#Chapter Four: On Second Chances

[fighterkimburgess]

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[shibaraki]

ANTECEDENT ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: following Touya’s arrest you try to navigate the world as it is flipped on its head. torn between your loyalty to him and what’s best for your son, new family is formed and hope is found.

tags: AFAB reader (referred to as ‘mama’), established (kinda toxic) relationship, canon divergence: secret family au (post arrest), spoilers for touya backstory and chapters 349 onwards, hurt/comfort, original child character (‘Kaiyo’; he is your shared biological child), parent todoroki touya, mentions of canon attempted suicide and canon child abuse, themes of generational trauma, family feels, todoroki family centric, villain rehabilitation, dealing with trauma and recovery, second chances

wc: 16k+

You shouldn’t have come. 

There are crowds of press, packed so tightly that getting any closer would be futile, all of them a cacophony of questions and accusations. You’re standing atop a small brick wall encasing a flower bed of hyacinths outside of the hospital, a head above the sea of cameras, watching as a group of heroes — Endeavor and Shouto included — slowly lead Touya towards an armoured van. 

Relief floods through your system for a few precious seconds, overwhelming the hopelessness in your stomach. He was alive. 

One little rumour from a patient in your clinic, an unsure whisper of I heard they’re moving that Dabi kid from the ICU to villain corrections had led you here. It’d been two long, devastating weeks since the final battle. Two weeks with no word from him, two weeks of reading every article you could find about the ‘elusive first son of Endeavor’ and learning nothing. 

The media blackout that came thereafter was the only thing that kept you hoping that he was okay. The Todoroki family, though disastrous and complicated, held some influence in Japan. And though Touya would vehemently try to reject it, they could not allow their surviving first son to be fed to the wolves. 

And wolves they were; yelling obscenities and insults with spitting anger. Legal justice was one thing, but the court of public opinion was another thing in its entirety, a fragile and fickle thing that held the power to sway even government policy. 

Kaiyo stirs in your arms at the noise and you soothe him, rubbing your hand along his back until he quietens, then you tuck away the stray red hair that has fallen loose from beneath his hat. Truthfully you never intended to bring him here, but given recent events it has been hard for him to separate from you, cheeks still slightly pink from his earlier tantrum. 

It’d been damn near impossible to prevent the four year old from learning about the broadcast a few months prior, paired with the sudden less than frequent visits from his father, he knew something was deeply wrong and he didn’t understand it. 

Touya is scanning the crowds lazily, expression impassive to everyone but you. You could see he was exhausted, more gaunt than you last remember, but his disinterest only fed into everyone’s fury. 

“Villain!” they’re bellowing at him, fingers pointed and words sharp, “don’t you care about the suffering you’ve caused?” 

He cares, you think, more than anyone could ever understand. 

You cannot look away as Shouto lingers by his brother, the other sidekicks giving them a wide berth. Endeavor is tucked away beside the van speaking with an armed officer, his shoulders hunched forwards in an uncharacteristic manner. He appeared to be ashamed. 

Good, the thought bitter and weighing heavily in your chest. 

Touya shuffles along obediently, wrists out and pressed together against his pelvis. Quirk suppressing cuffs, you assumed. They were bulky, and no doubt uncomfortable. You hold Kaiyo a little closer as you ache, distantly wondering if he’s cold without his quirk. 

After today it was entirely possible you’d never see him again, that your son would grow up without his father.

Nobody knew of your connection to him, something both of you doubled down on after your pregnancy came to light. There would be no way for you to visit or contact him now without suspicion being cast upon your little family. Law enforcement will without a doubt assume you were aware of his intentions, and worst case they would believe you to have played a part in them yourself. 

He couldn’t allow that to happen. And yet, here you were. 

You just needed one last look at him to know he was breathing, living flesh and blood, to know that the only thing you would have to mourn was your relationship. More than anything you needed him to be ok. And he does look different – better, in some ways. The new skin grafts hug his jawbone comfortably, and the rings that once kept him together are gone. 

Being alive meant he still had a chance. 

Touya tilts his chin up, squinting against the flare of the sun, and the corner of his mouth crooks into a smile. It’s the irony, you think, as your own lips twitch. The heavens should have opened by now, rain should be soaking your clothes to your skin, influenced by the utter misery flooding throughout your body. Instead, the day is bright.

As if he can feel it, he turns, and his gaze immediately falls on your figure in the distance. You’re close enough to see the abject fury flit across his features, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare back into your own. 

The hand you have rested against Kaiyo’s back slides up over his hat to cradle his head, his small fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your shirt, drawing Touya’s attention to the boy. 

To his son. 

The anger dissolves like sea foam, it washes away to give space for his grief. This was it, the final goodbye. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him for his choices, because it was something he had told you he’d do from the start. 

In hindsight, you can only curse your naivety. 

You’d met Touya a few months after your eighteenth birthday while shadowing one of the senior nurses in the clinic. The place was small, run down and barely funded, but it was valuable work and they were kind enough to give you the extra experience.

He’d been brought in unconscious by a concerned passerby. The skin of his arms has been rough, raised and pale pink, inflamed where they’d been burnt. Barely nineteen at the time, it was nothing compared to what he would do to himself years later. 

“Watch him until he wakes up,” they’d told you, and you did so dutifully until his eyes flew open in alarm. 

Back then his identity as Dabi was makeshift, fresh and unrefined. With the glue still wet between the cracks it was unsurprising that he would slip. Touya. That was how he introduced himself to you on that first day, under the hazy influence of painkillers.

The memory stuck with you throughout your relationship. You’d see it now and then — you’d see Touya plainly behind the veil. Sometimes you said his name as if it was a dare, and he’d hated it so much that he loved you. With you there was no need to exert effort in maintaining his bravado, he could just be. And that was dangerous, or so he’d insisted.

He would disappear for weeks at a time. He always had a myriad of excuses, from expressing concern for your safety to spitting that you were nothing but a good fuck. You could no longer count on one hand the amount of times you’d heard the ‘I’m a villain, you shouldn’t be with me’ speech. 

Touya would leave, and yet you’d still come home to a receipt on the counter, or to your clean sheets unmade. It was laughable, and you loved him. 

The pregnancy was… unexpected. Difficult. If his emotions were a switch on the wall, your growing baby was a finger flicking it up and down incessantly. Mornings full of nausea and nights full of reassurance. You offered him an out, a door that would always be left open, and he refused it. 

Stay and be a bad father. Leave and be a bad father. Those were the only options he thought existed for him. And maybe you should’ve believed him when he told you Kaiyo’s birth wouldn’t change a thing about the path he’d set for himself. 

But you couldn’t accept it. Not as he’d held your boy in his arms, not as the apprehension and fear in his eyes softened into love. Not as he’d laughed and told you, “guess I needed to give one good thing to the world before I die”. 

Sometimes the adoration would become overcast with anguish. There were days he couldn’t even look at Kaiyo because of how much he loved him, reminded only of how little he had been loved by his own family — but he never let Kaiyo see it. 

“Just because he’s too young to understand now doesn’t mean he won’t later”.

The only small mercy is that your son remains asleep, blissfully unaware of what he is losing, and unperturbed by the noise around him. His light, shallow breaths against the skin of your neck are a warm comfort. 

Touya can’t say anything for fear it will draw attention to you both, and you think that alone is punishment enough. 

Shouto stands beside him in silence, surveying the surroundings and eventually following Touya’s line of sight to you. Instinctively you step backwards into the soft soil of the flowerbed, your thoughts offering an apology to the hyacinth flattened beneath your shoe. 

With the realisation that his youngest brother has noticed you, Touya turns and lunges in Shouto’s direction with his teeth bared. It could almost be comical if not for the unpleasant murmurings of the crowd. In the short moment that Shouto is distracted, you jump down from the brick wall and slip away. 

You don’t look back. 

A small part of you had hoped your role in the story had ended, that you now might just move forward as best you can. Instead, you were shadowed by an overwhelming sense of dread everywhere you went. There was little to do besides work and walk, yet you couldn’t help but feel watched. The cashier at your local market, your neighbour, Kaiyo’s teacher, the food vendor on the corner; with just one look you can’t help but to think that they must know, that any day now this false peace will collapse onto you like a tonne of bricks. 

The anxiety keeps you up at night, counting the glowing stars stuck to the bedroom ceiling to pass the hours, tension threading itself into your muscle fibres. Kaiyo was warm where he laid curled at your side, but the loneliness — in all its violent emptiness — made the night colder. Despite it all, you missed Touya, your eyes still searching for him across the futon. 

Remnants of him are still scattered throughout the apartment. Should anyone come looking, there would be plenty of him to find. He’d hated having his picture taken, yet always gave in to you quickly, and you never needed to ask him for anything twice. There were photographs of his lips pressed to your hair, of his smile tucked against your neck, of his arms holding the baby; hand cradled around the crown of his head, his purpled scars a stark contrast to Kaiyo’s soft skin. 

He had treated fatherhood like he was a dying man, a clear red flag that you can only now see with hindsight. He had spoiled the two of you with his time and effort, no matter how uncomfortable it made him, because he knew any day might be his last. Touya was born with inherited wounds that were left to fester. To him, his failure was terminal, and no amount of love would undo that. 

The wood panels are cool beneath the soles of your feet as you pad your way through to the bedroom, bending at your knees to pick up stray toys and socks left throughout the hallway. There’s still an ache in your cheeks, the strain of smiling too long through all the tears and questions from your son that morning before school. You wish you had answers. 

Your shared room looks much emptier with the large futon hung over the balcony to dry. You find a small star in the centre of the room that has fallen from the ceiling. Held between your fingers in the daylight it is dull, a pale yellow, much different to the green glow it emits at night. Touya had bought them for Kaiyo after a series of bad dreams, lifting the boy onto his shoulders and letting him stick them wherever he pleased. 

Another piece of him. As you are slipping the star into your pant pocket, you hear a knock on the front door. You weren’t expecting anyone — rent had been paid, Kaiyo was with his sitter and your neighbours were at work. It sounds again, reverberating throughout the apartment, and the soft hair on your arm lifts in anticipation. 

There is a sense of embarrassment somewhere within you as you creep towards the entryway, keeping your body low and your steps light. You can hear muted, muffled voices through the cheap wood, fingertips carefully lifting the peep hole cover to look through. 

You hold your breath, stunned. There are two women just an arms length from you, both of them beautiful and horrifyingly familiar to you. Rei, Touya’s mother, stands with her head held high despite the nervous fiddling of her hands. Fuyumi, his sister, is clasping the strap of her shoulder bag with a white knuckled grip. 

“Mother, are you sure this is the place?” she asks, her eyes darting anxiously over the surroundings, “maybe Shouto made the wrong assumption”.

Rei is lovely, you think, even with the air of sadness  Her smile is gentle, and her expression softly determined. “The worst outcome to this is that he misunderstood the situation,” she replies, “but if this person is important to Touya then they’re important to me”. 

Fuyumi nods, shifting her weight between each foot. You inhale shakily through your nose, blinking back the dryness in your eye as you continue to watch through the lense. 

“He said… there was a child”. 

Your forehead bumps against the door as you startle, cursing under your breath, lungs tightening as the dread floods your system. The two women freeze alongside you, observing the door cautiously, glancing at one another in silent conversation. 

“If you’re there, we aren’t here to hurt you,” Rei lifts her hand, and rests it against the door in a show of reassurance, “I believe you know my eldest son. We only want to talk”. 

The push and pull of guilt, relief and fear forces the weight of your body to sink forward, drawn to the sincerity in her voice. There is no amount of time or distance that would dilute the loyalty you felt towards Touya. Letting them in would be a betrayal. 

“Please,” Fuyumi’s voice is wet, thickening with tears, “he’s my older brother. He’s refusing to talk about you or— or anything! We just want to—”

Rei turns to soothe her, and you’re reminded of your own parenthood. If something ever happened to Kaiyo you might just scorch the earth in your attempts to find him. It’s hard to swallow the swell in your throat as you watch his sister turn into the touch, seeking that comfort. 

Touya had loved his mother, a difficult thing for him to stomach but true all the same. He’d grieved the attention he never received from her, but you knew he didn’t blame her, and it is that which leads your hand to the door handle. 

Time feels like it’s in suspension. To see them standing so clearly before you without the film of dirt from the glass is still a shock to process. Behind you is a home filled to the brim with evidence of your own criminal involvement, the first photograph they’ll see hung in the hallway is of their grandson.

Kaiyo deserved his chance at having a family. 

“Please come in,” your fingers are trembling where they sit in your pocket, curled around the divots in the star. Please forgive me, you think. 

You step backwards to allow them through, both accepting with a short bow and a quiet thank you. It’s unnerving and tense, their stares lingering along the walls and shelves, the mother and daughter now hand in hand as they take a seat on your couch. 

“Would…” a blunt point of the star sinks into the thickest part of your palm, the sensation acting as your tether, “…can I get you anything to drink?” 

“Some tea would be wonderful,” Rei concedes, her voice full of earnest and so light it’s almost wistful. As you steep the leaves you can’t help but get the feeling she knew you needed more time.

The ceramic cups are old, stained with time and well loved. You fill them with hot water, tendrils of steam billowing warmth across your face, and place them atop the coffee table before kneeling onto the floor. 

Beneath your mug is a clumsily drawn cat, the marker permanently stained into the wood. There are others, too, little marks left by mistake. Faint lines of kanji where the ink had seeped through the paper, hearts and stick figures and stars. Rei reaches her hand out to trace a finger along them, lips pressed thinly in a sad smile. 

“I apologise for our unexpected intrusion,” she tells you, “I’m Himura Rei and this is my daughter, Todoroki Fuyumi".

“Believe it or not I’ve been waiting for someone to find us,” your hands wrap tightly around the hot cup, incognisant of the sting to your skin, “it was beginning to eat away at me a little bit”.

“Then Shouto was right,” Fuyumi mirrors you, keeping her voice soothing and calm as she speaks even as her eyes are tearful. You recall Touya telling you she was a teacher, and you can see why. 

“You did know him,” she says, “it looks like he spent… a lot of time here”.

You hear yourself laugh breathlessly at her tiptoeing of the subject, “he practically lived here until he decided to join the league. After that he stayed away for our safety, I suppose”. 

She nods, seeming to accept your answer, glancing then to her mother in a silent plea for assistance. “Could you tell us what he was like?” there’s a mellow, apologetic tone in Rei’s words, but to whom she was apologising you didn’t know.

“Could you tell us all the things we missed?”

So you sip your drink to smooth the dryness in your throat and it’s scalding against the roof of your tongue, and you tell them everything you know. 

After your first meeting you’d thought about him every day for a week, haunted by the intensity in his eyes and the marks on his skin. You had talked and talked and he had done nothing but listen. While you thought you'd never see him again it wasn’t long at all until he came back to your dingy clinic, this time of his own accord, in need of painkillers and suturing. 

He’d gone straight to you, rudely bypassing the doctors with any qualification in the ward, and shoved some money into the palm of your hand. He was still young, his attempts at carrying himself like a man seemed more like puppetry to you, but even so you entertained it and attended to his wounds. 

“Since I’m still not fully trained you’ll need to sign this”. You remember holding out the clipboard to him, your supervisor lingering by the curtains, the impatient tap of her foot echoing in your ears. 

“Touya—” 

Back then his aversion to hearing that name was much greater. Every time it’d passed through your lips was as if you had pressed your thumb on a fresh bruise, and he’d lash out in kind. 

“Don’t call me that here!” 

“Why? Are you running from something?” 

He’d laughed at you with eyes that glittered like he was about to cry, but the tears never came, they never could. “Running implies that someone is looking for me,” his skin pulled uncomfortably taut as he smiled, “there’s no one to run from”.

“He dyed his hair black soon after that,” the mug held between your trembling hands grows cold, your tea mostly untouched and leaving a faint brown ring around the ceramic, “sometimes he would visit me all soaked with rain, and the colour would run down the back of his neck”. 

You pause every so often to offer them a chance to ask questions, but the two women remain quiet, listening raptly to your story. Their genuine trust and willingness to believe you bore a sense of unease, or perhaps guilt that you’d had him to yourself while they’d been in mourning. 

“Then things eventually progressed to… more,” even with the air of melancholy, you couldn’t help but take refuge in the normalcy of being timid around your partner's family, sheepish as you recount your relationship. 

“Did you love him?” Rei asks, and though not unkind, her question makes you feel unspeakably lonely. 

Loving Touya had felt nothing like a free fall, there was no moment in which you woke up and realised your feelings. It’d been no great feat to love him, no grand prize or climax at the end of a long battle; you saw all the worst parts of him and it didn’t change a thing. Even with all his flaws your feelings only deepened until they hollowed you out. 

Despite it all, you had walked into it knowingly, each step forward towards him a purposeful choice. 

You have only your own hunger to thank. Your eighteen year old self had been fiercely persistent, and however much he denied it, you knew he was drawn to your sympathy. Even though he was never entirely honest you pursued him with the small truths he did offer, motivated by the selfish wish to see him happy. 

“Yes,” in sickness and violence, in struggle and fear; you’d loved him through holidays and birthdays, through time spent apart and nights spent alone, “I love him”. 

“And the little boy, is he your son?”

Kaiyo. An unexpected yet happy accident. Named after forgiveness and the spitting image of his father, a red haired cherub, you both already knew the answer. “You can say it, Ms. Himura,” your smile strained as you run your thumb along the handle of your mug, “he’s our son. Mine and his”. 

Fuyumi exhales shakily, slumping forward like the fight left her body along with it. You can see the moment your confession truly registers, misty eyed and sparing a glance between one another. Turning on your knees, you reach into the shelves of the TV cabinet, grasping the framed photo of your son as an infant. 

Rei takes it from you delicately as you offer it to her with an outstretched hand and traces her fingers across the glass pane, circling the swell of Kaiyo’s pink cheek. It’s a personal favourite of yours — his arms are held above his head in triumph, the lower half slightly blurred from the excited kick of his feet. He’s grinning widely, so much so his eyes are squinted. 

Touya had been the one to take that photo, making ridiculous noises from behind the camera, the ghost of their intermingling laughter still ringing in your ears. 

“His name is Kaiyo and he’ll be turning four soon,” you watch warmly as Fuyumi leans over her mothers shoulder to get a better look, hand clutching at the fabric of her knit sweater, “the pregnancy was unexpected. We didn’t… I told Touya I would raise him myself, but he insisted on taking responsibility”. 

As you recall, the very notion that he wouldn’t stick around had offended him. He loved his son. He’d even cried over the baby scans, dry blood still smeared across black and white where they sit in your bedroom drawer. But you could see how the fear had eaten away at him throughout those nine months, restlessly doting on you and bringing home stolen things for the baby every few days but never being able to touch your growing bump. 

“Then, why did he join the league?” Fuyumi asks, but you were intuitive enough to see the real question between the lines. Why wasn’t any of this enough? Why did he leave this behind, too? 

You’d guessed from the beginning that his relationship with his family was, at best, a strained one. In reality it was worse than you could’ve imagined. The small pieces to his past that he let slip every now and then would always fill you with distress, at a loss for words. 

The reveal of who his father had been all you needed to understand the secrecy, of both his identity and of your relationship. 

“In the end it was Stain,” you cross your arms over the surface of the coffee table, knees folded beneath it, and resist the urge to hide your face, “he continued to use his quirk so his condition was worsening, and his anger towards Endeavor had been festering for years”.

You ignore their plaintive wince at the mention of the Pro Hero, blunt nails curling into your inner wrists as you continue. “Touya felt his death didn’t matter. It didn’t change a thing,” and he had to watch his world move on without acknowledging it, “everything Endeavor did made him susceptible to Stain’s cause”.

Stain’s temporary reign of terror over Japan was the first time he’d ever heard anyone criticise hero society so blatantly. You remember the vengeful kindling in his eyes as he recited the vigilante’s words, your son sound asleep in his arms and none the wiser. 

It was that night, and every night that followed, that the stress had started to gnaw at your chest until you felt your lungs collapse under the weight. Panic gripped you each time he returned home with a new injury, the smell of smoke suffocating and clinging to the futon covers no matter how much you washed them. He carried a feral sense of excitement and restlessness that left you helpless — something had breathed new life into him, and it had not been you. 

Fighting had been pointless, your pleas like water to a ducks back. He loved you, he loved his son, but somehow he had rationalised that burning himself and the world would give rise to a better place.

“He already died once,” your smile is tight but not as tight as your throat,  “and it did nothing. So this time he’d do it where it couldn’t be hidden, where everyone would have to look right at his self immolation and know their part in causing it”. 

It's then that Rei carefully places the photograph on the table as she lowers herself onto her knees, the frame remaining upright with the support of its stand. With her hands resting one atop the other, she leans forward into a full bow in front of you. 

You’re stunned with arms suspended in the air as you hesitate to reach for her, a swell of tears lining your eyes at her softly spoken apology. Your son watches over the exchange, his presence poignant even through an image. 

“Ms. Himura, please lift your head,” you shift towards her, close enough to thread your fingers over her own, feeling the peaks of her knuckles against your palm. 

“I failed him as his mother,” she says, overturning her hand to hold yours and squeezing, “it was those failures that led to your own suffering. I’m sorry”. 

In your peripheral you see Fuyumi as she moves to mirror her mother, sitting close beside you, fingers ghosting a chill along your forearm where she comes to entangle with the two of you. 

“Please don’t take responsibility for my pain. Besides, it wasn’t always terrible,” you stare at the knot of limbs, comforted by the gentle warmth of their touch, “I don’t think… I’ve ever met anyone who loves as much as your son does”. 

Rei’s eyes fall shut, a faint pinch between her brows, sorrowful as she replies: “I know”.  

Her expression is so full of regret it’s almost contagious, drawing you in and reminding you of your own mistakes. There’d been so many opportunities that you could’ve fought him, could’ve said something, but didn’t for fear of pushing him further away. 

“How did you find me?” 

Your voice cuts through the plaintive silence and you shrink under their gaze as their eyes lift. Fuyumi speaks in place of her mother, her thumb rubbing back and forth over your wrist. 

“Shouto saw you as Touya was being transferred, and in all honesty he didn’t think anything of it until Touya attacked him to keep the attention on himself,” she explains with an amused lilt, “he appeared to be very protective of you”.

Idiot, you think fondly. 

“I assure you he only told my mother,” Fuyumi squeezes your forearm once again as if to comfort you, “he was concerned and wasn’t sure if he just misunderstood. But we wanted to look for you to make sure”. 

“Then, the authorities aren’t aware?” 

“No,” Rei murmurs. 

You’re surprised by just how much you were being upheld by stress, shoulders sagging forward in relief, sinking your teeth into the soft inside of your cheek to withhold a whimper. 

“Thank you,” you say hoarsely, and you repeat it again and again until the two women have swaddled you in their arms, surrounded by the gentle scent of lavender and detergent. 

“You’re family to Touya, therefore you’re family to us,” Fuyumi reassures you, “you don’t have to do this alone anymore if you don’t want to”. 

Family. The prospect almost seemed too good to be true, an enticing offer laid out only to trap you at the end. You couldn’t risk Kaiyo’s safety or wellbeing, but their sincerity is so palpable it’s stifling. 

“How is he?” you ask instead, “is he safe?” 

“This knowledge isn’t available to the public, but he has been moved into a private villain corrections centre,” Rei looks at Kaiyo’s picture as she speaks, and you wonder if she sees Touya looking back.

“He will be undergoing rehabilitation with the hopes of one day joining us for a period of probation,” she continues, turning to you with a soft smile, “rest assured we have no intention of removing his autonomy. Touya consciously chose to carry out his actions and he should take responsibility for it…”

Her voice breaks, “… but we had our own part to play in his creation, and believe he deserves a second chance”. 

It’d sound like a perfect dream if you did not know Touya as intimately as you do. You’re unable to repress the grimace that crosses your expression. 

“He won’t be happy about that,” your eyes fall closed momentarily as you exhale, “he won’t see it your way. You already took his autonomy by removing his choice to die, that’s what he’ll think”. 

“You really do understand him, don’t you?” Fuyumi laughs mournfully, “he’s refusing to cooperate. He was relatively fine in police custody but since the transfer he’s become more hostile”.

The room grows a little smaller with every word. “Do you think it’s because I was there?” 

“Shouto asked twice who you were and Touya attacked him both times. It’s a big part of why he came to me about it, and why we knew we had to find you,” Rei says. 

It would make sense. Touya always smothered his anxiety with anger, a response that allowed him some control or imitation of power, and power meant safety. You knew he found common ground with his youngest brother, that being the reason he ultimately lost to him, but that didn’t mean he trusted Shouto. The thought of him restlessly wondering if you and Kaiyo were in danger causes your chest to tighten. 

“Maybe if you’re able to tell him we’re okay, he’ll start responding to treatment?” 

“Maybe,” Rei nods and then the apartment is veiled in heavy silence. It wasn’t unlike sitting at his wake. You wished he could bear witness to how much love you all felt for him. 

Suddenly, a muted beeping sounds from the thin, mint coloured watch clasped around Rei’s wrist. She sighs and pressed her lips into a thin, displeased line. “I’m sorry but we can’t stay longer. They still get a little nervous if I’m out too long,” she says. 

Right. She too had spent time locked away in a hospital. It must be difficult, you think, to have a mistake follow you wherever you went. A perfect recovery did not mean other people would forgive, or forget. 

Maybe one day, Touya would see that he and his mother are more similar than he realises. 

“That’s fine, Ms. Himura,” you bow forward towards her, and then again while addressing Fuyumi, “I’m grateful to you both for finding us”. 

“And we’re grateful you gave us a chance,” Fuyumi lifts her arms in an aborted motion as if to hug you, but decides against it, “we’d like to leave you with our contact information. If there’s anything you need or… if you’d like Kaiyo to visit, please don’t hesitate to call”. 

Their touch lingers long after they leave. The evening moves on, sun dipping below the seam of the horizon as it always does as if nothing had changed, an unintended reminder of how minuscule your problems really were. Kaiyo is returned home by his sitter, excitedly babbling about his day, rushing throughout the apartment with bare feet padding over the spot where his grandmother had been seated only hours before. 

You’re reminded of how intuitive he is when he curls himself around your thigh, asking you if you’re okay, if you were feeling sick or sad. There’s a guilt there that can only come with parenthood, your depression smothered like a wet blanket as you pull forward a smiling mask to wear, hoping it will placate his worry. 

“I’m okay baby,” you tell him with fingers combing through unkempt red hair, his eyes wide and bright and distinctly your own, “I’m just a little tired”.  

There is an anger that accompanies the insurmountable love you feel when you look at your son. It is difficult to accept his abandonment, to know you will one day have to be the one imparting that pain into him. So gentle, excitable and considerate of those around him, qualities taught to him by his supposedly villainous parents.

Despite his mistakes and doubts, Touya tried to be a good father, he’d wanted to be one. You suspected a lot of it came from a place of wishfulness, parenting his child in a way he’d wanted for himself, as painful as it might’ve been to realise just how little he’d mattered to his own. And you can see it now — Touya’s inherited wounds are steadily present on Kaiyo, a passing of the torch, and all you can do is try to stop the bleeding.

If you truly thought about it, you could say your whole relationship had carried a disquieting dark shadow beneath its skin, something of a spreading blood wheel. You overlooked it anytime he was callous and unruly, you’d cry and ache but it pleased you to know he still cared enough about himself to be angry. 

Soon after joining the league he’d gradually plateaued, urges satisfied, and you should’ve noticed. 

“Mama, look,” Kaiyo appears and lifts a thin sheet towards you, paper wrinkling under his chubby fingers, “I drawed dad!”

“Drew,” you warmly correct, cradling his cheeks as you duck to press a kiss to his forehead. The drawing is that of three stick figures, each one distinct with features. Touya’s figure has his black spiked hair, and across the lower half of its face is a purple shadow. His scars, you assume. 

It was all perfectly normal to Kaiyo; the sutures and rings, the burns, the ever present smell of smoke. From the moment he could open his eyes, they would follow his father with love and excitement. The admiration would sometimes unsettle Touya, too familiar, too much like looking into a reflection. 

“It’s brilliant, baby,” you tell him, gentle as you take it from his grasp, “shall we put it on the pinboard along with the others?”

He huffs, incensed by your request, “but I want to show my friends!”

Therein lies the dilemma. You wonder how often this problem will crop up in the years to come, how quickly you might run out of acceptable excuses as he becomes old enough to understand. Dabi was too easily recognised, even in your son's amateur rendition of him. 

“I really love this one though Kai, it has all of us,” you twist your lips into a cartoonish pout, pulling the sweet sound of a laugh from him, “please can I keep it?”

His childish glare withers as he fights a smile, the restrained happiness plain on his face and entirely contagious. “Ok mama, I guess,” he relents, innocent and forgiving, head tilted and cheeks pink under your praise. In moments like this, you can truly understand a parent's wish to freeze time. 

You recall Touya’s claim of putting good into the world before his death. You too could hardly believe that you’d raised such an unequivocally good little boy. But as you watch your son appraise his art with an excited wiggle, you’re reminded that children are not a tool for redemption. 

“I love you,” I promise I’ll be better for you, “and dad loves you too. How about we draw him another picture? I’ll do one aswell". 

“Okay!” he takes your hand and begins to pull you along the hallway towards his room, your back bent uncomfortably to lessen his reach. Halfway to his destination, Kaiyo pauses, pulling anxiously at the hem of his metallica shirt. 

“When… When is dad coming back from work?” 

That’s right. Work in Okinawa, you’d told him. A terribly flimsy excuse given in a moment of panic. At the time you just wanted him to have a reason to hold onto, to reassure himself with, but it was slowly coming back to bite you. 

“He still has a lot to do baby,” an understatement if you’d ever heard one, “it’ll be a little while. But we can be patient, can’t we?”

His lips purse into a pout, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he bravely nods, and the thought of Rei’s phone number waiting in your contacts lingers in the forefront of your mind. 

Truthfully it haunts you throughout the rest of your week, stomach lined thickly with guilt. You eat, you work, you walk Kaiyo to school with eyes on every corner. You sleep in Touya’s most recently worn hoodie and pretend it’s his skin, his hands, too attached to his scent to wash it. 

Kaiyo continues to draw, to write and create. He brings graded homework back from school to keep in one of your old folders along with his other keepsakes; just in case Touya comes back, just so he can show him. 

You were looking over some of the old home made cards the night you finally called Rei, reliving another time and wondering if it ever really had been better, or if it’d just been a figment of your imagination. 

It can be difficult to know when a memory has been altered by nostalgia. 

“What’s this?” Touya had said as Kaiyo handed him a Father’s Day card, the inside lined with confetti and star sequins that toppled into his lap when opened. 

“I— I made it for you,” Kaiyo had explained nervously with eyes wide, hands flexing at his sides, “see… that’s you and— and me!” 

“Those potato shaped things are us?” Kaiyo had visibly deflated even with Touya’s playful tone, “this is pretty fuckin’ cool if you ask me”. 

“Freakin’,” you’d gently chided, lacking any heat for it to sound truly scolding at the time, too pleased by Kaiyo’s excited dancing. You recall the relaxed smirk on Touya’s lips and how he’d pressed a kiss to your shoulder, a rare moment of him being truly at ease and present. 

“And the heart, why s’it blue and not red?” 

“Because of your fire, dad!” Kaiyo grinned as he lifted his arms, mimicking the pose of a hero, “I hope I have blue flames, just like you”. 

Fragile. You'd watched on as Touya’s expression became strained, closing the card and setting it on the table, “I guess we better keep it somewhere safe since you worked so hard on it”. 

Into the folder it went. 

You decide to make the leap the following morning, allowing Kaiyo to sleep a little longer while you sift through your shared wardrobe for a suitable outfit. Work had happily allowed you a day off — even though they were chronically short staffed, you didn’t often call in sick so they were glad to give it to you. 

Usually Kaiyo would be dropped off with his sitter, an older woman known in the neighbourhood for fostering children. She’d been around for a long time, had seen and worked with many a criminal, and she understood young people more than you could comprehend. You trusted her with your son, trusted that even if he unknowingly slipped up she wouldn’t say a thing. 

But today that wasn’t necessary. You feel the fabric of the small knitted sweater between your fingers, frowning at the aggravating itch. He wouldn’t wear this, too scratchy, but it was also the closest to nice clothing he had. 

It isn’t like you’re living in poverty, but one mistake and it could very well be a truth for you. Clothes were fine as long as they fit — Kaiyo loved the little band tees his father would bring him more than anything, he didn’t care much for formal wear. 

The unbidden image of Touya’s displeased scowl flashing through your thoughts is enough for you to put the sweater back. Forcing Kaiyo to conform for the sake of his wealthier relatives, indicating that your own reality was something lesser, is something you wouldn’t do. Something Touya would hate you for. 

A small lump curled up beneath the futon covers begins to move. Kaiyo stirs, almost as if he can feel your turmoil, sleep lined eyes searching for you. 

“Ma?” 

“Mornin’, handsome,” a smile pulls naturally at your lips and warmth unfurls in your chest when he reaches for you. Half of his hair is pressed flat to the side of his head where he’d laid. 

He blinks slowly from your lap, his fathers nose wrinkling as he surveys the clothes you’d been mulling over. It’s an unspoken question. 

“I have a surprise for you so I wanted to find something nice for you to wear,” you tell him, hand rubbing along the length of his back. He perks up noticeably, foot kicking out against the sweater you’d just been holding. 

“Don’t like that one,” he says. You laugh, eyes closing for a moment to silently send thanks to Touya, even if he had just been a fleeting piece of your imagination. 

“Thought so,” you murmur, leaning forward to move it aside, “pick something for yourself, then. Make sure it’s something you’ll feel good in, because we’re going to meet some new people today”. 

“Who?” he asks, mouth wet and shaped into an ‘o’ as he fists his hands into another one of his dark coloured t-shirts. 

“You know how a lot of your friends have more than just a mother and father?”

He mumbles a dejected ‘yes’. 

“Well, I know you’ve been missing dad so I thought we might be able to connect with him in a different way,” you explain, helping him lift his pyjama shirt over his head and refraining from pinching his belly. 

“What would you say if I told you… I was going to take you to see your grandma right now?” 

“Grandma?!” he squeaks from behind the clean shirt you loop over his head, frowning then as you help him push his arms through the sleeves, releasing a small noise of complaint. 

“That’s right, your dad's mother,” — your smile dims slightly while he insists on dressing himself, reminded of how quickly the time has passed, how much he was growing — “I guess he didn’t talk about his family a lot did he?”

Kaiyo shakes his head excitedly, bouncing on his toes as he struggles to tug his pants over his clean underwear. He relents and allows you to do up the fiddly top button of his trousers. 

“That’s not all…” 

“More?!”

“You have an auntie and two uncles,” you tell him, and his hands fly to cover his mouth as he begins to dance with excitement. His joy is contagious, you feel it fill you and spill over as you pull him back into your lap, holding him tightly. 

Rei and the siblings, that had been the deal. No Endeavor. Touya may forgive the former, but never the latter. You wouldn’t do that to him.

It isn’t strenuous getting him out the door, but it is taxing to get him to the station, hair once again tucked under a knitted beanie despite the day's warmth. He jumps over the cracks in the pavement, follows the pattern with his feet, stops to greet every stray he sees. 

And you let him. Because his happiness is your own, and you dread to imagine him without it. Maybe it was selfish for you to cover his ears to the cruelty around him. He knew of fear, pain and crime, he knew that people sometimes did bad things to others. But it had never been personal to him, not yet. 

Perhaps the biggest question as a parent was just that — at what point do you expose your children to what may hurt them? 

You had told Rei the cover story ahead of time, embarrassed by your own lies, but she’d been understanding. Gentle. Somehow it only left you more ashamed. 

You wanted to preserve the innocent lense in which he viewed the world, wanted to encase the image he held of his father in amber. Because the power of those traumas stay with you, chemically alter you; they become the epicentre of your nightmares, they shape your convictions and morals, they fuel your will. Especially as a child. Touya knew that more than anyone. 

You observe Kaiyo while he watches the surroundings change, clutching the backrest of his seat as he looks out the train window, propped up on his knees and ignorant of the glare from the elderly woman beside him. Folded on her lap is the morning newspaper, a grainy black and white photo of flames and the words ‘Where is Endeavor’s Villainous Son?’ printed across the front. 

You adjust the hat, his eyes fixed on the moving landscape. He’d never been this far out of the Kanagawa prefecture, Touya’s unease with regards to your safety always taking precedence over the freedom to explore, so you let him press his nose to the glass and laugh as his voice begins to vibrate with the train. 

“Do you remember the names I told you?”

“Fuyu!”

“Fuyumi,” you emphasise, tucking the tag by his neck back into the confines of his shirt, “who else?”

He holds out his fist, fingers unfurling one by one as he counts, seeking your praises as he goes. “Fuyumi… Shouto… Natsu…o… Natsuo!”

The two hour journey passes in what feels like a minute. With one blink the train arrives in Shizuoka, slow as it pulls up to the second platform, the anticipation knotting thickly like yarn in your gut. Kaiyo, as perceptive as he can be, is bubbling with too much enthusiasm to notice your inner turmoil. 

You hold him on your hip, arms pressing him close into your chest as the sliding doors part, and step into the throngs of people waiting to board the train. As if you’d been in a soundproof bubble the noise of the city amplifies, a cacophony of voices and cries and whistles echoing uncomfortably in your ears. There are suits everywhere, hats tipped over eyes, too many unknowns in such a crowded space. 

The relief of stepping out onto the clear street almost buckles you. Kaiyo is squirming in complaint, wanting to be put back on the pavement but you hike him up a little higher. You couldn’t let him down, couldn’t let him out of reach, couldn’t let anyone take him. 

“Sorry baby, you can walk soon. I just need to find the car first—”

You’re interrupted then by a low, nasal voice, startling you to pivot on your feet. Behind you stands a large figure, bowler hat held politely to his chest as he bows forward. Kaiyo shrinks into the crook of your neck at the sight of a stranger, sensing your unease. The man repeats your name, the well groomed moustache sitting on his top lip moving as he speaks, curled into spirals at either end. He’s formally dressed, wearing a three piece suit and a large black topcoat. 

“That is you, correct?”

Grappling at your thoughts, you recall the riddle that you had given to Rei after her suggestion of having you picked up. She hadn’t wanted you to make your own way there, adamant that the family staff would drive the two of you to her home, and you gave in only at the promise of a safeword.

You inhale to steady yourself. “What is it that, given one, you’ll have either two or none?”

His eyes soften considerably but it does nothing to soothe the tension, only when he gives you the answer do you let yourself relax. “A choice,” he says, “my apologies. I should have been more considerate of your circumstances”. 

Circumstances. What a kind understatement. 

“My name is Ono Hiroki, I’m under the service of Ms. Himura and will be your driver,” he continues with a well meaning tilt to his head as he leans towards Kaiyo in greeting, “and what is the young master's name?”

You feel your son shift beneath your chin, presumably to look up at Hiroki, but he remains stubbornly quiet. “This is Kaiyo,” the grip he has on your shirt lessens at the sound of your voice, “we appreciate you coming out here to meet us but… please don’t refer to him with that title”. 

Touya would turn his nose up if he heard. You can almost imagine the shiver that may have run down his back just now, wherever he may be, and the thought forces you to hide a smile into Kaiyo’s knitted hat. 

“Of course,” Hiroki assents, and he begins to lead you towards the car. You cringe at how obviously it stands out amongst the more common models, clearly something owned by someone with great wealth and status. Even with having chosen your best outfit, the clothes on your back suddenly felt like straw, cheap and unfit for the occasion. 

The drive is smooth, though your sense of time becomes warped — had someone asked you how long it took to arrive, you wouldn’t have an answer for them. Kaiyo, just as he had done on the train, pressed his nose and fingers to the window; leaving behind murky smudges against the glass. 

As the car pulls to the curb you’re left feeling alienated by the neighbourhood. Worse, Hiroki steps out and speeds around to your door, opening it for you with a reflexive bow. 

It feels… uncomfortable. 

The property itself is walled off from the street and the building is large, though you’re sure that’s only in comparison to your own homes. You’re drawn in by the greenery that surrounds it, though the trees were likely put there for the sake of privacy the garden was clearly a labour of love. 

It appears to be a single story house, the roofs tiled dark brown with broad waves and an exterior hallway that frames around each room. You could picture Rei tending to her garden while her children sat on the veranda in the summer months. 

It was beautiful. 

Hiroki slowly leads you up the path, the gravel between each step crunching beneath your shoes. The pace can be attributed to Kaiyo’s adamance in standing on each individual stone, which the man kindly indulges. 

The entrance is made up of a large sliding door with plaster slitted windows. Hiroki pushes it across and moves aside to allow you into the house. You murmur in wonderment at the width of the genkan, the wall above the shoe cupboard  lined with traditional calligraphy. 

“Yes— it’s fine! I’ll bring them through…”

A sweet, familiar voice echoes throughout the entryway. Kaiyo tucks himself against the back of your knees as Fuyumi rounds the corner, socked feet slipping slightly on the wooden flooring in her excitement. 

Her lips part to greet you, the words caught in her throat as her gaze is drawn to the movement behind your legs. Typically Kaiyo could be quite rambunctious around others, loud and eager to befriend others. Here you can feel his anxiety, how small he must feel in this large, unfamiliar place. 

Fuyumi, too, is at a loss for words. A little pale, teary eyed as she blinks, visibly composing herself in front of you both.  “It’s good to see you again, Fuyumi,” you say as the silence stretches on, taking pity on her. 

Her demeanour lightens, and she appears grateful. Somehow her awkward loss of words and your son's hesitance lent you courage even if you, too, did not have your footing. 

“How about we take off our shoes and make proper introductions?” the question ends with a soft hum, a gentle verbal push, reaching back to pluck the hat from Kaiyo’s head. 

His hair is mussed, cowlicks pointed in all directions after being pressed beneath the yarn. You run your hand through it, wetting the pads of your fingers to flatten some of the more unruly curls down until they’re neat. The red is brighter in the sunlit genkan, and Fuyumi does well to conceal her sharp inhale. 

Kaiyo steps forward, nervously wringing out the material of his t-shirt, and Fuyumi lowers herself to his height as if approaching a cornered animal. Tender with her motions, she reaches out to still his anxious tic, ducking her head to smile where he can see it. A teacher, you remember. 

“It’s so wonderful to meet you Kaiyo. I’m your aunt Fuyumi,” she says. He turns over his wrist and takes three of her fingers into his fist, head nodding forward in what you know to be a bow. 

“Nice to meet you, aunt Fuyumi,” he replies. 

“Don’t worry about formalities, sweetheart,” she uses her free hand to straighten out the hem of the shirt, her eyes flickering over the logo with some recognition, “you can call me ‘Fuyu. You are my nephew, after all”. 

Kaiyo straightens his back, overjoyed by the privilege, and looks up to share the feeling with you. If you could read his thoughts you’d guess it was something along the lines of told you her name was ‘Fuyu, mama. 

“Natsuo isn’t here yet as he stayed overnight at his girlfriend's dorm,” Fuyumi continues as she rises to her feet, still keeping a firm hold of Kaiyo’s hand, “but mother and Shouto are in the tatami room. She likes having all the doors open on a day like this while we sit together, would you like to meet them?”

“Yes!”

In his excitement he pushes up onto the tip of his toes, shedding his timid attitude and grinning so wide his cheeks begin to pinken. It’s infectious, Fuyumi brightening considerably at his sudden comfort in her presence, and she begins to guide you both through the house. 

Soft spoken murmurings become louder as you approach the open sliding door into what you presume is the tatami room. Kaiyo pauses a few steps before, hidden behind the panel, waiting until you’re close enough for him to wrap an arm around your thigh. 

“You’re ok, baby,” you whisper warmly, “let’s go in together”. 

You enter the room with an awkward gait, slowed by the weight of your son against your leg, the matts firm beneath your feet. Immediately you are embraced by the scent of earth and autumn bellflower. Rei is seated on a pale green cushion across from Shouto, cross legged and holding a steaming cup of tea with both hands, on the table between them is a vase blooming purples and blues. You garner their attention, self-consciousness twisting uncomfortably in your chest as they appraise you and Kaiyo, a part of you always ready to jump to his defences. 

But the two, despite the cool air and unreadable expressions, only seem to thaw as their eyes fall to your son. 

The light knock of Shouto’s mug levelling atop the table surface brings you above water. “Greet your grandmother properly, sweetheart,” you step further into the space and lower to your knees, Kaiyo mirroring your actions with caution, facing Rei with his hands resting politely on his knees. 

You bow forward, thank you for having us Ms. Himura, and watch with fond exasperation as Kaiyo leans until his forehead is touching the tatami in your peripheral. “It’s nice to meet you, grandmother. It’s— it’s nice to meet you, uncle Shouto,” he recites, “my name is Kaiyo!”

You smile at the force behind the words, as if he’d practised them in his mind repeatedly before arriving. Rei appears to come to the same conclusion, returning the words and beckoning him to sit beside her, and Fuyumi ushers you to take a seat by Shouto.

In closing the distance Rei appears mystified, eyeline wet as she blinks back the tears, hands lifting to cradle your son's face in her palms. Kaiyo tenses for a moment on contact, shoulders relaxing as her thumbs graze over the swell of his cheeks. You wonder who she was truly seeing as she looked at Kaiyo, a little boy almost identical to her own. “My hands are a little cold, aren’t they?” her voice is soft, weak. There’s an intonation of grief, of regret, and an apology in her eyes. 

And your son, ever loving and perceptive, covers them with his own as if to tell her it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Then he shifts closer on his knees until he’s tucked against her chest, her chilled touch running along the length of his back as she holds him. At your side you feel Shouto exhale a short, hot breath of emotion. 

“Tea?”

You look to see Fuyumi has set out more cups, now with a pale cream teapot in her grip, unphased by the temperature as tendrils of steam wisp and dance from the spout. Along the curve of her jaw is a single tear, and she tilts to wipe it on her shoulder with a weak sniffle. You feel it too, pulling the sleeves of your shirt over your wrists to conceal the trembling, lifting your chin to keep the emotions behind your eyelids.

“That’d be great,” you nod, accepting the cup that Shouto slides towards you, “thank you”. 

You’re tempted to thank Fuyumi again as you bring the ceramic to your lips, a slight sting to the skin of your palms and your lower lip, breathing in the potent scent of green tea. This family must enjoy it a little stronger, steeping the leaves for longer, the bitterness heavy on your tongue. There is at least some respite in the distraction it provides — you could not talk if your mouth was busy. 

Kaiyo ignores the silences, leaving his grandmother's lap to squeeze himself next to Shouto. You try not to laugh, the youngest at a loss for what to do as your son looks up at him in wonderment and admiration, though it is hard to restrain yourself at the barrage of questions Kaiyo targets him with. 

“Are you really going to be a pro hero, uncle Shouto?”

“I am,” he replies solemnly, “I’ll be a hero that my family can rely on. Do you want to be a hero?”

“Hell no!” 

“Kaiyo—”

“I’m going to go to space,” he barrels on without a care, too wrapped up in his own passion to recognise the informality, but with Rei’s quiet laugh you realise there was no need to worry. As Kaiyo stumbles over his words about asteroids and comets, about how the sunset on mars is blue and isn’t that so cool, Shouto seems to relax even further. 

“He doesn’t think he’s good at talking to children,” Fuyumi whispers at your side, “believe me, Kaiyo is doing him a favour”. 

Even as the time passes Shouto’s tea remains steaming in his left hand while yours begins to cool, and Rei observes their back and forth with an autumn bellflower petal between her fingers, gently as she handles it like it were something precious. There’s no tension, any growing pains soothed as Kaiyo soaks up the attention, the beating heart of the room. 

“I’m gonna go to space an’ clean up all the junk,” he announces. A goal that you’d heard many a time, manifested in his fathers arms one evening as they’d sat together watching a pre-quirk era documentary about space travel. 

“Pro heroes came along and suddenly we forgot everything that used to be important to us,” Touya muttered, “going to space is—”

“—a hero's job in its own right,” Shouto says. 

You do well not to drop your drink as Kaiyo launches himself into Shouto’s lap, one of his arms outstretched to not spill his own while the other steadies the boy to his chest. Gleeful, childish laughter wells throughout the room, paired with the balmy sun and the whistle of a Japanese tit flitting through the gardens. 

“Dad told me that too,” you feel as the mother, the sister and the brother all hold their breath at the mention of Touya, the one topic they weren’t sure if they could even touch upon, “do you really think so, uncle Shouto?” 

“I do…” he shifts, hugging Kaiyo only after glancing at you for permission, “...and you don’t need to prefix my name with ‘uncle’ every time. You can be casual”. 

“Prefix?” 

“A word that comes before another,” you interject gently, “he means you can just call him Shouto, baby”. 

In that instance your back straightens at the sound of another voice ringing throughout the house, low and distant. “I’m home,” they shout with familiarity, “sorry I’m late!”.

Fuyumi jumps to her feet, leaving to meet the new arrival, and Kaiyo watches her go with a chubby fist curled into Shouto’s sweater. He pats his hand awkwardly to Kaiyo’s thigh in reassurance, “don’t worry, it’s just Natsuo. He’s my other older brother”. 

Kaiyo lessens his grip, tentative as he watches the open doorway, and you can’t help but to reflexively reach out to pinch his cheek. “It’ll be fine,” you murmur. 

Your first impression of Natsuo is that he’s much bigger than his siblings. He must’ve inherited his build from his father and his demeanour in spite of him, because even with the chill that he brings, his grin is refreshing. The type of person that sets you at ease and wordlessly invites you in, that actively wants you to feel welcomed. 

“Wow, you’re really here. You’re really…” Natsuo's throat bobs as he swallows his next words, silenced by Fuyumi’s encouraging touch. Rather, he hastily greets his mother with a kiss to the cheek, and then he settles down at the table facing Kaiyo. 

A litany of emotions flicker through his face, like he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. Even so, his smile doesn’t waver as he introduces himself to you, nervously rubbing his neck as he bows. 

“And you must be Kaiyo. I’m Natsuo, I guess that makes me your uncle,” he inhales deeply, chest expanding and falling, “you… you really do look like your dad”. 

He sounds mournful. Kaiyo senses the change in atmosphere, though he doesn’t understand it, and the anxiety settles into his restless fingers as they pick a thread loose from Shouto’s sweater. 

Fuyumi lightly swats at him: “Natsuo, you’re freaking them out!” 

He gives a wounded complaint, dramatic only in a way you can find with siblings as he clutches at his bicep, and Kaiyo laughs. Like it was called upon, the sun moves from behind a cloud and brightens the room. 

“Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to be awkward, I was just surprised,” he says. 

Kaiyo slides down from Shouto’s lap, the youngest briefly forlorn at the loss before schooling his expression once more. “It’s ok, mama said I look like dad too. That’s why I’m so handsome,” he grins triumphantly. 

Your chest knots tightly at the spotlight it shines on your relationship with Touya, thoughts running amok with assumptions of what they must think of you, whether they approve of how you have raised Kaiyo. But despite your inner conflict the family don’t flinch, in fact — they smile with him. 

“Touya was indeed a beautiful little boy,” Rei briefly looks at the purple petal still held between her fingers, “I have a lot of pictures here. Would you like to see?” 

Kaiyo scrambles, almost knocking the table as he stands, “yes please, grandmother!”

There’s an air of nostalgia as she leans down to take his smaller hand into her own, in the way he looks up with love, height falling just short of her hip. The last time she had seen her children this size had been before she was sent away. You can’t even begin to comprehend such a loss.

“Just 'grandma' is fine,” she assures, and Kaiyo bounces with each step as they leave to find the photographs. 

You realise, then, that you are left alone with the siblings. Fuyumi pours more tea, the sound of running water loud in your ears, Natsuo’s words barely audible to you. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, cup in hand with his thumb anxiously tapping the rim, “for being there for Touya when we couldn’t be. For bringing Kaiyo here even when you have every right to distrust us”. 

The words pick away at the composure you’d maintained throughout the morning, their gratitude, while completely genuine, feels undeserved. In the grand scheme of things your relationship to Touya had not changed much at all, perhaps he’d staved off his mission for a while to play house with you, but the outcome was the same. 

“It isn’t you that I distrust,” the ‘Endeavor’ goes unspoken but still heard, “I wanted Kaiyo to keep his connection to his father. And you don’t need to thank me, I didn’t…”

Didn’t help him. Didn’t save him. Didn’t stop him. You only loved him. You laid with him in darkness and thought if you held him tight enough that something might crack, that the light might get in. 

“What I did wasn’t enough,” you tell them, the words broken with your wet exhale, “it was your actions, your dedication to understanding him. It’s… it’s you I should thank, Shouto”.

“Still,” Fuyumi is tender as she speaks, her hand resting between your shoulder blades, “knowing that all that time he wasn’t alone, knowing that he had you, it means a great deal to us all”. 

Even if he hadn’t been alone for those few years, there was still a rotten past from before he met you that he wouldn’t touch. Touya, stone faced and eyes narrowed, watching you from beneath the sheets of his hospital bed as if he were a wounded animal. Your slow, telegraphed actions, promising respite. That’s why despite wanting to stay away from you, he couldn’t — because you saw who he was, and you still loved him. The burning flesh, the distended skin, the smoke and the blood. You saw the bodies on the news, you saw the flames across the city, and you still loved him. 

Maybe that was the only thing you got right; because there isn’t much else worse than someone loving the potential of who you could be, or loving someone you’re not. In the end, you think, we all want to be seen first and loved second. 

“I do think he’s worried about you,” Shouto interjects plainly, “ he’s not directly asking about your wellbeing because he doesn’t want to reveal your identity, but the staff say he’s restless”. 

“You can be quite perceptive, Shouto,” Fuyumi says. 

“A friend of mine has told me that before,” there’s a flicker of a smile pulling at his lips and it warms his expression. If you needed to attach a word to it you’d pick fond. 

“Though he also said I make all the wrong assumptions about what I’m seeing,” he exhales through his nose in what you think might be a laugh, “that’s why I went to my mother first. This seemed… too important to be wrong about”.

“I’m truly grateful for your discretion,” you wipe a tear along the heel of your hand, ignoring the sting in your sinuses, “and for your acceptance of us”.

“You’re our family now,” Natsuo’s grin widens, “and I can’t say I wasn’t curious ‘bout the kind of person my brother fell in love with”.

You knew what Touya would say to that. You're too good for me, I don’t want to hurt you. You should’ve seen through it then, with every premature apology. People only say those things when they know they’re going to hurt you. 

Over your thoughts you hear the siblings begin to talk again with affection, your eyes drawn to the empty end of the table. You should be here, you think, I wish you were here. 

Kaiyo returns excitedly with a large picture frame held to his chest, the paint worn and flaking, encasing an old school photograph of Touya. His uniform is buttoned to the top, face youthful and pale, not a scar to be seen. You recall his discomfort with high collared clothing, always irritable against his sutures. 

Following behind is Rei with an album of family pictures. Some of them have been awkwardly cut, some burnt along the edges, some faces notably scribbled over with a pen almost out of ink.

“Mama look, he really does look like me. And dad’s hair was white! Did he colour it like that, too?”

“No sweetheart,” you murmur with gaze fixed to the page as it turns in Rei’s lap, the siblings all gathered around to look, “remember, he told you he had red hair like yours, but it changed like magic”. 

“So cool,” he mumbles in awe under his breath, “dad is so cool”. 

Rei stiffens minutely. Maybe that, too, was uncomfortably familiar. 

The conversation continues into the late afternoon, moving only to sit beneath the clear skies and stretch your legs, Rei guiding you along her well loved flowerbeds. They tell Kaiyo stories of his father, diluted but true for the most part, their smiles tightening with the memories. It feels odd, wrong, mourning a man that is very much alive. You give them a piece of him and in exchange, they offer one back as the hours pass. You come to know another Touya — their Touya — and when you line him up aside your own you find that they aren’t all that different.  

As Kaiyo’s confidence grows with his newfound family he begins to wander. Natsuo lifts him into the air and he laughs joyfully, a sound you wish you could solidify and keep by your breast, and they take off to hide in the house with Fuyumi close behind. 

“Are you sure it’s ok for him to play indoors? I’d hate to leave any mess—”

Rei smiles. The light reflects against the crown of her head forming something of a white halo and Shouto is at her side, eyes softening at his mothers happiness. 

“I assure you it’s alright,” she says, “truthfully I think I’ve missed the mess”. 

You think of toys left astray, crayon smudging cheap wallpaper, juice rings staining the coffee table. Marks of your little boy left all around the apartment. Touya cursing as he steps on a building block, hopping on one leg theatrically to make Kaiyo laugh. Touya spilling the warm bottle of milk as he falls asleep and Kaiyo on his chest, exhausted from a day without rest. 

“I know what you mean,” you reply. 

Shouto only blinks. You couldn’t imagine that he was allowed to make much of a mess at all, and that thought alone makes you ache. His brow furrows then, and anticipation settles in your gut. 

“There was something we wanted to ask of you now Kaiyo is distracted,” he seeks Rei’s support as he talks, and she nods gently before turning to face you. 

“As we’ve told you… Touya is not being cooperative to treatment. In all honesty, we are getting anxious that he will be removed from the programme,” she says with regret, “you are free to refuse. But as you suggested when we first met, I thought he might benefit from knowing you’re safe”.

It feels as if the ground beneath your feet has steepened, a weightlessness flooding through your chest, and you reach for the closest pillar on the veranda to steady yourself. 

“You’ll let me visit him?” 

“Strings can be pulled to get you a visitor's pass,” Shouto confirms sagely, “typically it is for professionals or family. Which you now are”.

You hadn’t even let yourself entertain the idea of being able to see him again. The possibility of hearing his voice, of holding him again, felt too good to be true. 

“And Kaiyo? Where will he stay?” you ask, “I can’t take him with me, I don’t want him to see his father like that—” 

Approaching you from the house is the soft, pitter patter of socked feet. You feel a weight fall on your back, Kaiyo interrupting to wrap his limbs around your waist and neck, giggling into your nape. Natsuo lands unceremoniously on the tatami matts, leaning himself against the inside of the sliding door panels with pink blossoming on his cheeks, “damn, kid. You’ve got too much energy”.

“Your house is so big, grandma,” the words carrying a little embarrassment as Kaiyo says “ours is a lot smaller”.

“Sometimes houses are too big,” Natsuo reassures as he slumps forward to rest his chin against his fist, “you can get lost and feel lonely in a big house. I bet at your place, you can always find your mama, huh?” 

He nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet and rocking your body forward with the motions, “does that mean dad was lonely in the big house?” 

Rei’s hands wring tightly in her lap, the question pulling a forlorn atmosphere over the three, and you’re quick to try and rectify it. “Even if he was, he won’t be anymore because he has you,” you say as you twist your body to pull him into your arms, squirming as your touch curls against his ticklish stomach, “isn’t that right?” 

“Yes,” he stammers between deep inhales, giggles tumbling from his lips and ringing across the garden. Rei reaches to thread her fingers through his hair, the red stark against her skin.

“You are both free to sleep in my guestroom tonight,” she offers warmly in response to your earlier concern, “we will watch him while you’re busy tomorrow”. 

“We can have a sleepover!” Natsuo shouts, the excitement forcing him to sit straight and eyes gleaming. Kaiyo gasps, mirroring his uncles enthusiasm as he clings to your shoulders. Shouto, however, remains plain faced as his gaze flickers between the two. 

“Is it really that fun?” he asks. You hide your abrupt laugh into Kaiyo’s hair as Natsuo’s expression settles into disbelief. 

“What? You’ve never had a sleepover in the dorms?”

“We have a curfew,” Shouto shrugs, and Natsuo guffaws.

“What the f… heck is wrong with your school—”

As they bicker you observe contentment settle around Rei. A gentle breeze passes through the shrubbery and you hear the leaves rustling, light breaking through the canopy above and dancing along the grass. Fuyumi calls everyone back into the house as the scent of curry is coaxed out into the open, and you all make your way to the dining area. 

The night comes sooner than you expect. Kaiyo whines at the full feeling in his stomach, cheeks orange and smattered in sauce. Apparently Rei brought over all the childrens things during her move — everything, from toys to certificates to baby clothes, and you’re offered the hand me downs with a wistful smile. 

Aside from the red sleeves the shirt is white, a flame embroidered into the centre and the word fire written below it. Then you’re given an old blanket, slightly thread bare and clearly well loved. It is a light purple, faded after years of being washed, and dotted with stars. It’d belonged to Touya, she’d said, he always loved stars. Kaiyo clutches it tightly to his chest where he lay across from you on the guest futon. 

“Did you have fun today?”

The covers shift, a tell tale sign that he’s kicking his feet. “Yes mama,” he mumbles, nose wrinkling as he fights to keep his eyes open, “I feel really happy”. 

“I love you baby,” you hum fondly, leaning over to needlessly readjust the covers once more, if only for an excuse to kiss his forehead again, “are you sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone tomorrow?” 

Kaiyo nods, cheek turned against his pillow, jaw already slackening as he succumbs to sleep. It isn’t home, there’s no glowing iridescence on your bedroom ceiling tonight, but the space across from you feels empty as it always does. 

“Watching you two sleep soundly together was the happiest I’d ever been,” he’d said. You have no doubt in your mind that he had been telling you the truth. 

When you're pulled into consciousness it happens gently, the house so quiet that it’s unsettling. You were used to rousing with voices in the streets, car engines spluttering as they passed, thuds from the apartment above your own. Here it’s peaceful, a reality that you never thought you’d come close to, and for a moment you can hardly believe you’re awake. 

The staff offer to make the two of you breakfast but you politely refuse, a possessive twist in your stomach. Accepting help never came easily to you, a deeply buried seed of insecurity in your heart that first leapt to defensiveness. You could feed your son just fine on your own. 

Rei joins you soon after tending to her potted plants, Kaiyo pushing up onto the tip of his toes to kiss her cheek as she holds her dirtied hands away from his clean clothes, passing by you to wash the soil from between her fingers. “Grandma, will you have breakfast with us?”

“Of course,” she smiles. 

The rest of the family slowly trickles into the dining room with slow, sleep leaden movements. A full table, a full heart, a full stomach. Breakfast tastes all the better in their company, even Kaiyo seems to have soaked up the serene atmosphere as he quietly recounts a strange memory he had to Fuyumi. 

