinette pointed down at the catalog, finger tracing plastic planters and floral wire. “It’s annoying that they would inflate the price of necessities because they know we need them.”

Tikki giggled and adjusted her weight on Marinette’s shoulder. “Maybe Hawkmoth akumatized the factory workers. If there’s no flowers left in the city, what will draw ladybugs to Paris?”

The girl shook her head and chuckled. “Why didn’t I see it before? The answer was so obvious, Tikki!”

They shared a laugh and Marinette took another bite of her food, sealing the envelope and writing down the purchasing figure in the books. Hopefully this was the just the height of seasonal pricing, because they were barely breaking even with these sort of margins.

Just as she finished her food and took a long drink from a water bottle, the bell at the front chimed. Marinette could only check the messages on her phone and couldn’t get much utility from the device otherwise during business hours, so she opted to leave it with Tikki who could pass the time watching videos.

Marinette wiped her hands quickly on her apron and walked through the front of the store. A young gentleman, well-dressed and a few years her senior, had walked in looking very nervous. He eyed an assortment of bouquets wearily, and Marinette had to suppress the urge to laugh.

Mo would get a kick out of this.

If a man came to the store alone, Mo had warned her of three things.

“When M&M is at its end, when I go, you’ll need to be wary on your own! ...Yes, Marinette, I just rhymed, you can stop laughing now. I am but a poet who doesn’t even know it!”

Even in present day, Marinette rolled her eyes. Typical Mo.

“Young men - and nay, even some young women - will need your help with these purchases. They know nothing of the language of flowers, and they’ll be so blindsided by romance they won’t have the forethought to study up before coming to the store. If they are not purchasing for an apology or a date, then they may have a lustful eye for the unsuspecting female clerk, working the store alone. Don’t be afraid to use those muscles of yours to kick some sense into them, if you have to.”

Mo said he had an eye for that type, which Marinette frankly found to be a little ridiculous, but he would always insist on “helping” those clients so they might not make some sort of unwanted advance on her. It was actually very sweet how protective the old man had been, but she usually though he had a tendency for the dramatic.

Grinning, the bluenette strode across the counter and called his attention. “Bonjour. Can I help you?”

His face was conventionally handsome, a strong jaw with some dark five o’clock shadow that made him look a bit more mature. Glasses and brown eyes, darting and anxious, looked up at Marinette’s greeting.

“Oh, bonjour, Mlle. Um... actually, yeah, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure...” The customer turned his attention back towards the wide variety of bouquets Marinette had prepared, and she felt a little smug at having just finished restocking. It was a bit impressive to look at, especially for someone like this.

Marinette nodded and placed a hand at her hip, joining his study of the display. “Rather you did something wrong, or you’re aiming for a date. Right?”

There was a pause, and the man laughed in relief. “Wow, you’re good. Yeah, I… I’m trying to ‘impress’ someone.”

Marinette nodded, tapping her chin and keeping her eyes forward. That narrowed the possible list of appropriate bouquets, although it depended on what type of impression he was hoping to make.

“Well, if it’s a date,” Marinette mused, taking a step towards a cacophony of crimson, scarlet and ruby red buds that were easy to admire. “You might consider something classic. Roses are popular, of course, but…”

She gestured to another, softer and slightly fuller arrangement. “If you want something a little different, Hummingbird flowers are always a reliable, pretty pick.”

Marinette brushed the star shaped petals of the palest pink with her fingers, a delicate bunch accented by Baby’s Breath and White Diamond Limonium.

Roses were cheap to grow and they could sell them at a high mark-up, just by way of the demand. Fiscally, it probably would have made better sense to stick to upselling the former recommendation, but Marinette just will herself to make a sale based off money alone. There was soul within each stem, and some blossoms simply needed additional advertisement for people to appreciate their personalities.

“Hummingbirds?” The man croaked, and Marinette just nodded patiently.

“No, Hummingbird flowers. They’re technically called bouvardia. They’re simple, reall-- ”

The bell at the door interrupted her, so she quickly called a greeting before continuing.

“Bonjour! Just a moment, please! Sorry, but yes - bouvardia are really simple to care for, and they will keep for weeks. Just pop them in any vase and change the water every few days. They’re supposed to represent enthusiasm, and they have a…”

Her voice fizzled out, because a ringing in her ears didn’t stop. The bell was going off continuously, and it had picked up a rhythm.

Marinette turned to face the door, having caught a child playing with the bell to elicit such a sound before, but it turned out the chime was coming from someone much less predictable than a child.

“C-Chat Noir! Bonjour,” Marinette bowed her head, surprised to see him, and the customer turned with wide eyes.

Clasping his hands together, the young man bounced on his toes. “Wow! I-it’s… you! I’m a huge fan!”

The black cat, always one for a show, performed a theatrical bow while his tail swished around the middle aisle. “Ah, it’s always a pleasure to meet a fan! And in the most charming spot in all of Paris, no less.”

The gentleman beside Marinette practically floated over to Chat, and he vigorously took the heroes hand and shook. “I hate to ask - I’m sure you get this all the time, but could I get a selfie with you? My boyfriend wouldn’t believe me if I didn’t show him a photo!”

“Of course,” Chat accepted the man’s phone and they leaned in for a picture. “I actually happen to photograph rather well.”

Just after they snapped the shot, Chat caught Marinette’s eye, and the smug blond had the nerve to wink. Out of reflex, her head fell back on her shoulders, and she had to keep herself from hissing at him in annoyance.

“Yes, hello, Chat Noir. If you’re here for a purchase, I’d be happy to help you once I’m finished with this gentleman.”

“W-What?” The man clutched his phone to his chest, hugging the device like it was a lifeline. “No, please! Chat Noir, you go first. My thing isn’t important, it can wait!”

Chat Noir shook his head and smiled. As he opened his mouth to speak, however, the bell to the door rang again and Marinette thought seriously about throwing her hands up and quitting.

She fixed her face into a smile, certain that it was not convincing, and faced the door. “Bonjo-- …?”

There was no one there. Had the person stepped in and left immediately? It… had had happened before, though it struck her as odd.

Whatever the case, she could not complain. Chat’s presence alone certain to bring a tide of business crashing down Courtier St., so she needed to wrap things up.

Marinette stepped firmly towards the center of the store and gestured to young man who had begun texting furiously into his phone. “I’m sorry, sir, but I insist. Chat Noir is a hero of Paris, but in this store, he’s also a customer. You were here first, and I’ll assist him once we’ve made a choice for you.”

Behind the young man’s glasses, he blinked repeatedly and looked between the hero and Marinette like she had just started speaking Yiddish. It wasn’t until Chat nodded him to go that she was able to finish the sale, and thankfully, it had been quick thereafter. He seemed so starstruck that Marinette didn’t even have the chance to finish her explanation of Hummingbird flowers before he hastily accepted and passed her a shiny credit card.

“Wow, who would’ve thought? I’m here for flowers and bam! Chat Noir. This is such an amazing day!” He whispered across the counter to Marinette, who just smiled politely and passed him his receipt and requested a signature.

It really shouldn’t have struck her as a a surprise, as Chat Noir came frequently, but Marinette had gotten used to seeing him in the evening after the past week. Him coming here during the day while she drowned in work seemed comparatively frustrating, but Marinette kept her voice kind all the way until the man left the store (only after he stopped to shake Chat Noir’s hand two more times, of course).

Even so, Marinette had nothing but positivity to offer today, grinning at the alley cat who had folded his hands neatly behind his back.

“Hi, Marinette.” Chat said once they were alone, and she raised a brow at him. The cat must’ve hit his head or was actively hiding something, because the look he was giving her was filled with unusual admiration.

“Hello, minou,” Marinette smiled as she returned to the counter. Chat respectfully remained on the other side, though he did walk rather close behind her.

Sticking her tongue out, Marinette broke through his intense stare when they both laughed. “What brings you by today?”

“Ah, right meow? I was simply in the neighborhood and thought you might want some company of the kitten variety.” He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows, and Marinette just slapped a palm into her face.

With a good-humored sigh, she picked up some papers and began to make a few notes. “I’m so flattered, Chat, you have no idea. How could I ever thank you?”

“Oh I’ve got a few ideas, Puur-incess. Especially now that I know you sneak boys into your room.” His voice was riddled with suggestiveness, but it was clearly sarcastic. Marinette just shook her head and giggled.

Chat seemed to notice her exuberance and commented, “Well, isn’t your cat-titude just meow-valous today? Even my puns seem ineffective!”

Marinette just exhaled brightly and met his gaze. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I happen to be in a very great mood.”

“Oh? Do tell!” The black-suited hero leaned his elbows on the counter, coming closer in interest.

Her face flushed, but she did not look away. “Well, that friend I was telling you about… They came back, and…”

She stopped mid-sentence, interrupted yet again by the ever-present bell that called her attention, and Chat straightened when she glanced over his shoulder.

There was no one there.

“Again?” Marinette pursed her lips in annoyance, walking around the counter and coming to the door.

Chat stayed a pace behind her, watching her examination of the doorknob. “Is something wrong?”

“I think there’s something broken… with the… um…”

Marinette’s voice trailed off, but not, for once, due to lack of the right words or a sputtering confidence. Instead, her attention had been caught by some unusual activity beyond the glass walls. Instead of a typical flow of passing couples, groups of friends, or parents and their children, the predictable midday ambiance of Paris had been unsettled.

“Something’s happening,” Marinette whispered, voice suddenly urgent. Chat scowled and moved right up to the window, standing so close she could feel the smooth exterior of his suit as he looked into the road.

Indeed, people were no longer passing along peacefully, a steady tide of leisure down the sidewalks. No, the current had picked up, and a wind was blowing ever East, loud and panicked. People were screaming, and running, and clutching their loved ones.

Chat clenched his jaw. “An akuma.”

Marinette tried for a playful smirk. “I suppose it was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

He pursed his lips, and the witty joke that Marinette expected didn’t come. Instead, Chat Noir turned to her and put a hand on each of her shoulders.

“Go hide, Princess.” The sharpness of his tone surprised her. “Please.”

“Umm…” she felt his hands squeeze her slightly. “O-okay, Chat Noir. Be careful.”

The promise of her safety must have been enough to undo whatever had rattled him, because his smile turned huge and he stepped away, bowing low.

“But of course, I’m paw-sitive things will be just f-el-ine.”

Marinette rolled her eyes while the cat hopped away, the only force of nature moving against the clamor of people fleeing the source of danger.

Wistful, Marinette watched him go, worried again. Was he okay?

“Marinette!” Tikki chimed, flying a few inches in front of her. At what point her kwami had come to the front of the store, the girl had no idea. “Aren’t we going?”

“O-oh, right!” She nodded seriously. “Let me go out the back…”

As quickly as she could manage, Marinette locked the front door and ran through the exit on the southern side of the building. Thankfully, everyone in this part of town had already fled or found refuge indoors, so it seemed safe enough to transform.

Marinette met eyes with her kwami, and the two shared a fierce nod. “Tikki, spots on!”

In a flash, a strength flowered from her core as red spandex fit to her like a second skin. Clarity and focus settled in her mind with ease, and with a contented sigh, Ladybug stepped out into the courtyard.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Ladybug said, mostly to get herself to get in the right headspace for a fight. It’s been weeks, and taking to the rooftops with her yo-yo in hand felt invigorating.

Back-tracking slightly so no one might see her depart directly from the flower shop, she ultimately headed towards the center of town. Ladybug made quick work of a few miles when the magical device in her outstretched hand began to buzz.

Finding a building to stop upon, Ladybug flipped open the screen, listening for disturbances or ambushes all the while.

“Chat Noir,” Ladybug nodded severely in greeting into the screen. The black cat grinned sheepishly, and she had to stop herself from laughing.

“Do I even want to know why you’re soaking wet?”

“Well, you see Bugaboo, it all started this morning when I -- “

“Mon chaton,” Ladybug said pointedly, raising her eyebrows at him. He shook himself off slightly like a drenched animal, and his hair seemed puffier as a result.

He kept his grin just as wide. “I’m afraid things are a bit fishy down by City Hall.”

“Fishy?”

Chat shrugged. “You’ll see. I’ll keep ‘em distracted for you, Bugaboo.” He sang her nickname and blew her a kiss.

Ladybug merely shook her head, flipping the screen closed. “That cat, sometimes…”

Setting a course towards her partner’s location, the heroine moved as a flash of red along the Parisian skyline. The roads were quiet in their vacancy, and it was always one of the worst parts of battling an akuma. People abandoned the streets and sucked the life from the city itself; it sounded of death and reminded her of absence, neither of which were conditions she yearned after.

Once City Hall was in sight, Ladybug quickly came to understand Chat’s meaning. The nearer she moved to the scene, the more that awful, odorous waves reeking of fish wafted to meet her. Even as a civilian, Ladybug was not the biggest fan of seafood, and this wasn’t the smell of a roasted salmon or freshly prepared sushi. It smelled like of salt and seawater, musky and dark and totally unpleasant. Vaguely, she recalled someone telling her once that olfactory experiences are more poignant than any other sensory memory; Ladybug could only hope that was hyperbolic, because this smell would surely haunt her forever.

