#Recalling The Council || Mutuals Only | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jetii · 2 months

Text

To the General

Pairing: Howzer x fem!Reader / Howzer x Jedi!Reader

Words: 14,310

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, some blood/gore, depression, hallucinations, unrequited feelings, mutual pining, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), some light dom/sub dynamics, a little cockwarming

Summary: It's been over a year since Howzer has lost his General, and yet, the ghost of your memory still haunts him. His guilt and grief threaten to swallow him whole, until Rex returns to the base with a surprise visitor.

A/N: Reposting because I forgot my taglist. 🤦‍♀️ No excuse for the word count I fear. I just love Jedi/Clone forbidden love with all my heart, and I love writing dramatic reunions even more.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Howzer doesn’t remember how it happened.

Their arrival on Ryloth had come on the heels of an overdrawn battle on Bothawui. The entire battalion was teetering on the edge of exhaustion by the time they had boarded The Eclipse. Their hopes of an extended shore leave were quickly dashed as it was announced by order of the Jedi Council and the Chancellor himself that they would be sent to occupy Ryloth indefinitely.

The General had tried to make the most of it. She’d arranged for the mess to cook the finest meal they could get their hands on, which admittedly wasn’t more than some fresh meats and root vegetables, but the crew didn't complain. And if Howzer caught the smell of alcohol floating about when they walked to their stations, he didn't say anything about it.

Still, no amount of finery or good cheer could hide the truth: the crew was worn ragged and the battalion was ready to snap. The men resolved to keep pushing on for the sake of their General, who had taken their heavy losses the hardest. That night, she’d broken into tears over the new helmets lining their memorial wall, a wall that was nearly full.

Howzer had been with her, had stood with her and her tears. He had seen the General in every state of grief, of anger and pain. He'd also seen her at her very best. He'd seen her bright smile and heard her warm laugh. He'd been there for the moments of victory and the moments of defeat.

She was his General and his closest friend, his guiding star, and he would do anything for her.

Howzer doesn’t remember how it happened, but he does remember her. He remembers everything about her.

His first memory is her as a young commander, and the first time he saw her. It was on Kamino, and the first time she had visited. She'd been there with her Master, who had come to assess the cadets' progress. They had all lined up in neat rows for the inspection. Howzer remembers how tall she had looked in her uniform and cape despite how all the men towered over her.

Howzer can't remember what she said or did. But he can recall her eyes and the warmth in them as she walked past them. He had wanted her to look at him.

His second memory is the first time they met, months later. It was shortly after the start of the war, and the 318th was still in its infancy. The General had just arrived to pick her new battalion up, and as her new Captain, Howzer was part of the honor guard.

Howzer doesn’t remember the words they spoke, only that she was kind and her voice was warm, and when she smiled, the whole world seemed to brighten.

In the years that followed, he got to know her and became her aide. They were together almost every day. They spent time with their men and led them through the horrors of war. She was a natural leader, charismatic and inspiring, and it wasn't long before Howzer was completely devoted to her.

But the war continued, and so did the death. They had lost men and friends, and Howzer had to watch the General suffer each time. Her pain was his. How could it not be?

She was the best thing in his life, his bright light in the darkness, and he was in love with her.

Howzer doesn’t remember when he began thinking of her that way. He thinks he might’ve always loved her, always wanted her. Maybe from the moment he saw her in that corridor.

All he knew is that he'd loved her in every possible way a man could love a woman, just as he knew that his love would never be reciprocated.

But it didn't matter.

As long as he was with her, Howzer would pretend, and he was okay with that. He could live with loving her from afar and keeping his feelings in check. As her Captain, his job was to support her, and he would be the best damn Captain she'd ever had.

He could dream of a different reality where she returned his feelings, one where they were not at war, and maybe one where he was not her clone trooper. He would dream of a life where he could hold her and touch her, where he could kiss her and whisper how much he loved her.

But those were dreams, and nothing more.

And reality was very different now.

Now, the General is nothing more than a memory.

It’s been long enough that pieces of her are starting to fade from his mind, and he hates it. He wants to hang on to her as long as possible, but he knows that his memories are all he has left. He doesn’t have a holo or picture of her. He only has the images in his mind and the broken piece of nova crystal he kept tucked away in his pocket.

Howzer doesn't remember how it happened.

But he knows it’s his fault.

Howzer is the one who let her down. He's the reason she died. He must be, even if he can't remember it, because he can't accept any other reality. He was her Captain and her right-hand man, her closest friend and her most devoted soldier. If she died, it was because he had failed her, and he will never forgive himself for it.

Maybe he deserves to forget.

That thought is worse than the one of her death.

There was a time when he had wondered if his love was a sickness, something to be ashamed of and hidden away. He didn't want his brothers to know and judge him, and he didn't want her to know, either. He'd never acted on his desires. He'd never told her, and maybe that's why this is so much worse.

Maybe this is a punishment, and one he deserves.

He knows he must have done something wrong, something terrible, because no man would be this cursed unless they deserved it. The nightmares, the guilt, the emptiness, it had to be some kind of retribution for his transgressions.

He's tried to forget. He's tried to move on. He's tried to be a better man, a better clone. He's tried to do everything that a good soldier should, but no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, his mind always drifts back to her. His thoughts always wander to his memories. He can't shake her. He doesn't know how to. He's never known how.

Every time he closes his eyes to sleep, he sees her. She's the same as the last time he saw her, with her armor and her hair up in its braid, and she is beautiful. Howzer is so happy to see her again, so relieved that she's not gone.

But she is, and he has to tell her.

He tries, but the words don't come out right. Or maybe it's just that he can't say them, that he still doesn't want to accept what had happened after all this time. But the words are stuck in his throat, and his eyes burn, and Howzer knows she's waiting for him to answer her.

And he can't.

She's waiting for him, and he can't.

She deserves to know the truth. She needs to know that she died, that he failed her, and that her death is on his hands.

Howzer can't look at her. He can't face her.

He closes his eyes and waits for her to turn away. He waits for her to leave him, because he doesn't deserve her.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she steps forward and takes his hands into hers. He flinches at her touch, because she shouldn’t be here. She isn't real. She's just another figment of his imagination, his punishment, and he wants her to stop. He can't do this anymore.

"Howzer," she says. "Howzer, look at me."

And he does. He can't help himself. Her face is starting to blur in his memory, he can't remember the exact shade of her eyes, and he doesn't want to forget. Not yet. He opens his eyes and looks at her, but he knows what he'll find.

Blood.

Her blood.

On his hands, on his face, on his chestplate.

There's so much of it, and he can't stop staring at it, at the way it coats her armor and drips onto the floor. He can't look away. He can't do anything.

"Look at me, Howzer," she says again.

But he can't. He can't do it.

He can't look at her, not like this. He can't stand the thought of seeing her face covered in blood, her lifeless eyes staring at him, her body cold and broken and gone.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispers. "It's all my fault."

"No," she says.

She doesn't say anything else, and Howzer wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants her to yell at him and berate him, to curse him and hate him. But when he finally gains the courage to look her in the eye, there's nothing there. She's gone.

It's the worst thing he could've imagined.

He's alone.

Last night’s nightmare plays over and over again in his mind as he stands at the holotable, looking over the map and trying not to think of the General.

It's hard. It's always been hard, but it's gotten worse over the last few months. The dreams are more frequent, and the pain is more intense. He doesn't know how to stop them, or if they will ever stop.

He thought it would get better when he joined Rex's group, that he would find some semblance of peace with the other clones fighting the good fight, but he was wrong.

There is no peace for him, not after what he did.

The others are talking around him, but Howzer is only half listening. It's the usual stuff: what their next move will be, how many supplies they have, and the list goes on. Rex is expected to return from a meeting with Senator Chuchi any minute, and this meeting is more about making sure the captain is updated on what he missed.

But the details escape Howzer. He's distracted by his thoughts, and his guilt is eating at him. It's all he can think about, and he can't shake the feeling that he doesn't deserve to be here.

"Howzer."

The sound of his name brings him back to reality, and he realizes everyone is looking at him.

"Uh, sorry," he says. "What was the question?"

Echo studies him. His gaze is intense, and Howzer has the distinct impression that he's being read. It's a disconcerting feeling, one that he's felt more than a few times in the last couple months since his rescue, and it makes him feel transparent. Like his armor is gone and his emotions are on display.

But that can't be the case, because Howzer hasn't told him what happened.

No one knows the truth, not even the men. Howzer hasn't told anyone about his part in his General's death, and he's not planning to either. There's no point in dredging up the past. He knows he’s not the only clone with guilt about what happened to the Jedi, what they had done.

He’s just the only one who can’t seem to let it go.

"I asked if you were alright," Echo says. "You've seemed a little off the last few days.”

Howzer nods.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says. "Just a little tired."

The lie slips off his tongue easily, and it's one he's told more than a few times before. He's not fine, and he hasn't been since that day, but there's no need to burden his brothers with his problems.

Echo doesn't look convinced, and he's about to open his mouth to ask another question when Rex finally arrives. The captain's entrance is followed by a chorus of greetings and welcomes, and the tension in the room dissipates. The men are happy to see him, and Howzer is thankful for the distraction.

The Captain greets the men, and then he turns to Howzer.

"Howzer," Rex says. "Do you mind if I speak to you privately?"

"Of course not, Captain," Howzer answers.

Rex leads Howzer out of the command center and down the corridor. The walk is silent, and Howzer can feel the tension building between them. Rex hasn't said a word, and he has no idea why he wants to talk to him. Maybe it's about his recent performance, or lack thereof. He hasn't been the most reliable or helpful lately.

Howzer is starting to worry in earnest when they turn, moving away from the section of the compound that holds Rex's makeshift office and toward the doors leading out to the landing zone. Walking slightly in front of him, Rex is tense, his shoulders stiff and his jaw set. Whatever he has to say, it must be serious.

Rex finally stops in front of the closed blast doors and turns to Howzer. His expression is neutral, and it's impossible to tell what's going on in his head.

"Rex," Howzer begins, unable to bear the silence any longer, "if this is about my work, I understand. I haven't been on top of things the last few days, and if you need to put someone else on comms, I—"

Rex puts his hand up.

"That's not why I asked you out here, Howzer," Rex says. "There's someone here you need to see."

Howzer raises an eyebrow, confused.

"I don't understand," he says. "Who's here?"

"Just follow me."

Rex punches in a code, and the doors slide open. The light from outside fills the hallway, and Howzer blinks at the sudden brightness. He steps out into the landing zone, following Rex into the sunlight. The air is warm and dry, and he can already feel the heat radiating from the cracked duracrete beneath his boots.

"What are we doing out here, Rex?" he asks.

Rex doesn't answer, just keeps walking across the landing zone toward the ship. The Remora stands alone on the platform, ramp already drawn. Howzer squints in an effort to see inside the darkness of the vessel, looking for a spot of white plastoid among the shadows.

But what steps forward isn’t a clone at all.

Howzer recognizes you instantly, and he suddenly feels like he’s about to faint.

His vision tunnels, and the world tilts on its axis. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, and his breath is coming too fast, too hard. There's a roaring sound, like the sound of a rushing river, and it drowns out everything else. He feels sick, and his legs are shaking.

It can't be real. It can't be.

But it is.

There’s a loud clang, and he dimly realizes his helmet has fallen from his hands. It's lying on the ground now, at his feet, but he can't seem to find the strength to pick it up. All he can do is stare.

You descend the ramp slowly and place a hesitant foot onto the ground. The corners of your lips curl into an uncertain smile, while Howzer remains frozen, trapped in disbelief.

You take a step forward, and he still doesn't move. He's rooted to the spot, his heart racing, and he's afraid.

Howzer knows he's hallucinating. He's been here before. This isn't the first time you've appeared to him, not the first time you've looked at him with those warm eyes and called his name. But every time he reaches out, the mirage vanishes. He's tried. He's tried so hard to reach you.

He knows he's going to wake up, and you will be gone again.

It doesn't stop him from wanting to believe that it's real. That you're here.

Your smile falters when you notice his helmet on the ground, and Howzer watches your eyes search his. They're the same as they've always been, bright and kind, and full of concern. It's too much. It's always been too much.

"Howzer," you say. "Are you okay?"

"No," he says.

You step closer, and Howzer instinctively backs away. You stop. Your brows furrow, and your eyes fill with hurt, and it makes his stomach twist. He wants to go to you, to pull you close and hold you, but he doesn't. He can't.

This isn't real. None of it is real.

He has to tell you.

"What do you mean? What's wrong?" you ask.

You're still walking toward him, and Howzer has to force himself not to run. He has to stop this before it goes any further. He can't let himself fall prey to his delusions, not again.

"No, it's not real," he says.

You frown. "What's not real?"

"You," he whispers. "You're not real. None of this is."

You stop, your eyes wide and worried. "Howzer, what are you talking about?"

He ignores you. He has to make you understand.

"You're dead," he says. His voice breaks on the last word, and it comes out as a choked sob.

The words hang between the two of you, and Howzer braces himself for the inevitable. He knows what will happen. You'll disappear. He's seen it happen enough times, and he can't bear to go through it again.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus, to steady his breathing and keep the tears at bay.

But when he opens his eyes, you're still there.

And then the impossible happens.

You move forward, and he doesn't stop you. He doesn't flinch or back away when you reach out and put your hands on his shoulders. He can't.

Your touch is solid. Real.

You're real.

His legs give way, forcing him to collapse heavily onto his knees. He can't bear the weight anymore. The grief, the guilt, the shame. It's too much.

“I failed you, General,” he says around the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. Howzer squeezes his burning eyes shut, willing the tears away, but they come regardless. He feels his body tremble, his shoulders shaking as he fights against the sob rising in his chest. He tries to take a deep breath, but his lungs won't cooperate, and all he manages is a choked gasp.

“I…I’m so sorry.”

"Howzer, Howzer, please look at me."

It's not a request.

Your voice is commanding, the way he remembers, and it's enough to coax him into opening his eyes. Looking at you directly is almost too painful to bear, like looking directly at Ryloth’s sun, but he does.

Tears are streaming down your face, but a gentle smile still curves your lips. The hand on his shoulder moves to cup his face, thumb tracing the marred skin of his cheek. Unbidden, the memory of you holding him when he received the wound years ago comes to mind. Howzer hadn't seen it then, but the affection is clear now.

"It's okay," you say, softly.

"It's not," he replies. "I shouldn't have let you go."

Your hand moves to his jaw, and you gently tilt his chin upwards. He wants to lean into the touch, to bask in the warmth of your skin, but he can't. He doesn't deserve this. Not after what he did.

"I should've known. I should've—"

"Stop," you cut him off.

Your voice is firm, but the hand on his jaw is soft and gentle, and your eyes are still kind. He wants so badly to believe that this is real, that you're really here, but the doubts linger. He can't let himself fall into the illusion. He can't let himself lose you again.

"You can't blame yourself for this, Howzer. It wasn't your fault."

"I failed you."

"No, Howzer," you say. "You didn't."

He doesn't know what to say. Your hand is still on his face. Your fingers are trembling.

“I forgive you," you whisper the words softly, and it's more than he deserves. "I forgave you long ago."

It's too much.

His composure breaks, and he wraps his arms around your hips, burying his face in your stomach. His tears are hot and wet, and they soak through the fabric of your shirt. His sobs are loud and broken, and he can barely breathe, but he can't stop, and you don't push him away. The hand on his cheek cups the back of his head, and your other arm wraps around his shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

He isn't sure if you hear him. He's not sure if he wants you to. But you must, because your grip tightens, and your hand runs through his hair.

He holds you, clinging to you like a lifeline, and lets the tears flow. He can't hold back the sobs, the pain, the anger. All of the emotions are coming to the surface, and they won't be held back any longer.

He cries for you, for the pain you endured. For the loss and the hurt. He cries for himself, for the guilt and the shame. He cries because it hurts, and because he's relieved, and because he can't believe this is real and he's so kriffing happy to see you again.

When his tears finally stop, you're still there, still holding him, and he's still kneeling in front of you. His shoulders are stiff, his muscles sore, but he can't find the strength to move.

He doesn't want to.

He wants to stay like this forever.

Eventually, you break the silence.

“Is there somewhere we can go to speak in private?” you ask quietly. Your fingers run through the buzzed hair at the back of his head and linger on the scar there, the one he doesn’t have a story for. A shiver runs down his spine before his brain catches up to your question.

Howzer nods and clears his throat.

"Yeah," he says, his voice hoarse. "My room. We can talk there."

You help him stand, and he takes a moment to collect himself, wiping his eyes. When he looks at you again, he feels a hot sting of embarrassment. It's been a long time since he's let himself fall apart like this, and he's not sure how to act, and he's grateful there's no one else around to witness it.

You don't seem bothered by his breakdown. You smile, and it's soft and warm, and his heart does a strange flip.

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your concern is so genuine that it almost brings fresh tears to his eyes. His emotions feel raw, like an open wound, and he's not sure how much more he can take before he's completely overwhelmed, but when he answers this time, he speaks the truth.

"I will be," he says as he kneels to collect his helmet.

You nod, and there's a hint of relief in your eyes, but the smile on your face never wavers as you step up to his side. He’s surprised to feel your hand threading through the crook of his elbow before he realizes it was he who had held out his arm for you. A force of habit he didn't know he still had, but one that was very welcome.

It had always been your way, before. To walk beside him instead of ahead.

He takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders.

"Shall we?"

"Yes," you say, smiling.

As the two of you begin to make your way across the landing zone, Howzer can't help but marvel at how natural this feels. The familiarity of your presence at his side, the soft pressure of your hand against his arm, and the sound of your breathing.

All of it feels so right, and Howzer thinks it must be a dream, a hallucination, something, because this is too perfect. It can't be real. It's been far too long for it to be real.

But the weight of your arm on his and the sound of your footsteps at his side feel real, more real than anything he's ever experienced. He's never had a hallucination this vivid before. He hopes it's not just a dream, but he keeps his eyes on you just to make sure.

You look different. Older, maybe. But also more beautiful.

It's a silly thought, but it's the truth. There's a certain peace and calmness to your expression, and it suits you. You look content, like you've finally found what you were looking for, and Howzer feels a rush of joy.

You're alive.

He still can't quite believe it, and he finds himself staring openly at you. He knows the path to his room like the back of his hand, and he could probably make the trek with his eyes closed. But he doesn't.

Instead, he keeps his eyes on you, memorizing every detail, every curve of your face and every twitch of your mouth. He's desperate to fill in the gaps in his memory, the details he's lost and the moments that slipped away. He doesn't want to forget again.

Your head is on a swivel as you take in the equipment and clones bustling around the enclosed space inside the temple. It reminds him of your first day, and he can't help but smile. You haven't changed at all.

Echo and Rex are in the command center along with a handful of other clones. They watch as the two of you walk through, their faces showing a range of expressions from surprise to confusion to suspicion. But they say nothing, and Howzer is grateful. He knows how he looks, with his reddened eyes and blotchy cheeks. They’ll no doubt have questions later, but for now, they keep them to themselves.

“What you’ve built here is impressive,” you say as you give a friendly smile to Samson when you pass by. He does a double-take, his gaze moving from your face to your arm wrapped around Howzer's, and back to your face again.

Howzer smiles back and doesn't offer any explanation.

Samson isn't the only one looking. Several of the men stare, and Howzer can't help the small thrill of pride that courses through him at their wide-eyed looks.

It's a silly thought, he knows. He shouldn't feel good about being seen with you, not after everything that's happened. But he can't deny the satisfaction he feels at the thought that the men can see the two of you together again, and he wonders how many of them had guessed about his feelings.

Probably all of them.

"This is it," Howzer says as the two of you stop outside the door to the room he claimed as his own.

It's not much—a single bed, a locker, and a desk—but it's enough. It's a quiet place to escape to when the chaos of the galaxy around him becomes too much, though he hasn't spent much time in it since he arrived.

Howzer steps forward and places his hand on the panel, and the door slides open. He motions for you to enter first, and you do, letting go of his arm as you step into the room.

You take a moment to study your surroundings before your eyes land on the lone chair in the room. Howzer can tell what you're thinking. You're going to offer it to him, and he doesn't want it. He can't imagine sitting right now. His legs still feel like jelly and his whole body is still buzzing from the adrenaline of seeing you.

Instead, Howzer leans against the wall by the door and takes a deep breath, watching as you walk forward to examine his desk, your back to him.

The room is quiet, the only sound the faint buzzing of the lights above them. He can't hear the commotion outside. He can't even hear his own heartbeat. All he can hear is you, your soft, slow breathing and the gentle rustle of fabric as you move.

He hesitates to break the silence, but he has to know.

“How are you—how did you survive?” he asks. How are you alive, he wants to say. You shouldn’t be alive. The words stick in his throat.

You stiffen slightly, but you don't turn around. The latest report on their medical supplies is held loosely in your grasp, and Howzer watches the datapad tremble slightly.

“You truly don’t remember?” you ask softly, dropping the report back onto the desk. You pivot to face him, your back pressing into the metal edge, and he can't read your expression.

He swallows. His throat feels dry, and his heart is pounding in his ears.

No. He doesn’t remember. But he needs to.

He shakes his head, the motion almost imperceptible. “No, I…I remember we were speaking in your quarters. I can’t remember what about. There was an incoming transmission, and then…nothing.”

Whatever he said, it must not have been the right thing. Your eyes close as if in pain, your fists clenching at your sides. You inhale a sharp, shaky breath. The sight is almost enough to make him drop the subject. But the need to know is greater than the guilt.

“Please." He says your name quietly, hating the desperation that creeps into his voice. "I need to know.”

He realizes that he’s never called you by your first name before, at least not to your face. It had always been General. He thinks he likes the sound of it, and the way it makes your eyes fly open, surprise and a little bit of warmth filling their depths.

The seconds drag on as he waits for your response, the tension palpable between you. The longer he stares at you, the more he notices. Your jaw is sharper now, your skin slightly more tan. Your hair is the same, and so are your eyes, but there's a new air of maturity to you that hadn't been there before. He's not sure how he feels about the changes, only that he wishes he had been there to see them happen.

When you finally speak, the words are careful and measured. “I can show you, if you let me.”

"Show me?"

"If I'm allowed, I could—"

"Yes," he says. He doesn’t hesitate. He trusts you, and he needs to know what happened.

"Okay," you say, taking a step toward him. "This may hurt."

A moment of silent understanding passes between you before Howzer nods, steeling himself for whatever revelation awaits. You reach out tentatively, pausing a few inches away, and he closes his eyes.

Your fingers press into his temple, and he’s suddenly thrust back into your quarters on Ryloth.

“You seem upset,” your voice says, wavering as if underwater until the haze of the memory begins to lift around you.

The blurry shape of you comes into sharper focus as you move to sit on your bunk. Your beige robes have been discarded, revealing the sleeveless wrap tunic you wear underneath. Another hot evening on Ryloth meant you'd forgone decorum again, loosening the top to allow airflow to your sweat-slicked skin. He remembers admiring the strong lines of your biceps and valley of your breasts revealed with the motion.

He’s in the memory but not entirely, watching himself from the outside like a specter in the shadows. Howzer watches as he forces himself to look away from your body to stare out the window. He can feel the same tension, the same anxiety that gripped him then. He remembers the argument you had that morning. Remembers the hurt, the pain, the guilt. Remembers wanting to reach out, to hold you, but stopping himself.

“What’s on your mind?”

“You,” he answers honestly, for once. It’s a half-truth that sticks to his tongue. “Is it true that this will all be over soon?”

“I’ve felt it coming for a while now,” you say.

Your eyes drift to your hands, and he turns to watch you lace your fingers together tightly in your lap. “Count Dooku is dead. Obi-Wan has moved to engage General Grievous. Saesee and General Windu are arresting the Chancellor as we speak. The war very well may be over now.”

“I see.”

A sense of fatigue washes over him, and he leans against the wall to prop himself up. He wants to leave, to soak the feeling in while in the silence of his own barracks, but something stronger urges him to stay.

“Permission to speak freely, sir.”

“You always have my permission, Howzer,” you say earnestly. It had taken some getting used to, being addressed so informally. The first few times, he'd had to force himself not to jump to attention every time you called him by name. He quickly started to enjoy the intimacy of it, and the way the sound of his name on your lips made him shiver.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He doesn't know where to begin. The last few months have been hard, harder than most, and it's left him feeling raw and exhausted. He's never felt so torn before. Part of him is thrilled that the war is ending, but the other part, the larger, selfish part, is terrified.

“What will happen to us?” he asks, turning to look at you.

Your face is neutral, but he can tell by the set of your jaw that you're tense. The memory of you takes a moment to collect yourself before speaking.

"What do you mean?"

"After the war," he says, trying and failing to keep the edge of panic out of his voice. "What will happen to us?"

“The clones have fought honorably for the Republic. It’s the least we can do to provide for your future,” you reply. “You’ll be given pensions and housing on Coruscant for as long as you all wish. I expect some will continue their roles in reserve, while the rest will be free to choose their own path.”

He nods appreciatively. He has no idea what he would do with such freedom, but he's grateful all the same. The thought of no longer having a purpose terrifies him, but not nearly as much as the thought of losing you.

He should leave it at that, he should thank you and walk away. Howzer is watching the internal battle he faced on that day and screams at himself to leave. He should leave you be, to enjoy the brief respite the two of you are allowed.

But he can't. Not when this could be the last chance he ever gets.

“Thank you. But I…I meant us, sir.” Howzer gestures between the two of you.

Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but he can see he’s stunned you. He forges ahead, moving to stare at the wall behind you so he can maintain his courage. “We’ve been together so long, I can barely remember a time without you. Without this. I don't want it to end."

There's a pregnant pause as you struggle for a response, and the fear in the pit of his stomach grows.

“What are you saying?” you ask slowly.

“I’m saying I want more,” he says. He meets your gaze and steps forward, and you rise to your feet at the same time, your tunic fluttering around you.

“Us clones try not to think about the future, but I can't help it. And the only future I want is one with you. That is, if you want that too, sir."

His cheeks are flushed, and his heart is pounding, and he's so nervous. This is the most he's ever confessed, and it feels like the world is crashing down around him, but he means every word.

“Howzer…” Your voice breaks, and it sends a hammer to his heart. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you feel the same,” he says quickly. Howzer’s hand reaches out to grasp your bicep, thumb caressing the bare skin underneath his glove. He moves closer, and your breath hitches as you lean back, but not away.

Your eyes close, head tilting down. He waits with bated breath for you to say something, anything.

When you look up, your eyes are filled with tears, and his stomach drops. Your voice is so quiet, he can barely hear you.

“I feel afraid.”

It's like the wind has been knocked out of him. He opens his mouth to speak, to question you further, but his vambrace begins to ping, the message marked urgent. Howzer watches himself let go of you and turn to receive the transmission, and he feels like he's drowning.

No! He screams at himself. Don't take the call. He can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but watch. You can't let this go. If you lose this chance, you'll never have another.

He's frozen, helpless to watch his past play out. You move toward the window to look out at the setting sun as Howzer opens the encrypted message.

“Execute Order 66,” the hooded figure on the holo speaks, its voice graveled and dark. In his memory, Howzer stares down at the projection with wide, unseeing eyes, before he begins to shake. Something is taking over, something he isn’t strong enough to control.

He knows what he must do.

A cold, heavy weight settles in the pit of his stomach, and his mind feels foggy, sluggish. Howzer looks up from the holo, and the room seems to spin. His hands are trembling, and his heart is pounding in his ears. He blinks hard, once, twice, trying to clear the fog, but it won't go away. A wave of nausea hits him, and his head feels like it's about to explode.

"Howzer?"

Your voice is far away, barely a whisper. You turn, your lips parted, brow creased.

He barely has time to get the words out, to fight the fog for just a second. Just one more second.

"Run," he croaks. He watches his eyes glaze over, watches the last remnants of his control slip through his fingers as he turns, drawing his blaster and firing.

You ignite your lightsaber just in time to deflect the shot aimed at your head. Behind the teal blue glow of your blade, your eyes are wide and confused.

“Howzer?” you ask incredulously. Your arms are raised, holding your saber aloft. But your stance is hesitant, your knees bent as if ready to run.

The blaster is in his hand, and it's pointed at you. It's an impossible weight. A weapon made for killing, a weapon he can't use on you. His hand trembles, and he wills himself to throw it, to break it.

But the fog in his mind is too thick, the orders too loud, and his body moves without him. The trigger clicks under his finger again and again. You duck and roll as a bolt goes whizzing over your head, deflecting another into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rain down, clouding the air around you. You cough, covering your nose and mouth with the back of your free hand.

"Howzer, please, it's me!" you cry, raising the hilt of your saber. It's not meant to fight, only to protect. A shield against the bolts that won't stop coming.

He's screaming at you, screaming for you to move, to run away, but the words aren't leaving his mouth. The next bolt grazes your shoulder, tearing your tunic. The pain makes you cry out. Howzer can see the wound, red and angry against your skin.

He hears the sound of footsteps and voices getting closer outside the door, but he’s too occupied with the need to fire his blaster to acknowledge them. Howzer’s mind screams that he’s trapped alone with a traitor to the Republic, a burning hatred he’s never felt propelling him forward to attack.

The small voice inside him begging him not to hurt you is silenced for good when an unseen force rips the weapon from his hand. His arm is held aloft above his head, and he struggles like an animal in a trap to free it.

His eyes are wide and feral. Yours are nothing but pleading.

"Please," you beg. "You're stronger than this. I know you are. I can't hurt you."

"Traitor," he spits, struggling against the invisible bonds. "You'll die a traitor."

There are tears streaming down your face now, and he can see the agony in your eyes. The anguish and pain. But also a strength, a determination he's seen many times.

Fists are pounding on the door, and it tears your attention away from him for a moment too long. Howzer’s arm frees itself, and he wastes no time reaching for the blaster carbine on his back. Your eyes snap back to him, and you quickly hold out both hands to push him back into the wall.

Even during training, you were remarkably gentle with your use of the Force. Howzer had seen you throw boulders and pull tanks with your command of the unseen energy field, but he’d never felt more than a soft touch until that day.

But in this memory, you hurl him across the room with the force of a landslide, knocking the breath clear from his lungs, his head slamming hard enough to crack the duracrete.

He tries to stand, but he can't.

His arms won't work, and his legs are leaden, refusing to respond. He's helpless as he watches you raise your arm, your eyes filled with sorrow. He's powerless as you reach out and touch your fingers to his temple.

A warmth emanates from your fingertips, and Howzer feels the pressure in his skull building, building, until—

The memory vanishes, and Howzer finds himself back in his own quarters, slumped against the wall. You're still there, standing a few steps away. You have your arms crossed tightly, your jaw clenched.

Howzer can feel his head pounding, a throbbing phantom pain where it had struck the wall. He raises his fingers to rub his temples.

It's quiet. There's no pounding on the door, no gunfire. Just the two of you.

"So it's true. I almost killed you."

You flinch. It's so subtle, he wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been looking for it.

"You didn't," you say.

He shakes his head. "I didn't? It looked pretty fucking close. You did that—" He motions vaguely toward the door. "—to stop me."

"To stop myself," you correct. "You didn't have a choice. I couldn't hurt you."

Howzer's jaw clenches, and his throat feels tight. The memory is still fresh in his mind, and the feelings it elicited are not ones he'd like to relive. The shame, the fear, the guilt.

"But I did," he says. His voice is low, and his tone is grave. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You look away from him, and your shoulders droop. "I didn't know. If I'd known the clones had been reprogrammed, I would have tried to find a way to reverse it. To bring you back. All of you."

You sniff, wiping your eyes, and Howzer feels his chest ache. You're blaming yourself. Of course you are.

"Howzer, if there's anything I can do—"

"Don't apologize," he says. His voice is stronger now, and he's glad. He's tired of being weak. Having you here is a reminder of everything he's done wrong, but also of what he could have. What he wants. He straightens, pulling himself away from the wall and standing upright.

"You saved my life. You didn't know what was going to happen. No one did. And even if you had, it would have been too late."

Your brows knit together, and you look back at him. Your lower lip trembles. "How can you forgive me?"

Howzer doesn't know how to answer that. He's not sure there is an answer. Instead, he walks forward, slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal. You look so small, so vulnerable, and he hates it. He can see the worry in your eyes, the guilt. It's the same worry and guilt he's seen in the mirror every day since the war ended.

He's only a step away when he stops, leaving enough space between the two of you that you could walk away if you wanted. But you don't, and the look in your eyes is enough to make him reach out. He wipes a tear from your cheek, and the corner of your mouth twitches.

"How can you forgive me?" he asks instead.

"Because you were doing your duty. Because I care about you. Because I missed you," you say.

"I missed you, too."

You're so close, close enough to touch, and Howzer can't resist the urge. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug, letting the tension ease from his body. You lean into his embrace, and he rests his chin on top of your head, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling of having you back.

He's not sure how long the two of you stand there, lost in the embrace, but eventually, you pull away. Howzer reluctantly lets go, dropping his arms back to his sides. You look up at him, and the smile on your face makes his stomach flip.

"What you said," you start, swallowing. "That night. Did you mean it?"

He doesn't have to think.

"Yes."

Your breath hitches, and your eyes search his, seeking something. He knows what it is, and it scares him. The last time he laid his heart bare for you, he’d lost everything. But he's spent too much time living in the past. Too much time wishing things were different, regretting the choices he made.

He doesn't want to do that anymore.

"I meant it then, and I still mean it now."

"Really?"

"I do."

He reaches out and takes your hand, lifting it to his lips.

You bite your lip. He can tell you're nervous, and he feels the same. His stomach is fluttering, and his heart is racing. The moment seems surreal, too good to be true.

But he can feel the warmth of your palm in his, can feel the softness of your skin.

"I missed you," he says softly.

"I missed you, too."

Your words are barely a whisper, but they echo in his mind. He can't resist any longer.

"I want to kiss you,” he admits, his voice low. He runs his thumb over the back of your hand, and your skin tingles beneath his touch. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," you whisper.

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath tickles his lips. He can't resist any longer.

Howzer tilts his head and closes the gap between you.

It's slow, tentative, and he's terrified. But when you melt into him, and your lips part against his, all of his fears and doubts are forgotten.

You're real. You're here, with him.

Your hand grips his armor as you kiss him back, and the world falls away. All that matters is you, and him, and this moment.

He feels whole.

The kiss is long and lingering. It's slow, and sweet, and everything he could have ever hoped for. Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck, and your fingers play with the short hair there. His own hands roam over your waist and back, mapping out the lines of your body.

He feels you shift onto your toes, pressing against him and pulling him closer, and his heart soars. He can't imagine wanting anything more than this, than the taste of your lips on his, the feel of your body pressed against his.

When the two of you finally part, his lips are tingling, and he can't help but chase yours for another quick peck before he pulls back. You're breathless, and your cheeks are flushed, and he feels his chest swell, his hands tightening around your waist.

He never wants to let go.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice cracking. He doesn't want to ruin the moment, but he needs you to know. He needs you to hear the words, the sincerity behind them. "I think I always have."

"I love you, too," you say, and it's like the sun coming out after a storm. "I didn't realize until it was too late, but I love you. I don't think I've ever stopped."

His heart swells at the words. He can't believe his ears, can't believe he's hearing you say them. His throat is thick, and his eyes burn, and he blinks back the tears.

Howzer pulls you close, burying his face in your hair and breathing in deeply as his arms wrap around you. He holds you tightly, and you cling to him just as fiercely.

"Stay," he murmurs into your hair, the words barely audible. "Please."

He can feel the way your muscles tense. You pull back, just enough to look at him. "What?"

"Stay," he repeats, looking into your eyes. "With us. With me."

He watches you blink, the surprise evident on your face. He realizes what he's asking of you. How much of a risk it is. You could be killed or taken prisoner by the Empire, and he's asking you to put your life in the hands of the very people who tried to kill you.