Still, the dread begins to settle, your knee bouncing restlessly and concealed by the table cloth. Hiroki enters the house with a deep bow and a lanyard around his wrist, your ID badge clipped securely to the end. “It’s best we leave now to avoid any run-ins with the press,” he tells you apologetically, “the likelihood is low. But I’d like to completely mitigate the chance, if possible”. 

Kaiyo lingers in the genkan, shifting on either foot, fiddling with the strings on his sleep shorts. “I’ll be back later, baby,” you hook your pinky around his and squeeze, “I promise”.

He presses a wet kiss to your cheek and you do not wipe it away, the morning air cooler on the skin where the imprint is left. An off duty officer waits by the curb to follow behind Hiroki’s vehicle — another safety precaution, they say — and he opens the side door on your behalf. 

“What will happen once we get there?” you ask, stare fixed on the streets as they speed past, flocks of people continuing with their days as normal. The thin, plastic card in your hands feels like lead. 

“Upon arrival the officer will escort you to the reception as I am not permitted to enter the building,” he explains while subtly adjusting the rear view mirror to watch you, “you will sign yourself in and then you’ll just have to wait. I’m afraid Master Touya isn’t aware that you are his visitor, so it’s entirely possible he’ll refuse to see you…”

Eventually the words become muffled, a disjointed hum in your ears, and your fingers tighten around the lanyard. You play out every hypothetical in your head, try to script questions in preparation, explanations and excuses. But you come up empty. 

Anything that you think of would be rendered useless as soon as you laid eyes on him. 

Pulling in, you survey the land. The facility is double fenced, double gated, and for all intents and purposes it looks to be a prison. There are patients spread out across the grounds, some lounging in the shade while others gathered under staff supervision. 

Surprisingly you are hesitant to part ways with Hiroki, the man bidding you goodbye with a bow and with promise to pick you up as soon as you’re done. The click of your shoes echoes throughout the building as you walk, the accompanying officer striding ahead of you and silent, beckoning you hastily through the security scanners.

A man stands incredibly tall behind the desktop screen situated atop the main desk, large auburn jackrabbit ears protruding from the crown of his head, paired with two large antlers. As you approach his nose wrinkles. 

“Pass?” he asks, interrupting any chance of you greeting him. You swallow the agitation in your chest and show him the ID card, to which he scans with a handheld device and waits until it beeps. Satisfied, he hands you a clipboard detailing a list of names and tells you to find yours. 

“Write your signature in the arrival slot, and when you leave write it in the departure slot. Wait to be called upon in the seating area”. 

You exhale shakily as you sink into your chair, taking in the room, unable to describe it as anything other than impersonal. You had spent a good deal of adulthood working in a clinical setting, and yet this place only seems to make you uneasy. No colourful posters, no informative leaflets, no magazines for people to read. No stickers by the doors, no colour in the staff uniform, guards posted at every entrance. 

Eventually a red light above the doors to the wards flashes red, a loud buzz cutting through the silence and startling you so harshly your chair scrapes against the tile. A doctor calls your name from the doorway, all eight of her beady eyes observing closely as you get to your feet. 

“The patient is being given forty milligrams of quirk suppressant every four hours while he acclimates to his skin grafts. So rest assured he will not burn you,” — you quickly smother your anger at her insinuation — “since you have a high ranking family pass, contact has been allowed, but if anything goes awry there are guards posted at the door”. 

You’re barely given time to process her explanation or the new information as she abruptly comes to a halt, almost stumbling into her back. All eight of her eyes blink at you expectantly as the door clicks open, inclining you to enter. 

“Thank you,” you mutter as you pass, flinching when the door once again clicks shut. You steel yourself with a deep inhale, lungs ballooning to expend the anxiety spiking throughout your chest, and lift your head. 

The air remains there, held in your mouth so as not to make a sound. Touya stands across the threshold with his back to you, facing the wide barred up windows and observing the other patients. He’s in a loose fitting t–shirt and pants, all white and blending into the rest of the room. Where the collar dips below his nape you can see pink, inflamed skin, and for a moment you are reminded of your first meeting. 

“Finally decided to come look your failure in the eye, did you?” his voice is harsh, like talking through gritted teeth and lilted with sarcasm. You’re frozen in place, muscles tensed as if you were bracing for impact, throat swelling just from hearing him speak again. 

“Hate to say it but there’s no cameras here,” he laughs, a hollow and dry sound as he begins to turn, “so you can drop the fuckin’ act—”

The anger dissipates as soon as he meets your gaze, his seething grin slipping until his jaw slacks in surprise. Even as your eyes sting you cannot blink for fear that he’ll disappear, a wishful figment of your imagination. He’s really here, a few feet from you, flesh and blood and breath. 

Closer now, you can clearly see there are lines of scarring where his previous body had been sutured together. No longer held by staples and rings, the patchwork skin fitting the curve of his cheeks without pulling taut and tearing. He doesn’t wince in discomfort as his expression contorts into disbelief, as his brows pinch and he starts toward you. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” 

Even with the obvious ire behind his words you aren’t frightened by him. Your legs carry you to meet him halfway, reflexively reaching out for him in all the ways you had longed to over the past few months, only for him to catch you by your wrists. His grip tightens in warning, answer me he snaps, but his demand goes ignored. You’re focused entirely on how cold he feels, sharp around your forearms, just like his tongue. 

“You’re freezing,” you whisper.

He huffs in exasperation, a sound you never knew you could miss. “I know,” he says, dropping your arms as his hold loosens and you silently mourn the loss, “it’s like this all the fuckin’ time now”. 

“Because you don’t have your quirk?” 

He nods curtly, lips twisting in disdain, the confusion in his eyes sinking through realisation and settling on betrayal. “You’ve been getting cosy with my family, haven't you? It’s the only way you would’ve been able to get in here,” he sneers.

You rub away the chill from your inner wrist, following him further into the room as he walks away from you, pleading with him to listen before he makes any assumptions. “Touya, it isn’t what you’re thinking—”

“Don’t call me that!”

Your own anger steers you then, frustrated by his refusal to hear you.  “Touya. Touya. Touya. Touya,” you repeat childishly until he spins on his heel to glare at you. I’m going to keep your name in my mouth until my last breath, you think.  Arguing, scowling, you’ll take anything in this moment as long as he keeps looking at you. 

“Your mother and sister tracked me down, I didn’t go looking for them—” your own fault, you shouldn’t have been there “—they wanted to help me. They wanted to look out for your son!”

He hums like he doesn't believe it, and the forced amusement in his smirk irritates you, crawling hot through your chest. “I bet you’ve been enjoying all that bastard's money, right? He’s got plenty to throw at you and keep you quiet”.

You almost forget to breathe with how his accusation takes you by the throat, the regret crossing his features being the only thing keeping you in the room. It’s hard to handle his vitriol when it is directed at you, hard to see him like this, so wounded and cornered. In his mind you have gone behind his back, you have sought help from the people who hurt him the most, and you are only here on their orders. 

It’s a cycle he cannot break from. He’s gone again, tethered still to the world, but they are all moving on without him. He’s gone again, tucked away where no one needs to look at him, and they are all better for it. 

“I have not met Endeavor and I have made it clear that Kaiyo will not meet him either,” you tell him firmly, “I have not, and will not, accept financial help from that man. You… I’d never do that to you”. 

He wilts then, partially limbless as he sinks back against the hospital bed frame tucked beneath the barred window, covers still spotless and unused. As you glance up at the star-less ceiling, you wonder if he manages to get any sleep at all. 

“Why are you here?” he asks again, no fight left in his words. Without the bravado to keep him up he looks exhausted, torpid. You join him cautiously, settling yourself on the edge of the mattress. 

“To reassure you that we’re okay. That we aren’t in any danger,” you murmur, splaying your hand out in the space between your bodies, “we’re worried about you, Touya. Why aren’t you talking to them?”

He rests his hand beside yours, stretching out his pinky to hook over your own; the one you’d linked with Kaiyo only two hours before. “What good would that do?” he says, “I’m defective and this is just a waste of taxpayers money. Why let me live in the first place?”

The worst part of it all is the grating monotony in his tone, the total disregard for his own life and wellbeing. “Don’t say things like that,” you rasp, “it isn’t true. You have a real chance to do better now”.

“Fuck you,” he snorts without malice, giving a light shake of his head as he continues, “I was always going to end up here. You knew the path I was going to take from the start”. 

“And so did you, Touya!” 

The words come hoarse as they catch in your throat, heavy where they press against your nerves. Around you the room becomes smaller, stifling, and yet he is still miles from your reach. You’d do anything if only it meant wiping that look of indifference from his face. 

“You knew, and you could have made the effort to change. Don’t act as if this was predestined for you, it was your own choices that led you here—” 

“This wouldn’t be happening if you just hadn’t come looking for me!”

“Of course I looked for you,” you pleaded with him, “what would you have had me tell Kaiyo?”

“That I was dead,” he replies plainly, “he would’ve been better off”.

“You…” fatigue floods your system and you feel yourself sink back against the bed frame “…you truly believe that”. 

You don't sob, don't let yourself whimper, you simply let the salty burn overtake your vision and clog your throat, thick and cloying. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, “you know I’m bad with crying”. 

“You’re crying too,” and he laughs humourlessly, eyes still dry. Amongst the quiet you can hear people outside talking, the window panel slightly ajar to let in a continuous breeze, carrying in the scent of spring. You shiver, and when his icy touch begins to move away you upturn your hand, interlocking your fingers together to keep him there. 

You can feel him watching you as you appraise his belongings. No character, no personality, everything looks brand new and unused. Compared to your stingy one bedroom apartment tucked away in the sparse Yokohama neighbourhoods, this place was completely lifeless. He must hate it here, waking up in yet another unfamiliar place against his will, treated as if he were something to fix.

Though after everything he’s been through, it must be a relief to do something bad and be punished for it, rather than to be punished for all the things you couldn’t do. 

“How is he?” he asks, ending the drawn out silence. 

“He knows something isn’t right,” you say, feeling the chill along your wet cheeks, “he wants to see you”.

He makes a sound of acknowledgement as he strokes his thumb along the back of your hand. You tighten your grip, still habitually cautious of the sutures that are no longer embedded into his skin. “What a kid wants isn’t always what’s good for them”.

“That’s priceless coming from you,” you huff, and he knocks his shoulder against yours in response. Bittersweet, you recall how you sat beside him on a hospital bed just like this five years ago, IV hooked into his veins to ward off infection. Hair white, skin mottled, growing accustomed to your freely given affections. 

You breathe, the exhale long, and lean your weight into his side. Your hands, still interwoven, rest together in your lap. “We just wanted to be closer to you,” you tell him, your apology unspoken, “Kaiyo misses you. I miss you. Even if I’m angry with you, don’t ever believe that we aren’t thinking of you”. 

The word sorry does not come naturally to Touya, it never has. Remorse was best shown through action, overbearing attention and unnecessary gift giving that only ever left you wondering who he’d stolen from. When he rests his cheek atop your head, nuzzling softly into your hair, you know he’s trying to apologise as well. 

So you recount everything that happened over the past two weeks. Of nightmares and paranoia, of old photographs and starless ceilings, of autumn bellflowers and cultural dissonance. You rush each story, unsure of how much time you would be allowed in this place, nor how often you would be able to visit. And he listens, slowly sagging against you the more you speak, your bodies two beams upheld by the other. 

“Oh, and the driver called him ‘young master’ at first,” a small grin pulls at your lips at his amused snort, the only sign that he was still awake, “I know. I told him right away not… not to call him that. I knew you’d hate that”.

His muscles tense then as an intrusive knock reverberates throughout the room, a white knuckled grip on your hand at the interruption. The doctor from before steps into the threshold and is followed closely by one of the guards, eight eyes blinking simultaneously as she takes in the scene, her expression unreadable. 

“Your allotted time for visitation is up,” she says, her voice softer than before and perhaps even tinted with regret, “I’ll give you a few moments to say goodbye and notify your driver”. 

A part of you wishes that the wordless goodbye you gave back at the hospital by the hyacinth beds had been your last, because this time around it is impossibly harder. If his expression is anything to go by you think, if he could, Touya would freeze your hands together in an eternal block of ice. 

“Touya,” he begrudgingly meets your gaze, “what happened to you was undoubtedly a tragedy. Still you— you hurt people, and you need to accept that. I’m not going to tell you to forgive anyone, you don’t have to, but…”

You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his “…even if others can’t, I want you to forgive yourself”.

“For who I was or for who I wasn’t?” he mutters, so close you can see the stray white stripes in his eyelashes. The doctor clears her throat quietly where she lingers by the door, and so you get to your feet. His throat bobs as he swallows, expression suddenly pleading as you let him go, and you take his face between your hands. 

His cheeks are rough, the sore skin raised under the pads of your thumb. “For all of it,” you say. 

You’d always thought that love didn’t need to be so complicated. Sometimes it was as simple as I see you, and I understand you. Sometimes it was dirtying your hands to make their life a little easier. Sometimes it simply took the form of an illusion, and all you needed was for someone to point out the tangled lines, the true image irreversibly seen. 

“We love you. If that means anything to you, then take advantage of this second chance and let yourself be better”. 

Afraid of testing their patience, you step away from the bed, heading towards the door where your guide awaits. While only four strides, it feels like a lifetime, and you find yourself dragging your feet to stall for time. The thought of leaving him here made your stomach sink, an invisible magnetism tied to your spine and begging you to turn around. 

You startle as the guard suddenly steps forward, recounting Touya’s patient number with warning, but the doctor holds her hand out to settle him. You’re tugged back against a firm chest, familiar if not for the deathly temperature, arms circling firmly around your waist. 

Their presence falls away as he kisses you, and the sensation is new. No awkward angle, no need to be aware of his sutures, no copper tang left on your tongue as you pull back. Once, twice, and thrice — Touya kisses you without regard for time he was wasting, for the people who were waiting to take you home, and you give him every extra second you have. 

“Tell Kaiyo I’ll be out by the time he starts his training at JAXA,” he murmurs. You laugh wetly, finally forced to take your leave. 

“Better make that ten years sooner, you hear me?” 

The door begins to shut behind you and he’s crying again, eyes dry as he calls out to you.

“No promises!”

[afreakingdork]

Crush Too Much - Part 2

RotTMNT Donatello x GN!Reader

Warnings: Light Angst, Fluff, Embarrassment, Overbearing Siblings, Aged-up Turtles

Synopsis: So you met a customer three times at work and that made a pretty big impression on you? That’s nothing to necessarily get worked up over, but when you’re all prepared to ask for his number the next time you see him and his brother gets involved instead, you might be in for something more than you bargained for.

FIRST

A/N: Hey, guess what? I did it again. Totally not on purpose, but this is a second chapter in my donniexreader where Donnie is not present. I’m a monster, I know. Anyway, I SWEAR he’s in part 3. It’s called build-up, trust me. Plus it'll be a long one. Hang in there!

Closing up was usually an oddly cathartic experience, but after your previous encounter you couldn’t help but replay the events of the evening over and over. It was during one of these rehashings that you realized Leo was presumptively announced he was coming to meet you here tomorrow. Thankfully you indeed had another shift, but did he even know what time? Your frustrations with yourself misplaced, you cursed his intuitiveness. It was like he knew exactly what was going to happen and was just playing out the steps. The grudge took your through the end of your shift and you bid farewell to the cook as he locked up.  Welcoming the non-grease soaked crisp air of late autumn you pulled your jacket tight around you. You decided you’d wasted enough time worrying about everything today and would let tomorrow pick-up where agonizing left off.

-

A morning class and an afternoon shift preoccupied the forefront of your conscious thoughts, but there was a nagging sense of stand-by as many seemingly human and certainly not blue themed customers filled through. On one hand the waiting was driving you insane, but on the other you wouldn’t have had time to talk to Leo which would have been its own form of torture. It left you in a dull pizza slinging rock and hard place that went right to your 4pm clock out. He hadn’t shown. As you headed into the back to grab your backpack, a new form of irritation built up bitterness in your throat. You had been so concerned with the strange meeting and second convergence that it never occurred to you that he could have been playing you all along. Folding up your apron and harshly shoving it into a side pocket of your bag, you pictured a Leo, dripping with charismatic venom, retelling your tale to his purple themed brother. You didn’t have the heart to picture what his response was, but you had gleaned enough from your run in with Leo to paint a menacing portrait. You wondered if the two of them would come in and snicker at your picking up their order next week. Shouldering your bag, it also dawned on you that they may stop coming all together. There’s a million pizza places in New York and no reason to keep going to the one where the creepy employee has decided they like you after a few chance encounters.

The anger fizzled out into a deep ache as you emerged from the back on the restaurant. This was exactly why you hadn’t wanted to talk about it prematurely. It hadn’t had time to grow into anything substantial to justify conversation. You had just been caught up of the euphoria of puppy love. It was the definition of shallow attachment. With your head down you would have let these thoughts carry you home until a voice broke through.

“Hellooooo! Y/N! Over here!” That sing-song tone was identical to last night.

A flicker of hope sparked in your chest as you looked up to find Leo reclined at a table with his feet up and the chair tipped back at a dangerous angle. He continued to wave as you approached.

“Well this is a nice change of pace.” He swung his legs off the table and the chair made a loud clack as all four of its legs met with the ground once more. “You look surprised to see me this time. If you’re keeping track, and you should, awe is one of my preferred emotions to be graced with.”

You feigned a gag at him as you sat down. He chuckled at the reaction and folded his hands under his chin. It gave him the appearance of an all-knowing mob boss. You looked away to put your bag beside your seat. “How did you know when I was going to get off?”

He shrugged, but there was that smarmy smile on his face that said there was more to it.

Frustratingly, you were still nowhere near ready to take him on. “How was your work then?”

“Oh, same ole’, same ole’. Missions, patrol, reconnaissance, training…” He counted off the items on what you realized was a three-fingered hand. The thought was trumped by his phrasing which reinforced the earlier Mafioso image.

“Can I even ask what you do?” You gave him a tired sweep and it wasn’t just because you’d been up since 7am.

His dismissive smile and half-lidded gaze told you that was off the table. Instead, he cocked his head to the side atop his hand perch. “Let’s cut to the chase. I’ve given it some thought and you want my bro’s number, but what are you planning to do after that?”

You perked up at the question. Everything had happened so simultaneously fast and slow, you hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Your lips parted slightly, but closed as you couldn’t come up with a response quick enough.

Leo nodded thoughtfully. “Would you say you have a crush on him?”

“A crush?” You parroted the phrase back unconsciously.

“Based on what you told me yesterday, I doubt you could say you like him substantially. You don’t even know his name.”

You didn’t mean the slight wince that twitched across your brow. He wasn’t saying it with malice, but it made you feel guilty about your intentions even if you didn’t know what they were. The superficial sentiments you’d had right before this second meeting floated back to you. You wondered if Leo had conferred with his brother and found out he wasn’t interested. Maybe this thought exercise was a way to dissuade you. You looked down at the worn table and picked at a scratch mark. “You’re right.”

“About…?” There was a melodic note again.

“I haven’t thought it through. I don’t know if it’s a crush. I don’t…” You paused and took a deep breath to calculate your next sentence. You chanced a glance back up at Leo who watched you patiently with a clear gaze. It made you want to gamble on honesty with him again. “All I know is there is something about your brother that draws me to him. I’d like to find out what that is.” The stoicism you had projected when saying the sentence immediately buckled under the weight of the embarrassment from its content. You would have sunk down into an amorphous blob in your seat if you could.

Across from you, however, Leo smiled so brightly and with such authenticity that it blinded you from your own anxieties. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” His eyes closed as he placed both his hands on the table with purpose. You watched with mild astonishment as he stood up causing his chair to give a commanding screech. He kept his hands planted firmly and opened his eyes to stare down at you with purpose. “I’ll set you up with another chance, but in return you have to do something for ole’ Leon. How does that sound?”

He was so unbelievably precocious. A million thoughts ran through your mind, but you certainly weren’t going to let him get away with a full tilt manipulation of the conversation again. You held you hands up in front of you and waved them for a time out. “Wait, wait, wait…”

“Hey, don’t blame me if the deal doesn’t last long-“

“You were hoping I wouldn’t know how I felt about your brother?”

He blinked and you relished in the fact that for once you hadn’t finally caught him off guard. He sat back down methodically in a means that read to you as cover up for the slight crack in his façade. “If you really want to know, it says a ton about you. You’re honest. You’re cautious. You’re not stubborn. There were a lot of things you could have said and nothing was necessarily a right answer, but what you chose was pleasantly telling.”

It wasn’t that you were flattered, but something about what he said did make you feel better. It gave you enough of a boost to ask your next question that you weren’t sure how he would handle. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I kind of got the vibe you were acting as a protective brother, but you want a favor out of it?”

“Hey, I can look out for him and me at the same time.” Leo gave a flourish as he threw his hands up in a shrug.

That made a ton of sense coming from him. There was really only one last question you had left. “So… It’s Leon now?”

His eyes seemed to shine at the mention of his name. It made the corner of your mouth upturn after he had tried to nag you for the same thing yesterday. “You can think of it like a game of H-O-R-S-E. I’ll slowly reveal my name one letter at a time!” As he spoke you could tell he was falling in love with the idea.  

“Ok” You chuckled out, shaking your head. He was simultaneously incomprehensible and as easy to please as a child. “But what do you want? Like a favor?”

“Good question.” He kicked back, tilting his chair once again. “You reek of poor college student and I was kinda hoping for a good negotiation.”

“You want me to barter with you so I can get your brother's number?” You already knew those were the terms, but you thought if you repeated it back to him he might realize how incredulous it sounded.

“Pretty much!” A hand shot up in the air and he spun it at the wrist for you to commence the bidding.

“Uh…” It felt like you were put on the spot so you scanned the table as you rooted through a mental folder of what you had to offer. Seeing the choices laid out, something occurred to you. “Other than pizza and yourself, I have no idea what you like.”  

The mention of his ego caused a bark of laughter to burst from him. “Ah, I wasn’t sure, but the more we talk I see you’ve got some wits about you. That’ll help, for sure.”

The way he said it made you remember what you were doing all this for. You turned your head to look out the window to partially hide your smile. The quiet that followed from across the table meant you hadn’t done a good job, but at this point you didn’t really care.  

“While I would love to list my many incredible hobbies and interests, I guess I won’t bombard you with the details.” You felt him shuffle in his seat through the table. “Free pizza?”

“I wish.” You turned back to him with a mildly haunted look. “I’m lucky if I get the leftovers at the end of the night. The pizza brothers really pride themselves on quality and no free hand outs.”

He matched gape and folded slightly into himself with resentment mumbling something that you could have swore was about not getting free pizza for saving the world. As far as you knew, this family sure loved telling outrageous tales. You were about to mention it when something about the repeated mention of 'free' jogged your memory. “Wait, I think I might have an idea you’ll like.”

“Go on?” Leo leaned forward with tempered excitement.

“I have a friend who’s having a few of her pieces shown at a local gallery. I don’t know how you feel about art, but the openings are always schmoozy with free cheese plates and stuff!”

Leo’s eyes closed as he digested the information. You watched his mouth crinkle and could tell he was imaging some elaborate scenario where he was the star of the party. When his eyes popped back open, you knew it was in the bag.  “Eh, depends on the art, but I love a good schmooze and especially free food. You’ve got yourself a deal, Y/N!” He reached a hand out across the table and you shook it confidently.

“So-“

“Give me your phone for a second.”

You blinked, your hand slowed as your parted the shake. “What?”

“Your phone, I need your number so you can tell me when the opening is and I can tell you if anything changes on my end.” His hand stayed in place, but turned into an awaiting palm. Mechanically you unearthed your device from your backpack and deposited it into the waiting green appendage. He thumbed through the phone with impressive speed and handed it back to you. “Welp, duty calls!”

“You’re just running off again? Well-When?” He stood and you mirrored him, desperately taking an extra action to grab your bag as he made it one step closer to the door. “Couldn’t you just give me his number?”

That gave him pause as his finger tips made content with the door’s metal frame. “That ain’t it, compadre.”

“That… what?” You wondered how long it would be until he couldn’t throw you off with just a simple change of word choice.

Leo turned and walked back over to you with a seriousness hanging overhead. “Look, this is fun and all, but it isn’t actually a game. I am looking out for my brother, but there’s no way I would actually bet him. All I’m doing is creating a chance for you to ask him for his number. If he says no, then that’s what happens. His feelings are his own.”

You shrank slightly under the gravity of his aura, but your mental approval of Leo ticked up several notches. “O-of course.” You squawked, flustered that you might have ruined your chance by misspeaking. Thankfully, whatever sincerity you had internally must have telegraphed across your face between Leo softened with a nod.

“Just keep it in mind.” He shrugged a shoulder at you that read you could calm down and he made for the door once more. It opened with that all familiar bell and you watched as he tossed one last thing to you. “Make sure you’re on schedule for next week’s Hamato family pick-up!” He disappeared onto the street and your bag sagged in your finger tips. A small smile played on your lips as you shouldered a strap and followed suit.

NEXT

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

The Bear and The Baker: Chapter Three - COOK (NSFW)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five

Summary: She’s relatable and willing to help him figure out how to stop spiraling down a dark hole of anxiety, but she’s pretty and sweet and knows what to say and do… and Carmy just can’t help himself.

Tags: friends to lovers, UST, RST, pining, wet dreams, masturbation, lots of food talk, reader used to be a pastry chef, mental health, panic attacks, anxiety, meditation, oral sex, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation, handjob, desk sex, first times, virginity, mild dom/sub undertones, kitchen sex, love confessions

Words: 4k

You help with a wet rag, sopping up gluttonous slime from the boilover while Carmy drains the pasta, cursing quietly. There's embarrassment in his tone, frustration, and disappointment, making you wonder if this is how he acts when overwhelmed at work. It's almost triggering until you realize you're fortunate enough to earn a living outside a bustling restaurant now, though sometimes you look back on that shit with rose-tinted glasses and Carmy… well, he's a good reminder of how much stress it puts on a person. 

Is it any wonder you couldn't hack it after almost 10 years of it? Working in a kitchen is just shy of working in retail… may be worse in some ways or all ways. You've spent holidays making red velvet cakes, crème brûlée… tweezing out mint leaves until you went cross-eyed—spent days sick as a dog letting dough rise as your nails went soft from all the moisture. Fuck , you even worked triple shifts as a waitress in college… What a damn nightmare…

"Fuck… " Carmy bites.

You sneak a glance to find him white-knuckling the counter, steam rising out of the sink as the pasta drains and cools. His head's hung over the rising heat, throwing shadows into the cut musculature of his back, made all the more apparent by the white shirt and clinical lighting. You skim down his spine appreciatively, lost for a moment as he breathes deeply, stretching the cotton. He's deceptively thick, shorter than average, but more than making up for it in his sculpted arms, broad shoulders, and tapered waist.

It's hard not to stare as you finish cleaning up—hard not to imagine digging your thumbs into the tension down his back, just to see if you could loosen those knots no doubt lodged in his body given a chance.

"You okay, Carmy?"

"It's too fucking soft." A snap in his tone, like a tapered scream, has you hesitating for a moment.

"What? The noodles?"

He says nothing, but you know he means the pasta, only to confirm it when you carefully step the three paces to stand next to him as he glares flatly at the colander filled with doughy noodles. It looks like pasta, totally edible, carb-rich pasta.

"Al dente  is overrated anyway," you murmur, and think nothing of resting a palm on his lower back (treating him the way you'd wanna be treated, as your therapist would say), only to jolt back when he groans, or-or something like… as if you…

He's panting underneath you, nose pressed into the fat of your inner thigh, breathing hot over your folds as you lay your breasts against his taut abdomen and lick up a tear of precum from his cockhead… fist sliding up his length—his dick throbbing—his own hips humping forward in desperation. Carmy groans… a clogged sound just before the scorching taste of salted cum spurts over your tongue.

That dream was too fresh, and that sound he just made… far too similar. 

You inhale through your nose as Carmy digs his hips into the paneling beneath the sink, shoulders rising and head dropping further into his neck as if to hide, and… your gaze darts to his groin where you can't precisely see but know, somehow, that he's hard. When did that happen? Or was he—did you—when you touched him?

"Just-just give me a second," he says firmly, still pinned forward, hiding his expression in the dwindling steam.

You take another step to the side as he shakes his head, rubbing at his bridge bone with thumb and forefinger, trying to fumble around words that're jumbled and low, growled forth from some chugging organ going either too fast or too slow. You both heard the noise he made, and there's a tension in the air now—dense… heavy, like fondant.

You ignore the tickle in your lower belly as you stand there, glancing from his profile to the hand against your stomach that dared touch him without asking.

"I'm sorry-"

"That wasn't-"

You both say at once, then stumble over words again a second time, talking over each other until Carmy faces you. Your spine hits the counter edge as he steps toward you, seemingly unconsciously boxing you into the little corner where the sink meets the stove, his palms raised like someone begging a wild animal not to strike.

'I was just gonna say-'

'It's okay-you go first-'

"Fuck ," he curses.

He's so close it's nearly sweltering—just a ball of energy fraught with tension and a stiff upper lip. Carmy moves closer, eyes lidded and moist, but realizes the predicament you're in almost immediately and starts to lean away just as fast, but it's that knowing hesitation in his heavy gaze that has you reaching forward, hands on his hips to tug him in… closer… until your pelvises meet with a dual exhale; one ragged, one desperate.

And yes, he's hard… very hard… and-

"What're you doing?" Carmy asks, his husky Chicago drawl deep and throaty. He's so close his heated breath moistens your lips, drawing out your tongue to lick the tickle of it away. His eyes dart down to the motion, lingering there… all hooded and dreamy. You wonder if his lips taste as good as the scones… or even better.

"This really happening?" It's the way he asks it as if someone like Carmy's never had his dick pinned against someone before—as if your both a couple of teens discovering the longing trepidation of sex for the first time, and not jaded adults with baggage.

"Seems that way," you whisper as if to a skittish animal, rubbing your thumbs into the muscled trench between his hip and abdomen where a thin layer of fat gives under your circling touch.

Carmy puffs out a 'fuck’  against your lips and swallows thick enough that it clicks in his quiet apartment.

Your fingers walk up his sides where his muscles stiffen and flex, sliding your palms beneath his shoulder blades as he sinks into you, chest against chest. Your foreheads touch, and Carmy lays his broad palms on the countertop by your sides. His biceps bulge—his tattoos mix with the topography of standing veins beneath the skin, and you tug him closer until his nose pushes into yours and your nipples harden against his hammering heat.

"You want me to stop?" You ask half-breathless, almost tasting his breath as he starts to pant; basil with the berry butter from your scones, and it's nearly strong enough you can picture him chewing on a leaf while cooking the sauce before you arrived…

He gives you a barely there shake of the head, nudging your nose tenderly. "Naw… no. No , this is good . I like this ."

"Good boy." You smirk as his shuddering exhale rushes down your face.

It's a simple tilt upward, just an inch, and you're kissing him. A simple press of lips that's soft and yielding. Carmy inhales as your lips part, pecking once… twice… then wetting it with a careful tongue flick. He's clumsy, and your teeth click together, but after a few moments, a natural rhythm of tilted kisses and quiet, moist latches of lips fills the little kitchen. And he's so warm and loving, all herbs overflowing and something incredibly intimate as if you're being let in on a secret… or beckoned into a place untouched.

You sigh, making a weak little whimper of 'Carmy'  that makes your face heat up, but Carmy presses his hips in and up, groaning your own name into your mouth. A throng of pleasure shoots down your stomach, rubbing sparks of friction into your breasts and outward, through your arms until your's covered in goosebumps. It's like a light switch—that sound… this contact… the way he groans out your name and cups your lower back in one broad, firm hand.

Suddenly your fingers are in the curls at his nape, weaving through damp strands until you get a good grip and tug him to the side, planting messy kisses across his cheek to his jaw, licking at the pulse point an inch beneath. His moans and weak little sounds of overstimulation only fuel the fire below, just bubbling beneath where you can feel his hard cock rubbing into your lower belly. It's been a long time since you've been this wet…

"Okay… alright ," he grunts, seemingly making some internal decision out loud as your teeth scrape down, lips plucking between his neck and shoulder until he shivers. 

Rigid fingers dent in your waist, clutching tight, then… without warning, you're lifted and planted on the skinny counter, fumbling at his shoulders and biting your lip hard at the determined look in his baby blues. His body slots flawlessly between your thighs, sides skimming thin elastic to press his abdomen against the gusset of your damp leggings.

"God," you whine, feeling happily featherbrained as you shift and grind against his hard stomach, squeezing his shoulders in time with each rock back and forth.

"You good, baby?" Carmy asks, looking more or less like he's gonna rupture. It's hot and flattering, and you want whatever's gonna happen, even if it's not the smartest thing in the world: being set on Carmy's counter like an entree. Seriously, though, life is too short to care about right and wrong, at least right now.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, good."

As you mill against one another haphazardly, his palms ease up your hips, fingers in the hem of your leggings. You're too dazed to second guess it—that you might not be ready for this so soon. Instead, you lift your ass off the counter, letting Carmy yank your leggings down your thighs and off your feet, along with your sneakers, leaving you in your socks and an oversized sweater… no fucking underwear… nothing to hide behind when he drops to his knees and shoves your legs apart. 

Jesus Christ on the cross… is he gonna-

His breathing bathes your wet folds, adding more heat. "I uh , I don't-don't have a system for this."

"For-fuck… " you squeak as two fingers—S  and O —stroke down the line of your dripping pussy. "F-for what?"

"Sex. Women. I can, ya know… I can simmer a consommé just listening to it… but this-this is… fuck ."

His eyes narrow, thumbs stroking down your outer labia with trembling grace. "You're wet?" It's a question, even though it's painfully obvious.

"Umm…  yeah. A bit." It's an understatement, but your aptitude for words is less than stellar, given how your pulse centers in your clit and another leak of moisture slides down between your cheeks. 

"You smell nice. Like-like rain and… apples."

You blush, feeling both mortified and turned on. It's been a long time since anyone's been on their knees for you, never like this. Carmy looks like he's never seen a pussy up close, and it… does things to you. 

Carmy blinks slowly, pupils dilated black like ink drops expanding in a lazy morning lake. His fingers trace again, from soft mons to perineum. You swallow a whimper, marveling down the hills of your wrinkled sweater at his tentative touches, then hiss as he scissors those fingers open, spreading your inner lips. The cool air hits where you're the hottest… sending a chill down your spine.

"If you, umm—fuck, you're dripping …" He seems momentarily distracted, then looks back up. "I mean, if you don't wanna do this, just… please. Tell me to stop. Okay?"

Lip-quivering, you nod.

"Okay. Good," Carmy says, raw-sounding, "Good."

A knife-inked hand smooths up your inner thigh, pressing you further apart. Your eyes flicker to the back of it, finally realizing that the kitchen knife isn't being cradled but is piercing the pigmented palm. Self-inflicted harm via dedication to desire,  you think, wondering if everyone lets their passions hurt them one way or another. 

The flower on the other turns, palm up, and Carmy brings his pointer finger to his mouth and sucks on it. His cheeks hollow a second before his finger's coated in spit, pressing back and pushing knuckle-deep inside you with a grunt that nearly dies beneath the sharp moan you loosen.

It just… it feels so good to be filled, even by just one of his thick fingers.

"Tight," he gapes, "... hot—real hot. When's the last time anyone's been here." It's said more like a spoken thought than a question, which is good… cause you can't remember the last time. Maybe that's why you're melting from the barest stretch, or perhaps that's just Carmy…

The wet, squelch of sound as he withdraws and corkscrews a little deeper has you panting, squirming, and bending a knee up, planting your socked foot on his shoulder.

"Carmy…"

His eyes flutter upwards, catching your gaze with sleepy desire—something almost innocent if it weren't for everything that preceded this. So much for not hooking up with guys from Al-Anon…  though, you could end it now… it doesn't have to go this far…

"Just let me know if I gotta change anything. Don't worry about hurting my feelings, okay?"

'Just wanna taste you a bit… Smells so good. Salty… sweet. Acidic.'

Before you can tell him to stop—to make up some reason for ending whatever this is—Carmy leans in, eyes hooded, tongue pressed against his bottom teeth, and your heart skips a happy beat.

"… fuck me," you sob as Carmy noses your clit and licks a flat stripe from bottom to top.

He's reminded of applesauce with a sprinkle of salt. One of his favorites as a kid; it was simple n' sweet; she's diluted by a savory flavor that's unlike anything he's sampled before. Countless dishes, various ethnicities. He thinks this might be his favorite, from Chicago bar food to twenty-four-step French cuisine and all the flavors in between. 

A few licks in, and the sticky slick gluing her folds together comes away, exploding his taste buds with the full brunt of her. She's good—really fuckin' good —and with each exploratory nibble, her moans relax his nerves… 

With each clench of her cunt around his finger, his cock throbs. 

He's never been here in person, never had the time or the drive, but he's read enough… seen enough… so the basics come naturally. Sorta . 

Carmy traces her clit with a soft tongue until she's as soaked with spit as she is herself and then pulls up on the light chub over her clit, exposing the swollen bulb for a soft suck. His finger slides back, sweeping all that mess to lubricate the slow press of middle and pointer, feeling the way she shudders, stretching open with a gasp.

"Jesus, Carmy…"

The way she says his name makes his fingers curl into her, feeling for that spongy spot he's heard about. Carmy scrapes it with his blunted nails, her pussy grinding into his mouth, proof he got it right… then makes tight circles against it while tonguing her clit.

"Yes'yes… yes!"

Her fingers delve into his hair. Nails skim his scalp. The sauce on the stove goes cold, but he couldn't give less of a shit.

Fuck…

Carmy flicks the bud inside his mouth and loses a few strands in the process, savoring the burn as she yanks on his curls, drawing him closer, his lips mashed against her silky flesh, his fingers digging harder until he can hear the wet slurp as her walls suck his fingers back in with each thrust.

"… like that," she sighs, "… yeah , just-just like that."

He leans in, stretching up through his knees that are aching on the tile floor, and makes a moist, sloppy sound as he eats her out like he's fucking starving… and he is. Carmy hasn't eaten for years and decades and can't get enough. Her flavors are robust and sweet, artful currents of sweat, umami, and fragrant honey.

"Jesus fucking—fuck…  Carmy…” 

Yeah , he wants to grin and say something clever—something that might get him a whack on the head, but he won't remove his mouth. Can't tear himself away. She's too delicious. His forearm tenses, fucking his digits in and out by the elbow, bicep going hard with the effort to keep it precise and fluid. A few seconds later, moisture starts running down his wrist.

"Oh , god. Yes !" It's a hiss and another squeeze of his hair, tugging follicles loose.

Carmy runs wet kisses down her pussy, licks her from where his fingers jackknife, then back up to her swollen clit, sucking up that wet bundle until her thighs are shaking around his jaw. Then he shoves a third finger in without thinking… cause—fuck —she's just as tight and wet and hot as in his dream. Better.

She quivers and moans and says something so fuckin' filthy about how no one's made her feel this way, sobbing confessions that have Carmy shuddering, feeling like a single brush of his hand'll make him cum.

Eventually, his jaw starts to ache—bursitis in his shoulder acting up—but her fingers are locked on his crown, and he can feel the twitch of muscles in her inner thighs, one calloused palm rubbing up and down its smooth expanse, gliding from knee up around her leg to her naked hip. 

Carmy grabs her tight and jerks her until she's balancing off the countertop's edge, speared on his fingers… nearly dangling over his open mouth. Her startled sound goes right to his dick, almost making it spit right then and there.

"Please-please…  don't… stop…" she begs weakly.

"Help me out here," he murmurs against her pussy, nose pressed to her clit as his tongue picks up the slick from her stretched entrance that grips his pumping fingers, "… show me where ya want me."

She maneuvers him quickly by the hair, whimpering as his aching tongue moves with him. The bump of her clit makes him groan, kiss and suck and swirl until her head smacks back against the cabinets.

"I'm gonna cum, Carmy… holy fuck. "

"Good," he wheezes, then pulls back the swollen hood with his thumb again to focus on the bare nerve. He's gonna make her cum, and has to—wants to—needs to fucking do it, or Carmy'll just…

'No one's ever… oh, fuck… ever—your fucking tongue… your fingers… yes...'

Carmy starts making letters over her clit. Some bullshit magazine said to draw ABCs, so he begins with that, then numbers, counting out repeating receipts and tables until he's making as much noise as she is… until her thighs lock around his head and warmth flows like a savory glaze over his chin and forearm, dripping down his neck… off his elbow.

A guttural sound rips above him as if he just… Jesus Christ, is she really cumming?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…"  and then an utterly wrecked curse sobs out—a noise that has him saying the word back, tongue between her leaking folds. 

"Fuck…"

Carmy's reaching down his own stomach as he licks her orgasm up, feeling her contracting around his handiwork, but before he can get those drenched fingers under his sweats, she's yanking him up by the hair. He stumbles up to his knees, face covered in her from nose to throat-apple, and startles as she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him raw.

Her hips rock down into his lap, and Carmy hisses against her lips, palm trapped against her molten cunt and his clothed erection.

"Carmy," she breathes between kisses, "let me," another kiss and lick over his teeth, "return the favor. Please ."

The teenager in him is jumping for joy on his old single bed like a loser, but the grown-ass man whose never gotten this far is overstimulated. Carmy trembles, pulling his hand free from against her pussy and his hard-on. He slides his palm around her face instead, tilting his head—his lips—kissing her deeply with a tongue lapping at her own. He just needs a minute to calm down… or several… but an arm slides off his shoulder, and fingers sweep down his stomach. Carmy gets one gasp of air before soft, slim fingers ease down his waistband and-

Fuck.  He can't help it. He's gonna cum. Can't hold it anymore—can't fuckin' stop it!

"Fffffuughhhk… " It sounds pathetic, but it's all he can get out when she thumbs his sticky slit, fingers gripping the head and cap. His balls pull taut—tight as his stomach—feeling that hot surge through his cock. Carmy drops his forehead into her shoulder, smelling the overwhelming fragrance of apple orchards in the summer heat with crisp sweat, and humps her tight fist until he's cumming in heavy spurts between her thighs… all over her naked, exquisite pussy... 

"Ffffuck…" He hisses again, then chokes on his own spit as he tries to breathe through the wrecking ball of pleasure. Gotta be ten times better than what he woke up to this morning… one-hundred times better than he'd ever thought… and he'd been missing out on this shit all this time?

A cold shiver of reality flows down his back as her voice teases. "Did you just-"

Blow a load on your cunt? Yeah…

"Fuck —fuck-fuck…" Carmy groans into her neck, pulling back to look at the strings of creamy fluid sliding down her swollen, glistening folds. "I didn't mean-didn't mean to… shit… " 

He starts stuttering, watching his cherry-colored cock begin softening in her palm as his face turns beet red, embarrassed, and high as fuck from the bullet of bliss. So, so fucking good… but too, too fuckin' fast.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually, unable to take his eyes off the mess he made, imagining he just added a layer of heated frosting to a slice of gooey apple pie…

As a dollop of cum hits the floor, Carmy realizes she's not saying anything. He looks up finally, cautious, with a stone of syrupy dread in his stomach. She's just sitting on the counter with her fingers still around his flaccid cock, eyes glinting.

That anxiety of a lunch rush—the dread of fucking up a sauce—gets him under the ribs, and Carmy starts to panic. "Sorry, I just—it's been a while and… umm…  it's been-"

A kiss warms his temple. "Shhh … and take a breath, Carmy."

He does. He takes several big lungfuls, and when she tells him to go slower on the exhale, he does that too. Over and over again until he can feel the circles she's massaging into his chest.

"So, why are you sorry?"

"I dunno," he says, all raw and sleepy, leaning his weight into her, between her legs. The hem of his shirt sticks to her drenched cunt, but he doesn't mind, "… spose to last longer, right? Kinda just fucked that up."

"It's pretty flattering… I mean, you making me breakfast spaghetti, then eating me out and being so good at it…"

Carmy's chest flutters with pride, a rare and delicate thing.

"... then you cum before I can get my mouth around you… as if you-you enjoyed that… a lot. No one's ever been so… so happy to do that to me before."

"I did. I like it… liked it a lot. Kinda wanna… would you, uh…  like to do it again," he says and asks it like he's green, which, when it comes to this shit, he is. But she just smiles and noses his cheekbone, lips skimming across his stubble to peck his lips gently.

"How about we eat some real food first?"

"I just did." It comes out without thought. Kinda slick, actually.  Michael woulda been proud, and Cousin… that fucker woulda laughed. She laughs too, but it's breathy and sweet, and Carmy finds himself smiling, dimples and all. 

He eventually changes sweats for black jeans; empty plates for sauced noodles, far too soft but delicious. Carmy shares breakfast with her on the sofa… watching a black-and-white musical from the fifties that reminds him of nothing he's ever felt. She won't shut up about how good it tastes, and while it's nothing up to Carmy's standards, he's flattered… maybe more than when he first read that article in Eater…  maybe more than the first and last time Michael complimented his grilled cheese as a kid. 

Either way, Carmy thinks he loves her, and stupidly, he tells her.

AO3 Link: HERE

[bangtansocean]

Wrong Right One [JJK]

"I say we kill her," He presses the gun against your skin harder, making you whine in pain. Your tears start to fall involuntarily as you shake in fear but, your eyes showed little to no fear. In fact, you had no will to even try to fight back, or beg for mercy.

Because little did they know, you had no reasons to stay alive until one of the members of the most claimed mafia group accidentally kidnapps you, giving you a second chance to live.

• Jungkook x reader

• Angst, fluff, smut

Warning: This story contains strong language, sensible topics and mature content. Please read at your own discretion.

Content Table: Ch. 1-5 | Ch. 5-10...

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!!!!! This story is originally from Wattpad. Updates in Tumblr will be slower as they will be made every 5 chapters in Wattpad.

Read it on Wattpad here

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CH. 1 - 5

Word count: ~19.7K

Chapter one:

The pavement is blurry through your eyes as you walk under the cold rain. 

The weather has become colder, the thick fog covering most of the night sky making the setting somewhat uneasy and dangerous, but you couldn’t care less about your safety right now. 

In fact, you can’t find yourself to care about anything. 

After months of struggling, you found yourself losing everything you ever had. Your car, your house, your job and everything you’ve worked so hard for. It all started to go down the drain when you received a call from your lawyer, telling you that your assets have been sold to someone who completed the payment of the commodities you were paying in small installments due to your low income. 

You couldn’t understand how they could take everything from you like that, leaving you with no choice but to live in your office. And trying to survive within four small walls that had nothing but a desk and a big sofa was a pretty big challenge. 

However, you found yourself living comfortably and were able to hustle your way for a week, but you suddenly got kicked out of your office and had your psychology license placed on hold by your superior due to an “improper practice”, reported by someone anonymous who claimed to be your patient. 

You tried your best to stay positive in the situation, sleeping on the streets for a few days until you almost became a victim of a terrible assault, which happened just a few minutes ago while you were trying to get some refuge from the rain. 

Your body is shivering and your tears won’t stop falling, blending in with the rain that pours heavily on you as you walk with your head down and heavy steps to that big building you’ve always gone to when you needed a breather. 

But tonight you were going there to do the opposite. You were going to the building with no intention of walking out of it.

In fact, you have no intention of staying alive tonight. 

Life feels meaningless at this point.  With no family to support you and no friends to rely on, you decided you wanted to stop suffering and end this never ending nightmare your life has become in just two months time. 

The familiar building is now standing in front of you and you make your way to the emergency stairs on the sides of the building, taking a deep breath in before beginning the path to the last minutes of your life, the burden of the world and your overwhelming emotions rushing over your body, feeling heavier with every step you take to the last floor. 

You admire the skyline even through the fog and darkness, the lights of the building looking like blurry stars as you contemplate the horizon, taking slow steps towards the edge of the roof, sitting on the corner with your legs dangling from the edge of the building, the distance between your feet and the floor making your body ache. 

It's a long fall.

It’s definitely going to hurt if I make it out alive, you think to yourself, closing your eyes and taking a few deep breaths before praying your last wishes. 

“I’m sorry this is how things have to end, you deserved better.” You tell yourself as you take a deep breath in, getting ready to jump. 

“Yeah, you do.” You hear the voice of a stranger behind you before you find yourself in complete darkness, a strange choking sensation tightening on your throat when you try to scream. 

You open your eyes and take your hands to your neck, realizing that someone behind you has placed a bag over your head and starts to tighten it by the neck, feeling the two hands move from your neck to your shoulders, wrapping around your arms and pulling you far off the edge. 

You can’t help but try to scream, your survival instincts kicking in as you struggle to set yourself free from whoever is trying to strangle you. You can feel your body weakening at the lack of air, slowly falling into a deep sleep and losing the fight with the stranger who, from all you could remember, had cold hands and a sultry voice. 

—————————————

“What do you mean you got the wrong girl?!” 

You can hear a raspy voice next to you, the panic on their tone very obvious as you begin to awaken, the bag that was over your head now replaced by a blindfold, your arms and legs tied down by what felt like a very thick rope. 

You lay on the cold floor in confusion. If you are not the girl they were looking for… what happens now? 

“It was foggy and I couldn't see right. I know its a pretty bad fuck up but its done; she’s not who we are looking for.” 

You recognise the voice of your kidnapper, gasping in surprise at the sound of his voice, the fear growing inside you again as the room suddenly grows quiet. 

The voices of the two guys died down at the chattering of your teeth, the cold room giving away your conscious status to everyone in the room. 

A pair of loud heavy boots stomp around you. The steps growing louder as the presence of a man standing next to you makes you tremble in fear. You can feel his body heat closer to you as squats next to you, a squeal escaping your lips when you feel his hands on you. He manhandles you roughly, grabbing you by the shoulders and sitting you on your knees before taking the blindfold off. 

The sudden light makes your eyes hurt, blinking a few times before adapting to the light, your vision is too blurry to identify how many people are in the room right now. 

“If you scream I’ll shoot.” You hear the voice of the man behind you as he tightens the ropes on your hands, your palms sweating at the sound of his raspy and authoritarian voice. 

“Don’t, Hyung. We need to wait for the others. They should be here soon.” You recognise the voice of a third guy, his tone low and calm. Your vision is now clear enough to see two pairs of boots standing a few meters away from you, making that three people in the room with you. 

The others? How many of them are there? 

The loud sound of a door bursting open startles you, making you look up to the area where the sound came from, your eyes fixated on three other figures dressed in all black walking into the room and making it to where the other two are standing. 

“You fucked up big time, Jeon,” the blonde guy with a high pitched voice says before laughing mockingly, his hand landing on the hair of one of the guys who was standing infront of you while the others bickered between them loudly.

“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.” He knocks the hand of the shortest one away from him, gaining a roll eye from the blondie. 

You blink a couple more times before you look back up to them, looking attentively at the five guys standing in front of you. They all had fairly pale complexes, dressed in all black and they all looked surprisingly attractive and well groomed, somehow making you feel more uneasy. 

What did they want with you? Were they human traffickers? 

A loud hiccup escapes your lips, cursing yourself silently as the room grows quiet again and all eyes turn to you, the attention making you hiccup again. 

Why did you have hiccups when you were scared? Fuck. 

“Our apologies, ma’am.” The voice of the guy who was behind you startles you again, his figure coming to view as he walks towards the other guys, his sculpted silhouette and silver undercut making you hiccup again. “It seems like we got the wrong person, according to our friend here.” 

“Oh,” The sound escapes your lips, nodding to his words as you gulp loudly and scan the room again, noticing the eyes of the blonde guy glued to you as he tightens his jaw, clearly unhappy with his coworker for getting the wrong girl. 

The room grows quiet again as the silvered hair guy back up from your body, staring at you with his jaw tighten. A guy with long curly hair steps forward, his hand full of beautiful and refined rings landing on the guy with the silver hair, whispering loud enough for you to hear.

“What should we do with her, then?” He looks back at you with worried eyes, feeling uneasy at the sudden tension growing in the room. “Should we let her g-?”

“No.” Your kidnapper interrupts immediately, all eyes turning to him in confusion. “She’s seen our faces already, we can’t just let her go.” He adds, crossing his arms against his chest which draws your attention to his tattooed sleeve. 

“That’s true,” the silver-haired guy says, turning around to look at one of his friends who is standing behind everyone else. “ What do you think, boss? What should we do?” 

“I’m not sure yet,” A tall, broad guy walks forward, his fingers pushing his black hair back as he stares attentively at you. His eyes scan you slowly before a frown decorates his face. “Are we sure it’s not her?” He squats in front of you, his hooded eyes glued to you as he scans your features, feeling confused at the idea of you being the wrong person. “She has the same eyes.” 

“Would I lie to you, boss?” Your kidnapper says in a threatening tone, making the guy in front of you turn around with an incredulous look.

You can feel the tension between your kidnapper and their boss, a quiet but intense conversation happening through eye contact as everyone else looks to both of them with stone cold faces, unfazed at the challenging attitude of the youngest against the oldest. 

The blonde guy, whose name you remembered to be Jimin, suddenly walks forward. He clenches his jaw as he stares at you with fiery eyes before pulling his gun from his belt, the cold metal pressed to your forehead as he loads the gun with one hand, making you gasp in fear.

“I say we kill her,” He presses the gun against your skin harder, making you whine in pain. Your tears start to fall involuntarily as you shake in fear. However, your eyes showed little to no fear. You had little to no will to even try to fight back, or beg for mercy.

 At the end of the day, this is what you wanted: you wanted to die.

You close your eyes and bite your lips, waiting patiently for the gun to fire. “She is of no use and we can’t let her go. She’s better off dead.”  

The front sight of the gun is now against your forehead, the cold material making you weep as your entire body tenses, anticipating the bullet to perforate your skull.

“Hyung, move.” Jimin orders their boss, tilting his gun to the side telling him to move away, so his clothes wouldn’t get bloody, making you weep even harder when the gun is back to your forehead, this time pressing the gun against your skin harder. 

His jaw clenches as his fingers caress the trigger. The build up of the situation is making you feel sick, why couldn’t he just shoot you and end it all quickly? You gather the little energy in you to challenge Jimin, hoping he would just shoot you once in for all. 

“Just fucking do it alrea-”

“Put the fucking gun down!” The sound of a second gun loading makes everyone except Jimin turn around. 

Your kidnaper is now pointing his gun at Jimin, everyone’s eyes dancing between you and the tattooed guy who was now pointing his gun at Jimin’s back.

“Always trying to be the fucking hero dont you, Jeon?” Jimin laughs cynically as he turns around to look at the youngest, who is looking at you with tense eyes, smacking his lips and cursing himself under his breath. “I'm trying to save our asses here, Jungkook, you have no right to tell me what to do!.”

“We don’t kill innocent people, Jimin. Put the gun down.” He slowly lowers his arm, guiding his gun back to his belt before huffing. 

“Innocent my a-”

“Shoot me.” You beg, your voice coming out louder than you expected it to. The six men, with bulged eyes, turn their attention back to you. “Just fucking do it, please.” You can’t help your voice from cracking mid sentence, making some of them confused, while some of them are looking at you with pity. 

“Shoot me asshole,” you provoke him, your volume rising as you continue to talk. Your eyes are glued to Jimin’s as he hollows his cheeks, his hand shaking as his anger builds up from your challenging words. “You said it yourself, I’m better off dead. So what are you waiting for?!” You are practically screaming now, a burning sensation in your throat makes you swallow, the taste of blood invading your taste buds. “SHOOT ME!” You can feel your heart beating faster than ever.

The tears now fall uncontrollably from your eyes as the sound of a gun being fired makes you scream, your eyes closing suddenly at the feeling of the gun moving away from your forehead. 

“Jungkook’s right, Jimin, drop the gun.” You turn your head to the side where you notice a new guy approaching from the door.

He is about the same height as Jimin, but seems a bit older and has longer blonde hair. He walks towards the rest of the group; The smoke of the fired bullet comes out of the gun as he lowers his gun and walks towards you after giving his gun to one of the guys in the group. 

Your eyes look for the bullet, a small dent on the wall next to you shows you where the warning shot was aimed to, not too far from your body which makes you wip. 

You hear the steps of the newer guy approach you and Jimin, his hand taking Jimin’s gun and putting it on his belt, dismissing him to walk back to the rest of the group. He squats next to you as he stares at you with soft eyes, his empathy and calmness making you feel somehow better. He turns around to look at their boss.  

“I got this, Jin.” He says, gaining a nod from him as he turns to look at Jungkook, signaling to gather with him for a quick chat away from the group as the new guy handles the situation. Jin and Jungkook stand not too far from the group, whispering to each other with serious expressions. 

The new guy stares at you for a few more seconds before his hand grabs onto your jaw, turning your face to him as he inspects your face with a frown. 

“Jungkook’s right. It’s not her.” He says, a disappointed sigh leaves from his lips as he stands up straight and walks towards his colleagues.

“But-”

“But nothing, Jimin.” He turns to look at the blonde guy with cold eyes. “We can’t kill her either so… what should we do?  Jin?” Everyone’s eyes turn back to who they referred to as boss before, both him and Jungkook staring at you with worried eyes. 

He hesitates before turning to Jungkook, who is now looking down with a frustrated look on his face, biting his pierced lip in distress.

“Jungkook,” Jin calls him, making him look up with big doe eyes. “This is your fuck up, how would you like to fix it?” You sob again before your eyes lock with Jungkook’s for the second time tonight. 

Kill me, please. You mouth to him with pleading eyes before your body violently shakes, the adrenaline making you feel extremely cold, your body becoming feverish as your vision becomes blurry once again. 

He stares at you hesitantly, the internal turmoil inside him making him nauseous as he takes one more look at you before he looks back at Jin, a determined look in his eyes. 

“She stays alive,” He says, which makes you sob loudly, gaining another round of confused stares from some of the guys. 

“No, please. Please just kill me.” You beg between sobs, the desperation building back up, the ringing in your ears becoming louder. “Please.” You cry now to Jin, who is looking at you with pitiful eyes.

“Give her some clean clothes, food, and a place to sleep. We’ll keep her hostage until I find a way to deal with her.” Jungkook says before glancing at you quickly, his eyes focused on Jin who nods at his statement. 

“You heard the man, make our guest feel welcomed.” Jin claps twice before everyone spreads around the room, most of them even leaving the room through the door they just came in. “Jungkook, Yoongi; Meet me at my office after this.”

“Jin, I don’t think this is a good idea..” Jimin whispers next to him, but he is quickly dismissed by Jin who walks towards you, snapping his fingers at the guy with the silver haired undercut. 

“Joon, help me untie her?” Jin says. Joon nods and kneels next to you, his hands working fast behind you as you feel the ropes fall loose. “Look at her wrists Joon, you almost cut her circulation!” Jin scolds him before slapping his friend’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry about that… are you okay?” Joon asks you as he lets your wrists free and proceeds to untie your feet. You only manage to hmm in response, making them frown. 

Once you’re completely free from the ropes, your body hovers forward against your will, falling against Jin’s chest.

He makes sure to catch you before you crash your body against his, slowly cooing you into his chest as he embraces you in an awkward hug. You are now sobbing against Jin’s chest as he holds you tightly and he looks at Joon with anxious eyes, unsure of what to do. 

“Please,” You weep against his chest, his black shirt quickly becoming wet from your tears as you sob uncontrollably under his embrace. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I don’t know why you want to die so bad, but we can’t help you.” He says in a quiet voice, almost trying to comfort you with his statement.

“I know it doesn’t look like it, but we truly are not the bad guys here. We don’t want to harm you.” Joon says with a soft voice, hoping to ease your crying. But the warmth and comfort these two have brought you just after being under the point of a gun overwhelms you with emotions, unable to stop your crying. 

You just need today to be over. 

A loud clearing of a throat makes the two men shift their gaze up to the guy who shot the warning shot, his eyes glued to you as he stands next to his friends.

“Jin.” He starts. “We cleared a room for her already, She’ll be staying in room 17.” He announces, making both of the men nod at him before they stand up, struggling to hold your body up. Your limbs feel too weak and out of your control, making your body fall weak in their arms like you’re a rag doll. 

“Yoongi?” Jin says as he struggles to stand up with you. 

“Oh,” Yoongi approaches you and holds you by the waist as he throws your arm around his shoulders, holding you stable as Jin stands up and fans his wet shirt with his hands. “Can you walk?” Yoongi’s sultry voice rings in your ears before you shake your head, the numb feeling in your legs beginning to slowly become an aching pain. 

He sighs in desperation. “Jungkook?” He calls in a loud tone. 

“I’m here.” Jungkook comes out of the door where most of them have disappeared from, biting his lip at the sight of you. 

“She can’t walk,” Yoongi says. That's all it takes for Jungkook to understand what he wanted. 

Jungkook approaches you and carefully places his hands under your legs and your waist, carrying you bride style with ease as he makes his way towards the main door. Jin, Yoongi and Joon follow behind as your eyes begin to feel heavy, the world turning black for the second time tonight. 

Chapter Two:

A deadly headache wakes you up, adjusting your vision to the little light in the room before realizing you are now in a bed, and you are not alone. 

“Hyung, She’s awake.” The low voice of the curly haired man startles you, his figure sitting calmly by the end of the bed you were laying down on. 

“Thanks Tae, can you tell Yoongi she’s awake? He’s in Jin’s office I believe.” The one guy with red hair replies, coming into view as he approaches you from the door that seems to be the bathroom. 

Tae bows to his superior before walking out of the room with quick steps, leaving you alone with the red headed guy who is smiling at you with pitiful eyes. 

“Hey, you scared us there. We thought you weren’t going to wake up.” He places his hand over your shoulder and helps you to sit up on the bed, your head pounding as your headache gets worse.That was the idea, you think. “I’m Hoseok, but you can call me hobi,” He digs into his pocket and pulls out two small pills and places them in the palm of your hand, his free hand reaching for the water bottle that’s on the night table next to you. “It's ibuprofen. You must have a terrible headache,”

You stare at the guy carefully, noticing he is wearing a white coat that looks like a doctor’s coat.. Is he really a doctor? You blink a couple of times before looking back down to the pills that sit on your trembling hands, feeling skeptical about what exactly he was giving you to consume. 

“How do I know you are not giving me something else?” You ask him in a quiet voice, gaining a big chuckle from him as he throws his head back laughing. 