“What the…” Ladybug muttered, covering her mouth and nose, trying in vain trying to block some of the oceanic air from making her dizzy. At the cusp of a large building looking over the city square, she looked down into the streets to find a torrent of… money? Coins, bills, and currency of every kind spilled into the streets, so high it covered some smaller buildings entirely. It was like a flood of cash sprang from City Hall and was rushing down the streets, a broken dam that began to submerge the city beneath the weight of wealth.

Baffled, Ladybug wondered aloud (through a compressed, nasally voice). “What kind of akuma is this?”

“Beats me,” answered a familiar call. She turned and spotted Chat Noir, retracting his baton and finding his footing. By the looks of it, he must have just vaulted to the top of the building himself.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was fishy, mon chaton… ugh, this is terrible.” Ladybug replied, scowling and scanning the world below in vain, searching for some source of the chaos.

“Really?” He seemed amused. “Maybe it’s the whole, cat-like-instincts thing, but I think it’s actually rather nice.”

“Bleh,” Ladybug stuck her tongue out, and her partner snickered at her expense.

Stretching his arms, Chat moved to the buildings’ edge and crouched down. The streets were still filling with money, a sea of metal and paper growing taller in the center of the square and spreading further down each side street.

“Looks like we don’t have anytime to waste, unless we want to be sleeping with the fishies,” he commented, almost sounding annoyed. Ladybug sighed, and they met eyes. She gave the cat an approving smile.

“Well, kitty, this seems like your specialty. It looks like it’s all centralized around City Hall, so we best start there.” Chat’s ears perked, and Ladybug’s grinned widened. “Shall we go akuma fishing?”

Chat stood and spun in a fluid movement, facing her after a full rotation and bowing. “It would be a pleasure, Bugaboo.”

Leading the way, Ladybug swung her yo-yo far and aimed high, not particularly interested in falling into the flood of currency - the smell seemed to come from the rising tides, and frankly, she was glad to have nothing to do with it. The catching wind while she leapt closer to the building actually helped to wick some of the odor from the air surrounding her face, but when she landed deftly on the roof of the building, it grew even worse. The gentle thud of Chat Noir landed beside her, and his voice was immediately alarmed.

“L-Ladybug! Are you okay?” He gripped her shoulders. “Why are you crying?”

She groaned and patted his hold, using the knuckles of her other hand to brush away the sudden tears.

“I’m just fine, thank you for the concern Chat. It’s the smell, my eyes are just watering. Ugh.” Setting her jaw, she tried to indicate finality with her tone, and thankfully Chat Noir drew back.

“Hmm,” Chat tapped his chin and walked to study some of the skylight windows. “If you don’t think you’ll be able to breathe, don’t be afraid to fall back, okay? Maybe we can draw the akuma out away from the, uh,” he paused, looking over the side of the building at the growing pile of cash. “Ocean?”

Ladybug huffed and squared her shoulders. “You might be right, but let’s see if we can’t figure out what’s going on first.” She had to blink through some latent wetness while investigating the glass beside Chat Noir.

“It doesn’t look like there’s - oh, well,” Chat was about to state the obvious - that there wasn’t anyone inside - but his claim would have become immediately false. The door to the mayor’s office burst open, and so far as they could see, all of the inner sanctums of the building remained entirely vacant of money.

Stepping out from the office and cackling wildly, a larger-than-life man stepped through the doorway (just barely fitting) and dragged a large net behind him. In some weird way, Ladybug was reminded of Santa Claus, but only if the jolly man of Christmas carols had jaundice and turned mad.

The man sported a bright, almost insultingly yellow, coat with matching hat and boots that covered almost his entire body. A few inches between the bottom of the coat and the top of the boots exposed gray tattered clothes beneath, and even the man’s face was largely obscured by a bushy grey-white beard. Striking against the his drab appearance, his eyes were gruesome - one, large and blown from glass, matched by a scar from lid to cheek, and the other was gray as an overcast sky. What little of his face was visible and not disfigured appeared papery and tough, and he must have been getting up there in age.

Thrown over his shoulder, adding to the illusion of a deranged Kristopher Kringle, the man gripped a net at least double his size. Large and black woven wire crossed over itself into what must have been some sort of fisherman’s net; it was the only part of his get-up that seemed a clear candidate for the akuma to hide.

Ladybug grimaced when she realized the net was not empty.

“He’s got the mayor,” Chat commented, almost as casually as if he were remarking on the weather. With a glance over the streets, Ladybug noted the rising rate of the strange paper and metal sea, and snapped her fingers.

“Ah. The treasury is in this building. That’s probably where the money is coming from, and I think it’s below ground.”

Chat nodded, already understanding her meaning.

“I’ll stop the flood,” he offered.

She smiled. “And I’ll try to get the net away from ol’ greybeard.”

With a quick nod, she watched Chat dive from the building into the “water” with surprising grace. The sound of his body hitting a conglomerate of metal, however, did not sound at all pleasant.

“It probably doesn’t tread like water,” Ladybug yelled down to him through cupped hands. She giggled as Chat massaged his backside, more crawling than swimming towards the bit of the entrance that was still visible.

He called back to her. “That would have been helpful about 10 seconds ago!”

Allowing herself a little laugh, the red heroine readjusted her shoulders and faced the window again. The akumatized victim was shouting something nonsensical to the mayor, who was quivering under the net. She needed to act quickly before things escalated into some sort of hostage situation.

The windows on the roof did not have any visible locking mechanisms, so Ladybug shrugged and kicked through the glass, leaping to the marble tiles effortlessly.

“Let him go!” She demanded as the yellow-coated man turned to face her, and much to her surprise, he dragged the mayor’s weight with his turn.

The moment of recognition came too slow, though, and Mayor Bourgeois slammed into her and knocked her back into a pillar.

“Ladybug!” He cried, seemingly uninjured though he had just been used as a weapon.

Groaning, she blinked a few times and tried to ignore the several tender spots where rock had met her back muscles, and took another, more prepared stance across the hall outside the mayor’s office.

A different approach, she held her yo-yo at the ready. “What do you want?”

“Fair trade in the state of France!” He shouted automatically, adjusting the net at his shoulder. “And I, the Pêcheur, ain’t going to let some bug get in the way of what the hardworkin’ people of France deserve!”

Ladybug dropped and rolled away from the swing of the net she knew was coming, the threat evident behind his words. Not a moment too soon, as a loud crunching sound left a crater against the wall where she had just been standing. Maybe the net wasn’t hiding the akuma after all? It seemed really careless to swing around the object she needed to destroy so recklessly.

“The people of France don’t want violence, Fisherman, I can assure you that.” Ladybug replied calmly, standing and gripping her yo-yo. If not the net, than what?

The hat? Maybe… It still didn’t feel right, though.

“Oh I don’t know,” he said, cackling and swinging the mayor like a ragdoll. Ladybug winced, glad whatever magic kept Mayor Bourgeois in the net equally seemed to stop him from getting hurt. Still, he was a civilian, so she needed to get him out of here as quickly as possible. With a hasty scan of her surroundings, Ladybug noticed an elevator at one end of the hall.

“The people of France welcomed a revolution filled with violence, or did you forget, Little Miss?”

Backpedaling down the length of the corridor, Ladybug tried to keep Pêcheur far enough away that he would have to release his net to swing it at her, but near enough that he kept in pursuit. Just a little further…

“That’s true, but times have changed, Fisherman!” Ladybug took a threatening posture with her weapon in one hand, her other hand seeking the elevator button. “You can’t expect the people of Paris to--”

She stopped when the lift behind her dinged lightly, and she reared back with her yo-yo ready to send it spiraling around his ankles. In retaliation, Pêcheur roared furiously and whipped his net around, swinging it at her with barbaric force.

Perfect.

Like pretending to throw a dog a bone, she kept a close hold on her yo-yo, leaping over the net as it swept at her. Instead, she flung the trusty weapon at the man’s forearm that had a hold on the mayor. With a cry of pain, he dropped the net just in front of the elevator, and gravity did the rest.

She fell to the earth just inches in front of Mayor Bourgeois and quickly dragged him backwards before the elevator closed.

An angry wallop could be heard against the metal doors, but she had been just fast enough to complete the getaway. Immediately, Ladybug began to unravel a whimpering Mayor Bourgeois.

“Mayor! Are you alright?”

He was shaking, but appeared unharmed. “Y-yes, Ladybug. Thank you! I feel t-terrible about this…”

Ladybug noted a pleasant beep above their heads; they entered on the third floor, and she had her sights on the basement.

“Do you know what happened? Who is Pêcheur?”

Mayor Bourgeois made a face. “Well, he’s a fisherman.”

“... Yes, thank you, Mayor. And?” It was difficult to keep the irritation from her voice as she lifted the last bit of net above his head.

Another beep.

One more floor.

“He came to my office with a proposed bill to reduce the state tariffs on exporting fish, but that is something politically way above my head. I’m just a mayor! When I refused to bring his concern to my compatriots at the Assemblée nationale, he screamed about earning his livelihood at sea and stormed from my office.” The man completed his explanation as Ladybug helped him stand. Once he was steady, she reared an arm high in the air and used her foot as a counterbalance, tearing the net wide.

No butterflies here.

As if on cue, the final ding sounded in time with Ladybug’s sigh and the doors opened.

The horrible, repugnant scent of dead fish flared in her throat, and the mayor covered his mouth to stop from throwing up. A small influx of money spilled around their ankles, but it wasn’t surging as it once had.

“Why, there you are Bugaboo,” Chat called nonchalantly straight across from them, using his bodyweight to keep a large bank-style safe closed. It was clearly giving under the stress of compounding currency within, but his barricade had stayed the madness temporarily.

He shifted when a particularly horrendous metal creaking sound went off behind him. It was clear the door was going to give soon.

“I hate to be a burden, but purr-haps you could lend this poor cat a hand?”

Ladybug helped the mayor wade through the mess to the stairs, and thankfully Chat had mostly cleared a path on his way inside. “Mayor, find any room to hide it. It’s too dangerous in the streets with all of this in the way,” she gestured at the mess at their feet. He quickly nodded and thanked her again before sputtering and slipping his way up the stairs.

In a flash, Ladybug flew across the remainder of the room and, with their combined strength, managed to better stabilize the door.

“Okay, minou, got any ideas? Where’s the money even coming from?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said, the strain clear in his voice. “It doesn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. It’s just seeping through the ceiling in there. Like rain, almost.”

“Rain?” Ladybug glanced down. “And you were wet earlier, weren’t you?”

Chat scowled. “It wasn’t my fault, I was helping someone in a car that got turned over and some people running by were soaking wet.”

She frowned, brow drawn together as she looked at her feet. “Maybe this isn’t just like water. Maybe it is water, Chat. That explains why its able to sort of swish and move on its own, and there’s no way he could have an endless supply --”

The cat yelped as the door started to give a bit, and he hastily replied. “Yes, sure, great - your logic is amazing and you’re amazing, blah blah, but maybe we should get out of here?”

“Ugh,” Ladybug groaned, exerting even more force as the door started to buckle. “We need a plan first. If one of us lets go, the metal won’t hold.”

Ears perked, Chat Noir turned to her with a grin. “Wait a meow-ment! I have an idea! Just hold the door for one second, and um..well, actually...” His smile flickered and faded.

“Well?!” Ladybug shook her head, eyes bulging. “What are you waiting for? What is it!?”

“Umm, you’ll have to, uh, spread your… legs” he muttered. Frankly, she didn’t care about boundaries and all that - Chat clearly was not understanding the urgency of the situation.

“Okay! Okay, sure, just do whatever you have to!”

Chat frowned at her for a moment, as if surprised she trusted him so completely, but his focus came back with another groan of the metal.

His tone was hard. “Okay, hold the door.”

Under her breath, Ladybug muttered a quick retort through grit teeth. “Yeah, like I have much of a choice.”

Chat Noir moved directly in front of her, crouched down and drew his weight back. “Cataclysm!”

He aimed a hand, miasmatic and deadly, at the spot where the metal barrier met the ground, just between her feet, and the floor began to quake.

With his other arm, Chat wrapped a deft hand around her waist and extended his baton forward into the metal, just as the hinges began to snap, and drove them back into the elevator.

He smashed the button closed the moment they were inside. The door dented under the crushing weight of coins, but they were unscathed.

Ladybug heaved for air, crisp and sharp against her windpipe as they stood in the strangely quiet elevator. Beside her, Chat rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

“S-Sorry, that was close.” He glanced at their feet, noticing some netting caught in the small collection of coins and paper below. “I take it the akuma wasn’t in the net?”

Still breathless from exertion, she merely shook her head and glanced up at Chat. The moment they met eyes, his ring beeped twice.

“Ah…” he pressed his lips together and eyed his right hand in annoyance. “Well, any ideas?”

“I think…” she began, looking at the ceiling. “I think the guy isn’t going to leave the building. At some point, he’ll demand our miraculous, and we’re already here. More importantly, he said he wants to change the laws, I guess.”

Chat Noir snorted and ran a hand down his face. “They have like, petitions for that, right? Did getting akumatized seem like the most logical solution?”

His ring beeped again.

Ladybug was only half-listening, and she lifted herself up using the wall to support her weight, pushing through the latch in the ceiling. He didn’t need directions to know they were going up, the long way.