But he has to try.

"Howzer, I—I can't. It's too dangerous. If I'm caught—"

"I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." He reaches up and cradles your face in his hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "Please. I've lost you once. I can't lose you again."

Your eyes search his, and he can see the doubt, the fear. He's never begged anyone for anything before, but he'll beg for you. He'll do whatever it takes.

"Please," he says, his voice cracking. "I need you."

"Howzer," you say, but he can tell you're weakening. Your eyes are watery, and your brow is furrowed.

"I can't do this without you. I can't—I don't want to do this without you."

Your shoulders drop, and your head tilts slightly into his touch. You cover his hand with yours, squeezing gently. You sigh, and his heart sinks. He’s prepared to hear a no. To lose you once more, only this time, willingly. He watches as you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

"Okay," you say softly.

He's speechless. For a moment, the word doesn't register. He's too afraid to hope.

"Okay?"

You nod. "I'll stay. If you'll have me."

He can't help the broad grin that spreads across his face, and he pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you and lifting you off the ground. You squeak, but you laugh, and the sound fills him with joy. He spins, hugging you tight as you giggle into his neck.

He's elated, and he can't hold back the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. He feels light, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. As soon as your feet touch the ground he's kissing you again, cupping your face and tasting the smile on your lips.

He loves you. You love him. You're staying.

The thought is so incredible, so wonderful, that he can't stop kissing you, and you don't seem to mind. He pours all his emotions, all his love, into each brush of his lips, hoping that you can feel everything he's feeling, hoping that you understand how much this means to him.

He thinks you must.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close. His hands drift down to your waist, and his thumbs brush against the skin where your tunic has ridden up. He kisses you deeper, and the moan that escapes your lips sends a bolt of heat straight through him.

His heart is pounding, and he can't get enough of you. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and you part your lips for him, letting him taste you. The kiss grows deeper, hungrier, and his grip on you tightens, drawing you flush against him.

One of your hands moves to his chest, the other threading through his hair. Your touch sets him on fire, and he can feel himself straining against the confines of his armor. He doesn't know how far this is going, but he can't stop, can't bring himself to pull away.

Not when your teeth sink into his lower lip, or your nails scrape against his scalp. Not when you arch into him, your soft chest pressing into his chestplate. Not when his hands explore your body, mapping out every curve and dip, every muscle and bone.

His tongue brushes against yours, and he moans. He wants more, so much more. He's lost in you, and he doesn't want to find his way back.

"Tell me to stop," he says, his voice rough. His lips move to your jaw, and he trails kisses down your neck, the taste of you intoxicating.

The room spins, and Howzer finds himself pressed against the wall, the cold duracrete sending a shiver down his spine. Your hands are gripping the edge of his chest plate, and your lips are hot and demanding. You bite his lower lip, tugging at it, and his eyes flutter shut.

"No." Your voice is husky, and the sound goes straight to his cock. "Don't stop."

His heart leaps into his throat, and his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. "I want you."

"I'm yours."

The words are a balm on his soul, healing wounds he didn't know he had. He can't get enough, can't stop kissing you. He nearly whines when you break away from his mouth, but the disappointment is short-lived when your lips move to his neck. He gasps, the sensation of your hot mouth and wet tongue overwhelming.

Your hands trail down his body, and his fingers dig into your hips.

"I love you," he moans. His head falls back, and his eyes flutter shut. His entire body is on fire, and the sound of your lips smacking against his neck only adds fuel to the flames. "Fuck, I love you."

You hum against his skin, and he bites back a groan.

"I love you," you whisper, the words ghosting over his neck. "I need you.”

It's all he can take.

His hands reach under your ass and lift, and you wrap your legs around his waist. The kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, and his teeth clack against yours as he spins and presses you against the wall. You grind against his codpiece, and he breaks the kiss, hissing.

"You're so kriffing beautiful," he groans, his voice ragged. "You drive me crazy."

You're panting, and your cheeks are flushed, and he feels his cock twitch at the sight.

"I missed you," you say again. "I needed you."

He doesn't want to admit how close to home those words hit.

"I'm here now." His voice is rough, and his hands are gripping your hips tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," you say, before pulling him back into another kiss.

It's hard and messy and desperate. You're both clinging to each other like your lives depend on it, and it's almost painful, the need that's taken root inside him. He's wanted you for so long, and now that he's here, with you in his arms, he can't get enough. He can't stop.

You pull back, and his head tilts up to chase your lips. He's dizzy with lust and want, his breathing shallow.

"Howzer, can we—" Your voice is breathless, and your eyes are wild.

He nods, understanding immediately.

He kisses you hard, and he can feel your hands fumbling for the clasps on his chestplate. He doesn't want to let go, doesn't want to lose the contact between the two of you, but he does, if only to help you.

It's not long before the heavy plastoid is removed, tossed haphazardly onto the floor. You waste no time, moving on to his greaves. You're so close, your scent clouding his mind, and his skin prickles beneath the intensity of your gaze. If he wasn’t so dizzy with want, he’d be amused at how focused you are, the way your brows are furrowed and your bottom lip caught between your teeth. But he can't think straight, can barely even breathe.

The pieces fall to the floor, and the sound echoes through the quiet room. By the time his bracers are removed, he's already shaking. He can't help it. It's been so long, and the desire coursing through his veins is threatening to overwhelm him.

He pulls at the laces on your tunic, loosening them enough that he can tug the material down. He leans down, trailing kisses down the newly exposed skin. Your breath hitches, and his name is a sigh on your lips. He smiles against your collarbone, nipping lightly before he sucks a mark into the flesh.

"Kriff," you gasp, your hips jerking forward. "Howzer."

The sound of his name sends a jolt of electricity down his spine, and he moans. He pulls back to lift your tunic over your head, discarding it somewhere behind him. You're bare except for your breastband, and his eyes rake over your body, taking in the sight of you, mapping the scars and curves and dips. Most of them he's seen before, the few times you were injured during the war, but the new ones, the ones he doesn't know, they're more than he can handle.

He reaches out, tentatively running his fingers over a blaster burn on your stomach, and the skin jumps underneath his touch.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yes," you say, nodding.

He runs his palm over the scar, tracing its edges. The flesh is puckered and pink, and he knows it's a wound that could have killed you. It’s one he should have been there to prevent.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

You shake your head. "Not anymore."

He traces the scar, committing it to memory. There are others, some fresher, some older, and his eyes follow his fingers, touching each and every one.

When he's done, he meets your gaze. Your eyes are wide, and your lips are parted, and he feels his chest tighten. You're so beautiful. So perfect. And you're here, with him.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

"I'm fine," he says, shaking his head. "Better than fine. You?”

"Me too."

His hands move to your back, finding the clasp of your breastband and releasing it. He holds his breath as the band comes loose, and his eyes drop down to take in the sight of your bare chest. His cock twitches in his pants, and he has to stifle a groan.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, reaching out and brushing his fingers against your breast. "Absolutely perfect."

His calloused thumb scrapes against your nipple, and it hardens instantly. Your breath hitches, and he feels his pulse quicken. He wants to hear the sounds you make, wants to know what his touch does to you.

He leans down, and his lips replace his fingers. His mouth closes around your nipple, his tongue flicking against the stiff peak. You gasp, and he feels a surge of satisfaction. His free hand squeezes your other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your body arches into him, and your breathy sighs turn into moans.

He's intoxicated by the sounds you're making, by the way your body responds to his touch. He can’t get enough, and he sucks harder, teasing your nipple with his tongue. Your hands are gripping his shoulders, and your hips are bucking into his, searching for friction.

You're so sensitive, and his head is spinning. He doesn't know how long he spends teasing and torturing you, but it's not long enough. When he finally releases your breast with a pop, you're panting, and your skin is flushed.

“Armor off,” you growl, and he chuckles.

"Yes, sir," he says, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. He reaches down and tugs at his boot, and you slide down the wall. The look in your eyes makes him shiver.

"I'm not your General anymore."

"No, but I'm still your loyal soldier," he says. It’s meant to be a joke, but it comes out more serious than he intended.

You smirk, and the expression sends a jolt of heat straight to his cock.

"Then get to it, soldier."

He raises an eyebrow, and if he wasn’t so turned on, he might be embarrassed by how fast he rips off his remaining armor, his fingers fumbling at the clasps. When he's finished, you're grinning, and his heart skips a beat. He whips the top half of his blacks off, tossing it onto the floor, and before he can register what's happening, you've wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss.

The feeling of your bare chest against his sends a bolt of heat through him, and his hands find their way back to your waist, pulling you closer. You moan into his mouth, and his cock throbs.

He's so distracted by the feeling of your lips and tongue and hands that he barely registers the tugging on his waistband. Not until his blacks are sliding down his hips, exposing his hard length to the cool air of the room.

"Kriff," he hisses, breaking the kiss. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"Hopefully not," you murmur, nipping his lower lip.

"Well, you're sure making it hard."

You look down, and your lips curl into a wicked grin. He feels his cock twitch, and a drop of precome beads at the tip.

"Hard?" you ask innocently.

He groans, leaning his head against yours. "You're awful."

"I know." You reach down and take his cock in your hand, stroking it gently. He can't help but moan. "But I think you like it."

"Kriff," he curses, biting back another groan. "I love it."

He closes his eyes, and your thumb brushes over the head, spreading the slickness around. His breath hitches, and he can feel the pleasure coiling low in his belly. You're so good at this, and he's already so close, and when you sink to your knees and look up at him through those long lashes, his brain short-circuits.

You grip his cock firmly, and he sucks in a sharp breath, bracing his forearm against the wall. You lean in, and your lips brush against his stomach, kissing the soft skin just below his navel. He trembles.

"Relax," you whisper, pressing another kiss to his abdomen.

“Fuck," he groans. "Don't tell me to relax."

He's so wound up, so on edge, his whole body is tingling. Your tongue darts out, and you lick a hot stripe up his cock, and his hips buck involuntarily. You smile, and his eyes flutter shut, his chest heaving.

Your mouth is warm and wet, and you wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit. His eyes squeeze shut, and his breathing grows ragged.

You begin to bob your head, slowly taking him deeper and deeper with each pass. When he hits the back of your throat, you hum, and his knees nearly give out.

"Fucking hell," Howzer moans, his voice cracking. His head falls forward, and his forehead rests against his forearm. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is open, and he's trying desperately to hold back the embarrassing sounds that threaten to escape.

You pull back, and the cold air against his saliva-slick cock makes him shiver. Your hand is still working him, pumping his shaft, and his balls tighten. He can feel his orgasm building, his whole body tensing, and it's too soon, much too soon, and he needs to slow down.

"Stop, stop, stop," he chants, pulling away from you. He's so close, so painfully close, and he can't stand the thought of finishing before he even gets inside you.

You pull away, looking up at him with confusion. "Why?"

"Because if you don't, I'm going to come," he manages, his voice hoarse.

You smile wickedly. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

"And what if I want you to?" You hum, your fingers teasing the tip of his cock. It’s the lightest touch, but it makes him jump. He closes his eyes, trying to compose himself. He's never been this close to losing control so fast, and he doesn't want to embarrass himself.

"Please," he begs, his voice a choked whisper. "Not like this. Not yet."

The teasing expression on your face melts into something softer, and you rise to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. He tastes himself on your tongue, and it only turns him on more.

"Alright," you murmur against his lips, your breath hot. "How do you want me?"

He feels the question like a punch to the gut, and his mouth goes dry. "I—um—"

"Howzer," you say softly, nipping his bottom lip. "Don't make me order you."

His eyes fly open, and his cock twitches. The image of you ordering him around, telling him what to do, how to fuck you—

"Howzer."

He's so fucked.

"Bed," he says, his voice a low growl. "Now."

The corner of your mouth quirks, and you raise an eyebrow. "That's not an answer."

He swallows and reaches down, trailing his fingers along the seam of your trousers. Your eyes flutter shut, and a breathy sigh escapes your lips. He watches you, and he can see the way your chest is heaving, the flush that creeps down your neck. It gives him the confidence to continue.

"I want you to take these off," he breathes. “And I want you on your back.”

"Yes, sir," you say, a teasing smile on your lips.

His heart lurches. "Oh, now you listen to me."

"Maybe I like when you're in charge," you purr.

He can't help the groan that escapes him.

Your hands slide down his chest, and you walk away, turning your back to him as you loosen the ties to your trousers. You make a show of sliding them down your legs, bending at the waist, and he nearly chokes when your underwear slides off, too.

"Kriff," he mumbles, his eyes glued to your ass.

You straighten and toss him a coy look over your shoulder, and he's helpless, completely and utterly enraptured.

"Like what you see?"

"Always," he replies, his voice low.

He can't stop himself from reaching out, his hand running up the smooth skin of your thigh. But you dance out of his grasp, laughing.

"Not so fast," you tease.

He growls, a sound that rumbles in his chest. "Don't be a tease."

"What's the matter, Captain?" you ask, stepping towards the bed. "Getting impatient?"

Howzer lets out a laugh of disbelief. He's beyond frustrated, he's already the most desperate he's ever been. Usually he’d play along with your games, but right now, he needs you, and he can't stand the thought of waiting another minute.

"Yes," he says, his voice rough. "Now get on the fucking bed."

You raise an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Yes, sir."

You move, and in one fluid motion, you're laying down on the bed. You spread your legs, inviting him, and he nearly passes out. You look like every fantasy he's ever had, laid out for him, waiting for him.

"Like this?"

"Yes," he groans, his voice cracking.

"Come here, then," you say, your tone seductive.

He can see how wet you are, how ready you are for him. It makes his head spin, his heart race. He wants to taste you, to bury his face between your legs. But the ache in his cock is too strong, the need to feel you overwhelming. He has to take a deep breath before he approaches, afraid his legs won't work.

"What are you waiting for?" you ask.

"Just...taking in the view,” he replies, his voice low and rough. He tries to meet your eyes, but he can't stop staring at the apex of your thighs, at your glistening pussy, begging for him.

You giggle, a sound he's never heard from you before, and he decides right then and there that it's his new favorite sound.

"So poetic," you tease.

"I can be," he retorts, trying to play along even though all his blood is currently rushing south.

"Come on," you say. "Don't make me wait any longer."

He's never been able to deny you.

Howzer steps forward, and before you can register his movements, he's kneeling on the bed between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs. He's not gentle as he pushes them further apart, baring you to him.

"Oh," you gasp.

He smirks, and his eyes rake over your body as he settles himself between your legs. He takes a moment to memorize the sight of you, your hair splayed out on the pillow, your flushed skin, the way your chest rises and falls with every breath.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm going to enjoy this."

"Please," you whimper, your hips bucking. The sound of it wakes him from his stupor, and he grips your thighs tighter, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh.

"What was that?"

You bite your lip and look away, but he can see the heat in your cheeks, the way your breathing is heavy.

"I said please," you repeat, turning your gaze back to him.

His smirk widens. "I couldn't quite hear you," he teases, his fingertips grazing the outside of your folds. He can feel how wet you are, how hot, and it makes his head spin.

You whine, and your hips buck against his hand. "Please, Howzer."

The sound of his name on your lips is like music, and he can't resist any longer.

Howzer leans down and presses a hot, wet kiss to your inner thigh. You gasp, and he sucks a mark into the skin, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. He repeats the process on the other leg, leaving a matching mark, and your body writhes beneath him. He pulls back, admiring his handiwork.

"You look good like this," he says, his voice a low rumble.

"You're a menace," you huff.

He chuckles and runs a finger along the length of your folds, gathering the slick that's pooled there. "That's not a very nice thing to say."

"You're not being very ni—ah!" Your words turn into a gasp when he dips his head, his tongue dragging through your folds, the taste of you coating his tongue. He feels you tremble, and your hand tangles in his hair. He loves the way you grip him, and the soft sound of his name spurs him on.

Howzer moves to your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips arch off the bed, and he has to use his forearm to keep you down, his hand splayed across your stomach. He slides two fingers inside you, curling them and rubbing the spot he knows will make you moan.

He's rewarded by the sound of his name, your breathy cries filling the room. He works you hard and fast, his tongue and fingers relentless. You're soaking wet, and he can't believe how hot and tight you are around his fingers.

"I've dreamed of this," he growls, his lips brushing against your clit.

"Really?"

He nods, and the movement causes his stubble to scrape against your skin. "Mhm. Ever since we first met.”

You let out a laugh, but it quickly turns into a moan when his fingers hit the right spot. "I-is that so?"

"Yes," he says, curling his fingers and pressing hard. "All those years fighting beside you, and I could barely control myself. It was torture."

You keen, your pussy clenching around his fingers, and he can't help but chuckle.

"I used to think about all the things I'd do if I ever got the chance."

"I thought about it too," you pant.

He looks up, surprised. The motions of his hand stutter, but he regains his composure, picking up the pace and making you gasp. "You did?"

You nod, and he watches your face, your eyes closed, your brows furrowed.

"What did you think about?"

"This," you breathe. "How you'd feel, how you'd taste, how you'd make me come."

The admission sends a jolt through him, and he moans against your clit, the vibrations making you writhe. He doubles his efforts, and his tongue draws patterns across your sensitive flesh. Your thighs tense around his head, and he feels the way you tighten around his fingers.

"I thought about you fucking me," you continue, and his eyes flutter shut. "About you filling me up and making me scream."

He can't help the noise he makes, a low, desperate groan. His cock throbs, aching for relief, and he knows he can't wait much longer. He needs you to come, needs to feel you come undone beneath him.

He can feel you getting closer, the way your breathing gets shallower, the way your muscles begin to tense. You're panting his name, and your hips are rolling, and he can tell you're close, so close.

“I’ll do whatever you want, sweetheart," he growls, the words muffled against your skin. "Just let go. Come for me."

The pet name seems to do the trick, and a string of curses spills from your lips as your body convulses, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. Your hands grip his hair, tugging painfully at the roots, and he can't find it in himself to care. He keeps pumping, drawing out your orgasm until you're writhing, begging for mercy.

When you're finally spent, he pulls back, resting his cheek on your inner thigh. He can't stop looking at you, can't stop drinking in the sight of you, flushed and satisfied. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and his chest feels so full, so complete.

"Well?" he asks.

"What?"

"Was it everything you imagined?"

Your face breaks into a smile, and you shake your head, laughing. "It was better."

"Good," he says, kissing the inside of your thigh. He slowly withdraws his fingers, and his lips find your clit again, sucking gently and licking up the fresh wave of slick.

You moan, and your hands fall from his hair to the sheets, clutching at them. He can't get enough, can't stop tasting you. He could spend hours between your thighs, and it wouldn't be enough.

"Howzer," you sigh.

"You taste good," he mumbles, not bothering to pull his lips away from your cunt.

"Come here," you plead. "I want you."

"I am here."

"No," you laugh. "I want you inside me."

"Is that an order?" he asks, teasingly.

"It is," you reply.

"Then I better follow it."

Howzer is on top of you in an instant, his lips finding yours. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, and he groans, his hips bucking against yours. His cock is pressed against your slit, and you're so wet, and it would be so easy to slip inside. He can't stand the thought of waiting any longer.

He reaches between your bodies, and you feel him lining up, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance. He pulls back, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against yours.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Always."

The word fills his heart with warmth, and he can't stop the smile that spreads across his face.

He's still smiling when he pushes inside, and his grin only grows wider at the feeling of your tight, wet heat around him. He has to fight the urge to come right then and there, and his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Kriff," he gasps.

"Don't stop," you pant, your eyes screwed shut.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He thrusts in deeper, sinking another inch, and the noise that escapes your lips is the hottest thing he's ever heard. He does it again, and again, and before he knows it, he's fully sheathed inside you, his cock stretching you open, his hips flush against yours.

"Sweetheart," he breathes, the nickname coming out almost unbidden. "You feel so good."

Your hands are wrapped around his neck, and your eyes are screwed shut. Your brow is furrowed, and your mouth is hanging open, and he can't tear his eyes away.

"I—" he starts, but the words die in his throat. He can't find the right ones, can't articulate the depth of his feelings for you. So instead, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then another, to the tip of your nose.

You look up at him, and the expression in your eyes is so tender, so full of affection, that his heart skips a beat.

"I love you," he whispers, the words escaping him without thought.

"I love you, too."

His heart soars, and he can't help but lean down and kiss you, his lips crashing into yours. It's a messy, passionate kiss, full of heat and need and love. You cling to him, and he loses himself in the feeling of you, of your arms and legs and mouth. He sets a slow pace, his hips moving in shallow, lazy thrusts.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, and he takes the opportunity to hooks his hands underneath your knees, bringing them up and bending you in half.

"What—" you start, but your question is cut off by a moan as he thrusts deeper, the angle changing and his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you.

"Oh," you gasp.

"You like that?"

You nod, your eyes closing, and he grins. His movements are languid, and you're so wet, and it's the best thing he's ever felt, the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around his cock.

"So do I," he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of your knee. "Feels so good, sweetheart. So kriffing good."

"Howzer," you murmur, the word a sigh.

He hums in response, and the feeling of it vibrates through his chest, his mouth still pressed against your knee. You shiver.

"You feel amazing," he says, his voice low and husky. "I can't believe how good you feel."

"Howzer," you groan, your hips bucking, the movement causing him to slide in even deeper on each thrust. "Harder."

"You want me to fuck you harder?"

"Please," you beg, your voice a whine.

"Fuck," he swears. "Yes, sir."

He pulls back and sets a new, punishing pace. He can't stop the noises that escape him, and his balls slap against your ass as he fucks you, the sound obscene. He's so close, but he needs you to come again, needs to feel you squeeze his cock, hear his name fall from your lips as you climax.

"Look at me," he orders.

You do, and the sight of your eyes, wild and dark with desire, is almost enough to push him over the edge. But he holds back, determined to make you come.

He wedges a hand between your thighs, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. Your breath catches, and your cunt clenches around him, the rhythmic tightening sending him spiraling closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he groans, and he can't believe he's begging, but he is, and he doesn't care. "Please, sweetheart, come for me."

The pressure of his fingers and the sound of his voice are enough, and you shudder, crying out his name as your cunt spasms around him.

It's too much. He's been on edge for so long, and it's impossible to resist any longer. Before he can stop himself, he's coming, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, his cock pulsing as his balls empty themselves, coating your walls. He can feel his release dripping out, leaking down his shaft, and the thought of it is so filthy, so hot, that he nearly blacks out.

"Fuck," he gasps, his head falling forward. He's shaking, his body wracked with the force of his release. It feels like every single nerve in his body is on fire, and his vision is blurred, and the only thing keeping him tethered to reality is the feeling of your hands in his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

When his body finally stops trembling, he opens his eyes, and you're looking up at him, a smile playing on your lips.

"Hi," you say softly.

"Hey," he replies, his voice hoarse. He looks down and sees the mess between your thighs, his cock and your folds coated in his release. He groans. "Sorry, I—I should have asked if you were okay with that."

"It's fine," you reassure him, your hand stroking his hair. "It was good. Really good."

"I'll pull out," he mumbles, leaning down and kissing you.

"Wait," you say, and the sound is muffled against his lips. "Not yet."

"Okay," he whispers, pulling back.

"I just want to feel you for a little longer."

The words make his heart ache, and he leans down to capture your lips in another kiss, softer this time. Your legs fall from his shoulders, and they wrap around his waist, keeping him close.

"How's that?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Perfect," you murmur, running your hands down his back.

He presses his forehead against yours, and he closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of you. The two of you stay like that for a few moments, neither of you wanting to move.

Finally, he pulls away, and the soft, disappointed noise you make sends a jolt through him.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he soothes. "Just trying to find something to clean us up."

You groan and bury your face in the pillow, and the sight is so endearing, he can't help but lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth.

"I'll be right back," he says, reluctantly untangling himself from your limbs.

"Fine," you huff, and the pout on your lips is adorable.

He climbs off the bed and walks to the 'fresher, and when he returns, you're propped up on one elbow, watching him. Your gaze is focused on his softening cock, and his cheeks heat up.

"Like what you see?" he asks, echoing your words from earlier.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk. "Always."

The blush deepens, and he clears his throat. He makes his way back to the bed, and he cleans up the mess that's leaking out of you, wiping up his spend. When he's finished cleaning both of you, he tosses the cloth to the floor and climbs into the bed, pulling the blankets up and tucking the two of you in.

"That's better," you sigh, curling up next to him.

Howzer wraps his arm around your shoulder, and you nestle into the crook of his arm. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, and the two of you lie in silence, enjoying each other's presence.

"I love you," you say softly, after a few minutes.

"I love you, too."

Your hand rests on his chest, and your fingers trace the planes of his muscles. He shivers, and he can't suppress the grin that spreads across his face. He feels like his heart might burst.

"So," you say, after a while. "How long have you been holding onto that?"

He snorts, and his arm tightens around you. "How long ago was that day on Kamino?"

"What?" you ask, surprise evident in your voice. You sit up and look at him, and he's pleased to see the blush that stains your cheeks. "You're kidding."

He shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Nope. That's when I knew."

"Howzer!"

"What?"

"That was...that was ages ago," you stammer, and the way you can't seem to get your words out makes him chuckle.

"Yeah, well," he shrugs. "What can I say? I'm a romantic."

"Well, I'm sorry it took me so long," you murmur, laying your head back on his chest.

"It's alright," he says, his hand finding yours and lacing his fingers through yours. "You're worth the wait."

"So are you."

He closes his eyes and presses a kiss to the top of your head. He can feel his eyelids getting heavy, and the weight of your body is comforting. The steady rhythm of your breathing is soothing, and before long, his consciousness begins to slip away.

The last thing he hears is the sound of your voice, sleepy and content.

"I love you, Howzer."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

He drifts off to sleep, and the last thing he feels is the press of your lips against his chest, just above his heart.

taglist: @covert1ntrovert @baddest-batchers @bruh-myguy-what @spicy-clones @qvnthesia

@stellarbit @arctrooper69 @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified

@heidnspeak @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod

@puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado

@aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony

#captain howzer #captain howzer x reader #the clone wars #the bad batch #tbb howzer #captain howzer x you #clone smut #clone trooper howzer #clone x reader #howzer x reader #bad batch howzer #roy writes #*closes eyes and hits post*

371 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 4 months

Text

Fic Finder

June 10th

~*~

1. Hiya, please help me find this fic! Lan Zhan is the king/emperor and has to choose a consort/empress. There is a bridal selection held and I know Mianmian was one of the candidates. They do a series of challenges and Lan Zhan basically tricks Wei Wuxian into completing them/qualifying. At one point, the candidates have to go through this maze, and Wei Wuxian gets 'kidnapped' and dumped in the maze and finds his way out really fast out into a hall where everyone is just like 'how the hell did he get in there and come out so fast?' and Lan Zhan uses that to show the council/elders that Wei Wuxian is a perfectly acceptable choice while WWX is just confused as always. Thank you! @iuocean

FOUND? The Imperial Jewel by Serinah (E, 39k, WangXian, Emperor and his concubine, Dubious Consent,bExtreme at first, gets better, A/B/O, omega wwx,bAlpha LWJ, Concubine WWX, Emperor LWJ, Oblivious Wwx, wwx's pov, Mutual Pining, Angst and Feels, Deviates From Canon, WWX has a golden core, but still practices dark arts, WWX exchanges his life for the Wens’, other differences, UST, S/D, undrenegotiated kink, Orgasm Denial, Multiple Orgasms,bOther kinks, WWX likes spanking, Smut and Feels, fucking while pining, noncon, for the beginning of the first scene, It Gets Better, starts smutty, gets plotty, ends lovely, Feels, Power Imbalance, Public Sex)

~*~

2. Hi there! Im not sure if I have already asked this or if I dreamt it but I have been looking for one specific ff for almost three years now. It's on ao3 and the only plot points I remember were that it was a modern au, wangxian were friends, something happened to wwx and the decided to go on a little impulsive roadtrip (Iwj phoned his brother and said "I am eloping with wei ying" which was funny but he was so serious deep inside) and then they found out they have been in love all along and get together.

Another thing I remember is that the author put a lot of songs into the fic for the roadtrip and I have all the song names;

the brummies - lovers do

give my heart a little break - summer salt

I don't wanna be okay without you - charlie burg

honeymoon - the shadowboxers

You'd think with all the songs I could have found it by now but I can't seem to win. If you can find anything please please I will sell my firstborn :) that fic was comfort like you can't believe @mdzshemel

Hi, this fic is delicious! Thank you for the rec ✨ It is not the one I am looking for but it was such a near thing 🥹

NOT FOUND 🔒 and i think it's going to be a long, long time by belovedmuerto (T, 39k, WangXian, Road Trips, Modern, There Was Only One Bed, Slow Burn, Getting Together, Pining, Weddings, sibling relationships)

~*~

3. hi, fic finder request! i know that it was a royalty au where lxc was the king and jgy was married to him, but from there my memory is vague... i seem to recall a scene (that may or may not have involved a mirror?) where jgy is using dark magic and eventually lxc and the rest of the lan family and kingdom find out the jgy is evil. jgy was using the dark magic to poison someone, either lxc or himself (?) TYSM for helping!!

FOUND? the lotus in between by whiteskyland (Not Rated, 22k, LXC/JC, LXC/JGY, WangXian, WIP, Angst, Whump, JC Needs a Hug, A/B/O, Alpha LXC, Omega JC, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Arranged Marriage, Royalty, Hurt/Comfort, Omega JGY, JC Has No Golden Core)

~*~

4. Hello! I'm I'm desperate to find a Wangxian fic with a Modern AU where JC wants to adopt a dog, and they recommend WWX to see a therapist or work at a veterinarian (I don't remember well) and that's where LWJ comes in. But supposedly he has a dark secret that he can't tell WWX, the thing is that I don't remember if it's a werewolf AU or something else like that. I honestly don't know if it's still on ao3, but I'll keep looking for it and I thought it was worth it to ask here if anyone remembers or knows this fic.

Maybe you'll have better luck that me, anyway thanks for listening to my ramblings!!!

~*~

5. Hi! I’m looking for a fic that takes place in the cloud recesses era. When WWX is supposed to be punished, instead of copying the rules in the library, both WWX and LWJ teach the younger Lan disciples sword forms and fighting. During this time they bond and start a relationship.

I just remember a scene where they are putting away the wooden swords and they lock themselves in the shed (?) and start making out? (I think??).

Thanks! @estathom

FOUND! 💖 Magical Marriage Ribbons Series by starandrea (Varies, 1m, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Accidental Marriage, Fluff, Happy Ending, Telepathic bond, Kink Negotiation, Family Drama, Magical Pregnancy, Dual Cultivation, Shapeshifters, Modern with Magic, Immortality, Yilling Wei Sect, podfic) one of the magical marriage ribbon series, closer to the beginning // the second work

~*~

6. I am looking for a canon-era fic where Wuxian was the son of Lan Qiren and Cangse Sanren. Neither Wuxian or Lan Qiren know this, as they both presume Wei Changze was Wuxian’s father. They learn the truth during the Cloud Recesses study arc when the class learns a talisman that writes out family trees. Qiren demands to take Wuxian from Lotus Pier and continue raising and teaching him in the Lan.

~*~

7. hello! i'm trying to find a modern au wangxian fic where wwx is living with the wens and lwj is a performance artist coming to the (local) yiling gallery, and they meet again while lwj is doing his exhibition (he's like. running a booth where he just stares into the other person's eyes for like 10 minutes). it's on the shorter side - i want to say it's 3 chapters? @grillanarchy

FOUND! when you say nothing at all by sysrae (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, artist LWJ, tattoo artist WWX, past angst, Getting Together, emotionally significant art installations, Soulmates)

~*~

8. Hello.

I'm sorry for asking at the you are off. But it's been bugging my mind. I've read these fic before but i forgot the title and where i read it.

Do you know a fic its m/m where lan zhan and wei ying married and wei ying had a miscarriage so both of them go to somewhere and ended in a village. They lived in there for a while until wei ying got pregnant again and decided to go back to gusu?

And one fic where wei ying is pregnant and had been followed by the lan juniors while lan zhan gone to somewhere?

Please help me. @rottenapple116

FOUND! Sky, Cloud and Lotus by Xantya24 (M, 219k, WangXian, JC/LXC, LJY/LSZ/JL, WIP, Mpreg, A/B/O, Everyone Lives, Certain characters are dead as canon, Family Fluff, Angst, Sad with a Happy Ending, Miscarriage, Bullying, Graphic Description, Isolation, Dreams and Nightmares, Things can get fucked up)

~*~

9. Hello! I'm searching for a fic where wei ying is actually the son of wen ruohan and cangse sanren. I only remember the part where wen ruohan visited lotus pier and saw wei ying being whipped to death by yu ziyuan and him being absolutely livid. I think wen xu was also there, he was really nice and showed wei ying the wen's market(?). thank you!!

FOUND? Scars of Lightning by The_peregrine_falcon (T, 6k, YZY & WWX, WWX & WRH, WangXian, YZY's A+ Parenting, Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Wen WWX, zidian, YZY is a bitch, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Heavy Angst, Lotus Pier, Nightless City, Young WWX, Muteness, Hurt kind of comfort) Though he's not WRH blood son but adopted son in it. WRH does see him get attacked by YZY though, somewhere in the middle of the fic

FOUND? The Littlest Sun by Kuroishuuha (T, 23k, WWX is a Wen, Wen Wuxian, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe, Good Parent WRH, Not YZY Friendly, Medical Inaccuracies, Family Fluff, Good Brother WX) It has WWX as WRH child and a shopping scene with WX.

~*~

10. Hello I was suggested to seek help here to find fics that I have been trying to find for a really really long time. I hope you could help me with them.

A. The fic was set post canon where Lan Wangji seemed to have lost his memory of WWX and Wei Wuxian tries to help him get his memory back. This seems to be a common premise but what resonated me about the fic was that there was a use of a song to cure the memory loss and the song required lots of energy and thus Wei Wuxian had decided to play the song in parts and Wangxian navigate around eachother as LWJ slowly gets his memory back in snippets.

B. This one is set in post canon as well but this focuses much more on the relationship of Wei Wuxian with Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling. In this fic it seems that Wei Wuxian tends to favour Lan Sizhui above anyone else and thus Jin Ling gets jealous at this prospect. I don't remember many finer details of the story besides these.

10A)

FOUND! #10a sounds like "an effect (without a cause)" by astrobandit. It is no longer on Ao3. i have a pdf copy from the wayback machine if anyone needs it. ~the-marathon-continues-nip

10B)

FOUND! Not Yet (There As Needed) by sunrise_and_death (T, 13k, LSZ & WWX, JL & WWX, JL & LSZ, WangXian, Post-Canon, Family Feels, Family Bonding, POV LSZ, This Fic Has Everything, even more yearning, WWX & LSZ figuring out wtf their relationship is, Dramatic Revelations, JL being the contrary lil bean he is, all the juniors thinking WWX is the greatest thing to ever happen to them, and in case you missed it yearning)

~*~

11. Hiiiii. Im looking for a fic where wei ying is either a tiger or wolf and he gets stuck in that form for awhile. I just remember he goes missing for awhile and lwj is looking for him - i think they are engaged or married then. Lwj finds him with sl and xxc. I think he gets stuck in that form after fighting wc or wzl or wx and he goes around trying to get a glimpse of someone in white or hes looking for lwj's scent?