“That would be against my profession.” He says with a smile on his face. “We are not trying to hurt you, remember?” He reminds you before he opens the water bottle and offers it to you. “Feel free to not take them though, but you must be having a killer headache after fainting like that. I would take them if I were you.” 

You take the pills one by one and place them on your tongue, washing them down your throat with the cold water he offered you, the fresh beverage soothing your throat. Hoseok hums satisfied before turning around and going back to the bathroom. You stare at his back as he sings to himself while lifting small flasks and unpacks new, fresh needles.

He turns around with an injection on his hand, making you frown at the idea of receiving an injection from a complete stranger who worked with the guy who kidnaped you. However, your thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on the bedroom door, Yoongi walking in with a tray that contained some food that smelled amazing. 

“Hey, glad to see you woke up already, you had us worried.” Yoongi says as he places the tray on the nightstand, the sight of stew and some rice makes you salivate. 

Yoongi notices you staring at the food, licking your lips unconsciously as your eyes are glued to the blue tray. “Here, we made you some stew.”  He hands you the spoon which you take after hesitating for a little bit. You weren't sure why exactly they were being nice to you, but you were too hungry to care, so you decided to eat it quietly, thanking them silently for the delicious and warm meal. 

“I’m Yoongi, I’m the knife specialist here in the circle.” you look at him with confused eyes. The circle? “And that’s hobi, our doctor.” He points at Hobi, who has been staring at Yoongi quietly this whole time. He clears his throat and nods before approaching you two and sitting next to Yoongi by the nightstand. 

“I prepared a small booster for you.” He says as he places a big syringe with a long, thin needle that's wrapped in the packaging, letting you know it was a new, clean one. “We ran some blood tests while you were asleep, and your levels of iron and vitamin c were really low. Once you finish eating you, feel free to take a shower and then inject this anywhere in your arm or your thigh and it should work just fine, if you are too scared to do it on your own just wait until we are back and I’ll do that for you.”

You bow lightly and they bow back, turning to the door to give you some space to eat and recover from your long slumber. You dive into your plate and eat the food in complete silence, the muted voices of the guys filling your ears now and then as they walk down the hallway laughing when you hear two of them playing around, a loud ouch making you giggle and choke on a grain of rice.

The door suddenly flies open, the curly haired guy coming to view as he stares at you with big scared eyes.”Are you okay?” He asks out of breath. You notice the tattooed arm behind him, his face sneaking a quick glance in before turning around and staring at the wall while whistling. 

You clear your throat before replying. “Yeah, just choked on a rice grain” you chuckle at yourself, taehyung joining your laughter as he nods and closes the door again, letting you finish your meal in peace. 

A satisfied sigh escapes your lips, resting the tray on your side before standing up and walking around the room, opening the closet to see a few clothes folded there, as well as a package of new underwear and socks for you.  

When did they get all of this?  You wonder, but quickly notice that it's men’s underwear. You realize that one of the guys must have had to sacrifice their new underwear for you, the thought of it making you giggle. 

Maybe they really aren’t bad afterall. 

You make your way to the bathroom and decide to take a long hot shower, pleasantly surprised by their choice of products, the smell of lavender filling up the shower as you condition your hair and scrub your body. 

You walk out of the shower feeling much better, your tender muscles relaxed thanks to the water pressure and the lavender. You dry your hair with the towel before opening the bathroom door and heading back to bed, deciding to take another nap since you still feel tired. 

A few steps into your bedroom you notice something different, the new things on your bed calling your attention. A pack of lotion, hair products and even a blow dryer were laying on your bed which makes you huff in disbelief. 

Why are they so attentive? Are all kidnappers this nice?  You think to yourself in a humorous tone, a small grin decorates your lips as you take the blow dryer and look for an electrical outlet, plugging it to the closest one to the mirror stand. 

You are ready to start the blow dryer when you notice the shadow of someone standing by the door. His reflection in the mirror startles you, making you gasp as you take the hairdryer against your chest. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” You mumble, pressing your lips into a thin line when you hear Jungkook’s giggles. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” He says with a smile,“ I knocked but I guess you couldn't hear it.”  He huffs, still finding your reaction hilarious which irritates you a bit. He stands next to the door in silence, his body leaning on the door frame while his arms are crossed in front of his chest as he stares at you through the glass. A small grin on his lips as he stands there in complete silence, making you a bit uncomfortable. 

You decide to ignore him and mind your business, applying the heat serum to your hair and brushing it lightly with your fingers before taking the dryer. You are about to turn the hair dryer on when his voice breaks the silence. 

“Why?” he asks. You turn around to see a serious Jungkook, his eyebrows frowned as he squints his eyes at you. 

“Why what?” You ask back, unsure of what he was referring to. You rest your back against the wall as you cross your arms over your chest, mimicking his posture. 

“Why did you um…” his eyes venture into the room, landing on the floor in embarrassment. “Why do you want to die so bad?” his voice now coming out as an insecure whisper. 

You blink a couple of times before swallowing loudly, startled at the sudden question. “Uhh…life,” You answer, shrugging your shoulders before his eyes land on yours again.

“Life?” he answers back with a huff. “That doesn’t really answer the question, but I won’t pressure you to tell me anything.” He shrugs his shoulders before taking his eyes off you which you take as a goodbye, turning around and blasting the blow dryer at full capacity. You begin to dry your hair peacefully as he scans the room, his eyes landing on Hobi’s booster. 

“You should take that” He says, but you are unable to really understand him due to the loud sounds of the blower. 

“What?” you ask, turning it off before turning around, noticing that he was no longer by the door, but by your bed. His hands reach to the small booster Hobi had made for you. 

“You should take this, Hobi’s boosters are great.” He unwraps the hygienic paper from the needle and looks at you, taking a few steps closer to you.

“Oh …yeah,” you say, covering your upper arm as you feel him getting closer to you, the smell of his cologne flooding your nostrils as he stands in front of you. 

“Here, I’ll help you.”  He holds your hand and removes it from your upper arm, extending it towards him as he searches for a good vein. 

“Wait” you say, pulling your arm away and sighing. Your heart beats faster as you take a deep breath in. His proximity and the needle in his hand both make you nervous.

He lifts an eyebrow in confusion, reading the worry in your eyes and taking a step closer to you, his free hand landing right over your collar bone. His thumb caresses the side of your neck slowly, waiting for you to look back up at him.  

You notice an unusual warmth in his stare, his eyes transmitting some comfort as he continues to caress your neck and collar bone, making your skin tingle. 

“It’s alright, you won’t even feel it, I promise.” He reassures you, his breath hitting your cheek as he slides his hand down your arm, extending it again. “Close your eyes and take three deep breaths.” He commands in a whisper. 

“One,” He counts. Your head is now against his chest, both of his arms wrapped around you as he soothes you, taking in the first deep breath. You flinch when you feel the cold cotton against your skin, disinfecting the area as he holds your forearm firmly, making sure you don’t move it as he guides the needle to your skin. 

“Two,” you close your eyes tightly, feeling a slight pinch on your arm as he makes the vein more pronounced, letting out a loud exhale as you wait for the next count. 

“Three,” you squeeze your eyes tighter, but notice how his arms loosen their grip on you. Your eyes land on his and then on the empty geringe on his hand as he turns around to wrap the needle in the cotton. “All done,” he whispers as you stare at him startled, confused on how smooth that was. 

He walks towards the bathroom and throws the needle away on the yellow box that was labeled for sharp objects only whale you work on regulating your breathing. His eyes land on yours as he turns on his heels and makes his way back to you. 

“You alright?” he asks, his hand grabbing your forearm and placing a small band aid on the tiny blood spot in your arm. “For someone who just tried to take their life and had a gun against their head, a simple injection should not make you this nervous.” He says in a serious tone, but the grin in his face reveals that he is trying to ease the tension that was built between you two. You huff, unamused by his comment as a smile appears on your lips, his eyes glued to the bandaid as he seems to zone out. 

His hair is wet, which means he had just taken a shower right before coming here. His clothes were more baggy than the ones he was wearing before, his oversized sweater drawing your attention. It was clearly a hand made, crochet sweater. The front is decorated by a cute little bunny, the contrast of his pierced and tattooed body to the sweater making you laugh silently.

You look up to find him still zoned out, his lips tighten up in a straight line, frowning as he stares into nothing. Your mind is now doing pirouettes as you tried to figure out how he ended up in a kidnapping gang. Most of them, except for Jimin, seemed to be good people, and clearly had no intention of hurting you. 

“Why did you save me?” the question slips out of your lips before you realize, cursing yourself as he looks up, meeting with your eyes. His face is now inches away from yours, his mouth agape as he scans your face, taken aback by your sudden question. 

He licks his lips before replying. 

“Life,” He whispers. 

You feel his fresh breath mixing with yours, his chest rising more violently as both of your breathings pick up, heaving as you lean closer to each other. Your lips are almost touching when a soft knock on your door startles you both. 

Jungkook cleared his throat before the door opened,moving away from you quickly as his body was now hovering over the bed to pick the blue tray with the empty plates, leaving you standing there in an euphoric state. 

“Ah Jungkook, you’re here.”Jin says as his figure walks into the room, turning his attention to you as he smiles. “Just wanted to have a quick chat with you if that’s okay?” He asks you, to which you answer with a sharp nod that he mimics. “Perfect, do you mind if we talk in my office?”

“No, that’s fine.” you reply in a hoarse tone, making both Jin and Jungkook frown. 

“Let’s go, I’ll make you some tea.” Jin turns around and signals you to follow him, which you do. But not before turning around and taking one last look at Jungkook, who was now turning on the blowdryer and using it on his damp hair while he looked at you through the now steamy mirror. 

Chapter Three:

“y/n?” You frown at the name. “Why do I need a new name?” 

“It’s just to protect you in the meantime,” Jin tells you, a serious expression on his face. “We already started the creation of your documents so it's a little late to change it. I apologize for not consulting it with you first.” He says as he squats down to reach the lower cabinets on his desk, pulling out a knife. 

“I guess I’ll grow on me with time.” You shrug, not giving it much thought. “Jin?” 

“Yes, y/n?” He grins when he sees you frown, trying his best to acostume you to the new name. 

“Why is your office the kitchen?” You question him with a raised eyebrow, staring at him in confusion as he takes the mushrooms and slices them into small pieces. 

Jin lets out a quiet chuckle and you look around before giggling, not expecting this to be the kitchen of seven men, let alone the office of someone that looks like Jin. 

The kitchen is modern, but it’s decorated with cute farm animals. The fridge is plastered with photos of when they were younger, especially photos of Jungkook. You quickly learned that they have been living here for forever, the whole complex belonging to the members of The Circle. 

You quickly learn thanks to Jin that The Circle is the association the guys are under, known to be one of the most dangerous groups in the area. You can’t say you are surprised to hear they work for the circle, making you question how the most dangerous group could have kidnapped the wrong person. 

Jin explains that they were given a very confusing task with little to no background information, which is why Jungkook made an honest mistake. A mistake he most likely is going to pay for when the guys leave for the headquarters tonight. 

“They won’t hurt him, right?” You ask quietly, scared to hear that he could be in real danger because of you. 

Jin smacks his lips together before rolling his eyes. “There's no way. Jungkook is The Circle’s baby. No one could ever lay a single finger on him. And even if they wanted to, I wouldn’t allow it.” He assures you. 

You sigh in relief to hear that he is a favorite within the group, silently thankful it was him that got you and not someone else who would’ve had a terrible future ahead if they weren’t as lucky or loved as Jungkook. 

The sizzling oil snaps you out of your thoughts, focusing back on Jin who is mixing the mushrooms into the pan as he laughs at your question. 

“Cooking helps me relax,” He confesses. “It helps me think and focus on my thoughts. I know it's not a very ‘manly’ setting, but it works.” He looks up at you and winks cheekly at you before turning around to take the heavy cream from the fridge. 

You engage in small talk with Jin, soon joined by Tae not long after the food is ready. He makes himself comfortable and serves you both a plate of the pasta Jin made for you, joining the two of you on the kitchen island for some small talk while having dinner. 

Tae takes his time to tell you all about him and his upbringing as you indulge in Jin’s delicious pasta. You learn that most of them grew up in The Circle, not really having much of a choice than to be a part of it and continue their parents' work. 

Tae is one of the guys who was born under The Circle’s watch, so he never knew life outside of it. His parents started to work on international missions ever since he turned three, which is why he never was close with them, and eventually lost direct contact with them. He catches them every now and then at the headquarters, but he considers the guys his family instead, Jin and Yoongi being the ones who take care of him the most. 

He tells you that the closest thing he has to parents are Jimin’s parents who took him with open arms and let him move into their family complex right after his parents left to the USA. 

Jimin has been by his side ever since, quickly becoming each other's best friends and life companions.

“We are basically soulmates,” He tells you with his mouth full of mushroom sauce, his eyes sparkling as he speaks about Jimin. 

“He clearly doesn’t like me” You say in a chuckle, giving Tae a napkin which he takes, mumbling a quiet thank you. 

“He doesn’t not like you, he just doesn’t know you.” Tae explains. “He’s skeptical about new incomers, especially when they are not part of the circle. He’ll warm up to you in no time.” He comforts you, but his words make you realize ‘no time’ could be a long time for you. 

You might be here for a while.

“Knowing Jimin for a while might take a long long time” Jin jokes, but it only makes you dive deeper into your thoughts.

I might be here forever, you think to yourself. 

A sudden sadness washes over you, quickly excusing  yourself from the table as Jin and Tae exchange a confused frown, unsure of what caused your sudden mood shift. You thank Jin for the food and  excuse yourself, telling Jin you are too tired and wish to go back to bed to which he just nods. 

“I’ll walk you to your room,” Tae says as he walks out first, and right as you are standing up to leave, Jin grabs you by the arm and pulls you closer. He whispers into your ear a reminder that, under any circumstance, shall any of the guys know your real name. 

“Things could get ugly for you if your real identity gets revealed.” Jin warns you.

“Why though?” you question him. His shifts in his place, his body resting against the counter before turning to look at the main door nervously, knowing Taehyung’s patience would send him back to the kitchen to get you any second and he could listen to the conversation. 

“Our high ups know I have a long lost cousin named y/n, so no one will question you if they associate you with me, but if anyone knows you are an outsider… they won't hesitate to kill you. And it won't be a pretty death, it will be slow and painful... So just to be safe, keep your real name between us both.” He whispers. “Now go rest a bit, Tae is waiting for you.” 

-

You walk the long, dark hallway next to Taehyung in complete silence. You can’t help feeling lonely, almost hopeless to be here as Taehyung scorts you back to your room, walking by your side as he stares at you in riddles. 

“Did I say something wrong?” He asks in a low cautious tone. 

You turn to look at him and notice his bottom lip trapped against his teeth, biting it nervously. 

“Huh? No, of course not Tae,'' You say, pulling the sleeves of your sweater down, covering your hands to keep yourself warm  since the temperature in the hallway continues to drop and it's making you shiver. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” 

He stares at you in silence for a second before humming in reply, not fully convinced by your answer. However, he doesn’t push it and shrugs it off, continuing to walk down the hall with you.

You silently thank him for not questioning you any further, feeling the knot on your throat starting to tighten at the thought of having to explain how you felt just now. 

“I’ll make you a sweater tomorrow. This place gets extremely cold at night ,and that sweater won’t do.” He says suddenly. 

“Huh?” You reply confused. “You’ll make me a sweater?”

“Yeah, I’ve made everyone a sweater!” He answers proudly, “I love fashion. And I learned how to crochet during my free time, so I made nice fluffy sweaters for everyone here.” He smiles, showing you a proud, boxy smile. 

“That’s cute” you reply with a smile, your mind drifting to Jungkook's fluffy handmade sweater. It was definitely made by Tae.

You can hear the muffled noises coming from behind the walls of the hallway, letting you know that most of the guys were up late and rumbling around their rooms. The hallway suddenly feels emptier, and that’s when you notice Taehyung is no longer walking next to you. 

You turn around to look at Taehyung, who suddenly stopped walking. He clears his throat to call your attention, and you take a few steps back and stand next to him in confusion, his squinted eyes and pouty lips let you know he is thinking about something. 

“Wait here,” He says before opening the door next to him and storming into the dark, empty room with quick steps. 

He snatches the blanket from the bed and quickly walks back to you, closing the door behind him. “Here’s an extra blanket for you,” He extends the soft gray fabric towards you, quickly refusing it. 

“You’ll freeze to death,” You reply worried about him. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll sleep with Jimin.” He says with a victorious grin, shaking the blanket in front of you, “Now take it, my arm is getting tired.” He jokes, making you smile as you take the blanket from his hands.

“Thank you, Tae.” You bow lightly, placing the warm blanket on your shoulders and wrapping yourself around it, the faint smell of a familiar cologne filling your nostrils. 

He nods before turning on his heels to continue the journey to your room. You walk next to him with a lighter mood, engaged in small chat as you try to guess everyone’s animal on their personalized sweaters. 

“You’ll get to see them soon enough!  I won’t tell you which ones you got wrong, but you did get a few right.” He giggles before opening your door, bowing like a butler. “Sleep well Miss y/n. I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

“y/n?” The voice of Jungkook echoes through the hallway making you both turn around to see his figure approaching you both in a strut.

You can’t help but stare at him, your eyes glued to him. He styled his hair differently, his long black hair now brushed back with gel, his full forehead exposed. He is dressed in a formal black shirt, the sleeves rolled up letting you see his tattoo sleeves. He also left some buttons of the shirt undone, leaving his chest exposed to your curious eyes. The closer he gets, the better he looks, making your body tingled at his presence. 

He matched the outfit with black formal pants and nice leather boots. 

He  is next to you when you notice his eyebrows are frowned and he is pouting his lips in confusion. “y/n? That’s your name?” He asks once he is in front of you, the familiar cologne slapping you on the face. 

“Uh, yeah.” You manage to say, too absorbed in his beauty to even try to pay attention to what he is saying.His eyes linger on yours, quickly catching up to your actions. 

He knows you are checking him out. 

His frown slowly turns into a shy smile, staring at you nervously before noticing the blanket around your shoulders. 

His blanket, to be exact. 

 “Wait” he says, pointing at you before turning to look at Taehyung. “That’s my blanket.” His tone is dark and angry, making you nervous as you stare at Taehyung who is looking at Jungkook with guilty eyes. 

Taehyung lips tighten into  a straight line as he side-eyes you, your eyes growing bigger as you stare back at him with your mouth agape, feeling betrayed by Tae. 

“I’m heading to bed now, goodnight!” Tae says before running two doors down, locking the door behind him and leaving you alone with a very annoyed and angry Jungkook. 

You make a mental note to kill Taehyung tomorrow morning. 

Your eyes land on Jungkook, who is now biting his lip with his eyes closed. He takes a couple of deep breaths before letting out a big exhale, clearly annoyed at the violation of privacy. 

You begin to remove the blanket from your shoulders, feeling so ashamed to be wearing his blanket without permission. “‘I had no idea, I thought it was Taehyung’s blanket I’m so s-” 

“It’s fine, keep it” He replies quickly, and you freeze midway, silently thanking him for letting you keep it. “I’m not sleeping here tonight anyway.” He shrugs before locking eyes with you. 

“You’re not sleeping here?” You ask with worried eyes, accommodating the blanket over your shoulder as you stare at him with curious eyes, not sure why you were suddenly so invested in his late night endeavors. 

But you wanted to know where he was going looking this good. 

“I’m going out with Jin, we have some things to deal with at headquarters,” He says in a monotone voice as he brushes his hair back with his fingers.. 

Right, because of you. 

“Ah, yes. Jin told me.” You reply, feeling even more guilty for being the reason why he has to go and spend all night at headquarters being punished because he kidnapped you instead of someone else. 

It was his fault, at the end of the day. But you can't help feeling guilty.

Are you seriously pitying a literal kidnapper right now? You think to yourself, rolling your eyes at the stupid moral battle you have just started with yourself. 

You are deep in thought before you are snapped back to life thanks to a sudden cold breeze that traveled down the hallway, making your body shiver involuntarily. 

You haven’t experienced this kind of cold in a while, and you’ve been feeling slightly feverish all day. You told yourself you were going to ask Hoseok for some medicine, but completely forgot to thanks to the entertaining conversation with Tae and Jin.

You know you aren’t in the best of health after spending a few nights out in the cold rain, and it seems like these last 48 hours are finally catching up with you.

And you feel fucking awful.

You are startled when you feel Jungkook’s hand wrap around your forearm, pulling you into your room and closing the door behind him quickly.

His sudden actions take you by surprise, and you  accidentally trip with your own feet and fall against Jungkoook’s chest, your hands accidentally landing on his biceps in an attempt to not fall to the floor.

“You’re so clumsy,” Jungkook laughs as he wraps his arms around your hips as he helps you find your balance again. “The breeze of the hallway is very bad for you,” He explains right after you stand up straight. You clear your throat and look at him with annoyance, the embarrassment taking over you when you notice you are still holding on to him. 

Quickly taking your hands off him, you stand in front of him without knowing what to say next. 

You’re not sure if you are angry at him for making you trip, or if you are thankful that he was there to catch you on time. And it’s cute that he cares for your health, but also, he almost yanked your arm off.

You humm in response, not sure what to say or how to acknowledge anything that just happened as he reaches for your hands. Your eyes widening in surprise.

“You are ice cold.” he whispers in a worried tone before he slowly cradles your hands with his, rubbing them fast enough to create some friction to warm you up, but gentle enough to not hurt you. 

His eyes are focused on your hands, a pout decorating his lips as he continues to create friction between your hands, the image making your heart flutter. 

“I’d say I’m pretty hot to be honest,” You joke, facepalming yourself mentally for making such a stupid joke during a time like this. 

You are about to apologize when you hear Jungkook snort  before giggling silently, scrunching his nose at your shenanigans. “You think I’m joking?” you whisper amused, a big smile plastered on both of your faces as you continue to bicker. 

“I never know with you” he jokes back, his voice only loud enough for you to hear. “I guess you are not not hot.” He whispers into your ear, making you shiver once more. 

His smile is short-lived once he feels you shake, dropping your hands and wrapping his arm around your waist and legs, swiping you off your feet with ease as he carries you bridal style all the way to your bed.

You squeal in his arms as he giggles, surprised with his strength as places you in the bed carefully, laying you down right in the middle of the bed, your head hitting the pillow as he lets go of your body. 

“I can walk, Jungkook.” You say in a low voice, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment again as you remove the blanket from your shoulders and place it on your lap, your eyes glued to the soft material as you stroke it slowly. 

“I know.” He replies in a whisper before grabbing the blanket, making you look up to his big eyes that are already looking at you . “Come on, I’ll tuck you in.” Jungkook says in a soft voice.

He extends the blankets one by one and places them over your body, tucking you carefully. He makes sure every limb of your body is covered under the blankets, immediately feeling warm as you watch him fulfill his task in silence. He is fully focused as he finishes tugging your legs, the piercing on his lip drawing your attention as he bites his lip with concentration.

“Warm enough?” He asks once he is done. 

“Yeah, thank you,” you whisper, snuggling into the blankets. 

A shy smile appears on Jungkook’s face, and you reciprocate the smile as you both stare at each other in silence. 

“I-” He begins, but is quickly interrupted by a soft knock that makes you both turn to the door, slowly opening to show a freshly showered Jin, who is wearing a similar outfit to Jungkook’s. 

“Oh, You’re here.” He tells Jungkook, quickly ignoring his presence and turning his gaze to you. “We are heading to headquarters and will be back tomorrow morning.  If you get hungry just ask for Yoongi, he should be able to make something for you.” He informs you. “And if he’s not around, feel free to help yourself out.”. 

You nod before thanking him in a low tone. 

He nods back with a soft smile before redirecting his attention to Jungkook. “I’m starting the car now, We’re leaving in five.” He warns him before he closes the door again, the sound of the main door closing echoing through the hallway a few seconds later. 

You turn to look back at Jungkook, his eyes already on you as he smiles softly at your sleepy and cozy state. “Sleep well, and keep my blanket warm until I'm back.” He jokes. “I will need it back tomorrow though.” 

“Of course, thank you.” You whisper, closing your eyes as you feel the warmth of your cheeks increasing, not sure if it's because you’re sick, or because he is being extremely sweet to you and it makes you nervous.

To be honest, it's probably both.

“No worries,” he whispers before he brushes small strands of rebellious hair away from your face. His fingers ghost your skin and leave a tingling sensation, opening your eyes to notice the door of your bedroom closing.

The last thing you’re able to see is his back as he closes the door without looking back, the main door slamming shut a few seconds after, followed by dead silence. 

You snuggle against the blankets and can’t help but curse at yourself. 

Why did you feel so anxious about them going to headquarters tonight?

Chapter Four:

The rumbling of your tummy wakes you up again, making it impossible to ignore it this time around: you have to walk out and get some breakfast before your stomach begins to eat itself. 

You were trying to avoid leaving your bed too early, hoping Jin would already be back before breakfast so you wouldn’t have to bother the other guys, but you haven’t heard the main door opening at all today which means they were still out at headquarters, meaning there was no other choice but to look for Yoongi and ask him to make you some breakfast. 

You sigh in defeat and sit up in bed, noticing a small note on your nightstand, accompanied by a thermometer and some pills. 

‘I heard you seemed to have a fever last night. Drink these if you still have a fever and come see me when you can, I’m in room number one. - Hoseok.’

 Jungkook probably told him, you think, which makes you smile before laying back down in bed.

 The attention to detail from these guys was honestly impressive. 

You stretch your arm and reach for the thermometer, quickly checking your temperature and  smiling satisfied when you see that the fever is no longer present. One win at a time. 

You jump out of bed and quietly make your way down the hallway, hoping one of the guys will be out of their room so they can help you figure out something to eat. 

You are about to enter the living room and head towards the kitchen when you spot Yoongi sitting at the dinner table. 

Just who you were hoping for, you sigh in relief to see him. 

He is sitting by the long table that is now covered with papers and all sorts of books as he scribbles on a notebook, a confused but focused frown on his face as he curses the page before ripping it out, making you giggle. 

Yoongi looks up and scans the room with quick eyes, smiling back when he spots you smiling at him. “Good Morning, you’re up early.”

“Good morning,” You reply, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Sorry to disturb you, but …Jin said to look for you if I got hungry.” you feel stupid, like a little kid. 

You stand there playing with your fingers nervously as you look down, hating the feeling of hopelessness thanks to the current situation you are in.

“No worries,” He replies with a soft smile. “Do pancakes sound good to you?” 

You look back at him with thankful eyes, your tummy growling at the thought of pancakes. “Pancakes sound incredible, thank you.” You smile softly.

He stands up and takes his laptop with him, leaving all his papers on the table and walking towards the kitchen, inviting you to follow behind him.

You follow him in silence as you approach the kitchen, the sticky note on the door making you smile as you realize Jin has written ‘No taehyung’s allowed in the kitchen without supervision.’

You walk behind him in silence as he sets the laptop on the counter and begins to take all the ingredients and all sorts of bowls to make the pancakes. 

“Would you like some coffee?” He asks as he pours some coffee onto his iced glass before turning to you with an eyebrow arched.

“Yes, thank you.” You bow but he misses it as he opens the top cabinets. 

“Hot or cold?” He asks as wiggles his fingers over the glasses and the mugs. 

“Hot, if that’s alright.” You say again, feeling shy at the domestic scenario. 

He hums in response, grabbing a mug and filling it up with freshly brewed, dark coffee.

He places the mug on a small silver tray before handing it to you. “Suit yourself.” He points at the sugar and milk on the tray with his head before going back to making the pancakes. 

You watch him for a few minutes, his back facing you as he prepares the pancake batter smoothly, humming a few melodies as he turns the stove on and begins to pour the batter into the heated pan.

You let out a loud sigh when you take your first sip of coffee, unable to remember the last time you had a nice cup of coffee like this. You thank him quietly as you drink your coffee in comfortable silence, the bitter taste helping you wake up as the smell of pancakes fills up the kitchen, making you hungrier.

“Did you sleep well?” He suddenly asks, turning to look at you as he sends the pancake flying into the air and catching it with the pan, flipping it successfully.

“Yeah, it was a bit cold.” You admit, “but, you know, better than sleeping on the streets.” You shrug your shoulders and take another sip of your coffee. “What about you?”

“Haven’t really slept,” He says, and you look back at him in awe. “I’ve been studying all night for my upcoming test.” He points at his laptop after sliding the pancake onto a plate and placing more batter on the pan. 

“Oh, can I?” You ask, pointing at the laptop with curious eyes. He hums in agreement while he focuses back on cooking.

You take the laptop and put the brightness up to see the word document he had opened, surprised when you notice these are all psychology notes. 

“You study psychology?” you ask in an incredulous tone, making him turn in a frown. 

“Is that a bad thing?” He replies in a sarcastic tone, which makes you laugh.

“No I just-, I never expected that to be honest.” You answer honestly. “I used to be a psychologist, until I got my license revoked.” you shrug and tighten your lips onto a thin line, grieving your career that ended so suddenly. 

Yoongi flips his fourth pancake before turning to look at you with big eyes. “You got your license revoked?!” He asks in disbelief, his tone making you roll your eyes. 

A loud sigh escapes your lips as you take another sip of your coffee. “Apparently I had a  malpractice with one of my patients and had my license placed on hold. I tried to refute the allegation but it ended up backfiring on me and they forced me to close my office and revoked my license for good.” You bite your lip to stop them from trembling, the memory of how you lost everything you worked so hard for is still very fresh in your mind.

“I’m sorry,” He replies with an honest tone. “That must have been a terrible experience, I’m sorry that happened to you.” He says as he places a plate of pancakes in front of you, the pile of pancakes decorated with some strawberries and honey. 

“Thank you,” you reply, for both his empathy and the pancakes. “So, you want to be a psychologist?” you ask him before cutting a piece of pancake and biting into it,  savoring the amazing taste of the buttery and sweet breakfast.

He finishes plating two more pancakes before sitting next to you, sipping on his coffee as he drags the laptop back to him. “I’ve always had an interest in psychology, but you know… being part of a gang doesn’t really allow you to go to university.” He chuckles as he takes the last sip of his iced americano. “I was lucky enough to find this online university but I doubt I’ll ever have the time to do the practices, I just take the classes for myself.”

“That’s very admirable of you, Yoongi.” You say against your mug, finishing your coffee right after finishing the first pancake. He hums in reply, getting shy at your kind words.

“Yeah, I guess,” He sighs. “The exams are a pain in the ass though, I can’t seem to absorb any of the information.” He chuckles lightly before rolling his eyes. 

You set your mug on the table and twist your body on the chair to face him. “I could help you.” 

Yoongi’s eyes grow bigger, “Would you really?” he whispers. 

 “Of course!” You nod with a smile on your face, excited to be somewhat useful. 

“Morning,” The high pitched voice interrupts your conversation, a tired Jimin appearing from the living room door. He turns to look at both of you, quickly directing his eyes to Yoongi and ignoring your presence. 

They exchange a few nods between them before Jimin approaches the counter and takes the two extra plates of pancakes his friend made for him. Mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ before walking out of the kitchen as fast as he entered it. 

You can hear a door slamming shut and Taehyung’s laugh not long after, letting you know he probably sent Jimin to get him breakfast. 

“When could we start?” Yoongi asks in a shy tone, his eyes sparkling with excitement to finally have someone to study with. 

“Well, it's not like I have much to do here.” You shrug your shoulders and Yoongi looks down, feeling bad for having you locked up in the house thanks to Jungkook. “I just have to go to Hobi’s and then I can meet you at the dining table?”  You reply smiling at him.

He hums and nods before standing up, collecting the dirty dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. “I’ll see you in a bit,” He dismisses you as he picks his laptop and heads back to his initial sitting place in the living room. 

‘Uhh Yoongi?” You ask as he is about to head out of the door. He turns to look at you with wandering eyes. “Where is room one?”

He chuckles before tilting his head to the side, inviting you to follow him. You walk back into the living room with Yoongi, and once you are facing the hallway, he knocks on the first door that’s on your left.

“Come in!” The voice of Hoseok is heard from the other side of the door. 

“Thank you” you bow to Yoongi before turning around to open the door slowly, surprised to see Hoseok is not alone. 

“Oh,” a startled sound leaves your lips as you see the buff guy sitting next to Hoseok behind his desk. 

“Oh, Miss y/n. Glad to see you are looking much better.” He replies. 

“Thank you…” you try to remember if you ever got a name, but you can’t really remember much from that night. 

“Joon. I mean, Namjoon.” he chuckles. “But everyone calls me Joon.” He nods before looking at his friend who is searching for a file in his extensive folder. 

“Joon, nice to officially meet you.” You bow lightly before turning to Hoseok. “Thank you for bringing the stuff to my room.” 

Hobi shoots a quick smile at you as he continues to look through his files, “How’s your fever this morning? Did you take the pills?” He asks without looking at you, sighing in relief when he pulls the paper he was looking for from the folder and places it on his desk. 

“I didn’t take them, I had no fever when I woke up.” You reply, but you are quickly distracted by Joon’s gasp. His eyes are glued to the paper Hobi just pulled out, to which he replies with a quick “shh!”, slapping Joon’s shoulder. 

“You got somewhere to go don’t you, Joonie?”  Hoseok asks in a humorous way which makes you feel a bit uneasy. 

“Ahh I do, I’ll be back for dinner.” He announces before standing up and walking towards the door. “I’ll see you around.” He smiles at you as he walks past you, winking an eye before exiting the room. 

The room looks like a hospital suit: There are two hospital beds with all types of machines around, and then one big bed next to the wall that was on the other side of the room, barely on sigh as the room was pretty big and divided by a thin curtain between his personal space and his working area. 

“Come sit,” Hoseok offers as he points at one of the chairs that are in front of his desk. 

You walk slowly as you continue to look around the room, the smell of bleach and all sorts of medications making you feel dizzy as you sit down and wait for him to speak first. 

“So.. no fever, huh?” He asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looks at you with a curious and friendly smile. You shake your head in reply and smile back. 

“I did feel a little feverish last night after dinner, but I guess I sweated it out during the night.” You reply in an enthusiastic but soft voice. 

 “That’s good news, y/n.” He gives you a nod of approval. “It’s normal to feel a little feverish after the booster, but I'm glad to hear it went by quickly. You must be a very strong person to recover that fast from it.” He takes the pen from his doctor gown and begins to write on the blue mysterious paper in front of him. 

You try to read some of the paper, but fail to be able to make anything out of the multiple words that are all over the paper. You could tell it was some sort of questionnaire, or something that needed to be filled up. 

“I called you in to do a quick health check on you if you are okay with it.” He begins, “A few blood tests, some general check ups to make sure you are all healthy and in perfect shape. Does that sound good to you?” He asks in a very professional tone. 

“Yeah, of course.” You reply in the same tone, making him smile ever bigger. 

“Great! It won’t take us too long, you can get changed to a robe in the bathroom. The robes are on the right side cabinets, the second one with the blue sticker on.” You look at him with big eyes, not expecting to have to get naked already. 

“A robe?” You ask shyly. 

“Oh, I thought we could run all tests quickly,” he blinks in confusion, “but, if you don’t feel comfortable with me doing the pelvic and mammary exams, you can just keep your underwear on and we’ll skip those until one of my female colleagues finds time to do them for you.” He says in a kind and understanding tone. 

You look around the room, and quickly deny his offer. “No, it’s fine. You are a doctor after all, my old gyno was a guy too. It’s fine.” you smile back before heading into the bathroom, taking a deep breath in before undressing yourself and putting a robe on, walking back into his office for your medical exams. 

It takes Hoseok almost two hours to finish with all the tests and exams, scheduling you down for some more blood tests for later to check your blood levels again. 

He kept a straight but friendly face all through the tests, asking you questions about yourself and listening carefully to your health history and the stories you would tell him that could potentially be of use for him when reading your results. 

“Great, we’re done for today! I’ll keep you updated with everything!” He claps his hands together as the door behind him labeled ‘LAB’ slowly closes. “Do you have any more questions?” He asks you as he looks in the drawers behind his desk, where all the medication was labeled in multiple drawers that went from the floor all the way to the ceiling. 

“Nope. You are an amazing doctor, Hobi. Thank you” You bow lightly as you fix your sweater and brush your hair with your hands. “I’ll see you around.” 

You are ready to leave his room when you hear your name being called, turning around to see Hoseok walking towards you with some sort of cream on his hand. 

“Take this with you,” He hands you the cream, smiling at you as you look at him confused, not sure what to use this cream for. “It’s a deep scar treatment.” He says in a quiet voice. 

You look at him with big eyes as he shifts in his place, feeling a bit nervous. “I-I.. um, I noticed you have a very prominent scar in your hip.” He says in a low voice. “You don’t have to use the cream if you want to keep the scar, but…” He hesitates to finish his sentence. 

You can feel the lump on your throat as he bites his lip, hating himself for making the whole thing uncomfortable for the both of you. 

“Scars like that are pretty hard to make, let alone heal.” He clears his throat before shaking his head, composing himself back up. “Anyway, the cream is yours. I just wanted to provide some help if I could.” He smiles, giving you a quick bow before turning around and walking towards his desk.

“Thank you, Hobi.” You are finally able to speak, the tears in your eyes making him smile with sadness, returning to his work as you make your way out of his room and quickly walking towards yours with tears streaming down your face. 

No doctor has ever commented on your scar, but instead, always asked about your mental health and if you were self harming. You were surprised to hear Hoseok’s very descriptive but also very vague words, almost like he knew exactly what caused that scar on your right hip, but was too scared to bring it up. 

You walk towards your bed and sit there, your head between your hands as you begin to sob. You haven’t thought about it for a long time, and eventually grew out of the trauma. You couldn't really remember much about that night, since you were so little you could barely talk.

You remember being in your mother’s arms as she tried to outrun your father and his friends. You remember there was screaming and crying, your mother begged your father to leave you alone as she tried to protect you but failed to move you fast enough from her arms, the knife striking you both as your dad watched your mom bleed out from her wrist, slowly laying you on the floor as she fell unconscious. 

Last thing you remember is waking up in a hospital with your dad sitting next to your bed telling you that everything was going to be fine. 

You didn’t care much about the memory itself, you were only two years old and it all felt like a blur, but you dreaded that you had proof of the night you lost your family for good. 

You hated the scar, and for some time, you hated your dad too.

You pretended to not remember anything about the incident, and you lived with your dad until you became of age and moved out of your house into college campus. 

The truth is, your relationship with your dad was never good. And after that, you couldn’t wash away the fear and the resentment you felt towards him.

 Still to this day, you wish it was him that died that night rather than your mom.

You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself before standing up and walking towards the mirror in the room, pulling your pants down low enough to reveal the scar you have dreaded your entire life. You tried all sorts of creams and treatments to remove it, but as Hobi said, it was a hard scar to create, and harder to remove. 

But for some reason, you trusted Hoseok. And with nothing to lose, you applied some of the cream onto your scar before pulling your pants back up and drying your tears, taking some time to cool down before going back into the living room to help Yoongi study. 

-

“So that would be a situational psychosis and not a chronic one, right?” Yoongi asks before taking a sip of his fifth glass of coffee. 

You smile, putting the paper down as you lean closer to Yoongi. “You got them all right, you did it!” You cheer for him as he closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh full of relief. 

You have been studying for over three hours nonstop, feeling almost delirious thanks to Yoongi who kept messing up the neuropsychosis, driving both of you mad. 

“Fuck, thank you. Holy shit.” Yoongi laughs as he bumps his shoulder against yours. “Seriously, thank you. It’s so much easier to learn all of this when studying with someone who knows about this stuff.” He nods, a small smile plastered on his face as he scrunches his nose from the happiness he is experiencing. 

“Anytime! You are more than ready for that test now.” You bump your shoulder with his. “You better get all A’s” you threaten him in a joking manner. 

“Okay, let’s do this.” He hesitates for a second. “If I get all A’s, I’ll take you out for dinner.” 

You are taken aback by his sudden invitation, staring at him with wide eyes. “I thought I couldn’t leave the house..” you say in a whisper. 

“And I thought I was going to fail this test,” he laughs. “I’m sure they won’t mind if I take you with me for one night.” He adds as he shrugs his shoulders. 

You are about to accept his offer when the main door lock starts to shake, a heated conversation between two men behind the door make you and Yoongi turn around to face it.

It doesn’t take long for the door to open, Jungkook’s body dashing in as he walks through the living room.

 He directs his sight to you for a second, lingering his angry eyes on you before sprinting towards his bedroom without saying a single word. 

“End of discussion, and I mean it Jungkook!” Jin screams before a door is slam shut. 

The apartment grows quiet as Jin turns to look at you. “Sorry about that, he can be quite childish sometimes.”

He huffs before approaching you guys with a smile. “I see you’re adapting well here,  y/n.” He pats your shoulder a couple of times before walking into the kitchen, his tired figure struggling to walk in a straight line. 

“I’m baking some cookies, y’all want some?” He asks as he walks through the kitchen door, disappearing from your sight. 

“Woah, that was intense.” Yoongi is the first to speak after the room went quiet again for a whole minute, both of you trying to process what just had happened. “I’ll go check Jin, you should probably go to your room and get some rest.” He says in a low tone, making you understand it was your time to leave. 

“Uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” You reply quickly before taking your mug and walking towards your room, the cold and dark hallway sending shivers down your spine as you walk past Jungkook’s room. 

You feel tempted to check up on him, but a sudden shattering of glass and a grunt from the other side of the door startle you, the mug slipping from your hands and falling to the ground, breaking into a million tiny pieces. 

“Fuck!” You hear Jungkook curse, his footsteps growing louder as he approaches the door. 

The door flies open before you could react, Jungkook’s bloody hand coming to view as he stands in front of you, his jaw tightening when he sees you. 

“Are you-”  Your voice shakes. Your eyes dance between his bleeding hand and his angry eyes.

“Yes.” He replies in a cold tone which makes you frown. 

“I-” You are left talking with the wind as he sneaks past you and walks towards Hoseok’s room. Not bothered with knocking before locking himself up in his best friend’s room. 

You hesitate for a moment, looking down at your bare feet that now have a few tiny cuts. The small pieces of porcelain that lay on the floor are scattered everywhere, and you are about to tiptoe to your room before a voice coming from the end of the hallway stops you.

“You are going to cut yourself if you move,” You are able to recognise Jimin’s voice, looking up to see him standing infront of his door, looking at you incredulously. 

“Oh,” that’s all you are able to answer back. 

You know Jimin doesn’t really like you, but he is right, moving would only injure your feet more, making it even worse. 

Jimin blinks a couple of times before sighing in defeat, opening his door and calling for Taehyung to come and help him. 

“Can you get some gauze and the tweezers from Hobi’s room? Someone got cut” he asks with his head peeking inside of his room. 

“Yeah I’ll get it in a minute.” Tae replies loudly, but his voice sounds distant, almost like he was in a different room than the one Jimin was peeking into. 

He closes the door and directs his gaze towards you, rolling his eyes and sighing in annoyance before making his way towards you. 

You look at him with big eyes, unsure of what to do as the awkwardness increases between the two of you. 

“Don’t move” He demands you, slowly making his way through the glass without stepping on it until he is able to reach you. 

Once he is in front of you, he turns around and squats down, inviting you to climb on his back. 

“Well then? Hurry up before Tae comes out of the room,” He whispers annoyed as he rolls his eyes, hating himself for putting himself in this position. 

You don’t give him time to regret it, and you don’t give yourself time to think about, quickly climbing onto his back. He stands up with ease, and you are surprised at his strength as he carries you without breaking a sweat through the hallway and your bedroom until you reach your bathroom. 

He gently lets go of you, sitting you on the toilet before fixing his clothes and hair, checking himself in the mirror before looking back at you with an unbothered stare.

“Wash your feet,” he demands again in a cold tone. 

You are annoyed at his indifferent attitude, but decide not to test him and stay silent,  mumbling a quiet thank you before slowly reaching for the shower head, washing the glass off your feet carefully. 

Before you turn the faucet off, Jimin is out of the room in a flash, and you stare at the door in confusion while drying your feet slowly. 

Well that was a surprise. 

Taehyung arrives soon after you walk out of the bathroom, and he is quick to check your feet for any cuts. You are both relieved to find that you had no glass on your skin, the cuts already stopped bleeding thanks to the cold water. 

He pouts before walking back outside, wanting to be of some help but failing to do so as the glass on the hallway has already been cleaned off. 

-

“Y/n?” A soft knock on your door wakes you from your nap. “We’re having lunch right now, would you like to join us?” Taehyung asks in a sweet tone before peeking his head through the door. 

You rub your eyes lightly as you nod, getting out of the bed slowly and sitting on the edge. 

“I’ll be there in a sec.” You reply in a raspy and tired voice before heading towards the bathroom, your feet dragging on the floor. 

“Okay sweet, I’ll wait here!” He replies in a louder and more cheerful tone as he enters your room and walks towards your bed, sitting on it as he begins to rearrange your pillows. 

You shake your head humorlessly, closing your bathroom door to get some privacy as you freshen up for lunch. 

“Okay, let’s go“ You walk out of the bathroom looking more alive, smiling at Taehyung who was already smiling back at you. 

He nods before standing up and following you towards the door, closing it behind him as you both make your way down the hallway to the living room. 

You are surprised when you notice that the table is empty, but there are three instant ramen on the living room table. Jimin is snuggled on the sofa, scrolling through the movie options on the tv. 

“What took you guys so long?” Jimin asks, his eyes glued to the screen. 

“We’re here now,” Tae replies in a sassy tone. 

“And what’s up with you dude? You seemed- oh. ” Jimin’s voice dies down as soon as he sees you, the awkwardness filling up the room instantly. His eyes grow bigger before they squint at Tae. “That’s not Jungook, Tae.” 

“I know, but he said no, so I invited her instead.” He shrugs before walking towards the sofa and getting comfy in the middle seat. “We made you some ramen” he points to the ramen cup and turns to look at you, waiting for you to join. 

That’s twice now, Taehyung.  You think to yourself, making a mental note to not trust Taehyung anymore as he continues to put you in the most uncomfortable situations.

You are about to excuse yourself and tell Taehyung you rather eat in your room when the main door opens, making all of your heads turn to see who has arrived at this hour. 

Namjoon walks in, his body and hair soaking wet from the rainstorm that was going off outside. He takes his boots out before acknowledging the people in the living room, a small gasp of surprise escaping his lips before he smiles at all of you. 

“Hey, why are you guys out here so late?” Nam asks, making his way to you. 

“We missed Jin’s dinner” Tae points at the ramen cups and smiles at his friend, who shapes an ‘oh’ with his mouth before nodding in understanding. 

“Where the hell were you?” Jimin twists his body on the couch to face him properly, his face cold and showing no expression as always. 

“Out,” He winks an eye to Jimin before tappin Tae’s shoulder a couple of times, waving a quick goodbye to you as he makes his way to his room. He completely avoided Jimin’s questioning and removed himself from the situation before he got interrogated. “Goodnight!” He screams from his door before he shuts it, leaving you with Jimin and Taehyung again. 

“Come on, let’s be civil tonight,” Taehyung says before you are able to excuse yourself, and based on Jimin’s reaction, he didn’t want you here either. “Let’s have some dinner, watch a movie and head back to bed.” Tae pulls your arm, forcing you to sit on the sofa. “I have a feeling we’ll have a long day tomorrow.”  

Chapter Five:

“No,” Jimin spits out. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“For once, I agree with him,” Jungkook crosses his arms in disagreement, his angry eyes glued to Jin. 

If looks could kill, you and Jin would be six feet under. 

You had a feeling that whatever happened at headquarters was not good, but nothing could have prepared you for the news Jin just delivered after calling for a group meeting in the basement. 

“I know it’s not ideal, but it's what we have.” Jin sighs, rubbing his temples as he tries to calm himself down. The tension in the room is loud, everyone waiting for the other to finally snap at Jin, or you. “It’s a headquarters order.” He adds in a cold tone, letting them know there is nothing he can do to change it.

Your eyes wander around the room, heavy frowns decorating everyone’s faces thanks to the news, you being the least excited of them all. 

After Jin and Jungkook returned from headquarters, their attitude has been very condescending. Jin locked himself in the kitchen, making an appearance every now and then in the common areas just to disappear again into Hoseok’s office and then back to his. He spoke only to Yoongi during this time, a faint smile would appear on his face when your eyes would meet at the common areas and during lunch, his tired eyes staring at you with both fear and sympathy. 

You could tell something was up this morning before Jin called for the meeting. 

Yoongi stayed by your side all morning, going over the psychology notes before as an excuse to distract himself, but the constant bouncing of his leg made it more than obvious that he already knew what was going to happen later today. 

Hell, he probably heard the news before anyone else did, which would explain why he looks the least surprised out of us all. 

“And what happens if I decide to not join, or if I don't pass the test?” You break the silence, your body entering fight or flight mode as the anxiety builds up. 

All eyes turn to look at Jin, who bites his lips nervously. His eyes linger on you before he shifts on his seat.

“They’ll probably kill you once they realize you are not my cousin, and then kill us all for treason.” The somber tone of his words send a shiver to your spine, the whole room going quiet again as his words settle in. 

You always said there are many variables in life, but you never expected being a part of a mafia group to be one of those variables for you. 

And now everyone‘s life is on the line because of you. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Jimin exasperates, standing up from his chair and pacing side to side as he brushes his hair back with his fingers, the anger finally lashing out. “I should've killed you when I had the chance.” He mumbles angrily, walking towards you with quick steps. “I should have fucking killed you!” He screams, launching himself at you.

A fearful gasp escapes your lips as you watch him trying to wrap his hands around your neck, but Namjoon stops him as he stands up in front of you, his body working as a shield between you and Jimin, who proceeds to stare at him with a defying glance. 

“That’s enough, Jimin.” Namjoon mumbles. “Killing her now won’t change anything, she’s one of us,” He sighs, looking over his shoulder to meet your eyes with pity. “At least for now.”

Jin quickly dismisses everyone after assigning the members different tasks to help shape you into one of them. You were informed training would start immediately, a big wave of relief washing over you when you hear your first ‘class’ is with Yoongi.

Headquarters has given you only three weeks before your first mission with Taehyung and Jimin.Apparently, being Jin’s cousin also means you have it in your blood, which is why they believe you can learn as fast as Jin did. 

You haven’t been given any information on what the mission is about, but the second you enter the training room, which looks like a huge highschool gym, Yoongi starts teaching you about knives, blades, and all sorts of different ways to use them. 

You are almost done with your first training when Yoongi finally eases down and goes from teacher mode to friend mode again, something you are thankful for as your body was giving up from his strict training. 

You are sweating in places you didn't know you could sweat.

“Not bad for your first time” He compliments you, offering a water bottle before taking one for himself. Both of you are rehydrating from all the sweating the training caused. 

“I’m dead, you are a tough teacher!” You whine to which he laughs before looking at you with pitiful eyes. 

“Well, good luck for the next class, you’ll need it.” he shifts his head to the side, pointing at the guns. So gun control was next. 

And with perfect timing, the doors fly open, and your next teacher is none other than the person who hates you the most in the world. 

Jimin. 

“Break’s over, the sooner we can get this done, the better. I have shit to do,” He spits out bitterly, his eyes dancing between you and Yoongi as he works the lock that’s hanging from the gun’s protective glass.

Yoongi gives you a quick wave as he walks out of the room, running into Namjoon as he makes his way to you. 

“Quick!” Jimin snaps at you and you discreetly roll your eyes before placing your bottle on the ground. 

“Well isn’t this ironic,” you whisper under your breath.

“Don’t worry,” The voice of Namjoon startles you, turning to him as he looks at you with a cheeky grin. “I’ll supervise the class to make sure you don’t blow each other’s brains out.” He crosses his arms proudly before chuckling. 

You huff back with a small grin before making your way to Jimin who is holding two guns, one on each hand. 

“Hold this, I’ll teach you how to load a gun first, if you are good enough then we’ll practice target aim” His tone is sassy and judgmental, clearly not excited to be in the room with you, let alone be your teacher. 

“Fighting!!” you hear Namjoon cheering you from the corner, a quick encouraging smile decorating his lips before Jimin starts class, and your entire focus becomes the gun that’s now in your hands.

-

If you weren’t dead before, you are certainly dead now. 

“See you tomorrow for your next class.” Jimin speaks nonchalantly. “Joon, can you close behind me? I’m running late to headquarters.” He says as he stares at his smart watch, a frown on his face as he reads the messages. 

“You’re going to headquarters?” Joon asks which Jimin answers in a vague answer.

“Yeah, they wanted me to help with some administration.” And just as quick, he is out of the door after he promises to be back home soon. 

You and Namjoon look at the doors that flap back and forward, confused at the sudden hurry. 

“You don’t think he’s going to snitch on me, right?” You reply as you walk towards him, the thought of him going to headquarters to tell them the truth making you panic. 

“Jimin would never do that to us,” Namjoon replies confidently. “He might not like you, but he likes us enough to not do something that could hurt us.” He comforts you with his words as you sigh defeated. 

You slide your back against the wall and slowly make your way to the floor, letting out a big sigh as you rest your head against the wall and finish your water bottle. 

“Go rest, you’ve had an intense day.” Namjoon says as he picks the guns and places them back on the counter, locking it up and placing the keys in his back pocket. “Get some Iced cream at Hoseok’s on your way out, your shoulder will thank you tomorrow.”

You nod with your eyes still closed, ready to fall asleep on the floor at the fatigue wave that just washed over you. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow for our class, good night y/n” He says right before walking out of the room. 

You open your eyes to an empty, dark room. The last ray of sun that was lighting up the room went as quick as the guys left. 

You slowly make your way up, your body already feeling sore from all the exercise and stress. 

Joon’s right, you should stop by Hoseok’s to get that cream before taking a shower. 

-

You walk out of the shower feeling better. The cream tingles your skin as it does its magic on your sore muscles, mixed with the lavender oils of your shower products. 

You make your way to the dressing table and automatically connect the blow dryer and start to dry your hair without thinking much about it, your body working in auto pilot as you are too tired to even try. 

That’s until you are aware of the shadow that’s standing behind you. 

You scream loud enough to startle him as well, making him turn the lights behind him that lets you make out his features.. It was Jungkook. 

“You need to stop! Doing! That!” you scream again, turning the blow dryer off and taking some deep breaths, your hand on your heart as you look at him through the mirror. 

He huffs as he mimics your actions, “You did not have to scream like that, Jesus Christ” he tells you in a whisper. “You are the one using the blow drier at this hour. There’s people trying to sleep, you know?” 

“Oh,” you reply, not really knowing how late it was as you had no clocks around you, so you’ve been completely unaware of time. “Sorry, I have no sense of time here. You guys have no clock in the house.” you reply in a whisper, disconnecting the blow drier and brushing your semi-wet hair. 

“It’s almost … 3 am” he replies as he looks at his watch, walking into your room without an invitation as you finish your night routine. 

He sits on your bed in complete silence, watching you apply all sorts of creams on your face and body. 

“Are you entertained?” you ask in a funny voice, snapping him out of his zone-out. 

“Very much so, it's quite relaxing watching you do your skin care,” he shrugs, his eyes diverting from you to the bed, his hands playing with the sheets beneath him. “How was your first day? Were the guys good to you?” He asks shyly, his curious eyes coming back up to meet yours through the mirror, eager to hear your answer.

You turn around in your chair, making direct eye contact for the first time tonight. “It was intense,” you nod before sighing. “But you guys are awfully nice for being kidnappers in a mafia group.” you chuckle, but quickly regret it when you see Jungkook’s face turning into a frown. 

“We are not kidnappers,” he says in a bitter,cold tone. “I was just…looking for someone.” You humm quietly as a response, scared to make him even more upset with your words. There’s a long silence before he talks again, “We are good people, I promise.” He says in a whisper. There is some weight to his words and his tone, almost like a desperation for you to believe him, which you do. 

You stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, your eyes exchanging secret codes that not even you could figure out. 

You sigh heavily before standing up and making your way to the bed, sitting next to Jungkook who scoots to the side to give you more space to sit next to him.

“The guys have been good, You’ve all been very welcoming.. Well, almost all of you.” You chuckle, which he mimics as he places a hand on your shoulder, making you wince at the touch.

“Oh, you’re sore?” He quickly moves his hand away, his eyes growing bigger as you take deep breaths trying to control the pain. 

“Yeah, Jimin had me shooting like he was preparing me for war.” You rub your shoulder with a frown, making Jungkook laugh quietly as he places his hand on your shoulder again, this time he’s more gentle. 

“Let me help,” He whispers before he begins to carefully massage your sore shoulder. 

He applies just enough pressure to alleviate the sore muscle without hurting you, and you close your eyes and enjoy the free massage in silence, thankful for his magical hands. 

“Your muscles are too tense, you should get some acupuncture with Hobi tomorrow.” Jungkook whispers, snapping you out of your peaceful state. 

“Mmmhm,” You answer, opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him, “thank you for the massage,” you give him a small smile. 

“Anytime,” He nods in confirmation as he returns the smile, the tension in the room quickly increasing as you both run out of words. 

Your eyes shift to his lip piercing, focusing on how he moves it around nervously, making your heartbeat accelerate, growing nervous yourself. 

You bite your lip involuntarily, wondering how it would feel to have a piercing too. But your actions are caught by Jungkook, whose eyes have been dancing between your eyes and your lips, he is fully aware about where your attention is. 

“y/n…” Jungkook whispers, making you look back up into his eyes, your mouth opening slightly at the sight. 

His factions look softer, less tense. His fluffy hair falling on his forehead makes him look extra soft and cute which makes your heart skip a beat. 

He licks his lips nervously, your eyes dancing between his eyes and his now wet lips at a quick pace. 

You feel his shoulder against yours as he leans closer, his opposite arm reaching for your cheek as he pulls you closer to him, connecting your lips in a soft, warm kiss. 

Your hand lands softly on his cheek, kissing him back as you both deepen the kiss. You both move slowly, almost scared that the other will back out, but you are surprised when he sighs between the kisses, his breath picking up against your lips as he slides his tongue against your lower lip before he sucks on it, kissing you more intensely this time around. 

His hand reaches the back of your head, pulling you closer as he kisses you diligently, making you moan his name against his lips. 

Something ticks off inside Jungkook when he hears his name come out of your lips as a moan, making him break the kiss quickly as you both regulate your breathing. 

He lets go of you as he seats in his initial position, his eyes glued to the floor for a few seconds in complete silence.

You are still surprised about the kiss, your breathing agitated as you stare at him in confusion, unsure of why he suddenly stopped. You are about to ask him why he stopped when he speaks first, making you shut your mouth quickly. 

“I… you should sleep, I have to go.” He says quietly, his eyes not leaving the floor as he stands up, fixing his pants as a nervous tick as he looks around the room before making his way towards the door. “Good night y/n.” 

“Wait,” you call out to him, standing up quickly and walking your way to him. You don’t think twice when you grab his arm and turn him around, launching yourself to him as you connect your lips once more, his hands landing on your waist as he stabilizes his balance and reciprocates the kiss with a deep exhale. 

The kiss doesn’t last long, both of you moving apart after a few seconds. “Goodnight Jungkook.” You let go of his arm as he stares at you with a blank stare, surprised at your actions. 

He doesn’t reply, but instead sighs before walking away, closing the door behind him as you watch him walk away, feeling butterflies on your stomach even after the door is closed. A smile on your face as you get back on bed and turn the lights off.

You feel all giddy inside when you replay the kiss in your mind until you fall asleep. 

You just kissed Jungkook, and he didn't reject you.

[to be continued]

-------------------------------------------------------

Helloooo! did you miss me? jeje

Sorry I've been inactive for almost four months TT, adulting had me on a chokehold and I had no time to write!

Hope you guys enjoy this long piece I'm working on! Don't forget to like it, reblog it and comment on it if you like it! it truly helps me a lot because that's how I know people are actually reading and it motivates me to write lol

Happy readings, Ceci x

[theforgottenmcrmy]

From This Day~ Part 1/2 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is Part 4 of an ongoing series. Part 1-3 can be found on the "Growing Strong” Masterlist HERE. ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: PLEASE READ FOR SAFETY. In addition to the warnings of GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, violence, references to the death of a parent, and sexual (non-explicit) themes, this chapter contains a scene in which a man puts a woman in a physically uncomfortable situation. There is no physical violence that results from that scene, but I thought it was worth mentioning anyways to be on the safe side.

Word Count: N/A because I get in my head about it and it makes me self-conscious.

Summary: Your days of mourning have passed… for now. Happier times await you, and your wedding to Ser Harwin Strong is imminent. But first, you have to endure a tourney, an internal battle with your own nerves, a pre-wedding celebratory feast, and a potential scandal that will attempt to undermine you and tarnish your reputation. 

Dark plots are afoot at Court, and it appears as though being a stark supporter of Princess Rhaenyra has made you a target. It’s a good thing you’ve found an ally and partner in Ser Harwin- you’ll need each other for the upcoming Dance.

A/N: I’m continually blown away by the overwhelming response to this series. Thank you all so much, each and every one of you deserve nothing but the best.🖤🖤🖤

This chapter will have a Part 2 (which will get a bit🔥, so be forewarned of that) that I’m planning to post on Wednesday 10/12. I hope you enjoy!

PS, can we talk about last night’s episode though?!?!?! I have so many thoughts just dying to get out I simply cannot-

The fifth and final day of the tourney had arrived.

King Viserys had organized the event for Princess Helaena’s second name day, though Princess Rhaenyra had confided in you that Queen Alicent had all but insisted upon it. After all, the elder Princess was given such a celebration for her own second name day. A royal hunt had been deemed fit for Prince Aegon’s second name day, but a tourney in which chivalrous knights fought for honor was viewed by the King as more appropriate for his daughter’s celebration.

Once more, knights from all across Westeros had gathered in King’s Landing to compete in the games. There were not as many attendees as one may have anticipated, but this was largely due in part to the ending of summer. As the fall began and winter loomed, many potential participants were bound to their homes with preparations for the upcoming inclement weather.