Once situated in the dark vertical tunnel, she squinted upwards and addressed Chat’s earlier question. “Yes, but, this man felt wronged, or cheated from what I gathered. He called himself the Pêcheur. The Mayor refused to help him… and he was talking about ‘the hardworking French people’. The smell, the ‘ocean’ of money, his outfit...”

A little more quietly, Chat reached the same conclusion she had earlier. “Ahh… A fisherman who wanted to improve wages or something to that effect, wronged by the Bourgeois. Literally, probably.”

She nodded, to which Chat added, “But what is he hoping to do?”

Another beep.

Ladybug just shook her head as she unsheathed her yo-yo, spinning it before grappling to the floor she had last seen him. “I have no idea, but we’ve got to stop it before things get more out of control. Your ‘second basement’ bought us some time, but Paris is going to flood if we don’t do something.

“It’s almost like the city is under-funded, am I right, Bugaboo?”

Chat had his baton ready, but Ladybug lifted a hand to stop him.

“You should stay here, you’re about to detransform. I’ll go after Pêcheur, and you recharge. Okay?”

She could tell, even in the low-light, his ears drooped slightly. The hard truth came in the form of his final beep, warning them of only sixty more seconds until he would revert to civilian form.

“I’ve got some food on me, so I’ll be able to catch up with you soon.” Chat offered, and Ladybug gave him a quick two-fingered salute.

“Bug out for now, mon chaton.”

The sound of hastily typing thumbs and a gorging kwami were the only things to break the silence for several minutes.

It was a little unnerving, sitting cross-legged at the bottom of a dark elevator shaft, waiting patiently for time to catch up to need. It was some sort of poetic pseudo-marketplace dealing in minutes and cheese, patience and fortune. Still, the quiet was peaceful, but it stirred a fear in his stomach.

Was Ladybug okay?

And another, newer worry found dominion beside that familiar fear.

Was Marinette okay?

Digitally speaking, things had spiraled out of control. Providing live updates to the Ladyblog, Alya was wading the sea (and probably earning herself some serious bruises along the way) while Nino had texted the group in clear panic, trying to get her to move inside or at least seek higher ground.

Marinette had not messaged any of them, which was disconcerting.

Adrien pulled up the blog in spite of himself, knowing his compliance was sort of encouraging Alya’s dangerous behavior, but it was an undeniably useful source of information when away from the throes of the fight.

The livestream was turning from selfie mode to photoview, and he cringed at the quick glimpse of Alya sauntering waist-deep towards the center of the city.

“Alright Ladybloggers, looks like there’s a change of scenery going on. Ladybug just appeared outside the building, and by the looks of it, no Chat Noir in sight.”

Scowling, Adrien and Plagg met eyes.

“The man calling himself Pêcheur,” Alya continued, oblivious to mutual annoyance of her audience in the elevator shaft. “Seems to be able to manipulate money, and he’s using the change to -- whoooaa,” Alya wavered and nearly dropped her camera, and the broadcast jostled disorientingly.

“We are in deep water now, folks, and that’s not a Chat Noir signature pun,” she shouted, and true to her word, the semi-calm mountains of cash had turned back to a freshet of angry ocean, literal water pouring into the city streets and sweeping Alya out and away with the deluge. His “second basement” must have bottomed out.

Adrien’s heart went out to Nino; at least Marinette had enough sense to stay inside.

“Okay folks, we need to seek higher ground. We couldn’t get close enough to hear the akuma’s threats, but there’s no denying one thing: he can control the water, and it can change to… well, change, apparently, by his whim. Stay safe everyone!”

She stopped the livestream, and Adrien couldn’t decide if it was appropriate to laugh or sigh. The girl was about as brave as Ladybug herself, but without the supersuit. In another life, she would have made a great superhero.

“Alright kid,” Plagg chewed his last piece of camambert and swallowed. “I’m ready when you are!”

Adrien stood quickly, his gaze fierce.

“Plagg, claws out!”

As easily as breathing, black leather encased his right arm and branched to his left, down his torso and hugging his body. Running a hand across his hair, familiar ears fit to his blond tresses and Chat Noir shook the familiar resurgence of power through his muscles.

“Round two.” He declared quietly, readying his baton to vault through the building, after Ladybug and the akuma.

Chat managed to trace after without issue, following the sounds of battle raging above his head. A clear hole had shattered a glass window, and the jagged edges offered droplets of water near the middle of the hallway. Unable to cling against their own gravity, the droplets turned to metal with a tiny shing each time another drop loosened and hit the marble floors.

Hmm. So LB and Alya were right. He turns water to money.

“But where is he even getting the water?” Chat wondered aloud, glaring at the ceiling.

A rush of red flew backwards across his line of sight, propelled by a gush of liquid that sounded hard and metallic upon impact.

He watched the Fisherman saunter forward, after what had clearly been an injured Ladybug. Chat waited just until the man crossed over the opening before vaulting himself on the roof.

“Hey now!” Chat taunted, twirling his baton upon landing. “Don’t you know that fish keep their money at the riverbank, Mounseir Pêcheur?”

Grinning, he paused to leap away from a second crashing wave of bills, rolling and landing on one knee. “C’mon, if you’re a Fisherman, surely you can catch me?”

Another rush of money snapped in his direction from over the side of the building, near enough that Chat felt the light tickle of passing air besides his ear.

The more Chat baited, the more the man fumed and rage, and the blond hero rather enjoyed watching the Fisherman’s face turn red beneath his yellow suit. It was clear, unbridled fury, and it was turning him reckless.

“Why are so crabby, anyways?” Chat mewled in time with the rising tides, the sound rapturous as metal smashed into concrete and plaster walls. Coins rained from above with the jostling movements, flying upwards only to smack against the top of his head. Chat hissed, more in annoyance than in pain.

Still, the Fisherman looked too ensorcelled to do much else than storm senselessly after the black cat. Not a single intelligible word passed through the man’s cracked lips, and of course, Chat Noir was never one to pass up a joke.

“What, cat got your tongue?”

In a furious roar, Pêcheur raised his arms high in the air and the sea moved with him, punching a hole straight through the roof with brute force.

Chat barely managed to backflip away from the assault, but it seemed Pêcheur had been hoping for that. He had driven Chat rather close to the edge of City Hall’s rooftop, and the hero barely managed to stay upright, thanking Plagg for his enhanced reflexes. Below, choppy tides and dangerous currents called up to him in a manmade monsoon.

“Heh, well, looks like you, uh, caught me?” Chat shrugged, and blessed be, Ladybug had regained her wits and he watched as the string of her yo-yo snaked around the Fisherman’s ankle just as he reared up for another attack.

A fierce shout garnered Chat’s attention while the man went sprawling.

“The akuma are the papers in his coat! It’s in his front pocket!”

Nimbly, Chat prowled forward and rolled the man over with his foot, ducking down to follow Ladybug’s directive. As he did, a massive shadow cast along the roof at his back, winking the sun out of existence. His ears were pitched to two sounds: one, of rustling paper and rising winds, and the other, a voice.

“Chat Noir! Look out!”

He had only time to cover his face before much more than just the sun was eclipsed - his whole body was smashed by waves of pain. Every muscle twisted and flared against sharp edges of coins and paper, crushing him beneath sheer weight alone. It was like getting smacked by a metal mallet, over every inch of his body, all at once.

“Lucky Charm!”

Oh thank god, Chat thought through grit teeth. It was disorienting, a rush of sensations that were fueled mostly by discomfort, shoving and dragging by invisible hands. The force of the hit had knocked him clean off the roof, and it was clear that the man was trying to drown him in a sea of greed.

A much different, sudden flare of pain made Chat wince, but this was neither a compression of coin or the twisting of substance pelting into his body again and again. It wasn’t the same light paper cuts that marked his cheeks and nose. This was tight and sharp, like someone was trying to pop his shoulder out of place.

Before he knew what was up from down, Chat Noir was airborne again.

He blinked several times, even more confused by his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was he had been freed of his alloy-bound tomb. The world was inverted, the fringe that usually rested along his face hanging down and away from his forehead, brushing into his sort-of-but-not-really cat ears. A definitely upside down and cute red heroine frowned at him- or was she grinning? - and raised an eyebrow in bemused appraisal.

“Hello, mon chaton,” teased Ladybug. “Can I borrow your baton?”

“Oh I suppose, it’s not like I’m using it, given that I’m just hanging around,” he grinned, though not without clenching his jaw through some of the latent soreness from his earlier battery. Chat reached for the trusted tool at his lower back and offered it to her.

Ladybug rolled her eyes and accepted his baton, only to let him go and crumple on the roof of what he figured to be a tall neighboring building. She had rigged some sort of pulley to bring him out of the crushing sea with her yo-yo and a large antenna. In her other hand, she held a comically huge polka-dot cutout of the mayor.

By now, the “water” had completely covered most of the square, and City Hall was immersed.

“Hmm, and where did our fishy friend go?” Chat asked as he rubbed the strain from his arms and shoulders.

Beside him, Ladybug pursed her lips while tieing one end of his baton and her yo-yo together, keeping the disc of her weapon dangling from the end. “He’s under the, uh, money somewhere. But I thought we might go back to our original plan.”

Chat watched her movements with interest, and Ladybug tested out his baton, extending it slowly.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

She smiled widely. “I thought we could try akuma fishing.”

And with no problem at all, she cast out their weapons into a makeshift fishing pole, far into the square with the cut-out of the mayor secured to one end. Her yo-yo stuck out above the choppy waves, a red sinker in the middle of a brown, silver and bronze mess of wealth.

Several seconds passed of silence, and Chat eventually offered, “Just like that?”

“Yep. Now we wait,” Ladybug offered simply, and Chat frowned when her earrings beeped.

“You sure about this?” He crossed his arms nervously, eyes scanning a jingling ocean.

That caused her to laugh, and it was a bubbly, infectious sound. Chat smiled.

“Of course, mon chaton. My lucky charm has never failed us before.”

“Well,” he shuffled his feet before deciding to sit down onto the roof beside her, boots almost grazing the top of the bristling body of money below. “I guess that’s true. This was a strange akuma, LB.”

After a pause, Ladybug replied. “Yes. It definitely was. I feel bad for the old man, he really seemed to just want a better life for himself and other fishermen.”

Another beep.

“I don’t think anyone can fault him that,” Chat responded, and they both fell quiet and watched the chaos start to calm. He must be close and spotted the bait.

Ladybug was going to change back in just another few minutes, and still the akuma hadn’t appeared. Even if they did manage to defeat it in time, it was sort of a shame. It had been awhile since he’d seen his partner, and Chat admittedly missed her company. Ladybug was one of his best friends, and… well, given the nature of their relationship, he felt like he should tell her about his recent interest in someone else. It’s not like it mattered really, but he loved Ladybug in the sort of way you would only with someone you’ve nearly died for, and who has nearly died for you.

With the recent luck he’s had as Adrien, Chat felt it was the sort of good news he could share with her and that she might want to know about. Even if he wouldn’t be able to refer to Marinette by name, it was something so new and pure that made him happy it was almost like lying to not talk about her. A lie of omission, almost.

Again, Ladybug’s earrings beeped, and Chat fidgeted uncomfortably. “So… how are you?”

She blinked down at him, brow drawn together. “What?”

Rubbing his neck, Chat clarified. “Well, you know, it’s been a little while and…”

A horrible grinding sound caused them both to jump, and Chat sprang to his feet while Ladybug returned her focus forward. The baton was starting to bend under a sudden weight, and a swishing release of Ladybug’s “line” began zipping loudly over the water.

“This is it!” She said, but the sudden intensity of Pêcheur’s grip at the other end was starting to pull her over the building’s edge. Without a second thought, Chat situated himself behind her and wrapped his arms around the baton as well, using their combined strength and weight to doubleback against the line, and he cringed at the sound of beeping just beneath his head.

“Ladybug! You only two minutes left!” He managed, grinding his molars.

“It’s okay. I’ve got this,” she spoke confidently, and quick tug his baton began to retract in, dragging the akuma’s weight along with it.

Of course, just as Ladybug said, the rest was simple. Pêcheur’s body had gotten tied up in the wire of her yo-yo, unable to escape though he thrashed like a fish just caught from the ocean. Quicker than they ever had before, Chat leapt up, snatched the akuma and threw it down to his partner, and she quickly ripped the papers to shreds.

Ladybug bid the luminescent, glowing akuma farewell, and stayed only long enough to offer Chat her fist.

“Pound it!” She smiled before, in perfect Ladybug fashion, bugging out in the other direction.

Sighing contently, he watched her go from the rooftops, looking down into the center of Paris with satisfaction. Another successful battle, and Chat watched as the people began to return to their wares, ducking out from buildings hesitantly.

With some gentle reassurances, Chat helped escort the akumatized victim to the medical professionals, and he caught the tailend of a conversation between the man and Mayor Bourgeois.

“I really do apologize, Monseiur Naser. I’ll at least see if I can take it to my colleagues, but I do not know how much power I will have.”

“T-thank you, Mayor. I appreciate you even trying to make a change.”

Chat sighed and removed himself as politely as possible from the crowds, trying to disengage from the probes about Ladybug’s whereabouts or his take on the recent dry spell of akumas. Of course, he did his best to answer vaguely but kindly, and thanks to Ladybug’s power any of the pain or soreness from his body had been wicked away.