Sorry its so vague 🙈 but thats all i remember

FOUND? 🔒 Unstoppable by Netrixie (T, 150k, WangXian, LXC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Slow Burn, Minor Original Character(s), Cloud Recesses, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Angst, Wolf-shifter WWX, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, Fix-It, Werewolf, Shapeshifters, Sunshot Campaign, Translation Available, Russian, Canonical Lan arm strength)

FOUND? The Tiger has Destroyed his Cage by updatebug (G, 54k, WangXian, JFM/YZY, Shapeshifters, Fix-it fic, Most people live, and the ones who don't were aholes anyway, Animal Pelts, Tiger WWX, Found Family, adopted famil, yYungmeng Siblings, LWJ is very confused, You can tell from his face, Canon appropriate angst and violence, Gratuitous OCs, If canon will not give me women I will make them, Jiang Sect) For the sake of propriety, since it's been a while since I last read either Tiger vers or Beast of Gusu, imma drop The Tiger Has Destroyed Its Cage for 11 as well sincd Beast of Gusu is already recced, and OP technically mentions both (and I /think/ the one op wants is Tiger verse rather than Beast of Gusu)

~*~

12. Hiii

Thank you so much for all your hard work 💜

Can you please find me a fic where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying meet in a game. I think Wei Ying's avatar and Wen Chao's avatar were married and then Wen Chao divorced Wei ying's character and lan zhan offers a marriage proposal.

Then they meet and gradually fall in love in real life too

I think Hualian comes up in the fic where Hua Cheng is the owner of the company which created the game .

🩵🩵🩵🩵

FOUND? Dreams of Cultivation by mortuus_lingua (M, 97k, WangXian, LXC/JC, SL/XXC, HC & XL, Gaming, Wuxia, Nonbinary Character, Queer Themes, LWJ Uses Actual Words, Nonbinary NHS, Nonbinary XXC, BAMF WQ, Modern, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Oblivious WWX, Protective JC, Cinnamon Roll WN, Developing Relationship)

~*~

13. Hii! Im currently looking for a fic on ao3, about wwx crossdressing and faking being lwj wife. I dont remember if it was post ressurection or not, and i think wen qing might have been involved in the lie? But i could be wrong. There were two moments that i remember, that when wwx tells the truth to Lan qiren he reveals he already knew and that wwx fakes fainting at some point to shame someone over a rude remark.

FOUND? My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun by nonplussed (T, 26k, WangXian, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Crossdressing, Idiots in Love, Sharing a Bed, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies) if he's just pretending to have married LWJ

FOUND? The Amazing Adventures Of Jiang Xiaolian And Family by bumbledees (T, 71k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, JC/WN, Mild to Moderate Pining, lotus pier siblings quietly also have a penchant for chaos, WWX will make LQR like him whether the old man likes it or not, WWX just wants to have fun and not be killed and also to go to his sister's wedding, Mutual Pining, WWX is more stubborn than a boulder and twice as dense, Everybody Lives, nobody who matters anyways, except for WN, you're an angel and we're delighted you're here, WangXian canon is sad bitch let's get you some fun, "WWX fools the entire cultivation world", "and kicks up drama in front of their salad", testimonial from reader Vapid_Girl and a good summary of this fic, warnings for sexual harassment due to JGS, and for the canonical behavior of the jin clan ie war crimes, forced labor, human trafficking, etc., hello naughty jin cultivators it's revenge time :), jiang "rolling gay crisis" wanyin, wen "deserved better" qionglin, yunmeng bros feelings, copious use of bad language grace à JC, my oddball collection of headcanons concerning fierce corpses, WN has a playful streak, anyone friends with WWX has to have one on some level, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, extremely brief mention of something approaching a conversion camp but it's just two sentences, Happy Ending, Let JC Experience Happiness, WN is technically undead in this so uhhh warning for that, he's far more like a vampire than a zombie honestly, so JC gets his own YA supernatural romance novel basically, at least WN doesn't sparkle????, Crack Taken Mostly Seriously, like many of WWX's best ideas it starts as a joke!, purposeful baby aquisition, WWX when will you learn that there are consequences to your actions) if the marriage actually happens. // 100% sure that 13 is The Amazing Adventures of Jiang Xiaolian, I just finished reading that and it fits perfectly. // WWX pretends to faint in chapter 6 and LQR reveals he figured it out (and threw a teapot against the wall when he did so) in chapter 19.

~*~

14. Hi! I'm looking for a fic that was funny I think, LWJ goes into the past, don't remember if it'd on purpose or not, it's the first night they meet, and instead of repeating the rules, he flirts with WWX and WWX can't handle it and I remember specifically LWJ thinking now I see why WWX teases, this is fun. And he says something along the lines of I won't tell anyone if you give me a kiss, and apparently LXC was there because they next day he says he didn't realize his brother was so smooth.

I've searched and searched (and got lost in new fics), if you guys are able to find it, that would be amazing!

~*~

15. Thank you all for this glorious blog. I have a fic finder request. For a solid 3 months I have been trying to find it but alas. It's wangxian, f/f, on ao3. I think it's arranged marriage. Wangxian are married in any case but lwj isn't interested in anything but sex while wwx is very much in love with lwj. At some point, just as wwx starts thinking lwj might be softening toward her, she finds out that lwj is to have a concubine, Mianmian who lwj is old friends with. So wwx starts pulling away to give lwj opportunity to be with MM and is just very miserable.

I don't know for sure if wwx goes for a visit to Lotus Pier and that's where it happens or if she's holing up somewhere in Cloud Recesses, but Lwj goes to her and apologizes and they talk it through and there is a happy ending.

I BELIEVE it's 3 chapters but it could be 5. Anyway it's SO GOOD and I'm aching to reread it. @trulywicked

FOUND? Hello! For the Fic Finder posted on June 10th, #15 should be heliotrope by anonymous - it was deleted off ao3, but I was able to recover an epub from the ao3 archive in case anyone wants a copy. ~lilanko

~*~

16. Hi, its my first time asking for a fic but i remember a jiang cheng centered fic which was about if jiang cheng found out bout the golden core transfer earlier. In that, wuxian doesnt die nor do the remanents and i was just wondering if you can find it because i cant remember what the name was. Thank you in advance^-^

FOUND? Rewrite the stars by Moonlit_dewdrops (T, 70k, JC & JYL & WWX, WangXian, JC/WQ, JYL & MM & WQ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Protective JC, yunmeng sibling love, Canon Divergence, Lives get saved, Yunmeng sibling bonding,bHurt/Comfort, Protective JYL, Golden Core Reveal, JYL & JZX Live, Fix-It, fuck JGS, JZN too, no one tolerating jin sect's bullshit, Found Family, JC GETS TO BE HAPPY AND IS MARRIED, JYL & WQ & MM GET TO BE SWORN SISTERS, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, just a bit, WWX has PTSD due to Burial Mounds, Very protective younger bro vibes, soft JC, Family Feels, Healing, Not Everyone Dies, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, WWX will get a New Golden Core, justice for the wen remnants)

~*~

17. Hii, absolutely love your page. Have come across such great fics here. I am actually looking a for a Wangxian fanfic which I think was CQL post-canon. I remember just this part where LWJ & WWX were going to get married and like just one day before their marriage (by the way all the guests and sects are there at Cloud Recesses), someone releases a dog/wolf yao or something similar and WWX gets like critically injured trying to project Sizhui. I remember really loving the fic but I can’t seem to find it anywhere:( Would really appreciate it if you could perhaps find it <3<3

FOUND? The Boy with the Sunshine Smile by Witch_Nova221 (T, 153k, WangXian, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Post-Canon, Romance, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Parenthood, Growing Up) the injury+aftermath are chapters 22 & 23

~*~

18. Looking for a fic where WWX made these like talisman things that stored memories are smth like that and then he dies and when he comes back his memories/past were shown to the cultivation world through those talismen and everyone is like “he’s a good guy!” and JC and LWJ tag along with WWX

~*~

19. I'm looking for a wangxian fic :D I believe it was a characters-watching-their-series or watching-a-character's memories kind of fic, but where it was shown in songs. I specifically remember the characters watching married wangxian to the song Dandelions by Ruth B, and I think WWX's parents may have been there as well, so potentially there was a little bit of time magicky stuff too? Thank you for your help! @shieldherostuffs

FOUND? Mo Dao Zu Shi: The Musical by Loveable_Psychopath (Not Rated, 117k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-it, Song Fic, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking) The song is in the last chapter

~*~

20. Hi! Can you help me find a fic? It's a (sort of) time travel fix-it where the Lans (LWJ and LQR are the ones i remember the most) are nice to WWX and it confuses him a lot. I remember a scene where WWX was asking about the "energy is energy" thing, expecting to get kicked out of the class by LQR, but he gets his answer calmly(?) and confused on why some of the Lans look like they're nostalgic from what he just said

FOUND? Cluster of Clouds by Nika_Raven_Celeste (T, 20k, WangXian, LWJ & WWX, LQR & WWX, JC & WWX, WIP, Time Travel, The Lans from Post Canon Time Traveled to Cloud Recesses Study Era, ALL The Lans from Post Canon, The Lans ADORES WWX, Confused WWX, Soft LQR, Soft LWJ , LWJ CAN communicate, Not JC Friendly , not YZY Friendly, Genius WWX, Horny LWJ, but he still has some restraints, Oblivious WWX)

~*~

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

124 notes · View notes

workingclasshistory · 1 year

Photo

On this day, 26 June 1952, Black feminist and squatting activist, Olive Morris was born in Harewood, Jamaica. Moving to London with her family, she became a founding member of the Organisation of Women of African and Asian Descent (OWAAD), established the Brixton Black Women's Group, was a member of the British Black Panther Movement, and helped found the Manchester Black Women's Cooperative and Manchester Black Women's Mutual Aid Group. Morris was one of the first to squat at 121 Railton Road, Brixton London, an address which subsequently housed a range of community and political groups until the 1990s. She also wrote many articles, about topics like Black and Asian workers' struggles, and critiques of strains of anti-fascism which ignored institutional, state and police racism. In one speech, she declared that "the Black women's movement is part of the world struggle for national liberation and the destruction of capitalism. Only when this is achieved can we ensure that our liberation as Black women is genuine, total and irreversible." Morris was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and died shortly after in 1979, aged just 27. Emma Allotey later recalled: "Her premature death was a shock to the community. A Lambeth council building, 18 Brixton Hill, was named after her in March 1986. There is a community garden and play area named after her in the Myatt’s Fields area. In 2009, Olive was chosen by popular vote as one of the historical figures to feature on a local currency, the Brixton Pound." More information, sources and map: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/9836/olive-morris-born https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=650648680441684&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

228 notes · View notes

dailyanarchistposts · 1 month

Text

A.5 What are some examples of “Anarchy in Action”?

A.5.1 The Paris Commune

The Paris Commune of 1871 played an important role in the development of both anarchist ideas and the movement. As Bakunin commented at the time,

“revolutionary socialism [i.e. anarchism] has just attempted its first striking and practical demonstration in the Paris Commune … [It] show[ed] to all enslaved peoples (and are there any masses that are not slaves?) the only road to emancipation and health; Paris inflict[ed] a mortal blow upon the political traditions of bourgeois radicalism and [gave] a real basis to revolutionary socialism.” [Bakunin on Anarchism, pp. 263–4]

The Paris Commune was created after France was defeated by Prussia in the Franco-Prussian war. The French government tried to send in troops to regain the Parisian National Guard’s cannon to prevent it from falling into the hands of the population. “Learning that the Versailles soldiers were trying to seize the cannon,” recounted participant Louise Michel, “men and women of Montmartre swarmed up the Butte in surprise manoeuvre. Those people who were climbing up the Butte believed they would die, but they were prepared to pay the price.” The soldiers refused to fire on the jeering crowd and turned their weapons on their officers. This was March 18th; the Commune had begun and “the people wakened … The eighteenth of March could have belonged to the allies of kings, or to foreigners, or to the people. It was the people’s.” [Red Virgin: Memoirs of Louise Michel, p. 64]

In the free elections called by the Parisian National Guard, the citizens of Paris elected a council made up of a majority of Jacobins and Republicans and a minority of socialists (mostly Blanquists — authoritarian socialists — and followers of the anarchist Proudhon). This council proclaimed Paris autonomous and desired to recreate France as a confederation of communes (i.e. communities). Within the Commune, the elected council people were recallable and paid an average wage. In addition, they had to report back to the people who had elected them and were subject to recall by electors if they did not carry out their mandates.

Why this development caught the imagination of anarchists is clear — it has strong similarities with anarchist ideas. In fact, the example of the Paris Commune was in many ways similar to how Bakunin had predicted that a revolution would have to occur — a major city declaring itself autonomous, organising itself, leading by example, and urging the rest of the planet to follow it. (See “Letter to Albert Richards” in Bakunin on Anarchism). The Paris Commune began the process of creating a new society, one organised from the bottom up. It was “a blow for the decentralisation of political power.” [Voltairine de Cleyre, “The Paris Commune,” Anarchy! An Anthology of Emma Goldman’s Mother Earth, p. 67]

Many anarchists played a role within the Commune — for example Louise Michel, the Reclus brothers, and Eugene Varlin (the latter murdered in the repression afterwards). As for the reforms initiated by the Commune, such as the re-opening of workplaces as co-operatives, anarchists can see their ideas of associated labour beginning to be realised. By May, 43 workplaces were co-operatively run and the Louvre Museum was a munitions factory run by a workers’ council. Echoing Proudhon, a meeting of the Mechanics Union and the Association of Metal Workers argued that “our economic emancipation … can only be obtained through the formation of workers’ associations, which alone can transform our position from that of wage earners to that of associates.” They instructed their delegates to the Commune’s Commission on Labour Organisation to support the following objectives:

“The abolition of the exploitation of man by man, the last vestige of slavery; “The organisation of labour in mutual associations and inalienable capital.”

In this way, they hoped to ensure that “equality must not be an empty word” in the Commune. [The Paris Commune of 1871: The View from the Left, Eugene Schulkind (ed.), p. 164] The Engineers Union voted at a meeting on 23rd of April that since the aim of the Commune should be “economic emancipation” it should “organise labour through associations in which there would be joint responsibility” in order “to suppress the exploitation of man by man.” [quoted by Stewart Edwards, The Paris Commune 1871, pp. 263–4]

As well as self-managed workers’ associations, the Communards practised direct democracy in a network popular clubs, popular organisations similar to the directly democratic neighbourhood assemblies (“sections”) of the French Revolution. “People, govern yourselves through your public meetings, through your press” proclaimed the newspaper of one Club. The commune was seen as an expression of the assembled people, for (to quote another Club) “Communal power resides in each arrondissement [neighbourhood] wherever men are assembled who have a horror of the yoke and of servitude.” Little wonder that Gustave Courbet, artist friend and follower of Proudhon, proclaimed Paris as “a true paradise … all social groups have established themselves as federations and are masters of their own fate.” [quoted by Martin Phillip Johnson, The Paradise of Association, p. 5 and p. 6]

In addition the Commune’s “Declaration to the French People” which echoed many key anarchist ideas. It saw the “political unity” of society as being based on “the voluntary association of all local initiatives, the free and spontaneous concourse of all individual energies for the common aim, the well-being, the liberty and the security of all.” [quoted by Edwards, Op. Cit., p. 218] The new society envisioned by the communards was one based on the “absolute autonomy of the Commune … assuring to each its integral rights and to each Frenchman the full exercise of his aptitudes, as a man, a citizen and a labourer. The autonomy of the Commune will have for its limits only the equal autonomy of all other communes adhering to the contract; their association must ensure the liberty of France.” [“Declaration to the French People”, quoted by George Woodcock, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon: A Biography, pp. 276–7] With its vision of a confederation of communes, Bakunin was correct to assert that the Paris Commune was “a bold, clearly formulated negation of the State.” [Bakunin on Anarchism, p. 264]

Moreover, the Commune’s ideas on federation obviously reflected the influence of Proudhon on French radical ideas. Indeed, the Commune’s vision of a communal France based on a federation of delegates bound by imperative mandates issued by their electors and subject to recall at any moment echoes Proudhon’s ideas (Proudhon had argued in favour of the “implementation of the binding mandate” in 1848 [No Gods, No Masters, p. 63] and for federation of communes in his work The Principle of Federation).

Thus both economically and politically the Paris Commune was heavily influenced by anarchist ideas. Economically, the theory of associated production expounded by Proudhon and Bakunin became consciously revolutionary practice. Politically, in the Commune’s call for federalism and autonomy, anarchists see their “future social organisation… [being] carried out from the bottom up, by the free association or federation of workers, starting with associations, then going into the communes, the regions, the nations, and, finally, culminating in a great international and universal federation.” [Bakunin, Op. Cit., p. 270]

However, for anarchists the Commune did not go far enough. It did not abolish the state within the Commune, as it had abolished it beyond it. The Communards organised themselves “in a Jacobin manner” (to use Bakunin’s cutting term). As Peter Kropotkin pointed out, while “proclaiming the free Commune, the people of Paris proclaimed an essential anarchist principle … they stopped mid-course” and gave “themselves a Communal Council copied from the old municipal councils.” Thus the Paris Commune did not “break with the tradition of the State, of representative government, and it did not attempt to achieve within the Commune that organisation from the simple to the complex it inaugurated by proclaiming the independence and free federation of the Communes.” This lead to disaster as the Commune council became “immobilised … by red tape” and lost “the sensitivity that comes from continued contact with the masses … Paralysed by their distancing from the revolutionary centre — the people — they themselves paralysed the popular initiative.” [Words of a Rebel, p. 97, p. 93 and p. 97]

In addition, its attempts at economic reform did not go far enough, making no attempt to turn all workplaces into co-operatives (i.e. to expropriate capital) and forming associations of these co-operatives to co-ordinate and support each other’s economic activities. Paris, stressed Voltairine de Cleyre, “failed to strike at economic tyranny, and so came of what it could have achieved” which was a “free community whose economic affairs shall be arranged by the groups of actual producers and distributors, eliminating the useless and harmful element now in possession of the world’s capital.” [Op. Cit., p. 67] As the city was under constant siege by the French army, it is understandable that the Communards had other things on their minds. However, for Kropotkin such a position was a disaster:

“They treated the economic question as a secondary one, which would be attended to later on, after the triumph of the Commune … But the crushing defeat which soon followed, and the blood-thirsty revenge taken by the middle class, proved once more that the triumph of a popular Commune was materially impossible without a parallel triumph of the people in the economic field.” [Op. Cit., p. 74]

Anarchists drew the obvious conclusions, arguing that “if no central government was needed to rule the independent Communes, if the national Government is thrown overboard and national unity is obtained by free federation, then a central municipal Government becomes equally useless and noxious. The same federative principle would do within the Commune.” [Kropotkin, Evolution and Environment, p. 75] Instead of abolishing the state within the commune by organising federations of directly democratic mass assemblies, like the Parisian “sections” of the revolution of 1789–93 (see Kropotkin’s Great French Revolution for more on these), the Paris Commune kept representative government and suffered for it. “Instead of acting for themselves … the people, confiding in their governors, entrusted them the charge of taking the initiative. This was the first consequence of the inevitable result of elections.” The council soon became “the greatest obstacle to the revolution” thus proving the “political axiom that a government cannot be revolutionary.” [Anarchism, p. 240, p. 241 and p. 249]

The council become more and more isolated from the people who elected it, and thus more and more irrelevant. And as its irrelevance grew, so did its authoritarian tendencies, with the Jacobin majority creating a “Committee of Public Safety” to “defend” (by terror) the “revolution.” The Committee was opposed by the libertarian socialist minority and was, fortunately, ignored in practice by the people of Paris as they defended their freedom against the French army, which was attacking them in the name of capitalist civilisation and “liberty.” On May 21st, government troops entered the city, followed by seven days of bitter street fighting. Squads of soldiers and armed members of the bourgeoisie roamed the streets, killing and maiming at will. Over 25,000 people were killed in the street fighting, many murdered after they had surrendered, and their bodies dumped in mass graves. As a final insult, Sacré Coeur was built by the bourgeoisie on the birth place of the Commune, the Butte of Montmartre, to atone for the radical and atheist revolt which had so terrified them.

For anarchists, the lessons of the Paris Commune were threefold. Firstly, a decentralised confederation of communities is the necessary political form of a free society (”This was the form that the social revolution must take — the independent commune.” [Kropotkin, Op. Cit., p. 163]). Secondly, “there is no more reason for a government inside a Commune than for government above the Commune.” This means that an anarchist community will be based on a confederation of neighbourhood and workplace assemblies freely co-operating together. Thirdly, it is critically important to unify political and economic revolutions into a social revolution. “They tried to consolidate the Commune first and put off the social revolution until later, whereas the only way to proceed was to consolidate the Commune by means of the social revolution!” [Peter Kropotkin, Words of a Rebel , p. 97]

For more anarchist perspectives on the Paris Commune see Kropotkin’s essay “The Paris Commune” in Words of a Rebel (and The Anarchist Reader) and Bakunin’s “The Paris Commune and the Idea of the State” in Bakunin on Anarchism.

24 notes · View notes

chimcess · 1 year

Text

→ Chapter Three: Harboring a Fugitive Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 10.3k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: Long haired Jimin, Strong language, blood, main character injured, main character beaten (not explicit), fighting, argument, near death experience, angst, fluff, backstory time, flashbacks, I’m putting PTSD on all of these because poor reader is suffering, I love Taehyung so much, I forgot how much I missed his playful attitude, brooding Jimin as always, crying, hurt/comfort, I hate Ahn, let me know if I missed anything A/N: This rewriting has been more fun than I thought it would be. I think the next chapter will have the most changes thus far, but I am still trying to keep everything as close as possible. Thanks for reading!

prev. || masterlist || next

I was jolted awake by a frantic pounding on the front door. My eyes cracked open, and the sting of exhaustion made them burn like hot coals. As I surveyed the room, I realized I’d been changed and cleaned, but Yoongi’s presence was conspicuously absent. Jimin, too, seemed to have vanished, though I couldn’t recall when Yoongi had arrived. Sleep was already slipping through my fingers, the relentless knocking dragging me back to wakefulness.

With a groan of protest from every muscle, I limped to the living room. Shiloh’s gentle breathing from her nest was the only sound beside the incessant banging. It struck me that she must have been utterly spent to have slept through it all. At last, I reached the door and threw it open, only to be greeted by one of the most heart-wrenching sights I’d seen in ages.

Kim Taehyung stood there, a broken mess. His hair was a tangle of knots and his body was a bruised and battered mosaic of purples and blues. I forced myself to straighten up, though my exhaustion made it a struggle. As I guided him inside, my heart shattered at the sound of his sobs.

Ahn had clearly done a number on him, and the rage that simmered beneath my surface was nearly overwhelming. But Taehyung was in no state to handle my fury. His suffering was both physical and emotional, and I needed to tend to him first. As he choked out the details of his ordeal, I listened with clenched teeth.

After we left, Ahn had dragged Taehyung into a secluded room at the palace, where the beating began. It was as if the old man believed he could pummel the boy into submission. The thought nearly made me scream. Soon, three others from the council joined in, and though some had protested, none had the courage to stand against it. Sol had been taken from him, her screams echoing in his ears.

“I’ve got your face,” I muttered, dipping back into a jar of salve. I’d already applied two jars to his face and neck. “Strip down. I need to check for infections.”

Taehyung nodded through his tears. I didn’t let myself stare too long, though it was impossible not to see the condition of his battered body. I focused on his stomach, my hands working with a rough, frustrated rhythm.

“I can’t believe this,” I grunted. “Why did you let them do this to you?”

Taehyung winced as I pressed too hard on a tender spot. “I didn’t want to fight,” he said. “I don’t want to rule with violence. Fighting and shouting… it’s uncivilized.”

I laughed, though it was devoid of humor. “So, you let them do whatever they want with you? You’d let them kill you?”

He was silent, unable to answer.

“If you want to be taken seriously,” I said, opening another jar of salve and rubbing it into his chest, “you have to stand up for yourself. Your idea of civility doesn’t align with the old guard.”

Taehyung’s expression darkened, and he looked genuinely troubled. His naivety struck me hard, and I felt a surge of anger. If Ahn were here, I’d deal with him myself. How dare he orchestrate such cruelty? The thought of him parading around while a child suffered made my blood boil.

While I agreed with Taehyung’s ideals, the others would never accept them easily. He needed to fight if he wanted respect. Chief Ahn would never allow a different kind of leadership. My anger flared again—Kim Taehyung was far more worthy of leadership than that miserable excuse for a man. An epiphany hit me: no one else was as suited to rule Foxglove as Taehyung, with his diplomacy and kindness.

“I understand,” I said, wincing as Taehyung flinched away from my touch. “But you can’t let them push you around. Their views of manhood are archaic, and though your village knows it, fear makes people cling to the familiar. Ahn exploits that fear to boost his own ego.”

Taehyung’s gaze was inscrutable, his eyes following my every movement but revealing nothing. He seemed to be weighing my words carefully.

“I wanted to fight,” he confessed, his voice a whisper of shame. “I wanted to kill them all, but then they’d win. I’d become the man they wanted me to be, but the village would fear and resent me like they fear Ahn.”

His introspection was unexpected but not unwelcome. I’d never heard him speak with such depth before. His voice, deep and smooth like molasses, carried a melancholy tune. It was a stark contrast to his youthful charm, making me remember he’d only turned eighteen a month ago.

“Isn’t running away also letting them win?” I asked gently.

Taehyung sighed. “I had no choice. Ahn was trying to stir up enough trouble to force someone to challenge me for Sol. No one took the bait, so I managed to slip away. Jong-gyu helped me get out, and Eun-jin told our mother I was leaving.”

Taehyung’s siblings always seemed to feature in his stories, and their importance to him was clear. Jong-gyu, only eleven, and Eun-jin, just six, were his little anchors. The thought of them plotting an escape for their eldest brother was heartbreaking.

I wiped my hands on my nightgown and stood up. Taehyung was smeared in salve, and the bruises were already fading. His ribs would need more time, so I headed to the kitchen, searching for a healing potion. I didn’t have the energy to make one from scratch at this hour.

“Why did you come here?” I asked softly.

Taehyung sighed. “Because I knew you’d help me.”

The pity I felt for him returned with a vengeance. Imagining him hurt and abandoned, unable to trust anyone else, made my heart ache. I found an old potion in the back of a cupboard, checked its scent, and decided it was still good.

“You can stay as long as you need,” I said, handing him the potion. “Sol is my friend, and I’ll do my best to keep you safe.”

Taehyung seemed relieved. He drank the potion, curled up on the couch, and was asleep almost immediately. The sight of him, so utterly exhausted, made me stifle a laugh. I began extinguishing the candles and tidying up the used salves. I’d need to prepare more soon.

Exhausted and still recovering from the ceremony, I dragged myself back to bed. Shiloh was waiting for me, her feathers ruffled in disapproval.

“How many times do I have to tell you to take your bedrest seriously?” she chided.

I groaned and collapsed into my bed. It was warm and inviting. Shiloh flapped to her nest, feathers drifting onto my sheets, but I ignored them. I was used to the constant cleaning by now.

“It was Taehyung,” I protested weakly.

“I don’t care if it was Fenrir himself at the door, you need to stay in bed—”

“Shiloh,” I warned, “Swîgian âstillian.”

The owl grumbled, but I was too far gone to listen.

The pounding at my front door was relentless, dragging me from a restless sleep. Groggy and stiff, I rolled over with a groan, my body protesting every move. Outside, a cacophony of angry voices pierced the morning quiet, and among them, someone was calling for Taehyung. That was the spark that ignited my fury. Furious and aching, I summoned my magic to lift myself out of bed and threw on my robe.

Taehyung was curled up in a tight ball in front of the sofa, barely stirring as I stormed past him to the door. Shiloh’s frantic screeches filled the air, demanding I retreat back to bed and let the wolves handle their own mess. But when their politics come knocking at my door, I had every right to give them a piece of my mind.

With a deep breath to steady my rage, I squared my shoulders and thrust my arms forward. The front door exploded off its hinges and crashed into whoever was standing behind it. Namjoon barely flinched as he shoved the door aside with a practiced swipe, his eyes wide with shock. But I wasn’t finished. I began to sing, a storm of objects swirling around the room in a chaotic dance. Namjoon staggered back, but this only fueled my anger further. Shiloh’s voice cut through the chaos as a fierce blue flame erupted from my palm and hurtled towards the wolf.

“Hwæt−hwugu ðrîstian êow?” I roared, the magic dissipating as my singing ceased. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Hoseok and Jimin flanked their brother, their expressions a mix of concern and annoyance. I knew I’d regret attacking them eventually, probably the moment they left, but in this moment, I couldn’t bring myself to back down. No one was going to come here and intimidate me. The rational part of my brain screamed for me to stop, breathe, and listen, but the louder, angrier voice wanted to shatter them all. Taehyung had been battered and bleeding last night, and yet none of these so-called protectors had lifted a finger to help.

“Bridd—” Hoseok began.

I cut him off, my gaze locked on Namjoon. He stared at the ashen spot where the flames had struck, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. My anger burned hotter, and I felt a fresh wave of pain in my back—clearly, I had overextended myself with the magic. My body was struggling to heal, blood seeping from old wounds.

“Sê ðafian êower m¯ægð teohhian êower weorðfulnes?” I roared, my eyes blazing. “Sol chose him. The Gods chose him! Do you think you’re somehow superior to them now? Are you so blinded by your precious Chief’s biases that you’d let this happen?”

Namjoon swallowed hard, his eyes finally meeting mine. “Of course not. I—”

“You listen to me,” I sneered, cutting him off. “If you ever have the audacity to come banging on my door again, I swear, I will not show you the same mercy.”

Namjoon stammered, unable to form a coherent response. I could feel my strength waning, the red haze in my vision receding. Shiloh’s persistent shouts to come inside and let Taehyung handle things himself were drowned out by my determination. No one else was here to protect him if things turned violent, and I’d never forgive myself for leaving him exposed. I stood tall, though my stance was more relaxed now, my anger still simmering beneath the surface.

“We’re here to speak with Taehyung,” Hoseok pleaded. “We have no intention of fighting with you or him. Namjoon needs to deliver a message.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Taehyung’s voice cut through the din.

“I’m fine, Bridd,” he said, his tone calm but wary. He stayed behind me, peering cautiously at the intruders. “What’s the word?”

“Don’t be angry with me, cousin,” Namjoon began, stepping forward.

I instinctively moved to defend Taehyung, taking up a protective stance. Namjoon halted, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender while Hoseok stood beside him, and Jimin remained still, his gaze fixed on me with an unreadable expression. If I was thinking clearly, I might understand his wary posture, but in my agitated state, it only stung.

“I have challenged you,” Namjoon said, and all thoughts of Jimin vanished.

“Quare?” Taehyung’s voice was thick with disbelief and hurt. “What have I ever done to you?”

Namjoon’s expression softened, but I readied myself to protect Taehyung at all costs. No one was going to harm him—not while I had breath in my body. Sol was my friend, and I wouldn’t let anyone, especially not someone like Ahn, destroy their lives. I knew Namjoon well enough to anticipate his attempts to play both sides for peace, a trait I despised.

“So no one else would,” Namjoon said, trying to convince Taehyung. “We’re trying to buy time to come up with a plan. I swear, I have no intention of fighting you.”

“Putasne me stultum esse?” Taehyung hissed, his body radiating heat. “You’re trying to take Sol from me!”

Namjoon’s face went pale. I felt a surge of pride for Taehyung, agreeing with his rage. Namjoon’s arrogance, coupled with his obsession with Sol, made it hard to believe that the challenge was solely for Taehyung’s benefit. The other two wolves’ skeptical expressions confirmed my doubts.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Taehyung,” Namjoon pleaded, his agitation growing. “I mean what I say, even if you’re too dense to understand it.”

Taehyung growled, and I had to steady my racing heart. I needed to shield him inside. Namjoon could leave, and I would be exposed to the sun if he chose to exploit that. Still, I held my defensive posture. Taehyung was done talking, and both Hoseok and Namjoon waited for his next move.

Suddenly, Shiloh burst out of the house with a loud screech. The chaos unfolded in a flash. Shiloh lunged at Namjoon, who transformed into a wolf mid-air. Taehyung’s massive frame surged forward, and before I could react, I was thrust into the sunlight. My face slammed against the front steps, and the sun’s rays seared my back. Pain shot through my ankle as metal cut into my skin.

My skin felt like it was on fire. Screams erupted uncontrollably from my throat as I struggled to focus on Shiloh. I saw her turning towards me just as a large, russet wolf nudged her aside. Hands grabbed me, pulling me back inside. My body trembled with pain, my vision filled with white as I screamed. All around me, voices clashed, but the pain consumed me.

“Quid irrumabo facimus?” Hoseok shouted.

“Nescio,” Taehyung’s voice sounded choked with tears.

My eyes rolled back, the agony overwhelming my senses. The ceiling came into view as I raised a trembling hand. Black feathers had pierced through my skin, and I cried out in fresh distress.

“Recedite ab ea!” someone screamed, but the words were indistinguishable.

“Licuitne futura est?”

Something was happening nearby, but all I could focus on was the searing fire inside me. I knew the pain would eventually subside, but I needed something to help ease it. My mouth opened to speak, but only screams escaped.

“It burns,” I managed to grunt through the convulsions.

Hands touched me, but my vision blurred. Sleep was impossible, and my body was in its worst state yet. Between the ceremony, the magic use, and the sun exposure, I’d be out of commission for a week—or more.

“Move,” Shiloh’s voice cut through the chaos.

Through my half-opened eyes, I saw not an owl but a radiant woman standing before me. Her fiery hair shimmered like it was underwater, and her skin glowed with a diamond-like brilliance. She looked like an ethereal vision, and I reached out to her. Her tears sparkled as she gently touched my hand.

“Slêpte,” she whispered, her fingers brushing my arm.

A wave of relief washed over me, and I sighed deeply. I closed my eyes, curling up next to Shiloh. Exhaustion hit me all at once, and I could hear growls and frantic voices, but they were far away. Someone was crying, but I was too tired to identify who it was.

“I’m going to put you to bed,” the woman whispered softly. “Where you belong.”

When I finally dragged myself back to consciousness, the smell of cooking food was like a beacon in a fog of confusion. I was back in my bed, with memories of the night before slipping through my fingers like sand. Shiloh had been there in her spirit form—so ethereal, so beautiful I imagined her future self would be just as mesmerizing. With a groan, I forced myself upright, my body protesting with every movement. No one would harm Taehyung while I still drew breath, and I clung to the hope that he was safe and sound somewhere in my house.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I grabbed the door frame for support. The stove was ablaze, a pot bubbling away on top, filling the room with the rich, smoky aroma of applewood. The kitchen sparkled, cleaner than it had ever been, as if someone had swept away not just dirt but the very chaos of my life. The scent of lemon mingled with the sharp tang of onions, a strange comfort in the midst of this turmoil.

“You should be in bed.”

The voice, coming out of nowhere, made me jump. I whipped around to find Jimin sprawled in my recliner, looking unusually somber. Taehyung stood by the fireplace, his gaze fixed on me with a mix of concern and something else I couldn’t quite place. Hoseok and Namjoon were absent, and my heart sank at the lack of familiar presence.

“Where’s Shiloh?” I demanded, stumbling forward and clutching the kitchen island.

Taehyung was at my side in an instant, his touch gentle but insistent. “Please, don’t push yourself, Bridd,” he said softly, guiding me to the small loveseat.

Jimin, ever the thoughtful one, draped a blanket over me as if I were a child. He must have been busy while I slept, rummaging through my things. Glancing at my hands, I saw the feathers had been replaced by jagged scars, a cruel reminder of the price I’d paid. My heart sank at the sight, a pang of sorrow tightening in my chest. Jimin’s hand covered mine, offering a silent comfort.

“She stepped out for a while,” Jimin said, his voice rough, like he’d been yelling.

I remembered my anger towards him and Namjoon, but now it seemed distant, irrelevant. Seeing Jimin’s weary face, I knew he’d been affected deeply by the events. He was no longer the faceless alpha from my anger-fueled memories but someone I felt genuine empathy for. Taehyung’s presence, however, still rankled. Namjoon’s arrogance had hurt him deeply, and no matter his intentions, the challenge he issued had only made things worse.