Though, by the fifth day, the excitement and buzz about a tourney may have started to twindle, that had not been the case for this one. The participants had given quite the go of putting on a show for the crowd. Though many competed, four different knights had won an event so far. Everyone in attendance was eager to see who, if any of them, would conquer the last event to claim the overall victory. Should a fifth knight win the day’s event, duels would ensure to determine the winner. But the mere thought of that also enthralled the minds of the spectators.

Given that the fifth and final event was the melee, you weren’t feeling too discouraged about your favored participant’s chances for securing the victory.

A chill blew through the air as you sat beside Princess Rhaenyra in the royal family’s box, causing you to shiver. You were most fortunate to have one of the better seats for the tourney, due in part to your service to the Princess, and to the connections of your betrothed’s father. In the arena around you, many were still moving inwards, claiming whatever sitting and standing space they could find. The crowd shifted, never still for much longer than a moment; everyone was starting to get a bit impatient with every passing minute.

Princess Rhaenyra leant as forward as she dared, and craned her neck over towards the far right side of the arena.

You asked, “Do you see them yet, Your Grace?”

“No, but I doubt it shall be much longer,” Princess Rhaenyra replied decisively, though still with a small defeated sigh. She sat straight once more and offered you a pleasant smile. “Besides, this delay presents an opportunity for us to speak.”

“What is it you wish to speak about, Your Grace?”

The Princess rolled her eyes. “You’re so coy, Lady Y/N. Is there anything else I could possibly be referring to?” she coaxed. Then, in a hushed whisper, she added, “The wedding!”

A giddy smile threatened to shatter your calm composure.

But you were more than aware of those seated around you. Namely, King Viserys, who sat several rows back upon a plush throne, Queen Alicent, who sat in a seat beside him, and Hand of the King, Lord Lyonel Strong, who was seated on the other side of the King. After a quick glance behind you, you recomposed yourself.

Princess Rhaenyra questioned, “Are you looking forward to it?”

It was a difficult question to answer. While you could not wait for the next two days to pass so that you could finally be wed to the man that held your heart, the path you had tread since your betrothal had been officially announced had been strenuous at best.

After your father’s passing, you returned to Highgarden once more. A saving grace of yours was that you had not gone alone. As you were officially betrothed, it was completely appropriate that Ser Harwin accompanied you. You were extremely thankful for that; Harwin had selflessly been your support system in your time of need. You wished you would have been able to show him more of your home under less sombering circumstances, but he simply reassured you that once the two of you were wed, the two of you could return to the Reach, or even the Riverlands, whenever the both of you pleased. You adored the idea of that. After your father had been laid to rest in the gardens of Highgarden, you returned to King’s Landing once more, where the proper wedding planning began.

Though you would grieve the loss of your father for the rest of your life, the time for mourning had passed. In just two days, you would be wed to the man you loved, and a new stage of your life awaited you beyond that.

To answer the Princess’ question, you simply said, “Of course, Your Grace.”

Princess Rhaenyra did not seem satisfied with your response, as she narrowed her eyes at you playfully. “With all due respect, that is a rather dull answer, Lady Y/N. Now, tell me- is there anything specific you’re looking forward to?”

“Everything,” you gushed quickly. But then, you hastily added, “Well… almost everything.”

Your last few words caught the Princess’ attention, and she looked at you intriguingly. “Is there something you wish to discuss?”

You hesitated, and glanced behind you once more. To your relief, the attentions of the King, Queen, and most importantly, the Lord Hand, were entirely elsewhere.

Princess Rhaenyra placed a reassuring hand over one of your own and gave you an encouraging look. Though she had been seeking some gossip a moment before, her expression now was more serious and genuine. She whispered, “Y/N, I consider us to be friends, and I do hope you feel the same. If you are having any doubts, please do not be afraid to speak of them to me. I shall hold your confidence, as you have held mine.”

You felt incredibly humbled by the Princess’ insinuation, and it took you a moment to find your next words.

“I do not have any doubts about the wedding,” you corrected politely. You contemplated for a moment. “I am a little bit… nervous, though.”

“Nervous?” she echoed. “What about?”

You felt embarrassed at just the thought of it, but you also knew you could trust Princess Rhaenyra. Even if you didn’t already, she had just very plainly reassured you of that. Besides, now that the Princess was now a married woman herself, you had to believe the topic would not be one she would shy away from.

You cleared your throat, taking great care to speak as quietly as possible so as not to be overheard by anyone else but the Princess. “I am nervous about… the after.”

“After?”

“... After.”

“... Oh,” Princess Rhaenyra exclaimed, a bit more loudly than you would have liked. You shot her a panicked look, and she offered you an apologetic one in return. More softly, she continued, “You are talking about the evening after the ceremony, correct?”

Your face burned with embarrassment. “Yes.”

Princess Rhaenyra seemed to realize just how serious you were, for she made no further jokes. “You needn’t worry, Y/N,” she soothed. “Has Ser Harwin ever treated you with nothing but the utmost respect?”

You were appalled at the thought. “Of course not!”

“And I do not take him as the man to change his behavior towards you simply because you are wed,” Princess Rhaenyra pointed out. “I’ve seen how gentle and kind Ser Harwin can be, especially around you… To be entirely truthful, not all proceedings of the after will be pleasant, but I can assure you, as long as the man you are with respects you, you are already in better hands than most noble maidens on their wedding night.”

You hated the notion, but you were inclined to agree. “Thank you, Princess,” you patted her hand lightly. Then, you dared to ask, “How is Ser Laenor?”

“He made it safely back to Driftmark,” Princess Rhaenyra replied carefully. She craned her neck once more, suddenly more eager for the competitors to emerge, or simply wanting a distraction from the topic. “I was told he has important matters to attend to… He does send his apologies about missing the wedding, though.”

You felt sympathy for the Princess. While she and Laenor got along well, you knew there were struggles in a marriage that even respect for the other could not fix. You patted her hand once more, wordlessly offering support for her unspoken troubles.

At that moment, two additional guests joined the royal family’s box. They descended down the stairs swiftly, before taking their seats beside you.

Princess Rhaenyra turned, and frowned at them. “Lilyan, Eyla! Where in the Seven Hells have the two of you been this morning?”

The Strong ladies, daughters of the Hand of the King and the Princess’ youngest ladies in waiting, gave her hurried apologies.

“The seamstress brought our dresses for the wedding feast to our chambers first thing this morning,” Eyla explained abashedly. “She wanted to make sure she had enough time to make any final alterations.”

“It took longer than we anticipated,” Lilyan concluded.

Princess Rhaenyra put up a stern front for only a second, and then her expression softened. “I suppose, in the light of all that is going on, I shall not hold it against you this time.”

It was quiet for a moment, as no one, not even you, dared to speak.

“So, tell me,” Princess Rhaenyra said then, “... How do the gowns look?”

Upon the inquiry as to the state of their dresses, both girls immediately descended into an enthused discussion. The discussion was only halted by the ringing out of trumpets.

The competitors for the event had finally arrived.

One by one, all of the competitors were introduced by the crier, and applause rang out for each and every one of them… though, it was noted that the reception for some was more thunderous than for others.

They each rode into the arena on their steeds, bid their respect to the royal family, and began to line up along the walls of the arena, where they dismounted and readied their selected weapons of choice for the melee. Though there were no favors that would be given today, due to the nature of the event and the close combat it required, several of the competitors caught your attention as they made their entrance.

“Ser Criston Cole of the Stormlands!”

He’d won one event earlier in the tourney- horse riding.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Queen Alicent give Ser Criston a rather proud look as the knight bowed respectfully to the royal family. Despite his atrocious behavior at the opening feast of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor’s wedding celebrations, Ser Criston was now Queen Alicent’s sworn protector. You would have been lying if you said you had not found their suddenly close companionship alarming.

Meanwhile, Princess Rhaenyra went stiff beside you, and the look the knight gave was cold, blank. It was almost as though she was not acknowledging him at all. Whatever happened between Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Criston Cole a few months prior, she had not shared the full details of it with you. Perhaps that was for the best.

Regardless, and in what felt like no time at all, the Princess had lost one of her greatest allies at Court. Unfortunately, Queen Alicent had welcomed him to her good graces gladly.

You thought Ser Criston Cole was lucky to have not been stripped of his knighthood and exiled… But here he was, competing in another tourney, acting as though his previous deeds had not been ghastly at best.

“Ser Royce Baratheon of Storm’s End, eldest son of Lord Borros Baratheon!”

He had not won an event in the tourney so far- but had come in at a close second in two of them.

The sight of the rider wielding a golden shield with black stag changed the Princess’ tune swiftly. The coldness melted, and she watched with great interest as the future Heir to Storm’s End rode into the arena. When the man bowed before the royal family, you swore you saw Lord Royce’s eyes linger on Princess Rhaenyra for a few seconds longer than what would have been considered circumstantial, or polite.

Had this been anyone else, you would have scorned at their actions. But this was Princess Rhaenyra- not only the woman you served, but a trusted friend. In a low tone, you whispered to her, “Was Lord Royce not present during your tour of the Stormlands some months back, Your Grace?”

“He was,” the Princess conceded, just as softly, in a wistful tone. Her eyes did not leave the knight in question as he steered his horse off towards the other side of the arena. “But he talked an awful lot back then… And seeing someone brandish weaponry so confidently is another matter entirely.”

You nearly blushed at her suggestive comment, even though you agreed completely. Seeing your betrothed compete in the tourney over the past few days, despite your worry over his safe-keeping, and your concern regarding the events after your upcoming wedding feast, had left you feeling rather… desirous of him.

“Ser Derron Tyrell of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Reach, and Warden of the South!”

You clapped more vigorously than you had thus far as you watched your brother ride into the arena. After bowing to the royal family, you saw him catch the eye of an individual seated amongst the Lannisters, who were seated in the section beside the royal family’s box. You knew he had to have looked upon Lady Cerelle- Lord Jason Lannister’s oldest daughter.

Your brother, though he had won the archery event a few days before, made quite the spectacle during the jousting event on the first day. Derron had requested the favor of Lady Cerelle, which she granted him. He then proceeded to knock her younger brother Loreon off his horse and promptly onto his rear end with a single strike. The quick defeat of the young lord in the first round was much to the young man’s anger, and even more so to the embarrassment of his father. And yet, you smiled at the memory.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of Lord Otto Hightower, and brother of the Queen!”

Ser Gwayne had won the axe throwing event the previous day, beating Ser Royce by only a narrow margin. The Queen displayed a newfound enthusiasm for her brother after the recent win, and she gleamed at him brightly as he paid his respects to the royal family.

“Ser Harwin Strong of Harrenhal, eldest son of Lord Lyonel Strong, Hand of the King!”

You didn’t bother to hide your smile as your betrothed finally rode into the arena. Sword sheathed at his side, Ser Harwin Strong wore his armor, which you had come to see him don more often than not, and held a shield bearing House Strong’s sigil in his free hand. After bowing to the royal family, Ser Harwin Strong unabashedly captured your gaze and smiled at you.

Despite the butterflies his look left you with, you smiled and subtly nodded your head to the side, silently pleading to him to move on. You knew the crier would prompt him to do so soon anyways if he continued to linger. Thankfully, your betrothed did as you subtly suggested. He was just as excited for the fifth and final event as the crowd watching him.

Once all of the competitors had been introduced, the knights took their places along the walls of the arena, arming themselves with their shields and weapons of choice. The center of the tourney ground had been cleared out of all other obstacles, allowing them ample room to go about the field as they pleased.

After everyone was readied, King Viserys briefly welcomed everyone to the final day of Princess Helaena’s celebratory tourney. Then the crier finally announced the beginning of the event.

The eager cheering of the crowd rang out, and the melee began.

…

The melee went on for several hours.

You watched with both great intrigue and bated breath as the knights struck and reigned blows upon each other. Though every weapon yielded was blunted, so as to discourage any lethal results of the competition, the sheer force of being hit and bludgeoned with any of them was more than capable of causing bruising and breaking bones.

Alliances emerged as the melee continued, but most were dissolved just as quickly as they had formed. However, a few participants watched the backs of one another for longer stretches of time. You were pleased to see that one of the longer standing alliances was that of your brother Derron and Ser Harwin. The pair of them had taken down five of their opponents in the first half hour of the melee. But that was not too shocking; your brother was a skilled fighter, and Ser Harwin had been nicknamed Breakbones for a reason.

But eventually, the need for alliances dwindled. One by one, knights were bested, and they yielded to another willingly… or they were knocked out cold, and the crier had deemed them as unable to continue. The fighting did not cease in the background as unconscious bodies were dragged off the tourney ground.

Though only a few men were left on the field, the audience was as enthralled as ever.

A major upset came when Ser Royce Baratheon, armed with a war hammer that he handled as though it was only a mere extension of his arm, forced Ser Criston Cole to his knees. The sworn protector of the Queen yielded to his opponent. You could hear the disappointed sigh of Queen Alicent behind you, despite being seated several rows away.

You snuck a glance at Princess Rhaenyra as Ser Royce Baratheon briefly celebrated his victory. You could tell by the look in her eyes that the future Heir to Storm’s End had successfully captured her complete and undivided attention. It was not immediately certain what would come of this, if anything at all. But you did know that whatever it was, you would never speak of it. If the Princess had a wandering eye, or wandering hands, well… Those would be secrets you would take with you to the grave.

Unfortunately, Ser Royce’s victory had also garnered the attention of Ser Gwayne Hightower, who proceeded to attack him with vigor. Due to fatigue achieved from several hours of fighting, it did not take long for the young Lord to yield to the son of the former Hand of the King.

Whilst Ser Harwin was preoccupied fighting a newly appointed knight and bannerman of House Tully, Derron decided to take on Ser Gwayne. The two were nearly the same age, and had spent significant amounts of time together in their youth. But as they grew older, the friendship of their boyhood faded, giving way to their more competitive natures. Such was only fitting; the Tyrells and Hightowers, though the latter had always sworn fealty to the former, were almost always entangled in nuanced competition for power within the Reach. 

The pair of them fought tooth and nail for dominance, but eventually, your brother Derron was forced to yield in order to save himself from a broken arm at Ser Gwayne’s hand. The knight from House Tully had also yielded, leaving your betrothed and Ser Gwayne as the last two competitors on the field.

At first, the onslaught between the competitors felt a bit personal… and perhaps it was. Ser Harwin had won the joust on the first day. He defeated countless other competitors in the previous rounds before dismounting Ser Gwayne in the final one to claim victory.

Thankfully, the battle between the final two knights passed relatively quickly, though it still felt too long for your liking.

At one particular moment, you, along with the Ladies Lilyan and Eyla beside you, almost shot up from your seats with concern as Ser Gwayne successfully landed a particularly brutal blow with his blunted sword to the temporarily exposed neck of Ser Harwin. The latter fell to his knees, and you watched fearfully, silently praying he would yield so as to spare himself from any serious harm.

But the blow only fueled the fire in your betrothed. Suddenly enraged, he fought through the pain to spin and clear himself out of the way of Ser Gwayne’s following strike. Not but a minute later, the tables had turned. The Queen’s brother was on his back, yielding to Ser Harwin as the former’s blunt sword was pressed to his neck.

The crowd erupted into cheers for all of the competitors, but especially for the victor. Though, perhaps none of them cheered quite so loudly as you and the Strong sisters. However, the cheers and praises from Princess Rhaenyra could have easily been a close second.

“I hereby declare Ser Harwin Strong of Harrenhal as the victor of the melee, and the overall champion of the tourney!” King Viserys announced as a squire brought over Ser Harwin’s steed.

Beside the King, Lord Lyonel Strong looked most pleased, blatantly gleaming with a father’s pride.

As you continued to applaud, you watched with immense relief as your betrothed rode to the center of the arena, where he took a moment to revel in the cheers of the crowd.

A victor most deserved, you thought fondly.

Once the volume of the crowd began to fall, the King continued. “Ser Harwin, as champion of these games, it is your right to dedicate your victory to any lady in attendance, and thereby name her as the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The crier, who had joined Ser Harwin in the center of the arena, presented him with a crown of roses. You could see the vibrant color of the flowers all the way from your seat. Their petals were blood red, and most likely from what would be one of the last gatherings of the season.

Ser Harwin thanked the crier and took the crown from him. The audience continued to applaud as Ser Harwin rode across the arena. He halted his horse right in front of the royal family’s box, and looked up at you.

“Lady Y/N!” he called up.

You rose from your seat, ignoring the giggling and bubbly babblings of the Strong sisters and the knowing smirk from Princess Rhaenyra. You stepped forward, and placed your hands on the railing before you as you looked down onto the field.

Despite how battered, dirty, and downright exhausted he appeared, Ser Harwin’s smile shone through all of it, making your heart swoon. “Lady Y/N of House Tyrell, would you accept a champion’s favor?”

You’d be willing to accept just about anything Ser Harwin bestowed upon you… but that was neither here nor there.

You forced your voice to keep steady as the pure joy you felt all but consumed you. “It would be my honor, Ser Harwin.”

Being mindful as to hold your balance, you leant further over the railing. You tiled your head downwards slightly, allowing Ser Harwin to reach up and place the crown of roses delicately upon your head.

 King Viserys declared approvingly, “A fitting crown, for the Lady of Roses!”

The crowd cheered.

The evening of the following day, a feast was held.

Though a larger and grander wedding feast would follow the ceremony tomorrow morning, you were excited for the additional opportunity to celebrate with your family, friends, and the majority of your invited guests.

Prior to your father’s passing, he and Lord Lyonel had decided that the wedding would take place in Highgarden. Your family had agreed to be responsible for the majority of the expenses, and, since more of the resources were closer to your disposal at your home, it was the most reasonable option.

But after your father’s passing, King Viserys had insisted that some space within the Red Keep and surrounding gardens be used for the celebration instead. The King’s offer had surprised you. Perhaps he pitied you for the recent loss of your father- whom he still referred to as “old friend.” Perhaps he did not wish for his daughter to travel to Highgarden without her husband. Or perhaps King Viserys was simply very amicable with his current Hand, and as such, did not wish to miss the wedding of his eldest son.

Whatever the reason, neither you, Harwin, his Lord Hand father, or your recently inherited Lord of Highgarden brother were in any position to turn down the King’s offer.

Your family had been spared from some of the wedding expenses, and that was something for which you were sure your brother was grateful for. Though Derron had been preparing for the role he had stepped into for his entire life, he was still adjusting to his new title and responsibilities. But, in time, you knew he would grow to be a man who made your father’s memory proud.

Though the wedding had been moved to take place in King’s Landing, a large number of your and Ser Harwin’s invited family and friends had still been able to attend, and you were grateful for that. In addition to the festivities tomorrow, most of your guests decided to attend this evening’s fest as well.

King Viserys was absent. He sent his regards ahead of time, noting that he wished to rest for the ceremony and celebrations tomorrow. The Queen was absent as well, citing her need to care for her husband. However, a large gathering of Hightowers had still gathered, including the now-mending Ser Gwayne.  You decided that it fell upon your brother to greet them later and exchange pleasantries.

Princess Rhaenyra was also present. She’d been given a place of honor at the high table, as the lack of the rest of the royal family had created a question of where she would be seated. It worked out perfectly; the familial guests on Ser Harwin’s side of the table outnumbered your own by far, even with the addition of the Princess.

As the meal began, Lord Lyonel commanded the attention of the room with a speech thanking the guests for their attendance.

“I thank you all for traveling, both near and farm to attend the wedding of my eldest son Harwin, to the lovely Lady Y/N Tyrell.”

A polite round of applause followed.

As Lord Lyonel continued his speech, you were frequently distracted by your brother, seated to your right, and your betrothed, seated to your left. Both men were equally as guilty for shifting and groaning every so often in pain as a result of the blows they’d endured throughout the tourney that week.

“What am I going to do with the two of you?” you asked them under your breath, smiling politely at Lady Hightower when she gave you a slightly suspicious look from the table where the rest of her family was seated.

“Take pity on us fools, I hope,” Harwin whispered back, giving you a small smile strained by his discomfort.

“Is this what I have to look forward to for our marriage?” you countered softly, your tone more teasing than serious. Then, to the both of them, you said, “The two of you knew the ceremony and feast were to take place tomorrow, and yet the both of you still insisted on taking place in the tourney.”

“Sister, might I remind you that your betrothed is now the champion of that tourney?” your brother asked redundantly. Then, Derron huffed. “Truly, Y/N- you act as though you are completely unaccustomed to such behavior, when you’ve been putting up with my antics your entire life. Now, it seems like my soon to be brother will merely be taking my place on the morrow.”

You gritted your teeth. “... Brother?”

“Yes, Sister?”

“Eat your food that we’ve paid for.”

Derron said nothing in protest. He promptly did exactly as you bid him, though not without the accompaniment of some wine to help dull his pain.

You turned to Harwin, and involuntarily frowned as another pained look flashed across his face. He readjusted his chair once more and sat up straighter in an effort to find some relief. Your gut sank at the sight of the ghastly bruise that had begun to form upon his neck from where he had fallen victim to Ser Gwayne Hightower’s blow during the tourney’s melee. The fresh purple color crept up the skin of his neck, and disappeared beneath the collar of his doublet. For a moment, you dared to wonder how far the wound traveled, only hidden from sight.

Before Ser Harwin could settle himself and place his hand back upon the table, you stopped him by placing your own overtop of his.

His hazel eyes snapped up to meet yours. You wanted nothing else but to drown in those pools of calming green, but unfortunately, you had a rather large audience.

“Are you alright?” you whispered.

Harwin gave you a brief but affirming nod. Before you could say anything further, he lifted your hand and placed a soothing kiss upon the back of it. He lowered your hands, but did not withdraw his own. Instead, your hands rested, fingers intertwined, on top of the table.

With the reassurance from your love, your attention returned once more to your soon to be father by marriage, who was concluding his speech. You almost wished you’d heard more of it. The little of it you managed to catch warmed your heart, and you found yourself incredibly thankful to be marrying into a family who seemed to value one another as highly as your own did.

Your brother gave a speech following the Lord Hand’s. It was inevitable that he mentioned the recent passing of your father; you knew it had been coming. But at the first sight of your falling face, Ser Harwin’s hand tightened around your own in a silent gesture of support.

Once the meal and speeches were concluded, you and Harwin took to the dance floor first.

Though all eyes were upon you, you still dared to converse with one another.

“Perhaps this feast will not end with you whisking me away to safety,” you jested, loud enough so that only he could hear.

“I should hope not, My Lady,” Ser Harwin agreed heartily. He spun you once, before pulling you back to him. Then, he gave you a conflicted frown. “I can still feel the bruises you inflicted upon me that evening, though no traces of them remain.”

You bowed your head sheepishly, not having realized that you had hit or kicked him nearly that hard. Yet again, the scene you had been in was one of pure chaos, and you had no idea who had swept you up and over their shoulder at the time. Your instincts had kicked in.

“I must admit,” Harwin confessed good-naturedly, “You are a lot stronger than I would have surmised.”

Coming from him, it was one of the highest compliments you’d ever received. “Perhaps I am marrying into the right family, then.”

“Perhaps you are,” he agreed, a playful glint in his eyes.

After your shared dance concluded, several others took to the floor, while other guests took the opportunity to speak and acquaint themselves. Harwin excused himself remorsefully, explaining that his father wished for him to make rounds with the guests. You understood, knowing it wouldn’t be long before your brother Derron would find you and ask you to do the same.

In the meantime, you busied yourself with a group dance next. The Strong sisters joined you on the dance floor, and the three of you spun and stepped along to the beat of the song with excitement and ease. The more time you spent with them, the more you came to love the young women who would shortly become family. You hadn’t been blessed with many sister-like figures in your early life, but you’d take advantage of it fully, now that you had been.

In the periphery of your eye, you spotted Lady Cerelle Lannister lingering on the edge of the dancefloor. Earlier that evening, your brother had requested that you might try to get to know the young woman a bit better. You had your sneaking suspicions as to why, but, as he was your brother, you still wanted to do what you could to assist him with the matter.

Once the song was concluded, you excused yourself from the Strong sisters, and made your way over to her.

“Lady Y/N,” she greeted, nodding courteously.

You returned the gesture with a smile. “Lady Cerelle. Are you enjoying the feast?”

“Very much so,” she answered, genuine warmth filling her every word. “Congratulations on your wedding, and to Ser Harwin. Besting the competitors in that tourney must not have been an easy task, but he did so with great honor.”

“I will extend him your congratulations,” you assured her. “If my brother could not have been the victor, I am glad it was Ser Harwin.”

“Lord Derron fought just as well,” Lady Cerelle insisted. “It is a shame Ser Gwayne halted his momentum.”

Lord Lannister’s daughter spoke of your brother with great respect. And, you swore there was something else hidden amongst her well-spoken words… A bit of fondness, maybe? You did not think too highly of several of the Lannisters, but Lady Cerelle seemed to carry herself in a matter dissimilar to the others. Perhaps she would thrive in an environment in which she was not constantly surrounded by her family… as you had.

It was enough for you to wish to test the waters. “I was just discussing with Lady Lilyan and Lady Eyla about arranging a visit to Highgarden in the spring… Have you ever been?”

“I am afraid I have not had the pleasure, My Lady.”

“Perhaps you would care to join us?” you proposed. “There will be several festivals, and the gardens in the spring are truly a sight to behold.”

To your surprise, Lady Cerelle smiled enthusiastically in response to your request. “Perhaps I would.”

“I beg you to consider it,” you beamed encouragingly. “I shall write to you later to make the arrangements. My brother would be most honored to host you at Highgarden, My Lady.”

Lady Cerelle picked up on the meaning behind your words at once. She blushed. “As I would be to receive the invitation.”

…

Some time later, you politely excused yourself to return to the high table. You desperately sought something to quench your thirst. 

On your way, you noted Lord Larys, Ser Harwin’s younger brother, was having what appeared to be a pleasant conversation with your cousin, Lord Garrett Redwyne. It made you very happy to see potential bonds forming between yours and your betrothed’s families.

Finally, you reached the high table. But before you could even lift your goblet to your lips, a waiting servant approached you.

“My Lady,” she greeted you. “I was told that Princess Rhaenyra wishes to speak with you privately, out in the corridor.”

That piqued your interest.

You looked across the room, and spotted Princess Rhaenyra, who was conversing with Lord Lyonel. When she noticed you look her way, she nodded to you with a small smile, before her focus returned to Lord Lyonel.

“Thank you,” you told the serving girl. “Did the Princess say when she wished to meet with me?”

“I was only told that she wished to speak with you at once, My Lady.”

Even though it was the night before your wedding, you were in no position to keep Princess Rhaenyra waiting. Besides, if she needed to speak with you in the middle of the feast, it was likely to be a matter of high import.

You glanced about the room, confirming that no one in particular had eyes upon you. Once you were convinced the coast was clear, you slipped out of the banquet hall, and into the corridor.

The passage was empty. Though it was dimly lit by a few torches, moonlight fell upon the stone floor from the courtyard running alongside it, illuminating it.

You didn’t know what the Princess wished to speak with you about, but seeking some additional privacy certainly couldn’t hurt. You walked away from the banquet hall and headed further down the corridor. Footsteps echoed off the stone walls beside you.

You waited for five minutes. Then ten. And then some more.

Still, you continued to wait for Princess Rhaenyra.

Just as you were about to seriously debate returning to the banquet hall, knowing you could simply speak with the Princess in her chambers after the feast if she so wished, you heard the sound of footsteps drawing near.

You turned, and resummoned your patience as you watched the figure approach you.

It was not Princess Rhaenyra.

“Lord Loreon.”

The young golden-haired lord smiled.

Princess Rhaenyra was conversing with Lord Lyonel Strong and congratulating him on the wedding when she saw you slip out of the banquet hall and into the corridor. She thought it odd when you did not immediately return, but eventually wrote it off. She hadn’t seen Ser Harwin for a while either, and she suspected he might have also taken the opportunity to briefly step outside the feast and have a moment with you alone.

But as she conversed with the Hand of the King, she was taken aback when Ser Harwin approached them. He looked a bit confused, though not quite alarmed. Yet.

“Your Grace, Father- I apologize for interrupting. Have either of you seen Lady Y/N?” Ser Harwin questioned them. He looked around the room with a slight frown, eyes rapidly scanning the area for any sight of you.

Before Princess Rhaenyra could offer up what little information she had, your brother, the newly-inherited Lord Derron Tyrell, also approached the small gathering.

“Are you looking for my sister as well?” Lord Derron surmised, not bothering to wait for a confirmation to his question before continuing. “Our aunt wishes to speak with her.”

“I saw her slip out into the corridor,” Princess Rhaneyra recalled. “But that was quite some time ago…”

Lord Lyonel, as if seeing the gears of worry start to churn in his son’s head, added, “Perhaps Lady Y/N just needs a bit of time to herself. It has been an eventful few days.”

Ser Harwin settled down a bit at his father’s reassurance, but it was clear he was not completely at ease.

“I believe the Lord Hand is right,” Lord Derron agreed, clapping a reaffirming hand on Ser Harwin’s shoulder. “I’m sure my sister just wanted some fresh air… it is feeling a bit stuffy in here. If she has not returned shortly, I shall go check on her myself.”

“Gods, where is that boy?” Lord Jason Lannister loudly demanded, from a nearby table. “Has anyone seen my son? …Where is Loreon?”

As if on queue, Princess Rhaenyra spotted the young lord in reference exiting the banquet hall. He slipped into the same corridor she had seen her own lady in waiting slip out into a while ago, and disappeared from view.

Upon merely seeing the Heir to Casterly Rock, you decided to return to the banquet hall with the utmost haste. There were plenty of other people you would rather converse with, let alone be forced to share the same space with. Princess Rhaenyra would understand if your conversation would have to be held at a later time.

“Are you seeking a rest from the festivities, My Lord?” you asked as politely as you could manage. Your last conversation with Lord Loreon at Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor’s wedding welcome feast was not far from your mind. “I was taking a reprieve from the dancing myself, but I believe it’s best if I return to the feast now. If you’ll excuse me-”

Lord Loreon side stepped, effectively halting you in your tracks.

“It is a funny game you play, Lady Y/N, I shall give you that,” he said, a trace of a laugh lingering in his tone.

You frowned deeply. “I beg your pardon, My Lord?”

“This game of yours…” Lord Loreon trailed off, as if thinking deeply about how to describe what he was thinking of. “It’s a game of cat and mouse, is it not?”

You stared at him blankly, having no idea what in the Seven Hells he could possibly be referring to.

Lord Loreon snickered to himself. “I knew your coldness towards me had to be a charade. And all this business with your brother, trying to gain my sister's affections? That was part of it as well, wasn’t it? ... It was all a ploy, correct? A ruse so that you could grab my attention? …Well, I must admit, it worked. Rather well, actually.”

You were stunned speechless by your sheer confusion.

“I understand you are having doubts about your betrothal,” Lord Loreon informed you matter of factly. Offhandedly, he added, “As you should.”

“What are you-”

“But that is no matter,” he interrupted proudly, smiling once more. “You have confided in me now, and not a moment too soon. That is what matters. Just say the word, and we can flee King’s Landing tonight.”

You scoffed in disgust. The way Lord Loreon spoke was as if in some sort of enamored trance. It was completely out of character for him, and you were highly disturbed. “Are you well, My Lord? … When my brother knocked you off your horse during the joust, did you hit your head as well?”

By some miracle, Lord Loeron took no offense to your comment. And that is when you knew something was terribly wrong.

The thought was only reinforced when he placed his hands up against the wall, one flat against either side of your head. You were pinned between the delusional young Lord before and the cold stone at your back.

“Let us steal away,” Lord Loreon proposed conspiringly, putting on what you could only guess was his best attempt at flirtation. “We could be well on our way to Casterly Rock by morning’s light.”

You smacked him right across the face as hard as you could. The sound echoed harshly throughout the otherwise silent corridor.

The spell had broken, and Lord Loreon snapped out of his stupor, leaving him in a brief haze. But then, realization overcame his face as he processed what you had done, and his confusion shifted to anger.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. A single finger was raised, pointing at you warningly.

Before Lord Loeron could make a threat, a third voice roared out.

“What in the gods’ name is the meaning of this?!”

A/N: Thank you for reading!🖤  Part 2 can be found HERE.

PS PS, I 110% imagine Joffrey as a face-claim for a certain Lannister Lord.🤫

᯽ Please note that the best way to request to be added to the taglist is to send me an ask or message directly, but I will still do my best to keep checking the comments for any requests there.᯽

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[awearywritersworld]

If All Else Perished: IX

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader

Summary: In part four, Daemon takes the reader far from the confines of King’s Landing to a place of his youth and feelings can no longer be kept hidden. 

Word Count: ~2950

Warning: super light smut

a/n: enjoy the fluff now, my friends, for the next chapter will be angsty as hell

masterlist

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“Are you sure he would not mind a stranger for a rider?” you asked, taking a hesitant step toward Caraxes.

“In your case, I have no doubt. Just as I know he would bring you no harm.”

You approached the dragon and took hold of the saddle, in spite of the apprehension you were feeling. Looking toward his head, you wanted to catch a glimpse of his eye once more.

“What makes you so certain?”

“He knows that you are precious to me.”

You bowed your head at his seemingly unfettered charm, though it was enough to make you start pulling yourself up the saddle. You settled into it as best you could, unfamiliar with riding horses, much less being on dragon back.

The saddle was spacious enough that Daemon fit behind you, but he was pressed against you so closely you could feel the warmth of his body on your back. His arms reached around you to grab the reigns and you clutched the leather beneath you tightly as Caraxes began to move.

The ascent was the most frightening part, as you were almost certain you were going to fall to your death. As King’s Landing grew to be further beneath you, your grip moved to Daemon’s forearm and became tighter and tighter with each passing second.

Eventually, Caraxes began to fly forward instead of upward and you were finally able to take in your surroundings, which did not disappoint. The sea looked so immensely vast, while the city below you appeared smaller than ever.

“How do you fare?” Daemon checked up on you now that your death grip had loosened.

“Well enough,” you answered, “though I am still toiling to convince myself of the reality of this all.”

His chest vibrated behind you as he laughed, “I can understand why that would be necessary.”

You glided high above the water for a long while, spotting boats and little islands here and there. You could hardly believe how far the water spanned and it brought to mind stories you’d heard about what lies beyond it in Essos.

Time seemed to pass differently from the top of the world, but you figured an hour or so had gone by when Daemon finally pointed out an island in the distance. As it grew nearer, Caraxes began to circle it, giving you the chance to see how sizable and rich with greenery it was. The creature seemed to have its sights set on a large field in the eastern part of the island.

You braced yourself for the landing, but Caraxes met the ground more nimbly than you’d expected. Daemon climbed down first and the loss of contact was almost chilling after being so close to one another for such a period. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you inspected the surrounding area.

Lush vegetation with blooms of lilac and indigo gave way to a small beach, while a densely wooded area occupied the space on the other side of the field. The trill of a bug you’d never heard before filled your ears and you considered how few people had probably visited this island before. You found delight in the feeling of ease that settled into your bones as you reflected on that thought.

The only places you’d ever been--- Oldtown, King’s Landing, Lannisport ---others always surround you, never leaving you too far from reach. This was the only time in your life you’d ever questioned how far the nearest person was, save for the one who had brought you here. Such freedom was a circumstance fully unfamiliar to you.

When you looked down at Daemon from atop Caraxes, you found that he was already looking up at you. “Won’t you join me?”

His hand reached up in your direction, letting you know he was there to assist if you needed it. You made your way down slowly, careful of each step. As you approached the ground, his hands ghosted over your body, ready to steady you if necessary. Your feet managed to find the grass without help, but the soreness in your thighs made your legs buckle.

Daemon quickly grasped your waist, worry evident in his voice. “Do you feel unwell?”

He knew that nausea was not an uncommon reaction to one’s first time on a dragon, especially for those who did not have the blood of Valyria.

“No, I fear my legs are not accustomed to riding on dragon back,” you informed, turning to face him.

His eyes widened ever so slightly and he hoped his brief, yet sinful thoughts were not obvious. Pushing them from his mind, he held out his arm to you. “Perhaps stretching them a bit would help?”

You accepted with a nod and began your stroll, eyes scanning the tree line. “So tell me, what is this place?”

“My brother and I used to fly here together when we were younger. It lies not far from Dragonstone.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, but he was looking intently toward the beach as your steps carried both of you in its direction.

“Then I imagine it is a place dear to your heart. I feel very fortunate in having the chance to see it.”

Your earnestness caused a pleasant feeling to wash over Daemon’s body and the conversation ceased, giving you the opportunity to admire all the new sights. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore grew louder as you approached a shady spot situated just before the grass transitioned into sand.

“Does this spot prove acceptable, my lady?”

“The entirety of the island is acceptable,” you returned, giggling at his formality, “I’m happy to rest in any spot you choose.”

You could taste the saltiness in the air as a breeze carried the mist of the sea inland. Caraxes, now a little ways away, had taken to bathing in the sun while the pair of you made yourselves comfortable. You sat so close to one another that your arms brushed together with the slightest movement.

“I’ve never even dreamed of being in such a place. I struggle to think of a time in which I saw a view even half as beautiful.”

He hummed in agreement, his eyes focused on your face rather than the scenery, “me as well.” He pulled his gaze away from you before continuing, “I haven’t been here in ages.”

“You’ve not had the time?”

“Not exactly. As my brother and I grew older, our relationship shifted. It’s more... distant now than it used to be.” He let out a sigh, shoulders falling as he exhaled, “it felt odd to come here alone.”

Daemon was the type of man to disdain his own vulnerability, so he shut it out as often as possible. Nevertheless, here alone with you, the way your face softened in response to his openness made him wonder if he’d been mistaken in his beliefs.

“I can understand that. As moons pass, the ways in which we differ from our siblings seem starker,” you paused for a moment, thinking of your own sister. “But perhaps he thinks about coming back here with you, too. Did you explore the whole island together?”

Daemon’s answer came quickly and you knew he was eager to reminisce about the time they shared here, back when their relationship was less complicated. The sun moved through the sky as he told you their stories and you listened intently to each of them, adding your own interjections here and there. The memories he recounted were some of his most valuable.

He loved how your laugh rang out over the field, making his heart beat out of rhythm, while the tales of his youth distracted both of you from your father’s intentions regarding your hand. You never once seemed uninterested in what he had to say and he happily returned the favor.

He had just finished telling you the story of his name day of four and ten, in which he and Viserys skipped out on festivities to come to the island instead. Their father had been furious, though the two couldn’t help but snicker together as soon as he turned his back.

Being with you always made him feel different than being with anyone else. There was an untold peace he derived from your unquestioning acceptance, from the space you provided him with to be himself. He pondered how long it would take the King and the Hand to find you both were you to remain here in the serenity of each other’s presence.

Alas, wanting to return before the sky shifted to the black of night, Daemon stood and offered you his hand, looking in Caraxes’ direction. You took it and allowed him to pull you up, but kept your fingers interlocked longer than necessary.

“How long did it take Viserys to realize he’d left his sword behind?” you questioned, still curious to learn more. It felt odd to imagine such a young version of the Prince.

“Entirely too long, of course, but it was waiting for him when we came back.”

The soft smile on his face as he looked down at you and the sounds of the island made your heart feel more content than it ever had.

“It gladdens me to hear you speak of such fond memories. Thank you for bringing me here, Daemon.”

“For you, my love, I would do most anything.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as the meaning of his words set in, "as would I for you."

The past few weeks had been strange in that, you closed yourself off to almost everyone following your mother’s death. Yet with Daemon, there existed a comfort that should have taken years to build, even in the beginning. He never made light of your troubles and he trusted you enough to seek your counsel, just as you had with him.

Despite your father’s looming proposition, you felt safe here in Daemon’s company. In a place so far removed from your father, it seemed without point to deny how badly you wanted the man before you.

Your proximity to one another seemed more apparent now than it had prior in the day. You did not miss how his eyes flickered down to your lips, so you looked at his too, imagining how they might feel against your own.

Tilting your head to the side, you leaned up toward him almost imperceptibly. His brows furrowed together, your actions tormenting both him and his dwindling resolve. He had told himself over and over he couldn’t get involved with you in this way because it would only end in him failing you. Even so, he neglected to pull away as your noses brushed together.

“I’m not a good man, (Y/N),” he whispered.

"You've always been good to me," you answered so assuredly that he almost forgot the anger he'd thrown at you undeservedly when he stormed into your chambers just hours ago. Not only had you offered him absolution, but you’d also assigned yourself some of the blame.

You reached up and ran the back of two fingers down his jawline before you laid your palm against his chest. He let out a shaky breath and his forehead came to rest against yours. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and the waves seemed even louder when they were accompanied only by your breathing.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t be selfish with you, not like this.”

“That decision is yours and I could never scorn you for it,” you told him honestly, wanting his choice to be genuine. “But I will not be misunderstood. It would be your decision alone, for I know what I desire.”

His hair was carried by the wind, tickling your skin as it grazed the side of your face. As moments ticked by, your chest threatened to deflated with the rejection you’d attempted to prepare yourself for in past weeks.

Suddenly though, his hands were on either side of your face, pulling your lips to his. Your eyes closed as you leaned into the kiss, his tenderness making your heart weep. His left hand crept to the back of your neck, as the right came to hold your hip and pull you closer.

As your body molded itself against his and he found that your kiss was just as desperate as his own, he felt an intense sense of relief. It elicited a moan from his throat so faint, it almost escaped your ears and you considered yourself lucky it hadn’t. Your mouth parted as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, then his kiss moved to the side of your mouth and up your jaw.

There was an aching, warm sensation in the pit of your stomach that was unfamiliar to you and you subconsciously pressed your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate it. A gasp left your mouth as his lips reached the place just below your ear, but relentlessly, they made their way downward.

Your heart was beating so viciously, you wondered if he could feel it as his lips devoured your throat. Your fingers tugged at the hair at the base of his head and when he took the skin of your collarbone between his teeth, he savored how the rise and fall of your chest deepened.

Regardless of how badly he may have wanted to, he was mindful of leaving you without any marks. He pulled back and looked down at you, examining your countenance carefully for any sign of regret, but all he found were plumped lips and a look of affection he doubted he would ever be worthy of.

He loved you. It was no longer something he could push from his mind because this moment had made it real, for you and him alike. His lips captured yours again, but the heat of the moment had passed, replaced by lips that brushed against yours gently. Then, he grabbed you by the chin, lifting your head so that your eyes found his.

“What is it?” you asked nervously after he had spent a few too many seconds staring.

“Am I not allowed to simply look upon you, little one?” he retorted playfully.

“Of course you can,” you replied sheepishly, “I only m-”

“Good, because you are perhaps the most sublime person in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

His interruption left you in complete silence and he truly did try to stifle the chuckle that resulted from it. Despite his efforts, he failed, causing you to roll your eyes before walking toward Caraxes and leaving him behind.

“I spoke not in jest!” he called out to you, taking quick strides until he was by your side again.

“I know,” you said simply, grabbing his hand in a way he might have described as aggressive had he been in a mood to tease you.

The journey back to King’s Landing had felt too short, but this time, his hand occasionally rested on your thigh as Caraxes soared across a darkening sky. Making your way through the city felt strange too, as you’d only ever traversed through its streets when the sun was still high in the sky. Now, torches lit the way through alleys and crowds that felt eerier than before.

You were all but glued to Daemon’s side, not that he would have preferred it any other way, until the two of you reached the Keep’s tunnels. You came to a passageway that was known to you, as it was one near your chambers. Before you were able to step through, Daemon's fingertips reached out for yours and caused you to stop.

“This is where we part ways for the evening.”

He stepped toward you and delicately cupped your cheek. You blinked up at him, the castle feeling so incredibly removed from the safety of the island. It reminded you both that carrying on like this was dangerous, even if it was a shared desire.

“May I?” he murmured, his head dipping closer to yours.

You nodded and he gave you one long, lingering kiss after which he pulled away only an inch or so.

“I am entirely undeserving of even your slightest attention, so it seems only fair that you should have my heart.” He said it as if he were talking about something as inconsequential as the weather, then brought your palm to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “I leave it here, in your hand. Good night, my lady.”

You stared as he disappeared down the stairs, leaving without so much as awaiting your reply. Your fingers reach up to touch your lips as you stood unmoving. The events of the day left you with a whirlpool of emotions, each fighting for dominance of your heart in their own right.

Unsure of how long passed, you finally crept out into the hallway and toward your chambers. You hoped to find yourself in Daemon’s company again before long, missing his presence even though you’d only been without it for so short a time.

To your surprise, you heard a group of footsteps heading in your direction. You planned to offer them a brief nod of your head before continuing on your way, but then the person was revealed to you.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, eyebrows raised as you took in the Queen’s intricate gown and the guard on either side of her.

“Lady Hightower, it is good to see you, as always. Are you well?”

“Very, your Grace. I hope the same for you.”

“You have my thanks, sweet girl. Good evening,” she smiled warmly at you before making her exit.

As she passed you, however, she picked up a smell that made her glance back at your retreating figure. Dragon.

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[wisteria-blooms]

long hair & tattoos (bill weasley & reader) (15/15) *complete*

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

CHAPTER 15: The day before Bill is set to depart for Egypt, you are torn between two thoughts: to convince him to stay or to let him go. Luckily, help and love come from the unlikeliest of places. (8.5k words) TAG LIST MOVED TO THE BOTTOM!

A/N: Thank you guys for following along on this ride! It's certainly been a fun one. I'm grateful for all your comments and feedback; it really inspires me to write more. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the ending! Of course, feel free to leave any thoughts. (:

 

CHAPTER 15: THAT'S ALRIGHT WITH ME

Being back at Malfoy Manor wasn’t favourable either. You’d have rather hopped on a train somewhere and disappeared into the forest to be left alone with your thoughts. However, this was better than being confined with Fred and George and being teased relentlessly about Bill. Every question they had pushed you to the precipice of admitting the truth and you didn’t want them to hear it. If anything, you wanted Bill to hear first.

“(Y/N)!” Narcissa exclaimed when you walked in the doors just before lunch. She was dressed like she was going out to town later this afternoon. “What are you doing here?”

“I can tell you’re absolutely delighted by my presence.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I am,” Narcissa corrected, her left hand gliding on the stair railing as she descended the steps. “I just wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“I’d like to spend a night or two here before,” you stammered, “the big move.”

“Well, it is your home.” Narcissa pursed her lips. “And speaking of the move, your father wants to see if you need an extension on that lease on the penthouse. We can’t imagine Shell Cottage is very comfortable in the winter.”

“Yeah,” you responded non-committedly. 

“Are you joining us for lunch?” she inquired on the last step down.

“I already ate,” you lied. That was enough to satisfy your mother’s question.

“Then we’ll see you at dinner,” she said, passing you and turning the corner. “I’ll have Dobby prepare another seat.”

You nodded. “Sure.”

When your mother was out of sight, you ran up the stairs and turned the corner to your room. You flung the door open to your room and the weight of the past week hit you like an avalanche. You scrunched your face, trying to alleviate the tingle in your nose that you knew all too well—there were tears behind your eyes.

Your mind reeled back to the pleasant memories you shared with Bill, trying to look for little hints and clues. There had to be a flicker of love in those eyes, even if they were just for a split second. Maybe you were a fool for convincing yourself of it because it was clear that Bill didn’t care; he was moving back to Egypt and didn’t consult you or offer the courtesy of letting you know. You. Didn’t. Matter. The weight of that thought was cruel and punishing on your heart.

What was holding him back? Why shouldn’t he fall in love with you?

Then you realized.

Most people started off a new relationship revealing just bits of themselves—little fragments—and kept their skeletons tucked in the closet. You, however, sped full force ahead, running all the lights because the thought of falling in love with Bill never crossed your mind. You dove headfirst and put the bad and ugly on full display like it was a theatre show. You picked apart your family at every given chance, only to realize too late, when you’d irreversibly fallen for him, that he was searching for someone kind and familial. While he was cherishing time with his siblings, you were picking fights with Draco and your cousins. You felt sick.

Bill was probably ready to settle down, probably ready to have children of his own. You were still a child, directionless and going about your days with no goal in end. How could he like someone who bar-hopped with his younger brothers every summer? You were also barely four years in the working world, Bill was teetering on thirteen. Age, especially the gap between you and Bill, was never an issue for you and you’d never even thought about it. Now combing through all the reasons Bill wouldn’t like you back, it was blaring red.

You laughed blithely. It was your fault. You had fucked it up. You felt the first tears pooling in your eyes. Just a little, you promised. Then you’d stop crying.

You scooted over to look for the tissues in the drawer, but instead, your fingers found Bill’s letter he’d sent the morning after the first dinner. That fated dinner felt like yesterday and ages ago all at once. You were never going to get that back, the first meeting, the comfortable friendship you’d built with Bill. If he mentioned he was trotting off to Egypt back then, you wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. Now, things were complicated beyond repair.

Against better judgement, you began to read.

‘My love….’

Instantaneously, you came to a devastating realization that you’d never hear those words out of his mouth. And the thought of that burst the damn. There were hot tears running down your face now. You tried to keep quiet, but your heart amplified what you felt: sheer pain.

The one thing abating the pain was you letting yourself go and dissolving into a cathartic mess. Bill Weasley had reduced you to a lovesick fool and you’d sworn you’d let no man do it.

Feeling uncomfortable after sitting on the ground for so long, you moved up from the carpeted floor to the bed. You reached from the tissues on the nightstand and just laid there, twitching as sporadic sobs racked your body. You remained immobile otherwise, the net result of two opposing forces acting on you: one, telling you to go to Bill, and the other advising you to let it go.

Let him go.

It was probably hours that you’d cycled through napping and crying. You fancied daydreams where you pretended your bed was the same bed you slept in Nice, and that you’d never left the comfort of being by Bill’s side, of being close to him and the water. When you woke up to a different room than you envisioned, you grimaced and cried. In between, you had dreams of someone calling your name repeatedly.

The sun was low when you’d woken up for the umpteenth time. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you knew they were probably red and swollen. You still heard calls for your name, and you quickly realized you weren’t dreaming.

“What are you doing in there?” a sharp voice called from outside the door. “Didn’t you hear the call for dinner?”

You sat paralyzed. It was Draco.

“I’ll come later!” you yelled. The last person you wanted to reveal your weakened state to was your menace of a brother.

“We’ve been calling you for the last half hour!” he stated impatiently. “What’s wrong with you? Come down for supper.”

You panicked. You really didn’t want to be questioned or seen by anyone right now. “I’m fine! Go on, eat without me!”

Draco knocked again. “I don’t believe you one bit. Let me in!”

“I’m fine!” you repeated. “Mind your own business!”

“I gave you a fair enough warning. I’m opening the door.”

“I swear I will kill you if you do,” you threatened.

He jangled the doorknob with more force. “Then open it yourself! You’re acting like a petulant child, (Y/N)!”

The will to fight with him was leaving your body. You were tired, beaten down, and parched for water and even someone to confide in. You didn’t imagine it’d be Draco, but at some point, you needed to let someone in and offer you guidance. You pushed yourself off the bed, your head feeling heavier than the rest of your body. You trundled the steps to the door and opened it slowly.

As if it were a joke, you looked at Draco with your tear-stained face, bloodshot eyes, mussed hair, and forced a wide smile. “Happy?” You knew he’d mock you endlessly, and this front was the best way to shield yourself against it.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but you didn’t expect Draco to take a step back. The snarl on his face quickly dissolved into a soft expression of surprise.

He had swallowed whatever he had wanted to say and instead asked, “What’s wrong?”

Your tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, obviously.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I haven’t seen you cry for ages. Not since you broke your leg at Hogwarts after that stunt you tried pulling with your friends.”

“I was fine,” you murmured. “Same difference.”

He asked, without missing a beat, “Does it have to do with Weasley?”

You feebly shook your head.

Draco peered at you in disbelief.

A sob in your throat threatened to rise and manifest into a cry. You urged Draco into the room. “Shut the door,” you demanded.

Draco closed the door behind him and walked in. “You’re lying. I always know when you’re lying,” he immediately fired. “Much like I always know when you’re upset about something, or who it’s about—”

He stopped when your nose scrunched up again. Flustered, and probably not used to dealing with a crying sister or crying women in general, he grabbed a tissue from your nightstand and handed it over to you.

“So, it is Weasley,” he concluded.

You said nothing. You found it hard to honest with him; there was little trust with how often you went behind each other’s backs. But at some point, both of you needed to let your walls down and get to root of it all—you were siblings, after all.

“I take that as a yes,” he finished for you. “What happened? Has he not been treating you well?”

“No,” you blew into the tissue, “he’s moving.”

“Where? The cottage?”

“Egypt.”

“Egypt?” Draco repeated incredulously, then whispered under his breath, “What the fuck?” He looked back at you. “Is this a joke? I’m trying to be serious here with you, (Y/N). So, quit joking around.”

You looked at him with bleary eyes and shook your head. “I’m serious. I wish I wasn’t.”

“Have you discussed this together?” Draco continued. “That’s a rather large decision to make without your input.”

“He doesn’t need my input,” you said as you squeezed your eyes shut, wringing out more tears. “I officially do not matter to him.”

Draco looked at you, puzzled. “What do you mean? Have you broken up?”

You shook your head and paused for a while. You were fighting with yourself to tell Draco the truth, but there was still a chance that he’d be a righteous ass about it. Your resolve to rekindle your relationship could easily backfire on you. But the genuine look on his face swayed your decision.

“It means you were right. It was all a farce because I didn’t want to date Crabbe and I wanted to get mother and father off my back at the same,” you admitted with a grimace, cracking one eye open to gauge his expression. When he remained quiet, you continued.

 “So, yeah,” you finished with a hiccup. “We’re not actually together.”

“What?”

You rolled your eyes and pushed his arm. “Don’t tell them please,” you pleaded weakly. “Mother and father.”

Draco shook his head and stared at you. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know.” You fell back on the bed. “I think we did too good of a job, didn’t we? I’ve even persuaded myself to be in love with him.”

“No,” Draco corrected. “Truthfully, I thought I was mistaken near the end, in France. The beginning was a different story. I saw you kicking him under the table and his arm fly up.” He smiled when he saw you laugh through your clogged nose—at least his commentary was taking your mind off things. “You’re also an awful liar.”

“That’s because we’re family,” you explained. You motioned from your eyes to his with two fingers. “I’ve been your sister forever. I also know when you lie. I’ve been observing you for twenty-one years. I know you wet your bed when you were six, when we shared a bed in Switzerland, so don’t try blaming it on me again.”

A rare smile snaked its way on his face, then fell again. “I,” he looked away, embarrassed. “I know we haven’t had the best relationship the past couple of years.”

“And whose fault was that?”

Draco paused, not used to taking the blame for anything. So, you took the chance to speak to him, sibling to sibling. “I’ve never stopped caring for you, you know. You’re my little brother.” Your voice caught. “I could never imagine being cruel to you, but at times, it was the only way to talk to you.”

“I… somewhere along the lines, I was….” He paused, a glitch in this new sentimental and human Draco. “Too uptight and thought you were smearing the family name with who you associated with.” He shuffled a little. “But you’re my sister, you’ve always been there for me, whether it was sticking up for me in front of our parents or getting Pansy off my back. So, I’m….”

“You’re?” you egged, the corner of your lips lifting.

“I’m sorry.”

He obviously wasn’t used to these foreign words rolling off his tongue, but you accepted his apology regardless. You knew he meant it.

You peered up at him. “Truce?”

He nodded. “Truce.”

Then he added, “And I wasn’t serious about Crabbe. Even I find him revolting. Truthfully, I haven’t talked to him in years. I was mortified to have that goof as a friend.”

“You don’t want Crabbe as your brother-in-law?” you pressed.

Draco made a face. “I would actually hope you’d get disowned if that ever happened. You’re miles above him in any sort of league.”

“I don’t know,” you said, fiddling with your hair. “Father seems to approve of him.”

Draco’s face contorted in disgust at the thought of Crabbe as family. “Whatever happens with Weasley, just know you’re too good for him, too. If he fucks up, then it’s his loss.”

“You’re serious?”

“Have I ever said anything so nice to you?”

“Never!”

You propelled yourself off the bed. “Can I have a—?” you asked, reaching your arms out.

Before you could finish, Draco rolled his eyes and pulled you into a hug. He was a little stiff and robotic, but it felt just like the old days.

“Don’t expect this all the time,” he scoffed, one of his hands giving you a pat on the back of your head. He looked up at the ceiling in embarrassment. “It’s only because you’re upset.”

“I will expect one every day from now on,” you mumbled, heart bursting with love for your baby brother. It felt good to have him back just like things were. “Three every day if Bill moves to Egypt.”

“He’s not moving,” Draco reiterated, his voice holding firm. “Not if you have anything to do with it.”

You reached up to ruffle his perfect blonde hair. You were so glad you’d come home first. At home, you’d realized, there was always someone’s arms to cry into. Most of the times, it was your mother’s, but you welcomed change.

You sprinted in record time to the penthouse entrance after arriving at the gardens outside of it. Draco’s words renewed your confidence and pointed you in the right direction. There was no way you’d let Bill leave without him knowing how you felt. And Draco had affirmed that it was his loss if you he let you go. Bill’s loss. He was losing you, not vice versa.

You were hoping to catch Bill at home before he departed to the Burrow. You might’ve still gone there, but to have to confess your feelings to him within earshot of his family would be something you’d never live down.

You rushed past the concierge in hot pursuit for the speaker. You pressed one palm flush against the cool metal, the other finger shaking as you hammered down the numbers to connect to his suite. A voice responded after you hit the call button: “Hello?”

“Hello, Bill?” you called out frantically.

“(Y/N)?” he responded, voice fuzzy through the speaker. “What are you doing here?”

“I think,” you lied through deep pants, “I might’ve left something in your suitcase.”

“Okay,” he responded without question. “Come on up.”

Your heart was beating a thousand miles a minute on the lift. You did a final one-over of your appearance and it looked like the enchantment did a swell job at fixing your puffy and red eyes. You repeated everything you were going to say in your mind, a jumble of words sewn together into a somewhat coherent speech on your way here.

You mulled over the conversation like it was a looping film reel in your head, black-and-white and chock full of static. You were going to sit on the couch with Bill, your tone calm like you were an actual adult. If he craved maturity, then that’s what you were going to give him. You were going to listen to him. You were going to be rational. You were going to say, “Bill, I have to admit, I’m disappointed that you hadn’t talked to me about moving to Egypt first. Because, over the months, I’ve developed feelings for you,” and let the conversation carry on.

When the lift doors opened, a bubble of anxiety swelled in your chest. The penthouse was almost bare. Was it like this the first time you arrived? No, there was a French press on the counter and pans and tasteful Percy-picked paintings adorning the walls. There definitely weren’t full cardboard boxes tucked to the side.

“Hey.” Bill ran down the steps with a roll of tape in one hand and a flat box in the other. “What can I help you look for?”

Bill’s weight—rhythmic thuds—on the stairs reassured you he was real, still here beside you and not three thousand miles away. This time tomorrow though, he might not be. The thought triggered a stinging behind your eyes. The sorrow quickly turned into frustration as you realized in the past week, he hadn’t even bother to initiate conversation. He was acting like France was nothing more than a dream, that he didn’t spend most of his time beside you, sharing tender laughs and honest conversations. Why was it you who had to do all the legwork?

‘Compose yourself, (Y/N),’ you scolded. ‘Be mature, be rational.’ You were going— no, there was no chance of that as soon as the thought of Bill never being by your side again infiltrated your head again. Despite thinking you were wrung dry from the morning, you felt tears streaming down your cheeks.

It was Bill’s turn to panic. “Hey,” he said, setting up the folded-up cardboard box against the wall and running over, “what’s wrong?”

“Why?” was all you could choke out. The rest of your rehearsed speech washed out of your mind immediately when you saw his face.

“Why what?” Bill repeated.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?!” you exclaimed, voice pitching up as more tears leaked out of your eyes. There was a patch of hoarseness quilted in your voice but you continued, strained, “Why would you move and not tell me?”

“What?” Bill said. His face contorted in confusion. “I thought you knew, (Y/N).”

“The thing is, I didn’t know!” You gasped for breath. “You don’t need my permission to do anything, but you could’ve at least told me!”

“I think,” Bill’s hands cupped your cheeks, his thumb stroking a tear away, “we need to sit down and talk because I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

You just nodded, Bill’s calm tone abating your anger and your desire to ask whose fault it was that you weren’t eye-to-eye. You sat down on the couch facing the window on his left. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, its red hues seeping into the room, and you knew dinner at the Burrow was about to start soon.

“Firstly,” Bill said, reaching for a box of tissues on the coffee table and offering you to draw one. You reached for one but kept your face turned the other way towards the kitchen, unwilling to let Bill see you like this. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You bit your lip, mind flittering between whether or not to tell him the truth.

Eventually, after a few seconds of silence, you relented. “If I tell you, will you promise not to say anything until I’m finished?”

From the corner of your eye, Bill nodded.

“Okay.”

“You,” you mumbled quietly at first. You had decided: fuck it. If Bill was moving to Egypt, then you should just say everything that was on your mind. It wouldn’t matter if he rejected you since he was going to be miles away.

His face was pensive, eyebrows knitting and eyes squinted, like he was combing over everything that’s ever left his mouth. He laid his right arm motionless on the armrest.

“Was it… something I—?” He quickly stopped himself when you gave him an irksome glance, and he realized he’d broken your first rule of the conversation: don’t speak.

Your voice gained traction and you took advantage of the momentum to admit, “It wasn’t what you said, it was everything you didn’t say.”

“Bill,” you continued, turning your head to look at him. Everything you wanted to say, every feeling and secret you kept locked up in gold chains for the past few weeks, snapped and was spilling out like a torrent. “I know I can’t change the year I was born. And trust me, I’ve been in a right state because I can’t be older or more mature like you. I can’t change who my parents are or who I am or how we get along. I can’t be what you want. And I’ve never even considered any of this to be important or ever thought about it, but in the past week, it’s all I ever thought about, and—”

You squeezed your eyes shut and blotted your tears onto the tissue in your hand.

“When I think about why, it always loops back around to you. Because you’re all I can think about now. It pains me to be something you don’t want, like I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong. And it pains me that I matter so little to you that you can’t even share what goes on in your life with me. And it’s alright if you don’t feel the same way, but it’s taken such a toll on me, knowing you don’t care about me the way I care about you.”

Bill remained silent, his lips pressed tightly together. His hands were unmoving.