Paris had been defended, but that didn’t mean he felt his job was done. Chat still had someone waiting for him, halfway across town, but what had been intended as a short break between shooting for the new Gabriel ad had been totally sucked up in the attack. Once again, responsibility got in the way of seeing Marinette, and it had only been so fleeting. Chat did not want to jeopardize the recent headway he had made with his relationship with his father, so he was resigned to return to his civilian life.

Chat Noir took to the sky and his feet only touched the tops of buildings long enough to propel him into the air again, preferring the open wind to the chains of gravity that would return him to himself soon.

Carefully, he slipped into an alley behind the studio he was expected in and spoke three familiar words.

“Plagg, claws in.”

Adrien held his palms out carefully, and his black kwami settled himself comfortably against his chosen’s fingers. Unfortunately, Adrien had only brought cheese enough for one detransformation, and Plagg knew as much.

Grumbling, the kwami curled in on himself, much like the creature that gave Chat Noir his namesake. “If ya can gets me something with some cheese in it, I’ll forgive you... this time.”

Adrien smiled. “There’s a snack table in the back. It’s not camembert, but I’m pretty sure they have some cheeses.”

At that, Plagg mustered enough energy to float into the front pocket of Adrien’s jacket, urging him on towards the dressing rooms.

Adrien stopped in the middle of the hallway, spotting some floral arrangement with a flower he actually recognized. It was part of one of the “sets” for the shoot, he assumed, as it was complex and larger than life. This had been the first time he had been able to utilize Marinette’s lessons in all things floral outside of the shop, and the recognition caused his heart to skip a beat.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, and Plagg certainly did not understand why Adrien felt the urge to stop in the middle of his Holy Grail quest with cheese at the helm, but in a quick motion the blond had his phone in his hands and was snapping a picture of the flowers.

Adrien (3:01 PM):

I’m at a shoot today. I saw these and I thought of you. :)

The only disappointing thing was that he knew it wasn’t a Dupain-Cheng product - those were easy to spot. With each delivery he had seen Marinette prepare, rather as Chat Noir or as Adrien, he always noticed the tag she would attached to the outside somewhere with care; a handwritten note thanking each customer for their business.

“I’m dying, Adrien,” Plagg called dramatically, turning over inside his jacket. “I’ll never be able to help you fight another akuma again, or sneak into your girlfriend’s room late at night.”

Hastily, the teen shoved his phone back in his jeans and made a beeline for the snack table, shoving enough cheese into his jacket to satiate a fully grown human.

Adrien took off his coat in the dressing room and left Plagg to his disturbing feasting rituals, staying only long enough to grab his phone and take it out to the set with him.

Marinette (3:08 PM):

What a coincidence!! I just sold some of those earlier today! They’re (bouvardia) Hummingbird flowers. Sorta like those latanas you sold the other day. :D

Marinette (3:08 PM)

Although Mme. Kleinstein probably would’ve bought anything from you with those freakin puns.

He grinned, walking down the hall. Adrien wasted no time writing back, stopping just shy of the shooting area so he could finish his message.

Adrien (3:09 PM):

That was the best sale the store has ever made and you know it! I gtg, we’re about to start again - but I thought they were pretty and knew you would appreciate them.

“Aye! There you are!” The photographer called, snapping her fingers aggressively halfway across the room.

“S-Sorry,” Adrien stammered as he slipped his phone into his jeans, but the woman simply glared suspiciously before turning her attention back to fixing her camera.

Around the studio, clusters of people moved around in preparation. Set designers, wardrobe, make-up, photographers and aids, Nathalie, magazine editors and people with clipboards all fluttered about, busying themselves with this-or-that. You wouldn’t even know the whole city hadn’t been under siege not twenty minutes ago.

Adrien hadn’t much time to think about it before he was swept up in the din, being shuffled back into his next outfit and having hands poking and prodding around his body. It felt annoyingly like the sensation of getting smashed by a tidal wave of change, just a little less sharp.

Still, he was thankful that most of his shots today were ones requiring happy poses. With recent events, that posture came naturally and his smile felt less forced. The photographers commented on his unusually but refreshingly chipper attitude, and he could only blush when Nathalie mentioned off-handedly that he had a date tomorrow night.

It was true, and it’s not like he was ashamed of it.

Between shots, different people would whisper to him about it, and he tried to just brush it off with the same answer.

“I’m excited! Just a little nervous.”

For whatever reason, it turned out that had been the wrong thing for Adrien to say. Several of the adults took his honesty as an opportunity to grant him all sorts of unsolicited advice and to offer tips from their wide experiences dating.

Adrien knew most of these people moderately well - business acquaintances, he would probably label them. Some were comfortable enough to be on a first-name basis, but it wasn’t without an arm’s-length of familiarity between them, so discussing something so personal with people like this was… strange, definitely. But more than that, it was nice. Everyone was clearly excited for him, asking all sorts of questions about Marinette and their plans, how they met and how he asked her out. The photographer, Lila, audibly “aww’d” when he told her about her employment as (practical) sole proprietor of the flower shop.

By the time the next break came, an hour had passed and Adrien felt like he had just finished having the most bizzare group therapy session imaginable. Between the overwhelming positivity of the people around the studio and their decidedly bizarre interest in his love life, he strode to his dressing room to check on Plagg when another model spotted him.

“Oh, hi, Macey.” Adrien stopped and nodded politely. She was a brunette with a dark complexion, taller than his father probably, and he knew she was about five years older than he was. They had done dozens of shoots together for the Gabriel line, and she tended to treat him like a younger brother. While Macey wasn’t quite a friend, she was at least always polite and easy to talk to.

“So A,” she said, hand at her hip. “Tell me about Marinette.”

A rush of blood flooded his cheeks, and the woman laughed. She gestured for them to continue down the hall, which gave him a chance to clear his throat.

“Well, she’s in my class at school - I’m not sure how much you heard out there…?”

She brushed him off. “I want to hear it all again. From the top.”

The explanation felt practically rehearsed after talking to so many people about Marinette recently, so it only took a few minutes to re-explain his friendship and admiration for the dark-haired miracle in his life.

They were standing outside Adrien’s dressing room by the time Adrien finished.

“So you like her. Marinette.”

“Um,” Adrien blinked. Had she even been listening? Wasn’t that much obvious? “Yes. A-a lot, actually.”

“As in, maybe-one-day-a-serious-relationship?”

He nodded firmly, omitting the comment that popped into his head about the possibility they might already be in a relationship if not for his own obliviousness.

Lowering her voice, Macey glanced down the hall.

“Well, then, I’m really happy for you, A. Really.” She smiled, as Adrien was clearly confused. “But take it from me - be careful with the press, especially early on. I lost a lot of good guys to the stress brought on by the paparazzi.”

Ah. Right. That… actually made a lot of sense.

“I guess I didn’t really think about that, I’m just so used to it...” He admitted, tapping his chin.

Macey closed her eyes and nodded, satirically serious. “The burden of fame, my friend. I know it’ll be fine, but I couldn’t not say something. It really sucks if a story gets out of hand, you know?”

Adrien thanked her, and Macey left him to his room. As he entered, he found Plagg snoozing beneath his jacket, so Adrien looked around for his cellphone.

Crap.

He left it in his jeans, which were still over in wardrobe.

Sighing, he sat at the mirror and considered Macey’s advice. It was reminiscent of a rumor that had gotten out about him and Marinette once, and in retrospect, it was funny to think about it now. Someone had taken a photo of them at the park beside her house, under rather embarrassing circumstances if he recalled correctly, and the photo went viral with claims of a secret relationship. At the time, Marinette had taken the gossip in stride and insisted it wasn’t an issue, and like most tabloid fodder, it died out rather quickly since no one in the Agreste circle acknowledged the photos.

A photo or two was innocent enough, so they had no problem dismissing the public speculation surrounding their friendship. But now? If he and Marinette continued to spend more time together (a thought which made him grin in spite of himself), the winds would likely stir the rumor mill all over again.

The irony of all of this was not lost on him.

Adrien had grown up under the constant scrutiny associated with fame, bulbs flashing and shouts commandeering his attention just walking down the sidewalk. The press knew no boundaries, demanding answers on anything and everything ranging from French politics, to the disappearance of his mother, to his take on Chat Noir and Ladybug. Incidentally, when he first wore his miraculous, admiring fans had already been second nature at that point.

Would Marinette be okay with the publicity?

…Maybe?

She was sort of shy, but fierce when she wanted to be. It’s not like you had to be an extrovert to deal with photographers - look at his father, for example.

Still, Adrien didn’t want to upset her or make her uncomfortable. Especially as he’s gotten older and come to, um, understand romance in a more adult context, he could imagine plenty of horrible headlines that could really start them off on unfortunate footing. It’s not like footing was something something Marinette was exactly known for...

“Plagg - I got a question for you.” Adrien pondered, glancing over at the clock. They’ll need him again in another five minutes.

“Adrien, I swear to the stars,” his kwami mumbled. “If Paris isn’t on fire, I’ll cataclysm you.”

The teen smirked, though took a few steps back for good measure. “Can you even do that?”

“Do you really want to find out?” Plagg replied darkly, but lifted his head and met his stare with a half-lidded glare.

“Nope.” Adrien help up his hands. “Actually, I think I just figured out my answer. Go back to sleep, grumpy.”

His kwami did not need telling twice, and his head lowered beneath Adrien’s jacket again. Tiny snores came almost immediately.

Rolling his eyes, Adrien headed out the door and made his way back to the front of the studio. Despite Plagg’s bad attitude, he actually had answered Adrien’s question. All he had to do was ask for the kwami’s attention, and Plagg’s reaction was answer enough to know how the conversation would go.

Why not just do the same thing with Marinette? Not everything had to be a riddle or require a complicated plan. Adrien respected her too much to make assumptions on what she might feel.

By the time he was in front of the camera again, Adrien’s mood was bright again. Some of the set workers still occasionally whispered questions to him about Marinette, which made him blush more than once (each time, the photographer or makeup artist would yell in annoyance. Red cheeks were good for a winter ad, not one with floral backdrops). Aside from those interruptions, the remainder of the shoot passed without issue.

They were all dismissed just a bit few minutes after six, but by the time Adrien had finished changing and washing his face, he wasn’t in the car until quarter-til seven. Sinking comfortably into the seat, he finally sought out his phone. He had fifteen texts from the group chat, and from a separate, private conversation.

Marinette (3:11 PM):

Thanks for sharing, that was really sweet. And np - good luck!

You would think he would be tired of smiling after a photoshoot, but then, he was also lucky enough to have something to look forward to afterwards.

Thinking through a response, Adrien studied the streets as the car rolled by. Vermillion streaks of maroon velvet had begun to explode across the sky, rippling outwards against a swirling miasma of night that began to overtake Paris. Softening, the day was mending beneath the horizon as night came to reign again. It was both dark and luminous, all at once, reminding him of Marinette’s hair as it bounced down the sidewalk.

No, wait.

That was just her, walking home.

“Oh!” He blurted, shooting upright.

Nathalie jumped, and she turned to him sharply. “What is it? Are you alright?”

Adrien blushed, still staring at the window. They were stopped at a light, so Marinette just floated off towards the bakery, towards her home.

“Umm…” He glanced at Nathalie, who was staring at him with hard eyes, and his bodyguard, who was completely not reacting at all.

“Y-yes, I’m fine! It’s just, Marinette is right outside. Could we offer her a ride home?”

The two in the front met eyes, his father’s secretary pursing her lips, and they both glanced at the time on the dash.

“...Pull over,” Nathalie commanded, and the driver did just that at the first chance.

Adrien hastily thanked them and practically flung himself onto the sidewalk, running to catch up with her.

“Marinette! Mari!” Adrien called, speeding past a few alarmed pedestrians. Perhaps she had been examining her cellphone from within her purse, because her pigtails shot up at the call of her name, and she turned around.

“H-hey!” He greeted, stopping and panting in front of her from the sudden sprint. Marinette blinked, nonplussed, and shook her head.

“Adrien? What are you…?” She clasped her bag shut, but smiled as she spoke his name.

He tried to smile back, still slightly bent forward from his exertion. “I was just driving home from the photoshoot… we were stopped at the light,” he jerked over his thumb in the general direction of the car, and Marinette peered over his shoulder. “And I saw you walking. Did you just get out of work?”

Marinette covered her mouth to laugh lightly, and nodded. “Yes, and earlier than I hoped. That akuma scared away a lot of my customers.”

“Oh. Sure.” He rubbed his hands together anxiously, not sure what to say to that.

Silence came thereafter, but it wasn’t awkward. Marinette was just radiant, both physically and by way of her presence alone. She seemed to diffuse happiness into the air itself, and Adrien drank it all in.

It was almost too much when her cheeks turned pink.

Adrien cleared his throat and gestured behind him. “Did you want a ride home? We could take you.”

Marinette’s mouth fell open slightly, surprised. “O-oh, really? I would… I would love that, actually, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

He laughed and started to guide them back to the car. “Nah, it’s fine. You’re the only one who attracts trouble, after all.”

Adrien leaned down and grabbed the door, opening it for her. Marinette scrunched her nose, always acting sort of flustered when he would try to behave chivalrously.

Quietly, before stepping in, her blue eyes sparkled. “Should I start calling you trouble, then?”