“Is everyone alright?” I asked, trying to focus on the present.

Jimin shrugged, “Everyone but you. Namjoon and I had a disagreement before he left, but he’ll be fine.”

I scowled at Jimin. “I don’t like the idea of you fighting.”

Jimin’s grin was faint but reassuring. “Don’t worry, amica. I won.”

“Doesn’t change my feelings.” I grumbled, turning to look at Taehyung. His face was a mask of confusion, his eyes betraying an inner turmoil. The fleeting glances he shot between Jimin and me hinted at a struggle to make sense of it all. He winked at me, and I looked away, wondering if he’d caught onto my feelings.

Was it possible he had seen more than I intended? I knew Taehyung was perceptive, his mischievous nature hiding a sharp awareness. But right now, I was too exhausted to dwell on it. Jimin’s presence was a balm to my troubled mind.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay here until Taehyung decides what to do,” Jimin said, surprising me.

“What for?” I asked.

“I’m sorry for pushing you,” Taehyung interjected. “I didn’t realize you were so close, and I was overwhelmed.”

I shook my head, dismissing his apology. “It’s not your fault, Taehyung.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung scoffed. “You’re covered in scars because of my actions, and now my cousin is angry with all of us because of the fight. Hoseok said it’s best if we stay away from the village for a while. We can’t go back home.”

This news didn’t surprise me. I had no intention of letting Taehyung leave my cottage anytime soon, but Jimin’s exile was either a self-imposed punishment or Hoseok’s attempt to cool Namjoon’s temper. It made sense—challenging Taehyung was hardly a diplomatic move.

Jimin suddenly produced a letter from his pocket, catching me off guard. “I found the letter your friend sent you.”

A spark of recognition flickered. “Wendy!” I exclaimed.

Jimin looked almost bashful, his discomfort evident. I tugged my arm free and hurried to my coat rack, desperate to retrieve the letter. But before I could make it, Taehyung’s arms encircled me.

“Taehyung, let me go,” I demanded, struggling against his hold.

“Sit. You’re hurt,” he pleaded, guiding me back to the sofa.

Frustrated, I bit his arm, causing him to yelp and release me. I landed on the floor with a thud, glaring up at him.

“This is ridiculous,” I complained. “You come into my home, rifle through my belongings, and now you won’t let me read my own letter? She’s my friend! If it’s important, I need to know.”

Jimin sighed, frustration etched into his features. “If you’d had a bit more patience, I could have handed it to you. It’s in my pocket.”

“If you’d just said that instead of staring at me like I’m an idiot—” I retorted, hobbling back to the sofa and grabbing the letter from his hands. “—I wouldn’t have gotten up.”

Jimin’s glare was sharp but silent. I settled into my spot, Taehyung’s weary gaze fixed on me. The need to apologize for my earlier actions was there, but I fought it. He had overstepped, and I had reacted. Still, the urge to make amends lingered.

The letter from Wendy was a balm to my troubled thoughts. Her words painted a picture of her own struggles, and as I read, my heart sank. She was thinking about not coming back hom after her sister’s wedding. She didn’t think Jin would take her back and that she had ruined his and Yoongi’s friendship. Shiloh must have gone to find her after reading the letter. I mentally thanked her and began to draft a reply.

Wendy, darling,

I’m relieved to hear from you. The events here in Bangtan have been tumultuous, and I’ve hardly had a moment to breathe. The ceremony has left me weary, and I hope you can help me unwind once you return.

Forget the fools who have caused you distress. Remember the things that truly matter: your mother, the sisterhood, the coven, and the forest. No one else can tame a magindara or purify the sea like you. Don’t let trivial matters deter you from enjoying life. I’m thrilled about Nixie’s engagement and wish I could be there with her.

But life has charted a different course for both of us. I’m scared, Wendy—every day brings new fears—but I embrace it all, the sunshine, the flowers, the wind. As Aldara said, “Fear reminds us that we’re alive.” So, don’t give up just yet. Keep swimming and return home. Talk to Seokjin; he will understand. Yoongi holds no ill will. Release your fantasies and root yourself in reality.

We’ve all made mistakes, but we can mend our friendships if nothing else. If you truly wish to be with Jin, then go for it. He has long pursued you while you focused elsewhere. I want our circle whole again, with everyone finding their happiness. So go ahead. Even if I’m afraid, you need not be.

Missing you dearly,

I watched as the letter dried, my body easing into a more bearable state. With renewed energy, I rummaged for an envelope. Shiloh would usually handle sending things, but I was alone in this. Grabbing my ceremonial bag, I sifted through it until I found my meteor powder. Taking a deep breath, I began sketching Wendy’s face. My hand moved with practiced ease, though my heart pounded with anxiety.

With a final incantation, I threw the powder onto the parchment. The paper vanished in an instant. I mumbled a hope that it reached her safely.

“That was so cool!” Taehyung’s voice broke my reverie.

I chuckled. “Not as cool as my own magic, but it will have to do. I can hardly feel anything in my body.”

Returning to the couch, I curled up beside Jimin. He looked worried, a sentiment I hadn’t expected from him. I had probably done more harm than good with my earlier actions, but for now, I would let it be.

“She seemed upset,” Jimin said, his voice laced with concern. “I hadn’t realized your friends were involved in this way.”

I was taken aback by his empathy. “It’s been a thing since we were children. Don’t worry too much; she’ll come back, and they’ll figure it out.”

“Why aren’t they together now?” Taehyung asked.

“Because,” I sighed, “they don’t truly know what they want.”

Jimin served us a bowl of cabbage stew, plain but comforting. As I ate, I drifted into a restless sleep on the small couch, the unsettling dream I woke from fading as Jimin gently returned me to bed. I didn’t wake again until after sunset, finding solace in the quiet as the world outside continued its chaotic spin.

Taehyung was a surprising guest. He took care of the space, cleaned up after himself, and was generally a delight to have around. He was like a new breed of house guest, one who didn’t leave a trail of destruction in his wake. The supplies I had been sending to Foxglove had stopped—something Taehyung and Jimin didn't quite agree with, but that was their problem. They didn’t deserve my help if they were going to squander it. No one had come for anything lately, leading me to believe they were either boycotting my services or simply too intimidated by the presence of the wolves to make an appearance.

Wendy’s letter arrived the next morning, confirming she was on her way back. She’d even written to Jin, though I could only guess what she had said. Seokjin was notorious for spilling secrets, so I expected to hear all about it sooner or later.

I took a deep breath, opening my eyes to the sight of my altar. My magic had returned a few days ago, but I’d let it rest. Today was the first time I’d performed a ritual spell in days. I glanced over my shoulder, offering a soft smile to Jimin, who was napping on my sofa.

Our conversations since that night had been sparse, but Jimin was doing his best to help Taehyung devise a plan to win over the town. I thought it was a foolish endeavor, but I supported it nonetheless. Jimin’s reputation in the community was invaluable, and having him on Taehyung’s side significantly boosted his chances. I knew the pack missed both of them, and I hoped Namjoon would make an appearance soon. We had much to discuss, and I wanted to apologize for my loud outburst. No matter what anyone else said, I took much of the blame for that disastrous encounter.

“What’s a cah-dee-jo?” Taehyung’s voice cut through my thoughts, loud and inquisitive.

“A cadejo,” I corrected, rolling my eyes, “are spirits that guide worthy travelers.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “And if they’re not worthy?”

“They’ll eat them,” I replied with an ease that bordered on nonchalance.

Taehyung had taken a keen interest in my books after discovering something I’d written about the magindara as a child. He devoured them so quickly that I found myself fetching more from the cellar just to keep up. Despite his naivety, Taehyung was a bright young man with an insatiable curiosity. He never settled for a single answer and listened with rapt attention.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why not?”

Taehyung fell silent, returning to his reading. I found myself growing fond of him, wishing he could go back home. The way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his siblings tugged at my heart. His parents must be in a constant state of worry.

After spending most of the morning sitting, I decided to make lunch. Shiloh was due back later that day. Wendy had mentioned that my familiar had arrived at her inn just before sending the letter, so I knew Shiloh was safe. Thinking about her stirred a mix of emotions in me. Exposing her spirit form was a dangerous risk, one I’d never have asked of her, but she had done it anyway.

I approached the kitchen window, whistling loudly as I began pulling out a pot and pan. Tomato soup seemed like the perfect choice, and I could whip up a quick loaf of bread to go with it. Moments later, Delinah appeared at my window. I glanced up from dicing onions, smiling at the deer.

“Morning, Dee,” I greeted.

She dipped her head. “Glad to see you up and about. You gave us all quite a scare.”

I hummed in response, tossing the onions into the pot along with three heads of garlic, some fresh herbs, and a splash of oil. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jimin stirring on the sofa.

“I’m as good as new,” I joked, using a spell to light the stove. “Would you mind fetching some tomatoes from Seokjin’s garden? I’d ask Shiloh, but she’s out of the forest for the day.”

“Where did she go?” Delinah asked, tugging the cloth tote from the windowsill with her mouth.

“Northorn,” I replied.

“Northorn? What’s so important in that dreadful place?”

I laughed, helping her secure the tote around her neck. Delinah nuzzled my hands, and I promised her carrots upon her return.

“To answer your question,” I said, returning to the counter, “Wendy’s trying to run away, so Shiloh’s bringing her back.”

Delinah laughed, “Oh, that Wendy Byrd. She’s a wild card, that one.”

“But we love her.”

Jimin got up as soon as Delinah left, and Taehyung remained engrossed in my book about magical beasts. I took over the task of roasting onions and garlic, letting them caramelize over the open flame. The tomatoes would soon follow. I could hear the two men conversing quietly, but I chose to ignore them. Privacy in this house was a rare luxury.

Delinah returned swiftly, and I sent her off with a bundle of carrots. After roasting the tomatoes, I used my pestle and mortar to blend everything into a smooth puree before adding it to the pot.

“Bridd,” Taehyung called out. “Can I get your opinion on something?”

I nodded. “Ask away.”

“I want to write a letter to Namjoon, but I’m unsure how he’d take it.”

I paused, contemplating. A letter might not help much. Ahn and his tricks made it unlikely that any letter would reach Namjoon. With people actively looking for him, showing his face might only stir up more trouble. Namjoon’s challenge was official, and only revoking it would end the conflict. I had faith in Taehyung’s ability to defend himself if necessary, though his reluctance to fight was apparent. Namjoon’s determination was formidable, but I doubted it would come to a lethal confrontation.

“I don’t think it would help much,” I said. “You know Ahn’s methods. A letter might not even get through.”

Taehyung sighed in defeat, and I felt a pang of sympathy. I understood his predicament all too well. I remembered Aldara’s lessons in defensive magic, though I had never been able to strike her. It wasn’t until that fateful night that I realized my potential for harm. I shuddered at the thought, wishing no one, especially Taehyung, had to face such a fate.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” I said, mixing the soup.

“Me too,” Taehyung replied.

We ate lunch in silence. Jimin was unusually quiet, his mind clearly occupied. Being away from his pack for three days must have been weighing on him. Wolves were creatures of family, and the silence must have been particularly hard for him.

Taehyung didn’t ask anything more after that. He spent the rest of the day sprawled on the floor by the fireplace, devouring book after book, while Jimin gazed out of the windows and scribbled in a journal. They stayed inside, avoiding the outdoors. I managed to complete a few chores, practice some new spells, and jot down notes in my grimoire. The atmosphere was stifling, and it wasn’t until Shiloh returned at sunset that the house stirred with activity.

In a flurry of feathers and screeches, the barn owl flew through my bedroom window, her voice echoing off the walls. I hastily threw my pen onto my grimoire, the black ink smearing across the pages in a ruinous streak. I didn’t care; Shiloh was back, and that was enough.

“Between those wolves and you witches,” she complained, “I’ll never catch a break.”

“Oh, Shiloh,” I cooed, opening my arms to her.

My familiar dove into my embrace, letting herself be fussed over. I petted her head, smoothing down her feathers. She leaned into my touches, and I couldn’t recall the last time I had smiled so broadly.

“You’re so strong and mighty, little one. I missed you dearly.”

She laughed, “I’m glad to see you up and moving again.”

“Where’s Wendy?” I asked, releasing her from my hug.

Shiloh flew into the kitchen, and I followed. She pecked at the leftover bread from lunch and took note of the wolves still lounging in the living room. She seemed pleased they were still there and gave a nod of approval to Taehyung. I chuckled at her antics.

“She’ll be back after her sister’s wedding.”

“Oh, wonderful!” I clapped my hands together in delight.

“Another pain in my ass,” Shiloh muttered.

And I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Transformation was always an adjustment. Even now, after all this time, I still felt disoriented by the process. On Taehyung’s first night here, he nearly broke down my bedroom door in his panic to check on me. If Jimin hadn’t reassured him, I was sure Taehyung would have been deeply traumatized. Tonight was the fourth night, and Taehyung slept soundly through my night terrors. Shiloh had gone to bed early, leaving Jimin as the only one awake when I flew in through the kitchen window.

He wore the same clothes he had for days—something I had hand-washed twice but he refused to part with. I had made clothes for Taehyung, but Jimin’s

rejection of them stung. I never brought it up again, simply washing and magically drying them. Tonight, Jimin had removed his usual long cape, his socks and shoes were missing, and his belt was nowhere to be seen. His hair fell loose, cascading to his waist, and a simple headband kept his bangs out of his eyes. He sat at the kitchen island, engrossed in whatever he was writing.

“Hello,” he greeted, offering a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He looked worn out, more so than usual, and Taehyung snored loudly on the floor, rolling over without a care. Jimin continued to scribble on the papers, unperturbed. I hopped closer and peered at the writing, recognizing the familiar scrawl.

It was the paper I had used during my visit a few weeks ago. Seeing it brought a wave of emotions, my heart swelling with affection. The fact that he had kept it, carried it around, left me breathless.

I’m feeling better.

Not if it’s something you like.

I love blueberries.

You did nothing wrong, Alpha. I promise.

“It brings me comfort,” Jimin whispered, his voice trembling in the dim moonlight. “Knowing that you’re out there.”

I turned toward him and saw the tears streaming down his face, illuminated by the pale, ethereal glow of the moon. For the first time since I’d known him, there was a clarity in my own heart. I fluttered my wings and landed softly in his lap, pressing my face against his stomach. The warmth within me radiated, and I could feel the tension in his body slowly dissolve.

He clutched me tightly, his sobs coming in ragged gasps. What sorrow gnawed at him, I wasn’t entirely sure, but it was clear it had something to do with the turmoil around us. I melted into his embrace, his openness a balm to my weary spirit. I found myself yearning for him to hold me as a lover would, but I pushed the thought aside. Greed felt like a bitter pill to swallow, especially when it came to the emotional exchange I saw before me.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “I understand them both, know that neither of them are happy with the way they left things, but I can’t do anything about it. I don’t want to leave Taehyung, but I don’t want to watch my friends tear each other apart over a misunderstanding.”

And oh, how angry I was with Namjoon, how much I wanted to slam him against a wall and scream until my lungs bled. But the truth was, I didn’t wish him dead. We were friends, after all, even if it was a strained, bloody friendship. The alpha allowed himself only two minutes of tears before he wiped his face and set me gently back on the island. He apologized profusely, his voice hoarse and filled with regret before he left the cottage, seeking the solace of the night.

I wanted to follow him, but I knew he needed his space. I glanced at the letter at my feet, feeling a shift in my resolve. What if a letter was considered offensive? They had beaten Taehyung senseless, exiled him, and made his family think he needed to be challenged to keep the pack in line. If a simple letter was the spark that ignited their fury, then I was ready to be the villain. I knew the chances of someone else intercepting Namjoon’s letter were high, but I had to try. I couldn’t bear to see Jimin’s tears again.

Resolute, I gathered paper and ink, and began to write.

“Y/N,” Auntie whispered, her fingers tangling gently in my hair.

The sun was just a whisper on the horizon, the sky still a deep shade of purple. I struggled to pry my eyes open, moaning as I rubbed my face. Another yawn escaped me, my eyes fluttering shut once more.

Aldara chuckled softly, “Wake up, sleepyhead. Let’s make breakfast together.”

I shook my head, flipping over the pancake on the stove. In the dining room, Taehyung, Jimin, and the witches discussed the best fishing spots in Bangtan. Seokjin and Yoongi had dropped by unannounced, and while I was puzzled by their sudden visit, I assumed it had something to do with Wendy. Jin looked surprised by the presence of the wolves and asked to speak with me privately once breakfast was over. I heard Taehyung questioning whether vegan pancakes could taste good, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

I had adopted a vegetarian diet after Aldara passed. With the inability to leave my home, meat became a distant memory. Four years ago, after growing closer with the critters around me, I’d eliminated animal products entirely. It felt wrong to consume a creature I could have known.

“They’re not that different from ‘normal’ ones,” I explained, plating the fresh pancake. “I just use oat flour, bananas, and flaxseeds mixed with water. Everything else is the same.”

I could imagine Taehyung’s disgusted face, though it was hidden from view. His expressions of confusion, disgust, and anger were all shades of the same emotion. Yoongi laughed, and it brought a smile to my face. Yoongi and I shared similar lifestyle choices, though he indulged in fish with Seokjin from time to time.

“Why mix flaxseeds and water?” Taehyung asked, his bewilderment dripping from every word.

I handed him a plate, “It replaces the egg. You mix it with the banana and let it sit to thicken. A boy named Enver taught me. He lives in Moland and doesn’t have regular market access.”

Jimin’s curiosity perked up, “How do you get your supplies?”

“I go often,” Seokjin answered. “I always pick up things for Yoongi and Y/N when I go. Yoongi does the same.”

I nodded, “I have great friends.”

After breakfast, Yoongi invited Taehyung and Jimin for a walk in the forest. Taehyung’s newfound fascination with the local beings had piqued Yoongi’s interest, and he offered to show him a jackalope borough nearby. Jimin chose to join them to keep an eye on Taehyung. I could tell he was giving Seokjin and me the space to talk. As they left, I began clearing the dishes with Jin’s help.

We worked in silence, the rhythm of our tasks speaking volumes. Jin’s hesitation was palpable, a strange thing for someone so usually forthright. His mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to find the right words, but I remained patient. Wendy had a knack for throwing him off balance, and it was evident in his struggle to articulate his thoughts.

Once the dishes were done, I wiped down the table and put away the toppings. Jin lingered, focusing on the dishes while I finished. Finally, he spoke, breaking the silence.

“Wendy wrote to me,” he said quietly.

I hummed, not quite ready to delve into the contents of her letter. Privacy was paramount, and I kept many things to myself. We were all too intertwined, and Wendy’s tendency to overshare made things complicated. Seokjin’s habit of spilling secrets didn’t help either.

“She said she wants to be with me,” he continued.

I sighed, “How do you feel about that?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking lost. “It’s… complicated.”

I perched on the kitchen island, nodding, “I’m sure I can keep up.”

“For as long as I’ve known her, I’ve liked her in some way,” Jin said, his voice tinged with regret. “She’s never really felt the same about me, at least not as much as I liked her.”

Wendy had always looked away, said one thing and done another, never fully opening her heart to Jin. She admitted liking him, but her gaze often wandered to Yoongi. Initially, I thought Seokjin was reading too much into it, but the pattern was clear. Wendy’s infatuation with Yoongi had always overshadowed her relationships with others, including Jin.

“I knew she meant it when she said she liked me,” he said. “But how can I be sure she’s serious this time? She’s been away, hasn’t seen anyone in months, and now she says she’s in love with me. What happens when she sees Yoongi again? Will her feelings still hold?”

I felt a pang of sympathy for Seokjin. His heart was true, but his seclusion had left him vulnerable. The world outside Bangtan was vast and filled with possibilities. Telling him there were other options wouldn’t help, though.

“I don’t want to get hurt again,” he whispered.

“I know,” I replied, holding him gently. “I wouldn’t want that either.”

“How can I trust her words?”

I shook my head, “I’ve always seen you two as stubborn. You care deeply, but the toxicity is unbearable. If you want to try, see what happens. Maybe her time away or seeing her sister’s wedding changed her. Think about what she said and how it resonates with your own feelings.”

“She said she loves me,” he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice. “She said that after talking to you, she felt more confident to speak to me. It was the first time I felt her apology was genuine.”

Silence enveloped us as Seokjin looked down, deep in thought. After a moment, he asked to borrow paper and a pen. I obliged, hoping for a resolution that would bring him some peace.

He sent off his letter soon after. I resumed sweeping and planning the day, knowing I had to address the supply chain blockage to the sea coven. With Shiloh still recovering from her trip, I would need to wake her for the delivery. Seokjin agreed to write to Cordelia to see if anyone could pick up the supplies.

In the rare moment of quiet, I could sense Seokjin’s anxiety. I feared the worst but gave him the space he needed. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

“I rejected her,” he said.

“Oh, Jinnie,” I cooed, embracing him. “That was a hard choice, but I’m proud of you. You did what was right for yourself.”

“I can’t do it again,” he sobbed. “I just can’t.”

I understood his pain. Wendy’s emotions would simmer, and I’d deal with her later. Seokjin had alluded to remaining friends, but I knew it was a fragile hope. The past had carved deep scars, and I wasn’t naïve enough to believe things could return to how they once were. Still, I hoped for growth and reconciliation, even if it seemed unlikely.

“I know. I know,” I whispered, soothing him. “We’ll get through this.”

Seokjin clung to me, crying as if his heart would break.

For the next three days, Jimin and Taehyung began to drift further from the confines of the house, venturing into the outside world with an almost frantic urgency. I hadn't heard a word from Wendy or Seokjin, but Yoongi made sure to check in daily. He was obsessed with the idea that I might be facing another unexpected encounter with the wolves, a notion I couldn't entirely dismiss but was resolutely prepared for. It felt as if Hoseok was staying clear to maintain some uneasy peace, though Jimin hinted that he was trying to sway Namjoon. So far, that attempt had fizzled, with Namjoon remaining as grumpy and resentful as ever. Taehyung, on the other hand, was steeling himself for a potential clash, spending his evenings in intense sparring sessions with Jimin.

Shiloh's waking hours had been creeping earlier each day. It wasn't the ungodly hours I was accustomed to, but noon was a far cry from eleven at night. Taehyung and Jimin were still grappling with my late risings. My magic, potent yet taxing, was stretching my limits, and I could sense my body struggling to keep up. My childhood had taught me that magic was a draining force, especially defensive spells. The incident with Namjoon had thrown me off balance, making it difficult to regain my footing.

Aldara used to fret over my fainting spells after our lessons. She said it was unnatural for a witch to be so overwhelmed by their own power, but over the years, I’d come to understand that my magic was an endless well, ever-flowing and never entirely under my control. Unlike other witches, who could regulate their magic output, I was left perpetually vulnerable and weakened. The constant possession and lack of control were the harsh trade-offs of my power. Still, a small outburst no longer left me as depleted as it once did. The last time I’d fainted from magic was the night I discovered the cottage on fire.

As I thumbed through my grimoire, searching for the potion I’d made to reduce anxiety, frustration gnawed at me. Wendy was due back tomorrow, and Cordelia had asked if I could send some to Syrena. I’d only brewed this particular potion twice, and it was still too fresh in my memory for me to recall the exact details. Wendy’s luck would have it that I’d send a shifting potion instead of a mood stabilizer, but I trusted Griselda’s recipe.

My worry for Wendy was growing. Though it was normal to go weeks without communication, I feared she might be upset over the situation with Jin. She must have suspected we’d talked and perhaps thought I’d instructed him on what to do. Or worse, she might have convinced herself that Yoongi had something to do with it. Wendy had a tendency to skew reality, and while I empathized with her, I refused to choose sides between my friends. I loved and respected them both and wished desperately to extricate myself from this web of conflict. After all, Wendy was the one who’d divulged our conversation to Jin in the first place.

My search for the potion left me exasperated. The cluttered chaos of my notes and haphazard scrawl made me wish for a clean slate. Whoever would inherit this mess of a grimoire would need a Rosetta Stone just to decipher half of it. In frustration, I slammed the book shut and decided to write to Enver. He was the only witch I knew who might have such a potion on hand. Rolling the paper carefully, I chanted a spell I’d learned from Pippa’s grimoire and watched as the paper turned to ash and vanished.

Pippa was a true oddball, her methods unorthodox to the point of absurdity. Her spellbooks, filled with incomprehensible diagrams and bizarre ingredients, were a testament to her brilliance. Aldara had always teased me about my fascination with Pippa, calling me the next “nutcase” and mocking my own disorganized grimoire. Still, no one could deny Pippa’s talent. The spell I’d used was a favorite of mine—simple, minimal energy expenditure, and highly effective. I was grateful to be done with meteor powder, even if I had invented that one myself.

The front door slammed open, jolting me upright and sending my heart into a racing frenzy. For a split second, my vision swam in black and white, but I quickly regained my composure. I shot a venomous glare at Taehyung as he swaggered into the cottage, followed closely by Jimin, who offered a sheepish bow before entering.

“It’s such a beautiful day!” Taehyung announced, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic flourish.

My eye twitched.

“Try that again,” I said with icy detachment.

Taehyung’s confusion was palpable. Jimin stood in the doorway, an amused smirk playing on his lips. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, his gaze lingering on me. I struggled to keep my eyes from lingering on his toned back and refocused on Taehyung.

“Try what again?” Taehyung asked, genuinely bewildered.

“Walking into my house like a civilized person,” I retorted. “You act as if you’ve never been taught manners. First, you put your filthy, muddy boots on my counter, and now this? Thin ice, Tae. Thin ice.”

Taehyung scratched his head sheepishly and made the necessary adjustments, gently opening and closing the door. Satisfied, I hummed and returned to my grimoire, mentally cursing the disorganized mess it had become. I longed to slap the younger version of myself who had thought this system would work. Groaning, I stood up and decided to relocate my work to the cellar.

“What are you looking for?” Taehyung asked, his face lighting up with curiosity.

The wolf enjoyed accompanying me and peering over my shoulder, even if he barely understood the Latin script. Jimin hadn’t asked to join but I suspected his silence was his way of being considerate. I wished he would just speak up.

“I need to find a spell for a friend,” I said. “One I wrote when I was twelve. It’s hardly legible now, a testament to my childish carelessness.”

Taehyung laughed and followed me without hesitation. His curiosity was endearing, a stark contrast to Jimin’s restrained demeanor. I wondered about their own childhoods—Jimin had been brave and reserved when we first met, his innocence a distant memory now. Seeing him again, after all these years, was like rediscovering a forgotten chapter of my own life.

“May I join you?”

I paused and looked up at Jimin, who had already begun descending the stairs behind Taehyung. I nodded. The connection we had shared the other night was still fresh, unspoken but undeniable. Jimin’s presence felt like a gentle thawing of the ice that had previously encased him.

After lighting the sconces in the cellar, I found Taehyung curled up in a corner, absorbed in one of Aldara’s monster books. She had been a legend in her own right— the first to defeat a Quietus, the monster slayer of yore. Her stories had become folklore, tales of bravery and struggle. The book Taehyung was engrossed in was one of her own, a collection of short stories about her adventures.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” Jimin whispered.

“It grows whenever we need a new bookcase,” I replied.

Jimin didn’t press for more details, his restraint a byproduct of the alpha etiquette he’d been taught. Taehyung, however, was a novice in those lessons, having barely started them before his exile. I sighed, thinking of Namjoon and my unanswered letter.

“Who was the first Bridd?” Jimin asked.

I smiled as I recalled the tale. “Her name was Rosette.”

“How did this family tradition even start?” Taehyung asked, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

Settling into my small desk, I gestured for them to sit. I remembered Aldara’s stories vividly, her hands large and comforting as she spoke of Rosette, the legendary Bridd. Rosette was a figure of beauty and resilience, her story a foundation for our lineage.

“Rosette came from the Foxglove Village, a place once teeming with shifters. She was the daughter of a merchant, loved and admired by all. Life was harsh in Bangtan, but relatively peaceful until the Quietus stories began spreading south.”

Quietus, those ancient air elementals, were the first settlers of Lustra, driven out by the Sarkans over a millennium ago. The attack on Bangtan was retribution for not aiding them, though they had soon reclaimed their territory.

“After the Century War with Etelin, the Quietus were reduced to living in swamps, their numbers dwindling. The few that ventured into the forest were either vengeful survivors or driven mad by starvation.”

Jimin’s expression showed recognition, while Taehyung remained enraptured. I continued, my voice carrying the weight of history.

“These creatures were unknown to the shifters, whose people had only arrived in Lustra after their island was destroyed. Their treaties were new, their numbers sparse. They had no knowledge of the siege until their village was ablaze.”

“The Quietus queen, Nerezza, had lost her youngest child to the Sarkan invasion. Her grief drove her to attack, wrongly believing the Reikans were complicit. In truth, the Reikans were skittish, lacking the courage for true conflict.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Taehyung interrupted, defensive of his ancestors.

“Yes,” I said, “your ancestors were strong, surviving the loss of their homeland and finding refuge here. But the Reikans were different, their settlers blending into your cultures, while the Quietus were formidable. Only one emerged as significant.”

“Rosette,” Jimin murmured.

“Yes, Rosette. A beautiful girl, her blonde hair and green eyes striking. She was a bird shifter in love with a fox. At just sixteen, she and a few others escaped the village’s destruction. Rosette, familiar with military strategies, directed them to safety.”

“She found herself in this very clearing, calling to the gods for aid. Despite the blizzard, she was enveloped in warmth. The gods offered her help in exchange for a solemn promise. She vowed to protect her sister’s life and, in return, her bloodline would become guardians of the forest.”

“And that’s when we lost our freedom,” I continued. “She woke up in this cottage, chained and imbued with new magic. After a century of solitude, she was given Jordana. We’re assigned a pupil and have sixteen years to train them before our transition to the spirit world.”

“Why can’t you shift freely, then?” Taehyung asked, curiosity piqued. Jimin smacked his arm, but I waved off the gesture.

No harm in asking.

“Our transformations are tied to the cycles of the sun and moon. The gods have a special fondness for watching us dance across the skies, like wayward comets caught in their eternal dance. We’re fortunate we managed to keep that part of ourselves as part of the bargain. Magic and shifting? They’re practically myths beyond these woods.”

Taehyung’s eyes glinted with curiosity. “Is it the same for real werewolves? The sun and moon stuff?”

I let out a laugh, sharp and dismissive. “No, silly. Werewolves are shackled to the full moon. Their first transformation turns them into mindless beasts. They’re as good as dead within three months. Nothing like what you and I are.”

Taehyung seemed mollified by this explanation. He often referred to himself as a werewolf, much to Jimin’s annoyance. I understood why Jimin would bristle at that. Real werewolves were born into their condition, their bloodlines ancient and unbroken. Werewolves, on the other hand, were made, not born, and their kind was dwindling in the Ozryn Mountains, starved out and hunted down. The last outbreak had been decades ago, swiftly contained by the dwarves of Idris.

When the story ended, Taehyung returned to his reverie with Aldara’s book, and I resumed my fruitless search for that infuriating potion. I hadn’t heard back from Enver; his response times were always abysmal.

Jimin wandered the cellar, tracing the spines of the books. The sheer volume was staggering. Aldara had penned over forty grimoires in her lifetime, each a testament to her expertise in defensive magic. Rosette had authored 120, Jordana had 205, and Griselda held the record with 223. I could hardly fathom such productivity. I’d managed only three grimoires so far, and was plodding along on a fourth. My youthful exuberance for magic seemed a distant memory now, replaced by a more somber approach. Overwhelmed by self-doubt, I decided to take a break.

“Your aunt was pretty amazing,” Taehyung remarked.

“Yeah, she was,” I replied, the word "was" hanging in the air like a specter.

As the evening darkened, we had spent hours in the cellar. Jimin skimmed through books with the quiet diligence of a scholar, while Taehyung absorbed stories from Aldara’s collection. I flipped through Pippa’s spell books, making small talk with Taehyung. His constant chatter was a refreshing distraction from the oppressive silence of the house.

Taehyung had gone up for a nap over an hour ago, leaving Jimin and me alone. He was huddled over a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue sticking out slightly. I couldn’t help but steal glances at him, though he remained silent about my furtive glances. It was a rare sight to see him so relaxed, so unguarded. Shiloh had mentioned she was visiting Morla to update her on Wendy’s situation. Mumbling to myself, I let the pen and ink I’d brought down write in my spell book. Sometimes it was easier to let magic handle the tedious parts.

Amid the grimoires and dusty tomes, I made notes of potential experiments. They might not be as thrilling as Pippa’s wild concoctions or as direct as Griselda’s precise spells, but they were my own. I was rediscovering the joy of magic, a pleasure Aldara would have appreciated.

“Bridd?” Jimin’s voice broke the silence, soft and inviting.

I looked up, noticing how his hair caught the candlelight, turning dark gray with stray wisps floating around. I wanted to smooth them down, but restrained myself. Jimin’s expression was a carefully maintained mask, a necessity for someone in his position. Yet, I glimpsed a fleeting smile, a rare crack in his stoic facade.

“Why don’t you have anything here?” he asked.

“Everything I own is upstairs,” I answered. “It’s too much trouble to haul it all down here every time I need to work.”

He chuckled. “So, you do have a diary?”

I flushed. “All of us do. It’s the best way to keep track for our successors.”

I wouldn’t let him read mine. It was filled with thoughts I’d long preferred to forget. During my more turbulent years, I’d penned five separate volumes of angst and sorrow. The idea of anyone reading them—especially Jimin—was mortifying. They were raw, unfiltered, a record of my darkest fears and desires. Thankfully, they had gone unnoticed until now.

“Yours must be very interesting,” Jimin mused.

I shook my head. “Not really. Mostly just teenage angst. Nothing worth reading.”

I tried to sound convincing, but Jimin’s probing gaze made me uneasy. I began tidying up, stacking grimoires, knowing it was nearing sunset. I needed to get back to my room soon.

As I turned, Jimin’s arms encircled my waist, surprising me. My heart leaped into my throat. He was so close I could count the freckles on his nose, see the length of his eyelashes, feel his warm, heavy scent envelop me. His proximity was overwhelming. I gripped the desk, struggling to speak.

“Jimin?” I managed, my voice trembling.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

Our bodies pressed together, his hands behind my back, though his grip remained on the table. I glanced at his hands, one resting on the other. Shaking with nervous energy, I forced myself to meet his gaze.

“Can I?” His eyes were as dark and intense as a stormy night.

A shiver crawled up my spine. I nodded, breath catching in my throat. Jimin’s smile was tender, almost ethereal.

“I enjoy your company.”

I could only manage another nod, my heart pounding, my throat dry. Jimin’s face inched closer to mine. I held my breath, searching for meaning in his eyes. This was not the man who had been absorbed in reading moments before. This was something different, something potent and unsettling.

“I like being close to you. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” I whispered, barely audible.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his breath barely brushing my lips.

I knew I should have resisted, should have acknowledged the impossibility of our situation. Our lives were too tangled, our paths too divergent. He had a mate somewhere, and he’d forget me soon. Yet, despite all that, I shook my head.

“No.”

The kiss was unlike anything I’d ever known. Jimin’s lips were warm and insistent, igniting a fire within me. The heat was searing, electrifying, igniting every nerve ending. I clung to him, his embrace all-consuming. Everything I had feared, everything I had regretted, melted away. It didn’t matter anymore. Jimin was here, and he was mine.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze was soft, full of warmth and care. He nuzzled into my hairline, his touch a balm against the chaos.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

I was dazed but managed to nod. As if drawn by an invisible force, I sought his lips again. Jimin’s hands cradled my face, pulling me closer. Any gentleness evaporated when my tongue brushed his bottom lip. A low growl rumbled from him as he hungrily explored my mouth. His grip tightened, his leg gently prying mine apart, lifting me onto the desk. My fingers dug into his shirt.