“Okay, I’m done,” you added quietly after taking a deep breath. You still couldn’t muster the courage to face him.

At the same time, Bill exhaled. “I don’t know what to respond to first,” he admitted. “But let’s go one by one, okay?”

Your body tensed. You liked talking a mile a minute, hoping that Bill would forget the barrage of words you hurled at him; Bill wanted to break everything down gently. Now, everything was in his hands and he could steer the conversation either way. You were dying for some semblance of your feelings being returned, but you were mainly preparing to be let down. At best, you would get closure before he left.

You sniffed, lips curving downwards, and nodded. 

“Firstly, there’s no need to change yourself,” Bill reminded. “You are lovely the way you are.”

“That’s not true,” you said with a shake of your head. “I’ve only shown you the worst parts of me, well, the real parts which are also the worst parts. For example, you’ve always talked so lovingly about your family. I’ve only talked mine down.”

“On the contrary,” Bill stated. “I think you have an excellent relationship with your family.” Bill shuffled slightly closer to you, trying to get you to look at him. “But tell me, (Y/N), what is this sudden fixation on our families?”

“I—you,” you stuttered, both at Bill’s inching closer towards you and the unabashed words that you were going to say, “you think it’s important, so it’s important to me.”

Bill chuckled. “People can be close to their family in different ways.”

“Can they?”

He nodded. “Have Fred and George told you? Mum was more upset than I’d ever seen her when they dropped out of school just months shy of finishing. She scolded them that entire week, then turned around to tell the neighbours how brilliant her boys were, the unconventional route they took and their success and all.”

He added, “She tells me women are turned off by my hair and earrings, then the same afternoon, tells her friends at her sewing club that I’m England’s most eligible bachelor. Doesn’t make any sense, really.”

You let out a nasally laugh that was more akin to a snort. “Really?”

“Really!” Bill affirmed with a smile. “You never know what your parents are saying behind your back.” He tilted his head, trying to see more of your face. “In France, your dad wouldn’t stop talking about you during the golf course. I thought he was boasting to your uncle Theodore as a game strategy, but he’d say the same to me in between holes.”

Bill continued on. “Draco told me you always stood up for him in front of your parents, and to his estranged lover.”

“Estranged—?”

“Pansy, I think her name was?” Bill filled in. “He was really mumbling the words out. Reckon he didn’t want to admit it.”

“Oh, right,” you said with a laugh. “She was a lot. Still a lot. Still in love with him.”

“You’ve had it harder than me, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love your family,” Bill stated. Then his tone bordered on teasing. “And (Y/N), there are other qualities I like in a woman, not just their relationship with family. I hope I’m not that one-dimensional.”

“I can imagine!” you sputtered, spinning around. “It was the only thing you told me and the only thing I had to go off of. I tried extrapolating the rest, but…”

You stopped talking when you realized Bill had your gaze in a headlock. That look in his eyes had you weak, some form of genuine curiosity and tenderness sparking in them. It was dangerous. It beckoned you to answer any question he asked.

“And what did you come up with?” he asked.

You grinded your teeth behind your sealed mouth. It was best to just say it, having already gone far past the point of no return. Still, you couldn’t help but feel mortified.

“I’d imagined you with a more mature woman. Someone who holds their liquor and doesn’t need assistance down the steps after a wedding. I’m the same age as Fred and George. They’re your younger brothers. Surely, you think of me the same.”

“I mean, yes, you are the same age, but I don’t think of you as a younger sister,” Bill explained. He scoffed before saying, “I mean, that would be unsettling if I did because—”

“Because?”

Bill’s lips suddenly quirked up into a sheepish grin. It was now his turn to be reluctant and quiet. His blue eyes shifted to a random corner of the room.

“Because what?” you fished, your palm flat on the couch in anticipation. Inside, your heart was erratic, pounding against your chest. You just needed to hear the right words to push you over the edge.

“I do fancy you.”

You jaw lowered slightly. Did you hear that right? He did fancy you. Suddenly, you were floating. Your ears were ringing, blood was rushing through your brain, euphoria cycling through your veins, and you felt almost delightfully faint. He didn’t just say that, did he? You were definitely imagining it. But you couldn’t have been, given how Bill’s face, and the flush of red by his ears, slowly dappling his cheeks over his freckles, was so clear.

“Can you say that again?”

Bill burst into laughter at your reaction. “It was hard enough the first time.” He remarked the pleading expression on your face before obliging. “(Y/N), I do fancy you quite a bit. I hope it was more obvious than not.”

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up,” you whispered. “Because it would kill me if you didn’t feel the same.”

“Do you remember what we said when we were at the shop, planning out,” he used air quotes, “our future?”

“What part of it?”

“When I said familiarity was uneasy.”

“Yes.” You could recall that perfectly. It was when he asked you why you didn’t choose his brothers to play out your schemes with.

“I’m glad we met under the pretenses we did,” Bill recalled. “We were able to show each other everything, no secrets or lies. And like I thought, there was nothing bad about you to uncover anyway.”

“I’m glad,” you sighed, feeling the last bit of stress dissipating from your body. “Because I thought I’d lost you for the same reason.”

Bill cleared his throat. “So, your age matters little to me. What matters to me is that you are intelligent, kind, and delightfully mischievous with your schemes,” the corner of his lip crooked up into a smile, “not to mention, you are really quite beautiful.”

Your eyes softened and your heart was beating erratically against your chest; you were just elated that Bill loved parts of you that you didn’t think he did.

Well, that was before he added, “And how could I forget? I do love your tendency to enjoy debauchery in the form of books.”

“Will you,” you grabbed a pillow beside you, “stop bringing,” and chucked it at Bill, “that up?!”

“There’s nothing wrong with that! It just means you are well-read,” Bill reasoned, evading the cushion flung his way. “If anything, learning to iron robes and how to best polish oxfords can be very useful.”

You gave him a pointed look.

“Not that I expect you to know,” he clarified quickly, horrified at how you could’ve interpreted it. He pointed to his chest. “I was keeping it in mind for myself.”

“You better not!” you chided, though a wide grin was breaking out across your face. You didn’t look intimidating in the slightest.

With Bill’s joke dispelling the tension, the air cleared enough to ask him another question, another itch only his words could scratch. “If it wasn’t my age, or my family, or even me, then what was, or is, stopping you from...?”

“I…” Bill trailed off. “You know, it’s never a good idea to get into one relationship too quickly after another. You could be using someone to satisfy a void.”

“Right,” you agreed without thinking. But what did you know? Bill had been previously committed, and you’d never been attached to anyone past three dates.

“I’m human, I’ve made mistakes, I try to learn from them.” His fingers ghosted over your temple before brushing a renegade hair from your face. “It would be unfair to drag you into something because I was selfish and unsure.”

“But it’s been almost a year now, surely?” you said. “I thought most people did this rebounding thing right after. I’m not saying it means you should be ready, I’ve just heard—”

“I know, I know,” he agreed. “But you’re just,” he stopped, looking down at you with a gentle and lopsided smile that made your legs wobbly, “something I wanted to take my time with. I don't know if I could live with myself if I hurt you in the slightest.”

You pressed, “Has your opinion changed at all? Since then?”

Bill grinned. “Of course it has.”

You felt more at ease now. “What’s changed it?”

“I missed you in the days we were apart. I really did, (Y/N).” His face showed calm but there was something frantic in his pulse, his words, his entire being. “All summer, Gringrotts wrote to me and wanted me to stay in Egypt as I was doing a fairly good job over there. The European branches sent Fleur to convince me to move to Belgium instead. But when I came home, I realized I missed being with my family.”

You listened wordlessly, wonderstruck at the fact that someone like Bill Weasley existed.

“With mum and dad getting older, I knew I needed to stay home and take care of them if anything happened. They’ve already lost Charlie to Romania and Percy to the Ministry.” He ended the statement with a chuckle.

“Bill, that is so very considerate of you,” you spoke through shallow breaths, “but after all this, you’re still moving?”

“Yes, but it’s not very far away.”

You raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Egypt is over three-thousand miles from here.”

“Egypt?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Where did you hear I was moving to Egypt?”

“From George, I—”

“I mean, I was considering it, but I’ve ultimately decided to stay here.” He pointed down with his index finger. “Shell Cottage is a very easy floo away from home.” Then, with an impish smile, he added, “But you know, my family wasn’t the only thing anchoring me.”

“It wasn't?”

A serious expression eclipsed Bill’s face. “I thought of you.”

He thought of you.

“You seem to have an influence over my decisions.” Bill leaned over and in a near whisper, continued. “I thought that if there was any chance that if we,” he looked right at you, “worked out in any sense, me being in Egypt would not make anything easier.”

“Why would we not work out?” you said, apprehension creeping in your voice. If Bill expressed any doubt this far in the conversation, you weren’t sure how you’d take it. He couldn’t take back a confession, he just couldn’t.

“(Y/N), you have to admit,” Bill began, catching your gaze again. You felt your heart stutter at his intense look and those mesmerizing baby blues. “It’s been confusing for me, too. You chose me as your fake lover based on things you were opposed to: my hair, tattoos, my age. Especially my age, I’ve heard. How was I supposed to ask you about it?”

“What?” you blurted out. “Bill, I adore the first two things and I’ve stopped thinking about how old you were. It never even crosses my mind anymore unless someone is bringing it up.”

You took one of his larger hands, heart swelling at how natural it felt, and urged him to look at you. You were trying to convey your thoughts earnestly through touch, like your hands were intertwined with his heart.

“The goal was to make my parents upset, and I thought it worked but it turns out they really like you, especially the golf abilities you’ve kept hidden for thirty years,” you admitted. You reached out to gingerly stroke Bill’s hair, the short locks softly sliding past your fingers. “I truthfully adore all these things: your long hair, tattoos, piercings. And if it were up to me, you’d never cut your hair again.”

“Shame,” he said. “I was starting to like the length. It’s rather airy in the summer.”

“Just the summer, then. I’m willing to negotiate.” You pointed to the fang earring. “But this,” you gently touched it with your free hand, “is non-negotiable. In fact, you could use another piercing or two.”

“Noted,” Bill responded.

“And please, keep these rings,” you mumbled, your fingers falling to admire the bands of silver taut on his fingers. Your voice was now barely audible as you whispered to yourself, “This is quite literally the most attractive thing I’ve seen on a man.”

“What was that?” Bill asked, leaning in unbearably close now. You felt a spark on your lips where was looking.

“Nothing, I, er,” you fumbled, trying to redirect his attention. When you looked up, you saw it: the last object of your adoration. It was his eyes – those blue lifelines to his heart. You leaned in, just inches away from him and the closest you’d ever been, and placed a hand softly on his face, unknowingly flittering over a scar. “Your eyes are beautiful, I… there are no words to describe them.”

He brushed a loose strand of your back and tucked it behind your ear. “Then don’t.”

That was all he said before he closed the short distance between you. Your heart soared when you felt the rougher texture of his lips on your soft ones. You knew at the very least, you had to close your eyes like he had, but you wanted to see him for just another second. You wanted to soak in Bill like he was the sea, let him wash over every sense—sight, touch, taste—you had.

Bill was gentle, gradually easing you into the kiss, giving you air when he felt you needed it. The thing was that you didn’t need air, you just needed more of him. He chuckled when he felt you nudging him closer.

Half of you knew he was physically here, while the half was wondering if you were in some daydream. So, you treaded along precariously, trying not to disturb this lucid dream you found yourself in. Merlin knew how much you would’ve given to kiss Bill Weasley just a month ago.

You drifted from the kiss slowly to confirm something. “So, does this mean…?”

“I’d like to have you as my girlfriend, if you’d have it.” He stated it like there was any chance of hesitation on your end, which there wasn’t.

“Bill,” you exhaled with elation, letting out a relieved breath. “That’s not even a question.”

He moved both his hands to caress the back of your head, fingers tangling with your soft locks. His grip was firmer when he pulled you back towards him.  Your lips met again, but this time, he deepened the kiss, was a touch more dominant than he was just seconds ago. You obliged immediately, waltzing with him in the intimate dance. Surely, you weren’t as experienced as Bill was, but he guided you perfectly, urging you to part your lips with a gentle prod of his tongue. He tilted his head to gain better access just as his hands slithered down your body. He gripped your waist firmly, and then did something that sent a shiver down your spine.

He let out a low, guttural groan.

“You are worth the wait,” he breathed huskily. “You’ve been driving me insane for months, (Y/N).”

Before you could flush even deeper at his words, he quickly pulled you over his lap so your legs were splayed out on each side of him. Your pulse grew frantic as both you and Bill shed any sense of slow and steady and replaced it with fast and vigorous. If you weren’t already overheated, you sure were now, feeling the harder parts of him against parts of you that were aching, hearing his desire for you aloud. You unknowingly grinded into him, trying to dissipate the want building. You were a mess of heat and occasionally, the clashing of teeth, which even if imperfect, spoke to the feverish pitch things were reaching.

His hands travelled past the hem of your skirt, doting the back of your thighs until they were positioned on your rear. He kneaded the soft skin and it was your turn to groan.  

Bill’s eyes darkened slightly as you straddled his lap. His fingers tightened on your skin until you were sure they’d leave red marks. “I’m a man, (Y/N). I have my own urges to act upon, but.”

“But?” you asked, feeling whiplashed at Bill’s sudden stop.

“But, I do think I should take you somewhere nice first.” He slicked his hair back and tilted his head up to look at you. “That’s only proper, isn’t it?”

“I suppose?” you responded with an inflection, your heart fluttering in hummingbird beats, much too fast to speak coherently. You still felt like you’d ascended to the heavens, your mind in a state so blissful and delirious that you were half-responding to Bill. “I don’t mind either way, really, I…”

“Alright,” Bill agreed. “Then we’ll sort out how you’d like to proceed after the dinner I promised mum to go to.”

“The dinner,” you repeated. You’d forgotten all about it in the heat of things. You were just overjoyed it wasn’t a farewell dinner for Bill. “I can wait until you’re back.”

“What are you talking about?” he questioned with a laugh. He pushed himself off the couch with you in tow and your legs wrapped around his waist. “We’re going to the dinner.” Then he leaned in again, his breath fanning your face. “Together.”

“Are you sure?” you asked shyly, nervous at the prospect of facing the entire Weasley family and more. “I mean, a family dinner. It seems like a big thing, doesn’t it?”

With Bill hoisting you up, you were finally taller than him. You were privy to things you didn’t normally get to see, like how his long lashes framed his eyes, how sturdy the bridge of his nose was, and how tempting his lips looked pulled into a smirk. If you had a say, you’d forego the dinner and kiss him all night instead.

 “You took me to one,” he countered.

“Under false pretenses,” you said, scrunching your face up.

“Okay, consider this a family dinner that is actually entirely truthful. This is a second chance to do things right and not lie about anything.”

“Who said I was lying about anything?” you snickered. “Maybe I do want seven children and to never retire and to fly around in the Ford Anglia everywhere.”

Bill shook his head. “I don’t think anyone would be happy with oil leaking from the sky. Kingsley would tax you for environmental damages under the new green law.” He tossed a wink your way, knowing exactly how to counteract your sarcasm, and said, “But I would be happy to oblige your other requests.”

“No!” you yelped, clasping your hands over your mouth. The thought of the rest of your life inundated by seven kids and little Freds and Georges clinging to your sides was a nightmare. How did Molly do it? Bill was forcing himself not to laugh. You knew he was only joking, but you couldn’t help but give him a little slap on the arm.

You looked directly at him. “In all seriousness, should we tell them one-by-one?” you asked.

“What about?”

“About us,” you responded. “We shouldn’t give your mother a heart attack.”

“(Y/N),” Bill assured with a breath-taking smile, spinning you around in his arms. The look on his face was luminous. He really was the sun that broke the storm. “We’re going to tell the whole world tonight.”

Epilogue

Standing on the hilly and grassy entrance of the Burrow, Bill was appraising you with concern. He could sense the rigidity in your body as he held your hand.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Relieved and nervous,” you explained. “Relieved because this isn’t your farewell party. Nervous because it’s your family.”

“You know my family,” Bill reminded. “There is nothing to worry about.”

“Are you completely certain this is a good idea?” you asked. “I don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“I’ve never had a bad idea,” he boasted with a toothy smile.

Bill pushed the creaky wooden door open for you, his hand still clasped on yours, unwilling to let go of your fingers in case you wanted to escape. He ducked under the doorframe as he entered. You followed him into the Burrow—Bill’s childhood home. You’ve been here before but this just felt different, like you were now a part of the family and not just an extension of it. You shied away, thinking Molly would be right there. She wasn’t. You saw Percy in the living room, turned away and nose in a book. Charlie, who you were surprised to see had returned from Romania, was pouring himself beer from the pitcher. Molly was snipping herbs from her potted plant by the windowsill, oblivious to your arrival.  

Charlie was the first to look up, being the closest to you, at you and your hands intertwined. A slow, devious, and somewhat knowing smile creeped up on his face. Bill shushed him and Charlie covered his mouth with his free hand. Of course, Charlie remained silent, tempted to see how his mother would react.

“Hi, mum,” Bill called from across the room.

“Bill, darling,” she responded offhandedly, preoccupied by the finishing touches she was putting on her vegetable roast. She was slow to turn around, more focused on carrying a heavy dish with her oven mitts. And when she did, her eyes landed on your faces first.

“(Y/N)!” she called. “How nice of you to bring her, Bill.”

Her eyes were still locked on your face and hadn’t made the connection. Your breath caught when Molly’s eyes began trailing downwards in what felt like an eternity.

You didn’t know what to expect, but you didn’t expect to cause such a scene. Molly literally dropped her dish on the floor at the sight of your hand in Bill’s. The ceramic dish shattered and the vegetable roast flew in all directions. Percy jolted from his position on the couch, his cry overshadowed by the stew boiling over and the kettle wailing beside it.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed. She seemed so flustered she didn’t know which way to go—to embrace you or to clean up the mess on the floor or to turn off the stove with the overflowing stew. “I had my suspicions, oh, I—”

In desperation, she called out for her husband to help with one of those tasks. “Arthur!”

He quickly ran in, cheeks rosy, and out of breath.

“What’s the danger?” he panted, looking left and right.

“Oh, Arthur!” Molly exclaimed with a roll of her eyes, her hand on her hip. “There’s no danger.” She pointed to where you stood. Arthur, still unaware, looked over. Bill raised your hand and gave it a little shake. Molly couldn’t control her excitement, so she ran over. You imagined she was tumbling towards Bill, but she chose you instead. You let go of Bill’s hands to hug her.

“My future daughter-in-law!” she exclaimed, patting your cheeks. “Oh, I knew it! I just knew it. You are just so perfect for my Bill.”

“I think that’s an approval from mum,” Bill said to Charlie who was standing offside.

“She’s already making Christmas sweaters for your children,” Charlie teased with a snicker.

“Bill! Come and help me with the vegetables,” Molly commanded, sending over an apron from the closet that was likely too small for him.

Bill looked at the flimsy piece of fabric in his hands. He only had a couple inches of string to work with. “Mum, I think this is Ginny’s—”

Then, Molly pointed to her spilt dish. “Arthur, sweetie, clean this up. And (Y/N),” she guided you by the shoulders and towards the couch where Percy was, “you just sit here and Percy will bring you a beverage.”

“I told you, mum’s a modern feminist,” Bill said to you with a wink. He managed to get a tiny knot from the apron. “How do I look?”

“You look fit,” you complimented. The tiny apron was accentuating all the right muscles. “And in regards to your mother, rightfully so. Millicent be damned.”

“I’m not opposed to her tips in the later chapters,” Bill added with a smirk, causing your face to flush.

“I’ve read it so many times, I have it memorized,” you assured. “You’ll have to find out later.” Bill’s mouth rounded in surprise first, not used to this side of you, before morphing into a more smouldering expression.

“Hey!” Charlie interjected from across the room. “Just because you’re together doesn't mean we all have to be subject to this.”

“You’ve read this book, Charlie?” Bill asked, steering his brother away. “Let me tell you all about (Y/N)’s favourite author…”

“Watch it,” you whispered in the most intimidating tone you could muster.

Bill quickly spring into action with his mother who was appraising his domestic skills. You admired his tall figure, his fingers lithely paring a potato with a peeler.

Bill’s tall figure was quickly replaced by Percy, who looked abashed as he brought a beer over to you.

“I….”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. “I know. I’m a selfish person, I’m working on it.”

“You’re not selfish. I shouldn’t have jumped to assumptions,” he conceded. “It’s a bad habit of mine.”

“It’s not,” you reassured.

Percy nodded and let a moment of silence linger over you before asking, “Say, how did you arrange that meeting with Rookwood?”

“Would you like to know?” you said with a smile. “I can set you up.”

At dinner, Bill sat beside you. You didn’t need much integrating or any introductions; you’d been here already and there was already a seat for you. Occasionally and to your pleasure, he’d take your hand under the dinner table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“So,” Molly started as she sat down. She looked directly at you two. “I’d like to know this happened.”

Neither you or Bill could contain your laughter, given the wild story you were about to tell. You were the first to recover, and slowly, you began, “It started, around a table just like this…”

After dinner and dessert was had, you and Bill departed for the backyard. You were swinging with him on a hammock, away from the commotion inside, and watching the stars. They were exceptionally clear tonight, or maybe it was that being with Bill made the world slightly brighter.

“Bill?” you asked, snuggling in closer to him to shield yourself from the cold.

He turned to you. “Hm?”

“You’re coming to Nice next year, too?”

“Of course,” he responded, like there wasn’t even a flicker of doubt.

“And the next?”

“And the next,” he affirmed. “I wouldn’t even question it.”

“Good,” you said with a blissful sigh.

Under the starry night, you counted your blessings and thanked the heavens as you soaked Bill in. After days and weeks of fluxing emotions, he’d made it clear tonight: he was yours, yours for the rest of your life if you made sure of it.

Unbeknownst to you, the twins sat on the couch inside murmuring amongst themselves.

“You cheated,” Fred accused. “He wasn’t going to Egypt anyway.”

“That wasn’t one of the rules, Freddie. It’s not like I made them kiss or anything,” George said with a shrug. “I only accelerated what was going to eventually happen.”

Fred cursed under his breath as he gave George galleons he lost. That was a good whole month of pay, all gone! 

“I thought she’d be a little more resilient than that.”

“Hm, shows you don’t know her that well,” George said with a smirk, depositing the money in his pockets.

“I hate to say that it was well-played, but poor (Y/N). You did a number to her heart there.” Fred said with a pout. “I think she really thought he was moving to Egypt.”

“Now our poor sweet (Y/N), stolen by the treacherous grasp of our eldest brother,” George lamented.

“Not like she would’ve chosen you anyway.”

Fred placed his hand over his heart, offended. “Nor would she you.” Then he leaned back on the couch, watching you from outside the window, swaying on the hammock with Bill. You’d been out there for almost an hour.

George spun the gleaming gallon on the table.  

“Now, next on the list of affairs to bet on: when’s the wedding?”

<<CHAPTER DIRECTORY (READ IT AGAIN!)

TAGLIST: @inpraizeof @milkiane @lovesanimals0000 @alisslahey @milfodyssey @itscheybaby @lookingthroughmirrors @stiles-argent24@aki-ham @my-current-fandom-is @salvatoremuse @nimue-lady-of-the-lake @agathne @benbarnesismybaby@bangbaang @venus-d-vinyl @lexxxtacyyy @pink-hufflepuff @unicornicopia1@itsrhyann@awesomeowlbook @bamboozledflamplant @howpeculier​ @jaix-8102 @vilentia​ @sophneedsfandoms ​@dontbesuspiciousss @sugarrush-blush@actuallyade @thatgoodolswitcharoo @kakorrhaphiphobia @cigaretttes-aftersex @pandoraneverland @theluvcafe@eternally-ineffable@winterishfallinknowledge @tygecjjd @southernraven @roroswitherose

[prodagustd]

drunk | myg

Summary: You had not seen Yoongi for three weeks after your fight, you start to think that he gave up on you. You seem to be terribly wrong.

this is part four of so it goes: series masterlist

<part three part five>

—pairing: rapper!yoongi x reader

—rating: +18

—genre: friends with benefits (kind of? they're in love) to lovers, lots of angst!!

—warnings/tags: cursing, alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism, mentions of alcoholism, emotional constipation, introducing taehyung!!! and jimin....👀

—words: 9.5k

a/note: hi friends! I finally decided to sit and finish this chapter after a month of posting ghost of you. I suck at coming up with summaries but give this one a chance!!! A little secret about this chapter is that I cried writing the first part and that I listened to You & I by Shinee while doing it (you can do it too for a better experience). As always, feedback is very appreciated, you are welcome to discuss the chapter in the asks. pd if you want to be in the taglist let me know.

Two years ago

When Yoongi met Dasom he quickly learnt one thing: she was mean, but she was not a regular mean girl, she was worse. 

Dasom was reckless and relentless, her kisses tasted like beer and cigarettes and she could never keep a promise. She liked to dance with guys who weren’t her boyfriend and she loved making people angry, she was one of a kind. But she was funny, and Yoongi liked that. Dasom had the perfect comedic timing and the quickest comebacks, she knew all of Yoongi’s favorite songs, she had the brightest smile and the most bruised heart in the room. She was not kind and she was not sweet, but the world hadn’t been kind or sweet to her either. Somehow she found love in Yoongi’s arms. 

To be in love with Dasom was knowing that she could never stay, but you could never leave. 

The thought of leaving her never crossed Yoongi’s mind, he could never do something like that, but in that moment, standing under the rain at the entrance of some club, he waited for a second, hoping for a voice in his head to finally tell him to run away. He felt in his bones that it was the right decision, but he stayed.

His girlfriend had stopped speaking to him five days ago, but that night she called him at three in the morning, asking him to pick her up from some club downtown because she was too drunk to go home alone. Yoongi didn’t hesitate to do it, but when he stared at the black doors of the club he couldn’t help but feel a little bit stupid. He didn’t even know the reason why she was mad at him this time. 

It wasn’t difficult to find her, it was a small club and it only had three bars inside. He found her sharing drinks with some guy who was probably paying for them. Dasom never spent money on clubs, she said they were too expensive. She pretended she didn’t see him until he was standing right in front of her. 

Dasom darted at him that look, the one she used to give to him when she didn’t want him around. 

“Let’s go home” He announced upon arrival. The guy on her side stared at him confused. Yoongi was wearing a big hoodie and his pajama pants, he would have stayed in his car if she had picked up the phone, but he had to enter looking like that.

“No, you can go back home.” She replied.

“Come on, you asked me to pick you up.” He tried to remind it to her, already feeling it was useless.

“I changed my mind.” She said, “You can leave.”

Yoongi sighed, wisely thinking his words before speaking again “Don’t do this to me right now.” He begged, but she only rolled her eyes. “Who’s going to take you home later?”

“Him!” She pointed to the guy who was awkwardly standing next to her. He seemed uncomfortable, it was visible that he didn’t want to be involved in the discussion they were about to have. Dasom turned to look at him, looking for reassurance in his eyes, and when she didn’t find any she scoffed, she got down from the stool she was sitting and decided to follow her boyfriend to his car. 

“Have fun paying for all of that.” Was the last thing she said before disappearing into the darkness of the club.

Yoongi felt like he was holding his breath all the way to the car. 

He loved the woman who was sitting beside him, but she was different from the person who he fell in love with three years ago. Yoongi was sure that person was deep inside her, he just needed to look for her in a million dark clubs to find her. 

The sound of the rain hitting the windows wasn’t loud enough to drown the uncomfortable silence between them, so he decided to turn the radio on. She stared at him funny, Yoongi hated listening to the radio. 

“Are you still mad at me?” He asked her. 

“Yes, of course.” She replied like it was obvious, it wasn’t. Yoongi didn’t know what he did wrong, he asked her but this time she didn’t bother to make up an excuse. It was always the same fight, she stopped speaking to him until he begged her to know the reason, not once she told him the truth, but Yoongi was patient enough to wait for her to speak to him again. 

“I’m not mad at you.” He felt the need to remind her. 

“Why would you be mad?” Dasom questioned with a cheeky expression on her face.

Yoongi tried to think of an answer as he stared at the empty road ahead of him, ‘because of this’ he wanted to answer, but that was not fair, and he could never tell her that without having to face a tantrum. 

Both of them stayed silent during the rest of the ride and when they arrived at Dasom's apartment, he helped her to get out of the car and climb the stairs to the second floor. He watched his girlfriend take off her shoes and walk towards the bathroom to remove the makeup off her face. 

He leaned against the door of her tiny bathroom and crossed his arms above his chest “I wanted to talk to you about something.” He announced.

“About what?” She slurred without looking at him.

“I don’t want to make this about me, but…” 

“Don’t.” She interrupted him and stared at his reflection through the mirror. Her face was wet, the bags under her eyes were dark from the traces of mascara and she looked tired of him. “Don’t talk to me like I have a problem, you know I don’t.”

“I’m not trying to do that, I just wanted to help you, I always do.” Yoongi hid hands under his arms when they started to shake, somewhere deep in his heart he knew that this wasn’t the best time to have a discussion, but he started to become desperate under her cold gaze. Dasom left the bathroom and walked past him, making him follow her to her room. 

“I don’t want you to.” She said, unzipping her dress until it fell from her body to the floor. “I just wanted to come back home, I don’t need you to analyze me. I want a boyfriend, not a fucking father.”

“I am your boyfriend,” He assured her, “and I love you and I care about you and I can’t allow myself to let you do this everyday. I want you to be fine, but I need to know what’s going on because I don’t understand.” Yoongi rushed to finish the sentence, he felt like time was ticking. He tried to reach for her hands but she took a step back, she had a serious expression and even if she could see the desperation in Yoongi’s eyes, she was not willing to give in, not completely at least. 

“I don’t need you Yoongi.” She spat. “And I thought you knew that. I know what you are doing, I didn’t want to remind you again that I don’t need anyone. I didn’t need my mom, I didn’t need my dad and maybe you think I do but I don’t need the fucking help of Seokjin’s family. I certainly don’t need you telling me all this shit.”

Yoongi’s insides twisted, Dasom could see the surprise in his eyes as he took a step back. She scoffed, thinking she had no time for all of this. A few weeks ago Seokjin and him had a cathartic talk about the complications of their relationship and how worried he was about Dasom’s drinking problem. Later that night his friend sent him a text offering the number of his cousin who was a therapist and a specialist on addictions. Yoongi declined the offering, he knew Dasom would refuse, but he was sure she didn’t know anything about it. 

She didn’t care how hurt he was in that moment, and as she started to put on her pajamas something clicked on Yoongi’s mind, that’s why she stopped speaking to him. 

“Dasom, that was just a text he sent to me, it was something private and…” Yoongi didn’t know what to say, millions of words got stuck in his throat but none of them sounded coherent. 

“It was not private, it was about me.” She raised her voice.

“I know, but he’s your friend too, he was worried.” 

It was hard to imagine his girlfriend going through his phone and reading his texts, she was never jealous of him and Yoongi thought it was clear that he only loved her. Regardless of that, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for talking to Seokjin about her. She looked at him like he was talking shit about her. 

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Yoongi. I’m fine, and if weren’t fine you wouldn’t be able to fix it, get over it.”

He thought his heart was about to escape from his chest and run away far away from him, but his heart never left, it just broke into a million pieces.

“Wait, listen, I’m sorry, okay? I was upset about all of our fights and I needed to talk to someone, he just wanted to help, but I’m sorry if that made you angry.” 

“Don’t be stupid.” She stopped him. “That didn’t make me angry.”

“Then what was it?” He asked. “Dasom, you seem to be angry all the time these days. I know you and I know you are not telling me the truth, I just want you to stop lying to me, I’m tired of it.”

Dasom darted him a look, it tempted her to say something hurtful again, she wanted to scream that if he was so tired he should leave her alone already, but she hated to be called a liar. Her eyes encountered Yoongi’s shaking hands and then his tired face. She wondered what time he went to bed that night before she called him. 

She wanted to cry, he knew her well indeed. 

“I’m not sure about us anymore.” Unlike before, her voice sounded soft. Expecting him to process her words, she paused for a minute. Dasom stared at Yoongi and realized he was not the man she met three years ago. Shit, he wasn’t even the man from four months ago, his hair was red and his face was rounder, his eyes were swollen and his fingers were damaged because of his habit of biting his nails. 

Yoongi accepted her words and allowed himself to fall sitting on the bed, covering his face with his palms “How are you not sure?” He asked her, not because he wanted to argue but because he wanted to know what went wrong. 

“I don’t know… I just-I’m not. But it’s not your fault.” She assured him. “I’m not sure about anything lately. I haven’t been happy for a while and I don’t know if it’s fair to keep you with me, no one wants to tell me if it’s wrong or right… The only person I know that is wise enough to tell me is you.”

There was something about her words that made Yoongi stay quiet for a few seconds. Dasom was terrible at expressing her feelings, like there was some kind of bug in her code that prevented her from being vulnerable. At the same time she didn’t like lying, so Yoongi knew she was telling the truth despite trying to hide her feelings. 

Yoongi knew he couldn’t make her stay, but he couldn’t leave either. 

“Yoongi?” She called him. “what should I do?” 

“What do you want to do?” He asked her. 

“I want to be alone.” She affirmed. 

“For tonight?” He dared to question. 

Dasom paused and thought about it. 

“No.” She replied, “I think… Until I figure out some things, if that is not too corny. Forever if I can’t.”

He raised his head and didn’t see Dasom, he saw the little girl that she was on that picture with her grandmother when she visited the circus, it was one of the few pictures she had with a member of her family, she used to hide it from Yoongi until she finally decided to show it to him. She didn’t look like the woman she was, she looked unsure like a little girl. 

It wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t Dasom’s fault either, but it would be easier to blame someone else than accept that this wasn’t working for them anymore. He wanted to laugh at himself for thinking he could ever find the old Dasom in a million clubs, now he knew he didn’t have to, she was right there in front of him, asking if it was right to leave him or not. 

“There’s no right or wrong decision.” He finally said.

“But.. would you judge me?” Her voice trembled as she stared at him standing in front of the bed.

Yoongi looked defeated, 

“I would never.”

He understood, he always did, there wasn’t space for him in her life anymore and he couldn’t do anything about it. Even if he got down on his knees and begged her not to leave him, he couldn’t make her love him anymore, there was no use of doing that. He was the only man who could ever read her twisted mind, and at that moment he knew it was over, she couldn’t love him.

Dasom took her eyes off him, she struggled to find the right words.

“I don’t think I can fix this.” She said “And I don’t think you can’t either. I’m grateful for you but I don’t love you anymore, I can’t keep telling you otherwise… So I need you to leave, is that okay?”

Yoongi couldn’t allow himself to cry in front of her, somehow he felt cruel doing it. He realized it was time to go. 

“Of course it's okay, Somi.” He used that silly nickname she didn’t like just to annoy her for the last time. “I understand you don’t but… I do love you, will you remember that?”

She nodded repeatedly, “I will remember.” 

When Yoongi met Dasom he quickly learnt one thing: she was mean, but she was not a regular mean girl, she was worse. She was not kind and she was not sweet, but the world hadn’t been kind or sweet to her either. Dasom cried on father’s day because she missed her dad and hated mother’s day because she hated her mom. She didn’t like romantic movies, didn’t like meeting new people, didn’t like the relationship Yoongi had with his family, she ruined the friendship he had with his best friend, but for some reason she made Yoongi happy for a while, until she left him crying at five in the morning as he drove to his house, wishing he could call Jimin, but he knew he wouldn’t pick up. 

He heard a voice in his head that told him that it was okay to leave, he felt it in his bones.

Present

The morning you left Yoongi’s apartment was almost automatic. You took advantage of the fact that Yoongi was a heavy sleeper, you sneaked into his kitchen and stole those ecological bags he used to do groceries and put all your clothes on them. You had barely managed to get into the subway when you realized something; Yoongi had lied, his apartment was nowhere near to your dorm. If it was, you wouldn’t have to go through the torturous experience of crying on public transport during rush hour. 

When you looked around and watched all those people going on with their lives, you wondered if they didn’t notice that it felt like the saddest day of the year. You couldn't help but wish that everyone felt as sad as you.

When you arrived home you closed the door behind you, finding Nayeon having breakfast. It was early and she was free for today, but you were supposed to spend the morning with Yoongi, hence her confused face. 

“You must have had fun last night.” She almost laughed, “Your hair looks terrible.”

It was silly, but that was the last straw before you broke down crying in your living room, you felt like you couldn't hide anymore. Your friend gasped, running towards you thinking she had hurt you with her words. “I was joking!” She said, grabbing your face and making you look into her eyes. Nayeon quickly realized that you had been crying for longer than she thought, she frowned “Wait… You aren’t crying because of your hair, are you?” You shook your head. “Well, you should be.”

To tell your friends that you got your heart broken was nothing but embarrassing.

You sat in front of Jungkook and Nayeon and told all the things Yoongi said and couldn’t help but remember all the times you showed Nayeon a text from Yoongi that left you giggling like a teenager, the memory made you cringe. 

“He is being a dick.” Jungkook said. 

“He is a dick.” Nayeon corrected him. 

You turned off your phone for three days and Jungkook scolded you for not telling him anything, he had to call Nayeon and ask if you were alive. You were alive, but in terrible pain. 

“Am I exaggerating?” You asked your friends as you interrupted the movie for the eighth time that afternoon. They decided to make you company for the day, but you couldn’t stop thinking about Yoongi, couldn’t stop feeling sad. “Like, who cries this much for a guy? I didn’t cry this much with my ex.”

Nayeon shared a look with Jungkook, ignoring the fact that you were sitting in the middle of both of them. 

“You weren’t in love with Dan.” Jungkook stated. The name of your ex boyfriend gave you chills, almost as if Jungkook had named a dead person.

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Who told you that? I loved Dan.”

“Well, not at the end of your relationship, at least.” Nayeon reminisced.

“I cried.” You remembered her. 

“Yes, because your ego was hurt, not because he broke your heart. You didn’t like that he met someone else.”

You opened your mouth to contradict her, but then you closed it. You loved Dan… but not that much, which annoyed you. That was not the kind of love that you wanted, you wanted to love him deeply and him to love you the same way but you were too stubborn to accept that he wasn’t the right person. He realized that faster than you when he met another girl and left you for her, they were still together last time you stalked him on Instagram. 

“At least he took me to meet his mom.” You murmured, sinking on the couch.

“And she hated you.” Jungkook reminded you, making Nayeon scoff. 

“You are not allowed to make fun of me today.” You protested. “You’re supposed to make me feel better.”

Your friends were trying to make you feel better, they cursed Yoongi in every language and told you a million times it wasn’t your fault that you got your heart broken. Yes, maybe Yoongi wasn’t ready for the words girlfriend and relationship, but the way he acted was completely opposite of his words. You were right to be mad at him, but running away seemed like a terrible choice now, you felt like you left something unfinished, even if he hurt you the idea of not seeing him again sounded crazy. 

You wished you didn’t have to go through this, the weight in your chest did not allow you to go on with your day without thinking of the pile of his clothes in your wardrobe and the ten missed calls on your phone. He stopped calling after he realized your phone was off, you wondered if he gave up. 

“I know what you need.” This time, Jungkook interrupted the movie. “You need another guy.”

Both you and Nayeon turned your heads to look at your male friend. “What the fuck, Jungkook?” She sighed heavily, an idea like that could only come out of Jungkook's mouth. 

Jungkook straightened up in his place and smiled proudly, as if a light bulb had been turned on over his little head.  “Don’t look at me like that, I’m being for real!” 

“Of course you are.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Let me introduce you to… Drum roll, please.” He asked Nayeon. 

“I’m not fucking drum rolling for you.” 

“Taehyung!” He exclaimed, ignoring her.

“The last thing I want to do is to meet another man, much less one of your friends” 

“Listen, I have a plan.” Jungkook stopped you. “You said Yoongi was jealous of Kevin, meaning he’s probably a natural jealous person, so you need to make him jealous.” Your friend explained the plan like it was the most brilliant idea that crossed his mind, needless to say that it wasn’t. Yoongi was a jealous person, but what would that get you? He had already called and you didn’t answer him. 

“And after that?” You asked, not because you were curious but because you wanted him to listen to himself and realize that the idea didn’t make sense.

“He realizes that he loves you and begs for forgiveness.” He concluded. Sometimes Jungkook seemed to live in his own world, too much to realize that the idea utterly annoyed you. Sometimes you needed to remind yourself that despite being your best friend, he was a man first. 

“I don’t want him to realize that he loves me because he saw me with another boy.” You huffed. “I wanted him to realize that he loves me just because he does.”

“Yeah, Jungkook.” Nayeon backed you up “That’s very patriarchal of you.” 

He scoffed. “Well maybe I didn't express myself right. What I wanted to say is… Taehyung is hot.”

“How hot?” Your friend on your right questioned, now a little curious. 

“Like, really hot.” 

“We don't trust your judgment.” You argued. 

“I’ll show you.” Jungkook wasted no time in taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and looking for a picture of said friend of his. He showed a selfie of a long haired guy, he was tilting his head, shirtless, only wearing a gold chain. You and Nayeon shared a look. “He’s a friend of Bora.”

He was right, this Taehyung guy was actually pretty hot, the little devil on your left shoulder stood on her tiptoes and whispered in your ear that you should try to make Yoongi jealous with him, for a moment you considered it. Until the rational you slapped you on the face and reminded you of the situation. 

“Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad idea…” You started saying as a tiny smirk tugged from the corners of Jungkook’s lips. “But I don’t think it’s what I want. Yoongi already called but I don’t think he knows what he wants either, I’m pretty sure he just feels guilty. I don’t want guilt or jealousy, I just wanted the truth.”

The smile on Jungkook's face disappeared and the three of you stayed in silence. If Jungkook’s main goal was to get Yoongi to talk to you, he had already done that, but instead of picking up the phone you decided to turn it off and run away from him again.

A part of you knew that you simply weren’t like that, and the other part of you allowed herself to daydream about the situation.

“I get your point, you know?” Nayeon said. “But you’re being too hard on yourself.” You lifted your gaze from your hands and stared at her. “You’ve been trying to convince yourself that he pities you and that he feels guilty but I don’t see it like that. I don’t know Yoongi as much as you do, but I know that what you two had wasn’t just sex like he implied.” 

“Gross.” Jungkook joked, making you giggle.

“Shut up.” She scoffed, “I can’t tell you what you want to hear because I don’t know about that, but I can’t stand here and hear you say how much he pities you either.”

You felt yourself becoming tinier and tinier between your two friends. Now the fear of not being reciprocated was much greater than the longing to be loved that you felt every time you were laying on his bed. How foolish of you to get caught up in his words, it hurt to think that the pain of his past was much stronger than whatever he felt for you. 

“What’s the correct thing to do, then?” You asked, not really expecting an answer from them. 

“Honey, I’ve been trying to be politically correct since you came here crying the other day. You know I’m not, so don’t even think there’s an idea of the correct thing to do in my mind at this moment.” She paused. “It pains me to say this, but Jungkook’s idea sounds a little fun right now.” 

Yoongi put on his headphones for the tenth time that night and ignored another upcoming call from Hoseok. He had finished all his projects with him, so he had no interest in talking with anyone unless it was about work.

He received the notification of the missed call and allowed himself to check the lock screen, there was nothing from you, of course there wasn’t.

The morning after the fight he woke up sore on his couch, hoping to see you still sleeping on his bed. He went to his room but didn’t find you there. It wasn’t a surprise, it was dumb to expect you to still be there after all he said.

Yoongi tried to call you a few times, but it was out of desperation. He didn’t know what to say or how to say sorry to you; his mind was still a mess and instead of finally using his time to think about his situation, he decided to overwork himself and not to think of anything. 

He should be drinking a coffee now, maybe a tea before going to bed. Something happened yesterday and the heating of the entire building was cut off, despite the cold he opened another can of beer and hoped to drink so much that the next morning he could wake up drunk enough to not remember you. 

As he brought the can to his lips, he heard the loud sound of the ring bell, making him jump on the chair. He checked the time on his phone, it was ten pm and he didn’t order any food tonight. Curious, he headed to the kitchen where there was a small screen with a view of the entrance of the building. He saw Namjoon, who somehow could tell that Yoongi was observing him from his kitchen. His friend waved to the camera with a smile. 

“What do you want?” He asked through the communicator. His deep voice startled his friend. 

“To see you!” Namjoon replied loudly. Yoongi had no option but to let him in.

In less than five minutes Namjoon was in Yoongi’s apartment taking his shoes off “It’s freezing here!” Was the first thing he said. 

“I know, the heating was cut off until next week.” Yoongi cared to explain. 

“Don’t you have a heater?” Namjoon asked, confused as he headed to Yoongi’s couch, making himself comfortable. 

Yoongi didn’t have a heater, maybe because he took the heating for granted. 

“Obviously I don’t.” He answered, waiting just long enough to ask his friend what he was doing there without sounding too rude. ‘To see you’ wasn’t a valid reason for Yoongi.

“The richman’s life,” Namjoon laughed as he snuggled on the couch “he doesn’t have a heater.” 

Yoongi joined him sitting next to him, a little annoyed that Namjoon couldn’t notice that he wanted to be alone. “What happened?” Yoongi asked. 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” 

Namjoon looked for Yoongi’s eyes but he avoided his gaze. He wasn’t planning to talk to anyone today, he wasn’t planning on talking to anyone for the rest of the week.

“Nothing happened.” 

Namjoon squinted “Why are you getting drunk by yourself, then?” 

“I’m not drunk.” Yoongi lied. 

“You are drunk.”

“Are you interrogating me?” 

“Maybe… Why didn't you come to the studio for three days?”

“I’m the boss.” Yoongi slurred. 

“That would be very unethical of you.” Namjoon shook his head in disapprovement. “But I know you’re lying. I asked Jungkook to talk to you about a new project and do you know what he said?” 

“I don’t.” Yoongi suppressed a burp.

“He said that he couldn’t talk to you, huh? I thought you two fought, which I found weird. Imagine how surprised I was to find out that you actually fought with your little girlfriend.”

“Who told you that?” Yoongi frowned, getting closer to his friend as the conversation started to interest him.

“Are you not listening? Jungkook!”

“Is Jungkook mad at me?” Yoongi managed to ask. 

“Yeah, I mean… A little, I guess.” 

“That’s not fair.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “He can’t pick a side. He’s my friend too.” 

“Pick a side? Was it that bad?” Namjoon asked. “Come on, tell me what happened.”

Yoongi hesitated for a second, feeling himself getting smaller under Namjoon’s gaze, but due to how drunk he was it was easy for Namjoon to extract all the information he could from him. The hard part was getting Yoongi to finish a whole sentence without tripping over his own words.

It would have been difficult to admit that he was an asshole if he was sober, but as the drunkenness wore off he became more aware of Namjoon’s judging eyes. 

A friend would never judge you, except if you fucked up really bad. 

“Is there a valid reason for why you did that?” Namjoon asked. “Because as your friend, I’m trying really hard to think of one.”

Yoongi closed his eyes and threw his head back, already annoyed, trying to imagine that Namjoon wasn’t there asking him all those questions. “I don’t need you to scold me.”

“I just… I don’t understand!” He laughed “You managed to make a girl like that stay with you and you let her go?”

He opened just one eye to stare at Namjoon. “What do you mean?” He whispered. “Don’t you think I can make a good girl stay?”

“You just pushed her away, Yoongi.” Namjoon reminded him. 

“I wanted it like that.” He argued. 

“Didn’t you just tell me that you called her after she left?” He questioned.

Yoongi wasn’t sober enough to lie properly. “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m your friend, it is my business.”

“Yeah, well-” He tried to argue “It's hard to explain .”

“Bullshit.” Namjoon said “Just try me.”

Yoongi sighed, defeated. He felt like the thought had been rotting his mind for too long now, it prevented him from going on with his day without feeling like something bad was about to happen. There was no use in blaming someone else, he himself had caused the situation. 

But Namjoon made him feel safe, he had been there for Yoongi for so long that sometimes he was afraid he took him for granted. It was easy to tell him the truth, even if he didn’t know if Namjoon would approve. His young friend seemed to be wiser than him sometimes.  

“I had a dream the other night… About Dasom.” Yoongi started saying. Namjoon felt like a ghost passed behind him when he heard that name, his expression suddenly changed. He couldn’t remember when was the last time that Yoongi mentioned his ex girlfriend, he surely didn’t expect to hear her name in this conversation. 

“Yeah? What was the dream about?” He asked, barely hiding his surprise. 

“It was just the memory of the night she left me.” Yoongi explained “No wonder I dreamt of her, I have been thinking about her non stop, about everything that happened during that time. When I remember her my chest hurts and I get really sad. I can’t help but feel guilty, I’ve been a bad friend and to move on without fixing my mistakes feels wrong.”

“You’ve been a bad friend?” Namjoon repeated, not really understanding.

“You know I have” 

Namjoon took a second to think. 

“You are talking about Jimin.” Namjoon realized. Yoongi silently nodded. “That’s a strange way of seeing things, Yoongi.”

“Doesn’t it make sense?” He asked “I ruined my friendship with Jimin because of my relationship with Dasom and for what? She left me, I couldn’t help her. I can almost hear him laughing at me.”

His friend struggled to find the right words, he didn’t have a say when it came to the friendship that Yoongi and Jimin used to share, but he tried. He could see in Yoongi’s eyes that he was lost in the memory of his ex friend, he just wanted to hear something to ease the pain he felt on his chest. 

“I know it still hurts that you fucked things with him. I still think about him too, about what he said and everything. I wish we could have done things differently too, but don’t you think I agree that that’s a good reason for pushing her away.”

“I know it’s not a good reason.” He said “But I haven’t thought of anything else since she left.”

“Mmm… So what you’re saying is that you want to fix things with Jimin and then you can move on with your life?” Namjoon tried to joke, but in Yoongi’s mind it made sense. 

“Jimin didn’t want to see my face ever again.” He reminded Namjoon. “So that’s kind of impossible.” 

It wasn’t in Yoongi’s plans to talk about Jimin today, it was a sensitive topic for him. Talking about him was almost like talking about a dead person, his name stained the room with sadness. 

“The solution is to never be happy again because you lost a friend, then.” 

“Don’t say it like that.” Yoongi whined, throwing his head back on the couch. Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Like what?” He giggled. 

“Like you don’t understand.”

“No, I understand. I remember you hurt Jimin, but I also remember that you were in a terrible place.” He remembered “You weren’t in position to choose between your friend and your girlfriend, you made mistakes and that’s okay. People make mistakes and the world keeps spinning. I think Jimin would understand.”

“Jimin hates me.” Yoongi whined, he couldn’t stand to hear his name one more time.

“Jimin just wanted you to be happy.” He lowered his voice, like he was telling him a secret. Yoongi knew that, but he found out way too late. “And she’s not Dasom.” 

“I know she’s not, but…”

“Yoongi, what is it that you want?” His friend got closer to him and grabbed him by his shoulders, making Yoongi roll his eyes. He wishes it was as easy as wanting something or not.

“I don’t know.” He half lied, half told the truth. 

“You seriously don’t have a clue?”

“I want her.” He confessed. 

“How much?” Namjoon insisted. 

“Badly.”

“Badly? That’s lame” He mocked him.

“I love her.” Yoongi let out. He swore he felt like a weight was lifted off of him, but Namjoon didn’t look surprised like he expected, he knew him too well not to realize that Yoongi was in love. He fooled himself if he thought he was keeping it a secret. “Too much, actually. She’s a good friend to me, not just a lover, she understands me.”

“But?”

“But I don’t know how to make her happy.” Yoongi replied, Namjoon couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his friend was too immersed in his own world to realize that what he was saying made no sense. 

“You are kidding right now.” Namjoon laughed, but Yoongi was not joking at all. 

He knew that happiness was a very short-lived concept, but when he fell in love with you all those months before, he thought that maybe that was wrong. He felt happy all the time when he was with you and when you were gone he hoped and waited to see you again just to feel that again. Was it happiness, was it obsession, was it love? He didn’t have an answer, he didn't need to explain himself when he was with you. 

“Yoongi, that girl adores you.” Namjoon informed him “You are crazy if you think that she is not happy when she’s with you.”

“How do you know that, anyway?” Yoongi tried to sound defensive, like Namjoon didn’t know what he was talking about, but deep down he just needed some kind of confirmation that you weren’t going to be totally miserable like Dasom was next to him. 

“Because I have eyes!” He laughed “She likes being around you, she would have left earlier if she didn’t.”

“It would be different to be in a relationship than what we have now… Or had, I don’t know.”

“It’s literally the same thing. You are starting to annoy me by making all these excuses just because you are afraid.”

Yoongi frowned and glared at his friend, almost angry to hear him. “I am not afraid.” He tried to deny it. 

“You are!” Namjoon shouted, silencing Yoongi “And it’s not bad to be afraid, you know what’s really bad? What you did to her.” 

He stayed there, looking like Namjoon stole the words from his mouth. He was right, Yoongi spended the last days making up excuses, trying to convince himself that he actually wanted to say all of that to you, that he was not pushing you away because he was afraid. 

That wasn’t him, he wasn’t the asshole who told you that he wanted you all for himself and the next week told you that you confused things. He wasn’t the asshole that pretended that he didn’t act like your boyfriend too. He was the person who waited for you with burned food and you were the girl who ate it and didn’t mention that it tasted bad. He was the person who you could trust and you were the person who he could trust.

“You were a great boyfriend to Dasom and you are a good guy. But now you tried so hard not to be an asshole that you ended up being one anyway.”

“Don’t fucking tell me ‘I told you so’.”

“It’s not about telling you that I told you so, Yoongi. It’s about making things right. Stop lying to yourself by saying you wanted her away.”

“So what should I do?” He asked, that night his friend seemed to have all the answers. “I obviously fucked up really bad this time.”

“Give her space, time to think.” Namjoon responded “Keep in mind that you told her the worst thing someone can say to their girlfriend.” It was funny how Namjoon assumed that you were always his girlfriend. “Give yourself some time to think too, apologize. But don’t compulsively call her again, that’s creepy. If you want to fix things, look for her. Come on, Yoongi. I thought you knew more about girls.”

Yoongi had been with more girls than he could count during the last two years and hadn’t learned shit about any of them, except for you. He knew you were kind, sweet and the most intelligent person he knew. You loved romantic movies and said hello to dogs on the street. His brother liked you, his friends loved you and you made him happy. He wanted to believe he could make you happy too, but he made you cry instead. 

“I thought the same thing.” He murmured. 

Namjoon stayed until Yoongi was fully sober and before leaving he asked him to answer Hoseok’s calls, Yoongi promised to do so. He felt grateful that Namjoon laughed at him, it made Yoongi feel like it wasn’t the end of the world. 

After ten years of friendship with Jungkook, just now you realized that trusting him blindly never brought you any luck. You should have known that Jungkook’s plan was going to be terrible, he had arranged a fake double date with Bora ━his girlfriend━ him and Taehyung, and when you asked him how he was going to get Yoongi jealous, he managed to deliver the most absurd answer you’ve ever heard. 

“I’m going to post an Instagram story.” He explained as he drove to Taehyung’s pace. You looked at Bora, who was sitting in the passenger seat, already rolling her eyes. 

“Is that your whole plan?” You asked.

“No, I’m going to post a story and I’m going to tag you and Taehyung.” He concluded, like it made any difference. 

“You are joking.” 

“I am not!” Jungkook defended himself, a smirk appeared on his face as he pictured the situation “Imagine Yoongi’s face when he taps on Tae’s profile and he sees you are on a date with a super hot guy.”

“The last thing Yoongi is going to assume is that I’m on a date.” You argued.

“Yoongi is not going to assume that you’re on a date.” He said “Yoongi is going to see that you’re on a date.”

“I’m not liking this idea.” You already felt sick in your stomach. 

“When Yoongi comes begging at your doorstep you are going to thank me.”

“I hardly doubt that’s going to happen.” Bora said. Even if you thought the same, it made you a little sad to hear it from her. 

As Jungkook got closer to Taehyung’s apartment you daydreamed of what your night could’ve been if you stayed home. It was a cold night, you could have watched a movie and sink in your loneliness since Nayeon was away for the week visiting her family. 

The plan of making Yoongi jealous didn’t sound as fun anymore, maybe the idea comforted you for a moment when you joked about it with your friends, but now the feeling was wearing off. You did not like conflict, it was never like that with Yoongi. Things were calm with him, they were simple. 

You thought that after two weeks of not seeing him things would get better, but they were worse. It made you think that everything he said was actually true, he didn’t call again, he didn’t text, you didn’t see him anymore.

Vaguely, you remembered that earlier Jungkook had told you not to lose hope, it made you giggle in the moment, now you were wondering if it was really worth it.

When you saw the big poster of The Godfather hanging in Taehyung’s living room wall, you tried to suppress the thought. Then, you paid attention to the pink cardigan he was wearing, he lit up a cigarette and offered a glass of wine. You couldn’t help but wonder, wasn’t he a little… pretentious? 

Well, you don't like to judge people at first sight, but you were quick to judge men, especially the ones you had fake dates with. But if you were being honest, all the movie posters in his walls were bothering you, precisely the one of Scar Face that you saw on the way to the bathroom. Later you realized that it wasn’t Taehyung’s fault that you saw Yoongi everywhere.

At least Taehyung was kind enough to pose for the story that Jungkook posted. In the photo you were turning your backs to the camera, observing the framed poster. It was ridiculous and not subtle at all, but Jungkook assured you that it looked like he just wanted to take a picture of the poster and you just happened to be there next to Taehyung. The part where he tagged both of you was unjustifiable. 

On the other hand, you found it funny that The Godfather was one of Yoongi’s favorite movies. 

Now you were in Taehyung’s balcony with him alone, Bora and Jungkook stayed inside since it was colder than an hour ago. You just wanted to be in silence for a minute. 

Taehyung took out the cigarette box from his pocket and extended it to you, you shook your head. “I don’t smoke.” You declined.  

“Good for you.” He responded, lighting up one for himself. “I actually quit months ago but came back to it recently.”

“You can always quit again.” You mentioned. You saw a small cloud coming out of your mouth as you talked. Even if spring was close it was still freezing at night.

“Yeah, I’ll try again when I feel less nervous.” His voice sounded weird when he had the cigarette between his lips. 

“Are you nervous now?” You tried to joke.

“I’m nervous all the time. Especially now after Jungkook posted that, I don’t know how he dragged me into this.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t want to do that?” You asked confused, he turned his head to you and shrugged, a shy smile appearing on his face. 

“I don’t think my girlfr- ex girlfriend would care very much.” He explained, leaving you more confused than before.

“What are you talking about? Jungkook convinced me about that story because he said that someone I like would get jealous.”

“Really?” He frowned, taking another drag of his cigarette. “My girlfriend left me three weeks ago, he told me if I can make her jealous with you she’ll text me. I don’t have much hope now, I thought his plan was smarter than this.”

Jungkook forgot to mention that Taehyung was in a similar situation to you. What a fucker, you thought. You would talk about it later. 

“I thought so too. I had a little bit of hope that it would work out but I don’t think that Yoongi would ever believe it.” You admitted.

“Oh, so you’re Yoongi’s girl.” He recognized you. 

“Do you know him?”

“No.” He said, his cigarette was now half of it. “But I know that he signed Jungkook, he loves him.”

“Yeah, well, he kind of left me too. Jungkook said that I should get him jealous but he’s not like that. He’s not gonna get jealous if he sees me in a picture with a guy, especially if it’s instagram. He doesn’t care about stuff like that.”

“It’s a terrible idea.” Taehyung laughed, he crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and left it there, crossing his arms above his chest. “You and I should think of a better idea to get both Yoongi and my ex girlfriend jealous without Jungkook’s help.”

“We should hang out near Yoongi’s studio.” You proposed it as a joke. 

“Yeah, we should have a fake date in front of Lucy’s apartment, she would totally call me after that, she would fall in love with me again.” Taehyung joked too, but the tone of his voice was sad, you immediately felt a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You looked inside and observed Jungkook and Bora laughing, it was completely opposite of the situation you shared with Taehyung, both of you seemed to be deeply heartbroken. 

“Though the idea sounds very tempting, Yoongi would know if I try to make him jealous, he would probably laugh.”

“Lucy would think I am an idiot.” He said. “If she doesn’t already think I am.”

“This is a sign of the universe, maybe.” You said, sounding like Nayeon. 

“What is the universe telling us, exactly?” Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh, at least he felt accompanied in his sorrow.

“That we should move on.” You explained. “I mean not now, we deserve to cry for a while, mourn the situation. But then we should move on if the other person doesn’t really care.” 

Taehyung thought about it, somehow he believed you, even when you didn’t fully believe in your own words. 

“We should make a pact.” He proposed. “Take the sign first.”

“How?” You questioned, interested in the proposal.  

“Well, we wait for Yoongi or Lucy to see the instagram story, if they don’t text we should move on.”

“After mourning the situation.” You remarked.

“After mourning the situation.” Taehyung repeated.

“Deal.” You extended your hand and offered it to him. “He hasn’t called in two weeks, I don’t think he will.”

“Deal.” Taehyung took your hands and shook it. “But if we regret this, we should do the fake date instead”

You laughed, agreeing right away. In his eyes you could see that even if you shook hands, it didn’t mean anything for either of you. You wished that letting go of Yoongi was as easy as that.

After two hours you came back home with a new friend, who promised to let you know if his ex texted him, and if she didn’t too. You promised to tell him if Yoongi called, already knowing that he won’t. 

Your apartment was empty, dark and cold. You turned on the heating and the lights before making yourself a tea and preparing for bed. You had never been so happy to get under the sheets like that night. 

You saw the story that Jungkook posted, you told yourself it wasn’t that ridiculous, maybe it will bother Yoongi, but you cursed your friend for not coming up with a more intelligent idea, and cursed yourself for still thinking about it. You fell asleep thinking nothing else could interrupt the next nine hours you were planning to sleep. You were wrong. 

The sound of your phone vibrating incessantly in your nightstand woke you up at two in the morning. You grabbed it in your hands and with barely open eyes you saw a chain of texts from different people and two missed calls. 

[jkjk]: Yoongi saw the story earlier lolololololol

[jkjk]: FINGERS CROSSED. 

[jkjk]: manifesting. 