Marinette closed the door for herself, smiling proudly at what was probably his stunned expression. He was still working through the joke by the time she was buckled in, and he had to scramble around street-side to get in, blushing and grinning at her all the while.

Beside the goofy glimpses they shared on the way back to the bakery, sticking their tongues out or winking dramatically, trying to fight the urge to laugh, the actual conversation remained perfectly cordial. Marinette asked Nathalie how she was doing, and apologized for her mother’s insistence the other day (Adrien guessed she heard it all second-hand from Sabine and Tom once she got home), and she and Adrien spoke about their days.

Well, besides the whole turning into Chat Noir and protecting Paris for almost two hours. He decided to leave that part out.

Towards the end of the ride, Marinette began to bounce lightly against the lush seats, brightening as she retrieved her cell phone. “Your text was really nice, b-by the way. I love Bouvardia, they’re the flower of enthusiasm!”

“I’m glad,” Adrien responded with a smile “I like how enthusiastic you get when you talk about all flowers, so this is like, enthusiasm about enthusiasm.”

“Meta-enthusiasm,” Marinette closed her eyes and nodded solemnly, peeking through a lid and catching his eye. They both grinned and snickered quietly.

“Yeah,” he said with a small, contented sigh as he gazed at the streets. They were very near to her house now. “I always think of you when I see flowers anymore. I hope that’s not weird,”

he tagged on the last part hastily, hoping she didn’t see the color fill his cheeks.

“The shop is like, one of my favorite places in the city.”

Marinette’s smile reached her eyes, and she too was looking out the window. The lights of street lamps that hit her face in a sort of constant flutter. It made her look almost angelic.

“Mine, too,” she commented, voice soft.

They pulled to a stop just outside of the bakery, and he could see Tom inside with a broom, sweeping the front of the store.

“Well…” Marinette said, rubbing her hands on her jeans. She looked nervous, which only made her even more adorable.

Adrien turned to her and tried for some confidence, very aware of the adults in the car and her father fifteen feet away in the building. “I’ll see you tomorrow, after you get off of work?”

Ducking her head, Marinette nodded vigoriously and started to get out the door. She paused halfway through and looked back inside the car.

“Thank you, Adrien, for taking me home. And thank you, Mme. Sancouer and, um, Adrien’s driver.”

“You’re welcome,” Nathalie said, keeping her eyes forward.

Adrien scooted down the seat slightly, leaning towards her. If only he could tell her how beautiful she looked right now, hair framing her face and eyes wide, turned up in kindness.

“Can I... call you again tonight?” He managed shyly.

Adrien lost a bit of his will power when she beamed at him, causing her freckles dancing under the light of the moon. He reached for her hand resting on the open door and, as gently as he could, kissed her knuckles. Glancing up, Adrien hoped the action spoke the word he was too embarrassed to say aloud.

Please?

Her own gaze looked only surprised, but if he didn’t know better, her skin had darkened from the gesture. A tiny bit smug, Adrien thought she looked much less offended than when Monseiur Delcair kissed her hand a week ago.

“I- I, yes. Yes.” She nodded and gave his fingers a light squeeze before pulling away. “I would like you very much. I-I mean, I would like that very much! I’m, I’ll… uh, see you!” Quickly, she waved and tagged on a squeaky “‘Bye!”

The door closed firmly and he watched her scurry up to the door, nearly colliding with the frame on her way inside.

Night proper had settled across Paris, dark and enigmatic, yet the city of love had never seemed so bright. Adrien felt like he was dreaming already, and he when he arrived home after mercifully little questioning from Nathalie, he had never wanted to sleep so readily. The next day, he would take Marinette on their first date, and the hours could not pass fast enough.

#miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculers #miraculous #tales of ladybug and cat noir #ladybug and chat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupen-chang #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir x marinette #adrien x marinette #adrinette #adrienette #flowershop au #flowers #language of flowers #ao3fic #ao3feed #fanfic

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orchidyoonkook · 1 year

Text

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 3

Title: Greenhouse Muses and Surprise Guests

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: You need to think out this whole situation, and where better than your favourite place on campus? The one place where no one ever goes and where you can truly do your best problem solvi—wait who the hell is sitting in your supposed place of undisturbed tranquility?

Warnings: PG18, heavy swearing, photography jargon (hopefully nothing tooooo confusing, I intentionally over explained a bit for those unfamiliar but a quick google search should clear up anything), euc=short form for eucalyptus “Youke”, art jargon but less, 1 (one) mention of metaphorical murder, and a bit of angst and fluff. I think that’s all?? Hella internal dialogue

Word Count: 10,804

Release Date: March 2, 2023, 4:00PM

A/N 1: she somehow went from 8k to 10.8k???? Hope you enjoy!!

A/N 1.5: I’m literally so tired of looking at this, I’ve read it at least 10 times in three days.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two

Jungkook’s sitting at a table outside what he considers to be his new safe haven, making a mental note to thank Yuri for showing him the greenhouse cafe—is that its name? He should’ve asked.

He can see himself coming here all the time for quiet morning work sessions. The coffee is great, the snacks are delicious, and there aren’t a lot of people around either—zero—to be precise. So he really considers this a win in his book.

The cafe is just southwest of a medium sized greenhouse, not even a minute's walking distance between the two. He could clearly see all the flowers and plants within from his seat outside. And behind the greenhouse was nothing but a small grass field followed by thick, dense forest.

It doesn’t even feel like he’s on campus. Just free about the world, grabbing a coffee and sitting down to work on a project like anyone else would. Like anyone else could. Another face in the crowd instead of the one on magazines in every corner store, book shop and grocer.

He can dream about it. Take in these small moments, but it will never be his reality. Not really. Even in this little corner of blissful nowhere the barista who served him his coffee knew who he was, addressed him properly, albeit a bit stuttered.

And he can’t blame her. It’s what she’s supposed to do. How she’s ‘supposed’ to react to him.

He’s someone big and important. Someone people look to and see their future in his hands. Someone who merits reactions when in the presence of others.

Someone who...

Someone...

So he dreams. And is thankful for what little normalcy he can get.

Taking a deep breath in, he holds it and he shakes his head, dismissing the thoughts before releasing a steady, controlled exhale.

Reset.

The cafe has an awning over its small patio, four tables on either side of the doorway, two that seat four and two that seat two on their respective sides, eight in total. He’s chosen to sit at the table of two furthest from the greenhouse, closest to the cafe. It has more shade, allowing him to see the screen of his laptop better.

Jungkook needed some time alone without anyone finding him, he gave that stupid speech on Monday for many reasons, but one of the most important ones was that he wants to be able to exist in a public space and to do his school work without a crowd gathering.

He’s taking this university thing seriously, and that means doing good work, excelling in his chosen subjects. It requires no distractions and lots of effort.

He doesn’t want to have to be cramped up in his dorm the whole time, too scared to leave for fear of never being left alone. He left that behind when he stepped foot onto the campus.

No more worrying about cameras or security or kingdoms. No more watching and tracking his every step.

This is his time to be a young man, not the prince. Just Jungkook.

And so far? He’s doing okay.

But just in case, he’s also wearing a hat, hoodie and mask for extra protection while editing some pictures.

Old habits die hard.

His Design and Visual Culture professor had given out an intro assignment to the class so he could get a read on everyone’s skill levels and to see where his starting point would be. Professor Hirmer asked everyone in the class to each submit three images: one portrait; black and white or colour, one still life of the photographers choosing, and one image of whatever your preferred style was. Then edit them to the best of their abilities, and submit by noon the following Monday.

Jungkook’s already finished his portrait. He hasn’t really made any friends here yet, so he just took one of himself, which made it easier in the long run because he was so used to his picture being taken.

Slicked back hair, a black tight fit shirt, silver chain and white background made up the shot aside from him. He’d decided on butterfly lighting because he’s always found it to be the most flattering aside from Rembrandt. Don’t get him wrong, Rembrandt’s a nice technique, Jungkook just didn’t want his portrait to be too dramatic.

He got the one he wanted to use in no time, and it required very little editing. Black and white is forgiving like that.

Currently, he’s working on his still life.

A latte with a basic heart design in a dark navy mug sat on the keys of a mahogany wood grand piano. The mug sat on the right side of thirds, and a couple stems of eucalyptus half cover the keys to the left, the tips of it just barely covering the bottom of the mug. He kept his depth of field wide so that most of what was in the frame was in focus, but the primary focus of the entire image is intended to be the drink and tips of the eucalyptus.

Jungkook managed to get one of the six guards his father insisted on him having here to go to a local market to grab the euc stems. Their remains were currently hanging in his shower, smelling wonderful and fresh.

The latte he did himself, a small talent after needing coffee constantly in his teen years to keep up with everything.

And as for the piano? He booked a music room for an hour with one in it. Work smarter not harder.

He’d kept his lighting dark, but gentle, really highlighting the whites of the piano keys while keeping the rich hues of the mahogany and navy present. The eucalyptus is comfortably set in the middle, having some brighter and darker tones to balance it out.

He’s quite proud of it, having created a visually pleasing image that had equal amounts of high, medium and low tones. But he wants the edges of the picture to blur slightly, so he’s adding a very subtly feathered vignette to the image.

He knows most of his peers will likely be doing a traditional still life of fruit or flowers, so he took a risk and made the prompt his own. He just hopes it pays off.

While editing, Jungkook’s simultaneously trying to brainstorm what he wants to do for his third picture. His style of choice is candids, takes them constantly, yet he doesn’t have a single one he wants to use for the assignment.

He likes them best because candids are those perfectly imperfect moments that show who a person truly is, when they’re at their happiest and saddest moments and everything in between. Candids are for when someone’s so caught up in what they’re doing that they look entirely serene in their task, and you want to capture that, forever. A small sliver of them, existing purely as they are.

Nothing fake, nothing practiced, no do overs. Just capturing genuine moments as they happen. A true reflection of humanity without filters or editing.

Jungkook’s thinking of maybe going undercover in the courtyard to snap some pictures of random people to see if that could work when a movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

Someone, with their back facing him, is very unceremoniously dumping their tote bag at the table most opposite him; the table for two that’s half covered in sunlight, half shaded.

Clad in loose fitting paint and charcoal covered overalls, a white shirt and bandana, they’re taking out what appear to be art supplies.

Brushes, small metal tins filled with paint, a very chaotically colourful water holder, and painting pad all gather onto the little table. He’s surprised at how they make it all fit.

It seems like he’s not the only one who’s seen this place for its potential.

But when they turn around, it’s…You?

It’s you.

Of all people.

What are the odds?

He wants to say hi, but hesitates, still aware of your conversation from earlier and hopes there’s no harm in a friendly hello between people who are acquainted, regardless of pending decisions.

But Jungkook watches your eyes pass right over him, unaware or uncaring he’s there. His half-raised hand falls along with the smile that’s found its way onto his covered face as you continue into the cafe.

A byproduct of his upbringing is being able to read even the subtlest of body language and facial shifts in people. And in your case, it’s like you’re screaming at him without actually speaking.

He knows from your closed off posture alone that you don’t want to be disturbed. But your expression…it's like a mixture of anger, worry and thoughtfulness.

Jungkook knows better than to interrupt someone when they look like that, and he decides against saying anything, returning to his assignment.

A minute later the bell on the door chimes, signaling your exit.

Looking up, he notes the cup of warm whatever it is in one hand, a very full looking pastry bag in the other, and a water bottle tucked into your side via your elbow.

He wonders what’s inside the cup. Coffee? Would you drink caffeinated or decaf? Or maybe you’re more of a tea person. But would it be black or green tea? Do you use milk? What about sweetener? He can’t decide but that doesn’t stop the thoughts from racing across his mind.

Why does he care so much?

You settle down into your seat, the shaded one of the pair, and—somehow—place your newly acquired goods on the already jam packed table. Truly a talent within itself.

But a sip from your cup, and a bite of something that resembles a tart later, you wipe your hands on your overalls and pick up a brush, wetting it from the colourful container. Bringing the empty, water only filled brush to the paint pad in front of you, you start.

Your back blocks most of it so he can’t see much, but your eye line is honed in on the greenhouse. And if he had to guess just by looking, you’re focused on the orchid that sits front and center.

He couldn’t name it specifically, but he can see why you’d want to commit it to paper. It’s pretty—yellow and red, very exotic looking, and he doesn't mean to—doesn’t even realize he is—when he finds himself watching you work instead of doing his own, mesmerized.

Your hand moves gracefully from paint to paper to water and back again. Occasionally, switching out brushes or wiping the one you had on your pants, drying it or maybe getting the last bits of colour off. He’s fascinated with how you know exactly what to use and where to put what in order for the image to spring to life. Most likely years of practice and muscle memory guiding you.

Sort of how he does photography. Years of experience and knowing which poses and angles to use to really make an image pop. For a moment he wonders if anyones looked at his art the way he’s looking at yours.

When you take a small break, stretching out your back and limbs, Jungkook snaps out of his daze and looks at the clock on the bottom right hand side of his screen.

He’s been watching you for nearly 30 minutes.

That’s creepy as hell Jeon, he thinks to himself, lucky you didn’t notice, and returns his sights to his laptop.

Fuck. What was he doing again?

Staring at the still life in front of him, it takes a minute before he recalls.