A sudden chill shot through me, yanking me out of the haze of passion. I pulled away, and Jimin stepped back, understanding dawning in his eyes. I choked out a “go” and stood up from the desk. The first feather burst through my skin as Jimin fled the cellar, leaving me alone with my searing heart and the cold void of my own fear.

Translations:

Swîgian âstillian. - Be quiet.

Hwæt−hwugu ðrîstian êow? - How dare you?

Sê ðafian êower m¯ægð teohhian êower weorðfulnes? - Who do you people think you are?

Yfel am sorig. - I am so sorry.

Thither is êower hygd? - Where is your mind?

Belāda mē - Sorry.

Quare? - Why?

Putasne me stultum esse? - Do you think I'm stupid?

Sol a me auferre conaris! - You are trying to take Sol from me!

Quid irrumabo facimus? - What the fuck do we do?

Nescio. - I don’t know.

Recedite ab ea! - Get away from her!

Licuitne futura est? - Is she going to be alright?

Taglist: @greezenini @adventures-in-bookland @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @zae007live @jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12 @canarystwin @yamekomz @chimthicc @michiiedreamer @amorieus @mima795

130 notes · View notes

louellaby · 1 year

Text

FORGET-ME-NOT

REPLACED!MC AU — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

W A R N I N G

May contain bad grammar, limited vocabulary, and OOC characters. Please mind that English is not my first language, and it takes a lot of courage for me to post due to my anxiety and paranoia.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

taglist: @books-and-catears

C H A P T E R I I I

「 Your Attention, Please! 」

"I'm really sorry about earlier, MC... I was just confused and scared. Being teleported somewhere unknown is extremely terrifying. Just being teleported in general is.... well, you know, since, magic was thought to be... a fantasy..?"

You understood her. You really did. It was the same for you when you first arrived three years ago. You recalled the moment your surroundings suddenly changed from your bedroom in the Human Realm to the student council room in the Devildom. The only difference now is that she had you, someone who knew her situation better than the others; unlike you, who had no one on your first arrival.

Opening the front door of the house, you let her in first, which made her light up. You thought she was supposed to be used to that kind of gesture, but she lit up with glee when you just did a simple thing, such as opening the door for her. Maybe she really wasn't who you thought she was. Maybe she was more than the first impression took from her. Yes, MC, just think like that. You'll warm up to her eventually, and the feeling would be mutual.

"Welcome to the House of Lamentation!" You exclaimed with excitement as you threw your hands in the air. "This will be your home for your entire year, and as you already know, the seven brothers from earlier also live here with us. So I hope you don't mind noises and a lot of... disagreements here and there."

"Oh, I'm sure I can handle it. I've dealt with troublesome nobles before, so this would be nothing in comparison." ...is what she said to you hours before the brothers returned home.

They had yet to even step through the front door of the house, but Soley was already next to you, gripping your arm as tightly as you let her, while you both stood on the staircase at the entrance. Her eyes were slightly widened in shock and fear of the unexpected.

"N-Nevermind what I said earlier, I don't think I can handle this..." Soley whispered to you before the brothers arrived. "Who in their right mind would be able to tolerate a bunch of insa— I mean... d-demons.. regular ones..."

You stifled a laugh, slightly pressing your free hand on your mouth, and whispered back, "Don't worry, you'll be fine! I'm here for you!" You then turned your attention to the seven brothers who just entered the house and were both looking at you with mixed emotions. The look in their eyes tell you they're curious and jealous with how close the two of you were. "Welcome home, everyone! Soley and I have already prepared dinner, so meet us in the dining room after you get changed out of your uniforms, okay?"

The brothers responded in chorus. You were surprised they agreed at the same time, without hesitation or an argument after it. Another weird thing they did as they each passed you was pat your head. Yes, all of them. They patted your head one-by-one while heading up the stairs.

"Do they... always do that?" Soley asked as she was just as confused as you were. Pushing that aside, you took her back up the stairs, and you both made your way towards the dining room. When the brothers saw the table decorated with flowers in vases, they looked to you for answers.

"Soley and I thought it would be a wonderful idea to decorate the table for dinner, so we both went ahead and did it! Isn't it beautiful?"

Your excitement on the matter of change pushed the brothers' confusion aside, leaving their faces with warm and gentle expressions that caught Soley's darkened eyes. Asmodeus ran towards you and wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you in a tight squeeze.

"Everything you do is absolutely beautiful, MC! And I mean E-VERY-THING~! You're just so adorable, I want to gobble you up!"

"Asmodeus, that's enough," Lucifer ordered, walking into the dining room with a heavy exhale. The look on his face, the weight of his step, and the sound of his voice. You felt it, didn't you? Lucifer's state was slowly deteriorating. But why? How? He looked much brighter yesterday.

"You're not leaving MC enough space to breathe."

"You're just jealous, Lucy~" Asmo retorted, slowly releasing you from his grasp. Lucifer sighed again, this time deeper than the last. Before he could respond, Soley clapped her hands once in order to get everyone's attention, "Now, now, everyone, the food is getting cold, so why don't we start dinner?"

Everyone looked at her. The smile on her face twitched from the attention she asked for. The tone of wanted familiarity she had in her voice was unsettling, even for you. When she turned to you for support, you nodded your head at her and gestured towards the table. "Let's eat, everyone!"

During dinner, you were expecting the same atmosphere as you were used to: loud voices, chatter, chatter, chatter, and arguments thrown in every direction from every direction.

But this particular feast was silent.

All everyone could hear were utensils hitting the plates, Belphegor's light snores as he tried to keep himself awake and failing at every attempt, and Beelzebub's loud and enthusiastic chewing. It was uncomfortable— not Beelzebub's chewing, nor Belphegor's snoring— but the atmosphere was especially excruciating. It was worse than standing in front of a large crowd and being forced to give a speech without prior preparation.

You kept taking quick glances at the new member and kept seeing the same expression. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed as she stared at the food she kept poking with her fork. It was unclear whether she was upset, uncomfortable, or afraid. You were sure it was one or another.

Her slight trembling became obvious to everyone, but only one person at the table knew why that was. You looked to Lucifer, who finished his dinner early and left the room after thanking you, and only you.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Do you think the brothers hate me?" Soley mumbled to herself, but it was clear enough for you to understand. You were both in her room after dinner, just chatting the night away. It was Friday, so that meant no school tomorrow. You could stay up late if you wanted to, and you decided to keep Soley company just as she had asked. She seemed down during dinner, keeping herself as quiet as possible. She even tried to breathe silently. You felt sorry for her.

"I don't want to lie to you, so I'm just gonna say that I'm not... sure about that." Your answer didn't help her light shaking. In fact, it worsened it, but you really weren't certain whether or not the brothers disliked her.

Three knocks on the door came, followed by the familiar voice of the eldest brother, startling both you and the girl beside you. "MC, I know you're in there."

Lucifer called out to you, extremely sure that you were indeed in Soley's bedroom. How did he know? Well, he knows you that well. He knew you'd want to help the new student out and keep them company in an unfamiliar place. That's the kind of person you were. The one he fell in love with.

You looked to the girl next to you who was just as curious as you. She silently sighed and nodded to you, allowing you to open the door and meet with the demon. "What is it, Luci?"

Soley's eye twitched.

"I need your assistance at the moment," he responded. His arms were crossed as he stared into your eyes, occasionally glancing at the one behind you. You noticed him narrow his eyes whenever he eyed Soley. Maybe he actually doesn't like her..

As if on cue, your body moved, blocking Lucifer's sight of the girl. You cocked your head towards his direction and asked, "What for?"

He seemed surprised by your action but dared not challenge it. He just wanted to get you out of there as quickly as possible. "Just come with me, and I'll explain it when we get there."

"Okay, I'll... go..." You hesitantly answered, eyes rolling to the side as if Soley was there right next to you, and you wanted to see her reaction. You then turned around to face her and showed an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Soley. I have to leave, but I'll see you first thing tomorrow morning. I'll show you around the Devildom then, and we can buy you other stuff you need!"

The girl looked dejected, but she couldn't argue with Lucifer standing there menacingly. She saw what you couldn't see, and it was the demon glaring daggers at her, eyes slightly emphasising their red hue. She knew she had no choice but to let you go that night. So, with another silent sigh, she nodded. "Oh.. okay.. See you tomorrow, MC. Sweet dreams..!"

"You too!"

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Lucifer led you to his room and locked the door the moment you were far enough inside. He then pulled you towards him and wrapped his arms tightly around your body. He buried his face on your shoulder and whispered so only the two of you could hear, "Now that the new students are here, you're finished with your duties and preparations to accommodate their stay." He lifted his head up and rested his forehead against yours. You saw his greed swirling in his dark eyes, with envy dancing along with it. "You haven't given me any attention the past week, so I need to be recompensed for that, now don't I?"

"So, stay here with me.. Just for tonight. Please."

「 CHAPTER II | LOUE'S LETTER 」

#obey me #obey me angst #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me replaced mc au #obey me brothers #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #Forget-Me-Not

115 notes · View notes

apenitentialprayer · 1 year

Text

May 11, 2023

Earlier today, Pope Francis declared that 21 Coptic Orthodox Christians, who were beheaded by Islamic militants in Libya in 2015, would be added to the Roman Martyrology. Francis made the announcement during an audience with Pope Tawadros II, the leader of the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria. The “21 Coptic New Martyrs of Libya,” as they are called, were martyred on February 15, 2015. Less than a week later, they were declared saints in the Coptic Orthodox Church by Pope Tawadros. The Copts celebrate their feast on the anniversary of their death, February 15, and it appears that this will also be their feast day on the Roman calendar.

The world was shocked in February 2015, when a 5-minute video was uploaded to the internet by ISIS militants. The video showed the 21 kidnapped men in orange jumpsuits being beheaded on a beach near the Libyan city of Sirte. 20 of these martyrs were Egyptian Copts who had gone to Libya to do construction work. The last member of the group, Matthew Ayariga, was a fellow worker from Ghana. It is said that he told the executioners, “Their God is my God. I will go with them.” There has been some question over whether he was already Christian or whether the witness of his 20 coworkers led to his conversion, but nevertheless, his Christian witness and solidarity are inspiring. It was reported that as they died, they chanted hymns and prayed aloud.

The deaths of these men as Christian martyrs is undeniable. The extraordinary photos of Blessed Miguel Pro, a Catholic priest who was executed by the Mexican government in 1927 during the Cristero War — taken just moments before the he was shot by the firing squad — are perhaps the only other photographic images recording a Christian martyrdom as it happened. And yet the recognition of the 21 martyrs as Catholic saints is unprecedented for several reasons.

The primary reason, of course, is that the Coptic Orthodox Church is not in full communion with Rome. The Copts are Oriental Orthodox (as opposed to Eastern Orthodox), because they split from the other Christian churches in the year 451 at the Council of Chalcedon due to differences over the nature of Christ. They are also referred to as “Non-Chalcedonian Orthodox Churches.” This means that they recognize the first three ecumenical councils, whereas the Eastern Orthodox recognize seven, and the Catholic Church recognizes 21 ecumenical councils.

After more than 15 centuries, our hope of reunion may seem remote. After all these years, the two Churches have independently developed their own traditions, theologies, forms of worship, and prayers. Yet some things have remained the same. Both Churches have maintained apostolic succession and the sacraments: Pope Francis is the successor of St. Peter and Pope Tawadros is the successor of St. Mark. In recent decades, the relationship between the Catholic Church and the Coptic Orthodox Church has become closer. For example, in 2017, Popes Francis and Tawadros made a joint statement indicating mutual acceptance of the validity of baptism in both Churches.

Pope Francis has praised the Martyrs of Libya many times, and today he recalled our shared baptism, as well as the blood of martyrs that enriches the Church. He said, “These martyrs were baptized not only in the water and Spirit, but also in blood, a blood that is the seed of unity for all of Christ’s followers.” In the past, the pope has discussed how we must realize that we, the baptized, have much more in common than what divides us. This shared recognition of sainthood between the two Churches is a significant step towards Christian unity.

This sets a new precedent. In 1964, when the Ugandan Martyrs were canonized by Pope Paul VI, St. Charles Lwanga and the other 21 Catholics among his companions were declared saints. The 23 Anglicans who were martyred alongside them were mentioned briefly in the pope’s homily, when he said, “And we do not wish to forget, the others who, belonging to the Anglican confession, met death for the name of Christ.”

Another reason why today’s announcement is unique was that Pope Francis did this by an official act. The Roman Martyrology is the official list of saints officially recognized by the Latin Church. Many Eastern Catholic Churches have their own processes for canonizing saints according to their traditions. Historically, when groups of Eastern Catholics have come into full communion with Rome, they will bring along their saints and prayers and traditions. Many of these saints aren’t officially canonized by Rome, and they are usually only venerated in their own tradition. By inscribing the names of these martyrs in the Roman Martyrology, Pope Francis has made it clear that these martyrs are to be venerated by Roman Catholics as saints.

Finally, in declaring them saints today, Pope Francis sidestepped the typical canonization process. They are saints, without having passed through the usual stages of Servant of God, Venerable, and Blessed. This “skipping” of steps is commonly referred to as “equipollent canonization.” Essentially, when a pope declares someone a saint by an official act, that person is recognized as a saint in the Church. This is not the first time Francis has moved a case along in this way. For example, when he canonized Popes John XXIII and John Paul II in 2014, he waived the requirement of a second miracle for John XXIII so that the two popes would be canonized on the same day. In 2013, he elevated the Jesuit Peter Faber, whose status had lingered at “Blessed” since 1872.

Perhaps the most interesting case is that of St. Gregory of Narek, an Armenian monk venerated as a saint in the Armenian Catholic Church and the Armenian Apostolic Church. Unexpectedly, Pope Francis named him the 36th Doctor of the Church in 2015. Living from in the mid-10th century through the early 11th, St. Gregory lived at a time when the Armenian Church was not in communion with Rome. After several failed attempts at reunion, the Armenian Catholic Church was officially recognized as an Eastern Catholic Church in 1742. Interestingly, the Armenian Catholic eparchy of Buenos Aires (established in 1989 by Pope John Paul II) is called the Eparchy of Saint Gregory of Narek. Perhaps this is how Pope Francis became familiar with the saint.

We Christians are blessed with a wide variety of saints from all sorts of backgrounds. They help make up the beautiful tapestry of the people of God — praying for us, interceding for us, and inspiring us. This is something worth celebrating.

21 Coptic New Martyrs of Libya, Pray for Us!

Mike Lewis. Bolded emphases added.

#Catholicism #Oriental Orthodox Christianity #Christianity #saints #martyrs #Libyan Martyrs #My Pope #Pope Tawadros II #Ugandan Martyrs #Miguel Pro

121 notes · View notes

exilley · 10 months

Note

i want to know #7 for literally any fandom ur in 🔥🔥🔥

what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

OH MAN. this has literally only ever happened to me once because i generally do not humor fanon/fandom beyond my trusted council but it was a huge reason for me falling out of trigun so quickly (if you'll recall the one month period i was obsessed with it. Embarassing! 🥳🥳) because the way those people talk about Knives is so utterly exhausting. it's like everyone forgot what Trigun was even about in the first place in their enthusiasm for the character drama. the writing devotes a lot of its time to fleshing out knives' descent into an unsustainable and harmful worldview and contrasts it with vash's own perspective (who himself is not the equal and opposite "good". he is just as hurt and angry but turns that all inwards as self-hatred and unproductive martyrism). it said Hey btw knives is in the wrong i am framing him as being in the wrong in every way possible but please don't dehumanize him for his beliefs because we all have the capacity to do horrible things and his villainy is not mutually exclusive with his personhood. And then i guess everyone took that as an invitation to woobify him in a different font. instead of infantilizing the character we will fixate on his trauma to untenable degrees. like great job everyone you've missed the point worse somehow👍

also the number of people who called him a fascist... because having an incredibly archetypal "kill them all + i'm right (source trust me bro)" character motive makes a character ideologically extreme right. political literacy left the chat i guess

#jin responds #codeword: love and peace

5 notes · View notes

aquadestinyswriting · 2 years

Text

A Circle None Can Break- Part Six

Summary: Selene's interrogation is finally ended, though she is less than happy with the way she's been treated. Meanwhile, Edwin is consoling a less than happy Gruk about his problems.

Words: 2,326

Warnings: None that I can immediately think of. Let me know if there's anything that needs tagging

Notes: Finally a chapter that's a little bit lighter. Some 'new' characters get their introduction here.

tags: @druidx, @strosmkai-rum, @homesteadchronicles, @warriorbookworm, @odysseywritings, @asher-orion-writes

Selene stared impassively at the red-haired dwarven man sitting opposite her. She hadn’t been best pleased to have had to spend the night and most of the following morning in the cell she’d been taken to. Nor was she very happy about the reinstatement of the antimagic field or the fact that she had not been permitted to have Chrackle remain with her. So she was understandably irritated when Moradin’s High Inquisitor started stalling following at least two hours of questioning about her motives for her visit.

“I have answered all of your questions to the best of my ability, High Inquisitor. As you can see, given the Zone of Truth that was cast, I have not been lying to you in any sense of the word. I honestly do not know what else you want me to tell you.” Firetome grumbled a little and huffed out a sigh, looking over the notes he’d been taking throughout the ‘interview’,

“I’m sorry, Lady Frigidwake, I was just trying to make sure that there was nothing I’d missed.” he said. He looked up at the human wizard again, “As it stands, yer testimony has indeed been proven true, so there is no reason fer us to hold ye any longer.” He gestured to another dwarf, a young woman with a dark blonde beard who was clearly in training to become an Inquisitor,

“Vera, be a lass and take the antimagic manacles off the good Lady please.” he requested, gathering up the paperwork and shuffling it together. He stood, backed away a step and bowed as Vera unlocked the manacles around Selene’s wrists and took them away, “I know it probably doesn’t mean much, my Lady, but I do sincerely apologise fer the hassle.” Selene glared up at him, rubbing her wrists,

“‘Hassle’ isn’t even the word for it.” she retorted sharply, before recalling herself and shaking her head, “Please inform His Majesty, that I still intend to speak before the Council because I really don’t have any other choice. The artefact I told you about has been the only thing I’ve been able to find that can possibly solve our mutual problem. Had I any other recourse, I would be quite happy to see myself out of the mountain and never bother you again.” Firetome stroked his beard,

“Are ye happy for me to at least inform His Majesty of said artefact ahead of yer meeting with the Council?” he asked. Selene rose from her seat and regarded the dwarf carefully, mulling his question over. Slowly, she nodded,

“Yes. If only to prepare him for the reaction of what will likely be most of the mountain, never mind the Council, given your reaction to what I said.” she said. Firetome gave her another short bow,

“Very well. In the meantime, I’ll have Vera help you collect your belongings so you can sort yerself out. You mentioned that ye’d be seeking other accommodations?” he inquired. Selene crossed her arms moodily and fixed the Inquisitor with a dark glare,

“Given the manner in which I was treated mere hours after accepting His Majesty’s hospitality, I don’t think it is wise to intrude upon it any longer.” she stated, “I’ll be inquiring about any taverns that have rooms available once I leave.” Firetome sighed and Blessed the wizard,

“In which case, I’ll let ye get on with that. Again, my most sincere apologies fer the way ye’ve been treated. Moradin watch yer steps.” His Blessing given, Firetome swept out of the room. Vera immediately came to Selene’s side, quietly dispelling the Zone of Truth,

“If it helps, my lady, I know of a tavern that would be more than happy to host ye for the remainder of yer visit.” she said. Selene sent the young dwarf a smile,

“Let me guess, the Elemental’s Crack?” she asked. Vera quickly stifled a snort and shook her head, leading Selene out of the interview room and out into the palace dungeons again,

“Och, no. The Crack is right doon the bottom of the residential parts of the mount. I’ll no’ have a visiting dignitary sully themselves headin’ doon there.” the pair of women rounded a corner, “Not that it’s a bad pub or anythin’, it’s just it’s right next to the entrances to the mines and we’ve been havin’ a problem with some unwanted visitors from the underpass comin’ up through that way.” Vera explained. Selene made a quiet ‘huh’ sound,

“I hadn’t realised it was that far down.” she said, “Then again, my last visit to your city was a little too hectic to really parse where everything was in relation to each other. Then there was the fact that half the mountain got up and wandered off for a bit.” Vera snorted, amused,

“Aye, that would throw off yer sense o’ geography.” she agreed, “However, back to the matter at hand; there’s a tavern doon in the tradin’ district whose landlord will likely be happy to host ye fer a day or two. The Abouna is a frequent visitor too.” she added. Selene tapped her chin,

“I think I heard Edwin mention a pub he frequented. The Hammer and…. Something I think.” Vera beamed up at the wizard,

“Aye, the Hammer and Anvil it’s called. The landlord is one of the few Slayers that was accepted back into the mountain after the war ended. His Majesty realised that we just didn’t have enough adult dwarven men left afterwards and issued pardons to any that wanted to come back and help rebuild.” Selene frowned at Vera,

“That was… surprisingly noble of him.” she said slowly, trying to match up her experience of the Low King with what Vera clearly believed was a man of good and noble intent. The pair reached the entrance to the dungeon, where a small troupe of kingsguard was waiting, along with Selene’s things. Vera stopped short of reaching them and shook her head,

“His Majesty is not a bad person, yer ladyship.” she said in a low voice, “But he is very young- barely a century- and a bit afeart of recent events.” she explained. Selene’s frown deepened momentarily, but she lifted it and held out her hand,

“I’ll try to keep that in mind. Thank you.” Vera shook the offered appendage. She continued to watch Selene as the human swept up to the kingsguard, bowed her head politely, took her staff and walked out of the dungeons. The cleric frowned. She had only been working under Firetome for a year, but something about the way he'd conducted the interview with the woman had rankled. Not to mention that he seemed to be as cagey about his questions as Lady Frigidwake had been about answering them until he'd stepped outside the limit of the Zone of Truth spell. Vera shook her head, unless she was permitted to approach the Archlector himself, there was no one she could approach about it. The dwarven woman grumbled, stomping out of the dungeons. After all that, she desperately needed a stiff drink or three.

~*~

The Hammer and Anvil was relatively quiet; the evening hadn’t quite set in yet and the only patrons in the pub were those in the mountain purely for business or those dwarves who worked the night shift coming in for a bite to eat before work. Edwin was glad for the peace, the last two days had been quite stressful enough. The human cleric took a sip of his ale as he considered what to say to his drinking companion, who was sitting directly opposite him, head in his sooty hands,

“You’d be better off trying to speak to Father Ragnarsson about it, Gruk.” he said, “Merri isn’t one of mine.” He added. The despondent blacksmith looked up at Edwin looking annoyed,

“Aye, but I canna get a hold of Ragnarsson.” he protested, “I’ve been trying fer the last two and a bit days, but I keep getting fobbed off!” Another round of drinks was suddenly plonked onto the table between the two friends,

“Ye’ll no’ be gettin’ a meeting with him until our wizard friend is gone from the mount.” Snorri said smoothly, “Word in the vein is that there’s a bit o’ a divide over what the Church’s official position on her is.” The burly dwarf turned his attention to Edwin, “Apparently the lassie’s not long been released, and on her way here. I’ve got a drink here for her already; she good with dwarven made ales?” Edwin beamed up at the burly landlord,

“Thank you, Snorri.” he said, “As far as Selene’s drinking habits go, I’m not sure what she drinks any more, it’s been more than ten years since we’ve been in each other’s company.” he added, “If she doesn’t want the ale, I’ll probably have it and let you know otherwise.” Snorri nodded and pulled out a key from the pocket of his pinnie, handing it to the perplexed cleric,

“I might be making assumptions here, but if yer wizard friend needs a place to sleep fer the rest of her stay, I’ve got a room made up and available fer her.” Edwin took the key, staring at it for a moment, before looking back up at the near middle-aged dwarf,

“Thank you. You really don’t need to go to such trouble-” Snorri waved a hand dismissively,

“I get all sorts passing through, and ye’ve become enough of a regular to get a favour or two.” he replied, “Besides, you and yer friends did more fer us than folk round here want to admit. An’ don’t start on my reputation or anythin’ either,” he added, noticing Edwin opening his mouth again, “This is my pub and I’ll put up who I damn well please.” Edwin looked over to Gruk, who shrugged,

“He’s got a point, laddie. Most of the mount might not like yer friends very much after what happened, but for what it’s worth, there’re still plenty of us who appreciate that we still have a world to live in.” Edwin felt his throat constrict, looking between the two men, grateful almost beyond words,

“I- thank you. Knowing that there are still people who believe in them- in us- makes the current situation a lot easier to deal with.” He put the key into a pocket on his vestments and down the rest of his original drink, “I’d best go out and meet Selene before she gets here. If only to find out how many kingsguard I need to buy drinks for for the rest of the evening.” he sighed. Snorri grunted, getting up as well,

“I’d best get back to it then, the regulars’ll no’ be long in coming in. Ye alright to entertain them Gruk?” he asked. Gruk lifted his tankard towards the two other men,

“Aye, I’ll be alright. I’ll give ye a holler if we need ye.” he said. Snorri nodded and bustled back to his bar. Edwin eyed his own mug, then looked at Gruk,

“Keep an eye on that for me will you?” he said, throwing his cloak over his shoulders and heading to the door, “And I know how much is in it!” he called, not even looking back as he exited the pub. Gruk, who had reached over towards said mug, brought his hand back with a grumble, crossing his arms over his chest,

“He’s been here too long.” he muttered, sulking.

It wasn’t long before Edwin reappeared with Selene in tow. The two humans seemed to tower over the single Kingsguard that had clearly been charged with the Grand Magus’ security. Gruk watched with interest as a magpie flew in over their heads and landed on a rafter above the dwarven smith. The bird looked around the pub, tilting its head back and forth several times before croaking and settling down to rest. Gruk returned his attention to his table, smiling widely as Edwin pulled out a seat for the woman that had joined him,

“Hullo there, lass.” he greeted, holding out his hand towards her, “Gruk Ovaksson of clan Ironforge, right pleased to finally meet ye.” The expression on Selene’s face brightened as she took the hand and shook it firmly,

“The pleasure is mine, son of Ovak.” she replied politely, “Edwin told me a little about you and your family before we came in, it’s nice to put a face to the name.” Gruk shifted and glanced over to the Kingsguard that was now sitting next to him,

“Eh, aren’t you Rabbie’s wee lad? Clan Broadfir, aye?” he exclaimed. The younger dwarf nodded, sheepishly,

“Aye, my da became friends wi’ Captain Bloodvein during the Demon War. The Captain put in a good word fer me when I started training as an Ironguard.” he said quietly, “Look, please don’t make this a huge deal. I’m supposed to be workin’.” he added, glancing around the pub. Gruk clapped a hand on the barely-more-than-a-bearling’s shoulder,

“Don’t worry, son.” he soothed, “I ken ye’re here fer work, I just didn’t expect to see you in that kind of fancy getup.” he said, winking at the boy. Selene stifled a laugh,

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve been in a community where everyone knows everyone else.” she noted, “I think you can afford to relax a little though Rabbiesson, Chrackle is an excellent lookout, provided he doesn’t get distracted.” she added, sending her familiar a glare of warning. There was an annoyed croak from the rafters, “You’re just mad because it’s true.” she said, picking up the mug that was handed to her and taking a swig from it. Edwin cleared his throat,

“Well, since we’re all here and settled, how about we all take this rare opportunity to actually relax for once?” he suggested.

“I’ll drink to that!” Gruk cheered. His cheer was echoed around the table as everyone finally felt the atmosphere relax and the two dwarves and humans began exchanging gossip.

#writing #aquadestinyswriting #the wizard's tale #a circle none can break #selene frigidwake #skarld firetome #edwin goodwin #gruk ironforge #snorri ironforge

2 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 2 years

Text

The European Parliament, in a resolution adopted on Wednesday, recommended other EU bodies to “advance accession negotiations with Serbia only if the country aligns with EU sanctions against Russia and makes significant progress on the EU-related reforms“.

EU Parliamentarians also urged a reconsideration of “any bilateral and EU funds for Serbia that would benefit the Serbian authorities, in particular, any pertaining to projects financed under the Western Balkan Economic and Investment Plan, in order to ensure that all EU expenditure is fully in line with the EU’s strategic goals and interests“.

The resolution was adopted with 502 votes in favour, 75 against and 61 abstentions.

Tonino Picula, who proposed the resolution, said: “By adopting solid recommendations on how future enlargement policy should be implemented, we can once again set the tone and standards to enable the European Union to grow and prosper.

“We wish to ensure that the EU remains an evolving community of European states open to like-minded democracies joining it, sharing common values and interests“, a press release quoted Picula as saying.

In June, the European Parliament’s Committee on Foreign Affairs, AFET, adopted a report that urged mutual recognition between Serbia and Kosovo and also called for Serbia to “urgently align with the EU’s decisions against Russia”, which was sharply criticized in Serbia.

The EP recalled that “due to internal blockages in the past few years, the Council has failed the enlargement countries by blocking the accession process and not delivering on the EU’s long-outstanding promises“, referring to delays in the start of accession talks with Albania and North Macedonia, as well as visa liberalisation for Kosovo. It added that “the EU’s lack of engagement and credibility over the past few years has created a vacuum, thereby opening up space for Russia, China and other malign third actors“.

MEPs urged stepping up “the EU’s constructive engagement with the authorities of both Serbia and Kosovo to achieve a comprehensive legally binding normalisation agreement based on mutual recognition between the two in the framework of the Belgrade Pristina Dialogue“.

Turning elsewhere in the region, they also “express concern about the persistent political crisis in Montenegro, which has already had and continues to have negative consequences for the country’s EU accession path“, and urge countries to “encourage and support the acceleration of Montenegro’s accession, as the frontrunner in the EU accession process“.

MEPs said they welcome the Commission’s recommendation with conditions for granting candidate country status to Bosnia and Herzegovina, “as a clear message of support and unequivocal commitment to its European perspective as well as a step towards the stabilisation of the country and the region, and [Parliament] calls on the European Council to follow up on the recommendation as soon as possible“.

3 notes · View notes

empatheticxangel-archive · 2 years

Text

“Pardon me, but could you tell me where I am? Got a bit lost flying in.”

#Clearing the Skies || Open Starter #Teen verse- { v: pubescent heart [MAIN] }#Feathered Beauty || Angel Form #Recalling The Council || Mutuals Only

2 notes · View notes

workingclasshistory · 2 years

Photo

On this day, 26 June 1952, Black feminist and squatting activist, Olive Morris was born in Harewood, Jamaica. Moving to London with her family, she became a founding member of the Organisation of Women of African and Asian Descent (OWAAD), established the Brixton Black Women's Group, was a member of the British Black Panther Movement, and helped found the Manchester Black Women's Cooperative and Manchester Black Women's Mutual Aid Group. Morris was one of the first to squat at 121 Railton Road, Brixton London, an address which subsequently housed a range of community and political groups until the 1990s. She also wrote many articles, about topics like Black and Asian workers' struggles, and critiques of strains of anti-fascism which ignored institutional, state and police racism. In one speech, she declared that "the Black women's movement is part of the world struggle for national liberation and the destruction of capitalism. Only when this is achieved can we ensure that our liberation as Black women is genuine, total and irreversible." Morris was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and died shortly after in 1979, aged just 27. Emma Allotey later recalled: "Her premature death was a shock to the community. A Lambeth council building, 18 Brixton Hill, was named after her in March 1986. There is a community garden and play area named after her in the Myatt’s Fields area. In 2009, Olive was chosen by popular vote as one of the historical figures to feature on a local currency, the Brixton Pound." Learn more about Black and Asian workers struggles in Britain at this time in this book: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/products/the-making-of-the-black-working-class-in-britain-ron-ramdin https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.1819457841572691/2020404084811398/?type=3

181 notes · View notes

melestasflight · 2 years

Text

Every time I read the Children of Húrin, I get feelings about Húrin and Fingon's friendship.

How after living in Gondolin for a year and being close in council with Turgon, Húrin returns to Hithlum and ends up serving and fighting under Fingon for 10 years, often spending more time with him than his own family. The fact that he is bound under an Oath of Silence and he can say nothing to his King about his brother or the beautiful city he has built.

But I like to think that there is some mutual understanding between them. At times, when Húrin is asleep or absent-minded, Fingon allows himself to touch upon his mind. Use indemmar to search Húrin's thoughts and memories and see his long-lost family, if only for an instant.

Now Húrin is more perceptive than most of his people, having spent much time with the Elves, and he sometimes senses Fingon's gentle intrusion. He doesn't really mind, knowing that he himself would not resist such an opportunity if Huor was locked away without contact in a hidden city. Instead, when Fingon gets weary of his kingship, Húrin purposefully thinks about Gondolin more than he normally would. In this way, he shows Fingon the wonders of Gondolin as he had seen them; he recalls Turgon's wisdom, Idril's beauty, and even Maeglin's sharp mind.

After long years of friendship, they become aware of each other's game, although they never speak of it. Húrin keeps his Oath intact, and Fingon is reminded that all his efforts and all the battles are worth it if at least some of his family is safe and away from Morgoth's clutches.

#húrin #fingon #friendship #turgon #gondolin #thoughts and feels #I'm rereading the Narn #there's going to be a lot of these posts over the next few days #the children of hurin #the silmarillion #the narn musings

96 notes · View notes

ladyartemesia · 4 years

Text

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Summary: When Park Jimin is unable to escort his precious sister through the gauntlet of corporate holiday galas, he blackmails his best friend Taehyung into being her chaperone. After all, who better to safeguard his headstrong sibling than a man who would never want her for himself? (She and Tae have spent the better part of a decade mutually disliking each other, and that’s putting it mildly.) Yet, even the best laid plans may go awry at Christmas and Kim Taehyung is about to discover that the girl he never wanted has become a temptation he cannot resist...

Genre: Comedy • Fluff • Smut

Tropes: Brother’s Best Friend (Reader is Jimin’s Sister) • Enemies-to-Lovers

Collab: This work is part of the Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tropes Collab featuring original holiday themed works by @ppersonna • @xjoonchildx • @underthejoon • @yeojaa • @untaemedqueen • and @snackhobi

Word Count: 17K (I know—I am shocked too honestly)

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: suggestive photographs • mention of accidentally being hit with a baseball • hints of jealousy and possessiveness • light tit slapping • explicit sexual content • m/f oral sex • consensual unprotected sex (shield it before you yield it y’all) • Viola’s mirror kink makes yet another appearance •

Acknowledgements:

To @ppersonna (Lindy) @underthejoon (Fal) and @xjoonchildx (Ana) you guys are my heart. Your support, willingness to read (and re-read) and give honest feedback made this fic special. Your friendship is my daily dose of awesome. Truly, I love you.

To @untaemedqueen (D) all of the above applies to you, but I owe you a little something extra for the LITERAL HOURS you spent in the doc with me. This fic would not be here without you. You kept me moving. You inspired me. You were amazing. Thank you so very much. This story is lovingly dedicated to you.

To @hobi-gif for being the most thorough and incredible beta reader and for having all the important girl chats with me. I think you learned more about my past than you wanted... Either way you made this story better and I am profoundly grateful for the hours of time you spent. I have removed all the Hope-No-No words in your honor.

To @lemonjoonah as always, you knew EXACTLY what I needed to tweak to make this story work. (Gotta pass that Lemon Litmus Test or no dice lol.) My lovely soul twin. You’re a bloomin’ rockstar.

Please Picture This Taehyung:

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Because you absolutely owe me.”

“Then send me a bill, not your unmanageable harpy of a sister.”