…

[Yoongo]: wos teahjying

[Yoongo]: !

[Yoongo]: ? 

[Yoongo]: im

[Yoongo]: otsid

[Yoongo]: here

[Yoongo]: 🦿

You jumped out of your bed when you read Yoongi’s name in your phone, running towards your closest window to check if Yoongi’s car was outside. Your heavy eyes scanned the dark street, but there wasn’t a soul outside, and especially not Yoongi’s car. 

A shiver ran down your spine when you heard the sound of the doorbell. You didn't like loud sounds when you were alone at night, and this was the sound of the front doorbell, not the one downstairs. 

[Baby]: Is that you?

“It’s me!” You heard Yoongi’s deep voice behind the door two seconds after you sent the message. Your heart started beating loud against your ribcage, suddenly your legs felt weaker. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, managing to sound upset. 

“I wanted… to talk.” He replied “About my heating!”

You pressed yourself against the door, trying to hear him correctly without opening it. “Your heating?” You continued to question.

“My heating!” He reaffirmed. “It was cut off… three weeks ago. I don't have anywherrre to stay.” His slurred voice hinted to you that he was drunk, hence the way he wrote those texts.

You opened the door before realizing that it would be a mistake. You weren’t ready to see Yoongi yet, or hear him or have him close. You weren’t ready to see him at your doorstep in his pajamas, wearing a big hoodie and flip flops. The only things on his hands were his phone and the copy of keys you gave him two months ago. 

“How the hell did you get here?” 

“A taxi, duh.” He slurred, leaning against the door frame.

“Well, you know you can’t be here. You shouldn't have come in the first place.” 

You dried your sweaty hands on your pajama shorts, you were worried that he could notice how nervous you were. Your whole body felt hot and there was not a single coherent thought in your mind right now. You hated how vulnerable he made you feel, so nervous and unsure.

“Why?” He questioned, crossing his arms above his chest. “Because you are with Taehyung?”

You felt like your heart dropped in the pit of your stomach in one second. You took a step back, but he took a step forward, staring at you like his eyes were daggers. 

“Taehyung?” You repeated, giggling nervously. 

“Taehyung!” He shouted. Again, you didn’t like loud sounds at night. You grabbed his arm and pushed him inside, afraid that one of your neighbors might wake up. 

“Don’t scream!” You scolded him. “It’s two in the morning, you should be at your house. I don’t want you here.”

Yoongi ignored you, he looked around your apartment trying to find any trace of another man. He closed the door behind him and started walking towards your room. “Why?” He kept shouting “Because Taehyung is here?

You followed him, gripping his arm tightly and turning him around. The smell of alcohol on his breath hit your face centimeters away from it, you didn’t like to be that close to him. You felt a need to push him away, to call a taxi and send him back home, but you stood there in the hallway and stared at him like it didn’t hurt you.

“Taehyung is not here.” You spat “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Wh- What am I talking about? I saw Jungkook’s instagram.” He explained. His gaze was soft unlike yours, you were looking at him angry, explicitly stating that you didn't want him there. Even drunk he could tell how angry you were. He looked sleepy and his eyes were glassy. He tried hard not to look at you like that conversation was normal, like he didn’t break your heart, but he failed. 

“I need you to leave.” You insisted, but he ignored you again.

“What should I do?” He wondered to himself “I have… been thinking s-since you left. Do you want me to…?” You saw him trying to find balance. Confused, you frowned when you realized that he was trying to beg for your forgiveness but he was struggling to get down on his knees. You suppressed a laugh and tried to stop him. 

“Stop!” You exclaimed, gripping his wrist once again and pulling him back up. 

He fought to free himself from your hands and in the middle of the attempt he fell to the floor, bringing you down alongside him. 

“You are being irrational.” You said, fighting to keep your voice steady, but the emotions were leaking from your words. Yoongi scoffed.

“Am I?” He questioned. 

“Yes. And you’re being cruel.” Yoongi looked up and encountered your eyes filled with tears. “You can’t do this to me, not after what you said to me.”

He lifted his hand and tried to reach for your face, but you pushed it away. 

“I got desperate.”  He tried to explain, but you shook your head.

“You will regret this when you wake up.”

“But it’s still winter.” He managed to say. 

“Yoongi…” You warned, but he kept ignoring you. 

“It’s still winter and I miss you.”

“I don’t want to listen to you.” You interrupted him. 

“Maybe in summer it was hot and I didn’t notice it but now it’s cold and I don’t have you to keep me warm.”

You felt your heart clenching, it was like he crushed it with his own hands and returned it to you expecting you wouldn’t say anything. You hated that Yoongi mentioned last summer like that, you had been thinking about it during the last weeks. It was cruel to come here and expect you to welcome him, expect you to act like he didn’t leave you shattered. 

“But the only way to talk to me was to get drunk first?”

“Baby…” 

“Don’t call me that.” You stopped him “If you want to come here, you ask first, you shouldn't do this. This is not nice.”

Yoongi was quick to realize that you were being dead serious, that this wasn’t the right thing to do. He had been hoping to see you again for so long that when he had you in front of him, it was too late to notice that he had been wrong. 

“You are right.” He admitted. “I’m sorry.” You sighed heavily, looking at the ceiling. It was hard to separate this Yoongi from the Yoongi of three weeks ago. This one seemed harmless unlike the other one, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pity him. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what? Taehyung?” You scoffed. 

“No, about us.”

“I won’t talk to you unless you’re sober.” You sentenced. Yoongi nodded, looking resigned. 

“Could you wait for me, then?” He dared to request. “Just a few hours, until I get sober.”

Was this what you wanted? To consider his request felt wrong, you didn’t want things to end up like this. Your brain was telling you to send him back home, but you knew that you deserved to give yourself closure, something that didn’t make you feel like you ran away and left things undone. You nodded, giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Just a few hours. And you’re sleeping in my bed, I’ll wait in Nayeon’s.” 

“I only like your bed when you are there.” He was bold enough to say. 

“Shut up and stand up.”

taglist: @scqrl3tte @kimseokjinbangtan @minmin2022 @minvlush @bids97 @cowboylikevicky @jiimtaee @jjkmspace @localmoonchild @itsfinallymyyearhenderson @tarahardcore @kookstempo @yoongimentita7 @jwlmnbt @almosttoopizza @floriiansgrave @damn-u-min-yoongi @starbtslove @bastard--bunny @pelicanpizza @deliciouslydisturbed365 @g0lden-sunset @side-effectss @iwishselena @rosquilleta @funsizemarsbar92

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet Masterlist

You left behind your life in New York for Lake Superior, settling in Duluth, Minnesota as Mason Academy's newest eighth grade teacher. You weren't expecting to meet anyone, nor were you looking. But when a field trip introduced you to Curtis Everett, your chance meeting opened another new chapter for you.

Warnings will be issued at the beginning of each chapter. This is an 18+ only blog.

Chapter One: Freightyard Education

Chapter Two: Second Chance Paulies

Chapter Three: Va Bene Night With The Stars

Chapter Four: Doorway Kisses

Chapter Five: Taking The Next Step

Chapter Six: Will You Be Mine?

Chapter Seven: When The Mask Comes Off

Chapter Eight: It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year 🎃

Chapter Nine: Life Carries On

Chapter Ten: Pretty Girl Honey

Chapter Eleven: More Than Just Turkey

Chapter Twelve: When It All Feels Like Home

Chapter Thirteen: Proceed To The Exit

Chapter Fourteen: It's The Merriest Time Of Year

Chapter Fifteen: Getaway

Chapter Sixteen: A Gift of Trust

Chapter Seventeen: Farewell Kiss

Chapter Eighteen: Introductions Made

Chapter Nineteen: Chasing Away The Winter Blues

Chapter Twenty: Sweet Addictions

Chapter Twenty-One: Lulled By The Waves

Chapter Twenty-Two: Winner Takes All

Chapter Twenty-Three: Not A Chance

Evening Quiet: Curtis and Honey Drabble.

Chapter Twenty-Four: When It All Goes Out

Chapter Twenty-Five: Heart Felt Truths

Chapter Twenty-Six: Busted

Good Fucking Girl: Curtis and Honey Drabble

Chapter Twenty-Seven- Creating New Habits

Chapter Twenty-Eight- Caught In The Rain

Curtis and Honey Autumn This Or That Series (Fall celebration series 2023) 🧡🍁

Drabbles 🐝

Beehive

Welcome Home

Night Intruders

Fall Pumpkin Walk

Bonfire

Night In

Curtis’s Haunted House

Spooky Time Shows

Sitting On Face

Fall Time Discussion

Ax Throwing

Cold Winter Night

Sunday Night

Let Me FIx It

Let's Go Find Bigfoot

Betty White's My Girl

After A Month Apart

Goofing Off In The Kitchen

Lunch Break

Parent Confrontation

Game Night

First Day of School Surprise

It's Been A Day

Dogearring A Book

It's All Fun And Games

Halloween Preparations

Curtis Cheering Up His Girl

Curtis and Honey Teasing

Gray Sweatpants

Out With The Old

Working on the Camaro

Night At Paulie's

Help Required

In The Present

Two AM Pancakes

Vacation Moods

Snowstorm At The Cabin Prompt

Comfort Prompt- 2 for 1- So Many Things + Nightmares

Bad Day

Random Surprises

Soft Prompts- 2 for 1- Curtis and Honey From Behind

Soft Prompt- Curtis Gives Honey A Surprise

Ask- Curtis Surprising Honey

Smut Prompt- Curtis Making Honey His Priority

Ask- One Way To Say Goodbye

Ask- Bets On

Ask- And Chill?

BJ In Your PJ's

Halloween Special: If You Got It, Haunt It

Ask- How Is Curtis During Your Period?

Breeding Kink Ask

Curtis and The Mustache Debate Ask

Pillow Fights and Tickles Ask

Tickles Ask Continued

St Patrick's Day Special- Kiss Me, I'm-

Affection Ask

All His

Sleepy Time Ask

Watermelon Suga'

Curtis and Timmy Drabble

Ask- Curtis Catches Honey Being Leered At

Ask- Party Prep

Porch Light

Ask- Curtis Taking Care Of You

Moodboards made by @sagechanoafterdark 🐝🍯💛

Autumn Themed Moodboards made by @xxindiglow for Curtis and Honey 🍯🐝🍂🎃

[ambrossart]

DANCING WITH MYSELF

— PART TWO

summary: eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, chrissy cunningham. instead, he spends the night stuck in the women’s restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend. ❖ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader ❖ word count: 2,366 ❖ genre: fluff with some angst ❖ series status: complete ❖ warnings: no season 4 spoilers, some coarse language, body image issues, allusions to eating disorders, typical teenage insecurities, angst, jealousy, anxiety, secret crushes, childhood memories, happy ending, lots of 80s music one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

It was no secret that Mrs. Cunningham didn’t care for you.

When you and Chrissy were in middle school, that wretched woman did everything she could to discourage her daughter from hanging out with you. Said you were a bad influence on her. And why? Because you were, as she so delicately put it, an “alarmingly overweight” child with no sense of propriety. She said this once to your mother over dinner (after your mother had the audacity to allow you a second serving of mashed potatoes), and it turned into a nasty fight that ruined the entire evening. Your mothers spent the rest of the night screaming at each other in the dining room while your fathers drank scotch in the den. Meanwhile, you and Chrissy snuck some apple pie up to your room and listened to your Journey records until Chrissy had to go home. Chrissy ate one bite of pie and pushed her plate away. You ate the rest of yours, but you didn’t enjoy it, not at all.

Mrs. Cunningham warmed up to you a little once you lost the weight… a little, but not very much.

You rang the doorbell with your heels clutched in one hand and your dress draped over your forearm. She answered the door with a painted-on smile.

“Y/N, so good to see you…” and she pulled you into a firm, unaffectionate hug.

Make no mistake, this woman was not embracing you. She was feeling you. Comparing the shape of your body today to the shape of your body three days ago.

Luckily for you, you passed.

Mrs. Cunningham promptly pulled away. “You look healthy.”

“I swallowed a tapeworm.”

“Oh…” Mrs. Cunningham gave your chin a light pinch. “Good for you, sweetie!”

You rolled your eyes and went upstairs to Chrissy’s bedroom.

“Okay, your mom seriously just tried to measure my body fat with her bare hands! No offense, Chris, but your mom has officially gone batshit.”

Chrissy sighed. “Tell me about it…” She was sitting on her bed and painting her toenails teal to match her prom dress. When you sat down beside her, she put down the nail polish and turned to you with a sad, empathetic smile. “I’m really sorry about Chance.”

You shrugged. “Whatever, I’m over it.”

“No, you’re not.” Chrissy saw right through you, as usual.

“No, I’m not,” you said in a low voice, causing your eyes to well up again. You let a few tears trickle down your cheek, then knuckled the rest away. “God… I was really looking forward to tonight, Chris. I thought it was gonna be kinda special, you know?” You snuffled a few times. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting a Pretty in Pink moment or anything.”

“Oh, I love that movie,” Chrissy said, smiling a toothy smile.

You laughed. “I know you do.”

“We need to watch that again soon.”

“Well, I’m free tonight,” you joked, and Chrissy gave you a pouty look that said, Stop it, so you did. “Like I said, I wasn’t expecting Pretty in Pink, but I guess I just wanted a smidgen of that, you know? Just a fraction of it. Not the whole pie, just a little sliver to get me through these last couple weeks of school. I wanted one great, totally cliched high school experience so that, come graduation, I can finally close this chapter of my life with a smile. Or at least a smirk. I could settle for a smirk.”

Instead, you frowned. “I guess I should have known better, huh?”

Chrissy scooted closer to you. “No, don’t do that. Don’t do that thing where you think the universe is out to get you because it isn’t, okay? Look at me. Hey, look at me.”

She grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to look into her eyes. In them, you saw a glistening pool of unshed tears.

“A bad thing happened,” she said in a quiet, broken voice. “It was a really, really bad thing, and I’m so sorry it happened to you tonight. Believe me, hun, if I could go back in time and change it, I would. You know I would. But we can’t change it. We can’t. And I know every part of you wants to run away right now, to spend the rest of the night holed up in your room watching Prom Night and Carrie and cursing us all into oblivion—”

“Don’t forget the voodoo doll I plan to make of Chance Gallagher.” You made a frantic stabbing motion with your hand.

“Yes, of course, the inevitable voodoo doll…” Chrissy gave you a tired, affectionate look. “But you know what? If you do that, if you shut yourself out like you did last year, you’ll only be hurting yourself.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Chance may have flaked on you, but you can still have a great night. You will have a great night. We will have a great night, and do you know why? Because we always have a great time together. Right?”

You smiled. “Right.”

Then Chrissy drew you in for a much-needed hug, holding you close until you were ready to let go.

“Anyway…” She turned back around. “You’re not the only one having a bad day, you know. I woke up with a huge zit this morning.”

“Oh my god… do your parents know?”

“Shut up,” Chrissy said, and gave you a half-hearted slap. “I’m nervous.”

“About what? The prom vote?”

“No… you know I don’t care about that. I’m nervous about after prom.” She looked down at her painted toenails, blushing. “Jason said he got a room.”

Your heart jumped into your throat. “Really?”

Chrissy nodded demurely, her big blue eyes shaded by long brown lashes.

“So are you two finally gonna…?”

“I don’t know,” Chrissy said, suddenly afraid. “That’s why I’m nervous.”

After that, she pulled her knees into her chest and went quiet for a while. Your first thought was, Well, at least I don’t have to worry about that, and that made you a little sad.

You had your first kiss when you were fifteen.

It was at Katie McDillon’s New Year’s Eve party. You spent most of the night sitting in front of the snack table, sandwiched between Teddy Brubacher and Edith Layne. Edith had to remain seated on account of her broken leg (ice skating accident); Teddy just wanted to keep talking to you… and stare at your chest when he thought you weren’t looking. You ate half the bowl of chips because small talk made you uncomfortable. Chrissy spent the whole night in the arms of Jason Carver. They weren’t officially dating yet, but you knew it was only a matter of time.

As midnight drew near, Katie turned the lights off and everyone chanted, “Three, two, one…” and Teddy Brubacher wished you a Happy Near Year. Then he kissed you. It was a fine kiss, soft but not sloppy, but it didn’t make you feel any type of way.

While Teddy was kissing you, you saw Jason kiss Chrissy for the first time, their silhouettes softly illuminated by moonlight. It was like one of those perfect, slow-motion movie kisses, and they kept kissing even after the lights came back on. Teddy asked you out while “Holiday” by Madonna played on the living room stereo. You turned him down without even looking at him, and he said you were nothing but a big tease.

That was the last time you ever listened to Madonna and the first time you felt truly jealous of your best friend.

Tonight was the second.

Because there Chrissy was in the perfect prom dress with the perfect prom date, taking perfect picture after perfect picture.

Mrs. Cunningham kept butting in with a stern “Chrissy, stop slouching, dear,” and Chrissy would always sigh, stand up a little straighter, then look over at you and roll her eyes.

Jason presented Chrissy with a beautiful white orchid corsage and tied it onto her left wrist. Afterwards, she shyly pinned a matching boutonnière onto his left lapel. Her hands were shaking because she was afraid she might accidentally stab him with the pin. Then she reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Mr. Cunningham went around capturing everything with his camcorder. He put the camera in front of you once, and you covered your face with your hand. Such sweet teenage memories…

You were standing off to the side, in the farthest corner, feeling self-conscious in your strapless dress and worrying if people would notice the small amount of back fat that bulged out from underneath the bodice. And now you felt a little like an asshole because you knew you were about to ruin their perfect evening. Because whether she meant to or not, Chrissy was going to spend most of the night by your side, making sure you were happy, and Jason would be left wondering why his prom date wasn’t spending any time with him.

But as always, he was a good sport about it.

While Chrissy went upstairs to change jewelry, Jason came over and kissed your cheek, said you looked very beautiful in your prom dress.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to blush, to get swept up in the fantasy of Jason Carver, captain of the basketball team, thinking you were beautiful. Deep down, you knew he didn’t really mean it, not like he did with Chrissy, but you thanked him anyway.

“Sorry you’re stuck with a third wheel tonight.”

Jason looked at you like you were crazy. “You kidding? I’m the luckiest guy in the world right now… I get to take two gorgeous girls to prom. Now, I don’t see a reason to be sorry about that. Do you see a reason to be sorry about that?”

You shook your head, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

“Good,” he said, and handed something to you.

It was a corsage. Jason Carver actually bought you a corsage… and now he was taking it out of the box and tying it onto your left wrist, making you hate yourself more and more.

“I know it doesn’t really match your dress,” he said, “but it’s the best I could do on short notice. Do you like it?”

“I do,” you said, but inside you were dying.

And now Eddie Munson was starting to think he’d made a huge mistake.

He was sitting in his van outside the banquet hall, watching all the couples enter the building. The girls came in floor-length gowns and cocktail dresses, complete with ruffles and bows and lace, and so much tulle. The guys followed them around in black and white tuxedos, looking like a bunch of penguins marching to their inevitable doom.

Eddie drummed his hands on the steering wheel, the anxiety building inside him. “Shit, am I really doing this right now? Am I doing this?” He glanced to his right, where his electric guitar was resting safely in its case. “All right, talk to me, sweetheart. Give me your wisdom. Am I doing this? Am I going in there? Fuuuck!” He gripped the steering wheel hard, tried to shake it, then smashed his fist against it. “I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this? This was a terrible idea!”

Eddie put his hand on the gearshift, ready to put the van in reverse… then withdrew his hand and collapsed against his seat. He closed his eyes and took a few deep, deep breaths. “Okay, I just need to calm down. I need… I need… what the hell do I need?”

He reached over and opened his glove box, hoping to find something to take the edge off, but—“Goddammit!”—it was empty. He flipped it closed and sat back again.

“You know what…?” he said at last. “Fuck it, let’s rip off this Band-Aid.” He pushed open the door and stepped out, beginning his final march. “Here we go… to victory or to death.”

Near the banquet hall entrance, Eddie spotted Jeff and Grant standing with their prom dates. Grant’s date was frantically dabbing his tuxedo jacket with a tissue and blubbering about a tiny, barely noticeable barbecue sauce stain.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You were determined to ruin my prom pictures.”

Grant rolled his eyes. “Yes, Meg, I’ve been plotting against you the whole time.”

She jabbed his chest with her index finger. “Hey, I told you not to order the ribs! I told you!”

Tara said, “At least you guys got to sit down and eat somewhere nice. Jeff here forgot to make dinner reservations. So instead of my steak dinner, which he promised, I got to dine on a greasy hamburger and stale fries… in a parking lot.”

“And it was a pretty damn good burger, wasn’t it?” said Jeff. “You certainly ate it—along with half my onion rings.” He turned and saw Eddie approaching from the parking lot, wearing a black suit jacket over a t-shirt and ripped jeans. He put up his hand to wave. “Hey, man! You made it!”

Eddie went to join them, feeling uncomfortable and underdressed.

Tara took one look at him and said, “You didn’t rent a tux? Even Jeff rented a tux… He forgot to make dinner reservations, but he at least rented a tux.”

Jeff said, “Oh my god, you’ve gotta get over that already.”

“Hey, I don’t have to do anything. Okay?”

Meanwhile, Megan took ten steps back and shrieked, “Oh my god, I can see the stain from over here!”

That’s when Grant finally lost it. “I WILL RIP THESE TICKETS IN HALF! I SWEAR TO GOD, I’LL DO IT!”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me to prom, buddy!”

“I NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D SAY YES!”

And that’s when Eddie Munson was struck by a horrifying revelation.

“Shit…”

He had forgotten to buy a prom ticket.

_____________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

[aristrocrat]

Upside Down Feelings 3

Chapter One: Suzie, Do You Copy?

summary: Robin and Steve cheer Y/N up after her little run in with Eddie

word count: 3070

“Jesus..” You grumbled, looking past Steve’s train wreck of an attempt to pick up a girl and seeing your ex walking around with yet another girl in Star Court.

“I know. It’s just embarrassing at this point,” Robin pursed her lips with second hand embarrassment, grabbing the tally board and preparing her insult. The girl at the counter looked at Steve with a look of disgust as he handed back her change. “Pathetic, really.”

“No, not that. Eddie’s back in the mall,” You rolled your eyes. Her eyes widened before they followed your gaze. She opened her mouth to say something before you heard Steve’s girl of the hour walk away in a fit of mocking giggles.

Steve sighed and let his head drop in disappointment as the girls walked away giggling.

“Hold that thought for just one second. Hit it, Y/N,” Robin held out the marker about an inch from your lips. You looked up at her with annoyance. Her eyebrows shot up expectedly before you reluctantly sang the bass line to Queen’s song. “And another one bites the dust! You are oh-for-six, Popeye.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can count,” Steve crossed his arms, not missing the way your eyes focused on someone behind him. He frowned, ignoring Robin’s next line to check out what- or who had you in such a trance.

“You know that means you suck!”

“Yeah, I can read, too.”

“Since when?”

“What’s her problem?” He asks Robin, not catching sight of anything out of the ordinary.

“The E-word walked in with girl number three of the week,” She whispered, scrunching her nose.

“Ah,” Steve said quietly.

“I’m literally standing right here,” You scoffed as your attention reverted back to your friends. “I have ears that work, you know. And you don’t have to call him The E-word. I’m over it.”

Steve and Robin gave each other a look before chuckling. “Yeah, alright.”

“What?! I am!” You held out your arms, not understanding why they thought anything else.

“Please,” Steve smirked, leaning his left hip against the counter and lowering his head to make sure he had your undivided attention. “You wanna know how many times I’ve heard you blasting Careless Whisper in the parking lot before you walked into your shift?”

“Steve!” Your cheeks flushed as you watched Robin perk up. She was not going to let that one slide.

“Four. And that’s this week alone.”

“Dude-“

“Careless Whisper?” Robin asked before erupting into uncontrollable laughter. “By Wham?!”

“First of all, it’s a good song-“

“No, it’s not!” They both chimed in.

“Second of all, it’s just George Michael singing. Not Wham-“

“SHE EVEN KNOWS THE DETAILS!” Robin crumbled into the counter below her. She tried to breathe to spew out a half hearted apology. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry! But that’s so funny-“

“You should’ve seen her!” Steve added on. You couldn’t help but laugh along. To their credit, it was incredibly out of character for you to listen to the music that you’ve constantly criticized. Pop Trash was the term you coined for it. “She was all I should’ve know better than to cheat a friend!”

“Steve!” You laughed, reaching over to try to cover his mouth. “Shut up! People are looking!”

He only grabbed your wrists, before singing into them passionately while looking deeply into your eyes. It was the most comical scene you’ve laid eyes on in days; you couldn’t help but giggle.

“And waste a chance that I’ve been given,” He continued as his eyes furrowed upwards as he sang his heart out to the store. “So I’m never gonna dance again!”

“Cut it out!” Your eyes widened as you caught a glimpse of the couple walking towards the store. “SHH! I think they’re walking in!”

“The way I danced with youuu-MMH!” His eyes snapped open as you pulled your hand free and covered his mouth with it. “Mkay! M’ done!”

“Ahoy-“ You began to mutter before a much louder voice boomed over your own.

“Ahoy, mateys! Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me?” Steve shouted over you, making Eddie’s date jump before she giggled nervously. “I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington! Can I get you guys a little taste of the Cherries Jubilee or, my personal favorite, the Jealous Ex-Boyfriend-“

He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Sorry, I meant the Jelly Explosion,” He corrected himself, making Robin snort from behind you. You rubbed your hand across your lips to keep from laughing as you turned on your heels to go to the back. “No? Anybody? Banana Boat? Strawberry Shortcake?”

“The Jelly Explosion pretty sounds good,” The girl looked up at Eddie who managed to squeeze out a tight lipped smile, not wanting to blow his cool demeanor in front of his date.

“Mhm,” He managed to get out.

“I mean, it’s a little sour,” Steve shrugged. “But if that’s what you’re into, I’ll have it out in a jiffy! That’d be three bucks.”

Eddie quickly paid for their ice cream before taking a seat in a nearby booth. Steve scooped a flavor into an ice cream boat and handed it to them before they got up and left to eat it anywhere else.

“I’ll erase a You Suck point for that. That was good!” Robin laughed before you both clapped. Steve took off his hat to take a bow, thanking you as if he’d just won a reward.

“Do we even have a flavor called Jelly Explosion?” You asked with a smile.

“Pft- No,” He replied. “Those motherfuckers got Jelly Bean.”

“ANOTHER POINT FOR GIVING THEM OUR WORST FLAVOR!” Robin shouted as she used her finger to erase another point.

“If only he could be that quick witted when it came to girls,” You pouted sarcastically as you grabbed your purse and keys.

“You see how she treats me?” His jaw dropped as he looked at your best friend. “Not even a thank you!”

“Thank you, Stevie. I owe you one,” You ruffled his hair with a grin. He grumbled something about his hairstyle as you waved goodbye. “I’m clocking out for the day. I have an early morning. Gonna go pick up Steve’s best friend from summer camp.”

“I thought we were having a movie night tonight,” Robin followed behind you. You shrugged. “Not up for it anymore?”

“Not after girl number three,” You smiled sadly, making her face fall. She nodded nonetheless, giving you a hug before you walked out of the store. “See you tomorrow?”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” She confirmed. You saluted with two fingers before making your exit. Steve walked out of the back just in time to wave goodbye. “I have a feeling we’re going to hear her play Careless Whisper for the rest of the summer… We need to get her a rebound.”

“A rebou- Wha- Hold on. Why does she need a rebound?” Steve stammered quickly. “She doesn’t need a rebound!“

“Maybe Billy Hargrove? What happened to Billy anyway?“

“Yeah, no. He’s an abusive and racist piece of shit,” Steve scoffed, leaning against the counter once again. “Look, she doesn’t need a rebound. What she needs is a pick-me-up. What do girls normally do to get over a guy?”

“Get under another,” She shrugged.

“Besides that!” Steve’s face scrunched up in disgust.

“I don’t know! I’ve never had to do that before!” Robin shouted. “According to the movies, ice cream, alcohol, and hanging out with friends.”

“Alcohol, huh?” Steve looked off in thought for a moment. “Now that I can get behind.”

———

“I don’t know, Mom,” You spoke as you finished drying the last dish, putting it back in the cabinet. “It’s not that I miss him romantically, you know? I just miss having him around. God, I wish I never would’ve dated him.. This sucks.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around, sweetie,” Your mother smiled as she placed another trash bag in the bin. “If he goes out of his way to visit you at the mall, I’m sure a simple explanation would go a long way. An a damn good apology.”

“That explanation would be anything but simple,” You muttered under your breath.

“What was that?”

“I doubt an explanation and apology would ever make him want to be my friend again,” You offered as you took a seat on the couch, allowing your cat to settle on your lap. You mindlessly stroked its fur as you continued to speak. “He was in love with me. And I broke his heart. You can’t just bounce back from something like that.. Especially after six months.”

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “He’s a very sweet boy. A forgiving one. If he really loved you, I think he could find it in his heart to forgive you. There are times in life where we find soulmates in platonic relationships. It's easy to get them confused with romantic ones. You aren’t the first to apologize for breaking a friend’s heart. And you wouldn’t be the first to be forgiven for it.”

“What if he wasn’t just platonic?” You asked, turning your body to face her as you gave her your full attention. “How do you know?”

“You just do,” She smiled, likely remembering the love she shared with her late husband. “There will be this feeling in your stomach, like a swarm of molten hot butterflies fluttering around. He’ll make your chest squeeze just by doing small things like fixing his hair or trying to cheer you up. It’ll be an unavoidable chemistry that you can't fight against. And you’ll fit together perfectly. When you meet the guy that is willing to do anything for you – the one that you’re sure you can’t live without, that’s how you’ll know you found the one. That’s your twin flame-“

Her words were disrupted by the harsh sound of knocking paired with the chime of your doorbell. You both gave each other a look of confusion. You weren’t expecting anyone, and you haven’t had many visitors come by since Dustin left for summer camp and you got a job. You got up and made your way to the door, swinging it open to reveal no other than your two coworkers holding a pizza, a case of cheap beer, and a rented movie. They were in the middle of bickering before you cleared your throat.

“Henderson!“

“Y/N, we brought you pizza!” Robin grinned, holding up the box.

“And beer,” Steve smiled, holding up the case.

“I see that,” You chuckled, leaning against your doorframe. “Why?”

“To help you get over your broken heart,” Robin blinked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Duh. It was Steve’s idea.”

She pushed past you, waving at your mother and setting down the pizza on the coffee table.

“Your idea, huh?” You smiled softly, feeling those oh-so familiar molten butterflies your mother was talking about. “I thought you had a date tonight, Harrington.”

“I canceled,” He shrugged. “Priorities.”

“I’m a priority?”

“Woah, woah, woah. Hey, don’t get a fat head, Henderson,” He smirked, brushed past you as he walked into your house. He kept his eyes on you at all times, not noticing your mother on the couch. “My priorities, in order, are pizza, beer, and Blade Runner-“

“I’m not watching Blade Runner.”

“You have no taste. Lucky for you, we also got The Breakfast Club,” He held up the VHS in his hand. “So let’s eat and get tipsy while we watch a movie! It’s the best way to cure a broken heart. Tried and approved by millions!”

“I have to pick Dustin up in the morning.”

“I’ll take care of that, sweetie,” Your mother finally chimed in. Steve’s eyes widened as he quickly tried to hide the beers behind his back. She simply laughed. “Don’t get too drunk and don’t do anything stupid. I’ll let you drink this one time if you give me one of those beers.”

“Deal!” Steve smiled, handing your mom the unopened one in his hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Henderson. We’ll be responsible.”

She smiled and nodded before mouthing ‘He’s cute!’ with wide eyes and a smile. You blushed when you heard Steve chuckle.

“Okay, Mom! Goodnight!” You said quickly.

“Goodnight, kiddos!”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Henderson!” Your friends called.

“Who says Steve Harrington can’t pull chicks?” Robin smirked. “He’s got your mom wrapped around his finger.”

“Okay! Ew!”

“I do, don’t I?” Steve chuckled. “Lookin’ for a new daddy, Henderson?”

“Lookin’ for another beating, Harrington?” You frowned, making them laugh. “What movies did you guys end up renting anyway?”

“You’ve heard of Jessie’s Girl, wait til you hear about Henderson’s Mom,” Robin chuckled, earning a high five from Steve as they took residence on your couch.

“I will shake every single can in this case if you make another comment about my mom,” You warned, making them laugh again. You flipped through the four movies they brought and plopped The Breakfast Club in your VHS player before taking the middle spot on the couch.

You all chatted and giggled and chugged several beers during the first thirty minutes of the movie. As interested as you all were in the movie, your tired bodies eventually gave out. Robin fell asleep in your lap and your very sleepy head fell upon Steve’s shoulder. He felt himself smile at the sight.

He used his free hand to move the hair out of your face and chuckled softly at the way you scrunched your nose. You struggled to find a good position until he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you settled comfortably into him.

He couldn’t help but fixate on the lightened scar on your brow that you acquired during the fight with Billy only six months prior. His thumb softly rubbed over the slit of hairless skin that split your eyebrow, feeling a pang of guilt for not being able to protect you that night.

“Mm’ tickles,” You frowned as you buried your face deeper into his shoulder. He chuckled.

“Okay, sorry,” He smiled before he rested his head on your own and allowed himself to drift off as the soft sounds of the movie continued to coax you all into a deep sleep.

———

You all awoke the the harsh sound of banging. You three jumped up, groaning as you stretched out your stiff limbs.

“Who the hell is knocking at..” Steve rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before looking at your clock. “Jesus, nine in the morning.”

“My brother’s friends,” You sighed, pushing Robin off of you before you walked over to the door, opening it to reveal five excited kids. “Oh, great. You’re all here. Keep it down while we drink our coffee, would you?”

They all frowned in confusion as Steve walked up behind you to see who was at the door.

“Jesus, you guys sure do knock loudly for having such small hands,” He grumbled before looking down at you. “Coffee’s been made. Want some?”

“Oh. Did we interrupt something, Y/N?” Max smirked. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Just our weekly Kid-Haters-Anonymous meeting,” Robin shouted from the kitchen before she peaked her head around the corner. “You’re just in time for the sacrificial ritual. Any volunteers?”

“I vote Red,” Steve smiled, making her face drop.

“Come in,” You giggled, moving aside as the weary kids took their spots on the couch. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of your hair soon. We have a shift at 11:00.”

“You are not joining our Welcome Back party?” Eleven voiced her concern.

“Nope,” Steve asked as he helped you quickly cleaned up the small mess you left in the living room. “You guys want some beer?”

They all stared at him blankly.

“That was a joke,” You chuckled along with Steve as you cleared out the last of the empty beer cans into the trash bag in his hands.

“Oh,” They breathed.

“Right, well, uh,” Steve turned to face you, feeling a bit awkward as the kids all stared at the both of you without shame. “I’m gonna head out so I can get ready. Are you taking Robin today or am I?”

“I got her,” You muttered as you took the trash out of his hands. “See you at 11:00?”

“Yup,” He nodded, shooting you a soft smile as he grabbed his keys and walked towards the front door.

You watched as he stopped at the mirror next to your door. His longer fingers skillfully brushed through his hair as he attempted to tame his mane, making your stomach do more flips than an Olympic gymnast. His lips were still a little swollen from his slumber, eyes droopy from the lack of sleep. That’s when you remembered the night before.

There will be this feeling in your stomach, like a swarm of molten hot butterflies fluttering around. He’ll make your chest squeeze just by doing small things like fixing his hair or trying to cheer you up.

You blinked at the realization as he continued to work through his locks. You’d fallen asleep in his arms the night before and it felt so.. natural. You were honestly a bit surprised that your neck or back didn’t hurt from the position, but it was almost as if you fit perfectly into one another like a puzzle.

It’ll be an unavoidable chemistry that you can't fight against. And you’ll fit together perfectly.

“No fucking way..” You muttered under your breath.

“Huh?” Steve turned around to face you.

“What?” Your eyes widened. “Nothing! I didn’t say anything.”

A small smile crept up on his lips as the expression you wore, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he debating asking about it before he finally decided to open the door and take his leave. “I’ll see you later, Henderson.”

“You are blushing,” Eleven stated as the door closed, making her friends giggle.

“And you guys are getting on my last nerve,” You huffed before marching to your room to get ready for your shift. As you tossed on your uniform, you convinced yourself it was simply the sleep deprivation talking earlier.

When you meet the guy that is willing to do anything for you – the one that you’re sure you can’t live without, that’s how you’ll know you found the one. That’s your twin flame.

That was ridiculous. Nothing more than the words of a hopeless romantic.

Steve Harrington was not the one. And most definitely was not your twin flame… He couldn’t be.

Right?

———

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[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Fifteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 15 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One][Part Two][Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six][Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight][Part Nine][Part Ten][Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] Part Fifteen [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

The tournament takes advantage of the longer hours of daylight as the summer equinox approaches.

Soon enough, the jousting winner is declared—the knight from Nocant barely loses Alry, who had defeated Dale in the original non-tiered jousting round. Still, while there is an archery winner and now there is the jousting winner, the final winner of the tournament is the melee winner.

The knights are split into groups based on how well they did in the first two rounds. Dale will be competing in the champion’s ring which consists of the final four jousters and the three most skilled archers. Then there is another ring for the second tier ranked archers and jousters—twelve in total. Everyone else who participated in both rounds and who wishes to continue is placed in the final, largest melee ring. Purses and rewards will be given to various winners, of all three rounds and rings, with the winner of the champion’s melee ring being declared the winner of the tournament as a whole.

Lady Northridge as the host of the tournament would be the primary presenter of the prizes, however, as the tournament was in honor of the upcoming wedding and you are both one of said betrothed couple and not competing yourself, you will also present certain awards. As such, after leaving the jousting stands and afternoon meal at the high table, you are seated with Grandmother, one of the judges from the archery tournament, and one of the judges from the jousting tournament. Only Grandfather had also accompanied you from the group you’d watched the previous tournaments. 

You’re not sure you want to watch this melee anymore than the joust, although there is at least less horsepower and speed involved. It was far too easy for you to picture one of the competitors accidentally running another through with their lance. Not that it isn’t difficult to picture someone being fatally injured in melee, but you’ve watched practice matches and arms training with far more frequency, so it seems like it carries less of a risk.

Due to the way the different melee rings are chosen, the other rings are more dangerous than the champions ring due to the sheer number of combatants. Alliances tended to form between knights—likely hashed out in the break between jousting and melee—and they went on for longer, and so the competitors were more likely to make a mistake. The champions’ arena is the smallest ring, but still by far had a larger knight to square foot ratio. This gave a chance for a better exhibition of skill rather than luck or numbers. 

There are three primary ways to be stricken from the lists in the melee. Most obviously, if you are knocked unconscious. Secondly, if you are thrown from the ring. Fence height varies across tournaments, but as these fences are around waist height it’s technically a viable strategy . Finally, if any knight surrendered—at sword-point from another or simply because they no longer wished to continue—they could do so. Generally, only those injured removed themselves voluntarily once the melee had begun or else they were seen as cowardly or with no confidence in their skill. 

Those only skilled in archery or jousting and not in melee could withdraw at any time between rounds—archery with the most participants overall and the most who subsequently withdrew as even older knights might still be skilled enough with a bow even if no longer on horseback. It all depended on what type of bow they used in the tournament.

You’re grateful not to have to watch the other melees. There’s simply not enough room in these temporary stands to accommodate all three rings—in fact, they’re taking place on the outskirts of the fair where there is free space for both the rings and the crowds to watch. The other judges from the previous rounds are watching over those, baring the two here. Due to the limited stands around the champions’ ring, relatives and friends of the champions and other nobility are the ones who fill the majority of seats. You can see Dale’s cousins in the left stands, gossiping with Northridge’s neighboring nobles and some merchants. 

Your eyes are drawn back down to the ring, the champions having arrived a few moments ago. Instead of plate mail, all combatants will be wearing chain mail and all weapons will be blunted accordingly. You’ll likely only be able to track Dale due to the blue, black, and white that are his family colors on his tunic. Each has their pick from a variety of weapons for close range combat, provided by Northridge for the tournament.

You watch as Dale selects a sword as do three of the others, although one chooses a curved sword more popular in the south, and the remaining competitors select a battle ax, a scythe, and the final a mace. All still have daggers in their belt and solid wooden bucklers for shields. The chain mail they wear should be enough to prevent serious injuries. Still, some of your fears from the jousting: about Dale giving himself away, about him getting hurt, about him hurting one of the others.

You almost hope he gets pushed out of the ring in the first minute, at least then your nerves could relax. A glance around shows that no one else shares your sentiment—Grandfather in particular seems hopeful about Dale’s chances to win. Dale getting to this ring was what was in question since he doesn’t joust particularly often. He trains with the sword every day though and has started to do so again after he recovered. Families of those who host these tournaments don’t always win, but there is more pressure on them to make a good showing. And this one is in his, and your, honor on top of all that.

With all the weapons selected and the champions looking ready, Grandmother stands up. You can’t hear a word of her short speech—it's so similar to the others already given and you’re tense in your seat, eyes fixed on Dale. But your mind isn’t on this melee. Instead, you know that in a short span, it’ll be over—this first official start of the wedding festivities—your wedding festivities. 

How can that knowledge keep catching you off guard? How can you keep feeling surprised, and a little confused, about your own wedding? And why is Dale, with all his changes, not the part that worries you the most? In fact, even with the additional worries his condition invites, when you think of him, you mostly feel relieved. He feels the most real out of all of it, makes you feel the least like a child pretending and daydreaming.

This melee will happen, and you’ll help award prizes, and then tomorrow there will be the first true ball for your wedding, and then it will be your wedding.

And then it will be…well, the rest of your life.

You jump when the trumpet sounds and the fight begins.

The first few minutes after the starting trumpet are the most chaotic as it is when there are the most combatants in the greatest proximity, at least that’s what you remember hearing from fellow students who had seen far more tournaments than you had. That certainly seems to be true and you can barely track who goes where and who attacks who first, the dust they kick up proving unhelpful as is the sluggish way your mind struggles to refocus on what’s happening right in front of you as they all move and try to scatter and guard simultaneously.

Dale seems to primarily be fighting defensively, but he’s staked out a, well, not a corner since the arena is circular, but a section of the fence he’s claimed for his own, trying to keep his back to the fence as much as he can. Everyone has instinctively paired off to some extent as Nocant knocked out Yoral’s knight with his ax nearly as soon as combat started. He’d moved almost too fast for you to really watch more than Yoral crumple to the ground. He’d certainly seemed like a large threat as the runner up to the joust so that prediction seems to be holding true.

Mindry is the closest to Dale and he’s practically ignored the other knight near him to follow Dale—perhaps he wanted the prestige of defeating the man of the hour. You also aren’t sure which of these knights Dale used to know personally. You know none of these here traveled with him during those years abroad, but the majority are local and therefore likely went to primary schooling or even trained to be knights in the King’s service with him. Everyone in the champion’s ring is within an age—the very young not having the skills and the older not having the physical stamina or the interest for tournaments. It is generally considered the game of the relatively young and unmarried. 

Mindry certainly seems to be going after Dale with strong intent. Dale catches his sword on his buckler, and Dale tries to use the shield to wrench the weapon from his hand. Unfortunately, the blunted weapon isn’t sharp enough to get stuck in the thick wood and Mindry steps back easily. Dale waits him out, though, not chasing after him and giving up his guarded back.

Sure enough, Mindry can’t stay away and closes in again, but this time Dale doesn’t bother trying to catch him. He turns to the side to avoid a jab, strikes with his sword to get Mindry’s at the wrong angle, and knocks his shield into Mindry’s hard enough the other man falls to the floor. Before he can finish getting either his sword or buckler back up, Dale’s sword is at his throat. 

You’re glad that the rules dictate no one can attack one knight while they hold another at sword point because Mindry takes longer than you think to drop his sword in surrender. While he hops over the fence to leave the ring, Dale turns back to survey his remaining opponents. 

Hilium’s facing off against Alry, her eyes on his heavy mace while he watches her quick sword movements. They exchange passes every few seconds, but neither has a clear advantage as they circle each other. 

Meanwhile, the knight from Tiffin has staked out a section of the fence similar to Dale, with Nocant coming at her. He seems intent on pressing his height advantage, backing Tiffin back against the fence surrounding the ring. She hooks her weapon behind his buckler, cutting through the strap keeping it attached to his arm. Barely reacting to the loss of his shield, Nocant surprises everyone—not just you—when he steps into Tiffin’s body instead of backing off or trying to recover his shield like she expected.

Dale’s edging towards the dueling Hilium and Alry as Nocant and Tiffin are on the other side of the arena. It’s clear he’s trying to watch both fights and you’ve found another reason to be grateful he’s so covered in chain mail so that no extra eyes pop up to try to help, or if they do, they’re hidden.

Nocan smacks Tiffin’s hand holding the scythe and bringing the flat of the ax down on her head—hard. She staggers and Nocant avoids her swipe with the scythe she’s managed to hold onto and jabs with the ax. Despite catching it on her buckler, she’s still badly disoriented by the blow he landed to her head and he manages to shove her over the fence railing.

“You are skilled with the ax, are you not, my Lady?” the other judge from the jousting tournament remarks from your right. You’re confused for a moment before you follow her gaze to Grandmother on your other side.

Grandmother cackled, eyes still squinting through her glasses at the ring as Dale switches his stance to prepare for the now free Nocant. “My illustrious husband does encourage that impression, does he not? No, despite his sweet name for me, I was trained with the sword only and lost that skill many decades ago. I’ve no taste for weaponry nor any ability with them.”

“Then why…?” Lady Spir leans around Grandmother to peer at Grandfather.

He grins back at her unashamedly and guffaws. “I began to refer to my wife as my ‘battle-axe’ in our time in the senate, as with her sharp tongue at our disposal I had no need for any weaponry to cut down dissenters. Unlike even my own skill with the sword, the edge of her weapon remains honed and the force behind it still able to cleave those she disagrees with in twain.” He pulls Grandmother’s hand, which he was already holding, up to his mouth so he can press a kiss to it.

The two of them really are quite sweet, you think to yourself as you look back to the arena where Dale left his spot to get between Nocant and his buckler. Nocant seems to decide that his only option is rush Dale. Luckily, Dale stands his ground, not letting the other knight back him into Alry or Hilium. He catches the ax on his shield and thrusts with his sword that Nocant only partially manages to dodge. Nocant tries to land another strike with the ax, aiming for Dale’s head, but Dale ducks and then shoves Nocant hard in the chest with his buckler.

Nocant lets out a bellow when Dale manages to drive him all the way back to the fence, despite the weight Nocant has on him and the blow he manages to land on Dale’s back. Dale surges back up, his buckler going under Nocant’s chin and his sword catching under the head of his ax, stopping a strike midway through. Nocant tries to disengage, but Dale twists his sword just right to send it flying. 

Nocant surrenders quicker than Mindry, knowing he’s got nothing left to defend himself. You bite back a cry when Alry crashes into Dale, knocking him to the ground. You’d been so caught up in his fight, you’d forgotten about the other one going on only a couple yards away. Dale rolls the unconscious Alry off of him and gets his buckler up in time to intercept a truly powerful looking downward blow from Hilium’s mace.

Dale pushes the other man’s weapon away from him and scoots backward before lurching to his feet unsteadily. Even once on his feet, he seems unsteady, shaking his head briefly and taking a few staggered steps even as his sword is able to meet Hilium’s weapon this time. You abruptly remember how Dale’s balance has been off sporadically since the incident, how he’d made a passing comment about being on horseback helping, but there always seems to be the possibility of issues when on his own feet. He claimed there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his lack of balance which is why he simply carried his cane everywhere, but you doubt any of this combat has helped.

The men end up hilt to hilt, buckler to buckler for a moment, just shoving against one another before disengaging, Hilium’s retreat more controlled while Dale’s footwork remains just a bit unsteady. Grandfather mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words, a roaring in your ears as you watch them each jab at the other, a furious dance of dodging and clashes kicking up dust. 

Why did you ever think watching them actually fight would be less stressful than the joust? You barely feel like you’ve breathed since the trumpet went off, your hands are clenched so tightly in your skirts that they ache. Especially since Dale only seems to be getting further unbalanced as they continue to duel, each miss seems closer than the last until Hilium lunges forward with a triumphant cry. 

Dale bends all the way back at the waist, but doesn’t fall over. In fact, he hooks his shield under Hilium’s already badly positioned buckler, uses his sword to keep the mace away and uses his leverage to pull Hiliums shield arm, and the rest of him, over the fence you now realize he’d been steering them towards. He nearly wrenches his own with the move, and it results in both knights on their backs on the ground—but Dale is in the arena and Hilium is not.

Applause fills the stands as Dale’s squire hurries over to help him to his feet, Hilium’s doing the same behind him. You follow Grandmother to her feet as trumpets sound the end of the champions melee. 

A flurry of activity fills the ring, doctors and squires attending to the knights while a Northridge flag is raised over the stands, resulting in a second cry from the people around the outskirts of this arena. You slump back in your seat, feeling worn out for someone who’s done nothing but watch anxiously for the majority of the day. 

Once all the knights are free of their armor, mildly cleaned up, and conscious once more they arrange themselves in front of the host section of stands. It’s time for their rewards.

Grandmother, Grandfather, the two judges and yourself all stand yourselves to acknowledge them, walking closer to the knights themselves. Your eyes catch Dale’s as he grins, pleased with himself, and his grin only widens. He’s so obviously happy and proud you feel your expression grow more genuine as you smile back.

Grandmother is speaking, reiterating the prizes won and directing the servants to bring each champion their reward—purses, armor, weapons, and the like. As each competitor in this ring had won earlier, she gives those prizes now, with additional awarded to the last two eliminated in the melee, until only Dale was left. Her smile brightens at her grandson.

“Lord Dale of Northridge, heir apparent and betrothed to whom this tournament is dedicated. How lucky are you to have done so well in your own honor,” she proclaimed, her smile broadening at the crowd's laughter. “It is my pleasure to present to you this sword, a family heirloom I am relieved shall stay with Northridge—though of course I would have been pleased to present it to whoever was worthy. Originally, this sword belonged to my grandparent, to whom this estate was rewarded by Queen Sara the Second to increase our holdings as a reward for his service to the crown. This sword was commissioned and forged by Derryn of Northridge to be worthy of our expanded holdings.”

“Unfortunately,” Grandmother continues as you take a moment to admire the clear way she manages to project her voice, how it both reaches far but also causes others to fall silent. You’re grateful Dale seems to have inherited that quality and that no one expects you to give speeches such as this—at least, not yet. “The sword continued to see heavy use in Derryn’s lifetime, however by their grandchild’s time it was regulated to ceremonial display. In the flood that struck this estate a decade or two ago, it was damaged. In honor of this tournament, we had it restored and honed so it may once more serve the original purpose for which it was created.”

Dales comes forward so she can present the sword to him and he can strap it to his belt. He gives a similar but shorter reply—the words of gratitude from the winner dictated by tradition, but your thoughts are diverted because the final award was your own to give, both the physical and the privilege to the tournament winner which you are more than grateful is Dale. 

You would have had to have at least one dance with the winner at the dinner tomorrow and you are relieved to have the number of champions to dance with down to only the other two and Dale, with whom you expect the majority of your dances to be with as it is. 

Ceremonial crowns of woven laurels and flowers are the traditional prize, from when the very first contests of strengths began centuries ago. As the other for whom the tournament was for, it falls to you rather than Grandmother to bestow.

As Grandmother’s speech about Northridge and tradition and honor that she began after Dale finished his thanks wound down, you look to see if they’ve brought out the wreaths yet. To your surprise, Grandfather is the one who is coming over with the servants carrying the wreaths. You don’t know why that makes your spine straighten, he’d helped direct the armor given as well, but it does. Maybe it's the way his eyes dart to yours, a practiced blankness to them that he never used to have, and then away.

Your eyes land on the wreaths themselves, trying to push aside your trepidation. At least the crowns are obvious in which should be awarded to who. The one with blue flowers is nearly identical to the one with red flowers, both smaller and with fewer flowers woven in amongst the laurel branches. The champion's crown had to be the one with blue, red, and yellow flowers and was more elaborate than the others. 

You pick up the blue wreath the footman holds out to you and at Grandmother’s prompt, walk over to Yoral to bestow the wreath for his winning of the archery tournament. “Congratulations on your victory,” you say formally, focusing mostly on keeping your voice steady rather than particularly loud. Yoral lowers his head so you can place it as you continue, “Bear this symbol of your ability proudly and with great honor.”

He bows carefully to you and Grandmother, before bowing to the crowd and stepping back with the others. As he does so, you accept the red wreath from Grandfather’s squire, your gaze briefly stalling on the champion’s crown for only an extra second before you turn back around to walk over to Alry, winner of the jousting tournament.

As you repeat the same words and actions, your mind is stuck on the differences between the wreaths. The champion wreath has the same flowers as the others, but it also has one or two additional flowers in blue and red woven in that strike you as odd.

When you turn back for the final time to accept the crown, you are ready to analyze the flowers, grateful for your at least medicinal herbal knowledge as you slowly walk over. For blue flowers, borage is a common herb used with wine to soften memories, with certain people believing it dispelled forgetfulness and sadness on its own. It had no business in this crown. Blood sage is another that is not prestigious enough to be in such a crown and did have rumored cleansing properties—although the portion of the book you’d managed to read disputed that belief heavily, advising against counting on it to do much of anything. 

Finally, the yellow flower mullien did not suit either—not to mention there was only one spring of it rather hastily and loosely woven in. In fact, all of these flowers seemed like last moment additions. It took all your self-control not to look at Grandfather as you carefully. Mullien you did not remember reading anything about in the book, but you know it's associated with purification, both spiritually and medicinally. You had taken a few tinctures that included it yourself when you were younger.

You pick up the crown, taking care to wrap your fingers around the blood sage, with the mullien at the bottom. With your finger nail, you dig into the stem. You don’t think a single spring of the herb could hurt Dale, but you don’t want to take the risk. As you come to a stop in front of Dale you can tell you’ve cut through the stem itself with your nail, but it still clings.

“Lord Dale,” you say after swallowing slightly—all the moisture has vacated your mouth in the short walk over and you clear your throat as you look up at him. He certainly doesn’t seem worried or even to truly look at the crown as you continue, “Most congratulations on your victory. Your accomplishments in all three competitions has won you the admiration of the witnesses to this esteemed tournament.” You shake the crown as subtlety as you are able to as you raise it Dale’s lowered head, “Bear this symbol of your prowess so all may know of your talent and skill.” The mullien drops from the crown as you place it on Dale’s head. You quickly step forward, your shoe on top of the flower as you feel a rush of relief. Situated appropriately, you lean back to finish, “And do you honor you have earned.”

You pull back only to have to stifle a gasp as Dale catches your hand. His bright blue eyes catch your own as he presses a kiss to it, similar to how Grandfather had done to Grandmother only a little while ago. To your surprise, you feel heat begin to rise in your cheeks. He’s done so before, why is it flustering you so now? Maybe it's because it seems he’s left his mild suspicion and caution from the tent behind, even if it is only in front of an audience.

“My gratitude, my Lady,” Dale replies, eyes intent. You’re aware everyone around is watching, is listening, but you couldn’t look away if you tried. “This tournament was in honor of us both. What else could I do, but secure our victory?”

[Part Sixteen]

[oh-my-damn]

Diners & Disasters

A/N: Chapter four of Highways & Heatstrokes

Series Summary: After running away from your small hometown you venture out into the vast landscape, in search of a better life in New York City. When you meet truck driver Ari Levinson at a gas station, he offers you a ride, promising to take you as far as he can. But when it inevitably becomes time to part ways, will you follow your head or your heart?

Chapter Warnings: Angst, conflicted feelings, sexual tension, fluff, smoking kink (heheh). SMUT - oral (m receiving), dirty talk, daddy kink, cum talk, degradation, dumbification, praise, unprotected sex.

Word Count: 4400

The beautiful divider is by @firefly-graphics

By the time you wake up, it's dark outside.

Ari is still wrapped tightly around you, his face tucked into your neck, hands holding you close.

Your fingers move over his back and shoulders gently, coaxing him awake as you whisper, "Ari, baby. We need to get up and have some food, it's dark outside."

Ari grumbles tiredly, his beard tickling you when he nuzzles his face into your skin, "We ain't gotta go nowhere, jus' wanna stay right here.."

You chuckle quietly, your lips lifting into a wide smile as you whisper, "I know baby, I do too. But I have a feeling you're gonna be a real grumpy gus if you don't have some food soon, all you had today was a burger and that was hours ago."

Ari huffs in annoyance, his lips trailing kisses down the side of your neck, "If you're hungry you can just say that."

You giggle when his teeth nip at your skin, but it quickly turns into a breathy gasp when he sucks onto the spot, clearly leaving a mark.

He hums as he continues his ministrations, moving a little further down on your neck to leave another one, his teeth biting down as he sucks before his tongue soothes the sore spot.

"I'm used to starving," you breathe out, your fingers sliding up into his hair, tangling in the soft locks, "You aren't."

"How do you know?" he challenges, not even slightly moving from his former spot.

"No one looks that thick and beefy without eating good," you reply with a smirk, "You're built like a fucking tree."

"A tree?" Ari chuckles, one hand gripping your hip tightly, "Don't think I've heard that one before."

"Mhmm," you tease, "A big, beefy, handsome, delicious tree. The kind of tree you just want to climb all day long."

Ari laughs against your neck, finally moving out of the spot to look down at you as he leans on his forearm, "Is that so? You wanna climb me all day long, sugar?"

"Yeah," you whisper, your eyes holding his cerulean ones, brushing your fingers through his hair when it falls in front of his face, "If it were up to me you'd never wear a stitch of clothing and we'd stay in here forever."

Ari smiles down at you, his fingers delicately trailing over your cheek as his smile turns more solemn, "Can't say those kinda things, sugar."

"Why not?"

Sadness flash across his eyes as he quietly replies, "That's the kinda thing you say to make a man fall head over heels for ya, y'know. Shouldn't say those kinda things for fun."

"I'm not." Your brows furrow as you reach up to cup his bearded jaw, "I'm not just saying it, I mean it."

Ari sighs, his hand moving up to cover your own as you cup his cheek more determinedly, "Don't make me think those things, honey. It'll just make it even harder when you leave me."

A pang of guilt runs through you, your eyes scanning his. You've known each other for 24 hours, and normally you'd never even consider any feelings emerging in such a short amount of time, but this is different.

Ari is different.

Your lips part, words at the tip of your tongue that you desperately want to say, but before you get the chance to, he speaks.

"Let's get some food in you, hm? And water. Can't have ya passin' out, I really did a number on you."

He leans down, pecking your lips quickly before he swings his long legs over the edge of the bed to sit up.

You lie back for a second, your mind running a mile a minute, wondering what the hell is happening to you.

You've never been a huge romantic, your past made you not believe in all that shit. So when someone would tell you how, when you know you know, you never believed it was real.

Your eyes flit to Ari, watching the muscles shift in his broad back as he pulls on his briefs, and then they move back to the ceiling.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

You're probably just overthinking everything. Feelings don't develop this fast, it'll pass, and in a couple of years, you'll think back to this with a laugh. How you had a heated encounter with a trucker on your way to New York.

You tug on the hem of Ari's shirt as you walk across the lot to the diner, the one he gave you to put on while you ate dinner. It smells so much like him, it's making your head swim and your stomach flutter.

It goes to the top of your thighs, but you're wearing your jersey shorts underneath as well, otherwise you would have felt too exposed while you were eating among strangers.

Ari glances back at you when you follow behind him, and then he stops in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up. Once you're close enough, his hand reaches out for you, and you take it with a shy smile.

His fingers entwine with yours before he brings your hand up to his lips, placing a few kisses on your knuckles. He smiles warmly at you as you walk hand in hand, and he doesn't let go even when you enter the diner and walk inside.

He pulls you to the back, guiding you to sit inside a booth, and then he takes a seat across from you.

"So, what kinda food are you in the mood for?" He asks as he picks up the menu, eyes quickly scanning it.

You don't mirror his movements. Instead, your eyes linger on his face, and how his long hair falls over his eyes when he tilts it downwards. You watch how his brows furrow and eyes narrow as he looks over his options, and how his lips part as he takes a breath, revealing his plump bottom lip.

It's pink and inviting, glistening when his tongue darts out to wet it.

How did you not sink your teeth into it, earlier? Fuck, you really need to do that.. Soon.

It's so bitable, maybe he wouldn't mind if you just-

"Sugar?"

Your eyes dart up to Ari's, suddenly realizing that he's put his menu back down on the table and is watching you right now.

"Somethin' the matter?"

You shake your head, "No, sorry.. I just got distracted.."

Ari frowns, glancing over his shoulder before he looks back at you, "By what?"

Your lips lift into a shy smile, fingers fidgeting with the menu lying in front of you on the table, "I just saw a really pretty tree and I wanted to look at it.."

Ari looks at you in utter confusion for a second before he suddenly barks out a laugh. He shakes his head, a hand running through his hair, "You're fuckin' adorable."

Your smile widens at the compliment, eyes moving to your menu as you pick it up and mumble, "You're not too bad yourself, Levinson."

You and Ari eat your dinner while laughing and talking. It feels comfortable and natural with him, no awkward silences, nothing holding you back.

He's an open book, really. He answers anything you ask him honestly, he doesn't hide any aspects of himself.

And it's only making those dangerous feelings you're starting to harbor, even more dangerous.

"So, why truck driving?"

Ari shrugs, stealing a fry off your plate, "Wasn't anythin' I planned, really. But I never settled down, I always felt the need to be on the go."

You tilt your head at his words, "What about relationships, did you never have anyone you wanted to stick around for?"

"Not like that," Ari sighs, scratching at his scalp before his fingers move through the long strands, "I had girlfriends when I was younger, but it was never anythin' serious. And I've been truckin' for the past ten years, that makes a relationship hard to keep."

"You haven't dated at all while you've been on the road?"

"No sugar," he chuckles, shaking his head, "I haven't dated."

You quirk a brow at his phrasing, "So you've been doing other stuff, then?"

Ari smirks, shrugging his shoulders, "I mean, I'm not swimming in offers, if that's what you mean. But I haven't exactly been celibate, either."