Oh right.

Professor Hirmer’s assignment. The third image. A picture of his preferred style—his preferred style of candids. What could he do for his candid shot?

He thinks. A candid shot. Candids. Caaaannnndidddssssss. Caaaaaa—

A lightbulb goes off and he feels like both an idiot and a genius.

Retrieving his camera from his bag, Jungkook glances your way and sees you painting again.

Perfect.

Quietly, he gets up from his seat, moving just enough to be able to see a sliver of your painting and a small portion of your face. You're so focused that you don't even notice him, like nothing outside the page matters. And only for a second does he wonder what you’re thinking about.

Your body is easy to read, it’s your mind that remains a mystery.

The sun’s moved ever so slightly so that your page is now fully doused in sunlight, while you remain under the gentle caress of shadow from the awning.

Smart girl.

But your face is bathed in the subtle glow of your papers reflecting illumination. And it's like you’re the one creating light with every brush stroke.

You look transcendent.

With that sight in his viewfinder, Jungkook takes a few shots in portrait framing, his thumb covering the speaker that lets out the ‘click’ noise of a picture being taken, before adjusting his shutter speed.

These pictures all have you in focus, with the background consisting of half somewhat blurry cafe wall, half very blurry forest green. And they’re okay, they work. But he wants to have your movements and surrounding materials in the image as well, to really show the process of an artist at work. So he switches to a landscape framing and settles on a slower shutter speed to create a longer exposure.

Waiting for you to clean your brush in the water cup before snapping the capture button, Jungkook holds steady as it’s a couple seconds before the image takes. It makes him wish he had his tripod with him because it would make this so much easier, but he can make due if he has too.

And he has too. Because he doesn’t want this opportunity to pass.

After a few more shots and near leg cramp later, he brings the results of his efforts up on the viewfinder for review. Jungkook’s thrilled to see that the movement in the piece was taken exactly how he wanted. Your arm steady on the canvas, but all your movements prior shown like angelically lit rays due to the angle of the sun, creating an ocean of movement around a steadily focused you.

They’re hauntingly beautiful.

He takes a couple more like that for good measure, getting in different movements and shutter speeds before slowly making his way back to his laptop and table.

Popping his SD card into his computer for closer inspection, Jungkook sees there’s definitely more than one useful candidate and gets to work on narrowing down his favourite.

He is going to pass this assignment with flying colours. And it’s all thanks to you.

As you arrive at the cafe you notice a guy in a black hoodie, hat and mask with his head stuck in a laptop at the furthest table on the patio. Internally, you sigh that there’s someone else here; it’s almost always vacant and that’s why you love it. No people, no distractions, just you and your work, and your thoughts.

You try not to worry too much about it, doing your best to just ignore him and have hope that he leaves soon. At least he’s as far away from your spot as he can get.

Dropping your tote on the chair in the sun, you start placing all your things on the table. It’s an exact science you’ve perfected over many, many paint sessions and far too much spilled liquid. Countless art projects have fallen victim on this table, some you were able to salvage, but most were added to its body count.

Setting down your paint tins, you still can’t get the conversation with Yuri out of your head. Not leaving the building, not crossing the campus, not all the time it took you to get way over here either, no matter how hard you tried.

You huff.

Was your reaction really that unjustified? Could she not see how insane she was acting? Why did she jump to you being jealous? Why would she even think you’d be jealous?

You have Nel.

A prince isn’t going to change that.

And speaking of, you didn’t even get to tell her about your conversation with Jungkook.

After this fight though…you don’t think you will.

He seems to be becoming a sore spot between the two of you, ridiculous as that is, so you think it best to just not bring it up and deal with it on your own. That’s how you usually do things anyway, and you were only going to ask Yuri as a thinking out loud type of thing, hoping she had some input. But it’s clear now that none of it would have been useful anyway.

Finishing placing your things down—all fitting perfectly, by the way—you dig into your tote for your wallet and head into the cafe, still doing your best to ignore the other patron. Hopefully you can give off enough of a vibe that he takes the hint and leaves.

The bells hanging on the door sound as it opens and shuts.

“Hey YN,” Vivian, the barista, calls at your entrance.

You two know each other well, enough to be on a first name basis. You, being one of—if not the only—regular, and the cafe—being a little out of the way of anything else—not having many students make it a part of their routine.

A comfortable, welcomed sort of exile. One you gladly share with her.

“It’s good to see you,” she says, looking at the window closest to where you sit, “Are we painting again? I saw they switched up the flowers in the greenhouse on Monday. The ones they have out now are so beautiful.”

“It’s great to see you too, Viv” you respond, eyeballing the pastry display. You notice they have your favourite egg tarts in today.

At least one thing is going right for you.

“And yeah, they are,” you say warmly, regarding her comment. “I’m thinking I’m about to get real sick and tired of looking at that orchid they placed front and center.”

Viv laughs, patiently waiting on your order, though she’s got a good idea of what it’ll be.

“Could I get a hot chocolate with whip please?” You ask, and drum your fingers on your legs deciding how many tarts to get—two or three? Two or three?—before remembering, “Oh! and if you still have the not so super secret stash of mini marshmallows that you don’t have here,” throwing up air quotes and a smirk for good measure, “Could you toss a few of those in too? I’ll tip you extraaaaa.”

Viv only gives you a look that says yes they do but that she’ll never admit it out loud, and you’re grateful to her.

You’d spotted them one day by chance in first year and asked if you could have some with your drink. Viv merely stated that they don’t have marshmallows at the cafe while slipping a few in under your lid with a wink. You’ve been eternally appreciative for that kindness ever since, and tip her handsomely for it, but you’ve never known why it was such a secret.

Maybe one day you’ll ask.

Coffee isn’t really your thing, only turning to it during exams season, and you weren’t in the mood for tea, so hot chocolate’s always your favourite alternative.

But hot chocolate with whip cream and marshmallows?

Instant mood booster. And you definitely need that after the afternoon you’ve had.

“Anything else?” Viv asks, adding the large amount of whip cream she knows you like to the top of your drink.

“Yeah actually,” you smile, “could I get a water bottle and three of the egg tarts? They’re my favourite.”

Three seemed to be the most unreasonable option, therefore it’s the one you had to go with. And soon, a much too small, very full paper pastry bag finds its way onto the counter, accompanying your drinks.

“I’ll let bossman know about your dragon-like hoarding tendencies with the tarts and see if we can get them in more regularly,” Viv says, unsuccessfully keeping in a giggle at the end of her subtle jab and it makes you laugh too. “I mean, I don’t see why not seeing as you pretty much single handedly keep this place afloat anyway.”

You adore Viv. She’s real and kind, and very much someone you consider to be a bosom friend of sorts. You can tell her if you’ve had a bad day or a good one, and she’ll do the same, no shroud of inane pleasantries. You two having escaped the somewhat awkward ‘you work here and I go here so lets be nice to one another’ worker-customer relationship to a genuine friendship, and it makes the whole experience that much better.

But it also allows for pulling on one another’s legs, like you do now.

“You’re so mean to me… and lucky I like you for it,” you say, opening your wallet, happy to pay whatever number you’re given plus 30%. The marshmallows and Viv are worth it. “How much will it be?”

She lets you know the total and you hand her a couple of mandatory bills plus a few extra, telling her to keep the change. You’ll lose any coins you have anyway, might as well give them to someone who’ll use them.

Viv says thanks and you make your way back to your spot, hands full and mind feeling a little lighter.

Thanks Viv.

Sitting down, you take a swig of your drink, a bite of your newly acquired tarts and get to work.

Starting with a wet on wet approach: you brush the canvas with water where you’ll eventually put some colour so it bleeds intentionally, and glance up every couple seconds to make sure to get a proper likeness.

It’s a yellow tiger orchid, truly beautiful—you’re a bit of a flower nerd because of your mom, but especially with orchids because they’re your favourite. They just come in so many different forms, it’s hard not to love their diversity.

Dipping into your paints now, you add some yellows in slowly, deciding to think of it as less of a flower study and more of an artistic interpretation so you don't have to use your brain too much. You’ll be using it enough to think through this whole Jungkook thing, no need to get caught up in the details and strain yourself even more.

Carefully put and one by one, more and more colours make their way onto the page and you settle into the calmness of creating. It leaves the open space you need for your mind to finally start working through the whole Jungkook–Yuri, Yuri–You, You–Jungkook situation before immediately correcting that there is no You–Jungkook situation.

He just wants to be friends, and that doesn’t constitute a situation. More of a predicament.

Yeah, that sounds better.

You switch out your brush in favour of a tart after getting base colours down, takinge a hefty bite and chasing it down with more hot chocolate. Damn it’s good, you need to ask Viv what magic she puts in it to make it this amazing.

Another swig and you think it’ll be better to just jump right into your mental debate. Get it over with, hash it all out.

So that’s exactly what you do.

It isn’t that you do or don’t want to be friends with Jungkook, he seems nice enough.

It’s a matter of if you can be.

Jungkook is probably a very self-disciplined individual—if you knew anything about his upbringing—so it’s not like he wouldn’t understand your drive. He’d probably understand you in that respect more than Yuri does. Why you work so hard, why you don’t slow down. You can’t.

You won't. Not for anyone or anything.

And he can clearly understand social cues so you don’t have to worry about things getting awkward. He would act appropriately, never pushing boundaries—

Using a thin angled brush, you add more yellow to create sharper lines.

—And had he been just Jungkook, you wouldn’t even be sitting here having this ridiculous mental conversation with yourself. Because who stresses this much over a new potential friendship? You certainly never have before.

But that’s the problem, he isn’t just regular old Jungkook.

He is His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook.

And as much as his title doesn’t mean shit to you, it sure as hell means a whole lot of something to everyone else.

He’s heir to the biggest kingdom on this half of the planet. On the cover of every teen magazine and online news article. Only child to the King and Queen.

Powerful. Attractive. Single.

In short, Jungkook has been incredibly well known and incredibly important since the day he was born 24 years ago.

So you have to sit and think out what would happen if you became the prince's first female college friend. Well… aside from Yuri, but you don’t know how long that’s going to last, given where she thought things were going.

Being seen with him publicly would immediately put you in a spotlight you don’t want. You hate being the center of attention, but that’s the least of your worries.

You worry greatly that you wouldn’t firstly be known for becoming ‘YN, globally renowned painter, artist and business woman,’ selling pieces for more than they’re worth and then some. Galleries from all over the world knocking down your door, begging for your work. Having billionaires auction off paintings you’ve done for charity, being flown around the world for and by people to have you create something for them. Be it portraits or murals or even a performance—

Some burnished red now, with a small thin tip brush to begin the rorschach like patterns on the petals.

—You wanted to be successful by your own hand, and then and only then would you occasionally speak of your very, incredibly platonic, not at all romantic, years old friendship with the prince, who you’d met in your college years by chance.

But you know that if you say yes, if you agree, all of those worries would prove true. That none of it would happen. None of the future you’ve worked for the better part of a decade on would come to fruition.

Oh no, no, no. That wouldn’t be the case at all.

Why would it? If you said yes, you’d become this week's most hot and trending piece of gossip. You’d be ‘the first girl Prince Jungkook was seeing in college,’ and everyone would ask ‘are you his new girlfriend?’ or ‘just a fling?’

If you said yes, it would be a constant barrage of:

‘Where did you meet?’ ‘Is he a good kisser?’ ‘How long have you been dating?’ ‘Have you met the king?’ ‘Does he like you?’ ‘What about the Queen, does she approve?’ ‘Has The Prince mentioned marriage at all?’ ‘Can we see the ring?’ ‘How many children will you have?’

At the grocery store, the mall, the hallways of your school, your hometown, the bathroom of a restaurant. It would be everywhere all of the time, constantly, and your head is already spinning at all the potential bombardment to your currently nice and relatively quiet life, so you take another snack break and stretch.

Finishing your first tart and making a good dent in your second, the hot chocolate is half gone at this point. Whip cream and marshmallows having long melted, making the drink extra smooth.

Returning to your painting and back on topic; you’re not dense. You know how the media does what it wants with the people they see as mere puppets. As if they aren’t living breathing individuals with lives outside the very narrow-minded, click bait titled, news articles.

Their ‘reporters’ have absolutely no regard for what they say and how they act. They have not a care in the world for what their claims do to all the innocent individuals whose lives they write about after they’re done with them.

Selfish is the nicest word you can think to describe them. They’re vicious, heartless, vile people, and you have no desire to ever be the object of their attention.

The flowers are springing to life beautifully as you put layer after layer of detail. You add some darker hues, deciding to go with a more vivid red rather than the burnished one from before. Your wet on wet approach is working magic on blending the colours seamlessly for you. It really accentua—

—And another thing! If you did say yes, you could just see it now;

After your successful career launch, you’d always—no matter what you did—always be questioned about your relationship and what could have been with the prince. Or you’d be asked if knowing him is what got you to where you were, if he gave you a leg up, so to speak.

As if you would let him have any hand in making you what you were always going to become.

You didn’t and don’t need his or anyone’s help.

But it would always be, ‘YN? Oh you mean that artist got that much recognition just because she knew Prince Jungkook?’ or ‘YN, the Prince’s ex from college?’ no matter how hard he or you pushed that you were just friends. Because who would listen to either of you after the speculation was already there? After the seed was planted in their minds.