Jimin raised a single unimpressed brow.

“Kim Taehyung. It was exactly five years ago today that I carried your drunken naked ass two miles in the rain after you set your clothes on fire and sprained your ankle at that Beta Phi party.” He paused dramatically. “Do you remember what you said to me that night? After I deleted several pictures off phones and paid off half the party to keep it out of the papers?”

The man in question shifted uncomfortably.

“That incident is a bit hazy in my memory. I’m not sure I recall—”

“Jiminie—you’re the best and I—I owe… you. I owe you the most, Jiminie. I do—I owe you a favor—one BIG favor—anything you ask… Even though... I actually like being naked. I don’t think we need clothes. We should all be naked. Everyone. Then there would be world peace.”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped.

“You RECORDED IT?!”

Jimin grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Naturally. And I had it all ready to go—just in case you needed extra convincing.” He crossed his arms and fixed his best friend of nearly fifteen years with a triumphant smirk. “I’m calling in that favor today, Taehyung. Now are you a man of your word or not?”

“He did WHAT?!”

Your mother winced.

“Jimin was... uncomfortable leaving you alone for the holiday season. He normally accompanies you to the galas but this year—”

“This year I was going to go alone and finally build my reputation as an asset to this family!”

Park Soomin sighed as she watched her daughter pace fiercely around the living room of their luxury suite.

“No one doubts that you’re an asset, but… in light of recent events...”

Rage and embarrassment flared up in your chest before you could stop them.

“This is about Milo… isn’t it?”

The silence that greeted your statement was confirmation enough.

“Are you ever going to trust me again?” you whispered.

“Oh sweetheart... it isn’t you we don’t trust...”

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you ruthlessly blinked them back.

You would play along with their humiliating schemes.

For now.

“So which one of Jimin’s Ivy League brat pack did he blackmail into babysitting me?

For the first time in the entirety of the conversation, your mother looked truly nervous.

“Kim Taehyung.”

You tripped over your own feet and face-planted into the sofa.

“Jungkook, I need to look into faking my own death. Nothing too over the top. Just a tasteful disappearance—”

The man in question could barely restrain his grin.

“You don’t pay me nearly enough to deal with your mother in the event of your tragic demise and miraculous resurrection.”

“I could pay you more.”

“Or,” Jungkook replied with a heavy dose of judgment coloring his tone, “you could put on this ridiculous tie and stop trying to weasel out of it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I pay you at all,” Taehyung growled, yanking the tie from the younger man’s grasp. “Clearly I’m not the one in charge.”

“Your words, sir, not mine. Now shall we go over the details and itinerary?”

If Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best executive aide in the city (and one of his closest friends) Tae would have drop-kicked him right then and there.

“Could you at least try to look like you’re not enjoying this?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was insensitive of me to ignore your suffering in this delicate time. The trauma of escorting a beautiful woman to a series of glorified buffets weighs heavily upon you.”

Taehyung tightened the tie so aggressively, he almost strangled himself.

“Beautiful woman?!” he wheezed. “We’re talking about the girl who showed up to our formal graduation party looking like she just escaped from Azkaban.”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.

“Tae… how long has it been since you’ve actually seen Ms. Park?”

“Seen? Maybe three—four years.”

The heir-apparent of Kim Holdings avoided the public end of corporate culture like the plague, preferring to leave the requisite schmoozing to his personable cousin, Kim Seokjin.

However, he had crossed paths with his adolescent nemesis in... other ways.

Taehyung was romancing a lovely young socialite who suddenly ghosted him after someone told her that he wanted at least eight naturally-birthed children.

Soon after, your favorite charity received an anonymous 30,000 dollar donation requesting that you be featured in the dunk tank for an upcoming benefit carnival and then the same anonymous patron paid for at least fifteen little league teams to attend.

In retaliation, someone petitioned the National Aviary Society (chaired by a very influential senator’s wife that no one ever refused if they wanted their permits to go through) to make Taehyung the MC at their annual awards ceremony—knowing full well he was allergic to birds (not dangerously allergic—just enough to be miserable).

Taehyung had sniffled and sneezed through approximately one hundred parrots, parakeets, and other assorted fowl until he was ready to commit murder.

The last several years had been littered with similar incidents of the two of you taking thinly veiled potshots at one another.

“I can’t imagine she’s changed very much,” Taehyung bit off absently. His mind was abruptly consumed by how he could get revenge for those demonic birds.

He didn’t notice the smile creeping over Jungkook’s face.

“No, sir. I’m sure she hasn’t changed at all.”

Taehyung had only ever had the wind knocked out of him once before.

He was Dionysia High School’s star pitcher for three seasons and during one particularly tense game against JY Prep, Lim Jaebeom whacked a line drive right into his solar plexus.

That’s how it felt to look up and see you at the top of the stairs.

In his head, you were still the mischievous imp from his childhood. Every prank he played was directed at the fierce little fiend with braids and braces who’d knocked him and his date into the university fountain while experimenting with her friend’s skateboard.

But she was gone… and in her place was something far more dangerous.

A woman.

Silken fabric wrapped tightly over curves you definitely didn’t have four years ago. That wild hair had been tamed into shining waves and pinned elegantly at the nape of your neck. The wicked slit that traveled all the way up your thigh teased a smooth shapely leg that all but demanded the viewer fantasize about running their hand up the length of it.

Suddenly it was very clear why Park Jimin wouldn’t let his sister venture into the corporate cesspool alone.

Because the sight of you could make a man desperate.

Betrayal—of all things—slowly crept over Taehyung as you descended toward him like some sort of angel floating down from the heavens.

His mind went blank. Just watching the seductive shift of your hips as you swayed ever closer felt like a violation of his friendship with Jimin. He could feel the judgmental stares of an imaginary Bro-Code Council boring into him from on high.

“I see you’ve recovered from your memorable tenure as the Aviary Society’s Master of Ceremonies.”

And just like that the brat was back.

Taehyung breathed a hefty sigh of relief, secretly thrilled to be in familiar territory with you.

“Naturally I was delighted to help Senator Mitchell’s wife. In fact, Mitchell’s office just fast tracked all my pending permit requests for the new year.” He tilted forward, coming into your space a bit. “I should really send you a thank you card.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scowled, breezing past him like an indignant queen.

Tae could practically see the steam pouring out of your ears.

“Of course not,” he chuckled.

The first gala of the holiday season was an extravagant annual affair hosted by Min Corp., a Seoul based investment firm that commanded billions in assets. This year, the theme of the event was the Joseon Dynasty and the entire ballroom had been gloriously transformed into a stunning celebration of the Min family’s royal heritage.

Attendees were gifted their own traditional fan, each uniquely crafted by artisans from Damyang. Taehyung’s was all black with bold silver calligraphy while yours was a beautiful bamboo and silk piece decorated with pomegranate trees.

You had already whacked three people with it by the time dinner was served.

“It really is a pity these fell out of fashion,” you lamented. “They’re quite useful.”

“You are deranged,” Taehyung mumbled, massaging his temples in exasperation.

“Nonsense. I only fanned those who deserved it.”

“Harkins?”

“He was staring at my rack for a solid minute.”

Taehyung could hardly blame the man, it was a battle he himself was losing after all, but Harkins was twice your age and married—therefore his ogling was in especially poor taste.

“Okay... What about Kang?”

“He was verbally abusing one of the waitstaff.”

“Alright, fair enough, but why on earth would you go after sweet old Mrs. O’Malley?”

“She was about to grab your ass.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open.

“She’s eighty-five!”

“And still kickin’ apparently.” You shook your head in disgust. “As if I’d whack an eighty-five year-old woman for anything less than non-consensual touching.”

“I- I- mean—surely you must be mistaken,” he coughed.

“Oh, there’s no mistake. That nasty old crone is a serial offender. She likes to play it off as dementia, but she’s as sharp as a tack. Last year she got a whole handful of Jimin. Honestly, I’d call the police on her, but the commissioner is her grandson so I doubt I’d get very far.”

Taehyung turned to the woman in question just in time to see her totter lecherously toward Jung Hoseok, fingers already twitching in anticipation.

“Is nothing sacred?” he mused hollowly.

You shrugged.

“Many people who accumulate as much as our families have start believing that they are entitled to whatever strikes their fancy.” Your eyes met his with a hint of bemusement. “Surely you should be used to this sort of thing by now?”

“Yes, but I was hardly expecting it from little old ladies!”

The remainder of dinner was a terse affair where you pretended he didn’t exist for the entire meal and he in turn pretended that the spunky young heiress seated to his right was the most darling creature to ever walk the earth. By dessert she was ready to get married and you were ready to vomit.

Afterward, Taehyung found himself quickly converted to your views on fan usefulness as you began strolling through the crowd intent on strengthening your family’s corporate ties.

“Kim Taehyung,” you ground out through clenched teeth, “how am I supposed to do business if you keep stabbing everyone I speak to!”

“I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m simply not used to carrying one of these. I may have accidentally grazed a few overzealous individuals—”

“My last three conversations have been rudely disrupted by the blunt end of that accused fan.”

Taehyung crossed his arms smugly.

“And what of it? Jimin sent me along to keep an eye on you and the gentlemen in question were hardly behaving themselves. No one has to put their hand in my back or lean that close to me when they’re talking business.”

“That’s because no one wants to get that close to you,” you replied sweetly. “You’re gross.”

A devastating grin slid slowly over his features as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“I can think of several women who might disagree.”

He just barely caught the hitch in your breath before-

“Like who? Miss Blushes-and-Giggles from dinner?”

“Jealous?” Taehyung drawled cockily.

“Only in your dreams, Kim.” Then, with a deliberate flick of your fan, you turned your back to him. “I’m headed for the ladies room. Do yourself a favor and don’t follow me in.”

It was twenty minutes before Taehyung realized that you slipped out the back entrance of the restroom.

It took another ten for him to locate you on the balcony flirting outrageously with Min Yoongi.

The young heir of Min Corp. was just leaning closer to whisper sweet nothings in your ear when a black fan slid right in between the two of you.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Taehyung observed cheerfully. His eyes bounced between you and Yoongi with barely concealed fury and you let out a miserable groan.

“Mr. Kim,” Yoongi cleared his throat significantly. “What an… unexpected surprise.”

Frustration clawed at your chest as your overbearing guardian nodded smugly in response.

It was time to teach him—and Jimin—a lesson.

“Yoongi,” you sighed, sliding your hand pointedly through the crook of his arm, “I’m not feeling at all well. Would you perhaps… escort me home?”

Taehyung suddenly looked as if he’d swallowed a live octopus.

Yoongi grinned, clearly thrilled with the prospect of simultaneously spending more time with you and irritating Taehyung.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Jimin is gonna kill me,” Taehyung grumbled as he watched Min Yoongi help you into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin.

An ugly green feeling he refused to identify twisted sharply in his gut when you smiled coyly at the other man.

“This is ridiculous,” he snarled to no one in particular before yanking his phone out of his pocket.

Jungkook picked up on the second ring.

“Sir?”

“I need you to drive to Ms. Park’s apartment and tell me if she goes in alone or if Min Yoongi goes in with her.”

“You want me to what?!”

“Just do it!” he snapped, downing an entire glass of champagne before signaling his own driver.

Fifteen minutes later his phone vibrated from the car seat next to him.

1 New Message from: Jungkook

Her building has four separate entrances. Which one do I watch?

Taehyung could practically feel the vein pulsing in his forehead as he scrolled through his contacts.

You picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Oh it’s you… Wait—how did you get this number?”

“Jimin. Obviously. Now please answer the question.”

“Oh a ‘please.’ Who knew you had manners?”

“Answer the question, Park. I’m tired.”

The distinct sound of a zipper unzipping carried through the speaker.

“I’m at home, of course. Where else would I be? I just got here like a minute ago.”

He had a sudden vision of Min Yoongi helping you out of your dress. His grip on the phone tightened.

“Are you alone?”

You snorted.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Taehyung saw red.

“I’m coming over.”

There was a loud crash and several colorful words in at least three different languages.

“Wha- No! I’m trying to go to bed!”

“With who?!”

“With myself, you idiot!”

“Prove it!”

“Fine! I will!”

The line disconnected and Taehyung swore loudly. He was just about to direct the driver to your building when his phone went off again.

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin

He almost choked on his tongue.

You were clearly in the middle of undressing and—in your irritation—probably hadn’t looked too carefully at the picture you sent.

At first glance it was simply a shot of your empty room (presumably “proof” that you were alone) but you neglected to consider the floor-length mirror hanging in the far corner…

A mirror that showed you angrily holding up your phone with your gown pooled deliciously around your waist and the soft round swells of your breasts strapped into lacy red lingerie.

You were exquisite.

A fierce, hot sensation gripped him ruthlessly, and this time there was no mistaking it.

Desire.

Your phone lit up on the bed where you tossed it after snapping a photo for your tightly-wound man nanny.

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch

I didn’t know you liked Van Gogh.

Your head tilted in confusion.

There was a Van Gogh print in your room, but he couldn’t have seen it because it was behind you when-

Oh NO.

You gasped, scrolling back up to confirm what deep down you already knew to be true.

… You just sent Kim Taehyung a topless mirror selfie.

Several miles away, smiling smugly in the backseat of his town car, Taehyung was sure he could almost hear you screaming.

“Good morning, sir. Which would you like first; the bad news or the worse news?”

Taehyung groaned from underneath his covers.

“Don’t you ever knock? I could have a woman up here.”

“You’ve never brought a woman up here.”

“Is that the bad news?” Taehyung yawned.

“No,” Jungkook tossed a small stack of newspapers and printed digital articles into his lap, “this is the bad news.”

Pictures of you, Min Yoongi, and even himself were splashed over the front pages of all of them.

PARK ANGEL TRADES ONE CORPORATE HEIR FOR ANOTHER AT MIN GALA

WHO WILL WIN THE PARK ANGEL’S HEART? KIM TAEHYUNG OR MIN YOONGI? LET US KNOW IN THE COMMENTS

NEW ROMANCE ALERT? PARK ANGEL LEAVES JOSEON BALL WITH MIN SCION

“The Park Angel?”

“That’s what the media calls her... The public is rather fascinated with her actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Taehyung mumbled.

“Of course not, sir. It’s a great mystery.”

As usual, Taehyung chose to ignore his aide’s lethal snark and pressed on to the matter at hand.

“This is a flaming disaster.”

“Oh I don’t know. I really appreciated the picture of you staring on forlornly while she and Yoongi climbed into the Aston Martin. Takes a real gift to capture all that drama in a single frame.”

“Which one was that?!”

“It’s right under the MAN DOWN: PARK ANGEL LEAVES KIM TAEHYUNG HEARTBROKEN headline.”

Tae ran his hand down over his face in exasperation.

“I’m surprised my mother hasn’t called.”

“She has. Twice.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the ‘worse news’ is it?”

“No.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’m never that lucky.” He collapsed backwards into his pillows with a beleaguered huff. “Go ahead then. Tell me.”

“Park Jimin is on the line for you right now.”

After a small eternity on the phone with Jimin (assuring him that NO Min Yoongi had not despoiled his precious sister and YES he would definitely do better next time), Taehyung was forced to attend an impromptu brunch with his mother. It took considerable effort, but he was eventually able to convince her that you were neither breaking his heart nor expecting his child.

By the time he arrived to collect you for this evening’s event, Taehyung was already sick of hearing your name (he’d spoken it no less than three hundred times since Jungkook woke him this morning).

You were in much the same boat as Taehyung, having spent most of the afternoon pacifying Jimin and clearing up your own mother’s romantic delusions regarding the Min and Kim heirs respectively.

Tonight’s gala was a Victorian Christmas Ball thrown by the National Literary Fund and the entire venue had been transformed into a Charles Dickens fever dream.

Unlike the Min Gala (whose theme was guarded like a state secret every year) the Literary Fund’s tribute to A Christmas Carol was tradition and you were dressed accordingly in a custom corset gown with gorgeous detailing.

Every second of effort it took to lace yourself into the monstrosity was worth the look on Taehyung’s face the moment you slipped off your cape.

“Something wrong, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung was desperately trying to look literally anywhere but your chest, where said corset was serving up your breasts like a debauched buffet.

Jimin. Think of Jimin. Think of what Jimin will do to you. Think of how much trouble she’s caused-

He peeked again.

I would pay a million dollars to suck those tits.

“Nothing at all,” his voice cracked.

The itinerary for the evening included performances by a local children’s choir, a traditional waltz, and—of course—dinner.

You both managed to get along without snapping at each other during the choral performance, but as two of the largest donors to the Children’s Literacy Initiative, neither of you could escape being drawn into the waltz.

The energetic socialite who Taehyung flirted with over dinner the previous night eventually lured him onto the floor while you graciously accepted an invitation from a lovely older gentleman who chaired the Fund’s event committee.

For the first few movements, you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Mr. Lee was charming, respectful, and still an excellent dancer despite his advanced age. It wasn’t until a familiar sound caught your attention that the lightness in your chest suddenly felt heavy...

Taehyung was laughing.

You heard him do so many times over the years, and in each instance, the carefree magic of it never failed to make your heart flutter.

But now he was smiling down at the pretty little heiress and laughing for her… and the flutter in your chest was accompanied by something else.

Something that felt an awful lot like longing.

“Does he know you look at him like that?” Mr. Lee asked quietly.

Your eyes flew guiltily to his, but it was too late. The old man had caught a glimpse of the secret you buried deeply for more than a decade; so deeply, in fact, there were times you almost forgot it yourself...

Almost.

“No,” you whispered, “he has no idea.”

Disaster struck at dinner.

Taehyung quite liked dancing with the lovely Miss Something-or-Other. She was sweet and funny and (unlike with you) he wasn’t constantly torn between agitation and raging inappropriate lust in her presence.

The cold shoulder you offered him when he took his seat seemed even more frigid than usual and he spent half the meal wondering what he’d done to earn your amplified disdain when suddenly—

Your hand smacked down on his wrist, seizing it in a vise-like grip.

Taehyung nearly choked on his steak and was about to give you a searing set-down over your spontaneous grabby-ness when he noticed your expression.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, leaning forward in concern.

“I-I need—”

It looked as if you were in some sort of physical pain and Taehyung was rapidly becoming worried.

“I need your help,” you finally managed to whimper and the next thing he knew, you were dragging him away from the table and into one of the secluded alcoves near the main entrance hall.

“Is there anyone around? Can anyone see us?” The look on your face bordered on unhinged.

“No. There’s no one. Park, are you okay? What’s going on I—”

“I need you to unlace my dress,” you hissed frantically.

At that moment, a bomb could have gone off and Taehyung wouldn’t have blinked.

You, however, were completely preoccupied with your own distress and therefore oblivious to his.

“My earring broke during dinner and fell down there and now it’s stabbing me—”

Your eyes were beginning to tear. Taehyung remained frozen, still trying to figure out whether or not this was a lucid dream.

“—it’s definitely pierced the skin and there’s a possibility I’m gonna start bleeding through the fabric—”

The mention of blood snapped him out of his daze somewhat.

“A-Alright. Just turn around—brace yourself on that wall.”

You quickly did as you were told and Taehyung began to tug fruitlessly at the ties cross-crossing your back.

“Why won’t this—”

His fingers fumbled over the knots, desperately trying to loosen them, but they simply wouldn’t budge.

“I can’t—I can’t get it. Whoever helped you into this thing made sure you weren’t getting out of it.”

You whined in frustration and the earring shifted a bit in response.

There was only one other way to fix this (and you would almost rather be in pain).

“Taehyung I—” you turned to face him again, forcing your eyes shut before reluctantly doing what had to be done “... I need you to reach down the front of my dress and get it.”

He blinked. Twice.

“I’m sorry—What did you just—”

“Please, Tae,” you whispered desperately, letting your lip tremble in a way he had never been able to resist, “it hurts…”

He gulped.

His eyes dropped to the matter at hand.

This is fine. Everything’s fine. She’s in pain, right? You’re basically a doctor right now. You’re just going slide your hand in between the most mouthwatering pair of breasts you’ve ever seen and then—

Taehyung’s manic inner monologue was interrupted by the sound of his own moan. He immediately faked a coughing fit to cover it and prayed you hadn’t noticed.

(You hadn’t. You were actively being stabbed.)

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he muttered, curling his fingers over the scalloped edge of the bodice.

You bit your lip, desperately trying to hold back any reaction, but when his knuckle brushed the pebbled tip of your nipple, you gasped.

Oh.

His hand stuttered, lingering a moment too long over the tight little peak as his gaze suddenly shot up to meet yours. Both of you had been studiously avoiding eye contact, yet now it was as if neither of you could look away.

Taehyung wet his lips reflexively.

“It’s too tight,” he whispered, “I need more leverage.”

Then his arm wrapped over the curve of your lower back and he drew you tightly against him, anchoring your hips just enough to fully slip his hand between your body and the corset.

You were so warm.

So soft...

“I can feel it,” he grunted, “but I can’t get a good grip on it.”

His mouth pressed into a tight line as he leaned forward, bringing your back up against the wall. You let out a little squeak and his eyes darted briefly down to your mouth before he spoke again.

“Hold on to me.”

You nodded and wordlessly slid your arms around his waist.

If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost pretend that this wasn’t one of the most erotic moments of your life.

You could almost pretend that it meant nothing.

Your mind was spinning wildly, wondering what he was thinking, wondering if he noticed how strangely you were breathing or how hard your heart was beating...

“I’ve got it,” he murmured. Shivers shot down your spine at the dark timbre of his voice.

He was so close. You could feel every word he spoke brushing softly against your skin.

“On ‘three’ I’m going to pull it out… Are you ready?”

You drew in a final steadying breath.

“Do it.”

He nodded.

“One… Two… Three—”

Taehyung yanked his hand back and several things happened at once.

Your breasts bounced almost entirely out of the corset.

The decorative clasps on the front of your gown tangled with the buttons on his shirt and when he pulled back, three of them went flying off like stray bullets.

And finally, the corset didn’t relinquish Taehyung’s hand quite quickly enough and, as a result, you toppled forward and crashed down on top of him, smashing your newly bare breasts to his newly bare chest.

It could have been ten seconds or ten hours that passed by while the two of you lay there, breathing heavily in a pile of confused arousal when—

“... Is… everything alright here?”

You both looked up to find a thoroughly scandalized member of the waitstaff standing over you.

Taehyung saw his life flash before his eyes—ending (of course) with Jimin murdering him for this.

He gulped again.

“I can explain.”

It was decided—for the sake of appearances—that you would both leave the venue (immediately) in separate vehicles.

Taehyung dropped a cool three hundred in crisp bills on the unfortunate waiter in order to help him ‘forget’ whatever he may or may not have seen.

Neither of you spoke another word to each other in the ten minutes it took to bribe all the appropriate parties, gather your coats, and call for two separate town cars.

Something had happened when he touched you; a subtle shift in the precarious balance of your relationship that you both felt keenly, but could not possibly begin to define.

Taehyung barely even remembered climbing into the back of a vehicle. His body was firing on auto-pilot after the sensory overload of the last half hour. It wasn’t until he was nearly home that he realized he was still holding onto your earring.

His mind began to wander as he examined the troublesome bauble in his palm. It was a striking piece; deceptively complex and unexpectedly beautiful.

Just like you.

He told himself that the heat pooling low in his belly was anger—that the strange anxiousness to be near you was simply a desire for retribution—that it was merely platonic curiosity that left his hands aching to explore the rest of your curves.

Lies.

… and pitifully transparent ones at that.

Still, he clung to them desperately out of self-preservation.

The gentle hum of his phone suddenly disturbed Taehyung’s silent contemplation.

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin

I made it home safely.

Taehyung’s fingers were typing a reply before he could properly consider the consequence of his actions.

To: Park Gremlin

I require proof… like last time.

He nearly threw the phone the moment he sent it, running his hands down over his face in disbelief.

You’re playing with fire, Kim Taehyung.

And he was burning up already. He had no business sending you texts like that. Maybe you wouldn’t catch it. Maybe he could just-

The phone went off again and it was embarrassing how quickly he scrambled to open your response.

His heart stuttered in his chest. His breathing ceased entirely-

And he knew—he knew—there was no coming back from this.

At first glance the photo was nearly identical to the shot you sent him last night. Same room, same angle…

same mirror.

Yet this time, the reflection was quite different.

The temptress in the glass wore nothing but that sinfully delicious corset and a pair of silky lace thigh highs, each accented with a green satin bow.

He wanted to rip them off with his teeth.

“Oh Taehyung,” he whispered, as a dark wave primitive longing tore through him, “you are in so much trouble.”

Across town (buried beneath a pile of blankets) you were still struggling to process the boldness of your own actions when his response lit up your screen.

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch

Green is my favorite color.

“WHERE IS HE—”

Taehyung awoke to a series of crashes and shouts echoing from the floor below him.

Jungkook was already seated in the corner of the room reading a newspaper.

“Good morning, sir,” he said without looking up. “Would you like the bad news or the worse news?”

Suddenly the french doors of his bedroom slammed open and one very irate Park Jimin stormed through.

“I swear I should have seen this coming. The two of you have always been obsessed with each other, but I never imagined—”

Taehyung’s eyes widened guiltily. He quickly schooled his features into a confused glare.

“Jimin, I’ve only been awake for fifteen seconds. What the hell are you talking about?!”

Another stack of newspapers hit his lap and this time the pictures were mostly of him with his shirt ripped halfway down his chest.

KIM HEIR AND PARK ANGEL CAUSE AN OLD-FASHIONED SCANDAL AT VICTORIAN BALL

FORGET MISTLETOE: KIM TAEHYUNG DISCOVERED UNDER THE PARK ANGEL AT CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION

NAUGHTY NOEL? PARK ANGEL’S STEAMY AFFAIR WITH CORPORATE PRINCE

PARK ANGEL TOPS KIM TAEHYUNG’S CHRISTMAS TREE

He winced a bit at that last one.

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start throwing things.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to do just that, but he was interrupted when his mother marched into the room waving the same articles that Jimin had just thrown at him.

“KIM TAEHYUNG I raised you better than this! How could you!? That poor girl!”

“Mother!” he squeaked, yanking his blanket up over his chest like a frightened debutante.

Jungkook began surreptitiously filming the whole debacle from the corner.

“Indeed,” Jimin added darkly, crossing his arms over his chest, “how could you?”

Taehyung sighed heavily.

“Is anyone else going to come charging into my bedroom?”

“Just answer me once and for all, is she pregnant?”

“WHAT?!”

“NO! Mother! Oh my—”

“Why does your mom think my little sister is pregnant?!”

Taehyung waved his arms wildly in exasperation.

“My mom thinks everyone is pregnant! You know this!”

Jungkook could no longer contain his hysterical cackling. He very nearly fell off the chair trying to hold it all in.

“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung ground out irritably, “if it’s not too much trouble, could you please escort everyone out of my bedroom so I can get dressed!”

“So you see—I was basically like a doctor,” Taehyung finished emphatically.

He spent the past twenty minutes explaining to the entire table (which now included both you and your mother) why it was necessary to shove his hand down the front of your dress.

Park Soomin had shown up at his door looking for answers (and dragging you behind her like a sacrificial lamb) about three minutes after Jimin.

You had taken one look at Jimin’s murderous expression and insisted that the situation be evaluated over breakfast at the cafe down the street (where there were lots of witnesses).

Which was how you, Taehyung, Jimin, and both your mothers ended up discussing your cleavage over coffee in a public restaurant.

Jimin was the first to break. It was a few snorts at first, but he was basically in tears by the end of it, wheezing about how he never doubted Taehyung for a second and holding on to his sides from laughing too hard.

Taehyung’s gaze met yours for a brief, heated exchange. He conveniently forgot to mention your slightly-less-than-explainable ‘check-in’ texts, but their existence was palpable in the air between you.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” you muttered, excusing yourself from the complicated atmosphere at the table.

Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you a tad too long as you wandered away, a fact that wasn’t missed by either of your mothers.

“Just a few more events and you can go back to not seeing her at all,” Jimin chuckled, patting him on the back.

“Yeah,” Taehyung answered with a tight smile. “That’s… great.”

The cafe had a lovely little balcony area decorated with all sorts of comforting Christmas foliage. It was far more inviting than the awkward conversation and confusing stares you and Taehyung had been trading all morning.

For the first time in the nearly fifteen years of your relationship (such as it was) you didn’t know where you stood with him… and it bothered you more than you cared to admit.

Taehyung had always been important to you, whether you wanted him to be or not. He mattered—effortlessly—from the first moment you met him and continued to do so without regard for your sanity.

Whatever was building between you now would almost certainly bring change… though what kind of change was anyone’s guess.

It was hard to imagine the years ahead without the strange excitement he always brought to your life, but some things were simply out of your control…

“I never thought I’d see you here.”

A profoundly unpleasant feeling (something similar to falling through the ice on a frozen pond) overtook you.

“Milo.” Even saying his name felt gross. You sighed. “What is so strange about seeing me here?”

The man in question blushed in a way you once found irresistible.

“I looked for you everywhere. All your usual places—”

“I avoided them.”

I avoided you.

Milo nodded.

“I—I figured.”

He took a step closer and you instinctively moved back. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, but you had long since become immune.

“What are you doing?” you hissed angrily. “I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke.”

“Yes, but—” his hand reached out to curl over your forearm and you recoiled, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain—”

“Excuse me.”

You both turned to see Kim Taehyung with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Milo like he was a roach that crawled across his dinner plate.

“Your mother sent me to come find you. She wants to leave.”

You nodded and moved to pull away, but Milo’s grip tightened on your arm.

“No—please if you just give me a minute—”

“That is enough,” Taehyung snarled, seizing the other man’s hand and forcibly removing it from your person. He angled his body between the two of you protectively. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re Kim Taehyung. I read all about you in the papers this morning.” His lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he addressed you. “You really think you’re better off with him if that’s the way he treats you?”

Taehyung tensed menacingly beside you, but you laid a gentle hand on his arm to calm him.

“None of that is any of your concern.” Your gaze rose to meet his defiantly. “Nothing about me is your concern anymore.”

Milo’s eyes fell to where your palm rested on the other man’s sleeve, noticing the way you both unconsciously leaned toward one another.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, storming off.

After he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thank you,” you whispered (though you couldn’t resist adding), “I could have handled it myself of course…”

Taehyung laughed.

“Oh I know. I was at that party where you knocked out Tyler Jung for grabbing your ass.”

You grinned.

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well I’m sure Tyler hasn’t.”

(He neglected to mention that he split Tyler’s lip behind the library the next day, just to make sure it was extra memorable for him.)

“I wish I could forget about Milo.��

“... Are you still in love with him?”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

“No.” You smiled softly. “I’m not sure I was ever in love with him actually. It’s more—” you sighed, “—embarrassment… wounded pride.”

Taehyung tilted his head curiously and you found yourself continuing.

“In the beginning, he was very playful and charming—and obviously handsome. He reminded me so much of—”

you.

You cleared your throat.

“Anyway… I was quite taken with him at first. I didn’t suspect any ulterior motives.” You shrugged, trying to hold back the unpleasant emotions that always threatened to overrun you in moments like this. “I just thought he liked me.”

Taehyung’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding as you spoke. It felt oddly natural to open up to him this way.

“Jimin is very protective of me—with good reason it turns out. He was suspicious of Milo and hired people to do some discreet digging.”

Your hands wrapped around your body for both warmth and comfort.

“Milo’s family owns several companies, just like ours, but they’re all struggling. His father sent him to me hoping that he would eventually get compromising information… a sex tape or photographs—something of that nature. They intended to blackmail Jimin into doing business with them.”

Taehyung felt his jaw clench painfully. Fury, hot and profound, rolled through him.

“I should kill him.”

You shook your head, amused in spite of yourself.

“That’s exactly what Jimin said.”

“He has good instincts.”

“Scum like Milo aren’t worth it,” you chuckled. “He never got what he wanted… but I was still mortified. I felt like such a fool for believing him.”

“No,” Taehyung’s hands slid up to cup your shoulders, “it’s not foolish to believe that someone cared for you.”

It would be so easy to care for you.

“Besides…” his eyes fell briefly to your lips as he searched for the right words, “I saw the way he looked at you and—even though he’s clearly a terrible person—I believe his feelings may have been genuine.”

You nodded.

“That’s what he keeps trying to tell me—that he did have bad intentions, but ended up falling for me anyway.” You shook your head. “As If I could believe a word he says.”

The silence between you stretched comfortably. Taehyung sensed you had more to say, so he waited until you were ready to voice it.

“I think that’s why I’m so sensitive about handling things on my own lately… and just now even. I want to prove to everyone—to myself—that I’m not a liability.”

“Hey,” he whispered, tipping your chin up till your gazes met, “no one thinks you’re a liability. And even if you are capable, no one should have to fight their own battles all the time—especially when they’re emotionally compromised…” His thumb gently brushed away the small tear that escaped down the curve of your cheek. “That’s the benefit of having people who care about you.”

“... Like you?”

The words left you so softly, you could almost imagine they were still in your head where they likely should have stayed.

Taehyung’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze became even more intent and you ceased breathing altogether. After a moment his lips parted as if he was about to speak-

“What’s going on, guys?”

You both jerked back at the sound of your brother’s voice. He was standing in the entrance to the balcony, gaze darting suspiciously between the two of you.

Taehyung was a bit dazed, but you were always quicker on your feet.

“I ran into Milo… Tae was calming me down.”

Jimin’s eyes hardened immediately.

“Where is he?”

“Long gone,” you mumbled, ambling over to the familiar warmth of his arms. “I just want to go home.”

The Black and White Ball was one of the most coveted invitations of the holiday season.

The dress code was quite strict (all black or all white—no exceptions) and it was one of the few events where people actually arrived in limousines.

Taehyung loathed limousines. He felt absurdly pretentious pulling up to your building in such a gauche ride, but traditions and appearances meant too much in his world to simply disregard them.

His ensemble for the evening was a beautifully tailored black suit with hand-stitched baroque detailing. Oddly, he found himself wondering what you would think of it...

“You look like a vampire.”

Taehyung turned at the sound of your voice and was struck, yet again, by how incredibly beautiful you were.

You had chosen to wear white, donning an exquisite gown with delicate pearl beading and a daring sweetheart neckline that molded perfectly to your frame.

If he looked like a vampire, you were surely an angel.

Still…

Angel or not, he couldn’t let that comment pass.

“I think I’m offended.”

“I can’t imagine why. After all, loads of women are attracted to Nosferatu.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed.

“There are so many sexy vampires in popular culture, but you just had to lump me in with the creepy bald one...”

You shrugged playfully.

“I wouldn’t want you to think I was going soft.”

A wicked grin danced over your lips as you strolled past him regally—just as you had many times before...

This time, however, he let his eyes linger a little longer on the view.

Lord have mercy.

“Of course not,” he coughed.

“You’re what?!”

You rolled your eyes.

Tonight had been going rather well.

The two of you formed a mutual unspoken agreement to pretend that your last encounter on the balcony (and on the phone) had never happened and (despite the heated glances you occasionally traded) the bickering and playful banter characteristic of your relationship had all but returned to normal...

Until Taehyung learned of your participation in the evening’s main event.

“I told you, I’m part of the date auction this year.”

“Does your brother know about this?!”

“I didn’t see any reason to bother him with it.” You were suddenly preoccupied with your nails.

“Woman,” Taehyung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “are you trying to make my life difficult?”

“No, I’m just naturally gifted in that respect.”

You turned and began making your way to the front, but Taehyung was hot on your heels and clearly not ready to let the matter rest.

“I cannot believe you’re actually going through with this! It’s not 1810, you know. We shouldn’t just auction off women for dates—”

“You’re absolutely right, Tae Tae.” You brushed a condescending pat over his cheek. “Nowadays we auction off the men too.”