Ouch.

That hurts. But why?

Perhaps this sort of thing is just what he does; picks up girls that need a ride, spend a few days with them, and then he moves on to the next.

"That's not what this is," he suddenly says when he notices the look on your face, "This isn't just some random hook-up for me, if that's what you're thinkin'."

"That wasn't what I was thinking," you mumble, your eyes focusing on your hands.

"Sugar," Ari sighs, "I don't do this all the time. Certainly not in the last few years. I don't want you to think you're just another notch on my belt, that's not what's happenin' here. I don't usually pick up anyone, and if I do, I certainly don't sleep with them."

"But you just said-"

"I meant when I'd be back home or if I meet someone on those rare occasions when I go out," he murmurs, eyes watching you as you keep your gaze downcast, "I don't pick up girls because I need company."

"Why not?" You ask, looking up at him, "Why don't you sleep with them? Certainly you'd have the opportunity to."

Ari scoffs, "Opportunity to and wantin' to are two very different things, honey."

"But you're alone so much," you interject, "You can't tell me you don't get lonely. I don't blame you for picking up girls and-"

"I don't do that," he interrupts sternly.

"You did it with me," you mumble, looking away from him again.

He frowns, his hand reaching out to take yours, "Hey. I didn't do it with you. I had no intention on followin' any of my urges when it came to you. I didn't offer you a ride with the intention of any of this happenin', and I don't pick up other girls with the intention of it happenin', either. I promise."

You blink for a moment, suddenly realizing that you're acting way out of line. So what, if he picks up girls and fucks them? He's good at it, so good for them, right?

And it's not like it's any of your business, at all. You're just hitching a ride, in a few days you'll be in New York and he'll forget about you and this thing.

Whatever it is.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out in a sigh, "I don't know why I just made that a big deal when it isn't, obviously you can do whatever you want." You shake your head, "I don't know why I said that, it was totally out of line. You can do whatever you'd like, and I don't blame you for needing company from time to time."

His frown deepens when you look up at him. He tilts his head, "What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't be making you apologize, or ask you to make promises, or anything like that. What you do, and with who you do it, is really none of my business, and I don't know why I was acting like it is."

Ari scoffs, making your brows furrow at the sound. He pulls his hand back, folding them on the table, "You don't want it to be any of your business?"

"What? That's not what I said, I just meant-"

"Yeah, I heard you," he mumbles, and before you can even react, he gets up from the booth, "I'm gonna go get some air. The bill is paid."

You watch with a stunned expression as he walks away, and out of the diner, leaving you sitting alone in the empty booth.

You wait for ten minutes, fidgeting anxiously with the hem of his shirt, the one you're still wearing, but when he doesn't return, you get up to find him.

You walk out of the diner hesitantly, wrapping your arms around yourself as your eyes scan the dark parking lot.

You spot his truck, but the light isn't on inside, which makes you assume he must still be out here.

You walk around the diner in search of him, stopping in your tracks when you spot him. He's leaning against the wall of the diner, his head tilted upwards as he blows out cigarette smoke.

You watch him take another drag of his cigarette, exhaling another long breath as his shoulders slump slightly. When you walk closer, you notice that his eyes are closed, brows furrowed in thought.

"Hey," your voice is quiet as you approach him.

"Hey," he replies, keeping his eyes closed and head tilted upwards as he takes another drag.

"Listen, I'm sorry," you start to say, shifting nervously where you stand, "I'm not sure what happened in there, but I didn't mean to-"

"No one I have ever picked up or offered a ride before has been like this."

You stop talking when he speaks, his head moving down as he turns to face you.

"This isn't just some.. Fuck, I don't even know how to put it," he grumbles, tossing the cigarette on the ground before he steps on it with his boot. "This is just different, alright?" He sighs, running both hands through his hair as he looks down at you, "You're different."

"Ari, I-"

"And I don't want you sayin' this is just some random fuck, and that I do this all the time, because I don't. And sayin' it isn't fair to me, and it isn't fair to you, either. And, I think you already know it ain't true, I think we both know it ain't true. I think we both know there's somethin' happening here, and I think you're just as scared as I am to admit that."

You nod meekly, your eyes moving down to look at your feet, "Yeah, I do know. And I am scared."

"I know."

"Ari," you sigh, meeting his baby blues again, "I'm supposed to go to New York and start a new life, but I have no fucking plan for it. Did you know that? Once I get there, I have no plans, no network. I don't know a soul. I've wanted to turn around and go back so many times because I'm so scared of going, I don't know why I even am, anymore. And now you're here, and I just.."

You cover your face with your hands as you mumble, "My head is all over the place and I can't fucking think straight."

Ari takes a step closer, his warm hand rubbing your arm soothingly, "I know, sugar. I can't either."

"This is so ridiculous," you groan into your hands, "We barely even know each other."

Ari chuckles at that, making you drop your hands to look at him.

"You're right. We barely know each other. But you know what I do know?"

He takes another step closer before he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his firm chest. Your hands land on his shoulders, head tilted upwards to look into his eyes, "No, what do you know?"

"I know it feels fuckin' amazing when I have you this close to me," he whispers, his eyes burning into yours, "And I don't know what's gonna happen in a few days, but what I do know is that I wanna spend that time bein' this close to you as much as I can."

You breathe in deeply, his familiar scent taking over your senses.

"Whaddaya say, sugar? Wanna get lost with me, even if it's just for a little while?"

"Yes," you breathe out, drowning in the blue of his eyes, "Let's forget about the real world until we're forced to face it."

Once you're back in his truck, you pounce on him like an animal.

If you only have a few days with him you're going to make each one of them count.

Ari grunts in surprise when your lips land forcefully on his, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

He chuckles against your lips, "Sugar, what's gotten into you?"

"Need you," you breathe between hungry kisses, "Just need to be with you. Now."

Ari groans when your hand slides down his torso to palm at the bulge forming in his pants, your tongue teasing the seam of his lips.

He breaks away from the kiss, panting as he looks at you, "I thought you were sore?"

"I'm fine," you quickly respond before you pull him back to you, your lips finding his eagerly. He groans into the kiss, large hands sliding down your back to grope your ass.

Your touch becomes firmer, feeling the hardness forming against your palm, as your teeth dig into his bottom lip, finally feeling that plumpness you've been craving.

You push him onto the bed roughly, Ari's eyes meeting yours in part confusion and part excitement as you crawl onto the bed and straddle him.

"What has gotten into you?" he breathes as he watches your fingers hastily unbutton his shirt.

"You said yourself we have to get lost and we only have a few days to do it," you mumble, pushing the shirt off his arms, "I'm making the best of the little time we have."

You lean down, your lips meeting the soft skin on his chest, ghosting over the dusting of hair covering it. Ari is breathing heavily as his fingers find your hair, gripping onto it while your tongue dives out, tasting his skin as you move your way down his torso.

Impatient fingers work on his button and zipper before you pull his jeans down his legs, tossing them on the floor. Your hands slide back up his muscular thighs, feeling how they tense under your palms as you move higher.

Your eyes lock on the imprint of his erection hidden in his briefs, making you lick your lips before your delicate fingers slide under the elastic waistband.

Ari gasps breathily when you wrap your hand around his thick cock, pulling it out of it's confinement. Your eyes flit up to his at the sound, a wide grin forming on your face before you glance back down.

"You've got such a pretty cock, daddy," you mewl, thumb swiping over the tip as it glistens with precum, "Wanna taste you."

"Jesus," Ari grits, lifting his hips off the bed to let you remove his briefs. As soon as he's fully naked in front of you, he sits up at the edge of the bed, letting you kneel between his thighs as he looks down at you. He looks huge sitting above you, broad chest moving steadily with every breath, shoulders and arms bulging at the way he's hunched over slightly to keep his eyes on you.

His fingers find your hair again, wrapping in your locks as your hand wraps around his cock. You smile up at him sweetly, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip before you whisper, "Can I suck your cock, daddy?"

Ari groans, his hair falling over his eyes when he nods, keeping his eyes locked on yours. You break eye contact for a moment as you move closer, tongue slipping out to lick a stripe from the base to the tip of his shaft.

Your eyes find his again when your tongue swirls around the thick mushroom head of his cock, fingers tightening around his girth. He's thick, throbbing in your hand, the tip silky against your tongue.

Ari lets out a sinful moan when you flick your tongue over the slit, your lips wrapping around the head to give you better access.

"Fuckin' hell, sugar," he moans, hands gripping your hair tighter, "Such a sweet mouth."

You hum at the praise, holding eye contact with his beautiful baby blues as your mouth sinks down on his cock, taking more inside.

You moan when he fills you up, hitting the back of your throat. You bob your head slowly, gradually getting used to how heavy he feels on your tongue.

"That's it," he groans, eyes fluttering closed as he throws his head back, "Fuck yeah, just like that. Keep goin', sweetheart, doin' so fuckin' well for me."

You take him further down your throat, gagging at first at the feeling, but it only seems to turn him on more. Your fingers dig into his thick thighs, drool spilling from the corner of your lips down his length.

You slowly slide a hand down his thigh until you can feel his balls, hot and heavy in your hand. You cup them gently at first before your hold gets firmer, making Ari hiss.

"God, you're a fuckin' menace. Not just your pretty little pussy that's magic, is it? It's your mouth too, holy fuck."

Ari tilts his head forward to look at you again, his eyes dark and lustful when they meet yours.

You let your tongue move over his cock as you bob your head up and down, trailing the veins bulging out. He feels so warm, and hard in your mouth, it's making you delirious.

You can feel your wetness seeping into your thin jersey shorts, slick pooling at your inner thighs as you sit on your knees in front of him, working over his cock.

You tug a little on his balls, hesitantly at first until you hear him let out a sound that's between a moan and a whimper. You do it again with more confidence this time, picking up pace as you suck him off.

"Oh shit," He grunts, the hands in your hair starting to help guide your movement. You suck him down your throat quicker and harder, guided by his hands.

"That's fuckin' it," he growls, his breathing heavy, "Fuckin' take my cock, be my good little slut and take it all. Take it, c'mon baby, know you can do it."

You whimper at his words, squeezing your thighs together as your throat struggles to take more of him. You focus on your breathing as you sink lower, letting him fill your throat. Tears pool in your eyes but you're determined to take all of him, even if it's difficult.

You relax your throat as you breathe in, sinking down until your nose brushes the coarse hairs at the base of his cock, and he lets out a loud moan.

"Fuuuck, there it is," he breathes, moans getting louder and higher, "There you go, good girl. Such a good little cockslut, knew you could do it. You were made to take daddy's cock, weren't you?"

You whimper and nod, his eyes burning into yours as you swallow down every inch of his thick cock, pace quickening. His hips buck off the bed, meeting your movements as he grunts, "Gonna come, sugar. Fuck, gonna come, can't fuckin' hold it. You want it, huh? You want my cum down your throat, wanna taste me?"

You nod and whine, the sound muffled by his cock as you continue your movements, tugging on his balls again.

"Shit, so close, fuck! I'm gonna come down your throat sweetheart, gonna make you take all of it. You take it all, don't you dare spill a single drop, you hear me? Don't waste daddy's cum like a dumb baby, you need to swallow all of it. Can you do that?"

You nod again, whimpering when he starts thrusting more determinedly into your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair.

"God, shit, you're so fucking good, so perfect. I'm gonna come baby, I'm gonna come, oh fuck!"

He throws his head back in a growl as his hot seed spurts into your mouth, filling your throat. You moan at the taste, swallowing around his length, doing your best to ensure everything stays inside. He throbs as he comes undone, his salty taste almost addicting.

When he starts taking heavy breaths, lolling his head forward to look at you with hooded eyes, your tongue darts out to lick him clean. You pull back gradually, carefully licking every inch of him before you pull his cock out of your mouth.

You sit back on your haunches, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before you smile up at him.

He looks absolutely exhausted, sweat beading on his chest, taking heavy breaths to calm down.

"Holy shit, sugar," he chuckles breathlessly, "That was fuckin' amazing."

You grin, your palms landing flat on his naked thighs, "Yeah? You liked it?"

Ari barks out a breathless laugh, nodding determinedly, "I didn't just like it, sweetheart, I fucking loved it. You do realize this means I can't ever let you leave me, right?"

You giggle, your cheeks heating up when he pulls you up off the floor. His large hands land on the back of your thighs, pulling you into his lap. You rest your hands on his shoulders, still grinning at him when he whispers, "Just give me a second and I promise I'll fuck you into this mattress until you're crying out for me to stop."

And then he leans in to kiss you, his lips moving over yours languidly.

Ari kept his promise.

After a few minutes, he was hard and throbbing again, wasting no time to fuck you into the mattress.

He pulled orgasm after orgasm out of your sensitive body, not stopping even when you were certain you couldn't possibly take any more.

And that brings you to here.

In his lap, his thick cock buried to the hilt inside you. His arms are wrapped tightly around your body, holding you close to his chest as you ride him slowly, sensually, grinding down on him every so often.

Your bodies are slick with sweat, skin sticking together as you gaze into each others eyes. He's looking at you with such adoration, fluttering his eyes closed when you swipe your hand over his damp forehead to push the hair out of his face.

Every pump of his cock inside you is addicting, his hips meeting yours as you bounce and grind in his lap slowly. You're no longer in a rush, both needing to just feel and relish in each other.

Like drawing a map of his body.

You want to feel every ridge and vein of him inside you, you want to feel every firm muscle and soft curve of his body under your fingertips.

And it seems he wants the same. His hands are everywhere, all at once, it's dizzying. Fingers digging into your hips, cupping your ass, brushing over your waist. Sliding over your skin, gripping the back of your neck.

Sometimes a palm will land flat on your ass, bringing a whimper out of you from the stinging sensation. And that'll earn you a grunt and a hard thrust of his hips in return.

But mainly you're just relishing, refusing to return to the real world as your bodies roll against each other, not willing to stop even when the sun starts rising in the distance.

Because if you don't stop and return to the real world, it's not there.

And you refuse to face it until you're forced to.

[moonlight-prose]

BADLANDS | TWO

a/n: me updating a fic a few days after the first part was posted?? who is she? i have no fucking clue where this inspiration is coming from, but i am glad it's decided to stick around. i figure this series will only go up to four or five parts, so hopefully i can churn out the rest soon. this part is not beta read or edited fully so there will most likely be mistakes.

reblogs, comments, and feedback is always welcome!!

i don't have taglists anymore, but i do have a library blog.

summary: a bad day at training leads you and bradley to possibly reconcile your differences.

word count: 4.8k+

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x fem!reader (callsign panther)

warnings: not explicit, cussing, alcohol consumption, angst, death, ptsd, nightmares, talk of panic attacks, some fluff, two stubborn people.

previous chapter | next chapter

The whiskey was like a cool wet towel soothing your achingly hot skin as you sat alone at the bar. Penny saw the state you were in when you walked through the doors at midnight; your hands shaking and body on edge. So, she slid a bottle towards you—already half empty—and tossed you the keys to lock up. She’d been around long enough to know the hell pilots were put through when it came to missions. Shit, she’d seen you go through worse.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you got there, but you did know you were about three glasses away from finishing that bottle of whiskey. Training today finally made you realize what kind of shit you got yourself into and instead of complaining, you sucked it up and drowned what sorrow you had left in a bottle. Halfway through flying, you could feel the oncoming of a panic attack tinge the edges of your senses as you navigated the path set.

Memories of the mission with Hunter starting to flood your mind; Bradley’s words layered on top.

Part of you didn’t want to admit it, but…he was right. There’s a reason Hunter wasn’t alive today and it was because you weren’t as good of a pilot as you hoped to be. There’s also a reason you now fly alone—refusing to take anyone’s life in your hands except your own. You knew if Bradley was the one flying that plane Hunter would have made it home alive. You wouldn’t have had to attend a funeral for your WSO where you held no answers to what happened—held no more tears to cry for the man who’d been your best friend.

You swallowed the bitter alcohol, relishing in the numbness that followed. Eventually you would have to go home, pass out, and do it all over again, but for right now you gave yourself the few hours you had left to actually feel something.

The door swung open with a slight creak, echoing in the empty bar, and you half hoped it was Phoenix coming to find you. At least she’d tell you to get a hold of yourself—to stop letting this kind of shit get to you. But much to your disappointment and shit luck, Bradley Bradshaw waltzed in, his gaze landing on you hunched over the bar—tears tracking down your cheeks. Fuck, you wished he would just turn around and leave without any questions about why you were here. You wished he’d give you this night; no fighting, just silence.

Much to your surprise, he didn’t say anything.

He simply took the stool next to you, reached behind the bar, grabbed an empty glass, and poured himself a drink.

You wondered how long he’d go before laying into you. Five seconds? Five minutes? Really you didn’t give a shit. Everyone saw the way you fumbled today. How if you were in the real mission, you would have died quickly, without even a chance to rectify your mistake.

That’s what brought you to this point. Trying to forget images of Hunter, of holding his body to you as you waited for someone to come and find you. If you had one extra fucking second, you would have both made it out alive. If you had been given a choice—you’d be the one buried six feet under, not him. Although just thinking that made your stomach lurch, because while you wanted to admit you didn’t actually believe it…you did.

Bradley glanced at you, taking in the way your eyes drooped as you stared into nothingness—reliving the most traumatic day of your life. He’d seen pilots go through grief; he’d even lost some friends himself, but seeing you this way. He wanted to strip your body of all the pain you endured and bear it himself; except that’s not how life came to be—that’s not how you two came to be.

You sighed, sipping on your drink as Hunter’s shouts echoed in your mind for the millionth time. No day went by where you didn’t relive that memory; where you were able to escape your past.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, startling you out of your reel of memories.

“What?” You cringed at the way your words slurred.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he repeated himself without hesitation, his hand resting on your wrist—his brown eyes filled with so much sorrow that it made your heart twist in your chest.

“Why are you sorry?” Another tear fell and you wiped it away just like all the rest.

He glanced at his empty glass, letting out a breath of air. “What I said before. It was fucked up and I crossed the line.” He shook his head, turning back to you. “Shit, I didn’t cross the line, I jumped over it and I shouldn’t have.”

Maybe you had a bit too much to drink, but you found yourself grinning sadly, swirling the alcohol in your glass. “You don’t have to apologize for something you got right.”

The glass was snatched from your hand, slammed on the bar as he leaned in so close you could smell the engine fuel on his uniform mixed with another scent you recognized as just him filling your senses. Anger flashed across his face and you prepared yourself for another argument filled with hatred. You steeled your expression, trying to ignore the pain in your chest, but what you didn’t know was that anger wasn’t for you. No, it was directed at himself, because he could finally see what his words drove you to—what he caused by continuing this feud.

“That’s bullshit,” he said lowly. His brown eyes were so captivating you wanted to drown in them. “I was an asshole for saying it, but I didn’t believe it was true. Not for a second.”

“But it is true,” you whispered. “It’s my fault he didn’t come home; my fault he…died.” You choked out the word, no longer fighting the tears. What was the point?

His hands cupped your face, turning you to face him fully and see the pain in his eyes. Was it fucked up to want to take that pain away? Or were you so far gone you could barely even comprehend what was happening? You wanted to say it was the latter, but deep down you knew the truth. The hatred you held between each other wouldn’t fade so easily. Not after everything you’d gone through to get here; not after you left him without a second thought.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, bringing you even closer—-the bottle now forgotten about. “I don’t want to hear you saying that again. It’s not your fault, kitten. None of it is.”

You wondered if he was referring to that night, but you thought better than to ask. Even in your inebriated state you knew what would start an obvious fight and what wouldn’t. Better to wait until you were sober enough to even attempt to ask that question. So, you stayed quiet, letting him brush the tears from your cheeks and hold you close—the hatred now set aside for something else. It allowed your mind to wander briefly as he leaned his forehead against yours.

Was this what you ran from? Him caring about you?

“How long have you been here?” he asked, still so close you could feel the warmth of his body.

“A few hours.” The alcohol had made everything dizzy and you knew by the time morning came you’d be nursing a strong hangover.

He sighed, pulling away and getting up. You figured he was done for the night, ready to go home. Which is why you were once again surprised to see him walk behind the bar and start tidying things up—grabbing a rag and cleaning up the spot where your glass had left a ring. You would have done it eventually, knowing how much Penny hated cleaning up a mess in the morning. But he took on the job without question. He couldn’t bear the weight of your pain, but he could shoulder what responsibility you had.

“Where’s the keys?” he asked, coming back around to you.

Fumbling, you dug them out of your jacket pocket, tossing them to him as he reached over and pulled you up slowly. Your stomach churned; the alcohol now hitting its low point of the night. Sure you numbed the pain, but now you would reap the consequences of doing so. Groaning, you leaned heavily against him as he led you to the door step by step—going so slow that you were sure it would take you hours to even get there.

“Why…” You reached for the doorway, leaning to the side and catching his panicked expression in your peripheral vision. “Why are you helping me?”

He didn’t respond, simply opting to push the hair out of your face and check if you were capable of moving again. Normally you’d have been able to walk out of this bar just fine, but after your panic attack from earlier, you were far from okay. The others had watched you jump out of the plane and sprint until you found a bathroom. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but the mission parameters were too similar to that fateful flight. Everything rushed back before you could stop it and you fumbled—nearly causing your own death.

Bradley came back after having locked the doors, helping you stumble to his car even though yours sat in the parking lot.

“I can drive home,” you said, wincing when you fell against the passenger side door.

He scoffed, standing there and waiting until you were fully inside. “I wouldn’t even trust you to walk home, kitten. Let alone drive.”

“But I need my car.”

“Then I’ll come back for it.”

The engine started and he began a slow drive back to your place. “Why would you do that?” you asked softly, your eyes shut.

You didn’t see him look at you, barely even felt him take your hand in his, because you were fading quickly. Exhaustion was settling into you so deep that you were sure you wouldn’t make it home before you passed out entirely. But you fought against it—forcing your eyes open to watch him as he drove.

There were times in your life where you knew Bradley Bradshaw was beautiful. Moments that ingrained themselves into your mind so deep you didn’t even know they were there until they came back. Sitting there, staring at his side profile as he took the streets to your rinky dinky apartment, was one of those moments. The street lights flashed across his face—showing glimpses of him in full illumination and you knew if you were a painter…you’d want to paint him.

The hatred blinded you for so long that it almost made this sight bittersweet.

“I ran from this,” you mumbled, catching his attention. “Out of all the things I could have been afraid of…” He parked the car, turning his brown eyes on you entirely. “...love had to be the biggest one.”

Silence filled the car as he watched you—practically analyzed you. Only you didn’t stick around for long. Shifting, you swung up his car door, managing to get out yourself and nearly fall onto the sidewalk while doing so. Fuck, you wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed tomorrow. How the hell were you supposed to fly an F-18?

“Wait,” he said, reaching down and slinging your arm over his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m okay,” you slurred, feeling your head begin to pound.

Again he didn’t respond, simply helped you up the steps to the second floor and reached for the keys that were shoved in your other pocket. You couldn’t believe he remembered where you used to live, but there he was. Helping you despite the feud, despite his anger towards you for leaving him behind. You knew you loved him. You loved him when you graduated. You loved him when you left and you still knew that there was no doubt in your mind…you loved him now too.

The both of you stumbled towards your small bedroom, the cramped space barely big enough for Bradley’s tall frame. Still he managed to get you into the bed.

“I don’t—” His face tinged red, as he realized that you were still in your uniform—your jacket the only thing covering it. “I don’t know what you usually wear…to uh…bed.”

“A t-shirt,” you mumbled, yanking off your jacket and reaching for your uniform. “Why? Are you offering yours?”

If at all possible, he turned an even darker shade of red—his eyes scarcely able to meet yours. “You want it?”

You smiled, getting up slowly and reaching for the hem of your shirt. “I’ll trade you Bradshaw. Mine for yours.”

“What—” His eyes went wide when you stripped off your shirt, reaching to yank off the bottom of your flight suit next. “Whoa!” He spun around. “I—ha—I don’t think I should see you like that yet kitten.”

“Why not? You’ve seen it before.”

“That was different.”

“How so?”

He cursed, tilting his head up to the ceiling. “Because I had different…intentions then.”

“Ahh,” you drawled, scooting under the covers. “You mean you intended to fuck me then. You can say it, you know.”

“How is it even drunk you’re still infuriating?” he asked, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled at the sight of you in bed.

“It’s a talent,” you sighed.

You half expected him to bolt the second you got settled, but he remained—lingering by your bed. Strangely enough it didn’t feel weird to have him there. If you had your way, you’d ask him to join you. To hold you in case the nightmares returned, but you couldn’t keep your eyes open long enough to ask him. Eventually, he left. Shutting the bedroom door gently behind him and leaving you to fight another battle entirely.

“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!” Hunter’s voice filled your mind, the panic palpable in his words. Shit, you could practically taste it. A vile mixture of your terror mixed with his.

“I see it!” You went left, hoping to get them off your tail, but they were a stubborn bastard.

“Dodge right! We can lose them that way.”

“I can’t! There’s another one!”

You turned, seeing the plane that would be right on your nose if you went right and dread filled your veins as you realized…you were about to be cornered. There was nowhere to go and the others had fallen behind. If you only had gotten here a second earlier, then you could have flown over them, but they spotted you right as you shot out from the mission parameters.

“There’s another missile Panther!”

Your eyes darted to the left, seeing smoke in the air as they launched yet another missile. “Flares!” you shouted, dodging even further left and cutting them off. “I can’t outrun them. I’m going to get a bit lower, enough for you to eject.”

“No.” His words were barked through the radio. “I’m not leaving you here to die.”

“There’s no other option!” Dropping altitude, you knew the planes would follow, but there wouldn’t be enough time for you to fly fast enough away if Hunter didn’t pull that chord. “Either you eject now or we both die!”

“Then you’re coming with me dammit!”

Your breathing picked up, your heart beating so fast you could hear it in your eardrums. “No. I’m going to lead them away.”

“That’s not how this works. You go with me or I go with you Panther. You’d say the exact same in my position.”

They were right on your ass, no doubt aiming to shoot you out of the damn sky. “Shit!” you shouted. “Alright. On my signal.”

Counting the seconds in your head, you waited until the last second, knowing that just ejecting would cause the plane to go right underneath you. If you couldn’t lead them away, you could distract them for a bit longer. Your heart stopped in your chest as the altitude dropped to the exact number you needed and you barely heard yourself give the signal. The blood was rushing in your ears so loud it sounded like the ocean, but you did hear a scream.

Yanking your parachute, you felt relief go through you as you saw Hunter’s go up as well. You hoped, shit you begged the universe, that things would go alright. That you’d make it out of this hell alive together. Just as expected, the plane flew over your heads as you both headed towards the trees and out of its sight. 

Your feet landed on the ground, the crunch of leaves under your feet echoing off the trees around you.

“Hunter!” you called out, yanking the helmet off your head. “Man, where are you?”

Silence was the only thing you could hear. The reasoning began there. You were too far away from each other for him to hear you. Maybe he was busy trying to unlatch his chute. Millions of things could be happening to where you received no response no matter how many times you called his name. That had to be it, but that same dread from before began to fill your body the longer you walked.

Until you stopped.

He was laying there, on the ground, his chute still connected and blood pouring onto the ground. His eyes were closed. You couldn’t tell if you screamed or if you stayed silent, but you rushed over to him all the same; pulling his helmet off and seeing blood streak along your bare hands. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. You breathed heavily, gathering him in your arms and calling his name so loud birds flew off the trees. But to no avail…he never woke up.

“Hunter you can’t—” A sob broke your words. “Please! Just wake up. Wake up Hunter. Just—” You pressed your cheek against his head. “Just wake up.”

Someone shook you causing your eyes to fly open, your breaths coming out in gasps as the memory faded to the back of your mind. It had been awhile since you relived it so vividly, but the training from earlier brought back too many familiar emotions. So much so that your brain regressed to where it used to be. Back in the dark pit of nightmares.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” Their hands cupped your face and the bed dipped down as they sat. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”

Focusing on your breaths, it hit you suddenly that Bradley was the one sitting there. His hair was tousled like he’d fallen asleep already and he only wore his jeans, but he was there. He hadn’t left you after all. Before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him closer and burying your face against his shoulder. He made no move to stop you; which you silently thanked him for. The nightmare was still present in the back of your mind and you knew how long it would take for it to fade. The adrenaline flooding your veins would keep you awake to combat the fear of falling asleep again.

Hunter’s voice continued to scream in your head, the sight of him dead still vivid in your mind, and you felt the tears start to fall once more. It seemed that no matter how much you begged, no matter how many times you grieved, the pain never truly stopped. Bradley’s arms went around your waist, pulling you so close you were practically in his lap, but you didn’t bother to pull away. Not when he was rubbing a soothing hand down your back and holding you like he’d never get to again.

“Why did you stay?” you asked.

He pressed his nose to your neck, tightening his hold on you ever so slightly. “Because I promised not to leave you.”

The breath hitched in your throat. A different memory altogether emerged in your mind and suddenly you were back there at the bar that night. Listening to him promise you things you’d never heard a man promise before. You wanted so badly to believe them, but the residual fear of love kept you from doing so. He may have sworn to you that he’d stay, that he would remain with you till the end, but you didn’t. 

Looking back on it now you realized…you should have.

“I’m sorry,” you said, running your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck—biting back your smile at how he shivered slightly from your touch.

He grinned. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“For leaving.”

He didn’t give you a response, but you felt it in the way his arms tightened around you even more. His face dug into the side of your neck as he breathed out—sending chills down your spine. There was only so much time allotted to you before the truth finally came out; before he figured out how much you cared for him. Except you could feel the unease in your body—the fear once again rearing its ugly head. Once this mission was over, you’d have no way of knowing what would happen—where you’d end up next.

Or even where he would go.

Perhaps that’s what kept you from telling him. You knew back then just as you knew now.

The love you two had would eventually end in the worst kind of heartbreak. You didn’t know which one of you would bear the grief of losing the other, but you did know each mission came with its dangers. There would never be a guarantee that you’d make it home safely every time.

Eventually, he shifted, joining you in the bed and keeping you close as you attempted to fall back to sleep. Usually when the nightmares set in you gave in and got up for the day, but one look at the clock you kept on your nightstand and you knew you’d have to get at least a few more hours in. You didn’t know what came next in training, but if Maverick was anything like they said he was, training would no doubt be brutal.

Bradley brushed a hand down your back, bringing your eyes back to him.

“What was he like?”

“What was who like?” Sleep deprivation had caused your brain to stop working.

“Hunter.”

Your heart twisted. Nobody had asked you about him since the funeral; everyone avoided the topic altogether to save you from the heartache. Yet they never seemed to realize that the only way to keep the memory of your friend alive was through talking about him. Through the stories that you shared. Without that…you only remembered him through the pain of that day—the nightmares consoling you when no one else would.

“He was…a good man.” Shutting your eyes you could still see Hunter’s blue eyes shining with life. “He loved to play football. Had a dog and a girlfriend back home that he kept saying he wanted to marry. I remember one night we were stationed at a base near this small town and he…” You laughed, feeling him wipe away a stray tear. “He convinced me to get a tattoo with him.”

“What of?” he asked, smiling at the way you lit up talking about Hunter.

“A paper airplane.” You lifted your wrist, showing him the small black outline of something Hunter had picked out way back when. On the day you first met him, he had folded the mission report into a paper airplane, tossing it towards the table you were sitting at. You knew from then on, he’d be the one you would fly with.

Bradley pressed his lips against the small tattoo; the soft sensation causing your heart to beat rapidly in your chest.

“He would have liked you,” you whispered, brushing away the hair that hung in front of his eyes. “He kinda reminded me of you at first.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you two tried to kill each other all the time?”

“No.” You laughed, never having felt this light before. “Well…not all the time.”

“Good.” He moved closer until his nose was mere centimeters away from yours—his breath hitting your chin. “Cause that’s only something you and I share.”

The possibility of him attempting to take your breath away with those words was slim, but nonetheless it still happened. Something you and I share. A part of you knew that fighting with him was the only way he would remain in your life, but you didn’t think that he shared the same thought. You watched his eyes close, his breaths starting to even out. He would be asleep before you and that gave your mind time to wander.

Had he simply kept the feud going until the very last moment because he believed you didn’t want him in your life any other way?

It was a ridiculous idea to even entertain, but…some part of you knew it was the truth. Both of you were so afraid of losing one another that you chose the most volatile way to tighten your grasp, lest one of you slip free. Fighting, arguing, ripping each other to shreds. It wasn’t healthy. Shit, it was hardly even a relationship. But it was something that you and him counted on at the end of the day.

You sunk into the warmth of his skin pressed against yours, pushing away everything else, because you didn’t want to think about it anymore. He was here with you and that was the only thing that mattered tonight.

The first thing you noticed was you were sleeping in an empty bed; the side where Bradley had stayed now was cold from the morning air. You knew he’d been there—seeing the rumpled way your blankets lay. Except you also knew he left before you had a chance to wake up. Your head pounded with the beginnings of a brutal hangover, but you managed to stumble your way to the kitchen—turning on the shitty coffee machine—before it fully formed.

Sunlight streamed through your living room windows, giving the apartment a comforting warmth that hadn’t been there before. Morning had always been your favorite time of the day.

“What the fuck was I thinking?” you mumbled, running a hand down your face, still groggy from sleep.

Flashes of what happened last night were shoved into the forefront of your mind as you fought against the nausea. Bradley helping you home, staying with you, and ultimately being your source of comfort for the night. You weren’t sure if you should feel embarrassed that you got wasted in front of him, or thankful that he chose to stay. Either way one thing was clear. You owed him for doing it.

Right on time, your alarm blared from the other room, letting you know that you had to be on base soon. You barely had enough time to shower and find your uniform before you were rushing out the door. Since you left your car behind, you’d have to get a cab which would only take you longer. You had no doubt Maverick would make you do extra push ups today after the catastrophe yesterday. That is…if you showed up late. Yanking on your boots, you stumbled to a stop at the sight of your car parked out front—a piece of paper attached to it with Bradley’s scribbled handwriting.

    You can thank me by washing your damn car, kitten.

    —Lieutenant Bradshaw

“It’s not that bad,” you mumbled, staring at the slightly dirty blue car. Although he might have had a point. You could see the windshield had spots of dirt here and there.

Turning on the engine, a Bruce Springsteen song played on the radio. You knew the stations loved him here given it being Fightertown, but this particular tune was coming from the small tape you had stowed in your glove compartment. Badlands continued to blast and you realized…Bradley had gone through your car and put this tape in on purpose. Why? You had no clue, but you didn’t mind the shift in how you treated one another.

Maybe this was him letting you know he was ready to turn over a new leaf. Sure, it would take to go back to what you shared that night, but at least you were ready to try.

No matter where it may lead you.

Rolling down your window, you heard the echo of the f-18 engines in the distance as you got closer and closer to the base. Your sunglasses were propped on your nose and you turned up the song, driving towards the usual spot—the ocean visible in the distance. If there’s one thing you would take away from this mission, from seeing Bradley again, it was that after all this time…you finally got a second chance.

Even if nothing came from it—the second chance was enough.

[atzfilm]

murphy’s law; (m) 4/5 

wc/pairing; 20K, multi/reader

genre; a/f/s, soulmate!au, alien!au, e2f2l

summary; according to murphy’s law, everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Black holes circle each other until they collide and merge, a cataclysm so fierce, sends ripples soaring through the fabric, crossing thousands of kilometers within a fraction of a second, leaving behind a wave on the space-time continuum. That’s the simplest way you can describe meeting him. And yet, even that is an understatement.

note: please read the warnings! There are a lot of sensitive topics mentioned, even if it is just in passing. warnings under cut

masterlist

⬅️ previous | next ➡️

content: cursing, blood, injuries, choking (the not sexy kind), abuse, weapons, insults (very vulgar), harassment, minor character deaths, referenced stockholm syndrome, lies, manipulation, torture, ptsd symptoms, unhealthy coping mechanisms, nausea 

Chapter Four:

Wooyoung guided you back to his room, sleeping on his sofa. You insisted that he didn’t need to watch you sleep, that you wouldn’t run away, but he only gave you a teasing grin and a nod. It was uncomfortable at first, being in the wing of the manor that only he occupied by himself. But it soon was comforting, the soft scent of him wrapped up in the blankets soothing your woeful heart. It’s hard, dealing with it all. Having him just a step away would have kept you awake long ago but now, it’s different. Even the way he looks at you, through the badgering and jesting, you can see that he cares. His gaze often softens when it meets yours. You thought nothing of it at the time, thought that he was just growing closer to you. You feel a bit silly, but you never connected the dots. Never saw the true picture for what it is. The Fates, you decided, just wanted you completely entwined in the First Clan’s lives.

“I do think it’s best for you to go with Chan,” he murmurs softly, head resting on the back of the chair to gaze at you. “But I can’t help but want to be a bit selfish with you. Play with you since I haven’t gotten the chance to. The Fates want us together, but everything seems against it.” he lets out a low sigh, bottom lip protruding.

You’ve learned to read between the lines of what he says, decipher his true meaning. “You were one of the first to agree for me to go with him, what’s with the change of heart?"

He tilts his head slightly, his right ear resting on the soft velvet. “Seeing you in pain. You’ve never affected me like you have the others. Sure, I’ve felt the allure. The craving to share the same space. But it’s something that I just held in. I can control thoughts like that, because I’ve felt attraction to pretty new things. The Fates were part of it, yes, but I controlled those emotions. Pain is not something I thought would sway me. But seeing you unable to handle it, watching as each symbol was slowly carved into your spine, it frightened me. How could I stand there emotionless when my Fated one was crying out for help?"

He brushes his hair away from his face, his eyes a bit hesitant. “I’m sure you know we feel it too. Someone must have told you by now. But as a healer that often uses majik, I’m used to feeling the pain of my patients. Taking it in as my own for a moment. But the pain I felt from you, love bug…” he shivers. “It was unbearable. I almost wasn’t able to relieve your pain because of how horrendous it felt. But then I looked into your eyes and I just couldn’t let you suffer alone.” He glances over at the lamp, raising his fingers and flicking his pointer. It turns off, leaving you two in complete darkness.

“You could have let me suffer alone,” you say back. “I don’t want you to feel the pain I felt.”

“But I already felt it– love bug?” he looks at you. The sting of pain in his body, on his back isn’t from him. He looks as you curl yourself into a ball, quivering underneath the blanket. He wastes no time, leaping over the back of the couch with ease and coming over to you. His hands are quick with removing the blanket, but he hesitates to lift up your nightwear.

“It’s fine, you’ve seen me already, no need to pretend you haven’t,” your voice is low, laced with pain. He frowns slightly, but slowly lifts up your shirt. You don’t feel his touch at all, only the movement of the fabric. He can see each tattoo, all of them laced together. Once he lifts your shirt all the way to the top, the last tattoo glowing slightly. He doesn’t dare touch it unless absolutely necessary, hovering his hand over the marking. He blows on his fingers slightly, letting the air curl around his fingertips, before brushing against your skin. You shiver at the touch, but don’t move.

Your tattoos are nothing like he’s ever seen. Hongjoong is covered with them from head to toe of every Mavian to exist at this point, but yours were different. The markings were always placed in odd spots, leaders of a clan placed just below their eye. But yours, yours were different. Yeosang’s flower rests at the bottom, as if he’s holding the others in place. San’s was next, and it went in a strange order; Yeosang, San, Seonghwa – His eyebrows furrow at the one in the middle. He doesn’t mention it to you, but he continues – Yunho, Mingi, and finally his. Questions roll through his mind, many he can’t quite answer. But the tattoo in the middle. It bothers him.

There's only one Mav that it could be.

“This will help the pain for a moment. But only briefly, love bug,” he says, pushing those thoughts away. “It’ll come back again. Hopefully it isn’t as sharp as before. I can– it’s possible to alleviate it for the rest of the night so you can rest. But that means I’ll have to be in your bed. I don’t know if you’d like that.”

“It’s fine,” you whisper, filling the awkward silence. “I trust you.”

He laughs dryly, “Are you sure? Everyone you’ve seemed to give that to is working in their own favor. I can be as well.”

“Then if I die here, I die. I’ve already fulfilled what I needed to. Jongho is safe with you. But Wooyoung,” you glance over your shoulder. You can’t see him that well, the light from the window blocking his front. But you can see how the strip of hair on his head seems to glow, illuminating only his gaze. It stays steady on your back, fingers still hovering over the tattoos. “I do trust you. There’s nothing else to it. If you can get a bit of rest, I hope you do. I can handle a few shocks of pain.”

That seems to be your way of saying goodnight, turning over to tuck yourself further into the mattress, eyes fluttering close. You’ve tried to push the feelings away. The need to stay by their side, the need to stay by your brother’s side. But this was all for them. Leaving was all for them. You’d try your best to get back, but you don’t even know if it would happen. You don’t know how much Chan wanted you, if all of it was just a ruse or if his disturbed mind believed that you two were meant to be.

You let out a slow breath, the dark sky shining back at you as your eyes fall shut.

“I don’t want you to die.”

Wooyoung stares at your sleeping body, stiff as he holds his hand against your spine. He hasn’t moved in the slightest, afraid that a flick of his finger would disturb your sleep. It’s only been a few hours, but he can hear how deep you’ve fallen. He hasn’t ever felt a closeness like this. He’s felt raw pleasure, sure, the carnal desire often overcoming him in wild nights. But this, intimacy, isn’t familiar to him. The mere thought of being close to another only makes him wrinkle his nose in disgust. It’s not something he’s ever desired nor dwelled on. So as he sits here, his hand flattened against your spine, he wonders. If this Fated bond is the reason why he hasn’t moved an inch in fear of you awakening, or if he’s secretly aching to feel something with you. To have that brief moment of care he felt when you were dying on your mattress. And if he’d ever feel something like that again.

He sighs softly, brushing the strands away that are tickling his forehead. Or perhaps, he just wants to feel wanted from you. To know that feeling you share with San alone. The chaste looks, the pure care. He’s always felt like nothing, but he wants to be something to you.

“What a futile thought,” he whispers.

You move in your sleep, rolling over and resting your head on the top of his thigh. He sits in bated breath, moving his hand so that it's still covering your marks. He drops it slowly, his skin sitting delicately on yours. He knows you've given him permission to touch him, but it still worries him that you'd be alarmed to see yourself in this position with him. Nevertheless, he basks in this quiet moment between you two. Wondering if it'll ever happen again.

-

Tomorrow came quickly. You had nothing to bring with you, your old belongings long gone. You didn’t see San as you made your way through your morning routines, nor Wooyoung when you woke up. You were relieved at first; not seeing San meant that you didn’t have to say goodbye. It hurt not to see his eyes again, but it’s for the best. You’re not sure if you’d even be able to walk through the manor doors if you did. You didn’t see Seonghwa either, but Yeosang’s there with Wooyoung. He gives you a friendly smile like he always does. It’s strained, shaking slightly when he sees you limping through the hallways.

“I thought you said she was well?” He asked Wooyoung, who only shrugged in return.

“I told you she was well enough. By no means did that suggest she could make her way around without a bit of struggle,” he frowns at the glare Yeosang gives him. “I’ve given her a small pill to take away her pain momentarily. It will stop Chan from questioning her physical wellness, and prevent a fight from breaking out. But it only lasts a few hours. You will have to manage on your own without me there,” Wooyoung looks at you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Wooyoung, I don’t have a choice.”

“You do, Peacemaker,” Yeosang says, his voice persistent. “We all discussed it last night, and if you were worried about your well being we would stop this exchange from happening. By any means necessary.” He adds pointedly.

“I’m not letting you start a fight over me,” you scoff, shaking your head. “That’s silly.”

“Not when it comes to you,” you turn to the voice next to the front door. Mingi stands there, eyes sad. It hurts to look at, so you move your eyes to the floor. “We’d do anything for you, you know that.”

“You have to get home, Mingi. What home, I don’t know. Anywhere but here. I’d never let my feelings prevent you from doing so. Just make sure you take care of Jongho if it comes to that,” you say, reaching out and squeezing his hand. He does the same back, flicking his head to the side.

“Speaking of your brother, he wants to say goodbye to you. He can’t be out there for the exchange, or near the door in case of Chan somehow changing his mind about him. So Wooyoung placed majik on the door to prevent him from leaving.”

“Woo!” You turn to him, and he looks at you sheepishly.

“It wasn’t an easy task. Mingi was the only person that was able to convince him to stop fighting it. He seems to have gravitated to the giant,” Wooyoung teases, though there seems to be a lack of humor in his words. “You have to hurry though. Chan will be here at any moment.”

You let go of Mingi’s hand, thanking him quickly before entering the room next door. Jongho sits in the parlor, hands tucked between his thighs as he glances around. His eyes move to you, immediately standing up. Without so much as a good morning, he pulls you roughly into his arms, squeezing you tightly.

“You’re not going to leave without saying goodbye this time,” he says, pulling you back slightly. “Didn’t they tell you? You don’t have to go through with this. I’m sure there’s another way we can escape Chan, you just have to trust me.”

“Jongho…” you start, shaking your head. He only sighs, letting you go.

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t as stubborn as dad. You would have agreed.”

“I picked a bad trait to inherit,” you grin. His frown deepens, and you nudge him. “It’s going to be okay, remember? I told you I’ll try my best to come back to you. Don’t start any trouble around here either, Jongho. They’re going to protect you the best way they can.”

“How do you know that I will?”

“Because I know you, and I can tell when you’re hurting,” you squeeze his arm. “I know we’ve just got back together, and I wish that it didn’t have to be this way. But I will fight for you Jongho. You mean the world to me.”

“I know, I just wished you took your well being into consideration sometimes,” he admits. “You care so much about me, you disregard your own feelings. But we’ll talk about that another time.” He pulls you into a quick hug again, “I promise I won’t start any fights or make things harder for you when you come back, okay?”

“I love you too,” you snicker, ruffling his hair. A beep outside makes you pull back, happiness immediately washed from your face. His expression falls when he realizes who’s outside. “See you,” you manage to give him a light smile, not daring to meet his eyes. You turn on your heels, Yeosang standing just outside the door. His face isn’t happy either, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed against his chest. You don’t say a word to him, letting him follow you outside the door. You step over the threshold, greeted by Chan and a few of his guards. His stern expression falls when he sees that it’s you, a smile straining his cheeks.

“I thought I was going to have to fight to get you out here,” he says, arms open. He probably wants to embrace you, but you don’t play his games, stepping around him and walking to the car. Mingi, Yeosang, and Wooyoung stand at the manor door, eyeing you as you wait for Chan to follow. “Ah, no happy greetings?”

“Can we please just go?” you say, rubbing your face. “I’m not going to pretend that I want to be with you when I don’t. All you will get from me is honesty.”

Chan pouts, looking back at the three. “Does your leader have that little regard for greeting me at the door?”

“He has more pressing matters to deal with,” Mingi says, face stiff. “Sending off a peacemaker isn’t something he needs to attend to.”

You know he’s only saying it for appearances, but Mingi’s words sting a bit. You didn’t desire to see the others watch you as you left. But a small part of you did hope that they might have. Chan scoffs at Mingi’s words, murmuring things you can’t hear. Mingi’s eyebrow raises slightly, but he says nothing. Chan turns on his heels, walking to the car. He hovers his hand over the lock, both sides of the car opening.

You can’t help but be in awe, the doors sinking into the floor. You step inside, watching as it slowly goes back. You grew up with him in poverty, but seeing this only makes you wonder if he remembers how it once was for him. Even from the appearance of his outfit to his office. It all oozes wealth. You tuck yourself deeper into the seat, eyes cast down at your hands. You can feel the stares of the men on the stoop. Despite your better judgment, you look up at them. Their eyes are focused on yours, different emojis within them. The stoic gaze of Yeosang, the worried one of Mingi. The oddly frustrated one of Wooyoung. Brows furrow, biting his lip. The door behind them opens and before you can glimpse who appeared, the car turns down the driveway.

You hoped that the drive would be silent, but Chan goes on and on about things you don’t care about. You keep your mouth shut. You don’t have it in you to give him the satisfaction of your voice. He already forced you into this arrangement that you supposedly had a choice over. In no way would you let him think he’s finally won you over.

“We can dine on breakfast once we get back to our home, you've already lost your color being down here for so long." He says, tapping on his legs. “Speak, y/n. I don’t want to marry a mute.”

Your eyes burn with disgust at his ignorant words, but you still don’t look at him. "I prefer my meals by moonlight, Chan,” you stare out the window. “And your home is not mine.”

“It will be. Once we are married, it will be.”

Your heart stings at his words. “Why are you doing this?” Your words are light, soft. There’s no hint of frustration.

He laughs, “Doing what? We agreed to this. You agreed to this.”

“I said I would tell you my true decision later on!” You shout back, turning to glare at him. His eyes are cold, empty. It’s nothing like the Chan you once knew. “So why are you doing this? Why do you want to pull me away from them?”

“I love you, y/n,” he says simply.

“You do not love me, Chan. This odd obsession you have with me is not love. You don’t care about me, or my well-being. You don’t care one bit. You tried to kill me.”

“That was nothing,” he waves your words off. “I knew they would save you. Their little fated one, right?” His smile spreads across his face as you register what he’s saying. “Oh? Did you think I wouldn’t find out about that? I’ve seen Fated Mavians before. You might think I’m incompetent and stupid, but I’m not. I could see it in their eyes, even if they weren’t going to tell me. That Seonghwa, their second in command? He’s the one that revealed it to me. The way his eyes looked when I said you were coming with me? Ha!” He slaps his leg as he laughs loudly, ignoring how you flinch at the sound. “The others were more quiet about it. But he revealed it all when I said it. So how many of them are Fated to you, hm?” He raises a brow.

You don’t say anything. How did Seonghwa tell him? You didn’t notice a shift in his expression. Sure, he was a bit sharper to you as he spoke, but that’s nothing. He’s always been a bit angry with you. Nothing that could have set Chan off.

“y/n,” he sings softly, leaning forward. You move back in your seat, but he only gets closer. His smile falls, blank stares into yours. “Who the fuck are you Fated to?”

“Chan–”

He grips your neck, slamming your head against the headrest. He climbs on top of you, hovering over your body as he squeezes tightly. You gasp, clawing at his hands as he continues to tighten more and more. You can feel his nails break skin, digging deeper. His eyes are wild, gaze filled with pure ecstasy. He laughs, pulling his hands away and flopping back into his seat. You cough, leaning forward as you gasp for air. Blood drips down your neck, falling onto the white interior of the car. He scowls at you, glaring down at the seats.

“Don’t fuck up my seats, bitch,” he spits.

You touch your neck, wincing as your fingers tap against the nail-shaped cuts. He watches you silently as you slowly get your breathing back to normal, fingers digging into your slacks. He was going to kill you. He is going to kill you. You have to get out of this. He’s using you to figure out more about the First Clan. You’re sure he’ll torture you for information once you get back to his home. And if you’re not careful, he’ll get rid of you beforehand.

“I’ll ask you again. Who are you Fated to? Answer wisely,” he adds, tapping on his knees. “I wouldn’t want to rip the throat out of my wife before our wedding day.”

“Just Seonghwa and San,” your voice is hoarse, blinking slowly. “The others are just friendly with me. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” he nods, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. Those were the only two I could see. But why do the others care so much about you? They looked like they were going to kill me when I got there.”

“Seonghwa is their second. San is their informant,” you twist around between the truth and lies, carefully speaking. “Seonghwa is important to them, if he sees me distraught he can’t handle it. San is less so, but he cares. They don’t want to see him hurt because he cares a lot about me.” He still believes Wooyoung is San, and you don’t want to inform him otherwise.

Chan scoffs, “Mavians and their feelings. They’ve always been sensitive. No wonder they lost the war, they didn’t have the balls to end it. All of them are stupid, disgusting creatures,” he shivers slightly. “You must have been put under some sort of spell to like being around them. Everything about them is repulsive. You’ll be free of their hold soon, y/n,” he reaches out, lightly running his fingers along your arm. You shiver, goosebumps forming. Your throat burns as you pull your arm away from him, his touching burning. He grabs your arm, grip like steel.

“You will not pull away from me, understand?”

“Fuck you,” you shoot back, tugging harder. He lets go, laughing when you hit the door from the force. You want to fight back, to hurt him, badly. But you don’t do it. You push away those feelings, those thoughts. You do it for yourself, knowing that killing him right now will only make your life end quicker. You hold back because you know that miles down the road, there’s eight men who are waiting for you to come back home.

-

“The soldiers will bring you to the showers to get rid of the Mavian stench, then we’ll be on our way,” Chan says, nodding at the soldiers. Your eyes flick to them, recognition in your gaze. They’re the same women that helped you get dressed last time, the same ones that warned you of Mavian tendencies. You follow them inside the facilities, silent as you make your way to the showers.

The drive is shorter than you thought, Chan opening the passenger door and letting you hop out. He doesn’t seem to worry about you running away, ignoring how you look around the facility. It’s the same one you entered through months ago, filled with fear of the creatures underground. It’s a shame that you’re more fearful of your own kind than the aliens that landed on Earth. You tuck your hands close to your body, walking through the metal detectors.

“You’re the first I’ve seen back in a long time,” one says. You quickly recognize her as Sergeant EBI. “A bit bruised up I see.” She glances at your neck.

“That wasn’t the Mavians,” is all you say back. Her eyebrows furrow. Once she realizes what you mean, her eyes widen, gaze darting back to the front door. She doesn’t say anything else in the hallway, opening the showers for you to step into. Once she turns around and locks it, she flips up the knob on the showerhead, eyes moving to yours.

“Was it the commander?” She asks simply. You nod. “What has he done?”

“He almost killed me, sergeant,” you whisper, eyes darting to the door. You’re not sure if you should trust her, but there’s just something about her that makes you feel comfortable. “And what you said about the Mavians isn’t true, they aren’t violent when they aren’t provoked. They believe in peace, sergeant,” you reach out, gripping her hand. “Please believe my words.”

Her eyes widen, before frowning deeply. “I knew there was something odd happening. The peacemakers that never came back alive were riddled with bullets. I was told that it was to alleviate them of the pain Mav dragged them through, but…” she trails off, glancing at the door. “What does the commander plan on doing with you?”

You rub your hands together, letting go of her, “He wants to marry me. I’m not sure when but I know he wants to accelerate the process. It can be days from now, months, or even tomorrow if I am unlucky,” you say softly.

She looks at your body, eyes flicking to your neck. “What else has he done?”

The door slams open, and the sergeant stands, turning to the intruder. Soldiers stand there, Chan standing just behind them. He looks furious, eyes flicking to yours.

“Have you been spilling secrets, my love?” He raises a brow. Before you could speak, he pulls out a handgun, pointing it at the sergeant. She freezes in her spot, jaw clenched. “What do you know?” He asks.

“Chan–” He turns his weapon to you, silencing you immediately. He points it back at Ebi, raising his eyebrows.

She swallows slowly. “I know enough.”

He purses his lips, nodding slowly, “I’m glad you’re being honest, even at your end. I wish you safe passage, Sergeant EBI. You’ve served our women well. Goodbye.”

He fires, her body slumping to the floor.

–

“It’s her decision.”

“Why did you lock me in my room? It wasn’t my decision to stay there!”

“You would have swayed her, San. It was for the best.”

“Why do you keep on deciding things for us!” San slams his hand on his desk. “It’s nonsense! I wanted to see her, Yunho. I wanted to see her one last time before she left. The last time I saw her she was in pain, using the bathroom. The last time I saw her I didn’t even get to say what I wanted to. I…” His tightened fist flattens. “That might be the last time any of us catch a glimpse of her again. And you pulled that moment away from me because you thought I would sway her.”

“I didn’t just pull that away from you,” Yunho says, hands folded in front of him as he sits in his chair. “Seonghwa and Hongjoong weren’t allowed to either. And as was I. She saw who she needed to see, San. I’m sorry that I prevented you from greeting her goodbye, but we have bigger things to worry about now.”

“What? What do we have to worry about when our Fate is gone? In the hands of a dirty human who wants to take advantage of her? How am I supposed to be satisfied with this Yunho?” San asks, shaking his head. “You’ve done this for your own good. You did this to relieve yourself of worries.”

“Do you think that I don’t worry for her?” He asks, hands unfolding. He stands, moving to the opposite end of the room. No one in the room speaks, silence as he presses a button, revealing his chalkboard. Hongjoong sits near the window, his eyes on the front of the driveway. He’s not sure why he’s still invited here, when he’s of no use again. But each time he felt like leaving, a part of him was urging him to stay behind. The others sit scattered around the room, listening to Yunho and San argue.

The chalkboard clicks into place, Yunho moving to the side so everyone can see. The words itself are wild; endless numbers and plans of how to keep you safe, how to board the newly built ship, how to bring you back to them in case you have to leave with Chan. The data is infinite, some of it mad in its feverish writing. You can tell where it became illegible, words written over each other. Yunho stares at it, eyes flicking over his work.

“That night I sat here for hours, trying to come up with a way to keep her and everyone else safe. Most of it was fruitless. Chan has planted bombs on our property, has snipers pointing at all our windows at all times in case we do something he doesn’t like. There’s nothing here that could have allowed her to stay without us in danger. I stopped us from being at that exchange because Chan was going to kill us if we were there. Wooyoung found intel just before that meeting.” Yunho turns to the rest.

“Chan knows that she’s fated to San. I don’t know how he does, but he has that information. But from our first meeting, he still believes that Wooyoung is San. I used that to our advantage and kept you away. If he saw the way you looked at her, it would have ruined our secret. Wooyoung standing there indifferent could have confused him. Make him wonder if there was something else to the Fated bond. Sorry San, again,” he adds in. “You’re more expressive with your emotions than everyone else.”

“What plan did you come up with?” San’s anger has subsided slightly, hands resting against his chest. “How are we going to get her back?”

“We aren’t going to do anything,” Yunho says after a moment.

“What?” Yeosang speaks up this time, “You’re not going to try?”

“I’d rather not hear anything from you, Yeosang,” Yunho says, narrowing his eyes. “You and your little trips to the surface to visit y/n didn’t go unnoticed. You put us all in anger just by doing that, and even more so when you hid your bond to her. We wouldn’t have to go through all of this if you were the least bit honest.”

“I–”

“It’s best not to say anything else, friend,” Wooyoung pats Yeosang’s shoulder, eyes moving back to Yunho. “Do you think she’ll be able to come back herself?”

“She knows the surface better than us. She knows how the militia works up there, how they’ve changed over the years. It would be safer for her to make her way to us. If she wants to, that is. I hope she decides soon, we are leaving in two weeks.”

“Have they completed the operations already?” Seonghwa furrows his brows. “I was sure it was still a few months out until it was finished.”

“We had to speed up the process with the appearance of Chan in our lives,” Yunho says softly. “I will be bringing her brother with us if she doesn’t make it on time. We promised to protect him. He won’t be safe in an abandoned Mavian territory.”

“What will she think about Jongho not being here if she comes too late?” Mingi says, rubbing his face. “That will break her, not having her brother. She’s pushed for his well-being all this time, but taking him off the planet is a risk. He could possibly die with us while we’re trying to escape.” The distress is clear on his face, both for her and Jongho. Yunho doesn’t quite know how to take in that expression. His worry for you makes sense because of the bond, but Jongho? Sure he is worried for your brother’s safety, but not even close to the distraught look that covers Mingi’s face.

“She will be fine,” San says slowly. “I don’t agree with leaving her, but I think she’ll be fine with him coming with us. This world has been against them ever since they were born. If it takes for him to leave the planet so that he can be free, she would want that for him. He is her everything.”

“It’s like she has a Fated bond with him,” Hongjoong speaks up, all of their eyes moving to him. It’s a subconscious thing; their defunct leader is speaking. Although he doesn’t claim that role right now, it’s hard for them to ignore it. The bond runs through them all. “It makes you wonder if Fated bonds exist on Earth’s plane. We haven’t had enough time to explore their society since you’ve been trying to improve ours. But if there were such a thing as soulmates within humanity, I would consider them so. But besides that…” he turns to the rest of them, eyes moving between each Mavian.

“The bond that you have with her will be strained when you’re gone. It will hurt to be away from your Fated. I’m sure you all can feel it right now, because I can,” Hongjoong sighs, rubbing his chest. “I can feel all of your emotions. And thus, hers.”

Yunho walks back to his desk, leaving the chalkboard open for them to gaze at. Wooyoung glances between everyone, clearing his throat. “There was something else I noticed while treating her. Her markings are carved into her spine. But there weren't six of them. I recognized all of ours. But the one in the middle, I couldn’t pinpoint. There’s another… she has another Fated that we don’t know about.”

All of them are silent. Wooyoung shakes his head, “It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“What is it?” Yunho asks.

His eyes stay on the floor. “Us.”

“What?” he furrows his brows. “What do you mean, us? We already know it's us.”

“No no, it’s our symbol, Yunho. The symbol of Mav.”

None of them say a word, but their eyes move to Hongjoong. His gaze is still out the window, foot tapping as he takes in the information. “That’s not possible.” he says after a moment. “I’ve barely spent a moment with the human, it isn’t possible.” He looks at them all, face visibly distraught. He drags his fingers through his hair over and over, tugging at the knots. “She can’t be Fated to me.”

–

“Eat.”

You stare at the plate in front of you, mouth dry. It’s only been a few days, but you can feel the exhaustion within you. The struggle to pretend around Chan, to make him believe that you’re defeated. It takes a toil on you, consistently on your toes whenever you hear him walking down the hallway. Whenever you're alone, straining to hear the slightest sound of his presence. You haven’t slept peacefully in days, waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of a pin drop.

Here you sit at the dining room table, Chan across from you as he carves into his steak. The scratching of silverware as he scraps the plate, shoving meat into his mouth. He looks at you expectantly, gesturing to the food. In Mavian territory you were fed well, but rarely ever ate meat since they were vegetarians themselves. It’s gotten to the point where you never desired it, and haven’t eaten a bit of it in months.

You lift your fork, picking up the greens on the side and slowly eating that. He pauses in his eating, frowning. “Do you not find the meat to your standards?”

“I don’t eat meat, Chan.”

“Ah, your time down there has made you picky?” he chuckles dryly. “Cook!”