People love secrets and thinking they know all the dirty, gossipy scandals more than anything. Thinking they know more about other people's secrets than they do their own. As if they have nothing better to do with their lives.

Sighing, you drink the last bit of hot chocolate, wanting another one once it’s gone, but not the sugar headache that comes with that. Water then.

Adding some dimension to the petals by using a clean, damp brush to remove some pigment, you can’t help but let your mind wander to the most obvious conclusion that would be made and sink into it.

You’re almost scared of the social pariah you’d become with every other woman and handful of men on campus. One dating rumor and you're done. Gone. Dismissed.

Or worse. One dating rumor and your popularity will suddenly skyrocket. You won’t have another moment to breathe alone so long as you’re still in school.

Jungkook is the most eligible bachelor on this side of the planet, potentially the whole world. His potential matches are princesses and the daughters of the filthy rich.

Who are you?

No one.

At least right now you are.

You aren’t royal, aren’t of ‘noble birth,’ aren’t a wealthy socialite. You aren’t even an independent, wildly successful career woman yet.

You’re just a scholarship kid who’s only at this school because she worked her ass off for it. Who has to continuously work her ass off for it if she wants to continue to be here.

And you do want to. You want to work hard and become who you’ve always known you’d be. One invisible, important step at a time.

From the first sketch to the last brush stroke.

So to summarize.

You don’t want to be the media’s plaything. Something for them to have their fun with and be bored of in a week, the future you’re working so hard to create destroyed before ever seeing the light of day. Fizzled out like a candle in a pouring downfall, only smoke remaining from the once bright and proud flame.

Secondly, you don’t want to be the social outcast or new campus favourite simply because you made a new friend. Having either icicles thrown at you from every set of eyes on campus or clout grabbers following your every footstep, begging for attention. Snubbed from any group projects, crowds parting like the red sea at your arrival, or never getting a moment to yourself again, late to every class due to your own personal assembly.

You’re exhausted at the mere thought of the possibility of either.

And lastly, you don’t want all the possible implications that come with knowing and befriending a man like him. Plain and simple.

What you want is to establish yourself because you worked for and earned it. What you want is to be successful, putting your near decade of practice and studying to good use. What you want is to have media attention, but for your talents, your efforts, and accomplishments.

Not his.

Not because you happened to treat the second most important person in your country like a normal, regular person.

Like he’d asked literally everyone else on your campus to do.

It isn’t your fault you're the only one who has ears that work.

But…on that note…

This is the prince.

And you are his citizen under his family’s monarchy.

You don’t know if you’re even allowed to say no.

Can you?

He said you could…or was that him just giving you the illusion of choice? Don’t you have to listen to him? By royal decree or whatever it was that forced people to live under the royal family’s rule?

You have no idea, and choose to sit on it some more. There has to be a better solution to this.

You wish you could just talk to Yuri. She’s been your sounding board for the better part of two years now. But that’s definitely a no-go after today. You worry what bringing up anything prince related would do to your friendship right now. You’ve had enough arguments and mental taxation for the time being, thanks.

And if not Yuri…You would talk to Nel…

But Nel’s in a completely different country—a completely different time zone—right now. Already halfway through his night and you don’t want to wake him.

Wait, Nel.

Fuck.

Nel is another thing you have to consider in all this. You aren’t sure how he’d react to any form of relationship you’d have with Jungkook.

How would he react to the media’s coverage of you with the prince?

Would he believe you when you denied everything?

Five years is a long time.

To know someone. To love them. To trust them. And you both know where you stand. You know where your future lies; with him. And he knows his lies with you.

But Nel is only human, and every human has flaws. No one is perfect. Everyone can have moments of weakness. Every person can feel jealous no matter how secure the relationship.

And jealousy can kill a relationship just as quickly, if not faster than anything else.

Jealousy can make you think things so irrational that it breaks down the wall of trust you built on a foundation of cement and bricks like it was nothing more than two twigs being held up by sheer luck and willpower alone.

A horrible rumor.

A gust of wind.

What’s the difference?

Five years of love, trust and communication could crumble to dust because of some asshole with a camera, an angle, and a computer with an internet connection.

You don’t want that to happen. You cannot express fervently enough how badly you never want something like that to happen to you or Nel.

You love your relationship. You love Nel, and you can’t do anything to jeopardize that. Ever.

But surely he’d understand if the heir to your nation's throne asked you to be his friend.

Surely he’d believe you when you told him that absolutely nothing was going on between you and Jungkook and that the media is just having a field day because he was the prince, and you were a girl around his age.

Surely he would…

Surely…

Five years is a long time.

But it’s also short. If you consider that for just over two of them you were long distance 9 months out of the year. And that two and a half more of them were when you were in highschool doing 60 hour weeks while he had football practice before and after school every day.

When you spent most of your weekends at galleries, or portrait study or cramming for a test.

When he spent his studying and practicing and catching up on all his lost sleep from practice.

Maybe…

Maybe you shouldn’t bring it up to him.

A fire can’t start where there isn’t any kindling…right?

An argument can’t start, mistrust can’t begin, jealousy can’t exist if he just…never knows about it.

If nobody knows about it.

Actually.

Maybe that’s exactly what you’ll do. Just not tell anyone.

It’s not lying, not really. It’s just omitting a very, very small part of your life.

And it’s not like you’ll be doing anything bad. It would most likely just be Jungkook asking about where to bring girls on dates or if you’ve seen the newest tv show that’s been on.

You’d tell him Azorè’s is the restaurant closest to campus that’s actually nice, and that no, you haven’t, because you don’t watch a lot of TV if you can help it.

That’s not devious, it’s normal friend stuff—just without the immense social pressure and potential repercussions of knowing him and being female at the same time.

Holy Shit.

This might be crazy enough to work.

And this way… this way you don’t have to say no to Jungkook, and Yuri won’t be mad, and Nel won’t get jealous, and you’ll stay out of the spotlight.

This way works out for everyone.

This way solves everything.

You huff, relieved.

Now you just have to convince the prince that it’s a good idea.

He’s used to omitting things, isn't he? He must because of his future job. Don’t they train future monarchs in the wise and ancient art of social deception and secret keeping—to keep the peace or whatever?

You don’t think it’ll be that big a leap for him.

The longer you ruminate, the more you like the idea, deciding that when you get back to your dorm later, that’s what you’ll tell him. And if he doesn’t like it, well then problem solved all around anyway.

You reach for your hot chocolate, remember it’s empty, and switch to your water instead. Celebrating by mentally patting yourself on the back.

Always trust the greenhouse cafe. The greenhouse cafe is good. The greenhouse cafe is wise. The greenhouse cafe is all kno—

“That’s beautiful.”

You almost jump out of your seat at the voice, knee hitting the table in the process. It makes everything on it bounce and clang loudly and the hand holding your brush that was also nearing your water flies to your chest, leaving a splotch of red paint on your cheek.

“Ow, fuck,” you say, reaching to rub your now throbbing knee. That’s going to bruise. You’re just lucky nothing spilled, you certainly hit the table hard enough.

Looking up to see who your unintentional heart attack provoker was, you blink a couple times before a worried looking Jungkook with big eyes comes into focus.

Though, his worry is brief it seems, as his attention shifts to the painting in front of you, the small smile from the day you met making an reappearance.

Didn’t he just see you jump ten feet in the air? Because of him???

“What the fuck Jungkook?! You scared the shit out of me,” you say scowling, giving him a piece of your mind while your heartbeat returns to a healthier pace. “Didn’t they ever tell you not to sneak up on people in that big, fancy house of yours?”

Jungkook doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone call the palace a ‘big, fancy house’ before. Another first with you. And he’s about to say as much when his gaze finally meets your own and see’s how upset you are. Right, he spooked you.

The hand not holding a laptop into his side slides behind his neck and he looks away. You swear you can see the prince blushing.

Did you cause that?

Wait.

Stop.

Rewind.

You look him up and down quickly.

Hoodie. Hat. Laptop. Mask around his wrist.

Jungkook was the guy sitting on the patio from earlier? How did you not recognize him? Like at all?

He has the most famous face in the world and you couldn’t recognize it when it was 20 feet away?

Wow.

Actually.

Hat to hide the hair, hoodie to hide the body, mask to hide the face.

Impressive. He really knew how to blend in when he wanted too.

But he hasn’t even said hi or sorry. And he undoubtedly saw you earlier as you weren’t exactly subtle in placing your things on the table.

So much for wanting to be friends. He can’t even say hello to you?

...or maybe you got lucky and he saw that you really didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Thoughts aside, you won’t admit to him you find his camouflage techniques exceptional. He doesn’t need the ego boost.

Jungkook's hand recedes from his nape and he looks at you again, blush almost gone.

“Ah.. sorry.” He cringes a little. “I’ve always been told I’m light on my feet and I constantly forget when I’m around new people. I didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry, YN.”

So his manners haven’t completely escaped him.

You give him a hard time as you point a finger his way. “You’re paying the hospital bill if my kneecap’s broken.”

It only takes a second for the joke to land this time, and a small laugh escapes his lips.

“Yeah, that’s fair. You break it, you buy it?”

It’s the first joke you’ve heard him make, and honestly, it isn’t bad. You chuckle.

“Something like that, sure. Here,” you say, holding the canvas up a little higher for him to see. “It’s a Yellow Tiger Orchid. The greenhouse likes to switch around the plants every other week, but these guys are always my favourite. Make for a fun challenge.”

Jungkook's loose hand touches the edge of the canvas lightly, careful not to disturb the still drying paint.

His words are almost thoughtless, entirely too focused on your work as he says, “You’re incredibly talented, your parents must be so proud.”

“Parent,” you correct, not harshly, just so that he knows you’ve only got the one. “And thanks, it stems from my many years of practice and a shady deal with an even shadier witch. All I know is I owe her my first born.”

That smile of his makes a comeback, only bigger and followed by a snicker.

You match it.

“But yes, my mother’s incredibly proud and a large part of the reason I’m here, never once having stopped supporting my goals.”

That’s true. Very true. Your mum never once thought your dreams were out of your reach, only ever pushing you towards them where she could. Placing steps down for you where she was able to.

She signed you up for lessons, drove you to galleries, bought you book after book on all your favourite artists and painting techniques. She got you paints and palettes and canvases, and did everything she possibly could have to get you where you now are.

She’s your number one fan.

And, in true proud mom fashion, she told everyone she could about how her daughter got into RABFA on scholarship all by herself—except you didn’t. You’re here because of all the support she gave during those years as well as your efforts, but she refuses to take any of the credit.

“I’m happy to hear it,” he says genuinely, before hesitating. Looking like he wants to say something but is debating it. “Can I–Do you–,” he inhales deeply, clearly not used to fumbling over his words.

It’s...cute.

“Would you mind if I sat down?” he finally gets out. “I’d love to see more of your work.”

You think about it only for a second, taking a quick scan of your surroundings. There’s no one around besides Viv, and she’s probably working in the back. Plus, you're pretty sure he’s seen or even spoken to some of the greatest artists of your time. Not to mention, you’d love to hear his input.

“Yeah, sure.”

Instead of sitting on the chair your bag is currently using, he puts his things on the table to your right and spins one around from there, settling down with arms folded over the back of it.

“Thanks.”

You hand over your sketchpad. A perk to using a heavily water based medium is that your painting’s already dried in the time since you first spoke.

Jungkook flips his way through the pages slowly, taking his time in studying each painting as an individual piece. It’s not long before he reaches the one you were working on today. Having just started this pad a month ago, there isn’t much in it yet.

He searches back through to one right near the beginning.

“This ones my favourite,” he says, spinning the canvas around for you to see. It’s a tiger lily painting you’d done late in the summer at home.

Your mother is a notorious gardener, and has several flower beds that could rival a plant nursery with the sheer size, magnitude and variety of flowers in them.

Rose bushes, dahlias, sunflowers, snap dragons, carnations, tulips, daisies, chrysanthemums, you name it, they were there.

So it wasn’t uncommon for you to spend an afternoon out in the garden sketching different blooms or picking one out in particular to paint.

She’d gotten the bright orange tiger lilies this past spring. They were the first ones you’d chosen when you got home after second year to paint. And then you just didn’t stop. They take up about a quarter of your summer sketchbook.

You couldn’t help it. They were hypnotizing.

“Why that one?”

“It’s my birth flower,” he says, lifting the sleeve on his right, revealing a forearm full of wonderfully inked designs. At the center of it is a tiger lily in matching bright orange hue. “It’s always had significant meaning for me because it’s something that represents me that didn’t come from my lineage, position, or name.”

“Oh.”

You sit there for a moment, stunned, yet to release your gaze from the sight of his arm.

The designs that cover it go all the way up to his elbow and don’t stop.

From an artist's point of view, you’re incredibly impressed with the quality of the work. Intricately placed mixes of black, white and colour. Never one or the other for too long. Strong clean lines. Clear, unmuddied colours. Striking.

Beautiful.

You shouldn’t be so surprised, knowing only the best would be allowed to grace his skin, but still. It was rare you were this taken aback by art.

The colours chosen on the more visual pieces are gorgeous together. Bright, brilliant, bold. And the few quotes mixed in? Their linework is just… spectacular.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind your staring, twisting his arm to show you some of the designs previously hidden from your sight.