Then you sauntered off to join the rest of the participating women—and men—backstage, leaving Taehyung to stew about the entire situation from the crowd.

“As you know, all proceeds from tonight’s auction go to fight childhood hunger right here in our city. For legal purposes, I must advise all bidders that you are only bidding on the company of the individual in question.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Jimin is probably going to kill me for this.”

“If you place the winning bid, then you and your date will receive two VIP tickets to the Governor's Winter Wonderland Gala which comes with a variety of amenities including; a luxury limousine service, one of the private and famously romantic Winter Wonderland dinner experiences—”

His eyes fluttered shut. “Jimin is definitely gonna kill me for this.”

“—unlimited free drinks, ten complimentary tickets for each of the grand prize raffles, photos with the Governor and his family, along with many more surprises!”

Taehyung grabbed a champagne flute from a nearby waiter and downed it in one go.

“And now for our first date of the evening! Mr. Jackson Wang!”

Jackson went for a cool six grand because no one was brave enough to outbid his girlfriend.

After him, the beautiful Manoban heiress and her handsome cousin Kim Namjoon went for twelve grand each.

Jung Hoseok started a frenzied bidding war between two young socialites and Mrs. O’Malley. He ended up going to the lovely Ms. Ana Fallon for a staggering twenty thousand dollars.

Taehyung’s own cousin, Kim Seokjin, paid a jaw-dropping twenty-one thousand dollars for Lin Yuna, the young CEO of Lin Cosmetics. (Taehyung made a mental note to ask him about that later.)

Then it was your turn.

“The next lady on our list needs no introduction. The lovely Park Angel has graciously agreed to a date with one lucky bidder tonight! Who will it be? Do I hear ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand.”

Taehyung swung his head toward the first bidder and breathed a sigh of relief.

Tam Martin, one of your best friends and very gay.

“Eleven thousand.”

“Twelve thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sixteen thousand dollars.”

“Seventeen thousand.”

“Eighteen.”

Taehyung was having trouble keeping up with all the bidders. His ears were starting to ring again and a strange unpleasant nausea was building in his stomach.

“Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Thirty thousand!”

At the sound of the last bidder’s voice, you noticeably paled. Your eyes flew to Taehyung’s and immediately he knew exactly who it was.

Milo.

Before he could even react to the new information, another voice joined the fray.

“Forty thousand.”

Min Yoongi smiled smugly from the other side of the room and even had the audacity to throw you a wink.

You smiled shyly at the young heir’s boldness and Taehyung felt something downright unholy rise up in his chest.

No.

Milo was still bidding.

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Not her.

“Sixty,” Yoongi countered.

She’s mine.

Suddenly Taehyung was on his feet.

“One hundred thousand dollars!”

The silence in the backseat of your limousine was deafening.

Tension charged the air like an electric current as the significance of the last hour weighed heavily between you.

The spacious luxury vehicle allowed you to sit facing one another. Taehyung’s eyes were focused on his hands, but you were looking at him—letting your mind run wild with speculation.

And hope.

Part of you was still there, on the stage, watching him stand up and bid a fortune for the pleasure of your company.

His gaze was so fierce when he spoke, like an ancient emperor calling out his decree for the people to obey.

You dreamed about him bidding on you when you signed up for the auction (even before Jimin bullied him into accompanying you). You let yourself imagine him speaking out again and again till the others stepped back—

Yet you never dared hope for it.

However, the last several days marked an unexpected turning point in your relationship.

For years, you and he were like magnets with a too-similar charge, but something had shifted irrevocably between you, and somehow your stubborn similarities became opposites that could not resist their attraction.

Kim Taehyung was one of the wealthiest men in the city…

But he didn’t need to buy your heart.

It had always been his, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

He had claimed you tonight—and every single soul in that ballroom knew it.

The next move was yours and you intended to make it.

“Mmm,” you hissed a bit, bringing your hand to rest just below your breasts.

Taehyung’s gaze flew up in concern.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just that scratch from the earring,” your fingers rubbed gingerly at the spot, drawing his focus to it, “it still stings.”

“Oh… I—” he shook his head, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Do you want to see?”

Taehyung’s eyes rose slowly to yours.

You watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he considered your words. Anticipation vibrated through your blood like notes struck on a piano—

Then he nodded...

And you both were lost.

Trembling fingers slid the zipper down the side of your gown. The dress itself was a marvel of physics designed to support you without the need for a bra.

Taehyung drew in an impossibly deep breath as the fabric drifted to your waist, baring the perfect mounds of your breasts to him entirely.

“Here,” you whispered, pointing to a small red mark just under the curve of your left one.

He bit back a moan.

“I—I see. That looks… painful.” His fingers dug into the seat beside him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

You nodded.

“Kiss it better.”

Taehyung felt the air knock out of his lungs like a sucker punch.

This must have been how Adam felt when Eve offered him the forbidden fruit all those millennia ago.

He knew he shouldn’t—

but he could never deny you.

“Of course.”

You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He looked like a man possessed and you reveled in the power of it.

It was for you.

He wanted you.

Your back arched up the slightest bit, beckoning to him—offering him a taste of what he was so desperately craving.

Touch me… please.

Large palms landed on either side of your thighs, bracing him on the seat beneath you. The tip of his nose teased the delicate line of your collar bone and he swore violently under his breath.

Then his lips were on your skin and your mind went blank.

“Taehyung—“ you moaned.

Hot open-mouthed kisses spread over the soft swell of your breast and you gasped— shuddering helplessly as a fierce wave of pleasure tore through you.

Sweet merciful heavens.

Over the years you imagined a moment like this thousands of times in your head—only to discover now that you had pitifully underestimated both his passion and his skill.

You had dreamed of a quiet fire—but he had unleashed an inferno.

The lewd sounds of his mouth nipping and sucking at your tender flesh filled the small space around you as he poured himself into each obscene contact—stopping briefly to flick his tongue over the taunt peak of your nipple. You trembled breathlessly at the sharp snap of sensation, letting your head fall back against the seat as you buried your fingers in his soft curls.

“T-Tae—”

Finally his mouth fastened over the tiny scratch, and the kiss deepened. You knew what he was doing, what the result of his efforts would be—

He was marking you.

And you wanted it.

Oh how you wanted it.

Suddenly the car took a sharp turn, causing Taehyung to lose his grip on the seat. His arms wrapped around your torso for balance, dragging you fully against him.

“Does it feel better, Angel?” he growled.

You nodded frantically and he nipped at the underside of your breast.

“Speak up.”

“Yes, Taehyung,” you whimpered, “it feels so much better.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, brushing his mouth along the sensitive column of your neck. “Who knew you could be such a good girl?”

Then his hand came up to grip your chin, turning it so your lips were almost against his—

“Madame. We’ve arrived.”

The driver’s voice cut over your senses like a shard of ice.

Taehyung jerked backward and immediately buried his face in his hands.

Your fingers hastily yanked your dress up and you stumbled out of the car in a daze, letting your feet carry you forward until you collapsed on top of your bed.

Did we just...

You hadn’t even begun to collect your thoughts when your phone buzzed from inside your purse.

1 New Message from: Taehyung 🙄🥴🙈

I need to know you made it safely to your room.

You grinned.

Greedy boy.

Back in the limousine, the boy in question was nervously tapping the corner of his phone against his chin as he waited for your reply.

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Oh? But you saw me walk in… and I’m already in bed.

Taehyung growled in frustration.

She would be a tease.

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

I tend to worry. Put my mind at ease.

He shook his head.

I have officially gone insane.

The phone buzzed again.

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Well… We can’t have that can we…

Taehyung literally felt the whine tear out of him as he opened the picture.

Your gorgeous body (the body he’d had his hands and mouth on for one glorious minute) was nestled decadently atop a pile of fluffy blue blankets and wrapped in nothing but a tiny silk robe.

The neck gaped open just enough to show off the pretty red marks he left on the delectable curve of your breast.

He groaned, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

That's all I get after I made the pain go away? Good girls send real proof, Angel

The screen lit up again almost immediately.

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Guess I’m not such a good girl after all...

Jimin came tearing through the Kim Manor front gate at precisely 7 AM—only to find Jungkook camped out at the entrance with several outdoor space heaters and a giant mug of hot chocolate.

“He told you not to let me in, didn’t he?”

Jungkook took a long satisfying sip of his cocoa.

“I hope you don’t feel singled out, sir. I’m not allowed to let his mother in either.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Of course, Mr. Park, let me just pull up his schedule—”

“I need to talk to him now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Kim is booked solid for the morning.”

Jimin stomped his foot like a petulant child.

“I know he’s up there.”

Jungkook grinned.

“You’re welcome to climb the trellis and check. I promise not to stop you if you make it all the way up.”

“COME DOWN HERE AND FACE ME YOU COWARD!” Jimin shouted at the top of his lungs.

Jungkook took another long pull of his drink.

“Might I inquire as to the reason for your visit today, sir?”

“The reason for my visit,” Jimin yanked out his phone and angrily began typing into the search bar, “is that your boss paid ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS for my sister at a date auction last night and I want to know what the hell is going on between them!”

The article Jimin pulled up (DEVILISH KIM TAEHYUNG BUYS HIMSELF A $100,000 ANGEL) featured an image of the two of you entering the Black and White Ball. Your head was thrown back in laughter and Taehyung was grinning down at you as if you’d personally hung all the stars in the sky for him.

A genuine smile crept over Jungkook’s face as he studied the photograph.

“That’s quite a headline.” He handed Jimin’s phone back. “Have you asked your sister about it?”

“No, I swung by earlier, but she wasn’t home so—” His eyes widened. “Oh my—is she—”

Jimin suddenly took off running for the trellis, and Jungkook scrambled out of his chair to chase him.

“KIM TAEHYUNG IF MY SISTER IS IN THAT ROOM—”

He was already three feet off the ground when Jungkook yanked him back.

“I thought you said I could climb the trellis!”

“Yes,” Jungkook wheezed, “but I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” That trellis is a hundred years old! A few more feet and I’d be scraping you off the antique brickwork!”

Jimin scowled and crossed his arms.

“Are you by any chance open to bribes?”

“Normally yes, but Tae promised to double my Christmas bonus if I didn’t accept them today.”

Jimin continued to eye the trellis speculatively, clearly willing to take his chances. Jungkook sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“Mr. Park, I promise you… He came home alone last night. In fact, they both returned earlier than usual because your sister had a 7 AM finance meeting.” He paused significantly to glance at his watch. “Which is probably where she is right now.”

“Oh… Well.”

Jungkook bit his lip to hold back a snort and Jimin’s eyes narrowed.

“He has to come down eventually.”

“One would think.”

The young Park heir glanced toward Taehyung’s window again just in time to see the man in question dart back behind the curtains.

"I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE, KIM TAEHYUNG, YOU PHILANDERING SLEAZE BAG!"

Jimin made another jump for the trellis and this time Jungkook caught him in mid-air.

“Sir, I’m sure it was just the maid!”

“It’s not the maid! I’d know that raggedy mop of his anywhere!”

Jungkook was out of breath at this point. Park Jimin might be small, but he was fierce.

“Perhaps it’s best if you took a moment to collect yourself,” he grunted. “There’s a lovely new spa down the street and they sent Taehyung two free deluxe packages.”

Jimin stopped struggling.

“Oh?”

Five minutes later, Jungkook sighed deeply and fished his phone out of his back pocket.

“He’s gone, sir.”

“Excellent work, Jungkook. I never doubted you for a second.”

“However…”

“... However?”

“I had to give him your spa passes.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“Are you headed for a gala or the guillotine?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes.

“I don’t pay extra for commentary.”

“It’s complimentary, sir.”

The Kim heir tugged absently at the material of his absurdly expensive evening wear.

Why do these events always have to be so uncomfortable?

“Seriously, Tae… you seem,” the young aide searched for the right words, “unusually tense.”

Taehyung’s mind flashed back to three nights ago when he had his mouth wrapped around your breast.

“Not at all,” he coughed, loosening the collar of his shirt.

Jungkook bit his lip.

“Is this about Ms. Park, sir?”

The cufflinks Taehyung was attempting to fasten suddenly went flying across the room and hit a lamp.

Both men winced.

“I think that was your grandmother’s.”

Taehyung sighed.

“I admit there have been… some developments.”

Jungkook nodded nonchalantly, trying to disguise the fact that he was internally frothing at the mouth for details.

“... Such as?”

Taehyung gulped.

“It started out rather innocently I suppose…” he cleared his throat, “but there may have been some suggestive photographs.”

“There may have been? Are you not sure?”

Taehyung colored guiltily.

“Well—”

“Do you need me to check for you, sir? I have an art history degree.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook grinned.

“That’s what I thought.”

Taehyung yanked his tie out of the younger man’s hand.

“Things have… escalated a bit.”

“Escalated how?”

I licked her tit in the back of a limo.

“Physically.”

It was everything Jungkook could do to maintain a straight face.

“That’s… shocking.”

“Then why don’t you seem shocked?” Taehyung grumbled.

A small smile played across Jungkook’s lips as he pointedly ignored the elder man’s observation.

“So what are you going to do, sir?”

Taehyung was silent for a long moment.

“I honestly have no idea.”

Watching you walk toward him was an experience.

Taehyung wondered absently if this was how it would be from now on; if for the rest of his life just the sight of you would be enough to scatter his mind and his pulse and even the way he breathed.

Your dress tonight was deadly.

It was a decadent red satin halter that clung to every curve. The truly wicked detail, however, was a daring slit that ran the entire length of your leg.

Taehyung was certain he was going to trip over his own tongue at some point if he looked directly at you for too long.

Oh help.

Memories of your previous encounter flooded his senses. Every second you were getting closer and he didn’t know what to do—what to say.

So he didn’t say anything at all.

Not a word when you reached the bottom of the stairs. Nothing but silence as he opened the door of the limo for you. More silence and no eye contact as he settled into the seat across from yours—

And you tolerated that for about three minutes.

“I never thought I’d see the day when Kim Taehyung didn’t have a comment about something. Perhaps I should mark this down on my calendar.”

The words were lightly spoken, but you were shaking on the inside. The last time the two of you were alone together he had your dress around your waist and you were moaning his name. Now he wasn’t talking and you were torn between panic and irritation.

Taehyung, however, latched onto your passive barb like a lifeline.

“Is that a hint of sarcasm I hear from the benevolent Park Angel?” He grinned. “Surely not.”

“Red is not a particularly angelic color. Perhaps I’m feeling feisty today.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat and indulged himself in a thorough examination of your outfit. The urge to run his hands over the satin-covered lines of your body was nearly unbearable. He curled his fingers into fists to keep them from doing just that.

She is definitely trying to kill me.

“Should I be worried?”

Now it was your turn to grin.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

The Governor’s Winter Wonderland Gala was by far the most extravagant event of the holiday season. Tickets cost a small fortune and sold out almost immediately.

But it was well worth the price of admission.

Thousands of lights sparkled overhead as you made your way through the great hall of Governor Kim’s mansion.

It was like stepping into a fairytale.

Taehyung couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sheer wonder in your expression was breathtaking.

You were breathtaking.

“Governor Kim, it is such an honor to finally meet you.”

The Governor was a handsome man in his early fifties with a smile that was every bit as lethal as it had been twenty-five years ago.

“The honor is all mine, Ms. Park. I trust my nephew is treating you well.”

Your eyes widened.

“N-nephew?”

Taehyung shrugged.

“I don’t really talk about it much.”

The Governor chuckled and you cleared your throat to cover your nervousness.

“Yes, he’s been a very capable escort.”

“Is that so?” Governor Kim smiled charmingly. “Well if it doesn’t work out, my son Seokjin is still single—”

“Thank you, Uncle. It was lovely to see you as always.”

You squeaked as Taehyung placed his hand firmly on the curve of your back and practically dragged you away.

The Governor just shook his head and laughed.

“Oh kid, you’ve got it bad.”

Everywhere you looked there was beauty.

Whoever planned the gala this year had truly gone above and beyond. Surrounded on all sides by glittering trees and snowy vignettes, it was easy to be swept away in the festive magic of the evening.

All in all (despite some initial awkwardness), you were having a fantastic time...

Until she showed up.

“Kim Taehyung! Is that you?”

Every single hair on your body stood on end, but before you could determine the source of the shrill squealing, you found yourself being nudged aside by a blinding golden gown and some very high heels.

“Aubrey,” Taehyung grunted as five-and-half feet of gorgeous wrapped herself around him like a clinging vine. “Long time no see.”

“Not since that vacation in Aspen,” she giggled. “We had quite a time, didn’t we Tae Tae!”

Suddenly you had the most unholy urge to slap the spray tan right off this woman.

Instead, you plastered on a vibrant smile and placed your hand on Taehyung’s sleeve.

“Um. Excuse me, Tae Tae, perhaps you could introduce us?”

Taehyung looked as if he’d just been served raw fire ants for dinner.

“Yes. Of course. This is—”

“Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine,” she interrupted with a smug little smirk. “Taehyung and I go way back.” Her expression grew just the slightest bit tighter. “And you are?”

“His date,” you deadpanned.

“Aubrey,” Taehyung cleared his throat, “I’d like you to meet Ms. Park she’s—”

“Oh my goodness! You’re Jimin’s little sister aren't you!” Aubrey slapped her hand over his chest and he winced. “That is so precious of you to take her around like this!”

Your eyebrows raised right up into your hairline and Taehyung groaned.

“Yes, he was kind enough to sign me out of the nursery for the evening.” You offered them both a painfully vacant nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I see one of my play-dates near the buffet.”

Then you turned on your heel and sauntered off without another word.

Taehyung moved to follow you, but Aubrey curled her fingers into the crook of his arm and pulled him back.

“Oh let her go, Tae. You and I have so much catching up to do.”

Taehyung pointedly removed her hand from his elbow.

“Some other time perhaps.”

Aubrey pouted prettily.

“You’re not running off after her are you? She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

Taehyung crossed his arms and fixed her with a knowing look.

“Funny... that’s not what you were implying a moment ago.”

“A moment ago I didn’t have you all to myself. Now I do.” She had the decency to blush. “Perhaps I got a bit jealous.”

“You don’t say.” His eyes continued to search the crowd for any sign of you.

“It seems I had good reason to be,” she murmured quietly.

“Aubrey... Listen I—”

She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“Don’t bother Tae Tae. I’m petty, but I’ve never been pathetic.”

He grinned.

“Never.”

The lady sighed and gave him a heated once over.

“What a shame.”

Then she strolled off with a rueful smile.

“You know what I don’t understand?”

You turn to find Min Yoongi leaning casually against a nearby column. He looked absurdly handsome as always, but his grin was just the slightest bit mischievous.

“What don’t you understand, Mr. Min?”

The question was clearly a bait, but you were still fuming from your earlier encounter with Ms. St. Valentine and therefore desperately in need of a distraction.

Yoongi pushed off the column and lazily made his way toward you.

“I don’t understand how a man pays a hundred thousand dollars for an evening with the most beautiful woman in the city, and then leaves her all by herself.” He leaned forward with a playful grin. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

Oh he’s good.

You made a show of tapping your chin thoughtfully.

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that one.”

Yoongi sighed and shook his head.

“Couldn’t be me.”

You laughed then. He really was a delightful man. In fact, if you still had your heart, you might have considered letting him take a shot at it.

Alas.

You tilted your head speculatively.

Surely there was no need to brush away good company...

After all, no one else is interested in spending time with me.

“Since my escort is otherwise occupied, perhaps you could join me for dinner?”

Yoongi held out his hand.

“I’d be delighted.”

Taehyung wandered around the mansion for nearly forty-five minutes looking for his date.

Panic was just starting to build in his chest when he finally spotted you

—at his private dining table with Min Yoongi.

It was everything he could do not to storm over and yank the other man out of his seat by the lapels.

Alright, Angel. If this is the game you want to play… then let’s play.

Taehyung felt his anger rise with every step, but he ruthlessly suppressed any sign of it and instead adopted a charming smile.

“Min, I didn’t expect to find you here. What a… delightful surprise.”

Yoongi’s expression was just a shade too satisfied. Taehyung could already feel his blood pressure beginning to skyrocket.

“Yes, Ms. Park believed that you were otherwise occupied and invited me to share the meal with her.”

“I see,” Taehyung practically snarled. “However,” his gaze landed heavily on you, “since I paid for this table, I hope you won’t mind if I join you as well?”

You avoided looking at him up to this point, but now you were choking on your wine

“Easy there, Angel,” Taehyung murmured as he pulled up a seat extremely close to yours—so close that your thighs were nearly touching.

Oh boy.

Over the next several minutes Yoongi continued to flirt openly and you continued to smile prettily and pretend Taehyung wasn’t there (which naturally infuriated him).

You should have known he wouldn’t let you get away with such behavior so easily.

This was Kim Taehyung, after all, and if there was anything that could be counted on when it came to your shared history, it was that one (or both) of you was always ready to escalate.

You had just offered the young Min heir yet another flowery compliment when you felt Taehyung make his move.

Two warm fingers slid under the silken slit of your dress, coming to rest possessively over the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

You squeaked and nearly spat up your drink.

Taehyung leaned forward in fake concern, wrapping his arm around you as if to offer aid.

“Are you alright?”

His hand continued to move significantly beneath your gown, but his face was the picture of innocence.

You glared.

“Just fine, thank you.”

A slow grin crept across his features as he began to trace soft intimate patterns over your skin.

On the other side of the table, Yoongi tilted his head in genuine solicitude. “Are you sure?”

You nodded sharply.

Satisfied, he resumed speaking about whatever it was he’d been saying—though you couldn’t understand a word of it at this point because the torturous strokes Taehyung was leisurely drawing over your thighs were moving closer to your center with each passing second.

Yet you made no move to stop him.

You should have.

You should have slapped his touch away—rebuked him for his boldness—

But you didn’t.

So he just kept nodding and smiling while Yoongi spoke, even as his fingers teased you with the maddening persistence of a man who knew very well what he was doing.

You gasped aloud when he finally brushed the pad of his thumb over the thin cotton of your panties.

“T-Taehyung—”

“Hmm?” he turned to you, seemingly surprised by your attention (it was—after all—the first time you’d addressed him since the beginning of the meal).

“Could you pass me the salt,” you sputtered (hoping to cover the fact that you moaned his name involuntarily). Unfortunately, Taehyung seemed wholly aware of your ruse, offering you the salt shaker with a superior smirk.

You seriously considered stabbing him with a fork.

However, before you could carry out any bloodthirsty plans, he pressed his fingers directly over your clit and your eyes rolled back in your head

“Oh my g—” you bit your lip stubbornly, “this lamb is just so good.”

Sweet mother of macaroons, he is too skilled at this.

You shoveled another bite into your mouth to cover your whine as Taehyung began to rub tight little circles over your sweet spot.

Across the table, Yoongi nodded in blissful unawareness.

“Yes, I agree, the lamb is excellent—very tender.”

Taehyung took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip beneath the fabric of your undergarment.

Your fork clattered to your plate and your hand came up to cover your mouth as he began running his fingers up and down your soaked slit.

It was everything you could do to hold back your depraved whimpering.

“I can’t wait to taste it,” Taehyung replied, flicking your clit in a way that guaranteed he wasn’t referring to the lamb.

At this point Yoongi seemed to notice you were in some sort of distress. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned forward.

“Ms. Park, are you well?”

Taehyung chose that moment to sink his finger into the welcoming heat of your pussy.

“Yes,” you almost sobbed, “I’m-I’m very well—thank you.”

“Excellent,” Yoongi smiled as he rose to his feet. “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you could favor me with a dance?”

Several attendees were already making their way to the center of the floor and the orchestra was beginning to play.

Your entire body, however, was vibrating like a plucked harp string and Taehyung was still brushing back and forth against your clit, driving you toward a release that promised to be explosive.

There was no way—simply no way—that you would be capable of hiding it.

“Yes! I would love to dance with you,” you squeaked, grabbing hold of Taehyung’s wrist frantically. The feel of him pulling out of your sopping core was nearly enough to have you coming right there.

Thankfully, Yoongi remained utterly oblivious to the debauchery unfolding beneath the table. He took your hand and helped you to your feet with an eager smile (and it was a good thing too because your legs were still shaking).

When the two of you reached the dance floor, you turned back for the briefest instant—

just long enough to meet Taehyung’s heated gaze as his lips closed over the finger he buried in your cunt.

Emotions were a funny thing.

They impacted your judgement, affected your body, altered your behavior…

And occasionally eroded your common sense.

Sitting alone in the corner of the Governor’s ballroom, Kim Taehyung found himself experiencing a full spectrum of emotional side-effects.

His hands clenched as he watched Min Yoongi spin you around the floor.

His heart pounded every time he caught a flash of your shapely leg peeking through the slit in your gown.

His blood boiled when you threw your head back and laughed at something the other man said.

It was difficult to pinpoint which emotion was to blame for each of these reactions. There were certainly a number of them boiling over in his subconscious.

Frustration—

I didn’t even want to talk to Aubrey! How are you acting like anything she said was my fault?!

Rage—

Why is challenging people to duels illegal? I would fight Min Yoongi at dawn. I would fight Min Yoongi now.

Jealousy—

You asked her to dance while my fingers were in her pussy. We are not the same.

But perhaps the most persistent—the most overwhelming— emotion twisting through him was longing.

You and Taehyung spent nearly four years apart, and he was so desperate to be near you—even then—that he resorted to childish pranks in order to remain a part of your life.

He hadn’t recognized his actions or desires for what they were. He hadn’t realized what you meant to him...

But now, after spending the last several days with your hand on his arm and your laughter in his ear, he could no longer imagine spending another moment without you.

Everything seemed to crystallize as he watched you laughing and dancing in the arms of another man.

Uncertainty became clear. Complications became simple.

And when he saw Min Yoongi’s hand slide dangerously close to the perfect swell of your backside—

Emotion became action.

“Mind if I cut in?”

It wasn’t a question really. Taehyung was already shouldering his rival out of the way and pulling you into his arms.

“Taehyung,” you hissed, shooting the bewildered Yoongi an apologetic look over his shoulder, “what are you doing? This is so rude—”

“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, sweeping you through the couples on the floor with practiced ease. “It is unpardonably rude to steal someone else’s date. He’s lucky all I did was steal you back.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“Oh? So you finally remembered that I was your date?”

Taehyung’s grip on the curve of your waist became a shade rougher as he pulled you through the next turn.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” you stepped forward vigorously, nearly smashing your body into his, “—that you spent forty-five minutes with Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine when you were supposed to be having dinner with me!”

Taehyung growled and yanked you flush against him.

“I spent forty-five minutes looking for you while you were giving away my table to Min Yoongi!”

The two of you sailed through the next several movements glaring at one another before you snapped again.

“None of this would have happened if you had just told Aubrey St. Spray Tan that you were with me—”

“I did!”

“Instead, you let her call me a baby!”

“What let? Aubrey is a grown woman!”

“But—”

“And—you stormed off before I could say anything, so how would you know what I let?”

“You didn’t come after me!”

“Yes actually I did—but she grabbed my arm!”

“Really? Well what else did she grab?”

Taehyung abruptly realized how silent everything around you had become.

People were staring—and not even discreetly— just full on staring with their mouths hanging open.

Well that’s great.

Taehyung’s hand closed around yours and you suddenly found yourself being marched across the dance floor at a breakneck pace.

“What are you doing?”

“Continuing this discussion in private.”

“We can’t just go somewhere private in the Governor’s mansion!” you sputtered, struggling to keep up with his larger strides.

“You mean in my uncle’s house? Yes—actually we can—and we will.”

Taehyung proved to be a man of his word, dragging you past two security guards and into the roped off section of the manor with nothing more than a nod.

The residential wing of the Governor’s home was beautifully decorated with traditional Korean artistic touches—all of which you were unable to appreciate while Taehyung was speed walking you through the halls.

After a surprising amount of turns and archways, he yanked open an ornate wooden door with the words Reflection Suite written on a plaque above it in beautiful calligraphy.

You almost giggled when you got a look inside.

On the surface it was a tastefully furnished guest room with a simple cherry wood desk and a cozy double bed set in an elegant matching frame.

However—

The ceiling and one full wall were nothing but massive mirrors.

Reflection suite indeed.

The door slammed shut and Taehyung rounded on you with a stormy expression—though you weren’t waiting on him to fire the first volley.

“This is definitely going to get us in trouble.”

“I told you, I can go wherever I want in this house. It’s fine.”

“Then why did you take us here?”

“Because you were shouting—”

“I was shouting?! You were shouting I just—”

Suddenly your back was against the wall and Taehyung’s mouth was on yours.

He hadn’t brought you here for this. When he grabbed your hand, he was only trying to get away from the crowds. He told himself that he needed privacy so you could talk—so he could clarify things.

But the minute the door closed and you flared up again in all your magnificent rage, he was lost.

He had to kiss you then.

You were so lovely. So fierce. So wildly irresistible and he was too utterly smitten to fight the need to be near you—to be with you in every way that he could—for a single second more.

The shock of Kim Taehyung pressing his lips to yours lasted about two full seconds—and then there was nothing but ravenous insatiable need.

Finally.

Everything was him.

Everything was this—this sweet indescribable ignition of a desire that spanned years. You moaned eagerly against his mouth in wanton delight. After a decade of sparks, you were more than ready to burn.

“Taehyung—”

His name poured out of you like a prayer. You needed him everywhere and miraculously he seemed to understand—

Not that he was prepared to be polite about it.

“Where’s that smart mouth now, Angel?” he growled, tangling his hands in your hair to expose the tender column of your throat. “Nothing to say?”

Your only answer was a desperate whine as he spread hot-open mouthed kisses down the soft skin of your neck all the way to your collarbone.

Now was not the time for patience. He would be tender with you later. You absolutely deserved soft sweet caresses and slow leisurely love making and he was absolutely going to give them to you—every day if you’d let him.

But not today.

The minute his mouth encountered the barrier of your dress, he gripped onto the sides and yanked it down to your waist.

“You knew just what you were doing in the back of that limo, you little brat,” he hissed, taking one swollen nipple into his mouth and tormenting it with his tongue.

“Tae-ahhh!” Your back arched involuntarily in ruthless pleasure.

“I spent hours—days even—wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits.” He licked the other nipple obscenely, squeezing the soft mound till it bulged through his fingers. “And you offered me the barest taste with that coy little grin, knowing it wouldn’t be enough—”

He reared back and landed a firm slap on both breasts and you screamed.

It was so so good.

“Look at them now,” he murmured, “so swollen and needy and mine.”

If any other man had said those words, you would have cut his heart out with a butter knife.

But you had always belonged to this man body and soul, and to hear him acknowledge it so primitively felt like the sweetest vindication.

“Yes!” you sobbed.

The affirmation only inflamed him further. He teased and fondled the tender flesh till you were shaking.

Your fingers curled into the soft waves of his hair as he indulged himself. He looked so ridiculously good sucking your nipple, moaning lewdly with his eyes pressed shut in cathartic bliss.

“This is all your fault, Angel,” he groaned. “You just don’t know how to behave.”

His hands gripped the curve of your backside, lifting you right off the floor and into his arms. Your mouths fused together heatedly as he carried you to the bed, and you giggled against him when his words finally processed.

“You’ve been saying that for years.”

“It’s been true for years,” he muttered, pulling one of your legs up around him so he could grind against your cunt while you kissed.

Your fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt, tearing them off when they didn’t unhook fast enough. You waited too long to be with him like this to care about anything other than the feel of his skin against your own.

“Impatient, are we?” he chuckled, bringing his lips around to nip at your ear.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, yanking the ruined garment right off his shoulder just so you could sink your teeth into it.

Taehyung moaned loudly, snapping his hips against yours with an involuntary jerk.

“You really are such a brat,” he hissed, fisting his hands in the satin length of your skirt. “Let’s see how fierce you are with my tongue in your pussy—”

His words were so filthy and raw, yet they stoked a frenzied need in your belly like nothing you had ever encountered.

“This dress is evil,” he snarled, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before switching to a more destructive tactic. “It has tormented me all night and now it’s in my way.”

The stitching proved no match for his resolve, and—after a few vigorous tugs—he ripped it apart from the slit on up, leaving you covered in nothing but the thin cotton underwear he had breached earlier that evening.

After disposing of your shredded gown, Taehyung paused for a moment just to take in the sight of you.

“What a perfect little angel,” he taunted playfully, snapping the band of your lingerie against your hips with a cocky grin.

Then he brushed his nose right up against the sopping fabric and inhaled deeply. “You smell just like heaven,” he growled before licking you right through the cloth, “and you taste even better.”

The sensations twisting through your body were merciless. You needed more or you were going to shake apart.

“Taehyung please,” you whined, pressing against him shamelessly.

“Oh a please?” he chuckled, throwing your own words from the first night back at you. “Who knew you had manners?”

You would have screamed in frustration, but he cut you off with an open mouthed kiss right over the wettest part of your panties.

“Perhaps I can make a good girl of you yet,” he chuckled, as you opened yourself wider to encourage him.

You nodded frantically, letting out another moan when he yanked the flimsy little scrap of lace down your legs—smearing a line of arousal over your thighs.

“So messy,” he tsked, tapping his finger right above your knee where the naughty little streak ended. “What am I going to do with you?”

Then he pressed his tongue over the shiny trail of slick and licked it right off.

You gasped loudly and his lascivious smirk was almost beautiful enough to make up for all of the shameless teasing.

Almost.

"You want my mouth, pretty Angel?” he whispered, letting the words brush maddeningly against your folds. “You want me to feed on this sweet little cunt?”

Every cell in your body cried out for release. He already edged you under the table at dinner and now he was determined to unravel you entirely. You would say anything—do anything.

"Please—" you whispered.

"Please who?"

Normally you met his arrogance with a cutting riposte, but an entire evening of methodical torment had left you beyond desperate.

"Please Taehyung,” you begged needily.

He grinned.

“That’s right, Angel. Kim Taehyung. Not Min Yoongi or any other pathetic trust fund prick that’s panting for a taste of this pussy.” His eyes fastened on yours significantly. “You belong to me.”

Then his tongue licked a flat stripe over your glistening slit and you sagged onto the bed in relief—only to be thrown back into oblivion when his lips closed over your clit.

Your body arched involuntarily as a ruthless wave of pleasure tore through you. Your eyes and mouth flew open in a silent scream and it was in that moment you remembered exactly where you were.

Underneath a giant mirror.

The passionate woman staring down at you was nearly unrecognizable. Her body was littered with her lover’s marks. Her hands gripped feverishly into the sheets beneath her—-

And Kim Taehyung was kneeling between her thighs, suckling on her weeping cunt with obscene satisfaction.

It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your life.

Your hands reached down to tangle in his hair, using it for leverage as you ground against his face.

Then suddenly his grip on your legs tightened and his tongue plunged roughly into your trembling core.

“Tae—ahh oh my—I can’t—”

The sensation was so intense that your hips bucked violently. You could not keep still. You were charging towards an explosion and your body was shaking itself apart.

The noises tearing from you were incoherent. Everything around you focused in on the juncture of your thighs where Taehyung was licking inside of you again and again until—

You shattered.

And the force of it nearly bent your back in half.

Delirious sobs poured from your lips as he worked you through it, letting the obscene flood of your cum soak his face.

The sight of him slowly lapping at the release between your folds, was unspeakably erotic. He ran his hands in soothing circles over your skin while you twitched and fluttered back down from your high.

Then he was kissing you again.

It was softer this time, but you felt truly depraved—and instantly obsessed—with the taste of yourself in his mouth—on his skin.

You could barely understand this ravenous hunger. You’d just found relief, yet you were already reaching for more.

Your hands snaked down and wrapped around his still covered cock and he hissed in ragged pleasure.

“So eager,” he gasped, as you pushed him back against the headboard—but you didn’t have time to bother with his teasing.