The doors to the room immediately swing open, the chef standing there. His hands are behind his back as he bows. Waiting for instruction. Chan wipes his mouth, standing up. He takes his fork, swinging it and stabbing it into the chef’s neck. He gasps, clutching the silverware as he falls to the floor. You scream, moving back your chair and running over to his side. Chan laughs as you desperately try to stop the bleeding on his neck, grabbing a napkin and pressing it to the wound.

He snorts, “Next time chef, listen to my fiancé. No fucking meats for her, alright?” he kicks the man several times as you scream at him to stop. Instead of stopping he shoves you out the way, continuing his assault. His laugh echoes around the room as he continues. You look around for something, reaching up and grabbing the steak knife off the table. You start to swing, but a hand behind you stops you.

You’ve already forgotten the guards in the room, screaming as they restrain you from stopping Chan. He ignores you completely despite you just threatening his life; his punching neverending, even after the chef is no longer moving. Chan wipes his hands on his white slacks, sighing softly. The red is hard to look away from, bile threatening to fill your throat.

“Look at you, you made my pants all dirty,” his voice is lighthearted compared to the brutal killing. You can’t even look at the chef, knowing that you won’t even recognize his body anymore. Chan turns to look at you, waving his guards away. They let you fall back to the ground. Your body shakes as Chan crouches in front of you, ignoring your flinch as he rubs your face with blood covered hands.

“It’s okay, you won’t have to see anymore of that, alright love?” his voice is soft. You’re not sure if he’s trying to be comforting despite him murdering right in front of you, or if he’s that delusional of the circumstances. You don’t say anything, silent sobs racking through you. He tsks, slowly pulling you into his chest. You don’t have the willpower at the moment to force him away. Shaking each time his thumb strokes your face. The smell makes you queasy as he lifts you in his arms, guiding you to your room.

He lets you down into the tub, turning on the water. He doesn’t bother trying to take off your clothes, letting the water slowly puddle underneath your body. He stops it halfway, tilting his head slightly to gauge your reaction.

“Don’t you ever try to threaten me again. Doing stupid things will lead to stupid consequences,” he says, tapping the edge of the tub. Your eyes flick to the movement, a red print of his palm staining the edge. “Get yourself cleaned up, hm? I won’t be back until tomorrow since I have some Mavians to deal with.”

You’re pulled out of your head, eyes finally meeting his. His grin stretches across his cheeks as he stares down at you. He shakes his head, sighing softly. “All you care about are those Mavians. It’s been a week, y/n. They haven’t even left their manor. They’re not coming for you. I can just kill them all, alright? Then you won’t have to worry anymore.”

"Chan," you touch the edge of the tub, pulling back quickly when you brush against what he left behind. "You don't have to kill them, they're not doing anything to you. Or to me. Please."

His brow twitches as he listens to your words, brushing his hair away from his face. "No. I think I'll take care of them. Tonight sounds like the best bet, yeah?" He looks down at your panicked face. "Then we'll be together without any interference from them. It'll be perfect. I'm doing this for us, y/n. Don't look so upset with me–"

"I don't want you," you hiss, unable to control your anger. "You're worse than them. By far."

He pouts, "I'm sorry you feel that way. Now be a good girl and don't cause any trouble while I'm gone. There's guards outside your door, so don't try to run around and cause a mess. I'll be back when I'm done." He turns on his heels, ignoring your screams as he closes the bathroom door behind him.

-

“Where are you going?” San walks through the door, watching as Yeosang packs up a bag. He barely gives the intruder a glance, humming softly as he looks over his belongings quickly then zipping it up. San looks around the room, noticing many of Yeosang’s things scattered out and about. It’s the first time he’s seen his room this messy, Seonghwa usually scolds them for it. “Yeosang I’m standing right here.”

“I know, and I’m choosing to ignore you.” He takes a step to the side, San blocking his path. He sighs softly, eyes lazily moving to him. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“If I tell you, you'll involve yourself in things that aren’t your business. Just ignore this one for once, yea?”

“I’m not letting you rescue her without me.”

Yeosang clenches his jaw, rubbing his face. “It’s easier for me to slip away since I know how to get out of here. Yunho would take it fine if it was me because he expects it of me. But you’re our watcher, San. We can’t have you gone, even for a night. It’s too much of a risk.”

“You going alone is a risk in itself–”

“He’s not going alone.” They both turn, seeing Mingi stand there. He’s covered in camouflage, hip decorated with a small satchel. He glances between the both of them, frowning. “It wasn’t Yeosang’s idea, it was mine San. Don’t get mad at him for what I decided.”

“You’re leaving Jongho behind?” San furrows his brows. Mingi swallows softly, trying his best to hide his worry. “He’s been attached to you by the hip, and you’re going to disappear? This is bad, Mingi. You could die when you go up there.”

“I won’t let him, that’s why I offered to come. And I’m the only one who knows the backstreets, and where Chan lives,” Yeosang says softly, glancing out into the hallway. “Hell, San. We don’t have time to be speaking to you about this. Any moment now Hongjoong will go back to his room, and the veil of secrecy will be lost. I don’t want you to come-” he holds up his hand, stopping San before he speaks- “but I will allow it this time. We have bigger worries. I’m sure you’ve all felt the pain she’s been through while she was gone.”

They all exchange looks. Not too long after you left, they felt the air leave their lungs. It seemed to hurt Seonghwa the most; he fell to the ground gasping for air. Chan did something to you, probably choked you to near death. It almost made them turn back to get you. Yunho stopped them again, this time explaining that there was nothing they could do while you were so close to Chan. It was true, but it wasn’t something they liked to hear. Yeosang reaches to the side of him, grabbing an already packed bag and pushing it into San’s chest. He furrows his brows at the bag, looking back at Yeosang in confusion.

“I planned ahead, in case you found out before we could leave. No more talking, let’s move.” He pushes San into the hallway, shutting and locking his bedroom door behind him. “Less than five minutes until Hongjoong ends the meeting. We have to go.”

Mingi leads them through the hallways, their steps silent but quick. They make it to Hongjoong’s door, Yeosang taking the lead and slowly opening it. Hongjoong’s room is oddly neat, almost too neat. It’s like no one ever slept in the room, the blankets completely folded and free of wrinkles. San closes the door behind them, glancing around the room. Yeosang wastes no time, moving to his closet and swinging the door open. He runs his hand along the wooden panels, a soft click echoing around the room. Through hushed breaths, he pushes it open. The tunnel is completely dark as he gestures for Mingi to enter, looking at the door.

“Yeosang, what is this?”

“No time,” he hisses to the tall man, almost kicking him inside the hole. He turns to San pointedly, nudging him. “Come on! I’ll leave your ass behind if you continue to delay.” San immediately enters, disappearing into the darkness. Before Yeosang can step inside, he feels a hand rest on his shoulders. He tenses up, turning around.

Hongjoong stands there, brow quirked. “Leaving so soon?”

“Hoped it was sooner, but things always go wrong around here,” Yeosang replies. “What are you going to do? Run and tell Yunho on us?”

Hongjoong snickers, pulling his hand back. “No. I expected this from you. You’re not one to blindly follow orders, especially when it pertains to her,” he digs in his overcoat pocket, gesturing for Yeosang to open his hands. He shows him his palm, Hongjoong dropping a small pouch. Yeosang stares at it for a moment, before his eyes widen in recognition.

“Is this–?”

“It is. Keep it close. It only works once, Yeosang. Use it wisely.” He folds his fingers over, smiling softly. “Now go and save our girl.”

-

Yeosang jumps down, brushing off the dirt from his knees. Mingi and San stand there, waiting for him to say something. “We don’t have all day,” Yeosang finally says, grabbing his pack off the ground and throwing it over his shoulder. They follow after him as he snaps his fingers, a soft glow illuminating the surrounding area. It isn’t too bright, so the other two stand close by him as he quickly makes his way.

“Who was that?” San asks.

“Hongjoong. He won’t say a word about us unless he doesn’t have a choice. But I’m sure once Yunho sees the three of us gone, he’d realize it himself. Be ready to be stuck in the manor for a while, he won’t let us out of his sight after this.”

“But we’re doing a good thing,” Mingi insists. “We’re saving her.”

“If she wants to be saved,” Yeosang says softly. San abruptly stops, causing the two to look at him. Yeosang can see well in the darkness, quickly seeing the frustration in his eyes. “I am only speaking of possibilities now, San. There’s also the chance that we are saving her. But we can’t ignore the chance that she might be happy there.”

“He hurt her, Yeosang,” San says, shaking his head. “Who would be happy in a place like that? He almost killed her, we felt it. Don’t you remember? The imprint of his hands on our necks, the grip on our arms? She doesn’t want to be there, Yeo. It’s not even the slightest possibility.”

“He’s right,” Mingi adds. “We’ve only known her for a short while and she’s headstrong, but some things tear a person down. We have no idea what condition she is in right now, but I’m doubtful that it’s anything remotely positive.”

Yeosang rubs his face, “I know, I know. I just mentioned a possibility. That’s all. I want her back as much as the both of you, okay?” He looks at San. “Okay, San?”

“Alright,” San picks up his pace again, following along. They’re close to the end, the light from outside shining through. Yeosang tells them that they’ve made it to the surface, unpacking his brown dirt mix and passing it to San. He starts covering his face with it.

“It’s to blend in with the people,” Yeosang says softly, looking at Mingi. “You look like you’re part of the militia. But it’s fine since we need to sneak into Chan’s home.”

“How did you find this?” Mingi asks, filling the brief silence.

“A better question would be how did I make this,” he starts. “It took ten years. But it was already a cave, they just built this manor on top of it. I was cleaning one day and I held myself up against the wall. It felt hollow, so I broke through and walked through this path. It was blocked off at the end, but I moved all of the rocks and was able to climb to the surface. It took me a long time to get the guts to go through, but I finally did. I ended up in her town. And you know the rest.”

San finishes covering himself, Yeosang slowly climbing with the two trailing behind.

"You knew and you didn't utter a word. I saw nothing in your eyes whenever you were around here. Nothing indicating that she was yours," San notes, mirroring his steps. The path is definitely worn down, barely a glimpse of wildlife in the quiet woods.

He chuckles lightly, moving a branch from the path. "Is there some way I'm supposed to act? Should I have worshiped at her feet and blessed the land she walked upon?"

"No need for the sarcasm," Mingi murmurs, crouching under a heavier branch. "He's just curious, Yeosang, nothing more."

"No such thing as nothing more when it comes to him," Yeosang stops moving, holding his fist up. "We have to wait for a convoy to pass, then we can make our move. It happens every half hour. You can sit for a bit while we wait," he crouches down, pushing hair away from his face. "I didn't tell you because of her. When I found out we were Fated, I realized then that I needed to decide if I wanted to pursue a relationship - friendly or otherwise - with her. And at that time, I made my decision quickly."

"You didn't want to have anything to do with her?" Mingi asks, and Yeosang nods slowly.

"I thought that relations between a human and a Mavian would only lead down a treacherous path, and even if I was to be selfish and allow it, I wouldn't let a human experience what we have to deal with. I wouldn’t be selfish. But unfortunately, things changed when she became the peacemaker of our household. It was harder then to control myself. I thought she would recognize me but she didn’t. It made the whole secrecy thing easier, but harder all at once. I assumed that I could count on her to keep it hidden and we’d speak about it in private. That chance was lost when there was no recognition when her eyes met mine.”

“When you found out she was Fated to me too, you barely blinked,” San says softly. “And didn’t say anything even as Seonghwa found out.”

“What could I say?” Yeosang shrugs. “I suspected it, but that’s only my thoughts. We should continue this discussion later, the convoy is coming up. Be aware of your surroundings, and travel through the city casually. They won’t notice a thing if you don’t bring attention to yourself. His home is about two miles from here.”

-

The door clicks open, a sigh of relief falling from your lips. You push it slowly, glancing inside your room. It’s quiet, the guard probably sitting just outside the bedroom door. You slowly make your way into your room, eyes flicking to the food on your side table. Chan probably ordered them to leave you something when he left. But you don’t have an appetite, already thinking back to how he killed that Chef in front of you. It wasn’t your fault, no, but the guilt still weighs on you. If you just ate the meat, accepted defeat, then maybe the chef would still be alive. The same with Sergeant EBI. If you kept quiet, she would be alive. She wouldn’t have been shot.

You close your eyes, swallowing slowly. “This isn’t your fault,” you say to yourself, believing the words less and less. You slowly undress, digging through your closet for something appropriate to wear. Chan riddled it with skimpy outfits, things that left nothing to the imagination. You finally dig out something mildly concealing, tugging it over your body. The blood still stains the bathroom. You know you should clean it up, but you just don’t have the heart to. How could he break your spirit in less than a week? You barely want to move, to get out of bed. But you can't let one of the caretakers see it. They've already been through enough, and you wouldn't want your lack of motivation to result in one of them being hurt. It's the last thing you want.

Making your way to the door, your hands trembling as you grip the hem of your pants, looking into the room. A lump in your throat forms when you see the blood staining the tiles, porcelain and walls. A creak in your room stops you, eyes flicking around. A hand appears near your window, digging beneath the frame and lifting it with ease. You look around, debating whether you should warn the guard or scream for help. You choose neither, quickly closing the bathroom door and flicking off the light. The lock is broken from your tampering earlier, and you can only hope that they decide to not check.

There's silence on the other side once the window slides all the way up. You strain to hear, a pair of feet walking around the room. You look around for something, anything to protect yourself. But Chan cleared the bathroom of anything remotely harmful, leaving you shrinking into the bathtub.

The footsteps stop, your bedroom door swinging open. You hear a bit of resistance from the guard who was standing there, listening to them being attacked by the intruders. They have to be looking for Chan, no one knows you're here but him and a few of the staff. Most wouldn't use a window if they could waltz in through the door. Your fingers dig into your dress as you look down. The shadow of the intruder stands just outside the door. Your chest rises and falls quickly as you pray that they don't catch you. You've been so brave your whole life, unafraid of anything that came your way. Somehow, this place has broken you down. Your prayers fall on death ears.

The door swings open, a hand reaching out and flicking on the lights. You scream closing your eyes and holding out your hands in defeat. A hand quickly covers your mouth and you try to bite down, hushed by the person in front of you. Your eyes flick open, finally meeting there's.

His perturbed eyes look into yours, bewildered as you look at him. It takes a few seconds to register who exactly is in front of you. But you recognize the soft gaze, the messy hair peeking from beneath the military cap. He slowly pulls his hand away from your lips, holding them up in surrender.

"I'm not going to hurt you, ladybug," His voice is slow, eyes unmoving from yours. "You're okay, you're going to be okay. Everything's okay. Take a second and just look at me, alright? Who am I?"

Your nerves slowly dissipate as you wait for your mind to catch up. To see that he's not here to hurt you. That he cares about you. That he'd never try anything harmful against you. That he's your Mingi. Your lips shake as you hold back your tears, reaching out and cupping his cheek with your hand. The green paint mixes with the red, your heart dropping. You pull back quickly, the blood on your hand now decorating his face. No no no no. You can feel yourself falling back into your bubble of fear, until he grabs your hand and places it back where it once was.

"I'm fine. I'm fine, listen to my words and repeat them. I'm fine."

"I'm fine," you say slowly, locking your eyes with his. The words fall off your lips over and over. You let him calm you down, finally dropping your hand from his face. He still keeps it in his hold but it's flimsy, giving you the chance to pull away whenever you'd like. "Mingi…" your voice cracks, tears coating your cheeks. "I'm so sorry I gave up on you."

His lip quivers as he presses them to your palm, eyes slowly closing as tears fall. "You've never given up on me, my ladybug. And I've never given up on you." He slowly pulls his lips away. "We need to go, alright? The others are waiting and we shouldn't be too long. Can you walk?"

You nod, your legs shaky as you stand in the tub. But he guides you with the utmost tenderness, careful and patient with you. You both don't exchange many words, following him close behind as he glances around your room. He guides you to the window, lifting it up again and peering down.

"I know this'll be a lot for you, but I need you to walk across the roof quietly. We still haven't alerted the guards of our presence. And there's no reason for us to do it now, so if you can–" he turns to you– "be sure not to make a sound, alright? We're going to try to get you out of here as quickly as we can. Hopefully by the time Chan notices, we'd be long gone. Are you sure you can do it?"

You nod, letting him help you climb through the window. He’s close behind as he shuts it, following you across the roof. Luckily it’s only at a slight angle. Enough for you to move without much worry. You make it to the edge, looking over at the bottom. Before you can ask Mingi how exactly you’re going to get down, he leaps with ease, landing on the ground lightly. You widen your eyes. They’re aliens, sure. But a drop like that? It didn’t hurt him even a bit? He holds out his arms, beckoning for you to follow.

There’s a lot of things you’re not afraid of. You’ve actually prided yourself on not being afraid of most things. But this… a drop that far. You swallow lightly, hands moist.

“I won’t let you hurt yourself, lady,” he says softly. “I promise you.”

“I know I know, but…” you bite your lip, desperate to push away your fears. You do believe him, your heart does. But your mind is consumed with the what-ifs. Nothing is one hundred percent safe, even as he stares up at you earnestly. You slowly let your legs hang over the edge, ignoring the distance between them and the ground. Closing your eyes, you press your hand over your mouth and jump.

It’s barely a second when you land in his arms with ease, not even a grunt coming from him. You open your eyes, looking into him. He gives you a quick grin, lowering you to the grass. You steady yourself - with help from his outstretched arm - then follow him through the courtyard. Chan kept everything neat and clear, but the foliage was always tall. Mingi uses it to advantage as he twists through the trees. He stops you, crouching down and holding a finger to his lips. You stay close to him.

Two guards walk down a path, guns resting in their arms.

“Think Chan got to that clan yet?” One asks, and your eyes widen. You look to Mingi, but he keeps his gaze on them, expression hardened. “Said he’d be back by morning but I thought it’d be over much quicker than that.”

“He’s obsessed with that peasant. He’d probably drag out their deaths because of how much she cares about ‘em. Haven’t even seen Chan kiss the girl, I doubt she’d fuck him when she has those aliens instead,” the other laughs, both joining in their mockery. You don’t care for their insults, it’s something you’re used to. But if Mingi is here trying to get you, there’s one less at the manor to fight. All of the others are in danger, and here he is saving you.

The guards pass by, and Mingi stands, grabbing your hand and dragging you through the yard. You finally make it to a hole in the fence, Mingi gesturing for you to go first.

“The others–” you start, and he holds up a finger to his lips, shushing you. You push your body through, emerging from the other side. It’s a public street, but at night it’s quieter. Mingi appears next to you, dusting off his pants and rubbing his face. He doesn’t say anything, probably to keep your location hidden, but you can see how distraught he is. He looks at you, his smile wearier now.

“The others are waiting for us. We should get going,” he mumbles, placing your hand in his again. He jogs through the streets, moving deeper and deeper into your neighborhood. The streets are oddly quiet. At this time of night, bars are open and gatherings are happening. It’s the only time you could have fun, all sunny hours spent working endlessly. You don’t have the heart to start a conversation with him. His mind is probably filled with his family. You wouldn’t blame him, your mind is swarming. Why did he come alone? Why did he come at all when you said you were going to? Are the others okay? Did you make a grave mistake, coming here?

Questions topple upon one another as you’re pulled through the streets. Cold air makes your skin prickle with goosebumps, a light fog escaping your lips. “They’re going to be okay.” you say after a moment.

Mingi looks at you. His look terrifies you. You’ve never seen pure fear in his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. “I hope so, lady,” he murmurs, running across the street. You enter the forest, a small clearing. Mingi stops, glancing around. “Are you here?” he asks, narrowing his eyes in the night.

“Who–?” You don’t get the chance to finish.

He takes your breath away when he slams into your body, his desperate hands wandering all over you, making sure that it’s you standing in front of him. His tear stained cheeks rest against your hair, breathing in you.

“San?” Your eyebrows furrow with worry, and he shakes his head, sucking in a breath. His skin is stained with dirt, blending in with your surroundings. “You look absolutely terrible,” you say, words stuttering as you try your best to calm yourself down. “I told you there was no need to worry about me. I was going to come back to you no matter what.”

He laughs, the field’s somber atmosphere more gleeful. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, dimples shining down at you. There’s a slight break in his expression. His chest rises and falls quickly as he stares, tears rushing down his cheeks. “I was scared that you weren’t going to, Bug.”

You hear a branch crack behind him, your gaze immediately flicking to see what it is. Yeosang appears from the tree line, eyes flicking over your body, taking you in. A weight seems to release off his shoulder when his gaze meets yours. San pulls you deep into his chest before you could say anything to Yeosang. You’d playfully shove him if it weren’t for your mind consumed with what’s happening this very moment.

The three of them came. Three. That means that all the manor has right now are five men. One of them being your brother. Against Chan, ready to kill at the drop of a hat. You love this moment, your heart is jumping with glee that you’re finally back with them. But the utter horror that lurks just behind that scares you.

“Mingi,” you turn to him. San looks between the both of you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s going on?” Yeosang speaks up first, eyes narrowing. “What did you find out?”

“We need to go back to the manor right now,” Mingi says, “Chan plans on attacking it and killing us all. Except there’s three of us currently missing from it. They could be…” Mingi rubs his face, eyes scattered. “They could be dying, Yeosang. And we’re not even close.”

“Let’s go,” Yeosang looks at you. “All of us. Now.”

–

“Lock all Mavian Clan doors immediately. Make sure not one is walking the streets. Tell them to start boarding the ship through the emergency tunnels. Change of plans, we’re leaving tonight,” Yunho says, radio going silent. He turns to the Mav in his office. The room is silent, gunfire just outside their home. Hongjoong stands by the window, watching the scene.

“All warning shots. That commander is staring right at our window,” Hongjoong says, turning back to them. There’s a screen between it, bulletproof. Even from where he’s standing, he can see the devious look Chan shoots to the manor. It’s as if he can see him staring at him right now. “Your call, Yunho.”

“We can’t confront them when half of us are still topside,” Yunho says, eyes on his plan board. “I knew they were going to try to get her, but maybe they should’ve thought of this yesterday. Fuck me,” he hits his desk, the wood cracking. “There’s not enough manpower in here to stop him. We don’t have the resources.”

“I can hold them off so that you can escape,” Wooyoung says. “I’m not at my best, but it would be enough. They don’t know that we can still use majik on this planet. It will take them by surprise, delay them for a moment.”

“I’m not going to risk your life just so that we can save ourselves,” Seonghwa speaks up, shaking his head. “Every Mavian is getting out of here. No matter what. You will not risk your life for ours, understand?”

Jongho sits in the corner of the room, looking between all of them. He can see how much the tension is rising. In comparison he isn’t as strong as the rest, but he knows a bit of Chan’s motives from his interactions with him. And this thought has been lingering on his mind for a while. “Hey.”

All eyes move to him.

The nerves start to get the best of him but he clears his throat, continuing. “When I spent time with Chan, I learned a lot about him. To keep the story brief, he has a weakness. I’m not too sure how it will work in this situation, but he’s afraid of the dark. Deadly afraid. That’s why each time he’s here, he keeps his car light on, and stands in the brightest area. One time in the manor he killed someone because the lights turned off while he was in the bathroom. ”

Yunho’s lips lift, an ominous smirk forming.

“I knew we kept you here for a reason,” Seonghwa laughs dryly, shaking his head.

-

“Get to the top, I’ll lift her up so you can catch her,” Mingi says, standing at the bottom of the opening. Yeosang lifts himself up, turning around and reaching a hand down. Mingi holds you by your waist, lifting you up with ease. You reach out for Yeosang, but he pulls back, eyes widening.

"San behind you!"

San turns on his heel, but it's too late. His hand slowly touches his chest, blood sputtering out of the bullet wound. It feels as if it’s in slow motion. His head turned to you. Fear coating his expression, eyes rolling back. You can't see him that clearly but he slumps, face hitting the dirt. The pain in your chest seems almost palpable, hurting in the same spot he was shot. You yell his name, pushing yourself forward to help him. Somehow. Mingi grabs your body before you can run past him, gripping you tightly as he throws you up.

Yeosang’s arms wrap around your torso, pulling you into the manor with him. You catch a glimpse of MIngi turning back around, taking out a weapon from his side and running forward into the dark. A piercing scream echoes through the darkness as you cover your ears. Yeosang puts you on the floor, shaking your body and saying something to you. But you can’t hear over the yelling. He places his hand on your mouth, the sound muffling. Oh. It’s you.

“Listen to me!” He shakes you again, anger in his eyes. “Get the others. Now!” His face is pained as he lifts his hand from your mouth. You can barely breathe, the pain from San encompassing your body. Yeosang looks between you and the hole, thinking quickly.

"Get the others," he repeats, moving off of you. He glances at you once more before jumping into the hole. You struggle to get to your feet, stumbling through the door. The ringing in your ear makes your hearing worse, but you can tell that the hallway is quiet. You don't have a chance to dwell on it. Your throat burns as you cough, red hitting the floor. You curse at yourself, gripping the wall as you run to Yunho's office. It's the only place you think they'd be. You push yourself, throwing open the door with a bit of struggle.

The room is completely empty as you fall to the floor, gasping for air. Why his injury is affecting you so deeply is beyond you, but you can't move. You blink quickly, looking around the room for anything that'll tell where they are. Your eyes flick to the board, several plans laid out. One is circled, Jongho’s name scribbled next to it. Before you can figure it out, your body betrays you, head hitting the wood.

-

Yeosang drags San's body through the backdoor of the manor. Mingi is hurt as well but he can maintain his own body enough, slowly trudging behind the two. Yeosang kicks open the door, pulling San through. He places him in the middle of the floor and digs out the small bag Hongjoong gave him. Without a second though, he presses the flowers into San's wound.

"What are you doing?" Mingi asks.

San gasps, immediately leaning forward as he feels Yeosang's fingers twist into his wound. Mouth agape, fingers gripping Yeosang's. Struggling to pull them out. Yeosang uses his free hand to push down his shoulder.

“Stop moving, idiot!” He glares at him, feeling around for the bullet. His fingertips brush against the warm metal, gripping it with his nails and pulling it out. San’s body goes limp. He lightly holds his fingers against his neck, leaning down his head next to his mouth. “He’s still breathing.” Yeosang says it to no one but himself, dropping the bullet into the sink next to him. Mingi leans against the wall, breaths heavy as he pulls out splinters from his leg.

“Is he going to be okay?” Mingi asks, wiping his forehead.

“He’ll be alright. Might take a few days for him to fully recover,” Yeosang murmurs, adding a little bit more of the flowers into the wound before covering it with gauze. Mingi peers over Yeosang’s shoulder as he stands, furrowing his brows at the plant.

“Wysteria?” he asks, raising his brow. “How did you find that?”

“Our beloved captain gave it to me before I left to get y/n–” His eyes widened, cursing under his breath.

“Where is she?” Mingi insists.

Yeosang rubs his face, glancing between San and the door. You couldn’t have gone far with how dreadful you looked, but he could swear that you left the room before he jumped down. “I told her to get the others out of sheer panic, but I wouldn’t know where they were, and neither will she.” He stands. “I’m going to get her.”

Mingi grabs his arm before he leaves, trembling slightly. “Someone needs to watch San, and you’re one of our healers. You’ll take care of him better than I ever will. I’ll get her.”

Yeosang rolls his eyes, gesturing to his condition, “Will you? You can barely walk without hurting. San will be fine, and I’ll be back before anything major happens. He’ll be unconscious, and I’m sure you can protect him from threats that may come. We’ve already suffered enough, let’s not make it worse," he places a hand on his chest stopping him. "Trust me, as I trust you."

Mingi swallows slowly, letting go of Yeosang. "Don't be too long."

-

You feel yourself being pulled, your head slumped over as they drag you through the hallways. You blink slowly, eyes looking up to see who it is. HIs hands are cold underneath your shoulders, gripping them tightly. If it were anyone else, you’d be grateful to see them. Unfortunately, the familiar sinister look as he meets your gaze is not one you’d ever want to see. Chan’s lips curve into a smile, brows wiggling as he looks down at you.

“You seem to be far away from home,” he says, grunting as he turns a corner. He kicks the door open. It seems that you never quite leave the parlor, always ending up in the same spot. He lifts you onto the small couch, resting against the one across from yours as he lets out a breath. “A few months ago you were as light as a feather. They must have fattened you up.”

You try to say something back, but you’re at a loss for words. Why can’t you come up with coherent sentences to say? Chan chuckles at you, “You look like a fish, opening and closing your mouth like that.”

“What do you want with me?” You rub your face, slowly pulling your body out of the haze. The pain is no longer there, but whatever happened when you passed out continues to fog up your memory. “Where’s everyone?”

He leans forward, amused, “Good thing I have you here to tell me. But I'm not sure if I can trust your words anymore since you lied to me about your lover San.” He pouts, taking out a switchblade. You keep your eyes on it as he spins it slowly. “How long did you think you’d be able to keep it up? Until they ran away on their little ship? Until they took Jongho with them, leaving you behind? That little brother of yours is always getting himself into places he doesn’t belong.” He tsks, shaking his head. “You should’ve known that at some point his actions would catch up to him.”

That seems to snap you out of the fog, glaring at him, “You better not touch him.”

He laughs, “Honestly I wish I killed him long ago. That kid only lived up to this point because of you. He can’t even think for himself. A complete idiot.” He mulls over his words. “But enough about that guy. Where are the Mavs, my little ladybug?” He stands, hands resting against his back. “You couldn’t have left our home on your own, especially in the state I left you in. Ah ah ah!” He pulls out his gun right as you're about to stand, pointing it directly at the space between your eyes. “How about we don’t do anything stupid, yeah?”

“I don’t know where they are–" He cocks his gun, stopping you before you can continue. “Chan, I’m not lying this time. I know you don’t believe me but I’m telling the truth.” You can’t hide how desperate you are, hands up in surrender as your body shakes.

He hums, tilting his head to the side as he stares at you. “I'm sorry love, I just don’t believe a word you say anymore. It was lie after lie after lie…” he clicks his tongue, “You have to see yourself in my shoes. What would you do if someone just lies to you over and over again? How would you be able to distinguish the truth from fiction? Care to answer?” He moves closer to you, the end of the pistol pressing into your skin. You hold back your sobs, not wanting him to fire by accident. You’re not sure if he’d actually do it. In fact, you’re not sure of anything. Everything Chan has done has been wild, most of it unexpected. “y/n my dear, I’m waiting.”

“I–”

The lights turn off and he pulls the gun back from your face, aiming at the door. His breaths are staggered, hands shaking as he points it. He glances at you, flicking for you to move closer to him. You slowly get off the couch. A hand wraps around your mouth, pulling you back. Your shriek is stifled as they press you against their body, mouth next to your ear.

“Quiet,” Hongjoong whispers, hiding behind the couch you were just on.

Chan turns his head to where you once were, eyes wide. “What the fuck is going on?” A loud noise from the opposite side of the room makes him turn and shoot. “Come out and stop hiding in the shadows!” The sound of wind ripples through the room, painfully loud. Hongjoong lets go of your mouth, pressing you closer to his chest and covering your ears. Chan’s body is thrown back against the far wall behind him, the glass from the mirror shattering. He hits the floor with a loud thud, shards falling around him. He groans, hands free of the gun.

The lights flicker back on, your eyes quickly taking in the room. Seonghwa holds the gun delicately, balancing it between his pointer and thumb. He tilts his head, studying it silently. Yunho stands next to him, hands tucked in his pockets. His white shirt is stained with blood but he looks unharmed. Wooyoung's in the far back, dropping his hand as his chest rises and falls quickly with Jongho next to the door, sighing in relief when you meet his gaze.

Hongjoong lets you go, helping you stand from behind your hiding place. Chan takes in the room, anger in his expression as he grinds his teeth. “Are you trying to make a fool of me? I am the commander of the–”

“I could care less, frankly,” Yunho interrupts him, rolling his eyes. You’re so used to him being playful in his expressions that it’s jarring to see how stone-faced he is. “You’ve made a mess coming here you know. Your friends stained my carpets.”

“You-” He goes to stand, but Wooyoung raises his arm, his body slamming right back down into the hardwood. “You witches! Let go of me!”

Seonghwa shakes his head, flicking his finger. The ammo drops to the floor and he tosses the pistol in front of Chan. “Now why would you bring a gun to a majik fight?” He says, bemused. “Humans will never stop being silly.”

“Wooyoung, let him go,” Yunho says. Said Mav drops his arm, Chan struggling to get to his feet. He doesn’t bother grabbing the empty gun in front of him, brushing off the shards from his clothes. It’s strange to see Chan so frazzled. There’s small cuts all over his body, blood staining his skin. Yunho walks closer to him, only a foot apart from Chan. It’s odd seeing them side by side, Yunho’s figure looming over his smaller stature. He grips Chan’s collar, turning his head to look in your direction.

“Now how about you apologize to her? All you’ve done while she’s been with you is hurt her. Don’t you remember what you said? You’ll be much safer where your kind are. Seems to be the complete opposite now.”

“I’d rather die than apologize to a lowly creature like her,” Chan spits, eyes on yours. His expression holds no warmth for you, only bitterness. “Look at you, pretending to care for them. When will you decide that you’ve grown tired of it? When you’re on their ship in only God knows where?” He laughs, shaking his head. “Or are you so dedicated to being their whore, you’d live your life moving between their quarters and fuck them whenever they desire-”

 A loud crack echoes through the room as a fist collides with his jaw, his body slumping over. Jongho hits him over and over, Yunho grabbing his arm. He doesn’t stop though, continuing to punch Chan. You run over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He whips his head around to look at you, furious expression softening. Jongho leans up and stands over him, chest rising and falling, seething. His eyes flutter with your touch, fists slowly open. He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His fists are bloody as he wipes it on his shirt, swallowing slowly. Yunho stands just behind him, saying nothing.

“His words don’t mean a thing to me,” you say, dropping your hand from him. Your eyes flick to Chan at your feet, holding his jaw as he glares between you and your brother. He spits blood at your shoes. Seeing him beneath you, you can only pity him. Whatever goes through his mind is unknown to you. But you’re tired of letting him control your life. You crouch, staring at him silently.

“What?” he gripes.

“You’ve made yourself to be this macho man that could take over the world. I was terrified of you for a while,” you admit. “But you’re just the same kid I grew up with who was too scared of the dark to walk alone. I don’t know how you ended up this way since you were so kind before. Your sister would be disappointed, you know.” It was certainly a low blow mentioning her; both of you attended her funeral when you were just a young teen. You could remember how solemn Chan was, staring at the empty grave. She was a peacemaker, just like you are now. A part of you wonders what happened to her now that you know the majority of the peacemakers were not killed by Mavians.

“Fuck you,” his voice cracks, eyes still. You stand up, moving away from him. Yunho glances at you, sympathy in his gaze.

“We’ll do whatever you want to him, it’s your call.”

Moments ago you wanted to kill Chan, treat him the way he’s treated you this whole time. But taking revenge will only sit in your stomach, linger until it breaks you down. You don’t forgive him, you’re not sure you ever will. But murder isn’t you. Death is not something you could just do to someone. So you shake your head, Yunho nodding.

“Alright then. Wooyoung if you’d be so kind as to bring him to the‐”

A loud boom echoes outside the manor, Hongjoong moving past you to look out the window. He curses, turning back to the rest of us. “They’re fucking bombing buildings. This whole place is going to collapse onto itself.”

Chan laughs loudly despite the blood on his face, grinning at all of us. “Did you think it was just me planning this? You’ve got the militia coming to kill you all.” His eyes slowly slide to yours. “You’re already dead.”

“Where’s the others? We have to leave now,” Seonghwa says. You immediately remember why you ran from them, and why you were desperately looking for someone.

“They were attacked,” you say, and Yunho frowns. “San was shot and the other two went to save them.”

“Why didn’t you say this sooner?” Seonghwa hisses. “They could be dead right now, you-”

“Relax,” Yunho says, interrupting him before he goes on a rant. “She couldn’t have said anything because we just came in here a few minutes ago. You and Wooyoung go look for them. If y/n isn’t crumbling into a pile of blood, he’s fine. As are the others.” Yunho looks at you. “Hongjoong will guide you to the ship with Jongho. I’ll stay behind and wait for them.”

“I’m not leaving any of you behind,” Hongjoong says, shaking his head. “I already left so many behind on Wysteria. I’m not doing it again. You go with her, I’ll wait for the others.”

“I’ll go with them,” Wooyoung replies. “No need for arguing.” He beckons the two of you to follow him, glancing at Chan on the floor. “Such a disappointment to see you still alive.” He pouts, eyes sliding to yours. Even though you haven’t said it to each other, you knew. Wooyoung bows his head slightly to you, the same, familiar teasing grin on his lips. One you’ve missed seeing every day.

“Let’s go,” he pulls his eyes from you, leaving the room.

-

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Jongho asks softly as you move quickly behind Wooyoung. His hand is in yours as you sneak through the streets, ears out for any militia that may lurk in the shadows. You left the others at the manor not too long ago, lingering gazes between you and Seonghwa before you left. You know he’s furious, but for a split second you thought you saw worry in his eyes. But perhaps it was just your mind making things up. “You didn’t see him hurt, right?”

“When I last saw him he was fine,” you say, giving him a soft smile. You could remember the look he gave you when he threw you up to Yeosang. With everything you have in you, you hope they’re safe. The thought of them not only makes you regret all of your decisions. You look at your brother. “And I doubt he’d leave you behind. From what I hear, Mingi likes you too much to do that.”

His cheeks immediately burn red. “That’s not what this is.”

“Is that so?” you raise a brow, stepping over a broken branch. He follows.

“I… no. Well,” he stumbles over his words. “I know you and him are connected. I won’t interfere with that y/n, I promise.”

“Our relationship isn’t like that, Jongho. He’s my friend, that’s all.”

His eyes widened this time, “But isn’t this Fated bond thing a soulmate bond?”

“It is,” Wooyoung says, interrupting your conversation. “But there’s no reason for it to be romantic. You can desire their attention only, or just companionship. Being a part of the Fated bond doesn’t mean that it’s resulting in romantic interactions. Unless you want it to, of course,” he beckons the two of you close, your eyes following where he points. “Right over this hill is our ship. All of the Mav are there except our own at the manor. You go, and I’ll go back to the manor‐”

“Wooyoung,” you grip his wrist, stopping him from moving. “You’re not going.”

He sighs, “I can’t leave them, lovebug. They’re instructed to depart if we’re not there at ten. I can’t leave the others behind,” he says softly. There’s no playfulness in his eyes, thoughts shattered. “I would rather die than leave them behind.”

You let go of his wrist, your hand sliding into his with ease. “Then we stay here and wait.”

“What?” Jongho utters. “Out here? With bombs going off?”

“Wooyoung can protect us from them if they get too close, can’t you?” you ask.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing into the darkness. “Yes, but…”

“Then it’s settled. None of us board that ship until all of them are here. All. I’m not saying this to be selfish, Woo. Something can happen to you if you go back yourself. I know we’re not strong in comparison to Mav, but being together instead of separated is the only way we can make sure everyone’s safe. Please trust me on this, I don’t plan on leaving this planet without all of you on that ship.”

He stares at you, narrowing his eyes. His dry laugh interrupts the silence, muttering to himself. “San is gonna kill me before we even get on the ship.”

-

Mingi paces back and forth, glancing often at San’s unconscious body. It’s been less than an hour since Yeosang has gone to search for you. He can’t help but worry, knowing that the ship is leaving soon. It takes about twenty minutes to get to the ship from the manor, and they only have an hour. He continues to pace, stopping when he glances at a small wheelbarrow in the corner. Without a second thought, he grabs it, standing close to San’s body. He sighs softly, whispering a soft sorry buddy before lifting his body. San grabs his forearm, nails digging into his skin as he groans.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mingi says quickly, thinking. He kicks the barrow to the side, holding San against his body as he walks out the door. The bombs continue to go off, his body flinching each time. It seems to be getting closer to the manor instead of farther away. It’s an obvious conclusion at what the militia is going to do. His strides are fast as he walks into the manor, glancing around for anyone. Bodies lay on the floor here and there, but none are familiar.

“Mingi, what the hell?”

He turns around, seeing Yeosang standing there.

“I told you to stay put, idiot!” He hisses, moving closer to him. He eyes San’s cut, sighing lightly. “At least it isn’t infected. I was coming back to get you, why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to carry him around? In a place that’s probably crawling with the military?”

It is a terrible idea, but there isn’t much else to think about when it comes to survival. Either leave San alone and try to find everyone, or take him on the ride. Mingi believes that he chose the better option of the two. Even if it’s a bit risky. “Did you find her?”

Yeosang shakes his head, Mingi’s heart dropping. “But don’t panic, I just spoke to Seonghwa and he said she’s with Wooyoung and Jongho. They should be on the ship right about now. Chan is dealt with, so we need to leave. Now. I was coming to bring you to one of the cars they left behind.”

“You think driving is a good idea right now? An easy target,” Mingi murmurs, flinching again when another bomb goes off. “And they could find the ship and try to take it down.”

“Glad you have a brain once in a while,” Yeosang teases. “I know. But walking, especially with San barely conscious, will take too long. We won’t make it.”

“Car,” San coughs, the duo’s eyes looking at him. He blinks slowly, eyes foggy. “Take the car.”

Mingi groans, shaking his head, “It’s not a good idea.”

“He’s a higher rank than you. Than both of us. Whatever he says…” Yeosang trails off.

“He’s barely conscious!”

“There’s no loopholes in the chain of command, Mingi.”

"I just," he shakes his head. "I know you want us safe, all of us. But I can carry him. I can do it."

"You're barely healed, Mingi. And I don't doubt that you can do it when you're at your best. But right now, risking each of our lives because we don't want to be caught isn't in our favor. We can take the older truck, it makes noise in comparison to the higher tech one, but that will be concealed by the bombs and chaos happening around us. We have to take this chance."

"I want to get there on time, Yeosang," Mingi murmurs, following behind him. "I don't know if… what I'll do. If I'm not."

Yeosang gives him a half smile. "I know. I'll get us all there."

-

"This is idiotic," Yunho murmurs, sliding into the seat of the electric car. "We shouldn't be in a machine we can't operate correctly."

Hongjoong snickers, slumping lower into the backseat. He glances around the interior, admiring its design. It's nothing like he's ever seen before, his days spent lurking around the now-destroyed marketplace. His painted nails pick at a loose string, widening his eyes when it takes out more. Seonghwa gives him a look, Hongjoong exchanging a sheepish one. He folds his hands.

Seonghwa presses a button, closing the doors. "You've been around magic your whole life, and you don't want to enter a human car because you can't explain it? Is that what you're telling me?"

"...it does sound a bit silly," Yunho murmurs. Seonghwa glances around the dashboard, looking for anything that will help him figure out how to move the vehicle. He can read the human language, but he doesn't see anything that just says drive. His eyebrows are furrowed.

"Not to rush you, but you might want to hurry," Hongjoong says, looking out the front windshield. He sees the military running out of the front doors, guns aimed and ready to fire. They haven't spotted the trio yet. His eyes flick to Chan, groaning. "We should have killed him immediately."

"She didn't want us to."

"Humans often have issues with things like that."

"And we do not?" Yunho glares at Hongjoong. "I would feel the same if I had to kill my childhood friend. Please have the slightest sympathy once in your life."

"I did. And that sympathy brought us to where we are. Being chased by devilish humans because we didn't follow their every word," His hand traces over the marks on his skin, several cuts and wounds covering marks. "It would've been best to do it when she left. She wouldn't have known."

"I'm not doing that to her."

"Someone needed to if you couldn't live up to it."

The engine purrs, lights inside the cat turning on. Seonghwa's lips curve into a smile, looking at the two. "Let’s stop arguing and get our girl, yeah?” He presses another button, pulling out the steering wheel. Yunho’s fingers dig into the leather, eyes widening.

“We should take it slow-”

Bullets rock the car as they all duck. Seonghwa peeks his head up, looking forward. The militia slowly moves to the car, aiming directly at their heads. Without another word, he grabs the gear shift and turns the wheel, accelerating in the opposite direction. Gunshots fill the air as they speed down the driveway, turning the corner and disappearing into the darkness. Seonghwa has both of his hands on the wheel as he presses the gas, turning sharply around corners.

“I never though I’d die like this,” Yunho says through clenched teeth, hands tearing through the leather. Hongjoong laughs next to him, his hands raised in the air as they’re whipped back and forth across the seats. Seonghwa merely rolls his eyes, slowing down slightly.

“This won’t kill you, Yunho. Relax.”

“It's a bit hard to relax when you’re driving like you’ve been doing it for years.”

“I have,” he grins, turning to his leader. Yunho’s mouth is agape as he stares back. “What? Yeosang isn’t the only one with secrets. I just never drove a car this advanced before, but I’m sure it’s similar.”

“Haha, this is hilarious!” Hongjoong says from the back, pressing his head against the window. Despite the tense situation, Seonghwa smiles, holding back his laughter. His face is contorted, mushed against the windows. It’s oddly amusing through the stress. “When do you suppose we’ll be there?”

Seonghwa shifts the gear, glancing at the mirror. “No more than ten minutes. And we still have twenty to spare. Yeosang, San, and Mingi have already left the manor. It’s only a matter of time before they get there.”

“So everything is going well,” Yunho says, slowly losing his grip. He lets out a low sigh, rubbing his face. “Hopefully they’re all there when we arrive.”

“They will be. Don’t let that lingering doubt cloud your mind, Yunho. It’ll only rot there,” Hongjoong says. Seonghwa drives over a bump, jolting the car. Hongjoong’s grin widens. “Maybe we should only worry about our safety this very moment.”

“I thought you said not to let doubt linger?” Yunho glares, and Hongjoong only laughs.

“I did. But I do like to see you a bit unnerved.”

-

“They’ll be here.”

“We have twenty minutes until the ship departs, lovebug,” Wooyoung paces back and forth, eyes flicking around the field. “We still have to go through the tunnel to the other side. If they’re not here in the next ten,” he rubs his face, distraught. “I can’t leave them.”

“I told you we won’t,” you say softly. Wooyoung glances at you, his face pained. You’ve told him over and over that you won’t leave, but he seems to only pressure you to go with Jongho and leave him behind. He wants to protect you and you don’t blame him for that, but you cannot board that ship without them. Not only do you want all of you to be together, but two humans boarding while their first clan hasn’t arrived yet? You haven’t interacted with other Mav much, but the ones you have don't particularly enjoy your company.

Jongho brushes your arm, pointing into the distance. “There’s a car coming.”

Wooyoung whips his head, watching as an old truck comes rushing up the hill. It abruptly stops, Wooyoung’s arm raises slightly as he eyes the vehicle. The doors swing open, and the first person you see is San. He holds his chest, face contorted in pain as he slumps to the ground. You waste no time, tripping lightly as you stumble to your feet to get to him. His eyes slowly move to you, widening once he realizes who’s in front of him. He’s wearing what looks to be Mingi’s clothing, slightly oversized on him. It’s stained with dirt and debris, blood coating some areas. You stop just in front of him, falling to meet his gaze. He doesn’t say a word, only a smile gracing his lips despite the circumstances.

“You’re okay,” he says softly, his breaths heavy. His brows begin to furrow, “But you’re not on the ship.”

Two other doors swing open. Yeosang comes out of one, Mingi the other. His eyes flick to Jongho, tense shoulders dropping when he sees him there. They embrace, Jongho’s fingers digging into Mingi’s shirt. Yeosang pats Wooyoung on the shoulder, glancing at you and nodding briefly.

“We were waiting for everyone,” Wooyoung says, avoiding San’s gaze. “We couldn't leave without you.”

“So you decided to leave them vulnerable? Don’t you see that we’re in the midst of a battle?” Yeosang hisses, hitting his shoulder a bit harder. “That was a foolish decision.”

“I wanted to stay with him,” you say, hoping to alleviate some of the scolding Wooyoung is getting. “I told him that I wouldn’t leave his side until I saw everyone here. You’ve saved me. It’s only right that we wait.”

Yeosang frowns, but says nothing more. A loud screech makes him sigh, looking into the distance.

“Seems like the other three finally made it,” he murmurs.

You furrow your brows at his attitude, following his gaze. Just at the bottom of the hill, you see another car. It’s not old and rustic like the one the trio just came out of; it’s sleek exterior is bright against the dark grass, speeding up the hill. You immediately recognize it as the one Chan has. In fact, you’re sure it’s his car they’re riding it. It abruptly stops just a few feet in front of where San and you are crouched. The doors rise open, Yunho stumbling out. He takes a breath, coughing as he holds himself up, hands on his knees. He shakes his head, coughing again.

Seonghwa slides out with ease, Hongjoong following after him. He glances at everyone, mumbling as he counts heads. Nodding in satisfaction, he glances at Yunho. “Everyone’s here. We need to get to the ship, there’s only ten minutes left.”

Yunho swallows audibly, wiping his forehead. He gives all of you a dry smile, clearing his throat. “Let’s not waste anymore time then.”

A boom close by rattles you, wincing as it hits your ears. San struggles to his feet, ignoring your helping hand as he stands. Silent words are exchanged between you as you hold out your arm. After a brief moment, he’s resigned, letting his arm rest over your shoulder. The nine of you quickly walk up the hill, Wooyoung trailing behind and Yunho in the front. He disappears through a hole in the ground. Mingi and Jongho go in together. Yeosang, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, San and you, then Wooyoung just behind.

The dark tunnel illuminates as Wooyoung raises his hand, the light flicking from his fingers. You stare in awe, but San nudges you forward. You give him a sheepish look before continuing on. Yunho and Seonghwa speak to each other in the front, the rest in their own individual conversations. San and you are silent as you help him through, telling him when there’s a rock in front of you. Many things. But nothing worthy of note.

“I was worried about you,” San says softly. “When I was shot, I thought of you. Wondered if it would hurt you.”

You touch your chest, shaking your head. “I’m fine. I’m sure I passed out when you did, but I’m fine. Nothing physical,” you say. You’ve felt all of their pain at different points in the night. You didn’t think it was worth mentioning, but San still stares at you in concern. “I’m fine, San.”

“I know. But I still worry…" His voice trails off for a moment. "There might still be a chance for you here on Earth. If Chan believes you dead, then you can live your life freely. You won't have to worry about us interfering. Don't give me that look, Bug," he says, your frown only deepening. "I'm just saying that this isn't your last chance. You don't have to run with us."

"Even if I was able to escape Chan, there's a high probability that I'll be caught again. Most humans hate Mav, San. They'll see me as a traitor and nothing else. I won't have a peaceful life here. And I want to go with all of you. I wouldn't want to have it any other way," you say simply. "If I have to cross the galaxies so that we can be safe together, then that's what I'll do."

"Well isn't that heartwarming?" Hongjoong snickers. "Our y/n is always thinking of the positive."

"Our? I am not yours."

He purses his lips, "Well–"

"We're here," Seonghwa says, all conversations ceasing. Yunho enters the hole first, each of you following after him. San gets through on his own easily, thanking you with a quick look. You crawl through, fresh hair hitting your face on the other side. Your eyes widen, head tilted back as you stare up at the ship. You knew the spaceship would be large, but seeing it in person only puts it in perspective. It's enormous, covering the expanse of the open field. You're a bit surprised that they were able to hide this away from humans for so long – you've never seen anything this massive in your life.

The others aren't as astonished as you are except your brother, his brown eyes reflecting the shine of the ship. He looks at you, a gleam in his eyes. It seems to warm and break your heart, knowing that he's lived a hard life and this is the first time you've seen true wonder in his eyes. Seonghwa lets out a sigh of relief, making his way to the ship. The rest of you follow close behind.

"Amazing isn't it?" San says, grinning. "It took us one hundred years to complete fully. Most of the parts had to be made from scratch. But it's being supported by a lot of Earth elements."

"How did you keep it hidden for so long?" Jongho asks.

"It still is hidden. All of the Mav who can perform magic are concealing it at this very moment. I've told them to allow you two to see it. It would be easier that way, and far less jarring for you to walk up an imperceivable ramp," Yunho answers, steps quick. He points to a ramp, the sound of it lowering filling your ears.

The others go first, Yeosang taking San from you to help him. You stumble up the incline, following behind the others. A hand grabs your ankle, pulling you back. You don’t get to scream, immediately thrown back on the ground and turn to see who it is. Chan’s bloody smile laughs as he holds onto you. He wastes no time in crawling on top of you, your kicks are no use to stopping him. He immediately grabs your neck, squeezing it hard.

“Till death do us part, my love,” he grins, the blood from his face dripping to your skin. You can’t scream or warn the others, his fingers blocking your airway. You reach a hand up, pushing his face as hard as you could. You avoid his mouth, thumb digging into his eye with all your might. He yells, hands releasing. You grab the gun that fell from his waist, swinging it against Chan’s face.

“I didn’t want this!” You screech. Voice cracking. Throat dry. He falls back as you continue to hit him over and over, screaming each time it collides with his face. Blood hits your face and you don’t stop, not even when he’s limp on the ground, no life in his eyes. “I didn’t want you to die!”

Hands lift you from your armpits, pulling you off of him. You scream and kick even as they pull you to the ship and up the incline, yelling at them to stop. To let you go and finish the job. The doors close, your body shaking, voice still screaming. They let go of your arms, hands placed on either side of your cheek, head turned to them. Yunho looks at you, sympathy in his gaze.

“He’s dead, y/n. You’re okay, you’re safe. Look at me.”

Your screams slowly drop as you stare at him, body still pumped with adrenaline. He slowly lets go of your face, guiding you to stand. Your body feels numb as you stare down at your hands. Chan covers your fingers, stuck underneath your nails and against your forearms. You claw at the blood, body trembling as you curse at yourself.

“I didn’t want to do this,” you mumble over and over, tears covering your vision. “I didn’t want to hurt him, Yunho. I didn’t want to do this. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do this. I can’t…” Your words jumbled together as he moved you deeper into the ship. You can’t focus on your surroundings. The stares don’t bother you as he guides you into a bathroom, holding you lightly as he turns on the water. He seems to hold you up with that grip alone. Hands lathered in soap as he scrubs your body, humming to distract you from your own thoughts. You cry still, watching it pour down the sink. He gets under your nails and everywhere else you can see. Except your clothing of course, still stained with what you’ve done. He turns off the water, drying you with the towel. The whole time he repeats reassurances.

You’re okay.

Nothing’s going to happen to you now.

You’re fine.

You’re safe.

Different variations of the sayings, clouding your thoughts with it. The despair lingers in the back of your mind. It isn’t as large as before, but you can feel it. You close your eyes, pushing it deeper and deeper. He touches your chin, your lids flicking open to meet him. His skin is stained with dry blood, flower markings still clear in view. His side smile is comforting.

“There’s some clean clothes next to the shower. You can go in there and I’ll wait for you outside. Just take your time, alright? I’ll be right there, y/n.” He lets go of your face, backing away slowly. He watches you for a moment on your own, before exiting the bathroom and shutting the door.

Right as you hear it click, your legs give way underneath you. You let the sobs escape, tremors rolling through you. The negative thoughts that you let disappear from you all come at once. Murderer. Killer. Waste. Derogatory words that just pile on and on. You let it. Not enough to consume you, but you let it sit there. Let it linger in your mind as you drag yourself into the open shower, arm with just enough strength to turn the shower on. The cold water pours over you. Translucent liquid swirling into a crimson, disappearing down the drain. You peel the clothing off your body, let it sit in a corner of the shower.

You’re not sure how long you sit there for. An hour. Or several. Maybe days. You finally get the strength to turn it off. A bit of strength comes back into your body as you dry yourself off, slowly putting on your clothes. You hesitate outside the door. Hand still as it touches the handle. Would you hear those same words? Would they hate you now? Will Jongho look at you the same?

The handle slowly turns. You shuffle through the opening, leg bumping into a body next to the door. Yunho sits there, head against the wall and eyes closed. He wears the same clothing as before, never changed. He hasn’t moved like he promised. Your heart breaks at that. Two plates of food sit next to him. Never touched. Not even a crumb.

His eyes slowly open, the friendly smile back on his face. “You okay?”

“You stayed,” your voice is soft. It feels like you haven’t talked in days, throat dry. “You didn’t leave.”

“I said I wouldn’t,” he says simply, shrugging. He glances at the cold food next to him. “I can get you something fresh. I just wasn’t sure how long you were going to stay in there-”

Without another word, you lean down and wrap your arms around his body. He doesn’t hesitate to do the same to you, his chest warm against yours. You thought you cried all you could. Hot tears fall down your cheeks, staining his shirt.

“I’m still dirty,” he whispers. “It’s going to get on you.”

“Then I’ll just shower again,” you say back, and he only laughs.

The two of you stay like that. For an hour. Or several hours. All you know is that your eyes closed, and your hold was no longer strong against him. All you felt was him holding you tightly, your body lifting and pressing against him. A soft kiss to your forehead.

"This is my fault," Yunho says after a moment, filling the silence of the hallway. "If I had killed Chan as suggested by another, you wouldn't have had to. You would be okay. You wouldn't have to be like this," His eyes meet your gaze when you look up at him. He seems to be resolute in his words, his hand brushing lightly against yours. "I'm sorry."

"You listened to my words, Yunho. You tried to keep him alive because I wanted him to be. I thought he would rather save himself than come after us. But I was wrong. He made me a fool – this isn't anything that you could have prevented. I think… I don't want to say that I wish I killed him back there because I didn’t. I never want to hurt someone. And I'm sure his death is going to replay in my head over and over. I just wish he would beat my expectations. That he left us alone. So please don't let his actions rest heavy in your heart. You did everything right, he just didn't want to listen."

His lips lift, his bright smile back on his face. "If it helps, I am glad you're here with us. I know I was hesitant in the beginning. But you've only enriched our lives. As you've told me, please try not to let the negatives of these past few months settle in your heart. Our quick departure was unplanned, but we were prepared. In a way, I think this all was a push for us to finally leave Earth. It would have taken us several years to convince Hongjoong to finally stop drinking so that we can plan it out."

You snort, "I'm glad I didn't doom you."

"Quite the opposite. Some may say that you're a miracle. And speaking of our estranged captain, he's lingering somewhere around the halls. He hasn't said it, but I know he worries for you. Giving him a quick visit might help calm his nerves."

"Mav healer should be my job title," you joke, and he rolls his eyes. "I'll be sure to stop him. I should get going though, I know you must be busy." And you don't want to make him uncomfortable, resting in his arms. You lift yourself, a moment of strength getting you to stand steady on your feet.

"Not too busy to speak to you. And lady," he stops you as you're walking away. Your eyes slowly slide up the closer he gets. His thoughts seem to hinder himself, but he pulls you into his arms, your head resting against his chest. "Thank you. For saying what you said. And for coming with us. This ship wouldn't have been the same if you weren't here."

"You're welcome Yunho," you say softly, melting into his embrace. "And not to be a bother again, but I know nothing of this ship. I'm not sure where I'll be staying."

He laughs lightly, letting go. "I'll give you a brief tour while guiding you to your room. I'm sure the others will be more thorough once they decide to see you."

His steps are slow despite you knowing he needs to be in other urgent areas, gesturing to different parts of the ships. You’re in awe. It’s surprising that humans aren’t aware of it, how it’s hidden in a large field. There are parts that are obviously handcrafted; from the unique designs on doors to most things written in Mavian. He explains that it’s a type of special metal only found on Wysteria. We’ve scrapped every last place on this Earth that we had a battle, removing the pieces. It took a while, but it was fruitful in the end. He continues down the hallways, before stopping just in front of a door. He runs his fingers along the name on the wall, humming softly.

“This is your name in Mav,” he says, glancing at you. “It was completed last minute, but it’s all that we could do without writing it in your language crudely. I hope you can understand it well.” He points to the symbols, only a few shapes you can pick out. One in particular, you reach up, brushing your hand over the strokes. It’s carved into the wood, a comet-like letter.

“This is pretty,” you say softly. “It’s a shame we weren’t ever allowed to learn Mavian.”

“We only learned your languages because we studied them for a century,” he drops his hand from the wood. “It’s still difficult to think of words to respond with, but you’ve made it easier. Now I’ll make sure you won’t be able to forget Mav once you start to learn.” He gives you a toothy grin. “Most Mavs cannot read human languages, perhaps you’re up for some teaching?”

“No more peacemaker duties?” You raise a brow, and he laughs.

“You being here is enough peace. Now I’ll leave you, I’m sure one of the others are on their way before you strap into your seat. We’ll be leaving Earth’s atmosphere shortly.” He bows slightly, stepping back from your room. He gestures for you to go forward, and you slowly open the door but stop, turning to look at him.

“Do the others know about…” you trail off, fingers gripping the door knob tightly. “Does anyone know?”

“No,” Yunho says simply. “I was the last one there, they’ve all gone into the ship by the time he did what he did. I only told them that you weren’t feeling well, and that they needed to give you some space. Jongho was a persistent one, but Mingi convinced him to stay away. But yes, no one has the slightest clue what happened back there. You can tell them if you’d like, I didn’t want that pressure put on you.”

“... Thank you, Yunho. You are a mighty fine Captain.”

He gets cheeky at that, his chest puffing out slightly. “It’s my duty to protect all of you. Now I really need to deal with more duties.” He winks, turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway. You stand there for a moment, before entering your room.

No one came into your room despite what he said, you immediately strapped yourself into the seat. You look to your side table, seeing a small note written almost illegible. You’ve finally picked up on a few words, able to read it yourself with your brother’s guidance.

[translation: "I will see you soon." ]

You laugh, fingers digging into the crumbled paper. It’s terrible writing, the worst you've ever seen actually – well, very similar to yours. But you continue to laugh freely, your body shaking as tears roll down your cheeks. You hold back your sobs, wiping your tears as you just stare at the letter. None of it makes sense, the overwhelming feeling in your body right now. You’ve never felt this way, this almost dull ache residing there. You hope the others don’t feel what you’re feeling right now. But digging through the mixed emotions, all you can feel is relief. You’re fine, your brother is fine. You’ve made it out. Against all odds, you’ve made it out. A few bumps in the road, yes, but you finally feel… safe. And seeing San’s messily written note sitting on your side table, waiting for you to come back to your room, only makes your heart warm. You never thought you’d care about the Mav the first time you saw him, but here you are, sobbing over his writing.

You tuck it into your pocket, strapping yourself into the seat. You close your eyes, fingers digging into your pants.

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