The quality doesn’t lessen.

It’s after you're done intaking the art on his body that you see the strong muscle underneath it. And you let yourself appreciate the discipline that goes into achieving said strong muscle instead of how it makes your mouth water.

Long distance does not help your libido, and you’re only human.

Not that you would ever cheat. You do have a functioning moral compass, and a person you love that you could never do that too in a hundred years.

It's just that you have working eyes... and it doesn't hurt to look every now and then.

To make sure everything’s still working.

It is.

You bring your line of vision back into his.

“I never thought of my birth flower like that before. My mom keeps an entire garden full of them—only child and all.” Like him, you realize. “They’re one of her favourites too. I guess they hold a similar importance to her as yours does to you.”

Jungkook nods as he asks for your birth flower and you tell him. He says he can understand why your mum would be so fond of them, they’re a beautiful and elegant flower, suiting for you.

“Thanks,” you say, brushing off the subtle compliment.

He holds a hand out for the pad and you give it to him, watching as he turns the pages to another drawing before returning it again.

This one’s of your mother, in the small breakfast nook by a window in your home. It’s drawn with dark pencil lead and painted loosely, a slight blending of the two mediums.

She’s drinking a cup of tea and reading a book. It’s one of your favourite pieces that you’ve done recently because it’s your mom, existing naturally.

Not posed for a portrait, or a painting, or a reference, just her enjoying her morning. You couldn’t help but sketch it quickly when you saw her, adding the bit of colour later.

“Is this her?” he asks, taking it in again as if seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah, that’s our breakfast nook. But she reads there more than eats, always saying the window lets in the perfect amount of light.”

“I see where you get it from.”

“Get what?” but he just smiles at you before switching the topic.

“Who do you draw inspiration from, or look up to? I’d guess but I only know the bigger names.”

You inhale, knowing that this answer is always long for you. You get it semi-regularly—it’s a part of being a visual artist the same way asking a musician who they look up to is.

“Well, there’s a couple bigger names in the mix,” you start, “Van Gogh comes to mind first because his work feels like freedom. Lines placed seemingly wherever, yet so meticulously put at the same time. Some aren’t like that, but even then, they still flow like water. I adore his work,” another breath. “Da Vinci. Always. I stand by that fact that he was a genius and I strive to have an ounce of whatever he did. Michelangelo is another. Enough said. The sheer magnitude he was capable of creating was incredible.

“I have a lot of smaller artists I love too. People I’ve seen at local galleries, people I’ve found online, teachers from past classes. Some not nearly as well known artists from a hundred years ago who broke the barriers of art in their time,” you’re smiling like an idiot as you recall all your favourites and how they inspire you.

“I like the people who create and created just because they could, because they loved to. Because it meant something to them to make something with their hands. I mean, look what their passion got them. They all created for themselves, perfected their craft for themselves and that was enough. A satisfying, fulfilling life. I can only hope to have that. But a part of me wants to be one of the lucky few. The ones who shared their art so that others might not feel so alone. They became some of the greatest artists of all time.”

“Also some of the saddest,” Jungkook adds. But he’s looking at you differently now. You can’t put your finger on it but it’s not bad. Something close to curiosity. Or wonder.

“That just goes hand and hand with being a creative person. I don’t know a single one who doesn’t express their pain through their art.”

“Do you?”

“Of course, but those are just for me.”

“Shame.”

That catches your attention. “Why?”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate for a second before saying, “Because some of the most beautiful things in life are created out of pain.”

You don’t really know how to respond to that.

You know he’s right. People are most likely to bare their soul into their art when they’re hurt, just to get it out. It’s cathartic for them in the same way crying or breaking things is for others.

The most magnificent things can come from that vulnerability, and it isn’t something you ever take lightly when you’re shown.

You’ve heard enough music in your life to know that the most beautiful songs are the most gut wrenching. You’ve seen so many dance performances you know the ones created from anguish and heartbreak are the ones that make for the most delicate movements; the most fragile moments on stage. You've painted enough pieces in grief over your lifetime to know that when someone doesn’t hold back what they’re feeling when creating, it’s the most emotionally provoking when looked at, listened to and experienced by others.

The audience can feel it in a piece. They can feel it in the movement and in the melodies. In the soul of what was created. Of the creator.

“Yes, they are,” you agree, near solemn, and that’s all that needs to be said.

And a moment of comfortable silence later, he hands you back the pad and you pick up your brush to continue with your orchid.

He watches your every stroke. You pretend he’s not there as you add green to the leaves.

“Have you given any thought to our earlier conversation?” he asks. “I know it was only a couple hours ago, so I understand if not.”

Jungkook looks nervous when you wash your brush in the colorful water jar. His face reads like he thinks you’re going to say no, like he’s preparing himself for the rejection but his body language gives him away. He’s wringing his fingers under the table, and his leg won't stop bouncing.

It makes the corner of your mouth quirk. You thought he’d be better at hiding his tics, being prince and all.

But maybe he feels like he doesn’t have to around you.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the chair, Jungkook feels like he’s sweating buckets. Unknowingly showing every nervous habit he has, but can’t help it.

He doesn’t tell you that he doesn’t have a lot of friends. Doesn’t have a lot of people he trusts enough to even consider them friends.

Yeah, he’s always surrounded by people. But they were just that. People. He barely knew any of them, and they only ever wanted to be near him for what it said about them, for what being near him could give them.

He doesn’t say how can’t pinpoint it, but that there’s just something different about you.

So he’s really hoping you say yes.

Because it’s been…a long while…since he’s made a new one.

And it would be really nice too.

But he’ll respect your decision either way.

Just please say yes.

Mercifully, you end his suffering.

“I have,” a brush stroke—more yellow. You don’t look at him while you speak, focusing instead on what’s in front of you. “That’s actually why I came here. To think. I come here for that a lot, or to get work done. It’s my favourite spot on campus. Secluded, pretty, quiet.”

He silently agrees with every word, but is also impatient. “And?”

You try your best to ignore the stars in his eyes when you look up from your painting.

“And I’ve thought hard about this, Jungkook. I didn’t just once over the idea and choose on a whim, I fleshed out what it would mean for me—what a friendship with you would mean for me, that is,” putting the brush down, you allow your most recent details to dry. “And I have a condition—just one. It's one you may not like, but it’s the only one you’d have to agree to in order for me to agree.”

Jungkook deflates a little, wondering what you could want. Because everyone always wants something. He was just really hoping you’d be different.

His mind runs through all the possible answers he’s used to hearing; money, clout, pictures, gifts, vacations, an audience with his father, donations, sex, power, the list goes on.

He doesn’t want to think these things about you, but he can’t help it.

After so long… you get used to it.

“What’s the condition?” he asks, bracing himself.

“That nobody knows we’re friends.”

What? He thinks.

“What?” He asks.

You inhale again, wiping your hands on your pants and straightening your back.

Here we go.

“The more I thought about it, the more I realised that being seen with you publicly all the time would not go over well for me and my future. Anyone can be seen with the prince, but one girl over and over? People will talk about me. And it will be about me, because I’ll be the new shiny toy for them to play with. What I’m wearing, if we’re dating, who am I, what do I do, how did we meet, are you interested, blah blah blah,” you flick your hand, cringing at all of it. “I also don’t want my current relationships to change because of it. I don’t want my mother being cornered in a grocery store by a stranger asking about how her daughter knows Prince Jungkook and if she’s willing to give a quote,” you may actually come close to murder if that ever happened.

“Not to mention the social repercussions. I can deny everything all I want from here into next week, but the second anyone knows we’re friends? I’ll become either the most popular girl on campus—which is a waking nightmare for me—or the campus leper, which is a close second. And before you say anything to the contrary,” you fix him with a hard stare, unwavering. “You know I’m right.”

He tries to speak but you hold up a finger to show you’re not finished, and take a deep breath.

Collect yourself YN, sum it up, drive the point home.

“I don’t need nor want that in my life. So if you want me to be in yours, nobody will know except us and whatever royal people need to so I don’t get tackled for being near you.” He cracks a smile at that.

“If that isn’t okay with you, then that’s fine, I understand. It’s probably an ask you’re not used to hearing, but I hope you understand that I have to put myself first and that this is a hard boundary for me. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am and I won’t let anyone get in my way. Not even a prince,” you say. “Not even you.”

Jungkook waits a second this time, making sure you’re finished. Then leans back, deep in thought, eyes still trained on you.

He’s never been so impressed with anyone in his life.

It’s been a very long time since he’s met someone with such blatant, hard earned self respect. Such candor and veracity, who spoke to him with confidence, completely unwavered. Let alone a woman.

He’s so used to the fawning that he’s forgotten he likes it when a girl has backbone. Forgotten he likes a girl who doesn’t bend because he asks her to, who doesn’t need him or anyone to get what she wants.

She can do it herself.

If he’s completely real with himself, his pants are fitting a little tighter as he remembers. As he continues to stare into your unflinching eyes.

But he dismisses that feeling immediately.

He should have known better. You’ve always been honest with him up until this point, sparing as those moments were. So he shouldn’t be as astonished as he is; you’re the one that has yet to break pattern.

Yuri’d fed him piece after piece of information about you. How you almost never leave your dorm when not in class, how you’re always studying or practicing all hours of the day, how school is your number one priority above all else—she really liked to talk.

He should’ve known you wouldn’t let anyone get in your way—not even him—given how the first time you met, you told him point blank that you would’ve rather been in the library than be forced to see him talk.

Confident and direct from the very start. Unwavering in your goals.

Jungkook should have known when you said you had a condition, that you didn’t want anything from him, but privacy for you.

You are young, driven, smart, and beautiful.

He’s never wanted someone to be in his life more.

Fuck.

He shifts in his seat, primarily for comfort, but also to buy a bit more time. You’ve yet to break his gaze.

Yes, it is a strange request, and yes it isn’t one he’s ever gotten before, but he can work with it. He understands your need to not be in the public eye. To not have your image decided by the public for you.

Most importantly, he knows what being seen with him can do to a person via the media. It’s terrifying. They’re like vultures, ready to pick the flesh off of any victim they deem fit.

More than one woman has been slandered off the palace grounds because of it. He also should have considered that before asking, but like he knew—like he knows—you’re smart. There’s no reason why you wouldn’t have thought this through thoroughly enough to weigh upon all of the possible outcomes.

It was a day full of realizations. On both your parts is what he didn’t know.

So he really, seriously should not be as stunned, surprised and…still partially hard as he is.

Here you are, staring at him, expecting a reply while his mouth is slightly parted and apparently speechless. It’s rare for him to be given such a harsh truth instead of the immediate yes he is so used to hearing. For someone to have this kind of power over him.

When he’d asked you, Jungkook had just wanted a friend. Someone to talk to, maybe hang out with, share jokes with. Someone to spend time with so his college experience isn’t as lonely as it’s turning out to be.

But where he saw a potential friendship, you saw potential disaster.

Because as much as the title grants him, being Prince isn’t a great thing for everyone around him.

Sometimes it destroys them.

He’s still learning though, that you aren’t just smart. You’re calculated.

You are a scythe in a field of grass, a gust of wind in a foggy gulf, a sunbeam shining through the clouds on a rainy day.

You think things through to their every possibility, finding the best outcomes and worst fallouts. You did it with his request, and managed to find a solution that works at only a small hindrance to him.

So who the hell would he be if he didn’t take it?

The outside world already knows all of his friends. Granted about 95% of them are men, but that’s what you get when you grow up having the sons of the guards, groundskeepers and chefs around. The other 5% are the girls he met during childhood, the daughters of other royals and titled individuals.

And even then with them, the speculation never stopped. Not after years of platonic friendship. There was always a ‘what if?’ thrown onto them. So he understands that if he starts hanging out with a new girl, the media will go wild. Understands that existing in the same place as you and his social etiquette towards you have the power to make or break you, mentally, socially, even physically.

He understands.

So, everything considered?

Your one condition isn’t so bad after all.

And he has no problems with it.

“Agreed.”

You blink, clearly not expecting him to give in so quickly, or to at least debate it. Your eyebrows scrunch as you sputter, “Just like that?”

He grips the back of the chair, and leans forward again.

“I would never expect you to give anything up or be forced into an unwanted narrative because I asked you to be my friend. Of course I agree. It’ll be nice to have someone I don’t have to worry about the press bashing. To have someone normal, who I can be normal around, and who will, clearly, call me out on my shit or set me straight when I need it. So yeah,” he sucks a tooth, “Just like that.”

You flinch a little at his words. “Wait I lied, I have one more condition.”

He’s intrigued, especially considering the look on your face. “Go for it.”

“You can’t throw me in a dungeon for calling you out. My safety needs to be assured for any and all potential verbal ass whoopings you may receive in the future.”

A full, loud cackle sounds from Jungkook, eyes crinkling as he says, “Deal.” And holds out his hand.

“Deal,” you say, shaking it and laughing with him. Because you know there aren’t any dungeons in the palace.

And somehow, you know that even if there were, he still wouldn’t.

Chapter Four: Sunday Nights and Lost Memories

A/N 2: we do be getting into though.

A/N 3: I know I’m jumping ahead here but I’m excited for you guys to read chapter 4, it’s one of my favourites so far!

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