You were gonna blow Kim Taehyung into space.

He bit his lip when you yanked down his pants and boxers together, freeing his arousal with stunning efficiency.

It was almost unfair to discover that his cock was every bit as beautiful as he was.

“Of course,” you muttered.

The sultry smirk he shot you in return had your cunt flooding all over again.

“You think Min Yoongi has a cock like mine?”

“I don’t think about Min Yoongi’s cock,” you retorted, wrapping your hand around his length, “you’ve always been the biggest dick I’ve ever met.”

“I knew you thought about my dick,” he groaned as you began to work up and down the swollen shaft.

After a moment, his hand slid over your chin to grip your hair, drawing you forward till your lips were almost touching.

“I wonder what this pretty mouth can do,” he whispered.

You gasped against him and he smiled.

“Do you know how often I pictured your lips around my cock, Angel?”

You mewled shamelessly and he growled, cupping your cheek as your hands continued to service him.

“Do you know how often I imagined this perfect throat stuffed full of my cum?”

His palm slid down to lightly grip the soft flesh of your neck and you shuddered against him with a needy whimper.

“I know you could suck me so good, Angel. I’ve wanted it for so so long...”

Your mouth actually watered with anticipation.

The desire to be good for him—to give him whatever he asked for—consumed you.

Taehyung let his head fall back against the headboard with a groan at the first brush of your lips along his shaft. His hips rutted involuntarily as your tongue wrapped around the tip and you hummed with pleasure at his enthusiastic response.

After a moment you slid him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, taking him in as far as you could in one stroke. His jaw dropped open and his entire body jerked forward.

“Yes, that’s it, Angel—feels so good.”

His praise was addictive.

You loved that you could bring him to this. You loved to see the haughty Kim Taehyung coming apart as you sucked him.

It made you feel beautiful—powerful even—and you reveled in every second of it.

Your eyes were starting to tear. His length began to throb and pulse against your tongue and you knew he was close—so close you could almost taste him—

Yet suddenly he was pulling you back and you whined pitifully at the loss.

Taehyung chuckled, dragging you toward him till your dripping core slid across his cock.

“I’m not coming before I get inside that pretty little pussy,” he swore, working your hips over his sex till it was drenched in arousal.

The crass words filled you with the fiercest, most incredible want and you clenched reflexively against him in response.

“Is that what you want?” Taehyung whispered as he bore you back into the mattress, pinning both your wrists above your head. “You want me to fill your empty little cunt?”

You did.

You wanted it so so bad.

“Please.”

Taehyung gently lowered himself closer to you, resting his forehead intimately against yours as he lined up his cock at your entrance.

“Are you sure, Angel? Because there’s no going back after this... If you give yourself to me, then you’re mine—and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you.”

“Taehyung, you idiot,”—a tender smile spread over your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck—“... I’ve always been yours.”

He swore violently—letting the slight tremble in his voice betray just how deeply your words affected him.

Then his fingers tightened on the soft flesh of your hip and he filled you to the hilt with one delicious thrust.

There was a moment—the smallest space in time—where your eyes locked together and everything seemed to suspend; a strange perfect calm before a monumental storm.

Then your world caught fire.

Taehyung drove himself into you with passionate fury, letting years of denial fuel the insatiable rhythm of his strokes.

Every time he told himself no. Every time he held himself back—

Every bit of it burned away as you screamed his name.

The feel of him was indescribable.

You imagined it too many times to count, yet your dreams fell pitifully short of the visceral reality.

He was bloomin’ magnificent.

Your fingers clawed up and down his back, desperate to hold on to something while he pounded into your g-spot like an animal.

“This tiny cunt is the tightest thing I’ve ever had around my cock,” he gasped and you whined needily at his praise. “Like it was made for me—” his hand came up to grip your breast, “like you were made for me.”

“Yes—”

Taehyung’s need seemed to amplify with every whimper and moan that fell from your lips. The feelings you sparked in him were fierce and unapologetically primitive.

He would go to war for you—build a fortress for you—fight a dragon if one dared come close.

You were his.

And he felt like a savage every time you cried out for more.

Suddenly an unexpected movement in his periphery caught his attention.

He’d been so consumed with the extraordinary rush of claiming you that he’d forgotten—

This guest room was thirty-five percent mirrors.

And now… he couldn’t look away.

The sight of your bodies tangling together in headless bliss played out before him like a scene from his most debauched and forbidden fantasies. His reflection grinned back at him in fascinated ecstasy while his beloved nemesis lost herself in the pleasure of his cock.

Something dark and wild began to burn in his chest as he studied the lovers in the glass.

“Look at you, Angel,” he whispered softly, “you really are perfect.”

Then he pulled out of your core and you whined bitterly in protest, chasing his body to rid yourself of the sudden unacceptable emptiness.

“Still so needy,” he taunted, gripping your hips and flipping you on your stomach before you could even think to protest.

“I want you to watch that pretty angel in the mirror come on my cock,” he groaned, plunging back into you from behind.

The new angle was somehow impossibly deeper and your body shook as another wave of pleasure overtook it.

Your fingers clawed into the mattress for purchase as he pistoned into your trembling mound.

Only Kim Taehyung could rail you like a whore while he worshiped you like a queen.

He gave you a moment to adjust before drawing your body back against his chest. His arm wrapped over your stomach as he slowly eased your legs apart, unfolding the lewd tableau of your bodies joined together for the voyeuristic gaze of the glass.

“Look at yourself, Angel,” he growled, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced with every thrust. “Look at how well you're taking me.”

Then his fingers slid down to rub your clit and you screamed.

“Tae! Ah-ahh!”

The pleasure building within you now was violent. You were coiling too tightly, too fast—

“That’s right Angel. Take it all.”

Your eyes locked with his in the mirror for the briefest instant.

And then you flew apart.

Taehyung threw his head back with a carnal moan as you clamped down around him. His body was hurtling toward its own release with reckless speed.

“I’m close,” he panted, “where can I come?”

“Come inside me please,” you begged, and Taehyung’s eyes widened in frenzied lust.

“That’s what you want? Huh?” his thrusts became rougher as he chased his relief, “You want me to fill this puffy little pussy with my cum?”

“Yes, I want it so bad—“ you sobbed.

“Sweet Angel,” he groaned, gripping at your breasts as he pulled you tighter against him.

Then he met your gaze in the mirror again.

“I want everything with you; a home—a family—your body in my arms every morning when I wake up—” his voice trembled, “I want it all.”

The raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you.

“Tae,” you gasped softly, too overcome with joy to manage anything else.

His mouth pressed hungrily against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his cock throbbing in your core as he bent you forward, pounding into your sex with exquisite precision.

"Stay with me, Angel,” he whispered. His thrusts became erratic as he neared his high. “I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

The glorious thrill of his words tore over your senses with euphoric brutality. Your walls tightened greedily around his cock and the taunt cord of pleasure finally snapped.

He came with a broken groan, flooding the welcoming heat of your womb with his release.

“KIM TAEHYUNG!”

The sound of his name being shouted by the absolute last person in the world whose voice he wanted to hear woke Taehyung from a dead sleep.

His eyes widened in panic as he began yanking pillows and covers from all over the bed in a frenzied attempt to hide—

The doors to his bedroom flew open with a resounding crash.

“Jimin,” he squeaked, trying to look as casual as possible next to a giant pile of bedding. “What uh—what brings you here at—” his eyes darted to the clock on the wall, “—7:30 in the morning?”

Then he frowned.

“And how the hell did you get past Jungkook?”

Jimin’s murderous expression broke momentarily to allow for a smug grin.

“Kendra.”

Kendra Jackson was Jimin’s executive aide. She was fierce, capable, intelligent—

And insanely gorgeous.

Taehyung groaned.

Poor Jungkookie never stood a chance.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, yet another newspaper landed on Taehyung’s lap.

KIM HEIR BRINGS NAUGHTY ANGEL HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Underneath the headline was a picture of you and Taehyung (dressed in clothes you stole from Jin’s childhood bedroom) kissing passionately against the side entrance of the Governor’s mansion.

One of your legs was wrapped around his waist and he was clearly grabbing your ass.

“Ah… well you see the camera distorts everything from this angle—and-and the lighting is bad so it’s not really what it looks like—”

“Is that so? Cause it looks like you’ve got your tongue down my baby sister’s throat!”

“Okay—okay,” Taehyung massaged his forehead nervously, “so maybe it’s sort of what it looks like but—”

“I’ll kill you.”

“No wait—” he held up his hands to delay an already advancing Jimin.

“Why should I wait?!”

“Because—”

“—I trusted you with the most important person in the world to me—”

“The situation is just not that simple.”

“—and you grabbed her ass in public!”

“Admittedly not my finest hour.”

“So you tell me right now—”

“But you don’t understand it’s—”

“—Why the hell would I wait?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!”

For a moment there was absolute silence.

Then your head popped out from the massive pile of bedding.

“Really?”

Jimin’s mouth fell open.

Taehyung groaned again.

“As usual, your timing is impeccable.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment.

“Are you really in love with me?”

“Of course I’m in love with you! What part of I want you to have my children did you not understand?!”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jimin choked.

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is for me!”

A radiant smile lit up your face.

“I’m in love with you too.”

Taehyung’s expression softened.

“Angel I—”

Then you were kissing and Jimin swung around with a horrified shout.

“Oh! No no no—Come on!”

He stumbled out of the room, hands firmly clamped over his eyes.

“This is not over, Kim Taehyung!” the scandalized young Park heir howled in exasperation… but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Back in the bedroom, Taehyung shook his head at Jimin’s ridiculous caterwauling.

“No, it’s not over,” he laughed, pulling you deeper into the comfort of his arms. “It’s only just begun.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story.

This baby took FOR-EVER to write. I started it in November and literally worked on it a little every day.

If you enjoyed it— even just a tiny bit—please consider taking a moment to leave me some feedback. It is so incredibly uplifting and rewarding to hear reader thoughts and reactions to my work.

I promise to treasure every word like gold. It took a lot to bring this story to life. Your kind words would mean the world to me.

6K notes · View notes

absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

Text

MC’s half Demon, and they look AWFULLY familiar...

‘Kay guys, I got a different kind of stupid Headcanon to throw at you. Get ready!

Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Part 2.5 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

*ahem* picture if you will, it’s the day the exchange program is set to start. The student council (nix Mr. Kill All Humans, Weeb-supreme, and our Scummy Sweetheart) have assembled to welcome the new human student. All is going according to schedule, the portal opens up at eight am sharp, they hear the pitiful screams of the selected human who was not given a heads up about the whole thing, and the poor little human falls straight onto the marble floor.

There’s something a tad... off about this human don’t you think? After they’ve peeled their sorry ass off the floor they observed the assembled student council with an air of sophistication and self importance that no one expected. Their posture was perfect, their eyes sharp and calculating... they bared a striking resemblance to-

“Lucifer,” Diavolo looked to his right hand man, then back to the human. “The human kind of looks like you!”

And out popped four pitch black wings from the human’s back and two small horns out of the sides of their head, one horn was a bit bigger than the other. They even still had some of their down feathers! How cute!

((Content warning: Swearing (I have a potty mouth, forgive me), but that’s it.))

Luci-dad

So, the MC is Lucifer’s kid! Of course Mr. Prideypants immediately tries to recall exactly what little romp in the human world uh... spawned this half-human half-demon child of his. Good thing MC’s got the other parent on speed-dial.

“Please note, MC,” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose upon hearing Asmo take even more pictures of his newly discovered hellspawn. “I was not aware of your existence, if I was I’d-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not upset.”

Lucifer blinked a few times in surprise. “P...pardon? You aren’t upset?”

“No, my parent told me that my father was a high ranking demon, and they bare no ill will against you. Though, I am looking forward to this whole... exchange program thing.”

Oh wow, that was easier than Lucifer thought. Damn. Well, he was a father... (let’s be real, he’s been parenting his brothers for thousands of years, and a good chunk of you sinners call him daddy)

MC is probably the most protected student at RAD, despite the fact that they have no visible security detail whatsoever. They didn’t want to be seen as... weak and pathetic.

Something about this human just... set the lesser demons on edge. Any talk of eating them was stamped out on the first day when they walked by. It’s like Lucifer himself was staring at them, daring the demons to try and bother the human. MC’s powerful presence kept them protected and feared.

...at least until dear uncle Asmo decided to do their hair one morning. All those ribbons may have looked adorable but they kind of ruined the intimidation factor.

MC loved to mess with the other students, keeping their lineage a secret for the first little while just made it so much funnier when the other demons tried to scramble out of MC’s way without looking like they were running from the ‘weak little human exchange student’.

Oh wow, what a sadist. Like father like child

Flying lessons are a must. Poor MC isn’t terribly good at controlling their wings, and their horns are still growing in so when they pop into their demon form the first thing they get is a sore skull. Ow... it sucks that Lucifer isn’t outwardly very sympathetic.

“Ow!” MC crashed face first into the grass in the backyard of the House of Lamentation. “Father! My wings are cramping! Can’t we practice this tomorrow?”

The sight of seeing his dear child crash face first into the ground had lost its hilarity after the first three times. Lucifer slowly lowered himself to the ground and crossed his arms as he stood over his incredibly grass-stained kid.

“MC, we’ve been ‘practicing this tomorrow’ for the past month. If you want to learn to fly you’re going to have to actually manage to stay in the air for more than three minutes.”

MC shot Lucifer a withering glare that only preteens were capable of, Lucifer matched it with his own much more sophisticated glare.

“You’ve been flying for over a thousand years! Don’t you have any tips that can actually help other than ‘don’t panic, you’ll look ridiculous’?”

Lucifer dragged a gloved hand down his face and looked around, the two were alone as far as he could see.

“MC,” Lucifer began. “When I was a young angel, I needed to learn how to fly with someone else.”

MC perked up. “Who?”

“Michael. The smug bastard picked up flying quicker than I did.”

“What’d you do?!”

Lucifer smiled at his child’s intense investment. “I practiced flying every day for five extra hours until I could do everything that Michael could do, just better.”

MC’s starry eyed interest died almost instantly upon hearing about the extra five hours of practice. “Humph, I bet I could outfly younger you and Michael with only two hours of practice a day.”

“Really now?”

“Yes! Watch!” MC shook off their wings and took off in a running start before shakily making it into the air. Their form was decent enough, and they weren’t shaking as much as the previous attempts. “SEE?!”

“Yes MC,” Lucifer smiled. “I can see.”

You know what else Lucifer could see? MC crashing right into a tree.

“Ouch...”

Okay... maybe they could halt practice a little early and order a treat from Madame Scream’s. A little sugar to refuel is needed when the end goal is crushing a mutual rival beneath their heels. Just some good old fashioned father/child bonding time!

MC has a smaller seat right next to Lucifer’s seat in the Assembly Hall. I will not compromise on this one.

For all your fluff needs, I give you: Lucifer teaching MC how to play the piano. He has a proud little smile on his face when his kid finally starts getting it. That’s all. Enjoy the image.

That one Uncle who gives you Alcohol at Family Gatherings (Mammon)

Yeah, when Mammon burst in late to the party and whining about everyone’s spamming him with texts to haul his scummy ass to the Assembly Hall, the last thing he expected was to see a mini-Lucifer.

“What the fuck am I lookin’ at?!”

The glare the two Lucifers gave the poor Avatar of Greed was enough to make him want to turn tail (uh, wing) and book it down the hall.

“Mammon, this is MC. They’re my child.”

“Hello.”

“...whaaaa..?” Mammon looked between the two, same glare, same intimidating aura, same annoyingly good posture.

Mammon scratched the back of his neck and looked over at his older brother. “Do I uh... still gotta babysit em’ if they’re not human?”

“The lake of Cocytus will melt the day I let you babysit without supervision.” Lucifer grumbled.

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

Despite Lucifer’s initial denial, Mammon and MC ended up spending a lot of time hanging out when Lucifer was busy with paperwork. Of course Mammon’s first thought was ‘how do I profit off this situation?’

MC is now Mammon’s designated babysitter after they caught him picking up their feathers that had fallen off with the intention of painting them white and claiming they were Lucifer’s from back in the Celestial Realm.

Mammon does end up spoiling MC a little. Just a smidge. They’re the kid of his totally not his favourite brother after all! How could he not? Whether or not these gifts are obtained legally or are legal at all is subject to scrutiny.

“Mammon, I can’t drink this!” MC placed the bottle of Demonus back on the counter of the kitchen.

“Why not? That’s a bottle of the good stuff! We gotta celebrate you gettin’ an A on that test somehow!”

“I’m underage! Incredibly underage. I’m not legally allowed to drink.”

Mammon wordlessly plopped a silly straw into the bottle. “...does that help?”

“No.” MC then inclined their head to the bottle. “And I don’t want to get hung from the ceiling, that bottle was in my father’s study yesterday, I’m above theft.”

“How old are you s’posed to be anyway? Never mind... uh...” Mammon wracked his brain for something else he could do for MC that didn’t cost anything (don’t judge him, the poor bastard was flat broke!). “I could... teach you to drive!”

“Driving?”

“Yeah! Drivin’ is awesome! We can take my car!”

The bills for the damages done to the car and the Devildom were mailed to Lucifer the next day, and MC and Mammon got to keep each other company as they hung from the ceiling. Ah well! At least MC wasn’t upside down!

Mammon wasn’t that good of a flight teacher either, he also crashed into a tree (the same tree MC crashed into, actually) when he was cheering for MC. They were finally able to do a loopdy loop! He was proud and distracted! Okay?! Lucifer! Stop smirkin’ at him! It’s not that funny!

At least the vantage point from the tree was decent and the branches didn’t scratch him up too badly. Oh hey... that person walking by was wearing a very nice watch... he’d be right back-

That Uncle That is Always Absent From Family Gatherings and When He is Present He Leaves Early (Levi)

He missed everything. That is not an exaggeration. He was in the middle of an online raid battle and couldn’t look at his phone! No Lucifer he can’t pause an online game! That’s not how it works!

Okay, the human exchange student is half demon? WOAH! THAT’S JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME- W A I T. THE LITTLE NORMIE IS LUCIFER’S KID?!

Okie doke, he was fully convinced that MC just had to be an anime protagonist.

They binged every series that Levi compared them to. Sure MC might have missed a few assignments because of late night anime binges, but they were too good for this school crap anyway, right?

Nope. Lucifer put a ban on the two watching anime until both their grades improved. Surviving that hell brought the two together.

“Ugh!”

The sound of a pencil case being haphazardly thrown across the room made Levi peek out of his bed-tub. If his figurines got knocked over so HELP HIM-

“This is stupid!!I shouldn’t have to catch up with this!” MC crossed their arms and gave their Demonology textbook their best disapproving glare.

Lucifer Lite (tm) was having a hell of a time trying to claw through their missed work, and Levi sympathized, he really did, it’s just... he was playing Animal Crossing-

Levi paused the game to placate his anime-buddy when their wings popped out and he feared for his rare merch’s safety.

“H-hey, MC? Do you need help?” Levi’s offer was met with a bone chilling glare that lived rent free in his nightmares ever since. He had pulled a Mammon and forgotten he was talking to Lucifer’s child. Lucifer’s allergy to help must have passed down to MC.

“No! I don’t! It’s just... dumb!” MC hissed, she turned and looked over at the fish tank. “Right Henry 2.0?”

Henry 2.0 did not respond.

“MC, you need to finish your homework or we can’t watch anything together,” Levi sighed, he had finished his work over an hour earlier. He had mastered the art of all night anime binges and managing to do most of his work in the fifteen minutes between the time he woke up and the time school was supposed to begin. “We haven’t even binged all of volume 4 of TSL yet!”

“Mmm...” MC grumbled. “Fine...”

MC picked up their pencil case and began continued their work. Levi breathed a sigh of relief and went back to Animal Crossing.

The tiny normie did in fact finish their work, only after they caved and asked Levi for help. Swore him to secrecy, they did... very intimidating, they were.

Just saying, he most definitely sent that one Keanu Reeves meme with big Keanu and little Keanu but with Lucifer and MC to the wrong group chat. Poor bastard.

Flying lessons? No. Levi hadn’t flown since his time in the Celestial Realm, he had no advice to give other than: “Flap your wings!”

“THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING YOU-”

MC didn’t get to finish that thought, they lost their balance and fell right into RAD’s fountain. Ah well, Levi had a head start on running for his life that he squandered by laughing at MC. RIP.

The Uncle/brother/whatever the fuck that Starts a Fight With Your Dad at the Family Reunion. (Satan)

Oh... another Lucifer? Eugh. Gross.

Satan gave the kid a wide berth when they first met. Everything the kid said or did ticked him off. “Tsk. Look at MC. Making an omelette. So annoying.” “Oh wow, MC vacuumed? Roll out the red carpet, we need to celebrate their existence!” “Look at them. Breathing. Disgusting.”

MC’s pride wouldn’t ever let them admit it but... they knew Satan didn’t like them, and it hurt their feelings.

“Shhhh,” Satan whispered into his backpack.

“Meow.” The backpack replied.

“I said shhhhh.”

The backpack did not reply after that, which was a good thing considering the little princet of the HOL was nearby.

“Satan?” They asked. “Who are you talking to?”

Satan coldly brushed past them as he made his way to his room. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”

When the little calico kitten was safe in his room, Satan quickly realized a mistake in his foolproof ‘sneak a cat into the house’ plan. He didn’t have any toys for the kitten, and he didn’t want his books getting scratched...

It was alright, he’d just rush out to the a store that sold cat things and rush back! Five minute trip tops!

Well when Satan got back the cat was no longer in the room. Oh dear. He discreetly tore apart the house looking for the poor little thing until he ended up finding it in the library, happily chasing around a loose feather being held up by MC.

“Oh, hello Satan.” MC chirped as the kitten batted it’s adorable little paws at the feather.

“My... my door was closed. Did you let the cat out?”

MC shrugged. “I heard meowing.”

Satan ran a hand through his hair and grumbled. Stupid smaller Lucifer. Stupid original Lucifer. Everyone sucked.

“Let me guess, you’re going to run to Lucifer and tell him all about the meowing and the rule breaking.”

MC shook their head and glared at Satan. “Of course not. I’ve already gotten way too attached to this little guy anyway. We’re co-parenting this kitten like mature adults.”

With some coaxing, Satan did sit down and play with the kitten, maybe MC wasn’t... so terrible.

The two watch Unsolved Mysteries together, that’s their show. “This guy did it.” “Satan, we’re two minutes into the episode-” “Trust me.”

Thirty minutes later.

“He did it.” “See MC, what’d I tell you?”

Lucifer did find out about the cat, but with enough pleading, MC and Satan managed to warm up the cold spot in Lucifer’s chest where his heart should have been. The cat’s name is Detective Toe Beans (or just Bean).

Satan can’t fly, he has a tail, but he did read up on wing anatomy and how flight actually works in demons, his advice would be good in theory, but it’s full of so much technical jargon that MC can’t understand it.

At least MC didn’t crash into something, they barrel rolled through one of the HOL’s windows. Good thing it was the window to their room. The broken arm still hurt like hell.

The Best Dressed Bitch Who Brings The Booze to The Reunion. (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lucifer’s kid was SO CUTE! A thousand pictures commemorating that adorable moment needed to be taken! Wait- Lucifer- GIVE BACK THE PHONE-

Asmo, surprise surprise, absolutely adores little MC! So cute! So small! He was just so excited to announce to all his Devilgram followers that Lucifer was finally a certified DILF.

That post disappeared five minutes after it was made but the damage had already been done.

Asmo made sure MC looked their best at all times, if they needed help talking to anyone? Asmo’s got their back!

Sure, maybe he’s a little pushy, but pushy’s a good thing sometimes, right?

“Asmodeus-”

“No, these shoes wouldn’t fit you...”

“Asmo-”

“No, not these ones either...”

“ASMODEUS.”

Asmo squeaked and jumped upwards, Geez Louise... little MC’s voice could sure be scary when they wanted it to be...

“I don’t need any fancy new shoes.” MC huffed, sitting up straighter in one of the chairs in Asmo’s room. “I thought this was supposed to be a sleepover.”

“Hmmm...” Asmo pouted. “Makeovers are an essential part of sleepovers... what’d you do with your human friends up in the human world that could possibly be better than a make-over?!”

MC began to list things off. “Ordered junk food, talked about people we hated, watched movies,”

“Greasy food is so bad for your skin...” Asmo cringed and shook his head violently. “But I’m totally down to watch a movie and bitch about people I hate!”

“Ah yes, human sleepovers, a tradition I never quite had the chance to enjoy.” Solomon said from Asmo’s bed. “Who are we bitching about?”

“Remind me what Solomon is doing here.” MC muttered as they sat down in front of Asmo’s TV.

“Because, I wanted to hang out with my two favourite humans.” Asmo cooed, reaching over and trying to pinch MC’s cheek, which they awkwardly dodged.

“Can we watch The Exorcist?” Solomon asked, propping his head up with his hands.

“Ew, no.” Asmo made a face at him. “That scene with the vomit? Hell NO.”

“Mm.” MC mumbled. Asmo turned to look at them.

“MC? Are you doing okay? You don’t look like you’re having any fun...”

“I’m fine.” MC grumbled.

Asmo pursed his lips, as much as it made his little narcissistic heart break, he nudged MC. “Why don’t you pick the movie, sweetie. I’m sure Solomon and I will like anything you pick!”

MC noticeably brightened. “Let’s watch Scream!”

The strangled noise that came from Asmo was... concerning, but to his credit, The Avatar of Lust held his tongue about his distaste for the movie, and the three slumber-party goers had quite the lovely time.

After the movie ended, MC went back to their room, sure it was a sleepover but their bed was right down the hall.

Good for Asmo and Solomon. Horny fuckers. We stan.

Asmo just claps and tries to cheer MC on when it comes to their flying lessons. (The idea that Asmo came up with to wear his cheerleader costume from the previous Halloween was immediately shot down by Lucifer)

“You’re doing wonderful, MC- WATCH OUT FOR THE POWER LINE!”

MC didn’t hit the power line, but Asmo’s scream of terror caused them to fall butt-first into a dumpster. Their injured tailbone served as a tragic memory of the incident.

Oh well, good thing Asmo had nice smelling soap to give that could mask dumpster-stink.

The Uncle that eats everything and tells you to eat your veggies while you angrily pick at your broccoli at the kid’s table. (Beel)

Lucifer... has a kid?! Beel choked on the cheetos he had snuck into the Assembly Hall when the kid’s wings popped out.

Oh wow, that’s nice :) maybe they can eat together. Belphie would probably like them.

Wait what is the gender neutral term for Niece or Nephew?

...Nibling? Uh... let’s not say that around Beel. We don’t need him to get hungrier and begin associating MC with nibbling on things.

The Underground Tomb incident probably went a little differently, but after all that nonsense, the two are closer than two peas in a pod!

Mmm... peas...

“Beel?” MC stepped into the Avatar of Gluttony’s room.

“Hi MC.” Beel was doing push-ups in the middle of the room, on the ground right beneath his head was a massive bowl of spaghetti that he bit into every time he completed a push-up. “Can you come stand on my back? I need the extra weight.”

“On your back?” MC padded closer. “Are you sure? It’s not going to hurt?”

“No, it’ll be okay.” Beel assured them. “Belphie and I did this all the time. Except Belphie is normally asleep.”

MC tentatively stepped onto Beel’s back. It was a balancing act to say the least, they eventually gave up on standing and ended up sitting cross legged between Beel’s shoulder blades.

“You did this with Belphegor?” MC asked.

“Yeah,” Beel sighed. “He was always too tired to exercise, but he’d let me bench press him sometimes...”

MC frowned and hugged their knees to their chest. Knowing full well that Beel’s twin wasn’t in the human world like Lucifer said was absolutely ripping them apart from the inside. Guilt felt just as rotten as their pride did when they were being belittled...

“Maybe you’ll see him again sometime soon.” MC whispered. “Maybe my father’ll come to his senses and let him come back down to the Devildom.”

Beel paused his push-ups for a brief moment, then nodded and went back to his eating exercising combo. “I hope so. He’ll like you, MC. I’m sure of it.”

MC nodded. “I... hope so.”

Beel’s a pretty decent flight teacher, but his wings are just so different from MC’s that it renders any tips he had next to useless.

“MC, maybe your wings aren’t flapping fast enough.”

“Beel, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not a hummingbird. Or a fly. I don’t need to flap my wings a million times a minute to stay afloat.”

Ah well, MC tried to take some of Beel’s advice, but their lower right wing cramped up and they ended up flying in circles until Beel was able to catch them. Ah well, better than the dumpster incident the previous week.

The Uncle That Passes Out in The Basement and You’re Not Allowed to Wake Him Up Even Though All Your Toys and Video Games Are Down There. He Also Picks a Fight With Your Dad’s New S/O Before He Passes Out. (Belphie)

Sitting in the attic was quite a drag, and this supposedly weak little human was quite the annoyance to try and call out to. It took a lot longer than expected, but when he heard little footsteps coming towards his prison, Belphegor nearly jumped with joy.

Oh... it... looked like Lucifer. Smelled like Lucifer. Stood like Lucifer. Quacked like Lucifer. Or... trilled..? Whatever sound a peacock made, this brat sounded an awful lot like Lucifer.

A... half-demon. Hmph. Belphie honestly thought Lucifer had actual standards. Not anymore, he guessed.

(Man I could fill a whole-ass fic with the Belphie betrayal thing, but for now let’s skip to post attic nonsense)

Okay so maybe MC wasn’t disgusting. They made a good nap buddy. It was cute when their wings came out when they were sleeping sometimes. Well... it was cute when they didn’t hit him in the face and make him wake up with his mouth full of feathers.

What Beel said had been true, Belphie made a good substitute when weights weren’t available, but Beel didn’t want MC to feel left out, so Belphie and MC ended up sitting on his back while he did push ups. MC once got bored and started playing Go Fish with Belphie on Beel’s back while he exercised.

Yes. MC is still a member of the Formerly-Anti-Lucifer League.

“Are you sure he’s not going to be too mad at us?” MC asked for the dozenth time that day. Detective Toe Beans was wrapped around their neck like a scarf (he had gotten so big!!!) while MC nervously sat in one of the Library chairs.

“Positive.” Belphie said with a toothy grin. “Besides, he’s like putty when it comes to you. Just give him your best puppy eyes and we’re not guilty on all charges.”

Putty..? Really..? Lucifer..? How strict was he before MC got there... they wondered.

“Sh! He’s coming!” Satan stuck his nose into a random book, it was the Oxford English Dictionary... and it was upside down.

Belphie pretended to pass out and MC decided that the best course of action was to stare deeply into their cat’s eyes. Yeah... that looked casual and not weird.

“Satan, MC, Belphie.” Lucifer nodded to the three of them as he walked towards the entrance to his study.

“Lucifer.”

“Afternoon, father.”

Belphie let out a cartoonishly loud fake snore that nearly caused both MC and Satan to break cover and start laughing.

Side note, Bean had adorable widdle eyes! That cute little face was just to die for-

“You three..!”

Belphie, Satan, and MC peeked their heads into Lucifer’s study, their handiwork was perfect. Everything was covered in red post it notes. Perfectly not harmful, but SO inconvenient!

“You’re all cleaning this up or so help me-”

“GO!” Belphie and Satan each grabbed one of MC’s arms (Satan also grabbed Bean) and sprinted out of the House of Lamentation. Maybe they’d move back there in twenty years... they hoped that Solomon and The Angels would let them crash at Purgatory Hall...

Belphie had used up his physical energy supply for the next four years. He passed out the moment they stepped into sanctuary. Time for a nap...

Flight practice? Ha. Belphie’s napping. Though, he was suspiciously awake and filming whenever MC did something stupid.

“Try not to suck so bad.”

“GO TO HELL BELPHIE!”

“I’m already there. Hell is every second I’m stuck here watching you fail.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO GET IT FOR THAT!”

Well... MC mastered the dive bomb that day. Lucifer bought them a cake.

Bonus! Your Dad’s New Husband! That Has Managed to Somehow Make Everyone Hate Him Despite the Fact That He’s A Cinnamon Roll. (Diavolo)

A mini Lucifer? A mini Lucifer!

Diavolo dotes on MC like he’d dote on his own kid. MC wants a crown? They’re getting a crown! A damn nice one too! MC wants a title? Here! MC is now... idk Ruler of the area between Majolish and Hell’s Kitchen.

Poor Uncle Mammon’s got some financial insecurity, he’s still the cool uncle... right?!

He is very much that ‘how do you do fellow kids?’ Meme.

He tries to do stereotypical ‘dad’ things but he’s not very good at them. Once he tried to host a barbecue...

Barbatos saved the day, but Mammon’s hair was still singed, Solomon’s cooking still gave Beel food poisoning (SOLOMON EATS TOXIC WASTE I SWEAR-), Luke still got hit in the face with a frisbee, and Simeon got an unhealthy dose of DAD NERVES and got so stressed everyone was almost blinded by the holy light he suddenly started blasting. We do not mention the water guns.

(Seriously whose bright idea was it to give Belphie and Satan water guns while they were in Lucifer’s presence?)

Praise Barbie. He’s too good for them.

“Um...” MC awkwardly held up the baseball, trying to look at it from all angles like it was a completely alien object. “Lord Diavolo... are you sure you want to play catch?”

Diavolo clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! It’s a thing human fathers do with their children, correct? We must make up for lost time between you and Lucifer, right?”

Lucifer massaged his temples and nodded. “If you two would like to play catch...” Lucifer grimaced. “I will too.”

“Okay! MC, throw the ball to Lucifer!” Diavolo instructed.

Lucifer half heartedly held up his baseball glove as MC tossed him the ball. He caught it, and looked over at Diavolo, who was applauding like he just witnessed the greatest feat in sports history.

“Okay! Throw it to me!” Diavolo waved his glove in the air, Lucifer rolled his eyes and smiled. He threw the ball at Diavolo with... a lot of force. Enough force to probably dent steel... Diavolo caught it like it was nothing.

MC suddenly feared for their safety.

“Okay MC, catch!”

Diavolo threw the ball with enough force to break the god damn sound barrier. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the ball sailed way over MC’s head and crashed right through a window.

“Oh my...” Diavolo put a hand on his hip and surveyed the damage to the window. “This isn’t so bad, I believe in human world TV shows this happens quite often. Look! The glass broke in a perfect circle!”

“Yay... property damage...” MC murmured.

Lucifer sighed and pulled out his DDD. “I’ll phone someone to replace the win-”

“Lucifer no! Now according to human world customs we must,” Diavolo took a deep breath, rushed forward, grabbed both Lucifer and MC’s hands and started sprinting away from the Demon Lord’s Castle. “RUN FOR IT!”

“Di- Diavolo!” Lucifer gasped.

“Who are we running from?! That’s your castle!” MC squeaked.

“I don’t know! Just run! That’s what the human TV show says to do!”

Weirdly enough, Diavolo was the best flight instructor. MC’s ability to fly increased tenfold after Diavolo found out that MC was learning to fly.

“You’re doing amazing MC! That was a perfect turn!”

“Thanks Lord Diavolo, I’m surprised I haven’t crashed into anyone or fallen yet!”

“Well, I highly doubt you’ll be crashing into anyone anymore, your flying is practically perfect now!”

Mammon proceeded to fly past them holding what looked like Lucifer’s wallet.

“M-mammon?!”

“Oh... I wonder what he’s doing. Look, MC! It’s Lucifer! Hello Lucifer dea-”

Lucifer ended up colliding with the two of them and sending them all crashing to the floor.

That was the last time MC fell during flying practice.

(We currently have a Go Fund Me set up for Mammon to get the funds necessary to flee the Devildom after that incident. Please donate to save- oh shit hi Lucifer-)

950 notes · View notes